CHAPTER 17
"Right," Khadgar said, distracted, as he swept half the paperwork across his desk toward Idira. "I need a stack for the Horde, and another for the Alliance. Anything from King Anduin's office and the Warchief Sylvanas must be at the top. After that—" he leaned across the desk and grabbed a stack teetering on the edge and squashed them down on top of Idira's pile, "—matters of strategy, requests for support, calls for meeting with the Council." He stood up, his hands on his hips eyeing the two heaps, his and hers. He put a few more onto Idira's pile. He glanced up, barely looking at her. "Once you've done that, then just use your discretion to sort the rest by priority. Have you got that . . . I apologise, where are my manners, what is your name?"
"Idira Northshire," Idira whispered, unable to stop herself from watching him as he talked—absorbed in the papers in his hand, utterly oblivious to the torrent of emotions rushing through her—his warm, resonant voice sending a delicious cascade of thrills down her spine. She moved nearer to the desk. His scent enveloped her; leather, smoky earth, spices, cedar.
"Idira," he repeated, in that voice of his, making her knees weak. "Wine?" he asked, lifting the pitcher on his desk to fill his silver cup. He turned to look at her. Idira nodded, lowering her eyes, unable to meet his, suddenly excruciatingly, painfully shy. From under her lashes, she watched him conjure another silver cup and pour their drinks, his movements precise, elegant. He handed her the cup. She took it, careful not to touch him, noticing his strong, well-shaped masculine hand, his nails cut square and short. She sipped, suppressing a smile. Wynn would approve.
The wine was excellent. Better than anything she had ever tasted before. She sighed a little as she set it aside.
"Good, isn't it?" Khadgar murmured as he went to get a chair for her to sit at the side of his desk. "One of the perks of being in the Council. Don't tell anyone I let you have some. It can be our little secret."
At the thought of sharing a secret with him, Idira felt her cheeks begin to flame. She ducked her head and nodded, letting her hair fall down to shield her face, grateful for the seat he was pushing under her.
He rubbed his hands together, eyeing the mess of papers littering his vast desk. "Well then," he sighed, "shall we get to work?"
From under her lashes, she watched him as he sat down and picked up a handful of documents, his brow furrowing as he sorted through them, preoccupied. He was so close to her. Close enough to touch. A wild, reckless tremor shuddered through her, leaving her giddy. No. It was too good to be true. She had to be dreaming, still confined within her room. She slipped her hand to her thigh and pinched it, hard. A bolt of pain shot through her leg. Just to be sure, she pinched herself again, really hard this time, biting back a cry as a fresh arc of bruising pain sliced through her. She rubbed the sore spot, her heart taking flight, soaring, triumphant, incredulous. She was really here, with him. Alone. Another delicious tremor shot through her as she lifted one of the papers nearest her and stared at the page. She darted a quick look at him, just to reassure herself he was really there, in the flesh. He took a sip of wine, studying a document, his jaw tense as he swallowed. He set aside the paper and picked up another one, cutting an oblique glance at her as he did so. She hastened to look down at the papers in her hands, furrowing her brow, feigning concentration. They were upside down. Mortified, she peeked up, but he hadn't noticed. His eyes raked over the new document, his expression sliding from tense to severe as he read. She sensed a slight change in atmosphere. Whatever he was reading was making him angry. She wondered what it was.
Khadgar set the document aside and took another sip of wine. He continued to look at the words written on it as he ran his hand through his hair, distracted. His silver hair loosened from its neat combing, tousling over his brow, giving his appearance a younger, roguish air. Idira caught her breath, watching him, surreptitious, the expressive curve of his lips and brow betraying the truth: underneath the warrior's hardened exterior lived a poet's unsatisfied yearning for truth, justice and perhaps, at times, beauty.
He might be twice her age, but he was still ridiculously attractive with his square jaw, rough from several days' worth of stubble. His regal nose, once broken and reset slightly to the right, added rather than detracted from his appearance, while his left cheek bore a pair of scars, diagonal slices, silver against his skin. Yet despite his undeniable charisma and presence, he seemed completely unaware of himself and the effect he could have on others. Her heart pounding, Idira forced herself to look down at her pile of papers. He was going to think she was dull witted if she didn't make any progress. She skimmed the paper in her hand, reading through it four times before the words finally made it through the haze of her tumbling emotions; a request for aid from the Horde side. She set it aside. The next was a Horde request as well. Four more documents passed through her hands before she was able to start a stack for the Alliance.
It didn't take long for her to become absorbed in her work; the horrifying things she read—things meant only for Khadgar's eyes—showed her a far different reality to the world she had been cocooned in for the last three months. Azeroth was falling apart fast, the factions were still at each others' throats over the death of King Varian; the Legion's power had spread from the Broken Shore into Suramar City, hundreds were dying every day—she stopped, stunned by what she read in the next piece. The commander of the Legion's forces, the orc Gul'dan, the one who had killed Varian, was creating an avatar for the dark titan Sargeras, the brutal leader of the Legion, using the stolen body of the Betrayer Illidan. If Gul'dan wasn't stopped, Azeroth would be annihilated by Sargeras. She had heard enough in the last three months to know what the fiery dragon had done to Stormwind would be nothing in comparison to what the Lord of the Legion intended to do. Aeons ago, Sargeras had become obsessed by a warped sense of duty, Void-bent on ridding all life from the universe. The receptionist at the observatory said the astronomers could see the path of destruction he'd left in his wake. An endless wall of nothing, no worlds, no stars, no moons. Nothing.
Time was short, and no one seemed to have a plan, rather, it seemed everyone clamoured for Khadgar to provide the solutions. Grim, she continued her work, her months in the archives paying off as she worked through the documents, preparing them in the order he wished.
She kept waiting for an interruption, more misdirected portals, or visitors coming to speak to the Kirin Tor's Leader, but none came, and they remained blissfully undisturbed, working alone together in the studied quiet of his office. He had said the anomaly in the Council chamber had been redirecting things to him for the past three days. She hardly dared to think it, but what if her Light had sent her to him? She shivered, delighted by the thought.
