Maria didn't anticipate any business the morning after the attack, but she unlocked the green door to her shop anyway. She weighed and measured ingredients for a healing potion, infusing them with aether as she went, then set the mixture in a tiny tripod over a short candle to boil.

When the bell above the shop door jingled, she could tell from the change in the aether that a black mage had come in. "I'll be with you in a minute," she said, without looking up from the bubbling crucible on her worktable. If the customer were a mage of any skill, he'd understand. If not, well, she wouldn't regret losing his business.

The stranger remained silent, though he did move closer. She could feel his eyes on her work. When the liquid inside the metal cylinder turned from runny green into a thick, syrupy gel, she reached for her tongs, dousing the fire with her will. She was surprised when the stranger's gloved hands grabbed the funnel and the number four vial she'd set aside and held them in place for her.

"Many thanks," she said, pouring the fresh brew carefully. She didn't remove the crucible until the last slow drop had oozed into the small bottle. When she did, the stranger stoppered the vial with the cork she'd made ready and, without being instructed, placed it in the small wooden rack to cool. "You know your potions," she said, looking at her visitor for the first time.

He was a tall man, dressed in a black mage's hat and a leather coat cut in the style of a battle mage - a style she hadn't seen since the troubles in Cornelia - but he was no battle mage, if she was any judge. He carried no sword, for a start, and he was too young. From what her aether sight told her, he was younger than her grandson. Older than her granddaughter, perhaps, but not by much. Twenty or so. It was hard to be sure of the young man's age, though, for he kept his face covered by a yellow scarf. Only his eyes showed, blue and expressionless.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice soft. It was unusual to see another black mage in Pravoka, at least one who dressed the part. She never dressed so herself; with her limited abilities in white magic - enough to brew up a good healing potion - and her shop being so near the cathedral, most folks assumed she was a weak white mage. She never corrected them, nor did the white mages, determined as they were not to cause harm even indirectly. It could be dangerous to be a black mage these days; even the rumor of it could kill her.

But there was no need to pretend with this man. He could surely see her for what she was. She didn't recall seeing him in the shop before, but then she often did business with travelers just passing through. Not as often in recent years. "Would you be needing any potion supplies yourself, then?" she asked.

The stranger shook his head. "The innkeeper told me that you deal in mage tools as well as spell components. I've a focus in need of repair."

Young as he was, Maria thought him far too old to be relying on a focus for his casting, but it wasn't her place to tell a fellow mage how to practice his craft. Instead, she said, "Oh, aye, I've seen my share. Let's see it, then."

The stranger shrugged a strap from his shoulder, removing a long, cloth-wrapped bundle from his back. This he placed in a clear section of the countertop and carefully unwrapped. "By all the gods," she said when she saw the mangled weapon. It was a staff, or had been before it was broken, but even the pieces were impressive: she could sense the traces of the focus spells that had been bound into the wood, layered one on top of another like braided ropes. The two unequal halves were almost perfectly straight, and together would have been nearly as tall as the mage in front of her. A subtle carving ran down the length of the shaft, a flame incantation in Leifenish. "Cedarwood," she said. "You're a fire mage, then?"

The stranger nodded.

That explained the need for a focus. Fire magic was nothing to fool around with. It took years of practice to learn the control necessary to light even a small fire without it getting out of hand, a nearly impossible feat under pressure. One slip of concentration could have catastrophic results for the caster. But no fire mage had caused the damage she saw here. "What exactly happened?"

"One of my companions broke it over a pirate's head in the fighting last night."

She looked closer at the two damaged ends of the weapon, but she knew it was a lost cause. "Like to say it was otherwise, but there's nothing left to repair. Whatever spells you had imbued in here, they're gone. I'm sorry. It was a fine artifact, I can tell even now."

The stranger seemed surprised, his eyebrows rising nearly to his hat. "Gone? But that's not possible! A mere physical impact shouldn't have had any effect on an arcane artifact of this quality. It was made by a Crescent sage!"

