Crescent Lake, Five Years Ago

Lukahn wept, and when he couldn't weep anymore, he dried his eyes and saw to the arrangements. The boy tried to tell him she should be buried beneath the brittlewood tree behind the house, but Lukahn would hear none of it. She was his daughter; he knew better than anyone how she should leave this world. The white mages had dressed her in her hooded robe, but they had included her favorite scarf, the red one, at Lukahn's insistence - on this, at least, he and the boy agreed.

One by one, the villagers walked past the platform where she was laid out, paying their last respects. It was not in the nature of white mages to seek praise, but by all the gods, she deserved it. Not a soul among them hadn't been touched by her healing. She'd healed more these past few years than any two white mages in the village, perhaps more than any three. How did no one notice that she needed healing more than any of them?

Some of the villagers left gifts on the platform around her, flowers - she had always loved bright colors - and letters to burn away with her when the pyre was lit. Many approached Lukahn as they passed, murmuring words of comfort and condolence, though most looked askance at the boy, who stood silently beside him.

The boy she cared for was a young man now, springing up like a weed. He'd be a tall one when he was done growing, if he ever stopped. Ben, she had called him, though Lukahn hated to think of the boy by that name. "Promise me you won't turn him out." Those had been her last words. She lay there dying, and even then she put someone else's needs above her own. We only ever argued about him, Lukahn thought. His son had been rebellious and willful, but Iris never had. Dutiful, respectful, in every regard except this one: she would have faced the knights of Bahamut for that boy. If I could take back every cross word I ever said to her… But it was too late. How pointless it all seems now.

When the last solemn mourner had filed past the wooden platform, the boy stepped toward the unlit pyre. He wore one of her scarves wrapped around his damaged face, a yellow one that Lukahn knew she had given him before she died, after the white mages had told her there was nothing more they could do. The boy pulled the scarf down long enough to bend over her and kiss her cheek, then said something in her ear, but Lukahn was too far away and the boy spoke too quietly. From his pocket, the boy produced a letter that he placed under her folded hands, and Lukahn didn't have to see it up close to know it was Cedric's letter, the one Iris kept and read over and over until the paper was thin and soft as a flower petal. She had never let Lukahn read it; he wondered if the boy had done so.

Their fault, he thought. They'd killed his son, these dark mages, and the love of them had killed his daughter. It was only after they received word of Cedric's death in Cornelia that she'd grown so thin and thrown herself into her work. I should have seen it sooner, Lukahn thought. As many healings as she did, I should have known she was drawing the aether. There was a reason those rare white mages with the talent were discouraged from using it: it could only ever end one way. I should have stopped her before it poisoned her. Why didn't I see it?

He felt tears welling in his eyes again, blurring his vision when the boy came to stand beside him once more. Lukahn nodded toward Randell, the fire mage, who made a sign with one hand in front of him. The kindling at the pyre's base ignited slowly and gently under Randell's focused control until the flames engulfed it completely. The heat became intense, hot enough that Lukahn took a step away, but to his surprise, the boy remained where he was. Lukahn knew the boy was afraid of fire; he hadn't expected him to stay and watch the pyre burn.

Lukahn reached out then, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come away, boy. It's over."

The boy glanced at him, the yellow scarf hanging loose around his face, and his eyes were dry, as though he felt nothing. He spoke quietly, so quietly that it was hard to make out his words over the roar of the flames. "What will happen to me?"

Lukahn sighed. The boy surely knew Lukahn never cared for him. Lukahn wasn't sure he could - he knew what the boy was - but Iris had made him promise. "You needn't worry about yourself, Ben," he said, though calling the boy by his dead son's name galled him. "My home remains open to you."

The boy shook his head, looking toward the fire once more. "Jack," he said. "My name is Jack."

West of the groves, Present Day

Jack stumbled, distracted, unprepared to find solid ground between one step and the next, so focused was he on keeping his stomach from rioting. They were past the groves now in a scrubbier forest curving away to the north, well into the afternoon of their second day of crossing the Rot. They had seen areas where the trees were all dying or dead; many had fallen over, their roots reaching skyward almost pleadingly as the soft and soggy ground could no longer hold them. The trees that surrounded them now, though, were still standing.

