Tuesday March 2 to Wednesday March 3, 1490

"Cly!" I shrieked, "Cly! Stop it!"

"You know this woman, Marina?" Tel asked curiously. "Who is she? What's she doing here? And why's she burning your books?"

Our avatar herself answered his questions. "I am burning these books," she said sternly, "because they are full of lies. I am purging history of all falsehoods so we can transmit a pure version to posterity."

"No!" I cried. "You can't burn books just because you don't like what's written in them! And — is that the Historia?" Among the tomes tossed carelessly around Cly's feet, some half open, many scuffed and ripped, and all of them covered in dirt, were the three volumes Leona had lent me. The ones I'd only thought Sy had destroyed yesterday. I snatched them up and leafed through them frantically. Please be intact, please be intact. If I were Ghallim, I'd be praying like a madwoman. Please be intact. A partially torn page flapped at me. "Oh no, I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead Leona and Irene are going to skin me alive," I mumbled.

"But who is she?" Ynez repeated Tel's question.

I ran my fingers through my hair and gripped it until my scalp hurt, willing myself to calm down. "Tel," I said with wild laugh, "Tel, this is Cly. She's our avatar!"

"Our avatar?" Tel asked in utter confusion as Cly indignantly humphed, "I am most certainly not anyone's avatar. I don't know why you keep saying that, Marina." And she tossed another book into the fire.

Pounding footsteps heralded Ghallim's arrival. "I smelled burning…." His voice trailed off as he took in the scene — Cly, the bonfire of books, me in a state of shock, Ynez entirely perplexed, Tel curious and a little amused by the entire situation. "What eez going on 'ere?"

Before any of us could speak, Cly explained in a perfectly reasonable tone that she'd discovered that many of the historical texts had been corrupted by lies, starting from Herodotus and continuing through the centuries of writers who drew upon his works uncritically. "I'm correcting the situation," she explained. "Marina, pull yourself together. It's for the good of humanity."

"The good of humanity?" I cried wildly, brandishing the mutilated Historia at her. "What about this human? The one who's going to get skinned alive?"

"Who's getting skinned alive?" Ghallim demanded. "If anyone eez getting skinned alive, that eez a crime and I am obligated to prevent eet."

"Me!" "No one." Cly and I spoke at the same time.

While we argued about whether Irene would be glad that her book had undergone purification by fire, Tel disappeared for a few moments, Ynez traipsing after him like a puppy and ogling his back, to return with two large buckets of water that he tossed on the flames. With an angry hiss, the bonfire died, leaving behind charred corpses of books.

Cly glared at him in frustration. "Now why did you do that?" But she couldn't help but give his figure an admiring examination.

So accustomed to the female gaze that it probably didn't even register, Tel ignored her and poked cautiously at some blackened pages. "So that's our avatar?" he asked me. "That's the thing Astera was going on about that one time, right — the thing that allows us to do magic?"

"Thing!" cried Cly indignantly.

"Marina, you can have her. I think I want a different one."

"You and me both!" Still kneeling on the ground, I stacked the Criamon library books into a tidy pile and pulled Volume Two of De Historia Artium Magicarum into my lap, tenderly probing the damaged binding. An Ars Essentiae Effect should glue it back together nicely, but how could I reconstruct the original pages? Perhaps I could ask Ghallim to pray to restore an older version of the books, although Astera had stressed over and over that using magic to fix Paradox backlashes was akin to taking more hallucinogenic herbs to try to exit a trance. (No matter how tempting, it just didn't work.)

"Give that to me, Marina!" Cly shouted. "It's an abomination unto serious scholarship and must be purged!"

Ghallim cleared his throat loudly. "Well, 'ow about zis proposition? Ze books could 'ave 'idden messages in zem, disguised as lies. Per'aps zey need to be decoded. In zat case, you should not burn ze books just because zey contain inaccuracies."

To everyone's relief, she was captivated by the idea. "Why, that is absolutely fascinating! I never thought of it that way! Are you an expert on decoding hidden messages? I've tried for years to translate Linear A — maybe you can take a look?" And she towed him into the library, chattering at him about indecipherable scripts. Over his shoulder, Ghallim gave me a wink, and I mouthed a heartfelt "thank you" at him.

Once Cly was safely away, Tel sat down beside the remains of the fire and tugged at — a dog collar around his neck? Come to think of it, why was he wearing a fur coat in March? He'd never been that sensitive to the cold; in fact, I was pretty sure that Ynez's massive crush on him had been triggered by the sight of his bare chest last fall.