Even as he argued, his voice remained quiet and controlled. He's a fire mage, alright, she thought. "I can see that, young man. None but them could have crafted something so fine. But it was no mere physical blow as did this to it." She held the broken end of the shorter stub out to him. "Look here. See how it's gone all to splinters on this side? It can't have done that just from hitting things. It was shattered from inside out. That's black magic. I'd say your friend drew the imbued spells out by mistake."

The stranger took the piece she offered and stared at it in silence.

She went on, "Wouldn't take as much power as you imagine, just someone who didn't know how to use it. I see it often with first artifacts."

The stranger shook his head, eyes wide in apparent disbelief as he stared at the one-time focus object.

"It's not as bad as all that. If you've taken the Oath, you can take on an apprentice, and your friend must be powerful to break an artifact of this caliber. He'll likely be easy to train, and quite formidable when you're done with him."

"She's a girl," said the stranger.

"All the same," she said. "I may have an Adept's Grimoire around here I could sell you, if you like."

"No, thank you," he said, placing the broken piece of his staff beside the other and wrapping the cloth around them once more. "But would you perhaps have another staff I could buy?"

"Not as would serve for fire magic."

He dipped his head in thanks, gathering the bundle that contained his broken staff. He fished in his pocket, retrieving a fat silver coin, a Melmond guilder, and passed it to her. "For your time," he said, turning to leave.

That may be the most polite customer I've ever had, Maria thought. She couldn't send him away empty-handed. "Wait," she said. The stranger turned back to her. "I don't have a staff, but I do have a dagger with the proper spells in place." She went to a cupboard against the back wall, pushing aside jars and boxes until she found the little weapon.

The stranger looked it over, then nodded. "What would you like for it?"

It wasn't worth the guilder he'd already given her. "Take it," she said. "It's useless to anyone but a fire mage. It's been in that cupboard for years."

"Thank you," the stranger said, slipping the knife into his coat.

The bell above the door jingled as he left, and Maria was alone again.

On the second day, it rained. It was pouring when Father Joseph returned from a healing on Dock Side, yet the red-headed warrior was back, leaning against the cathedral wall beside the freshly repaired door, trying to stay under the narrow eaves as much as possible. He was one of the Cornelian travelers who had saved the city, but it was his companion that intrigued Joseph the most. "I take it she's back?" he asked the young man.

The warrior, who'd said his name was Kane, sighed. "How'd you guess?" He'd come without his armor today, likely due to the wet weather, but he still wore his sword belted over his plain, white shirt, tucked protectively under a brown cloak that was a bit small for him.

Joseph admired his dedication. The boy was assiduous about guarding the young white mage in his care, even though the council was sure all of the pirate invaders were either dead or in custody. The stolen apprentices had been recovered from the pirate ship without ever waking up from their bespelled sleep, unharmed and completely untraumatized. "You needn't wait around, you know. After all you and your friends did for them, I'm sure the Pravokan guards would be happy to arrange a suitable escort for her."

The Cornelian grimaced. "I'd rather keep an eye on her myself."

"At least come inside," Joseph said, gesturing toward the door.

"She…" He exhaled, looking annoyed. "I'd rather not." He ran a hand through his coppery hair, scattering rain drops, the very picture of a young man who worried too much. "Would you talk to her, Father? She's been at it for hours! I don't think she's even eaten since it happened!"

"White mages often fast to atone for their sins, young man."

"What sin? The pirate's fine! He even apologized after he was healed, if you can believe it. He was sorry that she hit him!"

Joseph had heard as much. He'd also heard from one of the girl's other companions, this boy's father, that the girl was still an apprentice, a rather sheltered one at that. They did things differently in Cornelia's White Hall, and he wasn't sure he approved.

"My son, I'm sure you know it's customary to leave white mages alone for quiet introspection as they pray." The boy opened his mouth to say something else, but Father Joseph spread his hands before him to ward off the argument. "But I will talk to her."

Kane smiled, and he truly did appear relieved. "Thank you, Father."

The cathedral was nearly empty at this time of day, save for the young woman kneeling before the altar and an apprentice sweeping the floor by the front window. He suspected the apprentice, one of three girls in training there, had a good view of the young Cornelian outside - Joseph had heard the girls discussing how handsome the boy was, though the fact that he'd saved them all from pirate abduction may have contributed to their admiration somewhat.

