Vince woke in the chair beside his father's bed. He hadn't meant to nod off like that, but he'd slept so poorly the night before in the aftermath of the fire. He didn't need to eat, it was true, but he'd never learned his father's trick of going without sleep.
He checked his father. The old man was sleeping now, of course, motionless save for the shallowest of breaths. A creature sustained by the aether had trouble surviving on the aether as it was these days. The Rot hadn't reached the city yet, but if Vince could feel it, then his father…
With a sigh, Vince rubbed his bleary eyes. The angle of the sun in the high window above the bed told him it was mid-afternoon. The light was just creeping into the alley behind the office. He did the math in his head, counting the hours, estimating the travel time. They would be there by now.
He thought over the spell he'd been studying for the past decade, the changes Jack had made to it after only a brief review. It would work. He'd seen that in the design - theoretically, there was no reason it shouldn't work. The only question was could the girl cast it?
Please, he prayed, though he never knew who he was praying to. When you knew your gods personally, spoke to them personally, prayer seemed such a silly habit. Still, it was a habit he found he couldn't break. Please, he thought again, sending his hopes out into the aether, expecting no reply.
When he felt one, therefore, it staggered him. The aether changed so swiftly that had he been standing, he would have stumbled. A wave of peace washed over him, an understanding. Even before that wave passed, he knew.
Even before his father spoke from behind him. A single word, voice rough with disuse. "Vincent…"
Vince closed his eyes, squeezing back tears. They'd done it. The Warriors of Light had succeeded.
A stone fell from the ceiling, and then another. All around were the sounds of shifting earth and rock. Gabriel could feel it in the soles of his feet, as a low rumble in his bones. They had to get out.
"Run!" he shouted, shoving the boy, Thad, toward the stairs.
The boy didn't move. He stared at Kane's sword, transfixed. The others, Jack and Kane and Lena, all stared at it.
"Kane!" Redden shouted in his son's face, shaking him by the shoulders, breaking that trance. The warrior shook his head, dazed, seeming shocked at the devastation happening around him.
"Run!" Gabriel said again, but the word was lost amid the sounds of crumbling stone. He pushed the boy toward the stairway, where Bayard was already fleeing upward.
They ran. The dark stairway stretched endlessly ahead of them, but still they ran long after Gabriel's legs began to give out. More than once he stumbled on the steps as the earth shifted beneath his feet, but always he rose again and ran on, helping the others do the same.
And then, the stairs ended. They burst through the opening where the altar had been, into the room where they had defeated the vampire, where their dead still waited. The wall had partially collapsed, burying some of the white mages. I'm sorry, Gabriel thought, running on, feeling like he had failed the dead mages by leaving them to rot in that place where they had died such horrible deaths.
But there was no exit. Where the cave mouth had been, now there was only rubble. Thad dug at the stones with his little hands, trying to shift them, trying to climb over them. "It's blocked!" he cried. Gabriel hurried forward to help him dig.
"Move!" Kane yelled, pushing them aside. He shouted as he brought his sword down, sundering the rocks that barred their way, but it made no difference: more rock waited behind that first layer of rubble. The tunnel had filled in completely.
The rumbling continued. A shower of stones fell from above, flashing against the Protect spells that still shielded them. Behind them, the cave floor began to crack. The room where they'd fought the necromancer was collapsing. Soon, this room would collapse as well, burying them all.
But we defeated him, Gabriel thought. That's what matters, isn't it? He thought of home, of his parents, his brothers. He thought of Ashelia, the girl he loved, the white mage he'd sent away for her own safety. He would never see her again... He wasn't ready to die.
"Your sword!" Jack shouted, running over to Kane, ripping it from his hands. "I need your sword!"
The black mage stabbed it into the stone floor. It sank down, burying half the blade, as if he'd stabbed it into rich, turned soil rather than solid stone. "Stay close to me!" Jack shouted, standing over the sword, both hands wrapped around the hilt beneath the jewel that glowed as golden as Jack's eyes.
And then… Gabriel could feel the earth moving, shifting. He could feel the mage moving it.
The earth rumbled. Jack grunted from his efforts, falling to one knee as the rumbling intensified. Gabriel heard the ceiling break, and he looked up, sure he would see the stones come crashing down on them, entombing them. Instead, he saw the stones above their heads splitting, moving, flowing like wet sand at a beach, and the cave roof opened like a flower blooming, exposing blue sky. The midday sun shone bright above them, golden as the orb in Kane's sword.
Arthur ground his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure in front of his exhausted men. Though they had marched through the night, the old mine had been empty. His men had spent the better part of an hour searching it - it didn't run deep - but they had found no one, not the Brotherhood, not his daughter. Redden had been right.
He knew, Arthur thought, directing his troops south toward the other cave, the cursed one. His men grumbled at the extended march, but his scouts had already reported back to him: they'd seen Redden's ship on the horizon to the south, and men on the coast. It seemed Redden had taken an army of his own.
Arthur saw it for himself as soon as the ocean came in view. One of his men wordlessly passed him a spyglass. Arthur aimed it at the ship with the wooden sahagin on the prow; he could see Orin at the ship's railing, looking toward the beach. Men bustled about the deck, men in inspector's uniforms.
In the distance, thunder rumbled, though the sky remained clear. Arthur looked at the beach, where a line of men waited. A retreat.
Among them, he saw his son. "Harvey!" he whispered. The young man waited on the beach as the boat rowed back from the ship. He was injured, his arm in a sling. Could Redden have really been foolish enough to take his son into that place? He would have taken his own sons as well, Arthur thought, but the attempt at fairness did nothing to assuage his anger.
The boat returned, and Harvey knelt down, checking a cloth-wrapped bundle that lay at his feet. Men helped him into the boat, then one of Redden's pirates picked up the large bundle and carefully laid it into the boat beside him. Harvey put his uninjured arm around the bundle, shifting the cloth, and Arthur saw that it was a person wrapped in a cloak. His daughter.
"They've found her!" he called, handing the spy glass back. "Men! Forward! They've found her!"
A few of the soldiers cheered.
Their march halted as the sound of thunder peeled again, louder this time, rattling the earth they stood upon. No, not thunder. An earthquake. "Steady, men!" Arthur called, struggling to keep his balance. He looked toward the beach, toward the boat that held his children. He could see it rocked by sudden waves, but he couldn't see its passengers from this distance.
The rumbling grew louder. The earth ahead of them split, a sinkhole forming, and the men shouted as they ran away from it, stumbling as the ground shook. Men pulled at him, but Arthur didn't run: his children were over there.
The hole widened, the edges losing their steepness, forming a slant as rocks flowed like sand, parting, shifting, leaving a valley, a crater of smooth stone. There were people down there.
