APGtS

by demonicgallade

listen (up to 168)

A Practical Guide to Sorcery

by AzaleaEllis

Original ONGOING Urban Fantasy Progression Anti-Hero Lead Psychological Female Lead Adventure Drama Fantasy Gender Bender High Fantasy Low Fantasy Magic School Life Secret Identity Strong Lead Supernatural

Warning This fiction contains: Gore, Profanity

In a world where magic is a science, Siobhan Naught is a genius.

But even geniuses need schooling.

Siobhan has just been banned from the country's only magical university.

As the unwitting accomplice to the theft of a priceless magical artifact, she has suddenly become a wanted criminal. There are fates worse than death, and if caught, she will face them. Unwilling to give up on her dream of becoming the world's most powerful sorcerer, she resolves to do whatever it takes to change her fate.

Even if it means magically disguising herself as a boy and indebting herself to a gang of criminals to pay for University tuition.

With the coppers after her, the pressure of trying to keep her spot in the devilishly competitive magic classes, and the gang calling in favors to repay her debts, Siobhan will need every drop of magic she can channel.

Chapter 1 - Escape via Unexpected Transmutation

Prologue

It was a much smaller group that finally reached the cave, hidden deep within the Black Wastes. The archaeologist had known it would be dangerous. They all had. Losing half the members of the expedition before even reaching their destination was a significant setback, but the cost would be well worth it, for what they hoped to find.

The Thaumaturgic University of Lenore had organized the expedition, and spared no expense on supplies or recruitment. Thirty people had set out, almost all of them thaumaturges. Sorcerers, mostly, but also witches with carefully chosen familiars, powerful diviners to keep them from getting lost, and a handful of cross-species half-breeds with useful skills. They even had a Grandmaster-level healer.

The expedition had been fully outfitted with spell-charged battle artifacts and enchanted armor, and a full set of potions and components for spellcasting. Each member had been given a dozen high-potency beast cores to power their spells.

It had cost a fortune. The archaeologist had thought the University was going overboard. Thirty powerful thaumaturges with all the resources they could ask for would be enough to take out a nest of dragons. Maybe even a sky-kraken.

But he had underestimated the dangers of the Black Wastes.

Magical beasts had taken a handful. They had expected beasts, of course, but the Black Wastes was home to monstrosities even the archaeologist had never heard of. Mutations, most likely.

More of their number had died to the environment. From poison-gas swamps, to quicksand deserts, to craggy, crumbling peaks, their surroundings shifted with unnatural abruptness and complete randomness. Even the plant life tried to kill them. What little managed to grow was warped and deadly to consume.

But it was the lingering effect of ancient, corrupted magic that was most deadly. They all wore protective artifacts, they carried ward stones to anchor the spell drawn around their huddled campsite each night, and they had even brought along a shaman to help appease whatever spirits might reach through the veil to the mortal world. It wasn't enough.

The paranoia had started first, and then the nightmares, and finally, the hallucinations.

One of their two remaining diviners had killed himself when a spell went wrong.

Two men on watch had wandered off sometime in the night, leaving the camp unguarded, not even leaving any tracks behind.

The archaeologist knew the only remaining half-breed had been having thoughts of murdering him in his sleep. He could read it in her too-big eyes.

And so, when the last diviner pointed out the entrance to the cave, protected and concealed by a failing ward, he felt a pathetic, shivering relief.

There had been an earthquake, or some other natural disaster, that damaged the foundational ward-stones of this ancient site. It was exactly this that had allowed the University to divine the cave's general location, a boon without which the expedition would have been unsuccessful, like the many others that had failed over the previous hundreds of years.

Myrddin's hermitage was a thing of legend and fantasy, a kind of holy grail to an archaeologist like himself. The legendary sorcerer had retreated here in his later years, disappearing from civilization for decades at a time to focus on his work, but until now, its location had been nothing more than rumor and pieced-together speculation.

The damaged wards came down easily, and the archaeologist and two others entered the cave, leaving the rest of the expedition to guard the entrance. They were the first to enter the hermitage since Myrddin himself. When they returned to the University, every one of them would be famous beyond their wildest dreams.

With effort, they opened the glyph-carved, iron doorway, and the archaeologist held his breath as he shone light into the expansive, dark room within. It had been carved out of the stone of the mountain itself. He stepped in slowly, his footsteps stirring up long-settled dust. The movement revealed the Circle of a spell array carved into the floor. Along one wall were stone shelves filled with books, some so ancient they seemed as if they would collapse into dust with a touch. Another wall displayed spell components, most decomposed to the point of uselessness.

But his attention was on the large desk in the middle of the room. Almost tiptoeing for fear of disturbing the relics all around him, the archaeologist moved toward it.

Atop it was a book. It lay open, with the handwriting stopping halfway down the page, abruptly, as if it had been interrupted. It was surrounded by loose sheets of parchment that held the faint remnants of drawings and diagrams, faded to the point of illegibility. Two bowls sat across from the book, one filled with beast cores of all different colors and sizes, enough potential energy for even the most powerful spells, and one with what seemed to be pure celerium Conduits, each half the size of his fist.

He leaned closer to the desk, ignoring the two bowls despite the wealth they contained, and peered at the ink scribbled across the book's open page.

The writing was profoundly incomprehensible—encrypted with a spell—but still perfectly preserved. Of course Myrddin would have placed preservative spells on his research grimoire!

Wild glee rose up in the archaeologist, so heady it almost made him dizzy. He laughed aloud, the sound echoing off the stone walls with a hint of hysteria.

The book, and the research within, would be the answer to their country's—maybe even their world's—problems. All they needed to do was get it back to the University in Gilbratha and decrypt it.

Chapter 1

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 1:00 a.m.

For once, Siobhan felt grateful that the average person was such an imbecile. The coppers were no exception, even in a big city like Gilbratha. Shivering in the dark, she took another peek out of the alley behind the inn, tugging down the hood of her ratty, stolen cloak. She had to be sure the ambush they'd set couldn't snap shut around her. The coppers were positioned at both street corners, and she guessed they were waiting in the inn's common room, and probably outside her door as well.

The coppers had the right idea, staking out the room her father had rented for them.

Siobhan would have preferred not to return to the inn, but she had no choice. Her belongings, including her grimoire, were there. She couldn't afford to lose what little she had. Lucky for her, the coppers had apparently failed to consider the fact that she wasn't a blazing idiot. She wouldn't simply walk, oblivious, through the front door.

As far as Siobhan knew, the room was still undisturbed, probably because they'd noticed the rudimentary alarm ward she'd set on the doorframe. Tripping it would have alerted her to the manhunt's progress and kept her from walking into their trap.

Either that or they'd subverted the ward and were waiting for her in the unlit room, the more obvious guards only serving as decoys, encouraging her to discard her vigilance.

Siobhan grimaced, looking up at the dark, many-paned window on the second floor. She would just have to be careful. 'Climbing a building can't be so hard, can it? It's not as if I have a choice, after all.' With a nervous breath and a very careful twisting of her thoughts away from the possibility of falling, she crossed the alley. Her hands reached for the wooden slats, and she began to climb, fitting fingers and the tips of her boots wherever she could.

The wood was faintly damp, and in more than a few places it had bred a slimy film. When she reached the second floor, her right hand slipped, but she managed not to cry out, despite breaking most of the nails on her left hand as she dug her fingers even harder into the crevasse. 'And it took so much effort to grow those stupid nails,' she thought wryly. 'I guess I really never will fit into high society.' She shuffled sideways till she reached the window of the room she'd left that morning, a time that now seemed a lifetime away, full of innocence and hope.

Bracing the toes of her boots between the wooden siding panels, she peeked in, moving her head slowly to avoid drawing notice. Her fingers trembled on the edge of the sill with the pressure she placed on them, and she was excruciatingly conscious of how close she was to falling backward. She saw no one within, no inky shadows that looked more suspicious than any other.

Siobhan had placed the alarm ward over the window as well, but that didn't matter, unless they were very much cleverer than she was giving them credit for. If they were that clever, she would simply have to run, again.

No, the bigger problem was her lack of formal training or experience with breaking and entering. The latch was locked from the inside. She was sure there were spells that could reach through a barrier and undo a simple latch-lock. However, she didn't know any of them.

That would have posed a problem, if not for the versatile nature of sorcery.

'I can't let something this trivial stop me,' she thought, glaring at the wood-bordered glass panes. 'I need my grimoire.' She made sure her feet were stable, then released one hand's death grip on the windowsill. Her cold, clumsy fingers fumbled in one of the pockets of the ratty jacket she wore under the even more ratty cloak. She pulled out a soft wax crayon and carefully drew a small Circle on the glass, completely enclosing one of the hand-sized panes. That was where the magic would take effect.

There could be no gaps in the Circle. Mistakes could be deadly.

Though she shook with the effort, Siobhan slowly drew a larger Circle around the first, dragging the crayon over the wooden divisions between the panes with careful precision. That was where she would write the Word, the instructions that would help guide the magic to the right purpose.

She drew a third, small Circle on the windowsill itself, then connected it to the outer Circle on the glass with a line. That was a component Circle, where she would place the Sacrifice, which would be consumed as she cast the spell. She wrote the glyph for "fire" within it, though she would sacrifice no actual fire. It was close enough to the idea of heat to work. More fumbles into her many pockets turned up a vial of honey, of which she tipped a sluggish drop into the component Circle on the windowsill. Next, a small, rolled-up ball of similar stickiness—spiderweb. She reached for a wad of cotton, but found she had none.

Biting back a curse, she reached again for the wax crayon and wrote the glyph for "silence" in the space between the two overlapping Circles on the glass. She didn't know the glyph for "stillness," but she did know "slow," so that's what she wrote. She squeezed in what further detailed instructions would fit, but it wasn't much. Finally, Siobhan drew a pentagon within the inside Circle.

She made the mistake of looking at the ground below and had to swallow down her lurching stomach and steady her trembling legs. Magic required concentration. She couldn't allow her circumstances to dull her wits if she wanted to succeed. 'Grandfather didn't teach me to be the type of sorcerer who has performance problems,' she thought, sneering at her faint reflection in the glass. 'He also didn't teach me to make up spells out of desperation…' This thought popped into her head unbidden, and she pushed it away. Untested spells were always dangerous. It was always safer to copy a spell you already knew to work, which, ideally, had been proven over generations of regular use, than to try something entirely new. If the magic rebelled and she lost control, she might die.

But she was desperate. 'It's a simple enough spell. Surely at least some sorcerers have done something similar before. And even if the magic turns wild, it only means I must control it all the more tenaciously.'

She glared at the spell array she'd drawn and let her Will spill out into the world, activating the spell. The magic took hold of the windowpane, and she winced. The array was proving its inefficiency by letting off a glow. She focused harder, and the light dimmed, though not enough to be truly stealthy. Siobhan could only hope that no one was watching, because the glowing spell array would be obvious against the darkness.

After hurriedly wrapping her free hand in a fistful of cloak, she gave a sharp jab toward the glass. On the bright side, there was no loud shattering of glass. On the not-so-bright side, that wasn't because her spell had successfully muffled the sound, but because the force of her blow had been too weak to break the window.

Siobhan drew back her fist and punched harder. This time, the windowpane broke. The sound of shattering glass was muffled, and the shards slowly floated down toward the grimy floor inside, like feathers.

'Feathers, that would've been a good component. A couple might have eased the Will-drain. And maybe a pentagram would have been better than a pentagon. That spell was mostly transmogrification,' she thought, releasing the mental effort that kept the spell going. Where the component Circle had been, both the honey and the blob of spiderweb were gone. The whole spherical area within had frozen so solid she knew it would burn her skin and break away from the wall if touched. The air became visible as it passed over the spot, little particles of water turning to ice in an instant.

She'd used up all the heat. Such inefficient spellwork was embarrassing, and a little frightening, because if the spell had run out of fuel she could be dead. Still, it was the best she could do in that moment, and it had worked.

Siobhan reached through the newly created opening, and with a simple flick of her finger, opened the latch. It creaked. She froze, waiting for a response. None came, except for a sudden chill from the pebble tucked into the lip of her boot as her ward alerted her of the intrusion. Gingerly, she pulled open the window, leaning back in a way that made her sick to her stomach to allow it to swing outward. She climbed into the room, careful not to set her booted foot down on the shards of glass below.

An effort of memory brought to her mind's eye the state of the room as she and her father had left it, and a look around confirmed that nothing seemed to have changed. She hurried to gather her things, and only remembered at the last moment that one floorboard creaked when stepped on, just in time to avoid it.

She grabbed her small pack, which contained her grimoire, a little box of spell components, and her spare Conduit, as well as her extra, more worn set of clothes—the ones she hadn't wanted to wear to the University—and hairbrush, which was free of any hair of course, as Grandfather had taught her.

She gathered up her father's things next. What was light enough to carry, anyway. Finally, she did a quick sweep of the inn's lumpy straw beds for stray hairs or other pieces of themselves they may have left behind, a well-practiced spell burning anything relevant to smokeless ash.

As she was finishing, the telltale footsteps of a copper sounded from the stairs below, the copper hobnails in the soles of their boots clicking against the wood.

Siobhan made sure her packs were tightened securely to her body and returned to the window. A piece of glass, invisible in the shadows, cracked under her boot. She froze.

Outside the door, someone's weight shifted, boots shuffling over the wooden floor.

She scrambled to crawl back through the window, made awkward by her load. To her relief, the door didn't burst open, as she would surely have been caught halfway through maneuvering back outside.

"Investigator," two men greeted, the nervousness of those who knew they had not been quite as vigilant in their task as might be desired apparent in their voices.

"Anything to report?" a third man's voice replied perfunctorily, the scratch of a sore throat roughening the sound.

"No, Investigator," came the jointly spoken reply.

The man let out a wet cough. "We've got the wardbreaker here. Occupants are listed as one Ennis Naught and his daughter, with no proof of a license for thaumaturgy, so we're good to ward-break." After a pause, he added in a low grumble, "Six hours later."

One of the guards let out a nervous laugh as Siobhan leaned back and closed the window. She reached through the opening she'd created and re-latched the lock, then stared at the broken windowpane in dawning horror.

"Planes-damned Crown bureaucracy," the guard said with an awkward laugh. "Always making our jobs harder, am I right?"

The investigator didn't reply, but there was more nervous shuffling, and then another set of footsteps and the dry sound of chalk scraping against the other side of the door.

Siobhan held back a stream of invective as she shuffled along the wall, trying not to let the packs drag her over backward. 'I hope you find your hide burned by a fire demon from one of the greater hells, Father,' she thought. 'How dare you put me in this position, you criminally irresponsible, thieving, sorry excuse for a caretaker. If Grandfather were still here, I would never be reduced to climbing down the side of some flea-ridden inn to escape from the coppers. Grandfather would never have used me as a decoy to evade capture for his own feckless crimes!'

Distracted by her own mental tirade, one foot placed slightly wrong was all it took for the packs on her back and the immutable force of gravity to undermine her hold on the wall. Siobhan fell backward.

She suppressed a scream, experiencing a moment of terror before landing on the mucky cobblestone of the alley below. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs with an audible "oomph!"

The packs, filled mostly with cloth, had cushioned her fall. She arched her back and pulled at the air, her hands scrabbling at nothing as her mouth gaped like a fish. 'Oh, I've killed myself,' she wailed mentally. 'What an ignominious end, dashed upon the ground…' The tiniest bit of breath filtered into her lungs, and that led the way for more. Once she was sure that her back hadn't snapped like an incense stick from the fall, she sat up and stumbled to her feet, only to freeze as a light shone from the window above.

They must have broken the ward on the door, since it hadn't alerted her to the intrusion.

A quick mental argument about whether it was more stealthy to press herself against the side of the building to be more difficult to spot, or to remain frozen to avoid drawing eyeballs to suspicious movement in the darkness, yielded no good answer. She was left no time to think of a better option, because one of the people above hurried directly to the window and looked out.

When they shone a beam of light out into the alley where she stood, all thoughts of stealth vanished and Siobhan bolted.

Shouts followed her, and as she skidded around the corner into the street, the copper at the end of the block saw her and gave chase.

Instead of cursing, Siobhan saved her breath for escaping.

"Halt!" the copper yelled.

She ignored him, darting around the nearest corner and sprinting blindly down the alley. This part of the city had only the rare crystal streetlamp illuminating the darkness, which worked both for and against her.

The copper's clacking footsteps echoed loudly behind her, and were soon joined by others as his associates gave chase.

She scrambled around another corner, her boots slipping in something rancid and slimy as she rushed deeper into the maze of poorly planned and haphazardly constructed buildings. Behind her, red light flashed as a magical projectile impacted against the wall she'd just passed. A stunning spell.

'At least they aren't trying to kill me,' she thought, somewhat hysterically.

Her heart in her throat, Siobhan pumped her arms and legs even faster. She had no idea where she was going. If she'd had time, she would have scouted the surrounding area before going back for her things, but she had barely managed to find the inn again after escaping from the University. She'd been right not to wait any longer, or the coppers would have entered the room before she did, and what few resources she had just recovered would have been lost. She was tiring quickly. She'd never been particularly athletic, and sprinting at top speed for any length of time while carrying a third of her weight in luggage was shockingly difficult.

She came to a "T" shaped junction. Another frantic turn around the corner sent her stumbling over detritus hidden by the dark. She went sprawling forward, scraping her palms against the stone and slamming her chest into the ground, which only made her much-abused lungs ache even more.

Siobhan scrambled back to her feet and found herself facing the sudden end of a short alley. There was nowhere for her to run. She spun around, hoping for the alley to extend in the other direction, but found that to be a dead-end as well. Her only way out, the alley she'd just come down, led straight back to the chasing coppers.

Her breath came fast and her head whipped around as she searched for something, anything that would allow her to escape. 'Do I have a spell that could help me here?' She could think of nothing. From the sound of the shouts and clacking footsteps, she didn't have the time to draw out a Circle and the Word to guide a spell even if she knew one that might help.

When a window at the other tail of the alley screeched open and a man's head popped out, already looking at her, her heart jumped as if it meant to crawl up through her throat and escape her body.

Instead of calling out that he'd caught her or pointing a battle wand at her, the dark-haired man waved her over. "Hurry," he called in a low voice.

Siobhan hesitated less than a second, since a suspicious stranger on the poor side of the city, who was at least nominally willing to help her, was sadly the best option currently available. She dashed across the alley, cringing as she briefly exposed herself to the approaching coppers.

Another blast of red light shot out toward her from the tip of a battle wand, but the aim was off. The spell splashed ineffectually against the wall once again, leaving a subtle scorch mark and a puff of steam behind. That one had been more powerful than the last.

She grabbed the dark-haired man's outstretched hand. With their combined effort, she scrambled up and through the window, her packs scraping against the frame and snagging for a single, panicked instant before releasing. Siobhan tumbled to the floor, wild-eyed, and the man immediately closed the window and moved further into the building. While she struggled to regain her bearings, he was picking up a small oil lantern from the floor, the flame within illuminating the darkness with a dull orange flicker.

"Follow me," he said, the words fully enunciated and carrying the kind of confidence that told her he hadn't even considered that she might do otherwise.

She complied, noting the upright way he moved and the expensive fabric and cut of his suit. This man wasn't one of the poor locals, but unless he was leading her into an elaborate trap, he also wasn't a copper. She looked for signs of sorcery—the many pockets filled with component materials, or a jewel clear enough to be a Conduit. Despite the fashionable cut of his clothes, his pockets didn't seem to hold anything, and he wore no jewelry. That alone didn't mean he wasn't a thaumaturge of some sort, but he was unlikely to be a sorcerer, at least.

He led her out a side door into another narrow alley, then into a building on the other side. Once the door was shut behind them, he peeked out of a small opening in a boarded-up window, and after a few seconds, sighed in relief. "We should be safe to wait them out here." He hung the lantern on a nail sticking out of a nearby support beam, then turned to face Siobhan. He was clean-shaven, wavy hair falling over his forehead in a way that made him look slightly boyish, but which was offset by an angular jaw. His lips curled up at the sides, giving him an ever-so-slightly amused expression as he stared back at her.

She backed up to a safe distance from him.

He let out a soft snort, as if offended. "I assure you, I mean you no harm."

"Forgive me if your words do not reassure me in the slightest," she said, still more than a little breathless.

He spread his hands, holding them up in an innocent pose. "I have helped you evade law enforcement at my own risk. What more can I do to reassure you?" Despite his words, something about the amusement in his low voice communicated clearly that he was not a danger to her only because he chose not to be.

Siobhan was very conscious of the leather book pressed against the skin of her back and the amulet hanging down from one of the cords around her neck, both disguised by her clothing. 'Maybe he does have a Conduit, and it's simply hidden.'

She glared at him, chin raised high. "Perhaps you can explain how you found yourself so conveniently placed to come to my rescue." Siobhan was tall for a woman, but very aware that without magic she stood little chance of defeating most opponents. Unfortunately, her Will was almost exhausted, and confined within such a small space, without even a battle artifact, she wouldn't have enough time to cast any serious magic before it was too late. She slipped the packs' straps off her shoulders in case she needed to move nimbly. They would just be extra handholds for someone to grab her with.

He stared at her assessingly. "I am a philanthropist."

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. "You're a criminal," she said, her tone daring him to deny it.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and grinned. "Then we are alike, no?"

She looked him up and down, mentally calculating the cost of his outfit, which was probably worth as much as the Conduit in her pocket. His stance was arrogant and assured, like her own, but hers was the result of conscious training and self-discipline, while his was natural, a product of inborn arrogance and a lifetime of privilege. She didn't bother to hold back her scorn. "No, I think not."

Rather than offending him, this sent one side of his mouth curling up in amusement. "So you're evading law enforcement out of…innocence?"

She had no response to that. 'I've been unwittingly implicated in a life-ruining crime, but I'm innocent, I swear!' didn't seem likely to convince him, assuming she saw a point to defending herself, which she didn't. 'Even if he believed me, it's too late to change things now.'

The man didn't let the awkward silence stretch out. "Perhaps you can agree that, for the moment, our interests seem aligned?"

"I know my interests. What are yours?"

His expression turned a little more serious. "You have made quite a name for yourself in a very short time. The city is abuzz with it—" He cut off as the eponymous sound of copper-nailed boots striking against the cobblestones resounded through the alley beside them.

The coppers weren't running this time.

When she heard them pound on a nearby door and demand entrance, Siobhan thought she might be sick. "Is there another exit?" she hissed, reaching into her jacket to clasp her Conduit, though she knew once they found her, all hope was lost.

He shook his head with slow finality, the last of his nonchalance burned away.

In the alley, they heard the coppers break down the other door when no one answered.

Her other hand reached up to press against her chest, feeling the amulet against her skin. She looked around, but there were no windows except the boarded-up one by the single door.

The man peeked out through the gap in the boarded window again. "We have less than a minute. Is there anything you can do? A spell? Something to hide us, or perhaps a big blast to knock them out of the way and leave them unable to give chase?"

"No, no," she said, patting the pockets of her jacket, hoping to prove herself wrong. 'Why did Grandfather never teach me any battle spells?' she wailed to herself. 'Is there any magic besides sorcery I can employ?' Her mind ran through its repertoire of knowledge—everything Grandfather had taught her, the things she had picked up from other thaumaturges while traveling with her father, and the things she had experimented with.

She had some minor healing salves in her pack, and the medallion hanging from her neck would protect her from certain dangers, but none of the magic she knew was particularly offensive, and of the spells that might be useful, she couldn't cast any of them quickly.

Magic was the answer to almost every problem, but only if you were very, very good at it. Her ignorance and lack of skill damned her.

The coppers were at the door. One slammed their fist against it. "By order of the Crowns, open up!"

The man ruffled his hair till it stood on end, took off his jacket and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, then moved to stand between her and the door, his knees dipping slightly as if to prepare for sudden movement.

'Does he plan to fight the coppers? What can he hope to do, unarmed against a battle wand?'

The wood shuddered under another pounding fist.

Siobhan's free hand clutched at the artifact. 'I think I'm going to pass out.' When the copper's first concussive spell on the door cracked its wood, her eyes closed in a reflexive flinch. Her mind settled instinctively into the perspective that allowed her to channel her Will, and she reached out for what little power she had access to without a Circle. Her body flushed with a warm tingle. 'Oh no, I really am going to pass out…'

The second attack broke through the doorjamb, sending the door itself slamming against the wall and splinters of wood flying through the room.

Her attempted rescuer flinched, raising his hands before the threat of the copper's extended battle wand. His pose showed that he meant no harm, but his knees were still slightly bent, perhaps hoping to take them by surprise.

A uniformed man and woman stood in the shattered doorway, both breathing hard.

Siobhan resolved that she would attack if he did. She might not be particularly useful in a fistfight, but at least she could help even the odds, and maybe keep one of them from calling for reinforcements while the man fought the other one.

The copper's female partner stepped around him, shining a lamp over both of them. The woman looked around suspiciously, her eyes flicking around the dark corners of the room and then settling down to glare at the two of them.

Squinting against the bright light, Siobhan unclenched her fists, leaving her Conduit in her pocket, and raised her hands into the air. Her eyes flicked down to the battle wand holstered at the female copper's hip. 'That artifact likely contains more of those stunning spells. Meant to incapacitate, not kill.' Perhaps if she lunged for the woman fast enough, she could steal it and use it against her and her partner. 'The wand can't be that difficult to operate, surely?'

She plotted out her vector of attack in a blistering fury of concentration. 'I can do this. I can.' Two steps forward, duck down to avoid the spell from the male copper, spin to reach the woman's side and simultaneously use her as a partial body shield. Snatch the wand—

"Have you seen anyone come this way? Tall, dark-haired woman. Might have been wearing a hooded cloak. A thaumaturge," the woman said.

Siobhan blinked. 'Is this a joke?' Her hood had fallen down around her shoulders, revealing her face and hair. The woman was looking right at her. Perhaps their description of her appearance was somehow incorrect, maybe of someone older than her, or with some sensationally evil feature, like glowing red eyes. Siobhan carefully didn't look at the packs on the ground, which were more evidence of her identity.

Her rescuer turned to look at her, and the momentary widening of his eyes when they landed on her, combined with the pinch of pain caused by too-tight boots that had fit fine only seconds before, gave Siobhan the last clue she needed.

"Heard footsteps goin' into the buildin' 'cross the street," she said, hoping her flinch at the sound of her own voice hadn't been noticeable. The sound was scratchy and deep, unmistakably male. She cleared her throat, doing her best to imitate the Gilbrathan poor people's accent. "There was this bright light, a green one. We figured it best to stay out the way." She wasn't an actor, but with singularity of purpose, a simple change in mannerisms wasn't so difficult. She hoped she didn't seem suspicious, as she hadn't prepared for this. Still, better to speak less, to give them less chance to notice something amiss.

"You didn't open the door when we called for entry," the male copper said, the words an accusation.

"We were…occupied. You broke it down before we had the chance," her rescuer said, adjusting the waistband of his pants with obvious awkwardness.

'He's insinuating I'm a prostitute,' Siobhan realized, not having to act to adopt an embarrassed expression.

The male copper grimaced with faint distaste, but the female's eyes narrowed as they roved over Siobhan's body.

Siobhan's clothing was covered in pockets, but that style wasn't reserved only for magic-wielders. Plus, the state of her clothes and the obvious lack of wealth and hygiene didn't evoke thoughts of a powerful thaumaturge. She had taken off the few trinkets she normally wore, and her Conduit was safely tucked away. She was wearing trousers rather than a skirt, and if they rode a little high on her ankles and loose around the hips, that only suggested she couldn't afford tailoring.

The woman pointed her wand at Siobhan, and Siobhan tensed again, thinking her deception had been discovered.

However, instead of ordering her to lie down on the ground with her hands behind her head or shooting her with a stunning spell, the woman fiddled with the artifact's controls for a couple of seconds, then cast an almost invisible wave that washed over Siobhan and prickled against her skin.

The spell irritated her nostrils and eyes, forcing her to blink back tears. 'Some kind of revealing or nullification spell?'

The copper lowered her wand. "Across the alley, you say?" She nodded to her partner, who hesitantly lowered his own wand, though he kept his glare trained on Siobhan's rescuer. Despite their obvious mistrust, an out-of-place gentleman committing no obvious crime with a ragamuffin homeless person apparently didn't compare to the urgency of finding Siobhan. After a final admonition to report any sightings of the "rogue and dangerous thaumaturge," and to be sure to avoid her for their own safety, the coppers left.

Siobhan waited to be sure both were gone before examining herself. Instead of her skin's normal ochre, she had grown even paler than her rescuer, and when she tilted her head down to look at her body, light blonde hair fell into her face. The fine strands were cut short, to just below her chin, rather than the normal dark mane that grew past the small of her back. Her boots pinched uncomfortably around larger feet, and she was fairly certain she had grown taller as well.

The man settled the door back in its frame and then looked her transformed body up and down. "You cast an illusion of a man over yourself? It's not what I expected, but, I admit, it is quite impressive."

Siobhan shook her head, wide-eyed. "It's not an illusion," she said. 'And I didn't cast it,' she continued silently.

Chapter 2 - Opportunity Knocks for a Sorcerer

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 1:20 a.m.

Siobhan had always prided herself on her intelligence. Taking stock of the facts was easy. She reached down and gripped the flesh between her legs for confirmation. Yes, she had been transformed into a man.

Her rescuer's eyebrows rose as he watched her grope herself.

She'd noticed no signs of a Circle or the necessary Word to implement such a complex and delicate transmutation. 'Even if those were disguised, or I simply missed them, who would have been the one to trigger the spell?' The man in front of her hadn't done so, or he would have better hidden his surprise when he first saw the change. It hadn't been the coppers, for obvious reasons, unless there was some grand conspiracy with convoluted goals…No, a much more likely answer was pressed against her now-flat chest, still slightly warm.

The amulet throbbed a little, like a heartbeat calming after a burst of exertion. She reached up and snatched it out from under her clothes, fumbling to untangle its chain from that of the warding medallion she wore, holding it away from her body in horror. The amulet, a dark, matte stone disk clasped in a simple setting and hanging from a leather cord, swung innocently under her fist. She laid it on the floor and took a step back.

The man obviously didn't know what was going on, but mimicked her step backward with an expression of concern. "What's wrong?" Perhaps subconsciously, his hands lowered, as if to shield his crotch.

The amulet didn't react, but removing contact with her body also didn't reverse whatever magic it had cast on her. "It's an artifact. It may be dangerous," she said, once again forcing herself not to cringe at the deepness of her voice. Even the feel of her teeth in her mouth was wrong. She felt an edge of panic pressing in on her strange, pale skin, the kind of fear stemming from complete disorientation that a babe must feel upon being born into the world. 'My mind is my own,' she reassured herself, reaching for her Conduit with her free hand simply for the reassuring feel of it. She focused her Will on remaining calm, not ceding control to the situation. If she fell apart now, all might be lost. 'My magic is my own.'

The man looked from it to her. "May be?" he repeated. "Isn't it your artifact? How do you not know?"

She didn't respond, but he wasn't stupid either.

"Is this what they are looking for? What you stole?" He spoke in a low voice, as if worried someone might overhear.

"I did not steal it!" she snapped at an equally low volume. At his unperturbed look of skepticism, she grimaced. "I was drawn into this unknowingly. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late, and I'd already been made complicit. I was forced to flee."

He stayed silent for a few moments, then said, "That is indeed unfortunate. However, I was under the impression the University was searching for a magical text of some sort? One they discovered on an archaeological expedition?"

The words reminded her of her distrust toward him. "You seem quite knowledgeable about this," she said flatly.

He raised his hands again in a placating gesture. "Half the city knows about it by now. And yes, it is why I'm here. Similarly to the coppers, I thought you might return to your place of residence. An acquaintance of mine was able to get the location from the coppers, with just a little bit of bribery. I wasn't sure that a powerful thaumaturge such as yourself would need help, but was prepared to offer it in the hopes you would find yourself favorably disposed to help me in return. I saw you run, and quite luckily you headed my way. I know a few shortcuts through this part of the city and managed to get ahead of you."

That she was so predictable was worrying. "You want my help, in exchange for keeping me from being arrested?"

He nodded. "My acquaintances are in need of a powerful thaumaturge. A…sorcerer?" he asked leadingly.

She briefly contemplated pretending to be the powerful sorcerer he seemed to believe she was. Unfortunately, magical expertise was not something you could simply fake, unless you were a magician running a scam against a bunch of country yokels. He would expect her to actually be able to help, and when she couldn't…'Would he turn on me, then? No, better to leave the city now. Perhaps one of the magical arcanums of another country will take me in.'

Siobhan shook her head. "I cannot help you."

She turned her attention back to the artifact on the floor. Gingerly, she picked it up, searching for any indication of controls, like a button or switch she had missed before, or even the symbols and glyphs of a spell's Word etched into it, perhaps worn away by time. She found nothing.

Her thoughts turned back to the stolen book. Her father had thrust it into her hands and told her to run away. Considering that they were already being chased, it hadn't occurred to her at the time to question him, but when she finally had a moment to stop and think—after escaping from the coppers for the first time that day—she knew she'd made a mistake. Looking furtively around for observers, she had hoped the book wasn't too valuable, that perhaps she could simply go back to the University and return it, denouncing the impetuous crimes of her father.

Instead, she'd made her next mistake when she decided to examine the stolen book more closely. It was old and leather-bound, with no title except for a glyph stamped into the front cover. She didn't know its meaning, and the shape seemed to shift continually. A quick flip through the parchment pages had shown the contents were encrypted.

The leather binding on the inside edge had come slightly loose, subtle enough that she'd almost missed it. Curiosity had always been one of her vices. Unable to restrain herself, she had pulled the leather cover back farther, revealing a spell array burnt into the leather. The Word was complex, well beyond her, but she recognized the main symbol within, a nonagon, which her grandfather used when doing space-bending spells. She had touched the edge with her finger and pushed a spark of Will into the Circle, her free hand clasped around her Conduit.

She knew her Will was too weak to power such a spell, so she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Perhaps she'd just wanted the feel of being so close to complex magic that would be beyond her skill for many years still. What she hadn't expected was for the book to forcefully jump out of her hand, and she'd almost screamed and drawn attention to herself.

It had landed on the ground a few feet away, its leather re-bound so tightly that no clue to what lay underneath remained. Beside the book, lying on the hard cobbles, was the amulet she held now. Regretting her actions, she'd tried to peel back the inside of the book's cover to put the amulet back, but, unable to do so, she'd resorted to hiding both the book and the amulet on her person, berating herself for reckless stupidity.

She realized now that both the leather cover of the book and the amulet that had come out of it were artifacts—objects with pre-cast spells embedded into them for later release. Except she had never heard of an artifact triggered only by Will and the barest spark of energy rather than some external activation method.

'The text might have a clue about how the amulet works—how I can regain my correct form—if I could just decrypt its protective enchantments to read it. For the moment, however, it might be best to remain a blonde man for the sake of obscurity, and hope whatever spell it has subjected me to doesn't wear off at an inopportune moment.' She hung the amulet around her neck again and tucked it under her clothes along with her warding medallion, despite how uncomfortable its touch now made her. It was safest there, and she was safest with it hidden and close. If she lost it, she might never turn back. There was no pain, no strangeness to her thoughts. She guessed that the amulet wasn't a cursed artifact, unless the curse was very subtle. Strange and frightening, but perhaps—hopefully—not dangerous.

The man stepped forward, but stopped when she retreated again to maintain the distance between them. "Don't dismiss my offer so quickly. What we require is nothing dangerous," he said. "My acquaintances mean you no harm, and you can trust that if I meant to betray you, I could have done so already. Perhaps you don't need help to evade arrest, but surely there's something else I could offer? At this point, I seem to be the only ally you have."

Siobhan gritted her teeth. 'I hate this,' she thought, 'even more so because he's not wrong, but that doesn't mean I can trust him.' As a wanted criminal, she wasn't safe anywhere within Gilbratha, and maybe not anywhere within the country of Lenore, if the book was valuable enough. If she left the city without clearing her name, she never would be. Not in her normal body, anyway, if it was even possible to return to it. Her father was somewhere here, evading the coppers just like her. He may have started all this in the first place, but she doubted he had comprehended the full consequences of his actions, and she was very aware that, unlike her, he had no magic to help him.

However, the real motivation for her hesitation was the University itself, and the knowledge of magic it offered. She was greedy for it, and had been for so long. To get so close, only to have all her aspirations ripped from her, caused an almost physical pain in her chest. If the slightest chance remained, she couldn't give it up. The Naught bloodline was about the lone incentive someone might have to sponsor her. "I want my name cleared and to be granted admission to the University," she said. "Can you do that?"

The man frowned. "I don't understand why you would need help to accomplish that, with your capabilities."

"Can you do it or not? If not, there's no reason for us to continue talking."

He blinked, his gaze assessing. "It seems very possible. They're holding entrance examinations in a couple weeks."

A tingling rush of hope swept through her, but she did her best to tamp it down. "I can provide minor healing and create some useful salves and potions. I have some background in sorcery, and I can develop rudimentary spells according to necessity. I know a few protective wards, and some minor esoteric magics from a few different disciplines. I am fully literate and good with numbers, and my Will is strong enough to channel at least one hundred seventy-five thaums continuously on the Henrik-Thompson scale. I can recharge artifacts, and…" She flexed her fingers, and her eyes flicked around as she searched her mind. 'What else can I offer?'

He spoke before she could continue, his eyebrows raised high. "You're not a fully trained sorcerer? How did…ah." He reached an uncallused, manicured hand up to his face and rubbed the dark stubble on his jaw.

Siobhan swallowed back the bitter taste of disappointment. It was obvious she wasn't useful enough for him to agree.

"The person who dragged you into this. The man? He's the sorcerer?"

Siobhan almost snorted at the absurd statement. Her father, a sorcerer? Her father didn't have the discipline. "No. He's not a thaumaturge," she said. Her disappointment rose back up, hot and rancid. "He merely saw something that piqued his kleptomaniacal urges and decided to take it. Of course, when the hue and cry was raised, he ran. The man is my father," she spat, "so I ran with him, not yet understanding what he had done. And when he pressed a book to my chest and told me we needed to split up, I was frightened and listened. I should have abandoned him to his own fate, but now it's too late."

The man took two deep breaths, his body shifting slightly as if he were restraining himself from pacing. "And the artifact? This…?" He waved his hand at her body.

She shuddered, and the visceral reaction only made the wrongness of her transfigured body more blatant. She resisted the urge to scratch at her newly-pale skin, instead pushing the blonde hair back from her face and shuffling to relieve the pinching in her toes. "It came with the book," she said, reluctant to divulge the details. "When the coppers pounded at the door, I panicked, and must have activated it somehow."

His gaze grew piercing. "You have the book still?"

She nodded. "It's encrypted, so I haven't read it, but it's obviously valuable. If you aren't interested in my services, perhaps I can trade the book for my earlier request? I must attend the University," she said, trying to sound assertive but unable to keep the edge of desperation from her voice.

He tilted his head to the side, and when he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. "Why must you?"

"To learn magic," she said, as if the answer was obvious. "The Thaumaturgic University of Lenore is the premier arcanum in the world, and if not that, then definitely the best in all Lenore. I will learn sorcery. You can take the artifact as well, of course. A full-body human transmutation should be worth the price of whatever bribes you have to make to get the charges on me dropped. It might even be useful in your…line of work."

He let out a small snort of laughter and put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, rocking forward and back a few times as he stared at her. "No, I don't think my acquaintances will buy the book and artifact from you." He held up a hand to forestall her immediate objection. "You will need the artifact to attend the University, after all." He paused as if to wait for her to request clarification, but when she only stared at him silently, he cleared his throat and continued. "The book is most likely connected to the artifact, and is no use to me as I cannot decrypt it. Due to its source, I cannot resell it, either. As for clearing your name, you may be slightly underestimating how seriously the University and the Crowns are taking this offense. The young woman who I helped out of the alley, the one with the dark hair, those cheekbones, and those eyes? She will never attend the University." He looked her up and down. "This blonde young man with the aristocratic features, though? He is a different matter."

Siobhan narrowed her eyes. "And you can secure a sponsorship for this…young man?"

He shook his head again. "I believe my acquaintances can provide you something to make a sponsorship unnecessary, if your intelligence can earn you a spot deservedly. They can provide you the money to pay your own way."

She nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging and then ignoring the alarm bells in the back of her mind. Even if this transmutation was not permanent, if it held up for a reasonable amount of time and could be repeated, the man's idea could work. The realization made her feel as if the world had shifted around her, bringing with it a ray of light, shining through a new opening into the cage that had been confining her. Knowledge, magic, was at her fingertips, almost within reach. Suddenly the artifact didn't feel so frightening against her chest, and when she spoke, the idea that this voice, this body, might allow her to learn magic gave it a certain charm. "A loan, I assume? What do the attached strings look like, Mr…." She trailed off pointedly. 'I know there will be strings attached. I only hope the strings aren't barbed.'

He grinned like a fox, the edges of his lips curling up a little too far in a way that made her think of skinjackers and the cautionary tales mothers recited for children before bed. "You can call me Mr. Dryden. Let me take you to my associates. We can speak more there, out of the dark and the damp."

Chapter 3 - A Business Contract

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 1:25 a.m.

"Siobhan Naught," she said, introducing herself to her rescuer in return. She followed when Dryden led her out of the maze-like alleys to the main streets, where they both were careful to avoid any outward display of apprehension. They stopped at the smaller side door of a sprawling, multi-storied building that had once been made of stone, then added onto with wood. It stood out against its surroundings, both for size and because it had real glass windows, which wasn't unheard of, even on the edge of the poorer section of Gilbratha, but it was a sign of prosperity that none were broken or patched up with oil paper. Some of the windows still shone with light despite the late hour.

Someone had painted a small symbol in bright green above the door. 'Antlers,' she thought.

Dryden rapped in a distinctive pattern, which Siobhan immediately memorized, and after half a minute of silence, the door opened.

A red-headed boy peered out from around the edge of the door, a bright grin growing on his face when he saw who it was. "Mr. Oliver!" he exclaimed, opening the door wider to let them in. "What're you doing here so late? Didja hear about the powerful witch who attacked the University and then escaped capture by a whole squad of coppers? It was so awesome! She called on a greater demon from the Plane of Darkness." The boy punctuated his words with exaggerated motions and scary sound effects. "And while the coppers were busy with it, she escaped by turning into a raven!"

Dryden gave Siobhan a wry look, but his tone was light and appeasing when he spoke to the boy. "Is that so, Theo? I heard she was a sorcerer, not a witch. And isn't the Plane of Darkness something that only exists in fantasy stories?"

Theo frowned. "If she was a sorcerer, how'd she conjure the demon? Oh!" he said, brightening. "Maybe it wasn't a demon at all! What if it was a spell-created construct? And maybe turning into a raven was actually a sneaky illusion, or a super-powerful body-switching spell that let her teleport to wherever the raven came from!"

Siobhan couldn't resist a slight chuckle. The boy's portrayal of her escape was much more dramatic than she remembered the actual encounter being. "Maybe this sorcerer was up against less than a full squad of coppers, and maybe she just did some simple magic that interacted well with her surroundings to prevent them from following her. Like an overpowered breeze that kicked sand into their eyes and made them stumble off the side of a ledge."

Theo frowned at her, then shook his head emphatically. "No, that's stup—I mean, that's silly. You totally left out the greater demon. Why would a powerful sorcerer just blow sand in people's faces? All the stories I've heard about her escape were much more…" He trailed off, waving his hands around as he searched for the right word.

"Dramatic?" Dryden offered.

Theo nodded. "Yes. That. Oh, I hope one day I'll learn magic and be that powerful. I'm gonna go questing beyond the wards of the city and help battle the beasts of the wild lands. I'll fight a dragon, one with a beast core as big around as my head!" He held his hands up to show them the size of this future prize.

'Naive child. Traveling beyond the warded borders of civilization involves much less glory and many more sore muscles, sleepless nights on the ground, and the grating, constant tension of waiting for nature to turn on you.' Siobhan knew this because living with her father meant they were never welcome in any one town for long, and even if he didn't get them run out, he was soon ready to chase after the next "opportunity." At least Lenore wasn't particularly infested with magical beasts, as long as you avoided the country's wilder borders.

"Is the manager here?" Dryden asked, smiling kindly. "Tell her I would like to speak with her, and I've brought a guest."

"Katerin's upstairs in her office. Just follow me," Theo said, running off toward the stairs at the far side of the large room.

Dryden sighed and shook his head at the child's oblivious back, but motioned for Siobhan to accompany him as he followed.

The large room inside was mostly filled with tables, except for the long bar backed by bottles and kegs at one end, and the curtained stage at the other. On the far wall, scribbles that looked like various bets and their odds covered a spacious chalkboard. A door led off to what she thought was a kitchen. Siobhan imagined it was a popular establishment, with so many attractions to draw the locals. It would be easy to camouflage any suspicious activity within the chaos of legitimate patronage. If the other rooms up above were for guests, making this an inn as well as an entertainment hall, even better.

The three of them went up the stairs and down to the end of the connected hallway. Theo knocked perfunctorily, then opened the door and poked his head in. "Katerin, Mr. Oliver's here, and he brought a man disguised as a homeless person with him."

Siobhan stared at the bright hair on the back of the child's head. "What?" She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until both Dryden and Theo turned to look at her.

Theo gave her a little smirk that held no malice. "Well, I'm not gonna tell anyone. But your cloak seems to've been taken off a homeless man, and the jacket underneath doesn't fit you properly. But you talk and walk like someone from a Crown Family, and when Mr. Oliver looks you in the eyes, you stare right back at him. So, I figure it's a disguise."

Siobhan struggled to keep the surprise from her face. She had indeed stolen the cloak from a man passed out on the side of a street in hopes it would help disguise her. The clothes beneath were meant for a female, of course, and too small for this new body, in addition to having been torn and dirtied in her escape. "Well, you may be right about the clothes and the mannerisms, but I can assure you, I am quite homeless."

Theo shrugged.

From within the room, Siobhan heard a loud sigh, followed by a woman's voice with a throaty, biting accent. "Let them in, Theo, and go to bed. I do not wish to have to tell you again. If I find you haven't gone to sleep…" The threat in her voice was obvious, and the boy blanched and ran off with one last wave to Dryden, leaving the door open behind him.

Siobhan's stomach clenched with apprehension, but she didn't wait for Dryden to lead her in. She stepped forward, pushing the door the rest of the way open.

Behind an imposing mahogany desk, which was covered in papers and lit with a warm yellow glow from a light crystal, sat a beautiful, crimson-haired woman with heavy-lidded eyes. 'Vampire,' came Siobhan's immediate thought. However, further inspection revealed olive-toned skin, and when the woman smiled, the teeth behind her lips were square-tipped and distinctly humanoid. 'Of course, that could be an illusion.' If Siobhan had water imbued with energy from the Plane of Radiance, she could be sure, but even displaying a capped vial would be an overt act of aggression to a real vampire. Besides, if the woman were disguising her true nature, why would she not change the color of her hair, as well?

'Relax,' Siobhan thought to herself. 'There is a difference between wariness and skittish paranoia.' With a conscious exhalation, she nodded at the woman and stepped forward to make way for Dryden to enter behind her.

Katerin raised an eyebrow at him.

The amusement in Dryden's voice was obvious. "What I found wasn't exactly what I went looking for."

"I can see that. What is it, exactly, that you have brought me, Oliver?" she said, not unkindly, as shrewd eyes looked Siobhan's new body up and down.

Dryden moved to stand beside the fireplace in the corner, sighing with exaggerated relief at the warmth.

Katerin's impatience grew palpable.

"I'm not sure how to explain this," he finally said, one edge of his lips curling up.

Katerin's mouth tightened. "I'm too tired to deal with this shit, Dryden. Just tell me."

When Dryden still hesitated, Siobhan spoke. "I'm the one the coppers are looking for," she said simply. She couldn't stop her gaze from twitching nervously toward Dryden, uncomfortable with incriminating herself before another stranger. However, the woman had obviously been complicit in Dryden's plan to aid and bargain with a fugitive sorcerer. Being coy wouldn't help her here. Siobhan tried to reassure herself that things could hardly get worse, but she was, regrettably, too intelligent to believe her own lie. 'It can always get worse.'

Dryden lost his smirk, along with his control of the conversation and Katerin's attention, but he nodded reassuringly at Siobhan as she opened her mouth to continue explaining.

"I had no plans to steal anything, but when I found myself in possession of the book, it was already too late. Within the book was an artifact that causes a full-body transmutation." She gestured to herself. "I meant to become a student of the University just this morning, before my life was torn apart by the imbecilic, egocentric and completely outrageous actions of a man who could not consider the needs of someone else before himself even if he were cursed with a blood-bound vow of philanthropy!" She ran out of breath and realized she was panting, her teeth bared. She swallowed deliberately, then closed her mouth and ran her tongue across the inside of her teeth for a couple of seconds to regain her composure. "Forgive me. I am…upset to have my wellbeing and future jeopardized so severely."

Katerin let out the smallest huff of air. It might have been an indicator of amusement.

Dryden cleared his throat. "She has a clean identity. To attend the University, she now only needs money."

Katerin leaned her elbows on the desk and dropped her head forward to rub at her temples. "Perhaps you could slow down and explain things to me in more detail. With some coherence, this time."

Siobhan flushed and was discomfited to realize that, with such pale skin, the involuntary reaction was probably quite obvious.

This time, Dryden took the initiative to explain. "The reports of the nefarious sorcerer who stole an ancient text brought back from the University's latest expedition were…somewhat exaggerated." He continued, explaining everything he and Siobhan had discussed.

Katerin seemed to grow more tired as he spoke.

Siobhan, in contrast, drew herself up even straighter, as if impeccable posture would shield her against disappointment.

"A loan of that size is a significant investment," the woman said. "It is not the first time one of the common people have requested it. Without a license to practice, it is unlikely he…she"—Katerin looked at Siobhan and waved a hand dismissively—"would ever be able to repay me. A license requires that she be able to gain admittance as well as complete at least the first three terms. I will need assurance that she can do so," she said, turning to Siobhan.

Siobhan knew what Katerin meant. "You wish to see me perform a spell?"

"You told Oliver here that you were capable of such. If that is true, perhaps you'll be useful. However, you must also demonstrate the capability of this artifact. If you cannot successfully disguise yourself in the long term, it's pointless to continue this discussion."

Siobhan pushed back her shoulders, the movement of this new body feeling less wrong already. Did it matter if the form were not her own—not quite right—if, by using it, she could learn magic? There was little she wouldn't be willing to pay. She reached up to the amulet at her neck and pulled it out of her clothing once again. A quick glance showed interest from both Dryden and Katerin, but none of the greed that would signal danger. Even with the ability to inspect the amulet again in the light, she saw no obvious controls or switches, no signs of it being an artifact at all. If it only worked one way and the spell never wore off, she would never return to her former appearance.

The thought made her hand clench around it with apprehension, and her mind slipped into that particular kind of focus that spellcasting required. As she had done so many times before, she reached for a spark of power to feed into the spell. There was no Circle, but for only the barest hint of energy, she didn't need one. The artifact warmed her palm, and then that same tingling warmth spread across her frame. Obviously, the artificer who created it had been a Master, at the least. Within a couple of seconds, the warm tingle receded.

When Siobhan opened her eyes, their viewpoint was just a little lower than what she had already grown used to. She let out a sigh of relief. Her shoes no longer pinched, and a quick look down at herself revealed long, pitch-black strands of hair and the creamy ochre skin that revealed her heritage. Her mother had been one of the People.

Katerin looked her up and down, then nodded. "Now turn back."

Siobhan did, grimacing at the pinch of her boots and the sense of physical dysmorphia.

"What are the base ingredients of a fever-reducing potion?" Katerin asked.

Siobhan didn't even need to think. "There are a few different variations of fever reducers. Common ingredients are white willow bark, boneset, yarrow, ice, or any body part from an albino frost toad—though the core is the best—lake fog harvested before the sun fully rises, spearmint, and a couple of feathers from a dove or a sparrow for a feeling of breezy comfort."

Katerin didn't seem impressed, but she didn't seem disappointed, either. "You can brew all of these variations?"

Siobhan nodded. Simple healing potions and salves were always in demand, and it had been an easy way for her to trade for goods or a place to sleep in the towns her father and she had passed through. She rarely had access to any ingredient she wanted, so had often been forced to brew variations based on what she could forage from the nearby land. She had even used them herself a few times.

Dryden shared a quick look with Katerin, then said, "You mentioned simple spell creation. If I wanted you to find a way to continuously circulate water from the ground up to a higher location in a way that would require little maintenance, could you do that? A method that doesn't require constant attention from a thaumaturge, to be specific."

Siobhan frowned. "I would need a power source, of course, but that seems fairly simple. I'd need some time to design the most efficient array, and maybe a couple of reference texts, but if we could use a small fire as a Sacrifice, and ensure it continued to be fed, it should provide enough power for lift. Perhaps, if we could then catch the water falling down again, I might be able to design something that recycled the gravitational momentum to make the circulation more efficient. It would still need to be recharged, but as an artifact rather than an actively-cast spell, it'd probably last a while. To be honest, artificery isn't my specialty, though," she admitted reluctantly.

Dryden's broad smile gave her some reassurance.

Katerin leaned forward. "And you're able to recharge artifacts?"

"Basic ones, yes. I would need to know what was Sacrificed and what the artifact's purpose is, but that's often explained in the engraved Word array guiding input, conversion, and output."

Siobhan knew she was exaggerating a little. She'd only recharged the simplest of artifacts before, things like light crystals or a spark shooter. Her grandfather hadn't gotten around to teaching her more than the basics. Most of her knowledge was hard-won and scattered, gained however she could from whoever she found to teach her along the way. She wasn't picky. Magic was magic. If she were admitted to the University and gained access to their resources, she was sure she could work out how to recharge more complicated artifacts.

"Show me something esoteric," Katerin said.

Siobhan quickly ran through her somewhat limited repertoire, searching for something she still had the Will to guide and the proper components for the Sacrifice. Esoteric spells were often small tricks that had been passed down through a family, or from master to apprentice, and didn't comply to the stricter structure of modern sorcery. Some didn't even use a physical spell array.

The shifting shadows caused by the dancing flames in the fireplace drew her eye, and she turned toward the far wall, staring down at her own shadow. 'Somehow, I don't imagine this was how you saw me using this little trick, Grandfather.' Tucking her Conduit between two fingers, she made a Circle with her hands, forefingers and thumbs touching each other. She exhaled through it. Her breath turned visible as it floated past her fingers, the heat sucked from it. She pressed her toes a little harder against the ground, and whispered, "Life's breath, shadow mine. In darkness we were born. In darkness do we feast. Devour, and arise."

She repeated this three times, and with each repetition her shadow darkened slightly, unnaturally. After the third time, the shadow writhed across the floor. It stretched long, crawled up the far wall, and then turned its head as if looking around, two spots of shadow missing to create two round, bright eyes, all while Siobhan remained still. The air between her hands shimmered faintly with the magic, like a heat mirage, but there was no spell array to let off a glow. As a child, she had used the shadow-familiar spell to play, like other children held mock tea parties with their dolls.

Dryden let out a small exclamation, and Siobhan released the magic, letting her shadow return to normal.

"Do you have any battle magic?" Katerin asked.

Siobhan hesitated. "Not as such. There are many ways magic can be used offensively, but I'm not well-versed in any specific combat spells. I do know a vexing tone hex, but it's mostly useful against animals."

Katerin waved that away with a flick of her wrist. "You are aware that practicing magic without a license is a crime in Lenore? That includes recharging artifacts and any alchemy which surpasses basic ingredient-combining."

Siobhan narrowed her eyes, though she knew the words weren't a threat. Those things were likely what they wanted from her. "You could simply wait three terms till I gain an Apprentice license."

Katerin smiled, showing off her human teeth again. "Alternatively, you could simply perform any crimes in the identity which is already a criminal." Her eyes carefully scanned Siobhan's face for her reaction. Before Siobhan could respond, Katerin continued. "Because, you see, this is a very high-risk loan on my part. One thousand gold crowns per term? At half again that in yearly interest? Even if you manage to gain your license, an Apprentice still couldn't afford to repay me the monthly interest. I just don't see how that benefits me, when what I really need isn't money, but a thaumaturge."

Siobhan almost choked. "One thousand? Half again—fifty percent—in yearly interest? Per term?" With a single loan, she would owe fifteen hundred gold crowns by this same time next year, and with an additional thousand each term, she would owe over four thousand six hundred gold by the time she got her Apprentice license, which would come with over two thousand gold in yearly interest. Impossible. "I would be indebted to you for the rest of my life."

Katerin waved her hand dismissively. "The University is quite expensive, and you'll also need living expenses. One thousand isn't outrageous, especially if you wish for this disguise of yours to fit in. As for the interest rate…" She smiled without mirth, and Siobhan wondered again if the woman was altogether human. "Well, what kind of business do you think we are? No, you'll not be able to repay me in gold crowns. However, I'm quite willing to be repaid in services rendered. If you perform well, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to pay off the debt in a few years. Magic pays well."

Dryden walked over to Siobhan and clapped her on the shoulder, squeezing gently. He ignored her instinctive flinch. "Don't worry, Siobhan. We don't wish for you to do anything morally reprehensible, I'm sure. Only for you to practice what skills you have for our benefit, and the benefit of those who need them and cannot receive help elsewhere."

'If he's telling the truth, it's no more than I've done before,' she acknowledged. Except that in the outer villages and towns, no coppers would arrest and imprison someone for working a little magic. In fact, the local thaumaturges and law enforcement were often the most likely to be able to afford or trade for what she could offer. 'I can simply give back whatever I do not spend once the term has started. Just because she gives loans in increments of one thousand gold doesn't mean I truly need to borrow that much.' Her hesitation came from the feeling that these people would ask more of her than she was willing to give, once they had bound her to them. Even so, she was not so naive as to lie to herself now. She would not be walking away from the deal. "I maintain the right to refuse any favors you may request of me, and each one must be attached to a monetary value for repayment." She raised her chin in challenge.

Katerin shrugged. "You may refuse, if you wish, but only on the basis of our request being morally reprehensible—not simply distasteful, dangerous, or inconvenient. Keep in mind that repayment must be made one way or the other. I will not allow you to postpone till you graduate. Still, there are many things you might do, if some particular request is distasteful to you. We are not unreasonable."

Siobhan's mind spun. 'Am I missing anything here?' She stared Katerin down. "I assume this is obvious, but this agreement must remain confidential. I cannot have my new appearance compromised."

Katerin and Dryden shared a look of amusement. "Of course," Katerin said, and Dryden nodded in agreement.

"You will also need access to certain amenities, I believe," Dryden said, gazing at her ragged clothes while fingering the breast of his own suit. "If you want to fit in, that is."

Siobhan stiffened at the implied insult, a slurry of defensive words rising up in her throat. She swallowed them back down. 'He's right. Just because I don't like the way it sounds doesn't make it any less true.' Her fingers trembled, and she forced them to relax. She hated people who got offended by the truth, people who felt the need to lash out at the one who spoke it. She wouldn't be one of them. Instead of a verbal response, she nodded jerkily. 'I want new clothes. I deserve them. This is good.'

After that, things went quickly. Katerin fetched a small chest filled with gold. Siobhan almost dropped it, surprised at the weight, even though she had known objectively that gold was one of the heaviest substances. It was a common spell component, though she had never had the opportunity to use any as a Sacrifice.

Powerful thaumaturges could transmute cheaper substances, like lead, into gold or other precious metals, but it still remained a difficult and expensive process which kept those products out of the hands of the poor. Despite this ability, the Crowns' coinage remained valuable because it was created with some secret method to verify its authenticity. The penalty for attempting to create a counterfeit was death, and they controlled the amount minted, thus maintaining the value of their currency. Siobhan held the locked box tight against her chest, glaringly conscious of its worth. "Do you need me to sign some sort of contract?"

"Of course. You will be giving a blood print vow."

The color drained from Siobhan's face.

Katerin waved her hand as if shooing away Siobhan's misgivings. "It's not that I don't trust you, but that"—she pointed to the chest—"is quite a large sum of money. I won't use the blood print unless you force me to find you and make things…right." She smiled widely. "The vow will cover the terms of the loan and repayment, with a restriction against malfeasance on both our parts. Besides, my blood is required too. Don't be so distrustful."

Siobhan's arms tightened around the chest of gold. Each small piece might as well have been a little drop of knowledge, of magic. 'Didn't I already admit I wouldn't be walking away?' she asked herself. She wasn't capable of such a thing. It would have been easier to ask her to cut off her own foot than to abandon this opportunity. 'I will simply have to ensure I repay them, one way or another.'

Katerin unlocked a drawer in her desk and took out two pieces of parchment with the vow's Circle and Word array already drawn on them.

'How often does she use blood prints, that she has the spell so readily accessible?' Siobhan examined the Circle, trying to decipher how the magic worked. It would compel them to keep the promise they made when pressing their blood into it, and allow use of the blood by the wronged party if either of them reneged on their agreement despite the compulsion. It seemed as though any attempt to use the blood without meeting those requirements, which could only be malicious, would result in the immediate incineration of that party's copy of the agreement. She wished she knew more about this particular type of blood magic, other than the general warnings about how illegal and dangerous all blood magic was.

"We both have some magical training, so there's no need to have a third party as a binder," Katerin said. She took a fountain pen and wrote out a couple of paragraphs explaining the exact terms of their deal on both copies.

Siobhan read it carefully, relieved to know that the interest would only compound once yearly, and the daily rate would be recalculated every time she made a payment. She took the fountain pen from Katerin's desk and added on a clause stating that the lender would act in good faith, allowing the borrower opportunity to repay the debt in a timely manner.

Katerin smiled wryly and nodded, then placed a piece of amber and a knotted leather cord in the component Circles, with a small candle as Sacrifice. She pricked the pad of her thumb with the letter opener on her desk, then gestured for Siobhan to do the same.

They both pressed their bloody thumbs into the middle of the Circle, and Siobhan followed Katerin in speaking.

"I, Katerin Russey, am the lender."

"I, Siobhan Naught, am the borrower."

With the starting phrase, "By my blood, I vow," they read the agreement together, slowly and carefully enunciating each word. They finished the spell with, "So mote it be."

The candle flame guttered out as if pinched by an invisible hand, and the lines on the parchment glowed as the spell bound them to their vow.

Both the knot and the piece of amber had been consumed, and Katerin took out another set for the second copy of the blood print spell, relit the candle, and they repeated the process. The magic felt even stronger with the repetition. When they finished, Katerin took one copy, and Siobhan the other.

Siobhan didn't feel any different, but she knew the only way to escape from this vow would be to complete the terms or destroy both sets of spelled parchment.

Katerin carefully stowed her own copy of the parchment in the locked drawer. Her tone became businesslike as her attention seemed to drift away from Siobhan. "Your first payment will be due by the end of the month."

Siobhan found herself out on the streets again almost before she realized what happened, the built-up fatigue of the day catching up with her in snippets of detachment and a skewed sense of time. It was over. Over. 'But what now? Where am I to go?' She looked around at the unfamiliar streets, wondering if perhaps she should return to Katerin and ask if she could rent a room for the night. She had slept on the ground before, but with the chest of gold sitting so heavy in one of the packs on her back, she didn't feel secure sleeping in the streets.

Dryden stepped past her, then stopped and turned, one of the streetlamps illuminating him from the side and throwing a stark shadow into the street. "I suppose you'll need a place to stay for the night? The inns will be closed by now, and you don't want this appearance associated with the Verdant Stag."

She nodded.

"You will come to my house," he announced, as if there was no room for argument. "We'll prepare you for what's to come."

"I don't need your help."

His mouth twisted into that vulpine smile again. "You misunderstand. I'm helping myself. Any benefit to you is incidental."

Somehow, those words made it bearable. "Alright."

Chapter 4 - Puzzles & Self-Creation

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 5:30 a.m.

Siobhan woke with a strangled scream in her throat, her jaw clenched so hard she could feel her teeth creaking. Ephemeral flashes of flames reflecting off pooling blood passed in front of her eyes as she stared into the darkness. Her heart pounded as if she had been racing through the streets of Gilbratha in a wild panic, and the soft sheets below her were cold with sweat. The flashes of her dream faded as she left sleep behind, and she forced herself to relax. 'I forgot to cast my dreamless sleep spell,' she realized.

She sat up and moved stiffly to the window, undoing the latch and pushing it open. The cool air flushed in, smelling of salt. She looked out onto the empty street below and kept breathing till she had calmed. It was only then that she became aware of her body, which was still transformed into the unfamiliar male form. The night before, Dryden had brought her to his house—though to her eyes it looked more like a mansion—and she had immediately, recklessly, fallen asleep on the bed in a second-story guest room, with her packs tucked in beside her for some semblance of safety.

Siobhan's lack of discomfort with the new body sent an incongruous shudder down her spine. 'It cannot be normal for me to forget that my body is not my own. It's been less than a day, and yet I've slipped into this skin so seamlessly it might as well have been mine since birth. Is there some sort of error in my psyche that makes me so detached? Or, perhaps this abnormal level of comfort is an effect of the spell. The creator was certainly skilled enough to do something like that.' The thought comforted her, and she deliberately decided to believe the latter explanation.

The transformation didn't seem to have degraded overnight. There was no slippage back into her female form, and no loss of control or feelings of disassociation with the new body. A perfunctory examination showed no change to the artifact, either, though she knew no diagnostic spells to be sure of that.

Despite her discomfort with this form, and the dread she felt over its possible consequences—magic always had a cost—she couldn't pretend to be anything other than overwhelmingly, pathetically grateful that she'd discovered the amulet. This body gave her access to magic, to knowledge beyond anything a commoner could ever dream of. It was the tool that would let her unravel the inner secrets of the universe and then remake them according to her Will. And it would keep her out of jail.

She would wear it until it became as natural as her first form. She would love it.

Absently picking at the dirt under her nails, Siobhan moved to the corner and activated the light crystals. Ironically, the brightness only made the shadows at the corner of the room and under the door seem more ominous.

Awkwardly, she sat on the chamber pot in the corner and relieved herself, experiencing the strange sensation of magic cleaning and drying her nether regions for the first time. The chamber pot, which was apparently an artifact, began to process the waste, and another spell kept the smell from filtering out into the room. Unsure how to feel about this use of magic, Siobhan limped back to the packs on the bed and dug around in one for a small jar of bruise salve.

As she slowly rubbed the salve into the bruises that seemed to cover half her newly pale body in mottled purple, blue, and green—a pattern that, though painful, looked almost artistic—Siobhan considered her transformation. 'At least I know injuries transfer between my normal and transformed states. I wonder how it works. Will I have my time of the month, or have those organs been absorbed and transformed too?' She shuddered at the thought of things that could potentially go wrong. What if she were to transform from a female to male halfway through her time of the month, and the remaining blood was not either absorbed into the spell or expelled from her body? 'I hope the artifact's creator considered possibilities like that. What about aging? If that's considered damage like a wound, then both bodies should age at the same rate. If I build muscle as a man, will I be stronger as a woman?' She imagined her normal body bulging out of her clothes with muscle, and let out a small snort of amusement.

She'd made the bruise salve herself, and it was high quality, sending alternating waves of chill and warmth through her flesh, easing the pain and stiffness and speeding her healing. She should've applied the salve last night, before the injuries had time to settle. They would take longer to heal, now.

She stretched experimentally, then moved to the door and carefully opened it, peeking into the dark hallway beyond. It was empty, except for the ornate rug and a couple of little tables with vases and knickknacks that were likely worth more than her Conduit.

She slipped out, closing the bedroom door behind her. She noted the utter lack of bending or creaking beneath her feet as she walked down the hallway. The floor was made of solid, uncut marble, despite the fact that she was on the second level. 'What a waste of resources. How much magic went into building this house?' Still, it suited her purpose at the moment.

She reviewed her hazy memories of arriving the night before, the effects of Will-strain evident in retrospect. Too much spellcasting, along with stress and fatigue, led to a variety of side effects, and could be truly dangerous. She'd been distracted and disoriented, and much of her journey to Dryden Manor had been lost to a minor fugue state.

She vaguely remembered that he'd told her the servants didn't live in his house, and had all gone home, before personally serving her some drinking water and leading her up the stairs to the empty bedroom. 'I believe I made quite a few less than intelligent decisions yesterday,' she admitted ruefully. However, no one had yet invented a spell to travel back in time, so there was nothing to be done about it but accept her current situation and move on.

The first few doors she opened led to other bedrooms, so rather than accidentally open the door to Dryden's room and—if he had an alarm ward set—alert him to her intrusion, she found her way down the stairs back to the first level. The rooms there were more varied, though equally opulent, and she couldn't help her bright smile of excitement when she found a sizeable room filled with books. She'd heard of libraries before from her grandfather, and though this didn't seem so large as what she had imagined, there were still more books than she'd ever seen in one place. Large windows were placed to let in the sunlight during the day, and at the far side of the room, next to a bay window with a wide bench beneath it, sat an imposing desk covered with papers.

Siobhan headed straight for it. She eyed the closed drawers on the sides, but didn't touch them in case they were warded. She didn't even turn on the crystal lamp atop the desk, and instead clasped her hands behind her back to keep them from wandering curiously. She bent over to read what she could by the light of the moon and the streetlamps through the half-uncovered window. To her disappointment, she found nothing scandalous or nefarious. In fact, most of the papers seemed to be notes or information about the logistics of starting and running various businesses. "First choice of workers should be the Mires—the neediest will benefit most," Dryden had scribbled on one paper.

When further examination—still without touching—uncovered nothing more, Siobhan turned to the bookshelves covering the walls. She didn't use the ladder to reach the higher shelves, simply perusing the titles of the books within her reach. To her disappointment, the only books about magic were theoretical and abstract in nature. There were no grimoires or educational texts, though she did find a shelf of fiction novels—sensationalist adventures and other silly stories. Disappointed, she stopped by the kitchen on the way back to her room, pilfering a couple out-of-season fruits and a loaf of bread. Magic was hungry work.

'What did I expect to find?' She wasn't sure, but she knew a piece of this puzzle didn't fit with the others. She wasn't valuable enough for Dryden to go to all this effort to help her, especially if he and Katerin were true to their word and didn't plan to make her do anything morally reprehensible to repay them. 'If that were true, it would take much less effort to simply hire a legitimate sorcerer. The terms of my loan may be ridiculously biased toward Katerin, but I'd guess the book and the artifact to be worth more than the interest she'll earn from me. If it were true that they didn't want either item because of the danger of law enforcement, why would they be willing to associate with the person who stole it? No, I cannot trust them.'

In the light of her room's spelled crystal lamps, she consumed the food ravenously while examining the floor beneath one of the plush rugs. The marble underneath was just rough enough to take chalk easily. No doubt that was on purpose, an affectation of the wealthy, since the ability to perform magic was a status symbol. She rolled the rug up and away, settling it in the corner. The stone was cool against her bare feet, but she didn't mind.

She knelt on the ground and pulled out a stick of chalk wrapped in wax paper, then peeled away one edge to open up the drawing medium. She drew a Circle, using a string to keep it as close to perfectly round as possible. The Circle was large, allowing plenty of room for the Word, the instructional spell array that would help her guide the magical energy. Time slipped away as she bent her mind to the puzzle of creating a decryption spell, so that she didn't even notice the pastel light of dawn creeping over the horizon and giving the room a ghostly feel.

She was familiar with the encryption spell on her own grimoire, which Grandfather had designed and helped her cast as a child. Decryption was complex and difficult, an ever-evolving field which she knew little about. Although she could design a spell that would probably decrypt her own grimoire, if she were powerful enough, that was only because she understood the original encryption.

After placing the stolen book in the center of the main Circle, Siobhan took a step back. The risk she was about to take was unlikely to pay off, but it wasn't as if she knew anyone who could help her with this, and she needed to know what the book said. Hopefully, there would be some explanation about the amulet. She looked over the spell again, searching for any obvious risks or inefficiencies. She'd heard plenty of horror stories about careless sorcerers and minor mistakes, and wasn't eager to become someone else's cautionary tale.

Magic, in its most basic form, was change. A trade of one thing for another.

There were three elements to every spell, though the way a thaumaturge achieved each element would vary according to their craft, as well as their level of skill and personal preference. The three elements were the Will, the Word, and the Sacrifice.

The Circle facilitated all three elements, and most magical crafts used one in some way. In drawing a Circle, you placed a physical boundary around a spherical domain you controlled, signifying that the things within were yours to trade away and change as you wished. It was possible to create a spell that affected something at a distance, like the stunning spell stored in the coppers' battle wands, but those effects started within a Circle too.

A thaumaturge's Will made magic possible. Philosophers and scientists alike struggled to define it to their satisfaction, but Siobhan had always felt it was quite simple. The Will was a combination of heart-wrenching desire and undeniable command that she pushed into the fabric of the world. Reality bent under the force of her Will because it could not have done otherwise.

The stronger a person's Will, the more power they could channel, the less defined the Word needed to be, and the less power would be lost in conversion. With a strong enough Will, the knowledge to match it, and the right resources, a thaumaturge could raise mountains with a wave of their hand, pierce the veil between life and death, and travel into the Elemental Planes. She doubted there was anything magic could not accomplish, if the thaumaturge was strong enough.

The Word guided the transformation of energy or matter, steering the effects of the spell. It could be any type of instruction, though with sorcery it was most often written into the Circle as an array of glyphs and numerically significant symbols. These were often supplemented with speech or written instructions, especially for complex effects. Here, the Word was as complex, clear, and detailed as she could make it, which would hopefully reduce strain on her Will.

The Sacrifice was what one gave up for the effect of the spell. It could be an object, like a blob of mud used to create a brick, or energy, like the heat from a flame.

Modern magic had defined two different subsets of spells. Transmutation was based on the natural sciences. Water had a natural connection to ice, because with only a change in energy, one became the other. Transmogrification was based on sympathetic science. Water had a sympathetic connection to a drowning curse because people mentally associated deep waters with death. Thus, water could be used as a Sacrifice in a variety of different spells with completely different effects.

For this spell, she was using a few different components based on truth, text, and good sight. The flame from a small oil lantern would provide her with energy.

Finally, the Conduit channeled the thaumaturgic energy being converted. For most sorcerers, this was a celerium crystal, which could withstand powerful magical forces without exploding or melting. Celerium was the only element that even the most powerful could not transmute duplicates of, nor could they use transmogrification to transfer its properties through Sacrifice. It had esoteric properties that they did not understand, but which made it specially suited for its purpose. It could only be found in natural deposits like Lenore's mines.

Her own Conduit was rated up to two hundred fifty thaums, which was still a few dozen more than her Will could handle. Eventually, with practice to strengthen her Will, she would need to upgrade. When the time came, her father would pass down her mother's Conduit to her, an heirloom ring that he wore to remember the woman by, since Siobhan didn't technically need it yet. Or so he insisted.

The first and most important rule her grandfather had pounded into her head was the importance of never, ever, performing a spell without a proper Conduit.

He'd given her nightmares with his cautionary tales. She was only ten at the time, and hadn't started her apprenticeship with him, but he'd found her pretending to cast magic from one of his books instead of writing her assigned essay. She remembered it well. 'Magic is like a beast,' he had said. 'Or a swarm of insects,' he amended.

She'd been terrified by a swarm of angry bees only a couple of weeks before, and her eyes widened as she pulled the covers up a little higher under her chin.

'Used properly, it can be guided with your Will. Controlled. But never tamed. However, it must have something to travel through as it transforms your Sacrifice into your magical effect. And without a Conduit, it will travel through you. Like a swarm of invisible insects, it will crawl inside and infest you. It will spread from your body to your mind, and some say even your soul,' he intoned ominously as she stared at him unblinkingly.

'It will bite, and tear, and sting you from the inside. But you will not realize it. For at the first touch of magic in your flesh, in your mind, you will feel only bliss. Such bliss that you will never want to stop. That is its poison, its revenge for your hubris in channeling it directly. Even those with the strength of your mother's bloodline have lost themselves to it. I have seen a man's flesh bulge out with pustules that burst and revealed clusters of eyes growing beneath his skin. I have seen a woman whose mind warped such that she felt an all-consuming hunger for the flesh of children whose blood still ran warm in their veins. Another man simply…disappeared. He was screaming with pleasure, but it sounded like he was being tortured. He faded away before my eyes—right in the middle of the street—and was never seen again. Though occasionally, when I walked that street at night, I would hear faint echoes of his screams in the wind.'

She had whimpered, and Grandfather's faraway gaze had returned to the present, peering down at her sharply. 'And that is why we never cast without a Conduit. Especially with your father's weak bloodline. It is not safe, my child.'

Even now, Siobhan shuddered at the images her grandfather's words had conjured. Assured that everything was as safe as she could make it, Siobhan clasped her Conduit between both hands and bent her Will to the decryption spell, the candle flame trembling as she pulled at it.

The text inside remained a jumbled mess of letters she recognized mixed with ones she was sure she'd never seen, none forming anything like comprehensible words, or any pattern at all. The occasional inked graph or illustrations were nothing more than loopy scribbles that seemed as if someone had tried to draw something from memory, with their eyes closed, without ever lifting their pen from the paper. Looking at it from afar, with her eyes slightly squinted, it seemed deceptively, tantalizingly close to coherence. There were words, paragraphs, and illustrations, not so different from her own grimoire. But when she focused, it made the back of her eyes ache to try and read it.

So she pushed harder, all of her concentration focused on that particular type of resolve that caused the world to bend and bow down under the weight of her Will. The candle flame guttered out, and she stumbled as the spell failed, vertigo sending the room spinning around her. 'How pitiful,' she thought angrily. 'Close to Will-strain from a single failed spell?'

She'd known the risk was unlikely to pay off, but she was still bitterly disappointed. Either the book's creator had been a much stronger thaumaturge than her, or the gap between the method of decryption and the sophistication of the encryption was simply too great. Most likely both. It didn't help that she was still exhausted from the day before.

Siobhan noted details of the failed decryption spell in her grimoire, then returned to the stolen book, flipping through it in the hopes of finding some sort of clue in the jumbled, unintelligible symbols and shifting, half-ephemeral drawings that always twisted or faded before her eyes could quite capture them. Returning to a previous page, she found it completely different from the first time she looked at it. The number of pages couldn't even be counted with any certainty.

Shutting the book, Siobhan's eyes lingered on the single rune stamped on the cover. It refused to clarify into a shape with meaning. 'Perhaps the text itself isn't encrypted, but is casting some sort of illusion spell on me?'

She rooted through her pockets, wondering what spell components she had that could be associated with clarity of mind. 'Would the small shard of crystal and the eagle feathers from my dreamless sleep spell be useful? Maybe some ginseng, too, though I don't have any with me.'

When the door to her room opened, half her components were laid out on the floor, grouped by their sympathetic properties. She had scribbled over the half-erased Circle from the first spell with notes, arrows, and partially designed spell arrays.

Dryden's gaze swept over the room.

Siobhan sat back on her heels and followed the path of his eyes, suddenly aware of the mess she'd made. "I have a system," she muttered, alarmed to feel a blush creep up her cheeks. "It only looks like chaos to the untrained eye." At times, she could get a little carried away trying to solve a puzzle.

He leaned a shoulder against the doorway, one eyebrow raised. "Obviously."

Only now, as she looked at him without the pall of danger hanging over her every thought, did she realize how perfectly attractive the man was. His shoulders were broad, his hair soft and shiny-looking, and his gaze bright enough to reveal a keen mind beneath. He was likely a competent thaumaturge. His pristine white shirt cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, and as he crossed his arms she noted the muscles in his forearms and his long, graceful fingers. The vague feeling of attraction made her uncomfortable, and more aware than ever of her transformed body. She looked away.

After a moment, he waved at her impatiently. "At least the transformation spell lasted the night. Come, there is much to do if we are to submit your application for the entrance exams by the end of the day. We have until six before they stop accepting new applicants."

Siobhan shot to her feet. "Six tonight? That's the cut-off for this entire term!?" The new body's voice refused to pitch as high as she pushed it, cracking instead.

He motioned for her to follow him again, this time more impatiently. "Indeed. Therefore, we must get to work immediately. You can return to summoning a demon, or whatever you were doing, later."

She grimaced and hurried to re-stock her pockets and her little storage box with the components strewn across the floor. "I was attempting to decipher the book," she muttered, following him down the hallway.

"Oh? Did you have much success?" he said without turning his head.

"No," she admitted grudgingly. "I'm not an expert on wards or encryptions, and I lack the proper components for more efficient spells of that nature."

"Hmm." Dryden seemed neither surprised nor disappointed. "Well, you'll learn at the University?" It was a statement, but pitched like a question.

"Yes," she said firmly, absently somewhat pleased at the gravitas a male voice lent to her inflection. She had never been the squeaky sort of female, but few women who were not addicted to smoking cat's-cough could achieve such a natural-sounding resonance.

Siobhan spent the majority of the day under Dryden's instruction. First, he sent her to take a bath in his luxurious bathing room, once again made of marble. The taps were spelled to spill hot water into a basin sunk into the floor. 'Just who have I gotten myself involved with?' she wondered while scrubbing herself with scented soaps and some porous thing she thought might be the corpse of a sea-plant called a "sponge." Dryden wasn't one of the Crown Family surnames, but the level of wealth on display in his home evoked a sense of royalty.

After that, he had her dress in a deliciously soft woolen suit, one of his own, that he said was "from last year's style" with a self-aware, slightly mocking sneer in his voice, as if he knew how absurd he sounded. The suit was too big for her, but they had no time to tailor it. He even examined her walk as they moved to the book-filled study she had snooped around the night before to make sure she didn't sway her hips in a feminine manner. "Among the crowd you'll be associating with, appearances are important. Attractiveness, body language, and eloquence are essential tools. People can be power, if you know how to cultivate them," he said.

It was obvious he followed his own advice. Dryden's appearance, his home, the way he interacted with the world and those around him, it all amplified the impression of tasteful, controlled wealth and power.

'Still, it's so tedious. People are, in general, uninspired troglodytes. People might be power, but magic is power, too, and it's a power I much prefer. A person may betray or disappoint you, but you can always depend on your own mastery of magic.'

He motioned for her to sit down in one of the plush chairs as a servant brought them food. When the woman left, he said, "It must seem, to anyone who bothers to look, as if you fit in at the University. You will walk like them, talk like them, and dress like them. The goal is to avoid notice altogether." He looked at her critically, then sighed. "My job here could be harder, I suppose. If not for the clothes, and the fact that you're sitting like a girl, I might not realize immediately that you're an impostor. Spread your legs!" he snapped.

Siobhan did so, and realized immediately that it was much more…comfortable, that way. She had tried not to pay too much attention to the area between her legs while bathing, but she supposed she'd best get used to being a young man, since she would be spending quite a long time in this form, if things went well.

"Now, let us come up with your story, young man. What is your name?" Dryden leaned back in his leather chair, leveling her with a challenging gaze.

Siobhan was intelligent enough not to blurt out her own name, at least. 'Best if it's something similar enough to my real name that I react naturally upon hearing it, but not so similar as to be suspicious,' she thought. "My name is Sebastien," she said, feeling out the name as it passed her lips.

Dryden nodded his approval. "It sounds high-class enough. And the last name? You cannot be from an established family, but you're more likely to be accepted if you don't seem to be a commoner." He transitioned to muttering as he got up to poke around one of the bookcases along the walls. "It's sad, but the statistics speak for themselves. After all, the final round of examination is proctored by a panel of professors who carry out their responsibility to impartiality with varying levels of sincerity. Best if you claim to be from a minor noble line from outside Lenore, I think."

A few minutes of rifling through books brought out a satisfied "Aha!" and Dryden returned with an old book, which he set on the desk. He jabbed his finger at the center of a page filled with lists of names. "Siverling. Sebastien Siverling. The line seems to have died out a few hundred years ago, so no real heirs will be around to contest your place in their family. If someone questions you, you can simply admit to being from a bastard line and pretend to be offended, or some such nonsense."

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. "Why are you doing this?"

He frowned at her. "Being prepared is very important. Taking risks leads to getting caught. As a child, I tried to sneak things past my mother all the time, and she would discover my plans if I left even the slightest possibility open to her. I learned that the only way to truly get away with something is to be meticulous in both planning and execution. I don't think humans are designed to be naturally good at subterfuge."

She shook her head, not willing to be distracted. "You know what I mean. Why are you going to such lengths to help me? Putting yourself at risk to find me in the first place is one thing, if you really thought I was a powerful sorcerer who might be willing to help you with illegal magics. However, as soon as you learned otherwise…I'm surprised you didn't attempt to silence me on the spot. Beyond that, you've left me with this artifact and the accompanying text, are, in essence, sponsoring me through the University, and have taken me into your home to help me succeed. Do you make deals like this with every hopeful sorcerer you meet? What is it that you expect from me?"

Dryden returned to his seat, staring at her in a way that made her straighten her posture defensively. "Sebastien, you seem to be under the impression that you're special to me for some nefarious reason that I'm hiding. And you are, in that you have a somewhat unique potential to be extremely useful to me one day. However, I'm not helping you because you're special. If that was the whole of it, I would rather avoid the hassle you represent and leave you to your own devices while hoping you muddle through somehow. No, I'm helping you because I feel like it. I told you at our first meeting. I am a philanthropist. And I can help you just because I decide I would like to."

"That still doesn't explain all—"

With an irritated swipe of his hand, he cut her off. "I enjoy righting wrongs. It has nothing to do with you. Don't be so conceited. You are not so unique or valuable that I need to trick you through some elaborate ploy. I help you, you repay me through competence, and in the meantime I get the satisfaction of knowing that I can affect real change on the world, both directly and on a larger scale. I told you. There is power in people, in connections. You're not the first I have taken a personal interest in elevating from their station in life, and you will not be the last. Please don't misunderstand me. Focus on being accepted to the University so that you can repay me for my generosity."

Siobhan looked away, trying to keep her embarrassment and irritation from showing. She felt unfairly chastised, and beyond that, she wasn't sure she believed him. 'Who is Oliver Dryden, anyway?' Katerin had loaned her the money based on little more than his recommendation, or rather, his subtle command. He was the wealthiest person Siobhan had ever met, though perhaps not the wealthiest person in the city of Gilbratha. He was involved in some operation that could use a low-level, illegal sorcerer, rather than simply purchasing legitimate, University-certified labor. His eyes had held a spark when he spoke of affecting change on the world, the same type she had seen in her grandfather's when he worked larger spells.

'And why was he there last night, in person? Even if he thought I was a powerful, valuable sorcerer, shouldn't he have had some minions available for a job like that? Or does he have so many of the local coppers in his pocket that he would have been fine even if they arrested him?' Each question only made her more suspicious. 'If that's the case, then last night was just an act for my benefit, to make me trust him—him personally.' She had too little information to judge properly, but she resolved to keep her guard up and her eyes open.

'I am special, though,' she thought defiantly. 'If he's chosen a person to be in his debt based on future utility, he's chosen well, even if he doesn't know it.' She couldn't say that aloud, however, for fear of being scoffed at. She would make sure to absorb every drop of knowledge and magic available to her in preparation for the day when the metaphorical fly in the ointment became obvious.

Chapter 5 - Bad First Impressions

Sebastien

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 4:00 p.m.

Dryden spent most of the day coaching Siobhan on high-class etiquette and mannerisms, and how to act masculine without being obtrusive. He was a harsh taskmaster, and she grew increasingly impatient as the remaining time to apply for the University entrance exams was instead filled with instruction, lectures, and quizzes to measure her retention—which was stellar, of course. Siobhan wasn't the type to forget information, even if she failed to be gracious in receiving it.

Finally, with only a couple of hours left before six, Dryden let her leave the house, urging her to "be inconspicuous—but noble. Act entitled, but not obnoxious. And remember your name."

She left before he could continue, turning her back on his amused smirk and resisting the urge to grind her teeth in irritation. 'How much of his nagging was an act to get a reaction out of me?' she wondered. 'He's right, though. I should try to think of myself as Sebastien while I'm in this form. A thoughtless slip-up could ruin everything. I'm still myself, but when I look like this my name is Sebastien. Sebastien.'

She hurried through the gently rising streets, being very careful not to lose her way in the unfamiliar city. At least, in this part of town, she was in no danger of walking through human waste that had been dumped from the windows for lack of magic to dispose of it. No, she only had to worry about walking through animal feces. When she saw the first wanted poster with a somewhat reliable likeness of her on it, she almost tripped. The woman in the drawing wore a hood, dark hair spilling out of it, with a mean smile and something predatory in the black ink lines of her eyes.

'Dangerous Sorceress, practitioner of Forbidden Magics. Report Any Sightings. Reward for Live Capture: One hundred gold crowns.'

Sebastien hurried on after a quick glance. 'Only one hundred gold crowns? I would've been impressed by that, if I hadn't already learned the price of the University and borrowed ten times that amount just last night. Well, it's more than a commoner might make in four months' wages.'

Still, she didn't believe she was in any danger from the average citizen. People on the street looked at her, but held no suspicion in their gazes, and most, especially those lacking obvious displays of wealth, didn't even meet her eyes.

She didn't see any posters with her father's likeness, and this ominous realization caused a sharp ache in her stomach. 'Perhaps no one remembered his face well enough to draw it,' she thought, even though she knew sophistic dreams did nothing to change reality.

As she walked north, the subtly upward-sloping streets grew wider, the buildings more ornate, and the guards and occasional patrolling copper more alert. She was breathing hard by the time she reached the base of the white cliffs that surrounded Gilbratha. They rose high and strong in the north and petered out as they curved around to the south. It was said they had been heaved up from the ground by an Archmage, hundreds of years ago.

Buildings were set into the side of the cliffs wherever there was a butte, though there was a good distance between the highest building and the top of the cliffs, where the University grounds sprawled.

A broad, winding path cut across the side of the cliff in a zig-zag pattern. The path was for those without the money or prestige for a license to use the magical lift, which was really more of a terrifying slide through one of the several glass tubes that wove their own pattern over the cliff-side. Some stopped at the groups of buildings perched on the cliff face, while others reached all the way to the ground.

She and her father had escaped through one of those tubes, but without the counterbalance of a steel weight being lifted from the ground to the top of the cliffs through one of the other tubes, they had plummeted like birds with broken wings. She'd nearly burnt through the soles of her boots trying to slow her descent. If not for the winding nature of the tubes and the spelled pit at the bottom meant to save unlucky thaumaturges from any "malfunctions," she would have surely broken her legs and likely her back as well. Instead, they had sunk down into the mudlike ground and then bounced back up, leaving her winded and bruised, but otherwise unhurt.

They'd reached the ground soon enough after her father's theft that the attendants had not yet received the alarm, and so they rushed over to Siobhan and her father in horror, apologizing profusely and offering free medical services. It might actually have been easier to get away if the attendants were hostile, Sebastien mused, because then they could have been hostile in return. Instead, they had politely, if forcefully, insisted they were alright, but in too much of a hurry to stay and be seen by a healer or the magical lift's operations manager.

Again, she had to walk up manually, and there was no time to stop for breaks. By the time she reached the top, her legs were burning and trembling, and she'd acquired a faint layer of sweat despite the cool breeze. The end of the path stopped cutting back and forth and turned directly inward, burrowing into the top of the cliffs at an angle, creating tall white stone walls that ran into the ground level. This path ended at a set of imposing steel gates that marked the beginning of the University grounds.

A wrought iron plaque stretching over the top of the gates labeled it, "The Thaumaturgic University of Lenore." The University had no specific name of its own, like a lesser arcanum might. It had no need of a name, for it was the only one of its kind. Its crest was the sky kraken, sovereign of the heavens.

The admissions center was just through the gates of the University, a small building where employees were processing lines of hopeful students.

Sebastien did her best not to act suspiciously as she walked past the guards on either side of the steel gates, wiping away sweat that the cool air hadn't been enough to prevent. She ensured her hips did not sway as she walked, overly aware of the eyes of the people around her. It actually wasn't so hard, with hips shaped like a man's. 'I am a man to them,' she reassured herself. 'They won't see anything past the surface, there is no need to worry. How often have I seen a man walking past and wondered if he was really a magically disguised woman? Never, so calm down.'

She hurried to take her place at the end of the shortest line, hoping it would shrink quickly. The walk from Dryden Manor—which seemed a pretentious name for something that was little more than a huge house with a yard in the back big enough for a single horse—to the University had taken her over an hour. 'If only Dryden had let me come sooner. Perhaps I should have paid for a carriage, or got a one-time license for the lifts.' She had the gold to afford it now, after all, and if they turned her away because she was late, everything would be for naught.

While she waited in line, Sebastien greedily eyed the University buildings in the distance. The white cliffs were buttes, flat on top and quite expansive, bordering the north of Gilbratha and stretching around the Charybdis Gulf to the east. Freshwater from the north ran through the base of the cliff and was the source of all the manmade canals that passed through the city, which in turn powered many magic-driven factories and mills.

The University looked down on all of Gilbratha from atop those cliffs, matched in status only by Pendragon Palace—the home of the High Crown—and the mansions of the other twelve Crown families, which were cut from the cliffs stretching around to the east, beyond the Charybdis Gulf, which was a sea inlet from the south that divided the eastern Lilies from the rest of the city.

She could see the main University building—made of white stone and circular, like a coliseum, stretching up at least seven stories and covered in grand windows to let in the light. It could fit all the buildings of a small town inside itself and probably still have room for an orchard on the roof. The tops of a few towers poked up in the distance, but most of the grounds were obscured by the trees they somehow managed to grow. 'Maybe they've cut out the stone and filled it with dirt,' she thought, looking at the thick carpet of green grass that started just beyond the edge of the entrance path.

Below her, the city sloped away from this high point, growing less impressive the farther she looked. The normal citizens would always be towered over by the University and the Crowns. Sebastien doubted that was unintentional. 'Shit runs downhill.'

The line crawled along at a steady pace, and Sebastien grew more anxious as the minutes passed. 'When the clock strikes six, will they turn away those who haven't managed to sign up in time?' When she was finally the second-to-next person in her line, a commotion at the gates drew her attention.

A group of wealthily dressed young people ran through, the one in the lead shouting, "Make way!" as they laughed and stumbled past the guards and into the people at the ends of the admission lines. The troublemakers comprised a couple of girls, one wearing trousers, and four young men. "Make way!" the boy in the lead said again, panting slightly, but not enough to have walked up the path for normal people. "We have an emergency admissions applicant here!" He looked to another boy, grinning like a puppy that had just performed a trick and now expected a treat.

The other boy frowned, examining the crowd with his distinctive pale grey, tired eyes. He flicked perfectly coifed hair that Sebastien suspected had been dyed to achieve its shiny chestnut color, and muttered something to his companion, who lost some of his boisterousness.

With only slightly more consideration for those waiting in line, the group moved toward the admissions building, bypassing everyone else.

Sebastien waited for someone to say something, or at least grumble pointedly, but though people frowned, they stepped aside and looked away when any of the group drew near.

The first boy reached Sebastien, and raised one caterpillar-like black eyebrow as she met his gaze defiantly. He didn't stop for her, stepping forward once more and slapping a hand down on the shoulder of the boy ahead of her in line. "You don't mind if we cut in, do you? My friend here hasn't yet submitted his name for the examination, and we only just got back to the city in time." He gestured to the other boy, who moved to the admissions center window as if the outcome was already a foregone conclusion.

The boy in front of her mumbled something unintelligible, and as Sebastien realized he wasn't going to refuse, her anxiousness over the last day and astonishment at this entitled group's actions turned to anger.

"No," she said. She only realized how loudly she'd spoken when everyone in the courtyard turned to look at her.

"Pardon me," the boy with the eyebrows said, giving her what he seemed to think was a charming smile. "I am afraid I don't know your name. I am Alec Gervin and my friend"—he gestured to the boy with strange eyes—"is Damien Westbay." Gervin's tone obviously indicated that she should know who they were—and maybe lie down on the ground so they could walk on her to keep their shoes from getting dirty.

Behind them, the girl in the suit and trousers shifted uncomfortably and shot Sebastien what might have been an apologetic look.

It did nothing to ease Sebastien's ire. She raised an eyebrow. "I don't think names are the important thing here. Rather, I'm more interested in common decency. Most children are taught how to wait their turn. Are you unfamiliar with the concept?" Silently, she added, 'Just how closely related were your parents?' But she still had enough mindfulness to keep herself from saying it aloud. Her sharp tongue always seemed to get her in trouble with those who couldn't handle having the truth pointed out to them.

What little noise there had been immediately died away. Only then did Sebastien recall that she was supposed to avoid drawing attention to herself.

Damien Westbay pulled his friend back before the other boy could finish sputtering, stepped closer, and looked Sebastien up and down slowly. "As you have come here in ill-fitting, clearly borrowed clothes and seem to be ignorant of even the most commonly understood societal mores, let me explain more clearly. I am a Westbay, of the second Crown Family, and you would do well to graciously accept this chance to do me a favor."

Sebastien wanted to snort, but that was crude and would make her seem less than him. "Even more reason that you should act with more decorum than this. A Crown Family member neglects to submit their application until the final hour, and is then so desperate to do so that they must push aside and trample on the commoners? A Westbay could simply approach one of the professors or heads of administration and receive a place in the examination roster, could they not? Or, perhaps, they could comport themselves with the level of class supposedly inherent to their birth and wait their turn patiently."

A flush had crawled up Westbay's neck and settled high on his cheeks as she spoke. His nose flared in anger and he took another step closer to her.

Just as he opened his mouth, a sharply snapped, "Damien!" cut through the air.

Both of them turned toward the speaker—a tall, severe-looking man with dark hair tied simply at the nape of his neck. He scowled down his high-bridged nose at the boy. "Desist making a fool of yourself and come with me." He had a lofty-sounding accent and spoke with biting precision.

Damien Westbay deflated immediately, the flush still bright on his cheeks as he looked around at their audience and then hurried away without a second look at Sebastien. "But, Professor Lacer, I was merely defending myself!" he said indignantly.

Sebastien's eyes met the dark gaze of the professor for a moment, and she felt the breath go out of her.

The man gripped down on Westbay's shoulder and marched him off, ignoring the boy's continued attempts to exonerate himself.

Alec Gervin threw her a glare and hurried after them, followed by the rest of the high-class group.

The girl in the trousers, the one who had seemed embarrassed by her companions' actions, shot Sebastien a crooked smile as she brushed past, her eyes bright with amusement.

Sebastien barely registered it, too caught up in her thoughts. 'Professor Lacer? Thaddeus Lacer? Youngest Master of free-casting in a century?' He was one of the biggest reasons she'd so desperately wanted to come to the Thaumaturgic University of Lenore, specifically. He was older than the last likeness she had seen of him in an old newspaper, but his features were still recognizable.

"Step forward, young man. Sir, you are holding up the line!" The woman calling for her at the counter abruptly brought Sebastien out of her thoughts.

As she stepped forward, Sebastien looked again at the spoiled brat being escorted away by Professor Lacer. Knowing someone like him could expect to get past the entrance examinations was just one more reason she couldn't allow herself to fail.

Chapter 6 - The Danger of too Little Information

Oliver

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 4:00 p.m.

Oliver watched the young man—really an intriguing young woman—walk away in one of his suits. It was too big for her, but she still wore that air of unselfconscious confidence that thaumaturges sometimes absorbed. He theorized it had something to do with knowing deep down that one could enforce their will on the world and the world would have to bow.

He wondered if any studies had been done on it. Was the confidence from experience, from knowing that one could lift their thumb and blot out the sun? Or, perhaps, was it inherent, and only those with the most forceful personalities managed to become powerful thaumaturges?

He looked up at the sun, which would sink beneath the western lip of the white cliffs in a couple of hours, throwing a shadow over the entire city. It was still too early for the Night Market to open.

He turned and walked back to his study, turning his thoughts to work. His responsibilities never ended. The task he had set himself was gargantuan, and would be the labor of years, if not decades.

He sat at his desk, wondering if he should search out a sorcerer talented in decryption for the book. He decided against it. Better to give it some time before making any moves that someone could connect with the theft, so that nothing could lead back to him. Siobhan would turn her own energy toward deciphering the book, if what he'd walked in on that morning was any indication. Perhaps she would even succeed.

That would tie things up tidily. When he'd learned about the theft, he'd been under the impression that she was an accomplished sorcerer. The wary but confident way she held herself hadn't disabused him of that notion, till she explained her circumstances. She cut an imposing figure for a woman, and her defined cheekbones, skin tone, and almost-black eyes revealed her as a descendant of the People, which only added to the impression of danger and competence.

His thoughts sidetracked for a while as he wondered if it wasn't somewhat bigoted of a race to name themselves the people. What was everyone else, if not also people? Perhaps it was intentional. Diminutizing and mentally segregating "others" from "self" made certain unpleasant or morally reprehensible things easier, and the history of humanity was filled with just as much fighting against each other as fighting against non-humans. Perhaps this conflict-hungry nature was what had allowed such an originally magically weak species to gain the influence and dominion they now enjoyed.

Oliver settled into his paperwork, making notes, reading Katerin's reports on their various ventures, both legal and illegal, and authorizing expenditures. Always, it seemed, there was too much to do and too few resources. The Verdant Stag, the inn he'd started as a front for other illegal ventures and a face for his organization, was doing well, but it wasn't enough.

He was hemorrhaging money faster than he could replace it, and his personal fortune wouldn't last forever. He may have been accused of charitable leanings, but he knew that one man couldn't fund a revolution alone. His goal demanded he build an empire of business.

He and Katerin needed more competent, educated employees to handle the things they had no time for. In the areas of Gilbratha he was operating in—the poor areas—that was hard to find, though he had more applicants for unskilled labor than he could possibly hire. He made a note to look up people who had been denied admittance to the University. Those people would know how to read, write, and do at least basic math.

Next he accepted a party invitation from one of the local Crown families. Connections were important, and much of politics was done in the drawing room rather than offices or formal conference rooms. Even if progress toward his goals was too slow to use only the influence he could gain among the elite, they were still powerful, and he couldn't afford to have them all turn against him.

He picked up the report Katerin had sent him on his latest venture, an old warehouse in the poor part of the city. He hoped to turn it into a miniature farm that could grow large amounts of food in a compact space, year-round. Small-scale food growth was a grey area in the city law, and thus far unregulated, allowing him to make real changes to the local economy.

He doubted his efforts would go unnoticed or unimpeded once those in power realized what he was doing, but he would fight that battle when the time came. If he could get some common magical plant varieties to grow, hidden among the other crops, it would solve part of his money problem as well. He signed off on Katerin's request to hire workers for the warehouse and checked the time.

Oliver left his study, grabbed his cloak, and slipped a battle wand and the mask he used during his more dangerous or blatantly illegal ventures into a pocket. He left through the back entrance, walked quickly to the small stable at the end of his equally small bit of property, and saddled his Erythrean horse, Elmira. Despite its magical heritage and ridiculous price, an Erythrean didn't look much different from a normal horse to the layman, and he'd chosen this one from his breeding business specifically for her unremarkable appearance. Finally, he kicked up into the saddle and rode out at a sedate pace.

When he'd passed into the poorer part of the city, but not yet reached the Mires, he guided Elmira into an alley. After assuring himself he wasn't being watched, Oliver turned his cloak inside-out, changing its color from grey to black, and slipped the mask on.

He wasn't trained to pick out a tail, but he had noticed nothing suspicious since he left his house, and if there was chatter about the coppers investigating the Verdant Stag or his public persona, one of the coppers he'd bribed should alert him. Still, it was best to be cautious about these things. It was too soon for Oliver Dryden to be a known criminal lord, and while visiting the Night Market wasn't illegal, purchasing unlicensed magical services was, and either would cast suspicion on him.

He got a few more looks after exiting the alley on the other side, mostly for the unsettling mask, but he felt comfortable in his anonymity.

The Night Market was firmly in the Mires. A young lookout manned each entrance, suspiciously watching all who entered. Each child stood ready to blow their whistle and race away if the coppers or other obvious trouble walked through.

This generally wasn't necessary, however. Oliver wasn't the only one who had a couple coppers in his pocket, and usually a raid would be announced with enough advance warning for anyone important to escape or hide their illegal activities before being inspected.

The market encompassed a few narrow streets filled with small shops, which put up at least a front of legality. Lining the streets were a plethora of open-air stalls and booths, most of which had no license to operate, and would pack up and run or wheel away if the coppers came. Light crystals were mounted above the shop doors, as it was too poor an area for the city to provide streetlamps. The shops' window displays were innocuous, even unappealing, and none of the doors stood open to welcome customers after twilight hit.

Oliver got off Elmira and walked beside her to the hitching post closest to the tavern where he was to meet his contact, the Bitter Phoenix. He tossed a coin to the attendant. The young man startled and bowed low when he tried to meet Oliver's eyes through the holes of his mask. The boy would feed the creature and make sure she wasn't stolen or bothered, but as a precaution Oliver still had some of Elmira's hair in a locket at home, ready to be used in a scrying spell.

The tavern was already doing good business when he entered, and under the cover of his mask, Oliver felt free to grimace at the heavy smoke clogging the air. The Verdant Stag had an air-filtering artifact for that very purpose, as he couldn't stand the headache-inducing stench.

Oliver went to the bar and ordered a simple ale. When the bartender set the tankard in front of him, he paid with a few silvers in place of copper, effectively giving a tip worth about ten times the price of the ale.

The bartender adroitly scooped up the coins, his eyes flicking over Oliver's mask and fine clothing. "You're lookin' a bit morose, my friend. Care to tell your story to old Horace, here? Can't promise I can help, but I find a listenin' ear always eases the soul a bit."

There was no way Horace could see Oliver's expression, and he certainly wasn't drooping sadly. It was an opening, a lead-in for Oliver to make a request in exchange for the pseudo-bribe.

Oliver gripped the tankard's handle. "Well, Horace, I keep having this dream that I'm searching for a crystal ball, and everyone else but me seems to know where it is. I try to ask them, but they all give me nonsensical answers, and I wake up just wishing I could get someone to tell me the truth."

Horace nodded, as if Oliver's words made perfect sense. He gestured to a door beside the bar, which a thickly muscled man stood guarding, arms crossed. "We have a crystal ball. Through the den, at the other end of the hall. Password's 'blood moon.'"

With a nod, Oliver stood, leaving the ale untouched. The muscled doorman stepped aside to let him into the room beyond, which was bigger than the main area of the tavern.

Within, people were gathered around several small gaming tables, some gambling, others chattering manically, seeming hardly to notice the games. A couple people had tucked themselves away in darkened corners and were scribbling frantically on parchment. What they all had in common were the wide, glassy eyes and expressions of complete focus.

Oliver was disheartened, but not surprised, to see the occasional vial of shimmering silver powder lying around.

Quintessence of quicksilver, the powder of a potion boiled down into a solid and then crushed, temporarily frenzied the mind. It could make you smarter and grant a liquid creativity that many found enthralling. Some said it felt like approaching divinity.

It was addictive, both physically and emotionally, from the desire for more of that feeling. People told stories about those who had accomplished amazing feats of precise, exhaustive planning or brilliant improvisation under the inspiration of the dust. However, with the accompanying lowered inhibitions, people also got themselves into ridiculous trouble by being too bold to realize they still weren't smart enough to avoid consequences.

The effects of a single dose lasted for about six hours on those who hadn't built up a tolerance. Of course, users crashed into a dazed stupor for the next day or two after those effects wore off, and long-term users lost their ability to focus and displayed various types of memory problems, becoming dependent on the quicksilver just to function normally.

Oliver walked past it all with barely a moment of hesitation, ignoring the shrewd gazes of those who noticed his passing. Addictions like this were a disease borne of despair and desperation. When there was no hope for a better future, no opportunity to leave the darkness of your life in the past, there was little argument for avoiding any momentary pleasure. Especially when it might genuinely help to solve your problems in the short term. He doubted he could eradicate the use of such substances completely, but perhaps he could fix the environment that led people to such choices.

At the door on the far side of the room, he gave the password, and again the door guard let him through, this time into a quiet, thankfully smokeless hallway.

He knocked on the door at the end of it, paused briefly, then entered a small room with a couple of chairs sitting in front of an empty desk. A door to the side of this waiting area led to a large office, which was filled with cabinets and a shelf that held not only a crystal ball, but also a deck of cards and a few other items Oliver recognized as useful in divination.

But what he had come for was the man sitting behind the desk in the center of all that.

The man in the adjoining room lifted his balding head from the papers stacked on his desk, and pushed up his spectacles in order to look Oliver up and down. His expression didn't change when he saw the mask, though if he was any good at his job he already knew who Oliver was. The man waved at him impatiently, motioning to one of the chairs in front of Oliver. "Sit, sit. My secretary is out at the moment."

Oliver complied, leaning back comfortably as he waited.

After a couple of minutes, Gilbratha's premier information broker shuffled away the report he had been reading and came out into the waiting room, plopping down behind the smaller secretary's desk. He leaned back and took off his spectacles. "What can I do for you today, Lord Stag?"

Without preamble, Oliver replied, "Someone is smuggling magical goods into the city." He knew this because the Crowns heavily taxed certain magical components and restricted the sale of others, and some components were illegal altogether. Yet those things were being sold by the underground community, and not just the restricted items, but the illegal ones as well. He knew he could find proof at the Night Market that very moment, were he to go out and search.

The broker leaned back, resting folded hands on his potbelly with a slight smile. "And?"

"I'm looking for some supplies. I have an interest in herbology, you see. I need certain seeds and cuttings for my garden."

The man let out a short chuckle. "Seeds and cuttings? You're actually serious, aren't you?"

Oliver nodded. "Quite serious. Can you connect me to someone who can help with that?"

The man stared at him for a few moments, then sat forward. "I believe I can. Is a meeting all you require?"

"Yes." Oliver let a small smile creep into his voice. "I'm sorry I cannot allow you to showcase your impressive services in some more thorough way."

The information broker chuckled. "I find repeat customers make up most of my clientele. I'm sure I'll have the chance to show off at some other time. A runner will drop off the meeting information in a week. Send three hundred gold when you get it. Be aware, resources like this can be…coveted."

Oliver was already dealing with the Morrows, who didn't appreciate his incursion into a few dozen city blocks of their territory, poor as it was. He doubted the supplies to cultivate a few magical plants would make a difference. Of course, he would've liked to consume all incoming smuggling operations whole, but the Verdant Stag still lacked the resources for that.

He gave the information dealer a shallow nod. "I understand."

"Good. Is that all you need from me today?" When Oliver nodded again, the man put his spectacles back on and shooed him away. "Alright. Off you go, then. I'm busy. This data won't read and organize itself."

Oliver held back a chuckle, but left without delay, striding quickly back down the hallway and through the den of quicksilver users.

As he passed through, a man looked up from the table where he had been scribbling in a leather-bound journal. His eyes flicked over Oliver from head to toe, and recognition sparked within them.

Oliver didn't walk any faster, didn't turn his head toward the other man in acknowledgment. If the man had recognized him, it was as the leader of the Stags, as the mask itself. Not Oliver Dryden. He left the bar and retrieved Elmira, then rode to the Verdant Stag.

He traded paperwork and reports with Katerin, who worked even more than he did despite the burden of raising her young nephew, and left again.

He was just exiting Stag territory when a group of people waiting in an alley stepped out in front of him.

He slowed Elmira.

They spread out, and a couple more came up behind him.

"Somehow, I doubt this meeting is coincidental," he said, one hand falling to the battle wand in his cloak pocket. The light from the streetlamps was enough for him to make out the telltale signs of the Morrow gang on his ambushers—strips of red cloth tied around their arms, red bandannas over a couple of their heads, and the blood-red M stained into some of their shirts, over the heart.

One of the men crossed his arms over his chest and threw back his shoulders to make himself seem more imposing. "No, just like how it weren't a coincidence that this used to be Morrow territory, and now I'm seeing green antlers all over the place, and men patrolling around telling me where I can and can't do business while I'm looking down the wrong end—"

Oliver didn't wait for him to finish. This was never going to end with friendly negotiation, and waiting for them to be ready to attack only gave him worse odds of walking away. He threw himself off Elmira, his right hand pulling the wand out of his pocket and raising it high. In the same motion, he flipped around and slapped her on the rump as hard as he could with the left. As soon as the creature began to run, he closed his eyes and his thumb pressed down on the switch of the wand. Light exploded across his closed eyelids like a flower blooming red.

Screams came from all around as his attackers responded to the blinding flash of light. It wouldn't stop them for long, but he only needed a few moments.

He lowered his hand, switched the wand's output to an overpowered concussive blast, and was firing at one of the assailants to his right even as he ran forward to attack another. The spell from the wand slammed the man across the street and into the side of the building to their right.

He might not die, but he would likely need medical attention. A hit like that was similar to being slammed by a rampaging troll, and he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

A punch to the throat sent the man in front of Oliver keeling over.

Elmira had knocked another man to the ground as she ran past, and he pivoted, slamming a foot down into the side of that man's knee before he could stand up.

The joint popped sideways, and the man went down again.

Two of the thugs rushed him, one from the left and one from behind.

He took out the one to his left with the battle wand's concussive blast, but the one behind managed to tackle him around the waist hard enough to knock his breath out, and when they fell to the ground the final ambusher grabbed Oliver's arm and wrested the wand from it.

The man who had tackled Oliver punched him in the kidney, hard enough to send pain arcing all the way up his spine.

Oliver slammed his left elbow repeatedly into the junction between the man's neck and shoulder, and the grip around his waist slackened, allowing him to flip his leg up, over, and around, using the leverage to reverse their positions.

The other man, the one who had grabbed his arm and ripped the wand from it, was trying to break Oliver's arm by bending it backward at the elbow joint, so Oliver punched him in the back of the neck. The man collapsed, and Oliver yanked his arm free.

Ignoring the pain at his elbow, he scrambled away, kicking at the remaining assailant, who was scrabbling at Oliver's clothes in an effort to pull him back into a grapple. Oliver grabbed for his wand. His fingers, clumsy with adrenaline, fumbled around the handle, and he must have moved the embedded controls, because when he swung the wand around toward the man grabbing at his legs, a red bolt shot out instead of the foggy concussive blast.

It didn't matter. The stunning spell hit the final gang member, sizzling at the spot of impact, and the man collapsed.

Oliver kicked himself loose of the man's limp arms, then stumbled to his feet and spun about wildly as he searched out more attackers. He shot the man whose knee he had kicked, who was now rocking on the ground and howling agonizingly, with another stunning spell, and for good measure did the same to the others as well.

The street was completely empty, and any lights that had shone from the windows around had been doused shortly after the fighting started.

It took a few seconds of panting and looking around for Oliver to trust that it was over. His fingers shaking slightly, he checked to make sure his mask was still on, and then he made sure he wasn't bleeding anywhere. The coppers likely wouldn't bother to investigate violence between rival gangs, but he couldn't take the chance of leaving some piece of himself to be used or traced.

He searched the downed Morrow gang members, rifling through their pockets. What he was looking for, he didn't know, but it would have felt a little strange to just leave them there after they'd ambushed him like that. He didn't find much. A few silver, and one mostly empty vial of metallic dust. The man who'd carried it was the same one who had recognized him back in the quicksilver den, he realized belatedly.

Disgusted, he poured the substance out onto the ground, dropping the vial and leaving his attackers behind as he limped after Elmira, who was waiting for him a few blocks away. He very much doubted the ambush had been intentionally prearranged, and likely was not even sanctioned by the Morrows' leader.

The man at the information broker's bar had recognized him, and, with an overabundance of confidence from the euphoria of the quintessence of quicksilver, had gathered a few fellows to wait in ambush, hoping to take back something they felt like he had stolen from them.

Carefully, already beginning to hurt as the adrenaline from the fight wore off, he remounted the Erythrean and turned back toward the Verdant Stag. He had to check in with Katerin and make sure everything was okay—that this wasn't a multi-pronged attack he was underestimating.

It surprised her to see him again, and her lips drew into a snarl as he recounted his little surprise. "This will not end here," she said. "It can't. These things escalate, it's how it works. It was harassment before, trying to drain our funds and tarnish our name, but now?"

"I know. Even so, that's out of our control. I'm approving your request to recharge those old battle wands you managed to get. Arm our patrol and security team. Hire a few more reliable people, too, if you can. Quality over quantity, of course. I have no desire for thugs running around my territory, as dangerous to the citizens as they are to our enemies. Stock up on healing potions, too, and put a healer on retainer."

When they'd finished talking, Oliver left again, his body protesting with his horse's every jarring step. He didn't bother to take any potions or use salves for his injuries. They barely worked on him anyway.

It was late into the night by the time he'd returned home and got the horse settled. The servants had left long ago.

The girl—Sebastien in this form, he reminded himself—was the only one there. She opened her door when he reached the top of the stairs, watching him with those dark, unsettling eyes. He had noticed already that sometimes, when she withdrew into the company of her own thoughts, her expression relaxed, yet failed to give any hint of actual peace, and there was the sense of something swimming in the depths of her gaze, dark and aware. Then she would turn that gaze back to reality, and whatever hint of what lay beneath would be hidden under fragile pride and the blaze of a mind that devoured knowledge like a wildfire.

He did his best not to limp, though only the threat of violence could have made him move quickly. "How did it go?"

"I have two weeks until the exams, and another two weeks after that until classes start."

"You may stay here until then," he said. "I don't have any books on magic in this house, so if you require study aids, you will have to seek them elsewhere. There is a bookstore, not far. You can go tomorrow."

Sebastien frowned. "What I don't understand is, how are people supposed to study for the exams if you must already be certified by the University to learn, teach, or practice magic?"

Oliver gave her a sardonic smile. "Sebastien, those texts contain little magical instruction, and the tutors you can hire may be an even worse investment of your gold. They'll teach you how to read, write, and do basic mathematics, as well as help you memorize rudimentary principles of natural or sympathetic science. I believe the tutoring center has some useless classes on decorum and dancing as well. You will find deeper learning elusive without delving into the less legitimate side of this city. However, the examination doesn't expect you to be competent in magic. It simply requires you to have a wide range of basic understanding and an able, agile mind. Money, background, and connections don't hurt, either."

She made a small grimace of disgust.

He noted it with pleasure. Perhaps Siobhan would truly help with his plans, if he hadn't been mistaken in his judgment of her. Magic always had a cost, but it also allowed the resourceful to accomplish feats that the natural sciences and the common man could only dream of matching, especially with the current state of the world. Once Oliver had succeeded, that would change, of course.

He would have Katerin call in the first repayment of the girl's debt soon—a favor. Something charitable, to help disarm her. He could tell she was suspicious. But he always played the long game.

Chapter 7 - Filial Anxiety

Sebastien

Month 9, Day 28, Monday 6:00 p.m.

She filled out the forms the woman handed her with Sebastien Siverling's information. She still had trouble thinking of it as her own. When Sebastien finished writing, the woman handed her a few scrolls and a wooden token engraved with a date and time a couple of weeks in the future.

With the paperwork out of the way, the attendant took a deep breath and began what seemed like a well-rehearsed spiel. "Return with the token at the stated time. Do not lose it, as you will need it to take the examination." She pointed to one of the scrolls. "These are the topics you will be tested on. The examinations start with an extensive written test. Those who pass will go on to the oral examination, which is administered by a panel of professors. Should you be accepted, tuition is to be paid immediately. If we do not receive your tuition at least ten days before classes start, your acceptance will be rescinded. The base cost of admission is three hundred gold crowns. Each class you take, minimum four and up to seven, is an additional fifty gold crowns. The price of admission includes mandatory room and board."

When Sebastien continued to stare at her expectantly, the woman gave a dismissive hand wave and concluded, "All the information you need is written in the scrolls."

Sebastien cleared her throat, trying to suppress her apprehension. "Is there a way for me to access the library or some other resource that will help me study?"

The woman blinked at her tiredly. "The library and other University resources are only available to students, faculty, and specific alumni. If you wish to study, you can purchase texts or hire University-certified tutors in the city."

Conscious of the impatient people standing in line behind her and the guards keeping watch on the admissions center, Sebastien stepped aside. She opened the scroll with the list of topics she would be tested on, her eyes narrowing as they flicked down the list. Luckily, her grandfather had required her to gain a basic education, but there were still a handful of topics she didn't feel comfortable in, such as "natural alchemical conversions" or "mathematic principles of array design." And what was "practical solutions to abstractly depicted problems?"

She perfunctorily looked over the rest of the scrolls, then tucked everything securely into her pockets. 'Am I very far behind, then? I know insisting on such a large loan wasn't for my benefit, but to ensure I was more indebted to Katerin and Dryden. But I'm glad I have the extra gold. How does a common family afford to educate their child enough to pass in the first place, especially when they must also have saved enough to pay for tuition?' She smiled wryly to herself. 'Maybe I'm not the only one borrowing from loan-sharks for this. Of course, getting a sponsor to pay your way after already having proof of admittance might be easier.'

The University boasted about their inclusive, nondiscriminatory policy. They claimed a willingness to admit anyone who could pass the test and either pay the way or get a sponsor to do so for them, but she wondered how much of that was simply propaganda.

When she arrived back at Dryden Manor, she found he'd gone out. The servants invited her to eat in the kitchen with them rather than at the huge empty table in the dining hall. At first, the others were a little awkward around her, but she pulled out a technique she'd learned, ironically, from her father, and made a few bad jokes. They laughed at her, rather than with any amusement at the jokes, and once they saw that she'd meant them to do so, everyone relaxed.

Once they felt free, she had to dodge their friendly curiosity about her connection to their employer. "I'm here for the University admissions exam. Mr. Dryden graciously offered to let me stay the night rather than sleep in an inn when we met yesterday."

She tried to help clean up afterward, but the cook and kitchen maid shooed her out with scandalized bows and a lot of hand-flapping. "What would Mr. Dryden think, if he knew we let his guest do our work for us? We'll just finish up here and then head home, Mr. Siverling, please don't worry. Go back to your room and study, and just ring the bell in the hall if you need anything before we go."

Sebastien tried to do just that, reading more carefully through the admissions information, then reviewing the magic notes in her own grimoire, though she knew everything in it by heart already.

She slipped back into Dryden's study for the theoretical books on magic she'd noticed before. While interesting, they were abstract and advanced, and she doubted how relevant they would be to any of the topics on the exam. Still, she enjoyed a couple of hours skimming through the more interesting ones.

She'd gone back to her room by the time Dryden finally returned. He was walking stiffly, like the cold outside had seeped into his bones. Trying and failing to hide his discomfort, Dryden distracted her by offering to let her stay in his house until the start of term, which she tacitly accepted despite the discomfort it brought her.

That night, she cast her dreamless sleep spell around the pillow, using a tincture of strong alcohol and distilled herb oils to draw the spell array, which was invisible once it evaporated and perfectly comfortable to sleep on. She'd reworked and refined this spell extensively to find something that actually worked to suppress her nightmares. She pushed as much power as she could into it, focusing on the sweet relief of real rest.

Her last waking thought was a vague question about her father. 'Where is he, after all this?'

Sebastien ate breakfast with Dryden, who turned out to be somewhat amusing company when not trying to coerce her into indebting herself to a criminal organization or lecturing her about how to act like an entitled rich man. He was well-studied, and had traveled through other countries, seen other cultures and magics.

While outwardly she laughed at his retelling of a mishap involving a household brownie, a woman much too old to be interested in Dryden, and her ungelded stallion, internally she wondered again why he was helping her.

Even if he wasn't from one of the Crown families and thus without their influence, he had money at least, and enough intelligence to practice magic. 'Why does he need me? Why wait for me outside the inn and convince Katerin to loan me such a large amount? What dirty work does he require that he can't handle with his current means?' Her sole comfort came from her ability to refuse any morally objectionable favors, but that restriction still left many uncomfortable possibilities open.

After again ensuring her transformation into Sebastien showed no signs of wearing off, she left to the bookstore. It was attached to a University-certified tutoring center, and, as Dryden had warned her, didn't have texts about actual magic, only more background information about the world and the sciences that a thaumaturge would find useful when practicing. Alone, however, the books offered her nothing more than trivial knowledge.

Still, she was a sorceress, and any knowledge that could improve her magic, either directly or indirectly, was valuable. She chose an armload of books and went to the counter to pay. Sebastien was just wondering if there was a market where she could pick up magical components—without needing a University certification—when a copy of her own wanted poster caught her eye again.

It was pinned up on a board with various other notifications, advertisements, and wanted posters. She put it out of her mind as she paid, inwardly cringing at the cost—thirty gold crowns would have been enough to buy grain for her father and her to eat for a year in any of the smaller villages they'd stayed in—but as she made to leave the store, the chatter of two young men next to the bulletin board caught her ear.

"You heard they caught the other one?"

Sebastien froze.

"No! What happened?"

She shuffled the books around in her arms to make her eavesdropping less obvious.

"Found him in a brothel, apparently! The audacity!" The grin in the boy's voice was obvious. "I wonder if the woman is holed up somewhere in the city, too."

His companion chuckled. "I wouldn't mind the girl coming to me for a night of 'protection,' if she looks anything like the poster. Of course, the coppers would be there to escort her away in the morning."

"That's just foolishness. You've no idea what forbidden magics she might need spell components for. I heard some spells use cow testicles and that sort of thing. Who knows, she might prefer to take those components from a human male instead?"

His companion burst into shocked guffaws, and when Sebastien realized they wouldn't be revealing anything more about her father, she left the shop. She was breathing hard.

Sebastien stalked through the streets blindly, consumed by her thoughts. Her father had been captured, and must be in the jail now. 'But what does that mean? They'll be looking for me—with fervor—but he couldn't lead them to me even if he wanted, since he doesn't know where I am or even what I look like now.'

She stopped in her tracks as a horrible thought hit her. 'What if they already know what I look like now? They had the book before me. Could they not have extracted the transmuting artifact and studied its effects before the expedition made it back to the University?' She started walking again, faster this time, as the feeling of being hunted closed in on her. 'Why didn't I consider this possibility before?' She caught sight of her wanted poster on another street corner, and, ironically, it calmed her.

'If they knew what my other form looked like, wouldn't they have created a poster for it as well? The spell array was drawn on the inside of the leather cover, and even I almost missed it. If they had removed the artifact, why would they have replaced it within the space-bending spell?' Re-concealing the artifact may not have even been possible. She hadn't been able to do so. 'There is no need to create imaginary dangers when plenty of real ones hound me,' she reassured herself.

She found Dryden in his study as soon as she returned. "They've caught my father," she said succinctly.

He looked up from the papers on the desk in front of him, blinking a few times. "Is this a problem?"

His response deflated her momentarily, but she rallied. "Yes! This may be his own fault, but without the book to return to them, he might be in danger. They must know I have the book and that I'm his daughter. What if they torture him for information he doesn't have? What if they decide to execute him as a message to me?" She found herself pacing before Dryden's desk. "I'm angry at him, but I don't wish him to come to harm. I must ensure he's safe. Beyond any sentiment I feel, he may have information or insight into their investigation that would be useful, and thus be a danger to me." It was a weak excuse, she knew.

Dryden knew it, too. "He doesn't know where you are or have any way to track you, does he? He doesn't even know what you look like. The safest thing is to leave him be and let them realize his worthlessness. And, say you do speak with him and find he is not well-treated. What, then? Will you allow him to jeopardize your future once again as you attempt to break him free?"

He gave her a stern look. "Calm yourself, Sebastien. It's very unlikely they will sentence him to death. More likely, he'll be held for a while and then condemned to servitude in the mines until his debt is repaid. If you wish, once you're educated and have received your license to practice, you may even buy the debt and have him freed. This isn't as serious as you believe. Does he not deserve some punishment for what he's done? If he'd escaped instead of you, it would be you in Harrow Hill Penitentiary, your future thrown away on a greedy whim."

The use of her new name lent credence to Dryden's argument, despite the lack of respect he showed by using her first name so familiarly. 'He's right. About all of it. Even if Father were to be executed, it would be his own fault. Ironically, it's only now, when he's ruined my life, that I'm free of him. And yet…and yet, I still feel an obligation.'

"You're right," she said aloud. "Nevertheless, I still want to contact him. Is there any way for me to do so?"

Dryden stared at her silently for a while, then got up and moved to the corner table where he kept his alcohol in fancy crystal bottles. He poured himself a small glass of brown liquid, took a sip, and swirled it around in his mouth while gazing out the window—ignoring her. Finally, he turned back to her. "Do you have a spell that will allow you to sneak in, or perhaps one to communicate with him remotely?"

She grimaced, shaking her head in the negative.

"No matter. Such a spell likely wouldn't work. The Harrow Hill Penitentiary is warded against many spells, and the high-security wing doubly so. I doubt they would place him in the lesser wings, with what's at stake. You'd need a high-level security token to enter the wing, as well as some way to get past the guards. It's not a simple thing."

"Is it impossible, then? Perhaps I can bribe one of the guards? I have a thousand gold, after all."

He snorted. "If you wished to see someone in the lowest wing's debtor's prison, perhaps. Attempt to bribe a guard of the high-security wing, and you will gain the attention of the second Crown Family and their coppers. Hardly what you want bearing down upon you right now." He took another slow drink and then added, "However."

She remained silent as she waited for him to continue, her fingers absently reaching for her Conduit within one of the borrowed suit's many pockets.

Finally, he spoke. "There may be someone with the skills and knowledge to do what you require. A messenger spell might not be detected in the same way a communication spell would be, if done the right way. The problem is, this person isn't officially certified to practice magics for either personal or commercial reasons, and they don't sell their expertise lightly."

'So I'll be complicit in yet another crime. It doesn't change much. I simply have to avoid being caught.' "Can this person be trusted to be discreet?"

"Yes, but let me be clear," Dryden said, an edge to his voice. "They are not affiliated with me, or with the Verdant Stag's people, in any way. If someone else were to go to this person asking for help to find out who breached Harrow Hill's security, this person wouldn't reveal your involvement outright, but they would sell their magical detection services to find you without hesitation. They have a code of honor, which is necessary when working with the people who need such services, but you are not buying loyalty."

Sebastien frowned. "Well…why not? If I offered this person coin to refuse to help anyone acting against my interests, their honor would protect me, even if there is no true loyalty, correct?"

He snorted. "You couldn't afford to purchase such a thing."

She didn't question him. He surely knew this thaumaturge's prices better than she did. Besides, the majority of her money would be needed for the University's fees. She could not, would not squander it. "Can you introduce me?"

He sighed deeply, but nodded. "We'll leave when the sun begins to set. I hope you don't regret this, Siobhan."

She gave him a mirthless smile. "My name is Sebastien, remember."

"Well, we will need to change that, too. Sebastien cannot be associated with such an unsavory character."

Chapter 8 - Lino-Wharton Messenger

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 29, Tuesday 9:00 p.m.

Siobhan changed back into her own body and her old clothes, which had been the nicest ones she owned but now sported the stains and rips of her harried flight from the coppers.

Dryden took one look at her and insisted she update her wardrobe before he was seen with her in public. When she protested, he reminded her that her wanted poster showed her wearing a ratty, hooded cloak, with wild hair and a crazed look in her eyes, and a change of ambiance might allow her to hide in plain sight. As if divining her next argument, he assured her that she need not visit a seamstress. He had some spare female clothing in one of the mansion's many guest bedrooms.

When he brought the clothing to her—a black, slim-cut dress suit with a pencil skirt and crimson cloak—she made the mistake of asking whose it was.

He gave her a pointed look. "It belongs to a previous acquaintance of mine. She stayed the night and left these behind as an excuse to return again, but her gambit failed."

Siobhan stared blankly for a moment, then gasped in sudden realization, her embarrassment making it impossible to look him in the eye. An imagined scene with Dryden and the woman who had worn such bold clothing flashed through her mind, and she quickly gave herself a mental shake to cast the scene away.

"I assure you, she won't miss these. Consider them yours."

That was how Siobhan found herself walking with Dryden through the gloomy streets of the seedier part of the city, wearing a stylish outfit that was a little too expensive for her to be comfortable in.

She was on edge, waiting for every person they passed to point an accusing finger at her or scurry off to find the nearest copper, but no one seemed to recognize her. The hood of the cloak obscured her hair and her features from the light of the streetlamps, anyway. No one without some type of diviner's sight or natural predilection to the dark, like a vampire or hag, could see her face.

Dryden was also wearing a hood. He'd reached into his pockets when they set out, but hesitated without retrieving anything. "I usually wear a mask for this sort of thing, but that could actually be more attention-drawing in the current circumstances. Like this, maybe we can just be a man and a woman walking together."

Dryden led her on a circuitous route through the city, and she realized belatedly, when they actually doubled back at one point, that he was searching for tails. She wasn't sure if that should frighten or reassure her, but he seemed to think they were safe. Finally, they arrived at a housing district where people lived atop each other in small, two-story apartments strung together in long rows.

Siobhan grimaced at the idea of living so close together with other families. 'No space, no privacy.' They walked up a rickety set of stairs that she hoped were stabilized with magic, because otherwise they seemed on the verge of collapse.

He gingerly tapped the door-knocker against its decorative metal base, which was shaped like a growling lion's head.

She understood his hesitance when the lion shifted, glaring at the both of them and baring its teeth. After a tense moment, the door let out a "click" and the lion froze.

Dryden turned the handle and stepped through ahead of her, looking around warily before moving aside so she could follow.

Contrary to her expectations, the interior was entirely mundane.

A tall, dark-skinned woman with long, curly hair bound away from her face in a loose braid walked out of the attached, unremarkable kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. She seemed unsurprised to see them and equally uninterested in their presence. "Oliver. What do you want?"

Siobhan noted the use of his first name. 'Perhaps that's how he introduces himself to people in the criminal world?'

Dryden gave her a flirtatious grin. "Hello, Liza. We have need of your services."

Liza gave him a look as dry as the Tataroc Desert, standing with one hip cocked. "Don't be a pedant. What is it exactly that you want of me?"

"My father is in jail," Siobhan said. "I want to communicate with him. I heard you might be able to help with that."

Liza turned her gaze on Siobhan, humming thoughtfully. "Harrow Hill Penitentiary. High-security wing?" Before Siobhan could answer, she waved her hand dismissively and continued. "Of course it is, why else would you be coming to me? Do you have gold?"

Siobhan nodded, taking out the coin pouch she had brought. Fifty gold. It was an exorbitant amount, and it had shocked her when Dryden gave her an estimate of what the woman's services would cost. She could pay for an entire University class with that amount, or live luxuriously off it for a couple of months if she left Gilbratha. She hoped she wouldn't have to use all of it.

Liza eyed the pouch dubiously. "Do you want him to be able to communicate back to you?"

"Yes."

"Do you know exactly where he is being held?"

Siobhan suppressed a grimace. "I don't."

The woman sighed. "Well, we can do a prerequisite homing spell if you have some of his hair or something like that. The messenger can use it to find him."

Siobhan's grimace slipped out. Her grandfather had bludgeoned her into the habit of disposing of any hair, blood, or nail clippings, even saliva, precisely so no one could use them in this type of spell. She had none.

Liza threw her hands in the air, spilling some of her tea. "I am not a miracle worker! If you can find a sorcerer who knows your father well enough to help me with a homing spell, I might be able to make it work. However, this will not be cheap. Seventy gold crowns."

Siobhan almost choked.

Dryden's eyebrows rose. "Is that not a bit excessive, Liza? It's only a messenger spell."

The woman scowled at them while taking another sip of tea. "It is a hazard fee. For possible Will-strain, and the cost of blood magic. I have to supplement the Will of a sorcerer trying to create a sympathetic mnemonic link and tie it into a tracking spell, as well as augment a messenger skilled enough to use said tracker while avoiding detection by the guards and wards. It requires too much energy, so I will also have to use a beast core, if you want the messenger to be viable for the standard six hours. Seventy gold."

"I can create the mnemonic link if you show me how," Siobhan said. "And I won't need you to supplement my Will while I do so. I can also assist you with channeling the power for the rest of the spell. I don't need the messenger to last very long, two hours at most. Forty gold."

"Even if you can keep up, though I doubt you can channel more than a few dozen thaums, if that…" Liza looked her up and down, then stared challengingly into her eyes. "Blood magics are a serious crime in Gilbratha."

Blood magics were a crime almost everywhere, and for good reason. Sacrificing a human, or pieces of one, or casting a spell that involved torture or excessive cruelty to a living being may have led to powerful spells, but the cost was unconscionable. Siobhan cleared her throat, which seemed to have dried up. "What type of…blood magic, exactly? If you plan to use any sort of human Sacrifice, I don't believe I need your services, after all."

Liza snorted derisively, the puff of air sending a loose curl flying away from her cheek. "This one has drunk deeply from the proverbial well, huh, Oliver? No, child, there will be no human components, no bathing in the blood of virgins. We will be casting a Lino-Wharton messenger spell. It requires a being that can speak, so we will be using a pair of ravens. One must die to temporarily enhance the capabilities of the other. The second raven will also die when the spell runs its course. Admittedly, the death of the first raven is not…pleasant, but it is over in less than a minute. If you cannot handle this, feel free to leave, after vowing not to reveal my location or this conversation." Liza sipped her tea again, but her dark, half-lidded eyes were focused on Siobhan with the kind of concentration she had seen in hunters before they loosed an arrow at their unsuspecting prey.

Siobhan swallowed, but didn't look away. "That's not a problem. We'll do the spell," she said. In her head, she continued, 'And while I help you cast the spell, I will be memorizing it. Two ravens. Not pleasant, but not as bad as it could be. I have used raven components in other spells, though admittedly not while the raven was still alive. If I need to speak to my father again, I will not need you.'

"I will require a blood print from both of you as assurance of your discretion," the woman warned. "And fifty gold."

Dryden nodded. "She has standard terms," he explained to Siobhan. "We cannot divulge her identity, location, or the services she performed to the authorities or those we believe might mean her harm, and she must promise the same for us. It is nothing nefarious."

'Nothing nefarious, except for the fact that it is a blood-based vow.' Aloud, she repeated, "Fifty gold." Even that was almost expensive enough to make her re-think her desire to speak to her father.

Liza placed her teacup on a nearby table, dipped her finger into the liquid, and traced a quick Circle on the table around it. Using merely the warmth of the air and pure Will, she re-warmed the tea, then swallowed the rest in a single gulp.

It was a casual display of prowess, and Siobhan's respect deepened. Control like that took more than practice to improve channeling capacity. It took both clarity and force of Will.

"Alright, then," Liza said. "We had best get started. The spell will be active and the metaphorical grains of sand will begin falling through the hourglass directly after completion. I have a healing-style stasis spell that will let you reactivate the messenger at a later time, but that would be another twenty gold."

Siobhan struggled to keep her nostrils from flaring in irritation. "No, we'll use it right away, as long as it isn't too conspicuous."

"It is a bird. All the cells have windows. No one will notice anything out of the ordinary, and unless Harrow Hill has a warding scheme more impressive than my own"—the woman snorted at that idea—"the guards will never know."

Similar to Katerin, Liza had a supply of parchment with the blood print spell already drawn, forcing Siobhan to wonder how common such a thing was. 'Or, perhaps this is simply a sign that I'm associating with the wrong people.' The three of them agreed to the terms Dryden had mentioned previously, and Siobhan gave Liza all the gold from her pouch.

Liza led them into a spare room with a closet where Siobhan supposed she kept her magical supplies. When the woman opened the closet door, however, the space on the other side was much too large.

Siobhan stepped through into the open area, which was filled with magical components, animals and bugs inside cages and containers, and shelves holding grimoires and magical reference books. 'Did Liza set up some sort of folded space in her closet?' There were even a couple of little container gardens in the corner, growing under magical light. She'd only heard of such large applications of spatial magic theoretically, and seeing it for herself was more than a little impressive. She looked around for the visually disorienting signs of space-bending magic, but found none.

Catching the look of awe on Siobhan's face, Liza rolled her eyes. "Close your mouth, girl. I simply purchased the adjacent apartment and the two below and knocked out some walls."

Siobhan snapped her mouth closed, feeling her shoulders tighten and her chin lift in response to the embarrassment. At least her cheeks wouldn't show her blush so easily in her real body.

Liza puttered about, gathering up supplies and a couple of live ravens from one of the cages. She flipped through the grimoires, muttering to herself and stopping to study specific spells and take notes on a spare sheet of paper.

Siobhan mentally swallowed her drool at the display of magical knowledge surrounding her, much of it likely restricted and illegal. She had no particular desire to break the law or cast any depraved or harmful magics, but she would absolutely love to learn about them.

Finally, Liza motioned for them to go down the stairs into the attached ground level apartments. Dryden led the way, and Siobhan caught Liza eyeing his backside as he passed.

The woman noticed Siobhan's surprise and smirked. "I can at least look, can't I?"

Siobhan looked away, embarrassed, and Liza guffawed, while Dryden sent back a flirtatious smile over his shoulder.

Below, the walls fairly buzzed with wards, and the windows were missing entirely, though she hadn't noticed that from the outside. Out of the corner of her eye, Siobhan saw the faint glimmer of active glyphs edging the corners of the rooms, like they were standing inside some giant artifact. The hair on her arms lifted, and she shuddered with vague delight. 'This is how a sorcerer's study should feel.'

The ravens didn't seem to like it, and began squawking and flapping around inside their cage.

Liza shooed Dryden into the corner with firm instructions not to wander about, then proceeded to set up the prerequisite tracking spell she had mentioned, using a rod and string to draw a perfect Circle on the ground, which she expanded with a complicated Word array while Siobhan watched raptly.

She hadn't known tracking spells could be done without any kind of natural link. She was even more glad for the warding medallion hidden next to the transformation amulet under her shirt. If her father had been wearing one, it would probably be able to ward off this attempt to locate him.

"He's your biological father?" Liza asked, lighting a small brazier in one of the component Circles. "One of your hairs should help to augment the mnemonic link. Unless you've reached Journeyman level, I'd say you're going to need it."

The last time Siobhan had been tested, she could channel about one hundred seventy-five thaums, which was firmly Apprentice level, well below a Journeyman sorcerer. Somewhat reluctantly, she plucked a single strand and placed it in the component Circle where Liza had drawn the glyph that represented hair or fur.

"At least you know that much," the woman said. She placed a small iron needle in the middle of the center Circle and turned to Siobhan. "I will handle the tracking part of the spell. You simply need to associate the needle with your father as strongly as you can while I do so. Create a sympathetic link. I will not be supplementing your Will, so if the raven cannot manage to find him, I accept no responsibility."

Siobhan pushed down her irritation and simply nodded. She wasn't fully recovered from her over-exertion a couple of days before, but at least hadn't done any magic yet that day. Her Will wouldn't fail her.

When Liza gave the sign, Siobhan's whole purpose locked onto the needle lying there on the ground before her. She ran through memories of her father in detail, cataloguing him for the purpose of the tracker, and ordering the magic to agree that the needle and her father were—antithetically—one being. It was one of the core applications of transmogrification.

When Liza finished, Siobhan relaxed her concentration. The fire in the small brazier had been consumed so thoroughly it left only ashes and cold wood behind. She was fairly confident that the linking spell had worked, but didn't know how to be sure.

Liza seemed unworried, setting the sliver of iron aside carefully and wiping the floor clean of chalk. "You can help cast the messenger spell, since it will improve your control of the raven, but don't get in the way," she said. "Focus your Will on what I tell you, and naught else."

Next, Liza tied up one of the ravens with some cord to keep it from flapping or hopping away, then used a snake tongue and a small drop of what Siobhan thought was laudanum as components in a forceful calming spell. When she was done, she placed it back into its cage, where it lay against the bars docilely.

The other bird grew more agitated at all of this, squawking and beating at the cage with its wings.

Liza drew yet another Circle and its accompanying Word array, this one even more complex. She worked at it so long Siobhan had to shuffle from foot to foot to keep her legs from falling asleep. After placing a thumb-sized beast core in one of the component Circles, Liza wrangled and bound the unsedated raven and laid it in the center of the main Circle. She placed the docile raven next to it. "We're drawing on the vitality and intelligence of the brother for our messenger. It's transmogrification, not transmutation, so be sure to concentrate. Don't link their lives, we wouldn't want both ravens to die."

When Liza activated the spell, the unsedated raven gave a horrified shriek and wriggled around as if trying to escape. The sound quickly gurgled out, and the bird went still, its little black eyes staring at nothing.

The calm raven seemed to perk up, some vigor coming back to its gaze, but, though it struggled a little, no non-sapient creature could have resisted Liza's magic and the forced docility.

Liza used the butt of a silver knife to crack the dead raven's skull while the other watched with dark little eyes. She scooped out the brains and set them aside in a small wooden bowl. She also took an eyeball, a feather, and a claw, and after a quick adjustment to the Circle, told Siobhan to focus her Will on the three pieces of dead bird, exerting mastery over them, and through them, to the still living bird. "When you have these items, you will be acknowledged as the raven's master. You will also need to see through its eyes and hear through its ears. If you botch this, you may find using the messenger quite unpleasant. Concentrate on both the domination and the communication at once."

Siobhan wasn't familiar with this sort of domination spell, and though the instructions weren't unclear, they also weren't as helpful as she would have liked. She had no time to ask for clarification, however, because Liza turned her attention back to the spell immediately and began to cast.

When it was finished, Liza dropped the bird pieces in a little pouch, which she tossed to Siobhan. "You keep that on you, if you want the messenger to obey your instructions."

Siobhan hoped she hadn't botched the connection. 'What exactly does "unpleasant" mean?' She leaned her back against the wall, breathing deeply. Casting spells didn't require any actual physical exertion in most cases, but the strain of channeling power could still leave thaumaturges panting and trembling.

Liza, breathing barely a little harder from the effort, looked Siobhan up and down, and with a judgmental "tch," allowed her to take a break.

'How many thaums is this woman channeling as if it were nothing?' Siobhan wondered.

Finally, with another adjustment to the complex Circle, moving some of the component Circles inward to intersect with the main one, Liza set the spell-calmed bird in the center again.

She placed the tiny brains of the dead raven in one of the component Circles, birdseed in another, and the metal sliver they'd spelled earlier in a third. "This is the hardest part. The brains of its brother for more intelligence, enough to follow your orders. The birdseed for loyalty to its master. The iron needle for the ability to find the target. The string…" She tied the end of a huge ball of yarn to the raven's leg, then moved to Siobhan and tied a loop around her wrist. "He will follow your commands within the length of the string."

Liza brought her face close and peered at Siobhan, presumably looking for signs of Will-strain.

Siobhan's thoughts were still the slightest bit woozy, but she nodded firmly. "Yes."

Liza turned back to the Circle, raising her hands dramatically as she set the spell in motion. "Eat," she told the bird. Under the effects of the docility spell, it complied, pecking up birdseed, brain matter, and even the spelled needle. It swallowed them all.

Siobhan felt like she could sense the other woman's Will as it hummed through the strings of magic itself, brushing against her own. It was like a predator, sleek and muscled, pacing hungrily.

The beast core powering the spell glowed red, and the Circle began to emit a faint, colorless light under the strain, despite how defined the Word array had been and how hard the both of them concentrated.

The raven flopped on the floor like it was being possessed by a devil, but didn't make a sound.

Siobhan's heart pounded in her chest and her head began to throb, but she refused to falter or to lose concentration. More than simply causing the spell to fail, loss of control over the many thaums of energy pulsing through the Circle might cause dangerous physical backlash or Will-strain.

Finally, the energy settled. The string connecting her and the raven burned up in a flash, just fast enough to singe her skin but not truly injure her.

Liza lowered her arms, and Siobhan released her mental grip on the spell.

"It is finished," the woman said, picking up the raven and handing it to Siobhan. "He will act as your messenger with preternatural skill and intelligence—well, for a bird—as long as you do not send him beyond the length of the string, which was about thirteen hundred meters. His brain will hemorrhage and he will die between ninety minutes to two hours from now, so you must work quickly."

Siobhan held the raven to her chest in weak arms, feeling some pity for the creature and its brother. It couldn't be helped, though. Magic always came with a cost. "Since I spent so much," she said, smiling feebly at the other woman, "do you think you could throw in the birdcage for free?"

Chapter 9 - Crossing the Threshold of Disillusionment

Siobhan

Month 9, Day 30, Wednesday 1:00 a.m.

It was well into the night by the time they left Liza's home, Siobhan carrying the messenger raven in a cage, which Liza had indeed given her for free.

When they reached the street she was surprised—and a little embarrassed—to realize she didn't actually know where the Harrow Hill Penitentiary was located. 'I'm navigating the city surprisingly well for someone who arrived just days ago,' she consoled herself, motioning for Dryden to lead the way.

It was best that he do it anyway, because she was once again on the verge of serious Will-strain and needed to let her mind relax. It was only another reminder of her unacceptable weakness. Liza must have done ten times as much for the spell as Siobhan, and the older woman had still seemed clear-headed and only a little tired when they left. 'Grandfather would've been ashamed,' she admitted to herself. 'Even more reason why I cannot lose this opportunity to enter the University, no matter the cost.'

She kept her hood pulled up, but the streets were empty, and the only copper they saw was blocks away with his back turned to them. Still, they hurried on before he could notice them.

Dryden led them on a winding path over bridges and through the narrower streets, but eventually they arrived at one of the stone-walled canals that cut through the city. "This should be close enough," he said, gesturing to a sizeable stone building a few hundred meters past the river. It was a single structure built in the shape of a cross, likely for the magical authority that shape provided when used in spells. It was the same reason a lot of the more expensive buildings were round and domed, or had circular towers. Harrow Hill Penitentiary was more stout than tall, settled on a slight rise in the land, and seemed to have intimidated all the nearby buildings into cowering away from it. A stone wall surrounded the grounds in a circle, giving the final touch to the fortress.

Siobhan opened the door to the raven's cage.

The spell-augmented bird hopped out, but seemed in no hurry to do anything but stand listlessly on the ground.

Dryden nudged it with a finger, frowning when it didn't respond. "Is it supposed to act like this?"

Siobhan had no idea. She fished the pouch of bird parts—the ones harvested from the sacrificed raven—out of a pocket. As soon as it was in her hand again, she felt a little wiggle in her mind, like the end of a string that she could grab onto. She tugged on the mental impression of connection.

The raven on the ground fluttered its wings.

'I definitely underestimated Liza. She's a powerful sorcerer, perhaps even at the level of a Master or Grandmaster.' Siobhan grasped the spell's controls a bit more firmly, feeling out how to control the creature. Unlike using an artifact, there were no switches, dials, or conditions she had to meet before the magic would work. Liza had drawn a complex array, but even with such a thorough written Word, this spell hinged on Will and the raw power of the Sacrifices.

"Find him," she murmured.

The raven took flight.

Siobhan experienced a disorienting double vision as the raven's sight overlapped her own, forcing her to close her eyes while it moved.

The raven had a wider field of view than she did, and could focus in on small objects from a greater distance, but its night vision was poor. Still, it had the iron needle pointing the way to her father, and that was all it needed.

Urged to caution, it alighted in the branches of one of the few trees within the jail's walls, watching for movement or other signs of the guards. It turned its beak toward a small, iron-barred, dark hole in the thick grey stone of an upper floor. There was no glass set in any of the windows looking out over the grounds, but she saw some windows were closed with wooden shutters. This window was open.

'If I'm interpreting the feedback correctly, that is the window to my father's cell.' She sent the raven fluttering toward it.

The dark-feathered creature landed, its form, backed by moonlight, throwing a shadow onto the floor within. It cocked its head and looked at the blanket-covered lump lying on the stone floor. Siobhan sensed a hint of an uncomfortable sensation, like an itch, as the bird, more sensitive to magic than any human, picked up on the wards woven into the walls and floor. It squawked.

The prisoner stirred and turned toward the window, moving into the moonlight.

Siobhan breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her father's face.

He had a small bruise across one freckled cheekbone, and his jaw had grown scruffy with dark copper stubble, but his limbs moved normally, and he seemed otherwise unharmed.

He scowled at the raven and flapped his hands at it. "Shoo! Go away, you stupid bird." His voice held a faint brogue from the northern islands, his homeland, and the origin of her name.

With a mental tug on the link between them, Siobhan spoke through both the raven's mouth and her own. "Father, it's me." On the raven's end, it came out as a slightly-mangled, surprisingly sonorous croak, but the words remained recognizable.

Her father scrambled back against the far wall with a speed and level of fright she found faintly—vindictively—comical. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he leaned away from the shadowed corner. "Siobhan? Is that you, lovely?"

She scowled at the way his voice softened, the coercive way he said "lovely." She'd heard him use that tone and pet name on a hundred women throughout her life, always when he wanted something from them and had nothing to offer in return but a bit of charm and a handsome—supposedly—smile. She'd inherited her mother's looks, and growing up, she'd been careful to imitate Grandfather's speech, thus keeping the brogue out of it altogether. "It's me," she said again. "Are you well? What have they told you?"

Instead of responding, Ennis moved closer, standing and reaching up to poke at the raven. He drew his fingers back quickly when it flapped its wings and pecked at him, perhaps of its own volition, or perhaps picking up on her agitation. "How did you turn into a bird? You never did this before. Did the old man teach you?"

Siobhan gritted her teeth, ignoring the curious look from Dryden back at her real body. "Never mind that. Tell me about the coppers. They haven't hurt you, it seems. Have they given you any information about what lies in store for you, or their search for me?"

Her father grinned. "Well, lovely, it's actually not so bad 'ere. I tell you, when they first captured me, I did my fair share of screaming and fighting back. Clocked a couple of them good, too. But it turns out, once they learned I didna' have that old professor's book, they only wanted to know about you."

Her heart sank at the bright expression on his face. Though she didn't know exactly what thoughts were running through his head, they obviously contained no concern for her.

"The Gervins, they're one of the Crown Families, you know? So wealthy you'd never need to work a day in your life, and as your father I'd be taken care of as well, o' course—" He seemed to realize he was rambling and coughed to cut himself off. "What I mean is, a couple representatives from the Gervins came to visit me while the coppers were doing their interrogation—and with the coppers being entirely too aggressive, by the way—and when I told them that you are Siobhan Naught and about your bloodline on your mother's side, and that you'd bring the book along with you, they were more than interested in coming to an agreement. You do still 'ave the book, right?"

Back near the canal, Dryden touched her shoulder to warn her of people passing by, a small group of stumbling men with their arms thrown around women whose necklines plunged so low their chests almost spilled out of their ruffled dresses. The group passed around both a bottle and a pipe trailing distinctive blue smoke as they meandered by, completely oblivious to Siobhan and Dryden.

Siobhan used the enforced pause in the conversation with her father to calm the agitated beat of her heart. Something about his words had her spine straightening and her shoulders thrown back, as if perfect, confident posture would shield her from his selfish, shortsighted intentions. "He's made some kind of deal with the Gervin Family," she murmured to Dryden, ignoring her father, who was waving his hand in front of the silent raven's face and asking if she was listening.

Once the group of drunkards and their prostitutes had passed out of easy listening range, she returned her attention to her father. "What agreement?"

"To take you into the Family, Siobhan! It's wonderful, right? The bride price for you will be enough to cover my fines and live comfortably for a good few years besides—no execution or working in the mines to pay off my 'debt' to the Crowns—and you'll be a real lady. O' course, you'd only be bound to one of the lesser sons, but still, our status would be leagues above what it is now. Once you bear an heir, there'll be no chance of them throwing you out and simply keeping the book."

Siobhan almost gagged.

He tapped his temple with a smug smile. "So my thought is, hold the book ransom until then. We can put a clause in the marriage contract." He leaned in conspiratorially. "In fact, once you've born an heir, they 'ave no recourse at all, even if the book were to mysteriously go missing. Perhaps sold to someone else? From what I can tell, many people'd be willing to pay quite a price for it, even though none can say quite why they want it so badly. I imagine it may be a relic from the time o' the Titans."

He spoke for a while longer, but she was no longer listening.

Siobhan blinked at the dark waters of the wide canal in front of her, twinkles of streetlamps and moonlight reflecting off its surface. 'Marriage? He is bargaining for his release and enough money to live comfortably on as my…bride price?' She found herself trembling. Delayed, a shuddering rush of hot and cold rose up through her body, a physical reaction to the onslaught of emotion.

She was lightheaded with rage. "And if I refuse?" The raven's voice had trouble mimicking her tone, but some of that cold, deep timbre must have come across.

Her father blinked at the raven in cowlike confusion. "But lovely, why would you refuse? This'll solve all my problems. Not only the imprisonment, but returning to a proper station in life. No more running around struggling to raise ourselves back up again, you studying magic so frantically and selling your services to anyone who will pay in money or food. You'll not have to scramble and beg to put yourself through the University. The Gervins only care about the book, your bloodline, and your childbearing hips, not your prowess. We'll be able to travel the world while enjoying the high life!" He had been speaking more and more quickly, his arms waving around with excitement, but he stopped suddenly, peering into the raven's black eyes. "You do still 'ave the book, right? Please tell me you've not lost it or gotten rid of it. It's worth more gold than either you or I 'ave encountered in our entire lives."

"It will solve all your problems?" she whispered aloud, almost deaf from the rush of blood in her ears. The raven, by contrast, was silent.

Dryden put a hand on her shoulder. He was saying something she couldn't process, a concerned look on his face.

She ignored him, all her attention focused on the man who she had somehow, even after everything, still expected to care for her beyond his own interest in what she could do for him. The man she had expected to protect her. To respect her. 'I have been living a fantasy,' she realized. 'He has never been that man. I called him "Father" and expected him to fit the role. He showed me who he was many times, and I grew disillusioned, and yet I still hadn't reconciled his actions with the idea of him I had in my head.'

The raven shuffled, squawking and flapping its wings in distress.

"Siobhan? Lovely?" Ennis called, his still-handsome face pulling into an expression of fatherly concern. "It'll be alright. I promise."

The raven screeched, beating its wings against the iron bars covering the window. Its vision swirled, and that magnetic pull that drew it to Ennis swung wildly as vertigo overtook it.

The raven fell from the window. Its brain hemorrhaged violently as the spell ran out of power. It was dead before it hit the ground.

Siobhan drew a shuddering breath and lifted her chin, staring into the darkness with a regal, forcefully blank look on her face. "That man knows nothing that might harm us. We can leave."

Dryden gave her a concerned look, but kept his thoughts to himself.

Siobhan strode away, and very deliberately did not look back.

Chapter 10 - Playing Detective

Damien

Month 10, Day 1, Thursday 1:00 p.m.

Damien brushed dust and cobwebs out of his hair as he slipped through the secret passageway behind the family study, where his older brother was currently receiving a report from the investigator assigned to the recent theft from the University. Damien's hair, which he had painstakingly styled that morning, would be ruined, and he shuddered at the idea of spiders crawling under the collar of his shirt, but it was worth it.

He waved away another cobweb, then activated the spell array on the wall. A tiny tube opened up in the stone, a peephole that would be invisible from the other side…if the illusion spell worked properly. He leaned forward and peered through with one eye.

Damien quickly dubbed the man talking to his brother Investigator Cough for his irritating hacking.

The man had brought a Shipp evidence box, which sat on the desk in front of Damien's brother, Titus. The metal cube was on its transparent setting, and within lay what Damien thought was a dead crow. It was hard to tell from his vantage point, but he could make out black feathers and some blood.

"Are you sure it was her?" Titus said, peering down at the thing with his hands in his pockets.

Damien knew that was a habit formed to keep him from reaching out to touch something—and unwittingly damage the evidence needed for investigations. It was unnecessary. The stasis artifact precluded any danger of damage or contamination.

"It is possible that some other sorcerer created a Lino-Wharton blood messenger, of course, but the chosen recipient, as well as the existence of a sliver of lodestone in its brain, makes it unlikely."

"And the man? Ennis Naught, if I'm correct—the one who claims to be her father?" Titus glanced toward the wall where Damien was peeking through, but didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"When he first flagged down a guard, he was screaming about his daughter falling to her death from the window. He seemed to be under the impression that she had transformed into the raven directly rather than simply using it as a medium to speak to him. Once we were able to calm him down and explain, he was quick enough to tell us everything. He had no useful information. Apparently, she asked no more than a few questions, and he spent their entire conversation talking. He doesn't even know if she still has the text."

Titus scowled down at the man, who coughed uncomfortably under the weight of the famous Westbay gaze. "Were any precautions taken to ensure the prisoner was truthful?"

"Of course. All the high-security wing cells have the strongest legal ward against untruth built in, and we had a prognos come in to watch him give his statement. No signs of lying about what the person who contacted him said or did, or about his knowledge of the text. The prognos said he likely 'bent the truth' to make himself seem more likeable in the retelling. Siobhan, it appears, did not respond favorably to the marriage contract with the Gervins."

Damien had only met a prognos once. The large eye in the middle of their head had felt like it was looking right through his skin into his mind. A prognos was necessary when interrogating witnesses or suspects in any serious investigation. The "strongest legal wards" against lies were little more than vague compulsions, and thus utterly useless against a determined liar. It was said the best prognos diviners could see directly into the past to discover the identity of a criminal, but Damien knew that was a myth. His family would use one on every team of coppers if it was true, despite the cost. Prognos were simply perceptive, able to read people's intentions with uncanny clarity, like the main character in his favorite detective periodicals.

Titus ran his fingers through his hair, which somehow didn't muss its perfection, even though he spent barely a few seconds on it in the morning, unlike Damien.

He couldn't help but wonder if Titus had some secret spell for perfect hair and, if he did, why his older brother had never shared this knowledge with him.

"Let us hope she doesn't change her mind about the Gervins. Is there any more news about the rest of the items discovered in the University's archaeological dig?"

"The University is being somewhat reticent in sharing information…"

Titus waved his hand impatiently. "I know how it is."

Investigator Cough nodded an apology. "As far as I know, they successfully decrypted one of the remaining texts, but sources say it contained no valuable information, magical or otherwise."

Titus clenched his jaw, but then sighed deeply. "Alright, Investigator Kuchen. Is there anything else to report?"

"We are placing wards around Naught's cell that should notify us of any further visitors, human or not. If anything but the bugs or the guards tries to get to his cell again, we'll know, and we'll be able to track them when they leave, for almost a kilometer. We will have an Apprentice constantly monitoring the spell's output for notable occurrences."

Titus nodded. "Alright, Kuchen. You are dismissed. Get back to the investigation. Find her."

The shorter man bowed and took the Shipp evidence box from the desk, turning off the metal's invisibility function and hurrying away. Sporadic coughing marked his travel down the hall.

Titus stared at his desk for a while, seemingly deep in thought.

Just as Damien was about to release the snooping spell and sneak away, Titus turned to face him, staring straight into the peephole. "I know you're eavesdropping, Damien. Why not come out and speak with me?"

Damien let out a small squeak as his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, hand pressing on his chest, then said, "How did you know I was here? Is the illusion spell malfunctioning?"

Titus chuckled. "I'm the one who showed you that passageway and the eavesdropping spell, if you remember?" That had been when they were younger, when this was still their father's office.

Damien flushed, but he did as his brother asked, turning and exiting the dust-filled passage. In the main hallway, he paused to make sure the entrance was properly disguised behind him, then walked around the corner, and, with some trepidation, opened the door to the study where his brother waited. "I didn't mean to pry. It's just, Father hasn't let me out of the house since I returned from Paneth, and the little I have heard about this case is so interesting."

Titus clapped a hand on Damien's shoulder and smiled down at him. "I'm not angry. You've always had a fascination with our family's work, especially that of the investigators."

Damien had wanted to be a detective since he was six years old. He knew that, as a member of one of the thirteen Crown Families, and merely the second in succession for the head of their Family, he would never be allowed to hold such a mundane job. At best, he would supervise the coppers and take a special interest in important investigations, like his brother did now. Maybe he would even take control of the city's army when his brother became the head of the house. Still, learning how to do the job of a copper was important. If he didn't understand what his Family's underlings did, how could he lead them?

Titus turned to the desk where the evidence box had sat. "This is indeed an interesting case, and an important one. The First Family and the University are both anxious for a resolution. The High Crown has personally instructed me on the urgency of the situation."

Damien's eyes widened. "I thought it was simply a stolen book. Rare and expensive, to be sure, and the method of the theft was bold and flashy enough to fan sensationalist rumors. I mean, taking it right under the nose of one of the professors, from within the University, with no attempt at stealth…" He stopped himself from rambling. "I understand why the University's desperate to apprehend her and regain their honor, but why is the High Crown personally interested?"

Titus kept staring at the desk. "I don't know." His brother's Will, strong enough even when he was Damien's age to channel a bolt of lightning, sometimes became almost tangible, like a weight in the air itself. Damien always knew to tread lightly when that happened, for all that Titus would never harm him.

"You will catch her though, right? You already have her father. It cannot be much longer."

Titus sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair, one hand unconsciously ruffling his perfect hair again. "It's been made difficult because of the number of people who come to Gilbratha this time of year for the University entrance exams. Over ten thousand people take the written exams each year. Many of those have traveled to do so, bringing family members and servants. She's just one among many outsiders. If she was smart, she would've already left the city, taken asylum in another country. That would have made things much harder. But she's still here, and bold enough to send an illegal messenger into the high security wing of Harrow Hill. Sooner or later, Damien, everyone makes a mistake." Titus gave Damien a small smile. "When she does, I will have her."

The pressure in the air lightened, and Damien smiled in return, moving forward to sit on the edge of one of the other desks. "So how did she do it? Stealing from the University shouldn't be so easy, but all the stories I've heard are either outrageous or contradictory. And what is a Lino-Wharton blood messenger?"

"Unsurprisingly, it seems the whole commotion was less dramatic than the rumors would have you believe. You know how the commoners love a good drama. The theft was accomplished with brazen insouciance. There was substantial surveillance on the relics, but a perfectly—and unfortunately—timed series of security breaches took away oversight on the book at just the right moment. As far as we can tell, however, it really was coincidental."

Damien raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

Titus nodded. "Yes. Both father and daughter accessed the University under the pretense of meeting with Professor Munchworth, who teaches Titanic History and Lore, and who was receiving several of the relics the University's expedition had uncovered. The girl stayed in the room with him while the father put on a show of anger and stormed out to intercept the incoming relics. Ennis Naught grabbed the book right under the University's nose, and then the two of them simply ran. Sometime during the flight—though I'm not sure if they planned it—he gave the book to her for better safekeeping, and they split up. He isn't even a thaumaturge. Not even a magician." Magicians did not have to be thaumaturges at all, only use an artifact or alchemical concoction to create a magical effect. Even Nulls, who by some anomaly of genetics could not cast magic at all, could still be classified as magicians if they could afford the real work to be done by someone else. Historically, magicians were often charlatans trying to scam a few coin out of someone before the ruse was discovered, or thugs hired to do the bidding of a powerful thaumaturge.

Damien's eyes wandered around the room as he considered his brother's story. "But she is a thaumaturge. Is the Lino-Wharton blood messenger a difficult spell?"

"Very. It's also restricted, and is generally both short range and short term, so she must be within Gilbratha still. The power requirement multiplies exponentially at greater distances, with the spell starting out at over five thousand thaums on the Henrik-Thompson for even the most basic version. It would be far too costly to cast from outside the city." He paused. "Of course, Ennis Naught claims he stole the book on a whim."

Damien's eyebrows rose, but then he snorted. "A whim? Did the prognos not divine a lie?"

Titus shook his head. "No. Which throws more than I would like into question. Naught says they were there to ask Professor Munchworth to sponsor his daughter through the University, and thought he would be interested because of the Naught bloodline on her mother's side. Ennis was a wealthy commoner from the northern islands who married into the clan and took their name. He says the girl is an untaught sorceress, and he has no idea how she performed the messenger spell." Titus paused here, looking thoughtfully at his desk. "If she is really untaught, however, how could she have managed to escape with the text past the squads both we and the University sent out to find her? It seems unlikely to be pure luck, especially since she has followed her unlikely escape up with this stunt. It's almost as if she means to mock us."

"But if he's lying about that, or has had some sort of geas put on him to make him believe what he's saying, something strong enough to block a prognos diviner, then he could be lying about everything." Damien couldn't help the spark of excitement in his voice. This case was quickly becoming one of the most interesting he'd ever heard of, on par with something out of one of his fiction periodicals.

"Exactly." His brother rubbed his temples, a rare show of weakness, then looked up at Damien suddenly. "The University entrance examination is in only a few days. Shouldn't you be studying?"

Damien flushed a little, but tried to wave it off. "The examination allows even commoners to enter. I've been preparing for this my entire life. I won't fail due to a lack of last-minute studying."

Titus raised an eyebrow, settling back in his chair like a king on his throne. "The examination is ranked. You will get back to your books and practice, and take one of the top three hundred spots, or when I get the news, we will spar."

Damien paled, immediately hopping off the desk and hurrying out of the room. "If I place in the top three hundred, you have to teach me how you knew I was eavesdropping." He closed the door behind him before his brother could object, then slumped off to the room where his tutor was waiting for him, no doubt wondering why it had taken him so long to go to the bathroom.

If only Damien could help in the investigation, rather than being stuck studying or in school. It wasn't fair, but that was the way of things in the Crown Families. Freedom was exclusively for the supremely powerful, and sometimes not even then.

Chapter 11 - Written Examination

Sebastien

Month 10, Day 13, Tuesday 6:00 a.m.

After the raven-assisted conversation with her father, Siobhan went straight to the guest room Dryden had given her. Trembling faintly with exhaustion, she wrote down the Lino-Wharton messenger spell in as much detail as she could remember it, for later study. Her own grimoire, the place where she kept notes on all the magic she'd learned since childhood, was not as well-protected as the book her fath—as the book Ennis had stolen, but it would have to do until she could learn better wards.

She also realized belatedly that she'd forgotten to ask him about her mother's ring, which had a powerful celerium Conduit in place of a lesser gem. The thick metal band was an artifact that kept people from noticing that Ennis wore it, which he had activated several times to avoid being forced to give the ring up after losing it gambling. Hopefully, he'd had enough foresight to do so this time before being caught. She doubted she would ever see it again if one of the coppers had taken it from him. But he hadn't mentioned the ring when he was complaining about their treatment. 'I don't remember seeing it, but then again I wouldn't, not if he was hiding it.'

She threw herself into study until the day of the University examination, remaining in Sebastien's body the entire time—both so none of the servants would notice anything amiss, and to determine the limits of the artifact's transformation spell.

So far, there didn't seem to be any limits, other than an inability to choose her alternate form. Two weeks after returning to the male body, she noticed no degradation, either physically or in her ability to cast magic through the foreign flesh.

When she woke in the middle of the night, which she did often despite her dreamless sleep spell, Sebastien would study the artifact and the encrypted book until she could either go back to sleep or the sun rose. She made absolutely no progress understanding either.

She looked for books on ward-breaking or decryption at the certified bookstore attached to the tutoring center, but found only a primer on wards for children. 'I suppose the Crowns don't want unlicensed sorcerers learning how to break their wards.' She considered asking Liza for help again, but doubted she could afford the woman's services.

Sebastien woke early the day of the examination. She rubbed her burning eyes and stumbled to the kitchen, where she dug out the richest coffee beans she could find and steeped a cup of wakefulness brew. Dryden's beans were high quality, channeling the wakefulness magic so smoothly it was like drinking fresh silk.

She refrained from any other magic in order to keep her strength up for the exams. Outside the kitchen window, the street grew busy as both the sun and the city woke.

The servants arrived only shortly before Dryden came down, greeting her somewhat familiarly.

The cook, a middle-aged woman named Sharon, tutted at the large steaming mug and the bags under Sebastien's eyes. "Titan's balls, child, did you sleep at all?"

"Some," Sebastien croaked. "As much as I could."

"Well, I suppose you're excited for the test. Radiant Maiden knows I probably couldn't sleep, either, if I were going to become a sorcerer. Well, sit down, child. I'll make you something to eat." She raised her palm in a halting gesture and looked pointedly away when Sebastien shook her head in an attempted denial. "You'll need your energy—for all that thinking. Nothing rich, don't worry. A couple eggs and some porridge will set easy in your stomach."

Sebastien found, once she started eating, that the food did indeed help to settle her nerves.

She thanked the woman, who waved off her thanks with a blush. "Always so polite, Mr. Siverling. My kitchen's open to such a well-mannered boy any time."

When Dryden came downstairs, fully dressed and looking impossibly fresh, Sebastien offered him coffee with a wave of her hand.

"You seem quite calm. Are you prepared for the examination, then?" he asked, taking her up on the silent offer and sitting across from her at the kitchen table.

Sebastien carefully didn't react to the sudden clenching of her heart. She took a gulp of tea. "I'm as prepared as I can be, I think."

Dryden nodded silently, leaning back in his chair without concern.

Sebastien found some comfort in his nonchalance. If he thought she was in danger of failing, surely he'd be more tense.

She'd read through all the textbooks she bought, from cover to cover, but even for her, two weeks was too little time to fully assimilate that much information. Full understanding and easy recollection required her to add associations between the information to other thoughts and memories, and that took time. There was no way to Sacrifice a book to forcefully absorb its information. Her grandfather had told her stories about research that attempted to forcefully impart knowledge, skills, and even strength of Will to people during the Blood Emperor's reign. Despite the heinous lengths they were willing to go to, they were left with nothing but dead test subjects and broken sorcerers. There was no easy path to mental improvement.

Still, being able to study magic, even indirectly, from morning till night was like a dream come to life.

This time when she left for the University, she wore a suit that fit. It was one of a handful that Dryden had commissioned for her and which she had reluctantly paid for. By the time she reached the great steel gates at the top of the white cliffs, her legs once again burned horribly, and she was panting for breath.

A crowd of prospective students milled around the entranceway, which was guarded by stern-faced coppers with openly displayed battle wands. Sebastien looked around, counting the number of people in a small section and then multiplying that over the rough size of the group to estimate the number of people there to take the test. Her eyebrows rose.

Over five hundred people stood in the crowd. This was the last round of the examinations that had been going on for the past two weeks, which meant that at least seven thousand people had applied this term. Probably closer to ten thousand. Suddenly, she was a bit more worried about her chances.

Attendants led them to the main University building, which the locals called the Citadel. The looming cylindrical structure was no less impressive up close. The main entranceway was large enough for ten students to stand shoulder to shoulder with another ten atop their shoulders, and yet it still seemed small compared to the building. A huge guardian sky kraken was carved into and around the door frame. It glared down at all who dared to enter. Sebastien shivered as she passed through, imagining she could feel the weight of stone and magic pressing down on her.

She followed the crowd through a straight hallway with curving corridors branching off it in both directions. Finally, they reached a large marble hall with white stone columns holding up the roof. The middle of the hall was rectangular, but on either side of the columns the space was curved into the shape of a half circle. One side was filled with items in display cases, and the other an empty stage. This was the innermost circle of the many-ringed building, like the core of a massive tree trunk.

Huge panes of opaque glass lined the walls, glimmering like the inside of a seashell and shining with a light that reminded her of the rising sun. She would've thought they were windows, but they were gathered deep inside the building, with no access to the outside. 'A modified light crystal spell?' she speculated.

Row after row of simple wooden desks lined the middle of the Great Hall, each set with a small stack of papers, a fountain pen, and an inkwell.

Each student chose a seat at random until all the desks were full. Sebastien gingerly ran her fingers over the two spell arrays carved into the wood of her desk, trying to figure out what they did. The one on the right contained their test papers, while the one on the left might have been a scanning spell of some sort.

Before she could decipher much, a dark-haired woman wearing a subtly glyph-embroidered dress suit ascended the stage and pounded the floor with her staff. A University staff token, rectangular and carved from stone, hung from a chain around her neck. "Attention! The examination will begin now. Please use the provided materials and answer the questions thoroughly. When you have finished a page of the examination, please place it face down within the Circle on the left side of your desk. Any cheating will be punished by expulsion from the test, with no chance to re-apply for later examinations." She glared out at them. "If you cheat, we will catch you. You will never study here."

The prospective students shuffled uncomfortably under the weight of her stare.

'How will they know? Perhaps the spell arrays on the desk have something to do with detecting cheats. Or maybe they have some sort of transmogrification-based ward in place, a variation on a ward against lies?' Sebastien didn't know enough to make a reasonable guess, but she certainly wouldn't be testing the proctor's promise.

"Today's examination lasts five hours. When the time is up, please put down your pens and bring your completed tests to the front for grading. Begin."

Sebastien waited barely a heartbeat before flipping over the first page of the test. Instead of a question, it simply instructed her to place the wooden applicant token she'd received two weeks before on the paper and re-write her name. When she'd done so, the token lit up and burned a symbol on the paper. Sebastien moved on to the next page. Over the next five hours, she answered question after question, some normal and expected.

"Name eight magical beasts with an earth aspect."

"List three variations on the glyph for 'fire.'"

"In detail, explain what happens if you place a glass over a lit candle on a table."

"List as many things with a sympathy to air as possible, citing the sympathetic connections."

She'd studied for these kinds of questions, or been taught by her grandfather long ago. She also had no problem with some of the mathematical questions, but others gave her a bit of trouble, like, "Riding a gryphon, you leave Gilbratha at noon, heading for Paneth. Assume the gryphon is wind-aspected. Assume a southeasterly wind is blowing at seventeen kilometers per hour, and you are casting a fleet-footed spell on the gryphon, channeling an average of three thousand thaums of power per minute. How fast do you fly, and when do you arrive in Paneth?" She stared at the question, then turned over the next test page, hoping more information had been given. She knew Paneth was somewhere to the north, but hadn't memorized the distance between Gilbratha and Paneth, and didn't know that a fleet-footed spell would even affect a flying creature's speed. Too many variables were missing. 'Is this a trick question, with some hidden answer?'

Then there were questions that seemed pointless or unrelated to magic.

"List the most influential members of Gilbrathan history over the last one hundred years."

"List the following statements in order from most likely to least likely. David is a magician. David is from Lenore. David is a magician from Lenore. David is…"

"What is the proper response if you suspect someone is casting an endless nightmare curse on you?"

Finally, some questions were simply bizarre, like the page that had a drawing spelled to move as if it were alive, showing a unicorn at the edge of a clearing with a fenced paddock. It instructed her to arrange for the unicorn to enter the paddock, and from there to harvest hair from its mane or tail.

Sebastien stared down at the skittish black-and-white creature. She brought her pen to the page, and the unicorn shied away, as if it could sense the approach of the comparatively gigantic item. She pulled the pen away and took a moment of precious time to think.

Finally, she placed the pen nib in a clear spot on the paper and wrote, "Hello. Would you mind going into the paddock? I promise you will not be harmed. I would like to trade with you for a few of the hairs from your mane or tail. In return, please name your price."

The unicorn stared at the words forming in its sky for a long while. Finally, it blew a little bubble from its mouth, which grew until words could be read within in. "I wish to become a pegasus."

Sebastien allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. A pegasus was the progressed form of a unicorn, the wings growing after an intense accumulation of magical energy. Normally, forcing the evolution would be impossible, or be so costly only the richest and most powerful of people could afford it. It was certainly not worth a few simple hairs. In this case, however, it was as simple as drawing wings on the back of the unicorn, for which she was rewarded with little ink representations of its hair.

The five hours passed quicker than Sebastien would have thought possible, but the stack of unfinished questions on the right side of her desk never reached the end. A couple people were forcibly escorted from their seats, presumably for being caught cheating, but Sebastien paid as little attention to them as possible. When the dark-haired proctor at the front of the room pounded the floor with her staff again, this time to announce the end of the tests, Sebastien set down her pen immediately, despite being in the middle of a frantically scribbled sentence. She would not be disqualified for cheating. Her hand was cramped into a clawlike position, and she gingerly massaged it. Around her, the proctors forced a few others to set aside their pens by magically dissolving them within the testers' hands.

"Please bring the completed pages of your test to the grading Circle," the woman called, her voice seeming unnaturally loud after Sebastien's intense concentration.

Sebastien gathered up the pile of scribble-filled paper, which was definitely larger than the initial stack had been. 'The test must be never-ending. If completion is impossible, I haven't failed to complete it,' she thought hopefully.

The proctor motioned for the first student that reached her to place their test in the center of a waist-high pedestal, which was inlaid with stones that looked like small versions of the crystal balls some diviners used.

The student did so, and after a tense moment, the crystal balls shone a bright yellow.

"Fail," the woman announced expressionlessly. "You may attempt the entrance examination again next year."

The entire room grew tense as the students realized their fates would be announced so quickly, and for all to hear.

The student stared at her in horror. "Fail? That cannot be, I—"

The proctor waved her hand, and Sebastien caught a faint glow of spell residue from her staff before the student's words went silent, though his mouth still moved. "Do not hold up the line. You have failed. You may attempt the test again next year."

One of the other proctors came to lead the young man away by the arm, murmuring to him with a slightly more compassionate expression, though Sebastien couldn't hear what he said over the sudden clamor of unease among the rest of the test-takers.

The next three tests received varying colors from red to yellow, along with more "Fails," from the woman.

The first person to pass was a familiar face, one of the girls who had been part of the group that tried to skip to the front of the admissions line. Her stack of completed papers was as big as Sebastien's, and it caused the crystals to glow a deep blue.

The proctor even graced her with a small smile as she announced, "Pass." Instead of being escorted out of the building, the girl was motioned to the door at the end of the hall, and carried her test with her.

Watching the results of those ahead of her, Sebastien deduced that the grades were connected to the color scale, like a rainbow. The mid-point between yellow and green, the color of a sickly leaf, seemed to be the edge between passing and failing. Generally, those who had completed more pages scored better, but not always. No one scored better than a rich imperial blue.

'Is it even possible to score purple? Perhaps if one were able to finish all the questions available, leaving none behind unanswered. Or, perhaps none of us have answered enough questions correctly.' It was her turn at the front of the line before she knew it. She placed her stack down in the center of the Circle, too tense to try to decipher or memorize its Word array. The wait, though she knew it to be merely a few seconds, seemed an eternity of agony.

When the crystal balls glowed a solid green, she barely heard the proctor announce her pass. She felt dizzy and took a gasp of air, belatedly realizing she had been holding her breath. She nodded her thanks to the woman, took her test papers back, the first page of which had been marked with "green five-fifteen," and walked off toward the door at the end of the hall, vacillating between immense relief and disappointment.

'I passed, but only with green. Darkish green, to be sure, but still just green. If I had known we would be graded by a non-human proctor, I would've researched best practices for the answer format and attempted to find information about the grading criteria.' Sebastien worried that she may have condemned herself to failure from shortsightedness. After all, this was only the first half of the examination. 'I go before a panel of professors, now. The University is renowned for their standards.'

She wanted to stop and put her head between her knees, or maybe scream out loud, but instead she lifted her chin and kept walking. 'I have no social or political connections, and I scored only green. I'm doomed.'

Chapter 12 - Oral Examination

Sebastien

Month 10, Day 13, Tuesday 2:00 p.m.

When Sebastien passed through the door at the end of the hall, another proctor took her test and replaced her previous wooden token with a new one dated three days in the future. "Come back for the oral examination at the stated time. Don't lose your token," the man said in a bored monotone.

As she left, Sebastien passed a reception area where other prospective students, who she assumed had passed the written test at some earlier time, sat waiting in front of a pair of double doors.

As a girl entered the room beyond, Sebastien glimpsed the seven professors who would be in charge of her fate. They sat in a semicircle, each with what appeared to be a student's test on the curved table before them.

'Damn.' She had hoped, considering her score, that the verbal examination would be completely separate from the written. 'Only green,' she thought again, clenching her fists. 'How did I perform so poorly? I should have been better prepared. But then…perhaps that wasn't truly feasible this time because of the time constraints.' Sebastien learned quickly, but even she couldn't make up for six years of focused training and learning instead exchanged for survival and the occasional bit of knowledge eked out where she could find and afford it. 'Until now, I couldn't have even paid for the study books I bought.'

When she arrived back at Dryden Manor, she locked herself in her room and returned to studying, feverishly thinking back on the test's questions, trying to determine which ones she'd answered incorrectly.

Dryden knocked on her door as the sun set. "How did it go?"

"I passed. Not by a particularly large margin. The second part is in three days, so I have to study," she said, not even looking up from the problem she was scribbling on the loose paper before her, the one about riding a gryphon to Paneth. She was sure she'd gotten that one wrong.

He was silent for a few seconds, long enough that she'd already mentally dismissed him. "Come eat dinner," he said.

"I don't have time. Can you send someone up with a tray for me? I'll eat here."

"No. Come to dinner, Sebastien. I doubt whatever knowledge you can cram into the next three days, much less the next thirty minutes, will make a significant difference. You need food for stamina, and Sharon and the others worked hard on this meal, partly to congratulate you. Besides, we can talk about best practices when being interviewed while we eat. As long as you passed, the panel of professors has complete authority over the decision to admit you, so it will be all about impressing them. Not just with your knowledge, but with your mannerisms, and the way you answer their questions."

Sebastien stood without a moment's further hesitation, striding past Dryden and down the hallway to the stairs. She looked back over her shoulder to where he was still standing. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go eat."

With a small chuckle, he followed.

"So tell me about the oral exam. Should I go into auxiliary detail when answering the questions, or keep it succinct? Will they ask questions specifically to trip me up, ones with no right answer, or a very specific type of answer they're looking for, rather than a solution based on logic? Or is it going to be questions to try to determine my background and character, rather than my knowledge?"

Still sounding slightly amused, he answered, and dinner took longer than usual because they talked so much throughout it.

Three days later, Sebastien returned to the University. She was sitting in the reception area marked on her token and watching as each prospective student entered the double doors before her. None who entered returned through the same door, likely to keep the rest of them from questioning those who had finished about what the professors had asked.

She reviewed every topic she could think of and remembered the lessons her grandfather had taught her about confidence and deportment. 'Never let them see weakness, girl,' his voice whispered in her mind. Dryden would agree with him.

When it was finally her turn, she pushed open the doors boldly, her chin high as her gaze swept over the room. She closed the doors behind herself, then walked to the center of the room, not too quickly, and not too slowly. She focused so hard, she was halfway to channeling Will despite the lack of a spell to cast.

"State your name," the professor in the middle called in a bored tone.

"Sebastien Siverling," she said, her tongue rolling smoothly over the words, as if the name really were her own.

The professors, except for Thaddeus Lacer, who sat at the end of the table, farthest away from the door, and was busy rifling through the test in front of him, examined her with varying levels of interest.

"Green five-fifteen," the professor in the center said.

A couple of the others grimaced slightly and seemed to lose what minor interest they'd shown her.

'They're already weary,' she realized, looking at their wan expressions and the way they leaned back in their chairs or crossed their arms over their chests. The only one who still seemed to be fully alert or interested in her written test beyond the score itself was Professor Lacer. They weren't the only panel of professors in charge of the verbal examinations, but, with the number of potential applicants, they would've still been doing this for weeks already, and must have spoken to hundreds, if not thousands of students before her. 'This is not the best placement. I might've been better received if I'd been earlier in the queue,' she thought with a tightening in her chest.

The professor closest to the door, an overweight man with an elaborately braided beard, suddenly spoke. "List all of the known base natural elements and their common interactions."

Sebastien took a deep breath, partially to buy time to organize her thoughts. "The base natural elements are copper, lead, gold, silver, iron, carbon, tin, sulfur, mercury, zinc…" She continued speaking until she ran out of breath on the final element, "…and celerium." She took another deep breath and began to speak about the common interactions. Dryden had assured her that a little showing off never hurt, and as long as she didn't go too far, would only aid her cover as a rich young man from a family wealthy enough to afford the University. "Iron and oxygen react together, usually in the presence of water, to form rust. This is a form of corrosion. When exposed to a source of heat powerful enough, a source of carbon such as wood will react along with oxygen and combust, creating fire, which releases heat, light, and other oxidized products such as smoke and ash. Wood ash contains lye, which can be filtered out in water and heated with fat to create a soap, which is a surfactant, meaning the new element will dissolve in both water and oil." She continued on for several minutes, wishing she had a more organized way to remember the elemental interactions besides simply spewing out whatever popped into her head next.

The instructor stopped her before she was finished. He didn't give any indication of satisfaction, but neither did he seem dissatisfied. "That is all from me," he said.

The next professor leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her chest and peering at Sebastien with eyes of an unnaturally bright green color. "On the Isles of Coldpine, the monks strengthen their bodies until a sword will break against their skin and their fingers can carve out a furrow from the hide of an earth-aspected weta. They use no sorcery, witchcraft, or magical battle artifacts to achieve this. Tell me how they do it."

Sebastien stared at her blankly. She'd never heard of the Isles of Coldpine or the monks on it. She turned her focus inward, thinking furiously. 'How would someone use magic, but not sorcery, witchcraft, or a battle artifact, to enhance their bodies like that?' She knew she couldn't hesitate too long if she wanted to impress the professors, but she truly had no idea. "They train extensively," she said aloud, trying to sound confident, "from a young age. During the course of their training, they imbue their bodies with magic until it is bound to the flesh itself. I…" She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I imagine there are multiple ways it could be done. Repetitive chants to gather magic while they practice, beasts fought in a spelled combat ring that imbues the winner with the strength or characteristics of the loser, perhaps even glyphs carved into their bodies to draw in energy from their surroundings."

The woman's lips thinned. "You imagine. You do not know."

Sebastien's shoulders pulled back even tighter and she gave the older woman a shallow bow, chin-length blonde hair falling in front of her face. "I do not know. But I am eager to learn."

The woman's lips lost some of their tightness. "I have no more questions."

The next professor in line Sebastien recognized. It was Munchworth, the man she and her father had gone to meet when they first arrived in Gilbratha, hoping he would be willing to sponsor her through the University, or at least put in a kind word for her with the other professors.

Instead, he had sneered and mocked them. His greying hair was thick and fashionably swept back, but his chin was weak and he had a constant nervous twitch, some part of his body always jerking.

Sebastien had trouble keeping her own lips from pulling back into a sneer. She didn't know if she entirely succeeded, judging from the sour look on Professor Munchworth's face.

"Who were the most influential figures involved in border skirmishes over the last fifty years?"

"Thaddeus Lacer, Raisa—" She cut off as the professor at the end lowered the test papers and raised his head at the sound of his name.

Professor Lacer looked over at Professor Munchworth, what might have been a very faint smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

She swallowed and continued, listing a handful of people.

Professor Munchworth wasn't satisfied. "What were the causes of the Third Empire's success and eventual downfall?"

This question required more thought. She hadn't read about the Third Empire in preparation for the test, but she remembered her grandfather talking about that time. "The Third Empire came from beyond the northern ice oceans about three hundred years ago, when skirmishes between this continent's countries had just settled, leaving our armies weak and many of our cities struggling to provide food from razed fields and orchards. The Blood Emperor was one of the most powerful thaumaturges alive, an Archmage with Grandmastery in several crafts, including blood magic, which was the signature of his Empire. His armies were well-trained, well-armed, and we had no good defense against the blood magics, which decimated our forces only to strengthen theirs with the Sacrifice."

Thaddeus Lacer was watching with interest.

"The Third Empire ruled the entire continent, including Lenore, for over one hundred years, ruthlessly crushing the first rebellions," she continued. "The Blood Emperor placed a lot of emphasis on advancements in magic, and is credited with a lot of the modern evolution of sorcery. After the disappearance of the Emperor, a struggle for leadership among his generals destabilized his regime. The individual countries of the continent, each of which had benefited from the Blood Emperor's initiatives to spread organized magic and had grown powerful again under his rule, banded together to overthrow the Third Empire. They attempted to form a Council, but infighting splintered the group and our countries split. Most of the Council still agreed to ban blood magic, after which they scoured the continent of the Blood Emperor's abominations and those who practiced that craft."

Professor Munchworth's glower had grown increasingly dark as she spoke. "The Third Emperor did not disappear. He died at the hands of a Lenorean assassin. As for his advancements in magic? He approved horrible experiments upon humans, on children. Blood and offal ran in channels from the door of his palace. He deserves no credit for our current progress. I have to wonder, was the Siverling family not able to afford competent tutors?"

Sebastien shoved angry words back down her throat. "I apologize if I have spoken without care. I am the sole remaining member of the Siverling family, and I'm sure my tutors did the best they could," she said, hoping the man would feel awkward enough to stave off any other attacks.

"Hmph. Rank the magical discoveries of the last two hundred years in order of importance." He raised his eyebrows triumphantly.

Sebastien wanted to smack the smug expression off his face, even more so because she knew he had caught her. Though some innovations stood out, she couldn't even be sure of listing all the discoveries of the last two centuries, let alone ranking them in order of importance. She did her best, but her chest clenched with each small growth of Munchworth's smile.

When she was finished, he settled back in his chair. "Entirely incorrect. I have no more questions."

The female professor after him had short-cropped hair and nails, and her fingers and forearms were covered in knife and burn scars—all signs of an accomplished alchemist. Her question confirmed Sebastien's guess. "What are the useful parts of a gregorian snail?"

"All of them," Sebastien responded immediately.

Professor Lacer gave a small snort of amusement.

Sebastien hurried to clarify. "Generally, all parts of a magical animal have some use. The mucus can be used as a thickening agent in most salves and lotions, especially those meant for the face. The shell can be ground down…" Her explanation trailed off as the professor waved her hand.

"You are correct, no need to continue," the woman said. "List three battle potions."

"Smoke cloud, liquid fire, and…blood clotter."

"Blood clotter?"

"It is not an offensive potion, but still very useful on a battlefield. It allows soldiers to wait on medical attention without bleeding to death from certain types of wounds."

"No more questions."

The man next to her wore defensive bracers and a spelled breastplate, even in the safety of the University, and looked like he could walk around on his fingertips without strain. "If the Blood Emperor were still alive today, how would you fight him?"

"I would not," she said without considering how her words would be received.

The professors shifted, frowns growing on their faces.

Professor Lacer had put down her test entirely and was staring at her, now.

'Stupid, idiotic, thoughtless,' she mentally berated herself. 'You aren't in a lesson with Grandfather. You cannot simply blurt out your thoughts without censoring them. This examination determines your future.' The pressure must have been getting to her even more than was obvious. She thought quickly to come up with a reasonable explanation for what she had said. The real reason—sensible, rational cowardice toward a figure who might not just kill her, but even use her as a still-living spell component—would have likely seen her denied and tossed out. "I have no battle experience. If I attempted to fight the Blood Emperor directly, I would die immediately," she tried, hoping that didn't sound too bad.

The professor with the armor didn't seem satisfied. "You understand that it is Crown law that all licensed thaumaturges must oppose any use of blood magic, and stand against its practitioners?"

Sebastien pressed her hands to her sides, keeping her fists from clenching in frustration. "Of course. I am willing to do my duty, and if there is no other recourse, I would of course fight against any blood magic practitioner directly. However, if the Blood Emperor were to appear before me, I believe it would be most effective for me to immediately alert the Crowns and local law enforcement, who might have a chance to actually do something against him." She was mostly telling the truth, despite her willingness to use minor blood magics like the raven messenger spell. That had been cruel, to be sure, but she would never sacrifice a human, or pursue whatever other evil spells blood magic allowed. The Blood Emperor would be a danger to them all. She just wasn't so foolish as to get herself killed for no benefit. She could find a way to report the danger once she reached Gilbratha's closest neighboring city.

The man crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, still frowning. "What is the most important resource for an army?"

'Is this a trick question?' Aloud, she said simply, "Magic." With it, one could provide all other resources, though of course not without cost.

His frown did not disappear. "I have heard all I need."

The next professor, a thin, dark-skinned man, wore thick glasses with gold rims covered in little knobs and dials, an artifact of some sort. "If you mix red light and green light together, what color do you see when shining said light on surfaces painted black, white, red, and green?"

Her heart sank. She knew mixing light was different than mixing paint, and that was as far as her understanding went. She muddled through the answer as best she could, but the professor simply shook his head when she was finished.

"What would you do if the containment glyph on a cold-box artifact meant for fluid preservation was damaged? Please note the dangers you would face."

Dryden had seemed confident they wouldn't ask questions an untrained sorcerer couldn't answer, but surely this was practical knowledge she couldn't have gained legally? She did her best to answer the question, nevertheless, and once again was judged with a disappointed head shake.

Her fingertips were trembling. She pressed them against the sides of her legs to disguise any outward sign of her inner state.

The man turned his glasses-obscured gaze to Professor Lacer, wordlessly turning the last of the questioning over to him.

Lacer stared at her silently for an uncomfortably long time, till even the professors seemed to think it strange, shooting him curious or irritated glances. Finally, he waved his hand.

Sebastien jumped as the wall behind her moved, a panel sliding away to reveal a swiveling blackboard mounted on an axle. 'Is there some sort of monitoring spell tied into the blackboard waiting for him to motion at it and activate the sliding panel? Or did I just see a casual display of free-casting?' She tried not to let her eyes widen too much.

"Show me how you would create a blue-burning fireball that will follow wherever you walk, floating above and slightly behind you, while avoiding contact with obstacles or living creatures," he said, motioning to the stick of chalk strapped to the edge of the slate blackboard. "You can simply use glyphs to indicate any components or Sacrifices."

She moved over to the board and picked up the chalk. The array for a spell like that would be complicated, especially with all the conditions he had included. She'd never done anything like it.

"You have two minutes," Professor Lacer added in a bored tone.

Sebastien still didn't start drawing. A mistake would mean she needed to erase parts and re-draw them, which would cost her even more time. When she had a basic idea, she drew the main Circle, no bigger than her fist, and then a triangle within it. She connected that to a component Circle almost as tall as she was, meant to gather ambient heat from the air, and if it was there, light as well, as the Sacrifice for the flame. She didn't have the time to create detailed instructions for the fire production, simply writing the glyphs for "light" and "fire" in the circles, which were not perfectly round since she had no tools besides the chalk itself. That was the easiest part of the spell.

She wrote instructions for the fire's behavior within in a ring around the main Circle, in full words rather than glyphs and numerological symbols. It was sloppy, but she would need reference texts to create the array, otherwise.

"Stop," Thaddeus Lacer commanded.

Taking the chalk from the board, Sebastien looked at the sloppy mess of a spell array before her and wanted to cry. Surely, this couldn't be what he wanted. It would follow behind her only if she carried the blackboard with her, and she wasn't sure if her method to cause the flame to float outside of the main Circle and above her head would work. But with only two minutes, how could she do better?

"Do you have experience as a sorcerer?" he asked.

'Is that a trick question?' She turned toward him. "Practicing magic without a license is illegal," she said. "However, as a child I had a…teacher, who gave me practical demonstrations by performing the spells he taught me about." It was partially true, at least. An avoidance rather than an outright lie.

Professor Lacer was inscrutable, but Professor Munchworth snorted and said, "If you ever had a teacher, either they were incompetent, or you are a simpleton. Your grounding in the basics is scattered and disjointed. When you don't know the right answer, instead you try to conceive of it from whole cloth. It's the kind of sloppy thinking that gets you and those around you killed. Your attitude is lacking. I have heard enough, I think. I call for the vote."

Professor Lacer was still watching her with that dark gaze, but said nothing.

When no one protested, Munchworth continued. "Three votes against is a fail. All for?" He didn't raise his own hand, and neither did the man who had asked her about fighting the Blood Emperor or the one with the artifact glasses.

Professor Lacer didn't move, either, but he continued to stare at her.

'Four against,' she counted silently. Sebastien's heart sank into her churning stomach like a rock. She stood there for a moment as the room went fuzzy in front of her eyes and she felt like she might pass out. Shame and horror warred within her for dominance. If she couldn't enter the University, how was she to repay her debt to Katerin? How was she to learn magic? How was she ever to become more than she was, to move past the feeble scrabbling for knowledge and power that had characterized her life for the last six years?

Heat rose up from her belly, bringing her heart pounding with it. "No," she said simply.

Professor Lacer leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table and his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "What was that?"

"No," she said again. "You cannot fail me. I deserve to learn here. I may not have the foundation of knowledge I need yet. I know that. It's why I am here. I may not have the social connections of some of your other students, either." She looked to Professor Lacer, thinking of the rude, rich boy, who they never would have treated like this. "Nevertheless, I have what is truly important. I can learn whatever you put before me, given only a bit of time and the resources to do so. I have—"

"Silence!" This time, it was the artificer who spoke. "Our decision has been made. Do not disrespect this council, if you wish to find yourself before us again next year. Perhaps by then, you will have learned enough to pass our examination."

His words did nothing to cow her. If anything, they fanned the inferno of rage within her. The small part of her that was screaming for her to put away her pride and practice caution was burned away. "No," she said again, her voice deepening, hoarse with outrage.

The artificer's face settled into a glare, and he reached into the inner pocket of his vest, pulling out a glimmering wand. A simple flick, and she felt a blanket of stillness settle over her, dampening the air as if she were standing in a bubble of water. No sound reached her.

'Now they will not even let me plead my case?'

The professor who sat closest to the door got up and opened it to wave for one of the proctors outside, no doubt for them to come and drag her away like those who had been caught cheating in the written examination.

'It's over,' she thought, with the same despair she might have felt if someone had told her she would never walk again. And then, one last time, 'No. If I cannot tell them, I will show them.' She turned back to the sloppy array behind her, and with the crash of her Will against the world, activated it.

She was standing too close to the large component Circle, and felt an immediate chill as it began to suck heat from her flesh. She stepped even closer, putting most of her body in its range. She would need serious heat to power a flame hot enough to turn blue. She focused on a spot in the air above her, glaring at it as she guided the energy of the spell. A tiny flame burst to life, hanging on nothing.

The chalk spell array glowed with the wasted energy, and she clamped down even harder on it, till the only thing in her mind was the fire. The sphere meant to power the flame darkened like a bubble of shadow enclosing half the blackboard, most of her body, and the surrounding air. But the flame brightened from orange to yellow, and then to blue. She shivered violently, but forced herself to remain standing and otherwise put it out of her mind.

The flame floated closer and circled around her head. When she took a step, it followed behind her.

She brought it back around to her head, and forced it to avoid her hand as she swiped at it, the warmth—such a contrast to her frozen fingers—burning even from inches away.

She turned back to the professors, belatedly realizing that the silencing spell had fallen away. "I have the Will," she said simply. She released the flame, which died immediately. Her numb legs gave out, and she collapsed gently to the floor, sitting and staring up at the semicircle of professors, some of whom had stood. The door was still open, held forgotten by the professor who had been calling for a proctor, and a group of prospective students stared into the room.

Professor Munchworth glared at her. "Leave. You are expelled from the test. Do not return—"

Professor Lacer, still sitting, cleared his throat. "I am overriding the panel's decision."

The others turned to him in apparent shock.

Before anyone could speak, he continued. "I believe I get one every year, correct? It will be him." He turned to Sebastien, whose extremities, except for her feet, which had been out of range of the large Sacrifice Circle, had started to burn.

She was almost too tired to shiver.

"You will be required to take one or two classes determined by me each term. In this case, it will be my class, Practical Will-based Casting. You will take no more than six classes in the coming term. My authority in this, and all other areas of your formal education, will continue throughout your stay at the University, and you will be required to perform to my satisfaction to maintain your status as a student. Do you accept?"

She didn't even hesitate. "I accept."

He nodded and gave her the most muted of smiles. "Welcome to the University. Report to me after class on the first day. Now get out."

Chapter 13 - Objects in Mirror

Sebastien

Month 10, Day 16, Friday 1:00 p.m.

Instead of escorting her off University premises, the proctor the bearded professor had called helped her to her feet and out of the only other door in the room. No students waited on the other side, just another proctor standing behind a desk. She handed Sebastien a partial map of the University. "Go to the library. Administration is to the right once you walk in the main doors."

Sebastien stumbled her way there, pausing to gasp in wonder as she realized the line connecting the main building—the Citadel—to the library was actually a walkway surrounded in glass, like a little tunnel. 'This must have cost thousands of gold crowns.' She looked up to the sun as it peeked out from behind clouds. Where the rays hit the glass, the light fragmented into rainbow bursts. It was bewitching, and she stood there and stared until the clouds covered the sun again.

When she reached the end of the tunnel, she stopped in awe once again.

She stood in the library. The entranceway opened up into a large circle of white marble flooring. The staircases reached up three levels, which were open in the center to let the shimmering, spelled glass of the domed ceiling shine down. Beyond the inner open area, which had a couple of desks attended by employees, the bookcases stretched off for hundreds of feet. She even saw a couple of staircases leading down below the ground.

She tried to do a quick calculation of how many books the library must contain, but quickly lost her place. She shook her head, still feeling woozy from pushing herself too hard. 'More books than I can read in a year, that much I know. More books than I could read in a lifetime, perhaps.' Her cheeks were hot, and she realized belatedly that she was grinning like a madman.

A young man about her age leaned over and waved his arm slowly in front of her, a consternated look on his face. "Hello?" he said.

She realized then that he'd been trying to get her attention. Perhaps for a while. She cleared her throat. "Yes?"

"New student?" he asked, some understanding tingeing the smile he gave her. "It is amazing, I know. You aren't the first to have such a reaction. Perhaps, when you're in your fourth term, you can get an assistant position here."

She nodded, trying to contain the cold shivers that were still attacking in waves. She'd drawn warmth from more than her extremities.

"You'll find the admissions office through there." He pointed, eyeing her with a little more worry. "They handle contribution points, student tokens, the mail room, that kind of thing. You can choose your classes and set up payment arrangements there."

She nodded gratefully to him and walked through the door he indicated, where a bored-looking man gave her a pen, which she struggled to hold with her frozen fingers. "Choose your classes," the man said, sliding a piece of paper forward. "No more than seven, no less than the four mandatory classes. Fifty gold for each class." He asked for her name, then burnt it into a rectangular wooden token on a leather strap. Her University student token. Proof that she was admitted here. She ran her thumb over the sky kraken burnt into the back of it, the soothing smell of charred wood making her smile.

When she stared blankly at the signup sheet, the man sighed softly. "No need to be frightened, boy. The professors may be intimidating, but you passed. You should have gone over the list of classes and made your choices already. Do you not know what you wish to take?"

She shook her head. "I know what I want to take." The scroll the admissions attendant had given her before hadn't had the names of the professors who taught each class. Now, she stared down at the words "Grandmaster Thaddeus Lacer" next to the class he had told her to take, "Introduction to Practical Will-based Casting." He was the teacher.

She marked her selections shakily. A few of the others were mandatory for all first term students: Introduction to Modern Magic, Natural Science, Sympathetic Science, and History of Magic. She also chose Defensive Magic, even though she would have preferred Alchemy or Artificery, because Dryden had warned her that all the more "high-class" students took Defensive Magic, and she would seem strange if she didn't. That brought her to the maximum number of classes Lacer had allowed.

Then she signed a paper that said she would bring payment to the University the next day; her family background wasn't prestigious enough for them to finalize her acceptance without gold in hand.

Watching her shiver with a worried expression, the man fed her papers through a magic spell array, which fed out another piece of paper with her class schedule. When she stumbled off, he called out after her. "Classes start in two weeks! Orientation and dormitory assignments are the day before, at four o'clock. Don't be late."

Sebastien warmed up significantly on the long walk back to Dryden Manor, even with the damp chill of ocean in the air. Despite that, she felt worse than ever. 'How could I have done something so outrageously, idiotically, asinine?' In the heat of the moment, in front of the professors, desperation and shame had led to rage, and the rage had overwhelmed her. She wasn't used to being ridiculed or dismissed, even by those thaumaturges she had met in her travels.

Now, thinking back to her actions caused her an almost physical pain. 'What was I thinking?' A few insults and some rudeness were nothing in the face of her ability to learn magic. She should have taken it all with a smile on her face, walked away, and tried the test again next year. 'I was about to be banned from re-testing! I had a tantrum, like a spoiled child.' Her grandfather had said more than once, "Pride is the life of a sorcerer, and oftentimes their death, too."

'If I had been denied, but not banned, I might have been able to pay someone like Liza what I would have otherwise given the University in exchange for apprenticing with her till next year.' She could only get down on her knees and thank the source of magic that Professor Lacer had stood up for her and used his single power of veto over the council. By the time she reached Dryden Manor, her fingers were shaking with shame rather than cold. 'If I do not have the power to stand against a Titan, I must learn to bow my head before it.'

After the front door had closed behind her, she leaned against it, holding her head in her hands. As if the self-reflection had opened a dam, she shuddered as a new thought hit her. "I could have died," she whispered aloud, wondering how she hadn't considered that part of her foolishness until now.

How many times had Grandfather warned her about being too close to the Sacrifice Circle? Magic was dangerous. If her attention had slipped for even a moment while she was within it, more than just warmth might have been taken from her. If the glyphs for "heat" and "light" had not been written clearly within it, perhaps she would have been cored like an apple anyway. When you didn't have enough of the specified power source, but kept pushing Will into the spell anyway, the magic often found something else to eat, at a much less efficient rate.

She lowered her hands and looked up to find Sharon, Dryden's cook, staring at her awkwardly from the entrance to the house proper.

When Sebastien met her gaze, the woman bowed hastily. "Welcome back, Mr. Siverling. Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Sebastien sighed. "No thanks to myself."

Sharon cleared her throat, obviously unsure how to respond to that.

"Is Mr. Dryden here?" Sebastien asked.

"Mr. Dryden was called away. He left in a hurry about an hour ago. I don't know when he'll be returning."

Sebastien nodded, shuffling toward the staircase. "Call me when dinner is ready, please. I'm going to take a nap." She didn't hear the woman's response. She was too tired to think clearly. 'Will-strain, again.'

She woke herself by flailing out of bed and onto the floor. The press of cool marble against her cheek contrasted sharply against the racing of her heart, and she relaxed. 'This is what happens when I forget to cast my dreamless sleep spell. Not that I was in any shape to do so this afternoon.' Still, she felt better than she had before sleeping, though her stomach grumbled with an empty ache.

Slowly and stiffly, as if she had aged fifty years since that morning, she stood and moved to look at herself in the small silver mirror on the wall. She was used to Sebastien's face, and her own dark eyes looked out of it the same as always, but she had to force herself to meet her gaze past the shame.

From her pack, which she kept loaded and ready to go whenever she wasn't using the items within, just in case, she pulled her grimoire.

She sat down with a fountain pen at the table by the window and stared at the blank page for a while, thinking of what to write. Mostly, the grimoire was for magic, or anything tangentially related to magic that Siobhan thought interesting or useful, but she wrote about other things as well. 'If this isn't a lesson I should remember, I have never had one.' She set her pen to the page and began to write, thinking quickly. Her pen moved methodically, carefully carving the lesson into the paper, and hopefully, into her mind as well.

'The world is cruel, and hard, and I cannot expect any help beyond what I seize for myself. If I am ever to meet my goals, I need to be better. If I am to keep my pride, I must pair it with deep, extensive preparation and a level of skill that matches it. I must look for and take advantage of any opportunity afforded me, and where one does not yet exist, make my own. I cannot be complacent. If I am to live long enough to become an Archmage, I cannot be suicidally stupid. Magic is to be respected. Grandfather would be ashamed to have seen me today.

'Munchworth is a feeble-minded, narcissistic lout. The others who voted against me are lacking discernment, obviously. But there's no future in telling your nominal superior they are being an ass. It may be true, but people, as a rule, do not cope well with unpleasant truths.' It wasn't the first time her sharp, impulsive tongue had gotten her into trouble, but this time had been particularly stupid, and paired with some magic that could have easily killed her.

She set down her pen and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where Sharon turned with a surprised smile and said, "Oh, Mr. Siverling! I was just fixin' to come get you. The food's ready, but I haven't heard from Mr. Dryden."

Sebastien ate enough for both herself and Dryden combined while telling the servants about the awe-inspiring University, which none of them had ever visited personally.

By the time the servants went home, Dryden still hadn't returned, and Sebastien grew a little worried. He was a grown man and could surely take care of himself, but Sharon had said he left in a hurry, which likely meant something was wrong. She hoped whatever it was had nothing to do with her or Ennis.

Sebastien grabbed one of the study books she had bought and worked through it in the kitchen. Before classes started, she planned to read through all of them again, and hopefully a few more besides. She had to catch up to the other students, or Professor Lacer might change his mind.

Dryden stumbled through the door well after dark, exhausted and smeared with what seemed to be ash and blood.

She stood in the door to the kitchen, and he stopped when he saw her. "Mr. Dryden. What happened?" she asked.

"My people are being harassed by a rival organization." His tone was plain and tired.

"Your people?"

He sighed deeply. "You are intelligent, Sebastien. I doubt I need to tell you that Katerin reports to me, as do the people under her. I run an organization, some of whose operations are outside the constraints of the law."

"I suspected as much."

He nodded, rubbing his hands over his jaw. Dryden grimaced as he scratched away a spot of blood. "The Morrow gang controlled the majority of southern Gilbratha before I moved here and began my own operation." He spun around and paced back and forth, waving his hands through the air as he spoke. "My policies are different, more humane, more sustainable. I am trying to create something good here. The people prefer my name, my protection. The Morrows are losing subjects and money, and along with that comes loss of face. They're trying to drive me away and make the people fear to join me. For the last several months, they've been harassing my organization and those under its protection, but tonight…tonight they went too far. They attacked a stall that bore our symbol, injured the worker and his family, and burned his livelihood to the ground. His wife almost died." He stopped walking, staring down at the blood that had dried in the creases of his hands. He looked up to Sebastien. "Tell me, what would you do in my position? How would you stop this?"

Her first instinct was to tell him to retaliate, to attack the Morrows in retribution. She remembered what she had done earlier, though, and didn't say the words aloud. Overwhelming power only acted as a deterrent if it was truly overwhelming, and if that was the case, the Morrows likely wouldn't have attacked Dryden's people in the first place. Escalation would merely lead to more innocents bearing the cost. Still, he couldn't simply stand for this, or it would continue till he was crushed. "What about the coppers? Is it not their job to protect the citizens, no matter the symbol on their stalls?"

Dryden snorted. "The coppers find themselves uninterested in arriving in time to help. I got there sooner than they did, from halfway across the city. If my people had relied on the coppers, the woman would be dead."

She nodded, frowning and staring into the distance as she ran through ideas in her mind.

He waited for her to speak.

Finally, she said, "You must be able to provide the protection you've promised. If the coppers won't do it, you'll need a force of your own that can act in their stead. I imagine this is illegal. However…if these people had a way to call for your aid directly, and knew that you would arrive both promptly and well-prepared, the coppers might never be summoned at all. It would be best if people in your territory could contact you immediately, as soon as they have a need. Without magic of their own to do so…"

Sebastien absently pulled her Conduit from one of her many pockets and rolled it around her slender fingers. "Perhaps an alarm ward of some sort, one set up in such a way as to alert you immediately to the danger. It would have to provide you their location as well…" She returned her attention to Dryden. "Of course, you would need people trained, supplied, and able to respond immediately."

He nodded slowly, seeming a little less exhausted than he had before. "I agree. You're hired. Talk to Katerin about the gold and resources you'll need to set up the ward, as well as the price for your work. It will be the first piece of your debt, repaid."

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head rapidly. "Oh, no. I wasn't… You'll need someone more skilled than I am to set this up. The ward would need to be expansive and complicated. It needs to be easily accessible to any citizen, easily triggered, link immediately to the alarm that will alert your response force, and contain information about the emergency… I don't know enough about ward triggers or communication spells to do this properly."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Speak to Katerin about acquiring books on both subjects. She's no Master, but she has a few magical connections and some small talent herself, though mostly in alchemy."

Sebastien remained unconvinced.

He gave her a small smile that was irritatingly smug. "The payment for a project of this size should be thirty to forty gold, and we will give you time to complete it."

She remembered the blood print vow she'd given, and the chest of borrowed gold, already much depleted. Really, she couldn't say no. "Alright. I'll do my best. Forty-five gold."

Dryden grinned, then stumbled past her and up the stairs. Halfway up, he stopped and turned to her. "Oh! Did you manage to pass the entrance exam?"

She nodded silently. She had nothing to brag about, there.

"Good. I'll send an escort with you tomorrow when you go to pay the fee. It never hurts to be cautious when large amounts of gold are involved." He continued on up the stairs without looking back.

Sebastien was left in the foyer, alone. 'At least I have a chance to learn real magic while working on this project. I wonder how many books on the subject I can convince Katerin to buy me?'

Chapter 14 - Simple Wards & Foreign Ideas

Siobhan

Month 10, Day 25, Sunday 9:00 a.m.

Over a week later, Siobhan found herself once again in her female form, doing something illegal. Having said that, she was doing it in broad daylight, accompanied by helpers and bodyguards, and none of the curious citizens who passed seemed to hold the slightest fear toward her, so it didn't feel quite the same.

Katerin had taken her into one of the back rooms of the Verdant Stag and used the alchemy set-up there to turn a thick lock of Siobhan's hair white. "The powerful female sorcerer everyone is looking for does not have a streak of grey in her hair," the woman said, ignoring Siobhan's disgruntled pout as she ran the bleaching solution through the strands. "When people see the grey, it's what they will notice most about you, because it stands out. That, along with a change from those raggedy clothes you were wearing and a few other tweaks, and even if people recognize the resemblance, as long as you act confident and forthright, as if you've nothing to be afraid of, they will assume you truly do have nothing to be afraid of. People will convince themselves of the simplest solution to their confusion. Lead them in the right direction, and nine times out of ten you have won."

Siobhan once again wore the black and red suit that Dryden had given her, this time without the dramatic cloak. Her now mostly black hair was bound up into a bun so high and tight it gave her a headache, she wore horn-rimmed glasses that looked like they had been taken from the desk of a school-teacher, and the Verdant Stag gang symbol—the same one on the signpost of the inn from where Katerin and Dryden based most of their operations—was proudly displayed on the bright green cloth tied around her bicep.

Theo, the copper-haired boy who had thought she was disguised as a homeless person when they first met, gave her transformation a serious once-over when she emerged into the inn's common room, then gave her a big grin and two thumbs up.

She squinted at the boy, pushing the glasses up her nose. 'Does he know who I am? Last time, I met him as Sebastien. Perhaps he heard something from Katerin or Dryden. Or perhaps he's this friendly to everyone.'

Theo bounced up to her and immediately proved her wrong, sweeping into a comically deep bow with a flourish like a performer. "Hello, Sorceress. I heard all about your escape from the University. Everyone's been talking about it, you know, even more than Big Bjornson getting drunk and running right through the wall of the inn and into the river."

Katerin slapped her hand to her face and drug it downward. "Theo. How?" Her voice sounded as if she were in physical pain.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and innocent. "It was obvious."

Siobhan looked down at herself. "I cannot go out in public, if that's the case. Perhaps you should whiten the rest of my hair as well."

Theo shrugged. "You'll probably be fine like you are. Not everyone seems to think, you know? Plus they don't know that Katerin and Mr. Oliver were looking for you after your amazing adventure. Plus, everyone is expecting you to look much more…" He trailed off, looking embarrassed. "Interesting," he finished, his voice much lower.

Katerin sighed deeply. "Have you finished your chores, Theo?" she asked, her tone threatening to lose its patience.

The boy's eyes widened comically, and he scampered off without answering.

"He is certainly…observant," Siobhan said.

"I cannot keep anything from him, even when I dearly wish to do so. Some things that go on around here aren't fit for a little boy to know about." She shook her head after the child. "Even if someone does recognize you, we have even odds on them refusing to tell the coppers. The Crowns and their agents are not well-loved this far south, where both money and good-will are in short supply. If there is trouble, all you need do is run. We've more than a few escape routes planned through this city for our own people, and you're one of us now, yes?" She looked at the bright green antlers painted on the band around Siobhan's arm.

"Truly? The bounty on my capture is one hundred gold crowns. I'd think that would overcome any dislike for the coppers."

Katerin smirked. "One hundred gold is not enough to purchase your life back from the Verdant Stag once they have placed a kill order on your head. It wouldn't be worth it."

Siobhan narrowed her eyes. "A kill order? You seem to be going to great lengths for a single untrained sorcerer." 'Perhaps you're trying to get me caught, for some reason. But how would that actually benefit you, especially as it would connect me to you?' This unspoken thought sparked another idea. "Perhaps that actually is the point. You wish to show off your connection to a seemingly powerful sorceress, to those clever enough to notice my true identity?"

Katerin shrugged. "Magic is useful, Siobhan. It's also a coveted and limited resource, especially when you're working outside the purview of the Crowns. Oliver judged the safety of his people more important than the slight chance of you being recognized and reported, with an even smaller chance that you would be captured, even then. We're not being reckless. We're…" She sighed.

'Desperate,' Siobhan finished silently. She reluctantly agreed to the plan, though she insisted on learning all the escape routes so she would be prepared.

Despite her misgivings, it seemed to work. She received her fair share of stares from the citizens in the Verdant Stag's territory, but since she was accompanied by the red-haired woman and a few other members of what Dryden called an "organization" and Siobhan called a "gang," no one seemed hostile or even overly suspicious. After the first uneventful day, she stopped expecting a group of coppers to come charging up the street to arrest her.

In fact, she was more disturbed by the filth of the city's slums than the people. The Verdant Stag itself was a little more than halfway to the south of the city, where the informally named Mires began. The Stag territory stretched into the poorer areas, where people couldn't afford things like the waste-removing toilets like Dryden had, and even the occasional street cleaner simply dumped the sewage into the closest canal. Human waste lined the streets of the Mires in a sticky, reeking sludge that sucked at the boots like swamp mud. Despite her best efforts, it was impossible to stay entirely clean, and it seemed like the miasma coated the air thick enough to taste it.

She had seen poverty and uncleanliness before, always worse in the cities, but never like this, where the people were packed so tightly together. She doubted many coppers would be patrolling the area unless forced to.

"We're working on the waste removal," Katerin said. "It's a big project, and we've had more success in some areas than others."

With the obvious poverty, Siobhan was surprised to see that some of the shoddy buildings had foundations of stone, and sometimes walls, too. It became a little more common the further south they went. Where it was clean, it was almost white. 'They must have taken stone from the sunken, broken southern area of the wall to build with. That probably had a lot to do with why it's so deteriorated now.' The Mires spilled well beyond what would have once been the confines of the city, with no more than a few scattered sections of what had once been white cliffs still remaining in their midst.

Siobhan had gone through a couple of different iterations of the plan for the wards, and finally settled on something simple enough that she could actually implement it, which would hopefully still be effective.

Wards were really just another type of artificery, but because they were so complex a subject on their own, and often implemented differently than other artifacts, they were often categorized as their own sub-craft of magic.

She would have loved to give all of Dryden's "subjects" a token they could carry on their person and break in an emergency, something that would relay where they were and what was wrong, but she didn't have the skill to do that, especially not en masse.

Instead, she had counted every street corner within the Verdant Stag's territory and requested twice that number of bright green banners. The area under Dryden's control wasn't as large as she had imagined, only a few dozen square blocks.

Each pair of banners was stamped with a specific location. One would go on the actual street corner, and its pair would hang on the wall of one of the inn's back rooms, where someone would be on duty at all times.

The banners were attached by a metal ring to a sturdy, waterproof base, which she screwed into the side of buildings or attached to the streetlamps, where there were streetlamps. When the banner was ripped away from the base, the Circle and spell array she had drawn inside the base would activate, dropping the corresponding banner in the inn and setting off the attached bell.

This method easily relayed where the alarm had been set off, but not what the emergency was. She wasn't sure what to do about that, but Dryden said he would have his emergency response team ready for as wide a range of scenarios as he could.

She'd considered having different-colored flags for different types of emergencies, but he'd vetoed that. "In the dark, panicked and possibly injured, you cannot expect people to be able to remember and accurately pull the right color. One single flag is better."

She had spent days studying and designing the spell, and then almost a week creating the dozens and dozens of linked alarms, which had to be tested one by one. The most difficult thing was making sure they would continue to work with minimal maintenance, which was easiest when the Sacrifices were high quality, the Will of the caster was strong, and the Word of the Circle's array was efficient. She was as confident in their quality as she could be.

Now, they were traveling slowly around Dryden's section of Gilbratha, setting them up one by one and explaining to everyone they saw what they were doing.

They immediately had to deal with more than a few pranks and test triggers of the alarms, but Siobhan figured that wasn't her problem.

It surprised her how well-liked Dryden's people were. Many of the locals who passed by greeted them, and some even stopped to chat.

An older woman complained to Katerin about her grandson being accosted by the coppers, and Katerin sympathized with her grumbling. "Maybe one day, things will change," she said, smiling gently.

The grandmother sniffed disdainfully. "If so, the Crowns got nothin' to do with it. I've lived in this city since I was a girl, and I tell you, it's only gettin' worse. I keep tellin' him not to go up in them rich districts, but there's no work here, so what's a lad to do?"

Katerin laid an arm on the woman's shoulder. "Tell him to come by the Verdant Stag. The big boss has some plans, and it will mean jobs. Honest jobs. I cannot promise your grandson a spot, but if he's hired for this, he wouldn't need to put himself in danger."

The grandmother gave her heartfelt thanks before shuffling on her way.

A group of men pulled Katerin into discussion about the latest play the inn had put on, sharing ribald jokes about the lead actress that made Katerin roll her eyes.

A mother in worn, sweat-stained clothes shuffled up to Katerin and pulled her aside, speaking in a low voice that Siobhan unashamedly struggled to overhear. The woman's son had been sick with a fever for days, and that morning she had been unable to wake him.

Katerin said, "The Stag has fever-reducing balms and a revivifying potion. Go to the third floor, the first door on your left."

"How much? I tried to go to the apothecary, but I couldn't afford what they had. Two gold for the fever reducer! That was for the potion. The balm was even more expensive. My John has been struggling to find work, you know, and…"

Katerin waved her to silence. "Six silver for the fever balm, and a gold for the revivifying potion. If the balm doesn't settle it with one jar, come back and the second will be half off. You can tell Alice I said so."

The mother's voice grew rough, and she blinked back tears. "Do you sell half doses of the revivifier?"

Siobhan spoke before Katerin could respond. "Landrum's nourishing draught might see him through it, if he's not too far gone. A sustaining potion for dysentery patients could also work, if you double the normal amount of water. He likely needs large doses of liquids, anyway. The nourishing draught would be better, if the Stag has it in Landrum's recipe. Both should be cheaper than the revivifier. If your son doesn't recover by the time you've gone through the whole nourishing draught, I would recommend a healer, as it's likely a sign that something worse is wrong with him."

Both women had turned to stare at her.

Siobhan turned away from the bright green flag she'd just finished affixing to the side of the building to meet their gazes. "Also, be sure to boil the water before diluting the potion."

The mother looked to Katerin for confirmation.

Katerin's eyebrows were raised, but she nodded. "That should work. We do have the malnutrition nourishing potion. Revivifier and the nourishing potion together would probably be best." She gently touched the woman's arm. "Small loans are also available, if you need one."

The woman bowed to both of them in thanks and hurried off toward the Verdant Stag.

Siobhan frowned. "A fever potion's ingredients should only cost three silver, even at Gilbratha's prices. The licensed shops sell them for two gold?"

"Magic means a markup. If you need an item or a spell you cannot achieve yourself, you have no choice but to pay more for it. The licensed shops pay three-tenths in taxes for all magical goods and services. Plus, there has been a shortage on certain supplies within the city, so prices rise. For the poorest, necessary items like healing potions are simply unaffordable. That's why we produce our own and sell them as needed to individuals, only slightly above cost. One of Oliver's ideas, and I tell you, I thought it was foolish at first to let gold slip away like that, but when I saw how many people need what we provide and have no way to get it elsewhere, I changed my mind. The Crowns don't care, so we have to."

Siobhan looked at those who wore the green antlers of the gang slightly differently after that. 'That woman's son may have died of fever without what Katerin offered her. And yet, for selling magical items without a license to do so, Katerin and the others would all be arrested.' Katerin still held Siobhan's blood print and a debt of more gold than most families made in two years over her, but some of the wariness Siobhan had been holding toward her slipped away.

"Does 'at cost,' include paying for the alchemist's time?"

"Yes, though sometimes I make a batch or two of something myself, and I don't charge the Stag for my time. I find it relaxing."

Siobhan nodded thoughtfully, affixing yet another bright green banner to the edge of a building. "I know how to create a variety of healing potions, salves, and tinctures, and I can follow a recipe for anything I don't already know. Perhaps you need another brewer?"

Katerin smiled, but nodded without looking at her. "I just might be. I will give you a list of what we need most, along with the prices we pay. Of course, all payments will go towards your debt, so you'll not see a single coin."

Siobhan caught the amusement in the other woman's voice and resisted the urge to send a sharp gust of wind into her back.

Some parts of Oliver's territory were elevated enough to see out across the Charybdis Gulf, which divided Gilbratha main from the Lilies, the wealthiest part of the city. The Lilies occupied the deep stretch of beach below the arc of the white cliffs where the Crowns lived. A huge spell dome kept the waves and the storms from washing the community away.

As she attached yet another banner to a streetlamp missing its crystal, she thought of the poverty she saw around her, contrasted with the faint music she could hear carried over the water from the Lilies, and their gardens of color she could see even from this distance.

When the day's work was done, their group returned to the Verdant Stag to eat. The food wasn't as luxurious as what Sharon prepared at Dryden Manor, but it was honestly priced and filling enough.

She sat at a table with Katerin and Mr. Huntley, who hadn't offered his first name when they met and whose eyes never quite stopped moving. She was pretty sure he was carrying more than one battle wand underneath his suit's outer jacket.

In fact, she suspected that most of the group sent to help them set up the banners carried similar artifacts, making them a group of battle magicians, though they were likely not thaumaturges themselves. The fact that they wore no obvious token of graduation from the University didn't bother her. Rather, the protection they signified helped reassure her. None of them had flaunted what they were or the spellpower they controlled, even when a brawl had erupted in a bar near where they worked and they had been forced to intervene. 'Likely, that means they're competent.'

Dryden spoke a few sentences to the barmaid as she took his order, and Siobhan noticed how he applied his charm despite the woman's lack of power or influence. He focused his attention so fully on her she must have felt herself to be the most interesting person in the world. It was not quite flirting, yet the barmaid left with a small bounce in her step and a smile that remained on her face for a long while afterward. When she brought ale to the table, Dryden's mug was free.

'Perhaps his ideas about people aren't so silly. Still, I would have a hard time acting like that all the time.' Siobhan was well aware that she had trouble keeping her sharp tongue from cutting others.

Her thoughts returned to the downtrodden, desperate poverty of the people too far south of the white cliffs for the powerful to care about, and she shot an assessing glance at Katerin. "You offer goods and services to the people at a fair price," she said. "And jobs, too."

Katerin raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Why?"

It was Dryden who answered. "Because we can. We may not be able to fix everything, but it's a start."

"It isn't enough." Siobhan's frank words drew attention from those around them. Some of Dryden's men frowned at her. "From what I've seen, you simply don't have the resources to raise these people out of the shit."

Huntley snorted at that, but continued to eat and scan the doors and windows.

"They lack more than what you can give them, and there's a reason for that."

"And what do you think that reason is?" Dryden asked, moving to sit at the empty seat across from Siobhan.

"There isn't enough to go around. There never will be. The Crowns have it, the gang leaders and University have it, and that means these people don't. They're never going to be strong enough to fight for themselves. So while you're scrabbling to provide for them, you're leaving yourself vulnerable to other predators."

He leaned forward, the serious look on his face not quite disguising the youthful excitement in his eyes. "Your argument is that there isn't enough wealth to go around, and by spreading some of mine to those who cannot repay it, I am weakening myself?"

Siobhan narrowed her eyes, sensing the trap in his words, but nodded.

"What do you think wealth is? Gold is useful in some spells, but beyond that, it's not inherently valuable. Gold is not wealth. And wealth is not finite. If someone lives in a nice house, one that doesn't leave them wet when it rains and keeps them warm in the winter, if they have no fear of going hungry, if they know they'll have access to healing should an accident or illness befall them, then would that person not meet the criteria of wealth to you? Regardless of whether they're paying for these things in gold coins or bird feathers?"

She wondered what he was getting at. "Perhaps. Go on." She dipped her head.

"I posit that wealth is nothing more than a raised standard of living. From there, I propose that what people really need is more jobs—jobs that pay well enough to live on, not simply work themselves into the grave over—more affordable goods and services, and access to education. If you look around you, it's obvious that my people have many jobs in need of doing, many things they would pay for, if they could afford it. I can attest that there are also plenty of people willing and eager to provide honest labor. The inability to pay for what they need leads to a lack of jobs that pay enough to get by, and so it becomes a vicious cycle.

"You're very right that this isn't by coincidence. Opportunities are provided for the few at the expense of the many. But you're wrong if you think this is the inherent state of reality. You yourself are a good example of this. You deserve opportunity, and are willing to take it when it is presented, even if you weren't born into it. How many others like you would set their minds to learning, to innovation, if they had the opportunity? The resources of the city—the true resources, the people—are simply being mismanaged. Or, some might say, purposefully restricted by people who are either shortsighted, or those who can see, but are afraid."

He pressed his hands flat to the table. "And just like with you, I do not help these people with no expectation of receiving value in return. It is better to rule over a land of the wealthy than a land of the poor and desperate. And if one ruled over a land of thaumaturges… Imagine it. Every citizen who was once a pauper now able to read, write, and cast simple spells. No restrictions to learning based on income or connections. A Mastery for everyone who had the dedication and fortitude to achieve one. Advanced education in the natural sciences and other fields for those without an aptitude for magic. A country pushed forward by the innovation of hundreds of thousands of minds rather than a handful of elite with no real interest in change." Oliver swallowed, glancing around quickly to the other patrons of the inn that had turned to look at him. He slid his hands off the table as he sat back in his chair. His expression loosened, but the intensity was still there in his eyes.

Siobhan's own heart was beating a little harder, caught up in secondhand excitement, and she forced herself to look away from his gaze. "But that doesn't address the other gangs, not to mention the Crowns themselves, all who would be happy to see you fail—and some of whom are actively working against you to make sure you do. What can helping these people do about that? Again, I have to say that it doesn't seem like you have the wealth to make this sustainable. So what's your answer to that, Mr. Oliver," she said, avoiding his last name like everyone else associated with the Verdant Stag seemed to do.

"Perhaps, if we all do what we can, small improvements will add up over time into lasting change," he said, quirking the side of his mouth up in a way that she could not help but see as mocking. Before she could respond, he turned to one of the barmaids and ordered another drink.

'Did he avoid my question because he has no good answer, or because he simply doesn't want to reveal that part of his plans?'

They didn't return to the conversation, instead discussing Dryden's struggle to find enough people to compose three fully competent emergency response teams, but Siobhan felt the new ideas settle in the back of her mind. 'His ideas seem naive, and yet—and yet, from what I have learned of him, he isn't the type to act without some forethought, some scheme. What would a world like he portrayed be like? Would it really be possible for everyone to learn magic as they wished?' She shook her head with a combination of wistfulness and amusement. Still, the idea was appealing.

Chapter 15 - Dysphoria

Damien

Month 10, Day 29, Thursday 11:00 a.m.

"He's not even listening, Ana!" a high-pitched voice declared.

"Damien," Anastasia said, the slight twitch of one eyebrow belying the soft, ladylike smile on her face.

Damien only then realized that he had been in a daze, looking toward the University rankings board that would soon be updated with the scores of all incoming first-term students. "Oh, sorry, Natalia," he said to the young girl scowling up at him.

Unlike her older sister, she wore a frilly dress, no doubt picked out by their mother. Also unlike her sister, she was a chatterbox, and at some point while listening to her talk about a play date at one of the Gervin Family's branch houses—offshoots that didn't stand to inherit—he had lost concentration. "I'm just really anxious to find out if I made the top three hundred or not," he said.

The girl gave an unappeased "humph!" and crossed her arms over her chest.

Rhett, slouching beside him, turned from making eyes at a blushing young woman in the crowd. "Damien's boring, Nat. Don't bother with him anyway. I brought a dueling board, if you want to play." Despite his friend's playboy attitude, Rhett had a secret soft spot for children, and somehow never seemed to grow tired of genuine, fully engaged interaction with Natalia or his own younger siblings.

Natalia eyed the small, portable game set Rhett pulled out of a pocket. "Only if I can be Myrddin."

Rhett nodded easily.

"You're like a child yourself, playing that game all the time," Alec sneered. He'd been chewed out by his father for scoring such a low green on the written exam that it required a bribe to get him admitted, and he hadn't wanted to come for the rankings release at all. It was making him even more abrasive than normal.

If he kept making rude comments to the others, Damien would have to tell him to shut up.

Rhett ignored Alec and found a nearby bench to commandeer with Natalia. The two young women who were sitting at it cooed over Rhett and his young companion, readily giving up their seats.

Ana gave Damien another hard look.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

She had told him about finding the girl crying that morning after one of her uncles called her "breeding stock," as if she were too young a child to understand the implications. She'd decided to bring Nat with them to get her out of their house and away from the rest of her Family. The whole group of friends had been asked to keep the younger girl's mind occupied, so she wouldn't be too depressed about the University taking away her older sister—the major bulwark between Nat and the rest of her Family.

"I just worry. With me gone, she will bear the brunt of it all."

"You won't be gone entirely, Ana. Your home is only an hour away. You'll see her every weekend, and if there's an emergency, you'll be able to rush home to deal with it." Seeing that she was unconsoled, he had an idea. "You're going into artificery, right? Why not make something that will let the two of you communicate more easily? Like a gold and crystal messenger bird that will take letters back and forth between you. Then you wouldn't have to worry about what's happening when you're not there. Natalia will tell you everything. Knowing that girl, she'll write till her hand cramps up."

Anastasia brightened. "That's a great idea, Damien! Well, not the golden bird, but something to make sure she can always call on me if she needs help. It'll make it seem like I'm not really gone. I think I saw a pair of notebooks in that fine artificery shop in the Lilies. What you write in one appears in the other. The shop was marketing them to lovers, but they'd work just fine for the two of us, and they were only a few hundred gold, I think. I've still got plenty of allowance left over."

"This is taking forever," Waverly said, tucking away her book and lifting a hand to ward off the lukewarm sun. "I'm going to go see if the Elemental Conjuration professor is in her office. I have some questions about the Selby-Forman binding variation used in the Northern Islands during the Second Empire."

"I'll go with you," Brinn hurried to say, hunched over a little as if to pretend he was shorter.

"You'll miss the rankings!" Damien said.

Waverly waved a careless hand at him, her eyes half-lidded as if she might fall asleep where she stood.

"You can tell us where we placed when we get back," Brinn said with a crooked smile. "I'm sure the rest of our rankings won't be so spectacular that we need to see the number personally."

Excited murmurs drew Damien's attention to the rankings board, which a professor was updating at that very moment. His friends were immediately forgotten.

He hurried to push his way through the crowd, throwing a couple of elbows and receiving a few in return from those who hadn't turned to see who he was.

Damien was no idiot with an overly inflated sense of his own intelligence, so he didn't start from the first ranking down, rather from the three-hundredth up. He found his name quickly, only a few spots above the minimum requirement Titus had set in order to teach him that spell. A grin burst across his face.

He took the time to look for his friends' names, too, and was moving to retreat back through the press of the crowd when he heard a sentence that snapped his head around.

"Professor Lacer took an apprentice?" a student said loudly.

"Thaddeus Lacer? Are you sure? He's never taken an apprentice before. I heard even the High Crown recommended a relative to him and he refused," someone else said.

"It says so right here," the first student said, jabbing a finger toward the much smaller list to the side of the rankings. It was a list of those with special accomplishments, such as being accepted as apprentices to the University's various faculty. Professors could take one new apprentice per year, and were encouraged to do so at least every few years. The chance to be personally mentored by some of the most prestigious Masters and Grandmasters in their respective fields was just another reason a spot at the Thaumaturgic University of Lenore was so coveted throughout the country, and even by foreigners as well.

Damien shoved through the crowd toward the other list.

"I saw him, in his oral examination," a girl said loudly, eyes gleaming as those around her turned to listen with interest. "He was performing some sort of spell for the professors. He looked…dreamy."

Damien almost snorted aloud.

The girl drew out the pause, and those around her filled it with impatient questions.

"What does he look like?"

"What spell was he casting?"

"He must have experience as a sorcerer, then, to be casting before his first class? Maybe he was apprenticed to Lacer already?"

"Sebastien is tall, trim, and with hair like star metal, so fair it looks more silver than yellow. But his eyes are dark, and he doesn't seem like the type to smile. A little brooding. Very handsome. And rich, too, since I'm pretty sure his suit was bespoke from Fortner's. Definitely from an aristocratic family. I've never seen the spell he was casting before. There was a big ball of darkness and a floating fire, but the flame was blue, and I'm pretty sure it was detached from the Circle because it was moving around over his head. It was ever so impressive."

Damien's stomach did a funny flip as he listened to the description. Past all the purple embellishments, this Sebastien sounded awfully familiar.

He, too, had been in the waiting room when the door was opened onto the young man casting a spell during what should have definitely been just an oral examination, not a practical demonstration. He had recognized the platinum hair and the scowl from a few weeks prior, when the sharp-tongued commoner had gotten him chewed out by Professor Lacer. Surely it couldn't be the same person, though?

"I haven't heard of the Siverling family before. Are they local?" one of the gossiping girl's listeners asked.

"Probably not," she said. "I'm sure we would have heard of him before. He's the type to stand out."

Damien scowled, pushing past the gossipers to see the list with his own eyes. True enough, Sebastien Siverling's name had been posted right there next to Thaddeus Lacer.

"That's Damien Westbay," someone whispered, and the group drew back, giving him a couple feet of space, perhaps wary of the stormy glower on his face.

The day he'd returned to Gilbratha to sign up for the exams, Professor Lacer had pulled him away from the other young man, and, away from the ears of the crowd, berated him. "Arguing with a commoner in public? And losing? You may be a member of the Crowns, but that does not afford you the ability to be so idiotically bullish, lacking any machination or cunning. You played into the worst stereotypes about the upper class. Have you never heard of noblesse oblige?"

"I wasn't the one who started it. It was Alec, but I couldn't just back down once that fellow started being so rude. Everyone would have seen that part of it, too," Damien had argued.

"Are those the only two options you can see? Be publicly ill-mannered, or lie down like a meek earthworm and let a commoner walk on you? That was a perfect opportunity to be gracious and gain goodwill. Be glad I stopped you before you could make even more of a spectacle out of yourself. Your mother never would have been so foolish."

There had been nothing Damien could say to refute that, as he couldn't even remember his mother's face, and he knew if Professor Lacer said it, it was surely true. They had been friends when they were younger.

So, shamefaced, he'd apologized.

"Apologies at this juncture are useless," Lacer had snapped.

Damien glared at the name he could now match with those arrogant, dark eyes and the chin held so condescendingly high. He searched for Siverling among the rankings list, growing increasingly frustrated until he found him near the end.

Siverling had scored poorly on the written exam, a middling green that was barely acceptable. This seemed almost impossible, considering the display he'd seen and the fact that Professor Lacer would deign to take him as an apprentice.

Damien wanted to scoff, but if he was honest with himself, this revelation made his stomach burn. Suddenly his own accomplishment didn't seem so amazing.

Chapter 16 - Harmless Blood Magic

Siobhan

Month 10, Day 29, Thursday 4:00 p.m.

Siobhan hung another banner on a streetlamp, which was long parted from its light crystal. After four days of this, she was almost finished. As projects tended to do, this one had stretched, taking almost twice as long as she originally hoped. The area under the Stag's banner was only a small chunk of Gilbratha, but a small chunk of the largest city in Lenore actually covered quite a lot of people.

Siobhan had overheard a dozen more conversations from Dryden's—the Verdant Stag's—people. She had even participated in a few herself after people had grown used to seeing her with Katerin and the other gang members working on the project.

Her whole body felt slow, her feet hurt, and she was tired of the stench of the Mire's streets, but she was also buzzing with excitement. She would be moving to the University in a couple of days, and she'd improved her dreamless sleep spell.

Artifacts used glyphs to trap a specific cast spell and release it at a later time, according to various rules. She was still far from a proficient artificer, but she'd learned enough from studying to make the banners to cobble something together that seemed to work.

She'd modified the structure and intent of the spell to keep the magic trapped within the spell array, which she drew every night in alcohol and herbal oil extract on the bed underneath her pillow. It heated the bedding as the trapped energy circulated around beneath her head, so she'd had to add in a function to shunt the heat outward. Admittedly, this could have been dangerous, if she was a powerful enough thaumaturge to worry about starting a fire without specifically attempting to set something alight.

The spell was bigger, took more time to cast, and was very inefficient, but it helped to smooth out the release of the magic over a longer time. Which meant that she could sleep for longer.

It wasn't a long-term solution, but it was something. 'I'll find even better options at the University. That library has to hold all the answers anyone could ever need.'

Theo came running up to them with his hands in his pockets and Dryden trailing after him.

"Don't run with your hands in your pockets, Theo!" Katerin called out in a long-suffering tone.

The boy looked up at his aunt, startled, and tripped on a jagged edge of cobblestone. With his hands stuck in his pockets, he fell forward with no ability to catch himself.

Dryden lunged to catch him, but missed, and the boy's face smashed into the raised edge of the sidewalk.

Siobhan gasped and ran to Theo without hesitation, only slightly behind Katerin.

Theo managed to get his hands out of his pockets. He climbed to his knees, his hands clamped over his mouth. Blood dribbled between his fingers, his eyes wide and horrified.

Katerin had to force his hands away from his mouth to see the damage.

Two of his top teeth to the right side of his mouth were missing.

"I—I'm sorry. I tried to catch him…" Dryden stammered.

Siobhan looked around on the ground for his teeth. 'If we can put them back in quickly enough, there may still be a chance for them to heal.' Though there was already plenty of blood splattering the cobblestones, she found no teeth.

She looked closer at Theo, who started to cry now that the shock had worn off. She placed her hand on his forehead, tilting his head back. "Let me see," she said.

The nubs of white peeking out of his bleeding gums confirmed her suspicion. "The teeth are still there. They were simply smashed back up into your gums."

Katerin and Dryden shared an uneasy look. "What does that mean? Will the teeth come out again? Will this damage his adult teeth?" Katerin asked, her voice higher and more frantic than Siobhan had thought the cool, collected woman capable of.

Theo only cried louder, blood and saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his clothes and the street.

"I can fix it," Siobhan said. She held Theo's head and repeated her words as she stared into his eyes, making her voice as soothing as possible. "Don't worry, child. This will be over soon. Keep your mouth open so I can see what I'm doing, and lean forward so the blood doesn't keep spilling all over you, alright?"

Dryden was watching intently. "You know healing magic?"

Siobhan found a red oil pastel stick in one of her pockets and unwrapped the wax paper from around the tip carefully. "I'm not a healer. However, I can fix simple things like this, because it doesn't require any life force or special components to do so, and the other side of his mouth is undamaged. Now, please be quiet. This may not be a serious wound, but anything involving the human body is delicate, and I need my concentration unhindered."

She reached out to the boy's face and drew two Circles as evenly as she could, one covering Theo's cheek and chin on the damaged side, and one on the intact side. The Circles met in the middle over his good teeth. It wasn't as perfect as she would have liked, but she was trying to draw over and inside a crying child's mouth while they dribbled blood, snot, and tears. It would have been easier to draw the adjacent Circles on the ground, but perfectly aligning it to his face from there seemed a precarious proposition.

She laid his head down in the puddle of blood on the ground, and then drew a Circle around it all. The glyphs for "blood," "mirror," and "tooth" followed, then a pentagram inside of a pentagon, for the combination of transmutation and transmogrification that this spell entailed.

It was simple. Like many of her more useful spells, it relied more on the Will and the Sacrifice than the clarity or complexity of the written Word. She kept the Word in her mind instead, in the form of a detailed, focused image of what she wanted to happen.

When she began to work the magic, Theo's eyes went wide, and he tried to jerk away.

Dryden's hands clamped down onto his shoulders from behind and kept him still.

Siobhan combined the sympathetic and natural connection of one half of Theo's mouth to the other in order to pull his teeth down again, mirroring the damaged side to the healthy side. She tightened the gums as best she could, and then, when her knowledge of anatomy ran out, she simply poured power into the spell, using Theo's bodily fluids, currently pooled up on the ground beneath him, as the Sacrifice.

The blood of a magical creature was always a good source of power, and humans were, technically, magical creatures, but this was especially efficient, because it was Theo's own blood.

When it ran out, she let the spell go and leaned back. "Those teeth might be loose and tender for a few days, so be careful with them."

Theo felt around the spot with his tongue, then spat a few times to get the blood out of his mouth. He rubbed at his tear and pastel-stained cheeks, his sobs calming to shuddering hiccups.

Siobhan stood, only to find both Dryden and Katerin staring between her and the Sacrifice Circle on the ground, white-faced.

Katerin looked around, seeming worried about observers.

"Keep your mouth closed, Theo," Dryden ordered gravely, looking around as well, though he did so less obviously. He grabbed Siobhan by the arm and dragged her off.

Katerin shoved Theo after them, then worked frantically to scrub out any signs of the spell array from the sidewalk.

"What's wrong?" Siobhan asked, keeping her voice low.

Dryden pulled her into an alley, looking back out into the street suspiciously. Anger and alarm were obvious in the half-snarl on his face and the way his knees bent and his fingers flexed, his body preparing for violence.

Siobhan's back straightened and her shoulders pulled back, her grip tightening around her Conduit. She looked out of the alley into the mostly-dark street, but saw no one. 'No coppers,' she thought with relief.

When Katerin arrived, she posted herself at the mouth, facing the street like a guard. "Be quiet, Theo," she ordered, though the boy hadn't yet said anything.

"Are you trying to get yourself caught and executed!?" Dryden snapped, standing a little too close to Siobhan.

She pulled her arm out of his grip. "I've been putting up the banners for days. Surely, if someone were going to turn me in for not having a license, they would have done so already? I understand this was more flashy, and there's no deniability in my involvement like with the wards, but surely it's not such a big deal? It's dark, and even if someone saw, there are no coppers around, anyway."

"Performing blood magic is very different from placing alarm artifacts on street corners," he hissed.

She shook her head, frowning at him. "Blood magic? It was just a small movement and mirroring spell."

He let out a sharp, scoffing laugh. "You used his blood as a component. As a Sacrifice."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She hadn't purposefully bled Theo to power some great and powerful spell, but Dryden was right. Using a human, or any part of a human, was one of the ways they could define a spell as blood magic.

And blood magic was punishable by death.

Which explained their reaction.

Her face grew pale. "But there was no force involved, no removal of free will, no pain caused by the spell. Surely the Crowns would realize the distinction between healing a boy's injury and blood magic? It's no different than using a patient's reserves to accelerate healing, and that's common when an appropriate Sacrifice isn't available. Healers do it all the time. The blood was already out of his body. It's not like I could put it back!"

Dryden rolled his eyes sharply, his fingers curling like he wanted to reach out and grab her again. "You quite literally used his blood as part of the spell. Just because you didn't harm anyone won't make you innocent in the eyes of the Crowns or the citizens who are terrified at the very idea of the Blood Empire." He snapped his mouth shut, breathing hard. After a few moments to calm himself, he spoke again. "A benevolent purpose won't save you if you're caught and arrested. You must be more careful. Where did you even learn such a spell?"

"My grandfather cast it on me when I was a child. I stepped on a nail, and he knitted the flesh of my injured foot back together to match my uninjured foot. Truly, it's harmless. I've used it a handful of times to knit together minor cuts and the like." His scowl was only growing, so she hurried to say, "However, I'll be more cautious in the future. It's easy to forget how different Gilbratha is than what I'm used to."

Neither Dryden nor Katerin were appeased, but he seemed to accept her words, and after a few minutes of stiffness, Katerin said, "Thank you for saving Theo's teeth. Next time, though, perhaps we should just bring him to a healer."

They hurried through the last handful of street corners and returned to the Verdant Stag.

Dryden and Katerin were silent and tense for the rest of the evening, but Theo seemed enthused by the entire ordeal. It was as if the adults' response to her use of blood magic confirmed all the fantastical stories he had heard of her and how dangerously interesting she was.

Chapter 17 - A Toast to Forceful Personalities

Oliver

Month 10, Day 31, Saturday 6:00 p.m.

"You should ask me to dance before my card fills up. I still have a blank space for you." The woman fluttered her fan at him, showing off the wooden handle with names written in most of the spaces. Each name represented a man who had asked her for a specific dance that evening.

Oliver turned to look at her fully, his eyebrows lifting. He was disappointed to see no mocking self-awareness in her eyes, and not even a hint of real audacity. No, she had opened the conversation with a trite one-liner, probably memorized and used on any man she found attractive—whether in appearance, wealth, or social standing.

She pursed glamoured lips at him in a way that was too unsubtle to be appealing.

A puzzle-banded ring glittered on her fourth finger. Married, too.

He reached for her fan without looking away from her eyes, letting his fingers slide across hers as he drew it from her grasp.

Her eyes widened, her lips losing the artificial pout.

He looked down at the fan, his eyes flicking across the names. He handed it back to her. "Perhaps another night, my lady. I dislike sharing."

Her eyes widened again, her mouth falling open just a little.

He walked past her before she could speak, letting his fingers trail over the back of her hand as he released the fan. It was minor flirting, just enough to throw her off balance and allow him to escape without causing offense, but not so much as to be inappropriate. He had a careful reputation to maintain, after all.

His primary goal tonight was to speak with the host, Lord Gervin, but both he and his wife were still busy mingling and greeting other guests. Instead, Oliver slipped around to the edge of the ballroom, where it was less crowded, and walked up the stairs to look down from the gallery.

He watched the guests, cataloguing who spoke to whom, who smiled to someone else's face and then sneered as soon as they turned away, and who stood at the edges of the room watching, like him. He would return to mingling soon, but even he sometimes needed a break from interacting with people he found unimpressive—or despicable—without letting on his genuine feelings.

Magic was everywhere.

It glittered from the spelled chandelier and wafted through the air in a subtle, pleasing scent meant to put people at ease. Tiny, butterfly-winged sprites fluttered around the creeping vines crawling up the walls. Magic was even in the carpet beneath his feet, an illusion spell mimicking new grass.

It was hard not to consider his own differences in a place like this.

Soft footsteps came from the carpet behind him, and Oliver turned enough to see Titus Westbay, the second Crown Family's heir.

The man raised his liquor glass to Oliver, pale grey eyes flicking over the crowd below. "Judging by the extravagance of this party, the restrictions on magical imports haven't affected the Gervins."

"Lord Westbay." Oliver greeted him with a nod of his own, then turned back to the ballroom. "Well, the Gervins would never let it show. But perhaps they will be more amenable to a business opportunity if they are feeling some hint of discomfort with the current situation."

"Another charitable endeavor, Dryden?" Titus was one of those among the Crown Families who was smart enough to understand Oliver's appeals to reform, but still he never deigned to support them.

"It's not charity if you benefit from it as much as those you are helping. Resistance toward innovation and improvement is just a slower way to stagnate and die." Someday, perhaps when Oliver had more power, he hoped he could sway Titus. He could dearly use the alliance of the Family in charge of domestic law enforcement, and from the hints he'd seen, Titus wasn't entirely in support of the way the current regime did things.

"Well, a certain type of person will only look to change once the discomfort reaches their own doorway. We may see more of that in times to come," he said in an ominous tone.

Oliver turned toward the man and raised an eyebrow. "Are the restrictions that bad?"

Titus Westbay grimaced, but turned to look at a group of young people who had just come in from outside.

They were standing below Oliver and Titus, but didn't seem to have noticed them. "I made the top three hundred of the incoming applicants!" one boy murmured to the oldest Gervin daughter. "I told you what Titus promised, right?" He grinned at her with excitement, and Oliver recognized him as second in line to be the Westbay Family head. They shared the Westbay eyes, though the younger boy's were less like an incoming stormfront, unburdened by concern.

"He's off to the University tomorrow. Orientation. I feel myself compelled to say something cliche about how quickly children grow up," Titus murmured.

Oliver wasn't sure if Titus had purposefully changed the topic to avoid answering his question. "I'm sure he'll make your Family proud." He wondered if Sebastien and the boy would ever interact. It would probably be best if they didn't.

The Gervin girl gave the younger Westbay a droll smile, seeming to humor his excitement. "Did he teach you the spell already?"

"Well, a variation that I'm able to cast." He held his hands up to his ears to mimic a dog, grinning at her.

"I hope you've considered the danger of casting it in such a loud room?"

"We can go outside and I'll try it there. You be the lookout, all right?"

"A stakeout mission, then? What is the goal?"

With amused disinterest, the other youths abandoned the duo to their planning, making their way deeper into the ballroom.

"Someone insulting someone else behind their back?" Damien suggested

"That's entirely too easy."

"Well, Ana, what do you suggest?"

"Something of actual value. An off-the-record business deal or alliance, perhaps?"

"It needs to be something interesting, Ana."

"That is interesting!"

He gave her a skeptical look. "What about some information on a crime? Or gossip about one of our professors?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then nodded. "The latter."

Titus shot Oliver an amused smile over the rim of his liquor glass. "I hardly remember what it was like to play such games," he said with a hint of wistfulness.

"We still play games," Oliver said. "It's merely that the rewards have little to do with our own simple amusement, and the stakes are much higher."

"Too true," Titus muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Oliver followed his gaze to see that the Westbay Family head, second of the Thirteen Crowns, and Titus and Damien's father, had intercepted the two children before they could leave for the gardens.

Tyron Westbay glowered down at them, and any trace of excitement had left Damien's face. The boy bowed stiffly. "Good evening, Father."

"Damien," the man responded coldly. "Attempting to shirk your social duties?"

The boy seemed to shrink into himself, though his posture was impeccable and his face still expressionless. "No, Father. Ana and I were going to take a stroll through the gardens. Her mother made quite the effort to decorate them."

Tyron was not appeased by that answer. "Clearly, you think I am a fool. I will not allow you to embarrass our Family, boy."

The Gervin heiress had her head bowed demurely, and Oliver couldn't see her face, but the set of her shoulders and the way her fingers twitched as if they wanted to fist in the fabric of her dress showed her feelings.

Beside Oliver, Titus had straightened, his fingers tightening around his glass. He didn't glare, but the weight of his gaze was such that Oliver almost expected Tyron to stumble back from the children.

Damien's voice was strained despite his attempt to sound calm. "I will not embarrass the Family, Father." He hesitated. "I have been accepted to the University. I passed the entrance examinations with distinction."

Tyron's expression didn't change. He looked at his son like one might look at a particularly unpleasant frog. "I am aware of your admission, and the distinction. Are you aware that Titus was the first place examinee in his year, and entered the University a year younger than you are now?"

Damien didn't respond.

"If I were you, I would rethink any pride you might feel at your conduct. I find myself unsure if you are simply lazy, or if your mother only had enough strength to create one acceptable child in her lifetime."

Titus sucked in a breath and started moving around to the stairwell to intervene between his father and brother.

A perfectly enunciated, clipped voice responded, bringing Titus to a sudden halt. "I assure you, Tyron, your younger son is quite acceptable." Thaddeus Lacer stepped in from the garden, dark cloak fluttering behind him. "Perhaps not as much a prodigy as the elder, but three hundred out of the three thousand who made it is by no means mediocre. I expect he will do well in my class. Perhaps, with dedication, he will even become a passable free-caster—which, if I remember, was a feat which your late wife also accomplished."

"Lacer." Tyron turned toward the famous University professor with an instinctive movement that spoke to keeping a predator within his field of vision. "That would be…a pleasant surprise." His tone indicated anything but.

"Indeed. Well, some people have a talent for the discipline, and others do not. Their minds are too rigid. Or too weak. You yourself never managed it, if I remember?"

Damien looked between his father and Lacer, his eyes wide.

Tyron ground his teeth, but bowed his head under the other man's force of presence. "I have not had the satisfaction," he admitted.

"Well, fear not," Lacer said with a cold, humorless smile. "Your sons may yet reach the heights you failed to, and through them you can gain vicarious success."

Oliver choked on a laugh at the audacity of Lacer's insult.

Titus approached the group with some caution, though Oliver noted he kept any frustration or amusement from his face. "Good evening, Father, Professor Lacer." He dipped his head in greeting to the two of them. "I'm pleased to see you could make it. Thoughtful of the Gervins to hold this gathering for the young men and women about to leave for the University, don't you think?"

Tyron was still bristling from Lacer's words, but he seemed to decide retaliating wasn't worth it and turned toward Titus instead. "Very thoughtful," he agreed, his words clipped.

"I hate to interrupt your conversation, Father, but I crossed paths with Lord Emberlin and thought you might be interested in connecting with him. If you would excuse us, Professor Lacer?"

The man nodded and waved an uncaring hand that made Tyron grit his teeth again. "Feel free. I suspect our conversation was already over."

Titus pretended not to notice the tension with what Oliver thought was impressive boldness, drawing his father into the crowd. Oliver wondered if Tyron would take out his ire on Titus when they were out of earshot, or if he reserved his venom for his younger son.

The Gervin girl glared at Tyron's back, any demureness gone from her posture.

Lacer dismissed the awkwardness, turning to Damien. "I will see you in my class on Monday, will I not?"

Looking up, his inner self seeming to unfurl to fill his body again, the boy grinned. "Of course."

The girl nodded as well. "I look forward to it."

"Good. Your mother would be proud." Lacer gave the young man's shoulder a squeeze, ignoring the glassy eyes and blinking this brought on.

"My father…what you said…you're not worried about him?" Damien asked.

"On the contrary. I may not be from a Crown Family, but that does not leave me without power or influence of my own. Besides, any inconvenience Tyron can cause me is temporary. Titus would feel no need for vengeance, and he is quickly becoming the true force of your Family. I don't suppose you will feel the need to revenge yourself on me over this little episode?"

Damien laughed thickly. "I would never be so stupid."

Lacer smirked. His eyes flicked up to Oliver, who took that as his cue to stop eavesdropping.

On the other side of the ballroom, Oliver fortuitously ran into Margaret Gervin, the wife of the Gervin Family head.

Ever the consummate socialite, she smiled brightly and smoothly tucked her hand into his arm, leading him back toward the trio he was trying to leave behind. "Oh Oliver, have you met my Anastasia? She's off to the University tomorrow," she said proudly.

"I have not had the pleasure," he replied. "Though, to be truthful, I was hoping to speak to you or your husband this evening. I don't wish to intrude on your last hours with your child, but perhaps we could set up a meeting sometime soon? There is a business opportunity I would like to discuss. I have a new shipment of Erythrean horses in, and I know Edward has some interest in riding. Perhaps he could join me for an afternoon and see if any suit his tastes." He found bribery distasteful, more because it spoke to an inherent failing of the system than because of any moral qualms, but if he could get a sub-contract in the textile industry from the Gervin Family, an exorbitantly expensive Erythrean horse would be more than worth it.

"Oh, an Erythrean? Edward mentioned you breed those. Yes, I'm sure he'd be interested in meeting, even if only for the chance to ride one. He's been so jealous of Moncrieffe since last year, you know. It's too bad Anastasia won't be available to join you. I have never quite understood it, but that girl does enjoy equestrianism. Refuses to even wear a skirt while riding, though I don't suppose that would bother you overmuch?" she asked, gazing at him slyly out of the corner of her eye. "You are a man with many avant-garde ideas, I mean."

"That is true," he agreed, wondering what she was getting at. Other nobles liked to gossip about the Gervin Family's particularly backward treatment of their women, but they weren't strong enough outliers for more "enlightened" people to do more than gossip about them behind closed doors. Oliver found it strange that, even with magic, the great equalizer, some people still found a way to believe in inherent inferiority. If anything, it was humans as a whole that were inherently inferior to all the other species.

"She has an interest in business as well, though I keep telling her it's not appropriate for a well-born woman to concern herself with work or money. It's our fault, I suppose. Edward does love to spoil her, and she is the firstborn, with no boys. I'm of the opinion that, once she's married, she might settle a bit and see the sense in turning her efforts toward something more appropriate, like a charity foundation. If her husband were agreeable to something like that."

Oliver cleared his throat to cover his shock at the boldness of the woman's proposal and give himself time to gather his thoughts. Was Margaret Gervin matchmaking? Between him and her own daughter, no less… "I find it quite natural for some women to be interested in more demanding pursuits. Not all people, man or woman, are suited to domesticity." It was as neutral an answer as he could give, with no direct indication of interest in her daughter.

He was surprised that they would consider him a viable match for a young girl from such a prestigious background, as a non-Crown Family member, and a foreigner to boot. He was wealthy, true, but marrying into the Gervin Family would be a huge boost to his social standing.

An inappropriately large boost, in the eyes of many.

Margaret was probably only sounding out his feelings on the matter. It seemed ludicrous that the Gervins would consider him a serious candidate.

That thought was reassuring. The other students entering the University were even younger than Siobhan, and no matter how advantageous it might be, the thought of tying himself to someone he didn't respect, for life, was enough to make his clothes feel too tight and his skin prickle.

"Many would try to crush her spirit," the woman said, her voice a little softer. A few seconds passed in silence as they arrived at the edge of the ballroom where he'd left Lacer and the two young people. It was empty. "Oh, I thought I saw them here earlier! Wherever have they slipped away to?" she complained.

Oliver caught the edge of a dark cloak fluttering in the dimly lit garden, but said nothing. "Well, I'm sure they'll turn up later. In the meantime, perhaps I could settle on a meeting time with Edward?"

As they headed back into the crowd, Oliver turned to look for Lacer again in the gardens, but saw no hint of him. He had understood, today, part of why the man was so famous, not just for his grasp on magic, but for the force of his personality. Tyron had been afraid of him.

Oliver wondered how many of the rumors about Thaddeus Lacer were based in truth.

Chapter 18 - Orientation

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 1, Sunday 2:00 p.m.

Sebastien stood in front of the mirror in Dryden's foyer, what belongings she owned in the new suitcases behind her, ready to move to the University. Students were required to stay on campus, but Dryden had offered to let her keep any things that might attach her to Siobhan, like her female clothes, in the room she'd been staying in at his house.

She fingered her hair where Katerin had bleached her other body's hair, inspecting a few blonde strands. It was blonde to the point of being almost grey, but she could detect no change from the rest. 'So things like bleaching hair in one form don't transfer to the other. I supposed as much from my prior observations, but still, this artifact casts the most complex spellwork I've ever seen.'

Despite her continued interest in the stolen book and the amulet, she'd learned no more about them, only growing her list of things she didn't understand. The amulet didn't seem to be continuously active while she kept Sebastien's form, at least so far as she could deduce. It didn't seem to be gathering any power from its surroundings, either, which had worrisome implications and sent her imagination running amok.

'It could be gathering ambient energy constantly, either so slowly I don't notice it, or in a form I don't have a way to measure. Perhaps it is somehow linked to a power-gathering Circle back wherever the University explorers discovered it, or a Circle that is hidden away somewhere.' Those were the good options. The bad options only made her more desperate to decipher the book.

'The amulet could have a finite amount of power, which it depletes every time I activate the transformation.' This was how most artifacts worked. If it was the case here, eventually she would run out of transformations, and either be stuck in her true form, a wanted criminal, or wear the form of a stranger forever. But she'd also never heard of an artifact that could be triggered on Will alone, so she was trying to be optimistic.

The last option for its power source was the most chilling.

'Perhaps the amulet is using me as a Sacrifice, every time it activates. I don't feel any different, but how would I know for sure?' She had heard stories of esoteric, ancient magics that used the very life force of a human as Sacrifice, able to power awe-inspiring effects. Being sucked dry like that could bring a young person close to the brink of an early, unnatural death as the thread of their fate was snipped short. 'I'll switch forms as little as possible till I figure out how the artifact works. Just in case.'

She would leave the stolen text embedded deeply in the mattress inside the room Dryden had left her. She hadn't even told him its location. 'I hope it will be safe there.' It made her uncomfortable to leave it, but if she took it to the University and someone discovered it, it would be one of the most idiotic ways a criminal had ever been caught.

Dryden walked down one of the twin staircases that led to the second floor, impeccably dressed as always. He smiled at her warmly, and she found her own lips twitching upward in unconscious response. He had that effect on people, drawing them in. "I've grown used to your company in the house," he said. "Perhaps you'll drop by from time to time? I dislike eating alone, and I hear the University cafeteria meals leave much to be desired."

Sebastien grimaced, thinking of her now much-depleted chest of gold. She'd given the University three hundred gold for the basic admission fee, and another fifty for each of her six classes. After the money she'd spent hiring Liza for the messenger spell and paying for books, clothing that would let her fit in among her classmates, and various necessary magical components, she had barely a quarter of the original one thousand gold left. When Katerin had insisted on lending her such an enormous amount, she'd assumed it was simply a way to raise the amount of interest she had to pay. Now, it was obvious Sebastien had miscalculated how expensive things would be.

"I probably cannot afford anything better," she agreed with a nod. "At least I look rich and well-bred." She tilted her head and body to watch herself at different angles in the mirror. 'Like this, I make quite the striking sight, if it's not too bold to say so about myself,' she thought, smirking slightly. On Sebastien's face, with a nose that was too long and angular and lips that curled up naturally at the edges, the expression looked natural, arrogant in a less aggressive way than it would have on her face as Siobhan. The flip-flopping of identities was still strange, and yet, somehow she had grown accustomed to it.

Dryden chuckled, leaning on the banister to watch her.

She ignored him, inspecting herself critically. The gold coins she'd sewn into the lining of her suit jacket, inserted in new hidden pockets in her vest, and jammed into the double-layered collar of her boots weren't noticeable. She'd done the same to all her sturdier clothes. She was trying to be more prepared for the unexpected, but she'd also always thought secret pockets, compartments, and the like were fascinating. As always, her numerous other pockets were filled with a carefully organized set of spell components and her Conduit. 'Even if I have to escape Gilbratha suddenly, with only the clothes on my back, I won't be totally helpless.'

She didn't require any help with her luggage, but Dryden sent his male servant to carry it for her anyway. "For appearance's sake. Second first impressions, and all that. You have the ward bracelets?"

Sebastien showed him the two thin wooden bands on her wrist, bound together by a small bead of pewter. In an attempt to be more pessimistic and thus more prepared for things that might otherwise make her think back and say, "if only," she had created a few more warded objects—very simple artifacts—based on what she had learned from the larger project. Now she, Dryden, and Katerin could warn each other of danger. To trigger the alarm, they would simply need to break their own bracelet by pulling it apart at the weak pewter bead, which would make the one it was linked to grow startlingly and uncomfortably cold.

Katerin and Oliver shared a more powerful linked artifact that allowed them to send actual messages as long as they didn't travel too far from each other. Items like that were not uncommon, but their expense was prohibitive, and they carried a greater danger of being used against you. They could be used to track the object that they were linked to, and weren't as easy to destroy as the disposable bracelets, which were no longer linked as soon as their magic was triggered.

If Oliver or Katerin triggered Sebastien's bracelet, she would immediately escape the University, and hopefully avoid capture. "I'll drop by next weekend, if I have time. I promised Katerin I would do some alchemy for the Stag, and I don't know if it'll be safe to do so at the University."

"I look forward to it." He smiled as he watched her go. "Good luck. I know you'll do wonderfully!" he called after her.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him as his loud shout drew attention from passersby, but couldn't help the smile of excitement on her face. She lifted her hand above her head and waved at him without looking back.

The bridge over the river closest to the University was packed with traffic. By the time she and the servant made the long winding walk up the white cliffs and stood before the gates at the top, it was late afternoon. She'd arrived early to avoid the anxiety she had felt that day standing in the application line, but still felt overwhelmed by the crowd.

There were thousands of people milling around. Most were a few years on either side of twenty, close to her own age, and human. But not all.

Some of the new students—recognizable from their wooden tokens—were older, one even an old, stooped man. Many of the students had foreign features—evidence that the Thaumaturgic University of Lenore was indeed the best arcanum in the world. People traveled from far and wide to study there.

There were non-humans, too, some more obvious than others, and some that might have been mixed-species. Scales melting into skin, strangely colored or shaped eyes, extra or inhuman appendages. Witches were accompanied by their familiars, and there were a couple of vague-eyed people who might have been shamans or animists.

The occasional paper bird gliding through the air above the crowd caught her attention—enchanted messages, spelled to take flight and deliver themselves to set destinations or recipients.

She grinned. 'With some time to prepare, you could bombard an enemy with a flock of paper birds spelled to deliver themselves to them. If their flight is strong enough to carry even a few grams, they could be quite dangerous.'

She found her name on the very, very long list of new students, a few thousand names from the top, because it was organized by placement on the entrance exam rather than alphabetically. It told her the name of the student liaisons in charge of her group's orientation and where to gather. She walked to the indicated spot.

A blonde young woman with short hair and a broad face, her features somewhat unfeminine but still striking, waited in the middle of a group of Sebastien's fellow new students. At first, it seemed she was taller than the rest of the crowd by a good two feet, and Sebastian wondered if she might actually be half jentil, or some other giant variant, but a few bodies shifted to reveal the woman was standing atop some kind of barrier spell, which shimmered a dull yellow in pulses like a heartbeat. She had an air of easy confidence that, together with her looks, made her seem approachable.

As soon as the bell finished ringing to mark four o'clock, the student liaison called out, "New students! Please listen for your name to be called! If your name is confirmed on my list, I am your orientation guide and your student liaison. If not, please check the rankings list again or talk to one of the administrators."

When she had finished the roll-call, she said, "My name is Tanya Canelo. If you do not make my life difficult, you can call me Tanya. This," she gestured to a young man who Sebastien couldn't quite see past the crowd, "is my counterpart, Newton Moore."

He waved. "Hello, everyone! You can call me Newt!"

Tanya continued. "We are both University aids in our fourth term. That is the latter half of our second year, for those of you unfamiliar with University workings. As your student liaisons, you can come to us with problems, questions, or to ask for help. I don't tutor people personally, but I can help you request study aids and can interact more directly with the faculty. We also have the power to assign certain punishments." She met their gazes with one eyebrow raised threateningly.

"I do offer tutoring," Newton called, a little awkwardly. "Though my time is limited. I've a sign-up sheet that will be posted in your dorm."

Tanya nodded. "When you are in your fourth term—if you make it that far—you'll have the chance to apply for various University aid positions. They pay, both in gold and in University contribution points. Follow me." She hopped down from her barrier, the spell dissolving as soon as she did.

Sebastien pushed through the crowd to get a look at the spell array scratched into the dirt, but other people's feet scuffed it out before she could.

Tanya and Newton led their group east, past the looming, predominant building of the University, the Citadel, to a large rectangular building with four different sets of double doors set at intervals along its side, rising multiple stories high. "This is the student housing building. For you, the dorms." She intoned the last word ominously, which stoked some muttering from the other students.

Halfway down the ground floor hallway, Tanya opened another set of double doors onto a long, proportionately narrow room. A row of small beds was settled against either wall. Brick walls that only came to about five feet high divided the beds from each other, and the room into cubicles, with curtains around the inside of each. Two windows on the far side let in the only natural light, but there were light crystal fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

'No privacy, no sound or light-proofing, and no door. At least it's not bunk-beds.'

Tanya stepped aside and waved her arm grandly. "You will all share this dorm room. Beds are first-come, first-served. Girls on the left, boys on the right."

There was a brief pause as they all digested what she meant, and then they rushed into the room.

Sebastien led the pack. She didn't hesitate, moving directly for the last bed in the row, next to the two windows. 'The boys' side. I'm not a woman, here,' she reminded herself. It grew noticeably chillier the farther from the door she went, but that didn't bother her. She knew how to store warmth in a fire-heated rock, and more than anything, she preferred not to be sandwiched between two other beds. The spots nearest the door seemed highly coveted, judging by the scuffle that had immediately broken out between a handful of boys, so the far side was the only other option.

Unconcerned, Tanya strolled along the aisle between the two rows of beds, watching the hierarchic struggle play out between both groups of students. "Curfew is at midnight. While you're not required to sleep at that point, you cannot disturb the rest of your dorm-mates. I would suggest learning some sound-muffling spells, for your own sake as well as others'. If you're found out after curfew, you'll be punished. As student liaisons, we can assign punishments such as demerits and detentions, and act as witnesses for more severe rule breaking. Troublemakers can and will be expelled."

Newton, Sebastien saw now that the crowd had spread out, seemed to have grown upward before the rest of his body could catch up. He had the awareness of his gangly elbows and knees that spoke to a bit of clumsiness, and his clothes, though nice, were faded or worn in spots. In contrast to Tanya, he smiled encouragingly at the students rapidly filling up the dormitory.

To Sebastien's surprise, the boy she had argued with at the admissions queue, the one with the tired bags under striking grey eyes, took a spot just two beds away from her. He was followed by most of his rich cronies.

His pretty female friend, again wearing a suit with trousers instead of a skirt or dress, took the bed directly across the aisle from Sebastien.

As Siobhan, Sebastien had worn a man's suit more often than not, because it was convenient and comfortable. But among the University students and their wealth, such clothing on a woman was rare enough to stand out.

The other girl moved with instinctive grace, from the movement of her limbs to the tilt of her head to the placement of her fingers.

Sebastien had never been one of those girls who focused on beauty. Magic was both more interesting and more useful. She had to admit, though, that the girl's ridiculously smooth skin, big limpid eyes, and shining honey-colored hair drew the eye. She wasn't the only one who found herself staring a little longer than she meant to, but she was the first to realize what she was doing and mind her own business.

The spoiled rich boy met her gaze and gave her a long look, his expression inscrutable.

Conscious of the need to keep a low profile, she didn't stare him down in return, instead turning to make sure all her things fit within the chest at the foot of her bed. It wasn't that hard. She only had a few sets of clothes for Sebastien, and the rest was just various magical components, books, and her grimoire. She would have to ward it against intrusion and tampering later.

When they had finally settled, some looking more dissatisfied than others, Tanya spoke again. "Before any of you think to complain to us about your living situation, let me explain how this works. No amount of money or favors done outside the University itself will get you out of these beds. Only contribution points are worth anything here. As you are below fourth term, your options for earning said points are limited. You might get a handful from your professors, but unless you're an ass-nuzzling genius, that won't be much. If you decide you're competent enough, you can compete in the end of term exhibitions. These take place in front of the whole University, and people from all over Gilbratha and beyond come to watch."

"Sometimes even the High Crown comes to watch the upper-term students," Newton interjected.

"If you manage to perform impressively, you'll gain contribution points, and next term, you and three others who performed similarly might be able to purchase a smaller dorm room. One with just four beds and an attached bathroom." Tanya looked at the girls' side of the room as she said this.

"Perform exceptionally well, and you could find yourself with just one roommate, or even a room all to yourself on one of the upper floors. Alternatively, you can use contribution points for other things, like one of the improved meal plans, or any of the prizes on display in the Great Hall, which I encourage you to peruse when you have time. When you've completed three terms of study and gained your Apprentice certification, they consider you competent enough to benefit the University in other ways. These options expand as your level of training increases, and the compensation increases accordingly. Work hard enough, and you might even walk away from the Great Hall with a wand created and charged with spells by Archmage Zard himself. He donates one or two prizes every semester."

At that, the dissatisfaction on most faces melted away, taken over by excitement and avarice.

Tanya stopped at the end of the aisle and looked out one of the windows for a moment. Then she turned to Sebastien. "Siverling, was it?" Her voice had lowered from its "announcement" volume, but not nearly enough for a one-on-one conversation.

Sebastien straightened, her heart pounding as she attempted to show no more than mild surprise. "Yes, Apprentice Canelo," she said, wondering why the woman was singling her out.

"I haven't heard of your family before," she said, watching Sebastien with her arms crossed. She didn't seem exactly hostile, but something about her gaze made Sebastien wary.

"The Siverlings were based in Vale prior to my move to Gilbratha," Sebastien said. She'd visited that city when traveling with Ennis. It was far enough away that most people who lived in Gilbratha would have never been there, and large enough that no one from Vale would be surprised not to recognize her if they met.

"Hmm. I heard a little of what happened during the examination."

Sebastien's heart sank. "That was my own foolishness," she said, her voice low.

"Really?" Tanya raised her eyebrows. "Does your family have a connection to Professor Lacer? Perhaps from the border skirmishes? I heard he made an exception for you, and that's unheard of."

Sebastien shook her head. Her neck and cheeks felt hot, and she wondered if she was blushing noticeably. "The Siverlings have no connection to Professor Lacer," she said, trying to keep from going into any details that could later be used against her. She had already known she behaved stupidly, but she clearly hadn't considered all the ramifications. 'Gossip travels quickly.' She tried to keep her expression calm. "I can't speak for him. Perhaps he saw what the other professors didn't, or perhaps he acted merely out of the kindness of his heart," she said, adding silently, 'Because he saw I was going to be banned forever.'

A couple of meters away, the grey-eyed boy snorted incredulously. "I don't believe that's the case." He tilted his head in challenge.

Sebastien blinked at him a couple of times. 'This boy is being antagonistic for no reason now.' Half the room was eavesdropping unabashedly, and curious whispers had started up between some students. She resisted the urge to glare at him and tell him to mind his own business, as she doubted that would help her avoid more attention.

Tanya clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in closer, a small, conspiratorial smile on her face. "Hmm. Are you just that good, then? I'll have to find out your secret, Mr. Siverling."

Internally, Sebastien groaned and dropped her head into her hands. 'I need to redirect this conversation somehow.' Outwardly, she shrugged. "I really have no secrets to tell. I'm more interested in learning the secret of that spell you used to raise yourself above the crowd earlier," she said.

Tanya waved her hand dismissively, but the small smile remained on her face, maybe even growing a little. "You'll learn a variation in your second term." She turned back to the rest of the dorm, raising her voice fully again. "That is, if you manage to last that long. The University is competitive, you know that. Some of you may not be aware that, for every term before your Apprentice certification—in addition to those of you who fail naturally—the lowest one out of every ten people will not continue on to the next term, regardless of passing grades or test scores."

There were some murmurs of uncertainty. "In addition to those who fail?" someone echoed.

"If you were admitted, you were judged adequate. You beat out approximately seventy percent of this year's applicants. To continue, you must not be merely adequate, you must be better than your fellow sorcerers. If you fall into this sub-par category, but have not failed your classes, you must either leave the University or re-take that term's core classes. Due to the competitive nature of your fellow students, you may find people wish to push you down in order to climb higher by walking on your back. Pranks and petty theft are common. However, any truly harmful pranks or attacks on your person will be met with punishment. The University supports adversity. It does not allow damage to the future generations of leaders who are trained here."

Tanya's words made Sebastien's stomach clench. She had continued to study after the examination, but with the alarm ward project for Dryden, she hadn't even had the time to get completely through her reference texts a second time. 'It shouldn't be so dismaying. Just as I couldn't learn enough in the initial two weeks, two more weeks isn't enough to fix that deficiency. It'll likely take me all term to reach an acceptable standard, and perhaps even longer than that. I hope it's enough.' She'd noticed that Tanya said the University would not allow harm to the future leaders. Perhaps the wording wasn't meant to insinuate anything, but she wondered if it would cause as much backlash if the person who came to harm was a poor, unconnected civilian who just happened to score higher than the Crown Family children.

"After the first three terms, there's no limit on who can pass, but the classes will get harder, and the spells more demanding. Not everyone can keep up with the necessary growth of their Will. Don't expect to graduate without reaching at least two hundred fifty thaums instant capacity."

"If you have doubts," Newton said, "I encourage you to take one of the remedial classes in the evening. They're free."

Tanya nodded. "Remedial classes have someone available to supervise your casting and handle emergencies, just like the practice rooms. It's safer than practicing on your own and risking Will-strain or death." The room grew very silent. Tanya cast her gaze over the first-term students. "To be clear, some of you are going to die. Statistically, one in fifteen will misstep or catastrophically lose control before reaching Master level." She let the silence hang for a moment after those ominous words.

"We're here to help. Maybe for some of you, we can change those numbers," Newton said. "If you're feeling stressed or worn-down, there are resources available to all students. Please don't take chances with your life or sanity."

"Yes. The University has a lot of protections in place and resources for those who feel they or those around them might be in danger. All the structures are spelled to withstand damage. There are wards drawn into the floor around every desk in the classrooms to contain misfires. There are dozens of practice classrooms where you can do your practical work under supervision of an upper-term student. The professors are trained in crisis management. The University has some of the best healers in the world, as well as a wing in the infirmary dedicated to spell damage. There is a section of every building reinforced and set aside to use as an emergency shelter in case of dangerous rogue magical beings or effects. Those locations are in your on-boarding materials. Make sure you have them memorized."

Tanya sighed, looking suddenly tired. "The mortality rate is this high despite these efforts. If you are found to be endangering the life of another student through reckless use of magic, get ready to be expelled." She glared around at them, letting the threat hang in the air.

Tanya turned back to the double doors, motioning for the group to follow her. "Ward your area and belongings, if you know how. Nothing permanent, however. You'll likely be moving dorms by next year, even if you're not one of those who manages to earn the points for a better boarding arrangement."

They exited the north doors of the student housing building, and Tanya pointed out the High Tower to the east, which sat at the edge of the cliffs, looking over the sea. The whole thing belonged to the Archmage, and according to Tanya, held both his living area and heavily warded rooms where he practiced the most powerful magic in the country. "See those chunks cut out of the top level? Those aren't just windows. Someone tries to attack by sea, and Archmage Zard uses the heavy artillery to turn them into kraken food," she said. "The smaller buildings next to it are mostly professors' homes."

They went west from there, passing the servants' quarters, which were in a rectangular building much like their own dorm, and arrived at the cafeteria. "Your schedules should have a free period in the middle of the day to allow you to take meals, but it's not required you do so at those times," Tanya said before leading them through the process of ordering food with their student tokens.

Sebastien was pleasantly surprised by the quality, until Newton explained that normally, any luxurious or expensive foods could only be purchased with contribution points, and this meal was merely a one-time bonus. Their tokens got them into the cafeteria, but students without points could only order more basic items, and had a limit on how many dishes they could add to their plate each meal.

After they finished eating, the student liaisons led them outside again. They pointed out the Flats to the north, where the white cliffs rose higher and lost their covering of dirt, creating a few flat buttes and many wide open spaces.

Another tower rose out of the midst of the trees as they moved further west. This was Eagle Tower, and restricted to professors and high-level student aides, who used it for research and experimentation.

Beyond that was what Tanya ominously called "the Menagerie," warning them not to act like idiots with plants and animals they didn't understand. "Every term, at least one person is sent to the medical wing because they were too stupid to realize you don't touch possibly dangerous things you don't understand. You do not sniff them. You do not taste them. And you definitely do not decide to be friends with them because they're just so darn cute."

Finally, they swung around to the library, where Newton explained how to navigate the building, reserve private study rooms, and more or less find books on specific topics. There were crystal balls set on podiums around the central atrium, and these operated as index and search artifacts. They were engraved with a sophisticated silver spell array that could retrieve information from a complicated organizational catalogue. Newton demonstrated their use by writing some keywords on a small card of paper and feeding it into the brazier attached to one. He stared into the crystal, then led them to a far corner of the library and pulled out an old book on the care and feeding of under-bed dust bunnies.

Sebastien couldn't wait to try it for herself.

The large majority of the library was off-limits to students under Apprentice level—those who'd completed at least three terms. Restricted books were held in archives below ground level, along with a huge emergency shelter that Newton was quick to remind them of. Books that were deemed possibly dangerous to inexperienced casters, but not illegal, resided on the higher floors. After three terms and an Apprentice certification, you could access the second floor as well as the ground floor. A Journeyman, at five terms, could access all the above-ground levels. Getting access to the archives in the basement required Master certification or special dispensation, and sometimes both. They could also use contribution points to access certain restricted areas early.

The ground floor of the library held enough books that Sebastien could have spent years among their pages. Still, she couldn't help but look up through the atrium with envy, chafing at the thought that all that knowledge would be out of her reach for at least three terms.

Finally, Tanya and Newton returned them to their dorms, did another head count to make sure they had lost no students along the way, and left for their own, much more private rooms.

Sebastien placed a basic perimeter alarm ward around her bed with a hard wax crayon. She didn't want anyone sneaking up on her in her sleep. A simple spell she'd learned from one of the books Katerin bought her locked the trunk at the base of her bed.

Some of the other students prepared similarly, while others either watched apprehensively or shrugged off the danger as exaggerated.

'It'll have to do for now, until I can learn stronger protections.'

Finally, she cast the dreamless sleep spell on her pillow, set another newly learned alarm spell on her pocket watch to wake her in the morning, and shoved some wax in her ears to drown out the sounds of the other students. 'It's too bad I cannot draw attention to myself in these exhibitions. I would really like to buy my way into a more private room.' She struggled to fall asleep, the drawn curtains not enough to make her feel safe in a room with a hundred and fifty strangers.

Chapter 19 - Introduction to Modern Magics

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 4:00 a.m.

When Sebastien woke on Monday morning, with only the light of the stars filtering in through the window to see by, she didn't know where she was for a moment. She lay still, her Conduit in her hand without having knowingly grabbed it, and waited for the danger to reveal itself. As her brain cleared of dream residue, it caught up with recent events, and she realized she was in a dorm room with over one hundred other students. If something external had woken her, it was likely just a snore.

She grabbed the pocket watch sitting on her bedside table and held it up to the window to read the time in the faint light. Setting the watch back down with a sigh, she got up. With a fresh set of clothes, one of the luxurious towels she had brought from Dryden Manor, and the pouch that held her hygiene materials, she tiptoed off to the bathrooms assigned to their dorm. The bathroom, like the dorm, was all one big room, but at least the thin walls enclosing the showers and self-cleaning chamber pots provided some privacy.

The water was hot, and the feel of it beating down on her shoulders as she washed helped to put her at ease. When she returned to her bed, she felt calm enough to secure at least a few more hours of rest. She knew that she would need it.

When she woke again to the vibration of her spelled pocket watch, she felt ridiculously refreshed. 'Well, that is almost twice as much sleep as I normally get. I suppose I've forgotten what it feels like to be rested. Perhaps the library will contain a stronger version of the dreamless sleep spell. It would be wonderful to feel like this every day.' She dressed in one of her much-too-expensive suits and carefully filled its pockets with her standard gear, then recast the locking spell on her trunk before leaving for the cafeteria.

The comments about the University food had not been in jest. It was…lacking, both in taste and in volume. 'It's funny how quickly you can adapt to hedonism,' she thought, spooning tasteless oat slop into her mouth. A mouth-watering omelet with cheese and fresh vegetables and a stack of waffles with nuts and drizzled syrup had called tantalizingly to her stomach…but they were only for students with contribution points. The worst thing, though, was that coffee required points, which shouldn't have been a surprise, considering its cost. 'Just a couple of months ago, on the road, I was conditioned to campfire food with only the occasional seasoning, and wouldn't have found this meal lacking. Staying at Dryden Manor has spoiled me. Perhaps I can buy some spices in the city and add them to the meals myself.'

Her first class was Introduction to Modern Magics, in one of the slightly wedge-shaped classrooms on the ground floor of the Citadel. The surface of the students' desks were made of dark slate, like the blackboard at the front of the room, and had a main Circle and a few attached component Circles carved into the surface already, ready to be filled with a written Word array. Sebastien assumed this was for both safety and convenience. 'It's impossible to carelessly smudge a carved line.'

The teacher was an older woman, but despite her grey hair, her cheeks were rosy, her lips plump, and her eyes bright. All signs of rejuvenating cosmetic magics, or perhaps glamours. "Welcome, students!" she said, her tone both kind and enthusiastic, like some perfect mother from a child's tale. "I am Jan Burberry, Professor of Modern Magics and Master Sorcerer. You can call me Professor Burberry."

"This is Introduction to Modern Magics. The class is an amalgam of many of your other classes, taking bits from all of them, and encouraging you to put those pieces together as we learn to both understand and cast spells. It is not called simply 'Introduction to Magic' because we will be focusing on the contemporary understanding and innovations to our process that have allowed us to make such great strides as a nation. I am talking about sorcery." She looked around at all the students, who were listening raptly with an energy that would no doubt wane later in the term as the novelty wore off and fatigue set in.

"Sorcery is, in fact, inherently no different from other forms of magic. We have simply given a new name to a new, more ordered method of thinking about magic, and about the world. Modern magic is quantified and defined—as best we can, anyway. We understand the purpose of the Word, and with transparent methods of notation, a spell can be learned by someone halfway across the country, with no need for a teacher to walk the neophyte through each step. Natural science allows us to understand the world and use its established rules to affect change. A broader comprehension of sympathetic science allows us to devise a way to attain almost any imaginable spell output." She said the words with the gravitas they deserved, a kind of gleeful avarice in her eyes, and suddenly Sebastien saw how a woman such as Professor Burberry had become a Master of sorcery, a shiver of excitement aroused in her own chest.

The professor stopped and looked at a young man in the middle of the classroom. "Do you know the commonly used analogous terms for the effects of natural science and sympathetic science?"

The young man stiffened in surprise and swallowed heavily. "Err, transmutation and transmogrification?"

Professor Burberry nodded. "Correct. As you should know, transmutation is the magical art of transforming something from one form into another, natural form, configuration, or element of itself. A common example is transforming water into ice, or mud into stone. Transmutation takes one thing and turns it into another directly. Transmogrification takes the intangible qualities of something and uses them to transform something else or cause some effect. A common example of this is using a feather, preferably a white feather, in a spell to reduce weight. Even if you see the connection between a feather, flight, and the idea of weightlessness, why does the color of the feather matter? You will dig deeper into this in your class on sympathetic science.

"All magic consists of the same basic elements. Components, if you will." She paused, and scattered members of the class tittered at the little joke. "It is often said that magic has three necessary elements. This is wrong. It is similar to the misconception that we live in three dimensions. Can anyone explain what I mean by this?"

The classroom was silent. Sebastien frowned, trying to figure out what the woman was getting at. 'Will, Word, and Sacrifice are the elements of magic. What three dimensions do we supposedly live in? Does she mean length, width, and height, like a three-dimensional box?'

The woman's next words confirmed this suspicion. "There are three spatial dimensions, but the fourth dimension is time, which allows us to experience the other three. Time is not different from space, it is simply that we live inside it, and so we cannot see it. Or at least, that is the latest theory of Archmage Bolton from Silva Erde." She drew some depictions on the board of how the world would be perceived in one, two, three, and four dimensions.

Sebastien drank in the explanation with excitement, her mind swirling as her paradigm of the world shifted. She had never thought of time in that manner before. 'If that's true, then doesn't it mean time can be bent or changed, like the other three?' She imagined a pocket of invisible time tucked away from the rest of the world, like the amulet she wore under her shirt had been tucked away inside a space-bending spell in the leather of the stolen book. Perhaps one day, she could create such a thing.

Professor Burberry turned from the drawing on the blackboard. "Does anyone know the fourth dimension of magic, now?"

Slightly behind Sebastien and to her right, a familiar voice called out, "You are speaking of the Conduit, Professor."

She turned to see the rude, grey-eyed boy, a small smirk playing about his mouth.

The professor tipped her head to him in acknowledgment. "That is correct, Mr. Westbay. The Conduit is the fourth element, which allows the expression of the initial three. All students should have one, and you will need one for this class. Conduits for sorcerers are a mineral called celerium. Celerium, in its purest and most conductive form, is a clear crystal. In addition to being the only suitable Conduit for a sorcerer, it is useful in a number of artifacts and other delicate and powerful spells, and with the limited amount that can be mined each year, it is understandably a valuable resource." She stopped, her eyes on Sebastien. "Do you disagree, young man?"

Sebastien belatedly realized that she had been frowning, her head tilted to the side quizzically. She may have even given a small shake of her head, before Professor Burberry reminded her that she was visible to the other people in the classroom, and, beyond that, that the person teaching her was not her grandfather, the man that relished dissension as a sign of actual thought from his pupil. 'I must stop forgetting that.' Aloud, she said, "Oh, no, Professor. I apologize."

Burberry gave her a raised eyebrow and a challenging quirk of her plump lips. "No need to back down now, young man. Are you a witch, perhaps? You have your own familiar and feel it is just as good as a celerium Conduit?" Her words were—ever so slightly—mocking. "Tell us what is on your mind. Do not be shy."

Sebastien could feel herself straightening in response, but resisted the urge to stand. "I just thought that it seemed you were leaving out other possible Conduits besides celerium. I have a celerium Conduit myself, and I agree that they are superior for sorcerers, but as I understand it, one can use anything at all as a Conduit. It's just that most things don't work very well for the purpose, or have other downsides or requirements, like using your own body as a Conduit, or needing to make a contract with a being from another plane."

Burberry had lost her faint smile and was now staring at Sebastien grimly. She let the silence drag on for too long, until it became uncomfortable. "I see I should have allowed you to remain silent." Finally, she turned to the rest of the class. "Using your own body as a Conduit is not just 'bad.' I do not consider it a viable option at all. I would sooner try to use the very air within my lungs to channel magic than such a ridiculously dangerous and suicidal method. Strike the possibility, the very idea, from your minds. Never consider it, even in the direst of circumstances. If you have no Conduit available to you, it would be better to die than to cast with your own flesh and blood." Again, she let the silence drag on, meeting their eyes with a hard gaze.

'Knowledge is always better than ignorance. How could it be better to have no idea about the possibility than to understand and be wary of the dangers? Burberry doesn't believe this, it seems. If today is any indication, she will teach us what she thinks is good for us to know, not everything there is. But who is she to decide what we should know? Who is she to limit me at all?' Sebastien found her heart pumping faster with indignation and tried to relax. 'She and I are philosophically incompatible. Still,' she consoled herself, 'she is a Master of sorcery. There is much for me to learn from her.' Sebastien had lost some of her enjoyment in Burberry's lecture, but she continued to pay attention.

"It is my duty to impress upon you, as I attempt with all my students, the danger of this path you have chosen to walk. Perhaps you have heard the statistics." Her voice was strained as she continued. "I have seen too many young lives snuffed out in the most gruesome of manners. Let us talk about the main ways we, as thaumaturges, put ourselves in danger. We will have this discussion once. If I see anyone carelessly putting themselves or others at risk, be assured I will punish you to the fullest extent of my authority."

She glared out at them until she was sure everyone was paying complete attention, then moved to write on the chalkboard. "Energy imbalance. Circle placement and disturbance. Will-strain. Conduit failure. Blood magic and corrupted Will."

She tapped her chalk on the first item on the list. "Objects have an energy coefficient that is based partially, but not completely, on their density. This affects both necessary input and output of a spell, as well as the strength of Will required to cast it. Let me give you some examples. If you are attempting a simple shape-change transmutation, say molding a twig into the shape of a block, with a one-gram twig and an output of a two-gram block, the extra mass has to come from somewhere. Somewhere you didn't plan on, which means you don't have the proper Word setup for it. The magic will become unstable, and if your Will is strong enough, the remaining wood might be carved out of somewhere else within the bounds of the Circle, and avoid the whole spell failing outright. What if your input and output volumes match, but you are molding a metal rod instead of a twig?" She turned expectantly toward her students.

"It takes more energy," someone supplied.

"Exactly. You will require a sufficient energy source to mold a material with a higher energy coefficient, as well as a stronger Will. What if you have not supplied enough energy?"

"It must come from somewhere," Sebastien muttered.

Burberry pointed at her. "Yes. But where?"

"From somewhere inside your Circle, hopefully. If your Will is strong enough, as you mentioned, you might be able to turn the spell to eating at the warmth of whatever matter lies within the spherical boundaries. Then, at the matter itself. Dirt, air, whatever there is. Will is a glue that can fill in the gaps, but there has to be something there to work with. You'd be risking the magic escaping your control and causing either physical or mental backlash."

"Let us ponder the situation in the other direction. You have a small flask of water. You attempt to put all the energy from a bonfire into it. What happens?" she asked, still staring at Sebastien.

"If the flask is sealed, it explodes. I suppose the nature of the damage would depend on how quickly you were transferring the energy. If your Will has a high enough capacity to push the contents of the flask from water to gas instantly, it could be very dangerous."

The woman nodded, humming thoughtfully. "Alright. Let's talk about the Circle itself, then. Let us say you are casting a spell on a piece of leather. Creating a purse that wards against thieves, perhaps. You stick your hand into the Circle. What happens?"

Sebastien's stomach twisted. That was not a random question. 'Professor Burberry must have heard about my idiocy during the verbal entrance exam.' She hesitated before answering. "Any number of things could go wrong. Perhaps the spell doesn't distinguish between leather and living skin, and your hand is flayed and made into a purse."

Burberry's tone was cold. "And perhaps you lose control of the spell when that happens. Perhaps everything within the Circle explodes, and you die. Perhaps the loose magic rips your mind apart and you are left a mumbling idiot screaming at invisible terrors and wetting the bed for the rest of your life."

Sebastien swallowed. "Yes," she said, her voice little more than a shamed whisper, though her chin did not bow and her shoulders did not hunch.

Burberry turned to face the rest of the class again. "You can also cause damage by disturbing the boundary of the Circle. If it is drawn in chalk or scratched in the dirt, and something breaks the enclosure of the Circle, your control over the Sacrifice and the magic moving through the spell will be severely compromised. You will be lucky to escape with just Will-strain, if you are able to release the magic 'safely' and end the spell-casting prematurely. I recommend only casting spells with fully carved or engraved Circles, such as the ones the University provides." She motioned to their slate desks.

"Who can tell me the causes, signs, and side effects of Will-strain?"

The grey-eyed boy to Sebastien's right raised his hand immediately, and the professor nodded to him. "Your Will can be strained from losing control of a spell's magic, or simply from channeling too much at once, or for too long," he said, reciting the answer with the cadence of something memorized. "It starts with headaches, dizziness, and inability to concentrate. At this point, a few days of rest from spellcasting or mental strain will heal you. With more moderate strain, judgment is impaired. Sometimes thaumaturges display difficulty modulating emotions, with rapid swings from one to the other. At this point, one to two weeks of rest is recommended, along with a visit to a healer to ensure there is no lasting damage. Then hallucinations, with the more severe ones resulting in paranoia and even accidental harm to oneself or others. The strain is very serious at this point. You should ignore the hallucinations. Avoid focusing on them and forcefully relax yourself, even if that requires sedatives. There is still a possibility of recovery at this point. Beyond it, the Will-strain damage is irreversible, and results in complete insanity and at times, the loss of higher brain functions."

"A good answer," Burberry said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sebastien could see the boy trying to shoot her a superior look. She didn't turn toward or acknowledge him in any way.

He humphed and deflated a bit.

'Childish.'

"Let me impress upon you all that even mild Will-strain is nothing to shrug off," Burberry continued. "You will be excused from in-class exercises and casting homework if you bring a note confirming Will-strain from our infirmary, and the medics there are well-versed in treating it."

She turned back to the next item on the board. "Now, Conduit failure. This danger can come as a sudden surprise to a thaumaturge, and, indeed, there is little warning. Most commonly, a Conduit fails because it is not rated for the volume of energy being channeled through it. This can happen as a sorcerer outgrows their crystal. This is also why we attempt to quantify the energy needed for modern spells, and note it. If your Conduit is not rated, get it tested, and do not cast spells above its limit. We will be testing your Will's capacity on the Henrik-Thompson scale today. Your Conduit should always be more powerful than you are. If it is not, replace it immediately. For non-sorcerers, such as witches, who channel their magic through a contracted being, failure due to simple lack of channeling capacity is much rarer. Deliberate sabotage by an improperly bound being is more common, but beyond the purview of this class."

She turned back to the board, tapping her chalk on the last item on the list. "Finally—and I hope none of you ever have to deal with this particular risk factor—extreme mishaps are common with those who cast blood magics and other depraved spells. You can corrupt your Will, which has consequences greater than any Will-strain or spell gone wrong." Burberry paused and looked at the ground for a few long seconds, her rosy cheeks pale. "Those who cast magic with a corrupted Will have a chance to become an Aberrant. A grotesque, mindless monster bent on evil." She didn't elaborate further.

The class broke into murmurs. 'Aberrants are like a scary story used to frighten children, to them,' Sebastien mused. 'They hear about them, but one has never touched their lives.'

"Some Aberrants still have enough of their higher brain function to cast magic." Burberry looked to Sebastien. "They channel it through their own bodies. Which, incidentally, is another way to corrupt your Will, even with the most innocent of spells."

Sebastien looked back at her, trying to show that she understood the woman's point, though she still didn't feel a simple mention of what was possible deserved such an overreaction. Also, that was a huge oversimplification of what Aberrants were, or could do.

The lecture turned to the other topics they would cover that term, and ended halfway through the ninety-minute period to allow time for the testing of their Wills.

Burberry brought out a crystal ball embedded in the surface of a complicated spell array etched in copper. This was the Henrik-Thompson measurement artifact, named after its creators. She dimmed the light crystals illuminating the room and lit a small brazier burning some kind of oil.

The students were to channel light through the crystal ball using the flame in the brazier as an energy source. Sebastien had tested herself in one of the larger cities she and Ennis had traveled through over a year prior. The Henrik-Thompson scale only measured the amount of energy someone could channel, not any of the other facets of Will power, but it was the most widely used metric, probably because it was easiest to test, and often showed correlation to the overall caliber of a thaumaturge's Will. The brighter the light, the more power they were channeling per second.

Burberry placed a Conduit on the copper plate. "Everyone will cast with this today. It is rated to Master level, so have no fear of exceeding its capacity. Remember, if you test above your Conduit's thaum rating, replace it as soon as possible." She paused, then said firmly, "There will be no disturbances or distractions while another student is casting."

Some students struggled to conduct even the barest flicker of light, even in the dimness of the room. Those were the people who didn't come from rich families that only abided by the laws restricting learning or teaching magic when they saw fit. For some, it might even have been the first spell they ever cast, strange as that seemed to Sebastien. Many commoners never cast any real magic in their lifetimes.

The rich boy who seemed intent on quarreling with her didn't hesitate in front of the spell array. He caused the crystal to glow brightly and held the light steady, clear evidence that he had long practice in spell casting. He glared down at it as he pushed his Will to its limits.

It was also obvious when Burberry showed neither surprise nor concern that the University didn't expect these laws to be universally enforced. "One hundred sixty-six thaums."

It was an impressive number, judging by the average of ten among true novices, and seventy from those who had prior experience casting. He shot Sebastien a smug look.

When it was her own turn, Sebastien was surprised by her performance. Under the steely force of her Will, the crystal glowed bright and brighter, and Burberry's eyebrows rose slightly as it illuminated an area a few feet in diameter.

Sebastien felt like she might be able to push a little harder, but she was aware of the gazes of sudden interest or surprise. She was also aware of her lack of any real background. Sebastien was an illegitimate heir of the nonexistent Siverling family. With mild disappointment, she held the spell at its current power, and then released it. She wouldn't be able to show them her prowess or superiority, but that was probably for the best. 'Sebastien Siverling shouldn't stand out, so once he's gained his eventual certification, he can melt away without anyone being particularly interested.'

"Two hundred three thaums," Burberry announced.

It was higher than Sebastien had thought it would be. 'I've improved,' she thought, keeping the pleased smile from her face.

The pretty girl who slept in the bed across from Sebastien's gave her an assessing look, not even trying to be subtle about it, then raised an eyebrow toward her friend.

He scowled.

Sebastien gave him a bland look, then returned to her seat, the edges of her lips twitching.

Once everyone had finished, Burberry recommended the same remedial casting classes and supervised practice rooms Tanya and Newton had mentioned the day before. "Practice is extremely critical to improving your Will's capacity. The more you practice, the faster you grow. For those of you on the lower end, you will find, with some variation due to talent and the effort you place into your practice, that your capacity improves by about one thaum for every fourteen hours of spellcasting. If you were to practice for an hour every day for the next ten years, you might find it only takes five hours to gain a thaum. Archmage Zard can gain a thaum in half that. Of course, he has to train with much more powerful magic to do so. The improvement from practice might be negligible in the short term, but over time, with dedication, it can be the difference between cooling your house to a comfortable temperature during the summer and saving an entire village from a forest fire. Your potential is limited only by your lifespan—which will be lengthened with consistent magic use—and your dedication to continually stretching your limits."

'Even the most powerful thaumaturges die eventually, though,' Sebastien thought, thinking of her grandfather. 'And if it were truly so easy to become an Archmage, there would be more of them.'

Burberry gave the class a handful of simple variations on a rudimentary spark-shooting spell meant to teach the students how to mold their mindset and their Will toward various effects and get comfortable writing spell arrays. She explained how the spell array worked in detail.

Sebastien had learned the spell as a child, to ward off animals. She hadn't used all the spell array variations Burberry wanted them to practice, but as with most of the simple spells she'd learned that young, she had practiced creating sparks to exhaustion, perpetually entertained by the wonder of casting magic. She would have no trouble with any of the variations, even if she didn't have the specific spell array meant to send the sparks shooting up, or change their color.

Burberry handed out little pouches with one lava berry, a dried fire salamander, and a small piece of flint, to be used as sympathetic components instead of the natural component of the heat within the Circle. She said nothing about returning these components after using them to practice, but none of the spell variations should actually consume them, so Sebastien hoped she would get to keep them. Growing her stock of components had been a never-ending struggle throughout her life, and for these, she figured she was paying the University more than enough.

It became more obvious which students had never really cast before as Burberry walked them through using tools to draw an even Circle and measuring the placement of the internal triangle used to cast this spell.

"For those of you with higher capacities, remember that growth comes from effort. If you can cast this spell easily with only a couple of sparks, push yourself. Go to one of the supervised practice rooms and see how many sparks you can create at once, or how far you can get them to fly. Control the specific shade of the sparks as you change their color. If you are lazy, you will find that other students soon surpass you, and by the end of term it might be too late to put in effort. The University has no need for the lazy."

Burberry let them practice for the last few minutes of class under her supervision, answering questions and correcting mistakes, and then told them to practice all the little variations on shooting sparks till they had a firm grasp on it before class on Wednesday.

After class, the boy who'd been doing his best to irritate her since they met brushed by her in the hallway. "Don't get complacent, Siverling. Professor Lacer might see through you just as easily as Burberry did, and he doesn't abide fools in his presence."

She lost her patience, no longer finding his childish frustration with her superiority amusing. Sebastien rounded on him. "Listen, Westchester, Westerfield, whatever your name is, I'd appreciate it if you drop this little one-sided feud you've built up in your own mind and let me learn in peace. Do you have nothing important in your own life to tend to, that you must constantly stick your nose into mine?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed. "You don't remember my name?" he asked suspiciously.

She sighed, looking toward the ceiling for patience. "We're not friends. I wouldn't even consider us acquaintances. And you're certainly not my arch-nemesis, if that's the impression you got from someone having the guts to call you out on your lack of manners. I can assure you, all the other 'commoners' in line were thinking it, too. Everyone else was simply too resigned to say it aloud."