Speaking of Ynez, wasn't Ars Manes what you used to interact with avatars? "Ynez, please, can you do something about Cly?"

She cast a dubious look at the library, from which emanated an animated discussion of ancient scripts, but pulled out a mirror anyway. Thanks be to Tel for the crumbling walls! It meant that even out in the yard, she had line of sight on Cly. But after glaring into the mirror for only a moment, Ynez said in disgust, "Something's obfuscating my vision. I'm starting to think that I'm blocked from looking at avatars on the orphanage grounds. I'm going to try talking to her." And all four feet ten inches of her stomped off towards the library to interrogate Cly in person. Tel gave an experimental "woof" and tagged along like an oversized lapdog.

I decided that I was probably better off not knowing what he was doing.

Cradling an armful of books, I headed for the overflow dormitory and warehouse building. For the past month I'd been toying with the idea of converting part of it into a second library wing anyway, and now that the main library was out of commission (at least until we learned Ars Materiae, which could take a while), it seemed like a good time to start. Unlocking the empty bedroom closest to the entrance, I began stacking books tidily in a corner.

Once I'd transferred all the books from the yard into the new library wing, I joined the others in the old library. If I'd been expecting to walk into a discussion of Linear A or Egyptian hieroglyphs, I was entirely wrong. What I did hear was Tel asking Cly, "Can you turn me into a puppy?"

"No, of course not! I told you already, I don't do magic!"

Sidling up to Ghallim, I whispered, "Why does Tel want to turn into a dog?"

Ghallim, looking as if he'd rather be in the middle of a hand-to-hand combat with ten Marauder bandits than in a burnt-out library listening to a crazy teenaged boy beg his even crazier avatar to transform him into a household pet, whispered back to me, "'E believes zat if 'e wants desperately enough to turn into an animal, 'e will. Zat eez why 'e eez wearing a collar and a fur coat."

Entirely undeterred by Cly's denials, Tel changed tack. "Well, if not a puppy, any cute animal will do. How about a really cute lion cub?"

With a baleful glare, Cly ignored his request and instead launched into a rant on the use of lion symbolism in history. While she expounded on the references in various texts through the millennia, Ynez edged up to Tel and mouthed something in his ear before whispering to us, "Observing her is preventing her from dematerializing." At my nod, she skillfully shepherded Ghallim and Tel out of the library.

Cly didn't even notice. "Marina," she said to me, "we must pin down a date for that conflagration."

"Uh, today is March 2nd."

"No, no, no! The one in the dream! We must have an accurate date for that history we're writing…." As I made noises of assent and drifted around the room preparing scrolls for transfer, Cly eventually stopped interacting with physical objects and settled down in a corner to read Henry Sallustius, whose prose style she claimed was the purest incarnation of historical writing. I took that to mean that she'd at last dematerialized and the worst of the Paradox backlash was over.


While I was dealing with Tel's and my avatar, the others had headed to the classroom to check on Ashton, and that was where I found them, hovering over the sleeping boy and anxiously querying Astera about his condition. Remembering a cryptic statement he'd made last night, I asked her, "How long has Ashton been here?"

"A very long time," she replied.

"Yes, but how long exactly?"

To my surprise, Astera was suspiciously vague. "Oh, I don't remember exactly. A very long time."

Ynez objected, "But you're a mistress of Ars Temporis. Surely you know."

"Yes, but time is just a series of landmarks." Which was about the most evasive answer I'd ever gotten. Ghallim, himself a practitioner of Ars Temporis whether he knew it or not, looked equally puzzled.

"How long has Tel been here?" I persisted. "Has he been here as long as Ashton?"

Astera gave a little laugh. "Oh, no."

Tel, meanwhile, had been pursuing his own train of thought entirely. Now he inquired, "Do you think Ashton needs a puppy desperately? Every thirteen-year-old needs a puppy desperately, right?"

Ynez stared at him hopefully. "I do," she said, trying a little too hard to sound smooth. In the process of nudging Timo towards her, I suddenly caught her meaning and snickered a bit too loudly. She turned bright pink.

I couldn't tell what Astera knew, or had guessed, about Tel's latest scheme, but she sighed heavily. "Keep watch over Ashton, will you? I'm going to rest for a few hours."