"The glass!" Arthur bellowed. "Give me the glass!" The soldier passed it back to him clumsily, nearly fumbling it. Arthur raised it. He sought out his children first, saw them both safe in the boat, the men in it rowing frantically toward the ship, but then, he looked into the valley.
Eight people, sitting or lying prone where the quake had knocked them down, struggling to rise. One man, balanced in a ready crouch, reached his feet first, standing tall over others, white hair drifting in the gentle sea breeze. Redden. His bastard son knelt at his feet. Kane stood beside him. Orin's boy scrambled up, chattering, pointing toward Arthur and his men, and Redden turned to look up at him.
He couldn't possibly have seen Arthur from there, not without a spy glass of his own, but Arthur was sure Redden looked right at him. He made no gesture of greeting, his expression didn't change, but Arthur knew Redden saw him. Then Redden turned toward the beach, toward his ship, and he led his sons away, followed by the others.
"Did you see that?" a man said.
"They came out of the ground," another murmured.
"Titan preserved them," one whispered.
Titan, Arthur thought. The prophecies... Redden had saved Arthur's children. Redden had destroyed the cave.
My gods, Arthur thought, he really is a hero.
Ruby dreamed. She was lost in the cave, in the dark. No matter how long she wandered, no matter which way she turned, all was darkness, and in that darkness, something waited: cruel laughter, and glowing eyes, and sharp, wicked teeth.
She knew it was a dream, a nightmare, knew she could wake from it. But it didn't matter. She knew it was real: the cave, the dark, the creature that held her. Waking would make no difference. "No escape," she said. "No escape."
"But you have," a voice said near her ear. "Sister, you're free now. I've got you."
Harvey...? She tried to wake then, to see if he was really there. Her eyes were so heavy. She fought to open them. The cave pulled at her, the dark. It wouldn't let her go. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. She beat at the cave walls, vaguely aware that someone held her, and she fought that too, but she heard her brother's voice like a whisper in her mind. "Shh," Harvey told her. "I'm here."
She could hear the sea, could feel herself drifting back into sleep, rocked by the waves.
When she dreamed again, she dreamed of her garden, and Moore was there. Moore, the beautiful dark-haired boy, the gardener, smiling, laughing, talking to her, teaching her to plant. But he's gone, she thought. He went… somewhere… She couldn't remember. She groped for the memory, but it seemed always out of reach. She couldn't focus on it.
It doesn't matter, she thought. None of it matters.
She couldn't hear the sea anymore, but still she felt herself drifting. Maybe that was part of the dream. Her father spoke to her, but his voice seemed to come to her from very far away.
"Come back to me, darling. Please."
What did she have to come back to?
She drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming of Moore, knowing it was a dream, not caring enough to wake.
She didn't know how long she stayed that way. She became aware of pain, not in her body, but deeper. She felt it everywhere. She felt a Cure, felt it settle over her like a searing firebrand inside her skin, pain on top of pain on top of pain. She heard herself whimper, but she didn't move. She didn't care enough to move. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.
"Ruby?" A gentle hand on her face, but it burned. Ruby opened her eyes and Lena hovered over her, hands glowing with white magic. She turned to speak to someone else. "She's awake."
"Get my father!" Harvey said, moving in beside Lena as another person - Redden? - left the room. "Sister? Oh, sister! Thank the gods."
He held her. Everywhere he touched her hurt.
The room was a blur, the light in the window too bright and too blinding, but she could see that the room wasn't hers. "I want to go home," she said, her voice little more than a squeak.
"We can't," Harvey told her, stroking her hair. "Oh, sister, we can't. There was a fire. But they're fixing it up for us. It will be alright. We're at the Quincey's house in town. Gabriel's here, and Logan."
"It doesn't matter," she said. She started to cry. She knew she was crying, but she couldn't stop.
Time passed. Days and nights, dark and light, over and over. A sea of faces. Her brother, her father, Lena, Bea. Lord Orin sat with her often. The boy, Thad, read to her sometimes. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. She remained where she was, awake or asleep. It didn't matter.
When she slept, she dreamed of her garden. She dreamed of Moore. She remembered where he'd gone now. Moore was dead. She knew that. Did he die in that cave? Did she?
It didn't matter. None of it mattered.
Logan woke when Beatrix rose beside him. He could hear her moving quietly, getting dressed in the dark. He tried to catch a peek of her, but he couldn't see a thing. He heard a crack as she bumped into something - the dresser, perhaps? - and her muttered curse would have made Logan's mother blush. He smiled. "Open the curtains, love. Get some light in here."
The curse cut off abruptly. She moved to the window, spreading the curtains wide.
Logan squinted, but his eyes soon adjusted to the weak dawn light through his north-facing window. Beatrix stood outlined by it, her dark hair a cloud, her hastily donned dress rumpled from its night on the floor. Gods, she was striking like this. "Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?"
"I thought you were asleep," she said matter-of-factly. "I was going to see about breakfast."
"Bit early for that, isn't it?"
She shrugged.
So beautiful. Logan almost felt guilty for being as happy as he was. Despite being confined to his room while recovering from his grievous wound, he still couldn't believe his luck: his confession of love the night of the fire had reached the gruff and unreachable Beatrix Hornwood, had changed her opinion of him.
She'd taken up residence in Quincey House, ostensibly to be closer to Ruby as the poor girl's condition had worsened, yet she visited Logan every evening. More than once she'd helped Lena change his bandages - after four days, Logan was growing used to the touch of her hands, the smell of her hair. And then, last night, the fourth night, she hadn't gone back to her own room down the hall.
He shifted, moving up on the pillows and leaning back against the headboard. "Is it… are you worried the servants will talk? If they find you here?"
"Have I ever struck you as worrying what people say about me?" she said sharply. She crossed her arms over her chest, which only drew Logan's attention down to it, away from her glare.
Gods, he thought again, beautiful. He smiled at her. "Come back to bed."
She grumbled, but she sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in to check the bandages that bound his arm to his chest. "How does it feel after our... after?"
"I didn't think it was much of a hindrance," he said, grinning. "Though my performance will improve as I heal, you have my word." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed at her unamused expression. "A bit sore," he told her honestly.
Her lips formed a thin line. "I should never have pressured you."
"I beg to differ," he said, reaching out to touch a stray lock of her hair.
She rose from his bedside, brushing off the caress much as a cat might, aloof as ever, and went to his dresser, where she picked up his comb and began attacking her hair with it.
He watched her, smiling as he settled back against his pillows. A prickly woman, he thought, though it was part of what he liked about her. She knew what she wanted. She didn't settle for less. It made it all the more thrilling that she apparently wanted him. "Come back to bed," he said again, an invitation, with no hint of command to it. Beatrix Hornwood was not the sort of woman to be commanded around.