"I introduced myself to you when we met," he said, still hung up on the surprise of not being the most memorable person in her life.

She stared at him flatly.

"The professor called my name in class."

She threw up her hands and turned on her heel, striding off down the hallway. "I don't have the time or patience for this," she muttered. "I have to get to class."

After a few seconds, he caught up to her, getting in front and then blocking her way. "My name is Westbay. Damien Westbay!" He jabbed a thumb at his chest, glaring at her. "Don't forget it."

"Oh, my mistake. Please continue while I take notes." She twirled her hand dramatically, stepping around him and pulling out her map of the University to find her next class.

Chapter 20 - Practical Will-based Casting

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 2:15 p.m.

Sebastien's next class was Natural Science, which she found more fascinating than she had thought she would, mostly due to the enthusiasm of the professor. The classroom was large, and divided into two sections. One part was desks and seats for students to listen to lectures and take notes, while the other section was lined with sturdy slate tables and various pieces of equipment for them to do practical experiments.

Professor Gnorrish was a big, tall man—not the image one had of a person who spent all his time in the laboratory or library—and he had a big, tall personality and a passion for his field to match. His excited grin was infectious. He waved his arms about and let his voice boom while he spoke, and at one point Sebastien even thought he might jump up and down to better impress his enthusiasm upon them.

"Natural science is the new wave of magic, powerful because of the nature of reality, rather than in spite of it. It relies on the strength of the ties that bind reality together, rather than the strength of the caster alone. One day, I believe we will discover how to replicate all of transmogrification's abilities with transmutation as our understanding of natural science grows."

Some students seemed to find this ludicrous, a few rude snorts coming from a couple of boys in expensive clothes.

Sebastien turned around to throw them a disdainful glare, and was surprised to find Westbay doing the same across from her. He had walked into the classroom a minute after her, and had studiously ignored her since then, which she found perfectly acceptable.

Professor Gnorrish didn't seem to mind the obvious disagreement, though. He nodded to the boys who had snorted. "You think me naively optimistic, I assume. Yet, let me ask you this. Have we not accomplished things in the last one hundred years that the humans of aeons past would have considered impossible to achieve without transmogrification by a powerful thaumaturge?" He reeled off a list of achievements and names, and when he finished, all the students were silent. "What more might we accomplish in one hundred more years?"

At the end of class, he instructed them to borrow and read certain books from the library, which held multiple copies of his specified texts, and then released them.

It was her free period next. Despite the pangs of hunger from her stomach, Sebastien went to the library rather than the cafeteria. She wanted to get there before all the other students picked the shelves bare of the assigned books.

Sebastien borrowed them with her student token, then sat at a table and flipped through each to gauge how long they would take her to read. She doubted the dorm room would be the best place to get work done, at least not while the other students were awake. After a few minutes, she put the books in her leather satchel and went to browse the shelves. 'If I ever do anything to jeopardize my status as a student here, I will lose access to all these books. More books than I could read in a lifetime. I would rather cut off my own toes with a sharpened spoon.'

Thinking of the encrypted book in her room at Dryden Manor, she searched for guides on decryption. Most of them were on one of the floors still unavailable to her. The subject was large and complex, and a quick perusal showed that many of the books were beyond her comprehension. She found a couple of primers meant for children, as well as a book on unlocking, nullifying, and revealing spells. She checked all three out, then browsed some more. The sheer number of books was astounding. They even had books on Aberrants, though none on the first floor had any deeper information than what could be pieced together from rumors and newspaper articles.

Even the lure of the books all around her couldn't distract her from making it to her next class on time. She'd been looking forward to and dreading it in equal parts since being accepted to the University. She stopped by the cafeteria to eat and quickly found her way to her next class.

Professor Lacer's classroom was the largest she'd been in so far. Introduction to Practical Will-based Casting was her first elective, and probably popular enough to need all the desks stretching out and upward toward the back of the room.

Sebastien sat close to the front of the already filling room, trying not to fiddle from a combination of impatience and nervousness. 'Professor Lacer may have saved me, but he also knows what an idiot I can be. He cannot have been impressed by my tantrum during the examination.' She stilled, the remembered shame calming her. 'But he must have seen potential in me, too. I just have to make sure he doesn't regret his decision.'

"I heard Professor Lacer is the youngest free-caster in the last three centuries," a man said.

"I heard he should be an Archmage already, but the council of Grandmasters just doesn't want to recognize him because he's too young and not from any noble bloodline," someone else said.

"Archmage? That's impossible," a girl interjected, shaking her head. "I don't care how talented he is, you need decades of practice to get that powerful. Archmage Zard wasn't given the title until he was eighty-three. Professor Lacer can't even be fifty yet."

"He could be older. Heavy magic use keeps you revitalized, you know…" another girl said doubtfully. "I'm hoping learning how to free-cast will keep me wrinkle-free until I'm at least older than my mother."

Another girl snorted derisively at that, and Sebastien suppressed the urge to nod in agreement.

"Well, I heard he was part of the Red Guard after the war," yet another young man said, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret.

"Oh, that's definitely true. My uncle told me the coat he wears all the time is actually an artifact spelled against blood magic curses," the first man said. "It's made of the skin of a half-troll, half-giant that Lacer killed during the Haze War."

The girl who'd snorted earlier laughed. "Your uncle is either telling you tall tales, or he's as gullible as you apparently are."

Drawn by the conversation, another boy walked over and sat with the group of gossipers. "Did you guys hear what he did to that girl who tried to break into his house and seduce him a couple years back?"

"What?" the girl who was worried about wrinkles gasped, one hand covering her open mouth. "Who? What did she—I mean…"

The newest addition to their group nodded sagely. "My sister was a student when it happened. The girl was an upper-term research assistant, and apparently she thought Lacer was just shy when he kept rejecting her. So she tried to break through the wards to his house wearing only a cloak—nothing underneath at all! Of course, things didn't go like she expected." He paused dramatically as the others leaned in and urged him to continue. "His wards triggered around her and left her tied up, half naked, and green-skinned. When he found her he cursed her to never feel physical desire again, and gave her a huge, hairy wart on the end of her nose so no one else would be tempted, either."

"No," another boy said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He shook his head. "A professor wouldn't do that. I mean, he probably expelled her, but they can't just get away with cursing students whenever they feel like it."

"Yeah, Professor Lacer's not evil," the girl said with a "humph."

"But he is really strict," the first man said. "I heard he expelled a student for coughing on him in the cafeteria."

There were nods all around, and the conversation turned to free-casting, each student taking it in turns to brag about all the cool things they planned to do once they were able to free-cast.

Only after all the seats were filled—Sebastien was sure half the first term students had signed up for the class—did Professor Lacer stalk in, a long trench coat flapping behind him as the fabric tried to keep up with his long stride. His hair was again tied back simply at the nape of his neck. His eyebrows were bushy and winged, adding to the piercing nature of his dark eyes. He kept a beard short enough that its attempts to grow wild were restrained. Overall, his appearance matched his reputation: impatient, dangerous, and extremely competent.

He stopped in the middle of the room, staring out and up at them. It took merely seconds for the room to quiet. "Welcome to Practical Will-based Casting, or as my upper-term students like to call it, Practical Casting. In it, I will teach those of you who are willing to learn how to do what I can do." His words were heavy with importance, though he did not shout. He turned and pointed his finger to the far side of the lecture stage.

Sebastien's hair fluttered, though there had been no wind, and suddenly, a person appeared where before there had been nothing, standing near the wall.

She jumped in surprise, as did most of the other students, but calmed herself when she saw it was just a practice dummy. Why it had been invisible, she did not know, but she assumed it had been for dramatic effect.

Thaddeus Lacer kept pointing. His Conduit, large and clear, peeked out from the curled fingers of his pointing hand.

His other hand, held at his side, was gripping a beast core just the right size to fit within his grasp and allow his middle finger and thumb to touch.

'Is he forming the Sacrifice Circle out of his own hand?' Most modern magic used physical, external Circles, though older, more esoteric spells didn't always. Sometimes a spell could be bounded by your own body, or even something intrinsically attached and belonging to you, like your shadow.

The simple shadow-familiar spell she'd shown off to Katerin, letting it writhe and seem to come to life, used the heat of her breath going through a Circle made of her hands along with the light that touched her shadow. But even with a low-powered spell like that, the air between her hands would ripple visibly with the energy being channeled.

At the tip of his outstretched finger, a spark of orange light appeared. It swirled around his fingertip and was quickly joined by others. They multiplied and coalesced in front of his finger until they formed a pulsing, bright orange ball.

Sebastien could see no shimmer, glow, or any other sign that he was channeling energy, except for the fireball hovering beyond the tip of his finger. The efficiency was superb.

Without warning, that ball shot across the room toward the dummy, expanding a little as it went. On impact, it exploded.

Sebastien felt the warm wind blow past her face.

On the far side of the classroom, the practice dummy rocked back and forth on its stand, smoking and half ripped apart.

Professor Lacer turned back to the students. "It is not necessary to contain the target of your spell within a Circle before you cast. This should be obvious. A battle wand can cast a stunning spell at a distance, but have you ever heard of someone casting a transmogrification spell to turn a distant frog into a bird?" He paused, scanning the class. "No? Why is this?"

He turned, taking a few steps to make his coat flare out dramatically again. "Is it because transmogrification does not work unless you have the target within your domain of influence?" He paused as if waiting for someone to speak up, but no one did. "I can assure you that is not the case. Is it because a being's skin and inherent magic act as a barrier against invasive magics?" Another expectant pause. "Inherent magic is a barrier, but I can overcome it within a drawn Circle, and I can also overcome it with the fireball I just cast. Is the seeming limitation because the stunning spell, or the fireball, is much less complicated than whatever spell could turn a frog into a bird? Perhaps people simply do not have the skill to cast such magics at a distance. What do you think?"

No one answered him.

"A fireball spell shoots an actual ball of fire at the target. A revealing spell shoots vibrations and magic waves, which penetrate and then bounce back to the wand for interpretation. A stunning spell shoots a specific, low-current variation of lightning, along with the powdered saliva of a Kuthian frog, contained within a field of force. Upon release from the spell, the treated saliva rapidly degrades and becomes inert. The stunning spell is the most difficult of the three, and still only possible because the saliva needs no augmentation or other spellwork to do what it does. The common point of all these spells is that they are shooting something that exists in nature, not simply magic bound to an idea. However, with a complex enough, powerful enough spell, there is no reason that one could not shoot a spherical ranged attack that turns a frog into a bird, overcoming the creature's resistance to magic and maintaining the complex magical instructions and power to do so over distance. The Archmage can do it. The theory is that you are literally shooting the Circle and its Word at the target. It is so hard, and requires so much power, that most sorcerers will never succeed at it in their lives, and indeed, most do not truly attempt to do so."

'Can you do it, Thaddeus Lacer?' Sebastien wondered.

He turned, pointing at the wrecked practice dummy. "That is your eventual goal. At the end of nine terms, when you achieve your Mastery, one in twenty of you might have reached the level of competence that allows you to free-cast the simplest spells at range. However, unless you attempt Grandmastery, it is a more realistic goal for the majority of you to be able to free-cast normal spells, contained within an actual, physical Circle, rather than at range. Much less glamorous, but still versatile and incredibly useful. If any of you manage to free-cast a spell that requires complex magical instruction, at range, within your time at the University, I will be stunned."

He palmed a stick of chalk, seemingly from nowhere, and drew a Circle on the ground around him. He added no glyphs, no attached component Circles or instructions. The wind was already pulling at Sebastien's hair by the time Lacer had stood up. The man raised his arms, and the wind turned into a gale, pulling at her body and the very air in her lungs.

She gripped the edge of her desk for balance and kept her eyes greedily trained on him.

Professor Lacer began to levitate, the air under his feet shimmering like a mirage in the distance as he compressed it.

Casting spells on your own body was dangerous. This kind of levitation required him to stand within the Circle, as Professor Burberry had just warned so stridently against. Of course, Professor Lacer had proved his competence and control many times over.

'Why doesn't he simply use the platform spell Tanya cast at orientation?' Sebastien thought. 'I suppose there are any number of ways a powerful sorcerer can lift themselves from the ground. This method is certainly impressive.' Even though she knew it was meant to motivate her, Sebastien found herself no less inspired.

"I can teach you all to do this. I can teach you to be both versatile and powerful," he announced, settling back to the ground as the air pressure returned to normal. "Yet somehow, the statistics show that four out of ten students will drop this class in the first three weeks. Seven out of ten either stop attending voluntarily, or cannot pass this class by the end of term. Failure in my class will not stop you from continuing on to the next term in the remainder of your classes, but why do so few students succeed?"

He paused to stare them down. "Because," he said, and suddenly his voice was louder, "this is the hardest class the University offers. It requires both intelligence and dogged determination. You will spend an hour and a half with me, three days per week, not two. If you wish to succeed, you must spend an additional two hours practicing on your own. Every. Single. Day. And that is if you already have some experience with sorcery. If your capacity hasn't reached at least fifty thaums, you will struggle to keep up, and I recommend you return to the class next term. If you are not prepared or not willing to spend that much time, feel free to go to Administration after the end of this class and remove yourself. In the meantime, let us get to work. As I have established, there is no time to waste."

A student raised their hand, and when Lacer called on them, asked, "Is it true you killed a dragon in the Haze Wars?"

Lacer scowled. "I am not here for gossip and dramatic stories. If that is the only reason you are here, get out."

The student shrank back, but didn't leave.

Professor Lacer motioned them up to the front of the class, where a pallet filled with squat cylindrical containers and small oil braziers appeared against the wall the same way the practice dummy had. "They are marked by difficulty. If your Will capacity is over one hundred fifty thaums, see me." He glanced briefly at Sebastien.

Curious, Sebastien eyed the cylinders, which were shaped like six-inch cross-sections of a tree trunk. Or a wide wheel of cheese. They were glass-topped and seemed to be filled with water and a metal ball. When she approached, Lacer pulled out a similar squat cylinder from under his desk. It was filled with transparent sand instead of water, and the metal ball nestled within was jagged, and bigger than the ones in the water containers.

She wasn't the only one to get sand, which was a bit of a relief after the other students' showing in Intro to Modern Magics. 'I suppose it makes sense that the smartest, most hardworking students would be the ones to take Lacer's class. Among the larger student population, I don't really stand out at all.' The thought disappointed her a little, even though she knew it was best that no one had a reason to look at her too closely.

Suppressing a grunt of effort, she picked up the heavy glass wheel and returned it to her desk.

Professor Lacer then instructed them place the wheel inside the Circle carved into their desks, drawing the Word over the glass top. With only three glyphs and a single numerological symbol, they were to send the iron ball rolling around the cylinder, reversing direction at random. For extra difficulty—and again he looked at Sebastien—they were to keep the ball from touching the outer edge of the wheel as it spun around.

"In this class, we will attempt to move away from the reliance on a complicated written Word. To become a free-caster, you must be able to hold the entirety of the Word within your own mind. I am going to improve not just your Will's overall capacity, but also the other facets—explosiveness, endurance, clarity, force, and soundness. However, you will start with casting spells of moderate difficulty for long periods of time, till you are able to hold them almost without conscious effort. It has to become instinct. It will take years of effort to become proficient. The difficulty of this first exercise depends largely on how quickly you move the ball through the medium. Attempt to reach a stable output no more than seventy percent of your maximum capacity. Do not stop casting."

With that, he turned away and plopped down at the desk at the front corner of the room.

Sebastien drew a triangle, since this was transmutation—heat energy into kinetic energy. A pentagon was more versatile, but she didn't think she needed it, here, and a tighter fit to the purpose of the spell could improve her efficiency. For the glyphs, she chose "fire," "movement," and "circle" the last of which she had learned recently.

After only a few minutes of forcing her ball through the sand, Sebastien began to feel the fatigue.

When a couple of other students stopped casting, Professor Lacer looked up, his lazy expression contrasted against the snap in his voice. "If you are not approaching Will-strain, I expect you to continue casting. If you are approaching Will-strain already, I suggest you drop this class and return to it in a term or two when you have built up your stamina." He didn't look at Sebastien this time, but she took the words to heart.

She settled back in her seat, relaxing tense muscles and taking her eye off the circling ball. It continued moving, and she settled into deep, slow breaths, watching with an unfocused gaze. She had always been one to practice casting almost obsessively, even if not so deliberately as Lacer had instructed. She had often played with whatever small new spell she'd learned until Ennis grew irritated with her. It served her well, here. Sebastien didn't know how long it had been when her mind started to burn. Not a real sensation, like the burn of overworked muscles, but a feeling, a strain. She breathed deeper and sank into it.

Fingers snapping in front of her face brought her back to reality.

She looked up to find Professor Lacer standing in front of her. "Class is over."

The rest of the students were standing up from their desks, some of them moving toward the door with their practice equipment, more of them looking at her and Lacer.

She cleared her throat and let the ball slow to a stop.

"Passably well done," he said. "Are you ready for our meeting?"

"Y—" Her voice broke, and she had to try again. "Yes."

"Homework!" he announced sharply, raising his voice so everyone could hear, but still looking at her. "Write down every possible glyph that could be used to cast this spell, as well as ten different, fully detailed spell arrays that could do the job. Due at the beginning of next class. Dismissed."

One of the students grumbled, "I thought this was practical casting, not practical essay-writing."

"Understanding the processes is the first step to being able to take over those processes from an external Word," Professor Lacer snapped back much louder, not even looking at the student. In a softer voice he said to Sebastien, "To my office, then. Keep up." He turned and strode away, barely acknowledging the students who either stared or scrambled to move out of his path.

Sebastien grabbed her satchel and the wheel of sand, and stumbled after him, limping slightly on legs that had fallen asleep while she cast.

The hallway had curved far enough to cut off their view of the classroom door when footsteps ran up behind them. Sebastien was exasperated to find it was Damien Westbay. Again.

"Professor Lacer, would you mind if I accompany you both? I have some questions for you." He glanced at Sebastien out of the corner of his eye, just a little too intently.

Sebastien resisted the urge to snort. 'Obviously, he wants to spy on my conversation with Professor Lacer.'

Lacer let the silence stretch on just long enough to become uncomfortable, but when he spoke, his voice held a faint hint of amusement. "I am sure your questions can wait, Damien. You may drop by my office in half an hour."

"I could just wait outside your door. I—" Westbay cut off when Professor Lacer raised his eyebrows.

"Half an hour, Mr. Westbay." His words were enunciated and precise, not unkind, but still intimidating. He turned to stalk away, assured that his instructions would be followed.

Westbay pursed his lips in a way that looked unflatteringly close to a pout, but didn't follow as Sebastien hurried after their professor.

When they got to Lacer's office, which was done in dark woods and bright lights, with all four walls covered in bookcases and shelves holding interesting magical components and artifacts, he motioned for her to sit at the chair in front of his desk. He spoke while walking around the room, taking things from shelves and cabinets and placing them in a box. "I hope you understand that, due to the unusual nature of your attendance here, you must perform to my expectations if you wish to remain a student, Mr. Siverling."

Sebastien nodded. "I do."

"Your performance today was not as pitiful as many of the other students in my class, but still far from the standards I expect. To remedy this, you will practice additional casting exercises." He set the box on the desk in front of her and then handed her a sheet of paper filled with instructions. "You must be able to perform each exercise for two hours without stop, at an acceptable level of control."

"What is an acceptable level?" she asked, scanning over the exercises on the sheet.

He sat behind his desk. "Are you asking me so that you can achieve the absolute minimum standard of competence?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "It will be up to you to decide what is acceptable. Do not disappoint me."

She felt she could not possibly sit any straighter, or hold her stomach muscles any tighter. "I understand. When do you wish me to complete this by?"

"As quickly as possible. I am testing you, Mr. Siverling. I hope that is obvious. I wish to be sure I did not make a mistake." It was not a subtle threat.

'Two hours a day of practice will not be enough, then,' she thought. She had no intention of disappointing him. "I understand," she said again. "Is there anything else?"

He stared at her over the desk, his elbows resting on it and his fingers pressed together. Then he leaned back in his chair. "No. You may go."

She stood and bowed politely. "Thank you, Professor Lacer. You are the reason I am here, and I know it. I will not disappoint you."

"See that you do not."

She paused in the doorway and turned back. "Why did you keep me from being expelled and banned?" She'd decided not to ask, but her curiosity had overridden her good sense.

"You are an idiot. But I try to remind myself periodically how foolish I too was at your age. It is easy to forget. Perhaps you will be able to learn better, as I did."

She nodded silently, feeling a strange combination of shame and hope.

His dark gaze followed her as she left the room, and she took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself before hurrying toward the library with the heavy box in one arm and the wheel of sand in the other. She had work to do, and a plan to create.

Chapter 21 - No Greatness Without Adversity

Thaddeus

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 3:15 p.m.

Thaddeus watched as the Siverling boy left the room with a stride so supremely self-assured it bordered on arrogant. The contrast of such dark eyes against pale hair made Siverling seem both perceptive and secretive, as if perhaps he had already divined all your inner thoughts, and was only keeping them to himself because he wished to. That composure would serve him well, if he managed to keep from killing himself over the next few years before achieving a basic level of competence.

A knock on his door frame brought his head up to see Damien, his old friend's son, standing in the doorway.

"Come in."

"Who is he?" Damien said impatiently, dropping his satchel and sitting in the chair before Thaddeus's desk.

"Hello to you too, Damien."

The boy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hello, Professor, how do you do, etcetera, etcetera. Do we really need to trade such mundane greetings every time we meet? Was it not you who said needless pleasantries were the conversational defense of the unimaginative and boring?"

Thaddeus allowed the boy a small smile. "Indeed. 'He' is Sebastien Siverling."

"That's not what I meant at all. I know his name," Damien said bitterly, adding, "even if he can't remember mine," under his breath. Louder, he continued, "What's so special about him? I've been hearing all kinds of rumors."

"I have taken him as my provisional apprentice."

"So it is true!" Damien crowed. "I knew it. But you've never taken an apprentice before! Not even the heir of the High Crown was able to sway you, I heard. Were you planning to make him your apprentice from the beginning? Is that why you got so angry that I argued with him?"

"Reprimanding you for your foolishness had nothing to do with this. But no, I had not planned to take an apprentice this year. There were…extenuating circumstances."

"Is the Siverling family so influential, then? I've never heard of them."

Thaddeus resisted the urge to rub his temples to ease the headache building there. "Let me remind you, he is only a provisional apprentice. The Siverling family's influence, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with it."

Damien nodded. "So it was his display in the examination. No components? A darkness sphere and a blue flame?" The boy had lost his air of immature curiosity and was staring at Thaddeus with total seriousness. "I admit it looked impressive, but was that really all it took?"

Thaddeus leaned back in his seat, almost impressed despite himself. "Snooping, were you?"

"I was waiting my own turn, and happened to see when the door was opened. I cannot help it if my eyes work."

Thaddeus snorted. "Well, that was a part of it. Suffice it to say, I was intrigued." The Siverling boy's written test scores may have merely reached deep green, but Thaddeus had looked through the answers he felt were most relevant to determining mental acuity and intelligence.

Siverling was lacking in knowledge, and had obviously written his answers as if he expected a human to read and grade them, but he also knew how to think about an unconventional problem and try to solve it. Perhaps with guidance, he could learn how to think properly about more than test questions. Also, of course, there was the fact that Thaddeus did not believe for an instant the boy's clumsy evasion when asked about his previous experience as a sorcerer.

He had been impressed by the boy's use of light. Controlling light as a component or energy source required both clarity and force of Will. He knew there was no way the boy had encircled enough heat, or had the ability to channel enough even if it had existed, to create a flame so hot it turned blue. The boy had repurposed the light to create the flame, with only a moderate amount of heat radiating off it.

Thaddeus had also been impressed that Siverling was able to speak coherently after dropping the spell, rather than simply passing out.

But what most impressed him was that the boy was able to set the spell's output—the flame—outside of the sphere bounded by the chalk Circle. Not just at a static distance, but freely. This ability was one of the main hallmarks of true free-casting. He didn't teach it in his class until the later terms, and most students had a mental block that simply didn't allow them to make the leap in control. After seeing that, none of the other professors should have been willing to let him slip through their fingers. If Thaddeus had had to, he would have sponsored the boy's tuition fees himself.

No matter what Siverling said, he had definitely practiced sorcery for years already. Either that, or he was some kind of monstrous genius.

But Thaddeus was a monstrous genius, and even he would have struggled to channel that many thaums when he first began to cast.

Thaddeus imagined most of the other incoming students could not control that spell longer than a second or two without it slipping their control and causing serious backlash. When the boy had started casting it despite the half-finished, inefficient spell array, Thaddeus had thought they would have to scrape Siverling's remains off the floor before calling in the next student. Instead, Siverling and the room both remained entirely intact.

Of course, the boy was a moron for even attempting it, but Thaddeus knew that if he required all his students to be thoughtful, intelligent, and talented, he would end up leaving the University in a rage after never teaching anyone that met his standards.

"What did you meet with him about? Are you giving him special training?" Damien didn't wait for Thaddeus to respond. "I have been asking for special training since I was six!"

"I gave him a list of additional exercises to complete, on top of the normal work other students will be doing. He received no special instruction."

"I want to do the extra exercises too," Damien said immediately.

"Do you not think you will be busy enough with the regular assignments? I heard you're taking Divination on top of my own class, and Fekten's."

"If Siverling can do it, I can do it, too. Also, it's not as if this requires any extra work on your part. You've already compiled the assignments for him. What does it matter if I learn as well? As you said, you gave him no special instruction that would require you to actually make an effort." The boy crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side provocatively.

"Watch your words, Mr. Westbay." The warning was mild, and held no true offense. Thaddeus thought for a moment, then stood and began collecting another set of the same devices and supplies he had given to Siverling. They were all from future exercises his classes performed, so he had many duplicates. "If your grades drop in any of your other classes…" He did not even need to complete the threat.

"They won't! I promise."

Thaddeus wrote down the instructions for each exercise. "The goal is to master these by the end of term. I imagine this will take three to four hours of practice every day."

Damien's eyes widened, but he didn't back down.

As Thaddeus shooed the boy out of his office and returned to his own work, he shook his head ruefully. He thought of the little altercation between the two boys at the application center the month before. Perhaps a little rivalry would push both of them to greater heights. It would be good for Damien to interact with someone who did not care about his status and would challenge him on the basis of merit alone. It might even give the two of them a boost for what he had planned once the chaff had been culled from his class in a few weeks.

Greatness did not come without adversity.

Chapter 22 - Sympathy & Defense

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 3:25 p.m.

Sebastien changed her mind halfway to the library and instead took the box of magical exercise supplies Lacer had given her to her room and locked them in the trunk at the base of her bed. 'It wouldn't do to have someone sabotage my ability to meet Professor Lacer's expectations.' Then, she went to the library and got to work.

She had an astounding amount to accomplish, and not very much time to do it in. Even a mind like hers couldn't coast through what lay ahead. 'Five days of classes per week. Six classes, four of which meet two times, and two which meet three times, for a total of twenty-one hours sitting in class per week. Say I study six hours per week for every class but Practical Casting, which I must spend more than two hours per day on if I wish to catch up. Another four hours per day for meals, hygiene, walking between classes, and other unavoidable transition time. It might be possible to keep working at a lower efficiency during those times, but I also need time for my mind to relax, or I might start having Will problems. Additionally, if I want to repay my debt before the interest drowns me, I need to get started with the alchemy Katerin and the Verdant Stag need. I can do that on the weekends.'

She looked down at the number she had scribbled on the edge of her new leather notebook. 'That's almost as many hours as most people are awake every week. Speaking of, I will probably need to increase my total hours of sleep. Perhaps I can take naps in the late afternoon.' She was thankful that Professor Lacer had warned her not to take on more than six classes. If she had taken Artificery as well, she would probably collapse under the workload.

She read from the list of books recommended by Professor Gnorrish for a couple of hours, then started Professor Lacer's homework. It took her longer than she had expected, and the dinner hour was almost over by the time she finished creating ten different fully realized spell arrays that could move the ball around the Circle. She rushed off to eat, then returned to her dorm, where most of the other students were already gathered. Many of them were chatting or working on schoolwork, creating a dull murmur of undistinguishable sound.

Sebastien pulled the pillow off her bed and sat on it cross-legged on the floor, drawing a simple spell array in front of her. She lit her small oil lamp to act as the source of heat energy. By the time she had pushed the steel ball around for thirty minutes, her head was aching and she had trouble concentrating—early signs of Will-strain. If she continued, she wouldn't be able to cast her dreamless sleep and alarm spells, so she pulled her curtains and went to bed early.

The familiar feel of her heart pounding brought her from sleep into wakefulness. She stood with carefully controlled movements and drew back the curtain to press herself against the cool glass of the window beside her bed. The condensation of her breath fogged up the glass, and she drew a little sad face on it.

The sad face faded away, and she found herself looking at her own faint reflection. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, and shockingly pale hair framing it all. The only things she recognized were the eyes. 'Those are still mine. My eyes staring out of this mask.'

As silently as possible, she returned to her locked chest and removed the sand wheel. This time, she used a different set of glyphs than the day before, and mentally redesigned the method of movement. While researching the different spell arrays the evening before, she had come up with some more innovative ways to accomplish the goal. Before, she had been directly controlling the ball as it moved around, guiding it with a mental hand. There were other ways to approach the problem, though, a couple of which she found particularly interesting.

She practiced for almost an hour by the light and power of the oil lamp, finding that the magic calmed her faster than she had expected. The steady, soothing whisper of disturbed sand was audible in the stillness.

Shifting from the bed across from her drew Sebastien's attention, as the girl threw off her covers and stood up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake y—"

The girl waved her arm at Sebastien clumsily and stumbled off toward the bathrooms, her eyes still unfocused with sleep. When she returned a few minutes later, she seemed a little more awake. "Practicing for Professor Lacer?" she asked.

Sebastien nodded. "I apologize if I disturbed your rest, Miss…?"

"Anastasia Gervin," the girl said, sitting at the foot of her own bed with her legs crossed, her long, loose hair catching the light of the lamp's flame artlessly.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Gervin." Sebastien bowed slightly from her seated position.

"Please, call me Ana. There are a few too many Gervins enrolled here to be so formal. It causes confusion. And I know your name already. We met a while ago, when my cousin Alec was being such a braying ass."

Sebastien couldn't help the twitch of a smile at the description, though she didn't allow it to disarm her. 'She might commiserate with me in private and then do the same with others behind my back.' Aloud, she said, "I remember. I wasn't sure you would."

The girl gave her that same crooked smile she had the day of the entrance application. "You may be more memorable than you think." Before Sebastien could try to figure out what she meant by that, she continued. "You have quite the dedication, to wake up in the middle of the night just to practice. No wonder Professor Lacer picked you."

Sebastien knew the girl was mistaken, but didn't want to say so. "I find it best to be prepared."

Ana gave a little smirk. "It is a good policy, but do you not need to sleep?"

"I have trouble sleeping," Sebastien admitted. "I'll lie down again in a while, when I've grown tired."

Ana hummed noncommittally, returning to her bed and closing her eyes.

Drawing her curtains again to help shield the light of the lamp, Sebastien did the same. Thicker curtains would be useful to keep from disturbing the other dorm residents, if she wanted to continue practicing magic at her bed while they slept.

With two sessions of sleep, Sebastien again woke feeling more refreshed than she normally did, despite the strain she had been putting on her mind.

Sebastien's first class of the day was History of Magic. For once, Damien Westbay did not seem to be there. Nor were any of other people she recognized from her student group.

Professor Ilma, a woman with faintly blue skin evincing a partially inhuman heritage, got right into the meat of the class, wasting no time easing them into things.

She started at the beginning. "When was magic first discovered by humans? Historical research and archeology suggest the earliest thinking humans had rudimentary magic. Fires started without tools, animals charmed to do their bidding, structures molded beyond the capabilities of concurrent technology. It is not known whether humans discovered magic organically, or whether those who walked the earth before us had some hand in our uplifting. Theories in favor of both arguments are plentiful among historians. You'll be writing an essay that considers the most valid arguments for both sides, due next week."

She waited while the class hurried to scribble that down, then continued. "However, some say the ability to do magic is not the thing that led us to our current civilization. Magic is merely a tool, and it is our ability to cooperate and work together for the betterment of all that has led to our current greatness. And yet!" She raised one blue finger higher. "And yet, it has taken us thousands of years to reach this point. Part of this may simply be the nature of civilization—incremental growth based on our forefathers' accomplishments. Part of this may be that the ancient world after the Cataclysm was too dangerous for real human society to thrive. It was hard to build a city at a time when a Titan might walk by and crush half of it, like a child kicking at an anthill…and then eat all the ants that lay scattered about for good measure. Let us speculate for a moment about the cause of the downfall of the Titans, the Fey, the Brillig. So powerful, with magics even our most distinguished cannot match, and yet, they are gone, and we are still here. Why? Is it simply the natural state of things that all powerful beings must one day fall, that all empires must crumble?"

Sebastien was enraptured.

Professor Ilma gave them a list of books she recommended reading and shooed them out of her classroom.

Her second class was Sympathetic Science. Sebastien almost jumped when Anastasia Gervin slammed her hand down on the desk beside her, but looked up to find the other girl glaring in the opposite direction.

Ana turned to Sebastien, assuming a bright smile. "Sebastien. You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"

'Who was she glaring at?' Sebastien shook her head mutely, keeping the consternation from her expression. "Not at all. Please feel free."

Anastasia's cousin, the one with the bushy dark eyebrows, shot Sebastien a glare that she ignored, while Westbay plopped himself down on Sebastien's other side.

She felt herself stiffening and hoped it wasn't noticeable. 'This feels remarkably like a pincer attack.' However, other than a shrewd look from Westbay, no one did anything to justify her apprehension.

An old man wearing a jacket he had probably bought in his teenage years, when it would have been stylish, walked in and introduced himself as Professor Pecanty. He had a lilting cadence and a slow rhythm to his words that made everything he said sound like poetry. "Let us talk about metaphor. 'Silken lies fell from her lips.' 'Her hair was spun gold.' 'I swam through an ocean of uncertainty.' These are a few examples. Consider, that three strings of silk are used in Rimple's minor truth-telling spell. A sprinkle of gold glitter is a component in Curoe's fairness potion, to make the complexion and hair bright. Sea spray gathered on a moonless night is used in a couple of forgetfulness hexes."

As Professor Pecanty delved deeper into the connection between ephemeral concepts and magic, part of Sebastien's mind began to spin a thread of curiosity.

Dryden had told her various stories about his travels through the surrounding countries, and even a couple of forays into the lands held by other species. He'd had more than one amusing or embarrassing incident stemming from cultural difference.

Like the time everyone at the table except him had burped, and then his host had been offended that he didn't, which was a vulgar indication that Dryden didn't like the meal.

Or the story about how he'd almost been killed by the town guard when he offered his hand to help a limping woman wearing a red sash, which denoted her status as a revered giver of blessings, and thus untouchable.

Or the time he accidentally proposed to a woman old enough to be his grandmother by hauling water from the well for her. That one had been particularly hilarious, as everyone had been too embarrassed to tell him why they were acting so awkwardly, but no one thought to ask him if he knew what he'd done. The misunderstanding had lasted for several days of increasing confusion as everyone kept working at cross-purposes and misconstruing his later actions based on that first innocuous favor.

'But we don't hold those customs or belief here in Lenore. So what about the sympathetic connections he's talking about? Here, red is associated with passion, blood, and death, not divine blessings, isolation, or being "set apart." Could I use a red sash for those qualities? Does magic somehow choose which meanings an item can be used for? Or could I use any of them?'

She frowned, scribbling notes and questions in her grimoire. She felt like some larger understanding was revolving just out of reach, revealing only a part of itself to her through the darkness. 'Different people will have languages with different structures, tell different stories, use different metaphors. To them, it's us who would seem strange for connecting silk to a truth-telling spell, or sea spray gathered on a moonless night to a curse.'

She shifted uncomfortably, Pecanty's rhythmic voice fading from her focus as her fingers tightened around her fountain pen. 'People all around the world use transmogrification. It's the earliest form of magic. We were doing things with transmogrification long before we learned the principles behind how to replicate these effects with transmutation. Have there been historical uses of components that have fallen out of use in favor of new interpretations of their sympathetic connections? It seems impossible for anything else to be the case. Humanity's perception of the world has changed greatly over the last few thousand years. So if transmogrification worked for ancient humans, and it works for foreigners, and even other species whose cultures are completely different, these sympathetic connections couldn't be an inherent property of magic…right? It couldn't be that we've somehow instinctively discovered completely contradictory sympathetic connections for the same colors, and numbers, and components. It has to be created by…us?'

The idea was strange, and vaguely frightening. She set down her pen and tried to focus on the lecture. She needed to learn what Pecanty had to say, in case they would be tested. She couldn't afford to perform poorly due to distraction.

After class, she stayed behind to ask Professor Pecanty about her revelation.

"Experimental evidence?" he echoed, as if the words were foreign, or perhaps egregiously unrelated to the topic. "Why, the proof is all around you. Transmogrification works on those intrinsic qualities, and attempting to cast a spell with a component that does not meet the qualifications is either difficult or impossible."

She frowned. "But how does it work? Who decides what the intrinsic qualities are? If I began telling everyone that pigeons can read the evil in their heart, and they believed it, would I be able to use pigeon eyeballs in an intent-scrying spell? Or would I, who knows pigeons cannot, in fact, read the evil hidden in a heart, be unable to use them? Does magic warp to fit new understandings or beliefs? If so, how quickly? Are there transmogrification spells used historically that no longer work today? What if I were the one who truly believed pigeons could read the evil in my heart, and everyone else thought pigeons were simply stupid flying pests?"

Professor Pecanty blinked at her for a moment, rocking back on his feet. "Who decides the intrinsic qualities?" he repeated, as if the question was slightly humorous. "Why, it is the purview of the young to ask such questions. It seems one with such an…analytical mind as yourself might do very well in the Natural Sciences. Myself, I think such questions are perhaps unknowable, better left for the wisdom of those species closer to the heart of magic than us humans. Magic does not require my interrogation to exist, merely my acceptance and what small understanding my years have allowed me." He gave her a small smile that she imagined he thought seemed wise and learned, gathered up his things, and left her standing alone in the empty classroom, seeming completely satisfied with himself and his answer.

"He basically just said I only have such questions because I'm not old enough or wise enough to know when to quietly accept what is served me and be grateful for it," she muttered.

As she left the room, Damien Westbay fell into step beside her. Apparently he had been waiting outside the classroom for her to exit. "Pecanty is incurious," the boy said without preamble, letting the statement sound like a devastating judgment. "Professor Lacer says failing to hold an opinion on a matter says one of two things. Either, 'I do not wish to invest the resources to understand the matter,' or, 'I understand the matter and the evidence is weighted toward only one answer, and that answer is neutrality, at least until more evidence is presented.'" The boy spoke in the articulate, clipped tones of Thaddeus Lacer as he quoted.

"He says most people don't understand that, however, and what they really mean is, 'I am above all this,' 'I am wise,' or 'I am lazy.' And they are likely deceiving themselves about which of the three it is." He turned his head toward Sebastien, gauging her response to this.

"Professor Lacer is not incurious," Sebastien said, forming the certainty even as she said the words. Westbay had pronounced the word as if it were a slur, and she found herself agreeing with him. 'How dull, to never wonder. How unambitious. One does not become great by only accepting what is given to them and never reaching for more.'

Westbay gave her a small smirk. "He is not. And neither am I. I hope you didn't think you were the only one given extra exercises." Before she could respond, he sped up and turned the corner into a classroom, his expression saying better than any words that she was dismissed from his attention.

'Observe, a wild example of the contraceptive personality, in its natural habitat.' She resisted the urge to glare. Glaring would mean that he had affected her, something she refused to allow to be true.

After a quick lunch and another visit to the library, she checked her map, confirming that she was meant to leave the building altogether for Defensive Magic. She made her way to the north side of the University grounds, walking fast so the fifteen minutes between classes would be enough to arrive on time.

Green grass and trees gave way to bare, white ground by the time she arrived. The Flats, contrary to their name, were not flat at all. In fact, some of the white stone buttes seemed to have been deliberately molded with large platforms, squat walls, and even a few hoops. She did a double-take as she passed what seemed to be a pit of spikes, a faint sense of alarm rising in her. There was a building in the distance, but their professor met them out on the grounds.

She recognized this professor from the entrance examination. He was the one with the muscles and the armor, who had asked her about fighting the Blood Emperor.

He had them line up, then paced before them while speaking in a loud voice that carried far and bounced off the surrounding stone. "My name is Elwood Fekten. I served in the army during the border skirmishes, and the Haze War before that. I have no need for titles. You will call me Fekten. The man who taught this subject before me did so in a classroom, with a textbook. He was very knowledgeable, and his students became knowledgeable. They understood that a banshee's wail is deadly from five meters, and will burst your eardrums and knock you unconscious from ten. They had learned that the best way to avoid this is to cast a vibration-cancelling spell and send up distress sparks, since any call for help would not make it out of the bounds of the vibration-canceller. Can anyone tell me why following these instructions would lead to your death?"

Fekten stopped pacing, spinning to face to the woman closest to him. "You. Speak."

The woman's eyes were wide. "Umm…because as long as you're holding the vibration-cancelling spell, you cannot cast anything else? Well, unless you have an artifact."

He shook his head and continued walking. "While that is technically correct, it misses the point." He stopped in front of Sebastien. "What about you? Tell me why the accepted response will get you killed."

Sebastien's eyelids flared slightly wider before she got her face under control, hiding the burst of apprehension being singled out had caused her. "If you knew ahead of time that you were dealing with a banshee, you would go into the altercation with a vibration-cancelling spell already cast, preferably in artifact form so you'd be free to cast other magic personally. However, banshees rarely make straightforward attacks. What if you don't know you are about to be targeted by one? Rather than scream, they are more likely to sing. Their song has a quality that encourages loss of focus, so by the time you realize something is wrong, they're probably already close enough to slit your throat. Also, your banshee can scream on half a second's notice, but most sorcerers cannot cast a spell that quickly. If you do manage to cast the vibration-canceller after she starts singing—say if you had an artifact able to cast it, perhaps—you still have to deal with the actual banshee—who is not in fact completely helpless—while you are inside a field that is either dampening vibration so well that your own movement is hindered, or which is allowing through some vibration, which means maybe the banshee can still affect you with her voice while she tries to stab you with a kitchen knife." Her grandfather had told her just such a story when she was young.

Fekten didn't immediately shake his head and walk away. "So what would you do, if you suspected you were being stalked by a banshee?"

"Ideally, if you were traveling through lands where such a thing seemed likely, or a town where people kept going missing, you would have prepared in advance for various types of danger, including a banshee. Wards, an artifact or two, that sort of thing."

Fekten nodded slowly, then looked around at the other students to ensure they were paying attention. "And are you prepared thus, Siverling?"

"No," she admitted, thinking even as she said it that, 'Perhaps I should be so equipped.' Aloud, she said, "So, when I suspected I was being stalked by a banshee, if possible I would cast a deafening hex on myself, then try to slip from her sight without noticeably panicking, and from there either run away altogether or wait in ambush to attack her from a distance."

Fekten snorted and walked on. "Better. Still not perfect. Preparing you to think of the correct response as well as giving you the ability to carry it out is the purpose of this class. I am here to teach you how to avoid being killed by malicious parties. I cannot stop you from killing yourselves through stupidity or negligence, though some of you will undoubtedly meet your ends that way. This class is not about safe casting practices, it is about defeating or, more realistically for you lot, escaping an enemy. If you were hoping to get to attack something in this class, to let out some pent up aggression with destructive spells, you will be disappointed for quite a while. I do not have enough time to teach you both what you need to know to defend yourself and how to act on that information, so we will be doing our best to learn both at once, and it will be unpleasant."

He stopped pacing and turned to the Flats. "A strong body is a strong mind. At your level of skill, if you cannot escape properly, you will just die, since I doubt that you can kill anything larger than a pixie. No, we will start with running, and then move to strength training. I will explain the dangers of the world as we do so, and you will pay attention and remember what I say, or there will be even more training."

"Training" sounded more like he meant "torture," and though there was some nervous shuffling and a few mutters of discontent, as soon as he turned around and glared at them, everyone shut their mouths.

"Your training clothes are in the sim room. Follow me, and do not dawdle. We have little enough time as it is." He led them to the distant building at a quick jog, assigned them loose-fitting clothes, and shooed them into the changing rooms.

The next forty-five minutes were some of the most grueling of Sebastien's life, as Fekten led them through exercises while lecturing on the dangers of pixies and how best to deal with them, without ever seeming to grow tired or out of breath.

Sebastien hated physical exertion, and despite a certain stamina gained from being forced to carry all her worldly belongings and walk for miles when they couldn't find a wagon to ride in the back of, she wasn't very good at it, either. Running, tossing, and pulling herself about required a very different kind of fitness. Luckily, she was not prone to holding excess weight, but she had never been one for physical labor, either, and her male form didn't seem an improvement in that aspect. However, she consoled herself that if she ever had to sprint away from the coppers again, this would be good training.

A few minutes into the training, she gave up simply powering through on her own and surreptitiously cast an esoteric spell on herself. It muffled her pain slightly and allowed her thoughts to detach from it rather than focus constantly on the burning discomfort. It helped a little. Of course, it was difficult to keep the spell active while still paying attention to Fekten's lecture and completing the exercises, but the effort was worth it, in her opinion.

The last thirty minutes of class were spent stretching and answering questions about the lecture Fekten had given.

Finally, he let them leave, with an admonition to arrive already dressed for class the day after next if they did not want to perform unspecified punishments.

Chapter 23 - A Busy Schedule

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 3, Tuesday 6:00 a.m.

The pain-muffling spell didn't stop Sebastien from having sore muscles, and it wasn't feasible to keep it running all day long, not when she needed to concentrate on her classes and practice other casting exercises. Her body was stiff when she woke on Tuesday, and every movement made her want to whimper aloud. She stilled, cast the pain-muffling spell, and kept it going through a hot shower and rubbing a whole jar of bruise balm into her muscles. The bruise balm would only help a little for this type of pseudo-injury. It wasn't created for sore and overworked muscles, but it was better than nothing.

Besides, the deep well of exuberance she felt every time she looked around and realized where she was, the knowledge she now had access to, just waiting for her to find the time to devour it all, was not about to be dried up from a little physical fatigue. 'This will strengthen the force and soundness of my Will,' she assured herself. 'I can and will torture myself for that.'

She spent the rest of the first week getting acclimated to life at the University. Every moment was filled, and the days passed quickly.

The supervised practice rooms were busy with other students in the evenings, but she found a place and spent a few hours there when she wasn't in the library. She didn't particularly like it. There were too many other people—talking and casting magic and generally being a distraction. 'If only I could erase them all and learn in private, the University would be perfect.'

She ran through every variation of the spark-shooting spell that Professor Burberry had given, using both the heat of the Sacrifice Circle as well as the transmogrification components. Then, mindful of the need to push her limits, she tried to do it all with some additional variations. She used a simpler spell array as a little practice toward being a free-caster, which was the hardest, and led to exhaustion that day.

When she came back the next, she got creative with the color and brightness of the sparks, how far and quickly they shot, and the shape of the spray. When she started pushing the thaums higher to stretch her capacity, the flaring jet of sparks splashing against inside of the invisible warded bubble she was in drew attention.

She glared at the students who'd grown distracted from their own practice to look at her, and tried to tone down the light of the sparks while increasing the heat so she didn't draw so much attention. 'Well-deserved attention, to be sure, but Sebastien is going to disappear someday anyway, so it doesn't matter if I build his reputation as the next future Archmage of Lenore.' Sometimes that was hard to remember.

By the end of the first week, she had firm control of the iron ball exercise, using as many different methods to create its movement as she could think of. Professor Lacer had given her five extra exercises, not including the one everyone else was also doing. She hoped to get through the other four as quickly as possible, and poured hours of her spare time into the second exercise, which was closest to the one they were doing in class. It was a sympathetic movement spell, using a similar pair of iron balls.

However, this exercise wasn't like a standard sympathetic movement spell. Normally, you linked two objects, and then when you lifted one, it would take a little over twice as much energy as normal, but the second object would rise with the first. His version of the spell required the linked ball to move when its partner did, but in a skewed direction or vector. With the axis of movement reversed, tilted, or even curved.

She researched several different spell arrays and glyphs she might use to create these effects, similar to what Lacer had instructed for the first exercise. It helped, but the mental component was still entirely different from any other sympathetic spell she'd ever cast, and it took some time and practice to really clarify her Will.

In effect, she was linking only the kinetic energy, while the details of how that kinetic energy was expressed were entirely arbitrary. The eventual point of the multiple sub-exercises was probably to let her move one linked ball freely, while still moving the other back and forth on a simple line. By changing the third glyph of the spell array, she could move one ball at a specific vector that was different from its counterpart, but she wasn't to the point of free reign over the movement, yet.

Still, it was more interesting than spinning a ball in a circle over and over again. She began to experiment with that exercise, too, trying to push herself to stop and start rapidly, change directions, and pull the ball into the center and out to the edge of the glass.

Casting for hours every day was exhausting, especially when added on to the rigors of the classes and the theoretical studying they required. But she wouldn't want to waste even a moment of the five months she'd paid so exorbitantly for. 'I have to make it worth it.'

Sebastien spent the next couple of weeks in a blur of classes and studying. As the other students made friends and formed solid groups, she found herself isolated, except for Ana and the occasional irritation from Westbay. This was not unintentional. A few others made overtures of friendliness, which she turned down as politely as she could. She hoped, as Sebastien, to make as small an impression on the world as possible—despite her natural inclination to stand out—but even if that hadn't been the case, she had almost no time for socialization.

She made her way through the first couple of books assigned for each class, which was enough to give her some confidence in answering the professors' questions. She was still barely dragging herself through Fekten's Defensive Magic class, but at least the whole-body screaming pain from overworking her muscles had somewhat subsided.

Her other classes were more enjoyable.

Professor Gnorrish, who taught Natural Science, encouraged them to study the topics they were reviewing in class more deeply. He held a test at the end of the week and gave out fractions of contribution points to those who could answer bonus questions at the end. They were covering the basics at rapid speed, but it was nothing more than a review for most students. They'd been able to pass the entrance exam, after all. But some of them had been closer to failing than others, and not everyone took natural science and the things transmutation could do seriously.

Professor Ilma continued to be fascinating, but also sometimes confusing. She didn't particularly care that they remember dates, lineages, and ranks unless those details were critical to understanding why something important had happened. Memorization was second to comprehension.

She presented opposing arguments for the catalysts behind certain events, and sometimes even more than one version of the events themselves. She only sometimes accompanied those with an explanation of which was more likely to be true. She assigned books where historians argued with each other and made the students try to provide winning arguments for each side. Sometimes, when asked, she would give her opinions on the truth, which was often nuanced and unpleasant, but sometimes she would just say, "I don't know."

Some of her classmates disliked this method of teaching.

Sebastien thought it was wonderful. Ilma didn't give out contribution points for answering bonus questions at the end of her tests, but occasionally she would give one to a student who asked an astute question, and even to students who argued with her. When the latter happened, she would assign that student special reading and tell them to discuss the matter with her when they'd finished learning more about the topic.

In fact, Ilma assigned more reading than most of the class could keep up with.

Sebastien's grasp on history was spotty at best, what with her lack of formal schooling. She tried to get through all the books Ilma kept suggesting, but even she couldn't manage it without skimming a little.

Ilma didn't care one way or another, didn't ask if they'd finished before assigning the next bit of reading, but she graded harshly for anyone who showed ignorance of a topic they'd covered.

Sympathetic Science with Professor Pecanty turned out to be less awesome magic, and more media exploration and interpretation. He would perform simple transmogrification spells so they could see different components used to create various material and abstract effects. At first, this excited her, but she grew confused, and even a little frustrated, when he didn't teach them how to cast any of the example spells.

Instead, he focused on familiarizing the students with poems, stories, alliterations, and rhyming words. Always with example components, but with few transmogrification practice spells assigned. Instead, they discussed theme, connected word choices to feelings, and theorized about different things a seemingly straightforward piece of text could mean. There was no talk of foreign components, or the way other species used familiar ones. When she asked, Pecanty told her that was material for a higher level of study, which she might get to eventually, but not in his class.

At the end of the second week, on Saturday, she went to the library to find recipes for some concoctions the Verdant Stag required that she didn't know how to brew. Katerin had also given her a list of potions Dryden had requested for his new emergency response teams, so Sebastien had plenty of work available, if she could manage it.

She researched and copied down recipes and their various modifications into her grimoire until she heard the bell tolling the hour and realized half the day was gone. She slumped back in her seat and rubbed tired eyes. The mental fatigue was catching up with her. Not just from the last couple of weeks at the University, but the month before that as well, with all the studying, worrying, and scrambling to complete the alarm ward project for Dryden. 'I must pace myself. The brewing can wait till next week, I think. Perhaps half a day without work would not be amiss.'

She considered trying to take a nap, but that lead her to thinking about her dreamless sleep spell. Sleeping twice a day was the only way she was able to keep up with the demands on her mind and body, but she was used to just four or five hours of sleep per night, and it felt like her days had suddenly shortened at the same time her workload had increased.

Instead, she perused the shelves for sleeping spells that might be more effective than what she had. She found nothing encouraging. Over the last few years she'd already tried most of the things available on this first floor of the library, and had eventually to come up with her own amalgamation of concepts to create her current dreamless sleep spell.

She already knew it would help if she had thousands of thaums to put into the spell, or could somehow continue to cast the spell while sleeping. If she were more knowledgeable in artificery, perhaps she could find a way to further improve on the latest iteration, which did seem to be helping, but she wasn't taking that class. She wasn't even sure that her problems could be solved by putting the spell into an artifact, because of the basic restrictions of the craft.

She briefly considered trying to convert the spell into a potion. Alchemy was a ritual. With alchemy, you could store up power over the long brewing period, packing much more potency into the final effect than what you would be able to otherwise. Then, the magic packed into a concoction could be release slowly, over a longer period than the casting, or even all at once, for a powerful burst. You could portion off doses of a single brew to give to multiple users.

Artificery was active casting with a special type of spell array. With artificery, you cast a spell, and that same spell was released when the proper conditions were met. The materials needed to create an artifact were much more expensive, but could store the magical energy for a lot longer without depletion. You could release the magic a little slower, which was the principle that light crystals and her current version of the dreamless sleep spell were based on, but that was still a type of containment and restriction, which was the principle that allowed basic artifacts to hold a spell for later use. You couldn't release the spell faster or stronger than when you'd cast it into the artifact. Perhaps much higher levels of the craft allowed more control and variation, but really her problem was a lack of power.

If she wanted to make the spell more powerful over a longer period, the artifact used to cast it on her while she slept would need to be charged for hours every day, and it would be even worse with a potion. The time required defeated the point.

If there was any way around this, the knowledge of the craft was far beyond her, at Master or even Grandmaster level. She was just too weak compared to the strength of her nightmares.

As Sebastien was standing with the intention to leave, she paused. 'With the right resources and enough Will, magic can solve all problems. What if there was some way to increase my stamina, or to enhance the regenerative effects of sleep? That would solve the problem even better.' She used one of the silver-etched crystal balls in the atrium to divine a list of books that matched keywords like "sleep," "stamina," and "enhanced regeneration." The ball gave her an encouragingly long list of codes, strings of letters and numbers that would lead her to the right section, stack, and order of the books she was looking for. "Everyday" magic like this still brought a smile to her face, and she doubted that would ever completely go away.

It took her a couple of hours to get through the first half of the list, and though most of the books had been only peripherally related to the topic, she found a couple of semi-promising ones and checked them out for later perusal.

More tired than ever by that point, Sebastien packed her things and returned the alchemy books to the shelves, then strolled out into the faintly foggy afternoon. 'I can do it all,' she assured herself. 'Maybe not right away, I do need rest, but if there's not enough time or energy, maybe that just means I haven't found the best way to approach the problem yet. There has to be a way for me to do it all.'

Chapter 24 - The Menagerie

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 14, Saturday 4:00 p.m.

The smell of the sea was strong, even so far above Gilbratha proper. Sebastien meandered through the scattered trees, taking the time to let both her eyes and her brain wander. 'Where shall I do the brewing? I could try to find an unused laboratory or classroom here, but that feels risky. If I were caught, I would likely not be punished, but it would be suspicious. If they caught me trying to remove large quantities of potions or salves from University grounds…'

She shuddered. 'It would make the most sense to brew in one of the Verdant Stag's rooms, since I wouldn't need to worry about transporting the finished alchemical concoctions. It would be best not to travel there as Sebastien, however, and I've already resolved to switch back and forth as little as possible until I know more about how the artifact works. I could anonymously rent a room at some random inn, but students below Apprentice level cannot legally practice magic outside the University or without the supervision of a Master. If I were caught, it would be disastrous. I might be able to brew at Dryden Manor. I lived with him for weeks already, so it's not like intertwining our identities would create any new danger, and as long as no one knows what exactly I'm doing there, it should be safe. I assume his servants can be trusted, but perhaps I should discuss it with him.'

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. 'To sum up, I have no idea how to do this.'

She was mentally compiling a list of the ingredients she would need when the winding cobblestone path through the grounds brought her to a fence made of wrought iron bars. Its gate was bordered by two stone columns, which were buzzing ever-so-faintly in a way that signified powerful magic.

Curious, she stepped up to study the wards carved into the stone, only barely able to understand them after a few minutes of concentration. 'This is the Menagerie,' she realized. 'The wards aren't meant to keep anything out, but to keep the things on the other side in.' With a couple seconds of hesitation, she opened the gate and stepped through, feeling the student token against her chest shudder subtly for a moment as she did so. Likely, she wouldn't be able to pass those stone columns without it.

The gardens within were barely controlled chaos, seemingly on the edge of overgrowing into wildness, and yet giving the sense that they were meant to be so. Narrow cobblestone paths cut through it all, while a low iron fence kept the plants from spilling out over the footpaths.

She grinned. 'It's like the garden of wonders out of a child's tale.'

A group of purple-streaked flowers with long, tapered petals opened and turned to follow her as she passed, releasing a spray of sweet-smelling pollen into the air. Sebastien recognized them as deadly elcan irises, flesh-eating plants that lured their prey with their beauty and the soporific properties of their pollen. 'Tanya meant it when she said this place was dangerous.' Still, Sebastien couldn't quite bring herself to be afraid or turn back. It was dangerous, but it was also magic.

One young sapling in the distance uprooted itself and hurried away when she came into view, hiding itself among the other plants.

A three-headed snake crossed the path ahead of her, stopping briefly to give her a dismissive glance, and a few plots over, a trio of tiny birds darted out of a tree, blinking in and out of visibility with every flap of their wings.

A small pond hosted minnow-sized fish that darted about, glinting as if they were made of precious metals polished to a high shine.

Sebastien wasn't alone in the Menagerie. A couple of people tended the grounds, while others moved carefully through the dense flora, harvesting the plants. Those who were harvesting all had baskets made of stiff leather, which they placed their bounty into, and they would occasionally mist the plants within with water.

She stopped by a girl who was inside one of the garden plots, plucking dark green insects off a plant and placing them inside a small bottle. "Excuse me, Miss," Sebastien said.

The girl startled, then flushed when she turned and saw Sebastien.

Sebastien smiled. "I'm new to the University. Can you tell me, do they allow students to harvest or take things from the Menagerie? I saw some snowdrops a few plots back but wasn't sure if it would be alright to take a couple."

The girl was looking her up and down, her cheeks bright pink, and seemed to take a moment to realize Sebastien had asked her a question. "Oh! Er, as long as you have a basket, you can harvest things and take them out. Of course, we aren't allowed to over-harvest, but they don't really regulate the alchemy students beyond that."

"Oh." Sebastien looked to the ground and put her hands in her pockets, wearing what she hoped was a convincingly innocent expression. "I have an interest in alchemy, but I didn't have enough space to take that class this term. Is that the only way to get a basket?"

The girl shrugged apologetically. "I've seen students from the Zoology, Horticulture, and Herbology classes here, too. Perhaps you could speak to one of the professors and they would let you have one, if you explained your situation?"

Sebastien nodded noncommittally and murmured, "Perhaps," before thanking the girl and continuing on.

'This place is a treasure trove of ingredients and components, and I'm sure the University administrators are aware of that and have prepared against theft.' It seemed safer to get any items she wouldn't want them to know about from the market in town, or have someone from the Verdant Stag purchase them for her. 'Still, if I have a chance to safely and anonymously obtain a basket, or find another way to bypass those wards, the things within the Menagerie might give me an actual chance to repay Katerin. Magical components are expensive.' She didn't consider it theft. She'd paid the University hundreds of gold for only a few months within its walls, and would continue to do so. Repurposing a few of their magical components was her right as a student. It was only good sense to take full advantage of any and all opportunities presented to her.

By the time the sun began to set, she had strolled through the entire lower-security part of the Menagerie. The inner gate, beyond which lay the significant majority of the gigantic artificial habitat, did not open for her. She took that as a sign that it would be unsafe to enter and didn't continue trying, though she wondered what could be in the thick forest beyond.

She turned back the way she'd come, meandering slowly toward the entrance. Along the way, she passed a few people strolling idly like her. She even saw Professor Munchworth in the distance, leaning over a small bridge above a stream and looking into the water. She wished for a moment that she could cast some spell that would send him tumbling in while she kept an innocent distance, but even the ire he brought up in her stomach couldn't spoil her good mood.

She felt relaxed, and realized she even wore a rare smile of contentedness, despite her inability to possess any of the treasure all around her. 'Should I try to take something from the Menagerie with me, just to see what would happen? I could easily feign ignorance of the rules if an authority figure came to investigate.' Ultimately, she decided against it. She was tired.

Instead of going directly to the cafeteria once she exited the Menagerie, she once again examined the spellwork on the entrance gate's stone columns and along the outer wrought iron fence. She had made little progress deciphering the wards when a familiar voice called out her name.

She rose to see Anastasia Gervin waving at her, the girl's other arm tucked through the elbow of Damien Westbay as they strolled along the cobblestone path to the Menagerie.

Ignoring Westbay's scowl, Ana dragged him toward Sebastien.

"Hello, Sebastien! What are you up to this evening?" Ana said, smiling with willful obliviousness to the tension between the two boys.

Sebastien nodded in return to her greeting. "I've just taken a stroll through the Menagerie. It's quite remarkable."

Westbay's eyes narrowed, emphasizing the bags under his eyes which gave him a constant look of fatigue, though Sebastien had seen him sleeping soundly several times when she herself was up early or in the middle of the night, so she didn't know what he had to be tired about. "You're outside the Menagerie, and were crouched over the fence line."

Sebastien felt a sudden spike of alarm, but kept that from her face, pausing to think of a response in a way that she hoped seemed natural. "Well, yes. I have an interest in wards. In all magic, really, but lately I've been doing some research to expand my understanding of that branch of magic. These are quite complex, though. I have to admit I don't really understand them." She put on a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her head.

"You're sure you weren't examining the wards to figure out how to bypass them?" Westbay said, his lip curling up on one side in a sneer. "I've heard more than a few stories about the students from upper levels harvesting moonbeams and fairy wings from the Menagerie at night for the…mind-altering effects."

Ana's eyes grew wide, and she turned to Westbay in shock at his blatant rudeness.

Sebastien's back straightened further, her chin lifting. 'The best defense in a situation like this is a powerful offense.' She scowled, but before she could shoot out a scathing counter-blow, someone spoke behind her.

"That really is the height of stupidity."

The speaker was their student liaison, Tanya Canelo, who was walking out of the Menagerie gate. She stopped at Sebastien's side, an eyebrow raised as she looked between the two boys. "Those students may think they're getting away with something, but I can assure you the University is fully aware that they have removed certain items, and why they did so. Coming here at night does not stop the wards from alerting, whether or not the students have a harvest basket."

Sebastien filed that information away in her mind, but said, "That information is interesting, but irrelevant to me, since I have no intention of stealing anything from the Menagerie. Though you may not be able to imagine doing any study outside of class," she said to Westbay, "I am not incurious." As Westbay had a few days prior, she said the word like the slur it was.

The boy's cheeks flushed. "Perhaps some of us simply prefer to use our free time to ensure our success rather than run off on irrational tangents. I'm surprised you have any time at all to get away from study. Or have you given up on Professor Lacer's training already?"

At that point, Ana elbowed Westbay in the side, not even attempting to hide the sharp jab into his ribs.

Tanya seemed to find all of this supremely amusing and made no effort to hide her interest in the byplay.

When she looked back at Sebastien, Ana's smile was overly bright and forced. "So, what do you two think of that sorceress thief who hit the University a couple of months ago? Damien was just regaling me with speculation about the case. The Westbay family is in charge of the coppers, you know."

Sebastien felt a faint sense of unreality. 'This must be a dream. A nightmare.'

Tanya shrugged, putting her hands in her pockets and rocking back on her heels lazily. "It would be wonderful if they had any real information, but if they did, they would have caught her already, I think." She looked to Westbay, raising her eyebrow again as if daring him to refute her claim.

The boy seemed less inclined to rudeness with the upper level student than he was with Sebastien. "They know she's a sorcerer, and she has had some contact with her accomplice in prison, using a blood magic spell. She's bold. My brother says she'll act again, and eventually make a mistake. When she does, we will catch her."

Sebastien hoped she wasn't pale, and very carefully maintained an expression of irritation to mask her dread. "That's all?" When Westbay didn't immediately pipe up with further evidence against her, she snorted. "Well then. I think I'll be off to dinner. You might want to cut your little stroll short, Westbay. Not all of us are able to handle a full class load along with whatever else comes our way without trouble." She didn't want to push too far. She had apparently made an enemy of someone powerful, but restraint could keep his animosity from getting even worse. Still, she seemed unable to maintain a firm lock on her tongue, and as always, it tried to get her into trouble even if she understood the foolishness of her actions.

With a nod to both other females, she strolled off down the path. 'I hope Westbay isn't the type to fight dirty. Just in case, I should make sure the wards around my bed and belongings are as strong as possible. As for the rest, I need to talk to Dryden.' The fact that the coppers knew she had contacted her father wasn't a good sign, but hopefully it wasn't so bad as to lead them to Sebastien.

Chapter 25 - Alchemy

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 14, Saturday 5:30 p.m.

Sebastien considered sending a message to Dryden through the University Administration center, whose mail department was behind the occasional paper bird she saw flying through the air, but decided against it, since she didn't know what information Administration tracked when sending them. Or even if the spell worked at distances farther than the University grounds. She resolved to learn how to cast it, or another simple communication spell, herself.

Instead, she simply arrived at his house that evening, her nose and cheeks red from the cold.

Dryden offered her a cup of hot, spiced cocoa, which she would normally have savored and allowed to warm her, but she took just a sip, set it down on the edge of his desk, and promptly forgot about it as she explained why she'd come.

Dryden was much less concerned about the coppers' knowledge of the raven messenger than she was. He was sleep-deprived, the symptoms of which she was quite familiar with. He rubbed bloodshot eyes. "So they know you spoke with him. He knew nothing relevant, so they couldn't have learned much from him. And it's not as if finding the dead raven can lead them back to you. You are a young man from a good background attending the very prestigious Thaumaturgic University of Lenore. Siobhan is a poor young woman who is in hiding or has left the city altogether after arguing with her father. No matter what other clues they gather—and trust me, what they have is not enough to be useful—there is a disconnect between those ideas. There is no precedence for such a thing. Even if they had real evidence, it's unlikely they could understand the true implications of what they were seeing."

She grimaced, pacing back and forth in front of him. "I understand what you're saying, but there could be factors at work that we don't understand, or pivotal pieces of information we're missing. Is there any way to get better insight into what their investigation has uncovered? I would feel better if we knew they were nowhere near to discovering the truth, as opposed to merely hoping and speculating that I am safe. That we are safe."

He sighed, running a hand over his jaw. "You're right. I don't have any direct contacts in Harrow Hill, but I can inquire around. Give me a few days."

She stopped pacing and nodded, letting her shoulders hang with released tension.

"While you are here, why not stay for dinner?" he asked.

Almost giddy with the relief that Dryden would be using his considerable resources to make sure she was safe, she laughed. "Yes, please! I cannot wait to taste something other than the University slop!"

Dryden yawned a lot and ate slowly, but seemed pleased to have her drop by. He enquired about her progress in her studies, asked intelligent questions when she explained what she was learning, and looked at her with an expression that was not quite satisfaction and not quite pride, but which left her feeling quite gratified with his company.

After dinner, he went back to his study, and she took the time to check on the ancient book she'd hidden inside the mattress in her room. It was still there, seemingly undisturbed.

She took it out and placed it on the floor, staring at the incomprehensible glyph stamped into its leather cover. She needed a better hiding place for it. 'Maybe I could cut up some of the floor, hollow out a hole in the marble the exact size of the book, and then seal it back up again?' She eyed the matte marble dubiously. Each square was fit snugly against the others, with no visible grout or binding medium. 'My mending spell might be able to handle that, but how am I supposed to cut one of those blocks free? Could I use a sympathetic movement spell to lift one directly out of the floor?'

She leaned her ear to the floor and tapped on it, hoping for a hollow sound. There was none. 'Not a facade, then. The marble must be at least two inches thick. Knowing the Gilbrathan tendency for excess, these floors are made of pure stone.' She hurried back downstairs and looked at the ceiling from the ground floor. Sure enough, it was marble. 'They could have put a facade on either side, but I'd bet they just made the whole structure from stone and used extreme precision and magic to keep everything together.'

Some quick calculations disabused her of any hope of using a sympathetic connection to lift one of the blocks. 'I'm at somewhere over two hundred thaums, but under two hundred and fifty. That's enough to lift about fifty pounds, or twenty-three kilograms, one meter per second. But those blocks have to be many times that. I might be able to manage if I could lift very slowly, spreading that energy expenditure out over a longer time period, but there's still the structural integrity of the floor to consider. Plus, if they bound the blocks together with anything, I'm back to needing some sort of cutting spell.'

She set the idea aside as impractical and pulled out her grimoire.

She caressed the scuffed leather cover lovingly, then flicked through the pages filled with notes, questions, and sketches till she found the page where she'd copied decryption, nullifying, and revealing spells from the reference texts she'd found in the University library. Students weren't allowed to take books off University grounds, so she'd painstakingly copied the relevant sections into her own grimoire.

'These spells may be simple and meant for children, but that doesn't mean they won't work. We've made significant advancements since the time the amulet and the book were created. Maybe one of these will work based on a principle the creator didn't think to ward against.'

It took her over two hours to work through every spell she'd copied, drawing the arrays onto the floor in chalk, setting out the components closest to the suggested ones from the books, and then erasing the Word and trying again with the next one.

She kept hoping that the next one would work.

None did. That might have been because of the exceptional creativity of the creator, or her own relative weakness.

In the end, she was exhausted. She dragged herself back to the University, numb frustration hounding every step.

Back at the dorms, she skipped Professor Lacer's exercises for once and simply went to sleep. She felt better in the morning, but she was becoming less enchanted with only having access to the first level of the library. Maybe what she needed was on one of the upper floors, or even the archives in the lower levels.

Over the next week, she tried not to let her worry over the investigation affect her studies. If anything, her fear of possible expulsion and arrest pushed her harder. It was an impulse to absorb all the magical knowledge she could in case this opportunity was ripped away.

Professor Lacer apparently got angry at some mishandling of magic by one of the second term students and had him expelled from the University in a scene that Sebastien hadn't personally witnessed, but which grew more dramatic with every retelling she heard. She even heard a version that claimed Lacer turned the student into a sheep out of anger and sent the bleating young man back to his family with a note that said, "Your son was raised like an animal, so I have unified his outer appearance to match the inner."

It wasn't that she believed the rumors—well, not the more theatrical versions—but they did little to reassure her of the stability of her status as a student.

On Saturday, she left the University early in the morning and spent some time browsing Waterside Market for ingredients. As someone without even an Apprentice license, technically she shouldn't have been allowed to buy magical items, even if she was a University student, because they provided their students with supplies. However, an attitude of arrogance, her expensive clothing, and a quick flash of the sky kraken burnt into the back of her student token allowed her to get what she needed, and no one insisted on needing to see her certification before selling to her. It probably helped that she didn't require any restricted or particularly powerful components.

Waterside Market itself imbued her with a kind of giddiness, despite the pain she felt in her money purse when looking at the standard prices. They had spell components from all over the world, some of which she had never heard of and others which she couldn't afford.

The people were just as varied and interesting.

She saw a sorcerer walking around with a big tome of magic, which would allow him to cast a variety of spells with less than half the normal amount of preparation. The price of such a tome was ridiculously exorbitant, however.

A woman wearing robes of silk woven with active, slightly glowing spells walked past with a pair of guards, her face so beautiful Sebastien was sure she must use glamours.

There were people of other species too. Not so many of them as to avoid the looks of curiosity, but not enough to cause a sensation with their unusual appearance.

A hag wearing a big hat to protect her cataract-covered eyes from the weak sun was selling poppet luck charms that Sebastien thought might have been made of human hair.

A pixie fluttered within a huge birdcage, throwing curses and lewd gestures at the crowd, the dandruff from its constantly peeling wings falling to the bottom of the cage. Small containers of pixie dust were advertised for sale on the table beside it.

A slew of witches were recognizable because of their contracted creatures. Many were accompanied by elementals from one of the other planes, but a couple by simple magical creatures, like a cockatrice or a drake.

Sebastien caught a glimpse of a coy kitsune slipping through the crowd with her fluffy tails wrapped around her body.

A prognos, with one large eye in the center of his forehead, read fortunes at a gaudy stall. Sebastien avoided the prognos's gaze, just in case he could see through her transformation.

A crowd consisting mostly of children and their parents surrounded an illusionist who was putting on a shadow-play, colored lights and shadows taking the form of simplified scenery and people. A young pickpocket grazed through the edge of the crowd, nimble fingers darting out whenever an opportunity presented itself.

Sebastien didn't call out the thief, simply made sure her own purse was secure and moved on.

She already had her own small cauldron, which was all she could handle at her Will's capacity, but along with the ingredients, she bought a whole box of small jars and vials to hold single doses of the alchemical concoctions she was about to make.

She arrived at Dryden Manor well-prepared. When she had seen him the Saturday before, she had verified that brewing at his house would be safe, and he had promised to move the finished products to the Verdant Stag for her.

She walked in through the unobtrusive door to the side of the kitchen, grinning at the servants when they exclaimed in surprise. With a wink at Sharon, who tittered like a girl ten years younger, Sebastien struggled up the stairs and gave a perfunctory knock on the doorjamb of Dryden's study with her foot—since both her arms were full—then poked her head into the room. Dryden's head jerked up from whatever he was working on and he blinked in surprise, seeming to come out of a fugue of intense concentration. His expression and posture both relaxed when he recognized her, and he smiled.

"I'm here to brew. Where do you want me?" she said with a grin, panting under the weight of her supplies.

"Come in," he said, rising from his desk. "You can set your supplies there," he said, gesturing to the bare stone table set against the inner wall of his study, near the fireplace.

"You rearranged things," she said, looking around.

"Yes. As I understand it, there should be a clear area around the brewing station in case of accidents or explosions. I didn't want my belongings covered in acid."

"Nothing I will brew today is in danger of exploding," she said flatly, one eyebrow rising.

He snickered, but pointed to the table. "Slate, since it's chemically resistant. The fireplace is connected to the one below, so the wards should vent any fumes from your brewing." He pointed to a basin beside the table. "That basin is spelled to draw up fresh water from the well, and has a setting to banish its contents, so you can wash your tools."

He lingered as Sebastien set down her supplies and unpacked everything. "What are you making today?" he asked, leaning against the fireplace.

She rubbed her tired arms and put her small cauldron on the table. "It's early yet, so I should have enough time to make a few batches. I think it will be fever-reducing potion, a minor healing salve for cuts and scrapes, and maybe a small amount of the philtre of darkness you requested, if I have the time."

"None of the other battle potions or philtres?" He sounded disappointed.

"I'll attempt one or two, if I can. I've never brewed most of the ones on your list before, and I have to be careful not to push myself too hard." Her choice of what to brew this first day had been based on what would be most useful for the average citizen who went to the Verdant Stag. Once she felt she had produced a reasonable amount of basic healing concoctions, she had ideas about what would make her the most gold for the least effort. For instance, an elixir of euphoria was one of the more expensive items on the list Katerin had given her, and though it could be used in small doses to combat low spirits, it was more often sold recreationally. A potion of moonlight sizzle and the philtre of darkness were both something fun she wanted to try for herself, though Dryden's emergency response teams could use them as well.

"You're right, of course. I'm sure the University is pushing you hard, and your health is more important than a few potions. It's only that I was somewhat excited to see them in action," he said with a chagrined smile. "You have enough vials and jars to store it all?"

She nodded.

"You kept your receipts for the ingredients? You can give them to Katerin and she'll reimburse you, or take the cost off your debt."

"I have them with me. Will you give them to her, when you see her?" she asked, pulling the small stack of receipt papers from one of her larger pockets, which also held the loose change from her purchases.

Dryden's fingers brushed against hers as he took the receipts, and a visible spark of static leapt between their skin, causing both of them to jump. She chuckled nervously, but he only rubbed his fingers together with an absent look on his face. "I have an update on the investigation," he said with no preamble.

Her head snapped toward him.

He waved his hand. "It's nothing to be excited about, one way or the other. It seems your father spoke to the guards about your visit, and the coppers have the raven in an evidence box, so they have Siobhan Naught firmly connected to the crime of blood magic. They are no closer to catching you, and it seems the investigation has stalled since then. They're trying to figure out if you have a source of information within the University that tipped you off about what, where, and when to steal, hoping they can trace your 'source' back to you. If nothing happens to warm the investigation up, I expect it will be set aside to free up resources soon. In a few years, you will likely have no trouble returning to Siobhan's form, though you wouldn't be able to use your real name, of course."

She wasn't surprised that her father—Ennis, she reminded herself—hadn't kept his silence about their visit, but she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit the small pang in her chest was from disappointment. "Any news on a trial or sentencing for him?"

Dryden shook his head. "Not yet. I suspect they're waiting till they either catch you or give up hope of doing so."

She began to arrange her supplies on the table. 'I have no plans to be captured. So what will happen to him then?'

"Are you alright?" Dryden asked, startling her from her thoughts.

She looked up and gave him a small smile. "Yes. Don't worry about me, I won't jeopardize your safety—or my own—with more sentiment."

"That wasn't—" He sighed and shook his head, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. "I didn't mean to imply that."

"Thank you for looking into the investigation, Mr. Dryden," she said, then turned her attention back to her preparations.

After a pause, he returned to the work at his desk.

Sebastien filled the cauldron with the appropriate amount of water, poured some oil into the brazier beneath it, and set it alight to start the water warming. Like all other magic, alchemy required the three elements of Word, Will, and Sacrifice, and used a Circle to constrain the domain of effect.

The Circle ran around the center of the cauldron's round belly, and the sphere of containment spread from there. The mouth of the cauldron was open to the air, as if the sphere had part of the top sliced off. Alchemists knew to take care not to let their hands dip into the sphere, even if it was invisible. Unlike modern sorcery, alchemical spells were cast as a ritual. The components—also ingredients, in this case—were both a portion of the Sacrifice and the Conduit through which the magic would flow. Alchemical concoctions usually took at least an hour to complete, sometimes much longer, and required concentration for the majority of the process.

She poured out a Circle of white salt on the table and prepared the ingredients for the fever reducer within its boundaries. Alchemy required a steady flow of energy rather than large bursts, except on rare occasions, but she still wouldn't be able to safely make more than twenty doses at once.

Sebastien had plenty of experience brewing this potion, as it was universally useful, and though most of the heat and inflammation-reduction was focused on the head, it also doubled as a mild pain reliever. Someone was always willing to purchase one, and some variation of the ingredients was always relatively easy to purchase or gather.

Careful not to disturb the salt with her movements, she sliced willow, crushed spearmint, swirled a vial of lake fog nine times counterclockwise, and powdered a few hens' teeth, to start. As she worked, she bent her Will in a steady stream upon the ingredients, directing their magical properties to specific purposes.

When she finished the initial ingredient preparation, she turned to the now-boiling cauldron and sprinkled the first of the ingredients in, moving her hand in a circle as she did. In addition to the ingredients themselves, the heat of the boiling water acted as Sacrifice, slowly dissolving the components within, even sometimes things like pebbles or glass, which otherwise wouldn't have melted under such moderate heat.

The Word was held in the brewer's mind as a specific intent or series of intents while they completed each step of creation, and was sometimes aided by a few rhymes or chants spoken over the boiling cauldron.

Similar to artificery, alchemy was so useful because, although slow, it allowed one to bind the effects of a spell into something that could be used later, and could be used by a relatively weak thaumaturge to create a spell they otherwise might not be able to cast on demand. Of course, some of the magical energy was lost along the way—about thirty percent, in most cases. A potion could also spoil, so some people felt alchemy was inferior to artificery, which could capture and release a larger portion of the imbued energy due to the spells being set into stone, metal, or some other high-efficiency material.

She liked alchemy in part because it was much more accessible to a commoner such as herself. Artificery required not only the components to charge the spell, but also expensive materials for the artifact itself, which many people couldn't afford, and access to the complex mathematical and logical strings used to create the Word. Alchemy was more common, and despite the complicated rituals, it was still simpler than the elaborate, tiny spell arrays that an artificer had to carve into their items. Thus, alchemy was easier to learn outside of a structured environment like the University.

But mainly, it was the ability to cast alchemical spells as a ritual rather than an immediate spell that gave alchemy its advantage. Over the course of ninety minutes, Sebastien could pack more magic into a single-use potion than she could ever hope to cast instantaneously while imbuing an artifact.

She added the ingredients with her hands, as her grandfather had taught her, thinking of their purpose as she did so. She took deep breaths and hummed on the exhale, deep in her throat, as he had often done when brewing, though she had no proof that it actually helped. When she stirred the brew, she did so with wood taken from a living tree, feeling it heat up as magic flowed through it. She imagined the relief the potion would give the drinker, the banishment of pain, the feeling of an aching head cooling as its owner fell into sleep, while the body remained warm enough to fight off sickness. She could feel the mental fatigue as time went on, the potion greedily drinking up all the magic she could channel into it.

She brewed for a few hours, with breaks in between each session, and returned to the University after sharing another fine dinner with Dryden, where she stuffed herself to the point of bursting in an attempt to make up for the exhaustion of extended magical exertion.

She came again on Sunday, earlier this time without the need to visit the market, and returned to brewing. She pushed herself, wanting to get as much done as possible before returning to classes the next day. Plus, all magical exertion was useful to increase her Will capacity, the more difficult the better.

By sunset, vial racks filled with potions and cartons of salve jars were stacked beside the table.

She'd made two batches of the fever reducer and the minor healing salve, which went by the more common name of "skin-knitter," as well as a single batch of the much more magic-intensive, but also better paying, revivifying potion. She'd also borrowed one of the big pots from the kitchen and used it in place of her cauldron to create a gigantic batch of the potion of moonlight sizzle, which she'd put in squat little jars that glowed ever-so-faintly blue.

When shaken, the potion roiled with contained bubbles and let off a soft but bright glow that mimicked the light of a full moon and was powerful enough to illuminate a small room on its own. It was best brewed under the actual light of a full moon, but she had substituted owl feathers and a couple handfuls of powdered moonstone, which seemed to work well enough. A jar of moonlight sizzle didn't last as long as a spelled light crystal, only about five hundred hours, or three full weeks of light, and the output wasn't steady, as you had to shake it every half hour or so to restart the bubbles, but it was cheaper than a light crystal, and significantly cheaper over time than an ordinary candle. Plus, she could use it to read under the covers in her dorm without worrying about setting the bed on fire with her little lantern flame.

For Dryden, she made a small batch of Speer's philtre of stench, the fumes of which she had made sure to keep confined within the cauldron's influence, and the philtre of darkness, which was magically intensive enough that she could only make a half-dozen per batch, like the revivifying potion.

She made sure everything was labeled properly with little slips of paper, but hesitated before signing them. It was standard for any magical creations to come with the mark of the creator, as not all thaumaturges were equal, and the consumer might prefer one alchemist, sorcerer, or warder over another. In the end, she simply initialed each of them "S.S." and took one of each concoction for herself, with Dryden's permission.

"No need to take it out of your commission. Think of it as a tip for your hard work," he said, grinning at her.

Her fingers trembled faintly with exhaustion, and she had to force her eyes to focus properly. 'I pushed myself too hard,' she admitted, but, looking at the product of her labors, she felt no regret. 'Still, that's over twelve gold of pure profit, enough to cover almost nine days of accrued interest, and a handful of potions for my own use, too. If I do this every weekend till the end of term, I will at least have kept up with the interest on my debt. As my Will continues to strengthen, I'll be able to make more expensive concoctions, and more doses per cauldron.'

In a day, she had earned as much as a poorly compensated worker might make in three weeks. 'If they have enough demand to purchase everything I can make during the ten weeks of break time the University has every year, I may even be able to pay off a good portion of the principal as well.' Despite her fatigue, she felt satisfied with her productivity. That is, until she considered that the loan she'd been given was only for one term at the University, and she didn't have enough left to cover the second term of the year, so would undoubtedly have to take another loan from Katerin.

Dryden looked over the table full of her work with satisfaction, rocking back and forth on his heels. "This is wonderful, Sebastien. It will make a real difference in the lives of dozens of people."

"Well, that's nice too, but I'm mainly interested in the money," she admitted. "I wouldn't work this hard for altruistic reasons."

He gave her a slightly lopsided smile. "Well, people are selfish. That's human nature. In a perfect world, society would incentivize individual action that was also good for the whole."

She hesitated, but said, "There's no such thing as a perfect world."

The rocking on his heels stopped. "I know that," he said softly. He picked up a potion of moonlight sizzle and shook it, watching the cold light spill past his fingers. "But it's not unreasonable to think it can get a little better, wouldn't you agree?"

She didn't answer, partly because she wasn't sure if she did agree, and partly because she was skeptical that he really believed it, either. 'He seems too intelligent to be so…naive.'

She half dozed her way through dinner with Dryden, who seemed equally fatigued, and made it back to the dorms shortly before lights-out with barely enough energy for her nighttime routine.

Her third week at the University passed without comment, though she noticed the other students' interest in her didn't seem to have diminished. In fact, she found people she didn't even recognize from her dorm—complete strangers—staring at her when they thought she wasn't looking. A pair of girls even went so far as to follow her between classes, quickly ducking into doorways or behind other students and giggling to each other when she looked at them.

Ana, who had been walking with her at the time, laughed at Sebastien's expression of confusion. When Sebastien scowled at her, the other girl explained. "They think you're handsome, Sebastien. Take it as a compliment. Not all females can be as self-composed and unaffected as I."

Sebastien felt particularly stupid for not considering that as a possibility, though she didn't think it explained the entirety of the interest her schoolmates seemed to hold for her. 'Perhaps my attempts to seem unassuming and forgettable have instead created an aura of mystery.' While that would have at one point amused and even gratified her, now it was a depressing thought. 'I hope not. People want to solve mysteries.'

Chapter 26 - Bargains Big and Small

Oliver

Month 11, Day 24, Tuesday 8:30 p.m.

As Oliver stepped into the Verdant Stag well after dark, his mask concealing his features, a man lunged out of the shadows beside the door and grabbed onto him.

Oliver reached for his battle wand immediately, sinking down into a fighting stance. He stopped himself just before shooting the man with a concussive blast, registering the man's plain clothing, lack of weapon, and the desperate look on his bruised face. "Release me," he said instead.

The nearby patrons of the inn had turned to look at them, alarmed. The tense silence was already spreading out through the rest of the large room.

The man released Oliver's arm and stepped back, bowing deeply. He straightened and then bowed again. "Forgive me, Lord Stag. I meant no harm, only I need your help. I'm desperate. Please, sir. The Morrows, a couple o' their boys took my daughter as we were coming home from the temple o' the Radiant Maiden. It was outside o' Stag territory, there weren't any of the green flags to pull for help. I tried to stop 'em, but there were too many. They hit me down, but I was still and quiet, and when they left, I got up and followed 'em and saw where they took 'er. She's in a house off the docks, and I don't know what they might be doin' to 'er, but she were screamin' as they dragged 'er away—" The man choked on his words and bowed a couple more times.

Oliver laid his hand on the man's shoulder, keeping him from bowing any more. "Breathe. Speak slowly. How long ago was this?"

The man trembled as he looked up into the dark eye-holes of Oliver's mask. "An hour at most. I came straight here once I seen where they took 'er."

Oliver nodded sharply. "Alright. Follow me." He strode toward a hallway leading to the back, past the bar and the stage.

The man continued to stammer as he hurried to keep up. "My neighbor Stuart said he came to you when his wife were attacked, and you got 'er all healed up and got the people who did it arrested, neat as you please. And he told me the price weren't too high." He reached into a pocket, pulling out a half-full coin purse. "I've got twelve gold, sixty-seven copper saved up. I was hopin' to send my daughter to get the readin' and writin' certification in a few years, but—" He held the money out to Oliver. "If you can save 'er, it's yours. I don't know if it's enough, but I'm willin' to owe you, and I promise I'm good for it. I'll pay you back if it's the last thing I do, I swear, if you can just save 'er—"

Oliver spun, throwing open a door.

The one-handed man behind the desk looked up from the report he'd been writing with painstaking slowness, unperturbed. "Mr. Oliver," he greeted.

Oliver dragged the man with the kidnapped daughter into the room with him. "Mr. Gerard, some Morrows have taken this man's daughter. He can lead you to the place they're holding her. It's been an hour. Assemble a team and head out immediately."

The man stood, fountain pen forgotten on the desk. He strode off through the door at the back of the room, shouting names and orders, and the men in the room beyond scurried to jump up and equip their supplies.

Oliver turned to the man beside him, who now had tears in his eyes.

He tried to shove the purse at Oliver again.

Oliver pushed it back to him, speaking perfunctorily, any compassion in his tone well hidden. "You can pay afterward. It'll be fifty gold, due to the danger of the mission. The Verdant Stag will be loaning you the full amount. This includes the cost for any healing your daughter may need."

The man tried to bow again, and Oliver stopped him by gripping his shoulder, forcing him to look into the eye-holes of his mask. "This loan will have interest," he continued. "If you cannot afford the payments on your own, we will find a way for you to repay what you owe. Additionally, you will owe the Verdant Stag a favor," he said forebodingly. "At some point, the Stags may have need of you. If—when—this happens, you will set aside your hesitation, eschew your own comfort, and disregard the risk to come to our aid. This is the price for our help today."

The man didn't hesitate for a moment. "Yes. I agree."

"If your daughter cannot be saved…"

The man gritted his teeth, blinking rapidly.

"The culprits will be brought to justice. The debt will still be in effect. Do you still agree?"

Pale-faced, he nodded, swallowing hard.

"Good." Oliver released his shoulder. "You may accompany the rescue team. You will stay back. Do not impede their work, or you might place your daughter in danger. Mr. Gerard is in charge. You will listen to him unconditionally."

The man nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes."

The rescue team, now fully kitted out, stomped back through the door.

"Perfect timing," Oliver muttered. He nodded to them. "Go."

The man hurried to keep up with Oliver's team of enforcers as they ran down the hall and left through one of the Verdant Stag's side entrances.

Oliver sighed, lifting his mask with one hand to rub his forehead with the other. He'd forgotten to tell the man that there was no need to wait for him, specifically. Any of the citizens within his territory could come to the Stag to ask for help at any time, reporting directly to the person currently in charge of the area they needed assistance in. He turned, going back through the entertainment hall—where once again people took their attention from the performance on stage and their alcohol to stare as he passed by—and up the stairs towards Katerin's office.

He almost stumbled on Theo, who was crouched at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing as he looked down on the room below. Theo was watching the amateur play being performed on stage. A slate board and nub of chalk lay forgotten by his side, the simple math problems on them only half finished.

The boy pulled his head back through the railing. He grinned up at Oliver and jumped to his feet, unperturbed by the mask. "Mr. Oliver! Did that man need help? I saw you take him back toward the enforcers' station. Did they go on a mission?"

"Some bad people kidnapped his daughter. They're going to get her back now."

"Awesome! Well, I mean, not that they kidnapped her, but it's a rescue mission! That's not the most awesome type of quest, but a lot of the epic stories have at least a little bit about needing to save a damsel in distress. I wonder if she's pretty," the child mused, looking into the middle distance as his imagination took over.

"People deserve help whether they're pretty or not, you know," Oliver said, stepping past the boy.

Theo turned to follow immediately, his schoolwork forgotten at the edge of the stairwell. "Well, of course," he said in a tone that questioned Oliver's intelligence. "But it's a little more interesting when they're pretty, don't you think?"

Familiar dark eyes flashed in Oliver's mind, but he hummed noncommittally.

"Say, do you think I could get a utility wand?" the boy asked, slyly watching Oliver out of the corner of his eye. "It's dangerous on the streets," he continued quickly. "I mean, just this week we've had a ton of people come in for help. A man got his leg crushed down on the docks. He went to a sham healer who just made it worse, and his friends brought him in to use one of our contacts, but by that time it was too late and his leg still had to be cut off. Wouldn't it be better if I don't have to have any limbs amputated?"

Oliver almost stumbled, but the boy didn't seem to notice his stupefaction, and continued on as if his reasoning was entirely logical.

"Yesterday, a woman came in asking for help to scare off the men coming around her house asking for 'taxes' and threatening her. What if someone tries to mug me? I need to be able to defend myself, or at least get away."

"Do you think it's likely you will be mugged?" Oliver asked, keeping his voice even.

"Well, who knows? It's better to be prepared, right? It would be too late to regret it once it actually happened. Plus, I heard Katerin talking about you getting mugged a while back, so obviously these things happen. And it's not like I'm definitely safe just because I live in Stag territory. There's a fight club on Dorset Lane that pulls people in off the street sometimes when they're low on volunteers for the matches. Katerin sent Mr. Gerard out to deal with it, since they're doing crime in our territory without permission."

Oliver was half amused, half serious as he said, "That does sound serious." He doubted the Morrows would be so bold or depraved as to go after a child, but that didn't mean Theo wouldn't run into a situation where he needed a little extra help. It was a dangerous world, and he was surrounded by people in a dangerous line of work.

The boy nodded gravely. "A woman was knocked into the canal by one of the Crowns who was galloping his horse in the street. She breathed in some water and got pneu-mo-nia." He enunciated the unfamiliar word carefully, looking to Oliver to make sure he understood. "She had to spend all the money she was saving for her wedding on potions, and her fiance even started crying because he'd thought they wouldn't be able to afford it. Wouldn't it be much cheaper to pay for my utility wand now than pay for the healing fees when I get pneumonia?" Theo nodded seriously, dropping a fist into his other palm with satisfaction at his argument, then stared at Oliver with big eyes, as if he could make him agree through sheer force of will.

"Do you have an idea what spells you'd want in this utility wand?" Oliver asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice.

Theo grinned so wide his eyes turned into slits, nodding rapidly. "Oh, yes! I've got a list in my room. Do you want to see it?"

Oliver waved him down before he could run off. "Not just yet. I'll talk to your aunt Katerin about it and see what she thinks. If she approves, I'm sure it won't be for free. You'll have to be prepared to earn it."

Theo was completely undeflated. "Yes! I can do anything. I'm already good with my sums. I could do the accounting for the Verdant Stag, or I could do deliveries, or I could even scrub the floors."

Oliver doubted he would be doing any real work. And Theo's math skills certainly weren't advanced enough to do accounting, if the chalk scribbles he'd seen on the forgotten slate were to be trusted. If Katerin agreed, perhaps they could work out something with the boy's tutor. A copper per extra completed assignment, put into a jar of savings for the wand, might give the boy a little more incentive to focus on his studies.

Katerin opened the door to her office just as they arrived in front of it. "So that's where you ran off to," she said, reaching out and smoothing the boy's copper hair.

Theo ducked away from her hand. "Me and Mr. Oliver were talking about how good an idea it is for me to get a utility wand! He thinks so, too!"

She scowled. "Have you been bothering Mr. Oliver about that? Didn't I tell you to finish your homework and then report back to me? Your tutor told me you haven't fully completed the last three assignments he gave you, and you've been distracted during lessons…"

"I'm almost finished!" Theo hurried to assure her, his hands held up placatingly. "I was just accompanying Mr. Oliver so he wouldn't be lonely! I'm going back now." The boy turned and scurried off down the hall before Katerin could respond, picking up his chalk and slate and escaping.

Katerin shook her head ruefully, waving Oliver into her office.

He told her his idea for incentivizing Theo.

She pressed her red-painted lips together and sighed. "I suppose it might work. I swear, if it's not about magic or adventure, that boy isn't interested."

Oliver smiled. "Children his age are all like that. You can't tell me you actually appreciated the value of your studies when you were his age."

"I suppose that's true. It took real hardship for me to understand. I wouldn't wish that for him. It's not like I'm overflowing with money, but I could afford a few copper a day if it would change his attitude toward learning." She crossed her arms and nodded. "I'll talk to his tutor about this idea. The room for your meeting is already prepared. Your contacts haven't arrived yet. I sent Harper to escort them from the docks. We should have a half hour yet."

"Good. I wanted to get here early, and it's a good thing I did. There was a bit of an incident on the way up, but I've sent Gerard out with an emergency response team to deal with it." He explained the circumstances and the deal he'd made with the kidnapped girl's father.

Katerin wrote out two copies of the agreement on a parchment with the blood print vow spell array already painted on it. "I'll have him sign when they return. If he can't afford payments, I'll give him a couple of hours on one of our street cleaner shifts," she muttered, looking tired.

Oliver took a seat in front of her desk, noting the piles of paper covering its surface and the way the paleness of her skin let the shadows under her eyes stand out even more. "It's late. You shouldn't still be working."

"You work even longer hours."

"I don't also have a child to take care of."

She waved his words away, then reached for a folder and flipped briefly through its contents. "I need more funds for the sanitation facility. One of the biological waste processors broke down, and we need to bring in a Master artificer to fix it. Ideally, we would expand the facility to handle greater capacity, so this doesn't happen again. Especially if we plan to expand Stag territory further. The human waste within our area already exceeds the recommended amounts for the sanitation facility's current setup."

Oliver nodded. "Alright. Are any of the other Stag interests bringing in enough income to cover it, or should I make another monetary infusion?"

"The short answer is: No." She picked up another folder. "The Verdant Stag itself is profitable. The rented rooms, the bar, and the kitchen are in the black, considering the cost of the building and its repairs amortized over a fifteen-year period. The gambling is bringing in a modest profit, enough to cover the salary of the basic staff as well as myself, while still paying off the magical renovations you requested."

"Good. At least the foundation is steady. And the rest?"

"Word about the miniature alchemy shop is spreading. Profits per item are low, as you requested, but with the increased volume, it is also in the black. Alice's wages are well covered, and there are enough extra funds to consider expanding the inventory further. Siobhan's contributions have been well-received, especially those potions of moonlight sizzle. Her work doesn't have the quality of alchemy done by someone who's made a career out of it; it's obvious she hasn't had hundreds of hours of practice with any of those potions, but it's good enough to sell, and most people within Stag territory won't be able to tell the difference. I thought it was just your bleeding heart making questionable decisions again when you brought her in, but it seems she might actually be a good investment."

"I have an eye for people," Oliver said, smiling. "Though I will admit, a sense of responsibility did play a role in my decision."

"Well, in a couple of years, perhaps she will be able to take over some of the more difficult magical projects. Bringing those in-house would save us a significant amount of gold. I had to spend eighty gold last week just on the liquid stone potions for the enforcers."

She took a deep breath. "On that topic, the protection and emergency response project is still hemorrhaging money. Extracting promises of payment from individuals who've been aided is stemming some of the flow, but without extorting general protection money from those who live and do business in the area, it's simply not enough."

Oliver rubbed a finger over the edge of his mask, then took it off, the magic releasing his skin with an inaudible pop of suction. "I don't want to charge general protection fees. That's extortion. The people already pay taxes."

"Taxes that are supposed to fund the coppers. Coppers who can't be bothered to do their job, and who we are replacing with our own system, without being compensated. Have you considered that some people might be reluctant to ask for help when they know they'll be put into debt for it? If there was a standard, low fee for all citizens within our territory, those who needed to use our services could feel unburdened doing so."

"We're building a network. It's not just about the money. We want the debt, the favors, people looking to help us because they are singled out when we give aid, rather than it being a general public service. The loans we're giving to cover our services aren't debilitating. We allow long-term repayment plans so the payments are low, and we give them jobs to do if they don't have the gold. It shouldn't be that much of a burden."

"That's part of the problem. For instance, the man you just told me about. He has a debt of fifty gold. Perhaps, with interest, he ends up paying us six silver a month for the next ten years, and we get seventy gold out of it. But our response team may cost the Stag sixty to seventy gold for this operation, especially if they need to use magic or any of them get injured. We spend the money now, and perhaps make it back over the long term. And that's not taking into account the things we've been handling where there's no one to call in a debt, which means we eat the expense. This project is losing money, and it's getting worse.

"The sanitation project already has no hope of being profitable. The micro-farming warehouse is going to take some time yet before it starts bringing in money, and with the other properties you want to buy, the bribes for the coppers, and the surveys you're paying for…" She shook her head helplessly. "You know as well as I do that altruism has to be met with realism, Oliver. I don't know why I'm telling you this."

Oliver rubbed his forehead. "I'm prepared to lose money on some necessary things for the time being. I cannot have my people afraid to walk the streets. The Stags must become a symbol of trust and good governance. The more people contrast us against the other gangs and the Crowns, the better. However, perhaps there is some middle ground. It's not the sole project I want to implement, after all, and everything costs money."

"Well, I will say that I was skeptical about the surveys, but I'm beginning to see why you wanted them. Since we implemented the sanitation project, illness in our territory has decreased by approximately fifteen percent."

Oliver allowed himself a genuine smile. "That's wonderful. If we could get some basic sanitation artifacts into every home, we could probably get it down even further. I've been lobbying for the tax on soap to be abolished, but…" He didn't bother finishing the familiar complaint. The Crowns weren't interested in anything he had to say, not if it had a chance to lower their income or increase the power of the commoners. "As for the warehouse, perhaps my meeting today will bear fruit."

Katerin brightened. "If you will, ask them if they have access to any battle artifacts. I've been stocking up as they become available here, but I've found no reliable source within the city."

A few minutes before his new smuggling contacts were scheduled to arrive, Oliver and three of his enforcers went to the room Katerin had set up for the meeting. After speaking to the information broker, he'd received contact information for an intermediary, who'd passed along his request to speak to the person really in charge of the operation, the captain of a small fleet who smuggled magical items into the city, hidden among legitimate imports. The captain's ships had just docked a couple of days before, and only now could Oliver finally meet him.

Oliver looked around the room approvingly, motioning for two of the enforcers to stand against the back wall unobtrusively, while the third stood outside the door.

The room had been immaculately cleaned, the windows and floorboards polished, subtle wealth and power in every detail. A large, thronelike chair sat behind an imposing desk that looked like it might have been carved whole from a single giant tree. In front of the desk were a few shorter chairs, subtly forcing his guests to look up at him. The lighting was soft, the main source a light crystal that hung from the ceiling behind his desk, to better blend the shadows with the artificial darkness behind his mask.

He settled in the large chair behind the desk and took out the single folder Katerin had placed in a drawer. It was simply there for him to pretend to look over while they entered.

The captain arrived shortly afterward, and when the enforcer in front of the door knocked and announced this, Oliver said, "Send them in," immediately. There was no point making them wait as a power play, since he'd been the one to invite them to use the Stag's discreet, neutral meeting rooms. Oliver trusted the setting and his own charisma to make any necessary statement about wealth and power.

A sun-weathered man with the slightly wide gait of someone used to the pitch and roll of a ship's deck introduced himself as Captain Eliezer. He was accompanied by a couple of his men, who followed slightly behind and stayed mostly silent.

Oliver welcomed them cordially.

Eliezer's men eyed Oliver's mask and then the enforcers at the back of the room with obvious discomfort, but neither side made any threatening overtures, and Captain Eliezer himself seemed unfazed.

After a couple minutes of small talk, during which Oliver offered them each a glass of ridiculously expensive alcohol, let them grow comfortable in the opulently plush seats, and bragged about the security wards surrounding the room, they finally got down to business.

"I've been told you have access to certain luxury items that can be difficult to obtain in Gilbratha. I have need of a variety of such items. Do you think you can provide?" He handed Captain Eliezer a sheet of paper with a list of magical plants he wanted seeds, shoots, or graftable clippings from, along with the various special materials that would be necessary to successfully cultivate them.

The man read carefully down the list without any change of expression, then looked back up at Oliver. "I can get most of the seeds, and maybe some of the smaller shoots or clippings, if you're willing to pay for stasis spells so they don't die in transit, but some of these are too large or otherwise noticeable to get through the customs inspections at the docks."

Oliver had expected that might be the case. "If you're still able to obtain those things, perhaps another port might be slightly more lax? I have a contact that could pick them up elsewhere." From there, he could either figure out how to get them into the city himself, or perhaps cultivate them outside it, only bringing in the more subtle final products of those plants. There were problems with that plan, too, but anything was possible, with time, money, and a bit of cleverness.

Eliezer hesitated. "There is another issue. You are requesting the capability to produce the end products, which we otherwise provide to other interested parties within Gilbratha. If you become a supplier, this could decrease our trade volume. I'm not willing to put my long-term livelihood, and that of my crew, at risk for a single paycheck."

Oliver dipped his head in acknowledgment, wrapping his fingers around the polished wood of his chair and leaning back. "I completely understand. I'm willing to pay a premium on those items which won't be part of an ongoing order. However, let me reassure you, the components produced from these plants are not going to be sold on the open market. They'll be used for various things in-house, and shouldn't affect your trade with any other interested parties, within or outside of Gilbratha."

Eliezer didn't seem particularly reassured by that.

"This isn't all that I need. I'm hoping to establish an ongoing relationship with you in other areas as well. Particularly, I need battle artifacts and a variety of alchemical concoctions. For the artifacts, it matters not if their spells are charged, though the price I will pay would adjust accordingly."

Eliezer nodded slowly.

"For the potions and philtres, I'm interested in some more magically intensive varieties, useful for both offense and defense. I would require they be fresh and brewed at standard efficacy, if not greater. I would expect you to test them upon receipt, as I won't pay for any of sub-par quality."

"We already have buyers for battle artifacts and a variety of potions," Eliezer said leadingly.

"You cannot increase your volume?" Oliver questioned. "This would seem to be only a good thing for you. I am willing to pay a slight premium for the highest quality of your stock, and you are free to continue trading with whoever else you like. Three percent."

Eliezer thought for a moment, then said, "What kind of volume are you looking for with the artifacts and alchemy? I have one main ship and two smaller ones, and some items are only worth the time and space in my cargo at higher volumes, or if I pick them up with another order."

"For this first shipment, I'm willing to purchase as many as you can provide. After that, we can discuss our ongoing relationship again."

Eliezer scanned the room again, his eyes lingering on the signs of wealth all around him. "Agreed. Seeds will be hidden within larger bags of grain. Shoots and clippings will be held in stasis within seemingly decorative containers. Kegs and bottles of alcohol will hold the alchemical items. For the battle artifacts, it can be a little more tricky depending on their size and shape. The price for whatever we use to disguise the transfer will be included in the payment."

They took a few minutes to draw up a full list of the other items Oliver was interested in, then haggled over the price for each.

At the end, Eliezer nodded, tucking the paper into his pocket. "Alright, we will bring the things you need. It will take a few months, at this time of year. Any bribes to the dock officials or the coppers will be borne by you as well."

Oliver shook his head, his tone firm. "No. Bribes will come out of your own pockets. After all, what incentive do you have to be frugal, otherwise? I'm already paying a premium for the plants, as well as the choicest artifacts and potions. If you cannot afford your own bribes, your business is not run as smoothly as I hoped."

Eliezer glared at him for a moment, leathery wrinkles deepening around his squinting eyes, but finally gave a sharp nod. "Fine."

Oliver offered them another glass of liquor before they left.

Eliezer, a little more at ease now that the negotiations were finished, accepted with a yellow-toothed smile that was duplicated by his men. "Never known a sailor to refuse a good drink," he said.

They left soon after, refusing Oliver's offer of an escort back to their inn, and Oliver settled back in his miniature throne, the exhilaration of success pushing away his fatigue. It might take a few months to see the effects, but this new relationship would make a difference.

Artifacts and potions for his enforcers, to protect them and make them more effective in their jobs, and plants to bring the micro-farm warehouse into quick profitability while subsidizing the ingredients for the alchemy shop. Maybe there would even be something suitable for Theo among the artifacts.

Chapter 27 - Study Group

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 25, Wednesday 5:30 a.m.

Mid-week, Sebastien was woken early by forcefully hissed whispers and a few grumbling mutters. It took her longer to become alert than normal, as if her thoughts were rising through molasses. When her eyes finally gained the ability to focus, she sat up and saw that Damien Westbay, already dressed and hair perfectly groomed, was leaned over a nearby bed, shaking Alec Gervin's shoulder in an attempt to wake him. The rest of Westbay's group of followers were also up, gathering their clothes and stumbling off to the bathrooms to get dressed.

Other nearby students, who had also been awakened, complained at Westbay's noisemaking. One clamped a pillow around her head and flopped back down with a loud huff.

Sebastien rubbed the sleep from her eyes and checked her pocket watch. It was too late for her to bother going back to sleep, despite her fatigue. She stood up, swaying slightly, and made her way to the bathrooms to get dressed. 'Imbecilic troglodyte. Poor excuse for a sorcerer,' she thought with a scowl as she passed Westbay.

When she returned from the bathroom, his group was standing outside their dormitory doors and arguing. Someone had at least had the presence of mind to close the doors so they didn't continue disturbing the other students. Both Ana and Westbay held some familiar equipment in their arms.

Sebastien's gaze sharpened. They had the same devices Lacer had given her to practice with outside of class.

"Sebastien!" Ana said brightly, her hair still loose around her shoulders. Her eyes trailed over him, and she grimaced slightly. "I'm sorry if we woke you. Alec has always slept like a tranquilized rhinoceros."

As if on cue, the other girl, who had dark hair and was wearing a dress rather than the trousers Ana seemed to favor, elbowed Alec in the side without looking.

While Ana's cousin pouted and rubbed at his ribs, Sebastien straightened her clothing and ran a hand through her tangled hair, attempting to seem more awake. "It's alright—"

"Siverling rises early every morning to practice anyway, right?" Westbay said, not quite softly enough to be under his breath.

Sebastien lifted her chin. "I do," she said.

Ana smiled charmingly, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. "Exactly. When Damien heard about it, he quite admired your work ethic. We have decided to start an early morning study session of our own."

Westbay gave Ana a dubious look, and Sebastien doubted that boy had ever stated such a charitable word as "admire" about her.

Sebastien's lips quirked up at the thought.

Ana's smile grew more cheerful, as if pure, forceful obliviousness were its own type of magic. "So! We were thinking you should join us. You are working on Professor Lacer's additional exercises, and the two of us are as well. Damien's bullied the rest of the group into accompanying us. Why not practice together? Perhaps we could exchange some pointers."

Westbay scowled. "I'm sure Siverling prefers to work without distraction."

That was true. Additionally, Sebastien didn't know half the group, and of the ones she did, the only one she liked was Anastasia. Her morning would likely become markedly less productive if she were to share it with them. She opened her mouth to refuse, but caught the faint hint of satisfaction in Westbay's expression. She wasn't sure if it was the idea of being contrary just for the sake of it, or the memory that Westbay's Family lead the coppers, and he knew about her case, that changed her mind.

'Perhaps I'll be able to get him to talk about it.' She smiled, keeping as much vindictiveness out of the expression as possible. "I would be delighted, thank you, Ana." She went back into the dorms to grab her things and the practice equipment Professor Lacer had given her, then followed the group to an empty classroom not far from the outer doors of the Citadel.

Ana introduced the rest of the group as they settled in.

Alec Gervin she was familiar with already, having met him along with Westbay when they tried to cut in line that first day. He was the loud one with the bushy black eyebrows. 'And he also apparently has some sort of sleep disorder,' she thought uncharitably.

Waverly Ascott was the other girl. She was quiet, but her eyes were alert and quick to narrow in a threatening scowl when one of the others annoyed her. Her eyelids had a partial epicanthic fold that indicated one of her parents—probably her mother, was from one of the countries to the East. She nodded perfunctorily when introduced to Sebastien, then pulled a thick book about the Plane of Radiance out of her bag and began to read, ignoring the rest of them.

Ambrose Setterlund, a young man who was too tall to be so shy, waved his hand rapidly when introduced and mumbled, "Call me Brinn," with a blush on his cheeks. He sat next to Ascott.

The final boy was probably the most handsome of the group, with curly hair, dark creamy skin, and a confident smile that even Sebastien could admit was attractive. Rhett Moncrieffe bowed easily to Sebastien, seeming neither particularly pleased nor displeased at her company, and set a briefcase on a side table.

Westbay groaned aloud. "Must you, Rhett? We are here to study, not play."

The handsome boy tossed his hair and gave Westbay a snooty look. "This is study. My field of interest is simply more…diverting than yours. I need to practice, and it's not as if there are dueling rings set up in here for me to actually train. Don't be so sanctimonious."

Alec Gervin stood, his chair making a scraping sound against the floor. "I will study with you, Rhett."

The two of them set up on the side table with an unfolding wooden board and two small humanoid pieces. They set the pieces in their respective Circles on the board, and began to shoot "spells" that seemed to be just tiny beams of light at each other, while dodging the incoming attacks from their game-piece opponent.

The entire group perked up a bit when Westbay pulled a kettle down from the cabinet on the far wall and filled it with ground coffee. They set up around a large table while the water heated, and Westbay cast the spell to turn the coffee into wakefulness brew himself, with the kind of proud look a child might wear after "helping" their mother to bake bread. The coffee—probably some expensive luxury strain—had taken the magic even more smoothly than the beans in Dryden's kitchen, and Sebastien had to admit it was delicious, too.

Brinn Setterlund, the tall young man, had hurried to pour Waverly her coffee, which he handed to her with a puppylike smile. She accepted the cup with a distracted nod, barely looking up from her book.

With the sand wheel on the table, Sebastien palmed her Conduit and began to cast, only part of her concentration on the metal ball within, which had been ground down to matte smoothness from the constant sanding. "So your Family is in charge of the coppers, right, Westbay? The ones doing the investigation into that sorceress who stole from the University a couple of months ago?"

"Yes. My brother Titus is in charge of the investigative task force."

"Right. The task force that hasn't caught her and whose lone clue is that she managed to speak to her accomplice even after they jailed him."

He scowled, the bags under his eyes standing out.

Before he could speak, she continued, idly spinning her ball faster. "So what is it that she even stole? Rumor at the market is that it was some priceless artifact from an archaeological dig, but is that true?"

He sniffed. "She stole a book, apparently. Perhaps it had powerful or illegal spells in it, I don't know. However, as to your insinuations about the investigators, let me set you straight. Her accomplice spilled his guts on the first day they brought him in, and freely revealed her attempts to contact him the second time, as well. The only reason we haven't caught her yet is that she's been quiet. No doubt she's lying low for fear that we'll have her soon. But we know she's still in the city. That particular messenger spell must be used close by the recipient. It's likely she is being hidden by some other criminals, perhaps ones who wanted the book, but eventually someone will slip up, and then we'll have her and the whole ring of colluders!"

Sebastien spun her ball even faster, till the sand began to heat with its passing, and then slowed it abruptly. The minimalist spell array glowed with inefficiency as the ball slowed, and then dimmed as the ball began to spin the opposite direction and gain speed again. Undoing the momentum the ball had built up so quickly required a level of energy she couldn't channel all at once. Perhaps one day, the ball would stop in an instant, with a cracking sound like a miniature bolt of lightning. She could dream, at least. "But is there any actual way for the coppers to catch her, if she or one of her accomplices doesn't carelessly reveal themselves? Are there any leads?"

Westbay looked from her spell Circle back to his own with a frown, spinning his ball faster. He was good, better than most of their classmates, but it was obvious to Sebastien that he hadn't practiced as much as her. "She is skilled, and has been careful," he said. "But she's cocky, too. She wants to be seen, to be noticed, that's why she commits such outrageous crimes in broad daylight. She will act again, she cannot help it, and when she does, she will make a mistake, and we will catch her."

Sebastien raised her eyebrows, indignation at that assessment rising up inside her. She clamped down on the emotion and sent her ball on a series of fast, jerking turns back and forth.

Gervin, who had grown bored with losing to Rhett, stood up and stepped closer, watching with interest. "How are you doing that?"

Without thinking, she replied, "I can explain it to you, but I cannot understand it for you."

The cogs between his ears moved slowly as he processed her words. His eyes widened. "Did you just insult me?"

"I didn't mean to offend you. My intention was to insult you without you noticing." The words spilled from her in a bout of ire, and it was only after they were out, hanging in the air like little guillotines over her neck, that she realized it may have been slightly uncalled for. Perhaps even a little rude. 'I must be more tired than I realized, to be acting so recklessly.' Still, she wouldn't take the words back. She waited for the response to come, the anger and outrage.

Ascott burst out laughing.

Once the dam of tension broke, the others followed suit. Even Gervin, a few belated seconds later, gave her a grudging chuckle. "Not bad, not bad."

Moncrieffe nodded at her from his corner as if bestowing a boon. "You have a sharp tongue, Siverling. I can respect a man who is milquetoast in neither word nor action."

Her surprise was a warm tingle running down her unclenching back. She had plenty of experience with people's response to her sharp tongue. Most had their feelings too easily hurt, even if the things she said didn't hold any particular intent to offend. The average person was shocked and offended by the obvious truth being spoken boldly to their face, and rather than change the thing about themselves they didn't like hearing, or simply avoiding her, they started crying or got angry and decided she was an enemy to be revenged upon.

She should really be more careful. The people in this group were powerful, and could have made her life difficult indeed if they had chosen to take offense. In fact, even Westbay himself could have chosen to take out his dislike of her in more direct ways. As far as she knew, he hadn't. Perhaps he was not entirely without honor.

She gave Ascott a small smile of gratitude, but the other girl didn't acknowledge it, her attention back on her book.

Westbay had laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes, and he, too, gave Sebastien a grudging nod of acknowledgement. "You may be an arrogant ass, but you have the skill to back it up, at least."

Sebastien didn't argue with his label for her, since one reckless insult per day was probably enough.

"I told you, Damien," Ana said. "In twenty years, the Siverling name will be common knowledge."

Something in Sebastien's chest warmed at that thought. Fame might not be her goal, but excellence was, and true excellence would be noticed, if she were doing it right.

After she'd run through her paces on the main exercise, she replaced the sand wheel with a three-dimensional glass maze, one of the other practice aids Professor Lacer had given her. The glass cube had a smaller steel ball inside. She modified the spell array and began to guide the ball through the maze without touching any of its walls. It required a fine control the sand wheel didn't, but was easier to hold clearly in her mind than the sympathetic movement one. It was a nice break from the monotony the other two exercises had become.

"You've already moved on to the second supplementary exercise? It hasn't even been a month since this term started!" Westbay said, suddenly outraged.

Sebastien frowned, trying to maintain her focus. "It gets boring casting the same spells for hours every day. I'm just getting a head start on this one while I keep refining my control on the first." Her ball bumped into a corner as she moved it too quickly, and she grimaced. Every time that happened, the maze's walls shifted, rearranging the cube's entire internal structure.

She resolved to see if she could create a pseudo-repelling force between the glass and the ball. They'd briefly reviewed the basics of magnetism the week before in her Natural Science class, and it seemed like the perfect workaround to remove her need for, and failure to provide, superhuman reaction speeds. Of course, doing that without any components except heat might still be beyond her, but it was theoretically possible.

Westbay grumbled and took out his own glass maze, studying Sebastien's simplified spell array before setting up his own.

Ana moved on to the paired movement spell with an amused glance at Westbay's efforts. "You're taking seven classes, Damien. You can't expect to keep up with Sebastien. He only takes six. And he barely sleeps, you know."

Neither Sebastien nor Westbay found her words soothing.

Sebastien resisted the immediate urge to tell Westbay that she'd still be beating him even if she were taking eight classes. 'I'm not a child. It's okay if he's taking more classes than me and still somehow has time to sleep. He's had tutors preparing him for this his whole life. I don't need to say anything. I just need to work harder.'

Westbay glared at both Sebastien and Anastasia, then returned his focus to the new exercise. He was clumsy at first, but improved noticeably over the next hour.

Soon enough, the breakfast period began. "Don't think you can slack off, Siverling," Westbay said as they left the room. "Professor Lacer told me he thinks I might have a talent for free-casting, just like my mother."

"It runs in my family, too," she couldn't help but snap back, her voice cold.

The study group dispersed, Moncrieffe slouching off with Gervin, and Ascott muttering something about getting black beans from the kitchen to make an offering to a spirit. Ana smiled and thanked Sebastien for joining them, while Westbay hurried ahead.

Brinn added his own shy smile and said, "You'll come again next time, won't you? Damien may be competitive, but he secretly loves having someone new and interesting around. It would be good for him to have someone to compare himself to who's closer to our own level."

Sebastien made no promises. The wakefulness brew was tempting, at least, even if she didn't have the time to spare for inefficient socializing.

Chapter 28 - Admit You Don't Understand

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 25, Wednesday 10:45 a.m.

In Sebastien's Natural Science class later that day, she found the slate experiment tables covered with equipment when she arrived. Glass beakers, half full with liquid, sat with spiral tubes coming from their rubber-sealed mouths. For every two beakers there were three small jars, each containing a piece of raw meat. Finally, rolls of gauze and wax paper.

Sebastien sat at her desk and examined the supplies with curiosity while the other students filed in.

As soon as the bell rang, Professor Gnorrish stood up from his desk and said, "We've spent the last month on a blisteringly fast review of the basics. Some of you had a better foundation in natural science than others, but this review should have given you a good understanding of where you need more study. Which is everywhere. In my opinion, every single one of you knows close to nothing."

He waited for the mutters, frowns, and uncomfortable shifting to subside. "But that's okay. I myself know close to nothing. I'm not afraid to admit that. In the grand expanse of reality—cause and effect and the underpinnings of how things really work—I understand very little. It's important to admit when you don't understand. And in your lack of understanding, you should be skeptical."

Sebastien leaned forward, intrigued.

"That is the foundation of scientific progress," he continued. "Before the Blood Empire, for thousands of years it was common knowledge, accepted by the learned and unlearned alike, that life could come from somewhere besides a progenitor. People believed that mice were created from the mud and heat of a riverbank every year in the summer. They knew that scallops formed in sand. Their parents and teachers told them that insects could be created, spontaneously generated, from decaying animal or plant matter, and people saw what they believed to be evidence that corroborated this universal understanding."

He waved his arms around to emphasize the absurdity. "But no one actually understood the theory of spontaneous generation. They only thought they did, because the truth of it was before everyone's eyes to see. They knew life was created by 'spontaneous generation.'" He crooked his fingers into quotation marks in the air. "They knew things fell because of 'gravity.' They knew the answer to one plus one is 'two.' They had memorized the answer key, if you will, and could even do limited extrapolation from it, but their answer didn't actually tell them anything about how the world worked. If they were given chalk, a fire, and no further components—limited to transmutation—they couldn't have designed a spell array that could replicate the process through every microsecond and down to the very cells, indistinguishable from the natural occurrence. They didn't understand."

'Replicating the process exactly with only transmutation? Is that his criterion for true understanding?' Sebastien thought. It seemed an impossibly rigorous standard. So much so that she questioned whether he actually expected anyone to really achieve it, or if he was just trying to knock them down a peg so they would be more willing to learn.

"Now, let's do a couple of experiments on spontaneous generation," he announced with a huge grin, turning to the chalkboard at the front of the room and touching the control to reveal the instructions written there. "Move as quickly as possible while still maintaining care," he urged. "There's a lot to cover, and we only have ninety minutes."

The two beakers contained nutrient broth. They were to be brought to a boil, thus killing any bacteria or fungus currently living within. When the students had finished that and were quite sure the mixture was sterile, they could remove the spiral tube from one of the beakers, exposing its mouth directly to the air.

The three jars holding chunks of raw meat were to have their lids removed. One was left open to the air. They tied gauze over the mouth of the second. The third, they sealed with the wax paper.

Once this was done, they labeled everything with their name, then everyone placed the meat jars into a Circle drawn on the floor on one side of the experiment space, and put the sterilized nutrient-broth beakers into another.

As they worked, Professor Gnorrish lectured, walking among them. "When testing a hypothesis, such as 'life does not need to come from seed, eggs, or parents, but can spontaneously generate,' we must attempt to disprove it. Only when it stands up to rigorous trials can a hypothesis be tentatively considered 'truth.' Even then, new discoveries and understandings may disprove your prior 'truth,' or simply update the depth of your understanding of the model."

He stopped to help a woman who was having trouble tying her gauze over the meat jar's mouth. "Historical documents show that some of the more learned and curious did do experiments on spontaneous generation. One lord even listed a series of recipes for creating various types of life. By all accounts, he carried out these experiments himself and recorded the outcomes. To create mice, put a piece of soiled cloth in wheat, and wait twenty-one days. To create scorpions, place basil between two bricks and leave it in the sunlight. Just more proof of spontaneous generation, right?"

Beside Sebastien, Ana laughed aloud.

Professor Gnorrish spun and pointed at her. "Ah! It sounds absurd now, right? How could they have believed such silly things? But don't make the mistake of thinking the human species has gotten any more intelligent in the last three hundred years. If you were born in those times, and I was standing here in class explaining to you how spontaneous generation worked, would you think to question me? Would you think to question such an obvious process?"

Ana gave him a crooked smile, but didn't answer.

"Let me phrase it another way," he said, turning to the other students. "Have you ever questioned how life is created from seed, egg, or parent? Do you understand it well enough to replicate the process if the entire world were destroyed, and it was up to you to recreate life out of primordial energy? How are you sure that I know what I'm talking about, or that anyone does? Do you think it possible that in another hundred years, students will be standing in this classroom laughing at the absurdity of the things you currently believe?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Damien said from a few tables away. "You just said as much yourself."

Professor Gnorrish applauded him. "Exactly. Your professors aren't going to be able to teach you everything, or even most things, really."

Damien preened.

"But back to experiments on spontaneous generation. Where these historical practitioners of natural science went wrong is that they didn't try hard enough to disprove their belief. If they had, maybe they would have seen that their model of the world didn't stand up to harsh scrutiny. So, today, we will scrutinize harshly."

As the students finished setting up the experiments and placed them inside the pre-drawn spell arrays on the floor, he waved them away, then took out some components and began to place them in the spell array around the beakers with the nutrient broth. "Master Pasteur, a researcher working under the Blood Emperor, devised a test to disprove the theory of spontaneous generation of life. By boiling, we've killed any small organisms that were inside the beakers. You have removed the tube in the mouth of one beaker, while leaving the other. The liquid inside the beaker without a tube is directly exposed to any organisms within the air, while the spiral formation of the remaining tube will help to keep organisms from reaching the broth, while still allowing air to travel freely. Any dust, bacteria, or fungi will settle on the bottom of the successive spirals."

He looked up from his preparation. "One of the theories was that air was necessary for spontaneous generation, you see, so we want to make sure that both have air, the only difference being that one broth will be exposed to everything, and the other will receive air with the impurities settled out." He lit a brazier for power, reviewed everything, and nodded to himself. "Watch closely, now, to make sure I don't pull any tricks."

He stood, took out a small paper packet, and tossed its powdery contents into the air over the beakers. A fraction of a second later, an almost-invisible barrier dome sprang up from the spell array surrounding the beakers. "I have just thrown active yeast into the air, and the barrier is to keep any wind from blowing it around, as well as prevent other unexpected variables. It will settle and get into the beakers with the open mouths." When the air inside the dome had cleared, he grinned. "I am also casting a modified healing spell to encourage rapid growth and reproduction of said yeast, which, if you remember, is a form of fungus."

Sebastien's mind latched on to a particular part of his statement. 'He's speeding up growth with a modified healing spell? It seems feasible. Magic can heal a wound or overcome a sickness much more quickly than the body would be able to on its own. Even whole limbs could be regrown with enough power and the right components. But how does that work? Could I do that to encourage an animal to mature more quickly? To have a fruit tree producing food within a couple of weeks, instead of years?'

She looked at the components, one of which was a lumpy thing she didn't recognize, but which had the telltale glow of being from the Plane of Radiance. 'No, that's much too expensive. It can't be sustainable for any real-world application.'

The students watched for the next few minutes with growing boredom as nothing particular seemed to be happening. Sebastien considered going back to her desk and trying to get some studying in, but remembered Professor Gnorrish's admonition to be skeptical. 'He might alter the results of the experiment if I'm not watching,' she told herself playfully. She crossed her arms and glowered at him threateningly, looking over the spell array once again, this time to make sure he was really casting what he said he was.

When Gnorrish deemed enough time had passed, he turned the maintenance of the barrier spell over to one of his student aides and moved to the second experiment. "We'll give that one a little time. Now, the recipe for maggots!" he announced dramatically. "Place meat in a warm place. Wait one to three days."

He grabbed a small terrarium box full of live flies from the supply closet, activated another barrier spell, and released them inside. They found the uncovered meat quickly enough, and were also drawn to the gauze-covered jar. "Maggots take about twenty-four hours to hatch from their eggs, normally, but since you will be gone by then, we'll just speed things up a little."

When he was finished, he had another student aide take over that barrier, and resumed pacing around, the occasional wild gesture coming close to knocking against a table, piece of equipment, or a student who wasn't prepared to dodge. "We've come a long way in the last few hundred years. New ideas and advancements have sparked a renaissance that has improved the lives of humans all the way from the Thirteen Crowns to the most humble pauper. But don't mistake these advancements in our understanding of natural science as easy or simple. These new ideas, now accepted as common knowledge, were not obvious at the time, and were often simply one among multiple potentially plausible theories. Most of the time, new theories are disproved. Do not assume, without rigorous testing and extreme skepticism, that your shiny new idea about how things work is inherently superior just because it is new. All things must be judged for truth, and that which can be destroyed by the truth should be."

Sebastien felt the rightness of those words. 'That which can be destroyed by the truth should be,' she repeated to herself. 'Is there anything in me which might be destroyed by truth?'

"There was a study done on University students a few decades back that judged how well they retained information after the class was over and they had no need to regurgitate what the teacher wanted to hear onto a test paper. The results were…abysmal. Shameful, for an institution of learning such as this one. More effort was poured into understanding why this was, and what we could do about it. We're still doing our best, and still failing for a multitude of reasons, but there was one particularly interesting result of this research.

"Students who were willing to admit that they didn't know, that they didn't understand, rather than fumbling for an answer that used the keywords they'd been taught to associate with the topic, showed a marked increase in their ability to learn and retain information. They didn't just fill in the blank with something, hoping to be right. They didn't reach into their memory and pull out a phrase their teacher had written on the blackboard for emphasis. The biggest correlation with successful learning was how many times they continued to say that they didn't understand."

He continued to lecture, delving deeper into some historical discoveries that were controversial at the time, and the methods that were used in attempts to prove or disprove them. At the end of class, he used a spell to clean up the spilled yeast and the flies, then took away the barriers around both experiments.

Sebastien found her own quickly enough, her spider-scrawl handwriting distinct.

The nutrient broth in the beaker whose spiral tube she had extracted was cloudy with growing yeast. Little disks that looked like lily pads floated on top, and sediment settled to the bottom. It looked absolutely disgusting.

Maggots were crawling on the piece of meat with no lid, and interestingly, on top of the gauze-covered jar, as if trying to get down to the meat. The parchment-covered jar was free of the little squirming worms entirely.

"If you believed in spontaneous generation before you did these experiments," Gnorrish said, "you should rethink your understanding of the world. Let me leave you with one last piece of information to chew on. Spontaneous generation among mundane living organisms has been widely disproved. If you told anyone you think a barnacle goose grows from a goose barnacle, they would laugh and think you an uneducated nincompoop."

The bell rang, but no one moved to leave.

"But the current literature all agrees that under-bed dust bunnies spontaneously generate in dark, dusty areas that are frequently exposed to magic, likely from the dead skin cells of a magical being combined with other fluff and dirt." He let that hang in the air for a moment, then waved his hands in a shooing motion. "That's all for today. Go on then, get to lunch. But don't forget to think. And don't be afraid to admit that you don't know, and don't understand!"

His words lingered in her mind through the next day, which started with Professor Ilma's History of Magic.

The blue-tinted woman jumped immediately into the meat of class, as always. "There is much of history that is lost to us. The oldest signs of human civilization have been dated to approximately seven hundred thousand years ago. Not the oldest sign of humans, but the oldest humans that were obviously acting as sentient, sapient creatures and working together as a community to build a life. And yet, we know almost nothing about history beyond ten thousand years ago. Why is this?" She pointed to a random student.

"Because of the Cataclysm," the student replied immediately. "Approximately ten thousand years ago, there was a catastrophic event that destroyed the civilizations of the time. Humans were set back to nomadic hunting and gathering. Whatever records these pre-Cataclysm civilizations would have kept were destroyed."

Ilma nodded and continued. "It took approximately five hundred years for the population to expand and for people to start rebuilding. Written language was preserved among some, which helped to kick-start civilization again, and gives us some idea about times before, or at least what people several generations later thought they knew about the pre-Cataclysm world. But by then, much was already lost, with only scattered and contradictory tales passed down orally. At this point, humans were still far from the dominant species on Earth, and we were scrabbling to survive among the more powerful sapients and beasts. We had only just begun to develop, or re-develop, the foundations of structured magic.

"What caused the Cataclysm?" She pointed at a man.

He was less quick to respond than the previous student. "Umm, we don't know?"

She nodded. "True. But there are theories. Many of them. Anyone?"

"A falling star hit the planet," someone offered.

"Good. Keep going," Ilma said, waving her hands impatiently.

"The Beast King woke from his sleep," someone else said.

"The strongest thaumaturges in existence went to war with each other, with no care for collateral damage." The answers were coming faster now.

"We were attacked by one of the Elemental Planes."

"The Titans went insane."

"Magic broke."

"We were attacked by some alien force, or an eldritch being from the outer darkness."

"Good," Ilma said. "There is another theory. It's a bit broader, and could have triggered many of the events you just mentioned." Her voice went slow and cold, her eyes roving over theirs. "We experimented with powers better left alone."

Sebastien shivered.

"But speculation aside, we do have some hints at the lost knowledge. Not enough to piece together a coherent tapestry, but enough tattered threads to guess that something was there before. Can someone give me a hint, the end of a thread that we might pull?" She pointed to Sebastien.

Sebastien straightened. "Where did the Blood Emperor and his people come from?"

Ilma smiled. "Yes. Good. Simple calculations can tell us that the planet is much larger than the area that we have mapped. The seas are dangerous, and the wilderness filled with beasts. But we have proof that other humans developed a society somewhere beyond the northern ice oceans. Curious, that although the Blood Empire ruled for over a hundred years and was a huge influence on our society, we know almost nothing about the place they came from."

"It was deliberate," Sebastien said. "It had to have been."

"Yes, that seems the only logical explanation," Ilma agreed. "Let's pull on another thread. Hints at our lost history. Mysteries. Anyone?"

"Who built Gilbratha's wall? It's obviously a Circle. Could it have been part of the largest spell array known to mankind?" another girl asked.

Ilma hummed. "Not bad. Several different accounts claim different things. Some say Myrddin raised these stones. Some say it was here long before that, during the war with the Brillig, meant to be a huge weapon to wipe out their race. Some say it was here even before that, meant to be a shield against the Titans themselves. I don't know who raised it, but divination spells hint it is very old. Almost certainly it was here before Myrddin, though it's curious that there aren't signs of occupation within these walls before his time. Some speculate that he may not have built it, but lowered wards that were keeping it hidden."

"Could the walls have been pre-Cataclysm?" a student asked.

"It's difficult to determine," she said. "Preservation and warding spells could have maintained the white cliffs in relatively good condition from that time period, if they weren't catastrophically damaged during the Cataclysm. But how was such a structure created in the first place? We would find it difficult to do today, even if we had a hundred of Archmage Zard. So either humans didn't create it, or we created it when we still knew how to do such things."

She went through the same thread-pulling process with half a dozen other students. Some had better questions than others, but she took them all seriously. Near the end of class, she said, "We've had some good discussion. But there's one last thread I was hoping one of you would pick out, one that feeds all the way through the Cataclysm into our side of history. Anyone?"

She looked around, her eyes finally settling on Sebastien's face. "Siverling. Make a guess."

Sebastien was silent for a few seconds, then said, "The Titans? They were long-lived, and by all accounts survived the Cataclysm. So they should have known what came before. Supposedly they were intelligent. Enough to go insane, anyway. And incredibly powerful. So…did they have anything to say about the time before, or what caused the Cataclysm? And, if I remember correctly, the Titans were all dead just a couple of thousand years later. How did that happen?"

"Indeed, that is the query I was looking for. The Titans were enormous, and enormously powerful. Accounts from the time say that they were omnivores in the truest sense of the word. They ate anything and everything, from people to smallish mountains."

Ilma turned and drew two stick figures on the chalkboard. One came to a little below mid-shin on the other. "This is the scale of a Titan compared to a human. But even if you consider the extreme caloric requirements of a being that large, if accounts from those living during that time are to be trusted, their appetites were still outsized. While we should be skeptical of any who claimed to have come into contact with a Titan and escaped uneaten, their ravenous nature is agreed on universally. Scholars have suggested that a large part of what they ate went toward maintaining the structural integrity of their impractically large bodies, which should otherwise have been unable to function, and that everything they ate was in fact being used as a Sacrifice for their particular brand of magic. Some even believed them to be gods. They did not seem to age, and they had strange, terrible powers."

Ilma stared at the stick figure on the board for a moment, then turned back to face the students. "But all their power didn't keep them from insanity. Some were beyond communication from the beginning of our records, but there are claims of reasonable Titans living in the wilderness, nonaggressive unless threatened. They fought each other sometimes, if they happened to cross paths. Perhaps the Titans were simply too dangerous, too strange and volatile and hungry, for anyone to question or get coherent answers from. Perhaps they refused to speak of the time before. Or perhaps they'd been damaged somehow, their minds or their magic broken. In any case, the last of these strange and terrible beings died long ago, and we are left with many questions but few answers."

As if she'd timed it perfectly, the bell rang to signal the end of the class period.

Sebastien stayed in her seat for a few minutes, waiting for Ilma to say something else, to give a hint at what she, an expert, believed.

But Ilma was silent as the rest of the students filtered out.

Sebastien lingered, approaching Professor Ilma instead of heading for the Sympathetic Science classroom and Professor Pecanty. "What happened to the Titans, Professor?" she asked.

"They died," the blue-tinted woman said with a faint smile.

"But how? Did they kill each other? Did the mortal races band together and kill them? Did they starve, or was their magic unable to sustain them?"

"There are quite a few different accounts, many of them contradictory. I can suggest a reading list if you're curious about the topic." Ilma wiped away the stick figures drawn in chalk and scribbled a list on a piece of paper.

When Sebastien took the list, she saw that it was accompanied by a slip for one University contribution point. "Thank you," she said, looking up at the older woman.

"You'll be late if you don't hurry," Ilma said.

Sebastien left quickly. As she strode through the slightly-curved hallways of the Citadel, she folded and tucked the point slip and the reading list into one of her pockets. 'I don't understand,' she said to herself. 'I don't understand at all. If Ilma had some point for that lesson beyond confirming how little historians have been able to verify, and how frustrating a job that must be, I don't know what it was. The space of things I still have to learn is the size of a vast ocean, wide and deep enough that no light can reach the bottom.'

Rather than press down on her, the sense of this ocean surrounding her on all sides made her feel weightless, buoyant. 'It's all at my fingertips, just waiting for me to grasp it.'

Chapter 29 - Kindred Spirits

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 27, Friday 5:30 p.m.

Sebastien's free time over the next couple of days was spent engrossed in study and practice. She felt she was progressing well with school-related learning, but hadn't made much progress finding a solution to her sleep problems. Or, to put it another way, her time and energy problems. Books talked about how the Will could be trained through practice, just like any other muscle, and thus become harder to exhaust. They showed spells that were supposed to help get a full night's restful sleep, none of which actually worked to let her sleep through the night without nightmares, at least not at the strength she could cast them.

There were spells that could force someone to stay awake, but the only one that lasted longer than a few hours and didn't require the sleep debt to be made up later was a curse. It kept the victim from sleeping, and for the first few days was seemingly without side effects. But as that wakefulness went on, it led to hallucinations, extreme paranoia, and, eventually, death. Even if she had been willing to try it, it was only talked about in general terms. Apparently the University didn't want its early term students getting their hands on curses that could kill someone.

There were spells to promote wakefulness more gently, but they couldn't avert Will-strain, and led to energy debts and fatigue after they wore off. She might as well keep pumping wakefulness magic into high-quality coffee.

With so much other work to get through and no progress on increasing the resources she had to devote to everything, she made little headway in learning about whatever spell might be encrypting the stolen text her amulet had come from. There were so many things she wanted to do outside her schoolwork, and she just couldn't. Altogether, she felt herself begin to wear down both mentally and physically, and grew frustrated to the point of snapping at her fellow students when they interrupted her study.

When a particularly rowdy group of students stomped their way over to the section of the library where she was trying to finish an essay for one of her classes—fast enough that she would still have time for her Practical Casting exercises and to also read a book assigned in another class—she could feel little tingles of electrical anger tightening the muscles in her back and shoulders.

The library was meant to be a place of quiet and study. Just because she wasn't locked away inside one of the reserved rooms didn't mean she deserved to be subjected to their brain-grating distraction. 'Don't they have any work of their own to do?'

They settled nearby and shortly afterward burst out into laughter. One of the boys took out a gaudily pink, fluffy feather that floated around under his direction and attacked a girl.

She squealed and tried to escape the ticklishness of what had to be a prank artifact by running in circles around the table, shrieking and giggling.

Sebastien's eye twitched.

One of the other boys stepped up gallantly to protect her, but then ended up being "weak to tickle damage." They only got louder, encouragement and jokes mixing with the laughter.

When the girl ran past Sebastien to hide behind her chair, using her like a human shield against the trailing feather, Sebastien snapped.

She stood up, slamming her hands down on the table hard enough to make its contents jump.

The group stilled and went quiet, turning toward her. The feather froze in mid-air, then sank to the ground like a dog trying to escape the notice of its master after doing something wrong.

The door to one of the nearby reserved rooms opened. Their student liaison, Newton, stood in the doorway and waved the boy he'd been tutoring out, one eye on Sebastien.

It was too late for Sebastien to stop herself, though, the anger already crackling out in clipped words. Once she was going, she never could rein herself in.

"Shut. Up," she growled, then rounded on the group, blindly packing her things as she spoke, each movement sharply punctuating her words. "I don't have the energy to pretend to tolerate you nostril-offending, dull-witted pulps of inanity today. Can't you see that people are trying to have real thoughts around you? You may not be able to have any of your own, but I assure you the rest of us would appreciate it if you stopped lowering the average intelligence of the room with your deafening presence." Shoving the last book into her satchel, she gave them a glare, slung the bag over her shoulder, and strode off amidst the suddenly resounding silence.

She blew out of the library and chose the direction with the least number of students clogging the way, which led her past the cafeteria, the dorms, and into the east side of the grounds, which she hadn't explored since orientation.

She stomped over the cobblestone path winding through the trees, past the Archmage's High Tower and the occasional professor's house until the cultivated forest and grass petered out and then the white cliffs broke away.

Her footsteps slowed. She moved to looked out over the east edge of the cliffs. Below roiled the Charybdis Gulf, which ran through Gilbratha's east edge from north to south, separating the Lilies and the Crown Families who lived there from the rest of the city.

Sebastien pressed her arms closer to her body to ward off the stiff wind as she gazed down at the choppy grey waves below. There were a few small boats braving the waters further south—fisherfolk risking the magical sea beasts and the more mundane, but still dangerous, carnivorous marine animals.

A few rays of light broke through the thick clouds above, refracting off the mist in the air and hitting the water, which glowed green like a cut emerald. The sight, so far removed from her own struggles, helped to calm her.

Sebastien had been standing there for only a couple of minutes when footsteps approached behind her.

Newton had his hands in his pockets and his chin tucked into a thick scarf. He moved to stand beside her with nothing more than a slight nod of greeting.

'Am I going to be punished for what I said?' she wondered. 'Should I apologize first? It might help reduce my sentence.' The thought was distasteful, and she let the silence stretch out between them instead.

"You're not like a lot of the students here," Newton eventually said.

It hadn't been what she was expecting, and she raised her eyebrows, turning toward him.

He kept looking out over the water. "The others, those rich kids with Family backing…this place isn't special to them. Learning at the University is their birthright, the magical is mundane. They don't worry about learning everything they can, or about performing well enough to get and keep a good apprenticeship. They aren't trying to stand out, hoping to stay on at the University as a student aide once the first three terms are up, just so they'll have enough gold to pay for classes. Once they leave here, most of them will only need to use what they learned if they want to. If not, there's always the Edictum Council, or an advisory position over one of the businesses their Family owns. They can even retire to their lands outside of Gilbratha. Being here doesn't mean the same thing to them as it does to us," Newton said.

"And what does it mean to us?"

"Opportunity. The type you only get once in a lifetime, and that's worth enough you'd sacrifice almost anything for it."

Sebastien felt herself pale, but tried to keep her expression neutral. 'Is he hinting that he knows about how I got here?'

Newton nodded. "I've noticed, Sebastien. After all, it takes one to know one."

'What?' she thought. Aloud, she said, "What?"

"I noticed the wonder on your face when we toured the place during Orientation. You're dressed just as finely as them, you carry yourself like you belong more than they do, and no one can deny you have the intelligence to be here." Newton threw his hands up. "Hells, you even somehow managed to get Thaddeus Lacer to acknowledge you!" He shook his head, then. "But the truth is obvious to me. We're the same. I doubt you ever had finery like you're wearing now before you came to the University. You didn't take trips to Paneth every autumn and get a miniature gryphon for your tenth birthday. You didn't have magical artifacts in every room and servants to take care of everything the magic didn't."

Sebastien carefully kept her hand from creeping toward her Conduit as he spoke. She didn't want to push the situation further into disaster by overreacting. 'Being poor isn't a crime. Even lying about your background isn't. As long as he doesn't know about Siobhan, everything is salvageable.'

"I had that same look of wonder on my face when I came to the University. The one those rich kids don't have because they're blind to the wonder of it, jaded by the opulence and opportunity they've grown up in. That's why I understand how frustrating it can be—pinching every copper, studying till you dream of writing essays and practice casting in your sleep, and watching the people around you who have it so much easier…"

He gritted his teeth, then shook his head, as if to dislodge the frustration. "Well, you just have to learn to let it go. I've got a little trick for it. My Grams taught me when I was a child. She was helping me calm myself down when I was panicking during a thunderstorm, but it's good for anger too. It's an esoteric spell, the first bit of magic I ever did, and one of the few real spells my family had."

Slowly, making sure Sebastien was watching, he touched his middle fingers to his thumbs, creating a Circle from his hands. His Conduit was set into a simple metal ring, and with it turned to face his palm, he didn't have to awkwardly secure his grip on it. He pressed the Circle up against his diaphragm and let out a deep humming, "Ohhhmm," drawing the sound out till the vibrations seemed to ripple against each other, enriching the note.

Sebastien blinked, absorbing it even as she wondered what in the hells was going on. Teaching a family spell to an outsider was usually a pretty big deal.

The tension she hadn't even realized was tugging at the muscles around Newton's eyes and shoulders released, and after repeating the humming for a couple of deep breaths, he dropped his hands and explained the spell to her, then added, "Being a commoner is nothing to be ashamed of, Sebastien."

Sebastien opened her mouth, not quite sure what she was going to say, but Newton waved her words away.

"Don't worry, it's not obvious. And maybe the Siverlings aren't technically commoners, but what's a name if you're too poor to back it up? I'm not going to give away your secret. What I'm trying to say is, you deserve to be here just as much as any of them. More, even. Don't let them push you till you cause trouble for yourself. Thaumaturges need their pride, but we also have to know when to stay coolheaded. I'll try to have your back, but if you find it all becoming too much, calm yourself."

"We're the same. Commoners trying to fit in at the University," she said slowly, making sure she understood.

He laughed sharply. "Well, it's a little more obvious for me than you." He gestured to his clothes. "I haven't had a new set of clothes since first term, and I spend every spare hour with student liaison business or tutoring people too stupid or lazy to learn on their own, just trying to make enough gold to pay for my next term. I use my contribution points to pay for classes, and the only reason I'm not still in the dorms with the rest of you is because the student liaison job comes with a separate room."

Sebastien pondered the correct response to this, still reeling a little from the rapid shift in emotions and the relief now filling her. "Thank you," she said finally. "For the spell…and the advice."

Newton clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't mention it, friend. Well, maybe someday when you've made something of yourself, you'll remember me. My Journeyman certification will be based on pure skill and determination, and I'm not picky about my field of work."

"You want to…work for me after graduation?" She felt like Newton kept throwing conversational blows she hadn't seen coming.

"As long as the job pays at least market wage for a Journeyman. It'd be better than working for one of the Crowns, or some rich Master who makes me do all the work while taking the credit for himself!" Newton said with a laugh. "Of course, if you're going into the army, I have to give advance warning that I'm only interested in administrative jobs."

Sebastien nodded stiffly. "I'll keep that in mind." She understood his reasoning in teaching her the spell, at least. 'A bribe couched in overtures of friendship. He's making "connections." Too bad he doesn't realize that Sebastien Siverling doesn't actually exist.'

Newton shoved his hands back into his pockets, whistling as they turned and walked back to the University.

"I do regret some of the things I said to them," she offered.

He nodded slowly, still whistling quietly.

"I came up with better insults while I was walking away," she explained.

His head jerked to a stop mid-nod and the simple, meandering tune died on his lips. After a moment of shock, he burst out laughing.

That night, Sebastien tried out the spell Newton had taught her. It forcefully calmed her heartbeat to match her breaths and smoothed muscles she hadn't noticed were tense. The longer she drew the deep hums out, the farther into the calm state it stretched her body, like straightening a spring.

She started to snap back as soon as the sound stopped—the relaxation was unnatural, based on force rather than a cessation of the triggers that had caused the negative response—but as she kept the spell going with breath after breath, her body settled into the new state. She didn't become relaxed, exactly, but she felt calm, in control. As if the state of her mind when casting magic had spread to the rest of her body. She didn't dislike it, but she wondered how much use she would get out of it. 'Would I remember to stop and cast it in the heat of the moment? And if I do, would control over my body be enough to override my anger?'

If she was entirely honest with herself, she enjoyed giving the occasional verbal abuse to the deserving. If there weren't sometimes consequences, she would never regret it at all. 'Well, perhaps it could be useful to get back to sleep after I wake too early,' she thought as she slipped into sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she woke suddenly, and at first didn't realize what had roused her. She hadn't been dreaming.

Her wrist hurt, as if she'd dropped a dot of hot wax or a still-burning coal on it. With sleepy fingers, she probed at the pain, and immediately felt the too-cold bead of metal pressed against her skin.

'Dryden has triggered the ward on my bracelet.'

Her heart seemed to stop beating for an instant, and then it crashed against her chest with a surge of fiery adrenaline. 'I've been caught.'

Chapter 30 - (A Rather Poor) Rescue

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 4:30 a.m.

Sebastien bolted upright before she could stop herself, but then froze, opening her mouth to breathe so that her panicked gasps would be less audible.

She slid off her bed, pressing her feet to the cold stone floor with careful, deliberate movements. Turning to the bed, she cast the spell to disintegrate fallen hairs or other remnants from her body. Now would be the worst possible time to neglect that safety measure.

'How did they find me?' she wondered frantically. Still, that answer wasn't the most important thing at the moment. 'I have to escape.'

She moved to the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out her things, most of which she kept organized within her luggage bags, and so required very little preparation to simply pick up and leave.

She dressed as quickly as possible, slung her school satchel over her shoulder, and slipped from the room, carrying both her boots and her luggage. She put her boots on when she reached the hall, then picked up one bag in either arm and hurried out of the dorm building. Outside, the wind had picked up, clearing away the night fog and whipping hair into her face.

Her student token bounced against her chest beside her warded medallion and the transmutation amulet. 'Should I get rid of the token? They might be able to track it.' She decided to ditch it after she had escaped the grounds. It would be fastest to go down through the tubes, but she didn't want to do so without anything to slow her descent, not again, and she needed the student token for the tube system's magic to recognize her.

She was panting by the time she reached the glass tubes, but Fekten's training in Defensive Magics had deepened the well of physical energy she had to draw on, and she didn't slow. Her bags went in first, and then her legs, and she was off.

Only then did she have the horrible thought that her student token may have been compromised, and the tubes would trap her within till the authorities reached her—though she didn't know if such a thing was actually possible. To her great relief, the tubes worked as normal, simply setting her and her luggage down on the bouncy surface below.

She grabbed both bags and was struggling off the absorbent landing pad toward the street when the sound of a horse's hooves clopping to intercept her cut through the wind. She dropped the larger bag, the one with her clothes and more unimportant belongings, and turned to sprint away, when Dryden's familiar voice called, "It's me! Get on the horse, it's an emergency."

She stopped running and turned as he drew the panting beast up beside her.

His eyes flicked between the bag in her arms and the one she had dropped. "They haven't discovered you, but I had no other way to get your attention. Stash your bags somewhere no one will find them and climb up behind me. There's no time to wait, lives are at stake."

His urgent, low voice cut through the fog of panic in her mind. She ran back, picked up the bag she had dropped, and then found a half-broken wooden crate in a nearby alley to stash her things underneath. She took off her student token, too, just to be safe, leaving only her school satchel and her clothes on her body. "What's going on?" she asked, panting as she climbed up behind him on the horse. It was saddled for one, which made it less than comfortable.

"The Morrows attacked a building of mine, downhill. Workers were inside, on an early shift. My people called for one of the emergency response teams, but the Morrows were prepared for that," he said, pushing the poor horse hard. He tossed a bundle of cloth back to her. "Wear your cloak and change forms. The Morrows are trying to take the building down around the workers' ears. We have injured, maybe dead, and the emergency response team cannot get in to help. The other two teams are being roused from their homes, but it may be too late by the time they arrive. Katerin sent me a message, and I triggered your ward immediately. I hope you will forgive me for the fright."

She tossed the red-trimmed cloak around her shoulders, pulled the hood down, and pressed a hand to her chest to settle the stolen artifact against her skin. With a tingle, her body shifted, and her skin darkened like the blush of a desert rose. "Why did you trigger my ward? What is it that you think I can do about this?" The sound of her old voice was almost startling, and she clutched at Dryden's waist to keep herself steady as the horse's muscles undulated under her. Its hoofbeats thundered off the stone around them, distorted by the wind, and the shadows were barely pushed back by increasingly sparse streetlamps.

"Katerin and the reinforcement teams are being deliberately delayed. I have no other options. They have magic-users, Siobhan. And you know how to heal."

She gaped at the back of his head. "What? I told you, I don't know any battle magic! And I can only heal small wounds! You would be better off transporting the injured to a healer!"

"I will do the fighting. I fear it may be too late to reach the healers, especially if we cannot break the Morrows' siege quickly." He turned his head slightly, to see her out of the corner of his eye. "The workers are innocent, Siobhan. They're in desperate need of help. Will you not at least try? You will be paid." His voice broke a little on those last words.

Tingles went up her spine as her back muscles clenched too hard for comfort. She considered refusing, demanding that he stop and let her return to the University, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. 'I am already on my way there,' she thought with a kind of dry resignedness. Her memory flashed to the moment she'd pressed her bloody thumb against the magical agreement with Katerin. 'And I cannot refuse repayment in favors unless they are morally objectionable. Not unless I want to bear the consequences.' The thought of releasing her blood for Katerin to use against her led to a shudder that wasn't just because of the cold. Katerin was kind, but she was in no way soft. Siobhan belonged to the Verdant Stag.

"I just want to make sure you are aware, fully aware, that I am not a licensed healer, and I'm not just saying that. I don't know what I'm doing. I shouldn't be the first one you go to in an emergency. I should be the absolute last resort."

"You are." He paused. "I don't know what you're imagining, but I don't have some sort of secret underground battlefield-healer on retainer. Any legal healer won't come to a still-ongoing gang fight. I hope—I hope you aren't needed. And I hope that if you are, you can be the stopgap, to buy just enough time till a real healer can be had. Emergency response, right?"

'What does it say about me, that I'm rushing into this when a real healer would refuse?' Still, she didn't ask him to turn back or let her off.

By the time they arrived, the frigid winds, now carrying the scent of lightning mixed with a hint of feces, were strong enough to distort the sounds of fighting. Even so, Siobhan could see a glow that pulsed artificially from a couple of city blocks away, far enough for them to slow the horse.

Dryden pulled out a battle wand from inside his vest, and they dismounted. He led the horse over to the sidewalk, loosely tying it to a post in front of a building. Then he pressed himself close to the side of the buildings and approached the glow of magic and the screams.

Siobhan made sure her hood was pulled fully down over her face and followed after him. When they got to the corner, she crouched down, peering out into the cross street.

The warehouse under attack stood across the street to their left and about a block away. It had large, many-paned windows running along all three sides she could see, more than a few of which were broken, and the light crystals shining within showed a large barricade the workers must have set up to protect them from spell attacks.

The entire building was vibrating, whatever spell was causing the effect pulsing like an ocean wave. As she watched, a couple more windows broke, their glass falling away and shattering against the ground.

On the street before the warehouse, four people, whose shoulders bore the vibrant green antlers of the Verdant Stag, were crouched behind another makeshift barrier. It had the layered, poured-mud quality of a liquid stone potion, which expanded and hardened when it touched air, and could be used for emergency walls in situations like this. One of the team lay flat, moaning in pain and clutching at his leg, while the other three occasionally popped their heads out and shot up the street.

Their target, almost directly in front of the warehouse, was a group of seven people, each wearing a red bandanna around their neck or arm. They had their own barrier, a glowing half sphere that rose from seven bricklike objects laid on the ground around their group.

One edge of their glowing barrier spell touched the corner of the warehouse, and one of their number was crouched at that edge, casting the spell that was shaking the building on its foundation. The sound of buried thunder, rattling metal, and breaking glass grew louder as the spellcaster continued.

The Morrows' barrier absorbed incoming spells, yet allowed spells shot from within to exit, meaning they had the clear advantage in both numbers and power. A couple of them had battle wands of their own, which they shot at the emergency response team whenever they saw an opportunity. Magicians, who were often not true spellcasters at all, but used artifacts and tools to do their magic, were often derided, but they could be as dangerous as any other thaumaturge.

Dryden withdrew his head from around the corner and turned to her. "The barrier. What do you know about it? Can you take it down?"

She shook her head. "I'm no expert, but spell-barrier wards always have a weakness. They have to be set up to block specific spells, so there's always something that can get through them. Alternatively, you can overpower them with brute force, or use a counter-spell specifically to break the barrier. The problem is, I don't know the counter-spell, and I really doubt I have enough power to brute force it, especially without getting close enough to touch it."

"And a spell that can get through it? One it wasn't created to block?"

Siobhan thought frantically, running through her repertoire of knowledge. She knew more than she had the last time she'd been in such a desperate situation, attempting to escape from the coppers chasing her, but she still wasn't versed in battle magic, and her repository of spells wasn't much larger than it had been, though it had a better foundation. All that was coming to mind were the spells she had been doing constantly for Professor Lacer.

The idea caught her. She poked her head out again, watching the wind push debris across the cobblestones. She pulled her head back and looked around. "Is there a way onto the roof from here?"

"I believe there's one in the alley near here. I'll check." Dryden stood up and ran back the way they had come.

Meanwhile, Siobhan gouged her nails into the wooden paneling that divided the closest window into little panes. She broke a couple nails, but was able to break the wood, too, getting at the glass held within. She carefully wriggled the pane out of its bindings, then settled it on the ground and pulled an oil pastel out of a pocket. She drew a Circle and the glyphs for "line," "movement," and "circle" on the glass.

Then, she drew over a dozen more Circles on the other panes of glass in the window, with pentagons for each, along with the glyphs for "force," "compression," and "sphere." From a case in her bag, she took a very small oil lantern, which she had found useful more than a few times over the years when the weather was not conducive to an open flame. The spell array to spark the wick was carved on the bottom of the lantern, and once she got her Conduit out of her vest pocket, only took a small push of Will.

Dryden returned, dropping down beside her. "There's an old building about a block east with a ladder up the back. Will that work?"

"As long as it's close enough for me to target the Morrows from. Now be quiet. I need to concentrate." With the energy from the lantern, which she held up into the Circles she had drawn on the window glass, she crushed each pane into a vaguely ball-like shape of jagged, cutting edges. The crisp shattering and brittle crunching was loud enough to temporarily overpower the howling of the wind. A little dribble of honey helped the balls keep their shape.

She turned the first, still whole, pane of glass upside down, being careful not to smudge the Circle. She mixed more honey with adhel juice and smeared it on her left palm, creating a strong, sticky film. She pressed that hand to the pane of glass, and was pleased when it stuck without effort.

Now, with a portable spell array, she held her left hand over the balls of shattered glass and activated the spell array drawn on the glass pane. When she lifted her hand, both the pane and the glass spheres came with it. She held the pane up like a waitress carrying a tray full of food, stood, and tucked away the rest of her supplies with her free hand. "Alright. Lead the way."

Climbing the ladder with only one hand was decidedly more difficult than she had anticipated, and she had to hold her Conduit in her mouth and hook the next rung up with her chin a couple of times while she released her grip with her free hand. Every gust of wind set her heart to pounding, and she remembered belatedly that she really had no love for heights, but by that time it was much too late to give up.

The ladder ended at the roof, which held a gazebo-like structure that had at one time likely housed a bell, but was now empty. The wind was even stronger up high, tugging at her like little grasping fingers as she tried to navigate the steep, shingled surface.

Dryden wrapped an arm around her waist to help stabilize her, but ended up fairly carrying her as they scrambled up and into the protection of the empty bell tower.

From inside, she saw that the stone stairs leading down into the building had half broken and crumbled away, which was probably the reason for the ladder in the first place. She carefully edged around the opening to the broken stairs and looked out over the street below from the far side.

Lightning flashed, so bright that the whole world looked as it did in daylight for a single instant. Thunder followed close behind it.

Dryden reached into his cloak and pulled out a mask. It was smooth and white, with two round holes for the eyes. When he put it on, something happened, a sort of gathering darkness that seeped out around the edges in tendrils and settled behind the empty eyeholes, obscuring the man beneath.

Siobhan couldn't help her grin. "Impressive."

He waved a hand at her, a slight flourish in the movement. "Please, sorceress. Upstage me." He turned his head meaningfully toward the Morrows below.

Most of the glass had fallen from the warehouse windows by that point, and the walls were groaning under the pressure of the vibrations the Morrow caster was creating. A man screamed inside the building, and Siobhan knew there was no time to waste.

She palmed her Conduit, chose one of the balls stuck to the glass pane, and drew it to the center. She wished she had a beast core to pull energy from, but could only take her lantern from where she'd hastily stuffed it in a pocket and hold it within the sphere of influence created by the Circle.

Her hand was within the sphere of influence as well, and she reminded herself with some trepidation not to give herself frostbite.

She had practiced this spell for many hours, till she could do it half asleep and at a moment's notice. It was only slightly harder to do it now, with adrenaline rushing through her body and the wind tearing at her so hard she had to crouch slightly to avoid being knocked over. It took a handful of seconds to get the glass ball rotating so fast its jagged edges were shrieking against the pane underneath. It was easy, with such a small ball, and no sand to slow it. The hardest part was actually keeping it from shooting off under the force of its speed.

The spell array glowed slightly as she poured on more power, not totally efficient even with all her practice. The Word was too simple.

When she released the ball, it shot forward faster than she could see, exploding against the ground below, just to the side of the Morrows' barrier.

Small glass shards shot out in every direction, and the gang member nearest the impact screamed and stumbled back. Their barrier didn't block solid objects, which Siobhan had noticed while watching the leaves and debris the wind sent down the street entering and exiting with no problem.

Siobhan frowned. 'Aiming is harder than I anticipated.'

The emergency response team, which was to their right, now, took the opportunity to fire some spells of their own.

Siobhan spun up her next shot and managed to aim this one into the barrier sphere. Once again, the glass hit the street and exploded outward.

One of the Morrows turned in their direction, but didn't look up until another flash of lightning illuminated the street. Then, he pointed up at Siobhan and Dryden with a shout to his fellows.

The Morrow sorcerer crouching at the edge of the group turned to look, then screamed at her teammates, "Keep her off me!"

Siobhan was already spinning up another glass ball. A brief glow from her spell array, enough speed to start a screeching that even the wind couldn't cover, and release.

The man who had pointed them out went down, scrabbling at his abdomen dramatically.

She'd managed to hit him mostly from luck, as the wind had slightly changed the angle of her shot. By the time he started to scream, she'd already shot again. "How long till the backup teams get here?" she said, shouting to be heard over the wind.

"Katerin is on it," Dryden screamed back. "They'll be here soon!" He fiddled with the settings on the battle wand he still held, then leaned forward and fired off a concussive blast, aiming at the ground at the edge of the barrier rather than directly at it. It barely cracked the cobblestones, but it was enough to make a couple of their opponents flinch and stumble, so he repeated it.

"Soon?" Siobhan repeated unappreciatively, peering through the broken windows of the warehouse, trying to see the workers within from her better vantage point. Past the barrier of boxes and bags of what seemed to be dirt, she saw four people hiding. They had a couple of small wounds, but had bandaged up the more serious with torn strips of clothing.

Apart from them, from the right edge of the building nearest the street, another worker's head popped up and then ducked back down again, but the woman was visible for long enough for Siobhan to catch her expression of fear and the blood smeared across her cheek.

There was a loud crack, the sound of an impact, and then part of the warehouse's roof crumbled and fell in. The screams from within were almost drowned out by the sound of the building's partial collapse.

Siobhan's shoulders straightened in response. She realized she'd been holding her breath and took a dizzy gulp of air. "I guess I had better finish this myself, and quickly," she murmured, knowing her words wouldn't be audible.

She sent off another shot, hitting one of the Morrows who was attempting to shield the female sorcerer. "Two down," she said.

One of the Morrows sent a bright orange bolt shooting from their wand straight toward her. She stumbled to the side to avoid the spell, and for a moment thought it was going to hit her, but instead it impacted the stone of the bell-tower ceiling behind her with a sizzle and whoosh of heat.

She paused a moment, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it pushing against her ribs. The warding medallion her grandfather had given her was slightly cold against her chest, indicating that one of the protective spells had activated, probably changing the trajectory of the attack just enough to save her. She resisted the urge to turn her head and look at the place where the spell had hit. Instead, she cast the sphere-spinning spell again and launched the next glass projectile.

Dryden and Siobhan continued to dodge the spells shot back at them, though not without close calls. She nearly cracked her spell array when she was forced to drop to her chest to avoid another orange bolt, but escaped merely with the breath knocked out of her. Her pounding heart had taken her past lightheadedness and into the kind of focus that expanded her sensory intake rather than narrowed it.

She was low on ammunition by the time she managed to hit the third Morrow directly, the glass ball ripping into his shin. It was enough to take the man off his feet, and at that point, the three magicians who hadn't been hit directly grew less focused on recklessly returning fire. One of them brought out a light crystal contained in a lensed lantern and shined a bright beam of light toward the rooftop.

'That is actually pretty clever.' She squinted against the light. 'With my vision impaired, I'm less likely to hit them.'

Instead of using the opportunity to attack her, however, two of them dropped to the ground and began tending to their downed comrades.

She caught a glimpse of the puddles of blood spreading out on the cobblestones and swallowed hard. The glass shards were more effective than she had anticipated—or intended. She hesitated before launching the next one. Her aim was far from perfect, and when the glass smashed into the sidewalk close to the female sorcerer's side, Siobhan wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

The woman screamed and fell over onto her left side, clutching at her right arm.

Siobhan spun up her last glass ball, waiting and watching. She didn't want to waste her last shot.

The woman's screams quieted, and she turned to face Siobhan, clumsily drawing a new Circle on the ground with her left hand. Presumably, it would be a ward to protect against Siobhan's attacks.

Siobhan wasn't sure if she should target the female sorcerer again to keep her from completing the new array, or shoot at one of the others. The woman would only be able to hold one spell at a time, so as long as she was warding against being shot, she couldn't continue to attack the warehouse.

That was when a brick came flying out of one of the broken warehouse windows and clipped the gang member holding the lantern in the shoulder. The man stumbled and fell, dropping his wand. Another brick followed quickly after, and the magicians, including one of those she had shot directly earlier, turned their attention once again to the warehouse, while the sorcerer drew out her spell in blood-splattered chalk.

Dryden yelled a warning to the workers within that was lost in the howl of the oncoming storm.

Before the Morrows could retaliate for the bricks, a bolt of light cut through the darkness to her left, from further up the street, drawing their attention.

The shot had come from a third group of people who were running down the street toward them. In another bolt of lightning, Siobhan caught a glimpse of blood-red hair and the spring-green antlers of the Verdant Stag among the new arrivals, and felt her knees go weak in relief.

Katerin had arrived with the reinforcements.

A Conjuring of Ravens Pre-Order

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Chapter 31 - Arriving to Class Naked

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 4:55 a.m.

Spells lit up the night, a barrage of force and magical effects traded between the Verdant Stags' reinforcements and the Morrows in front of the half-destroyed warehouse.

"They'll handle this," Dryden screamed in her ear, clutching her shoulder. "We need to get into the building!"

With a nod, she turned and looked for a way to get down. Going back the way they had come would take a long time. They couldn't jump down from the roof, either, unless they wanted to break a bone.

"I have a potion of feather-fall!" Dryden yelled, pointing down the broken staircase that led into the building below.

She understood his plan immediately. "Just the one?" When he nodded, she tucked her lantern and Conduit back into a pocket and held out her hand expectantly. "We can split it."

Dryden didn't hesitate. They each took a swallow from the small vial he pulled from his pocket, then moved to the stairwell.

With her mind on potions, Siobhan realized she might have a few useful ones of her own. She pulled the potion of moonlight sizzle out of her satchel, shaking it quickly and holding it above her head to light their way down the stairwell. They had to jump over sections of broken steps a few times, but the half dose of feather-fall was enough to partially mitigate the effects of gravity and allow them to descend safely.

When they reached the ground, Dryden led them through the obstacle course-like remains of furniture and rat carcasses littering the ground. They unlatched the front door from the inside, and Dryden poked his head out. He pulled back and turned to her, the eyeholes in his mask bleeding darkness. "The Morrows are running."

"That's good. Now we just need to get help to the injured workers." She fingered the Conduit in her pocket, reassured by its familiar weight and feel. "But the warehouse doors must be locked, right?"

"I would assume so."

"So we go in through the windows. The glass is broken out of them already. You first. I don't want a brick to come flying at my head. They should recognize the mask, correct?" She waved vaguely to his face.

He let out a short, sharp laugh, as if surprised. "Yes."

She nodded at him, then waved her hand impatiently. "Hurry up, then. We don't have time to lose!"

With one last peek out the door, he dashed across the street.

She followed, her cloak whipping around and tugging at her with the force of the wind. She tucked the hand still attached to the glass pane to her side underneath her cloak to avoid it getting caught or accidentally smashing it against something. The mixture of honey and adhel juice was too strong an adhesive to remove the glass easily, and there was no time for her to work an oil mixture into it until it released the skin of her palm bit by bit.

As soon as Dryden began to climb through a broken window in the side alley, two workers rushed out from behind their makeshift barrier to help haul him through.

Of course, as soon as they caught sight of the mask, they recoiled.

"It's okay," Dryden assured them. "We're here to help, I promise."

She followed, though none of the workers helped her, even though her left hand was still out of commission.

"Wounded? Is anyone hurt?" Dryden asked, looking around urgently.

"Jameson, sir," said one of the men who had stepped forward to help him through the window, darting little glances at Dryden's mask. He was a large man, so much so that his shirt seams strained around his shoulders.

Siobhan mentally dubbed him Mr. Shoulders.

"Jameson was standing by the window when they first came up. They got him with a slicer, at the base of the neck." Mr. Shoulders motioned behind the barrier, and Siobhan started moving.

The woman who had poked her head up from the corner called out, "Elba's broke 'is arm, but 'e's alright. But Cooper…Cooper…"

Siobhan stepped around the barrier and saw what they meant.

One man, pale to the point of blueness, had a friend pressing what looked like a blood-soaked shirt to his neck.

'That would be Jameson.'

A couple of meters away, another man lay underneath the jagged end of a huge piece of wood.

Her stomach roiled as the smell swept past her, carried on the wind whistling through the windows.

The support beam had been holding up the roof. She remembered the sound it made when it broke, the way the people inside had screamed as the roof collapsed inward.

It seemed that the sharp end had punched down onto Cooper, before the rest of the beam fell on top of him.

Mr. Shoulders nodded. "Cooper got caught by the support beam. He…"

Siobhan moved forward to Jameson, trying to keep her eyes off the corpse.

Blood pooled out around Cooper's body, but that wasn't the worst of it. His abdomen had been torn open by the beam, or had burst from the weight, and his insides were spilling out.

She opened her bag and rushed to pull out the potions within. "Jameson, is it?" she asked, looking at the still-living man in front of her. He was pale from blood loss. 'This one is alive,' she forced herself to say in her mind. 'It's up to me to make sure he stays that way.'

The man pressing the shirt to Jameson's neck nodded, almost as white-faced himself from fear. "Yes, uh…yes, Mistress Sorceress. His neck, they got him." His own forehead sported a goose-egg lump of a bruise, and one arm hung limp, supported on his legs at an awkward angle.

"How deep?" she asked, reading the labels she'd written on the bottles' tags. 'Why do I have no blood clotter?' she lamented.

"About, err, this much?" Elba said, holding his finger and thumb up, about a centimeter apart.

Inside, Siobhan cursed, but outwardly, only nodded curtly. "How far away is your healer?"

"Healer Nidson's. He's fifteen minutes away, maybe, if we could take him on my horse. She runs like the wind," Dryden said.

The others shared a look, half hope and half apprehension.

Siobhan grunted, her muscles tense with the need to move, to do something, her mind flitting from thought to thought with deceptively inefficient energy. 'I'm not prepared for this! It's worse than the nightmare where I arrive to class naked and without having studied for Professor Lacer's test!'

"Can you save him?" the other man who had helped Dryden through the window asked. This man wore no shirt, probably because that was the fabric pressed up against Jameson's neck to keep him from bleeding to death.

She forced her thoughts to focus with a mental twist not so dissimilar to bending her Will to work magic on the world. "Maybe. Give him this while I prepare," she said, placing a bottle of revivifier beside Jameson, and taking out a soft chalk, to better write with on the dirty, debris-covered floor.

"It should give him a temporary boost of energy and keep his organs working," she said. 'The potion is not meant for situations like this, it's meant to give a boost to the elderly or those recovering from a serious illness. But I've heard soldiers on the battlefield also use it as a stopgap in medical emergencies, or when they're too exhausted to keep marching, and yet have no choice but to do so anyway. I doubt it will harm him, at least. I don't think he'll make it another fifteen minutes, so I must do something now.'

She drew the flesh-mirroring healing spell array on the ground. 'Blood magic or not, I have no better option.' There was plenty of Jameson's blood to serve as Sacrifice. She looked up at his pale face, taking in his distant gaze and his shallow panting as he tried to get enough air. He had managed to swallow the revivifier with assistance, but it barely seemed to have helped. 'He needs blood.' At this point, even if she managed to seal his wound, he would likely still die.

She remembered her grandfather telling her about the necromantic healing done under the Blood Emperor's reign, and the ability to take blood from one human and give it to another, either to temporarily increase performance or to keep the recipient alive after a wound. However, if the blood's humors were incompatible with each other, mixing them would kill the recipient.

"Dry—" She cut off, realizing that she shouldn't say his name. Instead, she waved at him impatiently.

He knelt beside her.

"I need blood. Blood from someone else, to give to him. If I don't, he will die before we can get him to a healer." The question was obvious, hanging in the air like a guillotine above them all.

"Blood magic?" Elba, the one with the broken arm, whispered.

The workers exchanged looks, and then the woman knelt beside Siobhan. "I will act as Sacrifice."

Mr. Shoulders shook his head. "No! I will do it. You have a family, Misha. They need you alive."

Siobhan huffed in exasperation. "One, I will only be taking a liter or two of blood. It will not kill you. Two, I need to test your compatibility with Jameson, so it's not really up to you who will help him. The wrong person's blood will kill him just as surely as none at all."

Misha looked at Jameson, then to Siobhan. "How will you tell?"

Siobhan grimaced. She vaguely remembered her grandfather talking about the symptoms, but she didn't remember how exactly the Blood Empire kept from killing their subjects. However, the symptoms were memorable enough. Hopefully, it wasn't too complicated. "I will mix the blood. A poor reaction will be visible." She rubbed the glass pane still stuck to her left hand on her clothes, cleaning its surface of the sphere-spinning spell array. "Grab a shard of glass from the windows, all of you. Cut your finger and place a drop on the glass here."

They shared looks with each other, hesitating, and a couple turned to Dryden for assurance, though she didn't know why they found a man wearing a featureless mask more reassuring than a perfectly normal young woman with skill in magic. Maybe they had some inkling that he was the leader of the Verdant Stags.

"Now!" she snapped. "Unless you're willing to let Jameson die."

"Do as she says," Dryden ordered.

"It's blood magic," Elba muttered stubbornly.

"Your blood will replenish itself! A little weakness, for a month at most, and you save his life. Is that not a fair trade?!" Siobhan said, her voice growing increasingly loud.

The woman moved first, and the others followed after her.

Siobhan dipped her finger in Jameson's blood and dabbed drops about the glass pane. When the others returned, she instructed them to add the drop of their own blood to his, and remember which was theirs. While she waited for a reaction to occur, she moved a few feet away and used her other hand to draw a new Circle on the ground, this one completely from her own imagination. 'If only I had studied human anatomy in greater detail,' she lamented. 'How exactly am I supposed to get the blood from the donor into Jameson?'

She looked up at the pale, panting man. 'Well, he already has a line to his bloodstream open, though obviously it only nicked the artery there, or he would already be dead. Perhaps I can just use the opening provided.'

When the spell array she hoped to use to siphon blood from the donor into Jameson was completed, she scowled down at the pane stuck to her left hand. None of the drops of blood was displaying any notable reaction. She ran a finger through one. 'It's coagulating. They're all coagulating.'

She almost screamed in frustration. 'Like this, any blood I put into him will be a gamble with his life. Perhaps…a divination?' She almost laughed in despair. She had no skill in even simple divination like dousing for water. For something like this, which she understood so poorly, the chances of success were low. She was as likely to get a false answer as none at all.

'It's little better than tossing a coin, but it could increase my likelihood of choosing correctly by a few percentage points. Is it worth it to waste a couple of minutes for such meager results, with him in such a dire state? He could die while I'm hesitating. But beyond even the danger of giving him the wrong type, I don't know how to stop coagulation. Any blood is going to react when it touches the air. Why didn't I think of that in the first place? The Blood Empire must have had some way to handle that, but I…I don't know how. Is it possible to remove the air from an area entirely? Or maybe I could press someone's wrist against his neck and keep the blood from meeting air that way?'

"Do you have wounded? We're ready to transport them," Katerin called from outside, her head still turned to watch for danger on the street.

Siobhan gasped in relief. 'I'm not the only one who came to help.' Standing, she yelled back, "Do you have any healing potions?"

One of the other Stag enforcers responded in Katerin's place. "Aye! Revivifier, blood clotter, and wound cleanser. Liquid stone if any bones need stabilization for travel." He hesitated, walking closer. "I also have an elixir of peace," he said in a softer voice.

Sometimes, the elixir of peace was given to those who were going to die from their wounds, to take away pain and anxiety as they left the mortal world. Of course, it was also addictive, and often abused for the sense of total safety and security it gave.

Siobhan waved impatiently at the man. "Well, what are you waiting for? Bring them over here, quickly!" She turned to the other workers. "Perhaps giving blood will not be necessary after all." She tried to keep the relief and profound uncertainty from her tone.

They poured the wound cleanser and blood clotter on Jameson's neck, though the wound wasn't bleeding as strongly as it had been at first, which she knew was a bad sign. The potion helped some, but didn't stop the bleeding entirely. She nodded for him to be given a few drops of the elixir of peace as well. Addiction was the least of her worries.

After a small moment of hesitation, she also gave him the entire second dose of the revivifying potion, which she knew was too much, but something had to be done. The side effects were less severe than immediate death. "Alright. Lay him out here, in the middle," she said, pointing to the healing spell array she'd drawn earlier. "Be careful not to smudge the chalk. The Circle must remain unbroken."

The cut ran across the base of Jameson's neck, crossing his collarbone on one side and ending at the top of his shoulder. It was deep enough to go past the skin, exposing bone, tendon, and muscle.

Once again using her lantern, in addition to any warmth that passed through the Circle on the wind, she cast the healing spell. Under her Will the wound began to knit back together, the damaged side of his neck mimicking the healthy one.

Someone gasped.

Jameson jerked, reaching up to scrabble at his neck. Apparently, they hadn't given him quite enough elixir of peace to overwhelm his instinctive fear of feeling his flesh writhe on its own.

"Put your hands down!" Siobhan barked, the effort of speaking around her focus on the spell causing the Circle's faint glow to pulse brighter as she lost some of her grip on the energy.

"It's alright, Richie," Misha said. "She's healing you. Stay calm, just breathe, it'll be over soon. We're here with you. You're safe." The woman continued a constant stream of comforting words, calming Jameson, and Siobhan returned her attention fully to the spell.

She was almost finished, cold fingers of strain running up and down her spine and causing her body to tremble faintly, when shouting and flashes of light once again came from down the street.

"Coppers," Dryden said, tension in his voice. "Wrap this up, if you can. We'll take him to the healer for the rest."

The wound wasn't completely healed, but Jameson was no longer leaking blood. She dropped the spell, careful to avoid backlash from the energy she had been channeling. Her lantern flame had been sucked dead, and ice crystals formed in the air as it passed through the Circle from which she'd been drawing warmth, visibly outlining its barriers and deepening the chill around them.

"He'll need to be carried," she said. "We must hurry. He's still much too low on blood. Is there a back way out?"

"The roof fell in. The back way is blocked," Elba said, cradling his broken arm to his chest.

Siobhan lifted her head over the makeshift barrier of boxes and dirt bags to watch the coppers approach.

Katerin and the reinforcements she had gathered were still outside, though a couple of them had carried away the man with a leg injury. Now, they were gathering behind the liquid stone barrier and pressing themselves against the edges of the alley on either side of the street, wands drawn.

Dryden swore. "They'll be arrested."

Siobhan felt the urge to stand tall and straight in response to the stress, but ducked down behind the barrier again instead. "We need to get out of here as quickly as possible so they can run away too."

He shook his head. "The coppers are well-outfitted, and won't be as easy to deal with as the Morrows. Going out the front will just get us arrested with the others."

Siobhan crouched with her hands against the floor, the glass pane stuck to her left palm creaking under the pressure. "Out the side windows, then, and we run out the back alleys?"

At the front of the building, spells had begun to fly back and forth, and even in the few seconds that had passed, one of the Verdant Stag members had already fallen, hit by a red spell Siobhan thought—hoped—was only a stunner.

"A distraction would be useful," she said, even as the thought formed in her mind. "Another distraction, I mean. Something that could draw the coppers' attention away from all of us entirely."

"I am open to ideas," Dryden said dryly, using a foot to break apart a large wooden crate. He turned to a couple of the others and explained that he had a horse tied up a couple of blocks to the north. If they could get to it, it would carry Jameson faster than they could themselves. "Her name is Elmira. Explain the situation to her, and tell her that I asked her to help," he said. "She'll do as you say if you ask nicely."

Once again, Siobhan ran through her options. 'What do I have, and how can I use it to get us out of here?' She had gold hidden in her clothes, but she doubted it would be enough to bribe the whole team of coppers into ignoring something this large. She had Dryden's emergency response team, but they were no match for the coppers, and would provide maybe a minute or two more of protection, at most.

She had a couple of the experimental alchemy products Dryden had requested. 'Perhaps the philtre of darkness? It might serve as a shield, while I set up a more useful distraction. Or maybe the philtre of stench.' She realized the Morrows' spell barrier probably wouldn't have blocked the physical particles of the philtre of stench, and the philtre of darkness could have surrounded their barrier and blocked their sight.

'If I'd thought of it, it could have entirely tipped the balance of the fight,' she realized with shame.

However, the coppers had an option for individual shields spelled into their wands. More useful, maneuverable, and expensive than the barrier artifact the Morrows had used. But individual shield spells had their downsides, too, especially when most of the coppers didn't even have one raised in favor of shooting offensive spells.

'If they were smart, they would be moving in teams, with one shielding and the other attacking,' she thought.

She wiped the remnants of blood off the edge of the glass pane onto Jameson's pants while the others worked to lift him onto the wooden square Dryden had created from the broken crate. "I'm going to release a philtre of darkness. As soon as I do that, start moving Jameson. Get out of the building and far away. Scatter, actually. That will make it harder for them to find you."

"What about you?" Dryden said, kneeling beside her.

"Once the darkness spreads, I'm going to throw Speer's philtre of stench at them."

He nodded. "It should be enough to temporarily incapacitate them if they don't have wards against it, and might even throw off the scent hounds, if they bring them to track us."

Siobhan hadn't even considered the possibility of being tracked by scent, and was doubly glad she had decided to experiment with the disgusting philtre. "Hopefully my distraction gives the response team time to get away. I'll follow as soon as I can."

Dryden squeezed her shoulder. "I'll stay with you. You may need help to escape, if they notice you. My wand still has a charge left."

'You would be smarter to simply leave the wand with me,' she thought, but didn't argue with him. She was frightened. He had helped her escape the coppers before. Perhaps she would need his help again. Instead, she nodded silently, and brought the philtre of darkness, which looked like roiling ink in a bottle, out of her bag. "Everyone take a look around, make sure you're ready to move and know where to go." Following her own advice, she took the philtre of stench out and held it between her teeth, eyeing the distance to the front wall.

Dryden grabbed onto the back of her cloak.

She dashed the vial of Darkness against the ground, shattering the glass.

Black clouds exploded outward.

She stood up, stepped sideways away from the others and the barrier of dirt bags and crates they had set up, and walked toward the front of the building, feeling the faint tug on her cloak that meant Dryden was following behind her, equally blind.

The philtre of darkness had taken her ninety minutes to create merely a half-dozen vials, and the impenetrably black clouds would disappear within only a minute, but she could never have cast this as an active spell, not with enough volume to obscure the inside of the warehouse and spill out into the street.

The darkness was not simply black smoke, obscuring vision and allowing any bright lights within it to refract off tiny particles in the air. No, this bottled spell was a cloud of actual darkness, as if each cumulous undulation cast an infinite number of shadows from every direction. Trying to see within its effects required magic specifically created to counteract it.

She kept walking till she hit the wall, despite the instinctual desire to stop early for fear of running into something. The windows, now broken, had stretched in a single row of empty space across the walls, so she didn't have to search one out. She simply drew back her arm and threw.

She didn't hear the vial break, but she heard the response it brought as the coppers shouted, then began to cough and gag.

"Stags, retreat and escape!" Dryden called.

Siobhan heard cursing, and the wind brought a short burst of footsteps to her ears, but she couldn't tell who they came from, or even where.

She crouched down low to the ground as she made her way toward the west side of the warehouse and away from the coppers, not wanting to make an easier target of herself than necessary. 'It would be the height of irony to be hit by a stray spell at this point.' She crawled through the window, keeping her hands and any uncovered skin away from the sill as much as possible to avoid being nicked by any shards of glass.

Her eyes, wide open, caught faint light as she reached the edge of the philtre's effects. Her knees were shaking, and she felt faintly nauseated. 'This is one of the stupidest things I have ever done.' A couple more steps brought her mostly out of the alchemical cloud. She poked her head slowly around the edge of the building, looking up the street toward where she had last seen the coppers. She had to make sure Katerin and the others were able to get away alright.

It seemed a couple of the reinforcement team had already retreated with their unconscious or injured members, but the others remained, fighting against the coppers while backing down the street, probably planning to scatter and run once they reached the corner.

The coppers were still affected by Speer's philtre of stench, but not as much as Siobhan had hoped. All of them were coughing and gagging, but only a couple were on their hands and knees, retching onto the cobblestone.

The remainder were well enough to follow the Verdant Stag's people down the street, shooting spells as they went. 'The wind probably blew a lot of the philtre away.' Unlike the darkness, which was magical and not in danger of being dispersed by anything but counter-magic, stench was largely reliant on physical particles for its effect.

She quickly rubbed out the glyphs on her portable glass spell array, leaving the actual Circle itself intact, and lifted it in front of her face, both hands pressed together in a praying position at its center, one on either side of the glass. Her Conduit dug into her right palm, scratching against the pane. "Life's breath, shadow mine. In darkness we were born. In darkness do we feast. Devour, and arise."

As it had done in Katerin's office, on that first night in Gilbratha, her shadow darkened and writhed, moving without regard to the normal laws of light and darkness.

She continued to cycle deep breaths through the Circle, concentrating with all her might as her shadow stretched into the street till most of it stood between Dryden's response team and the coppers.

Then, it broke from the ground and stood.

It was tall, a tattered cloak of darkness fluttering slowly, completely ignoring the whipping of the storm winds in favor of calm, liquid movement, like smoke off a pinched candle wick.

Its head was dominated almost entirely by a large beak, its other features obscured in the shadows that formed it.

The shadow-familiar spell was entirely harmless, but she hoped that they wouldn't recognize such an esoteric spell in the confusion of battle. All she needed to do was make them hesitate enough that the Stag members could escape.

Spindly, clawed arms broke away from its sides, and it grew, towering over the coppers.

The response team recognized their opening, or were perhaps simply frightened by Siobhan's shadow, and broke, running away under the cover of its form.

The coppers shot a few spells at it, but Siobhan clamped down on her Will, and it didn't disperse or lighten in color. Instead, night-black ravens burst out of its sides as the spells passed through it, flying into the shadows of the alley as if to circle around to attack the coppers from behind.

Truly creating multiple different shadows with this spell was impossible. The ravens were connected to the main form by thread-thin strings of shadow, hopefully unnoticeable, and simply dispersed once they stretched too far from the main form. If she'd done it correctly, it would look like they melted into the shadows.

The coppers screamed, some firing again at the illusionary form and some firing spells erratically into the mundane shadows around them. One twisted, tripped on a cobblestone, and fell to the ground. Instead of standing he began to crawl away, his face a rictus of horror and tears. Two others broke and ran, still firing uselessly into the shadows of the alleys and doorways they passed.

Siobhan lasted only a handful of seconds more before losing control of the spell. She stumbled, half falling into the street, and her shadow snapped back into place beneath her body.

Dryden cursed, reaching down and wrapping one of her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her back away from the street, but not before one of the coppers caught sight of her, shouting "Sorceress!"

The copper shot a spell toward the alley, and it barely missed her, splashing against the ground behind them.

Regaining her footing, Siobhan turned to run deeper into the alley.

Something moved on the ground beside her, but by the time she turned to look, it was already too late. There were tentacles growing from the stone where the spell had impacted, and they snapped out and grabbed her.

Her arrested momentum tore her free of Dryden's grip and sent her tumbling straight into the ground. She instinctively caught herself with her hands, but had forgotten the pane of glass still stuck to her left palm. It shattered against the cobblestone, sharp shards of glass biting into the flesh of her palm.

Dryden stumbled, turned, and reached for her again, grabbing her by her arms and heaving.

Her back popped in staccato as the bubbles between her spine were released, and she felt like her ankles might break, but she slipped free from the grasping tentacles and scrambled to her feet again without issue. Cradling her sliced palm to her chest and her Conduit in her other fist, she followed Dryden as they raced into the night.

Chapter 32 - Sheltered from the Storm

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 6:00 a.m.

Dryden and Siobhan sprinted through the dark alleys and poorly lit side streets as if their boots were winged.

The coppers who hadn't been driven off by the shadow-familiar spell gave chase, but the philtre of stench had taken a toll, and attempting to sprint with streaming eyes, snotty noses, and roiling stomachs was enough to handicap anyone.

When the storm clouds broke, sending fat rain globules pelting out of the skies to be hurled by the wind like little stones, Siobhan grinned and only ran harder. No dogs would track them after this, not past the magically overwhelming philtre of stench and the flooding rain.

She realized soon enough that she recognized some of the streets they were on, and as they ducked into one alley, through a side door that led through an empty kitchen, and out into another alley, she realized they were taking one of the Stag's pre-arranged escape routes. She had memorized it when setting up the alarm wards, just in case.

By the time they reached their destination, one shoddy house among a row of equally shoddy houses on the outskirts of Gilbratha and well into the Mires, she was too tired to run, well out of breath and completely soaked, but they seemed to have thoroughly lost their pursuers. It was still an hour or so before first light, and the streets were almost completely empty.

Dryden knocked on the back door of the house, and they waited, shivering as the pellets of rain slapped into them sideways, driven by the force of the wind.

Footsteps from inside heralded the opening of the door, just a crack.

When the woman inside peeked out to see who had knocked on her door at such a profane hour of the morning, Dryden took off his mask.

With a gasp, she undid the chain lock, waved them in, and shut the door as soon as they had made it past the threshold. "Are you bein' followed?" she asked, tugging her patched wool robe closer around her body.

"I don't believe so. Not any longer, at least," Dryden said.

The woman's house was small, little more than two rooms, as far as Siobhan could tell. The door in the corner was open, and she saw the little forms sprawled out on the floor stir.

A child, no more than seven or eight, rose and moved to the doorway of the bedroom, peering suspiciously through tired eyes at the two of them. His clothes were patched and rough-looking, and his limbs thin, edging on bony.

The woman noticed and said, "Go back to bed, Callum." She pulled two painstakingly cut, padded, and sewn quilts from a chest in the corner by an old rocking chair.

The boy didn't move, still staring at the two of them. "Are you comin' too, Mama?"

The woman sighed, pushing a few loose strands of hair back from her forehead in a motion that seemed born from habitual stress. "Yes. Now do as I say."

A couple of the other children stirred as Callum returned to the pile of bedding on the floor of the second room, but they didn't wake.

The woman tossed them the quilts, her eyes resting a little longer on Siobhan. "Stop drippin' on my floor, then. Come sit by the fire." She motioned to the hearth, which, along with the fireplace and chimney, was the only part of the tiny house made of stone. The bricks were white, no doubt having been chiseled from what little remained of the southern white cliffs. "I'll have it stoked up again in just a moment, my lord," she said, half bowing to Dryden.

Dryden sat at the edge of the hearth, less hesitant than Siobhan.

"Any injuries? Someone you need me to fetch or pass a message to?" the woman asked, adding wood from the sparse supply in the box beside the fireplace.

Dryden looked to Siobhan, who was still clutching her shard-covered, bloody hand to her chest.

Siobhan shook her head. "It's not that bad. I can handle it myself."

The woman nodded and bustled about, putting a kettle atop the iron slab that shared space with the chimney, allowing the fire to heat it.

Siobhan reached into the leather satchel at her waist, realizing only then that it was Sebastien's school bag, and should never have gone with her as Siobhan. 'Oh well, there's nothing to be done about it now. I can only hope this isn't the mistake that sends the edifice of my deceit crumbling to the ground.' She trembled, and couldn't tell if it was due to the cold and the wet, or the full realization of what she had done, in its aftermath.

Her fingers found one of the healing salves within the satchel, a half-empty jar of headache reliever. With the forefinger of her good hand, she dug some of the oily mixture out and began to apply it to the bloody shards stuck to her left palm. The oil helped to counteract the stickiness of the honey and adhel juice mixture, and the minty pain-relieving properties of the concoction managed to provide some relief, both burning and numbing the wounds. When her hand was free of glass, she dug out the nick-healing salve she had created the week before, which was perfect for this kind of small injury. A few minutes later, her palm was back to normal, except for the pinkish, vaguely spiderweb-shaped scars across its surface.

"Be careful that those aren't noticed," Dryden said.

"Of course." The scar was distinctive, and would remain on Sebastien's hand when she reassumed that form. It was a small enough thing, but enough small mistakes would add up to her ruin.

The woman took the kettle off the fire and poured them two steaming mugs of tea. "I'll make sure the boy understands to keep his mouth shut," she said, once again looking at Siobhan. "Is there anythin' else I ought to do?"

Dryden nodded his thanks, cupping the tea between both his hands and blowing on it. "You have done more than enough. Please, do not let us disturb your rest any longer." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small handful of gold coins. "Thank you, Mrs. Branwen. I apologize, but I don't have the agreed upon amount on me. See Katerin at the Stag later, and she will give you the rest."

The woman clutched at the coins and bowed to him again. "Thank you, Mr. Dryden."

He gave her a charming half smile. "No, thank you, Mrs. Branwen, for the use of your home and your hospitality."

The woman blushed, and Siobhan realized suddenly that Mrs. Branwen was likely not much older than her, though she had first taken their host for middle-aged. 'Hard living kills you early,' she thought with melancholy.

Mrs. Branwen retreated to the other room. Over her shoulder, she called, "Wake me if you need me." Once the doorway had been cleared of bedding, she shut the creaky door, giving Siobhan and Dryden a measure of privacy.

They were silent for a few minutes, letting the fire in the hearth and the mugs in their hands ward off the cold and the thunder of the storm. Finally, Siobhan said, "Do you think they all got away?"

"I believe so. For now, at least. We'll have to take measures to avoid being caught by the investigation this will trigger, however. The Crowns do not ignore such blatant displays of unapproved magic. Still, Cooper is the only one of us who has definitively lost his chance to walk away from this."

Siobhan shuddered as she remembered the smell of his corpse. "Why did the Morrows attack? What were those people doing in that warehouse?"

"I had a plan, when I came to Gilbratha," Dryden began, moving to rest his forehead on his knees. "I had been traveling for a while, and I saw all these problems with the world, things that seemed like fundamental errors in the way society was functioning, do you understand? I had seen things done differently elsewhere, one thing a little bit better here, another better there, and I had ideas about how one might hypothetically change things. Those ideas led to more speculation and ideas, and before I knew it I was making real plans. Once I realized what I was doing, it was too late to stop myself. I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn't just go back to observing uselessly. Perhaps it was simply hubris." He tilted his head back, staring into the fire with unfocused eyes.

Siobhan's curiosity was an abnormally patient force at that moment, subdued by the fatigue lacing her bones. She waited for him to speak.

"This, the Verdant Stag, was not my first idea. Before I came here, I wrote letters to the Crown members whose lands I was traveling through, and spoke to those influential people who occasionally hosted me. My ideas were ignored or mocked. At best, those who wished to stay on my good side responded with polite nonsense. I thought maybe I wasn't being persuasive enough. I hadn't truly made them understand the benefits of my ideas, the ways we were failing, and my vision of what the future could be with some simple, gradual changes. It didn't seem like anything so radical to me, simply common sense."

Dryden let out a humorless laugh. "I pushed for more direct meetings, framed my arguments more persuasively, used greed or fear or pride, or anything I could think of that might push them to actually do something. That didn't work, either. I got more lip service.

"Then I came to Gilbratha and lobbied with the Crowns directly. I developed contacts, made friends among the influential, and inserted myself into the power base of Gilbratha as best I could. I was labeled a naive, philanthropic optimist, whose ideas would never work in the real world." He gave her a wry smile. "Well, it is true that my ideas don't seem to be working." He spread his arms to gesture pointedly to their current status and surroundings. "But I only decided to start changing things on my own when I realized there was no room for progress within the current system."

Siobhan frowned. "You're saying the Crowns actively want to avoid progress? Why? And how does this relate to what happened tonight?"

He gave a small snort. "Some of the Crowns are simply too short-sighted to understand how raising up the smallest of us is good for everyone. But those people are not the real problem. Others understood fully the ideas I had, the world we could create if only we were willing to sacrifice a little at first, and put in the work… They understood, and they were afraid of it. You see, there is a finite amount of the power, the control over the human population, that they enjoy so thoroughly. If we give some of it to the common people, even the littlest bits like easier access to high-quality goods, cheaper education, or programs to stimulate innovation, well then…"

His voice was bitterly scornful. "There wouldn't be as much power left for the wealthy and influential individuals and their families. I eventually realized that without being one of the Thirteen Crowns myself"—his tone grew darker—"or spending a few decades finagling my way into a position as 'advisor' to a puppet High Crown—and somehow doing so without being assassinated—I would always be an outsider. I would never achieve real change within my lifetime."

Siobhan could see what he meant. In fact, he sounded somewhat like her grandfather. Ennis had called that kind of thinking pessimism, but to Siobhan that had just seemed like an easy way to dismiss the ideas he did not want to accept. Despite the slightly sick feeling Dryden's words put into her stomach, it was easy to imagine them to be the truth. Without Dryden, she herself would have been successfully prevented from attending the University. She was sitting within the evidence of the disparity between the powerful and the commoners, even now. The disparity wasn't an individual thing, based on qualities possessed by the people themselves. It was not merit that led them to either riches or poverty, but something deeply systemic. 'People are both selfish and lazy, and this leads to stupidity. If allowed, whether by others or themselves, they will ride these vices into the deepest chasms of evil.'

"So what was your plan, when changing things the conventional way didn't work?"

"Long-term, I plan to remove the Crowns from their position of power and take over Lenore." His words were soft, but carried not a hint of hesitation.

Her exhausted muscles tightened slightly as a small surge of adrenaline made her heart beat faster. Dryden was planning outright treason.

He seemed to catch her discomfort and gave her a half smile. "Relax. I said long-term, and I meant it. Right now, I am focusing on simple, mostly-lawful businesses that create jobs while simultaneously producing necessary products—items like healing potions, food, and clothing, all of which can be made more efficiently and cheaply when the people themselves are given the means—or providing basic sanitation and protection to those who so desperately need it. One of the biggest tethers holding Gilbratha back is the need for magic to grow enough food for a large, concentrated population. Too much of the land surrounding Gilbratha has to be dedicated to farming, simply to feed this underperforming city. Food costs account for almost half of the average person's income. When food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, and public safety are no longer an immediate concern, people can turn their energy to bigger things. I want to revolutionize industry in a sustainable way. The warehouse the Morrows destroyed tonight was meant to be a new type of more efficient, miniature farm—the prototype, and hopefully the first of many similar spaces. Of course…well, you saw what happened, tonight. I failed. And I am quickly running out of gold trying to do everything at once, even in such a small territory as the Verdant Stag covers." He opened his mouth to continue, then closed it without speaking and sighed deeply, staring into the flames.

Siobhan rubbed her forehead and readjusted the blanket around her shoulders. "The warehouse farm was legal, though, correct? So the Morrows attacked it simply to harm you and your operation as a whole. I doubt they have any plans to set up something similar themselves."

"You are correct. I don't believe they planned to benefit from attacking the warehouse except as retaliation for my previous actions. They once ruled the territory the Stag holds, small and poor though it is, so I have taken a bite out of their haunch. Perhaps they hope to crush me before I can grow any larger. I am a threat, on both sides of the law. It's just…what should I have done differently, Siobhan? I don't know."

She was silent for a while as her brain ran over the idea. She didn't know nearly as much as he did about his plans, the Gilbrathan economy, or the way he ran the Verdant Stag. "Is food production going to be profitable?"

"Only marginally, and only after a few seasons of growth. But that's just the start. Profit on foodstuffs was not my main concern. Gardening"—Dryden emphasized the word in a way that told her he wasn't talking about carrots and potatoes anymore—"isn't heavily regulated within Gilbratha, which means I don't need to struggle with Crown members who feel I am cutting into their profits. At least not for a while, until I start to make enough progress to draw attention. Additionally, I had hoped to grow some of the more common magical plants in hidden areas, which would in turn cut supply costs for production of potions through the Verdant Stag's alchemy business. Perhaps the Morrows learned of this, and it was the tipping point for tonight's catastrophe."

She still thought Dryden was naive to the point of recklessness, but…he wasn't giving only lip-service, and there was something to respect in that. He had changed at least a few lives for the better. That woman whose son might have died without their little alchemy shop, for one. Siobhan herself was another. He was the reason she was attending the University right now, after all. As much as it was her instinct to do so, she could hardly condemn his ideas when she was the beneficiary of them. 'And, maybe, if he somehow gets as much in return from everyone else he helps in his territory as what he will get from me, his investment could be sustainable. Except most of the people he's helping aren't thaumaturges, so how much use can they really be?'

She set those thoughts aside. "I think you're going to have to find a way to force quicker profitability, Mr. Dryden. Perhaps narrow your focus only to those things you have the resources to grasp firmly. Otherwise, you'll lose everything. You'll need money, for more extensive defensive wards and more enforcers. Alternatively, you could find a way to keep the Morrows from attacking you again. Would they be willing to accept a truce?"

"I…don't know. I'll think on it, though I don't know that any terms they would accept would be tolerable to me. And please, Siobhan, call me Oliver. After a night such as ours, I think we're past the silly formalities, don't you?"

"I suppose."

He gave her a real smile, then, tinged with fatigue but no despair. They fell into silence for a few minutes, shifting slightly to expose new sections of their bodies to the warmth of the fire, before he said, "Will you be able to get back into the University without them noticing anything untoward?"

Siobhan sighed. She hadn't yet considered how exactly she was going to achieve that. "Tomorrow—today—is Saturday. I was planning to spend it doing alchemy, but I think I might take a nap instead. As long as no one notices that my things are missing before I get back—and they shouldn't unless they look in my trunk—and as long as I'm able to retrieve everything from the alley I so haphazardly hid it in, I should be fine. I'm well known for strange sleep habits by now, so no one should find it suspicious when they wake and find me missing." She rubbed her forehead again and wished she had more headache-relieving salve. Her jar had been used up on getting the glass off her hand. "I really am not suited to this."

He quirked an eyebrow up. "Not suited to what?"

"All this…" She waved her hand vaguely. "Excitement. Adventure."

He snorted. "I'm not sure that's true. You seem to find yourself in these situations often enough, and you perform with surprising adroitness for someone who truly doesn't desire anything more than to sit in a library and research all day."

She straightened, turning a scowl onto him. Her mouth opened, and then it closed again. "There are so many things wrong with what you just said, I don't even know where to start," she said finally.

He snorted, and then, seemingly unable to hold it in, wadded a section of his blanket over his face to muffle the sound and devolved into outright laughter. When he was finished, he looked back up at her and grinned. "Your expression was amusing," he explained, ignoring her continued scowl.

She let out a snort of her own, much less amused, and settled back down to stare at the fire. "Well, it's not so much that I mind excitement, but that I mind being anything less than ridiculously and unreservedly over-prepared for any excitement. I…I have goals too, you know, and I'm sure getting where I need to will not be without struggle. It's that I'm not ridiculously over-prepared for the things I've been getting into. I'm scrambling just to keep my head above water, and it seems I keep being bashed in the face with how stupid and thoughtless I am, and if I am so inept I don't even realize how inept I am until I'm slapped with proof…" She took a deep breath and kept herself from rambling.

"You're being too hard on yourself. We saved a life, maybe even more than one, tonight. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them, right?"

She shook her head, sneering slightly. "Learn from your mistakes? That platitude is so obvious it's useless. Of course you should learn from your mistakes. If you're an average person with no ambition, maybe doing that can keep you alive and relatively content. For people with real goals, and real opposition to those goals, it's not enough to keep making stupid mistakes and simply learning as you go along. Sooner or later, you make a stupid mistake you cannot recover from. Mistakes are inevitable, but stupid mistakes due to lack of planning, preparation, and basic foresight are not. I cannot be prepared for every eventuality, that is true, but I should have at least enough prudence to look at my past failures and extrapolate future failures from there. I failed to imagine everything that could go wrong. Sure, I took some convenient measures to ready myself for negative eventualities, but I didn't make the effort to truly mitigate the dangers I knew I might be involved in."

She took another deep breath and looked away from his solemn gaze. "Dryd—Oliver, I knew the coppers might come after me, if something went wrong. I knew the Morrows were attacking your people, and even injured one severely. I didn't imagine that I would be called in to help fight against them, but…why did I not prepare myself for a fight at all? Some sort of barrier or protection spell could have been the difference between life and death tonight, or against the coppers if they had found me. Why did I not learn any? Why didn't I have a blood-clotting potion? You gave me a list of useful battle potions and the like, and I experimented with a handful of them, but nothing more. If your emergency response team had been fully kitted out with a couple of each, maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad in the first place."

Her voice grew strained. "Maybe the Morrows wouldn't have been able to bring down half the building, and that man, Cooper would still be alive. Even when we arrived, I could have done things better. The philtre of stench is based more on physical particles in the air than magic. It might have incapacitated the Morrows as soon as we arrived, if I had thought of it. A man died tonight, and this still could have been so much worse. There are a hundred different ways tonight could have ended in complete disaster, and I was not prepared for any of them. Aren't you the one who says the only way to avoid your subterfuge being caught out is to be truly meticulous with both planning and execution? This is the same."

He was silent for a few moments. "Alright. But by that logic, this was really all my fault, not yours. It wasn't your responsibility to be prepared for something like this. They aren't your people, they're mine. If not for my own lack of foresight and preparation, you would be asleep in your bed right now."

She sighed deeply. "Something being the fault of one person does not make it less the fault of another. I could have changed today's outcome for the better, and I didn't. The fact that you might have done the same doesn't make me less responsible. It only means that we both failed."

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Well, we will learn better. No more stupid mistakes."

She felt her muscles relaxing subtly under the touch and gave the fireplace a small smile. "My grandfather used to say, 'If you aren't over-prepared, you are underprepared.' I remember thinking as a child that he was just paranoid from living too long, that the world wasn't actually out to make every possible thing go wrong." She let out a small huff of wry amusement.

He squeezed her shoulder again, then withdrew his hand and lay down on the edge of the stone hearth. "I'm going to close my eyes for a bit. We should be able to leave once the storm passes, with a little grooming to make sure we don't draw attention."

Siobhan hugged her knees to her chest and kept staring into the fire, wrapping herself more fully in the borrowed blanket. She had known, when Oliver rode up on the horse and asked her to help protect his people, that she wasn't prepared to do so. She had known she was underprepared as soon as the bracelet on her wrist grew cold, in fact.

She thought of what she had seen tonight. The frightened people, the blood, the death. If things had gone only a little differently, she could have been hit by one of the Morrows' attacks, or captured by the grasping tentacles of the copper's spell. She could be dead, or in jail, or expelled from the University. She shuddered at the thought, a visceral reaction of fear and rejection.

'It wasn't worth it,' she admitted to herself. 'If things had gone differently, I would have regretted my decision to help. I value my own life and safety more than that of a stranger's. And yet…and yet, I cannot imagine myself saying no when Dryden asked for my aid, even without the threat of the blood vow hanging over me.' She bent her head, combing her fingers through her hair to dry it in the warmth of the fire. She knew a spell to help repel water, but she was too tired to cast it.

'The desire to help people who don't deserve their misfortune and the desire to ensure my own personal safety are contradictory. But…they are both part of me. I must understand myself, because you must understand yourself before you can change yourself. And you must change yourself to change the world. So. Being honest, fulfilling my desire to help isn't worth it if putting myself in danger means I lose my freedom and magic. I'm too selfish, and I'm not interested in becoming a hero or a martyr.'

She tried to make herself believe it, because she knew it was true, but something inside her still rejected the idea of walking away while the Morrows attacked Jameson and Misha and the others. 'Plus,' she reasoned with a little too much cheer to totally trust the thought, 'my blood print vow doesn't allow me to refuse favors to the Verdant Stag unless I find them morally reprehensible. I don't have entirely free will in the matter. So…what do I do? If nothing changes, something like today will happen again.'

She reached into her vest pocket and pulled out her Conduit, staring into the crystalline depths lit up by the orange flames. 'Well, the answer is always "seize power." If you don't know what you need, take power, for it can be converted into almost anything else.'

Those were her grandfather's words again, but they seemed right. 'If I'm going to be getting myself into situations like these, I must grow powerful enough that I can actually handle them.' She began to make a mental list of useful preparations, things to learn and items to carry. Excuses she might start setting up now that could help her explain her way out of scrutiny or blame. Her eyes began to droop and her forehead fell forward to rest on her knees. Slumber reached up around her like tendrils of a dark cloud from the abyss.

She slept for a time, restlessly, her mind dancing with flames, blood, and fear worn old.

A searing pain from her chest woke her.

Chapter 33 - Temporary Inversion of Income vs. Expense

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 8:00 a.m.

Siobhan jerked her legs away from her chest, scrabbling to get her hand past her vest and shirt to whatever was causing the pain. She yanked out the straps around her neck, the warded medallion and the transmutation amulet dangling from her clenched fist.

The medallion was covered in frost.

It took her a few seconds to comprehend what that meant, her mind still fogged by stress and sleep. Once she did, she snapped the leather cord keeping the medallion attached to her and tossed the frosted disk into the embers of the fireplace. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" she cried unthinkingly, causing Oliver to jerk to wakefulness.

"What? What is it?" he said, snapping upright and looking around.

"We are being scried!" she hissed, lunging for the small box of wood beside the fireplace and tossing a couple of pieces onto the embers. She grabbed a lump of charcoal from the edge of the fire, heedless of the risk of burning her fingers, and drew a large Circle around the hearth and the chimney.

She stepped back to avoid the reach of the sphere and almost dropped her Conduit as she fumbled it out of a vest pocket. She had cast the spark-shooting spell plenty of times during her life, but without proper, easily ignited kindling, and in such a panic, her first attempt failed to reignite the flames.

Siobhan paused, took a deep breath, and released it slowly, forcing the full pressure of her Will to bend the world—specifically, to ignite the piece of wood at the center of the Circle. A large, bright spark settled at the point where her eyes were focused, and with an effort that sent a spike of pain through her head, the wood caught fire. Rather than simply sit back and let the flame spread naturally, she kept pushing with her Will, pulling at the edges of the heat, forcing the fire to flare up as quickly as possible.

Beside her, Oliver tossed something into the fireplace, and the flames roared up greedily.

The medallion sucked at the warmth of the now blazing fire.

"Whiskey," Oliver explained, tucking the flask back into a pocket.

"Good idea." She dug in her pack, pulling out a couple of jars, some cotton, a few pieces of paper, and a wrapped ball of beeswax. She tossed everything but the jars into the fire, then dug out the salves from the jars and flicked that in too. The flames consumed and burned brighter, a few licking up with strange colors, and she squinted into them to see the medallion.

"Talk to me," Oliver said. "Do we need to run?"

"Not yet. The medallion contains a protective spell, a strong one. Anti-scrying is included. We're safe as long as it has enough heat to stay charged. But it is bad. Very bad." She could hear a faint sound from the metal, as if it was groaning in pain. Whoever was on the other end of the scrying spell was pouring an excessive amount of power into it. They had to be a Master at least, or maybe a group of Journeymen casters.

With a trembling breath, she drew the glyph for "heat" on the hearth in front of her, inside the Circle, then pressed her Conduit between both hands and began to cast, pulling tongues of flame off the fire and feeding them to the medallion in bright splashes. She began to shiver, not from cold, but from the waves of pain running from her head down her spine, sending involuntary spasms through her muscles.

The medallion continued to absorb the heat, and so she ignored the strain and continued to feed it. She heard Oliver calling her name in alarm, but couldn't spare the concentration to respond in any way.

Finally, the medallion stopped absorbing the heat she channeled to it.

Very carefully, she released the energy and detached her Will from the spell. Just as she was releasing it, the magic under her control shuddered, and she was splashed with a small explosion of still-burning embers and ash from the fireplace.

Oliver cursed, using his damp quilt to pat her down and sweep away the embers.

She pulled her hands apart numbly, ignoring the deep indentations her Conduit had made in her skin.

The crystal crumbled apart, falling to her lap in pieces.

That happened when too much power was channeled through a sub-par Conduit.

None of the pieces were big enough to be useful for spellcasting anymore, but she still gathered them up with trembling fingers and put them in one of her pockets. 'Thank the stars above it didn't break until the last moment.'

She'd heard more than one story about a Conduit shattering while someone was in the middle of channeling magic. The kindest outcome was Will-strain. Explosions were common, as the power contained within the Circle escaped. One woman had one of her legs switched with her donkey's. A man had tried to keep casting to avoid that, and ended up channeling the magic through his body. The euphoria was too much for him, and though he lived, slowly progressing into dangerous madness that forced her grandfather to kill him, Siobhan had always thought it would have been a mercy if he'd died immediately.

"It's over, I think. They didn't find us," she whispered, shivering. "But this means they have a piece of me. But how, how would they get—" She closed her mouth slowly, then looked down at her palm and the spiderweb of scars across its surface. "It started raining," she murmured. "But they must have picked up the glass before that. They have my blood." Feeling dizzy, she let herself fall back to sit on the floor.

Oliver's face was pale. "They will keep trying, again and again."

"The wards on the medallion won't hold out." She stood with a wobble and did not shake off Oliver's concerned hand on her arm as she might have otherwise. She pulled her hair back from her face, combing it roughly with her fingers and then pulling on her cloak and tucking it under the hood. "Do you know where they might keep the evidence? Is it possible we could get it back, or…destroy it?"

He rubbed his hand down his face. "I assume they keep evidence at Harrow Hill, but I have no idea where specifically, and I don't know how we would go about accessing it."

She shook her head, biting down on her thumbnail.

Stirring from the bedroom announced that Mrs. Branwen or one of her children had woken, probably because of the ruckus the two of them were creating.

Siobhan crouched down uncomfortably close to the fire, reaching for the iron poker and digging out her medallion. It fell onto the stone of the hearth. She waved her hand over it, gauging the heat radiating off the metal for a few seconds. It stayed warm, indicating the scrying attempt had definitely ended, so she wrapped the edge of her cloak around her hand and picked it up. One of the tiny glyphs carved into its surface was smeared, probably from a combination of the spillover heat and channeling too much power, almost unrecognizable. Artifacts could be recharged, if you knew the right spell—which she didn't—but it would be impossible to do so with damage to the spell array. At least the other protective spells woven into the metal disk were still functional. She pressed her lips together, then pocketed the medallion. "The next time they try that, the ward is going to fail, and they are going to find me."

"How long do we have? Your medallion cannot be the only answer. We can get another one. Liza, she could cast the spell."

Mrs. Branwen opened the door and stuck her head out. As soon as her eyes landed on the charcoal Circle around her fireplace, she slipped out, shutting the door to the bedroom behind her with a stern warning to her children to stay put.

Siobhan grimaced. "I'm not sure. Liza may be skilled, but this medallion was created by my grandfather. He was more powerful by far. Liza could protect me if she was with me to cast the spell, but if Seb—" She glanced at Mrs. Branwen. "If he simply disappears from school, that's suspicious too, right?" Staying with Liza would destroy her ability to attend the University. There had to be another way. "Still, this medallion has multiple protections built into it, and each one is necessarily weaker for the versatility. Perhaps she could help with a spell specifically to protect against scrying. Her house is—"

She stopped and took a couple of shuddering breaths, focusing her mind as if she was casting a spell. Her body was still, her mind the opposite. Crises always seemed to make her smarter, quicker. "We should leave," she said, already turning toward the door. "You will want to erase the spell array," she said to the woman. "Just in case."

Mrs. Branwen had already grabbed a straw broom from the corner and started sweeping away the charcoal marks on her hearth.

Oliver followed after Siobhan, but stopped to tell the woman, "I don't expect anyone to come knocking, but if they do, you can count on the Stag." He closed the door gently behind him.

Siobhan turned the corner into a small alley and pressed the dark stone of the transformation amulet against her skin beneath her clothes, sparking the change with a pulse of Will. Even that small amount of effort sent a spike of pain through her head. In a moment, she was Sebastien again. She took off the cloak Oliver had given her when he picked her up on his horse and tucked it into her bag. It wasn't safe to walk the streets as her true self, and at this point she wasn't technically doing anything illegal. "I have a plan."

The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, but most of the city had not yet stirred from their beds, so they passed through the streets unnoticed. "Liza's house is warded," Sebastien explained to Oliver as they walked, just barely slow enough not to seem strangely hurried. "I'm sure it will have protections against scrying. I should be safe there until we can come up with a real solution, which you were correct in saying that she might be able to help with."

Sebastien felt too dizzy to properly tally up her remaining coin, but remembered it was barely over two hundred gold. 'In addition to Liza's help, I will need to obtain a replacement Conduit.' Once, she would have considered two hundred gold enough money to do nearly anything, but since coming to Gilbratha she had become quite disillusioned.

When they neared Liza's house, Sebastien ducked into another alley and returned to her form as Siobhan. Liza only knew the dark-haired woman, and she didn't want to associate Sebastien with a criminal.

She let Oliver use the animated lion door-knocker, taking deep breaths to steady herself as they waited.

They hurried into the house when the door opened, and Siobhan took a sweeping glance of the street as she closed the door behind them. She saw nothing suspicious, and hoped that was because no one was watching them, and not because their possible enemy was skilled enough to evade notice.

Liza came out of the attached room already scowling, the dark bags under her eyes only seeming to deepen as her gaze swept over the two of them. "The planes-damned sun has barely risen, Oliver. What fresh hell have you brought to my doorstep today?"

Oliver looked to Siobhan, but she was slow to answer, so with a concerned frown, he spoke. "We were in an altercation last night. Part of this involved a mostly harmless skirmish with the coppers, and we believe they obtained a small amount of Siobhan's blood. They tried to scry her."

Liza's face twisted angrily. "And you brought them straight to me?" Her arms fell to her sides and her fingers spread as if she meant to claw the air.

"No," Siobhan said, shaking her head somewhat frantically as she felt the tightening of the air that signified the waking of a powerful Will. "I have—had—a warding medallion. The scrying failed, but my Conduit broke, and I need your help. The house is warded, right? I wouldn't have come here otherwise. I just need your help to make another anti-scrying artifact, and th—" Her tongue seemed to stumble over itself, and she reached out to brace herself on the wall as the room tilted slowly.

Oliver grasped her arm. "Siobhan, are you alright?"

Liza "tched" loudly. "Will-strain. Her Conduit broke?"

Oliver nodded. "Yes. How bad is it, can you tell?"

Siobhan straightened. She'd come close to Will-strain a couple of times in her life, but this time she seemed to have tipped over the edge. "Not bad, I think. I have a headache and I feel dizzy and dis…disoriented." She paused, then continued, enunciating carefully. "But I'm not seeing or hearing anything strange, and I can remember everything that has happened since my Conduit broke until now."

Liza waved an impatient hand at them. "Well, hurry and follow me, then. We had best get inside the stronger wards below. The girl will need rest."

Oliver kept a hand around Siobhan's arm as they followed, which she acknowledged the need for as the room spun, this time more violently.

"How desperately do they want to find you?" Liza asked once they were down below.

"Quite desperately, I would imagine," Oliver said quietly.

Liza grunted, leading them past the room they had cast the messenger spell in the last time and to a door made of iron bars, like a jail cell. A quick touch of her hand to the lock opened it, and she waved to the spartan cot within.

'What type of guest does she normally keep in this room, to require a door made of bars that can only be opened from the outside?' Siobhan sat down on the cot, closing her eyes to avoid seeing the vaguely shimmering lines and glyphs covering the walls at the edges of her vision. Leaning back against the wall, she allowed her muscles to relax slightly. "My medallion uses heat to power its defenses," she said, pulling the metal disk out of her pocket and holding it out to Liza. "I tossed it into the fire and used an impromptu spell to force heat into it, but it was still barely enough."

Liza examined the medallion, pulling a convex lens out of a pocket and peering through it at the artifact. She was silent for a long while, then said, "Wait here," and walked out of the room.

Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, then with a sharp sigh sat beside Siobhan on the cot.

Siobhan thought she might have dozed off, because she closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Liza was already walking back through the door. "This is very interesting work," she said. "Some of the most efficient energy transformation I have ever seen, as well as a surprising number of protections woven into such a small area. Who created it?"

"My grandfather," Siobhan said.

Liza peered at her, then back to the medallion. "Well. I cannot recreate this. Not without some intensive study and perhaps taking the medallion apart. It seems the spells are literally woven through the metal, layer upon layer. The anti-scrying spell was pushed too far to simply be recharged."

Siobhan frowned. The medallion was one of the few things she had left of her grandfather. She didn't want Liza to dissect it like a frog. Plus, it still had a half-dozen other protections in place, all of which should still be functional. "Can you make me an artifact just for the scrying? It doesn't need to be like the medallion, as long as it works. Something a little more powerful would be good."

"Something more powerful than this?" Without waiting for them to respond to her incredulous question, Liza said, "Wait here," and left once again.

This time, she was gone for longer, and Siobhan definitely dozed off while waiting. Liza returned with her arms full of various arcane books, set them on the ground, and then left again to fetch a small wooden block covered in a complicated spell array. She placed it on the ground, flattened her palm to it, and muttered something Siobhan didn't quite catch. The block unfolded, becoming a chair and desk made out of hundreds of smaller segments.

Siobhan blinked, hoping that her mind had not sunk into hallucinations.

Liza smirked at them as she set the books on the table. "I call it the portable office. Horribly complicated, of course, but extremely convenient when you need a place to sit and work while on the go. For ninety gold, I can make you or your friends one too."

Siobhan and Oliver shared a look, but Liza had already turned her attention to the spell books, so they were saved from answering.

Liza flipped through the books seemingly at random, taking notes and leaving small bookmarks between the pages.

Siobhan would normally have attempted to read over the woman's shoulder, but her head had begun to pound fiercely, and she found she didn't have the wherewithal to do anything other than lie back and breathe carefully.

She hadn't realized that Oliver left the room until he came back carrying a tray with a kettle of tea, a jar of minty salve, and a couple of slices of thick brown bread smeared with creamy butter. He poured Liza a cup of tea first, which she gave him a distracted nod of thanks for, then set the tray on the cot beside Siobhan.

She fumbled to open the jar of headache-relieving salve, then smeared it not only on her temples but across her hairline, the back of her neck, and even kneaded a bit into the muscles of her shoulders. It was powerful, and began to work almost immediately. It didn't remove the mental fog or disorientation, but it helped to push the throbbing, nausea-inducing pain back enough that she could function past it.

When she set the jar down, Oliver pressed a cup of tea and a slice of bread into her hand. "You need to eat and get some liquid in your system, I think," he said. When she hesitated at the thought of putting anything in her roiling stomach, he loomed over her threateningly. "If I need to, I will force it into your mouth and pinch your nose closed until you swallow."

She scowled at him and took a sip of tea, then a nibble of the rich bread. "No need to be so dramatic," she muttered.

Liza frowned at the sound of her voice, turning to her. "You should be asleep, girl. But since you are not…I have some ideas for a solution to your problem. What do you think about this? We could anchor the warding spell in your flesh. A tattoo or a brand would work, but I think a carving might be most effective. When active, the spell would use your blood as a component, which is doubly effective for its power and because they are using your blood to track you. I have some other ideas too, which should sharply increase the effectiveness of the ward."

"A carving? Would this be visible?"

"Yes. Five of them, I think, one for each of the Elemental Planes…" She turned back to the books, which seemed to have multiplied atop the table.

"That won't work," Oliver stated. "She needs something that can be hidden, and that isn't permanent like a scar."

Liza raised her head and glared at him, then Siobhan. "Is this true?"

"Yes. Scars like that might raise unwanted interest." She had no intention of removing her clothes in front of someone else at any time during her stay at the University, but allowing for such an easy method of distinguishing her identity was senseless. It could go wrong in so many ways.

Liza took a sip of tea and seemingly dismissed the two of them from her thoughts once again.

Siobhan finished two cups of tea and another slice of bread, and when she woke, she was covered by a thick, soft blanket and had a fluffy pillow under her head. She was alone in the room, and though the headache-relieving salve seemed to have used up its magic, the throbbing in her temples was bearable. Both Oliver and Liza were gone, along with the table, chair, and books.

She rose and went to the room with Liza's magical chamber pot. She thought about exploring the lower level to see what else Liza kept in the most secure part of her secret abode, then decided it was probably too dangerous to do so without Liza's knowledge or permission. There would likely be defenses woven into the very walls. Instead, she climbed the stairs to the upper level where Liza kept her own miniature Menagerie and the bookcases. The light coming through the windows had changed position. Siobhan judged it to be early evening.

Oliver looked up from the couch he was sprawled on, setting aside the book he had been reading. "How is your brain?"

"Better," Siobhan said.

Liza scribbled a few more words on the huge roll of paper laid on the desk before her, then turned to Siobhan as well. "Come over here and look at this. I have designed the warding spell we will use. It is absolutely ingenious, if I do say so myself. If I cared about titles and thought I had a chance of being accepted through that bigoted, discriminatory council, I might apply for Grandmastery in the field with this."

Siobhan walked to the table and saw that the paper was covered in spell designs and notes. It was complex and obviously powerful, and once again she rethought her opinion of this woman. 'The next time she tries to charge more for the possibility of Will-strain, I'm not likely to believe her.' She read the scribbled note that estimated this artifact would take over seven thousand thaums to charge with the warding spell. A Master might graduate from their ninth term at the University with a Will that could handle one to two thousand thaums, depending on their dedication, while most Apprentices, after three University terms, couldn't do much better than three hundred. "What is it anchored to?" she asked, frowning as she read the glyph for "blood" as a multi-use Sacrifice.

"I will be creating five disks to hold the spell. We will insert them under your skin, Oliver said that would be fine. Aside from a small scar, they will be undetectable, and can be removed and replaced if you ever need the spell recharged."

"It's amazing," Siobhan said honestly. She put her hand over the pocket where the shards of her Conduit rested. "Liza, there is something else I might hire you to do. That raven messenger spell, the Lino-Wharton? I was wondering if you could do that again."

Oliver frowned. "You wish to speak to your father again?"

Siobhan shook her head. "No, but my main Conduit was shattered, and he has one that belongs to me. It was my mother's. It should be strong enough to last me for a long time. I want it back."

"It's unlikely he has it on him," Oliver said. "He would have been searched and relieved of any magical items before being put in the cell. Your Conduit is either in an evidence box, the item holding room, or one of the guards has taken it for themselves and conveniently forgotten to note that it was in his possession when he was brought in."

Siobhan shook her head. "I don't think so. This Conduit is the gem in an heirloom ring. The band of the ring is an artifact that creates a Loomis anti-awareness field along with a minor chameleon effect. I think he still has it, or he would have complained about them stealing from him."

Oliver looked to Liza. "Would they not have some way to check for an active spell?"

Liza snorted. "The ability to do a general check for an active spell doesn't exist. People detect spells by casting a specific counter-spell or detection spell and seeing if anything happens. If people could detect magic so easily, that would mean we had at least some true understanding of magic. That is not the case, unfortunately. Harrow Hill's wards should be able to detect a fluctuation in certain types of energy that usually signify a spell being cast or ended, but that is as close as they get. However, depending on the quality of the Conduit your father holds, it may not be cost-effective to retrieve it. Without your ability to assist my spell casting, even a short-duration messenger will cost you fifty gold. Is the Conduit worth more than that, or do you simply want it for its sentimental value?"

Siobhan pushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. "The firstborn in my family have used it as their primary Conduit for at least a few generations. It was my mother's. It should be able to support a sorcerer of at least Master level."

Liza nodded appreciatively. "Well, you will want to retrieve it, then, especially with the price of celerium lately. However, this brings me to the matter of payment. Two hundred fifty gold for the anti-scrying ward, and fifty for the messenger spell."

Siobhan stared at her in shock. Two hundred fifty gold for the scrying ward? That was enough money for a family to live on for a year. It was more than she still had left. She might have been able to afford it, just barely, if she hadn't bought any new clothes for Sebastien. But she had.

'Why did I not get the Conduit from my father when I had the chance?' she lamented.

Siobhan swallowed painfully. "If you let me borrow a Conduit, I can help you cast the messenger spell again. And if there are any parts of creating the ward artifact that I could aid you in, I'm more than willing to do so. Can we negotiate on the price? Perhaps you could use less potent materials, or…"

Liza sighed deeply, closing the book in front of her. "I have done all this work, only to find that you cannot afford my services?"

Siobhan cursed the fog still clouding her mind. "It's not that I cannot afford them, it is just that I cannot afford them right now, or that I cannot afford them in gold."

"You're broke."

"I'm not broke. I'm merely experiencing a temporary inversion in my ratio of income versus expenses," Siobhan shot back.

Oliver barked out a surprised laugh.

Liza glared at her for a long few seconds. "Hmph. Well, perhaps you would like to do a trade? Your little medallion, for instance. I would pay one hundred fifty gold for that. Or, if you are able to retrieve this Conduit from your father and it is as unclouded as you say, it could pay for both spells itself, and a replacement Conduit of lesser value, beyond that."

Siobhan was silent as she suppressed her instinctive denial. 'The ring is my birthright, but what good is a birthright if I am dead or in prison?' The medallion had been made by her grandfather, and still had half a dozen other warding spells that were active, but he would have scoffed at her sentimentality and told her that survival was paramount, and that was the purpose of the medallion in the first place, whether it protected her from an opponent's spell or bought her enough gold to do the same. Still, both the medallion and the ring were hers, even if her father had taken the ring to wear himself, and she didn't want to lose them.

Oliver cleared his throat. "If you wish, Siobhan, your payment for yesterday could be given to you in gold. One hundred gold, I think, if we include a bonus for being called on without notice?"

Her stare turned to him, and he looked away.

"I cannot offer such a large bonus in the future, but…just this once," he said. "You likely saved me the bribes I would have had to pay to get my people out of Harrow Hill."

Siobhan felt her lip tremble and carefully steeled her face so her expression didn't crumple with tears. 'The Will-strain is making me volatile.' She knew the offered payment was likely several times more than the wand-wielding magicians Oliver employed would be compensated. Though the coppers, perhaps, wouldn't have acquired her blood if he had not asked for her aid, this was really just a continuation of the trouble that had begun before she'd even met him, trouble that almost certainly would have caught up with her already if not for his involvement.

Clenching her jaw, Siobhan avoided thinking about his kindness or her overwhelming relief until she could speak without embarrassing herself. "Yes, I would like my payment in gold this time," she said, nodding just deeply enough to show her gratitude without making a big deal of it. Thinking about it another way, Oliver was partially responsible for both the loss of her Conduit and for the coppers obtaining her blood. If she'd stayed at the University that night, they might have eventually given up looking for her entirely. 'In that sense, he owes me. This is nothing more than what he should do, even if technically he's not obligated to.' She felt a bubbling rush of irritation and resisted the urge to scowl at him. 'If I'd been smart, I would have required compensation for injury and loss to be a provision in the blood print vow.'

She swallowed down her mercurial emotions and turned to Liza. "I cannot offer you my medallion for good, but if you would like to examine it, without damaging it, I would be happy to allow you to research it for one hundred gold."

"Twenty," the woman shot back without hesitation.

"Once you've researched it, the spells can be recreated. They aren't unique anymore, which makes the medallion less valuable. Eighty."

"Sixty-five."

"Deal." Siobhan reached out her arm to shake Liza's hand. With this, she still had some gold left over.

"Deal." Liza accepted the handshake. "I will go get the blood print vow sheets. After we complete the vow, Oliver and I are going shopping, and you are going back to sleep."

Chapter 34 - Back Door Deals

Oliver

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 5:00 p.m.

Oliver had been almost as anxious about returning to the Verdant Stag as he was eager. He needed to ensure all his people had escaped the night before. He had a few local coppers in his pocket, and at least one of them would give word when a Stag was arrested, along with relaying other relatively harmless information about the goings-on of the local law enforcement.

Both he and Liza were well known around these parts. Though most didn't know him as the leader of the Verdant Stags without his mask, he was an obviously wealthy man that enjoyed "slumming it" with those poorer and more dangerous than himself. People surely suspected he was involved in some sort of crime or nefarious activity, but that was not so uncommon for the wealthy. As long as they didn't discover his true efforts and goals until it was too late to stop him, that was fine.

Liza was recognized for what she was—a powerful and dangerous sorceress, one not bound by the restrictions of the law.

Together, they received nods and wary looks as they passed the citizens who were heading home as night fell.

He looked at the peoples' coarse, patched clothing, the dirt lining the tired wrinkles of those who had grown old while still young, and the cobbles of the streets that had been washed clean by the river-swelling torrents of rain, but would soon be coated with filth again. Shops had picture signs instead of names, for those who could not read, which was most of them.

Men and boys without jobs skulked on the corners and in the alleys, smoking cat's-cough and glaring out at the world, some of them with gang colors or symbols displayed with varying levels of subtlety.

A woman hacked up blood into her handkerchief, then tucked the cloth away in her pocket and continued to beg for alms.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and let out a deep sigh, walking a little faster. This would all change when he ruled. The Stags might have control over only a tiny portion of the city at the moment, but he was already making things better. If he could just continue building—but that was the problem. The Morrows were not willing to let him continue.

He'd been pouring his personal funds into the Verdant Stag and its endeavors. The fortune he had amassed over many years was dwindling, and now the agricultural component of the plan, which had been almost ready to start production, would need another influx of funds as he rebuilt the warehouse and paid for greater security so that people were not afraid to take the jobs he offered.

He needed something that would bring in more money than cheap food for the masses, but could still be traded freely. Perhaps a product with a wealthier market, like the foodstuffs that would normally be imported from a more tropical climate. His own household budget for spices and honey was high enough that he might as well have been buying gold and silver by the ounce. Shipping was dangerous and expensive, and moving products over land had its own difficulties. In some instances, it simply wasn't feasible. He planned to replace the roof of the warehouse with glass, which should allow him to grow at least some of those more exotic foodstuffs indoors, but this was yet another exorbitant expenditure. Nevertheless, it would avoid the need for magic to imitate the light of the sun. Over time, the cost would be less.

Liza broke him from his thoughts, murmuring, "The girl…she's the one they're looking for?" Her gaze was on a copper, who was questioning a store owner in the doorway of the man's shop.

Oliver gave her a look, but didn't respond aloud.

"That's answer enough, I suppose," she said. "Do not worry, I have no love for Gilbrathan law, and no need for reward money. Idiot coppers tried to question me about the whole commotion when it first happened, and I sent them packing. As if I would've been so sloppy with the getaway, even assuming I decided to steal from the University."

Oliver sighed and shook his head, but he couldn't help smiling slightly.

They made it to the Verdant Stag not long after, and Liza took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink while Oliver continued on to Katerin's upstairs office.

Katerin froze for a moment when he walked into the room, her eyes sweeping over him for damage like a worried mother. After a second of silence, some of the strain around her eyes and in her shoulders receded. "Took you long enough," she muttered.

"Is everyone alright? Any arrests? Did we manage to get Jameson to Healer Nidson's?" While he spoke, he moved to the safe in the attached closet at the back of the room and began to go through the somewhat complicated process of unlocking it.

"No arrests, but a couple of injuries. I have already paid Nidson." She hesitated. "Jameson…did not make it."

Oliver straightened and turned to face her. "What?"

"We got him to Nidson, but…his heart stopped working. Nidson restarted it, but…it wouldn't take. Jameson died."

Oliver stared at her, taking in the bags under her eyes and the way she leaned a hand against the back of her chair for support. "Did Nidson give him blood?"

She frowned in confusion. "No?"

He ran a hand down his face, rubbing at the skin. "Jameson, and Cooper too. Have you told their families, yet?"

She shook her head. "But word spreads quickly. They might already know."

"We will pay for the funerals. And…" He turned back to the safe, pulling out two full coin pouches, each with one hundred gold counted out within. He slipped one into his pocket and removed thirty gold crowns from the other. He divided the thirty gold into two smaller purses and set them on Katerin's desk. "Give their families a stipend, for the next…three years. Fifteen gold a month." Spreading it out made it less likely for the families to be the target of a theft, and kept anyone from spending recklessly if they were the type to do so. It also put just a little less pressure on the Verdant Stag's finances.

Katerin looked as if she wanted to disagree, but slumped instead. "I suppose they were killed working for us, and at what was supposed to be a safe job. But you cannot start compensating the family of everyone who is killed or injured in Stag territory. And what about that second purse you took?"

"Payment for Siobhan's help. She…had a mishap. The coppers have some of her blood, and they have attempted to scry her—and failed!" he added quickly, raising his hands placatingly. "Liza is helping her, but—"

"But Liza would expect you to sell your firstborn to pay her fees, or go home if you couldn't," Katerin grumbled. "Oliver…you realize what this means? If they recognized her, they're going to be digging into the whole thing much deeper than they otherwise might for a fight between two gangs. They'll be sniffing around the Verdant Stag."

"I know." He clenched his fists. "But it's too late now. We'll pretend innocence as best we can. If they bring any of our men in for questioning, remind them to stay silent until you can get them out. If they question you personally, deny any knowledge to the point of belligerence, if you have to."

She looked torn between screaming in anger and crying, but in the end only shook her head with exhaustion. "I hope this girl is worth it, Oliver. You're making quite a large investment in her."

"We will see," he said, knowing that no words from him would actually sway her opinion. "Do you have the addresses of Cooper's and Jameson's next of kin?" Notifying their families of their fate was a responsibility that couldn't wait, for honor's sake if nothing else. When she nodded, he said, "Send someone to tell them before the day is out. Go yourself if possible." He would have preferred to do it himself, to handle this terrible duty with the respect it deserved, but he would have to go in his mask, and that would be worse than sending another in his place.

"Are we doing anything else about what happened last night?" she asked.

He rubbed his hand over his face again. "Of course. This cannot be allowed to continue. I am accompanying Liza to the Night Market." He ignored Katerin's grimace of distaste when he mentioned the sorcerer's name. "I'll see if I can pick up a few more battle or warding artifacts there. I'm quite sure Siobhan plans to brew us an extensive series of battle potions. We need to recruit more people to the enforcers and emergency crews. Our people were ineffective out there, even considering their disadvantage. Many of them haven't been trained well enough for this. Talk to Huntley, maybe he'd be willing to run a more thorough training program."

"I'll get on it right away."

"We can only hope the injuries the Morrows sustained last night cause them to be more hesitant, rather than lashing out in a show of force. Either way, no more shifts for the workers at night. I have some other ideas, but we need more money, time, and people," he said.

Katerin gave him a grim smile. "Well, we are working on all three things already. In the meantime, we'll have to make do."

Before stepping away from the safe he hesitated, then grabbed another coin purse and put it in his pocket before leaving.

"Don't forget to replace those!" Katerin called after him. "I have those funds earmarked for expenses already."

He grabbed a spare battle wand from their tiny armory, changed his cloak, and slipped his mask back on, then commandeered an off-duty enforcer to guard him as he left.

Liza shot a look to the man, whose eyes scanned their surroundings for threats as they walked down the street.

"We're carrying quite a lot of money and going to some questionably safe places," Oliver explained in a low voice. "If nothing else, the appearance of protection might deter opportunists."

She snorted. "You realize you are walking with me, right? Anyone stupid enough to try to steal my gold will find themselves with a smoking hole through their abdomen, and the coppers daren't come after me without at least a full squad."

Oliver opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Right." Perhaps the bodyguard wasn't needed, but it couldn't hurt, and he'd already agreed to pay the man. It would be churlish to send him back now.

When they reached the Night Market, Liza took the lead, striding to the door of The Elementary, a shop whose display window held some common spell components. The listed prices were much higher than they should have been.

Oliver motioned for their guard to stay outside, and the man posted himself beside the doorway, tracking the other occupants of the street with a suspicious gaze.

Shelves lined the walls and filled most of the small, somewhat dingy shop. Liza ignored all of that, walking to the counter in the back where a tired-looking young man was labeling a bottle of beetles. "I'm here to see Harvester."

The shopkeep looked her and Oliver up and down, then silently pulled out a stone disk from below the counter and placed it on the surface.

Liza palmed her Conduit and pressed her other hand flat to the disk. Pieces of it shifted and turned like a puzzle, and then the center rose up.

The shopkeep nodded and turned to motion to the wall behind him. Oliver only then noticed the outline of a hidden door, flush with the wall on either side and wallpapered over. Had that been there, visible but unnoticed, the whole time, or had whatever Liza done revealed it?

He followed her through the door into a huge storeroom filled with wide, towering shelves, each of which held various exotic materials and components within glass spheres covered in spell arrays. There were the more mundane but still valuable components like dragon scales, but he also saw rare, precious things like the tiny, sleeping dryad laying in a bowl of rich dirt, or the glowing feather the size of his leg that he was pretty sure was from a creature native to the Plane of Radiance.

Still, what caused his breath to catch in his chest was not any of the fantastical things on display, but the active planar portal in a clearing in the middle of the room.

He took off his mask to stare at the portal. It was a shimmering sphere, the bottom tip of which barely touched the center Circle of the spell array inlaid in gold and white marble on the floor. Five beast cores, glowing so bright a yellow they almost seemed white, powered the spell from component Circles positioned around the main one. The sixth component Circle held what looked to be a fish made entirely of water, wriggling weakly through the air of the glass containment sphere it was trapped within.

Past the heat wave-like surface of the sphere, he could make out what looked like a coral reef and some waving seaweed, and within it, a crouched form that he mistook for a boulder until its arms moved and he realized it was a person.

Oliver turned to Liza, eyes wide. He wanted to ask a question, but for once his tongue failed him.

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but he noticed that the edge of her mouth quirked up as she took in his expression. "Harvester should be out soon. Even he cannot remain alive underwater indefinitely."

Oliver cleared his throat. "I admit, I didn't know the Night Market had a place such as this. I'm in need of some battle and protection artifacts, preferably used and recharged. Where would you suggest I go?"

"Two doors down. Tell them I sent you and that you're new to the market. If you hurry, you might even get back in time to meet Harvester." Something about the way she said the last sentence sounded somewhat ominous.

"Right. Will I be able to get back here, though? The magic password disk…"

"Send the shopkeep back for me, if he won't let you through."

Oliver put his mask back on and left, somewhat reluctantly. He motioned for his guard to stay where he was and walked two shops down. A small symbol had been carved subtly into the doorjamb—the mark of the Nightmare Pack.

The space within was more open than the previous shop, with artifacts lining the shelves on the walls, leaving the center of the room clear. A quick glance showed no restricted artifacts, only things like light crystals, self-cleaning chamber pots, and ever-inking pens. He walked up to the woman at the counter and repeated Liza's words.

The proprietor eyed his mask, then called up their shop boy from the room at the back to take her place. She waved for Oliver to follow her into the back. "What are you looking for?" she asked.

He took a quick glance around the room, noting the items on the shelves, the boxes stacked against the back wall, and the utter lack of anything overtly suspicious. "Do you have any protective artifacts? Things that would ward against the more common battle spells? Or basic battle artifacts?"

She nodded and moved over to one of the shelves. A quick movement of her hand on the wood, and the rung flipped upside down. The items that had been on it did not slide off, seemingly stuck to it, but the new side also had items. Different items.

Oliver surreptitiously looked at the other shelves to see if there were items stuck to the bottom of them all that he simply hadn't noticed. There were not.

The shop owner smiled. "Liza's work. Ingenious, I thought. The coppers can raid us all they like when we refuse to pay their bribes, but there's never any evidence."

So that was why Liza had told him to mention her name. "She is very talented," he agreed. If only she were also affordable, the Verdant Stags would be unstoppable. He stepped forward to examine the artifacts on the shelf, and the shop owner began to explain them.

Underneath his mask, Oliver's face broke into a wide, foxlike grin.

There were a couple of circular knuckle guards with basic shielding spells meant to ward against stunning and concussive blast spells, which were the coppers' most common attacks. They could work together, for better defense, or individually. He took both.

She offered him a pair of gauntlets with a general-purpose energy-reflecting spell woven into their surface, but they were new, and much too expensive. He'd only brought a hundred gold to spend.

He took a bundle of spark-shooting wands, figuring they could be useful as a distraction, a signal, or even just a threat, if the user's enemy did not know the wand held only a non-combat spell.

He turned down a ring that would open basic non-magical locks, as well as a wand that shot acid, but bought a ring that could cast a contact stunning spell. His largest purchase was a general-purpose injury protection ward that the shop owner assured him would make physical damage less likely over a radius of ninety-nine feet in every direction. Despite its price compared to the other things he had chosen, he knew such a nebulously defined spell couldn't be very powerful, but it might still make a difference in a fight, and could be placed in the Verdant Stag or another important location, like the micro-farm he was creating.

By the end, his coin purse was completely empty. As he watched her place the artifacts in a plain bag she pulled off the wall, he said, "I noticed the mark of the Nightmare Pack by the door."

Her movements slowed, but she nodded, peering up at him with slightly more suspicion.

"I hear the head of the Verdant Stag is interested in meeting with the Pack leader. How would I pass along that message?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead counting out the gold he had given her and then handing him the bag. "I can send a runner," she said finally. "Any particular message you want to pass on?"

Using the shop's supplies, Oliver wrote a quick note, which he folded and sealed before handing to her. He flashed her one of his signature charming smiles and only belatedly remembered the mask. Perhaps he could have it spelled to mimic his expressions. Then again, a crescent smile of darkness stretching across its smooth surface might be more disturbing than humanizing…but that could be good, too.

"I hope the Stags aren't looking to start any trouble?" she asked reluctantly.

He shrugged. "Not as far as I know, but I'm just the messenger."

Her own mouth quirked up wryly as she took the letter. "Right."

When he returned to The Elementary, Liza was just exiting the hidden back room, a wooden box in her arms. As the door shut behind her, Oliver caught a glimpse of the person on the other side. He'd had enough of being surprised for the day, and so managed to keep from reacting outwardly. The two of them exited the shop and began walking back toward Liza's house, trailed by the completely superfluous guard.

Keeping his voice low, Oliver murmured, "Harvester is a troll?"

A somewhat cruel smile spread across her face. "Half-troll. How do you think he's still alive, after so many dips into the Elemental Planes? Best supplier in the business."

Chapter 35 - Planar Divination-Diverting Ward

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 8:00 p.m.

Siobhan had returned downstairs and gone to sleep once again while Liza and Oliver were gone. She felt more normal when she awoke from a nightmare, though the headache and foggy thoughts still lingered. When the other two returned, she was surprised to see Oliver holding the belongings she had stashed in the alley.

"We swung around on the way back to grab them," he explained.

She smiled in thanks. "I appreciate it. I was a little worried. I'm not sure how well they were hidden." She looked at the box of components in Liza's arms with interest. She was excited to watch Liza cast the warding spell, and perhaps to pick up a bit more of how the Lino-Wharton messenger spell worked.

Liza brought out a slender knife and a vial. "I'll need some of your blood."

"My blood?" Siobhan frowned.

She snorted at Siobhan's hesitation. "There have been two attempts to find you past my wards already. But if you cannot trust me to take your blood, you definitely cannot trust me to make this warding artifact for you." When Siobhan relented, Liza poked her in the arm and gathered a vial. Instead of beginning to set up the spell, Liza simply deposited the vial, along with her earlier purchases, in the room below where she'd previously cast the Lino-Wharton, then announced she was going to sleep.

Siobhan opened her mouth to protest, but remembered the bags under Liza's eyes. The woman had been tired when they arrived, and had then spent most of the day in strenuous mental exercise. Even she would be risking Will-strain to cast such a powerful spell without being fully rested. Siobhan closed her mouth and simply nodded.

Before retiring, Liza warned Siobhan not to wander, and to go downstairs immediately if her medallion gave signs that any attempts to scry her were breaking through the wards on the upper level.

"I'm going to return home," Oliver said. "I have business to attend to, and I would like to sleep in my own bed tonight. Will you be alright here?"

"Of course. You have your bracelet. I'll set it off if anything horrible happens."

As he turned to the door, he frowned. "I hope they returned my horse," he muttered.

His words reminded Siobhan of a question she had meant to ask. "Do you know if everyone is alright? Was anyone arrested?"

His step faltered, and he hesitated a little too long in replying. "No one was arrested."

Her eyes narrowed. "But something went wrong."

He rubbed his face and muttered, "I am in poor form today," before turning back to her. "They managed to get Jameson to the healer, but he didn't survive the night."

Siobhan reached for the nearest chair and sat down heavily. "What happened? Was it because of me?"

His words began low and a little hesitant, but grew more commanding as he spoke. "His heart gave out. I don't know why."

She bit her lip. "Blood loss?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Perhaps. I don't know what Nidson did to combat the blood loss."

"There are potions to boost blood regeneration, but they would have taken too long for Jameson, and over-strained his body," she muttered. "Humphries' adapting solution could have been spelled directly into his heart to replenish the fluid in his veins, but if the healer didn't have any on hand…"

Oliver interrupted her musings. "This time you really must not blame yourself. Needing to heal that type of injury is something you couldn't have anticipated. Not something you could reasonably have been expected to learn how to do ahead of time. Jameson would surely have died without you, so don't pretend that you killed him when the truth is you simply couldn't save him."

She straightened her spine away from the back of the chair and nodded stiffly. 'His words ring of truth, but that does not ease my feeling of responsibility. I was called on to save, and I did not.'

"Jameson's family will be taken care of," he said, somewhat awkward for once.

"That's good," she said dully. "I—I think I will go back to sleep."

The muscles in his jaw clenched and released, but he said only, "Alright."

She stood and shuffled back down the stairs. Above, the door to the mundane part of Liza's house opened and then closed again.

Siobhan had been feeling more energetic, but the news of Jameson's death pressed a weariness into her. It was too heavy to bear in her current state. She resisted the urge to use her second Conduit, the older, poorer quality one she had used as a child, to cast a dreamless sleep spell. Pushing too hard before her Will had fully recovered would only set her back further. Besides, she was used to the nightmares. 'And do I not deserve them?'

The next day, the sound of Liza's voice softly chanting and the charged feel of the air drew Siobhan down the hallway to the room where Liza was casting a spell.

The woman stood in the center of a complicated spell array containing a pentagon, hexagram, and heptagram, as well as dozens of other glyphs and numerological symbols interspersed with tiny, complicated written instructions. She must have spent hours designing and transcribing the spell array. 'Did she even sleep?'

A beast core, glowing the green of a new sprig of grass, powered the spell, along with over a dozen components. Liza held sticks of incense in each hand, and was chanting and waving them through the air in a carefully coordinated motion that left trails of smoke that looked almost like glyphs.

Light pulsed through the lines drawn on the floor in wax and blood, like the heartbeat of a mammoth animal. She recognized some of the components, like the silver mirror, five knots of wood, five finger bones, and the dead fox with large black beans where its eyes used to be and in its mouth.

Others were more exotic, like the things Liza was using to represent and draw power from the five Elemental Planes. There was a salamander made of fire, what seemed to be a living bubble with dozens of waving tentacles sprouting from it at every angle, a large pill millipede made of dirt, a creature that she couldn't quite make out because it was transparent and flying quickly about the confines of its component Circle, and a white fuzzy moth whose glow made Siobhan's eyes tear up despite not being that bright.

Other things Siobhan had no reference for at all, like the vial of liquid that seemed to be still moving within the glass, not swirling about and confined, but rushing by, as if the vial was not a container at all but a window into a little portion of river. Or the straw doll cloaked in what looked to be kreidae spider silk, the cloth almost entirely invisible, with a stark dot of blood drawn on its head instead of a face.

Siobhan stayed outside the room and watched as the spell-casting went on and on. After a few minutes, the knots of wood and finger bones combined, leaving five small, textured disks behind. Then the rest of the components began to disintegrate, Liza chanting faster and faster and drawing her smoke runes ever more quickly.

Eventually, only the beast core and the life forms from the Elemental Planes were left. Liza's voice was hoarse by then, but she never stopped, even as her voice cracked and her words turned to rasps. The creatures seemed to be distressed by the spell, moving faster and probing at the edges of the Circles containing them, but there was no escape. Each melded with one of the bone-and-wood disks and disappeared.

Liza slowed, then, but still did not stop for several more minutes.

It was only when the heaviness lifted from the air that Siobhan realized her heart was pounding as if she had been sprinting, and her fingers trembled by her side. Magic had a terrible and glorious beauty. 'I can't imagine anything better, more worthwhile, in the stars above or planes beneath.'

Liza was panting heavily as she turned to Siobhan. She didn't seem surprised by her presence, though she hadn't acknowledged Siobhan in the least while casting. "Pick up the artifacts and bring them upstairs. I'm going to get a cuppa."

Siobhan complied. The disks were thinner than she had expected, one solid piece despite the wood and bone being marbled together. She imagined she could feel the warmth of power within them.

Upstairs, Liza emerged from her side of the house with a steaming cup of tea, then rummaged in one of her cabinets till she found a device that consisted of a series of glass balls and lenses at adjustable distances from each other. She set it on the table, turned on a light crystal, and took the disks from Siobhan.

With tools the size of needles, she began to carve on the surface of the disks, creating a spell array that was simpler than the one she had used to cast the spell in the first place, but still so complicated it barely fit.

Knowing that she would need to help Liza cast the messenger spell soon, Siobhan moved to the couch and closed her eyes, slowly bringing her Will to bear, not on a spell but on the rhythms and warmth of her own body. She was gentle, pulling and prodding at her control to make sure there were no points of serious pain or strain remaining.

Her head began to throb again, but the pain was dull, and her thoughts were not as slow as they had been when her Conduit first broke. As long as she didn't bring the full force of her Will to bear, joining a mnemonic link to Liza's tracking spell shouldn't be difficult. In fact, it might even be easier, since she had grown more powerful since the last time. If not for the possibility that they had moved her father since her previous contact with him, they wouldn't have needed to add a tracking function to the messenger at all.

It took Liza a couple of hours to finish all five of the ward disks. When she did, she sat back and rubbed at her tired eyes, then got another cup of tea. Finally, she turned to Siobhan.. "I hope you are not afraid of a little pain," she said with an ominous gleam in her eyes. "It's time to insert these beneath your skin."

Siobhan eyed the disks, glad that Liza hadn't made them larger. "I'm ready. Where will we put them?"

"On your back, I think."

"What happens if I fall, or something hits me?"

"They won't break, don't worry."

Siobhan took off her shirt and turned her back to Liza, who held a small athame in her hand. She balled up her shirt and shoved part of it into her mouth, biting down.

"Don't move," Liza warned, and began to cut.

Siobhan gasped and couldn't help screaming a little through the cloth in her mouth. The cut was painful, but the feeling of something foreign sliding underneath her skin was worse, not only painful but also unnerving.

Liza began to speak, perhaps to distract Siobhan from the pain. "I call it a planar diversion ward. The artifact was created with your blood, and should settle into your body's ecosystem without trouble, so we don't need to worry about attempted rejection. Like your grandfather's ward, this will activate automatically when any sort of divination is attempted toward you. It will work unaided against weaker spells, but will require your guidance and Will to augment it against more determined attempts. With the sheer efficiency of the design and its connection to the five Elemental Planes, you should be able to stymie attempts by those magnitudes more powerful than you, as long as your Will is clear, sound, and forceful."

Liza repeated the process of inserting the disks four more times, one for each corner of the pentagram, the top disk sliding under the skin at the base of Siobhan's neck. When she was finished, she wiped up the blood with a rag and used a couple of salves that left the slices in her back nothing more than thin scars next to slightly firmer places on her skin.

Then, she drew a final spell array on Siobhan's back and made her lay down while she cast an augmented healing spell, reattaching the flow of blood through the disks. "Your blood will act as Sacrifice, so no need to prepare anything else. If all goes well, even with heavy use the spells within should last for a few decades," she said with pride. "It is a masterwork."

Siobhan shuddered and moved around to test the feel of the new additions to her back. They still hurt, and she imagined they would for a while, until her body grew used to them.

"Let us test it," Liza said, taking a crystal ball off a shelf and heading back downstairs.

Siobhan helped her to clean up the spell array on the floor of the casting room, and then Liza spent a couple of minutes drawing the array for a rudimentary scrying spell. She dropped the dirty, bloody rag in the component Circle that called for a tracking link, the beast core from the earlier spell in the powering section, and the crystal ball in the center. "You will feel the pressure when I attempt to scry you. The artifact is connected to your body, so all you need to trigger it is your Will and a Conduit."

The only other artifact Siobhan had ever heard of that could be controlled with Will alone was the transmutation amulet that hung around her neck, though it didn't even have any components that she could tell. 'Does that mean its creator was at least a Grandmaster of artificery? Perhaps they were even an Archmage.' The thought sparked a feeling she couldn't quite label.

"Remember, this ward is not meant to directly oppose a scrying spell. It turns aside, deflects, and hides you instead, which is what will allow a sorcerer as weak as you to successfully overcome the much stronger casters the coppers can supply. You should be careful of using it when people in your immediate vicinity are already focused on you, as some of the effects may spill over into your physical surroundings. People will be less likely to notice you and find it harder to focus on you while it is active, and this could lead to suspicion among the observant." With that, she took out her Conduit and began to cast.

Siobhan felt the pressure of Liza's attention immediately, as if a giant eyeball with thousands of tentacles hung in the air above her, the tentacles closing in. She held the small, cloudy Conduit that she hadn't used since she was a child and pushed her Will into the artifact on her back. She was careful not to push too hard, both because she wasn't fully healed from the Will-strain, and because this Conduit couldn't channel more than a hundred thaums. She sincerely did not want to experience the backlash of a failed Conduit, again.

She felt the effects of the ward take hold. The mental sensation of pushing aside notice was difficult to describe, except that she felt like one of the Fey, who were supposedly so agile they could dance between the raindrops without ever being hit. The five spots on her back stung as if being poked by a few dozen needles, repeatedly.

Liza dropped the spell, tossing the bloody rag into the brazier in the corner and setting it alight. "It works. I was using at least eight hundred thaums there, and I still couldn't bring your image or location into clarity, and it had nothing to do with the wards around my house."

Siobhan grinned, reaching a hand back to rub at the disks under her skin, which felt a little cool for a few seconds after Liza stopped casting. She ran up the stairs again to examine her back in the large silver mirror against one of the walls. The flesh around the disks had already regained most of its color by the time she reached it. "Let's try another type of divination!" she called back down the stairs as Liza followed at a slower pace.

Liza raised her eyebrows. "Sure. If you'd like to pay me for additional work."

Siobhan clamped her mouth shut immediately and put her shirt back on, but she couldn't help the giddy feeling inside or the upward twitch of her lips. This was magic, real magic, and it belonged to her. "Can I activate it without a divination attempt to deflect?" She tried it before Liza could answer, deflating a little when it didn't work.

"No," The woman confirmed, then muttered something that sounded like, "greedy and unappreciative of my genius."

'I won't be able to use it to sneak around without being noticed, then. Well, not unless I could somehow purposefully trigger a scrying attempt…' She would have to test what types of minor divination were recognized by the ward, and then see if there was some way to cast them into a potion or simple artifact of her own. Still, her biggest priority had been achieved.

The coppers would not have her.

"This is wonderful, Liza. Thank you." She pushed her sincerity into her voice. "I can't wait till I'm as knowledgeable and powerful as you."

Liza snorted. "I wouldn't hold my breath until then, child," she said, but she covered her small smile with her teacup.

Chapter 36 - Conception of the Raven Queen

Thaddeus

Month 11, Day 29, Sunday 3:00 p.m.

Thaddeus exited the hired carriage at the edge of the cordoned-off crime scene, handing the driver a few coins.

A copper stationed at the edge of the cordon stopped Thaddeus, but Titus Westbay, who'd been the one to call him away from the University in the first place, waved the copper down.

"It's alright, he is here on my behalf," Titus said, lifting the bright yellow barrier rope so Thaddeus could duck under it.

"What exactly is so important it necessitated I come in person with such urgency?" Thaddeus asked, looking at the coppers milling about the section of street in front of a half-collapsed building.

"I would have called in a whole Red Guard team, if I could get them," Titus said.

"An Aberrant did this?" Thaddeus asked, though he didn't see how that could have happened without his knowledge.

"No, a sorcerer. The same woman we've been looking for, we believe."

Thaddeus raised his eyebrows with interest. "She escaped again?"

Titus clenched his jaw. "Yes. The pressure to arrest her is mounting, and this is the first new lead we've had in months. We managed to get some of her blood, but so far she has warded against our initial scrying attempts. Eventually I have no doubt we will break through, but…I cannot take any chances. The scrying may be enough for her to finally leave Gilbratha, and that will only make our job harder. I thought maybe you would notice something the rest of us don't, because of your experience. She is a blood magic user, after all, even if the incident wasn't enough to get the Red Guard called in. Even if you cannot help, an extra set of eyes will do us no harm."

Thaddeus stood still a moment, letting his eyes rove over everything. Coppers milled about, collecting evidence in Shipp stasis cubes, flagging spots of interest, and combing through the rubble of the half-collapsed building. At the edge of the cordon, coppers shooed away curious onlookers.

Thaddeus had always had a greed for knowledge, and even better if that knowledge was not commonly disbursed. "I will consult only. I have neither the free time nor the inclination to be an unpaid Investigator as well as a University Professor."

Titus smiled widely, looking suddenly younger, and waved over another man. "This is Investigator Kuchen, the man in charge of things on the ground for this case."

Investigator Kuchen bowed slightly to Thaddeus, a handkerchief covering his mouth as he coughed wetly. "Professor Lacer. While I don't know what a professor can bring to this investigation that our professional analysts cannot, I bow to Lord Westbay's opinion in this matter. Please be aware of the confidential nature of all you see here."

Apparently the inspector didn't want him there, and was poorly informed about who he was talking to, to boot. Foolish. Thaddeus gave him a deadpan stare and replied only, "Investigator Kuchen," with a nod. He turned to Titus, who was as arrogant as the rest of his kind, but at least recognized Thaddeus for what he was, in some small part, and would not be so reckless as to disrespect him to his face. "What is the situation? Walk me through it."

Titus gestured down the street and moved to lead the way. "Very early Saturday morning, one of the local gangs, the Morrows, attacked this warehouse with a team of magicians and at least one sorcerer. This is currently Verdant Stag territory."

Investigator Kuchen interjected, "It was Morrow territory until recently. There have been a few altercations between the two gangs, likely over territory disputes."

"The Verdant Stags recently put up an alert system in their territory," Titus continued, "so they quickly got word that something was happening and sent a team in to stop the Morrows. That team failed, in large part due to a warding artifact held by the attackers, allowing the Morrow sorcerer to cast a spell to destabilize and collapse the warehouse. The area where the damage originated was divined by one of our prognos, and it is likely the effect was greatly enhanced by an artifact of some sort, rather than achieved purely by the sorcerer's power. However, the same cannot be said of our true target."

"One Siobhan Naught?" Thaddeus asked.

Titus looked only mildly surprised. "Indeed. I see word is getting around."

"Well, you're not the only ones who have spoken to her accomplice. Many feel no need for the same investigative confidentiality as the coppers."

Titus grimaced. "This kind of thing does bring out the greed in people."

"That may not be her real name," Kuchen said. "It's possible she assumed that identity at some point before the theft. It's my opinion that Ennis Naught may have been hypnotized in some way. Perhaps Siobhan Naught never existed, or passed away some time ago. Of course, there's always the possibility that he's simply unaware that his daughter was replaced."

"You think she may be a skinjacker?" Thaddeus asked. "It seems unlikely. There is evidence that she's a powerful sorcerer, no? Those two things do not often go together."

Kuchen shrugged. "Not often doesn't mean never. And even if she's not a skinjacker, I think it's quite clear that she is no nineteen-year-old girl without any formal training in the thaumaturgic arts. The codename Raven Queen is catching on. She seems to be partial to that symbology," he said darkly.

Thaddeus resisted the urge to mock the man. "That moniker seems a little dramatic. It begs fear and respect, rather than encouraging hostility or the kind of resolve that will see her caught and defeated."

Titus nodded. "I agree. It's not official, but I'm afraid I've heard the name bandied about half a dozen times already today. And I may not like it, but I do understand. She's mysterious, powerful, and more than a little frightening. The kind of person that makes you check under your bed before turning off the lights, just in case."

That seemed extreme, even with what Thaddeus had heard about her. "I think you had better continue your explanation of what happened."

"Yes. Less than half an hour after the initial Verdant Stag team failed to stop the attack, she arrived in the company of a masked man we suspect may be the leader of the Stags. We've not been able to get our hands on any of the Verdant Stag members who were here, but we did question the workers who were in the warehouse, as well as the members of the Morrow attackers who we were able to bring in. Their accounts line up, with a few allowances for personal reinterpretations and the chaos and fear of the fight, as well as the lowered visibility. Naught and her accomplice appeared in the empty bell-tower gazebo without warning. The Morrows insist she appeared in a flash of lightning."

"More likely they simply did not notice her until the lightning illuminated her form," Thaddeus said.

"Yes. However," Kuchen said, pausing to cough wetly into his handkerchief, "we are not discounting the possibility that she has some sort of movement or instant travel ability."

Thaddeus sneered. "Teleportation is a thing of myths."

"Well, casting spells with your spell array written in the very air is also a thing of myths," Titus said, his voice subdued.

"What?" Thaddeus blurted before he had a chance to think better of it. He brought a bit of his Will to bear, guiding his thoughts and reactions toward controlled, rational channels. It would not do to let his logic be pushed aside for hasty conclusions and the sway of poorly understood "facts."

"All of the eyewitness accounts corroborate it," Titus said. "She stood at the edge of the roof, a spell array glowing in the air above her palm as she shot the Morrows with exploding balls of glass, which bypassed their barrier artifact's wards completely. Their wounds are consistent with the reports as well."

"She is a free-caster," Thaddeus murmured.

"Part of why I thought you might have some insight," Titus agreed.

"Free-casters have no need to write the spell array in the air. The Word is held in our mind. To hold the Word on the air instead would have only increased the difficulty of her spell. Unless there was some unknown utility to doing so, I have to assume that she wanted people to know what she was capable of." But who, exactly, was the message for? He looked up at the empty bell-tower, then down to the warehouse across from it. He noted the placement of the flags marking spots of interest, imagining the scene in his mind. "Did she kill any of the Morrows?"

"No," Titus said. "Injuries only, though one came close to bleeding to death. You think she let them live on purpose?"

"Undoubtedly." The question was why? Speculation was useless at this point. He didn't know enough about her motivations or the situation that had led to her protecting the workers. "What was in the warehouse?"

Investigator Kuchen flipped through a sheaf of papers. "It was just an indoor garden, not yet fully set up. The most suspicious thing about it is that the real ownership is still unclear, run through a number of proxies. We're looking deeper, but I expect we will simply find it is owned by one of the Stags. There's no evidence that anything untoward was happening inside. The workers themselves weren't even members of the gang."

If nothing nefarious was planned for the site, why the secrecy? "I want to see."

Carefully, the three of them walked into the warehouse, avoiding the evidence flags and broken glass scattered everywhere.

"Once she had driven off the Morrows, Naught and the masked man descended and entered the warehouse. The witnesses say the two of them claimed to be there to help, and acted to try to save an injured worker's life," Titus said.

Kuchen snorted, a deliberate sound of disbelief rather than a symptom of whatever respiratory illness had him hacking so disgustingly. "Their naivete astounds me."

Titus grimaced again. "Yes, well…I cannot imagine they were in any position to refuse her help, ill-intentioned as it might have been."

Thaddeus noted the chalk outline of a body and the gore-covered, splintered end of a support beam. "One of them died? Anyone of note?"

"One Bobby Cooper," Kuchen said, again consulting his notes. "Our investigation has uncovered nothing of interest about the man or those closely related to him."

"What about the one who was bleeding to death?" Thaddeus said, motioning to the half washed-away bloodstain on the ground. "This was the one they supposedly tried to save?"

Kuchen looked at him in surprise, even though it had been an exceedingly simple deduction, then said, "Harry Jameson. He had been hit by a slicing spell from one of the Morrows' contraband battle wands, at the base of the neck, and was in the process of bleeding out when she arrived. The workers had been trapped inside. She claimed that he needed a blood donation, and took a drop from each of the other workers. To find matching blood, she said."

Titus's lips flattened grimly. "You can see remnants of the blood-transferring spell array, there," he said, pointing to faint lines of chalk on the ground, almost completely washed away by the rain.

"Did your prognos reconstruct it?" Thaddeus asked.

Kuchen handed Thaddeus a piece of paper with a simple spell array, his reluctance to share information seeming to have melted away. "This is their best guess."

Thaddeus frowned. "It is simplistic." Not that she would have needed to write it down at all, as a free-caster, but there was nothing to keep the blood from clotting or gathering contaminants during the transfer process. It would kill the patient. Of course, she could have handled that part mentally, but if she was going to do that, why take the time to write the spell down at all? "I suspect there is more going on here than we understand."

"She didn't actually transfer any blood to him," Kuchen said. "The Verdant Stag sent a backup team, and apparently she used some potions they had brought in lieu of the blood transfer, and then some other healing spell to fuse the wound back together. But she had none of the standard healing components. That spell array has been washed away beyond recovery, but we suspect she may have used blood magic to control his flesh. We don't know what her goal was, since she aborted the spell when the coppers arrived. The workers escaped with Jameson and took him to a nearby healer's on a horse left by Naught's male companion. Jameson died there, before the sun rose."

"So in the end, all we know for sure is that she collected a sample of the other workers' blood," Thaddeus added.

Kuchen paled. "Yes. They say she had picked up a shard of glass and mixed a drop of each of their blood with a drop of Jameson's atop it. Do you think…some sort of linking curse, meant to be powered with his life?"

"Perhaps." Thaddeus could think of a dozen nefarious purposes for a drop of willingly-given blood. It was one of the reasons all licensed healers were required to give a vow that they would never keep the bodily fluids or shedding of their patients, or allow others to do so. How could you trust yourself in their hands, if they could use a drop of blood or strand of hair to blackmail every patient they healed?

Kuchen swallowed heavily, then said, even more hoarsely than normal, "Do you think it was successful? She didn't get to finish, we think. She attacked our first response team when they arrived, and was almost captured. She had to flee, and we might still have caught her, if not for the storm."

"I don't have enough evidence to form an opinion," Thaddeus said. "Was there anything else of note?"

"She cast an unknown spell on the first response team," Titus said heavily. "She used a couple of low-powered battle philtres to cover for the escape of the workers through one of the back windows, and then went into the alley and… We're not sure if it was a conjuring, or maybe an illusion."

"What were the spell's effects?" he asked impatiently.

"She free-cast it. Without the glowing spell array hanging in the air this time. The first responders described it as a cloaked form of pure blackness, nine feet tall, and with a beaked face, as if it were wearing a plague doctor's mask. Ravens burst out of it and disappeared into the shadows, moving as if to circle around and attack the coppers."

"A—a couple of the men said they felt the ravens fly through them," Kuchen stammered. "They felt the cold of it. And I heard Elmer talking about nightmares this morning. He said he saw the creature in his dreams, and his shadow…detached from him and grew feathers. Elmer has a drop of water elemental blood somewhere in his ancestry. He's always had a touch of diviner's sight."

"Call him in for questioning," Titus said. "I want all the coppers who interacted with her off the case, under isolated observation. Let's get a healer to do a thorough exam, and I want our best prognos doing a full divination to try to figure out what she did to them. Maybe a shaman, too."

Thaddeus frowned. It was the right call, to be cautious, of course, but he still felt like a piece of the puzzle—or several pieces—were missing. "Is there anything else? Something you may have forgotten to mention?"

"We are still questioning people who live or work in the area, and trying to uncover any small piece of evidence we could have missed on the scene. The combination of a philtre of stench and the rain made the scent hounds useless, but we have our best prognos trying to track her escape physically. There may have been more evidence, but with the rain…" Titus shook his head.

"You said you got her blood?"

Titus motioned to the edge of the alley running beside the warehouse.

With a last look around the interior of the warehouse, Thaddeus exited, moving to look around the mouth of the alley.

Kuchen looked to his notes again. "One of our men got her with a grasping-tentacles spell. She fell on some shards of glass that had broken off the windows, and bled. It was a stroke of fortune that one of the men even noticed it and managed to gather the blooded glass safely before the rain hit." Kuchen's eyes narrowed. "Now that I say it aloud, it seems awfully coincidental that the rain broke at such a convenient moment. If it had happened a minute or two earlier, she would have gotten away entirely."

Titus turned to Thaddeus. "Do you think it is possible she could have used such large-scale weather magic?"

Thaddeus hummed absentmindedly, looking at the alley, then out at the street again, trying to reconstruct the scene in his mind. "It would have required powerful allies, as well as impeccable timing and foreknowledge. It is not impossible, but it seems like rather a lot of effort for what turned out to be a relatively minor altercation, all things considered."

He strode into the street. "Take me up there," he said, pointing to the bell-tower atop the roof opposite the warehouse.

They climbed carefully up the hastily-patched circular stairs, and Thaddeus crossed his arms as he looked down on the people milling around busily below, imagining standing against the clawing wind and lightning-cracked sky while raining down attack spells on them. "The man she was with. Tell me about him."

"He wore a mask," Kuchen said. "The workers described it as blank-featured, with a pit of shadows beneath it rather than flesh and blood. They believed him to be the leader of the Verdant Stags, and one did note that he commanded the Stag team, which leads credence to the assumption. We've had other reports of an individual matching his general description before, a couple of times in altercations with the Morrows."

"I assume you have questioned the Verdant Stags about this?"

"Yes, of course. The manager—the one who handles the day-to-day operations—denies any knowledge of the Raven Q—of Naught, I mean." Kuchen coughed, though Thaddeus wasn't sure if it was because of his illness, or a self-conscious reaction to his verbal slip. "She accused us of obscuring the real issue of Morrow aggression on innocent civilians who just happen to live and work in the wrong place, and expressed doubt that Naught was actually there at all. Hogwash, of course, but there's not much we can legally do to put pressure on her."

"Do the Stags have a history suggesting they have a powerful sorcerer among their ranks?"

"On the contrary," Kuchen said. "Magicians, at most. Small territory, relatively new organization, and to all accounts very little criminal activity, other than the enforcer teams carrying contraband artifacts and battle potions."

"This is what I have gathered," Thaddeus said. "Naught appeared to intercede between a small gang and a group of innocent civilians, accompanied by what observers believed to be a man wearing a mask."

"Believed to be?" Kuchen whispered, staring at Thaddeus in mounting horror.

Thaddeus gave a small shrug. "His face was not seen. Perhaps he was indeed a man. Perhaps he was able to call in a favor, and she came to his aid, and fully intended to heal Jameson but was simply interrupted before she could do so. Or, perhaps the darkness beneath the mask was not an illusion, and what walked beside her was a companion of another sort."

Titus looked at him sharply, and Thaddeus nodded silently. Perhaps this was a job for the Red Guard after all.

Kuchen looked between them with confusion, seeing the silent exchange but not understanding it.

Thaddeus sighed impatiently. "I am saying we do not know. Please refrain from jumping to conclusions without supporting evidence, in any direction."

Titus nodded, waving his hands impatiently. "Please continue, Professor Lacer."

"She displayed her prowess as a free-caster conspicuously, unmistakably, and yet fired off only warning shots, leaving all of the enemy gang members to escape. She then descended with her companion, and claimed the intention to save them and heal their injured. She claimed this required blood from each of them, which she collected, but no donation of blood to Jameson was actually completed. Despite this, she cast what seemed to be a healing spell on the dying man." He motioned to Kuchen. "I hope you requisitioned the body. You'll want to inspect it thoroughly."

The man nodded hurriedly, and Thaddeus continued. "This healing spell was cast without any of the standard components. If you can find a competent one, you might call in a shaman to help the workers recall the spell array and try to reconstruct it. However, I caution against depending on anything you might uncover through that. After all, as a free-caster, she has no need of physical spell arrays at all, which means any spell she took the time to lay down physically was either so magically intensive that she needed the help to stabilize it, or was something she placed deliberately, to be seen."

"So she could have cast a completely different spell than the Word might have us believe," Titus murmured.

"Then, when law enforcement arrived, she abandoned her seeming attempts to help, allowed Jameson to be taken away with the others, and attacked the coppers with an unknown spell, which may have ongoing effects on those exposed to it. Then, she was seemingly hit by return fire and injured herself, making a critical mistake by leaving her blood for one of the coppers to find. She and her companion both escaped into the night, and despite having her blood, you have been unable to successfully divine her location. If not for the rest of it, I might have thought she is still a young free-caster, and maybe she exhausted herself with that initial display and needed to resort to more traditional methods afterward. But the fact that she was then able to free-cast the spell that brought forth this raven-creature of darkness undoes that theory entirely."

Kuchen shook his head. "The men said she raised her hands, and it rose from the shadows, black as pitch. She held her hands together to form the Circle. It was definitely free-cast, unless it was contained in some subtle artifact, which seems unlikely for that kind of spell."

Thaddeus looked carefully at both men. "She is far from incompetent. So what did this night accomplish? We cannot assume that whatever it was she wanted, she failed to achieve."

It was intriguing, really. He wondered what kind of mind was behind it all. Had she been amused, knowing how she would send those who believed themselves to be powerful and influential scattering like ants from a kicked mound? Did she feel the thrill of power at her fingertips when she cast spells others had never heard of before, recovered from the annals of time or the birth of her own experimentation? He looked forward to seeing what she would do next, and found himself suddenly quite curious about what had been in the ancient text she stole from the University. Surely it must have held more than historical importance, and he doubted someone of her power had any need to do jobs for others in exchange for something so mundane as gold.

No, he was suddenly quite sure she had stolen the text for herself, and had done so because it held precious knowledge that the University wanted to keep secret. Knowledge that the Crowns surely wanted as well, which was why Titus was being pressured so to find her. Thaddeus decided not to ask about it, not now, or from these two. Partially because he had no desire to let on that he'd realized the games being played by the Crowns and the University against each other, but also because what exactly she'd been motivated to steal might be an important clue to capturing this free-casting sorcerer, of which Kuchen, at least, was likely to be ignorant.

Thaddeus had been curious about whatever the decimated archaeological team had managed to retrieve from the Black Wastes. He had heard unsubstantiated rumors that they had discovered Myrddin's hermitage, which he'd thought ridiculous, but he had still applied to be part of the expedition. The University had denied him.

He had been irritated, and thought with some vindictiveness that perhaps if he had gone, the expedition would not have been reduced to a tenth of its initial numbers, with two of those three needing access to a mind healer from the stress. But he had still requested clearance to examine their findings. He had been denied again, pending a review by the University's History department, supposedly because some of the books and artifacts were likely to be cursed. As if he was too incompetent to recognize and disable a curse that had degraded over hundreds or thousands of years. At that point, he suspected he was being blocked by one of the professors who happened to hold a grudge against him. Munchworth, perhaps. The man had always been agitated by the evidence that Thaddeus might be more proficient in the field of Titanic history and lore than Munchworth, who taught the subject.

Thaddeus had known they uncovered something valuable, but he had still been skeptical that it was as personally valuable as his own research, which was more than enough to take up all his free time. Not everyone held his standards of a worthy goal, after all. He had put aside his curiosity for the time being, sure that he would learn any useful secrets eventually, but now his interest was revived.

Titus clenched his jaw. "We cannot trust anything. She could have planted every piece of evidence deliberately. It—it might not have even been her blood we gathered."

"Or not," Thaddeus reminded. "Perhaps she is only playing with you, wanting you to doubt even the truth in front of your eyes, to hesitate to act on real evidence."

"She is arrogant, reckless," Titus agreed.

"So far, it seems that she can afford to be."

"Do you think…" Kuchen swallowed again. "Are we sure that any of the witness reports are reliable? That creature of darkness, and the man-seeming figure beside her… She had time to kill everyone there, but she let them walk away, except for Cooper and Jameson. Could she have had time to do…other things to them?"

"Well," Thaddeus said, suppressing the small smile that kept trying to creep onto his face. "It seems to me that you cannot be sure of anything at all.

Chapter 37 - An Abridged Farewell

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 11:00 p.m.

"You should stay the night here. I need rest before we cast the messenger spell, and you do as well, as I feel quite certain you will need to stave off more scrying attempts within short order once you leave this place," Liza said.

Siobhan agreed readily, hoping to have a chance to peruse Liza's small library now that her mind was working properly again.

Liza must have caught her gaze on the books, because she said, "They are warded against any hand but my own. Of course, I could loan one or two out to you, if you didn't remove them from these walls. For a fee."

Deflated, Siobhan ate the simple dinner Liza provided and returned to the cot downstairs for the night, begrudgingly admitting to herself that she really did need the mental reprieve. Casting even small spells with Will-strain was difficult and dangerous.

The next day, Siobhan worked on her homework that didn't require spell-casting or access to the library. Liza didn't make an appearance until the sun was already setting.

Scowling over a dark, steaming cup of tea, Liza tossed a reference book to Siobhan and had her help draw the Lino-Wharton messenger spell array, rolling her eyes at Siobhan's look of gleeful avarice as she perused the spell instructions.

Siobhan didn't push herself overly hard while creating the mnemonic link to the tracker part of the spell, and Liza had the entire thing finished within a little over an hour.

Siobhan put the raven back in its cage and only then realized that Oliver wasn't there. He was dealing with the Verdant Stag's people and maybe the coppers. For some reason, she had been thinking that he would accompany her to the prison again. She frowned at herself. 'I do not need him. I am perfectly capable of doing things on my own. I only hope everything is alright on his end.'

She put on her cloak, made sure her dinky little child's Conduit was easily accessible, and with a tired wave from Liza, walked out into the night. The moon was almost full again, and threw enough light down to see, even if there were no streetlamps. She made her way toward the prison, stopping before the same canal that bisected this particular stretch of Gilbratha, but in a spot a few hundred feet farther north, and thus closer to the wing Ennis's cell lay in. She had left the luggage and school bag belonging to Sebastien in another alley for temporary safekeeping.

The raven flapped off eagerly under her mental command, the tracking spell leading it to the same windowsill as before. It seemed they had not moved him.

The raven croaked.

Ennis didn't startle as violently as the time before, but his response to being woken from his sleep by a raven messenger was still not gentle. He cursed, holding a hand to his heart. The raven had trouble making out his expressions, but she thought he was glaring up at it. "So my daughter didna' transform into the body of a raven and fall to her death after all," he said. "More blood magic? That's what they tell me this is. At least you finally decided to check in on your imprisoned father again, two months later. The Gervins tell me you 'ave made no attempt to contact them, and they are growing distrustful that the marriage agreement I negotiated with them is even reliable!" His voice was full of accusation, and he had begun gesturing dramatically with his hands by the end.

"Keep your composure," the raven said. "We don't want to call the attention of the guards."

"Maybe I should call them! You might be a little more eager to settle things with the Gervins if you were the one stuck in here shivering every night," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You always were ungrateful, but I never expected this."

Siobhan clenched her jaw and flexed her fingers. The raven couldn't see a ring on his finger. "I am sorry, Father," she had the raven say, trying to keep her anger and contempt out of its tone. "My Conduit broke halfway through our previous conversation, severing the link between myself and the raven. I suffered from the backlash and have been recovering from Will-strain, and then trying to find a replacement Conduit that would allow me to contact you again. I have been helpless without it. I was able to borrow one for tonight to allow me to cast this spell. Do you have the Naught ring? If I could use it, I should be able to make myself presentable enough to contact the Gervins and get you out of here."

"I do not 'ave it."

"What? Did the coppers take it off you? Or did you stash it somewhere?"

"I'm not stupid, girl. I can recognize your attempt at manipulation for what it is. You only want the ring for yourself! If I were to give it to you, you'd be gone from Gilbratha by tonight. Well, it's too late. I used the ring as the bond for my word in the marriage agreement with the Gervins. They 'ave it."

She paced back and forth beside the canal, clenching and unclenching her fingers. Her skin felt hot, as if her rage was actually pushing her toward incandescence. "You would give my birthright, Mother's ring, to another family?"

"When you marry into their family and fulfill the contract, you can just ask your husband for it. If you don't marry him, they'll be authorized to keep the Conduit." Ennis's words were filled with triumph.

She realized then that he had planned this. 'He didn't really think marrying me off to them was in my best interest, or something I would be remotely amenable to. He had known he was selling his daughter, and that I would be resistant to the idea, so he decided to hold my birthright hostage, the last remnant of my mother and the Conduit that would allow me to perform higher levels of magic…' She clenched her teeth to hold back a scream, unwilling to draw attention to herself because of him.

She wanted to attack him. She briefly considered having the raven go for his face with its claws, and realized only then that the creature's neck feathers were puffed out and its wings were raised threateningly. She hadn't meant to do that, and it brought her thoughts back in order enough for her to see the black-clad form walking her way from a couple of blocks south. 'Is that a copper?' she wondered with alarm.

Now conscious enough to notice it, she felt faint pinpricks from the disks in her back, and an ephemeral pressure around the wrist that Liza had tied the string connecting Siobhan and the raven. It was as if someone was tugging on the other end of the string.

Without another word to her father, she commanded the raven to fly back toward her. Instead of returning to her shoulder or its cage, she directed it to dive into the dark waters of the canal, overriding its instinctive resistance to the idea.

Already hurrying away from the canal, she flinched as she felt the creature drown. 'It was going to die soon anyway, when the spell ran out. This way, at least they won't be able to retrieve its body like the last one.'

The anti-divination ward in her back continued to hold off the prying magic even after the bird was dead.

The sound of copper-nailed boots striking the ground as the person that had been walking her direction broke into a sprint only confirmed her suspicion. Harrow Hill Penitentiary either had a new ward that had detected the raven, or her father had alerted the guards himself.

'The bond between us should snap once I get far enough away. That string was only a kilometer long.'

As she'd hoped, once she'd been running for a few minutes, the sense of pressure on her wrist snapped, and the disks in her back were soothed. She stopped running, but took a winding, circuitous path after that for fear that she would be tracked by more mundane means. After all, that copper had probably been able to track where she was fleeing.

She lost her pursuer more easily than she had feared, then transformed into Sebastien when she was sure she was no longer being followed or watched. She kept her face stoic as she gathered her things, made sure she looked presentable, and walked to the Verdant Stag. She paid for a meal, and then a room for the night, showing no outward recognition of Katerin or any of the others she knew from her time working with them.

She rose early on Monday and headed to the Waterside Market with the purse of a hundred coins that Oliver had given her.

The sun was just rising, and the stalls were only beginning to be set up, but the merchants were happy enough to sell to her even so, taking her orders of alchemical ingredients even if the items were not yet on display. Once again, none of them asked for her license. 'I wonder if that's simply due to the appearance of wealth and confidence, as I had first suspected, or if perhaps this type of rule is only loosely enforced in Gilbratha, the type of thing the coppers can use to arrest you if they decide they don't like you, but would otherwise ignore. Well, at least for the cheap, unrestricted magical components.' When she had gathered everything for the alchemy she intended to perform, she looked for a Conduit.

A handful of the stalls selling magical items also had Conduits, but they were of poor quality, barely better than the backup she kept from her childhood. They were good enough for a child, but not for a burgeoning sorcerer. In addition to that, the prices were preposterously high, by a multiple of three or more than what they should have been. Only someone too stupid to know better would buy any of them. Trying to suppress her frustration at the quality of yet another tiny display of cloudy celerium chunks, she turned to the shopkeep. "Is there anywhere where I can get a more powerful Conduit?"

"Orbs and Amulets. It's a boutique at the north end of the market, a few streets up. With the way the supply is right now, that's your best bet of finding anything clearer." The man shrugged apologetically and gave her simple directions.

Sebastien wasn't quite sure what a boutique was, or how it differed from a normal shop, but found the place easily enough on a well-maintained street where all the shop signs were painted with words rather than pictures, so she deduced it was accustomed to dealing with the more affluent. Which made sense. Most commoners would have no reason to buy a Conduit, especially one of any worth.

The inside of the shop was well lit, with polished marble floors and glass display cases. A pretty woman stepped forward from where she had been waiting with her hands clasped in front of her and offered to take Sebastien's luggage, then offered her a choice of various refreshments when she refused.

"No, thank you. I just want to see your Conduits," Sebastien said, clutching perhaps a little too suspiciously at her luggage handles, if the suppressed expression of offense on the woman's face was any indication.

"This way, sir," the woman said, waving elegantly at the display cases, which were lit by their own internal light crystals.

Sebastien had an increasingly bad feeling about the shop, but complied. There were no prices listed. Her feeling of apprehension grew worse.

"What level of Conduit are you looking for, sir? We have celerium from the Surior Mountains, the Charmed Highlands, and the Black Wastes, ranging from Apprentice to Grandmaster level. Do you prefer your Conduit raw, or in a gem-cut? We've all the most fashionable settings, if you'd like your purchase made into a wearable accessory."

"Let me see your Apprentice Conduits, raw, and…no setting, I think." Unless you were removing an impurity, faceting celerium did not make it any more efficient, only more sparkly. And the idea of putting it in a ring or other piece of jewelry only made her want to punch something.

The assistant brought her to one of the cases with cloudier, smaller Conduits. Still, they were almost all better than the one she had been using before, not to mention the dinky, opaque little crystal in her vest pocket at the moment.

Sebastien pointed to one in the middle of the display that was a little less cloudy than the ones on the left, but not as large or clear as the ones to the right. "How many thaums is that one rated at?"

The woman smiled brightly, already moving behind the case to unlock it and remove the Conduit. "This one is two hundred seventy thaums, from the Surior Mountains. It has some clouding in addition to the veins, but—"

"How much?" Sebastien asked, cutting off her prattling. The sun was well risen and her classes would start soon.

The woman blinked at her, then said, "One hundred thirty gold, sir."

Sebastien's eyes widened incredulously. "One hundred thirty gold, for a Conduit that can only channel two hundred seventy thaums?" She was aware that Conduit prices would rise steeply with increased quality and thus, rarity, but this was outrageous. Her previous Conduit, rated to two hundred fifty thaums, had been worth less than forty gold.

The woman clenched her hands together in front of her, dipping forward a little in the suggestion of a bow. "Celerium yields have been very poor this last year. With supply so low, prices have risen. I assure you, you will not find a reputable, licensed supplier selling for any less than we do."

Sebastien briefly wondered if Oliver or Katerin could find her a disreputable, unlicensed supplier that would have better prices. 'There is no time for that,' she thought, looking at the level of light outside. 'I must be in classes and entirely unremarkable in less than an hour.' Her headache was back in full force, and the muscles in her back felt so tight they might cramp.

Perhaps she could settle for a lesser-quality Conduit for the time being. She had her old, child-level Conduit as a backup. As long as both Conduits were always touching her skin whenever she cast a spell, if the one in active use broke, she could immediately switch to casting through the secondary Conduit, with only minor risk of any adverse effects. She swallowed hard. "What about the ones in the two hundred thaum range?" She could resell the Conduit and make back at least some of what she'd spent when she was ready to buy something more suitable. As long as she didn't break it, too. And as long as the supply of celerium had not recovered and brought prices back down to normal by then.

"They range from approximately seventy-five to eighty-five gold."

Sebastien swallowed again. It was still outrageous, but at least she could afford it. With reluctant fingers, she pointed out one of the smaller and cloudier Conduits, rated a little over two hundred thaums and slightly cheaper than the rest because of an ugly brown spot of contamination.

After she left the shop, she paused in the alley beside it to tuck her new Conduit into the vest pocket set aside for it, and the other inside the lip of her boot, where it pressed somewhat uncomfortably against her skin.

She took a deep breath and grabbed for her luggage, but found herself having to swallow down the lump in her throat again as the knot in her chest that she'd been trying to ignore pushed itself up.

With a shuddering breath, she bent over, arms hugging her own shoulders as if to press herself back together. The tears welled up, hot and fast, and she heaved silently, sobbing without the breath to make noise. She fumbled for her new Conduit, the one in her pocket, and clenched it in her hand so hard her knuckles went white.

She scrubbed the tears away angrily, but more welled up to take their place, barely doing anything to drain the hot well of grief in her chest. She didn't want to cry over Ennis, or any of it, really, but she was tired, and her head hurt, and it was just too much.

When she'd first come to Gilbratha, Ennis had been, to some degree, in control of her life. She'd been jerked around by his whims for a long time, and him stealing the book from the University wasn't the first time he'd made her life harder, just the most serious. Now, he was trying to do it again, to force her to marry a man she'd never met, and who, if he was anything like Alec Gervin, she would probably despise.

Since their arrival, it seemed that for everything that had improved, there was another part of her life that had worsened. She had gotten into the University, but now the coppers were closer to catching her than ever. And unlike before, she was beholden to a criminal organization that called her out of bed in the middle of the night to get involved in deadly altercations with other gangs.

'But I brought that problem on myself.' The thought was strangely comforting.

She'd found a way to get into the University, and sure, that had come with strings attached, but it was a choice she'd made on her own, and one she would make again.

The coppers had her blood, but she'd found a solution to that, so everything was not ruined.

Someone had died under her insufficient care, but only because of her lack of preparedness, which was something she could rectify.

Her father was a horrible person, and he didn't care about her. But she didn't have to care about him, either. She didn't have to listen to him, or let his actions affect her life.

So, maybe it was true that the overall balance of problems in her life had barely tipped for the better. But she had changed. She had gotten her hands on magic, all the knowledge the University had to offer, and she was never letting go. She was in control now. She made choices, good and bad, and could bear the consequences of both. She was no longer beholden to the whims of another, and could choose never to be so again.

Her tears had stopped.

She brought her Will to bear, not on any spell, but for the mindset that accompanied magic. 'I am in control. The world bends to me. I do not bend for it.' She repeated the words a couple of times in her mind, then pressed her free hand to her face and cast a spell she had learned on the road from an old hedge-witch.

The mucus and slobber that had been clogging her sinuses moved, and she spat it out in a single big glob, then wiped away the tears from her face. She couldn't be seen to be crying in the streets. 'Thankfully, it is too early for most people to be up.' She eyed the glob of saliva and mucus, then used the spell her grandfather had taught her to burn it and anything in it that could be used to track her into smokeless ash. It wouldn't do to get careless.

She straightened, her Conduit still in her fist and her mind still bent toward command, grabbed her luggage, and strode off toward the University.

Sebastien did not have time to dawdle.

The story continues in A Practical Guide to Sorcery Book II: A Binding of Blood.

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Chapter 38 - Competing for Points [Book 2 Start]

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 30, Monday 8:45 a.m.

When the scrying attack hit Sebastien, she immediately began empowering her new anti-divination ward. The five artifact disks that Liza had embedded under the skin of her back consumed her blood, making the skin around them prickle like it was being stabbed with needles. This provided magical energy, which Sebastien channeled through the small Conduit pressed between her ankle and the inside of her boot, right back into the spell.

Fortunately, there were only a few stragglers still lingering around the University dorm, and they were all hurrying to gather their things before class. No one paid any attention to Sebastien.

She cursed the coppers, dropped the luggage she had been repacking into the chest at the base of her bed, and hurried toward the bathrooms. Liza had warned her that, with the ward active, anyone paying enough attention might notice a strange difficulty focusing on her, which could have very unfortunate consequences.

If things had gone even a little differently when she and Oliver went to defend his warehouse and the people inside from the attack by the Morrows, she might be fully rested, clearheaded, and relatively safe. If that last attack by the coppers, when she was trying to distract them with her shadow-familiar, hadn't hit her, she wouldn't have fallen and cut herself, and they wouldn't have her blood. She could have returned to the University without fear.

And maybe, if she had gone long enough without giving them any more leads, living as Sebastien Siverling instead of Siobhan Naught, they would have given up searching for her.

Instead, she was trembling in a bathroom stall as she brought her strained Will to bear. The coppers had her blood, and if she failed, they would find her through it. If she was arrested, she would likely be executed, since they had branded her a blood magic user. Even if she somehow escaped that fate, she would forever lose her chance to study at the Thaumaturgic University of Lenore. And without the University, she might never gain the knowledge and power to become a an Archmage level sorcerer and a free-caster. The kind of power that meant she would never be vulnerable again.

The ward deflected searching tendrils of magic for the next few minutes despite the sheer power battering across the entire city through the coppers' scrying spell. It was a stronger spell than Liza had used to test the ward's strength, but the protective magic held.

Some part of Sebastien had hoped that the transformation into her male body might mitigate the coppers' ability to find her through the sympathetic connection to her blood, but it seemed that was not the case. Siobhan's blood was still her blood, even in Sebastien's body. Which would have been interesting to know in less dire circumstances.

Panting, Sebastien rubbed the back of her neck as the stinging sensation subsided. Her head was pounding again. Not as bad as when she had first strained her Will, but bad enough that she had trouble concentrating. She wished she could neglect her classes and spend the day in bed.

Instead, she steeled herself, made sure she looked calm and alert, and hurried toward the Citadel and Professor Burberry's classroom. She arrived a few minutes late to Introduction to Modern Magics.

Professor Burberry gave her a stern glance but said nothing as Sebastien slipped into the seat beside Anastasia.

"Are you alright?" the girl murmured to her, her eyes roving over Sebastien's face with concern.

Sebastien realized sweat was beaded at her temples and quickly wiped it away. "Fine. A little nauseated. Lost track of time in the bathroom."

Ana patted her hand sympathetically and pulled a potion out of her bag. "It's for stomach cramps, but it should help slightly with nausea, too. The cafeteria food is atrocious. Really, I don't understand why we cannot simply purchase a better meal. We have the gold for it, and you would think they'd be happy to take it. I'm going to start losing weight at this rate."

Sebastien took the vial and stared at it bemusedly. 'Great. There's no reasonable way for me to decline this. I hope it doesn't have side effects on someone who's perfectly healthy.' Aloud, she said, "Can it be taken on an empty stomach?" When Ana nodded cheerfully, Sebastien suppressed her misgivings and took a swallow.

Having satisfied the other girl, Sebastien settled into her ruse, hiding her fatigue as completely as she could. Though for once, her mind wasn't on her classes. 'It was well done to request Liza's help with the ward against divination. If not for that, my time at the University would definitely be up.' She shuddered at the thought. Finding information on the coppers' scrying procedure and capability was a priority, as soon as she could slip away to do so.

'If I had known how all this would turn out, would I have stayed in bed when Oliver activated my bracelet's alarm? What would have happened to Jameson without me? He would probably still be dead.' Setting that thought forcefully aside, she consoled herself. 'It is possible that things could have gone worse if I wasn't there.' If she was honest with herself—and she tried to be—she would still go with Oliver knowing what she knew now. She would just perform better the second time around.

During the lunch period, she ate quickly, then went back to the dorms and made herself a strong cup of wakefulness brew from some tea leaves she had stashed in her trunk, as the basic meal options didn't cover such "luxuries" as caffeine.

When she arrived at Practical Casting, she was finally more awake, though her heart was beating a little too fast and her chest held a sour tightness.

Sebastien did a double take after entering the classroom. Something was off. She frowned, looking around quickly, and then realized that the classroom seemed to have shrunk. She had noted on the first day that this was the biggest class, both in room size and number of students. Though that remained the case, with hundreds of students drawn by the allure of free-casting, over the first few weeks many people had stopped coming, leaving empty desks behind. Those desks were gone now, and the back wall seemed to have contracted toward the front.

Her muscles tensed with unease, and without quite realizing it, she had taken her Conduit from her pocket. Walking around the room and examining the doorway showed tracks, and she realized with awe that the dividing walls that broke up each floor of the Citadel into classrooms could be moved, shifted forward or back to change the size of the individual rooms. Constructing a building with such capabilities, at this scale, was a feat she doubted could have been accomplished without impressive magic.

She took her seat, close to the front of the room on the side farthest from the door, and waited.

A few more students arrived after her, but no one else seemed to notice the classroom's modification. At least, if they did, they weren't particularly surprised by it, instead chattering with their fellow students or hurrying to complete homework before the class started.

Professor Lacer strode in dramatically, his trench coat flapping helplessly behind him. He was a tall man with a hawkish gaze, and he kept his dark hair pulled into a knot at the nape of his neck. The hair of his short-trimmed beard was always a little wild, as if it was afraid of him and trying to escape his face. He stopped in the middle of the lecture stage, ran his eyes over the students, and nodded to himself. "Those of you remaining are those who will not be leaving my class because of unwillingness to put in the work. You may be lacking, but at least you have shown dedication, and you should have enough experience to avoid Will-strain with some more strenuous spell-casting. Now, it is time to make you stronger." There were some murmurs of excitement, and he waved them to silence. "How does a sorcerer become stronger?"

He paused as if waiting for an answer, but continued when no one spoke. "Through adversity. You are going to learn how to fight with your Will, and once you do, you will compete to see which of you is strongest. The winner will receive fifty University contribution points. Before you lament the unfairness of competing against those with more capacity, let me add that this competition will be broken up into brackets. There will be thirty points for the winners of each of the weaker brackets, for those of you who started out with less experience but have still managed to prove your determination."

He opened a cabinet behind his desk and pulled out a box of small tea candles, which he sat on his desk. "You have been practicing a spell to introduce movement to a small metal ball. In this augmented exercise, one of you will attempt to force the ball into motion while your opponent counters you, trying to keep it still."

He placed one candle on his desk and touched the edge with the tip of his finger. The wick sprang into flame. "In the real world, when you are casting practically, you may find that you do not have a convenient beast core or bonfire readily available to cast your spell, and yet, you must still cast. If your Will is a pipe, and your goal is to channel enough water through it to wash away a hill of dirt, many people assume the best way to achieve the goal is to increase the amount of water that can be channeled through it at once. They attempt to make the pipe larger. In other words, to increase their Will's capacity. To be truly powerful, however, the pipeline of your Will must be not only wide, but robust and efficient. A smaller pipe may spew water more quickly than a larger one, if its walls are durable enough to withstand the pressure. At risk of abusing the metaphor, pouring water through the large pipe may result in a deluge that slowly erodes the hill, but the same amount of water forced at speed through a small pipe can create an impact forceful enough to scour the entire hill away, or simply pierce right through it.

"Efficiency will allow you to use minimal resources to achieve greater effects, and without wasted power spilling everywhere—everywhere except where you actually needed it to go, that is." He examined their faces, his cynical expression stating quite clearly that he doubted they understood him.

Being close to the front, Sebastien heard him mutter, "Note: prepare visual aids next year," to himself before continuing at full volume. "Most sorcerers waste much of the energy they attempt to channel. If you can be efficient, a mere three candles will be more than enough power for most spells you will be able to cast before earning your Apprenticeship."

Some of the students looked skeptical.

The edges of his mouth drew down along with his eyebrows. "For those under one hundred thaums, one candle. Two candles under two hundred thaums. Everyone above that gets three candles. The restriction on power source should force you to focus on the quality of your Will, and not only the strength of it. Make it work. Two glyphs from now on, instead of three."

He ignored the groans of the students. "The next few classes will provide time for you to practice against each other. This tournament is your mid-term examination. We'll start a little early, since it will take more than a single class period, and winners will be decided on the day of this class's mid-term. For your mid-term score, I will be grading you on all the facets of your Will, not just its capacity. The contribution points you earn can be redeemed immediately, or saved and added to your reserves. If you haven't already, I suggest you take a stroll through the various rewards available in the Great Hall."

That reminder of the prize boosted the students' excitement, and with a slight loosening of his expression, Lacer waved them all down to his desk to retrieve their candles. "Partner up and start practicing."

As soon as Sebastien made it back to her desk, a girl whose name she didn't know pushed up beside her, holding a single tea candle in one hand and a chair in the other. "May I partner with you, Sebastien?"

Slightly taken aback by the informality, as well as the fact that she didn't know the girl's name, Sebastien nevertheless waved obligingly to her desk. The other girl only had one candle, so Sebastien set two of hers to the side to level the playing field. 'How fortuitous. One standard-sized candle flame is only about eighty thaums. Hardly enough to strain me.'

With a wide grin, the pink-cheeked girl pushed the chair she had brought up to the other side of Siobhan's desk and sat down.

"Seb—" Ana called, cutting off when she saw the other girl sitting across from Sebastien already.

"Sebastien is already partnered with me," the unnamed girl said, her smile growing stiffer. She tossed a look over her shoulder to where a group of young women seemed to be paying a little too much attention to the three of them.

Ana frowned.

"I'll be your partner, Anastasia," a loud man said. Alec Gervin, with his lack of manners and self-important attitude, threw his arm around her shoulder.

Ana shook her head, "Oh, thank you, Alec, but I—"

"It's no trouble at all, cousin. Besides, you need someone who can serve as an actual challenge to you," he said loudly, throwing Sebastien a combative look that lacked any subtlety at all.

"I doubt that person is you," Sebastien muttered, but she waved her hand uncaringly when both girls looked as if they were about to argue with Alec. "Go ahead."

Once Alec had pulled Ana away, Sebastien muttered, "His ass must get jealous of all the shit that comes out of his mouth."

The girl across from her almost choked on a surprised laugh, then clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. "Oh, you are so bad, Sebastien!"

Alec, not completely oblivious, shot them a suspicious look, but Sebastien was careful to keep her expression innocent.

'At least the Westbay boy has some actual ability to back up his attitude. Gervin…well, I would be surprised if he got into the University without more than a little "help" from his Family.'

"Do you want to attempt movement, and I'll attempt to stop you?" Sebastien asked. They would both be competing for control of the same main Circle carved into her desk.

The girl agreed and drew the glyph for "movement" inside the Circle on her side, then connected it to a smaller component Circle where she drew the glyph for "fire" and placed her candle. "Oh, I wish we could still use three glyphs. Only two is going to make this so much harder, don't you think, Sebastien? My name is Cynthia, by the way. I don't know if you…" Cynthia trailed off, flushing again.

"A pleasure to meet you, Cynthia," Sebastien said distractedly. "And I don't mind the restrictions. After all, the point of this class is to teach us to cast without any spell array at all." After a few seconds to think, she drew a somewhat obscure glyph she had learned recently, "adversity." She, too, used "fire" in her component Circle, before palming her Conduit, which she noted with a hint of jealousy was of much poorer quality than Cynthia's.