Tel nodded eagerly and panted at her (Ghallim raised his eyes to the ceiling in a silent appeal to Athena) before curling up on the floor next to Ashton's bed. Even with the fur coat, he couldn't have resembled a puppy less, but Timo gleefully bounded around him in a circle and curled up next to him anyway. Still blushing and averting her eyes, Ynez took a more decorous seat at one of the desks on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, Astera looked as if she might comment on their behavior — normally she'd have called them to her office long before this for a stern lecture — but as testimony to her exhaustion, she merely sighed again and left the room.

True to our word, we kept watch over Ashton for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally feeling his forehead for a fever or simply holding his hand and chattering at him about inconsequential gossip. He never woke or responded in any way. Ynez did point out after a few hours that a couple of the other children were always present — they seemed to have worked out some sort of rotation amongst themselves so that two of them were always by Ashton's side. But they never included any of us in their calculations.

"Marina," Gordon informed me when he and Jamie came in for their shift, "there's a mage here with something for you. She said her name is Irene?"

Oh no, Irene had come in person? What if she saw the damaged Historia? Casting about desperately for ideas, I noticed Sy sitting in the corner and had a brilliant idea. "Sy," I said, hurrying over to him and crouching in front of him. "Sy, Sy, Sy, I really need a favor from you."

Mischief immediately replaced the anxiety in his eyes. "Anything, Marina," he told me sweetly. Then he added, "For a price, of course."

"Yes, anything! Please, I need your help now!"

"Uh, Marina," warned Ynez, "did you just promise Sy to do anything for him?"

Beyond caring, I begged him, "Will you find that book you and Jamie stole yesterday — all three volumes — and hide it from Irene? Please please please?"

A delighted grin nearly split his face in two. "Why, of course, Marina! I'd be happy to!" With a quick nod at Gordon, Sy dashed off.

I paused to smooth out my skirts and pat my hair before sailing forth with great dignity to greet Irene. I needn't have bothered. She was peering in distress over the burned library walls and muttering about the state of the papyrus scrolls.

"Good evening, Irene," I greeted her politely while casting covert glances around to make sure Sy and the Historia were nowhere in sight. As promised, they had vanished quite thoroughly.

Irene whirled at my approach. "Oh Marina, this is most distressing! This is the worst backlash I've ever seen! What are you going to do now?"

Doing my best not to look guilty, I explained about the spare bedrooms and the new library wing. "It would be really helpful to have someone renew the Ars Conjunctionis wards on the Hearth logs," I added. "I can't do it myself, and I really hate to bother Astera when she's so busy."

As a fellow librarian, Irene empathized. "Yes, of course, of course! I have a new assistant who'd be perfect for the job. I'll talk to her about it. But in the meantime, here is the diagram that we promised you." She extended a large scroll of parchment to me. It had been sealed with the two crossed keys of House Bonisagus. "You'll find a detailed map of the Aegis, plus additional schematics. Our Zelators have worked on it all day." She smirked a little. "They're not too pleased with you."

Well, why should I care if a bunch of second-degree Bonisagi apprentices liked me or not? "Thanks, Irene. I appreciate it."

Out of reflexive politeness, she replied courteously, "Anytime. Well, preferably not, but you know what I mean."

After I'd accompanied her to the edge of the yard and bade her a good night, I hurried back to our room to pore over the diagram. There I found Ynez surrounded by a sea of candles — certainly more than was safe in such a small space filled with flammable objects, and when she had such a minimal grasp of Ars Essentiae. She looked up guiltily when I entered, probably remembering all my past lectures on fire safety, and hastily began snuffing them out. Luckily for her, I was too preoccupied to scold her and merely helped.

"Marina?" Ynez asked tentatively. "Do you think it would be all right to go into Astera's dreams?"

That was a hard one. I certainly had questions for Astera that I knew she'd refuse to answer, and I could tell she was withholding critical information — but invading her mind? Seeing my hesitation, Ynez suggested instead, "How about Ashton's? Would that be all right?"