As she finished her work, Khadgar sighed and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stared down at a letter in front him, troubled. He reached for his wine and drank what was left, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he set the empty cup aside. Idira lifted the wine pitcher and approached him, shy. She tilted it over the cup, refilling his wine, concentrating so as not to spill a drop.
He glanced up at her. "Idira, isn't it?" he asked. He sounded tired.
Clutching the pitcher against her chest, she looked down at the carpet and nodded, experiencing a fresh thrill of pleasure. Despite a crushing burden of world-shattering demands occupying his mind, he had remembered her name. She backed away, replacing the pitcher to its rightful place, grateful for the way her hair—still hanging loose from her long confinement—concealed her face from his gaze.
He got up and carried his wine out onto the balcony. She watched him walk away, her heart aching with longing, drinking in the sight of his powerful silhouette outlined against the light of the setting sun. He turned, abrupt, as though he could sense her eyes on him. Embarrassed, she hurried to look away, gazing around the office, feigning curiosity, hoping he hadn't seen her looking at him. She glanced back at him, catching him watching her, a flicker of a smile catching at the corners of his lips. He gestured for her to join him.
Her heart in her mouth, she crossed the thick carpets. It was happening, it was really happening, her dream was finally coming true. As she neared him, her heart pounded so hard, she feared he could hear it. She joined him at the railing, achingly aware of his nearness, his powerful presence surrounding her, sheltering her. She made herself concentrate on looking down at the city. The wealthiest part. Of course. At least his office wasn't as high up as her dorm room. She could even see people walking along the streets, striding along, filled with their own self-importance, wrapped up in their petty issues, judgements and avaricious social climbing, unaware that their lives were as meaningless as grains of sand in the battle yet to come.
He pointed past her towards the gryphon landing, his arm so close to her, she could feel the heat of him. "I will bet you one Dalaran copper that gryphon is going to Highmountain."
She leaned closer, her cheek brushing against the solidness of his upper arm as she sighted the gryphon he meant. It was difficult to concentrate. "No. It's going to Azsuna," she said, sensing rather than knowing its destination.
They waited, side by side, for the gryphon to decide the winner. After several heartbeats it wheeled hard to the right and dropped beneath the city's floating platform. Khadgar fished in the pocket of his tunic, a wry smile flitting over his lips. He held out a copper coin to her. "Your winnings, my lady."
"It's alright," she said, smiling a little at his gallantry. "You don't have to pay up."
"Oh? Well, that's very kind of you." With a flourish the coin became a little songbird. It sat on his finger, ruffling its blue feathers at Khadgar, indignant. Idira gazed at the little bird, astonished, a memory triggering. She had dreamed of this moment, the night Vanessa ran away, thirteen years before. She reached out and stroked the bird's soft breast, a soft smile coming to her lips, relishing the sensation of the disparate pieces of time finally knitting together, coalescing.
The bird tolerated her attention for a moment before descending into the treetops of the courtyard below. Idira watched it flit away, savouring the moment, wishing she could remain there forever, standing a heartbeat's distance away from Khadgar, surrounded by his warmth and gentleness, watching a little magical bird sing its heart out. No more struggling. No more uncertainty. No more loss.
Khadgar cleared his throat, pulling her attention back to him. "And where does your family live?" he asked, conversational, taking another sip of his wine, glancing at her, then away again, an enigmatic look crossing his face, quickly suppressed.
His question brought her thoughts to a staggering brutal halt. Her family? An image of Logan laying dead on the Broken Shore, alone, forsaken and unremembered flashed across her mind as Unambi's last words, engraved within her heart, replayed: 'It be a real honour ta be chosen as ya protecta, but Unambi got one last ting ta be doin' ta help ya be escapin' dis mess. Don' ya be forgettin' ol' Unambi now.' Her throat closed, aching, tight, the pain of her loss as raw as the day they died. She blinked, rapid, but it wasn't enough, the tears were already on their way. She brushed at her eyes, trying to be discreet. One spilled free. Humiliated, she rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, trying to hide it.
Khadgar made quiet noise deep in his throat; his hands darted over his tunic, searching his pockets. He pulled out a clean white linen handkerchief, neatly folded, the sigil of the Kirin Tor embroidered onto it in silver thread. She took it and dabbed at her tears. They continued to escape, stubborn, silent.
Khadgar held out his wine cup. "Please," he murmured, his voice thick with regret, "take a little, it will help."
Unable to trust her voice, she nodded, her throat so tight she could barely breathe. Choking back a sob, she reached out without looking up. Her fingers touched his, sending a jolt arcing through her as her Light awakened, abrupt, exploding to life. A deep burst of energy coursed through her into him. She glanced up, astonished, catching him looking down at their hands, his brow lifting, startled. Not knowing what to say, she ducked her head, and brought the wine cup to her lips, certain now he would send her away, just like all the others.
Instead, his hand came her elbow, firm yet gentle, just like in Stormwind. He lead her to a cushioned bench. She sank down onto it, though he remained standing in front of her, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his jaw, its quiet rasp filling the balcony's quiet as he considered her. He seemed to be searching for something to say. She kept her eyes lowered, her fingers twisting around the stem of the wine cup, waiting for him to dismiss her, consoling herself with the thought that at least part of her dream had come true.
He cleared his throat. "Forgive me," he said, quiet. "I should not have pried into your life."
He leaned down, tilting his head, watching her, waiting. She looked up. Her heart juddering as his steel-grey eyes caught hers. He exhaled, slow, and took an involuntary step toward her, his expression transforming from remorse to disbelief. Her Light flared under his gaze, awakening anew, and in his eyes she glimpsed his vulnerabilities, fears, hopes, dreams.
"Archmage," she breathed, drinking in the feel of him, his power, his strength. Khadgar's eyes raked over hers, moving back and forth, rapid. She could feel him reading her, connecting to her internal state, just as she had done to his. His chest rising and falling, he took a step back, blinking hard. A veil dropped over his eyes, shutting her out. He turned away, his arms coming up, crossing over his chest, defensive.