She looked at him with those sharp eyes, eyebrows quirked, but then she smiled and her expression softened ever so much. She came to the bed and sat beside him, being careful of his injured side, but when she leaned in for a kiss, there was nothing careful about it.
They were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "Ignore it," Logan said, before applying himself to the kiss once more, but Beatrix pulled away from him.
Lena's voice drifted through from the hallway. "Logan? Are you awake?"
"So early?" Beatrix asked.
Logan checked the light in the window then lifted his hand in an approximation of a shrug, sparing his wounded shoulder. "She's come earlier before."
The door handle rattled - Lena normally let herself in, saving Logan the trouble of getting up - but the knob was locked. "Logan?" Lena called, sounding concerned now. "Are you alright?"
"Does she even sleep?" Beatrix grumbled. She rose, going to the door, opening it. The door opened inward, but still the white mage jumped back, apparently alarmed to see anyone other than Logan standing there. She fumbled the tray of medications and fresh bandages she carried, but managed not to spill it.
Despite her earlier grumbles, Beatrix smiled and said warmly, "Come in, Lena."
Lena blushed, looking first at Beatrix in her rumpled dress then past her to Logan propped up on his pillows, bare-chested but for the bandages. "I can come back later."
Logan started to agree with her, suddenly aware that he wore nothing beneath his blanket. His eyes caught sight of his underclothes, plainly visible in the middle of the carpet where he'd tossed them during events the night before, and he felt himself blushing as well.
"It's fine," Beatrix said. "You weren't interrupting anything." She reached out, taking the tray from Lena and carrying it to Logan's dresser so that Lena had little choice but to follow her inside. Logan tried not to look at the underclothes, but he saw Lena notice them as she crossed the floor to his bed and her blush deepened. Logan almost couldn't meet her eyes as she set about unbinding his bandages with swift but gentle fingers.
He noticed then how tired she looked. Does she sleep? he wondered.
Beatrix watched over Lena's shoulder, then asked, "How is Ruby?"
Lena sighed. "She's very hurt. Physically, she's already recovered, but... I don't know how, but that creature literally tore her soul."
Logan watched Beatrix. He knew Beatrix loved Ruby dearly, but her face betrayed nothing.
"I don't know what else to do," Lena went on somewhat absent-mindedly as she worked. "I've healed her every way I know, but she remains the same."
"Will she be alright?" Logan asked.
"I... I'm afraid I don't know," Lena said, wadding up the used cloth and handing it to Beatrix, who tossed it in the hamper near the wardrobe for the servants to pick up later. Beatrix stood stiffly nearby as Lena checked the ragged hole near Logan's neck, prodding the edges of the wound with her fingers. "Still no infection," she said, squinting at it. "How's the pain?"
"Tolerable," he said.
"He was complaining about it not five minutes before you arrived," Beatrix said. Logan shot her a glare, but she only raised an eyebrow at him. "And he slept poorly," she added. "I think it bothered him in the night."
"Yes, but only once!" Logan protested.
"Twice," Beatrix corrected.
"Hmm," Lena said, blushing. There could be little doubt that Beatrix had shared his bed after comments like that. The white mage gripped Logan's hand as she pulled his arm free of its folded position. "And how does this feel?"
"Fine," Logan said. "Sore, but I've had worse."
She turned his hand in hers, prodding at the knuckles, the palm. There were places where he couldn't feel her touch at all, like the limb was asleep. She frowned as though she could tell. "Can you move your fingers?"
He tried to open his hand flat. His index finger twitched slightly. "That's the whole of it," he admitted.
Lena sat back, brow furrowed. She sighed, rubbing her temples. "You'll need more spells," she muttered, releasing Logan's hand and setting his useless arm against his chest once more. Then she stood, turning toward the medical tray on the dresser, and made it only two steps before she swayed and sank to her knees.
"Miss Lena!" Logan cried. He tried to rise, but he shifted wrong, putting too much weight on his left side. Pain shot through him, making him wheeze.
When his vision cleared, Beatrix was already at the white mage's side. "You need to rest," Beatrix said, helping Lena up, guiding her to the foot of the bed and making her sit.
"I can't," Lena said, shaking her head, and Logan saw that she was actually crying, tears streaming down her face in a torrent in contrast to her soft sniffles. "I try, but I can't! Every time I stop, she gets worse!" She covered her face in her hands.
Beatrix hugged her. "Oh, sweetling," she said.
The pain subsided, and Logan found his voice again. "Lena, surely I'm well enough by now. You needn't spend so much time with me if Ruby needs-"
"You don't understand!" Lena said. "You're not well enough at all! I did everything I could but…" She trailed off into silent sobs.
Well, that seems dire, Logan thought, suddenly concerned for his health. "Am I dying?"
"No!" Lena said quickly. "No, it's just that without healing spells, you… you'll never recover full use of that arm."
Logan blinked, letting the words sink in. He tried to flex his hand again just to prove to himself that he still could, but again nothing happened. "Well, that's..." He cleared his throat. "And with your spells? What's the prognosis then?"
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know!" She covered her face again, shoulders shaking as she cried.
Beatrix held the girl tightly, but her eyes held his over the top of Lena's head, her expression as anguished as Logan felt. Eventually, he had to look away.
She didn't cry long, only a few minutes, before she pushed Beatrix away and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"You're exhausted," Logan said.
She shrugged. "That's no excuse for losing control in front of a patient. Poor bedside manner. My instructors at White Hall would be appalled," she said with brittle cheer. She returned to the head of the bed and bent over Logan's wound, covering it with her hands as she always did before starting her spells. "I'll have to be quick. I should be with Ruby by now."
Logan didn't know which of them was more surprised when he reached up with his right hand and grabbed her wrist. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it, but when Lena's exhausted eyes fixed on his hand, he knew. "No," he said, shaking his head at her. "Don't. Save your spells for those who need them."
Beatrix gasped.
"If I don't heal you-" Lena started to say.
He shook his head again. "I'm not dying. You said so yourself. How can you help Ruby if you keep pushing yourself like this?"
She pulled her hands away. Her eyes met his. She looked like she was about to cry again.
"He's right, Lena," Beatrix said. "Go. Help Ruby. I'll be seeing to Logan's care from now on."
"Now wait just a moment-" Logan began, stopping when Beatrix turned a narrow glare on him. He shrank against the pillows in surprise.
Lena seemed as shocked as Logan. "You? But-" she sputtered. "But you're not a white mage! There's still a risk of infection and-"
"I believe I'm capable of detecting the signs," she said, walking to the dresser and rummaging through the tray Lena had brought. "You change these bandages twice daily, yes?"