After considering the different philosophical schools of thought, we concluded that it was acceptable to enter someone's dreams without permission if it were for the greater good, which, in this case, it manifestly was (well, it was for Ashton's good, anyway, which translated into the good of everyone at the orphanage who loved him). At her request, I tucked the Aegis diagram under my arm and followed her back into the classroom-turned-sickroom, where we found Tel still hard at work on his puppy impersonation, and Helen and Sy conversing in hushed tones in the far corner. With anxious expressions, they watched Ghallim examine Ashton with Ars Temporis. He was too busy muttering about parasitic tendrils of time and the fabric of time resembling a curse to notice our arrival, so Ynez slipped into the shadows by the door and began fumbling around in her pockets for the appropriate mirror. (Don't ask me how her mirrors differed, but she had a specific one for Ars Mentis.) "Drat," she muttered. "Marina, did I leave any mirrors in our room?"

I couldn't remember, but I did notice Sy trying to hide something reflective behind his back and jerked my head in his direction. "Is that it?"

"Sy!" she exclaimed, hurrying up to him. "Give that back!"

In their tussle, Sy lost his hold on the mirror and dropped it on the cave floor, shattering it into splinters of glass.

"Sy! What have you done?" Ynez cried.

To his credit, he did look genuinely guilty. "I'm sorry, Ynez. I didn't mean to do it. But you really shouldn't use it on Ashton."

"And why not?"

He squirmed under her glare. "Because it's just better if you don't."

"Sylvester," Ynez said threateningly, switching on her full intensity and practically radiating menace at him. "If you want to help Ashton, Sylvester, tell me exactly what you mean."

"Aww, Ynez, c'mon." He squirmed some more but finally muttered, "Ashton isn't entirely human."

"What?" all four of us — but not Helen — cried. "What do you mean he's not entirely human?"

"It's complicated," he said reluctantly, scuffing his toe on the floor. "But if Ashton doesn't get better, we need to find him a friend. Else he'll die."

"A friend?" asked Tel, confused and a little hurt. "But we're his friends!"

"Umm, it's not the same…."

I pulled Ynez aside. "Is Ashton a spirit?" I whispered in her ear.

She gave a different mirror a cursory glance before shaking her head. "Something's blocking my vision on him too."

Suddenly, a burst of energy erupted from Sy — a very very powerful Ars Fati Effect that extinguished all the lights in the room. It wasn't Awakened magic — it was something much more ancient and inscrutable.

"Sy!" I cried, reaching out for the little boy I knew. "Sy, what's going on?"

My hands found only empty air, but all around us, his words echoed in a much older voice that chilled me. The thing that was — and was not — Sy proclaimed, "We appreciate your concern, young ones, but this is very dangerous. You should stay out of it and let us deal with our own."

Half a minute later, all the lights came back on. Sy was gone.

But Helen remained, rocking a doll in her arms and crooning a lullaby.

"Helen," I asked tentatively. "Helen, are you one of them too?"

She looked up at me playfully and drew a finger across her lips. "Nope, can't tell you. My lips are sealed."

"Helen — " Ynez began, but I suddenly burst out in anguish, "Do you actually need me to take care of you? Do you actually need to me to — to round you up and get you to class on time, and make sure you take your baths and turn in your homework? Was it all just a lie? Do you really need me for anything?"

Helen gave me a hurt look. "Of course we do. Those things are important."

"Helen!"

Around that time, Ynez took over the interrogation and actually elicited some useful information — such as how Gordon and Sy had a plan to find Ashton a new friend, and Astera would tell them when it was time to put that plan into action. Like Sy, Helen was frustratingly vague about the exact nature of the mice — "You don't remember some things," was the best explanation Ynez managed to extract.

Then, like a hyperactive child, Helen abruptly tired of the conversation and cried, "Tel! That's not how you act like a dog! You do it this way!" And she dropped to all fours and began scampering around the room, chasing and barking at an ecstatic Timo.

Looking at the two of them and shaking his head, Ghallim mused, "Yes, I 'ave noticed zat we're all missing time. But what we're missing, I cannot tell."

Just as suddenly, Helen popped back up and announced, "Well, I'm tired. I'm going to bed." At complete variance with her words, she ran around the room giving each person an enthusiastic hug.

I clung to her just a little longer. "Helen," I asked worriedly. "You're not lonely, are you?"

She shook out her curls. "Nope! I'm not lonely at all! I have all of you!" Then she wriggled out of my arms and bounced away.

I stared after her in a daze, feeling as if nothing would ever make any sense again. So much of my identity was bound up in helping Astera run the orphanage and care for the children, and now I'd just discovered that at least four of them were much older than I — were ancient and powerful beings, in fact, and had never needed any of my coddling and petting and scolding. I felt very hurt and very foolish, and very resentful.