Jack bent over, letting his head hang down as he braced his hands on his thighs, wanting to take great heaving breaths but unable to force his lungs to do more than pant shallowly. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, felt a Cure settling into him, and was able to take one full breath before the smell made him moan. Lord Redden walked away without waiting for any thanks. Not that Jack would have given him any; he hadn't spoken to the bard since that night by the campfire, had barely spoken to any of them.

He hadn't seen the Rot when he passed through Melmond, only heard rumors of the way it ravaged the countryside. Those rumors left out one important detail: the Rot was no blight, no disease. It was a corruption of the aether, and as a mage, Jack felt it worse than the others: a horrible smell, a ringing in his ears. He suspected it wouldn't have been so bad if the effects of the ritual had held. The thing he'd done that made it easier to ignore the aether had worn off slowly in the days that followed. By now, it was gone, and the Rot-infested aether pressed in on him from all sides. He missed his staff. The little knife was not as powerful as a focus object, but he'd taken to wearing it in his belt, walking with his hand on the hilt in an effort to tame the aether as much as possible.

Refial and Redden were also affected, though not as badly; Refial complained of the smell often and loudly, while Redden walked with his jaw clenched, mouth pressed into a thin line. Kane and Orin, however, suffered nothing worse than being coated in mud up to their knees. "Almost there," Jack heard Redden say to one of the others. "I think that might be it over that rise."

Through a break in the trees, Jack noticed an angle atop a hill on the northern horizon that might have been the peak of a roof. Almost there, he repeated to himself as he drove one foot in front of the other, almost there. It was easier with each step; though the smell still plagued him, and the aether still felt wrong, the ground here was healthy.

He felt almost normal by the time they crested the rise and saw there the place Gollor had described for them, but then Lord Redden grabbed his arm and cast another Cure. Jack looked at him questioningly, too surprised by how good he felt to complain. He was brought up short by the kindness in Redden's eyes - Jack had been so angry at the bard, it hadn't occurred to him that Redden was not angry at him as well. "What…" he started to say.

"You're a Warrior of Light. I need you at your best for this," said Redden, giving his arm a squeeze before he let go.

Jack took a deep breath for the first time in two days. "Yes, sir."

The castle the elves called the Western Keep had been a Leifenish embassy once, in the days when Leifen's airships filled the sky and Elfheim was only a short journey away by air, but now it had been unused for centuries because of its distance from the elvish capital. Like many Leifenish ruins, it had aged well: the wards and protective spells that kept it standing were obviously still in effect, except where one corner of the castle's foundation was lost to the Rot on the western side, the walls in that area crumbling.

As they approached the huge front door, it opened before them, revealing a human man in black mage robes who bowed deeply. He was perhaps in his thirties, with a shaved head, but with a growth of stubble on both his head and his face that said he was overdue for his next shave. He smiled warmly at all of them. "My lords. You're just in time. We hoped you would arrive before dinner."

"You were expecting us?" Kane asked.

"Yes, of course. We read your arrival in the aether. Come, Lord Astos is anxious to meet you."

The man introduced himself as Grifford and led them down long hallways, talking all the while, pointing out the castle's decor as they passed. Jack was too worn out from the journey to take it all in, but it was impressive: art, tapestries, and magical artifacts were lovingly displayed on pedestals alongside items significant to elvish history, crowns and swords and suits of armor. Jack saw what he thought might have been a Leifenish seeing stone, a rare bit of spellwork that allowed a black mage to read the aether over a great distance. The making of seeing stones was lost when Leifen fell, but Grifford passed it by without comment as if it weren't worth noticing, just another piece of the extensive collection.

They came to a throne room laid out more like a library than a royal court, with plush carpets piled high on the floors, and more antiques scattered between and among shelves laden with books. A table under a huge window in one corner held the tools for potion making: jars, herb scissors, and stubby candles beside a short wooden rack with vials of various sizes. Across the room under a similar window, another table held papers, quills, and ink jars, a fat book lying open in front of the only chair. It was in that chair rather than the throne centered along the back wall that a well-dressed elf sat waiting for them. He stood, smiling, when Jack and his companions came in, then strode forth to greet them, shaking hands with each of them in turn.