She braced herself, knowing he would soon reject her, just like everyone else. One of the tears clinging to her lashes slipped free. She brushed it away and took a nervous sip of wine, letting its warmth spread through her, blunting the sharpest edges of her agitation, grief and dread. The silence stretched between them. She waited, her heart pounding, willing him to get it over with. Time slowed, thickening, dragging. She took another tiny sip of wine and glanced up, catching him looking at her, distant, deep in thought. She bit her lower lip, self-conscious under his perusal. His gaze drifted to her mouth, his lips parting and for a heartbeat his thoughtful look transformed into something entirely else, the heat of his gaze on her lips unexpected, sudden, intense. A shock bolted through her torso, tight and aching, her body reacting like a starving thing to his look. He caught himself and turned away again, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
An awkward silence fell. She looked down into the wine cup, fighting to pull herself back from the cliff edge Khadgar had just taken her to. She took another sip of wine, a little deeper this time, to ease the trembling in her body. He continued to look out over the city, silent and withdrawn.
"Most of my life I lived in northern Westfall, on the coast," she whispered, desperate to fill the yawning chasm widening between them. "One night, without any warning, the Legion's ships arrived. I went back to help my father, but there was no time. The demons came down from their ships, materialising everywhere, even in the house." She blinked, unable to stop several more tears from escaping. "I might have saved myself, but I lost the only one who ever really loved me." She looked down, thinking once more of Unambi, her tears falling onto her lap, staining the faded material of her threadbare blue dress.
A chair materialised in front of her. A creak of leather as Khadgar took a seat across from her, his hands sliding down his thighs to rest on his knees. Ashamed of her tears, she looked toward the Broken Shore. Thoughts of Logan slammed into her mind. She glared into the distance. The demons had taken everyone from her. How she hated them.
"I am sorry," Khadgar said, his voice low. "You have suffered a terrible loss, but you have come to the right place. We can help you. With eyes that colour, I am not surprised you have not been able to intuit how to control your powers. You are like a walking leyline, your connection is chaotic, and requires intense training."
Idira glanced at him, taken aback. "It does?"
Khadgar nodded, his expression once more thoughtful, though Idira noticed he didn't let his gaze go lower than her eyes. "How long have you been on library duty?" he asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers folding together.
She blinked, wondering how he could possibly know she had been working in the archives. "Ever since I arrived," she answered, puzzled by why he should care. When he raised his eyebrow, waiting for her to finish, she added, "Almost three months ago."
His lips thinned and his eyes sharpened, becoming hard as flint. He stood up so fast he knocked over the chair. It vanished just as it hit the floor. Livid, he paced the length of the balcony, striding back and forth, his fist clenched at his sides.
"From now on," he said, tight, eyeing the distant Academy narrowly, "you will study theory under my tutelage, and if she has the time, the Archmage Modera can oversee your practicals. Your book carrying days are finished, the Kirin Tor needs your abilities, now more than ever."
Idira opened her mouth to say she didn't think the Archmage Modera would agree, but Khadgar raised his hand, stopping her. He continued, seething. "In three months, with diligent study, you could have already accomplished intermediate proficiencies. A needless waste."
A knock came to the door of his office. Khadgar turned and nodded at whomever had entered, curt. He turned back to Idira as she came to her feet, hurrying to set the wine cup aside, fearing Margot had come to fetch her. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a ring. He held it out to her.
"With this," he said, watching her, intent, as she took the ring from him, "you will be granted admission to my private office in the Library where my own collection resides. Some of the books there are from Karazhan, gifted to me by Medivh. You are to begin studying immediately. The first thing I want you to learn is how to conjure food and drink. You are going to need it for the long days you have ahead of you. Also," he jerked his head in the direction of the Academy, "move your things out of the apprentice's quarters and into my office in the Library. I never use it these days anyway. I won't have you tormented for being different. For all we know, you are destined to become an Archmage. Carrying books. Bah!"
Idira gaped at him, astonished by how fast he had put the pertinent details of her situation together. He must have seen her the day she delivered the books and remembered her, though she had no recollection of him ever having even looked at her. It seemed the Leader of the Kirin Tor didn't miss much. Clutching the ring against her chest, Idira backed away from him and hurried out past the Archmages Modera and Kalec, eyeing her, curious. She kept her head down, not wanting Modera to recognise her and ruin everything.
Once out in the hall, she heard Modera ask, "What was that about?"
"Politics! Pride!" Khadgar snapped, his words coiled tight with anger and frustration. He continued, angry, as Idira hurried down the length of the corridor. "The Legion need not worry about defeating us. We are doing a good enough job of it ourselves."
Idira hurried through the Library's atrium into the cover of the garden and peered out from behind one of the trees at the front desk, praying Duncan would still be at the Main Reception. The atrium lay almost deserted. She glanced up at the clock hanging above the library's entrance, hanging suspended in thin air. Seven-thirty pm. Of course. Dinner time. She scoffed. Evening meals were a grand affair in the Academy; three courses, silver service, not that she had enjoyed very many of them, however.
Duncan popped up from behind one of the desks, looking stressed as usual. She looked for the others, but barring the guards there was no one else around, thank the Light. She had a plan, not a very good one, but it would have to do. As much as Khadgar had intuited her circumstances, he still didn't know was she was due to be kicked out of Dalaran right about now, and if Margot found her, Idira suspected it wouldn't be long before she would be shoved into the nearest portal to anywhere.
Somehow she had survived the harrowing trip back into the Academy without being detected, sneaking in through the gates without a pass card by surrounding herself in a group of students chattering about their field trip to the Citadel. But her frenetic trip across the campus had left her giddy with terror. She only had this one last hurdle and then it would be over. She would be safe within Khadgar's office.
Duncan stepped down from the Main Reception, carrying a wad of scrolls under his arm, moving in her direction.
"Duncan?" she called to him, quiet.
He looked up, distracted. His gaze fell on her. "You!" he exclaimed, marching up to her. "Do you know how much trouble you have gotten me into?"
"I'm sorry," she said, looking around, frantic, checking the guards hadn't noticed her. She held out her hand with Khadgar's ring inside and opened her fingers.
Duncan's eyes widened. "That's the ring of the Leader of the Kirin Tor," he breathed, "how did you—?"
She shushed him. "He gave it to me, just now," she whispered. "He wants me to go to his office and study his books. I need a portal up to it. Will you do it for me? Please?"