"Yes?" Lena said hesitantly. "But I have to reapply the healing potion and I-"
"Again, a thing I'm capable of," Beatrix said, plucking the bottle from the tray, waving it about dismissively. "I've been watching you for days, Lena. If he's had enough of spells, I can do all the rest."
Lena hesitated. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
Logan looked down at his left arm. He tried, again, to move his hand. When he looked up, Lena was watching him, had seen him staring at the useless limb. She had such pity in her eyes, such sadness. He shook his head. "If it's a choice between fixing myself and saving someone's life, it's an easy choice."
Lena held his gaze a moment, then she nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry I can't do both." She bent down to kiss his cheek then stood. She swayed on her feet, though she didn't fall this time. It was easy to see, now that he knew to look for it, how worn she was as she crossed the room to hug Beatrix one last time before she went to the door and left them alone again.
Neither of them said anything for a time. Beatrix wouldn't meet his eyes. She took the top off the ointment, pursing her lips as she sniffed the contents. She returned to the bed in easy strides and smeared some of the thickened healing potion over Logan's tender shoulder with none of her usual gruffness.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Me?" she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "What about you? You've just as good as lost your arm."
He grimaced. "I don't think it's sunk in yet." He thought of his life, what it might look like from now on. He blew out a breath. "It's not as if I need two arms to do my job."
Beatrix nodded. "You wouldn't be the first Lord of the Hornwood who only had one. Logging accidents happen all the time."
Logan's heart skipped a beat. Lord of the Hornwood… "Did you just say… Was that… Was that a proposal?"
The look she gave him made his mouth go dry. "You had your proposal last night."
"Did I?" he said, feeling quite warm all of a sudden. "I don't recall. Would you mind repeating it?" He sputtered, laughing, as she shoved a pillow in his face. He pushed it aside, caught her smiling at him. He smiled back. "You know, the rumor is you're looking to marry a muscular idiot so you can run the Hornwood for him."
Beatrix cringed. "You heard about that?"
"Your sister talks too much."
"That she does," Beatrix said, massaging the ointment into his wound as she'd seen Lena do.
"I like to think I'm not an idiot."
"No, you're not," she conceded. "I hear you get that from your mother." She pressed her lips together as she concentrated on applying the potion.
"I do." He reached up, putting his hand over hers. "I've watched my parents together, Beatrix. My father could never govern the Reach without my mother's help. For what it's worth, you can have the Hornwood. I know it's not mine to give you, but I would. I would give it to you just to see what you'd do with it. You're the most intelligent woman I've ever met, Beatrix. I think I'd trust you to run the world."
Her smile deepened, more beautiful than ever. It transformed her, and it broke him. She ran her potion-slick fingers over his shoulder, down his arm - he could barely feel it, like the touch of a ghost. She turned his unresisting hand over and ran her fingers over the palm. Then, carefully, carefully, she lifted his hand to her cheek and held it there. Where it wasn't completely numb, he could feel the warmth of her, the wet tracks her tears had left behind. He tried to move his hand again, tried to wipe those tears away, but his arm remained unresponsive. It might never respond again, he thought, but those tears are for me. Beatrix Hornwood, crying for me.
He sighed. "You know, not even an hour ago, I was thinking about how lucky I am."
"And now?" she asked, nuzzling into his hand.
He reached his other hand up, so that he cradled her face. "I feel like the luckiest man alive."
She let him pull her in for a kiss.
The workmen had gutted the front of the house, stripping it to the timbers, leaving a hole like an open sore. They'd piled the debris in a corner of the lawn, blackened furniture mingling with heat-warped floorboards and scorched wall panels, some with strips of wallpaper slowly peeling off in the afternoon sun. A pair of workmen dug through the rubbish, perhaps searching for salvageable lumber. Others sawed and hammered, measured and hauled.
Not all the men were busy. A few gathered at the training yard fence, food and drink in hand as they hooted and cheered some spectacle in the yard, men fighting. The clatter of wooden swords echoed across the manor grounds, blending with the sounds of the workmen's hammers. Vince could see Kane's red hair from across the lawn. He'd heard that the lad had been helping with the construction. The young man's resemblance to the vampire who had tormented Ruby in the cave so disturbed the girl that Leiden had barred him from Quincey House altogether. He and Jack were both staying with Lord Unne.
He saw Jack there, too, his tall figure leaning against the fence off to one side, and it was Jack who Vince had come to see. He'd gone to Unne's to look for him, only to be told he was with his "brother". Vince had laughed at that - he knew the mage was no kin of Redden's. The mage stood by himself, ignored by the workmen, wearing his broad-brimmed hat against the slanted sunlight. His eyes glinted in its shade as he glanced Vince's direction, nodding in casual greeting before turning his attention back to the fight.
Vince walked closer. The men cheered as Kane, stripped to the waist in clear disregard of Melmond propriety, executed a particularly impressive block. His opponent, Vince saw now, was Gabriel Quincey. Gabriel's sword came around for another attack. Kane stepped lithely out of the way, whipping his own wooden blade out in a strike to the man's calf. The men laughed, cheering the blow as the cursing sergeant hopped about on one leg.
"Lord Pollendina," Jack said as Vince took up a place at the fence beside him.
Vince laid an arm against the rail as he leaned on it, watching the fight. "He's improved," Vince said, fascinated. Vince was no expert, but to his eye, where Kane and Gabriel had been evenly matched before, now it seemed Kane moved faster than Gabriel did, only a fraction, but noticeable. The two fought a moment, exchanging blows, then paused for a quiet discussion before they fought again.
"What was that about?" Vince asked.
"Testing Kane's abilities," Jack said. "We don't know what happened to us in that cave, what changed about the orb, but we all felt it. There's something in the aether that wasn't there before. Even Kane can feel it. It's... I can't describe it. It's given him an edge."
Vince nodded. He watched the fighting in silence. Kane ignored a feint, dodging the real blow and retaliating with a blow of his own that hit Gabriel's elbow with a sharp crack. The sergeant dropped his practice sword, along with a string of curses that would have impressed even the saltiest of sailors. Kane apologized profusely, but Gabriel waved him off, retrieving his sword and resuming a ready stance. Vince chuckled. "He's stronger than he was. He no longer knows his own strength."
Jack shrugged. "To be fair, I'm not sure he did before."
"And you?" Vince asked without taking his eyes off the sparring match. "Are you stronger?"
Jack said nothing, watching Kane move gracefully between battle stances, fending off Gabriel's attacks with apparent ease. "I don't know," the mage said at last.
Vince nodded. "But you feel it, don't you?"
"Yes," Jack said. "What is it I'm feeling, exactly?"
Vince shook his head. "I still don't know. But it feels... right."
Jack nodded.