She would need to be careful. Spells that directly opposed the Will of another thaumaturge put strain on the Conduit that was greater than the simple measure of how many thaums were being channeled. Meaning the Conduit was more likely to shatter unexpectedly, even at lower levels of energy. She understood the need for the efficiency Professor Lacer had lauded.

Reaching the danger level on her Conduit might come sooner rather than later, for her, especially if she was pitting her Will against a series of opponents that grew increasingly stronger. Her new main Conduit, the one she'd just bought at an exorbitant price to replace the one that shattered, was rated at only two hundred and twelve thaums. She had another one, her backup Conduit—little more than a cloudy pebble—tucked into her boot, but the capacity of the two Conduits couldn't be added together. The backup was only meant to keep her alive long enough to redirect the magical energy and safely release a spell if her new Conduit shattered. It was a pity celerium couldn't be melded together like any other sort of rock and still work as a Conduit. But there was a reason it was special—and so expensive.

Sure, she could just throw the match to avoid the risk, once things got more difficult, but she didn't want to. Professor Lacer would be watching and judging them. 'I have to prove to him that I'm worthy to stay at the University.'

So as she channeled Will and power into opposing Cynthia's desire to make the ball move around the edge of the Circle, Sebastien kept an eye on her candle out of the corner of her eye. She had considered keeping a hand cupped around it so she could gauge its heat output, and thus, how strongly she was drawing on its power. This would require putting a piece of herself within the spell Circle, though, which was dangerous. Professor Lacer would surely throw her out of his class for displaying such stupidity in front of him twice. 'I can learn from my mistakes. I can.'

So, she gauged the stability of her candle flame visually, putting mental pressure on her Will like a fist squeezing water out of a wet cloth. Tighter, more compact, more directed. Like a housewife squeezing bread dough, she forced her Will into a tighter and tighter mass, till she was gently massaging it, whispering to it and cajoling it to receive her thoughts and desires and needs.

When the spell array glowed with overspill, it wasn't because of Sebastien. After Cynthia made a few dozen stymied attempts to get the ball to move, Sebastien suggested they switch. She would move the ball while Cynthia stilled it.

Again, Cynthia was no match for her.

Sebastien abruptly and rapidly varied both the amount of power she was putting into creating movement, as well as which direction she was attempting to move the ball, jerking it around despite the pressure of the Will trying to stop her.

This time, Cynthia had used the glyph for "stillness," but didn't seem to have a firm enough grasp on the mental aspect of opposing Sebastien, and was easily overcome whenever the force on the ball was anything other than steady pressure in one direction.

The spell array glowed brighter as the other girl grew tired and frustrated, and her candle flame began to flicker and flutter. "How are you so good at this?" Cynthia whined.

Sebastien drew back some of her attention from the spell, allowing the ball to stop jerking around spasmodically. "You're pushing harder, but not exercising enough control. Look at your candle flickering. The spell array's glow is from inefficiency, too. This is what Professor Lacer was talking about. Even if your Will had a greater maximum energy capacity than mine, I might still be able to beat you if my Will was more powerful than yours in other ways. You may conceptualize it however works best for you, but without a more compressed idea of what exactly you're attempting to accomplish, you're wasting too much effort on things that do not directly oppose my Will. Here, I'll put less energy into it," she offered, giving herself the chance to take a break. "Rather than continuing to blindly push as much power into the spell as you can manage, put more effort into a clear conceptualization of what you want."

"What I…want?" The girl's attention had completely fallen away from the spell, and she was biting her lower lip as if nervous, looking back at Sebastien with big, limpid eyes.

'Has no one ever explained how spellcasting works to this girl, or is she simply stupid? Either way, I refuse to spend the rest of class explaining the basic concepts. She should not be in this class with such a marked inability to focus,' Sebastien thought with some distaste. "Yes," she said aloud. "You want to keep the ball from moving. But specifically, you must want to keep the ball from moving more than I want to move it. You must want it more clearly and purely than I want it. You want me to fail at moving it, because there is no space within the conceptualization of your Will for me to succeed. Smarter, not just harder, as they say."

Cynthia was blushing brightly. "You're so smart, Sebastien. Thank you for helping me."

Sebastien noted the bright red of the other girl's face. 'I hope she doesn't believe such an attitude is attractive. Perhaps she has enough sense to be embarrassed to be so openly incompetent that she is seen to need advice from a classmate, especially a no-name like me. But flattery from someone so mediocre is unlikely to gain my favor. If she was going to be so shy and embarrassed, why ask to partner with me? Well, perhaps she was pressured into it by some kind of dare or bullying from her friend group.' She settled back with a nod, and instead of the scathing, impatient remarks she wanted to make, said, "I'm sure you can do it, Cynthia. Just focus." Sebastien gave herself a mental pat on the back for her restraint and patience.

It took Cynthia a few more tries, but she did manage to improve. It still wasn't enough to best Sebastien.

Halfway through the class, Professor Lacer called for them to switch partners.

Ana looked to Sebastien and began to rise, but another girl from Cynthia's group of friends had lunged forward and slammed her palm on Sebastien's desk as if it was a race. The loud cracking sound echoed through the classroom, drawing attention. "Are you free?" the new girl asked with a sweet, almost shy voice that belied her earlier zeal.

"Sure…" she said warily, nodding her head in greeting. "My name is Sebastien Siverling."

"Helen Marvin," the girl replied, flipping shoulder-length hair back with a practiced head toss as she sat down. "Call me Helen."

Helen was better than Cynthia had been, and shot the other girl a smug look when Sebastien complimented her control.

'Is there some sort of feud going on between them?'

However, she was still no match for Sebastien. "I think you might win the whole tournament. Professor Lacer is probably expecting it, and is only putting on this show so that no one can accuse him of favoritism for awarding you points directly," Helen said.

Sebastien's mind blanked out for a second as she tried to figure out which part of the girl's statement was the most wrong and where to start with her rebuttal.

Helen didn't seem to notice, and continued speaking. "What will you buy, if you win?"

Still trying to figure out how to respond to Helen's previous statement, Sebastien answered this one. "Well, I haven't perused what is on offer in the Great Hall, and I'm not sure what fifty points can buy." Privately, she admitted that she would very much enjoy a more private room or some of the better meal options, which were only purchasable with contribution points.

"If you add Lacer's points to whatever you earn at the end of term exhibitions, you'd be able to afford the hairpin carved from live star-maple wood. That hairpin would be the perfect gift for…a girl you wished would take notice of you." Helen's smile wasn't over-wide, and she had looked away as she spoke, not with shyness, but as if to soften the impact of her words with nonchalance.

Still, Sebastien immediately understood her implication. She thought Sebastien was rich, and for some misguided reason also likely to gain the accolades that would get her contribution points before her fourth term. Helen wanted to attach herself to that success. Specifically, she wanted gifts like a magical hairpin from a wood known for its healing properties, likely meant to make her complexion dewy or her hair lush and shiny.

Sebastien shook her head decisively. "I'll do my best in this tournament, but Professor Lacer will give the prize to whoever deserves it most. People seem to have wildly overestimated his regard for me. Also, I don't plan to participate in the exhibitions." She paused, debating whether to make a cutting statement about her lack of romantic interest to deter the girl more directly.

"What? Why would you not enter the exhibitions? Don't you want future employers to notice you? What about the points? There are a ton of things here that you can't buy with gold." Helen's voice was loud, turning heads around them.

Sebastien straightened, tamping down her irritation. Her desire to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself wasn't something she could say aloud, or that the other girl would even understand, apparently.

Professor Lacer coughed pointedly, stopping beside their desk.

Sebastien jerked, straightening impossibly further. She hadn't noticed his approach. "Professor," she said, greeting him with a half-bow from her seat.

His glare seemed to cast a pall over their immediate surroundings. "Why have you stopped practicing in favor of inane chatter? Is it because you feel you have learned all my class has to offer, or have you simply admitted your own incompetence and decided to give up on self-improvement in favor of flirting?" His words were precise, clipped, and cutting.

"I apologize, Professor," Sebastien said. "I was negligent. We will return to practice immediately."

Helen nodded quickly, pale and seemingly unable to speak.

Lacer waited a few agonizing seconds before replying, "See that you do." He turned and walked away, his trench coat spinning out and slapping the side of Sebastien's chair as he passed.

Sebastien spent the remainder of the class in focused spellcasting. None of her fellow students even attempted to speak to her about topics other than the task at hand.

By the end of class, she felt the boost of artificial energy from the wakefulness brew and adrenaline wearing thin.

As the students filtered out, she thought she saw Professor Lacer throw her a dark look, but when she turned to meet his gaze head-on, he was facing away.

Damien Westbay swaggered up beside her as they walked down the hallway. He clicked his tongue like an old matron. "Tch, tch, Siverling. Flirting? I hope you bring more focus to the tournament, or I might end up crushing you without a fight, and that would be disappointing."

Sebastien threw him a glare, her mouth already opening to let some of the frustration and anxiety within her spill out on an appropriate target. The sight of his smug grin, less malicious than she had expected, gave her pause. 'Could he be…joking with me?' She wasn't sure of that, but the thought dispersed some of her ire. "I'm sure Professor Lacer will give you the prize you deserve. In your case, that would be…a participation trophy." She gave him a smirk of her own and turned the corner into another hallway without giving him a chance to reply.

Chapter 39 - Paper Spells

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 30, Monday 4:00 p.m.

Sebastien worried that the Morrows would rally after their failed attack and attempt to retaliate against the Verdant Stags with more violence. In fact, if the Morrows did not, it might be seen as a sign of weakness. Consequently, the Verdant Stag needed to recover and prepare faster than the Morrows could.

Even having acknowledged that, she didn't have the mental energy to start brewing healing and battle potions for the Verdant Stag right away. Besides, Katerin could brew, and they had at least one other alchemist making concoctions for them. If they needed more, Oliver should have the funds to buy anything Sebastien could make from someone else. She was not the only supplier of the alchemical concoctions that the enforcer teams needed.

Trusting someone else to be competent enough to do what needed to be done was dangerous, but she believed Oliver would do his best to make preparations even if she wasn't there. He had proven he was willing to take the weight of responsibility that many people shirked.

Gritting her teeth past the renewed headache from casting in Professor Lacer's class, she went to the library. A private table hidden in a remote alcove sat thankfully empty. The natural light from the windows didn't quite reach it, but her throbbing brain found that a boon rather than a detriment.

Sebastien pulled out some paper and her fountain pen, using cryptic notes—just in case someone were to somehow read them—to help organize her thoughts and rearrange her plans. Writing things down had often helped her settle her racing mind. 'I need to study emergency procedure and triage—to make up for the knowledge I was clearly missing during the attack. Hopefully I'll never need to use it, but…if I ever do, and I haven't tried to correct the mistakes I made with Jameson, I couldn't forgive myself.'

The University had healers' courses, but only for those above Apprentice level. They started in the fourth term, once students had a stronger foundation. It was a complicated subject that required a lot of knowledge and power. She wouldn't be able to learn everything on her own, but basics about how to triage and stabilize traumatic wounds should be accessible.

'I need a variety of spells ready to go. Having a spell array memorized isn't enough. It would be best if I had them primed to cast without the need to stop and draw the array before adding the components. Such a delay could be fatal in the wrong situation.'

With her lack of skill with artificery and her lack of funds to buy artifacts or potions, alchemy was the best way to accomplish her goal. As soon as she had the time and mental fortitude, she would go to Dryden Manor and brew a variety of the most useful potions she could think of. Starting with the blood clotter. 'That's good, but I should have other contingencies in place, too.'

The glass pane that had made her spell arrays portable was quite useful, if unwieldy and dangerous…and ultimately disastrous when she cut herself. She could see many scenarios where something like that could be invaluable. Actively cast spells weren't quite as conveniently ready-to-use as alchemical concoctions, but alchemy didn't have an equivalent recipe already developed for every spell. Pre-brewed items also couldn't have their effects changed on the fly, and the cost of component ingredients was often higher.

The glass pane would have been even better if she weren't forced to erase and redraw the Circle and Word every time she switched spells.

That's what the giant tomes of magic that some sorcerers carried around were for. Some laypeople mistook them for grimoires, whose pages held instructions and notes on the spells. Magic tomes instead held useable spell arrays. The pages and arrays were made of special materials and cost more than a normal artifact to make, but provided access to more castable spells than would fit in most artifacts, up to two or three dozen.

The military offered its soldiers a few portable arrays made of precious metals wrought into the desired shapes, but those would be even less accessible to someone like her, and certainly were not something she could lug around in an emergency.

Sebastien paused her cryptic scribbles, staring down at the cheap paper as the ink from her pen tip began to feather out and form a blot.

Even if she couldn't create a tome of magic from materials meant to handle spells, that didn't mean she couldn't set up the Circle and Word for a few useful spells ahead of time. Normal paper was a particularly poor surface for spell casting, but as long as it worked, some inefficiency could be excused. Even if the paper burnt up from the force of the magic flowing through it, it would just destroy the evidence. In fact, it would likely be a good idea to create a small spark-shooting spell array at the corner of each page, just in case she ever needed to quickly turn one or all of them to ash to keep them from being used against her.

The library, like the jail, had wards to notify them of sudden fluctuations of energy within a small area. Such fluctuations usually corresponded to magic being cast, which was prohibited due to possible damage to the books. Thus, she couldn't immediately test her theory, but that didn't stop her from bouncing up to feverishly grab research and reference texts.

She found a handful of low-powered but versatile spells that seemed like they would be useful to have on hand. Research on emergency healing measures was less successful.

Even with the help of the crystal ball search artifacts placed around the edge of the atrium, she found no information about blood transfusions except to mention that the Third Empire—also known as the Blood Empire—had performed them. Like all blood magic, they were illegal, and their use was considered high treason. Anything useful, like how to do them safely and properly, was restricted in one of the many underground archives.

Humphries' adapting solution remained the only viable alternative. The solution could be spelled directly into the veins in a blood-loss emergency. Its original purpose had been to keep creatures from the Plane of Water alive on the mundane plane, but it could also act as a filler and keep blood oxygenated. It was expensive and difficult to make, and didn't have a very long shelf-life, so it wasn't feasible for most people except dedicated healers to stock. She had heard of it, but never brewed it herself.

And…the recipe was only available on the second floor of the library. Which she did not have access to. She almost kicked the base of her crystal ball's marble stand in frustration. Despite this setback, she peered into the clear crystal and dutifully wrote down the locations of the books that contained a copy of the recipe. 'Just because I cannot go there myself doesn't mean I cannot get information from the upper floors. This is innocuous enough, not like the restricted archives. I just need to get an upper-term student to check the book out for me.'

Her research continued through dinner, which she was much too focused to pause for, until ten, when the library closed and she was unceremoniously kicked out. Instead of going to the bed, she went to the dorm bathrooms. She would have preferred an empty classroom, but the Citadel closed at this hour, too. She checked to make sure all the stalls were empty, then sat down on the tile floor in one of the shower stalls and pulled out her notes and materials.

Using a piece of thread as a makeshift compass tool to ensure her Circle was as uniform as possible, and thus increase the spell's efficiency, Sebastien carefully inscribed a rudimentary barrier array onto the paper with her fountain pen. Grubb's barrier spell had been the weakest she found in the library, and at under two hundred thaums to manifest, the only one she could hope to cast, if feebly. It only protected against physical projectiles, but she had already proven that could be critical against a certain kind of opponent.

She took the components from her school satchel and placed them atop the correct spots on the paper, lit her tiny lantern for energy, and cast the spell.

The paper caught fire along the lines of ink she had drawn, and within a few seconds was nothing but ashes and wisps of smoke. The energy she had been channeling blew the white-blonde hair away from her face and scattered the ashes around the room, but thankfully didn't manage to do any damage to her mind or her surroundings as it escaped.

She sat back, rubbing at her forehead and letting out a disappointed puff of air. Still not completely deterred, she took out another sheet and redrew the spell. This time, she focused on being as efficient as possible, casting more slowly and bearing down harder with her Will. The paper began to smolder and smoke along the ink lines, and though the entire sheet didn't catch fire this time, the spell lashed against her Will, and she had to release it as pieces of the spell array disintegrated from the rest of the paper.

'That could be quite dangerous. What if an inner Circle containing important glyphs were to burn separately from the rest of the paper and blow away in the wind, leaving me with only part of a spell? Or if the entire paper caught fire midcast, and I got Will-strain from the backlash?'

She tried using a wax crayon instead of ink, but quickly found that the wax melted into the paper and only added fuel for any opportunistic spark.

'Behold. I have created a very tiny candle.' She shook her head ruefully. 'No, ink is obviously better than wax. Perhaps the inked parts are burning because the channel through which all the energy travels is so thin? Too much heat in a small space can set almost anything alight.'

Tiptoeing into the dorms, she retrieved a small ink brush from her chest of belongings. Using that, the third attempt was a bit sloppier, but the lines were definitely wider. It helped, but again, not enough. Pieces of the spell array smoldered and burned away, even with her only holding the small shield spell active for a few seconds. That wasn't completely useless, true, but it was close to useless.

She groaned and rubbed at her aching eyes. 'Perhaps it would be best to set this idea aside until I have access to materials better suited to channeling magic. If they aren't too expensive, that is…' Her eyes opened, and she stared down at the small glass inkwell beside her. She already had a material better suited to channeling magic. Her blood.

She hesitated only briefly, considering the illegality of using blood, even one's own, to channel magic, and then cast the hesitation aside. 'No one will find out, especially if I simply mix blood in with the ink. The blood will be unrecognizable. And if I find there is somehow danger of discovery, I can simply activate the self-destruct spark spell and burn away the evidence of "blood magic."' Of course, this meant that the spell papers could never leave her person, but to fulfill their purpose of emergency preparedness, they shouldn't be out of immediate access, anyway.

The brief mental nod to legality out of the way, Sebastien quickly made a small cut in her forearm with her athame, letting her blood fill the inkwell to the top. A dab of skin-knitting salve left only a faint scar to mark the spot, which would fade soon enough. She mixed the ink and the blood thoroughly, then painted the barrier spell on yet another piece of paper.

This time, the small barrier burst to life like a bubble, shimmering faintly, and the paper endured.

Sebastien let out a small "whoop!" of excitement, then let the spell go. Touching the paper revealed the ink lines were quite warm, perhaps almost to the point of catching fire, but casting was still feasible. 'If I get my hands on some thicker paper, a little warmth won't be disastrous. Maybe a double-ply bound together with paste. It should last at least a minute or two per sheet.' Parchment, even the relatively cheaper parchment from a goat or a cow, would be extremely fire resistant, but then it wouldn't be so simple for her to destroy any evidence that could lead to suspicion. Also, she still might not be able to afford it.

Having returned the spell components to her bag and carefully tucked away the paper and inkwell, she finally made her way to bed.

Only then did she remember the actual classwork that she needed to complete for Sympathetic Science the next morning. Normally, she would have completed it as early as possible, simply to get it out of the way, but now she was forced to resort to taking out her potion of moonlight sizzle and using its light to scribble her way through the assignment.

Chapter 40 - Sleep Research

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 30, Monday 10:30 p.m.

Sebastien felt sick with fatigue by the time her head finally hit the pillow, and it wasn't much better by morning. For once, not even the promise of learning magic was enticing enough to motivate her out of bed. Only the thought of her absence being noted managed to haul her to her feet. The coppers made another attempt to scry her before she got very far, and after it had failed and the adrenaline left her system, she felt even weaker.

She dragged through her classes, having to rush to the bathroom quite suddenly when the coppers once again scried for her. At the end of the day, she went to the market to purchase better paper, as well as supplies for the most critical potions.

The owner of the small stationery shop she visited was exceedingly solicitous, and at first she felt uncomfortable with him hovering near her and asking questions, but he turned out to be quite helpful.

"If you are looking for a fire-resistant writing surface that isn't parchment, I recommend this one-quarter seaweed blend," the man said, herding her around to the other side of the shop. "Darker, rougher, and thicker than fine vellum, but strong and long-lasting for any project you would like to withstand the rigors of time."

"Is it totally flame resistant?"

He shook his head. "Unfortunately not, but it has good performance for the price. Don't be dissuaded by the appearance. Of course, if you are insistent upon a brighter, smoother sheet, we do have more flame-resistant paper made of special magical materials—the details are a trade secret—but that option is significantly pricier."

"No, no, this is fine."

"Wonderful!" The man was so excited that she wondered if he'd been struggling to offload the seaweed paper. "What size would you like? We can cut it for you here, free of charge."

Sebastien paused. The idea that she could get larger paper had never crossed her mind. She'd been stuck thinking that she would have something like a mini-tome of magic, filled with journal-sized spell arrays. But if that wasn't the case, it gave her even more options. "No need. I need a variety of sizes, so I'll be cutting it myself," she said, grinning almost as wide as the shopkeeper.

A couple of gold lighter, she made her way to Dryden Manor. Oliver himself wasn't there, but she set up the brewing station in his study anyway.

As she stirred the steaming cauldron over the small batch of grainy blood-clotting potion within, she had trouble focusing the full strength of her Will. Her eyelids would droop and her mind's grip on the magic would loosen without her even realizing it, only for her to jerk back to alertness.

The third time this happened, the magic almost slipped from her grip entirely. It frightened her enough that she stepped away from the cauldron and took a few minutes to cast some wakefulness magic on coffee pilfered from Oliver's kitchen. When she knocked back the mixture in a single swallow, coffee grounds and all, she got enough of a rush to make it through the remainder of the potion.

Oliver still hadn't returned by the time she'd brewed a small batch of blood-clotting potions. She took one for herself and left the rest for him with a scribbled note.

The servants persuaded her to stay for dinner in the kitchen, more than happy to add her to their table. As Sebastien stuffed herself to make up for all the energy she'd expended channeling magic, Sharon fussed over the circles under Sebastien's eyes and tutted about the University's poor food quality.

When Sebastien returned to the dorms that evening, she thought, 'I need to practice my new spells just like I practice the exercises for Professor Lacer's class if I want to be able to use them in a practical setting.' The acknowledgment gave her no extra energy, however, so she went to sleep instead.

The nightmares came particularly strong, seeming to defy her attempts to suppress them with magic. After she woke with a pounding heart and a scream choked off in her throat, she gave up on sleep and used the time to study the theory behind the new utility spells she would be putting on paper.

She felt no better than the day before, and after lunch her body decided it was a perfect time to catch up on all her deferred sleep, so she went back to the dorms for a short nap.

Newton noticed her struggling to get out of bed in order to make it to Defensive Magic, and stubbornly hauled her off to the infirmary. "I understand the desire to perform to the best of your abilities, but you have to recognize when you are in need of rest, Sebastien," he said. "It won't go away just because you keep pushing. The pressure only grows worse. Trust me, I know from experience." He had shadows under his own eyes, and his clothes were a little more rumpled than usual.

"I've just been having trouble sleeping," she said. "I'm fine, really."

"You'll get sick if you keep pushing beyond your limits. If you're lucky, it'll only be physical, and not cause any damage to your Will."

"I'm missing class right now," she protested. "And Fekten just gives the lectures, not any reading or homework. If I'm not there, I'll miss the entire topic for today, along with the participation points toward my grade."

"The infirmary will give you a pass," Newton replied, undeterred. He waved, ushering her in ahead of him, as if to make sure she couldn't escape behind his back.

'They cannot know I had Will-strain. They might ask questions.' But she couldn't say that aloud, couldn't explain that she didn't want to seem any different than the other students to avoid drawing suspicion to herself.

To her surprise and relief, the woman who came over to deal with them seemed completely unsurprised when Newton volunteered the symptoms he'd noticed. "You're the third one today, and that's only of the students I've dealt with personally. Sometimes I think they push you all too hard. Are you experiencing any signs of Will-strain?"

Sebastien started to shake her head, but stopped when Newton raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Well, I have had some headaches," she admitted. "But I think it's just from the lack of sleep. The dorms, you know… I'm not used to sleeping with so many people all around me."

"He wakes up and practices casting in the middle of the night," Newton corrected.

The healer and student liaison shared a knowing look. "Well, I'm going to prescribe two days of rest from any practical exercises, as well as a mild anti-anxiety potion. The potion should last you for a couple of weeks, at single-sip doses. You can take it twice a day: once in the morning before breakfast, and once before bed. Please come back for more at the end of that period, if you feel you need it."

Newton gave her a thumbs-up. "I'll make sure he does."

Sebastien rolled her eyes, but neither of the other two seemed to find her exasperation worth noting.

They made her take the first anti-anxiety potion before leaving. While Sebastien disliked the artificial sense of serenity, she had to admit that she had also lost any desire to attend Fekten's Defensive Magic class, as the idea of physical exercise sounded torturous when she could be resting in her little cubicle instead.

"I'll have one of your friends write down notes from Fekten's lecture," Newton said once he'd returned her to the dorms. "Rest easy, you won't miss anything important."

She hummed gratefully and found herself casting her dreamless sleep spell without even worrying that Newton was watching.

He drew the curtains around her bed, and she slipped into sleep while the sound of his footsteps was still fading into the distance.

She was still tired when she woke, but the nightmares wouldn't let her rest any longer. She briefly considered going back to the infirmary to see if they could do anything to make her sleep more restful, but discarded the idea. When she was a child and the dreams started, her father had taken her to more than a few healers out of desperation, but there had been nothing they could do. "Dreaming is natural," one had said, "and if the girl is having nightmares, perhaps you shouldn't tell her any scary stories before bed." Even when Ennis hinted at what she'd gone through before he came back for her, they had never been able to provide a solution. The dreamless sleep spell she had modified over the years was the only thing that seemed to actually help.

Besides, she didn't feel comfortable revealing such a weakness when she was surrounded by potential enemies. She would handle her problems herself, as she always had.

So she returned her attention to her research on sleep, going through the texts on the subject that she had borrowed from the library. 'If I'm never able to properly recover, any efforts to learn or practice other topics are useless. My Will is bound to grow brittle and snap even more quickly from desperate training without balance.' Most of the texts were useless to her, and were set aside after she skimmed through them thoroughly, but just as she was beginning to despair, she came upon a research journal written by Keeswood, a thaumaturge who had been attempting to learn what sleep actually did for the body.

Keeswood cautioned against attempts to avoid sleep altogether, citing an increased likelihood of becoming sick, decreased mental and magical functions, and, in extreme cases, hallucinations, paranoia, and even madness. Nothing she didn't already know. She was about to toss the book aside in frustration when Keeswood mentioned one particular experiment he had done on a pair of twins.

Using a spell that he explained only in the vaguest of terms, he had caused one twin to sleep in place of the other, allowing the wakeful twin to go for over ten days without sleep. Even this was not sustainable long term, because signs of fatigue still built up in the wakeful twin, while the twin who had been sleeping for the both of them fell into perpetual unconsciousness, not even waking for the eight hours per day that should have been possible.

In fear of damaging either of them, Keeswood had stopped the experiment. The wakeful twin had slept for a slightly extended period after the spell was released, but both recovered fully and returned to functioning normally after only a day.

Sebastien was captivated by the idea that someone or something else could do her sleeping for her. She quickly flipped through the rest of the research journal, but could find no more detail about the spell used to allow this. Standing, she pulled on her boots, preparing to go to the library and search for any other writings by the man, but realized with a bleary examination of her pocket watch that the library had already closed. She only then looked around and realized that most of the other students had returned to the dorms and settled down for sleep already.

With a deep sigh, she knelt over her pillow and cast the dreamless sleep spell as strongly as she could, setting her alarm for only a few hours later. 'Perhaps if I wake on my own, I can recast the spell before the nightmares have time to slip in. It might allow for more overall sleep, since I won't have to recover from them before being able to relax again.' She took another dose of the anti-anxiety potion, and was able to get almost a full night's rest by the morning.

She felt almost normal, but she didn't forget the research journal or the ideas it had sparked.

Despite Newton's good intentions, she did not give the casting pass from the infirmary to any of her teachers that day, feeling awake enough to at least complete the in-class exercises.

Professor Lacer seemed to be keeping a closer eye on her than normal, and that, too, kept her from being complacent enough to droop off. If she did, it would be the end of her, just like that boy who had supposedly been turned into a sheep and then expelled.

She stopped by the library once again after class and looked up every other text the author of the sleep-surrogate experiment had contributed to. Most of them were held in one of the restricted sections in the underground archives. She sought out one of the library student aides and enquired about accessing it. Without the contribution points to afford a pass to that section, and lacking the rapport with any of the professors that might get them to sign a special exception slip for her, in the end, Sebastien had been forced to flirt brazenly with the student aide to get a pass. She was desperate.

The young woman, who sported a tail marking her as one of the non-human students, could barely look Sebastien in the eye past her blush. She stammered that it would take at least a day to get a new pass created, and Sebastien promised to return when it was ready.

When Sebastien found her legs bouncing irritably as she tried to write a homework essay, she went to the simulation room in the big building out on the Flats, where students were permitted to practice spells and dueling for Defense class.

One of the utility spells she had researched for casting through paper was a fabric cutting spell that sent a single slicing line outward in an arc, the shape of which could be controlled to some degree by the caster's Will. Unlike many similar spells, it didn't require the target to be within the Circle, as it used compressed air as the cutting edge.

And of course, she could use it to do more than cut fabric.

It wasn't meant to work against humans, or any living thing. However, with extensive practice, and if she could channel enough power into it, it could still overcome the inherent barrier against invasive magics that most creatures maintained unconsciously, through molding the air rather than trying to attack directly with magical energy. It was meant as a close-range spell, and at longer distances the cutting edge would degrade severely, but it was one of the few potentially useful battle spells that someone of her level could cast.

She set to practicing it using one of the waist-high, slate-topped columns the simulation room had helpfully raised from the floor to use as a drawing surface, aiming at a dummy only a few feet away. Keeping the air compressed for long enough that the slicing edge could travel farther was still well beyond her. She experimented with varying the size of the slice, as well as how quickly she cast.

While she was practicing, she noticed Westbay enter the room and move past her to one of the more advanced stations. He proceeded to use a battle wand in a mock duel with a dummy, which moved back and forth and sent harmless bolts of light shooting at him. He was actually quite skilled, both in his footwork and ability to dodge, and his aim. If he had been one of the coppers chasing after her, she likely would have been hit with a stunning spell and captured.

She was still methodically sending arcs of slicing air toward her stationary dummy when he finished and walked her way again.

Westbay stopped beside her, mopping at sweaty hair with a fluffy towel while he watched her cast.

She did her best to ignore him, powering up another slice, this one with a wider arc.

"A slicing spell? Are you planning to murder someone? My Family's coppers will catch you, you know," he muttered.

Sebastien spun on him before even fully registering what he said, a hot rush of fear and anger rising up from her belly as if it had been waiting there to be triggered. She opened her mouth to let it out in the form of words, and only when the spell had already been released—the edge of the slicing arc heading directly for the left side of Westbay's chest—did she realize her mistake.

She tried to call it back, to direct the spell away, but it was too late. The edge, visible as a faintly glowing shimmer in the air, cut into him, slicing through his shirt and the skin below even as his eyes widened in belated surprise.

A red line of blood welled up, a crimson stain blooming on the crisp white fabric of Westbay's shirt.

Sebastien's face paled. 'What have I done? I'll be expelled.'

Chapter 41 - Friendships Forged by Accident

Damien

Month 12, Day 2, Wednesday 5:30 p.m.

Damien looked down to the quickly reddening slice in his shirt. Sebastien Siverling's spell had cut across the left half of his chest and his arm. For a moment, he wondered if he was going to die, carved right through but taking a moment to notice he was mortally wounded, like he'd read in one particularly violent detective story.

But, no, he judged with relief. The blood wasn't shooting out in huge arterial sprays. As the pain began to register, he felt his cheeks flush with shame. If Titus knew how careless he had been, needling a sorcerer while they practiced battle spells, Damien would be in for a tongue lashing at the very least. Even little children should know better. Honestly, he didn't even know why he'd done it.

He might not enjoy admitting it, but there was a reason Professor Lacer had taken Siverling as his apprentice. Siverling was obviously talented with magic, but also had a tongue sharp enough to match the professor's, and an air of sophistication that even Damien couldn't match, no matter how carefully he starched his collar or styled his hair. Siverling seemed not to even notice the rest of them unless interrupted from his constant study, and then the air of superiority—only partially covered by a facade of courtesy—was obvious to Damien at least, if not to all of their other classmates.

It was only when provoked that Siverling's true temperament slipped through, and Damien could admit that he found it somewhat enjoyable to bicker with the other young man. It had become a habit over the last few weeks, even as Damien began to understand Professor Lacer's choice. And, reluctantly, to admit that it had not been in error.

Siverling's face had gone pale enough to match his hair, those dark eyes standing out starkly against his skin. His angry expression slid away in favor of unadulterated horror.

Damien swallowed and raised his right arm, the uninjured one, to push his hair back from his face. Should he apologize? Probably, but it seemed strange to do so when he had been injured at Siverling's hand.

The other young man's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding the words like a pepper mill as he said, "Lie down on the ground and take off your shirt." Then Siverling was turning and running for the changing rooms.

Damien stared after his escaping form, blinking. "What?" Was Siverling seriously leaving him there to go get dressed? No, he'd already been wearing his normal clothes, so that couldn't be it. Damien looked to the dirty floor, the white dust of the Flats and whatever other filth people had stepped in tracked everywhere. "Lie down on that?" He would have to change his clothes afterward. His eyes were drawn to the crimson soaking his shirt, all the way down to the waist now. "I suppose it is already quite ruined," he muttered. Along with his sweat and the blood, a little dirt wouldn't make much difference.

He swayed on his feet.

Siverling, returned already without Damien noticing, grabbed him by the shoulders with a grim expression and pushed him down to the floor.

Damien realized Siverling's instruction had been meant to keep him from fainting due to shock or blood loss. "I should be fine if I get to the healers soon enough," he said. "There's an alarm ward trigger on the back wall, remember?" It would alert them to an emergency and summon someone skilled enough to keep students alive in even the most grievous states. Except, if the healers were called, they would notify his family.

"If my father finds out…" he muttered quietly. Realizing he had spoken aloud, he let the statement trail off. Even the thought was frightening.

Siverling must have caught the fear on Damien's face, because after a short hesitation, he said, "There's no need for a healer." He dug into the satchel he had grabbed from the changing rooms with practiced hands. "It's just a scratch, and we will have it healed in no time."

Damien stared incredulously at the other young man. "Just a scratch?" The pain was making itself known now, and the blood had finished with his shirt and was beginning to soak his trousers. He kept his eyes on Siverling's face so that he wouldn't focus on the blood. He had been injured a few times sparring with his brother or his dueling tutor, but the sight of blood still made him lightheaded. "Do you have a healing artifact in there?" he questioned. In a low murmur, more to reassure himself than anything, he added, "If there are no healers involved, my father need not know…"

The young man nodded tightly as he pulled out a couple of potion vials and the supplies to draw a spell array.

Damien frowned, shaking his head woozily. "That's not a healing artifact."

Siverling reached forward and tore Damien's shirt, widening the slices the spell had made to better expose the wounds.

"You are so forward." The words had slipped out before Damien realized what his stupid brain was thinking, and he would have been embarrassed, but he imagined almost anything he said could be excused by the circumstances.

"Lie back," the other boy ordered, accompanying the words with a firm push on Damien's good shoulder.

Damien complied.

"The wound isn't that deep. I'm not sure we need a blood clotter, but it's better to be safe. I don't want you bleeding out before I can handle this," Siverling muttered. He uncorked the potions, dribbling the first, and then the second across the cut from right to left.

The first was a wound cleanser, Damien thought. There was just enough in the bottles to generously cover the entire wound, and Damien winced at the burning as the wound cleanser killed any infectious agents. The blood clotter did its job immediately after. The bleeding stopped, but the slice was far from healed.

Siverling eyed it critically. "I don't think my skin-knitting salve is going to be able to deal with that."

Damien groaned, reaching up to touch it, but his hand was rudely slapped away by Siverling.

"Keep your filthy fingers at your sides," the young man snapped, picking up the spell supplies. "And stay still while I work." He leaned over Damien, drawing a large Circle on the ground around his entire torso, and then a mirrored pair over Damien's chest and arms. Siverling hesitated for a few moments when drawing the glyphs, glancing at the blood now forming a puddle on the floor.

Finally, he drew back and reached in one of his vest pockets for something he didn't find. He looked around and snatched up a small, contaminated Conduit that he had apparently dropped when he hit Damien with the cutting spell. He clenched it in his fists, glared down at Damien's wound, and took a deep breath.

Damien felt the weight in the air as Siverling gathered his Will. "Wait, wait!" he said.

Siverling met his wide-eyed gaze, raising his eyebrows impatiently. "What?"

Was he seriously about to attempt a healing spell? "You didn't even place any components in the Circle, and that Conduit wouldn't be fit for a goblin. It's going to backfire and injure both of us."

Siverling's scowl returned full force. "Shut up and stay still."

"If you could heal something like this with nothing from the Plane of Radiance and with that Conduit, I would acknowledge you as the second incarnation of Myrddin—"

Before Damien could protest any more, the other boy began to cast.

Damien didn't move, though he wasn't sure if it was for fear of distracting Siverling and causing the disaster he feared, or if it was because some small part of him was watching with anticipation and a growing sense of awe.

That second, smaller part of him was fully rewarded as the cut across his chest began to tighten and heal, as if time was being wound back, so slowly it was almost possible to miss it.

Siverling's brow beaded with sweat and his fist clenched so hard around the Conduit that his knuckles turned white. It took a lot longer than a certified healer would have managed, and there was a certain hair-raising discomfort that Damien had to steel himself against as his flesh moved. When Siverling finally finished, he released the spell with an almost tangible burst of freed power and sagged forward, breathing raggedly. He used some skin-knitter to seal the patch job.

Gingerly, Damien sat up and touched his chest. The slice was more than half-healed, red and aching, but not bleeding any more. After the skin-knitter finished, there would be a scar, so the spell hadn't been perfect, but it was still astounding. He turned to look at the spell array on the ground, his eyes marveling at the minimalist construction. There were no components except a little oil lamp to provide energy, and no instructions besides glyphs for mirroring, flesh, and healing. His heart was pounding when he turned back to Siverling.

He watched as the young man recovered from the overexertion. It had been snark when he said he would acknowledge Siverling as the second incarnation of Myrddin. But this…

Sebastien Siverling could end up the most powerful sorcerer of their generation.

At the realization, Damien let out a slow breath. How had he not heard of the Siverling family before? Were they simply that far from Lenore? Or perhaps fallen into such ruin that their name was no longer mentioned among the influential. It might explain why, despite Siverling's mannerisms and attire, he used such a cheap Conduit. Perhaps his family had spent all they could to ensure he would fit in amongst his peers at the University, and hoped that he could make it through the first few terms without bringing attention to the Conduit. Obviously, a better one would be needed soon if he didn't want to risk it shattering.

Siverling raised himself back up, his spine straight and his chin raised. "It's healed," he said. "There's no need to sound the alarm, or to contact your family. We may both continue on and forget this incident." He stared into Damien's face as if searching for something, then grimaced slightly. "Of course, I'm willing to provide a small favor as well, if you wish. I did ruin your clothing, after all."

It was only then that Damien realized Siverling had thought Damien was threatening him when he mentioned his father's wrath. He opened his mouth to explain and reassure the other boy, then closed it abruptly.

"A favor," Damien agreed. "And a ceasefire between us. I apologize for my previous actions, and I hope that we can be civil toward each other going forward." He hadn't been raised a simpleton, and even if he was still feeling a little lightheaded, he wasn't stupid. Alliances formed now would influence the future, as would enemies. Plus, he found himself undeniably curious about the other young man.

Siverling's eyes widened at the offer of reconciliation, then narrowed, but eventually he nodded. "Agreed."

"Lend me your jacket," Damien said. "Unless," he added, seeing Siverling's raised eyebrow, "you wish everyone to see the state of my attire and ask questions."

With a huff, Siverling gave him the jacket. After clearing the spell array and remains of blood from the ground, they left the simulation room together, heading back toward the dorms.

"Why aren't you participating in the exhibitions?" Damien asked.

Siverling shot him another inscrutable look before replying. "I have no need for points, and would rather spend my time learning something useful than preparing some spectacle purely to impress the judges and audience."

"You wouldn't need to do much extra preparation, I think. You could simply show them your skill at purely Will-based healing spells and gain full points. Healers command a sizable income, you know. Especially ones as talented as yourself. You might even be able to earn a little money while continuing on past the third term."

Siverling's face grew stony, and he stared straight ahead for long enough that Damien wondered if he had said something wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the bit about earning money. If Siverling's family wasn't impoverished, it would be gauche. If they were, maybe he was sensitive about it.

"I have no desire to ingratiate myself to those who would hold themselves above me while weighing my worth—as if I were a fat hog—nor do I feel the desire to peacock around for insignificant points and empty praise. I will not participate," Siverling said, his lip curled in a scornful sneer.

Yes, Damien had definitely offended him. "Well, to each their own. Personally, I would enjoy moving up from the dorms. Being stuffed in with the rabble makes it so difficult to properly relax, and I know someone stole my spare pair of boots." He scowled for a moment, thinking of what he would do to that person should he ever find them. "But there are other ways to gain points, such as the tournament in Practical Casting. If you would like to gain extra practice with competent opponents before then, you might join our study group again."

"Maybe."

Well, at least it wasn't outright refusal. With persistence and cunning, he could get Siverling's amity. Damien could be likable when he wanted to be. Even to people as insufferably rude as Sebastien Siverling. Perhaps a more direct overture of friendship was required. "You were practicing a battle spell, though I'm not sure I've seen that particular one before. If you have interest in dueling, both Rhett and I have some skill. His interest leans more toward competition, but I've received some of the same training our coppers get. I could pass along some useful tips, or help you hone your aim and footwork."

That seemed to catch Siverling's interest. "Right, your family is in charge of the coppers. Have there been any updates on that case you were talking about before?"

Damien suppressed a small smile. Perhaps it wasn't the dueling Siverling was interested in, but the detective work, like Damien. Well, that made sense, as the job was both worthwhile and fascinating.

"Yes, in fact. She made an appearance in a fight between two local gangs, though the circumstances behind the whole altercation are somewhat muddy. She injured several members of one group, but they were able to retreat when things became dire. Now, one would assume this meant she was allied with the second group in some way, but when the coppers arrived, they found her performing some sort of sacrificial blood ritual on one of them."

He grinned as Siverling's eyes widened, satisfied with the other young man's rapt attention. Perhaps he could share some of his old detective periodicals with Siverling. He would be bound to enjoy them. Then, at least, Damien would have one friend with whom he could talk about the latest fictional exploits of Aberford Thorndyke, consulting detective.

"Do they have any leads on her?"

He nodded. "Oh, yes. Well, she fought back against the coppers when they arrived, leaving her victim to his fate, but though we almost caught her, she managed to escape. However, one of the coppers managed to injure her, and she left a little of her own blood behind on the scenes. They have it and are scrying for her now. Of course, she's quite a powerful sorcerer, so she's managed to hold off the attempts so far. A couple of witnesses even say she was managing to cast spells using the air as the surface for her spell array, though I'm a bit skeptical about the veracity of those claims. We are quite confident she's still within the city, and they'll be bringing in some stronger scryers soon, I'm sure. I know my brother has access to a prognos or two, so I imagine it is only a matter of time before she's caught."

Siverling was still enraptured, so Damien went into detail, relating what he knew from the reports he'd managed to wheedle out of his brother, along with his own speculation. He continued until Siverling rubbed his forehead, wincing as if he had a headache.

Damien's eyes narrowed, and, as he paid closer attention, he noticed the trembling in Siverling's fingers. "You didn't strain your Will healing me, did you?"

"No," Siverling replied in a clipped tone.

Damien eyed him dubiously. He didn't need to be Aberford Thorndyke to make such an obvious deduction. "It's no use pretending you didn't, if you did. My brother always says, 'If you've strained your Will, it's a sign you chose the wrong strategy at least two moves ago. Do not just continue on bullheadedly, as that will lead to even more catastrophic failure.'" Damien felt even worse about the whole thing now.

"First, there was nothing to heal, because nothing happened, remember?" Siverling said pointedly.

Damien nodded slowly, pursing his lips.

"So there's no reason to go to the infirmary just for them to ask a lot of questions and prescribe a couple days of rest. Secondly, even if I had healed you, I wouldn't have hit Will-strain just from that."

Siverling glared at Damien until he nodded again, though he didn't believe Siverling's assurances at all. Obviously, he'd strained his Will from that ridiculous display of skill, but he didn't want anyone to know. "Well…you should take a break from casting spells for a completely unrelated reason, then." He gave Siverling a pointed look of his own.

When they got back to the dorms, Damien changed into a fresh outfit—one not covered in blood—but found Siverling gone when he emerged from the bathrooms. "Oh, well," he said, tossing his clothes into the fireplace, both to destroy the blood and to keep the events of that afternoon secret. All in all, it had been an exciting and fruitful day.

Almost an adventure, really.

Chapter 42 - The Mysteries of Sleep

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 2, Wednesday 6:00 p.m.

Sebastien had, in fact, strained her Will again healing that idiotic boy. It wasn't so much the spell itself as it was trying to keep the Word almost entirely in her head while casting it. She wanted to leave no evidence of the Sacrifice for that particular spell. This way, even Westbay couldn't truthfully say that he'd seen her use blood magic.

She had panicked when she realized what she'd done. Harming another student with careless magic use was a big deal. 'Harming one of the Thirteen Crown Families, and a high-ranking member at that? One I'm known to dislike? Even if the University believed it was an accident, the slightest push from one of the Westbays would have a commoner like Sebastien Siverling expelled.' It wouldn't even have to be Damien Westbay himself who complained. If any member of his Family wanted the University to take greater responsibility for his safety, she would be the perfect scapegoat. Even Professor Lacer might not be on her side.

So she'd acted as quickly as possible to cover up the evidence, removing any need for him to report the incident. She owed him a favor now, but that was a trifle. After all, she'd been willing to owe far worse favors to borrow tuition money.

Sebastien begged some headache salve from Ana, since she'd used all of hers as fuel for the fire a few nights before, when her warding medallion had been the only thing that kept the coppers from scrying her and Oliver.

With the throbbing in her brain partially suppressed, she escaped to a dark, secluded corner of the library to do her homework. Very inefficiently.

Professor Lacer's exercises had fallen to the wayside for the last few days. 'I'm in no shape to do them now. I hope I don't fall too far behind before I'm recovered again.'

That night, she took another dose of the anti-anxiety potion, but hesitated before trying to cast her dreamless sleep spell. She considered instead casting a very slow, careful, timed alarm spell on her pocket watch to wake her before she could slip too deeply into dreams, but reluctantly discarded the idea. Pushing too hard with Will-strain could make it worse, or even cause permanent damage. She had to rest as much as possible. 'All the more reason I need access to the remainder of Keeswood's research on the experiment that allowed one twin to bear the sleep of the other.'

Two more doses of anti-anxiety potion when she woke in the middle of the night got her through to the morning. As she dragged herself off to the bathrooms for her morning ablutions, she lamented the life choices that had led her to this moment.

Without the esoteric pain-muffling spell to get her through the workout, Defensive Magic was even more grueling. When she accidentally tripped another student and caused a near-pileup while they drilled evasive maneuvers, Fekten snapped at her. "Are you a new-born puppy dog!? Out there in the real world, carelessness like that will get people killed. Keep your head in the game and your limbs to yourself!"

After classes, she scrambled to the library, where the blushing, stammering student aide gave her a pass to the restricted section where the majority of the sleep researcher's experiment journals were held.

'Information should be available to everyone in the first place,' Sebastien thought with irritation. Even once she had proven herself worthy of the University, she still had to fight for knowledge. They didn't want people who would only be there to reach Apprentice certifications learning anything truly useful or dangerous. Those who stayed longer would have the chance to earn the contribution points needed to get into whatever sections of the library they desired.

The door to the restricted archives was thick metal, spelled with what she thought was the same ward on the gate to the Menagerie. The new wooden token that allowed her into a specific archive shivered as she passed through the doorway. A short staircase led down to hallways carved from the natural white stone of the white cliffs that the University had been built into and atop. The hallways were narrow, the ceilings low, and the air smelled of ancient dust with a faint hint of paper and glue. 'The smell of undisturbed books.'

The student aide was needed elsewhere, so she gave Sebastien quick instructions to the single archive she could access, warning her not to get lost. "It's said you can still hear the screams and shuffling footsteps of those who wandered until they starved to death, if you listen," the girl murmured, her tail swishing with agitation. "It used to be a network of caves, and the only navigation aid is the archive code above each door. It's easy to get turned around down here."

"I'll be careful," Sebastien assured the student aide with a smile, repressing her impatience.

The girl blushed, said, "Good luck with your research project," and hurried away, pausing only to remind Sebastien not to mention the pass to anyone who might get her in trouble.

Sebastien found her way easily enough, ignoring the other metal doors along the tunnel despite her curiosity. She didn't want to set off any alarms by trying to get past a ward without the proper key. Finally, she pushed open the door to a dim room only a few meters on either side. It was quite different from the high ceilings and warm, bright light of the main library floors above. The air was still, the only movement in the room from her own entrance, but it smelled fresh, and there was no dust or spiderwebs on the rough ceiling or in the corners of the room.

She pulled every book with Keeswood's name on it off the shelves. Her fingertips burned with excitement as she scanned the pages. It was hard to concentrate on the words, but she was determined.

Two hours later, after flipping through the whole stack, she tossed the last journal onto the table and sat back with a scowl.

The series of handwritten journals had whole volumes missing, and sections of pages had been cut away in those that remained. 'Well, at least I know why they were restricted.' It had never been explicitly stated in the pieces of his journals that remained, but Sebastien gathered he'd been involved in some blood magic. She hadn't found a detailed explanation for the spell he'd used to join the sleep requirements of the two twins with no serious side effects, but he'd recorded other spells of a similar nature, and she was able to piece together an idea of how it had worked. Perhaps the details had been in one of the missing sections.

'If I want to use it, I will have to redevelop it myself.'

Leaving the library, she stopped by the infirmary again. She looked around cautiously to make sure the healer she'd talked with before wasn't on duty, then inquired about some headache-relieving salve. She didn't want to have to keep borrowing from Ana, and she wouldn't have time to make her own until the weekend. Plus, she was paying for the infirmary as part of her tuition anyway, so she might as well try and recoup some of her gold's worth.

When she finally got back to the dorms, she found a stack of book-bound periodicals on her desk. She eyed them suspiciously. 'Are they trapped?' They looked innocent, and nothing happened when she nudged the pile. They were fiction, touting the latest adventures of someone called "Aberford Thorndyke, consulting detective." 'Or did someone put them there so they can pretend I stole them and get me into trouble? But why would they put them in plain sight? At the very least, you'd think they'd slip them under the bed…'

She looked up and saw Westbay looking at her from over his dividing wall. He sent her a wink and a thumbs-up.

Bemusedly, she realized he'd left them for her. 'Could it be, because of my questions about the case, he thinks I have an interest in detective stories?' The friendly gesture was still surprising, and left her a little off-kilter, unsure if she should be suspicious of some deeper layer of motivation or simply amused at his obliviousness. Perhaps a little blood, a secret, and a favor owed him was all it took to befriend Westbay. 'Without a blood print vow to guarantee that favor I promised, I barely feel any pressure. Once enough time passes, even if he wants to get me in trouble for hurting him, the scar will have faded, and anyone he tries to tell will be suspicious about why he didn't report it when it happened. He's a little too naive.'

After riffling through the pages of the detective stories to make sure nothing was hidden between them, she decided to humor Westbay by reading one, as each was short enough to be finished rather quickly. Her concentration was still a little too shot for schoolwork or further research, anyway.

To her surprise, she found she enjoyed the story. The plot was a little unbelievable, but it was fun to follow along as the fictional Thorndyke used his superior intelligence and observational skills to assist the coppers in solving baffling crimes, and she enjoyed the dynamic between him and his Everyman assistant, Milton.

Her pass to the restricted archive didn't allow her to check books out or even remove them from that room, so she had to return to the archive to continue her research. Over the next couple of days, she pieced together a better understanding of the author's work, taking pages of notes and checking out a few dense reference texts referred to in passing within the journals. The ones she had access to, anyway.

She wanted to pull her pale blonde hair out by the roots.

Apparently, she needed a deeper understanding of the workings of the brain and the immune system. Looking at the references meant for upper-term healing students, with tight-packed text and illustrations she barely understood, she drooped. 'No truly valuable accomplishment is easy, I know. But still…this had better turn out extremely useful,' she grumbled mentally. Truthfully, though, she would be happy with almost any small measure of improvement.

In Practical Casting, Sebastien took the initiative to approach a young woman who she vaguely remembered was a commoner without much prior experience with magic, one term above her. "Would you like to partner with me today?" she asked.

The woman's eyes went wide, then darted around quickly, as if to make sure Sebastien was really talking to her. "Umm, I won't be very good practice for you. My Will's maximum capacity is only at a hundred thaums on the Henrik-Thompson scale?" she said, biting her lip.

"I don't mind," Sebastien assured her, sitting down on the other side of her desk without further preamble. "I'll work on improving my efficiency, and you can work on improving your capacity. Using just a single flame will be a good challenge for me." She placed a single tea candle in her Sacrifice Circle.

The woman looked around again, uncomfortably meeting the curious gaze of some of the other students, but silently nodded.

Sebastien's little plan worked well, as her opponent's enduring capacity was a respectable two-thirds of her maximum, meaning Sebastien only needed to channel about seventy thaums to keep up. Even this was enough to give her a migraine, though, and she slipped away to the bathroom to reapply headache salve. "I'm getting very tired of this," she muttered, staring at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror above the sink.

When she returned to the class, the students were rearranging themselves, and she realized with dismay that Lacer had instructed them to switch partners.

As she was looking around for a suitable partner, Anastasia Gervin caught sight of her and began to maneuver her way.

Sebastien pretended not to see her. She liked the other girl well enough, but Ana wasn't a suitable partner to slack off against.

Just as Ana was about to reach her side, and Sebastien had almost resolved to just grab the closest random student, Westbay hurried up from behind Ana, clapping Sebastien on the shoulder.

"Partners, Siverling?" he asked.

Ana stopped abruptly, looking at Westbay with wide eyes that narrowed suspiciously. "Really, Damien? Can't this rivalry wait until the actual tournament?"

Sebastien almost rolled her eyes, turning to Ana. "Westbay has convinced his friends of his illusion that the two of us are rivals, too?" she asked.

Westbay shooed away her words, smiling a little too casually to seem normal. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ana. I lent Siverling some Aberford Thorndyke stories. He likes detectives, too, did you know? He always runs off to the library right after class, so this is our best chance to discuss them." He didn't allow Ana to respond, his grip on Sebastien's arm steering them back to Westbay's desk. "So what did you think of the twist at the end, with the serial disappearances?" he asked loudly.

"It was a tad obvious," Sebastien said truthfully, wondering what Westbay was doing but deciding to play along.

"Obvious?" Westbay's head snapped around to Sebastien, and he scowled. "How could you possibly have seen—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together with a sharp shake of his head. "Never mind. That's not relevant right now." He lowered his voice, leaning closer over the table. "Do you have a headache?"

Sebastien shrugged, drawing the numerological symbols into the carved Circle between them. A triangle, for the simple transmutation of heat to movement, and then a pentagram within that, because she thought it might help with actualizing the idea of opposition.

"I know you do. I noticed you go to the bathroom, and I can smell the mint of a headache salve."

Sebastien set the chalk down, staring expressionlessly at Westbay.

The young man continued, undeterred. "You chose to partner with Jones because she doesn't pose a challenge, and you still had to use headache salve. You shouldn't be here. You definitely shouldn't be here and casting magic. Did you think everything would be better after just a day? I know you're some prodigy who might not ever have experienced Will-strain before, but it takes two to three days of complete rest to safely recover. We covered this on the first day of classes. I know you were there."

"I'm fine," she insisted, lighting their candles and putting the iron ball on the edge of the Circle. "Hurry up and pay attention. Casting against each other using the same array is dangerous, and I would prefer not to be subjected to the effects of your inability to focus."

"Professor Lacer may be strict, but he isn't unreasonable. He's a bit snappish toward the students to keep us from messing around, but I know him outside the University a little, and I can assure you that he'd never force you to keep casting with Will-strain."

She pushed energy into the spell and sent the ball rolling uncontested. "You want to renege on our deal?"

"What? No." He lowered his voice further. "Is this about…my father?" He continued quickly, "I'm not suggesting we tell everyone what really happened. We can make something up."

"Professor Lacer will want to know what happened. You want to try and lie to him about it?" Thaddeus Lacer was one of the more common topics of student gossip. She'd overheard someone say that he had a powerful divination for untruths running all the time, and could know as soon as you said it whether you really did the homework. She didn't know if it was true, but if anyone had both the ability and the inclination to do such a thing, it was Thaddeus Lacer. He had little patience for fools and those who stood in his way. "I have absolutely no intention of taking such a risk."

"Well, okay, that's probably not a good idea. You could…tell the truth?" Westbay seemed to know it was a bad idea even as he said it, judging by the cringe on his face, but he bulled on regardless. "He might be angry, but—"

Sebastien cut him off. "Of course he would be angry. What I did—" She clenched her jaw. "If you heard the same story from someone else, what would your reaction be?" In the very best case scenario, Professor Lacer would simply be disappointed in her, and maybe he wouldn't let her stay for the next term. In the worst case scenario, he would be enraged by her second overt display of stupidity, injuring someone Lacer was presumably closer to than he was to her—she had heard him call Westbay by his first name, after all—and he would throw her out immediately. The University took it seriously when their students were endangered. Surely even more so, for the nobles.

She'd be that student people gossiped about with some ridiculous story, in which Professor Lacer turned her into a fish and hurled her over the east edge of the white cliffs—right into the Charybdis Gulf. She couldn't tell the truth, and she couldn't risk lying to him, either. Just the thought of approaching the topic with Professor Lacer had her heart pounding faster in her chest. She was afraid. Her headache grew worse at the increase in her blood pressure.

Westbay smoothed his hair back, making sure every strand of its waxed-perfect sloping style was in place. "Well. I know what my father would say. To be honest, I don't want him to hear about this any more than you want Professor Lacer to know. He'd be…disappointed."

"Yes, well, if Professor Lacer gets 'disappointed' in me, that's the end of my stay here at the University," she said, grinding her teeth.

"Right, because you're his app—"

She kept talking, uncaring of whatever weak argument he was trying to make. "So I will say nothing. You will pay attention and play along. Stop blabbering and start casting, Westbay."

Westbay glared, but, after a few tense seconds, he picked up his Conduit and turned his attention to the ball, opposing its slow rolling. He didn't put much effort into it, though from the disgruntled look on his face it seemed like he was struggling and failing. "At least you remember my name now," he muttered.

They kept the ball rolling slowly for a while, neither pushing very hard but outwardly keeping their focus for the benefit of anyone watching. Sebastien felt a tug of gratitude toward Westbay, and suppressed a grimace. 'If not for him, I wouldn't be in this position in the first place. Don't go soft just because he's being friendly now,' she told herself. 'He is still an unbearable ass deep down. People don't actually change.'

They continued on like that until Professor Lacer, who had been strolling along the rows of desks, occasionally stopping to give praise or a sharp rebuke, stopped beside their desk.

She couldn't help but tense up as he loomed over them, his presence bigger than his body could ever be. She kept her eye on the rolling ball.

Westbay seemed to feel the same, but he flicked a quick glance between the professor and Sebastien, and his candle flames flickered as his concentration wavered.

Sebastien tried to stay in sync with him, to keep the ball moving steadily, but she didn't quite manage it, and it sped up sharply for a moment.

She felt her back tensing straighter, and slowly pushed a little more power into the spell.

Westbay frowned slightly, as if he was struggling to keep the ball from moving.

"Stop," Lacer said, his voice cutting through the class despite its low volume.

Sebastien's heart clenched sickeningly. She released the magic, and the ball rolled to a stop, the sound of it louder than it should have been against the backdrop of the rest of the classroom. People were abandoning their own practice to look at the three of them.

Lacer waited, allowing the silence to become unbearable.

Westbay started to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

She stared at him, urging him mentally not to do anything stupid.

Finally, Professor Lacer spoke, his words carefully enunciated, precise, and somehow all the more menacing for it. "Were either of you, perhaps, under the impression that I am a blind half-wit?"

Westbay paled.

Sebastien swallowed. "No, Professor."

Westbay echoed her.

"In that case, do you think this kind of effort," he nodded his head to the table in between them, "is acceptable?"

Westbay looked at Professor Lacer, then back to Sebastien, wide-eyed. He tilted his head to the side, just slightly, a query.

Sebastien glared back at the boy, stony-faced. Poor performance on a single exercise in class was nothing compared to carelessly injuring a fellow student and then causing herself Will-strain while using blood magic to heal him.

That thought sent a cold centipede of horror crawling down her spine. If she hadn't healed Westbay, there might have been some chance to come clean. But if there was any chance at all that she would be accused of blood magic, it would be better for her to cut out her own tongue. Literally. Blood magic was high treason. She would be killed. "No, professor." Her throat was dry, and she swallowed convulsively.

"Try again," he ordered, his voice hard despite its low volume. He held his hand out to stop them when they turned their attention back to the spell. "This time, Westbay will attempt to move the ball clockwise and Siverling counterclockwise. Perhaps a more direct competition will stir your spirits."

Westbay quickly rubbed out and replaced his two glyphs, and they complied.

The ball moved counterclockwise in small starts as Sebastien poured on more and more power, her grip on the magic like a vise, and Westbay countered her.

They steadied out at a consistent rotation in her favor.

"Is that all you have? Push harder!" Lacer ordered.

Westbay looked at her uncertainly, but she was already complying, the ball spinning faster till it began to blur.

It slowed again as Westbay pushed against her Will. His candles flickered under the drain, and she realized suddenly how Professor Lacer had known they weren't truly trying. Their candles weren't showing any signs of true strain—no flickering, loss of heat, or dimming—when Westbay's Will was likely approaching two hundred thaums and she had already exceeded that amount. If she pushed to the normal limits of her ability, she could likely suck two candles completely cold.

She pushed harder, till her own two little flames looked like washed-out ghosts of themselves. The pain was like an ice pick through her brain, and her lashes fluttered as she realized she was losing sight in one of her eyes. Sun-spots bloomed over her vision.

She swallowed down nausea, and slowly, carefully released the magic. The ball decelerated, and then reversed direction entirely. She sat even straighter, her chin high and her gaze focused vaguely straight ahead. She could have pushed through the pain, but it wasn't worth it. Severe Will-strain could cause permanent damage. 'My ability to cast magic is more important than even the University. I won't jeopardize that.' Additionally, her Conduit was only rated to two hundred thaums, and opposing another's magic put more stress on them. If she kept pushing, she risked her Conduit shattering. She had the weak backup inside the lip of her boot, so she might be able to avoid a total loss of control, but she had no gold to buy another replacement.

There was no way she could do what Lacer wanted. She accepted this, and kept her breathing even and her hands pressed to the table to keep her fingers from trembling as she waited for the punishment that would no doubt follow seemingly willful failure.

Professor Lacer didn't say anything at first, but she could feel his Will in the air, turning his gaze into a sucking hole.

The hair on her arms and the back of her neck lifted, and she was reminded of what it felt like to walk alone and defenseless through a dark room, with the absolute certainty that something cold and hungry was watching from the shadows.

But he said only, "See me after class, Siverling. In my office." He turned that horrible gaze on Westbay for a moment, who quailed under its force, then stalked back to the front of the room.

Westbay watched him walk away, then looked to her, and she could see the horror she felt reflected in his eyes. "Sebastien—" he whispered.

Slowly, minutely, she shook her head. "No," she mouthed back. "You promised," she said, slightly louder, but slowly. "Maintain your honor, and hold your tongue, Westbay."

She could only hope that Professor Lacer wasn't angry enough to expel her immediately. If she had till the end of term, at least, she was sure she could come up with a plan of some sort.

Chapter 43 - Alliance with the Nightmare Pack

Oliver

Month 12, Day 2, Wednesday 6:30 p.m.

Two bodyguards accompanied Oliver as he rode through the dark streets atop his Erythrean horse. Even though his people successfully fought off the Morrows' blatant attack on the warehouse holding his new miniature farm, he was wary of their next move.

Oliver knew he was unlikely to be ambushed in Nightmare Pack territory, but the Morrows were known for their occasional recklessness, and it wouldn't be entirely unprecedented for his meeting with the Nightmare Pack leader to be a trap.

If anything happened, he and his two guards could fight back, and if the situation called for it, his horse could flee like the wind. Oliver wasn't so puffed up on his own pride that he couldn't admit that sometimes running away was the smart decision. One could always get revenge later.

Nightmare Pack territory was in the heart of the Mires, even poorer than his own territory, especially after the Verdant Stag's various programs to improve the quality of life for his people. Here, though, the number of non-humans was noticeable. Already, he'd seen signs of a hag, a vampire, and what was either a gremlin or a homunculus.

The gang provided three main things: a safe place for non-humans to live, less open discrimination, and a sense of community. But then, it also pressured the more powerful and useful non-humans to join the gang, supported certain kinds of crime, and made law enforcement even more reluctant to help those who needed them most.

Oliver and his bodyguards stopped at the gate in front of the Nightmare Pack headquarters, a once-proud manor with a small yard in the heart of the slums. They dismounted and handed their reins to a young man who hurriedly led the horses around to the back. If he was truly wary, Oliver would have insisted the horses stay out front, ready to go, but that would have been an insult, and an inauspicious start to the alliance he hoped to form tonight.

A man with the look of a wolf in his eyes and the shape of his jaw opened the manor's front door and bowed, motioning for them to step inside. "Welcome, Lord Stag. The pack leader awaits you."

The manor was old, the dark wood of the interior scuffed and scratched from many years of heavy, reckless traffic and sharp-clawed footsteps. The hallways were wide, the walls covered in lifelike paintings of nature and the hunt, and mounted with the occasional taxidermied trophy.

The man gestured silently to a set of open double doors, and Oliver stepped through alone.

The room beyond was expansive, with a burning fireplace at the far end, simple rugs and a mismatched scattering of comfortable chairs and couches filling most of the rest of the room. The windowsills spilled over with potted plants, and vines crawled up the glass. Stylistic sculptures of animals in different stages of transformation between man and beast were bolted onto stands or the walls, presumably to protect them from being accidentally knocked over and shattered.

Another man stood within, facing away from the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. He was gazing up at a large oil painting of wolves falling upon a deer in the forest, but turned when Oliver entered.

His eyes were a light amber that seemed to shine in contrast to skin that was almost as dark as his hair, which hung in tiny braids to his shoulders. His cheekbones sat high and a thick, closely trimmed beard covered his chin. Despite the semi-casual suit vest he wore and the cultured way he held himself, the wildness behind his eyes was palpable. "Welcome, Lord Stag."

Oliver was suddenly hit with the irony of holding that pseudonym before a man like this. The leader of the Nightmare Pack was well-known to be a lycanthrope, which was the common name for those skin-walkers who could take on and off the skin of a wolf, transforming into the animal at will. Still, even in front of a wolf, a stag was not defenseless.

Oliver bowed in return, removing his mask as he straightened. They were alone, and as the one who had requested this meeting, it would have been quite rude to keep his face concealed. "Thank you, Lord Lynwood."

"No need for a title. I am no lord. I am the alpha, and I am not above my people. I lead them, I do not own them," the other man said.

Oliver couldn't tell if there was hostility in Lynwood's tone, or if he was simply sensing the watchful vigilance of a natural predator whose magic was not just something he wielded but a part of his body. So different from Oliver. "It is a beautiful painting," he said, diverting the topic of conversation.

Lynwood didn't give even the barest hint of a smile, though he turned to look up at the huge piece again. "Art, in its most pure form, is a melding of the unadulterated instinct and passion of a beast and the conscious control of a man. As I studied to gain control of the canvas, I found I also gained control of myself."

"You painted this?"

Lynwood's lips stretched into a small, satisfied smile. "To the outside world, many know me only as a somewhat eccentric artist. You might be surprised to learn that I fund a significant portion of our operations off sales of my work. Those with too much money in their coffers love to show off their deeper sense of artistic appreciation by paying exorbitant sums for grand paintings that hold a message they fear and yet pretend to understand." He gestured around to the other paintings and sculptures scattered about. "It is not all my own work. I encourage all those in my pack to find joy in creation as well as destruction."

"I admire your approach," Oliver said. "That's why I requested to meet with you today. I want to discuss a mutual endeavor that I believe could benefit both our people."

Lynwood turned, eyed Oliver assessingly, then motioned to a couple of chairs in front of the fire. "Please, let us sit, and you can elucidate."

Once they were both seated, Oliver said simply, "The Morrows."

Lynwood raised his eyebrows, a silent encouragement to continue.

"You've likely heard of the harassment the Verdant Stag has been facing from them. When I first opened the inn and created the Stags, the Morrows resisted, but I was determined and they backed down. Due to the small size of my operation, the lack of critical territory under my domain, and my willingness to spend extravagantly to hold the area, it would have cost them more to get rid of me than the Morrows could earn by holding the territory. Or such was my theory, anyway."

"I remember this time," Lynwood said, nodding.

"However, they continued to abuse the people in my territory, perhaps even more than before. In addition to their usual criminal behavior—the kidnappings for their whorehouses and fighting arena, selling the worst of their addictive alchemy products, threatening people for money and favors—they harassed anyone who wore my symbol or simply lived in the wrong place. So I created enforcers to protect my people."

Oliver gave a humorless grin, the show of teeth meant to speak to the wolf in the other man. Lynwood wasn't the first lycanthrope Oliver had met, and thank the stars above for that experience. "The Morrows respected my boundaries once they had no other choice, at first, but recently they've begun their harassment again. This time, their attacks are pointed and brutal. It's obvious they hope to collapse my organization entirely by harrying us until we cannot keep up with the cost of the damage and those within the territory lose faith in us. They plan to then take back the entirety of what was once theirs."

"And how is this relevant to me?"

Oliver smiled again. "The Morrows overstep their boundaries. Just as they overestimate their infallibility."

"Oh?"

"I know they've made themselves a thorn in your side, too. They take your people for their brothels, and they have a particular interest in non-humans for their underground pit fights. I would assume they also feed addictive substances into your territory. They don't do all this overtly, perhaps. They don't want to drive you to retaliate in force. But they don't respect your authority, and they are harming your people."

Lynwood steepled his fingers together in his lap. "It's natural that we bicker and snap at each other. If one organization falls, another will rise to take its place, and who is to say the new order will be better than the old? Balance is important. Or, at least, the right kind of instability." Was Lynwood hinting that if the Nightmare Pack helped the Stags take out the Morrows, his gang might not actually benefit in the end? Perhaps there was some fear that the Stags would grow greedy and turn on them next, Oliver mused.

"That's where you're wrong. Balance is important, I agree, but instability is only preferable if you believe that order would not bring prosperity to you and yours. By all accounts, you are a reasonable man, Lynwood. I'm a reasonable man too, when not pushed to extremes. War is costly. I wouldn't choose it if I had other, more practical, options."

Oliver was telling the truth. The Morrows had attacked him and killed two of his people. It wasn't possible to back down now. They would crush him if he showed weakness. Even if by some miracle, they decided to stop harassing his people and let him keep operating, the Verdant Stag operation as a whole would still not be sustainable.

He was slowly being bled dry, and needed to increase the size and profitability of his operations to change the tide. If he could take out the Morrows and obtain even half their territory and operations—along with the more palatable streams of income—almost all of his problems would be solved in one fell swoop.

Oliver added, "In the interest of allowing as little instability as possible, I would suggest our two organizations agree to a nonaggression treaty, to be renegotiated in five years' time." This would give both of them time to consolidate their hold on what they gained from defeating their common enemy, without worry that either side would grow greedy and attempt to take more than their fair share.

"You are suggesting that we would benefit from allying with you against the Morrows?"

"Yes. In addition to stopping their current persecution of your people, I have no doubt some of their operations would be better managed in your hands. The fighting arena, for example. I'm sure you could provide voluntary participants, and I hear the income from the betting is quite high. They have control of Avery Park, which would seem a welcome addition to your territory. Perhaps a portion of their shops in the Night Market could do with a different owner?"

Lynwood stared at the fire for a long moment, but when he turned back to Oliver, his expression was still firmly unimpressed. "Be that as it may, it would require this operation to be successful. We might be larger than the Morrows if you count only the size of our territory and the number of people it contains, but we do not share their monetary resources. I am loath to conscript my people to fight and throw away their lives for an ally that cannot even manage to protect themselves without our help."

"You'd be mistaken to think the Verdant Stag cannot protect itself. Surely you've heard of the consequences of the Morrows' last attack on us?"

Lynwood nodded, the intensity of his amber-eyed gaze revealing an increased interest in this particular topic. "Indeed."

"The Stags are merely more interested in supporting our own people and growing our interests than focusing unnecessary resources toward an extended skirmish. Additionally, even were we to take down the Morrows, we are still too small to hold the entire Morrow territory securely. It would be an invitation to others to try and take a piece of it, and the situation would spiral into endless conflict. That's useless to us. I hope instead that we could both benefit from the destruction of the Morrows."

Oliver paused, weighing his words. "Of course, our other option would be to take over only a portion of the Morrows' operation and leave the rest open to the power struggles of the other gangs, which would only serve to destabilize and inconvenience the rest of the city." The Nightmare Pack especially, since their territory was adjacent to the Morrows', but Oliver left that part unsaid, sure that Lynwood knew what he meant.

"I have my doubts that the Verdant Stag could take out the Morrows as easily as you insinuate, at least without outside help. If not us, then perhaps the one who came to your aid recently. I hear she is called the Raven Queen. If we were to agree to this alliance, would she be included in this nonaggression treaty?" Lynwood was obviously fishing, hoping to learn Oliver's connection to the mysterious rogue sorcerer.

"I do not control her, but we are acquainted, and she allows me some minor influence over her actions. The rumors about her are somewhat exaggerated. She is actually rather restrained, when not being harassed. She wouldn't attack the Nightmare Pack without reason, and doubly so if I asked her politely not to."

"The rumors may be exaggerated, but it is clear she is both bold and powerful," Lynwood said, seeming more interested in the Raven Queen than he had been throughout the entire previous conversation. "Would she be adding her efforts to our own against the Morrows?"

"Perhaps, though I doubt she would take a front-line position. Her support against the warehouse attack was impromptu. She is quite busy and doesn't take requests unless she finds them sufficiently valuable or…interesting." He was playing into Siobhan's reputation a bit, knowing that the less he said clearly, the more Lynwood would speculate, with his conclusions undoubtedly being more outlandish than the truth.

Oliver considered that Siobhan, a poor, self-educated young girl, was disguised as a young man with a completely different appearance and background, and secretly attending the University. He had to amend his previous thought. The truth was quite outlandish indeed. It was simply outlandish in a completely different direction than Lynwood would assume.

"How did you come to be associated with her?"

"A series of coincidences," Oliver said.

Lynwood eyed him with some dissatisfaction. "Would it be possible for me to meet her?" he asked finally.

Oliver suppressed his expression of surprise, though a man such as Lynwood might be able to glean it from the responses he couldn't control, like the change in his heartbeat or scent. "I could pass along your request, but I can make no guarantees."

She would want to be paid, no doubt, and they would have to ensure that meeting in person didn't disillusion Lynwood and endanger their alliance. All the rumors about her prowess were fabrications blown magnitudes out of proportion to reality, after all. It might be best to pretend to pass along the request and return with a denial. Or at least ensure the alliance was secure and the joint attack on the Morrows settled first, with the reward for meeting enough to make the risk worth it.

Oliver spoke before he had time to fully think through the idea, because he didn't want his hesitation to be too obvious. "She enjoys tributes. She might be more likely to give an audience to someone who…gently incentivizes her." He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Lynwood pressed his fingertips together, settling back in satisfaction. "I understand." His eyes gleamed with even more interest. "I agree to your proposal, Lord Stag, pending the appropriate particulars."

"Wonderful." Oliver reached into his pocket and brought out a rolled-up map of the city. "Let us work out the generalities, at least. Details can be solidified over time." He laid the map over a short table. The area of their respective territories was painted with a translucent ink, with the parts of the city currently belonging to the Morrows divided between them.

Lynwood peered at it with interest, then pointed. "We'll want a bit more of this area, all the way out to the canal."

Oliver frowned. "That could be acceptable, if you're willing to give up a little more of this residential district."

They haggled over territory, and then went on to decide on the allocation of their respective combat forces, joint efforts to keep conflicts suppressed in the short term, and what businesses and enterprises each of them would swallow.

When they were both moderately satisfied, feeling that they hadn't gotten a very good deal but not an exceedingly bad one either—which probably meant it was quite fair to both parties—Lynwood asked, "So, I assume you have planned further than dividing up the territory. How exactly do you propose we bring about the Morrows' downfall?"

The edges of Oliver's mouth curled up a little too far in a way he knew made him look vulpine, but Lynwood didn't seem disturbed, his own lips pulling back to reveal sharp-edged teeth.

Chapter 44 - Chastisement

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 4, Friday 3:45 p.m.

When class ended, Professor Lacer left immediately, not bothering to wait for the handful of students who wanted to linger and speak to him. "I have office hours," he announced as he strode past them. "Use them."

Damien and Sebastien shared a look of sick concern, and she took longer than necessary to gather up her belongings, trying to settle herself. Fearing that she would gather more ire by dawdling, she followed the gently curved hallway to Professor Lacer's office. She felt sick, not only because of straining her Will beyond its limits, but because she didn't know the extent of his anger toward her. 'I will plead with him if I need to. But only if I need to.' She briefly considered trying to tell some sort of half-truth that would mollify him, but her mind was too scrambled to think through the options and their ramifications.

It had been such a stupid mistake, and she regretted compounding it with an attempt to hide it. It would be horrible to be expelled, but as long as she could keep her magic and her life, she would always find a way to claw her way back up again.

She paused outside the door for a few breaths, blinking in an attempt to clarify the vision in her right eye. She pressed her trembling fingers to her sides, straightened her back, and rapped softly on the open doorframe.

"Enter," Lacer said, his voice clipped. He'd sat at his desk and was scribbling a note. His scowl was harsh enough to toast bread. "Close the door behind you," he said without looking up.

She did so, stopping a few feet in front of his desk. She didn't dare to take a seat without his permission. She resisted the urge to fidget or wince with every ice-pick spike of the headache impaling her brain.

"Are you aware that without me, you would not be studying here?" he asked.

Her heart clenched. "Y—" Her voice broke, and she had to swallow before replying. "Yes."

"And you are aware that if you make me dissatisfied, I can have you expelled before the day is out?"

"Yes."

"Do you think there is anyone at this university whose opinion is more important than mine?"

"No," she said. 'Which is precisely why you can never know what I've been up to,' she thought.

"Are you also aware that because of the special circumstances of your admittance, your performance reflects back upon me? If you perform poorly, or act inappropriately, my judgment will be in question. Honestly, I am currently questioning my own judgment."

Sebastien suppressed a wince. "Yes."

He stared at her until she wondered if she was supposed to say something else, the judgment in his gaze almost a physical weight on her body.

She couldn't tell the truth, but she was afraid to lie, and so silence was her only refuge.

Finally, he said, "Did Mr. Westbay ask you to lose to him?"

Sebastien blinked twice. "No," she said, her tone as neutral as she could make it.

"So you chose to pander to him. I am unsure if that makes it better or worse. I had thought you would have more pride than that."

She remained silent, sluggishly realizing that Professor Lacer thought she'd thrown the match with Damien because he was a Westbay, and that she was either afraid to openly best him, or was trying to get on his good side by making Damien look better than he was.

'Professor Lacer hasn't noticed the signs of Will-strain? Perhaps he simply never considered that I could be that stupid.' She was filled with relief. It was a plausible motive that had nothing to do with fleeing from the coppers, attacking another student, or using blood magic. She couldn't overtly agree with his assumption, though, in case he really did have some divination running to reveal lies. She bowed her head, the shame of the movement all too real. "It will not happen again," she promised, meaning every word.

"See that it does not. I will bestow my forgiveness this time. In future, if you are going to curry favor with others at the expense of your pride, do it better. I will not preach about honor and chivalry, but please, at least have the cunning not to embarrass me. You will comport yourself with my reputation in mind at all times. And in exchange for today, you will win at least fifty contribution points in the end of term exhibitions." He paused, as if waiting for her to protest.

"I understand," she said. Rather than worrying about drawing attention to the persona of Sebastien Siverling in the exhibitions, her immediate thought was to wonder how difficult it was to earn fifty points as a first term student. With what she knew of Professor Lacer's standards, it was likely a hellishly difficult demand.

"Good. Now get out."

She complied without hesitation. The relief was heady. A little scolding and a task to redeem herself. There had been no offensive spells, nothing to publicly shame her, and most importantly, no expulsion. It seemed that he hadn't even noticed her Will-strain. 'Could it be that the rumors surrounding Professor Lacer's temper are somewhat exaggerated?' She wanted to laugh.

Damien Westbay was pacing in the hallway outside the door, fidgeting with his already perfect hair and unwrinkled clothes. He stilled when he saw her. "What did he say? I can talk to—"

The smile slipped from her face. She grabbed him by the arm and kept walking. "You will not talk to him."

"I'm sorry, Sebastien, it's not right that you're the one to get in trouble for this. I—"

"It's fine. He was angry, but only because I embarrassed him with my public weakness. I have to participate in the end of term exhibitions and earn at least fifty contribution points. That's it."

Westbay stumbled along beside her. "Oh. Well, that's…good?"

"Yes. Except I doubt I'll be coming back next term if I don't succeed."

"He's that angry? Sebastien…maybe we should just explain what happened?" he said reluctantly. "We could leave out the details of how I got hurt. There's no way I'd be expelled, I'm a Westbay, and we might even be able to convince him not to inform my father—"

"I could still be expelled," she snapped. "Can't you get that past your thick skull? I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about myself. The rest of us don't get to take the paved road through life, Westbay. There are consequences for our actions."

He was silent for a while, and kept walking beside her even when she released her grip on his arm. "Mood swings," he said finally, his tone placating. "You need to go to the infirmary, Sebastien. They can help with the Will-strain."

"No." The anger she was feeling was perfectly legitimate, but a vivid desire to strangle the bullheaded, oblivious boy had her seriously considering slamming him into an empty classroom.

The urge was strong enough that she had to concede, at least to herself, that her decision-making faculties were impaired.

"I'll drag you there myself if I have to. This isn't about your preferences or wanting to seem tough. It's not even about getting in trouble. This is about your safety, your well-being. I won't let you jeopardize everything just because you're feeling stubborn. Your judgment is impaired, so if I have to, I'll make this decision for you."

"Where did you grow the stones to act like this is any of your business?" she muttered, gritting her teeth. Before he could reply, she held up a hand toward him. "Alright, alright, stop. I don't need to go to the infirmary. I have a friend who can help me."

"Really?" He peered at her skeptically.

She scowled. "Really. I'm going there now. You may not have noticed, but I do have a working brain, even if it feels like it's being stomped on by a rabid cow right now. I know I need healing."

The worry and doubt smoothed away from his face. "Good," he said, nodding imperiously. "If you're not feeling better by Monday, do not come to class."

She rolled her eyes and walked faster, hoping to outpace him.

He jogged a little to catch up, but was thankfully silent all the way to the glass transportation tubes on the south side of the white cliffs. He waved as she used her student token to activate one. "Feel better soon! And don't come back until you do!"

She didn't wave back.

By the time she got to Oliver's house, the headache was making her nauseated.

Oliver took one look at her and said, "What happened?"

"Will-strain," she replied simply, her voice soft, because she felt like speaking loudly or opening her mouth too wide might send the contents of her stomach spilling out over his polished shoes. "My professor asked me to cast in class. I don't want to risk the healers at the University infirmary. Do you think I could see…whoever the Verdant Stag usually uses?"

"I'll hail a carriage," he said, though instead of doing it himself, he motioned to a servant, who hurried outside to the street. Oliver strode off into the kitchen and came back with a steaming mug of dark liquid. "I don't keep a lot of potions in the house. They don't work very well on me, so… The caffeine should help with your headache."

She took the mug gratefully, sipping slowly.

"The next time something like this happens, perhaps you should consider refusing to cast magic," he said.

"The next time?" she groaned.

Oliver gave her a wry smile, but it didn't disguise his worry.

The servant poked their head back through the front door and said, "I've got one, sir."

Sebastien took the mug of coffee with her into the carriage, which thankfully had shock absorbers to mitigate the bumps and jolts. After a few minutes of sitting and sipping, she felt well enough to talk, as long as she kept her eyes closed. "Has anything happened since I've been back at the University? Anything new with the Morrows?" She kept her voice low enough that no one would overhear them.

"Nothing big. There's been some harassment, especially on the edges of our territory, but we've been patrolling, and we've invested a lot into improving the equipment and number of our enforcers so we don't seem like such an easy target."

"That's good."

"We also made an alliance with the Nightmare Pack."

She opened one eye. "Who?"

"Another gang with no love for the Morrows. The leader would like to meet with you. Or, to be more specific, he would like to meet with the Raven Queen," Oliver said, lifting one side of his mouth in a half-smile that lacked real amusement.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was another wanted poster displaying an evil version of her face glaring out underneath a hood. Only this time, the caption said, 'Alias: The Raven Queen. Dangerous practitioner of Forbidden Magics. Flee on sight. Report any information to law enforcement. Reward for information leading to arrest: Five hundred gold crowns.'

"Flee on sight?" she muttered. Five hundred gold crowns was more than many poor families made in a year. It seemed they were taking her more seriously after her recent appearance. Even the most copper-hating or loyal person might be swayed by such a large bounty.

Oliver folded the paper away and tucked it back into his pocket. "I'll let you consider the meeting when you are more lucid. There will be incentives."

"I'll have to do something to pay for the healer," she mumbled. "Pretending to be the Raven Queen shouldn't be much harder than pretending to be a boy."

There was a pause, and then he said, "It seems you've had it worse than us. Will everything be alright, once you return?"

"I hope so," she sighed. "The pressure keeps rising, but once I'm better, I'll be able to handle it. Is it okay for me to meet this healer as Sebastien?"

Oliver hesitated, then said, "Well, I'm taking you there as Oliver Dryden, not the leader of the Stags. Healer Nidson is discreet, and there's an easy explanation for how a University student got Will-strain, even if it is strange that you wouldn't stay to be treated there."

"We need to find a more thorough way to keep Sebastien and Siobhan separate. I can't be switching back and forth at will. Eventually, the wrong person will notice something."

"I have some ideas about that. We'll talk about it once you're better."

The healer retained by the Verdant Stag was brusque but competent, the type of person whose eyes wouldn't widen in surprise even if Oliver brought Myrddin himself, resurrected, into his home. Nidson gave Sebastien a quick succession of potions which calmed the pain and slowed her thoughts till they felt like cold molasses within her skull. Then he made her guzzle down a large mug filled with what tasted like a modified nourishing draught, till her stomach sloshed with every movement. He laid her down on a slate table with a Circle carved into it, then drew a spell array around her prone form.

She dozed off, opening her eyes some time later to see Nidson casting a healing spell with various exotic components as the Sacrifice, some of which she recognized, and some of which she could only speculate about.

She woke again in a carriage with poor suspension, every bump of the cobbled road jostling through her. She was slumped against Oliver, her head on his shoulder, wrapped in a blanket. He pressed a hand against her hair, keeping her from sitting up. "I need you to turn into Siobhan. Can you do that?"

She pressed the amulet against her chest and pushed at it with a small pulse of Will. The spike of pain this caused was dull and distant.

"Sleep," Oliver said. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

Siobhan did feel better when she woke up, except for the disorientation and the horrible pressure in her bladder. She was alone, but recognized the small, spartan room and the door made of iron bars.

She was at Liza's place, in the warded, secret section of her home. After relieving herself using Liza's enchanted chamber pot, Siobhan made her way upstairs.

Liza was sitting in the apartment above, among the magical reference books, animal cages, and growing plants, sipping dark liquid that gave off a whiff of nostril-burning alcohol mixed with the earthy bitterness of coffee. She was petting a neon-bright bird that sat trilling musically on her lap. Her eyes were bloodshot, with dark, puffy circles below, and she'd tied her curly hair back into a low bun to partially disguise its unwashed frizziness. "You're awake."

"I feel much better," Siobhan said. She had a faint headache still, but it was nothing compared to the horseshoe nails of pain that had been trying to chisel her skull apart, and she could see normally out of both eyes.

Liza grunted around a mouthful of alcohol-laced coffee. "You're lucky there's no permanent damage."

Siobhan acknowledged that with a wince. "What time is it?"

"About five in the morning. On Monday."

Siobhan's eyes widened. Whatever that healer had given her must have been an extra-strength tranquilizer. It might have even slowed some of her bodily functions. 'Or…Liza stayed up caring for me and casting spells to empty my bladder and bowels while I slept.' The thought sent heat rushing to her cheeks. She coughed and looked away. "Oliver brought me here so I could sleep through the scrying attempts?"

"Yes. Of which there have been several. The coppers are more interested in you than I expected, child."

Siobhan rubbed her forehead. "Unfortunately. Thank you for taking care of me."

Liza waved a tired hand. "It is far from my first time caring for an invalid. At least you were still and silent. As long as this doesn't happen again, you may be forgiven. I am more concerned that the solution we came to is already proving insufficient. Did the divination attempts push you so far as to cause Will-strain?"

"Oh, no, that was something else."

Liza's mouth tightened judgmentally. "Something else," she repeated, supremely unimpressed. "Perhaps you should take a good look at your life choices." She tucked the bird under one arm and put it in one of the cages scattered around the room. "Come," she ordered, walking into the official part of her house through the attached closet door.

She made a second cup of coffee, eyed Siobhan, then added a moderate splash of liquor to it before handing it over. "Drink."

Siobhan accepted it awkwardly. She wasn't a fan of alcohol, but the caffeine was a lifesaver, and the minty burn of whatever Liza had added immediately provided a boost of vivacity, rather than the mellowing, depressive effect she remembered from her other attempts to drink.

Liza stared at her until Siobhan felt uncomfortable. She wondered if Oliver bringing her here was actually not okay. Or perhaps Liza was just trying to calculate how much coin she could extort from Siobhan in her weakened state. Finally, Liza spoke. "You need a more permanent solution to the scrying attempts if they are going to continue like this—and if your lifestyle continues to create moments when you cannot safely or consistently counteract them."

"A more permanent solution, like retrieving my blood from Harrow Hill?"

"Harrow Hill has some of the best wards in Gilbratha. Theoretically, I might be able to bypass them, but in practice, with only nine thousand thaums under my command, such a course of action would be like a dragon attacking a sky kraken—an act of hubris bordering on stupidity. Any mistake would only end up giving them more opportunity to track you down. If our last transaction was any indication, it also seems that you could not afford to hire me for such a project. However, there are more creative solutions you might employ. The blood need not be retrieved, as long as they cannot realistically use it to find you."

Siobhan's eyes widened, her attention caught on the mention of Liza's capacity. That was only a couple of thousand below the level when one could start thinking about getting certified as an Archmage, though a lot more went into being acknowledged as an Archmage than simple capacity. Siobhan's eyes narrowed. "How old are you?"

Liza rolled her eyes. "Well, you just put your foot in your mouth without hesitation, don't you?" she asked, but didn't seem to be actually offended. "I'm sixty." She was almost as old as Professor Lacer. Of course, neither of them looked like a commoner of the same age might, with all the magic they cast keeping them young. Liza looked closer to thirty. "Due to my advanced age, and my particular background, I have valuable experience and feel qualified to give advice on this. I participated in the Haze War, and I know first-hand that there is always a loophole that can be exploited in any ward or defensive system. If there's no loophole, one can be created. Often this weakness lies in human error and laziness and not the external defenses. Do some research. Necessity is the mother of innovation, as they say. Alternatively, you can hire me to find a more permanent solution, for the small sum of eight hundred gold crowns."

Siobhan sipped her minty coffee. "Do you have any particular ideas?"

Liza gave her a deadpan stare, apparently not tired enough to be tricked into giving up valuable information. "If you're feeling better, you can leave."

Siobhan hesitated, wondering if she should offer to pay Liza for the care and lodging while she'd been unconscious. Then she smacked herself mentally. If she could get away with something for free from the woman, she should run before Liza overcame her sleep-deprivation.

The sun was still a couple of hours from rising as Siobhan hurried out, and the streets were empty, a layer of unbroken snow covering everything. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and felt the angry grumble of her empty stomach. Returning to Sebastien's form in an empty alley felt safest, even though she probably could have transformed in the middle of the street without being noticed. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd left the University in a few days before. Hopefully Liza hadn't thought that was strange. Women did wear trousers, after all, and even if they didn't fit her very well, no normal person would jump to the correct conclusion.

When Sebastien got back to the University, she grabbed a change of clothes and went straight to the showers, luxuriating in the warm water and solitude.

She was again asleep in her bed when the rest of her dorm finally woke. As the sounds of early morning preparation woke her, she realized she hadn't done any of her homework over the weekend. Rubbing her temples, she took a deep breath, then fumbled with the vial containing the anti-anxiety potion and swallowed a half-dose. 'I needed the rest. Missing one weekend's worth of homework won't lower my grade so far that I fail. Probably.'

Westbay, who was just getting dressed as she left, gave her a questioning look.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he nodded and smiled as if she'd instead given him a reassuring, "Good morning, friend!" With a snort, she left him to comb his hair three hundred times, knowing he would keep at it until he'd beaten every single strand into submission.

She pondered her situation as she ate the bland breakfast slop. Now that her mind was clear again, she realized she'd been acting irrationally. Maybe it was a byproduct of the original Will-strain, added to the ongoing stress that she hadn't been able to escape even before then.

She had been focused on peripherally important things, at the expense of neglecting the biggest problem in her life. This weekend could have been entirely disastrous if not for Oliver's quick thinking. 'What would have happened if I was unconscious and helpless outside of Liza's wards, and the coppers scried for me?' She shuddered at the thought. 'What happens when they scry me while I'm in the middle of casting a difficult spell, and the distraction makes my concentration slip, and I lose control of the magic?'

She forced herself to keep eating despite her sudden lack of appetite. She needed all her energy, and the basic meal options barely provided enough to sate a working thaumaturge's increased caloric needs.

'Letting the coppers keep my blood is unacceptable. I have to figure out how to stop their scrying attempts for good, before all the different pressures add up and something critical finally snaps. Either I'll get caught, or I'll lose control and succumb to Will-strain when they try and scry me at a bad time, or someone will notice when the seemingly unrelated Sebastien Siverling is casting anti-divination spells at the same times the coppers are searching for Siobhan Naught. I want to help the Stags, and I need to repay my debt, and it would be wonderful not to worry about sleep any more, but I have to dig myself out of this hole before anything else. Getting rid of these scrying attempts will make my entire life easier. I need to completely reprioritize. I cannot believe I've been so complacent even as I thought I was trying my best to become prepared.'

Through her shirt, she rubbed the warding medallion her grandfather had given her, the fatigue and the shame mixing to form a prickle of tears behind her eyes. She blinked them back rapidly. 'I still have a long way to go,' she admitted to herself.

Sebastien hurried to complete her homework before the breakfast period ended, taking it as easy as possible through her first two classes. As was becoming her habit when she had a problem, she headed to the library during her afternoon free period before Practical Casting. Such a comprehensive repository of information would surely have a solution hidden among the shelves.

She was in the glass tunnel between the main building and the library when the sirens went off, loud and piercing and screaming of danger with their unnatural tone.

Everyone dropped whatever they were doing, some panicking, wanting to move but not knowing where to go, others moving with purpose, and a couple looking around with anxious confusion.

"It's an Aberrant," Sebastien heard someone say.

She realized then that she'd frozen as soon as she heard the sound, and forced herself to keep walking. Her head swiveled back and forth, her eyes wide as they absorbed everything, searching for a hint of the danger.

One of the librarians opened the door to the library, waving for the students to enter. "Come take shelter! The building has wards, and if necessary, we can take refuge in the reinforced lower levels."

Sebastien moved as quickly as she could, her face feeling like a bloodless mask. The wails of the sirens rang in her ears till the sounds overlapped and drowned everything else out, like the surface of a lake in a rainstorm.

Chapter 45 - Sirens

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 7, Monday 12:45 p.m.

It wasn't the first time Sebastien had heard Aberrant sirens. However, the prior experience did nothing to calm her, as the sound only brought back memories she would rather have forgotten. She looked around for signs of chaos and destruction, but saw only panicking students and the faculty directing them all to safety.

Clutching her school satchel in one hand and her Conduit in the other, she joined the congregating students in the central atrium of the library. The whole ground floor of the building was filled.

"I heard someone say it was an Aberrant," a young woman said. "Do you know where it appeared?"

"It might not be an Aberrant," an older woman said comfortingly. "The sirens don't distinguish between different magical dangers. It could just be a rogue blood sorcerer casting some dangerous magic."

A nearby man said, "You know blood magic users are more likely to mutate into Aberrants, right? That's not exactly reassuring."

A boy fidgeted, looking around as if a monstrous mutant might pop out from behind one of the other students. "My older sister is a copper. She told me the last time the sirens went off, it was a loose elemental, an enraged sylphide from the Plane of Air. Someone attempted an over-ambitious conjuring without strong enough bindings, and it went wrong. The sylphide choked the air right out of a whole city block of people. Drowned without a drop of water."

He'd spoken loudly, and some of those around reached for their chests and throats as if to ensure they were still breathing properly.

Sebastien knew it was nothing compared to the destruction the right kind of Aberrant could wreak. 'At least you can reason with a sylphide.' Fortunately, most people who lost control of their magic were simply killed or mentally disabled. It was rare for a spell to go so horribly wrong that the caster mutated.

"What if it's an attack on the city wards?" someone asked.

"That's ridiculous," someone else snorted. "Even the Titans would know better than to besiege Gilbratha. The wards are unbreakable."

"It could be the kraken."

"The kraken hasn't been seen for the last two hundred years. It's an Aberrant, I tell you."

"It doesn't matter what it is, nothing is going to get past the library wards. They were cast by Archmage Zard," the older woman said, one arm around her frightened friend.

That seemed to calm most of the students until one girl whispered, "But I have family in the city… What about them?"

"If they know what's good for them, they'll get to the shelters," a boy said.

Sebastien wanted to snap at them all to shut up, wanted to pace back and forth, wanted to cast some magic so she could feel like she was actually doing something useful. She pressed her way out of the crowd and brought her Will to bear. Creating a Circle with her hands flipped around so that her middle fingers touched her thumbs, with her pinky awkwardly curled around her Conduit, she brought out a hum from deep in her chest, casting the esoteric self-calming spell that Newton had taught her.

As she forced her body to calm, it became clear her agitation had been much stronger than she'd realized. Her heartbeat slowed, the stress-response chemicals burning in her blood cooled, and her muscles relaxed a little more with every deep hum.

When she finally opened her eyes, the panic of the other students seemed a little absurd. 'We're safe. And even if we weren't, sitting around and worrying about it won't make us safer. If we aren't already prepared, then it's already too late. Best to just get on with life.' She didn't have the luxury of spare time to waste.

Sebastien nudged back through the crowd to use one of the search crystals, burning a card with keywords about divination in its brazier. She'd picked up an armful of books and was looking for an out-of-the-way table when she noticed Newton at a spot that would be perfect. With the library so packed, there weren't many other options.

"Can I sit here?" she asked. Her shoulders were beginning to tense again from the screaming of the sirens and the palpable tension of the crowd. The rationality she'd struggled to achieve was already being overridden by deep-seated wariness as her eyes flicked around mistrustfully.

Newton looked up a little slowly, as if he'd been focused on the handwritten sheaf of notes in front of him, but his eyes hadn't been moving across the page, just staring at the same spot. "Oh, hello, Sebastien. Sure, feel free to join me, as long as you don't expect entertaining company. I'm afraid I'm a little…preoccupied." His face was drawn, and though his posture was proper, something about his unfocused eyes spoke of deep fatigue.

She sat, her back a little too straight, even for her. "Even better. I'd prefer not to sit around speculating."

When the sirens suddenly stopped a couple of minutes later, Newton let out a deep breath, but his fingers kept worrying at his note paper until it was unusable. He somehow appeared both relieved and yet even more worried at the same time.

Sebastien tried to conceal her own relief. If the sirens were turned off, that meant the coppers believed they had dealt with the problem, or at least that it was contained and no longer a potential danger to the whole city. They would have to wait for confirmation before leaving the library, even so.

She eyed Newton. "That spell you taught me is useful. Especially for situations like this," she offered, trying not to make her concern obvious.

He met her gaze for a long few seconds.

"I also have some of that anti-anxiety potion from the infirmary left," she added.

He gave her a small smile. "Is this a role-reversal, Sebastien? You looking out for me?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes, when you're really tired, you don't realize how hard you're fighting it. Your body tightens up until you're like this taut little rock on the edge of a precipice. If you can rest, when you wake up everything seems a little more manageable, and you have the option to be flexible instead of shatter."

"Sound advice. Almost as if you know from experience," he said, his wry smile growing.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm used to fatigue. It's the people that bother me."

"Right," he said, sniggering behind his hand. But he took her hint and spent a couple of minutes humming, performing the same esoteric spell he'd taught her.

When he opened his eyes, she looked up from the irritatingly oblique divination reference she was trying to read.

"You were right, I'm tired," he said. "But I'm used to fatigue, too. It's the fact that my family is out there in the city, possibly in danger, that worries me."

"Oh." She had no idea what to say to that.

"They don't live in the best neighborhood," Newton continued. "And as you might not be surprised to learn, Gilbratha's emergency shelters are well over capacity in the poorer areas. Sometimes you need to bribe the guards to get in. And my family…well, my father's fallen ill. He's been out of work for the last few weeks, and without him—" Newton pressed his lips together and shook his head. "All of us Moores are stubborn. I'm just worried they chose to stay at home, block the doors, and hide under the beds rather than begging to be let into a shelter."

Newton had already been worried about money, spending his extra time tutoring and taking the student liaison job to ease the burden of tuition. If his family was poor enough without his father's income that they had to worry they couldn't spare the coin to get into the shelters, they almost certainly wouldn't be able to afford for Newton to continue his education. "Are there any other thaumaturges in your family? Someone you could trade messenger spells with?" Sebastien asked.

He shook his head. "My mom and sisters know some kitchen magic and a few esoteric things, but they're not sorcerers. They don't even have real Conduits. They're definitely not powerful enough to defend themselves, either. My grandmother might have been able to cobble something together, but she's going senile now, and I have her old Conduit."

"The sirens have stopped, so they'll probably let us out soon. You can go check on them personally. I doubt anyone will notice if you miss one class after all this pandemonium."

"You're right," he said, relaxing a little.

She hesitated, realizing it might be rude to ask, but couldn't stop herself from doing so anyway. "Was your father the main source of income for your family?"

He pressed his lips together. "Yes. And I know what you're getting at. I have no University sponsor. If he doesn't recover…" He took a deep breath. "Without my family's help, I cannot pay my own way. It's just too much. But if I leave now—" He paused, cleared his throat, and continued in a forcefully calm tone. "Apprentices don't earn enough to support a family and also save much, especially not at first. It might be ten years or more before I could return to continue my education. Maybe never, if healer's fees for my father become too much. I don't want to be stuck doing busy work for a Master for the rest of my life."

Sebastien wanted to suggest that Newton take his father to the Verdant Stag and see if they could help with something in the alchemy shop, or connect him to an affordable healer, but she didn't. Sebastien Siverling should have no way to know about the Verdant Stag's operations. 'I'll talk to Oliver about it. Maybe he can find some way to get the information to Newton's family more surreptitiously,' she told herself.

The library doors stayed closed for over an hour longer, until the faculty in the administrative section of the building received word that it was definitely safe to release the students.

Newton and most of the other students left as soon as they were able, but Sebastien remained behind, reading about divination while she waited for her next class. She struggled to focus, her mind returning several times to what might have caused the rogue magic sirens.

Divination was the only branch of magic she wasn't particularly interested in. When she was younger, she'd had fantasies about getting tips from the spirits or seeing the future in a basin of water. It turned out that beyond basic things like dowsing for water or sympathetic scrying for a location, most humans weren't built for real divination. The very talented could get vague hints about possible futures or answers about specific questions, but Sebastien had discovered that she could rarely even tell which card was next in a shuffled deck, much less divine the future.

All that to say, she didn't have much knowledge or experience in divination, which meant trying to put a stop to the scrying attempts would require extensive research. She would wait to start practicing the actual spells, at least until tomorrow. She didn't want to push herself too hard when her recovery was still fragile.

She felt no more confident about her plan by the time she left the library for Lacer's Practical Casting class, but she was determined. There were no problems that a combination of magic, power, and knowledge-backed ingenuity couldn't fix.

'I'll need to prioritize, though,' she admitted. 'I can't handle practicing new utility spells, researching sleep spells, and trying to learn about emergency healing while also working on this. Everything but school work and getting my blood back from the coppers will have to wait.'

All the students were still absorbed by the earlier sirens, and the class was filled with chatter while they waited for Professor Lacer to arrive. It was normal for him to stride in with his coat flapping behind him after all the students had been seated for a few minutes, but the minutes ticked by and Professor Lacer still hadn't arrived.

"He might not be coming," said Westbay, who had taken it upon himself to sit beside Sebastien.

"Because of whatever caused the sirens?" she asked.

"Sometimes he gets called away from the University to deal with special cases, if the Red Guard is going to be slow in arriving or the coppers need an expert consultant."

"There are rumors he was in the Red Guard at one point, too," she said slowly.

Westbay shrugged. "Who knows? There are a lot of rumors about him, and a good half of them are completely ridiculous."

"I thought… He's a friend of your Family, right? You don't know?"

Westbay gave her a flat stare. "I'm flattered you think so highly of me, but you know the ranks of the Red Guard are confidential, right? The Westbay Family does handle the internal security of the city, but I'm only the second son, not even finished with the University. They don't tell me anything actually important," he said with irritation.

The other students were starting to chatter about Lacer's absence, and when one person speculated that the Charybdis Gulf's kraken had taken him back to its sea lair because it wanted his seed for its progeny, Westbay raised his eyebrows as if to say, "See? I told you people make up the most ridiculous rumors."

She conceded the point.

Professor Lacer still hadn't arrived thirty minutes after his class was supposed to start, and whatever discipline the students might have retained had entirely evaporated away as they gossiped and worked on homework from other classes.

"I think it was probably an Aberrant," a man seated near to Sebastien said, immediately drawing the attention of the students close enough to hear him. "Gilbratha gets at least one 'creature of evil' per year, on average, so it wouldn't be a surprise."

The woman he'd been speaking to grimaced. "Someone experimenting with blood magic? Some evil spell?" She shuddered delicately. "I cannot imagine why anyone would dabble in such a thing, knowing the consequences."

Aberrants were actually quite rare, Sebastien knew, but it was true that most of the incidents came from thaumaturges dabbling in immoral things and corrupting their Will. If Gilbratha had one every year, it was only because of the high concentration of thaumaturges, both legal and criminal.

A younger girl, obviously a commoner by the low-quality fabric of her clothes, leaned toward the two. "Are all creatures of evil Aberrants? I thought some of them were…beasts, or evil Elementals, or something."

The man shrugged. "Well, they might be. Only people who don't really know what they're talking about use the more generic terms, like 'creatures of evil.' Commoners and non-thaumaturges. It's a catch-all for any living rogue magic element."

The woman said, "Well, Aberrant or whatever it was, the Red Guard has handled it now, and we will know soon enough, once they have finished their investigation. It did not take them very long to send the all-clear signal, so it must not have been particularly difficult to deal with."

Beside Sebastien, Ana nodded at that. "That is true. When I was a child, we were stuck in the basement shelter for almost two days. Mother was worried they were going to have to set up a sundered zone right in the middle of Gilbratha. A rather powerful sorcerer had corrupted his Will and broken while trying to revive a newly dead body. It took the Red Guard some time to figure out how to deal with the Aberrant that resulted."

Westbay looked dour. "I remember that. Titus was here at the University, and Father was dealing with the incident. It was just me and the servants the whole time, waiting for news. All Aberrants have a weakness, though, a counter to their ability. You just have to find it."

Sebastien frowned. "What about Aberrants like Metanite, or Red Sage? It seems like the Red Guard would have found their weakness by now, if they really had one. Metanite isn't even contained within a sundered zone." Sundered zones were the effect of the world's most powerful barrier spell, and could contain almost anything. They created perfectly, unnaturally white quarantine domes, and were used exclusively to keep the world safe from Aberrants that couldn't be otherwise killed or neutralized. Metanite had destroyed the one they put around it just as it destroyed literally everything else it touched with its void-black form.

Westbay shook his head. "Just because it can't be killed doesn't mean there is no counter. Metanite is slow and shows no signs of intelligence. With enough vigilance, space-warping magic is plenty to deal with it. And the Red Sage is contained within a sundered zone."

"But it's not stopped," Sebastien argued. "Whatever ability Red Sage has is either summoning people to hear its prophecies or manipulating reality to make them come true, even from within its sundered zone."

The spell that created sundered zones did not stop sapient creatures that could give their informed consent from entering the barrier, nor from exiting again as long as they had not been tainted by any tangible or magical effect within. Why this was, she didn't know, but the Red Guard usually kept people from entering—or tried to—with a secondary barrier, and often a wall, too. The Red Sage could see the future, supposedly, and whatever it prophesied would come true. Except it pronounced better fates to those it liked, and horrible ones to those it disliked, and all its prophecies came true in the most horrible way possible. Desperate people continued to find ways past the security measures in the hopes of bribing the Aberrant to receive a favorable prophecy, no matter the destruction the fulfillment of the prophecy would inevitably wreak on the world and lives of those around them.

"Sure, but the Red Guard is working to mitigate the effects of the prophecies, as well as limit who gets to speak to the Red Sage. There haven't been any major disasters in at least a hundred years. The Red Guard has almost entirely constrained it. Imagine what it could do, unchecked."

"But that's all they can do. Constrain it. Just the same as the Dawn Troupe. Dozens of people die every year to that one."

"Again, because people are stupid and visit the Dawn Troupe on purpose, in the hopes of winning a boon. That's not the Red Guard's fault. Anyone who isn't stupid or suicidally reckless is safe from the Dawn Troupe."

"If enough people don't visit, the agreement with the Aberrant is that it can go on a hunt," Sebastien said. "That's what it bargained. Don't you think that has something to do with why the newspapers report it whenever someone manages to get out alive with a boon? It entices the general idiot specimen to offer up their own life so it's not so obvious that the Red Guard actually has no way to stop the Dawn Troupe. And what about Lugubrious? Cinder Stag? That's to say nothing of those Aberrants that you and I have no idea about. Can you truly tell me you don't think they exist? Aberrants that they can't catch? Ones they don't even know about?" Sebastien's voice had grown harder, sharper, and she realized she was leaning toward him, glaring into his eyes.

People were staring at her.

"You know so much, Sebastien," a girl a few desks away said with a simpering smile that lacked any real thoughtfulness and made Sebastien want to smack the expression off her face.

Sebastien leaned back, looking away with a sharp exhale.

Ana eyed Sebastien. "You do know rather a lot about this."

"It seemed rather prudent to do at least basic research about creatures that are created without warning and can wipe out an entire city." Sebastien couldn't understand why more people weren't interested in learning everything they could about Aberrants.

At most, incidents would be reported in the paper, and there would be warnings about the danger of blood magic and unlicensed, improperly trained thaumaturges. She was sure someone was researching the beings extensively—how else would the Red Guard be equipped to deal with them?—but, as a normal person, a commoner, trying to get information about Aberrants or the mental break that created them was an exercise in frustration. Those in power probably didn't want to cause a panic, while the average person just wanted to go about their life peacefully, moronically pretending that it had nothing to do with them, wouldn't affect them. Even the University library kept most of that information on the third floor or in the underground restricted sections.

"It's a real threat. A danger to the entire world. Aberrants don't die of old age, and they keep being created," she added in a calmer tone. 'It only takes one to destroy everything you've ever known and cared for,' she added silently.

"Maybe you should join the Red Guard," Westbay said. "They might not be perfect, but they do protect Lenore pretty well. They need people who are powerful and passionate about protecting the country."

Sebastien wasn't sure how to respond to that, caught between surprise, amusement, and denial.

Ana turned away from Sebastien, putting on a bright smile. "All that as it is, the Red Guard has no doubt performed valiantly in this instance," she announced. "Let us discuss something more pleasant? I've heard Professor Boldon was proposed to by one of his student aides."

The others were drawn in by this semi-scandalous declaration, and Sebastien took the welcome reprieve to chastise herself for allowing her interest in the topic to override her discretion. She was easily caught up in theoretical discussions, sometimes without properly taking into account her audience and what was appropriate to reveal about her opinions.

Not long after, a student aide walked in and told them that the class had been assigned to self-study in the absence of their professor. The student aide sat behind Lacer's desk at the front corner of the room and started scribbling on a paper while watching them, as if to record their adherence to the task.

Westbay quickly turned to Anastasia. "I'll partner against you to start, and Siverling can watch and give us some pointers."

Sebastien raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest.

Ana hesitated, looking at Sebastien. "You don't mind? We'll be competing against each other in a few weeks, after all."

Westbay shook his head condescendingly. "Siverling's not so selfish that he can't set aside practicing for a single period to help his friends. Right, Siverling?"

"…Right."

The two of them set up the spell array and competed against each other for a few minutes while Sebastien watched. Then, they stopped and turned to her expectantly. "Well?" Westbay asked.

She stared back at them for a few seconds. 'Where does this bright-eyed anticipation come from? Are a few tips from me so valuable? Well, I suppose I am better than either of them.' She cleared her throat. "What do both of you visualize when you move the ball?"

Anastasia looked unsurely between Sebastien and Westbay. "Umm, I just imagine the ball…moving?"

"How? What causes it to move? It just moves on its own?" Sebastien asked.

"I imagine an invisible force behind it, pushing," Westbay said.

Sebastien tapped her forefinger thoughtfully on the table . "Westbay, your visualization seems to be a little stronger than Ana's. And you've both practiced this spell a lot, so there's not a ton of inefficiency. But…Will isn't just about how much energy you're channeling, or even how efficiently you do it. At least that's how it seems to me. When you know exactly what you want, as clear as high quality celerium, and you want it really, really badly, it makes a difference. Knowing exactly what you want can be tricky, but an easy way to create effects like this is to think about how you might create them without magic. You could nudge the ball around with your finger, and that would work, but you'll never get real speed or efficiency out of that. Swinging it around like a rock in a shepherd's sling would be better. If you can handle it mentally, a geared crank that sends the ball shooting around two times, or a hundred times, for every revolution of the crank… My point is, the visualization matters."

Damien scribbled down a handful of notes on a spare piece of paper while she spoke. "I think I understand. Give me a moment to come up with a model."

Sebastien turned to Ana. "You don't care enough about the outcome. Don't ask, don't order, just…believe. There's a reason it's called the Will. You must become a god, a force of nature, and the ball moves because the laws of reality that you created say that it moves."

Ana stared into her eyes for a long moment. "Is that how you do it?"

Sebastien chuckled. "All good thaumaturges have to be a little narcissistic, I think."

"It sounds…appealing, that kind of control."

"Of course. Magic is…it's the fabric beneath reality. It's in everything. When you touch magic…" Sebastien shook her head, feeling visceral electricity running through her skin at the thought, raising the fine hairs all over her body and setting her blood alight. "There is nothing more worthwhile." Her hand had gripped her Conduit while she wasn't paying attention, and she released it, sitting back and rolling her shoulders. "Okay. Try again."

They did. The improvement wasn't huge, especially with them already having so much experience casting the same spell over and over, but it was noticeable. Maybe a five percent increase in power, and about the same improvement to their efficiency. It was enough to put a huge grin on Westbay's face and make Ana let out a rich laugh. They drew the attention of those sitting nearby.

"You really are a genius," Westbay said. "This is as good as if I just gained ten thaums in five minutes of work."

A girl whose name Sebastien had forgotten leaned in, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Are you handing out tips, Siverling? Teaching the class in place of Professor Lacer?"

"I don't have anything to say that you shouldn't already know," Sebastien said shortly.

Despite the fact that she'd just coached him, Westbay crossed his arms over his chest and gave their curious classmates a glare. "Focus on your own tables," he snapped at them.

And so, they spent the rest of the class period like that, with Ana and Westbay practicing while Sebastien watched and gave them little hints to improve their performance—and their classmates not-so-inconspicuously continued to eavesdrop.

Chapter 46 - The Intersection of Transmutation and Transmogrification

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 9, Wednesday 2:15 p.m.

Professor Lacer was back in the Practical Casting classroom on Wednesday. For once, he was there ahead of the students. He leaned against his desk, which displayed a scattering of components.

'A demonstration,' Sebastien thought with excitement. Professor Lacer's classes tended to be filled with a lot of practice, but he also often lectured on the kind of fascinating topics that were beyond the purview of their other classes. He introduced ideas and talked about spells that they couldn't explore at their low level of skill, but which were still fascinating. Sometimes he made them do thought exercises that seemed designed to force them to think creatively and come up with non-standard solutions to problems.

But everyone enjoyed the days when he demonstrated free-casting the most.

As soon as they'd all settled, Professor Lacer pushed away from the edge of his desk. "Just as our understanding of magic has changed as we created the modern practice of sorcery, our labels have evolved. Ancient humans had no concept of a delineation between transmutation and transmogrification. It was all magic. Now, we say that transmutation is based on natural conversion of form or energy, and transmogrification is a borrowing of concepts. Of ideas. Intangible properties. Today, we are going to explore the intersection of transmutation and transmogrification.

"Transmogrification intersects with transmutation in three main ways. One, when both are used for separate aspects of a spell to create a synergistic effect. Two, when transmutation is not enough, and so we boost the effects by adding transmogrification toward the same purpose, adding a punch of efficacy to efficiency, as it were. Three, when the caster is using transmogrification not toward an intangible idea, but to copy a process, or, as happens more often, to copy part of a process in addition to the idea of the process that the caster does not understand."

He crouched down and drew a Circle on the ground, about a meter across. "We will start with the simplest of intersections: spells that use both for a synergistic effect, transmutation for one facet and transmogrification for another."

He turned to his desk, moving a block of heavy clay, three small white balls floating in a jar of yellow pickling brine, and another jar of water containing a frond of seaweed and some sand to the floor. From his pockets, he pulled out his Conduit with one hand and a beast core with the other. The block of clay rippled and morphed into the shape of a turtle, surprisingly detailed and lifelike. "A simple shape-change transmutation, using the provided clay and the energy from this beast core to mold it according to my Will. What comes next is, arguably, more interesting," he said.

Within the briny jar, the three white balls disintegrated.

Color and texture seeped over the turtle, turning it from clay to flesh and shell.

It came to life with a sudden jerk, like someone awoken from a nightmare to find themselves in unfamiliar surroundings.

"Pickled turtle eggs for the animation, the concept of the life that would have been, borrowed and molded into a lifelike simulation. Transmogrification. Let me point out that I have no idea if those eggs were fertilized or not, or if there were stillborn turtles within. And in case any of you have not been paying attention when we talk about theory, let me also point out that I have not created life. I have created a lifelike golem that will last as long as my concentration does."

A student raised her hand, and he nodded to her, indicating that she could speak.

In a slightly hushed tone that nevertheless was clearly audible in the classroom—the rest of the students held their breath, as if any disturbance would break the spell—she asked, "Is it possible to create life? I've heard there have been experiments, but the creatures always die as soon as they let the spell drop. Professor Boldon said creating true life was one of the inherent limitations of magic."

"Of course it is possible," Professor Lacer immediately dismissed. "If you believe anything is impossible, it is because you are too primitive to understand how it works, or too weak to make it happen. If a woman can create true life in her womb, a thaumaturge can create true life with magic. Eventually, someone will cross that seemingly impassable barrier, just like we have crossed so many before."

The girl sat back, frowning but silent.

Sebastien remembered Professor Gnorrish's class on the theory of spontaneous generation. 'Is it that we don't understand what makes something "alive," and so we cannot create life? Or perhaps there is something—a soul?—that requires too much energy, or that we are not giving the proper Sacrifices to recreate. But if that were the case, we would be able to measure the soul escaping from the body upon death, correct? I don't believe there is any evidence of that. Unless the "soul," or whatever it is that we're missing, doesn't actually reside within the body.' It was a fascinating idea, with interesting implications. Who wouldn't want to escape death? If you could understand enough to create life through magic, surely that was a huge step toward staving off death. One might even be able to simply transfer themselves into a fresh body when they got too old. 'Of course,' she thought wryly, 'Research into the topic would almost certainly be classified as blood magic, whether it deserved to be outlawed or not.' Before she could lose herself to contemplation, Professor Lacer's spell drew her attention back.

Seawater burst out of the final jar, dispersing in an artful splash around the spherical confines of the Circle, and then seeming to expand impossibly while simultaneously disappearing.

The turtle rose up, swimming around the air as if it were in a dome-shaped aquarium. "And here," Professor Lacer continued, "I have taken that concept of buoyancy that a creature might experience surrounded by seawater and applied it to the area under my control. I have slowed down the steps of this spell so that you can see the delineation between transmutation and transmogrification, but in many other spells both effects are simultaneous. We go as far as we can with transmutation, and bridge the gap with transmogrification."

'It's true. Spells do that all the time. And it makes sense, if there isn't any actual difference between the two. The two T's are just labels we've used to explain what we've always been doing. A divider that's only in our minds.' It was an interesting way to look at things, as if she had tilted her head to the side and saw that the shape she'd thought was a square was actually a diamond, but it wasn't some world-shattering revelation. Things like this were why she loved this class, as tedious as the magical exercises could sometimes be.

Professor Lacer dropped the spell without further fanfare.

The turtle fell to the floor, lifeless and a little damp.

He picked it up and tossed it into a box beside his desk without care, then grabbed a glass bottle of amber liquid. "For the second most common intersection of the two, take this whiskey spelled to impart a sense of warmth and wellbeing by the shot. Alcohol does this naturally, and the fermentation and distillation are a form of transmutation, whether processed magically or not. The addition of transmogrification magic uses that same alcohol and a couple of other ingredients to boost the effects beyond simple inebriation."

"Do we get a practical demonstration of that, too?" a student called out. "I could do with a shot of warmth and wellbeing."

This caused scattered laughter, and even Professor Lacer allowed a small quirk to his lips. "Even if University rules allowed it, I would not be so reckless as to give students anything that would combine lowered inhibitions and a sense of wellbeing. You already mistake yourselves to be invincible."

He picked up a metal box, touching the controls to turn the walls of the artifact transparent. Within lay a shimmering, tapered slab of something that looked like dark oil.

'That's the same kind of evidence box the coppers use to keep things in stasis.'

"Finally, transmutation intersects with transmogrification without us realizing it. The spell cast using this fish is one interesting example." He opened the top, placed the box down, and then cast a levitation spell on the specimen using only his Conduit and the beast core for power. Even the Circle was maintained within his mind, and cast at a distance, just as he'd spoken of on their first day of class.

Sebastien grinned just to see it.

The fish floated between Professor Lacer and the students, turning slowly so they could see its flat, slablike form. "The dorienne fish survives and hunts using particularly impressive camouflage," he introduced. "It can see through its skin, and it processes the input from one side of its body and mimics it on the other with precise control of its pigmentation. The dorienne is only able to do this from one side at a time, and will turn to keep one broad side facing a predator or its prey, so that it remains effectively invisible."

He floated the dead, preserved fish into the Circle he'd drawn on the floor earlier, then placed a foot-wide mirror with a frame of ornate scrollwork across from it. "Although we are aware of how the dorienne fish works, those who first discovered it knew only that the fish could be invisible from one side at a time. They created a spell that seems to copy that process." He pointed, and the mirror became invisible, frame and all.

With a deep breath and a scowl of concentration, he moved slowly to face the students again. Now floating in front of him, the partially invisible mirror rotated to its visible side, and then around again. "The spell does not actually copy the process of the fish. Can anyone tell me how they are different?"

Sebastien leaned forward in her seat, her eyes devouring every movement as the mirror continued to spin at different angles around its axis. "It's actually invisible."

Professor Lacer turned to her. "Explain."

"With the way the fish works, light hits both sides. It's only changed what one of its sides looks like to mimic the effect of light passing straight through. The spell you're casting has made one side of the mirror invisible. When the invisible side is facing the light source, it casts no shadow. Light is passing right through it."

With a very slight smile, he floated the mirror over to the lamp on his desk to show the effect more clearly. "Mr. Siverling is correct. The dorienne invisibility spell is more power-intensive than it should be if the process were truly being copied. It killed its creator on his initial test casting. Transmogrification is unclearly defined. The trade for your Sacrifice is not always an intangible property. Sometimes, rather, it is a tangible process that you could create with transmutation, with enough study. Sometimes, transmogrification molds connotative associations, which are intangible and often beyond our powers of transmutation. But other times, transmogrification simply copies a state or process from the Sacrifice, whole-cloth. And occasionally it does one while the ignorant researcher who does not understand the limitations of their subject believes it to be doing another.

"This spell was created to copy the process of the dorienne, a much less power-intensive shortcut than the true invisibility spells of the time. And yet, in their lack of understanding, the creator of this spell did not copy, but drew on their idea of the dorienne's invisibility, never having noticed that the dorienne casts a shadow or understanding what this means."

He placed the fish back in the stasis artifact and then snapped his fingers.

Boxes appeared at the back of the classroom as if they'd been there all along—and they probably had been. "We will be moving on to another exercise today. You have had five weeks to practice moving a ball in a circle, and while you should continue to practice so that you do not grow rusty before the mid-term tournament, it is time to stretch your Will in other ways. Come up and grab a set of components. They are rated by thaum capacity."

Once all the students had filed down, retrieved the appropriate components, and returned to their desks, he continued. "You each have two bottles of dirt and a small dragon scale. Your dirt varies both in volume and the ratio of clay to sand. Those of you with a larger amount or sandier material will find this exercise more difficult. Your goal is to turn particulate earth into a solid sphere capable of withstanding pressure, and then back again. You will use both transmutation and transmogrification to achieve this. The dragon scale is to be used as a template of form as well as for the idea of its strength. In a month, you should be able to create a sturdy ball of earth from any combination of methods. From pure transmutation using pressure or heat or whatever natural process you can come up with, to accurately copying the internal structure of the dragon's scale, to imbuing your ball of earth with the defensive power of a dragon."

Professor Lacer had his own set of components on his desk, along with a steel mallet. He poured out a jar of pure sand. Under his hand, it glowed brightly with heat, flowing and melting into a sphere of opaque glass. "Transmutation," he said.

He slammed the mallet down onto it, shattering the glass sphere into powder and shards. "Fairly weak." The pieces drew back together before melting again into a ball. "Do not forget you must not only create the compressed sphere, but also return your component to its original state." The reformed ball crumbled into sand under his Will.

He picked up the dragon scale and laid it next to the pile of sand. The sand once again glowed and drew together into a sphere, but its surface was matte this time, and Sebastien thought she could make out the same patterning as the dragon scale sitting on the desk beside it.

"The simplest form of transmogrification," he said. "Copying. The internal structure of a dragon's scale is no more an intangible quality than its color is. Both are knowable, explainable by the natural sciences. And yet, spells like this have been labeled and cast as transmogrification by those who don't understand how these things come to be. I will move the sphere to the floor this time. I do not wish to damage my desk."

He brought down the iron mallet even harder than before. The sound of the impact was like the muffled crack of a frozen tree branch fracturing in the cold of winter under the weight of too much snow. The sphere was scuffed where the mallet had struck, but remained whole. He repeated this several more times to the same effect. Turning to one of the other students near the front, a strong-looking young man, Lacer called him up to take the mallet.

While the young man kept bashing away at the sphere, Lacer stood and continued lecturing, his words punctuated by the cracking sound of the mallet against the ball. "If I were to take the time to understand how the scale of the dragon is created, what the cells are made of and how their structure provides such defensive qualities, I could mold the sand without the need for a template to copy. The advantage of this method, as well as transmutation, is that as long as the transformation is complete by the time the casting stops, the changes will remain. I have created permanent change from a temporary application of magical power."

Finally, after a few dozen more whacks from the enthusiastic student, the sphere broke, falling to jagged shards like a piece of hard candy.

Professor Lacer had him stand by while he returned the pieces to sand once again, this time using the second jar as a component. "What you can copy in one direction you can copy in the other. Rather than disintegrating this through transmutation, I am copying the state of the sand."

The sphere's recreation took slightly longer the third time, and Sebastien imagined she felt the weight of Professor Lacer's Will brushing against the air.

When he finally held it up to them, it looked like the first time, shiny and semi-transparent. "This ball is a simple-structured glass imbued with the concept of a dragon's defense. True transmogrification, completely conceptual without any accompanying physical change. It is an actively cast spell, not an enchanted artifact, so the magic won't hold long, but while it does…"

He tossed the sphere to the man holding the mallet, who caught it clumsily, then placed it on the floor and whacked.

The sound was different, not such a clear crack, but deeper and hollower, as if the force of the blow had reverberated through something bigger than the sphere. The man repeated this dozens of times, but the sphere remained completely unharmed, pristine and unscuffed even after he began to pant and sweat.

Finally, Professor Lacer stopped him, once again turning the sphere back into sand, then levitating that sand back into its bottle. "Your turn," he said to the class. "Homework will be theoretical research: the glyphs and spell arrays you could use to make these effects happen. Three glyphs, maximum. Be creative, be exhaustive. Due next Wednesday."

Sebastien's jars weren't quite filled with pure sand, as the ones Professor Lacer used for his demonstration had been, but they were far from the clay dust she saw some of the other students working with, and there was enough to create a ball almost an inch in diameter. It would require both more power and more skill. With only middling success, she attempted to transmute the sandy dirt into a rock. By the end of the class period, she was frustrated with her dinky little Conduit. It kept her from crushing or heating the material with enough strength to create anything more than a lumpy ball with the consistency of sandstone.

Chapter 47 - Useless Clutter

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 9, Wednesday 3:45 p.m.

As Sebastien left the Practical Casting classroom, Anastasia and Westbay fell into step on either side of her.

"That was amazing!" Westbay crowed, his grey eyes bright and glinting. "I can't believe Professor Lacer isn't an Archmage already. Did you see that turtle? He turned clay into flesh."

"Most impressive," Ana agreed. "Do you think he was making some sort of allusion to the task given to Myrddin by the dragon?"

"What?"

"Well, as you said, he's not an Archmage yet. That classroom holds several members related to the council of Grandmasters that he would need to confirm him. Perhaps he hopes to subtly influence the council's decision by pairing himself to Myrddin in the eyes of their beloved family members. At some point, they won't be able to deny him without being seen as petty and foolish to the masses."

"Well…I suppose that's possible," Westbay said doubtfully. "But do you think he even cares about the title?"

"Who knows? Titles can hold power. Freedom," Ana said, her fingers absently stroking the spine of the ornate pink journal she carried with her everywhere and wrote in every evening.

"What I want to know is whether that turtle was edible," Westbay said, turning to Sebastien. "If I were trapped in a dungeon cell, with only the stones in the wall around me and some turtle eggs, could I create an edible creature? Not a living one, but flesh that would provide calories and nutrition?"

Sebastien raised her eyebrows as they stepped into the Great Hall. "I doubt you could. Or any of us. Rather than flesh, stone to a simple sugar might be possible, and could keep you alive, if not healthy. Besides, if you're trapped in a dungeon cell and somehow have enough power to transmogrify stone into an edible, dead turtle, I think there are better uses for your efforts. Like escaping."

Westbay blinked a couple times before launching into a response, but Sebastien's attention was drawn to the far side of the Great Hall, where Newton was stepping down from the stage where the contribution point prizes were displayed. The older young man looked tired, but not much worse than he had a couple of days before. 'Is he looking for something to help his father? Or maybe something he could sell for gold?'

The thought was a reminder of her own situation. Everything in this city cost too much, and she was running low on coins. After what she set aside to repay Oliver for Healer Nidson's fee, she was once again poor. Aside from the emergency gold hidden in the lining of her jacket and boots, she had a little less than eight gold crowns to her name. At one point, she would have considered that a fortune. Now, she knew how little it could actually get her.

She had a few contribution points by now, earned by performing well in her classes and on tests. 'Perhaps there will be something I could afford.' "I'm going to look at the prizes," she announced, interrupting whatever Westbay was saying and striding away immediately.

Westbay grumbled, "Were you even listening?" as he hurried to catch up.

"No, not at all," Sebastien admitted. It was the truth, but just because she hadn't been actively listening didn't mean she didn't hear. "You said that in this hypothetical situation, maybe the dungeon cell had some sort of protective warding that didn't allow you to break out, and no one was coming to feed you because they were afraid you would attack them, so they were hoping to kill you through simple starvation, and wouldn't they be surprised when they came to check on you a month later and the cell was filled with turtle corpses, and you'd made turtle-shell armor and weapons and were ready and waiting?"

"Um."

She shook her head with exasperation. "Honestly, Westbay. You're like a child."

"I thought you said you weren't listening?"

"I wasn't."

Ana let out a long, low laugh. "Oh, Damien. You do have the most amusing outraged expression!"

Westbay had fallen behind in his confusion, and he ran a few steps to catch up with Sebastien as she climbed onto the stage. "You weren't listening, but you retained the information anyway? But what about when we first met? You forgot my name. In fact, you heard it several times, but still didn't remember it."

Most of the prizes were in display cases or otherwise warded against theft. Sebastien skimmed the summary cards beneath a row of wands as she spoke. "It's like my mind is a vast ocean. It can hold quite a lot, but all the useless information kind of settles to the bottom. Very hard to find anything down there in the dark, piled up with all the other clutter."

"Useless information?" Westbay's voice had grown decidedly shrill.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be so dramatic. I remember your name now, don't I?"

He started muttering something about, "the most narcissistic, pig-headed, rude man…think you're the second coming of Myrddin…oh no, don't bother remembering useless information like my name," but she tuned him out again, browsing further.

She knew he wasn't actually upset, after all. His eyes were still light grey and he hadn't started fidgeting with his hair or clothes. 'If I irritate him enough, I wonder if I could get him to use that favor I owe him just to dull the razor of my tongue.'

Unfortunately, she was the one who was irritated by the way he'd suddenly started hanging around her. She didn't trust his sudden turn toward amiability. But he was determined it seemed, and undeterred by her snark.

Ana, silently aware of Sebastien's frustration, gave her a crooked smile when Westbay wasn't looking.

Atop the stage were potion ingredients, spellcasting components of varying rarity, and even things like the powder of gemstones and precious metals that could be used as components or to draw a more conductive spell array. The professors, or perhaps higher-level student aides, had probably transmuted them from something much less expensive. Of course, none of the items on offer were legally restricted, but a few were probably hard to come by in the city market, regardless of coin on hand.

Then, magical items created by the professors. A multitude of artifacts, enchanted clothing, and strange alchemical concoctions. The artifacts ranged from the useful—a better lock for the storage chests in the dorms—to fanciful and strange—a pillow that sang lullabies out of its felt mouth.

There were even a couple of small Conduits displayed in one of the glass cases. Sebastien eyed them with interest, but they were far beyond what she could afford, even the smallest costing over twelve hundred contribution points.

Ana seemed particularly interested in the enchanted clothing, eyeing the glyphs embroidered into the cloth with a magnifying glass that she pulled out of a pocket. "That's a very elegant solution. I'll have to write father about it," she muttered.

Westbay focused on the divination supplies, staring at an artistic deck of cards and a rune-inscribed basin for far-viewing. "This is what Aberford Thorndyke used to catch the hen-thief terrorizing that rural village!" he exclaimed, grinning at her, his earlier ire forgotten. Westbay was taking seven classes this term, the last of which was Divination.

Sebastien grimaced at the reminder of her own struggles with that field of magic. If only she could foist the work off onto someone like him. She sighed at the thought. 'Even if I could find someone to do it, I couldn't afford to hire them.'

A big book on a pedestal listed the other things she could buy, going into detail about what exactly she would be purchasing. In addition to purchasing better cafeteria food, there was also access to various upper sections of the library, private tutoring with University student aides of different levels and areas of expertise, and a list of the available—increasingly luxurious—dorm rooms. If she could afford it, she could live in a penthouse suite with a built-in kitchen and bathroom, all in pale marble and dark granite, and eat purple lobster three times a week.

If she had five hundred points, she could exchange them for tuition on a single University class. A quick calculation told Sebastien that if that exchange rate held steady, each point was worth about one silver crown, which was actually a significant amount.

Sebastien could afford some of the less interesting components and alchemy products, but nothing she particularly needed, and nothing she could resell for a good sum.

But the possibility had reminded her that she did have some things she didn't need.

Instead of accompanying Anastasia and Westbay to the library, she dropped off her new practice components from Practical Casting in her dorm cubicle and left for Oliver's house.

He wasn't home, but the servants greeted her happily, and Sharon forced her to sit down and have an afternoon snack that was really more like a full dinner, grinning and blushing behind her hands every time Sebastien showed appreciation for the non-University food.

When Sebastien was stuffed so full it was almost painful to walk, she went to the room Oliver was lending her and took the bags she'd brought with her that first night out of one of the closets.

Ennis's things. The bags she'd retrieved for him from that room at the inn, when she still thought he was a real father to her.

She took out one set of clothes. They were a little too short and wide for Sebastien, but she could make some adjustments so that they would fit her better. She was not very handy with a needle and thread, but that was alright. It made sense to keep a simple set of male clothes with her, ones not as attention-drawing as the items in Sebastien Siverling's wardrobe. Perhaps someday she would need to present herself as a more mundane blonde man.

With Ennis's luggage slung across her shoulders, she started walking. She kept an eye out for anyone watching or following her, but saw no eyes that were anything more than curious. Sebastien dressed like Oliver—like she could feed a family of four for a month with the price of her perfectly tailored suit made of silky, thick wool and the stylish jacket over it. She looked like she was actually warm. 'And I'm hauling three bags stuffed with the worldly possessions of a nomadic conman,' she thought. 'They're probably wondering where my manservant is.'

Her shoulders hurt by the time she reached the Verdant Stag, but she didn't want to waste coin on anything unnecessary, like the luxury of a carriage.

She'd only been to the inn-slash-entertainment-hall a few times as Sebastien. There were a couple of musicians on stage, and people were filtering in as the sun set and they got off work, filling up the seats and ordering food and ale from the bar. People were betting with a bookie in front of the large chalkboard against the other wall. She recognized one of the Stag enforcers leaning up against the wall near a hallway.

Sebastien walked past all of them.

Theo was at the top of the curved staircase at the far side of the room, sitting with a book and what looked like a half-written essay. The boy leaned his copper-haired head back until it thunked against the wall behind him, his eyes closed and his mouth yawning open in a soulless gape of boredom.

A laugh barked out of Sebastien's throat without warning, and Theo jerked to awareness.

"Sorceress!" he yipped. His eyes widened and he looked around, covering his mouth with his hand, but there was too much other noise in the room below for anyone to have heard him. He took his hands away, examining her curiously. "You don't look homeless anymore."

She grinned at him. "Having trouble with your homework?"

"Ugh!" He rolled his head back dramatically again. "It's an assignment from Mr. Mawson, my tutor. I'm supposed to write an essay on the Black Wastes, but it's so boring. I don't even know what to talk about. They're black. The Brillig caused them thousands of years ago when we were at war with them, when they knew we were gonna win and they didn't want us to have anything good if they couldn't. And stuff dies there. How'm I supposed to say any more than that? I've never even been there. I've never been more than a day's walk away from Gilbratha."

Sebastien shook her head. "Whoa. Well, if you think the Black Wastes are boring, I must say it sounds like your tutor may be a teeny bit incompetent. He left out all the interesting parts and wanted you to write an essay copied from a book?"

Theo's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What do you mean, interesting parts?"

"Well, like the stories of the adventurers who explored the Black Wastes to try and uncover the dragon corpses. The few who made it out alive told crazy—and I do mean insane—stories about the things they saw."

"Dragon corpses? What kind of things did they see?"

"Well, how long is your essay supposed to be?"

"Two pages."

She waved her hand carelessly. "That's nothing. Take notes. I will give you the information for the source material you can say you referenced if your tutor gives you problems, too." She settled next to him on the top step of the stairs, speaking slowly. "This comes out of Edward Leeson's third volume of 'History of the Indomitable Race,' which is actually kind of an ironic title, because…"

She told stories, repeating particularly interesting sections, answering questions, and helping him spell certain names while Theo scribbled as fast as he could to keep up with the information. Almost an hour later, he had three pages of notes and a cramping hand. "Okay. I think that's enough material," she said finally.

He sighed with relief as he stretched out his fingers, but still pouted reluctantly. "What about the other knight who went in with Briarson?"

She stood and began to walk down the hall to Katerin's office, and Theo gathered up his things and scrambled to walk with her. "Briarson said that his partner went to check the perimeter around their camp, but didn't come back until dawn, and when he did, he was glowing and shooting off sparks of green light, 'like a dandelion in the wind.'" She used her fingers to indicate the quotation, then knocked on the door to Katerin's office. "So Briarson shot him with an arrow. Well, six arrows. Briarson said his partner kept getting up again, so he had to keep shooting. No one knows if that really happened or if Briarson had gone insane by then."

When Katerin called for them to come in, Theo bounced into the room. "What happened then? Did Briarson get out?"

Sebastien shook her head. "No, he never did. We know all this because a later expedition found his journal. It had been enchanted to ward off the elements. That expedition confirmed Briarson's body was right there in camp, dead of unknown causes. And they found the arrows he'd shot on the other side of camp, broken and rotting. But they didn't find the body of his companion."

Theo's eyes were round. "Could he have…got up again? Like Briarson said?"

Katerin raised her eyebrows.

Sebastien shrugged, suppressing her smile. "No one knows. Maybe he was a hallucination. Or maybe he was real, but he wasn't Briarson's friend at all. Maybe Briarson's friend never came back from checking the perimeter."

Theo shuddered in delighted horror. "Titan's balls, I can't wait to rub this in Mr. Mawson's face. He never said anything about any of this stuff. Not the good stuff, I mean, just the death tolls and the loss of farmland and the boring recovery efforts."

"Language, Theo," Katerin reprimanded lazily, her accent throaty and biting. "And maybe he never said anything about that because he didn't think it was appropriate to regale a young boy with horror stories."

Sebastien winced.

"They're not horror stories! They're real! The sorcer—I mean, he"—Theo jerked his head to Sebastien as he bounced over to Katerin's side—"gave me all sorts of sources. This all comes out of real books that he read. It's for my essay on the Black Wastes, which are actually super cool and not boring at all." He waved the scribbled sheets of note paper at her.

Katerin sighed, but ruffled his hair with a smile. "Okay. Real horror stories, then. Make sure you thank Sebastien here. And that essay better be good enough that I can rub it in Mr. Mawson's face, too, when he comes complaining to me." She winked at him. "Now go to your room and finish your homework."

Grinning wide and gleefully as only a child could, he ran out. "Thanks, Mr. Sebastien!" he called over his shoulder.

"Err, I'm sorry if—" Sebastien started, but Katerin cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"No, no, it's fine. Great, actually." She stood, walking to the window and shutting the curtains against the night. "Oliver suggested a reward system to get Theo more focused on his learning, and it's been working to some degree, but Theo's only been dragging himself through it for the end prize. I overheard him giving himself a pep talk in the bathroom yesterday." The woman chuckled fondly. "It's nice to see him actually excited about learning for once."

Katerin's crimson hair and white teeth, especially after night had fallen, still made Sebastien think of a vampire. Or maybe it was something about the way the muscles around her eyes and mouth were tight with what was probably tension and fatigue, but looked a little like hunger, too. Her eyes roved over the leather and canvas luggage bags Sebastien had let drop to the floor. "What have you brought me?"

"The belongings of one Ennis Naught," Sebastien replied softly. "I was hoping to get your advice on the best way to sell them."

Katerin raised an eyebrow, but replied smoothly. "Nothing that would lead back to him, and through him to you, I hope?"

"Of course not. Good clothes, a warm, waterproof jacket, and fancy knickknacks he collected to make himself seem cultured or richer than he actually was." Ennis had accumulated a lot for someone with such a nomadic lifestyle. Sebastien had taken only the bags that were light enough to carry, which meant she mostly had his clothes, and the rest had been left at the inn for the coppers. "It should be worth at least a few gold, even used."

"There's a shop about half a kilometer north of here. They'll pay for things like that, mostly from people who've died or commoners who are upper-class enough to wear only new clothes but aren't wasteful enough to throw away their worn purchases from last year. Tell them I sent you, and don't accept the first number they offer." Katerin scribbled their name and location on a scrap of paper and handed it to Sebastien.

"Thank you," Sebastien said. She turned to the door, then hesitated. "Are there any updates?"

Katerin eyed her thoughtfully, then took out a pipe from the drawer in her desk and began to fill it with a dark blue crumble that Sebastien recognized as dried etherwood leaves. The smoke was smooth and calming, and great for blowing smoke rings, but nonaddictive. Either it was laced with something else, or Katerin's smoking habit was purely recreational. "He's still in jail. They brought in a cursebreaker and a shaman to see him, with no luck. He's still telling the same story."

Sebastien frowned. "You mean…the truth?" 'A shaman might help him to clarify his dreams or memories to give better testimony, but why a cursebreaker?'

Katerin placed the pipe onto a round glass coaster with a spell array molded into its surface. She paused to concentrate, frowning until a spark burst to life in the bowl of the pipe, orange smoldering in the depths of the dried leaves. "Well, yes. But I'm not sure they believe the truth, with the sudden notoriety of the Raven Queen. Our contact says most of them think he's just a pawn in the Raven Queen's scheme and doesn't know anything useful. But the coppers are unwilling to give up on Ennis just yet. They hope he might lead them to her involuntarily." She looked up, sucking on the mouth of the pipe and then tilting her head back to release a thick ring of light blue smoke. "She's contacted him twice already, after all."

"Ah." Sebastien ran her tongue across the back of her teeth. "But they're not torturing him, or threatening execution?"

"You sure you want to get rid of those bags?" Katerin's gaze was piercing, but her expression showed no actual curiosity.

"Yes." Sebastien gripped the straps of the packs tighter.

"It's just that someone who really does not care wouldn't be asking me these things, right?"

Sebastien shifted, her shoulders tightening. "Well, if I find myself slipping into feelings of worry or guilt, I need only to remember that, if Ennis Naught somehow gets out of jail, he only has himself to blame for giving my birthright heirloom ring—with a Master level Conduit—to the Gervin Family, which would have been worth more than enough to buy him new clothes and support him. Even after his ungrateful daughter sold all his things." Her voice petered out on a low snarl.

Katerin just stared back silently.

Sebastien straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and left for the address of the shop Katerin had given her.

She made five gold off the lot.

Chapter 48 - Unresolved Curiosity

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 14, Monday 9:00 a.m.

After getting rid of Ennis's belongings, Sebastien spent the night studying, allowing her magic-casting faculties to rest, except for a single use of the divination ward against a scrying attempt. The coppers seemed to be trying at random times, hoping to catch her off guard, but with the way the ward worked, it would start to veil her even without her conscious aid, and the stabbing feel of it in the skin of her back when it activated was impossible to ignore or sleep through.

After a couple days of research, she determined that a map-based location divination was her best option. Her blood was almost certainly at the coppers' base, and Oliver was doubtful of their ability to access it. But that simply wasn't acceptable. There had to be a way to actually solve the problem, and pinpointing the location of her blood was the first step in doing so.

The spell she eventually settled on was meant to precisely determine the location of the separated piece of her blood on a map. With multiple castings, she could use more detailed, close-up maps to determine its location with increasing precision. Once she knew exactly where it was, she could destroy it.

'Maybe I could have a Lino-Wharton raven messenger fly in an explosive potion, or force my blood to escape from its confines with a telekinetic spell, or even get Liza's help with a switching spell or something. It is impossible for them to ward against everything.'

It also helped that the map-locating spell didn't require any overly expensive components, except for the tiny vial of mercury and an eagle's eye.

That weekend, Sebastien bought alchemy ingredients at Waterside Market again—which Oliver reimbursed her for—along with the ingredients for the scrying spell—which she had to cover herself. She then spent almost the entire weekend brewing for the Stags to try and pay off at least some of the interest on her debt. She focused on the more intensive potions that Oliver's enforcers would need, like the philtre of darkness and revivifying potion, as well as the blood-clotting potion, which she could produce a lot more of in a single batch. Every enforcer should be supplied with at least two.

Despite her inability to channel large amounts of energy through her new Conduit, she could still complete potions in smaller batches. These were worth more than many of the more common-use potions sold in the Verdant Stag's little alchemy shop, and she made a single extra dose in a couple of her batches for herself, so she still came out ahead.

It was likely that getting her blood from the coppers would take a combination of money and power, neither of which she had at the moment. Retrieving her blood, like figuring out a solution to her sleep problem, would likely be a long-term project.

A week after the rogue magic sirens had gone off, the coppers released a statement about their cause. It had indeed been an Aberrant.

Apparently, a prostitute had been attempting to cast an illegal, dangerous allure spell and had corrupted her Will. She'd broken under the strain and become a rabid creature of evil. The Red Guard had dealt with the Aberrant easily enough, and there were no lingering effects or danger.

Everyone was talking about it that Monday in Intro to Modern Magics. There was plenty of gossip and speculation, but no real details. Being as pleasant as possible, Sebastien even asked Damien Westbay, "Is that the full story? Have you heard any more details?"

He brightened perceptibly under her interested gaze. "My brother wrote to me that the spell she was trying to cast was new magic, something she cobbled together trying to do more than one thing at once. She was apparently disfigured, so she turned to magic out of desperation to attract customers," he said.

"What were the abilities of the Aberrant?" she asked. "Some kind of allure effect, I'm assuming." Usually, Aberrants had some relation to what the thaumaturge had been casting when they broke.

Westbay shook his head regretfully. "I don't know. He didn't go into detail. I could write him and ask, if you want?"

Sebastien hesitated, considering it, but shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for the leader of the coppers to know her name, or anything else about her. "No, that's alright. Thank you, though," she murmured, her thoughts turning inward.

Westbay beamed as if he'd won some sort of award.

Professor Lacer might know something, too, if the rumors about his past association with the Red Guard were true, but she was afraid to ask him for gossip.

Professor Burberry reeled back in the students' attention to introduce their project for the week, a color-changing spell. It was labeled a transmogrification spell, and they were all given half a dozen different items in bright colors to use as components, plus a little vial of yak urine, which was apparently known for its ability to help dyes stay color-fast. They would be casting the spell on a white mouse with the intent to overcome its natural resistance and change the color of its fur.

The rest of Westbay's group of Crown Family friends had been interacting with Sebastien more frequently, likely spurred on by his own sudden amicability toward her. They sat around her, Ana on one side and Rhett Moncrieffe on the other, with the rest of the group scattered close by. After a single silent nod to Sebastien, Moncrieffe turned to the pretty girl on his other side, who blushed under the weight of his attention. Sebastien was relieved he wasn't as pushy as Westbay.

As Burberry lectured on the details of the color-change spell, Waverly Ascott tried to read a book on summoning under the table while Brinn Setterlund gently covered for her and alerted her whenever she needed to pretend to be paying attention to the professor.

When the time came to cast the spell, Ascott succeeded without much trouble despite her lack of attention, then returned to her surreptitious reading, her straight black hair shifting forward to hide her face.

Ana caught the direction of Sebastien's gaze and leaned a little closer to murmur, "She dislikes Burberry because Burberry is prejudiced against witches."

Now that Ana mentioned it, Sebastien realized that there had been hints of that in Burberry's lectures. Sorcerers reigned supreme in their professor's mind. "But…Waverly is a sorcerer?" Sebastien murmured, turning her eyes back to the caged mouse in front of her whose hair they were supposed to be turning different colors.

"For now, yes. The Ascott Family doesn't approve of her interests, but she's preparing to make a contract with a powerful Elemental. She'll have succeeded by the time we finish with the University, if not sooner."

Sebastien was intrigued, and could admit she respected that kind of passion, even if she herself preferred the personal control of sorcery. Instead of a celerium Conduit, witches channeled magic through their bound familiars, which could be tamed magical beasts, creatures, or even sapient beings conjured from one of the Elemental Planes. There was less chance for a witch to lose control or go insane from Will-strain, as their familiar took on some of the burden of casting, and the witch would always find casting spells that were within the natural purview of her familiar's magic easier. However, spells that were antithetical to the familiar's natural abilities would be more difficult.

Witches gave up versatility for focused power and safety. And for some witches, maybe for companionship.

Sebastien returned her focus to her own spellcasting, but was distracted again as Alec Gervin snapped at the student aide leaning over his shoulder.

"I did exactly what you said! You're bungling the explanation. It's useless, I can't work with you. Send over the other guy," he said, jerking his head at the other student aide with a glower.

The student aide seemed taken aback, but Gervin was resolute and got his way.

To Sebastien's surprise, Westbay waved the reprimanded student aide over and made a murmured apology for his friend.

Sebastien grunted in disgust. "Surprising, that you and he share the same last name," she murmured to Ana.

Ana smiled demurely, her eyes remaining on her own mouse, which was cowering in the corner of its little cage. "Alec was never taught finesse. He's failing several classes, and he's afraid of what's going to happen when the Family finds out. His father, my uncle, is a horrid man. I've no particular love for Alec, but it's best to think of him like an abused dog. He lashes out at strangers because his master lashes out at him." Her smile grew crooked, a little wicked. "In fact, he's like a dog in many ways."

'That's no excuse,' Sebastien thought, but she was smirking too.

But as they were filtering out of the class, Sebastien brushed against Gervin, who was still glowering with those bushy black eyebrows. "Our student aide, Newton Moore, does paid tutoring," she murmured to Gervin. "He taught me a spell, and I found his explanation to be very clear. Perhaps you'd prefer working with him?" Alec Gervin could afford it, and from what she'd learned, Newton could use the coin.

Gervin scowled at her suspiciously, but she was already pushing past him.

On Tuesday, after Sympathetic Science, Sebastien stayed to talk to Professor Pecanty while the other students left.

"How can I help you, young man?" he asked in that lilting cadence that made everything he said sound like poetry.

"I've got a couple of questions about transmogrification." Pecanty nodded, so she jumped right in. "Does it actually matter the conditions when components are gathered? What's the difference between morning dew gathered before the sun rises or afterward? Or from morning dew and a bit of steam from a boiling cauldron?"

Pecanty's genial smile fell away, and he seemed to puff up a bit. "I think you're a little too young to be questioning the achievements in understanding of all those that have come before you. Surely you can see that the intrinsic properties of morning dew are very different than steam off your cauldron? This is Sympathetic Science, Mr. Siverling. If you still wish to question the expertise of myself and the people who have filled our library with books on the subject, please wait to do so until you are at least a Master of Sorcery."

Sebastien's shoulders tightened, and her chin rose involuntarily, even though she knew it wasn't a good idea to challenge a professor who was so obviously unimpressed with her. "Well, what about the different types of transmogrification? Professor Lacer mentioned it. Some of it's copying a template, and some of it uses ideas that are so vague as to be ungraspable. Are the delineations between different types of transmogrification officially recognized? I've never heard anyone talking about that."

"Transmogrification is all the same. If you do not understand, it is because your foundation is patchy and weak. Understanding builds upon previous learning and enough practice that the feel becomes instinctual. If you are too impatient to put in the long-term effort without succumbing to your need to force the world into your little boxes of classification and order, you will never progress past petty questions that have no answers. Go now, young man, and try to see the beauty in the book of poems I assigned, rather than analyzing every word for its technical definition. Believe me, this type of questioning will not serve you well in my class, or in this craft." He waved his hand at her and turned away dismissively.

Sebastien's heart was beating loud in her ears, and she felt her cheeks tingle with blood. Clenching her jaw hard to keep herself from speaking, she strode out of the classroom and up to the second floor, where she'd recently found an out-of-the-way classroom that had at one point been used as a supply room for the elective art classes. There was an old slate lap table with a carved Circle that had once been an artifact whose magic kept the rain and elements off the writing surface. Now, it was empty of energy and entirely mundane—which was probably why it had been abandoned. It was the perfect aid to help her practice her fabric-slicing spell on one of the walls. She left behind light gouges in the white stone until her anger had dimmed and cooled to embers rather than a fire devouring her rationality.

Panting, she put away the small folding table and set up a spell to practice sympathetic divination. 'Time to find my blood.'

Chapter 49 - Reverse Scrying

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 15, Tuesday 12:30 p.m.

Sebastien didn't worry about someone walking in on her. There had been enough dust in this room to tell her that it was rarely used and likely unmonitored, and she had locked the door just in case. She'd cleared out a little corner in the back of the room to practice in. She couldn't practice this divination in the dorms behind the paltry protection of her curtain, or in the public practice rooms, after all. It was illegal for anyone besides the coppers to sympathetically scry for a human.

As always, she started with the Circle. Divination was finicky. For power, the spell required special candles infused with scented oils and dyed certain colors, rather than a coal brazier or her much more convenient lantern. She set them evenly around the main Circle's edges, in the component Circles meant for them.

Then she placed the map, which covered the entirety of Gilbratha. It was fairly accurate everywhere except the Mires, which were haphazard and frequently changing, a sea of shanty houses built out of old wood and white stone stolen from the dwindling remains of the southern white cliffs.

The spell had a few prerequisites, and in some ways was more like alchemy than the actively cast sorcery she practiced in her classes. Actively cast spells would dissipate as soon as she released her Will, but with ritual magic, spells were not controlled by the Word of a spell array, but woven into and absorbed by the matter they were bound to through the practice of the ritual. The magic created a kind of multi-dimensional weave with its host, which was self-sustaining enough to be semi-permanent. This was what allowed potions to work months or sometimes even years after they had been brewed. As a tradeoff, it took way longer and lost about a third of the energy immediately, with the remaining magical effect slowly degrading after that.

Sebastien used some small pieces of dirt, rock, and slivers of bark that she had collected from a relatively wide section of the city and carefully labeled. She placed them on the map as precisely as possible, corresponding with the places she'd obtained them, then added a handful of tent spikes, for their concept of anchoring.

She dipped her finger in the wax of the nearest candle, suppressing a wince at the heat of it. The wax quickly cooled as she drew her hand away, creating a film over her skin. She repeated the process with the other five candles until her fingertip had a thick coating of layered wax. Concentrating hard on her memory of each anchor spot in the city, she first touched a tent spike, then, as if pulling a thread from it to the map, she drew a hexagram around one of the pebbles. As she moved, slowly and deliberately, as if the spell was an animal that might attack if she startled it, she chanted in a low voice. "To the earth you are bound. Weight of stone, iron, and root. Foot to foot, head to head, heart to heart. As the roots of a tree are reflected in its branches, be as one." The candles flickered, and the wax at her fingertip grew a little softer.

'No mistakes. Your Will is absolute,' she told herself, redoubling her concentration. She could have done this from outside the Circle, using a long stick to write instead of her finger, but the book she'd learned the spell from had cautioned against sloppiness, and she knew from her work with alchemy that any feeling of detachment would work against the purpose of the spell, which was all about creating sameness and connectivity, to the point that in the eyes of magic, one became the other.

Panting once she finished, she cleared away the dirt, bark, and stone, putting them back into their labeled bags. She would need to use them again any time she wanted to recast the spell, because with such a short ritual, and the map being a precreated item that hadn't been inherently changed during casting, the spell's weave would unravel and degrade quickly.

A single pea sized drop of mercury—the most expensive part of the spell—came next. Her cauldron was much too big for it, so she used a small glass bowl the size of a finger cymbal, large enough to hold only a single swallow. She placed it in the center of the map instead of over any of the flames, dropping the mercury from its vial into the bowl. "To search and seek. To hark and peek," she began, slowly and deliberately adding the ear of a bat, an eagle's eye, and a tiny glass lens from a child's toy. She stirred, six times six, with a rod made of dehydrated sprite honey mixed with the powder of a lava-pepper. The rod shrank with each stir, until she was holding only a stub, and within the little bowl sat a trembling, mirrorlike ball of spelled mercury, still only the size of a pea despite the amalgamated components.

The final step was the actual divination spell, which did require a spell array. Moving the map and mercury to the side, she drew it carefully and consulted the book to make sure she'd not forgotten anything. She'd already studied the spell to ensure she fully understood the purpose of each glyph, numerological symbol, and word, but now she reviewed them all again. The map went back into the Circle, and a tiny dot of the mercury was placed in its center, with the rest set aside for future attempts. She caught the tip of a little bundle of dried herbs on fire in the nearest candle, snuffed the flame immediately, then waved the bundle about to let the herb smoke settle through the air.

Remembering how she'd seen Liza work at one point, Sebastien drew a hexagram with the smoke, then glyphs for "key" which could also be interpreted as "answer," and "discovery."

Using one of her own hairs—which was much less likely to have people panicking and calling for the coppers than a drop of blood if she were to be discovered—she began to cast, focusing on how desperately she needed to know exactly where her missing blood was.

The most difficult part of the map-based divination spell was that she lacked the skill to work past the huge beacon that was the blood in her own body.

That was the downside to scrying for her own blood.

The upside was that if it was someone else's blood, with a weaker sympathetic connection, a sorcerer as unskilled and untalented at divination as she was might not have been able to successfully cast the spell at all.

The first couple of times she attempted it, the tiny dot of spelled mercury rolled across the map to the University, and more specifically, the western edge of the Citadel where the abandoned storage room was. She was scrying herself. "Yay," she said dully, sagging back as she released her draw on the special candles.

It would have been a small silver lining if her ward had activated, because she could have found a way to make that useful, but there had only been a gentle tingle in her back before it fell silent. Apparently, it was impossible to cast a divination spell on herself while simultaneously warding one off, as they were strictly opposing thought processes, and her mind couldn't split into two independent consciousnesses. This meant that she couldn't simply cast a scrying spell on herself whenever she wanted to sneak around without being noticed.

When the pin-head sized dot of spelled mercury lost its shininess—and its magic—she gave up. She only had so many attempts before she would need to buy more, and "try harder" did not seem to be the answer.

More research revealed a solution to the first problem. She found the answer, ironically, in a book that leaned more toward history than magical instruction. Liza had, perhaps, mentioned her participation in the Haze War for a reason.

It was the perfect example of how necessity—war—stimulated invention. The war had started over greed for Lenore's celerium mines and the foreign invention of an improved method for divination-based, long-range attacks. Silva Erde and several smaller countries had banded together against Lenore. This led to the counter-invention of an anti-divination fog. This "haze" was spread over the tactical areas and battlefields, blocking the targeting ability of enemy long-range attacks. The haze inspired the creation of a biological warfare philtre that spread on the air and thrived in the low-light of the haze. Of course, this led to an immediate improvement in wearable air-filtering and skin-protecting artifacts. Stronger divination spells began to filter through the haze. Reverse-scrying spells were vastly improved, making them much more dangerous for the distant attackers, who could be pinpointed through their own attacks and attacked in turn. Eventually, exploring the principles behind how the haze actually worked, Lenore discovered the existence of divination rays and revolutionized the anti-divination field.

While the concepts were mentioned, many of the spells themselves were still either confidential or beyond her access level, but the basics of reverse-scrying were available freely, since the concept far predated the recent military improvements.

As the book suggested, once a diviner sent out feelers, it was much harder to stop someone following those feelers back to the source. Sebastien could piggyback on the searching magic of the coppers' attempt to scry for her, thus overriding the pull of the blood in her own body to find the few drops they were using.

Of course, there were wards to stop that kind of thing, but apparently, they were expensive, prone to failing, and generally not useful for domestic law enforcement, because they had no need to disguise the fact that they were scrying for you. If you found and approached them, it only made their arrest of you easier.

Sebastien couldn't practice that variation successfully until they made an attempt to find her at a convenient time, but she still tried to increase her facility with divination spells. Holding off the scrying attempt at the same time as tracking it back would be very difficult, and if she wasn't prepared, either of the spells might fail. If the divination failed, she only risked Will-strain, but if the divination-diverting ward failed, she might actually be caught. The ward wasn't strong enough to hold off the coppers without her active participation.

The only reason she could—hypothetically—do both at once was because, first, the ward handled most of the actual work for her, only needing her to feed it more power rather than control the spell. Secondly, the ward against divination was shielding against someone else, which was the same target she was attempting to find. It was like two people hiding in a dark forest, both trying to find the other, which was conceptually possible, as opposed to attempting to move and be still at the same time, which…wasn't. Hopefully it worked. If it didn't, she was unlikely to kill anyone except herself, as long as she cast it in a suitably secluded area.

She set aside most of her free time all week to practice in the abandoned storage room, prepared to wake early and slip back out to eat breakfast before her first class started.

Her ire with Professor Pecanty flared back to life when she returned to Modern Magics on Wednesday, but she suppressed it.

Professor Burberry used a dab of hair-loss potion on the mice they had used to practice the color-changing transmogrification spell, then used another potion to help the fur regrow.

Some students' mice grew colored fur, somehow permanently, inherently changed by the spell. Most regrew the same solid white as before. At the place where the potions had been used, Sebastien's grew back a little splotch of white hair, which stood out starkly on its otherwise rainbow-colored pelt. She felt the uncomfortable prickling of shame as she stared at it. 'Maybe if Professor Pecanty would actually help me understand, I could do it better,' she snarled to herself.

Professor Burberry handed out contribution points to those who'd managed to create truly permanent change.

Ana nudged Sebastien, giving her a small smile. "Don't be too harsh on yourself, Sebastien. I'm sure you can get it, if you try again. It's not as if your grade will be marked down just because you didn't manage to imbue the entire mouse with enhanced properties. You did change the color of the fur, and you did it perfectly."

Sebastien shook her head, and Ana looked like she might keep trying to comfort her, or encourage her, or whatever she was trying to do, but then Westbay came up holding his flower-patterned rodent and distracted her. "Do you think the colors would pass down to a child if I bred it with a white mouse? Or what if we bred a red mouse and a green mouse? Do we get brown mice babies?" He reached into his pocket and fed the creature a little piece of bread roll that he'd taken from breakfast.

"I don't know, but I wonder if brightly colored rabbits or other docile creatures might make a good gift product for children," Ana said. "My little sister would probably love a bright pink mouse."

Sebastien, with what she thought was incredible self-control, did not throw herself into practicing the color-change spell outside of class. Her focus remained on preparing for the reverse-scrying.

The only side project she allowed herself was making sure she had a dozen ink spells drawn on parchment and ready to go. With the fire-retardant seaweed paper, she actually didn't have to use her blood to keep the paper from burning up along the lines of the spell array. Sebastien had realized, after all the research into divination she'd been doing, how incredibly stupid her plan had been. By removing her blood from the barrier of her skin, she had made it theoretically possible for the coppers to find it, even if they couldn't find her.

'How did the coppers not find me already? Do they know where I am and are just toying with me for some reason? Maybe they want me to lead them to my accomplices.' But if that were the case, why would they have continued their attempts, over and over? She wasn't entirely oblivious, and she'd noticed nothing suspicious, no one watching her or going through her things.

Perhaps they hadn't found her yet, after all. If so, that might have something to do with how she kept her school supplies nearby constantly, and the divination-diverting ward had some minimal area-of-effect capabilities that affected perception around her. They had no way to find that blood without finding her, and she was very thoroughly warded. If she had left the inkwell or a paper spell with her blood far enough away that the coppers could conceivably find it instead of her…or if they had been using a spell with different divination outputs that would give them information only on the inkwell instead of broad information that included her…

Maybe they had been having the same trouble as her with scrying for anything small past the huge beacon of her body, but she didn't know enough about how the ward worked to count on that. With most wards, whatever was behind them would be completely blocked off, and that would only make it more likely for their magic to focus on the unwarded traces of her.

In shuddering horror, she had destroyed the whole inkwell along with the small paper spell array she'd created previously, then gone through all her things casting the shedding-disintegration spell over and over, ensuring not even a drop of blood-laced ink, or hair, or anything remained.

When her racing heart had calmed, she tried to think of any other critical mistakes she might have made. She held a trembling hand to her lips, holding in a tremulous laugh. With her track record, she probably had made more than one, and just didn't realize it.

'The blood print vows I made, what about those? Could the coppers scry for those, even if they cannot find me?' She had a copy of each, but so did Katerin and Liza. Liza's would definitely be behind wards, and she was pretty sure Katerin's would, too, but her own copies might not be safe. They were hidden with the stolen book at Dryden Manor. Of course, the spell did have restrictions against any use of the blood without one of the parties having broken their vow, but she wasn't sure if that also acted as a ward against divination. She resolved to make sure Dryden Manor was properly warded, and if not, learn to set up small anti-divination wards herself. Luckily, that was a small amount of blood, barely a drop, and would give off a much smaller beacon than the amount she'd added to the ink or the mass of her own body.

When she had calmed enough that her hand didn't shake, she laid down spell arrays, in ink only, on her seaweed paper. She made some of them large enough that she had to fold up the spell array to get it to fit inconspicuously within her bag, while others were small and ready to be used immediately, only requiring that she place their components for rapid casting. She'd decided on fourteen simple spells that she thought could help in a variety of emergency situations.

In the middle of the night, as if they were trying to catch her off guard, the coppers scried for her again. The prickling of cold needles in her back woke her as her ward went to work before she was even conscious.

'The Citadel will probably be locked at this time of night, and besides, I don't have any time to waste.' It wasn't as safe as her abandoned classroom, but instead she went to one of the more inconvenient bathrooms on the dorm's second floor, where there were fewer students. She checked the stalls rapidly, then shoved a wedge of wood underneath the door from the inside to keep it from opening. She'd taken the wedge from the door of a random classroom days before, for situations specifically like this.

She had all the components for the mapped divination spell, but casting the prerequisite magic on the map, which had worn off since her earlier practice, was torturously slow and difficult, with much of her attention split toward warding off the coppers' attention. The reverse-scry itself might have actually been easier than the setup, being more congruent in concept and intent.

She had barely finished anchoring the map and was only a couple of seconds into the reverse-scry when the five disks embedded in her back calmed, the pressure easing.

Rather than sigh in relief, Sebastien slumped forward, letting out a low groan of defeat. 'Did they sense what I was doing? Is that why they stopped? But it was so soon! The mercury had barely even started to tremble!'

She paced for a while, her reverse-scrying spell waiting in the stall farthest from the door, some part of her hoping that the coppers would try again.

They did not.

Reluctantly accepting this, Sebastien quenched the candles, packed up the spell components, and tried her best to go back to sleep.

The coppers didn't try again over the next couple of days, and she worried that they really had sensed her attempt to find her blood and become more wary. It was…disheartening, but she continued to practice, just in case. She didn't have time to make real progress with the paper design, or practice any of the spells until they were second nature, so she focused on those she'd been long familiar with, or which she was practicing in Professor Burberry's Modern Magics and her other classes. Having them ready in her satchel made her feel a little more prepared, even if they weren't particularly powerful.

On Thursday morning, she got a little too engrossed with practice in the abandoned classroom on the second floor and forgot to stop for breakfast.

She hurried back to the dorms to put the divination components away in the chest at the foot of her bed before History of Magic. Professor Ilma always jumped into the lecture right away, and Sebastien would miss out if she was even a minute late.

In her hurry, she wasn't paying attention to where she was walking, and ran right into Tanya, their female student liaison and Newton's counterpart, outside the dorm as they both turned a corner.

Tanya was surprising solid, and rather than falling or stumbling, she spun around to snatch the spelled paper bird she had dropped out of the air before it could flutter feebly away. She didn't bother to stop, simply snapping, "Watch where you're walking, Siverling. You could put a lady's shoulder out."

"I'm sorry!" Sebastien called after her.

Tanya waved an uncaring hand in the air without looking back, her head bowed to read whatever message had been folded inside the spelled piece of paper.

As Sebastien grabbed the homework she'd left in her trunk and emptied her school bag of the bulky divination components, she heard the shuffle of hard leather on stone. She whipped her head around to see Westbay slouching against the entrance of her little stone cubicle, his chestnut hair perfect and his grey eyes staring out over the seemingly constant bags of fatigue under them. She wondered idly if the condition was genetic, because he slept almost nine hours every night.

She shoved the lid of her chest shut before turning to him. "What do you want, Westbay? Shouldn't you be getting to class?" The rest of the dorm was almost completely empty, except for a few students rushing off to their first class. Considering the sprawling expanse of the University grounds, they were already likely to be late unless they ran.

He shrugged. "It's just History of Magic. A different section than whatever class you're in. My professor won't even realize I'm gone. Say, have you read any more of those Aberford Thorndyke stories I lent you? I got the latest issue delivered. I can pass it on once I'm finished, if you're up to speed on the timeline."

Sebastien was torn between rolling or narrowing her eyes. 'He's not one to skip classes so nonchalantly. Is he truly that desperate for someone to talk about his little detective stories, or is he fishing? How long was he standing there?' She reached for the curtain beside the opening to her dormitory cubicle. 'Best to be calculated in my response, let him feel comfortable enough to give himself away.' "Sure, but I'm not finished with the stack you gave me before, so there's no—" Her tongue stumbled to a halt and her eyes widened for a moment before she controlled her expression.

Westbay looked at her with confusion.

"I just remembered something. Homework. Sorry, Westbay, no time to talk. You should go to class even if your professor isn't noting your attendance. History is important." With that rushed tumble of words, she pulled the curtain shut right in his face.

She was being scried.

As she pulled the components for the reverse-scrying spell back out again, she listened to Westbay's footsteps retreat. With hands quickened by worry, she pulled the components for the reverse-scrying spell back out again. It seemed she might not be getting to class after all.

After checking to make sure she was alone, Sebastien carefully laid everything out on the floor of her cubicle. In a way, the timing was lucky. Many of the most time-consuming parts of the divination were in the prerequisite spells cast on the components like the drop of mercury and the map. Without being an artifact itself, the magic on the map would wear off somewhat quickly, but it was still ready to go at the moment.

As quickly as she could, she drew the spell array, then placed the candles, the map, and the dot of mercury, along with a bronze mirror she'd polished herself and a few other components that would help her augment the target of the divination. She dabbed a bit of herb smoke around and began to scry. Carefully.

It was more difficult than she'd expected. Much more. It wasn't that she didn't have the power, though that was part of the problem. It was her concentration. The clarity and stability of her Will, for one of the first times in recent memory, proved unable to meet her demands. 'Maybe it's because I am so exceptionally untalented with divination,' she thought bitterly.

Rather than stiffening, she relaxed and controlled her breathing, routing every last drop of energy and control to her Will.

A part of her attention went toward feeding the divination-diverting ward in her back, deflecting attention and slipping away from the prying tendrils of the rival sorcerer. That part was easier, and didn't require the same focus that reaching out through the city for a tiny missing piece of herself did. She couldn't get too focused on the spell, or her ward would grow weak enough that they might find her, but splitting energy and concentration like this was not something that came naturally to humans.

It was like trying to play two different songs on the piano at the same time. The reverse-divination was difficult and complicated, while empowering the ward took only a couple of plinking notes, but it was still almost impossible to keep them going together. Trying to cast two actual spells at the same time would have taken the equivalent of four hands, and while she was reluctant to say that it was impossible, it would require both spells to be merged into a single, more complicated spell with multiple outputs, rather than two separate spell arrays.

The dot of spelled mercury moved over the map, and at first her insides tightened with frustration, because it was just finding her again, but then it rolled right over the spot where it usually stopped.

The mercury settled at a spot she judged to be slightly northwest of the student dorms.

She held the spell for a couple more seconds, staring at the map. Then she let the magic go, shoving everything haphazardly into her trunk, uncaring of the hot candle wax spilling onto her belongings. She didn't bother with a locking spell. It was too different from the magic of the planar ward, and she didn't want to risk failure.

'My blood is at the University.'

She shook her head. 'But the coppers have it, don't they? I expected to find it at their station, or maybe at the prison, or even a black site where they hold important evidence. So why is it at Eagle Tower?' She hurried from the room and out of the building, moving with purpose but without panic.

Eagle Tower was where the professors and high level students carried out their experiments, Sebastien knew.

'It could have been here all along, if my information was wrong from the beginning, but I don't think so. There's a reason the pressure is so much stronger this time. Did they give my blood to the University in hopes the diviners here could do a better job? The University does have a stake in my capture, after all. The book was theirs. But would the coppers give up such a big win? It seems unlikely. They're tenacious, as evidenced by the continued attempts to find me despite their ongoing failure.' She walked along the winding path into the cultivated woods between the Citadel and Eagle Tower. The scrying attempt was getting stronger as it went on, and had already been going for several minutes, longer and harder than most she'd fended off before.

'Maybe that's it. They've failed to find me and this is their next move. A better spell array than whatever they have access to at Harrow Hill, stronger thaumaturges, maybe more than one casting the spell at the same time. And they're close to me, even if they don't realize it. That'll make it easier. This is their sharper knife, their bigger hammer, the thing they pull out when they really need a win.'

As Eagle Tower appeared through the veil of trees, she looked up at the looming obelisk of pale stone. 'If they're powerful enough to find me, I have to stop them. Somehow.'

Chapter 50 - Eagle Tower

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 9:00 a.m.

Sebastien hesitated for a moment, staring up at Eagle Tower. 'Should I just walk away? Avoid the risk and go to class along with everyone else, hide among the other students and hope no one notices me?' Perhaps there was some future upside to walking away, but by the very nature of the future's inscrutability, she couldn't see what it might be. Besides, she knew she wasn't about to stop.

Moving ahead was risky, but it was also an opportunity. As long as she held off the scrying attempt—which was becoming increasingly difficult with every passing minute—the downsides seemed minor. At most, she'd be seen as a curious student hanging about where she shouldn't. Maybe she could learn something important.

So, after a pause to tuck her student token and restricted library pass into the pile of dirt and leaves at the base of the tree beside her, she kept walking. She didn't want the University to be able to look up the logs of everyone who had entered Eagle Tower and find her name on them. If necessary, she would wait outside for someone to leave and slip in behind them.

Luckily, it turned out the entranceway wasn't warded to require a student token like the Menagerie. She walked right in with no trouble.

The tower seemed even bigger on the inside, like a slightly smaller version of the Citadel. A hallway circled around between the single central room on each floor and the squat, wedge-shaped rooms on the outside. The walls of the inner room on each level were made of reinforced glass, so the researchers within were visible to those outside. Everything was brightly lit, giving off a feeling of clarity and cleanliness, and the researchers within would always be aware they were visible, which would help to keep their minds sharp and their experiments to the proper procedure.

It also let her see that she was on the wrong floor. As if designed to make navigating the tower more difficult, the entrance to the stairwell was all the way across the building from the main door, at the other end of the curving hallway. And when she got to it, the door was locked. 'This is where they require the student token,' she realized. 'But it probably wouldn't even matter if I went back and got mine. I'm not authorized to be here in the first place.'

Since the last time she'd been in a similar situation, two stories up on the outside of the crappy little inn her father had rented, she'd taken the time to study a few unlocking spells.

Unfortunately, the lock was visible to the rest of the floor, making it difficult to cast a spell without being seen, and she was a first term student at the University with a Conduit that could channel barely more than two hundred thaums. The mechanism was both physical and magical, and no doubt cast by someone much more experienced than her.

One of her paper utility arrays was an unlocking spell, and she could use the slate lap table she'd taken from the abandoned supply room to support the page and the necessary components at the level of the door handle, which would speed the process of casting. That was if she could manage to split her Will to cast that while still empowering the divination-diverting ward, which seemed both unlikely and foolish. Even if that weren't a problem, she'd still be doing it right in the middle of everyone, and she couldn't imagine that Eagle Tower didn't have protections against such rudimentary magic. There was a high chance she would fail and end up setting off an alarm.

She'd paused for a second too long, staring at the obstacle between her and where she needed to be, when a hand reached out from beside her and opened the door, holding it open for her.

She turned, looking a couple inches down into mercurial grey eyes. "Westbay," she said.

He waved her through.

She stepped into the stairwell, off-kilter. 'He followed me.'

He waved a metal token at her. "You need one of these to get through the doors here. Maybe you didn't know, if you've never been in here before."

"And how do you have one?"

"I swiped it off some random person's desk."

On the other side of the doorway, within the silence of the stairwell, she stared at him. She didn't make fumbled excuses about why she was in Eagle Tower. She didn't ask him what he was doing—before at the dorms or now—right here with her when they both should have been in class. Instead, she stared silently, as if she could read his micro expressions like letters strung together on a page, as if her eyes could pierce past his skull and see into his soul.

He stared back for a few seconds, but then his eyelids fluttered and he looked away. "I…" He swallowed. "I don't know what you're doing," he said, offering up answers to her unspoken questions under the pressure of her gaze. "I've just noticed some things lately. You've been…distracted. Or, focused, but just on something different. And I was curious. And…I thought maybe you could use some backup?" He grinned a little, slightly nervous but with a spark of real excitement. "Don't worry. No one saw me, and I dropped my student token under the same tree you did."

Sebastien had a sudden realization. 'He thinks we're in an Aberford Thorndyke story. This is just… He thinks we're about to have an adventure.' She was simultaneously relieved that he wasn't a threat and irritated, almost offended, by his eager insouciance. 'Nothing matters to him, because there have never been any real stakes for him—nothing he stands to lose. Maybe he cannot even comprehend that it's not the same for everyone else.'

"That's an interesting stealth spell you're casting," he said, squinting at her. "An artifact, or is it something esoteric? I can feel that you're here, but my eyes keep wanting to slip away, and I'm having trouble focusing mentally on you, like my thoughts want to slip around to the idea of you rather than the reality of you."

'If only that had kept you from following me, you thickheaded peacock.' She barely kept herself from snapping the words at him aloud. 'Or maybe he's more cunning than that, only trying to seem harmless so I will not realize the danger he poses to me.'

"The spell is privileged information," she replied. "Family secret."

He seemed to recognize the hostility she couldn't keep from her voice. He raised his hands. "I won't pry. I was just curious. Everyone has their family secrets. But you are doing something?"

She was about to tell him to walk away and go read his detective magazines if he wanted a sense of excitement in his life when an upper-term student, a research assistant probably studying for Grandmastery, walked down the stairs.

He stopped and looked at the two of them. "Firsties? What are you doing here?"

Westbay stepped forward. "Bruner. I can't believe you're still here. What is it, your thirteenth term?"

Bruner narrowed his eyes. "Westbay? Oh. I—I didn't recognize you at first. Should have known by the eyes."

"No matter," Westbay said, waving his hand with regal nonchalance. "We're on an errand for one of our professors. No time to chat at the moment, but maybe I'll see you at a Family gathering sometime."

Bruner's eyes widened, and then he bowed.

Westbay grabbed Sebastien by the arm and began to drag her up the stairs.

Bruner turned and bowed again as they climbed past him, stammering. "Oh, yes, definitely. I would be honored to attend a Westbay gathering. At your convenience. Thank you, Westbay, good to see you."

They left Bruner behind, and Sebastien swallowed the scathing words she had been about to say. "Useful," she admitted instead, grudgingly.

Westbay grinned. "Thank you. The Family name does come in handy from time to time. Now why are we here?"

Sebastien eyed him with consideration. 'He's irritating and spoiled, at best, but he hasn't told anyone about the accident in the defense building or my subsequent Will-strain. I still owe him a favor. Perhaps he doesn't want to get rid of an asset before it can bear fruit. And as he's just shown, he can be useful, through no merit of his own.'

Aloud, she said, "No questions. In fact, don't talk at all." She looked around before motioning impatiently for Westbay to open the door for her.

"Where are we g—" He snapped his mouth shut halfway through the question, then lifted his hand to cover a smile that made him look like a child who'd just stolen a cookie from the jar and was reveling in the thrill of it. He tried to put on a serious face, but the excitement kept peeking through.

"You're an idiot," she muttered.

A spark of ire flared in his eyes, but slipped away just as quickly as it had come in favor of a rueful smirk. "And you're a porcupine," he muttered when her back was turned.

With saintlike self-control, Sebastien ignored him. She might even have found him harmlessly amusing if the situation wasn't so critical. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but as she climbed the stairs the pressure on her divination-diverting ward seemed to grow, until it felt like she was pressing up against some barrier to heaven with every step.

She discovered what she was looking for on the fourth floor of the tower.

It was busier than the floors below, filled with both coppers and a good handful of the faculty. The chair of the History department was there, along with some professors she was pretty sure were from the Divination department. Within the central, glass-walled room, a handful of coppers with sorcery experience were aiding a trio of prognos with the scrying spell. They stood around a huge Circle engraved into the marble tiles of the floor in precious metals and gems, with the type of components Sebastien had only ever read about in books powering the spell.

Her eyes flicked around, taking in the University staff and group of coppers watching this from the hallway. Both groups stood separately. Those from the University were tense, though some did a better job of hiding it than others, and although the coppers beside them weren't hostile, they were far from relaxed.

The University staff didn't want the coppers there.

'But why not? That doesn't make sense. One would think they'd be happy that the coppers have a better chance of finding me with the more powerful scrying array. Except there's some sort of conflict of interest here, but I have no idea what it could be about. What exactly is written in that book?'

Her observation and contemplation were finished in the mere two seconds that had passed since she'd opened the stairwell door.

She moved toward the closed door of a room on the outside of the hallway. Someone's office, currently empty, which she knew because no light came through under the door. She closed the door behind herself and Westbay and turned to the window that showed a view of the hallway and central room. Moving slowly, she peeked around the edge of the drawn curtain.

The pressure on her ward actually seemed to have ebbed slightly, but it hadn't gone away.

'I made a mistake,' she admitted to herself. 'There's nothing I can do here. But I'll watch and wait. Maybe…there will be an opportunity if I'm clever enough to notice it. If I can wait them out, maybe I could see where they keep the blood, if they take it back with them or perhaps even leave it here. Though it would be considerably easier if Westbay weren't looking over my shoulder.'

"That's a divination spell," Westbay murmured. "Who are they looking for?"

She didn't respond.

He smoothed a nonexistent hair back from his face. "I have a spell that can enhance hearing. Maybe we could…listen in?"

That was enough to gain her attention, despite the increasing strain of empowering her ward against scrying.

His eyes slid off her. Without waiting for further response, he dug into the couple dozen pockets built into his suit vest and jacket for his Conduit and a writing implement.

Two minutes later, he'd used a thin black stick to draw a spell array on both palms. He didn't use any components, shaking his head at her offer of the small lantern she carried in her bag. "It barely uses any power. The warmth of my hand will be more than enough. This spell is all about…control." Somewhat comically, he placed his hands behind his ears, cupping and swiveling them like he was pretending to be a dog.

She caught the faint smell of honey. 'Are the components part of the array itself? Maybe honey for capturing sound and charcoal for filtering?' She was curious, but it would be rude to inquire or study the spell array too closely. Some magic was a closely guarded secret passed down within families or from master to apprentice, and Westbay had just refrained from questioning her about the spell he thought she was casting to avoid notice.

"It enlarges the surface area that can capture incoming sounds, filters them, and lets me artificially focus my hearing," he murmured, wincing when he turned back to the hallway. "Loud." After a few seconds, his expression settled into fascination. "They're chanting. For the spellcasting. It's advanced. I haven't heard anything like it."

Sebastien straightened her shoulders and settled her mind. The Conduit in her off hand was flush with energy, the five Circles in the flesh of her back were cold and filled with the sensation of needles, and she imagined that within half an hour she would start feeling faint from blood loss. 'How long can this go on?' It was becoming increasingly obvious that she was the metaphorical frog being slowly boiled alive, too stupid to realize the water was heating.

"Someone in the hallway just said something about the Raven Queen," Westbay said. He stared blankly for a moment, and then his head turned slowly toward Sebastien. "They're scrying for her…right now?"

She had a sudden vision of herself in jail, trying to convince the coppers as Sebastien Siverling that she had no idea why Siobhan Naught's blood kept leading back to her. 'Would they believe me, if I pretended to have met the Raven Queen and had my blood stolen by the "evil sorceress" to use as a red herring and lead the investigation in the wrong direction?'

She shook her head. 'No, I'm sure they have wards against untruth, and obviously they have access to more than one prognos. They'd know right away if I tried to lie. And with enough reason to look into me, they'd tear my entire backstory apart.'

She tried to estimate how many thaums of heat and blood she was channeling. 'Close to two hundred already. According to what Liza told me, they must be channeling many times that. There are so many of them, they can probably keep going well beyond what I can handle. Sticking around is no longer feasible, leaving me two viable options. I can ask Westbay to borrow his Conduit, which is surely rated much higher than mine, or I can run now and hope that I'm far enough away by the time their scrying spell breaks through my ward that they cannot catch me.'

She felt flushed beneath her jacket and scarf, but resisted the urge to pace back and forth between walls that felt like they were closing in. 'If I borrow Westbay's Conduit, he'll wonder why I need it. He might connect the dots. If I run, at least I have the gold I sewed into the lining of my clothing and boots.' There might still be time to get her things from the dorms. If she hired a carriage, she could be halfway out of Gilbratha before they found her. If it turned out she could, somehow, hold out longer than they could, she could simply return as if all was well. 'Or…should I attack Westbay and take his Conduit? If I could keep him from sounding the alarm until I'd escaped, I'd at least have a Conduit powerful enough to handle my Will. It would buy me a few more minutes, maybe half an hour.' The thought made her feel a small prick of guilt. He was often irritating, but he hadn't done anything to truly deserve that. 'His family could afford to buy him twenty more Conduits without even cutting into the budget for their next high society ball. It wouldn't hurt him at all for me to take it, except for a blow to his pride,' she reasoned.

She was considering it, thinking about how she might have him follow her back to the dorms, steal his Conduit, and then tie him up in one of the bathroom stalls before escaping, when someone she hadn't expected to see opened the door to the fourth floor.

Chapter 51 - Saved by the Enemy

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 9:05 a.m.

Tanya Canelo, one of their student liaisons, looked around. She was breathing a little too hard, as if she'd run to Eagle Tower and up the stairs. She didn't notice Westbay or Sebastien in the small side office, her eyes landing instead on the spellcasters in the tower's central room. She stared at them for a few seconds with narrow eyes, then looked to the crystal wall clock on the other side of the hallway.

'Why is she here?'

Tanya touched her jacket pocket, then spun back around to the stairwell, hurrying to one of the upper floors, seemingly unnoticed by anyone else.

Sebastien's mind was grasping at mist, feeling that she was missing something, but too occupied by feeding the planar divination-diverting ward to bring her full mental capacity to bear.

She'd turned to tell Westbay they should leave, but was barely halfway through the sentence when the first screeching wail of a siren reached them. That distant siren was quickly followed by others, all sounding in concert, melding into one city-wide warning.

Westbay's head jerked back and he yanked his hands away from his ears, dropping the sound-enhancing spell. "Again? It hasn't even been two weeks since the last one."

A few seconds later, the pressure of the divination spell searching for Sebastien disappeared. She felt a relief that not even the sound of the rogue magic sirens could ruin. Gilbratha's coppers were used to this, and prepared for it. They would handle the danger, and even if they failed, she was safe inside a heavily warded building, manned by people dozens of times more powerful than her. As long as the danger wasn't inside with them, she would most likely be safe.

Some of the people outside grumbled, some were obviously worried, but none hesitated to leave. Most headed downstairs, while a few of the staff went up instead, probably to man the watchtower and magical weapons set into the highest level of the tower.

A handful of coppers tried to join them in going up, but were rebuffed.

'There's conflict between the University and the coppers, beyond just wanting to catch me,' Sebastien realized. 'The University doesn't want to give the coppers access to their power at all. I didn't expect that. I thought the University was happily subject to the Thirteen Crowns, even if they had their own power structure.'

"This is terrible timing," Westbay said, scowling at the emptying central room. "They can't keep casting during a citywide emergency. I'm sure they would have caught her otherwise. There's a shelter in the first basement level. We'll have to join them." He brightened, moving toward the doorway. "Hey, maybe they'll talk about the investigation. We might learn something interesting."

Sebastien reached out and stopped Westbay from opening the door.

He turned to look at her curiously, able to focus on her normally now that the anti-divination ward was deactivated.

After thinking it over, she stepped back. "Never mind. Go ahead, then."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you not coming?"

"I have something to do first."

"I'm staying too, then," he said stubbornly.

"Whatever set those sirens off could be anywhere. It might not be safe," she tried, hoping to appeal to his logic. "I would wager the University has a higher incidence of Aberrants than the rest of the city. So many thaumaturges in a relatively small area. You should know the numbers. Your Family runs the coppers, right?"

He swallowed, hesitated for a few seconds, but still shook his head. "I'm not going to miss out on this. The curiosity would kill me. Unless you promise to tell me what you find?"

She should have known an appeal to logic was futile. "I promise."

His expression of hope collapsed. "You're lying. You'll just pretend you didn't find anything interesting if I don't come along and see it with my own two eyes. Otherwise, you would have brought me in on whatever this is from the beginning." He sniffed with irritation.

'He's not a complete idiot.' Aloud, she said, "We're not friends, Westbay, and I've yet to see you do anything useful except throw your Family's name around. I had no reason to bring you in on this."

His look of irritation deepened into something harsher. "Oh, so you knew about the door-pass tokens? You had a handy spell to eavesdrop on what they were saying? I may not be a once-in-a generation prodigy, but you shouldn't underestimate me. I'm staying." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Sebastien scraped her tongue against the inside of her teeth to keep herself silent, turning to look out the window for any signs of stragglers or danger. She wanted to see if she could get into the divination room. If the thaumaturges were careless, maybe they had left her blood behind with the rest of the components when they evacuated. Maybe she could simply walk in and steal it back. 'All my problems could be solved through a moment of serendipity. But if Westbay comes along, he'll see me take it. Maybe, if it's there, I can steal it when he has a moment of inattention. If necessary, I'll force that moment of inattention.' Her shadow-familiar spell might do the trick, if she could stretch it around to draw his attention from the opposite direction. She didn't know any spells to safely knock someone unconscious, unfortunately.

Once Sebastien was sure that the above-ground levels of the tower had emptied, they opened the door and moved into the hallway, the small sounds of their movement drowned out by the piercing sirens. Sebastien moved to the glass wall beside the door of the divination room, her eyes flicking over the components within. She didn't see her blood immediately, but she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for, either. 'It could be in any kind of container, or they could even have used it to create a prerequisite spell component and it could be unrecognizable.' She moved her eyes to the spell array engraved in the floor, hoping to tell where it would be placed by reading the spell's Word.

The stairwell door flew open, slamming into the wall.

Both Sebastien and Westbay spun around toward it like startled rabbits, jumping about a foot in the air. Westbay even let out a small, high-pitched scream.

Tanya Canelo stood in the open door, obviously as surprised to see them as they were to see her. She was still breathing heavily, either from exertion or fear. She recovered from the surprise first, frowning at them. "What are you two doing here?"

Sebastien and Westbay shared a look.

Tanya's frown turned into a scowl. "Don't you hear the sirens? Why haven't you evacuated?"

Damien stepped forward, raising his chin like the young aristocrat he was, his previous anxiousness seemingly forgotten. "We heard the sirens. We were in the Menagerie when they went off, and we ran, but it still took us a while to get back. Eagle Tower is the first building we came to, but everyone was already gone when we got here. We're trying to find the shelter."

Tanya seemed suspicious, walking toward them slowly. "It's underground. Like all the shelters."

"Really? I thought it would be on the top floor. That's where they keep the weapons, right?"

"Are you qualified to fight against something powerful enough to warrant the sirens?" Tanya scoffed, rolling her eyes. "If not, you should be sheltering underground with everyone else. You may be a Westbay, but you're only a firstie. Getting greedy for glory will only get you killed." She looked up at the ceiling. "Come on, we need to go."

Damien scowled and muttered, "I'm not greedy for glory," but Tanya ignored him, looking at the ceiling again.

Sebastien was reluctantly impressed with Damien's deflection. Tanya might not totally buy his story, but she didn't seem to suspect the real reason for their presence.

Tanya grabbed Sebastien's arm and tugged. "Come on. If you're not both in the shelters within the next sixty seconds, I'm giving you both a demerit," she snapped.

Sebastien resisted the urge to growl in frustration. They would have to run to get five floors down within a minute. But that wasn't what was really bothering her. Something was strange about the way Tanya was acting. The skin of the other woman's neck was fluttering under the force of her pulse. 'Why is she so anxious?'

A pressure moved through the air, like the instant before lightning struck, and Sebastien's inherent sense of danger screamed at her.

Tanya's expression twisted with sudden horror, and she yanked forcefully on Sebastien's arm, hard enough to pull her off balance.

Sebastien leaped into the force of Tanya's pull, reaching out for Damien with her free arm. They all stumbled a few feet away from the central room, and Tanya managed to fumble open a door to one of the outer offices.

They were halfway through the doorway, jammed together and plugging the opening like a cork, when the tension in the air broke.

The wave of pressure hit first, hurling them into the office, where they slammed to the floor.

The ceiling collapsed next, from the center outward.

White stones and waves of visible magic tore down from the floor above, destroying the central divination room. Glass burst outward as the reinforced windows buckled. Aftershocks of sound and color swirled around and lashed out as the suddenly released magic of whatever had been in the room above collided with and destroyed the divination components.

Sebastien lay in a pile with Tanya and Damien for a few seconds, covering her head with her arms. When things had settled, she raised her head slowly, carefully, not sure whether the ringing in her ears was from the explosion or the sirens.

The air was full of dust, some cloudy sections shimmering unnaturally with neon colors.

She coughed violently, then pulled up her scarf over her mouth and nose, wiping away the tears streaming from her eyes.

The outer edge of the ceiling above was still intact, and the frame of the doorway they'd all gotten jammed in together had protected them from some of the falling debris.

Sebastien looked around for the source of the damage, up through the destroyed ceiling into the room above. She squinted, but saw nothing moving. 'Were the sirens set off by some hazard within the tower itself? I'd assumed the danger was more distant. Somewhere else on the University grounds at worst. Stupid of me. Careless.'

Tanya crawled to her hands and knees, coughing and retching, completely disheveled and coated in dust. Her sleeve had been torn back, uncovering her forearm and revealing a fractured spiderwebbing of thin scars, still pink and relatively fresh.

Sebastien stared at the skin for a few seconds, frozen, until Tanya pulled her sleeve down again. "Are you both alright?" Tanya rasped.

Westbay groaned.

The ringing in Sebastien's ears was settling.

Westbay weakly held up his hand and gave them a thumbs-up.

"No serious injuries. We need to move," Sebastien said, pulling him to his feet and then offering a hand to Tanya. "Whatever caused that could still be around." She looked up at the hole in the ceiling again, then over the fallen debris, searching for signs of danger.

Tanya let out another retching cough, but was stable as she regained her feet. She shook her head, holding her sleeve over her mouth to block the dust. "The floor above was being used for some alchemy experiments," she shouted over the noise of the sirens. "They must not have properly settled and stored whatever they were working on, and it exploded. The fumes could be hazardous, and the ceiling might not be sound any more. It could still fall on us."

"No breathing, no getting crushed by falling stones," Westbay croaked. "Got it."

Sebastien gave a last look toward the destroyed divination room, but gave up on the idea of searching it now.

Westbay waved to Tanya to lead the way. When the other woman's back was turned, he gave Sebastien a searching look.

Sebastien ignored it, staring at Tanya's back and moving down the stairwell as quickly as she could. A few pieces of rock had hit her legs, and she could feel the bruises already beginning to form.

When they arrived at the first basement level, which had a huge vault door made of iron on the far side of the room, Tanya knocked on the door and showed both her student token and the tower token that allowed her to open the doors. After a few seconds, someone on the other side unlocked the door and it swung open slowly, with a loud creak of untended hinges.

A professor scowled out at them, and Sebastien saw that there was a second door behind the first one, which led to a small room between them and the emergency shelter. 'Smart. It's not so easy to break through twice.'

The professor looked them over suspiciously, taking in their dreadful state. "Canelo. Were you attacked?"

Tanya shook her head. "There was an explosion. I don't think it's related to the sirens. Something on the fifth floor went wrong, collapsed the whole floor. I suspect someone was in too much of a hurry to evacuate to properly settle and clean up whatever they were working on."

"It's been almost ten minutes since the sirens went off."

Tanya rolled her eyes and jerked a thumb toward Sebastien and Westbay. "These two were out in the Menagerie. They got here late and didn't know where the shelter was. I had to retrieve them, and then…well." She gestured to herself and the signs of being caught in the alchemy explosion.

"No signs of Will-strain or other oddness in either of them?" the professor asked.

Tanya shook her head. "They're fine. A little too curious, maybe, and as stupid as most first-term students, but nothing abnormal. I'll make sure to thoroughly educate them on the proper procedures for evacuation when this is over," she said, giving the both of them a look promising punishment.

The professor nodded, and then an almost invisible wave pulsed from the door through them, a ripple in the air that prickled against Sebastien's skin. She thought it was the same revealing or maybe nullification spell that came standard in a copper's battle wand.

The professor turned and opened the inner door for them, apparently satisfied with the results of the spell.

The people within were tense, and immediately started to question the three new arrivals about the source of the sound and rumbling they'd all felt.

Tanya explained again, and those upper level research-aid students that had been on the fifth floor paled under the glares of everyone else, stammering to make excuses for themselves.

Sebastien took a seat in the corner of the large shelter, which, rather than being directly one floor down from the rest of Eagle Tower, was attached to the underground tower level like a component Circle might be attached to the main one in a spell array.

Damien joined her, a slight frown on his face. Thankfully, he remained silent.

Sebastien's mind worked swiftly as she watched the crowd, piecing together the things she hadn't even realized were clues until she saw the final pieces of the puzzle. 'Tanya got a note from someone, just before the coppers started scrying for me. She was in a hurry. When she got to the tower, she looked at the clock before heading to the fifth floor. She didn't evacuate with everyone else.'

She fell into speculation, reminding herself not to stare at Tanya too suspiciously.

There was some worry among the others that another Aberrant had spawned, but a while later the professor who'd opened the door for them got a message through one of the spell arrays engraved into it. He threw back his head with a loud sigh and massaged his temples. "It was a false alarm," he announced loudly, the frustration clear in his voice. "Someone was careless enough to get Eagle Tower blown up for a false alarm." He glared pointedly at the people from the fifth floor.

The whole room filled with grumbles of frustration and relief, and they filtered out.

Sebastien looked for Tanya in the crowd, tracking the other woman's dusty blonde hair as she headed toward the dorms. Not just anyone could set off the rogue magic sirens, and from the things she'd pieced together from reports and rumors of Aberrants, it wasn't a simple process that could be triggered by accident. 'That is simply too much of a coincidence.'

As if noticing Sebastien's eyes on her, Tanya moved closer to them and said, "You should both probably go to the infirmary and get checked out."

"I'm fine," Sebastien said.

Tanya rolled her jaw with frustration. "Even if you're not hurting too badly now, that could just be the shock. Something in the air could have been poisonous. At best, you both likely will need a calming potion. You were just caught in an alchemy experiment that could have killed you." Having done her duty in warning them, Tanya strode off toward the dorms, where she had a room with an attached bathroom to herself.

'Tanya looked at the clock right before the sirens went off,' Sebastien repeated to herself. 'Did she know? Was it planned?' She looked at her palm. The thin scars where she'd fallen on glass during the warehouse attack were almost invisible. She'd been extra careful to heal them completely before anyone had a chance to see them, just in case.

She'd recognized similar scarring on Tanya's arm. Except Tanya's scarring had obviously been deeper. The pattern matched what Sebastien imagined a wound from a glass ball exploding and embedding its pieces into the flesh might look like.

'Tanya was the sorcerer who attacked Oliver's warehouse. Which means Tanya is working with the Morrows. And she just blew up the divination room to keep me from being caught. Or, more accurately, to keep Siobhan Naught, the Raven Queen, from being caught.'

Chapter 52 - Faulty Deductions

Damien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 9:00 a.m.

Damien had noticed Sebastien growing distant over the last week or so, refusing to join him and his friends in their morning study group even when Damien invited him personally. Sebastien was often missing from the dorms, and hadn't been occupying his regular spot in a corner of the library.

In fact, Damien hardly saw Sebastien all week outside of class. It was like Sebastien was trying to distance himself from Damien, which left a pang of admittedly ridiculous hurt in Damien's chest. He knew Sebastien didn't particularly like him, which was understandable considering how they had met and their less-than-pleasant interactions since then, but he couldn't help but be frustrated by how easily the other young man dismissed him. It reminded him a little of his father. Perhaps that was why Damien took notice when he saw Sebastien hurrying down the Citadel's stairs before their first class period on Thursday morning.

None of the first term classes were held on the second floor. So why would Sebastien be up there? Was that where he had been hiding away?

Sebastien was walking quickly, heading back toward the dorms, seeming focused more on his own thoughts than the world around him, as he often was.

Damien looked to the door of his History of Magic class, then to Sebastien's quickly retreating back. He checked the time on his pocket watch. There were only a few minutes left before the first class of the day. He knew Sebastien had a different teacher for this period, one specifically requested by Professor Lacer instead of the rest of their student group's rather lackluster professor…but Sebastien wasn't heading toward a classroom.

Which meant he was doing something interesting enough to make him late for class.

Damien only hesitated for a few seconds. He settled his leather satchel on his shoulder and, without taking his eyes off Sebastien, told his friends, "I've got something to do. I'll see you later."

They questioned him, but he was already walking away, a rude maneuver that he'd seen Sebastien do more than once to anyone that didn't meet his standards for intelligent conversation. In his own way, Sebastien was just as arrogant as any member of the Crowns, despite the way he seemed to look down on all of them.

Sebastien was in such a hurry that he knocked into Canelo, their female student liaison, but luckily she was too busy reading a spelled letter to punish him.

As she passed Damien a few seconds later, he heard her whisper viciously, "By all the greater hells! How am I supposed—" She clenched her teeth, glaring at the paper as she continued to read.

Damien let her be. Her problems were none of his business. Which wouldn't normally have stopped him from prying in the name of chivalry, but he had something more interesting to focus on at the moment.

He walked lightly into the dorms, stopping in front of Sebastien's cubicle. He watched as Sebastien stuffed what Damien recognized as components that could be used in divination into his wooden chest. But Sebastien wasn't taking a divination class; Damien was taking one, and he'd never seen Sebastien there.

Sebastien's head suddenly whipped around.

Damien catalogued the micro-expressions on Sebastien's face: shock, fear, dismay, anger.

Sebastien controlled his response with impressive speed, but Damien had been trained for social warfare his whole life, and had been honing his detective skills on top of that. Being able to read what a suspect or witness wasn't saying aloud was critical to solving a case.

Sebastien slammed his wooden chest closed. "What do you want, Westbay? Shouldn't you be getting to class?" he asked irritably.

Damien considered admitting that he'd followed Sebastien out of curiosity, but that would make Sebastien even more wary of scrutiny. Damien's eyes caught on the stack of magazine periodicals he'd lent Sebastien sitting atop his bedside table, so he made up some nonsense about skipping class out of laziness to chat about the latest installment featuring Aberford Thorndyke, consulting detective.

He was almost disappointed when Sebastien didn't find that suspicious. Did he really believe Damien to be so vapid? Sure, he wasn't a genius powerhouse who could cast healing spells without any components, or impress the notorious Thaddeus Lacer enough to become the man's apprentice, but he was one of the best students in their class—and powerful and rich, moreover!

Sebastien was halfway through an equally inane response when something caught his attention. His words cut off and he stared into the air with what might have been surprise or alarm. It was as if he'd suddenly remembered something of critical importance. Coming back to reality, he rushed to get rid of Damien with some blather about forgotten homework, then literally pulled his curtain closed in Damien's face.

Rude. Damien glared at the curtain for a couple of seconds, then walked toward the dormitory doors, making sure to stride a little louder with anger. He heard the tell-tale sounds of Sebastien pacing, which definitely wasn't homework, and smirked to himself.

Damien would bet his entire monthly allowance that Sebastien was about to cast a divination spell. Likely the same spell he'd been casting in secret in some dusty upper floor classroom.

Damien stopped just around the corner toward the bathrooms and waited as class started without him. His patience and foresight were rewarded only a couple of minutes later as Sebastien hurried out of their dorm room and then out of the building. He didn't notice Damien, and Damien almost didn't notice him.

Sebastien was casting some kind of stealth spell. It didn't make him invisible, simply unremarkable. Enough so that if Damien hadn't been on full alert, filled with excitement, he might have disregarded Sebastien's exit and kept waiting for him indefinitely.

Damien couldn't hold back a giddy grin. "This is just like the Case of the Unwatched Watchman!" he muttered. Leaving almost a hundred meters between them so Sebastien wouldn't notice the tail, he followed the other young man all the way to Eagle Tower, where Sebastien hesitated at the edge of the tree line for a few seconds before hiding his student token and striding through the front doors.

Damien dropped off his own token with rising excitement, then tried to seem as assured and confident in his right to be inside Eagle Tower as Sebastien had.

Sebastien had obviously never been in Eagle Tower before, because Damien found him stymied before the locked door of the stairwell. Damien hesitated, but decided it would be more entertaining—and less likely to make Sebastien angry—if he stopped sneaking around and honestly inserted himself into whatever Sebastien was doing.

Damien had taken a tour of the place with Professor Lacer when he was younger, so he knew that they had special, metal tokens to access the stairwell and central tower rooms.

Serendipitously, he saw one such metal token lying abandoned on a desk in an empty side office. Human carelessness often made security measures useless. He looked back and forth to make sure he wasn't being watched, then slipped it into his pocket. Even if it was technically mischief, a Westbay was unlikely to get in serious trouble. His Family donated thousands of crowns to the University every year, after all.

Damien walked up behind Sebastien, who was still staring at the door, then reached past and opened it for him.

Sebastien stared down at him, nonplussed. "Westbay."

A little awkwardly, Damien explained the door-pass. He wasn't used to fumbling like this, not even with his father. Not anymore at least.

Sebastien stared at him until Damien felt like his skin was being metaphorically peeled away so the other young man could see his insides.

With continuing uncharacteristic gracelessness, Damien confessed to his curious snooping. "I thought maybe you could use some backup?" he finished hopefully, trying not to make it obvious how tight the rejection in Sebastien's gaze made his chest. Sebastien had kept whatever this was a secret so far, probably because he didn't really trust Damien, and didn't consider him a real friend. "Don't worry. No one saw me, and I dropped my student token under the same tree you did," Damien added.

If Damien was given a chance, he was sure he could prove that he could be useful when he was included. He could be a good ally to Sebastien. He knew how to keep his mouth shut and keep them both out of trouble. He could be fun.

Sebastien just kept staring at him, and even though Damien knew this tactic—making the other person uncomfortable with silence until they started talking to fill it, thereby giving up their conversational leverage—he still couldn't help speaking, as if he felt it would create a barrier between him and that black-eyed gaze.

But he only ended up making Sebastien more upset by prying into proprietary family magic knowledge.

Damien was worried Sebastien was about to either send him away or call the whole thing—whatever it was—off entirely, when an upper term student walked down the stairwell, and suddenly Damien had the chance to save the day by diffusing any suspicion and sending the man on his way grateful to have bumped into him, a Westbay.

Sebastien eyed him with reluctant appreciation. "Useful," he admitted.

Damien grinned, bursting with satisfaction, but tried to be humble about it. "Thank you. The name does come in handy from time to time. Now why are we here?"

"No questions. In fact, don't talk at all," Sebastien replied.

That only made Damien more curious, but at the same time felt somehow more satisfying. He was intelligent and observant enough to figure it out on his own.

Sebastien waved imperiously for Damien to open the door for him.

Without thinking, Damien started to ask where they were going, but cut himself off with a smile.

"You're an idiot," Sebastien said.

Damien's first reaction was immediate anger at the insult, but he quickly reminded himself who he was dealing with. Sebastien Siverling's tongue was almost as caustic as Professor Lacer's, and insults tripped from it seemingly without conscious thought or even intent to offend. Yet, Sebastien had accepted him as a partner on this little adventure, and Damien could see a spark of amusement in his eyes. Sebastien's real friends would have to understand not to take his words to heart and instead recognize the intention beneath them. Still, Damien didn't want to seem like a pandering pushover. "And you're a porcupine," he muttered.

Sebastien didn't respond, and Damien had a small epiphany. Were the minor insults, perhaps, not meant to be offensive? Was bickering Sebastien's version of friendly banter?

Damien nodded to himself when Sebastien wasn't looking. Yes, Sebastien may have been a genius with somewhat poor social skills, but the young man also had an interest in detective stories, a grueling work ethic, and a hidden kind interior that led him to heal Damien at risk to himself, offer advice to Alec—who he hated—and let students whose names Damien was sure Sebastien couldn't even remember listen in when Sebastien tutored him and Ana.

In fact, Sebastien was probably pretty lonely. Except for Ana and Damien, he ate alone, studied alone, and snuck around doing exciting things…alone. The only other person he'd seen Sebastien talking to of his own free will for longer than sixty seconds was their student liaison Newton Moore. It was sad, really.

Damien couldn't get angry at Sebastien for not being properly socialized. It must be hard to get along with other people as the only genius growing up in a small rural city like Vale. It must have been stifling, and probably part of what had caused Sebastien to grow such a prickly exterior. If he was poor, jealousy at the good fortunes of everyone around him might have played a part too, petty as that would be. Even geniuses could be petty.

Damien's contemplation ended as they entered the fourth floor of the tower. A team of coppers with three prognos were casting a divination spell on the University's spell array. That only happened when their own array wasn't powerful enough.

Sebastien was sneaking in to watch the coppers in an active investigation! It couldn't have been more perfect if Damien had come up with the idea himself.

Sebastien quickly led him into an empty side office, completely unnoticed.

Damien was jealous of that stealth spell, his heart pounding as he scurried to follow, hoping none of the coppers or professors would see him and give them both away. Inside, they peeked out of the window onto the spellcasters. Who, or what, was their target? Damien realized he'd murmured his thoughts aloud, but Sebastien remained silent. Damien smoothed his hair back, trying to regain his cool composure. "I have a spell that can enhance hearing. Maybe we could…listen in?"

Sebastien's interest in the question was enough answer for Damien, and he quickly set up the spell his brother had taught him as a reward for scoring so high on the University entrance exams. "They're chanting. For the spellcasting. It's advanced. I haven't heard anything like it."

When he heard the words, "Raven Queen," he understood why the normally rule-abiding boy would sneak out for this. "They're scrying for her…right now?" It was the case of the decade, if not the century, and they had a chance to watch her be found in person! If only they could be there for the arrest as well…

Sebastien was looking at him speculatively, and just as his lips twitched as if he were about to tell Damien something, movement at the door to the room drew his attention away.

With disappointment, Damien followed his gaze to their student liaison, Canelo. Her short, dirty blonde hair was windswept and her cheeks flushed.

She'd obviously arrived in a hurry, but after checking the time, she returned to the stairs and kept going up.

Damien pitied her. She didn't know what she was missing out on.

He focused on Sebastien, hoping he would continue with whatever he'd been about to say before her arrival, but instead sirens went off, so loud to Damien's enhanced hearing that it felt like a blow. It was the alarm for danger of a magical nature, and a warning for everyone to take shelter. It was the worst possible timing. The divination spell would have to be stopped and started again from scratch when it was safe, and they might not have a chance to watch at that time.

"Again? It hasn't even been two weeks since the last one. This is terrible timing. They can't keep casting during a citywide emergency. I'm sure they would have caught her otherwise. There's a shelter in the first basement level. We'll have to join them." It could have been worse, though. "Hey, maybe they'll talk about the investigation. We might learn something interesting."

When he moved to join the evacuation, Sebastien stopped him, but after a moment of hesitation, stepped back. "Never mind. Go ahead," Sebastien said.

Damien's eyes narrowed. "Are you not coming?"

"I have something to do first."

"I'm staying too, then."

"Whatever set those sirens off could be anywhere. It might not be safe. I would wager the University has a higher incidence of Aberrants than the rest of the city. So many thaumaturges in a relatively small area. You should know the numbers. Your Family runs the coppers, right?"

Sebastien was right, but the University buildings were all quite sturdy, and the professors were the best in their fields, skilled enough to quickly deal with the things that could have caused the alarm. "I'm not going to miss out on this. The curiosity would kill me. Unless you promise to tell me what you find?"

"I promise."

Damien wanted to hit him. "You're lying. You'll just pretend you didn't find anything interesting if I don't come along and see it with my own two eyes. Otherwise, you would have brought me in on whatever this is from the beginning." He sniffed, looking away.

Sebastien was too oblivious to apologize, and worse than that, acted like Damien was the one in the wrong. "We're not friends, Westbay, and I've yet to see you do anything useful except throw your Family's name around. I had no reason to bring you in on this."

The sudden pang of hurt caused by those words quickly morphed into anger. "Oh, so you knew about the door-pass tokens? You had a handy spell to eavesdrop on what they were saying? I may not be a once-in-a generation prodigy, but you shouldn't underestimate me. I'm staying." Damien crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his companion.

They snuck out into the empty hallway, peeking in the windows of the divination room. Damien wondered how long it would take him to be proficient enough to cast such a powerful spell, if he ever could. As a human, he had no natural talent in divination, and his father didn't even approve of him taking the class, but he had the passion, at least. He hoped the University didn't crush him to the point he had to drop electives in upcoming terms.

He was so focused on the tantalizing divination room that, when the door to the stairwell slammed open, he jumped. He might have let out a small squeak, too.

"What are you two doing here?" Canelo demanded.

"Didn't you hear the sirens? Why haven't you evacuated?" she asked.

Sebastien was not the person for this job, Damien knew. Damien was the smooth-talker, the one with influence. He had to take the lead here. He stepped forward, trying to emulate his brother's easy authority. "We heard the sirens. We were in the Menagerie when they went off, and we ran, but it still took us a while to get back. Eagle Tower is the first building we came to, but everyone was already gone when we got here. We're trying to find the shelter."

Canelo walked toward them, moving slowly and silently, like a large cat. "It's underground. Like all the shelters." Her tone indicated that they were idiots.

Damien knew she wasn't stupid. The reason they were up here was obvious, and probably the same reason she was there. He gave her a deadpan look, letting the side of his mouth twitch up in a tiny, tiny smirk, just enough to show that he knew she was in on the joke. "Really? I thought it would be on the top floor. That's where they keep the weapons, right?"

She either didn't notice his subtlety, or decided to shove right through it, rolling her eyes. "Are you qualified to fight against something powerful enough to warrant the sirens? If not, you should be sheltering underground with everyone else. You may be a Westbay, but you're only a firstie. Getting greedy for glory will only get you killed." She looked up at the ceiling. "Come on, we need to go."

"I'm not greedy for glory," Damien muttered. He didn't know why people liked to accuse him of that, as if he were some sort of attention-hound. Compared to Alec and Rhett, he was positively unassuming. He enjoyed being liked, being noticed, but he didn't need it.

Canelo grabbed Sebastien's arm and tugged. "Come on. If you're not both in the shelters within the next sixty seconds, I'm giving you both a demerit," she said waspishly.

Then it started.

At first, Damien thought Sebastien was casting a spell.

He turned to the platinum-haired young man like a fish swimming through honey, the world slowed around him. Sebastien wasn't casting anything, not even his stealth spell, but there was a bladelike intent in his expression that Damien had never seen before.

Sebastien slammed into him, forcing him to stumble forward into a doorway.

Canelo tried to get through, too, and ended up blocking the way.

That's when something slammed them off their feet, and then the ceiling exploded.

Damien fell under Sebastien and didn't even try to move. Sebastien was still alive; Damien could feel his heartbeat and his breath over Damien's head.

He tried to listen for other movement, in case whatever had just destroyed the floor above them was creeping around looking for survivors.

Sebastien climbed off of him, a knee pressing painfully into Damien's kidney.

Beside him, Canelo crawled to her hands and knees, coughing and retching. She had a distinctive scar on her forearm, but covered it self-consciously when Sebastien looked at it.

Damien looked to Sebastien curiously.

The other young man seemed more interested in the scar than the explosion and possible danger, and suddenly, Damien realized how strange it was that Canelo had been on the floor above right before the explosion. In fact, it seemed like she'd gone there purposefully, just before the sirens went off. Almost as if she knew when they were going to sound, forcing an evacuation and leaving her alone.

"Are you both alright?" Canelo asked.

Damien lifted a thumb, his mind too occupied trying to digest the huge lump of suspicion to talk.

"No serious injuries. We need to move. Whatever caused that could still be around," Sebastien said.

Damien accepted Sebastien's hand and climbed to his feet. He covered his face with his scarf, suddenly less worried about whatever had caused the explosion and more worried about Canelo. He moved to stand beside Sebastien, keeping his eyes on the woman.

Canelo shook her head, shouting past her sleeve. "The floor above was being used for some alchemy experiments. They must not have properly settled and stored whatever they were working on, and it exploded. But the fumes could be hazardous, and the ceiling might not be sound any more. It could still fall on us."

"No breathing, no getting crushed by falling stones," Damien muttered sardonically, choking on dust. Canelo seemed a little too sure about the cause of the explosion, in his opinion, which only enforced his growing suspicion. "Got it." He waved for Canelo to lead the way down to the shelter. When her back was turned, he looked questioningly to Sebastien, but was ignored.

Down in the shelter below, Canelo deflected the suspicion they faced onto the people who'd been working on the fifth floor before the sirens.

Sebastien moved to the wall and sat against it, something dark and cold swimming behind those eyes, like a kraken in deep waters.

Damien slid down beside him, his own thoughts more than enough to occupy him. He ran through his memories, trying to piece together the clues that he must have missed at the time.

Tanya Canelo wasn't, in general, suspicious. She was capable, trusted enough by the faculty to be a student aide, and the kind of person whose competence was assuring rather than intimidating—like it could be in someone like Sebastien. She was rather handsome for a woman, but not attractive enough to gain favors. She was from a better family than some who managed to get in, enough so that her University contribution points didn't go into tuition or items that could be sold right back for gold crowns to keep their family from starving. Not a good enough family that she could be assured of a nice position after leaving the University, though. No, she still had to work for everything she got.

But Sebastien had known better.

Damien had thought Sebastien was sneaking into Eagle Tower for a bit of fun, but that hadn't been it at all. No, Sebastien was doing something much more serious, more dangerous, and more ridiculously…wonderful. And it made sense why he'd been so frustrated and adamant about getting Damien to leave. Not because he didn't trust Damien, or disliked him so much he couldn't stand to spend a few minutes sneaking around with him, but because Damien had no idea what was going on and might have caused real problems. The kind that just the word of a Westbay couldn't get them out of.

Damien knew this must be the kind of serious thing that he really shouldn't be excited about—and people might think something was dangerously wrong with him if he started grinning like a loon while sheltering from rogue magic—so he suppressed the urge to display his suddenly roiling emotions. He returned to his deductions with a serious face.

Sebastien had been doing some kind of advanced divination, and that had led him to Eagle Tower at the exact time the coppers were searching for the Raven Queen—when Canelo came in to sabotage the attempt.

The spelled letter Canelo had gotten? That had been a clue. One that Sebastien had noticed, even if Damien didn't. That was what Sebastien's sudden moment of realization in the dorms had been, when he rushed Damien to leave and went after Canelo.

Who had it been from? Someone who knew what the coppers were doing at the University? Someone who could set off false rogue magic alarms?

Damien pulled his knees up to his chest, suppressing a gasp of realization. Canelo had looked at the clock, just before going upstairs, and then she hid until the tower was clear. She'd known.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and he controlled his breathing, patting back his filthy, dust-coated hair with a slightly shaky hand.

Sebastien had noticed Canelo's scar. Why was that important? In detective stories, a distinctive scar like that was often the clue to finding an otherwise unidentifiable suspect or lead. Sebastien had recognized the scar…but he had been surprised to see it on Canelo. So, either Sebastien had previously come across her when she was disguised and remembered the distinctive mark, or he recognized the weapon that had inflicted the injury. Damien withheld from guessing the details without a better foundation.

Except, he did know that Sebastien had been missing from the dorms the same weekend the Raven Queen had made her latest appearance. Where had Canelo been that night? Had Sebastien been following her?

There were likely other clues that Damien had no way of knowing. Without Sebastien being forthright, he couldn't know the details, but some things were clear enough through the fog.

Canelo was either the Raven Queen—which seemed unlikely for multiple reasons, unless her entire identity was some sort of deep cover—or she was working with the Raven Queen in some capacity. She'd protected the Raven Queen from being caught, after all. It could have been as innocuous as Canelo being blackmailed or threatened into it.

And Sebastien? He was investigating the Raven Queen, searching for her on his own. That was why he'd been so interested in the case. Damien supposed Sebastien could want to catch her simply for his interest in detective work, and in some ways that fit Sebastien's personality—curiosity like a raging fire, never satisfied—but somehow it didn't feel right.

Damien remembered Sebastien's shitty Conduit. There was no way that thing could channel all of Sebastien's Will. Sebastien may be from a rural city like Vale, but he was far from a commoner. Except, when Damien had first met him, hadn't Damien insulted Sebastien for wearing a suit that was too big for him and in an outdated style, besides? He'd wondered about the Siverlings' monetary situation before, but unlike Sebastien, Damien knew enough about tact not to pry. Damien smoothed down his collar, barely even bothered by the dirt crusting itself into his skin, settling under his nails, and turning to tiny balls of mud in the corners of his eyes.

Either Sebastien's family was punishing him, someone was purposely suppressing him and his growth opportunities, or they simply didn't have the resources to provide better. Could it be, somehow, that Sebastien's family had fallen on hard times? Perhaps they'd put all of their wealth into their genius scion, cultivating him with the last of their resources in the hopes that he could restore them to their former glory? Or perhaps an uncle or a step-parent was afraid that Sebastien would grow up and usurp them. He would need to look up the Siverlings.

If it were true—and there wasn't some even more outrageous reason behind all this that Damien had missed, like Sebastien being an undercover agent for the Red Guard—then Sebastien was looking for the Raven Queen to get the reward. It was up to five hundred gold crowns by now. More than enough for a better Conduit.

The third option was that Sebastien was doing it for the glory, the recognition. To prove something, or get some sort of revenge. That, too, was something that fit Sebastien's character.

Damien looked at his classmate, who was still obliviously consumed by his own dark thoughts. Normally, he would have taken information like this directly to his older brother Titus. But if Sebastien found out he'd done that, it would destroy any chance of them ever becoming real allies. Sebastien was either going to die young or make something of himself, something great, like Titus or Professor Lacer.

Like Damien wished he had the talent for. He might not be like them, but he didn't need to be, exactly, if he could stand beside them and hold their respect. Power came in many forms.

The whole thing being terribly fascinating was merely an additional benefit.

Would Sebastien be terribly offended if Damien offered him a better Conduit? He could probably get one of the Family ones that Titus had outgrown. Of course, anyone who noticed the Westbay seal would think Sebastien was a vassal to the Westbays, which seemed like just the kind of thing Sebastien would hate, so perhaps that idea wouldn't work.

Damien wasn't sure whether concern or excitement were at the forefront in his pounding chest, but he knew one thing for certain. Sebastien would need help, and Damien was the perfect person to give it. He'd just have to convince Sebastien of that.

Chapter 53 - Through a Glass Darkly

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 11:30 a.m.

Sebastien headed straight for the washrooms. She ignored the stares of the other students, who were openly wondering what had happened to her and Westbay to become so dirty and disheveled during a rogue magic alarm. She took a thorough shower, retrieved her student token and secret library pass, then returned to the Citadel in time to catch the last bit of Sympathetic Science, which was useless since Professor Pecanty was as distracted as the students.

Westbay was uncharacteristically silent through the rest of the day, though he kept sending Sebastien searching looks.

As soon as Fekten's grueling Defense class was over, Sebastien wiped herself down with a damp towel, changed back into her high-class suit, jacket, and scarf, and left for the city below. She put a small smile on her face, not enough to be obvious, but enough to make her seem without a care. In her own mind, it was just a prelude to baring her teeth in a defensive snarl.

She didn't go straight to Oliver's house. She didn't even head in the same direction, and she kept going past the strictly upscale part of the city. She wasn't trained to recognize a tail, but she could follow common-sense tactics like taking a winding route, suddenly doubling back to surprise anyone trying to seem normal, and peeking in the reflections of glass shop windows to see if she could catch anyone watching her.

She stopped well before arriving at the Mires and made a loop back around to Dryden Manor, all without seeing anything particularly suspicious. People noticed her, as Sebastien, but no one did more than stare for a couple of seconds too long. Even so, her Conduit never left her hand. It rolled around inside her grip, which was sweaty despite the cold.

She walked straight in through Oliver's front door.

A male servant bowed lightly to her. "Welcome, Mr. Siverling. Mr. Dryden isn't in at the moment…"

"When will he be back?" she asked, unraveling her scarf from around her neck and stamping her boots on the welcome mat.

"I'm not sure…"

Sharon hustled out from the kitchen before the man could finish. "Sebastien! Welcome! Are you hungry?"

Sebastien smiled as genuinely as she could despite her anxiety. "No, thank you. I'm going up to my room to wait for Mr. Dryden. Please let him know I'm here when he arrives." Without waiting for a response, she hurried up the stairs.

Sharon called after her that she would be bringing tea and refreshments.

Once Sebastien was alone in "her" room, she pushed up her sleeve to reveal the series of thin wooden bracelets on her wrist.

After the fiasco the last time, when Oliver had set off the linked alarm on the bracelet and sent her fleeing from her dorms in the middle of the night, she'd taken a few spare moments to create more. Each was wrapped with a small section of colored thread. Different colors for different messages, still almost as simple as could be.

Grabbing one delicate bracelet near the weak metal bead that kept it together, she pulled, breaking it apart. Oliver's own linked bracelet would grow cold, indicating that he should return to his house immediately.

Each bracelet was single-use, but Sebastien figured that if she was having such frequent emergencies that she didn't have time to create replacements between them, she had bigger problems.

Sebastien didn't simply sit back and wait for Oliver, however. She fell to her hands and knees and crawled under the bed, retrieving the ancient book from its hiding spot. There were no signs that it had been disturbed since the last time she retrieved it.

'How much do Tanya and whoever she's working with know about me? Is there any information that could have leaked?' There were several possible ways someone could have learned to be suspicious of Sebastien. Anyone who knew Oliver's identity, and his connection to either Siobhan or Sebastien could have given away clues. 'Could his connection to me have been somehow related to the attack on the warehouse? Am I even sure that he's safe right now? He has his own bracelets, to alert me to an emergency, but if something happened to him, what could I even do?'

She opened the book and flipped through it quickly. It was the same as ever—frustrating and indecipherable.

'Tanya is likely to be much more powerful than me. It's honestly amazing that a fourth-term student was able to almost collapse an entire warehouse by herself. Unless she was using an artifact.' Sebastien tried to remember, but for once her memory failed her. There had been too much going on in the dark, with the storm and the screaming and the fighting, and she had been too full of adrenaline to pay close attention.

'Don't panic. Be logical. What Tanya did today doesn't mean they actually know anything about me. So why would someone do that? Why might someone—the Morrows?—not want the Crowns to find me?' She could think of too many possibilities, but all of them seemed ludicrous, like something out of one of Damien's stories. Anarchists that held a grudge against the established powers. Someone who knew what was in the book and didn't want the Crowns getting their hands on it. Someone who was using this event as a decoy to commit another crime while diverting suspicion to the Raven Queen.

Even Oliver could have sent Tanya, and Sebastien might have suspected him if she hadn't seen the scar on the other woman's forearm. Oliver would never have placed his employees in danger with that attack on the warehouse. The Morrows were Tanya's most likely allies.

She realized then that it might not be the Morrows at all, or not directly. 'There is someone with a motive, as well as the means. I don't know why, but judging by the aura of hostility, the University has some reason not to want the coppers to find me. What if that's why Tanya was there? But if she's working for someone at the University, how is she also connected to the Morrows?'

Sebastien had to push the stolen book back under the bed when someone knocked on the door. She opened it to find Sharon on the other side with a tea tray, cookies and snacks, and a worried expression.

Sharon bustled in, setting up the tea tray on the table beside the bed. "Everyone has heard how difficult the University is," she said, her tone failing to be conversational, just a little too gentle and conciliatory.

"Yes, the workload is crushing," Sebastien agreed, resisting the urge to fidget in her desire for the woman to leave. "But it's nothing I can't handle."

Sharon stepped back from the table and pushed a cup of tea into Sebastien's hands, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. "Sometimes, when we feel overwhelmed by a problem, it's best to step back and look at it from a different angle. Find out what you can pare away, what's not absolutely critical, and then cut the rest down into manageable chunks. Be kind to yourself, Sebastien. If you aren't, who will be?" She patted Sebastien's hand like one might a dog's head, then left the room, closing the door gently behind herself.

Sebastien chugged the tea, ignoring the burning sensation as it scalded her mouth and throat and hit her stomach like a cauterizing knife, somehow staunching the steady bleed of her panic. She stared at the loose leaves in the bottom of the cup for a few seconds, then let out a long breath and retrieved the stolen book from under the bed again.

'Sharon may have no idea what's going on, but she's not wrong. Wild theories will not help me. I have very little real evidence with which to work, but at least I have a direction in which to investigate.'

She placed the book on the marble floor and stared at it. "What are you?" she whispered. She knew its secrets might hold the key to all her problems. If only she could unravel them. "Why are they searching for you so desperately? How does the amulet do this to me? Who created you?"

The book didn't respond, of course.

She knelt down, pulled her alchemy athame out of her bag, and began to peel back the leather wrapping of the outer cover, where she had first seen the edge of the space-bending array that contained the transformation amulet. She was gentle, but ruthless as she took the book apart like one might dissect a corpse, searching for any hint of its origins, purpose, or the magic that powered it. If she could find a spell array, even if she couldn't solve the key to its lock, she might still be able to break it with precisely applied force.

But it was just a book.

If not for its contents, it might even have seemed an ordinary book.

Suppressing her seething frustration, she put the book back together and performed a simple mending spell on it using some glue and a couple strips of leather as components. When she was finished, it looked good as new.

Bringing her hands to her chest, thumbs to her middle fingers, she brought her Will to bear on the idea of stretching out her muscles and relaxing her body like it was a coiled spring. A few minutes of deep humming later, she had broken the vicious cycle of her body causing anxiety to her thoughts and her thoughts filling her body with fight-or-flight chemicals. 'Newton's gift of knowledge is becoming increasingly useful,' she mused. 'I owe him.' It was only too bad that the effects were so temporary.

An anxiety-inducing thought popped into her mind. She couldn't be sure what had happened to her blood with the explosion.

Still, with her body and mind calmer, a piece of positivity rose to the surface. The reverse-scrying spell based off sympathetic divination had worked.

There were other potential applications for that. Her original idea had been to find a way to remove or destroy the coppers' sample of her blood once she pinpointed its location, but today had shown that even if she knew where it was, she couldn't necessarily do much with the information.

But her success with sympathetic divination reminded her that other kinds of sympathetic magic were also an option. 'Would it be possible to remotely destroy any lost piece of myself that could be used to cast sympathetic spells affecting me?' If she could do that, not only would she solve her biggest current problem, but she would never have to worry about missing a strand of hair or leaving her toothbrush out again.

Sympathetic magic worked through the impression that different items or ideas were, in fact, the same, and so should display the same characteristics and effects. With many spells, this was forced through Sacrifice.

For instance, a transmogrification spell that took the idea of "death" and "doused fire" from a pinch of ash and forcefully applied it to a man to curse him with impotence. Or, using duplicative transmogrification to copy a gold nugget from the matter of a clay brick, forcing the brick to become the gold in truth.

But when you had a piece of the original, it was even easier. The sympathetic connection was inherent. What was once a part of the whole always remained a part of the whole in some way, even after being separated. It was easiest to do sympathetic magic with things you had a strong personal connection to, like long-term belongings—or pieces of your own body. However, the longer a piece of the whole was separated from the rest, and the more the sample's state or that of the original changed, the less effective such magic became. This was especially true with living things.

For example, a branch taken from a tree could be used to find its parent when it was still fresh. Over time, the connection lessened. If the branch's bark was peeled and it was turned into a walking stick, the connection would weaken. If the tree itself were cut down and turned into furniture, it would be almost impossible to use the branch to find any of those pieces of furniture.

The coppers had been using a stasis artifact—the evidence box—to keep her blood fresh, but within ten years it would still become almost useless as both time and change weakened her connection to it.

Of course, she couldn't wait ten years. Turning into Sebastien didn't seem to help, despite how much of a change it was. Or, perhaps it was helping and in fact the only thing keeping her safe.

If she were to leave the city, the power and skill required to find her at longer distances would be untenable. She would be unreachable. But there was only one Thaumaturgic University of Lenore, and it was in Gilbratha.

"But the reverse-scry worked," she repeated aloud. "I found my blood."

She hadn't considered the full possibilities of this sympathetic connection before because of the same inherent limitation she'd faced when trying to locate her blood without the reverse-scry. How did you distinguish between which pieces of the whole you wanted to affect with the spell and which you didn't? By the very nature of sympathetic magic, they were all the same. If you wanted to curse someone using a piece of them, say to force them to spontaneously combust, you probably didn't care if the piece you were using burnt up, too.

But she very much cared if she caught fire while trying to destroy the blood held by the coppers.

'There has to be a way around that. With enough ingenuity and power, there is always a way.'

It might be possible if she could stay within wards that were stronger than whatever wards the coppers were using to protect her blood. Then someone outside both wards, maybe Liza, would try to break through, all unprotected pieces of Sebastien throughout the range of the spell would be destroyed, and the coppers' wards would fall before Sebastien's did. It would likely be more power-intensive than scrying over the same distance, but maybe Liza could handle it. Of course, as always with Liza, her fee would be crippling. An estimate of the work that would be involved in developing the spells for and setting up something like that made Sebastien wince.

Alternatively, they could somehow bound the area of the sympathetic destruction. If they could draw a really, really large Circle while ensuring that it wasn't broken or disrupted, they could enclose the entirety of a place like Harrow Hill Penitentiary within it. Then, a piece of Sebastien's blood or hair could be used to destroy only the matching pieces within the Circle, overpowering or bypassing any wards. Maybe. It was the same way the shedding-destroyer worked, only this would be targeted specifically to pieces of her rather than any human material. The problem with really large Circles was manyfold, though. They were conspicuous, easily disrupted by enemy forces or even coincidence, and the larger the area within the Circle, the harder it was to hold dominion over it with your Will. That plan would likely require joint-casting by multiple sorcerers who had thoroughly practiced the same spell together to avoid causing a disturbance in the flow of magic during spellcasting.

While theoretically possible, these ideas weren't practical. Which brought Sebastien back to the concept of reverse-scrying. Perhaps she could use the same reverse-scrying application she had just proved worked to pinpoint a target for her destruction—just as she'd pinpointed a target for her search. It was likely that her blood would be outside of whatever protective wards the coppers normally kept over it while they used it to scry. The idea filled her with energy, but she knew that it, too, was unfeasible for the moment. Destroying her blood would require more power than simply locating it, and that kind of spell would require an even more divergent split of her attention while being scried. She couldn't get it wrong, even once, so she would need to practice sympathetic curses on something else. In addition to her Conduit not being strong enough, her Will wasn't strong enough either.

Because of the sporadic timing of the coppers' attempts to find her, it wasn't as if she could just set up a time for Liza to catch their diviners in the act. Sebastien's frustration was returning, but she tried to comfort herself. 'Destroying it while they try to use it is a viable solution. I may not have all I need to implement that plan, but I will not always be so weak. I'm definitely going to need a better Conduit, though. This one is not acceptable.' That was frustrating, because she truly could not afford better. If only she'd left Ennis to rot in jail instead of paying twice to contact him, maybe lack of funds wouldn't be a problem.

At the very least, she wasn't worried about the coppers using her blood to attempt to kill her. They desperately wanted the book, and if she died somewhere distant, out of their grasp, they risked never finding it. However, they could still curse her in other, more subtle ways. It was illegal, sure, but who knew if that would stop them should they grow desperate? She would be warned, at least, because one of the spells in the medallion her grandfather gave her warded against curses, but it could obviously be overpowered.

She frowned. If the coppers ever knew exactly where she was, they could kill her remotely to stop her from escaping, and then take their chances finding the book through divination cast on her corpse. That, too, would be a move of desperation and idiocy, but she wouldn't bet her life on them being calm and intelligent.

The sound of Oliver's arrival below shook her from her thoughts. It had been little more than three quarters of an hour since she activated his bracelet's alarm.

She hid the book, picked up the tea service tray, and walked to Oliver's office, prepared to confess both her foolishness and what she had discovered. This was a threat to both of them, and she hoped she could count on his help. After all, she owed him, through the Verdant Stag, about a thousand gold. If he tossed her aside because of how much trouble she was, he would lose any chance of recovering that.

She stopped mid-step, swallowing with a sudden resurgence of apprehension. 'That is not entirely true. The reward for aiding in my capture is five hundred gold now, and he could probably sell the book to the University for at least that much again. I suppose I just have to hope that he counts my future value higher than my immediate cost. He might seem softhearted, but he isn't foolish.'

Chapter 54 - Commission to Investigate

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 5:30 p.m.

Oliver stalked into his office a couple of seconds behind Sebastien. His dark hair was windswept, his cheeks and nose red from the cold, and he was breathing hard. His eyes swept across the room and latched onto her, the question in them obvious.

Once the door was closed behind them and they were assured of privacy, she opened her mouth to speak but choked on the words. While he waited impatiently, she tried to formulate a coherent explanation.

"The coppers almost found me today," she said finally. "They moved to the University in order to use the divination room in Eagle Tower."

"Shit."

"I wasn't expecting it, wasn't fully prepared," she admitted. "I—I did a divination spell to find my blood, piggybacking on their own scrying spell, and managed to find them. I wanted to gather some information, so I went to peek a little—as Sebastien."

Oliver stared at her, stupefied. "You went to peek. On the coppers actively scrying for you. You are aware that divination is more powerful at close range?" His tone was flat and incredulous.

"I thought the risk was worth it. The ward Liza made me has worked so well, I didn't assume they'd be able to break past it easily. And they didn't. They even had three prognos, and it took them a long while to ramp up to the level where it started getting dangerous for me. Still, I fully understand that it was a bad idea. I miscalculated. You don't need to say it."

He let out a puff of air, rocking back on his heels. "You said almost caught. What happened?"

She straightened her shoulders, forcing stillness to settle in her bones. "My miscalculation brought about an unexpected discovery. The female sorcerer who led the attack on your warehouse is a fourth-term student at the University."

His eyes narrowed, but Sebastien continued to the really shocking news. "She, or an accomplice of hers, more likely, set off the sirens earlier today while the coppers were in the middle of scrying for me. When everyone evacuated, she blew up the floor above the divination room. I assume to ensure they couldn't continue their divination spell after the false alarm was revealed."

"What."

"Her name is Tanya Canelo." The name sparked no recognition in him, so she continued. "She's one of my student liaisons. I'm not sure how long it will take them to fix Eagle Tower, but unless they can find or set up another ultra-powerful divination spell array, I'm safe for the near future. Which, crazy though it seems, appears to have been her goal. At least, I cannot figure out why else she would have acted as she did."

Oliver stared at Sebastien for a moment, then brushed past her to the liquor table at the corner of the room, pouring himself a glass. He offered Sebastien one.

Despite her abhorrence for sedatives in general, and liquor in particular, she accepted. It was disgusting, as she'd anticipated, but she welcomed the burn.

"Do you know what this means?" he asked.

"A University student is working for the Morrows, and has a rather significant information network. They have more access than we do," she replied immediately. "Alternatively, the University itself is working with the Morrows, and the information was easy to get because they're one of the involved parties. If that's the case, the Morrows might have much more access than we do. Also, someone doesn't want the coppers to find me. I suspect that someone may be part of the University itself. Some of the professors seemed reluctant for the coppers to be there. They were on edge and distrustful. However, I don't understand why they wouldn't want the coppers to succeed."

"Because they want to find you themselves," Oliver said simply. "The University and the Crowns have always struggled with each other. The Crowns are wary of the University growing so strong that it threatens their rule, and the University wants access to unlimited control and resources. It's in the nature of powerful thaumaturges to be ever hungry for more, and to chafe at the restrictions of 'lesser men.'" He swallowed the rest of his drink with a bitter grimace, then poured himself a little more. "Both want to find you first, and it seems they're not keen that the other should do so. The Morrows are aware of this. Even if they're not working with the University… If the Morrows could apprehend you and the book, they could trade you for money and favors to either of the two most powerful factions in Gilbratha—the two most powerful factions in the whole of Lenore."

It made sense. Today, it had worked in her favor, because either the Morrows or the University cared more about catching her themselves than that she was caught in general. But one thing didn't make sense. "What's so important about this book that they would go to such lengths to catch me?" She reached up to the amulet hidden under her shirt. "What is it? Have you heard any rumors?"

"I don't know what's in the book, other than that convenient little trinket you're wearing. Maybe there were other amulets, and they know you have one. I suppose they could be worried about spies or assassination, if they know what it can do, but you're right," he said, shaking his head. "If it was just that, it shouldn't matter so much who found you. There are surely politics at play that the two of us are not privy to. The coppers alone have already put several thousand gold into tracking you down. I estimate they burned one or two thousand on today's attempt alone."

"Thousands? On what?" Even the exorbitant reward for information leading to her capture was only five hundred gold crowns.

Oliver tilted his head to the side, bemused. "They have a whole investigation team focused on finding you. They've called in specialists. All those people have spent hundreds of hours gathering testimony and picking apart any crime scene they think might be remotely linked to you. They've been giving out bribes for information. But mostly, it's the scrying attempts. Their spell must immediately relay enough information to capture you, after all, not just a simple direction or a vague location. The base energy cost for a robust divination spell with a clear output is higher. The power required increases based on the area covered multiplied by that base power requirement."

"Would the spell really be that expensive? How much power could it take?" she asked. It was common knowledge that divination—all spells that reached outside the core Circle, really—got harder the farther you were away from your target. But she'd never seen a formula for how it worked with an area-effect spell like scrying for a target that matched set parameters. It wasn't like shooting a fireball in a straight line. Scrying sent out invisible feelers in all directions gathering information. Or something. The books she'd studied had been rather vague about the actual mechanics, and she hadn't spent extra time digging into the non-essentials.

Reading the lack of comprehension in her expression, Oliver eyed her speculatively for a long few seconds, seemingly hesitating about something. Finally, he set down his drink and pushed some clutter to the side of his desk, revealing a large map of Gilbratha with different colored zones, arrows, and notes scribbled all over it.

"It's Caidan's Theorem, if I remember correctly? Are they not teaching that at the University anymore?"

It hadn't really been a question, but she murmured, "I'm not taking Divination," anyway.

"When you extend a divination over a greater distance, the power requirement increases by a variable exponent that's…one-hundredth? One-hundredth of the spell's base cost." He nodded to himself. "It's not exact, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't take into account physical or magical barriers, but it's an easy way to make estimates. How much does a really basic divination spell cost, in thaums?"

"Umm, something like pointing a compass needle to a sympathetically linked object or dousing for water takes about twenty thaums to cast."

"That's even if you're casting right next your target?"

"Yes."

He pointed out Dryden Manor, then used a graphite pencil to draw a one-kilometer circle around it. "Okay, so let's do some simple math. You can use one-hundredth of a kilometer, or ten meters, as the base unit to measure distance. I remember that for sure. Assuming you are casting the simplest divination spell at a base cost of twenty thaums, and your target is one kilometer away"—he paused to scribble a simple exponential equation next to the penciled circle—"it will cost you slightly more than thirty thaums for the spell to reach it."

"Twenty thaums, times ten to the power of zero point-two," she muttered, trying to verify his math. Sebastien understood the concept of exponents, but she didn't have a lot of practice calculating them, especially ones that weren't whole numbers. Tentatively, she nodded. It felt strange, to be receiving a magic lesson from Oliver, of all people, instead of one of her professors.

Oliver continued. "Thirty thaums isn't that much. But say your base spell costs a moderate one hundred thaums to cast, which seems like a very conservative estimate for the coppers' attempt to locate and capture the Raven Queen. They'll want the output to give enough immediate data that they're sure to catch you. They could have cut down on the higher base cost for a more robust divination by shaping the spell's search volume into a downward-sloping cone, starting from Eagle Tower and reaching toward the south." He drew a smaller wedge within the circle he'd drawn to illustrate the smaller search area. "They have good reason to believe you're within the city, after all, and there's no need to waste power searching in a perfect sphere up into space. To reach a kilometer out they must spend…"

While the Circle and its bounds were spherical, Sebastien was vaguely aware of the more complex theory that could shape the output in various ways. "One hundred thaums, times ten to the power of one," Sebastien muttered to herself. This calculation was much simpler. "One thousand thaums per second. Is that right?" It seemed too much.

He gave her a slightly impressed quirk of the lips and a nod. "I'm no expert on divination, and what I did know I've mostly forgotten. Liza would probably be able to explain it better, and in more detail. But keep in mind, this is with an unwarded target. From what I understood from Liza, your ward could, with enough aid from you, make things multiple times more difficult for the coppers."

Sebastien reached back to touch the spot over the uppermost disk inserted under the skin of her back. "She really could have applied for a Grandmastery in artificery with it."

"Why did you think Liza was so expensive?"

"Because people who come to her are desperate, and have no other options?"

He huffed in exasperation. "There are plenty of thaumaturges selling illegal services in Gilbratha, Sebastien. Liza is trustworthy, competent, and her skills are well-rounded. That is a difficult combination to find. I won't give away what few of Liza's secrets I happen to know, but it seems like you are severely underestimating how lucky you were to receive her help. Liza is one of the few people I know of who could have created that ward, even in a city that hosts the University."

Sebastien nodded slowly to show that she was properly impressed. And she was. Maybe, if things had gone differently, she could have paid the University tuition fee to Liza and had an apprenticeship under her instead. Still, she preferred the more well-rounded education she was currently receiving, and nothing could replace access to the library.

"But back to the point at hand," Oliver said, "the coppers don't know where you are exactly or how strong your wards are, and yet are still pouring resources into finding you. They must at least be prepared for their spell to reach the whole of Gilbratha and its outskirts, as well as overwhelm your wards. Do you see? Having the high ground makes things significantly easier"—he pointed to the white cliffs—"though I don't remember the details of how that works, but all it means is that their base spell comes at a more reasonable cost."

Sebastien frowned. Something seemed wrong about this. Her study had been narrowly focused, as she had neither the resources nor the desire to become an expert diviner. However, it seemed that she might have missed some rather important elements of understanding. "If this is right, the volume of the search field is increasing way faster than the power requirements." She scribbled on an invisible paper with her fingers, trying to hold the rapidly increasing number in her mind. "Either the spell becomes more efficient over greater distances, or it becomes less effective."

He smiled approvingly at her. "The latter. Divination is an imprecise art. That's a large part of why it's not more widely used. With a very low-powered base spell, it might take weeks or even months of casting to receive accurate information if the edges of your search are very distant. When I was young, the diviner in my hometown took ten days to find my father's stolen prize horse because it had been transported multiple towns away. It had already been sold by the time my father arrived to take it back."

Sebastien was intrigued by the hint of Oliver's history, but he continued. "I've always imagined it like this: A divination spell sends out many little tendrils—strings, if you will—and those strings come into contact with relevant pieces of information and return them to the caster, filtered through whatever translation and analyses method the spell is set up with. The initial number of strings stays basically the same, even if they must reach farther, and so at greater distances they take either more time or more power to gather all the data, and are less likely to be one hundred percent accurate. Caidan's Theorem isn't based on volume, but on distance. I assume there are other equations that would deal with calculating the base cost of an area-effect spell of different shapes, or the accuracy of a divination at certain distances after certain investments of time." He flipped his pencil around awkwardly. "I hope I'm making sense?"

It was strange seeing Oliver unsure, especially while in the role of a teacher, as he was normally so confident and smooth. But even she wasn't so tactless as to point it out. Sebastien nodded absently. "Mostly, though it seems like this would be a rather imprecise method of estimation, what with all the possible variables and caveats." She wondered how accurate Caidan's Theorem really was. As Professor Lacer's class had shown, through training to be more efficient, different people could get entirely different results with the same amount of available power.

Sebastien eyeballed the map of Gilbratha, gauging its proportions. "The diviners needed to reach all the way from the University through the Mires. The white cliffs are a circle with a diameter of about twelve kilometers, and the Mires spill out to the south." That math was a little too much to do in her head, but she understood the point.

"At minimum, if that one hundred thaum base cost is realistic, they were prepared to power that spell with a twelve thousand thaum capacity. That's the lower limits for Archmage certification. I suppose it could be cast by a Master or Grandmaster with decades of experience, too. But they had six people joint-casting. They probably had doubts about their ability to overpower my wards. Or maybe the spell's base cost was a little higher. Even if it was only one hundred fifty thaums, suddenly the cost to find me would have been…over a hundred thousand thaums per second." The total energy value channeled into their search, which had lasted at least twenty minutes, was mind-boggling.

She let out a low breath as she wrapped her head around the idea, then shook her head in shock. "I was in the same building as them. If they were channeling thousands of thaums, even with my ward, how could they have failed to find me?"

Oliver frowned, rubbing his jaw. "As I said, they wouldn't have been searching in a perfect circle, to conserve energy. If most of their efforts were directed in a semi-conical shape, downward and toward the south, while standing in Eagle Tower you may have just been catching the edges."

"The pressure did seem to ease off a little when I reached the floor they were on," she remembered. "And they wouldn't have started off at full power for a joint-cast spell, because of the increased chance of spell backlash. They were ramping up slowly. If I had stayed on the grounds below, I would have taken the full brunt of the spell. So perhaps it was a good thing I went to spy on them after all."

"If so, only by coincidence, not intention." He still seemed a little peeved, giving her a pointed look.

Sebastien conceded the point with a one-shouldered shrug. "The cost of the components and beast cores alone…"

"Do not forget the hazard pay for joint-casting. Divination is one of the most dangerous crafts for a reason. And remember, they have attempted this multiple times, if not always with today's fervor."

Sebastien stared at the map, then met Oliver's dark blue eyes. "They should give up. It's foolish to keep wasting this level of resources, no matter how much they want to find me. They have to realize that divination isn't effective on such a large scope." It was also a further reinforcement of her conviction that divination as a whole was rather useless. If the coppers weren't forcing her to, she wouldn't have even studied it this much.

He shrugged. "Or perhaps this false alarm will instead encourage them. If they believe they forced a response from the Raven Queen, that she—you—feared being caught… And at such a close distance, you likely were in danger of them overwhelming your defenses. Divination has its uses, and they have no way to know what they're really up against. If today's attempt had worked, the coppers would have spent one to two thousand gold to capture you, retrieved the book, and at the same time kept the University from doing so. It could have been worth it."

Her shoulders slumped. "You're right. They have resources to burn, and at this point I've embarrassed them, too. It could even be a matter of principle to find me, no matter the tangible return on investment."

"Perhaps."

"Instead of burning gold like that, what if they used a less costly spell and just kept it going for hours, or days? At some point, my Will would fail due to sheer fatigue."

"That would be feasible if you weren't warded and had no way to tell they were searching, but it's too risky for them. It would be just as likely to drive you to escape the city as actually catch you. They want to surprise you with enough power to overwhelm your resistance, then rush to your location before you have a chance to escape."

"Dryden Manor has wards against divination, right? Just in case there's a piece of me left behind here…" She was thinking of the bloody thumbprint on her copies of the blood print vows made with Katerin and Liza. The blood print vows were inherently warded against outside tampering, so if the coppers did manage to find them, they would self-destruct immediately. This prevented those remnants of her from being used for anything nefarious, but who knew what information the coppers might get from them before that happened.

"The manor does have basic wards, more than enough to shield against whatever small signals that random pieces of hair or whatever else might give to a scrying spell. Not strong enough to shield against them finding you yourself."

She'd thought as much, but it was good to have reassurance.

Looking at the equation, she realized suddenly that her divination attempt might never have worked to find her blood if it were actually at Harrow Hill Penitentiary, because it was too far from the University. She'd read in one of the negligently vague divination books that having the high ground made scrying easier, but according to Oliver's equation she would have needed a capacity of almost a thousand thaums to overcome the distance, even though her divination spell was much less costly than the coppers'. If they were smart, perhaps they would try to break past her wards with a much simpler spell, and then immediately afterward cast something more robust to give them all the information they needed to actually catch her. "You're quite knowledgeable about divination. Is that your area of expertise, then?" she asked. She wouldn't have taken him for a diviner. Maybe a general sorcerer, like her, though she realized she'd never seen him actually cast magic. But he was too intelligent and charismatic to be anything but a thaumaturge.

He stared at her for a long few seconds.

She stared back, her eyebrows raised.

Oliver picked up his whiskey and moved to stand in front of his fireplace, gazing into it as if to avoid her. "No. My father was particularly interested in the craft. Not that it did him, or the rest of the family, any good. I spent some time between the ages of ten and thirteen rather obsessed with it, until I realized my folly."

He sounded bitter, and Sebastien decided not to press the issue despite her sudden curiosity about his past. She hated when people tried to pry into her own childhood, after all. There were some things a person just wanted to forget about. "Do you have any idea why someone at the University might be working with the Morrows? Could it have anything to do with why they attacked your warehouse?" she asked instead.

"I don't know, other than that if they're working together, there must be something illegal involved. Maybe smuggling? The Morrows have contacts in that area, and territory in the docks. It would make sense if the University is feeling suppressed by the Crowns' recent increase on restrictions for magical imports. Why the Morrows would attack my warehouse seems less to do with the Raven Queen, and more likely to be because they don't appreciate me encroaching on their business or territory. But I don't know." He sounded almost as frustrated as her, and with a sudden, violent motion, he dashed his glass of whiskey into the fireplace.

The glass shattered and the flames roared higher for a moment.

Sebastien jumped, immediately tense, but as Oliver stared darkly into the greedy flames, she felt herself perversely calming at the signs of his anxiety. "I think we're safe," she said, sitting down in a chair closer to him. "Or at least not in immediate danger," she amended as he turned to her with an incredulous look. "All we can do now is prepare for the future with the information we've been given." She swallowed the remainder of the amber liquid in her own whisky glass. "Step one? We need more information."

He nodded. "Knowledge is power."

"As is magic."

"But we don't have enough of either at the moment."

As much as it rankled her, he was right. "Should I start watching Tanya Canelo, then? Secretly, of course."

"Yes, her and anyone associated with her. Please avoid recklessness. If she finds out you are spying on her, things could go very badly for the both of us. You might need help. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how to provide you with it. I don't have anyone else within the University. Not anyone we can trust, at least. Have you noticed anything suspicious surrounding your identity as Sebastien? Do you suspect she knows who you are?"

Sebastien admitted to herself that she was barely keeping up with her current tasks. She had no time to add any sort of meaningful surveillance on Tanya. She rubbed the edge of her empty glass, listening to the crystalline ring it gave off as she achieved just the right angle and amount of friction. "I haven't noticed anything. She did seem abnormally interested in me when we first met, but I thought it was just because of the way I got admitted. Since then, she's acted…normal. And as for help on the inside…"

She grimaced, knowing Oliver wouldn't react well to what came next. "Damien Westbay was with me when Canelo pulled her trick. We weren't wearing our student tokens, but we were seen, and we sheltered with everyone else in Eagle Tower's underground attachment. If they're investigating, and there are records of everyone who was there, it might seem suspicious that we weren't logged by the building's wards. I don't think that'll be an issue—it's definitely not incriminating by itself—but Westbay… He may have connected some of the dots. About her, I mean, not about me. If he did, I'm not sure what he might do with the information. Might it be possible to use that, somehow? Perhaps we could further pit the coppers—and the Crowns—against the University, keeping them both distracted."

Oliver sat down opposite her. "One of the Crown Family scions was with you during this reckless stunt? That's the kind of relevant information I'd like to receive a little earlier in the conversation," he said, his voice hard.

She straightened her shoulders, tilting her chin up. "There was a lot of relevant information. The other stuff seemed more important. And then you distracted me with the divination equations."

He gave her an irritated look, but said, "I'm not sure you want to draw the coppers in right away. Not until we have a better understanding of the situation. There could be a better play."

"What if he wants to talk? To them, I mean?"

"You must find a way to dissuade him. Find out what he knows, and what he wants, not just in the short term but more intrinsically, and then guide his actions." Oliver leaned back, idly rolling his sleeves up past his forearms while he thought. "Damien Westbay doesn't have a particularly close relationship with his father, from what I've observed, but the opposite is true of his older brother, who is currently running the coppers. Use that to your advantage, if you can. Hint at things that might mislead him. Stall, if that's all you can do. I'll be working on gathering information on my end, too. I might be able to find out who set off the false alarm, and I'm going to be digging into any possible connection between the University and the Morrows. If it comes to it, perhaps he could be useful to set the coppers against them and relieve some of the pressure on us."

Social maneuvering was not Sebastien's strong suit, but surely she could figure it out if she put her mind to it. "Westbay has seemed rather interested in ingratiating himself to me. Do you think it would be too dangerous to make it known that I prefer this all to be kept a secret for the moment?"

"Oh? Is he only interested in gaining your alliance, or is he trying to engender a friendship?"

She palmed her Conduit, rolling it around absentmindedly as she ran through her memories of Westbay, trying to catalogue his attitude. She hesitated, but decided not to mention that she'd done blood magic in Westbay's presence, or rather, cast blood magic on him. Westbay hadn't even realized, and she didn't feel like admitting to any more stupidity. "He thinks I share his childish interest in detective stories because I've show interest when he talks about the investigation into the Raven Queen, and he saw me do a rather impressive piece of magic. That's when his attitude really changed. At first, I thought he just wanted to use me, but he's been inviting me to spend time with his friends, acting ingratiatingly, and overall pretending as if we're best mates. Even when I snap at him, he might snap back, but he just keeps trying to burrow closer, like a roundworm. Honestly, he seemed to think this morning was all some sort of adventure from an Aberford Thorndyke story. I couldn't get him to leave me be—he forced himself along. He doesn't seem to have a sense of real-world consequences."

Oliver stood, paced a little, and then stopped with his hands in his pockets, rocking forward and back on his heels while staring at the ground. Finally, he looked up and grinned at her. "That's perfect, actually. If you can play deeper into that part of his personality while also gaining his loyalty, you can make your friendship and all the feelings that come along with it indispensable to him. Over time, with careful handling, he might even become a valuable resource. He's a high-ranking member of a Crown Family after all, with both money and influence."

Sebastien narrowed her eyes at Oliver. "Are you sincerely hoping I can turn him to your cause? Overthrowing the Crowns' law and rule to create some kind of idealistic utopia for everyone else?"

Oliver's smile sobered, but didn't fall away entirely. "Unlikely, perhaps, but not impossible, with enough time and subtlety. He doesn't need to know what he's getting into right away. Perhaps by the time he realizes, it will long have been too late."

"Subtlety is not my strong suit, Oliver. Nor is manipulation. I'm too…sharp and grating. Too impatient." She paused, watching his face carefully. "I can control and take responsibility for myself. Tweaking someone's strings until they dance to my tune like a puppet? I don't have the dexterity for that."

"All the better. It won't be as suspicious coming from you. We'll keep things simple enough. Mysterious. He can fill in the blanks himself. You don't have to lie overmuch, just honestly and boldly keep secrets, and with the right original framework for the whole idea, he'll be drawn in to the mystique, to the emotion, like a moth to flame." Seeing her skeptical look, he said, "I'll help you. We'll walk through the whole thing together. It's easier than you think, I promise. You've already laid most of the groundwork without even realizing it, I'd bet. Sebastien Siverling, a mysterious, aloof prodigy who has been withholding his friendship and confidence, suddenly offering someone desperate for belonging and meaning the inclusion he didn't even realize he craved? It would work on a lot of people, but him in particular, I think."

She sighed with reluctant acceptance, feeling that Oliver was much too confident. "I will attempt it, at least. Then, with Tanya Canelo, would it be acceptable to recruit other students to aid in the surveillance? Her counterpart, the other student liaison, has expressed a willingness to work with me, and I know he's in need of gold."

Oliver paused, but finally said, "I'll leave that up to your judgment. Please be cautious. If we do this incorrectly, things could suddenly get a lot worse than they already are."

She nodded, subdued. "I will." It was a promise to herself as much as him. "I'll keep you informed. Please do the same for me." Oliver agreed, but Sebastien still didn't feel settled, lacking the internal, subconscious stillness that came with a fully realized plan. "We've got a way forward, at least, but no matter what we find out, it's not going to solve the original problem." She leaned forward, clasping her hands together, but almost immediately found that posture to be too weak. She straightened, pushing back her shoulders and raising her chin, letting her elbows rest over the sides of the chair with a confidence and surety she didn't feel. "Unless—and this would be wonderful for us, but seems a little too optimistic to hope for—unless the blood sample they were using was destroyed in the explosion, they still have my blood. And as soon as Eagle Tower is repaired, maybe sooner if there are any other powerful divination arrays available, they'll be searching for me again."

She flexed her shoulders, feeling the five disks under the skin of her back. "What we've done to mitigate the danger isn't enough. Is there really no way for us to get my blood back from them, or destroy it?" She explained the ideas she'd come up with while waiting for him to return.

He rubbed his face. "I understand what you mean, and you make some good points. Develop your ideas on the sympathetic magic. You should do that 'reverse-scry' again the next chance you have. I'll have my people put out feelers for more mundane opportunities. If it wasn't destroyed, they'll be taking it back to warded storage. Maybe if the blood was in transit, and we knew the route and the time, we could lay an ambush. That could be effective even without needing complex, powerful magic. Probably cheaper, too. As it is, I don't believe destroying the blood impossible, because no defense is impenetrable, but I don't have the ability to make it happen. Not without sending my people on a suicide mission. And I will not do that. Let us see how the next few weeks develop. However, if you want to take out another loan in order to hire someone like Liza to help you with development or casting a spell to destroy the blood remotely, I might be able to convince Katerin." He smiled encouragingly.

Sebastien carefully controlled her facial muscles to avoid scowling at him. Why should she borrow a huge sum to solve the problem that was as much his fault as hers, and which put him equally in danger? She resisted the urge to point that out, remembering her worries about being considered too steep a liability. Oliver might act like an altruist, but he had led her into an impossible position and was willing to take advantage of her vulnerability just like any other manipulative loan shark. He was a criminal. And sometimes criminals did drastic, immoral things to keep themselves safe. She needed to remember that. Even if he wasn't planning to betray her as a liability, he could have easily decided to force another debt on her in the name of resolving this problem.

She sighed, considering mentioning her other big problem—that she needed a better Conduit—but the thought of begging for help made her muscles clench and her throat close up. That problem only led full circle back to needing another loan. 'I'll find a way to handle the Conduit on my own. Once I do that, I'll eventually find a way to turn their divination attempts against them. There are options. I just need the resources to access those options.'

Sebastien and Oliver talked for a while longer, discussing the details of their plans and the best reactions to possible permutations of events. He came up with ideas that she never would have, including one for Westbay involving a drink coaster, an astronomy potion, and the kind of pageantry that Sebastien found ridiculous, but which she was sure Westbay would love.

Sebastien was feeling a little more settled by the time the sun began to set. She stood. "I'd stay to do some brewing—I could certainly use the gold—but I've homework and spell practice left undone. Perhaps I could pilfer the kitchen for some bread and cheese to take back with me?"

He waved his hand carelessly. "I'll have them pack you a proper dinner, but wait a moment. There is one more thing I'd like to discuss with you."

She raised her chin, staring at him.

"Do you remember I mentioned that the leader of the Nightmare Pack, who the Stags are recently aligned with, wanted to meet you?"

"I remember something about him being a fan of the Raven Queen."

"Yes, well, your faculties were somewhat impaired at the time I mentioned it. Lord Lynwood asked to meet you quite insistently the last time we spoke. I made it clear to him that I don't control you, but I would pass along the request. I also made it clear that you expect a sort of…tribute, for doing favors like this. He says he's prepared something."

She raised an eyebrow. "A bribe, just to meet me?"

"More like payment. To make it worth your time, and in the hopes that you'll look favorably on him. Your reputation precedes you. I don't know what the payment is, or what exactly he wants from you, but if he gives you something of value, I'd be willing to split its worth with you. It could solve some of your gold problem, at least, and if he has a request you cannot fulfill, you could simply turn him down. It only requires that you act powerful and mysterious enough that he feels the meeting was worthwhile."

She crossed her arms. "Half of any tribute he gives me? Why should I agree to that?"

"I'm brokering the meeting."

Her chin rose. "Ninety-ten. That's an actually appropriate number."

"I also legitimize your claim to power and infamy. Sixty-forty."

"You had little to do with my supposed power and infamy. Simply refraining from telling him the truth serves you as much as it does me. I'm sure he took into account your powerful contacts when making this deal between your two gangs, and that legitimizes you. Seventy-thirty. And please remember, you're not the only one who could set up a meeting between the two of us. A meeting which I'm only willing to take because of the chance of payment. This is a risk for me. Things could go wrong. Things we cannot anticipate because we don't know why he wants to meet in the first place. It could be a trap."

"Lord Lynwood has honor. I doubt it would be a trap, but your point is taken. Seventy-thirty, agreed."

They shook hands.

As she was leaving, she stopped and looked back. "Oh. One more thing. Newton Moore is the student liaison I was mentioning. The one that might help with Tanya. His father is sick, and his family is in need of money. I don't know if they're within Verdant Stag territory, but…"

Oliver nodded. "It's good leverage."

She shrugged. "Well, that too, but he could use the help. He could be useful to you. Maybe even more so than I am," she admitted reluctantly. "Maybe someone could reach out to the Moores and see if there's a way to help his father, or if Newton's the kind of investment you'd like to sponsor through the University."

Oliver stared at her with consideration for a few moments, but then smiled. "Okay. I'll talk to Katerin about it."

Sebastien nodded and turned to leave, hiding her own small smile. Seeking help for Newton was a little thing, considering, but it had been a shitty day, and she really needed a win right now, even if it wasn't for herself.

Chapter 55 - A Pact of Stars

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 8:30 p.m.

On Oliver's instruction, Sebastien stopped by a small apothecary in the good part of town just before they closed and bought a single potion. He'd given her a purse of twenty gold for the new mission's expenses, but she still found the price of nineteen silver exorbitant and painful. In a small town, the same amount could have fed her for two to three weeks. 'Everything in Gilbratha is overpriced,' she grumbled mentally.

Back at the University, a couple of hours after sundown, she stopped by Tanya's dorm door. Light shone through the crack at the bottom, and the movement of shadows showed someone was awake within. Sebastien listened for a while, but heard nothing.

Satisfied that she wouldn't gain anything from more snooping at the moment, she strode into the dorms and retrieved a few small items from the chest at the base of her bed.

Westbay's cubicle was only a couple away from her own. His curtains were still open, and he sat in bed scribbling on a piece of paper—likely working on one of the essays they'd been assigned. He looked up, meeting her gaze with some surprise.

"Come with me," she said. Without waiting for a response, she turned around and strode out of the room. She heard Westbay scrambling to put on his boots and coat behind her, but didn't slow, heading out of the dorm building and toward the Citadel.

She went to the classroom that Westbay and his friends used for their morning study group. The building was mostly empty by now, with classes over and those who wanted to study likely gone to the library to do so. She took a seat at the table.

When Westbay entered, she said, "Close the door." When he did so, she gestured to the seat across from her. It was an auspicious sign that he was obeying without complaint or hesitation.

He settled slowly into the chair, light grey eyes meeting her dark ones, full of questions.

She folded her hands on the table, staring at him until the silence became uncomfortable. Finally, she asked, "What did you see today?"

"What did I see?" he repeated, confused.

"I had the idea that you're not completely oblivious to what's going on around you. Was I wrong?"

Damien leaned forward, his shoulders loosening even as his chin rose and a small, satisfied smile stretched his lips. "You weren't wrong. I did see things. I saw that Tanya Canelo got a letter that made her anxious. I saw that you followed her, or whatever clue you picked up from that divination spell you were casting—I noticed that, too—to Eagle Tower. I saw that she seemed to know when the rogue magic sirens would go off, almost as if it was planned." He paused, searching for a reaction, but when she gave him none, he continued. "I saw that she hid while everyone was evacuating, and was in the perfect position to cause that alchemy explosion and stop the coppers from finding the Raven Queen. I saw she had a scar, and I saw that it meant something to you, but I don't know what. And I saw that you disappeared after classes, which probably has something to do with all this."

Her expression remained neutral. "Is that all?" It was more than she had hoped, definitely, but it could have been worse. Westbay wasn't a complete idiot, after all.

He seemed taken aback. "Well…perhaps I missed some things because I don't have all the connecting information to understand what's mundane and what's a clue. But I think I did fairly well for coming into your investigation cold. Don't you?"

'My investigation? Well, that's about the best spin he could put on it. Except he has ties to real investigators, and none of them will have any clue who I am, or find it amusing that I've seemingly been withholding evidence on an ongoing operation.' She remained silent for a few moments, trying to figure out the best approach. 'I wish Oliver was here. He may have coached me, but an hour is not enough to gain real skill.' Aloud, she asked, "Have you mentioned any of this to anyone?"

Westbay shook his head. "No. I can keep a secret, Sebastien. I told you that. And I'm not an idiot. You don't go around talking about an open investigation where a possible enemy or criminal could hear you."

"Not even to the coppers?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "You haven't gone to them either," he said, as if defending himself.

She raised an eyebrow.

He frowned. "Unless…they know about you?"

She kept her eyebrow raised.

His frown flattened and his eyes went wide. "Or they have moles among the ranks," he breathed, "and you can't go to them."

He wasn't wrong. Oliver did have informants among the coppers, though that had nothing to do with this. Westbay was also making up his own answers to unanswered questions, just like Oliver had said he would.

"What's going on? With Canelo, and you…and the Raven Queen? Who set off those rogue magic alarms? Was it the Raven Queen? Tell me," Westbay commanded.

Sebastien snorted.

Westbay's eyes narrowed. "You owe me a favor, Siverling. Do I need to call it due?"

She bared her teeth at him. "That favor is the only reason you're in this room with me right now. But it's only a medium favor. Not nearly enough to get that kind of information. Besides, I'm not sure you're being totally truthful about your ability to maintain confidentiality, Westbay. Because you did indeed talk about an ongoing investigation with me, who you didn't know and had no idea that you could trust. All I had to do was show a little interest in the Raven Queen."

He gaped and stammered before recovering. "Well, that was… I didn't give out any critical information, and probably nothing you couldn't have found out by going to the right taverns after a shift of coppers were off work for the day. This is different."

"You've proven your mouth can be loose when you don't think it's important, or when you're around friends, or when you want to impress someone."

"This is different," he insisted, his nose flaring as he leaned forward. "I'd never talk about a case I'm involved in, whether the information was important or not."

"Not even to your closest family members? To your brother?"

"My brother? You…think Titus can't be trusted? Or someone around him?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I think that if you'll tell a secret to your closest family member…" She leaned forward. "If you'll talk at all, that's it. You'll talk. And even if it's only ever to that one person, even if it's only when it seems reasonable, even necessary, then that one person can be used against you. In your case, Westbay, there's one particular enemy that I'd like to avoid ever getting wind of what I—and possibly you—will be doing here." She waited a beat. "Your father."

He blinked, then shook his head. "My father? He's not—"

"I believe you know that's not true," she said firmly, cutting him off. She resisted the urge to swallow nervously or let her gaze slide away.

He stared back at her, small expressions she couldn't decipher flitting across his face. Finally, he said, "I'm not sure if you're insinuating something deeper, but you're right that he'd want to stop me, and you by extension. He doesn't respect me." His last sentence was simple, but even Sebastien could tell it held a wealth of emotion.

She leaned into it. "The man is a stain on the name of all nobility," she said, her voice low. Oliver had told her a strong, even offensive stance against Lord Westbay would be one of the best ways to keep his son's mouth shut.

Damien's eyelids fluttered at the words.

She pushed one step further. "He has no honor."

When Damien didn't immediately respond, she knew she hadn't misstepped. It was actually somewhat exhilarating.

"You're different from him," she continued. "And you don't have to be constrained by your name or your blood. So let me ask you, Damien Westbay. What do you want?"

He considered for a moment, then said, "I want to know what's going on. I'd like to help, as an ally."

Sebastien almost released a bark of incredulous laughter. 'Has he not even considered the danger, or that whatever I'm involved in might not be on the side of the "good guys" from those stories he likes to read?'

"You might think I'm foolish, but there's a lot I can offer, Sebastien. I'm a Westbay—"

She cut him off. "Your name holds no meaning to me. It's your character I want to see." Oliver had said to make it personal, to make Damien feel seen and accepted. "What do you want?"

"You already asked that. I told you—"

"What do you want out of life? What mark do you hope to make on the tapestry of fate? What is your true goal, your real ambition? What will give you worth, Damien? It is not your last name. Answer carefully."

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. Despite the chill in the air that wasn't fully dispersed by the Citadel's climate spells, his temples were starting to bead with tiny dots of sweat.

It took him a while to answer, but she waited silently, her own heart rushing in her chest with the thrill of it. 'This is power, too,' she admitted silently. 'I can see why Oliver likes it.'

"I want to do something that people—" Damien broke off, and after another long pause he finally said, in a softer voice, "I want to feel like I matter."

It was sincere, and raw enough that Sebastien had to look away for a moment, feeling uncomfortable and a little guilty. "I can give you that chance," she said in an equally soft voice, returning her gaze to his. "If you would like to join my operation—and let me be clear that it is rarely as exciting as it was today, and is likely to be nothing more than a boring strain on your ability to complete your homework. If you'd like to join, I'd like to have you."

"Yes," he said, this time without an ounce of hesitation.

"You should have hesitated. So that I would know you really understood what you were promising. You'll be a probationary member of this team, and will be giving up the favor I owe you in exchange. I'm in charge. You'll be doing boring work, sometimes relegated to research. You won't get to know all the details. This will be nothing like an Aberford Thorndyke story, and you will never get to talk about it to anyone."

"I agree," he said, again without hesitation. "The reason I'm not hesitating now is because I already decided I wanted in on this. I'm fine with everything you just said."

"It could be dangerous. And you will have to prove your loyalty as well as your ability. You may occasionally have to do things that are unpleasant, that would embarrass you, or even go against the laws."

"I agree," he repeated for a third time, unable to keep the excitement from sparkling in his eyes.

She settled back, still somewhat unsatisfied. 'I wish I could get him to sign a blood print vow of secrecy, but even suggesting such a thing would send most people running to the coppers. I'll just have to risk it. If he hadn't inserted himself into things today and ended up getting too much information for comfort, I'd never bring him into it. But at least this way, I can keep him close and hopefully under control.'

He frowned at her, a hint of irritation leaking through. "Are you still holding a grudge because of the way our acquaintance started? I've learned to look past your abrasive nature, Sebastien. You could do me the same courtesy."

She sighed. "Fine. Pending your initiation, you're a provisional part of the team, Westbay."

"Damien. You should call me Damien. I already call you Sebastien, after all. Unless!" He paused dramatically, perking up. "Should we have codenames? I could be Nighthawk. Or Shadowbane. You could be…"

Sebastien raised a hand to forestall him. "Damien is as far as I'm willing to go. Take what you can get." She had more than enough identities to keep track of already, she didn't need another.

He seemed a bit disappointed, but perked up quickly. "What's this initiation, then? Who are the other members of your team? Are you part of an organization? Or on a secret mission from the coppers?" When she didn't answer, he inhaled sharply, his eyes going wide. "A secret mission from the Red Guard?"

"You are letting your imagination run away with you," she said, standing. "Come with me." She led him into the Menagerie, walking till she found a spot far enough away from the light-bordered cobblestone paths that their night vision wouldn't be affected, where there was a wide, clear view of the sky.

Damien matched her silence as she picked up a stick and scratched a Circle into the leaf-strewn, dying ground, big enough for the both of them to stand inside.

It was windy, which it often was this high up, and the flurries carried dead leaves and the premonition of snow. The moon's glow filtered sideways through the trees, but the sky was clear and cloudless. The stars were clearly visible. Sebastien looked up at them with satisfaction.

Damien cleared his throat. "What are we doing here?" he asked in a hushed voice.

She lowered her head to look at him. "Perhaps you didn't really understand what you were getting into. Do you want to go back? We can forget everything that's happened tonight. It's not too late." Of course, she didn't really want him to be frightened off. She wanted to bind him with shackles formed entirely in his own mind. That was the purpose of most initiation rituals, after all. Oliver thought it would be more effective with a group of people to lend to the sense of ceremony, but she didn't have that luxury.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"You can be just Damien Westbay, University student who goes to classes and has fun with his friends. You won't be a part of this, but nothing will be expected of you. Maybe you will find a way to matter on your own."

He stared at her for a few seconds in the darkness. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but just when she was growing worried, he stepped forward, joining her within the Circle.

She smiled. "Stay here." Turning around, she pulled the shallow bowl she'd retrieved from the dorms out of her pockets. There was a small stream nearby, and she dipped the bowl into it, filling it with a couple ounces of water. She returned, handing the bowl to Damien. "Hold this."

He cupped it carefully, holding it in front of his chest with both hands.

She stepped back into the Circle with him, bringing her Will to bear. Like when she was brewing a potion, she used her Will to reinforce every movement. It lent a feeling of meaning, of ritual importance to the process, even for the parts that magic wasn't technically required for, and during which she wasn't channeling any actual thaums of energy.

Here, she simply fed her Will into the Circle, consuming slight amounts of heat from the dome around them and adding a tension to the air as she claimed authority over everything within. It took barely any effort, but Damien would be able to feel it in his hind-brain, and it would lend gravitas to the impromptu ceremony.

She reached into her pockets and pulled out three small vials. "State your name."

He swallowed. "I am Damien Corolianus Westbay."

She resisted the urge to make a comment about his ridiculous middle name. "Damien Corolianus Westbay, I exhort your silence." She took a drop of the first vial's herbal oil extract on her finger and touched it to his forehead, staring down into his eyes, which seemed almost as dark as hers with nothing but the light of the stars to illuminate them. "Will you keep our secrets, knowing when to speak and when to remain silent?"

"I will," he whispered.

She increased the pressure of her Will, though still she was casting no magic.

She anointed him with the second vial's drop of oil. "I exhort your loyalty. Will you support us and our efforts faithfully and fully, with true heart and steady hand?"

"I will."

She increased the pressure once more, then touched him with the third oil, the sharp smell of peppermint only increasing that feel of unreleased tension. "I exhort your resolve. Will you persevere through hardships and the wear of time, exerting yourself to fulfill our cause?"

"I will," Damien said for the third time.

Sebastien pushed harder with her Will, till she approached the limit of her ability to coil potential force without anything to apply it to. She pulled the astronomy potion out of her pocket and poured it into the shallow bowl of water, then supported his cupped hands with her own. "Our purpose," she said, leaning forward slightly and trying to sound serious, "is freedom…and enlightenment. Drink, and look up. See beyond the edge of the sky."

He hesitated, but she gave him a shallow nod of encouragement, and he lifted the shallow bowl and drank down its contents in a couple of quick gulps.

As soon as he lowered the bowl, she released her Will at once with a mental outward thrust, just to be safe. It barely did anything, causing a small flurry of leaves and sending a couple of animals that had been hiding nearby scurrying away in alarm. But the sudden lack of tension was palpable.

Damien gasped as he looked up at the night sky.

This particular potion had been Oliver's suggestion. It wasn't mind-altering, addictive, or harmful in any way, except if the user took it and then looked into a bright light. It improved long-distance night vision, making the stars seem brighter, clearer, and more colorful. It also supposedly emphasized the dark emptiness of the rest of space. In essence, the potion created a poor version of the effects of a telescope while allowing a much wider field of view.

Many of those who had taken this particular potion for the first time reported an overwhelming wave of emotions bordering on awe, with the awareness of how small and insignificant they were—and the Earth was—compared to the vast, terrible beauty of space. Intense emotions would make Damien feel more bound to the promises he'd made and to their shared secret.

Damien's eyes filled with tears, and he blinked to send them spilling down his cheeks, breathing hard as he gazed up in wonder. "It's—I don't—"

"Shh. I know. Just see. Just let yourself be conscious." She waited a few minutes, until the tears had stopped flowing and his breath was beginning to slow, then said, "Repeat after me. I am small, as are we all."

He did as she said, still staring up at the sky.

"But I am not without purpose. We are not without meaning." She pulled the novelty drink coaster she'd gotten from Oliver out of her pocket. It was black marble embedded with a light crystal.

Using the stone disintegration and reformation exercise Professor Lacer had assigned them, she'd managed to mold the original circular light crystal into a thirteen-pointed star, working to pull out its edges in tiny sections. She didn't want to give Damien something he'd recognize from some high-class artifact shop, after all.

"There are stars in this world, too," she finished. When he'd echoed her, she said, "Look at me."

Slowly, he drew his gaze back down to the earth.

She twisted the black marble disk, slotting the inner section into the outer, and the light crystal activated, a star among darkness. She handed it to him in her cupped hands. "You may be one of them, if you prove yourself worthy."

He squinted against the mild glow of the light crystal, but took it reverently.

"This is the sign of our people," she said. "If ever anyone comes to you with one, you will know you can trust them, and should help them if they need it."

Letting out a shaky breath that fogged in the air and refracted the light of the crystal, he nodded. "Does it…this group, or order, does it have a name?"

She rolled her eyes. "What's with you and wanting a dramatic name for everything?"

He looked up from the light, the mystique of the moment lessened. His lips quirked up in amusement, and he scrubbed the tear tracks from his cheeks, sniffing hard.

"No," she said, deciding not to make something up on the spot. "We have no name. Things that have names get talked about. Besides, we need no label to constrain us."

"Freedom and enlightenment?" he echoed from her earlier words. "How exactly does that work? What do we actually do?"

"We do what is needed to fulfill our purpose, especially where others do not. Think on these principles. On what it means to be a light in the dark. I cannot give you the answer. It must be understood on your own." It was vague nonsense, but the best she could do with no real answer prepared.

He frowned over this for a moment, then asked, "How many of us are there?"

"You're only a provisional member, remember? You don't get to know everything." She picked up the bowl, which had dropped on the ground at some point, and jerked her head in the direction of the University. "Come on, let's get back."

"What do I need to do to become a full member?" he asked, following her back onto the lit path.

She shrugged. "There's no specific assignment. You'll prove yourself or you won't. There's no penalty if you don't, but your involvement—including the ability to ask questions—is limited as a provisional member."

He mulled this over for a few moments before carefully tucking the drink coaster into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "What's my first assignment, then?"

"We'll be gathering information on Tanya Canelo and her associates. I want to bring on an informant to help us keep track of her," she said. "Not another member, just a contractor. You won't have enough time to do it by yourself."

He nodded slowly. "Okay. Who?"

"Newton Moore," she said simply.

A smirk grew on Damien's face. "Oh, that is perfect. He has a flawless excuse to spend time with her. They're both student liaisons, and they have at least half their classes together. But can he be trusted?"

"You'll help me judge that. He won't know anything about what's really going on, but we still need him to be both thorough and discreet. From what I know of him, he has both qualities."

"We should conduct the interview right away. I don't want Canelo getting out of our sight for a moment," he said gravely.

"I agree. And we will be doing more than personal observation, if we can manage it. But for the moment," she said, checking the time on her pocket watch with the approaching lights of the University buildings, "I'm pretty sure Newton is tutoring someone in the library. What do you say we catch him as soon as he's alone?"

Damien smoothed back his hair, straightened his clothes, and took the lead, striding straight toward the circular building.

Chapter 56 - Forming a Team

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 9:15 p.m.

Damien had to stop outside the library and adjust to the brightness of the lights illuminating the path and the doorway. He still winced when he entered, shielding his potion-dilated eyes even though the building's shimmering walls and the ceiling were dimmed, not shining with daylight-brightness.

"Do you think he'll agree?" Damien asked her as they made their way toward the private room Newton usually booked for tutoring.

"I'm not sure," Sebastien admitted. "It might depend on his sense of honor, or his regard for the two of us compared to her."

They slipped inside the private room as Newton was packing up, with less than an hour left until the library closed. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes tired, and his fingers smudged with ink and chalk.

Damien closed the small room's door, then locked it.

Newton's eyes trailed this movement, and then went to Sebastien. "What's going on?" His tone was too weary to seem alarmed, even if he had been inclined to anxiety.

"Do you remember the offer you made, concerning employment?" Sebastien asked.

Newton nodded slowly.

"I'm here to take you up on it, a bit sooner than perhaps either of us expected."

"You want to hire me?" Newton asked her, looking to Damien questioningly.

"Why don't you sit?" Damien said, gesturing to one of the newly vacated chairs around the table. "The job is contingent upon your performance in this impromptu interview."

Still obviously confused, Newton obliged.

The two of them sat across from him. To Sebastien's relief, Damien didn't immediately try to take over the flow of conversation, deferring to her to start.

"What I require is of a delicate nature," she said. "The kind of thing that might call for you to lie to a classmate or friend, but nothing that forces you to harm the innocent or do anything truly distasteful. Is that the kind of thing you can handle?"

Newton hesitated, but nodded. "Hypothetically, yes. But… Sebastien, what is this about?"

"Your silence is the prerequisite for saying any more, whether or not you decide to take the job. Can you agree to that as well?" she asked.

He hesitated, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Are you asking me to help you cheat on the mid-term exams? Because, to be honest, I really don't have a way to make that happen, and I'm also not sure that either of you would benefit very much. Westbay already scored among the top three hundred incoming students, and you cannot be that worried about your own results, Sebastien. Besides, it's the end of term exams you should really be worried—"

Sebastien stopped him with a hand gesture, unable to hide her smile. "No, Newton. It's not that at all." She looked to Damien, then back to Newton. "Can we trust that you'll keep this conversation private? I want your oath, or we walk out this door right now."

Newton straightened, looking more alarmed. "I swear on my name and honor, unless I judge that what you tell me will bring serious harm to yourselves or others, I will not divulge the contents of this conversation. Now please explain."

"We want you to spy on Tanya Canelo!" Damien burst out before Sebastien could say anything, vibrating with poorly suppressed excitement.

Sebastien could have strangled him. Damien could be smooth and cunning just long enough for her to let down her guard, and then slip into this childish obliviousness and ruin it.

Newton's face sped through a series of expressions, too quick for Sebastien to decipher them, and finally settled on wary interest. "I don't understand." He paused, losing focus for a moment as his gaze turned thoughtfully inward. "Or rather, I understand the actual words you're saying, but…why? What would I be looking for?"

'At least he didn't immediately refuse. He's considering it.'

"Everything," Sebastien said simply. "Even the things that don't seem particularly memorable. We want to know every time she leaves your sight, anyone she speaks with, even the things she researches for homework projects."

"Can I ask why?"

"No, you can't," Damien said.

"We have good reasons," Sebastien said. "And no intention to place ourselves or other students in harm's way."

Newton rubbed one of the ink splotches on his fingers, staring at her. "Did Tanya do something? Offend you?"

She smiled. "She did something. It didn't offend me personally. And before you ask, it's the kind of delicate matter that we cannot take to the authorities. We could do this without you, but…" Sebastien reached into her pocket and pulled out the small purse Oliver had given her. It held the operating expenses he'd supplied for this mission; Tanya being associated with the Morrows and the Morrows possibly having a connection to the University—and its power—was relevant to him as well as her. After purchasing the astronomy potion, of which she now had several useless doses remaining, the purse contained eighteen gold and one silver. If she needed more funds, she would have to ask for them. She pulled out one gold crown and set it on the table, then pushed it with her finger toward Newton. "Two gold a week," she said, leaving the coin in front of him. "That's a signing bonus. Either you trust me or you don't."

Damien eyed the purse with some surprise, as if trying to gauge how much was hidden within.

Newton looked down at the coin, then up at her, his bloodshot eyes inscrutable. "I trust you," he said, palming the coin. "So tell me again, and in detail. What do you need me to track?"

Sebastien didn't try to restrain her smile. "I'm happy to be working with you," she said. She didn't know if he actually trusted her, or if he was simply desperate for the chance to make extra coin, but it didn't matter as long as he did what was asked of him.

She proceeded to detail exactly what that was. "We'll want detailed written reports and a verbal review twice a week," she finished. "Be discreet. Take the opportunity to get into her confidence, if possible. If you find something particularly important you can earn a bonus, but we don't expect you to place yourself in any dangerous situations."

When they were done with the instructions, Newton left to get started. As his solo dorm room was directly adjacent to Tanya's, he would be able to keep tabs on her in the evening and early morning.

As Newton was leaving, he turned back to face Sebastien. "Thank you for thinking of me for this," he said, adjusting the strap of his school bag nervously. "And, umm, for pointing Alec Gervin my way." He gave her a mischievous grin. "I'm charging him three gold a week for one-on-one lessons, and it's going to be even more for the exam prep sessions."

She grinned back. "I heard from someone knowledgeable that it works best to treat him like a dog."

Damien flopped his head back and groaned, not without amusement.

Newton grinned wider. "Treats, praise, and plenty of exercise. Got it."

When Newton had gone, Sebastien locked the door again. She took a seat and crossed one leg over the other. "Your first assignment is researching and developing other ways we'll be able to keep track of her. I'd like to put a ward on her door, so we know when she goes in and out, especially at odd times. A tracker would be even better. Use the library as a resource. It will have all the knowledge you need, as long as you're skilled enough to compile it. If you get stuck, come to me. If you need assistance casting, I can also help with that. In fact, I would prefer to. Be circumspect about letting anyone else understand what you're doing."

Damien nodded without hesitation. "I already have some ideas. I'll bring you a solution by tomorrow night. Perhaps it won't be as elegant as some of the things my brother's people come up with, but speed is of the essence, right?"

"We'll have time to improve the system, if nothing happens. If something does happen, we need to be aware, even if it's not exactly elegant," she agreed. "As long as it's subtle enough that she won't become suspicious."

Damien bounced on his feet, swinging his arms like a child who'd eaten too much sugar. "I can't wait to get started. I'm going to start looking up references." He hurried off into the stacks without waiting for a response, muttering, "I wish the library were open later. Only half an hour to check out everything I need…"

Sebastien watched him go with a bemused expression. She checked out a few books of her own and took them back to the dorms to finish her homework, then practiced Professor Lacer's extra exercises. In some ways, it seemed a little foolish to be doing that with everything that had happened in the last day, but it wouldn't do to be so afraid of what the future might bring that she ran around like a chicken with her head cut off and failed to prepare for said future. Improving her Will was something she could never neglect.

She had moved on to the third auxiliary exercise, which seemed to complement the new main exercise. It was very simple, only requiring her to create a ball of compressed air, and had similar principles to the air-cushion spell she'd learned years before to make bumpy wagon rides more comfortable.

With her small, contaminated Conduit, she could only compress a small volume. This exercise required a simpler thought process than the three-dimensional maze or the skewed sympathetic movement spell, but unlike the original ball-spinning exercise, at no point did inertia make the process easier. It seemed to actively fight against her with every second, pressing back against her Will with equal and opposite force, always vying to escape and disperse through any point of weakness.

Being forced to cast with a sub-par Conduit was starting to noticeably improve her efficiency, which was about the only upside. Out of the initial five bonus exercises, there were two left that she had yet to attempt. Though she had wanted to gain a basic measure of competency in all of them by the mid-terms, she knew that was probably impossible by now. All the extra things she had to worry about had hampered her progress.

There were no more attempts to scry her, which wasn't necessarily a surprise but was a relief. She felt like someone teetering at the edge of weightlessness on a rope swing, not sure yet if she would fly off or drop back down. The coppers could just be biding their time, or maybe Tanya had really disrupted their ability to try again, at least for now. She tried not to be too anxious waiting for the moment when they would surprise her again.

The next morning, she got a letter from Oliver, brought by a runner and then delivered by the Administration office. She broke the wax seal and tore through the redundant paste seal below that. He'd been conscious of security, even though the only thing inside was a meeting time and a note to arrive a few hours early.

The Raven Queen would be meeting with the Nightmare Pack leader that Sunday, an hour after dark, approximately thirteen minutes after six, when the moon would be highest in the sky. It was an oddly specific time, but some people were prone to dramatics.

Chapter 57 - Noticing Confusion

Thaddeus

Month 12, Day 17, Thursday 11:55 p.m.

After returning from the site of the false rogue magic alarm, which was still cordoned off while the investigators scoured the area for evidence, Thaddeus had learned of the failed scrying attempt on the Raven Queen. Suddenly the timing and effort that had gone into disrupting the whole city's lives for a couple of hours that morning had made sense.

Now, much later, he sat in one of the many rooms in the network of restricted archives beneath the library, looking through an ancient text written in a long-forgotten language. Despite the importance of his research, he found himself distracted.

Setting off the city's rogue magic alarms was not simple. No ordinary citizen could do it. The effort that had gone into faking the scene was impressive, considering the limited time the culprit must have had between setting off the alarms and the arrival of the Red Guard. It had seemed senseless, at first, before he realized that it was quite the perfect distraction.

When the sirens had gone off, Thaddeus had requested all the details, as he always did, and had hurried to leave the University when he was told it was an Aberrant, Master-level, and an Eldritch type. He'd hoped to arrive in time to see it in action, and to study it before the Red Guard took it—or its remains—away to one of their black sites. The Aberrant earlier that month had been a particularly interesting specimen, an anomaly, and he'd been hoping for a repeat, though he knew the chances were exceedingly low.

The Red Guard had arrived before him and had already cordoned off an area around where the beacon had been sent from. They were sweeping the area thoroughly, but the citizens had evacuated to the nearest shelter already, leaving the street eerily still, silent except for the piercing sirens.

The signs of what seemed to be a violent Aberrant attack were obvious.

The doors lining each side of the street in about a two-block area were smashed in, some torn entirely off their hinges. Blood, guts, and organs were splashed haphazardly in and around each doorway. The blood was already half-curdled, sitting in stinking, oozing, jellylike lumps rather than spreading and pooling. The bodies were in pieces and entirely unrecognizable, missing head, limbs, and any other identifying features.

As he wasn't an active member of a Red Guard emergency direct response squad, Thaddeus had to stay on the edge of the cordon with one of the communication and containment team members. But that didn't stop him from casting diagnostic and warding spells.

He caught no signs of the Aberrant. As time passed and the communication team member beside him reporting a similar lack of success from the direct response team, Thaddeus grew increasingly alarmed.

"Could it be a Nightmare?" one of the containment team members muttered to his partner.

Even the words sent a cold centipede crawling up Thaddeus's back. He crouched down to draw out the most comprehensive and obscure ward against mental interference that he knew.

No Aberrant was exactly the same as another, but they came in broad types.

A Nightmare, especially one at Master level, was the kind of thing that could warrant an entire village and all the people within being quarantined and then firebombed indiscriminately in a desperate attempt to deal with it. Nightmare-types were named such because they could control, in some way, the subjective experience of the people trying to take them down. They used stealth, subversion, or mind-control.

Thaddeus had seen Nightmares that could walk right past a prognos without them realizing they were in danger. Others could insert themselves into your memories as an innocuous friend that you believed was harmless and amicable, despite any and all evidence to the contrary. Others were barely mutated by the change, passing as the humans they had once been, while inside they were twisted and corrupted.

This ward wouldn't help if the Aberrant was invisible, or could transform into an animal, or travel through the reflection of the shop windows, but all those were things he could handle. The sanctity of his mind was paramount.

It wasn't until the direct response squad found the huge buckets filled with traces of blood and offal that they began to suspect the truth. The buckets were from a nearby butcher's shop, and had been stashed in a back room of one of the smashed-up houses.

When they found the pair of coppers who had set off the rogue magic sirens, that suspicion became a near-certainty. The coppers were lying on the ground in another house, drunk to the point of unconsciousness and relieved of the artifact that allowed all law enforcement teams to trigger the alarms.

The direct response squad levitated them back, tossed them into a quarantine ward, and forcefully sobered them up with a couple of potions. The inebriated coppers could have been the product of an Aberrant with particularly strange abilities, but Thaddeus already suspected they had all been duped.

Fighting severe hangovers, both coppers denied triggering the alarms. They didn't remember anything past stopping for lunch in one of the now-emptied pubs.

Whoever had done this was competent. The alarm-triggering artifact law enforcement teams carried was complicated, and required various inputs to send off the call for help and activate the alarms. Either the perpetrator had known the password string and the various codes to communicate danger levels to the Red Guard, or they had extracted that information from the coppers. They'd taken the artifact with them, too, and must have started falsifying the scene immediately after the area was evacuated, then escaped shortly before the arrival of the Red Guard.

Of course, all this evidence wasn't enough to make them let down their guard. They had to verify that the blood and offal were all from animals, cast divinations to confirm that the broken-down doorways were damaged by a standard concussive blast spell, and search for signs of curses, erased memories, and replacement or subversion of the two coppers. No two Aberrants were exactly alike, after all.

Hours of tedium later, and with only a little bit of work as an expert consultant on Thaddeus's part, they had determined with surety that there had never been an Aberrant at all.

The Raven Queen, possibly one Siobhan Naught, had foiled the attempt to find her flawlessly.

He wondered if she had some further use for the alarm-triggering artifact she, or her agent, had taken from the coppers. Unlike the last time she'd had an altercation with law enforcement, she hadn't shown herself directly. Even the report of the Master level Eldritch-type hadn't matched her description or that of her shadow-raven companion.

The Raven Queen seemed the type to make a show of it. She would poke fun at their inability to stop or catch her, or leave behind some gift that would perplex and frighten them. This had been skillful, but it lacked her bold, playful signature. He doubted she'd been directly involved in the operation.

Thaddeus stared sightlessly at the arcane glyphs on the ancient parchment laid carefully on the desk in front of him, simultaneously fatigued and filled with restless energy now that he was back at the University.

He wondered again what had been in the book she stole. Those higher up in the University and the Crowns surely knew, and thought it was important. Important enough that they were treating it like a national secret. Casual questions had lent no information, even to him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be seen being too interested.

If she were looking at the text before him—records of those who had lost themselves to magic thousands of years ago—would she be able to read them? Would she understand the significance of his research?

He dismissed the thought along with the desire behind it. She was too volatile, too inclined to risky undertakings to be a viable partner. And his work was too important to gamble.

Perhaps, though, that would make her the perfect test subject.

Again, he dismissed the idea. It was too reckless to even consider.

As much as he hated to admit it, sometimes he got lonely, being the only one with big ideas, the only one who really seemed to see and understand.

Maybe that was part of the reason he had finally decided to take an apprentice, provisional or not. He had seen potential in the Siverling boy, both in the perspective that leaked through in his test answers, and in his Will.

There was an intangible quality of the Will that had nothing to do with practice or even intelligence. It was that hidden part that was vaguely categorized as "force."

Thaddeus had always likened it to an all-consuming hunger. A bloodlust. A lack of self-imposed limitations. That was what it really was. And he could see that quality in the boy's dark eyes.

Maybe Thaddeus had taken an apprentice in the hopes that he could, through imparting his own knowledge and ideas to someone with a similar lack of self-imposed limitations, create a companion for himself.

He had found himself recently disappointed in that choice, with Siverling deliberately underperfoming in class for Damien Westbay's benefit. Thinking about it again, Thaddeus grew irritated. The memory of the boy refusing to keep casting past Damien's limit and then staring Thaddeus down in his office afterward niggled like an itch in the back of his brain.

Thaddeus lifted his head, latching on to that itch. It wasn't just irritation. It was confusion—something didn't make sense. Why would someone like Sebastien Siverling, proud and angry, bend his neck to a Westbay? Were he the type to do that, he never would have gotten into an argument or rivalry with the other boy. He wouldn't have had the gall to look Thaddeus in the eye.

Thaddeus grabbed onto his confusion, tearing it open. He delved into his memory of that day.

Siverling had been prone to wincing, some better hidden than others. He had been sure to face away from the light. He had kept his hands under the table, pressed against it, or in his pockets. He'd spoken as little as possible, moved as little as possible, maintaining impeccable posture. And despite Thaddeus's watchful gaze, he had refused to keep casting over approximately two hundred thaums.

Damien had been worried for him.

"Will-strain," Thaddeus whispered.

He straightened, leaning away from the table. How had he not seen it? He was more than familiar with the signs. He knew Siverling was the type to push his limits like he didn't quite believe they existed. The boy was a reckless fool, and eager to prove himself.

Thaddeus stood, moving as quickly as he could while still taking care to put the ancient parchment back into its spot gently. Siverling had already proved himself too stubborn to come clean. Otherwise, he would have done it immediately and saved himself Thaddeus's ire.

No. Damien was the weak link here.

Thaddeus strode through the winding archives up into the library proper, which was closed to students and dark at this hour. He created a floating light above his head with a thought. It followed him all the way to the student dorms, which were also dark, and as silent as a building that housed thousands of young adults could be at midnight.

It took him a couple of tries to find the ground floor room with his apprentice's student group.

When he did, he snuffed the light, then cast a spell that would muffle sound in a large bubble around himself. He was just tall enough to see over the edges of the cubicles, so there was no need to pull back the curtains on every random student. He walked through the aisle separating the young women and men, noting the occasional sloppy wards placed by the barely competent "firsties."

Damien's bed was only two removed from the end, where Siverling had pressed his small bed and himself into the corner of the walls, like a cornered animal.

Thaddeus flicked back the thin curtain in front of Damien's stone cubicle, strode inside, and clasped his hand over the boy's sleeping face.

Damien woke with a gasp, scrabbling frantically at Thaddeus's hand.

Thaddeus stayed still until the boy realized it was him and stopped fighting. Then he took his hands away, wiping the saliva off his palm with a grimace of distaste.

"Professor Lacer," Damien croaked. "What are you doing here?" He looked around, wild-eyed and panting.

"That day in my class, when Siverling couldn't beat you—he had Will-strain. For some reason, he was keeping this a secret." He raised one eyebrow in a menacing, silent query.

Damien pushed himself into a sitting position, shaking his head. "It's not what you think."

"Oh? Then what is it?" he asked darkly.

Damien looked toward Sebastien's cubicle, though he wouldn't be able to see anything with the cubicle between them. Still, the thought of the other boy, so close, seemed to calm him. His breathing slowed, and he sat up more fully. "Well, obviously you think it's something that warrants waking me up in the middle of the night like some assassin. I don't know exactly what conclusions you've drawn, but I assure you, Sebastien is…he's a good person. He deserves to be here. He's smart, and driven, and maybe someday he'll beat your record for the youngest Master of free-casting."

Thaddeus raised an eyebrow at that.

Damien swallowed, but continued. "Coming here, to me, in the middle of the night was an act of…alarm."

"Or insatiable curiosity and a disregard for social norms," Thaddeus said.

Damien blinked at him. "Umm. Well. I'm not going to sate your curiosity." He drew himself up a little straighter, lifting his chin defiantly. "But I can tell you that if you were alarmed, you don't need to be. Sebastien is responsible."

"Or you are gullible." Thaddeus considered him for a moment. "Do you think being a Westbay will protect you from the consequences of defying me?" He stared into the boy's eyes, imagining himself boring into those wide pupils like a maggot searching for answers.

Damien shuddered. His eyes seemed to darken, and for a minute he reminded Thaddeus of the older Westbay brother, Titus, uncowed and defiant. "I'm more than a Family name, Professor Lacer. I respect you, but I will not be cowed by you."

Thaddeus smiled and stepped back. "I see he has a loyal friend in you. That's good, I suppose. He's foolish enough to need someone around to help him get out of trouble. As long as you don't help him get into it, too."

"It wasn't his fault," Damien admitted, his cheeks reddening. "I'm not going to say anything more about it. I promised my silence."

Thaddeus was slightly irritated, but he couldn't deny some equal measure of satisfaction. Whatever he had done, Siverling had created a loyal and powerful ally. Those were useful.

Damien poked a finger upward, as if remembering something. He spoke slowly, as if sounding out the idea even as he spoke it. "However, I will say that you should provide better for your apprentice—provisional or not. How can he prove himself to you without the proper tools? If he's going to win contribution points at the end of term exhibitions, he's going to need a better Conduit."

Thaddeus stared at him a moment, then spun around, leaving Damien and stalking to the end of the room. He pulled back Sebastien's curtains more gently than he had Damien's.

The boy woke as soon as Thaddeus took the first step into the little cubicle.

Siverling tensed, but he wasn't disoriented, his black eyes immediately locking on to Thaddeus while his hand slipped under his pillow. Likely palming his Conduit. His sub-par Conduit.

Siverling watched him approach, saying nothing.

Thaddeus leaned over him, speaking softly. "Do not speak. Listen, and hear me. I know that earlier this month in my class, when you refused to perform to the best of your abilities, you were hiding Will-strain." He watched the boy for a response, but there was none, not even a hitch in his breath or a flutter of an eyelash. "I don't care about whatever foolishness caused you to reach that point. Mr. Westbay has assured me of his silence on the matter, even in the face of threats. However, my tolerance requires that you understand one salient point."

Thaddeus let his voice grow softer, as with a certain type of person that was more intimidating than growling or shouting. "You will not place yourself or other students in such grave danger ever again. I do not care if you have stretched your Will to the end of its limits by torturing small animals or performing depraved sexual acts with some of the more questionable members of the student body. As long as you do not bring shame to my name. I do care that you do not afterward disregard the safety of yourself and everyone around you by continuing to cast. You could have killed yourself and half the students in that classroom with your stubbornness. Never again." He whispered the last part, then stared into Siverling's eyes in silence.

Siverling nodded jerkily.

"The correct thing to do would have been to refuse to cast at all. Ideally, with a pass from the infirmary."

Siverling nodded again.

"Good. You will regret it if we are forced to have this conversation again."

Another nod from the boy, who was still following Thaddeus's original order not to speak.

"Now, onto the second matter. Show me your Conduit."

Slowly, suspiciously, Siverling pulled his fist from beneath his pillow, unclenching it to show the pitiful chunk of raw, uncut celerium within.

Thaddeus plucked it up, weighing it in his hand and then creating a light behind it to see its clarity. He sneered with disgust, tossing the disgraceful shard back at his apprentice. "That thing could barely be expected to support the Will of a child of thirteen."