Duncan rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. "That's a lot to ask after all that's happened lately. I mean, how do I know you didn't steal his ring? I could lose everything if I help you and you are up to something bad."
Idira slumped. "You would really believe that of me?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, though he looked uncertain. "Margot's been saying some pretty serious things about you. Word has it you're not what you seem. She says your magic isn't normal magic and you're a danger to Dalaran. You were supposed to be getting banished today. The fact you are here with that ring makes me wonder if Margot has got it right."
"A danger?" Idira spluttered, indignant, thinking of Margot's deep machinations, "talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"
Duncan lifted his brow at her outburst. He shook his head. "Don't ask me to do this, it's too dangerous. I've worked hard to get to where I am, and don't want to lose everything I've worked for because I end up on the wrong side of the fence."
"But—" Idira said, showing him the ring once more, desperate.
Duncan waved his hand at it, shooing it away. "Maybe you are telling the truth," he sighed. "I suppose what I can do is go over there,"—he tilted his head in the direction he intended—"and have a look at the notice board before casting the portal I need to put these scrolls back. If you were to follow after me without my permission, that would be another matter entirely." He lowered his voice as he adjusted the scrolls under his arm, "You'll need to go up one more floor to get to his office but of course you would have known that already. Didn't hear it from me."
He turned and went to the notice board. She edged her way after him, moving through the garden until she was as close to him as she could get. She caught him glancing over his shoulder, making sure she was nearby. He cast the portal. She bolted out from the garden and tumbled out the other side, knocking Duncan into a wall.
"Run! That way!" he jerked his head in the direction she needed to go before he began yelling for help, raising the alarm.
Holding Khadgar's ring tight, she gathered up her skirts and pounded up the curving staircase. Shouts came up the stairs just as she reached the next floor. She scanned the curving walkway. No guards. Thank the Light. Along the wall were several doors, widely spaced apart, all of them closed. She ran past them reading the nameplates of the Archmages: Modera, Karlain, Ansirem. Her lungs were beginning to ache, the walkway was enormous, if only she'd been able to learn how to teleport! Ahead, a pair of wooden double doors loomed, ornately carved. She hoped those were the doors to Khadgar's office as black spots began to speckle in front of eyes. On the opposite side of the walkway, four guards burst up from the stairwell, bellowing at her to stop. A sudden blur of colour at the corner of Idira's eye made her look back. One of the doors had been thrown open. A woman strode away from Modera's office, dressed in red, her gown shimmering with rubies. Margot.
"What in the name of—?" Margot shouted. Their eyes met. "You!"
She began to cast a spell. Idira ran faster, terrified, irrationally believing if she somehow managed to get into Khadgar's office and close the doors, she would be safe. A bolt of frost fire crashed into the carpet in front of her. She bit back a cry and jumped over the blue flames incinerating the plush carpet and slammed up against the double doors, panting, her throat on fire. The nameplate read Leader of the Kirin Tor, Archmage Khadgar.
She pushed on the door handle. Nothing happened. The guards were closing in, their daggers drawn, further down Margot was nearing the end of another spell. A fireblast. Not good.
Frantic Idira raked her gaze over the doors, seeking the way to open them. Beside the right hand door, she spotted a little panel recessed into the wall. In its centre, highlighted in a glow of arcane energy, the reverse impression of the sigil on his ring pulsed. Her fingers shaking, she held the ring up to the panel and pressed his ring against it. The doors swung open, silent. She rushed into marble foyer, turning to shove the doors closed. They refused to budge. The pounding of feet neared, the guards had given up yelling, their silent focus somehow much more terrifying. With a cry she bolted through another pair of double doors into a large room, hoping the doors would close behind her on their own. She staggered around in a circle, Khadgar's office was massive, laid out like an apartment, with several more suites branching off the main room, all of them crammed with books. She spun around searching for a place to hide. On the opposite side of the room, a little alcove held an active portal.
The fireblast hit the spot in the foyer where she had just been, a beat later an intense wall of heat hit her, sending her stumbling backwards, her eyes watering. The guards pushed in through the billowing smoke. Margot following right after.
"Whatever you think you are doing, this stops now," she snarled lifting her hands to cast another fireblast.
Without a second thought, Idira hurled herself into the portal just as another burning wall of heat slammed into her. She rolled out the other side, disoriented. She could be anywhere. She blinked, recognising her surroundings. Of course. The portal had brought her back to the landing outside Khadgar's private office. She ran back down the corridor's length to his door, looking back just as the guards and Margot emerged from the portal, furious. She reached Khadgar's door, and pounded on it, frantic. Once he told them everything, she would be alright. No answer. The guards were running now, murder in their eyes. Margot was casting a new spell. Polymorph. No. No. No.
She beat on the door, terrified. Still no answer. The guards would be on her within heartbeats. She had no choice. She pulled on the latch, opened the door and slid inside, slamming it closed behind her. She searched for a key to lock it. Nothing. She backed up, panting, watching the door, wary, expecting her pursuers to come barging in at any moment. She could hear someone jiggling the latch. Maybe they were afraid to go in without permission. She waited, hope kindling in her breast. She might be safe after all. A burst of blue light slammed through the middle of the door, spreading out, dozens of blue-tinted lightning bolts clawing at doors edges, crackling over its surface. She stared at the bolts of arcane energy as they slid over the door, harmless, fading away.
A sound came from behind her, she turned, hoping to find Khadgar. Instead she found the faint outline of a portal hanging in the air. The sound had come from the other side, what looked like a library. Curious, she went to it. Another blast of magic slammed against the door. She turned, watching the magic slither over the door and around its frame, useless, wondering if Margot was trying to attack her from outside. Perhaps she was unwilling to enter Khadgar's private office without permission. Idira didn't want to wait around to find out. Taking one last look around the room to be sure Khadgar wasn't there, she stepped into the portal, hoping with all her heart she wasn't jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
She emerged within a tower, its walls and floor made of massive ashlars of ancient stone. A tingling coursed through her as the tower's magical energy seeped into her, invigorating her, making her feel more alive than she had ever felt before. Ornate wooden bookshelves lined the tower's outer wall, following its gentle curve. Between the wall and the tower's centre, freestanding bookshelves angled inwards.