"Welcome, my lords! Astos Lorien, at your service," he said. He was a full hand taller than Jack, the points of his ears only just visible through a mane of shaggy blond hair. He smiled broader as he shook Jack's hand, looking him over. "What an uncommon pleasure it is to host a battle mage in my humble home! I haven't seen one of your kind in a long count of years!"

Jack looked down at his mud-spattered leather coat, resisting the urge to check the lay of his collar. He noticed Kane looking sideways at him, confusion writ plain on his face. He doesn't know the coat's significance, Jack realized. There are no battle mages left. "I'm no battle mage," he said. "The attire is… something of an inheritance."

Astos bowed slightly, seeming disappointed. "My mistake!" When he stood straight again, his excitement at their arrival seemed no less than it had before. "What brings you all this way, gentlemen?" he asked, but he laughed before they could answer. "And forgive me, but who are you? We read your coming in the aether, of course, but the aether is notoriously selfish with the details."

"Forgive the intrusion," said Redden. "I'm Redden Carmine, third council lord of Cornelia." He motioned to each of them as he made introductions. "This is Orin Tantal, also a third council lord; Refial Fortem, of Gaia; my son, Kane Carmine, a soldier of the Cornelian guard; and this is Jack Ashward of Crescent Lake."

Astos and Grifford laughed. Astos cocked his head at Jack, smile still mirthful. "Surely that's not your real name?"

It was one of those times Jack was glad of the scarf that covered his face, for suddenly he knew everything he needed to know about these mages. He didn't need Lena here to tell him; he'd met plenty like them back home. He tried to speak casually, but even to his ears it sounded forced. "If I have another, I don't know it."

Astos shrugged. "It's no matter, I'm sure. That still leaves the question of why you're here."

"I have a sealed letter from an elf named Cotto," said Jack, retrieving it from an inner pocket of his coat.

"Cotto?" said Astos. An expression of surprise and worry flashed across his face, quickly replaced with that same smile. "I see. Cotto is a trusted friend. He wouldn't have sent you if it wasn't important." He took the letter, but didn't open it. "Gentlemen, you've had a long road. I've prepared rooms for you. Relax and rest for a while. We'll sound a chime when dinner is ready; we can talk then. Grifford?"

The black mage who had shown them in said, "This way, my lords," and led them out to the castle's maze-like hallways again.

Kane walked beside Jack. "Did I miss something?" the guardsman said when they were some distance from the cluttered throne room. "What's so unusual about your name?"

"It's nothing," Jack said.

"It isn't a name at all," Lord Redden said from behind them where he walked with Orin. "The first time I heard it, I assumed you were giving a fake name to the mage council in Cornelia, but then you never gave us another one. I never asked why." To Kane, he said, "An ashward is a spell component that gets burned up in the course of casting the spell."

"Jack!" Kane said, his face a mix of shock and disgust. "Why would you choose such a name for yourself?"

Jack sighed. "I didn't choose it. It's what the people of Crescent Lake call me. It seemed as good a name as any."

"It isn't!" Kane said, an edge of frustration raising the volume of his voice so that Grifford and Refial, walking ahead of them, turned back briefly to see what the fuss was about.

"Hush, boy," said Redden. Then, in a gentler tone, he said, "You could, you know. Choose one for yourself. You don't have to take what they've given you."

Jack kept his eyes forward, unable to look at either of them. The things they'd said the other night… He'd struggled with his anger for nearly two days. How was he supposed to respond to the concern they were showing him now?

"Here we are," Grifford said, sparing Jack from having to reply. They turned a corner into a hallway with a row of doors, five of them open onto what appeared to be simple guest quarters. "There are clean clothes for you... Only some spare mage robes, I'm afraid. It's all we have, but it will do long enough for us to clean what you're wearing. Just, uh, leave those anywhere," he said, making a face as he gestured toward their mud-encrusted garments. "Give me a moment to heat the baths for you and I'll leave you to your rest." Grifford made the sign of the staff, drawing the aether. Jack looked into the nearest rooms and noticed each had a huge copper tub, already full and beginning to steam from the spell.