In the yard, Kane blocked an attack from Gabriel. Gabriel exclaimed in disbelief, and only then did Vince notice Kane's eyes had been closed. Impressive, Vince thought. "Well done, that," he said, clapping slightly.
"Show off," Jack muttered, shaking his head, though Vince noticed he was clapping too.
"Your time will come, I suspect," Vince said. "I have a gift for you." He slid his bag from his shoulder, dug out the ratty-looking book Patch had fetched for him that morning. He held it out to Jack, its leather cover cracked and damaged.
"What's this?" Jack asked.
"Something from my father's library. I had it retrieved from our family home. The Rot got in a bit at the edges, but the wards held."
"Wards?" Jack opened the book slowly, revealing an aether diagram of only a few lines, a simple fire spell. Jack ran his finger over the design with an air of familiarity. "A book of black magic?" he asked.
"In high Leifenish," Vince said. "Fire... Ice... Lightning... It's all there."
Jack's eyes widened. He turned the fragile pages carefully, skipping past more diagrams to focus on the words. "Holy Ramuh," the mage whispered.
"You know these spells well?" Vince asked.
"Know them? I could do them in my sleep!" Jack said, eyes dancing excitedly over the pages, but then he stilled suddenly. "I can't take this!" he protested. "It must be centuries old! Even in this condition, it's priceless!"
Vince shrugged. "My father doesn't mind. I told him of you, and we agreed that you deserved this. Lena may have cast the spell, but it was you who designed it, who took my work of the past decade and built it into something usable, something effective. You saved our lives."
Jack closed the book, holding it out to Vince once more. "This is far too great a payment."
Vince pushed the book away. "It's worthless to us. Like me, my father's no mage. Besides, he's an old man. He's acquired many things over the years. Even he doesn't remember where he got that one."
Jack clutched the book in both hands, bowing his head over it as though it were a sacred thing. "Thank you! Truly, thank you!"
Vince nodded. "I thought it might help you to translate that other book of yours."
"Yes, it-!" Jack said excitedly, but then he paused. "How... how did you know?"
Vince shrugged. "Unne's girl, the servant. She's one of my followers."
Jack looked at him angrily. "A spy?"
Vince held his hands up. "No, no! Not like that. More of, well, I guess you could call them 'devotees'. I didn't ask her to spy for me, if you must know. I simply inquired of her, as someone who was often in your proximity, if she knew of anything I might be able to do to help you in your quest." He could sense Jack looking at him, could sense the unasked questions in the air, but he kept his own eyes on Kane, on the fight in the training yard, so as not to intimidate the mage with his next words. "I know what you are," he said.
Jack sputtered as Vince continued watching the fight, his clumsy response as damning as denial would have been. "I don't- I'm not sure…."
Vince waved a hand to shush him. "You needn't feign ignorance," he said. "I can see it. I see the aether differently than you do. It's not something I can easily explain. When you draw from Redden, I can see his aura in yours. I suspected it the night of the fire, when you shifted the fire from the house and it didn't kill you. You'd drawn from Lena, hadn't you?"
Jack said nothing, but Vince glanced at him, and the guilt in Jack's eyes was all the confirmation Vince needed.
He looked out at the fighting again. "Her aura is so similar to yours, I wasn't certain. But Redden's is easier to see."
Jack leaned on the fence as though he'd gone weak in the knees.
Vince looked at him, saw the worry in his eyes, and he shook his head. "It's not something any mage could see. It's a consequence of my... abilities..."
Jack stared at him a moment longer, but the fear slowly faded from his eyes. He nodded, looking down at the book. He seemed lost in thought. He opened the book, staring down at it again, running his fingers over the words, the diagrams, on the brittle pages. "You can see the aether, but can't cast spells," he said at last, seemingly to himself. "Harvey says he's never seen you eat… He says it jokingly, but... You claim to be sustained by aether."
Vince nodded. He watched Jack, ignoring the fight in the yard, the clattering of wooden swords.
"In Elfheim…" Jack said haltingly, "I saw the goddess Asura… only she wasn't a goddess. She was an eidolon. The elves cut her off from the aether because she wanted to die, but if the seals on her tomb were broken..."
Vince smiled. Clever lad. "She would live again," he confirmed. "A creature sustained by aether cannot die while the aether still flows."
Jack looked up from the book, watching Vince, but Vince waited, wondering what Jack would do next. "I…" Jack said, looking down at the book again, as though he couldn't say the words to Vince's face. "I never expected an eidolon to be so… so human."
Vince chuckled again. "Oh, I'm no eidolon. I'm human enough to age, to bleed." He shook his head. "But you're half right: the founders weren't the only sons of Titan." He patted Jack's shoulder in farewell, then turned and began to walk back into town.
"Lord Pollendina?" Jack called after him.
Vince stopped. He didn't turn around, only looked over his shoulder.
Jack was still at the fence. He hadn't tried to follow. "Can I meet him? Your father?"
Vince shrugged. "Maybe someday," he said. "It isn't up to me."
Jack nodded, turning back to the training yard. Within, Kane and Gabriel still fought. Their audience had thinned out as the men who watched them began drifting back to work. Gabriel was panting now, his shirt stained with sweat. Kane didn't seem winded at all.
Ruby wasn't getting better. Harvey could see that now. He could see it in the aether, in her soul, though he had only just begun to discover his abilities in that area.
It had been a week. Harvey still wore a sling; Lena had knitted his shoulder back together, a thin layer of bone, all she could manage that first day, and he hadn't let her touch him again since. His sling matched Logan's, though Logan's shoulder was worse off, deep wounds that would leave scars. But even Logan no longer let Lena tend to him.
Harvey spent most of his time with his sister. They stayed at the Quincey's townhouse while the manor was under repair. The Quinceys had plenty of space - most of the family was at their estates in the Reach - but they'd put Ruby in the nicest room, the master suite, with servants to tend to her every need. She asked for nothing, only huddled in the bed and softly wept for hours on end. Lena Cured her several times daily, and Harvey had learned from watching her, watching the spells. The lines and curves of them had begun to seem natural to him, familiar, in a way he could not yet describe. He could feel them, though, could feel them taking shape inside him.
"Good," Lena said. "Now let it flow through you."
"Don't cry, sister," Harvey said, one arm in a sling, the other hand lightly rubbing Ruby's back, glowing with a weak Cure. Though he was learning quickly, even the addition of his spells was proving inadequate. His heart sank when he saw that not all of the spell went in. "What am I doing wrong?" he asked.
Lena shook her head. "It's nothing to do with your lack of skill," she said, her voice unsteady. "You're doing well, Harvey. It's just… It's going to take more than healing spells to fix what the necromancer has broken in her."
He nodded, wiping sweat from his brow before he laid his hand on Ruby again. "I think I can manage another," he said.