She looked up. She stood on the lowest level. Five more floors arced above her, their walkways following the curve of the tower, the walls covered in stacks crammed with thick tomes. Little bursts of arcane energy sizzled and crackled in the air, appearing and disappearing like bubbles in pot of boiling water. She looked around open-mouthed, wondering just where she was. It certainly didn't feel like Dalaran. There was no sense of politics here, or hierarchy, only magic, pure, clean unadulterated magic. She wanted to sink down onto her knees, press her hands against the floor and just drink in its power, suddenly feeling as though everything which had come before, no matter how powerful or poignant paled in comparison to what it meant to be in this place, which inexplicably felt like home. She inhaled deep, her heart aching with familiarity even though she had never known anything like it before.
Tentative, she touched one of the books nearest her, trailing her fingers down its brass and gem encrusted spine. It trembled, shivering under her touch, responding to her as though awakening from a long slumber. She smiled, her fear and terror during her escape from Dalaran's Library fading away. She had found her touchstone, her home. She never wanted to leave. She took a step forward, reaching out to a book glowing with blue light, beckoning to her. She held her breath as it shunted to the edge of the shelf, easing itself out. It pulled free and fluttered over to her, its pages opening to a spot it wished her to see. She bent to read, entranced, it was spell about stopping time, she leaned closer, her fingers running over the beautiful calligraphy, the formulae and notes complex yet somehow with the power imbued in the tower, simple to understand. She leaned over, wondering if this spell was the same as—
A bolt of energy slammed into her chest, sending her hurtling backwards. She crashed into the bookshelves against the wall, the air knocked out of her lungs. Pain screamed through her shoulders and back. A tether of crackling blue lightning wrapped around her neck. She scrabbled at it, desperate as it tightened, cutting off her air, suffocating her. She tried to cry out for help, but no sound came. She heaved, choking, tears burning her eyes, the cold magic around her neck relentless in its death grip. Black spots blossomed within her eyes, spreading, blocking her vision. She sank to her knees, gagging for air, her chest burning. She fell onto all fours, fighting to find her Light. Why wasn't it helping her?
The tether snapped free. Air rushed in. She hauled at it, her lungs and throat screaming, burning hot. The darkness thinned, and by degrees the outline of the library returned, filling in, becoming solid again. She fell back onto her haunches and rubbed her neck, trying to ease the terrible ache the tether had left in its wake.
"Forgive me," a man said, rushing up and falling to his knees before her. He grasped her shoulder. "I thought you were someone else. Are you alright?"
Feeling like she might throw up, Idira bit down on her lip, struggling to suppress the pounding waves of nausea. She looked up at her assailant, her vision still blurry from her tears. Khadgar fell back onto his haunches, his expression so unexpected Idira's nausea fled. There was no doubt this time, even through the bright haze of her tears, she could see he was definitely looking at her like she had seen VanCleef look at Myra. He blinked and looked away, his jaw clenching, just like he had done on the balcony. He stood, brusque, and held out his hand, helping her up.
"How did you get into my office?" he asked, sharp, still looking away.
"The door was open," she answered, her voice hoarse.
He crossed his arms. "Impossible. I locked, sealed and warded it."
"Well, it was open for me," she said, her words ragged around the edges. She tried to clear her throat, it didn't help. "What is this place?"
"Never mind that," he said, cold, "how did you even get in here?"
"There was a doorway, like a portal, I walked into it. I was looking for you."
He glanced at her then. His expression softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again. He took hold of her elbow. "Show me how you got in here."
Idira glanced at the portal to her right, glowing white. It might be faint, but it was as obvious as the bookshelves surrounding them. She wondered if he was testing her. She led him to the portal and waited.
He arched an eyebrow at her, enigmatic. She guessed he wanted her to demonstrate what she'd done. Even though she didn't want to go back to where Margot and the guards were, she stepped into it. On the other side, the attacks had stopped, all was quiet. She turned and looked back through the portal. He turned full circle, calling her name. He sounded annoyed.
"Yes?" she answered.
"Where are you?" he asked, staring unseeing right at her on the other side of the portal.
"In your office. In Dalaran," she said, starting to feel a little afraid. Why was he doing this to her? Maybe he really couldn't see her. "Can't you see me?" she asked. "I can see you."
"Come back to me, if you can," he said, though this time he sounded a little less irritated.
She stepped back through the portal. He stepped back, staring at her, incredulous.
"You look surprised," she said, feeling suddenly shy.
"I am," he said, his eyebrow flicking upwards, impressed. "What you are doing even I cannot do."
She turned and looked back at the portal. "What do you mean? Can't you see the portal into your office? It's right here." She put her arm into it, up to her elbow, showing him.
His arm came around her waist, solid, and strong, his fingers tightening around her hip as he pulled her back so hard she came up against him, in a tight embrace. "Don't do that," he whispered, against her hair, staring at the portal he couldn't see, "it's dangerous."
It took a heartbeat for Idira to realise she was caught inside the crook of his arm, her body pressed against his. He smelled so good. She caught the rich scent of wine on his breath as he looked down at her, his expression suddenly protective. Her heart began to pound, they were so close, it wouldn't take much for her to lift her chin and close her eyes. The look was coming back into his eyes. Embarrassed, she pulled away. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she said, light. She gestured at the books lining the shelves. "I like it here. There is so much power. It makes me feel—" she walked away, moving along the shelves, trailing her fingers along the books' spines. She glanced back at him, "—like I can do anything."
Several books fluttered free and approached her, curious. She reached out, entranced, and touched them. At her touch, the books glowed bright blue. Others slipped free, surrounding her. Soon, a torrent of books circled her, clamouring for her attention. She felt her Light awakening, burning so bright, the space around her became infused, glowing violet. The books fluttered around her, curious, brushing against her, drawn to her. All her life, all she ever wanted was to be around books, and now books were coming to her, living things, friends. They brushed against her shoulders and arms, affectionate. She laughed, delighted.
Khadgar called out, sharp, ordering the books back to their places. They fled, rustling, indignant, leaving her standing alone once more. She looked at him, uneasy. He strode back to her, his hands crackling with arcane power.
She stepped back, frightened. "What—?"