He had a quiet word with the apprentice, sending her away, before he turned his full attention on the older girl. "Well, child," he said. He didn't kneel - he hadn't been able to kneel comfortably on that floor in many years - but he felt the gods would forgive him if he instead sat upon the altar beside where she knelt. "I didn't expect to see you again this soon. You were here so long yesterday."

The girl made a stern face, but her voice was as small as she was. "Father, you shouldn't sit on the altar like that. It's disrespectful."

He chuckled. So very young, he thought. "Ramuh himself sat upon the altar in the Temple of Winds, when he preached to the Leifenish. Perhaps his knees were bad too?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked at him slantwise from her place on the floor. "Did Kane send you after me?"

"He worries about you."

She made a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. "He doesn't. He just feels guilty that he wasn't around to save me when I needed him."

He blinked at the cynicism of that. Perhaps not so sheltered after all, he thought. "What of your own guilt, child? Tell me, is it still the pirate you're praying for or have you something else to confess today? I would hope it's the latter, at your age. You're really quite too young to be so pious."

She went back to her prayers, seeming intent on ignoring him. He bided his time, leaning back on the altar, swinging his legs slightly. There was a trace of the North Sea in the girl's accent, so he began whistling "The Will of Leviathan".

The right hymn at the right moment: in all his years, it was the one trick that had never failed him. He must have guessed her religion correctly for he hadn't even made it to the chorus when she spoke. "Oh, Father, I'm heartsick over it! I broke the Oath!" She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her hooded robe.

He patted the girl's shoulder soothingly. The white mages' Oath was a short one, its four sentences colloquially referred to as the Proclamation, the Injunctions, the Intentions, and the Vow. Of these, the Injunctions were considered by some to be the most sacred: I shall end no life, harm no living thing, and live no lie. "You are referring to the second Injunction?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Well, child, were you thinking of harming that man at the time?"

She shook her head, her voice growing reedy and breathless. "I only wanted to get away."

He nodded, considering his next words. "And are you not also a living thing? Should you allow yourself to come to harm if you can prevent it?"

"I don't know that he would have harmed me," she said, wiping at her tears again.

"You lie to yourself, child," he said. "Don't violate the third Injunction alongside the second. I think you understood his intentions in the moment when he confronted you. It profits nothing to second-guess yourself when the moment has passed. Had you not stopped him, he may have hurt someone else. I think you know that. The Injunction to 'harm no living thing' is as much a call to save others from harm as to live nonviolently."

"But that man could have died and it would have been my fault!"

"Sweet child, even if that man had died, it would have been the right thing to do. As a white mage, if you risk yourself, you also risk every life you could have saved if you had lived, and that would surely violate the first Injunction. Your own life is more valuable than any pirate's. "

"Father!" the girl said, eyes wide. "That's blasphemy!"

So very young, he thought again. So very sheltered. "Perhaps it is blasphemy here in the cathedral, but, my child, you are not staying in the cathedral. Outside these walls, we must be more practical in our piety."

He stood then and began to walk away, but he stopped at the stairs to the vestry when she called, "Father?"

He looked back, waiting.

"If what you say is true…" She stopped, licking her lips before she went on. "It isn't possible to keep the Oath…"

Your instructors should have taught you that, he thought, before you had to learn it so violently. "Each of us keeps the Oath in our own way. You must find yours for yourself." He turned back toward the stairs, saying over his shoulder, "I will pray for you, child." She made no reply.

When he emerged later, the girl was gone.

On the third day after the attack, Leila stood at her office window, looking down at the street below. A few of the stone walls bore scorch marks that the rain hadn't taken off - those would need a good scrub - but otherwise, things were more or less back as they should be.

"Gentlemen," she said, turning back to the two men. "It's an interesting story, but if you expect me to believe that young Thadius here is any kind of prophesied warrior, I'm afraid you'll have to try harder."

"But Mayor Gordon-" Thadius whined from his chair in the corner.

She glared toward him, cutting him off. "Boy, what did I tell you?"

"I could stay if I was quiet," he mumbled.