"Well, if no one needs me anyway," I huffed, "I'm going to study this Aegis diagram." And without waiting for any kind of response, I flounced out of the room too.


But old habits die hard, and the next morning I was halfway through banging on doors and chivying the children along to class when I remembered that they weren't children and didn't need basic Enochian — certainly not when they could do magic via other means — and that I was treating a group of ancient, powerful, not-entirely-human beings like rebellious human children.

To hide my chagrin, I dragged them all to class anyway.

Jamie, who'd probably been on night shift with Ashton, met us at the entrance to the caves with the information that Astera was busy and wanted Ynez to lecture on Ars Manes in her stead. Normally I'd be only too happy to play the supportive older sister and nod encouragingly at Ynez from the back of the room, but today I just couldn't bear to spend another minute with the children. The mice. The whatever-they-were.

A mad idea had come to me late last night as I pored over the Aegis diagram, and before I could talk myself out of it, I tiptoed out of the classroom when Ynez's back was turned, dashed back to our room to change into my best brown dress, and tore out of the orphanage as fast as I could to visit the little temple of Athena.

Ghallim's living quarters were around back, conveniently shielded from the orphanage by a stand of olive trees. Breathlessly, I rapped hard on his door and interrupted his breakfast. "Ghallim," I wheezed, leaning on the doorframe. "You make jewelry, right? Can I borrow some, please? I promise to return it!"

Completely unfazed to find me on his doorstep begging for a loan of precious magical artifacts, Ghallim courteously invited me in. "Of course," he assured me. "Zey are in ze third drawer, right zere. Zey are unfinished, because I give away all ze finished pieces." Returning to his breakfast, he described the various pieces I lifted out of the drawer in between bites of egg. All of them were made from a mix of silver and pewter, and worked with incredible skill in wildly disparate styles. "Ah, zat necklace," he said, pointing his fork at a particularly gaudy piece. "I modeled eet after a necklace I saw at ze court of ze Queen of France. Very pretty, but very impractical. Eet needs to be repaired after each use." I hastily replaced it in the drawer. And: "Zat pendant was inspired by something I saw on a wealthy man in ze Agora recently." Probably not appropriate for me to wear then. And finally: "Zat set, of course, was inspired by Athena. You see, eet 'as an olive branch and leaf design, because ze olive tree eez sacred to 'er."

"I'd like to borrow those, if I may?"

Ghallim shrugged. "As I said, I give away all ze finished pieces anyway."

As I put on the necklace and earrings, wishing I'd "borrowed" one of Ynez's mirrors on my way over, I wandered around the workshop curiously. While Helen visited regularly, I'd never been that close to Ghallim. All I really knew about him was that he was passionately devoted to Athena, used Artes Temporis and Vis to great effect without realizing that he could, and created marvellous Wonders. Evidence of his artistic skill lay all around the room, in the form of spools of wire messily unwinding themselves all over the workbench, and half-finished jewelry and weaponry and trinkets scattered on the workbench, lying forgotten under the table, and peering over the edges of shelves.

Fascinated, I picked up a broach in the shape of an owl and marvelled at the detail on the feathers. "Ghallim, how do you create Wonders?"

"What do you mean, Wonders?" he asked, busily clearing away the remains of his breakfast.

Right, I needed to phrase my question in his paradigm. "Umm, magical artifacts, like your cloak. Or your spear."

"Ah, zose! I do not create zem, so much as I pray to Athena to 'elp me make zem what zey want to be. Sometimes, she takes interest, because she eez ze goddess of crafts." He pointed at the spear. "Ze spear, you see, wants to finish people. And ze cloak, eet wants to shield and protect. Athena 'elps zem become more of what zey are."

I held up the owl broach. "And zis — this? What does it want to be?"

"Ah, I could not figure out what eet wants to be. Most of zese pieces — " he gestured around his workshop — "I could not understand zem. Now," he said, picking up a bucket, "I need to water my plants. Would you like to accompany me? We can continue to speak of Athena and her glory."

Actually, what I wanted to do was set my mad plan into action, but it didn't seem polite to refuse the man who'd just lent you an entire set of jewelry without even blinking. So I tagged along after Ghallim as he watered the trees and shrubs around the temple, noting that he greeted them like old friends and puzzled over what they wanted to be. Finally he finished his chores and returned to his bench to work on the cypress branch he'd cut from Thanos' tree. It wanted to merge with his spear, he explained. At last I bade him farewell and went on my way.