Siverling just stared back up at him, blinking against the brightness of Thaddeus's light.

His silence, rather than being gratifying, was beginning to irritate. "Speak, boy. Did your family not provide you anything better?"

Siverling's eyes narrowed at that. "I'm on my own. I know it's not very good, but I've been being careful with it. It's a good lesson in efficiency," he said challengingly.

Thaddeus snorted. "It is a lesson in impoverishment, and leaves you no room to grow. Come with me. No dawdling."

Siverling's jaw lifted. "Am I being expelled?"

"No, you imbecile. I am rectifying this problem, which you should have come to me with as soon as you knew."

As soon as Siverling had thrown on his jacket and boots, Thaddeus straightened his own jacket and strode out of the room. They were joined by Damien, who said stubbornly, "I'm coming too," when both Thaddeus and Siverling gave him surprisingly similar expressions of refusal. Thaddeus didn't have the inclination to argue at the moment.

When they stepped out into the night air, both boys flinched at the chill. Thaddeus took a deep breath, somewhat enjoying the bite against his lungs, and let his muffling bubble fall away. "Did the University's loaner program not have anything better than that? Or did you shatter theirs and are trying to put off having to pay?"

Both of them looked at him blankly. He exhaled heavily, his breath fogging in the air. "The University offers low-level Conduits to first-term students who need them. All students should have been made aware of this when they signed up for their classes."

"Never heard of it," Damien said.

"Perhaps they thought I didn't look poor enough," his apprentice muttered darkly.

"Indeed," Thaddeus said. "In any case, you are beyond needing a low-level Conduit, so the point is moot."

When he led them toward the east instead of one of the other University buildings, Damien asked, "Where are we going?"

"To my lodgings. As a professor, I have been afforded a small cottage on the grounds. I keep my old Conduits there."

The two boys shared a look of surprised excitement.

He had them stay in the entryway while he retrieved the Conduit from his warded safe in the back room. He tossed it to his apprentice, who caught it, wide-eyed. "I won that one off a particularly foolish noble in a rural tavern. He tried to have me killed for the offense, but I disabused him of that notion. This Conduit was better than my own at the time, and I used it until I outgrew it. Do not make me solve this problem for you again, Siverling."

The boy looked up at him, his expressions vacillating rapidly between several different emotions. "I will not. Thank you, Professor Lacer."

Beside him, Damien was smiling rather smugly. No doubt the boy felt pleased to have orchestrated this.

"You will return that to me when you have outgrown it. Now go! Back to the dorms with you," Thaddeus ordered, scowling. "It is well after curfew, and you've rudely kept me awake too long already."

With his fist clenched around the Conduit, Siverling gave him a stiff bow, then turned and left without another word, copied quickly by young Damien.

As Thaddeus had noted before, a disregard for even the idea of limits was necessary for all truly great thaumaturges. Siverling's disregard was a little too broad, though. Will-strain was a sign that you had already lost control, and continuing past it was the kind of madness that turned promising young men into corpses, or worse.

As Thaddeus prepared for sleep, one of his few true indulgences in life, he found the edge of his lip curling up in a slight smirk. By rights, he should be furious, but instead he found himself ruefully amused. "Children," he muttered aloud.

At least Siverling wasn't boring.

Chapter 58 - The Constitution of Cockroaches

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 18, Friday 12:30 a.m.

Despite her exhaustion, Sebastien had trouble getting back to sleep after Professor Lacer's impromptu nighttime visit. She had left Professor Lacer's house with Damien, who looked just as shocked as she felt, practically marching on her heels.

Sebastien grilled him on everything Professor Lacer had said, but there really wasn't much to go over. However Lacer had figured out the Will-strain, Damien hadn't helped him, and she couldn't really fault Damien for mentioning her Conduit when it had gotten her a new one—one so much better it almost made her want to cry with relief.

Now that her Conduit problem had been solved, she realized it had been rather obvious. She had instinctively wanted to keep her new, sub-par Conduit a secret, and not only because she didn't want anyone wondering what she'd been doing to break her old one on the same weekend the Raven Queen almost got caught. She'd unconsciously believed that if the University found out, they would expect her to immediately rectify the situation or be kicked out. Celerium was ridiculously expensive, exponentially so at higher capacities, and students without a proper Conduit were endangering not only themselves but others.

But it was more than that. She hadn't believed she could rely on or trust anyone but herself. It had been a long time since she learned that she was the only one in this world she could count on. 'Maybe…maybe I can at least consider the option that someone else might actually be willing and able to help me when I need it,' she thought, feeling uncomfortable with the idea. It didn't feel safe to think like that. But the proof was in her hand. Professor Lacer hadn't even asked for anything in return.

The Conduit he had loaned her was still raw and unfaceted, but had been set in a metal ring with an attachment for her to hang it as the counterweight for her pocket watch. It was a little cloudier than the one set in her mother's ring, now in the Gervin Family's hands, but still large enough that she estimated it would support six or seven hundred thaums. She would need to have it tested.

Damien was rather smug about the whole thing, but she was actually too tired to snap at him. She felt like she'd lived weeks over the course of that single day, with enough stress and mental exertion to fill it all.

Sebastien used her new Conduit to cast her dreamless sleep spell. It channeled magic like silk, and she poured as much into the spell as she wanted without worry.

On Friday, she woke still exhausted, and was thankful to only have the two classes: Modern Magics in the morning and Practical Casting in the late afternoon.

She spent the middle of her day in the library, on the ground floor in a spot where she could watch the staircase nearest Tanya Canelo, who was on the second floor where Sebastien couldn't go.

She was reminded by the reduced number of bracelets hidden under her clothes on her forearm that she'd wanted to figure out how to cast that paper bird spell that was so common on the University grounds. It would be much more convenient to be able to send a secure message to Oliver, Katerin, or now even Damien, without needing to create a new pair of artifacts from scratch every time. Plus, just the ability to send a complete, nuanced message would make it worthwhile.

To her disappointment, while the spell's details were easy enough to find, it wasn't a viable option for her. Creating the paper alone was a long, complicated, and expensive process. It needed to be, for the paper to handle the magic and maintain the integrity of the animation and homing spells over even moderate distances.

Apparently, the folded birds were a type of enchanted artifact. The University Administration center staff saved time on the folding by casting a continue-motion spell, which she actually knew. It was a complex spell array, and finicky, but you could essentially give yourself an extra set of arms or a dumb assistant as long as you could concentrate on keeping the magic active.

All you had to do was demonstrate the action as one of the inputs of the spell, and an invisible force would continue the action, exactly, for as long as you could power it. It was good for things like stirring a pot continuously if you wanted to leave your hands free for something else. The woman she'd learned it from had used it for spinning thread and then weaving cloth.

There was another, more advanced version that Sebastien didn't know. The mimeo-motion spell would allow duplication of the continued motion in multiple places. People used it most commonly for producing multiple copies of books. A scribe could write one page while the magic copied their actions across a couple dozen other sheets of paper. The spell would then continue making dozens more copies without the scribe.

It was one of the great innovations of the Third Empire, under the Blood Emperor's reign, and the biggest reason that books had become widespread and even marginally affordable. Unfortunately, it was largely useless for any magical application. It couldn't be used to create a dozen potions at the same time, for example.

Returning her thoughts to the paper bird messenger spell, Sebastien considered trying to get her hands on some of the sheets that someone else had made.

More discouragement hit when she learned the homing spell did not work on some magical extra sense. The paper bird simply moved to preprogrammed points or followed the homing beacon of the staff and student University tokens that everyone carried. The homing spell also grew more difficult to cast over distances more than a kilometer or two.

She gave up the idea of having her own paper birds sending messages at that point. 'The University must be spending more on that little trick than people pay to send the messages. It's just another way for them to show off.' There were other magical methods to send messages to people, but all those she knew of were beyond her reach, either in resources, magical power, or knowledge, and most of the time in all three areas.

'It looks like I'm going to have to make a few more bracelets.' Damien would need a set of his own, after all. She might as well make some for Newton, too, while she was at it, and have them be part of a network, like her other bracelets were part of a network with Oliver and Katerin.

After that disappointment, Sebastien tried to study, but kept getting distracted trying to wrap her head around her piling mountain of problems.

Before she knew it, the morning had passed, and Tanya walked down the stairs, accompanied by Newton, who shot Sebastien a surreptitious thumbs-up behind Tanya's back.

Sebastien didn't follow. She didn't want to make her interest in the other woman obvious.

The library emptied as most students went to lunch, but Sebastien's stomach felt too sour and knotted to eat. "My life is falling apart," she muttered. With a dramatic groan, she let herself slump forward until her forehead bumped the table.

"As bad as all that?" an amused voice asked from behind her.

Sebastien jerked up, turning to the woman who'd spoken. "Professor Ilma!" She tried to keep from focusing on the embarrassment so that she didn't make it worse by blushing.

The blue-tinted woman sat down across the table from Sebastien. "Siverling, correct?"

Sebastien nodded.

Professor Ilma's eyes drooped with boredom, her expression of disinterest belying her words. "It must take a lot for the life of a bright, motivated young man such as yourself to fall apart."

Sebastien didn't respond, staring at her History professor as she tried to figure out how to respond without seeming suspicious.

Professor Ilma stared back, content to wait.

"My problems all seem to compound upon each other," Sebastien said finally. "That's all."

Ilma nodded, as if she'd expected that. "Real life problems are like that. Sometimes, one catalyst problem can create an avalanche as time passes, as it impacts a delicate balance of unstable components. We see this repeated over and over again in history. And yet, here we are, none of these—at the time catastrophic—events have stopped humankind in the long run."

'Is she trying to encourage me?'

"This is not coincidence. We can take personal lessons from the greater lessons of people and times past." Ilma raised her eyebrows, as if expecting Sebastien to agree, but when Sebastien only nodded bemusedly, she sighed and straightened.

Her voice took on the tone she used while lecturing in the classroom. "We've discussed how precarious it has been for the human species many times throughout history. Yet now, we are the dominant species of the most fertile lands of this continent. I don't believe it's some individual inherent superiority that has allowed this. There is a tendency to focus our attention on great men who did great deeds, as if they were important. And sometimes, they were, but generally they were only able to accomplish these great deeds because of an overall shift in the surrounding culture or established powers."

Ilma pushed back from the desk, standing to pace like she did in her classroom. "Great men do great deeds with the force of a society behind them. Now, some would say that this ability to form groups of many individuals that help each other and work for mutual benefit is proof that the human species has a moralistic advantage, duty, and right to power and prosperity. But communities are not the purview of humans alone. And I would question whether this ability to form them is truly altruistic and a sign of morality, or whether it's simply a matter of humans being so weak that this large super-organism of a city, or a country, is the only way for the individual to survive. Cooperation is utilitarian."

The woman's volume rose with passion, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. "If we are truly governed by morality, how can you explain the aggression, the persecution, the genocide against not only other species but ourselves? It is almost as if we cannot stop our inherent proclivity for aggression even when it's not good for us. So, I posit that the real reason we have managed to survive is twofold. One, despite being so weak magically, we are extremely versatile. Like cockroaches. And like cockroaches, we breed quickly."

Ilma stopped, seemingly realizing her audience, and turned back to Sebastien. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she retook her seat. "My point is, humans are versatile and incredibly resilient, not only as a species but as individuals. If you are searching for an answer to a complex problem…"

She shook her head. "Decisions, solutions, aren't always as binary as we like to think of them. It's not always a good deed or an evil one, greed or altruism, left or right. And it's also not always some combination of the two. The middle path can be even worse than one extreme or the other. However, sometimes people realize this and jump to say that no right path exists. Or that all paths are equally valid. Both of these are usually just as incorrect as a simple binary answer. Though they might seem wiser, they are, in truth, useless. Humans don't need useless answers. We need utility." She stared at Sebastien as if expecting her to understand now.

Sebastien frowned, fascinated by the impromptu lecture despite her initial bemusement. "I understand what you're saying, but…"

Ilma sighed again, speaking before Sebastien could continue. "Humans are versatile and hardy. Like cockroaches," she repeated. "Whatever complex, intertwined problems you have, they are not insurmountable. It's not that there are no answers to complex problems. There are usually many. It's just that they're hard to find, and even harder to implement. If you cannot find a solution, look at your problems from a different angle, pull in new resources, and don't be afraid to be ruthlessly utilitarian. Sometimes the solution is to kill whatever problem is too resource-intensive to deal with."

Sebastien thought all of that seemed reasonable, but she still wasn't sure how to apply it to her specific situation. "Thank you," she said, nonetheless.

Professor Ilma's bored expression was back again. "Go to lunch," she said. "Food is one of those resources humans need to solve problems."

As Sebastien gathered up her things and left, Professor Ilma called after her. "Don't forget your essay due on Tuesday!"

Ilma's advice swirled around Sebastien's mind, and she found herself thinking of it suddenly at random moments for a while afterward.

"Kill whatever problem you can't deal with," she muttered to herself. Her Conduit problem had already been solved, and to be fair, it was the most critical bottleneck in solving the remainder of her problems.

She had two surplus Conduits now, the one she'd bought recently, and the even smaller one she'd had since she was a child. Professor Lacer had intimated that she could keep the one he'd lent her as long as she needed it—at least as long as she stayed at the University. Perhaps she could recover some of the gold she'd spent.

She bundled up in her expensive wool jacket and a thick scarf and headed into the city for Orbs and Amulets, the Conduit "boutique."

"I'd like to return a Conduit I bought here a few weeks ago," Sebastien informed the attendant.

The woman's face lost its welcoming smile. "All sales are final. However, we will purchase undamaged celerium for a marked-down price."

Sebastien held up the small piece of crystal. "How much?"

The woman took it and used a spectacle device and a bright light to examine it, then said, "Forty-five gold."

Sebastien's jaw almost dropped. "I bought this Conduit, from this shop, less than three weeks ago for seventy-eight gold crowns." Her voice grew hard. "Are you telling me celerium prices have dropped that much since then, or are you just trying to swindle me?"

The woman's expression tightened, but she didn't back down. "Prices haven't fallen, sir. As you should know, there is a thirty percent tax on magical products, and that includes celerium. In addition to that, we have overhead."

That was ridiculous. Sebastien said as much. "Especially because so little time has passed that I doubt you've reported or paid tax for the original sale yet. And there is no need to pay taxes on returned items, which by definition have not actually earned a profit. I still have my proof of purchase, this isn't some random Conduit off the street."

The woman sniffed. "All sales are final," she repeated. "I'm happy to purchase this Conduit, but according to our policies there are no returns, receipt or no. Forty-seven gold is as high as I can go."

Sebastien's finger's twitched with the urge to strangle her. She grabbed up her sub-par Conduit, spun, and strode out of the shop without another word. After she'd muttered angrily to herself for a few minutes, she tried her luck at a few other shops. While some offered slightly higher prices than Orbs and Amulets, none came close to the original seventy-eight gold she'd spent on it.

Frustrated, she began to trudge back to the University. 'Maybe I could sell the Conduit through the Verdant Stag. At least that would allow me to avoid the magic tax.'

She was glaring down at her boots when a small flutter of brightness caught her eye. She stopped.

At the corner of a building, in the bottom mouth of a downspout gutter, a sprite with glittering dragonfly wings was struggling to haul a thick piece of what might have been scrap leather, or might have just been a piece of decayed animal found on the streets, into the gutter.

Sebastien grinned and stepped closer, squatting down to watch it.

The sprite bared its tiny, sharp little teeth at her, glaring with its lidless insect eyes, but when she didn't move to attack, it continued struggling with the piece of scrap it had selected for its nest.

She caught a glimpse of the two half-larvae children within, who looked much less humanoid and had not yet sprouted wings. "This is a bad place to make a nest," she said to them. "The rain is going to come and wash you all away."

The adult sprite buzzed a little at her, but of course it didn't understand.

Sebastien took off her scarf, wrapping it around her hand and reaching out for the sprite to see if it would let her pick it up.

It attacked viciously, but didn't fly away as it might have done if not for its children. Its teeth cut through the yarn of her scarf rather easily, but didn't injure her hand beneath.

Still, Sebastien drew away. She didn't want to ruin her scarf—it had been expensive—and the sprite was too distressed to handle relocation. It might hurt itself out of panic.

It chittered and buzzed at her, and even flew at her face a few times to try and drive her away.

"Stop that! I'm trying to help you," she said, ducking back. 'Maybe a box, or a pot, something I could put them in to hold them safely and securely.' She had nothing like that on her person, but she might be able to borrow one from a nearby shop or home. 'Or maybe I could cast a docility spell on them.' She'd watched Liza cast one on her ravens a couple of times, and was confident she could replicate it.

She stared at the angry, frightened creature for a while longer. The children within were wiggling, expressions of distress on their tiny, alien faces. They looked cold.

Tilting her head to the side in consideration, Sebastien slowly brought her Will to bear, not casting any magic, but letting it emanate from her like she did when preparing potion ingredients, before they went into the cauldron. There were other types of magic than those cast in modern sorcery. The animists of old had used no Circles, no spells, and no structured magic to create and control their domains. Yet, within them, they spoke to and seemingly controlled everything from the animals to the trees, having connected the life of the land to their own.

Animals were said to be sensitive to both magic and intent, though tests had been rather inconclusive. With her Will activated, Sebastien took a while to examine her own feelings of benevolence toward the sprites, and her surety that they were in danger. She tried to push all of that feeling into her Will, to let it carry her desire to communicate. "I don't want to hurt you," she whispered. "You are not safe. I want to take you to a new nest. It will be warm and dry there. You can trust me."

The adult sprite glared and buzzed even harder at first, but Sebastien kept pushing her thoughts into her Will, simplifying them into pure emotion.

When she reached out a second time, the sprite struggled a bit in her scarf-covered hand, but not as viciously as before. Sebastien fumbled out her little vial of honey from her vest pocket, clumsily opened it with her free hand, and offered it to the sprite.

The creature was immediately entranced. It shoved both its arms into the vial as far as it could push them, coating its forearms and pulling back with both hands cupped full of the sticky amber liquid. It ate in big, messy gulps, oblivious to the world.

Sebastien picked up the children and the bedding, too, holding the nest within the shield of her scarf. Sprites could get confused if they were relocated without the pheromones soaked into their nest.

The sprite ate the entire way back to the University, demanding more honey for itself and its children several times, enough to use up half her vial and have its belly bulging full.

She dug out a space for them at the base of a tree that had some protective bushes around it, adding a little trench so that any water could flow away rather than fill their new nest and drown them. She gave them their bedding, including the piece of ratty leather, and added some cotton from her own magic supplies, which she fluffed up, along with one of the lava peppers she'd taken from Modern Magics when they were practicing the spark-shooting spell. It wouldn't provide much heat, but even a little could help get them through the winter.

The sprites seemed completely uninterested in her, and in no way grateful.

Still, she smiled down at them. She felt better. Her frustration and fear from earlier in the day had melted away. "I can handle this," she whispered to them, then left to go do her homework assignments.

Chapter 59 - A Simple Solution

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 18, Friday 8:00 p.m.

Damien was true to his word. That evening, he brought her his plans to keep Tanya Canelo under surveillance, complete with spell array notes and designs. He had found a small ward they could carve onto the underside of Tanya's door that would alert them when it was opened, and a couple of different designs for a tracker that they would somehow need to get onto her person.

The proposed tracker designs weren't active, and so wouldn't require constant spellcasting, nor were they artifacts that would keep working even without input from either Sebastien or Damien. Rather, they created sympathetic beacons that would point the way to Tanya like a compass when the linked item was used as a divination component.

"It will work," Sebastien said, looking over Damien's notes.

He smiled, but smoothed back his hair nervously. "Ana would be better at this. She's taking Artificery. She'd probably have some design we could carve into the sole of Tanya's shoe or some other ingenious idea."

Sebastien looked up. "That's a great idea, actually."

Damien hesitated. "Err, well, yes, but none of the books I found had anything like that, and I don't have any experience with spell design…" There was a reason why spell theorists and designers were paid so well. It was almost as dangerous as free-casting, if not quite so glamorous.

Sebastien pointed to one design, a disk that was carved and spelled on both sides. After it was split in two, one half could be used to find the other until repeated castings caused the material to disintegrate. "Let's put it into the sole of her shoe. Her boots have a one-inch heel. We can cut it open, insert it inside, and then seal the boot heel back together seamlessly. I know a leather-mending spell."

"How will we get hold of her boots?"

Sebastien smirked. "She doesn't wear them into the shower."

Damien's face split with a grin of excitement.

They planned Operation Sentinel—as Damien insisted on calling it—that night, and found a cow leg bone to use as the material among the kitchen scraps from dinner. One of the cafeteria workers was happy to give it to Damien.

The two of them cast the linking spell together to give it as much power as possible. Technically, that part wasn't a requirement, just as no linking spells had been done on Sebastien's blood to allow the coppers to use it to search for her, but the extra step made sympathetic spells a lot easier. Sebastien cut the bone disk in two with repeated, careful castings of the same slicing spell that had gotten her involved with Damien in the first place.

They implemented Operation Sentinel early the next morning, before most of the other students were awake, while Tanya completed her daily ablutions.

It succeeded without any problems, which Sebastien found faintly unsettling. 'I'm a little too used to things always going wrong. I've come to expect it,' she mused. 'Well, things still have time to go wrong,' she assured herself wryly. The hardest part of the operation had actually been carving the tiny ward array on the underside of Tanya's door without removing it from its hinges or being seen by the occasional person walking through the hallways, even at that early hour.

Based on a combination of anxiety and a lingering lack of confidence in Damien, Sebastien wanted to stay at the University over the weekend to keep an eye on Tanya, but the crushing weight of her ever-increasing debt and her empty purse drove her back to Oliver's house to spend Saturday and most of Sunday brewing, taking a few minutes here and there to make a few more batches of linked bracelets.

While there, she mentioned that she had an extra Conduit she could sell to Oliver, but he wasn't particularly optimistic about quickly finding a buyer who could afford the celerium at current market price. "Our thaumaturges already have their own Conduits, and most of our clientele is either too poor to afford one, too uneducated to need one, or both." She was willing to sell it for less than a licensed shop, but she hoped to make as much off it as possible.

She gave a simple set of ward bracelets to Damien and Newton so either could immediately alert her if Tanya left the University grounds. She instructed Damien to follow and monitor Tanya from morning till night. "Be discreet," she emphasized.

Damien scowled. "I know, you've told me several times already. I promise I'm not going to sit there staring at her and be following two steps behind when she goes to the bathroom! I grew up in the Westbay Family, Sebastien. I think I can handle it."

"Don't get snippy, it's a valid concern. You tend to draw attention to yourself. I'm not sure you have much practice being discreet."

"I could say the same of you," he said, crossing his arms and giving her a challenging stare.

She opened her mouth to refute this, but he raised his eyebrows, and she hesitated. Despite not wanting to admit he had a point, she could see the evidence was stacked in his favor. 'People of greatness rarely go unnoticed,' she consoled herself. 'Perhaps they need to exert extra effort and time in practice, learning to keep the weight of their sheer consequence from drawing curiosity and regard.' She struggled for a minute between a perverse pleasure at that idea and the more basic truth that it simply meant she had failed in her true goal. "Alright," she said finally. "Good luck."

Damien watched her leave with some curiosity, but he hadn't tried to pry her own plans out of her, which she reluctantly appreciated.

'Hopefully someday soon I won't have so many crises to solve and will be able to simply spend my days like any other student, giving no one any hint of secrets to pry into.'

So, after another trip to the market, Sebastien spent another weekend at Dryden Manor brewing for the Stag enforcers. Her new Conduit made it a little easier, and she thought that, with a bit more time to improve her Will, she might be able to make more of the simpler potions in a single batch and thus increase her profits.

In two days, she earned about five gold more than the interest accrued for the whole week. It was a lot, but still not nearly enough, and thinking of the debt hanging over her head made her irritable. 'If I hadn't paid Liza to talk to my father, I'd have at least a hundred gold left right now,' she grumbled mentally.

She stopped casting as the sun began to set, hours before her meeting with the Nightmare Pack gang leader, partially to reserve her strength in case it was needed, and partially to listen to Oliver's lecture—which he called "advice"— on how to act and what to be mindful of around Lord Lynwood and his people.

"It would be best if you attend the meeting alone, for appearance's sake. The Raven Queen needs no escort, neither for fear of enemies nor to listen to her negotiations," he said.

"I expected that," Sebastien agreed. "I was also thinking, maybe you could cast a weak divination spell targeting me? To activate the ward Liza made me, I mean. The effects on my physical body—difficulty focusing on or thinking about me—could be useful in maintaining the Raven Queen's aura of mystique, and might keep them from looking too closely and noticing something wrong, too."

Oliver stared bemusedly at her for a moment, then said, "I'll send a message asking Katerin about it. She's not a diviner, but she can probably handle something low-level, if that's all you need. I doubt she'll mind."

Sebastien shrugged. "That works too."

Oliver hesitated, then stood up and went to his desk, where he pulled out a small package and handed it to her. "I got you something for tonight. Open it."

She did, and found two ornaments of black and crimson feathers attached to thin, splayed wires. She looked up at him. "They're pretty, but what are they for?"

"They're raven feathers. The red ones have been bleached and dyed. They go in your hair, behind your ears. It's a kind of headdress. They're common among the People…" He coughed a little awkwardly.

She nodded to show she wasn't offended that he'd guessed her heritage, at least the part that showed through. Her grandfather had always been pleased that she looked nothing like her wastrel of a father. 'The blood of the People runs strong,' he had said.

"I thought they were fitting for the queen of ravens, a kind of crown for someone who has no need for gold or jewels," he added. "Do you want me to help you put them in?"

Sebastien hesitated, but wasn't sure why, so she handed them back. "Yes, please."

His fingers were gentle, brushing the rim of her ear as he pushed the wires into her hair.

Her skin burned where he touched, and the wires were cool as they slid against her scalp, weaving into her hair as if alive. She startled.

Oliver chuckled. "It's an artifact. The wires hold the feathers steady and then conceal themselves, so it looks like the feathers are growing out from your skin." He stepped away, assessing her, then nodded. "Perfect."

Her gaze slid away from his. "I'm going to look in the mirror." She hurried down the hall to the bathroom, where she took a few deep breaths to suppress the frustrating blush in her cheeks. "Don't be a brainless ninny," she muttered to herself, scowling at her reflection. She rubbed her ears harshly to rid them of the lingering sensation, then judged the effect of the feathered ornaments.

They did indeed give her a faint air of otherworldliness, even as Sebastien. She could imagine the effect would only be enhanced against the ochre skin and high cheekbones of her face as Siobhan. If only her eyes glowed gold or she had facial tattoos or something similar, the effect would be complete.

After a couple more minutes to make sure she was entirely calm—and there was no way she'd get surprised into blushing again—she returned to Oliver's study. "Thank you," she said. "Now tell me more about this place that's going to act as a safe house for my transformation."

"It was the simplest solution, really. No one will think it strange if Sebastien Siverling occasionally visits a brothel, and Siobhan Naught would fit right in among a group of beautiful, exotic women. It's the perfect place to hide in plain sight, using people's unconscious biases and associations against them." He slipped her a leather-bound booklet. "Identity papers for one Silvia Nakai, declaring you a citizen of Gilbratha. Silvia is legally employed at the Silk Door, and if she gets into any trouble with the law, she can call upon her wealthiest and most influential patron to help her. One Lord Oliver Dryden." He coughed a little awkwardly.

"Lord?" Sebastien echoed, flicking through the proof of one more false identity.

He shrugged, leaning against his desk and crossing his legs at the ankle. "Technically. It's foreign and basically a defunct title, with the destruction of my family as a boy, but it still affords me a measure of influence."

"I hope it will never be useful, but thank you." She wondered how much the false identity had cost him, but didn't ask.

"My investigation into who set off the false rogue magic alarm has borne no fruit," Oliver offered, changing the subject. "The coppers have no idea."

"Perhaps Tanya will slip up, and we'll be able to follow the trail to her accomplices. Everyone makes a mistake eventually." 'Myself included,' she admitted silently.

"You're right. We have people watching the Morrows as well. Eventually someone is going to slip up."

With sunset approaching and little time to waste, Oliver hired a carriage to take her to her midpoint destination.

The carriage driver gave Sebastien a knowing look as she stepped down into the street. "Have fun, milord."

She ignored the man, staring up at the large building made of creamy white bricks. The sign above had words rather than a picture like it might have in the slums, where stores couldn't trust that their patrons could read. In unadorned lettering, it read, "The Silk Door."

Sebastien entered through a side door. Within, soft music played. The lighting was mellow, the furniture dark smooth wood and soft plush cushions. A couple of girls lounged about in tasteful but impractically light dresses, kept comfortable by the fire raging at all hours and the warming stones laid under the floor.

It was a high-end brothel, discreet and comfortable.

Without pausing to speak to anyone, Sebastien followed Oliver's directions, walking up the stairs and down two hallways to a private, locked room.

The workers weren't stupid, and would probably notice her strange comings and goings given enough time, even if she didn't interact with them and the little room she used was well away from the trafficked areas of the building. But they also wouldn't talk to the coppers. Their clientele was strictly confidential, and they had all taken vows.

She pulled out a key and entered. The room held little more than a well-appointed bed, but it was clean, and connected to another hallway and staircase, these ones private. She moved to the closet, where a nondescript but still stylish dress and accessories were waiting for her.

She stripped out of Sebastien's clothing, pressed the dark matte stone artifact against her chest, and changed back into Siobhan.

She shrank a bit, her hair grew dark and long, and her skin gained an ochre tint. Looking into the small mirror inside the closet door, she confirmed that her eyes were the same as always, dark and fathomless.

Siobhan stared into them for a while, taking comfort from the sudden vertigo of the change. She wiggled and flexed until her brain remembered how long her limbs were in proportion to each other and the floor. Then she put on the dress, smoothed her hair, and spread bright scarlet cream over her lips, very carefully making sure not to smear it.

It took a quarter hour to prepare and cast the color-changing spell to fix the section of hair that Katerin had bleached. Lynwood would be expecting the Raven Queen, not Siobhan the Verdant Stag contractor, or even Silvia the courtesan.

Since she'd previously had trouble with this spell in Professor Burberry's class, she squeezed every last drop of clarity and intent into her Will that she could manage. The spell worked well, perhaps even a little too well, leaving her hair a black that was so dark it almost shimmered blue.

Finally, she put the feathered ornaments back on, watching as they settled, lending a regal mystique to her presentation.

She transferred her spell components, the paper spell arrays, and Silvia's identification to her new clothing and more stylish leather satchel, which was not nearly as convenient or spacious as her school satchel. "Women's fashion," she muttered disapprovingly.

When she looked nothing like the young man who attended the University, she exited the brothel through a different door than she'd entered through.

Chapter 60 - Request a Boon

Siobhan

Month 12, Day 20, Sunday 6:10 p.m.

Oliver had been right. The Silk Door was safe in its sordidness, as long as Siobhan didn't make a scene. It was a place where neither of her identities would seem strange, but which she could reasonably still want to avoid talking about or being trailed to or from, without seeming suspicious.

Shortly before the assigned meeting time with the Nightmare Pack leader, Siobhan walked up to the gate in front of the manor address Oliver had given her.

Katerin was already casting a weak divination spell with Siobhan as the focus. She enjoyed the way no one seemed to notice her as she moved through the darkening streets, even at the expense of the prickling coldness radiating from the disks under the skin of her back.

Siobhan had learned her lesson with the blood-mixed ink, and instead of giving Katerin something that someone else might also be able to scry for, like a piece of her hair, Katerin was attempting to locate Siobhan's bracelet that was a match to her own. It was close enough to scrying for Siobhan directly that the ward still worked to block it, though not as efficiently.

There was a guard in front of the Nightmare Pack manor. He jumped suddenly when she stopped in front of him. White-faced, the Nightmare—as the Nightmare Pack members called themselves—took a single look under her hood and bowed deeply. "M-my apologies, Mistress. You startled me."

Assured that the anti-divination ward was working as intended, she simply nodded silently.

The guard hurried to open the gate for her and usher her to the front door of the manor, where a few hissed words sent another servant scurrying to fetch Lord Lynwood at top speed.

Lynwood, a dark-skinned man with many small braids and bright amber eyes, appeared shortly afterward. He also took one look at her and bowed deeply.

'It's a sign of respect, that he's come to fetch me himself.'

"I am Lord Lynwood, the leader of this group. We call ourselves the Nightmare Pack. I place myself at your service."

"Well met," she murmured.

Lynwood straightened, and with a boyish, awkward hesitation she wouldn't have expected from the wolf-in-tailored-suit Oliver had described, he held out an elbow for her to take. "You are the one they call the Raven Queen?"

"A name I did not choose for myself. But yes, that is what they call me."

"Does the name displease you?" he asked.

She hummed noncommittally again, and said, "You may call me that, if you wish." She pushed the hood of her cloak back, waved off the servant who stumbled forward with an offer to take it from her, and accepted Lynwood's arm. She was as tall as him, and his eyes slid off her own when they met.

"I apologize for our lack of courtesy," he said. "We had thought…" He cleared his throat. "Well, we thought you might appear out of the shadows or come through the window."

She carefully kept her mouth from dropping in shock, and then suppressed an amused guffaw. 'What does he think this is, some sort of fairy tale? The rumors circulating about the Raven Queen must be absolutely outrageous.'

Oliver had warned her to speak as little as possible, especially about topics she didn't understand, and to adhere to formality when she did speak. 'It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt,' she quoted mentally. So she simply said, "That would have been rude," with the barest hint of a smile.

"Right." Lynwood nodded, then finally began to lead her down the hallway.

They had been walking for a few seconds when he said, "You smell of sweet dreams."

She was prepared for his strangeness this time, and didn't falter. 'Is he being literal? Perhaps his heightened senses are picking up the herbal tinctures I use in my dreamless sleep spell?' She simply hummed in response.

The house was big and beautiful, filled with art, greenery, and signs of life, and she felt some part of herself start to relax.

He led her into the drawing room, where about a half dozen people were waiting for them. The light crystals were very dim, with most of the illumination coming from a roaring fireplace. A couple of those within were servants, and the others were likely high-ranking members of Lynwood's organization.

Two chairs were aligned against the wall near the fireplace, larger and more ornate than the rest of the furniture in the room, like thrones in comparison. A woman prognos stood closest to the chairs, while the others stayed a couple meters away. The single large eye above the bridge of her nose was in the path of a long-healed, jagged cut that ran from high on her forehead down to one cheek. The injury had ruined the eye and left her obviously blind.

'Is it right to call her a "woman," when she's not human? But "female" just sounds like I'm talking about an animal, and she is a person. Do prognos, or other species, have their own terms for man and woman?' Siobhan wondered.

Lynwood led Siobhan to the chairs, but as soon as they drew close, the eyeless prognos gasped and recoiled.

Siobhan felt the increased pressure on her anti-divination ward and fed more power into it through the Conduit she had hidden inside the lip of her boot. 'She must be using a divination spell to sense the world around her in lieu of her lost vision. I can only hope she doesn't notice anything strange about me.'

Lynwood stared at the woman, who ducked her head and murmured an apology. He looked to Siobhan with a touch of renewed wariness, then took one seat, offering Siobhan the other. "This is my sister-by-choice, Gera. Would you like refreshments, Queen of Ravens?" he asked.

One of the servants immediately stepped forward, offering a plate laden with wine, cheese, and fruits.

Siobhan waved the servant away. She was too nervous to eat, and she thought it might damage her mystique. "My thanks, but no."

Lynwood shared a meaningful look with one of the others standing to the side.

Siobhan hoped she hadn't offended him.

"We would like to thank you for agreeing to meet with us." Lynwood motioned to the other servant, who hurried forward and kneeled before the two of them, holding a tray with three wooden boxes on it. "We were not sure what tribute you might find preferable, so we prepared a selection. Please choose whichever pleases you best, Queen of Ravens."

The servant opened all three boxes with the slow fanfare that signified treasure. His fingers were trembling faintly, and he didn't dare to meet her eyes.

Siobhan had to hold back a gasp as she saw what the Nightmare Pack was offering her simply for her presence. It might be rude, but she could take one of these items and walk away without fulfilling whatever request they had.

"Phoenix ashes," the servant said, introducing the vial in the first box.

Phoenix ashes were an incredibly rare spell component, used in powerful healing, fire, and supposedly even spells that could affect one's destiny. Most famously, they were said to have been used by Myrddin to resurrect his recently deceased lover. There were only a few grams within the vial, but if the ashes were what they said, she could sell each gram for at least a hundred gold—maybe more—to the right buyer.

"The wolf-pelt of a skinwalker," he said while opening the second box. This was less valuable, monetarily, but just as rare, and usually not something you could buy on the open market, or even the black market. The animal-form pelts of skinwalkers were usually burned with their users when the person died. Prepared properly, they could give someone a lesser version of the animal-transformation skill of the skinwalkers themselves. Used as a component in other spells, they could tame some of the rarer and more vicious beasts, or be used in binding the most powerful of familiars to a witch's service.

The last box was a black stone polished into the shape of a flattened oval, about one-third the size of Siobhan's palm. When the firelight hit it, a six-rayed star of light shone out of the depths of what she suddenly realized was a gem.

"A black star sapphire," the servant said, darting a glance at her.

She'd never seem a gem of any kind that big, but she'd heard of star sapphires. They could be used as components in space-bending spells of various kinds. She'd heard the story of a king's messenger who used a black star sapphire to step between the shadows, traveling faster than any mortal man could otherwise, bearing a message to an allied kingdom in the space of a single night, and then back again the next.

She couldn't properly judge how much it would be worth, especially in Gilbratha, but estimated it would normally be less expensive than the phoenix ashes but more valuable than the skinwalker's wolf-pelt. But what drew her to it wasn't its properties when used in spells.

Sapphires were one of the gems that could be used as a passable replacement for celerium as a Conduit. And with the current price of celerium, it was likely that other gems were also rising in worth. If it was natural, and not thaumaturge-created, it might even be the most expensive of the three. Most thaumaturges had trouble duplicating the same level of quality that was found in nature. Like all other substitutions for celerium, a sapphire was less efficient, and would heat after extended, heavy spellcasting, and be more likely to shatter under the strain. Still, this one was large enough that it had to be better than her old Conduit. 'Several times better, in fact, if I estimate correctly,' she thought.

Siobhan hesitated between the phoenix ashes and the black star sapphire, trying to weigh which was worth more in the current marketplace conditions. If Conduits weren't so expensive, it would have definitely been the phoenix ashes, but the lack of supply changed things. And more pressingly, she wanted a Conduit.

Professor Lacer had lent her one, but it wasn't hers. If he ever took it back, or something else happened to divest her of it, she would be reduced to relying on her useless, dinky backup again. If she took the star sapphire, she would have security. It was even something that most people wouldn't immediately associate with the word "Conduit," since it wasn't celerium.

She had been through enough in her life to know you couldn't rely on anyone else or the things they gave you. One could only rely on themselves and what they had the strength to take.

'If I take the ashes, seventy percent of the selling price should still be enough to get me a better backup Conduit than the one I have now, especially if I can sell my current one for anything close to what I paid for it. However, word of phoenix ashes being sold would definitely spread, and I'm not sure how the Nightmare Pack might feel about me immediately exchanging their gift for money.' She looked to Lynwood and the others, but didn't have the skill to read their expressions.

'If I take the sapphire, what about Oliver's cut? I could probably convince him to let me pay it off slowly, but if not, seventy percent of the sale price would still get me a backup Conduit, if not one quite as powerful as the sapphire itself. I also have to consider how distinctive the sapphire is. It cannot be used in both my identities.'

In the end, personal desire won out over considerations of greatest utility. The star sapphire called to her. It was as simple as that. She reached for the polished gem, feeling its cool, smooth weight on her palm. "This tribute pleases me," she said.

Lynwood and Gera glanced at each other, despite her lack of working eye.

'I hope they're not upset that I chose what might be the most valuable among the three,' Siobhan thought. There had been a lot of subtle looks between her hosts, and it was a little worrying that she couldn't decipher the silent conversations they seemed to be having around her, about her.

'Was it a test? I suppose we'll see shortly if I failed. In any case, I'm not giving my new Conduit back.'

Lynwood turned back to her. "There are rumors about you and your formidable abilities. I wonder if you could help me judge the accuracy of these rumors."

'So now we finally get down to it. Best not to brag too much, so I don't have to live up to unreasonable expectations. Still, the Raven Queen has to be worth the tribute they just paid to have this meeting.' Rather than volunteering information, she nodded, as close to regally as she could manage. "Ask."

"I have heard you take another form, one composed of the wings of night herself."

Siobhan was conscious of Gera standing right beside them. While the blinding of the eye would have made it more difficult for the woman to use her divination abilities, it was obvious by the continued pressure on Siobhan's divination-diverting ward that the woman was not crippled by this. She might know if Siobhan lied.

So, Siobhan said, "I do take another form, one in which people see me as they wish, or as they fear." She continued silently. 'The rumors must be exaggerated by distorted retellings and the imagination of fanciful minds.'

"Men say that those who earn your wrath have tortured dreams, and that those dreams only grow stronger with time until they start to seep into reality."

'That sounds like a dreamless sleep curse and the hallucinations that come with extreme fatigue.' She shook her head. "If a weak-willed man crosses me and begins to have nightmares, is it a measure of my threat to him or of his own poor mental constitution?" She paused, considering her answer, but was wary of being too vague. The key was to be truthful, but in a way that did not undercut the mystery of the Raven Queen. "I have laid no curses. Well, not within Gilbratha," she amended. Shortly after Ennis retook guardianship of her in her youth, she had placed a weak curse on the threshold of a particularly dislikable young man's house.

"But your magic has no need of the glyphs and symbols that the humans use to ground their spells?" Lynwood asked insistently.

'Is he trying to confirm that I can cast esoteric spells?' She tilted her head to the side, confused. "I can channel magic through the modern spell arrays, but in truth no magic of any species requires glyphs and symbols. They are an aid, a powerful one, but they are oftentimes also a crutch. While I may not yet be able to freely cast whatever magic might come to mind without Circle and Word, I do have a few…tricks that need no such mundane tools."

"You are young, still?"

She was growing even more confused. 'That should be obvious. He's looking right at my face. Maybe he's wondering if I've used glamours or rejuvenating spells? He thinks maybe the Raven Queen is an older woman pretending to be young? It would explain the ridiculous rumors about me being so capable.' She gave a single nod of agreement. "Young enough," she said, trying for some sort of cryptic middle ground.

"These questions are not the reason you requested my presence," she said, keeping the uncertainty out of her voice and making it a statement instead.

Lynwood looked to Gera again, then back to Siobhan. "You are correct. I apologize for my circuitous interrogation. We have need of someone with power over the domain of sleep. When we heard about you, we thought perhaps you could help where many of our more traditional methods have failed."

"I do have some knowledge in that area," she admitted, "but not all things are within my power. Please be more specific." If they wanted her to go dream-walking or some such, she would be of little use, but ironically, she did probably know more about sleep-related spells than most professionals, due to her personal interest over the past many years.

Lynwood motioned to the door, which had been closed behind them, and one of his people standing off to the side opened it, ushering in an old maid holding the hand of a young boy, who looked to be between eight and ten years old.

"My son cannot sleep," Gera said softly.

Siobhan looked between the boy and Gera, but failed to see a resemblance. The boy looked almost like a normal human, having two eyes on either side of his nose instead of one in the middle of his forehead. Except for the abnormal paleness of his skin and the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, he would have been unexceptional.

'He must not be a full-blooded prognos,' Siobhan assessed. "He is your biological son?" she asked.

"Yes." Gera nodded, motioning to the maid to step back.

Siobhan's eyes widened as the boy's skin glimmered ever-so-faintly from the light of the fireplace shining directly on him. 'Not only part prognos, then.'

The boy blinked sleepily up at her, expressionless.

"The boy is dying," Lynwood said. "All mortal beings need to rest. With every passing year, his dreams grow stronger, and without the ability to block them, he grows wearier and weaker."

The boy didn't seem to find this news surprising, still staring at her while blinking slowly.

"You want me to stop the boy's nightmares?" Siobhan asked. The sides of her mouth twitched, and she clamped down on the bubble of amusement trying to rise up through her chest at the absurdity of the situation. She knew plenty of spells for that, sure, but she hadn't even managed to stop her own nightmares.

Chapter 61 - To Slumber but not Rest

Siobhan

Month 12, Day 20, Sunday 6:25 p.m.

"Not nightmares," Gera, the prognos woman, said. "Visions. My son is part prognos, part sylphide, and, as you might have noticed, he carries a drop of fey, as well."

The fey ancestry was the source of the shimmer in the boy's skin. 'A member of the fey hasn't been seen for centuries. Some of the books even say they're extinct. Add that to being a prognos-mix cambion from the Plane of Air, and he might be the only one of his kind in the world.'

Siobhan could guess part of his problem just from common knowledge. The sylphides were powerful, humanoid elementals from the Plane of Air, given to song, laughter, and knowledge carried on the wind. Combined with the predisposition for divination that the prognos had, and the strangeness common in all the stories passed down about the fey, it was unsurprising that the cambion child had powers beyond his control. "Tell me more about the visions," Siobhan requested.

"He has had them since he could first speak," Gera answered. "Maybe before then, too. They come to him on the wind, incomprehensible pieces of the present and past. They are incoherent, but intense. When he is awake, he can mostly block them out. Only a few of the strongest slip through. His abilities are not like my own, and not like those of the sylphides we have invited to see him, either. They are a curse." Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand against her face, taking deep breaths.

The boy looked to his mother, then slowly back to Siobhan, a tiny hint of a frown between his brows.

Lynwood took over while Gera worked to regain her composure. "Some of the supposed experts we have contacted have suggested that the visions may become more coherent when he has reached maturity in a few decades. He grows slowly—slower even than the prognos—and as time passes the strength of his visions is outpacing him. They plague him even when he is awake, and rouse his mind from sleep like a beast harrying his limbs."

Gera raised her head. "The healers say that he will die if he cannot sleep, but they have no long-term solution to the problem."

The healers were right, according to everything Siobhan had read on the subject. She peered at the boy assessingly, watching every slow blink and muffled flicker of emotion as he listened to his mother and uncle pronounce his fate. "What has been attempted to cure him?"

Gera took a deep preparatory breath. "He has seen half the healers in the city, it seems, and some experts in non-human physiology and divination as well. Most have been completely useless. They've cast spells and given potions to calm him, to put him into a deep sleep, to keep his mind active and in control while he sleeps, to suppress divination abilities, to ward off nightmares, and even prescribed such treatments as bloodletting at his energy points to release 'bad humors.' He's had healing potions and revivifying potions. There were a few who said he was cursed or haunted and tried to release him from this." Gera scowled, the expression twisted by her scar. "One suggested we place him in a large, completely sealed room to cut him off from the flow of the wind."

"That did not go well. Did any of these treatments show promise?"

His mother smiled wryly. "You are correct. The sealed room caused severe panic attacks, and by the time we realized what was happening, he was hysterical with fear. It took him months to recover from that incident."

"The man was punished for his incompetence," Lynwood murmured, and Gera nodded.

"Some of what once worked has lost its efficacy as he grows older," she continued. "When he was a toddler, the calming magic was enough. When that grew insufficient, the sleep magic took over. Keeping his mind active while sleeping was a particular disaster. Suppressing his divination abilities was…unpredictable. Sometimes it seemed to work, and sometimes it provoked crazed raving and had him flailing about enough to injure himself."

"We were worried it might have other ill effects," Lynwood said.

"The bloodletting left him weak, but did not do the same to his visions. The healing potions helped for a time, if not helping him to sleep then reducing the effects of his fatigue, but eventually his body developed a tolerance for them. When attempts to dispel a malicious influence had no effect, most concluded that he was not cursed or haunted, but a couple of those who came to help told us that the evil influence on him was simply too strong to dispel."

"Nonsense, if you ask me," Lynwood interjected.

"What of the attempts to block nightmares?" Siobhan asked.

"Only mildly effective when he was younger, and without benefit for years now. We were told that my son would die within the year if we could not find an effective treatment. There have been some more…radical suggestions, but I would not maim my son or curse him for life if there is any other option. Currently, we give him a powerful narcotic potion meant to cause the sleep of the living dead. We commissioned a master alchemist to modify it so that its effects are strong, but fast-fading. It does allow him to rest, but…" Gera gestured meaningfully to her son, who was swaying on his feet, his eyes trailing through the empty air as if watching something invisible to the rest of them.

'Hallucinations? If he's to that point, he does indeed need urgent help.'

"But too deeply," Lynwood finished. "He is insensate for twelve or more hours at a time, and often soils himself while he sleeps. And when he wakes, he is groggy and clumsy the rest of the day, almost as if he has not truly rested at all." He nodded meaningfully to the boy, and Siobhan realized that perhaps some of his daze was not from lack of sleep, but a side effect of the potion.

Lynwood added, "His mind and emotions are muffled, except for sudden, wild flares. He fractured a rib in a sudden laughing attack last month, and his nursemaid swears she saw him about to stab a knife into his own abdomen the week before last. This sleep of the dead is a stopgap measure at best." He reached out for Gera's hand, squeezing it tightly while he turned to face Siobhan more fully. "This is my sister by choice, rather than by blood. The boy is my nephew. The Nightmare Pack would be grateful if you would grant us this boon and help him."

Siobhan took a long while to think, staring at the boy. While she hadn't the deep pockets or connections of the Nightmare Pack, she too had consulted healers and shamans and anyone Ennis had access to that they thought might be able to stop her nightmares. All had failed, and over time, through endless trial and error and sheer desperation, she had developed her own spell to deal with the problem. It was only partially effective, but better than anything others had offered, and cheap enough to cast that she could actually afford to do so. However, it sounded as if the boy's condition was worse than her own, and she wasn't even sure that her dreamless sleep spell would stop visions.

Nevertheless, her research had taught her a lot about sleep, and one of the things the prognos woman had said sparked an idea in Siobhan's mind. Sleep was mysterious at best, even to the most learned of healers and researchers, but it seemed clear that the body used it both to heal and to process, cataloguing the experiences and thoughts of the day. It allowed long-term memories to settle, and without it, dreams would start to slip into the waking world in the form of hallucinations.

Siobhan had been restricting her own dreams for years now, and hadn't had any problems with decreased brain function. Her mind was a steel trap. Of course, her dreams did manage to slip through after only a few hours of rest, so she was not suppressing them completely. That healing and revivifying potions had mitigated the boy's problem, even for a time, showed that the most critical function of sleep was whatever it did to heal and effectively reset the brain, like recharging a battle wand.

She'd never been able to afford healing components for her own efforts. The closest she had come was coffee beans loaded with wakefulness magic, and that hardly counted. Siobhan's fingers caressed her new black Conduit, fascination causing her thoughts to focus just on the edge of true Will engagement.

"Your son has no need of a sedative," she said. "It is not that he cannot fall asleep, but that he cannot rest. He has fallen asleep over a dozen times since he came into the room," she said.

She was sure he was falling into what the University's library books had called "micro-sleeps" with almost every slow blink. "He's already exhausted to the point of death. First, he needs something to calm the fear and desperation that are likely making his visions worse."

"Will you help, then?" his mother asked.

Siobhan hesitated. "I cannot cure him," she stated. "Because he is not sick."

Gera's knees buckled, but she caught herself on the edge of Lynwood's chair with a whimper and straightened.

Siobhan lifted a hand in a calming gesture. "He must learn to master his own nature, either through age and experience, or through practice and discipline. But I have several ideas for another short-term solution, one that could give him a semblance of normalcy and the time to learn that discipline before the visions once again outgrow him."

"Yes," Lynwood and his sister both said, almost simultaneously.

"I will design something that your people should be able to handle without me," she said, giving herself an excuse for why she wouldn't just be free-casting some spell that would have the boy dreaming of frolicking in a meadow. "After all, I cannot attend to the boy every night. I assume you have access to resources like components from the Elemental Planes?"

They both nodded readily.

She wasn't surprised. After all, Liza could access components like that, and if they were willing to go to such lengths as described for the boy, the cost of extra-planar components wouldn't bother them. "Good. We will attempt the simplest of my ideas first, to judge if my theories are sound. Take down a list of items and bring them to me here. Gather a handful of thaumaturges, too. At least three, at most…however many you can call upon, as long as they are competent and can be trusted."

Lynwood waved to one of his people who had been standing silently by the side, and the woman hurried to grab a scroll and a fountain pen.

Siobhan listed her requirements. "Crystal—preferably clear, uncut quartz. Also amethyst and polished moonstone. Eagle or gryphon feathers, from a creature too young to have mated." She herself used eagle, but gryphon feathers would likely be more powerful, and they could afford them. "Strong, clear liquor. Some herbs—these should be fresh: Valerian root, preferably grown in a place where human footsteps do not often pass, night vanilla, chamomile picked at sunset, lavender grown in a place that has a frequent northern wind, and poppy flowers, as pale in color as you can find."

The specific guidelines on the growing and harvesting conditions of the components might or might not make much difference—she couldn't get a clear answer on that from Pecanty—but she needed all the help she could get, and hopefully the extra effort of gathering components that matched her specifications would make her seem more legitimate. People valued what cost them, after all.

Seeing that the woman was scribbling frantically, she continued. "You will want to create a permanent Circle and spell array, but for tonight bring me wax from the Plane of Earth and the powder of all the gems I mentioned, plus either gold or diamond dust. Finally, something from the Plane of Radiance, still-living. A small star-maple sapling would do. If you cannot find that, then any slow-growing plant from the Plane of Radiance might do as a substitute. A beast core or three will power it all."

The woman scribbled a little longer, and then finally looked up.

"That is all," Siobhan said.

With a nod from Lynwood, everyone but himself, his sister, and the boy rushed from the room.

Siobhan stood, moving forward and reaching out a hand to the boy's shoulder, steadying him. "What is your name?"

"Millennium," he said in a small voice. "But everyone just calls me Miles."

"Miles. Go find a chair and rest. In a few hours, you will sleep without dreams," she said.

He stared back at her as if to assess the truth of her words, and though his eyes had trouble focusing on her face, they didn't slide away from her under the compulsion of her anti-divination ward. "I hope so," he said, full of vibrant emotion for the first time.

She hoped she could keep her promise. She knew objectively that she might not be able to, but the energy and focus she felt at the prospect of a problem to solve, given all the resources Lord Lynwood could provide—including other thaumaturges to supplement her immature Will and a Conduit that would no longer hold her back—made her believe she could do it. She was hungry for the challenge.

"Get me paper and pen," she ordered, walking over to one of the tables.

Lord Lynwood's sister complied, and with only a bit of focus remaining on keeping her ward up, Siobhan turned the rest of her mind toward creation. 'A modification of my own dreamless sleep spell. Better components, more power, and with a healing factor. It needs to be actively cast for the whole duration of sleep, rather than placed and released like I do with my own castings. If I can improve his rate of regeneration while he sleeps, simply boosting his own natural processes, perhaps he won't need as many hours, and there will be less chance of him growing a tolerance to repeated healing spells or potions. Alas, if only I could get someone to cast this spell on me…'

She looked up some time later, a finished spell array fresh under her pen, to find herself surrounded by scribble-covered papers, her hands smeared with ink, and her fingers cramped from writing.

Lynwood's people had returned, and brought with them almost a dozen other people—likely the thaumaturges she had requested. One of the other tables was covered with spell components, and among them sat a small star-maple sapling in a pot. The sheer efficiency was astounding. She couldn't have been working for more than a couple of hours.

Siobhan pried open her fingers to release the pen and stood.

The other members of the room quieted their low murmurs and turned to face her quickly, some squinting at her and some not even attempting to meet her gaze.

"We have gathered everything you ordered," Lynwood said.

"We will be casting what I suspect is a newly created spell today," she said to the newcomers. "If any of you are not comfortable with your ability to do so without endangering yourself or your fellows, leave now."

A few feet shuffled, betraying their nervousness at her words, but no one walked out.

"These are the best thaumaturges among my people," Lynwood said. "They will learn and obey, at your discretion, Queen of Ravens."

Siobhan tried not to smirk at that. 'Too bad I don't have a group of sorcerers to boss around on a daily basis.' She realized immediately after thinking it the folly of that wish. 'No, wait, that might actually be horrible. Most people are imbeciles. I don't want to be stuck leading a group of imbeciles who cannot do anything without constant instruction.'

"Follow along, then," she said. "Nothing we do tonight should be beyond your comprehension or abilities, and I do not enjoy repeating myself."

First, she made the crayon stick to draw the spell array with, mixing the wax with the crystal and gem powder. They'd provided both diamond and gold dust, so with mixed feelings of heartache at her own inability to afford such things and pleasure at the chance to use such fine components, she added both to the wax crayon. The Circle and Word array drawn with it would handle more power than something simpler or cheaper, though not as much as a permanently engraved array made of solid precious metals. As she mixed the wax with the multi-colored dust, she channeled her Will in the same way she would when making a potion, every component touched with magic and intent.

Then, waving a hand for the others to clear a large spot on the floor and bring in a mattress, she drew the array, every glyph and angled line touched with her Will. There was no energy to channel into this, no active spell, but her grandfather had taught her that there was more to magic than the parts that were easiest to quantify.

Next were the herbal tinctures, drawing out the oils through crushing the plant matter and soaking it in bottles of alcohol.

"Process matters. Magic may be a science, but beyond our understanding it becomes an art," she explained to those watching her work, not bothering to turn and see whether they understood what she meant, or if it was obvious that every competent sorcerer started applying their Will long before they actively cast the most powerful spells.

They placed the mattress in the center of the large spell array, and the components in the outer Circles. Siobhan walked along the whole thing, inspecting the lines and glyphs for damage or mistakes, and explained, in as much detail as she could, the purpose of all the interconnected pieces.

She stopped at the head of the mattress, motioning for Miles to climb onto it. "Most important in all of this is not the components or the power. It is your Will, tuned perfectly. Think on the spell till you feel it in your belly and the dark places of your mind. We will begin casting in a few minutes. I will join you, but merely as a guide. You will provide the impetus on your own. Discuss amongst yourselves," she said with a wave of her hand.

She rolled her shoulders, the thrill of magic a delight that made her bones itch and her thoughts bloom. She turned to Millennium, climbed onto the mattress, and sat next to him.

She spoke in a low voice, soft enough not to be heard over the talking of the others. "Can you cast any magic, Miles?"

The boy, more awake than he'd been before, despite the late hour, shook his head. "Not yet. I'm only ten, and my mom says it's not safe if the visions make me lose concentration. I could hurt myself or someone else."

Siobhan herself had cast her first spell at the age of eleven, a simple levitation spell on an acorn, under the watchful eye of her grandfather. It had been a bit early, but he was insistent that only stupid, immature children needed to wait till the traditional age of thirteen to begin an apprenticeship. It was lucky, because if she had waited, she might never have had the chance to learn from him at all. "You're not afraid of magic, though, right?"

Miles shook his head, but paused with his mouth open, suddenly hesitant. The silence drew on.

"You're a little afraid?" she guessed. "Because of your visions and everything they've done to try and fix them?" She gestured to Lynwood and the boy's mother, who were both watching them intently from across the room. "Which hasn't been so pleasant, and sometimes, has been quite torturous." She herself had taken a couple years off practicing magic after the…incident that led her father to taking over his duties as a parent again.

Miles nodded. "They've been talking about you…whether to call you here or not. They're afraid of you. But they're afraid of what I might do if they don't fix me, too. And I'm dying," he said matter-of-factly.

"Tonight will not hurt," she said. "And it will not be frightening, either. At the very worst, nothing will change and you will wake up as soon as your visions slip through. But if things go well, you will wake up in the morning feeling better than you have in a long time. To make sure you can fall asleep, I want to try something."

"Okay," he said in a small voice.

She knew that sometimes when she was exhausted beyond all reason, it actually became harder to fall asleep. "I'll need you to sit in my lap, with your back against my chest."

Slowly, awkwardly, he moved to climb into the scoop of her crossed legs. His small body was cold and faintly trembling, either from the chill or sheer exhaustion.

She reached her arms around him, touching her middle fingers to her thumbs, with the large black Conduit gripped to her palm by her pinky and ring finger, a little awkwardly. She pressed her hands against his sternum.

Miles copied her.

She took a deep breath and let it out with a low hum, like Newton had showed her.

As soon as Miles caught on to her rhythm, she began to cast the esoteric calming spell on the both of them. The spell wasn't meant to work on someone else, but with him being so small and close, and going along with all the prerequisites except for actually casting himself, it wasn't that hard to bend the magic in this way.

A few minutes later, Miles was slouching against her limply, his eyes closed and on the brink of sleep, the only indication that he was still awake being the purring sounds coming out of his throat along with her own deep hum.

She released the magic, settling him back on the bed and drawing a thick blanket over him to hold in some warmth. She sent a servant to fetch a wrapped, hot brick, and then tucked it next to the boy's feet so it could warm him up slowly.

Without further preamble, she announced, "It is time," with what she hoped was sufficient gravitas.

The other thaumaturges quickly moved to stand at equal distances around the outer Circle.

She moved to the head of the bed and, with a finger dipped in herb-infused alcohol, drew a small Circle around the boy's head, straight on the pillow. Aloud, she walked the others through the process as she cast her normal dreamless sleep spell, which would facilitate Miles falling asleep but probably wouldn't keep him that way.

Then she stepped back to the head of the larger Circle drawn on the floor. They would be actively casting through the night for Miles, keeping him asleep, dreamless, and facilitating his body's natural healing process.

She pulled her hood up to cover her face. Her ward remained active, but she reduced the attention and power she was channeling into it. Her mind couldn't handle the split concentration when casting something new like this, even with all the others to provide power and stabilize the spell.

Siobhan was the first to start casting, drawing upon the trio of beast cores sitting within one of the component Circles for power. She channeled it with ease through her new Conduit, as smoothly as the one Lacer had lent her.

The other thaumaturges joined in, one by one.

Siobhan thought she could feel it when Miles fell asleep. Slowly, she increased the amount of energy flowing through her Conduit and the lines of the spell array, drawing on the star-maple for healing and the other components for dreamless sleep. Her companions did the same, till the air thrummed faintly against the hair on her arms and the array began to glow.

At this rate, the boy would have slept for the equivalent of two or three days by the time the sun rose, and without the accompanying problems with pent-up bodily processes that would have normally interrupted such a long rest.

After about half an hour, when she was sure the others had the hang of it and was starting to feel the crush of true fatigue herself, she released her grip on the spell and stepped back. The spell array flared for a moment with inefficiency, and she frowned. 'I was channeling under three hundred thaums, at best. The spell shouldn't have been so strained by my departure.' She looked suspiciously at the others who were still casting.

Lord Lynwood and Gera were standing a few feet away, staring avidly at the sleeping boy. They both turned their attention to Siobhan as she moved toward them.

Gera's scarred, blind eye was weeping, and she bowed deeply before Siobhan could say anything. "I thank you," she choked out.

Siobhan was too tired to go through the long-winded standard niceties. She'd been brewing all day, and after this, she just wanted to collapse into her own bed. "You were lucky that this is my specialty."

"Is it working, then?"

"It seems so. The spell does not force him to remain unconscious, so if his rest were being disturbed by visions, he would wake. You will need to have someone cast this on him every night for the time being. It need not be this large a group after this first time. Millennium will wake rested and will only need maintenance going forward. One or two moderately powerful thaumaturges should be enough. However, none of them are particularly good at this spell, and I doubt a lack of practice is the problem. I have a number of suggestions."

"Speak them," Lynwood said.

"The boy should be trained. Give him physical and mental exercise each day. Exercises that focus on clarity—some call it meditation—could be helpful, if he can master them deeply enough, and he need not actively channel magic to learn that. As for your casters…"

She sneered. "Keep them awake, like the boy has been kept awake. When they are truly desperate for sleep, only then will they understand how the spell is properly cast. When he has rested, they will be able to as well."

Lynwood frowned at them. "I will do as you say, Queen of Ravens." He hesitated, obviously wanting to speak.

She waved an impatient hand at him.

"Might depriving them of rest make them more likely to lose control of the magic? This spell you have designed…is it meant to be cast by someone without your particular advantages?"

She sighed. "If your people are so incompetent that a little fatigue has them miscasting, you should replace them. I hear first term students at your Thaumaturgic University deal with such conditions on a regular basis. This spell is not special. It is not even particularly difficult. It works as it does for me because I know what it is to be desperate for oblivion."

Lynwood and Gera bowed again, said some more words of thanks and praise, and, in a moment when no one was looking at her, Siobhan strengthened the force of her anti-divination ward. Its effects seeped into the physical world so well that she was ignored, even by the prognos, as she left the building.

Outside, she smirked up at the University atop the towering white cliffs to the north of the city, visible by their light crystals twinkling in the dark night like so many stars. She broke one of her bracelets to let Katerin know she could finally stop scrying for her.

'That should fortify the Raven Queen's reputation. What a fruitful evening.'

Chapter 62 - Cold Sweat

Gera

Month 12, Day 20, Sunday 11:30 p.m.

Gera was the first to realize that the Raven Queen had gone. They had all been distracted for a moment, watching Miles sleep with relief, and sometime while they had all forgotten to think about the unsettling creature, she had disappeared. It was almost like the stories, the ones told in the small, remote villages, among creatures with long memories and uninterrupted oral tradition, and among those skinwalkers who hadn't forgotten that their other form was as much a part of them as the human one.

Gera, at least, was more convinced than ever that they had called upon a creature of night.

The stories were ancient, and the names given to the mischievous, sometimes benevolent and sometimes horrifically vengeful, shapeshifting creatures of dream and shadow were inconsistent. The stories of their abilities and physical characteristics were also inconsistent, and to be truthful, Gera had long thought them only fanciful children's tales, meant to amuse, thrill, and frighten.

It was Lynwood who had been hopeful when he heard the rumors, but Gera now saw that though the tales may have been twisted over time with the retelling, they had some basis in truth.

When she pointed out their missing guest to her brother-of-choice, they sent their people—those who were not busy with the casting—to search the mansion and grounds for signs of her, but all came back with nothing.

Gera found the Raven Queen's disappearance almost as relieving as it was frightening. She had to tamp down the little fear at the back of her head that said the creature might simply have disappeared from their perception and be watching them even now, hidden in some shadow.

She sidled closer to the ring of spellcasters standing around her son, examining his face for signs of distress. She'd been frightened when the Raven Queen had enfolded Millennium within her darkness and began to produce that deep, harmonized hum. Even the thought of it raised the hair on her arms, and she rubbed them briskly to force away the feeling.

Her brother placed a cloak around her shoulders. "Miles is unharmed. Perhaps you have gone so long without seeing him peacefully asleep that you have forgotten what it looks like," he said softly.

Gera pulled the cloak tighter around herself, the movement reminiscent of a child huddling under the covers for fear of the dark. "Requesting an audience with her was dangerous. It was more of a risk than we realized."

"It was worth it," he said, gesturing meaningfully to his nephew. "But, yes. I found her…unsettling. Her gaze was black. Empty, almost. I had to force myself to meet it, but for more reason than simple fear. All my instincts told me to look away, to ignore, to forget. That the Raven Queen was utterly inconsequential, which was even more frightening as I knew it to be untrue. You were startled when you sensed her, too. What did you see?"

Gera's eye had been brutally wounded when she was younger. Though she no longer had her physical sight, that did not take away the talent of a prognos, and she had learned to make up for her disfigurement with a specialized divination spell. In some ways, the spell was more powerful than sight, as it did not rely on light or angles to gather information. Everything within her sphere of influence was known to her, from every angle, with an emphasis on even the smallest movement. Her new sight lacked only color.

She shuddered at the memory of the Raven Queen walking up to her that first time. "To my senses, she was an empty hole in the world."

Her brother's eyebrows rose.

"She could be felt by where she wasn't and seen through her effect on the things around her. Not directly."

"She was very much present to my senses. She smelled of the same herbs used in the spell for Millennium, but underneath that…it's very hard to differentiate and explain." He breathed deeply, as if her scent still lingered. "It was like darkness, and old blood, and the smell of the air just before a spring thunderstorm. It was my first reassurance that she was more than a powerful witch or sorcerer. Then there were the feathers growing out of her scalp, woven into her hair, which was no natural color. It shimmered blue, like the oil-spill iridescence of a raven's feather. And the eyes—too dark, like she hadn't realized humans have both iris and pupil."

"Considering how she slipped away, I suspect she can choose whether to make herself manifest at all, and if so, in what form," Gera murmured.

"She came to the front door. Most of the stories say they enter houses by the night wind blowing through a window or through the shadows stretching under the doorframe. She said it would be rude to do that."

Gera snorted. "Well, she said that she was young. Whatever 'young' means for one of her kind. Perhaps she has a better understanding of our modern sensibilities."

"Or she was being mischievous. She has displayed a penchant for the dramatic." Lynwood smiled, sharp-toothed.

Gera's frown deepened at his attempt at humor, still on edge. "She was pleased with the stone? I would not want that 'mischievous' nature pointed toward Millennium."

"Yes, the stories are correct on that point, it seems. I was slightly worried when she refused our food."

"It is good we took the time to contact a lore-master before requesting an audience," she said.

"Indeed." The smile slipped from Lynwood's face. "I shudder to think what she might have done if she was displeased. I've heard rumors on the street about what she's capable of. I wonder how Lord Stag managed to make her acquaintance."

They were silent for a few moments, and then Gera said, "We should deepen that alliance with the Verdant Stag."

Her brother looked at her searchingly for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yes. We should."

Chapter 63 - Theoretical Exercises

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 23, Wednesday 10:45 a.m.

The first half of Sebastien's school week passed rather uneventfully. There had been no more scrying attempts, and she couldn't help but hope that the coppers might be waiting for Eagle Tower to be repaired. If she were exceedingly lucky, and she barely dared to wish for it in case of disappointment, her blood could have been lost or destroyed in the explosions, leaving them completely without recourse—and her safe.

'In any case, I cannot do a reverse scry to retrieve or destroy it unless they resume attempts. So other than Oliver's tendrils looking into how one might steal or destroy warded evidence, I'd be best-served focusing my attention on something I can actually control.'

Without any progress to be made regarding the scrying attacks, she'd returned to her previous mission: solving the problem that was her lack of time and energy.

In Natural Science on Monday, Professor Gnorrish had no experiment waiting for them. Instead, the blackboards at the front of the room were covered with chalk diagrams and charts.

"Some of you may question why we spend so much time and effort on the Natural Sciences, trying to increase our understanding of the world, when there is nothing transmutation can do that transmogrification cannot. Others have wondered the same, and I believe the results of their experiments speak for themselves. To those of you who mutter among yourselves that this class is useless, who wonder why you should learn these things when they have no real utility, who have no desire to discover all the irrelevant details about how things truly work…" He turned to the blackboards. "The Natural Sciences have value beyond themselves."

Sebastien was already beginning to decipher the significance of the data behind him, extrapolating meaning from the labels.

"We will go through the studies that prove this today," Professor Gnorrish said. "In our first example, researchers took a baseline sample of subjects casting the color change spell. As I understand, you all have recently practiced this same spell in your Introduction to Modern Magics class, so you should be familiar with it. Researchers quantified the efficiency of casting, the area affected, and the resistance of the new color to change." He pointed to one set of data on the graph behind him.

"Then, they had the subjects cast an analogous color-changing spell using dye and their understanding of light. Transmutation instead of transmogrification. They measured the same metrics as before." He pointed to a second set of data. The performance was noticeably poorer than the previous attempt.

"When they had a proper baseline for both transmutation and transmogrification, the researchers put the test subjects through an intensive course on color and light theory. They then had the subjects cast the transmutation spell again. As you might guess, they improved dramatically."

Sebastien's heartbeat was like slow thunder rolling through her body. Her sense of time slowed as she realized what was coming next and started to extrapolate what it meant for her.

"Then, they cast the spell a fourth time, this time using the principles of transmogrification. This was not an increase in sheer power. It was an increase in skill. As you can see, learning to understand what they were trying to achieve, even when casting a transmogrification spell, created a marked increase in every single metric." He pointed to the final set of data on the board. "This ranged from a five percent overall improvement to, in the most strikingly affected subject, twenty-three percent."

Professor Gnorrish was uncharacteristically somber, staring out at them. "If there are things which our greatest arts and all our power cannot achieve, we must study the underlying principles until we have revealed that which was once a black box of unknowable phenomena. Only then will we surpass the previous limits of our species."

'This is what I need," Sebastien thought. 'It's what I've been missing.'

Professor Gnorrish spent most of the class going over similar studies, and as excited as Sebastien was by the topic, she had trouble focusing on the lecture past her own racing thoughts. 'I need to learn more about the human brain, and what exactly happens to it when we sleep.'

As soon as the bell rang to announce the lunch period, she went straight to the library and pulled all the books she could find on the subject. A quick skim showed which ones would be useful and which were completely beyond her current standard of comprehension. She checked out a full dozen, and had to take most of them back to the dorms because it was too much to carry through the rest of her day.

Practical Casting ended the school day with another fascinating lecture from Professor Lacer about mental exercises they could perform before casting that would improve the clarity of their Will. She had already been doing much of it, but Lacer seemed to have a deeper and richer understanding of, well, everything than she did.

Afterward, Damien and Sebastien met Newton near the eastern edge of the Menagerie, surrounded by trees and plants that would shield them from curious eyes.

It was time to pay Newton for a week of work, something Sebastien was all too conscious of. It wasn't that she begrudged him the payment. No, he had obviously taken the task seriously. He gave them an extensive written log of Tanya's actions accompanied by a quick verbal report of the highlights, every other day. He deserved to be rewarded for his diligence. It was just that she wished the payment didn't have to come from her own pocket, even if the funds had been provided by Oliver. Once the coins were in her hands, she felt pained parting with them.

"She went to her dueling club yesterday," Newton reported, "and I couldn't follow her there. I've listed some of the other students that are also in the club who she seems friendly with. And I learned that she's looking to change her student aide department next term. Rather than working with incoming students, she's interested in a move to the History department. Which is reasonable, because it's less work, but it's unusual to change departments between the winter and summer terms."

"Good work," Sebastien said, slipping Newton his payment.

Newton tucked the coins away with a satisfied smile. "I'm off to catch her at the library. I've got a student to tutor, but she'll be around too."

As Sebastien and Damien headed for the Citadel, Damien said, "You remember my friend, Rhett Moncrieffe? He's a member of the dueling club. He's practically obsessed. Perhaps I can sit in on one of the sessions, and if that bears any fruit, either we bring in another informant or one of us joins the club?"

Although Sebastien was frustrated by the idea of adding one more thing to her plate, she agreed. "Let's keep an eye out for anything interesting in the History department too. What's the specific post she's angling for? Would she gain access to any otherwise restricted magic or sections of the University? Is there anyone helping her to get the job?"

"This would be easier if either of us was a little less conspicuous," Damien said. "It's too likely that otherwise unremarkable snooping or questioning will become the topic of gossip with one of us involved."

'He's not wrong,' Sebastien admitted.

Setting aside the frustration threatening to dampen her mood, she stopped by the dorms to pick up some of the reference books she'd dropped off earlier and made her way back to the library.

She waited till no one seemed to be looking, then used her illicit pass to the low-security restricted section to slip through the locked door. Her pass was only good for one of the many rooms in the underground levels below, and she had to be careful not to get lost finding it.

After Damien had noticed her coming out of the Citadel's second floor, she'd wanted a more private place to do anything truly questionable. She couldn't take any restricted texts out of the library, anyway, which made the restricted archive the perfect place to lurk out of sight.

The aroma of old paper, parchment, and leather counterbalanced the scent of dust, with the faintest hint of dampness kept carefully controlled for the sake of the books. She breathed it in deep, then exhaled into the solitude, smiling a little to herself.

Her shoulders, which she hadn't even realized were tight with strain, slumped with relief even as she did the same into an old wooden chair at the corner of the room. After a few moments of stillness, she got up and retrieved a half-dozen more books from the shelves without even needing to read the titles.

The light crystal near the door wasn't bright enough, so she took out her bottle of moonlight sizzle from her satchel, gave it a good shake, and set it on the table.

Her new sapphire Conduit was pressed into the lip of her boot, which was slightly uncomfortable due to its size, but the best place she currently had for it. 'Perhaps some sort of leather holster that I could hide under my clothes,' she considered. 'That would keep it against the abdomen, or maybe the small of my back.' All that was needed to use a Conduit was skin contact, but holding it in the hand always made channeling easier, so she didn't want to make it entirely inaccessible.

Having a sufficiently potent Conduit and a suitable backup meant one less problem, but left her with a baker's dozen remaining.

She was as exhausted as ever, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, felt herself straining and fraying at the edges under the stress, the school workload, Professor Lacer's extra exercises, and her lack of sleep.

Her identity as Siobhan Naught was still wanted by the coppers for theft and blood magic.

She was destitute when compared to the heightened expenses of living in Gilbratha, and on top of that, including the exorbitant interest, owed over a thousand gold crowns to a criminal organization—a criminal organization that required her to perform undetermined favors to pay them back. The same criminal organization that technically owned thirty percent of her beloved black star sapphire.

She had a priceless, stolen, encrypted book that she hadn't made the first bit of progress decrypting.

Her father was in jail and, at some point, would likely be sent to work in the prison mines.

She still had nothing concrete on Tanya.

And Professor Lacer, probably the smartest, most sheerly capable thaumaturge in Gilbratha, seemed to think she was a reckless imbecile. And she couldn't refute him, even in her own mind. Which was almost the worst of it.

'If I could get rid of the need to sleep, or even reduce it to a few hours a night, I'd regain all those lost hours. The creature that takes over my need to sleep will need to take over the healing and processing for me too.' She needed to learn as much as possible about how the brain worked and sleep's effect on both it and the body. If she could amass a huge wealth of knowledge, even if it wouldn't directly fix her problem, it might be enough to let her cast a spell to fix the problem with transmogrification. 'I suspect I'll still need some downtime every night, whether that's true sleep or simply a forced rest to allow my mind to recover, and every few days I'll need to let the spell drop entirely. It'll have to be in artifact form, since having to hold an active spell twenty-four hours a day somewhat defeats the purpose…'

She was engrossed in her thoughts, scribbling away under the slowly fading light of the potion bottle, when the door on the far side of the room—the other door into the room, the one that never opened—opened.

She didn't jump or jerk. She froze.

She parsed the shape of Professor Lacer's knee-length, dark jacket out of the corner of her eye. When she turned slowly to look at him, he was already staring at her.

She didn't try to cover up what she was working on, hoping that a lack of guilt would keep him from feeling suspicious. She could have gotten a pass to a minor restricted section from any of the Professors. She might have every right to be there.

Lacer seemed to dismiss her, walking through the bookshelves until he found whatever it was that had brought him to the room. But instead of leaving with it, he stopped in front of the table she was sitting at. His presence was like an unstable tower blocking out the sun, impossible to ignore, giving the person below the faint sense that it might come crashing down atop them at any moment.

"Don't be rude, Siverling," he said, motioning to the tabletop, which was mostly covered in open reference texts and pieces of paper. "Clear some room."

She raised her gaze to meet his, not sure whether to be terrified or relieved by the sardonic quirk of his eyebrow. She scrambled to clean up the area in front of him.

He sat, placing a book on the table. He picked up her blue potion bottle, shook it to make the light brighter again, and began to read.

Sebastien stared at him for a bit, but he ignored her, turning the pages of his book just barely too fast, enough to make her wonder if he was actually reading.

Feeling awkward, she returned her gaze to her own work, and after a couple minutes of discomfort that only she seemed to feel, she decided she was being ridiculous. 'If he's about to get me in trouble, sitting here like a scared rabbit won't stop him.' She picked up her pen and took a note about the different chemicals the brain replenished during sleep, copied from the book in front of her.

Almost half an hour had passed in silence like this, and while she still thought the whole thing was strange, she'd lost her anxiety and was engrossed in study.

That was when he finally chose to speak. "How are you enjoying your classes?"

She looked up at him, but he was still staring at his book, which he was already halfway through. "I love them," she said.

"Really? All of them?" His tone was inscrutable, but if she had to guess, she would say he was skeptical.

"Well, Pecanty is a bit…"

Professor Lacer looked up to meet her gaze.

"Stodgy. Set in his ways. Damien called him 'uncurious,'" she said.

"Uncurious," he repeated. "Do you agree?"

"He discourages unorthodox questions and associative thinking," she said, her lip curling up into a sneer. "He's a pompous academic more concerned with looking like an intellectual than exploring the depths of the field in which he is—supposedly—an expert."

"Are you sure?"

She didn't look away. "Yes. I've tried to ask questions and start discussions several times, only to be condescended to as if I am some daydreaming child too immature to realize that original thought is so naive."

Lacer nodded. "Pecanty is an idiot. He was hit by an experimental curse when he was younger. It turned his brains into taffy. He was saved, but he's always been a bit off since then. It seems that having new thoughts is difficult for him."

Sebastien couldn't tell if Professor Lacer was joking.

His eyes were wryly amused, but his voice was serious. "But you are not incurious, it seems?" he asked, looking pointedly to the books and notes in front of her. "I hardly think this could be work for any first-term class. Independent project?"

She ran her tongue across the back of her teeth. "Theoretical exercise. I'm very curious." She tried to give her tone the same ambiguity that his had, deadpan and yet not seeming as if she expected him to take her words at face value. Her heart was beating a little harder as she waited for him to react.

"I'll take a look," he said, holding out an expectant hand. "I am very good at theoretical exercises. Maybe I can help."

Slowly, she gathered up the loose papers she'd accumulated over the last few days of study and handed the stack to him.

He read through it almost as quickly as he'd read the book, his eyes flicking over her notes, questions and sloppy spell diagrams. "It is a binding spell at heart," he murmured. "Not a vow, but an ongoing exchange?" He read for a while longer, then set down the stack. "Getting rid of the need to sleep? A little clumsy, but an intriguing idea. At least it is not some continuous stimulant spell. That would have killed you. Hypothetically."

"And this?"

"It will have an inherent loss of efficiency over time, but as long as you only run it sporadically, the idea has merit. I would tell the average first-term student off for being an insufferable dimwit if they told me they were preparing to cast this. You need more than power for this. It will require finesse. I see the spell is broken into multiple steps, and you've noted extended casting times for a stronger buildup of power, which is smart. I should almost think you have experience casting similar spells."

She kept her face impassive. She'd modeled parts of this spell, including elements of the structure and the "connection" glyph, from what she could remember of the Lino-Wharton messenger spell.

Perhaps it wasn't a subtle dig, because he continued with barely a pause. "Still, I would warn any student at your level against attempting this spell. The thaum requirement would be rather high." He stared at her pointedly, a reminder that he thought her a reckless dimwit. "Especially if they had no practice casting spells of a similar nature, either by the whole, or by similar component factors. The magic would be wild with its newness, its lack of history. The study you are doing there"—he nodded to the biology book in her hand—"would be useful, but insufficient without power."

'I'll need to practice binding and healing spells, then. And get my Will capacity tested again.' "I understand," she said aloud.

He seemed skeptical, but returned his attention to the papers, continuing his dissection. "However, it's obvious you don't have any true foundation in spell theory. Your base symbol is the pentagram, which might be the most common for more powerful transmogrification spells, but for applications like this it is not the perfect channel by itself. I would suggest incorporating a hexagram for its connection to wisdom, intelligence, and the transfer of aid."

She leaned forward, grabbing her pen to make a note. "That makes sense. But why not an octagram? This is an exchange spell. Wouldn't the octagram's association with balance be more useful?"

"In truth, several of the symbols are associated with balance. The octagon and octagram, specifically, are more suited toward stable systems. The balance between creation and exchange. While the octagon might be useful in creating something like a miniature ecosystem spell with little loss, the octagram is associated with true balance between creation and destruction. Justice. What people from the East might call karma. This is not a true equivalent exchange."

He gave her a pointed look, and she nodded in concession.

"And because you agree with that statement, something might go wrong if an inexperienced spellcaster like yourself tried to cast with an octagram. Doubly so if you felt any guilt about what you were doing to the other party."

She felt the urge to shift in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable, but there was no accusation in his tone.

"However, the clumsiest part of this is your use of glyphs. The Word is crude, obviously cobbled-together by someone with a limited pool of experience. There are better choices to describe this spell, by far." He pulled over one of her papers and motioned impatiently for the pen, then scribbled a quick series of glyphs and their connotative translations.

Sebastien stared greedily at the alternative piece of the Word he'd just provided. "Forceful-given-transfer-gift, sleep and dreams. Forceful-taken-transfer-gift of harmony, rest and healing." A couple of the glyphs were foreign to her, and he'd arranged them in a different order. It was the core of the spell, really. She would write the entire process and instructions out longhand as well, for stability, but the glyphs channeled and molded magic in a way that letters and words didn't. With a simple scribble, Professor Lacer had just greatly decreased her chances of losing control of the spell. "Thank you," she said simply.

"Come to me again when you have made further progress with the spell design. I will check it over for you. And…I hope I do not need to make this statement aloud, but your common sense has not impressed me nearly as much as your Will. A spell like this, even if cast between two perfectly consenting parties for the purpose of research, could be classified as blood magic." His eyes were lit from beneath by the bottle of moonlight sizzle, giving his gaze an eerie quality. "The world is not kind toward…curiosity in this direction."

She stared back at him silently for the space of a few breaths. She realized that the electrical charge in the air was a silent compact between her and Thaddeus Lacer, youngest free-caster in a century, one of the most powerful casters in the country, and likely also the most interesting. The man about whom she'd searched out any stories or news articles she could find since she was a child…approved of her efforts. He was helping her, and warning her to keep it between the two of them—to keep it from those who might not understand.

She felt impossibly, entirely awake as she silently acknowledged his warning.

He stood abruptly. "Wait here." He walked away, exiting through the door she'd come in. He returned a few minutes later with one of the thickest books she'd ever seen. He placed it with a thud on the table before her.

A Comprehensive Compendium of Components, the cover read in gold-embossed leather. She opened the book to a random spot, flipping carefully through a few pages. The illustrations were painstaking, with the occasional gleam of precious metals or powdered gem, the letters looping and ornate. Each page had concise but detailed information on a component: different stages of growth, best conditions to harvest them for varied effects, and the various spells they were commonly—and uncommonly—used in. Many of the components were familiar, but even more were not.

She stopped on a particularly gruesome page. Harpy intestines were definitely not on the list of approved spell components. Particularly not when used in a ritual while the harpy was still alive. While not considered human by the Crown-approved definition, they were close enough that many components from their body parts were illegal. 'That's why this book is restricted. It truly is comprehensive.'

"You should be able to find the proper components and Sacrifice within," Lacer said.

"My pass doesn't allow me to check any restricted books out, and there's no way for me to put this back wherever you took it from," she admitted.

He picked up the book, and, unsmiling, turned to the nearest bookshelf. He leaned down and inserted it between two other books on the lowest rung. "The library has no wards or alarms against misshelved books. A dreadful oversight. Sometimes books even get…lost."

"Yes," she said, tilting her head to the side consideringly. "Quite dreadful. Dangerous, even, for the impressionable minds of young students."

For the first time she'd seen, Professor Lacer actually smiled, a smirk stretching across his face. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. "Remember to submit your efforts to me for oversight when you are ready," he said. Without waiting for a response, he took the book he'd originally come to the room for and walked out through the same door he'd entered through, disappearing somewhere into the network of underground rooms.

Sebastien sat staring at the closed door, with all the resources she needed to design the spell that would do away with her need to sleep now at her disposal. That was fantastic.

But she was almost more thrilled to have somehow gained Professor Lacer's approval.

Chapter 64 - Snowfall & Spilled Secrets

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 24, Thursday 11:55 p.m.

Sebastien retrieved the Comprehensive Compendium of Components from the shelf after Professor Lacer left.

There was an index at the back of the book that gave page numbers by keyword, which was immensely helpful as it meant she didn't have to flip through a few thousand pages one-by-one. She spent the rest of the evening reading through the pages containing relevant keywords. Only when the library closed at ten o'clock did she reluctantly leave. She didn't want to find out what would happen if she was still inside a restricted section after that.

At best, she would simply be trapped in the room all night and have to find a way to deal with an extremely full bladder without the proper facilities. At worst, it would set off an alarm and she would be found.

Thursday dawned gloomy, cold, and still. Great masses of cumulus clouds hung low and heavy in the sky. The air held the tension of a bent twig just about to snap, without the wind that was normally a constant at the University's altitude.

Shortly after the third class of the day, which was most people's last, the clouds broke and began to dump feather-like snowflakes. There had been several sprinkles of snow already that year, but none so perfectly suited to playing, and students of all ages spilled out onto the grounds, getting into snowball fights and creating things out of the malleable material.

Sebastien watched from a bench under a tree, working on homework for one of her less rigorous classes under the cover of the evergreen canopy. At other times, such ruckus and noise would have distracted and irritated her, but at the moment she only smiled slightly to herself. Things were going well for her.

Two witches competed along with their familiars to create the best-looking sculpture of a dragon, packing the snow even higher than their own heads while their familiars did the more detailed carving with tooth, claw, and magic.

A sorcerer furrowed a complicated design into a swath of clear snow, taking great care where he placed his feet and snappishly shooing away any students who threatened to get close. After about a half hour of work, he took out a little house made of sticks and what Sebastien thought must be a beast core, because there was no other obvious source of power, and placed them as components. Then, with a dramatic lifting of his arms and rumble in the air, the snow within the Circle rose and compacted into the shape of a small, simple house, complete with chimney and square openings for windows.

This drew cheers and applause from those who had been watching, and the sorcerer invited one of the girls from the crowd inside, which deepened the blush of her cheeks, already rosy with the cold. She accepted, even though the "house" was small enough that they both had to duck to get through the opening for the front door.

'That looks useful,' Sebastien thought longingly. 'I wonder if it could be cast on dirt, too. I wouldn't have to sleep in the open the next time Father and I are traveling between cities and there is nowhere to beg shelter, or no coin to pay for it.'

With a belated twinge, she remembered that she wouldn't be traveling with Ennis ever again. 'Still, that doesn't mean I'll never be somewhere without a proper roof over my head,' she reasoned. The spell was likely energy-hungry, but if she was able to draw out the casting to match her Will's capability and power it with, say, a campfire instead of a beast core, she could still cast it. It would just take much longer and be less dramatic. But with ingenuity, even an Apprentice-level sorcerer could cast interesting magic.

The snow house demonstration led to a general interest in fort-building, which led to people forming factions and attempting to bypass or destroy opponents' forts while protecting their own, with some sort of freeze-tag and flag capturing mechanics mixed in.

When she finished her homework, Sebastien had a quick dinner and again made her way into the library, which was uncharacteristically empty, except for those huddling in the atrium to warm themselves after frolicking in the snow.

The books in the small restricted room below kept Sebastien company for the next handful of hours, and she finished a preliminary version of the sleep-proxy spell that incorporated Professor Lacer's suggestions in an updated casting structure and spell array.

Of course, she would have him look it over again before she actually tried to use it. On top of all the studying into the Natural Sciences of the topic she still had to do, she also needed to practice binding and healing magic. Many more hours of practice would help grow her Will strong enough to channel a more powerful spell like this. She hoped she wouldn't have too much trouble getting her hands on a few of the rarer components and a couple of ravens.

She would have preferred to avoid ravens because of the whole "Raven Queen" thing, but they were well-suited to the spell, relatively easy to feed and care for, and could be found cheaply in almost any magical market. It would be much harder to find—and then care for, say—a couple of raccoons, which were another viable option.

Her most immediate problem was that she doubted she could afford everything the spell required, even though she'd purposefully chosen weaker, cheaper options where possible. 'I will have time to make a bit more gold before I'm able to cast it. I can gather the components slowly while I'm practicing and improving my Will. And I bet there are some useful potions I could make for the Verdant Stag that require healing and binding magic.'

That evening, Sebastien was woken up after only a couple of hours of sleep, about halfway through her first rest of the night. She checked the time and found it was only a few minutes before midnight, which was also the official curfew. She was confused until she realized that the ward they'd set on Tanya's door had just alerted. It usually went off several times throughout the day, but at set times.

Tanya had a small toilet in the corner of her room, so there was no reason for her to need to leave when all the University buildings were closed and all the students were in bed.

Sebastien sat up and tossed aside her covers, threw back the curtain enclosing her half-walled section of the dorm, and rushed to Damien's bed. She clapped a hand over his sleeping mouth.

He woke up with an arching, futile gasp, scrabbling at her forearms with wide eyes.

"Shh!" she hissed. "Myrddin's balls, you're so dramatic, Damien. Get up. Discreetly." She took her hand away slowly, watching to make sure he didn't start screaming or flailing.

"Dramatic? I'm dramatic?" he ground out past clenched teeth, one hand pressed over his heart. "You realize the actual discreet way to wake me would have been a shake or whispering my name? Why do people keep doing this to me?"

Sebastien ignored him. "She's leaving," she whispered, already hurrying back to her own cubicle. She'd only deigned to wake him because she had no spells that could enhance her hearing well enough to spy on Tanya from afar. Otherwise, she would have preferred not to involve him.

Damien immediately understood who she was referring to. Behind her, he scrambled out of bed and began to dress with more haste and less silence than she would have preferred.

She retrieved the bone disk that would let her sympathetically track Tanya's shoe and set up the tracking spell on the portable slate table with folding legs that she'd taken from the abandoned classroom. Her little lantern was plenty of power for this simple spell, with Tanya not having had enough time to move very far from the dorms.

The tracking function itself consisted of nothing more than a stick in the center of the spell array, with one burnt end that would point toward the disk they'd put in Tanya's shoe, like a compass. The stick spun to point northwest, vaguely in the direction of Eagle Tower.

Damien crouched down beside her, looking at the stick. "She's returning to the scene of the crime," he said in an ominous tone.

"Take over," she said, moving to get dressed herself. By the time she finished, the stick was still pointing the same way. "We're following."

She led the way while Damien held the slate table, balancing it carefully so the spell components didn't shift or fall out of the Circle. They paused in the dormitory building's doorway, looking out.

Outside, it was still snowing, though more gently than earlier in the day. The clouds had thinned enough to let in the light of the moon, but were still thick and low-hanging enough to reflect the lights from the ground back down. The University kept light-crystal lamps glowing around the outside of their buildings and along their cobbled pathways, lighting up the snow, refracting off the white flakes in the air, and then bouncing back down from the sky.

The world was aglow.

It was the kind of fairy-tale scene one could only experience within the cradle of a big city. In the wilderness, a cloudy night was the darkest black you would ever see.

Sebastien peered at the snow with some worry. If too much snow got on the spell practice table, it could disrupt the chalk array symbol and glyphs. And, while they may not need the spell to find Tanya at all, because her footsteps were very apparent in the snow, their own footsteps would be equally noticeable if she came back the same way.

She turned around. "We can't go out this door. We have to circle the building. Hurry!" She motioned for Damien to drop the spell, then grabbed the bone disk, slightly burnt stick, and the lantern off the folding table, tucking them away.

A couple of minutes of tromping through knee-deep snow later, they made it back around to the north side of the dorms, but stayed away from the lights of the building so that their trail wouldn't be so obvious to the naked eye.

They made it to Eagle Tower following Tanya's trail from fifty meters to the side, but, contrary to their expectation, the trail didn't lead to the front door.

In fact, it bypassed Eagle Tower entirely, continuing on past it.

Sebastien stopped Damien behind a tree, then quickly touched up the chalk spell array on the table and recast the sympathetic locating spell. "Just to make sure she isn't cleverer than we thought," she murmured. The twig pointed further to the northwest, the same direction in which Tanya's footsteps continued. "The Menagerie," she murmured.

"What could she be doing there?" Damien asked.

"I don't know, but it's a problem. There's only one gate accessible through the student tokens." The gates were warded, and would block anyone without a University token from passing.

He pursed his lips. "It'll set off alarms if we try to jump the fence, and one of the groundskeepers will come to investigate. There are too many valuable things inside the Menagerie for them to be lax about thieves. But if we go through the gate, they'll have a record of us entering right after her. If she does something like last time, we could be under suspicion."

"That too. But the more immediate problem is that I have to cover our tracks or she'll see she was being trailed when she comes back through the gate and there are suddenly two more fresh pairs of footsteps in the snow. We'll just have to hope she doesn't give anyone a reason to look at the records. If she does, we can give a different excuse for our presence. You said students come here to harvest moonbeams and fairy wings, right?"

"Hallucinogens? My father would—" He grimaced and shook his head, shuddering.

She took the slate and chalk from him, and when they had made their way closer, turned around and set up a gust spell, which was a simple thing that did nothing more than shove air through the Circle as fast as she could power it. She'd used the same spell in her escape from the University on the day that had started everything, but the spell was common enough that she wasn't worried about being recognized just for knowing it.

With sufficient force, she was able to blow up enough snow to cover their tracks, though the effort left her panting and sucked the little lantern flame completely cold with each burst. Luckily, the array on the bottom of the lantern allowed her to relight the wick with little effort. She was conscious of its light drawing attention to their position, and wished it had a way to darken or cover the glass. Damien was using his cloak to block the light, but it wasn't perfect.

Once they reached the gateway and Tanya's trail, they stepped exactly where she had, avoiding disturbing the snow until they found a good place to split away from her trail again. Sebastien thought the whole thing rather irritating. 'Would it have been too much to ask for Tanya to conduct her nefarious business at a more convenient time and location?' she seethed.

Any appreciation she had earlier felt for the outdoors was spoiled by the need to sneak through it. Her jacket was too thin, the knee-high snow fell into her boots and melted into her socks, and every accidental noise cut easily through the night air. With idle vindictiveness, Sebastien contemplated casting the only real curse she knew—a minor thing meant to make the victim attractive to flies and other biting bugs—on the threshold of Tanya's door.

Finally, they found Tanya standing on a small arched bridge over a half iced-over stream. She stood with a man whose back was turned to them, but who still seemed strangely familiar.

Damien and Sebastien crouched behind a group of dingleberry bushes to watch, ignoring their offensive smell.

Sebastien ran through her memories like a bloodhound, tracking down the one that had caused her sense of deja-vu.

'Munchworth.' He had been the professor to meet her and her father when they first came to Gilbratha. He had laughed at even the idea of sponsoring Siobhan through the University, which had likely been the catalyst for her father stealing the encrypted book out of spite. Munchworth had again almost stopped her from entering the University during the verbal examination, and would have, if not for Professor Lacer.

The realization was almost enough to make her breathe his name out loud. She recognized the way he was constantly moving some part of his body like a nervous jitter. 'I saw him here before. Weeks ago. And Tanya was here, too. I didn't see them together at the time, but is it possible they were meeting? Is this a weekly thing? Did they meet here last Thursday, too, after she blew up Eagle Tower, and I just missed it because I wasn't prepared?'

It didn't take Damien long to get his hearing spell ready, his hands cupped behind his ears and carefully angled toward their targets till he caught the sound.

"She's saying something about discretion," he murmured. "I think she didn't want to meet tonight." His eyes widened. "And he just said that if the worst should happen, he'll just tell people she's his mistress. Unless she gets caught, in which case she's his mistress who's blackmailing him."

Tanya's body language grew visibly agitated, the line of her mouth harsh as she responded.

Damien turned to Sebastien. "She didn't like that."

Sebastien nudged him. "Stay focused."

It took a few seconds for Damien to regain the right angles for his "ears" to catch their conversation. "…paranoia and trying to find an excuse to overstep their boundaries on sovereign land," he said, his voice taking on a caricature of Munchworth's tone. "We're sticking to the idea that the Crowns just don't like that the University is independent and want to 'investigate' the accident so they can get their men in where they don't belong. Again. No admission that any malfeasance occurred. We've got them blocked, and we'll keep them that way. Enough of the staff are on our side, and if it ever came to it, I think you'd find more than a few influential people want to limit the Crowns' power."

Damien switched to the stereotypical, sweetly high-pitched tone that men seemed to use whenever they were imitating women. "What about Westbay?" Damien's eyes widened, but he didn't lose focus this time. "If he mentions something to his Family about me being there…"

Munchworth waved his hands impatiently. "Proximity does not equal criminality. Especially because, as far as our faction is concerned, there was no criminality. As long as you avoid being caught in a situation with no deniability, we can deny and deflect. You should be focusing on finding her. There's a meeting soon, right?"

Tanya nodded silently.

"Here," Munchworth said, shoving something into Tanya's hands. "Go to the meeting. You might need coin to grease people's tongues if they're not interested in the goods."

She tucked what looked to be a full coin pouch away. "Our 'friends' might be reticent to just give away some of the stock."

Munchworth snorted. "Then remind them who they're dealing with. I want that book, Canelo. Spend what you need."

"We need to be discreet, too. I've heard…rumors. She already gave me a warning," Tanya said, absently touching her covered forearm. "I don't want to give her a reason to come after me in the middle of the night."

"Surely you don't believe that drivel? The lower city is made up of uneducated peasants with Wills so weak they'll be frightened of their own shadow. They make up stories to relieve the boredom and hopelessness of their existences. Perhaps your pedigree is showing through," he said with a sneer.

Tanya didn't respond to the scathing insult, even though Sebastien felt insulted by proxy.

"Find out what her connection is to those upstarts. It is your job to bring me solutions, Canelo. If you cannot do that, I may start to regret our arrangement."

"Don't underestimate me," she said.

He chuckled. "You'll have your assignment change next term if you can provide results. And a recommendation from me to any Master who's willing to hire you, when the time comes."

Tanya snorted. "When the time comes, I'll be the one hiring people." Without waiting for him to respond, she trudged away.

Munchworth waited a couple of minutes and then left in a different direction, muttering ungraciously to himself.

Damien and Sebastien stayed hidden until they were sure they wouldn't be discovered, then began to retrace their own steps. Just in case, Sebastien used the gust spell to erase large sections of their trail.

"That man was a professor, right? Who were they talking about? I mean, obviously the Raven Queen, but the rest?" Damien whispered as they walked between the trees, the dorms visible in the distance. "Their 'friends,' and the 'upstarts?' What meeting?"

'Probably the Morrows and the Stags. I've no idea about the meeting, but hopefully we can find out by following her again.' Sebastien shook her head and said, "I don't know. But that wasn't just any professor. That was Munchworth. He teaches Titanic History and Lore, and…"

"He was involved in the theft," Damien finished for her. "The Raven Queen and her accomplice were here for a meeting with him when they stole the book." He was silent again for a while, then said, "I've been thinking. There seems to be a conflict between the University and the Crowns. Both of them are trying to find the book, right?" He looked to Sebastien.

Sebastien nodded.

"And neither of them wants the other to have it. And Munchworth mentioned that their 'faction' is keeping the coppers from investigating University matters. So maybe there's internal strife, too. Is it possible that the University, or some part of it at least, 'lost' the book on purpose to keep it out of someone else's hands?"

Sebastien kept trudging, her breath escaping past her scarf and hanging heavy in the cold air. She'd never considered that, but it did seem awfully coincidental that her father had managed to steal it in the first place. "It's possible," she said softly, blinking away the snowflakes melting on her eyelashes. "Would that be a simpler explanation than the alternative?"

Damien frowned. "That a powerful, free-casting user of blood magic stole it?"

'That a man with no magic at all managed to grab it in a moment of pique due to simple negligence on their part. That a young woman with only a few years of formal training managed to escape with it.' "Yes," she said aloud.

"I don't know."

'I don't know either,' she agreed silently. 'I don't even know what's inside the book, except for the amulet hanging around my neck right now. Could someone have sent Ennis to steal the book without him realizing it? Maybe they never planned on him giving the book to me and us splitting up.' She huffed into her scarf, her breath billowing out around the edges. 'Maybe I'm reading too much into it. This isn't the first time he's stolen something, after all, and with all their questioning and curse-breaking, the coppers don't seem to have found evidence of any nefarious influence on him.'

Damien was silent for a while. "We don't have all the variables to solve the problem yet," he finally said. "That's what Aberford Thorndyke would say. Though he'd probably have noticed about fifteen different clues by now, and would just need to put them all together in the big revelation."

"Well, this is the real world," she said wryly. "Aberford Thorndyke has the advantage of a writer slipping in little hints, arranging 'coincidences' in his favor, and making sure he has all the opportunities he needs to tie everything up nicely. His whole life is full of contrived plot devices. In addition, there's some hindsight bias at work. Once we know the answer, it seems like something a genius could have deduced, but in some of those stories, if you put down the book just before Thorndyke does his big revelation, and go back through from the beginning trying to figure it out yourself, you'll find that there is either missing information or other options that the evidence hasn't narrowed down yet. But once you know the correct answer, it's impossible to be truly objective about what the evidence points to. In some of the stories, Thorndyke's conclusion seems to be geared more toward shocking and awing the reader with his intelligence than pointing toward a realistic culprit. I think I could argue convincingly against him on several of the cases I've read."

Damien stopped to stare at her. "Really?"

"Of course." She started to go into greater detail, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"No. I mean, you…you've, in your head, come up with arguments about who's the real culprit. Which you would argue with Aberford Thorndyke about."

Sebastien stared back at him, one eyebrow raised. "Well, if he's wrong, he could be ruining someone's life while letting the real guilty party go free."

Damien stared at her for another few seconds, then clamped his hands over his mouth to stifle hysterical laughter.

Sebastien had to half-drag him back into the dorms to keep him from collapsing in the snow. 'Obviously the stress is getting to him.'

Chapter 65 - A Convenient Concoction

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 26, Saturday 7:00 a.m.

Tanya did nothing suspicious on Friday, even in the dueling club meeting that Damien sat in on.

The weekend seemed the most likely time for the meeting Munchworth had mentioned, and while the three of them couldn't keep watch on Tanya for literally all the hours of the day, they could try.

Sebastien, however, wasn't willing to sacrifice her normal weekend activities just to spy on Tanya. She needed the gold that brewing for the Verdant Stag gave her, and she planned to search for the components she would need to cast the sleep-transferring spell. Even one week lost was a week that Eagle Tower was closer to being rebuilt, a week more of wasting time and energy scrabbling to keep up while struggling to get enough rest, a week closer to the kind of strain that would mean more than a few days recovery time. And a week more interest owed to the Verdant Stag.

Sebastien refused to let Tanya make things worse, not when she was so close to a solution.

Both Newton and Damien would remain behind, but she would take the linked bone disk with her when she left.

Damien argued against that, and while she agreed that it would have been better if they could both locate Tanya magically, he had the advantage of actually being able to follow Tanya physically. He also had Newton to help, and as big as the University grounds were, there were only so many places she could go. Out in the city, she could disappear easily.

Plus, Damien was in Divination class. If any of them could find her without the tracking disk, it should be him.

Sebastien didn't necessarily expect Tanya to leave, but since Sebastien had to, this was the most logical way to handle it. She needed the disk more.

And she was honest with herself—if not with Damien—that she also felt uncomfortable giving up the control the linked disk provided. It was illogical, but she couldn't shake the fear that he might learn something very bad in her absence if she wasn't there to supervise.

'If Tanya comes into the city, I'll be able to track her to the Morrows' hideout,' she consoled herself, ignoring Damien's frustration. 'Damien doesn't actually need to be there.' She would search for Tanya every hour the other woman was out of her sight, and move to track her down immediately if the stick pointed in an unexpected direction. If something went wrong, Damien or Newton could alert her by breaking one of the bracelets she'd given them.

On Saturday, Sebastien went to the library to find healing and binding spells that she could practice, ideally ones that were alchemy-based so she could also get paid for them. The revivifying potions were close to healing magic, but they did not have the same purpose as the spell she was developing, and she wasn't comfortable relying on them as her only form of practice. What she needed was closer to the skin-knitting salve, but stronger.

While the library was absolutely filled with scrolls, books, and other information-recording media, much of the most useful information was not available on the first floor. Of what was available, many of the spells required more energy than she could channel or components she couldn't easily access.

'Call it paranoia, but there must be a conspiracy to keep knowledge out of the hands of those the University doesn't trust. If, even after graduating with an Apprentice certification, a thaumaturge has had no access to more powerful or dangerous magic, not only does it reduce their threat level if they ever turn against the powers that be, but it also keeps them from channeling the kind of difficult, powerful magic that would keep their Wills growing to the level of a Grandmaster or Archmage. Without challenge they will stagnate, remaining easy to control.' Simply increasing the intensity of a spell's output had diminishing returns, just as muscle growth would plateau if someone only did the same exercises over and over. To grow, the Will needed to be stressed in new, interesting ways, but many thaumaturges spent their lives casting the same few spells, or variations thereof.

Generalized healing potions were both difficult to make and very expensive, and in most cases, unnecessary. If Sebastien were stabbed somewhere that wasn't immediately life-threatening, why use a forty-gold healing potion when she could use a six-gold blood clotter along with a five-gold revivifying potion and a six-gold muscle regenerator, then top it off with stitches and a bit of skin-knitting salve for less than another three gold? By using a solution specific to the problem, she could save about twenty gold, and even more at the Verdant Stag's prices.

General healing potions were good for things that were difficult to diagnose, when you didn't know what kind of ailment or injury you might encounter and wanted to be prepared for everything, or in the rare case that other treatments couldn't cure your specific condition.

Or, if you were rich and just wanted to feel better right away.

A general healing potion could have saved Jameson, maybe even past the point that a blood clotter and flesh-fusing potion would have made no difference.

Sebastien found a minor healing potion that worked by boosting the body's natural response, lending some of its own power to the healing and taking the rest from the stored nutrients and energy of the injured person. The reference text said the potion would struggle to fix anything larger than a moderate wound, which it defined as a small dagger perforation in a non-critical place, a non-separated fracture in a single bone, or about six square inches of severe burn. Rather than a standard healing potion, it was better classified as a regeneration-boosting potion.

The potion took time to work, and it was apparently uncomfortable, but it could keep someone alive in an unexpected emergency, and she knew Oliver would be willing to stock the Verdant Stag and his enforcers with them. Fortunately, it was also rated at a low enough thaum requirement that she could actually brew it.

It was much harder to find a binding spell that she could practice. Binding magic, at its core, was simply an ongoing restriction or exchange that used a living creature.

The blood print vow was binding magic. It didn't force, but compelled, both parties to keep the agreement they'd made, in exchange for the same compliance from the other party. If either party broke the agreement, they would be punished with the release of their blood print to the other, for whatever use the wronged person desired. It was about as mutual as these types of spells could get, and even so, still blood magic.

Which should have been a hint to Sebastien how difficult it would be to find low-level binding concoctions for alchemy.

The Lino-Wharton messenger spell was binding magic. She gained control of the raven's movement and senses, for a nominal exchange of the vitality and intelligence of the Sacrificed raven. The exchange was unequal at heart, and the ravens were necessarily alive during the casting and could not choose to refuse, which was yet another reason why this type of magic was so likely to be restricted.

A witch's contract with their familiar was binding magic too. While the University didn't focus on teaching witchcraft, it did have quite a lot of information about the training a witch undertook before binding a familiar. A book titled Basic Contracts and Companions: Preparatory Exercises held a lot of short-term contract spells that could be used on summons, conjurations, and even mundane animals that Sebastien would have been strong enough to cast.

But she hesitated to take that route, because all of the resources for the training would have to come out of her own pocket, and she wasn't planning to delve further into the craft of the witch after she was proficient enough for the sleep-proxy spell. It seemed a waste, as much as any knowledge of magic could be a waste. By which she meant that really, she avoided that alternative mostly because she couldn't afford it.

There was a potion, the draught of borrowed gills, which allowed someone to breathe underwater by dropping a small, living fish into a mucusy concoction and then gulping the whole thing down whole. The fish was kept alive inside a bubble of potion within the stomach for a few minutes, during which time the fish's ability to filter oxygen from water was transferred to the drinker's lungs. The fish died quickly, both because of the incredible strain of its inherent property being sucked dry by a much larger being, and because the protective mucus around it eventually gave way to the stomach acid and dissolved the fish alive. To avoid drowning when this happened, the drinker needed to exhale as much water as possible and immediately return to breathing air.

She was surprised to find this openly available, because according to the supposed rules of what constituted blood magic, this should have been illegal. Blood magic included, among a host of other rules, spells that used a still-living being as a Sacrifice that would be harmed, or any magic that was unnecessarily cruel in execution or caused undue pain. Apparently, people didn't care enough about the well-being of a common fish to ban the spell. Of course, that didn't mean that she couldn't still be accused of blood magic for casting it if someone powerful decided they wanted a reason to convict her.

It would probably have worked as a training spell, but she doubted she could get Oliver or Katerin to agree to buy it in large quantities. Still, she wrote it down in her grimoire. Gilbratha's east side was sliced through by the Charybdis Gulf, after all. Perhaps there were uses for an inconvenient, dangerous water-breathing potion that someone would be willing to pay for.

Eventually, after spending half the day searching, she finally found a concoction she thought would work in Arcane Alchemy, Vol. III.

The group proprioception potion let everyone who drank from the same batch instinctively know where the others were for a period of time. It was a vague extra sense that worked even without being able to see the others of the group, like a person could tell where their elbow was, even in the dark. It was not blood magic, because it did this by dint of the main component—a magical sea lichen that connected and disconnected any singular part of itself at will, still somehow communicating with the greater whole to capture prey and then confine it until it starved to death. The lichen fed off the nutrients of its prey's decaying body, filtering them out of the water. In this case, the exchange given to the lichen for its properties was a simple sugar solution.

No one would complain if a lichen were used as a still-living component.

The potion would be useful for any stealth operations, but also in chaotic emergencies where one person getting separated and lost could be dangerous. Additionally, an instinctive knowledge of where everyone else in a combat team was would allow a small group to work much more effectively together. After all the trouble with the Morrows, she was sure Oliver would be interested in anything that could give his lesser numbers an advantage.

She checked to make sure Tanya was still studying with Newton on the library's second floor before she left, and then made her way down to Waterside Market.

She didn't have enough gold to buy all the components she would need for the sleep-deferring spell, but Katerin would reimburse her for any alchemy components used for the Verdant Stag, and Sebastien could at least compile a price list for the rest. While she was shopping, each clink of coins paid from her shrinking purse causing another pang of regret, she wondered about the wards around the Menagerie.

'If I could find a way to fundamentally change the nature of a harvested component, or disguise them within some sort of concealing ward, could I essentially have a free magical market at my fingertips? Surely I'm not the first to have come up with that idea, though. The University has likely already patched the kind of obvious security holes that an amateur like me can think of.'

She bought the more common ingredients first, most from the relatively cheaper market stalls that didn't ensure the same kind of preservation and freshness as the more expensive permanent storefronts. She went to one of the cheaper shops for the remaining components she needed for the new potions she planned to brew that weekend. They also had a couple of the less expensive items needed for the sleep-deferring spell.

The person working the counter directed her to a more elite alchemy shop a few blocks north of the market for the rarer components.

When Sebastien found it, she knew immediately that everything inside would be expensive. The interior was all marble floors and dark wooden shelving, polished to gleam in the light of the many spelled light crystals illuminating the shop. Components sat in the shelves, some behind protective glass or under preservative spells.

Sebastien found a small jar of water imbued with energy from the Plane of Radiance, a vial of moonseeds, and a tiny little jar holding the soporific pollen of an elcan iris. Each cost a handful of gold, but the shelves still lacked the most important components.

Sebastien went to the counter and waited for the tall, thin woman behind it to finish with her current customer.

"Welcome to my humble establishment. How can I help you, sir?" the woman asked in carefully cultured tones.

"Thank you. I'm looking for a sempervivum apricus, and if you have it, a mandrake root. Both still living, if possible. I didn't see them on the shelves. Do you stock those components?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, I believe we have both in the back. I'll need to see your thaumaturge certification, Journeyman or higher."

Sebastien stared at her. No one else, not even the shop she'd just come from, had done more than glance perfunctorily at her student token.

"If you're still an Apprentice, proof that you work for a certified Master is also acceptable," the woman said.

"This is the first time I've actually been asked for that," Sebastien said, giving her a sheepish smile. "I didn't bring any proof with me."

The woman's mouth tightened, but she nodded, and said with some pride, "This shop abides by the Crowns' law."

Sebastien didn't hide her frown. "Well, I suppose I cannot purchase them at the moment, then, but can I at least inspect them? I need to report back to my Master. If he wants them, he'll probably come back and buy them himself."

The woman hesitated, but Sebastien stared at her expectantly until she gave in.

The sempervivum apricus was a low-growing succulent plant from the Plane of Radiance. The shop owner brought out a small specimen growing in a pot. Its juicy leaves grew in complex rosettes, and tiny motes of light traveled beneath the semi-transparent skin along with the water and nutrients, barely bright enough to shine through the membrane.

It was one of the "low-light" lifeforms from the Plane of Radiance, which meant that, with the proper conditions, it could survive on the mundane plane, though it still preferred the bright sunlight and long days found farther south.

The mandrake root was similarly small, but its pot was much bigger, dwarfing the dark green, wrinkled leaves sprouting from the middle. The main part of the plant, the root, was covered safely by well-packed soil. A faint, unpleasant sound filtered through the dirt and pot, making both Sebastien and the shop owner wince.

"How much?" Sebastien asked.

"Eighteen gold for the sempervivum, forty-three for the mandrake."

Sebastien didn't have to fake the surprised rise of her eyebrows. "Really? My master said he got a sempervivum with two offshoots for fifteen gold last month. And he expected thirty for the mandrake. How old is it?"

"The mandrake is at least three years old. I assure you, my prices are fair. Supply for many components has fallen slightly, while demand, if anything, has risen. If your master isn't interested, I'm sure I'll find another buyer."

Sebastien shrugged. "Well, I'll tell him. Thank you."

With a slightly sour smile, the woman sent her off, returning the components to the back room.

Outside, Sebastien let out a slow breath, trying to force her shoulders to relax. 'That was close. If she'd known a mere student, uncertified, was trying to buy those components, would she have reported me?' She shuddered. 'Well, I didn't give her my name. But if that's how strict people are with the rarer, more powerful components, how am I going to get my hands on them, even if I do manage to save up the funds?'

On the way to Oliver's house, she considered where else she might acquire what she needed. 'Maybe I could ask Liza where she gets hers. Or, if that still doesn't work, maybe I could pay her a small fee to purchase them on my behalf.' The thought of how much the spell might end up costing her was depressing.

She was still scowling when she reached Oliver's house, and she slipped up the stairs to his study before the servants could notice and delay her.

She knocked, shuffling the packages in her arms. "It's me."

"Come in," Oliver called. He was sitting behind his desk with the ever-present pile of paperwork, sipping a large, steaming mug of coffee. He looked tired, but less exhausted than he had been in the aftermath of the Morrows' attack on his warehouse. He eyed her silently as she set up at the alchemy station against the wall. "What did you do with Lynwood?" he asked.

She paused in laying out the components of the minor healing potion. "Very fortuitously, Lynwood was interested in one of the only areas in which I have real expertise. His adopted nephew was having trouble sleeping. I acted mysterious, designed a spell to help the kid, and helped cast it for the first time to make sure it worked. Why, is he upset about something?"

"Very much the opposite," Oliver said slowly. "So much so, in fact, that he sent you a gift to show his appreciation for your work."

"Oh." Suddenly remembering the other gift, she pulled the ovaloid black star sapphire from her pocket. "Er, this is the tribute. I was hoping that maybe I could keep it, and be in your debt for the thirty percent cut? I'm in need of a Conduit, and this will help me to brew more doses at a time for the Verdant Stag. And avoid scrambling my brains into puree by accident," she added dryly. "When my other Conduits sell, they should make up for a good part of your cut."

"I think I can do you one better than that," Oliver said with a small smile. "The impact of your meeting on Lynwood was better than I expected. In fact, he's been increasingly accommodating in general. He was very insistent that I pass along his message of gratitude and friendship toward you along with the gift." He pulled a small box out of one of the lower drawers on his desk.

Sebastien approached the desk, both curious and bemused. "I tried to be mysterious, like I said, and I kept the anti-divination ward up to keep them from looking at or thinking too hard about me—I didn't want them to be too observant and see through the facade—but I didn't actually do anything very impressive."

Oliver opened the box, revealing the two tiny mottled eggs sitting on velvet within. "Pixie eggs," he said.

Sebastien's eyes widened.

He nodded, a wide, predatory smile slowly stretching across his face. "Unfertilized, but still fresh. Few in this city but Lynwood could get their hands on such a thing. Your 'unimpressive' act earned an unasked-for bonus of approximately four hundred gold. It should cover my thirty percent cut of both this and the worth of your new gem and still leave, minimum, a few dozen gold for you."

She took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding, sending a flush to her cheeks.

"We'll need to appraise the gem, of course, but if I can find the right buyer for these, it could even be seventy or eighty gold coming your way. I'm thinking of approaching Liza first. She's a valuable contact that I want to cultivate, but mostly it would feel good to pry some of my gold back out of her greedy fingers."

Sebastien grinned back. "That would be a boon from the fates themselves. Perhaps I could get some of the payment directly, rather than toward my debt? I'm working on a…special project, and some of the components are quite expensive."

"Does that project have anything to do with the new components on the alchemy table? I recognize a couple that are generally used in regeneration spells."

"Well, yes. I need practice with healing magic, and I thought you could use a cheap, general-purpose wound healing potion. Your enforcers could carry it, and maybe some of the wealthier people in your territory could afford to buy it, too. I've also got the recipe and components for another potion I thought you might find useful."

Oliver was curious, and after she explained the potions to him, they haggled a bit over how much the Verdant Stag would pay her to brew them.

As she returned to the alchemy station to get started, suppressing her smile of triumph, she asked, "I need a couple components that I can't get without a University certification. Do you think Liza might know a place that doesn't ask too many questions?"

Oliver gave her a wry look. "Most certainly. From my limited experience, you can buy almost anything in the Night Market. You might pay a premium for the lack of questions, but as long as you have the gold and you aren't silly enough to get yourself stabbed and stripped of your valuables in a dark alley, that will be the place to go. Many of the shops require passwords or recommendations from a trusted customer, though. Ask Liza about it, but don't pay her for the information."

Satisfied that her problems were being shot down one by one, she searched for Tanya's direction—the magical compass pointed north to the University—and then fell into the process of brewing. The healing potion came first, because it was the most difficult, and she wanted to be fresh while casting to avoid mistakes. It was a bastard cousin to the types of healing potions that could regrow a chopped-off finger or refresh burnt and blistered skin, but it still took more power than her old Conduit could have channeled, and she felt her Will stretching to its limits.

An hour and a half later, she carefully portioned the regeneration-boosting potion into two small vials, feeling that foggy fatigue that came from concentrating hard for long periods of time. Two doses were so little that she had to be careful not to let the brazier beneath her cauldron burn too high in case she evaporated all the water and burnt the potion to the bottom of the cauldron, but it was almost more than she could handle.

It also made her more money in the same amount of time than any of the other concoctions she'd made.

Next, after repeating her search for Tanya, she moved on to the group proprioception potion. Sebastien took her time reviewing the steps and the proper thoughts that would focus her Will for this type of magic, since it was well outside of her prior experience. After taking some time to rest, she started brewing, again a smaller batch than normal, only three doses, but this time because she was uncertain how efficient her Will would be at channeling the magic.

'I don't really understand proprioception, and it's hard to imagine gaining an entirely new sense. Maybe if I could test out a batch for myself, I'd understand well enough to make it better the next time.'

This potion had a short shelf-life, so she couldn't make it in bulk and just let the Stags stock up on it. But that was okay, because she didn't have the time or Will capacity to make it in bulk anyway.

She was starting to tire by the time she finished with that, so she made a batch of skin-knitting salve to be sold in the Verdant Stag's alchemy shop. By then, the sun had gone down and the chill from outside was overwhelming even the roaring fireplace and the warmth from the brewing.

She ate dinner with Oliver, where he made her laugh so hard she almost choked on her food telling her a story about a childhood mission carried out with his older sister. They had banded together to get rid of a new governess whose ideas about the "proper behavior" for a young lady didn't agree with their own. He smiled fondly when he spoke of his sister, but didn't say where she was now, and never told stories about her as an adult.

Sebastien knew better than to ask.

After that, she went to the Silk Door, going through the transformation process from Sebastien to Siobhan in a way that still felt anything but routine and left her disoriented within her body for a few long minutes.

Siobhan's clothes still smelled faintly like the herbs and wax from the spell she'd cast on Millennium the week before, which she found soothing. 'No matter what body I wear, my mind and my magic are my own. My Will doesn't change.'

Siobhan hailed a cheap hackney and rode it to a corner a few blocks from Liza's house. She exited reluctantly into the cold, dirty streets to walk the rest of the way. 'Being cautious is more important than being comfortable,' she told herself, but it didn't make the trek any more pleasant.

She climbed the rickety metal staircase and used the lion-shaped door knocker, but no one answered.

Somewhat gingerly, eyeing the animated metal lion with distrust, she knocked again, but still no one answered. She was turning to leave, realizing with disappointment that Liza was either sleeping, ignoring her, or had gone out, when one of the bracelets on her wrist grew suddenly, uncomfortably cold.

She ripped it off hurriedly, worried that it would cold-burn her skin, then stared at the colored string wrapped around it.

This particular bracelet was linked to Damien.

Siobhan realized she hadn't divined Tanya's direction in the last couple of hours.

Fumbling with the need for haste, she crouched down at Liza's doorway and set up the spell, which was already drawn in thick brush lines on a piece of seaweed paper. The spell pulled harder on her Will than it ever had before, probably because of her distance from the target.

For the first time that day, the burnt stick pointed in a different direction than north toward the University.

Siobhan stared at it for a few seconds before letting out a huge, disappointed sigh. Once the spell components had been safely stowed in her satchel, she headed out on a path to intercept her prey. 'Curling up in my warm bed with a book is not in my cards tonight, apparently. This had better be good, Tanya.'

Chapter 66 - An Interview

Siobhan

Month 12, Day 26, Saturday 7:15 p.m.

Siobhan only knew Tanya's direction relative to her, not the other woman's actual location.

After walking a few blocks away from Liza's house, she hailed a shoddy, two-wheeled carriage—one where the driver didn't sit underneath the fabric roof with her—and gave him directions.

She shoved her star sapphire Conduit into the lip of her boot, against her skin, to free up both her hands, ensuring the movement of the rickety carriage didn't fatally disrupt her casting. The Conduit borrowed from Professor Lacer was at the bottom of her bag, since even though it technically could be connected to Sebastien, she didn't feel comfortable leaving it in her little closet at the Silk Door.

When the stick spun around sharply, reversing direction just as they passed an intersecting street, she knew she was close. Siobhan got out, paying the driver with a silver crown from the purse Oliver had given her for investigating Tanya, and looked around.

The only people still outside were the homeless, huddled around bins of fire or bundled up in ramshackle shelters built of trash and scraps. Some of the houses leaked a bit of flickering candlelight through their poorly insulated cracks. Whatever streetlamps the city might have placed in this area had long been vandalized for the spelled light crystals within, which could be used personally, or more likely, sold for a few coins. Luckily, the moon was bright enough and high enough in the sky that she could still make her way, and her little lantern was ready if she needed it.

The scattered people still outside were mostly too miserable to bother paying attention, but those who did notice her eyed her with an assessing hunger that made it obvious she wasn't safe.

Her alchemy athame was in her pocket, but, while the stamina to run away had been beaten into her by Professor Fekten's Defense class, she had no skill with a blade, and the little athame would be unlikely to defend her if she was backed into a corner.

The problem with sorcery was that it didn't lend itself to instantaneous casting, for those without the skill to free-cast. Still, she had a dozen-plus useful spells already drawn out on seaweed paper in her bag, a handful of emergency potions, and, if things got truly desperate, the low light was the perfect setting to cast her shadow-familiar spell for the most dramatic effect.

After quickly checking Tanya's direction in the darkest corner she could find, Siobhan began to move. She kept her shoulders back and walked without hurry, turning her cloaked, shadowed face toward anyone who looked at her a little too long. Her confident, aggressive body language seemed to deter any inappropriate interest, but she wished she had some divination magic to push against so she could activate the ward in her back and go unnoticed. 'Hells, I would even appreciate Damien's company right now.'

This part of the Mires stunk worse than anywhere in Oliver's territory, and in the dark, she even stepped into a few patches of what she thought might be frozen human feces. 'The stench would be unbearable in the summer. And the threat of disease… No wonder the Verdant Stag needs so many healing concoctions.'

After a few minutes of searching, she came upon a bright jewel of a street amidst the squalor.

It wasn't rich—or even clean—like the northern parts of the city, or the Lilies where all the Crown Families lived. It wasn't even particularly bright. Its light came from open fires, lanterns, and a few spelled crystals mounted above the doors of the shops. But it was still awake and alive, even this far into the Mires after dark.

Siobhan looked around greedily, noting the riot of things for sale among the small, wheeled stalls and in the grubby windows of the shops: everything from questionable "meat" pies and alcohol to dried chameleon skins to a tiny, still-living squid in a glass jar. 'Spell components. This is the Night Market,' she thought with awe.

She gave her head a quick shake, reminding herself that she wasn't here to sightsee or shop. She was following Tanya Canelo. 'What reason could she have for coming here? Is she buying restricted components? Or perhaps it acts as a discreet meeting place with the Morrows? Munchworth did mention a meeting.' Siobhan quickened her pace a little, scanning the hectic street for the other sorcerer.

Not long after, she caught the quick flash of Tanya's short blonde hair as the woman turned a corner ahead of her.

Siobhan followed with the best combination of stealth and speed she could manage, keeping her hooded face just a little turned away, only watching Tanya out of the corner of her eye just in case her target looked back to see if anyone was watching her.

Tanya led Siobhan to the edge of the Night Market, where the lights and people grew sparser. When her pace began to slow, Siobhan ducked into the shadow of a doorway just before Tanya looked around apprehensively.

The woman pulled up her cloak, covering her head and short blonde hair, then withdrew something large and dark from her pocket and held it up to her face. After a few adjusting movements under her hood, Tanya stepped forward and knocked a pattern against a nondescript door.

Siobhan memorized the knocking pattern immediately.

After a few seconds, a little slot in the door that Siobhan hadn't noticed slid open at eye-height. Someone inside said something, Tanya replied, and the slot closed.

The door opened, allowing Tanya to slip inside.

Siobhan cursed internally. She'd been too far away to hear what they said, which could have been a simple greeting, but more likely was some sort of password.

After a few seconds of searching for any watchful eyes, she slipped closer, hiding in a nearby alcove that had been formed from a poorly planned addition to an existing building. It provided just enough space for her to tuck away in the darkness, not quite perfectly, but hopefully enough, if she was careful not to move.

Over the next twenty minutes, ten more people came to the door, answered one of three phrases from the doorman with one of three responses, and were let inside. Each of them were wearing hoods, making their features impossible to see. Siobhan strained to memorize their voices, but, with a sample only the length of a sentence, she was skeptical how well she could reproduce any of them.

When a few minutes had passed with no more arrivals, Siobhan considered her next move. 'Tanya is inside. I need to see what she's doing. But even if I can get through the door, is it safe for me to do so? What if someone within notices that they don't recognize me? What if they attack? Should I call Oliver as backup? But even if I alert him through the ward bracelet, how would he know where to find me?' Without more information about what was going on inside, what dangers she might face, she couldn't make a plan. 'But I can't just wait out here when I know something is happening inside.'

She circled the building, searching for any other possible entry points, but the windows had all been bricked over, and the back door was locked with a heavy iron contraption, with bars inserted onto the wall on either side to withstand attempts at forceful entry. They had been careful.

She briefly stepped back far enough to see the roof, searching for a chimney. She had the wild idea that maybe she could climb onto the roof and listen in through the chimney if the fire below wasn't lit. But the brick stack was smoking, and there were no good places to haul herself up onto the roof, which, on second inspection, was too steep to try and climb considering the snow and ice melted into the wooden shingles. She imagined herself slipping and falling to the street, cracking her skull open against the cobblestones, shuddered, and vetoed that plan.

Siobhan resisted the urge to pace, her fingers flexing and reaching for her Conduit unconsciously, only to remember she wasn't keeping either of them in her pocket.

Finally, she stopped, pulled the feathered hair ornaments Oliver had bought her for her meeting with Lord Lynwood out of one of her pockets, and slipped them on under her hood. 'Best to differentiate my criminal persona as much as possible,' she thought.

Then she walked around to the front of the building, and with her heart pounding and her head held high, she knocked on the front door.

The slot resolved from the wood—some kind of magic—and then slid open, revealing a man's eyes and bushy eyebrows on the other side. He squinted at her, shifting a little to let some of the light behind him spill onto her face, which she tried to keep as concealed as possible within the shadow of her hood.

"What kind of demon feasts on the corpse of a thought?" he asked.

"Speak not of such things lest they speak of you," she replied.

His eyes narrowed at her and he stared for a few long seconds. Too long. "This is a private club," he said finally, then shut the slot. Its edges melted back into the rest of the door, adding a certain finality to his statement.

Siobhan stared at the closed door for a few moments, the muscles in her shoulders and back straining with disbelief, dismay, and frustration. 'I'm sure I got the password right. Does he know everyone who enters? Are people scheduled to come at very specific times, and I'm off? Or… What was it that Tanya slid underneath her hood? What if it was a signal of some sort? A…mask?'

She turned to find someone walking toward her only a couple of meters away and almost jumped in fright.

She managed to avoid such an obvious tell, but her muscles clenched so hard it sent a spike of pain shooting up her back and into her skull.

The other person was hooded like the rest, but held a lantern in their hand that gave off enough light for Siobhan to see the mask beneath.

Siobhan stepped away from the door warily.

The masked person stared at her for a moment.

Siobhan tugged her hood further down and was already spinning away when Liza's familiar voice said, "Wait."

Siobhan wasn't so stupid as to blurt out Liza's name, but she did stare at her for far too long, mentally resolving the image of the cloaked, masked person in front of her with the sharp-tongued, gold-greedy sorcerer with a hidden core of kindness whose house she'd just come from.

Liza walked to the door, knocked, and when it opened, exchanged a different password phrase with the man on the other side. "I have invited a prospective new member for consideration," she added.

The man's eyes looked sideways toward Siobhan, and he nodded. "Wait here." He closed the slot again.

Liza pulled Siobhan to the side and walked to the edge of the block. She looked around suspiciously and then lowered her mask. "How did you learn about this meeting?"

"I overheard someone talking about it and followed them," Siobhan said honestly, though leaving out the most critical details.

Liza rolled her eyes with tangible irritation. "Do not mention that to anyone within," she said quickly.

"I thought this was a meeting for people aligned with the Morrows. I didn't expect to see you here…" Siobhan stared at the older woman suspiciously. 'Liza has no allegiance to Oliver. He was clear that her loyalty couldn't be bought when he first told me about her. But I hadn't thought she might be working with both sides.'

Liza snorted at her, the sound more angry than derisive. "I will work with whoever I choose, girl, and I will take no censure for it. But I have no particular truck with the Morrows. This is a meeting of thaumaturges that the official, legal factions might not approve of."

"Oh." Since Liza was exactly the kind of thaumaturge legal factions wouldn't approve of, her presence was ironically appropriate. For that matter, Siobhan herself also fit the conditions.

"My recommendation can get you in the door, but if you want to become a member, you will need to pass the inspection. A prognos examines new members for duplicity, and there is a blood print vow not to reveal the important details of the meeting except to those you invite as prospective new members, and also not to talk about it in general with those you think might be a danger to it. Do not embarrass me. No acting awed, prying too much at the other members, or asking too many questions. In fact, if you can manage it, keep your mouth shut entirely." Liza looked to either side of Siobhan's face, at the red and black raven feathers growing out from behind her ears and around her temples. "Nice touch."

Siobhan grazed them with her fingertips self-consciously. "Thank you."

"I expect a fee for acting as the intermediary here," Liza added, slipping her mask back on and turning to walk toward the door.

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. She thought quickly, then caught up with Liza and said, "While I appreciate your help, it's little effort on your part. Perhaps a favor, instead of the standard compensation?"

"You may have an interesting title, girl, but I don't see how anything you can do would be valuable to me." It was a hint that Liza knew Siobhan was the Raven Queen, but apparently didn't find that impressive, which made sense seeing as she'd cast magic with Siobhan and knew better than most what she was actually capable of.

"I have a specific favor in mind, actually, and it has little to do with my hair ornaments," Siobhan replied with a tiny smirk. "Oliver has recently come into some pixie eggs. Fresh."

Liza's eyes didn't widen behind the holes in her mask, but something about her gaze grew more piercing. "Fertilized?" she blurted.

"Unfertilized." Liza didn't seem too disappointed, so Siobhan continued. "Two eggs. He's planning to sell them to someone willing to pay a premium, but I can convince him to offer you the chance to make a deal, first."

"You have that kind of influence?"

Siobhan shrugged with careful nonchalance. "It's just a meeting. If the both of you can't come to an agreement, that's not my fault. I think he can do that much for me. I'm the reason he has the eggs in the first place, after all."

Liza's head turned toward Siobhan fully at that, but they were back in front of the guarded building, and the door opened slightly behind them, spilling light into the street. They both turned and moved quickly inside, the chance for further conversation gone.

The door guard was standing with two other people, one of them a prognos, as Liza had warned. All three wore masks—though the guard's covered only the lower half of his face—and of course the mask of the prognos had a single large eye hole in the middle of their forehead.

The prognos's round eye was rimmed with kohl, and judging by the shape of their body, Siobhan thought her a woman.

The third person was a nondescript man around Siobhan's height. "Please, come with us," he said with an understated sweep of his arm. The hallway was narrow, so Siobhan and the man walked in front, with the prognos following behind.

Liza turned the other direction, leaving Siobhan to her fate.

As they walked, Siobhan felt the barest niggle of prying eyes and searching tendrils against her planar divination-diverting ward. Her thoughts turned to the soothing, chill smoothness of the black Conduit against her leg, but she didn't feed any extra power to the ward. 'It must be the prognos. It's subtle enough. Much less than the pressure of getting close to Gera. I wonder if what I feel could simply be this woman's natural talent for divination? Prognos notice and correlate details in a way entirely beyond most humans, but it doesn't mean she's casting a spell. In any case, no need to overreact. The ward can deal with this much all on its own, and I don't want to be seen as aggressive in the midst of a building full of suspicious, likely powerful thaumaturges. I just hope their questions aren't too invasive and their oath not too restrictive.'

The man opened a door into a small room, and Siobhan entered ahead of them both at another wave of his hand, her eyes flicking about for danger, taking in every nondescript detail about the room and her escorts' body language. There was a table in the center, a wooden chest in the corner, and a chalk spell array already drawn on the floor, covering most of the room.

Siobhan was pretty sure it was a ward against lies. Many of the stronger wards against untruth were illegal, because taking away the free will of a human was one of the definitions of blood magic. 'But that's not likely to deter these people.'

Her heart was beating too fast, and, despite the chill that had seeped into the building, she felt the prickle of sweat on her back. 'Why do I keep getting myself into situations like this? I must have brain damage. If this goes horribly wrong, will Liza hear me if I scream? Would she help?'

The man motioned for Siobhan to sit at the table, which had a chair on either end, then moved to the chest, where he drew out a couple of components and placed them in the spell array on the floor.

The prognos woman sat across from Siobhan while the man began to cast the ward against untruth.

Siobhan felt the strange tension in the air trying to seep under her skin, into her ears, and past her eyes. Into her brain. She shuddered violently.

"It can be unsettling," the man said quickly. "Just try to relax. It's easier if you don't try to fight it, and it'll be over after a few questions."

That was not reassuring in the least.

The prognos pulled out two pouches. She poured a Circle of pale, dull sand onto the table with one hand, skillfully adding a few simple glyphs that Siobhan vaguely recognized as directional focusers for spells that acted in some way outside of the bounds of the Circle.

In this case, based on the fact that obviously the woman was about to do a divination, it was focusing a direction for the suffused input of all the little details of sound, air pressure, and light that would be the clues it used to make deductions. Non-sympathetic divination—divination for extrapolating information based on data input rather than something like dowsing for a sympathetically connected item—was difficult, dangerous, and could give subtly or even blatantly incorrect results.

The woman unlaced the mouth of the second pouch and began to shake it with a certain slow rhythm, staring at Siobhan. Whatever was inside clacked around like dull stones.

Siobhan felt the draw on the magic of the disks in her back increase from a trickle into a growing stream. Together with the discomfort of the ward against untruth, she was profoundly on edge.

Her back had grown sweaty and was prickling, though her fingers were chilled and stiff. She curled them tight around the wooden arms of the chair, then very consciously released them and let her hands rest naturally. She stared back into the single, large eye of the prognos unblinkingly, letting her mind fall into that familiar focused state that prefaced casting magic.

"Try to answer with a simple yes or no. Are you a member of law enforcement, public or private, or employed by any member of law enforcement?" the woman asked.

"No," Siobhan said.

The woman shook the pouch one last time and then upended it over the middle of the sand Circle on the table. Bones spilled out. The pull on Siobhan's ward spiked sharply.

The bones could almost have been chicken leg bones, but they weren't shaped quite right for that.

'Finger bones,' Siobhan realized. 'Humanoid. Probably human. All a little different, and more than ten of them.' On closer inspection, she saw that runes were carved into every inch of their surfaces.

The woman looked down at them, her eyes flicking over the patterns they'd made. The skin above her eye contracted in what was probably a frown underneath her mask. She looked up to Siobhan, and then quickly back down. "Let's try that again. Maybe a little more simply this time."

She gathered up all the bones, put them back in the bag, and began the slow rhythmic shaking again. She stared at Siobhan even more intently this time.

Siobhan stared back, feeling the ward kick in again. She instinctively renewed the supply of blood and as much of her Will as it needed to boost its function. The prying, peeping, invasive sensation made her want to lunge across the table and rake her fingers across that eye. She wouldn't mind sending a slicing spell or two at the man powering the room-sized ward, either. 'Reacting like that would be a mistake,' she warned herself.

This time, the woman asked, "Are you a copper employed by Gilbratha?"

"No," Siobhan responded again.

The woman threw the bones again.

Siobhan gritted her teeth at the pull on her ward as the bones fell, clattered together, and settled. She thought one of her eyes might have twitched involuntarily.

The woman stared at the bones once more. She looked to the man, then to Siobhan, then back to the bones.

"Something wrong?" he asked, a slight edge to his voice. "Do I need to call Peters?"

The woman shook her head quickly. "No. I'm just…not getting anything. It's contradictory, or maybe like the bones are answering an entirely different question than the one I thought I asked." She stared at them a while longer, looked up to Siobhan again, and then quickly gathered up the bones. "Let's try something else. Something less reliant on interpretation."

She took out another pouch, this one small, and shook three many-sided dice into one hand. She closed her fist around them and asked, "Are you a copper?"

"No," Siobhan said. She was beginning to wonder if maybe she should let the divination attempts through, but the ward worked without her conscious input, and pouring more power into it was instant and instinctive, like how she might jerk away from a hot poker before even realizing she was being burned. Even if she wanted to let the divination through and allow herself to be bare, seen by the eye and touched in places that should have been dark and secret, the prognos would have to overpower the ward, still.

The woman blew on the dice, and, with an arching twist of her hand, let them tumble onto the table.

She paled.

"What is it?" the man asked, his voice strained with agitation.

The woman swallowed, staring at the dice, all three of which had fallen on the same symbol. "I am prying into secrets beyond my ken. The dice give a warning to look away."

Siobhan sincerely doubted the woman was correctly interpreting that. It seemed most likely to her that the spell was trying to explain that it had been diverted by her ward, turned away impotently.

"Whether or not she's a copper is secret knowledge?" the man asked.

Siobhan could see his hand sneaking into his pocket, and feel the compulsion against untruth waver as his focus faltered. "Be careful," she snapped, turning to him with a frown.

He drew out a wand, pointing it toward her, and the compulsion wavered even more violently.

"You're about to lose control of your spell," Siobhan said slowly and clearly. "Either focus, or let it drop. I will not be in the range of backlash if something goes wrong due to your gross incompetence."

The man paled, but his focus on the spell solidified rather than releasing the magic. "What are you doing? Why isn't the divination working?"

Siobhan turned back to the woman across the table from her, raising her empty hands a little to show that she wasn't a threat. She couldn't lie, but that didn't mean she had to answer his questions exactly as they were asked, either. "It's not the question that's the problem. It's me. I doubt you have access to any type of divination that will work against me. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Won't work? She's a prognos," the man said incredulously, but neither of them responded to him with even a glance.

As if in answer, Siobhan slowly raised her hands even further, to the sides of her hood, and drew it back, revealing the feathers sprouting from her scalp. She could only hope that some rumor of the Raven Queen had reached these rogue thaumaturges, and that they were as inclined to believe them as Lynwood had been.

The woman stared at her, her eye focused on Siobhan's darker ones, only flicking to the feathers. "Do you…" She swallowed. "Do they call you the Raven Queen, my lady?"

The man sucked in a breath.

Siobhan stared back for a few seconds too long, and the prognos looked away.

The man half-lowered the battle wand, then raised it again, as if he wasn't sure where to point it. The ward spell was wavering again.

"Some may call me that," Siobhan admitted. She turned to look at the man. "Please don't be alarmed. I mean you no harm. That will not stop me if you attack first, though."

The prognos turned back to meet Siobhan's gaze. She swallowed. "Put the wand down, Gerry," she said, her voice hard. "I apologize," she said to Siobhan. "We did not know."

'My reputation must really be getting out of hand if this is how they react. I wonder if Lynwood or one of his people has been spreading tales about me.' Siobhan realized only then that she'd stood at some point and was looming over the woman. She sat down again slowly. "I did not tell you," she said, trying to sound agreeable. "So there is no way you could have known. Now, we are at an impasse. I cannot pass your test if you cannot ask these questions, and yet, I would like to join the meeting before it ends." It was true. 'Who knows what Tanya is doing or talking about with everyone else while I'm stuck here?'

"I—" The woman's voice broke, and she swallowed hard. "I ask only for your promise of truthfulness, Queen of Ravens. That will be more than enough proof for us."

"You have it," Siobhan said after a moment of thought. 'It's not a lie, because I do plan to be truthful as long as they don't ask anything too prying, and I can't be sure yet that they will.'

To her surprise, at a sharp look from the prognos, the man released the spell to stop her from lying.

'Are you serious right now?' Siobhan thought incredulously. 'They're just going to take my word for it? Maybe they're worried that the ward will insult me, since I've already given my word. If so, my reputation is far more honorable than I am.'

"Do you hold any animosity toward this group or its members?"

Siobhan gave her a small, ironic smile. "Not toward the group. I have somewhat…undecided affiliations toward the individual members. But I have no plans to cause trouble that would spill over to affect the whole."

"Has one of us offended you?" the woman asked, her voice a half-whisper.

"One of you has caused me some trouble, but also saved me some trouble, and I'm positively disposed toward at least one other member. As I said, I am not here to bring trouble. I'm here for the meeting."

The woman ran through a series of other, similar questions, and Siobhan answered vaguely but truthfully.

Less than two minutes later, the interview was finished, they'd given her a nondescript mask to conceal her identity, and the man was motioning for her to precede him back down the hallway toward the main meeting room.

Siobhan stopped in the doorway of the interview room. "I hope this doesn't need to be said aloud, but I will do so anyway. I expect that neither of you will reveal my identity to anyone else. That includes gossip about my appearance or abilities, or even that I was here tonight. I value my privacy just as much as anyone else wearing a mask here."

They both agreed readily, assuring her they wouldn't leak any information about her.

'Hopefully they keep their word. I don't want Tanya getting spooked because the Raven Queen goes to her secret meetings. By all the greater hells, what a mess.'

Chapter 67 - Secret Thaumaturge Meeting

Siobhan

Month 12, Day 26, Saturday 7:55 p.m.

As she walked down the hall with Gerry, Siobhan reached up to adjust her new, nondescript mask. "So how do these meetings work? Give me an overview of the relevant information."

He cleared his throat nervously. "Identities are private, obviously. Though some do more to protect theirs than others, we don't allow unmasking or the use of any moniker besides a codename, which you can choose to provide to the other members or not. There is an arbiter who helps to control the flow of the meeting. He's the one you'll see sitting at the big table. We offer item appraisal, for a fee, and all exchanges of both material goods and information must be completed here. We mediate most exchanges to ensure that members are not cheated, stolen from, or attacked within these walls. There is…a small premium on all exchanges." He looked to Siobhan as if worried that she would object to this.

'And that appraisal fee and "small premium" is what makes it worth it for them to set this up in the first place.' She didn't respond aloud.

They both stopped walking as the hallway opened up onto a large room filled with a semicircle of chairs arranged in a vaguely horseshoe-shaped arc. The open end was occupied by the arbiter, sitting behind a large table.

"Umm, the first part of the meeting is for those who have something to sell," her escort continued in a low voice. "After that, we open the floor to requests. Then there's an opportunity for open exchange of information. That's the end of the official meeting, and any parties who have a transaction to complete will stay afterward to do so under our surveillance. We send members out at staggered times, in different directions. And, umm, I'm sure you won't have a problem with being followed, but generally we expect all members to take a different route to the meeting place every time."

His voice had been low, but a few of the members had noticed the two of them, and their turned heads were drawing more attention. There were a few dozen people.

'How many unlicensed thaumaturges are there in Gilbratha? Of course, some of these people could very well have licenses, or have gone to the University for a term or two to learn the basics.' In many ways, it seemed foolish for the University and Crowns to make it so hard for people to learn magic the official way. Their exclusivity could be creating rogue elements. Kicking early-term students out for underperformance was the same—counterproductive, and maybe even dangerous.

If someone like Oliver was in charge, he would take all prospective students who proved themselves worthy, and for those who couldn't afford it, there would be loans that kept them in debt for a good portion of the remainder of their lives—and working in jobs he needed—ensuring the return on his investment into their education. People who flunked out would be put into jobs that suited their limited abilities, keeping them useful and integrated into the system, too.

'Do the coppers know about organizations like this? They must.' It wouldn't surprise Siobhan if someone in a position of power was benefiting from allowing it, either directly by secretly running the whole thing, or indirectly through the bribes they received to ignore it.

Siobhan drew her cloak down farther over her masked face. She walked toward the group with no further hesitation and took an empty seat at the end farthest from the arbiter.

People turned to look as she passed by and sat down. The meeting had already started. She was late.

There were a handful of other people standing at the corners of the room, and several doors opened up off the sides, leading into small adjoining rooms. 'Guards, probably both to protect the members and protect against them. And I'd bet those small rooms are to handle the exchanges in a slightly more private way after the meeting is over.'

Liza was there, slouched nonchalantly on her chair, giving off a sense of irritated superiority even with her features covered. Siobhan recognized her mostly from the fact that she was the only one other than the arbiter seated at an individual table. It was the unfolding cube artifact that Liza had termed a "portable office."

Some of the other members were obviously non-human, and for the more distinctive of them, the masks they wore might not have actually done much to protect their identities.

Siobhan found Tanya easily enough.

Tanya didn't do anything in particular to give herself away, but Siobhan was intimately familiar with the other girl's boots—the same ones she had sliced open to put the tracker in the heel. 'Shoes are one of those things people don't think about disguising. Luckily I don't have that problem, because Sebastien's shoes are too big for Siobhan's feet.'

The man who'd helped interview her hurried over and whispered something into the arbiter's ear, who then said, "A new member. Welcome. Let us continue, then."

One of the members had been in the middle of his offering, and leaned forward immediately. "This design can keep minor and common spirits confined. It will resist attempts at dissipation, and my experiments showed that only the weakest spirits were able to escape in that manner. It's particularly useful against spirits with more ordered natures, but none of the four wild spirits I tested escaped, despite one being unusually clever."

A man so short his feet dangled from his chair asked, "How much?"

"Forty-five gold," the first man responded, an obvious smile in his voice, "Or two hundred grams of shade dust."

"How about fifty grams of shade dust and a natural adder stone?" a woman offered.

The short man slumped back in discontent, not deigning to counter-offer.

The seller looked around to see if anyone else was going to speak up, but no one did. He seemed more than pleased when he said, "Deal."

The arbiter nodded and said, with a tone of boredom, "Noted."

The next member presented various rare components that Siobhan probably wouldn't have been able to buy at Waterside Market. They had restricted components that the Crowns allowed, but tracked from seller to buyer, entirely illegal components, and components that were simply rare and valuable. Human fingernails, overgrown to the point of curling. Various parts of a mermaid, which included the human-mimicking tentacles and organs from the main body, which she doubted the being could have lived without. The fangs of a rare flying snake that lived much closer to the equator, and other, equally strange offerings.

After that, someone offered to teach how to cast the mind-muddling jinx, which caused the victim trouble reading and comprehending. They suggested this could be used on people signing contracts, receipts, or other binding documents that would benefit from lack of attention. Several people took them up on the offer, despite the requested price of fifty gold.

'I'll be careful to take note if I ever have trouble concentrating on something someone wants me to sign,' Siobhan thought uneasily.

Next was something more innocuous. Lightweight cold box artifacts, meant to preserve food, potions, or ingredients, with a signature, secret upgrade that not only kept them cold, but also suppressed putrefaction and dehydration, like a counterfeit combination of a normal ice box and the evidence boxes the coppers used.

The prognos woman had come into the room and taken a seat against the far wall. The arbiter called her up to appraise the artifact. When she confirmed its quality, a handful of people put in orders for one of their own, including the arbiter himself, on behalf of the organization.

'This is profitable,' Siobhan thought. 'The lack of the thirty percent magic tax alone is a huge draw. It's the kind of thing the Verdant Stag might want to explore, once they're big enough to ensure the whole thing wouldn't spiral out of control and blow up in their faces like a poorly controlled fireball spell.'

People continued to offer and bid on things for sale for the next few minutes, but Tanya remained silent. Siobhan worried that whatever the other woman had come here for had already passed while she was stuck in the onboarding interview.

Finally, there was a longer pause than normal. The arbiter looked around. "Are there any more offers?"

When no one spoke up, the arbiter cleared his throat. "Then let us move on to the requests."

Tanya immediately became tense, her foot tapping nervously for a couple of seconds before falling still.

This time, people asked for what they needed, whether that be components, magical creations, or information. Someone even requested a bodyguard. They offered a price, and sometimes people who could fulfill the need haggled or bid against each other. Sometimes no one accepted the request.

Tanya was one of the first to speak up. "I'm offering one hundred gold, as well as three green beast cores with a combined energy value of ten million thaums, for useful information about the Raven Queen. I can split up the reward between multiple people, if more than one person has relevant knowledge."

Sebastien always found it hard to estimate the price of things in Gilbratha, but thought the beast cores, which were respectable in both color and energy value, were probably worth about half as much as the gold. Maybe less, because that energy value was split between three of them. Like celerium, prices dramatically increased with higher quality. These ones would allow someone with a twenty five hundred thaum capacity to cast for about an hour before the last beast core ran out of power and crumbled like an overworked Conduit.

She herself, with her much lower capacity, could use them for ten hours or so. The convenience made trying to purchase one from someone besides Tanya seem tempting, but even if she only wanted one with a total energy value of a million thaums, which would last her about an hour, she could do a lot of other things with the five gold that would cost. She could buy three non-magical reference books, a good dress with gloves and a hat, or food for two weeks with that same amount. And besides, her lantern, with its adjustable flame, still met her casting needs for the moment.

'Perhaps once I pay off my debt I can indulge in such luxuries.' Hiding a beast core in her boot, next to her sapphire Conduit, would mean she was never completely helpless.

In the silence after Tanya's request, some of the other members looked around, while a couple shifted uncomfortably. Finally, a man said, "If you want concrete information, not just rumors, that's going to be hard to come by. What little I know, at least, is common knowledge. She stole something from the University, she's powerful, a free-caster, and practices blood magic. If we get into rumors…she's a shape changer, and can travel through and command the shadows, which is why they're having such trouble catching her."

Siobhan nearly choked on her own saliva. 'What.'

Someone else said, "I have an investigator-adjutant contact. I can ask them for more information, for the right price. They're not directly on that case, though, so while I might get more details, they probably won't have access to any truly classified material."

Liza said nothing, her bored posture never changing. She didn't even look toward Siobhan.

Tanya leaned forward. "Does anyone have information about her connection to the Verdant Stag?"

There was silence again, and then someone shrugged. "I heard she might come if you make a pleasing enough offering. Maybe Lord Stag knows what she likes, or has some sort of agreement with her."

Someone else snorted. "Or maybe the Morrows just pissed her off somehow."

The man who'd offered the design of a spirit-trapping spell array said, "I could do a summoning ritual to connect the two of you. It would slightly skew both of your fates to make a meeting more likely."

A woman shook her head quickly. "I warn against that. Very iffy results. Even if that kind of compulsion would work on her, what kind of meeting? I certainly wouldn't want to run into the Raven Queen in a dark alley."

A man with horns curling out from under his mask said, "I agree. I have access to someone with relevant information about how to set up a meeting with her. Lord Lynwood did it. You'll need to prepare an offering for her in addition to my payment, though. I can give you an answer at our next meeting."

Siobhan resolved to ask Lynwood and his people not to go around spreading rumors about her.

Tanya hesitated, but steeled herself and nodded to the horned man. "Okay. I'll pay seventy gold and twenty beast cores to anyone who can confirm a meeting with her, along with details about this offering she requires."

"She'll choose the time and place of the meeting," the man said. "Is that okay?"

Tanya seemed supremely uncomfortable, but again she nodded.

The meeting moved on, and someone else asked for a recipe for a strong dissolving tincture. They offered either twenty gold in payment, or the exchange of a recipe for an all-purpose antidote, or a potion of night vision.

'A dissolving tincture? I have access to a recipe for a strong acid,' Siobhan realized. 'I could probably make money offering access to knowledge from the University library.' She didn't immediately jump to say she could fulfill the man's request, though. 'I have no idea who these people are. Someone might recognize the type of information I could sell and make connections. I need to wait until I have a better idea of what I've gotten into. As of right now, I still haven't done anything illegal. Technically.'

Those thoughts almost made her hesitate to speak her own request, but she pushed through. "I am looking for sempervivum apricus and mandrake root. Both still living."

A chubby man immediately raised his hand. "I have both. I'll sell them to you for forty-five gold, or an appropriate item in trade."

Some quick mental math told her that his prices were actually slightly higher than the component shop that had turned her away, if she took off the thirty percent tax the Crowns placed on all magical sales. "Do you have any need for regeneration potions?"

"Not healing?" he asked, hesitating. "Well, I suppose. I'll want them appraised, of course, but if they serve, I'll take six in exchange for the plants."

"Agreed," she said, smiling underneath her nondescript mask. Each potion took slightly over three gold to make, and she could make two in a couple of hours. She'd just saved herself twenty-six gold in exchange for a weekend of work.

As for her seller, a licensed shop would have sold each potion for about twenty gold. Even the Verdant Stag was going to sell them for over seven gold. So, unless he had an alchemist that was willing to sell to him at sub-market prices, he'd just agreed to a deal that left him anywhere from breaking even to making an extra seventy-five gold.

At the end of the meeting, the arbiter said, "We are also willing to purchase certain items. For the time being we are interested in communication or protective artifacts, elemental components, and celerium."

A few people offered to sell things to the arbiter, and when their haggling was done, the man spoke again, sounding as if he was lazily reciting a memorized spiel. "This may be a reminder for our old members, but be sure to watch for the signs about our next meeting. You can find the locations on the list pinned to the wall, there." He pointed to a piece of paper. "Memorize it, as well as the translations of meaning. This meeting is adjourned. Those who wish may exchange information freely amongst yourselves. If you have agreed to an exchange, please wait for one of us to mediate it."

'If people selling or buying information have an arbitrated trade, that means the meeting organizers get all that knowledge for free. Of course, people might decide not to allow the mediator, but without them they have no insurance that the information given is worth what was promised. That makes this whole arrangement doubly profitable for the people behind it.'

Keeping a surreptitious eye on Tanya and an ear open for any interesting conversations, Siobhan moved to the wall to read the paper pinned there. Apparently, the meeting's organizers paid various households and shops to put sympathetically linked origami decorations in their windows. The organizers would change details of the decorations remotely, and all the members needed to do was pass by one to see when the next meeting was or get a warning that it had been cancelled and to be wary.

The organizers sent Siobhan and Tanya out in different directions and at different times, but it wasn't hard for Siobhan to find Tanya again.

She followed her from a distance all the way back to the University. She watched the other girl walk back to the dorms, then waited a few minutes while holding the compass spell, but Tanya seemingly hadn't moved from her room.

Siobhan was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to find a dark alley somewhere, change back into Sebastien, and flop into her own bed. Instead, she turned around and walked briskly back into the city. 'I can't get sloppy.'

She changed into Sebastien at the Silk Door, then walked to Oliver's house. Despite her warm clothes, her fingers and feet were frozen through by the time she arrived. The servants were gone for the evening, so Oliver opened the door himself.

He was surprised to see her, but waved her in and up to his office, motioning for her to stand, shivering, in front of the fire while he stoked it higher. While she warmed, he went down to the kitchen and made coffee for both of them.

When he returned, Sebastien cast a bit of perfunctory wakefulness intent into the dark liquid. She offered to do the same for him, but he shook his head, already sipping from his cup. "There's no need. Now tell me what happened. Did Liza help you?"

"She did. Just not in the way I was expecting. I followed Tanya Canelo—the girl who blew up Eagle Tower to keep me from being caught—to a secret meeting of thaumaturges. I'm now their newest member."

He sipped his coffee, not seeming particularly shocked. "That is momentous," he said calmly. "Tell me more."

Chapter 68 - Attack Strategy

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 26, Saturday 11:30 p.m.

Sebastien quickly reported what little she and Damien had found throughout the week and the events of that evening. "I missed Tanya's meeting with the Morrows. Unless they have some other stealthy way to communicate with her, she must have met with one of them on the way. If you get me a map, I might be able to estimate the path she took based on her angle from my location, but I'm not even sure how long she was gone from the University before Damien warned me. In the worst case, it could have been almost an hour."

"This is good," Oliver said, moving to pull a rolled-up map from one of his cabinets. "Actually, very good."

She stared at him.

"Not that you lost track of the girl. I'm talking about the secret meeting. I've wanted to get an eye into a place like that since I came to this city. You can vouch for a Verdant Stag member to join!"

She shook her head. "The rules state you must have been a member for at least six months and have brought a certain amount of value to the group before you can recommend new members."

He was visibly disappointed, but said, "Well, next time, make note of what people offer and need, and let me know. There might be some good business opportunities for the Verdant Stag. I'll give you a couple gold for each meeting."

"Five gold," she offered immediately.

"Ridiculous. Three gold."

"For something that could get me caught and sent to jail in my female form? Your false identity papers aren't enough to keep me safe from that. Four gold. You'll be saving a lot more than that by avoiding the magic tax, even after the arbiter's fees."

"Fine. Four gold, but only for any meetings that provide valuable supplies or information."

She glared at him, but conceded. It wasn't a lot at the kind of scale she was now working with, but every little bit helped.

He laid out the map and turned to her expectantly.

Based on her memory of her own location and Tanya's changing angle relative to her, Sebastien estimated a large swath of the city that the other girl could have accessed.

"You've just pointed out the majority of Morrow territory," Oliver said. "Not exactly revelatory."

Sebastien clenched her jaw until her teeth creaked, holding back her frustration. "I'll do better next time."

Oliver hesitated, staring at the map, then said, "There might not be a next time."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm planning a joint attack on the Morrows with the Nightmare Pack. We're going to oust them and take over their territory."

Sebastien took a sharp breath.

"The student liaison is a good source of information, but any of the Morrows' leaders should be, too. If I can question them, spying on her outside the University might not be as critical. Once the Morrows are defeated, it's even possible her whole operation will fall apart."

"Eliminating the Morrows altogether… Hah!" Sebastien let out a single, breathy laugh. "It's definitely the most direct way to deal with your problems, but I hadn't thought it was an actual possibility. I'm assuming you've got a plan? And enough manpower? Are you just going to be going after the leadership, or the lower-ranking members as well?"

"Not only will we be neutralizing their leadership, but we also plan to take out lieutenants and capture the most critical resource points and trade stations. That way, even if someone slips through our grasp and wants to mount a counterattack, they won't have the resources to do so." he said, growing more excited the longer he spoke. He stood and returned to his desk, motioning for her to follow him. "The Nightmare Pack are dedicating a lot of their resources to this venture, which is how we're able to do this. Not just manpower and weapons, but their authority and reputation also. Without them, even if we did manage to take out the Morrow leadership, it would be difficult to hold their territory against rebellion and other gangs. Our current plan is to initiate joint strikes on several different points of interest at once."

"Look," he said, pushing piles of paper and other clutter to the side to reveal a large map covered in different-colored notations and scribbled comments. "This is going to be the largest offensive the Morrows have ever dealt with. We're hitting eleven different major assets at the same time, and six minor ones. No plan survives contact with the enemy, of course, but we've tried to make the strategy as shatter-proof as possible."

Even the amount of surveillance work that must have gone into developing this plan was impressive. "You're pouring a lot of resources into this."

"I have to, or they'll keep bleeding me dry. It's either expand or die. You know that as well as anyone. I'm putting everything I can into this, because it has to work."

"Are you sure you can trust the Nightmare Pack not to turn on you once the Morrows are finished? They're much bigger than the Stags, aren't they?"

"Lord Lynwood and I made a vow of nonaggression for the next five years, so I trust them as much as that's worth, as long as he remains their leader. Beyond that, though, they became especially accommodating after their visit with you. I don't think they have any intention of suddenly turning on us."

They cared for the boy Millennium quite a lot, apparently. They might need her help again if the current spell stopped working as he grew older.

"Besides, we're both getting a good deal out of this," Oliver added.

She noted small symbols marked in green. "Healing stations?"

"I'd like to minimize the death toll as much as possible. All the attacking teams will be supplied with basic emergency aid supplies, but it won't be enough. Anyone who is seriously injured can retreat or be brought to one of the healing stations to receive more extensive care. Life is precious. Not just ours, but theirs too."

She held back a small smile. She might not agree with all of his ideas, but there was something endearing about the kind of person who would think like that. Sebastien tilted her head to the side. "Did I understand that correctly? You want to minimize deaths on the Morrows' side, too?"

"Their lives are valuable. And I don't mean just because they're sentient beings, though there's that too. This isn't an altruistic decision. We're not going to be able to get every last member of the Morrows, or their families. Leaving them alive—hostages, in a way—both discourages hasty retaliation and long-term revenge. Some of them have to die either way, but others can be ransomed back to their families or any other Morrow who escaped our grasp, and for exorbitant prices. That will further drain them of resources they might otherwise use against us. Even if they realize this, if any high-ranking member of the Morrows wants to retain their legitimacy, they'll have no choice but to ransom their men for honor's sake—even if it hurts them financially."

Sebastien frowned, thinking this idea over. "Like taking knights and lords as prisoners of war. They're worth more alive than dead. But what if they don't get ransomed? Trying to keep them secure and healthy would be a further drain on your resources, and, with the new territory, you're going to be stretched pretty thin. What do you do with someone who has no one to ransom him?"

The edges of Oliver's mouth turned down grimly. "The Morrows are well-known for their disregard of the citizens within their territory. They act like little lords, placing themselves above the law. And that territory will be my territory. Their people my people. And I've made a name for myself as being fair and just. I do not allow heinous crimes within my territory. There will be some ransoms, but also trials—and executions—to help legitimize Verdant Stag authority. If any are innocent, or mostly so, perhaps they'll be offered a job in exchange for their freedom. We're building the holding cells now. This plan relies on the prisoners not escaping or being broken out by their colleagues. A few more weeks and we'll be ready to implement the plan. I will use all their lives to the greatest benefit."

Sebastien didn't know what to think about that. It made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't point out any flaws in his logic. Oliver could appear benevolent at times, but he was no fool, and not as soft as he seemed, either. "The coppers won't be a problem? You have no authority to hold trial, and an execution is no different than murder."

He shrugged. "They don't care so much about murder in places like this. Murders happen every day. Unless it becomes egregious, many of the coppers spare only nominal effort to bring the perpetrators to justice—unless someone important or wealthy is affected. We'll bribe a few people to look the other way, and keep it from becoming a spectacle. We will use both magical and mundane means to ensure we do not execute the innocent, don't worry."

That hadn't been what she was worried about. "You really do want to take over Gilbratha," she murmured.

He looked up, meeting her eyes unflinchingly. "Of course."

She stared into the bright fervor in their blue depths, a foreboding of danger shuddering through her.

"It will take some time—years—but I've always known the eventual purpose of all this. If we can take Gilbratha, with its people, resources, and defenses, we will hold the strongest position in Lenore. From there, with time and care, we can grasp even more. But first, the fledgling Verdant Stag must start by overthrowing the Morrows. Our first real enemy," he said, turning back to the map.

Sebastien swallowed, her throat dry. People were going to die along the way for Oliver's ideas. She resolved that she wouldn't be one of them. "And the Morrows don't know this is coming? It seems too big an operation to keep secret. If you're spying on them, they could be spying on you."

"Oh, they know something's coming. It's impossible to keep our preparations entirely unnoticed. But only a few on our side know the details, and we're going to keep it like that for as long as possible. In addition, we'll be doing our best to sow panic and confusion amongst the Morrows during the attack. A complete surprise might be impossible, but that doesn't mean they'll mount an effective response."

She nodded slowly, still frowning down at the map. There was at least one healing station within ten minutes of each major target. "If there had been something like this in place when the Morrows attacked the warehouse, Jameson might still be alive," she murmured.

Oliver was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Yes. I'm trying to learn my lessons, Siobhan."

Sebastien turned to look at him. Normally, he was better about using the name of her current body.

He didn't seem to realize his slip. "We still don't have enough competent healers to fill all the stations, though. They'll be set back from the worst of the fighting, and not even the Morrows should have an incentive to attack them, but I'm having trouble getting healers to agree, especially when I can't tell them the details ahead of time. It's not just the fighters I'm worried about. We're in the middle of the city. It's unlikely all civilians will escape unscathed."

Sebastien clenched her jaw. She knew the world wasn't fair, but it grated at her bones when innocents were dragged into danger.

"That's why I was hoping you would assist at one of the healing stations."

She jerked her head up to look at him. "I'm not a healer."

"I know. But you're familiar with the basic use of alchemy to mitigate injury. I've seen you use blood magic to heal someone more than once, and you're not the type to fall apart at the sight of a little gore. You'll be placed with an actual healer, not on your own. They can instruct you if there are things you don't know how to handle, and you can assist them."

The muscles of Sebastien's shoulders and back tightened with dread until she felt little electric tingles of protest running through her spine. She instinctively wanted to deny his request, but she remembered the blood print vow she'd done with Katerin. She couldn't refuse any favors that acted as repayment of her debt, unless she found them morally reprehensible.

And how could acting as a healer to save not only the Stags, but civilians and even the enemy, be immoral? "I'll have time to prepare?" she asked past a tight throat.

"Approximately three weeks," he said.

'I can do a lot of brewing in three weeks, and a lot of study on trauma care.' She rubbed her neck, already anticipating the long hours of fatigue. 'It feels like I'm a hamster in a wheel that never gets anywhere.' She raised her head, her eyes narrowing as she reeled in a sudden idea. "Rather than in gold toward my debt, can I be paid for my help with a stake in one of the businesses the Verdant Stags control? Say…three percent of the ongoing net profits from the alchemy shop?"

Oliver's eyebrows rose, and then he laughed. "You are a clever one. But I don't think so." He shook his head. "You have to pay off your debt first before you can negotiate things like that. You'll be paid the same rate as any other healer's assistant at Apprentice level on this mission. Forty gold. A month's pay for a single night of heavy work."

She couldn't deny that was fair. The amount he'd given her last time was to partially make up for everything that went wrong after he called her out of bed to help in the middle of the night. "I agree. But of course, any brewing I do between now and then will be paid separately."

They worked out a code for extreme emergencies using the linked bracelets they both wore on their forearms. If necessary, she would break one of the bracelets, and Oliver would use one of the other bracelets as a divination target.

Because of the way the divination-diverting ward worked, she would have to place the target bracelet somewhere away from her body, and if she was forced to move, it would be no use. But if that happened, she had multiple bracelets, and could leave a trail of metaphorical bread crumbs.

Oliver paid for her carriage back to the University. It was a nice one that even had a shielded brazier of coals within to keep the riders warm.

The dorms were dark and mostly silent. It was well past curfew, but Damien was still awake, sitting up on his bed and waiting for her to return. He hopped up as soon as he saw her and motioned for her to follow him from the room.

With a sigh, she trudged after him into the bathrooms, where he checked every stall before turning around to say, "I don't know how she slipped away. We looked for her as soon as we realized, and I broke the bracelet as soon as I knew we weren't going to find her immediately."

Sebastien nodded tiredly. "You did fine. She's slippery, but I found her."

"What happened? She's been back for a couple hours already. Was she meeting with whoever Professor Munchworth was talking about? What were you doing?"

Sebastien considered simply telling him he didn't have the right to know before he'd proved himself, but was certain this would require more effort than making up a simple lie, as Damien was sure to argue. "She met with someone. I'm not sure who. I couldn't see their face. She traded some of the gold for beast cores. If she did anything else, it was before I caught up to her."

"Beast cores? Why would she want those?"

Sebastien shrugged. "To trade or to use. You can make guesses as easily as I can."

Damien had more questions, but she brushed them off. "I don't know, Damien, and even if I did, that doesn't mean I would tell you. You've got a long way to go before your curiosity entitles you to information." 'And if I have my way, it never will,' she added silently.

She slept well, for once, and in the morning went to the library, trailing behind Tanya and Newton.

Tanya headed up the stairs for the second floor, but Sebastien called Newton's name as the young man moved to follow her.

Newton walked with her, putting a few meters between them and the stairs. "Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice lowered. "Is this about me losing track of T—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "It's fine. This isn't about her. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."

Newton nodded, raising his eyebrows as he waited for her to continue.

"I need the recipe for Humphries' adapting solution. But it's on the second floor. I was wondering if you could bring me this book so I could copy it?" she asked, handing him a slip with the potion reference's location.

"Umm, sure, I can do that. Why do you need it, if I can ask?"

She'd already thought what to say, just in case he asked. "I met a young girl whose mother is an Apprentice under a sorcerer. The girl has a blood disorder that requires constant visits to a healer, and…well, her mother is struggling to pay for treatment. I happened to hear her pleading with the healer while the girl waited outside."

"Oh," Newton murmured.

Sebastien nodded. "This won't fix the problem, but it's a lot cheaper than healing spells, and her mother should be strong enough to brew it. Maybe it'll help them get back on their feet."

Newton's grip on the piece of paper tightened, and he hurried off to the second floor with a sharp nod.

When he returned, Sebastien copied the recipe onto a couple loose sheets of paper. The potion was difficult and power-intensive, and some of the components were relatively expensive, but she could brew it—if only in very small batches. Flipping a few pages, she also found the modified piercing spell that would let someone funnel the solution directly into a patient's veins, overcoming the natural defensive barrier of their skin.

'That would work for blood transfusions, too.' It was just another example of how the delineations between acceptable and unacceptable magic were so arbitrary.

"Thank you," she said, handing the book back to Newton.

"No need for thanks. I wish there were more people like you out there," he said with a soft, knowing smile.

She shuffled awkwardly. "Err, how's your father?"

"His lungs rattle with every breath," Newton said, his smile turning strained. "But we found a healer who's willing to take payments, and there are a couple of people who might be willing to lend us some gold."

Sebastien wondered if this healer and lender were both from the Verdant Stag, but couldn't just ask. "Let me know if I can help," she said. "I know a couple people with enough coin that they probably wouldn't mind lending some to you."

"Thank you, Sebastien, but really, you've already done more than enough to help me."

She shook her head. "Not really. I've pointed some opportunity your way, and that's it. You're the one who's helping yourself."

He rolled his eyes at her, but his smile had lost its strain as he left, returning to the second floor to keep a subtle watch over Tanya.

Sebastien folded up the recipe for Humphries' adapting solution and put it in her pocket. She held her fingers over the pocket, a feverish rush of determination warming them. 'I will not let anyone else die the same way as Jameson, at the least.'

Chapter 69 - Drills

Sebastien

Month 12, Day 31, Thursday 2:30 p.m.

Over the next few days, no one reached out to Oliver or any of his people to request a meeting with the Raven Queen. Sebastien found this puzzling, but since she was unsure how to respond if they did request one, she was fine postponing the problem as long as possible.

If she met with Tanya as the Raven Queen, they'd have to set a system in place to make sure they avoided any traps by the University faction behind Tanya. It was dangerous, much more so than meeting with Lynwood had been. However, she might be able to get information from Tanya in return, maybe even figure out what was going on behind the scenes with the University, the Crowns, and the ancient book.

Oliver could even use the meeting to gain an upper hand against his enemies, like using Tanya to feed the Morrows false information.

Still, the danger and uncertainty left Sebastien's muscles so tight that she had to use Newton's esoteric humming spell to forcefully calm herself several times.

On the bright side, her gold problem was slightly alleviated, taking a portion of that pressure off her shoulders. Oliver had indeed sold the pixie eggs to Liza, and after appraising the star sapphire, Siobhan was owed a little over ninety gold. She took eighteen to pay for the ingredients for the regeneration potions she was soon to owe the man from the secret meeting, and let the rest of it go toward paying off some of the interest she owed the Verdant Stag.

After that, she had paid off all the interest accrued up to that point, and managed to shave down the principal to, oh, only about nine hundred fifty gold!

She wanted to pull her hair out. 'Fifty percent interest is a nightmare. At least it isn't compounding. Yet.' If she couldn't pay the balance off within a year, whatever interest she owed would be added to the principal balance, and she'd start paying fifty percent interest on that, too. It was decidedly ironic that the Verdant Stag did so much to help people, like selling life-saving potions well below the market value, and yet practiced lending with terms so predatory most people would owe them for life. 'I wonder how much of Oliver's apparent philanthropy is actually a cloak for his desire for power?'

She, Damien, and Newton continued to keep watch over Tanya, but other than a couple of paper bird messages that they had no way to intercept, she did nothing suspicious. Perhaps Tanya was waiting, too.

Sebastien spent her free time studying emergency first aid—the best way to keep people with traumatic wounds alive a little longer so someone with actual skill could save them—and still managed to slip in some time reading about the purpose of sleep.

On Thursday in Fekten's Defensive Magic class, Sebastien was shown once again the distance between her and her goals.

As always, they started the class with a workout, while Fekten lectured in a voice that had no trouble traveling clearly to all the students.

"The biggest problem using magic in a dangerous situation is the difficulty of casting while moving. There are ways to get past this. Artifacts and battle alchemy, tomes full of spell pages, or even the wrought-metal, portable Circles the army provides. Each have their downsides, but these downsides are never more apparent than when attempting to shield," Fekten yelled.

He walked among them, occasionally stopping to goad someone into more effort, or to do the exercises right alongside them, only better, while never stopping his monologue. "A shield must be large enough to cover the body, and most are power-intensive. Except those cast by complex artifacts, most shields will require a large Circle drawn on the ground around the caster and whatever they are trying to protect. This goes against everything I have taught you about how to survive in a dangerous situation! What are the rules of survival?"

Without pausing whatever exercise they were doing, the students shouted back, "To stay alive, use stealth to escape! Hide under stationary cover only when you cannot run! Dodge only when you cannot hide! Shield in place only when you cannot dodge!"

Sebastien's voice was weak past her panting, but she repeated the words with as much force as she could. They were Fekten's mantra, and he added more to them every couple of weeks. If Fekten suspected that one of the students hadn't been listening, or wasn't filled with enthusiasm, he assigned additional exercise to the entire group.

She assumed Fekten would begin to teach them something about fighting back when he thought they were competent enough to live through such an attempt. 'Which means it might be years.' She gave a mental whimper.

Satisfied, Fekten nodded and continued. "I have seen dozens of stupid thaumaturges die inside their shield Circle! No shield protects against everything, and even if you manage to stand against one enemy's attacks, are you more powerful than two people, or ten, working together? Can you shield their fireball spell at the same time you block the rock they've thrown at you just behind it? Can you block a broadsword swung with enough force to split you in two at the waist, or an explosive potion launched from a hundred meters away? Half of you cannot even cast a shield!"

He breathed hard for a moment, from passion rather than exhaustion, stopping beside Sebastien's group to do pushups with them, which he did with only one arm.

"The correct way to keep your heads attached to your bodies is to avoid the conflict."

Sebastien almost rolled her eyes. 'Wasn't that the same argument I made in the entrance exam, when he asked me about my hypothetical response to the Blood Emperor? What kind of double standard is this, that the only one it's not acceptable to run away from is the one most likely to kill me with the wave of a hand? Does he not realize the hypocrisy?' It would have surprised her more, except she was seeing more and more how blood magic was so arbitrarily defined, hated on instinct and faith rather than rational consideration of the specific situation. Among those who had internalized these beliefs, it was a huge social faux-pas to even suggest that some blood magic could be used for good—on the same level as admitting that you thought sea kraken were sexually attractive, or that people should be able to marry their children.

Fekten continued. "The greatest weapon in the battle to live a long life is knowledge. Understanding yourself comes first. An incorrect assessment of your own abilities will leave you broken and dead like so many before you, as you make plans and take actions you cannot follow through on. Understanding your enemy comes second. For magical beasts, this means understanding their dispositions, abilities, and habitats. With superior knowledge of the dangers they are likely to face, someone weaker can prepare against a specific opponent—targeting their weaknesses—rather than hoping to crush them on a level playing field.

"For humans and other sapient beings, of course this also includes understanding their capabilities, the personal and external resources they have access to. But it also means understanding their flaws. You cannot deal with someone who is full of hubris and quick to anger the same way you would deal with a reasonable person. It is understanding their desires, not only their greed, which dictates what they are likely to do to take control of what is not theirs, but what they value, which often dictates what lengths they will go to when protecting the things that hold value to them. A mother protecting her children can be more vicious—and recklessly aggressive—than a soldier fighting for glory and coin."

Fekten signaled a station change, which let each group of students move on to a new exercise, and kept lecturing. "Once you understand your enemy, you can avoid being seen as a viable target, either by passing beneath their notice, or seeming too much of a threat to risk attacking. You can turn their urges and desires against them, so they're distracted, exerting their energy on fighting against a different opponent, or even ripping themselves apart with internal conflict."

Fekten passed Sebastien, stopping to correct her form with a couple of nudges. This close, his presence was even more intimidating—not just from his large, muscled form and loud voice, but the intangible press of his Will, which was like a choking fog. "The second-best way to keep your heads attached to your bodies is to be prepared," he continued. "Your body must be in the proper condition to react to danger and successfully carry you through it. Your mind must have the knowledge, and also the proper conditioning, to guide you through even when you're so afraid you piss yourselves. It is not so easy to reason when under stress. It is best to do your reasoning beforehand, and then practice your response until it becomes ingrained in your flesh. And, if possible, you should be externally prepared, as well. Artifacts for when your Will reaches its limits. Potions for when your body gives out. Allies for when your strength alone is not enough."

He signaled for another station change.

Sebastien's group was on the jump-rope station next. She'd always thought the game childish, but now, as she threw herself into the complex footwork and rabbit-quick hops that Fekten was trying to drill into them, she knew that jump-rope had probably been introduced to children by some sadistic devil chuckling to itself at their naivete and eventual, inevitable, horrible disillusionment. She choked down the food she'd eaten at lunch, which seemed determined to escape her stomach.

Fekten shook his head sadly before finally calling a halt to the conditioning part of the class.

"No punishment exercises!" Damien gasped, his hands on his knees and sweat pouring down his face. "Yay."

Another student, lying on the ground like a suffocating fish, aimed an ineffectual kick in Damien's direction. "Don't jinx it!"

Fekten had them clean up the equipment, then move from the open white flats to the building with the simulation room.

Inside, humanoid mannequins with "battle" wands were arrayed in several circular groups, facing inward.

Fekten led the students in a quick review of the basic footwork he'd been teaching them, then chose a handful of students to face off against the mannequins.

Rhett Moncrieffe, Damien's Crown Family friend, was in the first group and performed stunningly. As the mannequins surrounding him shot colored balls of light that would burst open and dye whatever they hit in bright colors, Moncrieffe spun and twisted and dodged.

The mannequins shot faster as time passed, their rhythm more unpredictable.

Moncrieffe kept going beyond the point that seemed possible, until Sebastien had to wonder how he was even perceiving all the spells coming his way.

Finally, he was hit in the back of his hip by one bright blue shot, while avoiding three other simultaneous shots from the other mannequins. He fell to the ground, winded, and the students watching and idly practicing their own footwork in anticipation let out a cheer.

Apparently Moncrieffe was the star of the first-term dueling team, and had been training for this since he was three. He was expected to win trophies, and already had a growing fanbase among the other students.

Damien sidled over to Sebastien. "Do you want to bet on how long you can last?"

Sebastien shot him a dirty look, not even bothering to respond. Damien had made no secret that he found it hilarious the first time she fell on her face during dodging drills. He seemed to take particular pleasure in crowing about the few things she was bad at.

Fekten handed out contribution points based on their rankings in these practical exercises. Moncrieffe had earned dozens already that term, Damien had earned over twenty, and Sebastien was approaching one whole point from all the small fractions of points she'd gathered.

As Fekten pointed at her for the next round, Damien slapped her shoulder and yelled. "Go! Double 's'! Slither like a snake!"

Some of the surrounding students laughed and repeated this mocking cheer.

Sebastien scowled as she took her place in the center of a ring of mannequins. 'I'm not even that bad,' she grumbled mentally. 'Barely in the bottom half of the class.'

Under Fekten's torture, she was strong enough and fast enough to throw herself around before the blasts of light could reach her. But she was just bad at dodging, especially while trying to remember to use the footwork Fekten was teaching them. Her mind moved quickly, and she could react quickly—if not as instantly as Rhett—but it was all conscious calculation. She had to think about every move her body made, and she couldn't even get into a rhythm of movement like she could for something like jump-rope. It was never instinctive, and as the attacks became quicker and required her to move in more complex ways, she couldn't keep up the mental calculations with enough time left to send instructions to her body.

Sebastien started out perfectly, but began to show the signs of strain after only a couple of minutes. Her movements grew jerky, clumsy, and a little too forceful as she scrambled to keep up with the increasing speed. She threw herself to the ground to avoid three shots that would otherwise have hit her in the legs, chest, and head, and then rolled quickly to the side as she saw a mannequin lower its arm to shoot her on the ground.

She tossed herself upright, the movement weaker than she would have liked after all the pushups, then had to backpedal to avoid a shot that almost brushed her nose. She retreated right into another two shots, one in the kidney, one in the back of the head.

She tried not to slump too obviously with defeat. The attacks were mostly light and a sprinkle of dye, with barely enough force to injure. Still, Fekten was quick to point at her. "Siverling! You just got your brains splashed over the ground, and if that didn't kill you, the mutilated kidney would have you bleeding out in under two minutes. Out."

She turned to rejoin the group of waiting students, but Fekten waved her over.

"You think too much," he said, his voice still loud but not a projected yell meant for the entire room. "You need to learn to act on instinct. Practice until the movements are engraved into your body, so that you no longer need to think to respond, only do what you have done thousands of times before. You might never be great, but you could be passable, at least."

Sebastien said, "Yes, Fekten," as the man had told them all to address him, but didn't feel particularly optimistic as she rejoined the group, where Damien was still trying to stifle his laughter. 'When will I ever have time to practice all this thousands of times?'

It wasn't that she scorned the man's advice. She'd already tried practicing on her own, tuning the mannequins to an easier setting so she could have more time before getting overwhelmed. That was how she'd gotten to her current level of mediocrity. And she had gotten better, but not because her muscles somehow retained the memory of what to do. No, she had simply begun to memorize the best movement to make to avoid more complex attacks, and could immediately implement it rather than have to calculate it first.

Trying to do that until she reached even Damien's level would have cost her almost as much practice every week as Professor Lacer's class did. And if she had to choose between Defense and Practical Casting, it was no contest.

'There's another option to solve the dilemma between escaping and casting. Just become a free-caster. I'm sure Professor Lacer could shield while running away. If he ever needed to run away.'

Chapter 70 - Old Wives' Tales

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 7, Thursday 6:30 p.m.

As was the nature of time, it passed—all the way into the new year. Sebastien had to cast a deafening hex on herself to get to sleep on New Year's Eve, and double-check her intrusion alarm wards so she could feel secure going to sleep in a room full of other people, many of whom were somehow intoxicated. 'I hate wealthy, well-educated young adults,' she lamented, pulling her blankets overhead. 'I wish I were as frightening as Professor Lacer. He could just open the door and look around for three seconds and be guaranteed peace for the rest of the night.'

She confirmed that there would be no secret meeting that weekend, then spent most of it at Oliver's house doing alchemy to prepare for the upcoming attack on the Morrows. Her Will had grown enough that she was able to prepare a few more doses of the less intensive items per batch, and accordingly, her payment for a weekend of work increased. She'd made almost twenty gold in only two days of work.

To be fair, it was exhausting work, and it pushed her to her limits by the end of the day, but it meant that she could make more in a week than the interest on her debt over that same time.

Early the next week, the secret organization's paper ornaments, placed in windows throughout the city, changed. There would be another meeting that Thursday.

Oliver gave Sebastien a pouch of gold and a list of things he wanted her to see if she could buy.

She left before Tanya, changing her appearance at the Silk Door and then returning to the base of the white cliffs to lie in wait.

She had instructed Damien to stay behind when Tanya left that evening, and was relieved to see that he followed her instructions without grumbling.

Siobhan was Tanya's only tail, as far as she could tell.

She followed the other woman from a distance, but Tanya didn't stop to talk to anyone or enter any buildings. After Tanya had arrived at the secret meeting spot, Siobhan waited a few minutes before entering herself.

She wore her own mask this time, not trusting the one the organizers had provided. If it were her, she would have secretly cast tracking spells on all of them to give herself the upper hand over the members. Knowledge was power, after all.

This group of masked, dangerous thaumaturges still made her feel awkward and on edge, but she tried to keep this nervousness from her body language. 'They don't know who I am or what I'm here for. No one here has any reason to wish me ill. Tanya is completely oblivious.' She was sure there were more guards in the room than there had been the last time, and she kept imagining she felt the eyes of the meeting facilitators on her, though they weren't staring whenever she turned to look.

During the first part of the meeting, where people made offers of what they had to sell or trade, the chubby man she vaguely recognized from the last meeting raised his hand and said, "I brought the sempervivum apricus and mandrake for the person who wanted them last time."

"And I have the regeneration potions," Siobhan said with a slight raise of her hand.

The arbiter made a note on the paper before him. "We will handle the appraisal and exchange after the meeting."

Siobhan paid close attention to what people offered, and managed to buy a few of the things on Oliver's list. Liquid stone potions, for fortifications and stabilizing people with broken bones. A batch of philtres that, when breathed in, created a sealed bubble inside a punctured lung, keeping someone from drowning in their own blood. A couple of minor healing potions, which could be used when something like her regeneration potion wasn't enough. And an artifact that stored large masses of water inside a folded space and then released it again in a powerful spray. It did not contain any weight-affecting spells, so would be almost impossible to carry when fully loaded with liquid, but with the help of a couple horses, it could be used to put out fires, or even to attack crowds. Additionally, with the right kind of damage to the artifact, it could probably cause a deadly explosion of water.

Tanya sent a few distrustful looks Siobhan's way, probably because it was obvious she was gearing up for some sort of altercation. The other girl didn't seem to suspect Siobhan of being the Raven Queen, however.

Tentatively, Siobhan pulled out a pouch from her pocket. She cleared her throat. "I have some celerium for sale. One small conduit, rated at one hundred thaums, for twenty gold. One conduit at two hundred twelve thaums with a spot of contamination, for sixty-two gold. And a shattered conduit that was originally rated at two hundred fifty thaums, for twenty-five gold." She had calculated the sale price based off the current market price, deducting a little for the absence of magic tax, and a lot due to the shattered nature of the larger conduit. Celerium pieces couldn't be merged back together, and only the weakest child would be able to channel through the remaining shards. Celerium grew exponentially more expensive with increasing size and clarity, so most of the worth of her old Conduit was gone. Still, celerium was used in a few powerful spells, and was a fantastic material for drawing robust, high-capacity spell arrays, so it could be used for something.

The arbiter looked around to meet the eye of the prognos woman, who was sitting in the corner.

"I'll give you seventy-five gold for the two unbroken Conduits, contingent on appraisal," a woman said.

Siobhan frowned.

The fat man she'd done her other trade with said, "Eighty gold for the whole lot, and I will throw in a pound of etherwood leaves, too. Easy to resell, or they can be smoked yourself if you enjoy them."

Her stated price would have been one hundred seven gold for everything, but she had acknowledged ahead of time that she would go down to one hundred gold if someone wanted it all. Eighty gold was too little, and the only person she knew who smoked etherwood was Katerin.

"These prices are ridiculous," a woman muttered sourly. "Wait a few months till the shortage is over and you'll be able to get that celerium for half the price."

The fat man hesitated, but said, "My offer stands. I like to build up relationships with useful people."

'Why would he assume I'm useful? Does he need a source of regeneration potions, perhaps? I hope none of the facilitators let any hints about me slip.'

"One hundred fifteen gold for all the celerium," the arbiter said suddenly.

Siobhan straightened, staring at him from behind her mask. Many of the other members were surprised as well. That was more than the combined individual price for all three Conduits.

A few people, including Tanya, looked between the arbiter and Siobhan with suspicion.

She tried not to show her surprise, in case the man changed his mind, and was grateful for the mask that had covered her facial expressions. "Any other offers?" she asked.

No one spoke up.

"Alright. One hundred fifteen gold," she agreed.

Finally, the offerings portion of the meeting was over, and they moved on to requests.

Tanya spoke up immediately. "I previously requested help setting up a meeting with the Raven Queen. Was there any success?"

The man with the horns, who had offered to help her last time, gave a nervous cough. "I tried, but my contact refused to help. They were afraid to talk about the Raven Queen at all. Wouldn't even say her name. Apparently, Lord Lynwood is cracking down. I suggest you go to the Verdant Stag and ask there. The red-haired proprietress has connections to Lord Stag, and he should be able to get you an audience."

It seemed as if perhaps Lord Lynwood had heeded Siobhan's relayed request for him to limit his people's gossiping with a little more vehemence than she'd anticipated.

Tanya's scowl was obvious in her voice. "I'm not paying for that kind of 'help,'" she snapped. "If I wanted to go to the Verdant Stag, I could have done that already."

The man shrugged.

"This transaction was unsuccessful," the arbiter said, sounding a little tense, in contrast to his normal tone of boredom. "There will be no retaliation from either party. Please be aware that violence is prohibited. As the request was not met, no payment is due."

Tanya sighed deeply and adjusted her mask. "The previous offer still stands. Anyone who can give me relevant information about the Raven Queen or set up a meeting between us will be rewarded. Gold. Beast cores. I also have access to various unusual or restricted components, if you have a very specific need. But I'm not interested in trading for anything except the Raven Queen."

Siobhan again considered setting up the meeting between Tanya and her alternate persona herself, but decided against it. 'I need to talk to Oliver before I make such a risky move. It might not be worth it.'

One member raised his hand tentatively. "I've overheard a couple o' the coppers talkin' over drinks at my pub. Might be just as filled with rumors as the rest o' the stuff on the street, but I'm happy to tell you, and you can judge for yourself."

Tanya agreed, and the arbiter noted down their meeting, sending a very subtle glance Siobhan's way.

'Oh. Of course he's tense. He knows I'm the Raven Queen. The interviewers must have mentioned something. Everybody gossips,' she thought with a sigh. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. The people in charge probably wouldn't want to sell her out to the coppers to get the reward, not with their reputations on the line, and the pseudo-misunderstanding might even have been the reason he offered such a high price for her celerium.

During the general information exchange at the end of the meeting, a woman with an old-sounding voice said, "There are rumblings of blood and violence in Gilbratha's future. It is like a violin string pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping and slicing through flesh. Take heed. Be wary."

"That's pretty obvious to anyone with eyes and ears," someone else said.

A woman nodded. "I say stock up on the necessities and a good lock for your door. It's always best to be prepared."

"As a reminder, I have single-use stunning artifacts," someone else interjected opportunistically. "It's enough to escape in an emergency or incapacitate a burglar who's broken into your house in the night."

No one said anything more specific about this upcoming danger. 'I wonder if it has anything to do with the attack on the Morrows,' Siobhan thought, but was quickly distracted as one of the organizers waved her and the component-seller over to a side room, where the prognos woman from Siobhan's admittance interview bowed deeply to her.

Tanya was walking to her own secure room with the man who'd overheard gossip about the Raven Queen in a pub, but Siobhan didn't worry about missing anything, because she couldn't have listened in without being caught anyway.

The prognos gave only a perfunctory nod to the chubby man, who looked at Siobhan with more interest after experiencing the disparity in their treatment. Siobhan's regeneration potions were pronounced acceptable, as were the two plants the man had brought, their pots concealed within a plain wooden box, and they traded.

The man left, and the woman called in the others that Siobhan had traded with on Oliver's behalf. When it was all finished, and they had gone, she said, "I will take the celerium, if that is acceptable to you."

"Sure." Siobhan handed the small pouch over. She felt some regret at parting from her oldest Conduit. Her grandfather had given it to her as a child, and it had been with her until now. Second-hand Conduits sometimes held a weak sympathetic connection to their original owners, from being kept so close and used so intimately, but unlike a piece of her body, the connection would be weak, and fade quickly. Nothing powerful enough to harm her could be cast with it.

The woman handed over a full purse of gold before even looking into the pouch.

Siobhan was surprised. "Are you not interested in verifying my claims of quality? I could have just handed you a pouch full of pebbles."

The woman swallowed heavily, her eye having trouble meeting Siobhan's. "I trust in your honor," she said weakly.

Siobhan tilted her head to the side. "Really?" That just seemed foolish. She had verified all the other transactions. It was part of her job, whether she trusted the members or not.

The woman's hands were white-knuckled around the celerium pouch. "If you had given me a pouch of pebbles, would you have submitted to my protest about the matter? If you lied to me, what could I do about it?"

"That is ridiculous," Siobhan said before she could think better of it.

The woman rocked back on her feet, her knuckles whitening further. "I will appraise them immediately. I apologize, I meant no insult." She fumbled with the mouth of the pouch, peering inside.

Siobhan sighed, amazed at how gullible people could be. The woman hadn't seemed this frightened of her the last time. "Not all rumors about me have any basis in truth," she said, making her voice as soothing as possible in an attempt to calm the woman. "I am not dishonest, and if somehow I had given you pebbles instead of celerium, I would expect you to complain, and either refuse to pay me, or ask for equivalent recompense. I do not commit random acts of violence. I know you told the arbiter who I am, but I'm not so angry as to retaliate. However, I would appreciate it if you refrained from adding even more nonsense to the rumors."

It was rather disheartening to feel like an axe murderer threatening a defenseless woman who was trapped in a small room with her. The Raven Queen's reputation might have some benefits, but it could have downsides too, if people felt they were trapped or in danger and decided to resort to excessive force to "protect" themselves from her. A cornered rat would bite, and the real Siobhan Naught couldn't match up to her shadowed reputation.

The woman barely seemed comforted, but she nodded and whispered, "I understand. Thank you." She gave Siobhan a couple of tentative glances then said, "I suppose I am being a little ridiculous?"

It was more of a question than it should have been, but Siobhan nodded. "You are."

The woman let out a breath, then laughed. "I'm sorry," she said again. "It is policy to let the arbiter know when one of the members might be particularly dangerous, but I promise I haven't been gossiping about you. I may have been listening to too many distorted rumors, though." She hesitated. "Could I ask a question?"

"You may, but I do not promise to answer." Siobhan's divination-diverting ward was active at a low level, of course, but she didn't want to risk trying to lie to a prognos.

"Why can't I focus on you? I can think about you when you're not in the room with me, but standing so close to you, I just have the urge to look away or think about something else."

Siobhan considered that this might be a dangerous question to answer, but decided that she couldn't be the only person in the city warded against divination. 'Hopefully the effect isn't distinguishably strange enough for it to be something a passing prognos might find suspicious about Sebastien Siverling.'

Aloud, she said, "For the same reason you could not divine if my answers were truthful. By your nature you cannot help but see deeper, and I am immune to divination." That was an exaggeration, but of the kind Siobhan didn't mind spreading. Maybe if people thought it was impossible, they wouldn't even try. On a whim, Siobhan decided to push it one step further. "Those who try too hard may find that though they do not see me, I see them."

"Oh," the woman said softly.

"Goodnight," Siobhan said. By the time she left, Tanya had a significant head start, but Siobhan was able to catch up with the other girl and follow her back to the University. Tanya walked hurriedly and turned a few corners rather abruptly, and Siobhan almost lost her a couple of times, but thankfully could rely on the compass divination spell to keep from needing to follow suspiciously closely.

She watched Tanya ride up to the University grounds in the clear tubes that wove over the cliffside, then turned back toward the Silk Door. Her breath fogged up in the cool air under the light of a streetlamp. 'I made almost one hundred and twenty gold tonight! I wonder what I can sell next time?' She held back a squeal of excitement.

Chapter 71 - The Penultimate Piece

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 9, Saturday 9:00 a.m.

After changing back into Sebastien, she went to Oliver's house to drop off the purchased packages for the Verdant Stag in his office. Over a hundred gold went to pay down her debt, though she kept fifteen gold for herself. 'I'm making progress.'

She put her two new potted plants in her room, turning on the light crystal lamp and placing it right beside the sempervivum apricus. They needed a lot of light to survive, and, with it being winter this far north, the illumination from the gloomy sky through the window wouldn't be enough.

On Friday, she decided to go back to Professor Lacer, but the thought of seeing him reminded her of the auxiliary exercises, which she had been somewhat slacking off on. During the free period where her second class of the day would have been, she slipped into the classroom used by Damien and his little study group, which was empty. She secretly stole some of Damien's coffee, then spent the whole period practicing a simple spell that compressed air into a ball. It seemed to augment the rock-creation and disintegration spell that Professor Lacer had introduced in class, but she found the extra control she gained from it was particularly useful for improving the range and size of her fabric-slicing spell, which used an edge of compressed air.

That evening, she took time to review and clean up the sleep-proxy spell she'd been working on for the last few weeks. It was the most complex spell array for anything she'd ever considered casting, largely because she had tried to make the Word as comprehensive as humanly possible, including the equivalent of pages of detailed instructions in tiny script which spiraled around a long section of the edge.

On Saturday morning, she rolled up the extra-large sheet of paper she'd written the spell array on and put it into her satchel, anxiety turning her stomach sour.

Professor Lacer had told her to bring it to him when she'd finished improving it. Showing what could easily be construed as evidence of intent to cast blood magic to a professor sounded like an absolutely idiotic idea. But since he already knew she was working on it, hadn't expelled her, and instead actually helped her with it, it's not like this second review would place her in any additional danger.

From what she'd seen of Professor Lacer so far, it seemed more likely he would expel her for trying to cast it without a final review by an expert than for the spell itself.

His only office hours that didn't immediately follow one of his teaching periods were early in the morning on Saturday. Sebastien suspected this was meant to deter those without a true reason to see him, since most students would be sleeping in, and those who weren't might prefer breakfast to his oppressive demeanor and scathing tongue.

She knocked on his door.

It opened, seemingly on its own. Professor Lacer was sitting behind the desk with a mug of steaming black coffee. He motioned her in, closing the door behind her with a nonchalant wave of his hand, within which he held a small beast core for energy.

Without preamble, she took the rolled-up paper out of her bag and handed it to him.

He took it with a slightly raised eyebrow and laid it flat across his desk. "This is quick work," he murmured, his eyes flicking over the spell array as he sipped his coffee.

'It's easy to work on it when I can't sleep,' she thought.

He waved absently for her to sit down.

About ten silent minutes later, he looked up. "Passable, for a first term student. At least you've done your research. It should not immediately blow up, with the right Will."

Sebastien let out a soft breath, deflating slightly. She swallowed. "On an unrelated note, I'd like to use one of the school's Henrik-Thompson artifacts to test my capacity. Would you be willing to facilitate that?"

His eyebrow raised again, and he stared at her for a moment.

She stared back, sitting stiffly.

He stood abruptly, and she almost startled. Downing the rest of his coffee, he rolled up her spell notes and handed them back to her. "Come," he said, motioning with his wrist. "Do you know how to calculate thaumic requirements?"

She hurried to follow him. "I understand the theory. We've done a little practice in Burberry's Intro to Magic and in Natural Science, but the calculations are beyond me for this spell."

"Hmm," he said inscrutably. He led her down a couple of curved hallways to a door near Burberry's classroom. It was a storage closet. He pulled a Henrik-Thompson testing artifact off one of the shelves, placing it on the floor in the middle of the room. He looked around and then pulled a small brazier off another shelf, lighting it with a snap of his fingers. "Well, go ahead. I will take the measurement reading," he said.

Her star sapphire Conduit was still tucked uncomfortably inside the lip of her boot, pressing against her calf, but the one he'd given her was in an easily accessible pocket, secured from loss by the chain threaded through her vest and attached to her pocket watch.

He eyed it with satisfaction, nodding slightly.

She sat down on the floor cross-legged, focusing her Will to prepare for a hard push.

With a wave of his hand, Professor Lacer created a sucking motion in the air behind her, pulling the door closed on the two of them.

For a moment, she felt trapped in this small, dark room with a powerful, dangerous man standing over her. Then she reminded herself how ridiculous she was being and began to pull energy from the brazier, pushing it into the spell array attached to the crystal ball of the artifact.

She bore down with her Will, tightening her grip on the magic, commanding the power to flow, more and more, until the storage closet filled with light.

She felt the strain as she reached the edge of her capacity. She breathed into the stretch, holding tighter and pushing farther, just a little farther.

Finally, she reached the point where she could go no further without snapping. She held the magic for a second, then two, and then released it slowly, making sure it didn't burn her like a rope slipping too fast through her fingers.

She rolled her shoulders and her jaw. Something inside her mind felt stretched, but not strained. Loose and relaxed.

"Three hundred fifteen thaums," Professor Lacer announced, giving her a sidelong glance.

It was more than she'd hoped. It meant maybe she could try to cast the spell soon, rather than waiting weeks or months to become strong enough.

"How many hours a week do you spend casting?"

Sebastien stood, dusting off her backside. "I don't keep track. I just practice till I'm too tired to go on."

He stared at her for a moment, then quenched the flames in the brazier and returned the items to the shelves they'd come from. "Your Will is not as abysmal as I feared, but it will not be nearly enough to cast that spell. Even with the variable casting times you have built into the process, you would need at least five hundred thaums of enduring capacity to finish the casting in less than four or five hours. Perhaps six or even seven hundred. The final step would take you perhaps three hours, at that strength. I did not calculate it precisely."

Sebastien's stomach dropped somewhere down around her feet. Or at least it felt like it. Enduring capacity wasn't the same as maximum capacity. She could hold about two-thirds of her maximum for long periods, and even then, casting at the edge of her limit for three hours in a single stretch would be quite a feat. She needed to gain another two or three hundred thaums before being able to cast the spell. If she had been practicing magic for a few thousand more hours, gaining a few hundred thaums would be much quicker. But for someone at her strength, it would take her another thousand hours of practice or so, at the very least.

She slumped.

Professor Lacer eyed her for a while longer, then spoke as if he didn't notice her discouragement. "New spells must be tested before being cast on anything, or anyone, of importance. I am sure you have heard the somewhat famous example of Master Susva, who perished while testing new healing spells on himself."

"Yes," she said. "He damaged his body's ability to create more blood and died several weeks later. He didn't understand the theory behind what he was doing well enough, which is a common danger for spell-creators. Running a diagnostic spell on a test subject like a mouse might have saved his life."

"Come with me," he said. He led her back to his office, where he scribbled something on a paper card.

She moved to the fire in the corner, took out the rolled-up paper with the evidence of her sleep-proxy spell, and fed it into the low flames, making sure no little bits escaped. She told herself it wasn't out of spite, but caution. She'd already done the same to the rest of the notes she'd taken. The only parts that remained outside her mind were in her grimoire, and that was warded against intrusion.

Professor Lacer noted her actions with an inscrutable look as he handed her the card. "This book should be in the library. It explains how to run a proper experiment and interpret the data. Professor Gnorrish is competent enough, but he will not be running his first term students through this type of rigorous analyses." He paused, then said, "Your improvement might be quicker than you think. If you look in the more advanced research texts on the subject, you will find that not everyone advances at exactly the same rate. You have talent, Mr. Siverling. That will only become more and more apparent over time, and with dedication."

'Is he trying to cheer me up?' she wondered. Normally, hearing Thaddeus Lacer admit that she had talent would have made her ecstatic. Even now, it was…pretty awesome. "Thank you," she said. "Is there any way to increase channeling capacity more quickly? Special exercises, or a spell…?"

"Many thaumaturges throughout history have asked that same question. If I were to give advice, I would tell you to continue doing whatever you have been doing."

Somewhat disappointed, she moved to tuck the card into her pocket, but caught a glimpse of writing on the back and flipped it over. It was a ticket for one contribution point. She looked up to him with wide eyes.

His lips twitched in a flicker-fast hint of amusement. "One point, for curiosity, and the good sense not to let it turn into foolishness. Learning how to thread the needle between greatness and recklessness is of the utmost importance. Complacency will lead you only to mediocrity, but recklessness in search of greatness can provoke horrors you have never imagined."

She tucked the card away in her vest pocket, trying not to grin. "I will not be reckless," she promised. "I understand the danger."

"Do you?" He seemed skeptical, but waved a hand at her before she could answer. "Off you go now. I expect this little extracurricular project will not affect your performance in next week's mid-terms."

"Of course not," she said, remembering her shameful performance on the entrance exam. "I won't let people question your decision to have such a mediocre student admitted."

His eyebrow quirked up again, and this time his smile was a bit slower. "See that you don't," he said without looking at her, focused on a half-read sheaf of papers on his desk.

Sebastien shut the door to his office behind her, her emotions a mix of buoyant light and sinking dark. 'An extra two hundred thaums, minimum. That could take me until I've finished my third term and gotten my official Apprentice certification. It's great that the spell is tenable, and it's even better that Professor Lacer seems to have acknowledged me, but it doesn't solve my problem. Is there any way to reduce the spell's power requirement without lowering its efficacy?' Thinking of spending the next year or more in her current situation made her eyes burn with stymied rage.

'I have to find a way. Not recklessly. It may not be worth my life, but it's worth a lot. How can I cast a spell that I can't cast?'

Chapter 72 - First Fallen

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 11, Monday 2:15 p.m.

It was impossible for Sebastien to have the sleep-proxy spell ready before the mid-terms, which had been her goal.

Instead, she spent most of her weekend the same as the one before: brewing, resting, and then brewing some more, till her brain was foggy and her stomach screamed for calories. She wanted to try brewing some of the other potions that the Verdant Stag enforcers might find useful in a fight, like the liquid stone potion or the bark skin potion, but there was no time. With her limited resources, she needed to prioritize what she knew would be the most useful.

Monday dawned with a tangible air of panic. It was the week of mid-terms, which would be held Wednesday through Friday in lieu of the normal class schedule, and a good portion of the students seemed surprised to realize they only had two days left to prepare.

Sebastien reviewed the notes she'd taken since the beginning of the term and spent some time looking up the things she felt vague on, but didn't bother to panic. She'd been diligent throughout the term so far, and at this point there was little to be gained by a couple more days of frantic cramming.

Professor Lacer started the mini-tournament in his class that day. As he had promised, they were getting a head start on the tournament, since with over two hundred students remaining, completing it would take longer than the extended period they had been assigned for the mid-term on Friday.

The students arrived to find that the classroom had been rearranged. Six desks had been moved to the lecture stage at the front of the room, with a large area cleared around them. A chair sat on either side of each desk, and an empty glass wheel with an iron sphere inside sat atop it.

The tournament brackets were written on the blackboard at the front of the room. There were three sections, grouping people who had started the class under one hundred thaums, between one hundred and two hundred thaums, and then everything above that.

The students crowded closer to the blackboard to see who they would be paired up against for the initial match, chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

Professor Lacer had been sitting at his desk when they came in, reading through a bound sheaf of papers. When the bell rang, he stood up. That simple movement was enough to quiet the entire classroom. "Our class's miniature tournament starts today. We will use this time to go through elimination rounds, narrowing down the number of matches we need to get through on Friday. A single loss will see you disqualified. If any match lasts longer than twenty minutes, both sides will be disqualified. I have requisitioned a couple of student aides to keep track of wins and losses and keep things going smoothly, but I will personally be giving each of you your mid-term score." He gestured to the two student aides, who waved to the room.

"What are we being graded on?" a student asked.

"Your Will," Lacer said simply. "To be clear, your performance today is a chance to either confirm the assessment I've made of each of you throughout the term so far…or surprise me. I have made a reasonable estimation of both your dedication and your skill. Your grade will depend on the effort you have put into improving during the term so far, as well as your ability to demonstrate your grasp of the various aspects of a powerful Will. I will be noting your capacity, your efficiency, your force, and your soundness. If you do surprise me… Well, hope for your own sake that it is positive—a show of extra capability under pressure—rather than disappointment."

He moved to the front of the room and walked slowly past them, watching each student critically in a way that reminded Sebastien of Fekten. "In case any of you have forgotten, this class is called Practical Will-based Casting. There will be no theoretical or written portion to this exam. What matters is your ability to perform in a real-life situation with real stakes. Remember, the winners in each bracket will get contribution points in addition to a grade.

"Let us begin. Six matches at a time, from the top." He waved his hand impatiently and the first twelve students scrambled to find their partners and arrange themselves under his impatient stare.

"The desks have been marked with a direction, clockwise or counter-clockwise. If the sphere moves in your direction for more than three consecutive seconds, you have won."

When the first twelve contestants were seated, the spell arrays were written, and the student aides had their pocket watches, clipboards, and pens ready, Professor Lacer nodded sharply. "Begin." He watched intently as the students obeyed.

Damien, Ana, and Sebastien stood to the side, watching. Sebastien was in the third bracket. She leaned closer to Damien, murmuring, "Do you know who S. Vanderville is?"

"Simon Vanderville," Damien murmured back, not taking his eyes off the contestants. Less than a minute in and half of the matches had already been decided, with one side being unable to keep their opponent from moving the sphere against them for three consecutive seconds.

She glanced around at the stronger students in the class. "Okay. But who is that?" she asked. "Can you point him out?"

Damien's eyebrows rose, but when he looked at her sincere expression, he sighed and rolled his eyes in amusement. "I forgot. You erase 'unimportant things,' like peoples' names, from your memory." He jerked his chin toward a familiar looking man standing across the room. "That's Simon. You've actually partnered with him several times, Sebastien."

Vanderville noticed her looking and gave her a solemn nod.

"He doesn't stand a chance against you," Ana said, giving Vanderville a sweet smile that contrasted her words.

Vanderville blushed and looked away.

Damien snorted. "Of course he doesn't. Sebastien couldn't even remember his name. He's going to crush Vanderville like an ant."

From her vague memories of practicing against him, Sebastien thought that was probably true. "Well, I'll try not to be too ruthless about it. I want to make sure Professor Lacer has enough time to judge both of us thoroughly. If I just win in the first three seconds, that wouldn't be fair to Vanderville."

Damien stared at her for a second, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think you could? Win in the first three seconds, that is?"

Sebastien ran her tongue across the back of her teeth as she contemplated the question for a few seconds. "I think so. If for no other reason than that it would probably take him off guard."

Damien nodded, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully. He turned to Ana. "What would you say the odds on that are?"

"At least three to one," Ana replied immediately.

Damien turned back to Sebastien. "Do it. Don't go easy on him." With his fingers digging through his pockets, Damien turned away and began to weave through the crowd, murmuring something to the people he passed, occasionally pointing out Sebastien and his upcoming opponent to them.

Sebastien frowned after him, then turned to Ana expectantly. "Is he taking bets?"

Ana smiled serenely. "As children, we used to do it frequently to get extra coin for spending, until all our friends refused to wager with us anymore. He's always enjoyed that look of surprise and dismay on people's faces when he's proven right."

"Smug little shit," Sebastien muttered.

Ana elbowed her in the side, not hard enough to really hurt.

Sebastien laughed. When Damien looked her way, Sebastien mouthed "Fifty-fifty," to him.

With an expression of reluctance, he nodded and continued working the crowd.

"Wait. Should I be looking worried right now?" she said. "If I look too confident, they might not want to bet against me." Ennis had loved to gamble, often to their detriment, but he'd also been a schemer who did whatever possible to tip the odds in his favor. Sometimes that worked out, and more often it got them into even more trouble.

Ana sighed deeply and walked away to chat with another group of students. At first, Sebastien thought she'd irritated the other girl, until she heard her say, "I know Sebastien probably doesn't have a chance against Vanderville, but he's my friend, so I'm still going to bet on him. What do you think? I heard Vanderville's a third term student, on track to be a student liaison next term. Sebastien's been practicing, but…he was up studying all night. He must be exhausted. Am I going to lose my coin?"

Some of the group members immediately agreed, with some variation of amusement and excitement, that she was going to lose her bet, and briefly consoled her before going to place their own wager with Damien.

Sebastien concealed her smile, doing her best to look both exhausted and secretly apprehensive.

The first set of matches took less than five minutes, with each desk being vacated and filled again under the direction of the student liaisons as soon as a winner was declared.

Professor Lacer, leaning against his own desk and observing, never moved from his spot or dropped his concentration, though his lips moved frequently as he muttered under his breath, and his pen scribbled notes as if controlled by an invisible hand.

After a few rounds of matches in the first bracket, Sebastien realized she wasn't gaining much from watching, thereby wasting precious time, so she took out a book and moved to the edge of the room to read.

She became engrossed in her reading, and was surprised when one of the student aides approached her with irritation. "Siverling? It's your turn."

Sebastien hurriedly tucked the book back in her satchel and walked through the crowd to take a seat across from Vanderville at the desk. She drew her own preferred glyphs onto the Circle and began bringing her Will to bear.

She didn't start channeling any of the power from the three small tea candles prepared for her. She was just preparing, coiling up like a snake about to strike.

As soon as the student aide said, "Start," Sebastien unleashed all the tension she'd been gathering. She sucked at the candles, riding the edge between extinguishing them and drawing as much power from their heat as possible. Her Will bore down like a clenching fist, squeezing as much utility out of the power as she could.

The sphere spun around the wheel so quickly it turned into a blur.

Three seconds later, the student aide said, "Winner, Siverling!"

Vanderville stared at the ball as it slowly lost momentum. He looked up to Sebastien, then down to the ball.

He looked like a puppy that had just been struck by lightning and didn't understand what had happened.

Sebastien felt a little bad for him. "Better luck next time." She stood and met Professor Lacer's gaze, but his expression didn't give anything away.

Damien was jumping up and down with excitement, shaking Ana's arm. "Did you see that!?" he exclaimed.

There were quite a few looks of shock and dismay among the other students, likely those who had bet against Sebastien.

Sebastien gave Damien a small smirk as she passed, the crowd parting for her as she returned to the edge of the room and took out her book again.

Damien spent the remainder of the class period extracting coin from the people who owed him. He won his own match against a studious-looking girl, though it took him almost thirty seconds to Sebastien's three. He didn't seem particularly surprised by this outcome, but shook hands with his defeated opponent genially.

Ana took her opponent off guard by chattering, and then yanking the ball out of their magical grasp when they were distracted.

"She's devious," Damien said, grinning.

When the bell rang to signify the end of the period, the class had finished all the initial elimination rounds and a handful of the second-level matches too.

As they made their way back to the dorms, Damien counted the money and handed Sebastien her cut.

She grinned, infected by his enthusiasm. She'd just made nine silver from a little bit of showing off, which was probably pocket change to someone like Damien, but throughout her childhood would have meant several days of food, or a couple nights in an actual bed rather than sleeping in a barn or a tent set up in a field. Now, it could buy her the components for two blood-clotting potions, or a new pair of insulated leather gloves. University students were much too rich. "That little trick won't keep working over and over," she warned.

"Oh, don't be such a downer, Sebastien," Damien said. "What do you say we go down into the city tonight and get a real meal with our winnings? I cannot stand another night of cafeteria slop while watching upper term students eat lobster and pheasant. It'll be fun! And we need the energy for the upcoming tests. Come on! We can get the whole gang together."

Sebastien frowned reluctantly. Any restaurant Damien picked was sure to be expensive, and as much as she wanted a good, filling meal, she also had the weight of her debt to the Verdant Stag hanging over her, and her need to prepare for not only the mid-terms, but her upcoming job as an assistant healer.

"Come on," Damien wheedled. "You can make fun of Alec as much as you want. Doesn't that sound refreshing?"

Ana let out a snort of amusement. "Damien's right. You need to take breaks to perform at your maximum potential, Sebastien. I know a nice restaurant with great musicians, not too ostentatious. The Glasshopper has the most delightful desserts, and I really do mean delightful. There is even pudding that they set on fire when they serve it to you!" She reached out and tugged on Sebastien's sleeve, batting her lashes over those big blue eyes.

"I suppose," Sebastien agreed reluctantly. 'If I pretend winnings are not fungible, I can pay for it with the unexpected windfall I just made and not feel too pained.'

There was a crowd in the dormitory hallway, blocking them from getting into their dorm room.

"Something's wrong, " Sebastien said, taking in the expressions of the students milling about.

Damien reached out to grab another student's elbow. "What happened?"

"Someone died," they said.

The words knocked the exuberance out of Damien's eyes. "Who? Was it in our dorm?"

The student responded, but Sebastien wasn't listening. Two infirmary employees were carrying a stretcher with a cloth-covered body through the doors, and the crowd pressed back and parted to give them space.

They passed right by Sebastien. Her senses took in every detail as the sounds around her seemed to blur and soften, like she was hearing them from underwater.

White cloth, contouring around the body and features just enough to make what lay below obvious.

The smell of hastily cleaned vomit and feces. Bodies released when the life left them. It was common.

No crimson, no smell of blood.

The person's hand slipped from the side of the stretcher and flopped down as the small procession passed through the crowd. It was almost voyeuristic, that peek at what lay beneath, and it felt like a perverse glimpse into something that should have been shrouded.

Without thinking, Sebastien reached out, grasping the dead boy's pale wrist between her fingers and slipping it back under the protective covering of the white cloth.

His skin was still warm.

It was only once the stretcher was out of sight that the sound of the world rushed back in.

Near the doors of their dormitory room, a girl wailed, collapsing to her knees as two of her friends held her. Tears streamed down all three of their faces.

That, too, seemed like something private that Sebastien wasn't meant to see. She turned her head away as a lingering pair of healers from the infirmary tipped a potion against the girl's lips, urging her to swallow.

Her wails of anguish cut off as the potion sedated her, and they carried her off too, leaving her two crying, but less hysterical, friends behind.

A warm hand slipped over the top of Sebastien's, and she looked down to see that at some point, she'd grabbed Damien's wrist and was squeezing it in a bruising grip. She let him go immediately, looking away from his expression of sympathy.

She turned back, not quite sure where she was planning to go, just wanting to get away from the dorms, the too-close crowd and the feeling of suffocation.

Tanya was standing right beside her, arms crossed over her chest, an inscrutable expression on her face.

Sebastien met her eyes for a second.

Tanya sighed. "Will-strain," she said. "He won't be the last."

The words reverberated in Sebastien's mind with a rumble of premonition.

Chapter 73 - Mid-Terms & Tournament

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 11, Monday 4:00 p.m.

The healers passed around calming potions to all the students, leaving a bottle inside the cubicle of everyone who wasn't there to take them directly.

Sebastien wasn't stubborn about it. She took a dose—a single swallow—right away, then left the building for a long walk through the Menagerie, trying not to think past the magical haze of well-being the potion imparted.

She returned a few hours later, after the sun had set and the cold was bitter enough that she noticed it through the waning power of the potion.

Back in the dorms, she learned from gossip she couldn't help but overhear, that the dead boy had been practicing magic with his friends, who were all cramming in what study they could before the tests. They had returned to the dorms together, and he'd complained of dizziness and lay down to take a nap.

His friend, the girl who'd been sedated and taken to the infirmary, had tried to wake him about half an hour later, when the smell of vomit and shit suddenly became noticeable.

It was too late. He was already dead.

The healers declared it an aneurism caused by Will-strain.

That evening, before lights-out but after all the students had returned to the dorm, Tanya and Newton stood at the front of the room and gave another lecture about safety and ensuring the health of their minds and magic. "Go to sleep early tonight," Tanya said, "and take a calming potion if you need one. Please be careful not to cast any strenuous magic under the effects of a calming potion though, as it can impair your control. My advice is not to worry about the mid-terms or any other schoolwork. Your sanity and your life are more important than your homework, and this was a blow to all of us."

"It will take time to recover," Newton said in a rough voice. "We're here for you if you need help, as are any of the healers, and your professors, too."

Sebastien cast her dreamless sleep spell with as much power as she could pour into it, then used the esoteric humming spell that Newton had taught her to relax her body, and took another swallow of calming potion before sticking waxed cotton in her ears to block out the sounds of the other students. Finally, as prepared as she could be, she went to sleep.

Tuesday was subdued, and they only had morning classes.

Damien seemed shocked by the death and kept wanting to talk about it, going in circles about how horrible and sad it was without really saying anything new.

Sebastien went through that conversation with him a couple of times, then foisted him off on Ana and his other friends. It wasn't the first time she'd seen death, of course, but she kept remembering the feel of the dead boy's skin under her fingers, still warm. 'One in fifteen of us will die or go insane before we become Masters,' she reminded herself. 'Tanya was right. He won't be the last. But I won't be one of them.'

She forced herself to focus during her classes, and after on the basic books about emergency healing she'd borrowed from the library.

The latter at least gave her some comfort.

On Wednesday, normal classes were cancelled in favor of two extra-long exam periods, one before lunch, and one after lunch.

They started the day with Professor Gnorrish's mid-term examination for Natural Science. The exam was a more elaborate version of his normal tests, with a lot of extra questions and some interactive content with pictures, like Sebastien remembered from the entrance exam. She could answer questions about everything they had covered in class, but when it came to higher-level extrapolations based on a deeper understanding of those same concepts, she found herself stymied at least half the time.

At least this test wasn't never-ending like the written entrance examination. She was able to get through the whole thing with enough time to go back to some of the questions she'd been unsure about and think on them a little harder.

After that came Professor Ilma's exam for History of Magic. That one only had twenty questions, but they all needed to be answered in short-essay format. Sebastien knew Professor Ilma well enough by now not to bother regurgitating anything from a book. Instead, she made her own arguments and even openly admitted on a couple of questions that she had no idea about the answer, yet still gave all the evidence that might support some kind of conclusion.

She was still scribbling frantically when the bell rang to signal the end of the test period, groaning in dismay as she tried to finish her current thought in still-legible handwriting before someone stopped her.

After almost five hours of test-taking, she was exhausted, but that evening she asked around in the dorms and managed to find some second term students who also had Professor Pecanty in order to ask them about his tests. She and he thought nothing alike, and she was worried that his tests would be as subjective as the literary analyses they did in class.

"Oh, yeah," one second term student said. "Pecanty's the worst. Each test is going to have a randomly assigned essay question at the end. He told me my analysis was 'shallow and simplistic.'"

Another student snorted from the corner. "That's because you're writing to the topic, not the teacher. I have a system. Gets me a perfect score every time."

"You're such a suck-up," the first student said.

His friend shrugged. "Well, we have this room because of the contribution points he gave me. Don't complain too much while you're benefitting from my largesse."

Sebastien turned to the man with eagle-eyed interest. "What's your system?"

"Easy," he said, not even looking up from the magazine she recognized as the latest Aberford Thorndyke story. "I make as many connections as possible, always. If there's a short answer or essay question, I try to make at least two allusions to another story or poem we've talked about in class. Bonus points if it's a play or opera I saw outside of the University, or a story one of my many fake aunts, uncles, or grandparents told me when I was little, accompanied by some poignant memory. In addition to that, I try to use at least five vivid, poetic 'feeling' or 'sensory' words. He really loves it when I mention a smell or a taste. For example, a strong, salty sausage might remind me of my mother's bloody hands in the winter, pale with cold, and the iron and shit I smelled as the pig she'd slaughtered bled out into a steel bucket, its squeal of terror still ringing in my ears." His tone had taken on an imitation of Pecanty's rhythm as he spoke the last bit. He waved his hand leadingly. "Like that."

Sebastien nodded with wonder. "Can you give me some more examples? Just so I can get the feel of it?"

The boy laughed. "Dream on, firstie. I'm busy reading, so go bother someone else. Unless you're willing to trade contribution points for it? I've been wanting to upgrade my meal plan…" He looked up, eyebrows raised expectantly.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Thank you for your help."

He looked back down, losing interest in her immediately.

Sebastien asked for advice from a couple other students who had experience with Pecanty, but got nothing as good as that first offering.

The Sympathetic Science exam was first on Thursday, and she was careful to make even more connections than reasonable, backing them up with sensory allusions that otherwise had no connection, when necessary. She even tried to make her handwriting as beautiful as possible, because that seemed like the kind of thing that Pecanty might subconsciously favor. When she finished the test, she went back over every written answer, making sure that, where possible, she'd made at least two allusions and used at least five evocative emotional or sensory words.

'If this doesn't work, there's really nothing I can do. Except something like…blackmail?' Sebastien shook her head at that fanciful thought and hurried quickly to lunch. She wanted to eat as soon as possible so that her stomach would be settled before the Defensive Magic exam.

Despite her efforts, she arrived on the white flats slightly queasy, though she thought that was more due to misgivings about the grueling physical torture she was about to experience than the food sitting uncomfortably in her stomach.

Using whatever magic allowed him to rearrange the stone of the white flats, Fekten had set up an almost comically difficult obstacle course. The students were to complete it as quickly as possible, with their grade depending on their speed for each section, and then take the written exam.

Looking at one section of the course where they were meant to leap across a scattered path of columns raised a meter above the ground, Sebastien swallowed heavily. Another section required them to climb up a rope to cross a tall wall, then slide down the other side into a tunnel that was somehow filled with water. 'I'll be surprised if no one gets seriously injured.'

As if that thought were some sort of prophecy, Fekten introduced the gathered students to the healers he'd called in to supervise his mid-term.

Sebastien took a deep breath and massaged her neck, trying to let go of her anxiety. She would have cast Newton's humming spell, but there wasn't enough time for it to really settle into her body before the test started. Instead, she cast the pain-muffling spell she often used for Fekten's class. All it really did was help her to ignore the discomfort, not lessen it, but that was enough to let her push through.

The obstacle course began with a one mile run, and concluded with a sprint through a corridor lined with light-shooting mannequins, just like those they'd been practicing their footwork against.

Sebastien finished the course with a time slightly better than the middle of the pack, but wasn't provided the opportunity to recuperate. She followed the students who had finished before her as they ran to the desks set up in the biggest room of the sim building. Throwing herself into a desk with a blank tests already waiting for her, she pulled out her pen and released the pain-muffling spell.

Her handwriting was even worse than normal, with the occasional ink-smudge from sweat, but she felt confident in her answers on all the various dangers and tactics that Fekten had been lecturing about every class period. It was actually even easier to remember it all with her lungs aching for air and her muscles burning with fatigue. Probably because that was the state in which she'd learned it to begin with.

She stumbled away from the white flats to the dorm showers, and then took a nap in an attempt to recover from her listlessness. 'I cannot wait until something else can do some of my sleeping for me.'

She was still sore on Friday morning, but didn't have much trouble with Burberry's test in Modern Magics. The professor had brought in a few people to help get through all the students in the time they had, some of them student aides, and some that seemed to have been hired specifically for the task.

Each student was required to display competence with three randomly chosen variations on the spells they had been practicing that term, along with a written test, which, like Gnorrish's, had interactive content.

Sebastien didn't push too hard on any of the spells. Her control was developed enough that she didn't need to show off her power, too. She wanted her Will to stay fresh for the tournament.

Sebastien arrived at the Practical Casting classroom about ten minutes early, but there were already students gathered, and a couple of them were competing against each other in their tournament brackets while Professor Lacer supervised.

A girl approached Sebastien and said, "I'm your next opponent. Do you want to get a head start on the matches? Professor Lacer said we could."

"Sure." Starting ten minutes earlier could mean ten more minutes of recovery between it and the subsequent match.

They set up, waited for Professor Lacer's assistant proctor to note their names, and then began to cast.

Sebastien's opponent was familiar with her trick from the first match and was able to withstand the initial powerful push. "Did you really think the same trick would work twice in a row?" the girl asked.

Sebastien shrugged. "It's not like I lose anything in the attempt. Besides, if I did not push hard, what if you took me by surprise instead?"

They settled into the struggle. The girl was strong, but after a few minutes it became apparent that she lacked practice. Her Will was neither as clear, sound, nor as forceful as Sebastien's.

As time went on, the girl's candles began to flicker and flutter.

Sebastien sensed weakness and pushed even harder.

Her opponent squeezed her fists and glared at the ball that kept inching against her in little bursts, never quite for three seconds at a time, but growing ever-closer. Her face began to turn red from the effort, but she eventually pulled too hard and one of her candles was quenched. The cold wick emitted a small trail of smoke.

That was it. With three candles against two, Sebastien won immediately.

Damien and Ana arrived just as Sebastien was getting up from the table.

"No!" Damien cried dramatically. "I missed it? Sebastien, you should have stalled! I didn't even get a chance to make any bets."

Ana elbowed him in the side. "Damien. No one was going to bet against Sebastien again after what happened last time."

Damien held his chin in his hand, frowning thoughtfully as he looked Sebastien up and down. "Not necessarily. He just needs to be up against an opponent no one thinks he can beat…"

"And then what if he loses? Why don't you just enjoy the winnings you already have and be content?"

"Sebastien definitely won't lose," Damien said.

"How can you know that? He's in the most difficult bracket, against students from upper terms…"

They continued to dispute the issue, but Sebastien tuned them out.

The other matches finished, too, and when the bell rang, Professor Lacer announced, "We finish the tournament today! Since this is the last test period of the week, the matches can continue on even after the period technically ends. With the number of students still remaining, this seems likely. Anything after the test period ends is entirely optional, and will be for contribution points, not your grade."

Despite how fatigued most of the students probably were at the end of the mid-terms, most seemed enthused to see this contest through to the end. Of course, at least half of them had nothing to do except spectate today, having already lost their own matches on Monday, which probably contributed to their high spirits.

This time, Sebastien actually watched the matches with Damien and Ana. They murmured observations to each other, and she took note of those in her bracket who she might have trouble with.

Sebastien's second match was also against a woman. Her opponent was good. Neither of them had a marked advantage with only three candles to draw on, and they struggled back and forth, slamming at each other with bursts of unsustainable power that they had to release lest they quench their flames.

Sebastien bore down with her Will, tuning out everything else but the flames, the movement of the sphere, and her pure denial that the other woman could best her. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen.

If neither of them won soon, they would both be disqualified at the twenty-minute mark.

Eventually, though, Sebastien began to gain the edge. The longer and harder she pushed, the more eagerly the magic responded to her. The air of the Sacrifice Circle around her candles grew chilled, but their flames never sputtered. Each pulse of extra power she funneled into the spell flowed only more smoothly.

In contrast, Sebastien's opponent couldn't maintain the same level of focus and control she'd started the match with. She didn't degrade drastically, by any means, but there was no space for mistakes.

Sebastien moved the ball, not quickly, but inexorably, and her opponent couldn't stop it in time.

"Winner, S. Siverling," the student aide muttered, going to write her name on the blackboard next to her upcoming opponent.

Sebastien rolled her neck, which was a little stiff from staring down at the table for so long. She had Damien point out her next opponent, a man who was sitting away from the rest of the crowd with his eyes closed, a slight grimace on his face.

Sebastien felt a little apprehensive about competing with someone so calm, but reassured herself that she could win. 'I'll freeze the table if I have to. Everything within the Circle belongs to me, and it might be enough for one surprise shove of power that doesn't rely on the candles.'

However, when the two of them were called up to compete, the man pushed reluctantly through the crowd, met her gaze, and shook his head. "I don't think I can. I've got a headache, and I think I might be approaching Will-strain."

Professor Lacer waved the man away with a flick of the wrist. "Understood. Be sure to go to the infirmary if you need to," he said, the pen on his desk still scribbling away by itself. He looked at Sebastien, then back to the man, adding, "I commend your good sense."

"Forfeit, win goes to Mr. Siverling," an aide said.

A couple of students groaned.

Sebastien looked around for the perpetrators, but the boys she suspected refused to meet her gaze. 'Are they rooting against me?'

As if to make up for this, a group of young women standing to the side gave her excited smiles and gestures of encouragement. "You can do it, Sebastien!"

The next matches took more time, as the more powerful people were pitted against each other. Damien lost his third match, but put up a strong resistance, and Professor Lacer even gave him a small nod of acknowledgement when it was over.

Sebastien suppressed a spike of jealousy.

With a dogged determination that Sebastien found surprising, Ana also won her match, but then excused herself from the tournament to avoid Will-strain.

By Sebastien's fourth match of the day, there were only a handful of contestants left in her bracket. She sat across from a young man who was growing a thick winter beard, which was impressive for a student their age.

"Nunchkin," he introduced himself, giving her a small bow.

"Siverling," she said, crossing her arms.

In his Sacrifice Circle, Nunchkin wrote the glyph for "wax" instead of "fire," or even the less-common "heat."

Sebastien had a premonition of doom as soon as she saw that, but it was too late to respond to it even if she could think of some way to do so, because the student aide was already counting them down. The match began to a chorus of cheers from their classmates.

Sebastien slammed on the sphere immediately, and it moved under her Will, but not for long.

The sphere sat still for a long while, trembling minutely under the opposing forces. Then, slowly, it began to shift in Nunchkin's direction, against her.

Sebastien stopped it, but she could do no more than that. It sat trembling again, and then slowly rolled against her.

'No.'

The sphere stopped again, but Nunchkin just kept on pouring more and more power into the spell.

Her eyes flicked up to see that the wax of one of Nunchkin's candles was visibly disappearing, as if a few large, invisible ants were nibbling at it.

Turning matter directly into movement was an incredibly advanced conversion. Using matter as a power source rather than a transmutable component was possible, but generally inefficient and gruelingly difficult. It was why most sorcerers used flames, beast cores, or even something like the power of the flowing water in a river to provide the energy for their spells.

Running out of the specified form of energy and having the spell resort to using matter instead was one of the most common ways to lose control of your magic and get Will-strain. Put plainly, it was beyond her.

The little spots of missing wax grew.

Sebastien's eyes narrowed. As the spots grew larger, she could see their shiny, liquid edges, and faint shimmers in the air.

'But maybe he's not using the wax directly. Could he be using his Will to create a wick-like construct, and burning up the wax? If he's using the light as well as the heat, that might be why I can't see any visible flames.'

Her epiphany had cost her. In just this moment of distraction, Nunchkin had pushed the ball against her for almost a full revolution of the glass wheel and was about to win.

In a sudden effort, Sebastien used the idea she'd come up with earlier and sucked all the heat from the table beneath her Sacrifice Circle. The frosted-over section of the slate table groaned from the sudden temperature change. It was enough to match Nunchkin and even push back for a moment, but not to keep her going for the full three seconds as he increased his own spell's power to oppose her.

Still, it had bought her a little time to think.

Wax did not need a wick to burn, technically. The wick was useful because it drew melted wax up into the heat of the flame and burnt it there. Most of what the flame was devouring was actually the wax, not the wick at all. The problem with trying to burn wax without the wick was that the substance would disperse the heat throughout its volume, making it difficult to maintain the combustion point. The wick kept a small amount of liquid wax at the right spot, without enough volume to disperse the heat before it caught fire and was converted into more heat, light, and various gasses.

With the incredibly rudimentary spell array that Professor Lacer insisted on, what she did with the magic could be any number of things that used "heat" for the purpose of creating "movement."

A candle flame created around eighty thaums, give or take. Three candles left her stymied at a little under two hundred fifty thaums, total. But there was much more energy than that within the entire candle.

Sebastien drew on the heat in the melted wax of one of her own candles, experimentally, pulling at the part around the base of the flame, drawing it up into the wick.

It worked.

The flame flared higher, the inefficiency of the burn clear in the dark tendril of smoke that began to curl up from the flame's orange tip. Suddenly, she had more energy to work with, maybe an extra dozen thaums.

'I have all the power I need. It is only a matter of Will. Always, always, only a matter of Will.'

Nunchkin actually revealed a small smile, though he didn't look at her, his eyes trained on the sphere with unwavering focus.

Splitting her concentration on creating movement in the wax—as little as it was—with controlling the iron sphere made things more difficult. But it was more than worth it for the extra power.

She repeated her trick with the other two candles, sending their flames flaring angrily higher.

She had the upper hand again, for a moment.

But it was only a moment.

With the inexorability of the setting sun, Nunchkin kept pouring on more and more power.

Sebastien would never have been able to keep fighting back if she hadn't spent so many hours practicing the sphere-spinning spell.

Nunchkin's spell array was glowing with inefficiency despite his prowess.

Hers didn't, not even the barest flicker.

The candle flames flared higher and higher until they were like small torches, ready to burn out before their time. She knew there was enough heat in the candle wax…

But her Will could only channel so much.

The sphere began to move against her, once more.

She slammed her Will against it like she might throw her body against a barred door, but Nunchkin was unfazed, and she felt the taut fist of her Will start to tremble with strain. 'I have to let go,' she realized. 'I've lost.'

She did so with careful control, watching the sphere spin the wrong direction, faster and faster until it became a blur.

She almost didn't hear it when the match was called in Nunchkin's favor.

As she stood up from the desk, Damien slammed into her, grabbing her arm and screaming in her ear to be heard past the cheers filling the room. "Planes-damned, I'll kick an earth-aspected weta if that wasn't one of the most impressive things I've ever seen!"

Damien pulled her through the crowd, high-fiving people as they passed, crowing unintelligibly amid the noise as if he himself had just won the entire tournament.

Luckily, Nunchkin drew most of the attention away from them as they got to the edge of the crowd.

Rubbing her forehead, Sebastien moved to an empty desk a distance away from the front of the classroom and slumped down into the chair.

Even Ana was grinning widely. "Good job, Sebastien. That was indeed very impressive. I'm sure Professor Lacer was pleased."

Damien nodded, still vibrating with excitement. "What you did with the candles? Oh, I think I gasped out loud when I saw it! I never even thought of doing something like that, but the rules definitely don't say you can't, and Professor Lacer must not have a problem with it, or he would have said something."

Sebastien sighed, letting her shoulders slump. "I don't know what you think was so impressive about that display. I lost."

Damien's excitement dimmed, and he shared a look with Ana.

"You put up a remarkable fight," Ana said. "You proved that your Will isn't only powerful, but sound, forceful, and clear."

"You're only a first term student, Sebastien," Damien said. His voice was gentle, as if explaining something worryingly simple to her, and he doubted her ability to grasp it. "Nunchkin is a fourth-term. And I heard someone saying he's taken this class twice before."

Sebastien's eyes widened.

"So you see, no matter how much of a prodigy you are, you can't expect to beat that kind of experience, and—" Damien cut off as Sebastien let her forehead thunk onto the table.

"Sebastien?" he asked.

She raised her head, unable to keep the disappointment from her face. "You're telling me I lost to someone who failed this class the first two times?"

Ana raised her eyebrows and lifted a hand to her mouth to disguise sudden amusement. "I think you may be focusing on the wrong part of that statement, Sebastien."

Damien blinked a few times, then shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Umm. Yes. What Ana said. Let me explain this—"

Sebastien waved away their counterproductive attempts to console her. "It's okay. I've got time. I'll catch up to him. I definitely won't fail this class and have to retake it!" she announced, clenching her fists.

"Yes, well…good," Damien said, seeming a little confused.

They returned to watch the last couple of matches between semifinalists, and Sebastien kept an eye out for other tricks she could appropriate.

Nunchkin and a girl with a fierce glare were the two finalists.

Nunchkin's opponent used the same technique as Sebastien to increase the amount of power she had to draw on, and came closer than Sebastien had to taking Nunchkin out in the beginning of the match, but still failed to beat the pressure of his slow, relentless ramp-up.

Nunchkin was declared the winner of the largest bracket, as well as the overall tournament, and awarded the biggest contribution point prize. He smiled humbly and gave a bow to Professor Lacer.

Sebastien wanted to scowl, but realized that would be childish, and so tried to keep her expression bland, if not exactly pleasant.

"Well done!" Professor Lacer said in a loud voice that cut through the chatter. "Well, to most of you. It is time for the prizes. As promised, the winner of each lesser bracket will receive thirty contribution points. However, those of you who put up a good fight or displayed some piece of exceptional control or ingenuity will also be rewarded for your efforts."

The students cheered, laughing and yelling and generally making a ruckus as Professor Lacer called students out from the crowd and handed them a ticket noting their points, murmuring a few words of praise to each.

To her surprise, though she hadn't even gotten to the top three of her bracket, Professor Lacer called her name.

She pushed through the muttering crowd—someone said something about her being at Apprentice-level capacity already, but she wasn't sure who—and took the ticket.

Five contribution points.

Lacer didn't smile, but it was almost as good when he said, "Impressive problem-solving and control under pressure."

Struggling to hold her own expression to merely professional satisfaction rather than profound relief—and even a little bit of glee—she gave him a shallow bow. "Thank you."

He nodded and called the next name.

Sebastien tucked the ticket into her pocket, patting it in satisfaction as she returned to Damien and Ana. "Well. I suppose I didn't do too badly."

Damien rolled his eyes hard enough they might have gotten stuck. "Right."

"So. Restaurant? Live music? Teasing Alec?" Ana asked, flashing Sebastien a winning grin.

Sebastien was in too good a mood to refuse.

Besides, her brain and Will both needed a break.

She needed to be fully rested for the attack on the Morrows, after all.

Chapter 74 - The Glasshopper

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 15, Friday 6:00 p.m.

Ana's choice of restaurant was indeed amazing.

Everything about the Glasshopper was subtly expensive, from the fine uniforms of the waiters, to the spells woven into the floor around the tables to keep conversations from being overheard. Nothing gaudy like gold filigree or eye-catching enchantments, just dark woods and marble.

There was a small string and brass band on the stage, accompanying a woman with rounded, bright-colored feathers sprouting from the sides of her face and scalp where her ears and hair would have been, on a human. She swayed on stage, crooning in a soft, chocolatey voice that somehow managed to reach the whole building equally. Her feather-lashed eyes were closed, and her voice shivered over Sebastien's skin like a sensual, ephemeral touch.

"Is that a siren?" Sebastien whispered in awe. "They're so rare, I've only ever heard of them, never seen one."

Ana sighed in appreciation. "They always have the best music. This is the best restaurant outside of the Lilies."

Alec Gervin's mouth had dropped open, and there might have been a little bit of drool at the corner of his lips. The waiter had to prompt him several times before he jerked back to awareness and followed them to their table.

Sebastien was in a good enough mood that she didn't even take the opportunity to cut Gervin down to size.

Waverly Ascott was without a book for the first time Sebastien had seen her. "Bring the dessert sampler," she told the waiter as soon as they'd been seated. "Enough for everyone." She pulled her dark hair back from her face, tying it in a high ponytail as if preparing for battle.

Brinn Setterlund sat next to her, examining the miniature, living tree in the center of their table with interest. He reached forward to stroke a branch, and Sebastien wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but it seemed to shift, caressing his hand in return.

"No appetizers or entrees?" the waiter asked, entering Ascott's order on a small journal-sized artifact that would send the information directly to the kitchen.

"If we're not full after the dessert platter," Ascott said.

"Good idea," Ana agreed.

"Bring some champagne too," Rhett Moncrieffe said, lounging half sideways on his own chair, the smile on his face belying the boredom in his tone. "We just finished our University mid-terms. We're celebrating."

"Congratulations, young masters," the waiter said.

When the desserts arrived, they drew a gasp from Sebastien.

Ana grinned at her. "I know. Exquisite."

Each confection was a tiny sculpture. There were miniature pixies made of toffee and flakes of phyllo dough so thin they were translucent, a dragon made of a dozen different types of chocolate, and sprites with shimmering wings of all different colors that melted at the first touch of a tongue.

The pièce de résistance were the grasshoppers in the center. They were made of crystallized nectar that glittered like crystal, bright and transparent, and they moved as if they were alive.

Ascott snatched one out of the air as it tried to jump off the table and twisted off its head. She popped it into her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss as the spell-animated confection twitched and stilled in her hand.

"Glasshoppers," Sebastien murmured, suddenly understanding where the restaurant got its name.

Alec Gervin's mouth had fallen open in dismay. "Did that… Can it feel pain? I don't want to eat something that's still alive. Where are all its organs?"

Damien rolled his eyes. "It's animated, not alive, Alec. No different than a dueling board piece. An edible toy."

Sebastien looked at the other confections, which didn't seem to be animated. "Are there other magical dishes on the menu?"

"A few other animated desserts," Ana said, ripping open the chocolate dragon's stomach to reveal miniature sweetmeat entrails. "There are also some dishes with magical ingredients, like the golden-apple pie or ice lion carpaccio. But you have to try the creme brûlée. They set it on fire!"

That was a little disappointing. "They could do so much more!" Sebastien said, ideas immediately popping to her mind. "It wouldn't be so impossible, with a combination of alchemy and artificery. The dishes could impart flashy little effects, like letting the customers blow bubbles out of their mouths, or create temporary glamours to give them rabbit ears, or jinxing them to talk backward for the next few minutes."

Ana lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Not a bad idea. The costs would be rather outrageous, but that only makes it more exclusive and desirable. Perhaps someone in the Rouse Family would be interested, even to sub-contract. It might fall under their 'entertainment' domain."

Sebastien couldn't help but think of what Oliver might say about the way the current system stifled industry and potential growth, but was distracted soon enough by the arrival of their champagne. She'd tried the drink before, when Ennis was schmoozing someone wealthy, but never anything like the offering from the Glasshopper. The bubbles burst in her nose and tickled until she, and all the others at her table, were laughing from the sensation. She was careful not to drink too much, though, ever-conscious that she was never truly safe.

They ate and drank and chatted about nothing in particular, and Sebastien found herself thinking that, while they were rich, entitled, and sometimes snobbish, Damien's friends weren't entirely horrible. Brinn Setterlund, with his quiet stillness and slow smile, was probably her favorite.

When the siren on stage ended her set and a new musical group arrived to take her place, Moncrieffe went over to flirt with her.

Sebastien did a double-take as the woman handed him a cloth napkin, and Moncrieffe swaggered back to their table a little unsteadily.

"That was a siren. Did she just give you her contact information?" Sebastien asked incredulously.

Moncrieffe smirked at her, patting the pocket with the napkin proudly. "Her address. I'm invited for a 'private show.'" He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically.

The others groaned good-naturedly. "Please, spare us the details," Ascott said acerbically, tossing a cream-covered berry at him.

Moncrieffe caught it with his mouth. Even he looked surprised by this act of dexterity, considering his current state of inebriation, which sent them all into a round of laughter.

After a while, with their bellies full and the champagne no longer bubbling, the mood grew somber.

"I heard another student in our term ended up in the infirmary for severe Will-strain," Brinn said in a soft voice, playing with Ascott's small fingers. "She was in one of the other groups. Her mind is gone, and the healers are not optimistic about her chances of recovery."

"I heard about that," Gervin said, his tongue a little clumsy from the alcohol. "She can still feed herself and use the chamber pot when prompted, though. She's stuck in her hallucinations and doesn't respond to human stimulus."

"How do you know this?" Damien wondered aloud.

"I asked," Gervin said simply.

"There have been a dozen or so already this term, if you combine deaths and the permanent, debilitating injuries," Moncrieffe said, his head in Damien's lap as he tried to coax Damien into scratching his scalp for him. "You don't hear about all of them. Not the kind of thing the University wants to advertise, you know. I imagine you would become rather numb to it all after a while, anyway. I know this because there are some lovely young ladies working in the infirmary."

Brinn hummed. "Do you think they push us too hard?"

"Yes," Alec said immediately.

"It seems like if they were truly worried about our safety," Brinn continued, "they would not increase the pressure on new students with the ten percent mandatory failure rate. It's dangerous to everyone, not just those at the bottom of the list."

Ana was using a knife and some sticky dessert leftovers to turn her napkin into a tiny dress for the only remaining sculpted pixie. "Magic is dangerous, but there are wards everywhere. Both small and large. They do a lot to mitigate the danger that students might cause themselves and others."

'Why didn't those wards stop the explosion in Eagle Tower?' Sebastien wondered. 'Did Tanya deliberately damage them first? And if so, would the evidence of that have been destroyed by the alchemical explosion? How likely is it that Tanya would be found out?' Sebastien was entirely unsure, partially because she didn't know enough about the power of the people who might be willing to cover up for Tanya. No one had questioned either Sebastien or Damien about that day.

Rhett, still resting on Damien's lap with his eyes closed, said, "There's no reason to be so desperate over it. Students who fail can just retake that term. It would be even more unsafe if the University let them continue when they're not fit to do so."

Sebastien almost scoffed. 'Not everyone can afford to retake a term. Many of the students who are most likely to be at the bottom ten percent are commoners who must get their Apprentice certification and a good job right away, or their families will be ruined. Even only taking the minimum four classes for all three terms, the absolute minimum it could cost is nine hundred gold, and that doesn't take into account a Conduit, or the books and tutoring it takes to pass the test in the first place, or anything else.'

Damien, to her surprise, shook his head. "If that policy was really to keep the incompetent students from having a chance to do too much damage, then why are there more deaths in the upper terms?"

"People get cocky," Moncrieffe replied immediately. "They think they're experts and they get a little too confident. It would be worse if the upper terms were also filled with people without a strong foundation in sorcery."

Brinn sighed. "Maybe. It is sad, though."

Ascott squeezed his fingers, and he smiled at her.

"Well, what's the alternative?" Moncrieffe asked with a complacent shrug. "Not learn magic?"

"That's excessive, of course," Ana said.

"Not accept those who are statistically more likely to hurt themselves with it, then?" he asked.

"Poor, less-educated people, you mean," Sebastien said.

"Exactly. Everyone knows the risks, and they accept them. The University is doing what they can to mitigate the danger."

Sebastien wasn't sure that was true, but she wasn't going to argue with Moncrieffe, who was even more stubborn and self-assured than the rest of Damien's friends.

"It is true that accidents as well as deaths have gone down significantly in modern times," Damien conceded. "Some people, like my father, actually want to go back to the old, harsher ways. He thinks this 'softness' is stunting the potential growth of our nation."

"Having more of our future thaumaturges dying would stunt the growth of Lenore," Ana snapped back, glaring at the doll-sized dress she was wrapping around the dessert pixie.

"Of course it would," Damien said with a helpless shrug. "But good luck using logic to win an argument with my father, or people like him."

"The man is a sadist," Ana snapped, a little too loudly. She looked around, realizing her error, then to Damien, who didn't respond. She pressed her lips together as if to keep any more poorly considered words from slipping past them.

"Enough of this depressing talk," Moncrieffe said, sitting up from Damien's lap. "What we need are more drinks." He raised an arm to wave down the ever-attentive waiter.

Damien looked to Sebastien searchingly, but she kept from showing either sympathy or any particular interest in Damien's home life. She knew she hated it when people pried, as if her life were a piece of juicy gossip meant to entertain them. She wanted pity even less. "You were in the top three hundred of the entrance examinations, right?" She didn't really need to ask. She knew, because she'd heard him bragging about it enough times. "Do you think you managed to maintain that rank this time around?"

Gervin groaned and turned to the approaching waiter. "Whiskey!" he ordered. "And no talking about grades. I don't wish to think about that. If my scores weren't good enough… Well. Lord Westbay and my father are friends for a reason." He turned, a little awkwardly, toward Sebastien. "That tutor you recommended, Newton Moore, he is rather good."

She waited for Gervin to continue, but apparently that was all he meant to say. "He is," she agreed.

When the waiter brought the alcohol, Sebastien even let herself be coerced into having a single shot of Whiskerton's Whiskey of Well-being, which—as advertised—made her feel like she was being held on her grandfather's lap, in front of the fire, about to fall asleep with the deep knowledge that he would never let anything bad happen to her.

Of course, something bad did happen to her. Had happened to her.

Now it was up to her to protect herself.

She refused to have any more of the whiskey, even as the others did, slipping away instead to check on Tanya's location, which was just where it should have been.

Alec insisted loudly on paying the bill for all of them, and Sebastien didn't protest too hard when she saw the prices. Her portion alone would have been about three gold. She could have eaten simple meals for weeks on that price in a smaller village.

When they left, most of the others were drunk. "Do not drink and cast," she reminded them. "Alcohol and magic do not mix."

Brinn's face was flushed, his eyes glassy, and he tried to climb a tree on the side of the street as they were walking back to the University, forcing them to drag him down and away.

Ascott muttered something in a language Sebastien didn't understand, then took out a sobering potion and forced a partial dose down Brinn's throat. "It will make you have to pee," she warned.

"I'll drain my dragon," Brinn slurred reassuringly. "Don't worry, I know how to do it. Do it all the time. 'S easy." Which all the others thought was the most hilarious thing they'd ever heard, for some reason.

Feeling like a mother with small children, or the shepherd of a flock of cats, Sebastien herded them back to the University.

They took the transport tubes that crawled up the white cliffs, and the others spilled out at the top, laughing and loopy.

Alec had thrown up inside one. "Oops. Umm. Call one of the servants, I seem to have made a mess." He stumbled out, barely avoiding falling in the pool of his own vomit.

Sebastien glared at him hard enough that if she were a free-caster, she might have set him on fire. "Give him some of that sobering potion, Ascott," she ordered. She stared at the disgusting puddle, wondering if she knew a spell to handle the situation, because she definitely wasn't going to touch that with her hands. She knew a spell to draw water down towards a Circle marked on the ground, but it was meant to quickly dry oneself off after getting wet, not to mop a chunky liquid sideways along the floor.

In the end, she took out a piece of paper from her satchel and wrote a note apologizing and asking the workers who would find it—and the vomit—"Please bill Alec Gervin for cleaning services and any inconvenience."

Grumbling the whole while, Sebastien managed to get everyone back to the dorms and, relatively quietly, into bed. She didn't bother trying to get them to drink water or any more potions. 'Let their hangovers punish them on my behalf,' she thought vindictively.

Luckily, at least half of her other dorm-mates were still awake, exuberant with their freedom from the mid-terms, so her group didn't cause too much trouble.

On Saturday morning, Moncrieffe was the only one besides Sebastien who wasn't sick and exhausted, which was astounding considering that he'd imbibed the most out of all of them.

Leaving the others with a smug smile, Sebastien got an update on Tanya from Newton, made sure she had the bone disk to track the other girl if she slipped away again, and ordered a hangover-relief draught from the infirmary for Damien, so he could properly do his job keeping watch while Sebastien was gone.

She spent the whole day brewing Humphries' adapting solution. It was a slow process, requiring her to distill her water to purify it, before using that distilled water to brew. The instructions assumed the brewer would be making at least seven liters at a time, but not only was Siobhan too weak for that, her cauldron wasn't big enough, and she would have had to borrow a stock pot from the kitchen to brew in, which wasn't ideal.

Instead, she brewed in two-liter batches. About one liter was a single dose when using it as a blood replacement for an adult human. Severe blood loss might require more. This alchemical solution was even more magically intensive than the regeneration-boosting potions, though, to be fair, the dose size was also much bigger.

She'd waited until close to the attack to make it, both because she needed her Will as strong as possible, and because its shelf life was short. This way it might still find use even if they didn't need it immediately.

She finished off the day with a single batch of the regeneration-boosting potions and returned to the University. Thankfully, Tanya had done nothing suspicious while Sebastien was gone.

On Sunday, she did no brewing. She spent most of the day in the library reviewing her study on emergency healing. That evening, knowing she wouldn't be able to slip away to follow if Tanya escaped the others, Sebastien considered giving the bone disk to Damien.

Instead, she sat down with him in a quiet section of the library and said, "I've heard rumblings of violence in the city tonight. Some skirmish between criminals. If Tanya leaves, just let me handle it. It might not be safe for you."

Damien wasn't satisfied by this at all. "What? No, I can handle myself, Sebastien. I've had plenty dueling training. I do better than you in Fekten's class."

"When you can cast your own broad-spectrum ward spell, or dodge well enough to beat Rhett in a duel, you can place yourself in mortal danger."

"You're going out!"

"I'm not going to be in that part of the city. If Tanya leaves, she might be. You're no match for her, Damien. Trust me. A little extra information isn't worth the danger. Still, let me know if she leaves. I'll keep track of her from afar."

Damien scowled mutinously.

'This is a problem,' she thought to herself. 'I'm going to have to come up with better arguments and excuses if I want to keep working with him while still keeping him in the dark. He's too curious—too nosy—to just be a good little soldier and follow instructions.' She at least had the comfort of knowing that if he tried to follow her in any way except mundane tailing—if he tried to scry for her—she would know and be able to counteract it. Still, she needed to be careful with him and prepare in case his gullibility wore off. 'I should deal with this as soon as possible, before it becomes even more hasslesome.'

"Damien," she said, trying to seem compassionate rather than irritated. "Do you remember your vow?"

The scowl slipped away and he straightened. "Of course. I vowed my silence, to keep our secret, knowing when to speak and when to remain quiet. I vowed my loyalty, to support us and our efforts faithfully and fully, with true heart and steady hand. I vowed my resolve, to persevere through hardships and the wear of time, exerting myself to fulfill the cause. Freedom, and enlightenment. I—" He swallowed. "I saw beyond the edge of the sky."

He said the words seriously, almost reverently, but all Sebastien could think, hearing them recited with surprisingly perfect recall, was, 'I can't believe I came up with something so cheesy. It's like something out of a cheap adventure novel.'

"How long has it been since you stood before the stars and made that vow, and you're already forgetting?"

"I—I'm not forgetting! I just—I want to help!"

"You're not ready," she said softly. "And you're not needed, either. There are other people who are more prepared and able to deal with dangerous situations outside the University. You don't need to know about those people. In fact, it's best that you don't. This world can be darker than you imagine, Damien." She looked away, her fingers pressing a little too hard against the wooden arms of her chair.

"It takes time, and a lot of it, to prove your strength, your dedication, and your competence," she continued. "I hope you don't prove me wrong about you. I told you this would be boring. It's not a story. There is no glory to be had. You and your job are important, but you are not entitled to more. If we feel that you are undermining the integrity of our mission because of greed, petulance, or impatience, you will be removed."

He was staring at her with too-wide eyes.

She sighed. "That was not a threat. Trust me, Damien. If you are needed, you will be called upon. Until then, please be content to play your part. It may not be glamorous, but perhaps that's because you don't understand its importance."

The agitation had gone from Damien's shoulders and his cheeks were slightly pink. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I won't jeopardize the mission. I've come to my senses." He fiddled with his collar self-consciously. "I guess I was acting somewhat like a Petunia, right?"

Sebastien stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds, then realized he was talking about the character of Aberford Thorndyke's niece. In several stories, the headstrong girl jumped into dangerous situations beyond her ability to handle and only caused more trouble for the other characters who then had to rescue her—at danger to themselves or the greater goal. "Well, at least you're not Investigator Amherst."

Damien rolled his eyes so hard his head lolled back. "Give me a stunner to the skull if I ever act like him."

Having gotten her way, and thus in a more accommodating mood than usual, Sebastien slouched to the side. She took an invisible pipe out of her mouth, affected an extra-deep voice, and said, "Amherst, you do an absolutely fantastic impression of a gorilla whose mother dropped it from the tree as an infant one too many times."

Damien's mouth dropped open. "Radiant Maiden, was that a Thorndyke impression? Did you just make that line up on the spot? It was perfect! Do another. Another!" He leaned forward, so eager Sebastien thought he might grab and try to literally shake the words out of her.

She slipped her watch out of her vest pocket, making a fake expression of surprise. "Oh, is that the time? I really must be leaving. Sorry, ta ta, goodbye." She got up and hurried from the room with a stride that was only just below a jog.

Chapter 75 - These Violent Delights

Oliver

Month 1, Day 17, Sunday 9:15 p.m.

A trio exited the Morrows' main warehouse near the docks, illuminated only by the crystals of the streetlamps.

Oliver waited to assure himself of their identities, then moved to intercept them with a couple men of his own. He recognized the slightly wide gaits of those who were more used to the pitch and roll of a ship's deck than the steadiness of dry land. Even if the Morrows did know that they were surrounded and being watched, and were trying to trick him and his people into letting someone important escape, he doubted they would be good enough actors to fool him.

The short man at the front of the trio drew a battle wand as soon as Oliver stepped from the shadows, sinking into a fighting stance. His companions did the same.

Oliver's wand was in his hand, but he didn't lift it. "Captain Eliezer," he greeted. "I mean you no harm."

The man and his companions had just left a meeting to inspect the latest shipment of delivered goods with Lord Morrow. Captain Eliezer had, some time before, agreed to smuggle certain items for Oliver, but apparently didn't recognize him by voice alone. "What is the meaning of this?" Eliezer demanded.

With a pop of suction, Oliver removed his mask.

Eliezer recognized him then, but did not seem comforted. "Lord Stag," he said, his wand still pointed at Oliver. "This seems a rather inauspicious meeting."

"Does it? I had hoped that wouldn't be the case. You and I have mutual interests, after all."

Eliezer's eyes narrowed, his wand dropping slightly as he peered around into other dark shadows and past curtained windows, where more of the Verdant Stag and Nightmare Pack forces were gathered. He seemed to realize he stood little chance in an altercation, even with his backup. "I don't suppose you're also here to warn me off? No more work with the Morrows, if I know what's good for me? Things seem to have taken a much more antagonistic turn since the last time I berthed in Gilbratha."

Oliver smiled at that freely offered piece of information about Eliezer's meeting with Lord Morrow, knowing it was deliberate. "No. That is not my purpose here tonight. You may deal with who you wish. However, you may have trouble completing future business with the association of people formerly known as the Morrows."

"Formerly?"

"Soon to be formerly," Oliver amended.

Eliezer squinted sun-wrinkled eyes at him. "You are quite confident."

"I am extremely confident."

Eliezer paused, assessing the shadows once more. "The majority of my business is with this 'soon to be former' group…"

Oliver shrugged loosely. "I'm aware, but don't worry too much, my good man. There may be some transition pains, as I'm not sure my organization will need the same things as theirs did. You may need to take a few oaths of secrecy for the sake of our security measures, but rest assured that you will have continued business, no matter the name of those in charge. You have a reputation as the best smuggler in the city for a reason, after all."

"Why the ambush in the middle of the night, then?"

Oliver smiled, not bothering to moderate the expression.

Eliezer tensed, unsettled.

"If I am correct, you haven't taken any oaths of secrecy yet. I'm interested to know about the shipment they just received."

Eliezer hesitated, but Oliver just kept smiling at him, and the older man gave in soon enough. "You'll keep me out of this? I'm in the business of shipping, and that's all. I'll have no truck with your power struggles."

"Of course."

Ten minutes later, Captain Eliezer left with his men, and Oliver knew more details about the internal layout of the building, the number of men within, and the weapons delivered in the shipment than his people had been able to gather with weeks of preparation.

"What a stroke of luck," Oliver murmured, putting his mask back on.

He sent a couple of his men to tail the captain, just in case the man didn't want to stay out of the power struggle as fully as he'd proclaimed.

Just a couple of minutes later, spark-shooting wands sent up thick showers of bright green and yellow sparks from high points all around the city. They were clearly visible against the dark night sky, and the Stags and the Nightmares launched their simultaneous, joint attack on a dozen-plus locations and high-value targets at once.

As Oliver and his men closed in on the Morrows' building, everyone pulled out the battle potions that had been prepared. They only had a few protective bark-skin potions, so the enforcers who would be in the vanguard, and thus mostly likely to take spell-fire, had been assigned those. Everyone had a potion of diviner's sight in their utility belts, specifically created by another alchemist to counteract the philtres of darkness that Siobhan had brewed for them over the last few months. They also had one-use mask artifacts that would protect against Siobhan's philtres of stench, which had already proven their effectiveness.

A trio of overpowered concussive blast spells broke open the reinforced doorway, and the men beside it tossed in the philtres of darkness. Clouds of black, light-devouring particles exploded within as soon as the delicate vials shattered, accompanied by surprised, confused cries of alarm from those within.

Distant sounds of impact and screams from the left side of the warehouse told him the same was being done there.

The philtres of darkness were followed by philtres of stench, and the cries from within changed tone to include horror and disgust.

Satisfied that the enemy was mostly neutralized, Oliver gave the signal to enter, but before the vanguard could do so, a shimmering barrier popped to life over the doorway and shuttered windows.

Someone within had activated a building-wide ward.

Oliver raised his wand and tried a concussive blast. The ward rippled from the force, but held. He switched quickly through all the spells in his battle wand, but none penetrated. It made sense, as most wards were created to block at least the most common assault spells. Remembering Siobhan's workaround for that, he tried to toss another vial of darkness in. It shattered against the ward, spilling a huge cloud of darkness out around the door and covering their group.

He could still see through the magical darkness, though things were greyscale and a little distorted under the effects of the diviner's sight potion. It might have actually been a good thing, as it concealed them further from any enemies.

He picked up a rock off the street and tried that next. No luck.

He stepped closer and touched his pinky finger to the barrier, which was rippling and shimmering under similar attacks by the rest of the Verdant Stag soldiers. The ward didn't repulse him, or dissolve his flesh, or anything truly nasty, but it didn't let the finger through, either.

That was alright. They hadn't come unprepared. Stronger, comprehensive-purpose wards could either be broken by an exact counter-spell or overpowered through brute force.

His people knew this, and had already started to barrage the ward with battle spells, hoping to bring it down through overwhelming power. That was wasteful—he'd paid for every charge of spells put into their battle wands—and who knew how long it would take?

"Stop!" he called. "Bring out the augers! One on each wall!"

One of the support team Stags rushed forward with the device. The auger was a drill artifact that he'd had imported from his home country, Osham. The drill itself was physical, a spiraling, razor-sharp piece of hardened metal, but its movement was powered with magical energy. This allowed more power and greater efficiency than a purely magical drilling spell. Osham used the drilling artifacts for mining and other difficult excavation, but he was sure they could be utilized in non-traditional ways as well.

The enforcers used a liquid stone potion to anchor the augers to the ground, then activated them. Silently, they began drilling into the ward that surrounded the building like a skin.

The ward rippled violently around the tip of the drill, which kept pressing inexorably deeper.

The clouds of darkness within began to dissipate one minute after they had been released, leaving the Morrows able to better see and navigate. People appeared on the edges of the roof above, shooting spells , arrows, and battle potions down at the anti-Morrow alliance without hesitation.

Oliver's people quickly poured out large, half-dome barriers of liquid stone, which hardened enough to protect small groups from the weaker offensive spells. They shot back from behind the hastily created shields. Bright flashes with the colors of magic lit up the night, throwing ever-moving shadows about.

Oliver took out a fleetfoot potion, a wit-sharpening potion, and a bark skin potion, using all three in quick succession. Being well-supplied was one of the perks of being the leader. He flitted around, shooting spells at those above with much greater accuracy and avoiding their return attacks. He blasted one Morrow back, sliced deep into the chest of another, and tripped yet another as he was trying to escape.

That man fell off the edge of the roof, slamming into the ground below with a meaty crunch.

The Morrows had known something was coming, and this warehouse, where they brought most of the newly smuggled stock before redistributing it, had been well-protected.

But there were still more of the alliance members than there were Morrows, especially after the philtres of stench had done their job on those unlucky enough to be in the main warehouse area.

A few of his men made it to nearby rooftops, setting up liquid stone battlements to shoot from behind and negating the height advantage of those on top of the Morrow warehouse.

All the while, the augers drilled away, unperturbed.

Under such strain from multiple points, the ward dropped in only a couple of minutes, which seemed much longer than it really was. That was a fifth of the time even the most competent ward-breakers would have needed to bring down such a powerful barrier, and had required maybe a twentieth of the magical power that overwhelming the ward with spells would have taken.

Osham had its own problems, to be sure, but they didn't stymie non-magical advancements for fear of disrupting the established industries. In Lenore, the results of so much industry being controlled by only thirteen powerful families became obvious. Many of them were impeding the advancements that could come from a freer market due to either complacency or fear of diluting their own power, and it wasn't just hurting the lower classes, it was weakening the nation.

As soon as the ward dropped, their vanguard threw in new philtres of darkness, but some quick-thinking Morrows within managed to cover and stifle them before the light-absorbing clouds could fully expand, leaving only a dark grey haze over a good portion of the warehouse.

Oliver gritted his teeth and cursed, but there was nothing to be done about it. Delaying further would only put them in a worse position. The vanguard had been prepped for this, and the head of his enforcers didn't even need Oliver's command to enter.

Mr. Huntley had a shielding artifact of his own, which he, as the point man, held up in front of the door to shield others entering behind him, but it could only absorb a couple of spells before failing.

Oliver slipped in, moving quickly to circle around the edge of the room with the others. It smelled fishy inside, as if new seafood had been layered over old, crusty, and sometimes putrid remains, and there were still half-processed fish and sea creatures strewn about the tables and floor within.

The enforcers attacking from the left side of the building were entering too, but they had the cover of darkness.

Huntley absorbed a fireball, a stunning spell, and then a maliciously shaped spell that might have been a hemorrhaging curse. The foggy concussive blast spell that finally overpowered the artifact slammed Huntley into the side of the doorframe behind him. He bounced off and fell to the ground, clutching at his ribs.

One of the others dragged Huntley out, shoved a lung-sealing philtre down his throat just in case the broken ribs had punctured them, then sealed him in a quick layer of liquid stone to prevent him shifting around and causing further damage as they retreated with him toward the nearest medic station.

Oliver narrowly dodged a glowing piercing spell that gouged a deep wedge out of the stone wall behind him, then hopped over a puke-green spell that he didn't recognize. He almost slipped on a slimy octopus tendril—which he was pretty sure someone had physically thrown at him—and would have fallen painfully if not for the fleetfoot potion. His eyes flitted about the large room, searching for dangers and the most important targets.

Toward the end of the room nearest him, farthest from both entrances, was the door to the other half of the warehouse. A tall, hefty man was crawling toward it, eyes and nose streaming with tears and snot, and vomit splattered down the front of his flashy red suit. Another large man in much less ostentatious clothing was trying to support him with one arm while waving around a battle wand in the other.

Oliver smirked. "Well, hello, Lord Morrow," he murmured, his voice too low to be heard over the sounds of battle. He shot a stunning spell toward the duo.

The man with the wand, probably one of Lord Morrow's personal guards or a high-ranking member of the gang, adroitly switched his wand's output to a half-dome shield that sprung from the tip of the wand just in time to block Oliver's sizzling red attack.

He shot back a concussive blast spell, but his aim was high.

Oliver lunged forward, throwing himself onto his hands and knees as the spell passed overhead, then springing back up to sprint toward them. The spell whumped into the wall behind him, shattering stone and blasting out shards that hit Oliver in the back, but not hard enough to injure him.

He was too close to completely avoid the next blast, which caught him in the arm with enough force to crack some of the bark armor and spin his entire body around. He didn't resist, switching the output on his wand as he went through a full spin. He pointed the wand at Lord Morrow and his bodyguard as steadily as he could, time seeming to slow under the combined effects of the wit-sharpening potion and adrenaline. He stumbled to right himself, hunching down to brace as the third concussive blast exited the bodyguard's wand.

He couldn't dodge the next expanding, foggy blast, but he kept his wand up, activating the personal shield at the last possible moment.

The concussive blast threw him off his feet and wrenched his shoulder, but rather than the spell simply being absorbed by his shield spell, it bounced back at the enemy duo.

They weren't prepared for that, and it caught them straight-on, slightly weakened but still more than enough to knock both of them off their feet, too.

He switched back to the stunning spell setting on his wand before they could get up or defend themselves, then shot both of them. Twice. Not to be vindictive, just to be sure.

Oliver climbed back to his feet and quickly took the bodyguard's battle wand. As he was searching Lord Morrow for hidden artifacts or weapons that could be a problem when he woke, the hefty man jerked forward.

Oliver snapped back, barely fast enough to escape the crushing headbutt that Lord Morrow had tried to give his face.

Eyes wide beneath the mask, he punched Lord Morrow in the face before even taking the time to analyze the situation.

One of Oliver's rings released a bright red pulse upon impact, and Lord Morrow fell back again, his eyebrows sizzling.

Oliver looked appreciatively at the ring artifact that held a pressure-triggered stunning spell. He was so distracted that he almost didn't dodge the slicing spell that came from the side. He took out the Morrow that had sent it with an idle returned stunning spell, then looked back to the gang leader in front of him warily. Oliver was not a small man, but Lord Morrow was built like a bear, broad and with a layer of winter fat covering his muscles.

Oliver nudged the man with his foot.

No response.

He stomped down on the man's knee.

That caused a frown, but Lord Morrow didn't seem to wake or try to get away from the pain. The stunning spell didn't put its victim into a coma or keep them from feeling, so a little response was normal under extreme stimulus, just like one might have when experiencing a nightmare.

Keeping his wand pointed toward the man's neck just in case, Oliver crouched over him again, his freehand rifling through Lord Morrow's clothes. He found the cause of the bearish man's resilience soon enough.

Lord Morrow's leather-lined jacket was a warding artifact. It must have absorbed the first two stunning spells that hit his body. He had only pretended to be unconscious to take Oliver by surprise.

Moving as quickly as he could while still being wary of the men before him, and the fighting around him, which was quickly dying down as the alliance gained control of the room, Oliver stripped Lord Morrow all the way down to his underpants, inspecting even them to make sure no more nasty surprises were lurking.

Then, he did the same with the bodyguard, who was actually unconscious. By the time he was finished, the other Morrows were also subdued, and his people were searching them, tying them up, and inspecting the rest of the warehouse. The wounded were being treated or taken to the nearest healer.

They had won.

This was one of the most important targets, but hopefully, the distant sounds of fighting throughout the city told a similar tale for the others.

In a single night, the Verdant Stags would go from a small, insignificant organization to controlling one of the largest sections of territory within Gilbratha.

Oliver laughed out loud at the triumph of it, what this meant for the Verdant Stag and all the people they would encompass. He was different from Lord Morrow, and things under his rule would be different. He wasn't averse to the trappings of power and wealth, and the life that afforded, but it wasn't his main goal. He felt happy just imagining all the good he could do. That particular feeling of satisfaction was hard to get anywhere else, and it made everything he had to do to achieve it worthwhile.

Chapter 76 - Healing

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 17, Sunday 9:00 p.m.

As was becoming routine to her, Sebastien went first to the Silk Door, where she took up the name Siobhan along with her real body. This time, she rebleached the front section of her hair, again using the color-change spell rather than an alchemical concoction, and tied it in a severe bun. Noticing that the rest of her hair wasn't just dark, but actually an iridescent blue-black, she fixed that, too. 'Another difference between Siobhan Naught and the Raven Queen. Or rather, between Silvia Nakai and the Raven Queen.' She again wore the fake horn-rimmed glasses Katerin had gotten for her when she was doing the street-corner flag wards throughout the Verdant Stag's territory. She didn't wear the red lip cream. Being Sebastien was out of the question for this, but hopefully, she could just be Silvia, a nondescript healer's assistant, not the Raven Queen.

Once upon a time, her name had felt like something intrinsic, a thing that held meaning when describing her basic identity. If someone had asked her who she was, she would have answered, "Siobhan Naught," without hesitation, and meant it. It was a label that encompassed all that she was. Now, if someone asked her that same question, she would have had to check what skin she was wearing and what role she was playing before answering. The only thing left of her was her insides—her mind and her magic—and of course no human remained unchanged over time. All living, growing beings were in a constant state of slow metamorphosis. 'There will come a time when I am different. But, I hope, never a time that I no longer recognize myself.'

She took a roundabout path to the address Oliver had given her. She slipped through the back door, which had been left unlocked, into the back room of a shop where the normal supplies had all been moved to one side of the room. The shelves were stocked instead with potions, bandages, and a few basic medical artifacts. Two large, square operating tables sat within, and one wall was lined with cots.

The room was empty. Something about being alone in a strange place, in the dark, made her feel like she was being watched from the shadows.

"Hello?" she called, her voice weak enough that it wouldn't travel very far.

No one responded.

'The healer must not be here yet.' She closed the door behind her, found a light crystal, and began to set up, organizing her own potions and familiarizing herself with the prepared supplies. The operating tables both had a large Circle engraved on their smooth surfaces. One had a pentagram and pentagon within the middle, and the other a hexagram and hexagon. With those four options, the tables should be enough to cover almost all of the basic healing spells.

The minutes stretched on, and Siobhan found herself pacing back and forth in an attempt to release some of the nervous energy building up inside her.

When the distant sounds of fighting reached her, the healer still hadn't arrived.

A few minutes into it, when she was wound so tight she felt like a string that might snap, frantic pounding on the door made her jump.

There were no back windows, so she had to open the door to see who it was.

As soon as she did so, two men pushed past her, one supporting the other.

The injured man was badly burned. The skin across his head, neck, and one arm was already bubbling up, and he smelled uncomfortably like burnt hair mixed with roasted pork.

"You're the healer, right?" the uninjured man asked, puffing from the strain of supporting his almost insensate teammate.

Siobhan shook her head. "No. I—"

Behind them, a woman followed, her battle wand out and her eyes scanning the street for danger. "Is this the wrong place?" she asked demandingly. "We were promised there would be a healer here."

"It's the right place," Siobhan said. "But the healer hasn't arrived. I—"

The burned man sobbed pitifully. His face was badly blistered, one eyelid melted into the surrounding skin, and his ear on that side mostly burned away.

Siobhan swallowed past the nauseating smell and pushed her shoulders back. "Get him onto the table," she ordered, pointing to the one with the pentagon and pentagram. She couldn't cast any of the real healing spells that required a hexagram, anyway. She strode over to the shelf of potions. "I'm not the healer, I'm an assistant. I can't do everything, but I can help."

The man and woman worked together to heave the burned man onto one of the tables, which only drew out more pained sounds from him. "Fritz," he mumbled.

The man grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I'm here, buddy. I've got you."

Siobhan tied on a full-body apron and returned with a potion and a jar of salve.

She uncorked the potion and fed it slowly into the good side of the burned man's mouth. "This will help with the pain," she told him. "You're going to be okay, I promise."

He swallowed obediently, shivering slightly from what was likely shock.

She followed that up with one of her newly brewed regeneration-boosting potions, letting him drink it rather than trying to pour it evenly over the huge swath of damaged flesh. This way, he could heal from the inside out.

"Turn him to lie on his good side. Someone hand me a pair of scissors and a pair of tweezers." She fished the chalk out of her pocket and walked around the table writing glyphs. Her secret Conduit was pressed between her calf and the upper shaft of her tall boots, creating a painful indentation in her calf, but she couldn't reveal it, so she pulled out the one loaned to her by Professor Lacer. It wasn't likely to be recognized, and there was no way to track its use. She cast a simple, improvised spell to slowly draw some of the heat from the man's burns, which would keep him from continuing to slowly cook.

The high strength pain-relieving potion kicked in as she worked, and the man let out a long breath of relief, tension easing from his body. His breathing deepened as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Fritz returned with the tools she'd requested, which Siobhan used to cut and pluck away her patient's clothes from his burned skin. "What caused his injuries?" she asked.

"Fireball spell," the woman replied succinctly.

Siobhan hummed thoughtfully. "Any coughing or liquid in his lungs?"

"No."

'Probably no internal burns, then.' "Did the fireball blow him away? Did he smash into anything?"

"No. It wasn't concussion-modified," the woman said. "Just heat."

"That's good. He'll have scarring if he cannot afford to pay for the strongest healing spells, but he'll live as long as I can keep his skin on his body."

Fritz swallowed audibly. "How likely is it that you can't? Keep his…skin on his body, that is."

Siobhan scowled down at the sweeping burns. She couldn't get all of the cloth and ash out of the wounds, but figured that was a job for someone more skilled, anyway. As long as he didn't die right away, she'd done her job. "I don't know. If the healer ever arrives, I'd say it's quite likely he'll come out of this with some scarring. If not, I'll at least be able to keep him alive through the night. For the rest…" She shrugged, perusing the wound-cleansing potions on the shelf for a brew mild enough not to tear away the burned skin.

She found a bottle and poured it liberally over the unconscious man.

"Do you have any idea where the healer might be?" Fritz asked. "It's just… It looks like you're all alone here. Our orders were to drop off any wounded and get back to the battle, but maybe we should stay. You might need protection."

Peering at the pieces of dirt, ash, and cloth that were flushed out by the gentle bubbling of the potion, she said, "You can stay for now. I might need an extra pair of hands or two when we get more injured. One of you should guard the door in the meantime."

Siobhan had cleaned her hands while waiting for the healer to arrive, but still rinsed them again in a basin of strong alcohol she'd poured in the corner. All the healing books she'd read had been rabidly paranoid about the possibility of infection, which often could not be treated without true healing potions or spells, and were a leading cause of delayed deaths. Infection had long been thought to be caused by bad humors, but according to Professor Gnorrish and the latest medical books, it was actually caused by tiny animal-like creatures too small to see with the naked eye, which would breed within a person like maggots in a piece of meat. Bacteria. Alcohol killed them.

Assured that she wouldn't be infecting the man with her touch, she dipped her finger into the fresh jar of burn salve and began to gently daub the gooey substance over his burned skin. She'd only covered a couple of inches when shouting from down the street drew her attention.

The woman's battle wand was in her hand as she peered out the door, but whatever she saw made her relax slightly. "Allies, carrying injured!"

Siobhan took a quick glance outside, turned around, and said, "Help me move him. I'm going to need the operating table, and he isn't in critical condition." Being as careful as they could not to jostle his burns, they moved him to one of the cots just as the new group hurried in the door.

They brought more burns, a broken leg, and what she thought was a punctured lung from a broken rib.

Siobhan slipped into a fugue of focus, rattling off orders, questions, and prioritizing the injuries as well as she knew how.

The punctured lung was the worst, but other than her blood magic flesh-mirroring spell, she didn't actually have any way to fix it. She gave the injured fighter a whiff of a strong anti-coughing philtre, then cast a modified version of a simple sinus-clearing spell on him. "Do. Not. Cough," she warned.

The spell drew up globs of blood and phlegm, which spilled out of his mouth in a horrific, lumpy mess into the bowl she had waiting. The man tensed, holding his breath in an attempt not to hack at the disturbance to his lungs.

She held up the anti-coughing philtre again, letting him get another soothing breath. "Breathe shallowly." She gave him a blood-replenishing potion next. "Does anyone have a lung-sealing philtre?" she called. She had bought some for the Verdant Stag at the secret thaumaturge meeting, but there were none stocked on the shelves.

"I do!" a man belatedly volunteered, fumbling it from the half-stocked utility belt around his waist. He dropped it, but with quick reflexes, Siobhan managed to catch it before it hit the floor and she delivered it safely to the patient.

The man took as deep a breath as he could, and the philtre did its job, coating the inside of his lungs with a seal that would add pressure to the wound and help to keep him from drowning to death in his own blood.

Siobhan sent him to one of the cots in the corner. "You're still bleeding. We're waiting on the healer. If you feel your lung start to fill up again, ring the bell and I'll come clear it out for you. No talking, no coughing, slow breaths," she ordered, shoving a cheap brass bell she'd pulled from one of the shelves into his hand.

'At least we're well-stocked,' she consoled herself.

Everyone with burns piled their affected parts or their whole bodies onto the table and she drew the heat out of the burned flesh, then removed any large pieces of debris or cloth from the wounds, repeating the same process as the first time. Those who were the worst off got enough pain-relieving potion to knock them unconscious.

She made Fritz rub down with alcohol, then put him on burn salve duty. "It's too simple to screw up. Dab, don't rub. Be generous with the salve, we have plenty. Clean your hands thoroughly between each patient."

She turned her attention to the man with a broken leg. The leg wasn't exactly mangled, but a jagged edge of bone was jutting out of his shin, and the limb was bent unnaturally at the break. Judging by the pallor of his foot and the rotten grape-purple bruising all around the wound, she doubted blood was flowing properly past it. 'He's going to lose that foot if I don't do something. Maybe I could knock him unconscious with a pain-reliever, take him into the main room of the shop and send the others away, and see if I can at least get the bone in place and the blood vessels reconnected with the flesh-mirroring spell? These people might be suspicious of the secrecy, but they're not healers. I could make up a plausible excuse…'

She was contemplating the wound while the pale-faced patient stared at her.

"Can you fix it?" he asked.

"Of course I can!" a man barked from behind her.

She turned to see Healer Nidson, the same man Oliver had taken her to when she got Will-strain.

Nidson was guarded by three men with wands. His white shirt was splattered with blood, his hands, knees, and shoes covered in what looked like a mixture of mud and blood.

Siobhan almost collapsed with relief. "Thank the stars above," she muttered.

Nidson looked around with a critical eye, then turned his gimlet stare on Siobhan. "You'll brief me while assisting. Go get the wound cleanser! Strength five. And I need a sink and some alcohol. Find me a clean apron. And be quick about it!"

Siobhan pointed him to the wash basin in the corner, gave him a fresh bottle of alcohol, then scurried around to retrieve the rest of what he'd requested, explaining the injuries she'd assessed and what she'd done to treat them as she went.

He was ready and up to date a few minutes later, just as another wave of injured people arrived.

There were people from the Stags and the Nightmare Pack, but also unconscious men wearing the red of the Morrows, and even a few civilians. The wounds were worse.

"Morrows were prepared," one of the men gasped. "Half of them had overpowered blast wands. Took down the side of a building on us. Civilians got caught up in it. We grabbed who we could. There are more there, some dead. There'll be—" He stopped to cough violently, then croaked, "There's more wounded on the way, as soon as they can get here on their own or we can fetch them."

Nidson initiated a quick diagnosis of that man using an artifact that sent out a pulse of light and sound, and then read its dials and scales for the result. "No obvious internal bleeding. You're good to go."

The latest batch of people were wounded in ways that were beyond Siobhan's ability to help directly. She could deal with cleaning wounds of the pieces of wood and stone that had been embedded in flesh by the concussive blasts, and she knew enough to give the proper basic potions. But she could do nothing about caved-in abdomens, shattered skulls and pelvises, broken spines, disrupted internal organs, or internal bleeding…not even simple concussions. For those, she gave pain potions, blood-replenishers, and revivifying potions, just trying to keep them all alive long enough for the healer to see to them.

It was honestly amazing to watch Nidson in action. He had been brusque before, but seemed unpretentiously competent. Now he was like a snappish, efficient whirlwind. He used telekinetic spells to move bones and flesh into the proper position, tossed around minor healing potions like they were water, and even broke out some components from the Plane of Radiance to cast specialized healing spells on the particularly grievous wounds.

He bossed her—and anyone else who stood nearby for a little too long—around with rapid-fire instructions, sending uninjured men back out into the fight. Their cots quickly filled up, and anyone who was conscious or stable enough to move was relocated to the main part of the shop and laid out on the ground.

In this way, they worked through the wounded even as more poured in.

Some died, or were already dead when they arrived, carried by people who were exhausted and often injured themselves.

Siobhan realized that she had been wrong to think that normal healing potions were inefficiently expensive. Being general purpose and simplistic was their greatest strength. She could dose people on the edge of death with one general healing potion instead of a series of different specific potions and spells, providing what they needed much faster. She could use a healing potion without taking the time to diagnose the injury as thoroughly, leaving specific problems until later. Some of those being brought in had already taken one of the mild healing potions the enforcers had been supplied with, and in some cases it had saved their lives. Even civilians with no medical training and no skill in magic, their eyes blurry with blood and their hands shaking, could use one.

Siobhan had also never considered that someone could be so severely injured that they might literally not have enough room in their stomachs for all the specific-purpose potions they would have otherwise needed.

There was a fire spreading from one of the battle sites, caused by careless use of a fireball spell. They were getting more civilians with burns or smoke inhalation, so many that Siobhan worried the previously excessive stock of burn salve would actually run out.

It was worse than Siobhan had expected. Not worse than she could have imagined, but it still rattled something deep within her. The darkest moment came when a grandmother with a mangled stump for a hand begged her to save her grandson, whose legs had both been blown off. The woman had tied the stumps with strips of her own clothing, using just her good hand and her teeth, then ran the whole way to them with the boy on her back, following directions from the Nightmares—Nightmare Pack enforcers—who had been fighting in the street around her.

Siobhan thought the boy was dead, to look at him, but Nidson pronounced his heart to be still beating. "He's lost too much blood, though. I don't have any of the more powerful healing potions left, and anything else will take too long."

"Humphries' adapting solution!" Siobhan cried, lunging over to the shelf where she'd placed the large bottles earlier that evening. She shoved two into his hands.

"Are these still fresh?" he asked.

"I brewed them myself just yesterday," she assured him.

Nidson wasted no time placing the boy on the operating table. Using a fountain pen with a thick ink, he drew out the modified piercing spell, centering it precisely over his pale arm. He used a tiny needle to barely prick the skin at the center of the array, then pressed the wax-covered mouth of the bottle over it and began to cast, forcing the liquid directly into the boy's bloodstream.

Five minutes later, three liters of liquid had been transfused into the boy's body with minimal waste, and he was breathing normally. His color hadn't recovered from the deathly pallor, but that was because the adapting solution wasn't red like blood.

Nidson moved on to the boy's leg stumps, but Siobhan took an extra moment to look at the unconscious child's face. 'He's alive because of me. I did better, this time.'

Nidson was almost finished sealing the boy's stumps when the guard at the doorway screamed in alarm, shooting a spell from her wand before leaping out of the way.

Half a second later, the doorway exploded.

The open door was blown off its hinges, and the blast edges caught those closest, tossing them off their feet and peppering them with shattered pieces of brick and shards of wood.

Siobhan reacted in time to cover her face with her arms, flinching back from the blast and shrapnel. She was far enough away that it only rocked her back on her heels and left her with a handful of bruises where she'd been hit.

Nidson had reacted even faster than her, pulling the boy off the table onto the floor and shielding him with his own body.

A mixed group of Nightmare Pack and Verdant Stag fighters had been by the door. Some of them had moved in time. Those who hadn't were lying on the floor, injured or unconscious. The concussive blast spell had been a little off-center, impacting more against the side of the building than directly through the doorway, which had probably saved their lives.

Siobhan's ears were ringing from the pressure of the shockwave, and people were screaming in fear and pain, but she still heard the female guard who'd gotten off a return shot shout, "Morrows!"

'They must have followed some of our own people,' Siobhan thought. "Get away from the doorway!" she screamed. "If anyone has a shield, raise it now!"

People were crawling or being dragged away. The female guard stepped past them, falling to one knee in the doorway with her fists, wrapped by knuckle guards, held in front of her.

Another concussive blast hit, this one more on target, but a circular shield flared out from the woman's fists, wider than the doorway and almost as tall, blocking the blast and allowing the injured to make it farther into the safety of the room. The woman let out a grunt past gritted teeth from the strain of the impact as she absorbed a second attack, this one a fireball that spilled around the edge of the shield, licking at the ceiling and the walls and singeing the woman's skin.

"Give back our men!" screamed one of the Morrows from the street. "I want Andrews and Jacob or I'm going to collapse that building on top of you!"

Siobhan grabbed one of the stone operating tables by its leg and heaved it toward the doorway. "Step back!" she screamed at the guard.

The woman shuffled out of the way, her fists still raised with the faintly glowing shield.

From the corner of her eye, Siobhan saw one of their attackers release another spell. With a heave, she tipped the table over in front of the doorway and fell to the ground behind it, knees to her chest and her arms around her head.

The table cracked with the impact of the attacking spell—another concussive blast—but didn't shatter completely.

The woman was kneeling over Siobhan, her fists still raised. She'd reinforced the table with her shield artifact, keeping it from breaking, but the table also protected her from the brunt of the blow.

Siobhan crawled to her feet. 'We're trapped in here, like rats in a box.' She popped her head up above the edge of the table for less than a second, taking in the attackers scattered around both sides of the street, some peeking out behind doorways or the corners of alleys. She scrambled for her bag.

Some of the civilian patients were running to the front of the shop, hoping to escape out the main door, but many more were unconscious or not stable enough to move.

Some of the enforcers still well enough to fight headed that way, too, and Siobhan hoped they were going to circle around and attack the Morrows from the side or behind, not simply escape. She hoped, but she couldn't depend on them. She'd run scenarios like this through her mind several times since Oliver asked her to help with this operation.

'Do I have any effective long-range attacks except for the makeshift slingshot spell I used against the Morrows last time?' The problem was, the Morrows were scattered, not grouped together under a single shield spell, and if she moved to the doorway to attack them, they were much more likely to hit her than she was to hit them. The barrier of the operation table would only hold for so long. It would be suicide.

She could slip out the front of the shop, circle around, and try to surprise them, but it still left the problem of being one against many, with them scattered about and difficult to hit.

No, she needed an attack that could cover a wide area all at once.

And she had prepared just the thing.

She carried her bag back to the doorway, fishing out a philtre of stench. There wasn't enough wind to push the debilitating cloud toward their attackers, but she had a solution for that problem too.

She selected one of her paper utility spells.

The table, reinforced by the woman's knuckle-guard shield, which was beginning to falter, took another hit. An arrow from a forearm-mounted crossbow shot through the doorway, but the shooter had terrible aim and it embedded itself harmlessly in the back wall.

Three other fighters were now helping the female enforcer, ducking down to shelter from attacks and then popping up to send out return fire. It seemed to be helping, reducing the rate at which the Morrows could sling spells at them.

The building around the doorway had taken several more blows as the Morrows' aim deteriorated under the pressure. None of the Morrows seemed eager to come closer and make themselves a more obvious target.

Siobhan threw the alchemical bottle into the street, where it shattered. The stench expanded outward in a vaguely visible, sick-looking cloud.

As quickly as possible, she ducked back down and placed the paper spell array for her gust spell against the inner side of the table, using a bit of moderate-strength glue to paste it on. The Circle bound a spherical area under her command, which in this case meant that she also controlled a section of air on the other side of the table's surface. The side facing the street.

She realized belatedly that she needed a power source, and as she turned to look for one, the healer said, "Here!" and tossed her the beast core he'd been using to perform healing spells.

Siobhan wasted no time extracting energy from it. She was exhilarated by the deep well of potential she could feel within the small vessel. It was like holding a miniature sun, or a bolt of lightning, or all the crushing power of the world's largest waterfall.

She only needed a fraction of that power, and she used it to create wind. The Circle for this spell was small enough that she was able to create some real force from the gust.

The philtre of stench blew down the street, and though some of the Morrows had been smart enough to pull up their scarves or cover their face with an elbow, it wasn't enough to save them. The particles were small, easily filtering through cloth, and no one had thought to cover their eyes.

The philtre was more than just stench. It was also an irritant to any of the more delicate mucous membranes and a minor emetic.

Siobhan adjusted the angle of the breeze several times on the fly, using only her Will to change the spell's output in this simple way. She kept her head below the edge of the table for the most part, only popping up occasionally to readjust her aim.

The Morrows were dropping. Some vomited violently in the street. Some were blinded by their streaming eyes and hacking out mucus. Some decided that attacking the emergency healing center wasn't worth it after all and ran away.

The shielding artifact the female enforcer had been using gave out, and a spell chipped the table, sending some fragments of broken stone flying at Siobhan's face. Thankfully, her fake glasses protected her eyes.

Some of the enforcers who had escaped out the front of the shop did indeed circle around, taking shots at the escaping Morrows.

Siobhan tried to be careful not to send the magical stench at her allies, but it was hard to control, and they couldn't get too close without being affected.

The philtre ran out after a few minutes, letting off only a trickle of fumes rather than a billowing cloud, and Siobhan released her gust spell.

"Guard the doorway," she said to the fighters still inside. She went to the wash basin in the corner, wetted some bandages, and then tied them around her face, covering her mouth and nose like some kind of partial mummy.

One of the unconscious patients on the cots had a battle wand lying next to him. Siobhan took it.

The overturned operating table was mostly broken by that point, so it was easy to drag one side of it out of the way.

Siobhan stood in the doorway for a minute, clearly visible and ready to dodge aside, channeling every bit of reflex that Professor Fekten had managed to drill into her body.

No one attacked her.

Still ready to drop to the ground or lunge out of the way at a moment's notice, Siobhan stepped into the street. The lingering stench was horrible, forcing her to choke down a gag. She'd never been particularly squeamish, but there was a reason part of the process of brewing this potion required a protective barrier around the mouth of the cauldron.

Quickly and methodically, she stunned every Morrow she could see until the wand ran out of charges. A few more tried to escape, but the enforcers from the Nightmare Pack and the Verdant Stag that had circled around stopped them.

She grabbed hold of the closest unconscious Morrow and dragged him toward the makeshift infirmary. Her allies picked up on the idea quickly, and helped her haul the others in. Oliver wanted hostages, after all.

Inside, Healer Nidson was already on his feet and working again, using the second table.

Waving for the enforcers to follow her, she dragged her prisoner into the main part of the shop, dropped him, and used a spell to remove any extra liquid from his mouth, throat, and lungs. 'I don't want any of them to die from choking on their own vomit.' She repeated the process on their other new prisoners, then quickly checked to make sure none of them had potentially fatal wounds.

Her fingers were trembling around her Conduit, and the room swayed a bit when she stood. One of the Nightmare Pack enforcers, a man with two curling goat horns springing out of a mop of tangled hair, caught her elbow.

Siobhan nodded her thanks to him, clumsily pulling the damp bandages away from her face and wiping her streaming eyes. "Check them for weapons, then tie them up securely. Re-stun them if you have to. We cannot afford to waste pain-relieving potions keeping them unconscious."

She returned to the back room, blinking away tears and suppressing the urge to cough. She felt like she'd rubbed her eyeballs and throat with a slice of onion. Staring around at the wounded lying on cots, and on the floor, those still waiting for treatment, and those already dead, she felt a buzzing sense of detachment for a moment. 'This cannot be what Oliver had planned, can it? Something must have gone wrong. Is it even safe for us to stay in Morrow territory? What if they win the fight and come to kill us all?' She pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart was beating too hard. She hadn't thought she was afraid, but the burning in her veins and the lifting of the hair on the back of her neck was undeniable.

She looked around wildly, sure that something dangerous was in the room with her.

"Girl, are you listening?" Nidson barked.

Siobhan jerked back to awareness, turning to him belatedly as the irrational fear receded.

He fished in the pocket of his jacket under his now-filthy apron and tossed her a small bottle. "Take that and get back to work. I need three lung-sealing philtres and some liquid stone." He turned to point at a group of patients. "When you've done that, dose those three with a regeneration-booster, and him with a mild healing potion. I'm worried about cot number three, he didn't move when the first blast went off. Check his heartbeat and his eyes for dilation. And I need my beast core back."

The healer continued to rattle off instructions, and one part of Siobhan's brain catalogued them while the other focused on the vial he'd prescribed her. The scribbled label on the side named it a wit-sharpening potion.

Wit-sharpening potion did not in fact make you any smarter, but it could make you temporarily more aware and improve performance in situations that required multitasking, as long as you didn't take too high a dose and become overwhelmed by sensory input. It was also addictive.

She took the single swallow remaining in the vial and tossed the empty bottle in the box where all the other empty jars, bottles, and vials were piling up. Almost immediately, she felt her focus tighten, her brain organizing the steps she needed to take to complete all her tasks as efficiently as possible.

'There is no time to waste, and I will not leave these people to die.' She felt for the battle wand she'd secretly slipped from one of the captured Morrows' insensate fingers while taking them captive, now tucked in one of her inner pockets. The glyph next to its activation lever told her it was filled with only stunning spells, nothing more powerful, but she was pretty sure there were a few charges left. 'If more enemies come, we'll fight them off, too.'

Chapter 77 - Have Violent Ends

Oliver

Month 1, Day 17, Sunday 9:30 p.m.

The door to the back room of the warehouse was locked and thoroughly reinforced, enough that a few concussive blast spells did barely any damage.

While one of the others handled the bodyguard, Oliver dragged Lord Morrow onto a chair, tied both his arms and legs to it, then used a rope passed underneath the chair to tie his arms and legs together as well.

The Morrows that had been on the roof were brought down. All those who were severely injured were restrained, stunned unconscious, and given basic first aid before a team took them off to the closest medic station. Meanwhile, the rest remained, unconscious, tied up, and waiting to be taken to the holding cells. Cells that Oliver had paid an exorbitant amount to have set up on short notice.

The alliance's contracted wardbreaker came in when they were sure the front half of the warehouse was clear, going to work on the door to the back room. They could have used the augers again, but were worried about setting off traps. Also, since this warehouse would soon belong to Oliver, he didn't want to damage his future property any more than necessary.

The wardbreaker took a few minutes to examine the door while the others looked through the boxes of goods stacked around the warehouse. At first glance, this location appeared to be legitimately used to process seafood caught in the Charybdis Gulf. But some of that seafood was used as a cover for other, less conventional deliveries. They found packets of illegal components tucked into the stomachs of several creatures, and piles of restricted components covered with thick layers of unpleasant things like stinking sea slugs or thorny sea urchins. The Morrow workers had been in the middle of processing the incoming shipment when the attack began, but it seemed like the most valuable things were missing.

There were no artifacts, no celerium, no components from the Elemental Planes.

The wardbreaker called out to get Oliver's attention. "This is exceptionally well-done. It might take me an hour or two. If you're in a hurry, you can try to overwhelm the ward instead, but that will come out a lot more expensive for you in the end."

"So that's where you were keeping all the interesting things," Oliver murmured, looking down at Lord Morrow's pale, unconscious body. "Keep working on cracking it," he said more loudly. "We'll see what I can get from him." From his utility belt, he took out a small paper packet of magically enhanced smelling salts that had been "repurposed" by one of the coppers on the Verdant Stag payroll.

They were torturously strong—literally—and woke Lord Morrow up immediately. The man flinched back, wide eyes rolling around like a stuck pig as he took in his current situation. "You'll never get away with this!" he bellowed hoarsely. "We will erase you and your people from the face of the earth for this insult! And don't think you Nightmare Pack degenerates will be able to squirm your way out of it, either," he yelled, catching sight of a man with curling horns and a tail.

The Nightmare just smiled at him mockingly.

Red-faced, Lord Morrow—who was not a real lord by birth, only by affectation as the leader of an organization large enough to afford him the title—turned back to Oliver. "You."

"Me," Oliver agreed, staring down at the man through the eye holes in his mask. With the artificial darkness behind those eye holes, Lord Morrow would know nothing of Oliver's expression, but his satisfaction was clear in his voice. It only made Lord Morrow's face flush redder.

Oliver hadn't woken him to waste time monologuing. "I have some questions for you. Whether you answer or not, you are going to die either way. But if your answers prove useful, the innocent members of your family may be spared. I am not a cruel man."

Lord Morrow spat at Oliver, but the fleetfoot potion hadn't quite worn off yet, and Oliver dodged easily. "You don't have my family," he snarled, "and the only words I have for you are maledictions."

Oliver had never believed in the power of maledictions—a curse spoken with a wronged person's dying breath—and even if he had, Lord Morrow hadn't lived the kind of life for this ending to be an injustice. "This world is not fair," he said. "If you get what you deserve, it is by coincidence or expended effort. But in this case, Lord Morrow, it seems you really will be reaping the fruit of what you have sown."

He leaned foreward. "I do have your family. We attacked your home first. They put up the wards, and your guards tried to fight back. When your wife realized it was hopeless, she abandoned the guards to buy time, set the traps, and escaped with your children. They went to the safe house. The one you prepared for a day like this. The one you thought no one knew about. My men were waiting for them, but they haven't been harmed. Much."

Lord Morrow roared and jerked against his restraints, trying to spit at Oliver again. "I'll kill all of you! All of you!"

A Nightmare lunged forward and kicked at Lord Morrow's side, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"You won't." Oliver almost felt guilty about how pleasant it was to solicit such reactions from a man he so despised. "You could have avoided all this, you know. I was content to grow slowly, but you made that impossible when you started attacking my people, in my territory."

"You think I'm stupid? You were sneaking around like a weasel behind our backs, trying to take over our source of product. Did you think we wouldn't notice? Did you think we would let that go?"

Oliver experienced an instant of confusion before making the connection. "Really? Because I used the same smuggler you did? That's why you attacked?" The warehouse incident had been shortly after his first meeting with Captain Eliezer, but he'd never connected the two. It made even more sense that Lord Morrow would have warned Eliezer off working with him again tonight. "But that can't be it. You were harassing us before that."

Lord Morrow laughed. "Those were warnings against getting too uppity. Which you failed to heed. You don't know who you're messing with, whelp. The Morrows have backers stronger than you could ever imagine. That bitch, the so-called Raven Queen? I'll have her fed to the dogs!"

Oliver had no doubt the man meant the threat literally. He'd heard the stories. Though he felt a powerful urge to slap Lord Morrow across the face, he suppressed it. "The University, right?" he asked. "They are your backers. Well, not all of them. Just one faction."

"If you think my contacts will just take up working with you once you've gotten rid of me, think again!" Lord Morrow said, uncertainty seeping into his voice for the first time. "You'll never be able to hold my territory or my business."

"Enough of this," Oliver said, suddenly impatient. He didn't need Lord Morrow for details about their operation and contacts. He had many captured lieutenants for that, and his enforcers were already working on waking and questioning them. He only needed Lord Morrow to save him some time getting into the warded back room. "I need the password to the back room. If you don't give it to me within the next ten seconds, I will give the order for my men to kill your oldest son. If you still refuse, it will be your wife next. Then your younger children, descending by age."

In truth, Oliver had no intention of killing the younger children. Lord Morrow's oldest son had committed enough crimes that he was going to be executed anyway, and his wife was complicit in many of his crimes. The younger members of the family would be tried for their own actions and punished accordingly, but Oliver doubted very much they deserved death.

Lord Morrow sneered. "Just because you were able to guess they escaped to a safe house means nothing. You cannot threaten me with something you do not control."