He threw a barrier around her, enclosing her. He raised his arm and she lifted from the ground, hanging suspended before him. "Who are you?" he demanded, suspicious.
She gaped at him, was the man mad? "I told you," she said, "I am Idira, from Westfall."
"Whom do you serve?" he shouted, drawing more power towards him.
She didn't like the direction things were going. He looked dangerous. Very dangerous. Fear welled up in her. "I . . . " she stammered, not knowing how to answer the question without angering him more. "No one? You?"
"I do not believe you!" he roared over the surge of energy pulsating around him. "You are a demon, pretending to be one of us. No more will you hide the truth from me!"
She stared at him, terrified. It had to be a test. He wouldn't attack her. He couldn't. Power crackled in his hands, rotating, shimmering, deadly. "Archmage?" she called out, fearful.
He let go of a blinding bolt of blue. It smashed into her through the barrier. She juddered, as it crackled across her body, flames of cold fire, burning, waves upon waves of it, endless. Pain scorched through her, digging deep, burying itself, winding its way in and then burrowing back out, tearing at her. She screamed, writhing in agony. Deep within the haze of pain, she saw him lifting up his staff, his lips moving as he cast a new spell. She cried out, thrashing against the barrier, desperate to escape, fearing another onslaught. She called to her Light, begging it to save her, to protect her from him. It flared to life, building, gathering in intensity, rotating around her torso, so bright she had to close her eyes. She convulsed as it burst outward, her Light shattering the barrier. She fell to the floor, hitting it with a hard smack. Pain arced through her, layer upon layer of agony as Khadgar's magic faded, the bruising aches in her muscles and bones roared in to take its place. She shuddered, unable to move. Darkness beckoned, she fled to it.
She woke and wished she hadn't. Everything hurt. She opened her eyes. A canopy hung above her, dark blue, gold tassels on the corners. Softness underneath. A bed. She turned her head a little. A bedroom, lavishly furnished. From the corner of her eye she saw Khadgar pacing, his head down, his gaze fixed on the floor as he moved back and forth in front of a large marble fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest.
Maybe he was waiting for her to recover so he could finish her off. She sat up, defensive, fearful. He turned, startled and looked at her, his expression shifting from relief to remorse.
He went to her. Frightened, she scuttled backward and pressed herself against the bed's headboard.
He knelt beside her, the leather of his boots creaking in the quiet. "Forgive me Idira," he murmured, reaching out to her, his fingertips touching the back of her hand. "I have done great wrong against you. I will make it right, somehow."
She pulled her hand out from under his. "You called me a demon."
He winced. "I did. You have power unlike anything I have ever seen before. We are living in very dark times. You came out of nowhere, you have no family, and you have incomprehensible powers. You managed to breach my domain without any effort. I did what I thought right to protect Azeroth."
"You attacked me," she shuddered, reliving the memory. "It still hurts."
"If you wish," he said as he gazed at her, gentle, "you may hurt me back."
She met his eyes. Her heart wavered, betraying her, pulling her to him once more, despite what had just passed. "Never," she answered, faint. "You are the Archmage."
He took her hand in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb, sending shivers through her. "What if I told you it would make me feel better?" he asked, soft.
She bit her lower lip, fighting her escalating attraction to him, trying to think about when he had hurt her. She glanced up, that look sliced across his face again, her torso clenched. He pressed his lips together, though he didn't look away.
"You want to feel pain?" she asked in a whisper, hardly able to breathe. He was so close to her, a mere heartbeat away. Despite what he'd done, she felt an overwhelming urge to touch his face, run her fingers over his scars, brush her lips against his.
His hand tightened on hers for the tiniest heartbeat. "Yes," he murmured. He left, abrupt, putting a safe distance between them. He set his staff aside. "Physical pain will help numb the guilt I feel for what I have done to you." He nodded at her, bracing himself, the muscles under his tunic rippling. "Go ahead, I deserve it."
He waited. She hesitated. He nodded at her, his steel grey eyes holding hers, intimate. Her heart thudding, she closed her eyes and concentrated, she had never before tried to hurt someone purposely with her Light. She called to it. Nothing happened. She called to again, thinking of when he'd attacked her and called her a demon. Maybe it needed a push. Still, nothing. She slumped back against the headboard and shook her head. "I cannot."
"You cannot or you will not?" he asked, soft.
"I cannot," she sighed. She looked back up at him, watching her, intent. "I . . . don't know how."
He nodded. "Then I will wait until you are able. I won't let you forget." He took up his staff, murmuring, reticent, "I know I do not deserve to ask for your trust after what I have done to you, but I would like you to stay here and study, instead of in Dalaran. You will be safer here under my care."
She lifted an eyebrow at him, dubious. "Am I?"
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, and glanced at her, shamefaced. He nodded. "I will come back later with food, real food, not the conjured variety," he said, changing the subject. "For now, I must go, I am already late." He went to the door.
"Wait," she said. She left the bed. "I am afraid to be here on my own. Please, let me come with you back to Dalaran. I won't tell anyone about what you did."
He moved back toward her. "What if I left a part of me here with you, would that help?" he asked, quiet.
She tried to understand. "An image?"
He cast a spell, and his staff blazed with light. She trembled, but stood her ground. A raven flew out of the light and landed on the back of a chair. She went to it. It walked over to her and hopped onto her shoulder. She looked up, confused. "A raven?"
"Ah this is no ordinary raven," he said. "I am able to see through its eyes, and hear through its ears. If you are in trouble, or need me, just call to me. You are never alone, so long as you keep my raven with you."
She held up her arm. It moved onto it. She held it up, examining it, uncertain. "Can it protect me?"
"No, but I can," he said, soft. She met his eyes, he held her gaze, she shivered, sensing his protection, his possessiveness. "However, nothing in this fortress can harm you. You will see. The library is straight down the hall. Once you are feeling better, why not return? The books seemed to like you very much. They will teach you what you need to know, much faster than I can."
She remembered his ring. Setting the raven back onto the back of a chair, she pulled the ring out of her pocket and held it out to him. "The guards called me a thief," she said, deciding not to mention Margot for the moment. "They chased me back to your office. I couldn't understand why they didn't follow me through the door. I think I know why now—they couldn't, could they?"