Lena shook her head. "Best not to. You're close to draining yourself." She cocked her head in thought. "Though maybe I should let you do that, to learn what it feels like. Hmm…" She shook her head again. "Sorry. I'm afraid I'm not much of a teacher. I've only ever been a student before."
Harvey tried to smile. "Well, I'm not much of a student, so we have that going for us."
Lena chuckled. "Take a break, Harvey. Get some fresh air. Your reserves will recover faster."
He wove through the hallways of the Quincey's townhouse, taking the stairs down to the first floor. He thought he would walk the streets for a time, see if he could find anyone he knew to visit with, but as he approached the study off the front parlor, he heard Lord Carmine's voice, heard him mention Ruby by name. Harvey stopped in the doorway.
Jack sat within, and Thad with him, the small table between them spread with the papers Jack had been studying. A set of wide, tall windows provided a view of the street outside and plenty of light. Redden stood framed by it. "She's losing the will to live," the stately Cornelian said, shaking his head. "There's nothing Lena can do. Two days, maybe three at the most-" He turned his head, seeing Harvey in the doorway, and he fell silent.
Harvey turned and walked out.
A few people hailed him on the street, but perhaps they saw something in his expression, for none of them stopped to speak with him, and he had only his own thoughts for company. Redden had to be wrong. Surely Lena would have said something if Ruby were beyond hope. Surely she wouldn't try so hard… would she?
He wandered the Blue Quarter, looking at the vendor's stalls without really seeing them, before the flower shop caught his eye.
He headed back clutching a paper-wrapped bouquet of cheery yellow sunflowers, juggling it one-handed as he struggled with the door. He passed the study - empty now - and proceeded upstairs, where he found Redden Curing Ruby, despite what he'd said earlier. Lena sat, pale and worn, in the armchair near the window. She brightened somewhat when she saw the flowers Harvey held.
"Ruby," she said softly. "Look what your brother's brought you! Aren't they lovely?"
Redden turned, nodding to Harvey before resuming his spell, and Harvey knew he meant the spell as an apology.
Harvey stepped forward, holding the flowers out to his sister. "I thought of you as soon as I saw them," he said.
Ruby looked up at them, lip trembling. "They're already dead," she said. "They only look alive." She sniffled, then sobbed, distorting her next words. "Just like me."
Lena stood unsteadily, then slid into the bed beside Ruby, cradling her as a mother might cradle a child after a nightmare.
Redden sighed, shaking his head as he sat back. He stood, placed a gentle hand on Harvey's uninjured shoulder, and guided him out to the hall. "You tried, lad," he said, kindly. "It's not your fault."
Harvey squeezed his eyes shut to force back tears. "Damn it!" he cursed, throwing the flowers aside. "Damn it all!"
He heard footsteps, and Jack's voice. "Redden?"
The bard sighed. "So that's where you went."
Harvey opened his eyes, blinking. Jack and Thad stood down the hall. The boy held a hideous, green, drooping thing in a plant pot. As Harvey watched, he felt sure the thing moved.
Lord Carmine shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you thinking, boys? An elixir won't fix this. If you cut that thing up again, you'll be killing it for no reason."
"I know," Jack said. "But... I've seen this before. Iris... I told you of her. When Cedric died, for a while after, I was sure Iris would throw herself into the sea. But she didn't, because... because she had me... and I thought... if Ruby had something to take care of..."
"Ah," Redden said, nodding. "I see. And you're fine with this?" he asked Thad.
The boy sniffled, lip quivering. "No," he said. "I don't want to give him up. But if Jack's right... we're going to make him better. We'll make both of them better."
"Alright," Redden said. "I suppose I'll go fetch her father."
Harvey, who'd been feeling a little lost in the conversation so far, finally spoke up. "But you're the one who sent him away. You said he interfered with Lena's spells."
Lord Carmine sighed. "We're done with spells," he said. "Now, she needs her father."
The three of them, Harvey, Jack, and Thad, watched him walk away. When he'd vanished down the stairs, Jack quietly said, "Go on, Thad." The boy carried the little pot into Ruby's room. Jack motioned Harvey in after him, and the tall mage followed.
Lena still held Ruby, who lay curled on her side, hunched and small. Ruby no longer sobbed - loud crying required an energy she didn't seem to have - but her eyes still streamed with tears. Lena looked up when they came in, looked at the plant the boy held, and then she smiled. "Ruby, dear," Lena whispered, rubbing the girl's shoulder. "Look! This one's still alive."
"Miss Ruby," Jack said, stepping forward to shove Thad toward the bedside. "You're such an expert on plants. What do you make of this?"
Ruby looked up. Her eyes fixed on the plant in its pot, but she said nothing.
"This is my plant," Thad said, shifting the pot in his arms closer to the bed. The thorny vines drooped halfway to the floor, moving slowly, like seaweed beneath the waves. "I told you about him, remember? I gave him fish like you told me, but he's still sick."
Lena gently pulled Ruby up to a sitting position. Harvey found it encouraging when Ruby stayed upright instead of immediately flopping back down. Lena beckoned Thad closer, guiding him to set the pot in Ruby's lap.
Ruby stared quietly at the little beast. Then she reached out to tenderly touch one of the wilted leaves. "What is it?" she said, her voice little more than a croak.
Lena's smile brightened. "It's an ochu, a baby one."
"Both plant and animal," Jack said from behind Thad. "It's very rare, you see. We thought they were extinct."
"It's beautiful," Ruby whispered, running her hand down one of the vines, gently prodding the thorns.
"Not as beautiful as he once was," Jack said. "We haven't taken very good care of him, I'm afraid. We just don't have your skill with horticulture."
Ruby squinted down at the ochu, pulling the pot in closer, poking at the soil. Oscar whined in pain, like a child with a fever. "You poor thing..." Ruby cooed.
"His name is Oscar," Thad said, sniffling.
"Oscar," said Ruby, lovingly stroking the bulbous head.
"We have to leave Melmond soon," Jack said. "But perhaps we could leave our little friend in your care?"
"Oh! But it would be a big responsibility," Lena put in. "He might be the last of his kind."
Ruby nodded slowly, cradling the pot.
And just like that, something had changed. Harvey could see it. Could he feel it? Was it the aether? Was it something in Ruby's soul? He didn't know. He didn't care. "Is there..." Harvey began. He stopped to wipe his eyes. "Sister, is there anything you need? For Oscar, I mean. Is there anything we can bring you for him?"
"Yes..." Ruby said, softly. "I... I could make you a list?"
"Of course," Harvey said. "Of course. I'll fetch some paper." He leaned in, kissing her cheek, then hurried out.