When Grifford nodded in satisfaction, bowed, and left, Jack entered the first room, closing the door behind him before the others could say anything else.

Kane felt ridiculous. He was practically swimming in the black robes. How do mages wear these things? he thought, shaking his arms in the voluminous sleeves, contemplating the impossibility of drawing his sword. There was no mirror in the room, but he didn't need one to know that the sword belt around his middle did not improve his appearance. Oh, well, he thought when a chime sounded somewhere in the castle. At least he was clean. He sighed, casting one last glance at his muddy clothes and boots where he'd left them in the floor, then he stepped barefoot out into the hall.

Refial was already there, darting glances up and down the corridor as though he were worried about an attack. His eyes widened when he saw Kane, his face slowly taken over by a hearty grin. "You should see yourself!" he said.

"Me?" Kane said, unable to keep from laughing. "What about you?" Though his own robes were large, on Refial's thin frame they were monstrous, as if the pirate had wrapped himself in bed sheets. "You may need to reconsider this whole black mage thing."

Orin and Redden joined them next, both wearing similar robes. Kane tried to school his expression out of respect for his elders, but Refial laughed so joyfully that he wasn't able to hold it in. He hadn't often seen black mages back home and had always thought their outfits were strange. Seeing his father in one was like seeing the man perform a part in a play.

"Honestly, I don't think they look half bad," Redden said, though he grinned as he looked down at himself. Orin smiled so broadly that his wrinkled face scrunched up like a prune.

Their laughter trailed off when the last door opened and Jack emerged. He'd left his hat behind but was otherwise dressed in his usual clothes, all as clean and pressed as if he'd just bought them from the tailor's, along with the blue scarf Sarah had given him in Cornelia. In that coat, surrounded by his shoeless, be-robed companions, he looked to be the only one among them worth taking seriously. Dressed like a "battle mage," Kane thought. He didn't know what that was, but he realized for the first time that Jack could easily fight in what he was wearing.

Kane watched Jack's characteristic shyness set in when he noticed them all watching him. The mage looked at the floor. Kane looked about the hallway. "Where do you suppose our guide is?" he asked.

Jack sighed. "I think they're testing me."

"I think you're right," Kane's father said. "Lead the way, please."

Jack nodded, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again they were lit by the blue-green corona Kane had come to associate with reading the aether. Following our own aura trails back through the castle, Kane thought. Clever. He looked again at Jack's clothes and boots, obviously cleaned by magic, and wondered what else black magic could do that had never occurred to him.

They soon came to a corridor Kane was sure they hadn't been down before, but Jack strode on until the corridor ended in a large dining hall. Though there were multiple tables that could easily have seated twenty or more, their host awaited them at a small, round table crowded with eight chairs, two of them mismatched as though they'd been pulled from another room. On Astos's left sat Grifford, and on his right was another black mage with long brown hair but a short beard. The three men stood when their guests arrived. "I was beginning to wonder if I should send Grifford after you!" Astos said, smiling again. He came around the table to greet them, clapping Jack companionably on the shoulder, nodding as he looked over Jack's coat as though he approved. "The food's in the kitchen, just through that door. I'm afraid it's self-serve, but Hagen takes his cooking seriously so at least it's good."

It was good. Hagen, the bearded mage they had not met before, had wrapped several thin fish in bacon, roasted them, and served them over a bed of onions browned in bacon fat. The meal was greasy but flavorful, better than Kane would have expected from three scholars who - it turned out - lived on their own.

"Just the three of you?" Refial said, surprised.

"There were more of us before the Rot set in. Some can't handle its effects, even from the other side of the Keep," said Grifford.

"Yes, but… No servants? No staff?" Kane asked, surprised as well. He knew how many people it took to keep a castle clean and in good repair, to prepare rooms and baths and a meal for five guests at short notice. Refial, having grown up in a manor himself, must be having the same thoughts.

Astos barked a short laugh, waving a hand in the air dismissively. "What need have we of servants? There's nothing they can do that our magic can't handle." He raised his glass in Jack's direction. "Those without power scarcely realize how sufficient we can be on our own. Don't you agree?"