"And were you being quiet?" she snapped.

"No."

"Eh?"

"No, ma'am." He gave her the eyes, that kicked-puppy expression that had always worked on her friend Amelia, his grandmother, but never on her. She stared at him a little longer, until his shoulders sagged, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and all traces of feigned innocence were replaced by sullen brooding.

"As I was saying," she said, turning back to catch the white-haired Cornelian, Redden, grinning at Thadius's discomfort before he schooled his expression again. "The only thing magical about this one is his ability to find trouble."

The other one, the northerner, sat straight-backed in his chair, hands folded across his lap like a regal lord, but she remembered the way the fighting had gone, the way some of her pirate attackers had been beaten down by an invisible, bare-handed foe. She wouldn't underestimate this one. "I assure you, honored mayor," he said, with only the slightest accent to his soft voice. "The boy has not lost any of his skill in that regard. However, our story is the truth. You may call on our white mage to testify to its veracity."

Leila shook her head. "While normally I would take a white mage at her word, I'm led to understand yours nearly bashed some poor man's head in. How can I know she'd speak the truth?"

"Lena doesn't lie!" Thadius said angrily. Leila glared at him again but he didn't back down. "She doesn't!"

Redden waved him to silence. "Whether or not you believe us is irrelevant. Our request still stands."

She sat at the desk across from them, bracing her elbows on it as she steepled her fingers. "Grateful as I am for your aid against the pirates, and willing as I am to give you whatever supplies you need, I'm afraid what you're asking is out of the question. No ships have sailed from here in weeks - months, even. Ships that go out on those seas don't come back. There's no price I could offer the Captain's Council that would book you passage out of here."

Redden shook his head. "It's not passage we want. We want the Prince."

She bit back a laugh. "A sloop of that size can't be crewed with less than ten. You're a party of six."

"How many pirates ended up in your custody when all was said and done?" the Cornelian asked. "I heard fifty?"

"Forty-eight." She grimaced just thinking of the logistics of it.

"And how long would it take you to grant each of them the fair hearing they're due under Pravokan law?"

"Get to the point, man."

"If you give us the pirates' ship, we'll choose our crew from among your prisoners. It will save you the trouble of dealing with them."

Leila leaned forward, regarding the two men critically. "You're joking? What makes you think a crew of pirates would ever serve a pair of landsmen like yourselves?"

"Because," said Redden, "we have what they want. Thadius?"

In the corner, the boy grinned like an old ship's cat. He pulled a long silver chain out from beneath his shirt and over his head, holding it out to her. A green gleam flashed in the light from the window. Syldra's Tear.

Gus didn't know how long he'd been down there, in the cold, wet cells under the western sector. The Pravokan guards had brought him food four times now. A few days perhaps? There were no windows and there was no bed. Only a thin sliver of torch light under the cell door kept him from total darkness. He'd slept poorly on the damp stone floor, though he imagined he would have slept poorly even in a well-appointed inn.

He'd really done it this time. If his own conscience hadn't made that quite clear, the guards would have. The port city was full of sailors who might have been pirates at one time or other in their lives - they took the Pirate's Code seriously. Attacking a city, abducting white mages: no pirate alive would have batted an eye if the Pravokans sentenced the lot of them to a lifetime in those dark cells.

I'm going to die here, he realized. It shouldn't have stung as much as it did. Here or not, it would have been death either way: the sea was too treacherous to keep sailing.

He heard people outside the door, heard the key turn in the lock, and suddenly the orange torchlight of the hall flooded the room. A man stood outlined in the doorway, his red cloak brilliantly lit by the lantern he carried. Gus squinted against the brightness.

"Stand up," said the man, "and back against the wall, please."

Gus did as the man said. A second, older man stepped into the room, a monk of some sort, in a loose, wide-sleeved tunic that tied in the front. The monk approached him cautiously, directing him to a set of manacles set into the cell's back wall.

When Gus's wrists were secured, the man at the door came into the cell, setting the lantern in the floor off to one side. With the light behind them, Gus couldn't make out the faces of the red-cloaked man or the monk.

The man in the red cloak spoke, his voice loud in the tiny chamber. "Are you a religious man?"