She couldn't write it - her hands were too shaky - but Jack copied out the list as she dictated it, her voice growing stronger as she went. By the time Harvey rushed back out, list in hand, he'd grown hopeful.
He nearly plowed into his father at the front door, barely stopping short of a collision. "What's happened?" his father demanded. "How is she?"
"She wants me to go shopping," Harvey said, feeling stupid as he held up the list, yet elated all the same.
"Shopping?" his father asked, face scrunched up in astonishment.
"She'll be alright, father," Harvey said, nodding. "I truly think she'll be alright!"
He started to push past his father, intent on reaching the shops, on fetching those things that had brought a spark of interest to his sister's eyes, but Lord Leiden stopped him with an outstretched arm, catching him in it to hug him tightly. Too tightly, in fact. His shoulder screeched in agony, but Harvey didn't say a word. He let it happen, unused to such emotion from his father. He hugged him back awkwardly with his one good arm. Just as he was beginning to think his broken shoulder hurt too much, that he would say something after all, the hug ended. His father nodded to him, stern faced as ever, and marched into the house. Harvey left for the shops at a run.
He decided he liked the tall one best, the brother. Not the brother - they weren't really brothers - but they were almost brothers. Jack, his name was. Kane had been the one Sarda was waiting for, the one he'd predicted, and Kane had been kind to him, but the young soldier only tolerated Sarda's… condition. Jack not only tolerated it - he understood.
"Of course," the young mage told him when Sarda commented on it. "You're not the first prophet I've known."
A Warrior of Light, too, that one. Sarda had foreseen them, all four of them, but he hadn't known them.
Days passed, and days passed, and for Sarda, they jumbled together, forwards and backwards, like a puzzle in a box, each moment a disjointed piece. He was occasionally aware that he was in Melmond, at the townhouse of one of the noble families of the countryside. He stayed there with the four, and with their friends, and he shared their meals and their company. They were all kind to him.
He tried to read the books in the Quincey's small study, but books had never been easy for him. If he read them, he could foresee the endings. Knowing how they ended, he could stop reading, but then he couldn't foresee the endings anymore. It was all so confusing.
He spoke often with Lord Orin, whom he remembered from their brief meeting before. Sarda remembered it like it was yesterday, like it was only an hour ago, but there was no denying that the man was much older now, years older, as he himself was. The monk had fully recovered from Scarlet's attack on him, but Sarda could still see him as he had been, weakened near to death.
Sometimes Sarda talked with the boy, but the boy never seemed to know what Sarda was talking about. Sarda asked him what the chocobos had been like, for he'd never seen one in person, but the boy claimed he hadn't either. The boy spoke of his life aboard a pirate ship, but Sarda had been almost certain that hadn't happened yet. When Sarda asked where the little demons had got off to, the boy excused himself and ran away. The boy had seemed so frightened by the question that Sarda wondered if he'd got it all wrong again.
Still, they were kind to him, though the girl, Lena, was kindest of all. Her abilities distracted her, much as Sarda's own distracted him, and so he felt a kinship to her when they were together, both only half-listening to the conversations of others around them. She was often idle now, as her healing spells were needed less and less. Harvey and Logan both stopped wearing their slings, though Lena scolded them for it, saying they needed more time to heal. Logan, at least, kept his weak hand in his pocket for the most part, sparing that arm, but both men were fine, and would be fine. Sarda tried to tell her she worried for nothing.
The day came, as Sarda had known it would, when their time in Melmond ended. It had been more than three weeks since the events in the earth cave. Sarda sat in the small study, crowded in with his new friends, Lena and Orin, the boy and Jack. The boy had a name, of course, but Sarda could never remember it. The name always seemed wrong to him. Jack had been working with the boy, working for several days, and at last they were ready for a demonstration.
"You have to twist the aether, so it goes in a circle," the boy said, forming the slowing spell inside himself. The boy couldn't draw the aether, but his time dilution abilities more than made up for that lack. Besides, the boy understood how spells worked. He could form them, and he could find them in the raw aether. Sarda knew he would be a powerful mage one day, though he said nothing about it. He didn't want to frighten the boy more than he already had.
He watched, fascinated, as the boy turned the aether in on itself and then, somehow, stuck it to the coin he held. The boy tossed the coin straight into the air; it spiraled upward, flipping heads to tails, but moving at a ponderous, impossible pace.
In his armchair beside the tall window, Orin clapped.
"Amazing!" Lena said as the coin reached the top of its climb and began to tumble slowly down.
"It is," Jack said, somewhat grudgingly. "I've tried the spell myself, but even I can't twist the aether into the shape Thad's making." He snatched the coin out of the air and held it out to the boy. "Again!" he demanded.
The boy nodded eagerly as he complied.
Lena giggled. She sat on the couch beside Sarda, knees tucked up beneath her, chin in her hands as she rested her elbows on the chair's arm, watching them. Sarda threw her a questioning glance, wondering what was funny, and when she saw his look - or perhaps felt his curiosity - she smiled at him. "Jack. He's like a child," she said.
Sarda nodded. "Yes, you're right. Children are always analyzing things. Scholars never outgrow it."
Orin chuckled. "Coherent sentences, my friend? A good day for you, then?"
Sarda barked a laugh. "They're most of them good days. I just don't always get them in the right order."
The tossed coin landed soundlessly at Jack's feet. Jack observed it a moment longer, eyes glowing as he read the aether around it. Sarda watched it too, watched the last remnants of the boy's spell fade away, and when they were gone completely, Jack spoke at last. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before!" Though a yellow scarf covered his face today, his smile was obvious in his eyes. "It was one thing when I thought you were doing it subconsciously, but if you've figured out how to do it on command, you might have invented a new spell!"
"Two spells," Sarda put in. "The one that makes things faster isn't the same at all."
Jack nodded. "Two spells..." he said, wonderingly. He turned to the boy. "What will you call them?"
The boy cocked his head, confused. "Me?"
"Of course!" Sarda said. "If you invent a spell, you get to name it. That's how things are done."
"I don't know," the boy said. "I've just been calling them 'Fast' and 'Slow'. That's what they do."
"'Fast' and 'Slow'," Jack said, testing the names.
"'Slow' is a logical name, but for its counterpart, I would suggest that 'Haste' sounds better," Orin said, holding his fingers on his lap in the shape of one of the meditation signs that monks often made, though they knew no magic.
"Ooh, I like 'Haste'," the boy said. "Let's do that."
"'Haste' it is," said Jack. He turned to Lena. "And you, my lady? What will you name your new spell?"
"Me?" she said, mirroring the boy's reaction from before. "I haven't invented any spells."
"Of course you have," Sarda said. "What you did in the cave, warding the necromancer against the aether."
She shrugged. "Yes, but all I did was reverse the spell other mages had already done. Keeping the aether out instead of sealing it in."