Kane glanced beside him where Jack, who had pulled his scarf down to eat, nodded once but didn't otherwise reply. He ate slowly, moving stiffly, as though trying to draw as little attention as possible. Astos and the other two mages had said nothing about his scars, but the way their eyes kept darting toward him and away again was obvious.

Astos continued, "Besides, servants and all they entail are too formal for my tastes. I have to say, since I fled the city, that is one thing I haven't missed. Lord of Elfheim or not, I am primarily a scholar, after all. I find this isolation suits me."

"You don't miss any of it?" Kane said, refilling his wine cup before passing the pitcher to his father. He couldn't imagine living so far from everything, the people, the shops. He thought back on all the times he'd stood on the castle ramparts looking down at it all, wondering about the lives of the people in the streets below.

Astos sipped his own wine, seeming to consider the question. "Well, I have had trouble acquiring the newest publications! But my library here is extensive, and I do still receive the occasional shipment from Cornelia." He motioned at Grifford and Hagen. "These two are from Cornelia. Refugees from the troubles there, needed a place to practice their craft away from the ban. There are very few opportunities for human mages in Elfheim. My contacts in the city have sent several to visit me over the years. Some have stayed for quite a long while." Astos set his fork down, pushing his plate back to fold his hands on the table in front of him. "Which brings us to you…"

The table grew completely silent as everyone seated there stilled.

"Cotto's letter says you're interested in Asura's crown. Surely you could have found a history book back in the city. May I ask why you felt the need to come all this way?" Astos said, his tone carefully neutral.

Redden looked toward Jack, nodding encouragement, but after one look at his face, Kane knew his friend wouldn't be able to speak in front of three new people at once. Jack stared at Redden, eyes pleading, but Astos spoke again. "Is this to do with the curse?"

"I thought no elf could speak of it outside the castle?" Redden said.

"Oh, the king has ordered us to silence, to be sure, but there is a geographical component to the Divine Right. We are more than adequately out of range at this distance from the city." Astos snapped his fingers and, with a sound like a candle being blown out, a book appeared in his hand. I guess they really do use magic for everything, Kane thought, but he saw Jack's eyes widen at the trick, a sign that it was perhaps not as easy as Astos made it look. "After the prince was cursed, when the king's grief began to make him… unpredictable, I became concerned. He wasn't himself. The king is my cousin: we grew up together, and I knew him well. If we could no longer trust the king's orders but were obligated still to follow them… Well, I began to wonder if anything like this had happened before in our people's history."

Astos flipped through the pages, searching. "You know the story? Before the goddess Asura died, she left two gifts behind for the elves. First, she bestowed a blessing on her oldest and wisest child, binding all of elf-kind to obey him as their king, so that her people might know peace forever. That blessing, the Divine Right, passes from king to king." Astos sighed, closing his eyes for a moment in a show of grief. "Unfortunately, if the king succumbs to madness, the blessing becomes more of a curse. That's where Asura's second gift comes in." He stopped on one of the pages, holding the open book up so that everyone at the table could see it. "Her crown."

Jack leaned forward, staring at the picture, carefully repositioning his scarf as he did so, pushing his nearly-full plate aside. Astos handed the book to Hagen, who passed it down the table. When it stopped in front of Jack, Kane moved in to see it better.

Astos went on, "Through my research, I discovered that the crown was never meant to be a mere symbol of office: it's steeped in protective spells to assure the royal family's health." Astos sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him as he sighed. "It could be what Aryon needs, but when I asked Eldarin what happened to the crown, he became incensed. I had to flee the city."

"But…" Jack said, his voice barely above a whisper. He pointed at the book. "This isn't the crown I saw in my vision."

Astos waved his hand. On the table, the pages of the book began to turn rapidly, as if blown by a wind, stopping on another picture, another crown of gold and gems but styled to look like woven branches. "This?"

Jack nodded.

"It's the same crown," Astos explained. "That's the design Eldarin chose. It's been remade many times over the centuries, but it's not the shape of it that matters. It's the gems. Are any of you familiar with a substance called aetherite?"