It seemed an unusual thing to ask. "What?"

"That's Leviathan's mark on the pendant you're wearing. I asked if you were a religious man."

Gus licked his lips, pondering his answer. His throat felt very dry all of a sudden. "You see things out on the ocean sometimes. Things you can't explain. I suppose I'm religious enough."

The man before him nodded. "I only ask because more than a few of the white mages in Pravoka worship Leviathan, including the one who came here with us. I'm wondering how the sea god would feel about violence committed against the holiest of his children."

Gus felt his heart beating faster at the coldness in the man's voice. "We weren't going to hurt them," he said. "I swear it. There's a man in Melmond as will pay good money for anyone who brings white mages into town. We needed the pay!"

"So you were going to kidnap them?"

"Only to get 'em aboard ship. They'd have come along willingly enough after that."

"You think so? In my experience, white mages can be awfully stubborn about associating with unsavory types."

Gus shook his head. "There's plague in Melmond, deadly plague. Leiden's keeping it quiet because he doesn't want to look weak in front of Cornelia, but they've no white mages to speak of. How many white mages do you know who wouldn't give in after a story like that?"

The two men didn't seem surprised by his statement. He wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know. How many of his shipmates had they questioned already before visiting his cell? The monk remained silent, but the cloaked man said, "Did you ever consider asking them?" He turned to the door then and called, "Kane!"

A younger man came in, dressed in the red uniform of a Cornelian guard, followed by a girl in a white hood. She walked right up to him, stepping so close that even in the shadows he could make out the shy smile on her face. Her posture said she wasn't afraid of him, though he had no doubt the young Cornelian who leaned casually against the wall near the door, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt, would have killed him in an eye blink if Gus so much as leered at her.

"Oh, it's you!" she said, sounding surprised. "You tried to hit me." Her tone was light, with no hint of accusation, just stating a fact as if she were commenting on the color of his shirt or the state of the weather.

Gus recognized her then and felt his heart drop down into his boots. This was the girl from the bridge! Both she and the guard had been with that black mage he'd fought, the one who'd beaten him. The Cornelian guard stiffened, fingers flexing, but he didn't draw his sword.

He tried to speak, to defend himself, but his tongue seemed too large for his mouth. "I, that is to say, miss…"

"How's your hand?" she asked.

"It's fine, miss," he said, his voice croaking.

"Are you sure? I could heal it for you."

He shook his head. "That won't be necessary."

She reached up, placing her hands on either side of his face.

"No, miss, you really needn't bother," he said, shrinking back as far as the wall would allow, but she only looked into his eyes. The darkness of the cell seemed to retreat for a moment and he was able to see her eyes clearly, green as a new spring leaf, and she smiled broadly up at him like an old friend, but then she stepped away and the room seemed darker than it had before.

"This one," she said to the cloaked man.

The man nodded, gesturing to the young guard, who escorted the girl out again.

Gus flexed his hand, found it still pained him. She hadn't healed it after all. When he was alone with the cloaked man and the monk once more, Gus asked, "What did she do to me?"

"She forgave you," said the cloaked man, turning to retrieve the lantern. Now that his eyes were adjusting, Gus could see that the man was only a little older than himself, though his hair was stark white. The man stepped closer, saying, "The council of Pravoka has given me your ship, me and my friends. But I need a crew. Our white mage believes you could do well for us, but I would need some assurances from you."

"Only assurance I can give you is that you'll die out there. Those seas aren't safe."

"Would you rather die in here? I'm told there's a whole network of cells beneath this city. Tunnels even lower and deeper than these. That would be under the canal, you understand. I'm led to believe it gets quite damp that far down. Some of your crewmates are destined for those cells, I'm afraid."

"Some of them deserve it," Gus said.

"And yourself?"

"As much as any man." Gus hung his head. "There's nothing you can say that will get me back on a ship again."

"Nothing?" The man smirked, stepping closer. "That's a shame. Josiah Shipman's grandson sails with us. Seems he's inherited his grandfather's luck. You have heard of it, haven't you? We expect fair winds all the way. But if you'd rather stay down here..."