Oliver hadn't been sure he would need Siobhan's group proprioception potion, but he'd kept a set of vials for himself anyway, just in case. He realized now might be the perfect time to use them. "I thought you might say that," he said. "Proof is being delivered as we speak." He turned around and walked out of the warehouse without another word.

Outside, their people were guarding the building to make sure no Morrow backup attacked them by surprise.

Oliver handed two of the three group proprioception potions to a Nightmare with big yellow eyes, chosen because she was an owl skinwalker and also happened to own a watch. "Go deeper into the Morrows' territory. North of Lord Morrow's mansion, somewhere you won't be seen. In exactly five minutes, break one of these potions and hit the remains with a fireball spell. Make sure it's completely destroyed. Wait another three minutes, then do the same to the other."

The woman looked at him strangely, but accepted the task, moving into a dark corner to transform in private.

Oliver waited four minutes, then returned to Lord Morrow. He forced the last of the three potions down the man's throat.

Lord Morrow, probably thinking it was some kind of interrogation potion—which would actually have been quite useful to have on hand—tried to gag it up. But before he could succeed, the effects took hold, and his eyes widened. "What is this?"

"Do you feel that? It's a simple potion that connects you to two other people. Your son, and your wife."

"Lies."

"You can feel them. You know it's no lie," Oliver bluffed. "Don't you sense the kinship? They share your blood. And if you do not give me the password, you will share in the sensation of their death. You will feel it as they slip from this world."

Some of the enforcers around him shared uneasy looks, probably imagining experiencing such a thing themselves, but no one tried to intervene.

Lord Morrow glared at Oliver's serene, black-eyed mask and said nothing.

After a nonchalant look at his watch, Oliver lifted his wrist to his mouth and said, "The son. Do it."

Nothing happened for a couple of seconds, and Lord Morrow was just beginning to smirk. His expression was aborted immediately as his whole body convulsed, his wide eyes rolling back in his head.

The woman must have destroyed the first linked potion. Oliver had not expected such a strong reaction.

Lord Morrow shook, red-faced and breathless for a moment, then let out a wailing keen.

The sound hurt Oliver's ears, and made something inside him flinch.

The tied up man sagged forward finally, panting. "My son! What have you done? My son! I'll kill you for this. Slowly, in the street for everyone to see."

Oliver kept his tone neutral. "Your wife is next. The password?"

Lord Morrow glared at him, gritting his teeth for a good thirty seconds, but as soon as Oliver moved to lift his wrist to his mouth again, the fight seemed to finally go out of the big man. "It's a two-part verbal password, and I only have one part. But it doesn't matter!" he added quickly, seeing Oliver lift his arm again. "The ward is also keyed to my body. I can pass through with impunity. If you just take me to the door, it will open under my hand, no password required. But you must promise me the rest of my family is safe."

"As long as you cooperate, they will be safe until they are tried for their crimes. The results of that are up to them."

Lord Morrow agreed quickly.

Oliver's eyes narrowed, but he still ordered two of his men to untie Lord Morrow's arms from the chair, keeping his ankles bound to each other so he couldn't try to run. Oliver kept a good grip on Lord Morrow's left arm, his eyes trained on Lord Morrow's face as the man reached for the handle.

The handle turned.

Lord Morrow threw himself forward, uncaring as he hit the door and fell forward into the room beyond, dragging Oliver with him through the ward.

The ward stayed firmly in place behind the two of them, keeping the rest of Oliver's men from entering or coming to his aid.

Lord Morrow stared at him in surprise, looking back at the intact ward. "B-but that's impossible!" Obviously, he had assumed that the ward, keyed physically to him, would keep Oliver out. If it were someone else, perhaps it would have.

Oliver had fallen on the arm holding his battle wand, and before he could free it and attack, Lord Morrow rolled over onto him.

Oliver hooked his own leg around Lord Morrow's still-tied legs and continued the roll until he was on top of the much broader man. "There are exceptions to every rule."

Lord Morrow grabbed the wrist holding Oliver's wand, squeezing until Oliver physically couldn't help but drop it.

He punched Lord Morrow in the face, with the hand wearing the ring artifact, but apparently it only had had one charge remaining, and nothing happened.

Lord Morrow's free hand scrabbled for Oliver's face, his fingers sinking into the shadowed eyeholes of Oliver's mask.

Oliver jerked back, and the mask ripped away from his skin, ripping the remains of his fading bark-skin armor with it.

With both of Lord Morrow's hands temporarily occupied, Oliver reached for his utility belt, scrabbling frantically for something, anything.

Lord Morrow tossed aside Oliver's mask, smiling ferally up at him, then reached for Oliver's neck, just one of his hands big enough to close around it. He squeezed and lunged up to try and pin Oliver beneath him again. "There is only one sin, and it is weakness!" he snarled.

Oliver's fingers closed over a potion vial, and without even stopping to check its contents, he brought it up and smashed it into Lord Morrow's face.

Liquid stone spilled out, quickly overwhelming the blood spilling from both Oliver's hand and Lord Morrow's face where the shattered glass cut into them both.

It expanded rapidly, building up and pouring over Lord Morrow's face. Liquid stone potion was not intended as a weapon, and contact with living flesh purposefully inhibited the conversion process so that workers using it didn't accidentally entomb themselves in stone if a vial broke. Still, straight to the face, it would expand more than enough to kill a man.

The man sputtered, drawing his hands back to wipe off the quickly hardening goop.

Oliver tried to restrain the large man's arms, but his strength was no match for Lord Morrow.

Still, with the other man distracted, there was nothing to keep Oliver from going for his wand, which he did, breaking off large chunks of hardening stone from his fingers so that he could grasp it.

With it in his hand again, he stood tall, looking down at the panicking man in front of him, who had barely avoided suffocation by liquid stone. Lord Morrow was no fool, and even with both eyes caked over and coughing gritty mud out of his mouth, he knew he'd lost the advantage.

"Wait, wait!" he yelled, even as he contorted himself, trying to reach the rope still tying his legs together. It was no use. His head and torso were encased in the hardened goop and stuck to the floor.

Oliver shot him. The wand, despite their struggle, was still set to a stunning spell.

Lord Morrow collapsed.

Coolly, Oliver adjusted his battle wand's settings, stepping a little closer so that he could aim properly with his trembling hand. "If there is no strength to be gained from hope, I will pull resolution from despair," he whispered, paraphrasing a half-remembered quote from a bedside story his sister had told him as a child.

The next spell sliced right through Lord Morrow's neck, separating his head from his body and leaving a gouge in the hardened liquid stone encasing him.

Blood gushed out, rapidly at first in a pulsing flood, and then quickly slowing.

It pooled over to Oliver's shoes, coating their sides and bottoms.

Oliver stepped back, letting his huge, foxlike smile recede in favor of a grimace of distaste. "You taint everything you touch," he murmured. "What a waste."

Finally, he was able to look around. The ward was still in place over the open doorway, and the men who had been firing spells at it, trying to break their way through to help him, had fallen still. One of them had placed an augur in the doorway, probably figuring the risk of triggering traps was worth it with his life in immediate danger, and it was spinning into the empty air, digging into the ward. Oliver sighed and waved for them to stand down.

While he waited for the ward to be broken the safer way, Oliver turned to the rest of the room, stepping over Lord Morrow's body and the pool of blood, which was steaming in the cold air. Absently, he cracked off the caked stone from his clothes and skin.

Shelves filled with boxes sat against the walls, with a few tables in the middle of the room. There were three hinged iron doors set into the ground beneath the tables, hidden but not invisible. Oliver inspected them first. He might not survive any more surprises in a single night.

The hatches were locked, and when he used his battle wand to break the locks and pull them open, he discovered that the ward around the room blocked them, too. But it didn't block his sight into the tunnels that extended down beneath. Having a basement in Gilbratha was rare, because the water table was high, and magic was required to keep a subterranean room dry.

These tunnels would have been expensive, but all the more valuable because they were so unexpected. He would be sure to let his people know to search any other of the Morrows' prior properties for similar additions.

After closing the hatches, he moved to place some of the boxes on the shelves over them. It would slow down anyone trying to come through into the room from below. He never actually got that far, because he almost dropped the first box he picked up in surprise.

It was full of beast cores. Hundreds of beast cores, ranging in size and color. Enough to power all of a thaumaturge's spells for the rest of their very long life.

He put that box down and moved to the next. It was the same.

A few minutes of frantic investigation showed that about a fourth of all the goods in the room were beast cores. Even without the recent price hikes caused by the Crown's import restrictions, the room held the equivalent of two hundred thousand gold, just based on a quick estimate. Perhaps more, if there were any of particularly fine quality. If sold, these beast cores could fund the Verdant Stag for a year or more, even with their expanded territory. It was more than his own inheritance and personal investments made in five years. And most of the boxes were labeled with the same incomprehensible shipping address, a string of letters and numbers. Oliver couldn't decipher it, but he didn't need to. He already knew who the Morrows were working with.

The University was secretly stocking up on an exorbitant amount of beast cores, in addition to other restricted, powerful components that would have otherwise been taxed as well as tracked.

But why?

He looked around again, then picked up one of the beast cores. He'd heard that thaumaturges could somehow sense the power of a beast core roiling beneath the surface, but it just seemed like a pretty rock to him. He moved it around, peering into its colored, crystalline depths. "The beast cores, and the book. They're preparing," he breathed.

Chapter 78 - A Sacrifice of Light

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 18, Monday 5:00 a.m.

Sebastien got back to the University before the sun rose. Most of the students were asleep, but a good number were still up, likely because of the widespread fighting in the city below. She slipped past any students she crossed paths with, avoiding notice with a combination of patience and the occasional distraction. She wished again that she had some way to activate her divination-diverting ward on command.

She'd washed the worst of the grime off herself at the Silk Door, taking a couple of extra minutes to turn her hair back to the blue-black of the Raven Queen before she transformed, but leaving behind Siobhan's body didn't get rid of the fatigue. She felt tired in all the ways—mentally, physically, emotionally.

A quick check showed that Tanya was still inside her room when Sebastien returned.

Mumbling at Damien when he questioned her, she took a shower and managed to get a couple of hours of rest before the school day started. The wit-sharpening potion had worn off, and she felt slightly detached from the world, as if an ephemeral blanket were wrapped around her, muffling her senses and delaying her reactions.

She hadn't had a chance to talk to Oliver or Katerin. If not for the fact that the fighting had eventually stopped, with a group of Stag enforcers arriving to take away what had become dozens of Morrow prisoners, she wouldn't have known the outcome. She was still ignorant of the details, but she presumed if the Morrows had won, her night would have ended very differently.

Damien proved his worth by supplying her with delightful, sublime, life-saving coffee, brewed strong enough to melt a spoon and already imbued with wakefulness magic.

She almost cried out of gratitude.

There was a lot of distracted discussion about the night before, with rumors of varying credibility already circulating. Most agreed that several of the most influential gangs in the Mires had gotten into a battle, with chaos and collateral damage ensuing.

The fighting was over and the fires had been put out before morning, but now the coppers were dealing with looting. There had been a call for volunteer healers from the University. Some of the students in that career track would be able to get practice working on the poor, who couldn't complain if their healer's skills were sub-par because they weren't paying anyway.

At breakfast, Tanya was visibly alarmed to hear all the gossip, but other than asking the other students for details, she didn't do anything suspicious. She didn't talk to Munchworth or any of the other professors. There were no other signs that anyone had contacted her or that she was reaching out, either.

Sebastien assumed Tanya was biding her time, and was a little impressed with the girl's dedication to maintaining her cover. It could be hard to maintain procedure even when you thought you were safe and unwatched, especially when something like this happened.

Still, Tanya would have to do something soon. And when she did, they would be watching.

Newton, however, pulled Sebastien and Damien aside at breakfast to let them know that he was leaving to check on his family, who lived near one of the areas where there had been fighting the night before. "Tanya said she wanted to come with me, but I convinced her that at least one of the student liaisons for our group needed to stay behind. Other students might need our support, after all."

Damien and Sebastien shared a quick glance. 'This is horrible timing. But there's no way I can refuse to let him leave. And even if I tried, I couldn't force him to stay.'

"Go. We'll keep an eye on things here. Let me know if you need anything. I might be able to help."

After Newton left, Damien said, "We'll have to take turns watching Tanya throughout the day. There's no way we can monitor her during classes, but we might be able to keep an eye on her between them in case she tries to talk to anyone suspicious or slip away."

They set up a schedule to do that while seeming as normal and unsuspicious as possible. One of them would slip away at least once during every class to use the compass divination spell on the bone disk and make sure Tanya didn't cut out in the middle of a class. It was the best they could do with the resources at hand.

Sebastien stopped by the Administration center in the library before classes, and among the crowd of students doing the same, inquired if there were any letters for her. As she'd hoped, there was a note from Oliver, dropped off early that morning by a runner. The name on the outside of the letter indicated it was from Fortner's, the high-class bespoke clothing shop he frequented, but she knew it was really from him.

Sebastien went into a bathroom stall to open the letter. The outer page was an actual advertisement from Fortner's, but inside that was a small square of paper. In a hurried scrawl, it read, "My niece's violin recital went fairly well. She managed to win first place, though it was a close battle between her and the next girl. She made a fumble in the first movement, and her rival was unexpectedly well-prepared with a powerful piece of their own. Still, she prevailed. She has blisters that might take some time to heal, and I expect some snide words from those who aren't so happy at her success, but she's on track for the all-city competition, and I expect her to move forward from this even stronger."

Sebastien read it twice to make sure she hadn't missed anything within the cryptic message, then turned it over and drew a spark-shooting spell array on the back. She burned the entire thing to ashes in a couple of seconds, crumbled the ashes between her fingers, and dropped them into the magical chamber pot, which filtered them into its holding tank. Finally, she washed her hands, trying to make the pale blonde man in the mirror look less anxious.

In her first class of the day, Introduction to Modern Magics, Professor Burberry looked less pink-cheeked and bright-eyed than Sebastien had ever seen the older woman. "As most of you know by now, yesterday night the city was rocked by war between a handful of the criminal organizations that make their claim on the less affluent areas."

This drew the scattered attention of the students like dangling a piece of bacon in front of a dog.

She continued, "The Crowns have mobilized the coppers to control any violence, looting, and property damage. The Order of the Radiant Maiden and the Stewards of Intention are both temporarily taking in those who have been injured or lost their homes to fire or spellwork. We've sent some of our own higher-level students with healing expertise to help as they can. If any of you have family affected by this, you can get a pass to leave for the rest of the day in the Administration office. Above all, however, I would like to stress that the Crowns have this incident firmly in hand, and we at the University stand behind them. There will be increased patrols to ensure the safety of the citizens in these tumultuous times and relief efforts to help those who are affected get through the aftermath, and those responsible will be arrested. The worst is over. Please don't worry about it. Remember, as students, you are here to learn."

Several of the students left, presumably to get passes from the Administration office, and Burberry gave her lecture without further allowance for distraction.

'I wonder if Oliver realized it would get this big. The Crowns will have to make at least a token response. They have to be seen doing something. And maybe they'll even make a real attempt, if the spectacle of this embarrassed them enough. The coppers didn't particularly care about the Verdant Stag, at least not before the Raven Queen came along. But now…'

She didn't know enough to truly speculate, but she was apprehensive. 'This cannot have been the optimal outcome.'

Sebastien fumbled through her classes for the first half of the day, for once unable to care that she was missing a chance to learn. She revived only long enough to keep tabs on Tanya. Luckily, a lot of the other students were similarly bleary in the aftermath of their mid-term celebrations followed by the pandemonium of the night before, so she didn't stand out.

A nap during the lunch period, while Damien kept an eye on Tanya, and yet another cup of coffee helped refresh Sebastien for Practical Casting.

Which was fortuitous, because Professor Lacer conducted an impromptu assessment of their progress in the last exercise he'd assigned—using three different methods to turn sand into a rock.

He had them come up in groups. With a beast core in his hand, he crossed his arms, leaned against his desk, and watched them perform the sand-to-stone transformation using transmutation, duplicative transmogrification, and true transmogrification. The pen on the desk behind him scribbled notes. Rarely, he commented, giving a student with particularly poor performance scathing admonitions, or someone with an impressive showing a few words of praise and tips to further improve.

Sebastien didn't perform as well as she would have liked. Her transmutation was passable. She used heat and pressure to form a very small pebble at first, which she added to bit by bit.

"Your understanding of the process is still not complete enough, and that is creating inefficiency," Professor Lacer said, frowning. "You could do this at least twice as quickly with more thorough study and some practice."

Sebastien wanted to melt into the floor, but she straightened her shoulders and nodded. Her duplicative transmogrification was faster, the sand taking on the characteristics of the dragon scale they'd been given.

Professor Lacer plucked the ball of textured rock off the table in front of her. With a slight narrowing of his eyes and a faint ripple of magic in the air, it crumbled in his hand. He dumped the dirt back in front of her. "Barely passable," he said. "Too brittle, more like glass than dragon scale. You lost at least thirty percent of the durability during the process of duplication. Next time, take your time before casting and get a better grasp on the dragon scale, both in your feeling of ownership and your attention to its details. Weigh it in your hand. Taste it if necessary."

Sebastien noted his advice, but lamented her own lack of preparation. Obviously, Professor Lacer was hinting that she was not on the right track, and might not satisfactorily grasp the auxiliary exercises he'd assigned her and Damien by the end of term. She took her time with the final variation, true transmogrification, trying to make her Will as clear and forceful as possible.

Once again, Professor Lacer shattered the resulting rock with a spell. This time, he frowned but said nothing.

Sebastien suddenly realized that this was actually worse than being offered correction and advice. 'It shouldn't have shattered so easily, right? A real dragon scale wouldn't have.' She went back to her seat, trying to figure out where exactly the spell had gone wrong. While others went up to the front to be assessed by Professor Lacer, she practiced the transmogrification, over and over, forming the ball of idea-infused rock and then returning it to sand.

When the assessments were finished, Professor Lacer introduced the third main exercise of the term.

He was even more crisp than usual, seeming irritated enough that none of the students dared to let out a peep or hint at any distraction that might draw his attention and ire.

"The mid-terms are over. Congratulations to some of you. Grades and rankings will be posted by the end of the week in the Great Hall. We will not wait for them to move on. There is little enough time to beat some basic competence into your heads as it is. This time, we will be using something new as the Sacrifice."

'I'm falling behind,' Sebastien acknowledged with a sinking feeling. 'I have already fallen behind.'

Professor Lacer had given her five exercises to work on privately. As they progressed through the in-class exercises, it was clear that the bonus ones were meant to augment these. She was still working on the air compression exercise, and had planned to start the next one—changing the color and shape of a candle flame—in a week or two. If she hadn't been distracted with everything else, like keeping track of Tanya, developing the sleep-proxy spell, and all the time she spent working for the Verdant Stag, maybe she would have had time to keep up.

Professor Lacer walked to one of the empty student desks in the front row, his Conduit in hand. "Many thaumaturges become set in their ways of thinking. They are stuck within the patterns of thought they have worn in their own minds, like a carriage wheel becoming stuck in a rut. This presents itself in various ways, but there are many such barriers between the average sorcerer and a free-caster. Magic does not have limits. Humans have limits that we impose upon magic. One such obstacle that we create for ourselves is the type of energy source we use. It is accepted that most any type of matter can be used in basic transmutation spells—living, nonliving, from solids to gasses, in any particular cellular structure. Thaumaturges accept that they can turn mud into a brick, or even into a diamond, with enough power. But when asked about where that power comes from, you get the same handful of answers every time. Too many thaumaturges never cast with any energy source besides fire or a beast core. You need to practice thinking in other ways while your minds are still malleable."

On the desk in front of Lacer, the spherical area marked by one of the component Circles carved into the surface disappeared.

Sebastien looked closer, her interest piqued. 'No, not disappeared. It's not invisible—that is a bubble of shadow. He is intercepting all the light passing through the Circle's boundaries.'

"There is nothing in magic that restricts the source of energy. For some reason, humans find using heat more instinctive than, say, a lightning bolt. Some theories suggest that is because it is easy to associate the fire, which consumes its carbon-based fuel in exchange for heat and light, with our consumption of the fire in exchange for a magical effect. Yet, it is considered an advanced application to use the energy inherent in a slice of bread to power a spell, despite the fact that human bodies use that same type of energy to power our own continued existence. Most would find it much easier to access that power by setting the piece of bread on fire."

He looked down to the little dome of darkness atop the table. "We will be practicing with light as an energy source. A simple transmutation spell, with light energy as the input as well as the output. Some of you may find this easier than others." He met Sebastien's eyes for a brief moment. "The least limited among you may have already cast spells like this."

Sebastien thought of the amulet that gave her this form, pressed even now to her chest underneath her clothes. 'Maybe it uses some kind of esoteric power?' She had wondered before, many times, how it worked. The transformation magic had not degraded, nor gotten any slower, nor left her with any pain or weariness when it activated.

She caught herself lifting her hand to rub the amulet through her shirt and consciously refrained. No artifact could contain unlimited power. When they were created, they were charged with a certain number of spells, which would either contain their own power source—this was more common—or pull from some external power source, which she knew was possible but had never seen in action. She had only learned the vague theory of it from her grandfather.

Distracted for once from Professor Lacer's lecture by her thoughts, Sebastien's eyes narrowed. The artifact was also special in that it could trigger with even a minor application of her Will. 'How does it even recognize Will? To do so, the effects of Will have to be somehow quantifiable in the first place, which is something we haven't managed to do even up until now—but the amulet does it, and would hypothetically be very old. Perhaps it uses transmogrification for this instead of transmutation. After all, some animals seem to be sensitive to magic being cast around them, and even humans feel a kind of hindbrain "awareness" around powerful thaumaturges in the middle of casting. That could be more than the senses subconsciously picking up on subtle energy spillover from spell inefficiency.'

In any case, this was not an issue that she could afford to be complacent about. Things went wrong when she got complacent. And she had been using the amulet rather a lot lately. If it ran out of charges, she would have absolutely no way to fill it again. 'Maybe the book it came in contains instructions on how to cast the spell. That would make sense.'

Professor Lacer pulled out a small carving from his pocket, placing it in the second component Circle on the desk and recapturing her attention. "There are varying difficulty levels for this exercise."

A spot within the central Circle of the desk brightened, then resolved into a replica of the carving. It expanded to be easily viewed by the whole class: a crude carving of a little boy with his dog at his feet. At this size, with only the Sacrificed light from the much smaller component Circle, the image was vaguely thin, like someone could poke a hole in it with their finger. "The easiest method is to replicate the image of a spell component…" The image turned, but it was flat, and the back was nothing more than an exact mirror image of the front. "Two-dimensionally. The next level of difficulty is maintaining a three-dimensional visual illusion."

This time, when the image flipped around, it wasn't flat, but instead showed the side and back of the boy and his dog.

He picked up the carving and tucked it back in his pocket. "After that, you may attempt to remove the source material entirely. You may start again with the two-dimensional…" The image of light resolved into silhouettes of darkness upon a light background, again the boy and his dog, but in a slightly different pose, one Professor Lacer had created himself.

"But those who wish to achieve true mastery should introduce a real challenge." The silhouettes began to move, the dog wagging its tail and the boy reaching down to scratch behind its ears.

Sebastien grinned. 'It's not so different from the kinds of shadow-plays I've seen in the market.'

Except, under Professor Lacer's sudden frown of concentration, the moving silhouettes gained realistic, rich color and shape. A background appeared around them, a field of green grass with a single tree in the distance, with a wide blue sky above. It seemed to gain substance, losing that semblance of thin illusion. The spell Circle was like a window into another place.

Sebastien was close enough to see individual blades of grass, and when the wind blew within the dome atop the desk, she thought for a second that she felt it on her skin.

The boy and his dog were real, not a crude wooden carving, and when a shadow passed over them from above, they reacted with surprise and fear.

They ran. The boy kept looking up and back over his shoulder, until he missed a gopher hole in the ground and went into a tumbling fall. When a dragon slammed down in front of them, the illusory ground trembled.

The dog took up a defensive position in front of the fallen boy, its hackles raised and its teeth bared as it barked viciously and soundlessly at the much larger dragon.

The boy scrambled to his feet and began to back away.

With a deep breath, the dragon gathered its magic, releasing it in a stream of fire that washed over the dog, vaporizing its fur and incinerating it where it stood.

The boy broke and ran.

The dragon hopped forward and happily snapped up the dog-shaped meat snack, then swayed after the boy until it moved out of the viewing window Professor Lacer had created.

The students stared at the scorched ground for a few seconds before Professor Lacer released the light-transmuting spell. When he did, it was like he'd broken some sort of bewitchment hex over them, and a few people suddenly started breathing again or let out nervous laughs.

"Anyone who manages a passable version of a three-dimensional image from imagination will get contribution points. Movement is not necessary, and will be beyond most, if not all of you. Do not let that discourage you from trying, however."

As he walked back to his desk, he said, "Homework is, as always, at least three fully fleshed spell arrays that you could use to create these effects if you were not in Practical Casting and forced to use a minimalist array. As you practice casting, three glyphs are allowed, two is recommended, and anyone still casting with three by the time we move on to the next exercise should be aware that their laziness is unacceptable and will be the main obstacle between them and true progress. Start your attempts now, with a focus on consuming all the light available so that you may repurpose it."

He settled back into his desk chair and began to look through a stack of papers, ostensibly intent to ignore them for what remained of the class period.

Sebastien had indeed cast with light before. She had done so during her disastrous entrance examination. But then, she'd also used heat to augment the spell, and when all was said and done, she'd probably come close to giving herself Will-strain. But much more often, she had done so through her shadow-familiar spell, which she had been casting since she was a child. The Sacrifice of light was why her shadow grew so unnaturally, opaquely dark, and it provided the extra power that her warm breath through the Circle of her hands lacked.

She took a moment to write out the symbol and two glyphs, trying to settle the perspective of pulling on light for power in her mind. 'Plants do it. Why not me?'

She started out with the simplest of exercises, trying to replicate the image of a single copper coin.

She looked up and toward the back of the class, where Nunchkin was working on a three-dimensional light construct. She couldn't see the spell array on his desk, but would have bet that he had already advanced to using only two glyphs. Sebastien straightened and turned her focus back to the small Sacrifice Circle where she'd drawn the glyph for "light". 'I'll start with a two-dimensional static image. I can focus on restructuring the light once I've mastered drawing upon it. This shouldn't be so hard. It's light to light, not like I'm trying to use the light to power a movement spell. I've cast the shadow-familiar spell enough times that this should be easy.'

It was not easy. Using only two glyphs and without the thrice-repeated chant of the esoteric shadow-familiar spell, the magic seemed to be deliberately trying to slip out of her grasp, as if the light were water trickling through her cupped hands.

By the end of class, she at least had the Sacrifice consuming enough light that she couldn't see anything inside it, a little dome of black being repurposed into an undefined blob of light hanging in the middle of the larger inner Circle.

She could have made it easier by adding the third glyph, but refused to give in to the temptation. 'I want to be a free-caster. If this is hard enough to make me give up, I should save my money for something with a better return on investment than University tuition, because I will never achieve true greatness.'

Nunchkin's Sacrifice Circle was just as dark as hers, but he had already begun to form a blurry three-dimensional image of what seemed to be a silver crown, rather than a vague blob.

Sebastien's Will was already fatigued as she exited the Citadel for the day, surrounded by milling students, and made her way to the library.

Tanya was still in class for another hour, and if she maintained her regular schedule, should be joining Newton at the library directly afterward.

Damien waited outside to keep an eye on her in case she broke her routine, but if she came to the library as expected, he wouldn't follow her inside. Despite volunteering for this duty, he complained bitterly about sitting by himself on a cold bench, to Sebastien's complete lack of sympathy.

Remembering her earlier inspiration about the transformation amulet, she searched the shelves for information on historical feats of artificery. 'There has to be a clue, somewhere. Maybe I have simply been searching in the wrong place.'

Chapter 79 - Connections

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 18, Monday 4:15 p.m.

Sebastien found a book by an author who loved alliteration a little too much. If she wasn't specifically searching for that topic, she might have passed over Ancient Achievements, Accomplishments, and Attainments in Artificery due to the ridiculousness of the title alone.

Reading through its contents, however, she was glad she hadn't.

Normally, artifacts were charged with a finite number of spells, each spell fully formed and contained within the spell array until a set trigger released it into the world. Myrddin had been the first to develop artifacts that could gather their own power for a spell. Supposedly. Myrddin had a lot of fantastical feats incorrectly attributed to his name that had either been done by others, or had no actual historical corroboration. There were more stories about Myrddin than there were about all the other famous thaumaturges combined.

According to the book, he had developed several versions of these self-powered artifacts—some of which were now lost arts—and which she was pretty sure from the lack of citations or evidence that the author had at least partially come up with himself, based entirely on his own speculation about how such magic would work.

The spell arrays of the simplest self-charging artifacts contained the parameters to gather and transform energy as part of their activation and release process, and creating one was a Grandmaster-level feat. Her grandfather had owned an ever-cold ice box that kept itself charged through the very heat it removed from the space inside. 'That's how my medallion works,' she suddenly registered. It could pull heat from its surroundings to power any one of several different protective spells. She lifted it out from under her clothes to look at the gold surface, where the glyph indicating the anti-scrying spell was warped and melted. When it protected her against the coppers' first attempt, it had overloaded. She hadn't considered what its heat-drawing nature meant, because she'd rarely had occasion for the medallion to be used enough that a normal artifact would run dry.

As long as the spell array held, it would continue to work. The problem was that the shielding spell wasn't efficient enough, and would either reach a point so cold it could no longer draw in heat, or the spell array would degrade further and become non-functional. Self-powered artifacts couldn't cast truly endless spells, as eventually the spell array would break down—and more quickly with heavy use—but they were still widely coveted. If that happened, she wasn't sure what the danger might be. 'Would the shielding spell simply stop working? Would it be like the Circle being disrupted while casting? Explosions, backlash, and peculiar magical disasters?'

Sebastien hadn't spent much time mulling over this idea before, but she was now realizing that it sounded rather dangerous. Even if the spell array was undamaged, if the artificer didn't know what they were doing, the user might end up freezing themselves to death as their battle wand gathered up energy to shoot a fireball. This method of self-charging would require the artificer to be able to quantify the energy and its transformation process well enough to code that into the spell, from the beginning of the process to the end, while including safety precautions and limits. Sebastien wasn't an artificer, but it seemed rather difficult.

The second method listed in the book, which Sebastien had never seen in practice, allowed an artifact to access a distant energy source, like a heat-gathering spell array, through a sympathetic connection. 'How far away does that work? What happens to everything in between when the energy starts flowing from the source to the artifact? Wouldn't houses, trees, and random people be fried to a crisp, or electrocuted, or… Actually, it sounds like a really great way to cause mass destruction. ' The book didn't give details about how, exactly, this process worked, but perhaps there was a reason she'd never seen it implemented.

The third method, which had been lost to time if it ever existed at all, had the artifact accessing external power through a receptacle. For instance, a beast core that would slot into a Sacrifice Circle in one of the artifact's sub-arrays—an ammunition cartridge, basically. 'At least that method seems like it would be reasonably safe.' Remembering her own experience with using beast cores, whose power seemed almost eager to be used, she wondered what exactly the limitation with using them for self-charging artifacts was. 'Perhaps there's some limitation with quantifying the energy of a beast core, or maybe it's more a problem of containing power surges, so it doesn't all rush out at once and blow up the artifact or something?' Frowning, she continued reading.

The final postulated method was for the artifact to open up one or more tiny planar portals and siphon pure elemental energy in both the quantity and quality necessary for the spell.

Out of all the methods, this one seemed the most impracticable to Sebastien. She couldn't even imagine how one would go about doing that. Since they couldn't be created by anyone weaker than a Grandmaster of artificery, they were rare and expensive. Creating stable planar portals was on a similar level of difficulty, and notoriously dangerous.

While those were interesting thought experiments, it was a footnote at the bottom of the page that made her freeze, leaving her wide-eyed and momentarily breathless. 'Myrddin was rumored to have developed artifacts that could be triggered with Will alone.' The claim wasn't substantiated, and the author considered it to be one of many false rumors, since no one had ever found such an artifact, and the original source of the rumors was unclear. 'But that's how the amulet works. I have physical proof that it's possible.' A fumbling search through the book's index for keywords didn't come up with any other historical artificers who were likely to have done such a thing. A search through a more modern list of advancements still did not turn up that particular ability.

'Did Myrddin make my amulet? Write that book?' It was a ridiculous question, improbable to the point of being impossible. But someone had made it, and if it was true, it suddenly made sense why the University would be so desperate to recover the book. If her speculations held any weight, the book could be worth more than its enormous value to collectors and historians.

Sebastien thought back to Professor Gnorrish's class some weeks before. If a sorcerer could truly understand a process, down to its very molecules, well enough to reproduce it given only a piece of chalk, they could cast spells that replicated the process. Triggering an artifact with Will alone might signify an understanding of Will greater than anyone alive in the world today. It was the kind of knowledge that many would be willing to kill for.

But not all the pieces of this puzzle fit seamlessly together. 'If the book and the amulet really are relics that could be reasonably connected to Myrddin, why hasn't the University shouted their success from the heavens? Surely their expedition recovered more than the one book. Even if they had no intention to sell any of the relics, the prestige benefits alone would seem irresistible.' Perhaps they were waiting until they had retrieved her stolen book, or had some other reason to refrain from crowing about it like a rooster at dawn.

'Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with Myrddin after all. Maybe they have no idea what's written within, any more than I do. But if they really believe the Raven Queen stole one of Myrddin's journals…'

She stared at the yellowed pages of the reference book, unseeing. 'They'll never stop.' She smacked her cheeks until they stung, bringing her mind out of its spiraling thoughts. She didn't have proof, just speculation. Acting as if she knew what was going on when she really didn't could lead her to making catastrophically bad decisions. And even if it were true, it didn't actually change her current situation.

Ancient Achievements, Accomplishments, and Attainments in Artificery didn't have much more of value, but it did lead her to a discovery of the existence of an artifact meant to evaluate the energy stored in other artifacts—without having to take the other artifact apart. It didn't detect magic directly, but worked by cooling down the artifact and then measuring any extraneous sources of heat. Most artifacts slowly leaked some of the energy from their captured spells, and in an extremely cold, controlled environment, this was measurable.

Such an artifact would be able to tell her how many of the small spell Circles within her commandeered battle wand were still charged—without the need to take it to an artificer and answer unwanted questions. It might even tell her something about the amulet.

Lost in thought, Sebastien jerked upright when someone pulled out the chair next to her. Her eyes were stinging, and she realized she'd somehow forgotten to keep blinking. 'I'm tired.'

Newton sat down beside her. His hair was windblown, his clothes wrinkled and smudged with ash on his arms and legs, and the dark circles under his eyes stood out against his pale face. A smattering of blonde stubble grew from his chin. "I'm glad you're here. I didn't get a chance to give you my report yesterday. And something happened."

Sebastien straightened. "With Tanya?" She pulled out her pocket watch to check the time. To her horror, her research fugue had extended through Tanya's fourth class of the day and twenty minutes more besides.

Newton glanced toward the Administration offices, where Tanya was waiting impatiently at the end of a long line of students.

Sebastien let out a slow breath of relief.

"Yes. I just got back, and she pulled me aside to talk. She wanted to check on me and ask about my family, but she was also asking for more information on what happened. She seemed agitated when I told her the Morrows had been ousted from their former territory. She specifically asked about"—he lowered his voice—"the Raven Queen. She seemed surprised when I told her I hadn't heard any credible rumors about the Raven Queen being involved, but she still wanted the details."

"What did you tell her?"

"I really don't know much. I was focused on my family, and the fighting was so widespread. But I heard the Raven Queen flew above the battle in a black mist that was invisible against the night sky."

Sebastien rolled her eyes. "If the mist was invisible, how could anyone have seen it to tell stories about it?"

Newton nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, pretty ridiculous, but, umm, Tanya seemed interested, almost like she thought it could be true. I also told her I heard the Raven Queen attacked a whole squad of the Morrows and took their bodies with her when she disappeared. And I heard someone prayed to her for protection and was able to escape through the darkness without notice, a veil of invisibility safeguarding them until they reached safety."

Sebastien refrained from rubbing her throbbing temples. 'This is getting ridiculous.' "Most people don't actually believe those stories, though, right? It's just ridiculous rumors?"

"Of course they don't. But no one knows exactly what she can do, so it's hard for anyone who tells crazy stories to be judged absolutely as a liar. Anyway, that's not exactly what I wanted to talk about. My family's home was caught in one of the fires."

"Are they okay?"

"Shaken. Frightened for their future. A couple light burns on my mother. She ran back into the house to save some of our things. A magician with this water-spring artifact pulled by a carriage put out the fire before our whole house could burn down, but…it's not livable, and it will be a big job to repair, especially at this time of year. The fire, the smoke, plus the force of the water, and then sitting there drenched… A lot of our things are damaged."

'That's the artifact I bought at the secret meeting. Or one just like it.'

"The worst of it is that the smoke and being out in the cold all night trying to get to safety took a toll on my father's lungs. But everyone is alive, and none of them were seriously injured. Except…well, it means there's no chance I'll be able to stay on at the University next term. And I mentioned that to Tanya. She…"

Newton glanced up again to peek at Tanya in the line, ensuring she still was paying no attention to them, and lowered his voice again. "She swore me to secrecy and said she knew something that might help me. A way to make money. She hinted that it was illegal, or at best, very questionably legal. That I would have to take a magically binding vow of secrecy. And that it might involve some danger to me. So, Sebastien, I really need you to answer some questions for me."

"I'll answer what I can," she said.

"Working for you, I've been getting closer to her. She's driven, smart, and capable. I know she considers me her friend. Reporting on her every move while knowing that she trusts me…it makes me wonder about myself sometimes. Where do I draw the line for what I'll do to further my own goals? I used to pride myself on my integrity. But I also have to wonder if it's all a facade on her part, too. So just tell me. Is she harming people? Why am I watching her? What exactly is she trying to get me involved in? Is she dangerous?" Newton stared at Sebastien intently.

"Relax," she said. "Your body language is conspicuous." She slid the book she'd been trying to read closer to him. "Pretend you're explaining something to me."

Newton did a passable job.

It could be dangerous to give Newton answers, but she worried that he might decide to quit helping if she didn't.

Putting a slightly confused frown on her face, Sebastien said, "I don't know all the details, and of what I do know, I can't tell you everything. However," she said quickly, forestalling the protest that was obviously on the tip of his tongue, "Tanya is involved with people who perform criminal acts that include violence against innocents. She has participated in these acts personally. There is corruption inside the University itself that goes beyond her. And there's a reason she's particularly interested in what happened last night."

Newton swallowed several times, shifting in his seat like he wanted to get up and pace but was forcefully suppressing the urge. "But she was here last night? She didn't have anything to do with the attacks…right?"

"She didn't directly participate in them, no. But that's likely only because she didn't know they were going to happen. She's been directly involved in at least two civilian deaths. That I know of. You're keeping watch on her for a good reason, Newton."

This didn't seem to reassure him. "This is way too much. I'm just trying to get my Journeyman certification. I don't want to be involved in…whatever this is!" He waved his hand vaguely.

Sebastien hesitated, but said, "You don't have to be. You can stop if you want. But as long as you don't get caught, you should be perfectly safe."

Newton stared at the book for a moment, then forced a slow, calm breath that reminded Sebastien of the spell he'd taught her. "About this…meeting, or whatever it is she wants me to accompany her to. Do you think she suspects? Is she trying to lure me off campus so she can get rid of me?"

Sebastien suspected she already knew what Tanya had been hinting at. "Can you tell me more about what she wants you to do?"

Newton swallowed painfully, looking down at the book in front of him and pointing to a specific line to keep up the ruse of helping her. "She said she had an answer to my money problems, if I was willing to take a risk. She said there would probably be no direct danger, but that I would have to take a vow of secrecy. She said she'd pay me to carry a battle wand and watch her back, but that if I wanted to put some of my tutoring expertise to bear, I could make a lot more coin from the kind of information that only a University student has access to."

That confirmed it. "There are plenty of thaumaturges in Gilbratha that aren't officially licensed to practice, or who are interested in magics that aren't officially sanctioned. If I'm guessing correctly, she wants you to accompany her to one of their meetings. They'll pay for things like spell arrays, restricted components, or other magical equipment. Some of the people are probably just there to avoid the Crown's magic tax, but others could be dangerous. However, I've heard there's a well-enforced restriction on violence at the meetings, so unless Tanya expects to start a fight, I'm not sure why she'd want backup. It could just be that she's worried about navigating through the city alone after all the violence. The streets might not be totally safe. Or it could be that she plans to make some extra stops along the way."

"Should I agree to go with her? I don't want to get involved in anything…well, criminal. I don't want to hurt people."

Sebastien turned through a few pages of the book while considering how to respond. "You'll have to decide that on your own. You're definitely not obligated to agree. It is a risk, but the possibility of profit is real, and we might be able to use whatever information you gather."

"But I'll be sworn to secrecy. I won't be able to tell you anything, really."

She hesitated, then said, "I have a contact that attends the meeting. You can discuss events with other members, and they can tell me." Really, it would just be a meeting set up with her in her female body. They would have to be very careful.

"If you already have someone there, why would you need me?"

"Because Tanya might talk to you about the details. My contact is a stranger to her. Still, if something goes wrong…they might be able to act as backup for you. Just something to consider. Also, we would pay you extra for the risk. But you'll still have your assignment with me even if you decide not to do this." She hesitated again, but decided it was only fair to be candid. "Also, there might be other options to get the money you need. I do have some contacts, and we might be able to work something out. This isn't your only chance in the world."

She wished she'd had someone to say the same thing to her when everything was going wrong. It was only by luck that Oliver and Katerin weren't worse, and that her deal with them was something she could stomach. She might have made much worse bargains out of desperation, were she in Newton's spot. "Though, to be clear, what I could connect you with probably wouldn't be as lucrative as the danger of accompanying her."

Newton's shoulders visibly loosened. He laughed. "Wow. If you would have told me I'd be having this conversation at the beginning of the term…" He shook his head ruefully. "I'm just a bookish commoner who's too stubborn to admit I don't belong here. I wasn't meant for these things."

Tanya paid the Administration worker for the paper bird messenger spell and moved to the stacks of special paper that she would write her letter on. She glanced over at them, and Sebastien gave her what she hoped was an unsuspicious smile.

Newton didn't even notice.

"We sometimes find ourselves in extraordinary situations," Sebastien said. "And then we discover that there are extraordinary depths of resourcefulness within us."

"How did you get involved in all this? Contacts in secret meetings, digging up corruption in the University, rubbing shoulders with the children of Crown families?"

Sebastien let out a breathy laugh. "I, too, never expected to find myself having this conversation. Truly. But life has a way of surprising you. Especially when you demand more out of it. The world twists in strange ways to keep up with you."

"I'm interested in these other opportunities to make some coin, but I think I'll do it. Go with her, I mean. As long as there's going to be backup there."

"In that case, let me be clear that I intend no one at that meeting any harm. You are not associated with Gilbrathan coppers or official law enforcement of any kind. You have no plans to discuss relevant information about the meeting to any non-members. You are there for your own mercenary benefit only."

He blinked at her.

"They will ask you," she said. "This way, you can answer honestly."

He gave her a slow, confused nod, but there wasn't time for more questions, because Tanya had finished sending her letter and was heading their way.

'She was most likely contacting Munchworth, or someone else here at the University. Even if the paper birds have a delivery beacon with one of the Morrows, I doubt she'd be so reckless as to contact them directly right now.'

Tanya dropped into the seat across from Sebastien with an irritated huff.

"Thanks, Newton," Sebastien said, pulling the textbook back over to herself. "That makes sense."

"No problem." He looked up to Tanya, and Sebastien was impressed with his composure, despite what he had just learned about the other girl. "Is everything okay?"

Tanya waved a dismissive hand. "Well, you know."

Sebastien wasn't sure they did know.

That must have shown on her face, because Tanya brought up a knee, tilting her chair away from the table to rock back and forth on its hind legs, and said, "I needed to ask one of the professors for instruction, but with everything going on I can't get hold of them. Had to send a bird."

"Is it worth it?" Sebastien asked. "The contribution points for being a student liaison?"

Tanya snorted. "Of course not. They make me do all kinds of shit that I don't want to do." She was grinding her teeth. She stopped talking to rub her jaw, then said, "There's a reason why you don't see a lot of high-class students working as student liaisons. We don't do this for the contribution points. I mean, the points don't hurt, but the whole point of getting a position like this is to put it on your resume once you're looking for employment. I don't want to be poor and insignificant my entire life. I have ambitions, Siverling."

"I can understand that," Sebastien said.

Tanya peered at her assessingly for a few moments, rocking back and forth. "Maybe you can," she said finally. "How did you manage to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Build all those connections. Even if you make a mistake, or make enemies, you have a safety net. You won't be expelled before reaching Master, and you'll easily be able to get a position as a research assistant to attempt Grandmastery. You're pretty much assured a job after graduation, etcetera. A lot of people will see who you surround yourself with and hesitate to make an enemy of you."

'What?'

Sebastien tilted her head to the side and said aloud, "What?"

Tanya scoffed. "Come on, Siverling. Damien Westbay, Anastasia Gervin, and Professor Lacer? I mean, I've heard you insult Alec Gervin to his face…and you're still here."

Sebastien blinked. "Well…I suppose I could get a low-level position in the coppers through nepotism, and Damien Westbay probably has enough influence to keep me out of minor trouble, but he's definitely not going to pay my way through the University, and he can't keep me from being expelled. To be candid, Professor Lacer vouched for me to get me through the entrance exam. I offended some of the other professors and almost didn't make it. But that means my future here depends on him, and he's already threatened me with expulsion multiple times."

Tanya seemed to find this both surprising and amusing. When she was finished laughing, she wiped the wetness away from her eyes. "But he's not actually going to do it, right? If he was, he wouldn't have taken you as his apprentice."

Sebastien again found herself saying, "What?" She felt as if the world was tilted just a few degrees off-center—this whole conversation wasn't quite making sense.

"I mean, that was a pretty big decision on his part. You know how he is. He's got a personality like a barbed razor blade. But he's not going to actually expel you unless you do something really outrageous or start failing all your classes or something."

Beside Sebastien, Newton nodded. "That's probably true."

Sebastien shook her head rapidly. "Oh, no. Okay, I think you have a misconception. I'm not Professor Lacer's apprentice. He just used his veto power over the entrance council to get me admitted."

Both Tanya and Newton stared at her silently, their expressions a mix of confusion and incredulity.

Sebastien looked back and forth between them. "Really. And I became friends with Damien…by accident."

Tanya started laughing again and almost fell over backward when her chair overbalanced.

One of the librarians sent a death glare toward the three of them, pointing to the clearly visible sign requesting a quiet, peaceful atmosphere.

Tanya gripped the table and slumped over it, her face pressed into her elbow to muffle the disruptive volume of her mirth.

Sebastien looked to Newton for support.

He shook his head. "You definitely are Professor Lacer's apprentice. It was on the announcement board for special accomplishments."

She remained silent.

"When the entrance exams ranking results came out? It's displayed to everyone."

Sebastien hadn't returned to the University to see her ranking after taking the entrance exam. She'd known it would be poor. She'd barely been admitted, after all. 'Green five-fifteen' echoed in her mind. She found herself mirroring Newton's shaking head. "That's impossible."

"What's impossible?" Damien asked. He'd waited some time to follow after Tanya into the library, and was now staring down at her shaking shoulders with suspicion. "Is she crying?"

With a few shuddering gasps, Tanya regained control of herself. "Oh, I needed that," she muttered.

"We're discussing apprenticeships. Do you remember who Professor Lacer's apprentice is?" Newton asked Damien, his own lips twitching in suppressed amusement.

Damien moved to pull out the chair next to Tanya. "What? It's Sebastien. Is this some kind of joke?"

Sebastien's eyes lost focus. She stared into the middle distance. It all made a horrible, embarrassing amount of sense. "But you and Ana are doing the extra exercises, too?" she asked feebly.

"Well, I wasn't willing to fall behind some rude commoner," Damien said with a rueful smile and a shrug. "And Ana's a good sport. I badgered Professor Lacer into allowing it, since it's all individual work and doesn't require any extra time on his part."

"If you want proof, you can go look at the special accomplishments display for this term," Tanya said, waving to a series of framed papers on the wall near the Administration center.

Sebastien got up and walked over to them in a daze. She found her name next to Thaddeus Lacer's easily enough. "Oh," was all she could say.

'I'm apprenticed to Thaddeus Lacer. I am the apprentice of the youngest Master of free-casting in a century. And somehow I had no idea.'

Chapter 80 - Nerves Wracked

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 18, Monday 6:00 p.m.

Damien found Sebastien's ignorance hilarious. He kept falling into random giggling fits whenever he thought of it, despite her increasingly ferocious scowl.

Tanya was similarly amused, leaving Newton the only one with a bit of sympathy for Sebastien.

Sebastien almost wanted to stop by Professor Lacer's office and ask him about it, but the thought of his reaction was even more mortifying.

Besides, Damien admitted that when they spoke, Professor Lacer had called her his provisional apprentice. That barely meant anything, really. He may have made her his apprentice to get her past the entrance exams, but it seemed likely that he would negate that once it was no longer necessary, or if she disappointed him.

She did her best to put it out of her mind. Nothing had changed, only her understanding of the situation. There was nothing she needed to do with this information.

With both Newton and Damien around to watch Tanya, Sebastien didn't really need to be there.

Most of Sebastien's professors—those who had some measure of compassion for their students, unlike Professor Lacer—had temporarily reduced their students' workload. She decided to take advantage of the extra free time to work on some of the things she'd been neglecting.

She went to the supply closet that held the Henrik-Thompson testing artifact, hoping that it would have other useful items, like the artifact-scanning device she'd just learned about, but was disappointed.

She hesitated to ask one of the Artificery professors, but when she firmed up her resolve and found the man from her entrance examination to make the request, he was happy enough to give access to the one in his classroom.

Looking around at all the complicated gadgets and tools for creating the miniature spell arrays, Sebastien regretted that Professor Lacer had restricted her to only taking six classes per term. 'No, what are you thinking?' she asked herself, looking at a spool of gold wire. 'You cannot afford either the time or the funds to be a competent artificer. There will be time to learn more about this craft later, once you have made something of yourself.'

The professor sat at his desk across the room, wearing a set of complicated, multi-lensed goggles and leaning over something delicate and shiny.

Sebastien arranged herself so her back was blocking his view, just in case. She was pretty sure owning a battle wand required a license. She examined the artifact before putting it into the larger metal dome, which was already wafting out cold air from its open mouth. The wand was bigger than the name implied. Only the most expensive wands with the most exquisite construction were the size of twigs. Most were more like batons, tapered cylinders that easily reached an inch thick at their base, and in an emergency might even be used to beat someone about the head.

This one wasn't fancy, and gave off no hint of precious metal or multiple different types of spells within. You pointed and pulled the embedded node on the side, and it fired a stunning spell. Of which the scanning artifact told her it had three remaining, based on the three rings of miniature Circles within that were radiating minute amounts of heat.

Glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder to ensure the professor was still paying her no attention, she slipped off the amulet and scanned it, next.

According to the scan, it had no charges remaining. 'Either I happen to have just run out, or whatever charges it holds are too efficient to be tracked.' Not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved at the continued mystery, she hid the amulet away again, thanked the professor, and forced herself to return to the dorms for a nap. Then, she practiced Professor Lacer's exercises, focusing on all the different aspects of her Will while creating a ball of compressed air, until she felt herself start to grow more at ease with the spell.

The next couple of days were uneventful. Other than the suspicious letter Tanya had sent via spelled paper bird, she was keeping to her normal routine as a student aide. But Sebastien knew the woman would slip up eventually. Probably soon, considering what had just happened.

Oliver sent Sebastien another coded note requesting she come by over the weekend to brew healing concoctions, as apparently the Stags were having trouble supplying their increased territory. She had already been planning on it, of course, but noted that she should buy any useful healing supplies at the next secret meeting, which she hoped would be soon. The Verdant Stag would need more than she could supply on her own, and Oliver would reimburse her, with her fee on top of that.

After classes on Wednesday, while Ana, Damien, and Sebastien were studying in the library, Ana sat scribbling furiously in the pink notebook she often wrote in, a harsh frown on her face.

Sebastien would have thought nothing of it, but Ana was the type to smile with almost creepy pleasantness even while enraged. She'd done so only that morning when one of the male students "accidentally" rubbed against her derriere. Right before shoving his food tray into him, splashing hot oatmeal over his chest and face with a sweet, "Oops!"

Meaning something that could cause Ana to frown so unpleasantly had to be serious.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked.

"I need to go check on my little sister," Ana replied, already preparing to leave.

"I'll come with you," Damien said immediately, already standing. He hesitated, looking to Sebastien as if realizing that he might have misspoken.

With Damien off campus, it would leave only Sebastien and Newton to watch over Tanya, but Sebastien nodded quickly anyway. Some things were more important. Damien had been Ana's friend far longer than he'd been Sebastien's ally.

She even offered, "Do you need any help?" but the pair was already hurrying away too quickly to hear her.

Checking to make sure Newton was still with Tanya, Sebastien moved to the supervised practice rooms, where she spent a couple of hours trying to catch up on Professor Lacer's exercises.

Ana and Damien were still gone when she returned to the dorms, and Sebastien guessed they might be staying the night at the Gervin estate. 'I hope everything is alright.' Damien did have the bracelet she'd given him, so if anything went truly wrong, he could at least let her know, even if there was nothing she could do about it.

Sebastien cast her dreamless sleep spell and lay down. She was hoping to get a few hours of sleep, and then wake to work on some homework in the middle of the night while a little more refreshed. Just as she was falling asleep, however, the alarm ward they'd placed on Tanya's door went off.

Sebastien pulled the rattling, cold stone from under her pillow and stared at it in frustrated disbelief. It was as if Tanya had somehow divined the worst possible moment to get up to something suspicious. 'I'm tired. I don't want to follow Tanya out into the freezing elements and hide in the dark listening to her from afar…'

Sebastien considered letting Tanya go unsupervised in favor of sleep, trying to convince herself that the other woman wasn't necessarily up to anything nefarious. Instead, Sebastien leapt to her feet in sudden anxiety.

Without Damien, she couldn't actually listen to Tanya from afar. Sebastien had spent a little time researching sound-enhancing spells, but what she'd found worked by amplifying received sound through the casting surface. These spells all created a slight but obvious echo that could easily give her away to Tanya and Munchworth if they were paying attention, even if she managed to hide or suppress any light given off by the casting or Sacrifice flame.

Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a solution. She could attempt to recreate Damien's spell by hashing something together, but there was very little chance she would get it just right, and new magic was wild. Dangerous. She was trying to learn from her mistakes, not recklessly undertake more of them. That would be a last resort.

'Why didn't I place more importance on finding a way to cast a divination spell focused on myself, at will? If I had the ward going at full strength, I might even be able to sneak up on them in the dark.' Even if she could have cast a divination on herself while simultaneously avoiding its grasp, though, the spillover light from her lantern and the probable glow of the spell array would give her away. The divination-diverting ward didn't make her invisible or impossible to notice, after all. If she could cast with light as a power source, she could have minimized her chance of being noticed, but she was nowhere near ready to do that. Now she wished she'd bought herself a beast core, despite the uneconomical prices.

'You're rambling. Focus. I need real solutions,' she snapped at herself mentally, wrenching on her boots and jacket.

She checked her pocket watch. Less than half a minute had passed since Tanya left her room. 'I can't listen in from a distance, and I can't sneak up on her. But I'm pretty sure I know who she's meeting, and where. I don't need to sneak up on them if I'm already there. Lying in wait. Hidden.'

It was a gamble. Maybe Tanya wasn't going to meet Munchworth at the Menagerie. She could be doing anything, going anywhere…

Moving as fast as she ever had in her life, Sebastien used her little slate table and the bone disk to track Tanya's direction. She was headed north, which meant she probably wasn't leaving University grounds. She would swing west soon, if the Menagerie was her goal.

Already moving to the dormitory doors, Sebastien snuffed her lamp, stuffed it into her pocket with the bone disk, and wrapped her dark scarf around her head to cover her pale face and hair. She didn't want to stand out in the night like a beacon.

As soon as she was in the hallway, she ran. She burst through the opposite doors Tanya had exited through, sprinting around the Citadel to the east and onward to the Menagerie gates. She had to get there far enough ahead of Tanya that the other girl wouldn't see her. Sebastien could only hope that Munchworth wasn't already there and waiting.

At least this time there was no fresh snow to leave suspicious tracks in. It was trampled and dirty and the paths were covered in patches of invisible ice—which immediately sent Sebastien sprawling painfully.

Cursing silently, breathing too hard to spare any air for spouting obscenities, she climbed off her bruised knees and elbows and kept running.

The little bridge where Tanya and Munchworth met last time was empty. Sebastien slowed and glared around suspiciously, looking for any other forms hiding in the dark. Her breaths were seeping out through the gaps in her hastily wrapped scarf, clouding puffy and white in the moonlight. Her lungs protested the shock of suddenly filtering such a great quantity of frigid air, and she coughed as stealthily as she could while searching around for a hiding spot.

Eventually, she decided the best hiding spot was actually under the bridge itself. There were a couple of large boulders near the bank that would help to conceal her form if she huddled into them.

It was a precarious descent. The rocks were slippery, and the edge of the little stream was iced over and concealed with piled snow. Sebastien cracked through the ice with a splash, but managed not to face-plant into the freezing water. "Titan's balls!" she hissed. She crouched down in the darkness underneath the stone bridge against the lumpy side of the boulder and remained still, muffling her breaths with her scarf.

She wanted to cast the compass divination on Tanya again, or at least take out her pocket watch to estimate how long she would need to wait for the girl to arrive, but she resisted the urge. She was too likely to be noticed.

To her relief, though, she had been correct.

Tanya arrived first, clearly audible from the little bridge above as she stamped her feet and muttered vague threats toward "that pompous idiot."

It took long enough for Munchworth to get there that even Sebastien was beginning to wonder if he'd stood Tanya up. Then when he did arrive, Sebastien worried suddenly that one of them would use a revealing spell of some sort to ensure their privacy, but he started speaking without hesitation. "What was so urgent that you could not send it in a message? I was under the impression that you do not have much time to dawdle about tonight. Do you have something for me?"

Tanya seemed to hesitate, but then blurted, "This is a bad idea. I…I don't feel comfortable doing this. I can go to the meeting, but—"

Munchworth cut her off. "You called me away from my bed just to whine? What exactly do you think your job is? Do you think you are in a position to make demands, or even suggestions?" His voice grew louder as he berated her. "You do not decide. We decide. You either perform satisfactorily, or you fail and you are useless."

"I'm not incompetent," Tanya said in a tightly controlled tone, "but I object to being treated like a disposable pawn in a reckless strategy that's just as likely to backfire as bring about positive results. Aligning ourselves against the Verdant Stag and the Nightmare Pack, both of which have dealings with the Raven Queen, is a bad idea. I have already been warned once. I doubt she will spare my life a second time. I have reason to believe that a member of the Stags or the Nightmare Pack is also a member of the meetings. That's what I've been trying to tell you. It became obvious after the attack. Don't you see the implications?"

"It is no surprise that there are criminals at these meetings. That is largely the point of them."

"They know who I am!" she cried, barely keeping her voice low enough that it wouldn't travel through the night. "They've heard my request for a meeting with the Raven Queen, and they probably passed it on to her, but she refused. They've been selling Conduits, I think from people they attacked or killed. They're dangerous."

'She's talking about me, but why would she assume I got the celerium through nefarious means?'

Tanya continued, "When I start asking the questions you sent me, they're going to make connections. The Raven Queen has already shown she can move directly against the University without repercussion. She's warned me in person. Do you want to be assassinated? Wasn't that book she stole on its way to your office at the time? She knows where you work. She probably knows where you sleep. You are making an enemy who is out of your league, and you're tossing me into their jaws like some kind of disposable, unshielded pawn."

Munchworth scoffed angrily. "I am a professor of the Thaumaturgic University of Lenore. We are the most powerful magical institution on the entire continent. Even the Thirteen Crowns fear us. This upstart who calls herself the Raven Queen is nothing more than a petty thief and a dramatist, feeding the fear and ignorance of the population to bolster her reputation. She makes threats and pulls stunts because she is not powerful enough to face us directly. We will anger her? She has angered us! We will stand for this no longer, and if she knows what is good for her, she will hide away in the shadows, for the fist of our wrath will spare none!" He breathed hard for a few seconds. "The cowardice of your common blood is showing true, Canelo. Rid your mind of petty superstitions and represent the University with the mettle of a real sorcerer."

Tanya's heavy breaths were audible, and Sebastien could imagine her anger, but the woman didn't reply aloud.

"You're increasingly becoming a hassle, Canelo. Remember, we wield both the carrot and the stick." There was a pause, and Tanya must have responded nonverbally, because her harsh breaths remained while Munchworth's heavier stride walked off the bridge and retreated toward the entrance.

Sebastien stayed still beneath the bridge, trying not to shiver or let her teeth chatter.

Tanya stood atop the bridge for a few minutes, then suddenly burst into cursing. She took a few deep breaths, muttering, "By all the greater hells," in a desperately strained tone that sounded as if she might be about to burst into tears. After a few more minutes of hunkering in the cold, Sebastien heard her say, "Okay, okay," in a calmer tone. "I do what I must. At least I won't be entirely helpless, or alone."

Tanya finally left, and after waiting a long while to be sure she wouldn't be observed, Sebastien surreptitiously followed her.

Chapter 81 - The Siverling Line

Damien

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 6:30 p.m.

When Ana reported trouble with her little sister Natalia, Damien immediately volunteered to go with her. He had some idea what the Gervin Family was like and what the young girl was facing without Ana around to shield her, just as Titus had shielded him. Already preparing to leave, Damien hesitated belatedly, looking to Sebastien. Without Damien, Sebastien would only have Newton as a backup to keep watch on Tanya.

Sebastien nodded easily, shooing him off with a flap of his hand.

As they strode determinedly away, Damien asked Ana, "What happened? Is Nat okay?"

Ana's expression was carefully neutral, but a muscle pulsed in her jaw. "Natalia is unharmed. Physically, at least. She was frightened by the fighting last night. Cousin Robbie teased her that I had died, and then he locked her in a supply closet. She was stuck for several hours until one of the servants found her and let her out. Mother scolded her for having cried so hard she made herself ugly and dirty, and of course Robbie denied any wrongdoing. So, Nat got in trouble for lying."

"I'll give him a good thrashing," Damien said, grinding his fist into his palm.

"She tried to," Ana said, her voice growing rough. "Father saw. He was with Uncle Randolph, so I'm assuming he was embarrassed, and she was punished. Nat was a little too hysterical to explain everything coherently by this point in her message. I could barely read her scribbles past the ink blots and tear stains."

"Robbie's a grown man now. It's shameful to be picking on a small girl like that."

"I'm sure his father encourages him. Anything that could undermine the female heirs' ability to lead this Family in Father's eyes." Ana's hand fisted in the delicate fabric of her suit vest above her heart as if to squeeze the beating organ, leaving enraged creases in the material.

They took the tubes down and hailed the best-looking carriage waiting by the side of the street. Even with the carriage bouncing along with enough urgency to stress its cushioning spells, it took a tense half an hour to arrive at the Lilies. The Gervin Family's estate was cut out of the far east side of the white cliffs. The mansion sat close enough to the base, near the waters of the Charybdis Gulf, that when it stormed, a spray of sea foam would hit the cliff's edge.

They both remained silent, but Damien's mind was active. Smoke from the smoldering remains of the fires had drifted over the water from the city, making his eyes sting as he looked out of the carriage's small window slot. Usually, the smoke would have been blown away already, but the air was unusually—ominously—still.

Late Sunday night, Damien had watched from the edge of the white cliffs as the fires that preluded that smoke broke out. Even though he had understood he couldn't help, he hadn't been able to let the worry go, so instead of pretending to sleep while Sebastien was out who-knows-where, he'd bundled himself up and snuck away, looking down on the city as the violence Sebastien had predicted broke out.

It had been more than a "little skirmish." Even from so far away, Damien had seen the flashes of magic, and the wind carried him faint sounds of explosions. He even imagined he heard the occasional scream.

Not long after, some of the University staff had come out to look. The beginnings of a fire lit up a portion of the Mires in orange, light diffusing through the smoke and setting everything glowing. He hadn't bothered to try hiding from the staff, and they'd barely spared him a perfunctory admonishment to return inside, which he ignored.

"It won't reach us here," one of them said.

"Still, best to be prepared for the unexpected."

Finally, a female guard insisted he return to bed. When Damien tried to protest, she said, "You'd best hurry up before I remember that it's past curfew and give you a demerit."

Damien had been almost ready to tell her he was the youngest Westbay and dare her to punish him, but instead he'd slumped in defeat. He was self-aware enough to know when his anxiety was making him foolish.

Sebastien would give him a horrible tongue-lashing if he heard Damien was drawing that kind of negative attention to them. After all, someone might wonder why Sebastien was missing from the dorms after curfew, too.

The only upside was that Tanya seemed to be oblivious. Her door hadn't opened the entire night. Damien had wished desperately that he was advanced enough in the craft to do a general, exploratory divination on both Tanya and Sebastien. He wanted to check to see if Tanya was likely to do anything dangerous or suspicious, and make sure Sebastien was still okay. Unfortunately, his Divination class had barely progressed past basic deductive divinations like telling the suit of the next card in a deck.

Damien had dozed fitfully and woken when Sebastien finally arrived around five in the morning, before the sun had risen. He'd been agitated, ready to snap at Sebastien for any slight he could find, but he stopped when he got a good look at his recalcitrant friend.

Sebastien had seemed unharmed, but Damien noticed the clues he failed to hide. Sebastien's eyes were bloodshot and his face even paler than normal. There was grime in the creases of his neck and what looked like traces of dried blood around his fingernails.

"What happened?" Damien asked, keeping his voice low to avoid waking any of their dorm-mates. "Are you injured?"

Sebastien dug into the trunk at the base of his bed for a change of clothes. "I'm not."

"Then someone else was injured? Something happened. I can tell."

Sebastien sighed. "Some civilians were caught up in the fighting. A young boy got his legs blown off."

Damien had paled.

"I had to help him. He'll live, but, for him, the worst is probably yet to come. I doubt his family can afford healing powerful enough to regrow his legs. I…don't want to talk about it anymore, Damien."

Damien kept his mouth shut as Sebastien went to the bathrooms and took a long shower. He'd wanted to ask what Sebastien had gone out to do in the first place, and what the fighting had been about. But he couldn't. Damien felt useless. All he had done was keep an eye on Tanya.

Sebastien was beginning to warm to Damien, but still didn't seem to like him very much. First impressions were valuable, and he had botched theirs. Professor Lacer had been right to reprimand him. It was foolish to make enemies so blindly, even when they seemed inconsequential. Now all he could do was slowly try to change Sebastien's mind.

Sebastien had drawn his curtains closed and plopped onto his narrow bed with a sigh of exhaustion.

The other students began to stir soon after, and Damien had been quick to throw his most dangerous glare around when anyone made too much noise and threatened to prematurely disturb Sebastien's rest.

Sebastien had slept for only a couple of hours.

Damien tried to convince him to go to the infirmary and get a pass to skip his classes, but Sebastien refused. In the end, all he would accept was an extra strong cup of coffee, which Damien imbued with a little magic to boost its effects. It was a trick his mother had taught Titus, and which Titus had passed down to him, despite the stigma of "kitchen magic."

Damien was jarred from his thoughts as the carriage slowed to a stop at the manor gates. He paid the driver as Ana strode ahead. He knew he was walking into a similar situation now. He would be moral support at best, unable to actually do much, but he knew from experience that sometimes it helped to have someone just…be there. Ana had done the same for him more than a few times over the years.

At the front doors, Ana blew past the servant that tried to take her coat and scarf.

Damien smiled apologetically to the servant and agreed to the offer of tea and refreshments. "Send them up to the library in twenty minutes or so."

Ana's house was quite different from his own, filled with bright colors and fresh flowers even in the middle of winter. It was just the right temperature, and the air inside held not even a hint of smoke. Her mother took pride in things like that, redecorating frequently and inviting people over for parties and balls whenever she wanted to be particularly extravagant.

Damien didn't want to thrust himself awkwardly between the two sisters, so he went to the library to wait for a few minutes. He browsed the books idly, his thoughts returning to the blood he'd seen caked around Sebastien's fingernails. He couldn't imagine exactly what it might be like to find a child missing their legs and on the edge of death, but he knew it must be horrible, and he knew that, were it him in that situation, the child would have died.

But Sebastien was special. It was obvious, in his sheer skill with magic, but there was more to him than met the eye. Even beyond the secrets that Damien knew.

His fingers trailed over the spine of a book, his eyes idly reading without comprehending. He paused, reading the title again. A Genealogy of Notable Figures of the Thirty-Second Century, B.C.E. The book itself was completely useless to him, but it sparked an idea and renewed the flames of curiosity that had never quite died down.

He looked around, noting the recurring theme among the other books. The Gervin library was full of records. A lot of genealogies, history, and plenty of not-so-subtle gossip about other people's ancestors.

When the tea tray was brought up, he took it from the servant and made his way to Nat's room. He knocked on the door, then opened it with a smile, keeping any anger or concern from his face. Nat needed to be cheered up, not reminded of what she already knew well enough. "I come bearing gifts for the lady Natalia, in the hopes that she might gift me a few minutes of her lovely company."

Nat's face was swollen and blotchy from tears, but she nodded happily enough.

Nat and Ana were both sitting on the canopied bed, so Damien sat the tea tray at the foot, kicked off his boots, and climbed in with them. There was plenty of space. He served the girls tea and scones with butter and jelly and made light conversation, telling stories from the University that had Natalia giggling until she fell over. She particularly loved stories about Sebastien, and Damien found he had more of them than he realized.

As she ate and drank, he foisted more snacks on her and embellished anecdotes of Sebastien's obliviousness, grumpiness, and his secret soft-hearted core.

"What Family is he from?" Nat asked.

"He's not one of the Crowns," Ana said, running her fingers idly through her little sister's hair.

"Really?" Nat looked down, frowning with disappointment.

"It's not like that matters," Damien said. "We might have the advantage of bloodlines and opportunity, but there's plenty of skill among the lower classes. And plenty of garbage among our own," he added darkly.

Nat shrunk into herself a little, like a turtle tucking its head, and Damien quickly changed the subject.

After the ordeal of her day, and now finally being filled with food and liquid, she started drooping into sleep soon afterward.

When she was down, Damien and Ana slipped out of the bed and walked to the balcony, carefully closing the door behind them.

"Is she okay?" he asked.

"It was an ordeal for her, but she'll be fine. For now." Ana clenched the balcony railing, staring out at the city. "This is why I didn't want to leave her. She's all by herself without me. She's only eleven."

"You managed when you were her age. She's going to be okay. And she's not alone. You're not gone, you're half an hour away, and you talk to her every day."

Ana's grip only tightened, and she rocked back and forth a bit.

Damien nudged her shoulder with his own. "Nat's stronger than you think. Don't underestimate her."

Ana's fingers tightened, but then she let out an almost inaudible sigh and released her grip. "You're right. I just worry about something like this happening again. She was trapped in that closet for hours with no way to call for help. I think Cousin Robbie paid off some of the servants to purposely 'not notice' her screams. Our manor isn't that big."

Damien ran his fingers over the simple wooden bracelet Sebastien had given him, which was hidden beneath his shirt. "You should get her an emergency alarm artifact. Something that will let you know when she's in danger, even if she can't write to you."

Ana brightened immediately. "Yes, that's a great idea! I don't know why I never considered it before. I suppose…you don't normally assume a child needs an emergency alarm within the safety of their own home."

Damien only hoped Nat never needed to use it for anything worse than being trapped in a closet.

"You can go back," Ana said. "She'll probably sleep for a couple of hours. I want to be here when she wakes so she isn't frightened."

"Actually…I was wondering if I might use the Family library?"

"Oh? Whatever for? We don't have many relevant study texts at a University level, and there aren't any of your cheap detective periodicals."

Damien refrained from commenting on her slight. "I was hoping to look up a list of notable families. I'm curious about the Siverlings."

Ana raised a knowing eyebrow. "Interested in Sebastien's history?"

Damien rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, then realized he was mussing his hair and smoothed it again. He looked away. "I'm just curious. Gossip and genealogy and all that is your Family's wheelhouse. I don't want to pull up confidential information or anything, and that's the only type of special information my Family would have access to. Sebastien never talks about his family, you notice?"

"I already looked into them."

Damien's head jerked around to look at her.

"Don't be so surprised, Damien. Of course I would. I sleep next to Thaddeus Lacer's mysterious new apprentice every night, and no one's ever heard of him before."

"What did you find?"

"It was difficult to find anything. At first I thought he was…" She paused, playing with the collar of her jacket. "Well, I thought he was a commoner from a family just wealthy enough to afford his tutors and admission. No one particularly special."

Damien knew that even if Sebastien was a commoner, he would still be exceptional. "At first? You changed your mind," he stated.

"Recent records about anyone with the name Siverling are impossible to find. At least without hiring an investigator, and I didn't think that was warranted. But I found a more distant mention of the name. The Siverlings were a maternal offshoot line of the ruling Family of Lenore from before the Third Empire. Supposedly everyone in the line was executed by the Blood Emperor."

Damien's eyes widened. "Do you think it's the same Siverlings?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? But it's definitely a curious coincidence. Especially since he seems to have popped out of nowhere."

Inheritance via a maternal line was often contested, and allowed only if there were no more direct descendants through a paternal line, but if it wasn't a coincidence, and Sebastien really was descended from the king of Lenore before the Blood Empire… "What would that mean?"

"Probably not much. Maybe it would make him a more desirable match for some Crown Family daughter. With the right backers, he could make a claim to power…and probably face either open execution or a deniable assassination, depending on how much support he had."

Damien could imagine it, a family living in secrecy for generations for fear that the Blood Emperor or the Crowns would take offense to their very existence and finish them off. "How likely is it to be true?"

"The king's third daughter married into the Siverling family. Her husband was the king's Court Sorcerer. She was pregnant when she died, and all the records say the child died with her. I did a little digging… She would have been at least eight months pregnant. With the right spells and a good nursemaid, eight months is old enough to survive outside the womb, if the child was delivered early or cut out of his mother's stomach immediately after her death. But it's extremely unlikely, although I'll admit that it makes for a dramatic and intriguing story."

"Unlikely maybe, but it is possible. And if we think so…maybe someone else does, too. Could someone have found him living in Vale, in obscurity, and convinced him to take up his true family name again? Perhaps funded his way through the University, connected him to Professor Lacer?"

"Possible, yes. It's probably unconnected, though. He's been staying with a man named Oliver Dryden, an exiled noble from Osham. The man seems to have very little personal ambition. He's a philanthropist with a bleeding heart, according to my father, and wouldn't have any reason to take advantage of Sebastien. I honestly wouldn't consider the connection to those other Siverlings at all except…" Ana's lips quirked up at the corners. "Well. Sebastien has something of a way about him. Blood runs true, you know."

Damien remembered the first time he'd realized Sebastien was truly special. He'd made a joke about him being the second coming of Myrddin.

Damien wasn't crazy. He didn't think Sebastien was the literal incarnation of history's most powerful thaumaturge. But if Sebastien held the bloodline of both the king and a man who would have been one of the most powerful sorcerers in the country, it made some sense how he could be naturally talented enough to draw Thaddeus Lacer's eye.

"There is a simple solution to our curiosity," Ana said.

"There is?"

"We could just ask Sebastien."

Damien considered it for a second, but shook his head. "I don't think we should. He can tell us if he wants to. That kind of thing…there are probably a lot of good reasons to keep it secret. He never talks about his family or his childhood, and I feel like maybe that's deliberate."

Ana hesitated, but nodded. "I agree."

Damien's eyes narrowed. "There's something else. Do you know something?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Sebastien is our friend. I don't want to gossip about him."

"You love gossiping, you liar," he said, daring her to refute it with a pointed look. "Besides, it's just me. I'm not going to tell anyone else, and you know he's my friend, too. If there's something relevant, isn't it best that both of us know so we can have his back?"

"It's nothing you shouldn't have noticed yourself. And I don't want to speculate about what it means. Just…" She cleared her throat. "Okay. Sebastien is incredibly self-assured. To the point of arrogance. But that arrogance is universal. He doesn't treat even the most obvious sponsored commoner any different than he treats you or me. And the way he studies, it's obsessive. I thought at first he was just trying to live up to expectations or something, but sometimes it seems like he's worried all this is going to be taken away from him, and he's trying to cram as much knowledge as possible into his mind before the spell ends. And you're right, he never tells stories about himself. It's not just that he avoids talking about his family or his childhood. He's never mentioned a pet, or his favorite food, or even what he wants to do after graduating. And mostly…he has nightmares, Damien."

Damien nodded slowly, realizing everything she said was true. In fact, the only thing he knew about Sebastien's family was from an offhand comment about how free-casting ran in his family, too. He, of course, knew that Sebastien's dreams had something to do with the secrets he kept. Sebastien would have taken the same oath as Damien, while looking at the stars. He, too, wanted freedom and enlightenment, whatever that meant exactly. Sebastien had spoken about that boy with the missing legs a little too matter-of-factly.

But Damien had never given much thought to the fact that Sebastien had trouble sleeping. He knew Sebastien had nightmares, and probably insomnia too. It was just one of those things about Sebastien, like him being grumpy in the mornings, and how much he loved good coffee but never bought any of his own, and how he ignored the increasingly frequent flirtatious looks from the female students like he didn't even notice them.

"Yes, he does…" Damien said encouragingly, waiting for Ana to continue.

"He has nightmares every night. That's why he's always practicing in the wee hours and seems exhausted in the morning. I think something bad happened to him. Something he doesn't want to talk about. So even if he is one of those Siverlings, it doesn't mean his life before this is anything he wants to remember. And maybe that's why he studies like he does. Being here is a way out for him. And if it is…I don't want to take that away from him by making him talk about it."

The thought that something or someone had actually caused Sebastien's nightmares had Damien's heart beating a little too hard, his cheeks flushing even brighter against the cold. When Sebastien had said, "The world can be darker than you imagine," there had been a shadow in his eyes, hidden thoughts swimming behind their placid surface. It seemed wrong that someone like Sebastien, who was strong and smart and who cared so much, could, in other circumstances, be the victim of something that scarred him internally so much that he couldn't escape the memories even in sleep.

"Sebastien isn't a victim."

Damien only realized he'd said the last part aloud when Ana nodded. "Exactly," she said. "It's not how he thinks of himself, and not how he would want anyone else to think of him. So let's not make him tell stories he would rather leave behind just for the pleasure of being in on a secret. Whether his last name has any significance…well, it doesn't really change who Sebastien is, right?"

She was right, of course. Damien told her so.

She laughed. "Damien, haven't you learned by now? I'm always right."

He smirked. "Except when you disagree with Sebastien."

They laughed, and didn't talk of it again.

Chapter 82 - Things Go Wrong

Newton

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 9:00 p.m.

Newton had considered turning Tanya down when she asked him to accompany her to a secret meeting of criminal thaumaturges. He had no desire to be involved in the dangerous game Sebastien and his Crown Family friend were playing with the University, and he dreaded anyone finding out his part in it. Accompanying Tanya with a battle wand seemed like the stupidest decision a normal person—someone who just wanted to get their Journeyman certification and move on—could make, a trap door that would dump him into this morass with no way to escape.

In the end, though, when Tanya knocked on his door shortly after curfew, the promise of a solution to his other problems was too tempting to pass up. He needed the coin. His family was depending on him.

Their entire household: his parents, his Grams, and even his sisters, had been saving since he was young to put him through the University. When they talked about their hopes and dreams, it always revolved around his future, and the knowledge that once he was established, he would help them as they once helped him. When he'd gone to check on them after the fighting and the fire, his Ma had broken down crying.

Not about the half-burnt house, or Pa's failing lungs, or the loss of all the worldly belongings she hadn't been able to carry in her arms, but because Newton would no longer be able to become a Journeyman. Two hundred gold a term—the minimum to take four classes—would be beyond their family's means now. If he had to take more than one term off, he would have to pay the three hundred gold admission fee again, too.

Newton's father had been fairly well-paid for a commoner, making about three hundred gold a year. That was much better than their neighbor Mr. Carlton, who worked unskilled labor wherever he could find it. With that, Mr. Carlton made about one hundred thirty gold a year, which was not enough to support a family on alone. This was why it was common for everyone from grandparents to children to live together, each contributing what they could to the family's livelihood. Even doing that, some families still barely squeaked by when it came time to pay taxes.

An Apprentice-certified sorcerer could make four hundred eighty gold a year, if they found a good Master willing to let them work for their business. Legally, Apprentices weren't able to sell magical items or services to others under their own banner.

Newton had the basic certification, but he hadn't received any good work offers the term before. He hadn't particularly been looking, because he had assumed he would be able to get his Journeyman certification at least, and maybe even the extra two terms for a specialized Journeyman. A good Apprentice-level position would be enough to support his family on, and maybe, in ten years or so, he could save enough to return to the University for further certifications. The best jobs in Gilbratha were almost always given to those who put on an impressive show in the end of term exhibitions. If he could just make it until then…

He sighed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. It wouldn't do to be too greedy. Even if he needed to drop out right away, mid-term, he should still be able to find something that paid well enough to keep his family fed and housed. Sometimes a person needed to make sacrifices.

Newton had wanted to cry, too, when he saw the tears streaking his Ma's soot-stained skin and the wrapped burns on her arms. He'd controlled himself because he knew that would only make her feel worse.

His family's dreams for him weren't rooted only in what they hoped to get back from him once he had power and riches. It might be easier if that were the case. No, they all wanted a better life for him than what they could hope for themselves. And they were willing to sacrifice for it.

The pressure to succeed became crushing at times.

So now he was walking through the dark streets with Tanya. The air had been clear up atop the white cliffs, but down in Gilbratha proper, thick fog had rolled in, giving the city an eerie, muffled quality.

Tanya had given him a battle wand charged with stunning spells—which was the most expensive item beside his Conduit that he'd ever held, and which was illegal for him to have. His hand stayed wrapped around it within his jacket pocket. His eyes felt gritty and sore with lack of sleep, and the muscles in his neck hurt because he kept clenching his jaw without realizing it. He'd been having to use the calming spell his Grams taught him to get even a semblance of rest over the last few days, but it wasn't enough.

Tanya was wearing a mask, and they both wore hoods deep enough to keep their faces in shadow even when they passed the occasional streetlight, but he could tell from the way her head moved constantly that she was watching for danger, or perhaps pursuers.

When they reached their destination, a nondescript building with a slit in the door that slid open when she gave a special knock, he felt relieved for about half a second. She gave a strange, disturbing passphrase, and everything seemed to be going fine.

Then Tanya told the man behind the door that she'd brought a new prospective member.

He looked at Newton, then waved them in. He pointed them down the hallway, and they were met quickly by another masked man who looked at Tanya and said, "We prefer to be notified of new applicants at the prior meeting," with censure in his tone.

Newton's hand was sweaty around the battle wand. He carefully released his grip and removed his hand from his jacket pocket, wiping his palm on the side of his pant leg surreptitiously. Tanya had assured him that the meeting itself was regulated by the administrators, and thus safe enough, and Newton didn't want to come off as a threat, especially if he wasn't technically supposed to be here.

Tanya didn't reply.

The man turned to Newton instead. "You will be interviewed by one of our prognos. If your answers are acceptable, you will be allowed to join the meeting."

Newton nodded jerkily.

"At least you got here early," the man muttered, opening a door to reveal a person sitting at a desk. A large spell array was drawn over the floor beneath them.

The person behind the desk turned their head toward Newton, and he almost jumped when he met the gaze of their single, bright eye. He shuddered, hoping the response wasn't obvious.

The man tried to send Tanya off to the meeting room, but she refused to leave. "I'll stay with him," she insisted.

"You cannot," the person at the desk said, her voice marking her as a woman. "The interview must be conducted without outside influence."

Tanya hesitated like she wanted to argue, but finally stepped back and let the man close the door, shutting Newton in with the two masked strangers.

The man activated the spell, a ward against untruth, and Newton felt it take hold. It didn't muffle his thoughts, exactly, but he still felt the urge to shake his head, like water was stuck in his ears.

The prognos woman jangled a pouch of bones while asking him a series of questions. She poured them onto the table after each question to read whatever truth she'd divined.

He answered truthfully, and was glad that Sebastien had the forethought to assure him that he wouldn't be giving information to non-members, and that he wasn't affiliated with anyone who wished the group harm. Newton was a little suspicious of Sebastien's claim that he and Westbay, and thus Newton himself, weren't affiliated with the coppers or law enforcement, but apparently not so suspicious that the prognos thought he was lying.

He exited the room about fifteen minutes later, now masked like everyone else, to find Tanya waiting in the hallway.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," he said, nodding.

She turned and walked back the way they'd come, and Newton followed, listening as she explained the meeting etiquette in a low voice. "Keep an ear open for any rumors about the Raven Queen," she murmured to him as they entered the room where a large group was already waiting, many of the masked members talking amongst themselves.

Wearing a mask himself made Newton feel slightly better, but he remained on edge. How could he not, surrounded by potentially hostile strangers, in a group that would all get sent to Harrow Hill if the coppers found out about them?

Most of them were talking about the gang fighting that had swept through the city earlier that week.

"The shop my nephew works at had all the windows blown out," one man said. "And then the looters made off with quite a bit of the inventory before the coppers got around to clearing the area."

"Lost inventory and broken windows," another replied with a sarcastic scoff. "Oh, the horror. The Stewards of Intention sanctuary near my house is full of the injured and newly homeless. Some of us thaumaturges might ride out this instability none the worse, but many who were struggling are going to slide into poverty with no way to recover. Crime is up because desperation is up, and that will not go away any time soon."

A woman looked between the two men. "I heard the Stags offer jobs to people in their territory, and loans to get healing, and their enforcers handle crimes the coppers don't care about. Perhaps recovery will be quicker than you think."

The first man crossed his arms over his chest. "Who do you think started all this? It was the Stags that attacked the Morrows! They're not interested in helping, they just want territory and power, just like all the other thugs!"

Another man stepped up behind the woman. "Well, I heard the Stags and Nightmare Pack attacked with non-lethal measures. They weren't even trying to kill any of the Morrows, just capture them. It was the Morrows who caused the real damage. They didn't care about killing bystanders or starting fires, which shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who actually lived in their territory. I've lost count of the number of young women who come to my clinic to deal with the consequences when a Morrow boy thinks he can take what he wants because of a red M on his shirt." His sneer of disgust was audible in his voice.

A squat woman who'd been standing a few feet away spun to face the arguing group. "And who told you this story about these saints taking over Morrow territory? Live capture? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Sounds to me more like someone is savvy to the benefit of a positive public opinion. A lot easier to hold a territory where everyone's so naive they're actually happy to have you initiate war in the streets so you can take over running the brothels and the drugs and the fighting rings. 'Meet the new boss! Nothing like the old boss. No, really, we promise!'"

Yet another person joined in. "I've actually lived in Verdant Stag territory. Whatever you want to say about them attacking and causing all this, I can tell you first hand that they do what they say. I'm not claiming the leader is some bleeding-heart altruist, but they really do have enforcers to protect the people. There's an alarm system set up on the edge of every street corner. If there's a crime, or a fire, or you've been trampled by a horse, you can pull the Verdant Stag flag and a team will come to help you. And they have a little apothecary set up in the back of their headquarters with the cheapest prices I've ever seen. They can't be making a profit off that."

A woman shrugged languidly. "Some gang is always going to be in charge. New boss, old boss, who cares? Someone smart will make good use of the opportunities offered by this volatile situation and get themselves into an advantageous position with the Verdant Stag or the Nightmare Pack. And if the Verdant Stags are soft-hearted enough to make that easy? Even better."

That sparked a new round of argument, but the arbiter banged his wooden gavel until the room quieted, then instructed everyone to sit down and get to business.

If not for the violence the Verdant Stag caused, Newton might have actually been favorably disposed toward them. His father had been to see one of their healers when they couldn't afford one in Morrow territory, and he had no love for the Morrows. His family had only avoided paying "protection" to them due to his Grams and her not-so-secret skills as a hedge witch. That, and her stubborn recklessness in standing up to the gang.

One of them had tried to beat and mug his mother on her way home from the market once, and would have succeeded if not for a sharp-eyed, kind copper who ended up escorting her all the way home.

His father had taken one look at her black eye and flipped over the kitchen table in rage.

The Morrows went after anyone affluent enough to afford their predation, and plenty of those who couldn't, too. Sometimes, they demanded worse than a bit of coin.

Newton had to dismiss these thoughts as the meeting began. Masked thaumaturges were offering items and information in exchange for coin or trade in other items and information. Newton pushed back his nervousness and spoke up, offering casting information on the handful of spells he had prepared.

Tanya didn't do the same, perhaps because she wasn't allowed by her secret employers.

Newton only took the four basic classes, so he had no specialized spellcasting formulas to provide, and only a couple of the members were interested in what he was offering. Newton had to look to Tanya for a small nod to be sure he was haggling for a fair price, and in the end got an agreement for twelve gold crowns in exchange for a specialized mending spell and an extremely simple heat-containing artifact.

He settled back into his chair with relief as others offered their own goods and services, mentally calculating his earnings. Adding what Sebastien and Tanya would both pay him for being here, he could make fifteen gold in a single night. His job as a student liaison for the University made him a little over forty gold every term, and the accompanying contribution points were worth another five or six. If he could do this just a few more times, along with the money he made from tutoring, he would be able to pay for his own tuition. If he brought spells the other members would be more interested in, it could be even sooner. He had earned enough money in a single night to keep his family fed for an entire month.

It was suddenly viscerally easy to understand why people fell into a life of crime.

Newton jerked himself from his dazed state, returning his attention to the meeting. The fatigue and frequent rushes of anxiety were getting to him. He pushed himself to be more attentive so that he could gauge what magic information would be most valuable. Eventually, the meeting transitioned from offers to requests.

When a hooded woman spoke, requesting healing components, artifacts, or concoctions, Tanya stiffened beside him, her head swiveling to stare at the speaker.

Newton followed her gaze, wondering what was so interesting about the other woman. She was tall, and she sat with supremely confident posture, but her request seemed fairly innocuous. When she turned her head, Newton caught a glimpse of what might have been a red feather woven into her hair, which seemed a rather over-the-top fashion accessory, but she was masked like all the others. Perhaps Tanya had recognized her voice, or there was some important clue in the supplies she was requesting that Newton hadn't picked up on.

Tanya settled back into her seat, shaking her head silently when Newton sent her a questioning look, but she seemed even more on edge than she had been, and he found his hand creeping back to the pocket with the borrowed battle wand tucked inside. Not that he wanted to use it. The thought made him shudder. No, it just felt reassuring to know there was an incapacitating spell within his grasp.

Tanya only grew tenser, until, with an exhalation that sounded as if she'd been holding it in since the meeting had started, she loudly requested any information on where the Morrows were being held and what was being done to them.

Newton's gaze slid toward her with an inexorable sinking feeling. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. Obviously, he'd known she was involved in illegal doings, and Sebastien had warned him that those doings included the deaths of innocents. But he hadn't known she was working with the Morrows. And she must be, for what other reason would she be asking about this? Did that mean someone higher up at the University was also working with the Morrows? But for what?

"I assume they have been executed," one member offered.

"No," a man said, shaking his head. "They're imprisoned. I know a little about the conditions the Stags are offering for their release. Three gold for a private conversation about it," he offered.

A woman scoffed. "Please. That is not proprietary information. The Stags have been more than open about it with anyone who asks. The Morrows are being held somewhere secret, and they say Lord Stag is going to hold court and put them on trial for their crimes against the citizens. And I heard a rumor that they'll be either ransomed or executed, depending on the severity of their crimes and their status within the gang."

The man crossed his arms and sent the woman a glare that was obvious even through his mask.

Tanya looked around, her fists clenched at her sides, mostly hidden under the folds of her cloak. "Does anyone have information on where they are being held? Or what"—she cleared her throat—"what the security measures are?"

A few members shared glances.

Newton's palms were sweaty again. What reason could anyone have for asking that unless they were interested in breaking the Morrows free? That just seemed like it would cause even more mayhem, destruction, and bloodshed.

After a few seconds of hesitation, a man raised his hand. "I've an idea where they are. No proof, but I'm not sure what else they could be doing in that location. I've noted a few interesting comings and goings, and someone was hired to ward the place beforehand. The information'll cost you."

"Gold? Beast cores?" Tanya offered.

The man rubbed his hands together in his lap with as much awkwardness as avarice. "Umm, gold. Two hundred crowns. It's fine if you supplement with beast cores if you don't have enough."

Tanya's scowl was audible in her voice, but, to Newton's surprise, she didn't haggle. "Fine."

It was no wonder that she'd wanted backup, carrying that much wealth on her person. Bank cheques could be used for large transactions if you were wealthy enough to afford an account. His family had opened one to save the funds for his tuition in a place that couldn't be stolen by one of their neighbors, but obviously you wouldn't want to pay for anything illegal with a cheque, in case the paper trail led the coppers right to you.

The meeting moved on, but the hooded woman who'd asked for healing supplies earlier stared at Tanya a little longer than the others.

When the meeting ended, Tanya mingled with the crowd, her back never turning to the woman, while Newton went into a small side room to exchange spell information for gold under the watchful eye of an administrator. When he was finished, Tanya completed her own transaction with the man, and then whispered in the ear of an administrator, who nodded at her.

She and Newton were sent off soon afterward. Tanya walked quickly, turning corners at random for a few minutes before she calmed. "Keep an eye out for tails," she murmured to him.

"Tails? You mean, someone following us?" He at least had the foresight not to look around wildly. Even if he had, the fog was becoming so thick that he doubted he'd be able to see anyone more than a hundred meters away. He was a little nearsighted, and glasses were expensive.

She nodded. "I know what they're doing, and they know I know. That woman at the meeting, the one that asked for the healing supplies? She works for the Verdant Stag, I think. Her purchases are a little too coincidental."

"And you work for the Morrows," Newton muttered.

"Not exactly." Tanya hesitated, but shook her head. "Affiliated, at best. But the Verdant Stag isn't going to care about technicalities. The Raven Queen definitely won't."

"The Raven Queen?" Newton asked through numb lips. "Is that why you wanted me to listen for people talking about her?"

"I don't know what her agenda is, but I think maybe the Morrows offended her. I mean, why else would the Nightmare Pack suddenly team up with the Stags to go after the Morrows? I've heard rumors about her kind. Relentlessly vengeful."

Something about the way Tanya was walking, the lines of stress around her eyes, and how her fingers clenched around her own wand suddenly gave Newton a sense of foreboding. Tanya was frightened, maybe even terrified, and it was quickly rubbing off on him. "Her kind? Do you mean a blood sorcerer, or is the Raven Queen some other species?" He couldn't help but look around for something hiding in the shadows.

"Both, maybe. Who knows which of the rumors are true. If the Morrows were smart, they would have found a way to mollify…" She trailed off, and just when Newton was about to ask, "What?" she grabbed his hand and yanked him down a narrow side street.

She slipped into a bouncing half-run, and he followed, looking behind them. "A tail?" he asked.

"Maybe. Someone in a hood, might have been from the meeting. Following a couple blocks back."

They slowed to a walk again once they reached the next street, but doubled back the way they'd come rather than continuing toward the University. Tanya was still on edge by the time they'd made a loop, but as far as Newton could tell, no one was following them.

Tanya stopped them in the shadow of a spacious four-way intersection where one of the streetlamps had gone out, either having run out of power or had its light crystal stolen. They waited for a few minutes, suspiciously watching every hint of movement within the thick blanket of fog choking the streets.

Newton hoped Tanya was being excessively paranoid, but the thought that maybe she wasn't left him a little light-headed. He slid a hand under his mask to rub his dry, tired eyes. If they were being tailed, wouldn't it be better to keep moving? He removed his hand and adjusted his mask so he could see out of the eye holes again, and almost screamed when Tanya darted a hand out and grabbed his arm in a bruising grip.

With one finger held up over her mask where her lips would be, she leaned out from the corner and pointed to a hooded figure one block to the west of them. Tanya pulled back, shielding them behind the corner of the building they stood next to. "They realized we noticed them," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "They're following along beside us, one street over."

"Are you sure it's the same person?"

"Only one way to find out. Get your wand ready."

"What?"

"We'll close in like a pincer. You from the north, me from the south. I can question them, find out what they know, what they want from me. I'm not going to let myself end up like the others."

"No, Tanya," Newton said, his horror a distant thing that made his lips slow. "Shouldn't we run?"

"That will never work. We have to flip the tables. Don't worry, it's two against one." She raised her hand to forestall further argument. "And I'll call for reinforcements. Not all the Morrows were captured, and at least some of them will still be active and responsive to a flare beacon. This is what I hired you for, Newton. You're already here, and you can't back out now. We'll take that person by surprise."

And so, pulling the battle wand out of his pocket for the first time since she'd given it to him, Newton made sure the handle was twisted into the active position and would send out a stunning spell with a simple tug of his forefinger on the embedded lever.

Trying to keep himself from hyperventilating, he jogged north and prepared to cut around and block their possible pursuer. He wondered where exactly his life had gone wrong to lead him to this.

Chapter 83 - Things Get Worse

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 11:00 p.m.

Siobhan held back a growl of aggravation when she realized she'd lost track of Tanya and Newton for the third time that night. 'Curse you for being so paranoid, Tanya.'

The meeting had started late, and now it was almost midnight. It was cold, the streets were slippery with ice and so foggy she had a hard time keeping sight of them from a block away. She just wanted to drop off the supplies she'd purchased and return to her bed, but she was stuck doing her due diligence in case Tanya and Newton stopped somewhere or talked to someone interesting. Even if she hadn't cared about what she might learn, she'd promised Newton that he would have backup. They had left the meeting before her, and she'd had to use the compass divination spell to find them.

Then, they'd suddenly escaped her sight again, despite how innocuously far back from them she'd been walking, almost invisible with all the fog. Assuming that Tanya was jumpy because of what had happened to the Morrows, Siobhan decided it would be less conspicuous if she were to follow them back to the University from an adjacent street, rather than trailing directly behind them.

But apparently they'd veered off again.

Stopping at the darkest point between two streetlamps, she set down the small box of healing potions she'd bought, crouching to cast the compass tracking spell on the disk connected to the one in Tanya's boot, using one of her paper utility spell arrays. In the alley next to her, the red M of the Morrows had been painted over by the glowing yellow eyes on black background of the Nightmare Pack, Oliver's new allies. 'I need an artifact that will scry me on demand and activate the spillover properties of my divination-diverting ward.' She had an agreement with Katerin to scry one of her linked bracelets if she ever encountered an emergency, but while hasslesome, this situation didn't quite count. An artifact would allow her to turn the effect on and off at will, even several times in a single hour. She resolved to look for a more convenient solution as soon as she had the opportunity.

The burnt stick swung around, pointing toward Siobhan, and for a second, she was confused. She realized what it meant too late as Tanya's voice came from behind her.

"Raise your hands and stand up slowly. I have a wand pointed at your back, so don't try anything funny."

Her mind racing furiously, jarred out of the fatigue and frustration that had apparently been clouding her judgment, Siobhan activated the spark-shooting array drawn in the corner of the page where she'd added a daub of wax to help accelerate the fire. The seaweed paper was fire resistant, not immune, and it immediately caught on fire, destroying the evidence of her spellcasting.

By the time Tanya realized what she was doing and yelled, "Stop!" it was too late.

Siobhan then lifted her hands and stood as Tanya had instructed.

In front of Siobhan, a hooded man walked up with a wand in his outstretched hand. It had to be Newton. They had closed in on her from both front and back. 'Does he realize I'm his promised backup?' There was no way to let him know, if he didn't.

She turned her head enough to see the wand pointed at her from behind.

"Step away from the wall, into the street," Tanya ordered.

Siobhan obeyed, her hood still up and her mask covering her face. 'What will I do if they find out who I am? Would they turn me in to the coppers?'

"Don't move." Tanya jerked her head toward the supplies on the ground. "Check what they were doing there."

Newton moved to the sidewalk, looking quickly through the box, then picking up the bone disk and saving the stick from burning up along with the paper. "Um, those are the things she bought, and this is…bone."

Tanya urged Siobhan to move closer to the nearest streetlamp.

Newton followed, using its light to examine the disk. "I think it was a divination spell."

"Were you tracking us?" Tanya demanded.

'Neither Newton nor Tanya have any idea who I really am. I can still find a way out of this.' Siobhan remained silent.

"Guard her," Tanya said.

Siobhan stood still, watching the slightly trembling tip of Newton's wand as Tanya tinkered with something behind her.

'I hope that's not shackles.'

A flare went off with a sharp pop and a shriek. Siobhan flinched as the red light shot into the sky, illuminating the blanket of fog with a diffused penumbra as it burst above them.

'A flare beacon. There's no way that was anything other than a call for backup. But who was she signaling?' It was unlikely to be the coppers, based on the previous lack of cooperation between the University and the Crowns, not to mention the fact that they'd just come from making illegal trades with questionable thaumaturges. The University might have someone available and on call to respond to emergencies, or it could be someone from the Morrows or another criminal organization that had escaped Oliver's roundup. She wasn't sure which would be worse.

"You have no chance of getting away," Tanya announced, a hint of nervousness leaking through what she probably meant to be an imperious tone. "Your best bet is to talk. Who are you? Why were you following us? Are you working for the Verdant Stag, or the Nightmare Pack?"

'I could refuse to speak, but that will just encourage her to use violence, and only postpones the inevitable when whoever she called arrives. I need some way to shift the paradigm here. Bribes? Threats?' Siobhan considered breaking the bracelet that was connected to Oliver's. She could break it to let him know that something had gone wrong, but it would take some time to find her and then come help her, and Tanya or Newton might hit her with whatever spell was in those wands if she made such a suspicious movement. No one knew where she was, or what she was doing. If she disappeared tonight, it might be for good.

She had her paper spell arrays, a few useful potions, and her stunning-spell battle wand, but all of those were in her bag, and would take time to retrieve and use. She would need a distraction or a barrier between herself and them to make those options feasible.

She could turn back into Sebastien and reveal herself, but that might not necessarily mollify Tanya, and it would completely wreck the delineation between her two identities.

It was too late to pretend to be Silvia, or any other random civilian. She was wearing her original body, which Tanya had definitely seen the wanted posters for, so as soon as they took off her mask and hood she would be revealed. The only real option was to rely on the exaggerated reputation of the Raven Queen and hope that she could threaten or coerce them into letting her go.

The silence had stretched out, and Tanya barked, "Talk!" The tip of her wand pressed between Siobhan's shoulder blades threateningly.

"It is not you I want, Tanya Canelo," Siobhan said, her attempt at a dry, calm tone ruined by the rough crack of tension that broke her voice. She swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat.

Tanya drew in a sharp breath. "How do you know my name?"

Siobhan ignored the question. "You have chosen your alliances poorly."

Newton's wand dipped briefly, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

Siobhan hadn't meant to implicate him, and hoped that wasn't the way Tanya would interpret the words. "They use you for their own ends. They ignore your fear and your attempts to reason with them. When you are alone and in need, will they return your loyalty? Or will you be tossed aside and silenced, an inconvenient liability?"

"What do you know of my alliances?" Tanya demanded, angry but with shallow confidence.

Siobhan turned slowly to face Tanya, her hands still up in the air. "I have seen your shadow pace at night as sleep evades you, Tanya Canelo." It was even true, though she declined to mention that the shadow was visible under the crack at the bottom of Tanya's dorm room door. "You still have a chance to walk away tonight, to return to your bed and your troubled dreams without true harm."

Tanya's knuckles were white around the base of the battle wand. "You're bluffing. New—" She cut off before completing Newton's name. "Check her bag and her pockets."

Newton shuffled closer, shrinking back for a moment when Siobhan turned her head to look at him. "Sorry," he muttered as he took the strap of her bag and slipped it off her shoulders.

Siobhan was grateful that she'd had the foresight to leave anything that might connect her to Sebastien back in the room at the Silk Door. Newton might be sharp enough to have recognized her school satchel. This bag, smaller and less conveniently filled with partitions, held components, paper spell arrays, and the wand in a secret pocket along the bottom, which she had added with some clever application of a mending spell. That was all. Still, best not to let him look in it at all. "Newton Moore. Your family would miss you. Your Grams taught you better than this. Make a wiser choice."

He released the strap, dropping the bag like it was a hot coal, stumbling back from her. "How did—how did you—"

"Who are you?" Tanya demanded again.

"You already know the answer to that question, Tanya," Siobhan murmured. "Or at least, you know the name they call me."

"What does she mean? What does she mean, Tanya?" Newton demanded tightly.

She didn't answer him. "Take the bag out of her reach at least, Newton."

Gingerly, looking at Siobhan as if waiting for her to snap and attack, he did so, sliding the strap over his arm but leaning away from the bag as if he was afraid it would blow up.

The best way to make a sorcerer harmless was to remove access to their Conduit. They hadn't managed that, as her black sapphire was tucked inside her boot, but the second best way was to remove access to their supplies.

"You're bluffing," Tanya said to Siobhan, lifting her chin challengingly.

'Of course I am, you idiot woman,' Siobhan thought. 'Just let me go before it's too late.' She lowered her hands slowly.

"Hands up!" Newton yelled.

"It is okay, child," she said to him, turning her head far enough toward him that she might be able to dodge if he tried to shoot her out of nervousness. "I mean you no harm. You have not made the same poor choices as this one." When she was assured that he wasn't about to panic, Siobhan returned her shadow-concealed gaze to Tanya. "You've been asking questions about me on behalf of your masters. Reckless."

"Take off your mask and hood," Tanya said. "If you're the Raven Queen, prove it."

"The Raven Queen?" Newton whispered.

Siobhan tilted her head to the side. "There really is no need for masks, I suppose." Everyone already knew what Siobhan looked like, after all. Her likeness had been plastered on wanted posters across the city. "I will remove mine if you do the same. I know what you look like already, so there is no need to hide." It would place her at a disadvantage to be the only one with readable facial expressions. Time was running out before whatever backup Tanya had called arrived, and making her and Newton feel a little more vulnerable might help facilitate her escape.

Her two captors shared a look, and Siobhan was careful to remain still so as not to startle them. Finally, Tanya nodded.

They each removed their concealment, moving slowly. Standing within the circle of light from the streetlamp, which quickly gave way to the darkness of the fog, it seemed like they were the only three in the world.

Tanya and Newton's eyes were drawn to the feathers extending from Siobhan's hair first, and then roved over her face.

She felt exposed, almost naked in her vulnerability. Some part of her expected the coppers to jump out from behind a corner and arrest her on the spot.

She stayed very still, her head cocked a little to the side. 'I've used the stick. Now, to try the carrot.' She met Tanya's gaze, which was a little watery from either fear or the cold. "It is not too late to make a different choice."

"What do you want from me?" Tanya whispered.

"Tonight? Simply that we go our separate ways, and neither of you are harmed."

"You were the one following us!"

"Coincidence. If I wanted to harm you, I could have done so long before tonight. But time is running out. They will be here soon." She could hear the faint echoes of words and the running footsteps of a group approaching through the fog. "There are other options, a different path to what you need. For both of you," she added, sparing a glance for Newton, who looked like he might be sick, his lips pale and trembling and his eyes bloodshot. "You may request a boon from me and mine in exchange for your services. I can be quite generous with those who please me."

Tanya licked her lips. "And the Morrows?"

Siobhan waved her hand in a falsely nonchalant motion. "It is the end for them." The muffled echoes of footsteps were drawing closer.

"What did they do to offend you? I never—I was—"

Whatever Tanya was going to say, it was too late, and she cut off as a motley group of a half-dozen men rounded the corner. Their leader pointed at the three of them. They wore strips of red cloth tied around their upper arms, a sign of the Morrows.

Siobhan slipped her hood back up quickly to conceal her features. She was somewhat surprised that they were either stupid or bold enough to openly wear the symbols of a deposed gang. 'Some of them must have slipped through the cracks. They are lower-level members, most likely. Perhaps there is still room for me to escape. Perhaps a bribe?'

The man in the lead glared at all three of them. "Who called?"

"I did," Tanya said with a grimace, still staring at Siobhan.

Newton lowered his wand and hunched his shoulders, shrinking back to the side of the nearest building, near where he'd set Siobhan's bag at the edge of the light.

The man looked Tanya up and down, too slowly to be polite. "You a Morrow? I don't see the M."

Tanya huffed. "I'm affiliated. How else do you think I got the flare beacon artifact?"

"Could a' stolen it. Could be a trap," one of the others offered.

This led to a general muttering and shifting, and a couple members lifted battle wands of their own toward the trio.

"I recognize her," a smaller man piped up from the back of the group. "Saw her visitin' the boss a couple times at the Bitter Phoenix."

The leader puffed up his chest, glaring down at Tanya. "Well, the boss ain't around no more. Why you callin' for help? This one givin' you trouble?" He peered suspiciously at Siobhan. "She one of the Nightmare Pack?"

Tanya's eyes flicked from the man to Siobhan and back, unsure.

He seemed to pick up on this, because after a second of silence, he reached out and grabbed Tanya's arm. "Take their wands," he ordered.

Tanya tried to jerk back from him, but his grip was strong. Though she raised her wand, she hesitated, looking between the trigger-happy Morrows and Siobhan. Her hesitation cost her.

Her wand was wrenched from her grip by one of the Morrows.

Newton gave his up willingly enough, but still received a rough shove as thanks.

"We're supposed to be allies!" Tanya growled.

The leader, who Siobhan mentally dubbed Chief, grinned humorlessly at Tanya, raising the wand he'd taken from her to point at Siobhan, who was nominally unarmed. "That agreement was with the old boss. You and I will need to make a new deal." He jerked his head. "Let's move. I don't want to stick around for anyone else that flare beacon might have attracted. The coppers are patrolling all night lately, and those Nightmare Pack bastards go rabid at the sight of us."

Wands trained on their three captives, the Morrows picked up the box of potions with pleasant surprise, then took them a few blocks away. Seemingly by random, Chief picked out a brick, three-story building with boarded-up shop windows across the ground level and dark apartment windows above on the third. The door was locked, but they broke it open with some difficulty and brute force, ripping the inner lock free from its moorings.

The inside of the shop, which took up and area the height of the first two floors, was filled with high-end wooden furniture, some completed and some halfway through assembly. It was a woodworking shop. As the Morrows searched for a light-crystal lamp and turned it on, Siobhan's eyes flicked around.

There were two other doors besides the one they'd just broken through: one to the side that looked like it might lead to a storage closet, and another at the back, at the top of a short series of steps. Her eyes flicked to the high ceiling, listening for movement that would signify people waking up in the rooms above. It would be simplest if the building was empty. The variable of civilians could throw a wrench in even the best escape plans.

The Morrow guarding her motioned for Siobhan to back up toward the side of the room. She did so until her legs bumped against a heavy table. "Keep your hands up," he warned.

"So what can you offer me, girl?" Chief asked Tanya. "Any reason I shouldn't just hold you and these other two for ransom?"

Newton let out a small, distressed sound.

The Morrow holding him gave a disgusted grunt and dropped his arm. "Don't try anything stupid," he warned, turning away to light another of the lamps on display, which he took to the counter and used to start rifling around, probably hoping to find any poorly secured coin. He grabbed random small items that caught his interest and shoved them in his pockets.

Siobhan dubbed him Sticky Fingers.

Newton backed up to the front wall, bracing against it and dropping Siobhan's bag beside him. She hadn't even noticed him pick it up. He placed his hands together, thumbs to forefingers, and began the hum for his calming spell, ignoring the disgruntled surprise of a couple of their captors.

"What is he doing?" a fat man with unfortunately saggy jowls demanded, pointing his wand at Newton. Siobhan named him Bulldog.

Tanya motioned for them to calm down with her raised hands. "It helps him keep from panicking. He's not accustomed to situations like this." She lifted her chin, glaring at the leader. "So, you're going to hold us for ransom? Ransom by who? Your bosses are all locked up, and if you're hoping for someone to pay you, they'll need to be free first."

Chief coughed—a gruff, blustering sound. "Perhaps I just have to kill you three, strip you naked, and throw you in the nearest canal, then. If you can't offer me anything…" He trailed off threateningly.

Newton's hums grew a little louder, as if he were trying to drown out their voices.

A muscle in Tanya's jaw jumped as she ground her teeth. "I'm working to free Lord Morrow. I'm sure he'll be in a generous mood if he knows you were helpful in doing so."

"Ehh…that's not exactly what I'm wanting to hear, girl. Word on the street is, Lord Morrow is dead. As for the rest of them…I kinda prefer my sudden rise in station now that they're gone. Well, if you know where Lord Morrow stashed the Morrow operation funds, I might be interested in that."

Despite the turn toward threats of violence, Siobhan was encouraged by this development. She didn't want the University involved, and apparently not every member of the Morrows knew about their connection. Additionally, this proved that Chief was both stupid and open to a bribe. Perhaps she could offer for them to take her to the Verdant Stag for the ransom they wanted? She could use one of the wooden and pewter bracelets around her wrist to alert Katerin of an emergency, and when they arrived the Stag enforcers could take out this entire group of idiots.

"I can offer you a beast core. Three million thaums of power. One for each of us," Tanya said.

Every Morrow head in the room turned to look at her.

"Oh?" Chief's grin returned. "Search them," he ordered.

'A competent leader would have thought of that long before, especially since Tanya and Newton were openly carrying battle wands when they arrived.'

Tanya's eyes flicked to Siobhan, almost as if she expected Siobhan to get them out of this mess somehow.

'You should have let me go earlier, and then none of us would be in this situation!' Siobhan wanted to scream.

Sticky Fingers, who had been rifling around the shop counter, reached for Siobhan's bag, which was sitting at the still-humming Newton's feet.

Newton also looked to Siobhan, a spike of anxiety returning to his expression, which had been momentarily loosening under the effects of his spell.

Siobhan pushed back a flare of embarrassment, because when nothing happened to the man searching her bag, Newton would know she had been bluffing.

"I'd like to propose a counter offer," Siobhan said, thinking quickly and speaking slowly. "You can ransom both us and our belongings from someone who can afford it. You have the authority to treat with other gang leaders, as the new head of the Morrows, I assume?" As long as the Stags came out victorious, and Siobhan didn't get injured or killed in the crossfire, she would walk away no poorer, with all her belongings.

The attention turned toward her.

One of the Morrows held up a lamp to better see her, while the one who'd been guarding her pushed her hood back so that her face was clear.

"And who are you?" asked Chief, grimacing with disgust at the feathers sprouting from her hair.

Introducing herself as the Raven Queen might not be the smartest decision this time. What if their avarice didn't outweigh their fear and aggression?

Near the front of the room, Sticky Fingers shifted around. As soon as his eyes landed on Siobhan's uncovered face, they widened. He looked back toward the shop counter, then again to Siobhan. His expression twisted with shock and horror. The hand holding a wand shot up, pointing at Siobhan. "It's a trap! It's her! Run, run away, it's her!"

Before anyone could respond to what he'd said, his finger clenched, tugging on the trigger of the wand, and Siobhan had a fraction of a second for stunned, horrified realization as an orange spell coalesced at the tip and shot toward her.

Her latest wanted poster was tacked to the cork board beside the shop counter.

It was too late to dodge—they were only a few meters apart. She instinctively threw up her hands, closing her eyes and ducking her head.

There was a moment of stunned silence in which she had time to recognize that she hadn't been hit by what she was pretty sure was a fireball spell, though she could feel the heat licking at her face and hands.

She opened her eyes tentatively.

The fireball hung in the air in front of her outstretched hands, roiling and expanding as it lost the cohesion and power of its condensed form.

She was as stunned as everyone else until she felt the burning cold of her warding medallion against her chest. She stepped quickly to the side, letting the fireball slide past her. It whooshed across the room and impacted against the brick wall on the other side, its energy dissipated enough that it left nothing more than scorch marks.

"Idiot!" Chief screamed at Sticky Fingers. "You'll burn the place down around us!"

The skin of Siobhan's chest was rapidly beginning to hurt, and she resisted the urge to curl up protectively around herself. 'The spell must have been coming at me perfectly dead center for the deflection spell to stop it rather than shunt it to the side.' It was meant to be an energy-saving measure to deflect rather than to simply shield, which was probably how her grandfather had stuffed so many protections into a single artifact, but with the perfect angle, that apparently backfired. 'Once again, Grandfather saved my life.'

But the danger wasn't over. After one more stunned second, which Sticky Fingers used to fumble with this wand, he pulled the trigger again. Thankfully, this time the spell wasn't orange.

Siobhan was prepared, sidestepping the rapidly expanding, almost invisible spell and taking only a bruising blow across her arm. Behind her, furniture was overturned and chunks of brick were blasted from the far wall.

But the other Morrows were spreading out, their own wands raised toward her, and she knew the situation was quickly degrading. 'I have to run.' But she had very few options without her bag of components and pre-drawn paper arrays, and there were Morrows between her and the door.

With a distraction, something else for them to shoot at instead of her, maybe she could dive for her bag, break a philtre of darkness, and escape with Newton in tow. Tanya might escape if she was quick-thinking and nimble on her feet, but she would have to fend for herself. Siobhan couldn't save both of them.

Siobhan raised her hands to her mouth, cupping them into a Circle, and rushed through the chant for her shadow-familiar at a low mumble. "Life's breath, shadow mine. In darkness we were born. In darkness do we feast. Devour, and arise." Then she added a huge exhale to power the spell with the heat of her breath. The truncated ritual was a greater strain on her Will, but she pushed the magic into her shadow with only a single repetition of the chant instead of three. She had no time for three.

She used the same shadow form she'd used last time when the coppers were attacking, a tattered form of darkness with a fluttering cloak and a huge beak extending from the hood that covered its head.

Tanya dodged a spell with a smooth sliding movement, then leapt for Sticky Fingers, pushing his wand arm away and smashing her forehead into his face.

Siobhan sent her risen shadow moving away from her to the side, trying to draw their spells harmlessly into the back of the room. She hoped the construct was dark and substantial enough to be a proper distraction despite her rushed execution of the spell.

She spun toward Newton, crouching low.

His mouth hung open with horror, his glassy, bloodshot eyes locked on the unnaturally tall shadow-form behind her. His hands were still cupped in front of his chest, but it was obvious that the self-calming spell had been forgotten. Her bag sat at his feet.

Tanya cursed as she grappled with Sticky Fingers.

The others were screaming. One spell shot past over Siobhan's crouched head, and a couple more of different colors passed harmlessly through her shadow familiar, which she let ripple but not disperse.

All the hair on Siobhan's body rose at once with a tingling urgency. An instinct that lived somewhere in the back of her mind screamed at her to run, to escape.

A pressure moved through the air, a shiver that hurt her eyes and scraped along her teeth and spine.

She released her shadow-familiar spell almost too fast for safety and let her crouch continue downward, pulling herself into a fetal position, her arms shielding her head.

With a crack that was more hindbrain sensation than sound, the world twisted.

Siobhan's eyes rolled back into her head as reality ceased to conform to its normal pattern.

She felt all the things at once, tasted emotions, heard the ripples of space, and felt time shudder through her skin.

It was over in an instant, almost too fast for her brain to grasp what was happening, which she could only be grateful for. She suspected that extreme briefness was the only thing that allowed her to maintain her sanity.

She lay on the smooth, polished wood of the floor, letting out a few sobbing breaths as warm tears spilled down her temple. The scream of fear in the back of her mind was still going, and as her brain regained control of her body, she climbed clumsily to her hands and knees. She was already bruised from slipping on the ice, and this had only made it worse, but that concern was far from the forefront of her mind.

In the spot where Newton had been, stretching out a couple of meters, was a hollow sphere of randomly connected, faintly vibrating strings, like a shell made out of thread-thin vines. Crouched within, in a vaguely fetal position, was a dark form, indistinct under a mat of more strings, which grew over the form like old mold.

Chapter 84 - Blight

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 11:20 p.m.

Siobhan stood, staring at the sphere of web-like strings. She realized, with a distant horror, that the strings were red and pink and white. The colors of the inside of a body. It seemed, for a moment that stretched on forever, that the world had stilled.

All was silent.

Then the strings began to vibrate. The movement was gentle and soft, but produced a faint noise, like a thousand distant cellos playing the same deep note. A few strings were spread out against the wall and floor, like vines.

With a sudden breath that set the world into motion again, Siobhan stepped backward, bumping against the table and making its legs shudder over the wooden floor. Her bladder tried to release under the effects of mindless terror, and she realized barely in time to keep from pissing herself. Her leg muscles were trembling uncontrollably. Siobhan braced herself on the table to keep from collapsing again.

'What was that? The world broke, just for a moment. Or my mind did.' Whatever it was had affected Tanya, too, but not the Morrows.

Tanya was on the floor next to the man she'd attacked, struggling to crawl to her feet.

The Morrow closest to what had once been Newton screamed.

It was a thoughtless sound, not an intimidating yell or a frightened cry, but the mindless, hoarse shriek of terror of an animal in the night.

He raised the wand in his hand and shot a concussive blast spell at the Aberrant. From as close as the Morrow was standing, the blast spell would have broken a human's ribs, tossed their body back hard enough to knock them unconscious against the brick wall, and probably ruptured a couple of organs.

The foggy spell washed over the Aberrant, rippling out against the vibrating strings that contained its form like a bucket of water splashed into a pond, going through and past and impacting with a loud, dull sound against the front wall behind it. The humming strings were agitated at its passing, but seemed unharmed. The tips of the strings, spread out like vines, writhed curiously.

The Morrow man kept screaming and shooting one overpowered concussive blast after another, till the bricks of the front wall began to shatter and crumble and the boarded-up windows were blown clear again.

Siobhan covered her mouth. She held in the convulsive sob that wracked through her body so hard she felt she might choke on it.

The other Morrows joined the first in attacking, one almost hitting Tanya with a fireball as she crawled across the room toward Siobhan.

The fireballs were moderately effective, singeing and withering the Aberrant's flesh-colored strings, but weren't enough to actually catch the thing on fire.

The slicing spells cut through the strings, and could get through the protective sphere, but not all the way through the lumpy mass within. They didn't seem to be doing much real damage. The strings sprouted offshoots from their severed edges and wove themselves back together again with nothing more than a vague scar to show for it.

"Kill it!" Chief screamed. The barrage of spells was enough to collapse a large section of the front wall Newton had been leaning against when he lost control and send a couple of pieces of burning furniture tumbling into the street.

The Morrows quickly ran out of the offensive spells they'd chosen. One or two at a time, they paused to switch the settings on their wands or replace them with another offensive artifact that still had a charge remaining. Each spell within a multi-option artifact like the more expensive battle wands had its own pool of magical energy to draw from, so when they were out of one, they had no option but to switch to something else, and when they ran out of everything useful, they would be helpless.

The man who'd attacked the Aberrant first was still screaming, his wand outstretched but empty of concussive blasts, and him too insensate to switch to a new spell.

The strings nearest him were growing through the air, extending in a liquid pour and hardening in place as they went. It looked like a snake's slither, and gave Siobhan the same sense of foreboding as they approached him.

He didn't move, just kept screaming and trying to fire an empty wand.

For a moment, when the first string touched his neck, nothing happened. Then, the skin bulged out in a boil, like the growing bud of a flower.

The bud sprouted.

The man's neck unraveled, strands of his flesh and blood rising up and disentangling themselves from the rest of him, as if he had been made of millions of tightly packed strings all along. The inside of his throat was visible for a moment, and then his screams choked off as the strands continued to spread, his body slowly coming apart like an unfurling flower of human thread.

The remaining Morrows spread out and retreated toward the back of the room, knocking carelessly into the displayed wooden furniture, their horror tangible. One of them had started to sob, his arm shaking so badly his slicing spells were shooting harmlessly past the Aberrant and disappearing into the fog outside the front wall.

Siobhan took another step back, her eyes opened as wide as they could go, her hand clamped over her mouth.

Still crawling, Tanya grabbed the edge of Siobhan's cloak.

Siobhan looked down into Tanya's desperate face.

"Help me. Save me. Please," Tanya croaked.

The words were ridiculous, a sign of desperation making the other woman reach for whatever feeble hope she could find, but they still acted like a shocking splash of cold water to wake Siobhan from her horrified stupor. She reached down, grabbing Tanya's arm and helping her to her feet. Above Tanya's head, her eyes flicked around, cataloguing the situation and their options.

Newton had been near the shop's front door when he lost control, and a whole section of the wall was now missing entirely, but there was no way they could escape past his still-spreading tendrils. There were a couple of boarded-up windows at the far end of the front wall, but strings were already growing toward them, and by the time she and Tanya managed to break the boards free they would likely have reached the windows.

The Morrows were between them and the stairway leading up to the higher floor.

Behind them was the door to the other room.

"Come on," Siobhan ordered, her voice barely loud enough to be heard past all the screaming and the battle spells. Still holding Tanya's arm, she hauled the other woman around the table, weaving through the furniture toward the far door. 'Maybe there will be a window that we can crawl out of.'

Siobhan yanked on the handle. It was locked. She held back a whining moan of frustration, the hair on the back of her neck prickling as she imagined the strings weaving through the air, searching for her. 'Can I break down the door with a few kicks? If only I had my bag, my supplies, I could open it easily.' Siobhan still had a few different writing implements, and even though she didn't have her lantern, she could use the heat in the air to power the spell…but the lack of proper components would make it more difficult.

She peered at Tanya, who was trembling, her bloodless lips pressed together. The other woman should still have all her supplies, including a handy beast core and whatever else she'd been carrying. "Open the door," Siobhan ordered her, turning to face the room again. Tanya was a fourth term University student. She would be faster than Siobhan, anyway.

"O-okay," Tanya stammered behind her.

The Morrow who'd been subsumed by the Aberrant was completely string already, the double-thump of a heartbeat spreading through its vibrating, hollow mass, and its own searching tendrils already spreading toward the other Morrows.

It reminded Siobhan of a fungus, spreading, seeding, and sprouting more of itself. This was the kind of Aberrant that the Red Guard labeled a Blight-type. If allowed to get out of control, they could cause true devastation.

Chief had calmed, and was shouting orders. He and two of the others were moving the furniture into a barricade piled up in the middle of the room, trying to block off the strings of Newton and their subsumed comrade.

Sticky Fingers, the one that had shot at Siobhan, was still on the floor, unconscious and untouched on the wrong side of the barricade, but apparently they had given up hope for him. Blood was pooling around his head from whatever Tanya had done to him.

The remaining Morrows had moved to stunning spells, conserving their charges, only shooting a single spell at a time.

It was the first thing that actually seemed to have an effect on the Aberrant. Wherever the crackling red spells hit, the strings stilled in a couple of meter radius, silencing their humming and slowing their inexorable growth. The Morrows were using the time this bought them to strengthen the barricade.

But the strings weren't just growing through the air. They were also spreading along the darkness of the far wall and even up toward the high ceiling. The Morrows' barricade wouldn't save them.

One of the Morrows had climbed the steps to the door at the back of the room and was kicking at it, no doubt hoping to break open an escape route, just like Siobhan and Tanya. Every kick was preceded by a loud scream, as if the man thought that would give him more strength, and the strings growing along the wall seemed to surge faster in response to the desperate sound.

He noticed them, screamed again, and threw himself back toward the middle of the room.

The strings detached from the far wall, growing back the way they'd come, following him. He kept screaming, pointing wordlessly at the strings that were now coming at them from the side of the room as well as the front.

Behind Siobhan, Tanya let out a sob of relief as the lock clicked open and the door swung inward.

A quick glance was all it took for Siobhan to realize there would be no escape from this room. It was a storage closet—full of tools, wood, and supplies in crates and on shelves. There was no window, only brick walls.

When they were both inside, Tanya moved to close the door behind them, but Siobhan shook her head. A closed door wouldn't stop the strings. They could slip through the cracks. Better to be able to see, to know what was happening.

The man who had been trying to kick open the shop's back door calmed enough to aim his wand and shoot two stunning spells, which stilled the strings reaching for him entirely. He quieted, his eyes wide, panting heavily, and then suddenly jumped as if he'd been stung by a hornet.

He looked down in horror at something Siobhan couldn't see.

She could guess what had happened, though. One of the strings had slipped through the barricade and touched his leg or foot.

He tried to run, but stumbled. Soon after—quicker this time than with the first victim—he began to unravel, one leg unfurling into an amorphous cloud of flesh-colored strings.

Siobhan pushed back her sleeve, picked out the correct bracelet by the colored string tied around each, and snapped it decisively, shoving the now-unlinked remains into a pocket. It wouldn't tell Oliver where she was, but he would know that something had gone wrong and she was in immediate danger. She chose the next bracelet by the pattern and color of the string she'd tied around it. She slipped it off without breaking it and, aiming very carefully, threw it out the window and into the foggy street as hard as she could.

She'd never assumed she would be in a situation like this, but she and Oliver had agreed on what to do in a dire emergency. He would have a divination cast using the pair to the bracelet she'd just thrown away, and as long as the target was far enough from her that her divination ward didn't act to protect her by blocking it, he would find her. She hoped.

The Morrows had grasped the situation. A couple of stunning spells knocked the latest victim unconscious, slowing the strings sprouting from his body. Unfortunately, their path to the back door was soon to be blocked off.

Bulldog, the fat man with unfortunate jowls, noticed her standing in the storage closet's doorway. He pointed toward her and Chief hesitated, looking around wildly for any other option, but, seeing none, nodded.

The three remaining Morrows began to head toward Siobhan and Tanya, navigating through the overturned furniture.

The younger one who had started crying—Siobhan dubbed him Sniffles—was holding a lamp to keep an eye out for sneaking strings waiting in the shadows to touch them.

The strings from the original core of the Aberrant had reached Sticky Fingers now. They crawled over him in several areas, but he was still human. Siobhan wondered for a moment if he'd died, and the strings only took root in living flesh, but his chest still rose and fell slightly.

Siobhan let out a loud, shaky breath as the realization hit her. 'The Aberrant is ignoring him.'

The other three Morrows were getting closer to her, and as they pushed a fallen cabinet out of their way with a loud scratch across the floor, the strings nearest them began to grow in their direction.

"Lady Raven Queen, we're begging your pardon!" Chief yelled at her as they approached. "Please give us your protection, we'll give you anything you want—"

Siobhan's hand shot out toward him in a stopping motion, and he froze mid-step, the two behind him jostling a bit at the unexpected halt. She lifted her index finger slowly and pointedly to her lips. With her other hand, she pointed at what had once been Newton, then pointed to her ear. "It can hear you," she mouthed silently.

Chapter 85 - Pullulation

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 11:25 p.m.

Chief's eyes widened, but he nodded dramatically to show that he'd understood Siobhan's message and began to tiptoe toward her. The others copied him. If not for the situation, seeing three grown men sneak so dramatically would have been amusing. They were almost beyond the current range of the Aberrant's strings.

The humming was growing louder, and Siobhan found her mind clear, if not calm, and her body surprisingly relaxed and ready for action, rather than paralyzed by deep-seated terror.

The three Morrows were huddled together. Sniffles, who'd been crying earlier, was now only pale-faced and tight-lipped as his eyes swept their path for strings. Chief led the way, and Bulldog pressed up behind both of them, looking over his shoulder every other second.

Which meant he didn't see the rounded leg of a broken table the others were stepping over, and when his foot landed on it, it rolled forward, sending him pitching backward. He let out a shout of surprise and reached out to grab onto Sniffles.

But Sniffles leaned away from him, and when Bulldog hit the ground, the fancy light crystal lamp he'd been carrying fell out of his hand. The glass body shattered against the floor. He cursed, trying to quickly regain his feet, but the strings had already been drawn by his noise, and he wasn't quick or nimble enough to get out of their way in time.

Chief turned to help, trying to haul him up, but the strings were too fast, touching Bulldog's arm as he tried to heave himself off the ground.

Expression twisted with terror, Bulldog grabbed onto Chief, holding him tightly and screaming, "Help me! Help me, don't leave me!"

Sniffles bolted for Siobhan, but she didn't let him into the room, holding a hand up to his face to stop him at the door. To her satisfaction, he didn't try to physically push past her, despite his fear.

Chief tore one arm back from Bulldog, grabbing his wand and shooting a stunning spell directly into the terrified man's face.

Bulldog slumped backward, the strings that were assimilating him slowing their advance through his flesh.

But the screaming had agitated the Aberrant's tendrils, and before Chief could free his other arm, one touched his wrist.

A boil began to bud on his right hand.

Siobhan was impressed with his composure as he pointed the wand at his own forearm, just above where the string was attached, and fiddled with the settings on his wand. A slicing spell shot out, cutting through the flesh and bone, almost all the way through the limb.

He gritted his teeth, holding back a scream of pain with a trembling, pale-faced exhale. He shot a second slicing spell at the same spot, severing the rest of the way through his right forearm.

Putting the wand in his mouth, he squeezed the flesh above the blood-squirting stump with his free hand, stumbling toward the storage closet with ragged gasps and a face so pale it looked green, likely more from shock than blood loss, though the latter would quickly become a problem.

"Your wands," Siobhan mouthed slowly, holding a hand out expectantly.

Sniffles gave her his immediately. Chief hesitated, but soon opened his mouth to let her take his, as well.

She examined his bleeding stump. It wasn't sprouting any flesh-strings, and she could see no boils. Behind him, his hand lay on the floor, only half-subsumed into string, and not transforming any further. Whatever the strings were attracted to, the severed hand no longer contained it.

She tucked both wands into one of her bigger vest pockets and stepped aside to let Chief and Sniffles enter the room, eyes sweeping over the entire shop once again.

The second infected Morrow was still being subsumed, but much slower now that he, too, was unconscious. The strings were unfurling his lower back, but his torso and head were still intact.

Bulldog had been forced into unconsciousness almost immediately, and the strings were only halfway up his arm. His expression was peaceful.

Siobhan turned around and they all retreated to the far side of the storage closet.

Tanya was glassy-eyed and had beads of sweat over her forehead despite the chill, but she looked to Siobhan with a calm, expectant readiness, as if prepared to leap to her bidding. "Should I search them?" she whispered, the words more breath than sound.

"Yes," Siobhan said, then turned to the Morrows. "Do either of you have any concussive blast spells left?" It was dangerous to cast them in a small, enclosed space, but it might be enough to break down the wall of the storage closet and let them escape directly into the side street.

Both of them shook their heads, which was a shame.

"How many stunning spells remaining?"

The leader shook his head again, but Sniffles said, "Four. Three in mine, one in his." He seemed sure, which was rather impressive, with all the chaos and mayhem they had just gone through.

Four stunning spells was enough to buy them a couple of minutes. Her attention turned to the Morrow leader. The slicing spell had done a relatively clean job on his forearm. There weren't any bone fragments, at least. She had plenty of healing supplies in her bag, courtesy of the secret meeting, but that bag was lying on the ground within the Aberrant's main string-sphere, dropped when the Morrows realized who she was.

If they didn't do something quickly, he would pass out and then die from blood loss. His grip on his severed forearm wasn't enough to stop the bleeding, and she doubted he'd be able to keep it up for much longer, judging from his pale skin and the faint trembling in his knees. She considered simply tying off the stump with a makeshift tourniquet and leaving Chief to his fate, but he might be useful, and even if he wasn't—even though he was a criminal that had threatened her—the thought of huddling in fear next to a slowly dying man while she had the means to help him made her queasy. 'It's not about him. It's about me and who I want to be.'

She still had a handful of supplies in the pockets scattered throughout her clothes, and they already knew her as the Raven Queen, a wanted criminal known for doing blood magic. "I can patch up your arm," she offered, her breathy whisper almost lost amid the growing hum filling the building.

He stared at her a moment, then nodded jerkily.

"Kneel," she said, taking the little silver alchemy athame from her pocket and unsheathing it. It was meant for cutting ingredients and occasionally waving around a cauldron while chanting, not cutting a human, but she liked to have a backup.

His eyes widened, but she only used the athame to cut away his blood-soaked sleeve, which she wrung until the blood dripped out into the growing puddle on the floor, and then tied tightly just below his elbow as a makeshift tourniquet.

This would require much more power than shifting some teeth back into their proper place or knitting together a shallow cut. There was no way she could regrow his hand, but she needed to at least stop the bleeding and close the wound.

She dipped her finger in the pooling blood, using it to draw the flesh-mirroring spell array.

Tanya looked between the array, Siobhan, and the man, but didn't say anything. Instead, she offered Siobhan one of the beast cores, which the Morrows hadn't had time to find and take from her.

Siobhan accepted it with interest, imagining she could feel the faint sense of bottled power within the bright yellow crystal. She guided Chief to place one arm in each of the two inner Circles. She placed the beast core in the component Circle, warned him, "Do not move," then began to cast, using the Conduit still tucked uncomfortably inside the lip of her boot.

Despite her warning, Chief gasped and jerked as the meat of his stump moved under her control. Luckily, he didn't leave the Circle, but she sent him a harsh glare that made his Adam's apple bob with an audible swallow.

Without Siobhan needing to ask, Tanya moved to kneel beside him, holding one of his arms and gesturing for Sniffles to do the same on the other side.

The door to the upper floor, across the main room from the storage closet, flew open, distracting Siobhan.

An old man stood in the doorway above the small set of stairs, holding a spear and what looked like an antique wooden shield with metal banding around the sides, painted with a coat of arms. "Get out of my shop, hooligans!" he yelled, brandishing the spear from behind the protection of the shield. It was a rather belated response to all the ruckus they'd been making. Perhaps the old man had been waiting until it sounded like they were gone to come out in a show of bluster.

When no one responded, he took a better look at the ruined shop. His eyes widened, swept over the room, and without another word, he turned around and ran back up the stairs. "We have to get out! We have to get out now! There's some rogue magic thing growing down there…" His gasping voice came through the stairway door until he got too far away to be heard past the hum of the Aberrant.

The strings grew toward the open door, drawn by his voice, and up toward the ceiling, which was thumping with footsteps and letting through more muffled voices.

Siobhan resumed her magical adjustments. She couldn't actually mirror the regrown arm. However, she could mimic the way blood vessels shrunk as they grew into his remaining hand, forcing the ones in his stump to narrow artificially, and grow new paths between the veins and arteries. That would send the blood that would otherwise continue pumping out of him back into circulation.

"Is that blood magic?" Sniffles asked.

Tanya scoffed. "You're in the presence of the Raven Queen, and she's healing a man without any components. What do you think?"

"Is that…safe?" Sniffles seemed torn between leaning closer in fascination and shuffling backward to put space between himself and the blood magic, but any movement was restricted by his need to keep a firm grip on Chief's arm.

Tanya actually rolled her eyes, one side of her mouth twitching up in a smirk despite the stress-induced sweat still wetting her temples. "She's a free-caster. She's more than skilled enough for something like this."

"But…where is her Conduit?"

Tanya seemed stumped by this at first, too, but finally just said, "She's the Raven Queen," as if that were an acceptable explanation. "If I were you, and you make it through the night, I'd leave the Morrows. You do not want to be on her bad side."

Sniffles shuddered with his whole body.

Siobhan was curious about the reputation the Raven Queen had somehow earned behind her back, but couldn't split her concentration from molding Chief's stump. She didn't care to do a perfect job, and didn't have the power or skill to do so even if she had. She worked quickly, then started tugging at the skin, growing it a little but mostly just forcing it to stretch around the severed flesh. In only a couple of minutes, he was left with a raw, shiny forearm stump that looked suspiciously like a fingertip. It was sloppy, but definitely satisfactory for the work of a few minutes.

Siobhan released the spell. "You still need to see a healer. I did not clean the wound."

He gave her several quick bows, staring in wonder at his wrist, which probably still hurt quite a bit but wouldn't be fatal within the next few hours at least. "Thank you, thank you, er, Lady Raven Queen. Am I…do I owe you my life, now? Or…the life of my first-born child?"

Siobhan was picking up the beast core, but almost dropped it in stupefaction at his second question. 'Is he joking?'

His earnest, frightened expression belied that.

She almost shook her head, but hesitated. Why would she turn down repayment for her help when it was offered? "I do not take payment in lives," she whispered instead, tucking the beast core into her jacket pocket. There was no way she was returning it to Tanya.

Her answer did not seem to reassure Chief in the least, but before he could continue to question her, Tanya butted in. "Mistress, is there any way to help Newton?"

There was no way to reverse an Aberrant transformation. Siobhan said so, and Tanya nodded reluctantly, her expression drawn tight with fear and dread.

'She's more naive than I thought, if she didn't know that. Or maybe just desperate for hope.'

"Well, do you have some way to get us out of here? Some way to break down the wall without the Aberrant being able to sense it?" Tanya tried.

Siobhan considered. She might be able to use the trick from Professor Lacer's class to turn small sections of the mortar between the bricks into sand, and thus open a hole for them, but there would probably be at least two layers of brick, and some sort of insulation in between them. Even if she got Tanya to help with that, it would take too long. "Silently, but not quickly," she whispered. "The strings would reach us."

"Well, is there maybe a way to travel with us through the shadows? Your shadow-creature seems big enough to carry us all."

Siobhan stared at Tanya, wondering if unrealistic, fantastical thoughts were a sign of shock, since the other woman seemed to be losing her grip on reality. The question was too inane to bother with a response. Besides, Siobhan's attention was drawn to a bright light that swept through the cleared front windows and the part of collapsed wall behind Newton.

She turned with excitement, a finger on her lip reminding the others to be quiet. The kind of lensed lantern that focused the beam in a single direction wasn't common among civilians, and someone was shining one such beam through the fog. The people up above could have somehow summoned the coppers, or, more likely, it had been the flare followed by all the previous noise and spellcasting. With the humming of the strings drowning out other sounds, she couldn't listen for the metallic clack of their footsteps that would signify the eponymous copper hobnails in the soles of their boots.

She had the sudden urge to call out for help, but the slowly searching strings were already almost a meter away from the doorway, crawling along the floor and hanging in vine-like patterns in the air. If she called for help, by the time the coppers got to them, they would be dead.

'We could write a note explaining the situation, wrap it around something, and throw it out one of the windows. They could open the storage room wall from the other side.' It could work, maybe, if the coppers had enough stunning spell charges on them and were willing to listen.

A copper stepped closer to the collapsed section of wall where Newton and the front door had once stood, shining his light through the string-filled opening. He called, "Is anyone in there? By order of the High Crown, reveal yourself!" The wand in his other hand sent out an almost-transparent pulse, likely the same revealing spell the copper team had used on Siobhan when they caught her and Oliver in that rundown building. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

The copper seemed to realize suddenly what he was seeing, and screamed over the humming, "Aberrant! Call the Red—" His words cut out in favor of a glass-sharp shriek, and his lantern fell to the ground as his arm exploded into thread.

The Aberrant's power was growing. That had been a lot faster than either of the other two.

Another copper—his partner—shouted in alarm, and through the fog and the strings Siobhan caught what she thought was the shimmer of a barrier spell springing into existence as he scrambled to back away. His footsteps rang loud as he retreated up the fog-filled street.

The first copper tried to run, too, but the strings got to his head too quickly. He slumped to the cobblestone street as the grey strings of his brain matter fluttered outward, illuminated by the bright beam of his lensed lantern.

Chapter 86 - The Consolations of Philosophy

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 11:30 p.m.

From out of Siobhan's line of sight, the remaining copper shot a couple of red stunning spells at the Aberrant's prime mass—their wands' default spell—though either because of his distance from their target or the Aberrant's gradual increase in power, the threads didn't still for as long as they had before.

The people above called out to the coppers for rescue, enticing the strings further up toward the ceiling.

One of the people that might have been able to save them had just died. Now the coppers would be more wary, more cautious. Maybe they would move too slowly out of care for their own well-being to save Siobhan and the others before it was too late.

Siobhan was terrified. She knew she was, but her body didn't agree. It was surreal to experience such a disconnect of emotion from physiological response. She felt detached from herself. She had grown used to feeling a little uncomfortable, a little displaced in her own skin, after using the artifact. This was different. She had never felt that her existence was a consciousness so distinct and separate from the meat suit she wore as a body.

It made her wonder again if there was any evidence of consciousness beyond the electrical and chemical signals processed by the brain. She didn't believe it—her sense of detachment was unreliable and there was no measurable evidence of such a phenomenon, but the curiosity it sparked made her feel more settled, more like herself.

She was a creature of curiosity, after all. 'If I cannot rely on others, I will rely on myself. I will find a way out of this.'

Neither of the Morrows seemed as frightened as they had been before.

Tanya was still looking to Siobhan for salvation with out-of-character faith, but none of the clawing desperation that had been there after Newton first lost control.

All of the people who had been infected were now fully string, too, but Sticky Fingers was still breathing shallowly, resting in a coagulating pool of his own blood as the strings crawled over and past him, uncaring.

"An Aberrant's powers are always unique, like snowflakes, but they are often based on the circumstances in which they lost control," Siobhan muttered aloud, running her fingers over her cold-chapped lips.

Tanya nodded, a faint frown of confusion creasing her brow.

"Newton was casting a self-calming spell. The strings are imitating the hum of it. Transferring the calm to us. Can you feel it?" Siobhan asked.

"I feel it," Chief said, his voice a little too loud.

"The strings are drawn to movement. Especially to screaming. But they're ignoring him"—Siobhan pointed to Sticky Fingers—"because he's unconscious. I think they can tell the difference between a living, agitated body and someone in a state of complete calm. They ignored your hand once you cut it off, too," she murmured to Chief.

"So if it keeps giving off that sound, maybe we'll be calm enough to be safe?" Tanya asked.

Siobhan gave her a bitter smile. "If you would like to use one of the few remaining stunning spells to knock yourself unconscious and wait for rescue, you can. But I have a different idea."

Tanya hesitated before shaking her head. "No. The coppers will be calling in the Red Guard right now. Who knows what they'll do? Maybe they'll quarantine the whole building and kill everything inside. Newton—this Aberrant, I mean—it's a Blight-type. It spreads. I heard there's a town near Vale that had a bad Blight-type twenty years ago. The whole town is still trapped inside a sundered zone."

The words produced a small flutter of actual, physical anxiety in Siobhan's chest, and she closed her eyes for a moment to force it back.

"I'll follow you," Tanya added. "What do you need me to do?"

"Us as well," Chief concurred immediately.

Sniffles nodded rapidly.

"Do you know the spell Newton was using?" Siobhan asked.

Tanya deflated with disappointment. "No. It was a family spell, and I only know he used it when he became too stressed, or when he needed to relax to sleep. I could try to recreate it…?"

"No need." Siobhan handed Tanya both confiscated stunning wands, confident in Tanya's temporary trustworthiness as well as her composure. "When I give the signal, stun the closest strings, then switch immediately to the slicing spell." She sat down and began to unlace her left boot. She'd read that the human body didn't actually need its pinky toes for balance. In the worst case scenario, if this didn't work, her hands would be more useful than her feet, and the feet were farther away from her vital organs.

She could have taught Tanya the self-calming spell and tried to use her as the experimental subject instead, but doubted the woman would be willing to put her own life on the line.

And even if Tanya was willing, she didn't have the experience with the spell that Siobhan did. If she failed, creating another node of strings closer to the storage closet, that would make things worse for Siobhan, while still not absolutely proving that the idea couldn't work.

Siobhan couldn't trust anyone but herself with this task.

She stood, one foot bare against the floor. "Stay close. If this doesn't work, cut off the infected section immediately. I expect the strings will move quickly. Don't try to save too much of my leg. Aim for the mid-calf or the knee."

Tanya's lips firmed, and she nodded, her knuckles white around the wand's handle.

Siobhan reached out and touched Tanya's hand. "Steady, okay?"

"Okay," Tanya breathed.

Turning back to the main floor of the shop—now a wreckage of broken furniture and organic webs of the Aberrant's string—Siobhan took a deep breath, bringing her hands to her chest and creating a Circle with her thumbs touching her middle fingers. She exhaled on a deep hum, the spell coming easier to her than it ever had before. Her voice mixed with the humming of the strings filling the room. She matched their sound as closely as possible, a low droning, and kept going with every deep breath until her heartbeat was calm and the last remnants of acrid adrenaline had dissipated.

She had never been so placid. Even her thoughts felt slow.

Tanya stepped forward, and with a motion from Siobhan, used the last stunning spell from one of the wands on the closest string from only a few inches away. It and those nearby stilled completely, confirming Siobhan's suspicion that the efficacy of the spell decreased with distance, as was the case with many long-distance spells.

Still humming, she reached forward with her foot. She could feel her heartbeat attempt to spike with apprehension, and she paused to make sure she was as calm as could be again.

Then, she moved her foot forward the last couple of inches, touching her pinky toe to the string.

Nothing happened.

She drew her foot back, peering at it in what little light remained from the street and the tipped-over lamps inside the room. No buds forming.

'But maybe that's just because she stunned them. We've only got three stunning spell charges left. That's not enough to get all the way out of the room. It needs to work on the active strings too.' So, Siobhan waited until they began to grow forward again and let the string touch her once more.

It curled almost curiously around her toe and over her foot, but still didn't stop and pierce her, and no buds of infection grew in her flesh.

She pulled her foot back, then pressed it against the string a little harder, to make sure movement wouldn't trigger their attack suddenly.

The string grew upward and turned back on itself under the pressure of her flesh, heading slowly back through the air the way it had come, like a tree that was bound with straps would grow into the shape it was forced to conform to.

Still humming, she pulled her foot back, stepping away from the growing strings. They didn't follow her with any particular interest, as if deaf to the noise she was making because it matched their own.

Beside and slightly behind her, Tanya's mouth had dropped open.

"Come," Siobhan mouthed, making sure all three of her short-term allies could see and read the word on her lips.

Sniffles and Chief hurried out of the storage closet with soft steps, keeping Siobhan between themselves and the strings.

She jerked her head toward the door to the stairway on the other side of the room, then started to move, a little uneven since Sniffles was still carrying her other boot. She didn't want to waste time putting it back on while the Aberrant was still growing stronger.

Very carefully, Siobhan led the three of them through the room, physically blocking or turning the strings back on themselves where necessary.

She considered trying to save Sticky Fingers, maybe pulling him into a safer location at the least. 'He's a panicker, though, and hostile to the Raven Queen. He could get us all killed.' They kept their distance from him and walked past. Neither of the Morrows protested.

Halfway to the stairway, the rogue magic sirens went off, their high-pitched ringing making the other three jump in surprise and agitating the Aberrant.

Her companions calmed almost immediately, probably due in large part to the effects of the Aberrant's humming, and Siobhan felt only the barest thump of alarm.

She knew, intellectually, that she was in danger of dying a horrible, gruesome death, the kind that would give someone nightmares. Her mind kept thinking of it, imagining it and yearning for all the things she had yet to accomplish with her life. But her body was too calm to feel it. Her heartbeat was placid, her muscles relaxed, and her veins free of the burn of stress-response chemicals.

The strings were a little more aggressive after the sirens started, but she reassured herself that even if her state of forced calm was no longer adequate to move through them, she would survive as long as they cut off the infected appendage quickly enough.

As they got to the stairway, Siobhan first turned back the strings curling around the door and along the walls, guiding them until they exited back into the main room against their instincts, then blocked the way so the others could pass ahead of her.

She looked up to the shadowed ceiling where the strings were matted and curled up, a feather of foreboding brushing against the back of her mind.

She turned and walked up the stairs, relaxed down to her faintly-vibrating bones and too lethargic to hurry.

The third floor was an apartment, and apparently housed the shop owner and a couple generations of his family.

Tanya, Sniffles, and Chief had stopped a little way into the living area.

Over Tanya's head, Siobhan saw a burst mass of strings writhing around the middle of the room. A middle-aged man was being turned, from the legs upward.

The strings had burrowed their way directly through the floor from the lower level in several spots, and one must have caught him. They were moving slower than they should have, and Tanya's outstretched wand was enough for Siobhan to guess they'd been stunned.

'Only a couple of charges left,' Siobhan thought.

Huddled against the far wall were two women and three young children. They were shivering in horror, one young boy's face pressed to his mother's neck to keep him from seeing the man's fate, but none were screaming, at least.

The grandpa had attempted to attack the strings, apparently, as his spear was caught up in the mass, but he was huddled against the wall to the side, warding off more pieces of the Aberrant with his paltry wooden shield.

Siobhan's eyes met those of the man dying slowly in the middle of the room. It was too late to cut off his legs, as his lower stomach was unraveling already. Even Myrddin might not have been able to save someone missing half their organs.

He was struggling against the forced tranquility. "Have mercy, save them," he gasped out, just before his lungs became visible from the inside of his chest cavity.

As she stepped around him toward the women and children, they huddled back away from her, and she realized it probably seemed quite sinister for her to have her hands in a Circle in front of her chest and be humming the same deep note as the strings. She couldn't stop to explain, but hoped they understood her intentions from the way she pushed the strings back from them and gestured with her head for them to move through the path she'd created.

It was too late to save the grandfather. The strings had bored through and around the edge of his shield, and as soon as they touched him it was over. He fairly exploded into flesh-strings, splashing against the wall and into his own shield.

A couple of the children screamed, and Siobhan had to move quickly to block the strings drawn by the noise. The one positive of the rogue magic sirens was that the strings were less aware of individual small noises, less likely to hone in on the subtle sounds of movement.

There were windows on this floor, barely large enough for the adults to crawl out of, but no way to get safely down to the ground. A jump from this high would break bones, at the least, and the bricks of the outer wall wouldn't provide nearly enough purchase to climb down.

Siobhan led them all to a bedroom at the far end of the upper floor where none of the strings had broken through yet, finally dropping the calming spell so she could speak. There was a window, and if they could get someone to bring a ladder, or create some sort of cushion against the ground, they could escape through it. And if not, they could take their chances with broken bones.

Chief began to explain the situation to the family members in hushed tones just loud enough to be heard over the combined sirens and Aberrant humming.

Looking through the window, Siobhan could see a line of bright lights being set up about a block away, facing the building but barely able to illuminate it through the thick, obscuring fog. "They're setting up a quarantine cordon," she murmured. "They want to be able to see anything that tries to escape."

Tanya moved to stand beside her, looking out with a hint of alarm. "Reinforcement coppers, probably. The Red Guard should be here soon, and they'll…handle things."

One of the women was crying silently, her hand held over her son's mouth to muffle his sobs, too.

Sniffles handed her the red Morrow handkerchief he'd had tied around his arm, but she threw it back in his face, which shocked him and brought a few more tears to his own eyes.

Siobhan drew Sniffles to the window, opening it as far as it would go and making him hold out the lamp he'd brought from downstairs. "Keep waving it. Someone should notice it, and they might be able to help you get down."

"You're not coming with us?" Tanya asked, then answered her own question. "Of course not. They would try to arrest you on sight."

Siobhan nodded silently. She had hoped to escape from the upper floor, but there was another problem she had to deal with. 'I left evidence downstairs. My bag, which is full of supplies, including a spare set of male clothing and the bracelets I gave Newton. The ones he never broke to ask for help. Even if I could afford to replace everything, who knows what the Red Guard could do with all that? They have magic the common person couldn't even imagine.'

She wasn't sure if it was out of compassion, or her completely missing sense of urgency, but she took a couple of minutes to teach Tanya the esoteric calming spell, in case the other woman needed to block strings trying to enter the room. It took time and practice to get really good at a spell like that, but hopefully it would make some small difference.

Tanya seemed almost afraid to cast it, but picked up the mechanics quickly. She was a fourth-term University student, after all.

Satisfied that she'd done all she could, Siobhan took back the wand that still had two charges of the stunning spell and turned to leave the room.

Tanya reached out, grabbing hold of Siobhan's elbow to stop her. "I never meant…" She swallowed. "I never meant to make an enemy of you. Any offense I caused you by working with the Morrows, or the University, I apologize."

Siobhan's thoughts were too sluggish to work out the best way to respond to that. In the end, she only nodded silently, then left the room, turning back toward the stairway.

Strings were crawling along the walls and through the air from the lower floor. She tucked the wand between her teeth. With a deep breath, she brought her hands back to her chest, began to hum, and faced the stairway.

She tried to move, but her feet refused.

Not because she was incapacitated, but because she desperately, wretchedly wanted to do anything else but face the Aberrant head on. If it were possible, she would go to truly extraordinary lengths to avoid the thing.

But that could mean being forced to leave the University or being caught by the coppers. Neither of those were acceptable alternatives.

With only one road before her, she started to force her way down through the drifting strings, back toward the vibrating shadows and the origin of it all.

Chapter 87 - Decoherence

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 20, Wednesday 11:45 p.m.

As Siobhan descended the stairs, she thought back to her first Defensive Magic lesson with Elwood Fekten. They'd talked about banshees and ways to defend against them. She'd looked over a couple of temporary deafening hexes after that, and knew one that she could have cast on herself, if she had the components and the wherewithal to focus, as it was rather complex.

The Aberrant's hum wasn't just in her ears, but in her bones. Still, she thought the deafening hex might do something. Any improvement would be useful, because she could recognize that she was slipping inexorably past extreme calm into both mental and physical slackness.

She couldn't feel her own face. That was more than the self-calming spell could have possibly done. At this point, she could barely even muster the care to worry about what would happen as the Aberrant continued to grow stronger.

The spot where the warding medallion had grown cold against her chest throbbed with a cold-burn. Siobhan slid her cupped hands up from her diaphragm to rub against the damaged skin, welcoming the temporary surge of wakefulness that accompanied the pain.

In the room below, the illumination of an overturned light crystal lamp showed the hive-like web of strings that had grown through the room—through the air, across the floor, walls, and ceiling, and spilling out into the street.

The flesh-colored strings pressed sharply against her skin as she maneuvered through them, and she learned to avoid them more carefully the first time a vibration cut through her jacket and threatened to draw blood from her arm. It would be just what she needed to give the coppers a second blood sample to scry for her with.

As she made it farther to the front of the building, where Newton had triggered, the strings grew denser and began to respond aggressively when she was forced to push them out of the way. She had to freeze in place several times while they searched out the living creature moving among them.

When she finally reached the barrier sphere of strings around the huddled, amorphous mass that had been Newton, she spotted her bag on the floor inside, but just blinked at it lethargically for a while until she remembered that she was supposed to be retrieving it and escaping as quickly as possible.

Moving slowly, clumsily, she brought the Circle of her hands up to her mouth, pointing the wand with her teeth around the thick handle. She awkwardly leaned forward until the tip of the wand was almost touching the strings before triggering the stunning spell.

As soon as the strings stopped vibrating, she dropped the calming spell, switched the wand's settings to the cutting spell, and used the last three charges to cut the three lines of a triangle.

The closest strings seemed alerted to her presence without her actively humming, and, as quickly as she could while feeling like the whole world had been muffled in a bottle of molasses, she switched back to the stunning spell setting—of which only one remained—stuck the wand back in her mouth, and recast the calming spell on herself. She used what felt like the last bit of urgency in her soul to climb through the triangle-shaped opening she'd created in the barrier sphere.

With such a large hole, the strings didn't seem able to simply heal the wound, but they were already beginning to regrow new tendrils from the sliced edges.

She triggered her amulet, and immediately lost a couple of seconds to a disoriented blink as her body shifted. She almost lost concentration on the spell, too, and realized afterward that it had been dangerous to transform while casting. Anything could have happened, but mostly horrible things.

Casting took an effort of Will, and she was losing the ability to care enough to make the world bend under her heel. She looked down at the fetal mass of thrumming strings that still faintly resembled a human body.

'Wouldn't it be ironic if I lost control casting the same exact spell as Newton, in the same spot? This was a mistake.' It was the last coherent thought she had as she let the spell slip to keep the magic from turning on her.

Her mind lay fallow.

She didn't know how much time she lost, but a flash of fire and blood behind her eyelids sent a burst of fear through her.

She woke from her waking daze with a gasp, eyes wide, heart slamming against her chest with a sudden surge of energy. She'd been training herself for years to wake from her nightmares as quickly as possible, and apparently not even the absolute tranquility of an Aberrant's anomalous effect could overpower them. She never thought she'd be grateful for what was otherwise the bane of her existence.

She was still standing. Apparently, there were no searching strings within the sphere. If there had been, one would likely have found and subsumed her while she was catatonic with serenity.

Knowing her lucidity wouldn't last long, she shuffled closer to the origin point, the thing that had once been Newton.

She stunned it, point-blank against the part that should have been a head, and felt a wave of relief as every string in the building fell still and silent.

She could suddenly hear the sirens again, though she wasn't sure when they'd been drowned out by the humming, and shouts from outside filtered in through the muffling fog, some fearful, some authoritative.

'This probably won't last long.' Hurrying as fast as her still-clumsily relaxed muscles would allow her, she stripped out of her clothes, replaced them with the slightly worn set of men's clothing from the bottom of her bag, not bothering with the many buttons, and stuffed the female clothing as tightly inside as she could. She would have preferred to burn them, just in case, but the coppers might see something suspicious if she did that, and if the response was extra slow, she might end up burning down the whole building with Tanya and the others trapped above.

Sebastien retrieved her stunning wand from the hidden pouch at the bottom of the bag, then shoved her head ornaments into that same narrow, hidden space without regard for the feathers or the once-gentle curve of the wire filigree. With the evidence hidden as well as she could manage, she pulled the strap over her shoulders, the weight of her magical supplies a comfort she hadn't even realized she needed. She turned back to the fetal form that had been Newton.

Its strings were already starting to hum again, and the vibrations were spreading outward from there.

With a sharp grin that actually made her feel a pang of sorrow, she pressed her stunning wand again to the Aberrant's "head" and shot two consecutive stunning spells. 'There. Hopefully that'll keep it down long enough for me to get out of here.' If not, she only had one charge left.

She knelt, the illumination of the lights from the cordon just enough for her to see Newton's two alarm ward bracelets, tangled through with strings. She broke them without hesitation, pulling the pieces out of the string and shoving them into her pocket, then doing the same with the bracelet whose pewter bead around her wrist suddenly grew cold.

His clothes were torn to shreds, but some of the things in his pockets had fallen to the floor. Sebastien scooped up a handful of gold crowns and his Conduit, not sure if she should feel guilty for doing so. He'd had a wand, too, but she didn't see it. Maybe one of the Morrows had taken it off him.

The hole in the side of the string barrier was half-regrown already.

Pulling out her paper slicing spell array, she held it up near the opening by its edges, with the beast core Tanya had given her in the component Circle where she would normally have placed her little lantern.

The practice with Professor Lacer's air-sphere spell seemed to have helped her improve her grasp on the way the slicing spell molded air into a super-condensed arc. It was still much weaker than the slicing spells that had been in the battle wands—it was only meant for cutting fabric, after all—but it was enough to cut through the strings, and she managed to enlarge the opening again with a little effort.

She climbed back through the lopsided triangle, then made her way over fallen furniture and between the frozen strings to the farthest of the windows. The boards had been knocked free by the Morrow's initial concussive blast spells.

Moving slowly in the hopes that the fog would be enough to block her from the sight of the distant coppers along the cordon, she climbed out of the window and into the street. Just being outside of the building, finally, sent a wave of relief through her.

'Is there any way I can give the coppers a tip about how to deal with the Aberrant, and let them know to send a ladder around to the back of the building so the others can get out safely?' She tried to imagine a scenario in which she got the information to them without compromising her own safety. 'Maybe Oliver could do something. I should go to his house, since he's probably worried about me after I triggered the bracelet ward.' Damien, too, would have been alerted when she broke Newton's bracelets. 'Hopefully he doesn't panic and do anything stupid.'

Her relief had been preemptive. She'd only made it a couple of meters away from the window when a bright light burst into existence a short distance in front of her, making her squint and freeze instinctively.

"Halt!" a man's rough voice yelled. "Hands up, fingers splayed!"

She complied slowly, her eyes adjusting to see the red shields and magical tactical gear of the Red Guard.

A whole squad of them were standing a few meters in front of her, a couple with battle artifacts trained on her while the others kept watch to the sides and behind so nothing could sneak up on them.

"Oh, hells," she murmured aloud.

A Red Guard squad member shot a strange spell at Sebastien that she didn't dare to try and dodge. It prickled against her skin, tickling her insides until it reached her spine, and then bounced back.

The Red Guard woman who'd shot her checked the readings off a crystal tablet, then gave a quick handsign. "No anomalies. Human."

They relaxed a bit, and Sebastien was just about to slump with profound relief when she noticed a man to the left of the group peering closely at her, adjusting a complex metallic monocle attached by a clamp to the side of his head.

Sebastien felt the monocled man's attention activating the divination-diverting ward placed under the skin of her back, and knew it was over for her.

"Possible Nightmare-type," he snapped immediately.

She raised her hands even higher, fingers splayed wide. "Wait, wait! I'm human! I'm a University student, and I'm Thaddeus La—"

Before she could drop her professor's name in the hope of making them pause, a dark purple spell shot out of the center of the front man's shield. It hit her faster than she could blink.

Chapter 88 - The Implied Invisible

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 12:05 a.m.

Sebastien woke up gasping, a minty shock yanking her to consciousness hard enough it felt like her nose might start bleeding. She sat upright so fast she made herself dizzy, realizing with disorientation that she was lying on a portable cot in a square field tent.

A woman wearing the red shield symbol of the Red Guard, but without the tactical gear of the squad who'd found and shot her, said in a calming tone, "Easy. You might feel lightheaded or confused. You should lie back down."

Sebastien looked at the woman, who was standing across the tent, and slowly complied.

The woman's hard, wary expression didn't match her tone at all. There was a barrier spell up between them, wrapping around Sebastien. That, more than anything, helped Sebastien remember the situation she was in.

"The Aberrant is attracted to sound," she said immediately, hoping that being cooperative would lend her some goodwill. "I didn't have a chance to tell them before they shot me. It's drawn to sound, and it will infect anyone who's even slightly agitated with those strings. There's a spell that can protect against the strings, and stunning spells disable them for a short time. And there's—there might be some people upstairs who need help."

The woman didn't relax at all, though she motioned to someone at the open front side of the tent. They would presumably relay the information to the people that needed it. The woman scribbled in a small notebook. "What is your name?"

Sebastien almost gave the wrong name, and might have, if she hadn't taken to thinking of herself as Sebastien when in her male body. There were wards against untruth. Strong ones. "Sebastien Siverling. I'm a University student. Um, Thaddeus Lacer's apprentice." She tried not to sound awkward when she added the last bit. She realized belatedly that her shirt and vest were still both unbuttoned, and with a flush began to rectify her state of dress.

The woman's eyebrow rose, but she scribbled again in her notebook.

Sebastien's bag was on the table behind the woman, its contents laid out for display. Thankfully, the black and red feathered hair ornaments were not there. Either they hadn't found them, or the ornaments had been taken away for examination elsewhere, submitted into evidence against her.

When Sebastien stopped to listen, she realized she couldn't hear the humming any more, and the sirens had stopped, too. She didn't know if that was because they had moved her somewhere, or if they'd already dealt with the Aberrant while she was unconscious.

The fog outside the tent entrance and the brick building she could see across the street—a different one than they'd been trapped inside—suggested that she hadn't been moved too far. "How long have I been out?" she asked.

"Not long," the woman replied vaguely. "Did you have contact with the Aberrant?"

Sebastien hesitated. "Well—"

Before she could continue, a familiar voice snapped, "I am more than capable of dealing with whatever anomalous effect you think you have detected from my apprentice. Let me pass!"

Someone else said, "It's alright. Professor Lacer is with me."

Sebastien expected them to enter the tent, and turned toward the open side with a combination of dread and relief, but instead there was more distant, muffled arguing from other voices that she vaguely recognized. She frowned, rifling through her memory for a match. She wasn't the best with audible memories, and so she had just realized that it was Lynwood, the leader of the Nightmare Pack, and his adopted prognos sister Gera when the two of them walked in with Professor Lacer and another man who looked like an older, more severe version of Damien. Behind them trailed a man with an irritating cough and a sheaf of papers.

Gera's single scarred eye was staring milkily at nothing, but Sebastien could feel the extra pressure of her constantly running divination spell as soon as the other woman drew close. 'Did Oliver send her to help me?' Gera raised her hand to push back a lock of hair from her face, and Siobhan noted the wood bracelet held together with a bead of pewter around the woman's wrist. It was the same one Siobhan had thrown away.

Gera had divined her location, which was almost irrefutable evidence that Oliver had sent her.

Lynwood took a long look at Sebastien, examining her from head to toe, then turned to Gera.

She nodded.

Lynwood said, "I find myself needed elsewhere," already spinning on his heel. He bumped into the coughing man, barely stopping to mutter, "Excuse me, Investigator."

Professor Lacer, too, looked over Sebastien from head to toe, then gave the Red Guard woman who'd been questioning her a scathing glare that made the woman shift uncomfortably.

She straightened self-consciously. "Grandmaster Lacer," she said. "Welcome. Melinda Vernor." She bowed, receiving a slight nod of the head in return. "I'm surprised to see you here. Are you planning to help with the investigation?"

Professor Lacer somehow managed to give the impression of scoffing rudely without making a sound. "I am here on the invitation of Lord Titus Westbay, to provide my expertise and to make sure my apprentice is not mistreated."

"Er." Vernor looked rapidly back and forth from Professor Lacer to Sebastien. "I assure you, the spells used on him were not harmful. He is in adequate physical health, except for some…anomalous readings that were in effect before we encountered him. As I'm sure you know, it is our duty to ensure that no harm comes to the citizens of this country, despite the costs."

Gera hesitated, then offered the tent in general a moderately deep bow, the pressure of her attention withdrawing from Sebastien, easing the strain on her divination-diverting ward. "I am here to offer my assistance, as I have some skill in divination, and as I understand this person"—she gestured toward Sebastien—"is of significant interest to the disturbance going on in my…neighborhood."

The man who had to be Damien's older brother, Titus Westbay, gave Gera an ironic look. Apparently, it was a bit of an open secret that this part of the city was now territory of the Nightmare Pack. But he said, "Welcome. I am Titus Westbay, and this investigation is under my supervision. We would be appreciative of your insight."

Gera nodded regally, staring vaguely into mid-air. "As for the boy, he bears the blessing of the Raven Queen. This may be the anomalous effect you discovered."

Sebastien did her best to avoid seeming surprised. 'It's a good cover. There's no way for me to hide the fact that both the Raven Queen and I are resistant to divination magic. This way, it's not something that's unique to either of us, and it won't be a clue that someone could use to deduce we are the same person.' She was impressed with Gera's quick thinking. Perhaps Oliver had told her to say that. It gave her hope that there might still be a way out of all this.

Titus Westbay's eyebrows rose, and he shared a look with Professor Lacer. "The Raven Queen? How did you deduce this?"

"I am…acquainted with her, shall we say," Gera said, her head turning slightly toward Sebastien as if to check for a response. "She saw fit to grant me a boon. I have seen the effect before. She can grant it at will."

The investigator crossed one arm across his chest, thoughtfully resting his chin on the other hand. "It does make some sense."

Westbay gave him an inquisitive look. "Expound, please, Investigator Kuchen."

The man tucked away his handkerchief and looked through his papers nervously. "Well, we know the Raven Queen was here this evening. Two local gang members survived the Aberrant's break event and the subsequent incident, along with the surviving members of the family who lived above ground zero. They have told quite an interesting story."

Sebastien straightened her back, trying to control her apprehension. The wards against untruth made it more difficult, but they worked best on non-thaumaturges, the unaware, and the inebriated, since they only created a compulsion toward honesty. Truly debilitating wards against untruth were illegal, and while she suspected that wouldn't stop those in power from using them when they felt like it was worth it, here they were still manageable. She could lie if she wanted, with a quick mind and a strong Will. She would just need to lie like her words were a spell, and she was forcing them to become the truth with her unbreakable Will. "I didn't know it was the Raven Queen," she said, thinking quickly. "There was a woman inside the building. She was casting Newton's family spell, the one he uses to calm himself, and using it to protect against the strings. She saw me, and she winked at me, and I felt something, but I thought it was just a psychological reaction. Like a shiver, or something." She considered making the obvious suggestion that the Raven Queen had been involved in Newton's misfortune, but didn't want to get her real identity in even more trouble with the law if it was possible to avoid it.

Professor Lacer raised a hand to stop her. "Go back to the beginning. How did you find yourself in the city, so far from the University, after curfew?" he asked pointedly.

Investigator Kuchen interjected, bowing slightly to Professor Lacer. "Newton Moore, the Aberrant's previous name, was a student—young Mr. Siverling's student liaison, I am told. Tanya Canelo, the other student liaison, was also there for the entire incident, but has seemingly been rendered mute. She hasn't said a word since she was extracted from the house, despite no anomalous readings from her. We suspect she is simply refusing to speak."

'That probably serves Tanya well, since she can hardly tell the truth while explaining why she was out tonight.' Sebastien was hoping to let the conversation go on as long as possible without her input so she could learn more about what they already knew, but all eyes turned toward her expectantly.

She swallowed. "Newton asked me to. He said he was going to do something dangerous, and he wanted backup. He gave me a warded, linked artifact, and I was supposed to be close enough to come find him quickly if he triggered it. I didn't expect this, though."

"What was he doing that was so dangerous?" Lord Westbay asked, at the same time Professor Lacer said, "And you agreed to this?"

Sebastien grimaced. "Well. Newton said it probably wouldn't be dangerous. He wanted someone available and able to find him just in case. He asked me to keep it a secret. And I…I had some other things to do in the city anyway."

"What things?" Vernor asked.

Sebastien cleared her throat awkwardly. "I was visiting a friend…at the Silk Door."

Vernor grimaced in distaste then muttered, clearly audible, "I suppose that explains your state of undress. Had to rush out in a hurry, did you?" She looked back at the dress on the table, obviously coming to some strange conclusion about its origin. "I hope you didn't forget to pay."

Sebastien didn't have to fake her blush. It was why the Silk Door was such a good alibi. It made sense that she would want to keep it a secret, and thinking that they had uncovered the scandalous truth, people would stop searching deeper. Sebastien had hoped she'd never have to actually use that alibi, but here she was, revealing herself as a regular visitor of the brothel only a couple of months after the waypoint between Sebastien and Siobhan had first been set up.

At least it was a high-class brothel. All the workers were treated well and compensated fairly, and none were there against their will, or under coercion, at least as far as she knew. The same couldn't be said of many other establishments.

"Yes, yes, sex," Professor Lacer said impatiently, waving his hand. "Hurry up and get to the relevant parts."

"Well. The artifact was triggered. I rushed out and did the compass divination Newton taught me to find him. It took me a few tries to get close—I think he was moving—and then suddenly…something happened. I felt really strange"—she shuddered at the memory—"and the divination didn't work anymore. I think that's when Newton lost control and the artifact broke. Right after that, there was a lot of screaming and the sounds of battle spells. I was able to find the building by following the sound."

She raised her hands to rub her face, but noticed some of Chief's dried blood under her nails, so hid her hands at her side instead. "It seemed really stupid to just rush into that, so I tried to be cautious, but by the time I got there the fighting had stopped. There were these vibrating strings everywhere, and there was a huge hole in the side of the building and furniture burning in the street. I was worried to get closer, so I was watching from around the corner to try and spot Newton. Then the coppers got there, and the strings started…eating? Or infecting? They were assimilating a copper. That's when I knew things were really bad." She pulled her knees to her chest.

"What an astute deduction," Professor Lacer muttered acerbically, but his eyes were searching, maybe even worried.

Sebastien resisted the urge to send him a peeved look. Her fake explanation was only slightly stupider than the real one, after all. She continued, her breath coming faster as she recalled the events of earlier that evening, without the artificial calming effects of the Aberrant to filter the experience. "The coppers used some spells, and I noticed the stunning spells seemed to actually work, but they didn't keep attacking. They backed away pretty far from the building, and I guess they were calling the Red Guard, but there were people still inside."

The weight of the undivided attention of Gera, Professor Lacer, and Titus Westbay was powerful. She could feel it pressing on her skin, and looked to the side, her hands clenched into fists. "They came out of a room to the side, and the one in front, a woman, was using Newton's calming spell to counteract those strings. She was leading three others toward the door, the one that goes upstairs, and I was watching through the edge of one of the windows. She saw me, though. She…she made a shushing motion, and then she winked, and I felt like something cold ran over my body." She looked up to Gera, not needing to affect an uncertain expression.

Gera nodded. "That was almost certainly when she bestowed her blessing upon you."

Vernor was scribbling rapidly, frowning at her paper, while Investigator Kuchen was pale, breathing shallowly, as if too afraid to cough out loud and disrupt Sebastien's retelling.

Professor Lacer leaned forward. "That was all? A shushing motion, and a wink? She did not communicate with you in any way?"

Sebastien shook her head. "No. She was too busy humming to talk. To be truthful, I didn't even know who she was. She had feathers growing out of her head. The wanted posters don't mention that. And it was dark."

"Humming?" Vernor and Investigator Kuchen asked at the same time.

"Newton's calming spell is esoteric. You have to take deep breaths and do a low hum through every exhale. I can show you, if you want."

"No," Vernor said quickly. "It could be unsafe."

"Newton taught you this spell?" Lord Westbay asked.

"Did he learn it from the Raven Queen?" Professor Lacer added.

Sebastien's mind kept flashing back to the moment before Newton's Will broke. He'd been frightened, terrified. She could see his face in her mind's eye. And what had happened afterward? She'd felt it, when it happened. Tanya had too. "He taught it to me so I could calm myself down when the other students became too irritating. He said it was a family spell, from his grandmother. So I guess you could ask her if that's true? I've used it a fair number of times, and it seems harmless."

"Deep breaths, Mr. Siverling," Professor Lacer said, stepping past the barrier and ignoring Melinda Vernor's aborted move to stop him. He crouched in front of the cot, placing a hand on Sebastien's knee.

Only then did Sebastien realize she'd begun to hyperventilate. She felt like she couldn't get enough air, like she was trapped.

"Exhale slowly." Professor Lacer's words were a command, and she thought she could feel his Will in the air behind them, reinforcing them. "The slower, the better. You must control your body. It does not control you. Exhale all the way."

Sebastien complied, and he guided her breathing for a few more repetitions.

He turned to Vernor with a scowl. "My apprentice has experienced a horrific ordeal, and then was attacked by the very people meant to keep him safe. I think it is best if I took him back to the safety and familiarity of the University."

"I have to get a statement from him," Vernor protested. "And we need some more tests, as well. He gave anomalous readings. You should know the implications, and the dangers, Grandmaster Lacer."

"You were seen coming out of the building through one of the windows," Investigator Kuchen said. "Please explain how this came to be."

Sebastien nodded. "Well, the four of them walked up the stairs, under the Raven Queen's protection, but I was pretty sure Newton was still inside. There was a body on the floor that seemed to be unconscious, but hadn't been infected by the strings. It was too dark to tell if it was Newton, so I just imitated what I'd seen the woman doing, and used Newton's calming spell to protect myself from the Aberrant while I crawled in the window."

"No one saw you do this?" Kuchen asked, his eyes narrowed.

Sebastien shrugged. "I don't know? The coppers were pretty far back, to get away from the strings, and the sirens went off around that time so I imagine they were distracted calling for backup. It was dark, and with all the fog, I guess they just didn't notice me. In any case, once I was inside, I was feeling really, strangely calm, and the unconscious person on the floor wasn't Newton, so I searched around looking for him. I had—a hunch, maybe—when I saw that huge ball of strings, that maybe he was inside, and I thought he might still be safe because he knows—knew—the calming spell. I'm not really sure what I was thinking. I feel like my judgment might have been impaired."

"Consistent with the reported anomalous effect," Lord Westbay murmured, to which Investigator Kuchen nodded rapidly, making his own notes.

"I picked up a battle wand that must have been dropped on the floor during all the earlier fighting, and I used it to cut through the sphere of strings and crawl through it. I had to put the wand in my mouth because my hands were occupied. There was a string…body inside. Not like the other people that were turned. It still looked mostly like a human form. It had the other half of the artifact Newton g-gave me, broken. That's when I realized it was him, and that he was…he was an Ab-Aberrant." She clenched her chattering teeth, then continued.

"I shot him in the head with the stunning wand a couple of times, and that cleared my mind enough to let me escape." Sebastien began to tremble.

"The boy speaks truth," Gera said.

Professor Lacer frowned down at Sebastien's clothing, then took off his own coat—the one that reached his knees and always fluttered behind him so dramatically—and flung it around Sebastien's shoulders. "That is the most asinine thing I have ever heard," Professor Lacer said, deadpan. "You deserve to be dead." He pulled out a beast core and, with a wave of his hand, the air around Sebastien fluttered with sudden heat.

She shuddered, both from the relief of the cold and his words. "I know," she agreed, refusing to duck her head. "I agree. I should have told someone from the beginning about what Newton was planning. But I didn't think it would come to this. As for climbing inside that building, I can only argue temporary insanity."

Professor Lacer's eyes narrowed at that. "Indeed."

"I'll need to see that artifact," Vernor said.

Sebastien pulled both of Newton's bracelets and her own that had been paired with his out of the pocket where she'd stashed them. She tossed them to the edge of the shield boundary, where Vernor used a pair of tongs to reach through and pick them up.

Once broken, the sympathetic connection between the bracelets ceased to exist. Neither could be used to scry for the other, but she wished she'd thought to cast the shedding-destroyer spell on her bracelet. Most thaumaturges would find it impossible to cast with skin cells too small to even see, and even the coppers' scrying spell probably wouldn't lock onto such a tiny sample, but she felt uncomfortable leaving it in the hands of the Red Guard.

"Did you retrieve anything else from Mr. Moore?" the woman asked.

"Um. I picked up his Conduit."

"We'll need to examine that too."

"Why?" Sebastien was pretty sure that the creation of an Aberrant had no effect on their Conduit, specifically.

Vernor motioned impatiently.

"I want to give his things back to his family," Sebastien said stubbornly.

"You will be able to. Ms. Vernor will return Mr. Moore's belongings to you once she has examined them to ensure they are safe and hold no important information about tonight's incident," Professor Lacer said, giving Vernor a hard look.

She pursed her lips sourly, but nodded.

Sebastien hugged herself, leaning forward to rest her forehead on her knees as she tried to think of anything else besides the events that filled the last hour of her memory. She wished they would become surreal, a poorly defined fog of impressions, but she knew that would never happen. Siobhan Naught's mind didn't forget, it only buried.

Chapter 89 - Hiraeth

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 12:20 a.m.

"What do you think?" Lord Westbay asked Professor Lacer.

"I need more information. The Canelo girl's testimony is vital. Why was the Raven Queen here tonight? Why give my apprentice a blessing?" He said the last a little quieter, looking over Sebastien contemplatively. "How did she escape from the building?"

Despite the wondrous warmth he had created, Sebastien's shivers were not subsiding. With an effort of will, she lifted her head from her knees. She just had to keep going a little longer.

"Also, did she somehow trigger the boy's loss of control?" Kuchen muttered.

Thaddeus turned to Gera. "Tell me everything you know about the Raven Queen. At this point, being the only one in this room to have interacted with her directly, you seem to be our foremost expert on the woman."

Everyone else seemed equally enraptured by the promise of details on the elusive Raven Queen.

Gera shook her head. "The things I say must remain confidential. She has warned us against spreading rumors attached to her name. My brother ordered that we not speak her name to outsiders. They say she can hear when you pray to her, and she may be able to listen in when she is spoken of."

Professor Lacer scoffed. "That is nothing more than horror stories created to frighten children and adults so ignorant of the mechanics of magic they might as well be children. It is implausible in the extreme, and though I hesitate to use the word impossible, this approaches that hyperbole."

Gera shook her head. "You have not met her. But in any case, I doubt she is a woman in the sense you mean. She may take the form of one, but that means little. She presents herself as a human female, but when I met her there were anomalies, if you knew enough to notice them, and I do not dare to guess at her true form."

"Anomalies?" Professor Lacer asked impatiently.

"I believe she is a creature of night. Of dreams and shadows. My people have tales of them, passed down from many generations before. Her gaze is black and empty, a pupil without iris, and imparts an instinctive wariness when you meet it. She smelled of darkness, old blood, and the charge of a thunderstorm. Feathers grew from her scalp and wove through her hair, which shimmered with the iridescence of a raven's feather. And despite all this, everything about her screamed that she was utterly inconsequential, nothing more than a shadow in the corner of your eye, best ignored."

Sebastien was impressed with the hushed, theatrical tone of Gera's voice and the inventiveness of the description. She was more confident than ever that Oliver had sent the woman, because surely Gera had guessed who she was, even in this form, and was doing her best to differentiate Sebastien, and even Siobhan, from the identity of the Raven Queen. With Gera's help, the rumors would grow into such fantastical relief that an unassuming young sorcerer would be almost impossible to associate with the Raven Queen. 'The ward against untruth is almost certainly accompanied by a divination to suss out lies. She doesn't have my divination-diverting ward, but obviously she's got some other way to bypass both.'

"She wields great power over the domain of dreams. I witnessed her grant a different blessing with this power, accomplishing what not even the greatest thaumaturges who I called upon for help before her could." She raised her hand to stop Professor Lacer before his mouth could even fully open to question her. "I will give no details of this boon. You may believe me or not, but I will not speak more of it." When he didn't argue, only scowling, Gera continued. "Stories say her kind may travel on the night wind or through the shadows themselves, and I witnessed this myself."

'Yes, definitely lying to keep me out of trouble.' Sebastien almost wanted to laugh aloud at the absurdity of it, and the shivers were subsiding as the amusement distracted her. The whole thing was ridiculous, totally unbelievable. Being in a tent with a group of powerful, influential people who were taking this seriously was almost surreal. But as long as they believed it, working from such a fallacious base premise would always lead them to the incorrect conclusion.

"She was there one moment and gone the next," Gera continued. "We searched everywhere for her, but there was not even a hint of her passing. Some of the stories say her kind can disappear as soon as there is no mortal eye looking upon them. She likely disappeared in the same way tonight. As for her purpose here, who can say for sure? The Raven Queen is mischievous, vengeful to those who anger her, and benevolent to those who please her. The Morrows disrespected her and gained her ire. The boy…" She turned her head back to Sebastien, and for a moment the pressure on the anti-divination ward increased, though Gera had been avoiding placing too much scrutiny on her for most of the conversation. "Perhaps he amused her with his curiosity and bravery, to get so close to a deadly Aberrant. Or perhaps she was sending a message. Her blessing is great. So can her wrath be. I say with complete honesty that it is my great desire to never gain her ire."

Sebastien gave the shallowest nod of thanks, which went unnoticed as everyone else was staring at Gera, who let out a breath in what was a convincing show of settling anxiety. "Shall we go to see the building? Perhaps I can provide insight into the events that transpired within, or I can help question some of the other witnesses. The Morrows, perhaps, if this Canelo is refusing to speak."

Lord Westbay and Investigator Kuchen left with Gera to look over the other survivors and the crime scene.

Professor Lacer hesitated, obviously interested in going with them, but remained with Sebastien while Vernor insisted on going through her own list of questions from the top. He refused to leave Sebastien alone with her, using a free-cast spell to create himself an invisible chair in the air, upon which he lounged with ominous relaxation.

Vernor asked for details as if trying to catch Sebastien in a lie, but seemed self-conscious around Professor Lacer, whose thundercloud scowl grew darker with every question and passing minute.

To Sebastien's relief, Vernor seemed to find nothing unusual about the bracelets or Newton's Conduit, and after recording all the data she could, including capturing their likeness from every conceivable angle with an artifact, she returned everything to Sebastien, except her battle wand, for which Sebastien did not have a license and couldn't argue to keep. She doubted she would have ever been allowed even those concessions without Professor Lacer, and it was probably against their protocol. His influence was surprising, and lent more credence to the rumors that he had once been part of the Red Guard.

When the woman turned back to her notes, Sebastien tucked everything back into her pocket. 'I'll burn the bracelets. Just in case.' She wished she was powerful enough to free-cast the spell that would destroy any bodily shedding or remains, as that would have solved the issue from the beginning.

Halfway through, Titus Westbay returned to the tent, informing Professor Lacer that they were taking the Morrows to Harrow Hill Penitentiary for further questioning, but that Tanya was being remanded to the University infirmary at the insistence of one of the healers.

'Munchworth probably doesn't want her being forced to talk.' She wondered briefly if Tanya was safe. 'Would they orchestrate some "accident" to keep her quiet?' But there was nothing Sebastien could do about that. Tanya had chosen her own fate, so she put it out of her mind.

When they reached the end of the questions, Sebastien's eyes burned with fatigue and her thoughts felt foggy.

Vernor began to ask the same questions again in different ways, and Sebastien resisted the urge to sag with defeat. "Newton was my friend," she whispered, pressing hard on her burning eyes to keep tears from welling in them.

Professor Lacer stood abruptly. "That is enough, I think. Well past enough. My apprentice has answered all your questions, and is in need of rest. He will be returning to the care of the University healers immediately. If he remembers any other relevant information, I will contact you."

Vernor tried to protest, but Lacer ignored her, effortlessly undoing the ward around Sebastien's bed.

"Wait!" Vernor yelled. "The confidentiality vow!"

Lacer sighed, running a hand over his face. "Quickly." His short beard and the hair of his eyebrows were both tousled, lifted from his skin as if they were afraid of his ire and trying to escape his face. Or perhaps it was static electricity. But it made him look wild, and even more dangerous.

Vernor hurried out, returning a minute later with a glyph-carved human skull, which she thrust toward Sebastien. "Place your hand on this and repeat after me," she said.

Sebastien leaned back from the skull, eyeing it suspiciously. "I will not do any sort of blood vow."

"No blood is necessary. With this artifact, your word is your bond," Vernor said impatiently, pushing the skull toward Sebastien.

"How does it work, then?"

"Rare components, advanced artificery," Professor Lacer said. "It will place a strong compulsion on you to adhere to what you promise."

Sebastien wanted to question them further, but it was obvious she wouldn't be leaving this tent without making the "confidentiality vow," and she was too exhausted to continue putting up a fight. She placed her hand on the skull.

It was warm under her frozen fingers, and she felt a tingle in her chest next to her heart.

"Be sure to state your full name. The one you were given at birth," Vernor said. She had obviously memorized the vow, and recited it quickly, pausing after every sentence for Sebastien to echo her. It was surprisingly simple and straightforward.

"I, Sebastien Siverling, will not divulge any details regarding the events of this night to those who do not have prior knowledge of them. This includes any information relating to the individuals involved, the events that took place, or the operations of the Red Guard. This restriction does not apply to members of law enforcement, including any members of the Red Guard."

'Will the vow truly restrict me, since Sebastien Siverling isn't the name my parents gave me? Even now I only use it some of the time.'

With that, Professor Lacer allowed her to pack up her belongings in her bag and led her out of the tent. He kept a hand around her shoulders, as if to support her.

It was well past midnight by then, and after such a long, difficult day Sebastien was embarrassed to admit that, without him to lean on, she might have stumbled under the weight of her exhaustion.

Despite the late hour, the street was bustling with coppers and more than a few members of the Red Guard. She couldn't see the building that had been the setting for Newton's last moments, but could tell where it was from the bright light diffusing through the fog and up into the sky about a block away.

Professor Lacer led them past the edge of the cordon, flashing his University token at the nervous copper guarding it.

Apparently, he'd paid his carriage to wait for him all that time. He helped her inside, sat across from her, and they were off immediately, bouncing briskly along the cobbled street.

Her eyes wanted to drift closed, but his steady gaze on her kept her from relaxing.

Suddenly Sebastien felt the searching tendrils of a divination sliding off her ward.

There was no overt indication of the spell Professor Lacer had just cast, except for his piercing gaze. "When was our first meeting?" he asked suddenly.

She wanted to ask, "What?" but she knew from experience in his classroom that he hated "inane" responses that vaguely requested a repetition of the initial question without imparting any information about the source of confusion, and which were most often used to stall for time. Instead, she was silent for a few seconds, then said, "We met on the last day to apply for the entrance examination. I don't know if you remember. We didn't speak. I had been arguing with Damien. Our first official meeting was during the oral portion of my entrance exam."

"What theoretical research am I helping you with?"

She was quicker this time. "Decreasing or even eliminating the need to sleep."

"What caused you to experience Will-strain earlier this year?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it and narrowed her eyes. "Why the questions?"

He gave her a small smile. "Good. I needed to be sure it was you. They say the Raven Queen is a shapeshifter, after all. I will admit I am slightly disappointed. Since you are indeed Sebastien, that means my apprentice is an incurable reckless idiot, and I am not about to have the opportunity to speak discreetly with the Raven Queen."

Sebastien's eyes widened. "You…" She trailed off, so many questions in her mind that she didn't know which one to choose. Perversely, she was reassured that he did indeed have a way to free-cast a divination that would suss out deception. It didn't seem to work on her, but she would know when he was trying to cast it.

"Do you have any messages for me, now that we are alone? I assure you, it is safe to communicate freely."

She shook her head silently, still in shock.

He pursed his lips in disappointment. "Any urges that seem illogical or out of character?"

"No."

"Think carefully."

'He took Gera's testimony much too seriously.' She was quite sure that the Raven Queen hadn't placed any strange geas or compulsions on her, since she was the Raven Queen. "I'm sure."

He settled back, one finger tapping against his large Conduit absentmindedly. "Do you have any idea why she gave you her blessing tonight? Specifically, a protection against divination?"

Sebastien suppressed a shiver of unease. "The prognos woman suggested that the Raven Queen was just being impulsive, or sending a message about her power? The coppers haven't been able to find her all this time. It could be a jab at them," she deflected.

"She most likely was sending a message," he agreed, "but not to the coppers, I think. What were Mr. Moore and Ms. Canelo really doing tonight?"

"You'll have to ask Tanya." Sebastien hesitated, wondering if Professor Lacer knew about Tanya's connection to the University faculty.

He noticed the moment of indecision. "You know something. Speak."

There was no magic spell behind the word to compel her, but the force of his command needed none. "She was sending paper bird messages to someone, after the gang battle. That spell is limited in range and needs a beacon of some sort to find its target, which I gather is usually the University token. So it seems likely that whoever she was communicating with was on campus."

Professor Lacer didn't react to the revelation, so she couldn't tell if he was surprised or if he already knew about whatever Professor Munchworth was involved in. It was even possible that Professor Lacer was involved with that same faction, but she had no way to know. "Did anyone else know about what was going to happen tonight?"

She shook her head. "The decision to leave seemed very last-minute. I didn't tell anyone, but I'm not sure if Newton or Tanya might have."

Professor Lacer seemed to lose interest in interrogating her. She wriggled her toes, which were again growing numb with cold and the restrictive press of her secret Conduit digging into her calf. In a small voice, she asked, "What are they going to do with Newton—the Aberrant, I mean? And the building? The other people? How are they going to handle something like this?"

"Everyone involved will be questioned, arrested for any illegal activities, and made to take a similar vow as yourself, though likely rather more restrictive. If it is deemed that there are no ongoing harmful or infectious side effects from exposure to the Aberrant, they will be allowed to resume their lives. The Aberrant will be dealt with by the Red Guard. If they deem the cleared building to be safe to occupy, it will be allowed to remain, and the family within it. With an Aberrant created from such a mediocre, low-level University student, I doubt there will be any issue with ongoing contamination. However, if I am wrong, the site will either be razed to cleanse the contamination or placed under a permanent quarantine barrier."

"And if there are ongoing side effects? In the people, specifically? What happens to them? To me?" She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling that if she didn't, she might crack apart, and her insides would spill out. Or burst into string.

She shuddered violently.

"The effects will be studied and neutralized if possible. The Red Guard has no lack of resources, Mr. Siverling, and I have no intention of allowing something like this to deprive me of my apprentice. You are only just becoming truly interesting." He gave her another small smile, but she couldn't tell if he was joking.

To her horror and shame, rather than shooting back a witty quip or even a more boring, ordinary response, her burning eyes filled with tears. They spilled almost instantly down her cheeks. She blinked, scrubbing frantically at her face. "I'm sorry. Everything that happened tonight…it just feels so wrong."

Newton wouldn't be there in the morning, wouldn't be there ever again, and yet somehow it seemed like she would be continuing with her ruse, unsuspected.

Lacer's smile slipped away. "You are overtired, and likely approaching Will-strain. I am taking you to the infirmary."

'No, I need to talk to Damien as soon as he arrives, to keep him from doing or saying anything foolish.' She tried to protest, but instead of calming, her tears came only faster, and began to draw out great, heaving sobs. She pulled her knees to her chest again, trying to pull her emotions back together in the same way.

She longed for her home. A home that maybe had never existed, though she once thought it had.

Professor Lacer gave her a solemn, inscrutable look, then gestured toward her with his Conduit. There was a brief moment of utter silence, and then the fatigue rolled over her, too heavy to resist.

'I don't want to sleep,' was her last thought, but it was too late.

The story continues in A Practical Guide to Sorcery Book III: A Sacrifice of Light.

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Prologue 0.1 - Transfer Paperwork [Book 3 Start]

Beneath hundreds of meters of white stone, in a small room carved into the most secret of places and illuminated only by light crystals, stood four people. To the left side of the doorway, a human woman sidled closer to her male companion. On the right, their boots still muddy, waited two men, one with ginger-orange hair and another with a pair of furry tails. All four wore the red shield symbol of their order and held a clipboard, the paperwork already filled out and reviewed.

Atop a wheeled dolly in front of the quartet sat two large rectangular iron cases. They were coffin-like, the source of an unnamed dread.

The woman cleared her throat. "These are the ones you're here for," she said unnecessarily, breaking the ominous silence.

The ginger-haired man looked the cases over, humming thoughtfully. "Two in such a short period. It must have been quite an eventful time for you, Agent Fike."

The woman sighed. "Well, you know how it is in a big city, Selby."

Her companion placed his fists on his hips and thrust his chest out. "Some sorceress calling herself the Raven Queen has been going around making trouble. I still think we need to do something about her." His voice was loud, echoing off the smooth walls of the small room. He didn't seem to notice his mistake until the others winced and turned toward one of the iron cases. Face paling, he took a large step back and eyed it warily.

When nothing happened, the twin-tailed man asked, "Blood magic?" His soft voice carried a faint accent that hinted at faraway lands.

The loud man nodded, then shook his head. "Well, yes, but nothing egregious. No slaughter rituals. No murders at all, actually. It's the strangeness of it, the rumors, the whispers."

"Nightmare-type?" the red-headed Agent Selby asked.

Agent Fike raised a hand to stop the loud one's response, giving him a long-suffering look. "No. Agent Berg here is just a little too susceptible to rumors. She's a flashy free-casting sorcerer who likes to play games of cat-and-mouse, and a fantastical, romantic figure to the commoners. The stories have been getting wild." Fike turned to Agent Berg, crossing her arms. "Not every frightening incident in the night is caused by an Aberrant."

Agent Berg frowned down at her. "Letting a potential threat go unchecked because of negligence could lead to unnecessary deaths, or even more Aberrants. We should be investigating and suppressing every danger to the future world, as we vowed."

Agent Selby let out a single sharp laugh, raising an eyebrow as he shared a look with his fluffy-tailed companion. "A bit of a fresh-oathed newbie, huh?"

Agent Berg's frown grew darker, but Selby waved a hand before he could retort. "Look, kid, that's a noble idea, but there aren't enough of us to go patrolling around every dark alley and responding to every peasant's report of evil creatures curdling their cow's milk in the teat. We have processes in place to catch the actual threats. Even if you only focus on those, they will be more than sufficient to keep you busy. And with that said, let's make this quick. Agent Marcurio and I have to get back to our base and then to a little village outside Paneth in less than a week."

"You can't tell me she didn't have something to do with that one," Agent Berg muttered, gesturing to the iron case they'd been so wary of earlier.

Fike rolled her eyes but didn't deign to respond aloud.

Agent Selby stepped up to the more benign case, flipping through the paperwork on his clipboard. "Scourge-type with a Nightmare-type sub effect?" He shook his head, muttering, "I don't know why we bother with that old classification system. It's too vague to be useful." Louder, he added, "I heard there were multiple requests for it."

Agent Berg shuddered. "To be honest, it disturbs me. Unnatural, for one of them to act like that. I'm looking forward to having it gone."

Agent Marcurio's lips twisted in a wry smile, his tails undulating in the air like fluffy snakes. "Its strangeness makes it all the more interesting, I'm sure."

Berg shuffled and looked away.

Selby reached out to touch the second case, then snatched his hand back, rubbing his fingertips together with morbid fascination. "This is the new one, the Blight-type?"

Safely tucked into the corner of the room, Agent Berg grinned, forgetting his earlier attempt at volume control as he boasted, "I handled the aftercare myself."

Agent Fike raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "His first time."

The other three snickered, but quickly sobered. "I heard your Captain—Goldfisch, was it?—applied to keep the Blight-type despite it being against policy," Selby said. "Too risky to keep them locally. Your base can requisition something similar and less likely to be recognized from elsewhere." He took the handle of the dolly and maneuvered it out of the room. As he pushed the two heavy iron cases down the hallway, the other three followed behind.

Agent Marcurio's eyebrows slowly rose higher until, after a couple of seconds, he could no longer restrain himself. "Captain Goldfisch? Is that really his name?" he asked, his tone thick with amusement.

"Don't joke about that in his presence if you want to live," Agent Fike warned.

"And don't mention anything about us being lucky to have Thaddeus Lacer stationed in the city, either," Agent Berg piped up, his voice echoing down the hallway with obvious resentment.

"Thaddeus Lacer?" Marcurio asked. "Is he here? Could I meet him?"

Agent Fike lifted a hand to curb the man's sudden enthusiasm. "He's not here. He's assigned to the Thaumaturgic University…and not particularly happy with our team at the moment. I wouldn't advise trying to get an autograph or anything during your visit. Even at the best of times, he can be disagreeable."

Berg let out a besotted sigh. "I know, he's brilliant."

Still pushing the dolly, Agent Selby sent Berg an incredulous look over his shoulder. "Is there enmity between Goldfisch and Lacer?" he asked, looking to Fike.

Marcurio also focused on her with avid interest, his fluffy tails swishing back and forth eagerly.

She shrugged. "They have a history, I guess. I'm not sure of the details, but the captain openly dislikes him. He's mentioned Lacer caring more about amassing knowledge than the methods he takes to obtain it. Then he likes to segue into a long denunciation of former Red Guard members who forgot or misinterpreted their oaths, and the disasters they caused in their pursuit of secrets and power better left alone."

Agent Berg's mouth drooped. "He goes on and on. One time I pretended to have diarrhea just so I could hide out in the bathroom to get away from him."

Agent Marcurio's tails wilted. "Ah. Goldfisch is one of those, huh?" He shared a commiserating glance with Selby.

Berg clapped Marcurio on the shoulder hard enough to make the man wince. "He is. But that's not the reason Special Agent Lacer is upset with our team at the moment. No, that's all Agent Vernor's fault. You see, Thaddeus Lacer has finally taken an apprentice."

"Really? But I heard he refused even the High Crown's heir a few years back! Who did he choose?"

Berg sighed wistfully, then began to rhapsodize. "I heard the boy has silver hair and looks like a little lordling. Supposedly, he's not even a noble, but…" Berg basked in the rapt attention of the visiting agents as he ran through his limited knowledge about the apprentice and moved on to the various fantastical stories he'd collected about Thaddeus Lacer's time at the University. Notably, how the irritable professor had almost stolen the powerful familiar of a visiting witch. Obviously, the creature found Lacer more appealing than its contracted master.

The agents lost their initial unease as they listened, the two iron cases all but forgotten as they loaded them into reinforced wagons to be transported away.

Confined within the first, which was as bright as daylight on the inside, huddled a twisted, ugly form. Its whimpers and hoarse, broken sobs were inaudible through the thick metal.

The being within the other case had been pruned like an overgrown bush or tenacious weed so that it would fit inside the container. Its iron coffin had been meticulously crafted and enchanted for better containment, so that not even a hair-thin seam remained. The thing inside still needed to breathe, so they had given it an air refreshing artifact, but that was all. The iron hummed softly, almost imperceptibly.

Chapter 90 - On the Nature of Shadows

Thaddeus

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 7:30 a.m.

Thaddeus made his way through Harrow Hill Penitentiary's cafeteria, a squat, dark room that carried over the feeling of confinement from its cells. He took a small breakfast plate and coffee, adding a few drops of his own specially formulated wakefulness tincture into the liquid. He drank it black. Any added cream would curdle, and nothing could mask the taste.

Thaddeus grimaced as he gulped down the eye-watering liquid. He hated the combination of sludge in his mouth and the deep, dark smell that would rise from his stomach afterward, so that he could still half-taste it. His tincture was not as long-term a solution as Siverling's sleep offloading spell, but Thaddeus had no desire to give up his rest forever, even in exchange for gaining more productive hours. Studies had been done; powerful thaumaturges who structured rest into their lifestyle and indulged their mortal desires were much more likely to maintain their sanity. Work-life balance and hobbies, so to speak. Thaddeus's work was his life, and he had few hobbies that did not involve magic in some way. Thus, sleep remained one of his few indulgences. Besides, he had spent too many years going without it for long stretches at a time.

The thought of his provisional apprentice brought to mind the boy's foolishness. Young Siverling had tried to be secretive, but Thaddeus suspected the boy had been snooping into dangerous secrets…and perhaps hiding a few embarrassing ones of his own.

The clothes Siverling had been wearing the night of the latest Aberrant incident, in addition to those stuffed hastily into his bag, were evidence enough. The boy may indeed have been at the Silk Door, but he had been in a liaison with someone wearing men's clothing, while Siverling had worn a dress.

The boy must have needed to leave in quite a hurry when Newton Moore set off the alarm on that clever little linked bracelet, and ended up borrowing his paramour's clothing to do so. Siverling's normal clothes were of much higher quality than what he'd been wearing, and there was no other reason for a dress to be stuffed so thoughtlessly in his bag. If his paramour had been wearing the dress, he would have left it for her. It made the boy's obliviousness to—or perhaps thorough disinterest in—the girls who flirted with him around the University take on new meaning.

Thaddeus remained deeply disinterested in his apprentice's sex life or specific proclivities, but if the boy wanted to keep his activities a secret, he would really need to learn to be more discreet. Siverling was brazen in many ways, but not yet bold enough to do as he wished without fear of the whispers.

Not like the Raven Queen.

Both Morrows had refused to speak of her at first, not with complete silence like Canelo, but with a strange combination of belligerence toward the coppers and fear of the Raven Queen. However, their reticence eventually crumbled under pressure. As soon as they were cleared to move on from the quarantine zone, they had gone into separate interrogation cells at Harrow Hill. When the standard intimidation tactics and attempts to sow distrust failed, they resorted to mild torture—nothing that would leave them looking too pitiful in front of a potential audience—and that did the trick. Unfortunately, Harrow Hill employed no professional information extractors, so it took longer than Thaddeus would have liked for the coppers to break the two, and he had to wonder about the quality of the resulting statements. Pain was one of the less effective ways of extracting coherent, truthful information, after all.

The mysterious woman had made enough of an impact for them to endure through the pain where many would have broken. The young one had even started blubbering aloud, praying for her to save him, and then, when he could hold out no longer, for her to forgive him.

It was fascinating.

Investigator Kuchen stepped into the cafeteria, making a beeline for Thaddeus. If Kuchen and Titus were back from the temporary quarantine zone, which would take days or even weeks for the Red Guard to clear, it likely meant that Tanya Canelo would be arriving soon for questioning.

Kuchen confirmed as much, and Thaddeus rose from the table to follow.

Once in the relative privacy of the hallway, Kuchen announced, "I have been thinking about the Raven Queen's shadow companion."

Thaddeus remained silent, but Kuchen required no prompting to continue. "Could it be possible that she is a witch, and it is her familiar? She has been seen to cast without a normal Conduit on several occasions."

"I am unconvinced," Thaddeus replied dismissively. "She has used a celerium Conduit at other times. To support your theory, all instances when she supposedly did not would need a connecting theme—her familiar's particular aptitude. But it is possible, I suppose. What would the familiar be, then? A shade might cover nightmares, but not the blood magic or the healing. I believe there is a rare Eastern beast called an enenra that might match her companion's physical description, but they are said to be born from bonfires and only appear before those who are pure of heart and mind. That theme seems poorly matched to her."

"What if it is a devil from the Plane of Darkness?"

Thaddeus stopped walking to stare at Kuchen, who turned back when he realized. "Are you aware that the Plane of Darkness is entirely hypothetical?" Thaddeus asked.

"There has to be some counterpart to balance the Plane of Radiance, though. A devil would match the abilities she's displayed perfectly!"

"I have always found a pentagram to be quite balanced. Five elemental and one mundane plane do not require another. But even if the Plane of Darkness indeed exists, somehow defying all of our attempts to access it, you cannot know what characteristics an elemental would carry."

"Well, the opposite of radiance, naturally. Just like water is the opposite of fire and air is the opposite of earth. And what if Myrddin discovered the way to access it, and that was in the book she stole? Her shadow companion didn't make an appearance until after she got away with the book."

Thaddeus wanted to smack Kuchen in the skull with a blast of power, but knew from experience that this would knock no sense into him, nor shake loose any of the idiocy. He settled for glaring, allowing his contempt to shine through. "This devil would not be her first familiar. A neophyte in the craft would never have the strength or the Will to bind a sapient, humanoid familiar. So where is the evidence of any other familiar?"

"Maybe the devil ate them all as a requirement of the contract? You know the powerful ones don't like to share."

"And yet, before making this contract, she escaped from the University with wit and a few simple tricks—cast with a Conduit, might I remind you—and even at that point without evidence of a familiar? So, in addition to being a free-caster who goes to great lengths to display her spell arrays on the air, the Raven Queen has somehow contracted with a powerful familiar from a previously undiscovered Elemental Plane. Do you also believe that she is a creature from an ancient species of shapeshifters? Or that she can hear when her name is spoken, even from across the city?"

Kuchen seemed to realize Thaddeus's point. "It is just a theory," he muttered, turning to walk again.

"That is precisely my point. You are creating explanations for the unknown in the same way ancient peoples created stories about the sun and earth and moon to explain what they did not understand. Rather than hypothesize first and then try to mold all of your evidence to fit your narrative, simply admit that you do not understand and remain open to new evidence that will make things clear. We do not know what the shadow companion is, and there is certainly not enough evidence to support such an outlandish claim, especially when some of your supposed evidence contradicts the remainder."

Kuchen did not reply, though he walked faster so that his face was not visible, his grip white-knuckled around his clipboard.

Thaddeus supposed it was possible that the so-called Raven Queen really was a shapeshifter with an affinity for shadows and dreams…but it seemed more likely that someone had been deliberately working to exaggerate her reputation. The shadow-creature that appeared when she was threatened might be a construct, a rare familiar, or even an Aberrant that she had managed to control. But what was important was that she was a powerful free-caster and fully in control of her formidable faculties.

The Morrows had both told the same story, which lined up with the reports from the victims and young Siverling. Canelo's flare beacon had attracted them, but rather than follow her request to help detain an unremarkable and unassuming young woman, they grew greedy and hoped to extort all three—Canelo, Moore, and the Raven Queen. It was almost as if the woman had been luring them into a trap. How had two young students caught her in the first place?

Both men agreed that, when they realized her identity and panicked, the Raven Queen had stopped a fireball spell mid-air with her bare, empty hands, then deflected it to the side and into the wall behind her. Although extremely intriguing, Thaddeus knew that witness reports were notoriously unreliable, especially in times of stress.

After that, the Raven Queen had released the shadow-creature, which absorbed the battle spells from their contraband wands without seeming to take any damage. Thaddeus suspected it was only selectively corporeal, letting the spells pass right through its body. That it could absorb the energy from battle spells was not impossible, he supposed, but it was the kind of ability that could easily backfire if the caster became distracted or overwhelmed. His theory was reinforced, though not proved, by the state of the crime scene; if the Morrows had actually been hitting something, there should have been some evidence. Instead, the walls and furniture on the side of the room opposite the Aberrant were burnt, cut through, and blown apart, as if the men had been fighting an apparition. It might even have been an illusion.

When Moore's Will broke, the magical feedback put both Canelo and the Raven Queen on the floor. Surely, no matter how reckless the Raven Queen was, she would not put herself in such danger. There were better, safer ways to cause a break event.

Most confusing were the events that followed. The Raven Queen protected Canelo, healed one of the Morrows with blood magic—again seemingly declining to use a Conduit—and then perfectly copied the spell Moore had been using, having deduced on the spot that it would protect them from the Aberrant's effects. This was almost certainly evidence that she had prior experience with Aberrants and the theories behind their creation, or at least an interest in the topic.

Why had the Raven Queen been there at all? What had been her goal? He would have thought she had some interest in the Aberrant, but she could not have known that young Newton Moore would lose control and become one. Even if she had facilitated his break on purpose, there was no way to tell what exactly would happen. He could have died, wiped out the entire building with the magical backlash, or become an Aberrant with an entirely different anomalous effect.

No, the Aberrant had not been in her plans. The Morrows believed she had been there as part of a trap for them, and that Moore and Canelo had been working with her to lure them. But then why had she saved two gang members, her supposed enemies? If her original plan had been ruined by the Aberrant, it was possible she let them go free to serve as a warning to any other Morrows still acting from hiding, but something about that theory simply did not fit. For one, there were no credible reports of her being involved in the gang battle a few days prior, and that seemed incongruous if she were truly so interested in the Morrows.

But the real source of the niggling sensation of wrongness currently plaguing Thaddeus stemmed from the "blessing" she had given Siverling—an automatic, if weak, defense against divination, accompanied by some protection against being noticed by those nearby. With what Thaddeus had deduced of her, there was no way it was anything but a message. Before that night, Sebastien's only connection to the Raven Queen, as far as Thaddeus could deduce, was actually through Thaddeus himself, as he had consulted on her investigation on multiple occasions now. Did she know that? Was the message for him?

Thaddeus tried to avoid jumping to conclusions, but there was something about the idea that felt appropriate. She seemed to be playing a game with the University and the Crowns, leaving little hints for someone like him along the way, deliberately stimulating his intrigue. But if that was the case, what did she want from him? Simply someone with the intellect to match her in her maneuvers and machinations? Or might she be more interested in his particular skill set? Did she know about his research?

Thaddeus was, after all, rather famous—both to the masses and among those who mattered, though for different reasons. Or perhaps she was interested in the most recent Gilbrathan Aberrant, the one they had named Moonsable. Its anomalous effect was weak, but Moonsable was one of the rare mutations to retain some small measure of sapience and lucidity after the break event. If that was what had led the Raven Queen to him, perhaps she did have an interest in his research after all.

Thaddeus shook himself from these thoughts as they arrived at the dim viewing room, where a few coppers and a representative from the Red Guard were already waiting. Without any real facts to find purchase on, he was spiraling. That way led to unconscious biases that would later skew his deductive abilities toward the ideas he wanted to be true rather than bare reality. Like Kuchen. Thaddeus shuddered at the idea. He hoped to gain the missing pieces of information from Canelo's interview but had his suspicions it might not be that easy.

As soon as they learned which of their students were involved in the incident, a couple of University faculty members had rushed down to the quarantine zone with a healer. Rather than show concern for Siverling, a colleague's apprentice who had manifested an anomalous effect and been attacked by the Red Guard, their interest had focused entirely on the girl. The healer had insisted that Canelo's refusal to speak stemmed from trauma and that further mental or emotional strain could lead to long-term damage or even another Aberrant. They had demanded the girl be given a calming potion to allow her to sleep, and that she return to the University for a full wellness examination before being forced to answer questions.

The Red Guard had allowed it, ostensibly because, unlike his own apprentice, she gave off no anomalous readings, and the University held a lot of power in Gilbratha. Thaddeus wondered if there were not more to it, like bribes or blackmail. Despite their oaths, members of the Red Guard were not incorruptible.

Kuchen flipped through his sheaf of loose papers, murmuring to Titus. "You asked for someone to double-check that prognos woman's assessment of the crime scene. Preliminary reports haven't found any discrepancies, though there is some argument over the method and sequence of events during the fighting that caused Mr. Moore's break."

At least Titus wasn't an idiot, which was a large reason the man was one of the few Thaddeus might consider a friend. It had escaped neither of them that the prognos had interacted with a friendly Raven Queen, meaning her testimony could be compromised.

A copper and prognos pair led Canelo into the interrogation room, while a few University faculty members joined Thaddeus and the others. The viewing room had a large example of the newly developed half-silvered mirror, also known as a one-way window. It would allow them to watch the interrogation without being seen. As long as the interrogation room remained bright, while their viewing room remained dark, anyone in the interrogation room would think it was a simple mirror. Spell arrays embedded into the stone wall would send the sound from the interrogation room through to them while keeping their own conversation secure.

The questioning started off normally, with the girl answering baseline questions about her identity and background for the prognos to better divine the truth of her words. But as soon as the first real question about the night before came up, Canelo said, "I cannot speak of it."

Everyone in the viewing room shared confused looks with each other, except the newly joined University faculty members.

Thaddeus's eyes narrowed.

Further questions were met with the same exact answer. The girl was frustrated, rocking back and forth and biting her lip, but that seemed to be the only response she could give. The interrogating copper sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Miss Canelo, I understand that the events of last night were traumatizing, but we must have your testimony."

"I cannot speak of it."

The prognos focused intently. "She believes that."

Thaddeus turned to the only people in the room who seemed fully aware of what was going on. "Do you care to explain?" he asked.

The other professor, someone from the divination department, coughed self-importantly. "Miss Canelo regained her ability to speak when the sun rose, but any attempts to question her about the events of yesterday evening yield only this one answer. It's the same for any questions involving the Raven Queen. We believe the Raven Queen placed some sort of curse or geas on her. We were able to uncover Miss Canelo's diary from her room, and there are hints that she and Moore were interested in the bounty offered for information on the Raven Queen." The man pulled a small book from his satchel and handed it to Investigator Kuchen. "Perhaps you will find it useful. I can only hope so, as I doubt our unfortunate student will be much help to you at this point."

"A cursebreaker, perhaps," Kuchen suggested.

The man nodded quickly. "We have already sent word to a faculty member who teaches the subject to upper term students. If there is any solution to the problem, we will find it, I promise you."

Thaddeus almost snorted aloud. It was a shame that the ward against untruth did not extend into the viewing room. It might at least make the man hesitate before spouting such obvious drivel. He turned to Titus. "May we speak privately?"

Titus and Kuchen followed him into the hallway while the useless interview continued, the copper trying to find any relevant question that Canelo could answer.

Titus rubbed his face with one hand, his other clenching and unclenching at his side. "I want our own cursebreaker working on her," he said to Kuchen. "No University affiliation."

Kuchen nodded quickly, making a note of it in his small notebook.

Thaddeus remained more amused than frustrated. "I doubt that journal belongs to Canelo, or that the contents are legitimate. The girl knows something they would rather keep silent. If they did not place that curse themselves, then at the least they did not try very hard to save her from it. It has had time to settle in, now. Very convenient, that the only other living being able to testify about what happened last night is the Raven Queen herself. Canelo was involved in their faction's attempt to find the Raven Queen without the coppers or Crowns knowing, I suspect. If I remember correctly, she was also on the scene when the Eagle Tower divination array was destroyed? During the false rogue magic alarm?"

Kuchen's eyes widened. "Oh, well, yes, the name does sound familiar."

Thaddeus relayed his apprentice's suspicions about Canelo's collusion with someone at the University.

Titus was unsurprised. "I didn't know the details, but I did suspect. The blood sample we were using was conveniently corrupted. If we hadn't kept some of it behind in the Harrow Hill evidence vaults, we would have been out of luck. There's not much left, but our diviners are powerful and skilled enough to work with very little. It will simply make things more difficult—and more expensive."

"How long until Eagle Tower's repairs are completed?" Thaddeus asked.

"Six to eight weeks." Titus smiled wryly. "They aren't in as much of a hurry to repair it as one might hope."

Kuchen snorted.

"Is there no other divination array you can use in the meantime?"

"None that make the expense worth it, especially when they have so little chance of success."

Thaddeus doubted they would ever find her using divination if they had not succeeded yet, but he had no incentive to offer better options. "This Crown-opposing faction is being reactionary, rather than proactive. It is more evidence against them. The person who set off the false rogue magic alarms last time knew what was going on and what copper procedure is. Either it was someone at the University, or it was one of us—one of the coppers," he clarified, motioning to the three of them despite considering himself an outside party. "The last option is that one of our organizations has a leak that the Raven Queen is taking advantage of. While I certainly would not rule that out, the evidence makes it increasingly likely that someone at the University sabotaged the previous efforts. If they have a chance, they might act against us again."

"If so, the High Crown may feel even less favorable to them," Titus said. "They are playing a dangerous game."

"What was in the book, the one she stole?" Thaddeus asked. For the University to go to such lengths—thinly veiled treason—it had to have been more valuable than Thaddeus suspected.

Titus looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Something valuable enough that we must find Siobhan Naught first."

Kuchen opened his mouth to ask further questions, perhaps an attempt to confirm his ridiculous theory, but wisely closed it without speaking.

Titus continued. "I had considered requesting the Red Guard's assistance, despite my lord father's feelings on their involvement. Perhaps, if I could convince them she is the kind of threat that requires their intervention, their particular brand of resources would allow us to find and detain her. But Father has threatened to disinherit me if I disgrace the Westbays through such a failure. Beyond the embarrassment to the coppers, ceding authority to the Red Guard could affect our future funding." He gave a wry, bitter smile.

"You would think we should all be on the same side," Kuchen commiserated.

Thaddeus nodded absently, his mind elsewhere. The book must have been valuable indeed, if some faction of the University thought it was worth making an enemy of the Crowns over. They would rather allow the Raven Queen to go free than let the Crowns have it. He wondered how many of the administrators and professors were aware of what was happening under the surface.

Whichever side ended up with the book, it did not bode well for the ongoing stability of Gilbratha, or Lenore as a whole. As long as the upheaval did not impede his research, Thaddeus did not particularly care which side won, but he was becoming more interested in whatever that archaeological expedition had uncovered. Knowledge was power, and if he was any judge, this knowledge seemed capable of shifting the balance of power significantly in favor of whichever faction got hold of it.

And at that very moment, the Raven Queen had it. The Raven Queen who was, maybe, trying to get Thaddeus's attention. "I want to see Ennis Naught," he said.

Chapter 91 - The Sun is also a Star

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 11:30 a.m.

Siobhan was struggling, desperate to escape but trapped in a body that wouldn't listen to her commands.

A bracing sting on her cheek provided a way out. She woke with a gluttonous gasp of air, bolting upright in a bed she didn't recognize—a room she didn't recognize—with someone holding her arms to her sides, restraining her!

She panicked for a good few seconds. Fighting against the shackling grip, she let out a low, panicked moan as she grasped around for her Conduit, which wasn't there—until Damien's familiar, if tired, face resolved into coherence in front of her.

He was forcibly keeping her from flailing her way off of a University infirmary bed. "Help! We need help over here!" he yelled, turning his head. "Sebastien, you're okay. You're safe," he said in a lower, soothing tone that did nothing to disguise the worry underneath.

The sound of her other name helped ground her, and she stopped struggling to escape, blinking rapidly at his reassuring grey eyes.

The healer bustled up. "Panic attack?"

"He was having a nightmare," Damien said. "I tried to wake him, but he wouldn't, so I tapped him—maybe a little too hard—on the cheek, and he woke up fighting and making these noises like he was hurt."

"'M fine," Sebastien mumbled, still panting, the crashing thump of her heart against her sternum slowing. She looked around, unable to help her paranoia, or the niggling sensation that she was seeing things that shouldn't exist out of the corner of her vision. In a way, the clear signs of panic were a relief. Her body was reliably responding to the stimuli sent by her mind, which had plenty of cause for hysteria.

"We gave him a strong calming potion along with the sedative—I'm surprised he still managed to have nightmares—but sedatives can make it harder to transition from sleeping to waking. Sometimes they cause sleepwalking and the like." The woman turned to Sebastien, pulling a vial out of the pocket of her apron "Mr. Siverling, everything is alright. You are safe in the University's infirmary. You've had a big shock, but nothing can harm you here. You need your rest to recover, so why don't I give you another calming potion, and once you're feeling better we can help you get back to sleep?"

"No!" Sebastien snapped. "No calming potions. No sedatives. Not now, not ever. Never again! I—I have a bad reaction." Professor Lacer must have transferred her to the infirmary after free-casting that sleep spell on her. With the sedatives keeping her from waking herself up, she'd been trapped inside her own mind. With her nightmares.

The woman seemed taken aback. "Oh, I'm very sorry, Mr. Siverling. It wasn't in your file. Are you allergic to any particular ingredient? The laughing poppy, perhaps? We do have alternate brews available—"

"No," Sebastien said again, more insistently. "Calming potions only with my permission, but never sedatives. Nothing that will force me to sleep."

There was an awkward pause before Damien spoke, his voice small, the tone almost childish in its hesitance. "Is that what the Aberrant did to you? Force you to sleep?"

The healer's eyes opened wide, a hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh. Oh, I'm very sorry, Mr. Siverling. It was just standard procedure—"

Sebastien ignored the woman, climbing off the bed and searching for her things. Someone had stripped her to her underclothes and dressed her in worn cotton pajamas—the standard garb for everyone admitted to the infirmary overnight, apparently, as she saw others wearing the same on their own beds.

All the bruises she had accumulated the night before were gone, and someone had cleaned her with a spell. She had the dry, irritated skin to prove it, and her fingernails were clean of the blood that had been crusting their edges. Agent Vernor had noticed and taken a swab, but Sebastien had explained that she must have accidentally touched some of the blood on the floor. It wasn't nearly enough evidence to suspect her of being the one who'd healed Chief, or whatever the maimed Morrow man's name was.

Thaddeus Lacer being Sebastien's Master probably had a lot to do with how accommodating the Red Guard had been. Perhaps, without him, she would have found herself locked in a windowless cell in Harrow Hill for the investigation process, and overall much less likely to fool them.

Sebastien's belongings were tucked under the bed, and a quick perusal showed that nothing seemed to be missing. Her right boot still had the black star sapphire Conduit in it, though it had fallen into the toe. She didn't mention it, and could only hope that no one had noticed it when they were undressing her. "Leave," she ordered.

The healer, who had still been babbling about something, quieted, staring at her.

"I want to get dressed," Sebastien explained.

"You need to stay at least another twenty-four hours for observation," the woman argued. "Professor Lacer indicated you might be in danger of Will-strain from your…ordeal."

"I'm fine. Staying in this place certainly won't improve my mental health. I just want to leave."

The healer still hesitated, so Sebastien turned to Damien. "Please." As manipulations went, it was clumsy at best, but it had the desired effect.

Damien turned toward the healer and crossed his arms. "I'll handle any paperwork."

"But Professor Lacer—"

"Can talk to me if he has any complaints. Feel free to tell him I said so, if he asks. As Mr. Siverling here is an adult, you cannot by Crown law keep him against his will even under the suggestion of a professor, unless he is deemed likely to be a danger to others. I will ensure Sebastien gets the rest he needs in a place where he will be more comfortable. Really, sleeping in the open with only a curtain for privacy? And can you even call this slab a bed? Unacceptable."

As they left to handle the paperwork, Damien's complaints continuing on, Sebastien drew the curtains around her, using the privacy to do a more thorough check of her belongings as she got dressed. Even the thin, broken bracelets she had taken off Newton were still in her pocket. 'Thank the stars above no one decided to do a little snooping while I was insensate. I'll need to have a conversation with Professor Lacer about respecting my boundaries, no matter what he holds over my head. This cannot happen again.'

Damien returned, standing outside the curtain while Sebastien struggled to fasten her many buttons with fingers that were slow and clumsy from the lingering sedative. "Professor Lacer got you a pass from class and homework that is good until this coming Wednesday, so you can take your time to recuperate."

A surprising wave of relief ran through Sebastien. "Okay. Good. I'm leaving." She stepped out, settling the strap of her satchel on her shoulder. Its weight made her want to give up and lie down again. The black sapphire Conduit was hidden again in her boot, and her borrowed celerium Conduit in an easily accessible pocket. Professor Lacer's jacket was folded on the bedside table, and after a moment of hesitation, she left it there.

"Leaving? From the infirmary?"

"From the University."

"For good?" Damien asked, aghast.

"No, of course not. Until Wednesday. You can give my pass to the professors, right?" A mere week seemed inadequate.

Damien's fingers flexed, as if he were trying to hold onto control of the situation. "Um, I'm not sure if you're allowed to just leave? Students are required to live in the dorms."

"I'm leaving," she repeated. "I will be back on Wednesday. The faculty will simply have to accept it, and if they feel like punishing me somehow upon my return, so be it." She couldn't stand the thought of being stuck in the dormitories, listening to the gossip, trying to rest in a tiny little room without a proper door or ceiling, surrounded by curious imbeciles.

Damien's bloodshot eyes tracked over her face. "If you want, you can stay at my house. The Westbay estate has plenty of servants to look after you, and an impressive library. I'm sure my brother won't mind, and my father is away, so you wouldn't have to worry about him."

Sebastien realized suddenly that Damien had either been up all night or had been crying sometime before she awoke. The puffy eyebags would indicate tears, but then again, he always looked like that, even after a full night's sleep. His nose wasn't red, and he wasn't sniffling or hoarse, but that only meant he'd stopped long enough ago for the symptoms to clear, or that he'd used a spell to hasten the process. Either way, she forced herself to relax a bit, unclenching her jaw and nodding at him. He was worried and only wanted to help her. There was no need to be rude. "Thank you, but no. I have a place to go."

Damien looked like he wanted to question her further, but he restrained himself. "If you're sure… You really would be very comfortable at Westbay Manor. You could be alone as much as you want. No idiots to irritate you, and you can even order the servants around."

One side of her mouth quirked up in a small smile, but she shook her head silently, striding toward the door.

Damien followed.

As they exited the infirmary, the cold hit Sebastien like a blow, and she hunched into herself, holding in an exhausted moan.

"When the rogue magic sirens went off, I asked for a carriage back to the University right away," Damien said. "Then my bracelet, the one you made for Newton to warn us, it got so cold. I kept waiting for the one linked to you to get cold, too, but it didn't. And I thought maybe that was a good sign, but when I got back, you were gone. I checked the dorms, the library, even the Menagerie. Tanya and Newton were both gone, too, so I knew something had happened. I didn't tell anyone to send help, because I didn't know if that would just make things worse. I went to the gates to watch for you, or for some sign of something wrong in the city, like the gang battle last time. They tried to send me back to bed, but I wouldn't listen. I actually got a demerit!"

Damien laughed wryly, then continued, speaking even faster. "I overheard a professor say a student had been involved with the Aberrant's break, and I tried to ask them for details, but they wouldn't tell me anything. Then Professor Lacer arrived, and he was floating your unconscious body in the air beside himself. I thought maybe you were dead."

Damien shuddered as he stared off into the distance. "You looked so pale. But he took you to the infirmary. You were just asleep, and he was worried about possible Will-strain…" Damien swallowed, looking at her. "He said you'd experienced a traumatizing event. But he still wouldn't tell me any details, even though he knows we're friends."

The dorms were thankfully empty, all the students away in class. Sebastien had left her own wool jacket at the Silk Door, along with the male outfit she'd been wearing, but she would have to retrieve that later. She began to bundle up in the warmest clothes she had remaining.

Damien watched her for a while, then continued updating her on what had happened in her absence. "They brought Tanya Canelo back, but they didn't keep her in the main infirmary room, so I didn't get a chance to talk with her. She looked…horrible. Worse than you, even. The coppers came and escorted her away this morning. And Newton didn't come back at all. Is he…"

Sebastien stilled, her scarf halfway wrapped around her neck. "Newton is dead," she said softly.

Damien rocked back on his heels, his eyes fluttering closed as if she had struck him. "What happened? Did Canelo…"

Sebastien shook her head, her throat tightening. Her shadow-familiar had been meant to draw away attention, but it had instead drawn too much attention. Too much fear. Perhaps, if not for her, Newton wouldn't have lost control and broken. There would have been no strings, no people dead…except for herself, fallen to the Morrows. Sebastien swallowed heavily past the lump in her throat, feeling dizzy. She lifted a hand to her forehead, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

When she opened her eyes, Damien had stepped closer, his hand raised halfway, ready to support her. "I am…restricted from speaking of the details." She gave him a significant look, hoping he would get the hint.

"You had to make a magical vow. To the Red Guard?"

Hesitantly, she nodded. Nothing stopped her from doing so, though she felt some resistance.

"Did the Aberrant kill Newton?"

She rubbed her dry lips together. "Not…exactly."

Damien let out a harsh, ragged breath. "Newton was the Aberrant?"

She nodded again, more shallowly because she could feel the magic of the vow restricting her. In the eyes of the spell, Damien must not know enough for her to communicate with him freely. And whatever that skull had done, this vow was based around compulsion, not the threat of punishment. 'I wonder how strong the compulsion is, how far I can push it?' She hesitated before attempting to tell Damien everything, however. Partially because she worried the Red Guard might somehow learn of her unfaithfulness—she had no idea how that artifact worked, after all—and partially because she was simply too fatigued to make the effort. "I'm sorry. I'm really unable to talk about it. If you want details, Professor Lacer knows most of it, though not about the order of no name or our longer-running surveillance of Tanya. You might be able to get more information if you pester him."

"Are you…are we safe?"

"As far as I know, yes. But you'll want to avoid acting suspiciously. And give me the bracelet—the one Newton triggered." The one she had triggered while removing evidence from Newton's metamorphosed body.

Damien did as she asked, and she tucked it into her pocket with the others, trying to remember if there was anything else waiting to cause problems. She could think of nothing, though in her current state she wasn't entirely reassured by that.

"Did Newton die because of us?" Damien asked, visibly bracing himself for the answer. "Because we brought him in to watch Tanya?"

Sebastien hesitated. "We never lied to him," she said instead of answering. "If a copper dies on the job, is it the fault of the person who hired him? Even if he took the more dangerous mission voluntarily, when he didn't have to?"

Damien didn't look away from her gaze. "Maybe. If that person should never have been hired. If they weren't cut out for the job, and then didn't get proper training."

She nodded. "Then maybe." She turned to leave, but Damien stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

She hesitated. "You can get out—of the pact we made, of the secret group—if you want. Your oath of secrecy for anything that's passed would remain, but you wouldn't be involved in anything further." This could be a dangerous tipping point for him. If he withdrew, it might solve some of her problems, but she felt ambivalent about the idea. Without him, she would be even more alone in all this. She hadn't realized it, but his alliance—his friendship—had become a pillar of support, despite the potential trouble he represented.

Damien frowned at her. "No, I—that's not what I meant." He shook his head. "I'm not quitting the thirteen-pointed star. This is…horrible, but I'm not giving up or running away. I just want to know what our next step is, now that something like this has happened. Are we going to be sanctioned by the higher-ups? Do we keep watching Tanya? Do we get transferred to another mission? What is happening?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't think we'll be disciplined." After all, aside perhaps from Oliver, their little organization didn't actually have any higher-ups to reprimand them. "I don't know if we'll keep watching Tanya or not. Whatever we do, it will be with more precautions now that everything's gone to shit. As for the rest, the generalities? We keep going." She pressed her fingers to her mouth, resisting the sudden and irrational urge to claw at her lips. She didn't want to be saying any of this, not the lies, and especially not any plans to keep going down the path that got Newton killed. "We get stronger, and smarter. More powerful. If you don't know what you need to solve your problems, Damien, seize power. True power can be converted into almost anything else." Her grandfather had told her that, long ago. She occasionally remembered the advice, usually when everything was going wrong. As always, it seemed truer than ever. If she'd been more powerful, perhaps she would've had other options last night.

"That's it? Just…" Damien trailed off, shaking his head. He looked like a lost child.

Sebastien softened. Gracelessly, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him in what was probably the most awkward hug either of them had ever experienced. She didn't normally like to touch people, and he obviously hadn't been expecting it. "Sometimes we fail. That doesn't mean we were wrong to try." She fumbled for words, but pressed on. "Do you remember observing the night sky during the acceptance ritual? Sometimes it's too clouded to see the stars, but the sun is also a star, and its light reaches us through even the heaviest storm. We take responsibility for the things within our grasp, and we keep going. Otherwise what was it worth? What was it all for?"

She didn't know if what she was saying made any sense. She didn't even know if she believed it. But she pulled back and kept her gaze locked on Damien's, trying to imbue it with the sense of stability that she felt so little of.

He was trembling slightly, but he steeled himself, straightening. "Okay."

She hesitated, then said, "We can do something for Newton even if he's not here. He had a family. He cared about them a lot."

Damien pressed his lips together, his eyes growing glassy as he nodded quickly. "Yes."

She felt awkward about leaving Damien when he was so obviously emotionally compromised, but she wanted to stay in the dorms even less. She had to get away. "Maybe you should go home to Westbay Manor for a couple of days," she said.

Damien gave her a one-shouldered shrug.

With another uncomfortable squeeze of his shoulder, Sebastien walked away, leaving Damien standing alone in the dorms behind her. Her words of comfort to Damien rang hollow in her ears, and she hugged herself, pressing her fingers into her arms until her joints ached and the dull pain of a future bruise bloomed beneath her skin.

She took the tubes down the side of the white cliffs and hailed a carriage, heedless of the cost. "Take me to Dryden Manor," she told the driver.

Chapter 92 - She Who Brings the Night

Thaddeus

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 8:15 a.m.

Titus's eyebrows rose at Thaddeus's sudden request for access to the Raven Queen's father, but he waved his hand magnanimously. "Of course. We have gone through every method possible to find the holes in his story but have been unsuccessful thus far. Have you been inspired with a new angle we might try?"

"I need to see all the records on his questioning and the examination reports, from the beginning," Thaddeus said instead of answering.

"I am to report to the High Crown later today. Please let me know if you find anything of interest, Thaddeus. I would like to be able to give him at least some positive news."

Thaddeus agreed, and Titus assigned Kuchen to accompany him to the records room. Two hours later, Thaddeus had pored through every report in the Raven Queen's investigation file, which held little that he did not already know, or at least suspect. Ennis Naught was telling the truth, even if they didn't want to accept that.

The coppers had made no obvious mistakes or oversights, but some piece of the puzzle had to be missing. If Ennis Naught was telling the truth about his daughter, then she could not be the Raven Queen. They had searched for signs that the man's memory had been tampered with and found none, though that sort of thing could be subtle. Naught believed, and it seemed to be true, that he had a daughter, and that daughter was the same person who came to Gilbratha with him. He believed he had stolen the book on a whim, out of anger.

And yet, they had first-hand reports of the Raven Queen's exploits. Multiple acquaintances they had tracked down from her childhood confirmed that she matched Siobhan Naught's appearance. Except, of course, for the new reports of her growing red and black feathers and the Nightmare Pack's resident prognos insistence that she was an inhuman being.

From that, Thaddeus would normally assume that Siobhan Naught's identity had been stolen, and the real girl's bones were being picked bare by insects somewhere. To test this, the coppers had gotten permission to do a lineage test using some of Ennis Naught's hair, attempting to see if he had any living descendants. The divination spell, which took weeks to produce results, had shown several, though the results could be quite unreliable. Apparently, the man had impregnated multiple women across the country during his lifetime, though Siobhan was the only legitimate offspring, and the only one the elder Naught was aware of. The spell only suggested the existence of others bearing his bloodline; it did not allow the coppers to track down any of his children without clearer knowledge of who they were. A separate spell had been used on the drop of recovered blood to confirm that the Raven Queen was one of them.

While that would normally have been conclusive evidence, in this case Thaddeus still withheld judgment. Something felt off about the whole thing. Some pieces of evidence fit together using some theories, but with no theory did all the pieces fit together.

That the Raven Queen had contacted Ennis Naught twice since the theft and his subsequent incarceration only increased the ambiguity. Though the reasons Naught had reported for the visits were suspect, they hinted that the Raven Queen, whether or not she had ever truly been Siobhan Naught, felt some sort of connection to him. Thaddeus considered the possibility that her attempts to contact the man were more purposefully laid clues—or red herrings meant to send the investigators chasing their own tails—but was also conscious of the ever-present risk of over-attributing canniness and purpose to the Raven Queen, a bias too many had already proven susceptible to.

No, there was something they were missing. Thaddeus read the investigation note about Ennis Naught apparently having given an heirloom celerium ring to one of the Gervin Family's branch lines, as a bond for his daughter's…marriage into the Family—as long as she brought the stolen book along with her, of course.

Thaddeus almost laughed aloud at the Gervin Family's audacity. The Gervins had acted quickly, before the full extent of what they were dealing with had become clear, and, luckily for them, had not had a chance to follow through on the agreement. Even if the Raven Queen herself did not cow them, the High Crown might not look kindly upon what could be seen as subversion of a criminal investigation, or even a direct attempt to weaken his authority.

Still, Thaddeus made a note to tell Titus to keep an eye on them. Even if they were not planning to reach above their station, they might be a future target for the Raven Queen if she truly had an interest in that Conduit. Hells, she could have already stolen it without them realizing, if the rumors about her skills were even partially true.

He noted that the coppers who had been attacked by her shadow-creature companion were showing no lingering side effects except for the occasional nightmare, which could just as well have been caused by stress. The warehouse workers who had given her drops of their blood seemed healthy as of the last time they had been called to Harrow Hill for a follow-up.

Thaddeus also noted her amicable connections to both the Verdant Stag and the Nightmare Pack. The leader of the Verdant Stag was a metaphorical ghost, only ever appearing in a mask and leaving most of the operations to his underlings, but Lynwood of the Nightmare Pack was accessible. However, the reports stated that he simply refused to testify to the coppers, even when they brought him in to stay the night in a cell. The Nightmare Pack prognos had mentioned that the Raven Queen gave them a boon. What had she given, and what had she gotten in return? Was this the same method by which the Verdant Stag had become allied with her?

Having gleaned all he could from the reports, Thaddeus retrieved Kuchen, who was to give him access to Ennis Naught's cell. Thaddeus would rather have spoken to the prisoner alone, but he did not have the clearance, and records had to be kept.

Thaddeus wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the cell. Naught's chamber pot had not been emptied, and the cell smelled of acrid urine, feces, and a rancid buildup of sweat and grime from the unwashed man himself.

Naught huddled in a corner atop the thin cot, wrapped in his blanket. He looked nothing like his daughter. She was supposedly ochre-skinned with long dark hair, evidence of her heritage from the People, northern nomads who still practiced some of their old, esoteric magics. That was to say nothing of sprouting feathers or missing irises.

Thaddeus's eyes narrowed as they trailed over the man's pale skin, red hair and unkempt beard. Pale, watery eyes gave away the soft mind behind them. Thaddeus felt an idea stirring in the back of his mind, too immature to grasp yet.

"I'm not talking any more without food," Naught announced with hoarse petulance. "And none o' that porridge. I want meat, fresh bread, and cheese."

Thaddeus debated the effort it would require to threaten the man into compliance, but another waft of the unwashed stench coming off him made Thaddeus decide on the easier route. He turned to Kuchen, who was holding his handkerchief over his face, but not coughing into it for once.

Kuchen nodded to one of the guards, who headed off toward the cafeteria.

"And an apple!" Naught called after him excitedly.

Thaddeus eyed the room's only chair with distaste. Pulling out his Conduit and one of the beast cores he always kept on his person, he cast a quick scouring spell on it. The wood splintered a little under the force, but the magic left it clean enough to sit on. He gestured toward the ceiling, and a small, bright ball of light appeared there, illuminating the room.

Naught squinted against the sudden brightness. "I suppose you're 'ere to ask more questions about that ungrateful girl?"

"Siobhan. Your daughter," Thaddeus corrected immediately, with an unexpected surge of irritation.

Naught merely squinted at him silently.

"She had some training as a sorcerer, yes? From her grandfather?" Thaddeus asked.

"The girl was apprenticed to 'im when she turned eleven. Taught 'er a few useful tricks before 'e died a couple years later. I came back for 'er—took me a while to find her—and then she lived with me for six years, on the road, making 'erself useful with 'er thaumaturgy before I brought 'er to Gilbratha so she could attend the University and become a real sorcerer like she always wanted. I've told you all this so many times. She wasn't acting strange, she was just excited, nervous. She didn't make me take that book, though I dearly wish she 'ad so you would just let me go. I don't know anything about this Raven Queen, but more'n likely the girl's just playing tricks on you, smoke and mirrors and the like. Maybe she made some powerful friends. She was on the road with me and picked up the bad with the good, you see."

"Her grandfather, did he have any connections to anyone suspicious?"

"Who knows? The man kept to 'imself, out in the woods near a small village. Didn't talk about 'is past. I didn't spend much time with 'im. We didn't get on, truth be told. Old Kal didn't much like me marrying 'is daughter—thought I wasn't good enough, not being a sorcerer. Made me take Miakoda's last name, marry into the People instead of 'er marrying out."

"Miakoda—your wife. What was this Kal's full name?" Thaddeus asked quickly.

"Raz Kalvidasan. Mean old piece o' jerky."

Thaddeus frowned, the name sparking a connection that he couldn't quite remember. He repeated it aloud. "Raz Kalvidasan," then again, with a slight accent. "Raaz Kalvidasan. He was a foreigner? Not one of the People?"

Ennis's eyebrows rose. "Yeah. 'e adopted my wife when she was young. 'ow did you know?"

Thaddeus turned to Kuchen. "The grandfather's name literally means 'secretive learned one,' or something like that. I was never fluent, and it has been years. You will want someone to look into him." It was interesting that a foreigner had held the bloodline of the People in such high regard. He turned back to Naught. "Tell me about the circumstances of this Raaz Kalvidasan's death."

"Oh, it was bad. Everyone in the village died. The Red Guard came in, I 'eard. Of course, I wasn't there at the time. I only got word of it later, and that's when I came back for Siobhan. The village was gone. Couldn't find the girl for weeks, maybe months."

Well, that was rather interesting.

Kuchen flipped through the papers on his clipboard. "You didn't tell us this! We have it that a plague wiped out the village where she lived as a child."

"I didna' say it was a plague. I said everyone died, and your interrogator didna' seem so interested," the man said, his brogue growing stronger with spite.

"You should have realized we would be interested in this! It could be valuable information." Kuchen's voice broke under the strain of his outrage, and he was reduced to yet another fit of wet coughing.

Did the coppers not pay the man enough to see a healer? Thaddeus dropped the light spell long enough to cast a cleansing spell through the air. He did not want to catch whatever the investigator had, being confined in a small area with all his germs.

Naught seemed temporarily cowed by the flicker of the light and the feel of sterilization magic rushing past him, but recovered quickly. "I've told you plenty I didn't 'ave to, and look where all that cooperation's gotten me." Naught turned his head and spat on the floor.

Disgusting.

Kuchen was coughing too hard to retort, but he sent his best glare over the top of his handkerchief.

"Continue with what you were saying," Thaddeus said, motioning impatiently at Naught.

"Hmph. Well, I finally picked Siobhan up in a village a couple days over. She was in the local gaol for stealing and beating the baker's son. Almost tied a knot in my tongue talking 'er out of that little fix. She was…different, for a long while. A real burden, truth be told, but she was too young to marry off, and who would 'ave a girl like that, even if she was pretty? Wouldna' talk, wouldna' practice magic, couldna' sleep."

Thaddeus leaned forward with interest.

Naught continued, his gaze going soft and vacant with memory. "I'm no monster, to just abandon my own daughter, so I took 'er around, looking for someone who could fix 'er. Took maybe two years. Drove me to poverty. She didn't start acting normal again until she learned there was a spell that could ward off nightmares. And just like that, she was back talking and running around, practicing all those little magic tricks until I had to beg 'er to stop. After that, though, she made 'erself useful wherever we went. Saved my bacon a couple times, truth be told. The girl never talks about those times, and I kinda got in the 'abit of avoiding those memories, too. But I'll tell you right now, the Raven Queen didna' replace my daughter when she was thirteen. I lived with the girl for six years after that. I watched 'er grow up. I would've noticed."

Thaddeus leaned forward with fascination. "Do you know any more about the reason the Red Guard was called in at that time? Was it an Aberrant?"

"No idea. The whole thing was cleared by the time I arrived. Village was empty. Only 'eard rumors from the surrounding villages, and of course the Red Guard was no 'elp. Told me my daughter was probably dead and burned. But I wouldna' believe them. And I was right. Took me a while, but I found 'er. Little scrapper, she was," Naught said with sudden fondness.

"We will request their records," Kuchen assured Thaddeus.

Thaddeus nodded absently, still staring at Naught. "What about the girl's mother? Your wife?"

Naught's face went slack with nostalgia. "Miakoda was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. Tall, shapely"—his hands drew an hourglass shape in the air—"and a tongue like a barbed whip. She was a witch with a demon familiar."

"A demon? A humanoid, sapient being from the Plane of Fire?" Thaddeus clarified. People often used the word incorrectly to refer to any creature from the Plane of Fire, and sometimes even the other Elemental Planes.

Naught nodded. "Yes. Named Paimon. Just a little guy, most of the time." He held his hand about a foot above the ground. "Powerful, though, and the funniest little tyke you ever saw. The creature was always getting into trouble or offending someone by making rude gestures or blowing smoke in their face. Liked to eat his food raw—cooked it in 'is mouth. 'E slept in the fireplace."

"Miakoda sounds like a powerful witch. She died when Siobhan was young, you said?"

Naught deflated, the humor fading from his face. "Yes. That's when Kal took little Siobhan in."

"How did it happen?"

"We were with a caravan, traveling down to Paneth for a show, and to pick up some supplies for Kal. There was a storm, a bad one, and we were looking for shelter." Naught swallowed heavily, going silent.

Kuchen looked up from his notes. "It was a roc, correct?"

Naught blew out a slow, rancid breath and nodded. "Blown our way by the storm. An angry, mean bastard, so big its wings blocked out the sky when it swooped down on us, like the sails of a death-ship. It picked up one of the wagons first, then flew up and dropped it on us. Killed a couple people and spooked the horses something 'orrible. That's when Miakoda and Paimon went to fight it. I tried to stop 'em. They couldn't stand up to the roc and the storm both. She was flinging the flames about, with Paimon as big as a giant. Little guy died protecting Miakoda and the rest of us…and she went crazy."

Naught's voice was low, haunted and compelling. "She screamed so loud, 'er voice all filled with magic, it blew the roc into the ground. Then she struck it with lightning. The light of it blinded me. When I could see again, she was walking away calm as you please, and the roc was smoking on the ground behind her, dead. She told me we 'ad to go back right away, that the trip was off. I thought she was just distraught at the loss of little Paimon, but something was wrong." Naught tapped his temple. "Wrong in here. She broke something. We got back to the village, and she went straight to Kal, but even 'e couldn't save 'er."

"Will-strain leading to death," Kuchen said, nodding. "Most likely an aneurism."

"No," Naught shook his head. "It was the magic. She killed herself with casting magic."

"That is how Will-strain occurs," Kuchen said slowly, as if talking to a child.

Thaddeus stood, tingles of electric excitement flushing through his fingertips. "Explain."

"It's why Kal didn't want her marrying me, isn't it?" Naught said with a shrug. "The pure Naught bloodline was too good for me, supposedly. But all it did was keep 'er alive a little longer after she lost Paimon. It couldn't save her from the sickness in her head. She just kept casting, even when she didn't need to, even when she knew what it would do to her, just for the pleasure of it. She didn't care about me or little Siobhan anymore, only the magic. I didn't see 'er when she died. Kal said it was a mercy. I wouldna' recognize 'er corpse, and…" Naught shuddered and fell silent. "Well. I left Siobhan with Kal, after that. But my girl knows better than to cast without her Conduit. I—I shouldn't 'ave given the ring to those Gervin Family people. She needs it, now, and what if something happens to 'er, like with Miakoda, because she doesn't 'ave it?" Naught buried his face in his knees, pulling the ratty blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Thaddeus was too busy with his own elation to pay attention to the man. Siobhan Naught. Naught. Perhaps a variant on "Null?" He had heard rumors, of course, about those who were born with the traits of a Null, yet still able to cast magic. How they could resist the madness that came with casting through their own flesh and blood. It was clear enough that they were more than children's tales, but he had thought all those with that particular mutation gone hundreds, if not thousands, of years before. Resistance was not complete negation, after all, and they were a powerful potential threat to enemy and ally alike.

Perhaps the Naughts had managed to slip through the cracks, the secrecy of the People keeping them out of modern records, maintaining their abilities through careful breeding, or even inbreeding.

Or, perhaps the Blood Emperor's experiments had not been so fruitless, after all.

This changed everything.

Chapter 93 - In the Still of the Morning

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 21, Thursday 1:15 p.m.

When Sebastien arrived at Dryden Manor, Sharon took one look at her and bustled out of the kitchen to grab her arm as if afraid she was about to fall over. "Mr. Siverling! Oh, you look absolutely wretched! Thomas!" Sharon called to the servant who had opened the door for Sebastien, her voice loud despite them all standing within a few feet of each other. "Take Mr. Siverling's things up to his room," she commanded. "And you come into the kitchen, dear," she said to Sebastien more quietly. "I'll get you fed with something warm."

"No need. I was just going to have a nap. I've been granted leave from the University for a few days."

"Nonsense! How long has it been since you ate? And something good, not that University cafeteria slop." Before Sebastien could answer, Sharon was divesting her of her jacket and bags and dragging her into the kitchen by her arm.

Sebastien sat at the kitchen table, nursing the steaming cup of tea that had been thrust into her hands while Sharon bustled about, chattering. She set a loaded plate of food in front of Sebastien and sat across from her, suddenly silent. She sipped her own cup of tea and shot Sebastien subtle, inviting looks.

Sebastien ignored the encouragement toward conversation. She didn't want to talk. However, despite being sure she wasn't hungry, she ended up clearing the whole plate, and felt better afterward. The weight in her belly acted as a stabilizing anchor. Her fingers felt warm for the first time since…before.

With the feeling of weight and substance causing her to move even slower, Sebastien trudged up the stairs to her room, which was pleasantly toasty from the roaring fireplace. Her magical plants were in the window, a light crystal shining on the sempervivum apricus to give it more brightness, but neither looked healthy.

With a sigh drawn up from deep inside her like the last gasp of a dying man, Sebastien watered the wilting mandrake root, humming a half-remembered lullaby from her childhood to it while she tickled the leaves. Mandrakes appreciated music and being petted, according to the Comprehensive Compendium of Components. The sempervivum apricus, she took out of the window and set on a chair, settling light crystals pilfered from the various light fixtures in her room and the hallway atop the dirt. 'That is a ridiculous amount of secondhand sunlight. Hopefully enough to rejuvenate it.' The pot was too bright to look at without squinting, so she covered the whole chair with a thick winter blanket, draping it over and around the pot to contain the light.

Having done what she could to keep her magical components alive, Sebastien finally took off her shoes and outer clothing. She touched a finger to the skin of her chest, wincing. There was a distinctly medallion-shaped freeze burn there, from when her grandfather's artifact had sucked up warmth to deflect the fireball the Morrow man had shot at her.

One of the infirmary healers had put a salve on it while she was unconscious, which made her frown with a renewed feeling of violation. It was their job, of course, and better they be too thorough than miss a dangerous wound for privacy's sake, but she didn't like the idea of someone manhandling and casting magic on her while she slept.

Sebastien dug through her school satchel for the basic supplies she always kept on hand, using some burn paste and a dab of thick juice squeezed from one of the sempervivum apricus's leaves on the skin. She would like to avoid a medallion-shaped scar.

With the strongest dreamless sleep spell she could manage and an alarm on her pocket watch to wake her up in a few hours, she crawled into bed.

Huddling underneath the blankets, she clasped her Conduit between her hands, fingers laced together. "I'm in control," she murmured to herself. "I'm in control." She repeated it until her eyelids grew heavy and her tongue clumsy.

She slept, woke, and slept again.

When the fire had long died out and the faint rays of dawn were painting the rolling fog outside her window in pastel hues, the mattress shifted under her. She blinked crusty eyes open, her hand gripping the Conduit, which had slipped under her pillow, in confusion and alarm.

Oliver looked down at her from where he had perched on the edge of her mattress, a glass of liquid in his hands. He looked almost as tired as she felt. "Hey," he said softly. "You've been sleeping for a while. I brought you something to stave off dehydration."

She pushed herself up, taking the glass from him. Honeyed water. She downed the whole thing, gasping for air as she handed it back to him, and then wiped the back of her arm against her mouth. "Thank you," she croaked.

"You're alright?"

"Fine. Just…tired."

"When you set off the alarm, Katerin and I happened to be in a meeting with Lynwood and his sister, Gera. It was very lucky. Gera used Katerin's bracelet to track you. I couldn't check for myself that you were okay without raising suspicion. I told Gera to let you know that if the coppers arrested you, as long as you could remain as Sebastien, I would find a way to get you free."

Sebastien shook her head. "Gera didn't get a chance to tell me. We weren't alone. But she did help deflect suspicion off me—with the Raven Queen as a scapegoat." She smiled wryly at the irony. "They now believe the Raven Queen can give blessings, one of which is some sort of anti-divination effect."

"Clever."

Sebastien let out a sputtering laugh. "Gera pulled so much stuff out of her ass, I almost couldn't believe what I was listening to. It was great. I mean, at this point even if someone met Siobhan Naught dancing naked in the street, they would think she's a little too normal to possibly be the Raven Queen."

Oliver didn't return her mirth, his voice remaining careful and soft. "She told me your friend died. Newton Moore? I recognized the name—you'd mentioned him to me before."

Sebastien's throat stiffened, her smile disintegrating. "I am restricted from talking about the details."

"I assumed. The Red Guard likes to keep their work out of the ears of the public. But I know what happened, broadly, and you can talk about how it affected you."

She stared at him silently for a while. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Whatever you want. There's a reason you've been sleeping for the last sixteen hours, and as far as I know it's not because of lingering anomalous effects."

She closed her eyes. "I hate sleeping more than anything, Oliver. I'm just…too tired to do anything else. I have been trying so hard, for what feels like a really long time, and then this happened and… I just cannot keep going. I feel like I've been frantically juggling balls, and before I really got the hang of it another would drop out of the sky and I would have to add it to the rotation, throwing the balls higher and higher and moving faster and faster. But now I've dropped them all, and they've scattered everywhere. It seems like an impossible effort to find them and get them back up in the air again."

She opened her eyes to see him nodding slowly in the pre-dawn light. "That makes sense. What else?" he asked.

She hesitated again, but finally said, "This isn't the first time I've seen someone die, you know that. But this… When an Aberrant is created, it's the loosed magic itself that turns against you, that kills you and uses your body as fuel to create something else in your place. Magic…it is not our friend. It is a rabid beast that we leash to our wills, and it uses every mistake as a chance to kill its master and break free again."

"And you're a sorcerer. It could happen to you," he deduced.

"Or to one of my classmates, or to you, or to some random person walking down the street. And when it does, it could kill everyone around it in passing." She needed magic, she even loved it, but this was a visceral reminder that she feared it, too, and for good reason.

She had gotten lucky with Newton. He wasn't particularly strong before losing control, she had been intimately familiar with the spell he was casting, and the Aberrant happened to manifest in a way that didn't kill them all immediately and that could be defended against. It had been a confluence of fortunate coincidences. That wasn't always the case. "I just wonder how the world hasn't already fallen into ruin. It seems like we as a society are perpetually on the brink of a cataclysmic event. And if something worse happened, it's likely I wouldn't be able to do anything about it, or even save myself."

Oliver's hand moved, like he wanted to take hers, but in the end he only said, "Magic is dangerous. You don't have to worry about me losing control, but it is, in general, a valid fear. That's why we have the Red Guard, and they are very good at their job. The world was around for a long time before you were born, and yet somehow we survived until now." One side of his mouth twitched up in a tentative smile. "For the remainder of your concerns, I suppose you must do what you can to decrease your risk—like sleeping when you need it—and then ask yourself if the remaining danger of being a thaumaturge is worth it."

"It is," she said immediately. It had never been in question, really, but saying it aloud settled something inside her.

His smile grew larger. "Well then. Come down to breakfast."

Sebastien still wasn't hungry, but she didn't protest. After eating, which sapped what little energy she had gathered, she slept again for a few hours.

When she awoke, the streets below were busy, and the sun had burned off the fog of the early morning. For the first time in a while, she took out her grimoire, lightly running her fingers over its leather cover and slightly ragged pages. Her grandfather had helped her create it when she turned thirteen. It held a deceptive number of pages, was encrypted to allow access to only her, and held her accumulated knowledge of magic and sketches of the interesting places she'd been and things she'd seen.

She flipped through the pages from the beginning, chuckling at her younger self's awkward handwriting, occasional misspelling, and excitement at the basic fundamentals of sorcery. She had been so cute and innocent. She'd actually learned quite a lot over the years, despite lacking a formal teacher after her grandfather, but much of it was the type of thing that would be useful to small rural villages or while traveling. She knew many minor healing concoctions, spells to keep a chicken laying eggs, and how to ward off erlkings and bogles.

Sebastien had stopped updating her grimoire frequently just a few days into her stay at the University, as she got too busy to keep up with the rest of her work. Now, she took out her fountain pen, filled the internal cartridge with ink, and began to write. Her thoughts and many, many questions spilled out onto the page, along with some of the more interesting lessons she'd learned at the University. She didn't push this process, allowing herself breaks whenever her hand hurt or she grew bored.

It took days.

Her appetite returned, and as she sat at the window, watching the rhythms of the city in between bouts of writing in her grimoire, she slowly lost the overwhelming desire to sleep. The occasional spark of irrepressible excitement filled her as she explained the magic she'd learned to the grimoire, and she realized just how much she'd improved in the last few months.

Oliver was so busy she only saw him in passing a few times, but she didn't try to ask if he needed help. She hadn't replenished enough to spare even a fraction of herself.

She woke early Thursday morning, for the first time in the last week not feeling like she wanted to go directly back to sleep, and slipped down to the kitchen as the sun rose. When breakfast was ready, she imbued two cups of Oliver's expensive coffee with wakefulness intent and took a tray filled with food up to his office, where he was already working.

Oliver cleared a spot on his overflowing desk before grasping the cup of coffee from her like a man stranded in the desert might take a canteen of water. His clothes were rumpled, his hair slightly greasy, and his eyes ringed by dark circles. He still smiled in greeting, and it seemed genuine, though that might have been more for the coffee than for her.

"I'm going back to the University today. I wanted to talk with you a little before I left," Sebastien said.

Oliver nodded silently, his mouth busy with gulping down dark, steaming liquid.

"Did the…incident cause problems?"

He let out a deep sigh as he set down the empty mug. "The Aberrant was in Nightmare Pack territory, so despite the appearance of the Raven Queen, the coppers haven't had much to go on when questioning my people. There is increased scrutiny, however, and there have been attempts to insert an undercover agent into our operations. Nothing we cannot handle. I did have to make some concessions to Lynwood, both for the Pack's help obfuscating the issue and for causing such a significant disturbance in their territory."

Sebastien cringed. "What concessions?"

Oliver waved a hand indifferently, speaking around a bite of the omelet Sharon had cooked him. "Nothing critical. I don't hold you responsible. Sometimes things just go wrong… And sometimes things blow up and cause a shit tornado. It could have been worse. You kept some of the residents from dying, at least, and this whole incident has done more than a little to reduce resistance among those who weren't so pleased with our presence in the new territory. No one wants an angry visit from the Raven Queen."

Sebastien grimaced, then let out a resigned sigh. "That's something, I suppose. I'm not going to be able to keep track of Tanya like I did before. I screwed up. She knows the Raven Queen was following her. She and anyone she might meet with will be wary, and without Newton…" She stared unhappily into the steam rising from her coffee, unable to stop the faint trembles that sent ripples across its surface.

Oliver scratched at the stubble on his jaw, stuffing another bite into his mouth. "I wouldn't say it's the best outcome, since this is sure to put the University on their guard against us, but Tanya Canelo is no longer our only source of information on what's been happening. We have many captured former Morrows who know quite a lot. Long-term, we'll simply need to work with what we have. It's not worth putting you in further danger."

"The captured Morrows are actually part of what I wanted to discuss. Have there been any attempts to break those prisoners free?"

"No. Why?"

"Tanya was asking about their location and the Verdant Stag's security measures during the secret meeting. They must have been planning something, and this little incident probably won't deter them indefinitely."

"We'll increase our precautions. Thank you for the warning." It was Oliver's turn to sigh, and he hunched over his desk as if an invisible weight were trying to crush him into the mounds of paperwork. "Perhaps we can upgrade the alarm wards. All our enforcers have already been pulling double shifts for the last week, and it will take some time to increase our numbers with trustworthy people."

"The battle didn't go as smoothly as planned," she stated.

"That's true, unfortunately."

"Has the takeover of the new territory encountered much difficulty?"

"The Morrows may have managed their territory in a way I wouldn't, but they weren't completely foolish. They were more heavily armed and prepared than we had hoped or expected. It is difficult to conceal all signs of an operation with so many people and moving pieces. Nevertheless, it did not go as horribly as it could have. A few of our people died, more were severely injured. We managed to capture a large percentage of the Morrows. We mitigated the collateral damage as well as we could and are making basic aid available to those who need it—food, minor healing, and a place to sleep.

"It will take us some time to consolidate all our gains, but we immediately secured a large sum of coin, consumable resources like artifacts and components, and income producing businesses, both legal and illegal. Some of those businesses might not be as profitable under our control—I am unwilling to force anyone into prostitution or a fighting arena, for instance—but it should still help with our liquidity. I expect there to be a fairly long period of upheaval as we bring the new territory in line with the standards of the Verdant Stag. I'm hoping to turn several of the buildings into textile factories, but I'm waiting on Lord Gervin to officially accept my request for a textile sub-commission, since their Family legally has domain over the industry. Once I have that, I will be able to very quickly create jobs. And we already have a few new thaumaturges to help, including a whole alchemical workshop and the brewers, so there should be less pressure on you and the handful of others we were relying on."

"But I can still brew for the Verdant Stag, right?"

"Of course. We will always have some sort of work for a thaumaturge. There aren't nearly enough of you. Also…" he said, raising a finger and leaning to rummage in one of his desk drawers. "Here is a small bonus for your performance during the battle. The report I received stated that you fought and captured a handful of Morrows who were threatening the healing station, which was not part of your job description. It's a bounty, plus your fee for doing the Verdant Stag's purchasing at the previous underground meeting. I would have given it to you before, but…" He shrugged pointedly.

"Oh. Thank you." The small purse held fourteen gold. Four for the meeting, ten for the bounty.

Sebastien decided not to put the extra coin toward her debt. It would instead help her maintain a reasonable emergency fund. Taking a bracing breath, she said, "I'd like to give you my report on what happened that night now."

"Are you sure? You don't need to talk about it if you're not ready."

"I'm sure." She'd done her best to remember the glyphs carved into the skull artifact the Red Guard had used to bind her vow. She'd noted nothing that seemed like it would alert them if she broke her word, and she'd given them nothing of herself. Even so, she pressed her hand against her chest, where the black stone amulet hung under her shirt, and focused the barest wisp of Will on it.

That was all it took to return her to her original form. She shrank down a bit in her seat, her clothes growing suddenly baggy on her.

Oliver watched with interest. "That is as fascinating as ever."

"Speaking as Siobhan might help push past the Red Guard's compulsion," she explained. She took a moment to shift about, moving her face and limbs to settle into her transformed body. After reminding herself of her name in this form, the one that she had not given the vow under, she began to speak.

The vow still guided her away from sharing too many details, causing a growing tightness in her throat the longer she spoke. Still, she found that she didn't mind this terribly, as she had no desire to dredge up the irrelevant minutiae.

When she was finished, she returned to Sebastien's body and left Oliver to his huge pile of work. In the cheek-tingling cold outside, she turned north, to the University settled atop the white cliffs, as bright and proud as ever. She was out of time.

Chapter 94 - Tea and Cookies

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 28, Thursday 9:00 a.m.

Sebastien arrived at the University with barely enough time to make it to History of Magic. Although this class was with a different dormitory group than her others, and none of these students really knew her, Sebastien's entrance was greeted by a sudden hush followed by a resurgence of murmuring.

As Sebastien took her seat, the gazes that followed her made it obvious that her involvement in a rogue magic incident was widely known. She hoped that was all that was known.

To Sebastien's relief, Professor Ilma made no public display of concern for her, teaching as she would normally. "Your mid-terms have been graded," the woman announced without preamble, handing a stack of papers to her student aide to pass out. "Results and rankings have been posted on the announcement board in the library. We will not be discussing your test results during class time. There is too much content to get through. If you have questions, you may stay after class or come to my office hours."

Sebastien looked with slight pleasure at the grade atop her test paper. Ilma was a harsh taskmistress, but Sebastien had still managed to answer most of the questions to her satisfaction and received close to full marks. Some of the students near her peeked blatantly at her test, so she covered it with a glare that had them turning away, red-faced. 'The rudeness is already getting on my nerves. If the day continues like this, I might very well snap.'

Ilma had only been lecturing for a few minutes when the door opened again.

Another student aide stepped in and murmured something to Professor Ilma, and then they both turned to look at her.

"Mr. Siverling, your presence is required elsewhere," Ilma said. "Feel free to see me later if you feel this undue interruption might negatively impact your studies."

The aide shuffled uncomfortably, but apparently whoever had called for Sebastien had enough clout to risk Ilma's dissatisfaction.

Sebastien followed the aide out into the hall. "Do you know what this is about?" she asked, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she tried to keep the apprehension out of her voice.

The aide shook her head, walking quickly and not looking at Sebastien. "I do not."

"Who wants to see me?"

"The History Chair, Grandmaster Kiernan," the woman said succinctly.

Sebastien had never met the Chair of the History department before. 'Is Grandmaster Kiernan part of Munchworth and Tanya's faction? Munchworth is in the History department, too… Could they have suspicions about my presence at the scene?' Possibilities ran rampant through her head, and she found herself reaching for her Conduit before she noticed and stopped herself. All too soon, before she had any kind of plan in place, they arrived at Kiernan's door.

The student aide opened it and waved her through with a shallow bow.

Swallowing, Sebastien lifted her chin and stepped into the room.

Grandmaster Kiernan, who was sitting behind an expensive desk, looked up with a smile when she entered. He did not remind her of Munchworth in the least. Kiernan had a polished, bald head and a short grey beard. His office was warm and filled with historical artifacts and relics. They sat on warded stands and display cases, filling the spaces between books on the shelves that lined the walls.

"Mr. Siverling! Thank you for coming. Take a seat, please," he offered, motioning to the plush couch next to a window instead of the chairs in front of his desk.

Slowly, she complied.

The low table in front of the couch already had a tea service tray atop it, and Kiernan sat on the cushion next to her and prepared a steaming cup for each of them. "I am Grandmaster Kiernan," he said, "but I prefer students just call me Professor Kiernan. Is it alright if I call you Sebastien?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he expected her to agree eagerly.

She nodded silently.

"One of my former students sent me this tea all the way from the Dragon Well area of Longjing, which is a small province in the East known for its tea." He motioned to the cream and sugar, but Sebastien shook her head, accepting a plain cup. "Cookie?" he offered. "I know you young people burn through calories as quickly as they hit your stomachs, and I hear the cafeteria food leaves something to be desired."

"No, thank you." She was always in need of caffeine, so she drank the tea, but only after he drank first. 'I doubt he would try to drug Thaddeus Lacer's apprentice, but one never knows.'

"I understand you are in Ilma's class section. An interesting woman. How are you enjoying it?"

"She's a good teacher," Sebastien said cautiously. "She tries to make us think, not just regurgitate information."

Kiernan nodded. "So I hear. And your other classes? How are you finding the University so far?"

"I enjoy my classes," Sebastien said. She wasn't going to start complaining about Pecanty here.

"I'm not surprised. I hear you are a rather impressive student, despite your…unfortunate background. Your current guardian is Lord Dryden? It must be hard, without parents alive to guide you," Kiernan said searchingly.

Sebastien tried not to stiffen visibly. "Mr. Dryden has been very kind to me," she said noncommittally, though Oliver wasn't legally, or even informally, her guardian. 'What is Kiernan getting at? Why bring up my parents? Is he trying to hint that he knows my background doesn't stand up to scrutiny?' The stress of the conversation was getting to her. She downed her tea and decided to cut through the inscrutable small talk. "Professor Kiernan, why am I here?"

He laughed, smacking a hand on her shoulder and did not seem to notice her flinch. "Oh, I like to chat with the students when I get a chance, keep abreast of how things are going in the 'real world,' as they say. But I did call you here for a specific reason."

Kiernan stood and grabbed a card-sized piece of paper from his desk. "We at the University wanted to thank you for what you did." He handed her the card. "At great risk to yourself, you acted to save those in danger during a rogue magic incident. Without you, several innocent civilians and one of our other University students might no longer be alive. Mr. Siverling, I hear that you successfully stunned the Aberrant, which may have bought time for the Red Guard and greatly affected the outcome of that night."

Sebastien Siverling had indeed stunned the Aberrant when she, supposedly crawled in the window to search for an unconscious Newton. She looked down at the card filled out with one hundred University contribution points. An exorbitant amount for a first term student. If converted to the equivalent in coin, this was worth about ten gold if she redeemed items for resale.

"You can upgrade your meal plan with that," Kiernan said jovially, slapping his knee and laughing.

"I don't understand," Sebastien said. 'Is what I supposedly did actually worth contribution points? Is this…a bribe? Carrot before the stick? Is he about to threaten me?'

"You're a hero, Sebastien! A credit to our school. We wanted to make sure you understood you are appreciated, and also ensure that the stress and pressure from your experiences will not adversely affect you going forward. I know Professor Lacer was worried you would be in danger of Will-strain from the trauma."

"I'm fine."

Kiernan shook his head sympathetically, once again clapping her on the shoulder. "There's no need to put on a brave face, Sebastien. What you experienced would leave anyone with some mental or emotional strain. Sometimes it's best to talk about these things. Recounting your experiences with someone trustworthy can help to lessen any hold they might have on you, and if it turns out that you need any further help, a little leeway, I do have some pull with the other members of the University board…"

She blinked down at her empty cup.

Kiernan hurriedly poured more tea for her with a grandfatherly smile.

"You want me to tell you about what happened that night?"

"I think it would be best. Take your time, feel free to explore the details and how everything made you feel."

'So the contribution points are a bribe. An excuse to question me in person.' She sipped her tea and shook her head sadly. "I made a vow to the Red Guard. I'm unable to talk about anything that happened."

Kiernan froze for a second, then nodded. "Of course they would do that…" he murmured, but then perked up. "But surely they left leeway for you to speak with a mental health professional?"

She shrugged. "If that mental health professional works for the Red Guard, then yes."

Kiernan's eyebrows and mouth both collapsed downward, his grandfatherly kindness replaced by pointed frustration, as if he suspected she was being purposefully difficult. "How did the three of you, normally all good students, end up in such a situation?"

Sebastien sighed mournfully. "I'm not sure what happened before I got there. And obviously, by the time I arrived, Newton was already…" She trailed off with a small, pained sound like a wounded animal, and brought a hand to her tightening throat with an expression of distress. "I'm sorry. I'm really unable to talk about it. The vow makes my throat close up."

Kiernan patted her shoulder but continued his questions. "But you did encounter the Raven Queen. She was also there by the time you arrived, I'm told."

Sebastien grimaced. "I didn't know it was her at the time."

"I've heard that she gave you a blessing."

"There aren't any ongoing dangers, if that's what you're worried about," Sebastien assured him with an expression that was as sincere as she could make it. "The other students are safe to be around me. The Red Guard cleared me for release, and Professor Lacer was there, so you can ask him if you want confirmation."

"Oh, I believe you, my boy. I'm sure you wouldn't place your fellow students in danger. But I am curious, did the Raven Queen do anything…special? Anything to indicate why she was there, or what she's been up to, where she's been hiding?"

Sebastien shook her head silently, taking another sip of tea while she held Kiernan's gaze over the rim. He wasn't even being subtle with pumping her for information. The apprehension she'd felt upon being summoned was quickly turning into irritation.

"But she gave you a boon. You cannot tell me you didn't interact. How did it happen?"

"Seemingly by…" Sebastien lifted her hand to her throat again, frowning, and squeezed out, "coincidence." She took another sip of the tea as if to soothe her throat, making a mournful expression at her inability to expound further.

Kiernan scoffed angrily. "Apparently this entire situation, from the beginning, was by seeming 'coincidence.' Forgive me if I don't believe it."

Sebastien leaned over and patted Kiernan on the shoulder, like he had so presumptuously been doing to her. "I know the Raven Queen stole something from your department, but I'm sorry I can't be of more help. Grandmaster Thaddeus Lacer has taken me as his apprentice, which you probably know. He heard my report in full. If you'd like more information, you should talk to him, or perhaps the coppers. I'd rather not continue attempting to speak of it. Due to the restrictions the Red Guard placed on me, it's both difficult and stressful, which is counterproductive to any beneficial effects a counseling session with you might have. So, if there's nothing else… I'm very thankful for the contribution points, but I'm worried about falling behind in my classes, after having already been out for a week."

The man gritted his teeth for a moment, but then resumed his jovial pretense. "Oh, yes, yes, I don't want to disrupt your studies. Make sure to let one of the faculty know if you feel you need medical attention, either physical or mental." As she stood to leave, he said, "Are you sure you won't have some cookies? I don't need them myself. Don't want to pack on any extra winter padding around the middle!"

Sebastien smiled at him. "Oh, well in that case, perhaps I will share them with my friends. Thank you, that's very generous of you." She picked up the entire plate, and, without waiting for him to protest, walked out of the room with it. 'A little vindictive,' she admitted to herself, 'but unlikely to have any consequences.' She still didn't want to eat them herself, but perhaps she could give them to the members of Damien's little cohort—and keep watch for signs of lowered inhibitions or loosened tongues afterward.

Chapter 95 - Prose and Points

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 28, Thursday 9:40 a.m.

Professor Ilma didn't make a fuss when Sebastien slipped back into the room halfway through her lecture, despite the distraction she caused to the gossip-hungry students.

After the period was over, Sebastien hurried through the halls to Pecanty's Sympathetic Science classroom, not because she was eager for his class, but because she wanted to speak with both Damien and Ana.

Sebastien had apparently hurried too quickly, because neither was there when she arrived.

Some of the other students began working up the gumption to approach her as soon as she entered the room. She was unguarded, like a baby lamb separated from the flock.

Waverly Ascott, quiet as ever, moved her bag out of the seat next to her and waved Sebastien over with barely a glance.

Sebastien placed the plate of cookies pillaged from Kiernan on her desk.

Ascott kept her eyes trained on a thick book about witchcraft, but took one of the cookies and started nibbling.

Brinn Setterlund came up on Sebastien's other side, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms. He sent a weak glare out at nothing in particular, which Sebastien found supremely unthreatening, but was apparently enough to keep the other students from approaching.

'They're protecting me,' she realized with an uncomfortable moment of inner warmth.

Rhett Moncrieffe took a seat behind her with a cool nod. "Welcome back."

Alec Gervin also took a guard position, though he had to kick another student out of their place to do so, which reduced Sebastien's warm feelings.

Damien and Ana arrived shortly after and took the seats in front of her before immediately turning to face her. "Stars above, Sebastien, I'm so glad you're back. Things have been rather unpleasant here," Damien said.

She leaned forward. "I wanted to ask you two about that. What's happened while I was gone? What rumors have been circulating? Everyone seems to know I was involved." Damien might have information from his brother, since they seemed to communicate frequently and the elder Westbay wasn't particularly circumspect with what he revealed to his little brother. And Ana always seemed to know the latest gossip.

"It's been all anyone's talking about," Ana said. "What actually happened is still rather vague, but, as always, there are rumors that range from plausible to outrageous."

Damien nodded. "The coppers haven't come out with a statement, but everyone knows Newton is dead, and there was an Aberrant that got the Red Guard called in."

Ana, like Waverly, took one of the cookies from Sebastien's desk without even bothering to ask. "Delicious. Where did you get these, Sebastien?"

"Grandmaster Kiernan from the History department gave them to me when he called me to his office this morning," she said pointedly.

Damien's eyes widened before he controlled his expression, but the tension leaked through in his voice. "He's the department Chair, right? What could he want with you? Why did he give you cookies?"

Sebastien grimaced. "Kiernan gave me contribution points, but they were just an excuse to question me about what happened."

Ana nodded sagely. "He's probably worried about the University's reputation and what rumors you might spread. Canelo has been stripped of her student liaison position, you know. She was absent for a few days, perhaps being questioned by the coppers, but she's back now. It's bad press to have two of your student aides implicated in an incident like this. Especially when one turns up an Aberrant." Ana plucked at her clothes, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. "And on that note…what actually happened?"

Sebastien could feel the weight of attention from every remotely close-by student straining to hear her answer. She shook her head. "I had to make a vow with the Red Guard. I can't talk about it." She had a feeling she would be repeating that a lot in the near future.

Damien groaned in frustration, sending Ana a glare. "I told you guys not to bother him about that!"

Ana shrugged. "No harm in asking. I'm not ashamed to admit that I am quite curious. Perhaps I could relate some of the rumors to you, Sebastien, and you could simply tell me how close to the truth they are, on a scale of one to ten?"

Sebastien shrank down in her chair to get away from Ana's gleaming eyes. "No, thank you."

"Leave him alone, Ana," Alec said, scowling down at his desk. "Someone died."

Ana passed Alec a cookie and a sympathetic look, patting him on the hand. "Here. Eat something before you get any grumpier." She turned to Sebastien. "Newton Moore was his tutor, you know. It's a little frightening to think about."

Alec scowled but, with a surreptitious look at Sebastien, shoved the entire cookie into his mouth with an angry grunt.

Damien tossed his hair back. "I sympathize, Sebastien. Everyone keeps asking me for details since my Family runs the coppers. But I couldn't tell them anything even if I wanted to, because I don't know much. I sent a letter to Titus, but he's too busy with the investigation." Damien coughed awkwardly. "Also, it is confidential since the investigation is still ongoing, even if Titus isn't bound by the secrets of the Red Guard like someone in a lesser position might be."

Damien probably knew, or had extrapolated, more than he was letting on. Sebastien was grateful that he wasn't sharing with the others, as he likely would have before being inducted into their fake secret organization.

"What else has been happening?" she asked.

The others shared looks. "The coppers and some of the Red Guard came around to interview some people, but they didn't stay for long," Damien offered.

Ascott piped up. "There have been a lot of lectures about spell safety. There are sign-up sheets for counseling in the dorms. I'm not sure why they're making such a big deal of this, specifically. Didn't they give that lecture at the beginning of term about how one in fifteen of us would die or go insane before reaching Master level?"

"A lot less than one in fifteen people break and become an Aberrant," Alec muttered, accepting another cookie from Ana. The plate was rapidly emptying.

"Quite a few people are in the infirmary for Will-strain," Brinn added.

Moncrieffe nodded. "And Fekten has been more brutal than usual. He keeps going on about how we're all incompetent and will die at the first sign of danger. Tuesday we had to run five miles while he chased us and threw around stinging jinxes. I think he's trying to train our Wills through hardship."

"Oh!" Ana said. "All of us took turns making notes of what you missed during the lectures. I know how you obsess over being the best, Sebastien, so we thought you would want to avoid falling behind as much as possible." She pulled out a three-ring binder with clearly marked, color-coded sections. "Rhett did the organization. He loves that stuff."

Moncrieffe coughed awkwardly and looked away. "It was no big deal. I just copied what I do for my own notes."

Sebastien took the binder, suppressing the urge to argue that she did not obsess over being the best. She simply expected herself to perform at a level that wouldn't embarrass Professor Lacer. "Thank you," she said instead. Some notes were much clearer and more complete than others. Damien had even drawn little explanatory doodles in the margins of the lectures he covered, like he must have seen Sebastien doing on several occasions.

The group finished off the rest of the cookies, leaving Sebastien with a crumb-covered plate that she didn't know what to do with. They didn't exhibit any strange reactions, which meant that Kiernan probably hadn't been trying to drug her, just disarm her with gifts—and the unconscious desire to reciprocate his generosity. She didn't truly suspect they would be laced with anything, since that was the kind of crime that could get him in huge trouble. But people did stupid things all the time. She was a perfect example of that.

Professor Pecanty arrived shortly before the bell rang. He walked with an elaborately carved cane that looked as if he had chosen it specifically for the way it—combined with his vintage tweed jacket with the elbow patches—made him look like a wise old intellectual. He certainly didn't need it to help him walk.

Pecanty had their graded mid-term tests, but unlike Professor Ilma, he had apparently decided that their class time was best spent going over the test in detail. "We will start with some of the particularly bad answers and contrast them against much better examples," he announced, pulling out a few tests that had sections marked with clips. "Perhaps you will find some examples from your peers edifying."

Sebastien shrank down in her seat, holding back a groan. 'He's going to publicly shame me, I know it.'

However, Pecanty didn't mention any of the students by name, only picking a question or two from each section to review while he wrote notes on the blackboard. "Here, you were asked to give synonyms and associated words for the keyword 'rain,' and then use them in a sentence. One student provided three links. 'Storm,' 'cloud,' and 'water.' Uninspired, to say the least, as each of those words can quite literally be combined with 'rain': rainstorm, raincloud, and rainwater. The sentence provided was, 'The dark clouds broke with a rainstorm, filling the streets with water.'" He recited it quickly, with an unusual lack of lilting inflection, then looked up again, slapping the test down on his desk. "Boring and plain. I cannot imagine myself there, nor feel anything from that sentence."

He picked up a different test, flipping to the same section and reading aloud, this time with his usual cadence, as if reciting a piece of poetry. "'The dreary drizzle that had filled the morning turned, by evening, to a drenching squall, sheets of water crashing down from an oppressive, bruise-purple sky.' Keywords were 'drizzle,' 'squall,' 'crashing,' and 'oppressive.' I hope the difference is obvious, but if not, let me point out that none of these words can be directly joined to 'rain' to form their own word. This example used both alliteration and metaphor, as well as evocative imagery."

He moved to yet another test, flipping to a new section. "You were asked to list the connotations associated with a certain component, and then relate those associations in a memory or scene highlighting the component. In this particular case, the component was daisy petals. This test-taker correctly enumerated daisy petals' connection to the ideas of new beginnings, hope, innocence, fun, affection, and purity. Most of you got that right, which shows that at least University students can memorize information from their textbooks." Pecanty paused for a scathing moment that almost reminded Sebastien of Professor Lacer. "The problem is here: 'The girl picks daisies in a field, plucking petals as she attempts to divine, "He loves me," or "He loves me not."' I am forced to wonder if the point of this assignment was clear, seeing as many of the answers were like this. Let me read you a proper response."

He cleared his throat. "'The daisy pushes through the earth, all green, wet with spring's morning dew. It reaches for the sun, drinking in the light and warmth, and unfurling a flower that opens itself to the embrace of the sky, allowing the buzzing honey-makers to drink from its cup. My mother plucks the daisy and tucks it behind my ear. I am not much taller than the swaying grasses, which smell of sweet earth and buckwheat, and the hem of my cloak is wet and itchy against my legs, but I laugh and pluck one for her in return. She kneels to allow me to tuck it clumsily into her hair.'"

Sebastien had frozen as soon as he began to speak. That was her answer. She had been following the advice of the upper-term student, going over the top with poetic description, mention of the senses, and had even made up a connection to her own past. In addition to writing with unnecessarily pretty handwriting.

"Notice the expression of new beginnings, innocence, and affection symbolized by the anthropomorphization of the daisy itself, and then the innocent exuberance of the child, who is fully grounded in the sensations of that moment," Pecanty said. "It's practically bursting with connections to all the meanings a daisy petal might hold. If time allowed, we could examine this answer alone for most of the class period."

'That is…utter bullshit.' Sebastien had to wonder if all the themes, subtext, and meaning Pecanty found in the books, poems, and plays they studied in class were as similarly nonexistent as this, unintentional on the author's part and attributed with layers of significance that the work did not, in fact, possess.

After a few more examples, Pecanty moved on to the theoretical spell section of the test. "You were asked to create a spell array and casting method for a spell that would help someone process their sorrow or grief, explaining your choices along the way. Some of you chose to use a pentagram, a safe but uninspired choice." He turned to copy out two spell arrays on the board. "This one, using a hexagram for the main symbol, for its connection to spiritual balance, guidance, and mental or emotional aid, is ideal. Especially with the inclusion of the tetragram, or four-pointed star, which in this case was added to turn the focus toward stability and the past. This will help anchor someone who might be more emotionally fragile."

He turned back to the tests. "Now, one student included mermaid tears as one of their primary components. I can only imagine this was because tears usually stem from sadness, and mermaids are known for their beautiful, mournful singing. However, this student seems to have been under a misconception." He spoke loudly, emphasizing his point. "Mermaids are a magical cephalopod. They lure prey by sticking tentacles above water and making them look like a human woman, and this false form lets out a haunting song and asks for help. When the victim gets too close, the 'mermaid' suddenly comes apart into a mass of tentacles that grab them and drag them into the water to be eaten. Mermaid tears do not exist, as mermaids do not have tear ducts and cannot cry."

A student gave themself away by groaning aloud.

Pecanty nodded at them. "Painful indeed. Blue poppy for its melancholy and sedative properties makes sense, but as this spell array is created, it seems like it might actually induce grief. That is, if it produced any effect at all, since the glyph used for 'feel' is one for physical touch rather than emotion."

He gestured next to the hexagram spell array on the board, ignoring the students' snickers. "This student had a much better idea. Golden apples sprinkled with cinnamon for nostalgia, balanced against shade dust for a connection to the past, and condensed granules of etherwood smoke for calm contemplation. That last choice might be a bit too potent for certain types of trauma, and shade dust assumes that the grief cannot have a present-day, ongoing cause, but the addition of lotus bulbs for their connection to self-regeneration, cleansing, and enlightenment was a genius combination. In conjunction with the tetragram, it would add a fortifying element to support the target of the spell through their grief, to be reborn afresh on the other side."

Pecanty went on in this vein for most of the class period, finally stopping to give their graded papers back to them. "Sympathetic Science is all about connections," he said as he walked among the desks, placing each test paper in the students' hands personally. "Those connections must be rich and varied, a spiderweb filled with points that cause dozens of lightning-fast responses to bloom when there is a tug on any single node."

When he placed Sebastien's paper on her desk, he stopped to murmur, "Exemplary work, an admirable improvement over your past efforts. I knew you would come around, once you gave up your stubborn way of thinking."

Sebastien flipped over her test to see that Pecanty had attached a slip with five contribution points. She wasn't sure whether to be happy or outraged that the nonsense she had written was rewarded like this.

After class, Alec stopped Sebastien in the hallway with a hand on her arm.

She turned to him, already brewing a scowl, but his expression was uncomfortably earnest, throwing her off.

"So, I put together a care package for the Moore family. Damien and I wrote letters to them about what it was like being friends with Newton, and gathered up some of his stuff that was left in his room, plus some coin to help them get by. I heard their house was burnt down. Anyway, um, do you want to write a letter for them, too? I can put it in with the rest of the package."

Sebastien was taken aback, and remained silent for a long few seconds. She had not expected this, and especially not from Alec.

Alec shuffled, his eyebrows drawing down. "I know I'm not good with people like Ana, but care packages are something you do when a family goes through a traumatic event. It's too simple to mess up. Do you want to write a letter or not?" he asked, growing belligerent.

"I have Newton's Conduit. I'll send that along with a letter of my own."

He harrumphed. "Well, finish it by Monday. I'm not waiting on you if you don't."

They walked on to the cafeteria, where she stopped and scanned the large room from the entrance. Stopping Alec, she handed him the empty cookie plate. "Give this to the kitchen workers."

"Why can't you do it?" he asked.

She didn't reply, already leaving. To her surprise, Damien caught up with her a few moments later. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To find Tanya Canelo. We were both there. I want to see what she has to say." Really, she wanted to know what Tanya had told the coppers and the Red Guard, to see if she could glean any clues about what their next move might be.

"I'll come, too," Damien offered immediately, adding in a murmur, "It might be dangerous to meet with her alone."

Tanya's personal room had been taken away and she now roomed in the fourth-term student dorms, but she wasn't there. Sebastien finally found her in a less-trafficked corner of the library. The blonde, square-jawed girl looked almost as exhausted as Sebastien felt.

Her mouth tightened when she saw Sebastien, but she nodded a sharp greeting. "Siverling. If you're here to talk about the rogue magic incident, I'm unable to speak of it."

Sebastien sat down across from her. "The Red Guard made me take a vow too, but I can talk with those who already know the details. I was there shortly before the Red Guard arrived. I saw you going upstairs with the others, from outside the window."

Tanya looked between the two of them, not relaxing. "So?"

"So… Does anyone know why the Raven Queen was there?"

Damien sucked in a breath.

"I cannot speak of it," Tanya repeated.

"Do you need Damien to leave?" Sebastien asked.

Damien scowled immediately. "I'm not leaving you alone with her, Sebastien." He glared at Tanya, making no secret of his distrust.

Tanya glared back at Damien, looking as if she might snap and attack him, but instead, her eyes welled up with tears.

They rolled down her cheeks like big fat diamonds, one after the other.

Damien stepped back, alarmed.

"I cannot speak of it!" Tanya squeezed out in a choked voice.

It was so far out of character, so different from what Sebastien had been expecting, that she stared at the crying young woman for a long few moments. 'Was this what that skull was supposed to do to me? If so, vowing under the incorrect name made a huge difference. Or maybe she gave a different vow, and I got preferential treatment.'

When Tanya hunched over, sobbing, Sebastien regained her wits, laying an awkward hand across Tanya's shaking shoulder. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen. What happened to Newton…wasn't your fault."

Tanya let out a watery snort. "If only that were true." With an obvious effort of will, she got herself under control, straightening and looking at Sebastien with a gaze that reminded her of a suffocating fish, wide-eyed and desperate. "But I would take it back, if I could. Newton was my friend, too."

Damien shuffled awkwardly, but Sebastien said, "I know. I didn't realize the restrictions they placed on you were so harsh. We don't have to talk about it."

Tanya nodded, looking as if her head might fall and never rise again. "Could you leave me be? I have a lot of studying to do. My mid-term results weren't as good as someone in my position needs."

They complied, though Damien seemed unsatisfied as they walked away. "Why aren't you angry with her? Did she really have nothing to do with how Newton ended up?"

Sebastien sighed. 'If I were going to be angry with her, what would I need to feel for myself?' Aloud, she said, "I sympathize, I suppose. Who knows how she got into this, but at this point, she's trapped. She's in too deep to escape, even if she wants to."

The feeling was familiar.

Chapter 96 - Bini Frogs & Existential Crises

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 28, Thursday 1:45 p.m.

After the unsatisfactory conversation with Tanya, Sebastien went to see the overall mid-term results openly posted on the library notifications board. She was accompanied by Damien, Ana, and the other Crown Family group members, who she didn't exactly want to call friends but seemed to be spending more and more time with.

As they entered, she noticed a group of upper-term students blocking off a lounge alcove near the entrance, their eyes darting around in obvious, nervous glee, occasionally using their hands to cover immature giggles.

Sebastien ignored whatever mischief they were up to, moving on to the notifications board. She was closer to the front of the rankings than she had feared, having gotten about ninety percent of the available points across her six classes. She had done quite well in Practical Casting, Natural Science, History, and Modern Magics, modestly well in Sympathetic Science, and about average in Defense. Out of the three thousand students who had started the term, they had already lost about a hundred. Sebastien was ranked in the low three hundreds, which Professor Lacer wouldn't find particularly impressive, but should satisfy his minimum requirements.

At the very least, it was a stronger performance than her entrance exams. As opposed to facing a comprehensive test of anything and everything the professors felt appropriate, the mid-terms had only covered what they'd already learned. Additionally, she'd been better prepared for how they would be graded, which had paid off especially well in Pecanty's class.

Sebastien threaded her way back out of the crowd teeming like minnows around the board, and the others joined her after a few minutes.

"I still beat your score, Sebastien!" Damien announced, preening like a little rooster. "I got rank one hundred twelve."

"Congratulations," she said, making sure not to seem frustrated. She didn't always have to be the very best. And besides, she'd had many other projects taking up time she might have otherwise spent on studying. Sure, Damien was taking one more class than her and had still managed, but surely she was busier than him?

"We are all in the top five hundred," Ana announced.

"Except for me," Alec said, giving the girl a look of mixed anger and shame, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "But I still did pretty good, compared to normal. My father won't have any reason to be angry. He doesn't expect much at this point, as long as I don't embarrass him. I guess all that tutoring with Newton actually did help." He rocked back and forth on his feet during the couple of awkward seconds that followed, looking at the floor.

"Sorry," Ana said with a reconciliatory smile.

Alec shrugged. "No harm done."

Ana slipped her arm through his, giving a little tug. "You worked hard. Cheer up, Alec. We're now all one-eighteenth done with our higher schooling."

Alec snorted. "So encouraging. One-eighteenth already?" He tightened his voice to give a high-pitched imitation of Ana. "Guys, that's basically nearing the end already!" He gave his nonexistent long hair a dramatic flip and fluttered his eyelashes.

Ana punched him in the arm, and he stumbled away from her, but both were grinning.

Sebastien was too aware of the people whispering about her to get drawn into the banter. At first, she thought the whispers were because of the incident with Newton, but when she scowled at a group of particularly obvious women, one returned Sebastien a bold, flirtatious smile.

Thrown off, Sebastien looked away. 'Either the attention has nothing to do with the rogue magic incident at all, or these women are somehow attracted to men who've recently had a close brush with death. How foolish can you get, that something like this could make me seem like a more viable partner.' She wasn't sure if it was better than being a pariah, which at least would have been a more rational response from the other students.

"They're drawn to the idea of danger," Rhett said, as if reading Sebastien's mind. He clapped Sebastien on the shoulder and leaned in to murmur in her ear. "Apparently there are some extra benefits to being associated with you." With a wink, he turned toward the girls with a sad look on his face. "My friend Sebastien is so brave… Have you heard what happened?"

The women cooed and simpered, drawing Rhett into their midst.

A quick flash of irritation that he would take advantage of her situation to flirt with vapid women bloomed inside Sebastien, but instead of slicing him to ribbons with her tongue, she turned to leave. 'It's not a big deal. I'm just on edge. I'll consider this his repayment for organizing my notes.'

Brinn hurried to catch up with her. "Sorry about Rhett. He doesn't mean anything bad by it, that's just how he is. I can say something to him if it's bothering you."

Sebastien gave the taller boy a small, strained smile. "No, it's okay. I'm just feeling a little…off."

Brinn nodded easily. "Anyone would be. You can't expect to go right back to normal after such a traumatic event. Be kind to yourself."

Sebastien's smile relaxed and grew a little bigger. "Be kind to myself, huh?"

"Well, you can't count on anyone else to be."

She eyed Brinn for a moment, until he ducked his head shyly, a quick blush rising to his cheeks. 'He's the most likable of the entire group,' she decided, 'except maybe for Ana. But Ana is likable to everyone, like a bright light. Brinn is like the last cookie in the jar, a little stale but still sweet—a surprise.'

She wasn't stupid enough to say this out loud, because she'd learned that people didn't appreciate mixed compliments, but the whole thought was wiped from her mind when an unfamiliar alarm cut through the building, followed shortly by screaming.

Sebastien's blood chilled as she stumbled through the panicking crowd, looking for the source of danger, her fist tight around her Conduit.

Her mind went blank when she saw it, stuttering as she struggled to comprehend.

A sky kraken, so huge that even one of its eyeballs matched her in height, had descended upon the library building and was looking in through a window, its glistening, chameleon-like flesh rippling with every twitch of the giant eye. A tentacle pressed against the window, seeming to tap on it inquisitively.

Near the window, the upper-term students she'd seen earlier were standing frozen, staring up at the creature in awe and fear.

Sebastien's eyes narrowed. No. Not awe and fear. Excitement and poorly-suppressed glee? She had seen similar expressions on people playing cards with her father when they got a particularly good hand. 'Did they summon that creature?'

Outrage flushed her with heat so suddenly she grew faint, the sensations of her body falling away. But then the kraken tapped again, its eye twitching. The image blurred just a bit with its movement. "An illusion," she said aloud. Then even louder, "It's an illusion!"

Some of the students near her caught her words and calmed, inspecting the window more closely.

"There isn't even a window on that part of the wall," she said louder.

The whole prank dissolved at that point, with library and administration workers descending on the group of upper-term students who had cast the illusion like the hammer of judgment. The wall went back to normal, the pranksters were told off and assigned punishments, and Sebastien left; she had better things to do than stand around gawking.

She flexed her fingers, shook out her arms, and rubbed the back of her neck to release some of the painful tension her body had accumulated in those few initial moments of panic.

"That was amazing!" Damien yelled, running up behind her.

"It could have gotten someone trampled to death," she bit back.

His smile lost its exuberance. "But it was impressive, right? Even better than some of the illusion plays I've seen when the big troupes are in town. Very convincing."

Sebastien had to admit he was right, though she'd never seen a professional illusion play. "Even so," she grumbled, leaving Damien to roll his eyes.

The next day, Sebastien struggled to rise from her bed, feeling as if a great weight were pressing her down under the safety of her warm blankets, until Damien brought her some coffee from his morning study group. The concern on his face alone was enough to get her out into the harsh reality of morning without delay. 'The last thing I want is more questions about if I'm okay.'

In Modern Magics, Sebastien's first of only two classes on Fridays, Professor Burberry followed up on their project of the week, a scouring bath alchemical concoction. Sebastien had missed most of the lessons on theory, as well as their preliminary introduction to brewing, but she would make the actual concoction today.

While Modern Magics was not the most difficult class, it gave students a good grounding in many of the basic thaumaturgic crafts, which was the point of a practical class. Still, at times Sebastien wished it were a bit more challenging.

This was not one of those times.

Sebastien stared blearily up at the board while Professor Burberry spoke.

"We have a special opportunity today," Burberry said. "We are going to be brewing this scouring bath with a more potent component than you might normally have access to. The University's Zoology section is providing us with a few dozen bini frogs in their male form, which have a corrosive skin. You will be killing them, dissecting them into their useful parts, and then using a couple of strips of their skin in your concoction. If you feel queasy or lightheaded at the thought of killing and dissecting a frog, I have some anti-anxiety potions at my desk. See me for a dose."

As the student aides for the class passed out jars with the large, bubble-skinned frogs inside, Burberry introduced them. "The bini frog is a magical creature commonly found in northern peat bogs. What makes them interesting is that they are both mother and father to their offspring, not through asexual reproduction, but through a hormone change that allows them to lay eggs as a female and then fertilize them as a male. They're a good example of how hormones can affect and regulate gene expression, as only their male forms have the caustic skin. The same frog not only looks different, but also behaves differently, and has different magical properties."

Ana leaned over to Sebastien, murmuring, "Bini frogs are being used in some interesting research to allow same-sex couples to have children." She sighed. "I would love to invest in it, but it's beyond the Gervin Family's domain, and Father isn't interested."

Sebastien replied absentmindedly, a little worm of a thought wriggling distractingly in the back of her mind. "Can't you decide to invest on your own, separate from the Family? The law doesn't state that you can't, as long as the domain isn't controlled by another of the Crown Families that opposes your entrance, right? What you might consider small sums of pocket money could still be significant to the researchers."

Ana replied, but Sebastien couldn't concentrate on her answer, because the worm of a thought had crawled up and made itself known to her consciousness. 'Could the bini frog have been a component in whatever spell the amulet casts on me to create Sebastien?' She had been researching how the brain worked for her developmental sleep-proxy spell, but for some reason, despite seeing how important hormones were over and over, she had never really applied that understanding to her own situation.

Hormones affected not just the body, but the brain.

Sebastien stood abruptly, cutting off Ana's words with a muttered, "Bathroom," before hurrying from the class.

A quick peek under the stalls showed they were all empty of feet, so she had her existential crisis in front of the mirror over the sinks, which pumped in fresh water at will, just another example of the wonders of modern invention.

'How much of someone's personality comes from their brain, and how much from their hormones?'

The question sent cold spider legs crawling down her back, and she stared into her own reflected eyes, trying to take comfort in the fact that those, at least, were the same in both of her bodies. 'Are my hormones the same as Sebastien and as Siobhan?' That seemed impossible, simply because of the distinction in sex. Her brain itself might not even be the same. After all, everything else was different. 'But injuries transfer over. And my blood is traceable in either form. So what does that mean?'

Unlike the frogs, she was not swapping between sexes—between different expressions of her own body. Which would have been mind-bending enough on its own. No, she was shifting into a different body entirely. 'How much needs to change before I'm someone else? Even my name is different.'

She realized she was panting and leaned over to splash some cold water on her face. 'Have I been feeling differently, thinking differently?' She hadn't noticed and wasn't sure she could tell. After all, she was not an objective, outside observer.

For a moment, the stream of water sounded like a calm, insistent humming, and she jerked her head back, staring at it in alarm. She turned the faucet off, then snapped her fingers next to her ears to disrupt the phantom memory of sound, taking comfort in the agitated pounding of her heart.

Discovering the truth of her fears would take more than just awareness and introspection. Understanding the effects of such magic would require extensive study, hundreds of subjects monitored by objective outside agents as they underwent the same transition she had. But this, of course, was impossible for more than one reason.

She had continually reassured herself that she was the same person, that a change of bodies meant nothing about who she was on the inside, and in fact had felt bizarrely comfortable in either body, after getting over the initial shock. That comfort might be a sign to the negative, however, since it could have been an effect of the spell itself, meant to mitigate the chance of a mental breakdown.

She wiped her frigid, wet hands over the back of her neck, taking a perverse thrill in the shiver that wracked her body. Water dripped from her blonde lashes. 'My consciousness is continuous between both forms. There's no interruption. My memories are the same. It's not as if I'm temporarily killing and later resurrecting either version of myself each time I switch. Even if the transformation is affecting my personality, I still consider me to be "myself" under the effects of alcohol or other substances. Why can't this be the same? My name might change, and my body, but there is something deeper than that, something that makes me me, which is constant.' The words felt right, but still, she was unsure.

'There is no evidence of a soul,' she admitted to herself. 'And without that, what am I except for the consciousness created by my body? The consciousness which is dependent upon my body.' When the Aberrant had taken control of her body, forcing her to calm, its effect had infected more than just her physical flesh. Her mind had begun to lose its grip, too. And what was she, if not her mind? 'If I do not run my own mind, what runs it? If I don't control my own thoughts, my own decisions, my own feelings, where is the barrier between "me" and "other?" Will I even notice if I cease to be myself?'

Though she had been trying not to think of it, blood and fire flashed across her mind's eye. Squeezing her eyes closed, she pressed a knuckle into her temple until it hurt—until it felt like she would leave a bruise—but the pain pushed the memory away.

Her panic had grown too large to grasp entirely, and so, perversely, was settling into a dull dread instead. 'That all may be true, but does it actually matter?' She was at school, away from the string Aberrant that was once Newton. It couldn't get her. And it was dead by now anyway, proper punishment for devouring Newton and killing those people. It couldn't control, or consume, anyone.

And as for her body, she couldn't be sure that she was feeling exactly the same as she would have, entertaining the exact thoughts she would be in her original form, but it felt authentic. If she had thought of these possibilities when she first discovered the effects of the amulet, she might have been more frightened at the implications, but she had been switching back and forth for months now and noticed no adverse effects. 'Perhaps now is not the time to have a mental breakdown. There is nothing I can do about it, after all. I won't give up the opportunities that Sebastien allows me, and I won't throw away my past as Siobhan. If some part of my mind is lost and replaced every time, which isn't necessarily the case—I don't know how the artifact works, after all—at least my magic seems to be constant.'

When her fingers had stopped trembling, she wiped away the water, leaving her cheeks and nose red from the cold. She dug out a small jar of bruise balm from her bag and wiped it on her temple as a preemptive measure. Staring at her dark eyes in the mirror, she whispered, "I'm in control," and when she was sure they seemed confident in that statement, she returned to the classroom.

Burberry gave Sebastien a half-sympathetic, half-exasperated look, then offered her a dose of anti-anxiety potion. "I get a few dozen who don't have the stomach for dissection every term. It's nothing to be ashamed of," the woman said kindly.

Sebastien accepted the potion and returned to her desk, though her anxiety had nothing to do with the killing and dissecting of a magical frog.

"That was kind of her," Ana murmured with a small smile. "Very discreet."

Sebastien had no idea what Ana was talking about, too busy downing the potion in a single gulp. Its magic took effect quickly, but not before she had the sudden thought that this, too, was a mind-altering substance. Under the effects of the potion, she felt that she really had overreacted. The question of identity was a serious one with important implications, but it was not as though she was trapped in this body. If it really was affecting her mind, she should first decide if that was actually unacceptable rather than simply horrifying. If she found that it was unacceptable, she would eventually return to her original form for good. When she was ready.

To distract herself from her thoughts, Sebastien reached out for a topic of conversation. "Ana, with everything that's happened, I forgot to ask if your little sister was alright, after you had to leave in such a rush last week."

Ana, who was using a scalpel to remove the frog's tiny lungs, didn't reply for a few seconds. "She's okay. I got her another artifact to wear that she can use to alert me if any more situations like that arise. It was Damien's idea."

'I wonder where he got that one,' Sebastien thought wryly, thinking of the bracelets they both wore. "Does your Cousin Whoever do things like this often?"

"Cousin Robbie. His father encourages him. Both my uncles take every opportunity to discredit or make Nat and me seem weak—to make us seem unworthy as heirs to the Gervin Family. They encourage their children to do the same. Alec could have turned out much worse, really. He's nothing like Cousin Robbie. Uncle Malcolm and Randolph are hoping to convince my father to name one of them, or maybe their children, as heir."

"But he wouldn't actually do that, would he?"

Ana hesitated. "My father… Well, all three brothers have some antiquated views about the capabilities and 'proper place' of women."