At the foot of the slope leading up to the Acropolis, I paused, patting my satchel for reassurance that I hadn't forgotten the Aegis diagram. It was perfectly detailed and exquisitely drawn, documenting the network of leylines that extended throughout the city from the widest channels gushing out of the Node in the Hearth to the most slender tendrils that brushed the inside of the city wall and provided a defense of last resort, from the magical flow rates in each leyline to the exact numbers and locations of the white crystals that sprouted where leylines branched. Spreading out the parchment on a bed in my new library wing, I'd itched to copy it and illuminate it properly in colorful paints.

So why was I here at the bastion of House Bonisagus? Ostensibly I had some questions on the tolerances of the valves located every few feet along the leylines that were supposed to guard against a flood of power like what we'd seen the night of the disaster. If anyone asked, I was going to insist that only the Primus could explain them to my satisfaction, and that the cooperation of House Criamon depended on how he intended to improve his failsafes. That was only a pretext, though. I could just as easily have contacted Irene via the communications stone and asked her to deliver a list of questions to Thoren. It would have saved me a long walk and more-than-probable humiliation if (or, more likely, when) Thoren refused to see me.

Perfectly reasonable. Last night I could have been sleeping, or setting up the new library wing, instead of stalking around the orphanage for hours composing poetry bad enough to make Timo cringe, in order to work an Ars Fati Effect that would make the Primus of House Bonisagus more likely to receive a lowly Adepta.

If I were being honest with myself, I'd admit that my dream-vision of the Bonisagi's' valiant stand against the Plague and the blazing fire elemental had shaken me, and that I needed to see for myself that the Parthenon still stood. No, if I were being really honest with myself, I'd admit that I needed to see for myself that Thoren was unscathed.

Whatever I thought of his methods, whatever my personal opinion of the Obscura, Thoren and his cabal had arrived in the city when I was barely more than a child and I simply couldn't imagine Athens without him. In the five years he'd been here, he'd created massive changes in the very fabric of the city — his influence was here in the way the hordes of visitors, tourists, and refugees of my childhood had diminished to a steady flow of farmers delivering foodstuffs; it was here in the way that the glowing orange Aegis stones and triangles ringed the city; it was here in the way the population went about their lives without much dread of the Plague.

Simply put, just as Tessa had liberated us from starvation, Thoren had taken a massive step towards freeing us from the oppressive fear that had once suffused the air we breathed. If he weren't invincible — well, that would be like learning the pyramids were merely an Ars Mentis illusion or, say, that Herodotus had invented the Battle of Marathon.

To my relief, as I ascended the footpath towards the Parthenon, the Acropolis seemed completely normal. Against the dramatic backdrop of marble columns and Athenian skyline, young Neophytes (would-be mages of the first degree) ran around delivering messages for their superiors, while Initiates (fourth degree, full House members at last) walked by briskly with their arms full of scrolls and books, and Initiates Exempti (just one rank below me) strolled along talking pompously of their latest studies. Would I have been like them, if I hadn't grown up in an orphanage where I was expected to help with chores and corral even younger orphans in addition to studying magic? I dodged a group of Practici who were quizzing each other on the uses of Ars Materiae, and took the long way around the plateau to avoid anyone I knew.

Thanks to my Ars Fati Effect (and a few helpful Initiates), I found the Magister Mundi in his workroom at the back of the Parthenon, alone at his desk and frowning over a stack of reports.

"Ah, Leona," he mumbled without looking up as I hesitated in the doorway, "what is the status of Leyline S12b?"

I actually knew this, thanks to the diagrams and my predawn jaunt to that particular leyline, courtesy of Thanos. "Er," I said, doing my best to sound confident, "it seems to be working, although it looks weaker than usual."

His head jerked up, and he frowned until he identified me. "Adepta Marina Cimon bani Criamon," he said, his tone neutral.

Was he also remembering our last meeting, when I'd basically accused him of gross incompetence? I fought not to cringe. Why had I come? He was a Magister Mundi, for crying out loud! If anyone could defend himself against (dreamed) Plague vine walls and fire elementals, it would be he! Now that I was actually in his presence, I felt very young and very silly.

Like a gentleman, he stood and excavated a chair from under a pile of artifacts, setting it down before his desk. "Please, have a seat. What brings a representative of House Criamon here?" Unlike the last time I'd seen him, his voice was even and formal. Which was the real Thoren — the frustrated, passionate man confronting the collapse of his Aegis, or this self-controlled, expressionless authority figure? Or the humorous, patient newcomer who had braved a gaggle of children to speak to their matron?