He watched her drop the ring into his upturned hand. "No. But they saw you go through a sealed door," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers. He opened his pouch and placed the ring back inside. "Perhaps now you see why it is best for you to stay here? In this place no one will judge you, or punish you. You are safe here." He began to cast a teleportation spell. "I must go, the Council is waiting to meet with me."
Unable to stop herself, she took hold of his forearm. The solidness and warmth of him sent tingles up her spine. "Promise you will come back to me," she whispered.
He cut off the spell and covered her hand with his own. "I promise, Idira," he said, his eyes warm and reassuring. "I won't leave you here alone."
She let him go and backed away, reluctant, biting her lower lip. He looked at her one last time as he cast the teleportation spell. As he vanished, she saw the truth, plain in his eyes. The Leader of the Kirin Tor would come back, and soon. Very soon.
Several hours must have passed, though once Idira recovered and returned to the library, she lost all track of time. As the raven flew up into the reaches of the tower, circling and exploring, the books clustered around her once more, as tender and curious as little birds, hovering beside her. They fluttered ahead, leading her along the rows of bookshelves into the middle of the tower where she discovered a large desk and chair dominating the open space. She turned full circle. All around her, bookshelves fanned away like spokes in a wheel.
She went to the table, curious, her fingers trailing across the opened books strewn across the table's heavy oaken surface. A half-empty wine cup sat on the table. Idira lifted it and sniffed its contents. A red wine, full, robust, with tantalising notes of toasted oak. She sipped the ruby liquid, sighing with pleasure as it rolled, complex and buttery over her tongue and down her throat, recalling the moment Khadgar had pulled her away from the portal, his breath smelling of wine. This wine. She touched her lips, her heart beating a little faster as she relived how close he had held her, how easy it would have been for him to have kissed her. She sipped from his cup again savouring the thought, letting the wine soften the aches and pains in her body. She looked up, the books drifted closer, waiting for her, patient.
As she continued to sip the wine, one of the tomes fluttered down and lay itself on the table before her, flicking through its pages, a blur. It stopped, with a quiet rustle. She leaned down and read the arcane lettering. How to Conjure the Lost Vintages of Kul Tiras. She smiled. Of course. His homeland, long gone. It would be the first thing she would learn so she could surprise him when he returned.
She began. It didn't take long to learn the spells, but there were so many vintages, and she wanted to find the perfect one. By the time he returned carrying a large paper bag bearing the Bagel Brothers' logo, she was tipsy from tasting all the wines she had conjured.
"Oh!" she exclaimed as she lowered her wine cup, catching him coming up between the bookshelves, looking even better than she remembered. He glanced over the table littered with more than a dozen silver goblets, his expression amused. With a shake of his head, he pushed aside several of the goblets, making space for the bag containing her dinner. He leaned back against one of the bookshelves and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I see you have your priorities right, at least," he said, his lips quirking into a half-smile.
Idira didn't know what to say. Instead she held out the wine cup containing the vintage she thought he might enjoy. He took it, raising his eyebrow, intrigued.
"You don't intend me to drink alone do you?" he asked, nodding at the table. "Which one will you have?"
She picked up the second best one and waited for him to lift his cup to her. "To your studies, then," he said, soft.
He sipped, keeping his eyes on her. They widened as he tasted the wine. He swallowed, slow. "This is excellent," he murmured, moving over to the book, curious. "Vintages of Kul Tiras," he read. He glanced back at her, and said, quiet, "My homeland."
"I read a book about you, a long time ago," Idira admitted, feeling her cheeks darken as he watched her, his expression changing in a way that made her heart beat faster. "I thought you might like something from the home you had to leave behind."
He sipped again, his eyes holding hers once more. She clutched her wine cup tighter, shivering with pleasure under his steel-grey gaze. "I do like it," he said taking his eyes from hers and looking down into the wine as he swirled around, airing it, bringing out the fullness of its notes. "I like it very much."
He gestured at the paper bag. "How about some food to go with this good wine?" he asked.
Idira edged nearer as he opened the bag and pulled out half a dozen wrapped parcels. "Forgive me," he said as he opened them, checking their contents, "I had no idea what you liked so I bought an assortment. Let's see now, there's lamb with minted cress, or roasted tomatoes and pepper with caramelised onions and organic goat's cheese," he glanced at her, bemused,"—it's a new thing, this organic trend—and what else? Oh yes, smoked whitescale salmon with wild mustard—"
"Yes, that one. I love whitescale salmon," Idira interrupted, reaching out to take the parcel from him, delighted he had bought her favourite.
Khadgar cocked an eyebrow at her, one hand still holding an unopened package. "Don't you want to know what else I have," he teased as he handed her the one she wanted, "in case you like it better?"
"No," Idira smiled, "there is nothing I like better than salmon, especially when it's smoked."
"Very well," Khadgar answered as he rummaged through the rest of the parcels and chose a baguette filled with wafer-thin slices of roast venison, "I like a woman who knows her own mind. No dithering. Makes a refreshing change."
"Like the Archmage Jaina?" Idira blurted out, the wine hijacking her tongue. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised she had spoken her private thoughts aloud.
Khadgar stared at her for a beat, utterly astonished, holding his sandwich halfway to his mouth. "Jaina?" he repeated, confused. "Ah I see," he said, starting to laugh, "yes, well no, not quite like Jaina."
Chuckling, he pulled himself up onto the table. He nodded at Idira before tucking into his food, making small sounds of appreciation as he ate. Idira turned to her own dinner, realising she was starving despite being full of wine. Khadgar didn't say much, letting her eat in peace. When they were done, he handed her wine to her before picking up his own.
"Shall I tell you where you are?" he asked, eyeing her over the rim of his goblet.
"Please," Idira answered, taking a sip, glancing up into open space in the centre of the tower, glittering with chaotic bursts of arcane energy. "I'm pretty certain we are not in Dalaran."
Khadgar set his cup aside. "No, not Dalaran," he said, folding up the empty sandwich papers and stashing them back into the bag. "We're not anywhere, actually."
"What do you mean?" Idira asked, intrigued, leaning forward.