He waited, but the man said no more. Finally, Gus asked, "What would you want from me?"

"Your oath: that you'll change your ways and serve us well. You'll be sailing with that little white mage out there. We can't have you disappointing her."

Fair winds and a chance to sail again. Would he rather die on the open sea or in this dank cell?

"What's your answer, pirate?"

"I'll serve you. I swear to Leviathan," Gus said.

The cloaked man leaned in close, the light of the lantern reflecting in his eyes. "Don't swear to the sea god," he said. "Swear to me. And make me believe it."

The morning of the fifth day, it rained again. Ursula woke before sunrise, hearing the water beat against the inn's slate-tiled roof. Well, it would be a slow morning, then. Some of the townsfolk regularly took their meals at her inn, but on a day like this, folks tended to spend the morning indoors, hoping the weather would clear later. It might mean a larger crowd for the evening meal - either the rain would quit by then or folks would be stir crazy from staying home all day - but at least for breakfast she only needed to worry about her six guests.

The common room was chilly when she got there, so after she turned up the lamps, she set about starting a fire in the big hearth. Normally, Belinda would do it, but the serving girl tended to wake a little later than Ursula did, and she knew that one of her guests was an early riser. A decent fire was the least she could do for him.

She felt bad for the young black mage. Her understanding was that he and the Cornelian guard with him had saved half the city during that pirate attack, albeit the poorer half, where the less reputable shops were. But while the guard had been sought out by various shopkeepers and city officials for tokens of thanks, Jack had been largely ignored. People just weren't ready to accept a black mage as a hero.

Given the stories, she herself had been nervous about having a black mage under her roof, but she'd found the blue-eyed young man to be quiet and well-mannered. He'd asked her for advice about shops, like any normal traveler, and had offered to help in the kitchen as though he were a lodger rather than a paying guest. Even when she overheard the other fellow, Kane, yelling at him for some mistake, he had only bowed his head apologetically.

"You should have told me sooner!" the guard had said. "If I'd known, I could have planned for it."

"I didn't want you to think I was useless," Jack said, so vulnerable that it had tugged at Ursula's heart.

"Bahamut's beard, Jack," Kane snapped, defeated by that sad tone. "You've hardly proven useless! Oath be damned, you've held your own so far."

That had been on their first day here. As far as Ursula could tell, the young black mage had avoided his companions ever since, all save the younger boy who seemed to be a pupil of his. He kept to himself, taking all his meals in his room and scarcely venturing out. In her opinion, it wasn't healthy.

She'd no more than stacked the logs when he came shuffling down the stairs as he had at about this time every morning, fully clothed in coat, scarf, and gloves, but still half asleep, rubbing his eyes. "Good morning, master Jack," she said to him.

"Ma'am," he said, flopping loosely into a chair at the table nearest the hearth. His short hair stood up on his head like a black dandelion. He bit off a yawn behind his scarf to ask her, "Do you need any help starting breakfast?"

"Not at all," she said. It occurred to her that perhaps he was simply hungry and wanted her to get on with things. "Though I suppose you could start this fire for me so I could get back to the kitchen?"

He nodded, holding his hands out for the flint and steel, helping her to her feet as he took them. He slid from the chair to the floor, fumbling the steel slightly as he used it. She noticed that one of hands didn't seem to work as well as the other, but the kindling caught almost from the first spark he struck.

"That was quick. Bit of magic there?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," he said, moving sticks about to spread the little flame. "Not at this time of morning. I'm good with fire, that's all."

"Well, you make yourself comfortable. I'll bring a tray out for you when it's ready." She headed toward the kitchen, leaving the door open so she would hear if he needed anything.

She gathered ingredients for one of her quick breads, and heard him speak while she was cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. "A bit early to be running errands, isn't it?" She didn't think he was speaking to her.

She peeked out into the common room, and saw there the white mage girl standing wide-eyed by the front door. "Jack!" the girl said, holding a hand over her heart in apparent alarm. She was without her white hood this morning, dressed in a long, black tunic that came not quite to her knees. Beneath it, her legs were bare but for the sandals on her feet.