Feigning assurance, I smoothed my skirts and sat as gracefully as the etiquette manuals dictated. (Ynez would be proud — well, no. She'd kill me if she knew I were here.) "I've come about the diagram Leona sent over," I said. With surprisingly steady hands, I drew it from my satchel and unfurled it across his desk, weighting down the corners with random artifacts he had scattered about.

Another frown. "Is it not to your satisfaction?"

"Oh, no," I assured him hastily, "the diagram is fine. It's the valves that concern me. Look, I know they're supposed to contain a flood of power like what we had the other night, but I can't see how they're strong enough — "

"No, no," Thoren cut me off, looking interested and engaged for the first time. "They're not meant to stand against the full force of power from the Hearth. Gods above! That would be nigh impossible!" I preened a little — of course he should respect our Hearth! "No, what they're designed to do — where is it — here, do you see this sketch in the corner here?" He pointed to a line drawing I'd thought looked like a geometric, stylized flower. "The valves have layered Artes Essentiae, Materiae, and Vis Effects to attenuate the flow."

I leaned over to study the diagram too. It still looked like a flower to me. "How does the layering work?" I asked curiously.

He pointed to the central circle. "That is the channel through which the power flows." His finger moved to what looked like a ring of petals. "This structure expands and contracts as necessary to change the diameter of the channel — that's Artes Essentiae and Materiae at work — and these and these — " he indicated short lines extending out from the central circle between the petals, as well as a thick band of curlicues that surrounded the petals — "are an Ars Vis Effect."

Belatedly I realized that the curlicues were elegant, interlocking Enochian runes that I'd never seen. "What does it do?"

Before he could explain, Leona and Irene walked in, bickering over how best to repair a weakened Aegis stone. I thought — I hoped — it was only a theoretical exercise. "Magister," Leona said, dropping a stack of papers on the edge of Thoren's desk, "here is the report on the status of the leylines that you asked for."

Without looking up, he replied tersely, "I'm busy with Marina right now. I'll have a look later."

Although he missed the perplexed looks they exchanged, I couldn't help but see the puzzled frown they gave me as they withdrew. I gave them an apologetic shrug, feeling both guilty that I was keeping Thoren from his work, and thrilled that he deemed me worthy of his time.

"So where were we? Ah yes, the Ars Vis Effect." Picking up a quill, Thoren began to sketch animatedly on an empty spot on the parchment. "It transforms Hearth Quintessence into different forms, to reduce the load on the Aegis," he explained. From the pride in his voice, I could guess that he'd designed the system himself. "Part of it goes to power the closing of valve itself, part to fuel the strengthening and instant repairing of the channel. The rest gets burned off, as quickly as possible before it can damage the entire system. But sometimes it can't do that fast enough. As you saw." He arched an eyebrow at me drily.

I couldn't even begin to imagine the raw power and talent it had taken to design and construct the Aegis. Perhaps if I studied for twenty years I could just begin to understand its intricacies. And its creator sat right across the table from me, discussing it with me like an equal!

"It seems like a waste to just burn off the extra power" was what came out of my mouth. Eek. Cringe. Somehow I had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing.

To my surprise, Thoren didn't take offense. Maybe he was in a relaxed mood from talking about his work, or maybe my Ars Fati Effect was a lot more successful than I'd realized.

"It is," he agreed. "I do have ideas for a system that can transform it into Tass, so we can store it for later use, such as creating Wonders."

"Or maybe some sort of reservoir?" I suggested. "So you can feed it back into the Aegis when Tessa needs to draw more power than usual?"

Thoren's eyes lit up, and he began to twirl the quill in his fingers as he thought out loud. "Hmm, that's not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all. Of course, we'd need to calculate the proper size of the reservoir, and what materials will slow the rate of evaporation, and where we should put it. Huh, or maybe we should have more than one reservoir to improve distribution. Or a large central reservoir and small local reservoirs?" As he mumbled, he began to scribble notes all over the Aegis diagram, in blank spaces and sometimes right across the schematics if they were in the way. "And some way for mages to access the reservoirs so they can convert the Quintessence to Tass if necessary…." I watched him, fascinated. His face was bright with excitement, happy even, and I realized with a start that he could be considered handsome when he wasn't scowling or shouting orders at people. (Which, admittedly, from what I'd seen wasn't all that often. Leylines didn't collapse every night, after all.)