"You have heard of Karazhan?" When Idira nodded, Khadgar waved his hand indicating their surroundings. "This tower and the other rooms along the corridor are just a small part of what was once Medivh's fortress. After his fall, I hurried to salvage what books I could into this wing, those books still untainted by the spreading darkness. When the darkness had almost consumed the fortress, I separated this wing from Karazhan and sealed it outside of space and time. Until you arrived this was my sanctuary, and my most cherished secret."
Idira looked down into her wine, finally understanding his terse, then deadly reaction to her arrival. She couldn't think of anything to say, shame filled her, she had breached his most private sanctuary.
He leaned over and caught her chin in his hand. He tilted her face up to his. "I don't know who you are or even what you are," he said, his gaze capturing hers, "but I swear, from now on you are under my protection. My sanctuary is your sanctuary, and my books are your books. Learn all you can, as fast as you can, the Kirin Tor needs every possible advantage right now. What you did, following me through a closed teleport should be impossible. It is as though you are able to transcend time."
"I don't know about that," Idira whispered, trembling a little under his look, "but Logan told me my Light killed all the demons that came to Westfall."
He nodded, slow, his eyes never leaving hers. "I felt the force of your power when you broke through my shield. It's been a very long time since anyone has sent me flying across a room. Your Light protects you, doesn't it?"
"That's what Unambi said," Idira murmured.
"Unambi?" Khadgar asked, his brow creasing, perplexed. "That's a troll's name."
"He was my protector. He gave up his life to save me when the Legion came." Idira looked away, blinking back tears. It still hurt so much, the ache he left in her heart.
"'The only one who ever loved you,'" Khadgar said, repeating her words from the balcony. "I thought you meant your father, but it was Unambi you were speaking of, wasn't it?"
Idira nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Khadgar stood up, pacing, silent, lost in his thoughts. He stopped.
"How old are you?" he asked.
She glanced up at him, startled by his non-sequitur. "Twenty-six," she said.
He fell silent again. "Hmmm. Which means you grew up when VanCleef was running Westfall. A dangerous man."
"Not as dangerous as my father," Idira muttered, thinking of the day he attacked their house with cannons.
"Wait," Khadgar said, turning to look at her, curious. "You said your name was Northshire. You aren't related to Jac Northshire, the notorious Defias Enforcer who went rogue, are you?"
"He was my father," Idira said, low, unable to look at Khadgar, her shame almost unbearable.
Khadgar knelt beside her, his interest in her deepening, genuine. "How incredible," he breathed. "Someone like you growing up in a place like that, with a father like that. One day, I would like to hear your story, from the beginning, if you wouldn't mind sharing it with me."
"Maybe one day," Idira said, soft, in no hurry to go over the sordid details of her past with someone like him.
"You and I," he said, nudging the edge of one of the books back onto the table, "we may have more in common than first meets the eye."
Idira took a sip of her wine. "I doubt it."
He eyed her. "We have both lost our homes, and everyone we loved, while carrying the burden of powerful magic, alone." He stood up and held out his hand to her. She took it. He brought her to her feet, easily.
"I understand your tutor was Margot," he said as she brushed up against his chest, making her heart do a fresh somersault.
"My tutor?" Idira asked, taken aback, by both the question and the sudden change of subject, something she was beginning to realise he did often.
He nodded, terse, his expression tightening. "Someone like you, applying to the Academy with eyes that colour should have been brought straight to the Council, instead you were buried in the archives where you could learn nothing. I won't tolerate it. I can't help but wonder how many others I have lost to the fight against the Legion because of the rampant pettiness and politics of the Kirin Tor." He looked away, his jaw clenching. "It sickens me, the corruption in Dalaran, it's rotten, right to the core. Once we have dealt with the Legion, there is going to be some housecleaning done, mark my words."
Idira waited as he fell silent once more, retreating into his thoughts. "Margot will be removed from her duties for the time being," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, "perhaps a stint in the archives might do some good for her, hm?" He glanced at Idira, his expression softening. "Ah, you are tired, as am I. It must be close to midnight by now. Will you be alright, alone here tonight?"
Idira desperately wanted to say no. With all her heart she wanted him to stay with her and hold her against him on that soft bed of his. "I have your raven," she smiled instead.
"You do," he said, soft, watching her, waiting.
"And if I call for you," she asked, hesitant, "you will come to me?" She bit her lower lip, uncertain.
"In an instant," he said, solemn as he began to cast a teleport. He glanced back at her, catching her biting her lip. His eyes darkened, a look, filled with hunger fleeted across his eyes, quickly suppressed. They shared one last look before he vanished. On the other side of his teleport, he walked across his lavish bedroom, forgetting she could still see him. She watched as he shed his shoulder collar and tunic, dropping his clothing onto the rug, careless; drinking in the sight of him clad only in his leather breeches and boots, as well built as Logan, the archmage's chest and back marked with the prestige of his many battle scars. He paused at a sideboard to pour himself a cup of wine. He turned, abrupt, and stared at the spot where he had materialised, quaffing his wine, reckless. Distracted, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"How beautiful, how intriguing, how utterly, blindingly rare you are," he murmured, looking right at her, unseeing. He ran his hand through his hair, agitated. "Twenty-six. Just over half my age, and an apprentice." He scoffed as he poured more wine and drank again. "Of all the women who could have crossed my path why must I be drawn to the only one completely forbidden to me? And yet, who would know if we . . . ? No. Azeroth needs me. I cannot, will not, risk it."
He sighed and set aside his cup, his fingers moving to his groin to unlace his breeches. Idira turned away, unwilling to spy on him any longer. She went to the bedroom, exultant, Khadgar's raven close behind. So, the Leader of the Kirin Tor felt it too; the frisson between them, the tension, the longing. It was enough. She could wait.
Far into the night she dreamed of him joining her, wearing nothing more than his breeches, holding her against him, murmuring We can't even as his lips touched hers, light at first, then harder, possessive and fierce, sending them falling, tumbling, hungry, deep into their forbidden love. She woke, in an agony of longing. Eventually, she slept again, dreaming of him standing on his balcony, drinking deep from his wine, watching her with the eyes of his raven, oblivious to the world as it burned in the fires of the Legion and Azeroth turned to ash.