Kane looked at Jack, who shook his head.

"It's mentioned in a few old stories I know," Lord Redden said from Kane's left. "It's a gemstone, yes? A rare one?"

"The rarest," said Astos. "As the name implies, aetherite is made of aether so concentrated that it has turned to stone. No one knows how it happens. It's hard to find, and harder still to work, but the Leifens had the way of it. They were able to harness its power to do many wondrous things, but it was also used to create gems of stunning beauty. More valuable than any diamonds."

"That would be a valuable gem indeed," Lord Redden said. He motioned for the book, and Jack passed it across Kane to him. "And Asura's crown contains a piece of this aetherite?"

"Three pieces, each as large as a hen's egg. It's the gems that hold the spells that keep the royal family well and whole. The crown itself is merely a means to hold them, redesigned every few generations to suit the whims of various kings. I've spent the past five years on this research. I believed when I began, and still believe now, if we could find the crown and restore it to him, the prince may yet be saved."

"These protective spells you mentioned, if someone corrupted them, could they perhaps be causing the curse?" Redden said.

Astos nodded. "I've considered it, but white magic has never been my forte."

"You have the crown here," Jack said, clearing his throat to go on even as every person at the table turned to look at him. "The crowns you have on display in the halls, they all belonged to previous elven kings, didn't they?"

"Weren't you listening?" Astos scoffed. "The crowns themselves are useless without the gems they once held. The ones I have displayed here have been fitted with glass. I assure you, if you ever saw a piece of aetherite, you'd be able to tell the difference."

Hagen and Grifford chuckled quietly, though Hagen at least had the good grace to attempt to hide it behind his wine cup. Kane seethed, ready to say something in Jack's defense, but Lord Redden pinched him under the table and gave the barest shake of his head.

Kane looked at Jack again just as Jack cocked an eyebrow at the elf, and the faintest of icy coronas glinted in his blue eyes. Kane could feel a chill radiating from the mage beside him, the only sign he was angry. When he spoke again, his voice was clear, all signs of his earlier timidity gone. "And I assure you that if even one of those crowns ever held the gems, I can trace the aether through it to find them."

Hagen choked on his drink. Astos and Grifford looked at Jack pityingly. "That isn't possible," Astos said. "The aura would be too faint."

"I sorted through five years worth of aether to find the cause of that curse; I think I can sort through the present well enough to find the damn thing now." Jack held out his hand, and the pitcher of wine in front of Kane's father slid across the table to meet him. He topped off his cup, pulled his plate closer, and pulled his scarf down once more, resuming his meal with impeccable manners, no longer seeming to care about the men watching him with shock in their eyes. The chill in the air gradually faded.

At least he's eating, Kane thought, feeling a smirk coming on and turning back to his own food to hide it. He caught his father's eye, noticed the same smirk on Lord Redden's face, and couldn't stop himself from grinning like a fool.

Thad shivered as they walked through the basement. The darkness was complete, and it pressed close around him, thick as a blindfold. He tried to relax his eyes the way he had before, those times he was able to make the aether sight work, but with nowhere to fix his gaze, he couldn't get his eyes to cooperate.

When he jumped at a scuttling noise behind him, Elleth squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's only a rat," she said.

Thad whimpered before he could stop himself. He hated rats.

Elleth laughed. "We don't have to stay down here, you know. It was your idea. If you're scared-"

"I'm not!" Thad said, but his voice squeaked. I won't be, he thought. Never again. If he could learn to see the aether, the dark wouldn't matter anymore. That was what Gollor had told him when he'd asked about Matoya's blindness.

"Oh? It might help if you were. Grandfather lent me a book once about how our emotions affect our aether reserves, but there wasn't much evidence for it. Written by a white mage. You know how they say white magic comes from love? Anyway, most of it didn't apply well to black magic, but there were several accounts of young mages whose power manifested suddenly in frightening situations."

"I'm not scared," he said, but the pounding of his heart was so loud in his ears that he was sure she must hear it too. This was a bad idea, he thought. He had hoped he would learn to see the aether the way he'd learned to swim, by being thrown in and letting instincts take over, but as the blind minutes crawled by, he knew if he stayed here, he would drown. He licked his lips, fighting to keep his voice level as he said, "But I don't think this is working. Can we go?"