As he lost himself in his creative frenzy, addressing mostly rhetorical questions towards me from time to time, a steady stream of other mages flowed in and out, attempting to bring him reports or call his attention to various weak spots in the Aegis. All of them stared at me sidelong, as if uncertain why I was there and how much they should say in the presence of an outsider, which I was rather fretting over myself. Unperturbed, Thoren ignored all of them, apart from ordering them to leave documents for him or to return later. I did notice that as time went on, Leona and Irene pointedly started to leave the door wide open each time they left, and that they began to return more and more often until at last Irene heaved a long-suffering sigh (I cast a nervous glance in her direction), threw herself into a chair by the door, and rattled a sheaf of papers that she pretended to read while she observed the two of us. That seemed as clear sign as any that I'd outstayed my welcome.

Tentatively I cleared my throat. "Umm, Magister?" No response. "Magister Mundi?" It was as if he'd entirely forgotten my presence.

I leaned across the table and cautiously poked his arm. He froze in the middle of sketching a reservoir, and our gazes caught and held. For a moment, just the briefest moment, we stared at each other, and I thought of the romantic ballads Lil sometimes hid behind Enochian Runes and Their Usages. I thought — I thought — I didn't know what I thought.

Irene cleared her throat very loudly.

The moment passed.

Thoren set down his quill and leaned back deliberately in his chair. "Thank you for the idea, Adepta," he said, reverting to formality. "I shall see if it is possible to incorporate it into the Aegis."

I wanted desperately to see him again — beyond the usual, awkward mumbled greetings when our paths crossed at the orphanage or outside Hadrian's Library.

"Can I help you? Will you teach me Ars Vis?" I blurted out.

His eyebrows went way up. "Are you offering to switch Houses?"

Switch Houses? Leave Astera and Ynez and Tel and Ghallim and all the mice? My home? Did I have to do that? How could I ever do that?

"I see," he said, reading the shock and horror in my face. "You wish for me to mentor an Adepta from another House when Bonisagus already has more talented students than we have time for."

To that, I had no ready reply. Verrus mentors Tel came to mind, but I doubted Thoren cared much for the practices of House Bjornaer. "I learn fast," I babbled. "I work hard. I'd be helpful on the reservoir project…." After all, it was my idea, even if he were the one who knew how to implement it.

Thoren's expression gave nothing away. Where was the animated man of just a few minutes ago? Under his scrutiny (and Irene's stern gaze), I fought not to squirm. It felt too much like being scolded by Astera. Unbidden, the memory of his first visit to the orphanage, when it took me three tries to raise an Ars Essentiae shield, popped into my mind. Did he remember my clumsiness too? Had my incompetence disgusted him? Was he searching for a kind way to tell me that I lacked the aptitude? "He only shouts at people he considers his equals," Leif had said.

Thoren hadn't shouted at me yet this meeting. Was that a bad sign?

Finally, after much too long, he nodded to himself. "Very well. Write an essay on Ars Vis and deliver it to me tomorrow. If I deem it satisfactory, I will take you on as a student."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" I exclaimed, forgetting all my dignity. Then I hesitated. "An essay on Ars Vis" was really very general. "What particular aspect of Ars Vis? Its history, development, theory, practice…?"

He waved a hand, almost knocking over a stack of scrolls. "That is for you to decide. I look forward to seeing your thought process."

He didn't sound particularly excited by the prospect, I thought, but the dismissal was clear. I was, after all, only an Adepta who had already taken up an hour of the Magister Mundi's time. Picking up my satchel and leaving the Aegis diagram in case he needed the notes he'd scrawled all over it, I retreated towards the door. Just before I shut it behind me (Irene was already striding purposely towards the chair I'd vacated), the same question I'd asked Thanos popped into my mind, and I quickly stuck my head back around the doorframe. "Magister Mundi, why do you care about Athens?"

If he had seemed angry the night of the disaster, it was nothing compared to the fury I saw in his eyes now. "You may write a second essay on the reasons the Primus of House Bonisagus might find it convenient to take up residence in this city," he snapped at me. "Now go, before I change my mind!"

Chastened, trying very hard not to cry from humiliation while Zelators within earshot poked one another and smirked, and Initiates intently feigned deafness, I slunk away from the Parthenon.