"You do not give yourself enough credit, Miss Lena," Orin said. "If it was as simple as you say, it would not have taken more than twenty years to solve this problem." He looked at Jack. "Why, only yesterday she was describing to me the possibilities of adapting this spell for practical use in battle. After all, a ward against aether could theoretically protect one against hostile spells."
"Yes!" Jack said, looking more excited at this idea. "Yes! Lena, that's brilliant!"
She blushed, looking down at the carpet. "Regardless, I can hardly take credit for the spell myself. So many other people had a hand in its design! It was luck that I came up with it when I did."
"Luck or not, it's still yours to name," Jack insisted.
Lena shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to call it!" She blushed so prettily, but she kept her eyes down, embarrassed by Jack's praise. "You know more about spells than I do! Why don't you name it?"
Jack cocked his head, clearly caught off guard. "Hmm… Well… I suppose I could give it some thought…"
Sarda chuckled, watching them fall in love by slow degrees. He wondered if they could be happy together. He tried to see the future spreading out before them, but he couldn't see past the next spring, when everything ended. Everything? Or just me? He didn't know. He wondered, briefly, if that's what death was like for everyone.
His thoughts were interrupted by Redden arriving at the study door, with Kane behind him. Kane wasn't technically allowed at the house anymore, for Ruby's sake, but as Ruby still never left her room, he did sneak in on occasion. He never went farther than the house's front rooms. Father and son were the same height, but Kane, with his superior strength and the size to match it, still managed to loom over Redden. Still, it was Redden's forceful presence that called their attention.
"Good," the bard said, stepping into the room. "You're all here. We need to talk."
"Yes," Sarda said, nodding. "It is time."
"Time for what?" the boy asked, looking from Sarda to Redden and back again.
The answer came from Kane, leaning casually against the wall near the door, though his expression was far from casual, a set, stern mask. "Time to go."
The boy brightened, excited. "Oh? Are we going home? Back to Cornelia, I mean."
"That's why we need to talk," said Redden.
Kane shifted the sword at his hip, half-drawing it, displaying the orb in its pommel, now glowing with a golden aetherial light. "These things make us Warriors of Light. And defeating the necromancer..." He seemed to struggle for the right words. "It changed something," he said at last.
Sarda nodded. He'd felt it, as a mage. He knew they felt it as well, all four of them.
"That cave pulled us in," the boy said. "We had to go in there. Right?"
"We did," Lena said.
Kane nodded. "This," he said, motioning with his sword's hilt, "told us where to go."
Redden nodded. "We're thinking the others will do likewise."
Jack shook his head. "I've studied the orb I carry. Studied it for years. I've never felt anything from it."
"You were never together before," Redden said. "When the four of you met, brought the orbs close to each other, you woke them somehow."
"But mine-" Jack said.
"Perhaps yours is slower to wake than the others," Redden said. "But what we do know is this: Kane's sword, the orb in it, is awake now, fully and truly. And that waking has altered the very aether of the world, healed it in ways we can't begin to comprehend. Somehow, we have to wake up the other three."
"What do we have to do?" Lena said, voice trembling.
"I don't know," Redden said, shaking his head. "We're out of our depth here. We need to consult with scholars of magic. Practicing scholars. That rules out Black Hall."
Jack went still.
"What?" Lena asked. She stood, putting a hand on Jack's arm. "What's wrong?"
"He means Crescent Lake," he said.
Redden nodded. "I do."
"You mean we get to meet other black mages?" the boy said, excitedly.
"Yes," Redden said. "I've spoken with Captain Bayard about his route. It's a month's sailing, but if we leave within the week, we'll beat hurricane season. I've already begun the preparations."
"A week?" Jack said.
Redden caught Jack's eye, and Sarda was sure he saw pity in Redden's gaze. "Four days."
Jack blinked, seeming smaller, and Sarda knew he was no longer seeing Jack as he was but as he had been: a boy marked by prophecy, hated and feared, outcast. "I… I don't know that I can be ready in four days."
"You'll go if I have to tie you to the mast," Kane said.
Redden cuffed his son lightly in the head. He sighed, and to Jack, he said. "I'll help you however I can. But we have to go there. It's the only logical thing to do. You know that, right?"
Jack nodded.
"That's settled then," Kane said. "We leave in four days."
The others voiced their assent. Jack nodded along with them, but Sarda could see his unease. When the others had gone - Redden and Kane to speak with Leiden, Orin and the boy to oversee resupplying their ship - Sarda sat alone in the study with Lena and Jack still standing nearby. The small room seemed colder now that it was less crowded.
Jack patted Lena's hand, then gently pried it from his arm. "I have my own preparations to make," he said, striding for the door.
"Jack?" Lena said.
He stopped, but kept his back to them.
"You don't want to go back there. Why didn't you tell them?" she asked.
He sighed. "Does it matter what I want?"
"It matters to me," she said quietly. She stepped toward him.
"Don't," he said. "Please. Not now. I can't take it."
She nodded. The hand she'd reached out for him dropped to her side. She flinched when, down the hall, the front door slammed. Sarda could see Jack through the window, fleeing up the busy Blue Quarter street, and when he looked back, Lena had left the room too. He heard her heading upstairs - to her room, perhaps, or to check on Ruby again.
Sarda wondered if Jack would come back. He let his mind drift, unmooring from the present, and he saw the mage returning later that night, soaked by a summer rain. He looked farther still, and he could see them on the ship, arriving at Crescent Lake, could see the people there, water, a garden, a mountain of fire. He could see the firelight reflected off a rain of swords. He saw an orb glowing, a burning red light as a white mage held it aloft. He saw ice cracking with a sound like snapping bones.
He found his way to the table, the papers - Jack's papers - but Jack wouldn't mind if he drew on those. Jack would want to know. Needed to know.
...There wasn't much to know. The future was so short.
END OF PART III
Author's Note: 11/1/19 - Ladies and gentlemen, the long awaited conclusion to Part III! I hope you enjoyed it. It took longer than I would have liked (this whole thing is taking longer than I would like…) but I'm happy with how it turned out, and I suppose that's the most important thing. (I would also like for all of you guys to be happy with how it turned out, but that would just be a bonus.)
I'm hard at work on Part IV now - that's how I plan to spend NaNo this year - and hope to post the first chapter in January, but if I don't, you should know that I've started updating my profile page monthly whether I post a new chapter or not! (Inspired by Zachariah, who reached out that one time asking if I was dead.) I hope my December profile is something along the lines of "I totally crushed NaNo this year!" or "I wrote all the words!" or "Guys, I was inspired last week and I wrote THE REST OF THE NOVEL!" but I hope you'll forgive me if that's not the case.