"Of course, but we're pretty far from the stairs. Keep working on the aether sight; I'll head that way." Elleth gave his hand a tug, leading him along with her own aether sight as easily as if she walked in full daylight.

He didn't bother with the aether sight. He focused on his breathing as Orin had taught him, pretended he was brave like Kane, concentrated on counting his steps as each minute in that darkness seemed to take years.

He yelped at a loud slamming, but then he saw a light ahead of him and realized someone had opened the door at the top of the stairs, letting it bang into the wall. "Elleth?" a man called.

"Thalion?" said Elleth. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he said, smiling wide. He waited at the top of the stairs for them, holding a lantern in one hand. He was tall, even by elf standards, and wore the green and brown uniform of a castle guard. "Segeth was worried about you. She thought you would say goodbye before you went back to the shop, and was complaining that you had forgotten about her, but I heard Gollor saying he didn't think you'd left yet."

"And you thought you'd play the hero by fetching me along, is that it? Honestly, Thalion, you could try talking to her."

The man on the stairs grinned sheepishly, shifting his feet in embarrassment. "Sure, but maybe you could sort of mention me when you talk to her yourself? I'm up for gate duty in a quarter hour."

"A quarter hour?" said Thad. He knew the guard schedules - had memorized them, in fact, as it seemed a prudent thing to know - but it couldn't be time for shift change yet. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly second chime," said Thalion.

"We've been in here all day!" Thad said, running up the stairs so that the tall guard had to duck out of the way.

He should have joined Lena an hour ago. As he ran toward the prince's rooms, he wondered if she had worried about him. Has she eaten? he thought. So wrapped up in her work, reluctant to leave the prince alone, she never seemed to remember to feed herself unless Thad saw to it. He had thought Kane was patronizing him, telling him to take care of Lena just so he would have something to do, some task to occupy his time while the others were off on their important quest, but he'd learned that Kane meant every word. The white mage took care of everyone except herself.

The prince's door was open when he arrived. "Lena?" he called. "I'm sorry I'm late…" He stopped in the doorway.

She was there, but she wasn't working. She was sprawled across the bed, asleep beside the prince, with her knees tucked up and her hands still on his chest, as if she'd been sitting next to him, healing him, and had slumped over just where she was. For a moment, Thad worried that the curse had caught her, that she wouldn't wake, and he ran around the bed to shake her, calling, "Lena! Lena!" but her eyes fluttered open at his touch.

"What is it?" she muttered.

He sighed in relief. "Oh, nothing," he said.

"Alright," she said quietly. Her eyes drifted closed again, and soon she was breathing deeply and evenly.

"Sorry, Aryon," he whispered in the prince's ear. "No story today."

She would want him to wake her, he knew, but even if she might be upset with him later, she needed rest. Between her and Kane, I think I'd rather have her upset with me, he thought. He would guard her, though, just like Kane said. It would be bad if anyone found her there. Stepping lightly, he picked up his chair and moved it to the open door where he would have a good view of the corridor. Elves moved quietly, and he couldn't count on being able to hear anyone coming. He made himself comfortable, sat up straight, focused on the end of the hallway, and tried to call up the aether sight again.

Author's Note: 8/26/16 - For an anime convention last year, I cosplayed as Vivi, the little black mage from FF IX, and I was adorable. You didn't need to know that. But! While I was looking up Vivi pictures on Pinterest to plan my costume, I came across a lot of amazing black mage fan art. Do a quick search, if you're into that sort of thing.

One thing I noticed is that the black mage art (both official and fan art) is pretty evenly divided between "flowing eldritch robes" and "Matrix-style trench coats". Kane notices, as I did, that the coat seems hella more practical for day-to-day wear. Obviously, magic takes a lot of study and you're going to get that class of mage who wants to hang out in a library learning everything there is to know about their chosen discipline – for them, the robes are fine. But you're also going to get the sort of mage who learns magic because they want to go out in the world and do something with it. No way they're doing it in robes.