Sebastien snorted. "Really? But you're a thaumaturge, same as the rest of them. Women might be physically weaker than men, but our—your magic is in no way inferior. Our magic is no different, nor our capability as leaders."

Ana shrugged. "The truth doesn't actually matter to a certain kind of person. 'Women—so emotional. Weak mind, weak Will,'" she said, obviously quoting someone unpleasant. She sighed. "Really, it's a remnant of our grandfather, and my mother doesn't help the situation. She married into the Family, and—" Ana cut off, shaking her head as she used small scissors to snip away the bini frog's intestines. "Well. In any case, my father has the option to choose his heir, and while he has made no actual declarations, I've seen the way things have been going over the last few years. I've tried to display my competence, but his brothers' opinions carry too much weight."

They were both silent for a few seconds, and then Sebastien asked, "Is that why you never wear skirts or dresses?"

Ana gave a short, sharp laugh. "I've been wearing pants at every opportunity since I first tried them as a child. Drove my mother spare, but eventually she gave up, except for special occasions. Perhaps it does have something to do with wanting to seem more capable, but really they're just so much more comfortable and practical. Do you know how cold skirts are in winter? And have you ever tried to run without flashing your thighs?"

Sebastien coughed into her fist. "Well, I've never worn skirts. But I believe you."

"My uncles have grown more aggressive with their campaign as I get older. I'm fine, I can handle it, but Nat… Now that I'm gone, she has no one to shield or comfort her. My mother tries, but she's afraid of conflict and stepping outside of acceptable social boundaries, so sometimes she can be almost as bad as the rest of them. I think she'd prefer it if I could just marry a nice man who would take over running the Family while I indulge in hobbies and run a charity or something." Ana got a little too violent with her frog, and its slippery kidney went shooting off onto the floor.

She hurried to retrieve the bean-sized organ before Burberry noticed, and when she returned she gave Sebastien a demure smile. "Everything's fine overall, I'm just…frustrated. I feel helpless."

Sebastien knew that smile was fake. She'd seen its overly sweet rays pointed at too many other people to believe it. Ana's real smile was slightly lopsided, edging on a smirk. "Assuming you don't want to be usurped by your uncles or one of your cousins, or to marry a man who will keep you as arm candy, you can't just let them go on like this. You're being passive, reactive. You need to be the aggressor if you want things to change."

Ana set down her dissection tools, turning to look at Sebastien more fully.

Sebastien continued, peeling the frog's skin off with careful slices of her scalpel. "You need a more permanent solution to your problem." It was something she might not normally have said, if she wasn't still shaken up—something honest.

Ana hesitated, then asked, "What kind of permanent solution?"

"Nothing that could backfire and harm you severely if it goes wrong. Nothing…illegal. Something that would cut off their source of power and influence at its roots. You know more about the situation and the people involved than me—you're the one who would know what might work best."

Ana was uncharacteristically silent for a while, before murmuring, "I would need help…"

"Mmm," Sebastien agreed absently, distracted with brewing the scouring concoction.

After turning in a single vial for grading, Sebastien carefully packaged and kept the leftover components, since no one seemed to keep track of those things, or care. Some students just threw away the remainder, not caring that they were basically throwing away coin. Sebastien had accumulated a handful of random components this way over the course of the term. As they were filing out of the classroom, Sebastien wondered if she might secretly replenish other supplies from the University's stock.

She was trying to calculate if the benefit was worth the risk when she heard someone say Newton's name in a scandalized tone. Her head pivoted toward the source as if pulled by a string.

Chapter 97 - Properties of Explosive Materials

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 29, Friday 10:30 a.m.

Sebastien recognized one of the girls gossiping about Newton from Practical Casting. Some time ago, the young woman had tried to flirt with her, hinting that Sebastien should buy her a gift from the offerings in the Great Hall with her contribution points. Sebastien had forgotten her name.

"But Moore always seemed so nice!" one girl exclaimed in a scandalized tone, leaning further into the huddled group. They had either not realized Sebastien was standing nearby or were too oblivious to realize how rude they were being.

Another girl tittered. "Well, obviously he was involved in…questionable activities. The revelation might be sudden, but there's too much evidence to deny it. I mean, how else do you find yourself entangled in a battle with gang members and the Raven Queen, and then turn into an Aberrant?"

Sebastien's breath was coming fast. She curled her hands into white-knuckled fists, her short nails digging into her palms with a welcome sting.

"He must have corrupted his Will," said a third girl. "What kind of magic do you think he was dabbling in? And what about the other student liaison, that Canelo girl? I hear she's refusing to talk."

The girl Sebastien recognized from Practical Casting shook her head. "She was cursed to be unable to speak of it, from what I heard. As for Newton Moore, he probably did it because he needed the coin. People will degrade themselves in a lot of ways when they need coin."

The first woman sneered. "He didn't fit in here, did he? If he was going to end up so desperate to stay that he let his Will be corrupted, perhaps he shouldn't have been admitted in the first place."

Perhaps cued by some change in Sebastien's bearing or expression, Ana reached out for her arm, but it was too late. Ana's fingers slipped off as Sebastien strode toward the group. Her breath came hard, her wide-eyed gaze tracking over the women's amused, scandalized expressions, taking in every nuance as if preparing for battle.

Sebastien's voice was deep with anger, and she could feel the rumble in her chest, but couldn't quite hear it past the rush of blood in her ears. "Newton Moore was worth more than the entire lot of you."

The women spun to face her, their expressions ranging from surprise to dismay. The girl from Practical Casting blushed, then paled.

Sebastien's slow, bitingly enunciated words came faster as she continued. "It is clear you have no idea what you are talking about, yet find some kind of sick, self-titillating pleasure in spewing vile opinions and allegations about others who aren't around to defend themselves. It speaks more about you than it does about Newton. I feel like I'm being made dirty just standing in your presence, but putting you in your place is a service to the entire world that everyone else in your lives has obviously neglected."

There was a short, stunned silence, and conversation began to die out around them as people turned to watch the altercation. "Excuse you? We were just talking!" one girl retorted.

Sebastien let out a sharp laugh. "I am also 'just talking.' The difference is that I do not pretend my words are harmless. My words are meant to slap you across the face in lieu of my hand."

The girl flinched back, looking at the fists balled at Sebastien's sides.

"I'm sorry, Sebastien, we shouldn't have…" The girl from Practical Casting trailed off, biting her lip.

"Do not sully my name by letting it pass your lips," Sebastien hissed. The crowd was growing thick with onlookers.

One of the women looked around as if for help, then burst into tears.

Ana stepped up behind Sebastien, laying a hand on her shoulder and murmuring into her ear. "That's enough. I understand, but if this goes on, you could be the one getting in trouble." Louder, she called out, "I'm sorry, he's been under a lot of stress with everything that happened, and I don't think anyone would have appreciated hearing people speak ill of their dead friend." There were sympathetic murmurs among the crowd. "Please let us pass. He needs some space."

Sebastien clenched her fists even harder, gritting her teeth, but had enough sense not to protest or continue her tirade, letting Ana usher her through to freedom.

When they were clear, Ana gave her an exasperated look. "Was that really necessary?"

Sebastien remained silent, unrepentant, her jaw lifted and clenched.

Ana sighed. "You may get away with that sort of thing now, under the circumstances and with your budding reputation, but one of these days your tongue is going to get you in trouble with the wrong person."

"I know," Sebastien admitted. "It's almost surprising that it hasn't happened already. But sometimes, I just—when I heard what they were saying—" She peeled back her lips in a silent, feral snarl and shook her head. "It's not in my nature to be silent," she finished in a softer voice.

Ana sighed, wrapping one arm around Sebastien's shoulder as they walked and pulling her in to her side for a half-embrace. "Oh, Sebastien," she murmured, shaking her head. Ana kept a hold of her for a few more moments, gaze firmly forward, then relented and released her.

By lunchtime, the remnants of Sebastien's rage had left her, like a glowing ember cooled to ash. Its passing left her so fatigued she could barely muster up the energy to eat. Normally, she was ravenous from the constant effort of working her brain and her Will to learn and channel magic. After forcing down food until she started to gag with every bite, she left the others at their cafeteria table and went outside, hoping the fresh winter air would invigorate her.

She huddled into her jacket, sitting on a bench below a crisp pine tree to watch her breath fog up in little clouds. The chill sank into her slowly, but not unpleasantly, and away from the noise and press of the other students, she didn't feel so jarringly out of sync. She closed her eyes and pulled up her scarf around her nose and ears, hibernating until it was time to go to Practical Casting. Her joints felt stiff and old, and even Professor Lacer's class wasn't enough to excite her.

When she entered, the classroom felt wrong, and she realized that its size had decreased once more, to accommodate the reduced number of students remaining. At this point, it was a similar size to many of her other classrooms, down from the beginning of term when it had been by far the largest.

Professor Lacer made his dramatic last-minute entrance as he often did, immediately quieting all conversation. The man looked tired, the lines at the sides of his eyes a little deeper.

Sebastien took a perverse pleasure in the evidence that other people were struggling in the same way she was.

"Some of your number have recognized their inability to proceed in this class and decided to give up, either for this term or forever," he announced at full volume, his deep voice easily carrying to all corners of the room. "If you are questioning your ability to handle the workload or the pressure, I urge you to follow in their footsteps. I have limited time and do not wish to waste it on doomed prospects."

With that, he turned to the blackboard, casting a spell with an absent wave of his hand. A stick of chalk jumped up and began to scratch out words and glyphs. "We will continue to work on your grasp of light as a Sacrifice. For those of you who may be interested in healing, proficiency with channeling and controlling light energy can give you a significant boost with spells that use components or energy from the Plane of Radiance. Of course, healing is not the only option for Radiant energy. I once saw a woman use a pocket-sized planar portal to channel a focused beam of energy that burnt cleanly through an entire group of enemies, and a few hundred meters into the mountainside behind them."

Sebastien was momentarily distracted wondering how that would be possible, since as far as she was aware, planar portals were specifically designed to contain and shield against uncontrolled spillover from the Elemental Plane they were accessing. People passed through the portal—each wearing a specially designed protective suit—gathered and secured components, and exited. Only wild, natural planar portals were unconstrained in a way that would allow immediate use of their energy. And she was pretty sure that direct planar warfare was against some treaty all the major and most of the minor countries had agreed to. The potential consequences were on par with loosing a high-level Aberrant.

Professor Lacer first lectured on various glyphs that were directly or tangentially associated with light-based spells, then set them to practice.

Sebastien had made significant progress on her illusion spell, but still hadn't caught up to Nunchkin's level. Normally, that would have bothered her, since she was still bitter that he had bested her in the class tournament, but at the moment she simply wanted to make it through the class period without drawing Professor Lacer's ire.

A few minutes before the end of class, Professor Lacer ended their practice. "With mid-terms over, it is now time to start considering the end of term exhibitions. In many classes, particularly in the upper terms, they will display the practical portion of the final exam as part of the exhibition. While this class is almost entirely practical, I do not include it in the exhibitions at lower levels, since none of you are advanced enough to do anything impressive. If you wish to prepare an individual presentation for those classes that are not automatically entered, you are free to do so—at risk of great personal embarrassment. However, I urge you not to attempt to free-cast in the exhibitions. While success would certainly be an impressive feat and gain you points, I have a clear understanding of your capabilities, and let me assure you that you are more likely to cause yourself Will-strain, or worse." He looked to Sebastien for a moment, and she nodded back quickly to assure him she had no plans for such foolishness.

It was a reminder that she was supposed to earn fifty points in the exhibitions. She hadn't forgotten, exactly, but she'd put it out of her mind as something that she wouldn't need to worry about until later.

Lacer continued, "If your goal is to earn points, especially in the first three terms where most students have no particularly impressive skills, I would suggest something more flamboyant or flashy." He let slip a grimace of distaste, which Sebastien thought was ironic considering his own penchant for the dramatic. "While, nominally, the point of the exhibitions is to demonstrate skill in various areas, in practice, you are statistically more likely to be rewarded with points if you provide an entertaining demonstration versus showcasing your skills in a way that does not stimulate the audience. After all, the University wants to show off to all the guests who come specifically to watch. And spend coin."

When the class was released, Sebastien turned to Damien. "I thought the point of the exhibitions was to showcase our talents for potential sponsors or employers. Can they, or the judges, not discern between skill and flash?"

Damien looked incredulously to Ana, who laughed and shook her head. "Sebastien, you seem to have misunderstood."

Damien nodded. "It's true, they say the exhibitions are for the sake of the students, but they seem more like a multi-day magical street fair. I attended every year as a child, and they were the highlight of my spring."

"It's not optimal for students who are trying to focus during that critical time," Ana added, "but the University has some token policies in place that are supposed to be for student benefit and maintain our learning environment. But they'll never restrict entrance to only potential employers or sponsors. It's too big a revenue source, as well as a great way to build and spread their reputation."

"So…I'm supposed to put on a show for who knows how many people, who might not even have any idea about how magic works, as part of a gigantic festival. And get fifty contribution points," Sebastien said, dragging her hand down her face in the way that she'd seen Oliver do when he was overwhelmed.

"You're not shy around crowds," Damien said. "Or around anyone," he added in a low mutter. "I'm sure you'll be fine as long as you prepare."

Ana smiled encouragingly. "I believe in you. But in case you're interested, there are records, both from the internal University publication and official reports, that detail what kinds of exhibitions received rewards. That should allow you to tailor your efforts to your audience."

"Thank you." Sebastien didn't want to research prior exhibitions, or start planning and developing a magical performance. She was struggling to care. But she recognized that trying to "wing" something at the last minute was a bad idea. If she failed to meet his demands, Professor Lacer might not allow her to remain at the University. Even though she was too tired to feel it at the moment, she knew her lifelong dream of learning magic wasn't something she could allow to slip through her grasp. When she had recovered from this malaise, whatever it was, she would regret inaction.

Damien seemed to notice a little of what she was feeling on her face. "Are you okay, Sebastien?"

"Tired," she replied simply.

"Really? I mean, is that it? I know you can't talk about what happened with us, but maybe you should go to the infirmary? They have mind-healers who've taken confidentiality vows. You seem…"

Sebastien rubbed her eyes. "I don't need a mind-healer, Damien. I just have a few too many things on my plate at once."

Damien was silent for a moment. He looked to see that Ana was distracted with talking to someone else, and far enough away not to hear, then said quietly, "Maybe I could help take a few 'things' off your plate? I can handle more responsibility."

Sebastien wanted to snap that his nosiness, his inclusion in her secrets, was one of her many problems. Instead, she gritted her teeth and announced abruptly, "Actually, I am going to go to the infirmary. Maybe they have something stronger than coffee to help keep me awake."

She could practically feel Damien's solicitous gaze on her back as she strode away.

Instead of the infirmary, though, she veered off and made for Professor Lacer's office, where he retreated as soon as possible after his classes. She knocked sharply, then opened the door and strode inside, stopping in front of Lacer's desk.

He looked up slowly from the scattered papers and books. Some held complicated spell arrays and what might even have been a half-finished ward plan for a residence. "How can I help you, Mr. Siverling?"

Sebastien clenched and unclenched her fists, let out a slow breath, and said, "Professor Lacer, I respect and admire you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"However, I have to insist that you respect my personal boundaries. It is unacceptable for you to cast magic on me against my will, without my consent. Especially magic that will force me to sleep. Or in any way affect my mental state. I would never have consented to it, and will not consent to the like in the future."

Thaddeus Lacer placed down his pen and leaned back in his seat. He met her gaze for a few long, agonizing seconds. "I understand. I will not do such a thing again, and will try to remember to ask your consent before casting any other magics that affect your person, unless I judge you are in immediate and severe danger without my interference."

Sebastien's shoulders loosened, but she lifted her chin, giving him a dignified nod. "Thank you. I'll leave you to your work." With a shallow bow, she turned and left the room without another word.

Chapter 98 - Excessive Force

Oliver

Month 1, Day 30, Saturday 3:30 p.m.

Through the curtained window of the discreet carriage Oliver had appropriated from Lord Morrow, which allowed him to look out but did not allow others to see in, Oliver noted an unusually large number of coppers patrolling his expanded territory. A pair of coppers had stopped a man on the side of the street and were shaking him by his elbow, drawing angry looks from all around.

"It's ironic that we break fewer laws than the Morrows ever did, and yet the coppers find us so much more offensive," Oliver said.

Huntley's ever-flickering gaze remained on their surroundings. "It's because we make it so much more obvious that the coppers aren't doing their jobs. It will die down."

Oliver wasn't sure it would. The coppers were harassing Katerin and anyone else who worked for the Verdant Stag, trying to bring Lord Stag and the Raven Queen in for questioning and arrest. Oliver doubted the coppers were getting much from those they harassed, but it was still a problem.

Oliver had managed to get most of his people released, but the fines and bribes were becoming prohibitive, and the coppers weren't showing any signs of slowing down. In a way, it was similar to what he was doing with the Morrows. They were holding his people ransom. The coppers needed to be seen doing something after the widespread fighting and collateral damage had made them seem so ineffectual, and they were getting their arrest numbers up.

Of course, not all the coppers were corrupt. Some of them actually wanted to help the community, and others were at least willing to do the right thing if it didn't significantly inconvenience them. Many of them had started the job with high ideals, but it was hard to stay clean when so many others were crooked, and the system itself seemed to subtly encourage that.

Oliver needed to find more coppers who still held to their principles, or would at least prefer to be bribed to look the other way by an organization more like the Verdant Stag than one like the Morrows.

Perhaps more easily, he could make harassing his people unappealing. He pressed his hand over his chest, where a black leather notebook sat in the inside pocket of his jacket. Before he had found the book and its key—having meticulously rifled through Lord Morrow's properties and belongings from top to bottom and broken all the wards and safeguards the man had put in place—Oliver's best idea had been to hire a team of solicitors specifically to make arrests more hassle than they were worth.

Lord Morrow had kept a team specifically for that type of thing. Instead of just paying the fines and the bribes to get his people out, Oliver could set solicitors to argue every case. It would be as tedious for him as it was for the coppers, and it would drag out the whole process and probably cost him even more, but it would make his people seem like a less appealing target.

He would still do that, but the notebook offered another type of solution. With one to two pages for every entry—some entries with only a few lines and others packed with neat, tiny writing—the book was filled with blackmail material. Blackmail on anyone remotely important, some who the Morrows had worked with, and some who Lord Morrow simply wanted to be prepared for in case of need.

There was even a page for Lord Stag, though there was nothing truly incriminating listed, just tidbits of knowledge about illegal activities he'd been involved with, as well as speculation and notes about failed attempts to find his civilian identity.

But there was plenty of information on local law enforcement, covering people who worked on every level, in all the different departments. When Oliver had realized what it contained, he'd been grateful for the featureless mask of Lord Stag, because the wild grin splitting his face from side to side was probably disturbing.

He'd gained more than just the little black notebook, though. The Morrows had been profitable. Very much so. And a large portion of their resources and businesses were now in Oliver's hands, ready for him to do with what he would. Attached to all that came the contracts, employees, and supply chains that kept all of it running, which was as much a blessing as it was a curse.

Lord Morrow had several properties filled with everything from overpriced furniture embroidered with actual gold thread, to a library of books he'd probably never read and only displayed for the aesthetic, to an old, abandoned printing press down in the basement surrounded by other knickknacks, non-working artifacts, and even some actual junk. The man may have been a hoarder. And it was all Oliver's.

Lord Morrow's widow had signed over almost everything she had legal control over, except for some properties outside Gilbratha and enough money to provide a modest stipend for her and the younger children for the remainder of her life. Which could be years yet, as long as she didn't try to go against the terms of the magical contract she had signed.

Oliver had questioned her extensively under illegal wards against untruth. The minor torture tactics he had okayed for the rest of the Morrows weren't even necessary to get her to talk. Then he had forced her, like her children and all the other captured Morrows who hadn't deserved execution, to take rather restrictive vows against retaliation. Those vows, along with the signed-over assets, were exchanged for her life and freedom.

It wasn't a perfect method, but legally, it was safer and less problematic than simply trying to steal the assets once owned by the various Morrows. Forcing people into contracts or vows under duress was illegal, and they could sue to regain what had been unlawfully taken from them, but the vows they had made also stated their admission of certain crimes.

Most of those who agreed outwardly but planned to betray him right away should have been caught by the prognos diviner he hired, and were, of course, denied release. Those who might change their minds once they were free, despite the vow's minor compulsion, would still think twice, both because betrayal would allow him to use their blood print to have someone place a curse on them, and because he could turn their admissions of guilt over to "his" coppers.

Without the resources they once had access to, the damage they could do to him would be reduced, but he was aware that the contacts and networks they'd built up over the years still existed, and he couldn't remove them entirely. By bankrupting rather than killing, he was hoping to avoid some of the retaliatory hatred. This way, even if they had powerful contacts or could call for aid from the few Morrows who avoided capture, they would be a drain on enemy resources instead of making themselves martyrs.

If people still tried to sue or otherwise cause him problems, then some high-profile assassinations would be in order as a warning.

He wasn't prepared to kill when it wasn't necessary, so this was the best solution he could come up with.

Oliver had only taken a moderate fine from those who hadn't committed any particularly serious crimes, while hiring the best—and least offensive—for the Verdant Stags.

He had been in a position where he needed to either expand or die, and he had expanded. Now he was consolidating, tightening his grip. He had dozens of good places to put the new resources to work, such as an alchemical workshop that had been creating addictive substances for the Morrows. Under Oliver, it was going to be turned toward a new—legal—enterprise making emergency response kits, household concoctions, and even cosmetics available to the common budget.

The income that would continue to come in from illegal substances while they transitioned would go towards a rehabilitation center, complete with healers and incentives, that he hoped would help fight against the addiction endemic among some of the worst off among his people. Rather than making the substances illegal, a change that would require ponderous enforcement, Oliver suspected that rehabilitation would prove a more successful—and cost effective—method of solving the epidemic. And if nothing else, it would make him look good.

Oliver watched as another pair of coppers swaggered out of the doorway of a shop that bore the bright green antlers of the Verdant Stag above their doorframe, the younger of the two smirking as he dropped a handful of coins into his pocket. Too much coin to be change for a purchase. They'd just extorted the shop owner.

They were losing all sense of moderation. They thought he was an easy victim.

"Stop the carriage," Oliver ordered, rapping on the roof to alert the driver, because the man wouldn't be able to hear him past the carriage's privacy wards, and he didn't want to lower them with a pair of coppers right there. The carriage was spelled to be both unremarkable and difficult to track, but all the wards were on the same system.

Huntley's gaze flicked around, through the windows in both doors, then searched Oliver for signs of illness or injury. "You're scheduled to go straight from the alchemy workshop to the Verdant Stag. What's wrong?"

"The coppers are harassing a shop owner under our protection." Oliver's instinct was to do something about it personally, but that would have been the worst possible decision, giving them exactly what they really wanted on a silver platter. "You should get out and dissuade them."

"Absolutely not," Huntley replied.

Oliver scowled at him. "It shouldn't be that difficult. It is our job to provide some measure of security for the people in our territory, Huntley. Otherwise they will lose faith in us, and that leads to attempted coups."

Huntley crossed his arms over his chest. "No. My job is to keep you safe. Worst case scenario, I go out there and end up getting arrested, and then something happens to you."

"I'm not completely helpless without you, you know. I've handled myself against worse threats, and I'll stay hidden in the carriage the whole time."

Outside, the coppers had stopped beside a stall selling thin bowls of steaming soup run by a scowling middle-aged woman. The one who'd pocketed the coin swaggered up, saying something to the woman. Perhaps a threat, or perhaps just a request for a bowl of soup.

She sneered, crossing her arms over her chest as she retorted.

Oliver noted the subtle antlers painted clumsily on the corner of the wooden sign that hung from the stall.

The crowd outside grew thicker as people stopped to watch the commotion, scowling and muttering.

The older copper said something to his younger partner, gesturing for them to leave, but the young man ignored him, stepping around the stall to drag the woman out into the street by her arm.

"Just go out and act vaguely threatening, Huntley. They're going after a woman now. I'm worried things could go poorly." More passersby were now stopping to glare at the coppers, and the muttering was growing louder.

A thickly muscled man in a leather apron yelled out an angry remark that Oliver couldn't make out, but which roiled the crowd and drew hostile looks from both coppers. People were beginning to mill around the carriage, blocking the horses, so they couldn't leave anyway.

Huntley settled back, crossing his arms. "This isn't a negotiation. Even if I was inclined to abandon my duties, which I'm not, Katerin would kill me. The proprietress will be fine. At most, the coppers will mess the stall up a little and make her come in for questioning. That's half a day's earnings gone. If I go out there, all it gives us is a minor show of force against two beat coppers who don't much matter. Either I threaten them and they come back more angry, with a legitimate reason to arrest me, or I bribe them to go away and we still look weak."

"I think it could be worse for her—"

The woman spat in the copper's face.

Oliver's heart sank.

White-faced, the man shoved her to the ground, his hand going for the battle wand at his waist.

Oliver lunged for the door handle, but Huntley blocked him. "He'll kill her!" Oliver snapped.

Huntley hesitated, following Oliver's gaze out of the window.

While Huntley was distracted, Oliver slipped on his Lord Stag mask, letting its suction settle onto the skin of his face, and opened the carriage door. The angry clamor from the crowd flowed over him. He paused, because the copper hadn't used the battle wand to shoot a spell but had instead cracked the woman across the cheekbone with it.

The man raised his hand to repeat the action just as a skinny, dark-skinned young man stumbled his way out of the surrounding crowd, tripped, and went sprawling onto the cobblestones.

He was carrying a bulky device in both hands, which fell across a box of soup ingredients set next to the stall, and the sharp flash of blinding-white light from it was evidence enough of what had happened, even with the sound of the camera obscura's shutter being drowned out by the screams.

The copper stopped his second swing mid-way, turning toward the fallen young man with an expression of stunned alarm that quickly morphed into rage.

His older partner was obviously uneasy, and he stepped forward to put a restraining hand on the younger copper's arm.

Many of the crowd probably didn't know exactly what the artifact was, but they knew magic when they saw it, and the response of the coppers was enough to spread a hush through them.

Oliver heard it clearly when the young copper asked, "Did you just take a photograph of me?"

The dark-skinned young man scrambled clumsily upright, almost tripping over his own feet again as he did so, fumbling to get his wire-rimmed glasses to sit straight on his face. "No—I—it was an accident. I just need—" He cut off with a twisted, horrified expression.

A shockingly loud, stuttering grumble of flatulence tore through the crowd. The young man jerked, his hands twitching toward his backside as if he could hold the sound in—to no avail, as it ripped through him, the occasional squeak interrupting the rumble until it finally died out with a reluctant wheeze.

The silence in its absence was deafening. The boy's face was noticeably pale despite the dark tint of his skin, giving him a greenish pallor. "I'm sorry, that was an accident. I ate something bad, and I thought I was going to—at least it was only gas. Better out than in, my dad always says!" he added with a high-pitched, anxious laugh, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.

The coppers were not amused.

"That's right, you tell 'em!" someone in the back of the crowd called, vibrating their tongue and lips together to create an exaggerated farting noise of their own. Someone else soon repeated the sound.

The boy paled even further, shaking his head desperately as the young copper stepped forward, swinging the baton once more, this time aimed at the young man.

The boy lifted a forearm to block the blow, and the copper punched him with his other hand, sending his glasses flying.

The boy cringed away, falling to his knees as he felt about frantically for the glasses.

The copper lunged forward as if to kick him in the side, but before he could do so, someone in the crowd threw a small stone, hitting the man in the back of the head.

The older partner spun around, lifting his wand and throwing up a shield spell. That only set off the crowd, and soon more projectiles were flying. Mud, stones, and even chunks of trash and old food.

"Don't you dare shoot at the crowd!" the older copper screamed over his shoulder at his young, foolish partner who had gotten them into this precarious situation.

Oliver's carriage driver had apparently had enough, and he tried to get them away, but the crowd was blocking the road and the horses quickly grew spooked. Oliver was worried that they might panic and trample someone.

When an angry citizen tipped a whole barrel full of coal out of the wagon a few meters in front of them, blocking the way with too little room for them to maneuver, even Huntley knew there would be no easy escape.

Both coppers were shielding now, standing back-to-back and preparing to try to ram their way through a thin section of the crowd before things escalated further. The older copper tossed out a couple of philtres of stench, the nausea-inducing clouds sending people coughing and retching to the ground.

Both the stall owner and the young artifact-toting boy had scrambled away in the confusion.

"Well, I suppose you've gotten your wish," Huntley said bitingly. "We have to get out and retreat on foot. We are not wading into the fray, sir. Keep your hood up and follow me." Without waiting for a response, he jumped down to the ground, his wand out with its own protective barrier springing from the tip. The man winced at that small exertion, lifting one hand to his side. The broken ribs and punctured lung he'd gotten in the fight against the Morrows were still healing.

Huntley yelled for their driver to take care of the horses, to cut them free from the carriage if necessary.

Oliver kept a firm grasp on his own wand, his cloak obscuring his mask as they wove through and among the crowd. Oliver was less worried about someone seeing Lord Stag out and about than recognizing Oliver Dryden and making an unfortunate connection. Perhaps one day he would be able to go around his territory as "Mr. Oliver" again, but at the moment the situation was too fraught, tensions too high.

Oliver and Huntley weren't the only ones escaping the fray, and other than a few jostles against elbows and shoulders, they managed without incident. As they turned the corner a block away, with Huntley angled to shield Oliver's back and side, someone coming around in the other direction slammed directly into Oliver with an audible "oof!"

The artifact-toting boy from earlier bounced off Oliver, so focused on protecting his camera obscura that he fell onto his bottom hard enough to force out a whimper of pain. He pushed up his glasses, one shattered lens obscuring a swelling black eye. He blinked up at Oliver, then immediately went wide-eyed and green with horror. Obviously, he had seen under Oliver's hood.

Oliver sighed regretfully, rubbing at the chin of his mask where the boy's forehead had clipped him, grateful for the unexpected protection it had afforded. His eyes narrowed as they caught on the camera obscura.

The boy stood up, scrambled backward, and bowed deeply to Oliver. "Sorry, so sorry!"

Huntley stepped forward, switching off the shield spell coming from his wand and pointing it threateningly at the boy, who looked to be a year or two younger than Siobhan.

"Oh, Myrddin's balls!" the boy babbled. "I'm really on a roll, first the coppers and now Lord Stag." He swallowed, smiling ingratiatingly at Oliver, his eyes flicking nervously to Huntley. "I don't suppose you'd let me go if I promise not to mention I saw you? I don't have any particular love for the coppers!" He pointed to his purpling eye.

Oliver shook his head slowly, and the boy quailed. "I mean you no harm," Oliver assured him. "However, I believe we have business to discuss." He gestured to the camera obscura. "I'm interested in purchasing that photograph you took earlier." With the little black journal, he had blackmail in the forefront of his mind, and had realized the potential uses of such a photograph. He thought back to the moment of the flash. He believed the angle of the artifact's lens was correct to have captured something interesting…if the photograph wasn't too blurred.

The boy's mouth opened and closed like a fish, and he looked down at the camera obscura, dumbfounded. "But it might not even be anything. The flash went off by accident. It probably wasn't pointed at anything except a couple of potatoes, and even if it was, surely everything's too blurred to make out…?"

"You will come with us," Oliver ordered. "You can find an appropriate spot at the Verdant Stag to check the photograph. Under supervision."

The boy shook his head. "That won't work. I can't just expose the photo negative to light to check it without first developing and 'fixing' the disk. It would ruin the captured image. And I don't have that processing artifact on me."

"Where is it?"

"Well, it's at home…"

Huntley nodded to Oliver. "I'll have someone escort him to fetch it."

After a painful moment where the boy looked constipated with the desire to argue, but didn't seem to know how to do so, he acquiesced, deflating.

They made their way through the city on foot for a few blocks, Huntley's eyes on a constant paranoid search for danger, though he put away his wand after a while so as not to draw extra attention to them.

The boy chattered nervously as they walked. "It's not a photograph inside, you know. This model has a magic crystal disk that captures a reverse image. It can capture three whole images before I need to replace the cartridge! Though it's not really a reverse image, it's just got the bright parts dark and the dark parts light. They call it a 'negative,' and it means that I can make as many photographs from the original disk as I want…"

Oliver tuned him out as they walked, vulnerable, toward the Verdant Stag. He knew this situation would never have happened if he were riding Elmira instead of inside a supposedly much safer carriage. An Erythrean wouldn't have been so spooked by the crowd or commotion, and she was sure-footed enough to have maneuvered through, over, or around almost any kind of blockage in her way. Of course, he'd also been ambushed before while riding her, since a man riding a horse—even a completely common-looking one like her—stood out in some of the poorer parts of town.

Oliver mused about getting her a saddle with the same kind of wards the carriage had. Huntley might not agree to let him ride her even then, however, since it was a lot harder to protect a man riding a horse than one inside the shielding walls of a carriage.

A few blocks away from the incident, Huntley flagged down a hackney with the Verdant Stag antlers painted discreetly on its side. The man took a bright green badge from an inside pocket and flashed it at the driver, who gave a deep bow of the head and motioned for them to hop on.

Oliver looked on in surprise. Katerin had been using the Stag funds to kit out the enforcers in more ways than just their equipment, it seemed.

The young man, sitting squeezed between Oliver and Huntley, hugged his camera obscura to his chest.

"What is your name?" Oliver said, breaking the tense silence.

"Percival Irving. Well met, Lord—um—Mr.…" He threw an awkward glance toward the driver, who was studiously not paying them any attention.

Oliver's wry smile was hidden under his mask, but he nodded graciously. "Well met."

As the carriage passed by the Verdant Stag, he saw Siobhan. She stood out from the crowd. Although she was wearing a cloak with a hood that disguised most of her physical features, she carried herself with the regality of a queen. Yes, he was sure it was her.

Oliver hummed to himself, feeling ambiguous as he watched her enter the inn-cum-entertainment hall. He had grown closer to her than he planned. He was one to take on "projects," obviously, and though he'd hoped she would grow to be truly useful—which had happened even sooner than he could have guessed, though not in the way he expected—he hadn't thought it would be more than that. Yet, now he was worried for her, pleased to see her, and disappointed that he couldn't stop the carriage on the street and call for her to jump in so that they could talk.

The driver took them around to the Verdant Stag's back yard where there was a locked entrance with a route to the upper floor where Oliver kept his office.

Huntley gave the man, who was sensible enough a driver to not even peek under Oliver's hood as he got out of the carriage, a large tip, then took Percival off to the enforcer office.

While Oliver waited for someone to escort the boy back home and return, he called Siobhan up to visit him, and they had a pleasant chat that erased most of the tension from his morning, sharing troubles and ideas for solutions. She looked haggard and a little too thin, but her company was as compelling as ever. When she left, Oliver put his mask back on regretfully.

Percival entered shortly after, holding a sealed cartridge that Oliver supposed contained the negative image.

The boy cleared his throat. "The camera obscura did actually capture a good image of that copper. Very…impactful."

Oliver waved the boy forward. He opened the cartridge, pulling out the first disk and examining it. It contained a miniature black and white image, with the dark and light reversed, of the copper beating the woman shop owner in the street. The copper's arm was blurred with motion, and both of their faces were clear enough, vibrant with emotion. Oliver gave a satisfied smile. "I will purchase it from you. Seven gold. If you're interested, I can also hire you to develop an actual photograph from the negative."

Percival's fingers tightened around the cartridge. "Seven gold?" He swallowed. "That sounds good. Wait, no, I want at least nine gold."

Oliver raised an amused eyebrow, though it wasn't visible beneath the mask, "Eight gold, then. That's my final offer."

"And…I also have another negative I think you might want to purchase. One of the Raven Queen. It's impactful, too."

Chapter 99 - Charitable Performance

Siobhan

Month 1, Day 30, Saturday 4:30 p.m.

People were packed into the ground floor of the Verdant Stag like pickled cucumbers stuffed into a jar. It wasn't until Siobhan got further into the room that some space cleared up and she was able to get away from the stifling crush. The heat from all the bodies made her warm clothing unnecessary, but she caught sight of a pair of uniformed coppers at one of the tables and decided not to take off her hooded cloak. Sure, she was Silvia, a civilian who, at most, helped at a healing station during the fighting, and had the identity papers to prove it, but if they took her to Harrow Hill, papers might not save her.

'Why are they here?' she wondered.

Everyone seemed to have come for the people on stage at the other end of the room, who she thought must be putting on some sort of play at first, but when she actually listened, it was a rather strange monologue.

"After the earlier testimony of both the accused and the accusers, which was verified through prognos divination and wards against untruth, Eric Hanna, Morrow member, has been found guilty by the Verdant Stag of the following crimes: public nudity, blackmail, three counts of mugging, twenty-two counts of extortion, and six counts of assault, one of which caused grievous and permanent injury. By order of Lord Stag, he has been relieved of the fruits of his crimes, and restitution is due to those he has harmed."

The cheers were immediate and deafening as people clapped, slammed their tankards of ale and beer on the tabletops, and stomped their feet.

When the noise died down, the second person atop the stage stepped forward. "As the executor of a trust held at Citrus Bank, and in no way associated with the Verdant Stag, or other criminal activity," he added, with a dark glare toward the two coppers, "I have been charged to publicly convey the beneficiaries of this trust and the amount they are receiving."

Siobhan noticed then the banner above the stage that introduced the "charitable performance."

The trust executor listed off names, accompanied by varying monetary amounts that ranged from a few silver to a few gold. It wasn't even close to what the coppers would have fined for those same crimes, and was certainly less than what Oliver had extorted out of the accused Morrows, but the audience didn't seem to care.

Siobhan sidled closer to a particularly enthusiastic woman. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice almost drowned out by another wave of cheers as the executor announced the next person to receive restitution.

The woman gave her a huge, slightly drunken grin that revealed a couple of missing teeth. "Something's actually being done about the injustices we all been subjec—subjd—" She stopped to hiccup, then finished, "the injustices we went through."

"And they're really paying? How do you get chosen for restitution?"

The woman nodded dramatically. "Yes, Lord Stag is really paying out. If your name is called, you go down to Citrus Bank with identification, and their people there take out the money from that trust account he was mentioning—coin straight into your hand! And it's easy to get considered for restitution, just go note what the Morrows did to you, and which've 'em did it. You've gotta give testimony under some kind of spell that keeps you from lying, and once the trial is over it's too late to submit a claim. Not everyone gets the restitution, if there's not enough proof of what was done, or who did it, or if who did it doesn't have any coin for the Verdant Stag to take back for you. Still, a damn sight better than anyone else would do for us." She looked over to the table that housed the coppers and yelled, "A damn sight better than the coppers ever did for us!"

Siobhan tugged at the corner of her hood to make sure her face was hidden, trying to do so as naturally as possible so she didn't seem suspicious. "Have you gotten any restitution?"

The woman grinned toothily again, holding up her mug in a toasting motion. "Three silver!" she announced proudly. Judging by her level of drunkenness, as well as the crumbs on the empty plate in front of her, she'd already spent at least that much, the coin going right back to the Verdant Stag.

'Maybe Oliver isn't so crazy.'

Siobhan watched the proceedings for a few more minutes, until someone sidled through the crowd, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Siobhan jerked away, whipping around with her hands held up defensively, which she immediately decided was rather foolish, because she had little skill as a hand-to-hand combatant.

A young man raised his own hands, empty palms facing outward to convey his harmlessness. With a glance at the coppers, he reached down to his jacket, pulling one side open far enough that she could see the bright green antlers of the Stags embossed on a badge tucked into his shirt pocket. "Apologies, ma'am. I didn't mean to startle you. Your presence has been requested upstairs."

"By whom?"

He didn't answer, instead giving her a significant look. "Mr. Huntley told me to pass the message along."

She vaguely recognized the name as belonging to one of the Stags' lead enforcers. Most likely, either Katerin or Oliver had called for her. Siobhan lowered her hands, nodding for the young man to lead the way. As they climbed the stairs at the edge of the room, the bottom of which was guarded by another enforcer, she asked, "I noticed the coppers are just sitting there. Have they been causing trouble?"

The young man laughed, as if the question was ironic. "Oh, plenty of it. But they can't stop us. They don't know where the Morrows are being held, and the two men on stage are a licensed actor and a lawyer who was hired to enforce the Citrus Bank trust independently. They're not actually involved with the Verdant Stag or the trials or anything, they were just hired to talk on stage in a clearly labeled performance for charity. I'm not totally sure how that all works, but it's not illegal. The coppers have still been arresting them, of course. This is the fourth or fifth set of performer and lawyer." He grinned as if that was hilarious. "But they just stay down at Harrow Hill for a day or two for questioning while someone else takes their place on stage. None of them actually know anything, so Harrow Hill has to release them within three days. Those two coppers down below are just there for appearances. They haven't tried anything."

Siobhan hummed. "It still seems like they could arrest people on charges of collusion or something?"

"They'll arrest people on charges of almost anything, but it's not sticking. You go in, you take a few sleepless nights and shitty food and maybe a few bruises, but as long as you don't talk, you come out again when either the laws or the bribes say so. Everyone got lessons on what to do, and we even got to practice against one of those lying wards."

That seemed…dangerous. All it would take would be for someone higher up, like Titus Westbay, to notice and care that Oliver's people were bribing their way out of charges, and suddenly an arrest might not be such a simple matter. And it would only take one person with the right information to give the coppers what they needed to make other charges stick. Oliver's people might not be as bad as the Morrows, but they'd all committed crimes in the eyes of the Thirteen Crown Families.

If they arrested Oliver, Katerin, or someone else with actual knowledge and power, things would become much more dangerous. She wasn't sure a bribe would be enough to cover them. And of course, the coppers would remember that the Raven Queen had been associated with the Verdant Stag, too.

The whole situation made her uncomfortable.

The enforcer led Siobhan to Oliver's office, which she had never been in before. It was significantly more ostentatious than Katerin's office, all dark woods and plush furniture, with a layout that suggested the chair behind Oliver's desk was instead a throne, and all who entered must supplicate before him. It would have been more impressive if his desk wasn't covered with a mess of ledgers, binders, and loose paper.

Oliver looked up from a small leather notebook, the kind with a lock, and gave her an excited smile as she entered. He quickly closed the book and set it aside, then, deciphering her expression, said, "Yes, this office is generally only used for meeting with people. I'm considering moving the administrative headquarters to another building. Somewhere more discreet. We've got quite a few former Morrow properties whose rights were signed over." He stood from the desk, moving to one of the plush chairs nearer the fire and gesturing for her to join him. Someone had left a coffee tray, and he offered her a cup of dark liquid brewed so strongly the sugar spoon almost stood up straight.

"Is there a plan to deal with the coppers, other than antagonizing them with public shows meant to undermine their authority?" she asked.

Oliver sipped his own coffee, giving her a nettled look over the rim. "Feeling prickly, are we?"

Siobhan grimaced. "Sorry, that came out slightly harsher than I intended."

"Only slightly?" Before she could respond, he said, "I do have a plan. And a rather good one. It includes a whole flock of solicitors who will make the coppers bleed for every unwarranted arrest, and a heaping dollop of blackmail on top. Those who are corrupt will soon see that my territory isn't worth it, and those who genuinely care about their jobs will realize their efforts are better spent elsewhere, in the places that need them. This whole thing, believe it or not, is a lot more reserved than I originally intended. I wanted to do public executions for the worst of the Morrows, if you remember, but Katerin and some of the others talked me out of it. I'll still make sure they get what they deserve, but it won't be directly by our hand, and thus won't make the Crowns look like they've lost control."

"How are you going to handle them instead?"

"They'll be handling it—the coppers, that is. I'm just going to make sure everyone involved has extra incentive to follow the law, no matter how influential the accused men once were." He grinned like a child with a stolen cookie. "In fact, I've got quite a few things in the works. I think you'll be impressed."

Siobhan hummed and raised one of her eyebrows, but couldn't help the corners of her lips twitching up, his enthusiasm spreading infectious energy to her.

They were both silent for a moment, drinking their coffee at the perfect almost-scalding temperature. Finally, Oliver said, "You seem tired."

"I'm sleeping more than I have been for the past five or six years," she said wryly.

"And hating every second, no doubt."

She let out a short, surprised laugh. "Well, yes." That was the main reason she was here, but since she had Oliver at her disposal, she brought up another issue. "I don't want to take up too much of your time since you're so busy, but I wonder if I might get some of your particular brand of insight on a possible problem?"

He tensed a little but nodded. "Titan's balls, let it be a problem I can actually fix."

"Damien Westbay is going to become a problem, and perhaps even more so now that it's not safe to spy on Tanya Canelo anymore. He's too curious, too eager for action. I've been trying to shut him down, but he doesn't stay down for long. You're the one who's good with the social things, getting people to do what you want."

Oliver settled back in his chair with his booted feet closer to the fire. "Tell me more. And give details. I need to understand how his mind works."

Siobhan spoke while Oliver asked probing questions, almost all of which she answered in detail. She knew Damien well, even better than she'd realized.

Finally, Oliver seemed satisfied, steepling his fingers together in front of his chest like some kind of stereotypical evil genius. "You need a little more carrot to go along with your stick. Don't keep trying to shut him down. When Westbay wants more, give him more, but dangle that carrot in the direction that's most convenient to have him run. Ideally, away from anything you're hoping to keep secret. Once he's busy enough, even he won't have time to indulge his curiosity."

"So I need to come up with some project for him to throw himself into? Ideally something that won't require me to put in even more work."

"Yes. You can take some time to consider what you might like him pointed toward, or you can even see if he has any ideas for a 'mission' that you wouldn't mind allowing. That might be dangerous, if he's the type to become fixated on ideas once he has them, but it would give you an idea where the danger lies."

"I understand. I'll think about it. Thanks."

"When you get time, feel free to stop by the manor and do some more brewing for the Verdant Stag. With all the new territory, we're running through concoctions faster than we can stock them. Particularly healing concoctions, and some little fireplace-in-a-bottle things that one of our other alchemists has been supplying."

"You have a lot of homeless and injured people, then?" she guessed.

"Too many. But let's not talk about that."

"How about the people downstairs?" She laughed as another set of cheers and stomping rattled the entire building, only mostly muffled by the two floors between them. "They love the free coin, especially when it's paired with 'justice.' How much are you earning off all this?"

Oliver's grin looked more than a little evil. "Oh, a lot."

They chatted for a while longer, until a check of her pocket watch revealed that it would get dark soon. She didn't want to be trudging around the city in the frigid night, so took her leave.

Oliver sounded disappointed to have to get back to work, and his dramatic sigh followed her out the door as she left.

With her cloak back up, Siobhan's peripheral vision was impaired, and she bumped into someone at the edge of the narrow back stairway that led to Oliver's office.

She'd knocked a small cartridge out of his grip, and as he fumbled to catch it, he tilted precariously backward. Just as he regained control of the cartridge, his foot slipped off the top step, and if not for her grabbing him by the waistcoat and yanking with all her strength, he would have tumbled down the stairs.

He fell to one knee beside her, but seemed rather unscathed by the whole thing, laughing awkwardly. "Oh, thank you. Bit clumsy of me, are you alright?"

"I should be asking you that," Siobhan said. "I apologize, I didn't see you."

"To be honest, it's probably not your fault. My luck has been atrocious today!" the boy said, laughing as if at some inside joke as he rose to his feet. He was about her height, with skin much darker than hers, but the deep purple bruise around his swollen eye, shielded by the shattered lens of his glasses, was still conspicuous.

"If you need a bruise salve, they sell them here," she said, grimacing. "There's a little apothecary on the other side of the building, to the left of the main staircase. They're quite a bit cheaper than what you can find elsewhere, and good quality."

"Can just anyone buy from them? I don't work for—well, I'm trying to sell something to Lord Stag, but I don't work for them, and I'm pretty sure I live outside the gang's territory."

Siobhan shrugged. "It shouldn't be a problem, but I can't be sure. Are you going up to see, er, Lord Stag? You could ask him."

The boy's grip tightened noticeably. "Oh, umm, do you really think I should? He's so… Isn't there someone else I could ask?"

Siobhan let out a quiet laugh. "I know the mask can be intimidating, but Lord Stag really isn't that frightening. He's quite friendly, and he actually enjoys helping people."

"Is that so?" the boy asked, looking extremely skeptical.

"It is," Siobhan asserted.

"Well…thank you." The boy reached out to shake her hand. "Percival, but you can call me Percy. Do you work around here?"

"Well met, Percy." She hesitated only a moment before introducing herself as Silvia. "I do some contract work when it's necessary."

"Do you have any advice for me? I'm trying to sell him something a little…sensitive. I'm pretty nervous about it." Percy shuffled his feet, seeming not to notice how close to the edge of the stairs he still was.

Siobhan raised an eyebrow, reaching out to nudge him away from danger. "Well…don't take his first offer, I suppose. And don't be too nervous. The worst he can do is say no."

Percy looked down at the cartridge, muttering, "I don't think that's the worst he can do," but then gave her a bright smile, wincing as the expression squished the swollen flesh around his black eye. "I'd better get in there. Thanks, Silvia!" With a wave of his hand, he stepped past her, taking a fortifying breath before knocking on the door to Oliver's office.

Siobhan shook her head, a little bemused, then made for the apothecary tucked away on the other side of the building, the hallway guarded by yet another Verdant Stag enforcer.

Within, she found the main purpose of her trip, and the reason she had risked coming to the Verdant Stag—a triangular vial of what looked rather like slug poop. The substance within was a grey-brown, porous sludge, nothing like some of the more interesting-looking potions that came in bright colors, glowed, or roiled within their containers. Still, Siobhan had to suppress a huge grin as she picked it up, despite the three-gold price tag.

Katerin's assistant, Alice, was running the shop, and fixed Siobhan with a gimlet eye when she tried to buy it. "I need a prescription from a healer to sell this to you," she said.

Siobhan suppressed a frustrated groan. "I don't have a healer's note, but I'm an alchemist, and well aware of the tincture's usage and requirements."

"Beamshell tincture is addictive, and leaves an energy debt. People who abuse it will keep pushing until they collapse, malnourished and dehydrated, and for thaumaturges, with a significantly increased chance of Will-strain. If you have narcolepsy, or insomnia, or some other legitimate reason to need this, I'm happy to sell it to you once you bring me proof."

Briefly, Siobhan considered asking Oliver or Katerin to come down and vouch for her, or even coming back the next day with a forged healer's prescription—but no, that was ridiculous. She leaned forward and said in a low voice, "I encountered an Aberrant that caused a severe sedative effect. You probably heard about the incident." Aberrants were the kind of thing that was hard to argue against and likely to engender an emotional response. In this case, hopefully sympathy, and a hesitance to ask too many questions. "I don't have narcolepsy, I just need a little help staying sharp when I'm awake. I assure you, I have no plans to abuse the concoction. I brew a good number of the potions you stock here," she added.

What Siobhan said was more or less true, except for her fatigue being caused directly by lingering anomalous effects of the Aberrant. She just needed something a little stronger than coffee to give her energy while she was awake. She couldn't continue to drag her way through her days, barely scraping by. She wasn't stupid enough to abuse the beamshell tincture until she got herself addicted.

Alice still hesitated, drawing a weary sigh from Siobhan. "I can get Katerin to vouch for me, if she's here." Bringing in Oliver would be a little too much, probably.

Alice finally conceded. "If you need a second vial, I'll require that healer's note." She rattled off a series of dosage and use instructions that Siobhan had already memorized, and Siobhan walked out three gold lighter, with a vial of bottled energy burning a hole in one of her inner jacket pockets.

The excitement of potential relief got her all the way to the Silk Door without feeling the nip of the cold.

Within her closet-sized backroom, she changed into her male form, then picked up Sebastien's clothes, which she'd left there the night of the incident before everything went so wrong.

She'd also brought back the Raven Queen's dress, which she would stash there until she had a chance to take it to a used clothing shop for sale. There was a small chance the outfit might be recognized or otherwise used to connect her to the scene of the crime.

She picked up the pile of red and black fabric, intending to cast the shedding-destroyer spell on it, but her finger brushed up against what felt like a metal wire.

She jerked back, tossing the clothes to the floor as if she'd been burned. Her skin rippled with goosebumps as her hindbrain seemed to realize what she'd touched before her conscious mind made the connection. "Oh…" she whispered.

Siobhan stepped forward cautiously, pinching one corner of the fabric and lifting until the wire revealed itself.

Only it wasn't a wire. It was a piece of the flesh-and-bone string that Newton's Aberrant had been formed from, and which had infected and subsumed anyone it touched, woven through the fabric. The sharp edge suggested that a slicing spell had severed it at some point.

It didn't move, even when she clicked her tongue experimentally to see if it reacted to the noise.

There was also no smell or evidence of decay. 'It might not actually be made out of flesh, come to think of it. Just because it's the same color means nothing. This is a piece of an Aberrant. How did the Red Guard not notice this?'

That they hadn't perversely reassured her. 'If the string was dangerous, surely they would have found it with one of their scanning artifacts?'

Horrified and fascinated, Siobhan used the edge of her cloak to protect her skin as she pulled the string out from where it had woven itself into the hem, almost invisibly. It was a couple of inches long, as thin as a hair, and rigid. She stared at it for a long time, watching for any signs of life.

When she finally got back to the dorms, any excitement regarding the beamshell tincture was long forgotten.

She closed the curtains around her cubicle, then pulled a glass vial from her pocket, checking on the single Aberrant string she'd placed within. She assured herself that it was still unmoving, definitely dead, and safe. Even so, she melted some wax around the thread-screw top of the vial, put the whole thing in a leather pouch, and hid it safe at the bottom of her school trunk.

Sebastien rifled through her encrypted grimoire until she found the notes she'd made about the blood-print vow, then reviewed the information about the warding aspect that would incinerate the blood if someone tried to access it or use it for sympathetic magic. The principle could be repurposed to secure other things that she would rather destroy than lose or have used against her.

Using the paper spell array for stone disintegration—one of the spells she had learned in Practical Casting—Sebastien carved the lines of the warding spell deep into the stone floor where the trunk at the foot of her bed usually sat. She blew gently to clear out the lines and collected the dust in a small pile, then cast the ward spell, pouring power into what was technically a simple artifact with only two parameters. It would store the energy until it needed to be used against an attack, or when the trickle of natural loss ran it dry.

Then, she used another paper spell array to cast the stone-forming spell on the saved dust, but slightly modified the output to create a flat section of stone rather than a sphere. In way, she formed a thin façade of stone over the warding spell, which was still active but now almost undetectable.

Finally, she moved the school trunk, with the Aberrant string at the bottom, back into its normal spot over the ward.

She lay down on the thin bed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Imagining the thread secretly growing in the dark, she shuddered, wondering if she'd just made a mistake. She could have given it to the Red Guard, or Professor Lacer, or even simply tried to burn it up with a fire.

But she wanted it. Perhaps it was irrational, but she wanted to keep it, this last piece of Newton. The Red Guard had taken the rest of him, along with the others who had died, and probably destroyed it all. Since she certainly wasn't going to place the vial on her bedside table or the windowsill, like some kind of paperweight bauble, this was the compromise.

The string would stay hidden, and she would check on it periodically, to make sure it wasn't growing.

Chapter 100 - The Press

Oliver

Month 1, Day 30, Saturday 5:30 p.m.

Oliver froze, deliberately keeping himself from visibly reacting to Percival's revelation. "You have a photograph of the Raven Queen," he repeated.

Percival nodded, clutching at his left wrist as he stepped closer. "I got it that night a few months ago, when she fought against the Morrows from that old bell tower. That time was an accident, too, actually. My camera confused the lightning for a flash and triggered on its own."

"What exactly does the photograph show?"

Percival grimaced. "It's the view from a building a few blocks away, looking up at the Raven Queen across the street. She's free-casting, with the spell array glowing above her hand, her cloak whipping around in the wind, and the afterimage of a lightning bolt behind her. My camera obscura has the latest cutting-edge technology. It only takes about a second to capture the image, so it's feasible to take photographs of more than just still objects. She's barely blurred!"

Oliver's voice remained tightly controlled. "Is her face identifiable?"

"Well…no. It's from quite far away, the lighting conditions are sub-optimal, and the spell array is between her face and the camera. But it's her!"

Some of Oliver's tension departed. "I will need to examine the image. Have you shown it to anyone else?"

Percival fiddled with his glasses, shaking his head. "I was too afraid. I thought she, or you, might retaliate against me if I talked. They say the Raven Queen holds grudges, and the rumors about what she does to those she doesn't like…" He shuddered visibly. "I do not want to anger her. Or you. This isn't some insane threat that I'll sell the photograph to the coppers or the newspaper. But since I have it…I thought you might be interested in buying the negative as a package deal with the one I took today."

Oliver leaned back in his chair despite his desire to get up and snatch the cartridge from the boy's hand. "How is it you find yourself in these situations, Percival Irving? Are you searching them out? Were you following the Raven Queen? Or actively trying to make contact with me today?"

Some of Oliver's emotion leaked into his tone, and Percival was at least smart enough to recognize the danger, flinching and waving his hands frantically in denial. "No, no! It was all a coincidence," he insisted, then hesitated. "Well, perhaps not totally a coincidence, because I have…peculiar luck. Things tend to go wrong for me, all at once, in cascading, interesting ways." The word "interesting" had the tone of a particularly vile curse word, and Percival's lip drew up in a grimace of loathing. "I periodically find myself in the middle of events that I never intended to be involved in and am not prepared to handle."

Oliver was silent, staring at him through the shadow-black eye holes of his mask.

"I'm not just saying that!" Percival assured him. "I had a run-in with a hag, and there seems to be some luck magic involved."

"Luck magic?"

"Whatever you want to call it—luck, probability manipulation, or just some force influencing my decisions or the events around me in seemingly random ways that are actually calculated and deliberate—I don't know. Call it what you will, strange things happen around me. I'm really, really not searching out danger."

Oliver steepled his fingers together, watching the frustrated boy return his gaze. "And these coincidences lead to you taking photographs of important people and events?"

"Among other things, but yes. I've witnessed or been involved in six incidents that could have gotten me injured or even killed in the last few months alone, and which made me witness to multiple serious crimes. Seven events if you count today, I suppose. When interesting things happen, it's like a magnet draws me in against my will."

Oliver might have brushed the claim off as ridiculous, but he'd spent years traveling the settled areas of the world, and had experienced enough to hesitate before discounting a tale such as Percival's. "Tell me more."

The boy did, in a rambling, passionate account that lasted almost twenty minutes and proved to be quite entertaining. Several times Oliver nearly burst into riotous guffaws at the ridiculous situations Percival got himself into, only holding back so that he didn't seem too eager. The boy even rolled up his sleeve to show Oliver the mysterious tattoo that had started it all.

Finally, Oliver admitted, "If what you tell me is true, it does seem that you've experienced a strange number of coincidences. Even more surprising were the ways you managed to get through them." Anecdotal evidence was useless, of course, and the boy could be either misguided or an excellent liar, but Oliver was intrigued nonetheless. Although the truth wasn't verifiable, he made a note to keep Percival as far from Siobhan as possible. The last thing he needed was the boy dragging her into his orbit of misfortune. She got into enough "interesting" situations without extra help. "I will buy both originals. Did you bring the other with you?"

Percival reached into his pants pocket, pulling out some lint, a couple of coins, and a wad of thick, dark paper, which Percival had used to cover the negative disk in lieu of a cartridge.

After verifying that it was safe to do so, Oliver unwrapped and inspected it. The image had been captured from quite far away, and was indistinct but still dramatic. He could make out his own form beside Siobhan, his mask a white spot against the darkness, battle wand outstretched, with the blurred streak of a glowing spell shooting toward the silhouetted forms on the street below. "Sixteen gold for both, then?" he asked, already putting the negative back in its protective wrapping and moving both it and the cartridge into one of his desk drawers.

"Umm, that works, but I actually need the cartridge from today back? It's got two other negatives in it that I took earlier today. Nothing you'd be interested in. I saved up for the camera for a long time, but I didn't realize how expensive negative disks and development would be. I've been trying to cover the cost by taking portraits of people. That's what I was originally doing in the market today."

Oliver pulled out the cartridge, then carefully examined the other two disks to ensure they were really as innocuous as stated.

"I guess this camera really is paying for itself!" Percival babbled nervously as he accepted the disks from Oliver's outstretched hand. "I sent a couple of my photographs—normal ones, nothing like this—to the newspaper, but they weren't interested in purchasing them without a story to go along with the photo. The only stories I have are the kind I can't sell for fear of retaliation, or that the newspaper wouldn't buy for fear of retaliation!" He laughed at his own joke.

The mention of the newspaper brought to mind the old printing press Oliver had found in Lord Morrow's basement, covered in junk, dust and cobwebs. He stilled, making connections and sparking upon an idea that had been half-formed until that moment.

With some soap, lubricating oil, and maybe a bit of magic, he was sure they could repair the press and get it working again—certainly for much less than it would cost to buy a similar artifact. In fact, it might be possible to drive such an old model with manpower alone, without the need for a thaumaturge on staff. "Are you a decent writer, Percival?"

"I can read and write as well as anyone! My mom taught all us kids," the boy said proudly.

"I don't mean just technically. Are you engaging? Can you tell a decent story in text form, the same way you just told me all those stories about your misfortunes?"

"I haven't written them down or tried to get them published, if that's what this is about?" Percival said, tilting his head to the side with a frown, looking like a one-eyed owl.

Oliver leaned forward. "How would you like a job as the main investigative journalist of a brand-new publication, dedicated to the needs of the people and telling the truth? That artifact of yours will come in handy. And I can give you your first interview right now."

Chapter 101 - Game Plan

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 31, Sunday 9:00 a.m.

Sebastien took her first dose of the beamshell tincture immediately after her morning meal on Sunday. She had eaten every bit of her food even though she wasn't hungry and had even started to gag. This ongoing lack of hunger was foreign to her, since, despite the cafeteria food's lack of flavor, her normal appetite usually left her feeling only semi-full.

Sebastien went into the bathroom, then, and following the usage instructions very carefully, she used a toothpick to measure out approximately one tenth of a gram and mixed the crumb-sized piece of paste into a cup of warm water, which she chugged. A decigram wasn't even a full dose, but she was being cautious.

She clamped her mouth shut around the renewed desire to vomit. As her stomach settled, it began to tingle, as if the tincture inside her were crackling with lightning. This electric energy quickly spread outward, rushing up to her head and down to her toes, filling her with a flush of warmth and vibrancy.

Sebastien suppressed a giddy laugh.

With the new energy fizzing inside her, she headed to the library to fix her life.

One unoccupied table caught some spillover light from the shimmering spelled glass that made up the library's domed ceiling. She sat down and paused, basking in the brightness for a moment. The tincture had left her feeling buzzy and flighty, but she forced herself to stillness, considering her goal.

'It's time to take control and figure out my problem. I need a real plan, and a schedule to implement the plan.' When she felt composed and calm, she opened her eyes and pulled out some note-taking supplies.

'I will list all of the problems first before trying to come up with solutions to them.' She scribbled a list of bullet points.

'The coppers can still use my blood to scry for me, unless it was destroyed in the explosion.'

'I still owe the Verdant Stag almost eight hundred gold crowns of the original one thousand debt. Interest is a devil.'

'I'm feeling awake at the moment, but this will do nothing to stop the nightmares, which are the real problem.'

'Damien needs a sense of purpose, focused on something that has less chance of getting me caught.'

'I've got to maintain good academic standing in general, while also completing Professor Lacer's auxiliary exercises, and to prepare something that will earn at least fifty contribution points in the end of term exhibitions.'

She paused, staring at the list, then continued.

'It's also possible that there could be incoming repercussions from Tanya's University faction, or from the coppers, for my involvement in the Aberrant incident, even in my Sebastien Siverling identity.'

She hesitated, wondering if she'd covered everything. 'If I solved these problems, would my life be fixed?' She considered Ennis for a moment, but decided that she did not, in fact, care to do anything about his imprisonment, and would be fine even if he was sentenced to work in the celerium mines for the rest of his life.

Finally, she added one last bullet point.

'Do something about the Raven Queen's reputation, and/or clear Siobhan Naught's name?'

That would be ideal, but how she might go about doing that remained nebulous.

She mulled over the problems, trying to find issues she hadn't dredged up, but finally decided that if she could deal with the whole list, it would be enough. Be that as it may, neither the list's size nor severity were trifling.

'First, the danger of repercussions from the University or the coppers.' She wasn't sure what she could do to mitigate such an indefinite threat. She would keep her eyes open and gather any relevant information, but her power here was limited. Oliver had plenty of contacts in law enforcement, and she had Damien, so there was a non-trivial chance that she would learn of danger to either identity before it became critical. Beyond that, she had to hope that the important people believed what she had told them about her—Sebastien's—involvement and thought her harmless. The coppers' investigation was still ongoing, but if they found something to implicate her, she would have to deal with that when it happened.

Sebastien could, however, anticipate that the things that could go wrong, would go wrong, and attempt to prepare for that eventuality. She might need to run, hide, or even fight. She needed contingencies in place for the worst possible outcome. If she had done this before, actually taking the safety of herself and those around her with deadly seriousness, and planned accordingly, maybe Newton would still be alive.

Her grandfather had told her once that it was hard for people to imagine experiencing the kind of catastrophe that had never affected them before. People in flood or storm zones only wanted to pay for wards strong enough to protect them from the strongest disaster in their own memory, not the strongest that could realistically affect them. People read about accidents, illnesses, and crimes in the newspapers, but didn't believe those things would touch them or those they cared for. If they did, every house that could afford it would have anti-fire wards, and people would carry defensive artifacts when they left their homes, and would go to the healer at the first worrying sign of illness. Children thought they were immortal, because they'd never experienced death firsthand.

But she… She should have known better. Her life with Ennis might have been relatively safe and mundane compared to her current circumstances. She might have gotten used to not being able to prepare for everything due to lack of knowledge, funds, or most often both. But she knew how dangerous, how horrific, how absolutely devastating life could really be. She should have tried harder to be ready for it, taken the danger of what they were doing more seriously, rather than assuming things would somehow just work out.

Sebastien had known better, intellectually, but she could see now that she hadn't believed things could really go so wrong. If she had, she would have been much more cautious. And maybe, even now, even if she did everything right, there was something she couldn't see waiting to destroy this new, precarious life she had built. There was not even an ounce of fairness in the world, she knew that well enough. Catastrophe could and would fall on those that did not deserve it, and it could come with all the power and shock of a meteor fallen from the heavens. It was up to her to decrease the chances of such an event as much as possible, and that meant preparation of the kind that didn't come naturally to a human brain. Preparation for the things that could go wrong, not just things that had already gone wrong.

She added more bullet points to the list.

'Make preparations for if I am caught.'

'Imagine various doomsday events and ways that I might avoid or navigate them. Run drills?'

'Train myself to be less foolish.'

The thought spurred a horrible realization, one that might have been hiding in the back of her mind for some time now, waiting for her to acknowledge it. 'I shouldn't have gone back downstairs for my bag. There is nothing in it so valuable that I should have willingly faced the Aberrant.'

Her grip on her pen tightened at the thought. 'If I had left the bag, the worst possible thing that could have happened was them realizing that Siobhan Naught and Sebastien Siverling are the same person. Perhaps, if things escalated, I would have had to escape Gilbratha. But the worst-case scenario leading from my decision to go back and retrieve it is that I could have died—or become a second Aberrant.'

She let the pen drop to the table as a full-body shudder rolled through her. She understood the concept behind calculating worthwhile risks. It was based on a simple formula of desirability vs. likelihood.

Dying or becoming an Aberrant were the worst possible outcomes, with a value of negative ninety-nine and negative one hundred, respectively. Getting caught and giving up her schooling would be horrible, but if she were alive, she at least had a chance to overcome somehow, so that outcome had a value of negative seventy. At the time, getting kicked out of school had seemed totally unacceptable, but when compared to the threat of dying, it was immediately obvious that school wasn't nearly as important as her life.

Then, to pick which option she should have gone with, she only needed to multiply the likelihood of each event with its desirability value. If the coppers had found her bag and the bracelets on Newton's arms, she guessed that Sebastien Siverling had a seventy percent chance to get caught, making the overall utility value of that choice negative forty-nine. It would have been smartest to just give the whole ruse up as a lost cause and escape preemptively, but there was still a chance she could have continued on if she played everything right.

Going down there to confront the Aberrant face-to-face had almost killed her. If not for the flash of a waking nightmare, it would have. In truth, she was ridiculously lucky to be alive to have this realization right now. And the decision had still almost gotten her caught. If she'd been just a little slower, instead of finding Sebastien escaping, the Red Guard would have found the Raven Queen, insensate and basically captured for them.

With a ninety-five percent chance of a break event or death, with an additional chance of capture even if she avoided the first two, the value of that choice was negative ninety-five, at least.

Her calculated utility values could be off, because factors in the real world didn't come in discrete, whole numbers, and there were many variables and potential outcomes that she couldn't anticipate. But there was almost no way that facing down the Aberrant had been the correct choice.

"Why am I so stupid?" she whispered to herself as tears pooled in her eyes, burning like acid. Before they could fall, she tilted her head back, opening her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling until they subsided. Perhaps the Aberrant's hums really had been affecting her judgment, as she had claimed to Professor Lacer and the Red Guard. She almost hoped that was the case, because the alternative was that something was deeply wrong with her judgment. Though she didn't believe she was suicidal, her actions suggested differently.

Sebastien took a few deep breaths and swallowed her shame. "I just have to do better. I can do better," she said to the ceiling.

When her fingers could hold the pen again, she made a list of sub-points with all the things she needed to do to prepare for the possibility of a fight or flight situation. This list was even longer than her original list of problems, but at least each point was something she could accomplish. Tentatively, she marked which items were the most critical, knowing there would be more to come and that no matter how much she might wish it, she couldn't do everything at once.

Next, she considered the blood sample the coppers had. Eagle Tower was in the process of being repaired, and unless the coppers had lost her blood, or it was damaged in the explosion, which she couldn't count on, they would be trying again. The next time, Tanya's little trick wouldn't work.

She'd considered the problem before and had a few different ideas about how she could get rid of the blood. Most of them were unfeasible, requiring either a very powerful thaumaturge, or a group of them, to channel enough power. The coppers weren't entirely incompetent. Evidence was well-protected. 'Liza offered to solve the problem for eight hundred gold crowns. Is there any way I could afford to hire her?' Looking at the next point on her list of problems, which was her overwhelming debt, Sebastien set that idea aside.

Her best bet was still working out how to combine the reverse-scry spell with a curse, which meant she would need to research and practice sympathetic curses.

This extracurricular project was one she wouldn't be requesting Professor Lacer's help on. He might be willing to overlook something like the sleep-proxy spell, and maybe even research into curses, but he was too sharp for Sebastien to give him any hints about her identity. That could end up going very badly for her.

However, maybe Liza would be willing to consult for a much-reduced price, with some wheedling or extra incentive. Of Sebastien's contacts, Liza was the most knowledgeable about divination, and maybe could suggest some better ideas about how to handle the situation. If Sebastien could afford it.

Which brought Sebastien to her next issue. Funds.

Beyond her debt to the Verdant Stag, it seemed like all other types of problems were easiest to solve when one had coin to throw at them. It reminded her of a joke she'd heard once: "If a fireball spell can't solve your problem, you need a bigger fireball." With enough gold, Sebastien could make other problems into money problems. She could hire competent help or bribe important people to do what she wanted. Of course, that level of wealth was well beyond her reach. Sebastien was now at the point that an entire weekend spent brewing for the Stags until she reached exhaustion would cover about two weeks of interest, plus a little left over. That was huge, compared to where she'd started.

She thought back to the concoctions she'd seen in the Verdant Stag's little apothecary. She had taken no particular note of the prices, but her mind was a steel trap. She closed her eyes, trying to recreate her experience as she walked through the shelves. Even after a couple of minutes of effort, however, the details wouldn't come to the clarity she was used to. 'Perhaps my memory was impaired by how fatigued I was at the time.'

Still, she had the initial list Katerin had given her of what concoctions they were willing to buy, and a good idea of what the shop's new offerings cost. Many of those she had no experience with. She chose a couple for their usefulness to her, some for the practice they would give with a particular type of magic, and some for their effect. All-purpose battle magic, like potions of night vision, feather-fall, and fleetfoot, would pay well, and she wanted at least one or two of each to keep for herself anyway. If she could conceal herself, see where the coppers couldn't, and move where they could not follow, she would have a significant advantage.

With more estimation than she would have liked, she calculated what other items would get her the best return on investment for her time and effort. Impotence relief potions, for instance, were very lucrative, but she discarded that option because they were best brewed by a man—a man in a full state of arousal. She technically might have been able to meet that requirement, but she wasn't interested in doing so in Oliver's office, not for any amount of coin.

If she were to work as an alchemist for the Verdant Stag full time, producing a reasonable amount every weekday instead of pushing herself to exhaustion, she could earn about one thousand seven hundred gold a year, significantly more than the average Apprentice's wages, and more than enough to pay off her debt. With their expanded client base, they could probably move sufficient product to make it possible.

Sebastien stared at that number on the paper before her, reconsidering her conception of the Stags' generosity. They could have, fairly, offered her much less. Of course, it helped that they didn't pay the thirty percent magic tax, they had no Master thaumaturge trying to get rich off the backs of their lessers, and they didn't spend extra money on a fancy storefront, decoration, or any marketing besides word-of-mouth referrals. Even their potion vials were the cheapest versions.

Still. A low-wage laborer might earn about five silver per day, or one hundred thirty gold per year, skewing slightly higher for men and lower for women. In many common families, everyone contributed what they could, even the elderly and children. A huge chunk of a low-income family's wages would go toward basic food and lodging, with the rest going toward clothing and healthcare. Taxes took what little might be leftover. One emergency could leave the poorest families homeless, or someone dead for lack of healthcare, because so many lived forever on the knife-edge of poverty.

In contrast, an Apprentice-certified thaumaturge, even though they could only legally practice magic under the supervision of a Master or for their own personal use, not sell items or services directly to others, could make up to forty gold a month. Almost four times as much as a low-wage laborer. It was enough to support a family, frugally, and if they budgeted well, they might even have enough left over to save for emergencies.

But despite the generous sum Sebastien made from alchemy, she only had ten weeks before the next term started, when she would need to pay for more classes. She had slightly over fifty gold to her name, if she didn't count the dozen coins sewn into her clothing, which she wouldn't, because that was hidden away for exactly the kind of emergency she was trying to be better prepared for.

'If I spent every weekend until next term brewing, and then the whole of Sowing Break, and didn't put any of the earnings toward the loan, I could maybe eke out three hundred extra gold. Altogether, I could barely afford the fee for six classes. Realistically, with my other expenses, that's five classes, not six.' The thought pained her, but dropping a class wasn't the worst thing that could happen to her. She could learn a lot through self-study in the library, after all. And at the moment, the extra free time sounded heavenly.

Still, unless she dropped a class, she would have zero coin left over for any other endeavors, including her new preparations. It also left her no time for taking a break. Alchemy alone wouldn't be enough.

Even if Sebastien had cared only about coin, dropping out of the University to spend all her time brewing wasn't an option. The Verdant Stag had given her that loan as an investment, and they were expecting greater things from her than low-level alchemy. Beyond the knowledge and skill the University could impart to her, the access to higher-level magic would become invaluable.

A thaumaturge needed variety and new magic to grow. Simply increasing the power channeled through the spells they were already familiar with was insufficient. Even if she could brew a batch of twenty, fifty, or even a hundred regeneration potions, eventually the homogeny would lead to stagnation of her Will's growth. Thaumaturges who became Archmages moved on from simple spells to complex ones that bent the world in new and interesting ways, their skills constantly building upon the foundation they created until they reached heights of understanding and skill that the average professional thaumaturge couldn't even imagine. There were no Archmages who were only alchemists, or only diviners, or only skilled with any single craft of magic.

Sebastien was willing to take requests from the Stag for other favors, as long as they were lucrative and relatively safe, but she couldn't control if or when they would have work for her, or what kind of work it would be.

Tutoring was another option, but it was high-effort and low-reward, unless she could somehow fill up an entire classroom with people willing to pay multiple silvers each for a single lecture. Sebastien simply didn't know anything people would pay that much to learn. Nothing legal, anyway. And imagining a gaggle of gossiping, intrusive classmates showing up with the idea that they could ask personal questions of her made her shudder.

Prostitution, while it could be lucrative, was also not an option she was willing to consider.

With great caution, she could make coin from the underground thaumaturge meetings. The University knew the Raven Queen either attended personally or had a contact who did so, but despite that, the meetings were too useful a resource to give up.

Sebastien created a list of sub-points to make attending safer. Many of these tasks were duplicates from the fight-or-flight preparation, but some were new. The first step would be reporting the issue to the group's administration so they could increase security.

And maybe, now that she didn't have to trail Tanya, Sebastien could convince Liza that they should travel to the meeting together, which would make at least half of the trip significantly safer. Anyone foolish enough to accost Liza would regret it the same way they would regret slipping their foot into a boot that a brown recluse spider had commandeered. Siobhan could just hide behind Liza while the woman dealt with any threats.

The final option to earn coin was accepting requests as the Raven Queen, as she had done with Lord Lynwood. Even if she couldn't answer people's questions or solve their problems, they would have to give something of value just for the chance to meet with her. It seemed likely to backfire, with as high of a downside as the potential upside, but she could consider it if she got desperate.

Contribution points could also be exchanged for items of value or used to offset tuition directly, but at about one silver each, even a couple hundred would barely make a dent.

Sebastien continued noting down useful preparations and solutions until her mind ran dry, then ranked them by priority. Many of her problems would require more thought, and perhaps some discussion with Oliver, and quite a few of her possible solutions were temporarily beyond her reach, either because she couldn't afford them or wasn't strong enough to implement them.

When she finished, she stared at the ink-heavy pages in front of her to memorize them, then took them into the nearest bathroom, which wasn't warded to set off an alarm from simple magic use like the library was, and burnt all the evidence to ash. She poured the ash into one of the self-cleaning chamber pots and watched as it disappeared.

Then she found the back catalogue of newspapers and began her research on the exhibitions. Professor Lacer had been right. Lower term students had earned the most contribution points for things like a water molding spell that took the shape of a magical creature; a pair of shoes that let the wearer walk about a foot above the ground; and there had even been a witch with a phoenix familiar that did some sort of fire dance that, as far as Sebastien could tell, didn't require any magical skill, but showed "impressive control of her bound companion."

'I should do something with light,' she mused. That alone would be moderately impressive for a first term student, because light was a more difficult energy source to use, and a delicate spell output to control. It was also flashy by nature.

Sebastien scribbled down ideas of things that might seem more impressive than they actually were to a layman, modeled off of what would be popular in a traveling circus. 'Ideally, whatever I come up with will use the same principles from the Practical Casting exercises. I need over a hundred more hours of practice on those by the end of term, anyway.' Combining the two was clearly prudent.

Hopefully, by the end of term her Will would have continued to grow at the recent explosive rate. With all the practice she was getting with new, difficult magic, it seemed an inevitability. It had been a big disappointment to learn that, while her sleep-proxy spell might be viable, it wasn't within her grasp as a thaumaturge, and she was looking forward to rectifying that.

Sebastien straightened. 'I know someone who could easily cast that spell. Liza might be expensive to hire…but what if I could obtain her help without pay?' The idea felt shocking, almost subversive, but Liza had proved she was interested in new, useful magic. Enough to pay Sebastien for it, if it was fascinating enough.

Sebastien stood. She still had problems to solve and potential disasters that she didn't know how to evade, but she would need more time to think them over. In the meantime, she'd recognized an opportunity to work on the one project that would lighten the constant, bone-crushing weight of all her other obligations.

Chapter 102 - First Moves

Sebastien

Month 1, Day 31, Sunday 12:00 p.m.

As the first step in implementing solutions to her problems, Sebastien returned to the unused second floor classroom where she'd practiced her divination.

While she set up the spell array and components for the mapping spell, Sebastien kept thinking. 'If I could get the coppers off my back entirely, I might not even need to worry about them having my blood. Perhaps I could make it more costly to keep pursuing me than what they would gain by catching me, or give them something they want even more than the Raven Queen…' She sighed, shaking her head. Even if she could keep them from charging her with treason and blood magic, some of the other things she'd done in the meantime would probably still be considered a crime, and she was unwilling to go to jail for any length of time.

This wasn't a problem she could fix through entirely legal means, not at this point, and not when she had so little power. Illegal means, such as blackmail or bribery, might still be on the table. If she had some way to be sure she could trust the coppers not to arrest and execute her, she could make a deal to give back the book in exchange for her freedom. But making that kind of deal would require some extra leverage to ensure they wouldn't go back on their word whenever it became convenient for them.

Still, it was worth keeping in mind that there might be other solutions to her problems, visible if she came at them from a different angle.

If she could decrypt the book, perhaps that would give her a better idea of the best options, or the leverage she would need to keep the University and the coppers sufficiently wary of her retaliation.

And yet, she wasn't sure she was willing to give up the identity of Sebastien Siverling. Not unless the same opportunities she had as Sebastien could be afforded to Siobhan, which seemed…unlikely. At the very least, her Crown Family schoolmates would probably feel betrayed by her duplicity. 'And would Professor Lacer be willing to take Siobhan Naught as an apprentice?' But these problems were pointless to consider at the moment, and so she set that line of thought aside as she moved on to the actual casting of the divination spell.

Mixing a couple shavings of the bone disk with the mercury for the mapped divination spell—rather than her blood—didn't increase the difficulty of casting, and Sebastien soon found Tanya's location, tucked away in the library. With this, she didn't need to follow Tanya to know where she was, though the downside was the increased difficulty compared to the compass spell.

'That's one small step of many complete. Now for the things that can be completed with a handful of coin.'

The morning gloom had burned off by the time Sebastien arrived at Waterside Market, but despite the winter sun shining down with all the strength it could muster, the residue of the inter-gang battle lived on in more than the faint smell of smoke. The crowds were sparse, and people moved faster, trying to finish their shopping and get home without lingering. Coppers patrolled around the market or stood glaring near the more expensive shops.

Sebastien bought an eclectic variety of items, stocking up on extras of her most-used components and supplies as well as a few dozen small vials, jars, and pouches for organization. Despite the nearby law enforcement, she was able to get what she required with nothing more than a flash of her student token.

After becoming Siobhan at the Silk Door, she took a roundabout way to Liza's house. The streets grew busier the farther south she went, with people huddled by braziers of fire in the alleys and curled up in doorways to escape the icy wind.

But not as many people as she had feared. The fires caused by the fighting had been put out before they could ravage the whole of the Mires, and both the Church of the Radiant Maiden and the Stewards of Intention had taken in refugees. If she knew Oliver at all, she was sure the Verdant Stag was doing the same.

Siobhan's path took her past some of the damage. There must have been areas worse affected, but it wasn't as bad as she'd been expecting. A few destroyed walls let in the elements. The cobblestone street had shattered in places from excessive force. Scorch marks from overpowered spells lingered, accompanied by barriers of poured stone that no one had gotten around to dissolving.

Siobhan rapped on Liza's door with the lion door-knocker, avoiding its teeth. After a few moments, it apparently decided she was safe, and the lock opened with an audible "click." Siobhan walked in and waited in the dining area attached to the kitchen.

Liza arrived a long few minutes later with a steaming mug of dark tea in her hands, sleep-grit in her bloodshot eyes, and a scowl on her face.

'She's tired. Perfect,' Siobhan thought.

"What do you want? Be quick about it. I've barely gotten any sleep for the past two weeks dealing with all this shit, and I am running low on fucks to give." Liza didn't even bother to glare at Siobhan, staring wearily into the mid-distance and gulping down her steaming tea.

Siobhan replied without preamble. "I have a newly developed spell in the testing stages that can allow you to give up sleep without side effects."

Liza's expression was blank for a whole second of continued bleariness, and then she turned to Siobhan with sudden hawklike focus, her Will tightening the air between them. "Continue."

"The spell array and theory have been reviewed and approved by an extremely accomplished sorcerer, but I haven't attempted to cast it yet. It works on sympathetic binding principles. Technically blood magic, but it only requires a raven. I assumed you would have no qualms with that."

"No side effects? No sleep debt? No decrease in mental or physical function? How long does it last?" Liza asked, rapid-fire.

Siobhan held back her smile and answered confidently. "It's still in the testing phase, but it's based on restricted experiments carried out during the Third Empire. No side effects for the person giving up sleep. There would probably be some minor sleep debt if you push the duration of the spell to its limits, but nothing like what you would normally experience. I'm not sure of the specifics when not using another human as part of the spell. I'd estimate you could spend one to three days awake in a row. You'll likely still experience some fatigue, and any serious injuries or extended stressors would require you to rest outside of the bounds of the spell…but the benefits are obvious, I think. These last two weeks could have left you feeling as tired as you might after a long day of work, rather than as if you'd been pushing yourself without a break for days straight."

Liza stared at Siobhan like a dog staring at a juicy steak. She tried to take a drink from her cup but realized it was empty. "Give me a moment." She retreated to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two cups full of tea. She seemed slightly less eager as she handed one cup to Siobhan.

Siobhan took it with thanks but only blew on the steaming liquid, not taking a sip. It wasn't that she thought Liza would drug her…but the other woman hadn't hidden her greed well enough. 'There are spells that keep people from paying attention to what they're signing, so why not a couple drops of a tincture that can make someone a little too compliant while negotiating?'

"You have my attention," Liza said. "I'm skeptical about these claims, especially since you say it's merely in the theoretical stage right now, but I would be willing to test it for you. I assume the components are expensive?"

Siobhan almost snorted at the blatant attempt to swindle her. "The details of the spell are proprietary information. I'm willing to give you the information, but it certainly won't be for free. The components aren't cheap, but I was able to get my hands on them, so I don't need your help with that."

"What do you want?"

Siobhan hadn't expected Liza to be this interested. She'd simply hoped to avoid paying to cast the spell while also keeping everything set up at Liza's house. But she wasn't one to let opportunity go to waste. 'Liza was willing to knock sixty-five gold off her fee to study the warding medallion Grandfather made me. This isn't as magically impressive as that…but obviously Liza could make great use of it. She might be able to develop a similar spell herself, but without access to the University library resources…maybe not.' "One hundred fifty gold," Siobhan tried.

Liza scoffed. "Ridiculous! I haven't even seen this spell in action, and you admittedly haven't cast it yourself. Everything you're telling me is hearsay. Twenty gold, and I'll help you test it. I have protective wards built into the casting room below that should help keep us safe against violent spell reactions, and my Will is almost certainly necessary for a spell that does what you say. Without me, you would be risking your sanity and your life. Hells, something like this could easily trigger a break event."

That was an undeniably persuasive argument, especially considering Siobhan's recent experience, but she would not give in just like that. Liza had actually offered to pay her! For a spell that Siobhan developed herself! "It's not quite as demanding as you think. I wouldn't turn down your help, but with some effort, I can cast it myself. I'm not worried about serious reactions. As I said, another sorcerer has already reviewed it. One I trust. This is the kind of spell that could change your life. An extra eight hours a day? How much is your time worth, Liza?"

Liza narrowed her eyes. "Eighty gold."

"One hundred twenty gold, and the ongoing use of your casting room downstairs."

"One hundred gold, the use of my casting room, and I'll assist in the development and testing of this spell. But if the spell is totally unviable, I'll want my coin returned."

Siobhan almost agreed, but hesitated. "You'll sign a blood print vow of secrecy. And I want ten percent of the income if you ever use this spell or its principles for anyone else or otherwise earn coin from the knowledge." She didn't want Liza able to pass on the information to others for money or favors, but casting the spell directly should be fine. With Liza's prices, even a small percentage could fatten Siobhan's purse significantly.

Liza smirked. "Not bad, girl. Five percent."

"Agreed."

Once they had worked out the details of the vow, which protected each of them in both word and intent, and completed it, Liza waved at Siobhan impatiently. "Well, let's see it. You brought the spell information, I hope? I won't be able to devote any significant time to the project for the next couple of weeks while I finish up my current commitments, but I can take a look."

Siobhan pulled the wrinkled sheaf of papers from the bottom of her bag. Women's fashion made carrying all the necessary items so difficult. "While I'm here, I was wondering if you could take a quick look at my warding medallion. It experienced some strain," she said, pulling it from underneath her shirt while remaining careful to leave the transformation amulet hidden.

Liza waved her over to a desk covered in bits of metal and tools, turned on an extremely bright lamp, and settled a multi-lensed monocle device on her head. She set the medallion under the light and peered down at it. "Which spell saw use?"

"Umm, energy-deflecting?"

"Hmm. It seems fine. No melting like the anti-scrying function. That one is probably on the edge of breaking, but my divination-diverting ward should protect it as long as it remains on your person." She flipped the medallion over, inspecting it with an absent smile for a while longer. "Still one of the most impressive artifacts I've ever seen. It protects against most dangers someone might face, both magical and mundane."

Siobhan took it back, rubbing her thumb over the cooling metal. "What are all the functions, exactly? I've looked up all the glyphs on the surface, so I know the gist of it, but I've never had the chance to examine what's woven through the inside layers."

Liza pulled off the monocle and considered her for a few seconds in silence. "It wards against scrying, of course. In addition to that, it tries to divert or counteract specific energy, temperature, and force parameters. Those will help to protect you against the worst of the most common battle spells. It's got a list of common minor curses, too. It acts to discourage its own theft, or being noticed unless attention is specifically drawn to it. It will protect you, once, against a fall greater than ten meters, and can filter out an air bubble from the water around itself if you start to drown. And it should stop a small projectile like an arrow—anything moving faster than thirty meters per second."

That was…more thorough than Siobhan had realized. Grandfather had thought of almost anything, even if he hadn't gotten to finish the medallion before she took it. 'Thank you,' she thought, though she knew nothing of him was left to hear her.

"I'll be back in a couple of days with the most important supplies," Siobhan said as she stood to leave. "I was thinking we could start testing with mice. Try to get some sleep in the meantime."

She was halfway through the door when she paused, almost tripping over the doorjamb with the sudden idea that had halted her. "I need to get a simple battle wand, and some kind of remote-triggered artifact that would allow me to destroy evidence—a bag, for example, or footlocker—in a radius of a few feet without causing additional destruction. Can you give me a referral to someone in the Night Market that does good, affordable work?"

Liza glared as if Siobhan were a flesh-eating slug that had crawled up her boot, nearly pushing her out the door, but not before giving Siobhan the location of a shop, as well as permission to say that Liza had sent her. "I certainly don't have time to dance to this girl's crazy whims," Liza muttered to herself before slamming the door behind Siobhan.

Siobhan grinned. Liza loved her.

She stopped by the shop that she'd sold Ennis's belongings to, where she picked up a handful of different outfits for both women and men, each with a distinctly different look, just nice enough to be unmemorable. She purchased those plus a few canvas satchels and backpacks in various states of wear.

Siobhan felt the pain in her purse-strings as she paid, a good seventeen gold poorer. Clothing was so expensive. She hadn't even bought shoes! It would have been even more expensive if not for her trading in her old Raven Queen outfit—which she'd cast a color-changing spell on to avoid recognition.

After that, she went to the Night Market. The sun was setting by that time, but the Night Market had been aptly named, and the street and shops within maintained their inviting lights. She was surprised at first to see scattered shoppers, and even a couple of shopkeepers, wearing masks, but realized it made sense that some people would not want to be seen doing business there.

The shop Liza had recommended had an empty stunning wand on sale, and the artificer on staff absorbed her order for a remote-triggered destruction device with extended, dubious silence. Finally, he said, "I think I have a land mine from the Haze War that could be modified to do what you want. That would be cheaper than a booby trap meant for a safe, which would be your other immediate option. The purpose is destroying evidence, yes, not for use on your enemies?" he asked, giving her a hard stare.

"Yes," Siobhan assured him, trying to look trustworthy. "And I need the triggering mechanism to be discreet, something I can hide."

"How soon do you need it?"

"As soon as possible?"

He gave her another judgmental look. "An extra gold for the rush job. I can have it ready in an hour."

Siobhan reluctantly agreed.

While she was browsing, waiting for them to charge up the wand and modify the land mine in the workshop at the back of the store, she found the perfect artifact to solve another of her problems.

She almost missed it, because it sat on a corner shelf among a jumble of less dazzling items that most people would have little use for. She wouldn't have even known what it was if not for the little card attached to it by a string. The artifact was composed of two glass-and-copper spheres. The large sphere contained a clear liquid, within which a tapered iron needle floated, suspended in the center. The second sphere, attached to the top, was much smaller and opened up to allow the user to place something inside it.

It was a dowsing artifact, meant for miners, spelunkers, or wild herb gatherers. One simply placed a sample of what they were hoping to find within the little sphere at the top, closed and twisted it to activate the divination, and then followed the compass needle, which could rotate in the four cardinal directions and also adjust up and down.

Some of the glass between the embedded copper braces had obviously cracked and been repaired, and the card said the divination only reached out about ten meters from the artifact, but it was perfect for Siobhan. When the shop's artificer came back out, she bought it for only three gold after haggling him down due to the obvious damage.

The stunning wand, which now had twenty-one fresh copies of the standard stunning spell, cost seventeen gold. The remote-triggered mine, which had been retooled to cast a single, powerful disintegration spell, cost another twelve gold, and could be triggered by pressing a discreet, compressible button. Altogether, it was more expensive than she had been expecting, and she wondered if she was being charged extra because her purchases were so obviously illegal.

On the whole, she had spent over fifty gold on her shopping excursion, almost every coin she'd had to her name before the agreement with Liza. To potentially buy herself safety, it was a bargain.

Now she only needed to find the most optimal places to set up her own safe houses, places she could escape to, pick up a stash of emergency supplies, and change her appearance.

The Silk Door could probably operate as one. 'Other than that, I could do either Dryden Manor or the Verdant Stag, but it would be prudent to have the emergency stashes somewhere completely unrelated to the Verdant Stag. If I can get to Oliver's house or the Verdant Stag, I'm likely to be okay. I need contingencies for when I can't go to them for some reason.'

Siobhan returned to the Silk Door, looking around the little closet for a place to keep a secret stash. Although the room was reserved only for her, others might still enter while she wasn't there, and she didn't want to chance her valuable stash being stolen.

Eventually, she used an idea she'd originally come up with as a better hiding spot for the stolen book currently embedded in a mattress at Oliver's house. At the time, she hadn't had a clean way to cut into and control the manor's marble floor. But now, she knew a very handy, simple spell that allowed her to create extremely precise incisions. Using the stone-disintegration spell she had been practicing for Practical Casting, she carved out a circle of the floor and lifted it up from the rest. 'I need to practice a version of this spell for wood, something that will allow me to hollow out part of a tree or take apart wooden floorboards without the damage being noticeable.' There were plenty of places throughout the city where she could create a similar stash.

She divided up some of the basic components she'd bought into the vials and pouches, then made copies of her most useful spells on some new seaweed paper, keeping the arrays small and portable. Into a single emergency getaway bag went one spare outfit for both her male and female form, a basic set of spell-casting supplies—including a small, adjustable-flame oil lantern—and an assortment of coin totaling ten gold. She only had enough clothes for two full kits, but enough of the other supplies remained for a few more stashes.

She placed one of the prepared bags and all the extra supplies in a hollow space between supporting floorboards, underneath the stone veneer. Before she sealed the stash up again, she drew a complete spell array for the stone-disintegration and reformation spell on the underside of the veneer. That way, if she arrived in a hurry, she wouldn't need to take time writing it out again. She could cast with the spell array whether or not she could see it, as long as she remembered where it was. 'I should add some dried food rations and a canteen of water,' she realized as she stood, rubbing her aching knees. Best to be prepared for anything, even fleeing into the wilderness. If she had the coin, another battle wand would be an optimal addition.

Her new stunning wand and the disintegration mine both went into her bulky school bag, though she had to use her cutting and mending spells along with some scrap leather to create a discreet, additional secret pouch for the mine inside. With it, there would be no need for another scenario where she had to place herself in danger to retrieve the bag and items within it. She could simply destroy it all from a distance, leaving no evidence leading back to her.

She hesitated over where to put the disintegration mine's compressible button, which needed to be pressed three times in quick succession to activate the artifact, and was useless if she was over two kilometers away from the mine.

Eventually, she decided that she currently didn't have any good spaces for the button and decided to follow up on another idea she'd had, using the last of her leather mending scraps to create a kind of holster that she could wear around her waist. It held her black sapphire Conduit and the beast core Tanya had given her flush against the skin of her left side, over her ribs and in a position where her arm would shield it. A much smaller pouch contained the mine's activation button, surrounded by stiff enough leather that it would be difficult to trigger by accident.

She moved around while watching herself in the small mirror to test the holster out. It was much more comfortable than keeping the sapphire tucked inside her boot, where it always dug into the skin of her calf. The holster's design required a few tweaks and a color-changing spell to look more like skin, but when she was finished, it was invisible from the outside. Even if someone pressed up against her, the leather was angled and tapered such that they might feel something strange but wouldn't immediately realize she was keeping something stone-shaped under her clothes. She even added some notches that would allow her to adjust it based on the current size of her torso when she switched between forms.

Lastly, she copied the hidden pockets for the mine and wand into the bag she used as Siobhan.

She took the second filled emergency getaway bag with her as she left, mulling over a good location for it as she walked through the darkening streets. Eventually, she found a nice alehouse in the northern part of the city, located between the University and the nearest exit through Gilbratha's white cliffs. It had a public bathroom for customers, which had a window large enough for her to crawl through. She locked the bathroom door, then worked quickly to cut out a portion of the floor in the back corner and dig out a hollow space below it, where she placed the second getaway bag. She cleared away the evidence, packing some of the stone and dirt into the side pocket of her school satchel to dump out later, and left the alehouse with no one the wiser.

She grinned to herself, feeling rather clever and, if she were to admit it, like a child playing at being a spy. She had always had a fondness for hidden pockets and compartments. It felt like she had made real progress with the day's work. While she hoped these arrangements were never again necessary, knowing that they existed gave her some measure of comfort. It was a start.

On the way back to the University, Sebastien made sure to pass by a very specific shop window. She noted the folded paper decorations sitting in it. The next secret meeting of thaumaturges was twelve days away.

That was plenty of time to prepare, as long as she stayed on top of her schedule and managed her time. She needed to be more efficient, perhaps getting a few minutes of homework and study in during the breaks between classes, when other students were ambling through the halls and chatting with each other.

Above all, however, she needed to avoid adding anything more to her plate. She couldn't afford another project, or another problem.

Chapter 103 - Illusion Chamber

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 3, Wednesday 10:40 a.m.

That Wednesday, Sebastien arrived at the Natural Science classroom a few minutes early, hoping to squeeze in some of her History reading before class started. She had a new schedule to optimize her productivity. It wasn't much different from the old one, just more rigid and regimented, with less room for breaks, side projects, or aimlessness. It—along with the beamshell tincture—was allowing her to keep up with all her classes and projects, but afforded her barely any leeway. She hoped that a few stolen moments of extra work here and there would allow her to get enough ahead that she could occasionally take an hour or two to herself.

Ironically, despite her underlying fatigue, the hardest part of the plan was making herself get a full eight hours of sleep every night, in two four-hour chunks with only an hour of homework slipped between them. She had to force herself to cast her dreamless sleep spell and actually attempt to rest.

Sebastien stopped before the closed door to Professor Gnorrish's classroom, frowning at the paper stuck to the door. "CLASS MOVED TO LIBRARY TUNNEL," it read in big block letters. With a quick check of her pocket watch and a put-upon sigh, Sebastien spun around and hurried to the northern edge of the Citadel.

The crystalline tunnel between the Citadel and the library was dark, letting none of the outside light through with its normal shattered rainbows of color. A couple people at either end of the tunnel had opened a part of the wall that she'd never noticed before and were messing with something inside. Sebastien stepped into the tunnel warily, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom.

Gnorrish stood in discussion with a handful of other men and women at the center of the tunnel, though beyond the glint of a faculty token, it was too dim to make most of them out.

Sebastien sat cross-legged against the wall, imitating the handful of other students who had arrived before her. Her eyes slowly adjusted, but it was far too dim to read, so she tried to let her mind relax. She was still buzzing with energy from her morning dose of beamshell tincture, which tended to give her a feeling of bottled-up energy that needed to be released somewhere.

One of the men who had been talking with Gnorrish turned in her direction, his familiar silhouette attracting her attention.

"What are you doing here?" Sebastien blurted out to Professor Lacer, drawing the attention of the other professors and students.

He sent her a scathing look, and she ducked her head in an apologetic bow. "I meant, I'm surprised to see you, Professor Lacer," she amended in a much softer tone.

"I am here to do a favor for a fellow professor, and, not incidentally, for my apprentice as well," he drawled.

She wondered what kind of favor would require so many of the faculty.

Reading the curiosity on her face, Lacer simply said, "You will see," and moved to stand nearby, his expression clearly stating that the conversation was over and anyone who disturbed him with idle chitchat would feel his wrath.

The other professors split up as well, at equidistant points along the length of the tunnel.

When Damien and Ana arrived, they looked around with curiosity. "What are we doing here?" Damien asked, the question aimed toward no one in particular.

"The whole tunnel is a simulation chamber focused on visual illusions," Ana said. "I imagine there will be some sort of demonstration."

Gnorrish loudly instructed the students to arrange themselves into groups and join a professor. A handful of other random students quickly joined Sebastien's trio.

Sebastien rapidly tapped her fingers against her knee, letting Damien and Ana's light chatter flow over her head.

Gnorrish walked slowly between the groups of students along the length of the tunnel, a ball of light floating above his head. His booming voice carried easily. "The next few weeks of this class will be an exploration of light. Or, more correctly, an exploration of the electromagnetic spectrum that includes visible light. It is an important research area in modern natural science for multiple reasons. Not only is light a freely available energy source for your spells—in some cases even more abundant or useful than heat—it is both versatile and powerful. I believe it has the potential to do so much more, and as it is considered one of the more difficult energy sources to channel, we will be spending extra time learning about it."

Sebastien tracked Gnorrish's slow pace with her eyes, unblinking, as if she could suck the knowledge out of the man with her eagerness alone. 'The more I understand the subject through the concepts of natural science, the better control I'll have with all magical applications that use light.'

Lifting his hands to the sky, Gnorrish paused, and then, with a dramatic flourish like a conductor before an orchestra, he dropped them.

An illusion sprang to life in front of each student group, not unlike what they were learning to do in Practical Casting, but somehow, perhaps because of the surrounding darkness, seeming more tangible. "Behold! One of the many utilizations of light magic," Gnorrish trumpeted, throwing his arms wide with a grin.

The illusion spell displayed a stack of waving lines. They all seemed to move, flowing from left to right, with the ones at the top at such a gentle slope they barely rose or fell at all, and the ones at the bottom in a zig-zagging frenzy.

Sebastien peeked toward Professor Lacer, who had one hand pressed against a section of the tunnel wall and the other curled around his Conduit, his focus on the illusion hanging in the air before them. The other professors seemed to be doing the same, and, though the image in front of each group was almost identical, Sebastien thought theirs seemed more tangible than most. As if she would feel the lines if she reached out to touch them.

"Light is a form of energy, and it travels in waves like these," Gnorrish said. "We can tell how much energy an electromagnetic wave has by the frequency—how many waves, from peak to trough, pass through a point in a set period of time. As long as light isn't passing through substances with different densities, that means light with a shorter wavelength has more energy, while light with a longer wavelength has less. Light doesn't have mass, so it's not like water, but water can still be a good analogy. Imagine you're in a boat on the ocean. Your boat is anchored, a single immobile point, while the water moves under and around you." The illusion changed to show the side view of a cute little boat, floating atop deep water. "The peaks and troughs of each wave are always the same height. If each wave is so far apart that you rise and fall over them so gently it's barely noticeable, with one wave passing underneath your ship every minute, you might say the waves were low-energy. Now, suddenly the waves get closer together, and as they pass under you, ten every minute, your boat pitches and sways so steeply you need to grab onto something to keep from being thrown off the side." Gnorrish mimed a wild scramble for purchase against the pitching deck of a boat, to the laughter of many of his students. "Those are high-energy."

Gnorrish stopped his wild flailing, grinning at their response. Professor Lacer switched the illusion from a boat back to the stack of waving lines, and Gnorrish pointed to a very small section of light waves in the middle of the nearest group's illusion, which took on the appearance of a section of a rainbow. "Our eyes and brains are adapted to perceive this particular range of wavelengths, which we call 'light.' Can anyone tell me what's special about light?"

Students shifted uncomfortably as his eyes roved over them, but no one spoke.

He looked to Sebastien. "Mr. Siverling! What do you think?"

She was confused for a moment, then realized it was a trick question. "The only thing special about it is that we can all see it, and we gave it a label called 'light.'"

Gnorrish lifted his hands, bobbing them back and forth as if weighing something on an invisible scale. "That's not entirely wrong, but not entirely right, either. The leading theory is that we see this part of the spectrum because it's the most relevant for us. The majority of our sun's radiation happens to fall within this range, and it manages to pass through our atmosphere without being absorbed or scattered. It could also be because visible light is the only set of electromagnetic radiation that propagates well in water, where it is theorized all the mortal species rose from. Yet another theory is that radiation in that part of the spectrum is easily stopped by matter. If we had evolved to 'see' using super-long wavelength radiation, for instance, which can pass through matter, we'd be bumping into trees and falling into holes because they'd be invisible to us! Or perhaps we wouldn't be able to see at all, because the radiation would pass right through our eyes and out the back of our skulls."

With another conductor's wave, Gnorrish changed the illusion to show a tree standing before a huge eyeball, which was sliced in half so they could see its pieces and what was happening inside it. "Thousands of years ago, people thought that sight came from our eyeballs sending out tiny little information-gathering probes, which returned with the images we see." The eyeball shot out little birds, which landed on the tree, and then returned, flying back through the pupil. "Of course, we know today that sight comes from light entering our eyes, passing through our pupil, and hitting the retina, which lines the back of our eyeballs and contains two types of photoreceptors."

He went on to explain how rods allowed humans to see in greyscale in low lights. In brighter light, the red, green, and blue cones allowed the perception of seven distinct colors, with some ten million distinctions between individual shades and hues. "Did you know that human infants only perceive black, white, and grey?" Sebastien reached out, letting the tips of her fingers trail over the gigantic slice of eyeball, and almost jumped when it rotated away from her finger as if she'd actually touched it. She snatched her hand back, rubbing the tips of her fingers—which hadn't felt anything—and looked at Professor Lacer. She wasn't sure if she was imagining his almost imperceptible expression of smugness, but her attention was soon drawn back to the lecture.

"It's not until about five months of age when we begin to see all the colors. Prognos children, however, see all colors from birth." Gnorrish's hand sketched out a wide arc, and the illusions morphed into bright light passing through a prism, splitting into the full spectrum of color. The rainbow beam stood out starkly against the relative darkness, revealing fine particles of dust in the air.

"This is what it looks like when you separate light into its different wavelengths, which is easy to do using a prism. Right on the edge, below violet, there is another color." He paused dramatically. "Ultraviolet. Interestingly, it can be used for sterilization of bacteria and the newly discovered 'viruses' in lieu of sterilization potions, once thought to be working against 'bad humors.' Prognos, who have an extra two photoreceptors, as well as special oil droplets in their photoreceptor cells, can see ultraviolet, as well as distinguish between colors much more accurately than us. They live in a world of color that most of the other species cannot even imagine." He paused wistfully for a moment, staring at the rainbow of scattered light. "Other creatures can see further on the spectrum in the other direction, known as infrared, which allows them to identify heat sources even in relative darkness, making them wonderful predators."

As if reading Sebastien's mind, Gnorrish answered her immediate question. "Attempts have been made to create spells that allow people to temporarily see beyond our normal visible spectrum, but they haven't made it into general use, even among adventurers and the military, who would seem to particularly benefit from additional sensory abilities. Why?" He didn't pause long enough for anyone to attempt an answer. "Basically, these spells have too many side effects, including synesthesia, where the brain confuses one sensory pathway with another and you begin to feel, taste, or smell colors. Other side effects are confusion, disorientation, and pain—in some cases, to the point of causing mental trauma. And in a few unfortunate instances, people have experienced rupturing of the vessels of the eye or brain due to incompatibility and overstimulation. Please do not experiment with this."

He paused to let that warning sink in, meeting students' gazes again to impress his seriousness upon them. "There are some potions that work safely, particularly for the infrared wavelengths, but they require an ongoing regimen over several months to adapt the brain to the expanded sense, and then continued upkeep to maintain that adaptation, which is very expensive and hasslesome, especially in the beginning."

He turned back to the illusion, which morphed several times to show different examples as he walked them through the mechanics of refraction and reflection. As she took in the detailed visual examples, Sebastien felt her grasp on the concepts deepening beyond the surface-level understanding she'd once thought was all she needed. The illusion chamber made learning these somewhat abstract concepts significantly easier.

"Let us pause and think. How is this knowledge useful? What could you do with it?" Gnorrish asked.

"Invisibility spells," a young woman piped up immediately. "You could just bend light around yourself so people see whatever's behind you."

A young man lifted his hand. "That works for illusions, too, making people think something is there when it really isn't."

Gnorrish nodded, pointing at the man as he replied. "That effect is encountered in nature through mirages, including the superior mirage known as the Fata Morgana, which have created illusions of floating islands that lure sailors to their deaths. It's also why, in the morning, you can see the edge of the sun before it has geometrically risen above the horizon. Continue."

Several others had their own ideas of varying obviousness.

"Shared perception spells, like you were saying."

"The eagle vision potion and spell."

"Dark-vision magic!"

"Some magical beasts are really attracted to the color red," another young man piped up without waiting to be called on. "Maybe it's the only color they can see? That's important to know if you want to survive in the wilds."

"Image-capturing artifacts," Ana murmured.

Damien leaned forward. "Hidden messages! If you can tune a spell's output to create a specific wavelength, you can have a receiver spell set up to recognize that exact wavelength—ideally one of the invisible ones—and you can use it to send pre-set signals. There's a new communication device the coppers are using that probably works on those principles. It must!"

'A temporary blindness hex,' Sebastien thought. 'You could interrupt someone's sight without permanently damaging them just by keeping light from hitting their retina.'

A witch with a clear, jelly-like eel from the Plane of Water winding around her damp shoulder said, "Healing spells to mend or replace eyeballs. Or augmenting spells to improve the distance or ocular precision, even. Eagle vision could be permanent, if you did it right."

'It's probably also applicable to wards against certain kinds of divination or revealing spells,' Sebastien thought. 'Reflect or redirect the magical waves. I wonder if my divination-diverting ward uses any of these principles?'

Damien raised his hand, speaking before Gnorrish had a chance to point at him. "There's a shield spell that looks like a super-smooth silver mirror and reflects all kinds of energy attacks. Aberford Thorndyke used it to survive being thrown into a pool of lava. And maybe you could make a spell that turns infrared radiation into red light, to help illuminate the dark!"

Some of the students laughed, but Gnorrish only grinned wider. "Indeed, both very creative applications of the principle we've discussed."

'Sundered zones,' Sebastien thought. She only realized she must have said this aloud when Damien's head snapped around to look at her. She shrugged. "They're obviously reflecting all light, to be that perfectly white, and magical effects can't pass through them." Supposedly. And yet an Aberrant like Red Sage managed to affect the world through its prophecies, despite containment.

Though Professor Lacer seemed uniformly unimpressed with the students' offerings, Gnorrish was pleased. "All good ideas!" Gnorrish continued lecturing, explaining how refraction worked in mirages, rainbows, sunsets and sunrises, and various different lens shapes, with illusory illustrations for all of them, with ridiculous jokes peppered throughout the lecture to help them remember the mechanical details. He even used a couple of equations to explain things for the more mathematically inclined.

Then he let their groups play with the illusions directly, setting them various tasks with light sources, lenses, and different substances. Sebastien took charge, allowing no dissent, using hand motions and the occasional verbal request to Professor Lacer to change brightness, angles, and shapes. This interactive capability was the true feature of the illusion chamber. If only it didn't require other professors to collaborate, putting forth their personal time and effort, perhaps it would be used more often.

Under Sebastien's guidance, her group created their own simple eyeball, then both a telescope and a microscope, and some fun-house mirrors that morphed their reflections in various ways. They simulated infrared vision in one of the mirrors, and, at her request, Professor Lacer attempted to make a ball of light give off ultraviolet radiation, which was very strange. As Gnorrish had said, none of them could see it, except for a single half-prognos student in one of the other groups, but it caused normally invisible smears and splatters on their clothes and surroundings to stand out with a peculiar glow as the substances absorbed the ultraviolet and converted it back into visible light.

By the time class ended, her group was trying to produce their own miniature Fata Morgana mirage of a floating island in the sky, though they had some trouble with the delicate balance of the required conditions.

Sebastien had lost herself in it like a gleeful child playing with a fascinating toy and couldn't help but be slightly disappointed when the illusion dispersed and the walls of the tunnel lightened, allowing the weak sunlight to come through in blinding rainbow-colored sprays and sparkles.

All the professors looked exhausted. Professor Gnorrish didn't even have the energy to raise his voice or wave his arms about as he dismissed them. Even Professor Lacer had a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but when he met Sebastien's gaze and incandescent smile, the corners of his lips twitched up faintly in response.

Chapter 104 - A Fit of Pique

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 3, Wednesday 2:00 p.m.

The excitement over the simulation chamber lasted through the lunch period, which Sebastien rushed through to focus on homework. However, as she settled into her usual spot near the front of the Practical Casting classroom and waited for Professor Lacer to appear, her thoughts turned back to the weight of her problems.

Specifically, that she was wanted by the coppers and would never have a chance to live and openly practice magic in her real identity.

When a copper crown appeared on her desk and slid forward under the force of Damien's finger, her gaze trailed up his arm and met his own.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Copper for your thoughts?" he asked, his somewhat embarrassed grin revealing that he understood how banal the joke was.

She snatched up the coin and tucked it away. "My thoughts are worth at least twice that much, but I suppose I'll give you a discount." She leaned in to make sure they weren't overheard. Eyes brightening with excitement, Damien did the same. "I'm wondering about what the Raven Queen stole," she murmured.

Damien initially looked surprised, but he focused as she continued.

"That book was just one item out of the whole haul from an archaeological expedition, right? Why exactly is it, specifically, so valuable? All of this interest and effort seems a little much for a simple antique, right?"

Damien looked around to make sure no one was listening in. "I read an Aberford Thorndyke story where someone stole an old painting worth ten million gold crowns. If it was old and rare enough, maybe something pre-Cataclysm, some people would be willing to pay a ridiculous amount for it."

She hadn't considered that the book could be pre-Cataclysm. She suddenly remembered that she'd cut the leather apart to examine the inside more thoroughly, and then used a mending spell to put it all back together. 'Surely I didn't rip apart a prehistoric antique worth ten million gold crowns…right?' She suppressed a shudder.

Sebastien hesitated, tapping her forefinger nervously against the desk. "What if that's not it, though?" she asked, her voice even lower. "Because…why wouldn't they just say so? The fact that it's all so shrouded in mystery makes me suspicious."

Damien frowned, humming thoughtfully. "What if she didn't actually steal a book at all, but they don't want to reveal what she really took? Maybe she kidnapped someone important and is holding them hostage, but they don't want to tell the public because…" He trailed off, then shook his head. "Well, I can't think of a reason why they wouldn't want to tell anyone about a kidnapping. At least not that doesn't sound too silly to be real."

He didn't notice Sebastien's deadpan look, continuing with increasing enthusiasm. "Or what if they're trying to capture her because she has some blackmail on someone important, and they can't afford to give her what she wants? And they don't want to kill her because she's set a dead man's switch to release the blackmail. Oh! Or maybe she's cursed someone powerful and rich with a slow death, and they're trying to find her so she can lift the curse, but don't want anyone to know. Or—"

Damien stopped, his mouth still open but the excitement draining from his face. He turned to meet her unimpressed gaze. "Sebastien, what if she stole something really, I mean extremely dangerous? Something the University shouldn't have had in the first place and doesn't want to admit they lost? They wouldn't want to tell anyone what it was because they wouldn't want to panic the masses with the truth. And that would explain why the High Crown is putting so much pressure on Titus. It would even make sense why she's so bold, because she knows they're probably wary about pushing her to the point of desperation. But…" He shook his head, taking a relieved breath. "If that were the case, Titus would have definitely called in the Red Guard. That's the kind of thing they exist to handle, after all. And, I forgot, but I'm pretty sure it really is a book, because I eavesdropped on—well, I overheard—Titus talking about it with one of his investigators some months ago, and he mentioned how the University hadn't been able to decipher anything useful from the remaining books."

Before Sebastien could reply, Professor Lacer arrived. After a few minutes showing them variations of fully fleshed-out light-molding spell arrays, he set them to continue their practice with the minimalist arrays allowed.

The understanding she'd gained from Natural Science made the illusion spell easier. Though the placebo effect was a real thing—which Gnorrish had vehemently cautioned them about when trying to teach them how to do experiments—she didn't think it was just her imagination. The detailed understanding had improved the clarity of her Will, and so she required less sheer force to achieve superior results. It was as if the light wanted to follow her instructions, rather than being forced to do so.

When class ended, Professor Lacer stopped her as she walked by his desk. "Mr. Siverling. Please come to my office Saturday morning. Free up a couple of hours."

"Why?" she blurted. When he raised his eyebrows, as unimpressed as he had been when she was similarly rude earlier that morning, she cleared her throat and amended, "I mean, I will, but what is the purpose of the meeting? So I can be prepared."

Lacer stepped slightly closer, palmed his Conduit with one hand, and made a grasping motion with his other.

The air was suddenly so still it almost seemed like a liquid, pressing against the small hairs on her skin with every minute movement. 'It's that sound-muffling spell. To anyone trying to eavesdrop, we must seem as if we're under water.' She recognized it from when he'd woken her up in the middle of the night to berate her for casting with Will-strain.

"I want to do some tests on that boon you received," he said, privacy ensured.

Her heart gave a single desperate clench, then started pounding. "What kind of tests?"

"Do not worry. I have no reason to suspect that you or those around you are in danger from it, as I said previously," he assured her, obviously noting her sudden anxiety and attributing a different reason to it. He paused, then added, "These tests will not invade your privacy or take away your autonomy. I simply wish to learn more about the magic in play and see what clues it might give about the mindset of the caster. I do not believe she acted on a whim, and if it was deliberate, I want to understand why."

"Oh. Okay," Sebastien croaked past numb lips before realizing that she should have protested. 'But what reason could I give?' she wondered desperately.

"Head along then," Professor Lacer said, dropping the sound-muffling spell as easily as he'd cast it.

Sebastien tried to control her expression as she left, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks, lamenting the pale skin that showed her physical responses so easily, but she stopped mid-step and turned back to Lacer. She had some questions that he seemed like the only person who might be able and willing to answer, and perhaps a limited amount of time in which to ask them. 'He took me as an apprentice, gave me his old Conduit, and even came out in the middle of the night to save me from the Red Guard. Surely he won't be upset if I just ask? If he doesn't want to answer, he's not the type that will be reluctant to say so.'

She walked back toward him, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

"What is wrong?" he asked immediately, throwing up the sound-muffling ward once more. "Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

"I'm fine. I just had some questions, and I don't know who else to ask."

He stared at her assessingly for a moment. "Proceed."

"The Raven Queen… What did she actually steal?"

Professor Lacer adjusted his grip on his Conduit. "I understand your curiosity." She thought for a moment that he would refuse to tell her more, but he continued. "It was a book, as you have probably heard. As to the exact contents, I am unaware. However, I do know something about the expedition that retrieved it."

Sebastien's grip tightened around the strap of her satchel, and she tried not to look too desperately interested.

"I applied to join the expedition but was denied. At the time I considered it to be petty infighting and politics, and thought little of it, but now…" He trailed off, leaving the rest to her imagination. "The expedition went into the Black Wastes." He nodded at her raised eyebrows. "Yes. All who went were aware of the risks, and they were extremely well supplied. They judged the possible rewards to be worth it. Supposedly, some powerful diviners had found the location of Myrddin's hermitage, where he spent much of his time in solitude toward the end of his life."

Sebastien couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath of air.

"Of course," Professor Lacer continued, "people have been claiming to have found Myrddin's hermitage every couple of decades since he died, so I am rather skeptical. However, it is obvious they did find something of historical significance, and perhaps of great worth. The rumors of Myrddin's lost inventions and discoveries are, frankly, overblown and ridiculous. The man, while impressive, lived over a thousand years ago. We have made many advancements in sorcery—in thaumaturgy as a whole—since then, and to think that he may have made breakthroughs we struggle to comprehend today is extremely unlikely. It is a particular failing of character to long constantly for the 'better days' of the imagined past when really, the best days are now, with even better to come tomorrow."

He let out a deep breath, his dark blue eyes growing distant as he looked past her. "That being said, there are obviously mysteries in this world which we do not yet understand, and I suspect many of them come from the pre-Cataclysm eras, which I do not long for, but long to understand. Perhaps Myrddin made some discovery along that vein and spent his later years trying to decipher it."

Lacer's attention returned to Sebastien. "In that case, if they really did find his hermitage, the things they retrieved could be of value. The Raven Queen's interest in the items points increasing weight toward that possibility, in my opinion. The University still retains possession of the remainder of the expedition's haul, but a select number of people in the History department have exclusive access while they inspect the items. The theft has made their paranoia about security seem more reasonable, but they have reported no significant findings yet, and I believe people will eventually begin to grow impatient with the secrecy and apply pressure for open access. Knowledge, like any other resource, can only be kept for oneself so long as one has both the skill and the power to ward off others."

Sebastien couldn't help but feel that was a warning about her own secret, though she knew he hadn't meant it that way.

"That is all I know," he said, "and keep in mind that much of it is speculation."

"I understand. Thank you," she responded, giving him a shallow bow as she turned to leave, her mind already spinning with this partial confirmation of what she had speculated herself.

She'd passed halfway through the bubble of the sound-muffling spell when she paused yet again. "I'm not sure if you were aware, but Grandmaster Kiernan called me into his office last week, ostensibly to give me contribution points and make sure I was doing alright, but really to pump me for information about what happened. I told him to talk to you."

Professor Lacer's eyes narrowed. "I was not aware. I will discuss this with him."

This time, Sebastien really did leave. Most of the students had already moved on by the time she exited the classroom, but she tried to keep herself from being visibly uneasy. She wanted to find the nearest bathroom stall and lock herself inside it until her fingers stopped trembling and the tension in the muscles of her neck and back stopped sending electric arcs of pain up into her skull.

'Professor Lacer might be skeptical of Myrddin's accomplishments, but I have proof that whoever made the transformation amulet did things I've never heard of before. So I stole Myrddin's journal or something. Stars above, no wonder they're all so desperate to catch me.' She shuddered, wondering again if there were some way to get rid of it, to just give it back, without endangering herself.

'But more immediately pressing, Professor Lacer wants to examine my ward, or at least how its magic works. It makes sense, since they are under the impression that the divination-diverting ward Liza created for me is actually some mysterious boon given by the Raven Queen. Is there a chance that he finds something dangerous? No matter my desire for control or privacy, the possible danger involved in a spell cast by the Raven Queen is arguably more important than my comfort. There's no way I can just refuse a checkup. Should I contact Oliver, or maybe Liza, to warn them? How risky is this? Do I need to give up my identity as Sebastien and leave the University in advance?'

"Sebastien!" Ana's voice called.

Sebastien's head jerked up, the movement sending another spike of pain up through the back of her neck. One of her eyelids twitched.

Ana was leaning against the wall in the hallway outside Lacer's classroom. She tucked away the pink leather notebook artifact that allowed her to communicate with her little sister, smiling. "Accompany me?" she asked.

Sebastien hesitated, her mind stumbling a little as she struggled to focus on anything but her pervasive anxiety, but nodded, hoping whatever Ana needed wouldn't take too long.

Ana slipped her arm through the crook of Sebastien's elbow and led her off.

"Where are we going?" Sebastien asked.

"I have something important to discuss with you. I'd rather not do it where random passersby can eavesdrop."

Sebastien hoped it wasn't some juicy piece of gossip or the like. Ana was much more socially attentive than Sebastien, and tended to care about things that could create social leverage, whereas Sebastien just wanted to focus on the magic. Someday, she would leave all this behind, and knowing all the latest gossip would be useless.

Even though the hallways were mostly empty of students, Ana pulled Sebastien into an unoccupied classroom, closing the door behind them.

Normally, this level of intrigue would have raised Sebastien's interest, but at that moment, it was all she could do to keep herself from vibrating apart. She suppressed another shudder at the unfortunate wording of her thoughts.

Ana ran her fingertips lightly over the smooth knit of her scarf, her face alight with some emotion Sebastien couldn't place. "You mentioned that I needed to deal with my uncles in a more effective and permanent way, do you remember? Well, I've figured out how to do it. I'm going to discredit them and, hopefully, have them removed from the Gervin Family line of succession. My father has the ability to do that, if there's just cause. I simply need to convince him it is necessary."

"Great," Sebastien said. She realized her fingers were tapping impatiently against the side of her thigh and stilled them. "Did you need feedback on your plan, then? I'm not particularly versed with social manipulation, and I don't know your father at all, so I'm not sure I'll be much help, but I'm happy to listen."

"Actually, I was hoping you could help me implement the plan. I know my uncles have done things that could be used to blackmail them. There's almost certainly proof in Uncle Malcolm's office, probably in his vault. If I could access that, I could use it to knock them down and put myself in a position of power."

Sebastien stared at Ana. "You want me to break into your uncle's office and go through his vault?"

"Well, maybe," Ana said, biting her lip anxiously. "I'm open to suggestions about the details of how we'd implement all this. It shouldn't be that dangerous; I've a plan to make sure Uncle Malcolm is preoccupied at the time, and I know how his security system works."

Sebastien let out a short, sharp laugh as a sudden surge of outrage rose up in her stomach and through her throat, spilling out into the world as cutting words. "I'm happy you've figured out a solution to your problems, but I really don't have the time or the wherewithal to get involved in this kind of dangerous scheme. Why don't you commandeer someone who has more time on their hands, like the rest of your Crown Family friends? Or hire someone to help you who would be willing to place their safety at risk for some coin. I'm sure you can afford it."

Ana went pale, and in the silence that followed, Sebastien knew she'd made a mistake. She didn't want to take on a new project—she could barely handle her current workload—and she was wound up like a coiled spring with stress. Even so, she hadn't meant to snap at the other girl like that. She should have turned her down more gently.

Ana gave her a wide, bright smile that looked almost feral, her eyes glittering with the sheen of unspent tears. "Sebastien Siverling, do you think you're the only real person in the world? You act like your goals and interests are the only important ones, like your ideas are the only ones that hold value."

Sebastien tried to interject, but Ana's voice only grew louder. "If someone disagrees with you, thinks differently than you, or just acts in some way that you don't like, they must either be stupid, ignorant, or otherwise unworthy of your attention—perhaps because they're a noble and thus somehow worthless? The Crown Families might be elitists, but you're a reverse snob, which is really no different than a normal snob. You need to open your eyes and realize that in the real world, you don't stand atop some pinnacle of worthiness alone. You're just like the rest of us, down here mucking about in the shit, blind to the wider reality." Ana growled the last sentence, spun on her heel, and stalked out of the room.

She slammed the door behind her, leaving Sebastien alone with the echo of Ana's bitterness off the stone walls.

Chapter 105 - Uncomfortable Scrutiny

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 6, Saturday 10:00 a.m.

Sebastien didn't flinch from the needle-like stabs of the artifact disks in her back as they sucked up her blood. 'I wonder if I will bruise if they keep activating again and again under these tests.'

She stood in the middle of Professor Lacer's office, where he had drawn a divination spell array on the floor in a hard wax that resisted melting even with the power he pushed through it. It had only been a week since she came up with her plan to fix everything, which included a more stringent schedule, but already she was off course, accommodating him instead of brewing for the Verdant Stag.

She had skipped dinner on Wednesday to bring Liza the sleep-proxy spell components, and while she was there, asked the ward's creator about the danger of it coming under scrutiny, vaguely describing the situation.

Liza had stared at Siobhan for a good thirty seconds of silence, clearly exasperated by the way Siobhan always seemed to get into trouble. "I don't understand how this situation came to be in the first place, but I gather that someone who doesn't know you're the Raven Queen somehow found out about the ward, and for some unfathomable reason you're going to let them examine you. Either that, or you plan to encounter a hostile situation where someone rapidly tries successive, creative ideas to break the ward, rather than simply overpower it."

Siobhan had clasped her hands together tightly, sighing with acknowledgement of how foolish and precarious the whole thing sounded. "The former is partially correct. I just want to make sure they won't find some sort of loophole in the ward, or something besides its particular effects that links me to the Raven Queen. If it seems too risky, I can avoid the examination, but there's a lot at stake, and that's an option of last resort."

"Do not undress and let whoever is casting scan you for heat fluctuations," Liza had warned. "It's possible the five disks could cool the skin of your back enough to stand out, and if someone found them and extracted them… Well, it wouldn't lead back to me. And I expect you won't do anything to lead them back to me, either," she said firmly. "Remember that I still have my copy of our blood print vow, and I assure you, that ward will not protect you from me if I find I have been wronged."

Liza took a slow sip of her tea, letting that threat sink in. "Other than that, I didn't knowingly design a ward with loopholes, and I am an expert in the field. It will protect itself from examination just like it protects you, but it can be overpowered. Your examiner will find that the ward is extremely well-designed and has no obvious source. That is suspicious in and of itself."

"I don't think that will be a problem, exactly. Is there anything else I should worry about?"

"If you can, I would appreciate an update on the results of these tests," Liza said, seeming rather unconcerned.

Oliver had been more apprehensive than Liza, perhaps because he knew the details of the situation and had more at stake. "They already think the Raven Queen created the ward. It makes sense if it's suspicious and mysterious. Even if Thaddeus Lacer does find the disks, that doesn't unquestioningly implicate Sebastien Siverling. She could still have done that to you without you realizing or remembering, though it stretches belief in a completely different way than her free-casting such a powerful, ongoing effect. However, if he finds them, it will surely lead to additional invasive tests. Everything gets a lot trickier to explain away if their original blood sample points right to Sebastien Siverling. Even if they didn't believe you were her, I can't see you avoiding the inside of a cell 'for your own protection' while they ran more tests."

Oliver had rubbed his hands roughly down his face, taking a few moments to think. "I'm not sure the risk is worth it."

Hesitantly, Sebastien revealed the conversation she'd had with Professor Lacer in the carriage, where he had thought she might be the Raven Queen in disguise. "Unexpectedly, if he did find out, he might not turn me in right away. It's possible he would listen."

"You can't depend on that!"

"Of course not. I'm merely saying things might not be as bad as they seem. Even the worst-case scenario has a chance of working out."

"You need to get out of it, Sebastien," Oliver had insisted.

Sebastien tried. On Thursday, she'd gone to Professor Lacer and told him she remained uncomfortable with the idea of him casting spells on her and asked if it was absolutely necessary.

"I think you should rather I do it than someone from the infirmary or the Red Guard, Mr. Siverling," he'd replied, unmoved. "I will only be casting some divination spells to examine the nuances of how the boon works. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I can explain each spell beforehand so that you know what's being done."

"But I still don't understand what you're hoping to find. Do you think this boon will somehow lead back to her?"

"That would be a pleasant surprise, but I very much doubt it. No, I am looking to decipher more about how she thinks. Magic always carries the signature of the caster, and even more so of its creator. Perhaps I will discern something about her background based on the things she thought to ward against, and the ways she implemented those defenses. I could find hints about where she was trained as a sorcerer, or the culture she grew up in, or even just how her mind works. Does she prefer misdirection or complex traps? Does she lean toward punishing aggression directly or circling around to attack from behind? Did she leave any strange loopholes or responses in this boon that are meant to hint at her purpose more directly, to the right person?"

This was a significant relief, though Sebastien was disappointed that her mentor's willingness to respect her boundaries only extended to this point. After all, he didn't seem to believe that Sebastien was in danger from the ward, and yet he still insisted on something he knew she didn't want.

She'd gone back to Oliver.

He reluctantly agreed that taking a risk to remain at the University was worth it, if they were prepared. If Professor Lacer tried to have her arrested, Oliver would have a team standing by to rescue her on the way to Harrow Hill. No one Oliver could hire was a match for Thaddeus Lacer, but they could probably overcome a team of coppers. If that failed, he would have someone impersonate the Raven Queen while Sebastien was confined to help keep her identities separate. She'd even practiced acting believably innocent in front of a mirror while trying to come up with some reasonable lies.

She wore even more alarm bracelets and a toe ring, each connected to Oliver and with a particular meaning. Her hidden stunning wand and disintegration artifact, as well as a range of paper spell arrays, were neatly filed in her bag and ready to go. She'd arranged useful potions and philtres in individual bands, their locations thoroughly memorized as she practiced retrieving the correct one using touch alone. She had Professor Lacer's Conduit attached to her pocket watch and the black sapphire in her hidden holster. If Professor Lacer asked her to take off her clothes, she would refuse, and was even prepared to fake a panic attack. Surely that would be enough to stop him.

Even if Professor Lacer noticed anything incriminating while examining the divination diverting ward, he might not immediately realize the full implications or become hostile, which gave her the element of surprise. Even if all that failed, which was unfortunately likely when going up against a man as powerful, insightful, and starkly intelligent as Thaddeus Lacer, he might still be reasoned with.

Now, halfway through Professor Lacer's examination, Sebastien felt that all their preparation and worrying had been mostly unnecessary. The whole process was quite anticlimactic. He had explained all the spells he was planning to use when she arrived that morning, and there were none she thought would be dangerous—just various forms of divination, some with a twist on the standard application.

"Do you feel anything?" the man asked her, frowning down at the crystal ball in front of him, which was as cloudy as ever.

"Uncomfortable," she admitted. "It's as if cold fingers are trailing down my back, or like when you think you see someone watching you through the window from the corner of your eye, but when you turn, there's no one there. I…instinctively want to cringe away."

He hummed, muttering to himself. "Fascinating. I wonder if the sensory connection somehow increases the spell's ability to help you avoid notice. Magic feeding off emotion…" He trailed off, scribbling notes by hand because he couldn't guide the pen to write on its own while also casting the divination spell. He turned his gaze back to the crystal ball, frowning slightly.

Sebastien cried out at a sudden spike of power. Whatever was allowing her to metaphorically slip to the side, deflecting the tendrils of magical attention, simply broke, and suddenly she was bare, naked before Professor Lacer's divination magic. She shuddered with the sense of vulnerability, but resisted further empowering her ward to fight back, if that was still possible now that he'd succeeded. Thaddeus Lacer was a Grandmaster. This close, he could overpower even her best efforts, and with him already knowing where she was, there was no point in resisting.

He didn't seem to notice her discomfort, dropping the spell after a couple more scribbled notes, and then moving onto the next. "How does this one feel?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Slightly different. Like I'm being painted into a corner, the safe space getting smaller and smaller, until it will be too small for me to fit," she said, her surprise almost overpowering her discomfort.

He looked up, giving her a smile. "Very interesting. The woman who cast this on you is quite skilled." He dropped that spell, too, not bothering to channel power into it until he broke past her defenses. "Tell me about her again. Describe her in detail, everything you can remember. If your memory is fading, I have a small ritual that can boost recall of a specific event. It's rather unpleasant, but quite safe."

Sebastien swallowed hard. "No need for that. My memory is superb."

"Stressful situations can often result in impaired recall, or even completely fabricated memories. There is no shame in that. It is simply how the human brain works." When she didn't reply, he looked up at her, but she just stared back, which seemed to satisfy his doubts. "Go ahead, then."

"She was…tall, for a woman. Wearing a hood, so I couldn't really see her features. Umm, it looked like she was growing feathers mixed in with her hair." Sebastien hesitated, then added, "She did not look particularly evil, not like the wanted posters. And she was protecting those people. Why do you think she did that?" She watched him carefully, trying to gauge his response. 'Is he hostile to the Raven Queen? As far as I can tell, he's only displayed curiosity. If I could make him an ally…'

He met her gaze, perhaps sensing the importance of the question from some clue in her voice. "I do not know. But I would like to."

"Is there any news about the investigation? What are the coppers and the Red Guard doing?" Now that she was peripherally involved, it didn't seem strange for her to be interested in things she was probably not supposed to know.

"The Red Guard have done their part, securing and clearing the site for continued habitation. Titus Westbay is considering calling them in to assist in the ongoing investigation to capture Siobhan Naught."

"Is that…likely?"

"We will see. It is not the kind of thing the Red Guard usually involves themselves in. They are here to deal with existential threats, not every blood sorcerer that evades the coppers. Additionally, I happen to know that Lord Westbay the elder holds a particular dislike for the Red Guard, and while Titus is nominally in charge of the coppers and the investigation, his father still holds quite a bit of weight in this type of decision. There is no proof of the kind of threat the Red Guard is sworn to shield against. Miss Naught has not even killed anyone, unless you count Mr. Moore, which I do not, as one cannot predict a break event. Her major crime is stealing something very valuable and then being embarrassingly good at getting away with it. In the end, I suspect it will be up to the High Crown. The Red Guard might take the case if he feels the Raven Queen is making the coppers, and thus the Crowns, look too incompetent."

"If they do take over, will they be able to capture her?"

Professor Lacer gave a small shrug, one side of his mouth drawing up in a subtle smirk. "Who knows? They are very competent, but she is obviously both powerful and cunning."

Sebastien let out a deep breath as he dropped the latest divination attempt. "Are you trying to find her?"

"Yes."

Her heart sank, but he continued.

"But not for any reward, or to turn her in."

Shock and relief coursed through her in equal measure, despite the hints to that effect that he'd already dropped so freely. 'That is a very dangerous thing to admit to anyone. Almost treasonous,' she realized. "Why do you want to find her, and…why are you admitting this to me?" When he didn't answer at first, she feared he might grow impatient and cut off the line of questioning.

Professor Lacer cast a different divination spell, this time standing up and walking around her with a contemplative expression. "The spillover effect is rather fascinating. Entirely in line with her ability to make mischief in plain sight, yet remain uncaptured—unnoticed—until she wishes it otherwise. I wonder if this part of the boon might be some sort of 'tag,' or signature, a way for Miss Naught to leave a special mark on her work."

He stopped in front of Sebastien, just on the edge of the Circle, meeting her dark eyes unflinchingly, undeterred by the dissuading effects of her ward. Finally, he answered her question. "I am honest with you despite the danger, Mr. Siverling, because you are my apprentice. While you have shown a penchant for certain types of foolishness, you have displayed no insurmountable stupidity, and I chose you both for your display of Will and the signs that you were not yet trained into the mindsets that lead to hopeless mediocrity, unlike most of those who would call themselves your peers. If you prove yourself worthy, it will be my job to guide you in the Way of true power."

She could hear the capitalization of "the Way" in his emphasis. She stared back at him, trying to catalogue the strange jumble of emotion in her chest.

"No one's opinion of you matters more than my own, and you know this. Beyond that, I do not worry about your betrayal, because you do not have the power to harm me, even if I am mistaken and you are foolish enough to repeat my words to the wrong ears. But also, as your mentor, I know that you need to hear sources telling the truth rather than the things that are acceptable to say in polite society if you are ever to distinguish truth for yourself, which is the heart of the Way, and paramount for any thaumaturge that wishes to grasp true power."

Her heart beat harder, not out of fear, but from half-understood excitement. What did she wish for but true power? And the acknowledgment of Thaddeus Lacer was nice, too. She stood even straighter, unblinking.

"Burning curiosity is the first virtue of a thaumaturge, Sebastien." It was the first time he'd ever used her given name, rather than her last. His voice was loud, the pressure in his dark gaze trying to force her to look away. "And the ability to distinguish truth is of paramount importance. It is not just curiosity for curiosity's sake, but curiosity for usefulness's sake. The curiosity may be general and widespread, because a wise thaumaturge knows that all knowledge is useful, and that with enough broad areas of learning, each topic meets the others and coalesces to form a picture of the greater whole…and the secrets hidden at the center."

She could feel his Will in the air, not just pressing on her ward, but coiling around the room like a giant snake ready to squeeze, holding everything within its mercy. Tentatively, she brought her own Will to bear, focusing on remaining strong and upright, on maintaining her defiant gaze. 'I am weaker than you, Thaddeus Lacer, but I am not lesser. I am not cowed.'

He smiled as if he could read her mind. Perhaps he could read her expression, or he had just noticed her clenched fists. "Defiance is good. Sometimes it hurts to see the truth, but how else will you rise above your limits?" He spoke more softly, then. "Knowledge of the truth is power. And I am intensely curious about the Raven Queen."

He stepped away, releasing his Will along with the divination spell as he returned to his desk to write more notes.

Sebastien was panting and small beads of sweat dotted her temples, even though she had done nothing but get into a staring contest with her mentor while he lectured. 'My mentor, who says he will teach me the way of true power.' It was a giddy thought. 'As long as I don't mess it up.' She wasn't so overwhelmed as to admit anything about her connection to the Raven Queen, however. Professor Lacer might not intend to turn her other identity in to the coppers, but she couldn't assume it was safe, either. Would he be impressed if he knew, or would he find her multiple brushes with disaster proof that perhaps she wasn't quite as worthy as he thought?

As Lacer tried more variations on divination spells against her ward, she fell into thought. 'Sometimes it hurts to see the truth,' she repeated silently to herself. It brought up another problem that she'd been avoiding the last few days, focused as she was on preparing for this examination. 'Was Ana right about me? Am I a reverse-snob who treats the people around me like they don't matter?' She instinctively wanted to deny the accusation, but the little twinge of unease inside stopped her.

'If I really thought her words had no merit, would I keep thinking about it so much?' She considered Ana a friend, though not a close one that she could confide all her secrets to. It hurt that the other girl had been so angry with Sebastien and was now avoiding her. Others had noticed and asked about it, but Sebastien had refused to explain. Some of the other women in Sebastien's classes had tried to take the opportunity to sit with her, but they had been blocked by Brinn Setterlund, who took Ana's regular seat on whichever side Damien wasn't stationed.

'I did treat her poorly. She might have made assumptions about receiving my help, but isn't that normal between friends? Would I have been so snappish if I were in my original body—in Siobhan's form? Was it only bad timing and circumstance, or am I more irritable as Sebastien?' Men had different hormones than women, after all, and were often more aggressive.

She was aware of the amulet against the skin of her chest, resting next to the warding medallion and the fading scar of the cold burn it had given her. She wondered if anyone who used it would turn into Sebastien Siverling, or if someone else would end up as a completely new person. 'And what would happen if a man used it?'

She could have answers if Katerin or Oliver were willing to try it, but even the idea made her frightened and uncomfortable and had her hunching her shoulders forward protectively. The amulet was hers. She needed it. If something went wrong, if it were to stop working, she would be trapped without it.

'Besides,' she comforted herself, 'neither Katerin nor Oliver are likely to agree just to sate my curiosity.'

Professor Lacer dropped his latest spell and tried a new one, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She massaged her jaw muscles, which she had been unconsciously clenching until her molars ached. 'It doesn't really matter if I have a tendency to be more aggressive or self-centered as Sebastien. Which might not even be a factor, so it is doubly no excuse! I know right and wrong, and I still have a duty to take ownership of my actions. I make my own choices no matter what body I'm in, or what influences might make one path or another easier.'

Sebastien cleared her throat awkwardly, then said, "How do you deal with a question that's uncomfortable? One you don't really want to ask, because it hurts?"

Again, Lacer didn't answer her right away, dropping the latest divination and then writing out his notes first. Finally, he said, "There are a lot of facets to both finding and accepting truth. It is a mental discipline that is an ever-ongoing struggle. I cannot answer that question succinctly, but I do have an exercise, a small trick, if you will, that I have found useful in similar situations."

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "Simply take your dreaded question, this possible state of reality that you do not believe is true, that you do not wish to be true, and imagine if it were. Take your time on this, and delve deep. Model an entire world, and yourself within that world, existing within the framework of that uncomfortable question. 'Is my wife really cheating on me?' 'Am I as intelligent as I always thought I was?' 'Is there any meaning to life?' That kind of thing. When you can model that imaginary world while still leaving yourself a line of retreat, in the idea that it is only "imagination," you can trick yourself into accepting and coming to grips with these uncomfortable truths, and from there act on them in the most optimal way."

He squinted at her for a few seconds, then said, "I am pleased you asked this question, Mr. Siverling. It is of special importance to lean into the uncomfortable truths, to twist the knife of inquiry in the places that hurt worst, because they hurt worst. You must keep going until you have released yourself from the prison of your own mind. Even if you are frightened."

She wondered if he thought her question related to the Raven Queen instead of something so mundane as an argument between friends.

Professor Lacer stood and moved over to Sebastien, making the first adjustment to the rudimentary array drawn around her. All the previous variations of the spell had been based on its broad, sturdy foundation, with the nuances of the Word held in his own mind. "This anti-divination magic has proved impressively robust, even to what clever workarounds and tricks I have been able to devise."

He stepped back, palming his Conduit again, and this time the pressure on her ward felt stranger than ever—vague, almost, as if the divination was one step removed from her.

She shook her head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.

He dropped the spell, smiling down at the spell array. "I cannot even model what I know of you to find someone that matches my hypothetical construct. I thought for sure that one would work. I suppose it is best not to push it. Divination is dangerous, even for someone like myself. Secrets do not enjoy being cracked open," he added with wry amusement. "They struggle."

That kind of spellcasting was beyond her, both in power and in theory, but Sebastien wondered if perhaps that kind of trick couldn't work because he didn't actually understand her, and thus the parameters of his hypothetical construct were all wrong.

"What I am most curious about is how this boon even works," he said. "It is not impossible to scry you, it simply takes enough effort and power to break the effect. Is she actively protecting you from a distance? Did she cast some kind of binding spell so that you would instinctively draw on that aspect of her power? I almost wonder that she did not do some powerful human transmogrification and adjust your very properties. That would be incredibly illegal, of course, and so, so, dangerous, but you seem to be fine, and the whole thing is rather a puzzle." He looked up, seemingly realizing the alarming nature of his musing. "Whatever the truth is, it does no good to deny it. It is true whether you know it to be or not. And you do seem fine," he reiterated encouragingly.

Sebastien nodded silently. 'It's actually kind of funny that he's so bad at comforting others.'

He made a few more notes, then leaned against the edge of his desk with his legs crossed, staring absently at his Conduit for a while.

"Is that everything you wanted from me?" Sebastien asked, finally.

"It is." He hesitated, then said, "You may remain for a few minutes, if you like, if you have something non-disruptive to work on. Or if you have any questions or concerns…" He scratched the side of his short-cut beard with uncharacteristic discomfort. "I am available," he concluded.

Sebastien blinked at him twice, then suppressed a giddy smile. The chance to pick Thaddeus Lacer's brain was invaluable. Questions flitted through her mind faster than she could register them, about everything from her spellwork to stories about his past. Knowing him, however, he would grow impatient and cut her off after one or two answers, and even faster if she asked something boring or invasive.

In the end, she decided to ask something she had little chance of finding an answer to elsewhere. She bit her lip, considering how to word it. "If you want to…transplant a person, or replace their body, with their knowledge and personality intact, how would you go about doing that?" Once started, the words spilled out of her. "Does it require the exact same brain, or could you create a new one? Would the person experience personality changes due to the effects of the body transplant?"

Professor Lacer's eyebrows rose. "I admit, that is not the sort of thing I expected you to ask. Your interest in subverting the limitations of the human body continues, I see." He chuckled briefly, crossing his arms. "Across the eras, there have been many experiments that attempted to keep someone alive artificially, since even among thaumaturges no one has been able to halt the effects of aging entirely. None of these experiments or attempts have been successful. Those who lived—if you can use that term for a mind trapped in a barely functioning body—still experienced horrible side effects such as immune responses that attack the body and brain. Most attempts simply resulted in painful and unpleasant deaths. A better way to increase a creature's lifespan is to Sacrifice a similar creature's vitality. Of course, unless such a thing was classified as a powerful healing spell, that would fall into the category of blood magic, since it would certainly kill the Sacrificed creature. Those spells also produce rapidly diminishing effects. If you are worried about death, I would suggest investing in some robust warding artifacts and then channeling enough magic to extend your lifespan as long as possible, rather than experimenting with forbidden magics. You are much too young—and inexperienced—for such things."

He thought she wanted to know how to extend her lifespan. She hesitated to correct his assumption with a more direct question, because it could be too easily connected to the transformation amulet if someone else discovered what it did. It would be a clue to her involvement. "I understand," she said. "I was just curious, not planning to do anything reckless."

He gave her a gimlet stare of suspicion for a few seconds, then seemed to accept her words.

Before he could grow tired of her presence, she blurted out another question she might not find answers for elsewhere. "What happens when a thaumaturge breaks? I mean, I experienced…something." She couldn't remember exactly what she'd felt, the same way people talked about incoherent dreams slipping away upon waking. "I was still a few blocks away at the time," she hastened to add, realizing that she might give her lie away through discrepancies in her stated timeline if she wasn't careful. "But I'm pretty sure I felt it when it happened. I don't really have the words to explain it, but it was like reality fell apart, or my brain got temporarily scrambled like an egg. I fell to the ground. It…took me some time to regain my wits, and by the time I arrived, it was already much too late."

"Another interesting question," he said. "No one truly understands how Aberrants are created. The break event is named such because it seems to follow when the Will is strained to the point of breaking, for whatever reason, but also because of the phenomenon you experienced. Thaumaturges can sense when a break event happens, and those with developed Wills experience it more powerfully. Some theorize that what we feel is the soul of the caster shattering, destroyed utterly and never to pass on to the afterlife. Others think some kind of malevolent sentience reaches through, possibly from the spirit world, and takes over the weak-minded, citing as evidence the fact that chain break events are possible, where one causes another in a nearby caster. Some think that we somehow sense the fabric of magic itself experiencing localized damage, which mends back together incorrectly, thus creating the Aberrant."

"What do you believe?" she whispered.

"I do not know the answer, but if I were to choose an option that seemed most likely, it would be the last." The bell rang to mark the hour, and he turned back to his notes. "If that is all, run along to lunch."

She gathered up her bag and jacket, still thinking about what she'd learned.

Just as she reached for the door handle, he said, "If you happen to encounter the Raven Queen once more, please tell her that I have noticed her interest and would be willing to meet with her."

"Um." Sebastien swallowed with a suddenly dry throat, her grip tight around the cold metal door handle. "Okay." Without turning to look back, she stepped into the hallway, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, her legs shaky from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Pushing back her sleeve, she looked through the many wood and pewter bracelets that ran up her forearm, picked the correct one from the color and placement of the thread wrapped around it, and broke it to let Oliver know everything was okay.

Chapter 106 - Witchcraft

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 6, Saturday 12:00 p.m.

'I believe other people are real,' Sebastien thought as she walked back to the dorms. 'I know they have real emotions, desires, and their own stories about how they got to the place they're in. But I have very little confidence in them, other than that.'

Using Professor Lacer's thought exercise, Sebastien tried to imagine that the things Ana had said about her were true. Sebastien was sharp-tongued and rude. She'd known that for a long time. People didn't enjoy having the unpleasant truth pointed out to them. Or at least, that was how Sebastien had justified things. But could she have been lying to herself? Was she the kind of person who treated people poorly just because she couldn't be bothered to care about them? Or worse, because somewhere deep inside, she enjoyed hurting others?

She remembered her tirade against the group of girls that had been gossiping about Newton. She had to admit that, sometimes, she did enjoy it. The rage behind her words to those girls was rare, however. More often, she made offhand cutting remarks to those who simply annoyed her, like Alec and even Damien. Ana hadn't often been on the receiving end of those before, but Sebastien could remember several times that Ana had laughed behind her hand at one of Sebastien's more scathing observations. While Sebastien was rude to people's faces, Ana made snide comments behind their back.

Sebastien groaned aloud, drawing some strange looks from a couple of students sitting on a bench beside the cobblestone pathway. She ignored them, scowling as she continued to mull over the issue.

She could admit that she had been dismissive of many of her classmates, particularly the Crown Family nobles. It wasn't the wealth itself that bothered her, but that they felt entitled to it and thought that they were somehow better than those they ruled over. 'As if it were anything they'd done to win the genetic lottery of birth parents.' They were oblivious to what it was like to live in the real world that the remaining ninety-nine percent of the population inhabited, where things were difficult and unfair and someone could do everything right and still fail. It grated on her that they should have such opportunity and not even appreciate its worth, while she struggled for every scrap of knowledge and power.

Sebastien recognized she was working herself into a righteous anger and tried to let it go. While they hadn't done anything special to deserve it, the Crown Family members and other wealthy, connected students also hadn't done anything wrong by being born into privilege. Sure, they were ignorant and rude sometimes, but…wasn't this whole situation caused by Sebastien's own rudeness? And ignorance could be corrected. Some of the Crown Family students weren't as bad as she had expected, once she got to know them. She could imagine someone like Damien genuinely caring if he were forced to truly understand what life was like for the common people.

If she were being fair, she wouldn't hold their prejudice and immaturity against them any more than she would despise a poor commoner for not being able to read or understand the vast world of books they were missing out on. 'Just because there are many equally as deserving as them who don't get the opportunity doesn't mean the nobles are less deserving.'

'So,' Sebastien concluded, 'maybe I am a snob.' She still couldn't help but scorn many of her classmates' ignorance, but if she was going to acknowledge that ignorance was correctable, shouldn't she try to do something to correct it? That was a monumental job, better suited for someone more like Oliver than Sebastien. She simply didn't have the patience or the time. And didn't each individual have some responsibility to correct their own ignorance? Why should that be her job?

Feeling like she'd made little progress on figuring anything out, Sebastien found Brinn and Waverly in the dorms, notes and components laid out over the girl's rumpled bedspread.

Brinn waved Sebastien over, and she tried to force a more pleasant expression onto her face as she joined them. "What's this for?" she asked.

Waverly took the initiative to speak, which was rare for the small girl. "I'm going to the Menagerie to make an offering! I'm pretty sure I saw a gremian in there the other day, and they're a great option to practice making a short-term contract with, if we can get it inside a Circle."

"Do you want to come, Sebastien?" Brinn asked.

She hesitated. Really, she would prefer to try to talk to Ana, or maybe Damien, who knew the other girl well enough that he might be able to give Sebastien advice about how to handle the situation. "Are Damien or Ana around? I haven't seen them today."

"Both of them are visiting their homes." Brinn tilted his head to the side. "They mentioned it several times over the last few days."

"Oh," Sebastien said. She…hadn't been paying attention. She sighed, using a finger to try to smooth out the crease of frustration between her eyebrows. "Thank you. Um, I suppose I will come along, then, if you don't mind?" she asked Waverly. These two had been nothing but kind to her, after all, and she was interested in the chance to see some witchcraft in action. She didn't have the mental capacity to do her homework or practice spells at the moment, anyway.

The trio gathered up all of Waverly's preparations and walked to the Menagerie, making their way along the winding paths until Waverly pointed out a tree housing what looked like a particularly large bird's nest. When Sebastien commented on it, Waverly grinned, exposing small, pearly-white teeth. "That's not a bird's nest."

"A gremian, then?" Sebastien asked, repeating the word Waverly had used earlier. "I don't think I've ever seen one."

"Oh, they're wonderful!" Waverly gushed, the most high-pitched and enthusiastic that Sebastien had ever seen her. "So cute, and trainable. They're not sapient, and they can't talk, but they're clever enough, and willing to perform tricks and favors if you know what to offer."

Inside a Circle scratched into the snow with a stick, Waverly set up feathers, a chicken egg, and a small drawing of a bird in flight. They were an an offering meant to entice a gremian into the Circle's bounds. If it accepted the offering, that would be considered consent, and the gremian would be forced to enter into negotiations with her. Of course, if it didn't like the terms she put forward, or just didn't like her, it could refuse to make a further contract, but it wouldn't be able to leave until she'd at least made the attempt.

"What would happen to the creature if you didn't offer any terms? Would it be indefinitely trapped, perhaps to the point of starvation?" If so, that didn't seem fair, since agreement under duress wasn't exactly agreement.

Waverly laughed as they drew far enough back from the Circle that they wouldn't spook the creature from approaching. "Oh, there are Circles like that, but they're exceedingly foolish on the part of the caster. The creature, or elemental, that you bind isn't forced to be loyal, only to follow the exact wording of the contract. Even if it tries to engender loyalty, that's very dependent upon interpretation and intent. There are a ton of stories about witches binding powerful, unwilling familiars through trickery or blackmail, and it always goes badly. It would be like trying to cast with a celerium Conduit that had a mind of its own and didn't like you. This Circle will release the creature within an hour if no deal is made, and anyways, I'm not trying to make a familiar contract, only—"

She stopped, lifting a forefinger to her mouth to signal the need for silence as she stared up at the sloppy nest molded from twigs, strips of fabric, and daubs of mud.

At first, Sebastien thought that some of the twigs were rising, but then she saw the bulging black eyes and realized that the twigs were actually brown spikes sprouting from the creature's head.

The gremian looked at the offering below its tree, then at them, and then back at the offering. Apparently unable to resist, it crawled out of the nest and down the trunk. It was a small humanoid creature with spikes running from its head down to its butt, large bug-like eyes, and small, razor-sharp claws. It had attached feathers to its arms with precariously tied bits of old string, and strange flakes of dried fluid covered its thin, bony form, crumbling off when it moved too violently. Altogether, Sebastien imagined it was the kind of thing children might have nightmares about.

"Oh, isn't it cute!" Waverly squealed, bouncing up and down with her hands clasped under her chin.

Sebastien and Brinn shared a dubious look over the girl's head.

The gremian snatched up the offerings, not seeming to either notice or care as the binding activated, trapping it inside. After almost a minute of staring lovingly at the drawing of a bird in flight, while Waverly took tiny, slow steps closer, the gremian turned its attention to the chicken egg, which was half as big as its head.

The source of the flakes covering its body became obvious as it crushed the egg over its head, smearing the viscous liquid all over itself until it glistened.

"Gremians want to fly more than anything," Waverly explained in a calm, soothing voice. "Some believe that they branched off from homunculi that were attacked with some kind of ancestral curse thousands of years ago, and eventually devolved into what you see now. They collect feathers, steal eggs, and live in nests—all futile attempts to reach the skies."

Sebastien watched with interest as Waverly knelt in front of the Circle to bargain with the creature. She pulled out a contraption made of bamboo and waxed fabric, showing it off as she murmured, occasionally miming something to get her point across.

Eventually, the gremian agreed to whatever deal she had put forth. They both spat in their palms, shook hands—which looked rather ridiculous considering the difference in size, and the creature scampered off.

Waverly turned, grinning back at Brinn and Sebastien. "It worked. He agreed!"

"To what, exactly?" Sebastien asked.

"Well, a short-term contract, wherein he retrieves something for me and in return I give him this," she said, holding up the bamboo and cloth contraption. "Really, the deal was pretty irresistible."

While they waited for the creature to return, there wasn't much to do, and Sebastien fell back into thought.

"I'm not sure what happened between you and Ana, but if you want to reconcile with her, you should be the one to make the first move," Brinn said, catching Sebastien by surprise. "She's not very good at reaching out, even if she wants to."

Sebastien turned to search his gaze, but Brinn wasn't looking at her, instead watching as Waverly molded a knee-high snowman a few yards away. "I'm not sure she does want to," she said after a moment of consideration. "She asked me for a favor, and I…I was frazzled and the last thing on my mind was taking on a new project. I turned her down quite rudely, and she gave me a thorough verbal thrashing and hasn't spoken to me since. She said some things that made me think she might not actually like me very much."

Brinn blew on his bare fingers, which had turned red from the cold. "I doubt that very much. Ana can be quite fierce, but I think it's more likely she lashed out in an attempt to hurt you rather than out of real dislike. She gets angry in the moment, says things she regrets, and then is too embarrassed and stubborn to take them back. Once, she told me I was an overly tall sad-sack who—well, I won't get into that. Suffice it to say, she's like the opposite of you, in a way. You're casually rude, but once people get to know you, no one takes it seriously. It's almost like a test, to tell apart those who have the fortitude to be your friends from the rest of the rabble. Ana wants to be everyone's friend, but she only says cruel things to those she cares about enough that they managed to hurt her."

"But she's put up with my sniping and grumbling until now. Sure, most of it wasn't turned toward her, but…"

"Have you considered that it wasn't so much your exact words, but the emotion behind them? Generally, you speak without malice, Sebastien. But this time, you were frustrated. Maybe you wanted to put her in her place, just a bit? She's quite sensitive to intent, the meaning beneath the sweet exterior."

Sebastien knew that her words had been offensive, but now that Brinn had pointed it out, it seemed clear that her tone had been meant to wound. There was little Sebastien could have said with the frustration and derision filling her voice that wouldn't have sounded like an insult, an attack, and Ana had responded in kind. That didn't mean the other girl's accusations had been pulled out of nowhere, however.

Sebastien crouched down, hugging her knees to her chest. "I am so bad at all this 'people' stuff."

"Ehh." Brinn shook his hand back and forth in a "so-so" motion. "That's not incorrect, but you have a certain charm, despite that."

She puffed out a surprised laugh, but they were both distracted as the gremian returned, a few mushrooms in its clawed fingers.

Waverly exchanged them for the contraption, which she carefully showed the excited gremian how to use.

Sebastien's eyes widened as she understood what was going on. "I have an idea!" she said. After explaining, the three of them drew a scattering of gust spell arrays around the gremian's tree, making sure to dig past the layer of snow and into the ground.

The creature clambered up to its nest with the contraption, which was almost bigger than it was, and then, tucking itself inside the frame as Waverly had demonstrated, it jumped off.

Sebastien activated her gust spell, throwing snow and a rush of air straight upward. It caught the wings of the gremian's makeshift glider, and the little creature screeched in ear-piercing excitement as it began to fly.

This lasted for about fifteen seconds until it hit a tree and tumbled to the ground, dazed, but despite Waverly's worry, the gremian seemed unharmed, and immediately scrambled back to its nest.

Sebastien laughed aloud the second time it jumped into flight, as Waverly and Brinn activated their own gust spells, trying to keep the little creature aloft. They played at this until one of the glider's wings broke in a particularly nasty crash.

The gremian keened over it as if it had lost a family member or one of its own limbs, enough emotion in its scratchy, high-pitched wails that Sebastien felt genuine sympathy for it. She approached it slowly and, explaining her intentions in a soothing tone, though she wasn't sure it could understand, reached for the miniature glider.

It was reluctant to let go at first, baring its teeth, but Sebastien managed to get the glider free without being scratched or bitten. Using a random twig as a component, she cast one of the many variations on her mending spell, fusing the broken wing of the bamboo frame back together.

The gremian didn't thank her as it snatched the glider back and scampered off with it.

By that time, Waverly and Brinn were both getting hungry, and so they left the creature to its doomed flights, heading toward the cafeteria.

The two of them got lost in chatting about Waverly's outstanding success and her plans for her next contract attempt while Sebastien trailed a few feet behind, sinking back into her thoughts.

Something Brinn had said stuck with her, the part about having a certain charm. 'Professor Lacer is sharp-tongued. He often makes rude, even scathing comments. He makes people cry. But…I like him that way,' she recognized with a strange sense of surprise. 'I'm rude, too. Do I actually want to change?'

She tried to be brutally honest with herself. 'No,' she admitted. 'I wouldn't change if there weren't consequences. I haven't changed, despite past consequences. But I do want people, specific people like Ana, to like me.' To that effect, she could try to be more charitable toward those around her. Not some ever-smiling, gregarious butterfly. The very idea made her shudder. But at least she could try to be kind when it mattered—to those who had shown her goodwill. To those who deserved it.

Chapter 107 - Negotiations by Proxy

Oliver

Month 2, Day 6, Saturday 4:15 p.m.

The team of enforcers currently doing their best to stand at attention in front of Oliver was comprised of fifty percent new hires, all as green as the antlers that now graced their jackets like a badge. He sighed, spinning on his heels. "Mr. Gerard, if you would take command of this operation?"

The second of his two lead enforcers nodded, slipping on a pair of leather gloves and grabbing some battle equipment off the rack on the wall.

"Make an example of them," Oliver said clearly.

The man paused, but nodded again, meeting the eye holes of Oliver's mask to show he understood.

One of the new enforcers gave an audible gulp in the silence that followed, but when Gerard led the way out of one of the Verdant Stag's side entrances, they all fell in behind him.

Oliver turned to the woman sitting in a chair near the door.

She wore a cloak clutched tight over a low-cut dress that clung to her body, obviously meant to look enticing rather than ward off the cold. She met his gaze with a belligerence that reminded him of Siobhan, one eye partially obscured by the swollen, purple bruise blooming across it. Her lip was split, dried blood crusted in her nostrils, and her makeup had run and smeared, a painting of violent colors spread across the canvas of her face.

The woman probably wasn't particularly pretty, even without her injuries, nor was she particularly young or innocent. But that didn't reduce his anger. His mouth tightened.

She raised an eyebrow, uncowed by his mask. "What's to be done with me, then, my lord?" she asked, her tone jaded and tired. She had been skeptical when she arrived with the enforcer who had helped her escape from the Verdant Stag's newly acquired brothel, formerly owned by the Morrows. Her chin high and her eyes skeptical, she had watched to see what he and his people would do. Now, she gave him the tiniest quirk of a smile.

Though he knew the expression held no real joy, Oliver could respect her resilience. "You'll stay here, at least for the evening. Longer, if needed." He turned to the enforcer that had helped her. "Take her up to Alice in the apothecary, and then find her an empty bed for the night."

When they had gone, Oliver let out a weary sigh, allowing his shoulders to sag. The brothel's manager and some of the patrons hadn't been following his new rules about acceptable treatment of their employees. Perhaps they had thought the regulations about health and safety weren't in earnest. They had made a fatal error. The workers might have chosen to be prostitutes, as much as such a thing really was a choice in a place like the Mires, but they had not chosen to be mistreated while doing their job. Thankfully, this woman hadn't accepted it in silence, so now they could do something about it—swiftly and brutally.

If he could set a good enough example here, perhaps it would cow some of the other troublemakers that plagued this takeover into ducking their heads.

Another young enforcer stepped into the room, leaning close to murmur to Oliver. "A Tanya Canelo is here to see you. She says she has an appointment to 'be guided to your location.'"

Oliver squared his shoulders again and checked his pocket watch. "She's late." She had requested this meeting a few days before, a move he had been anticipating since he first heard that she'd been asking questions about the Raven Queen. Oliver was curious to learn if the request for contact was on her own initiative or done at the behest of the University. Either way, it was an opportunity for him. "Take her to the processing room, then bring her up to my office once she's been searched and questioned." He was tired and hungry, but there wouldn't be time to eat or rest.

Oliver took a small outer hallway and the attached stairs back up to his office on the third floor. The room was less than pristine since he'd been spending quite a bit of his time working there rather than using it only for meetings. He organized the desk, putting away papers and tossing out a half-eaten sandwich he'd been unable to finish before he was called away.

When he was younger, his sister had mashed together her own quote taken from Oppenheimer and Golden: "Having a clear mind and a clear space allows you to think and act with purpose. A mind troubled by doubt cannot focus on the course to victory." She had many misquoted sayings like that, and would adjust them on the fly to fit the situation or win an argument. It had driven him crazy. He remembered sputtering with outrage at the age of nine. "You can't just break the rules like that!" he'd told her.

Now, he would give a lot to have her here, misquoting at him. And he was more of a rule-breaker than she had ever been.

So Oliver sat, going through a much smaller stack of papers while he waited for Canelo. He stopped on a receipt of payment for an exorbitant sum to a workshop in Osham. Despite the price, he smiled. He had signed off on the purchase of several devices that would make producing low-quality cloth easier and faster, with no magic necessary. He had multiple suitable warehouses waiting to be turned into textile factories, and was only waiting on acceptance of the contract he'd sent to Lord Gervin to get started.

Seeing proof of his plans in motion relieved some of his fatigue, and he leaned back in his throne-like chair, massaging his temples. He could do this. Soon, everything would settle down, and he would finally have the resources and clout to make more substantial improvements within his territory.

A knock on the door had him sitting upright again. "Enter," he called, speaking loud enough to be heard past the sound-dampening magic embedded into the walls and floor.

The girl, dirty blonde hair cut just past her jawline in a style similar to Sebastien's, though not nearly so striking, looked around in surprise, her gaze freezing when it landed on Oliver—or more precisely, on his mask. She was alone. She swallowed, then said, "After all the security precautions, I was expecting to be blindfolded and led to a separate location."

He smiled wryly under the mask, which was beginning to irritate his skin after wearing it for so long. "That is part of the precautions. You will still be escorted to a different location and go through the motions of a secret meeting there, in case anyone is following or tracking you."

Her hands tightened around the handle of the hardened leather suitcase she carried. "Okay."

"What have you brought?" he asked, gesturing to it.

She came forward, setting the suitcase on the edge of his desk. She opened it to show the large, complicated device inside. "This is a phonograph, a recently developed artifact that records sound and can play it back. My employers would like me to store this conversation so they can listen to your words directly." An inch-wide strip of glittering black paper was wound between cylindrical spell arrays, but nothing moved or glowed, and the device let off no heat, a sign that it wasn't active. "Your people already looked it over for hidden tricks."

Of course they had. He trusted the device was safe enough, but it still piqued his ire. He let out a scoffing laugh. "This seems rather rude, especially when your employers can't be bothered to meet with me themselves. I cannot imagine you are foolish enough to have come up with this idea on your own," he added, a small test of her attitude.

She gave his shadow-backed mask a strained smile. "I apologize for the presumptuousness. I believe they want the phonograph recording as…insurance. The Raven Queen is known to bestow both boons and curses."

"Is that why they sent you alone? They're afraid she might attack them?"

Canelo shrugged. "I already met with the Raven Queen and lived, even after foolishly threatening her. I think they are hoping she has a…soft spot for me, and if not, then they wouldn't lose anyone too important. If I die doing something suspicious, or simply disappear, it wouldn't be particularly surprising to anyone at this point."

That was an unexpected level of honesty, and Oliver suspected that Canelo was weaponizing her vulnerability, attempting to lower his guard and take advantage of any softheartedness. "They consider you a liability," he stated. It was an educated guess, based on what he'd learned from both his contacts within the coppers and Sebastien.

Her lips almost disappeared as she pressed them together in a thin line. "This is a chance for me to prove my value. Things haven't gone exactly as planned, lately. I'm meeting with you in good faith to negotiate, hoping to repair the situation."

He stared back at her for a few long seconds, then nodded. "You won't use this," he stated, gesturing to the phonograph. He didn't know what else was recorded on the thing before their meeting, or what might be recorded afterward. Even if he spoke with Canelo in vagaries that couldn't be used as evidence of any crimes, it was still stupidly risky. They could try to use it as blackmail, or even just to cast divination spells to suss out his secrets. "If the exact wordings of our conversation were so necessary, they should have sent the people who needed to know. This is an insult. Place it outside the door."

Canelo complied quickly and without argument, her movements stiff, a sign that she was forcing herself not to betray her genuine emotions through sloppy body language. An inexperienced negotiator, but not incompetent. Returning, she sat tentatively in a chair before his looming desk and clasped her hands together in her lap. "I sincerely hope that we can still come to a mutually beneficial agreement."

"I hope the same," he replied truthfully, though he suspected his ideas about what that could entail might be broader than hers. "I believe there are many ways in which our interests could align. What, specifically, did your employers send you to discuss?"

"My unnamed employers had an agreement with the Morrows to provide supplies and the occasional favor. This was extremely lucrative for the Morrows, and offered them opportunities they might not have otherwise come by so easily." Canelo spoke confidently, and he suspected that she had rehearsed this. "It seems your agreement with the Nightmare Pack allowed you to take over the majority of the Morrows' hold on the smuggling industry. Are you interested in continuing the arrangement with my employers? Without them, you will struggle to find buyers for all those goods."

"With the Crowns' tariffs and restrictions making certain products unusually rare or prohibitively expensive, I'm sure I could unload everything eventually, and there are plenty of other things I could import that don't require the University's purchasing ability. I actually have quite a few ideas."

Canelo's knuckles whitened briefly. "My employers had already provided payment for the previous shipment of supplies that you seized."

"Yes. I have extensive records of all the Morrows' transactions. I believe thirty percent was paid up front, with the rest due upon delivery. I would be willing to honor that." It was both a warning not to try and cheat him and a threat that he had blackmail material on their illegal doings that might be used if they moved against him. Some of the University's supply orders were quite incriminating, such as the sudden request for beast cores in bulk. "To be clear, I am interested in working with the University, even if only to avoid the hassle of pivoting the business so soon, but further cooperation will need to be negotiated. As for providing the occasional favor, I'm open to that on a case-by-case basis, with proper compensation." Having the University on his side in the Verdant Stag's power struggle against the Crowns might prove quite useful.

"There are other operators who could provide what the University needs," Canelo said, apparently giving up on maintaining plausible deniability about who her employers were.

Oliver leaned back in his throne-like chair. "Sure. Eventually. But none of them are so perfectly positioned to provide as the Verdant Stag. I'm not an unreasonable man, Miss Canelo. But I will neither be bullied nor taken advantage of. If the University wants to deal with me, they are welcome to do so in good faith."

She leaned forward, swallowing heavily. "I agree that we should deal with each other in good faith. The potential upside is too great, for both parties, to sully it with schemes and ruses. As a show of their commitment to this alliance, my employers are prepared to offer you significant aid in cementing your control of your new territory. Wards, artifacts, or even a large, no-interest loan. My personal services are also available to you, should you have need of them."

"And in return?"

Canelo hesitated. She seemed to realize the display of anxiety she was putting on, unclasping her white-knuckled hands and laying them flat on her knees. She looked around, to the corners of the room and the window, then back to him. "I want to make it clear, I do not mean to offend you…or her. I'm just carrying out my duties as an intermediary."

Oliver's eyebrows rose with interest, and he sat forward, leaning his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers together. "Go ahead, say what they have instructed you to. I will not blame you."

Canelo's eyes narrowed. "And her?"

"Well, I do not control her. But she is not here to listen, and even if she learns whatever you fear passing on, I doubt her anger would be aimed at you."

Canelo seemed to find this reassurance enough, nodding absently to herself. "They want to know where the book is. The one the Raven Queen stole."

"I do not know where it is, nor how to find it," he lied easily. "I'm unable to help with that. Surely they don't think I'm able to succeed where both they and the coppers have failed? And even if I could, I'm not sure that the risk would be worth it."

"And the Raven Queen herself? D-do you know her location?" the young woman pressed on, her voice breaking.

Emotionally, Oliver rejected the idea of betraying Siobhan immediately, but he still stopped to consider it. No, he was bound too closely to her to sell her out. She was privy to too many of his vulnerabilities, and neither the University nor the Crowns could be allowed to gain that knowledge. Besides, she was his asset, and he didn't want to trade her away, no matter what they offered. The Verdant Stag didn't need them anyway. He and his people would rise on their own. "If you are suggesting that I should betray her, that's impossible. Or rather, I'm unwilling. It's a very bad idea, for both of us."

Canelo nodded, letting out a slow, shaky breath. The girl wasn't doing a very good job of pretending loyalty to her employers, which had to be at least partially on purpose. Perhaps she hoped to keep from being blamed for their decisions, or perhaps it was a subtle hint that she could be turned, given the right incentive. "Would you be willing to facilitate contact with her? I've tried previously but met…roadblocks."

Oliver suppressed the urge to smile. He'd heard of Lord Lynwood's order that none of his people even speak her name to outsiders, after Oliver had relayed Siobhan's request that Lynwood suppress gossip about her from the Nightmare Pack's enforcers. That, along with the rumors that she could hear when her name was spoken, no matter where she was, had led to some interesting results. "I can pass along your request, but I cannot guarantee anything. If she agrees, you will want to have a suitable tribute prepared as payment for her presence. Perhaps there is some way she and the University can come to an agreement." That would be ideal, and it sparked excitement within him. A true alliance with them could push forward his plans by years.

"I understand. Please let me know as soon as possible," she said.

"Should we discuss the details of our future cooperation, independent of the Raven Queen?" Oliver suggested. "Perhaps you aren't able to sign off on agreements or make vows on their behalf, but it would save time if you could leave here today with a reasonable proposal. And if they are amenable, I have some ideas about how we could collaborate in other ways."

Canelo seemed relieved by the change in subject, and after some negotiation that left the Verdant Stag in a slightly better position than the Morrows had accepted, she stood and gave him a deep bow. "If that is all, I will take my leave. Thank you for your time, Lord Stag."

"Actually, there is one more thing," he said, rising and moving around the imposing desk to lean against its front edge.

She remained standing, her eyes flicking to his empty hands as if searching for potential danger. "Yes, my lord?"

"I would like you to consider working for me in a more immediate capacity. I'm not sure what led you to your current position, or how they are compensating you, but I also have both power and influence, and am in need of competent employees with…specialized access. I'm willing to work around whatever restrictions you may be under, or even attempt to break them entirely."

Her eyes widened, her lashes fluttering in shock. "You believe there will be future enmity with my employers, then?"

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I am not planning on it, but it is always good to be prepared. I'm sure they will attempt something similar with my own people. They don't seem to trust me very much, after all," he said, allowing himself a wry smile, even if she couldn't see it. "Unfortunately for them, I treat my people much better than they treat you."

"I…" She swallowed. "It's too dangerous."

"More dangerous than the alternative? I would not consider you expendable. And if your employers make foolish choices, the Raven Queen would know not to lay that upon your head." It was as much a threat as it was persuasion, but he kept his voice gentle.

"I have no wish to anger you or her, but my employers… They have taken measures against betrayal, and the consequences would be severe. Also, I need what they're offering me."

Oliver almost kept pushing, but thought better of it. "Well, keep my offer in mind. There are ways around all kinds of restrictions, and perhaps they are not the only ones who can provide you what you need." Better to let doubt and discontent slowly fester in Canelo's mind than be seen as desperate. And after all, he wanted to hire someone who didn't immediately jump to betrayal when an opportunity revealed itself. "My men will take you to an undisclosed location to hold your official 'meeting' with me. You'll be expected to stay in that location with my proxy for at least half an hour before returning to the University. Just in case you're being followed."

Before she left, Canelo stopped. "I didn't tell anyone that the Raven Queen herself was attending the secret meeting. They know that you probably have an agent that attends to make purchases for you, and that she found me on my way back, but that's it. So if she wishes to continue attending as if nothing happened…" The young woman trailed off meaningfully, gave him a deep nod, and left before he could reply.

Oliver's empty stomach gurgled audibly. He considered having food brought up from the kitchen below, but he had other engagements that required him to be Oliver Dryden that evening, not Lord Stag. Slipping on his jacket, he opened the door and nodded to Huntley, who was standing guard in the hallway outside.

With all the precautions against being followed or recognized, it took longer to arrive at Dryden Manor than he would have liked.

Sharon, his cook, was on her way out the door when he arrived, but she took one look at him and went straight back into the house, taking his jacket and shooing him up to his office. "Dinner's a nice stew, still lukewarm. I'll heat it up and serve it to you within minutes, Mr. Dryden!" she called.

Oliver stoked the embers in the fireplace, adding more wood, then poured himself a tumbler of whisky and took a sip, relishing the burn as it settled into his stomach.

This subversive University faction had the resources to keep a large smuggling operation afloat, and having influence in the educational sphere would be a valuable long-term investment. It was yet to be seen if their end-game goals could coexist, as the University was part of the entrenched authority that he wanted to rip open so that its metaphorical guts could spill out and feed the people. It was obvious, too, that they didn't consider the Verdant Stag an equal, sending only a lackey with a recording device to meet with him. The lack of respect was worrying, especially when paired with the fear he believed they felt toward the Raven Queen.

Some fresh correspondence waited at the edge of Oliver's desk. For a moment he wished he could ignore it, but then he noticed Lord Gervin's signature on the envelope the servants had placed at the top of the stack.

Eagerly, Oliver broke the seal. He had been waiting on approval for a sub-commission to produce low-quality textiles en masse for a while. The envelope was a little thinner than he had expected, but perhaps the contract itself wasn't included. He might have to go to the Edictum Council Hall to sign the paperwork.

He read the hasty but still elegant penmanship of Lord Gervin's secretary, then the Fourth Crown's signature at the bottom. Oliver's stomach clenched around a sudden, nauseating ball of ice, despite the liquor that had been warming him only seconds before.

"Denied?" he whispered. Oliver's request for a sub-contract from the Family that, by law, controlled the textile industry had been turned down almost perfunctorily. Lord Edward Gervin had taken an Erythrean horse as a gift and still denied him. The man hadn't even bothered to write the note himself. It was a significant slight.

Oliver absently registered a knock on his office door, but he was too busy reading the note once more, as if hoping its contents would change, to answer.

He had already earmarked the warehouses, already ordered the machines from Osham, already planned for the jobs and income this would provide.

The door opened as Oliver set the note down. He picked up his whiskey, took another sip, and, as his shock turned into sudden, overwhelming rage, he screamed and hurled the half-full glass against the wall.

Sharon screamed in response, jumping so hard she spilled his dinner all over the floor. "Mr. Dryden," she started, breathless and shocked.

"Get out!" he bellowed, not even looking at her.

She jumped again, but didn't stop to pick up the bowl of spilled stew off the ground, holding the dinner tray like a shield as she fumbled her way backward through the door and closed it.

He heard her heavy footsteps hurrying down the stairs soon after.

Oliver pressed both palms flat to the desk, breathing hard. This was a significant problem. He realized now that he shouldn't have been so hasty in implementing plans. Lord Gervin had seemed so amenable when they discussed his intentions, and with the bribe, Oliver had thought it a sure thing, only waiting on the slow bureaucratic process to hash out the details and sign the contracts.

"Calm down," he told himself. "This is not the end of the world. Perhaps something happened. If I can just speak to Lord Gervin in person…" If that didn't work, he could try to continue in secret, running the business entirely under the Verdant Stag rather than through his legal persona. That was risky—the kind of thing that brought the harsh fist of the law down upon people, like a hammer on the head of a nail. It could allow the Crowns to seize all the Verdant Stag's holdings.

Alternatively, he could find a different path entirely. If he canceled the machine order now, he might be able to recoup most of his costs.

He brought his hands up, roughly rubbing his face with his palms. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging. He headed toward the door, stepping over the steaming stew spilled over the floor and rug. He could clean that up later. More importantly, he hoped that he could catch Sharon before she got too far. Oliver needed to apologize to the poor woman.

Chapter 108 - Peace Talks

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 6, Saturday 4:15 p.m.

After a late lunch, Sebastien saw Brinn and Waverly off to the supervised casting rooms, while she stopped by the dorms to pick up some overdue library books. She checked in on the Aberrant string she'd bottled, which was as inert as ever within its sealed vial. She returned it to its hiding spot with care. After all her plans about being prepared for the worst, she had viewed her decision to keep a piece of an Aberrant more critically. It had been an impulsive decision, and though she wasn't sure exactly how things might go wrong despite the precautions she'd taken, that didn't mean it was a safe choice.

Still, she couldn't bear to destroy it or give it to the Red Guard. She was irrationally covetous of it. Having it within her possession, under her control, so obviously dead and helpless against her… She would not give it up. Even if she was being foolish, her mental and emotional health also had worth, and this was helping her.

Sebastien drew open her curtains to leave, then froze.

Ana was sitting at the small desk in the cubicle across from her, leaning over an essay. It had been a short visit home, apparently.

Sebastien stared at the other girl's turned back, then took a deep breath and strode forward. She stopped in front of the door to Ana's cubicle. "Can we speak in private?"

Ana didn't smile, but nodded. "Lead the way."

Sebastien hesitated, trying to think of a place where they wouldn't be overheard. There would be no open private rooms in the library on a weekend afternoon, and the grounds were scattered with students despite the cold. In the end, she settled on the classroom that Damien's little study group used to practice in the morning. When they arrived, she closed the door gently, steeling herself to speak.

Before she could, Ana said, "I have another offer for you. Your guardian, Lord Dryden, recently attempted to get a sub-commission from my father. He was denied."

Sebastien blinked, taken aback.

Ana continued, standing stiffly beside the large table at the center of the room. "If you'll help with my uncles, I will use my influence to change that decision."

Sebastien tilted her head to the side. "Is that something you can actually do?"

Ana lifted her chin with a small smirk. "My father is not as shrewd and observant as he thinks, or my uncles wouldn't get away with half of what they do. I will attempt to persuade him first, but even if he doesn't agree, I will have little trouble slipping the paperwork right under his nose."

Oliver had probably been hoping to break into the industry as part of his plans for strengthening the Verdant Stag and providing opportunities for the people in his territory. Sebastien imagined it could be quite a lucrative opportunity. 'I might be able to get Oliver to pay me for that. It certainly counts as a favor to the Verdant Stag. But Ana doesn't know that.' She narrowed her eyes. "That's certainly an interesting offer for Lord Dryden, but how does that benefit me?"

"That's up to you to negotiate. He's sponsoring you through the University, is he not?"

Sebastien's eyes widened, but Ana shook her hand as if waving away a fly. "That's not so hard to deduce, Sebastien. Who else would be doing it? The Siverlings certainly aren't a wealthy, influential family anymore, and you've been staying at Dryden Manor when you're not here. Lord Dryden was interested enough in the sub-commission that he gave up an Erythrean gelding to my father. Do you know how much those horses are worth?"

Sebastien didn't, but she understood the general idea. "I'm interested. But I want to be involved in the planning, and I reserve the right to veto any proposals that are too dangerous. You'll cover any expenses."

Ana's face broke into a wide smile. "Agreed."

Sebastien stepped away from the closed door. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you so that I could apologize."

"I know."

Sebastien pushed on. "I was rude when we previously spoke, and I ask your forgiveness."

"And I was presumptuous, and didn't tailor my offer to your personality. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have been so…pushy." Ana shrugged uncomfortably. "I can see that you've been under a lot of stress, and perhaps I didn't choose the best time to talk. I wasn't paying attention to the signs you were putting out because I was so excited to have figured out the plan, and I was impatient to move forward. I thought you…would be excited, too. I wasn't angry so much that you refused me, but the way you went about it. I do realize that you're under no obligation to take on this kind of campaign, whether we're friends or not."

Sebastien crossed her arms. "That's why you came back with a sweeter deal."

Ana's smile dimmed, and she stepped forward, clapping Sebastien on the shoulder and leading her back toward the doorway. "Indeed. But, Sebastien, I must tell you. For someone who is so inclined to see the world and relationships as transaction-based, you really should learn to negotiate better. I would have been willing to concede or offer other things to obtain your help."

"What other things?"

"Well, you'll never know, now. You already agreed." Ana gave her a crooked grin.

Sebastien chuckled, adjusting the strap of her satchel over her shoulder with one arm and offering the other elbow to Ana. "I'll keep that in mind," she said. And she would. "Are you pulling the rest of your friends into this, too?"

"Damien, but not the others."

"Why not?"

"It's illegal, underhanded, and they're not suited for it like you and Damien. Brinn is too kind and anxious. He would do it, if I asked him and explained why it was necessary, but he's terrible at lying, and the whole thing would leave him a nervous wreck. Waverly wouldn't be interested. She doesn't get excited about anything but witchcraft. Alec… Well, Uncle Malcolm is his father. He probably hates the man enough to go against him, but…" Ana grimaced.

"He's too volatile and loud-mouthed to trust with anything delicate," Sebastien completed.

Ana shrugged one shoulder, sighing. "Maybe. He's grown up some over the last couple of years. Alec might know some of his father's secrets, which could be invaluable. And we might be able to use another pair of hands. But this is about Nat's safety. It's not worth the risk. If I were him, I wouldn't agree to help depose my own father, no matter how much I hated the man. Not unless I could be sure of severing our relationship and securing my own standing and freedom."

Sebastien hummed. "And Rhett?"

"He could probably be persuaded, if we found a task that played to his strengths. If we need an attractive woman distracted and seduced, or someone defeated in a duel, we could call on him. But he's not interested in these kinds of political games or intrigue. He might think less of me, if he knew."

Sebastien thought perhaps Ana was being paranoid, but the other girl knew Rhett better than she, and had a better sense for how people worked, with all their foibles and inconsistencies. "So just us three. Has Damien already agreed to help?"

"I haven't spoken to him yet. I wanted your agreement, first. Damien is reliable in his way—he'd jump to help me with anything I really needed—but sometimes he doesn't fully grasp the gravity of the situation. I don't want the plan to be jeopardized because he's having a little too much fun with the whole thing."

Sebastien completely understood, though she didn't say so aloud. "We can start planning on Monday, then, after classes."

That gave Sebastien plenty of time to talk to Oliver first. She had brewing to do, according to her tightly-scheduled plan, but this new opportunity might make her finance problems less pressing. 'Perhaps it would be best to prepare before seeing Oliver. Just like with Liza, a little haggling could make a huge difference. And I don't like the idea that I allow myself to be taken advantage of in negotiations. If I make ten extra gold due to preparing, I've exceeded what I could accomplish laboring over a cauldron for the rest of the day.'

She and Ana split up when they reached the library, Ana going to study with a group of random female friends and Sebastien searching through the stacks alone. She wasn't sure that everything with the other girl was truly settled, but since they had both apologized, perhaps all that was needed now was time. Sebastien felt like she didn't really understand Ana—like she had seen only a couple facets of something larger and darker. In a way, it made her more comfortable. Or, if not more comfortable, exactly, it felt more familiar.

Chapter 109 - Hard Bargains

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 6, Saturday 5:15 p.m.

Finding a reference book for basic negotiation tactics in the library was easy. The more Sebastien read of it, however, the more she realized how right Ana was. She shouldn't have accepted fifty percent interest on the loan Katerin gave her. That was just ridiculous, but Sebastien had felt like she had no other options. And look where it had gotten her.

She probably could have gotten more than seventy percent of the price of the offerings the Nightmare Pack gave her for their meeting, but she hadn't leveraged her own value. Without her, Oliver would have had no chance at the star sapphire or the pixie eggs at all. Subconsciously, perhaps, she had let her amiable relationship with Oliver affect her judgment. He certainly hadn't been doing the same, even if he made it seem like he was being generous.

There were other, smaller incidents, but they added up.

Realizing how much coin she'd lost herself made it hard to sleep that evening, and on Sunday morning, Sebastien looked up the cost of a well-bred Erythrean horse before heading out for Dryden Manor. She needed to know how valuable he found the textile industry sub-commission.

Knowing that Oliver's schedule had been hectic in the wake of the Morrow takeover, Sebastien arrived at his home early. She found him coming out of the kitchen with a breakfast tray.

Sharon caught sight of Sebastien and tried to coax her to sit at the table with the other servants and take breakfast, but Sebastien begged off. "I have some business to discuss. If you'll save me a little, I'll be back down to pick it up in a few minutes."

"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Siverling." Sharon said, waving a rag at her. "I'll bring it right up post-haste. Knowing you, you'll be holed up there all day over a steaming cauldron, half-starved. You're much too skinny."

Oliver, who had paused at the base of the stairs to wait for Sebastien, grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, glaring at his own breakfast tray, which he was carrying himself.

Remembering her commitment to take better care of those who showed her kindness, Sebastien reached out and gripped Sharon's hand within her own. "Thank you. You're the best, Sharon. My favorite auntie." The words felt uncomfortable coming out of her mouth, but Sharon didn't seem to notice.

The woman blushed scarlet and shooed Sebastien away in a fluster while the other servants snickered into their food. Sebastien felt comfortable around the working class in a way that she didn't around the Crown Family crew. They lived in the same world as her, one she understood.

Oliver glowered sleepily at Sebastien as she followed him up the stairs. "Sweet-talking my servants, are you?"

Sebastien shrugged. "Like you don't do the same. You treat everyone you've ever met like they're the most interesting person in the world. To their faces, anyway. I'm just trying to return a little of the kindness people show me. To those who are deserving. I've realized I can be…just a tiny bit rude, sometimes. More rude than necessary, that is."

Oliver snorted, but the amusement quickly slipped from his face. As they entered his office, he sighed, "Perhaps I, too, have been slipping in that regard lately. I may have been too caught up in the big picture and forgotten the importance of the basics, the foundation."

"People are power?" she said, quoting something he'd told her shortly after she met him.

"They are. An angry cook can make your life quite miserable," he said, sounding as if he were imparting great wisdom.

"While I still prefer the power of magic, I cannot deny that a network of well-placed connections can be supremely valuable." She sat down at a chair to the side of his desk, resting her elbows on the armrests and steepling her fingers together under her chin. "That's what I'm here to discuss, actually."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of pitch-black coffee. He pulled it away with a grimace, wiping chunky coffee grounds from his lips. "Oh? I thought you were here to get a head start on your brewing, since you missed yesterday."

"Well, I'll do a little of that, too, but I need to stop by the market for the components for some new concoctions. No, I'm here because I heard that you got turned down for a Gervin textile commission."

Oliver set down his coffee. "You heard about that already? I barely got the notice yesterday evening."

"I'm friends with Anastasia Gervin, heir to the Gervin Family, and she visited home yesterday. I heard about it from her. Would it be right to assume the loss is a rather large deal for the Verdant Stag?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "It won't entirely devastate my efforts, but it is a great blow. I'm hoping to appeal the decision, but if that doesn't work, many of my plans will need to pivot. It's possible I could try to legitimize some of the smuggling operations I've taken over through a commission from the Emberlin Family. I'm also working on a large-scale project to bring more alchemical products into the common citizen's life, which, outside of healing applications, doesn't need the approval of any Crown members. The problem is, as reports from Osham are already showing, with some machinery, the textile industry has the opportunity to employ a large number of non-thaumaturges while also providing a much-needed product to those who can't afford the luxury market anyway. I would prefer not to abandon this path."

Oliver ran a hand down his face, the stubble on his jaw creating an audible scratching sound. "I wonder if Lord Gervin realized that. Perhaps he, or someone he would prefer to work with, wanted to take advantage of the opportunity once I showed it to him. It all seemed to be going so well, and then, out of nowhere, a rejection. I don't understand what changed, but I'm hoping this is still salvageable." He lowered his head, taking a bite of his slightly burnt, unbuttered toast.

"I have a solution," Sebastien said.

Oliver looked up, crumbs on the edge of his mouth. He forced himself to swallow. "What?"

"As I said, I'm friends with the Gervin Family heir. She has access to her father's paperwork, and has assured me she could approve a sub-commission without her father's input. Once it's been filed through the Edictum Council, it won't matter what Lord Gervin's plans are, he won't be able to go back on his legal word. I might even get you more favorable terms. Of course, I have to do a favor for her in return."

"What kind of favor?"

"I'm going to help her depose her uncles, who are a little too power-hungry."

Oliver nodded thoughtfully, his expression slowly brightening. "Keeping a valuable ally in a position of power is worthwhile. But how do you plan to depose the uncles? Do you need the Verdant Stag's help?"

"Ana has a preliminary plan. We'll be refining it before going forward with anything. I might find a bit of aid useful, but I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know. However, while my favor to her is quite set in stone, hers in return is unfixed. Anastasia Gervin could do a lot for me personally. Something of equal value to her Family's sub-commission."

Oliver seemed surprised, but only for a moment. One side of his mouth turned down in a wry twist. "And you want me to make it equally worth your while."

"I do."

"Did you forget that you are vow-bound to pay off your debt with either gold or favors to the Verdant Stag? You cannot simply refuse unless you find our request morally objectionable."

Sebastien lifted her chin, anger kindling in her at this proof of his willingness to take advantage of her. "This was not your request. I brought this opportunity to you. And I must say, I find it morally objectionable to be asked to perform favors without proper recompense. That's extortion, in a way, isn't it? I don't think the vow will stop me from walking away on this one."

Oliver grimaced, leaning back and waving a hand at her. "I wouldn't actually force you to do anything you don't want to, you know. Go on, then. What is it you want from me?"

According to the information Sebastien had looked up that morning, Erythrean horses, being magical and so hard to breed properly, sold for between one to two thousand gold, depending on quality and if they had been gelded. Of course, not all of that would be profit, but she estimated that Oliver had given away seven to fifteen hundred gold, net, with that bribe to Lord Gervin. She was hoping for somewhere over eight hundred gold, to pay off her debt and have enough left over for other things. "For salvaging the opportunity to take a chunk of the textile industry for the Verdant Stag, with a favorable, long-term sub-commission from the Gervin Family, I want five thousand gold."

Oliver's eyes widened as he straightened. "Five thousand!? Are you insane?"

Sebastien knew it was an outrageous amount. That was why she'd said it. By "anchoring" the conversation at such a high value, he would be less likely to offer her something like fifty or a hundred gold. The negotiation would hopefully settle much higher than it otherwise might, with her real goal seeming, in comparison, more reasonable. "I assure you, I am moored quite firmly to reality. Five thousand would be enough to pay off my debt and get me through the next few terms at University. I'm sure you would earn considerably more than that over the next few years, if the deal goes through."

"You do realize that not all the income from a business is profit, right? I'm already pouring money into the infrastructure, the employees, and the supplies to make the cloth. I have no proof that the business model will be successful here." He threw up his hands in exasperation. "I could be losing money for a long time on the whole endeavor. I would be willing to pay five hundred gold for your help. That's an actually reasonable sum, and still quite generous."

His seeming irritation did not cow Sebastien. Though she had made an excessive initial demand, his counteroffer was unreasonably low, and for once she held the position of power in this negotiation. "You could be losing out on a lot more than five hundred gold if you don't accept my offer. How about four thousand?"

His eyes narrowed. "Out of the question. In fact, I might be able to salvage the contract on my own. In that case, I wouldn't need you at all."

She shrugged. "If you can do that, fine. You've already failed once, and you might just end up making it more difficult for Ana to push the contract through without her father noticing. But if you want to go that route, I'll just extract a different payment from Ana. Some small percentage stake in her Family's income, once she becomes the head, perhaps. I would probably make a lot more going with that option. I'd just need to wait a few years for the coin to start rolling in."

"Sebastien," Oliver said, placing his hands flat on the desk and leaning forward, as if to impress the importance of his words on her. "Funds that go to you are funds that can't go into building up our territory, or into the pockets of the poor who really need them. It would be irresponsible of me to pay you that much, even if I wanted to. And you don't actually need that kind of coin. How about I waive your debt to the Verdant Stag and give you a stake in the earnings this fabric and clothing business provides? That's about eight hundred gold immediately, and…a one percent cut of all profits, after expenses?"

"It's not my responsibility to get paid less so that others can be paid more, nor is it my responsibility to keep the Verdant Stag afloat. Do you think that just because I'm familiar with being poor that I can be convinced to work for less? After all, you 'gifted' Lord Gervin an Erythrean horse while you were in negotiations, and all he would have had to do is sign some documents. I'll be putting in actual work here, and perhaps putting myself in danger to go against two Crown Family members. And as for a stake in the business…" Sebastien's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Didn't you just tell me you could be running that business at a loss for years? One percent of the profit doesn't seem so enticing. How about three thousand gold upon completion, and a ten percent stake in the total revenue, before expenses?"

Oliver's expression darkened, not with anger, but an internal settling of some sort that Sebastien couldn't read. "Twelve hundred gold upon completion, and a three percent stake of the profit, or a minimum yearly payment of four hundred gold paid in quarterly allocations, whichever is more."

Sebastien's heart was pounding, and she hoped the flush in her cheeks wasn't noticeable. "Fifteen hundred gold, and a five percent stake in the profit. The minimum payment is fine."

"A four percent stake, and if you require aid to complete your mission, you'll hire someone from the Verdant Stag to assist you…and pay at the standard rate."

Sebastien hesitated. Earning fifteen hundred gold was near the upper end of her initial hopes, and she hadn't even considered getting a stipend. She almost agreed immediately, but stopped herself, narrowing her eyes. "I'll hire Stags only if their skills fit my needs and they are reasonably priced. I won't pay more for services than they're worth. If I do end up needing help, payment will be taken out of my eventual earnings rather than required upfront. And I won't be liable for payment if the mission fails. I won't be going into any more debt to you, Oliver."

He gave her a small smile. "Not to me. To the Verdant Stag."

She snorted.

"Agreed," he said. "I'll let Katerin know. She's in charge of the Verdant Stag's funds and all our contracts, even if technically this will be running through my civilian name. You can go down to her office to seal the vow whenever is convenient."

Sebastien let some of the tension flow out of her shoulders. She would be doing that as soon as possible, just to ensure nothing changed.

Oliver shook his head ruefully, standing and moving to the shelves on the wall nearest his desk, where a large object sat. He opened its lid to reveal a strange, bulky artifact, with a strip of paper running across the front, underneath what looked like a blocky fountain pen suspended by a wire framework. Oliver pulled a lever on the side, which brought the pen down into contact with the strip of paper. Carefully, he wrote out a message, using a crank on the bottom to move the strip of paper sideways when he ran out of space. When he finished, he moved the lever back up, tore off the strip of used paper, and filed it in a binder to the side.

Sebastien watched the whole thing with fascination. "Is that a messaging artifact?"

"Yes. Recently developed by a University graduate, in fact. They're quite hard to obtain, but I have some contacts that managed to get me a set. Katerin has the other. You use the tuning knobs to choose a particular band—a small area from a wide range of possibilities. Any of the devices tuned to that same band will receive the message. It allows much more detailed messages than other long-distance communication artifacts, while maintaining moderate security. They're calling it a distagram."

Sebastien stepped forward to examine it closer. "If you had a whole group, say one in each major city, could you send the same message to all of them?"

"If the distagram was powerful enough. They are magically cheap—efficient—but my set only covers a twenty kilometer diameter. I believe the Gilbrathan coppers are adopting them, though the Red Guard and the army had the initial monopoly on all production. That's a large part of why it's so difficult to get one as a civilian, but I believe they will quickly become widespread as production increases. I'm trying to get a sub-contract to produce them from the Cyr Family, now that they're coming into the civilian luxury domain. Having more of these would certainly make Verdant Stag operations simpler."

"But anyone on the same band could intercept the messages, right?" She wondered if it was working off the invisible light frequencies. It seemed plausible that this was the artifact Damien had mentioned. Rather than creating the more magically intensive sympathetic link between two artifacts, if the distagram instead sent and received the message through a particular frequency of electromagnetic waves, it could be feasible at much longer distances.

Oliver moved away, taking his breakfast tray around to the table in front of the couch facing the fireplace. "Messages can be intercepted, which is why you send only innocuous information, or communicate in code, and change the shared band at a regular interval."

"Still, that's amazing. Think of how convenient it could be!"

He grinned back at her. "And how cheap. Affordable enough for commoners to use. I also think it could be useful for long-distance merchant caravans and ships. They could have a common channel and use it to warn others of dangers in their area. If you had a relay of them at equidistant, strategic points, you could get critical messages all the way across the continent in just a few minutes."

"Magic is amazing," she sighed dreamily.

His smile shrunk, and he turned back to his breakfast. "Yes. Even better if it can benefit everyone. Well, why don't you go pick up your food from the kitchen and rejoin me? We have something else to discuss."

Regaining some of her tension, Sebastien moved to leave, but Oliver stepped closer as she passed by him, clearing his throat. "As much as your new penchant for vicious haggling has hurt my pocketbook, I must say that was well done. You're coming into your own, Sebastien. I'm happy to see it happen."

Sebastien tilted her head to the side. "You're not upset, then?"

"I actually prefer it this way. Otherwise it feels like I'm taking advantage of you," he said solemnly.

She raised an eyebrow. "You were trying to take advantage of me. You would have if I'd let you."

He grinned. "Exactly."

Sebastien felt a sudden rush of outrage rising up through her chest, but what burst out instead was a single, breathy laugh that surprised her.

Oliver laughed, too, and gave her a surprisingly warm look. "You're always interesting."

She snorted. "Some might take that as an insult."

"I assure you I did not mean it as one. To be clear, Sebastien, I've never tried to get you to agree to anything I thought you wouldn't be able to get out of eventually. I don't believe you should bind people with a collar they have no chance to escape. There always has to be a reasonable way out, or I've become a problem. And when people lose hope, they start looking for other ways to solve their problems."

"Like assassinating you?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

He winced. "Well, among other things. And beyond the utility of it, it just makes me feel bad if I think I've ruined an innocent person's life. I prefer feeling good about my impact on the world."

"Is that why you do all this?" Sebastien asked, feeling she'd had a sudden insight. "It makes you feel good?"

"Well, that is one of the reasons," he admitted. "Maybe even the main one, if I'm being honest. People will go to extreme lengths to feel pleasure, happiness, satisfaction."

"Yes, your methods of entertainment are quite…moderate, considering," she said mockingly. "Just a little criminal world takeover with the purpose of revolution. Some people try exercise, or taking up a new hobby like painting, I've heard."

Sharon knocked then, bringing in another breakfast tray, this one loaded up much higher than Oliver's—including unburnt, buttered toast, and a full cup of properly filtered coffee.

Oliver seemed suddenly awkward, taking an absent sip of coffee which he immediately choked on. Apparently, he had forgotten it was filled with loose coffee grounds.

Sharon gave him a few hard slaps on the back, cooed at Sebastien to ring the bell if she needed anything else, and left without looking back as Oliver heaved for breath, his eyes watering.

He almost went to take another sip of the offending coffee to soothe his throat, but Sebastien stopped him in time, pressing a hand to the mug to keep him from lifting it.

Exasperated, Oliver pressed his hands together in a pleading motion. "Ask Sharon for an extra cup of coffee. But don't tell her it's for me!"

Chapter 110 - Hidden Daggers

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 7, Sunday 12:00 p.m.

When Sebastien returned from the kitchen with a second cup of coffee—properly filtered—she joined Oliver on the couch. "So, what is this other thing we need to discuss?"

Oliver took a deep drink from the steaming mug, then let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I met with Tanya Canelo yesterday. She was sent to negotiate on behalf of Munchworth and his associates."

Sebastien paused halfway through a bite of her toast. "What happened?"

"We agreed that the Verdant Stag would continue supplying them in place of the Morrows, but the important part is that she asked about the stolen book, and about you."

She swallowed heavily. "And what did you tell her?"

Oliver placed a hand on Sebastien's shoulder, his skin warm through her shirt. "Don't look so worried! I told her I wouldn't even entertain the idea of betrayal. But then Miss Canelo suggested something that might be worth consideration. The University wants to set up a meeting with you—well, with the Raven Queen. They're willing to pay for your presence with a tribute, just like Lord Lynwood did."

A sour ball of anxiety formed in Sebastien's stomach. "What for? Do you think they can be trusted?"

"I imagine they're hoping to negotiate with her for the book. But no, I don't think they can be trusted. Setting up the meeting was the secondary suggestion, after all. But if we could ensure your safety while still acquiring the tribute, it might be worth it for the chance that you can gain something while losing nothing. It would also make me seem more influential and amenable. Though I would caution you against giving up the book, no matter what they offer. Without it, you have very little leverage against more severe retaliation, and it's possible they could use it against you, even in your identity as Sebastien Siverling. We don't know what's inside it, after all."

"I've had similar thoughts," she admitted. "I would be willing to give back the book if doing so could really clear my name, but I don't see how that's possible. Even if it was, the University couldn't make me that promise. It would have to be the coppers. The High Crown, maybe."

"It is possible, but I would be more cautious of him than the University."

She hummed in idle agreement, wondering if the danger of a meeting was even worth it in exchange for the value of their tribute. If everything with the Gervin uncles went well, Sebastien wouldn't be so destitute that the promise of coin could yank her around like a dog on a leash. Still, she'd never had a chance to talk to the University faction before. "I at least want to hear what they have to offer. Perhaps there are paths that I haven't considered."

"I can prepare a location, hire security that won't be associated with the Verdant Stag, and set up an intermediary to meet with them. A raven, perhaps?" Oliver asked with a mischievous smile.

Sebastien laughed. "We'll need wards. Protections. Plans to neutralize anything they might come up with."

"I'll hire Liza."

"I'm not paying for that."

"I will handle it out of my thirty percent cut of the tribute's value."

She narrowed her eyes, but that seemed reasonable with the level of expenses he would be incurring. He might actually lose money. "That's acceptable. This time."

"Oh, Sebastien. So jaded." Oliver sighed dramatically, staring toward the ceiling.

They discussed the plan while finishing breakfast, and Sebastien couldn't help but feel…optimistic. She tried to tell herself not to get too excited, but this meeting felt like the kind of thing that might make a real difference. Maybe it could be like the arrangement with Ana, and they would surprise her.

While she daydreamed about being free, no longer a wanted criminal, Oliver sprang up. "I almost forgot! I have something for you. A surprise." He hurried out of the room with a boyish grin on his face, returning with a ribbon-tied box. "I had them specially made."

He handed Sebastien the box, then sat down across from her, watching her unblinkingly, as if to absorb every movement and reaction.

"Is this for any particular occasion?" Ennis had given her gifts on her birthday, when he didn't forget, but they were often last-minute, re-gifted items.

"No particular occasion. I thought these would be useful, and the kind of thing you might not think to buy for yourself."

She tugged at the ribbon, feeling strange. She hoped she wasn't blushing. "Umm, thank you."

"You don't even know what it is yet. Open it."

She did, finding a pair of leather boots, a brown so dark they were almost black, lying beside a small, slim dagger in a holster with straps.

Oliver leaned forward with excitement. "You see how the dagger is so flat? That's so it will be comfortable and easy to disguise. It's got a fish-hooked edge, which I thought could be good for cutting through rope or other bindings, and is also a great way to do really severe damage if you manage to stab someone somewhere soft. It's meant to be hidden against your shin, so the handle rests just at the edge of the boot collar. If you prefer, the holster can be adjusted for your forearm instead."

She unsheathed the dagger, admiring the complete lack of sheen on the dark, matte metal. "No reflection to draw the eye and give away my position." She didn't dare to run her finger over the razor-sharp edge. The whole blade was about the length of her palm, with a flat metal hilt that had finger holes to both decrease the weight and give her a sturdy grip on the weapon.

"If you're ever in a position where magic isn't feasible, either because you have no supplies or your Will is shot, a good knife has many different uses, including self-defense," Oliver said. "It's also a lot faster than setting up a spell."

"Thank you," she said again, more sincerely. This was the second thoughtful, personalized gift Oliver had given her, just because he wanted to.

Oliver's grin widened, curling a little too far into his cheeks with excitement. He held up a hand to cover his face. "That isn't even the best part. Take a moment to examine those boots."

Sebastien did. They were nondescript, perhaps slightly androgynous in style, not fancy enough to wear to some noble party but sturdy enough for every day, and with a tread that would handle rough or slippery terrain well. "I won't have any trouble running in these."

"Anything else?" He was still covering the lower half of his face, but she could see the glee in his eyes.

"You're too excited for these to be normal boots." She looked them over again. "Are they an artifact?" Her eyes caught on an almost-invisible seam in the heel's tread. "Wait…is there something hidden in there?"

"You gave me the idea, when I heard how you were tracking Miss Canelo." Oliver leaned forward, taking one of the boots to show her how it worked. He grabbed a part of the tread and twisted it, then flipped up a section of the heel to reveal an even tinier blade nestled securely within. It was shaped like a teardrop with a hole for a single finger to slip through as the grip. "I had them custom made. This edge here"—he pointed to a black tab at the back of the slot where the finger-dagger would hide—"is flint. You can scrape it with the blade to start a fire in an emergency. For warmth, or cooking food, or casting magic." He pried the blade out, then struck it quickly against the flint, creating a small spray of sparks.

"That's amazing."

"That's not all. They're size-adjusting." He opened a small decorative flap of leather on the side of the ankle, then pushed a small switch. The boot unfolded at the seams. Oliver stretched it a little bit with his hand, and within a few seconds, the boot looked exactly the same, just slightly larger. "The cordwainer was very confused about why I wanted the boots to be able to shrink back down after expanding, but he managed to make it work." Oliver flipped that same switch, and the edges folded back into themselves again, leaving the boots slightly thicker at places, but otherwise indistinguishable. "This way, you can use them no matter what body you're wearing."

"Oliver…this is…" She shook her head, speechless for once. 'How much did this cost?' she wondered. It was by no means a trivial gift.

"I'm glad you like them. I've noticed that thaumaturges can be somewhat single-minded in looking to magic to solve all their problems, so I wanted to make sure you had a more mundane, creative option for protection. Something no enemy would be expecting." He put the finger dagger back into its hiding place, then closed the heel of the boot again. "Even if someone searches you, once they find the shin dagger, they're unlikely to keep searching for blades."

At his urging, Sebastien tried them on, switching them out for her other boots and settling the dagger on her shin. They fit well and gave her an additional sense of security. 'One more option to deal with disaster when a metaphorical meteor strikes my life.' Suddenly, she felt bad that she'd bargained so viciously with him earlier.

She shook off the feeling. The book on negotiation tactics had mentioned gift-giving as a way to disarm the other party and make them instinctively feel the need to repay you. It helped make someone more malleable to terms or favors they might have otherwise denied, and she wasn't going to fall into that mental trap. But it would be nice to do something kind for Oliver in return, so she didn't feel so awkwardly grateful and beholden. But what did one do or buy for the wealthy, powerful lord of an illegal organization, who could purchase anything he wanted for himself, and whose main goal was overthrowing the current regime and revolutionizing the country? She blinked, shaking her mind away from that potential rabbit-hole. She cleared her throat. "I'm very grateful. This is a wonderful gift. Thank you."

"No need to thank me again and again. I'm happy that you're happy. I hope you never need to use them. Will you be staying the rest of the day to brew, then?" he asked expectantly.

Sebastien looked at the alchemy tables set against the wall, but with food in her stomach, the difficult conversations out of the way, and her new boots on her feet, she was growing tired again. The idea of spending the remainder of the day toiling over the cauldron made her want to cry, just a little bit, wiping away most of the positive emotions she'd been feeling. The sudden mood swing surprised and worried her. She could remedy her fatigue with a dose of the beamshell tincture…but she didn't want to. 'I've just negotiated a huge payment. Probably more than one. Perhaps just one day to myself is warranted? If this works, the grueling work schedule part of my plan might become optional.'

Aloud she said, "No. I won't be brewing today." The relief that accompanied those words was almost tangible. She could visit Waterside Market and purchase the necessary components for upcoming concoctions. However, instead of spending the remainder of the day chopping, grinding, and channeling magic until her eyes crossed, she would stop by the Verdant Stag to get her new contract signed and vow completed. And then she would just…take a break.

The thought crossed her mind that it would be a good chance to visit Newton's family, but she immediately shied away from the idea, the sudden surge of fear, guilt, and aversion so strong it made her physically cringe.

"Can I take a look at a map of the city, actually?" she blurted, turning her body physically toward Oliver, just as she wrenched her mind from the painful thoughts. "And do you have a comprehensive list of safe-houses around that would be okay for me to use in an emergency?"

He tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing her reaction. "Sure. I don't have the safe houses written down anywhere here, but we can go over their locations and access protocols together."

While Oliver cleared his desk and brought out a detailed map, Sebastien tried to settle her mind, pushing a bit of Will into the effort when deep breaths didn't seem effective enough. 'It's time to learn. This is important and requires your total focus. This knowledge will be power,' she told herself. She joined Oliver, standing by his desk and looking at the impressively detailed map filled with streets, canals, and tiny circles and rectangles for the buildings, so dense they looked like mold growing upon a petri dish. Unlike most maps she'd seen, it even stretched into the slums, though with less detail. The paper took up almost his whole desk, and Sebastien was struck again by the size of Gilbratha, and the number of people that lived there.

"This is Mrs. Branwen's house," Oliver said, pointing to an area of the slums. "You hid there with me before." He moved his finger. "We also have a safe house here, just off Waterside Market, with a second exit in case you need to throw off someone following you. The password is…" Over the course of the next half hour, Oliver took her through almost a dozen emergency options. She was pleased and impressed by the extent of the preparations. As he spoke, she focused like she was trying to cast magic, letting the rest of the world fall away. She repeated each bit of information mentally, tying it into her memory with different connective threads and doing her best to imagine the streets and buildings around her as if she were walking them, instead of looking down from above.

When he finished speaking, he asked, "Do you want to go over any of that again? I know it was a lot of information all at once."

She shook her head. "No, I memorized it all."

"All of it? From only hearing it once?"

"Yes." She pulled the map a little closer to herself, pointing to location after location and repeating the key information in truncated form. She was a lot more familiar with the city than she'd been when they first met, but she still sometimes had trouble navigating areas she wasn't familiar with. "I really need to memorize the whole city and come up with some optimal routes to various destinations. That will be the hard part."

"The hard part," he repeated, sounding a little odd.

She nodded absently, picking up the map and making her way back to one of the plush chairs near the fire. "I'm going to spend a little time looking this over, if you don't mind. I'll let you get back to your work. I know you're busy."

He said something, but she was already too immersed in absorbing the information in front of her to listen.

She covered the map section by section, memorizing street names and landmarks while trying to simulate the experience of walking through the city in her mind. She took note of several buildings and businesses that the Verdant Stag now owned, including a couple of interesting shops and a rather nice hotel in the business district. This method, merely absorbing a map, wasn't error-proof. Theoretical information was too likely to fail her in the dead of night, or with panic muddling her senses and her recall. She would be best served by traveling the streets herself, on foot. But that was too large a project to complete quickly, and would have to wait.

She studied until her brain started to protest against the strain of absorbing new information, well before she'd actually finished memorizing the whole map. She sat back with a sigh of disappointment to rub her temples. "I think that's all I can do today."

She tidied up the dirty breakfast dishes that had been left out, stacking them on a tray to take back down to the kitchen. "If this whole thing with the Gervin side branches does work, isn't it actually rather dangerous for you to get the commission?" she asked, looking at Oliver. "If it's known that the Stags are running the textile industry that you agreed on, can't that lead the coppers back to Oliver Dryden's identity?"

Oliver shrugged, standing to help her stack the dishes. "Sure, but that was always going to happen eventually. I'll put buffers between my two identities, just like I have been. Even if someone becomes suspicious, I have some readily available counterarguments and excuses. There's no reason to believe I didn't hire people in the Mires simply because they're cheap labor and also the potential main source of my clientele. I'm well known to be a philanthropist, and the higher wages I plan to pay might be seen as naive, or bad business, but certainly not out of character. And if the Stags were attracted by those benefits and money and have somehow gotten their tentacles into my business, charging the workshops and stores for protection and getting a lot of people from their own territory hired? Well, there's not much I can do about that. The Stags do the same to a lot of other businesses that Oliver Dryden has nothing to do with, after all. It's very sad, but they're insidious," he said, shaking his head with an overdone morose expression. "I suppose, if criminal organizations can't be eradicated, I would rather be plagued by the Verdant Stag than some of the other options."

Sebastien was still chuckling as she left, tucking a stuffed meat bun that Sharon had pressed on her into a pocket, the box that now held her old boots under her free arm.

Chapter 111 - Cunning and Craft

Damien

Month 2, Day 8, Monday 10:30 a.m.

Damien returned from a wonderful weekend visit to Westbay Manor—wonderful mostly because his father had been away, leaving just Titus and the servants—barely in time to make it to his Monday morning class. He brought back with him three things: news about the latest developments on the Raven Queen's case, delicious treats, and a terrible secret.

As they went through their classes, Damien watched Sebastien with more care than normal, trying not to be obvious about his revived scrutiny. Despite the shock of the knowledge Damien now bore, he reassured himself that the secret was only new to him. Sebastien had been dealing with it all along, unable to talk about it, but his emotional state seemed to be improving, if anything. His stint of working every spare moment to try and bury the pain of what had happened to Newton seemed to have passed, and he and Ana had worked out their argument while Damien was gone. Sebastien was still jittery, though—probably drinking too much wakefulness brew to combat his chronic sleep deprivation.

Damien had tried to tell Ana that she should give Sebastien some slack because it was normal for someone to be a little emotionally unstable after a traumatic experience. But though Ana had seemed subdued by this reminder, she had remained too stubborn to reach out.

Damien waved for his friends to linger as Introduction to Modern Magics let out, dispensing the desserts wrapped in wax paper. He gave an extra to Sebastien, hoping they would spark his appetite, and then was forced to give an extra to all his other friends as well when they complained at his unfair treatment. "I have news," Damien told them in a hushed tone, his excitement somewhat exaggerated to cover up his anxiety.

Ana leaned in with interest, Sebastien's gaze sharpened, and Alec grinned, but Waverly was more focused on her dessert, Brinn just gave Damien an indulgent smile, and Rhett was busy making googly eyes at some girl across the room.

"Do you remember the Raven Queen's accomplice, Ennis Naught?" Damien asked.

Sebastien wasn't fast enough to keep the flicker of expression from his face, but Damien couldn't quite tell what emotion had caused it. Anger, or maybe fear?

"His sentencing has been scheduled, and it's going to be public," Damien continued.

This time, Sebastien's expression didn't slip, remaining mildly curious. "Is that normal?" he asked. "And don't you have to hold a trial before sentencing?"

"It is somewhat uncommon, though not quite as rare as a public execution," Ana said, taking a delicate bite of her pastry. "Usually they hold a public sentencing for the more high-profile cases, to remind everyone that the hammer of Crown law is still as powerful as ever. I would guess the trial is either ongoing or scheduled to complete before the sentencing. What did they charge him with, exactly?" With a distracted, indulgent smile, she handed off her second dessert to Waverly, who had already finished both of hers.

"Eat, Sebastien," Damien reminded. He waited for Sebastien to take a big, scowling bite before he continued. "They charged Mr. Naught with felony theft, conspiracy to commit treason, and being an accomplice to illegal magical practices. Plus some other things, like resisting arrest." He waved a hand glibly. "There's also a whole list of minor crimes he committed over the years and confessed to while in Harrow Hill. I didn't memorize it."

"When is the sentencing?" Sebastien asked.

"A couple of months from now."

Ana brightened. "Oh? We'll be free from the University for Sowing Break, then. Maybe we can attend! I imagine quite a lot of people will be there."

Alec shrugged. "That just means it will be uncomfortably crowded. Plus, I'm not really that interested in seeing some poor sod get told the rest of his life is ruined."

Sebastien flinched, and Damien gave Alec a look of irritation. "Poor sod? He's the Raven Queen's accomplice and a career criminal. The whole of Lenore will be better off without him."

"Ehh." Alec didn't bother to argue with him, probably because he lacked good justifications for his opinion but didn't want to admit he was wrong, either.

As their little huddle dispersed and they walked toward the next class, Damien fell back from the group, tugging on Sebastien's sleeve. "This is a ploy to try and trap the Raven Queen," Damien murmured.

"Obviously," Sebastien said. "They're not even being subtle about it."

"Do you think she'll show up?"

Sebastien's lips were pressed together in a thin line. "Not if she's smart. And if she did, I'd like to see their plan to keep the audience from panicking. Have you ever seen someone stomped to death by a crowd, Damien?"

Damien stared at Sebastien. "No."

"It doesn't even take that many people. Just a small enough space and enough panic."

"Maybe they'll restrict the number of attendees? And increase the security, of course. Titus probably has some clever plan to catch her as soon as she gets near, before she has a chance to do any damage."

"Either that or someone decided the danger was worth it," Sebastien said darkly.

Damien fell silent, trying to figure out how to bring up the more important thing he had learned from Titus, but they arrived too quickly at the Natural Science classroom, and the discussion had to be postponed.

Professor Gnorrish had arrayed a strange assortment of things on their desks, from candles to ugly-looking mushrooms, and when all the students were seated, he dimmed the lights. Some of the items revealed a glow.

"There are many sources of light energy," Professor Gnorrish began, his loud voice cutting harshly through the wonder of the glow. "The most obvious source of light is the sun, followed by flames. These are 'incandescent' sources of energy, and are rather inefficient, because most of the actual energy goes into producing heat, with very little left over for light. Less than one percent of incandescent energy is expressed as light, even for the hottest flames from the heaviest fuel.

"Light is also created through electric discharge, which you've all surely experienced through lightning. You can create an arc lamp using two charcoal strips as electrical conductors and a slow-release artifact array filled with electrical energy—lightning-aspected energy, as it was once called. If any of you wish to experiment with this, I recommend you do some research on limiting current and voltage to avoid a catastrophic discharge. See me after class if you want a list of good resources." He looked pointedly at one student, who Damien vaguely remembered had caused some sort of explosion in the dorm a few weeks back.

"After electric discharge come phosphorescence and fluorescence. Some materials can absorb energy from another source, often ultraviolet light, store it, and then emit visible light gradually, at a longer wavelength and reduced brightness. This is rare, and happens naturally in minerals like barite, as well as a few magical species such as fey-flowers and glow-slimes. If the light disappears immediately, it's fluorescence. If it lingers, it's phosphorescence."

Gnorrish let his eyes rove discouragingly over the students, some of whom seemed a little too interested in their rocks and mushrooms. "If you come across something glowing eerily in the dark, do not eat it."

Damien thought it was probably not a good idea to eat random things you found lying around in the dark, in general.

"Finally, we have chemiluminescence and bioluminescence. Chemiluminescence is when chemical energy is converted to light with little to no change in the temperature, unlike incandescence. This process occurs naturally, and when it does, it is called bioluminescence. You may be familiar with fireflies, jellyfish, and the moondew drosera, which is a magical carnivorous plant."

Gnorrish went on for a while longer, but they spent most of the class period practicing casting with different sources of light as Sacrifice.

Damien found the exercises difficult, though he performed better than most of their classmates.

Sebastien attacked the task with a single-minded ferociousness, outperforming everyone else as if his life were on the line, and when the bell rang, announced with satisfaction, "I think that helped a lot! I could feel my grasp getting stronger, by the end. Maybe in a few more weeks, with a lot of practice, I'll at least be competent."

Damien realized he was scowling and had to force the muscles in his face and brow to relax. He consoled himself that, while he might not be a prodigy like Sebastien, he was not incompetent. Sebastien just didn't see the world from a realistic point of view. For someone so obviously intelligent, Sebastien could be amazingly oblivious. He was so self-centered he didn't seem to notice that many of the other students didn't come close to his skill with light.

This made Damien feel no better, so he decided to try and get up a half hour earlier so that he could work on Professor Lacer's light-based exercises during his study group, which Sebastien still only rarely attended. Damien refused to be left behind. He'd already written to Titus requesting private tutors for the spring's Sowing Break. He might not be able to keep pace neck-and-neck with Sebastien, but he would keep him in sight, at least.

Damien again tried to talk to Sebastien after classes ended, but Ana chose that moment to draw both of them aside, fidgeting with her clothes as she was prone to do when overexcited. "We need somewhere we can speak privately. Somewhere we won't be overheard."

Sebastien nodded thoughtfully, as if he already knew what was going on. "Not the Menagerie. It's too open. We would need wards or a spell to ensure privacy, and I don't know any. The best option is probably an empty classroom. Or a storage room with a lock. I should be able to open it as long as it's not too complex."

Damien stared back and forth between the two of them. "What's going on?" Was Sebastien bringing Ana in on their secret order of the thirteen-pointed star? Damien wasn't sure how he felt about that. It would be great to have his other best friend in on all their secrets, but at the same time…the secret order had been something special, something that only Damien was worthy enough for.

He wasn't sure if Sebastien guessed what he was thinking, but Sebastien shook his head, pushing back his hair without regard to neatness or the way it looked. "Ana has something she needs our help with," he explained. "Something sensitive."

"Can you bypass a lock, then, Sebastien?" Ana asked, intrigued.

"I've been practicing."

"Already? You're more dedicated to this than I had expected. I'm impressed."

Sebastien rolled his eyes.

"What is going on?" Damien asked again.

"You'll find out soon enough," Sebastien said, callous to Damien's painful curiosity. "Can we just use the study group room? There's no one in there right now. We have permission to be there, and a ready-made excuse for what we're doing if anyone happens to pry. Maybe we can even get some practice in while we discuss."

Ana and Damien shared a look of fond exasperation at Sebastien's obsession. Ana said, "I suppose that would work, and I doubt any of the others will feel sad to be left out of this extra study session."

Damien hurried to lead the way, as the sooner they arrived, the sooner he could be brought in on the secret his two best friends shared without him. "If anyone asks, we can just tell them Sebastien thought we were embarrassing Professor Lacer with our incompetence." He sent Sebastien a peevish glare but received only a bewildered expression in return. Damien sighed. "Never mind, I suppose."

"Practicing is how you strengthen your Will," Sebastien mumbled stubbornly. "Don't you want to be free-casters?"

Ana shook her hand from side to side in "so-so" motion. "I wouldn't mind, but that is not my main goal in life."

"I do want to," Damien said. "I just don't understand how you can stand to practice a handful of basic spells over and over again for hours at a time. Don't you get bored?"

"It's not boring. I don't just cast them by rote again and again. I'm always trying to improve some facet of my Will—my clarity, or explosiveness, or endurance—or I'm testing out different ways to think about how the spell effect is achieved, or competing against myself to stretch the limits by changing the parameters of the exercise in different ways. I don't just do the exact same thing a million times in a row. That would be boring."

Ana's eyes had glazed over, but Damien found this interesting and would have pumped Sebastien for more ideas of things to try during his own practice, but they had arrived at the classroom, and Ana was having none of it.

She closed the door behind them, looked around with an unnecessary amount of caution to ensure the room was empty, then announced in a whisper, "I have a plan to overthrow my uncles and solidify my power and status as heir to the Gervin Family. Sebastien has already agreed to help, but some of the details might be slightly…illegal. Are you interested in joining us, Damien?"

Damien blinked. He mentally repeated what she had just said, trying to absorb the shock. Slowly, a grin stretched across his face. "Are we going to make those bastards as miserable as possible while seating you on the throne?"

Ana crossed her arms, cocking one hip out. "Of course."

"I'm in."

Sebastien waved them over to the main table, where he was already setting up Professor Lacer's illusion spell exercise. "I have yet to hear the details of this plan, and I warn you, I'll be the one to decide if it's viable."

Ana and Damien sat across from him, and Ana pulled some notes out of her bag, setting them on the table. "The plan is actually quite simple," she said. "I want to erode not only my lord father's trust in them, but also his faith. To do that, we only need to break into Uncle Malcolm's vault."

Sebastien looked incredulous. "I can get past a simple lock, not crack a Crown Family vault, Ana."

"That's the beauty of it," Ana said, her smile widening and taking on a malicious tilt. "We don't need to crack it because I know how his security system works. We only need him to be in the right place at the right time, and I've thought of a way to get him there. While I do that, you and Damien can access the vault's contents and plant the evidence."

Damien's heart gave an extra-hard thump, and a thrilling rush of energy pounded through his veins. "Plant the evidence?" he repeated. "Ana, what exactly is the plan?"

"I know my uncles have committed…indiscretions. They've embezzled from some of the Gervin Family businesses they manage, my Uncle Randolph was racing his horse while drunk and crippled someone, and I'm pretty sure my Uncle Malcolm murdered a prostitute two years back."

"I…I didn't know all of that," Damien said, leaning back so that the chair could help support his suddenly watery spine. "Why didn't you tell me, Ana?"

She waved a nonchalant hand, not meeting his eyes. "It wouldn't have changed anything if you knew."

"Titus runs the coppers! We could have done something!"

Ana gave him a wry smile. "Do you think no coppers have ever come sniffing around? My uncles paid off the coppers, Damien. Maybe not your brother specifically, but…" She shook her head, tugging at the wrist of her sleeves and adjusting her cufflinks. "How often do you think members of the Crown Families, especially high-ranking members, are arrested and convicted?" She didn't wait for him to give the answer. "And please don't tell me you think it doesn't happen because they don't commit crimes."

Sebastien nodded as if this was obvious, common knowledge.

Damien smoothed back his hair, this idea settling into his mind like stones thrown into a pond, disturbing everything with ripples as they sank to the depths. Before he was really settled, he said, "I take your point." He needed time to think, not to continue arguing.

Ana was gracious enough to move on, but Damien's mood was effectively dampened. "I'm sure that Uncle Malcolm will have evidence of at least some of these misdeeds in the vault he keeps in his office. I want that evidence," she said.

"What will you do with it?" Sebastien asked. "Blackmail? Or give it to your father?"

"Both." Ana's vicious grin was back. "And that's not the whole of it. I want to plant evidence that they are planning to overthrow and kill my father once he has removed myself and Natalia from the line of direct inheritance."

Damien let out a slow breath. "Do you think he'd buy it?"

"Maybe he wouldn't normally, but I think we can make it more credible. I want to blackmail them with whatever real evidence of misdeeds we find inside, then document their response—proof that they feel the information is legitimate enough to respond to. Once I bring it all to my father's attention in the most embarrassing way possible, they might deny what exactly they were being blackmailed about, but with the real evidence mixed with the false, they'll have damned themselves. Proof of any of it acts as proof of all of it. Plans to overthrow Lord Gervin or even kill him won't seem so unrealistic." Ana's cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes bright. "Their corruption and incompetence will erode his trust in them. Getting blackmailed for wrongdoing might actually be worse in his eyes than the original crime. And their planned betrayal will erode his faith. They won't be able to continue undermining my authority and trying to tear my rightful birthright out from under me."

Sebastien fiddled with the Conduit attached to his pocket-watch's fob, frowning into the distance. "That might work, if you play everything just right. But there are some pivot points where everything could break apart. First, even if we can get into Malcolm Gervin's vault, do we know that we'll find reliable blackmail within? Secondly, this plan hinges on them responding to the blackmail attempt the way we want, in a way we're able to document. And finally, how are you going to ensure that all the evidence comes to light at the right time, in the right way? If we're blackmailing your uncles, we can't plant the false evidence at the same time we break into the vault. They'll definitely check to make sure nothing's missing. How do you plan to control the outcome? That's not to mention all the details of how to pull this off that we've yet to discuss. There could be pivot points there, too. The more variables, the more chances there are for things to go wrong. Real life isn't like a story—inevitably, things go awry, often most horribly at the worst possible moment. Rather than a complicated plan with a lot of excitement and moving pieces, an exceedingly simple plan that can be adjusted as needed is preferable."

Ana was undeterred. "Okay, well, that's what we're here for. We'll work out all the kinks and come up with backup plans or less dangerous ways to do things."

"Let's run through it from beginning to end, solving problems as we go," Sebastien said. "Do you have the blueprints for your uncle's house? I need to know the details of the layout, the security, and you can't overlook the servants, even if they walk around acting like they're invisible."

Ana didn't have the blueprints but ran off to grab a sheet of paper large enough to sketch out the mansion and grounds from her memory.

When they were alone, Sebastien turned to Damien. "I need you to tell Ana that the Gervins have a betrothal contract with the Raven Queen. It's with one of the branch line men, and I'm not sure of the details, but it was likely negotiated by one of her uncles. Ana didn't mention it, and it seems like it would be perfect blackmail material. Hypothetically…we could gather evidence that makes it seem like they're colluding with the Raven Queen."

Damien's mouth dropped before he could suppress the uncouth expression. "Wait, how do you know this? Titus never mentioned anything about this to me."

"There's no good explanation—not one I can give Ana—for why I know that," Sebastien said, not exactly answering the question. "But you have a plausible source. The coppers know about this. But like Ana said, it must not have been a big enough issue for them to go after someone from a Crown Family, since the deal wasn't made with the Raven Queen directly."

"Wait, what?"

"The Gervins have a Conduit set in a ring that they took from Ennis Naught when they negotiated the deal. It seems like the kind of thing they would keep in a vault. I'm thinking, if possible, we could use that to blackmail them. We won't steal it, but perhaps we could take a photo to help make a drawing of it, to prove what we know. This mission isn't just for Ana, Damien. It's been approved by our bosses."

Suddenly, it made sense why Sebastien knew these things. He must have learned it from another member of their secret order, or from his investigations into the Raven Queen. Damien swallowed, trying to suppress the resurgence of giddiness. "Do they have any special missions for us?"

"You just need to keep two unworthy men from coming into greater power. If there were any secret missions, I would be the one tasked to complete them."

Damien pursed his lips unhappily, but then realized it looked like he was pouting and straightened his expression. "I'll tell Ana," Damien agreed. "And we'll frame them for treason. Oh, this is perfect!" He threw back his head and let out a cackle.

"It is…interesting," Sebastien said. He didn't seem nearly as enthused as Damien, but his frown of worry was matched by a small curve of his lips. "Dangerous, but interesting. This is the kind of thing where so many things could go horribly wrong. If we're going to do this, we'll need to be truly and properly prepared. I think the reward could be worth the risk, though, with the proper plans in place."

Damien sobered abruptly as he remembered something less pleasant, feeling almost dizzy from his own mood swings. He checked his pocket watch. They still had plenty of time until Ana should return. "I heard something else from Titus, Sebastien. I didn't want to mention it in front of the others."

Sebastien's frown returned in full force. "Tell me."

Damien hesitated. "I suppose you couldn't mention it to me…because of the vow to the Red Guard. But I heard the Raven Queen cast something on you when you went to try and save Newton from whatever Tanya dragged him into." Damien swallowed past the growing lump in his throat, watching carefully as Sebastien shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "Sebastien…what did she do to you? Are you okay?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing!" Damien said, his voice rising. "It's not nothing," he repeated more quietly.

Sebastien's scowl grew harsher. "The Red Guard and Professor Lacer examined me extensively. I'm safe, and no one around me is in danger, either."

"But that doesn't mean you're okay."

Sebastien sighed, rubbing away the wrinkles between his eyebrows, then smiled, finally meeting Damien's gaze. "I'm okay, Damien. Really. The Raven Queen, she…wasn't acting maliciously."

That seemed implausible to Damien. "Can you tell me what she did?"

Sebastien hesitated before speaking, and when he did each word was slow and carefully considered. "It wards off divination, with some minor knock-on effects. I can't really talk about it, but please believe me, I'm being honest when I say it's fine. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be here talking with you right now."

"Why would she do something like that to you?"

"Professor Lacer thinks it didn't have much to do with me at all. She was just trying to get his attention, taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity. She…maybe wants to meet with him." Sebastien's lip quivered, but instead of the tears Damien half expected, Sebastien burst out laughing. He was obviously more stressed out about the whole thing than he admitted, if he was breaking into insane laughter.

Damien stared at him, bemused, and even though he didn't really think it was so funny, he couldn't help but start laughing too, letting his jumbled-up feelings pour out as mirth.

Ana returned to find them bent over in hilarity, wiping tears from their cheeks. When she asked what was so funny, they just shook their heads silently. "You had to be there," Damien said smugly, tossing his head to flip back a lock of displaced hair.

"Fine!" She sniffed. "Keep your little jokes between boys. But I expect your full attention on the plan."

Damien reached into his pocket, running his fingers over the thirteen-pointed star disk hidden within, which would shine a light onto the world when activated. "I remembered something important, Ana. It's the perfect blackmail material."

Chapter 112 - Myths and Legends

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 11, Thursday 10:30 a.m.

"I want to learn more about Myrddin," Sebastien told Professor Ilma, standing next to the lectern as the rest of the students filtered out after the end of class. "I checked the library, but there are so many books about him, I don't have any idea where to start. I was hoping you could give me some recommendations?"

"Are you hoping to focus on any particular aspect of Myrddin's life, or are you looking for general information?" Ilma asked.

"I'm hoping to learn historically accurate information about him in general, but I do have a particular interest in his inventions and discoveries."

"Hmm." Ilma took a few moments to gather up her things, then checked her pocket watch. "I believe I have just the thing, Mr. Siverling. If you will follow me? This shouldn't take long."

Wondering where they were going, Sebastien trailed alongside the blue-tinted woman.

"Did you ever solve your problems?" Ilma asked. When Sebastien didn't immediately answer, Ilma clarified. "I'm referencing whatever had you so foiled when we met in the library some time back, that I offered unsolicited advice about. I believe you said, and I quote, 'My life is falling apart.'"

Sebastien flushed at the reminder of her own dramatics. "You told me humans are like cockroaches," she remembered. "Versatile, incredibly resilient, and we breed quickly. I do seem to keep going somehow, no matter what happens."

"That does not exactly answer my question."

Sebastien considered the question for a long moment. "I'm working on it," she finally said. "I found a different way to approach solving some of my piled-up problems, and I'm trying to make sure that my current issues don't create a further avalanche of problems by destabilizing the precarious balance that makes up the rest of my life. It was good advice. To be honest, however, I had a hard time figuring out how to implement it. One of my friends actually offered the current solution I'm working toward."

"Giving advice is easy. Taking it is harder, and implementing it hardest of all. It is not so simple to really change. It requires us to go against all the rivers of habit and mental conditioning that have been worn deep into our bodies and minds throughout our lifetimes. Diverting those rivers requires dams and digging new pathways and a ridiculous amount of work. At least you were receptive enough to take your friend's guidance when offered. Being willing to grasp opportunities is important."

The last few days, since working out her agreement with Ana and Oliver, had shown Sebastien how foolish she was being when she tried to design a plan to solve all her problems. Instead of working herself to the bone, she'd been doing only the minimum required to keep up with her school assignments, and it had been absolutely wonderful. Her only side project had been planning and preparing for "Operation Defenestration," as Damien had insisted on calling it. That was more than enough to keep her busy outside of schoolwork, but she wasn't alone in the project, and she'd found, with a pleasant feeling like a surprise sunrise, that she could delegate a lot of the work to her two very motivated partners.

Sebastien was still tired in a bone-deep way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, but she had actually woken up with a few sparks of energy that morning, even without the beamshell tincture. Not enough to get through the day, but it was a sign that, whatever was wrong with her, she was recovering.

Some of her ideas to fix things had been good, but her overall solution would have only made things worse in the long run. She had tried, but hadn't successfully taken Ilma's advice to come at her problems from a sufficiently different angle, or to be ruthless with discarding problems that couldn't—or shouldn't—be solved, and she hadn't focused enough on pulling in new resources that would give her more options.

Sebastien had kept trying to solve everything the same way she always did—more work, more personal responsibility. She knew she wasn't capable of living fully in the moment when there were problems on the horizon, and that kind of lackadaisical lifestyle seemed eminently foolish and undesirable anyway, but she'd been forgetting to live. She needed to grasp the opportunities she was being afforded and enjoy them while she still could. After all, as Newton had proved, her world could abruptly and conclusively end at any time.

It's not as if she hadn't been able to recognize the problem, the unsustainability of all her obligations, but when it came down to it, she hadn't been able to break herself out of that pattern of behavior. When she was on the edge of breaking down, she somehow returned to trying to fix the world, and herself, with more work. Like an addict.

Now Sebastien had a viable path in front of her that didn't require her to spend every spare moment of her days practicing and casting, and meant she didn't need to brew from sunup to sundown both days of the weekend. She could take time to chat with her friends, or take a walk in the Menagerie, or even just read a book that wasn't critical to her immediate advancement.

Even if Ana's plan fell apart completely, Sebastien would still try to avoid falling back into the same grind. Hard work was one thing. Causing herself a nervous breakdown, or Will-strain, was another entirely.

Sebastien was jostled from her thoughts as Ilma stopped, unlocked a door, and waved Sebastien inside.

"Welcome to my office," Ilma said.

It reminded Sebastien a little of Kiernan's office, with all the books and strange knickknacks, except much more cluttered and less expensive looking.

Ilma went straight to one of the shelves that lined the walls and pulled down two books. She handed them to Sebastien. "I recommend these two references."

Sebastien took them, scanning the titles quickly. Both were thick, leather-bound books. The first, Myrddin: An Investigative Chronicle of the Legend, seemed like just the thing she was looking for. The second, Enough Yarn to Last the Night: A Collection of Myths from the Life of a Man with Many Names, was covered in a faded gold filigree and, as far as she could tell, contained a multitude of hand-painted illustrated children's tales, fantastical and anything but historically accurate.

Perhaps reading the doubt on her face, Ilma said, "It is best to absorb opposing views and different sources of information when approaching contentious topics. Broadening your horizons is valuable and allows you to see things that others cannot. Do not discount the worth of these tales gathered from and written by the people who lived during Myrddin's time. Understanding the culture, the biases, and the things everyone of the time thought were 'obvious,' will give you perspective. Also, there are some notes within these books that you might find relevant."

Sebastien held them carefully, aware of how valuable they probably were. "Thank you. I will read them both," she promised, suddenly worried that she was leaving sweaty fingerprints on their covers.

"You are welcome. Bring them back to me when you are finished, preferably by the end of next term, before the summer break," Ilma said, turning away. "You had best hurry to your next class. You only have a few minutes."

Sebastien thanked her again and turned to leave.

"Also, please tell Professor Lacer that he still has my book on pre-Cataclysm information storage artifacts. He promised he would return it to me a month ago. I won't have him 'accidentally' adding my rare texts to his personal collection."

"Er, I'll remind him," Sebastien said.

During their next class together, Sebastien borrowed a square silk scarf from Damien and carefully wrapped both texts, fearful that they would accidentally be scratched or have ink spilled on them, or something equally horrifying, while stored in her school satchel.

That evening, after running through a couple hours of Professor Lacer's spell exercises and taking a half hour to carefully transfer the gold coins sewn into the lining of her old boots to her new pair, she pulled the books out for a bit of reading while she procrastinated going to sleep.

She examined Myrddin: An Investigative Chronicle of the Legend first. The book was heavy in names, dates, and constant mentions of cross-references and corroborating information, but still managed to be engaging.

Little was known about Myrddin's early life, and while rumors had abounded and speculation continued long after his death, none had any support beyond hearsay. The author speculated that Myrddin may have been low-born, or, more likely, the illegitimate child of a minor noble. Even his original name was somehow in question, as various records from around the known lands referred to him by different monikers. In different countries and cultures, he was known as Emrys, Ambrosius, Merzhin, and in the central plains that became Lenore—Myrddin.

Myrddin began to make a name for himself around twelve-fifty BCE, when he was already an adult. The roving sorcerer's exact age was unknown, but he was fairly powerful by that time, and supported himself by taking difficult to solve contracts from villages and towns that could afford his help, slowly working his way up to more and more prestigious—and difficult—projects.

Myrddin's fame truly began to explode when he agreed to a duel with a wealthy noble scion from a country to the south that no longer existed. Different accounts gave different reasons for the duel: Myrddin wanted the noble to free an abused griffin, or gift Myrddin his manor, or vouch for Myrddin to enter a secret society of elites.

But the duel, along with its terms, was widely popularized and well attended by the wealthy and literate, resulting in extensive anecdotal records of the event. Myrddin would cast only one spell, a shield, and if the noble scion could get past it through any means of cleverness or brute force, without violating the standard terms of a duel—which required both parties to stay within their allotted spots on the field—Myrddin would admit defeat. The nobleman was allotted from sunup to sundown to complete this.

Myrddin spent over an hour before the sun rose setting up the spell array, which had not been documented and was unfortunately lost to time. Despite the work that went into casting it, his shield spell seemed innocuous, even laughable, at first. It manifested as a small black disk hanging in the air between Myrddin and his opponent.

The noble mocked Myrddin loudly, boasting that such a tiny shield would not be able to protect him. Then he attacked. Some said the noble's first spell had been a fireball, others a flaming arrow, and others some kind of flashy fire-bird construct.

All agreed that the black disk had absorbed it. Myrddin stood unharmed, and the shield grew larger.

Each time the nobleman attacked, whether in the form of energy-based spells or using the environment to shoot physical projectiles, Myrddin's spell absorbed it, moving to do so if necessary. The small black disk grew with each attempt, as if feeding on the energy of his enemy's attacks. Even when the nobleman tried a pincer attack, Myrddin only had to take one step to the side to avoid it while the shield flitted back and forth.

Some accounts from the audience said that the disk began to create its own cold wind, with a rim of frost around the edges, and that as the blackness grew larger it began to curve around into a giant dome to cover Myrddin, still expanding.

The nobleman cast more and more frantically, trying to overwhelm the shield, to find a loophole, or to slip past its defenses with subterfuge.

Nothing worked, and the shield only continued to grow.

By midday, when the sun was highest in the sky, Myrddin's opponent had exhausted himself. He sat down on the ground to rest and contemplate his next move.

Myrddin stood behind his shield. Some of the records said he was silent, eminently self-confident, while others claimed that he mocked the nobleman.

When an hour had passed, the nobleman stood and admitted his defeat. He knew that he did not have the energy to continue to cast indefinitely, and worried what would happen when the black dome grew so large that it reached him, fearing that it would eat him just as it had eaten every one of his attempts to harm Myrddin.

The author mentioned that there was some speculation among historians about the function of Myrddin's spell, suggesting it to be more mundane than popularized by these anecdotes, and its ability to absorb attacks was just smoke and mirrors to make it seem more intimidating. It could have had matter disintegration and energy dispersal functions, with Myrddin manually controlling its size after each attack as a way to play up his prowess and psychologically dominate his opponent.

Sebastien didn't believe it. After all, the transformation artifact was no illusion. She imagined casting such a shield herself. No longer needing to worry about the dodging and footwork that Professor Fekten was trying to carve into his students would be amazing, since she was, frankly, terrible at that kind of thing.

Myrddin's spell may have been lost to time, but surely she could recreate it, and others just as impressive, once she became an Archmage. Even better if she could free-cast such a wonder. She spent a few minutes imagining herself as powerful as Myrddin, preeminent above all others. It felt a bit childish, but at the same time, what was her goal if not to be the best?

If she never stagnated, never stopped improving, what other outcome could there be? She would live a long, long life of ever-increasing power, until she had unraveled the secrets of the world, unraveled the secrets of magic itself.

A note at the bottom of the page, written in Ilma's sloping hand, drew Sebastien out of her juvenile daydreams. It referenced an entry in the other borrowed book.

Curious, Sebastien opened Enough Yarn to Last the Night: A Collection of Myths from the Life of a Man with Many Names, being even more careful as she turned the lovingly-painted pages.

The first section contained stories about Myrddin's childhood, each more fantastical and unlikely than the next. One told of how Myrddin's mother had been barren, and after a long search, was able to find a friendly Titan that fed her a drop of its blood that grew into Myrddin in her womb. Considering the last of the titans had died or disappeared around eight thousand BCE, this was exceedingly unlikely.

Another recounted how Myrddin was found as an infant, cupped inside the flower of a gigantic water lotus from which he had grown—sprouted, to be more accurate. Sebastien actually snorted aloud.

Yet another talked of how he was half-fey and had grown up much-abused in their secret realm before escaping as a young man and entering the world of humans. Still ridiculous, seeing as someone would have been able to discern the signs of his parentage, just as she had done with Millennium, but at least the war that wiped out the fey had only occurred a few hundred years before Myrddin lived. It was more believable than him being molded from a drop of Titan blood, but that's about all she could say for the theory.

Sebastien flipped to the story that the note had referenced in the first book. It told of how Myrddin, as a young, willowy sprout of a man, had looked up at the sky and yearned. So he rode upon a cold northern wind, up, and up, and up. He spoke to the moon, but she would not help him. He flew farther and spoke to the stars, but they were too fickle. Finally, he flew even farther, into the darkness beyond the edge of heaven, and spoke to Night herself.

She thought him brave and charming, though his life was just a twinkle, a blink of an eye, to one such as herself. Saddened by the future she knew would come, she agreed to grant him a boon.

Myrddin asked for an unbreakable shield that could not be bypassed and would protect him from even Death itself.

Night told him that nothing could protect such a bright spark from Death, but she gave him a piece of herself to shield him from all else, should he use it correctly.

With a piece of Night in his hand, Myrddin fell back down to the earth.

Sebastien saw why the note-taker—probably Ilma—had made the connection. Both stories were talking about the absorbent shield, though one was based in reality and the other in the fantastical imaginings that people without education, who had been raised on stories and lore and superstition to explain their world, might use to explain such a thing.

'It is somewhat interesting, I suppose, but I'm not sure if it's actually valuable,' Sebastien thought. Perhaps one of the later stories would provide the insight Ilma seemed to be hinting at.

Too much time had passed while Sebastien was reading, so she cast her dreamless sleep spell and forced herself to close her eyes, thinking only of the phantom swirls of random color that swam across the inside of her eyelids and not of all the work she needed to do.

In the morning, she returned to the abandoned art supply room on the second floor of the Citadel to practice casting something she didn't want anyone to see. It was part of her general decision to be more prepared, but also a bit of a break from all the planning and groundwork for Operation Defenestration.

Taking a jar of dead beetles, crickets, and even a couple of cockroaches from her satchel, she broke several into pieces. Some of the pieces she scattered around the edges of the room, keeping the rest for herself.

Using her folding slate table, she drew out a relatively simple spell array based on the same principles of the shedding-disintegration spell she used to get rid of any stray pieces of herself that might otherwise be lying around. Except this new spell worked not just on the area inside the Circle, but on the sympathetic connections of her target.

She calmed her mind, taking out the beast core she'd taken from Tanya in case her lantern wouldn't provide enough instant power, and began to cast.

With a surge of Will and power, the beetle within her Circle turned grey and fell apart into a small heap of dust and a waft of almost-invisible smoke. The tiny pile of dust seemed smaller than the section of beetle had been.

The magic hadn't fought her like she had been prepared for, which meant that even though she had created this little curse herself, it wasn't new magic. Someone, probably multiple someones, had used either this exact spell or a variation of it enough times that the spell had flowed easily. Which made sense.

Sebastien stood and moved to the other side of the room, where a matching tiny pile of ultra-fine dust sat, dispersing in a puff with the accidental air current her approach caused.

With a grim smile of satisfaction, Sebastien returned to her spell array to repeat the process. She would be ready if the time ever came that she needed to combine this spell with the reverse-scrying function. She only needed to find a way to protect herself from disintegrating like the rest of her pieces, but she had some ideas for that. If the coppers still had her blood, they would receive a nasty surprise the next time they tried to use it against her.

Plus, being well-practiced with sympathetic curses seemed like a useful thing in general.

Chapter 113 - Heed my Prayer

Siobhan

Month 2, Day 12, Friday 6:30 p.m.

Siobhan felt surprisingly secure as she walked through the darkened streets of the Mires. Her new dowsing artifact was active, trying to find her through a piece of thread she'd pulled off her scarf. The attempted divination activated her ward, which simultaneously blocked the dowsing and hid her from more mundane methods of observation. The eyes of those she passed slid off her, their minds turning to other things when they might have wondered about her. If anyone tried to follow her, the ward, along with her evasive maneuvers and circuitous route, would make things exceedingly difficult. Even if someone did manage to follow her, she had her stunning wand, her warding medallion, and even her hidden knives.

She might not be a dangerous free-caster yet, but she was well prepared for either fight or flight. Hopefully better prepared than any potential enemies.

Siobhan had used the map-based divination to check Tanya's location before leaving, then stopped once along the way to check it again to make sure she didn't run into the other young woman. Regardless of what Tanya was up to, Siobhan could no longer involve herself. She merely needed to be careful not to walk into any ambushes.

Rather than head straight to the underground thaumaturge meeting, Siobhan was on her way to Liza's in the hope that they could travel together. She would take all the protection she could get, even if only for a portion of her evening.

At that moment, Damien was back at the University working on Operation Defenestration, while Ana was meeting with a shaman who was supposed to help her magically remember the exact moment she'd seen the combination to Malcolm Gervin's vault.

There had been some talk of kicking off the plan this weekend, but Sebastien had insisted they wait, both so that they could be better prepared in general, and so that she could finish creating a fake version of her heirloom Conduit ring. If the original was in Malcolm Gervin's vault, she was going to take it back and replace it with a fake.

The forgery was rather slow-going, as she wanted it to be as indistinguishable from the original as possible, and it required a lot of delicate control with the various modifications of the stone-creating exercise they had learned in Professor Lacer's class. She had bought some quartz, which she was molding and faceting into the fake Conduit, and some silver for the setting and ring itself. She was even doing her best to embed a fake chameleon spell array, which wouldn't work, but would seem to have simply run out of power unless it was examined by an artificer. After that, the ring would need to be properly scratched and tarnished.

As she walked, Siobhan reviewed the map of Gilbratha she had memorized, but found some sections of the city foggy, as if her brain just skipped over that section of data when she reached for the information, unable to make a connection. She frowned. 'What? My memory is fantastic, and it's only been a week.' But if her mind was a vast ocean, that knowledge had settled to the dark, cluttered depths, improperly categorized and lacking the interconnected links that would normally allow her to access it. 'Maybe I was trying to cram too much at once,' she reasoned. But it was unpleasant to be unable to remember something she felt she should. She relied so much on the strength of her mind that its failure made her uneasy.

When a woman's angry scream pierced the air from a nearby alley, Siobhan flinched out of her contemplation. Her first instinct was to duck out of the way and take cover in an unlit doorway, but she realized the scream didn't have anything to do with her.

The woman's scream was followed by a man's, and then a loud slap followed by obvious sounds of a struggle. The woman screamed again, much weaker this time, almost despairing.

The streets weren't yet completely empty, but Siobhan watched as the few others still out ducked their heads and hurried away even faster instead of going to investigate or trying to help. Siobhan looked toward the nearest street corner, but this part of the city was apparently outside of Verdant Stag territory. There was no green flag to pull for help.

Siobhan hesitated. 'This could be some sort of trap. But is that more likely than someone actually needing help? I've got my stunning wand, my ward active, and all my utility spells on paper. I'm in a better position to do something about an incident than almost anyone else here. If I duck my head and scurry on, just like the rest…' Some time ago, Siobhan had resolved that she would try to avoid making choices she would regret, and if she just left, she knew she would always wonder.

So Siobhan walked over to the alley, stepping gingerly to try and reduce the noise of her boots against the ground, and peeked around the corner.

A woman was lying on her back, desperately clinging to a satchel, while a man knelt over her, yanking at it, and another man stood a few feet away, apparently acting as a lookout. The three were silhouetted by light shining through the alley from the street on the other side, but Siobhan couldn't make out many details.

"I curse you!" the woman wailed. "I will sacrifice to the Raven Queen tonight, that she may listen to my prayer!"

Siobhan's eyebrows rose.

"May the Raven Queen cast down a curse upon you! May you never sleep in peace again!" the woman continued.

The man kneeling over her gave her another harsh slap, finally yanking the satchel away from her suddenly weak fingers. He tossed it to the lookout, who began to rifle through it. Then the first man started fumbling around the woman's waist. Siobhan didn't know if he was trying to search her pockets or strip off her pants for something worse, but she had seen enough.

The woman's curse had given her the perfect idea to deal with the situation without having to endanger herself. She hesitated for a moment as she held her hands to her mouth in a cupped Circle, remembering the last time she'd cast this spell. But the people in the alley weren't casting anything to be distracted from, nor were they on the edge of a mental breakdown from terror. 'The spell itself is harmless,' she reminded herself, knowing she was being foolish but unable to push away her deep dread. Hearing a faint sob from the woman, Siobhan steeled herself and began to cast, channeling power through the Conduit strapped to her torso. With a thrice-repeated chant, her shadow rose up from the ground, stretching around the corner into the alley and looming over the men.

She molded it into the form that was quickly becoming familiar, a hooded figure with a huge beak, tattered cloak billowing in an intangible wind. There wasn't much light for her shadow to absorb, so the warmth of her breath through the Circle of her cupped hands made up the difference in power, and Siobhan winced at the biting cold in her fingers.

She couldn't see what was happening, but there were no screams or sudden sounds of fleeing footsteps, even after she waited a few seconds. Hoping her divination-diverting ward would keep them from noticing, she peeked around the corner.

The woman was staring at the shadow-familiar's form, wide-eyed and silent, but the men both had their backs to it and hadn't noticed.

Grimacing at the cold in her fingers that was beginning to become a bone-deep ache, Siobhan adjusted her shadow's form, letting it reach out with one void-black, spindly appendage with too-long fingers. Those fingers reached around as if to grasp the skull of the man who had, at this point, pulled the woman's pockets inside-out and fumbled open her belt.

He noticed immediately as the inhuman fingers passed in front of his face, absorbing the light of the far street. He screamed, high-pitched and hoarse, jerking back and falling onto his backside.

His eyes bulged wide open as they followed the fingers back to the arm, back to the floating figure.

Siobhan turned its hooded head, as if following the man's movement.

His partner with the stolen satchel had turned to see the cause of the disturbance, but froze in place, silent. The sound of trickling water against the ground gave away his loss of control over his bladder.

The man on the ground scrambled backward like a crab until his back hit the wall, started to scream again, but cut off the sound halfway by clamping his hand over his mouth.

Siobhan waited for them to run away, but they just stood there. The shadow-familiar spell couldn't control sound, and if she spoke, she might give away her position peeking around the corner. With an uneasy sigh, she stepped into the mouth of the alley. "Leave her be," she said through her cupped hands. "Go home."

It wasn't the most dramatic thing to say, but it worked to wake the men from their stupor. They scrambled to run away, the one who'd urinated himself still holding the woman's satchel.

Siobhan sighed, and then, with some effort, sent her shadow to the other end of the alley to block their way.

The men skidded to a stop at its sudden movement, so quick it seemed to almost fly. "No, no, no!" the man who had hit the woman muttered between ragged sobs.

The distance made maintaining control of her shadow more difficult, as it was only connected to her by a thin string running along the length of the alley, but the increase in absorbed light helped to mitigate the strain.

Her shadow reached for the satchel.

The man flinched away before realizing its purpose, but then tossed the satchel toward her shadow's hand like it was a live coal. "Take it, take it!" The satchel moved through the shadow and fell to the ground.

That was enough for Siobhan. She let her shadow sink back to the ground, flattening and rushing toward her at a speed too fast for the naked eye to capture.

The men sprinted away without a single glance backward.

Siobhan tucked her hands under her armpits, trying to regain some of the heat the frigid air had sucked away from them. "Do you need healing?" she asked the woman.

The woman had been looking toward the other end of the alley, and at Siobhan's question, her head turned back around with almost comical slowness. She swallowed, wide-eyed. "Queen of Ravens?" she asked, her voice cracking. She scrambled to her hands and knees, bowing until her forehead touched the ground. "I beg your forgiveness! I should not have used your name in my curse, I—"

The woman stopped speaking as Siobhan sighed and took a step forward. "I am not angry at you," she said. "Stand up, if you can."

Hesitantly, the woman raised her head, then crawled to her feet, re-fastening her belt and smoothing down her clothes with trembling hands. "Thank you for saving me, um, your majesty."

Siobhan almost groaned aloud. "I have no need for such titles."

"My apologies, Queen of Ravens," the woman said, immediately bowing again.

"Do you need a healer?" Siobhan asked again.

"No, no, I'll be fine. Just a couple bruises and scrapes, thanks to you."

"Do you need help getting home?"

"…No?" The woman was wringing her hands, looking everywhere but directly at Siobhan.

'Perhaps I am frightening her, only making things worse,' Siobhan realized. "I will take my leave, then. Be careful."

She turned to go, but the woman called out, "Wait! I will sacrifice to you tonight, as I promised, Queen of Ravens. Do you have any requirements for your altar? What do you prefer to receive?"

Siobhan gave the woman an incredulous stare. No one in modern times actually believed you could sacrifice to some higher power on an altar in exchange for their blessings. She realized that if she simply left the woman, the rumors about her could get truly out of control. She needed to set the record straight if she didn't want people burning up dead ravens, or food they should have kept to eat themselves in the hope that Siobhan could somehow improve their lives. "I do not take sacrifices made upon an altar," she said, her voice slow and firm as she tried to impress the words upon the woman. "It is also of little use praying to me. I am not all-powerful. I happened to be near and able to do something tonight, but you cannot count on that happening again."

"I understand, my queen," the woman said. "But…I do not have anything worthy of repaying you for this boon. I have heard about your requirements—a tribute upon meeting, something of value, both worthy and interesting. I could give you the contents of my bag, but—"

Siobhan lifted her hand to stop her. "No need. This was a simple enough thing, and though I do take tribute of valuable items, that is only from those who have the wealth to afford it."

The woman's handwringing grew more violent. "What will you take from me, then?" she whispered.

Remembering how the Morrow goon, Chief, had asked if he owed her the life of his first-born child after she patched up the stump of his arm, Siobhan suspected something similar was going through the woman's mind. Doubting she could disabuse her of these superstitious notions entirely, Siobhan decided on a different approach. "I will take from you a favor," she said. "One day, you will have a chance to repay my aid, either to myself or to one under my protection, one like you were tonight. When the moment comes, you will take it, even at some small risk to yourself."

The woman's handwringing stopped. "Yes, Lady Raven Queen. How will I know the moment when it arrives, or what I am to do?"

"You will know it by the feeling," Siobhan said. This way, the woman could choose to help anyone, in any way, whenever she had the opportunity, and feel reassured that she had repaid her debt.

The woman bowed yet again, and Siobhan took the opportunity to further empower her anti-divination ward and walk away.

She checked the time on her pocket-watch and grimaced. There wasn't enough leeway remaining for her to get to Liza's house and then on to the secret meeting before things started, and she needed to arrive early enough to talk to the organizers.

With a surreptitious check to ensure she still wasn't being followed, Siobhan hurried on. She put on her mask and feathered hair ornaments outside, then walked up and gave the passphrase. "I need to speak to the person in charge of security," she told the door guard.

He eyed her dubiously, but told her to wait in one of the side rooms down the hallway, similar to the one where they'd held her initial interview. Soon after, a couple of masked people entered, one a prognos. Siobhan suspected this was the same woman she'd spoken to previously, who had conducted Siobhan's entrance interview. The prognos nodded to the other administrator. "I am at your service, honored guest," she said to Siobhan.

Siobhan explained that their members might be under additional scrutiny, or even in danger of people attempting to track them home. "I hope you can put some measures in place to mitigate the risk."

"Is this…because of the incident that happened a couple of weeks ago with the Morrows?" the prognos woman asked.

"It's an effect of that altercation," Siobhan said. "Your meetings here have at least one member that works for the University. While they are quite interested in finding me, I doubt they care as much about following your rules. They may cause harm to others in their desperation. I suggest you increase your security, particularly with measures to keep the members from being followed or ambushed. I would also suggest that you put particular care toward vetting any new applicants."

The prognos woman and the masked man shared a sour look. After a few moments of severe silence, the woman bowed deeply to Siobhan. "We take this information extremely seriously, and I assure you we will take immediate measures to mitigate the danger. Thank you for bringing this to our attention."

Siobhan nodded. "I'm sure." A secret organization like this wouldn't survive if the members couldn't feel secure about attending meetings. Before returning to the main room, Siobhan discreetly removed her feathered hair ornaments and slipped on gloves to make sure that every inch of her skin was covered before finally turning off the dowsing artifact. Keeping it active might have drawn more attention than it diverted, if people noticed difficulty focusing on her.

She paused at the entrance, scrutinizing everything and everyone. Liza didn't seem to be present, though Siobhan couldn't be sure. Tanya was there, again recognizable from her shoes.

Siobhan, too, was still wearing the same pair of new boots that Oliver had bought her, but she'd cast a color-changing charm on them while at the Silk Door. In addition to their size change, the change in color was more than enough to keep them from being recognizable. Compared to her, Tanya was sloppy.

Siobhan tried to guess if there was anyone new attending the meeting, perhaps planted by the University. Oliver had passed on Tanya's message that they didn't know about the Raven Queen's participation, but Siobhan didn't trust that assurance of safety. She couldn't tell if there were new members or not, especially since not every member might attend every meeting, and the majority of members didn't have any particularly distinguishing features that she could recognize past their masks. At the very least, that anonymity worked in her favor as well.

Siobhan entered and took a random chair.

Tanya didn't seem to notice Siobhan, her gaze unmoving from her own clasped hands.

Siobhan outwardly ignored her in return, though in truth she kept a watchful eye on all the members, not relaxing for a moment.

Tanya shifted uncomfortably every time a woman spoke, but kept her head down.

In the first part of the meeting, Siobhan tried to make her voice sound a little deeper without being obvious, offering up three decryption and unlocking spells she'd learned while attempting to decipher the stolen book.

She ended up selling spell information to several different members, some of them taking all the spells and others only choosing one, for an astounding total of one hundred ten gold. 'Spells that can be used for illegal, or at least questionable purposes, seem to sell quite well. Perhaps some of these people want to know the spell so they can guard against it, but more likely, this kind of information is harder to find through legitimate means. And, of course, the people that come to these meetings are less likely to care about legality.'

When it was time to make requests, she spoke up again. "I'm willing to purchase more powerful or unconventional decryption spells. I have some foundation in these types of spells, so I am interested in new methods. I'm already familiar with symmetric decryption against one and two-block independent encryptions. I'm interested in spells that can break two-block encryptions that have gone through multiple rounds of encryption processes. I will pay in gold."

Symmetric encryption had been around for a long time and was one of the simplest methods, allowing decryption with the very same key that had been used to encrypt in the first place. If the first letter was encrypted with a move of six letters down the alphabet, which would turn the letter "A" into "G," then the decryption would simply reverse the process, moving the "G" six letters back up the alphabet. One needed only thirteen guesses on average to break such an encryption, and simple divination spells could run through that many variations in a minute or two, depending on the power supplied.

To make symmetric encryption more complex, an alphabet table could be used, representing possible mappings from one letter to another as a matrix, with a short key repeating over and over to shift enciphered letters at different points, and thus disguise letter frequency. Though the invention of this method was credited to Grandmaster Bellaso during the reign of the Blood Empire, about a thousand years after Myrddin lived, Siobhan knew that Myrddin had made discoveries people of her time still hadn't recreated. The flaw was that language had a lot of repetition, and once a duplicated segment was found, one could use the distance between them to figure out how many characters the key had. It got even easier if the encrypted text was long enough, because it would inevitably contain more repeated text segments. Finding the exact key took a divination spell more time and power to brute force all the possibilities, or some moderately complex mathematics to speed things up.

Block encryptions took the message and split it into pieces, applied encryption separately on each part, then combined them again for the encrypted result. This allowed a shorter key to be used for longer messages, like a book.

The most powerful encryptions, ones she'd only read about and that required more mathematics than she was comfortable with even for brute-force decryption, took each block through several rounds of encryption, each of which needed to be worked through backward. For instance, a first letter "A" from one block would turn into "G," but only if the key contained a letter after "M" as the sixth letter, otherwise it would become an "F." And then after every letter was changed, the key was rotated, and it would all happen again with slightly different rules.

Siobhan turned down some offers, either because she already knew a spell based on the same principles, or because the requirements were unmanageable, but there were a couple of offers that drew her attention.

A man raised his hand. "I have a method. It requires a lot of power, but it's very effective. It is best joint-cast with another person, but I have an adapted method that allows you to set up and charge one side as a slow-release artifact and then move your attention to the other. I would not recommend this method for any security that needs to be cracked in less than an hour. Three thousand thaum minimum capacity, and it will work on encryptions that have gone through up to five rounds of processing. The set-up is quite complicated, and I don't have it memorized, but I could bring it to the next meeting, for one hundred fifty gold."

The spell sounded well beyond her, but she had realized while creating the sleep-proxy spell that if you were willing to be creative and spend a lot more time on casting, many spells could be recreated at a lower capacity requirement. Decryption should be equally viable cast over a long period as a short one, unless of course the passkey was actively changing. An actively-changing passkey seemed like just the kind of trick her book would be based around, even if no one had openly invented spells based on that principle yet. Still, she couldn't turn down the chance. If she couldn't use the spell, she still might be able to sell the information on it at some point and recoup her costs. "That might be of some use to me," she admitted. "But the restrictions are rather inconvenient. Seventy gold."

"This knowledge is quite rare. One hundred twenty gold."

"Rare only means it is more likely to be unoptimized, and dangerous to cast from its newness. Eighty-five gold."

"That's a risk that most higher magics will carry, especially these kinds. It seems you've tried other options and haven't had success. One hundred ten is my final offer."

Siobhan waited.

During the pause, another man on the opposite side of the circle of seats tentatively raised his hand. "Um, I have an option you might consider, depending on what you're trying to crack. It's not decryption, exactly. It's a divination that helps to reveal hints about the passkey. It works best if the encryption, or lock, or whatever has been opened many times. Basically, it picks up on echoes of what previous people have done."

The man who'd made the first offer crossed his arms with irritation at the interjection.

"Do the echoes need to be recent?" Siobhan asked.

"Well, it does help. The divination is picking up clues in the environment, and those will be fainter with more time passed. But as long as there is a strong enough impression, or the traces have remained undisturbed, even if a lot of time has passed it can still work. It's based off similar principles to the spells coppers use to investigate a crime scene."

Siobhan doubted much trace evidence would remain on the book after all this time, especially after the lengths she'd gone to trying to find clues. "I'm not sure that would be useful for this particular application, but I am interested. Twenty gold?"

"Thirty?" he asked hesitantly.

"Twenty-five. That seems more than fair, especially as I happen to have another contact that I believe has access to that same spell." That wasn't exactly true, but it was possible Damien could access the spell the coppers used, and she could theoretically find some excuse to get him to teach her.

"Deal," the man agreed.

Siobhan turned her gaze back to the man who'd made the first offer. "It's possible that I will no longer need your spell by next week. I'm willing to offer you ninety-five gold today."

He hesitated, tapping his foot on the floor. "I would require assurances that you wouldn't spread this information around. For such a low price, I need the information to remain limited and valuable to others who might be interested."

"That's acceptable."

"Then we have a deal, I suppose."

Siobhan looked to the arbiter, and he nodded, noting it down. In the end, counting what she'd earned and what she'd spent, she had gained two new spells that she would have had trouble accessing elsewhere for only a net loss of ten gold. A bargain.

As the meeting moved on from sales to a free exchange of information, Siobhan listened curiously. People offered up warnings about areas where crimes had been committed, places to find limited-time deals on certain components, and the latest news about the Morrows, Nightmare Pack, and the Verdant Stag, which devolved into arguing until the arbiter brought the discussion back into line.

There were even a couple of rumors about sightings of the Raven Queen, but she knew none of them were actually her.

It was during this time that the arbiters began to take small groups of people aside, bringing them through the hallway into the back room. Siobhan noted this with interest and wondered if it had anything to do with the warning she had given them.

When the meeting ended, she completed what transactions she'd agreed to settle that day, giving out coin and sheets of paper with carefully-transcribed spell instructions. For the decryption spells, neither seller had them memorized or written down, and so she would have to wait for the next meeting to receive them.

When that was done, the familiar prognos woman took Siobhan aside, alone. "We are ensuring that none of our members have ill will toward the Raven Queen, nor any intention to betray the rules otherwise. None will leave until we are confident in them, and any who do not pass under scrutiny will not return. The next meeting will not be held here," she said, giving Siobhan a slip of paper with an address. "Your passphrase will stay the same. I hope this is all to your satisfaction?"

Siobhan memorized the address and handed the slip back. "You are moving to act on this even quicker than I had hoped." And, in truth, much more thoroughly as well. "I am reluctantly impressed," she admitted.

The woman let out a relieved sigh, and Siobhan could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "Please feel free to leave now, through one of our secret exits if you wish. We have no need to question you, and no wish to waste your valuable time."

There should still be time for Siobhan to work on forging the ring that evening, but she had big plans for the weekend. Only Sunday would be spent in an exhausting all-day slog of alchemical brewing. Saturday would instead be spent on a visit to Liza's to follow up on their agreement. Siobhan was so excited she doubted she would be able to sleep properly.

She slipped back out into the night, her exit watched by a guard with a harsh scowl and glowing eyes that tracked through every shadow and flicked to every hint of movement with suspicion. 'It is quite nice to be taken so seriously,' she reflected. 'Perhaps there are some positives to this Raven Queen identity to go along with all the danger.'

Chapter 114 - Tintinnabulation

Gera

Month 2, Day 12, Friday 8:00 p.m.

Gera stood in the doorway to her son's bedroom as Millennium sat cross-legged in front of a large hourglass filled with euphonic sand, his hands on his knees and his eyes closed. She kept her breathing light and her body still so as not to unduly disturb his meditation, the ever-present divination that she cast allowing her to sense him as well as her ruined eye ever could have.

Every couple of minutes, he let out a soft, musical hum, imitating one of the notes that she couldn't hear as the sand rang and tinkled against the other grains. As the merchant who sold it to them had boasted, to Miles's delight, the sand let off "a wee tintinnabulation, faint as sprite bells," and was the perfect thing for her son to safely strengthen his mind, as the Raven Queen had instructed.

In a few months, when he had built up more strength and his health had stabilized along with his sleep schedule, Gera would allow him to start basic magical exercises as well.

As the last of the sand fell into the base of the hourglass, Miles opened his eyes, looking straight at her as if he'd known she was there all along. Her heart ached with happiness to see the peaceful, confident expression on his face. His eyes, which no longer radiated the melancholic greyness of a child slowly fading into shadow and nothingness, focused on her without trouble, and he did not sway with fatigue. He hadn't had any episodes of extreme emotion since the day after the Raven Queen granted her boon, when he had woken in the morning and started laughing aloud, then quickly devolved into sobbing from sheer relief.

"Is that…what it feels like?" he had asked, barely coherent, his whole body heaving in her arms from the force of his emotion, his words interrupted by shuddering gasps. "That's how…everyone else feels…when they sleep? I felt so…" He shook his head, unable to find the words. "It was so quiet, so nice."

Gera had cried, too, the tears streaming out around her ruined eye. "That's how it will always feel for you from now on, my love," she had assured him. It was a vow as much to herself as to him. If this method ever stopped working, they would call upon the Raven Queen's aid once more, no matter the cost. No matter how disturbing Gera found the woman—if a creature such as her could even be considered a woman at all.

Gera smiled at her son. "Are you ready for sleep? The sorcerers are on their way."

"Yes!" he exclaimed with excitement, jumping onto the bed in the center of the room and arranging his pillows just so, so that they propped up his back and curled around under each arm. Holding him—just as the Raven Queen had held him that night.

Gera moved to the bedside table and took the small vial of herbal oil that Millennium had so carefully mixed with her brother's help, discarding mixture after mixture until they got it right. She stared at the vial for a minute, suppressing a pang of mixed jealousy and unease, then handed it to her son.

He took a small dab and placed it on the pillow behind his head, then settled in with a contented sigh. He took a deep breath and began to hum, so deep and soft as to be almost inaudible, a sound that she felt a child his size shouldn't be able to make.

After the Raven Queen's visit, Millennium had asked Gera to cradle him and help him relax like the Raven Queen had. But Gera's humming only left Miles frustrated and on the edge of tears. "It's not right!" he'd insisted. "It does not feel the same. When she did it…it was the most wonderful thing ever. I could hear nothing past her humming, and I heard it everywhere. It was in my ears, but also in my body, all the way down into my bones and organs. It felt like my heartbeat was blending with it, like two instruments in harmony. When she hummed, it wasn't trying to tell me anything, except that I was safe. Do it like that."

"I cannot do what she can," Gera had said, trying to suppress the emotions fulminating inside her like a cauldron of lightning. "I do not know that there is anyone else who can do what she can."

Miles had sighed with unhappy acceptance, and after that started working on formulating the Raven Queen's exact smell so that it could help lull him to sleep in Gera's stead. His hums were not magical like the Raven Queen's, but they were another form of meditation that prepared him for sleep.

As the three sorcerers she had summoned entered the room, Gera stepped aside to supervise as they set up the necessary components within the spell array she'd had carved into the floor under and around Millennium's bed. All three had heavy bags under their eyes, tired enough that their blinks were heavy but not so tired that their hands shook—not so tired that they would be a danger. The Raven Queen's methods, while harsh, were effective. Lynwood had promised them that, when each of them was able to hold the spell to keep Miles asleep and dreamless throughout the night on their own, they could sleep whenever they wished.

They were improving rapidly.

As they began to cast, one of the servants poked her head into the room and waved for Gera. When she slipped out, the servant said, "The delivery woman you sent out earlier is back, and she says she has critical news for you. She requests to speak to you urgently."

Her mouth tightening, Gera gave a single, silent nod to the servant and strode down to the drawing room. As had become an unwelcome habit, she searched the corners of the room for any unassuming shadows. Gera's divination did not reveal light and dark, and she could walk through the wilderness on a moonless night without trouble. If there were shadows, that meant there were blank spots—voids.

The woman she had sent out earlier that evening awaited her, fidgeting in front of the fire.

"Mrs. Dotts," Gera said. "What is the issue? Were you able to complete the delivery?"

The woman spun to face her, a strange, wavering expression on her face. "I completed it. There was trouble, and I almost didn't make it, but then…" She took a deep breath, eyes wide. "Then I called on the Raven Queen for help…and she appeared."

Gera sucked in a sharp breath. "Tell me everything."

"Well, everything started off fine. I had the goods in my bag, under the false bottom. Then I was attacked by two heavy-handed cretins. I don't know if someone tipped them off about the drop or if they just wanted a few easy coins and I was unlucky, but they got the drop on me," she admitted, shamefaced. "I was down before I could manage to get the wand out of my calf holster."

Gera made a rolling motion with her fingers, urging the woman to continue on to the important part.

"They roughed me up a bit and took the bag, and…well, I cursed them in the name of the Raven Queen, that"—her voice grew quiet, her eyes searching the room, looking everywhere except Gera—"they would never sleep peacefully again."

Gera almost choked on her own spit. "You did what?" she asked hoarsely. "Do you know how dangerous that was?"

Mrs. Dotts ducked her head. "It was foolish of me, I know. I thought maybe I would go home and burn some incense while saying a prayer. I never expected…"

"What happened? Was she angry?"

"She wasn't, or at least not at me. I didn't even see her at first. Her…companion, the bird creature made of darkness, arrived first. It rose up out of the shadows on the dark side of the alley. The two mooks didn't notice it at first, and it just stood there looking at us. Then it moved forward and…" She shuddered. "I think it cursed one of the men. It grabbed his head with these long, bony claws. He tried to dodge, but its thumb sank right in through his skull like it wasn't even there. I was expecting him to die, but…there wasn't any wound. I think maybe…maybe it was depositing the nightmares inside, just like I threatened that I would pray for her to do."

Gera shuddered as phantom fingers of cold trailed down her back.

"They stopped attacking, but it was like they were frozen. And suddenly the Raven Queen was there, in the same spot the shadow being had risen before. I didn't notice her arrive. She might have even been there all along, because even when I knew she was there my eyes wanted to look away."

"Quite possible," Gera agreed, remembering the Raven Queen's disconcerting presence all too well.

"So she told them to leave me be and go home. They turned to run right away, but one was still holding my bag, and her shadow companion…it moved to cut off their escape, moving so fast I could barely see it. Faster than a horse at full gallop, faster than a flying bird. It actually blurred. They had no chance of escape. It made them drop the bag, and I think it was satisfied then because it sank back into the ground and disappeared. I checked the bag afterward, and everything seemed normal, but I'm pretty sure the creature touched the package. I hope that won't be a problem?"

"You delivered it, so it's out of our hands now. What happened after the shadow being disappeared?"

"The Raven Queen asked me if I was alright, and…I think she offered to walk me home? She told me that I shouldn't expect her to respond to my prayers every time because she's not all-powerful, but she just happened to be in the area when I was in need. I thought she would be angry, but she wasn't." Mrs. Dotts' brows shot up as she remembered something. "Oh, and she doesn't accept offerings, only tributes."

"What did you give her?" Gera asked gravely.

Mrs. Dotts shook her head. "I owe her a favor now. She said I would know what I needed to do when the moment came, and that there might be some 'small risk' involved."

"That's it? A small risk specifically?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"She told me she only takes valuable, interesting tributes from those who can afford them. She knew I couldn't, so she took a favor instead. And then suddenly, when I looked away for a moment, she disappeared."

Gera was silent as she contemplated Mrs. Dotts' story. The Raven Queen had taken their tribute and given them a boon—proper rest for Millennium. An equal exchange. But her actions tonight seemed…charitable. That could be taken two ways. Either this debt was much more ominous than the Raven Queen had suggested, or it was only a token repayment to ease Mrs. Dotts' mind. Because, after all, Gera had done a favor for the Raven Queen.

Gera had been worried when she followed that little bracelet from Katerin's assistant into the middle of an active rogue magic incident with the coppers and Red Guard crawling around.

Oliver had warned her, but when she walked into the tent and sensed a familiar empty spot in the world, in a new shape, with the voice of a young man, she had been terrified.

She'd quickly calculated the situation and done her best to deflect suspicion from the boy, getting quite close to lying at times, saying things that were distantly plausible, or that she didn't know to be untrue, instead of revealing her true suspicions. She had been worried that giving away information about the woman would draw her ire, but the boy had seemed satisfied enough with her testimony. She had waited for some kind of message from the Raven Queen afterward, but none came.

Gera still wasn't sure how the boy had been connected to the Raven Queen, or if he was perhaps the Raven Queen in another form. The woman was capricious enough to play with the Red Guard in such a way, pretending to be a victim or a bystander for her own twisted amusement.

She could only be relieved that the Raven Queen had some kind of honor. The creature pretending to be a woman was malicious, but only to those who had wronged her. Perhaps tonight had been her way to repay Gera, in a roundabout way.

Gera's musing was interrupted by movement in the doorway. "Millennium!" she said. "You're supposed to be asleep, young man." She turned around to face him, crossing her arms.

"I heard her coming in, so agitated," Miles said, nodding to Mrs. Dotts, "and there was a whisper about the Raven Queen. I wanted to hear the news. Do you think she will come visit me if I pray to her?"

"You are forbidden from doing such a thing!" Gera said, raising her voice more than she had intended in her sudden fear.

Miles frowned back at her, uncowed. "She is not actually that scary at all, you know. Maybe she could teach me some real magic!"

Gera placed a hand on her forehead, trying to press back her budding headache. "Go back to bed immediately, child. Why did your sleep team even let you leave? Are they just lazing about in your room?"

"Well, I told them I had to go to the bathroom…"

Gera shooed him back upstairs, but found, to her surprise, that she was a little relieved. Surely, the Raven Queen would return his innocent goodwill, just as she returned Gera's favor, and just as she rained down terror upon her enemies sevenfold.

That did not mean Gera felt comfortable with her son's veneration toward such a creature. He had spent all of a few hours with that woman. Gera had raised him his whole life.

Chapter 115 - Experimenting on Mice

Siobhan

Month 2, Day 13, Saturday 8:00 a.m.

Siobhan had to knock at Liza's door a second time after the first yielded no results. When the lion door-knocker tried to bite her, she yanked her fingers away and glared at it.

There was a sharp thud followed by copious swearing from within, and when Liza finally opened the door, she was favoring one foot slightly. She scowled at Siobhan, her dark brown curls springing out from her head every-which-way, not so unlike a lion's mane of her own. "The sun is barely risen. If this is not a matter of life-and-death urgency…"

"Er, didn't we plan to test the sleep surrogate spell today?"

Liza's scowl grew darker. "I have had four hours of sleep, and you are here while the sun is literally still rising."

Siobhan nodded in a way that she hoped looked sympathetic. "I understand. But on the bright side, that will no longer be a problem for you once this spell is ready. If you let me in, I can start getting the spell array set up while you sleep a little longer."

Liza stared at her inscrutably for a moment, then sighed, moving aside so Siobhan could enter her home. She shuffled into the kitchen, muttering something about an "inconsiderate, willfully-oblivious child."

Siobhan ignored Liza's grumbling, cheerfully requesting a cup of tea for herself. Liza was like one of those dogs that barked a lot, even at people they knew and liked, but who would begrudgingly allow themselves to be petted anyway. Making progress on this spell couldn't wait, and would likely take the majority of the day. After ensuring she wouldn't get struck by a lightning ward or a stupidity curse or the like, Siobhan made her way through the closet at the back of the apartment into the secret side of the building where Liza kept her books and components.

The few dozen mice Siobhan had bought were held in a multi-leveled terrarium in the corner, scampering happily around a bed of sawdust.

The sempervivum apricus, which she had brought over along with the mandrake from Dryden Manor, was looking a bit better after a couple of weeks under bright light, but its soil was growing drier than even such an arid climate plant preferred, and the mandrake was no longer dehydrated, but its leaves were still drooping. Siobhan found a watering can, and after peering into it suspiciously and giving it a few sniffs, she watered the mandrake, caressing its leaves and humming to it as best she could. Then, she took a small jar of water imbued with energy from the Plane of Radiance that she had bought from an expensive alchemy shop, mixed a few drops with the remaining water from the can, and poured it onto the sempervivum apricus.

The little motes of light beneath the succulent flesh brightened noticeably and began to travel through its system more quickly.

Siobhan had never been the best at horticulture, with more skill at harvesting plant components than keeping them alive. It hadn't ever made sense to start a component garden since she had to move every few months, but she took some small pleasure in keeping these two plants alive.

Liza came into the room with two cups of tea, looking slightly more alert. She chugged her tea immediately, ignoring the heat, but when Siobhan stretched her hand out to receive the other, Liza pulled back and started drinking from that one, too. "Rude girls who make me take care of six dozen mice and show up unannounced to cause me problems do not get tea."

"I'm not tired, anyway," Siobhan mumbled, unperturbed. She had taken the beamshell stimulant that morning, and for once had been sleeping enough that she wasn't physically exhausted.

Liza's supercilious smile fell away, replaced by another frustrated scowl. "Are you attempting to irritate me?"

Siobhan paused to consider. "No?"

"You are not paying me enough to put up with this. Perhaps I should raise my fee."

Siobhan opened her mouth to remind Liza that it was actually Siobhan who was being paid, but the other woman's scowl was warning enough. She closed her mouth silently.

Liza gave a satisfied "hmph" before taking another sip out of her second teacup, and then gestured to a pile of large sheets of paper atop one of the tables. "Since I found myself with more time than I had expected while I waited on the remaining supplies, I did a little research and made some modifications to the spell theory that I think will improve the efficiency when the subjects are separated by a greater distance. You seem to have referenced the Lino-Wharton messenger spell, but the process behind its function is not entirely in alignment with what you intend for this new spell."

Siobhan eagerly looked over the modifications. Liza had made more adjustments to the method of binding, which Siobhan hadn't been able to find much solid information on. Many binding spells were either not robust enough to handle this kind of powerful spell, considered blood magic, or too complicated to be held on the library's first floor. Liza had tweaked other small things across all the steps of the spell and added a note that a docility spell cast on their animal subjects beforehand would make the whole process easier. "This is fantastic," Siobhan said. It would have taken her months of research to come up with the refinements Liza had been able to do in a week.

Liza dropped a stack of books on the table beside Siobhan, each with several strips of paper peeking out between the pages to mark places of interest. "You can read up on the theory while I get the spell array inscribed. With a delicate spell like this, it is very important that we both have the same understanding of how it works so that we can exert our Wills toward the same goal. Struggling against each other even subtly could lead to catastrophe."

Siobhan nodded absently, already tuning out the world as she fell into the spell theory. Professor Lacer had encouraged her to take further developments back to him for approval, but she didn't feel it was necessary, considering Liza's credentials.

Over an hour later, she was drawn from her studying as Liza came back up.

From one of the supply closets, Liza pulled out a large metal ring that looked something like a bear trap, with smaller disks and adjustable legs shooting off it. She cleared a table to use the device while Siobhan watched curiously. "It is a medical diagnostic artifact. An old one that I have upgraded and recharged. It's meant for humans, but it will still return something for the mice, and it is not as if I will be attempting to heal them based on the diagnostics," the woman explained.

Siobhan understood instantly. "We'll be able to accurately measure the changes in their health from beginning to end. It could be valuable data, even if we have to do some translating to mouse and eventually raven biology." It was a serious improvement over the basic diagnostic spells Siobhan had found in the library.

"Exactly."

They placed the mice within the metal ring one after the other, tagging them with little identifying labels around their hind legs. They used a notebook to record the meanings of the complex color and shape readings the artifact gave, which they needed a separate scroll with the key to understand. Siobhan was sure that modern diagnostic artifacts had been upgraded to output more easily decipherable words or numbers, because it was a trying process that had both her and Liza scowling and cursing with frustration by the time they finished.

Finally, they moved to one of the warded spellcasting rooms below.

The bounding circle Liza had drawn covered nearly the entire floor. The sleep-proxy spell would be cast in multiple stages, and rather than having to redo the spell array for each stage, Liza had set up different sub-arrays around the main central array so they could simply move the mice from one step in the spell to the next in a circular path. Finally, the mice would be bound to each other in the final, central step.

Each subordinate spell array was written in a different medium. Plain chalk was enough for the easiest steps. Thick lines of glittering wax—the sparkle coming from a mix of powdered quartz, amethyst, and moonstone—were used for one of the more powerful sub-arrays. Another was composed of carefully deposited lines of black salt, bound to itself and the floor with honey and nightshade oil. Most of the components were already set in their places, just waiting.

Siobhan scrutinized Liza's work, checking for mistakes, a giddy feeling bubbling up in her chest the whole time. She felt like, if she jumped, she might just float away. 'It's finally happening. This is the answer, and it's almost ready. I must ensure nothing goes wrong, so close to success.' The last thought sobered her a bit, but nothing could have subdued her at this moment.

When Siobhan had reviewed the setup and deemed it correct, Liza stepped carefully around the edge of the room, scooping the mice into a large bowl, deep enough that they couldn't crawl out of it. She set the bowl in the center of the complex subordinate spell array nearest Siobhan. "Have at it. This one should be simple enough for you to handle on your own." Their agreement to collaborate included allowing Siobhan to gain skill casting the necessary magic, otherwise Liza probably would have handled everything by herself.

The forceful calming spell used a small drop of laudanum to sedate and a snake's tongue to make the mice more suggestible to commands. Siobhan had never cast it before, but she'd seen Liza do so more than once. It was a stretch to spread the magic through the whole squirming pile of mice, but after a few minutes their struggles eased.

Siobhan dropped the spell and picked up one of the small creatures, which sat in her hand pliantly. Trustingly. "Sorry about this," she murmured, picking up another and moving them both to the next subordinate spell array.

For this spell, she needed Liza's help.

Using transmogrification to enhance a creature through the Sacrifice of another was blood magic, of course, especially since the Sacrificed mouse would be alive for the process. The Third Empire had done a lot of experimentation with transmogrificational enhancements under the rule of the Blood Emperor, some of them notoriously gruesome, but rarely successful.

"Remember not to bind their lives together," Liza said.

Under Liza's guidance, they drew on the vitality and brain function of one mouse, creating a sympathetic connection between its required properties and those of the other mouse. The Sacrifice squeaked shrilly, writhing in sudden pain, but it was soon over. The small creature lay dead next to its companion, a thin ribbon of blood running from its whiskered nose. Siobhan cringed, realizing they would need to do this at least a dozen more times that day. "Couldn't we at least sedate them more thoroughly, or do something to numb their pain?"

Liza gave Siobhan an unimpressed look. "It's a mouse."

"And?"

Liza let out a scoffing sigh.

The mouse in the center regained some vigor as the initial steps of the spell worked to make it more robust. Its trust turned to alarm at the fate of its counterpart, but it didn't break through the docility Siobhan had forced on it.

Overcoming her distaste, Siobhan used her silver athame to open the dead mouse's skull and scoop out the brains, along with cutting away a small chunk of each of the organs, muscle, and even a tiny bit of bone. She moved to the next subordinate array, setting the tiny brain in one of the component Circles, and other bits of meat and organs in the others. They had taken a bit of everything because they didn't know what hidden processes might be carried out while sleeping, or what organs besides the brain might create necessary hormones. This step required more power, for which Liza had provided a dull orange beast core the size of a grape. It would be plenty, for such a small creature.

The pieces of the Sacrifice had already been linked to the still-living mouse in the previous step, and now they would imbue it with their properties. "Spells like this are always a bit wild," Liza warned. "Remember, we care about the brain, any hormones that facilitate rest and sleep, and the immune system. If we do this well, little number one here will improve by about thirty percent."

"Only that much?"

"Without me, you could not hope to reach even fifteen percent. One-third improvement from a single Sacrifice is quite outstanding. Reaching fifty percent without Sacrificing a specimen that is significantly superior to the creature you are boosting is nigh impossible, even if you are willing to spend ten lives to improve one."

"What a waste," Siobhan said softly, looking at the small carcass she'd set in a bowl to the side, ready to be disposed of.

"Indeed. But you cannot gain something for nothing, and in any transformation there is always loss." They turned back to the spell, and with Siobhan's command to "Eat," the mouse traveled around the Circle, swallowing the chunks of bloody meat from each of the component Circles. She could almost sense the magic weave itself into the mouse as it went, occasionally stuttering until Liza and Siobhan's Wills forced it to smooth through the fabric of the creature's being, irrevocably changing it.

The power expenditure was frankly ridiculous, and Siobhan knew that without Liza, a spell that they completed within twenty minutes would have taken her an hour, and had her approaching Will-strain, too.

The next step was kinder—on the creature, at least. It was the linchpin of the whole plan, and if it failed, everything would be for naught. 'No pun intended,' she thought.

This sub-array was drawn in black salt, carefully poured into the shapes of symbols and glyphs using a funnel. In the final spell, they would use a preserved raven's egg to strengthen the connection, but binding only two mice together didn't require that, so the main components were only the mandrake root, still in its large pot, and a knot formed of wood, not carved but woven in on itself and forced to grow that way until it hardened. The knobby, vaguely human-shaped vegetable beneath the dirt would provide its surrogate-concept properties to the spell.

They took a moment to make sure they were both in the correct mindset, maintaining clarity over a strong desire for wakefulness, relief that someone else would take the burden, and Siobhan's own inherent fear of sleep. That last bit had garnered only a silent look and a nod from Liza, no questions, for which Siobhan was thankful. She could not turn that emotion off, so Liza would have to adjust her own focus to match Siobhan's.

They used a small needle to prick the enhanced mouse along with the one that would be wakeful, taking a tiny speck of blood from both. They mixed that with a pinch of elcan iris pollen in a small metal bowl. Siobhan held a flame beneath the metal bowl until the mixture began to smoke, a pink-tinged incense that they avoided breathing in lest it make them sleepy.

Liza carefully guided Siobhan through dragging that incense into the shape of six glyphs, including those for "exchange," "sleep," and "binding," while whispering a chant to help solidify the Word.

"Share the crimson blood of oaths, little griefs soon to be soothed."

"Breathe the stinging wind of sleep, brief regrets soon to be forgotten."

"Weep for the blissful shadow mists, stygian dreams soon to be gifted."

"Awake to the burning midnight sun, scattered hours soon to be harvested."

Siobhan could feel the magic in their words, in the way the sound undulated and deepened with the passage of power.

This wasn't Siobhan's area of expertise, but it seemed a better method of binding than what she'd come up with on her own. Still, it was enough of a strain, even with mice as the subject, that she was relieved Professor Lacer had insisted on the testing. The magic was almost tangibly wild, pushing against the confines of the spell array and their Wills—untamed. She couldn't have done this with any more difficult test subjects, and certainly not on herself.

Despite the difficulty, it was the quickest part of the process. After drawing the glyphs and speaking the chant, they waved the blood and pollen smoke in a circle around the two mice. As soon as the creatures inhaled, it was done.

The inhalation was a form of consumption, a symbol of their willing acceptance of the other's blood. That bound them to each other, with the mandrake allowing one to be a proxy for the other, and the pollen helping tune that binding specifically to the domain of sleep.

Liza waved the smoke away, and some of the wards on the walls shimmered as they worked to clear the air, which Siobhan thought was a rather clever setup.

Siobhan peered curiously at the mice. They both seemed fine. A little drowsy, perhaps, but still unquestionably alive. The enhanced mouse, which was bearing the load of sleep for both creatures, didn't seem visibly more affected than the other one, either. "The extra fatigue isn't instant," Siobhan said. "I thought it wouldn't be, but since I had to design the spell myself, I wasn't sure…"

Similar to Siobhan's latest iteration of her dreamless sleep spell, the rejuvenating spell was halfway to being an artifact. It had no trigger and no way to stop the release of magic after the initial spell was cast, but the spell array would trap the magical energy to be released over time. The magic wouldn't have a consistent output, but would trickle more and more slowly until the rejuvenating spell broke entirely and needed to be recast.

Liza probably could have made an actual artifact to cast the rejuvenating spell on the mice, but it would have been prohibitively expensive while being less efficient, with the way the binding spell was set up. It was the same reason they weren't using a rejuvenating potion.

Instead of cutting pieces from the sempervivum apricus or even using up the whole plant to power a real artifact or potion, drawing on the plant over time—while it still lived—allowed it to steadily replenish its own healing properties without needing to recover from trauma. It also fit better into the symmetry of the spell, the sleeping mouse drawing on the healing properties of a living object over time, the same way the wakeful mouse drew on the sleeping mouse's healing properties.

Liza placed a second, empty terrarium within the inner Circle of the final array. The main components for this bit were the sempervivum apricus plant and a handful of moonseed berries.

This part of the spell took the longest to cast, but didn't strain against Siobhan's limits so harshly. Liza was providing most of the power, and the magic felt much more tame. Still, when they were finished, Siobhan was breathing heavily from the effort. "At least we don't have to do that part every time." The spell would heal all the mice within its inner Circle, so they would just be leaving the second terrarium there with all the sleeper mice in it, while the wakeful mice would go back into the main terrarium upstairs.

Liza took a note of which mouse was bound to which, and then they started the process from the beginning with a new trio of mice. Though Liza had grumbled about it, she gave the Sacrifice a drop of pain-numbing solution that wouldn't impair the vitality transfer too much. It was easier when Siobhan knew the creature wasn't terrified and in pain.

They were able to get through a good handful of mice over the next few hours, as the casting times were much reduced when working on such simple creatures. When they finally cast it on a human, it would take longer and require even more power.

They took a sorely-needed break for the lunch hour, eating in exhausted silence until Siobhan asked, "What kind of terms could a second-term University student expect, if they wanted to borrow approximately five hundred gold?"

Liza didn't even look up from her plate. "I am not lending some random University student—or you—five hundred gold."

"I'm not asking you to lend me anything. I just want to know realistic terms that someone who does lend money would offer. Do you think a second-term University student could do better than fifty percent interest, compounded yearly?"

"Are you trying to break into the loan shark business?"

Siobhan lamented the fact that Liza seemed to have such a low opinion of her. "I'm asking for a friend."

Liza stared at her. "Right." Her tone said that she didn't believe Siobhan whatsoever. Even so, after a dramatically weary sigh, she answered. "If your friend is lending to someone that can prove they've passed at least one term, I'd say twenty to twenty-five percent interest is reasonable. If the borrower has proof of above-average grades, or has something valuable to put down as collateral, your friend could probably reduce that to fifteen percent. Most certified banks don't do that kind of lending because of the regulations and the need for a certified thaumaturge co-signer, so the numbers I'm quoting are from more…questionable organizations. You cannot reasonably charge someone fifty percent interest, Siobhan. If they have even the slightest bit of sense, they will go elsewhere. If they, for some reason, have no other options besides you, I would advise you to think twice about lending to them. To people who are truly desperate—reckless—even a blood-print vow may not allow you to recoup your investment."

Siobhan absorbed this information with dismay. Apparently, she didn't have even the slightest bit of sense. Though, she supposed she was a particularly high-risk borrower, what with being actively wanted for treason and blood magic. "I understand. And let me reiterate that I'm not trying to become a loan shark."

Liza grunted dubiously.

Siobhan mentally tucked away this information. Her current loan was soon to be covered by the Gervin textile commission, but she would need more, both for the next term and to spend on experiments like this one. Having other, better options would be useful as a bargaining chip if she needed to negotiate with Katerin and Oliver.

There was no way she would be duped into another fifty-percent-interest loan.

Even if Ana's plan fell through, and thus Siobhan didn't get paid for it, she might still reach out to a more reasonably priced loan shark, get a lower interest rate loan, and use that to pay back the Verdant Stag. It would save her a lot of coin in the long term.

She would even bet that, if future loans were necessary, Oliver would be willing to beat anyone else's terms to keep her employed by and doing ongoing, random favors for the Verdant Stag.

"Were there any results from your mysterious examination that I should know about?" Liza asked.

Siobhan, who had almost forgotten about Professor Lacer's tests already, grinned. "Nothing. You do impressive work."

Liza harrumphed. "Of course I do."

When she and Liza had rested enough to regain some mental vigor, they returned downstairs. By the end of the day they had completed casting the sleep-proxy spell on over a dozen sets of mice. Siobhan was in no state to concentrate after that, so Liza handled the second set of diagnostic records. The first sleeper mouse was already resting, while its counterpart was zooming around with the other wakeful mice, playing exuberantly. Liza would continue casting the spell on more mice over the next few days, until their sample size was at a reasonable number. It wasn't as if she really needed Siobhan's help, after all.

According to Liza, there were no immediately concerning signs in either the wakeful or sleeping mice. Siobhan didn't even try to suppress her ridiculous grin.

Liza gave her a small smile in return. "You're not nearly as abysmal at this as I feared. Oliver must have been working you hard."

Siobhan shrugged noncommittally. "I keep busy."

"It's the only way to avoid stagnating." Liza gave her a slice of melted cheese between two thick pieces of bread, then shooed her out of her house. "Come back soon, and we'll look over the results. The spell should last for at least ten days, just covering those tiny little mice. I'm hoping for a full two weeks." Without waiting for a response, Liza shut the door in her face.

Chapter 116 - Operation Defenestration

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 20, Saturday 8:00 p.m.

One week after her day of spellcasting with Liza, Sebastien huddled outside in the biting cold of the evening, shivering her ass off for Operation Defenestration. She was less "euphorically excited" and more "stomach-churningly anxious." No matter how much preparation they had done, it didn't feel like nearly enough. She would have pushed the operation off further if Ana wasn't so insistent and Damien wasn't so foolishly confident. Even if she felt sick about it, Sebastien had to admit that it really did seem like they would be able to pull this off.

Sebastien consciously avoided muttering anything like, "If nothing goes wrong…" or making any optimistic plans for what they would do when they succeeded. She didn't want to tempt the gods of irony. She'd learned from her experiences with Ennis that as soon as someone made a comment about how things "couldn't get any worse," or how, "I told you, my plan would go perfectly," inevitably it would start raining, or the only candle would blow out, or someone Ennis had stolen from three months before would suddenly spot him on the street and try to get him arrested.

Damien and she were hidden in a dark corner on the side of the Gervin branch-Family manor, where each uncle had a wing for their families. They didn't reside at the branch manor all the time, but the whole Gervin Family was there tonight for Randolph's wife's birthday.

Sebastien and Damien had gotten past the warded manor gate with Anastasia and her cute little sister Natalia. It had been the only way they could figure out to bypass the wards embedded in the wall to keep out intruders. Damien had suggested they somehow ride underneath the carriage, which at first Sebastien had vetoed as completely unrealistic, but in the end she couldn't figure out a better way to get inside without being noticed, either.

It was Ana who came up with the idea for them to simply ride inside the carriage with her and her younger sister. "They aren't going to check inside my Family-crested carriage for intruders. My driver is extremely trustworthy. I'll just have to come up with some reason for Nat and me to ride separately from my parents."

The three of them had brought Ana's younger sister in on the plan as soon as they realized they needed another agent on the inside—one who would attract less attention than Ana, and could get away with doing things that weren't strictly acceptable for an adult. Ana had vouched for her, and so far it seemed she had been right to do so.

Past the gate but only halfway along the driveway to the mansion, Nat had started screaming for the carriage to stop. "We ran over a bunny!" she had howled, so high-pitched and piercing that Sebastien, sitting nervously across from Damien, had physically flinched.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Sebastien and Damien both took a couple of quick swigs from liter-sized bottles of Enkennad's draught of shadowed concealment, brewed by Sebastien the Sunday before. It was her first time making the potion, but she was meticulous as always and had learned a lot from Natural Science that made the process easier.

The effect was powerful enough to let them slip out of the carriage's other door unseen while Ana and Nat made a commotion, looking around on the path behind them with a bright light for a nonexistent rabbit corpse.

Sebastien and Damien had been waiting in the shadow of the mansion for over an hour, silent and shivering, hoping that no one noticed them and that nothing went wrong with Ana or Nat's role on the inside.

As they waited, Sebastien's thoughts wandered. The exploration of how light worked had also given her some ideas about her philtre of darkness, which she hoped not to use tonight, but remained one of the most useful items in her emergency stashes. The particles of that philtre, when expanded, were catching, and perhaps absorbing, all the visible light that entered their dark clouds. But an opponent might be able to circumvent that with a spell that allowed them to see a slightly broader spectrum. She had tried making a batch that could catch even non-visible radiation, to ward against someone with an otherwise clever counter-spell, and halfway through the process realized that rather than creating complete and indiscriminate blindness, selective clouds of darkness could be even more useful. 'If I could find a spell, or better yet, a potion, that would allow me to see through the philtre of darkness while others remained blinded…' She let out a devious chuckle at the thought, rubbing her gloved hands together.

Giving her a strange look, Damien held up the coin they had spelled to grow warm when Ana gave the signal, pulling Sebastien from her thoughts. "Right on time. We're lucky Malcolm Gervin is so anal retentive," he said. He tucked away the magically warmed coin, and they ran one last check of their supplies. Damien, despite being shorter than Sebastien, was stronger, so he was in charge of carrying the camera obscura artifact that would allow them to quickly record visual evidence. It even had a special shutter-muffling enchantment that Ana had ordered.

Sebastien tugged at the edges of the black balaclavas Damien had bought for them, making sure no stray skin or blonde hair was visible. When presenting the balaclavas, Damien had boasted proudly about being "concealed in comfort," as the merino wool wouldn't irritate their skin and would even keep them warm while they waited in the darkness and the cold.

He'd also bought their climbing equipment, which, after downing a second full swallow of the shadowed concealment potion, they used to begin scaling the side of the manor, making their slow way toward the upper window that looked out from Malcolm Gervin's office.

Sebastien couldn't help but think back to a much more precarious climb she'd made up the wall of an inn, back when she only had one identity, when all of this had just started. She was still a little traumatized from that fall from the window and the subsequent breathless sprint from the coppers, battle spells shooting after her. She had suggested that they hire someone else—a professional—for this part of the plan, but she had no way to safely offer that they source someone through her contacts at the Verdant Stag.

Ana vetoed the idea. Malcolm Gervin had let it be widely known that if someone were hired to act against him, he would pay double to anyone who defected to his side instead. "Anyone who can be hired to commit a crime like this isn't someone I can trust with that kind of temptation. If word got out about what we're planning, it would be disastrous. Whatever restraint Uncle Malcolm has been showing until now, in deference to the fact that Nat and I are family, would disappear." Ana had shuddered at the thought. "If I thought I could trust hired thugs, I would not have pulled you two into this in the first place."