Jack cleared his throat, very obviously averting his eyes from those pale, smooth legs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you, my lady." He stood before the fireplace now; the girl wouldn't have been able to see him in the floor where he'd been kneeling.

Ursula ducked back into the kitchen, listening as she prepared breakfast. Eavesdropping was an innkeeper's privilege, she always said, but that didn't mean she had to stare at them while she did it.

"I was afraid you were Kane," said the girl. Her tone suggested the young guardsman was the last person in the world she desired to see. The way the handsome soldier had arrived carrying the poor girl on the night of the attack, Ursula had at first believed the two must be lovers. He had certainly guarded her with enough dedication in the days that followed. But then the two had gone to bickering so thoroughly that Ursula had decided they must be siblings instead.

"You'll only upset him if you go off on your own," Jack said.

"He doesn't need to watch me every hour of the day!" said the girl, sounding exasperated. "It's not going to happen again!"

The black mage sounded sad, serious. "It happened once. Wasn't that enough?"

She didn't answer.

"Where were you going?" Jack asked.

"Just… out," she said.

"In this weather?"

"I thought maybe the rain would help."

Jack spoke haltingly, as if searching for the right words. "I know you're upset… about what happened. But… My lady, it's not as if you used magic to hurt that man. If you were a black mage-"

"I'm not," she said, cutting him off.

"But have you considered trying-"

She interrupted him again, speaking more firmly than Ursula thought the situation warranted. "I am a white mage. It's all I've ever been. I will never be anything but a white mage."

"I understand," he said.

There was a long silence then. Ursula craned her neck around to look through the open doorway, but the two mages were still there. She went back to her mixing bowl, waiting. Finally, the girl spoke, her voice as small as a kitten's mew. "Are you angry at me?"

"No!" Jack said quickly, more emotion in that one syllable than Ursula had heard in his voice all that week.

"But you are angry."

"Not-" he started, but she spoke right over him.

"And you've been avoiding me."

"Lena, no. It's…" He sighed. "I'm angry at myself. If I hadn't been so stubborn about my own oath, you would never have had to break yours. I'm so sorry I left you alone."

The girl ran to him then - Ursula heard her tiny feet rushing across the common room floor and turned in time to see the girl throw her arms around the black mage. Jack stood thunderstruck for what seemed a full minute before he wrapped his arms around her in return.

At a noise on the stairs, the two of them sprang apart, Lena blushing furiously, but it was only Belinda making her way toward the kitchen, passing the two mages as though she didn't see them. She may not have, judging by how sleepy she sounded when she said, "Good morning, ma'am," grabbing her own apron off the hook beside the kitchen door.

"Shh," Ursula said, peeking into the common room once more, but the moment had passed.

Jack said, "At least let me accompany you outside, my lady. Kane can hardly object if you take someone with you, and it might help me back into his good graces if that someone is me."

"Jack, it's pouring out there!"

"I hear rumors of a rain-repelling charm currently under development." He offered her his arm, and she beamed as she took it. As he led her to the door, he said, "You know, I really do understand. My mother wanted me to be a white mage." The girl laughed as they stepped out into the rain and the inn door closed behind them.

"Shall I start the bacon, ma'am?" Belinda asked.

Ursula nodded. He'll be alright, she thought, returning to her own task.

Author's Note: I've mentioned before that Final Fantasy was something my late brother and I played together when we were kids. There's a reason for that: without me, he was hopeless at RPGs.
I don't remember which RPG was our first – there were a few utterly forgettable titles before Final Fantasy came out – but we took turns playing it. He'd been outside, skateboarding or some such, and when he came back I was halfway through a dungeon. "What is that? Where are you?" he asked.
"Some cave in that forest by the town," I said.
"What cave? I didn't see any cave! How did you know there was a cave?"
"Are you serious?" I asked. "That was all anybody in the town would talk about!"
The look on his face, I'll never forget it. Reader, I had blown his mind. "You mean the people can talk?!"
He was a brilliant tactician, my brother, a strategist, could kick my ass at any competitive game, and watching him play action games was a thing of beauty, but he never – never! – learned to talk to the townspeople. He just wanted to go tearing off through the countryside killing imps all day.