Sebastien took comfort in knowing that, despite their precarious positions, she and Damien were as prepared as possible. Yesterday evening, they had practiced climbing a similar wall at Westbay manor, accidentally scaring one of the maids out of her wits. They had worked out the kinks and knew their limits.

When the two of them reached the window of Malcolm Gervin's office, Sebastien's heart sank. It was still closed. She pressed on it and suppressed a frustrated curse. 'Did we get the wrong one? Maybe something happened to Nat before she could get up here. I could try one of my unlocking spells…' She had drawn up a few on seaweed paper specifically for this mission, just in case, but there was a reason the plan had called for the window to be opened from the inside; there was a good chance that using an unlocking spell would trigger the security wards.

She pressed on the window again, harder.

It popped open with a reluctant shudder.

Sebastien sighed with relief. Natalia had done her job, slipping away from the rest of the family to open the way for them. The eleven-year-old girl seemed, if possible, even more motivated than Ana to depose her uncles, and had taken to the whole operation with almost comical seriousness.

Muscles burning, Sebastien clambered through the window as quietly as possible, then helped Damien through behind her before closing the window again. 'Someone becoming suspicious due to a cold draft would be an amateur mistake.'

"There it is," Damien whispered, nodding his head at what looked like a large metal coffin standing on its end against the wall near the door. He moved as if to walk toward it, but Sebastien stopped him, slowly examining the entire room for traps or other nasty surprises.

The office was meticulously clean, not a single pen out of place or book spine out of alignment. She suspected that one could eat off the floor without worry. "Be very careful not to disturb anything," she breathed. "He will notice."

"He'll just think one of the servants did it."

"And have them beaten for the error?"

Damien grimaced. "Point taken. We'll be careful. Do you remember the lock combination?"

"Of course."

"You'll need to move quickly once he comes up. Are your fingers warmed up properly?"

"Let's hope so." She moved to stand in front of the vault, examining its code-protected locking mechanism, which would require her to input a matching sequence of letters and glyphs.

Damien quickly pulled a folding strap of leather from his own pack and laid it out at the bottom of the door to block any light or moving shadows from being visible through the space between the door and the floor. For good measure, he locked the door as well. If things went poorly, the barrier might give them an extra minute or so to escape.

Then he took out the camera artifact from its case on his back, uncapped its lens, and unfolded its portable tripod stand in front of a clear area on the floor. When this was done, he checked over everything from the beginning with nervous energy. "If this doesn't work…"

Neither of them needed to finish the thought.

Soon after, the first shouts from down below filtered up to them, too muffled to make out the details. Quickly, the screams grew louder, and were followed by the sound of shattering glass. The faint music from the string quartet that had been playing at the birthday dinner petered out as the sounds of an altercation grew louder.

"That sounds…way worse than I expected. I thought she was just going to dump some gravy on him, or throw a pie or something," Damien whispered, staring at the floor as if he could see through it. He fumbled in his vest pocket for a wax pastel, quickly drawing out his enhanced hearing spell on one palm, which he held up to his ear and angled downward. "I can't make it out. It's too far, and too jumbled. Everyone's yelling over each other."

"The girls will be fine," Sebastien assured him, though she wasn't entirely sure it was true. "They've been dealing with the rest of their family their whole lives. And even in the worst-case scenario, they won't be injured so badly that a healer can't fix it in a couple of days."

Damien gave Sebastien a long look that she couldn't quite decipher past the shadows obscuring his face, but he didn't reply.

Soon enough, quick footsteps sounded against the stairwell, and Damien hurried over to Sebastien's side, pulling out a familiar coaster with a starburst-shaped light crystal embedded in its surface. With a twist of the artifact's base, a gentle light shone on the locking mechanism.

As soon as the footsteps neared, Sebastien began to input the combination she had memorized, using both hands at once for speed. The footsteps had already passed by the time she finished, as Malcolm Gervin slammed into the washroom next to his office. If everything went to plan, Ana had insulted and dirtied him, and his obsessive-compulsive nature meant that he would be meticulously bathing himself for the next twenty to thirty minutes.

She wrapped her fingers around the vault door's handle and slowly, carefully, twisted down while pulling outward. Both she and Damien held their breath.

The handle came to a stop with a dull clank halfway through the arc.

Heart sinking, she tugged. The door remained closed. "It's still locked," she whispered.

"How? Did you enter the combination correctly?"

"I did. His ring must not have gotten close enough as he passed by. Or maybe he was just walking too quickly to enter the whole thing while it was in range. Or maybe he changed the passkey since the time when Ana saw it. It has been years, after all."

Damien reached out for the handle, trying to open the vault door himself, as if that would change something. "What do we do?" he asked, voice tight and cracking with tension.

Sebastien was silent for a moment as her mind raced. 'We could abort the mission,' she thought. She considered that option seriously for a moment, looking to the window they had just crawled through. They had failed the most critical step of the entire operation, and dawdling any longer than necessary could get them caught. They had plans in place to flee, and even plans for if they really did get caught, but Sebastien would be in far more danger than either Damien or the Gervin sisters, lacking the inherent protection against any punishment that their bloodline offered them.

'But giving up here would mean whatever Ana and Nat just went through was for nothing. We would have to come up with an entirely new plan from scratch, and maybe I won't end up getting the textile commission, which means none of my debt will be paid off.' She tried to take a mental step backward, calculating the possible value of either option. Getting caught would be horrible, but not as bad as getting caught as Siobhan. The chances of being discovered if they stayed were…moderate. If they left now, they faced a lot less potential danger, and, while losing the textile commission was huge, they would still have a chance to try again, though it would be much harder. She was afraid, but it seemed like such a waste to abort things already. They still had a good window of time before the danger of discovery increased.

'If we stay, how likely is it that we actually succeed? That's an important consideration, too. There must be some way to make this work. Assuming the combination is correct, we just need to be in close proximity to the ring for long enough for me to enter it.' She briefly considered trying to use her divination-diverting ward's spillover effects to sneak into the adjoining washroom, where she could hear the sound of a bath running. If Malcolm Gervin had taken off the ring to bathe, she might be able to steal it without him noticing.

Sebastien quickly vetoed that idea as not only ridiculously dangerous, but almost impossible to pull off. Even if he'd taken off the ring, just entering the room would send a puff of cold air his way and draw his attention. Without somewhere she could hide, even her ward combined with yet another dose of Enkennad's draught of shadowed concealment would still get her caught immediately.

'But perhaps there is another option.' She looked to the far wall that adjoined the washroom, where Malcolm Gervin—and the ring that was keyed to the vault—were stationed. There was a clear spot against the wall, large enough for the vault to fit. "Damien, what's your thaumic capacity right now? Best guess."

"Umm, I think I should be somewhere north of two hundred fifty thaums. I've been practicing a lot all term," he whispered with obvious pride. "Why do you ask?"

Sebastien herself should be somewhere around three hundred fifty thaums based on the amount of practice she'd been doing since she used the Henrik-Thompson capacity test with Professor Lacer. "Combined, we're at about six hundred thaums. Maybe a little more." Using her fingers, she did some quick calculation. "That's enough to lift sixty thousand grams one meter per second. Or…one hundred thirty-two pounds."

Damien caught on immediately. "That vault weighs much more than one hundred thirty-two pounds."

"Sure. But we don't need to lift it an entire meter, and it doesn't need to happen rapidly. A couple of inches would be plenty, just enough space for us to move it. At only a couple inches per second instead of an entire meter, we should be able to lift over a ton. Twenty-five hundred pounds, give or take."

"Move it where? We can't steal the vault, Sebastien. For one thing, it wouldn't fit through the window—" Damien cut off, looking toward the bathroom-adjoining wall as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Oh. Well, that might work. But even if we only need to lift it a couple inches, how do we get it to move? We'd have to re-draw the spell array over and over, all the way across the floor. And I'm not sure I can sustain that much weight once it's in the air, either. In fact, I'm positive I can't. I'm only an Apprentice thaumaturge, Sebastien! You can't expect me to hold up half a ton with my Will alone!" Damien's voice had grown tight and a little too loud, and his fingers fluttered over his balaclava in place of smoothing back his hair.

She shushed him with a motion, keeping her own voice calm and low. "I brought a large piece of flame-retardant paper. We'll draw the spell array on that and just slide it across the floor, very carefully. I think it should be able to handle six hundred thaums if we make the lines of the array thick enough. As for holding the vault up, you're thinking about it all wrong. Magic doesn't work like a human body, Damien," Sebastien whispered, already dropping to her knees as she rifled through her bag for the biggest piece of seaweed paper and began to unfold it onto the floor. The paper already had a different spell array on one side, but the back was clear.

She didn't have any ink brushes with her, but she did have an inkwell. Removing her glove, she dipped her finger into the ink to paint out a simple, if somewhat sloppy, spell array. "The float spell was the first one I ever learned. Well, actually it's not exactly a float spell. My gr—my master at the time explained to me that, if you can wrap your mind around it, magic can perform the same task in many different ways. You can lift something by expelling air from the bottom to create force, or by creating a magical buoy to make it float by increasing the surface area to mass ratio, or by creating an artificial hand that lifts it up and holds it in the air. All these different ways have varying efficiencies and drawbacks, but they are far from the only methods."

She finished the spell array and paused to blow on it to try and dry the ink faster, making sure to keep her blackened forefinger from touching anything else as she slipped her glove back on. This spell had been one of her first introductions to real magic, and she'd had more than a bit of trouble wrapping her mind around the concept. Her grandfather had taken her through several lessons and various examples and experiments to get the concept across. "You don't have to imagine that something floating is being held above the ground. Instead, it can rest there, like an apple resting above the ground by lying on a table."

Damien crouched down beside her. "I don't understand. Are you saying I need to compress the air into the shape of a table instead of trying to lift the vault directly?"

"Not exactly. Normally, when something stays aloft in nature, it uses air displacement or an artificially lowered density to do so. That's how most spells of this nature work, too, but this one is different. Imagine this: a bee lying on a table isn't going to fall through, right? The wood is solid enough to compress only negligibly under its weight."

Damien nodded. "Okay?"

"Air is much less dense than the ground, and it doesn't push back hard enough. It just slips away with a touch, which is why a bee has to keep flapping its wings to stay aloft—it needs to access more air to reach the same equivalent density as what it would find on the ground to be able to keep that much compressive force between itself and the ground. If the air were as solid as the earth, a bee would float without issue, kind of like how you can float by lying on your back in a still pond. The water is dense enough that it pushes back against you and keeps you from slipping through to the bottom."

"I don't understand what you're getting at."

"Just listen. I'm covering the normal applications so you can understand how not to think. Trying to do this the wrong way could scramble your brain like an egg."

Damien nodded solemnly. "I prefer my brain unscrambled."

"When you lift an apple off the ground and hold it still, you know that it takes continued energy to keep that apple up, so it seems like a spell would require continued effort, too. But really, all the necessary work was done during the initial lifting. Gravity isn't continuing to leech more energy out of you for every moment you hold the apple. All the energy you're losing is because of the chemical reactions within your own body, and your muscle fibers rubbing against each other and converting that energy into heat. If you were able to become completely, absolutely motionless—to turn into a statue—you wouldn't get any more tired at all by holding up that apple, because you wouldn't be doing any more work. Just like a table isn't doing any extra work to hold up an apple, because the table is solid enough that it compresses only negligibly under the apple's weight."

Damien still seemed confused, so she tried again. "Okay, how about this? Imagine lying on your back on the ground. You lift up that apple from beside you. That takes energy. Then, you put the apple on your forehead. Does it take any more energy to keep the apple 'floating' above the ground at the height of your forehead?"

He frowned. "It doesn't."

"If the apple doesn't float, but instead rests, then you only need to pay the price against gravity once. Here is the key point, Damien—our magic isn't holding anything aloft, or making it float, it's creating a repulsive force against the floor that matches the same compressive strength of the floor. If you can wrap your head around that, you only need to lift the vault once, and the repulsive force handles the rest for very little extra power." Her thoughts sparked with the light of a previously unmade connection. "Kind of like a strong magnet with a really exact edge to its repulsive field!"

The last bit seemed to unlock Damien's confusion. "Oh. Why didn't you just say it like that from the beginning? Magnetism is a force, but it exerts no energy. That's why thaumaturges can't use a single magnet as an energy-source Sacrifice. Everybody knows that." He huffed irritably. "You always make everything so much more complicated than it needs to be."

Sebastien rolled her eyes before shuffling over to the vault to slide the paper spell array under the space where its peg legs met the floor, thanking the unknown designer. If the vault had been flat-bottomed, resting flush against the floor, her idea might not have been viable, unless they could tunnel in underneath the vault somehow, or cast the float spell through the ceiling of the floor below.

While she placed the components, Damien pulled a clear blue beast core about three centimeters across that must have cost about fifty gold from one of his vest pockets and slipped it onto the spot for the Sacrifice. "I can do this," he whispered, seemingly trying to reassure himself as much as Sebastien.

The two of them knelt on either side of the vault, Conduits in hand. "Lift by one centimeter on three," Sebastien instructed. "One, two, three." She brought her Will to bear, and the glow of the spell array beneath the vault spilled out as she and Damien combined their efforts, clumsily at first, but well enough to lift the huge metal vault.

"We did it!" Damien whispered. The glow brightened.

"Stabilize your mind," she said. "Efficiency is key. We don't want to burn a hole in the spell array." She knew from experience that it was possible, and it would be disastrous. Joint-casting was considered hazardous for a reason, and she didn't want to deal with the magic under both of their control lashing out like an angry, maddened snake if it managed to get free of the spell array. Keeping the spell up wasn't entirely without further energy expenditure, despite their little trick with the implementation. As with all magic, there was loss somewhere along the conversion process from Sacrifice to effect, some of it being lost to heat, some to the glow, and some disappearing into the ether in a manner no one could explain. While their capacities weren't being strained to maintain the repulsion between the vault and the spell array, both the force and stability of their Wills was constantly tested.

When the glow had subsided a bit, she warned Damien, then reached down and began to slide the spell array with her free hand. The paper resisted movement, almost as if the weight of the vault were pressing directly on it, but with a small adjustment of her Will—which she again warned Damien of first—she managed to get it to slide.

The glow brightened alarmingly, and she felt heat coming off the paper.

Damien pushed on the back of the vault as she moved the spell array, and ever so slowly, having to pause and stabilize their control quite often, they moved the vault over to the wall.

There, she entered in the passkey combination once more, sweat beading on her forehead.

This time, the vault opened.

With no time to waste, they pulled out the folders of documents, ignoring the pile of "high crown" bars—each worth a hundred normal gold crowns—as well as the other jewels and artifacts. They weren't there to steal, no matter how much such a fortune could do for Sebastien.

Her mother's ring sat on a velvet display bed right at the front, in a place of honor. Damien lifted the display out of the vault. "Is this the Raven Queen's ring?" he whispered, his voice almost inaudible with awe. He reached out as if to touch it with his finger, then thought better of it. "It might be cursed," he warned.

"That's it," she said. 'My mother's ring.'

Keeping his fingers at the base of the velvet box, Damien set it on the floor and worked the camera, and though the sound of the shutter was muffled, they both jumped like scared rabbits at the brightness of the flash. They hadn't thought of everything, apparently.

Sebastien hurried over to the window and pulled the curtains, just in case. When she returned, she picked up the ring box and put it back in the vault while Damien scanned through the first folder of documents. With his back turned to her, she quickly switched out the ring for the forgery she'd spent the last couple of weeks getting as close to perfect as possible. It wouldn't hold up to scrutiny, but hopefully by the time anyone noticed, that wouldn't matter. She tucked the real ring carefully away, then turned back to their task.

Sebastien scanned through the documents with the light of Damien's coaster. Those that covered the topics or keywords that Ana had thought might be suspicious were laid out on the floor for photographing. The big find, apart from the ring itself and the binding agreement that said Siobhan Naught was supposed to marry either Alec or Randolph's son Robbie, were two books—ledgers filled with financial information. They covered the revenue from the Gervin Family businesses that Malcolm and Randolph handled together, and were outwardly identical. Except one showed different numbers than the other. One official ledger, and one for Malcolm Gervin to keep track of what they were embezzling, not only from their older brother, but from the High Crown in the form of avoided taxes.

Damien and Sebastien finished their job in a few minutes, with well over a dozen photos—enough that Damien needed to switch out the artifact's storage cartridge multiple times. They hurried to pack everything up, trying to maintain the same level of neatness and perfection that Malcolm Gervin had kept everything in before their intrusion. Ana would go over their haul, gleaning what relevant information she could from their photos. They didn't have to perfectly compile irrefutable evidence of the Gervin uncles' crimes. That was what the blackmail was for.

The sounds in the washroom seemed to indicate that Malcolm Gervin was done cleaning himself and would soon be leaving, so they hurried to place the vault back in its original location, moving quickly enough that the paper holding their spell array let out a few thin trickles of smoke near the end. 'Hopefully not enough to be noticeable.' Unused to such effort, Damien panted and winced, putting a hand to his temple.

They took away the strip blocking light from the doorway, unlocked it, and hurried back to the window.

Damien crawled out first, while Sebastien stopped to make sure nothing was out of place. They had retrieved the spell paper from under the safe, everything had been returned just as they'd found it, and the smoke had already dissipated. Satisfied, she climbed out the window and used one of her other paper spell arrays to cast a locking spell from outside the window, erasing the last evidence of their presence.

Chapter 117 - Babysitting

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 20, Saturday 8:40 p.m.

Sebastien's muscles were shaking with exertion and adrenaline by the time she and Damien reached the ground again. They raced across the manicured property and scrambled over the stone wall that bordered the manor, their forms magically obscured by the darkness. Ana knew from the servants' chatter that the wards didn't detect people leaving, only coming, so their departure hadn't required any elaborate plan.

Sebastien stopped to look back while hanging over the far side of the wall, just to make sure no one had seen them. While they might not get arrested, being spotted at this point could make things worse for Ana.

Assured of their success, they jogged into the night, following the road but staying well away from its light.

To Sebastien's surprise, a familiar carriage stood at the side of the road a few blocks down, motionless.

"That's Ana," Damien said. "Do you think something went wrong?"

Sebastien ran her tongue over the back of her teeth in silent thought. "Take off your balaclava and go up to the carriage."

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're a Westbay. You live in the Lilies, and, even if it's strange that you're running around at night all in black, no one will report you to the coppers for it."

Damien handed off his balaclava and the camera obscura to Sebastien and approached the carriage.

He only got three quarters of the way there, just stepping into the edge of the light, when the door swung open. Natalia poked her head out, waving for him to approach as she scanned the darkness beyond for Sebastien. She had been crying, leaving her eyes puffy and her skin blotchy and red.

Damien spoke to her for a few seconds, then turned and waved for Sebastien to follow.

Sebastien hesitated, but complied. When she got close enough to see Ana within the shadows of the carriage, her jaw clenched compulsively.

Ana's left eye was purple and already swelling shut, and blood crusted the edges of her nostrils where she hadn't completely cleaned it up. "My driver is trustworthy," Ana assured Sebastien. "He won't say anything about the two of you. I wanted to stop and let you catch up because I'm not sending Nat back home tonight. Father is too angry, Mother is too useless, and I don't want to leave Nat alone. I'm going to a hotel in the city proper, and we wouldn't mind some company if the two of you would be willing to join us."

"Of course I'm not leaving you alone," Damien said, puffing out his chest like a little rooster, though his grey eyes were stormy with a heavier emotion. "I would offer for everyone to stay at Westbay Manor for the evening, but my father is there."

Ana smiled humorlessly. "I know. That's why I suggested a hotel."

Sebastien glanced up at the driver, who was looking studiously ahead as if he had no idea what was going on, then climbed into the carriage. 'I suppose one night away from the University couldn't hurt.'

Natalia kept her shoulders hunched and head down as Damien and Sebastien sat.

"Did your father do that to you?" Damien asked Ana, his tone dark and controlled.

"It was Uncle Malcolm. I insulted him and threw a boat of cranberry preserves on him. I'm not sure if Father was more angry at him or at me. Mother actually screamed at Uncle Malcolm, too. It wasn't lady-like at all." One side of Ana's mouth lifted up in a tiny, wry smirk. "I'm fine. This is nothing that a healer won't be able to fix before classes on Monday. Did everything go alright on your end?"

Damien hesitated, but after a glance at Nat, who had started to sniffle again, he launched into a dramatic retelling of their night. His version of events seemed much more theatrical than Sebastien remembered, with exciting highs, worrying lows, and even occasional comedic moments. In the retelling, Damien saved them from possible capture at least twice, while story-Sebastien rambled on about complex magical theory and used dramatic, powerful spells to bind the very forces of nature to his Will.

Natalia was captivated, her tears forgotten, and even Ana found it amusing, though she suppressed several snorts of disbelief.

When Damien had finished, Nat turned to Sebastien. "Is that really what happened, Sebastien?"

Sebastien shifted in her seat uncomfortably as both Damien and Ana gave her piercing looks of warning. "Well…it happened more or less like that." Less rather than more, but the end result was the same, she supposed. "We left everything as close to the way we found it as possible. Hopefully Malcolm won't even notice that anyone was there."

Damien crossed his arms smugly. "And we didn't even have to use any of the twelve emergency plans that Sebastien made us come up with."

Sebastien raised her eyebrow at him. "And yet the plan almost failed catastrophically at least three times, if not for your timely intervention, like you just explained so thoughtfully for Ana and Nat. Perhaps I should have insisted we plan more thoroughly, so that less improvisation and cleverness would have been required of you."

Damien deflated, but Nat laughed with delight.

The four of them arrived at a nice hotel within half an hour, and Ana gave her driver some coin to board the horses and find a room for himself while Damien booked two adjacent suites for them. The hotel was clean, bright, and decorated with fresh flowers. When they found their rooms, Damien looked around and shrugged. "Not particularly luxurious, but I suppose it will do. It's better than the spartan conditions at the University, at least. I swear that place treats us like prisoners to try and make us desperate for contribution points."

Sebastien, who had slept in plenty of rural inns but never a high-class hotel, thought it was by far the nicest room she had ever slept in, comparable only to her room at Dryden Manor, where perhaps the sheets were a bit nicer and the floor was made of stone rather than wood.

Ana and Nat were in the adjacent suite, which was joined by a door in the wall that locked from both sides—probably meant for families whose parents wanted a separate space from their children.

Damien opened the attaching door, allowing Ana and Nat to join them in their suite. Ana had washed her face to remove the remaining blood, but the bruising and swelling was only becoming more prominent.

"I have some minor healing items in my satchel," Sebastien offered. "It's best to get the process started right away, before the damage has time to settle in."

"Alright," Ana agreed. She sat on the edge of one of the beds, with Natalia perching next to her, while Sebastien rifled through her satchel, pulling out the necessary supplies.

Sebastien handed Ana a regeneration-boosting potion first, and then used a bit of wound-cleansing potion on the part of Ana's eyelid that had split, dabbing it gently onto the raw flesh.

"Did you stock all of these healing supplies for the mission?" Nat asked, leaning forward to watch curiously.

"I carry healing supplies everywhere. You never know when you might need them. But I did stock some special things for the mission, like this draught of shadowed concealment," Sebastien replied, pointing to the half-empty bottle of dark liquid.

"That's what Damien was talking about earlier! Oh, do you think I could try some?" Nat begged, her hands clasped under her chin and her eyes open wide. For good measure, the girl batted her lashes a couple of times.

Ana hesitated. "Is it dangerous, Sebastien?"

"I brewed it myself, and Damien and I can both vouch that there aren't any side effects."

Nat hopped down from the bed to pick up the bottle. "Are you an alchemist, then? I thought you were more of the free-casting type? Damien told me you were apprenticed to Thaddeus Lacer."

"I wouldn't call myself an alchemist. I can follow instructions and a recipe as well as anyone, and I do a little brewing on the side as a hobby, that's all."

Damien helped Nat open the lid. "Don't listen to Sebastien, Nat. If he says he dabbles in something as a hobby, what he really means is that he's on his way to mastering the craft. If he says he's 'almost competent,' that means he's in the top five percent of the population."

Nat turned to Sebastien, eyes gleaming with respect. "Can you brew all sorts of amazing things, then? Like, potions to make someone fly, or a cream to make people beautiful, or a philtre that creates tornados?"

Sebastien snorted, pulling out her bruise cream and warming a good dollop of it in her palm before she began to apply it generously around Ana's eye and nose. "Damien is the one you cannot believe. Being in the top five percent of the population is actually quite unimpressive, since the majority of the population will be totally unskilled at whatever random subject you choose. I mean, think about it. Less than five percent of the population can cast magic at all."

"That's not what I meant, obviously," Damien rebutted. "You can't just go around counting people who aren't even part of the equation. I meant top five percent of thaumaturges."

"But that's not what you said. And I'm not even in the top five percent of students in our term, which you might remember from our mid-term results that came out recently. I'm closer to the top ten percent. That leaves me far below being in the top five percent of the entire thaumaturgic population."

Damien threw up his hands in exasperation. "Test results aren't everything, Sebastien! I've seen what you can do, remember? And suddenly going from your spot in the entrance exams all the way to the top ten percent of students in the term is actually pretty amazing. For Myrddin's sake, you're Thaddeus Lacer's apprentice!"

"Provisional apprentice. Hopefully I'll become an official apprentice next term, if I can prove myself. It's nice of you to try and make me look more impressive in front of Nat, but you can just be honest, Damien. I do plan to be truly exceptional one day, but I'm still very far away from real skill at anything important. I am willing to put in the work where others will not, I have the determination and drive that others do not, and I am talented enough, but there is just so very much to learn. Compared to someone like Professor Lacer, I am but a child still."

Nat's head had been bouncing between them as she followed their conversation, but when Damien didn't deign to reply to this final argument—instead tugging at the sides of his hair like he wanted to pull it out—Nat sneakily tipped back the bottle of Enkennad's draught of shadowed concealment and took a swallow so large it made her cheeks bulge and her eyes water.

Damien took a few deep breaths, then let out a sigh so loud and deep he seemed to deflate as it left him.

Sebastien shot him a look, letting him know how overblown she thought he was acting. Perhaps he was still keyed up from all the adrenaline and didn't know how to let the energy out appropriately.

Damien tossed his head and turned away from Sebastien with a vehement snort, stomping around to turn off some of the lights in the room.

Nat lifted the bottle to her mouth again, trying to sneak another swallow, but Ana gave her a gimlet stare, and the girl put the bottle back with a cute blush.

Damien took Nat into the attached washroom so that she could see herself and the effects of the alchemical draught, only to discover that there was no mirror affixed to the wall as he had expected.

The other suite's bathroom was also without mirror.

Damien huffed. "This is outrageous! Paying for a room with no mirror? I'm going to go down to the desk and complain."

Nat pouted as Damien left, but was quickly enchanted by the draught's effects, even without a mirror to watch herself in. She blended into the shadows like an incompetent chameleon. Finding this absolutely fascinating, she ran around the room to different semi-shadowed spots to observe the effect, sporadically letting out a maniacal giggle.

When Sebastien was done administering aid to Ana's face, Nat's concealment was beginning to wear off, and Damien had not yet returned.

Nat pouted at Ana and Sebastien until Ana allowed her to take a second swig, but Sebastien had an idea.

"Wait," she said, taking out a stick of soft chalk and moving over to the far wall. She took a minute to draw out a spell array with a huge central Circle, setting her beast core on the floor within the range of the only component Circle.

Nat took an even bigger swallow than before, emptying the bottle before Ana could stop her. "What spell are you going to cast?"

In lieu of answering, Sebastien bore down with her Will. When a surface was too dense for light to propagate within, instead of refracting, it reflected. Glass, water, and other semi-transparent substances only reflected a small percentage of the overall light that hit them, but because they could have such smooth surfaces, it allowed that mirror-like reflection. For a true mirror, one needed a smooth substance that reflected more light. Or, in this case, they needed to catch all light that hit a certain arbitrary plane and bounce it back.

Just a millimeter away from the wall, a wavering reflection appeared, and then solidified and settled, as perfect as the most expensive true mirror, except around the circular edge, which wavered, mirage-like.

Nat gasped in delight. The mirror was larger than any Sebastien had ever seen, and more than adequate to capture Nat's antics as the girl stalked around the room with delight, pretending to be a spy, or maybe an assassin.

Ana watched with an indulgent, slightly crooked smile that seemed more real, somehow, than her normal sweet expressions.

Damien returned just as the effects were wearing off for the second time. "Some thaumaturge cast a glass-breaking spell on the whole building after being offended by one of the employees. There aren't any mirrors to be had, and there won't be until—" He stared at the wall for a moment, his eyes then flicking to Nat before finally settling on Sebastien. "Oh. Brilliant."

"Is there any more?" Nat asked, staring down at her arms, which were no longer blending into the shadows in the corner.

"You drank the last of it?" Damien asked with dismay. "I barely got to watch."

Nat shifted awkwardly. "Um, sorry? Maybe Sebastien has other interesting potions?"

While that was technically true, Sebastien did not want to waste her emergency supplies on entertainment, and so quickly thought up a distraction.

She let the mirror spell drop, stepped forward to add some instructions to the spell array, and then brought the mirror up again. This time, though, she concentrated not only on reflecting the light, but adding extra brightness in a particular shape.

She had to step back a few more steps to get a better idea of what the others were seeing, trying to make the glowing shape of wings that she had attached to Nat's image in the mirror seem realistically placed. It was difficult at first, but she quickly settled her grasp on the idea, a kind of opposite to how she used to do shadow-puppet plays on the wall with her shadow-familiar spell.

Sebastien found she had to anchor the wings to the light bouncing off Nat so that they appeared in the right place no matter where in the room they were viewed from. Adding a glow to the reflection of the girl herself helped them to seem less unnatural. Sebastien didn't quite manage to make the wings look solid or three-dimensional, but Nat was not a particularly discerning audience.

"Oh, I look like an angel!" She tried to pet her wings, watching as her hands passed through them in the reflection, and then turning to peer behind herself as if suspicious that she might, indeed, have grown another pair of appendages.

Ana held a hand to her mouth to hold in her delighted laughter. "Oh, Damien, are there any more storage cartridges for the camera obscura? I must capture this moment."

"Will it work on this?"

"If we can see it, the artifact can," Ana explained. "It works on a similar principle to the retina, but instead of sending signals to the brain, the light affects the photo disk, changing its shade according to the level of energy in the capture light. It creates a black-and-white version that has exactly the opposite values of darkness and light from reality, which allows the correct-value image to be transferred to photo paper with the help of some alchemical solutions. I think there is a huge potential market for the device. I even invested some of my personal funds in a local camera shop."

Damien hadn't stopped to listen to the entire explanation, too busy getting the artifact out of its case, popping in a new cartridge, and setting it up on its tripod stand.

Nat turned to pose prettily, but Sebastien dropped the mirror spell before Damien could capture anything.

Everyone turned to Sebastien with varying expressions of surprise and irritation. She held up a hand to forestall their arguments. "It will be better to take a photo of a direct illusion, rather than a reflection. It would be rather gauche, to have the artifact and Damien both in the photograph as well, would it not?"

This was a mistake, as Sebastien quickly learned. It seemed fine, at first, as Nat posed artistically, seated on a cushion in the middle of the floor with bright wings stretching out to either side. Sebastien made them as realistic as possible with the full force of her concentration and a white feather added as a spell component to copy details from. It was good practice, and everyone seemed to enjoy it.

But then Damien insisted that Sebastien create varying illusions for him and Nat to pose with, nitpicking every detail while Ana adjusted the artifact's location to get the perfect angle. He grew more demanding with each successful idea, even going so far as to force Sebastien to add false backgrounds.

First, he wanted a tiny dragon perched on his shoulder breathing fire. Then, Nat riding a unicorn, in a meadow. Then himself standing dramatically on the top edge of a volcano, with Nat as his small, half-bear companion, complete with round ears, fangs, and paw pads.

Sebastien pushed through the best she could, though with more things to focus on, the details began to suffer. The whole thing was only tenable because the camera would blur out some of the details that weren't precisely in focus. She could never have done it with a three-dimensional or moving illusion.

Unlike Sebastien's practice in class, these illusions did not suffer from seeming thin and ephemeral. Instead, they were solid, but let off a tell-tale glow that gave away their deceit. She deduced that it had something to do with using a beast core as a power source, thus having more power at her disposal. It was surprisingly hard to tamp down on the excess glow without making the illusion transparent.

When Damien dictated an elaborate crime scene, complete with a fake corpse and Aberford Thorndyke standing beside Damien as they both contemplated the mysterious murder, Sebastien reached the end of her patience, a headache beginning to pound in her right temple. "I am not adjusting Aberford Thorndyke's cheekbones or nose any more, Damien. He is a fictional character and he looks fine. Capture the image or walk away."

Damien then requested a shot of himself riding a sky kraken into battle, which Sebastien flat-out denied. There wasn't even enough space in the room for such a thing.

They had run out of empty storage cartridges at that point, anyway. Damien stored these new cartridges separately from the others, with Sebastien's warning that he would need to use two different photograph development shops as a precaution.

Ana clapped her hands to put an end to the play and ordered up food to the room, since they had missed dinner due to the whole fracas. The four of them ate while sitting on one of the beds, eschewing good manners for comfort and camaraderie. Nat had entirely forgotten her earlier tears and began to nod off halfway through her meal.

Ana tucked her into one of the beds in the adjacent room, and then told them what had happened that night in more detail, speaking in a low voice. By the time they all went to sleep, the signs that Malcolm Gervin's violence had left on Ana's face had faded but not disappeared.

In the morning, the swelling was gone, but some green and yellow bruising remained around her eye, a little too prominent to cover up completely with makeup.

"I want to take Ana to a healer," Damien said. "You can watch over Nat while we're gone, right, Sebastien?"

Sebastien looked at the small girl. "Are you okay with that?"

Nat's face had gone bright pink to match her dress, but she nodded emphatically.

And so, Nat and Sebastien ate breakfast down in the inn's common room below, where Nat showed off impeccable table manners and had several people cooing over the "brother and sister" pair, though Nat muttered under her breath, "He's not my brother. We're friends," the third time this happened.

After that, somewhat at a loss of what to do to keep a young girl entertained, and hoping not to get pulled back into creating illusions, Sebastien suggested they take a walk to Waterside Market, where there were usually some street shows on the weekend.

Nat slipped her hand into Sebastien's as they walked, looking away shyly.

Waterside Market was quite busy, but they easily found the street shows, with scores of people crowded around the most interesting. As they tried to get close enough to actually see one of the street performers, Nat huddled closer to Sebastien, probably unused to mingling with the crowd like this.

Just as Sebastien was about to suggest they try somewhere else, an oblivious man knocked into Natalia and pushed her down.

Sebastien shoved her shoulder into the man, pushing him back to create space for the small girl to rise to her feet. She ignored the man's curses as she pulled Nat back out of the crowd, where she kneeled down to examine the young girl's knee on the side of the road. When Nat fell, she had landed on a raised cobblestone, ripping a small hole in her dress and scraping the skin raw. "Good thing I keep healing supplies on hand, huh?" Sebastien asked, smiling at Nat, who was doing her best to hold back tears. "This is going to burn a little. Take a deep breath, and then make a hissing sound when the pain hits."

Nat hissed loudly as Sebastien rubbed a drop of wound cleanser over her bloodied knee, continuing until she ran out of air.

Sebastien followed that up with a smear of skin-knitting salve, which began to work right away. "Pain, pain, go away," she said, blowing gently on the girl's knee, something she vaguely remembered her own mother doing for her. "Good job. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Nat didn't reply aloud, and when Sebastien looked up to check that she wasn't crying, she saw that the girl's face was as red as a cherry tomato. Nat quickly lowered the fabric of her dress back over her knees, clearing her throat. "It was bearable, I suppose."

"Do you want me to carry you on my shoulders? You'll be able to see over the crowd and won't have to worry about anyone knocking you over."

"On your shoulders?" Nat asked, eyeing them dubiously.

"I won't drop you, I promise."

Nat acquiesced, so Sebastien knelt by the sidewalk and allowed the smaller girl to climb aboard. She straightened slowly, keeping a firm grip on Nat's calves.

Nat let out a squeal. "Oh, I'm so high up! This is wonderful. Get closer, Sebastien."

They watched the show and then wandered around the market for a while longer like that, until Sebastien's back grew tired and they returned to the inn.

Ana and Damien were already there waiting for them. Ana's face was back to normal, with only an almost-invisible scar where her eyelid had split to prove what had happened. "How was your outing with Sebastien, Nat?" Ana asked.

"Oh, it was wonderful! We had breakfast together in the common room, and everyone kept commenting on how fine we looked together. And then we went to Waterside Market, where there are sooo many people just milling about, so close they actually touch each other when they all squeeze in together, and some commoner accosted me! But Sebastien defended me, and used some of his amazing alchemical concoctions to heal me right up." She lifted her dress delicately to show Ana her knee as proof, not pausing the tumbling stream of words. "And then I actually rode upon Sebastien's shoulders, but I wasn't embarrassed at all, it was actually wonderful. I could see everything, as tall as a giant, and I was totally safe." She patted Ana's hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, my reputation wasn't tarnished. It was only commoners around to see me, anyway. And I saw a street performer…"

Sebastien tuned the girl out as her rambling continued, musing that, while Nat was much shyer than Theo to start out, her excited dramatics once she felt comfortable were much the same.

Damien sidled over to Sebastien and murmured, "I think you have an admirer."

"I'm not the best role model for a child, so I hope she doesn't pick up my bad decision-making. But maybe it's already too late? We've already drawn her into a coup at the age of eleven."

"That's not the kind of admirer I—" Damien cut off with a sigh. "Never mind."

Chapter 118 - Wave-Particle Duality

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 21, Sunday 5:00 p.m.

It took some time for the trio to return to the University, as Nat had been afraid to return home, and Ana took some time getting her settled.

To Sebastien's surprise, they found Alec sitting on a bench not far from the transport tubes, his head hanging while one knee bounced rapidly. As they drew close, he looked up, his face slackening with relief. He hopped up and hurried over, his eyes searching Ana's face as he fumbled in his school satchel. He paused in front of them, only then seeming to realize Ana was not alone. "They know?" he asked.

She nodded silently.

He pulled out an awkward handful of small, half-full jars. "I was worried about you. I can't tell if you've already seen a healer or if that's just a really good glamour, but I wanted to give you some of the stuff I keep on hand." He thrust the jars at her, which she had to cradle awkwardly in her arms when they were too much to hold in her smaller hands. "I took off the labels, sorry about that. This one helps a lot with bone fractures, but you'll want to use it first because it irritates the skin and it'll show if you use it last. This one is good for healing cuts without leaving any scars. Just leave it on until there's no trace. This one is good for the really deep bruises, and this one for the surface level bruises, to remove the traces of blood from underneath the skin and heal up your burst capillaries. Oh, and this one is a burn salve. I don't think you need that one so I'll just take it back."

'He's used those himself. Often.' The words resounded hollowly in Sebastien's head.

Ana remained silent for a few moments, staring down at the jars. "Thank you. I did already get healed, but I appreciate it." She put them in her own bag as Alec shuffled awkwardly.

"How bad was it? I can't believe you finally snapped. I almost had a heart attack when you insulted Father and threw cranberry sauce on him, Ana. You're so slender and—I mean—your bones must be delicate. I had this horrible thought that your eye socket would shatter and your eyeball would fall out, just hanging by a string. I saw that once, on one of Father's hunting dogs. He had to put it down."

Ana reached out and grabbed Alec's hand where it had been fiddling with the strap of his satchel. She held it between both of her own. "Thank you."

Alec settled, closing his eyes as he took a single deep breath. "It's best not to provoke him, Ana."

"It's too late to stop now," she murmured. "Someone needs to stand up to him for once."

Damien moved forward, clapping a hand on Alec's shoulder. "You should stop visiting home for the next little while, Alec. He's probably going to get worse."

Alec's shoulders started to hunch for just a moment before he straightened them again. "He wouldn't like that. He likes me to make a report every other weekend, at the very least. Like I said, it's best not to provoke him. He can hold a grudge."

"So cut ties entirely," Sebastien said, the words spilling out without her conscious control.

Alec's caterpillar eyebrows drew together. "But that's impossible. He's my father."

"That means nothing." She swallowed hard. "You have options. Listen to me. You don't have to go see him. You don't have to follow his orders. If he comes after you, you have friends. You never have to be alone with him again. If you're willing to go scorched-earth, threaten to give an expose on his treatment to one of the local newspapers. Or one of his rivals. Not a bluff. A threat."

"But…" Alec shook his head.

"What do you really have to lose? Does he provide any benefits that you can't afford to be without or find elsewhere? You are not obligated to obey him or to love—"

Sebastien cut herself off, looking away as she cleared the lump in her throat. She had kept going back to Ennis. She'd felt like she should, or that she had to, but why?

Damien was nodding along. "Sebastien's right. You're his only legitimate child. For various reasons, he's unlikely to disinherit you."

Alec pulled his hand back from Ana's. "He might. Just to spite me. If he withdrew his donations, I could lose my place at the University," he admitted, looking at the ground.

Sebastien shrugged. "Even if he did, as long as you place high enough by the end of term, you won't be expelled. And after that, you don't need him to pay your way. There are other options."

He scowled at her. "I'm not interested in leeching off my friends. I don't need charity."

"You wouldn't need to. You can get legitimate loans from quite a few different places and pay your own way."

"And then what? Get a job working for one of the other Crown Families?" he scoffed. "Try and run a shop or something?"

"Perhaps. You have time. There is no reason you have to remain incompetent."

Alec opened his mouth as if to retort angrily, but then slowly closed it again. "Is that what you did? Cut ties with your family?"

Sebastien's lips tightened. "Does it matter?"

"It matters if you're giving me advice you have no idea about."

"I have no more family," she said, not exactly answering the question. "And no need of them. You don't, either."

Damien stepped forward, pulling on Alec's shoulder to turn him around and walk onwards. "All of us can relate, I think."

Ana reached out to give Sebastien's hand a squeeze, and she looked over at the young woman in surprise.

Ana smiled softly, crookedly. "That was nice of you," she murmured as the other two walked ahead.

"I literally did almost nothing, except insult him."

"I think he needed that. I wasn't being harsh enough. He doesn't like to feel weak. Coming from you, it seemed more legitimate. A challenge rather than a defeat."

Sebastien raised one dubious eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Ana shrugged, smiling mysteriously. "We'll see." She wrapped her arm through Sebastien's and they followed Damien and Alec.

After a lingering silence, Alec said, "I could join the army, maybe. They don't require you to be a really great thaumaturge, as long as you're competent. I'm not good enough for them to sponsor me, but they would probably pay enough to get by once I got my certification. And it's respectable enough, serving the country." He sounded doubtful, but his posture straightened.

The next few days passed uneventfully, and by Wednesday, Sebastien felt she was really beginning to get a grasp on working with light. She had been practicing with Professor Lacer's exercises, both creating illusions as well as the auxiliary exercise that required her to change the color, brightness, and shape of a candle flame. She had even been playing with a lens-based fire starter and a couple of spells she had learned as a child, such as the glow and light-show spells.

She'd also been secretly practicing with her shadow-familiar, repeated castings easing the lingering trauma and trepidation she had felt toward it since the incident with Newton. She played around with shadow-puppet shows and made random objects sparkle with an intensity that she hadn't shown since she was a child with the untiring obsession of learning a new trick.

Some of Sebastien's deeply depleted well of internal energy was returning, though she had good days and bad days, and had already consumed half of the little vial of beamshell tincture. Soon, she hoped, she wouldn't need it any longer.

As Ana and Damien joined her outside the Natural Science classroom, Sebastien lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

Ana looked around the mostly empty hallway, then murmured, "Nat wrote that everything is fine. Father has been grumpy, but mostly everyone is just leaving her alone. Uncle Malcolm visited him this morning and they seem to have gotten over their anger at each other. If Malcolm suspects anything, he's not making it obvious."

Ana had been called home to the Gervin manor for a visit on Monday evening, reamed out by her father, and stripped of her allowance and further visitation rights with her little sister for the remainder of the semester. Luckily, Lord Gervin didn't know about the sympathetically connected journals the two girls shared, and he didn't respect Ana enough to be truly wary of her.

"When can we move forward with the second phase of the plan?" Damien asked.

"I'm still compiling the blackmail note. Are you finished with the sketch of the ring, Sebastien?"

"I am, but I think we should give it some time before contacting Malcolm. Better to let the incident on Saturday evening fade from his memory a little. It will make him less likely to draw connections. Perhaps you can send the first contact next week. That would also give you a chance to find some corroborating evidence for the other crimes, like embezzlement, before he's wary enough to try and clean up any crumbs that might still be lying around." What Sebastien didn't say was that she wanted to postpone the next phase of Operation Defenestration because Oliver had set up a meeting of sorts between the Raven Queen and the University that Friday, and she didn't want to try and split her attention between the two high-stress undertakings.

She was trying not to be too hopeful about the outcome of their meeting, but she couldn't help the anticipation building in her gut. She didn't know what they might be able to offer her, but they were powerful and had political influence. And if they could be reasoned with, perhaps the coppers could be reasoned with, too. 'Would the High Crown be willing to meet with the Raven Queen? He has the power to give me a blanket pardon. Working with the coppers might anger the University, since they want the book, but it could be more beneficial for me.' She resolved to keep her eyes and her mind open. Perhaps they could even work out some kind of deal like she had with Ana, where Sebastien got what she needed not directly through the University, but tangentially, cooperation with them giving her another bargaining piece.

The bell to mark the start of class interrupted Sebastien's thoughts, and the trio hurried in to take a seat.

Professor Gnorrish's assistant was handing out components to every desk, mainly consisting of a ring on a stand, a few petri dishes, and a small, clear glass bead. "Today marks the end of our study of light," Gnorrish announced. "You will be using what you have grasped to create your own lens spell, which you will use to observe and sketch a likeness of some cells and microorganisms. I have provided various slides of plant and animal cells, as well as some relatively harmless bacteria. To pass this segment, you must be able to refract light well enough to observe the animal cells, but I have contribution points for anyone who is also able to clearly observe the bacteria, which will require much finer control. I expect developing and refining this spell will take many of you some time, so you had best get started. Also, as a reminder, spells to view microscopic organisms are not new magic, but if any of you develop something particularly innovative and feel that the magic is struggling against you, please err on the side of caution and call me over to review your attempt rather than risking your safety."

The students immediately got to work, drawing out their spell arrays on their desks, which had a perfect Circle already carved into the surfaces.

Sebastien chose the triangle as her base symbol, because light was a form of energy without mass, and she would be using only transmutation to achieve the effect. She brought her Will to bear, lightly and idly pressing it into the chalk lines as she mused over the best way to get the desired results.

She took longer than many of the other students to complete the spell array, pausing to stare at it silently multiple times as she considered the best placement for glyphs and the best way to clearly explain what she wanted to happen. When it was complete, she moved one of the bacteria petri dishes to the center, below the metal ring she would be using as a viewing range, but she still didn't start casting.

Instead, she mentally reviewed everything she knew about light that could be useful for this particular application, trying to grasp it all at once like her mind was a fist stuffed full of wriggling worms. A wave of dizziness overtook her, sending her swaying in her seat. Concentration broken, she shook her head and took a few deep breaths, squinting against her sudden headache. It was as if the weight of the knowledge had knocked her off balance. Perhaps she was just hungry. She'd had little appetite, and might not have eaten enough at breakfast. She rubbed on some minty headache-relieving salve and tried again. She remembered how they had played with light in the crystal tunnel illusion chamber, how it had reacted to their meddling. She imagined her eye and mentally tracked the path of how the human body processed visual input. When she felt that she had meticulously examined all of her relevant knowledge, she finally began to cast.

Her spell created an additional light source beneath the petri dish and used multiple concurrent lenses. The one nearest her, hanging within the metal ring, magnified things a little, perhaps thirty times. But below that she had a second lens effect that was smaller and stronger, and below that, another that hung just above the petri dish, even stronger.

It was a strain to hold all three lenses at once as part of a single spell, but not beyond her capabilities.

At first, the spell showed her only a vague blur when she looked into the ocular lens, but she was able to calibrate the output with a few adjustments of her Will. Soon enough, she was able to focus on the strange little organisms that she had seen before only in drawings. Even her best efforts left things a little blurry and hazy, as it seemed like the light was shining right through the bacteria, their edges and details undefined. Even the slightest jostle of the table or the petri dish sent the field of view wildly off course, and holding the spell was quickly worsening her headache. She had been feeling a little off-kilter lately. 'Has something changed? I'm tired, but I'm always tired.'

She could spare little attention from the casting, though, and set her thoughts aside to sketch out what she saw as quickly as possible, trying to get through the most difficult part of the assignment before moving on to the cell slides, but before she could do so, a looming presence beside her table, wafting off heat, made her look up from the spell.

"May I?" Professor Gnorrish asked, gesturing to the ocular lens.

Holding the magic in a vice grip, Sebastien nodded, stepping back.

Gnorrish made some interested, excited humming noises as he looked through the lens, then to the sketches she had made, and finally examined her spell array in greater detail. Finally, he straightened, and Sebastien released the magic with a small wince of mental fatigue.

"Fantastic!" he said, his voice less booming than normal in consideration of the other students who were busy casting and who might make a mistake if they were suddenly startled. "You have a strong understanding, which has led to strong spellcasting, and Will that shows both force, stability, and clarity. This is one of the best attempts of this exercise by a first term student that I have seen in the last ten years. Come by my desk at the end of class to pick up your contribution points." Gnorrish spun around and lumbered off on a slow round through the classroom, occasionally stopping to give praise or helpful tips to other students.

By the time Gnorrish called a halt to the exercise, less than fifteen minutes remained to the class period, but he seemed more enthusiastic than ever. "While this has been a quick review of the topic, we've barely scratched the surface of understanding what light is, how it affects the world around us, and what we can learn from it. With light, as in all aspects of natural science, everything goes deeper. I don't fully understand light, and I suspect even the researchers focused on the study of electromagnetic radiation don't, either. Let's take these last few minutes of class to discuss some topics on the cutting edge of natural science, currently being unraveled by the best and brightest of us. A group of my former students have recently submitted the results of their experiments for peer review. It seems they have disproved our current model of the atom, and they have reason to believe that the negatively charged electrons orbit a positively charged, much larger nucleus. Like moons orbiting a planet, rather than floating through a 'soup.' The new model shows an 'electron cloud' with specific orbit rings at different distances, upon which the electrons can step up or down as they gain or lose extremely specific amounts of energy."

He lowered his head and took a deep breath. "I have reviewed their findings myself, and I believe them to be valid. Some may argue that because we have been wrong in the past, and have accordingly updated our models—or 'changed our minds'—that our theories cannot be trusted. But I say, that is the point of our endeavor! Because we actively work to disprove our theories rather than defend them, our knowledge changes, always moving closer to the truth. We are not dogmatic. Our god is not being right. It is acknowledging how little we know, and freely admitting that there are a thousand—a million—more steps upon the path. We have lost nothing to acknowledge we were wrong about how atoms were built. We succeed every time we update our beliefs. That is why natural science is so special, and why it will eventually take us beyond even the farthest horizon we can now imagine."

Sebastien hurriedly took out her new binder of notes and a fountain pen. More difficult topics that showed deeper understanding were the things Gnorrish loved to use for extra credit questions on his weekly tests.

"Let us combine this with another recent discovery. A 'quantum' is the term coined for the smallest measurement of energy. An indivisible, single tiny packet.'

Sebastien frowned, scribbling quickly to try and get the new definitions down.

"This is important because, by understanding that energy can only be absorbed or released in these tiny, differential, discrete packets, we can account for certain objects changing color when heated, as the electrons within their atoms gain or lose discrete amounts of energy in the form of light. Just as a blacksmith can judge the temperature of metal by the color of its glow, so can we judge the heat of a star."

Sebastien knew what electrons were. Their existence had been confirmed and defined by one of Gnorrish's contemporaries only a few years ago. But she didn't know anything about electrons' ability to absorb or lose energy within that structure.

For once, Gnorrish wasn't waving his hands around or pacing, his voice loud but measured as he spoke from the front of the classroom. "All matter can absorb electromagnetic radiation, and all matter at a temperature above absolute zero will emit electromagnetic radiation, even if it's too little for your eyes to pick up. With a light-sensing artifact thousands of times more sensitive than the human eye, we would be able to distinguish not only temperature, but the exact makeup of other celestial objects. The amount of energy given off by a hydrogen atom, when its electrons lose a very specific amount of discrete energy packets, is different than the amount of energy given off by a helium or calcium atom. These differences in energy correspond to minute differences in the color of light that escapes as they lose energy. We will soon be able to look at Ares, Nibiru, passing asteroids, and even planets from the next solar system, thousands of light-years away, and calculate what they are made of."

Sebastien's hand began to cramp as she wrote even faster. Gnorrish was blowing past words and ideas that she'd never encountered before. 'What is this about electrons emitting light?' She needed to stop and think about it to let her mind wrap around the ideas, but Gnorrish wasn't pausing.

He turned back to the blackboard, where he used a quick spell array to create an illusion of a small sphere of white light floating within darkness. "I believe light can tell us more about the universe we live in than even that."

When he launched into an explanation of how light sometimes acted as a wave, and sometimes like a particle, and the different experiments that gave confusing results, Sebastien gave up taking notes, staring at Professor Gnorrish with dismay as she flexed her aching fingers.

His eyes roved over the students slowly. "As one researcher said, 'It seems as though we must use sometimes the one theory and sometimes the other, while at times we may use either. We are faced with a new kind of difficulty. We have two contradictory pictures of reality; separately neither of them fully explains the phenomena of light, but together they do.'" He paused dramatically. "Light is like nothing else that we are accustomed to dealing with. If we could understand this seeming duality, it might be the key to unraveling more of the inner workings of the universe."

He pointed to the illusion of a sphere of light floating in darkness. "Perhaps, one or more layers of understanding deeper, we could begin to understand the fundamental principles of existence, and even how magic itself works."

Sebastien's eyes widened. 'Is it really that significant?'

Professor Gnorrish continued trying to explain "wave-particle duality," "quantums," and how it all interacted with electrons and stuff, but Sebastien was rather…lost.

She looked around. Some of the other students were also showing expressions of confusion, a few were staring blankly, having obviously given up, but some were diligently taking notes without concern. 'I'm lacking some sort of fundamental understanding. I'm not grasping these definitions, the underlying mechanics and properties of discrete quanta, or what electrons really are, or maybe even what radiation really is. Without that, I certainly can't understand how these things fit together into a greater explanation of the mechanics of the universe. I know keywords and I've memorized where to insert those keywords into patterns and sentences, like "light is neither a particle nor a wave, but some combination of both," but I actually don't understand what that means.'

She was surprised by the sudden surge of keening distress that rose up in her chest like sour wine, and she tried to tamp it down. 'I don't understand,' she admitted to herself. She was normally quite confident in her own intelligence, but she felt so out of her depth she might as well have been a floundering child who had never before even seen the ocean.

'Are some of my classmates actually understanding this? Perhaps they have a much better educational background than me.'

At the desk to her right, Damien was frowning, and a quick peek at his notes showed that he'd written several question marks in the margins. Surely, Damien Westbay, second in line to become the Family head, would have had the best possible education.

'Or perhaps those who seem unconcerned have fallen into the trap of memorizing keywords and answer-patterns, and don't realize that they, too, don't understand.'

But Ana was one of those taking nonchalant notes, her chin resting on her hand and her elbow on her desk as she listened to Gnorrish.

When the bell clanged to signify the end of class, Sebastien packed her things in a daze. "Did you understand what Professor Gnorrish was talking about, at the end? About the waves and particles and quantum?"

Ana shrugged. "I understood well enough."

Damien and Sebastien shared a look of dismay.

"Not in the way that Gnorrish talks about understanding!" Ana added quickly. "I don't grasp it so completely I could recreate it from nothing, but is that really necessary? He said it was on the cutting edge of natural science, and, what, a primordial particle?"

"Elementary particle," Sebastien corrected automatically.

Ana rolled her eyes, ignoring Sebastien's interjection. "If I actually understood that, I'd be an Archmage already. I have no ambition to start casting spells that unravel the universe or whatever. Grasping the general concept is enough for me."

Damien nodded, his shoulders falling. "I suppose we are only first term students."

Sebastien couldn't relate to Ana's sentiment at all. The idea that someone could know something was wrong, deficient, in their understanding, and know that there was a way to at least somewhat fix that deficiency, but deliberately decide not to… It was alien to her. Especially—specifically—when that knowledge would affect her facility with casting an entire branch of spells.

As the other students filtered out, Sebastien stayed behind to pick up her contribution points. Ten of them, which was a rather large amount for someone like Gnorrish, who often gave out fractions of points so as to be able to give them more often. "Thank you. Are there any references that could explain what light is and how it works on a fundamental level more…simply?" she asked. "Maybe with illustrations to help me imagine how it works? I couldn't really grasp much from the last bit of class, and I feel like I'm missing something foundational."

Gnorrish laughed. "I commend your curiosity, Mr. Siverling. The true secrets of light are a bit beyond the purview of this class. If you wish deeper understanding, self-study is indeed your best option." He gave her a small list of books, as well as a larger list of specific research articles that would help with the more recent theoretical advancements. "The articles can be quite dry and…impenetrable. And generally, there are no illustrations, except for a few graphs and tables, perhaps. I hope you don't get too discouraged, nevertheless. Even I wouldn't confidently state that I fully understand how light works, and I've been at this for far longer than you. Light is only energy, after all, and energy is one of, if not the elementary building block of the universe."

Thanking him again, Sebastien took Professor Gnorrish's list to the library. The articles were indeed "impenetrable," written using long, convoluted sentences filled with jargon. She couldn't even check them out because many did not have duplicate copies yet, and thus the research and knowledge contained in them was rather valuable.

'Perhaps I won't come to understand the mechanics underpinning the universe, but this should at least help me make my end of term exhibition more likely to impress…and maybe give me the edge I need to beat Nunchkin in Practical Casting.'

Chapter 119 - A Gilded Cage

Siobhan

Month 2, Day 26, Friday 9:00 p.m.

Wearing all the accoutrements and the blue-black iridescent hair of the Raven Queen, Siobhan rode in a nondescript carriage through the night streets of Gilbratha, accompanied by Oliver and a couple of the Verdant Stag's most trusted enforcers. They were on their way to a meeting with a handful of University representatives.

"We gave them the location at the last minute," Oliver assured her, perhaps picking up on the anxiety that she had tried to keep hidden. Or perhaps he just knew her well enough by now to guess at it. "So they won't have had a chance to lay any traps, and we already know they won't be calling in the coppers. With the additional layer of distance that Liza agreed to help with, you'll be even more secure. We've scouted out both locations ahead of time, and you have three different escape routes and plenty of backup if necessary."

"I know," she assured him. She wouldn't even be in the same room, or the same city block, as the University representatives. She was more anxious about the possibility that, just maybe, this meeting could lead to a solution to her status as a wanted criminal, and not just be a way for her to scam something valuable out of Munchworth's faction.

The carriage, which had taken a circuitous route to avoid any tails, soon stopped in front of a high-class restaurant with no direct connection to the Verdant Stag, which sported an open floor plan and stairs on either side that led up to a loft area.

Liza was waiting on the ground floor. She had already cleared an area of tables and set up the Lino-Wharton messenger spell array on the floor. She was halfway through casting already, and waved Siobhan forward to complete the latter half of the binding.

She handed Siobhan a pouch of dead bird pieces, which Siobhan hung around her neck, then attached a string around Siobhan's arm. She noted that it was much longer than the ones Liza had used when Siobhan was paying her, which meant she would have control of the raven over a greater distance. This was all on Oliver's bill and would be taken out of his cut of whatever tribute the University representatives brought, so she didn't care that it must have cost extra.

"Due to all of your shenanigans, I've had to order a whole new batch of raven chicks. I can't keep up with the demand, and even if buying random ones from live component shops can make up the numbers, it's best if they're from the same brood for this kind of thing. Do you know how much hassle it is to raise a batch of raven chicks?" Liza grumbled. "I need an assistant, but of course it's impossible to find someone who is competent, trustworthy enough to allow into my home, and also palatable enough to spend time with. Plus, they should be attractive. A nice, muscular man with good teeth to do my bidding around the house, that's what I need…"

Siobhan had been sympathetic at first, but as Liza's muttering went on, she let out a snort.

The woman's glare snapped over to Siobhan. "You think I'm joking? You try running a black-market business for damn fool clients, all by yourself, and see if you don't long for a competent helper."

"But does he need to be an attractive, muscular man with good teeth?"

"As a grown woman, having visually pleasant surroundings is an important factor in improving my workplace environment, and accordingly, improving my mood." Liza cast the last step of the spell, and as the string burned up, fast enough to singe but not injure her, the connection was formed. Liza handed Siobhan the raven and shooed her away.

Siobhan realized that their little conversation had significantly calmed her anxiety and wondered if, perhaps, Liza had done it on purpose. She carried the raven up to the loft, where an open window was waiting for her. Taking a moment to review the directions from this building to the meeting point, she tossed the raven out of the window, letting its flight instincts take over as she guided it using the mental tether between them.

The raven arrived in only a few minutes, flying into a warehouse, that was in no way associated with the Verdant Stag, through an open window. How convenient it was to have wings.

The building was lit with a few lanterns set about. In the middle of the room, placed upon a crate for height, rested a large bird cage decorated with metal filigree. With her human eyes Siobhan guided the raven down to it, pulling the door closed with the raven's beak. The lock latched automatically and she swore the raven could feel the magic wash over its feathers in an uncomfortable prickle.

The room's single occupant, a Verdant Stag enforcer, nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise, staring wide-eyed and breathless for several long seconds before bowing deeply.

She had the raven bow to him in return, then asked, "Are they on their way?" with the squawky bird's voice.

The enforcer gulped, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else. "Yes, my lady. They should arrive in a few minutes at most. Can I… Do you need anything in the meantime?"

She squawked out a laugh. "Are you offering me refreshments?"

"Umm…"

She felt a little bad about the way his wide eyes darted about frantically. "Do not worry, I was only humoring myself. I need nothing."

It didn't take long for the University cohort to arrive, three men and two women led by yet another Verdant Stag enforcer.

Siobhan recognized Grandmaster Kiernan immediately. Somehow, she wasn't surprised by his involvement. There were a couple other professors she recognized as well, also from the History department. Munchworth wasn't there. 'Perhaps they are displeased with his performance, or maybe he just doesn't rank high enough to be involved in a meeting like this.' She did her best to memorize the remaining faces.

Kiernan looked around the warehouse, then narrowed in on the raven with a piercing stare. "Where is she?" he asked, eyeing the raven with some suspicion.

"I am here," she said through the bird. In her real body, she opened her eyes and looked around with paranoia, despite knowing how unlikely it was that she could be discovered there.

"We were under the impression that you would meet with us in person," Kiernan snapped. "I like to look my conversation partner in the eye."

"And I like to maintain a healthy distance from people who wish me ill," she replied, letting the raven nonchalantly groom a couple of feathers on its shoulder with its beak. "I agreed to this meeting when your request was most humbly brought to me by Lord Stag, but even he cannot convince me to do anything I do not wish to." At Oliver's request, Siobhan was trying to reinforce their idea that she and the Verdant Stag were separate, and that no amount of pressure on them would equate to pressure on her.

After a long moment, during which she was pretty sure she heard him grinding his teeth, he said, "I am Grandmaster Kiernan."

"I believe there is no need to introduce myself in return. What tribute have you brought me?" If it was something worthless, she might just fly away and make them try again with something better. She couldn't let them think that she could be bullied or pushed around.

Kiernan stepped aside, and the woman behind him brought forward the wooden box she was carrying. The woman knelt, then pulled a somewhat smaller case out of the box, which she opened to reveal a bejeweled gold bowl engraved with intricate designs, and a lid covered in holes. "This censer was used by shaman-king Deon, who ruled in Qusnia, which is a country to the southeast that has long been lost to the sands of time. It was gifted to him by his wife upon their first meeting, and is valued at one thousand to fifteen hundred gold. All authentication documents are included."

That was much more expensive than Siobhan had expected, and it made the danger of this meeting worth it for the tribute alone. But it was also quite inconvenient, since it wasn't the kind of thing one could sell easily on the open market. They would have to find a wealthy collector, or perhaps give it to an auction house on consignment. 'I'm sure they did that on purpose, just to be a nuisance.'

"It is acceptable," she said after a long moment of consideration. She turned to the enforcer beside her, giving him a nod.

The man picked up the case, put it back in the box, and then took it to the front door of the warehouse, where a delivery runner was just arriving. The runner didn't work for the Verdant Stag and had no idea what was going on, other than the need for a standard vow of discretion. He took the box, bowed quickly to the enforcer, and ran away with it. He would take it to another secure location, where Oliver's people would examine the tribute for tricks, repackage it to avoid any sabotage or tracking spells, and from there store it somewhere safe.

The University cohort watched the runner disappear with consternation. There were a few long moments of awkward silence as no one spoke. A couple of Kiernan's companions shuffled uneasily, looking between her and the shadows at the edges of the warehouse.

When the silence continued past the point of awkwardness, Siobhan wondered. 'Is this a negotiation tactic? Is Kiernan trying to make me uneasy and force me to speak first?' If so, she was displeased to admit that it was working. The Lino-Wharton raven messenger spell would only last so long. If the meeting dragged out too long, the raven might just suddenly die in the middle of their conversation, and that wasn't the message of confidence and authority she wanted to portray at all. So she guided the raven to speak. "Do not waste my time. You have come to ask a boon of me, so do so."

Kiernan cleared his throat. "The book. Do you still have it?"

Siobhan paused, then asked carefully, "Myrddin's book?"

Kiernan nodded, confirming her suspicions. In her real body, Siobhan turned from the window, pacing back and forth for a few steps as the reality of her situation settled in her mind. She turned her attention back to the ephemeral tether controlling the raven. A little too much time had passed, and everyone was staring at the creature with expressions that ranged from fear to suspicion.

"I do have it."

Almost as one, the entire University group relaxed, failing to suppress gusting sighs and letting their relief show plain on their faces. Kiernan smiled, but his expression quickly grew cautious again. "Have you decrypted it?"

Siobhan considered lying, but that was too dangerous. After all, the University had everything else from Myrddin's hermitage—enough to recognize if she had no idea what she was talking about. "I have not." She hesitated, but added, "My purpose for it was different. While I am sure whatever lies within is fascinating and of great historical significance, I have no immediate need for it."

"Then why did you steal it in the first place?" one of Kiernan's companions demanded.

Kiernan shot the man a glare, but still turned back to the raven in expectation of an answer.

"The theft was…incidental. It was never my goal, in truth. You could consider it a coincidence." She doubted even a skilled diviner would be able to discern whether a raven was lying without actively casting a divination spell on it, but she was trying to show sincerity. Lying about this would just make everything more complicated.

The man who had interrupted previously gave an angry huff. "You don't expect us to actually believe that?"

Siobhan wished the raven had eyebrows that she could raise individually. "I find it amusing that you believe your security so unbreakable, so competent, that there must be some grand conspiracy behind my acquisition of the book. I assure you, that is not the case. This line of conversation is becoming tedious. Let us get to the point. You would like the book returned."

"Yes," Kiernan said.

"I am amenable to that, but I will require something in exchange. Something that cannot so easily be bought with coin."

Kiernan frowned, tilting his head to the side. "The censer…was it not sufficient?"

The raven let out a sharp, squawking laugh that made the enforcer standing next to it jump. "That was a tribute, given for the honor of my presence alone. It was not payment."

Kiernan scowled, but said, "Fine. What is it that you wish?"

"I wish to stop being hunted for the theft. And for any other crimes I may or may not have committed in the meantime," she said simply. "I would like a legal pardon."

Everyone in the room stared at her as if she had just grown a second head, or as if she had suggested that she and Kiernan go into a back room and do something lewd. "A legal pardon," Kiernan repeated.

"I find it tedious to be so harassed. Having returned the book, and done no real harm to those who do not deserve it, it seems reasonable that I should be free of reprisal as well, does it not?" She was aware that wasn't really how the law worked at all, but she was also aware that the law was not enforced equally and impartially. "This is what I want. However, I have doubts about whether you can realistically promise me this. Do you have the authority, or the influence, to grant me a pardon? Or perhaps some other way to ensure I can walk the streets in peace? I am open to…creative solutions."

There was a long silence, and she had the raven open its beak again to say, "You are not the only ones who want this book. Perhaps someone else would even count it as a positive that I kept it out of your grip. Someone like the High—"

Siobhan reeled backward, cringing as she tried to protect her head with her arms. She stumbled into the railing at the edge of the loft, and if not for its protection, she might have fallen right off and dashed herself onto the floor below like a too-ripe peach fallen from the tree. She crouched down, and only when she felt large hands on her shoulders, gripping her roughly, did she realize she was keening aloud.

She quieted herself, taking quick, deep breaths, her eyes wide and staring out over her knees.

"What happened? What did they do? Siobhan, talk to me!" Oliver demanded, giving her a little shake as he examined her for damage.

She raised her gaze to his, noting the tight lines of strain around his eyes. "The raven died," she whispered hoarsely. Saying it aloud helped somehow. It was the raven that had died, not Siobhan. "The cage activated and killed the raven with a superheated fireball. Very…" She swallowed. This had been very different from times before, when she ended the spell on purpose. She had been fully immersed in its senses, and some of the raven's own emotions might have rippled back to her through their connection before it was immediately and forcibly severed. "It was very melodramatic." She rolled her shoulders back to release some tension, and straightened her clothes in a way she suddenly realized she'd picked up from Ana.

"They tried to bypass the wards, then?" Oliver asked.

"A free-cast divination spell, I'm guessing. It couldn't have been an artifact unless one slipped past the search. I think I felt my ward start to activate for a moment," she said, rising back to her feet with Oliver's steadying hand on her elbow. "I'm fine," she assured him. "But they were probably trying to find me."

He looked around suspiciously, already moving, his hand on her shoulder as he guided her down the stairs, like he was afraid she would trip and fall. "We're leaving. Mr. Huntley, any signs of hostile activity or observation?"

The enforcer shook his head. "Negative, Lord Stag. We are safe for extraction."

As they rode away in the carriage, on their way to another of Oliver's warehouses where she could change back into Sebastien, Siobhan tried not to let the disappointment settle in her bones. It wasn't so surprising that they would betray her, really. She hadn't been expecting it at that particular moment simply because she hadn't considered that one of them might be a free-caster, allowing them to move against her without any outward sign. She knew free-casters existed, obviously. She was trying to become one, after all. But they were rare. Rare enough that she'd made assumptions, at least subconsciously.

The warded cage had detected that something was trying to access the raven utilizing similar principles to what the blood-print vow used to protect the blood thumbprints. Such wards weren't infallible, but they could detect divination tendrils—or rays, or waves, whatever divination used to gather information—as well as sudden transfers of various types of energy. False positives were possible, of course, but Siobhan was certain this hadn't been a false positive. They had been trying to find her. That was why Kiernan was upset that she hadn't met with them in person. "They never planned to negotiate with me in good faith," she said dully.

Oliver grimaced. "Maybe. Or maybe one of them just got a little too bold. In any case, you won't be taking such a risk again." His hand was still on her elbow, and he took his gaze away from the carriage window to look her over again for damage. "I'm sorry. I never should have agreed to set up a meeting with the Raven Queen."

She let out a low sigh. "It's alright. It's not like we're any worse off than we were beforehand. If their words can be believed, we now have a censer worth at least a thousand gold. I…overreacted. To the raven getting disintegrated, I mean. It just took me by surprise."

Oliver was silent for a moment, and then his hand slid down from her elbow, gripping her smaller hand in his and squeezing. "I'm going to have quite a lot to say to them as Lord Stag. If the Raven Queen really was a wild creature of vengeance, that little stunt they pulled could have put me and the whole of the Verdant Stag in danger. The University has a lot of power and resources. I thought it would be truly advantageous if we could be allies."

"To avoid being beset by enemies on all sides," Siobhan deduced. "Since they're already rivals with the Thirteen Crowns."

"Yes. But…tonight has made me warier."

"What are you going to do?"

He turned back to look out the window, and a few seconds passed before he answered. "I don't know. In the short term, at least, I have to bide my time and consolidate the Verdant Stag's power. We're not strong enough to afford direct confrontation."

She let the conversation die, taking some comfort in the anchor of Oliver's hand against hers. When the carriage finally slowed to a stop in front of a small house, she asked, "What do you think happened to the enforcers who were in the warehouse with the raven?"

"I don't know," Oliver said grimly, but it went unspoken between them that there was a good chance fighting had broken out, and against University professors with at least one free-caster, the Verdant Stag enforcers, competent and well-equipped as they were, might not have come out ahead.

Chapter 120 - Carnagore

Sebastien

Month 2, Day 26, Friday 10:00 p.m.

After the disastrous meeting, she changed back into Sebastien's body at the safe house. Oliver insisted on her coming back with him to Dryden Manor, just in case. She doubted there would be any suspicion brought by a student being gone from the dorms on a weekend night.

"Don't worry about doing any more investigating on your own. No following Miss Canelo, or snooping around Grandmaster Kiernan's office," Oliver said, his tone more warning than reassuring. "Sebastien Siverling getting tangled up in some trouble is the last thing we need now."

Sebastien felt vaguely offended. "We have that map-based divination spell that I linked to her boot. I wouldn't need to track her directly."

"That's fine, as long as you don't get caught." Oliver's fingers tapped the edge of the carriage seat for a moment. "Honestly, what we really need isn't someone to spy on her. It's for her to work for us. The target for any espionage should be Kiernan and his more direct lackeys like Munchworth, not a second-tier lackey just running errands."

Sebastien still passed along the names of those she had recognized, adding, "I can find out the names of the others without drawing attention to myself. I'll send you an anonymous, encrypted letter with the details."

Oliver seemed skeptical, but didn't protest.

That night, Sebastien slept uneasily, an anxious sense deep down telling her that she had gone wrong somewhere along the way, maybe some time long ago, like a tree that twisted and grew grotesquely around some restraint it could not overcome.

She woke early on Saturday, took a bit of the remaining beamshell tincture in her morning coffee, and slipped away to the Silk Door. She had more supplies for her emergency stash there, adding some disguise items—hair dye, a weak second-hand pair of glasses that wouldn't affect her vision too much, and a couple of makeup products. She also added a small canteen of water and a sealed pouch full of dried fruit, totally hardened bread rolls, and some dried meats. She had learned a simple dehydration spell and created them herself. Everything except the dried fruit would probably taste quite horrible, but it was cheaper than buying proper rations. 'I suspect this dehydration spell could be turned into a desiccation curse with some minor adjustments,' she mused, sealing up the floor over her emergency stash once more.

Water was more important than food, and the canteen was too small to last even an entire day, but water could be gathered from the air with a relatively simple spell, while it was much harder to access calories on the run.

She had already added the same extra items to her other stash. 'It's a start, but two locations isn't enough.' She put the task from her mind for the moment, reassumed Siobhan's form, and headed off to Liza's, where she helped with a second round of sleep-proxy tests on more mice. The whole bottom level of Liza's apartments was filled with the experiments, the air warm to the point of stifling despite the chill outside.

Before leaving that evening, Siobhan borrowed Liza's diagnostic artifact, hoping it would help her to answer some of her many unanswered questions about Myrddin's transformation amulet. When she got to the Silk Door, Siobhan attempted to use the diagnostic artifact on herself…only for it to slide away against the barrier of her divination-diverting ward. She groaned aloud. "Of course. How else would it work?" There was no way to stop the ward's automatic activation, and the diagnostic artifact wasn't strong enough to overcome even that level of resistance, so it was useless.

She still timed the transformation process, and though she'd been keeping track for a while now, the variation between transformations was tiny, perhaps having more to do with her inability to measure with total exactness at such small intervals than any actual variance in the amulet's speed.

Because she needed to return the diagnostic artifact in the morning, she went back to Dryden Manor instead of returning to the University, having settled in Sebastien's form.

Oliver was either gone or already asleep by the time she arrived, and she shuffled through a dark, silent house to the upstairs bedroom set aside for her. Her sleep was restful, as it could only be with her dreamless sleep spell, but short. She awoke with a start in the wee hours of the morning, well before the sun had even begun to edge in pastel colors toward the eastern horizon.

A restless anxiety was filling her again, and she decided to get up and make herself useful instead of forcing herself back to sleep. She walked in sock-covered feet to Oliver's office. Locking the door behind her, she turned on the light crystals and turned toward the alchemy table, where supplies were waiting for her. She hadn't been brewing as much lately, her weekends taken up by other, more pressing matters, but this was a good opportunity to perform a test while also making some coin and strengthening her magical facility. Plus, she needed another bottle of moonlight sizzle for herself, as her own had spent a lot of time shaking around in her bag and glowing futilely within, and thus was starting to dim prematurely.

Taking extra care to be aware of both her mental state and the effect and qualities of her Will, she brewed a large batch of moonlight sizzle in the huge soup pot that had never made its way back to the kitchen after she originally commandeered it months ago. The pot required her to adjust the direction of her Will a little, since it didn't have the fat, spherical stomach of a standard cauldron, but the potion within would be little affected as long as she stirred it properly.

After her first batch was completed and bottled, she made sure the curtains were drawn over the windows and the door was locked properly, and then switched back into Siobhan's body.

Then, she brewed another batch of moonlight sizzle, again with extra awareness of her mind and her Will.

Halfway through this batch, a knock on the door made her jump, though she was proud of the fact that her grasp on the magic she was imbuing into the concoction didn't slip, despite her surprise. "Who is it?" she called, deepening her voice in the hope of approximating Sebastien's normal tone.

"It is I, the owner of this house, attempting to get into my own study?" Oliver replied through the door, his tone rising at the end in bemusement.

Siobhan hurried to the door, staying out of sight of the hallways as she unlocked and opened it just enough to let him through. She closed it and locked it behind him, then turned to find his eyes trailing slowly over her form. Sebastien's clothes were too tight in some places and too loose in others, and she had rolled up the hems of the pants and sleeves so they didn't drag.

Oliver raised his gaze to meet hers without a hint of apology, giving her a questioning look.

"I'm doing some tests on the transformation," she explained. "I thought I might as well make myself useful while I'm at it."

"You're lucky I didn't immediately assume you were a burglar and kick down the door. If I hadn't smelled your brewing from the hallway, I might have."

She rubbed the back of her head awkwardly, fingers tangling in her long hair and forcing her to tug them free with a wince. "Oops? I hope you don't mind that I spent the night again?"

His expression flickered too fast for her to track, some unknown emotion or automatic response quickly suppressed. He hesitated slightly too long, just staring at her, then said, "Not at all."

She raised one eyebrow.

He gave her a slightly lopsided smile. "You should know you're welcome to spend the night any time you like."

Siobhan blinked once, and then the possible double entendre filled her with horrid, belated embarrassment. She hurried around him and back to the alchemy station to continue her work, thankful that her darker skin would not show a blush like Sebastien's. It took a few moments for her to regain full focus on the magic, but she managed, and the next time she looked away from the soup pot, Oliver was at his desk writing a letter, seeming to have forgotten her presence entirely.

She completed the second batch of moonlight sizzle and used up the remainder of the potion vials she had on hand. She had believed that her magic was the same, her Will just as forceful and clear in either body, but testing it so purposefully had confirmed that, which left her relieved. The downside to this relief was that what tests she could perform left her as clueless as ever about the function of the amulet, and frustrated that she had made no progress decrypting the stolen book. She had some hope for the spells she'd ordered at the last secret meeting, whose instructions she would receive at the next meeting in about a week.

The sun had risen and the streets grown busy by that time, and Oliver spared her yet another trip to the Silk Door and back to Liza's house by hiring a runner to return the diagnostic artifact for her. When she asked about his progress with Kiernan's faction, he said, "I have made more than a few moves in response to what happened, gathering information and preparing for the worst. I am meeting with him later today. I plan to make my stance extremely clear, and we will see how they respond. Their next move will determine everything going forward, but so far, my experience with them has not led me to optimism."

Siobhan let out a small breath.

He twirled the pen in his fingers, which somehow didn't spew ink everywhere. "It's not all bad news. We're going to put the censer in an auction being held in Paneth the end of next month. I had it appraised, and it's genuine. If things go well, you and I will split almost a thousand gold."

She paused for a while to let that sink in. It wasn't so long ago that such a number, when Katerin offered it as a loan, had seemed astronomical. She knew such an amount was pocket change to Oliver, but to her it meant freedom. "If that's accurate, it'll be almost enough to pay off my remaining debt." Then, her earnings from the textile commission would be mostly profit. She would be…rich.

Oliver chuckled at her sparkly-eyed look of anticipation. "I hope you'll still stop by to brew for me every now and again, even if you don't need to?"

She turned back to Sebastien as Oliver watched. "Well, it is good practice, and I'll need to restock and expand my own potion supply anyway."

He smiled ruefully as she left, shaking his head.

She took a carriage back to the University and used one of the lift tubes instead of walking up the steep winding path cut into the white cliffs, looking out over the city as she rose. The sight was invigorating. What waited for her at the University was slightly less so. "Homework."

Sebastien filched some of Damien's coffee to invigorate herself, and was joined in her ink-smeared labor over the next few hours by varying members of the Crown Family group. When her most critical homework was discharged more quickly than she had anticipated, Sebastien considered going to the supervised spellcasting rooms, or even to the abandoned classroom to work on her sympathetic curses, but instead she pulled out the history books Professor Ilma had lent her.

Remembering the various professors who had accompanied Kiernan to the meeting with the Raven Queen, most of whom she believed were directly part of or tangentially related to the History department, Sebastien wondered if Professor Ilma was involved with them at all. It was hard to imagine such a thoughtful woman who valued critical thinking so dearly joining up to the same cause as Munchworth, but either way Sebastien supposed it didn't really matter. The knowledge Ilma offered was still valid and valuable.

Sebastien had been reading Myrddin: An Investigative Chronicle of the Legend in small chunks when she had time, but had only managed to get a few chapters into the book, which all covered Myrddin's earlier deeds, often with handwritten notes pointing to similar myths from the other book. She continued from where she had left off.

Around the time when Myrddin was rising to prominence, he and a few of his contemporaries demonstrated the first known self-charging complex artifacts. Some of these were operated to great effect and some to great disaster when things went wrong. There was contention even at the time about who was the first to achieve such a landmark advancement in the craft of artificery, but the back-and-forth struggle for supremacy certainly sped up growth in the field.

At various times, Myrddin displayed several artifacts believed to be self-charging. Sebastien found one anecdote particularly amusing. During Myrddin's travels through the Tataroc Desert with one of the local clans, he was said to have developed a box-like device that gathered water from the air, using the heat within to both create balls of ice as well as play sensual, soothing music—which of course he composed himself, because Myrddin was the consummate polymath. This ice-making music box, the ultimate desert climate luxury, had a great appeal to the young men and women of the clan, who vied to be the ones to share iced drinks with Myrddin each day.

But Myrddin's most famous self-charging artifact was his horse. Like him, the creature had several names, depending on the region and time period, but the most commonly used was Carnagore, which might have had roots in the words "hooves of dawn," but in the current language sounded rather bloodthirsty.

When Carnagore, a great beast made of white metal, made his first appearances, many had assumed Myrddin was doing fell experiments on a living subject. This wasn't illegal at the time, being well before the atrocities and stigma of the Blood Empire, but even then the idea of turning a horse's skin to malleable metal, replacing its eyeballs with spherical stone artifacts, and replacing its teeth with multiple rows of shark-like fangs was frowned upon for its brutality.

Several journals, letters, and even one autobiography from a contemporary agree that Myrddin eventually made a statement that Carnagore was not a modified creature of flesh, but an artifact that he had created, and which was—most notably—charged by a beast core. His huge mount was said to sprint twice as fast as a normal horse and could gallop tirelessly for a full day and night without breaks, a feat that would have killed a flesh-and-blood animal several times over. It did not spook or shy, could climb mountainsides like a goat, and was a vicious, bright-shining, glowing-eyed beacon of terror in battle.

Over time, Myrddin continued to add to Carnagore's abilities, giving it a range of auxiliary spells that could be activated when necessary. Some speculated that he even managed to give Carnagore some semblance of a sentient mind, either created from whole cloth or taken from a living animal and inserted into the artificial beast. Evidence of this included the times that Myrddin was said to have given his horse instructions and left it to carry them out autonomously, or instances where Carnagore acted to protect Myrddin from threats even the man was not aware of. However, the rumors and hearsay about Carnagore were at times even more outlandish than those about Myrddin himself, so many of the creature's reported abilities could not be corroborated.

This entry in An Investigative Chronicle of the Legend led Sebastien once again to the less academically rigorous book, Enough Yarn to Last the Night.

Myrddin was said to have gone deep into the Forest of Nod, a land untouched by man, and in the very center crawled into a well. He crawled down for three days and three nights, and when he finally reached the dry bottom, he rested. When he awoke, the sun shining down from directly overhead for but a moment as it reached the perfect alignment with this round tunnel into the depths of the earth, Myrddin found that he was not alone, but accompanied by a palm-sized, chimerical beast.

Its features shifted, the head of a lion and the tail of a scorpion at one moment, and then the wings of an eagle and body of a turtle the next. The beast had been sealed for eons and was very weak, and so it entered into a pact with Myrddin. It would serve him, and he would take it out of the well and strengthen it.

It hungered and thirsted greatly, and each time it feasted, it grew stronger. Myrddin rode it into battle against an adze—the insectoid, vampiric source of misfortune, not the woodworking tool—and Myrddin's beast companion drank its blood. They killed a skolex worm, and the beast ate its teeth. They hunted a mammoth, and the chimeric beast ate every inch of its fur and skin, from snout to tail. They hunted a dragon, and Myrddin's beast ate its bones. With each defeat of an enemy, it consumed a piece of them, growing larger and more powerful, taking on their strength and discarding its own weaknesses.

They traveled together for many years, and the creature was loyal, acting as Myrddin's mount, his shield, and his sword as needed, its shape-changing abilities allowing it to be always the perfect companion. Finally, they hunted a human, and the creature ate the brain, and thus grew to understand the loves and hates of man.

It remained loyal, becoming a sworn brother to Myrddin, but its hunger could not be sated. Eventually, no prey in the world could slake its ravenous hunger or increase its strength, and its gluttony turned to Myrddin himself. It longed to kill and devour the man, from the hair on his head to the marrow in his bones. It knew the evil of this deed and wept bitterly, but could not resist its nature. It would kill and consume Myrddin, and then it would devour the world itself.

And so they fought, again for three days and three nights. Myrddin struck it down endlessly, carving off its wings, peeling off its skin, pulling its teeth, and chopping off its limbs. It grew smaller and weaker with each defeat, and when it again fit within the palm of his hand, he returned it to the well in the Forest of Nod, leaving it sealed once more, but not without giving it one last gift.

He dropped seven tears into the well, so that the creature could drink them and know sorrow.

The myth ended there, leaving Sebastien somewhat bemused about the connection between it and Myrddin's creation of Carnagore. Both were mounts with expanding abilities, and both were said to have developed some greater intelligence over time. Technically, both would also have used the power of defeated beasts for sustenance. Rather than blood and fur and bone, that sustenance probably came from the beast cores of slain magical beasts, and it made sense that such a powerful artifact as Carnagore would have needed powerful beast cores as well. 'Hells, the cost of running Carnagore might have been what spurred Myrddin to slay all those magical beasts,' Sebastien mused, snorting to herself.

What interested her, however, were the times when Carnagore seemed to act on its own, while Myrddin was otherwise occupied with something else. It was certainly possible that Myrddin had either given it true reasoning capabilities or just such complex instructions that it simulated a sapient mind, but she wondered if some of those rumors could have stemmed from him creating artifacts that could be operated with an application of Will alone. Just as her amulet needed no physical switch or verbal command, Carnagore, a much more complex creation, could have acted based on Myrddin's Will, a puppet of sorts.

Corroborating her theory was the fact that Myrddin had once left Carnagore at the top of a mountain for several months—perhaps he'd run out of beast cores—and witnesses said the horse became as cold and still as stone, its eyes dark and lifeless. It did not move even when birds perched atop its body, finally only returning to life when its master returned. Perhaps there had been some energy remaining to sustain an organic mind in a hibernating state, or perhaps the creature really was just created with enough complex commands to simulate the ability to reason, thus allowing it to be turned on and off at will. 'But isn't it also possible that Carnagore is evidence of an entirely different innovation?'

Sebastien was lost in her musing, staring at an illustration of Myrddin slaying his chimeric companion, which at that point had taken the form of a human with tentacle arms, when her eyes caught a small note written in the margin. It read only "B.K.?" Sebastien wondered what the initials might stand for, and almost instantly a possibility came to her.

The Beast King was sleeping, deep below the ground, and had been for the entirety of living memory. No one knew what he looked like or what his capabilities were, but powerful diviners consistently predicted when asked that if he woke from his long sleep, calamity would follow. However, the Beast King was sleeping somewhere in Silva Erde, not the semi-mythical Forest of Nod, whose location was lost to humankind, if it had ever existed.

Some of the details seemed to fit, but if Professor Ilma had been correct to link the legend of Carnagore to this myth, then it would mean that Myrddin's horse was buried in Silva Erde, and was the potential harbinger of great destruction. Sebastien's preferred theory was that the Beast King was a powerful Aberrant, on the level of Metanite or Cinder Stag, horribly dangerous but ultimately harmless if managed properly and not provoked.

Perhaps the initials weren't even referring to the Beast King. Like many of the entries in the books, Sebastien felt they held a peculiar weight of significance, but if any deeper meaning or epiphany existed, it remained opaque. Perhaps she was only assigning meaning where none existed, swayed by the weight of the amulet around her neck and her long-stymied desire to understand.

Chapter 121 - The Daily Sun

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 1, Monday 7:25 a.m.

Sebastien arrived to breakfast a few minutes late, joining her friend group—because they were her friends, and if she was being honest and less of an asshole, she should admit that—at the table. She took out a pouch of mixed nuts and dried fruit from her pocket, sprinkling it atop the steaming slop, then looked up to see Ana watching her over the morning newspaper with an expression of concern, her mouth tight as if holding back words.

"Extra calories and some flavor. I picked this up from the market. Just because the University won't sell us firsties proper food doesn't mean we can't bring it in ourselves, as long as we're discreet." Sebastien smiled, shaking the pouch invitingly. "I'm willing to share?"

Ana just stared at her, swallowing hard, then looked away, her eyes flicking around the room.

Sensing that something was wrong, Sebastien followed Ana's gaze. Those with their own newspaper subscriptions were buried within the flimsy, ink-stamped pages, reading avidly. "Did something happen?"

Rhett lowered his own newspaper. "The coppers released their report into…" He paused, looking at Ana, and then to Damien, who was reading the other half of Ana's newspaper, the part with the comics and stories instead of the serious news.

Ana cleared her throat. "Into the Aberrant incident," she finished for Rhett. "With Newton."

The whole table looked up at once. Sebastien's blood ran cold.

Damien reached over and ripped the paper out of Ana's hand, his eyes flickering over the words and widening with horror.

Sebastien wished she, too, could grab the paper for herself, but Damien was too far away. "What does it say?" she demanded.

Damien's eyes stopped racing back and forth over the words. He closed them for a few achingly drawn-out heartbeats and reached up with trembling fingers to smooth back his hair.

Sebastien stood up, reached over the table, and took Rhett's paper, ignoring Damien as he began to read the article aloud for the others, her eyes flicking over the words faster than he could speak.

Corrupted Magics Led to Rafton Street Aberrant Incident, Seven Dead

Readers may remember the rogue magic incident of six weeks prior, many being woken from their sleep to the disquieting sirens. While speculation and rumors surrounding the events of that evening on Rafton Street have abounded, the investigation carried out by the coppers and the Red Guard has now been completed and their report released. You are reading it first, here in The Daily Sun.

On that foggy evening, seven people died, including one copper, two civilians, and the University student whose self-destruction caused most of the damage. Photographs of the site and victims have been restricted, but according to the investigation report and eyewitness accounts from the family whose home was broken into and destroyed, those deaths were appalling and brutal. "My husband unraveled like a spool of thread," Molly Harper said, sobbing as she struggled to get through her interview with this reporter.

Local copper Willy Brodson, who was first on the scene and witness to his partner's death, said, "This job is dangerous, and you know that, but you never quite expect that your next patrol will be your last. He didn't even know what hit him. To die like that…I can only pray to the Radiant Maiden that his soul will be able to rest in peace."

The night's horrific events were hosted by an eclectic cast. According to the investigation report, a group of local gang members, the Morrows—who were one of the main forces involved in the fighting that caused so much destruction to the city not long prior—arrived at the Harpers' business and residence late at night, having captured three people they believed to be unexceptional. The scoundrels planned to rob and perhaps ransom or blackmail their captives. Unknown to them, one of the seemingly innocuous victims was none other than the Raven Queen herself in disguise.

Though the Raven Queen needs no introduction to the locals, this reporter will remind you that she has been involved in several violent incidents, and is wanted for treason, the practice of blood magic, and numerous other crimes. For more details, see previous Daily Sun issues, listed at the end.

The other two stars of the evening were a pair of third-term University students, both student liaisons and respected among the faculty and their peers. How this eclectic trio came to meet, this reporter does not know, and, alas, those who might tell either will not or cannot. We can speculate that perhaps the students, both being from impoverished backgrounds, hoped to gain the bounty for the Raven Queen's capture. Or, perhaps, the Morrows captured them while they were dealing with her in some more nefarious capacity. It is even possible that the whole incident was planned to draw out and kill the Morrows.

In any case, once the hooligans had broken into the Harpers' shop, which is on the ground floor beneath their home, fighting broke out. While the Raven Queen and her shadow companion were terrorizing the astonished Morrow members, University student Newton Moore tried to cast a dangerous spell. It was at that point that everything went horribly wrong.

As readers may know, those who cast immoral magics—and blood magic specifically—are more likely to corrupt their Wills and become Aberrants when the strain of their evil magics becomes too much. The exact nature of Moore's attempted spell is unknown, but Elden Preem, a local expert on rogue magic events, speculates that it may have been some sort of mass mind-control spell meant to take control of the fighters for his own benefit.

It does cause one to wonder, could mind-controlling spells or other underhanded tactics have played any role in Moore's admittance to the University? Master Patham, a University faculty member, assured this reporter that, "The entrance procedures are properly safeguarded against any kind of exploitation or malicious influence. Newton Moore may have become misguided out of desperation, but he entered the University legitimately and earned his position as a student liaison."

Inquiries revealed that Moore's family lost their home in the recent gang violence, with some of his family members being injured and in danger of eventual destitution. Friends of his say that it was around this time that he began to act differently, becoming more secretive and showing signs of mental and emotional strain. He began to fall in with a bad crowd and likely experimented with corrupting magics as an answer to his problems, not knowing what the consequences would be. It is even possible that he was out for revenge on the Morrows, who he could have held responsible for his situation.

One anonymous friend who was close to Mr. Moore before he fell to his darker impulses stated, "Newton was always a little desperate, you know? He really needed his place here. At first, that just made him a hard worker, and he seemed like a really nice guy. But after his family hit hard times, I started seeing a hint of something darker in his eyes. He started acting strange and slipping away to do secretive stuff at odd times. I distanced myself from him at that point, but I never imagined he could actually be doing blood magic or whatever. It just goes to show, you can't trust everyone."

Whatever the reason, Mr. Moore dragged many victims down with him. There has been some valid speculation about whether this includes his fellow student liaison and friend, young Tanya Canelo, or if she was complicit in these events from the beginning. In either case, she no doubt regrets her involvement, as the girl who experienced the whole event was hit by a powerful curse that will affect her until her dying day. What she saw that night, she may never speak of. "It's very tragic," one University faculty member who declined to be named stated. "The curse is unbreakable, and the poor girl cannot even undergo counseling to soothe the burden these memories must place on her mind. So betrayed by one she thought a friend. I know she had nothing to do with Moore's degeneracy. He probably called upon her for help that night, just like that Siverling boy, and she had no idea what she was getting into. I'm sure she would have reported him to the faculty if she knew what was going on."

And Moore did, indeed, call upon another innocent for help—young Sebastien Siverling, first-term apprentice to Grandmaster Thaddeus Lacer and friend to a number of Crown Family youths, including the Gervin heiress and the younger Westbay. Sources say the courageous but somewhat hapless boy was contacted via artifact, arriving to find the Aberrant already in the midst of its murderous rampage. Gullibly believing that Moore needed his help, Mr. Siverling entered the scene and, apparently, was forced to do battle with the Aberrant itself. Though the exact nature of his duel with the evil creature remains undisclosed, the young man, widely known as a prodigy among his classmates, managed to subdue it long enough for the Red Guard to arrive!

"It's no surprise to me at all," one anonymous fellow student commented. "I mean, there must have been a reason for Thaddeus Lacer, a war hero, to take him as an apprentice. Sebastien is so intense, you can just tell he's got hidden, complex depths, like a tortured hero."

Several students agreed that, aside from his small group of friends, Mr. Siverling keeps to himself and focuses on his studies. Somewhat appropriately, considering who he is apprenticed to, he has gained a certain reputation for a sharp tongue. "I've never met someone so impolite and tactless. It's almost like he's trying to create enemies, too stupid to realize he doesn't have the foundation to bear the consequences of his actions."

However, other students argue with this interpretation of his personality. "Sebastien might come off gruff, but that's just because he has really high standards. He's actually kind of nice. I've seen him helping other students with their spellwork—even ones who aren't part of his group of friends, and he's nice to anyone who doesn't waste his time. And—this is kind of a secret, but [a fellow student who declined to be named] told us she saw him making a nest for some sprites when winter hit, so they wouldn't die. We've all been taking turns feeding them since then. It's a little secret pet project that Sebastien and a small group of us are in on. He doesn't have the patience for people who are lazy or rude to others, and he doesn't care if you're rich or connected or not. People who don't like him…well, they're the people who gave him a reason to comment on their misbehavior."

And so it seems that Mr. Siverling has a history of pitting himself against what he considers to be injustice, even at risk to himself and without ever asking for reward.

As Agent Vernor of the Red Guard stated about his actions that night, "Courageous is just another word for stupid, in this case. Both the Raven Queen and an Aberrant were on-site. It's only through luck that he managed to walk away from that night alive. But not unscathed…" Agent Vernor refused to comment further, but this reporter cannot help but speculate.

It is believed that Miss Canelo was cursed by the Raven Queen herself, and Mr. Siverling may have been subjected to a similar misfortune. Could he have required treatment for injuries, either physical or mental? The Raven Queen is known to be vindictive.

Mr. Siverling spent several days away from the University after his battle against the Aberrant. Student Bayo Oswin claims to have seen the aftermath, as Grandmaster Lacer brought Mr. Siverling back to the University for healing in the wake of his ordeal. "[Siverling] looked like a corpse. It was too dark to see if there was blood, but Professor Lacer was floating him in the air because he'd passed out from some kind of injury. Professor Lacer got him straight to the infirmary."

University healers have refused to comment on Mr. Siverling's admittance, citing confidentiality vows. Healer Prium announced, "That boy is a hero, and I'll thank all you vultures to leave him alone! Bad enough what he went through. Thank him by giving him the peace he so obviously wants and deserves!"

Grandmaster Lacer and Mr. Siverling were both unavailable for comment.

The biggest mystery of the evening surrounds the presence of the Raven Queen. Why was she there? What was her purpose in cursing young children? Was she the one who drew foolish Mr. Moore into the darker aspects of the thaumaturgic arts? Despite her known vendetta against the Morrow gang and her spiteful acts against the two living University students, eyewitness reports from both the surviving Morrows and the Harpers say that the Raven Queen protected them against the Aberrant, using unknown and powerful magics. It seems even such a bold criminal can unite with others to do good when faced with such horrific evil.

The mysterious villain then slipped away before the coppers arrived through some unknown means, seen by none. This reporter doubts the veracity of the rumors but has heard from multiple sources that it is well known among the southern areas of the city, where she has been most active, that the Raven Queen can travel through the shadows and has the ability to disappear as long as no watchful eye is upon her.

Despite the tragedy and mystery surrounding the event, the Red Guard arrived promptly and managed to secure the scene and kill the Aberrant, valiantly preventing any further deaths. After having conducted a thorough investigation, they assure the citizens that the area is safe, and that no anomalous effects linger either in the building or in the survivors. They once again caution against blood magic and other immoral undertakings, and they urge all citizens who have knowledge of possible practitioners of corrupting magic to report them. If you see something, say something.

Together, we can help create a safer Gilbratha.

When she finished, Sebastien started reading again from the top more carefully, reaching the end for a second time as Damien finished his recital.

"What. The. Fuck?" Alec said, punctuating the silence that followed.

"My sentiments exactly," Sebastien said, feeling perfectly attuned with Alec for once. Shock was quickly giving way to rage, and she could feel the tingle that signified her cheeks flushing. The things written about her were profoundly uncomfortable, but the things about Newton sent ripples of fury through her skin, the emotion seeming too large for her body to contain.

Damien laid the newspaper down, his clenched fingers wrinkling and tearing the delicate paper. "It's a hack piece. Newton fell in with a 'bad crowd?' He was casting corrupted magic? Bullshit! And the stuff about Sebastien? Who are all these people giving anonymous statements, acting like they know him!?"

"Newton wasn't like that," Alec said firmly, staring down at the table. "He was a nice person. He never got impatient with me, even when he was obviously tired and I couldn't grasp what he was trying to teach me. He never said an unkind word about anyone, even when people were rude to him. And there's no way he was doing blood magic, no matter how poor his family is. He wouldn't. This writer doesn't know what they're talking about. Who are the supposed 'friends' that said these things about him?"

"It's sensationalized," Ana said softly. "You've all seen this a thousand times, don't be surprised now. They just want to sell more copies, and the whole story makes for very interesting reading. But all interesting stories need a hero and a villain."

"I would have thought the Raven Queen would take the role of villain," Sebastien said.

Ana shrugged. "But she helped protect civilians against the Aberrant this time, and it's hard to make that fit. It's possible other newspapers will have different takes on the whole thing, though. And Sebastien, if I were you, I would be on the watch for a sudden influx of interest from the rest of the student body. Please don't snap and start cursing anyone. They're going to be stupid either way, and that'll just draw even more attention toward you."

Sebastien looked around, and as Ana had predicted, found dozens of people watching her from around the room, some clearly gossiping as they whispered back and forth.

"Did the reporters even bother to ask you for a statement?" Damien demanded. "No one talked to me."

Sebastien shook her head. "No. I didn't even know this was happening." In the corner of the room nearest the door, Tanya stood up, threw away her food uneaten, and hurried out, escaping the stares and whispers directed her way.

"I bet she was messing around with that same dangerous shit that turned the other guy into an Aberrant," someone said loudly in her wake, his voice carrying over the hushed murmuring.

Before anyone else could respond, Alec stood up, so abruptly that his chair skidded back and fell over. The cafeteria quieted so quickly that the clatter of the fallen chair was the only sound. "Shut up!" Alec yelled, turning to face the direction of the speaker.

Before he could continue, Ana grabbed him by the arm. "They're like a pack of rabid dogs right now," she hissed. "They'll tear you to pieces if you start siding with an Aberrant." When Alec looked as if he was going to protest, his thick bushy brows drawn down low like two bristling caterpillars, his eyes glinting with what might have been the first signs of tears, Ana hauled him physically out of the room.

Rhett watched them go, then leaned in over the table, resting his jaw on his palm. "It's social suicide to argue that a guy who turned into an Aberrant and killed six other people—in a way so horrendous that even the Raven Queen stepped up to save people—was actually a nice, innocent person," he drawled. "That's why his supposed friends turned on him."

Damien stood. "But the reporters should have some integrity, at least. This whole thing is outrageous. I'm going to write Titus about The Daily Sun's libel." He turned to Sebastien. "They'd never do such shoddy reporting without hard evidence about someone who could afford to sue them, don't you think? Maybe they'll change their tune when they realize Newton had real friends with enough power to make them sorry. I'm going now."

Sebastien's lips turned down wryly at the thought that this was the first time Damien was truly acknowledging the effects of the class divide. "I'll come with you," she said. "But eat first. You'll be dead on your feet by lunchtime without the calories." She never wasted food, no matter how upset she was, and it wasn't as if she could take the bowl of oatmeal with her to eat later. Her hands trembled as she brought the spoon to her mouth, and she was unable to taste the oatmeal or the treats she'd added to it. She had planned to take a half-dose of the beamshell tincture, but there was no way she could add that electric energy onto the wash of anxiety and anger that was burning like acid through her body.

Damien huffed, but when he couldn't convince her, he sat back down and shoveled his food away without even bothering to chew.

They left the cafeteria together, both wearing imposing scowls that were enough to keep the other students away, for the moment. Sebastien remained silent as Damien muttered angrily to himself about all the threats he would make to The Daily Sun, and how he wanted to make the people who'd given negative testimony about Newton sign a written apology. "If the Sun doesn't agree, I'll send Titus after their owner. I'm pretty sure they're run by a lesser branch of the Rouse Family…" Damien trailed off as they spotted Professor Lacer striding briskly down one of the nearby pathways. "We should talk to him about this!"

"Do you think he could do anything?"

Damien scoffed. "He's Thaddeus Lacer, he's a professor here, and this involves the reputation of a good student and the University itself. I'm sure he'd be willing if both of us asked him to do something."

They ran to catch up with Professor Lacer, and under the man's questioning, arched eyebrow, Damien spewed out the whole situation in a single breath, somehow remaining coherent as he did so.

Professor Lacer scowled. "The reporters refrained from harassing you, I hope, Mr. Siverling? I warned them meticulously…"

That explained why Sebastien hadn't been approached. Either the reporters had been discreet when questioning the other students, or she had simply failed to notice them.

"That's not the point!" Damien insisted. "It's everything else they wrote."

"I see," Professor Lacer drawled. "And what do you expect me to do about this?"

Damien was taken aback. "You don't…care?"

"About the reputation of a foolish student who I never met, that endangered my provisional apprentice's life while trying to take on the Raven Queen and doing a horrible job of it? I cannot say that I do. But that is not the point, child. Do you really believe that the University was ignorant of what would be printed? Yes, much of what you say was written is a lie, but that lie is beneficial to many parties. Think."

"I don't understand. What good does it do anyone to tell people that Newton was a bad person?" Damien asked, his voice strained.

Professor Lacer sighed. "Not that he was a 'bad person.' That he corrupted his Will through morally repulsive magics." He turned to Sebastien, looking at her expectantly.

Frowning, she thought as quickly as she could. "It's bad publicity for model University students to have break events. Or any connection with the Raven Queen. But they couldn't blame it all on her because she fought against the Aberrant after Newton died…?"

"Partially," Lacer said, seeming disappointed in her response. "The University does not want it to seem like the Raven Queen has a particular vendetta against the institution, nor that she might make it a point to endanger innocent students simply for attending. Not when she's proven so difficult to catch, and fear and awe for her is growing so out of control. The University wishes to be considered as safe as possible, considering it's an institution that hosts young thaumaturges, and especially because the end of term exhibitions are coming up, which is a big source of revenue."

"So something needs to separate Newton from the rest," Sebastien mused.

"Indeed. Otherwise, people might start getting uncomfortable. What else?"

Damien still seemed confused, but Sebastien understood. "It's not just people worrying about the University being safe from the Raven Queen. It's about people feeling safe from thaumaturges in general, isn't it? Because if a nice boy like Newton could break, never having dabbled in anything corrupt, and end up horrifically murdering six other completely unsuspecting and innocent people…then no one is safe. And if no one is safe, that's evidence that the Crown Families don't have as much control as people think."

Professor Lacer smiled. "Very good."

Damien blinked, looking between them with dismay. "But what about Newton? And his family? They don't deserve this. Even Sebastien is getting pulled in!"

"Mr. Moore's family has surely been compensated for the dishonor. Generally, in a situation like this, the Red Guard would offer them something like a replacement house and to cover all their medical expenses. And if they like, they will have been moved out of Gilbratha to a place where none of the neighbors will know what happened. Despite your outrage, there is little to be done and, if you will take some advice from me, even less that you should do. As for Mr. Siverling's involvement, I am afraid that is an unavoidable consequence that he brought upon himself. I have done what I can, but even I cannot keep people from gossiping. Now off to class with you. I am busy." He walked away without another glance to them.

"See you in class," Damien mumbled after Professor Lacer's back. After a few moments, he turned to Sebastien. "So I can't make them retract the article?"

"Maybe you can, but it won't be the only article. And if even his family has been paid off to agree with what they're saying…" She looked down, kneading at the muscles in the back of her neck to try and stave off a headache. "This is very disappointing, and somewhat disillusioning."

Damien let out a scoffing laugh. "Understatement of the century."

"That's hyperbole. You've just been too gullible all your life," Sebastien retorted without any of the usual humor that would have accompanied their bickering. "I actually should have guessed something like this would happen."

Damien looked around to see if anyone was watching, glared harshly at those he caught looking, and then whispered, "Is there anything they can do? Our people? Newton was working for them, by proxy, I mean."

"I doubt it," she replied shortly. She wasn't prepared to put everything at risk just to fight a war of public opinion. "At least Newton isn't around to know about this."

"That is not a silver lining, Sebastien!" Damien snapped, then spun on his heel and stomped off to class.

Sebastien followed him, her mind playing over the memory of Professor Lacer's completely unsurprised face as Damien explained the situation. 'They reported on what happened, but they were duplicitous about the details. What else might be false like that? How many of the newspaper reports I've read about other Aberrants were partially falsified or purposefully misleading? Does the Red Guard keep real records of the break events? They must.'

She remembered Liza scoffing at the idea of blood magic corrupting the Will. 'Is it possible…that they've been lying all along about what creates an Aberrant? I mean, the Will breaking and losing control of the magic is real, but what about the rest?'

Chapter 122 - Practical Transmogrification

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 1, Monday 2:15 p.m.

Professor Lacer glared out over his classroom. "While you may feel compelled to distraction, you all would do well to give me, and this class, your full attention. Anyone who fails to do so will face…consequences." Some of the students had failed to immediately quiet when he entered the room, drawing his ire, but none were foolish enough to question what exactly he meant by "consequences."

Sebastien was grateful for the temporary cessation of stares and whispers, at least for the ninety minutes this class period would occupy.

"We are moving on to the final exercise of the term," Professor Lacer announced, "but we will start with one last opportunity for you to display your progress on the previous exercise. For those of you who are failing this class, you had better pray that you improved over the weekend. Begin casting your illusion spells. I will walk among you and take note."

Sebastien hurriedly chalked out the glyphs of her minimalist spell array on her desk. Many of the other students placed a component which they would use as a reference. Sebastien did not, the information for every detail she would manifest held in her mind.

Closing her eyes, she took a few calming breaths and began to bring her Will to bear as she reviewed the spell processes, taking light from the Sacrifice Circle and molding it to her Will within the inner Circle. She focused on the illusion she wanted to create, trying to solidify each detail with extreme clarity, until the image in her mind was as solid as reality.

She opened her eyes and cast the spell, her Will like a vice, squeezing every drop of power and control out of the Sacrifice Circle, which was suddenly nothing more than a black dome of nothingness. If her brain had been a muscle, it would have been trembling from the strain of the load it carried, just on the edge of her capabilities.

In the main Circle, a small fish appeared in the air, shiny-scaled and sleek. She had spent quite some time practicing this spell in the Menagerie, crouched next to one of the guld fish ponds until she had memorized their small flitting forms. Their bodies, which seemed to be formed of precious metals polished to a high sheen and looked nothing like their mundane carp cousins, were a great subject to show a solid grasp of reflection. She moved her head a little to see the fish from different angles, ensuring that it looked correct from all sides. The fish flickered and dimmed a little as even that slight bit of movement interfered with her concentration.

She sat back, holding the illusion until the strain settled a bit and her mental grip firmed up. Then, slowly, she guided the fish to move, swimming in slow motion through the air. She had sunk so deep into concentration that she didn't even realize when Professor Lacer stopped by her side.

"You lack a setting or backdrop to ground the illusory creature in reality," he murmured, his voice soft.

The fish flickered and dimmed again, and she scowled, sweat beading at her temples and her breath growing labored as she brought the illusion back into clarity.

"Your shadows are imperfect, too flat, and the reflection off of the scales is contrived. But the translucency of the fins is a nice touch, and the image does approach realism. I have seen enough."

With a shudder, she dropped the spell, releasing the fist that was clenched around her borrowed Conduit and looking up at him.

He gave her the barest hint of a smile. "A remarkable improvement from your first attempts, and impressive work from a first term student. A feat worthy of my apprentice."

She felt like a miniature sun had bloomed within her chest, warming her as it seared away her fatigue and frustration, and there was no way to hold back the huge smile she gave in return.

"As promised, for a passable three-dimensional image from imagination, I am awarding you five contribution points. For the addition of movement, another ten. See me after class." Before she could respond, he had moved on.

From the desk beside her, Damien scowled at his own illusion, which struggled to remain three-dimensional and solid-seeming but still earned him two contribution points. When Professor Lacer had moved on, Damien grimaced, tossing Sebastien a reluctant thumbs-up.

Ana hadn't even tried for the more difficult versions of the exercise, but her three-dimensional copy of a reference pinecone was without fault, and still received a nod from Professor Lacer.

When he had traversed the whole classroom, Professor Lacer returned to the front, where his pen had independently been scribbling all the necessary notes, and leaned against his desk. "This final exercise is the one students generally have the most trouble with. As we can anticipate the upcoming distraction of the end of term exams and exhibitions, I advise you all to put in the time and effort for this one as early as possible. We have previously dipped into transmutation, as well as the places where transmutation and transmogrification can meet and meld. Today and through the end of term, this class will be focusing solely on familiarizing all of you with practical transmogrification."

He turned to pull a box from one of his desk drawers. In response to a small motion of his hand, a black wax stick floated free of the box. He guided it to draw a thick Circle on the stone floor with a couple of component Circles attached, but as always, no written Word of any type. He placed a beast core in one of the component Circles and a jar of bright blue butterfly wings in another. "When you think of transmogrification, and especially free-cast transmogrification spells, awe-inspiring and dramatic visual effects might come to mind." A miniature snowstorm came to life within the Circle, the clouds writhing with ever-changing faces contorted with anger and fear. With a gust of wind, the snow blew out of the Circle and dusted the first few rows of students, including Sebastien.

She stared at one of the flakes as it melted against the skin of her forearm, the melting ice creating a screaming face that stared back up at her pleadingly.

Professor Lacer dropped the snowstorm spell and replaced the jar of butterfly wings with a bright purple plum, its skin shiny and inviting, with a bright green leaf still attached to the stem. "You think of the amazing things thaumaturges are able to do with magical components, or components imbued with the energy of one of the Elemental Planes." A ribbon of golden light grew out of the plum, singing with a voice that was part choral and part string instrument, but all enchantment.

For a few moments, Sebastien wanted nothing more than to consume that sound and the plum that had borne it. She had enough sense and self-control to restrain herself even under the effects of the music, but some of the other students stood from their desks and moved forward before Professor Lacer dropped the spell.

He scowled at them, and, shamefaced, they hurried to return to their seats. He returned the plum to the box and pulled out a large conch seashell in the light pink and deep orange of a sunset. "But magical components can become a crutch, a bad habit like inefficiency in your casting or relying only on fire and beast cores as power sources. For a powerful, properly educated, and mentally nimble thaumaturge, even mundane components can give you access to a variety of magical effects."

He waved nonchalantly toward the blackboard, where a piece of chalk rose up and drew out a pentagon. "You may have heard it said that ideas, or concepts, are like drops of dew on a spiderweb. Triggering one can lead to vibrations that trigger another, or a dozen others, in a way that may seem random but is in fact based on the complex logic of associations."

Sebastien had seen a lot of simple transmogrification spells in Pecanty's Sympathetic Science class, as he demonstrated things associated with whatever poem or play they were studying that day. She had also performed a few herself for Modern Magics, such as color-changing, locking a door using a leather knot as component, and most recently a sharpness spell, which took the sharpness of a component to give a temporary edge to a dull knife. Despite her general consternation and confusion with the subject as taught by Pecanty, she was excited to delve deeper. Transmogrification could do things that transmutation couldn't yet, and with enough skill it was the craft most capable of further developing the dreamless sleep and sleep-proxy spells.

"First order associations are the most obvious, and often the easiest to use in transmogrification. Let us explore the options that this mundane seashell can grant, to the right mind and the right Will." Professor Lacer held up the conch for them to see, then placed it in the component Circle, and finally tossed a length of white cloth into the center Circle. "I could use transmogrification to take the exact gradient of color from the shell, for example, and apply it to a beautiful ballgown."

The cloth immediately showed a beautiful wash of sunset pink to orange, and Professor Lacer picked it up to display it to the class. He set it aside before pulling out a large jar of dirt and setting that in the center instead. "Or we could use the shell, which is created from almost pure calcium carbonate excretions, to adjust the properties of this dirt. As both of these spells use duplicative transmogrification to copy the physical properties—a feat that could be performed with transmutation as well—these effects do not necessarily wear off as soon as the caster loses focus." He picked up the jar of dirt, which was now a pale white color. "And so, this calcium carbonate can be used in soaps, or burned and mixed with other substances to create cement."

He turned to the board behind him. Inside the pentagon was written, "Conch shell," and each of the five corners grew an attached note of simple spell effects that could be drawn from it.

"Duplicative transmogrifications aren't the only first order effects. If this were a nautilus shell, with the ever-expanding spiral, the reference to the Fibonacci sequence can be useful in complex divinations dealing in certain kinds of prediction. If the crab, snail, or mollusk that lived in a shell is still alive and recently removed, one might use the shell in a divination to find the creature. The shell might even be useful as a simple representation of the sea itself, in combination with other components."

He put the length of colored cloth back into the Circle. "Second order associations are slightly more conceptual, less concrete. The shell could be used to give a beautiful ball gown an enchantment that makes its skirt undulate like the waves of the sea on the beach." The cloth rippled suggestively, but fell still as Professor Lacer dropped the spell and removed it again. "Without anchoring this enchantment to the cloth with embroidered spell arrays, the effect will not last without my Will, as this spell changes no physical property, only imbues the target with a concept. That concept has not been intrinsically bound to the cloth through a ritual to change the cloth's magical nature, simply attached temporarily through an actively cast spell."

The jar of calcium carbonate made a reappearance, this time poured out into the Circle. "The conch shell is used as a trumpet, and if you hold it against your ear, folk tales say you can hear the rush of the sea from which it was born, making it a passable component for spells to send or even store messages. Other second order associations would be a shield, armor, or shelter. A home." The particulate matter began to move, flowing first into a dome shape that vaguely resembled the conch shell, where it settled for a moment. "Here, we have an emergency shelter that is closely associated with the source component," Professor Lacer said. The material of the white dome flowed again, gaining four walls, a domed roof with a chimney stack, and a door. The material settled, turning vaguely pearlescent, like the inside of a shell. "And one less closely associated, but still a shelter. Now, you could do something similar with transmutation alone, if you have the knowledge and the power, but it would be more difficult to maintain both structural stability and such thinness of the walls, which allows a caster to create a larger structure with less power. This use of transmogrification is superior in other hypothetical situations as well. Consider a situation where you do not have an abundance of building material, or environmental forces require quick work."

Sebastien had seen a similar spell cast by an upper term student earlier that year, with which they used a model house as a component to mold snow. That had been interesting, but this was even more captivating.

The house rippled and flowed into a small canoe-like shape, and Professor Lacer continued. "Using transmutation to solidify particulate matter in the middle of the open ocean would be much more difficult, as the water seeks to turn your dirt to mud and wash it away. Transmogrification allows you to increase the speed of casting, and, using the shell as a template, negates the need to concentrate on and mold a molecular structure that is impervious to water." The boat fell apart, shrinking back into a pile of white dust that then floated up and returned to the jar on its own.

Professor Lacer turned to the blackboard once more, and lines extended from the pentagon, creating a second layer of spell effects. The web was beginning to take shape. "Now, for third order associations. These are even more conceptually vague, less anchored to the reality of the shell and more to the ideas of the shell."

His voice grew softer, more sibilant, as if caressing the words as they passed through his lips. "The creation of a shell is a cumulative effort of small steps that build into something greater over time. In this way, the shell is useful to stabilize magical projects that cannot be completed all at once but require a strong foundation that future advancements will rest upon.

"The shell is protection to its inhabitant, but also a burden that they must carry with them always, weighing them down. It has been used in spells that allow a protector or benefactor to share a curse—and thus weaken it—with those under their care. As the benefactor adds some important value to the beneficiary's life, ideally some level of protection, the beneficiary can take on part of the burden in order to continue to receive protection from the cursed individual.

"The shell is a barrier for a vulnerable creature. Ground down, they are used in talismans to protect babies and toddlers against harm. Some mind-healers suggest they might be useful in spells to soothe those who are overly receptive to stimuli. And finally, as they hold the supposed echo of the sea, they can be used in divination, to grasp an echo of things that once were, or even the echo of things to come."

Sebastien shuddered as goosebumps traveled down her back and arms at the sound of those words in Professor Lacer's voice. He understood the all-encompassing allure of powerful magic, and there was a hunger in his voice that reverberated against an answering ravenousness deep inside her. One day, she would grasp all this knowledge, this power, and more.

Professor Lacer's gaze drew inward with concentration, and as he swept his arm in a wide motion toward the class, she thought she caught a slight twitch of brightness from the Circle and beast core.

The shell disintegrated, but even as she was frowning, trying to figure out what had just happened, she realized that it would be better to do so from outside.

Damien reached over and grasped her arm. "It's not safe. We need to leave," he said urgently.

"Class is over already?" Ana murmured, picking up her bag and moving to pack away her note taking materials.

Some students were already on their way out the door, without even bothering to take their belongings.

Sebastien frowned harder, looking around in confusion. She definitely needed to leave, but…why? She looked to Professor Lacer, instinctively seeking support in his presence, and found him wearing a deep scowl of concentration, strain clear in the tight muscles of his jaw and flared nostrils. He was casting something.

'A spell to protect us?' she wondered. Instinctively, she knew that was not true. As more students left the room and Damien tugged impatiently on her arm again, she understood. 'No. Something to make us leave.'

As soon as she understood, she brought her Will to bear as if casting a counter-spell, mentally circulating the ephemeral force through her body and mind, grasping her thoughts and emotions, and shining the light of scrutiny on them. "Sit back down," she ordered Damien and Ana. Her voice was hard and commanding, brooking no argument, just as her Will did not allow the reality of the world to argue against its commands.

They hesitated, though Damien half-lowered as if to obey her, his face screwed up with confusion.

"We don't need to leave," Sebastien continued. "Professor Lacer is casting some kind of compulsion spell using the seashell." She met both of their eyes. "It would be very embarrassing to be so weak-Willed that we left the room, don't you think?"

Both sat back down, and Ana stubbornly unpacked her things again, clenching her jaw and glaring at each item as if it had personally offended her.

They weren't the only ones to resist the compulsion, and Sebastien noted that Nunchkin barely seemed inconvenienced, leaning back comfortably with his arms crossed over his chest.

Finally, when about half the students had made their way into the hallway, where they seemed to be milling about in confusion, Professor Lacer dropped the spell. "An empty shell is an abandoned home," he pronounced loudly and sharply, so that all the students could hear him. "And can be used in both a hex and curse meant to remove people from their abode. The hex temporarily, and the curse permanently, and often maliciously."

As the students filed back in and retook their places, sheepish under Professor Lacer's judgmental stare, he continued. "A shell such as this can even be used as one component in a more nefarious curse. Just as the flesh of the inhabitant has left the shell, so might one force the soul to leave the body, and in so doing create a mysterious death."

Damien leaned toward Sebastien, covering his mouth to whisper. "I read about that! Aberford Thorndyke solves a mysterious murder by a lighthouse captain who was doing blood magic!"

Sebastien's thoughts caught on the reference to blood magic. 'Don't compulsion spells fall under that category? Professor Lacer just removed the free will of a classroom full of sapient beings.'

She wasn't the only one to make that connection, apparently, as a girl on the other side of the room raised her hand and asked that exact question, her tone prim and more than a little disapproving.

"There are exceptions to every rule," Professor Lacer said. "Some of the milder spells that may technically fall under the broad categories that encompass blood magic remain legal due to their harmlessness or utility. Additionally, members of certain professions may receive licenses to cast necessary spells or groups of spells, just as one would procure a license to allow them to carry a battle artifact outside the army or employment by the coppers. This particular spell is often used to evacuate buildings on short notice, in case of fire or other danger. It is mild, has no lingering effects, and is non-traumatic. I assure you, I am licensed to cast it." He gave the girl a cutting look, slightly irritated, slightly contemptuous, and she shrank in her seat. Sebastien didn't really need more evidence that Professor Lacer had once been part of the Red Guard, not after the way he had interacted with them in front of her, but she imagined that it could be a useful spell for evacuating people during rogue magic events, too. Just the kind of thing they would have a reason to use.

He turned back to the blackboard, adding a third and final rung to the pentagonal web. "Fourth order associations are dangerous, even for me, and beyond the purview of this class," Professor Lacer said, dismissing the interjection. "Now, for the exercise you will be performing. Unlike previous exercises this term, where each of you may have cast slight variations on the spells or attempted advanced versions, each student will be casting their own unique spell. But all of you will be using the same component: one fallen autumn leaf. I have a collection in the box on my desk. First, you will take fifteen minutes to brainstorm a list of every transmogrification-based spell you could cast using an autumn leaf as the sole component, ranked by closeness of association. These lists will be turned in to me for grading. After this, you will choose one spell from an assortment of prepared spell arrays, which I have confirmed are all safe to cast from." Professor Lacer returned to his desk, where he pulled out a stack of papers, each with a spell array and instructions. "Begin."

Sebastien hurried to label a paper with three columns. The first order associations were the most obvious, and she scribbled out a half dozen easily. But the second and especially third order associations quickly became more difficult, and sometimes she had trouble knowing which category a certain spell would fall under.

When she asked about this, Ana said, "I don't believe there is a clear delineation between rungs. A lot about transmogrification isn't clearly defined."

"Go with your gut," Damien agreed, too busy scribbling to look up from his paper.

By the end of the fifteen minutes, Professor Lacer had pinned up almost a hundred spell arrays to the walls at the front of the classroom, and Sebastien had written down less than three dozen possible spells, each idea coming slower than the last. Thinking of Professor Pecanty's class, she had been able to come up with a couple of extra third order associations based on myths and stories where leaves featured prominently, but obviously she was missing a huge number of possible correlations. She didn't even come up with as many options as Damien and Ana. Her only consolation was that Nunchkin, too, seemed to have trouble with the assignment.

They turned in their papers and then moved on to browse the spell arrays on the wall.

When Professor Lacer spoke, his voice carried over the noise of their shuffle and scattered murmurings. "You will choose one exercise, which you will practice through the end of the term. Your goal will be to take the original spell array, and through practice and mastery, pare it down as far as possible while maintaining the most robust effect possible. I would advise you all to choose a spell that falls within your capabilities, considering your skill level and how much time you will have to devote to this exercise through the end of term. Ambition is a virtue for thaumaturges, but so is self-awareness."

Browsing through the spell arrays while she did her best to avoid bumping into the other crowding students, Sebastien saw that many were subtle variations on others, even ideas that she'd had herself. Autumn leaves could work in spells based on the premise of connection to the cold air of coming winter, transformation and metamorphosis, and decay. Some, however, were novel and surprising, like the third order spell that worked on the premise that leaves were to trees like feathers were to a bird. She could tell immediately that such a spell wasn't a good choice for her, because that concept didn't settle easily in her thoughts, like a puzzle piece not quite finding its spot.

She knew almost immediately when she had found the exercise she would work on, taking it down from the wall to claim it for her own. It was a third order concept, and would hopefully tie in with all the other work she had been doing to prepare for the end of term exhibition. An autumn leaf had stored all the light that went into its creation through photosynthesis. With the right mindset, that light could be released again.

There was still some time remaining until the end of class, so after browsing through the spell arrays remaining on the wall to try and see where her imagination had fallen short, Sebastien grabbed a random leaf from Professor Lacer's box, returned to her desk, and meticulously copied down the complex, detailed spell array from the paper to the carved Circle in the desk's surface. Using her little shielded lantern as a power source—which she kept closed so that she couldn't see the light of the flame and accidentally draw on that instead—she settled her mind and attempted to cast the spell.

The magic wasn't exactly wild, but it was in no way docile, either, and it felt like she was trying to blow a bubble out of room temperature tar as she channeled power through the array and tried to draw the stored light from the brownish-orange, slightly wrinkled leaf. She paused, settled her thoughts and tried to improve the clarity of her Will, then tried again. By the end of class, she thought she almost had a glow from the leaf, but it was more of a flicker, and before she could be sure, the bell rang to signify the end of class.

As Professor Lacer had requested, Sebastien stopped by his desk before leaving to pick up her contribution points slip. He attended to the other students who had earned points first, then turned to her. He leaned back against his desk, his gaze evaluating her, tracking from her fingers to her clothes, to the bags under her eyes and the tension at their corners. "Are you finding your classes a strain, with all of the recent events?"

'Is that a trick question?' she wondered. But she said only, "No, not any more than usual."

"How have you been progressing with the auxiliary exercises I assigned you at the beginning of term?"

She tensed. "I've been keeping up with them. I haven't started the final exercise yet, but I've been advancing through them at the same pace we do in class."

He nodded inscrutably. "I believe the instructions I left say that you are to develop a transmogrification spell yourself, but if you like, you can pick another spell that utilizes the leaf in a different way and use that as the final auxiliary exercise instead. This would allow you slightly more free time."

"Okay…?" Was she showing signs that she was having trouble keeping up with the workload?

His lips quirked up at her obvious confusion, subtle enough that some might not have noticed. "That extra time could be used taking an additional private lesson from me. Despite your questionable decision-making capabilities and general semi-competence at life, you've shown an acceptable work ethic, admirable curiosity, and an adroit grasp of concepts and control of your Will."

Sebastien reeled.

"Your other professors have given me positive reports of your performance in their classes as well, though Master Fekten laments your ineptitude with complex footwork." His smile grew slightly larger. "If you wish, and if you have the time and energy to handle it, I believe you may be ready for one of the preparatory exercises in spell augmentation that can be a useful foundation from which to approach free-casting."

Sebastien blinked twice, his words exploding in her brain like a flash of lightning and leaving her momentarily speechless. She was too surprised to be happy for only a few seconds, and then elation shivered through her, so strong she thought her eyes might start tingling with tears. She took a deep breath, only then realizing that she'd stopped breathing for a long moment, and then released it again, flexing her fingers and squaring her shoulders as she forcibly suppressed the roiling surge of emotion. "I would be interested in that. I'm sure I can make time."

"Spend the week practicing the transmogrification exercises. If you feel you can handle it, you may drop by my office on Sunday morning around nine."

Sebastien's voice broke when she tried to speak, and she had to swallow and clear her throat. "I—I'll be there."

"I look forward to it. That is all." He dismissed her with a nod.

Sebastien wasn't exactly sure how she got out of the classroom, and it wasn't until she ran into Damien and Ana, who had been waiting for her by the Citadel doors closest to the library, that she came back to reality.

When she explained what Professor Lacer had said, Damien turned a bright cherry red and drew himself up like a rooster. "Private tutoring!? I've been doing the extra exercises, just like you! Why didn't he mention anything about this to me? Is he trying to exclude me? I may not be the second coming of Myrddin, but I'm sure I can keep up with an extra spell or two to practice. I'm at least a one-in-a-hundred genius!"

Ana snorted out a laugh. "One in a hundred? That doesn't seem very impressive…"

Damien, if possible, grew even redder, then without saying another word, he stalked off in the direction Sebastien had come from, ready to have a pointed talk with their professor.

Sebastien and Ana went on to the library, where Sebastien spent some time frantically researching photosynthesis to try to improve her facility in the transmogrification exercise.

Damien never showed up.

"He must be sulking," Ana said wisely. "If he'd gotten his way, he'd be here crowing about it."

Ana seemed to feel that Damien was being foolish, but Sebastien could sympathize. If Damien were the one getting private lessons on free-casting from Thaddeus Lacer, she would be viciously jealous. Of course, she would have done whatever it took to get Damien to pass along what he learned to her, even if Professor Lacer refused to tutor her personally.

It wasn't until the middle of the night, when the ward she'd placed on her watch had buzzed to wake her up from her first sleep session before the nightmares could take hold, that she decided to try to cast the transmogrification spell again with her mind fresh from sleep.

On a whim, she took out her mother's ring—and Conduit—that she had hidden next to the piece of Aberrant string in the warded alcove beneath the floor. Something felt strange as she channeled the magic, the spell feeling rebelliously stiff and slow. In the dim light cast by her lamp, it was easier to see the faint shimmer of light that coalesced on the leaf as she began to have success.

And then, the clear Conduit set within her mother's ring shattered.

The magic reacted wildly, twisting and bucking like a wild horse, nearly wrenching free from Sebastien's control.

Sucking in a hissing breath, Sebastien reacted on pure instinct, transferring the pressure and energy flow to the black sapphire Conduit pressing against the skin of her side. Though she had to force herself to concentrate through the shock dulling her conscious mind, she maintained the magic for several long, tense heart beats.

Then, gently, afraid to injure her Will, she released the spell.

Her held breath shuddered out between tight lips, and her hands began to tremble as she stared down at the clear shards in her hand.

Chapter 123 - An Honorable Burial

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 2, Tuesday 6:45 a.m.

Early on Tuesday morning, Sebastien woke. She was still groggy, but the lingering sour-acid ache of anxiety making it impossible to sleep more than fitfully. She sat up in her bed for a few moments, staring out the window. The shards of the Conduit she'd broken the night before lay in a small pouch in her bedside drawer. She took it out, shaking them into her palm. They glittered with a kind of inner luminescence, distant lamplight scattering off the sharp edges and new facets.

She clenched her fist around them until they dug into her skin, just on the edge of slicing into her. With a sigh, she unclenched her hand. Injuring herself—drawing blood—would be foolish and do nothing to change the situation for the better.

Shaking the shards back into the pouch, she stood and got dressed, then went for a walk through the crisp gloom to the eastern edge of the white cliffs. Once there, she looked out over Gilbratha and the Charybdis Gulf. Fog stretched over the land below like a blanket, heavy and thick.

When her mother's ring had shattered, she had almost lost control of the spell and suffered backlash. If not for her paranoid preparations with the holster and its backup Conduit, she would have.

She had been horrified by its failure, thinking that she'd carelessly destroyed this last remnant of her mother. But subsequent examination had revealed something she never would have suspected: like the ring she had put into Malcolm Gervin's vault, the one she had stolen was a forgery. Or at least the gem was. She couldn't tell for the silver band, which was realistically worn and contained the same chameleon and anti-awareness field as the original.

The forgery was well done, to be sure, even better than her own, but the celerium had been replaced by a thaumaturge-created diamond—one with a fault that made it unusable as a Conduit. The diamond had fallen apart along clear-cut lines, almost as if someone had purposefully created it to shatter as soon as any attempt was made to channel magic. When she knew what to look for, she found proof. The celerium of the real ring had contained a small blemish, while the diamond did not.

'Did Malcolm Gervin have the foresight to keep a fake in his vault?' Perhaps they were antagonizing someone much more dangerous than even Ana assumed. Sebastien might be able to tell both for sure, when they completed the second stage of Operation Defenestration that weekend, but the possibility made her nervous.

At first, as she stared down at the broken ring after having just stabilized the spell, her thoughts had whirled like debris in a hurricane, the shock quickly giving way to panic. But there was a single thought that calmed them all.

'Celerium is worth a lot. Perhaps it was for more than sentiment and vanity that Ennis insisted he would wear the ring, not me. Me, who was the thaumaturge and rightful owner of the Naught family's heirloom.' She suspected that Ennis had sold the real ring, or at least the celerium within its silver setting, some time ago. He would have known how absolutely enraged this would leave her, so it made sense that he had hidden the truth.

After first coming to this realization, she had broken down and wept at the loss of this last link to her mother. Despite how much she denied it, how foolish she knew it was to care, there had been some lingering affection for her father, too. He had made life difficult, but he'd also given her sporadic affection that occasionally shone genuine. He had kept her fed, taken her to healers when she needed it, and never hit her. Ennis had been a precarious anchor when things were at their worst, when she had lost everything else. Now, the thought of him only filled her with rage. She screamed out over the silent city below until her voice cracked, and then descended into a violent coughing fit.

When she finally regained her breath, streams of tears once again cutting down her cheeks, she snarled out at the squat building of Harrow Hill Penitentiary, barely visible toward the western edge of Gilbratha. "May you receive exactly what you deserve, Ennis No-Name," she growled, her voice hoarse. "Once of my blood, but no more. I commend your blood and body to the earth, and your soul to the Plane of Darkness."

Sebastien stood there panting, but after a moment, began to feel rather foolish for the dramatics. At least no one had been around to see her. The horizon was brightening, and, in no mood to watch a cleansing sunrise, she turned back.

As she trudged toward the dorms to pick up her things, feeling sorry for herself, she noticed Tanya's familiar form standing to the side of the cobblestone path near the door, looking down at something.

As Sebastien drew nearer, she realized the other woman was looking at a carcass. It was a raven, its neck broken and one side of its head bashed in. It was still too cold for ants or flies to be active, so the carcass was unmolested otherwise.

Tanya's face was pale, verging on green, her lips chapped and cracked, and she didn't shift or even blink as she stared down at the dead bird.

Sebastien slowed to a stop beside her. "Someone was playing with a slingshot and using this poor guy as target practice, it looks like," she murmured.

Tanya jumped as if she hadn't noticed Sebastien's approach, but then relaxed when she saw who it was. "It's a girl," she said. She swallowed. "A female raven."

"Oh?"

"Yes. She's a little smaller than the males, and her throat feathers are shorter and neater."

Sebastien examined the creature dubiously. "They all look the same to me."

"It's a female. I know it. Of course it would be a female. Just lying here, dead and waiting for me to stumble upon as soon as I left the building. It's still warm, you know?"

Sebastien realized suddenly why Tanya was so petrified. 'She thinks this is some kind of message from the Raven Queen—maybe in response to that disastrous meeting with Kiernan and Munchworth's faction. She's terrified of retaliation.' There was little Sebastien could do to reassure Tanya, especially without incriminating herself for having too much information. She tentatively patted Tanya's shoulder. "Why don't we bury it," she suggested, "and then go to the library and get some studying done? If you want, we can steal some of Damien's coffee, too. I know where he keeps it."

"Yes, a respectful, honorable burial," Tanya muttered, nodding to herself. "Right away, let's do that right away."

While Tanya rushed to go get a "burial shroud," Sebastien used a stick to dig a hole at the base of one of the many trees, a difficult task with the ground so cold and hard.

Tanya returned with full pockets and a large silk handkerchief, fine enough to be worth a good handful of silver, in which she wrapped the dead raven. They buried it under the tree, and then Tanya pulled out incense, a few pieces of quartz, a polished silver coin, and a few vials of herbal oils from her pockets. She pressed the quartz and silver into the dirt, muttering something that could have been a chant for esoteric magic, or perhaps a prayer. After sprinkling the herbal oils around the whole area, she lit the incense stick, which she pushed into the soil so that it would stay upright as it burned down. "May I be forgiven in my ignorance," she murmured fervently, clenching her eyes shut. "And may the soul of this creature find peace."

Finally, Tanya let out a deep sigh of relief and turned to Sebastien, who had watched most of this process in tolerant bemusement. "Thank you. This was a great idea. Man, you're really useful, huh?" she added with a sharp chuckle.

Sebastien grimaced. The bell rang the hour, and students began to trickle toward the cafeteria.

Tanya rose, giving Sebastien a hesitant look. "Do you…want to eat together?"

"Go ahead without me," Sebastien said. "I need to get some things from the dorm first." She lingered, making sure that Tanya was going to the cafeteria, then hurried back to the dorms. She put on a pair of gloves, then stole a pen left on the desk of a random dorm mate. Thus protected, she wrote a quick note, hesitated before signing it, and eventually just drew a little doodle at the bottom. As Tanya was no longer a student liaison with a room of her own, Sebastien went in search of her new upper floor cubicle. It was bigger than the firstie cubicles, with a nicer bed and more furniture, but still only guarded by a curtain. She placed the note atop Tanya's pillow.

No one saw Sebastien enter or exit, but as she was walking to the cafeteria, Tanya came hurrying up the path in the opposite direction, her face tense and her eyes wary and darting. She wouldn't have had time to finish eating already, which meant that something had happened.

"What's wrong?" Sebastien asked, turning to follow when Tanya didn't stop for her.

"Someone broke the ward line around my bed."

Sebastien went cold. 'Of course she would have a ward placed.' Sebastien herself had one, after all. "Do you know who it was?" she asked.

"Hopefully just one of my snooping dorm mates. Hopefully…" Tanya repeated, on the edge of breaking into a run.

Sebastien followed her into the building and up the stairs, keeping a couple of meters back as Tanya ripped open the curtain of her cubicle with wild eyes. She froze, then stepped toward her bed with trepidation.

Sebastien moved closer so that she could watch Tanya's face. What Tanya did next would hint at her true loyalties.

Tanya stared at the note for a few long moments, her eyes flicking back over the short message several times, then placed it on the ground and activated the spark-shooting spell array Sebastien had drawn around the message. She watched as the note burned to ash.

"What was that?" Sebastien asked.

Tanya lifted her head toward the ceiling, took a huge breath, and released an exhale so protracted it seemed like she might collapse in on herself like an emptied rubber balloon. "It was a reprieve," she replied cryptically, her voice soft and mellifluous. Then, with an awkward smile, perhaps realizing how strange this would seem to an outsider, she continued. "Nothing bad or dangerous. It was…a nice note. I burned it because some people might not like it that I'm not being completely ostracized, after what happened with Newton."

Sebastien didn't inquire further, though Tanya's explanation was sloppy. She had left the note, despite the danger, because Tanya had been so incredibly anxious and exhausted, wound taut like a string about to snap.

Sebastien remembered what had happened to Newton when he was that stressed.

It had contained a simple message. "I do not blame you, but for your own protection, I advise you find other wings to shelter under." This simple act might mitigate a similar future for the other woman. She wanted to be proactive enough to stop having such huge regrets. As an additional bonus, this was proof that Tanya was not completely loyal to Munchworth, or to Kiernan's faction, as she had used the spark-shooting array for its implied function without hesitation.

As they walked back to the cafeteria together, Tanya seemed to be thinking deeply. "Other wings…" she murmured. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she turned to Sebastien. "What are your plans for the future?"

Sebastien blinked. "Um, I'm going to become a free-caster."

Tanya nodded. "And what will you do then? Work for one of the Crown Families? Do research? Get a position at the University?"

"I'll…" Sebastien suddenly realized that she had no concrete goals for a profession. She perhaps normally wouldn't have said it, but her feelings about the ring, and Ennis, were still simmering in the back of her mind, making her reckless and truthful. "I will be powerful. And with that power, I will seize control of all that dares threaten me. I will bend this world to my Will and strip away all its secrets." As soon as she said it, she regretted it.

To Sebastien's surprise, Tanya laughed aloud, throwing her head back and looking at Sebastien with sparkling eyes. "Somehow I'm not surprised. Such a goal suits you."

Sebastien shifted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, looking away. 'Maybe I would enjoy a job as a researcher, as long as I got to pick the direction.'

"Perhaps you will need allies to achieve such a future," Tanya said, her tone weighty. She gave Sebastien a small, innocuous smile that belied the meaning of her words. "I would be useful. I may have hit rough waters at the moment, but I am resourceful, and one might find that I have surprisingly few qualms. This all assumes, of course, that you are just as vehement in protecting your allies and subordinates as you are of protecting yourself."

Sebastien stared at her for a long moment. "Are you looking to secure a job, post-graduation?" she asked, offering the most mundane interpretation she could think of.

"A job? Perhaps. If my employer were powerful enough. You do seem to have a lot of connections."

There was no way that could be misconstrued. Tanya was trying to make herself useful to Sebastien in exchange for some sort of favor. She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth, considering, and then said slowly, "What do you need, and what can you offer me?"

Tanya quickly hid her smile, shrugging. "I'm not offering anything specific. If you need something that other people can't help with, or that you would rather be kept discreet, as I said, I'm resourceful. As for what I need… You have an aura around you, Sebastien. It draws attention. I just want to stay close enough that I'm illuminated by that light, so that I can't be dismissed as insignificant or disposable."

Sebastien narrowed her eyes, trying to parse Tanya's meaning. While it could have been simple social maneuvering, trying to get closer to the Crown Family members that Sebastien found herself spending time with, Sebastien thought Tanya's true goal was to give Kiernan and Munchworth a reason to hesitate before sending her on any more suicide missions—or simply killing her off as insurance.

But Sebastien wasn't sure that she trusted Tanya, and she didn't want to get this identity further embroiled in the whole intrigue surrounding the Raven Queen. It would have been easier if Tanya made this offer to someone like Oliver, who could actually use her. "I'll think about it, but I don't really need anything, and I think you've overestimated my influence."

"Do think about it," Tanya agreed, unperturbed.

Sebastien couldn't help but wonder if Tanya had any suspicions about her real identity, but she didn't think that was the case. There could, in fact, have been a much simpler explanation for Tanya's sudden interest. 'Does she think that her proximity to me at the time of receiving the message was some sort of sign? It's obvious from the whole thing with the raven burial that she's superstitious. Well, I can't see the harm in it, as long as I don't encourage her. Myrddin knows I don't need another Damien. Can't I just have a single week where nothing goes wrong?' The thought registered in Sebastien's mind with an ominous echo, and she stopped in her tracks. "Go on without me," she said to Tanya. "I just realized I forgot something in the dorms."

Before the other woman could reply, Sebastien spun back around and hurried off. 'I'm not paranoid,' she thought. 'Well, maybe I am. But that kind of irony-tempting thought is often a sign that something horrible is about to happen. Just in case, just in case…'

She scurried into her empty dorm room and rushed through the steps to uncover the sealed vial with the string of an Aberrant within. Holding it up to the light, she peered at it intently, turning the vial around to look at the wire-like, blood-and-bone colored string from every angle. Finally, she let out a sigh of relief. It had not changed. Tentatively, she let out a deep hum, just to make sure. It didn't react.

Chuckling ruefully at herself, she put it away again. But she still made a quick check of all her other preparations and supplies, and did a mental review of her pre-planned escape routes and responses to various disastrous scenarios. 'As Master Heller said so famously, "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you." After all, a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that are real and immediate is the process of a rational mind.'

Chapter 124 - The Architects of Khronos

Oliver

Month 3, Day 3, Wednesday 9:10 p.m.

Oliver sat in a dim, smoky bar, a location quickly becoming all too familiar, and sipped at an amber-colored fruit juice that was nearly as expensive as liquor. He was, yet again, waiting for a meeting with Gilbratha's premier information broker. The last few days had been less than pleasant as he pried around the edges of the truth about Siobhan's meeting with Grandmaster Kiernan's people and their, perhaps not-so-sudden, attack.

Kiernan's faction didn't take Oliver seriously, and the proof was that they hadn't been cautious enough in their aggression. Recently, Oliver had been increasingly impressed with the utility of Lord Morrow's little black book, and was thinking of ways to create similar leverage for himself. Really, his success was partially Kiernan's fault. That first meeting, when they had sent Miss Canelo with the phonograph, had given him the idea.

Kiernan's group had been so focused on the Raven Queen that they hadn't considered what other dangers might lurk in the warehouse where they met. And so, after their attack—which had left his enforcers thankfully alive, though injured and unconscious—they had spoken freely.

Oliver had hidden three phonographs throughout the room, and after the meeting went so disastrously south, he retrieved them. Their sound-capturing membranes had been shredded by the sudden explosions of spell-fire, leaving the captured sound indistinct and marred with crackles and hisses. With three copies at his disposal, however, an assistant was able to piece together a coherent recording of Kiernan's conversation.

It had been quite illuminating.

"They were prepared," Kiernan had said, once the sounds of battle against the Verdant Stag guards had settled, "but not enough to overcome us. But you moved too soon. We could have gleaned more clues about her real motivations and plans."

"She had no intention of negotiating with us," his female companion had replied. "I think that was obvious."

Someone else interjected. "Do you think she knows about our plans?"

"She is clever," Kiernan had admitted, "and I cannot figure out her game. But if she truly planned to go to the High Crown, why has she not done so already?"

Someone else laughed derisively. "Does she expect Lord Pendragon to first pay tribute to meet with her, I wonder?"

There was a pause, during which Oliver assumed looks were being traded, and then Kiernan continued. "What was this meeting about for her, really? If she knows of us, she must know the Architects of Khronos will not be thwarted by this setback she engineered. We will have what we need. Our hand will write the chronicle of history."

As far as Oliver had been able to dig up, the name "Khronos" belonged to a Titan with some kind of destructive, time-based powers. Details were hard to assemble, as Khronos either went by various names, such as Hyperion, Cronus, and Mylinos, or he was often confused with several of his contemporaries whose powers encouraged similar interpretations. So many thousands of years later, it was difficult to uncover the truth. But Oliver didn't need to be a history expert to understand the hubris and greed of the name they had given themselves.

On Sunday, just over a day and a half after they triggered the wards on the raven messenger's cage, Grandmaster Kiernan—ostensibly the leader of this faction—had agreed to meet with Oliver, bringing some subordinates and guards with him.

As Lord Stag, Oliver had made his position and the trouble they'd caused for him clear. Kiernan had seemed deeply frustrated by the failure of negotiations with the Raven Queen, blaming his female subordinate for going against his orders. After dumping the fault on her shoulders, he had waved the woman forward like a mother with a shy young child.

She'd bowed at a ninety-degree angle before Oliver and apologized profusely for her incendiary actions, her cheeks red and eyes glittering with shame and frustration.

As if to patch over the damage, Kiernan had pressed forward with an attempt to deepen their relationship with the Verdant Stag, offering high-level magical favors and submitting another order for all the same things they'd been buying from the Morrows.

"Speaking of the Morrows," Oliver had said. "As you know, the majority, especially in the higher echelons, were captured alive."

Kiernan had smiled with soulless joviality. "Yes, we've heard about your little 'trials' and the coin you've been throwing around in the name of restitution. Perhaps not what I would have done, but an interesting choice that has certainly yielded results for your reputation."

"Well, we are in the process of extracting everything of value from them, from assets to…knowledge. I do not believe in waste." Oliver had been satisfied to see the understanding in Kiernan's eyes, and even more satisfied to see the tension that understanding caused. Oliver knew about the Architects of Khronos, as well as their treasonous activities and preparations. If they made an enemy of him, there would be consequences.

"When I finish with them," Oliver had continued, "I will pass those who have signed nonaggression vows along to the coppers, but I would like to assure you that their tongues will be sealed from wagging about…particular topics. Those that might affect our interests, similar to what was done to one Tanya Canelo."

This time, Kiernan hadn't flinched at the proof of Oliver's knowledge, but he took a few moments too long to respond, and Oliver's peripheral vision caught a couple of Kiernan's underlings sharing a look behind his back.

Kiernan had cleared his throat. "I very much appreciate the…honor of a man who does not kill his enemies but instead uses them. However, I would be much more comfortable if my people could assist in the sealing process. I'm sure you understand how much a man like me values his peace of mind." He boomed out a sharp, jolly laugh. "Why, at my age, lost sleep leads to growing haggard and frail!"

Oliver agreed that they could help, if they wished, but Kiernan had more to say. "What of those who do not vow their harmlessness?" he asked. "I assume some of those in higher positions retain either loyalty or pride, despite your best efforts. And surely some you cannot trust, no matter what they vow?"

"Yes. And while I respect such dedication, they may not retain loyalty and pride in addition to their lives," Oliver replied simply.

Kiernan had coughed, bringing a fist to his mouth. "Hmm. Perhaps we could assist with those. Do not be too hasty to throw away their lives before all avenues have been explored. I assure you, we have means that the average torturer cannot match."

Oliver had agreed to that as well, feeling that he was beginning to grasp the edges of their goals.

And so, after more planning and promises, Kiernan and his "Architects of Khronos" had left Oliver's office, leaving him to dig into a fresh pile of work, as unavoidable and unpleasant as a huge shit left in the middle of his bed.

He had told Kiernan, after the man continued to pry for information, that he planned to move the prisoners on the twenty-fifth of the month. He would be putting out false rumors of a plan to move them on the twentieth—bait to suss out any possible dissenters or enemies—but really, neither plan was legitimate. If things went well, he hoped to move the prisoners on the twelfth, well before the Architects of Khronos would be prepared to intervene.

It was his last test to see if their desire to cooperate was sincere.

And of course, almost immediately after returning to the University on Sunday afternoon, Grandmaster Kiernan had left again to meet with someone else. Oliver knew this—though not much more—because of his operatives within the University.

Oliver swirled the juice in his glass with a wry smile, taking an awkward sip through the piece of glass straw the bartender had inserted when he saw Oliver's mask. Perhaps "operatives" was too extreme a word. But he was slowly building a network of informants, made up mostly of student aides and upper-term students from common backgrounds. He was gathering promising young people in administrative or assistant positions, those who needed sponsors to be able to continue their schooling, so long as they orbited the people he was really interested in.

Siobhan had been a wonderful lesson in the possible benefits of such an arrangement, though none of the handful of people in this budding network had brought him anywhere near the same level of advantages—or trouble—that she did.

Oliver covered the cost of the minimum four classes for them, as long as they agreed to work for exclusively for him for at least ten years after graduation, and would provide bonuses if they sent him any particularly juicy information. He was circumspect with his recruitment, but confident in the potential of such a network. It was obvious from how the faculty treated young Miss Canelo that they did not respect people like her, and thus would fail to be properly wary. People with power often dismissed the presence of "the help."

And so, the scattered reports he'd gotten from his handful of informants had led him to the Bitter Phoenix, with the cloying smoke in the air now filtered by the featureless mask of Lord Stag, and two of his most battle-capable enforcers sitting at a nearby table and watching for danger.

Before Oliver had finished the drink—with each sip requiring a careful balancing act of prying the bottom half of his mask away from his face while he sucked the liquid up through the glass straw—the doorman to the back room gave the bartender a nod.

At that cue, the man gave the current password to the information broker and waved Oliver on.

His bodyguards followed closely behind as Oliver moved into the large room beyond the tavern. The room was filled with even more smoke, and the people displayed a strange mix of unnatural conditions. Some were languid and mellow, some strangely joyful, but most were filled with the frenzied focus that signaled quintessence of quicksilver. He wondered how much of the information broker's knowledge came from extrapolating particulars about his own clients. Perhaps some of these people were not addicts—or not just addicts—but working for the well-informed man.

And perhaps some of them would go to the rehabilitation center that Oliver had built from Lord Morrow's former mansion in the city center to get help. Oliver made a note to tell his one and only journalist, young Mr. Irving, to do an article about it. He couldn't force anyone to admit themselves, but he could make sure they knew about the opportunity to take back control of their lives.

He passed through into the smokeless hallway beyond, and then into the information broker's room, where a secretary used a device to scan Oliver for weapons, then waved him onward to where his enforcers could not follow.

The information broker's bald head shone like a crystal ball in the light of the lamp on his desk. He looked up with a smile from a desk even more cluttered than Oliver's, taking off his thick spectacles. "Always good to see one of my favorite customers. I received your payment in advance. Eager, are we?"

"I think you can understand my concern."

"Oh, well, indeed. You came to me for knowledge, and as ever, I can deliver. Though I cannot say for sure what the goal is, your suspicions of movement were correct. Someone who very much wishes to remain hidden has put out offers to some powerful mercenaries in the last few days. If you suspect them to be your enemies, now is the time to prepare."

Chapter 125 - Blackmail

Damien

Month 3, Day 6, Saturday 5:30 a.m.

A week after exposing Professor Lacer's favoritism and, despite Damien's best arguments to the contrary, being forbidden from attending Sebastien's private tutoring session, Damien was still fuming. According to Professor Lacer, he "had neither the requisite experience nor control." Apparently, whatever lesson he was going to teach would normally be restricted to students in their third term or higher. Damien had redoubled his efforts at the auxiliary exercises and even experimented with some variations to test his Will as Sebastien did, determined to have a firm grasp on all of them by the end of the term. He would prove to Professor Lacer that he could keep up!

For the moment, as Sebastien and he walked through the still-dark, early morning streets of Gilbratha, Damien set aside his ire. Not because he was too tired to care. To the contrary, Damien's every cell was alive with excitement.

Everything was ready, and they were about to carry out the penultimate step in Operation Defenestration. If this went well, Ana's uncles would be deposed, her power as the heir would be assured, and maybe Sebastien would even report Damien's contribution to the higher-ups in the thirteen-pointed star—the placeholder name he had given their secret organization—and they would finally make him a full member!

Sebastien was leading, and he took them on a winding route through the city, eyes flicking around with constant watchfulness in a way that kept Damien on edge, until they finally arrived at the hotel. From there, Damien stepped forward, nodding haughtily at the night shift clerk as he set down the luggage case with all of their supplies. "I would like to purchase a room. Full bathing facilities are required."

The clerk looked lazily between Damien and Sebastien, whose hood was still pulled down far enough to conceal his features, then smirked and said, "Of course. The honeymoon suite is available, if you would like?"

Sebastien froze, turning to stare at the clerk.

Damien felt his face flush horribly red. "No!" he snapped. He cleared his throat, amending in a more reasonable tone, "No. I misspoke. Two rooms. I wish to purchase two adjacent rooms, each with their own bathing facilities."

As the clerk complied, moving so slowly that it had to be on purpose, Damien avoided peeking at Sebastien's face, wishing for his own to cool down faster. He refused help carrying up their bags, and together they hurried up the stairs and to their rooms, only one of which was actually necessary.

Entering together, Sebastien immediately took off his cloak and jacket and moved to the dining table where Damien laid the luggage case.

After Ana had convinced them to go through with the costume, they had argued about who exactly was going to impersonate the Raven Queen. Sebastien won. He was taller, and thus more imposing. Damien had been miffed about this, but as he watched Sebastien emerge from the bathroom in the Raven Queen costume, he had to admit that he was impressed.

Sebastien wore a wig of long black hair that they had dyed themselves, and a long, lacy black dress under an oversized hooded cloak that concealed his lack of feminine curves. The clothes were tattered and wispy at the hems, artfully torn by Ana with her eye for fashionable dramatism, and they had sewn in black feathers here and there. The outfit was both authentic and intimidating. But what was most impressive was how Sebastien moved with a natural feminine grace—a hip sway that wasn't overdone, an alluring tilt of the jaw, and simultaneously elegant and arrogant gestures with his arms and wrists.

Damien stepped closer, examining what little skin would be visible through the tattered clothes. They had used a generous amount of Ana's bronzing lotion over Sebastien's skin, which made the pale boy a little too orange, but still much closer to the Raven Queen's supposed skin tone. "Not bad," Damien allowed. "Sit down, and I'll do your face."

With a long-suffering sigh, Sebastien sat by the table and tilted his head up for Damien's ministrations.

Wielding the makeup palette that Ana had bought and taught him how to use, Damien carefully dusted and painted until Sebastien's eyes were dark gems staring out of smoky blackness and his lips were a deep wine color, even darker than blood. Damien did his best to keep his hands steady, too aware of the warmth of Sebastien's breath for comfort. When he stepped back to admire his work, he had to admit that Sebastien made an undeniably striking woman. "Are you frightened?" he asked.

Sebastien raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Your hands are shaking," Damien pointed out.

Sebastien looked down to them with surprise. "I'm not frightened. Not excessively so," he amended. "I must not have eaten enough for breakfast. Or maybe I've had too much…coffee. But don't worry, I can handle my part." Sebastien stood and pulled up his hood. He posed with unnatural stillness, his head tilted as he stared at Damien from the darkness beneath the fabric, black hair and feathers obscuring most of his features while the makeup distorted the rest.

Damien shuddered, pretty sure he could feel Sebastien's Will roiling out like the hungry waves of a dark ocean, sinister and prepared to consume whatever it could drag into its depths. "That's perfect," he whispered, then added more loudly, "You should definitely activate your Will when we meet them. Oh, this is going to be spectacular."

"If everything goes well, that is," Sebastien said.

Damien rolled his eyes. "We've planned for literally everything that could possibly go wrong." He opened his jacket to display the rows of healing and battle potions within as evidence. "We have backup, and we're going to search Malcolm and Randolph for any nasty surprises when they arrive. It's going to go perfectly."

"Don't tempt the gods of irony," Sebastien admonished. "No plan survives contact with the enemy."

Damien just sighed, putting on his own disguise, which was much simpler. New clothes bought off the rack instead of tailored to him, a mask bought from a street stall—instead of a costume shop, on Sebastien's recommendation—and a cloak with an equally deep hood. All black and appropriately dramatic.

The coolest part of his disguise was the collar he wore around his neck, hidden by the high neckline of his shirt, which pressed into his voice box and would magically alter the sound when he spoke. They were great for costume parties, and the artifact had come from a joke shop. Rather than a collar that would make him sound like a little girl, which Ana had suggested, Damien had chosen one that would make his voice artificially deep with a strange reverberation. He hoped it would set the uncles' knees to trembling.

Still, he had been warned to speak as little as possible, just in case they somehow recognized the cadence of his voice, if not the sound.

Sebastien put on a second cloak, less tattered and more nondescript, to cover his Raven Queen costume, and together they left the hotel through a back entrance, still with plenty of time before sunrise. They wanted to travel while the streets were still empty, and hopefully arrive well before the two they were supposed to meet, in time to do one last safety check of the area.

Sebastien was still wary of tails, but he was impressively subtle in searching for them, and even their winding route would have seemed natural to anyone not specifically following them. He moved as if he belonged among the increasingly run-down buildings and streets lined by trash and frozen feces. Sebastien barely took note of these things; he didn't even seem nervous. It was as if he went undercover for high-stakes meetings all the time.

And maybe he did.

Damien did his best to imitate him, acting as if he belonged with absolute confidence. As they entered the parts of the city that had been involved in the gang fights earlier that term, the cleanliness actually improved, but there were still damaged buildings. Their destination was one such building, an old stone construct covered with dead crawling vines, the roof of which had crumbled away some time ago, if the interior was any indication.

Snow had piled up and mostly melted away, leaving a lumpy sheen of compacted ice in the middle of the room, with dead and dormant plants sprouting out of the ground in several places where the planks of the old wooden floor had either rotted away or been forcefully removed, perhaps for firewood. Tattered bedding and barrels full of trash and ash made it obvious that homeless people had been sheltering there to escape the elements, but Sebastien and Damien were alone in the building at the moment, as Sebastien had sent some local contact to clear the transitory residents away the night before.

After a quick search of the area, an examination of the surrounding buildings, and confirmation of the signals that meant both their backup and the private investigator Ana had hired were in place and ready for the upcoming meeting, Sebastien and Damien stood in wait, covered by the deeper shadow of the remaining roof, up against a load-bearing wall. "They will come, right?" Damien murmured.

"They should," Sebastien said, but his tone held a tension born from uncertainty. Ana had sent a blackmail note to her uncles the night before, threatening them with the information they had uncovered—the proverbial stick—and offering to trade the book for the Raven Queen's ring—the carrot. She had enclosed a black feather with the letter as a signature.

Damien had wanted to cut and paste letters from many different newspapers to send an untraceable and intimidating message, but Ana thought that wasn't "classy" enough for someone like the Raven Queen, and thus didn't seem believable.

Despite their initial worry, as the sun began to rise, their two victims arrived, scurrying nervously through the street with their heads on a paranoid swivel. It seemed they had done as the note demanded, coming alone.

Sebastien slipped his hand through an ingenious slit Ana had sewn in his skirts to the hidden pouch underneath, which held a small vial filled with a dark, roiling concoction. He uncorked it, allowing the contents to spew from the glass container. Smoke billowed out from beneath his dress, an ominous and translucent grey that sometimes flashed purple. Apparently, it was a modified philtre of smoke, meant more for theatrical effect than obscuration. The long-lasting cumulus clouds stayed low to the ground, roiling balefully as they spread.

Malcolm and Randolph arrived with perfect timing, just as the smoke reached the edge of the shadow that Sebastien and Damien had sequestered themselves within.

Both men stiffened and froze as the smoke attracted their gaze to Sebastien. Malcolm recovered first, tightening his grip around the ornate head of his cane and stepping fully into the room. Randolph—father of the infamous "cousin Robbie"—was less bold, though the tremor in his hands as he followed his older brother inside was just as likely the aftereffect of an overindulgence in alcohol, or some other less savory substance, as it was a physical symptom of his obvious fear.

Damien and Sebastien stepped forward in turn, with Sebastien leading and Damien trailing a few respectful feet behind. Damien shuddered as he felt Sebastien's Will roil out into the slow-moving smoke, riding on it with malevolent intent.

Both Malcolm and Randolph Gervin seemed to feel it too, as Malcolm stiffened and swallowed heavily, while Randolph sidled a little more directly behind his brother, as if to use him as a shield.

At this angle, with the roof and part of the wall gone, the four of them were fully visible from a window on the upper floor of a nearby building, where the private investigator was waiting with a camera obscura. Damien believed this would be the perfect moment to take a couple shots, but he kept his eyes from straying in that direction and hoped the flash of light wouldn't give their plan away too early.

Malcolm Gervin cleared his throat. "We came alone, as required, and have brought the ring. Did you bring the book?"

Sebastien turned his concealed face toward Damien in wordless command.

Damien stepped forward. "I need to search you for weapons or any other items that would constitute a betrayal," he said, his voice coming out like a rock giant gargling pebbles.

Malcolm's mouth tightened, but he nodded.

Damien came around behind them, searching Randolph first, and then Malcolm, being as thorough as possible as he ran through a mental list of all the ways people had ever hidden something on their person in an Aberford Thorndyke story. He found several pieces of contraband, including multiple battle wands, a philtre of liquid fire, a bracelet that Randolph insisted was just a valuable piece of jewelry, and an actual hidden breastplate underneath Malcolm's shirt. He took them all, including both men's coin purses and Malcolm's cane, which Damien knew held a hidden knife, and placed them in a pile beside Sebastien's feet. The man didn't need the cane to walk, after all, though Malcolm tried to protest that he did. Damien found the Raven Queen's ring, too, but Malcolm refused to let him take it until they had exchanged it for the book.

Through it all, Sebastien remained silent, communicating only by small twitches of his arms or head, which was more unnerving than being screamed at might have been.

Finally, Damien returned to his place at Sebastien's side. "We have the book," he confirmed. "And the proof of your other activities."

"How do we know you have made no copies, and that you will not betray us after getting what you want?" Malcolm asked.

Sebastien laughed, a low, eerie sound that genuinely made Damien uncomfortable.

He recovered quickly, saying, "If the Raven Queen planned to harm you, there would be little you could do to stop her. But she is honorable. You came to have what is hers through honest means, and though you may be of reprehensible character, so long as you do not make an enemy of her, she will have no reason to retaliate."

Sebastien nodded, reaching into the inner pocket of his cloak. First, he pulled out a folder stuffed with papers and photographs of evidence, and then a large volume, its leather binding tattered, its pages smelling of smoke and rancid, spiced sausage.

Damien allowed himself a smile of pride beneath his mask. He was the one who'd designed and put together the book, with a little help from Ana, and it was a perfect base for the skill with illusions that had cemented Sebastien's role as the Raven Queen in this little play.

The inside of the front cover held a spell array that Sebastien used to create the illusion of a strange, shifting glyph on the front, half-disguised by a streaked, bloody handprint, as if someone had died as it was pried out of their grasp. The pages glowed so slightly it was only visible in contrast to the relative gloom of their surroundings, but the light was a dark, sinister color that wasn't quite purple—blacklight, just on the edge of human perception. As the book's faint light passed over Sebastien's costume, the honey they had splattered and streaked over the fabric in violent patterns became briefly visible, like a dream clawing into the waking world.

Both of the Gervins' attention locked onto the book like it was a glass of water and they were parched and dying men—as if it were the most important thing in the room. "A worthy trade," Malcolm said, holding up the small jewelry box and opening it to reveal the ring within. "With this returned, and your silence about the rest, the bond made with your father—or at least the man who calls himself such—will be nullified, Queen of Ravens."

Sebastien stepped forward, leaning in to examine the ring with false curiosity.

When Malcolm moved closer to make the exchange, a huge fireball shot out from the roof of that same building where the private investigator was hiding.

The spell headed straight for Sebastien, who ducked just in time. It splashed against the ground a few feet away, the edges of the flame licking at the smoke and the hem of his tattered costume.

Malcolm and Randolph both stumbled back, each reaching for an artifact only to find it missing, taken by Damien during his search.

Sebastien stood, looking from the scorch mark on the ground to the roof where the fireball had come from.

Yet another black-cloaked form stood there proudly, pointing a battle wand down at them. Before anyone could respond, they shot again.

Sebastien and Damien moved back to evade it, and the spell landed between them and the Gervins.

"Betrayal!" Sebastien snarled, his voice almost unrecognizable with authentic-sounding rage.

Again, Damien couldn't help but flinch, a visceral reaction to the sound. Sebastien was, apparently, an amazing actor who could have made a name for himself in the University theatre club. The smoke beneath the Raven Queen costume began to billow more strongly as Sebastien activated the gust spell array they had scratched into the inner side of one of Sebastien's boots.

Putting a spell array in such a place was both dangerous and absolutely ingenious, but the effect was spectacular, sending his costume fluttering with imagined power and pushing the smoke out in waves of grey and purple.

"No, no, we didn't!" Randolph screamed.

"We are not allied with them, I swear it," Malcolm called. "We came alone, and in good faith!"

But it was too late, because another wand-wielding attacker walked up the street, and a third appeared atop one of the other nearby roofs. Both shot spells toward Sebastien and Damien, ignoring the Gervins.

And that was Damien's cue. In one smooth flourish, he pulled the wand from his own hidden wrist holder, throwing up the shield spell contained within. It blocked both the fireball spell—which was carefully calibrated to be more light than heat or force—as well as pieces of stone that a concussive blast spell had sent hurtling in their direction.

Then he switched to the second setting, which normally held a standard stunning spell. He had a license for the battle wand, but it was hard to get approved for anything more lethal on the grounds of "protection." Still, Sebastien had somehow come through again, taking the wand and returning with a different variation on the stunning spell charged within. It acted in almost the same way, but instead of the standard bright red, the spell that shot out, crackling faintly with arcs of electricity and glowing dust, was a sickly green that reminded Damien of puke.

Malcolm literally threw himself to the ground to avoid it, expressions of outrage and terror fighting for dominance on his face. "Stop! We're on your side!"

"You betrayed us!" Damien yelled. "You're going to wish you were dead." Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and his voice cracked, but he was pretty sure, judging by the expressions on Malcolm's and Randolph's faces, that he was totally pulling off the charade.

Malcolm's expression hardened, and as he crawled back to his feet, he reached into his mouth. With one finger, he popped something out from between his jaw and his cheek and clenched it in his hand hard enough that his knuckles turned white.

Immediately, a dome shimmered around him, and a second later the man had disappeared. Only the faint disturbance of the smoke floating along the ground revealed his position as, shielded and invisible, he ran out the door.

Randolph fumbled to do the same, but dropped whatever artifact contained such an impressive spell. He went scrambling for it on the ground among the trash and rubble, his face turning puce with terror before he was able to retrieve and activate it.

The trio of attackers surrounding the decrepit building continued to attack Damien and Sebastien, though their spells were either seemingly mis-aimed, poorly timed, or just didn't manage to do any damage past Damien's shield.

Sebastien strode into full view in the middle of the room, head hanging low as he slowly raised his arms, hands peeking out from within his long, tattered sleeves. He turned his head toward their first attacker and reached out to them, pointing a finger and then making a crushing motion with his fist. Half a second later, something exploded with a rumble of thunder and the soundless eruption of a true philtre of darkness.

Sebastien did this twice more, once for each of the other two hired actors that his contacts among the secret organization had allowed him to procure, to the same sensational result.

With their "attackers" thus subdued, having each set off a philtre of darkness and a single-shot firecracker at their own feet at Sebastien's motion, he and Damien were quick to leave, rushing along their designated escape route to the safe house Sebastien had insisted on.

The coppers would be drawn by the noise, and they wanted as few sightings of the Raven Queen as possible. This whole thing was supposed to be a big production, but Damien shuddered to think of what might happen if the real Raven Queen heard about their impersonation and took offense.

They sprinted through back alleys and run-down buildings, with so many twists and turns that, if not for Sebastien to lead him, Damien thought he might have gotten himself lost. Then they turned abruptly into a little cottage's side door, where they changed their appearance. Sebastien took off the wig, carefully removed all of the makeup and skin toner, and stripped off the dress. With his white-blonde hair pulled back at the base of his neck in the same style Professor Lacer often wore and a different cloak over simple clothing, he looked completely different. Damien took off his mask flipped over the reversible cloak he wore to display the inner forest green instead of the black.

They exited the cottage from a different door as nonchalantly as possible and found Ana's carriage waiting nearby. After they hopped in, the driver clicked his tongue to the horses, sending them off toward the nice part of the city and the hotel rooms Damien had booked.

"So, do you think it worked?" Ana asked.

"Definitely," Damien said, feeling like he was about to vibrate out of his seat. "Oh, Ana, it was amazing. You should have seen your uncles. So cowed. They fell for it completely. And Sebastien! Best impersonation of the Raven Queen I've ever imagined. He missed his calling as a stage actor." As they rode through the streets, Damien recounted the whole sequence of events to Ana, ignoring Sebastien's frequent snorts of disagreement and incredulous expressions.

"That's really exactly how it all happened, Ana. Sebastien likes to downplay things, you know," Damien insisted.

"And he's so jaded," Ana agreed, nodding wisely.

Sebastien ignored them both. "How do you think the coppers will take this?" he asked.

"I don't know, but isn't that irrelevant as long as they don't find out who was really involved?" Damien asked.

Sebastien did not seem mollified by this argument.

They had to duck out of the way of early-rising inhabitants a couple of times as they attempted to sneak back into their rooms, and Damien was relieved when the door finally closed behind them. "What's going to happen to all their things?" he asked, leaning against the inside of the door. "We just left them behind. Will the coppers be able to identify their owners, do you think?"

Sebastien gave him the first real grin of the night. "Our allies out there this morning should pick them up before the coppers arrive. Partial payment for their services, I suppose. There might even be some coin left over for us."

Neither Damien nor Ana had the same gleeful response to the promise of loot, until Sebastien added, "I was thinking, maybe we could set up an education fund for Newton's family. He has younger sisters, I think. If the family even wants more of their children learning the same magic that killed their son, that is."

That immediately sobered the mood, but they all agreed it was a good idea. Damien and Sebastien both retreated to the bathrooms to wipe off any evidence of their adventure, and then they all made their way back to the carriage to return to the University.

No one would even realize they had left.

As they were riding up one of the transport tubes, watching the sun as it rose high enough in the sky to cut through the morning fog, Damien turned to Sebastien, smirk displayed in full force. "I told you the plan would work perfectly."

Chapter 126 - Output Circle

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 7, Sunday 9:00 a.m.

Sebastien arrived at Professor Lacer's office Sunday morning right at nine. There had been no need for the beamshell tincture to boost her energy levels that morning, such was her excitement for the chance to take another step toward learning to free-cast.

He waved her in, closing and locking the door behind her. "I do not want you distracted at a critical moment if some buffoon decides to burst in without knocking," he explained. He turned to his desk, where a coffee tray rested, and poured himself a mug. He looked to her with a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes, please," she agreed, more for the chance to share a morning coffee with Thaddeus Lacer than out of a desire for caffeine.

He reached for the trench coat draped over his desk chair, pulled a flask from the inner pocket, and poured some of the liquid within into his coffee. "I am not an alcoholic, if you were wondering," he said. "This is a special wakefulness concoction that I developed myself. Useful for when emergencies allow me no time to sleep. I would offer you some, but the taste is extremely unpleasant, and if you were so exhausted as to need it, that would be a sign that we should postpone this lesson."

Sebastien nodded, then shook her head. "I don't—need it, that is. I'm awake."

Professor Lacer handed her a steaming mug, into which he had added neither sugar nor cream, then took a reluctant gulp of his own brew. His exaggerated grimace and the little involuntary shudder that ran through him was…almost cute.

Sebastien turned her attention to her own coffee. 'I must be sleep deprived if my mind could make a connection between the word "cute" and Thaddeus Lacer,' she thought. 'There has never been a man who matched that descriptor less.' Aloud, she said, "So what am I going to be learning today? You said it would help prepare me for free-casting?"

Professor Lacer stepped back around his desk toward the center of his office, where the furniture had been pushed out of the way to provide space. "Thaumaturges, like all people, can become set in their ways, their brains wearing down comfortable pathways of frequent travel. This happens with the Will as well, and the more those comfortable pathways are traveled, the more difficult it can be to climb one's way out of the valleys created. This is why, for example, I assigned first term students an exercise using light as both Sacrifice and output. Climbing out of that rut is the point behind what you will attempt today."

He pulled a wrapped piece of chalk from his vest pocket, drawing a simple and yet somehow perfect Circle on the floor without any guidelines. Then he exchanged the chalk for his Conduit and a beast core. "Spells learned by fledgling thaumaturges like yourself are almost always bound by the confines of the central Circle of your spell array. The output effect is contained and controlled within. This is fine—and safe—to start out with, but one who hopes to become a free-caster should not settle too comfortably into this habit." A glowing sphere, a simple light spell, appeared inside of the chalk Circle. "Tell me what you know about spells whose output is actualized outside of the Circle."

Sebastien quickly organized her thoughts. "The easiest example of such spells still kind of work by controlling the area bounded by the Circle. Like a spell that creates cold in the area surrounding the Circle by gathering all the heat inside it, or the gust spell, which just expels air from the Circle in a specific direction. But there are plenty of spells with more complex directional effects. They still originate within the Circle of the spell array, but then travel outside it. You talked about this in the first lesson at the beginning of the term," she remembered.

Professor Lacer turned to watch her as she continued to speak, his gaze inscrutable as the words tumbled from her more quickly, her excitement building the longer she spoke.

"Examples are fireball spells, which shoot an actual ball of fire at the target, revealing spells, which shoot vibrations and unseen waves, and even the stunning spell, which shoots a low-current electrical charge along with the powdered saliva of a Kuthian frog, all contained within a field of force that dissipates on contact with the target. You said the commonality between these kinds of spells is that they shoot something that exists in nature, just bound in a compact form that decoheres with distance and time. But, with enough power and control, one should be able to shoot transmogrificational long-range spells by shooting both the Circle and the Word at its target, which is supposed to be incredibly difficult." She paused, then added, "I can shoot a directional slicing spell that works by compressing air. And the gust spell. And, of course, Newton Moore's spell that uses the Circle of the hands, but the effects of which travel throughout the caster's physical body."

Professor Lacer nodded, turning back to the spell resting on the floor. Suddenly, the area outside the Circle glowed with diffuse light, and then, after a few seconds, the light gathered in a wedge-shaped beam on one side. "These directional applications still depend upon the center Circle. As do projectile applications." The light coalesced back into a sphere in the middle, then suddenly shot out, expanding and dimming slightly before impacting against the far wall, where it burst and immediately dissipated. "These parameters of direction, velocity, and even containment force are generally written into the spell array."

"Are you going to teach me how to bypass those limitations? Remove those parameters from the spell array, maybe?" It seemed like the logical next step to her.

"That is not an unreasonable guess, but based on my observations, that is not something you should need my help with. If you practice slightly modifying those output parameters beyond the exact limitations of the spell array, you should be able to work up to removing them entirely. There is another parameter which we will be focusing on today." He glanced back at the Circle on the floor, but the sphere of light instead appeared floating between the two of them at head height. It had not originated within the Circle.

Sebastien stared into the light with admiration, and then turned to meet Professor Lacer's dark blue eyes with open avarice. "I'm ready."

His lips twitched with somewhat mocking amusement. "I am aware. This exercise is difficult, and for those with an undeveloped Will, can be dangerous. You have the requisite experience and control, as evidenced by the Henrik-Thompson capacity test I supervised a couple of months ago, as well as your recent performance with the illusion spell. One might expect to see the equivalent in a third-term student, one who entered the University having never cast a spell before," he said pointedly, though she knew he didn't actually care for the rules and laws restricting magic. "Most importantly, however, and unlike our young Mr. Westbay, I know you are prepared to learn this because you have done it before."

She looked at the ball of light hanging in the air and then back to him. "What? When… Ah!" She thought she knew what he was referencing. "During the entrance exam. When I threw that…temper tantrum with the blue flame spell," she said, rubbing the back of her neck and looking away.

"Indeed. And when you accomplished this, the spell array certainly did not contain a coherent Word describing the parameters of an output generated outside of the Circle. You brought that flame to life in the air with Will alone. At the time, I remember being surprised you had not killed yourself in the attempt, but I am quite sure you at least approached Will strain, if not stepped directly into it. Today, you will learn to do this with the proper spell array."

Professor Lacer gestured to the chalk Circle on the floor, and a purposeful gust of wind originated at their feet, cleared away the dust, and deposited it in the wastebasket beside his desk. "Let us have a quick lesson on how to read and adjust the output parameters, and then you will attempt the exercise yourself."

He turned to one of his bookcases, pushing on the edge. It slid to the side, apparently resting on tracks rather than the floor, and revealed a blackboard that had been concealed on the wall behind it. Then, writing out multiple example spell arrays for her, he gave a thirty-minute lecture on the concept, which she absorbed like a dry sponge.

Finally, he said, "Now, put this principle into practice. You will start with an output on the ground approximately one meter away from your spell array. Once you've mastered that, you can try for longer distances, then lifting the output vertically, and then a combination of the two. More advanced applications will have you further increasing distance or trying to cast with a denser substance than air between you and the target location. I would request that you only attempt this under my supervision until I say otherwise. And, as a warning against your proclivity for reckless stupidity, do not attempt to do this with, say, a person or a crowd of people between you and your target. You are likely to face resistance due to the inherent magical barrier of their bodies creating an impassable obstacle. Also, you should be aware that most household wards will act as a shield against this by blocking the energy transfer."

Sebastien's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered how one might get around such wards, but she didn't spend much effort contemplating it. Moving to the center of the room, she crouched to draw out her own spell array with a wax crayon, which was less likely to smear catastrophically as she walked around. Unlike Professor Lacer, she wrote out the full Word with detailed instructions inside her spell array, taking the beast core he tossed her way as a convenient source of power. She left out only the anchored location parameters.

As she palmed the Conduit Professor Lacer had lent her, attached by a chain to her pocket watch, she stilled, staring down into its crystalline depths. Despite her excitement for the lesson, her mind wandered to her mother's conduit. Malcolm Gervin had indeed brought the forgery that she had placed in the vault to their meeting. Either he was being disingenuous, or he had no idea that the one he had was a fake, which only confirmed her suspicions that Ennis had sold the original celerium at some point. The thought once more filled her with rage. She was almost looking forward to his trial, when he would finally see some consequences for all the harm he had done.

Sebastien forced her mind back to the present moment. The magic required her focus. Drawing on the beast core, she first created a small ball of light within the spell array's main Circle, both to warm up her mind and make sure she had no trouble with the spell effect itself. She had never drawn on a beast core for light before, after all.

Then she dropped the spell and prepared to cast it again, this time adding the final parameters. She brought her Will to bear, staring at a spot exactly one meter away from the center of the Circle and…nothing happened. Power had been drawn through her Conduit and was circling through the wax lines of the spell array, but no light had appeared where she intended.

No glowing sphere had appeared at all. It felt as if the magic had sputtered against her Will at the last moment, like a candle flame about to go out, struggling feebly for its life, and then…nothing.

She tried again, to the same result. And again. Frowning with consternation, she reviewed the spell array, then took a few moments to go over the concept in her mind once more, focusing on the mental image of a ball of light appearing where she had instructed. This would improve the clarity of her Will.

This time, she leaned into the spell, baring her teeth and driving her Will against the reluctant fabric of reality. 'Light. Light!' This time the magic didn't simply sputter, it bucked against her. It didn't feel exactly like the wildness of new magic that hadn't yet been broken in, but more as if she was trying to play the child's game of hoop-rolling, but her wheel kept getting stuck in unforeseen ruts in the road and being drawn off course.

Cold anxiety settled in her gut. 'Is my mind already so congealed in its ways, my Will so intractable, that I cannot adapt?'

"This is expected to be difficult," Professor Lacer said. "Even I had trouble with it, on my first attempts. Do not grow discouraged. You must simply keep trying until you crack open the new paradigm. You may stay in my office until noon. There are plenty of protective wards, and I will not let anything happen to you. Schedules allowing, you may come back to practice again next weekend, and the one after that, and so forth until you succeed. Periodically, I will give other lectures on topics that may provide you…inspiration. For now, you may be best served by grasping the full measure of the problem. The better your understanding of your current limitations, the more use you will get out of related information."

She didn't respond, still scowling down at the floor with enough ire that her expression could have scoured the stone away.

When she failed to respond, he added, "Do not allow your frustration to make you careless. A mistake here could be very dangerous, with the magic outside the bounds of the spell array and thus unrestricted."

Sebastien stood, rolling her Conduit between her fingers and pacing back and forth. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. Like you said, I've done this before successfully. I—" Sebastien broke off as her eyes caught on the cover of the book Professor Lacer was reading. 'A History and Guidebook of those who Call Themselves the People: Nomadic Tribes of the Northern Islands,' the title read. A shock of mixed alarm and curiosity shook her from her thoughts. Her mother had been of the People. That book was about her own ancestry.

Perhaps seeing the curiosity on her face, Professor Lacer said, "The indigenous peoples of the northern islands are quite fascinating. I recently became interested in them in relationship to the Raven Queen. Half of her supposed civilian identity comes from those who call themselves the People."

"How do you know that?" she asked, trying to seem innocently curious.

"I am a friend of Titus Westbay, who runs the local coppers. Occasionally I am called in to consult on particularly difficult or interesting cases. I was not always a teacher, you know," he added with a wry twist of his mouth, almost self-deprecating. "You may find it interesting to know why a group of insular, nomadic minorities are called that, even by outsiders, when it seems more likely we would come up with some other designation for them. It is an example of some of the most widespread, impressive transmogrification I have seen, a curse whose details have been lost to time and can only be speculated at. The Church of the Radiant Maiden was leading their crusade about four thousand B.C.E., expanding their grasp toward the scattered nations on the outskirts of the western continent, and had begun to persecute the People. You've heard the history, I'm sure. Many atrocities, dehumanization, slavery and forced familiar contracts of sentient beings, etcetera." He waved his hand nonchalantly.

"The People could not stand up to the weight of the Church's sheer scale, but they had other specialties. They forced all outsiders to call them "people" in their own language, a curse whose remnants last to this day. The closest guess we have about their method, pieced together from battle reports, is that they used a large ritual sacrifice of their enemies. When I say large, I mean a ritual that spanned tens of kilometers, coordinated by smoke signals and light shone on the clouds, performed on a day of importance and with the cooperation of every single member of the scattered tribes. Curses may all have their keys, but this one was never broken. Though the compulsion itself has faded, the power of even that much energy consumed by the eons, the naming habit persists. Impressive, is it not? These are the Raven Queen's ancestors."

Sebastien nodded silently, running her tongue over the back of her teeth for a moment. Her grandfather had told that story many times, though the details were slightly different. Hesitantly, she asked, "So, do you know anything else about the Raven Queen?"

He smiled with a strange, dark delight that made Sebastien's hair stand on end. "She had a very interesting childhood."

"What do you mean?"

"I only know as much as the coppers have been able to glean, but the Red Guard has records of an Aberrant incident, and some of those closest to her had very interesting backgrounds. I will not share the details, so snuff out that burning curiosity, child."

Sebastien took a moment to digest this, then decided to pry at the information she had originally wanted more directly. "I heard rumors that she made another appearance recently?"

Lacer snorted disdainfully. "Despite how much those currently investigating her might want to believe otherwise, that was not the Raven Queen."

Sebastien's throat went dry. "What do you mean?"

"Too many discrepancies. Supposedly, the Raven Queen and a companion were meeting with an unknown party and was either betrayed by them or ambushed by a third group. There is a surprising lack of testimony. However, examination of the crime scene has revealed that some of the attacks were underpowered, almost as if they were not meant to kill. There was some residue left from the Raven Queen's clothing, including a couple of black feathers. However, they were not raven feathers, but crow feathers, and had been sewn and glued onto the fabric." He gave her a pointed look.

"Crow feathers…" she murmured. "I suppose they look quite similar, to a layperson."

"Additionally, eyewitnesses say she and her companion ran away from the scene in a very mundane manner, which is certainly possible, but somewhat implausible, given that multiple previous reports have noted that she has some stealth-based ability to slip away or disappear, possibly with the aid of shadows. Even if for some reason that was not possible in this instance, we have the final discrepancy. The one unreliable eyewitness who saw the tail end of the actual incident insists that the Raven Queen was free-casting some kind of darkness spell on her attackers, and killed them all with little more than a wave of the hand. In reality, while there are signs of multiple different philtres of darkness and even some modified firecrackers, all the attackers seem to have escaped on their own, with no signs of injury. Given all this evidence, what would be your conclusion?"

Sebastien tried to smile, though it felt awkward on her face. "Someone was impersonating the Raven Queen?"

"Indeed. A clever impersonation, to be sure, but no match for the investigative power of Crown-funded law enforcement. If it really was her, then she is playing a game several levels deep, too many even for me to comprehend. But despite all this, and all the confusion this incident has created, some of the coppers are intent on labeling it a Raven Queen sighting. Apparently the hope of progress and having something to report to the High Crown is enough of a reason to ignore the facts."

"But that's entirely counterproductive," she said, noting the irony that if they found the Raven Queen impersonators or the Raven Queen herself, she would be caught either way.

Professor Lacer slid a marker into his book to hold his place, and then reached for the remaining coffee and poured himself a second cup, which he reheated simply by sliding the tip of his finger around the rim of the mug. "You would think that any rational person would understand that. When playing against someone as painfully clever, dangerous, and powerful as the Raven Queen, their halfhearted efforts will never be enough to catch her. Some of them are more interested in seeming as if they are doing their jobs than producing results. There is a difference between showing that you've tried and actually trying."

"But surely some of them are putting in the work?"

He took a sip, this time forgoing the splash of something extra. "Some of them. But you might be surprised by how common a failing this is, Mr. Siverling. The majority, alas, have not trained themselves to latch onto confusion like they should. Confusion is the difference between what your models of how the world works predict, and reality. The first virtue of a thaumaturge is curiosity, but the second virtue is relinquishment—the ability to let go of incorrect beliefs when they are leading you to incorrect answers. The ability to change your mind."

Lacer stood abruptly, verve flowing through him and animating him the same way it often did when he gave a dramatic lecture at the front of the classroom. "Sebastien, when you are confused, that is a sign. A huge red warning sign that, if you have trained yourself properly, you should realize is the equivalent of a rogue magic siren going off right next to you. But most people feel instead a slight uncertainty, or a sense of sneaking suspicion, there for only half a moment before they roll over and bury it with justifications and tightly held beliefs that are too precious to be challenged."

He moved around his desk and began to pace, gesturing with the hand not occupied with a coffee mug. "A man who has never seen the sky before may believe that it is purple. When he finally crawls out of his cave and sees an expanse of blue above him, he will be confused. His model of the world conflicts with reality. Rather than justifying that what he sees cannot be the sky, he should update his predictive models—his beliefs—and understand that the sky is blue.

"If a woman believes that her partner is faithful to her, but her partner is acting secretive and staying out late, she may become suspicious. Rather than rationalizing away these behaviors, since they are evidence against the believed faithfulness of her partner, she should investigate. Doubt's purpose is to erase itself, one way or the other. If your models of reality seem to conflict with actual reality, the ability to be curious, and the ability to relinquish your beliefs, will allow you to determine actual reality, and thus whether your models should be kept, discarded, or updated."

Sebastien couldn't help but absorb some of Lacer's passion for the subject, the rightness of his words settling somewhere deep inside of her. Their message seemed obvious, but she knew from experience that nominally understanding something and actually living by its principles was not the same thing. "You've mentioned the virtues of a thaumaturge before. Curiosity, and now relinquishment. Are there more?"

He stopped pacing and turned to face her. "There are twelve virtues in the Way."

She leaned forward. "The Way of true power? You mentioned that before, too."

"The Way of true power. The Way of victory. It has no formal name, but in simplified terms, it is simply the art of not being stupid." He sipped his coffee, staring at the floor with a mirthless severity. "A surprising amount of the time, you will find that winning is about not being stupid. Which is harder than it might sound, because these meat suits we wear, our brains, are built to take shortcuts that save energy, and to encourage behaviors that would keep us alive in a primitive environment. They are not built to be always right. One of the greatest frustrations of my life," he added in a low murmur.

"What are the other virtues?" Sebastien asked.

Lacer observed her for a few long moments during which she was careful not to fidget, meeting his challenging gaze unflinchingly. "No, I do not think I will tell you," he mused. She wanted to protest, but he continued. "Listing them out for you to memorize will not do you any good. At worst, it will make you think you understand and adhere to them. It is best if you search them out for yourself, internalizing their lessons as you learn and grow." His tone gentled. "This is the effort of a lifetime, child. You will have time."

"You'll still teach me about them, though, right?" she asked.

"When appropriate. Now, back to work with you," he said, waving his hand at her in a clipped shooing motion as he summoned the book he had been reading and moved to sit in one of the plush chairs resting against the wall.

She hesitated, looking from the spell array on the floor to the book in his hands. Grabbing her Conduit for what she vaguely recognized was the sense of comfort and safety it gave her, she narrowed her eyes. "I have a sneaking suspicion that you're reading that book out of more than simple curiosity. You're looking to gain knowledge towards a purpose," she said boldly, despite the little voice of anxiety inside that wanted her to shrink back and be silent for fear of exposing herself to danger. "Have you learned something new?"

He glanced at her over the top of the book. "Already putting my lessons into practice, Mr. Siverling?"

Sebastien nodded. "I always do."

Lacer actually smiled at that, filling her with a quick flush of pride, but he immediately returned to reading. "Might I suggest that if you have more questions that would distract from your spellcasting, you try to find out the answers yourself through applying your mind to the problem?"

"But I don't have access to the amount or quality of information that you do," she protested.

He quirked up one eyebrow. "An astute observation. Perhaps that is a sign that you, a first-term University student who has displayed a proclivity for questionable judgment and jumping into danger, are not qualified to deal with the issue and thus should not recklessly poke your head into it."

She didn't know what to say to that.

After a short pause, he lifted his head again, shifting slightly. "I understand that you are interested in the Raven Queen because of the 'blessing' she imparted upon you. But I assure you, she is not particularly interested in you. She was using you as a tool to communicate indirectly. You need not fear that she has some vendetta against you. If you do find yourself in contact with her once more, mention of my name might do well as a talisman of protection. There is no need to worry or obsess over her."

Sebastien wanted to protest that she was not obsessed with the Raven Queen, but instead asked, "Why do you think she's interested in you? You seem awfully sure."

Professor Lacer acted as if he hadn't heard her, but the sharp tapping of one impatient forefinger against the arm of his chair was enough indication that he had run through whatever limited pool of indulgence he allowed her.

She returned to the wax spell array, kneeling on the stone floor before it. The difference between her attempts now and her success during the entrance exam was that at that time, she had been desperate, terrified, and enraged. Her Will had been undeniably imbued with that ephemeral property, forcefulness.

Now, Sebastien tried to grasp hold of that again. 'I want this. I must make it work. If I fail here, my dreams are shattered. This is the step that will take me beyond my mediocre, helpless existence. Without this, I will not reach true power.' She allowed herself to wallow in bad memories, something she so often avoided, until tears prickled at her closed eyes and goosebumps rose on her arms and back. With trembling fingers and a racing heart, she tightened her fist around her Conduit, opened her eyes, and reached over to draw an ephemeral Circle around the empty spot on the floor where the light should appear, hoping that the act would somehow bridge the gap in her mind.

And in doing so, she realized that perhaps she'd been going about this all wrong. Not only had she cast a similar spell during the entrance exam, but she frequently cast a spell whose output location she controlled at will: her shadow-familiar.

She sat back on her heels, rolling that thought over in her mind. Her shadow-familiar had the advantage of being formed of her shadow, which inherently belonged to her in a way that some random spot on the floor a meter away from her spell array did not. But perhaps she could borrow some principles from it. Namely, the fact that, as long as it was connected to her by a single thread of shadow, a tether, where it went and what shape it took mattered not.

She held her hand out over the Circle, far enough away to be outside of its bounds, allowing her shadow to fall within it. She imagined a band of control spreading from the center of the Circle out to the spot where the spell effect should be generated, a channel through which power and her Will could both flow.

'Light,' she snarled mentally, staring at that empty spot. She would not accept failure. She could not even conceive of failure, such was her determination.

A small glowing sphere bloomed on the floor a meter away, surrounded by nothing and wavering translucently. Her spell array glowed at first with inefficiency, but quickly dimmed as if cowed by her glare.

She was concentrating too hard to be elated as she brought the ball of light into greater resolution and stability. She held it until the trembling subsided from her fingers and her racing heart slowed, until the dread riding on her shoulders dissipated. Then, finally, she released the spell.

Sebastien turned to Professor Lacer only to find him already watching her, his book set aside and forgotten.

Chapter 127 - A Monster Egg

Thaddeus

Month 3, Day 7, Sunday 10:00 a.m.

Thaddeus set down his book and stared at his apprentice, who had just managed to detach the output of his spell from the central Circle after only an hour of focused effort. He had estimated that the boy, due to a combination of talent, work ethic, and sheer stubbornness, would succeed in two to six months, practicing for a few hours every weekend, wearing down those mental ruts as Thaddeus slowly helped him grasp the necessary concepts.

Thaddeus himself had taken almost a week of practice when he gained this same ability many years ago. He knew people that struggled with it for a year or more, and many more never managed to overcome their over-reliance on the spell array and, specifically, the bounding Circle.

Perhaps young Siverling's previous success under emotional duress had been more impactful than Thaddeus estimated. Or perhaps the boy had already been working toward this even before Thaddeus deemed him ready to make the attempt.

The boy released the light spell with a hiss of air, breathing heavily from the exertion.

"Do it again," Thaddeus ordered, moving to examine the exact mechanism his apprentice was using more clearly.

Siverling struggled with the attempt for a minute or so but managed the feat once more.

Thaddeus's eyes narrowed as he examined the spell array, and he cast a minor divination spell that was meant to aid perception, highlighting the signs of magic that were too subtle for human senses to parse. "Again, in the opposite direction."

Siverling adjusted his spell array, and once more created the light sphere outside of the Circle. Sweat began to bead on his temples.

"Hmm." Thaddeus leaned closer, examining the space between the output and the central Circle. He could see the energy flowing along the stone floor in a single band, not quite enough to let off a visible glow, but obvious enough with the aid of his perception spell tuned to exactly such a thing. "Rather than physically create a connecting line, you have extended your spell array with an effort of pure Will. In a way, this is impressive, and speaks to your future as a free-caster, but it is not the result I require."

The boy slumped with dismay, but quickly firmed up his spine again. "I don't understand."

"This is the most common method for displacing the output, but your understanding is still bounded by your previous experiences, and I think you will find this method to have certain limitations. Still, you have taken a firm step toward true detachment and are wearing away at the edges of familiarity."

Siverling's expression grew grim. "Am I?" he murmured. "What is the eventual goal, then? What do you mean by true detachment?"

"Better if you come to understand more organically. We can continue as planned, though the timeline has accelerated somewhat. You will explore the limits of your current abilities, and I will offer you knowledge that you may form into a solution. After all, following exactly in someone else's footsteps is its own kind of rut. Can you continue?"

Siverling nodded adamantly.

"Then let us begin. First, we expand the distance."

What followed forced Thaddeus to reconsider his opinion of his apprentice's talent. The boy was a monster.

Thaddeus, too, was a monster, but he had grown accustomed to being alone in that, outpacing the talented and crushing those with bright futures under the weight of their inferiority. He had thought Siverling talented, special—hungry—but for the first time, Thaddeus began to see that the boy was just an egg, still developing his potential. Given the right nutrients and guidance, when he hatched, his growth could be explosive.

This realization further fanned the flames of greed within Thaddeus, for what the boy could be to him. It did not exactly mirror his interest in the Raven Queen, but there was a special kind of pleasure in nurturing a seed—when the seed was worthy of the effort, something so elusive that Thaddeus had never before taken an apprentice.

Siverling seemed to have absolutely no trouble extending the displacement of the spell the entire length of Thaddeus's office, either finding the stretch no more difficult, or simply improving so quickly that the added strain only set him back to the baseline effort.

Thaddeus then had the boy close his eyes before casting once again, as many thaumaturges were over-reliant on their vision to guide their Wills. Siverling's brow furrowed, and his breathing deepened, but he managed after only a couple more minutes. "Wow, that was significantly harder," he exclaimed despite his almost instant success.

They adjusted the spell array's output parameters once more, to allow the light to hang in the air over Thaddeus's desk, and this time Thaddeus had his apprentice turn his back on the spell array and location of the output.

The boy gripped his Conduit tightly, his other hand clasped around his fist, his eyes closed and head bowed in concentration.

Thaddeus was fairly confident the increased difficulty here would stymie the boy, if not for several months, at least for a session or two.

Siverling's jaw grew tight, his brow furrowed, and despite his admirable control keeping his breaths deep and even, his temples grew wet with sweat. But then, he lifted his head proudly, opened his eyes, and rolled back his shoulders, and the light flickered into being over Thaddeus's desk.

Wisely, Siverling dropped the spell after only a moment to confirm that it had succeeded, the pride and command melting out of his posture as he did so. Without prompting, he moved to one of the chairs shoved over to the wall and plopped down to rest.

For the first time, Thaddeus became curious about the boy's background. To achieve this, he must have had a solid foundation, with a particular focus on his Will's forcefulness and clarity. Whoever had taught the boy had served him well. If it had been Thaddeus, though, he was sure Siverling's capacity could have been pushed much higher.

After allowing Siverling time to recover, they continued searching for a progression of the exercise that would finally stymie him. When he discovered one, he was unsure if he was pleased or dissatisfied. Siverling's Will-modified spell array could stretch around corners but could not pass through a solid barrier. It also could not navigate an area the boy had not seen before on its own, even to reach a theorized destination within that area.

It was obvious Siverling was tiring by this point, so Thaddeus allowed him to rest. "The method you are currently using is useful, but it has weaknesses, as you can see. You should consider it a crutch, at best. While it would be dangerous to demonstrate at the moment, based on what I have seen I believe your displacement method would be weak against shielding spells and general wards. It has no penetrative power. But, perhaps much more dangerous, it is likely vulnerable to severing spells and other disruptions. If you encountered that, there is a reasonable chance your spell would fail and you, as well as those around you, would have to deal with the backlash. Let me stress again, this is not a party trick to play around with and should not be practiced without supervision."

The boy nodded tiredly, barely able to focus his eyes. "I understand. I won't do anything foolish."

"Hmph. We shall see."

Siverling pressed his lips together and wisely did not argue. Instead, after a few moments, he simply said, "Thank you."

Thaddeus turned back toward his desk. "You are welcome. That concludes this weekend's session. If you have time, feel free to come back next Saturday to practice, though I will not be giving a lecture or more guidance just yet."

Siverling sat for a while longer, staring up at the ceiling, but eventually pried himself out of the chair and shuffled for the door. He paused before leaving, turning to Thaddeus with uncharacteristic hesitation.

"What is it?" Thaddeus asked.

Something resolved in his apprentice's eyes. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but I'm friends with Anastasia Gervin and acquainted with her cousin Alec. Alec went home to visit yesterday…and all was not well. His father and his other uncle were acting…agitated. Unusually so. Alec came home early to insulate himself from the tension. I was curious…and confused," Siverling emphasized.

Thaddeus raised an eyebrow. "I see. Anything else?"

"No. I only have suspicions, and I can't say they entirely make sense, especially if the latest incident wasn't truly the Raven Queen. But…perhaps it's something to keep an eye on, and I know you've helped with the investigation in the past. You're friends with Titus Westbay, right? Unfounded suspicion would sound better coming from you than troublemaking students like Damien or me. And I also don't want Alec to have to deal with the pressure of being questioned about his father. The man already has a tight grip of fear over him. I…am worried for Alec, as unpleasant a personality as he may be. I just hope that if there is something going on, if there is further evidence, it won't be overlooked." Sebastien closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a slow breath and some tension along with it.

"Thank you for telling me."

Siverling gave him a small, wry smile, a slight nod, and closed the door gently behind himself when he left.

Thaddeus set aside his reading, picked up his jacket, and made his own way out of the Citadel, walking toward the northwest. He was aware of the trust the boy placed in him. Such faith was foolish, perhaps, but he could not deny that it was perfectly designed to create mirroring feelings of warmth within himself.

Thaddeus, as well as the coppers, had already been aware of some non-inheriting members of the Gervin line attempting to treat with the Ennis Naught, and by association, the Raven Queen, of course. But that had been early in the investigation, before she gained her current reputation. If those two had continued attempting to do so even now, acting without the oversight of the investigation, it would be considered an attempt to subvert the High Crown's justice. That they had not actually met with her did not matter, only that they had attempted to do so. There would be punishment.

He chuckled to himself as he walked into the trees, considering the irony of those two brothers treating with a fraudulent Raven Queen. Because Thaddeus was well aware of what they must have been attempting, and the whole thing was rather amusing. They had been lucky not to have met the real woman.

After a moment to consider all the factors, Thaddeus decided that he would, in fact, pass this suspicion along to Titus.

As Thaddeus exited the trees before Eagle Tower, looking up at the repaired edifice, so close to being finished, his smile widened. The real Raven Queen had been quiet lately. He wondered if the coppers would grow desperate enough to try something more than divination with what little of her blood remained to them.

But most of all, he wondered how she would respond this time.

Chapter 128 - Raven Summoning Spell

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 8, Monday 10:15 p.m.

Grumbling internally about inconvenient meeting times and locations, Siobhan walked out of the secret meeting of underground thaumaturges. Tanya had not been at the new, appropriately underground venue this time, and Siobhan suspected that she, along with some of the other missing members, were no longer welcome after the security crackdown.

It hadn't subdued the trading, and Siobhan found herself leaving with more than she had planned. She had a box full of potions, a couple of scrolls containing the instructions for her new decryption spells, and a slightly heavier coin purse after selling a few pieces of her own information and fencing off the Gervins' confiscated belongings.

In addition to these planned purchases and sales, she found herself carrying a new enchanted satchel, large enough—due to a minor space-bending spell—to fit Siobhan's old, more feminine satchel inside. It even sat light on her shoulder due to a lightness spell. Also, there was a third scroll tucked away in her inner jacket pocket: the instructions for a spell to summon the Raven Queen.

The spell had been offered during the previous meeting but was, rightfully, met with general skepticism, both because of the high price and because summoning spells were so deeply unreliable, had potentially long payoff times, and even then the "results" were open to interpretation.

Summoning spells were supposed to create a weak attraction to something that met your defined requirements, subtly nudging the world so that the caster came into contact with the object of their search parameters over some vague upcoming period of time. The more undefined the parameters, or more distant the target in space or time, the weaker this force of attraction became. A few more scientifically minded thaumaturges had even posited that this whole subset of divination was a scam, with people succumbing to the placebo effect or seeing "signs" that matched their target. With a vague enough target and enough mental contortion, anything could meet the criteria. Even the fact that general summoning spells were still legal pointed toward their lack of efficacy.

In any case, this spell was supposed to allow someone to meet the Raven Queen. The seller even claimed to have tested it successfully, meeting and requesting a boon from her. An obvious lie. Even if the summoning spell had worked, forcing her to cross paths with the caster, they would have no way of knowing the innocuous person passing them in the street was really the Raven Queen. Only one person had been foolish enough to purchase it, and tonight they had come back, irate at the spell's failure, demanding a refund. Apparently, rather than allowing them to meet the Raven Queen, the spell had summoned a flock of corvids. The caster dropped the spell, but by the time the effects had dissipated, they were covered in small wounds and bird shit.

The arbiter had settled the dispute, but Siobhan found the whole thing hilarious and bought the spell instructions for a pittance, since it seemed like the kind of thing that might come in handy at some point. It almost didn't seem like the standard summoning spell at all, rather some sort of area-effect compulsion, much more direct in both execution and effect than the little she knew of such spells.

Stopping in a dark alley, Siobhan took off her feathers and turned her cloak inside-out to change the color, then flagged down a carriage that bore a small painted rendition of the Verdant Stag's green antlers on its side. The box of supplies was too heavy to carry all the way, and though she had traveled to the meeting with Liza, she was on her own now and felt safer within the obscuring walls.

She had bought some potions that she'd never made before, and sold the recipe for the fever reducing potion, which she had brewed several times for the Verdant Stag. Now, someone else could do the same, or just supply the people who would have otherwise bought from the Verdant Stag, still indirectly putting her out of a job. This was why spell information was often so tightly held, as having a monopoly on anything useful had obvious benefits. But that restrictive and selfish mindset seemed silly to Siobhan. 'Magic is better spread as far and wide as possible. If there's no longer demand for this concoction, it won't matter to me, because I'm always growing and learning and will be able to make something new that people want to buy. Additionally, the best thaumaturges will make the best potions, and their reputations can keep them selling even in a saturated market. And if that places a strain on the supply of magical components, then there should be more jobs in sustainably sourcing components, or research into viable alternatives.'

Her mental tangent ended as she arrived at the Verdant Stag, going around to one of the back entrances, where an enforcer let her in. He immediately returned to reading a flimsy pamphlet, ostentatiously labeled The People's Voice, apparently one of the first editions of a newspaper run by the Verdant Stag. Oliver truly was the boy with a finger in every pie.

Siobhan dropped off the box at the apothecary, then made her way to Katerin's office. When she knocked on the door, a familiar, distinctly non-Katerin-like voice called, "Enter."

Inside, Katerin's chair was facing away from the door, seemingly empty. Then a small foot reached out for purchase on the side of the desk, and the chair swiveled slowly around. Theo was sitting there, his copper hair mussed and what looked to be homework sprawled out over the dark wooden desk. He had steepled his fingertips together and was glaring over them in a parody of a powerful businessman. When he saw Siobhan, he perked up, forgetting his little act. "It's you! I haven't seen you in so long! Why're you in your Raven Queen body? Didja go after one of your enemies tonight? Didja do something super awesome and nightmarishly horrible to them? Do you have any other bodies you can change into? Can you really travel through the shadows, and if so, can you take someone small with you, maybe? 'Cause I was thinking, that would be really awesome to try, and I promise I wouldn't be any bother—" He cut off the rapid-fire questions suddenly, having inhaled and choked on some of his own saliva.

Siobhan waited patiently for him to recover.

After some dramatic hacking, bent over the desk, Theo looked up at her, red-faced, watery-eyed, and suspicious. "Did you just hex me to shut me up?"

Siobhan rolled her eyes. "No. And if I did, it would have been a jinx, not a hex. Making you choke on your own spit is more of a prank than anything malicious. Isn't it a little late? I'm pretty sure Katerin wants you in bed by this hour. And are you still working on your homework?"

Theo quickly slammed shut his textbooks and shuffled all his papers into a haphazard stack, slipping the whole mess into one of Katerin's desk drawers. "That's not important, and Katerin isn't here right now. Now that all the trials and stuff are over, she's getting ready for transferring all the rest of those bad guys to the coppers for official sentencing and jail and stuff. Do you know how long it takes to earn enough money to buy a utility wand? I've been working on it for months now, and I'm still only maybe halfway there. Maybe you could talk to Katerin about increasing my wages?"

Siobhan raised an eyebrow at the non-sequitur, noting that he hadn't answered her questions. "Your wages for what?"

"Homework and stuff."

"The same homework that you haven't completed and just shoved in a drawer?"

Theo gave her a hard stare, his expression asking if she was really pointing that out. "Et tu, Brute?" he muttered, hopping down from Katerin's chair.

Siobhan wondered if he even knew what that meant or was just parroting something he'd heard others say.

"Well, to make up for it, you can take me with you when you go shadow-walking," Theo offered magnanimously, coming around the desk to stand in front of Siobhan.

"That's a rumor based on zero facts."

Theo's mouth dropped open in stunned dismay, but then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Zero? Really? Even if you can't shadow walk, you've gotta have something interesting that you can show me. I mean, you always have something interesting. Last time, it was all those totally awesome stories about the Black Wastes. Mr. Mawson totally hated that, but I cited all those sources you told me about and he had to give me a good grade. Katerin kept saying I was going to have nightmares, but I didn't have any at all, so you don't have to worry about treating me like a little kid." He reached out boldly to take her hand in both of his, staring up at her with big watery eyes.

Siobhan hesitated, but she was trying to be kinder to herself, as well as to others, and some childish play might be just the thing. As the end of term was approaching in just a few more weeks, the stress among her classmates had grown palpable. When she woke in the middle of the night now, several other students were likely to be awake as well, light coming from their curtained cubicles as they tried to cram a whole term's knowledge into their skulls. It was like the stress was infectious.

She herself wasn't worried about the general exams, because it was clear she wasn't in the bottom ten percent of her student group and thus in no danger of being held back, but the end of term exhibitions were looming ominously, and she was struggling to get as much power from Professor Lacer's transmogrification exercises as the spells should have provided at her capacity.

"Please?" Theo wheedled.

"Fine," she acquiesced. She had a few more spell arrays drawn on paper now, and she easily found the simple illusion spell. She placed the paper near the light on Katerin's desk, so that she would have more to draw from, and created an image of a cute little dog on the page, wriggling around with excitement as it looked at Theo.

The boy watched with wide eyes, smart enough to stop himself from reaching out to touch it, despite his obvious desire.

But soon enough, he frowned. "This is neat and all, but it's not very 'Raven Queen,' is it?"

She morphed the dog into a tiny black, fire-breathing dragon, which drew Theo's interest more strongly, but he still wasn't satisfied. "But it's just an illusion. There isn't a cool story to go along with it, and it's not even leaving the page. Don't you have anything more…dangerous? Or at least more impressive?"

Siobhan let the spell drop, staring down at the top of Theo's curly copper head with exasperation. "Fine. But we'll need a place open to the air, though preferably not exposed to widespread observation."

"Of course," Theo agreed, already tugging at her hand. "We can use one of the rooms with a balcony hanging over the back courtyard!"

Siobhan took a few minutes to more thoroughly examine the spell instructions and imprint the process into her mind, then got to work out on the chilly balcony, setting up the spell array on her portable slate table rather than wrestling with getting an unbroken Circle across the wooden boards beneath her.

It was a bit cramped to fit the three raven feathers—which she had double checked to ensure they weren't crow feathers after learning of Ana's mistake with the Raven Queen costume—plus the shade dust, an offering of something shiny and valuable, and a lump of iron. The spell called for a raven eyeball as well, but Siobhan didn't have one. Considering what the spell did and that she already had raven feathers, she was confident the eye wasn't necessary. She also didn't have a lodestone, which she had substituted with a normal piece of iron. Siobhan might have been able to forcibly magnetize her little lump of iron, but it seemed foolish to try without research and safety measures, especially for something so trivial. For the final component, she placed down a polished gold crown.

When she was ready, she set the slate table on the balcony deck, added her lantern for power, and stood over it with her hands raised dramatically as Theo watched avidly from the side. Siobhan was trying to take a lesson in spellcasting theatrics from Professor Lacer, who always looked so impressive. In a low, deep voice she said, "Oh raven of the night. With hunger I seek you, persevering. To the earth I draw you, a beacon. With luster I entice you, worthy."

The chant seemed obviously cobbled together, and the magic wobbled unsteadily under the grip of her Will, new and wild, but she refused to let it slip from her grasp.

She imagined the effects of the spell spreading out just like the tendrils of a divination, seeking a matching target and enticing it to approach.

As with any summoning spell, Siobhan knew there was a chance of failure. Despite the spell's previous "success" for the other caster, it might not be powerful enough to wake any birds from their sleep, for example, or reach far enough to draw a large flock. Still, for the next quarter hour, they sat on the corner of the balcony and waited, their legs dangling off the edge. Siobhan concentrated on the spell with one part of her mind while using the other to chat with an increasingly impatient little boy.

"Are you sure it's working?" Theo asked.

As if on cue, the first raven arrived.

It landed not on the balcony or the center of the spell array, but on Siobhan's shoulder.

Theo gasped, staring up at the creature in awe.

Unlike the account the previous purchaser of this spell had given, the raven seemed entirely docile, maybe even friendly—or at least curious. It watched them with its little black eyes, then pecked at Siobhan's hair, pulling gently in a motion that felt like grooming.

Tentatively, Theo reached up to pet it, pausing for a moment before his fingers came into contact with its feathers, giving it time to react.

The raven remained still, and when Theo finally touched it, gently sliding his fingertips over its dark, shimmering feathers, the boy sighed dreamily. "You're so pretty," he told it. "And smart."

The raven bobbed its head up and down, then nibbled gently on his fingers, making him giggle with delight.

"Oh, I should have brought some food for you," he lamented, suddenly heartbroken by this oversight.

"I have some," Siobhan offered, carefully moving to pull out the same pouch of dried fruits and nuts that she secretly took with her to breakfast.

Theo held up the bits of food in his palm, and the raven hopped over to his shoulder instead. He petted its feathers, murmuring constant and ever more hyperbolic praise as it nibbled away with its sharp beak, careful not to accidentally hurt him. "Oh, you're the most genius bird in Gilbratha. And the most beautiful. Your feathers probably look like a black rainbow in the sunlight. You're a mighty hunter. And a cunning thief. And all the other ravens are jealous of you…" He continued in this vein for a while.

Siobhan watched with satisfaction, feeling a warmth at his childish enthusiasm and instant adoration. But after another quarter hour, the second raven arrived, and there was an immediate tussle over who had rights to the food.

Theo struggled to mediate. "Be nice. There's enough for both of you. I've got a whole pouch, see?" he said, shaking the food Siobhan had bought for herself without a care to leave any for her. "No, Blacky," he said to the smaller one, "be nice to Empress Regal. She was here first. Why don't you ask her if you can have some of the raisins, too?" He turned a hard stare on the first raven. It hesitated, but then grudgingly nudged one single raisin toward Blacky.

The ravens seemed to start some sort of argument, hopping on Theo's lap and tugging at his hair and clothes while squawking belligerently and batting each other with angry wings.

Theo had to resort to threats to get them to stop. And then the third and fourth raven arrived, each taking one of Siobhan's shoulders. They cawed loudly right in her ears and eyed each other with distrust, and then all four started hopping and flapping around in some kind of territorial dance that she was worried might accidentally disrupt the spell array.

Siobhan dropped the spell, because she wasn't a complete fool, and drawing a flock of ravens, even in a discreet place at night, seemed like a great way to attract unnecessary attention.

Three more ravens arrived after that, flying around the balcony in confusion. After a minute or so they left, followed by the others.

Theo's raven was the last to depart, but not before finishing the last of the snacks. It gave Theo's bright copper hair a friendly tug, then swooped down and picked up the gold piece Siobhan had laid out as a component before flying off into the night.

"Hey!" she called after it angrily. "Bring that back!"

Its mocking caw soon faded into the distance.

Suddenly, the whole thing didn't seem worth it after all. A whole gold piece was a steep price to pay for less than an hour of fun for a little boy. With a sigh, she packed up the spell components and her lantern, shooing Theo off to bed before Katerin could return and get angry with the both of them.

After returning to the Silk Door and Sebastien's form, she checked her pocket watch, noting the late hour and vacillating for a moment over what to do next. Responsibly, she should return to the University and go to sleep. But the decryption spells she had been waiting for so long were calling to her from the inside pocket of her jacket, whispering of the mysteries they could uncover and the power of knowledge.

So instead, knowing she would likely regret it in the morning, Sebastien headed to Dryden Manor. She had the beamshell tincture if she really needed it, after all.

Oliver was there when she arrived, but seeing that she was busy and distracted, he said only, "Have breakfast with me in the morning before you head back. There's some upcoming work I want to talk to you about."

With a murmured agreement, Sebastien headed up to her room and took out the spell instructions, as well as the books on more complex math that she had borrowed from the University library in anticipation of this moment.

Spreading out her books and papers over the floor and plopping down cross-legged on a cushion, she delved into the theoretical information. As she had worried, the spell was complex, the math slightly beyond her, and the power requirements entirely beyond her. But those were only roadblocks, and with enough tenacity, they could all be overcome.

She worked well into the night, deciphering the math and turning the formulas into graphs and charts that took up a lot more space but were easier for her to grasp. She wrote notes that explained how the spell worked in more detail so she could stabilize the Word, and calculated out how to modify the spell to stretch out its casting time such that she could handle it on her own.

She got lost within the work, so focused on wrenching apart the puzzle pieces and forcing them back together that she didn't retire to bed until the early hours of the morning. Thinking of the raven stealing her coin, a giggle burst out of her. It probably had a whole cache of stolen loot. She drifted off to sleep imagining other people being victim to similar thefts, but superstitiously believing that the ravens were demanding tribute on behalf of their queen, tittering woozily to herself all the while.

Chapter 129 - Sealing of Tongues

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 9, Tuesday 6:00 a.m.

Sharon had to pull Sebastien out of bed in the morning, chattering to herself as she cleaned up the papers scattered everywhere, daintily avoiding the writing Siobhan had done directly on the floor. The saintly woman didn't so much as give Sebastien a dirty look for the extra work.

Fifteen minutes later, Sebastien entered Oliver's office carrying an overfilled breakfast tray. "You have a job for me?" she asked without preamble.

His knee bounced rapidly for a moment before he stood from his desk, moving to pace in front of the fireplace. "As you know, I still have the worst of the Morrows, including the majority of those who held more influential positions, incarcerated in our secret jail. After what happened with the University, I started digging a little deeper into their activities. I believe they never intended to work sincerely with either of us. Why they are so determined against the Verdant Stag, I do not know, but there are signs that someone is putting together an assault force. It's possible that I am being paranoid, but I suspect they plan to try to stop me from sending the Morrows to Harrow Hill."

Sebastien set the tray down, her mind struggling out of its fugue as the seconds passed in silence. "I assume you have a plan to deal with this? How does it involve me?" she asked, her shoulders tensing as she prepared to argue.

"This Friday night—early Saturday morning—we'll be turning over the remaining Morrow prisoners to Harrow Hill for sentencing. I have a group of coppers in my pocket now, and we've arranged for everyone necessary to be on the midnight shift. As secretly as possible, we're going to deliver the Morrows to Harrow Hill directly, along with their confessions, witness accusations, and what evidence of their crimes we've collected, well before anyone suspects. By morning they'll all be booked, with evidence of their crimes on file. No matter how corrupt some of the coppers are, there will be no way to reverse the situation. It's the last step, and I want to make sure it goes perfectly."

"And you need me for this?"

He waved his hand. "Oh, no! I need you for what comes before. Nothing dangerous. As you might imagine, there is quite a lot the Morrows could potentially talk about under questioning, not only about their own activities, but also about Kiernan's faction—these University thaumaturges calling themselves the Architects of Khronos—and about the Stags. Some of them know things I don't want getting out, or that I'd like to hold in reserve rather than going full fireball spell, metaphorically. Keeping testimony about the Architects of Khronos in reserve could effectively hold them hostage. And so, inspired by Tanya Canelo, I've hired a cursemaster to handle placing a conditional lock on their speech."

Sebastien frowned. The whole thing seemed rather complicated, but she supposed that when you were in opposition to the established regime, didn't want to kill your enemies, and didn't have the resources to run a long-term prison or work camp, things got convoluted. "You…want me to assist the cursemaster?"

"I want you, as Silvia Nakai, to assist Healer Nidson. The whole process is a little dangerous, and I'd rather not have any of them be permanently damaged or die by accident."

She noted the use of the words "by accident." Perhaps if it was on purpose, permanent damage and even death would be acceptable to him.

"Healer Nidson requested you specifically. Apparently, he was impressed by your performance the last time you worked together. I do have others with healer training, but none that I trust as much as you. Information security is paramount. As much as possible, I want to surprise everyone not directly involved. It would be a few hours of late-night work, you would get to experience some very rare magic up close, and I don't expect you to put yourself in any danger. If anything were to go wrong, there is a back exit that you can take immediately."

She hesitated. "I can literally just run away if things go wrong?"

"Yes. Use your judgment to decide if that's necessary. The guards will be numerous and heavily armed. Even if we do meet obstacles, we should be able to blast right through them."

"But there is an enemy that specifically wants to stop you from succeeding. You cannot assume they are foolish or weak. And it seems like something always goes wrong with these dangerous missions. I don't want to be involved in things that could get me killed, Oliver."

Oliver's fingers kneaded at the muscles of his neck. "I am making every reasonable preparation, Sebastien," he said tiredly. "And we don't even know that something will go wrong. You've participated in plenty of missions for me that haven't resulted in combat. Most of the secret meetings, putting up the emergency response flags, and even this recent work against the Gervins. When things have been a little more dangerous, you've still acquitted yourself admirably. We're in this together, or haven't you realized? When the Morrows are safely locked away, you'll be safer, too. Why are you so resistant to the idea?"

'Because things can only go horribly wrong so many times before I fail to stumble my way to unlikely safety. I'm deathly sick of my situation continually going from bad to worse,' she thought wearily.

Oliver shook his head, then finally stopped pacing and really looked at her. "I'm sorry. I know you're struggling too, but I don't have a lot of options. And I think what I'm asking is reasonable. Do I need to remind you of the debt you owe? The Gervin sub-commission has yet to land on my desk."

She glared at him for a few long seconds. "I'll need to prepare. We need to prepare. If I'm going to be involved, I need to be sure things are done right. It's going to be difficult on such short notice. Stars above, I don't have time for this."

Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she squared her shoulders, lifted her jaw, and said, "Let us discuss the payment first." She might not be able to get out of this, to be just a University student, but she could make Oliver's wallet hurt for the offense.

They spoke for over an hour as she questioned his preparations and suggested a few additions. When there was no more time, she hurried back to the University, mulling over all the necessary preparations and adjustments to her plans.

She took the beamshell tincture with the cafeteria breakfast, and then spent the rest of the day on the go, trying to squeeze every last drop of value from each spare minute. In the evening, she made a series of eclectic purchases inspired by Ana and Damien's ingenious contributions to Operation Defenestration.

The remainder of her week was spent in preparation, readying new emergency stash locations and disaster plans while struggling to recover from the sleep deprivation that single late night of spell research had caused.

When Ana and Damien had worked on the planning and preparation for Operation Defenestration, they had opened Siobhan's eyes to how much someone's image could change from just a bit of makeup and the right clothes, as well as the sheer extent of what some of the nobles would do to change their appearance, and thus the market for such things.

And so, she'd availed herself of some darkening cream for her skin, to turn her smooth ochre tint into a slightly more blue-based brown, a prosthetic nose with thicker nostrils and a bit of a bump in the middle, and some color-changing lenses made of reinforced glass that turned her dark eyes into a light blue.

The lenses were the most difficult part of the whole transformation, as she'd had a lot of trouble getting them into her eyes and, once there, to settle properly over her watering eyeballs. They didn't exactly make her eyes unremarkable, as the bright blue stood out starkly against the deep dark brown beneath, giving her a striking, piercing gaze, but they did help to make her look nothing like herself.

Along with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, some artful grey streaks in her hair, and a little bit of transparent tightening paste she'd dabbed at the corner of her eyes while squinting to give herself wrinkles, she truly appeared to have transformed into someone else. Perhaps an aunt, or an older cousin.

Siobhan had wondered if she should start trying to think of herself as Silvia when she was in her new and improved disguise. Ultimately, she decided against it; incorporating more than two distinct self-identities seemed like both too much work and the kind of thing that could lead to dissociation of her base identity. She'd already had some trouble with that.

She arrived at the Verdant Stag's secret jail, an unassuming, rectangular brick building, the most interesting feature of which was the strategic positioning of small windows that looked more like arrow-slits on the second floor. Apparently, some clever enforcer had started calling it Knave Knoll, a witticism based on Harrow Hill, and the name had stuck. It was a couple of hours before midnight on Friday, and she had slipped by the late-night revelers braving the barely-above-freezing temperatures without notice.

Each of the fifteen wagons waiting in a nearby warehouse would carry prisoners to Harrow Hill, leaving in sets of three at slightly different times and taking random routes that some dice would decide at the last minute. The convoys would be escorted by dozens of enforcers, the most trusted from both the Nightmare Pack and the Verdant Stag. If everything was running on schedule, the enforcers would have already been questioned and searched, just to be sure, and they would currently be receiving their full kit of battle artifacts and potions. This, in addition to horses for each, had cost Oliver a fortune, but they were prepared for almost anything. And if all went well, they would have no reason to use any of it.

After going through the strict security process, she found Oliver inside, waiting with Healer Nidson. The man made no comment on her disguise, simply nodding in greeting, and she assumed Oliver or Katerin had informed him of her updated appearance. Her need for anonymity was a hint at her true identity, but there was little she could do about that at this point. Oliver seemed sure that Healer Nidson was trustworthy, and it was true he didn't seem inclined to ask questions.

Oliver was visibly tense, his muscles tight and prone to flinching. When he saw her, he made an obvious effort to relax.

Healer Nidson asked, "You're sure none of these people are going to somehow be let off or 'accidentally' escape Harrow Hill?"

"The shift manager made sure I would have all the right people there tonight, and none of the wrong. Once everything is on file, it would take someone very bold to try and tamper with the evidence. There is not that much leeway in the conviction process. When the right people are in the right jobs, Crown law isn't actually that horrible. These people are going to be executed or heavily fined and sent to work off their debt in the celerium mines. Even I wouldn't be willing to risk a mass breakout from Harrow Hill. The High Crown might call in the army to exact retribution and stomp down with the firm boot of the law."

'So all we have to do is get them there,' Siobhan reassured herself. 'And all I have to do is follow along behind Healer Nidson and do what he says.' She didn't say it aloud, though; far better to be superstitious than stupid, and she wasn't about to tempt fate.

As soon as the cursemaster arrived, escorted by Enforcer Gerard, the five of them moved from the lobby area into Knave Knoll proper. The building had obviously been modified, and she suspected that, before the second floor was added, it had been a stable for exotic, dangerous animals. The steel troughs stacked in one corner and the ventilation tubes running through each of the stall-sized cells gave it away, as did the lingering smell of manure, distinctly different from human stench.

Gerard led them to a small infirmary room, where a prisoner was already waiting on the single narrow medical bed within, set in the far corner of the room. The guard who had been with him bowed and left in a hurry.

Within the infirmary, the cursemaster lowered the deep hood of his worn leather cloak to reveal sallow, sickly features. His cheeks still held the faint white lines of old scars, and his thin lips were shiny with spit.

Siobhan found him immediately distasteful. 'Is he deliberately trying to look the part of the evil cursemaster? The leather of his cloak is even discolored and patched, like it was made from pieces of human skin sewn together.' She shuddered at the thought, glad they weren't doing this in a cell, where she would be forced to squeeze in close enough to smell him.

The Morrow man looked Enforcer Gerard and the cursemaster up and down. "Here to brand your insurance into me, huh? But if you're worried about us breaking the vow, what's to say we don't break a curse, too?"

"I am an expert," the cursemaster said simply, his voice dry and raspy, as if his throat had been slit at some point and the healer hadn't put it back together quite right. He wasted no time getting to work.

He pulled a jar from one of the many pockets inside his dank cloak and began to write on the floor with the dark-brown, congealed substance within, which shimmered green in the light of the wall lamp. A whiff of it hit Siobhan's nose, and from the salty-sweet, coppery tang, she identified blood as one of the major ingredients. He was creating a spell array, but she didn't recognize at least half of the glyphs, and the use of numerological symbols was…strange. He drew two different versions of a heptagram, one even and broad, and the other lopsided and spiky. Other lines branched off of this combined symbol, connecting particular glyphs and even a few other small symbols at the edges. In the center, he drew a filled-in circle the size of his fist.

When he finished that, the cursemaster took out a leather wrap and unrolled it to reveal over a hundred slender needles, some long and some short. He dipped a few dozen in the jar of blood, then set them aside. Next, he pulled out two small scrolls, one tied with a green ribbon, and the other with a red. "You understand the contents of the seal I will be placing on you?" he asked, waving them at the prisoner. "You may read them again, to familiarize yourself, if necessary."

Siobhan's attention caught on the word "seal," and her interest deepened. 'Was something like this done to me?' she wondered.

The prisoner waved a hand, his jaw clenched tight as he stared with futile unwillingness at the cursemaster.

"Very well." He produced a milky-white potion, into which he dipped a tiny brush and wrote something indistinguishable around the edges of both scrolls. When he finally unrolled them, he used a polished bone athame to draw a thin slice across the Morrow man's hand and forced him to create a large blood print on both of the scrolls, which he then burned up. The prisoner reluctantly ate the ashes, and then the real work began.

The cursemaster brought out a strange lump of clay—no, not clay. Siobhan had thought it was clay because of the way it squished in his hand. But the surface was pink and smoothly textured, and the lines of his fingers left no prints in its surface as he began to mold it. It was a little ball of flesh.

The prisoner almost gagged, and she sympathized. The cursemaster worked with frightening speed, molding the ball of flesh into a surprisingly realistic doll-like form. "A hair," he demanded, holding his hand out. When he received it, fresh plucked from the man's head, he stuck it into the scalp of the doll, which absorbed it like someone hungrily sucking up a noodle. The doll's features clarified, and Siobhan watched in horror as it grew to resemble the prisoner almost exactly over the course of a handful of seconds.

The cursemaster produced a small wooden box, which looked rather like a miniature coffin, and set the tiny simulacrum inside, where it rested peacefully.

The Morrow prisoner was breathing hard, staring at the box with bulging eyes, and when the cursemaster reached for him, he jerked back. "No, no, don't touch me!"

"It is much too late for that," the cursemaster said. "Hold still. I will complete the task I was assigned with your cooperation or without it. But my employer would prefer it if I leave you undamaged. Excessive struggling will make things…dangerous. The brain is a delicate thing, after all."

When he picked up two of the longer needles, the prisoner started to hyperventilate and scrambled back into the corner. "Please, don't do this! I promise I won't talk!" Seeing the cursemaster unmoved, the man's eyes turned toward Healer Nidson and Siobhan. "Help me! Help!" He began to sob.

Siobhan turned to Healer Nidson.

His expression was grim, his lips pressed together tight and compassion in his eyes. "If you would like, I can give you a minor sedative to help keep you calm, and something to keep you from accidentally moving. I would recommend the latter, at least. Even a small flinch could do damage."

After a long moment of horrible disillusionment, the prisoner accepted both. Healer Nidson didn't need Siobhan's help to provide a couple of potion doses, and soon enough the cursemaster got back to work. The prisoner was moved into the center of the spell array, his head resting over the central dot.

The cursemaster inserted both long needles, tipped in that strange blood concoction, directly through the man's skull and into his brain, seeming to encounter no resistance as he did so.

The Morrow prisoner's eyes were open, leaking silent tears.

Humming under his breath, the cursemaster opened his subject's mouth, pulled out his tongue, and began to insert the shorter needles into the soft flesh. It quickly became apparent that he was building a particular pattern, though Siobhan couldn't be sure if it matched the spell array underneath or was something new altogether.

The cursemaster released the man's tongue to draw back into his mouth with the needles still in it, then stood up, patting his hands on his knees where he'd gotten a little dusty from kneeling. He pulled out the larger needles from the man's skull, cleaned them thoroughly, then picked up the little box with the simulacrum. Very casually, he wiped his finger across the lips to erase them, leaving a blank swath where the mouth had been. Then he closed the lid and handed the box to Gerard. "This one is finished."

Siobhan stared at the silently crying man as a couple of enforcers arrived to carry him away, wondering if this was what the Architects of Khronos had done to Tanya—if there were still needles in the other young woman's tongue, hidden within the soft pink flesh. At least this criminal had deserved punishment, either directly or through being complicit in the crimes of his organization and underlings. Still, the whole thing left the palms of her hands sweaty and an unpleasant dizziness in her stomach.

She watched an almost identical process play out a few more times with impressive speed, and finally mustered up the courage to speak about an hour later, while they were waiting for the next prisoner. "I noticed you used some principles of binding magic. But it wasn't an equivalent exchange, right? Which is why it's considered a curse. Does the seal only work on speech? Could you seal someone's ability to cast certain magic, or think of certain things, or…" She trailed off as Healer Nidson shook his head at her.

The cursemaster didn't respond to her questions. He didn't even look her way.

In the hallway outside, visible through the open doorway, the guards were beginning to lead away some of the less-important prisoners, those who did not require such powerful magical coercion, for loading into the wagon convoys. Some struggled, some were crying, and some looked numb. While none bore the signs of physical torture, she looked at some of their eyes and realized that did not preclude more subtle forms of persuasion.

One guard sneered at a woman who was sobbing and grabbing onto his shirt. He pried her fingers off him, then examined both of her empty hands as if suspecting that she had tried to pickpocket him. "If you didn't want to pay the price, you shouldn't have committed so many crimes," he said.

She scoffed through her tears. "We paid for our crimes, quite literally, and now we're being turned over to the coppers to pay again? You may pretend to be righteous, but in truth you're maggots, stripping every last ounce of flesh off our rotting carcasses!"

Enforcer Gerard turned to Siobhan. "That woman was a child trafficker. I'm sure you've heard the stories about what happens to stolen young children. Oliver found some of them in the basement of a Morrow lieutenant's house after two days of questioning her. Three were already dead, and one of the little girls was pregnant." He spoke loudly enough to be heard by those passing by.

Siobhan blanched, her stomach rolling over inside her as sudden tears prickled at her wide eyes. She knew too well what could happen. She pushed the thoughts away with a physical shudder.

"They were going to die anyway!" the woman screeched. "Their parents couldn't afford to feed them. You don't know where they came from. Some of them ended up with better lives, because of me!"

One of her companions, a too-thin man with pale skin, closed his eyes to her words. "Shut up!" he whined, half weak cry, half prayer, and Siobhan suddenly knew that he had been aware of the child trafficking. He felt badly about it now, but not enough to have done anything at the time.

The sympathy she'd had for the cursemaster's victims died a little inside her. If she ever found out that Oliver was doing something so heinous, he would immediately and forever become her enemy. That these Morrows had willingly worked with an organization where such things were acceptable made them complicit. Regardless of their reasons for joining, the people who were still here, being taken to Harrow Hill, deserved their punishment.

Her respect for Healer Nidson increased when one of the cursemaster's subjects began to convulse as he inserted the needles into her brain.

Healer Nidson immediately stopped the cursemaster, and with Siobhan's help, stabilized the woman so she didn't do any further damage to herself. Then he used a complicated healing spell with several components from the Plane of Radiance, catching the tail end of her seizure and soothing her into a deep sleep. The light was bright and pure, harsh and cleansing, and from the spillover alone, Siobhan could feel how light could be used in transmogrification to such great effect.

Undeterred, the cursemaster finished the seal and once again motioned for the next prisoner to be brought in. But before they could arrive, one of the guards hurried up with a whispered message for Enforcer Gerard.

The man's expression didn't shift, but his muscular shoulders drew forward like a bear preparing to run toward the enemy. Siobhan caught some of his murmured reply. "Only two more prisoners to go. Don't start loading the final convoy yet. Give us twenty minutes." As the guard ran away to carry the message, Gerard said to the rest of them, "Nothing for you to worry about, just some precautions."

Siobhan was intensely curious, but couldn't ask for more details when acting as Silvia and in front of the other two.

Halfway through the final seal, the hallway lights shut down. They flickered back on, shining a deep red, then off again, and then were replaced by blue lights. The sequence repeated with ponderous ominousness. In the sudden silence that followed, Siobhan could hear a low, moaning alarm, not screeching like the city-wide rogue magic alarms, but nevertheless disquieting. She recognized the sequence as one of the many preparations she had made for this evening, but Enforcer Gerard spoke first.

"Stop all prisoner transports and activate security measures," he recited.

"We're being attacked," Siobhan predicted with numb lips.a

Chapter 130 - Prisoner Convoy Attack

Oliver

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 1:30 a.m.

Oliver had been apprehensive about this final step of the Stags' takeover for a while. He still hoped that the rumors of clandestine preparation for violence had nothing to do with him, or at least that it had nothing to do with the Architects of Khronos. It could be that some member or affiliate of the Morrows, one of the few they had failed to capture or kill in the beginning, had hired mercenaries. Or perhaps one of the other gangs from the more affluent parts of the city had some stake in keeping the Morrows out of jail. It was even hypothetically possible that one of the previously released Morrows had somehow broken or sidestepped the vow of nonaggression Oliver had required.

Riding his intelligent Erythrean horse, Elmira, Oliver headed out with one of the convoys that contained a large percentage of the more important Morrows, just as Liza and Lord Lynwood had done before him. The most experienced and loyal enforcers from the Verdant Stag and Nightmare Pack accompanied them. Other than some useless struggling by some of the Morrows, his group had met no trouble so far, and Oliver knew that little could stand in the way of such a group, but he couldn't help but look around for potential danger, tensing every time they passed anyone still awake and about so late in the night. The sky was moonless, and the only illumination came from the sporadic street lamps or windows spilling dirty light out into the street, which made every shadow more sinister.

He was just beginning to relax, having made it several minutes out from Knave Knoll, when a runner sprinted up behind their small convoy waving a slip of paper frantically in the air.

Heart sinking, Oliver turned Elmira back to meet him.

The young man was too out of breath to talk after sprinting such a distance, but the slip of paper said all that was necessary. "Terrier heading directly to the egg. ETA 10mins." It was printed on a familiar strip of paper, from the extra distagram he'd managed to buy for Knave Knoll's administration office. Of course, the message was in code in case anyone was tuned into the same band, but the message was clear to Oliver. Tanya Canelo was heading right to Knave Knoll and moving quick.

"How long ago did you receive this?" Oliver asked.

"Three…minutes," the young man gasped.

Oliver called for the convoy to halt, his thoughts racing as he considered the implications of this news. Canelo was not supposed to know anything about Knave Knoll, nor should she have any information about the night's events or the path his convoy was taking. It was exceedingly unlikely her movement was a simple coincidence. It was also quite possible she was part of a larger group heading to intercept them.

If they pushed forward, they might be able to reach Harrow Hill before anyone could catch them, and he doubted even the Architects of Khronos would be willing to start a fight directly in front of the coppers. Alternatively, they could fall back to Knave Knoll, which was heavily fortified and could withstand anything their convoy's guards couldn't.

The preparations that Oliver and Siobhan had taken over the last few days decided the matter for him. He couldn't imagine many scenarios that they were unprepared to handle, and so he ordered the convoy onward, urging them to increase the pace.

It took less than a minute for him to start doubting his decision.

The enforcers at the head of the convoy saw the enemy first, sounding the alarm.

"Ambush," Enforcer Huntley murmured, even before the forms hidden in the alleys on either side made themselves known, shining lensed lanterns at the convoy like spotlights.

Their attackers were riding horses of their own, and though it was difficult to make them out with the bright lights shining their way, Oliver counted more than a dozen.

"Stop!" called one of the men in front of them, arm straight and pointing a battle wand their way.

Oliver slowly reached under his jacket and fiddled with the artifact there. "Reinforcements will be here as soon as possible," he murmured, drawing his hand back out with a battle wand of his own clasped securely in his palm.

"Give up the prisoners, and you may leave unharmed," the leader of their ambushers called. "If you resist, or attempt to attack, we will annihilate you all." There were no obvious signs of who these people were, and many wore hoods or masks to cover their features. Oliver didn't want to jump to conclusions. His enemy would remain unnamed until he was sure.

Huntley cursed, low and vicious, one arm tugging on the reins of his horse to move between Oliver and the enemy, the other already securely clutching his own battle wand.

"I must have been cursed to live a life of adventure," Oliver said wryly. Either someone had betrayed his plans at the last minute, even after all the precautions he took not to be predicted…or whoever objected so strenuously to their transfer of the Morrows was powerful enough that they didn't need to be tipped off. A last-minute divination, perhaps.

Eyeing their ambushers, the shadows behind the eye holes of his mask helping to dampen the harsh lights pointed at him, Oliver considered trying to just smash straight through. They would likely get into a running fight, but as long as they could make it to Harrow Hill, their opponents wouldn't be able to stop the arrests.

But that was dangerous. Their attackers were on horses of their own, and his people wouldn't be able to outrun them with the wagons. Getting the prisoners to Harrow Hill wasn't so high priority as to be more important than the lives of his enforcers, or those of his allies.

"Circle up and retreat to the base!" he yelled. "Move left!" The streets were too narrow to allow for the wagons to turn around directly, so they would need to move sideways before turning once again to return the way they'd come.

In the wagon beside Oliver, one of the bound Morrows, head covered with a sack, let out a crowing laugh. "You upstart pillocks think we don't have friends? When we're all free, we're gonna drag your men naked through the streets while those people you think love you throw stones."

Elmira shifted sideways and gave a threatening snap of her teeth toward the speaker, who flinched at the unseen clacking sound so near his face and wisely decided to return to silence.

Their attackers hesitated no longer, raising hollow tubes Oliver recognized as military-issue grenade launchers to their shoulders.

"Fire!" the leader yelled, the domed fog of a concussive blast spell shooting for the head of their convoy from his own battle wand.

"Take cover!" Oliver screamed in response. There wasn't much space to maneuver, nor cover to take, but his people scattered or ducked behind the wagons as best they could.

The grenade launchers released their payload with a sound that was half pop and half crack of thunder, shooting the clay spheres of true battle philtres in an arc toward Oliver's convoy and startling some of the more skittish horses.

None of his people were hit directly, but the spheres broke on impact with the ground and the wagons, bursting with the sick yellow-green of philtres of stench and the brown-red heat shimmer of pepper bombs.

Both were meant to incapacitate, not kill. It could have been much worse. Their enemies were taking the safety of the Morrow prisoners seriously, which could work to Oliver's advantage.

Oliver's people moved with alacrity, trying to stay as far away from the smoke as possible while still guarding the wagons. The wind blew the smoke back toward their attackers, which gave his people time to put on the single-use, clear-faced masks that would filter the air to protect their eyes and respiratory system. "Advance to the left!" Oliver urged again, sending back a few battle spells of his own, as did many of his people. Most missed or were absorbed by magical shields.

Beside him, Huntley was less trigger-happy, but took an opportune shot, perfectly placed to take out one of their opponents. Unfortunately, a shimmering, four-cornered translucent shield suddenly expanded outward from a much smaller shield carried by one of their ambushers, protecting the wielder and the men several feet on either side of him from Huntley's spell.

That their enemy had access to military equipment and powerful artifacts was worrisome, but Oliver's side had the greater numbers, and didn't need to worry about avoiding lethal shots to the Morrows.

The prisoners were beginning to cough and gag despite the protection of the sacks on their head, which was silencing some of their screams. Some of Oliver's people hadn't yet managed to get their masks on, too busy dodging or firing attacks from atop their panicking horses. Oliver was once again grateful for Elmira, because Erythreans weren't nearly so skittish in the face of danger.

Thankfully, the man who had been outfitted for just such a situation remembered his orders and hurriedly pulled out an artifact from his saddle-bags. When activated, it sent out a pulse of power that muted the panic as well as the senses of the horses in a dozen-meter radius. The magic was light enough that it wouldn't stop any particularly panicked horse from breaking free, and was tuned specifically to their species, but everyone within the area of effect felt some of the spillover.

The calm was useful. The dampened senses were not. But it was worth it to maintain their group's mobility and control over the wagons.

An enemy man raised his hands, not in surrender, but in a motion of power and control.

As if they were all in the eye of a hurricane, the wind stilled. The air turned thick and soup-like for a moment, enough for Oliver to feel the press of its antithetical solidity against his skin. It was hard to breathe.

The smoke from the battle philtres hung in place, the spewing gasses building up into a thick roil. And then it swirled outward, moving toward Oliver's people like a great python slithering toward prey, eager to encircle and constrict. It focused first on those who had not yet managed to put on their masks, but quickly attacked the rest. The protective masks could only handle so much. If they were rendered ineffective…

Shocked, Oliver looked back toward the man who had his hands raised. Either he was a free-caster, or a witch with a powerful—and invisible—familiar from the Plane of Air. One was, of course, worse than the other, but in both cases, his response was the same. Oliver's estimation of the danger his people were in rose sharply, and he screamed, "Go, go, go! Break through!"

His words were muffled within the strangely static air, but they still traveled well enough for his people to hear and try to comply. Oliver deftly switched his wand's output to a piercing spell, firing in rapid succession at the spellcaster.

Despite his people's attempts to cover their faces or hold their breath, many had begun to cough and gag as the air of the philtres followed them unnaturally.

"Damp masks over your mouth and nose!" a Nightmare Pack woman barked to those closest to her, using a canteen to wet a bright yellow bandanna and tie it over her mask as a second line of defense, clumsily controlling her horse with her knees alone. She was almost hit by a concussive spell, but one of the other enforcers got between her and the enemy to throw up a personal shield spell with their battle wand.

The Nightmare Pack woman nudged her horse closer to Oliver's. "I think I can give that air witch some trouble."

"It's definitely an air witch, not a free-caster?" Oliver called, directing Elmira to dodge a concussive blast with the barest twitch of the reins.

"No Conduit!" the woman replied distractedly to his question. "If he were a general free-caster, he would still be using a Conduit. That he's not means he's channeling through his familiar. We can hope air spells are the only thing he has this kind of control over. Besides," she added with a predatory crinkle of the skin around her eyes, "I am an air witch, and my familiar can feel his."

Currents of air gathered around and rushed out from her hand, which rippled under the effects of a mirage. She aimed the narrow gust of wind at the battle philtres in a sweeping motion, pushing their spewing fog away from their people and back toward the enemy, disrupting the snake-like currents that had been focused on the other enforcers.

The enemy witch responded immediately to this attempt at resistance, curling a larger portion of the smoke around to circle Oliver and the woman, trying to press in on them.

The expanding shield adjusted again as its wielder moved to stand slightly in front of and to the side of the spellcaster. Though Oliver experimented against its defenses, targeting different edges in the hope of overwhelming it, and even coordinated one overwhelming assault that had the man behind the shield grimacing with fear, in the end all attacks splashed harmlessly against the shimmering barrier.

But, despite the difficulty, they had managed to retreat into a cross-street, and then turn again to make their way back toward Knave Knoll, the enemy harrying them at every step. Another barrage of battle philtres landed in front of them, creating a yellow and red mix of clouds across the street, too thick to see through. Again, the cloud gathered itself up and moved to direct the effects toward the most vulnerable. At this point, his people were all wearing their masks, but they were down a couple of men.

"That shield spell is being actively-cast!" Huntley shouted loud enough to make Oliver flinch, despite the stillness of the air. "I can see his concentration straining. He must have a spell array embedded in the shield."

Oliver quickly snapped orders for several of the men to peel off from the main group with the express mission of taking down that shield. He ducked to avoid a shimmering orange curse that almost clipped the top of his head, then sent back a piercing curse to one of the enemies not covered by the giant magical barrier.

The woman wasn't quick enough to throw up a personal barrier or dodge, and took the spell to the side of her neck, ripping off a chunk of flesh half the size of Oliver's fist and sending her reeling backward with a lethal spray of arterial blood.

Huntley and three others went after the shielder, fighting their way past the answering concentration of enemy fire. One man took a flying jump off his horse as the creature went down under a nasty rupturing spell, its innards spilling out in a steaming mess from the gaping wound in its belly.

Spell-fire concentrated on the Nightmare pack witch and Oliver, and he was hard-pressed to block it all. He was thankful for Elmira's nimbleness, as the horse sidestepped several attacks that would have left them incapacitated or even dead. Soon, under the pressure of the more powerful enemy witch, there was no clean air to draw on.

The woman could have pulled her familiar back to protect herself, but stubbornly refused to do so. Even with all the protection against the battle philtres, her eyes began to swell and stream from irritation. She scowled stubbornly, her pressure on the magic unrelenting despite the distraction.

The attack team had managed to get a Verdant Stag enforcer into position. She had circled around from the rear, climbed a few meters up the wall of mismatched stone, and now took her shot. Her slicing spell cut through from the enemy's flank, behind the line of the shield barrier, perfectly targeting the wielder's back.

He was armored, but the spell was enough to break his concentration. His barrier spell broke like the bone of a Titan, sending an explosion of slicing force out in a vertical circle, cutting through the air and the ground but unfortunately not injuring any of their enemies.

But it was enough to distract the enemy witch, and the smoke of the philtres flushed out under the force of the Nightmare Pack woman's spell. She sucked in a desperate breath, then started coughing raggedly, but wind continued to gush out from her hands.

Before any of the enemy's number could respond to the fallen shield, the enforcer hanging from the wall followed her carefully aimed slicing spell with a concussive blast. It slammed the discombobulated shield wielder forward, sending him tumbling toward the convoy like a rag doll. The shield clattered into the street between their two groups.

A Nightmare Pack enforcer rushed forward into a struggle over control of the shield with an enemy man that had lunged to retrieve it.

Oliver's people took out two more of the enemy, and suddenly the advantage shifted. Even against such powerful thaumaturges, they were winning.

The Verdant Stag sniper aimed next for the air witch, but it was too late.

A violent slashing motion of the witch's arm across his chest—a single motion from right to left, filled with command—was followed a second later by a howl of wind. It knocked her off the side of the building, spinning her upside down and slamming her into the wall of the opposite building with so much force that she was pinned there for a moment. Finally, she slid to the ground head first, collapsing bonelessly into a heap at the edge of the street.

Oliver winced. The woman had been brave, and perhaps even turned the tide of battle for them, but she was unlikely to survive that. If she was still alive, they needed to retrieve her and get her to Healer Nidson as quickly as possible, which would be difficult considering the enemies between them.

She had also angered the witch, and after taking her out, the man turned toward the rest of them. Having given up total air control of the battlefield, he now resorted to individual attacks, waves of wind targeting those covering the rest of the convoy's escape.

The guards had been doing well, taking down a couple more enemies positioned at the flanks. But a few blows from the enemy air witch sent people sprawling, not nearly as forcefully as the attack against the sniper, but more than enough to disrupt their formations and put them back on the defense, halting any progress and giving their enemies the upper hand once more.

Their own witch was much too weak to match him, and one particularly harsh blow sent her reeling off her horse. Huntley caught her, but her eyes had lost focus, and the shimmer of her familiar was missing.

But they had made progress, and the canal bridge just before Knave Knoll was in sight at the end of the street. If they could get past it, not only would the reinforced building be a fortified position, but they could block off the bridge itself with liquid stone or some of the wagons and temporarily slow the enemy's advance.

As if sensing his intentions, the enemy leader, his own personal shield artifacts still fully active, called out instructions to his men. Within twenty seconds, several of the horses were dead, and at least two of the wagons were missing wheels.

Oliver gritted his teeth. He hated to compliment the enemy, but their leader was obviously insightful and decisive. Oliver could retreat, but not without a huge struggle to keep the prisoners.

Elmira whinnied in distress as he slipped down from her back, moving to put the single intact wagon between them and the enemy. Oliver patted her neck absently, his stomach hurting for the death of such innocent creatures.

A few guards rushed out from Knave Knoll to come to their aid, which was against protocol, but Oliver was grateful for it anyway. With them, the numbers would be even more in their favor, and perhaps it would give them the leeway to move some of their wounded back for treatment.

If they could just take down the air witch, the tide of the battle would turn completely in their favor.

He looked down to check his pocket watch, having lost track of the passage of time in the heat of battle. They needed the prepared reinforcements he had called for earlier to arrive soon.

A concussive blast spell ripped through the wagon right beside him, obliterating both wheels as it passed through the wood and continued on toward his legs. In a blur of confusion, Oliver belatedly attempted to leap up and over the foggy force and wave of wooden shrapnel. The blast clipped his shins painfully, sending him twisting through the air. As the world seemed to turn around him, the side of the wagon rushed up to meet his face, and Elmira screamed in pain.

Chapter 131 - Refraction

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 1:40 a.m.

Under the ominous flashing of lights and the low moan of the alarm, Knave Knoll's guards rushed into action, ensuring all the remaining prisoners were locked away and then jogging to defensive positions.

Enforcer Gerard grabbed a young guard as she passed. "Take over here," he ordered. "When they're finished, escort the prisoner back to their cell."

He moved to leave, but the cursemaster called out, spittle flying off his shiny lips as he protested. "Just what is going on!? I was assured of my safety when I took this job. Surely, you cannot be leaving my protection to this woman and a couple of healers. I insist that you escort me away from this place if there is danger!"

Gerard turned back, his expression still as calm and impassive as ever. "Knave Knoll is the safest place you could be. When things have settled down, I promise we will escort you back to your lodgings. In the meantime, please complete the assignment." He jerked his chin toward the prisoner halfway through receiving their seal, then left, ignoring the cursemaster's sputtered protests.

Healer Nidson, by contrast, seemed entirely unperturbed. "Shall we continue?" he asked mildly.

The cursemaster gave him a curdling glare, but turned back to the unfortunate prisoner.

Siobhan had to shake her limbs to rid herself of the cold stillness that had settled over her when the alarm started. Per her agreement with Oliver, she could leave if she thought herself to be in danger. But whatever the problem was, she couldn't hear any sounds of fighting.

The prisoner and cursemaster were both agitated, which made this final seal more dangerous. She might be needed if Healer Nidson had to fight against another seizure. Plus, if she left now, it would be on her own, which might actually be more dangerous than staying put, surrounded as she was by well-stocked and trained enforcers who were ready to handle the danger for her.

'The situation is dangerous, but it doesn't yet seem to be a disaster, and doesn't call for panic or rash decisions. I need more information.'

The cursemaster moved faster than ever, and, with a nervous bow, the guard escorted the prisoner out of the infirmary as soon as it was done. She met no resistance from the Morrow man, who was probably relieved to get away from them.

This left Siobhan, Healer Nidson, and the cursemaster alone in the infirmary.

"We should find out what's going on," Siobhan said.

"Yes!" the cursemaster agreed. "I require a safer location, with guards, while the situation is ongoing. Somewhere I can set up wards…"

"I will clean up here," Healer Nidson said, already moving to arrange the room to his liking. "I have a sense that my service will be necessary. Miss Nakai, please go along to let them know that I will be prepared to assist with injuries as soon as possible, and report the situation back to me."

With the cursemaster tagging along, superciliously muttering to himself about the lack of respect and professionalism, Siobhan left to find Enforcer Gerard, or whoever was in charge of the security measures.

As she passed one of the small windows on the second floor, where a guard had lowered the glass and activated some kind of hidden mechanism that was probably a ward inlaid into the wall, she paused, peeking out over the man's shoulder.

To the west, less than a couple of blocks away and moving slowly in their direction, spells lit up the night. And suddenly she could hear the sounds of fighting. It was hard to make out the details, but she saw three wagons retreating along with the first of two separate groups of people. "One of the convoys was attacked," she whispered.

"If they can make it back, it will be fine," the guard replied.

Siobhan turned away, hurrying on to the administrative office in the upper corner of the building. 'This isn't the low-key mass arrest we planned,' she thought. 'This is going to bring the coppers down on us, too. No matter what deal Oliver made with them, there's no way the Crowns will overlook a secret, independent jail run by a local gang.'

When Siobhan and the cursemaster entered the already crowded room, Enforcer Gerard looked up from a distagram artifact just like the one Oliver had in his home office. The normally stoic man's expression had grown grim under the weight of the problem.

The cursemaster immediately and loudly complained about his treatment. "I am a man of particular means, and I never forget an enemy," he added with a yellow-toothed smile that was meant to be intimidating—and it was, but it also made Siobhan have the sudden urge to kill him and thus remove him as a threat.

Enforcer Gerard was more circumspect, sending two of the guards to set the cursemaster up in one of the solitary confinement rooms on the ground floor, where he would be "insulated" from any trouble.

When the distasteful man had left, Siobhan relayed Healer Nidson's message, sidling closer to the crowded window to see out.

Reinforcements from Knave Knoll had gone out to the convoy's aid, but the enemy had crippled two of the three wagons, and several dead or dying horses lay across the ground. And then, in the light of one of the bright lamps the enemy was shining to keep the guards half-blinded, Siobhan caught sight of Oliver's mask as he turned his head to look back. She felt like their eyes met for a moment, and then the bottom half of the wagon he was standing behind exploded.

Oliver went down with it.

His horse fell with him, screaming with a pain and terror that seemed all too human. The sound cut through the noise of the battle for an instant. And then the sounds dampened entirely, as if they'd gone underwater.

Siobhan frowned in confusion as the spell-fire from their side faltered and people began to claw at their faces and throats.

"Up to the roof!" Gerard snapped.

One of the guards hesitated. "But they're still out of range, we can't accurately—"

"I don't care!" Gerard screamed, his clipped voice reminding Siobhan of Professor Fekten for a moment. "Get up there, take your stations, and distract the enemy, or our people are going to die!" As three-quarters of the guards scrambled to do as he said, Gerard moved to the weapons cabinet against the far wall, picking up a machete and strapping it to his waist, then adding a thick vest with a rigid collar that came up to protect his neck and the back of his head. "I'm going down there. Someone needs to take out that thaumaturge before he suffocates the whole group to death," he announced. "Roberts, you're in charge in my absence. You know the protocol."

"But that's a suicide mission!" Roberts protested.

As she listened, Siobhan's skin had grown alternately hot and cold. Now, without thinking, she blurted, "I can help."

Gerard didn't stop to argue with Roberts, just waved for Siobhan to follow as he jogged down the hall to the stairwell. "I know you are…capable," he said, giving her a piercing look. "Can you remove the thaumaturge who is choking the air out of them? I estimate we have less than two minutes before the tides of battle turn irretrievably against us. I've seen this tactic before."

'I am not getting into a one-on-one against a powerful thaumaturge!' she yelled silently, the words echoing inside of her skull. Out loud, she blurted, "I can make you invisible. For a little while. Enough to get behind the enemy line and make a single blow."

"A powerful boon. I accept. What is required of me?" he asked without hesitation.

"I need you to remain in my line of sight. I'll go up to the roof. Pour some of this on your back so I can keep track of you," she said, her fingers adroitly pulling out a bottle of moonlight sizzle without needing to look. "The invisibility will only activate from the front. From the back, you'll glow as bright as a beacon."

Gerard took the sealed bottle and smashed it against the wall. From the broken spout, he poured the cool glow of the liquid over the back of his armored vest, still jogging toward the back exit.

Siobhan turned around and sprinted for all she was worth toward the entrance to the roof, thankful that she'd taken the time to look over the building plans beforehand. As she ran, she pulled at the knowledge and mindset she would need to cast an invisibility spell, her thoughts splitting and wrestling all the disparate pieces together at once with the inexorable dexterity of a kraken's tentacles. Central symbol, a triangle. She had enough time for three glyphs, maybe—just enough to stabilize the intent. The output-adjusting parameters. Some she had practiced, some she had only learned of during Professor Lacer's private lecture.

And most importantly, the actual application—the natural science of such a phenomenon.

"Get out of my way!" Siobhan shrieked at the guards blocking the pull-down staircase, scrambling up it so fast she had to use both her hands and her feet to stabilize herself.

All a half-sphere of invisibility required was tightly-controlled refraction. Professor Gnorrish had explained it during one of his recent lectures. She pulled at the memory, and for a quarter second of horror, worried that it would refuse to come.

But then it was there in its totality.

They were in the illusion tunnel between the Citadel and the library. Professor Gnorrish paused for a moment, using a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat on his forehead and take a few deep breaths. "Now, you've all heard of refraction, and seen examples of it. Refraction happens when electromagnetic radiation passes through a substance with a different density, at an angle. A medium such as water is more dense than air. As light enters, it slows down. But the light doesn't change energy; you've all seen that light doesn't change color just because it passes through water or clear glass. What does change is the distance between the wavefronts. Let's return to our analogy of the boat on the ocean. Those original slow, mild waves get closer together, but move proportionally slower, so your boat is still only experiencing one rise and fall every minute. It's steeper, but the total energy of the light waves hasn't changed."

The illusion morphed to show a series of waves hitting a glass block straight-on. As they passed through it, they grew much closer together, stretching out again as they exited. The block slowly rotated, and the waves within angled with it, straightening out again as they exited the block on the other side—but now slightly lower down.

"Imagine a sheet of metal is passing through the air toward you. It's too stiff to bend. You press your finger against one side of it and apply a little resistance. The part you pressed on is suddenly moving slower, and so the whole sheet of metal pivots toward that side, and is now moving at an angle. The light has just entered a substance with a different density. Now, say someone else is behind you, and when the metal sheet reaches them, they poke the other side and straighten the metal sheet out again, sending it off in the same direction but at a slightly different location than its original trajectory would have caused. The light has just exited the substance. Refraction works kind of like that, and it's why you'll only see refraction when light enters or exits a substance at an angle. The really interesting thing is, that angle doesn't need to be a straight line. It can be curved. This is the concept that optical lenses are based on, allowing the creation of eyeglasses, telescopes, and even your own eyeballs."

Instead of undulating waves, the light changed to be depicted by flat sheets passing through the block of glass.

Sebastien had reached out to the block, moving slowly and telegraphing her intention for Professor Lacer's benefit. She adjusted its angle and watched as the representation of refracted light moved with it, forced to turn as it passed through, and then allowed to straighten as it exited.

The students around her gasped. For once, she agreed with the general sentiment. 'This is amazing!'

Gnorrish continued as some of the other groups started to pick up on the true nature of this lecture and the utility of the simulation chamber. "Now, when the substance is too dense for light to propagate within, instead of refracting, it reflects. Glass, water, and other semi-transparent substances are only reflecting a small percentage of the overall light that hits them, but when their surfaces are smooth enough, it allows a mirror-like reflection. In fact, if any substance was smooth enough, you would get that same mirror-image reflection, because there's no natural substance with complete transparency." The lecture had continued after that, moving on to their experimentation with lenses while Professor Lacer controlled their group's illusion.

Siobhan held all the relevant information in her mind simultaneously, like water in a glass, as she skidded to a stop at the edge of the flat-topped roof. Around her, the others were hurriedly setting up the portable battlements they'd stashed for just such an attack. The largest sheet of seaweed paper she had was already in her hand, and rather than carefully unfold it, she shook it wildly, letting its edges catch the wind and rip it open. "Help me stabilize it!" she snapped to the nearby enforcers. "One at each corner!"

They hurried to place hands or weighted objects down over the paper.

This sheet, and the blank Circle already drawn on it, were big enough to cover an entire person. She hadn't known what she might need it for, but it was one of the many emergency preparations she'd been slowly building up.

More thankful than ever for all the practice she'd been getting with minimalist spell arrays and working with light, she scrambled atop the paper to draw out the glyphs and central numerological symbol as quickly as possible. Then, she added the output-adjusting parameters for height, to take the half-sphere of invisibility down to street level.

She hadn't practiced moving the output while casting with Professor Lacer, but she had no trouble doing so with her shadow-familiar, and believed the mental tether that he had called a crutch could handle such a maneuver.

She peeked over the edge of the battlement to see Gerard already running down the street toward the fighting, the moonlight sizzle smeared on his back a beacon against the night. He obviously had no plans to wait for or rely on her, but without some kind of protection, not only was it unlikely he would make it out alive, he might not even manage to take down the enemy thaumaturge.

Siobhan allowed herself a single blink to finalize the operation of the spell in her mind. All she needed to do was capture the light in the half-dome behind Gerard, route it around his body to the exact same equivalent location, and release it again. To do that, the magic would need to create the equivalent of a denser medium around him, angled in such a way as to refract the light in an arc. She held the idea of this invisible sphere around the man so tightly in her mind that she could almost feel it. And then, she created a tether between them, reaching out from the edges of the spell array, down to the street, and latching on to him, as if her shadow had stretched out and combined with his, becoming a single entity.

Siobhan opened her eyes and cast.

It took only a second for her Will to climb over the mental hurdle that allowed her to distance the output location, reaching out and grabbing the beacon of his light, gobbling him up inside her sphere of control.

For a moment, she felt like Myrddin.

Sure, with the lack of moon and all the distraction of the fighting, her spell had to redirect so little light that she could still handle it even with the increased strain of this long a distance, much farther than she had ever achieved in practice. And even though she could tell pieces of the refraction dome occasionally faltered, most likely creating mirage-like distortions or making Gerard seem like a chameleon moving just out of sync with the background, those same environmental conditions meant that it would be hard for anyone to notice.

But she felt powerful. Her knowledge and her Will could reorder the natural laws. Even if Professor Lacer had been unimpressed by her lazy workaround, and she wasn't even strong enough to get all the way through his tests, she could do this.

That sense of triumph lasted for only a few seconds before the strain of continuing to move the output Circle along with Gerard made itself known.

Some tiny portion of her mind caught Oliver's mussed hair rising again next to one of the crippled wagons, and any peripheral attention she had left focused on him without her conscious direction.

He had climbed up the side of the wagon and was…killing the prisoners?

Gerard had made it to the enemy. Hunching down to seem a little smaller, he cut diagonally across the street, right toward the man in the middle, whose arms were raised dramatically.

The enemy thaumaturge made a violent motion with his fist, and even from this distance, Siobhan could feel the power of it channel through to the world.

The sounds of the battle returned.

A huge, faint ripple tore through the air between the two groups, moving down toward Oliver. It ploughed through the bodies of the prisoners he had been executing and crashed into the wagon he'd been clinging to. The whole mass exploded outward in splintered wood and splattered viscera.

Siobhan's vision flickered as something in her tried to pull her concentration away from Gerard and the spell to better see what had just happened.

She didn't know how Oliver could have survived that attack.

The realization sent a wave of static numbness through her mind, and her concentration on the spell wavered once more.

She couldn't spare a glimpse for Oliver's remains. Without her, Gerard would die, too, and the enemy would roll forward over all of them. She threw her desperation and worry into the spell, letting it buoy her fatiguing Will. No matter what happened to Oliver, she would continue on. She would live. And for her to live, the enemy had to die.

The sheer violence of the attack had stunned everyone, and the friendly spell-fire that had threatened Gerard temporarily petered off. Probably, people were hiding from a potential follow up, or trying to regain their breath now that the enemy thaumaturge had released his suffocating grip.

The man swayed from the effort of that great blow. Perhaps he had reached his limit, or maybe he was only collecting himself before exerting his control over the battlefield once more, single-handedly carrying the fight for his side.

Siobhan wouldn't learn which it was, because at that moment, Gerard threw himself forward.

The tip of his machete reached beyond the range of Siobhan's spell, catching some reflected light for a flashing instant.

The thaumaturge looked up, but Gerard was already bringing the blade down at an angle, the force of his whole body behind the swing.

The machete hit the thaumaturge's jaw, met the resistance of a ward that flared grey, and instantly overpowered it. The blade continued through, angling down through the jaw, and then the neck, stopping only when it met the thaumaturge's opposite collarbone.

The man's head flew off, launched by a geyser of blood.

Gerard stumbled as the full-body commitment to his blow pulled him off balance.

The two closest attackers stood stunned, not immediately able to comprehend what had happened, but Siobhan could feel her grip on the spell slipping. Gerard was too far, and she was too unpracticed. But she mentally dug in her claws and wrapped the weight of her Will around the spell. Her clarity might falter, but her determination remained.

Instead of immediately running away, Gerard swung again, this time cutting off the wand of the closest attacker, along with the hand that had been gripping it.

Gerard took two more steps. As he shoved the gently curved blade of his machete all the way through the chest of a third enemy, the blood spraying out and hitting a fourth in the face, Siobhan lost her grip on his concealment.

She slumped down, fighting back dizziness as she tried to ground herself in the sensation of rough gravel against her cheek and hand, one arm crushed awkwardly beneath her. She hadn't strained her Will, hadn't lost control or broken, she'd just given out. She had burned through her mental energy like a wick with no remaining candle, and her mind felt bruised. If she wanted to be safe, she wouldn't be of much use for the remainder of the evening.

She couldn't even lift her head to see over the battlements and search for Oliver's body.

Chapter 132 - Armageddon Game

Oliver

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 1:45 a.m.

Huntley crawled off of Oliver, the bigger man's knees digging painfully into Oliver's thigh as Huntley dragged himself to the side. The single-use emergency ward Huntley had activated flickered against the dust and debris, then died.

Huntley coughed, rising to his hands and knees to turn a baleful scowl onto Oliver's prone form. "What were you thinking, you imbecile!? You were standing there in clear view of the enemy! Did you think none of them would try to take advantage of that? You can't expect to use the prisoners as a shield if you're actively slaughtering them!"

Oliver groaned, feeling as if his body were a scrambled egg. He had been thinking that Elmira was crippled and dying, and that they were all being suffocated into debility. He had been thinking that the situation was desperate, and that killing the prisoners might give them some leeway. They would do too much damage if they were allowed to go free, anyway.

In a way, his plan had worked.

Oliver rolled onto his side, coughing out a fine spray of blood onto the filthy cobblestones. He stared at it in surprise for a couple of seconds, then climbed unsteadily to his feet. His battle wand was gone, and when he took a step, he stumbled and would have fallen if not for Huntley's stabilizing grip. Long wooden splinters had impaled Oliver's leg in several places. He reached down and tugged at the largest, but his fingers slipped off the bloody surface, and the movement sent another dizzying explosion of pain throughout his chest and back.

He straightened, fumbling for the emergency healing potion he kept within a metal-plated pocket of his jacket. The reinforced crystal of the vial was thankfully still intact. Oliver downed it in a single searing gulp, his eyes closed against the light of its glow, and Huntley surprised him by yanking a piece of wood as long and thick as his forefinger from Oliver's leg. The rest, he left in, simply wrapping the whole mess in a large green handkerchief.

The healing potion spread its magic throughout Oliver's chest, but, despite its potency and commensurate price, he could feel it petering out against his natural resistance before it made it much further. One of the many curses of his bloodline.

Huntley helped him to stand and move away a little, sending a spray of fire over the ground where Oliver had fallen, hot enough to render any bits of flesh or splatters of blood unusable.

Coughing again, Oliver looked out over the battlefield. While he was still insensate after the attack, someone had taken down the air witch and a couple of the others, but the remaining enemy forces hadn't lost their determination, even though there were only a handful left. That didn't bode well. A couple were crouched down behind liquid stone barriers, but some moved to run off to the side. They didn't appear to be fleeing in panic.

A masked person stepped out of the darkness around the corner and shot a stunning spell at one of the withdrawing attackers, hitting them in the back and sending them into a comical, painful-looking sprawl. The masked person, whose only distinguishing feature was their chin-length blonde hair, nodded at Oliver and returned to the darkness. His first thought was that one of his people had been clever enough to disguise themselves and infiltrate the enemy, but he didn't recognize that mask, and all of the spells that had been tossed around so casually tonight had been lethal, not safely incapacitating. It seemed the enemy had a traitor in their midst.

Oliver drew a deep breath to shout again for their people to retreat into Knave Knoll, throwing himself into a coughing fit. They needed to hurry, because he was worried about the enemy circling around to come at them from the sides, or even try to cut them off entirely. But Huntley understood this as well, and it was he who shouted the order, saving Oliver the pain.

His men moved as quickly as their battered bodies could manage, using the wagons and some hastily poured liquid stone in the gaps and even over the wood itself to create a barrier between themselves and the few remaining enemies on the main street. They used what horses still lived to carry bound prisoners like sacks of grain. As people passed over the canal bridge to the front of Knave Knoll, Oliver looked for Elmira. She had been downed by that first blow that knocked him off his feet, one of her legs shattered near the hoof, but still alive, lying on the ground beside the wagon.

At first he found only chunks of meat, wood, and broken cobblestone whose specific origin he couldn't distinguish. There had been eight prisoners in that single wagon, and at least half of them had been caught by the witch's vindictive final attack. Then he found Elmira's head. It lay a few meters away from where she'd fallen, blown away from her body. He had hoped that perhaps she could still have been saved. With enough money and the right magic, even a pulverized leg was not a death sentence for an Erythrean. No such hope remained in him, and he turned away.

Together, he and his remaining men moved over the canal, every step sending a spike of knee-trembling pain up through his leg. The front doors of Knave Knoll opened, waiting for them to reach it.

Oliver instinctively glanced back at the sound of splashing water behind them. When he saw the group arriving, shooting along the waters of the canal itself at the speed of a galloping horse, for just a moment he thought that the reinforcements he'd called for had come up with some strange and innovative new method of travel.

That moment was over faster than the blink of an eye, as he immediately realized they weren't his reinforcements at all. They were the enemy's.

Stopping before the bridge, a huge water elemental clambered out of the canal. Elementally imbued liquid made up the body of a great sea turtle, swirling a serene, crystalline blue with streaks of rust red concentrating around its shell.

Eight more enemies sat upon its transparent back. Its witch rode in a strange saddle at the base of its neck, while the others clung on wherever they could find a grip.

The sea turtle's paddle-like flippers were poorly suited to walking on land, but as its human cargo hopped off, it rose into the air, floating as if it were in the water. On the mundane plane, such a stunt must take quite a lot of energy to maintain.

Oliver's people responded quickly to the new threat, some attacking the turtle and its former riders while others hurried to move their prisoners and injured into Knave Knoll.

From the battlements above, spells rained down, and Oliver caught a glimpse of Siobhan, looking like the bright-eyed school mistress everyone had been terrified of as a child. Her grey-streaked hair was pulled back in a severe bun, her artificially blue eyes seemed to glow against the backdrop of the darkness, and her expressionless face promised punishment.

She pulled a bright green potion out of her bag, stood, and hurled it in a full body motion toward the rear of their position, where one of their enemies had been trying to circle around them.

The potion vial broke on impact, spilling across the man's chest and activating with a screeching sizzle. The man screamed with matching shrillness as his clothes and skin melted away with a burst of steam.

The turtle turned sideways so that its shell was facing his people, swimming quickly between them and its crew. It caught the majority of their spell attacks on its rust-swirled shell, which took far less damage than it should have, only to quickly begin to repair itself.

Siobhan stood up again, hurling another of her green vials. It seemed to agitate the elemental, drawing a warbling scream from its throat. Its waters swirled more quickly, and then some green-tinged drops rained down, expelling the potion along with some of its mass. This seemed only to make it angry, however, and it swam faster through the air as the water witch glared murderously at Siobhan.

A bruise-purple spell shot toward Siobhan. Without any change in her alert, focused expression, she lazily sidestepped it, her battle wand flicking out from some hidden spot and shooting two bright red stunning spells toward the enemy who had attacked her, one just over his left shoulder, to draw his attention, and the second right behind it, aimed for the spot he stepped into as he attempted to dodge. She barely even watched to make sure the man went down.

Protected by Huntley, Oliver was one of the last to make it past Knave Knoll's entryway. As the doors closed behind him, he caught sight of a large group of uniformed coppers arriving from the south, moving in an alert formation and armed for battle.

One of the guards by the door looked them over. "Healer Nidson is set up in the infirmary for anyone who needs help."

Huntley turned immediately to Oliver, wearing a half-expectant, half-demanding expression. "Let's go."

Oliver waved him off. "I already took a healing potion. There are more important things for me to do at the moment, and people who need help more than me." Doing his best to disguise the agony it caused, he made his way up the stairs to the office on the second floor, where the security measures were controlled, and where he hoped to find Mr. Gerard waiting with some good news.

Instead, he found that Gerard had gone out on a suicide mission, leaving one of the lower-level enforcers in charge.

Three of their five prisoner convoys, he learned, had made it to their destination without issue, but the reinforcements Oliver had called for had never arrived. Those who came from Knave Knoll to help were some of the enforcers who had been meant to escort the final convoy.

Outside, the coppers were hurriedly setting up a barricade. They had activated spotlights that shined down on the attacks, similar to what had been done to the convoy. Using a voice-amplifying artifact, one of them called for those fighting both down below and on the roof to stand down or be met with force.

The turtle turned toward them and spewed out a concentrated stream of water, not at any of the people, but at the liquid stone barriers they were trying to establish. The expanding potion was washed away even as it was being poured, before it could solidify, and those coppers that were clipped by the stream of water were knocked off their feet.

Knave Knoll was burnt. After the original conspicuous battle to take down the Morrows, the coppers couldn't afford to keep letting incidents like this happen. It made them look ineffectual. With Knave Knoll's location and purpose known, it was useless.

The coppers needed a win, and Oliver only hoped he could take advantage of that to redirect some of the following antagonism away from his people. Despite the fighting, he and Lynwood were effectively delivering over a hundred criminals to pump up the arrest numbers, and if the coppers could overcome those attacking the building, they could claim victory in a huge battle.

At least if it had to happen, it had happened here, Oliver acknowledged. Knave Knoll was located in a more industrial area, so there weren't as many people out on the streets. There were few homes in the area, and any homeless that could have become collateral damage during the battle had the opportunity to run away. The surrounding buildings had not been the focus of any attacks, leaving the innocent mostly unscathed.

But as Oliver turned to the messages hanging from the distagram on a curling strip of paper, his attention slipped away from the fighting and any plans to manage the fallout.

The reinforcements he'd called for hadn't come because they were needed elsewhere. At nearly the same time their convoy had been ambushed, two of their major storehouses and the Verdant Stag—their home base—had also triggered emergency alarms.

Was someone trying to loot their supplies while they were too busy elsewhere to respond?

But then, even as he watched, the distagram printed a third, simple code of letters and numbers. The alarm for the Verdant Stag's underground vault had been triggered. The vault that so few people knew about, where he kept only the most important items. Katerin couldn't have revealed its location, not even under torture.

This, more than anything, cemented his surety that the Architects of Khronos had been behind the attack, despite how much he'd been hoping for an alternative explanation. He knew this, because that was the same hidden, secure vault where he kept the censer they had given as a tribute to the Raven Queen, while waiting to sell it.

It was also, however, where he kept the book. The one that he'd paid well to have stolen from the University's archaeological expedition. The real book, replaced without anyone's knowledge with one that looked similar from another box, well before anyone had a chance to catalogue Myrddin's journals.

It was this replacement book, of course, that Siobhan had been so unfortunate as to steal, and before the University could even discover the duplicity. Now, somehow, the spiral of events leading out from that single action had brought them here.

Oliver had to get back to the Verdant Stag.

Chapter 133 - Embers of a Dead Star

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 1:50 a.m.

Siobhan's warding medallion had activated several times, helping to protect her against multiple attack spells and even some shrapnel, and its unpleasant cold against the skin of her chest was a constant reminder of the danger she had stepped into. Believing that they'd killed Oliver, she'd been vengeful and had recklessly joined in attacking the enemy along with the guards on the roof around her.

But somehow Oliver had survived. She'd watched as he made it through the doors to Knave Knoll, covering his retreat as best she could when the Architects of Khronos sent even more powerful enemies to try and stop them.

'I should probably go back down and assist Healer Nidson. I saw a lot of injured men and women,' she thought. She was running low on stunning spells and battle philtres, anyway. Before she could retreat into the safety of the building, however, she was distracted by an alarming sight.

At the rear of the enemy reinforcements, near the bridge behind the sea turtle, an old man who looked half-desiccated, with thin, mottled skin that clung tightly to his bones, was crouched on the ground beside a chest of supplies, setting up a spell array of wrought iron with a diameter wider than he was tall. She'd heard that soldiers sometimes used huge metal war arrays with modular pieces for powerful attacks.

The thaumaturge slid a metal glyph the size of his palm into place within this portable war-Circle.

"That man in the back is the highest priority target," she called out, pointing down at him. "Take him out with prejudice, before he can finish whatever he's preparing."

Several of her allies attempted to do so, but the water elemental protected him from all their attacks, and he didn't even bother to lift his head from his work, so assured was he of his safety.

"It could be an artillery spell," Siobhan warned, turning back to the trap door in the center of the roof. 'I'm not sure if the wards can stand up to something like that,' she worried silently. 'I'll tell whoever's in charge below, someone who might actually be able to do something about it, and then I'll go help Healer Nidson. I'm useless in the fight at this point, and this isn't exactly a safe location.'

Before she could step down, Oliver's head poked out of the trap door's entrance. "Are you sure you don't have a taste for danger? At the most, I expected you to be safely assisting Healer Nidson, not battling like a valkyrie up here." The grin hidden by his mask was clear in his voice.

Siobhan scowled at him, ignoring his teasing. "I think we're still in danger." She explained quickly, and his expression sobered.

"Everyone should come inside. As soon as we activate the final lockdown wards, not much should be able to get past them. Let the coppers deal with these mercenaries; we have more important things to worry about. The Verdant Stag is being attacked. I need ten men to resupply and come with me to assist the home base, urgently."

Siobhan didn't understand why he would be willing to leave Knave Knoll in such a precarious situation. The Verdant Stag had their own enforcers, after all. But then she shook herself. The Verdant Stag also housed Katerin, and Theo. His life was more important than the remaining prisoners, and the guards and enforcers here were as safe as they could be considering the circumstances.

"You stay with Nidson. The others will need your help to evacuate," Oliver said to Siobhan, already lowering himself back down.

"What about the coppers?" she asked, moving to follow him.

"We'll be leaving the Morrows to them. Anyone who's still in this building when the coppers enter is going to be arrested. It's a shame to lose the investment, but it was too late as soon as the fighting drew attention here. It was only ever viable as a secret."

She hoped the circumstances wouldn't somehow allow the Morrows here to go free but knew that was out of her hands. "How long do we have?" she asked, stepping away from the flimsy, unfolded stairs so those following her could descend.

Before Oliver could answer, something changed above her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up like the moment before a lightning strike.

She threw herself to the ground. "Take cover!" she yelled. The decrepit thaumaturge had moved so much faster than she had thought possible.

Those still on the stairs scrambled down in a reckless mass of limbs. One of the people stuck on the roof let off a scream of despair. Some scrambled toward the edge of the roof furthest from the fighting, while others hunkered down and activated shielding artifacts if they had them.

The effects of the spell didn't come as she had feared, and after a few seconds she lowered her arms from around her head and tentatively peeked upward.

In the air a dozen meters above Knave Knoll, a wispy glow of light undulated, reminding Siobhan of a rare aurora she'd seen once as a child on an island far to the north. From its billowing, ethereal sheets of color, a mottled, pockmarked boulder grew from nothing.

The dark rock reminded her of a piece of coal, somehow grown to the size of a whale. It looked like she imagined a meteor might. It even began to twinkle with little embers of light, but those glitters looked not like the orange smolders of coal, but like the yellow-white embers of a dead star.

As she watched in stunned silence, those twinkling sparkles of gold grew brighter and brighter. The floating meteor trembled, the gold pulsed, and glowing dust began to fall from it.

Siobhan scrambled back from the trap door's opening, until her back pressed against the hallway wall. "Don't let it touch you!" she called out. There was no way this was harmless, or their attackers wouldn't be waiting patiently outside.

"What is it?" asked one of the men beside her, shield spell stretched out from the tip of his trembling wand.

"Help! Help!" a woman above screamed. "We're still here, don't leave us!"

"They're going to drop a giant rock on us!" one guard yelled, turning to run away.

This only caused more panic, but the glowing dust came down surprisingly slowly, wafting back and forth on every small current of the air, as if each piece were made of feathers rather than stone.

Siobhan grew even more worried as that dust fell right through the ceiling, completely unaffected by the physical barrier.

The guard beside her lifted his wand so the domed shield faced upward, but it, too, did nothing to slow the dust. Siobhan's heart went cold with dread. She looked down the hallways that stretched out from this central area in all four directions. The gold dust was sprinkling down in every direction that she could see, seemingly unaffected by distance. 'But the wind is blowing outside,' she remembered. 'If this was anything like real dust, the direction the wind is blowing from would be less saturated, because the particles would have been swept away.'

The twinkling of the bizarre meteor above them brightened as she fumbled for the paper spell array she'd drawn Grubb's barrier spell on. It might be the lowest-powered barrier spell she'd been able to find in the University library, but it was supposed to protect against weak physical projectiles.

Since it didn't matter where she stood, she moved closer to the trap door so that she could see what was happening above more clearly.

One of the guards stuck on the roof stepped closer, his wand lifted in a trembling, white-knuckled grip. He released a fireball spell right at the meteor. Past the woof of impact and the hungry roar of the flames, myriad tiny firecracker-like pops were audible. The flames seemed to burn away some of the rock on the pockmarked surface above, though even the full impact of the spell barely caused its looming mass to tremble.

"Why would you do that?" another guard screamed at him. "You have no idea if that would have worked. It could have exploded the whole thing and brought it down on us!"

"I've never seen a problem that enough fire can't kill," the first man spat back, lowering his wand. "But I'm out of charges. I think it helped a little?"

More gold sparkles had been revealed, glowing even brighter. The dust sprinkled down more thickly, though it still floated extremely slowly, catching each eddy in the air and swirling under the golden light like dust motes in a late afternoon sunbeam through a window. 'It didn't help at all. If anything, it worsened our situation,' Siobhan thought. 'But the fire did seem to affect the dust.'

"This has to be some sort of poison," one of the men babbled loudly over the frightened murmurs of his companions. "We can't just sit here and let it get us! I say we all make a run for it a-all…" He swallowed and seemed to lose concentration for a moment. "All at once. Before we can't."

Oliver agreed. "Come down!" he called. "Single file, no shoving."

As the guards tentatively followed his orders, fearful to move directly underneath the mysterious meteor, Siobhan went into the nearest hallway, holding Grubb's barrier spell up above her head. Clutching her Conduit and the second beast core she'd splurged on, she cast the spell. It, too, did nothing.

She watched the dust sprinkle down around her, noting that her warding medallion didn't seem to recognize it as a threat. Whatever wards the building contained were similarly unresponsive.

Dropping the spell as she reached the end of the hallway, she looked out and to the left to catch a glimpse of the ongoing battle outside. 'Shouldn't the coppers be doing something about this?' She snorted at her own naivety. When had she ever been able to rely on the coppers to save her? The enemy thaumaturges were still at the edge of the canal in front of Knave Knoll, and the coppers were still in their barricaded station on the street beyond. Though she caught the light of a few spells flying in various directions, it was obvious they weren't particularly effective.

The glowing dust was floating down to the floor now, and where it touched her, it passed through her clothes and flesh without sensation, seeming completely harmless.

But as she watched, one piece of dust right in front of her face lost its glow, and was caught in the soft wind of her exhale, swirling forward into the window. Where it touched, a little pointy black bulb grew on the glass, and in between one second and the next, the glass in front of her face turned into the same mottled substance as the meteor above. Siobhan stumbled back in horror, but couldn't tear her gaze away from the spot, which continued to grow as tiny gold motes of light bloomed in it, too.

She pressed a fist to her mouth, biting down on the knuckles to keep herself from screaming as she spun around, her eyes searching for more signs of the spell's effects.

"What is it?" a woman asked. Siobhan was surprised to see the hallway before her filled with most of those she'd been fighting with on the roof above. They had followed her, as if she must know what she was doing.

Siobhan ignored her, spotting several sections of the ceiling that were becoming dark, pockmarked stone, some already meeting and melding together into a single mass that released even more dust. She shared a look with Oliver, and they seemed to come to the same conclusion simultaneously.

"We have to get out of here, right now," Oliver said. "Split up, one group for each wing. Get everyone. I don't care how injured or busy they are. Carry them with you if they can't walk. We'll meet by the emergency back exit. If you're not there in two minutes, expect to be left behind."

Siobhan began running even before Oliver had finished speaking, more grateful than ever for Fekten's lessons that had kept her in the best physical condition of her life. One of the men who had chosen the same direction as her nodded jerkily as he ran, his head flopping a little too far up and down in a way that looked uncomfortable. "Small groups," the man said. "Be-because…" His eyes lost focus for a moment, and he shook his head as if to clear it. "It's easier to hide when you're small. Easier to… We could hide under the bed, maybe? Or if it gets really bad, in the c-c-closeeeeet?" It was obvious that something was very wrong with him.

Quickly, the cause became apparent.

"He's got black spots on his skin," the woman nearest him announced, flinching back. "Little bumps. They're growing!"

He twitched, his lips pursing and retracting wetly. "But I'll need, my, my"—he searched for the word—"blanket-t-t." He continued to make tapping sounds with the tip of his tongue.

It was true. Some of the dust that had stopped glowing must have landed on him, and just like the window glass, he was being consumed.

"Cut them out!" Siobhan screamed, almost tripping over her own feet as she reached down to pull the long, thin dagger from its place between her shin and her boot. She grabbed the man, yanking him about so that she could see the black spots more clearly. Some of the others stopped and helped her hold him still as he jerked against her grip, but others left them and ran ahead with clear terror.

Siobhan found a couple of black bumps on his neck, and one on his bare forearm, and dark vein-like tendrils were starting to spread from them. She peered at the growing masses for a moment before pressing in near the edge of one with the tip of her dagger.

To everyone's surprise and horror, the spot pried out easily enough with a knife, though the dark tendrils seemed to resist extraction. It was wriggling. Siobhan held it up to the light, displaying a small, squid-like form with thin, barbed tentacles. She tried to crush it between the ground and her blade, but despite the pressure she applied, it wouldn't die. To the contrary, its tendrils seemed to reach greedily for the exposed flesh of her hand.

She felt her skin ripple as her whole body shuddered with a wash of visceral disgust. "The dust, it's actually spores, or eggs, or tiny little bugs," she deduced aloud. "If it touches you, it latches on and affects your mind, and maybe it'll slowly turn you into stone, too."

Everyone else quickly began to check themselves for similar black spots, some discovering them and prying them out. One of the men discovered a black spot on the back of his companion's neck, and in his haste to remove it, cut the other man quite badly.

Siobhan turned to run again, doing her best to examine herself visually while also avoiding any dimmed motes of magical dust—tiny parasites. She wished she had a strong beam of light, as that would make seeing their inconspicuous forms floating in the air much easier. When she passed a couple of guards stationed at the outer windows to watch for danger from other directions, she screamed for them to follow.

They were alarmed enough at the phenomenon with no apparent source that they followed without question.

One of the Nightmare Pack men had a physical shield, wood reinforced by bands of metal. He held it up over himself and a couple of others that huddled together under it like an umbrella. It did nothing for the glowing dust motes, but Siobhan noticed it push away some that had dimmed, though they were so light they just hung in the air and swirled around in the wake of their passing, wafting after them as if reaching for their skin.

As her group skidded and stumbled to a stop in front of the door that led to the stairwell, Siobhan clenched her jaw. The door was a quarter converted into dark stone already, and the corruption was spreading toward the ground. The door wasn't locked and the handle was still clean, but it wouldn't open. The door and wall were melded together into a single entity where they'd been converted to stone.

She stepped back sharply and gestured to her companions. "Break it down!"

They got to work immediately, clearing the space a few meters in front of the door while a couple of women with concussive blast charges in their wands attacked the bottom half of the door. It was sturdy, reinforced specifically to stand up to attacks, and the glowing ripple that ran over its surface under the blows revealed it was magically reinforced, too.

The rest of the group tried to huddle under any physical barriers they could manage, but while the glowing motes of dust passed through everything, their dimmed counterparts were not constrained only to traveling on the currents of the air. Though the man with the wood and metal shield continued to hold it up, the dust that fell atop it somehow rolled over the bands of metal that should have acted as a barrier, tumbling off the sides and then floating inward again.

As one crossed in front of Siobhan's face, she saw the almost invisibly thin tentacles that would grow if allowed to plant themselves in flesh. It was using them to grasp the air, sailing through the currents like a boat through the ocean.

She thought back to the meteor floating in the air above them. 'What the hell is this spell? It seems ridiculous—impossible. It's so excessive—that rock isn't an illusion, it's a physical mass. Where did the energy for that come from? And so complex, creating the semblance of life to disseminate its effect. Are we fighting against a Grandmaster, or even an Archmage? But even so, why not just some widespread hex or curse? All this extra effort seems…prohibitive.'

People were scrambling like they had ants under their clothing, letting out a little burst of panicked activity every time they found a parasite latching on, often slicing into themselves as they fumbled in their attempts to cut them out.

Another group of escaping guards joined them at the door, and soon enough they had it blown open. They all scrambled down the stairs with so much stumbling, shoving panic that Siobhan felt like they were on the edge of turning against each other.

Once on the ground floor, they sprinted toward the back exit, those with injured companions either dragging them or outright carrying them if they had the strength. The glowing motes were already down here, having passed right through the floor above.

Oliver's group, much larger and coming from the other direction, had arrived before Siobhan's, and were already trying to break down the door. But several of his people were yelling as they attacked it, and those on the edge were staring with numb defeat. Many others were displaying strange tics or vacant stares that indicated they'd been infected. Perhaps some of them didn't even know what to watch out for.

Siobhan knew, without even needing to push through the crowd of panicked and injured, that they were too late. She looked around, noting how much of the structure was pocked black rock, and how thick the glowing motes in the air had grown.

They were trapped within Knave Knoll, and even the walls had turned against them.

Chapter 134 - Explosives Solve Everything

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 1:55 a.m.

"We need to find the most wide-open area, farthest from the ceiling or any walls," Siobhan called out, pitching her voice to be heard over the increasingly loud panicking crowd. "If you have any black dots, use the edge of a knife to pry them out before they poison you."

Oliver and some of the others who hadn't lost their senses to panic or the effects of the parasites moved to guide the group toward the center of the ground floor, a common area with cells surrounding them on all sides.

Some of the scattered prisoners that remained were panicking, pleading for help or to be set free, but at least half of them were drooling, twitching messes collapsed on the floor of their cells.

Oliver moved to her side, murmuring just loud enough to be heard. "It affects everyone indiscriminately. That might actually be a good thing. The Architects of Khronos seemed pretty determined to take the prisoners alive."

Siobhan ran her tongue over the back of her teeth. If that was true, the spell would have to end at some point so they could get into the building. Likely, by that point, everyone within would have collapsed into gibbering messes. "So we just need to wait it out?" she murmured, feeling skeptical. 'How long can that decrepit thaumaturge keep this up?'

But she knew it was a mistake to underestimate the man. If they hadn't stagnated, all old thaumaturges were powerful, having had the time to grow their Will with thousands of hours of practice. They really might be facing off against someone with Archmage-level power.

A nearby woman fumbled out a small cylindrical artifact, and, with a flick of the switch on its side, created a candle-sized flame. She waved it through the air, catching a couple flecks of dimmed dust. They let off sharp popping noises and disintegrated. The flame did nothing to the still-glowing motes, but after Siobhan pried a growing parasite out of the skin of her wrist before it could dig too deep, she held it out to the fire. It sizzled and, after a few moments, popped like its smaller brethren.

Others followed Siobhan's example, one man laughing humorlessly. "I never thought I'd be grateful for your disgusting etherwood-smoking habit, Sarah," he said, "but now I wish I had a flame of my own."

"The benches!" another man pointed out, already moving to try and break one apart. The seat was made of wood. "We can light a fire!" With a roar, one woman snapped one of the benches in half with a single, dramatic punch. After this example, several more joined in trying to create shattered pieces of firewood, and others even removed their clothes to act as tinder.

Anyone with the ability to create even a small flame suddenly became incredibly popular, and sporadic popping of the little squid-like parasites grew to a comforting staccato.

One of the Nightmare Pack men fumbled in his pockets, triumphantly producing a small stone, which he held aloft. "I use it to heat my soup at lunch. It's not fire, but it gets quite hot."

Using the heat stone, they were able to burn out several infected areas difficult or unsafe to reach with a knife's blade. While cackling evilly even as his own fingers sizzled and smoked under the heat of the stone, the man said, "Make them uncomfortable enough, and they'll detach on their own. It's just like sizzling the ass off a tick!"

That first man who had started to show side effects while they ran down the hallway was curled up on the ground. He had stopped tapping his tongue but was still silent and a little vague. She could only hope the effects weren't permanent.

"We need a shield of fire," Oliver called. "Can anyone produce something like that?"

They all looked around at each other. Enforcer Huntley pointed to an unconscious man who had been injured much earlier in the fighting, and who now had a large lump under one side of his shirt. "He's a fire witch, but he only has a drake familiar, and the creature's on the brink of death."

Healer Nidson pushed through the crowd, looking harried and mussed, his clothes smeared with blood and ash, and a bruise growing quickly around the flesh of one eye. He took a few moments to examine the unconscious man and his familiar. "I might be able to wake them up," Nidson said, shaking his head, "but there's no chance of them managing a spell in their condition."

"Get working on it anyway," Oliver ordered. "We need everyone in the best possible condition for our escape."

Siobhan noticed a black spot growing just under her collarbone. It was almost out of her line of sight, and she'd missed its initial attachment, giving it time to grow. Moving as quickly as she could under the sudden renewal of horrified adrenaline, she covered her free hand with a fold of her skirt, then pinched the exposed nugget of bug between a finger and her knife, slowly and firmly pulling it out. Its tentacles resisted, and she applied slow force, shuddering at the thought of one of them breaking off inside her and festering under her skin.

The dim motes were sprinkling down on them in ever-increasing numbers.

She tossed the bug-squid into the nearest fire, which had grown smoky with the addition of more lacquered wood and what looked to be a piece of mattress from one of the prisoners' cells. The raw hole left behind in her skin wasn't bleeding, and it didn't even particularly hurt. A horrifying idea had her examining it for signs of eggs laid within, but there didn't seem to be any.

She tried Grubb's barrier spell again, now that so many more glowing motes had dimmed into their parasite forms. Again, it did nothing, which left her surprised and frustrated.

'What are these? This spell should work against physical matter. I'm pretty sure it doesn't discriminate between living or non-living, so that shouldn't be the problem. One of its most common uses is as an umbrella against rain. But it doesn't block air. Perhaps the parasites are too small and pollen-like to be blocked. Or perhaps they have some other property that allows them to bypass the spell, like partial incorporeality. Nothing but fire seems to work against them, and that's strange.'

'But…they can ride the wind. They're tangible enough for air to affect them.' She quickly ripped into her satchel for another piece of seaweed paper containing only a single ink Circle, this one much smaller than the one she'd used to give Enforcer Gerard partial invisibility.

With strokes of wax crayon, she improvised a spell that was a combination of the air-compression sphere, the air-based slicing spell, and Grubb's barrier. She didn't have time to make it detailed and perfect, but it had to be good enough that the magic, which was likely to be wild, remained controllable and containable. Her tired Will had to handle it.

She palmed her Conduit and beast core and applied her Will. A dome of air, tightly controlled but almost invisible, grew from the Circle. She held the page up to a few motes of the falling dust, watching as they were caught in the barrier and flushed to one side. More layers of the barrier continued to pulse out from the center, ready to catch any parasites that had dimmed after floating through the edges.

A smile of triumph stretched across her face. It didn't block the parasites exactly, but it allowed her to guide their trajectory. With the right output parameters—which she didn't know—or a large enough spell array, which was possible, she could protect their entire group.

"Are there any other sorcerers?" she asked, shuffling along in her crouching position as she hurried to draw a Circle large enough to contain everyone around the remnants of the benches. "Anyone who can cast a gust spell, or a fire spell? We can burn them or blow them away. I just need you to buy me enough time to set up a barrier spell that will work against them."

One man raised his hand tentatively, and she handed him the spell array page with the gust spell. Her improvised barrier was too dangerous to trust to someone unsure of his own skill. The man had his own small Conduit, but had to use a piece of burning wood held over the seaweed paper page as a power source. The gust of wind he produced was rather weak, but it was enough to catch the parasitic bugs and waft them away as he swept the paper back and forth in slow, wide swaths.

Healer Nidson probably could have been quite helpful, but he was needed to keep some of those with the worst injuries alive. There were a couple of other people with very limited spellcasting experience, and they focused themselves on fire spells, one of the earliest magical applications most thaumaturges learned.

As Siobhan worked, the others kept prying out more of the little bugs from themselves and others, huddling as close together as possible. If the parasites were removed quickly, it seemed to help mitigate their lingering effects. Someone else discovered the parasites could even be caught in wetted cloth waved gently through the air, though they would still try to crawl toward the hand holding the cloth, and the whole thing would have to be discarded into the flames after a few passes.

The Morrows in the cells around them did not have such luxury, and were completely incoherent by this point. Siobhan had no love for them, but this kind of torture, to lose one's mind, seemed too cruel a fate for anyone to be forced to endure. Still, no one had yet died under the effects of the squid-like parasites, and no one had turned to stone either, but Siobhan could see black tentacles twitching visibly beneath the skin of the afflicted prisoners.

Even with their precautions, many enforcers began to show signs of confusion and disorientation, taking longer to speak, looking or pointing in the wrong direction, and jostling into each other as if drunk.

Soon, Siobhan was finished. They all huddled in together, and she cast the air-based barrier spell in much larger form. The spell array came to life with a glow to match the yellow-white light of the motes and sweat beaded on her forehead as she struggled to contain and guide the energy surging within the spell array around their feet. She controlled the air in a dome shape above and around them, hardening it in pulsing waves of movement that caught dimmed parasites and funneled them toward the fire contained within a secondary Circle on the far side. The pops and cracks reminded her of festive fireworks on a cold night.

With the leeway of her shield, Oliver and the others grew busy planning their escape, but she was too focused on keeping the spell up, stable, and working efficiently against the parasites to listen in.

If they didn't make it into the fire and die, the parasites she pushed away would come back for them, skittering on their tiny tentacles with a preternatural hunger for living flesh, but it took them much longer, and they still had to get past the base of her barrier.

Eventually, all the walls and furniture outside of her barrier were fully converted into the black, glittering stone, and dust and glowing motes filled the air so thickly it was hard to see the opposite wall. Inside the barrier, they were all illuminated with the brightness of a sunny day, which in other circumstances would have been pleasant, but here was terrifying.

She knew it could only have been a few more minutes, fifteen at most, when the ancient thaumaturge outside finally dropped the spell, but it seemed like much longer.

The motes of light melted away first, and then the air cleared of dust. Better even than that was how the spell-created parasites within people's flesh disappeared, leaving raw, pink holes in the skin. Her group had fallen silent to mimic the insensate prisoners, the last of the preparations to escape when the enemy came for them being planned in whispers. Teams had been established, those with injuries were patched up, and the remaining supplies had been redistributed to give everyone a fair chance.

Everything she and Oliver had prepared, and it hadn't been nearly enough against a few powerful thaumaturges.

But what followed surprised Siobhan. With the same colorful, aurora-like glow that had heralded the appearance of the floating meteor above, the walls around them were unmade, layer by layer. The building, the furniture, and even the floor.

Those few people who had been stuck on the floor above fell through as it melted away, and the building's wards let off strange explosions that were quickly absorbed by that same light as they were destabilized and their energy released.

Siobhan released her barrier spell, worried that some part of the floor would disintegrate and take a piece of her spell array with it, which would be disastrous.

"We don't need to wait," Oliver said, elation cutting through the group's awed silence as they watched the magical unmaking. "We can leave right now. Through the walls, even, no need to wait for a door." Siobhan's thoughts felt muted under her fatigue, but she allowed herself to be carried along with the others easily enough.

They did indeed break right through the melting wall, exiting from the end of Knave Knoll farthest from the front and possible observation. Those who couldn't move on their own were carried by others, and Siobhan caught a glimpse of the cursemaster, thrown over someone's shoulder, still alive but mindlessly drooling everywhere. Her lips twitched with amusement.

Outside, Siobhan couldn't help but turn to watch the end of Knave Knoll. The meteor above had disappeared in the aurora, too. Soon, all that would mark the spot would be a shallow, rough pit in the land. 'How is this possible?' she wondered. 'I wouldn't believe it if someone told me they'd encountered such fantastical spell effects. Not because it should be impossible, but because it's so…wasteful. Stuff like this is the purview of tall tales and Aberrants, but that old man was definitely human. Right?' He had not been a slavering monster, and though decrepit, he had seemed coherent. Above all, he'd been using a spell array. Aberrants couldn't use spell arrays. They cast through their bodies, and only had access to their single anomalous effect.

"Arise, and come to me!" cried a brittle voice. Siobhan had never heard a less compelling offer.

Oliver and Siobhan shared a look as the Morrows left behind in the disappearing building struggled to comply against their bindings, grunting and moaning futilely.

A few of their own people even seemed enticed by the order, but they were held back by their companions.

"Kneel at my feet, my servants, and sleep. When you awaken, all will be well," the thaumaturge continued.

Siobhan's skin prickled, and she turned her head slowly to the side, toward the canal. Maybe it was just a trick of reflected sound, but the old man's voice seemed entirely too close. Like something out of a nightmare, the head of the elemental turtle passed the disintegrating edge of Knave Knoll. The riders were atop it once more, floating through the canal alongside Knave Knoll instead of waiting by the front door.

And so, suddenly, the enemy had a clear view of their escaping group.

There was a single moment of silence as both sides were taken aback, and then, by universal consensus, Siobhan and the others began to run.

She wasn't sure what their enemies' plan had been, as the Morrow prisoners were shuffling toward them. Did they plan to drown the Verdant Stag and Nightmare Pack enforcers, and somehow use the water witch's abilities to tow the Morrows along the canal to safety? There was not enough space atop the elemental turtle's back to carry anyone else. Perhaps they planned to capture them all. Hostages might be of use, after all.

The old, liver-spotted thaumaturge stood atop the elemental's broad back, his face twisting in a rictus of rage.

"Scatter!" Oliver screamed, tossing out a vial that exploded into burning, noxious clouds. With the air witch controlling the earlier battle, their people hadn't had a chance to use many of the battle philtres they had prepared, and had enough left over to be useful now.

Siobhan threw her own philtre of smoke with one hand, shooting one of her few remaining stunning spells with the wand in her other, even as a young man with a hastily splinted broken leg used the last concussive blast spell in his own artifact on the cobblestone edge of the canal, smashing the Architects of Khronos with debris.

Siobhan fired her last two stunning spells blindly over her shoulder as she turned to run, hoping to add to the confusion more than anything.

The young man with the broken leg struggled to hobble away, and she quickly outpaced him. She hesitated, wondering if she should try to help, but a Nightmare Pack enforcer picked him up like a sack of flour and ran away, shouting, "We'll meet the dawn free and whole, you cowards. And don't think I'll forget your faces!"

Perhaps because of this, or just that there happened to be a break in the smoke between Siobhan and the decrepit thaumaturge at that moment, allowing him to pinpoint her location, the liver-spotted man's expression hardened with sadistic determination. He crouched beside his chest of supplies and began to prepare a spell.

Siobhan raced toward the cross street a few dozen meters away that would put the corner of a building between the two of them, cutting off his line of sight and improving her chances at freedom. As she turned the corner, she paused to make sure no one was left behind.

A few stragglers were hurrying in her wake, led by a woman wielding the lid of a barrel as a makeshift shield to protect some of the more heavily injured. Siobhan tossed a revivifying potion toward a man who was pale to the point of greenness, then turned to continue on, mentally running through the most efficient route back to the Verdant Stag.

She took one long step, and then was wrenched off her feet by the strap of the satchel around her chest.

Her feet slipped upward as her torso was pulled backward, and she slammed into the ground, wheezing out most of the air in her lungs and cracking her tailbone against the cobblestones.

She wasted no time on being stunned, struggling against her attacker before she could fully comprehend what was happening. As she was dragged back along the ground toward the corner of the building she'd just passed, frantically scrabbling, her fingers caught on a length of rope, which twisted and contracted like a snake. It had her satchel and was pulling with some of its bunched-up coils while the head stretched out to get a better grip on the rest of her.

"You cannot escape," the hoarse voice of the old thaumaturge called, sing-songy and unconcerned by the commotion around him. He wasn't particularly loud, but she could still hear his voice clearly.

Siobhan scrambled to get her feet under her. She turned, wrenching away from the grip of the prehensile rope with all her weight, but it had already coiled itself well around her bag. 'I have to let it go.'

In the moment of hesitation that followed, a masked figure stepped out from an alley diagonally across from Siobhan and shot an indistinct spell at the rope. It missed, and when the figure steadied their arm and tried to shoot again, a crack of water slapped through the smoky air and knocked them off their feet hard enough that they bounced off the brick wall behind them.

Siobhan blinked, only then realizing she had seen the mask before. It was the same one Tanya Canelo had worn to the secret thaumaturge meetings.

Spurred back into motion by Tanya's failure, Siobhan tore the strap off over her head, careful only to avoid ripping out any of her hair, then yanked her wrist away from the searching head of the rope before it could tighten around her. Without the opposing force, she stumbled backward, almost falling over again.

Under the force that had been enough to yank her off her feet, her satchel flew toward the decrepit, vindictive thaumaturge. Siobhan stepped back to the corner, her eyes seeking out the enemy.

Behind Siobhan, a couple of the enforcers had doubled back, perhaps on Oliver's orders when he realized she wasn't with them. But there was nothing they could do to help her against enemies like this.

The corpse-like man's expression of triumph soured as his bounty arrived at his feet inside coils of rope. As if drawn to her like a magnet, he noticed Siobhan peeking around the corner immediately. His eyes narrowed and his lips stretched wide in a smile. He reached a hand toward her.

She lifted her own hand to the side of her abdomen, finding the spot on the holster she wore where she had housed the button of the disintegration mine. She pressed three times in quick succession, then waited, ready to throw herself out of the path of an attack. One second passed, then two…and then the disintegration mine hidden in the bottom of her satchel activated.

The reaction was much more spectacular than she had ever anticipated. Perhaps the mine was faulty. Or perhaps it was just a result of the sudden mix of volatile potions, magical components, and space-bending spells as the disintegration effect worked its way outward. Light and color bloomed in strange, flower-like shapes, one layered atop the other in an organic expression of magic as the very air screamed and popped and twisted.

Siobhan's eyes were still in the process of widening with surprise when the backlash from the magic-laden explosion hit her, catching her cloak and hair in a wind so strong her eyes were forced to close, throwing her backward until she hit the ground again a couple of meters back.

She curled up, flinching with an instinctive fear of being hit with debris, trying to clear the dark spot in the middle of her vision where she had been staring at the thaumaturge. After a moment, she crawled back to her feet, ears ringing, and carefully glanced around the corner, looking for the thaumaturge out of the corner of her eye rather than straight on. Her peripheral vision found nothing but a crater at the edge of the canal where the elemental had been carrying them along, but the sight made the hair on the back of her neck rise with instinctive fear. The air still swirled with colored mists and made strange sounds, and the water moved strangely at the effect's edge, as if afraid to touch its borders, preferring to flow around.

Her satchel and all its contents were gone.

More importantly, however, the thaumaturge was definitely dead. And not just him. A ring of mutilated body parts surrounded the crater's edge, just beyond the radius of the explosion, apparently all that remained of their attackers.

Chapter 135 - The Devil in the Details

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 2:10 a.m.

The enforcers who had come back for her looked from the lingering effects of the magical explosion, to her, and back again silently. There was a long pause.

Then one of them cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Excuse me, my lady. It seems you have no need of our help, but we would be pleased to escort you to a calmer location."

Siobhan nodded wordlessly, but as they moved to walk away, she remembered Tanya's strange and unexpected appearance. "Grab her, too," Siobhan ordered, motioning to the alley where Tanya had been thrown as she attempted to save Siobhan.

She moved to adjust her fake glasses, but discovered that she must have lost them during the night. Her hair was coming out of its bun, and her prosthetic nose felt like it might be a little lopsided.

While no one was looking, she quickly took it off, stuffing it in a pocket and rubbing at any remnants of glue on her skin. It was dark enough that no one would probably notice, but it was more conspicuous to be obviously wearing a disguise than for the nose of someone you barely knew to look slightly smaller than you remembered.

She carefully tightened her bun, making sure that no loose strands of hair escaped. Just in case.

Tanya had a dislocated shoulder and likely a few broken ribs, but she could walk, and so their smaller group shuffled through the streets. They caught up with the main group after a few minutes, and even though she couldn't see Oliver's face through his mask, she watched as some of the worry in his shoulders dropped away when he caught sight of her.

They shared a silent nod, and then his attention turned to Tanya. "I was…surprised by your actions this evening. Is this your way of declaring your allegiances?"

Tanya frowned in confusion, peeking for just a moment at Siobhan, then looking back at Oliver.

He waved her forward to come stand beside him.

She complied, but not without another look over her shoulder at Siobhan, uncertainty and fear mixing behind her eyes.

Siobhan wasn't the best with people, but even she, in her exhausted state, could recognize the conclusion Tanya was coming to. The blue eyes and the grey streak in her bun, along with the lack of feathers, didn't seem to be enough for someone who had interacted with her directly before. Perhaps Siobhan should have left her prosthetic nose on, after all. But, small mercies, at least Tanya had previously shown a marked lack of aggression toward the Raven Queen.

"I was sent to warn you of the attack," Tanya murmured, just loudly enough that Siobhan could hear. "I arrived too late, but I did my best to help."

Siobhan could imagine Oliver's eyebrows rising underneath his mask. Tanya didn't seem to be lying, but if that was the case, how had Kiernan known the location of Knave Knoll to send Tanya to them? And who had been behind the attack, if not the Architects of Khronos?

She tried to keep her own expression contained as the two continued to talk, in lower tones that she couldn't make out. Silvia Nakai really shouldn't have much of an opinion about these things. At that thought, she looked around for Healer Nidson and moved to walk beside him. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help more. I got caught up in everything happening, and then… Well, you know."

Nidson gave her a long look. "Healing is not the only method of preserving lives. I would say you did quite a lot. Though I was rather miffed to suddenly be without an assistant. If you still have some life in you, I am sure there will be plenty more to do before the night is over."

Siobhan's heart clenched tightly at that reminder that the Verdant Stag had been under attack as well, and people there, like Katerin and Theo and even the patronizing shop attendant Alice, might be injured or dead.

When they finally arrived at the Verdant Stag, the signs of the battle were conspicuous, but the active violence seemed to have passed. The fighting had been fierce, and she even noticed a couple of bloodstains frozen on the street. The Verdant Stag itself was still standing, but barely. A section near the kitchen and bar was completely blown away, leaving a gaping wound in the side of the building. Part of the floor had collapsed into the cellar, and a charred wall and support beams showed where a fire had been put out in time to save the whole building from conflagration.

People swarmed over and around the building like ants, and the performance stage, which was in the still-intact part of the building, had been set up as an emergency healer's station, with the injured lying on rows of cots. Healer Nidson made a beeline in that direction, and she followed.

Those who had been badly affected by the magical parasites took some time to recover, but there seemed to be no long term side effects, and the holes the parasites left in the skin were mitigated with some potions and salves. The cursemaster regained coherence after a few hours of care, and went into a shrill screaming fit, declaring that he held them all at fault for the ordeal he had experienced. He quieted quickly when Katerin marched over and dragged him off by the arm, grim-faced.

Most of the night was a blur, and it wasn't until the sun began to rise that Siobhan had a moment to sit, which immediately led to her finding an intact room off to the side and collapsing backward against the wall like a puppet with cut strings. She blinked sleepily, watching the busy people outside through the open doorway.

Oliver had been supervising a team that seemed to be trying to excavate the cellar. She'd known the Verdant Stag was probably some rich person's mansion before it went into disrepair and Oliver bought it, and the wine cellar was proof of that, because the water table was too high in Gilbratha for such a building feature to be common.

Katerin was milling about, but Theo was nowhere to be seen. Siobhan assumed that he was safe, because, while weary, frustrated, and covered in streaks of dirt and blood, Katerin did not appear devastated.

Siobhan was positioned so that the light of the slow sunrise washed over her through the doorway as the sun began to peek over the white cliffs, painting her in shades that felt slightly less exhausted. One of Healer Nidson's other commandeered assistants bustled over and handed her a mug with the distinct smell of a nourishing draught. She downed the entire pint in a single breath.

The workers had cleared the stairway into the cellar, and Oliver hurried down into the pit. 'Perhaps he had supplies down there,' she thought. 'Though the storehouses must have held most of the goods, it would have been smart to keep the highest-priced items in a more secure location. The vaults in his and Katerin's office are clear for the world to see. The University must have wanted to retrieve those confessions and vows Oliver made all the Morrows give. It's probably where he kept the censer. If they got that, they might have taken a lot of other important things, too.' Perhaps her own blood-print vows with Katerin had even been housed down in the secret cellar vault. The thought sent a jolt of alarm through her, because despite the tamper-proofing on the spell, it wouldn't be safe in the hands of an expert with a delicate touch. If more than one enemy group had a piece of her, her problems grew even more complicated. And others might not be so lawful in how they used it.

She let her eyes fall almost closed as she waited for the nourishing draught to be absorbed, but she couldn't entirely relax, half out in the open like this. Before she returned to the University, she would need some bruise paste, and maybe a skin-knitter to get rid of the obvious signs of being in an altercation.

All of her supplies, all the components and artifacts that she'd kept in her bag, her seaweed paper spells—all of it—was gone. She only had the things she'd put in stashes around the city, and the supplies left at the University itself. She would need to rebuild her thaumaturge bag from scratch. 'How much coin will that take?' she wondered, tears pricking at the back of her closed eyelids even though she didn't particularly want to start crying. She didn't even feel sad, really, just…overwhelmed.

Even though Siobhan's eyes were almost closed, Katerin's blood-red hair caught her attention as the other woman came down the stairs from above. Katerin's gaze swept the room, sliding over Siobhan and then catching and returning to her. She started making her way over, but was stopped several times by Verdant Stag members giving reports or asking for instructions.

What should have taken thirty seconds ended up taking several minutes, and before Katerin could make it to Siobhan, Oliver had completed his inspection of the cellar and whatever else was down there, and climbed back up. Pale dust had created a film over his dark hair, but his shoulders had lost their tightness, and she suspected that, under the mask, he was smiling.

He hurried toward Katerin, too, stopping her a few meters from the room Siobhan had collapsed in. He looked Siobhan over, perhaps not catching the fact that she was still awake because her eyes were so narrowly slitted. He spoke in a soft voice, leaning in to Katerin. "They got the decoy vault," he reported. "It's entirely gone, ripped up by the roots and carried away, but they didn't manage to find the folded space. None of the contracts, or—or the other thing. You cannot crack or steal a safe that you do not know is there. That particular investment has proven its worth ten times over."

Katerin hugged herself, her hands gripping her elbows with a kind of half-suppressed vulnerability that seemed out of place on the normally confident woman. "Good, that's good. They got the gold vault in my office, but not the one hidden behind the wall. I don't think that's what they were going for, anyway."

"No. They knew exactly what they wanted. Unfortunately for them, the true treasure remains safe," he said, venomous glee clear in his voice. "If only they knew how futile all their efforts have been."

They both turned to Siobhan then, and she opened her eyes fully as Oliver closed the door behind himself and Katerin and took off his mask, then sat down gently beside her.

"I'm fine," she reported before either of them could ask. "I'll need some rest, but I've got the weekend to recover. What of my blood print vow? Did they get that?"

"No, it is safe," Katerin answered. "I take the security of the vows I make seriously. After all, my blood is on them, too. They found naught but some gold and other valuables, along with some decoy documents that have little importance, or are entirely fabricated."

"You were prepared," Siobhan said.

"Not as well as we should have been, obviously," Oliver said, taking her hand and holding it between both of his own. "I do have some bad news to report." His expression had sobered completely. "I have to apologize, because at least part of tonight's fracas was my fault. That censer that the Architects of Khronos offered as tribute, I had it checked for tracking spells, and they found one in the packaging. Which was discarded, of course. But I didn't consider the fact that the piece itself might be inherently trackable. One of a matched pair, made from the same batch of metal. They must have traced it back to the Verdant Stag, and were probably hoping the Raven Queen was keeping it in the same place she kept the stolen book. They never intended to deal fairly with either of us. Tonight's attack on Knave Knoll served dual purposes, as they used it as a distraction to try to find the book. Of course, it wasn't there, but they did manage to retrieve their censer. I will still compensate you for seventy percent of its approximate value. And hazard pay, for your actions tonight."

"I need you to cover the cost of restocking my supplies, too," she urged, tensing up a little. "I had to blow up my bag and everything in it to kill that old sorcerer. It should be considered an operational expense."

"Okay."

She relaxed. That had been easier than she expected. "What does this mean, for all of us? I warn you, I am done accepting missions like this for you. Never again, Oliver."

"I understand. Things are going to become…contentious, I imagine. Even after all their attempts to stymie our delivery of the prisoners, I believe they will all have been arrested by now, though it is possible that some managed to avoid being poisoned by those glowing bugs and slipped away from the remains of Knave Knoll before the coppers were able to round them all up. Luckily, we got the simulacrums anchoring the curse seals out safely. I will still be stretched thin doing damage control over the next few days. It may not be possible, but it would be ideal if we could avoid local law enforcement deciding that the Stags were at fault for making the city seem so unsafe. Luckily, I have a few more connections than I did the last time we faced something like this, and very few civilians have been impacted. On the other hand, the kind of destruction that was caused tonight is very visibly…frightening."

Oliver rubbed his bloodshot eyes, pressing a little too hard. "Unless you wish to get more directly involved in our efforts to rebuild and maintain the right kind of influence, you should keep your head down for the moment. Don't give Kiernan or his people any reason to look twice at Sebastien Siverling. I will give you an update when I have a more complete understanding of our situation going forward, or if there are any emergencies that could affect you." He fell silent, sagging with discouragement for a moment, and then one side of his mouth quirked up. "Also, that textile sub-commission would be a really nice break right about now, if you could swing it." He gave her a pointed wink.

"Soon," she promised, though at that very moment she was too drained to be excited about the prospect. "Is it safe for you to be hanging around like this? As Lord Stag, I mean. The coppers might drop by at any time."

Katerin crossed her arms. "Hah! I'd like to see any of those fools actually manage to reach this building without our knowledge."

"We have already sent the coppers a few Stags to make a statement about what happened from our point of view. I imagine they're quite busy elsewhere, but when they do make their way here, anyone who lives or works nearby knows there's a small reward for advance notice of such things, and we have a couple of reliable informants placed around the area, too. If the coppers still managed to surprise us, I would just change clothes and slip out of the secret tunnel exit I had built last month." Oliver winked. "Oliver Dryden has made several public appearances around members of the Crowns and prominent businessmen at the same time that Lord Stag has been sighted elsewhere. They might suspect me of something, but not of being Lord Stag. The ruse probably won't hold forever, but it is hard to overcome the assumptions that such 'knowledge' creates."

"A body double?" Siobhan mused. "That's pretty clever."

When Siobhan felt well enough to move, she left, but not before borrowing a self-defense artifact from the Verdant Stag's dwindling stores, just in case. The battle wand she got was quite nice, containing a set of stunning, shielding, and concussive blast spells.

Instead of going to the Silk Door from there, she borrowed some ill-fitting clothes and went to another nearby inn, where she changed back into Sebastien's form and did some basic washing up to make herself look presentable. Then, hidden inside a cloak with a deep hood, she hired a carriage to take her to Dryden Manor, where she kept a better-fitting set of clothes. She had been coming and going from the Silk Door quite a lot lately, and wanted to avoid drawing attention to it, just in case someone from the University was watching everyone who came to or from the Verdant Stag.

As she arrived back at Dryden Manor, where the servants rushed around to get her fed, watered, and into bed under Sharon's command, Sebastien thought back over the events of that night, specifically the Architects' attack on the Stags' home base.

The vault in the cellar, or perhaps connected to the cellar through some hidden passage, had captured Sebastien's imagination. She'd always loved hidden compartments and secret rooms. The hidden dagger in her boot had even come in handy earlier that day, not to mention the effects of the concealed disintegration mine during the battle.

But something was niggling at the back of her mind. The Architects of Khronos had taken an entire vault—and apparently her censer—but didn't get what they were looking for. Which made sense, if they thought the censer would be with the stolen book. But the way Oliver had told Katerin, so confidently, so vindictively…

'I'm confused,' she realized. 'I notice that I am confused,' she repeated, grasping onto the notion like Professor Lacer had been so adamant was necessary for any great thaumaturge. But despite realizing that, and mulling the matter over in her mind for a few minutes as she rubbed in bruise balm and skin-knitting salve and set up her dreamless sleep spell, she came to no further conclusions. 'I'll ask Oliver about it when I see him again,' she resolved, letting her exhausted and much-abused brain slip into unconsciousness.

Chapter 136 - Blitzkrieg

Damien

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 7:00pm

Damien fidgeted impatiently, checking his pocket watch, and then looking out of Ana's carriage window for the dozenth time in the last fifteen minutes, searching for signs of Sebastien. He was worried, both because Sebastien was late for the final phase of Operation Defenestration and because there had been more fighting in the city the night before, and Damien suspected that Sebastien had never returned to the dorm after leaving early Friday evening. Sebastien might have been involved in it somehow, and it was possible that he had not returned because he was injured or even dead.

But no, that couldn't be. Sebastien was so terribly competent. He wouldn't die. Especially not without any warning, leaving Damien so oblivious to his fate. It wouldn't be like what happened with Newton. Damien ran his hand over the bracelets hidden under his sleeve surreptitiously. None of their pewter beads had grown cold with alarm. Surely, if something were wrong, Sebastien would have alerted him?

A hired carriage approached down the well-lit street, its single old horse and lack of livery or lacquered polish standing out in this neighborhood. Of course, Sebastien climbed out of it, carrying a heavy box. "I apologize for my tardiness. I was on a shopping excursion and lost track of time, and then security had to stop and check my carriage before they let me into the Lilies." There was something darkly amused about his tone.

"You are forgiven, I suppose," Ana said, smoothing out the pleats in her high-collared blouse. She'd been fidgeting from nervousness almost as much as Damien, but now seemed calm and collected, except for that small tell. "We will need to proceed quickly. I sent the runners with the messages to the coppers and my father already, so the timing is tight. If all goes well, both parties will arrive at approximately the same time, and it will be much too late to recover the situation."

"You're prepared to improvise if need be, though, right?" Sebastien asked. "We don't know exactly how Malcolm might respond, and things could change wildly depending on whether your father or the coppers arrive first. We have to strike a killing blow tonight—metaphorically—or we face possible retaliation."

Damien thought that if it were possible, and he weren't worried for Ana's safety, Sebastien might have avoided being present tonight at all. For someone so competent, who cared enough about proactively improving the world that he joined a secret organization to do so, Sebastien could be very averse to risk.

"I am extremely prepared," Ana said. "And if need be, improvisation has never been a weakness of mine."

They arrived at the front door shortly, and Ana took the lead, stepping forward to loudly tap the knocker while Sebastien and Damien stood silently a few feet behind her. This was her show. They were there only as backup.

As soon as the doorman opened the way, the three of them pushed past the confused, older servant. "Where is Uncle Malcolm?" Ana demanded, looking around imperiously.

"Err, Master Gervin is currently retired to his quarters, preparing for a visit to a friend this evening. May I take your coat, my lady? I will tell him you have arrived, though, if I may ask, what is the purpose of your visit? Did you and your friends wish to take dinner here? Or is there some emergency?"

Ana tugged off her gloves, but waved off the man's attempt to take her jacket. "Tell Malcolm that I am here and that I need to speak with him urgently. If he does not arrive within sixty seconds, I will start expressing my displeasure on the surroundings."

The servant paled, obviously remembering the last time Ana had visited. "Won't you go into the drawing room? I will fetch Master Gervin immediately."

"I will wait here while you fetch Mister Gervin. Tarry further and face my wrath." Ana loosened her fingers one by one, allowing her gloves to drop dramatically to the floor.

The man paled further, if that was possible, and walked off with indecorous urgency, on the very edge of breaking into a run. He passed another servant on the way, snapping at them as he did so to watch over Lady Anastasia and her companions.

Damien's heart was beating hard enough to flush his cheeks and leave his armpits and the palms of his hands damp.

While Ana's expression was confident to the point of arrogance, her eyes roving around the entranceway with judgmental disdain, the signs of anxiety were clear in the way she held her hands still to keep them from fidgeting with her clothing.

Only Sebastien seemed unfazed, his eyes dark and intent, obviously aware of every movement of the servant and the details of their surroundings, his back to the wall and ready for danger. But not even a hint of fear showed in his expression or body language. If Damien didn't know better, he would say Sebastien was bored. But that was impossible, right? Sebastien was such a worrywart that he demanded two dozen backup plans for anything that could possibly go wrong. He had more experience with dangerous situations than Damien, probably, but not so much that a situation like this was commonplace, surely? Maybe he just felt that with all their planning and his own prowess, the entire situation was within his grasp, under his control.

That…made sense. Suddenly, it felt a little surreal, to realize that Damien and two of his friends, barely into adulthood and with nothing but their own limited power and a bit of ingenuity, were going to take down a pair of unworthy Crown Family members. A ragtag trio of friends, acting in the shadows to control the politics of the most powerful country in the West… He shuddered, not with fear or disgust, but with an embarrassingly visceral pleasure. Trying to control his expression, he surreptitiously wiped off his sweaty hands before checking his pocket watch. "Time's up," Damien announced.

Ana turned to a vase standing on a pedestal against the wall. The delicate porcelain was as tall as her torso, painted with exquisite designs from the East, hundreds of years old, and probably worth at least a few hundred gold. She picked it up, and then, with a heave, hurled it across the room to shatter against the wall.

The servant who had been fluttering around nervously at the behest of the doorman, asking if they wanted tea or some such nonsense, gasped aloud, the sound long and drawn out, clear in the ensuing silence.

"Cease your tantrums immediately!" Malcolm Gervin roared from the hallway at the top of the double staircase, his cane tapping against the floor in rhythm with his footsteps as he strode angrily toward them.

Ana turned to watch the man come down the stairs, her chin raised with a defiant contempt that reminded Damien of Sebastien. "What right do you have to chastise me, Uncle, when your own hands are so terribly filthy?" she asked coldly, her voice carrying over the marble floors, loud enough to reach, loud enough for the servants to hear and do what servants did best—gossip.

Sebastien hadn't moved, but was watching Malcolm Gervin with hawk-like focus, ready to react to a foolish move on the man's part. One hand rested in his jacket pocket, casually threatening.

"What nonsense are you yapping about, girl?" Malcolm asked, his eyes roving over the three of them, and then settling angrily on the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor near the stairs.

"Collusion with the Raven Queen," Ana announced, wasting no time at getting to the point. "Treason."

Several quickly muted gasps came from the surrounding rooms.

The accusation drew Malcolm's attention away from the shattered vase and back to Ana. "Are you daft? I would never do something so foolish."

"I should be asking you that. Are you daft?" Ana sighed deeply, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her back to Malcolm. She took a few steps toward Sebastien, whose eyes never left the man, ready to protect Ana from any sudden movement. "I noticed that you were acting…strangely, Uncle. There were some rumors that you had gotten yourself in trouble with one of the businesses. I thought maybe gambling, unlikely though it might seem. So I had you followed. I hired a private investigator." She spun on her heel, turning back to Malcolm and walking again in his direction.

He was no fool, and had realized something was wrong. "What is this?" he asked, but his voice was quieter—less bluster and more suspicion.

"Imagine my surprise when my private investigator found you meeting with the Raven Queen herself, attempting to make a trade with her. Did you know, Uncle, that the Raven Queen's father agreed to a marriage between her and one of the sons of the Gervin branch line?"

Malcolm drew himself up imperiously. "You know not of what you speak, girl. That agreement was made merely in an attempt to capture her. If we had been successful in luring her, we would have obviously turned her in to the authorities at once."

Ana crossed her arms, —dipping her head in acknowledgment. "Perhaps. But then, it seems strange that you went to meet with her in person to make a very valuable trade, without alerting the coppers or any other authorities. You were seen, Uncle. You were recognized."

Malcolm swallowed, the grip around his cane tightening. "It is a misunderstanding. We were contacted and told to come alone, but we—we hired backup and attempted to catch her. We were not colluding with her, simply taking advantage of an opportunity to bring honor to our family and safety to the city. She offered the stolen book in exchange for her father's ring. If we could successfully pull off the capture, we would get both. Even if we failed, if the trade went well, we would have the book. Through no fault of our own, we were unsuccessful, but it was not collusion, nor 'treason.'" He tried to scoff, but he was too tense to seem believable.

Ana reached into the wide inner pocket of her long jacket, pulling out a folder. "That is an interesting rendition of events. Interesting, as well, that my private investigator was able to find information suggesting that the attackers were not, in fact, affiliated with you at all, but a third party who wished to capture the Raven Queen for themselves when they got word of your meeting due to your frankly incompetent security and lackluster secrecy measures."

Damien glanced to Sebastien, whose expression didn't waver at this. The private investigator had found no such thing, but Sebastien had assured them that such testimony could be provided from hearsay, second and third-hand statements from those who supposedly knew the attackers. Attackers who, Damien was almost entirely sure, were other members of their secret order.

Malcolm remained silent, perhaps wisely.

Ana opened the folder, revealing the photographs. Damien didn't look, taking his cue from Sebastien and remaining alert for danger. He knew what they depicted. The photographs were taken from above, a little grainy, but from close enough to make out what was happening. A shot of Malcolm and Randolph being searched by a masked figure, their faces clear. A shot of them meeting in the middle of that condemned building, clearly reaching out to trade something with an imposing creature of dark clouds and black feathers that could only be the Raven Queen, and finally, the meeting breaking up under spell-fire, with the two brothers escaping most pitifully.

Malcolm's pallor began to redden with anger.

"What do you think, Uncle? Quite incriminating, is it not? Especially because you didn't come forward when the coppers were investigating this incident. And because, I believe, you have the ring that the Raven Queen so desires up in your vault. I did some more digging after that, to figure out why you would be so desperate as to make such a risky trade." She flipped the pages, displaying a short list of business names next to monetary figures. "This is what you and Randolph have been embezzling from the Family coffers, funds that rightfully belong to my Lord Father. And I have several reports of other crimes, including eyewitness accounts. So I must ask, Uncle. Did the Raven Queen bribe you into that meeting, or blackmail you?"

Malcolm's face grew even redder, a vein throbbing visibly at his temple. "What do you think you are doing, you child? Why did you and your little friends come here tonight? Do you think you will blackmail me with this? Do you think that I would ever let myself be crushed under your heel?"

Ana closed the folder and took a step back, ignoring the way Malcolm's hand twitched toward it as it was drawn away. "No, Malcolm," she said with false kindness. "I have no intention of blackmailing you. It is much too late for that."

And for the first time, Malcolm realized the gravity of what he was dealing with. How he had taken so long to guess it, Damien did not know. "What have you done, Anastasia?" Malcolm whispered.

"I have sent a copy of all the information my private investigator collected to the coppers…and to Father. They will be here shortly, and I'm sure they will find all the further evidence they need within your vault. I've heard that you made some security upgrades recently? But don't worry, I doubt that will stymie the coppers for long. Not with this case being linked to the Raven Queen. If you're lucky, and pay a lot of people off, you might be able to keep the scandal out of the papers. But probably not."

A heavy second of silence passed, and then another, and another.

Ana was the one to break it, wearing her gentle, ladylike, fake smile. "Even if you could weather the scandal, Father does so hate incompetence. Better to have committed a crime and gotten away with it, than to have been caught."

Malcolm raised his hand to hit Ana, and both Damien and Sebastien surged forward, wands out and pointed threateningly at the man.

Malcolm's hand stopped in mid-air, glaring at all three of them with such bile that they might have been burned by it if he were a free-caster. "Get out," he said bitingly. Turning to one of the doors, through which the doorman had disappeared, he yelled, "Remove these traitorous cretins from my house at once! Feel free to use force, if necessary." With that, he backed up a few steps, his cane held up as if to ward them off, then turned and hurried back up the stairs toward his office.

A few of the servants approached to try and get Damien and his companions to leave.

"I would advise you all to think twice," Ana said, eyeing each of the approaching servants. "By this time tomorrow night, Malcolm Gervin may no longer have a place in the fourth Crown Family. Of which, might I remind you, I am the heir. To make it exceedingly clear, your jobs are on the line."

A couple of the servants hesitated, which caused a cascading effect of further hesitation.

"The coppers and my father will be here within minutes," Ana said. "Please gather all household staff in the ballroom and prepare for questioning. If you are open and honest, it may improve your chances of retaining your position." She didn't give them the opportunity to consider further, pushing through and past them to follow Malcolm up the stairs. Every movement of her body and nuance of her expression indicated she had no doubt she would be obeyed.

That, more than anything, caused them to part for her, though Sebastien eyed them all grimly as they passed in Ana's wake, ready to strike.

Malcolm had locked the door to his office and no doubt activated the emergency wards, but the room wasn't designed to be protected from enemies already inside the house. He had made the oversight of believing the wards around the manor wall would protect against such things. Within, he was making quite a bit of frantic noise, tossing things about.

"Can you unlock it?" Ana asked.

"Step back," Sebastien ordered. "Quicker just to take the whole thing down." The first concussive blast cracked the door and ripped some of the reinforcements from the walls on either side.

It also blew Damien's hair back and peppered him with chunks of wood and plaster. He stepped away, smoothing his hair and shaking debris from his clothing as Sebastien loosed the second blast.

The door fell inward in a cloud of dust, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

Sebastien walked into the room, stepping atop the fallen door with his wand out. "Stop."

Malcolm froze, one hand holding a folder of papers outstretched toward the fireplace, where other folders and a ledger were already burning.

Ana hurried past Sebastien toward the drink table against the wall, which held not only an assortment of alcohol, but water and fresh ice.

Malcolm unfroze, tossing the folder into the fire even as his other hand lifted his cane at them, which shot out a foggy, quickly-expanding spell.

Chapter 137 - The Final Fiasco

Damien

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 7:10pm

Ana screamed as the spell approached, jerking the decanter of water up in front of her head as if that would save her, but instead just splashing herself in the face.

Damien whipped his wand forward, but Sebastien was in front of him, between Damien and Malcolm. The stunning spell he almost released would have hit Sebastien in the back.

Sebastien stepped forward into the foggy spell, his own wand producing a shimmering shield about a meter in diameter, held at such an angle as to deflect the hostile spell just enough to send it blasting into the wall rather than himself or Damien behind him.

The force of the concussive blast pushed Sebastien's arm aside and drove him back a step. Malcolm had actually attacked to kill! For some reason, Damien had expected the man to use a more acceptable stunning spell, or maybe a binding spell. Ana was his niece.

Without the slightest change in expression, Sebastien's fingers twitched over his wand, switching its output, and then shot a bright red, crackling stunning spell.

Malcolm dodged the spell almost contemptuously, the dueling training that all respectable Crown Family members went through on full display in the way he held his cane—more suitable for a wand than such a large artifact—and his nimble footwork. He returned another concussive blast. But Damien had confiscated his normal cane during their meeting with the fake Raven Queen, and Malcolm's temporary replacement was heavier and more unwieldy. His aim was imperfect, and the spell went wide.

Sebastien didn't even bother to dodge it, walking forward calmly. "Ana, the fire!" he snapped, still expressionless.

She let out a small, dismayed chirp, and Damien hurried forward to escort Ana across the room so she could douse the fire, putting himself between her and the two fighting men.

Sebastien put up another shield against a concussive blast, this time bracing himself against the magical blow head-on, his platinum hair fluttering back in the wind caused by the magical impact. His free hand slipped into his pocket and whipped out a familiar, slim disk, which he pointed toward Malcolm. Another stunning spell from the wand followed, pointed toward Malcolm's right foot. Half a second behind, the thirteen-pointed star went black, and then a bright blue spell shot out of it.

Malcolm dodged to his left to avoid the stunning spell, but his eyes widened as he saw he had moved into the path of the mysterious blue follow-up spell. But, alas, he twisted around with impressive alacrity, catching the spell on the metal side of his cane, which flared with its own magic and allowed him to deflect the blue light into the wall behind him, where it disappeared without a trace.

But Sebastien was already following that spell up with another from the disk. This one was purple, and the one that followed a bright, alarming green.

Damien hadn't even seen him adjust the output, though it might be possible that the different spells were stored in a particular, static order, and Sebastien had no choice of which came next. He'd heard of such "dueling-chains" before.

Malcolm exerted himself to the limit to dodge the consecutive spells, but the next one, a cheery pink, managed to clip his leg as he was still recovering from an impressive spin move. Malcolm's features contorted into a horrified grimace, but then his face slackened in surprise.

Sebastien had already fired a concussive blast spell from his wand, but whatever had been done to Malcolm's leg wasn't enough to stop him from meeting the blast with his own.

The air rumbled like distant thunder under the force of the colliding spells, and wind blasted out in every direction, so powerfully that Damien had to brace lest he be pushed backward into Ana.

Malcolm threw back his head and laughed. "Did you think I wouldn't notice, boy? That is nothing but a bauble, shooting pretty lights."

Sebastien grimaced but continued to attack, his hand snapping out to grab a decorative pillow off the back of an armchair and whip it toward Malcolm. Then, moving so quickly Damien could barely keep up, Sebastien shot another stunning spell in the pillow's path, followed by almost simultaneous releases of a dark blue spell from the light crystal artifact and another stunning spell, with the stunning spell following so closely behind the dark blue spell that they almost overlapped. Then, lowering his wand back to his hip, he switched the output and shot a concussive blast to cap it all off.

Sebastien's footwork was anything but polished, and he kept his wand held close to his torso and stable rather than outstretched and flashy, but there was something about him that was simply inexorable, each movement bringing him closer and closer to Malcolm.

The first stunning spell caught up with the pillow, exploding it into a cloud of smoking, electrocuted feathers and fine dust. Malcolm sneered at the blue spell, noticing the red crackle hiding at its rear almost too late. He lunged to one side, his knee twisting under him as a low table got in the way of his movement. The stunning spell didn't hit him, but some of its expanding edges caught the arm that held his cane, sending it into twitching spasms and forcing him to switch the weapon into the other hand. "You're a clod-heeled fool—" he began to snarl, but was shut up by the arrival of the slightly slower concussive blast, thrusting the smoking feathers toward Malcolm in a wave.

Malcolm slammed his cane against the ground to give himself leverage, but his starting position was too awkward, and the blast took him in the side, throwing him through the air and into a chair near the wall, which tumbled over backward with him in it. He tumbled to his feet, disheveled and wild, his cane rising quite impressively with the momentum to point at Sebastien again. His mouth stretched in a feral grimace, his intent to kill clear and frightening.

But Sebastien was, somehow, only a couple of steps away already. He crouched out of the path of the cane and lunged forward. The light crystal artifact had returned to its place in his pocket, where its light peeked through.

Malcolm tried to drop the cane's tip, but ended up only hitting Sebastien's guarding forearm, shooting another concussive blast over Sebastien's head and into the floor behind him.

Sebastien's wrist twisted around, his fingers gripping the shaft of the cane and then continuing to twist, even as he head-butted Malcolm right in the abdomen.

The cane was ripped out of Malcolm's grip just as his breath was driven from his lungs. Malcolm stumbled back, the knee he had twisted earlier almost giving out on him. Still maintaining his sneer, his hand reached into his suit's inner pocket for a backup weapon.

But Sebastien swung the cane by its end, taking Malcolm across the jaw with the ornate handle hard enough to produce a sickening crack and snap the man's head to the side.

Malcolm's knees collapsed from under him.

Sebastien adjusted his grip on the end of the cane, and then struck Malcolm again, this time in the shoulder.

Malcolm screamed then, his jaw hanging strangely.

Sebastien stilled, finally, his wand pointed directly at Malcolm's face from only a few inches away. He was panting as if he'd just finished one of Professor Fekten's grueling classes.

Despite his injuries, Malcolm still glared up at him defiantly, his gaze moving from Sebastien's own to the tip of the wand trained on him.

"I only have concussive blast spells left," Sebastien said. "Try anything, and I'm sure I can press the trigger before you can get out of the way."

Malcolm remained still, his eyes moving instead toward Damien and Ana.

Damien let out a shaky breath, realizing his hand was trembling around his outstretched wand.

Behind him, Ana had managed to douse most of the flames and pull the half-charred, partially soaked documents from the fireplace. She had remained crouched on the floor, watching the fight just like Damien. "The coppers will be able to reconstruct the information, surely," she said, her voice cracking. Her hands were shaking, too, which was somehow a relief, since it meant Damien wasn't alone. He had thought this would be exciting, but the rush of terror, both for himself and for his friends, was anything but exhilarating.

Damien lowered his wand but kept it clenched tightly in his sweaty palm, feeling slightly sick from the rush of anxiety.

"Damien, help me tie him up and search him," Sebastien ordered, his eyes never leaving Malcolm. He stepped back a few feet, his wand steady.

Outside, the sound of multiple approaching carriages, some stopping at the front, while some horses clopped around the edge of the mansion toward the side and back entrances, signaled the arrival of the coppers. There was too much commotion for it to have been Lord Gervin alone.

Damien did as Sebastien had ordered, feeling a little safer with each artifact and piece of clothing he stripped off of Malcolm.

They left the man in his underclothes, tied up by his own torn up shirt. His jaw was broken, but Damien still wrapped a sleeve around his mouth to muzzle any attempts at speech.

"The journal?" Sebastien asked urgently.

Ana pulled it out of her pocket, unwrapped it from the wax paper protecting it, and, after a moment's hesitation, held one end over the small flames toward the back of the fireplace that had survived her dousing. The edges blackened and smoked, and when the pages caught, she quickly snatched it back and used the wax paper to pat out the fire. Then, she stood and walked over to Malcolm, holding the little journal.

She reached out to the older man as he glared up at her spitefully, running her fingers through his hair like a mother might to her child. Then, her fingers clenched into a fist and she yanked.

Malcolm let out a muffled grunt of pain, and she pulled back a dozen or so plucked hairs. Letting the journal, filled with achingly precise handwriting, fall open, she carefully placed a couple of the hairs between the pages. Then she shoved the journal into his face, rubbing its leather surface against his cheek, grinding against his skin and the saliva-soaked gag. She opened the book and rubbed some of the pages against his other cheek. Finally, she walked around behind him, forced his clenched fists open, and pressed his fingers into the surface. "This is overkill, in my opinion," she said conversationally. "This journal isn't going to the coppers, after all, and I doubt Father will be so thorough as to have a divination cast on a journal filled with what is obviously your handwriting and a ton of evidence that is independently corroborated elsewhere…but I promised I would follow all the safety measures."

The coppers were inside now, some of them shouting. Ana stood back up, slipping the journal into her pocket and moving to stare down into her uncle's face. "You will never belittle, undermine, or spew your cruelty to Natalia or me ever again. You will not make my mother feel somehow inadequate. You will not make my sister cry, or encourage others to do so. You will not scar Alec, physically or emotionally. You will not keep tearing at him until he becomes more and more like you. You will lose the respect and trust you have so meticulously cultivated in my father, and when this is over, I am sure even that idiot Randolph will not stand by your side."

Multiple sets of loud footsteps spread into the rooms below and started pounding up the stairs.

Ana leaned down to whisper to Malcolm. "Everything that is about to happen to you, all that you will lose, all the indignities and pain you will face, know that it was because of me. And know that there is nothing you can do. If I have any reason to believe this punishment was not sufficient for you to learn your lesson, I will take care of the matter more…permanently."

The meaning of that threat was obvious, like something an international villain or heinous gang lord would say, but somehow sounded so thrilling coming out of her mouth.

Ana stepped away, the confidence slipping from her shoulders even as huge tears welled up in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She reached for Damien and tucked her head into his shoulder, sobbing loudly just as the coppers pressed into the room, their own wands out and sweeping over the four of them.

Sebastien, who had tucked away his wand just in time, stepped back from Malcolm, raising his empty hands to the coppers. He looked to Ana, but she was too busy crying to talk.

"How could you take so long to arrive!?" Damien complained. "Is this the kind of response time the Crown Families can expect?"

The coppers shared several awkward, confused glances, and then a man Damien recognized as Investigator Kuchen, who had been working with Titus on the Raven Queen's case, stepped forward. "Apologies, my lord. Can you tell us what's happened here?"

"We've apprehended the criminal ourselves," Damien said, patting Ana on the back as she continued to cry. "Heiress Gervin didn't want to believe that her uncle could do something so heinous and insisted on confronting him to hear the truth from his own mouth. But when he learned he'd been discovered, he set about trying to destroy the evidence, and then attacked us when we tried to stop him. My friend Sebastien Siverling defeated him in a duel. So, as you can see, we have done your jobs for you, and the criminal is subdued and ready for arrest. Much of the evidence is on the floor in front of the fire, I imagine, half-burned and rather waterlogged. If you show any measure of the competence I know Gilbrathan coppers are capable of, I am sure you will be able to recover any relevant information from it."

They had more questions, of course, and when Lord Gervin burst in only a few minutes later, pushing forcibly past a couple of the coppers who tried to stall him, the whole explanation had to start from the beginning.

Ana had stopped crying by then, making a show of composing herself again, smoothing down her blouse and tugging at the seams of her trousers.

Lord Gervin was quickly caught up on the situation, his expression darkening with anger and disgust as his younger brother was hauled out of the room.

"We'll see that he gets the medical attention he requires," Investigator Kuchen assured Lord Gervin. "The investigation will be thorough and unbiased."

It was unclear whether this was meant to be a reassurance or a threat, but Lord Gervin nodded. "No less than I would expect."

The night stretched on for quite a while longer as they were moved into another room and questioned while the coppers searched Malcolm's office and the rest of the house for evidence. With the adrenaline wearing off, Damien realized how tired the whole thing had made him, but he didn't deviate from the story they had set up ahead of time, and he was sure Sebastien and Ana were sticking to the story just as closely. They had even practiced this part, after all, with Ana giving them tips about how to seem most believable while Sebastien did his best to trip them up.

Finally, as the hour grew late, Ana's father stepped in and put an end to the questioning. "My daughter needs rest, and her friends as well, after such a harrowing event. We will comply fully with the investigation into these deeply surprising and saddening crimes carried out by my brothers, but any further questions can be answered later. Please make an appointment beforehand."

He waited until all of the coppers had filed out of the room, then eyed the three of them silently. "What is this?" he asked, inadvertently repeating the words of his younger brother from earlier that night.

Ana stood up confidently, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the slightly burnt journal. "I pulled this from the fire," she said, offering it to her father.

"You kept this from the coppers?" Lord Gervin asked, accepting it slowly.

"I flipped through it before they arrived. There are some…sensitive entries. Things I thought you might not want getting out. Specifically, some interesting ideas about the Gervin Family line of succession in the case of your unexpected and early demise."

Lord Gervin stared at her for a few moments, then down at the journal in his hand.

Out of everything they had done for Operation Defenestration, the journal had taken the longest hours and some of the most meticulous work. It had been written in a hand indistinguishable from Malcolm Gervin's own, using the sample photographs of the documents from the vault to ensure fidelity. Ana hadn't touched it with her bare hands until just that night. She had used ink from Malcolm Gervin's supplier, and the exact same model as his favorite pen. It had a couple of Malcolm's hairs in it, his fingerprints, and even probably some of his saliva.

Much of the information would be corroborated by the other documents the man had tried to destroy, and from the work the private investigator had done. She had only needed to add a few pieces of false information, hidden among the rest.

"You kept this from the coppers, but not your young friends?" Lord Gervin asked, his eyes resting longer on Sebastien than Damien. "I do not recognize this young man."

Ana gestured smoothly to Sebastien. "This is Sebastien Siverling, Professor Thaddeus Lacer's apprentice."

Sebastien bowed slightly, seeming rather bored, as if he met Crown Family heads all the time. "Well met."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Hmm. You were the one who assisted the Red Guard in taking down an Aberrant earlier this year? I read about you in the paper," he said with grudging acceptance. "Always playing the hero, I see," he added sourly.

Ana ignored that comment. "Damien and Sebastien are both my allies, Father. I had no intention of confronting Uncle Malcolm by myself. I needed trustworthy backup."

Her father's eyes narrowed. "I could comment on your choice to confront him at all, daughter. It all seems rather…orchestrated, does it not? If you truly wanted to keep this within the Family, why alert the coppers?"

She returned his gaze unflinchingly. "The private investigator was becoming…unmanageable. He was frightened, both by the evidence of treason, which he was legally obligated to report, and by the involvement of the Raven Queen. He believes she saw his face. I tried to pay him off, enough to leave Gilbratha and live in another city for the rest of his life, but…fear makes people irrational. By the time I learned of what he'd done, alerting the coppers, all I could do was send the message to you and rush here. As for keeping this matter within the Family, as I mentioned, these are my allies, Father." The emphasis gave the word a different, more political meaning, and Damien saw it when the understanding and suspicion crystallized within Lord Gervin's eyes.

Ana noticed, too, her voice hardening and tone growing colder. "Besides, Malcolm and Randolph are only branch Family members, and surely soon to be denounced. I am the heir, and I don't consider myself associated with them. Neither will those who really matter associate me with them. Especially not after tonight, when Malcolm tried to kill me as I confronted him. I'm sure the news will spread."

Lord Gervin's hand pressed against the pocket containing the journal. "Rather vicious of you, daughter," he said, but his tone was approving, a contemplative smile growing on his face. "I see you do not wear those trousers just for show. You have taken down an opponent without leaving any leeway for feminine kindness. Perhaps you are not as weak as your mother."

Ana gave him one of her sweetest smiles. "I may have a velvet exterior, but I assure you, it hides a core of steel."

"You are my daughter indeed," Lord Gervin said, the smile growing larger.

The man was very stupid and extremely blind, Damien thought, for it to have taken something like this for him to realize Ana's worth. But even as Damien was somewhat disgusted, he couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. He doubted there was anything he could do to get his own father to approve of him like that.

He looked to Sebastien, and the other young man slipped him a secretive, wry smile, and the barest hint of a nod.

Damien smoothed back his hair, and then suppressed a smile as he slipped his hand into his pocket. He realized with giddiness that it was done. They had succeeded. He ran his fingers over the smooth crystal of the thirteen-pointed star symbol within. He was part of something larger than himself, doing something as meaningful as it was sometimes difficult. Here, his efforts actually mattered.

Chapter 138 - Pixies and Ravens

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 13, Saturday 11:30pm

As Lord Gervin escorted the three young people who had caused him so much trouble that night into Ana's carriage, which would take them back to the University, he extended his hand for Sebastien to shake.

She did her best to stifle the lingering tremors in her hands. The terror of fighting Malcolm Gervin had been almost as bad, if in a different way, as surviving the attack on Knave Knoll. Her face still felt stiff and bloodless, but she did her best to smile pleasantly.

"If you are in town this fall, I would like to invite you to attend my Family's annual soiree, Mr. Siverling. It will be a good opportunity for you to network."

"He will be there," Ana replied on Sebastien's behalf, pulling her into the carriage.

Once they were settled inside and safely on their way, Ana threw her head back and let out a cackle.

They all shared triumphant smiles, and then Damien finally exploded. "Myrddin's bushy black beard, Sebastien! That battle was amazing! Why don't you perform at that level in Fekten's class?"

Sebastien leaned her head against the seat's plush back, closing her eyes. "I cheated, you might say, in the fight against Malcolm. Fekten's class requires actual skill with the mechanics."

"Speaking of, why didn't you tell me the, um, your artifact can shoot spells? I thought it was only a light!" Damien, impressively, did not look guiltily toward Ana, who had no idea about the significance of the modified drink coasters that both Sebastien and Damien had.

Sebastien pulled it out from her pocket, showing Damien the back, where she had carefully painted a spell array in a color that almost matched the stone. "It is just a light crystal. I was using this spell to Sacrifice the produced light and then shoot it. Malcolm was right, it's just a harmless visual effect, but it ended up being quite useful."

Damien leaned closer to stare at the spell array, his brows climbing up his forehead. "But the spell spheres were coming out all different colors."

Sebastien tucked away the thirteen-pointed star. "That part wasn't too difficult. Shorter electromagnetic wavelengths have more energy, while longer wavelengths have less. I had to do some practicing to get my control fine enough to reliably hit specific colors, but I wanted to be sure that my Will's clarity was high enough to differentiate my control over the particular effects of my spell array while maintaining the light crystal's internal integrity."

Damien sat back, staring into the distance with cloudy eyes. "Right. We learned about that in class." His voice grew softer and softer as he continued. "So I suppose, if you're ingenious enough, this little stuff really can come in handy…"

He recovered after a few minutes, turning to Ana, who was still grinning and letting out sporadic malevolent laughs. "How is Alec going to take this?" he asked.

"Alec will be fine. After all, he is going to become the head of the Gervin Family's closest branch line, once Malcolm and Randolph are officially disowned," she said.

Sebastien knew it wouldn't be quite that easy. But at least, when the gossip grew rampant, Alec would be able to rely on his friends, the clout of his station, and his personal fortune.

When they finally arrived at the University, it was past curfew and the lights were out, so they snuck into the dorms as silently as possible. It was all Sebastien could do to cast her dreamless sleep spell before passing out.

She struggled to wake and clear her fuzzy mind enough to recast it halfway through the night, and didn't even bother with the usual hour of homework she got in around that time. Some inconsiderate idiot's playful shout woke her in the morning, and she just laid in bed for a few minutes afterward, watching the light come in through the window to her right.

When she finally crawled out of bed, she saw all the replacement supplies she'd purchased the day before sitting on the ground, waiting for her to organize and store them. She hadn't replaced her artifacts, but had managed to find most of her components and a few emergency potions that she either didn't have the time or the expertise to brew herself. All in all, it had been an expensive affair, as the prices had climbed even higher than usual. She tossed her blanket off, exposing herself to the chill air and cold stone of the floor, and began to rifle through the drawer of her bedside table.

She pulled out the almost-empty vial of beamshell tincture, saved from destruction by virtue of being left out of her bag. Her fingers trembled as she unsealed it and caught the acrid scent of the gritty sludge within.

She stopped, holding out the vial to the light. Setting it on the windowsill, she stared at it, reflecting on what she'd just done. The automatic way she'd searched it out, the way her body reacted to the unpleasant scent, but most importantly, the visceral memory of electrifying energy that was urging her on so subtly from the back of her mind.

She rifled through the drawer again until she found the information card originally tied around the vial's neck. Though she knew what it said, she read it again. Beamshell tincture was addictive, of course, but it also caused trouble sleeping, energy debts, and most importantly, could impair the memory.

Sebastien stepped back, pressing her lips together and folding her arms over her chest in a hug. She prided herself on her mental strength, and that included the absolute grasp of her memory, but she couldn't help but think about the small slips, the little failures of recall she'd been having lately. Times when thinking or casting magic had felt dizzying. She had ignored them, or made excuses.

For a moment, she imagined taking just a half-dose, just enough to help her get through the day. 'Oh,' she thought. With shaking hands, she picked up the vial, slid it into her pocket, and hurried to the bathroom, where she didn't even bother to avoid the other students as she poured the remaining contents down the sink, running the water until the glass container was empty and clear. 'I don't need it. I'll just steal some of Damien's coffee,' she assured herself. 'I'm fine. I don't need it.'

She did her best to put it out of her mind. 'The sleep-proxy spell will do a better job with what I really need, anyway,' she thought, trying to be optimistic.

But then, with a sudden rush of horror, she remembered that Professor Lacer had invited her to practice detaching the output of her spells again on Saturday…and that, between the battle and Operation Defenestration, she had completely blown past the entire day without a second's thought of Lacer or schoolwork.

She dressed in a flurry and hurried across the grounds to Professor Lacer's office, only to find a note on the door stating that he had cancelled his weekend office hours. 'Because of the fighting. He's probably helping with the investigation,' she realized. 'He wasn't here, so he has no idea I completely forgot.' She sagged with relief.

"No need to be so disappointed. I am here now," Professor Lacer said, speaking directly behind her.

Sebastien jumped a full foot in the air, then spun to face him while clutching the fabric of her jacket over her hammering heartbeat, scowling fiercely.

He seemed to find her reaction amusing, raising a steaming coffee mug to cover his smile. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was starting to come loose from where he had tied it at the base of his neck. "I heard about what happened yesterday evening. Are you well?"

"With Malcolm Gervin? I'm fine."

He moved past her, unlocking his office door. "You took a big risk. Do not imagine I am blind to the political motives behind ruining such a powerful man. Do you realize how high the stakes were? That man attempted to murder you and your companions. It is good to make powerful friends, but you must be sure that they are worth the effort."

"I was prepared," she said.

Professor Lacer raised a dubious eyebrow, but said, "I suppose you did escape unscathed, though that does not mean you were wise. Risking your safety to increase the weight of a scandal? If not for some connections in high places, you may have been charged with illegal possession of a battle wand, despite the upstanding way in which you used it."

Her mouth opened, but no sound came forth. She knew a license was required to carry a battle wand, but she had been carrying one for some time now, and used one more than once without ever needing to consider the legality. Damien had his own…but no doubt did so legally.

Professor Lacer sighed deeply, seeming to read her thoughts from her expression. "Indeed. You are no end of trouble to me." He pulled an envelope from his jacket's inner pocket and tossed it to her.

With trepidation, she opened it, only to discover a license for a battle wand of "reasonable offensive and defensive power" within. It was dated the day prior, and her name was written as the recipient. Someone had pulled some strings for her. "I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"You may thank me."

She cleared her throat past the lump that had suddenly formed in it. "Thank you. Truly."

He waved away her words with an absent motion of his hand, but the harsh lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth softened somewhat. "There will be no output detachment practice today. You have just been through an ordeal and were no doubt up until the wee hours testifying to the coppers, and I have other pressing work."

Sebastien hesitated before leaving. "What happened on Friday night… Did that have anything to do with the Raven Queen?"

"The investigation is still ongoing, but I suspect she did respond to the attack, and managed to kill the perpetrator. Identification of the remains will be…complicated. This time, the coppers should be grateful to her. The man would likely have gone free if not for her, and was undoubtedly a danger to more than just a small-time gang."

Sebastien wanted to ask more, but Professor Lacer shooed her away with another absent wave of his hand, already focused on a stack of homework papers from one of his upper-term classes. She closed the door behind her as she left, wondering if the prisoner transport going so wrong would in turn make things even harder for her. At least, with her debt soon to be wiped out, she wouldn't need to keep putting herself in danger for the Verdant Stag.

She headed south, toward the transport tubes. The University grounds were abuzz, contractors milling about under the supervision of professors and other faculty members as they decorated and set up facilities for the end of term exhibitions. From the look of things, they were expecting a large influx of people.

In the city below, it seemed everyone had a newspaper to read about the recent slew of exciting events, and Siobhan even noticed several copies of Oliver's publication, The People's Voice, which was now slightly larger than the average pamphlet.

Liza opened the door after only one use of the lion's-head door knocker, seeming excited—even energized—for once. "About time you arrived," the woman said, grabbing Siobhan's arm and pulling her inside. "I've been waiting for you since five this morning."

Siobhan let Liza pull her through the door, deciding not to mention Liza's grumpy complaints the last time she'd come over early in the morning.

"I bought another batch of animals to do the third round of testing on," Liza continued, barely looking at Siobhan. "More mice, plus some of the new batch of raven chicks, and a set of raccoons. Your notes were right about them; both have better brains than mice. For thoroughness, we should test some magical creatures as well, so I got a set of pixies, too. I wanted monkeys—they have brains most similar to a human's, without needing to break the harsher laws—but my usual supplier is having issues getting stock into the city after that whole fiasco with your friend Oliver and those red-clad thugs."

Liza's excitement was contagious. "The test results are still good, then?" Siobhan asked, grinning.

Liza wound her mane of springy curls into a bun, which she stabbed through with a wand to keep in place. "No deaths. One month in, and no signs of lingering trauma! Our sleepers are down pretty much constantly, and the second round of waking mice are showing signs of fatigue, but are still healthy overall."

"That's amazing! A one-hundred percent success rate is pretty impressive, even if our sample size isn't that large. Liza, we are geniuses!"

Liza's lips pursed at first, but she couldn't keep them from spreading into a smile. "So it seems." She pushed a cup of steaming tea into Siobhan's hands, then ushered her into the adjacent hidden apartment through the false back of the bedroom closet. The room smelled faintly of plants, dirt, and animal musk, and was filled with the muffled chirps, squawks, and growls of various creatures. It probably would have been much louder and smellier if not for the convenience of magic. "However, there is one side effect," Liza added. "It seems our waking mice cannot sleep with the spell active. That ability seems to have been Sacrificed. I wasn't sure if that would happen or not, but I think it's safe to say their fatigue has grown great enough that they would be sleeping if they could."

Siobhan frowned. "Is that going to be a problem, do you think?"

"Binding magic works with active, ongoing trades. The ability to sleep returns once the spell is ended, and as I said, there is no long-term infirmity. Once we break their connection, both mice return to normal, though of course the sleeper mice are permanently more robust."

"And the sleepers aren't being damaged?"

"Well, they probably are, but the increased healing factor of the spell is balancing that out for now. I've been trying to keep them hydrated with a nutrient draught while they're unconscious, but I imagine if we were to continue the spell for longer than a couple of weeks at a time, they would all die."

Siobhan hesitated, but eventually voiced her thoughts out loud. "We should keep the spell running until they do die. For the data." It felt cruel, but nothing worthwhile came without a cost. They needed to know what would happen. After all, a raven was more likely to die under the strain of a human's mind, and if that caused some catastrophic backlash, she would much rather learn about it now.

Liza nodded absently. "Of course. We'll want to have as much information as possible before we start human testing. That's going to be the hard part." She waved Siobhan over to the logbook where she had diligently recorded the daily status of their mice. "Go ahead and review everything. I had a couple of ideas for minor improvements to the spell, which I've noted. While you familiarize yourself with that, I will make the final preparations for the third round of experiments. Meet me down below as soon as you are ready." She grabbed two of the cages along the wall, heaving one under each arm and ignoring the alarmed whines of the fat raccoons within.

Siobhan turned her attention to the logs and notes, which Liza had put her customary great care into. The sleeping mice actually started out healthier than the waking ones, likely because of the blood magic they'd done to boost their vitality and brain function, along with the continuous healing provided by the sempervivum apricus while the spell was ongoing. The equilibrium shifted after about ten days, by which time most of the sleeper mice were unconscious the majority of the time, with a few of them only waking long enough to eat, drink, and defecate. By this point, fourteen days into the second round of testing, the sleeper mice were no longer waking at all, and the diagnostic testing showed their health declining precipitously despite Liza's attempts to keep them alive.

When Siobhan had gone over the logs as well as thoroughly internalized Liza's improvements to the spell, which required her to read a few bookmarked passages from some medical reference texts, she joined the older woman in the casting rooms down below.

Liza had filled up two more rooms with the expansive sleep-proxy spell array, and apparently bought her own supplies, including more mandrakes and sempervivum apricus. They were all larger—and therefore more expensive—than the ones Siobhan had supplied. The whole lower level was filled with various terrariums of mice going through different stages of the spell, and their body heat alone kept the place warm.

Siobhan looked around with admiration. Liza had been working on this constantly, it seemed, whether or not Siobhan was available. She felt a warm spike of gratitude, before she remembered that the older woman was getting as much out of this as Siobhan.

Siobhan almost expected Liza to try and hand her a bill for half of the additional creatures and supplies, and was already planning how she could argue her way out of it, but Liza didn't mention anything, and Siobhan wisely kept her mouth shut. After all, what was this if not Liza's way of helping develop and test the spell, which was part of their contract? Siobhan mentally patted herself on the back for the foresight to bring the other woman in on the project.

"Are you ready?" Liza asked.

"I am." With that, they began a full day of strenuous spellcasting. They started with a couple more sets of mice, then a set of raccoons, then the ravens, before breaking for lunch. The raccoons and ravens were both more difficult than the mice, and Siobhan wondered what it would be like to try and cast the spell on a human. She had calculated an extended casting time, but without Liza it probably would have taken Siobhan at least three hours, even on a mouse. Casting for such an extended time was a danger on its own, as most minds had trouble maintaining such extreme concentration for long periods of time.

When they broke for lunch, Siobhan discovered that Liza had only a moldy heel of bread, some pickled plums, and a bit of jam in her kitchen. Neither of them felt like shopping for ingredients and trying to prepare anything, so they ate at a nearby bar, where the proprietress provided fresh fruit at Liza's request—with a little extra coin slid across the counter—despite the fact that it was still winter.

"I really think it's going to work," Siobhan said as they ate.

Liza smiled, wiping some clotted cream from her dark lips. "I think so too, girl. What are you going to do with an extra eight hours every day?"

"Everything," Siobhan responded immediately, her voice dreamy. Liza snorted, and Siobhan flushed, hurrying to correct herself. "Well, I'll study things I'm interested in, work on some projects I never seem to have time for, and maybe even do some work to bring in extra coin. Do you think it will improve our Will's recovery time? That's one of the main functions of sleep. If it does…I could cast for an extra three hours a day, maybe, without needing to worry about strain."

"Three hours out of eight? Do you spend six hours a day casting now?" Liza asked, one arched eyebrow raised.

Siobhan hummed noncommittally. "Not every day. Sometimes I spend more, generally on the weekends. I think it averages out to about six hours a day, though."

Liza nodded approvingly. "No wonder your Will is improving so quickly. Most serious thaumaturges don't average over four hours a day. What do you do that takes so much time?"

Siobhan hesitated.

"If that is too invasive a question, feel free to change the subject," Liza said, pointedly looking away to give Siobhan a semblance of privacy.

"Well, no, it's not. I brew for the Verdant Stag and sometimes do other projects for them, but the majority of my casting time is spent practicing basic spells, pushing myself to tweak their outputs while still using the basic spell array, that kind of thing." She paused, adding cream to her second cup of tea. "I want to be a free-caster," she admitted.

"Ambitious." Liza eyed her for a moment, taking another bite of food. "Not impossible, though. Free-casting was never my own focus. It requires too much instant mental flexibility. I prefer to sit down and slowly work through a problem, layering new revelations and improvements into my work. Artificery is much less dangerous, as well."

"What will you do with your extra eight hours?" Siobhan asked.

Liza looked down at her plate, now almost empty, for a few seconds. "Research," she finally replied.

"Research about what?"

"That is too invasive a question." Liza met Siobhan's gaze unflinchingly, but didn't sound angry.

Siobhan nodded easily. "Okay. Shall we get back to work, then?"

"Let's."

Siobhan's excitement hadn't waned, despite their large lunch trying to draw blood away from her brain for digestion. However, when she got a good look at their next test subjects, some of the feeling soured.

The pixies watched with big, frightened eyes as Liza and Siobhan prepared the spell array for them. They were less than eighteen inches tall, their small fingers wrapped around the bars of their cage, their multi-petaled flesh wings trembling enough to shake off flakes and peels of ever-regenerating dandruff—more commonly known as pixie dust, a useful magical component and the main reason the creatures were often kept as pets.

They made nasty faces and gestures, and one of them even knew a few curse words, which it threw out with little artifice or understanding. Like parrots, they could memorize and reproduce sounds and words, and even understand a few of particular importance, but couldn't hold a coherent conversation.

The little creatures fought back viciously when Liza took them out of the cages, scratching and biting and shrieking until the woman subdued them all with her docility spell.

Siobhan wondered if they understood what was about to happen to them. She found herself sweating a bit as they took away the creatures' fear and ability to feel pain with a couple drops of a potent numbing potion.

Transferring the vitality and brain function of the Sacrifice was harder than with the mice, and even harder than the raccoons, about on par with the ravens. The pixie they were drawing from didn't try to escape, and she assured herself that it wasn't frightened or feeling pain, but at the last minute, as the connection took hold and wrenched, its dark eyes met hers. One second it was alive, and the next it wasn't. Its eyes were still wet and glassy, still looking at her, but empty. Its fingers twitched once, and a mix of blood and clear liquid ran from its snub nose.

Siobhan took a clumsy step backward.

'This feels wrong. This is wrong.' The thought filled her mind, unbidden but undeniable. The pixie's body was limp, flaking wings still, half crushed beneath its body, senseless little fingers and sightless staring eyes—

Bile suddenly rose up in Siobhan's throat, and she took another step away, turning to rest her forehead against the cool stone of the wall, her back to what they had just done—what she had just done. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply until her stomach stopped trying to surge up into her throat. Her back tingled with a cold sweat as she straightened her shoulders and turned around.

Liza was watching her silently, her expression inscrutable.

Siobhan swallowed, keeping herself from looking back at the dead creature as she met Liza's gaze. "I don't want to do that again. They're so—they're too intelligent. No monkeys, either. Pixies, monkeys, anything intelligent shouldn't have to die for our experiments. We can test on them, but I don't want to kill them just to boost our sleeper."

Liza looked down at the dead pixie. "Pixies and monkeys do look very human, don't they? But magic comes at a cost, girl. Always. Great magic comes at great cost. If you cannot bear to pay it, perhaps you are not suited to this life."

Siobhan flinched as if she'd been slapped, but clenched her fists. "There is a reason blood magic is illegal."

Liza scoffed derisively, contempt clear in her voice. "Please tell me you do not believe that shite about evil magics corrupting the Will. Weakness corrupts the Will. Hesitation. Indecision. Any other tales are just pretty words to keep the masses from realizing the truth." She pressed her lips together firmly, and when she spoke again her tone was kinder. "What makes one animal more important than another? You eat them, you use their pieces in your magic, you even wear their skin," she said, waving to Siobhan's leather boots. "The pixie looks so much like us, and suddenly you grow a conscience, but you must realize, your hesitation is not based on some inherent 'rightness' or 'wrongness.' Ravens are at least as intelligent as these creatures, whether magical or not. Some believe them to be sapient, you know, able to communicate with each other, make plans for the future, and solve complex problems. They, too, can learn to speak some of our words. And yet, you have been okay with killing quite a few of them."

"Is that true?" Siobhan asked, though she really didn't think Liza was lying to her. She remembered the feeling of using the Lino-Wharton messenger spell to control a raven's body, speak with its tongue, and see with its eyes. All that was possible, of course, because the ravens were strong and smart enough to handle the strain of her human mind, if only for a short time. "They're as smart as pixies?"

"Ravens are social creatures full of curiosity. They can solve puzzles and problems, learn new behavior to obtain desired results, and innovate solutions. They use improvised tools to obtain food and defend their territory. Some pairs even mate for life. In my opinion, if the only criteria is intelligence, they far surpass the pixie."

A sickening mix of chemicals rushed through Siobhan's bloodstream, making her heart clench a little too hard and her veins burn. She was too aware of her skin, and every touch of fabric or air against it was an irritant. She wanted to move, but she forced herself to stay still, letting this new perspective sink in.

Liza scoffed. "I should have known you were too soft when you wanted to give the mice a pain potion," she muttered. Louder, she said, "Take a good look inside yourself, girl, and question why you are hesitating now."

Siobhan looked back at the dead pixie, letting out a slow breath through pursed lips, just on the edge of a whistle. If the pixie had looked like a giant cockroach instead of having fingers and pink flesh, even if someone had told her the cockroach was just as intelligent, it wouldn't have felt so wrong.

'Be honest. Twist the knife,' Siobhan ordered herself. She cared more because of the way it looked. It hurt to admit that to herself, but it was the truth. She twisted the knife of introspection further, as Professor Lacer had taught her. 'If it is wrong to kill a pixie, then it is wrong to kill a raven. And perhaps it was. Was it also wrong to kill a mouse? Where is the line between an acceptable Sacrifice and excessive cruelty?' No matter the creature, it was legally blood magic to use a living creature not just as a component but as a Sacrifice.

"Perhaps it would ease your mind to know that the Sacrifice of their life is well worth the gain," Liza said after Siobhan's silence dragged on. "I am not wasteful nor disrespectful of their lives, child. When we are finished here, each piece of them will be saved for use as components in other magic. These creatures are not afraid or in pain, as we ensured. Their lives were ended as gently as possible, and their Sacrifice will go toward a remarkable, significant advance in magic."

Siobhan still didn't respond. Using a creature in magic was not so different from slaughtering a creature to eat. In fact, it might be better, because many spells would not use up all the matter of a Sacrificed creature, allowing the remains to be used for food, tools, or even other spells afterward. She didn't feel guilt when she ate meat. But she usually didn't eat sapient creatures, either.

Would she have had such a reaction if someone else had done the butchering for her? Most likely not. This realization shamed her, because that kind of dissociation from reality, allowing someone else to take the blame and the responsibility, was a betrayal of herself. 'If I am in control, then everything within my control is my responsibility. Just like it was my fault that Jameson died, like it is my responsibility to prepare for the future, I am accountable for the weight and consequence of my actions. A living creature that can have hopes for the future, that can make plans to solve its problems and carry them out, that can understand and think and feel… That's a person. Not a human, but I never want to make the mistake of believing only those who look and act like me are people. And to kill a person… That is murder.'

She felt another rush, a visceral response as her stomach churned and goosebumps rippled in a wave across her skin. For the first time, she longed for the transformation contained in the amulet around her neck, if only to get out of her own body. "Would it be possible to use mice, or some other less intelligent creature, to boost a pixie, or a raven?" Siobhan asked. It wasn't right to kill mice, either, perhaps, but it was a sin she felt she could still bear, for a worthy purpose.

"It is not so simple, for the same reason one should not attempt to Sacrifice the mind of a pixie to increase your own intelligence. They are too weak, and incompatible besides. If we were willing to risk failure and its consequences, we might Sacrifice the pixie to boost the mouse, but not the other way around."

When Siobhan remained silent once more, Liza continued. "There are other alternatives, but I believe you will find them even more distasteful. We could cast this spell, now, with unboosted creatures, but if you try to do that later, you will find that you kill raven after raven with the strain of taking your sleep. This doesn't solve your problem with causing a death, and it might prove dangerous to you, as well. We do not yet know what happens when the sleeper dies under the strain of the spell."

That option was, in effect, giving up on the spell—something Siobhan couldn't bring herself to do, despite her guilt. "And the other option?" Siobhan asked.

"Use a human instead. They would not be in danger with spell periods of a week or so at a stretch, if the notes you've given me about the source of this spell are correct. However, that option comes with dangers and difficulties of its own."

Siobhan flexed her fingers, spreading them wide to avoid digging her fingernails into her palms until they bled. "Even if we could find someone willing to give up their waking hours, there's still the ethical dilemma of testing something potentially dangerous on a human. Also, the extreme illegality makes it perilous. If word got out…"

Liza nodded. "I can tell you now, I will not be developing the spell with human sleepers. Too many things could go wrong, and the consequences are much too severe, especially when we have a perfectly viable alternative right here. If you take that path, you will be on your own. So, girl, I believe you need to make a choice about what is more important to you. An extra eight hours a day for the remainder of your life, and all that such an opportunity could bring you, or the lives of these small creatures. I do not deny that their lives hold obvious value, at least in the eyes of magic, but their continued existence will not bring any value to you, nor to the world as a whole. I think the greater good is obvious." Her eyes roved over Siobhan's face for a few seconds, and something about what she saw softened her expression. "I think you know it too, child."

Siobhan hesitated. It wasn't just the extra time that this spell would give her, but an escape from sleep and all that it entailed. But she wanted to stop regretting her choices, and this seemed like the kind of festering, small wound that would poison her over time. She didn't want to stop caring about people who were different than her, who couldn't defend themselves against her. Her forehead and back prickled with cold sweat under Liza's impatient gaze. "I need some time to think about this," Siobhan said finally. "Maybe, in the meantime, we could finish off the rest of today's tests with some different variations? Mice sleeping for some of the more complex creatures, to test what happens with inherently uneven binding spells? It could give us some good data about what will happen when it's a human on the waking side." That it would also save the lives of those more intelligent creatures went unspoken between the two of them.

With a displeased grimace, Liza agreed, and they returned to work, though the ruined mood between them made the ensuing hours uncomfortable and silent.

Liza apparently hadn't forgotten about the cost of the extra supplies she bought, because she informed Siobhan as she was leaving that she could either provide half their value in gold or Liza would take those funds out of Siobhan's cut of any coin she earned from the knowledge in the long term.

Dejected, Siobhan agreed. At least she didn't have to pay from her own meagre funds.

That evening, she had to use Newton's self-calming spell to force her body to relax enough for sleep, as her thoughts kept returning to a small, snub-nosed face with blood and brain matter running from the nostrils, and the final twitch of dirty little fingers. 'I am a blood magic user, and not just by legal interpretation. I have used the life of a still-living being as a Sacrifice, and I cannot deny that it is a loathsome, monstrous thing. Whether morality is objective or subjective, killing a sapient being when I do not need to for my own survival still fills me with shame all the same. And yet, I am so greedy, I want to find some way to justify it, to rationalize it, so that I can continue to gain the benefits. But I cannot do that. It would be lying to myself. If I move forward with these experiments, I must do so with my eyes open to my own character. If I continue, it will be because I have decided that my own happiness, comfort, and curiosity are worth more than the life of another who does not deserve death, but is too weak to stop me.'

Having admitted this to herself, Sebastien was able to find some peace. Whatever her decision, she would face the truth of it directly. And if she was honest with herself, which she was trying to be, she knew that she might very well decide to continue.

Chapter 139 - Sword of Damocles

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 15, Monday 6:00pm

After spending a few hours catching up on schoolwork, Sebastien retrieved her borrowed books about Myrddin, settling in for some light reading to pass the evening hours. She was both antsy and tired, and had been having trouble concentrating. Though it almost physically pained her to admit, she knew it was because she was craving the beamshell tincture.

She ground her teeth together with futile anger. 'I can't believe it's so easy to almost destroy your own future. But at least I realized now, before things got worse. My Will is still strong enough to get back on track. I control my mind. I control my body. They do not control me.'

Hoping to distract herself, she bundled herself up in her bed, still wearing her jacket for warmth. Resting Myrddin: An Investigative Chronicle of the Legend on her knees, she flipped toward a section nearer the middle.

Several accounts corroborated the fact that Myrddin had, at some point after rising to fame, replaced his more traditional jewelry-style Conduits with a huge sphere of celerium mounted atop a staff. Accounts of the staff itself varied, and even during his life didn't seem to have a common consensus.

Some said Myrddin had taken it from a twisted branch broken from the heart of a lightning-struck tree—a tree that had grown alone at the top of a mountain, constantly buffeted by storms. Other accounts said the staff was smooth dark stone, inlaid with symbols and lines of gold. Still others said that it was white and slightly porous, carved from the finger bone of a long-dead Titan.

What remained relatively consistent were reports of the Conduit itself, a sphere of polished crystal, as clear and bright as fresh spring water. Its size had been compared to both of a man's fists together or a pomelo fruit. If true, the book estimated it would have been one of the largest celerium Conduits known to history, at approximately eight to ten inches in diameter.

Its true clarity was somewhat controversial, as one of Myrddin's contemporaries had written a letter in which he claimed to have examined the Conduit and found a black speck at the very center, about the size of a peppercorn. But even with a small imperfection, such a Conduit could theoretically channel hundreds of thousands of thaums.

Sebastien lifted her gaze from the page, staring into the middle distance as she imagined what it would mean, to need a Conduit that robust. Even Archmage Zard, capable of amazing feats, having been witnessed putting out forest fires and capturing a whale as big as the ship he rode upon by simply lifting it out of the water and holding it there, was only estimated to have a capacity of seventy to ninety thousand thaums.

She thought back to the theory that Myrddin himself had created the white cliffs that surrounded Gilbratha. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so unrealistic, though the real question was how a human could grow their Will to that level before simply dying of old age. Thaumaturges lived longer, of course, but generally not more than one hundred twenty years, even for the most dedicated and accomplished. Myrddin had lived longer than that, between two hundred and three hundred years. For a long time after his final disappearance, people had refused to believe he was truly dead.

'What must it be like, to walk through the world like that, knowing that with a single thought you can end storms, level mountains, and erase anyone or anything that angers you from existence?' Siobhan wondered. She imagined the weight of a Will that powerful. It would feel like fate itself was drawn toward her, like she was a star in the midst of the sidereal void, her gravity the only the thing that mattered.

Sebastien was so lost in her thoughts she didn't recognize the cold prickling in her back at first. It was the sense of prying violation, fingers grasping for her body, eyes roving over her secrets, that had her shooting upright so quickly the book tumbled to the floor.

She fell to her hands and knees, stumbling over her blanket and almost tearing the fabric as she tried to free herself. She fumbled out her Conduit so that she could boost her divination-diverting ward's power.

As the five disks under the skin of her back drew more blood, the deflecting shield pushing the prying divination tendrils away with more power and giving her the pseudo-sensation of more space, she took a deep, relieved breath. 'My blood must not have been destroyed in the Eagle Tower explosion, like I hoped,' she realized. 'Either that, or they have something new from me.' She had known the Eagle Tower repair was almost finished, but foolishly hadn't been on guard for a surprise attack.

One hand reaching for her satchel, she swung the strap over her shoulder, picked up the fallen book, and cautiously peeked around the dividing curtain between her and the rest of the dorm. Several students were sitting in the hallway between male and female cubicles, playing a game that involved cards and dice. But they didn't seem to have noticed her sudden panic.

Moving as quickly as possible, she settled back down and prepared to cast a disintegration curse on her blood, targeted precisely through the reverse-scrying spell she'd previously used to pinpoint the diviners' location at Eagle Tower.

Despite the unpleasant pseudo-sensations and fear that always accompanied a divination attempt on her, she grinned. Finally, she would be free of the threat hanging over her head like a sword waiting to drop.

Keeping a small part of her concentration on empowering the divination-diverting ward, Sebastien used the majority of her Will to cast the curse.

She waited for the divination to drop as the blood was destroyed, but nothing happened. She pushed harder, feeding more power into the spell and scowling with the force of her concentration.

Still nothing changed, except that the strength of the divination slowly increased.

She kept trying for a minute longer, but with each second that ticked by, her hope faded. More and more of her concentration was required to empower the ward as the divination grew stronger, leaving less to cast her curse. Finally, there was no choice but to admit that she had failed. And worse yet, this divination was already as strong as any she had faced before, and was growing only stronger.

'They're going to put everything they have into this.' Sebastien felt her shoulders tightening with anxiety and straightened, rolling them backward to release some of the tension. 'What do I do?'

She knew from experience that she couldn't stand up to their best efforts. Surely the pressure would only get worse. If Liza were here, the woman could probably throw up a quick ward to help, but she wasn't.

'Liza's wards can still protect me. I just need to get inside her house.' Cautiously, she slipped from the room and walked down to the end of the hallway, trying not to draw any extra attention to herself that would cause someone to notice the spillover effects of the ward. She clung to the less used pathways to the University entrance, slipping down in one of the tubes while the guards were distracted by a group of drunk students returning from their weekend revelries. Below, she traveled through side streets and alleyways, keeping her cloak pulled up to hide her features as she hurried.

Some part of her had hoped that the divination attempt would give out after a few minutes, and then a few tens of minutes, but instead the pressure only increased, until she could feel her heartbeat pushing against the inside of her skull. She didn't have the luxury of time to stop by the Silk Door, but she'd had the foresight to put a pair of clothes for either form in each of her emergency stashes. She retrieved one from a hole under a particularly large cobblestone in a fenced-off alley, changing her form and her outfit right there in the cold twilight.

The dress was frilly and pastel, nothing like what she would normally wear. With a small hand mirror, she added her prosthetic nose as well, but passed over the blue contact lenses. They were memorable, and she did not want to be noticed. She shoved the emergency bag inside of her school satchel, which she had no intention of abandoning even if it was a clue.

She was grateful for the half-light of the setting sun as she scurried up the metal staircase to Liza's door, frantically clacking the door-knocker.

Siobhan waited, shifting from foot to foot and biting her lip impatiently. She knocked again.

No response.

She turned to grip the railing, squeezing the cold, hard-edged metal until it dug into the skin of her palms. 'I have to leave,' she realized. 'I cannot hold it off, and so I must escape. If I cannot get far enough in time to weaken the divination's power, I may have to leave the city for good, giving up my life here—everything I have come so close to accomplishing—entirely. And every moment I waste makes that increasingly likely.'

Siobhan threw herself down the stairs and began to run south. If the coppers were in Eagle Tower, the direction opposite them was the most direct method of escape. If they were in Harrow Hill Penitentiary, she would be better served by going across the Charybdis Gulf to the east, but that would more likely slow her down than anything, especially since she still needed to go south to exit the encirclement of the white cliffs.

She flagged down the first carriage she could find, a nice vehicle with two healthy looking horses and shock absorbers attached to the wheels. She hurled herself inside, urging the driver to continue on her way.

With the increased speed of the carriage, she felt some incremental relief, though the pressure was not receding quite as quickly as it had originally built. Even as she was moving away, they were pouring on the power like syrup over pancakes. Still, at least the balance was moving in the right direction.

The carriage driver grew uncertain as they moved farther into the Mires, but she urged him on. He asked again for a particular destination when they crossed the demarcation line of the white cliffs, which was surrounded by a shanty town that had spilled beyond the once-perfect circle of the city.

When they left the sprawling, improvised housing behind, the countryside opening up to rocky, brush-filled stretches of land on either side of the pitted road, the driver finally stopped the carriage. "I'm not taking you any further without payment."

Siobhan huffed at him, dug in her purse, and tossed up a handful of silver coins. "My sister is giving birth in the nearest village." She searched her memory of the maps she'd studied in Oliver's office. "Umm, Tidewater, I believe it's called. Hurry."

The man gave her a dubious look, but weighed the coin in his hand, tucked it in a pocket, and urged the horses on.

Slowly, the strain receded, and finally, an hour after it had started, the divination dropped entirely. Siobhan sagged with relief. They hadn't broken through. She was safe and could return to the city.

The only problem was, she couldn't very well tell the driver that she no longer cared about attending her niece or nephew's birth, and that he should just turn around.

It took them another half hour to arrive at the little village that she hoped was named Tidewater, and she had to give the driver even more coin before he left. By then, it was already quite dark, and of course such a small town had no carriages waiting to be hired. If it were day, she might have bummed a ride on the back of a north-bound wagon, but for the remainder of the evening, it appeared she was out of luck.

She could probably get a ride in the morning, but she needed to be back at the University in time for her classes, shortly after the sun rose. She searched her coin purse, judging what remained after replenishing most of her stock over the last couple of days and her impromptu carriage ride. She somehow had enough coin left after her shopping excursion to buy a donkey, or even a horse, if one were available for sale, but such an urgent purchase would be suspicious. Oliver had been generous, with both the hazard pay and the funds to reimburse her for what she had lost.

A search of her memory and some quick calculation of the time she had traveled told her she was about fifteen kilometers outside of Gilbratha. 'That's not much,' she reassured herself. 'I can walk that in just a few hours, and be back at the University and in my bed before curfew.'

And so she set off, following the distant carriage back down the road they'd come from. It soon became clear to her that, while her overloaded school satchel was wonderful for storing components and books, it was less ideal for hiking. She had also unfortunately failed to replenish her customary bottle of moonlight sizzle, and her normal lantern had been disintegrated. She searched for the light crystal coaster that had come in so handy recently, only to remember that she'd carelessly left it in her bedside drawer the evening after using it in the fight against Malcolm Gervin.

The weight of the satchel's strap seemed to dig into her shoulders and hurt her ribs with its increasingly cumbersome weight. She quickly drank through her entire canteen of water, but without a convenient source of light, couldn't stop and set up a spell array to gather more. Her mouth grew dry, and then a headache bloomed. The potions in her bag began to seem appealing more for their liquid content than their magical properties.

The night was so dark that she could barely see the road beneath her feet. But she could hear the ocean, and the occasional yips, howls, and hoots of animals, their cries carrying far on the still night air and leaving her on edge and jumpy.

Shivering and stumbling in the dark, she finally had an idea. She stopped in what she thought was the middle of the road, pulled off one of her boots, and retrieved a paper spell array from her emergency bag. With fingers numb from the cold, she managed to pry open the heel of her boot, then used the finger-knife sheathed within against the flint to create a spark. It lasted only a moment, but by doing this repeatedly, she hoped to read the spell array's purpose. She might be able to cast in the dark if she already knew with total surety what spell it was, but accidentally mis-matching her Will to the Word could have disastrous consequences.

The sparks revealed that the paper held Grubb's barrier spell, which she then funneled power through in the most inefficient way possible, allowing the lines of the spell array to glow and heat. With one half of her mind focused on the light from that, she was able to set up a spell to gather water from the air, which she switched over to until her canteen was full. She emptied the bottle, grimacing at the slightly strange taste of the water, and then repeated the process. 'It would be a good idea to carve the water-gathering spell array into the base of the canteen,' she realized.

This emergency bag didn't have any light-based spells in it, but it did have a few blank sheets of paper, and she was still wearing her holster with the beast core. After once again switching to the inefficient barrier spell to create a glow, she drew out a standard glow spell with a directed beam.

Finally, she slipped her boot back on and continued, holding the sheet of shining paper out before her.

She shuffled and limped her way north for hours. Tanya had created an extended reprieve for Siobhan when she blew up Eagle Tower. It had allowed Siobhan to grow complacent. Sure, she'd been trying to prepare for every eventuality, but this problem had begun to seem less urgent. 'It's like the sword of Damocles, constantly hanging over me like a guillotine,' she thought wearily.

When she finally made it into sight of the Mires, she dropped her glow spell to be less conspicuous. She wasn't alone in the streets, despite the late hour, and some of those who noticed her passing eyed her with predatory contemplation. 'Stumbling through the southern Mires so obviously alone—and wealthy, in this dress—is a great way to get stabbed and stripped naked, left to die in some unnamed alley.'

She crouched down to retrieve the thin, hook-edged dagger from the calf of her boot, rolling her tired shoulders back and meeting the eyes of anyone who stared too long. This late at night, in this part of the city, there were no carriages she could flag down. She was so tired, and every joint in her body ached.

She tried to run coherently through her options. The safest place would be Liza's, but there was no guarantee the woman would be home this time, either. She could go to the Verdant Stag, but it was still a couple of kilometers away, and Siobhan didn't feel like she could manage even a few hundred more meters.

'A safe house,' she thought. Latching onto the idea, she combed through her memories and tried to place herself on the dense map of the city. There was a place close by.

She was still trying in vain to remember the password when she arrived fifteen or so minutes later, but when she saw the building, she remembered this location was unoccupied. She counted the bricks on the wall from the back door, seven over, six down, then pried off the facade, pulling out the rugged iron key and using it to let herself in.

After closing and locking the door behind herself, she dropped her satchel, leaned back, and slid down the door until she sat on the floor. She drew her cloak closer, hugging herself as she shivered from a combination of cold and bone-deep exhaustion. "I made it," she murmured. "Everything is still fine. Just a bit of extra exercise. Fekten would be so proud if he knew."

She planned to rest for a while and then continue on, thinking somewhere in the back of her mind that she would rise when dawn came and hurry back to the University before anyone important noticed that she had been gone.

Instead, crouched against the wood wall of an abandoned house, Siobhan fell asleep. Without the dreamless sleep spell to stop it, she dreamt.

Siobhan found herself in a diaphanous nightgown, her small brown feet peeking out under the hem, her toes dirty and soles calloused. She looked at her hands, noting their equally small—childlike—size, and the fact that she was having trouble counting exactly how many fingers she had. "Oh no," she muttered. Or maybe just thought. She couldn't quite be sure because her lips hadn't moved.

She was in her childhood house where she had stayed with Grandfather, in front of the tower room with the lead door. Her hand reached toward the doorknob and twisted, then pushed the heavy door open.

Siobhan kept her eyes down, her long dark hair falling forward to obscure her vision at the peripherals. Her bare feet passed over the sticky, red, fungus-like tendrils that had crept their way over the stone floor. They pulsed gently under her, warm and alive compared to the cool stone.

Though she tried to stop, or at least to slow herself, she walked to the center of the room, catching the edge of a mirror frame in her vision. She tried not to look, but she wasn't in control. The mirror, a rectangle taller than it was wide, was framed in smoldering brimstone, carved in the shape of twisted and elongated limbs, with disjointed fingers poking out here, a knee bent backwards there at the corner, and horribly mangled human feet at the bottom, as if they had been crushed under the monstrous weight of the mirror.

Siobhan's heart began to beat rapidly, dizzying her and leaving the edges of her vision blurry and dreamlike. Her eyes dragged themselves up to the reflection, which showed not her, but a window looking out over a surreal landscape that had been painted in muted earth tones and fog.

In the distance, hunched forms shuffled. As she stared, they became more defined.

"No, no," she pleaded, trying to wrench her focus away.

As if in answer to her desperate prayer, her eyes began to move again. But not away. Up—toward the top of the frame—and she couldn't stop them and she couldn't look away, but she knew that whatever she saw was going to be horrible, going to break her heart and wrench open her mind. She tried to scream, but what came out were just muted whimpers and whines, like a wounded animal.

Finally, the smoldering brimstone face at the top of the mirror came into view, bound into the frame.

Siobhan tried not to recognize it.

She reached up, ready to claw at her own eyes to stop herself from seeing. Just as her fingertips dug into their slimy wetness, she woke.

She was keening, low and strained, her cheek pressed against the wood panels of the floor. She jerked her head back and scrambled backward like a crab, slamming her head into the wall, her eyes still clenched shut. A few more keening moans slipped out of her before she had the wherewithal to clamp a hand over her mouth.

She flipped over onto her knees, pointing her feet so that she could fold forward over her legs until the top of her forehead made contact with the wooden floor again. She felt like she couldn't breathe, like she was suffocating, her heart pounding so hard, pumping so much blood that she started slipping around at the edge of consciousness, black and red washes spilling across the backs of her eyelids. 'This is a panic attack,' she told herself. 'Get control. Breathe. Count and hold.'

Slowly, much too slowly, she regained control of her body, calming enough to function, the involuntary reactions to panic ebbing away like a lazy tide, breath by breath. It could have been seconds or minutes, she couldn't tell.

'I need the sleep-proxy spell,' she told herself. 'It doesn't matter what I have to do. Development has to move forward.'

She changed forms in the dark, fumbling with her clothing.

Climbing up to stand on trembling legs, she stumbled to the window shutter and opened it, letting in light and fresh air through the glassless frame. Some detached part of her noted the paleness and largeness of her hands. In some small way, it was a comfort, this sharp divide between reality and the dream. 'I'm Sebastien now,' she thought with the smallest twitch of a humorless smile.

She had to admit to herself that she had probably always been going to give in to Liza, to set aside her qualms and whatever worth the life of a raven or a pixie or a monkey held. She had just been looking for a way to keep going past her own guilt and shame. Otherwise she wouldn't have only asked for time away to think, she would have made concrete promises about the lines she was not willing to cross.

'If there was any other option, I would take it,' Sebastien thought.

Tears welled up in her eyes and flowed down her cheeks, accompanied by a sharp, aching pain in her chest that made her want to wail and devolve into body-convulsing sobs at the unfairness of her life.

Instead, she kept breathing smoothly, pushing that feeling down until it reluctantly ebbed away. The tears didn't stop for a while, nor did the shivering.

Chapter 140 - Faust

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 16, Tuesday 5:00am

Sebastien hobbled out of the safe house, carefully locking the door behind herself and re-hiding the key. She walked slowly, allowing her stiff joints to ease as they warmed up. Despite her fatigue, she felt more comfortable out in the open than she had the night before. Most of those she passed now were laborers just starting their day, with the disquieting midnight crowd having slinked away at the earliest perceptible lightening of the sky. She didn't make it far before she smelled food, and her focus was drawn to a stall down the street, which was selling meat pies. Her stomach gurgled, and she felt another wave of nausea. 'I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon,' she realized. 'Perhaps some of my condition is simply due to requiring nourishment.' She knew she could return to the University cafeteria and eat there, but the meat pies smelled so good.

'I still have plenty,' she remembered, taking a quick peek at the coins filling the bottom of the purse with a strange emotion. 'And there is more to come from the Gervin textile sub-commission.' It was somehow difficult to reconcile, hard to believe, that she need not scrabble to save every copper. But the evidence was clear.

So she bought herself two meat pies, then savored them as she took a carriage to the northern transport tubes, which accepted her student token and sent her shooting up to the edge of the white cliffs.

Damien had noticed her absence from the dorms and been worried, but she explained that she'd been asked to run a small errand for their secret organization and then got stuck without transportation.

"Are you sure that's it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "You look…worn. Worried? It's nothing to do with Malcolm Gervin, is it?"

"No, nothing like that. I…well, you know I have trouble sleeping. It was a rough night." That was close enough to the truth that she didn't feel so bad lying in the face of his genuine concern.

Damien placed his hand on her shoulder. "I won't pry, but just know that if you ever want to talk about…anything, you can come to me." Without waiting for her response, he returned to his own cubicle.

Against all odds and sense, Sebastien made her way through the day's classes, then forced herself to catch up on sleep that evening. Her fatigue seemed to be a trigger for the beamshell cravings, and for the first time, she realized that sometimes Will alone might not be enough to persevere when everything inside you wanted to make a bad long-term choice for the benefit of temporary relief. Thankfully, she had thrown the beamshell tincture out, and trying to get more would require a complicated scheme involving forging a healer's prescription. Perhaps sensing her mood, Damien and Ana left her to her own devices.

After classes, she stopped by Liza's to tell her that she would continue to help with the sleep-proxy spell. Liza was…sympathetic, perhaps sensing how much Siobhan hated herself for this decision. But Siobhan didn't allow herself to take any comfort in Liza's affirmation that she was making the smart choice. Siobhan was willing to do whatever it took to achieve this goal, but that didn't make it right.

When Siobhan belatedly mentioned her failed attempt to destroy the coppers' blood sample, Liza snorted.

"Of course that didn't work, girl. You're slightly clever, not a trained expert. Did you expect that they would have no recourse against counter-divination methods developed during the Haze War?"

Siobhan flushed. 'It does make sense that a method I got out of the first level University library would be deprecated. The coppers should be working with the most recent advancements and the best contracted casters.' It had been hubris to assume she could best them after less than a single term at the University.

"As I've mentioned before, I could solve this problem for you, for a fee. Your idea to target them while they are scrying for you was a good one, and with the right implementation, could make things much easier. There would be some problems to solve, such as ensuring your safety under wards while I handled their blood sample, and the fact that I cannot guarantee the destruction of all samples, only the one they are using. If they left some under the protective wards of Harrow Hill's evidence storage, your problem would remain unsolved."

Siobhan narrowed her eyes. "You quoted me eight hundred gold before. If I could tell you when they are scrying me—and where they are doing it from—would that make it easier… Enough, perhaps, to reduce the price to something reasonable?"

Liza rolled her eyes, took a moment to reluctantly consider it, and finally said, "Perhaps. No less than five hundred gold."

Siobhan hummed. "I'll think about that. Maybe there's a way to make it even easier. What if I lent you a sample to work with, too?" She wouldn't have considered such a thing normally, but Liza had no need of extra tricks if she wanted to harm Siobhan. She hadn't so far, after all, despite the bounty on the Raven Queen.

"We can talk about this again when you have the coin. Five hundred," Liza repeated.

The possibility of purchasing help couldn't dispel Siobhan's dark mood, but the spark of an idea was growing.

As she left, she wondered, 'What do I do now?' The answer that came to her had little to do with her current dilemma, but was instead a task that had been lingering in the back of her mind for months now, actively avoided with almost the same fervor that she avoided her dreams. She pulled out a tattered envelope from her bag. It contained only a simple address, one she'd long ago memorized.

That was how, after returning once more to the Silk Door, Sebastien found herself looking up at a building in Oliver's territory that had, only a couple of months before, been a brothel. It was nothing like the Silk Door. This building was a squat, run-down rectangle with only a few grungy windows.

The last couple of days had been warmer, and the stench of rot and waste was stronger in this area of the Mires. Oliver's vaunted cleaning crews hadn't made it here yet. When she opened her mouth to try and escape it, it coated the back of her mouth and throat instead, which was no better.

Steeling herself, Sebastien walked in the front door. The interior was packed with people, apparently gathering for dinner. Those without bowls of hearty seafood porridge stood in a haphazard line stretching toward the kitchen. The people were dirty, tired-looking, and distrustful, but at least not starving or freezing to death, and there was a single Stag enforcer to keep the peace between those both too desperate and packed too closely together for amity.

Sebastien managed to find someone who knew the Moore family after only a few attempts, which left her more disappointed than relieved. She had hoped they might have left for somewhere better, using the funds they got for allowing the investigation report to malign Newton to start a new life. Both for their own sake and so that she might have an excuse not to face them.

Newton's mother, pointed out to Sebastien by her guide, was in the kitchen, ladling up soup for those in line. The woman looked haggard, and the rolled-back sleeves of her shirt openly displayed her burn-scarred forearms. She eyed Sebastien suspiciously. "How can I help you, my lord?"

Sebastien cleared her throat awkwardly. Her knees trembled a bit, and she stepped forward to disguise it. "Hello. Er, my name is Sebastien. I was a friend of Newton's."

The woman deflated immediately, though her expression didn't change at first, as if she was too tired to emote. She seemed to shake herself awake, standing straighter and setting the ladle down for one of the other kitchen helpers to take over before turning to Sebastien, her brows furrowed and jaw clenched. "A little late for this kind of thing, isn't it?" she asked.

Sebastien flushed bright red, her eyes fluttering closed in shame. "I know. I should have come earlier. I—I'm sorry. We did—a couple of my friends and I, we sent letters and a care package, when it first…when he first died. You did get it, didn't you?"

Newton's mother considered Sebastien for a moment, then softened. "I did. I suppose you'd better come on back, son. We can talk in my family's rooms."

The Moore family's quarters weren't as bad as Sebastien had feared, two rooms behind the kitchen that stayed a little warmer than the rest of the building, and with an actual lock on the hallway-facing door.

It seemed the whole family was packed together into those two rooms—a little cramped, but not worse than many of the rural farm homes she had seen in her time. Only here, there was no open space just outside the door, no fresh air or freedom. They were using a dying bottle of moonlight sizzle for light, because there was no window.

In the blue-tinted gloom within, an old woman huddled in the corner, staring at nothing—Newton's "Grams."

A man lay on the bottom bunk of two beds, asleep. The table beside him was filled with an array of potion vials, some empty. 'Newton's father. At least they have the means to afford healing for him.'

Two younger girls looked up from practicing sums with an abacus in the corner.

Newton's mother stepped forward, snatching up the moonlight sizzle and shaking it harshly to try and eke out a bit more light from the bubbling bottle. "It's no mansion, but we can afford it while our house is being rebuilt, and I've got a job in the kitchens that pays a little extra."

"You did get enough…funds, then?" Sebastien asked hesitantly. "From the investigators."

"Well, enough," the woman agreed. "Both girls have been accepted into a school up on Lette Street, and the first year is already paid for, with enough left over for the house and the healer. My husband's had a bit of flare-up with the continued cold weather. His lungs have some scarring that settled before we were able to get him treatment, but it's nothing compared to the prognosis we were originally facing. It was actually your letter that did the most for us, though. Coal in the snowstorm, as they say, just enough to get by when we really needed it the most."

Sebastien swallowed, her eyes prickling with humiliation. That had been Alec and Damien's idea, really. She just contributed, and the letter she had written wasn't even the truth.

"Sebastien, was it? Terrible business, really, I—" The woman's voice broke, and she cleared her throat wetly. "Were you one of his classmates, then?"

"Yes. I—I just wanted to give my condolences," Sebastien said, knowing even as the words came out of her mouth that banalities like that never really helped, especially from strangers. She wasn't even quite sure they were true. 'Is that why I'm here? To say that I'm sorry?' Since the moment when she crawled up off the furniture shop's floor and realized what had happened to Newton, she hadn't let herself sink into really thinking about it. It was impossible to avoid, now, looking at the people he'd left behind. Apologizing was rather useless, just sentiment. What was really important was the resolution to do better.

She could console herself with the fact that she had never lied to Newton or tried to coerce him into doing anything dangerous. He had known going with Tanya would be a risk, and he had known there could be greater reward in it, too. Perhaps he hadn't truly understood what he was getting himself into. Or perhaps he had just been too desperate to decline. If she hadn't pulled him into this whole thing in the first place, he would undoubtedly be alive. Hells, if she hadn't gotten caught and allowed that whole fiasco with the Morrows, if she hadn't frightened him to death with her shadow-familiar spell…

Sebastien had known since she was young that anything she cared about, she had to take responsibility for. There was no use in blaming anyone else when things went wrong, just as she couldn't depend on anyone else to make things go right. She was the only thing she controlled. Her, and her magic.

If she could have done something differently to change the outcome, and she didn't, then it was her fault. Pretending the weight of responsibility didn't land on her just because she was too tired to admit it, to accept it, was weakness. It was a deflection. Newton coming to harm wasn't unforeseeable. She'd chosen to involve him anyway. Other people, even he himself, had chosen to go along with it. But no one else's culpability lessened her own.

She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. She had facilitated Newton's break, his death. And maybe there were things she could have done to better prepare him. Ways she could have mitigated the danger. She would keep this failure in mind for the future. But she couldn't pretend that she would never place someone else in harm's way again. The world was dangerous. She wasn't powerful enough to control everything. And sometimes things spiraled out of her control and people got hurt. She was responsible, but she wasn't to blame. She wouldn't put this, at least, on herself. Not all of it.

"I am sorry," she said. "For your loss. Newton didn't deserve what happened to him." And it was true.

"Oh, thank you child." His mother pulled over the room's single small stool and waved for Sebastien to take it, perching herself on the edge of her husband's bed instead. "It was a horrible shock. I mean, I noticed he was getting a little too interested in magics better left alone, but I never thought—" She pressed her fingers to her lips, shaking her head as her eyes grew glassy.

Sebastien frowned.

"He fell in with a bad crowd," the grandmother said from the corner, still staring into the air.

"Yes," his mother said, "but we never expected him to dabble in whatever corrupted magic transformed him into a creature of evil—one of those Aberrants."

In the corner, one of the girls began crying softly. "It wasn't his fault. I know it!" she said.

The mother shook her head sadly. "He did what he did, Beshi. Sometimes you don't know people as well as you think. Maybe it was our situation that pushed him to it in desperation."

Sebastien opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head. "Umm…well, I don't think that's exactly true."

The father had woken at some point and struggled to sit up. Newton's mother hurried to help him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Newton did get caught up in things that were too much for him to handle," Sebastien said, "but he wasn't doing anything…depraved. It was the circumstances that caused his break, not a corrupted Will."

The man shook his head, but started coughing. After that, he seemed too blearily exhausted to continue contributing to the conversation.

His mother frowned at Sebastien. "He was dabbling in magics better left alone."

"No. He was casting a completely harmless self-calming spell when it happened. He taught it to me at school, and I've cast it myself several times. He said his grandmother taught it to him." She looked to the woman in the corner, who seemed to focus for the first time, meeting Sebastien's eyes. This was information that she shouldn't have, perhaps, but she couldn't let them go on believing a lie about their dead son.

"He wasn't, and then suddenly he was," the decrepit woman said. "He wasn't, and then he was, like a sick wind."

Sebastien's hand had fallen to the pocket where she normally kept her Conduit, and she forced herself to settle both hands in her lap, not wanting to be rude. She felt uneasy, as if she were standing at the edge of the white cliffs above the sea, and the wind was a little too strong for safety.

"I don't think that's true at all. He got involved with something over his head, and it was too much for him and he broke, but he wasn't doing anything nefarious. He was captured, along with some other University students, and threatened by the Morrows." She swallowed hard to push past her tightening throat as the vow she'd given to the Red Guard tried to restrict her. "There was fighting. He wasn't even involved. Just an innocent casualty," she finished quickly, before it could stop her.

"I knew it!" the crying girl said. "I knew he wouldn't!"

His father frowned severely. "Are you sure? But that can't be—" He was cut off by another coughing fit, wet and painful-sounding.

"That—" His mother was shaking her head, over and over, touching her ear as if she'd gotten water trapped inside it. "That can't be. Newton—my son, my son was dabbling in magics better left alone. He was dabbling."

Sebastien's back muscles were tightening almost painfully with how straight she was sitting. Looking around the windowless room, she suddenly felt claustrophobic.

The father's coughing fit went on and on until he was red-faced and teary-eyed, struggling to draw breath.

His wife hurried to uncork one of the potions on his bedside table and help him drink it, calming his coughs but also drawing his eyelids down into heavy, sleepy blinks.

"The scarring is treatable, but it's a painful, expensive process. We're hoping things will get better once it warms up around here," she explained, as if fearful of judgment.

Sebastien shifted uncomfortably. "Why do you think that Newton was dabbling in corrupted magics? Did he ever mention something like that to you?"

"No, of course not!" the woman snapped. "But he was. I know it."

Sebastien swallowed. "How do you know it?"

The woman pressed her hand over her mouth again, shaking her head rapidly while looking toward the ground.

Sebastien looked between the father and the grandmother. "Is there any actual evidence that he was doing something nefarious? Did the coppers tell you that?"

The grandmother spoke up again. "He was innocent, and then, suddenly, he wasn't. And we knew it."

Sebastien went cold. "When did you know?" she asked, her lips numb as the words passed over them.

"Few weeks ago. Maybe a couple months."

"And around the time when you suddenly knew, did someone visit you? Someone who asked questions about Newton? Any thaumaturges?" Sebastien's voice grew unconsciously softer, as if she were afraid of someone overhearing her. She looked around to all the family members packed into the small room.

They looked confused, shaking their heads, except for the grandmother. "I definitely did not meet anyone who wanted to change my mind about little Newt. Definitely."

That was a little too specific, and a little too sure.

Sebastien supposed if someone had put a geas or similar magic on her, forcing her to believe something, then forced her to forget about that, too, she might be able to suss out what had changed. She would need to be able to recognize that what she believed now was suddenly and inexplicably different than what she'd believed before, without any new evidence to create the shift.

She would ask herself who had done this to her, or when it had been done, and find an answer that she was strangely, absurdly sure wasn't correct. This belief would have no corroborating evidence. And so, the one that felt least likely was, conversely, most likely to be the answer.

It's what Newton's Grams had been hinting at from the beginning. Sebastien supposed that, being a thaumaturge, even a weak one, her mind was more resistant to whatever had been done to them. At least whoever had tinkered with their brains had spared the two children, though she didn't know if that was because they had a sense of ethics or if they just thought it didn't matter because no one would believe a child, anyway.

"Has anyone suspicious been hanging around? Or anyone who definitely isn't suspicious?"

None of the Moores remembered anything, though Sebastien was sure she couldn't trust their judgment on the matter. Sebastien attempted to keep digging, asking increasingly specific questions in an attempt to reverse-engineer the answers, but within minutes Newton's mother and both sisters had collapsed into frustrated, confused tears, and the grandmother had begun to bang the back of her head against the wall, staring at nothing as she repeated, "I know it, I know it," over and over.

Knowing that her absence would likely do more to calm them than anything else she might attempt, Sebastien retreated, feeling like she was escaping as she stepped into the light outside. She couldn't help looking around suspiciously, paranoid that whoever had done this to the Moores was watching. 'Is there anything that's suddenly changed about my own beliefs? Anything that I'm strangely sure of?' She tried to rifle through her thoughts in search of concerning signs but found nothing. She didn't know if that meant she was fine, or just really bad at noticing whatever geas had been placed on her.

'Could this have anything to do with the investigation into the Raven Queen? But that doesn't make sense. How would doing this help the investigation? And if they got to his family, who else?'

She hailed the first carriage and took it straight back to the University. Professor Lacer wasn't in his office, but she remembered where his cottage was. She hurried east across the grounds, and, when she found it, pounded on the door.

Professor Lacer opened it with a thunderous scowl. "What is the meaning of this?" he snapped.

"I need to speak with you."

He looked her over, his concern both obvious and somewhat surprising. "Is this about what happened over the weekend? Did the Raven Queen contact you?"

"What? No! I need to speak with you," she repeated. "Privately."

His gaze swept over the grounds behind her, but he stepped back and let her in. "What is the matter?"

"Do you remember the night that Newton Moore broke? All of it?"

He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "I do. Have you remembered something relevant about the incident?"

"No. This is about… I went to visit his family." She took a deep breath, watching him carefully as she said, "I believe Newton broke while casting a simple self-calming spell. Esoteric, vibration-based. Not corrupted in nature. It was an unfortunate accident. Do you agree?"

"I do."

She sagged with relief. "Oh, thank the stars above."

"What are you getting at?"

"Someone has tampered with the minds of Newton Moore's family. Poorly. They now believe he was involved in some sort of blood magic, and that's what caused his break. I worry the same might have been done to some of the students in his term. The ones who gave those statements about him."

Professor Lacer leaned back. "Is that all?"

"Well…yes." She rocked back on her heels. 'Isn't that enough?'

"I thought it would be something much more dramatic, with how anxious you were. Still, you did the right thing in making me aware. Sloppy work, to make it so obvious. I will send them back to do a better job."

"Who?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"The Red Guard, of course. Sometimes memetic spells, when cast incorrectly, will start to fray and show their holes over time as the brain picks at their edges."

Sebastien had gone cold inside. She felt suddenly, starkly unsafe. "And why did the Red Guard do this?"

"To control public perception, of course." He raised a hand to stop her, as if she had been going to protest. "I know that is not the answer you seek, but if you wish to dig deeper, you should do so on your own. Some answers are best discovered yourself, if you wish to ever truly understand them. But…be cautious. You do not want to draw so much negative attention that you receive a visit yourself."

Sebastien hadn't known it before, but there had been some sense of security granted by the structure of society, the supposed duties of the Crowns and the Red Guard toward the citizens. She had thought her own model of the way the world worked to be correct. And despite his caustic nature, she had believed in the bulwark of her professor, Thaddeus Lacer, against danger.

And in a handful of sentences, that naivety had been stripped from her.

Chapter 141 - Post Mortem

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 16, Tuesday 7:00pm

After receiving some more cutting commentary about her involvement with Ana's dangerous scheme, Sebastien left Professor Lacer's house, trying to offer as little indication as possible about just how shaken she was. She moved mindlessly, and found her feet had taken her back to the dorms without her conscious input.

In the cubicle across from her, Ana threw open the curtain and gave Sebastien a bright smile, holding up an extra-large envelope thick with paper. "Signed and sealed," she said with a dramatic wink, handing the envelope to Sebastien. "I thought you could deliver it to Lord Dryden yourself."

Sebastien took it numbly. "Thank you."

Ana's excitement fell away. "Is something wrong?"

Sebastien looked around, noting the surreptitious glances of the nearby students. She had no intention of speaking about what she'd learned of the Red Guard, and by association, Professor Lacer, lest she too be subjected to invasive fingers tampering with her thoughts and memories. Even the notion sent a cold shudder rippling up her spine until her scalp tingled. Her heartbeat was too loud, and her armpits and palms were damp with sweat.

The pause after Ana's question had drawn on too long, and the other young woman took her by the arm and dragged her into the cubicle. Ana drew the curtain closed, ignoring the sudden explosion of scandalized murmuring around them.

Sebastien rolled her eyes. "You've taken me into your boudoir, Ana. We must be having a salacious affair."

Normally this would have amused Ana, but she waved her hand in irritation as she activated a privacy artifact that ran around the length of the cubicle's walls. "What happened?" she asked soberly.

Sebastien considered trying to lie, but she knew that Ana was much better at reading people than Sebastien was at lying. If Ana was already asking, it was too late to seem normal. Instead, after a moment of hesitation, Sebastien said, "Something disturbing happened. I…learned something I wish weren't true. And I don't want to talk about it."

Ana stared at her for a moment, searching Sebastien's eyes, and then simply nodded. "Alright then." Pulling a box of expensive candies from her bedside drawer, she handed one to Sebastien. "So, did you hear about the feud going on between Mischner and Letty? Mischner got caught trying to spike Letty's food, and it's probably because Mischner's worried about being in the bottom ten percent of the class. Mischner got a demerit, but Letty wasn't satisfied because she felt that such a light punishment was blatant favoritism, so she wrote to Mischner's father…"

'I have good friends,' Sebastien realized, swallowing down the lump in her throat. For once, she was grateful for Ana's tendency to gossip, and tried to genuinely listen and remember who the people were, sinking into this alternate reality where the latest scandal was actually important.

Sebastien went through the next day feeling like she was being watched. Unfortunately, this was true, as the rumor mill had begun to churn with interest in her and her friends again. The whole Gervin Family debacle was blowing up. Even Ana, who said that this publicity was good for her future prospects and would allow her to more easily forge her own path once she took over the lordship, found it wearying, her smiles growing more and more perfect as their fellow students began to grate on her.

Damien and the rest of the group didn't even bother to smile, circling up around their more vulnerable members like a group of wagoners defending against wolves.

During Practical Casting, Sebastien examined Professor Lacer for any hint of the outcome with the Moore family's mind control, but he seemed the same as ever. She considered just asking him about it, but decided against it. She had been growing comfortable with him, but that was gone.

Finding herself antsy but at a loss as to what to actually do, she decided to take the textile sub-commission down to Oliver at the Verdant Stag. As the saying went, "Money doesn't solve all problems, but it at least solves money problems." And really, with the right attitude, quite a lot of things could be "money problems."

On a sudden whim, she stopped by a licensed apothecary and bought herself a mild detoxifying potion that was safe to take even without healer supervision. She could have bought one at the Verdant Stag apothecary, but chose not to for two simple reasons. First, she didn't know if the little shop was still up and running after the attack. But mostly, she didn't want anyone to know that she needed it. The potion was unreasonably expensive, but it was worth it to help heal whatever subtle damage she'd done to herself, with the added benefit of smoothing over the cravings she was still having.

She disguised herself fully once more, but still wore her hood up to conceal her features in case the coppers were tracking who came and went from the Verdant Stag. Siobhan had fake identification papers, but didn't know how well they would hold up if the coppers wanted to question or arrest her. If they didn't cast any divinations, she would probably get through it safely, but she couldn't count on that.

The Verdant Stag's repairs were already well under way. The newly constructed sections of the building looked even nicer—and much sturdier—than they originally had. Workers with supplies both magical and mundane scurried everywhere, and the noise required one to shout to be heard.

Katerin was there amongst the hubbub, looming over Theo with one arm pointed imperiously up the stairs to her office.

The boy crawled out from underneath the floorboards, which were being replaced with a thick stone tile, his head and shoulders drooping with comical dejection as he shuffled away. As soon as he caught sight of Siobhan, he perked up, totally rejuvenated.

Katerin followed his gaze to Siobhan, then sighed and waved her over, moving to follow Theo.

They met at the bottom of the stairs.

"I only have a couple weeks to go until I've earned enough for my utility wand!" Theo quickly announced, beaming.

Katerin eyed him dourly. "You forgot that you'll be fined for escaping Mr. Mawson's lessons both yesterday and today."

Theo deflated again. "But how am I supposed to concentrate with everything going on? It's so loud, and everything down here is so much more interesting than doing fractions and writing essays about the government. It's not fair! If you really want me to learn, one would think you'd get me a more interesting tutor." He looked to Siobhan expectantly. "You think so too, right?"

"It is important to make learning fun," she agreed. "But most children need external motivation because they can't maintain interest in the whole spectrum of required subjects."

"External motivation, like being paid to save up for a battle wand," Katerin said pointedly.

"Perhaps extra credit, for intellectual work that Theo finds interesting?" Siobhan offered.

This devolved into Theo throwing out ideas about essays he could write, ranging from "the Raven Queen's true powers," to "best practices for solo-hunting magical beasts."

Katerin promised only that she would consider it, then sent Theo off to her office alone while the two women continued up the stairs. "It's been a bit busy, but I think we should sit down and talk with Oliver. There have been some…interesting developments. As an aside, you might be interested to know that Enforcer Gerard survived, thanks to a powerful healing potion that cost about three months of his wages and which he has submitted a reimbursement request for. His legs will require rehabilitation, and he's made some inquisitive comments about possibly owing a debt to the Raven Queen." Seeing Siobhan's face, Katerin laughed. "Do not worry so much, girl. He doesn't buy into all the stories. He was around to watch you from the beginning, after all. I think he just wants to thank you for your help. As do I."

Siobhan looked away awkwardly. "Um. You're welcome."

Katerin nodded solemnly. "I will pass that along."

They had to wait outside Oliver's office, as one of the higher-level enforcers was giving him a report, and two other people were already waiting for a moment of Oliver's time. Katerin sat and immediately focused on a folder full of her own reports, ignoring the world. 'If his Verdant Stag office is going to be this busy, Oliver should get a secretary and put in a little waiting area with chairs,' Siobhan mused, trying to keep her thoughts from turning back to the Moore family.

When they finally entered, Katerin closed the door behind them, suddenly and obviously dampening the cacophony of shouting and hammering that filled the rest of the building. But the chaos had made its way inside anyway, in the scattered papers over Oliver's desk and some of the chairs, the stubble on his jaw, and the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. But despite all this, his shoulders were squared, his eyes quick and alert, and his mouth was set in a grim, determined line. No hint of defeat hung about him.

As they sat in the plush chairs before Oliver's desk, he moved to the front and leaned against it, ankles crossed and hands in his pockets. He stared at the floor for a few moments before lifting his head. "First, let me say that I believe the Architects of Khronos were behind the attack on Knave Knoll."

Siobhan blinked. "Okay…? Was that ever in question?" She looked to Katerin to share her confusion.

The woman snorted, playing with the tip of her single, blood-red braid. "Exactly."

Siobhan looked back at Oliver. "Does this have anything to do with what Tanya was talking about?"

"It does," Oliver said. "Shortly after the attack and its…spectacular failure, costing numerous enemy lives while freeing none of the Morrows, Grandmaster Kiernan reached out to me to affirm that the whole thing was a surprise to him as well."

"But you don't actually believe that," Siobhan blurted.

Oliver just smiled. "Supposedly, Kiernan had recently been contacted by a powerful man with some sort of allegiance to the Morrows. He tried to blackmail Kiernan into helping free them, under threat of releasing information about the activities of the Architects of Khronos to concerned parties in the Thirteen Crown Families. Kiernan maintains that he denied him, but when the man somehow found out about the prisoner transport, he went to Kiernan with an ultimatum. Work together on the attack, or all the information would be released. Instead, Kiernan killed him and sent Miss Canelo to warn us, but everything was already in motion, and she was too late to help.

"And Miss Canelo corroborates this story. As far as I know, she even put herself in danger multiple times during the battle in attempts to help our side. Personally, she expressed relief to me that Kiernan and his people had finally seen reason after their previous stubborn antagonism."

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. "It's very convenient that the supposed blackmailer both cannot blackmail any more, and also cannot speak about Kiernan's involvement."

Katerin snapped her fingers and pointed at Siobhan. "Again, exactly. Even more convenient that this Kiernan supposedly knew where Knave Knoll was all along, but didn't do anything with that information until it was necessary to 'help us.' He would have done better to claim that his blackmailer told him the location at the last minute."

Oliver shrugged. "Well, Kiernan was acting under pressure. To clarify, I believe this Morrow ally was real, because upon his death, he had multiple failsafes in place that really did attempt to release damning information about the Architects of Khronos. Those attempts were quickly quashed by the Architects, of course. However, contrary to what Kiernan claims, I believe he went along with this man's demands from the beginning, and was likely even the driving force behind the decision to attack the Verdant Stag. Freeing the prisoners wasn't his main goal; that was simply a convenient distraction for his attempt on the book. Tanya was sent to warn us, but he never expected her to succeed. More likely, he was sending her to die while creating some insurance for himself in case things went wrong. Which they did. And so, when he got word of how disastrously the entire plan failed—"

Katerin snickered, interjecting, "Particularly, the rumors that a woman who looks suspiciously like the Raven Queen appeared out of the darkness behind our fleeing people and called down a magical attack from the heavens that was so powerful and twisted that it left remnants behind for hours, like the Black Wastes themselves had manifested in the middle of Gilbratha…" Her bright white smile stood out sharply against her red lips, and there was a dark rage there that Siobhan had never seen in it before. Katerin did not take kindly to being attacked, it seemed.

Siobhan groaned. "So, I really was recognized?"

Oliver rocked one hand side to side. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. Maybe some of our people have suspicions, but no one has been throwing around any civilian names. You have to realize how big this little folk legend of the Raven Queen has grown. When spectacular things happen, her name is easily attached. Especially because she has been known to protect the Stags before, in equally fantastical ways. In any case, when he heard the news, Kiernan quickly pivoted to try to avoid blame and retaliation."

Siobhan leaned back in her chair, toying with her Conduit. "Does he really think we're so stupid?"

Katerin barked out a laugh.

"Kiernan isn't so foolish. But at this point, when antagonism has failed so spectacularly and danger comes from multiple directions, he has little other choice. It's a gamble without downsides. But in a way, this works out best for us. As I mentioned, Kiernan's blackmailer had a deadman's switch to send out damning information on their activities, which was very useful in drawing the coppers' attention toward them, and off of us."

"What were their activities?" Siobhan asked.

Katerin answered. "They seem to be preparing for a power struggle against the Crowns. Whether that should come from direct warfare or through political and commercial pressure, we're not sure. But the Crowns hold certain powers over the University that restrict their freedom, and it seems these restrictions have chafed some beyond their tolerance. The Architects of Khronos pull members from more than just a disgruntled faculty, I am sure, but we are still trying to uncover more."

Oliver pushed himself off the desk, moving to one of the shelves along the wall, where a small box sat. He opened it and removed a small vial of clear liquid from within, using the attached pipette to place a single drop in each of his bloodshot eyes. He let out a breath of relief. "I have spent the majority of my time these last few days mobilizing every resource at my disposal to turn the massive beast that is Gilbrathan law enforcement toward the Architects of Khronos. What happened at Knave Knoll was far beyond gang action. People are going to look at the gigantic hole in the warehouse district where a building used to be, and hear about the lingering magical effects on the canal, and they're going to see a terrorist attack."

The words chilled Siobhan. Some time ago, a group of thaumaturges deliberately turned an Aberrant loose in the heart of a city, earning the wrath of both the public and the authorities. They'd been convicted of terrorism and publicly executed—by being dragged through the streets while people lobbed balls of burning pitch at them. Such attacks were not treated lightly. "It's going to have serious repercussions." She had known that, but this put things in a different perspective.

Even Katerin's vindictive amusement had sobered. "That is why it doesn't matter how friendly this Kiernan tries to be, after his betrayal. Even if he were to work with us in good faith from now on, it is too late. The Verdant Stag cannot bear the weight of responsibility for this."

Oliver took out a pouch of dried berries and meat and shoved a handful into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed and continued talking. "I wanted to work together with the Architects. If not directly against the Thirteen Crowns, then at least supporting each other's defiance out of convenience. But instead, it is going to be each beast fighting alone. I hope to put enough emphasis on the Architects and their potential threat that we seem like a small catch in comparison. And while they fight with the Thirteen Crowns, the Verdant Stag can dig itself in and continue to grow."

"How likely do you think that is to work?" Siobhan asked.

"Very. The coppers will have released their report about the forces behind the attack a few hours ago. You should see emergency extras coming from the newspapers by this evening. While the upheaval and conflict this will cause is not ideal, I felt there was little other option. However, this method also comes with risks. Attempting to influence the coppers necessarily allows them some influence on me in turn. They've already begun trying to pressure me to help them retrieve the stolen book through my obvious connection with the Raven Queen."

Siobhan tensed.

He noticed, waving his hand to stop her from jumping to any conclusions. "So, I would suggest the Raven Queen stay out of the public eye, indefinitely. Perhaps even Silvia Nakai should cease her activities, as things seem to go so easily wrong around you."

'Things go wrong when I work with you!' she protested mentally, but, though she was sure it was clear on her face, she didn't say anything out loud.

He took another bite of the dried food. "The Verdant Stag's resources are expanding to the point that we have many options to deal with various difficulties without you, so settling down as Sebastien Siverling shouldn't be a problem."

Siobhan peered into the depths of her Conduit while she thought about this, unable to quell a sense of foreboding at being cast aside, even though this was what she'd wanted. 'I'll be safe,' she reassured herself. 'I have no need of the coin, and I'm not so altruistic as to sacrifice my well-being or my life for Oliver's ideals.' And to make this thought a reality, she reached into her bag, which had undergone a quick color-change along with the rest of her transformation as a stopgap until she could buy a replacement.

She pulled out the envelope that contained Oliver's sub-commission to produce textiles in the name of the Gervin Family, Fourth Crown of Lenore. "That seems reasonable, especially since I have some good news, which will bring me the funds I need to focus solely on learning."

Oliver stared intently at the envelope, then broke the seal and took out the contract from within, skimming over it until his eyes rested on Lord Gervin's signature and stamp at the end, right above Oliver's own. "The terms are even better than what I initially negotiated with him," he murmured. He threw back his head and laughed, loud and joyful, then reached out and yanked Siobhan to her feet, pulling her into his embrace as he half-leaned, half-danced from side to side.

Siobhan was horribly startled and embarrassed, peeking around to look at Katerin, but the older woman was smiling indulgently, and Siobhan couldn't help but smile, too.

Oliver drew back, holding her shoulders, his smile so wide his eyes crinkled almost all the way closed. "You've done it! Oh, Siobhan, you have no idea the difference this is going to make. Our cloth is going to spread across the entire continent. We will employ thousands and clothe hundreds of thousands. And that is just the first step. In a few years, the Verdant Stag will have grown larger than any Crown Family, with the power of the common people behind us, feeding us even as we feed them in an endless cycle. I am going to take over Gilbratha, and then Lenore." He threw back his head to crow at the sky. "I am going to take over the world!"

She laughed. "The entire world?"

Oliver waved a hand nonchalantly, releasing her and moving back around his desk to place the contract carefully in the center, like a babe in its cradle. "Well, that may be a bit of an exaggeration. At the very least, Lenore will become the hub of power for the entire continent, and a refuge of freedom and opportunity for those who feel persecuted in their homelands." He smiled at her once more, softer this time. "I made a good move saving you from the coppers all those months ago. In some ways, it feels like so long has passed since then, and so much has happened. But in other ways, I feel as if I met you just yesterday. Do you know how startled I was when you suddenly turned into a strange young man? I was actually quite worried about the extremely powerful sorcerer I seemed to have gotten myself involved with, though I tried to put on a confident front."

Siobhan smirked wryly. "I assure you, no matter how worried you were, I was much more terrified and in over my head." She fidgeted then, her smirk falling away as she remembered that Oliver didn't know about the latest scrying attempt on her.

She was loath to dampen the wonderful mood, but this wasn't something she could put off mentioning.

Oliver sat back down, sobering slowly as she spoke.

Katerin groaned and rubbed her temples, glaring at Siobhan with exasperation, as if this was somehow her fault.

Siobhan glared back, suddenly remembering that this was the woman who had fooled her into accepting a loan with fifty percent interest. Repaying said loan was what had led to this escalation in the first place. If not for that, she could have disappeared into Sebastien Siverling almost completely.

Oliver tapped an agitated finger against the side of his desk. "You couldn't have left some other piece of yourself behind during the fighting, could you?"

"It's possible, of course, but I was cautious about that possibility. And there were so many people losing blood, it seems unlikely they would have collected all the samples and then performed a scrying spell of such overwhelming power on each."

He steepled his fingers together, pressing them against his mouth for a few long moments. "I think you need to approach this problem from a different angle," he finally said, seeming self-satisfied about whatever idea he'd had and basking in her undivided attention. "Rather than simply defend against attacks in the hope that someday you might be able to take away their leverage, why not create a scapegoat? You could make them believe they've succeeded in finding the Raven Queen in a way that separates you from their investigation. Or, and this is my preferred method, you send them off after a decoy. One they also can't catch, but that will keep them occupied and distract them from realizing they should look in your direction."

He kept talking, offering some vague ideas for how she might go about this, but Siobhan could no longer parse his words into anything coherent.

She looked from his bright eyes, to his expressive mouth, to his long fingers, and back again, searching for meaning. There was something, some hint of his body language or smugness in his tone, that tugged on the memory of him talking with Katerin after the attack, so pleased that the Architects of Khronos hadn't found what they were looking for.

Perhaps it was just intuition, or inspiration, but she realized with a sickening shift as the world ripped itself out from underneath her feet, that maybe Oliver had carried out this exact idea already. With Myrddin's book. The same book she had accidentally assisted in stealing, and which the coppers and the University had been coming after her for all along.

They couldn't catch her, but they were occupied, and looking in the wrong direction.

Chapter 142 - Epiphany

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 17, Wednesday 6:00pm

Somehow, Siobhan was able to hold her tongue.

In a way, it was one of the hardest things she had ever done. She wanted to ask Oliver what he had that the University hadn't found. She wanted to confirm her suspicions. She also wanted to flip over his desk, pin him to the wall with her forearm, and scream for him to tell her the truth.

In another way, however, the enormity of this suspicion, this revelation, went beyond any pain her tongue could inflict in return. Words felt too inadequate a response, and that helped her suppress them entirely.

So instead, Siobhan thanked Oliver and Katerin, made some flimsy excuse, and left with her gold, the papers proving that Sebastien Siverling was a four percent shareholder in Oliver's textile company. She stayed only long enough to make sure both copies of the blood print vow she'd made with Katerin were ash.

She lost time to the swirling maelstrom of her thoughts, her focus returning first at the Silk Door, as she checked in the mirror to make sure she had returned to Sebastien's form properly, and then again when she stepped from the clear transport tube onto the edge of the white cliffs.

The sight of the Citadel in the distance, partially concealed by the trees growing between her and the building, calmed something in her. 'No matter what, I am a student here. I made it in, and I am learning to be a free-caster.' But that only reminded her of what she had recently learned about Thaddeus Lacer. In the space of a single day, the foundation of trust and security she had slowly begun to rely on had been ripped out from under her. Feeling physically off-kilter, she paused for a moment, pressing her hand against a tree trunk for support. She focused on the sensation of rough bark against her skin, taking in the scent of wood and earth and the ozone of a coming storm, allowing the physical input to ground her mind.

Instead of returning to the dorms or the library, she walked east along the edge of the cliff. After a few minutes, she found a secluded spot beyond the transport tubes and out of sight of the buildings. Clustered behind her, stoic evergreens mingled with trees budding green from their skeletal branches. The cold wind rattled through the winter-bare branches and scraped against the cliffside, causing a disorienting echo all around her. The sensation was only made more uncomfortable by the wind's grasping fingers in her clothes and hair as it shoved against her back, almost as if to drive her over the edge.

In the west, the sun was setting, spilling its red-orange rays like blood across the city that stretched out below, but above them both, the dark clouds of a storm were brewing.

Sebastien did not move. A fire in her chest warmed her from the inside, flushing her cheeks, lending strength to her legs and steel to her spine. She would not yield.

She turned her mind to the evidence. She'd made an intuitive leap, but she needed to sit down and rationally consider the information that her subconscious mind had collected. Perhaps she was simply jumping to conclusions because she was so unused to trusting people.

The first piece of evidence that she considered was the conversation Oliver had with Katerin after returning to the Verdant Stag, which he probably had not thought Siobhan awake to overhear. He had something valuable in a hidden vault inside a folded space. Something more valuable than the censer, estimated at a thousand gold.

He had deduced that the Architects of Khronos had attacked Knave Knoll partially as a distraction while they sent another group to the Verdant Stag in search of the book. Which made sense. But the real book was hidden at Dryden Manor. His house had wards, but nothing like this secret vault, and he had never seemed particularly interested in where she was keeping the book, nor suggested that she should move it to this extremely secure location.

'Would I have agreed to let it out of my control like that, if he had offered?' she wondered. But no, that wasn't the point. He had never seemed interested in her book at all. Not even just to take a look at it. To her knowledge, the book had been safe and untouched by any other the entire time. Even if he didn't want it or the knowledge it contained for himself, he could have turned it in to the University or the Crowns for a huge negotiated payment. He could have said that he tracked down and killed the thief for the reward, thus absolving her of any suspicion while keeping himself relatively clear of the fallout.

He had even discouraged her from turning it in herself, for reasons that might have been valid but could also just be an excuse.

She remembered the secretive, smug tone of Oliver's voice when he had been discussing the Architects' failure with Katerin. The two of them shared a secret. Sebastien knew Oliver wasn't obligated to share all his secrets with her, but this felt important. He had said "all their efforts" were futile, not just that night's attack.

What if Oliver had taken something else from the same archaeological haul? An artifact, or Myrddin's famous Conduit, or a different book. What better decoy for a missing book than another book, after all? But all the evidence pointed to her book being Myrddin's real journal, as well as the item everyone was searching for. She didn't think someone else could have created the transformation amulet, and Damien had mentioned to her that as far as the coppers knew, even the History department was having trouble decrypting the other texts they had retrieved.

'But how likely is it that two things could go missing, and they only notice one? If they were looking for something besides my book, wouldn't someone have mentioned it at some point?' But then, if the gossip was to be believed, most of the members of the original expedition had died, and the three who remained had all been admitted to an asylum or some such place.

Any theft other than her book had to have been completed before the items were delivered to the University, and if everyone who was there in the Black Wastes to see exactly what they retrieved was either dead or insane…

Sebastien shuddered. She had previously dismissed the idea that Ennis was compelled to steal the book, when the alternative explanation was so simple. But what if it wasn't so outlandish a claim? Had someone sent Ennis to jail for a crime not entirely of his own choice?

She wanted to believe that Oliver had never meant to set her, or anyone else, up for a decoy theft. Even if he had stolen something from the expedition, perhaps he had meant for its absence to go unnoticed, or to remain a mysterious disappearance.

She wanted to believe that he had been genuinely acting to help her all along. Because, really, she had needed him, provider of coin and connections, so much more than he needed her, an inexperienced and weak sorcerer with a huge target on her back. He had genuinely seemed to care for her wellbeing.

'The first night I met Oliver, when he came to rescue me from the coppers, why did he do that?' He had gone out of his way to offer his help, and on rather short notice, at that. She closed her eyes and searched her memory for detail. 'He asked about the book, and specifically my ability to decrypt it. He was looking for a powerful sorcerer who would have had reason to steal it—exactly what everyone thought I was. And when I later asked him why he was doing so much to help me… He seemed irritated. He turned the question around on me, telling me not to be so self-absorbed. And he specifically mentioned that I was not special to him for some nefarious hidden reason. That he was helping me simply because he felt like doing so.'

Sebastien rubbed at her breastbone, as if pressure could take away some of the ache beneath it. 'Why would he word it like that? What if the real reason isn't so innocent?' She had previously speculated that the book held some important knowledge lost to time, such as advanced self-charging artifacts. If Oliver had something similar, perhaps he had been looking for her, or a potential employer behind her, because he hoped to collaborate on reverse-engineering some artifact, or decrypting some text of his own. Otherwise, why would that have been his first question? And why would he have kept her around when she couldn't satisfy his hopes? Perhaps he had been secretly trying to decrypt Myrddin's journal when she wasn't around.

'On the other hand, if he did steal something, and I am just a decoy, wouldn't it make sense to distance himself from me rather than associate so closely, and with both my identities? All three, if you count Silvia.' After all, association with her was what got the Verdant Stag raided and how he almost lost whatever was kept in the ultra-secure folded-space vault.

But maybe he felt guilty when he learned her situation, and that was why he decided to involve himself. Maybe he never planned on things working out as they had. 'After all, it's only now, when his interests and his secrets have been threatened, with his enemies drawing a little too close for comfort, that he suggested a way to create a third degree of separation.'

Sebastien tried to calm herself down. There wasn't enough evidence to be sure of anything. This could all be coincidence and her jumping to conclusions. But she had been confused. She was still confused, and the sick weight of loss in her stomach suggested that something irreparable was broken.

All these little suspicious events didn't prove anything. But she could not easily dismiss them, either. She didn't consider herself an intuitive person, but something about the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth as he talked about creating decoys had created an undeniable shift in her understanding of him. 'So where does that leave me?' she wondered. 'I suspect that Oliver got his hands on something sensitive and valuable that people would go after him for. Where he got it from, or what it is, I do not know. Perhaps it could be something entirely unrelated to my book, or to Myrddin. Maybe there have been rumors about some other powerful item being found or going missing that I haven't heard. Secondly, I suspect that my circumstance was at least taken advantage of, if not engineered directly. At the moment, that is all I have. Suspicions and strange coincidences.'

Oliver was good with people. With manipulation. She was afraid that if she simply asked him, he would lie to her.

And she wasn't sure if it would be worse if she believed whatever explanation he gave or if she didn't.

Even if he did have something that her own book had become a decoy for, knowing the truth wouldn't have changed much for her. The knowledge would only have made her even more of a liability to him. And though she didn't want to think that idealistic, philanthropic Oliver would act to harm her, Sebastien also remembered the way Oliver had bound her to him with a huge debt. How he had forced the Morrow prisoners to accept a curse seal, and then, when it seemed like they might be rescued, had killed them. If he had something as valuable as her book, she could use that for leverage, either against him or to buy her own freedom. What if he decided she was a liability?

She needed another, external, way to confirm or deny her suspicions.

'I am going to find out,' she resolved. Whatever had snapped inside her, causing the sudden and overwhelming suspicion she felt toward Oliver, now buoyed her up with strength, a cold-burning source of power that would never run out until her goal was achieved. She took a deep breath of the oncoming storm, tasting the ozone in the air. She felt anything but defeated, or weak, or tired.

'And while I am at it, I might as well solve my other problems, too. I am going to take control of my life, and become the master of my own fate in truth.' She bared her teeth to the city, letting out a laugh that was all humor and no joy. She spoke, enunciating every word clearly and calmly. "The world will bend to my Will in this, just as it does in magic."

Chapter 143 - Castling Queenside

Thaddeus

Month 3, Day 17, Wednesday 8:00 pm

It was quite simple for Thaddeus to find a Verdant Stag enforcer and free-cast a compulsion spell on the woman to get information about Lord Stag's whereabouts. It was somewhat of an anticlimax to find that, with the right timing, he could simply walk into the Verdant Stag's inn-cum-entertainment hall and request a meeting with the man.

He flagged down a carriage to take him there. Discarded within lay a recent issue of The Daily Sun, a rather gossipy rag. However, with little better to do in the meantime, he picked it up. The headlining article was about the recent mess with the Gervins.

Dear Reader, you may have heard rumors about the arrest of two Crown Family members, Misters Malcolm and Randolph Gervin, both younger, non-inheriting brothers to the current lord of the Fourth Crown Family.

While Harrow Hill has not yet released an official statement, this reporter was shocked to learn that the true reason for their arrest was even more scandalous than some of the rumors.

Sources close to the Family say that the brothers were acting strangely for some time before the incident. Because of this and her concern for her cousin Alec Gervin, heiress Anastasia, currently a first-term University student, set out to uncover just what was going on with the help of an anonymous private investigator.

"I don't think she expected something like this at all," one anonymous source said. "But once she found out they were dabbling in treason, trying to make secret deals with the Raven Queen, she couldn't stand idle. And then Lord Malcolm tried to kill her to keep her mouth shut while he destroyed all the evidence. I heard the fighting, spells flying everywhere, and afterward the room was completely destroyed."

Truly, if young Anastasia had not brought along her two best friends for moral support while she confronted her uncle, Damien Westbay and one Sebastien Siverling (see our March 1st article for further heroic exploits), she likely would have been killed.

Usually, in an article like this, the anonymous "sources" were either servants, employees of businesses the nobles had visited, or common business associates with a grudge. Here, he guessed servants.

The article went on in a similar thespian manner, focusing on the heroism of Thaddeus's apprentice, who fought the older man to a standstill with the help of his two friends before the coppers could arrive. They even provided a drawing, done by a "source close to the trio," of Siverling sitting in a window seat, looking into the distance as the light from outside spilled over him. Thaddeus thought the artist's rendition made the boy look rather more handsome than he actually was, though the expression of focused determination was accurate.

Of course, the details about the Gervin brothers' treasonous collusion with the Raven Queen were half-speculation and inaccurate even beyond that, but Thaddeus couldn't be sure whether that was because of shoddy journalism or the fact that the investigators on her case were so eager to be gathering evidence about her movements that they set logic aside.

In any case, it was true that the brothers had thought they were meeting with the Raven Queen, and not to further the High Crown's interests.

Thaddeus skimmed through the rest of the paper to ensure that it held nothing of interest or substance, then refolded and rolled it up into a tube for disposal in the nearest fireplace.

As he disembarked in front of the building that bore the green antlers so proudly, Thaddeus smiled in anticipation. The establishment was already mostly rebuilt, though the seams where new met old were obvious.

He stepped through the front door, allowing his Will to sweep out with just enough grasp on reality to make his presence felt by those who mattered. He turned to the closest enforcer and announced, "I am Grandmaster Thaddeus Lacer, and I am here to meet with Lord Stag."

The man looked from side to side as if hoping Thaddeus had been talking to anyone but him. When everyone else pointedly refused to meet his gaze, he swallowed audibly and stepped forward. "Err, can I ask what this is about?"

"A personal matter."

The man shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing official, then? I heard you were working as a part-time consultant for the coppers…"

"I am not here in any official capacity, and even if I were, I am not employed by Harrow Hill and thus have no authority to make arrests on their behalf," Thaddeus said, guessing at what had the man so worried. He did not bother to say that if he really wanted to arrest someone, there was little that could stand in his way, official remit from Harrow Hill or not. After all, he was still a special agent of the Red Guard.

The enforcer cleared his throat, gave Thaddeus a bow, and said, "I will pass along your request. Please wait here," before hurrying off toward a side door with surprising self-control.

Thaddeus took a seat at the bar on the left side of the room and ordered a surprisingly nice beer, dark as coffee and twice as bitter.

When the bartender delivered it, she tossed a paper down beside it. "Hot off the press. Something better than that drivel," she said, nodding to The Daily Sun still in his hand.

"How much?"

She waved him off. "Free with every purchase."

Thaddeus raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the rather thin paper titled The People's Voice.

Before he could get far into either the news or his beer, the enforcer from before returned. "Please follow me, sir." He led Thaddeus to an open antechamber in front of a dark wooden door on the third floor.

Seeing that several others were already waiting, Thaddeus settled into one of the chairs with the beer that no one had dared tell him to leave behind, and returned to his reading.

Terrorists Attack Gilbratha to Free Criminals

Lord Stag, leader of the Verdant Stags, is quoted as saying, "I believe justice is the responsibility of all those who find themselves with power." However, his organization has made it clear they have no intention to take dispensation of that justice from the hands of the Crowns.

As you know, many of the members of the former Morrow gang were defeated and captured by an alliance between the Verdant Stag and the Nightmare Pack, determined to improve the lives of people in their territory. After compiling their crimes and affording some measure of restitution to those who were harmed, the Verdant Stag, with the help of the Nightmare Pack, went about transferring those heinous criminals who once walked the streets with impunity to Harrow Hill for official sentencing and punishment. Unfortunately, some parties felt removing these tyrants went against their interests.

Hidden individuals with wealth and power had been preparing to strike against Gilbratha for some time, gathering resources for battle and hiring powerful mercenaries who had lost all sense of virtue. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, they struck out in an attempt to free the criminals and sow fear into the heart of Gilbratha with a display of magical power in our vulnerable midst.

Verdant Stag and Nightmare Pack enforcers fought against these terrorists on one side while the coppers approached from the other, allies by chance. Eventually, they managed to overcome the villains, leaving over a dozen mercenaries and their masters dead, and some of the land in west Gilbratha scarred.

The article went on to cover some of the details of the battle and the impressive might of the enemy in clear, concise detail that drew Thaddeus's attention. Particularly, the description of an elderly thaumaturge who used a war array to great effect. He matched the physical description and particular magical capability of an ex-Red Guard member. A defector who had managed to escape retaliation, until now. Thaddeus would ask for confirmation, though he was unsure if his current clearance levels would allow him access.

No civilians were killed, though several enforcers working for the Verdant Stag and Nightmare Pack fell casualty to the terrorist attack, and a handful of coppers sustained injuries. *See the end of this article for names.

Despite all the efforts made to the contrary, over one hundred Morrow criminals were apprehended and are soon to face sentencing.

Little is known about the powers behind this attack, but it is likely they still walk free, plotting to strike once more.

As always at The People's Voice, we asked for commentary from those involved in and affected by this event, with allowance for responses to previous statements.

Mary Crafford from Bett Street: "I'm not sure why no one is talking about how the Raven Queen stepped in and kept a whole section of coppers from being annihilated. She created an eldritch maw of darkness that reached straight out of the ground and swallowed a whole squad of those [terrorists] all up before they could do any more damage. She might be mischievous and whimsical, but she gets serious when it matters."

Terrence Filibun from Madders Row, in reply to Mary Crafford: "Everyone knows the Raven Queen is territorial. Not with land, but with her people. My uncle Dominic was there, and he told me that he was just about to be hit by a spell when she acted, probably to protect him. He has a whole nest of ravens in his backyard that he keeps fed, which everyone agrees is why she likes him so much. He's making offerings every single day."

Bob from Brewer Avenue: "What I want to know is, how did some group of anti-Lenore radicalists manage to hire mercenaries and infiltrate Gilbratha without the coppers getting any wind of it? Don't we have any people assigned to protect our interests from the shadows?"

Hamish Cordwain from Worlow Apartments, in reply to Bob: "If you're wondering how something like this could happen, why anyone would want this, just follow the gold. I'd bet anything some of the Crowns are involved, and I don't need to be anonymous to say it. Who else has access to that kind of firepower? I went down there personally and saw the clay shards of army-issue battle philtres, just the same as we had when I was a soldier."

Grom from Calcifer Crescent: "My niece and I watched the edges of the battle from our roof a few blocks away. We saw that huge glowing rock in the sky that disappeared a whole building, and now she's afraid to go outside. Does anyone know the details of making an offering to the Raven Queen? I think it might give my niece some reassurance."

Thaddeus's brows slowly rose higher as he continued through the civilian commentary, which was a mix of ridiculous, myopic, and insightful, but altogether quite amusing. Creating a curated forum for discussion through a free newspaper was an interesting approach. If Lord Stag was behind it, as seemed likely, the man was more clever than Thaddeus had given him credit for. He would be one to watch.

As the next person left the room beyond, Thaddeus stood and entered, heedless of whether he was technically the next in line or not.

The room was slightly ostentatious, but simple enough. The office of the one man in Gilbratha with an obvious connection to the Raven Queen, who, if the rumors were to be believed, could facilitate a meeting with her, for the right price. "I am Grandmaster Thaddeus Lacer. I wish to meet with the Raven Queen, and understand you may be able to facilitate this," he said, not bothering with time-wasting pleasantries.

The man behind the desk, a featureless mask obscuring his expression, stared at Thaddeus through artificially shadowed eye holes. "You understand the need to prepare a worthy tribute?"

"Yes. That will not be a problem."

"Even if the Raven Queen accepts, she may not meet you in person, as she has been known to send raven messengers in her place."

Thaddeus did not smirk, because that would be obnoxious. "I believe she will meet me in person," he said simply.

Lord Stag stared at him silently once more. Finally, he said, "Very well. I will inform her when she deigns to grace me with her presence. I cannot guarantee any sort of timeline, and if she accepts, she will choose the location."

"That is acceptable." With that, Thaddeus left, pleased that the whole thing had been much less trouble than he expected. When he returned to his cottage, he made himself a cup of coffee, using the more luxurious, slow-roasted, low-acid beans with pine nuts for flavor that he saved for when he wanted to savor the experience rather than knock back a bitter cup of energy-infused liquid. Swirling the cup gently as steam wafted from it, he looked over the papers and personal research stacked neatly across his desk.

His research was making progress, despite the time he was forced to spend in classes or grading inane homework, and the more recent distraction of the Raven Queen. It had been worth it, to take the Red Guard liaison position at the University.

But his thoughts strayed from translating pre-Cataclysm textual relics and toward the mysterious woman who they called the Raven Queen. He made his way to the room at the back of his cottage, setting down his mug of coffee atop the warded vault before moving to his bedside table, where he had personally warded a secret compartment.

He opened it, pulling out a small lead box.

Within, nestled snugly in velvet, lay an old ring. Clear celerium made up the stone, while the silver ring itself was a simple artifact, which could be activated to create a small anti-awareness field along with a minor chameleon effect. He had stolen the ring on a gamble, slightly surprised at the time that she had not already done so herself. Of course, it was possible he had taken only a competent replica, much like the one he had left behind in that idiot Gervin's vault.

But if the ring was real, as Thaddeus believed, he was sure the Raven Queen had discovered his forgery and replacement by now. The original heirloom would be a fitting tribute to request a meeting with her, and to express his lack of hostility.

As he stared into the celerium depths, which held only a tiny flaw, a warm and visceral excitement shuddered through him. He could not wait to meet her.

The story continues in A Practical Guide to Sorcery Book IV: A Foreboding of Woe

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Chapter 144 - Alliance Against Curiosity

Thaddeus

Month 3, Day 19, Friday 10:00pm

Thaddeus sat at the desk in his cottage as a storm raged outside, writing the last few pages of a guide to translating one of the more common pre-Cataclysm languages. Such a comprehensive and coherent reference would have been invaluable to him some years ago, but as none existed he had been forced to learn the hard way.

While writing the book, he had idly begun to consider how one might create a matrix of vocabulary and grammatical rules to inform an artifact that could do the translation automatically. Even if such a complex spell array would take months or years to develop, span an entire room, and be unfortunately clumsy without the help of a human operator's deeper understanding and intuition to draw from, it was an intriguing concept.

If he took the time to develop such a spell and then publish his work, it might bring him some extra coin. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to create a translator for a language he did not already know, so the time and effort would not help him further approach the true goal of all his research. A human, even a powerful thaumaturge such as himself, had a limited lifespan. He needed to spend his only nonrenewable resource—time—in the most efficient way possible.

As often happened, thoughts of his research led Thaddeus's mind to the Raven Queen. Just a couple days before, he had finally reached out to request a meeting through her associate, Lord Stag. He had hoped that she might contact him without the need for such, but as time passed Thaddeus had realized he must be more proactive if he wanted to move her little game of hints and intrigue toward something less nebulous. "She is stubborn," he murmured aloud. "Not one to concede first."

Thaddeus added the observation to his developing mental model of the powerful woman, and his thoughts turned toward her most recent exploit. He had suspected, from examining the function of the strange boon she had given his apprentice, that she may have been involved in the Haze War. The response of the protective effect to his various tests reminded him of some of the more innovative solutions the military researchers had come up with during that time, though obviously they had been expanded and improved upon.

The method she had used to kill the rogue Red Guard agent, who allied with the Architects of Khronos to attack the Stags had provided further evidence toward this possibility, as well as a reminder of her cruelty and recklessness.

A trip to one of the Red Guard bases had been enough to get a confirmation of the attacker's identity as a former member of the Red Guard, as well as pick up some of the gossip from the emergency response squad that had first deployed to the location of the fighting when the gravity of the situation—and the type of spells being cast—became known. Observing from a roof with a good vantage point a few blocks away as they waited for backup, one of them had seen the Raven Queen kill the man. Unfortunately, even with a shaman to help solidify his memories, the details were unclear. The gang members had been throwing around battle philtres to cover their escape, clouding the view.

The rogue agent, an old man who'd gotten his hands on some dangerous items before deserting, had cast some sort of spell at those fleeing. The witness's sight of that part had been blocked by a building. The man pulled back an item, most likely a purse but possibly a suitcase, and a woman they strongly suspected to be the Raven Queen stepped around the corner in the opposite direction of those fleeing.

She stopped to look at the old sorcerer, and without any obvious motions, free-cast an unknown spell to kill not only him, but the half-dozen enemies surrounding him.

When the turbulent effect had settled enough for the emergency response squad to get a good look again, she was gone, seemingly having made an appearance solely for that attack.

The three prognos Titus had called in to the site, along with the Red Guard's reconnaissance and assessment team, had examined what killed the group of Architects and left behind such an alarming after-effect as thoroughly as possible before it faded.

All agreed that it had been the same particular blend of disintegration magic that Lenore's army used in their mines during the Haze War, combined somehow with a space-bending spell to increase the sheer gruesomeness while also decreasing the chances that any standard shield could ward against the damage. There were several other twists of different types of magic that seemed random and had been hard to define, but which seemed to have increased the spectacle. They had all agreed that there was a strong flavor of darkness, along with some strange extracts of meaning related to sleep, the moon, and a few dozen other things, all too fleeting to be pinned down properly.

Thaddeus knew quite a few divination spells meant to check for anomalous effects, but the strange manifestation of magic that had been fading already by the time he arrived was complex and delicate. He was not an expert in that particular field, and his efforts had yielded no additional insight. He had considered the possibility that the lingering remnants of magic contained a message meant to be deciphered, or some kind of hint, but if that was the case he was not deft enough to grasp it.

Perhaps it was some reference to the Black Wastes, into which the expedition had traveled to find Myrddin's hermitage. It was said that the Brillig had infected the land itself with their dangerous magic, when humans were at war with them. Thaddeus had seen similar effects just a couple times, when he caught a glimpse of some of the more restricted research in the Red Guard's black sites, but nothing quite like this.

Still, if she had been involved in the Haze War, she was likely not much younger than him, and could even be older. Thaddeus considered, for a moment, the possibility that the Raven Queen was older—and conceivably more powerful—than Thaddeus himself. Had they ever met? Perhaps he had unknowingly sparked her interest in some point then.

Of course, that evidence did not fit with the identity of Siobhan Naught, who had been born two decades after the war. But her sheer power also seemed impossible for a girl of only twenty.

Thaddeus's apprentice, a genius in his own way, was at that age and still far from becoming a free-caster, let alone reaching the power required to achieve some of her arrogant displays of prowess.

His thoughts were drawn back to reality as his faculty token alerted him to a security-related summons. He was to report to the deployment point at Eagle Tower. Outside his window, the storm continued on, rain lashing against the glass and the occasional branch of lighting spreading a purple-white glow over the city for a split moment. With a deep sigh, hoping that he was not about to be urged to catch some students missing after curfew, Thaddeus donned his coat and left his neglected manuscript on his desk, still unfinished.

With a simple twist of his Will, long become instinctive, he cast a dome-shaped shield around himself to protect against the lashing wind and rain and strode off toward the west side of the grounds.

When Thaddeus arrived, he found Grandmaster Kiernan waiting for him, alone. His eyes narrowed. It seemed there was no widespread emergency. Kiernan had summoned Thaddeus, specifically. "Why have you called for me?" he asked without preamble.

The stress Kiernan had been under recently manifested itself clearly, if one knew what to look for, in the man's too-tight neck muscles and the sagging skin under his eyes. Even bathed in the warm, recycled sunlight of the light crystals, his skin looked pale and sallow. Still, he smiled with joviality, clapping Thaddeus on the arm. "Thank you for coming, Professor Lacer."

Thaddeus resisted the urge to cast a shield between them to push away the man's hand. He did not appreciate it when others touched him without his explicit permission.

"I would like to speak with you about…a sensitive matter that could involve the security of our school and the safety of the students. My apologies for the method of contact. I would have sent you a paper bird, but the administration center is closed this late." He motioned for Thaddeus to walk with him, making his way to the stairwell. "As you may know, the High Crown has been…concerned, one might even say paranoid, in the days following the terrorist attack. He has even gone so far as to question people tangentially or even completely unrelated to the events." Kiernan remained silent for a long few moments as they walked up the stairs, bypassing the door to the second floor.

Thaddeus did not enjoy conversational vagueness or the way the man skirted around the issue, but that did not mean he could not play with words as weapons and pregnant pauses as lures. "Yes. I heard he has shown an interest in your department, particularly," he said.

Kiernan threw Thaddeus a glance, gritting his teeth together with grim viciousness, the creak of bone on bone just loud enough to be audible.

The Crowns had allocated even more resources to investigating the terrorist attack than they had to the Raven Queen, even collaborating with the Red Guard's investigation by providing additional manpower and what information they could.

Titus suspected that some faction of the University faculty, including Kiernan and some of those close to him, were either members of the Architects of Khronos, or had perhaps been sponsoring them. There had simply been too many coincidences: rumors about the kind of magical components that were being smuggled into the city en-masse, the convenient timing of the explosion at Eagle Tower, their handling of Newton Moore's break incident and Tanya Canelo's involvement with that, and the most recent attack on the Verdant Stag's various holdings, seemingly timed to coincide with the Architects' actions. But most importantly, the History Department was still determined to keep the contents of the archaeological haul to themselves. While legally, they could do so, in practice it was a dangerous move.

Unlike normal civilians, the University faculty had all taken certain oaths and could not simply refuse to answer the coppers' questions. None of the faculty had been arrested yet, which would suggest their innocence, but Thaddeus knew just how little an oath could mean, with the right knowledge and preparation, and how fallible wards and divination against untruth could be.

Kiernan continued to lead Thaddeus up the stairs until they reached the top floor, then reached out and unlatched the hatch door to the roof. "Do you mind?" Kiernan asked. "It seems an appropriate place to speak, but I would rather not get drenched. These old bones might just fall ill!" He grinned again, but his gaze was flat and predatory.

Raising an eyebrow, Thaddeus cast his shield spell again, this time enveloping both of them within it, and led the way onto the roof. "A rather dramatic meeting place, no?" he asked, moving closer to the edge, which forced Kiernan to move with him to remain within the sphere of protection. "It must be a sensitive topic, indeed."

Kiernan didn't respond to the jab. "You are right that the coppers have shown a particular interest in my department. At first, I thought perhaps they were using the investigation as an excuse to apply pressure in the hopes of getting their hands on things they have no right to. But then I considered another possibility. What if the investigators know something I don't?"

"Like what?" Thaddeus asked, playing along as he began to suspect, with some amusement, where this was going.

Kiernan didn't answer him directly. "I am aware you've been helping with the investigation into the Raven Queen, which is now somehow connected to these horrible terrorist attacks." For a moment, real anger slipped through his mask, directed out at the rain-obscured city to the south. "I am worried that there might be some danger to the school—to the students as well as the faculty under my command. As one of the leaders of the security committee, it is my duty to take measures to ensure student safety. Do you know anything that might be relevant to the situation? Why are the investigators showing such interest?" He turned to Thaddeus beseechingly, his expression surprisingly sincere.

If Thaddeus had any less control over his expressions, he might have let a carnivorous smile slip. "The Raven Queen is said to bear grudges," he said simply.

Kiernan did an admirable job of controlling his expression, but his fingers twitched.

Thaddeus continued, "There are some accounts that she fought against these terrorists, though the exact reason for her actions is debatable."

"Grudges," Kiernan repeated. His eyes narrowed slyly. "You've been working against her on this investigation for some time now, but as I understand it, the Raven Queen not only failed to harm your apprentice when they met, but gave him a boon. What could be the cause of that?"

Thaddeus thought Kiernan might have intended it as some kind of vague threat, but the question only pushed control of the conversation directly into Thaddeus's hands. And how convenient, that Kiernan had something Thaddeus wanted. "Perhaps she understands my motivations," he said. After a moment to let those words hang in the air, he added, "I am an inquisitive creature."

This time, Kiernan couldn't control the widening of his eyes. "Oh?"

Thaddeus took a half-step closer so as to loom just slightly over the other man and continued, "Indeed. I act as a consultant because Titus Westbay is a friend, and because I find the subject of these investigations rather fascinating, but mostly because I enjoy being let in on details not available elsewhere. I find such edification rather…useful. As you may know, my vows to the Red Guard preclude me taking superseding vows of loyalty to the Crowns—which is why I am only an unofficial consultant."

Kiernan was not slow to understand Thaddeus's implication, judging by the suspicion and surprise warring for dominance on his face.

"In return for access to interesting information, I offer my own knowledge, whether that be my understanding of magic, simple observations about things I have seen, or deductions based on the evidence provided. Often, the obvious is sitting right under their nose, waiting for me to point it out. In truth, however, I have no particular investment in helping the coppers to find the Raven Queen." It was both a threat of what he might tell, and an offer of what he could do for Kiernan instead. The University might be an enemy to the Raven Queen just as the coppers were, but at this point Thaddeus found it unlikely that she could be in any true danger from either party, and thus had no compunction about giving his nominal aid.

Kiernan cleared his throat roughly. "What kind of information, exactly, do you find so interesting that it entices you to spend your precious time assisting them?"

"Well, you know my prior field of work. Quite fascinating. But there is a reason I took this liaison position at the University. Like you, I, too, have an interest in history. I am an expert in pre-Cataclysm society and languages, for instance, many of which survived to this day only due to the strong protections keeping them isolated and preserved. As I understand it, your people have found the decryption of the texts you retrieved quite stymieing. You asked me why the Raven Queen has showed no malice to me. Perhaps she is laying the foundation for a collaboration attempt. She may be experiencing similar difficulties with her stolen text, and realize that I could be a solution."

Kiernan took a step back, startling when he reached the edge of the protective shield, which Thaddeus had allowed to shrink in around them, and caught a splash of cold rain across his back.

But Thaddeus was not finished yet. "Even you will likely be forced to bring in outside experts soon if you cannot show progress, perhaps hired by the Crown Families. The potential significance of what you have found is simply too great to allow failure, no matter the technicalities of the law."

They both remained silent for a long few moments, the rain beating against Thaddeus's Will and running down the sides of the sphere in distorting ripples.

Finally, Kiernan spoke. "It occurs to me that someone of your capabilities might find this decryption project quite intellectually stimulating."

"Yes."

"And as you've said, you cannot take vows to the Crowns."

Thaddeus remained silent.

"But would you be willing to take a non-disclosure vow?"

"I would," Thaddeus replied immediately. That did not mean, necessarily, that he would be willing to keep said vow.

Kiernan swallowed, looked at the ground for a moment, and then met Thaddeus's gaze again. He nodded sharply. "Very well. As we will be working so closely together, I hope that you will take the opportunity to sate my curiosity when applicable, as well. And if the Raven Queen does contact you… Perhaps she is curious, too." As if doubting that Thaddeus was clever enough to understand his meaning, Kiernan clarified, "She may be interested in a similar exchange of information. After all, we do still have the rest of Myrddin's research journals, and everything else left behind in his hermitage."

"Perhaps we will have a chance to find out," Thaddeus murmured, a twist of vicious amusement curling in his belly.

Chapter 145 - A City of White Stone

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 25, Thursday 9:00 a.m.

As the clear bell signifying the start of the test rang, Sebastien removed her blindfold, blinking as she adjusted to the sudden brightness. Beside her, Damien and Rhett did the same. They stood in a featureless room made of the same white stone that composed the white cliffs and the Flats. All three wore grey, one-piece protective suits provided by the proctors, though their equipment beyond that varied.

The white stone formed the vague shape of a desk at the corner of the room, possibly useful as a shield against enemy spells, and an empty window hole let in light from the outside. Behind the three, the stone formed an open doorway into the rest of the building. The proctor that had led them up from the tunnels below was long gone.

In the far corner of the room, pressed against the ceiling, a small, dome-shaped silver mirror clung, watching. Sebastien met her own gaze for a moment, lifting her chin defiantly. "Let's get to work," she said, her voice tight. She crouched down, slinging off the backpack she'd traded some of her defense points for as she moved to the window hole.

Behind her, Damien moved toward the doorway, placing his back against the wall to peek safely around the corner as he pulled off his own backpack and retrieved the simple scanning artifact within. He had chosen to focus on reconnaissance.

Sebastien peeked out through the empty window. They were on the third floor, it seemed. The street below, along with the buildings directly across from her, and in every direction she could see, were made of the same white stone. "Just like we thought, Damien. Urban warfare." She scanned for color or movement, either of which could indicate they were not alone. "Looks clear." The faculty had drawn the arena for their test—and the exhibition—up from the stone of the Flats over the course of the last week, with the huge circular wall that mimicked Gilbratha's own being the first feature.

Several upper-term students had tried to scale the wall using various methods to get an early glimpse of what lay on the other side, only to be caught and receive demerits for the attempted cheating.

Crouching down away from the window, she poured out the contents of her backpack. She had three metal disks to draw spell arrays on, two piece of paper detailing the most simple spells that would coordinate with the sensors on their suits, and a handful of components, including a beast core. Each student had been allotted a certain number of points, based on their performance in Fekten's Defense class thus far. Not unlike the University's contribution point scheme, these defense points could be used to buy supplies for the exam. This was quite necessary, as they were required to leave all of their personal belongings except for their Conduits in a secure locker.

As Damien worked with the scanning artifact, Rhett moved to the window, his white teeth standing out against the darkness of his skin as he searched the streets below. His faux battle wand tracked along with his eyes, its tip held steady in his skillful grip. "How long is this going to take you two?" A bandolier at his chest was filled with false-explosive clay shells, marking him clearly as the offensive-focused member of their team.

"A few minutes for me," Sebastien said, using a quick-drying paint stick to draw out the spell array for the faux battle spell that would trigger their protective suit's damage sensors without actually harming the person within. When it was ready, she could hold it up with the handles on either side and actively cast one of the same spells stored in Rhett's wand. Except she wouldn't run out of charges.

Damien looked up from the scanning artifact, which looked like a round dinner platter with a handle on either side. "No enemy signals within range."

"Good," Sebastien said without looking up from her work. "I want you two to scope out the building and the surrounding area and report back to me."

Damien nodded immediately, but Rhett frowned. "Why are we following you?" he complained. "I have the highest grade in the class. Shouldn't I be the one in charge?"

Damien's smile held a hint of smugness. "Because Sebastien is the best strategist. Let's go together."

Sebastien nodded. "Watch each other's backs. The scanning artifact is useful, but you can't depend on it. Meet back here in five minutes."

Damien left the room with a serious glare, his head swiveling back and forth as he searched for anything relevant.

This gave Rhett no choice but to follow Damien, though Rhett's murmured complaints were audible. "How do you even know Sebastien's a good strategist? I'm a good strategist! I'm great at chess, and you know dueling takes a lot of tactics."

"Just trust me. Sebastien works well under pressure." Damien replied faintly. "Now hush! We're supposed to be stealthy."

As the paint of her spell array dried, the symbols and glyphs within the bounding Circle working together to define the Word that would help guide her magic, Sebastien placed the components. They, along with the power from her beast core, would form the Sacrifice. Each spell array disk had little half-domes with that snapped into place to hold components safely in their spot on the spell array, but she made doubly sure the few component necessary would stick with a bit of quick-drying glue. All that was left was her Will, to be channeled through the Conduit Professor Lacer had given her on a moment's notice.

Each disk had only been meant for a single spell array, but when the front was finished, she turned them around and began to draw careful lines across the back with the thick white paint. There were no component capsules for the back sides, but where necessary, she carefully dabbed a bit of that same-quick drying glue and simply pressed the components into it to hold them safely in place. This was a little dangerous, as a sloppy thaumaturge could slip and accidentally spread their Will into the wrong spell array, but she had already proved through experience that she could manage something like this. To some, like the shield array, she added the instructions for output displacement along a single plane—an option she had asked for Professor Lacer's permission to use beforehand.

Sebastien finished barely in time for her two teammates to return, and was already slipping two of the metal disks into her backpack. Though she had a worse grade than either Rhett or Damien, with this she had managed to give herself as many options as both of them combined. She was their wildcard, their all-rounder utility member. "Report," she said, and didn't miss Rhett's small eye-roll.

Damien immediately began to speak, standing tall with his chest puffed out. "We're in what seems to be a warehouse, but there's nothing strategic down below. Just some basic stone shapes of large equipment, and some piles of wooden planks. There's roof access, though. From what we could see up there, we seem to be near the center of the city, and I'd estimate the outer wall is about eight hundred meters away. There are two towers flying the black nearby. None flying the red, which is good."

"That doesn't mean anything," Rhett said, shaking his head. "It's too early for the enemy to have made much progress, yet. One of our towers is about ten blocks away to the west, and the other eight blocks away, closer to the center. Some signs of fighting in the distance, but nothing closer than three blocks. I say we head out now, see if we can take out an enemy team or two and get some extra points before making it to the tower."

As first-term students, their main objective was simply to remain "alive," which meant ensuring that their suits didn't register enough damage to make the fabric turn stiff and lock them in place. That would net them the lowest grade. It would be higher if they could get to one of the towers flying the black ally banner. For extra points, they could complete various bonus objectives, such as assisting ally "troops" or working against the enemy in various ways.

"Planks, you say? Made of actual wood, not stone?" she asked.

"Yes," Damien confirmed. "I suspect they're meant to be supplies for us to set up makeshift barricades, but I didn't find any nails or other supplies."

She stood and swung her backpack over her shoulder, leading the way downstairs. She eyeballed the planks, then moved to the nearest window and measured the width of the street with her eyes. It was narrower than a real city, only about ten feet across. She looked up speculatively at the edges of the rooftops.

The sounds of fighting came faintly from the east, toward the center of the urban arena.

"Enemy signals!" Damien whispered.

Instinctively, all three of them crouched down, out of sight.

They waited a few minutes for the signals to pass, and when Damien signaled they were clear, she peeked up just enough to see the red suits of the enemy forces turning the corner away from them a few building down the street.

"We should have attacked. We have the element of surprise and there were only two of them," Rhett muttered.

"Any extra points are a secondary objective. Our first priority is to get to one of the black towers safely." She moved over to the planks, choosing two that looked suitable for her budding idea. "Is the roof flat?"

"Yeah," Damien confirmed, watching her curiously but without doubt.

"Okay, I've got an idea. Damien, I need your help bringing two of the planks up to the roof. Rhett, you cover us. Don't draw unnecessary attention, but you have the okay to attack "

"Wait, what?" Rhett said, shooting her an incredulous look. "You want to fortify this place? This isn't a good strategic location. We're too far away from any tower."

"That's not what I'm thinking," Sebastien said, moving carefully up the stairs.

"Then what?" Rhett asked, trailing behind.

"We don't need to put ourselves in danger moving through the streets rife with fighting and scattered with enemies. If there's a suitable path, we can travel by rooftop instead."

Rhett eyed the planks dubiously. "That seems…dangerous."

This time, it was Damien who rolled his eyes. "What, you're fine to attack two enemies, but you're afraid of heights?"

Rhett glared back, but didn't answer.

Yet another open doorway led them to the rooftop, from which the view of the miniature city was even more impressive. 'Is this how they raised the white cliffs in the first place? Did they just draw the stone up from the ground and mold it?' she wondered.

A tall building blocked the path to the nearest tower, the one to the east, but there was a straight line of sight toward the one farther away in the opposite direction. "Ten blocks," she murmured. She knew it would be a dangerous journey, but it would likely be safer. People often forget to look up.

With the planks side by side on the ground, she took out her remaining paint and drew out a wood-focused mending spell on the white stone beneath her feet. With the quick-drying glue as a component, she melded the two planks together, section by section, to create a wider surface. When she finished, she stepped back to admire her work. The bridge was crude, but it would get them across the gap between the rooftops. "It should hold," she said, looking at Rhett and Damien. "Let's get going."

Damien went first, his arms spread wide for balance as he moved with surprising speed. The combined planks didn't even wobble too badly. Once on the other side, he moved along the edge of the roof to scout out the streets around, then waved for them to follow.

Sebastien went next, and Rhett followed behind her. Suspended above the unforgiving white stone of the street, the planks bending and bouncing back slightly with every step, the ground seemed twice as far away as it had before. She had to resist the urge to fall to her hands and knees and wrap her arms around the planks to keep from falling. Instead, she went to that cold, focused place in her mind, consciously directing every twitch of muscle and movement of her limbs. 'This is nothing,' she reassured herself, though she was pretty sure her face was pale and her expression stiff enough to give her real feelings away.

They made it three blocks like that, traversing two flat roofs and inching along the circular edge of a domed roof. They passed several more small mirror domes, and in the distance, the dull roar of a cheering audience sounded, peaking at random moments when someone in the exam arena did something particularly impressive. When they found themselves above a fight in the street below, they paused. Three grey-suited allies—other first term students—fought against three red-suited enemies. Each group seemed to have just the basic attacking and shielding spells, and both groups already had one member "dead," lying on the ground under the restriction of their body-suits.

The wind at this altitude wasn't to be stopped even by the walls of the miniature city, carrying the faint chalky smell of the white stone and the sounds of screaming and fighting from all around the arena.

Rhett beamed with excitement, pushing past Sebastien to get closer to the fighting. "Extra points!" he exclaimed to Damien. Without waiting for confirmation from either of them, he pointed his battle wand and loosed one of the offensive spells. A pale purple sphere containing the slightest crackle of electricity shot out, moving at a sedate three meters per second until it impacted the back of one of the attackers.

Damien dropped his scanning artifact to the roof as he hurriedly fumbled at the camouflaging bands strapped around his suit. As the spell shimmered to life, his suit and the area around him all turned an off-white that almost blended into the stone as he moved pointedly away from the enemy's return fire.

Sebastien cursed under her breath. She was on her own, struggling to control the plank and keep it out of sight as she pulled it back from the rooftops. She knew if she lost her balance, she would plummet to the unforgiving stone below.

Luckily, Rhett fought with an unexpected ferocity, taking down the second enemy in a matter of seconds without even coming close to being hit himself. He whooped, yelling, "Come on!" at his downed opponents.

The two grey-suited students below stared up at them with wide eyes. "Thank you!" one of them yelled up to them.

Rhett grinned back, bowing with a flourish.

Damien turned off the camouflage to save his second artifact's limited power, then moved to help Sebastien lay the planks over the next gap between buildings. "Come on!" Sebastien snapped at Rhett, who was communicating through charades with the students below. The extra points were, of course, useful, but she would have appreciated it if Rhett could have waited to coordinate with the rest of his team before attacking.

As the duo below watched Sebastien's trio traverse the roofway, the two survivors spoke quietly. With a quick farewell to the third member of their party, stuck unmoving on the ground, they hurried to follow along the street below. Just as Damien reached the next roof, one called, "We're coming up!" just loud enough to be heard without drawing undue attention.

Rhett moved quickly to the opposite side of the roof, and his excitement grew palpable.

Sebastien's eyes narrowed. "Do you see some—"

Out of nowhere, he stopped and tossed one of the clay faux-grenades—explosive potions—over the side of an intervening roof. The clay sphere landed and went off with a flash of light and a loud bang.

Sebastien flinched down automatically. "What are you doing!?"

He grinned at her, unrepentant. "I noticed an enemy-flagged supply stash about a block away. It was behind an old, rickety wooden barricade. More points!"

Sebastien gasped in shock at his recklessness, quickly ushering them forward and hurrying to place the planks down again. They needed to get away before anyone could spot them. "What were you thinking?" she demanded. "If we're spotted—"

Sebastien's scolding was cut off by the arrival of the two first-term students, one young man and one woman. The woman's eyes widened as she got a closer look at the three of them.

"You're that Sebastien guy?" she said, her face breaking into a wide grin. "The one who saved those civilians by fighting an Aberrant!"

Her partner was less enamored, but gave them all an excited grin. "Thanks again for the help. Would you like to team up? Safety in numbers, and all that. Not like you need it, but—"

Damien eyed them both warily before turning to Sebastien for confirmation. "What do you think?"

"Extra points for heroic actions," Rhett said. "That would be two allies rescued and escorted to safety. I say they join."

Sebastien hesitated, looking them over. She had to admit that Rhett had a point, the extra points could be useful. But that didn't mean she was keen on taking on the responsibility of two more students. They didn't have any special equipment, and from the little she'd seen they weren't especially skilled.

The two of them smiled hopefully at her. "We won't be any trouble, I promise," the woman said.

"Alright," Sebastien agreed with a sigh. "You can join us, but you have to listen to my orders. Failure to do so, or reckless actions that endanger the rest of the group, will see you kicked out immediately." She gave Rhett a pointed look, which he ignored while grinning at her response.

The two were quick to agree, and with that the team of five started making their way across the rooftops again. Sebastien gave orders and kept them all organized as they scurried from building to building. Damien continued to scout the way, and several times they paused to hide from an enemy patrol passing below, despite Rhett's protests.

"Sure, we can take a few of them out, but what happens when one of them gets word back to the rest, or alerts a more powerful enemy that we're a threat?" she argued back. "If we fail to make it safely to the tower, we don't just lose those additional points, Rhett. We fail the test entirely. That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

"Maybe you're less willing to take the necessary risks because you have less riding on this test. No matter how well you perform today, there's no chance you'll end up the best student of the term. But I'm not in that same position. I need these bonus objectives, Siverling," Rhett urged. "It's ridiculous to ignore enemies that we could defeat."

Luckily, both of her new charges were quiet and quick to obey her orders. When Rhett looked around for agreement with his argument, neither of them met his gaze. "We're already down one original teammate, and that will affect our grade," the young man explained. "I'd just rather get there safely. I can't afford to fail."

"I wouldn't mind taking on some extra enemies," Damien said, "But not while we're still so far from the tower. Maybe we can spend a few minutes patrolling around that area once we've dropped these guys off."

Rhett huffed, but seemed to realize he was outnumbered. "There's a time limit too, you know."

A large group of enemies below forced them to take a detour, and a couple more precarious roofs with precipitous drops slowed them.

Crouching in the middle of a thankfully flat roof as she listened to sounds of the enemies below, Sebastien estimated that they were halfway to their destination. She didn't have her watch, but thought thirty minutes or so had passed. They were making good time.

"They're gathering on this location," Damien said.

"Do you think they know we're here?" the woman, whose name Sebastien had immediately forgotten after she introduced herself, asked.

"No. I think they're doing something else. Fighting, or setting up some strategic location. This building had no direct roof access, so they have no way to get to us even if they do realize."

"But how do we get across without them noticing us?"

"We wait till they're all inside," Damien answered, staring down at the scanning artifact. "Any moment now, we'll make a break for it."

Everyone froze as a loud banging echoed over the bare stone, followed by shouts and screams coming from the floor below.

Damien crept forward, his camouflage active, and Sebastien followed behind him. A few meters below, a girl rushed out to the balcony. "It's too far! We can't jump," the girl called back to her companions inside the building. Her suit was slightly darker than Sebastien's own, indicating that she was a second, or maybe third-term student.

"The barricade won't last long!" a man's throaty voice called back to her, his voice breaking with strain. "I don't think we can fight them all."

Damien and Sebastien shared a look, and when she did a quick sweep of her peripheral for danger, she found the other two first-term students staring at her expectantly.

"How are we going to save them?" the young man asked.

"You could drop down there and surprise the enemy when they break down the barrier," the woman suggested.

"There are at least eight enemy signals," Damien said darkly. An explosion rumbled through the stone, much weakened from real battle magic, but still powerful enough to cause several shouts of fear and dismay from the students below. "And…yep, those are more on the way," Damien added.

The five of them ducked down even further to make sure they weren't seen. The woman bit her thumbnail. "I don't think even Sebastien can take on that many."

"I can take them," Rhett offered, smiling at the woman reassuringly. "I'll jump down to the balcony, the rest of you can find a way down to the street, and then we'll do a pincer attack on the whole group of them. They're in the stairwell; there's nowhere to run."

Sebastien opened her mouth to say that they had neither the time nor the ability to save this group, who were fighting against so many enemies, but stopped herself. "I…actually have an idea," she realized.

Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out a different spell array disk. "I can create handholds in the stone—a ladder of a sort—for them to climb up." She had loaded up the stone disintegration and gust spells on it, thinking that she might use it to blow a fine dust at the enemy that would irritate their lungs and eyes, or even, with enough dust, create cloud cover for her team.

With the addition of a couple glyphs to allow her to distance the output in the vertical direction, Sebastien began to cast. Sand trickled away from a section of the wall, leaving behind a divot a couple inches deep and a single handstand across.

"I'll get them on board with the plan," Damien said. Turning his camouflage on once again, he swung himself over the edge of the roof and dropped down to the balcony as softly as possible.

"Take this!" Rhett said, pulling an artifact off of his bandolier and tossing it down to Damien. "One-time-use shield. If they break down the barricade, just shout and I'll be right behind you." Sebastien was thankful that at least he hadn't insisted on being the one to go down.

Gripping her Conduit tighter, she drew more power from the small, dull beast core, causing the sand to flow faster. With quick adjustments of her Will, she drew the detached output up the side of the wall, step by step.

Whatever Damien said below, he managed to get the other students on board more quickly than she had expected. "Hurry," he urged, looking back over his shoulder, where another soft explosion rumbled out, shaking the stone beneath their feet.

The students wasted no time climbing up, squinting their eyes against the crumbled white stone that continued to fall from above as Sebastien created the last of the handholds.

As the first of them reached the top, she dropped the spell and reached out to help haul them up. She counted five new students, three men and two women. Flecks of white stone stuck to the sweat along their temples, which was already drying under the caress of the wind.

Below, Damien knelt to set up the shield artifact, then brought up the rear, scowling as some of the lingering dust kicked up by the students climbing above him got in his hair.

"Titan's balls," one of the young men murmured, staring at Sebastien. "Is he a free-caster already?"

"He's Thaddeus Lacer's apprentice," the first woman responded in a murmur.

"Quiet!" Sebastien bit out, scowling out at the group as she gestured for one of the men to help her move the plank bridge to the far edge of the building.

Damien went first again, against as the scout, but a couple of the new upper-term students paled at the sight of the precarious pathway. "No, I can't do that," one of the women whimpered. "Mr. Siverling, I can't. I'm afraid of heights." She looked down at the street below, then stepped back and squeezed her eyes shut, crouching as if she thought she might fall off the edge of the roof.

"I'm afraid of heights, too," one of the men said sheepishly.

Rhett reached out to take the woman's hands. "Don't worry, we'll definitely keep you safe." He turned to Sebastien. "Your plan isn't going to work anymore. I vote we stay and use our superior numbers to overwhelm the enemy. I'll stay on the roof with those who can't use the bridge, and the rest of you can find a way down, then circle around to meet up with us."

"Are you sure?" the woman asked, looking up at him with watery eyes.

"Just watch," he said, smirking. "If the others don't hurry, I'll have taken down all the enemies and snatched all the extra points for myself."

Sebastien's chest flared hot with outrage, but she tamped it down, keeping her face expressionless. "If you would like to stay behind and act as a sacrifice for the remainder of the group to get away, you may. But I will not be staying in this location for even more reinforcements to arrive. As soon as they catch wind of what we're doing, we're trapped up here. You realize that they don't actually have to stick around and fight us? They can retreat back down that stairwell at any time. They could pick us off easily as we try to cross the bridge, and climbing down the side of the building would be even stupider. We need to move quickly—" she cut herself off as explosions rumbled out from the direction of the nearest red tower. Dust clouds rose, and screams of fear and anger cut through the wind.

It was a good reminder. Arguing with Rhett was just wasting time.

She let her eyes rove over the others. "If you want to come with us, you had better move quickly. Otherwise, remain here," she said, her words clipped and her tone cold. "If you falter or make a mistake, you could very well fall to your deaths. I have no way to save you before you break yourselves across the ground like an egg. Don't slow the rest of us down." Turning, she hurried across the plank.

Those left behind hesitated, and Rhett gave her a long, dark glare as she reached the other side, but no one decided to remain behind, even the woman so afraid of heights.

Getting all ten students across still took an excruciating amount of time, and by the time they had done so, the enemy on the floor below had spotted them. A couple tried to follow using the handholds Sebastien had created. Her group quickly took out the first, sending him falling back to the balcony below, but the next red-suited enemy crawled up holding a shield above his head. He grinned triumphantly at them, then ducked down again, calling out to his comrades.

A couple moved to the nearest windows facing their direction and began to shoot up at them.

"Damien, find a roof with stairwell access," Sebastien ordered. "Move fast, and take the others. We'll hold up the rear." They had no choice but to stay and fight in the hopes of stopping, or at least delaying, the enemy from calling reinforcements. As such a large group, they could no longer move fast enough to effectively escape.

The largest advantage of her rooftop travel plan had been negated. Luckily, the spell-fire was enough incentive for several of the students to hurry along to escape with Damien, hesitation erased.

Rhett actually managed to hit one of the enemy's spells in mid-air. This feat detonated both spells close enough to the enemy to send the woman reeling back, her suit constricting around her and toppling her stiffly to the floor. Rhett tried to toss an explosive shell through the window as a follow-up, but his aim was off, and the clay sphere hit the wall and exploded harmlessly.

With her spell array disk, Sebastien managed to down another enemy, and one of the rescued men who had decided to stay behind with them got a lucky shot off at a red-suited woman hurrying out of the building at the ground floor. Soon after, the attacks stopped.

Rhett and the other man grinned with exhilaration, but Sebastien knew this was far from a victory. Her mouth was dry, and though the wind still carried a chill, the sun beat down on her back with enough strength to leave her armpits dripping with sweat.

Damien had led most of the students to an adjacent roof, though it was in the opposite direction of the nearest tower flying the black. As if he could feel her gaze, he pointed to the next roof and mouthed "stairs."

They hurried to follow, crouching low and staying silent. Even Rhett seemed a little disgruntled at the reduced speed of their crossing. After all, the longer it took them to reach the tower, the less points they would receive for that objective.

However, Sebastien was no longer worried about points. As long as they could make it without their suits recording any serious "injuries," they would easily pass the test. To the contrary, she was questioning her decision to save the extra students at all. Just because she had an idea of how to do it, didn't necessarily mean she should have.

After all, their safety wasn't her priority. If she and Damien had partnered with anyone else but Rhett, maybe it wouldn't even have been an issue in the first place.

They had just made it to the stairwell when Damien reported an enemy presence down below.

Silently, Sebastien signaled for the rest of group to wait, while she and Rhett moved closer to Damien so they could discuss the situation.

Without waiting for her to question him, Damien explained. "I caught a glimpse of red below, but no enemy signals are showing up on the scanner. They must have a cloaking device."

Rhett gazed out at the tower flying the black flag, only a couple hundred meters away. "Either we go down and fight, or we try to make a break for it across the rooftops. Or maybe we could split up, with the more combat oriented of us going down, and the rest moving as quickly as they can to safety."

Sebastien was surprised he suggested leaving those they had rescued to their own devices, but it wasn't a bad idea. Only, she didn't really like either option. She couldn't continue to inch across the gap between rooftops with the others, but going down the stairs and having to fight her way out also did not sound appealing. As her mind spun in search of a third route to safety, the flapping of wings drew her gaze to the side.

Cresting the edge of the roof was a young drake, flapping its wings frantically. Cousin to the dragon and as large a house cat, the creature wore a bright red collar. 'An enemy familiar,' Sebastien realized with horror.

The creature let out a loud screech half a second before Rhett's spell hit it in the mouth and sent it fleeing back toward the ground.

Around the corner only a couple blocks from them, a group of twelve red-suited enemies turned in their direction. The leader's arm rose, pointing right at them.

Chapter 146 - Walk the Plank

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 25, Thursday 9:35am

Sebastien took a deep breath and bellowed, "Down the stairwell! Get down to the ground floor!" loud enough for her voice to echo off the stone around them for several blocks.

Damien flinched, pressing one hand protectively over his ear as he stared at her incredulously.

She hurried to the center of the roof, crouched down, and waved frantically at the others to keep them from actually going down the stairs. Instead, she pointed at the building in the opposite direction from which the enemy reinforcements were coming. It didn't have direct roof access, but it had a balcony. "We're making a run for that balcony. We have to move faster than them, or they'll see us. We can only hope everyone else is too focused on catching us in the stairwell, or ambushing us on the ground floor of this building to notice what we've done until it's too late."

With that, she sprinted across the roof with the plank bridge over her shoulder, maneuvering the opposite end over and down to the balcony across the narrow street as silently as possible. Two of the bigger men helped to hold down the end and keep it stable, and when Damien got across, he did the same on the other end.

"Remember, you can feel free to stay here and slow down the enemy," Sebastien said when several of her group members stared at the precariously placed bridge with hesitation. "We'll laud your heroic last stand to the examiners."

In the end, two of them did decide to stay behind. As Sebastien shuffled across the makeshift bridge, feeling bile rise in her throat, she couldn't blame them. But her grade in Fekten's class wasn't high enough that she could afford to fail the final exam and still pass. In the distance, the roar of the audience rose to a fever-pitch.

She caught a splinter in her palm from clutching the sides of the sloping planks too hard, but ignored the pinch of pain in favor of maintaining her precarious stability.

As she reached the balcony, several hands reached out to steady her way down, but her pant leg caught on the white stone mimicking a decorative wrought-iron fence and tore loudly. Her suit shifted strangely as it registered the "injury," but thankfully didn't consider it debilitating enough to theoretically kill her. Still, it would lower her final score.

Grim faced, Sebastien motioned her orders, and the others pulled the plank bridge into the room beyond the balcony to keep it hidden. She pulled the splinter out of her palm with her teeth, sucked the blood off of it, and then licked her palm a few times just to be sure. She spit out the splinter, examined it, and tucked it into her pocket. She would dispose of it safely later. One could never be too paranoid.

Without hesitation, they continued deeper into the building and down the stairwell, moving so fast that Damien barely had time to scout ahead. The ground floor was not as empty as they had hoped, and Sebastien's heart stilled for a moment, then crashed into her ribcage as it began to race.

But the people down below wore the black of upper-term allies, not red. They were picking up supplies from a black-flagged stash surrounded by a barrier of sandbags.

A woman raised her hands to her lips for silence, and waved them on. Her eyebrows raised as she watched all eight of them hurry to the nearest window and crouch down beside it.

"No enemies in sight," Damien reported. "The black tower is that way. Do we just make a run for it?"

Everyone turned to Sebastien.

"Yes," Sebastien agreed reluctantly. "Damien as scout, shielders and damage dealers pair up. I'll bring up the rear." Nominally, with her spell array disks, she was the wildcard, but if the worst came to pass, she could abandon the rest of the group and perhaps still make it to the tower.

Without argument, they exited silently through the nearest window. When Sebastien glanced back over her shoulder before following, the upper-term woman winked at her.

Soon after, the sounds of fighting erupted behind them. Sebastien didn't look back.

They made it almost all the way to their destination without serious incident, meeting a few more grey and black suited students along the way. They took down a pair of injured enemies who were trying to retreat from the black tower's territory. The sounds of fighting all around them grew louder, and they passed several sandbag barricades, some manned, and some empty or collapsed.

Finally, they turned the corner toward the street that would lead them directly to the tower entrance. To their right, only a couple blocks away, the tower flew the black flag above. At its base, students in dark grey and black manned sandbag barricades.

To their left, much closer, marched an entire unit of enemy troops, at least a couple dozen people, shielding spells up to protect them as they bludgeoned their way forward. 'So this is what the audience was making such a big fuss about,' Sebastien realized.

The woman at the front of the enemy unit wore a dark red cloak and epaulets to signify her high ranking—and commensurate danger level. They were marching on the tower with the intent to bring it down. If they succeeded, it would fly the red flag, and those students charged with its protection would fail.

Their entire group caught sight of the advancing enemy at the same time, and as one, they made the same decision.

"Run!" Rhett yelled, shooting a futile offensive spell at the enemy.

Sebastien's group scattered across the narrow street, sprinting for all they were worth as their allies shot spells past them to try to cover their retreat.

Sebastien kept an eye on the enemy with her peripheral vision, her shielding spell array ready to activate at any moment. The harmless test spells moved slower than real battle spells, and if she reacted quick enough, she could either dive out of the way or block them. With the wild way some of her allies were attacking, she might even need to shield against friendly fire. 'I'm only a first term student. If I can just make it to the base, my part of the test will be over, no matter what happens next.'

Damien turned around, looking for her, then slowed down enough to run beside her instead of sprinting ahead at the front of the group. "I've got your back, you've got mine," he said, only slightly out of breath.

Sebastien nodded curtly.

But of course, a unit meant to bring down a tower base was not short of spell power.

Sebastien saw the tell-tale foggy shimmer of a faux concussive blast spell roll out of the leader's battle wand, followed by two more to either side, perfectly placed so that there was no dodging it.

The low-powered, small-area shielding spells that she and the other first term students had would do nothing against it.

"Tuck and roll!" Sebastien snapped half a second before the magic reached them.

Wide-eyed, Damien copied her, throwing himself to the ground in a fetal position as the magic pushed at their heels.

The faux concussive blast spell was gentler than a real one, and moved slower, but in some ways it was more powerful. Instead of slamming them into the ground and leaving them fractured, bruised inside and out, it lifted them and sent them flipping through the air.

Sebastien collided with Damien, and then the ground, and then they were rolling and tumbling together in a painful tangle of limbs. Something bashed into her hand and sent her Conduit flying. As they settled, she looked up dizzily toward the approaching enemy, cursing the rules that had forced her to leave her pocket watch and the chain that would have secured her Conduit behind.

Several of the enemy unit's people were laughing at them, and as they neared, they raised their wands again.

Sebastien still had the handle of the shielding spell array in one of her hands, and though her suit's sensors had registered more damage and had begun to restrict her movement, she was not entirely out of the test yet. She was still considered "alive."

A sparkle caught the corner of her eye, resting beside Damien's hip. His Conduit had fallen out of his pocket.

Sebastien raised the shielding spell array and her leg at the same time, confirmed that she had thought to add the basic output distancing symbols and that the beast core was still held securely in its place, and brought her calf down hard on top of Damien's Conduit. Her ripped pant leg provided the perfect patch of bare skin to access the celerium through, and the crystalline gem dug painfully into her calf.

She grinned ferally and cast the shield spell, just in time to block the offensive sphere of light heading toward her chest. "Damien, I need you to get up without moving me—carefully, and pick up my Conduit."

"What?" Damien asked, his voice low and horrified.

Several of the enemies showed their surprise at their offensive spells impacted harmlessly against her shield, which was only a foot across but flitted about like a hummingbird to position itself perfectly in front of each attack. A few hesitated, looking toward their leader for instruction, but others continued to attack.

Tangled together as she and Damien were, it didn't take much movement for Sebastien to position the shield's output between them and any spell that seemed like it might hit. "Hurry!" she snapped.

"How are you casting without your Conduit!?" he hissed, scrambling to pick it up from where it had rolled and almost catching a stray spell to the head. He moved so quickly he almost tripped before he could return and press it into her free hand. "Oh, by all the planes-damned idiotic things to do, Sebastien. Are you casting through your own flesh?" he wailed, his hands flapping about uselessly.

"Of course not!" she snapped.

Slowly, still holding the shielding spell between them and the enemy, she rose to her feet. "Pick up your Conduit from the ground, and get behind me." Any little advantage might help them to make it to the tower unscathed.

She began to walk backward as quickly as her bruises and the restrictive suit would allow, blocking the increasingly frequent offensive spells and praying that the leader didn't send another concussive blast at her. Sebastien's mind spun through all the possible options, wondering if there was anything they could do to improve their chances.

At this point, they needed powerful backup, someone to come out from the tower and take the enemy's attention while they retreated.

But before she could retreat more than a few meters, Professor Fekten's voice resounded through the narrow streets, bouncing off the walls and almost screaming with tension. "Code red! Code red shutdown of area C! The exam is delayed!"

Sebastien dropped her shielding spell, looking around in confusion, relief, and a little bit of apprehension. Code red meant that there was significant danger to the students' wellbeing nearby, and that they needed to retreat to safety.

She turned, hurrying faster to the tower as her suit released all of its restrictions. There would be tunnels at its base to lead them out of the exam arena, the same way they'd been brought into it. And at the very least, she would feel safer sheltered behind the back of someone like Fekten than right out in the middle of the street.

Except…everyone around her was scrambling back. Those close to the tower were heading that way, but the enemy unit was retreating in the opposite direction. Several people wearing black and grey were running beside them. Even Damien had retreated away from her, his expression screwed up in gut-wrenching pain as he met her gaze.

Sebastien slowed, the weight of a horrible premonition settling on her shoulders.

Fekten had left the tower and was sprinting toward her.

She stilled, dropping the spell array disk and raising her hands in the air. After a moment of hesitation, she dropped her Conduit, too, lest someone think she planned to keep casting.

"Possible break event!" Fekten screamed, tossing a small golden sphere at her feet, where it sprouted legs that dug into the ground, and then bloomed with a spherical shield.

The shield surrounded her, semi-opaque and somehow solid enough to drown out most of the screams coming from outside. Idly, Sebastien realized that she could feel the rumble of the audience's screams through the stone beneath her feet. This must have been the most exciting thing to happen all day.

His battle wand trained on her, Fekten stepped cautiously closer. "Get control of yourself, Siverling. Do not continue casting anything. If I catch even a hint—even a whiff—of magic coming off you, I'll knock you unconscious. If you resist, I'll do what needs to be done." His gaze was flinty, and his meaning was clear. If he felt he had to, he would kill her to protect the other students.

Sebastien swallowed hard, her throat suddenly bone-dry. She kept her hands raised high and met his gaze as she nodded slowly and clearly. "I understand. But I think there's been a misunderstanding."

Chapter 147 - Harry Harold Had no Hands

Damien

Month 3, Day 25, Thursday 9:45 a.m.

As the shield went up around Sebastien, who stood with his hands raised while Professor Fekten threatened him, Damien's vision swam and his knees almost buckled. He was hyperventilating. Wrapping both of his hands loosely over his mouth, he blinked rapidly as he tried to force himself to take slow, even breaths despite his lung screaming that they lacked for air.

Why. Why? Why? This exam wasn't even important. It was just a test! Even if they hadn't made it to the tower, they still probably would have gotten some points for those they had helped to rescue. Sebastien had no need to risk his life for this.

"Get back, Westbay!" Fekten barked at him. "Back!"

Between one moment and the next, Damien had lost something so precious. He knew the true gravity of the situation, the depth of the consequences, hadn't hit him yet. It had been like that when his mother died, too. It had taken weeks for him to truly accept the fact that she no longer existed, and even years later he still had moments of metaphorical vertigo when he remembered she was gone.

Sebastien was saying something, his voice scratchy with fear and muffled by the semi-opaque barrier, and Damien forced himself to focus.

"I realize it might have looked bad, but I didn't channel magic through my own body. I'm not in any danger of a break event. I don't even have Will-strain," Sebastien said.

Damien stared at his friend, who for the first time since the exam started actually looked apprehensive.

As if reading Damien's mind, Sebastien turned to meet his gaze and repeated, "I'm fine. This is a misunderstanding."

Damien's breathing began to slow, and he pulled his hands away from his open mouth, a string of saliva trailing between his palm and his mouth. He had apparently started crying at some point. His face and hands were covered in tears, and salt was getting into his mouth. "A mis—misunderstanding?" Damien asked, his breath hitching. He didn't understand how that could be, but Sebastien's calmness was contagious.

Fekten wasn't listening, screaming back to the tower to evacuate the area and let them pass through.

Sebastien drew a deep breath and yelled through the barrier, causing Fekten to flinch and his hand to tighten around his battle wand. "I did not cast through my own flesh! Damien's Conduit fell out of his pocket, and I borrowed it."

Fekten's eyes narrowed. "I know what I saw, Siverling. You were casting with empty hands. I watched as Westbay returned your Conduit to you, and he didn't pick up his own off the ground until you were already standing."

"I was casting with my leg. My pant leg is torn, so I was able to press my skin against Damien's Conduit where it rested on the ground," Sebastien insisted, enunciating every syllable. He lifted his leg, displaying the long rip in the grey fabric, reaching up to his knee. The pale skin of his leg was plainly visible, and though it was hard to see clearly through the barrier, it looked like there was a red mark where he might have pressed against the faceted edges of Damien's Conduit.

It was a ridiculous, unbelievable explanation, but something inside of Damien still unclenched. "It—It's true," he croaked, drawing Fekten's attention. Damien swallowed to clear his throat and tried again, holding up his Conduit for Fekten to see. "It had fallen out of my pocket when we got hit by that soft concussive blast spell. I didn't see it until after Sebastien stood up. It makes sense that he would have been laying on it."

The area around them had already emptied of other students, but a few members of the faculty were slowly approaching, battle wands and other artifacts out and ready.

Professor Fekten narrowed his eyes, and the tip of his wand remained unwaveringly focused on Sebastien. "You expect me to believe that you, in a moment of panic, learned to cast through your leg," he said, his tone completely deadpan.

Sebastien huffed. "Let me reiterate, I did not cast through my leg. I cast through Damien's Conduit. I just…gripped it with my leg. Skin contact is all you need, not actual fingers. It's not like it's the first time I've ever done such a thing. It might be slightly harder, but it's far from impossible. Please, be reasonable. There's no way I would have put all the students around me in such danger just to win a mock battle. Hells, I wouldn't put myself in such danger just for the results of a test. I'm not anywhere close to failing, and if I thought the Defense elective was going to be the thing to hold me back, I could simply drop it from my schedule this coming term."

Damien leaned over, pressing his hands to his knees and taking a couple more deep breaths. He wiped the snot and tears from his face with the rough grey fabric of his sleeve.

The other faculty members had arrived, and Fekten shared a look with a couple of them. "The boy claims he didn't cast through his flesh, but through a Conduit touching his leg," he explained, his skepticism clear.

"Is there any way to test it?" Sebastien asked. "I'm telling the truth, and I'm not experiencing any uncontrollable urges to cast through my flesh, but how am I supposed to prove that?"

"Put him under observation in one of the rogue magic shelters," suggested one of the professors. "Three days should be long enough to be sure."

"Three days!?" Sebastien echoed, outraged. "I'm slotted to be in the Practical Casting exhibition later today. I can't miss that."

At the reminder of who he was apprenticed to, several of the professors shared glances again.

"Have him examined by a healer and give a statement to one of our Masters of divination," someone else suggested.

Fekten agreed reluctantly, lowering his wand just slightly. "We'll do it in the shelter under the sim room." He reached into his pocket and fiddled with something, and the opaque barrier around Sebastien withdrew into the golden artifact at his feet. "I'm warning you, Siverling. If you're lying, casting through your own flesh again is likely to cause a break event, in which case I will do my absolute best to kill you before you can complete the transformation." He turned to Damien. "Didn't I tell you to step back, Westbay? It's not safe. You need to evacuate the area with the rest of the students."

Sebastien turned to Damien. "I need you to go get Professor Lacer. Tell him it's an emergency."

Fekten's wand rose again. "You have something to hide, boy?"

Sebastien's tone was cold as he stared Fekten down. "On the contrary. I simply don't feel safe being trapped underground with a professor who has repeatedly made it abundantly clear just how hair-trigger his murderous tendencies are. I can demonstrate to anyone who wishes how simple it is to cast basic spells with a Conduit touching my calf, or my shoulder, or even my ass. But I will do so under the supervision of my mentor. If you truly mean me no harm, that shouldn't be a problem. After all, he's trained to deal with much worse situations than an Apprentice-level Aberrant. His presence could only be a boon."

"I'll get him," Damien said. Not bothering to wait for Fekten's agreement, he turned to sprint ahead, toward the tower and the exit tunnels that would lead him to the edge of the Flats. He didn't stop until he found Professor Lacer, then explained the situation in as few words as possible, so that his panting for breath would waste less time.

Professor Lacer rose from his seat at the Practical Casting exhibition's judges' table and strode off in the direction Damien had come from without even a farewell to the others or a second glance toward the student on stage. "Explain the situation," he bit out as Damien hurried to keep up with the man's much longer stride.

Damien did his best to explain, trying to gauge from Professor Lacer's severe expression just how bad the situation was. "Did you know he could cast through other parts of his body? Is that part of the training you were giving him?" Damien asked, because there was no way he was going to ask if Professor Lacer believed Sebastien was telling the truth. He didn't even want to ask that question of himself.

"I did not know, but such a skill is not unheard of, if somewhat difficult to develop safely," Professor Lacer said, falling silent as they entered the heavy iron doors of the shelter.

The space beyond looked larger than Damien expected, but as he thought back to how packed together the students had been as they huddled in the shelter underneath the library, he realized that it probably only seemed larger because it was so empty.

Sebastien's shoulders visibly relaxed when the two of them arrived, but only for a moment before he drew them back and lifted his chin again with the imperiousness that came so naturally to him, staring Fekten down as if looking at some kind of unruly puppy.

As Damien moved to stand supportively at Sebastien's side, despite the protests of the healer Fekten had retrieved, while Professor Lacer spoke to Fekten, who explained the situation much less charitably than Damien had.

Professor Lacer's expression didn't change at all throughout the entire thing. "My apprentice is very talented with these kinds of exercises."

Fekten stared at him for a moment, speechless.

"It's true," Damien piped up, smoothing his disheveled hair back when everyone turned to look at him. "Sebastien has already learned how to distance the output of his spells. I'm not sure if you were aware, but he's a genuine genius. Rather than doubting him and casting aspersions on his character, don't you think you should be giving him contribution points for his impressive feats?"

The edge of Professor Lacer's mouth quirked up for just a moment. "Indeed. Let us get this over with quickly, shall we? I have duties to attend to."

Fekten bristled, letting out an audible snort that reminded Damien of the rumble of a dragon's breath. The diviner and the healer both hesitated, looking at each other as if asking if this was normal, but when Professor Lacer waved his hand impatiently, they jumped into action.

Sebastien stepped into the spell array the diviner had drawn on the floor while Professor Lacer murmured with the woman, something Damien couldn't quite catch about a "boon," and "increasing the required power," that made the woman pale uncomfortably. Damien suspected it had something to do with whatever the Raven Queen had done to Sebastien that he wasn't able to talk about.

The woman cast the spell, and there were a few seconds where things felt strange, and Damien found himself looking away, examining the others, and was surprised to see both Fekten and the healer looking at back at him.

Then Damien looked to Professor Lacer, who was staring into the center of the spell array with fascination. He followed the older man's gaze back to his friend, who shuddered uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders.

"I'm ready," Sebastien said.

There really wasn't much to say, and though Fekten and the diviner questioned him multiple times about the details and forced him to repeat things, that part finished quickly.

Professor Lacer shot Fekten a disdainful raised eyebrow. "Why don't you demonstrate your capabilities for us, Mr. Siverling?" he asked.

With a sigh of relief, Sebastien acquiesced, pulling the Conduit Professor Lacer had lent him out of his pocket. Under the watchful eye of all five of them, he pulled out one of a disk painted with a simple gust spell array from his backpack, which he was still wearing. He cast normally, first, holding the Conduit in a firm grip. Then he cast with the Conduit sitting on the back of his hand. Then, drawing a gasp from the healer, he held the Conduit in the crook of his elbow, between his bicep and his forearm and cast the same gust spell just as easily as before.

Damien found himself grinning so wide his cheeks almost hurt, a heady cocktail of relief and pride urging him to gloat, to strut around making pointed comments in Fekten's general direction.

Then Sebastien sat on the ground, placed the Conduit between the skin of his calf and the floor, and cast again, looking at Fekten.

The healer cleared her throat. "No signs of elevated heart rate, dilation of the eyes, bodily convulsions or trembling in the fingers. If he were experiencing the extreme sensation that accompanies channeling magic through one's own flesh, I would expect to see some sign of it."

"As you can see, my apprentice is simply talented," Professor Lacer said.

"Well," Fekten said with a harrumph. "You still acted recklessly, Siverling. We had to suspend the end of term exam for dozens of students. I must insist that you submit yourself to the infirmary for a more thorough battery of tests before participating in the next exhibition." He paused, then added, "At least this was a false alarm, but I cannot believe that those imbeciles acting as the enemy continued to attack you despite all the evidence of someone who was about to have a break event."

He made a few threats that Damien tuned out before stomping off, accompanied by the healer and the diviner, who bowed to Professor Lacer before leaving.

As soon as the three of them were alone, Damien couldn't hold it in any longer. "How long have you been able to control a Conduit through your leg!?"

Sebastien rolled his eyes. "I don't even know, Damien. As long as I remember, I suppose. Using a Conduit touching other parts of the body is actually not that difficult. I suspect that most people just have some mental block they never attempt to overcome. As Professor Lacer might say, they get into a rut. I had no idea it would be such a big deal."

"How could you not realize?" Damien asked. "Do you see people going around casting with their wrists, or their belly buttons?"

"Do you remember that children's rhyme about Harry Harold who had no hands? He wore jeweled shoes so he could cast through his feet."

Damien blinked twice. "Yes. I remember that nonsensical rhyme for children. I also remember other similar stories about children walking into a dragon's mouth and being transported to another world, then climbing out of the dragon's nose years later, unharmed. Or about a girl who could transform at will into a pegasus. Or the one about the one-inch boy who might come to live with you if you built an appropriately detailed miniature house for him and filled it with all of your baby teeth."

Sebastien crossed his arms. "Well, that's not the same thing at all."

"Yes, yes it is. For normal people, it is. Normal people cast magic through their hands, or maybe sometimes their foreheads." He turned to Professor Lacer for help, but the man was just watching them with something that might have been amusement. Damien threw up his hands with exasperation. "Let me be clear, the reason the coppers search peoples' crevices is not because they're afraid criminals will start channeling spells through the Conduit shoved up their assholes!"

Sebastien raised one eyebrow in challenge, an expression that was eerily reminiscent of Professor Lacer, and drawled, "I know I'm impressive, but I'm sure you could do it too with a little bit of practice, if you weren't so close-minded. Myrddin never would have been able to create Carnagore or sneak into the secret realm of the fey and marry their princess if he was so pessimistic."

Damien reached up to tug at his hair in frustration, but Sebastien laughed. Whatever tension had remained in the other young man's frame was gone as he grinned smugly at Damien. Damien squinted at him suspiciously, keeping the warm glow of relief that had bloomed in his chest from showing on his face. "You're poking fun at me."

Sebastien gave him a one-shouldered shrug, turning to walk toward the shelter's exit. "Only partially. Right?" he asked, turning to Professor Lacer.

The man hummed, looking Sebastien over speculatively. "I suppose you may be correct. I can cast with a Conduit touching other parts of my body, but I still find using my hands much easier. I cannot free-cast without them, and even some of the more difficult spells would be beyond me. I am surprised you managed to distance your spell's output under such restrictions. However, I did not start developing the ability until I was in my thirties. Perhaps if I had started younger, I would have progressed with similar ease."

Sebastien seemed surprised by this, and then thoughtful, his dark eyes staring into the distance as he frowned.

After they closed the shelter door behind them, Professor Lacer returned to his duties, but Damien insisted on accompanying Sebastien to the infirmary, where Ana and her little sister Nat were already waiting for them.

"We saw what happened on the big mirrors," Nat announced immediately, her eyes searching Sebastien's face with an endearingly sincere worry. "Are you alright? We tried to read people's lips when you were talking with Fekten, but I'm not very good at it yet, and it was hard to see you clearly inside of that bubble."

Damien flushed, realizing that it was likely his response—the tears and his complete loss of composure—had been shown in great detail, duplicated from the small mirrors in the arena onto the much larger ones erected for the audience to watch the most interesting events of the mock battle. The practical part of the Defensive Magic exam was automatically displayed as part of the exhibition, and one of the biggest lures of the entire event.

Sebastien reached out to take Nat's hand, squeezing it reassuringly and making the girl's cheeks flush pink. Once again, he quickly explained the misunderstanding that had caused so much pandemonium.

"Of course you would be able to do that. Doesn't anyone here know you're going to be a free-caster soon?" Nat asked, blowing out her cheeks with frustration.

Ana nodded sagely, the only sign of her own worry the wrinkled spots on her blouse where she must have clutched it in white-knuckled fear, which no amount of smoothing with her fingers could totally hide. "That is a good point, Nat. One that I think everyone should hear before too much gossip that might be undesirable spreads. As they say, a lie can travel halfway around the world before the truth can get its boots on."

Nat pressed her lips together and patted the back of Sebastien's hand, which was still holding her own. "Don't worry. We'll make sure people don't think badly of you just because that idiot professor got so frightened."

"He's a respected man," Ana chided. "We can't call him an idiot. Just…overly anxious about the safety of his students. He fought through a lot of horrible battles. Perhaps there is some lingering trauma from the Haze War." She turned to Sebastien, gave him a brief, tight hug, releasing him before his surprise could fully take hold.

Damien smiled at her. "Thank you, Ana."

"Think nothing of it," she replied, taking out a small mirror from her pocket and checking her appearance, slipping on a sweet smile like a general arming himself for battle. When she finished, she passed the mirror down to Nat, who tried out several different expressions, muttering to herself as if she was talking to someone, or rehearsing a speech.

Sebastien looked between them with bemusement. "Yes…thank you."

Nat tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder nonchalantly, but couldn't hide her excitement. "Think nothing of it. We're Gervins, you know. This is nothing we can't handle."

After they had gone to influence public opinion in Sebastien's favor, one of the healers took Sebastien into a private room for another checkup. Sufficiently alone but assured that plenty of healers would be around to help him if he needed it, Damien tried to cast the simplest spark-shooting spell on a piece of paper, with his Conduit held in the crook of his forearm.

He did not find it nearly so effortless as Sebastien and Thaddeus Lacer had made it seem.

He felt barely any connection to the magical energy that should have been—needed to be—within his grasp. Frightened that he would lose control of the insignificant spell entirely, Damien released the energy, retracted his Will, and gripped his Conduit in his hand as he waited for his racing heartbeat to slow.

Chapter 148 - A Tree of Sand and Light

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 25, Thursday 2:00 p.m.

After leaving the infirmary with a bill of clean health, Sebastien and Damien returned to the Flats to give their "after-action reports," which took a distressingly long time. She was sure most of the other students weren't treated like witnesses in an investigation, forced to repeat things and dig for detail and motivations over and over again. The proctors taking her report kept making notes and stopping to murmur together, throwing her odd looks.

In the end, she insisted upon leaving in time to make her scheduled slot in the Practical Casting exhibition. Once again dressed in her own clothing, with the security of her holster and the black sapphire Conduit pressed against the skin of her back, she hurried across the grounds. As she strode with purpose, those in the crowds milling about made way for her. Sebastien ignored the various stages, food carts, and game stations to arrive at the stage that had been set aside for the Practical Casting students.

The performances were running behind schedule, so Sebastien took a seat in the small area at the front of the stands set aside for students like her, setting the box that contained her supplies by her feet. Several of the nearby students introduced themselves, while others whispered together, not even trying to hide the fact that they were talking about her.

Sebastien sighed, turned her attention toward the stage, and did her best to ignore them like the irritating flies they were. Small mirrors like those used in the Defense exam arena had been set up on stands, replicating the image reflected in them onto much larger mirrors that would allow even those at the back of the stage to see clearly, though they carried no sound.

A third term student who had cast a fairly simple spell with only a single glyph stepped down, replaced by a fourth term who quickly moved to set up their own performance, then used a single spell array to create a fountain show from a shallow basin of water. It seemed the Practical Casting exhibitions at this point were nothing particularly impressive. She suspected the upper term students had been scheduled for the day after, saving the best for last.

As another lackluster presentation followed, Sebastien's thoughts wandered to more impressive magics. Professor Lacer had done more ambitious spells with a casual wave of his hand. She could only imagine what he was capable of with transmogrification's higher order connections. Had he ever traveled to one of the Elemental Planes, perhaps? She would love to experience such wonder.

Sebastien thought back to that strange twinkling meteor that the old man from the Architects of Khronos had cast above Knave Knoll. It, too, must have been some kind of transmogrification. She still hadn't figured out how it might work, or even why a spell would be designed like that. Perhaps a fourth-order association, the kind Professor Lacer had said was beyond the scope of their class?

The breeze blew her hair into her face, carrying the scent of sweet treats, fresh mud, and the budding greenness of spring, all riding over the ever-present salt of Charybdis Gulf. Sebastien tucked her pale hair behind her ears. Even her hair was an example of the kind of magic her fellow students could not hope to imitate. It had grown longer after all the time spent in this body. Perhaps it was time to cut it.

Shortly after the Knave Knoll attack, Sebastien had overheard a group of upper-term students gossiping. Apparently, one man had gone down to peek around the crime scene, making himself temporarily popular to all the classmates who were hungry for gossip. When she had inserted herself into the conversation, the man had been eager to tell her what he could.

"Well, I couldn't get close because the Red Guard are still swarming around the site. They have it cordoned off and the coppers were stationed around the edge to keep people from slipping past. But I saw the crater! It was dozens of meters across. I can't even imagine the type of spell that could have caused such a thing." The man had continued on for a long while after that, sharing inane details and his own speculation while Sebastien tried to pretend like she was still interested. "Whoever those terrorists were, they must have been as dangerous as an Aberrant, don't you think? But if you're interested just because the Red Guard was there, I have to disappoint you, because I'm pretty sure no actual Aberrants made an appearance."

"What?"

"Oh, well, I heard you were interested in Aberrants, right?"

"Where did you hear that?" Sebastien had asked, frowning.

The man had raised his eyebrows, then gave her a commiserating smile. "Oh, you know, around. It's pretty common knowledge that you fought one. I really admire your courage, but you shouldn't be so reckless. I'm sure Professor Lacer would be willing to recommend you to the Red Guard once you've gotten your certification and completed your apprenticeship. There are rumors he used to work for them." He'd laughed, then. "Well, you'd know that better than I, wouldn't you?"

Sebastien frowned, ignoring the latest student's presentation as she stared off into the distance. 'Even if it was fourth order association, why would it create such a wasteful spell? Are there some rules or principles I'm unaware of? What is the point of creating a physical manifestation and destroying an entire building, when it would seemingly have been simpler to just use some mass paralysis spell or send in some sedative?' Perhaps the wards were set up to block all the more common applications, and the Architects had needed to get creative to bypass them, she reasoned. Or maybe that old man thaumaturge she'd accidentally killed was just showing off.

"—erling. Mr. Siverling!"

Sebastien jerked to alertness, turning to the student aide calling her name in an annoyed tone.

The woman rapped her knuckles on her clipboard. "Are you prepared? Please take your place on the stage."

Sebastien stood up and hurried to climb the stairs with her box of supplies. As a student at third-term or below, she'd only been given ten minutes to display her skills, so she needed to set up quickly. As she crouched to draw out her spell array, a quick glance up revealed that the audience stands were packed much fuller than they had been when she arrived. Many of the seats were taken not by outside guests, but by her fellow students, indicated by the wooden tokens they all wore.

She shot a quick look to the judge's table, where Professor Lacer sat. Now that her mind was not so occupied with the possibility of being blasted to smithereens by another of her professors, seeing him reminded her of Oliver's recent secret note. Again, it had been disguised as a promotional letter from a local tailor's shop, but the message inside implied that Thaddeus Lacer had requested to meet the Raven Queen. Oliver had sent a second note after that, asking to meet at her earliest convenience, but even if she hadn't been avoiding him, she'd had no free time during finals week.

As she crouched on the stage, staring up at Professor Lacer, she had a moment of vertigo. She didn't know what to do with that information. Not after the recent upheaval in her situation. Or at least her comprehension of the reality of her situation.

Professor Lacer gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, jarring her attention back to the current moment. She focused her Will into the setup, every movement purposeful, chalk lines large enough to sprawl over almost the entire stage. Both a triangle and a pentagram went inside, for control over both energy and matter. Three glyphs, "light," "shaping," and "heat" went at equidistant points around the center. She finished by setting two clay pots in their smaller component Circles on either side, and one pot full of gravel at the front, nearest the stage and the judges. For this spell, she didn't even need a beast core. In fact, taking the power from elsewhere was part of the show.

Finally, she stood to the side of one of the largest spell arrays she had ever used, took a deep breath, and wrapped her fingers around her Conduit. She was ready.

Her Will contracted down, caught the light out of the area bounded by the Circle, and channeled it into the lines of the spell array. Sebastien's heart beat firmly, a little too fast but without fear, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as she pulled the darkness back to create a backdrop. She pulled heat from the area, reaching deeper and deeper into the pitch black shadows until the water particles in the air turned to ice.

As the breeze dragged at the area with its ephemeral fingers, a white fog wafted from the shadows. Sebastien had practiced this several times, and knew that the effect was quite dramatic. Ominous, even.

She held that steady for a few seconds, and then moved on to the second step. While maintaining the Sacrifice of light and heat, she pulled at the sticky, metallic sand in the leftmost component pot. The clumped chunks and tendrils moved through the air slowly, almost invisible against the darkness until she used some of the light she was siphoning off from the back half of the Circle to add a glow. As the glowing particles and tendrils arrived at the front, she compressed them into the shape of a single glowing seed.

Then, she did the same for the other pot, pulling a dark amber, honey-like substance to the seed, where she integrated the two in marble-like patterns. It was a resin that she had mixed various incense oils into until she got just the right smell.

That was the final step. She closed her eyes and imagined the finished product, then opened them, a blazing determination in her chest, fueling her Will as she began to showcase her abilities in earnest. She pulled on the light and the heat and used its energy to fuel her control of the sand, the resin, and the ethereal glow, all at once.

She had been practicing this in phases, first teaching herself to mold the sticky sand like a sculptor, then doing so while adding tiny sparkles and wisps of light, and then the addition of the backdrop of darkness to set it all off.

None of the pieces of this spell were so difficult by themselves, but doing them all at once was a strain on her multitasking abilities, and she felt likely to fumble the whole thing due to sheer complexity. One spell, multiple complex effects, but each of them based on simple principles. Most of which she had learned in Professor Lacer's class, or from the auxiliary exercises he had assigned: complex movement of an object, the particulate to stone spell, using light as both Sacrifice and output. If she hadn't been practicing with all of the individual elements for so long, this likely would have been impossible, even with a complex spell array with dozens of glyphs and a fully written Word.

The glowing seed broke open, a delicate, hopeful leaf sprouting out from it even as roots dug downward into the gravel. She fed the living sculpture more metallic sand and amber resin, weaving them together as the seed sprouted into a sapling, sprouting branches and leaves as it shoved its way out and up from the dark ground. The tree grew bolder and more robust as it aged under her Will, as if speeding through days, weeks, and months, strands of resin and sand layered atop each other and reaching outward toward the sky.

As the tree grew larger, the strain on her Will increased, pushing at it from every direction as if the tree was trying to burrow out of her grasp like roots through an old cobblestone wall.

She had tried using a tree nut to add some transmogrification to the spell and thus make the shaping easier and more instinctive, but found that it only made everything harder and left her struggling to weave all the pieces seamlessly together. Instead, she had to hold the evolving shape entirely in her mind, the evocative parts meant to stimulate emotion carefully planned and controlled.

The living sculpture reached the height of her hip. She had wanted to add sounds and maybe illusory birds in the tree's branches at this point, but that was still beyond her. Instead, for the final step, she molded the last of the resin into the shape of tiny fruit, then channeled heat into the tree, from root to crown. The resin layered throughout the tree came just short of catching fire, but began to smoke and glow a smoldering orange that would burn for a couple hours, until it was all burnt away. The heat had the added effect of solidifying and hardening all of the sticky metallic sand firmly in place.

Breathing hard, she let the spell stay as it was for a moment. Then, slowly, the ethereal glow disappeared. The darkness that she had held toward the back of the Circle swept forward to make a complete dome once more, gobbling up the tree.

Two precise seconds of darkness passed, and then she dropped that as well, revealing the final result.

A miniature tree sat on the stage in its gravel-filled pot, only a few feet high but as gnarled and detailed-looking as she could make it. The resin ran through its bark in decorative, marble-like stripes and hung from the tips of its branches like teardrops. It fumed like dying lava, smoke from the carefully blended incense that she had mixed into it beforehand riding on the breeze in tendrils that looked surprisingly graceful.

Sebastien eyed the result with mixed feelings. It looked pretty enough, she supposed, but it was nothing special. She wasn't powerful enough yet to produce any truly impressive spectacles. She looked out at the audience, and then to the judges, trying to gauge their reaction. They were all still and silent, staring down at her. She had been worried that she was unable to make the tree any larger, but hoped the image replicating mirrors would have mitigated that problem. Now, she was less sure.

She bowed to the audience. 'Maybe I should have chosen something different besides a tree? Perhaps the audience would have appreciated something more dramatic, like a sculpture of a sky kraken. Using the animal from their crest would have even shown loyalism to the University. Why didn't I think of that beforehand?' Trying to keep her disappointment from her face, Sebastien picked up the tree sculpture and turned to walk off the stage, leaving the two empty pots behind.

"Sebastien Siverling, first term student and apprentice of Professor Thaddeus Lacer!" the student aide repeated somewhat belatedly.

Someone in the audience screamed with excitement, then started clapping wildly. Sebastien looked up in surprise.

Damien stood there grinning with all his might, surrounded by his group of Crown Family friends, all packed into the stands amongst their classmates. Others soon followed his example. The applause grew louder than she had expected, with several shrill voices screaming her name, some even stamping their feet when it seemed that their hands and mouths together couldn't create enough noise.

One girl actually threw a rose at her, and Sebastien had to duck to avoid being caught in the face by its thorny stem.

Wide-eyed, Sebastien hurried toward the judge's table, where several of them were whispering together, no doubt discussing her fate. She sat the tree down in its center, cleared her throat against the smoking incense, and said simply, "A gift. Thank you for the opportunity."

The bark and leaves glinted as the texture caught the light, and the resin within seemed to seethe with rage. She hoped that seeing it up close, the detail she had put so much effort into might impress them a little, along with the smell. Pecanty loved it when his students talked about smell. There might be those among the judges just as obsessed with it as him.

As she turned to walk away, the audience was still clapping and yelling. Fighting down a blush, she bowed to them awkwardly again, then moved through the stands to join Damien and the others. She sat down and tried to drown out the noise, letting her mind relax after the arduous undertaking of her performance.

The judges conferred for a couple minutes while the student aide helped ready the stage for the next exhibition. To her surprise, the one in the center stood up, holding megaphone cone to his mouth. "To Sebastien Siverling, seventy contribution points for exceptional power, depth of range, and stability," he announced.

Officially, contribution points weren't finalized until the exhibitions had ended, after which they would be posted on the announcement board in the library and at the University entrance, as well as mentioned in most of the local newspapers. After all, there were a limited number of points to go around, and the most impressive exhibitions were saved until Friday. The judges only made immediate announcements of contribution points for those who made an extraordinary showing.

Damien screamed in Sebastien's ear, seemingly more excited about this than she was. "By all the greater hells! Sebastien, why didn't I know you were going to do something that amazing? You told me you were just going to display your grasp on the stuff we mastered in class!"

While those around her were jostling and cheering, she looked over to Professor Lacer, who gave her a smile and a single, slow nod.

"I'm an official apprentice, now," she murmured, laughing as she slumped back into her seat.

Chapter 149 - Auxiliary Exercises Assessment

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 26, Friday 9:00 a.m.

Friday was the last day of the exhibitions, but as first term students all of their tests were already finished, and Sebastien and her growing group of friends could peruse the spectacle at their leisure. The University grounds were transformed, packed with stalls alongside all the cobblestone paths, and temporary stages with amphitheater-like grandstands for the audience.

Sebastien had been too caught up in the workload and stress that accompanied the end of term to really appreciate the sheer effort the University put into the exhibitions. They wanted to show, indisputably, why they were the most prestigious University in the known lands. The best of the best fought for a spot within its lauded grounds, and any employer or organization could be assured of a graduate's drive and skill.

There was nowhere else in the world like this.

At this point, all of the exhibitions were focused on upper term students, some of whom already had their Master's certification and had stuck around on research-focused courses in the hopes of becoming Grandmasters.

Some students had recently patented artifacts, including one that could literally lift you out of bed and dress you for the day in under sixty seconds, including necktie and accessories. A clockwork cat with sapphire gems for eyes seemed to track the movement of passersby, its ears swiveling and tail swishing. One student had hired a chef to show off his portable camping cook-set, which heated food without a fire, light, or smoke.

It made her jealous that she'd not had the space to fit artificery into her own schedule.

Damien bought the group little baggies of exotic nuts that had been tossed in a butter and brown sugar mix and then coated in a floury powder. Each bag was two silver, an exorbitant price for such a small snack, but like the food at the Glasshopper, it was somehow worth it simply for the decadent experience.

After that, they watched five witches put on a spectacular mock battle. The men and women had familiars from each of the five elements, and their fight seemed more like a choreographed dance as they allowed themselves to be tossed high into the air and caught safely in the grip of the massive earth and water elemental. The show was very popular with the masses, and even though it had little real-world application, Sebastien could admit that it was impressive. Waverly, of course, loved it, and hung around after the show to try and talk with the witches, staring at their familiars with covetous, shiny eyes.

There was even a small mathematics exhibition, where chalk-wielding students raced to solve complex equations on large blackboards. Even though Sebastien was watching them solve the equations step by step and the progression should have been clear, she still found herself with squinty eyes and a headache trying to comprehend what they were doing.

Damien coaxed her away with skewers of some flaky white fish that had been battered, fried, and then artfully drizzled with a tangy sweet sauce. Sebastien actually drooled while eating it, and had to wipe the edge of her mouth surreptitiously to make sure no one noticed.

Unfortunately, one girl on the edge of the path had apparently been watching her, and when their eyes met, she blushed, looked away, and then returned to staring at Sebastien. Then, she actually licked her lips with an exaggerated amount of wet, pink tongue, held one finger up in a shushing motion, and winked.

Sebastien turned her head away, her face blank as she died a little inside. 'Erase it. Erase it from your brain,' she urged herself. 'Oh, look, there's so much magic to watch!'

Despite her fascination pulling her in five different directions at once, she did her best to stay with the rest of the group. Their presence acted as a kind of shield against the rest of the crowd, and several times one of them had to step in to help guard one of the others against over-eager strangers.

Rhett, hands deep in his pockets and the arms of his jacket tied around his neck, sidled closer to Sebastien as they watched a horticulture student's trained flowers open and close in waves along with the music the woman played for them. "I made things difficult during the Defense exam," he said.

Sebastien didn't reply, glancing briefly at him before refocusing on the performance.

"I'm not the best at teamwork sometimes. My mother says it's because I'm an only child." Rhett rocked back and forth on his heels, and then finally said, "I'm sorry."

Sebastien nodded. "We're all learning," she said, and knew by the somewhat hesitant smile Rhett gave her that he took it as forgiveness. She reminded herself that she was trying to be kinder, and refrained from saying what she really wanted to. 'I can forgive, if the person is deserving. But I never forget. I won't give him a chance to repeat his mistake in any situation where the outcome is actually important.'

Still, she knew how difficult it could be to admit you had been wrong, and there was something to respect in that.

After another snack of beautifully pleated steamed buns, each the size of a baby's fist and stuffed with a range of fillings from sweet to savory, their group shoved into the packed audience area of an illusion-play.

Cute, stylized animals were the main characters, and the theme was all about friendship, forgiveness, and banding together to fight against a greater enemy—an Aberrant that threatened the continued existence of the animals' village.

Three students ran the entire thing, including not only the pristine illusion itself, complete with realistic shadows and complex facial expressions, but also a moving backdrop and spells to create sound effects and the animals' voices. The play even featured the occasional gust of wind carrying faint scents. The three casters had synced their efforts seamlessly together, creating a thing of wonder.

Sebastien felt lucky to watch it, ignoring the contents of the play in favor of appreciate the sheer skill and polish it demonstrated. As they walked away, it left her somewhat dissatisfied with herself. 'I still have a long way to go before I can brag about having any real grasp on light or illusions. Seeing this, is what I did for the Practical Casting exhibition even worth any contribution points at all?'

Damien distracted her with a strange, cylindrical roll of rice and colorful vegetables wrapped tightly in a translucent dough. "You dip them in this brown sauce!" he explained excitedly, holding out a cup full of dark liquid for them to share. "They're from the East."

They were divine. 'I could really get used to being rich enough to eat like this all the time. How am I supposed to go back to cafeteria food?' It made a lot more sense to her why most of the other students had complained so much about being deprived when they started the term. 'What wonderful incentive to earn and spend contribution points. Stick, meet carrot,' she mused. She caught Damien watching her eat with an irritating, smug expression on his face, but decided not to protest. After all, she was eating for free.

But the highlight of her day was the aspiring Grandmaster student who had announced they would publicly open a portal to the Plane of Radiance. Sebastien and Waverly were equally enthusiastic about dragging the others into the warded University classroom where the feat would be displayed, early enough that they were sure to get seats. This exhibition required they all sign a waiver acknowledging the risk to their safety, but at least their student tokens got them in for free.

The organizers were handing out large glasses covered with black cloth. When she looked closely, Sebastien could see the glyphs embroidered into the fabric and chiseled into the glass around the edges. These would protect their eyes from the overwhelming, cleansing Radiance. She had heard it could blind you just as surely as staring into the sun.

Sebastien chose a seat as close to the front as possible, looking over the complex spell arrays drawn onto the floor at the front of the classroom in polished stone and precious metals, and the rare components placed around the edges. The Word for the planar portal itself was ridiculously complex, and around that a secondary barrier spell had been drawn. Both required multiple large, gem-like beast cores for power.

The secondary barrier was manned by a professor—as a failsafe—while the Grandmaster-hopeful student began to cast. The spell took almost twenty minutes to complete. When the shimmering sphere of the portal finally appeared like a bubble of light, Sebastien put on the cloth covered goggles, watching wide-eyed as the shining bubble grew to the size of a person.

When the bottom of the sphere barely touched the center of the spell array, it stabilized. Here was an example of output detachment at work, the center of the effect hanging in the air to allow a full sphere rather than a dome.

Beyond the edge of the portal, vague, bright outlines of what seemed to be a field of flowers swayed gently in an inaudible wind. In the distance, trees of light rose up, all with a strange, coherent symmetry that spoke to her of justice, hope, and an unflinching judgement of all that was less perfect.

A small form raced across the field, perhaps some rabbit-like creature, white on white. Before her eyes could parse what they were seeing, a streak descended from the sky like a lance, and burning gold splashed out from the small creature.

A feathered being looked up from its kill, seeming to meet her gaze all the way across the field and through the portal.

As she watched, the student caster climbed into a one-piece protective suit that covered him from head to toe, sealing together seamlessly like it was made of a thick liquid instead of fabric. He stepped forward with deliberate care and obvious apprehension, pierced the portal, and entered the Plane of Radiance. If he remained within the sphere, he should be safe enough.

Watching the feathered predator in the distance as it began to tear at is prey, he crouched down and dug up several of the flowers, placing them in sealed glass containers. After only a couple minutes, he stood and returned to the mundane plane, holding up the retrieved samples to resounding applause.

The portal closed with little fanfare, as if there had never been a doorway to another world just hanging right there, only a few dozen feet away.

Sebastien sat still as the rest of the audience filtered out of the large classroom, replaying the experience in her mind as her skin shuddered with goosebumps. She remembered Professor Lacer mentioning offhand that he'd once seen someone weaponize a planar portal, then shot upright like she'd been struck by lightning. "I—I have to go!" she told the others, already hurrying off at a pace that was only slightly below a run, stretching each stride as far as it would go.

'I can't believe I forgot!' Her mind raced, but quickly settled on a destination. She found Professor Lacer just as the Practical Casting exhibitions were ending. He was retying his hair with a leather cord at the base of his neck, the edges of his mouth turned down with fatigue. He'd trimmed his beard recently, and scratched at it idly as she stopped in front of him.

"I'm ready to be assessed on the auxiliary exercises you assigned whenever you want," she said, breathing heavily. "If this is an inconvenient time, I'll be available during the Sowing Break. I'm staying in the dorms."

"I was wondering if you were conveniently forgetting about that in an attempt to avoid scrutiny," he drawled. "Mr. Westbay found me to complete this days ago."

Sebastien remained silent, without excuses.

Professor Lacer sighed good-naturedly, waving for her to accompany him. "Go retrieve the practice supplies and come to my office, then, lest you gain an unfair advantage from extra time to practice." The words were scathing, but his tone was mild.

Sebastien eyed him bemusedly. 'Was that a joke?' Once again, she turned and hurried off, this time to the dorms where the box of spell exercise instructions and supplies waited. Thinking back to the beginning of term when he had given her the assignments, she remembered planning to master them by mid-term to prove to him her dedication. That seemed a laughable goal now. Even after the entire term, she was still apprehensive about her results.

When she arrived at his office, a Henrik-Thompson testing artifact sat on Professor Lacer's desk. "We might as well keep abreast of your progress in the more conventional metric, as well," he said. "But start with the exercises."

She set up her small slate table as a casting surface, then began with the first auxiliary exercise from the beginning of term. The mirrored movement spell used two of the plain metal balls all of Lacer's students had practiced so much with, one following the motion of the other. She was able to replicate the simple back-and-forth movement of the first ball in reverse, angled, or even in a curved sweep. To show off a little, she finished by lifting the "mirrored" ball a few inches off the slate surface, something she had never before practiced but which now came with surprising ease.

Then came the three-dimensional glass maze, which would rearrange itself and force her to start from the beginning any time the metal ball touched one of its walls. Here, too, the magic was malleable and acquiescent, her Will having little trouble accelerating and decelerating the ball on a moment's notice. When she had proved her capability with that, she redrew the simplistic spell array to demonstrate some more innovative solutions, such as creating a repelling force along the glass walls of the maze that made failure almost impossible.

Professor Lacer raised an eyebrow at this, but his reaction was inscrutable. She couldn't help but think that this must all seem so banal to him. She was akin to a toddler playing with wooden blocks while he built Titanic monuments.

Next, she displayed a less obvious spell, the air-compression exercise, which could be vaguely visible as a shimmer in the air.

Professor Lacer cast something with a wave of his hand, then stared more intently at the mirage in the center of her Circle.

'A divination of some sort,' she realized. Whatever it was, it only caught the barest edges of her divination-diverting ward and was easy enough to ignore.

She drew as much air as she could into a single point, then allowed it to explode outward with enough force to create a popping sound and blow her hair back from her face. Then she repeated the compression, but released the air with gentle control. Then, rather than a uniform sphere, she pressed the air into simple shapes of increasing complexity.

Finally, she adjusted the spell array and created a more complex shape, like a string of oddly-shaped pearls formed in a loop. She took some time to concentrate, adjusting the details until everything was just right. Then, one after the other, she allowed the areas of compressed air to pop. Each let off a slightly different sound, and all together they formed an extremely rudimentary, frankly horrible sounding tune made up of about six different notes.

Professor Lacer hummed ambivalently, and the sense of observation from his divination spell dropped.

Sebastien rolled her head from side to side to stretch her tense neck muscles, then rolled her jaw. She had been clenching it without realizing.

With a deep breath, she erased that spell array and drew out yet another, this time setting a small tea candle in the center and lighting it. This time, she fed her Will gently into the spell array, trying to imagine the transition of wax into gases, heat, and light. Changing the color, brightness, and shape of the candle flame had been much more difficult before all the practice she did for the exhibition, but at this point didn't give her much trouble.

It was the final exercise that made her most apprehensive.

She had taken a second autumn leaf transmogrification exercise so that Professor Lacer would teach her output detachment. To complement the in-class exercise, which used the idea of light stored in the leaf's creation, she had chosen something relatively simple—the darkness of a long winter night.

But as she brought down shadow to the center of the Circle, it was noticeably less stark than what she could have achieved using simple transmutation or even absorbing light as a Sacrifice. Without the glyph for "light" allowing her to affect that energy, trying to smother the area in darkness instead was so much more difficult than she could have expected.

Professor Lacer frowned, and this time there was no question about his verdict. "What is your intention?"

She explained the exercise she'd picked. "The spell instructions specifically say that the light doesn't disappear, but darkness descends, overpowering day."

His frown grew deeper. "Try again, but this time think about the retreat of the sun."

He asked her to change her focus thrice more, focusing on the connotation of the time just after sunset, a winter night with only stars, and even a night sky with the clouds blocking out the moon. His frown grew deeper with each attempt, and she thought her shadows might actually be growing weaker. Perhaps it was her lack of familiarity with these new twists on the concept.

She flushed, unable to meet his gaze. She forced herself not to hunch her shoulders and hang her head like a snail trying to retreat into its shell. "It doesn't really make sense to me," she admitted. "Darkness doesn't descend. It's just an absence of light. Shadow can't overpower light."

Professor Lacer sighed, moving away to lean against his desk. "This is not the first issue you've had with transmogrification, correct? I noticed your in-class exercise of a similar nature was weaker than your usual standard. And I believe you mentioned some struggles with Pecanty?"

"...Yes," she agreed in a small voice, placing her hands carefully on her knees. "I can create shadows or darkness a lot of other, different ways. Maybe I'm just not grasping the concept correctly?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, not everyone has natural talent in this area. At least you did not attempt to cheat by using transmutation."

The words hit her like a blow, but she didn't flinch. Her heart had begun to crash against her ribcage from the inside, but her cheeks totally lacked the tingle of a blush. Professor Gnorrish had once shown how a strong grasp of transmutation's principles could improve one's performance when creating the same effect with transmogrification. 'If I hadn't been researching light so deeply, would my attempts have been even more lackluster?' Sebastien turned her head to meet Professor Lacer's steady gaze. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Let us try once more." He palmed his Conduit, weighing it for a moment before he closed his fingers around it. "Look at the leaf again. Trace its veins with your eyes. Remember its smell. You must know that this leaf came from a tree that witness the final winter of its world."

His Will began to swim through the air, coiling tighter and tighter, bringing with it a strange chill and changing the light, as if she were staring at the world from underwater, or perhaps during an eclipse. She shuddered, but forced her focus onto the leaf and his words. No thaumaturge worth their salt would be distracted by the insignificant details of their environment while in the middle of casting. Her shadow was still more "shrouded twilight" than "inky midnight," but at least it had improved from her most recent attempt.

"On the shortest, coldest day of the year, the sun was like weak tea, barely breaking through the gloom. The world, like the tree that this leaf fell from, had gone into hibernation in an attempt to conserve energy until the sun grew strong and came close again."

A depressive bleakness settled against her skin, and when she breathed, it rode the air inside her and coated her lungs. She breathed out, trying to push that feeling into the shadow that came from this imaginary leaf from the end of the world.

"But instead," Professor Lacer said, his voice low and sinister, "the sun set never to rise again. The long night went on and on, and the cold sank deeper and deeper, past the crust of the earth and into its warm core. It smothered the last warmth and light of the world like a baby strangled in its crib. And the tree sat there, this dead leaf abiding in the placid, frigid darkness."

Sebastien shivered at the imagery, her eyes stinging from the cold as she struggled to breath in the syrup-like air, which pressed on her from the inside and out as if urging her to lie down and die. Her bones ached. Two tears spilled down her cheeks, and even she couldn't tell if it was a response to the cold or the infectious emotion. The shadow at the center of the spell array was a godforsaken sooty grey, significantly better than before but still an obvious disappointment.

As Professor Lacer drew back whatever spell he had been casting, she released her own as well. "I have been practicing as much as I'm able," she said. "Though perhaps I haven't put in as many hours on this spell as some of the earlier ones, I'm really not sure why I'm having such trouble. Perhaps it's because my other spell with the same leaf was using such a completely opposing concept. I think I did a lot better with that one."

"I believe I understand what your problem is, but it is something that you must overcome on your own. You may not be naturally apt with transmogrification, but you are stubborn and resourceful. Try harder. Dig deeper. Dissect your failure." He looked at her, his gaze heavy and piercing.

"I will," she promised, her voice scratchy.

"Let us test your capacity," he said simply.

Sebastien's knuckles went bloodless white as she squeezed her Conduit. She stood and moved over to his desk where the artifact sat. He handed her a beast core and she held nothing back, sucking power from it like the hungry maw of a whirlpool and slamming it into the artifact as if her life depended on it.

She pushed until she had to close her eyes against the brightness of the light. Her ears rang with a high-pitched buzz. She breathed out and tasted blood, though she knew it was only an illusion from how hard her heart and lungs were working, as if she was pushing herself to the limit in a dead sprint for Fekten's class.

When she reached her breaking point, the arm of her clenched fist was trembling. She opened her eyes, staring into the light for a moment, and then released the spell, even as she released her Conduit. One stiff finger at a time, until it dropped to hang helplessly from the chain that connected it to her pocket watch.

"Four hundred twelve thaums," he announced. "We will have to recalibrate the settings for a higher-term student next time, or you will blind us both." Students who had never cast before entering the University could expect to end their first term with a capacity between eighty to one hundred sixty thaums, depending on how much time and effort they put in. Her head start had given her more than just the obvious advantage, as the Will advanced faster when the foundation it grew from was larger. Archmage Zard, who was over a hundred years old and whose capacity was estimated to be in the tens of thousands, could probably improve by a couple hundred thaums within half the time it had taken her. And at the age of eleven, it had taken her almost two weeks of strictly supervised, short practice sessions to improve by a single thaum.

For her to break four hundred thaums now was not unexpected, as she had been improving at a steady pace, but when she thought back to the beginning of term. It put her firmly in the middle range of a standard Apprentice who had just received their license, but meant that she had almost doubled her capacity from the beginning of term. In only five months, she had achieved almost as much as all the years since she began learning from Grandfather. Her progress had stagnated for much of that time, with not enough time spent practicing, and no new magic to stretch her Will. 'It was the right decision to come here. Despite everything.' When trying to do the math on the ratio of improvement, she realized that her birthday had passed, without her even realizing it, and she was now two decades old.

Professor Lacer moved around to the other side of his desk, reaching into one of the drawers and pulling out a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. "I must commend your dedication. It is obvious from your rate of improvement."

Normally, praise from him would leave her feeling like she could float on air. It still did, to some extent, especially after the poor performance she'd shown just before, but the feeling was more relief than pride. She remembered the complete nonchalance of his expression after she told him what happened to the Moore family. 'Where does he draw the line?' she couldn't help but wonder, some of that cold bleakness he had spread through the room earlier returning to her chest. 'If he would do that to them, just for being related to Newton, for loving him… What would it take for him to do something similar to me?' Sure, she was his apprentice, but that could only hold so much weight.

She swallowed. 'I will have to observe him for much longer to understand him. To find out if, like Ennis, Thaddeus Lacer is the type to throw those closest to him to the wolves when it becomes most convenient.'

He held the parcel out to her. "For you."

Sebastien accepted it, her eyes widening with surprise. She could tell by the feel that it was a book.

Professor Lacer gave her a small, amused smile, as if they shared a joke. "As you have succeeded in becoming my official apprentice, you should read that and heed the advice within. I bought it specifically thinking of you."

Whatever doubts and suspicions she held were nothing in the face of his words, and she flushed. Bowing deeply to avoid his gaze, she tried to settle her expression. "Thank you."

"Alright, off with you then," he said, waving his hand in a shooing motion. "Don't do anything foolish with all this free time."

Sebastien exited the room and closed the door behind herself, then took almost a minute just to settle her rioting emotions. She was unused to feeling so many different things at once.

Realizing how embarrassing it would be if Professor Lacer exited his office and found her still outside, she hurried off. The assessment had taken longer than she expected, as the sky was streaked with the orange and pink of an approaching sunset.

With careful movements and slightly trembling fingers, she unwrapped the book without tearing the plain brown paper. It was large but less than an inch thick, with glossy, colorful ink embossed on the front color.

Sebastien read the title, then read it again. She blinked twice.

100 Clever Ways Thaumaturges have Committed Suicide it read, and in smaller print down below, How to Avoid Offing Yourself Through Sheer, Reckless Stupidity.

"Heed the advice within," he had said, smiling as if they were both sharing a joke. "I bought it specifically thinking of you."

Sebastien let out a sharp, scoffing laugh that somehow ended up morphing into real mirth. "Okay," she muttered to herself, looking back over her shoulder in the direction of his office. "I can admit, it's a pretty appropriate gift."

Chapter 150 - Mysteries and Missions

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 26, Friday 8:00pm

Sebastien flipped bemusedly through 100 Clever Ways Thaumaturges have Committed Suicide as she returned to the dorms, skimming the entries and the simultaneously fascinating and often horrifying illustrations that accompanied them. Some of those whose mistakes had been considered worthy entries into the book were turned into Aberrants. More died in a more traditional manner. Just as Sebastien was beginning to get sucked into a gruesome account of an alchemist who had tried to Sacrifice a potion to empower another potion with its effects, she arrived at her group's dorm room and was distracted by the ant hive hubbub of the remaining students preparing to leave.

She found Ana at the far side of the room, instructing some of her Family's servants who had come to help her pack up and move her things. Unlike Sebastien, who didn't own much more than what would fit into the large trunk at the foot of her bed and the drawers of her bedside table, Ana's belongings had filled the empty space under her bed, as well as some shelving that she'd set up along the wall of her cubicle.

Sebastien had packed up none of her own things, as she was one of the handful of students in their group who planned to stay at the University over the break. If they were assigned new quarters for the upcoming terms, she would simply move her things directly—while of course making sure to erase the traces of what modifications she'd made to her cubicle.

When Ana's things were all packed up and her servants were busy hauling them off, Sebastien sidled up to her, doing her best to act nonchalant.

Ana raised her eyebrows inquisitively, most likely seeing through to Sebastien's underlying tension.

"I'll walk you out," Sebastien offered.

Ana smiled with pleased surprise, linking their arms together and leading the way.

Since Sebastien could think of no natural way to segue into her question, she simply asked. "What happens to the students who've gone insane from Will-strain?"

Ana slowed, but did not stop. "They are treated in the infirmary by some of the best healers in the known lands. The University will do its best to fix them."

"And for those who cannot be fixed? Or those whose treatment will take months?"

Ana squeezed Sebastien's arm tighter. "They will be sent to the Retreat at Willowdale. It is a long term treatment center where they will receive the care they need while being given time and every opportunity to heal. My Family makes a sizable contribution every year to cover the costs for those who have no family or estate to do so for them, and I know several of the other Crown Families do the same. Sometimes, if there is no one to pay and the damage is severe enough for one of the more secure wards, the University will cover the costs. I cannot say what's happened to them will be alright, but they will suffer as little as possible in their remaining time. Did you…know any of the students who succumbed?"

"I was just wondering," Sebastien said quietly. There had been several more incidents of Will-strain as the end of the term descended, some more severe than others, and even some directly during the exams and exhibitions. Students had died, too, though the faculty did their best not to make a production out of that knowledge. 'It would place a bit of a damper on the exhibitions, to be talking about all those who accidentally killed themselves trying to do something impressive.' Sebastien knew the University had wards, guards, and emergency response policies in place to deal with the issues that arose from such a thing. Perhaps they even had more subtle protections in place, but she couldn't help but think how dangerous it was to pack thousands upon thousands of desperate thaumaturges together.

Remembering the book Professor Lacer had gifted her, she postulated that things must have gone wrong quite a lot over the few hundred years, and it could only be luck that any mishaps had not been so catastrophic as to wipe the University off the map. Aberrants were rare, true, but over time even low probabilities meant only one thing. There was a chance that something irreparable could go wrong, and so eventually, it must.

'Hopefully I will be finished with my schooling and long gone by that point,' Sebastien thought. She shuddered, immediately realizing that kind of thought for what it was. A glorious temptation for the forces of irony. At least she hadn't said it out loud.

Ana squeezed her arm again as they came to a stop at the top of the transport tube station, which bustled with people. "I don't know if it would make you feel better, but the Retreat at Willowdale does allow volunteers to come interact with and entertain the patients. When I was young, I went there with my caroling group."

A slow smile stretched across Sebastien's face. "That's a wonderful idea. Thank you, Ana." She leaned closer to bump their shoulders together.

A few meters away, two girls squealed, obviously watching them.

Ana and Sebastien turned a simultaneous wrathful glare at them, and Sebastien wasn't ashamed of the petty vindication she felt as the other two girls paled and looked away, not even daring to continue whispering to each other.

After extending an open invitation to visit the main Gervin manor over the break, Ana left.

When Sebastien returned to the dorms, she found Damien pacing in front of her cubicle, continuously smoothing his hair back even though not a strand was out of place. As soon as he saw her, he stomped up, grabbed her by the elbow, and dragged her out of the room. To her surprise, he marched them to the nearest bathroom, shoved an angled rubber stopper under the door to keep it shut, and then dragged her into the farthest stall.

"What's wrong?" she asked, alarm tightening her shoulders.

Damien's eyes were bloodshot and a little wild despite his otherwise impeccable attire. "Sebastien, I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth. Please."

"Okay…?"

"Promise me."

Sebastien swallowed her foreboding. "I will tell you the truth, or keep my silence. I swear it."

Damien grimaced, obviously not appreciating her caveat, but didn't argue. "Has Oliver Dryden ever made you uncomfortable, flirted with you, or attempted to get you to repay his help with sexual favors? Is he trying to coerce you into some sort of relationship?"

"What? No. What?" Sebastien had spoken before even considering her response, reeling from the completely unexpected line of questioning.

Damien stared at her searchingly. "Are you sure?"

For a moment, Sebastien considered the gifts Oliver had given her, the meals they had eaten together and the conversations they'd had. But Oliver treated everyone like they were important and special. She had seen it, with his servants, random waiters, and even occasionally strangers he met on the street, regardless of gender or species. It was one of the ways he slowly and subtly gathered power. "I'm sure," she said firmly.

Damien turned to try and pace again, though the stall they were in constricted his movement to only a single stride. He muttered almost inaudibly under his breath, "—so oblivious, would he even notice?"

Sebastien reached out to stop Damien, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Yes, I think I would notice. Mr. Dryden and I do not have that kind of relationship."

"What kind of relationship do you have, then?"

That was the obvious next question, but it still took Sebastien aback.

"He paid for you to come to the University, didn't he? You have no family, you said as much. And you were poor." When Sebastien blinked at him, he scoffed impatiently. "Your clothes may be of good quality, and fashionable, but you only have a few sets. You couldn't even afford a proper Conduit! Who else here so meticulously cares for their things, to the point of casting a mending spell at the first sign of a loose thread, or keeps any leftover components when we are done casting in class? Of course I noticed, Sebastien."

As she wondered what explanation she could give that would fit the verifiable facts without being incriminating, she almost wished she'd gone along with Damien's suspicions. "Where is this coming from?" she asked quietly. "Something happened."

"Titus came—to pick me up, I thought—but actually to make some ridiculous accusations and warn me to be careful of you. He thinks you're using your charm to manipulate Dryden. But one of his coppers told me that she thought Dryden was trying to take advantage of you, maybe abuse you. Titus was investigating it." Damien tugged at his hair, mussing up the perfect styling he'd been smoothing into it obsessively. "It's all so convoluted and absurd. Do you remember when you dressed up as a certain infamous woman so we could get photos of Ana's uncles trying to trade with her? Titus thinks we're in some sort of relationship because the hotel employee noticed that we only used one room and tried to blackmail him about announcing my secret relationship with you. And the copper told me she saw Dryden with a prostitute that looks like you—he has some sort of obsession, a fixation. Apparently Titus confronted him and he basically admitted it. You can be really oblivious, and maybe Dryden was trying to keep it secret, but you shouldn't trust him so blindly, Sebastien."

Sebastien reeled from the deluge of information, trying to organize it all in her head. "Titus was investigating…" she left the 'me' unsaid, suddenly nauseated. "Is there any particular reason that I shouldn't trust Mr. Dryden, except for this nonsensical belief that he has a…'fixation' on me?"

"Isn't that enough!? Why else do you think he would give you the coin needed to attend the University? I'm not stupid, Sebastien. I know how expensive it is. Did he give you your clothes, too? And he lets you stay at his home when you're not here. Don't you see that it's strange? Do you have some other explanation?"

She hesitated, trying to come up with a something plausible that wouldn't contradict whatever Titus might have found. Could she say that she had agreed to work for Oliver after graduation, maybe? Or maybe it would be better to just go along with Damien's version of things. But he would still have questions about her backstory with Oliver.

She hesitated too long, and Damien was watching her face the whole time. His hands fell down to his sides, some of the nervous energy leaving him. "What kind of favor did you have Ana do for Lord Dryden?"

Ice flowed through her veins and stiffened her muscles.

"Because you told me that—that our mutual secret, the leaders wanted us to do it for more than Ana's sake. And Ana mentioned offhand doing something for you that was really more for him." Damien lifted a hand to his mouth, fingers pressing delicately against his lips as the stared at the wall of the stall behind her, lost in realization. Then gaze snapped back to hers. "Is he the leader?" he demanded. "Merlin's balls, has he been the one giving the orders the whole time?"

"No!" Sebastien protested, shaking her head violently. "No," she repeated, putting her sincerity into her voice. Suddenly, she realized that Oliver, too, had one of the thirteen-pointed star coasters that she'd made for herself and Damien. 'Did he plan that, too? A token that would give him influence over one of the powerful Crown Family members, conveniently associated with the law enforcement that could give him so much trouble?'

She shook her head again, shaking off the errant thoughts. Oliver was also Lord Stag, who was closely connected to the Raven Queen. She could not afford to entangle Sebastien with him so intimately if she wanted to remain free of suspicion. Especially now that she had realized she could not trust him.

Oliver being the leader of her fake secret organization hit a little too close to the truth, and when things inevitably went south, as she was trying to remind herself would always happen at some point, she did not want Damien to draw the—correct—conclusions. She doubted his loyalty would extend that far.

"He is not the leader," she said. "He's not even a member."

Damien's eyes narrowed. "Is he…a provisional member?" His voice rose in pitch with delight. "Just like me? He doesn't even have access and just does what he's told?" Damien didn't wait for her confirmation, turning to pace again. He threw back his head and smothered a laugh with his hand. "Oh, that's better than I could have ever imagined."

Sebastien considered denying Damien's ridiculous mental leap, but then she would have to find some other way to explain the loan, their relationship, and the Gervin textile commission. This fit…and it would keep Damien's mouth shut. Ennis had mentioned once that people were more likely to believe an explanation that they had come up with themselves. She cleared her throat awkwardly, both relieved and strangely guilty. "Well, yes. But between you and me, Damien, I'm not sure he's going to be accepted as a full member. He's philanthropic, but not as reliable as he might seem. It might be better if he just continues to do his part separately from our own efforts."

Damien's eyes were wide and shiny, and he smothered another crowing laugh.

"Titus cannot know about this."

Damien nodded readily. "No one can know. Don't worry, none will hear a peep out of me. But why isn't Dryden reliable? Did he fail a mission?"

Sebastien raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

"Of course you won't tell me," Damien huffed. "It's confidential, yadda yadda."

"Do I need to worry about Titus digging into things he shouldn't?" she asked.

That sobered Damien somewhat. "I don't…think so? Mostly, he just seemed concerned that you were trying to use and manipulate me. I mean, he thought you were being so rude to me in the beginning so that I would notice and think about you. That way I would care more once you schemed your way to flipping our dynamic on its head and making us friends." He caught her incredulous expression and laughed. "I know, it's ridiculous! But he didn't mention any suspicious activity, not even the part of Operation Defenestration everyone knows about."

"But he dug into my background?"

"Yes… He said you were an orphan who experienced a lot of hardship and learned how to make hard choices and see the world differently because of it."

Well, that was at least partially false, but this whole situation was concerning. She needed to talk to Oliver. 'Was this what the note he sent a couple days ago asking to meet with me was about?' He had people in Harrow Hill who might be able to warn them if Titus was getting too close to the truth, and he was the one who'd actually spoken to the man. As much as she'd wanted to avoid him until she'd learned more about whatever he had secretly stolen, it looked like she wouldn't be able to put it off any longer. She would have to bury her hurt and suspicion deep and hope he wasn't able to see through her.

She had been silent too long, and Damien asked, "Is that a problem? I know you don't like to talk about your past. He didn't tell me any details, Sebastien."

"It's fine," she said.

"I was going to invite you to spend the break with us, but I'm not so sure that's a good idea any more."

She let out a humorless laugh. "I'll be staying here over the break. I already planned to do that, even before all this."

"I'm not sure how much use I can be, but if you need me to help throw him off the trail somehow, I'll do my best. And while we're speaking of it, are there any new missions from the higher-ups? What am I doing next?"

Sebastien's eyes flicked away as she tried to think. It was a little too much at once, and she hadn't spent much time considering what to do with Damien now that Operation Defenestration was over. She should have known he would be getting restless.

"There is something!" he stated triumphantly. "Just tell me. I might still be a provisional member, but I've proved I'm trustworthy, haven't I? I can be quite useful. Otherwise, I'll just spend the whole break practicing magic, studying, and dueling until I end up surpassing you. And then maybe Professor Lacer will decide to take a second apprentice…"

She was ignoring him by this point, because she'd had an epiphany. "There is a mission," she said, interrupting him. "But I was going to take it myself. It's a ton of work, and will take a very long time."

Damien crossed his arms, thrusting his chest out in umbrage. "I can handle a real project."

"The mission is to compile all records of rogue magic incidents that have required the involvement of the Red Guard, within a twenty kilometer radius of Gilbratha and the last thirty years. Include detailed information noting when the records of the situation before do not exactly match the follow-up report. Also, when someone who hasn't shown signs of 'corrupted Will' is suddenly revealed to have been secretly experimenting with things they shouldn't. And finally, take special note of when the details of any immoral experimentation is vague."

Damien's eyes widened. "Like Newton." It wasn't a question, and she didn't answer it, continuing on with her instructions.

"I imagine you'll be reading a lot of newspapers. Take note of when the explanations are worded the same or extremely similarly. Keep note of the authors of any relevant articles. Note how the Red Guard responded to each incident, and search for patterns." She lifted a finger, the idea for this mission solidifying in her mind as she spoke through it. "Those are the generalities, but as I said, this is a large project. It must be approached in steps. First, and perhaps most tedious, you simply need to make a thorough compilation of all records you can get access to. If you find anything interesting, don't start digging deeper. Just make a note of it for later perusal during the actual research and pattern-finding phases. I'm not sure how much of this kind of thing will be public record. If you can, you may need to use your connection to the coppers to get access to more complete records. Discreetly."

Damien remained silent for a few moments, and then said solemnly, "I accept."

But she was already worried, remembering what had happened to Newton. "This is dangerous, and not just as a hypothetical," she warned. "It might lead to serious consequences for you if the wrong person becomes suspicious. It is not safe," she reiterated.

"I understand."

She didn't think he did. How could he, when he didn't know what she knew about the Moore family? "If you dig deep into this, you will almost certainly learn things that are dangerous simply to know. And when I say that, I am not exaggerating. Even worse if you were to somehow let slip any information. Deadly dangerous, horrifyingly dangerous," Sebastien said, putting as much gravitas into her tone as possible as she reached out and squeezed his arm a little too tight. He needed to understand.

Damien had gone a little pale, but his jaw was firm. "I can guess at the kind of things I might uncover just from the mission parameters." He spoke in a low murmur, as if they might be overheard despite his earlier precautions. "Newton is the one that triggered the higher-ups' interest? Well, whatever there is to find out, I want to know, too. And if I complete this… It seems like a big enough mission to make me a full member."

He nodded to himself, turning away just in time to miss the dismay that Sebastien knew she hadn't been able to keep from her expression. "Be careful," she said as he opened the stall door.

She hung around awkwardly as he left, wondering if she could take back the mission as she listened to him complain about how someone should really invent luggage with little legs that would follow its owner so one didn't have to lug their belongings around personally. "Or at least wheels, dammit," he whined, huffing and puffing until Sebastien had mercy on him and took two of his stuffed-full bags into her own hands.

She watched him ride down the transparent tubes, then turned back to the darkened grounds. There was another thing that she needed to investigate. The first step was finding the few people who had survived the archaeological expedition into the Black Wastes. "The Retreat at Willowdale, hmm?" she murmured aloud.

Chapter 151 - One Hundred Ways to Die

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 27, Saturday 3:00 a.m.

Sebastien sat at the head of her dormitory bed, looking through the window. The University was quiet enough to hear the wind. She hadn't realized how much ambient noise thousands of students could add to a place, even at night when they were all supposed to be asleep.

It was like how many more stars one could see in the night sky when they woke after their fire had gone out along the edge of one of the roads between distant cities.

She picked up 100 Clever Ways Thaumaturges Have Committed Suicide and settled in to pass the time with a few entries. The title was not entirely accurate. Sometimes, "clever" experiments didn't kill the caster, but the subject of the spell, or even completely unrelated innocents who happened to get too close. All told in an almost comically dry tone, about half of the entries within referenced something done during the era of the Blood Empire, notorious for its immoral exploration of magic's furthest reaches.

The other half were from random thaumaturges who thought they'd had an ingenious idea that would revolutionize the world.

Many of these ideas were obviously foolish, but frighteningly, some seemed just the wrong side of reasonable. As the title said, "clever."

Severin Whilkes, a woman known for developing several modern cosmetic glamours, had decided to experiment with Sacrificing her own fat stores for power. She found initial success, but while demonstrating this feat to a group of her contemporaries, lost control. Accounts of the incident varied, but it was generally accepted that she had slipped and begun to channel magic through her own flesh.

Rather than mercifully dying, her Will broke and she became an Aberrant. Most of those in the audience were downed by the experience, but one woman's daughter had not yet begun to practice magic. The twelve-year old girl had fumbled out the battle wand from her mother's purse and used every single fireball spell stored within it to kill the Aberrant.

In the process, six other women were killed by the Aberrant, classified Fiend-type as it's attack was touch-based and without any abstract effects. While using illusions to appear as a young, slender girl, it ate them from the inside, leaving empty bags of skin behind.

Afterward, the investigation used divination to reconstruct an image of the Aberrant from its charred remains. It was nothing more than a huge ball of layered, wrinkled, and sagging flesh peppered with random eyes, mouths, and noses.

'It would be like trying to cast through a Conduit that's been embedded inside your body—possible, but incredibly dangerous. Without the natural barrier of your skin, the only thing containing the magic would be your Will. Any tiny mistake and suddenly you're not just Sacrificing your fat stores, but channeling through your own flesh.' This was not one of the particularly clever experiments.

The next entry was about a thaumaturge who lived during the Third Empire—under the reign of the infamous Blood Emperor. The man had attempted to develop a spell that could directly improve one's Will, under the theory that thaumaturges had a magical "core" that could be stimulated externally. After multiple failures that involved the death of his test subjects, he concluded that there was in fact, no magical core, and no way to directly improve the Will, tossed that idea aside, and decided to develop a spell that would practice magic for the subject.

Sebastien didn't need to read the rest of the entry to know how badly this would go, but she continued on, grotesquely fascinated. After even more failures, and the threat of his research being defunded, the thaumaturge decided that the way to do this was to create a spell that could take over the subject entirely, effecting perfect mind, body, and emotional control, as all those were needed to effectively exert the Will.

After the death of even more subjects as he fine-tuned this delicate and powerful spell, he saw initial success. Followed by the subjects repeatedly going insane and dying to Will-strain.

In addition to the mental strain exacerbated by whatever was left of the subjects' original personality fighting against the curse he'd forced on them, there was only so much effort a person could exert in a period of time without hurting themselves.

His efforts, however, did lead to a wave of popularity among the wealthy and influential, who began cursing their "lazy" children with a much milder compulsion to make them more likely to practice. It was accompanied by a correspondingly milder rise in debilitating Will-strain.

The practice, of course, was outlawed with the fall of the Third Empire and the rise of the Thirteen Crowns.

The next two entries were similar. In the first, an apprentice alchemist dissatisfied with his lot in life attempted to sacrifice a potion to empower another potion, believing that as they were the same type of potion, even brewed as part of the same batch, doing so would simply boost the effects.

'But what would be the point?' Sebastien wondered. 'If he wanted a stronger brew, and could produce a minimum of two weaker potions in the same batch, he could have simply altered the alchemical process to make only one, significantly stronger potion. It would have been more efficient, because some part of the original is always lost in Sacrifice. Well, perhaps this was only the initial test—a supposedly safe experiment before he moved onto more daring attempts.'

The apprentice alchemist's attempt led to his immediate death via magical explosion, but according to the book, his theory hadn't been completely wrong, only improperly executed. It was hypothetically possible to sacrifice a potion to enhance another potion, but the process was complicated, delicate and dangerous. The book didn't get too far into advanced theory, but apparently rituals involved in alchemy created a kind of self-referential weave of magic based on the components and process of combining them. The magic of the completed potion was not the same as the magic of the individual components beforehand.

Rather than simple addition—one potion plus one potion equals super potion—it was like trying to combine the thread of two embroidered three-dimensional symbols after the fact.

The practice was of little use other than bragging rights over one's theoretical understanding and fine control.

In the entry after that, several people over the course of history had tried to sacrifice a spell array to improve another spell array. This was not simply difficult, but impossible, and invariably led to immediate loss of control of the spell, accompanied by severe backlash. Not even Myrddin was rumored to have attempted such stupidity.

Spell arrays could, however, reference attached or embedded sub-arrays, often seen in artificery when complex instruction was required. Spell arrays could be incredibly complex and multi-layered, performing sub-functions that fed larger functions. But if you wanted to make your array itself more robust, there was only one way. Use better conductive materials, the best being celerium.

The entry after that was worryingly reasonable. A man had the clever idea that Sacrificing things could be used as a direct form of attack.

Sebastien stopped reading, hoping to figure out the dangers on her own, admittedly as a way to soothe her worries that she might try something similarly unsafe without proper consideration. 'This would require one to either be a free-caster, or for the enemy to step into or be close to the spell array's Circle. It would require the caster to be close to or in sight of the enemy. With those restrictions, how would I attack someone else, and conversely defend against such an attack?'

She wasn't a free-caster, so her enemy would need to be directly within her spell array. She could lay a trap and lure them into it. The easiest thing to Sacrifice would be the heat within the Circle. She would have to channel that energy into the spell array, and then onto something else, even if that was only forcing the heat to radiate outward.

But her capacity was too low to absorb heat fast enough to cause more than a mild chill. If she could pull the heat directly from the enemy's body, that would be more effective. 'But what about the natural barrier of their skin? Would authority gained within the bounds of the spell array take precedence over that?' She anticipated it would make things more difficult, at the very least. Against a being with a strong Will of their own, it might make more direct attacks nearly impossible.

If she had some of their blood, that could be bypassed, but then it seemed simpler just to curse them directly. Even Thaddeus Lacer couldn't do something edgy like Sacrificing the heart right out of his enemies' chests.

But above all, before Sebastien made any debilitating progress with such a method, the enemy was likely to just walk out of the Circle.

What if she could draw a spell array around a sleeping enemy? Though if she could do that, again it seemed better to subdue or kill them more directly.

'I could Sacrifice the oxygen in my enemy's lungs. The open pathway to the outside world should negate the skin's barrier, and everyone needs to breathe.' It could be done fast enough to cause confusion and disorientation. If she did that in conjunction with Sacrificing the light, someone might not be able to find their way out before they collapsed. The targeting would need to be precise, and her focus clear, but it seemed plausible.

'How would I defend against something like that?' Immediately, the answer came to her. Just as she had fought over the spell array to spin a metal ball around a circle in Professor Lacer's class, she could fight over control of a spell array surrounding her. She may not have drawn it, but who was to say it, and the area within it, didn't still belong to her? Even if her opponent was stronger, with the right application of surprise and intent, she might be able to make them lose control of the spell. In the worst case scenario, the extra stress could even cause her opponent's Conduit to shatter. Most people did not carry a handy backup somewhere on their person—and even if they did, she had recently discovered that most people wouldn't have such an easy time using one.

Feeling that she had understood the biggest dangers, Sebastien returned to 100 Clever Ways Thaumaturges Have Committed Suicide.

The man who had inspired this entry hadn't settled for anything so mundane as her ideas. He had a much higher capacity than Sebastien, and thus greater options. He had designed a torture cage of sorts for his ex-wife, also a powerful thaumaturge in her own right. When she entered the bounds of his pre-drawn Circle, he immediately Sacrificed all of the air around her, leaving her in a low-temperature, depressurized vacuum, just as Myrddin had postulated filled the space between planets and stars. The air that was Sacrificed powered the barrier keeping her trapped inside.

Unlike the common misconception, even with low temperature, without the conduction and convection of heat facilitated by the atmosphere, the only way to lose heat was through radiation. Thus, the man's wife did not immediately turn into a human-shaped icicle.

But the absence of pressure was a problem. She tried to hold her breath as the air in her lungs expanded, and ended up rupturing the delicate tissue. The blood in her veins began to boil, essentially, and caused embolisms—blood vessels being blocked by gas bubbles in the bloodstream.

Without oxygen, her brain immediately began to shut down, and she would have passed out in less than half a minute and died in under two, except for the fact that she was as paranoid as her ex-husband was sadistic. She carried an expensive healing potion at all times, with the bottle's lid spelled with the same modified piercing spell Healer Nidson had used to get Humphries' adapting solution directly into the bloodstream.

Using the overpowered reparative effects, the woman bought herself time, which she used to bombard the spell's barrier with a battle wand while simultaneously wresting control of the spell array from him.

He couldn't withstand the dual-sided attack, and lost control. The air rushing back in caused the woman more damage, but not enough to overcome the lingering effects of her healing potion.

In the end, she caught him, overpowered and beat him bloody, then dragged him literally kicking and screaming into the spell array he had meant for her. He died approximately two minutes later. There were illustrations to drive home the point.

His ex-wife was questioned and charged with excessive force when retaliating, but as she was now the lover of the town's most influential man, her actions were deemed self-defense and all charges were dropped.

Sebastien set the book down. Fascinating as it was, this was not helping to soothe her anxiety. 'Maybe, just maybe, sitting around in bed reading about everything that can go horribly wrong is making it worse.' The sun was not yet rising, but the University grounds were lit, and the streetlamps in the nice areas of town had been on all night. No carriages would be out at this early hour, but she was no stranger to walking, and even if the servants would all be asleep, she still had a key to Dryden Manor.

She arrived quite chilled, closing the front door stealthily behind her and tiptoeing through the dark house up to the guest room set aside as her own. A couple minutes of work got Myrddin's journal out from its hiding place within the stone floor. She let out a breath of relief, because though she had no particular reason to believe Oliver would suddenly go after her book, or that he even knew where it was, her current lack of trust in him had left her paranoid.

It had been weeks since she received these decryption spells from the secret thaumaturge meetings, but she had been so busy she hadn't made much progress after that first night.

She tried the more standard divination spell first, while she was still mentally fresh. It required her to make an extremely fine alchemical powder, which she sprinkled over and around the book. When she finally cast the actual divination spell, the powder shifted and began to glow, highlighting areas of recent interaction and possible interest. As she had feared, it showed a few of her own fingerprints, as well as drawing attention to the otherwise invisible signs of tampering where she had cut away the binding to search for clues. Nothing seemed like an actual clue toward decrypting it, or any potential password.

She had expected as much, and wasn't too disappointed.

The brute-force mathematical decryption came next, which still required a few more hours of work on her part to lower the power requirements via extending the casting time, and to solidify a Word that a layman such as herself could understand. In the end, she put an entire stack of notes within one of the component Circles, because she couldn't actually fit everything within the spell array scratched onto the floor in chalk.

Finally, she spent the next three hours feeding the spell array a steady stream of energy from a grouped series of candles, because her beast core didn't have the power to last that long and should be reserved for emergencies.

It was too much power, and too long spent concentrating, even for her. The book sat there innocently, the glyph on the front shifting as steadily as ever. Once it was clear she was not making any progress, and she could not safely continue, she dropped the spell. She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness and nausea as the room spun around her.

The sun was up now, and despite the early hour she felt almost sick with sheer mental fatigue, as if her thoughts were unmoored.

When the dizziness passed, she stared impassively down at the mess of her latest attempt. It took a while to build up the energy, but eventually she roused herself to clean it all up and hide the book away again. She hesitated before sealing it beneath the floor. 'I cannot take it with me to the University, and I dare not leave it somewhere without wards better than I can cast. …Perhaps Liza would be willing to keep it securely?' Sebastien considered. But she hadn't forgotten Oliver's warning when he first introduced her to Liza. The woman was trustworthy, but not honorable. Even if she agreed to house something so potentially dangerous, could Sebastien trust her with the temptation?

In the end, she sealed the floor seamlessly over it once again.

As she exited her room and walked down the stairway into the entrance atrium, Oliver turned from the front doorway he had just been about to step through. His eyes widened with surprise.

Simultaneously, they said, "We need to talk."

Chapter 152 - A Troublesome Revelation

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 27, Saturday 7:30 a.m.

Oliver was in a hurry that morning, rushing off to a meeting with some new business contacts across the city, and so Sebastien joined him in his carriage.

She watched him carefully, trying to divine—metaphorically—his secrets, his thoughts, his feelings.

As soon as they began rolling, the carriage wheels and horse's hooves clattering against the cobblestones, Oliver spoke. "Titus Westbay, commander of the coppers, came to visit me."

Sebastien's stomach churned sourly, empty for long enough that it was trying to devour itself. "He came to visit Damien, too," she said dryly. "Apparently, he made some very interesting accusations."

Oliver cringed and cursed. "By all the greater hells. I swear I did my best to dissuade him."

"What did he say to you?" she asked, keeping her tongue from tripping over itself with hard-won restraint. "Is my identity as Sebastien Siverling compromised?"

Oliver's foot bounced up and down. "No. I've thought a lot about this. My people did good work fabricating your information from the beginning, and from my conversation with Titus…if anything he's a little too convinced that you really are a Siverling."

"What does that mean?"

Oliver coughed with uncharacteristic awkwardness. "Well, it's somewhat convoluted…"

Sebastien had absolutely no patience for prevarication. "Tell me what you spoke of, from the beginning."

Oliver drew himself up, took an excessively deep breath, and spoke rapidly. "First, he accused me of paying your way through the University in exchange for sex. I denied it, but apparently one of his people saw us together on the first night we met, when I intimated that we had been so 'occupied' that we couldn't answer the door for the coppers searching for you. So he accused you of being a prostitute. I was able to convince him that it wasn't you, but ended up trapping myself and had to agree that I have an unfulfilled obsession with you, to the point that I'd hire a prostitute that looks similar."

Sebastien choked on her own saliva and sputtered, wide-eyed, but he continued with the explanation at breakneck speed, reaching into a drawer beneath the seat and taking out a canteen of water which he handed to her as he spoke.

"He asked about how we met, and I said you were an orphan I stumbled across while traveling and then decided to sponsor. But then Westbay started making strange, insinuating comments, and giving me a history lesson. Apparently the Siverling name…isn't as innocuous as we thought. Various small clues point to the possibility that King Krell, who ruled before the Blood Emperor, had a daughter who married a Siverling and gave birth to a child who survived the culling. Thus, the Siverling line would be the last surviving blood of the Krell line, and some might say the rightful heir to Lenore."

Sebastien closed her eyes, her head reeling. "You're obsessed with me, and I'm the secret heir of some king from hundreds of years ago?"

"Well, not really an heir. Just the closest equivalent." Oliver raised his hands to stop her response, taking the opportunity for another deep breath. "This isn't as bad as you think! Lord Westbay actually doesn't care about any of that, and most other nobles wouldn't, either. It's not nearly enough of a plausible claim to threaten the Thirteen Crowns. In fact, the whole conversation was more of a ploy to try and get a response out of me by insinuating a threat toward you."

Sebastien wondered how this blindsiding blow could get any heavier. "What threat, exactly?"

"Well, that you would be in danger for political reasons…and that you had contact with a Blight-type Aberrant as a child and could be a danger to those around you. I thought he was trying to blackmail you into being bait for the Raven Queen…but in the end it turns out he was spouting nonsense just to get a rise out of me, to gauge how far I was willing to go for our relationship. You see, for some reason I believe he's under the impression that you're trying to seduce his little brother."

Sebastien had been trying to settle her scratchy throat with a drink of water, and choked again, this time unable to keep herself from spraying it out in a fine mist over her lap. She doubled over coughing until her eyes ran with tears.

Oliver crouched over her with worry, slapping her back.

'If anything, he's just knocking the water back down into my lungs. Just like always, acting like he's helping but actually making it worse.' She waved him off, refocusing her mind on the most important aspect, and when she could speak again, rasped. "He thinks I was infected by a Blight-type?"

Oliver opened his mouth, but didn't speak, instead tilting his head to the side.

"When, where, what effects?" she asked, staring at him without blinking despite her watering eyes.

"When you were a baby, the town near Vale that got encapsulated in a sundered zone. Spalding, I think he said? I don't know what the exact effects were, but you shouldn't worry about that accusation. There is no evidence, and even he doesn't actually believe it. He said as much himself."

Sebastien relaxed marginally. Such an infection would be a death sentence, and rightfully so. Luckily, she had no involvement with that incident. "There's no way the anomalous effect wouldn't have spread by now if that were true," she agreed. "Now let's go back to how the last name you chose for me is practically designed to draw attention and trouble from the most powerful people in the country. What a strange coincidence," she said flatly.

Oliver closed his eyes and grimaced. "It's my fault. I didn't pay enough attention when I was picking the name." He opened his eyes, fixing her with a pleading expression. "I thought it was old, vaguely high class, and there would be no living members to protest your existence. It's not like the Siverlings themselves ever had any noble claim, and even if they had, there's nothing beyond rumors that would suggest anyone actually did escape the culling. And even then, even if some remnant did remain, not any longer, after the incident in Spalding."

Sebastien stared at him, contemplating his earnest features. 'What would Oliver gain from me being mistaken for someone with an extremely vague claim to rule Lenore? I suppose, if I was to make a name for myself, with connections like Thaddeus Lacer and the high class students at the University, I might be of use to the kind of revolution he's planning. A "legitimate" icon to endorse his actions, for those who care about such things to rally around.' Despite Oliver's denials, this seemed more likely than the alternative—that he had made such a coincidental mistake.

The manipulation, just another secret meant to control her, made her dizzyingly angry. But at the same time, it was almost a relief. Because this was a long-term plan, and it meant he had use for her that didn't require her current meager magical expertise or even the Raven Queen, both of which they had agreed would be best to distance her from.

Sebastien nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Really?" Oliver exhaled, falling back against the seat across from her. "I thought you would definitely be irate."

"Oh, I am," she said with a small quirk of her lips. "I think you'll agree that you owe me a rather large favor to make up for this?"

Oliver let out a breath in a soundless laugh. "Large? I don't think it's—" seeing her expression, he cut off and nodded rapidly. "Large. Yes, a large favor. That's what I owe you."

Some of her anger seeped into her tone, deepening her voice and sharpening the edges of her words. "Please don't forget. I certainly won't." A large favor from a person like him could be useful, though she wasn't sure she could trust him to actually deliver on his promise. Asking him to take a blood print vow would likely make him suspicious, and she couldn't afford to do that until she knew the truth. Maybe not even then. She took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders back and letting her emotions settle deep inside with a tingle that raised the small hairs across her body.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

"So Titus Westbay is suspicious of me and has been digging into my background and interrogating or threatening those close to me. Did he learn anything that we actually do need to be worried about? What if he goes searching for Sebastien Siverling's nonexistent childhood?"

Oliver nodded. "That is the point that's most concerning. When we spoke, there were no hints that he knew about either of our less-than-legal activities. Or at least not that our current identities had anything to do with those activities or the people behind them. I don't think he has anything on either of us. But if he were to really go digging, he might find that no one remembers Sebastien Siverling, talented orphan with the white-blonde hair. There's only so much faked records can do."

"But there's nothing magic cannot do. Perhaps you could send someone to plant a few memories." It couldn't be harder than erasing memories, and she had seen the effects of that spell first-hand.

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Is that actually possible? I don't think Liza can do that. It certainly would have come in handy a few times so far, if so. I have no contacts with such a skill. Perhaps more reasonably, we should come up with a believable story. We need to be proactive without being visibly re-active. Too much fuss could make us seem guilty, like ants scrambling around after their hill was kicked."

"A reason that I have no memorable ties to this world," she mused.

"Rather depressing, isn't it?"

"Not at all. My Will, it will tie me firmly to this world long after even memories have turned to dust."

Oliver was silent for a moment, then shook himself as if the chill air had seeped into his body. "That is quite bleak, even for you." He turned around and pounded a fist against the ceiling area behind the driver to signal the carriage to stop. "There's a meat pie stall that opens quite early," he explained. "You're beginning to look gaunt, Sebastien. Have you been eating enough?"

"Three meals a day at the University cafeteria," she replied succinctly.

"And is that enough for you? How much time do you spend casting compared to the other first term students? And you're quite tall. Maybe still growing, even."

"I'm fine," she assured him with irritation. Could she be still growing? She had no idea the biological age of Sebastien Siverling's body, but she knew that some men could have a final growth spurt as late as twenty or twenty-one.

Oliver looked pointedly down at her hands. "Your fingers are trembling, Sebastien. When was the last time you had a proper meal? And if I had to guess, you got at most a few hours sleep last night. At worst, none at all. You realize that this, too, increases your need for sustenance?"

Her fingers were indeed trembling—faint tremors that she hadn't even noticed. 'Hunger, or withdrawal?' she wondered. 'Surely, enough time has passed that it shouldn't be withdrawal? I even took that detoxifying potion to deal with lingering side effects.' But even as she thought that, she acknowledged how wonderful even a tiny speck of the beamshell tincture would feel at that particular moment. It would make everything so much easier, if she just had it's lightning-bright energy crackling through her. 'But I don't need it,' she told herself firmly. 'My Will is enough.'

Still, as soon as she got the meat pie in her hands, the scent summoned cramps through her stomach and flooded her mouth with so much saliva she felt nauseated for a moment.

Oliver tossed a few extra coins to the stall owner as payment for the tins the pies were cooked in, so that they didn't need to stay and eat.

Sebastien ate quickly, stuffing herself until her cheeks bulged out as Oliver spoke, mannerly enough not to speak with his own mouth full.

He explained his conversation with Titus in more detail, then moved on to solutions. Surprisingly, he had already come up with a feasible backstory for her. He'd had several days to worry and think about this already, after all. His version wasn't too different from her real history—sans Ennis—and had just enough detail to seem realistic while being vague enough to stay hard to verify. It only needed to be adjusted slightly for anything she might have mentioned about her life as Sebastien.

She shook her head quickly and swallowed. "I don't talk about my past, or my childhood. Anything that I've mentioned would be vague at best, and nothing should contradict." If someone was truly determined to find fault, even the best backstory wouldn't stop them. She finished her second pie and washed it down with more water from the canteen.

With a small smile, Oliver handed her his own second meat pie. "I already ate some toast before leaving," he said.

Sebastien was halfway through it before realizing that Oliver had lied. Sharon hadn't yet arrived to work when they had left, and Sebastien's room was close to the kitchen's ceiling. She thought she would have heard if Oliver were puttering around below her. Sebastien took another vicious bite, uncaring. This was the least he could do for her. "I think I should go on the offensive, rather than let Titus continue whatever digging he's doing behind the curtains."

"What do you propose?"

"I'm going to request a meeting. It's a reasonable response from someone that finds out a person has been digging into their backstory and trying to malign their character with those close to them. It would probably be stranger if I just ignored it."

Oliver nodded thoughtfully. "It wouldn't fit your persona."

Sebastien snorted around the last bite of meat and crispy crust.

"What about Thaddeus Lacer's request for an audience?" Oliver murmured. "Do you want me to turn him down, since the Raven Queen will be lying low?"

Sebastien stilled, swallowed, and slowly shook her head. "No. I'll handle it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm…not sure yet," she admitted. It was risky, but his request felt like an opportunity she couldn't afford to let go. At the worst, Lacer probably wouldn't turn her in. And if, somehow, things went well, he could be the kind of ally that even Oliver Dryden couldn't match. Really, the risk lay in her uncertainty about what he wanted from her.

But she had decided to stop allowing things to happen to her. In the same way she could preemptively prepare for disaster, Sebastien would aggressively confront both secrets and threats. For what felt like the first time in a long time, she would take control.

And once she had it, she would never let go.

Chapter 153 - For the High Crown

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 27, Saturday 8:15 a.m.

When Oliver arrived at his destination, he offered to have the carriage drive Sebastien back, but she declined.

With the map of the city that she'd attempted to memorize, she was able to find the nearest mail office, where they had letter writing stations and would deliver one's post to anywhere in the country—for a fee. It was the kind of thing she couldn't have afforded before coming to Gilbratha. Not that she had anyone to write, anyway. She and Ennis had traveled so frequently, she had learned early on not to get too attached.

She could only rely on herself.

At the mail office, Sebastien wrote two letters on the nicest paper they had to offer. One to Titus Westbay, and one to the Retreat at Willowdale. To the treatment center, she had introduced herself and tried to seem like a bleeding heart type who cared deeply even for those she'd never met. She wanted to visit and spend time with the long-term patients, as she'd read in a recent study—which she cited—that normalizing their lifestyle and interactions with others could help to ease disturbed minds. She could read to them.

To Titus Westbay, she had been more succinct.

Finally, she bought two of the most popular local papers and took them to a room at a cheap inn nearby. 'It's good to shake up my normal routine. Especially because now I know someone might be having me watched.'

The third message, she put together using letters cut from the newspapers, with the mending spell joining the letters to the page in a coherent, neat order, much better than trying to paste them on by hand. When she was finished, she folded the message inside a thick envelope and cast the shedding-disintegration spell on the whole thing so that it couldn't possibly be used against her.

The envelope was addressed, in big block letters from the newspapers' titles, "For the High Crown."

She had considered using a messenger to deliver it, or even just sending it from the local mail office, but either would find such an envelope strange, and both would want to see her face, which could lead an investigator back to her. Either method seemed likely to get her reported by some suspicious do-gooder, but spending fifty gold on a Lino-Wharton raven messenger was too much. She might have more monetary leeway now, but throwing gold around with no assurance of a return on her investment would lead her right back into poverty.

Then, she had considered simply delivering her message for the High Crown to Harrow Hill herself, perhaps taking advantage of a late-night shift change and pasting the envelope conspicuously near the entrance. She had been halfway through an elaborate plan to avoid being tracked by dogs or prognos after the fact, which would have required more research into anti-divination spells, some battle philtres, and a winding, two-hour walk through the nighttime city, when she realized there was a simpler solution.

All she needed was a trustworthy messenger to send it on her behalf. One who knew not to ask questions.

Normally, Sebastien would go to Oliver about such a thing, or even Katerin, but she didn't want him to know. He had been interested in facilitating her meeting with the Architects of Khronos, but that had been for his own gain. The High Crown was an enemy to Oliver in truth, and she doubted he would take kindly to any plans to negotiate with the man. Oliver had never wanted her to give up her copy of Myrddin's journal.

So Sebastien kept the letter to the High Crown and sent a runner to someone else—with a very different note. After taking the time to eat lunch, she found an artisan who could create something specific for her, in lieu of her destroyed seaweed paper tome. Back at the winding, narrow street of the Night Market, she bought another dowsing artifact, and a used but high-end battle wand, since her last two had been confiscated by the coppers. With the license from Professor Lacer, it was no longer illegal for her to carry. All that plus a dramatic dress made of velvet that was only wearing thin in a few places cost her almost one hundred gold, with the battle wand being most expensive. Now, she could afford such an expense. As long as Oliver's textile business continued, more would come at a steady interval. This was the kind of necessary purchase that could definitely save her life.

All the time, she watched for a tail, but couldn't quite relax even when she found none. Many of the things she had used to transform into Silvia weren't safe any more, but the experience had showed her how useful some simple aids could be to disguise her identity, even in her original body, and so she picked up more makeup and a few cosmetic items.

Back in her cheap, one-day room, she continued preparations. The new dress, she dyed a deep scarlet that edged on black. When the sun had begun to slide over the horizon, she transformed into Siobhan, dressed as Silvia, with the pastel colored clothes and lips, a few carefully applied wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and a sweet smile. Even her hair, she lightened to a softer brown. Examining herself in the mirror, it was like looking at yet another stranger. All her colors seemed to match each other in tone. 'If I were photographed, I would blend into a nondescript middle grey.' Only her eyes stood out, but those would be hidden by the evening darkness.

At a different inn halfway to her destination, she changed into the Raven Queen's outfit. No wrinkles, hair a blue-black that shimmered like a raven's wing and sprouted feathers. The dark dress, and lips painted dark enough to match it, as if she had been feasting on the corpse of her prey. She tried a smile, and it looked sinister and savage. Her pitch-dark eyes fit so much better in this face. It all disappeared under the shadow of a cloak with a deep hood.

From there, she activated her new dowsing artifact to search for a piece of velvet from her dress and thus utilize the divination-diverting ward's side-effects. This dowser was nicer than her last, and had a few different power settings. The strongest would empty its charge faster, but also do a better job of hiding her, should it become necessary.

Finally, with a deep breath, Siobhan crawled out of the window, having unfortunate flashbacks to her first day in Gilbratha. She had fallen backward off the wall of that rundown inn after sneakily retrieving her items from the room Ennis had rented, landing on her pack and knocking the wind from her lungs.

This time, at least, she made it to the ground safely. The night was chilly, but her purpose warmed her.

As she had promised in the note sent earlier by runner, she walked up to the front gate of Lord Lynwood's mansion, where a guard was stationed in front of the wrought iron metal.

The man didn't notice her until she was directly in front of him, only the bars between them. When he did, he reeled back in shock, but recovered with impressive alacrity. He bowed deeply to her, one hand pressed to his chest where his heart must be pounding. "Welcome, Queen of Ravens. We are honored that you grace us with your presence." Without even looking up, he fumbled with the gate's latch and pulled it open for her with a grating creak of unoiled hinges.

As Siobhan entered, he waved her toward the front door, taking peeks at the darkness under her hood despite his obvious inclination to look away. "I am Wilbur Johnson, my Queen. I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am to meet you in person. I burn incense to you every evening, and write down all I remember of my dreams every morning. Every Sunday, I feed the ravens in the park. Fresh white bread, fruit, and raw meat."

They had reached the front door, so she stopped, turning to him with a raised brow that he couldn't see past her cloak. 'What in the greater hells is he talking about?'

He opened the door for her, continuing to babble. "Yesterday, my efforts bore fruit. I was able to come awake while dreaming for the first time. I prayed for your guidance, but I woke too quickly."

"Come awake while dreaming?" she asked, stepping inside.

"Yes. I have been training. There is a dream-shaman in the neighborhood that preaches the methods."

Gera rounded the corner at a fast walk at that exact moment. Siobhan immediately felt the increased pressure on her ward, as she always did in the woman's presence.

The prognos woman's single large eye was tight with worry, despite its sightlessness, and she stopped a few feet from Siobhan and Wilbur, mimicking his earlier bow. "Mr. Johnson, did I not warn you about delaying our guest? Back to your station at once!"

The man hesitated, but Gera had already turned her attention to Siobhan, gesturing for her to lead the way down the hallway. "Is the drawing room acceptable?"

Siobhan agreed wordlessly, somewhat reluctantly leaving this Wilbur and his talk of waking dreams behind to take the same path she remembered from her previous visit.

Unlike the last time, the drawing room was empty except for a couple servants. "Lord Lynwood will not be joining us, I take it?" Siobhan asked.

Gera flinched. "My apologies. He is on a trip at the moment, and we were not able to retrieve him on such short notice. But your message did not specify that you required his attendance. I am happy to discuss whatever brings you here, my lady."

Neither servant would meet her eyes, both staring studiously at the floor.

Nodding idly, Siobhan took a seat in one of the ornate, plush armchairs furthest from the fire and pulled back her hood to reveal her face. Gera offered her food and drink from prepared platters, or anything else that the servants might be able to retrieve for her, but Siobhan refused with a wave of her hand.

Gera hesitated, then sat across from her, her back straight and her hands primly cupping her knees. "I believe we are even," she said.

Siobhan tilted her head to the side in a silent question.

"I know that you saved my subordinate, just as I saved Sebastien Siverling."

Siobhan kept her confusion from showing on her face. She didn't remember saving anyone, but thought it probably wasn't a good idea to admit as much. Gera's subordinate had probably been saved coincidentally while there was a raven around, or something. If Gera knew, then maybe Siobhan would owe her. "I agree," Siobhan said. "We are even."

Gera deflated an inch or so with obvious relief.

"I came to see if you would like to enter into another agreement. Well, two, actually. Each optional, one simpler than the other," Siobhan said.

Gera tensed again. "I am listening, my lady. Please, speak freely."

"Send your servants away. This is a sensitive matter, and I have come to doubt their ability to keep their tongues sealed." Gera grimaced and apologized, but complied immediately, and Siobhan continued. "I have a letter that I need delivered, discreetly. To the High Crown."

Gera hesitated. "Is that…all? Does it need to be left on his pillow, or in his pocket, or in his daughter's crib or something?"

Siobhan forced down an incredulous laugh, responding in a serious tone. "No. I simply need him to read it."

Gera seemed more surprised than relieved. Was the woman actually disappointed? "I…can manage that."

"Good." Siobhan ran a forefinger delicately over the shell of her ear, drawing attention to the feathers sprouting seamlessly from her hair. "Secondly, I need a thaumaturge that is both powerful and discreet. This could be you personally, or someone trustworthy under your command. This person would cast a certain spell at a certain time. It will draw extreme attention to their location, and they will need to escape without being caught. If they are caught, they will likely be arrested and questioned in connection with my own actions. It is a dangerous task, but should be easy enough if the person is competent."

"What is the spell they would cast?"

Siobhan suspected Gera was coming up with some strange ideas. "It is a simple enough spell that I would teach myself. It is not harmful to either the caster or those around them. In fact, its purpose is specifically to draw a certain kind of attention."

Gera's blind gaze was strangely penetrating. "Drawing attention away from you?"

"Well, more or less. The caster would be placed at a remote location, with prepared escape routes, and if you wish, guards. It will draw the eyes of the entire city."

Gera nodded to herself. "I could do this. Would you owe me a debt?"

"Not an unspecified one. I have a particular boon in mind. In return for these two favors, I have a new spell that could benefit Millennium. I remember you mentioned that his visions continue to grow stronger as he matures, and spells that once worked to allow him sleep become less useful. There may be a time when the current solution ceases to work. I am currently in the testing phases of developing a spell that allows one to trade their sleep to another, without harm or consequence. It should entirely, and safely, eliminate Millennium's current problems, independent of the increasing strength of his visions. It could allow him to reach full maturity, no matter how many years that takes. By then, his mental and magical strength should have grown enough to handle the visions even during sleep."

Gera's eye had grown wider.

Siobhan paused, the flickering light of the fireplace warming one half of her face while the other sat in cool shadow. "Of course, if you do not want access to this spell, you need not accept."

Gera hesitated. "I am interested. But is it necessary for me to decide on the boon right away? It is possible that what you have already done for him will be enough."

Siobhan remained silent for a while too long, partially as a way to show her displeasure. Finally, when the air was as thick as honey and the fine hairs on Gera's arms had risen, she said, "I do not agree to owe unspecified favors. If you choose no particular boon, you may still do me a favor, but I would be the one to decide how to repay it. You may not enjoy the results."

"I will choose the sleep spell," Gera said quickly.

Siobhan smiled and roughly outlined the details of her plan, including the date.

None of it helped Gera to relax, but the woman seemed determined. "I will take on this task myself. I do not wish there to be any ambiguity."

Siobhan gave the barest of smiles, and then stood, pulling out a piece of red wax from her pocket and using it to draw a spell array on the surface of the low table between them. "Are you familiar with summoning magic?"

"I dare not say I am."

"This spell is simple. Even a child could cast it, at low power." She explained it once, and then had Gera repeat the instruction and intent to her, which the woman did with the same eager nervousness many students showed in front of Professor Lacer.

Siobhan felt that their business was settled, and sat back. "How is Miles doing? I wondered if I might check up on him."

Before Gera could reply, a thump sounded from one of the cabinets on the far side of the room.

Both women startled, and Siobhan stood with her Conduit gripped firmly in one hand, and the other ready to retrieve her new battle wand from her boot, where she had tucked it before coming. It was charged with an impressive thirteen charges of the standard three offensive spells—stunners, concussive blasts, and slicing spells.

But then a small boy spilled out of the cabinet.

"Miles!?" Gera said, clutching her chest. She looked fearfully to Siobhan and back to her son.

Siobhan relaxed, her lips twitching with amusement.

Millennium's skin shone just faintly golden, subtle enough to be from the application of a shimmering lotion, but she knew it to be from his fey heritage. His undertone was less sallow than the last time she'd seen him. His eyes were bright and alert, and even as she watched, a bright flush rose up from his neck and turned his whole face red. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at the ground.

With a quick peek up at Siobhan, his flush grew redder. He bowed deeply. "I apologize for my dishonorable actions."

Siobhan's lips twitched harder, and she stopped trying to hold back her smile. "Rise. I am not angry over this little bit of mischief."

Gera was visibly doubtful, but perhaps she could sense Siobhan's amusement, because after a moment she released her grip on the cloth over her heart. She glared at her son, fear giving way to anger at his misbehavior. Still, she held herself back from scolding him.

Rising from his bow, Miles examined Siobhan's face, and his own broke into a wide smile. "I'm very glad to meet you again. I have been hoping you would visit!"

"If you plan to secretly gather information in the future," Siobhan said, "you might do better to use a stealth or reconnaissance spell than to hide in a cupboard."

"Is that an offer? Will you teach me a stealth spell?" he asked shyly, as eager as Theo often was but with an entirely different manner.

Siobhan calculated his age. Based on appearance, he might be ten or so, but prognos and cambions both matured more slowly than humans. And chronic lack of sleep could have stunted his growth. "Are you already learning magic?" she asked.

"I have been meditating to strengthen my mind and prepare my Will for casting. I started out with a candle flame as a focus, but I like using a wind reed much better." Struggling to meet her gaze from a combination of shyness and her ward, he held his arm out with a suave flourish that somehow reminded Siobhan of Lord Lynwood. "If I might invite you on a tour of my home? I would love to show you our interesting things and, um, get you caught up on what's transpired since your last visit."

Gera let out a strangled noise and gave a tiny shake of her head.

Miles glared at her, then immediately smiled at Siobhan, his expressions shifting like sand. "It's only proper to give guests a tour."

Siobhan wasn't sure whether Gera simply didn't want her spending time with her son, or if the woman was hiding something she feared Miles might reveal. "It would be my pleasure," she said.

The boy shuffled over to her, then gestured for her to walk with him. "We'll go to my room first," he said in a soft voice. His room was on the second floor, with a balcony over looking the inner courtyard and gardens.

Gera followed behind them, but didn't enter or speak.

Miles introduced Siobhan to a few of his more interesting toys and belongings, including an hourglass of euphonic sand that made a pleasant tinkling as the grains fell against each other, and a vial of scent that smelt very pleasantly of ozone and sleep. He smiled proudly when she said so. "My uncle and I made it together. It took a long time to get just right."

Under his mattress, a huge spell array was carved into the floor. "That's what the Pack thaumaturges use to help me sleep. At first, it was a little creepy to have them standing over me every night, but I got used to it, and the scent helps me relax and feel safe. But it would be better if someone would sleep with me."

At the doorway, Gera raised her fingers delicately to her lips, frowning.

"Ah, I know just the thing for that," Siobhan said. "All you need is a leather flask filled with hot water and a pillow with the right shape."

Millennium's eyes widened with curiosity. "I only have rectangular pillows, though?"

"Well, you will need a few, then. Three at least. You can attach them together like this," she said, demonstrating the shape with the pillows on his bed. "Two for your back and legs, and one to wrap around you like an arm. You put the hot water flask inside the one at your back or feet, and go to sleep like you're being hugged."

"Whooah," Miles exclaimed, his eyes even wider. He turned to Gera. "Mother, I need you to get someone to make a hugging pillow for me as soon as possible."

She sighed. "I will set your nanny to the task."

Miles took Siobhan to the garden after that, where small paths were lined with soft-glowing lamps and servants peeked on them from the back porch and through the mansion's windows. Gera trailed further behind, in sight but at the edge of hearing. Siobhan recognized several of the garden's plants as useful spell components, most mundane but a few magical, which required a permit. "This is my favorite place," Miles explained solemnly. "Especially at night, when the city gets quieter. I can almost hear the heartbeat of Gilbratha itself, underneath all the clamor."

They sat on an ornately carved stone bench, both listening silently for minutes on end. The moon was almost exactly half full, and hung above the edge of the white cliffs, mostly obscured by clouds.

Finally, Miles murmured, "I can hear them gossiping about you, you know."

She hummed. "And what do they say?"

"Everyone has all these crazy ideas about you. Some of our people have been lighting incense to you on little altars. My nanny is one of them, even though I told her you can't hear her even if she calls your name three times in the dark. You can't, right?"

"I cannot," Siobhan agreed.

"And you can't curse people with nightmares of their greatest fear? They say you enter the dreams of those who offend you, and when you kill them there, their hearts stop in real life from fear. That's not true, right?"

"I have never killed someone like that," she agreed.

"But could you?"

Siobhan hesitated. She knew quite a lot about sleep and dream magic. She was sure she could put together a curse that caused someone to have nightmares if she really wanted. "I don't think they would die from fear unless their heart was already quite weak."

"My mother thinks you're dangerous. But I told her you're way nicer than people think. They're just scared because you like the dark and you look a little strange." He gestured to his ears, indicating the feathers. "My mother says you're a black hole of nothingness, like a scar walking through the world. She says I'm never to make any promises to you, or ask for any favors. I think she's worried if you like me too much, you'll steal me away to go live with you. Or maybe eat me."

Siobhan raised a bemused eyebrow. "That does seem excessive."

"She's irrational. But she won't listen to me when I tell her you're not dangerous."

"I would not agree that I am totally harmless, but nor am I the hazard many people seem to think. And I do not eat little boys," she said with a small smile, poking him in the side.

He smiled brightly for a moment, but quickly grew serious. "But being associated with you can still be dangerous, right?"

Siobhan was surprised. After a moment of hesitation, she said, "Yes, I suppose so."

"They may be lies, but ideas have power," Miles murmured.

She nodded slowly, standing from the bench to look up at the stars, visible through a gap in the clouds. "They do. And if you tell a lie enough times, it becomes the truth." She turned to wave at him, then reached into her bag and increased the power output of her dowsing artifact, until the force was enough that she needed to actively empower her divination-diverting ward.

Miles's eyes tried to track her, but quickly wandered away and did not return.

Siobhan walked further into the garden, reaching the shadows of the surrounding stone wall. When she was sure that she was unobserved, she walked back to the wrought-iron gate at the front. Wilbur the guard was still there, watching the street. She considered speaking up and startling him, but eyeing the space between the gate's bars, she had an idea.

Moving slowly, she put her head through first, and then angled the rest of her body sideways. It was a bit of a squeeze, but she slipped through easily enough, and her bag of supplies followed. She pressed a hand to her waist, feeling for her ribs. They didn't exactly stand out, ridge by ridge, but there was little padding over them. Perhaps Oliver had been right, and she had lost a little weight.

Still unobserved by the gate guard, she slunk away.

Chapter 154 - Experimenting on Humans

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 28, Sunday 8:00 a.m.

Siobhan had taken the time to put on a full face of makeup, learned from watching Ana create her own natural-seeming look in the morning. It was soft and feminine, much like Siobhan's dress, a bright pastel green with flowery lace and skirts with much too much fabric. She had colored her hair a dark auburn, with the grey streaks looking like sun-kissed highlights instead. The larger prosthetic nose remained, holding up a pair of fake glasses—wire-framed, large, and round, making her look somewhat like an owl. Fake wrinkles framed her eyes, but she wished now that she had bought another set of colored contact lenses after all. This disguise was meant for the light of day, and would bear more scrutiny.

Making a mental note to correct this oversight, she left the room she had rented in Gilbratha's largest hotel, leaving the building from a different entrance than she had entered it from. With so much traffic and so many people visiting the city at this time of year, no one would be able to watch all the entrances or keep track of who should and shouldn't be there.

Siobhan took a carriage to a somewhat rundown business hotel, which had once been in Morrow territory and was now owned by the Verdant Stags. Liza was already waiting in a large conference room on the third floor, bossing around a few of the hotel employees. She looked quite frazzled from the effort of setting the room up for their experiments. The large meeting table had been pushed up against one wall, its spot replaced by empty floor space for the spell arrays and bird cages—still unoccupied at the moment.

The large table held some of the supplies they would be using, including a new, larger diagnostic artifact. Another smaller table against the shorter wall by the door held bowls and plates—for the food they would supply their test subjects as part of the enticement for joining.

Chairs were being laid out in rows on the far side of the room, along with a few cots for emergency use, and Liza was directing the workers about where to place various other items, including what looked to be school workbooks, puzzles, and dozens of paper-filled binders.

To Siobhan's surprise, several poor people sporting the dirty and ragged look of the homeless and destitute were milling about near the still unfilled food table, looking awkward and unsure. She and Liza had planned that actual testing wouldn't start until Wednesday or later. 'Why are these people here already?'

Liza waved Siobhan over, eyeing the modified appearance. "Good work. Silvia, is it?" This was the first time Liza had seen Siobhan in this particular disguise, but they had discussed the plan beforehand.

Siobhan nodded, glancing questioningly toward the people milling about.

"I only put out word and a few fliers yesterday, but some of them are rather eager," Liza explained. "They found the address and caused a bit of a fuss with the hotel employees. When I arrived this morning the hotel was trying to throw them out, causing an argument in the lobby."

"Too much attention," Siobhan said.

"Yes, so I brought them up. I thought, perhaps if we work quickly enough, we can get this small batch of test subjects started early. We'll have to provide their meal for the afternoon and evening, but I've already ordered a simple soup and some loaves of bread from the hotel kitchen. In the meantime, start conducting the intake interviews."

Siobhan had been initially skeptical of Liza's claim that they were ready to move on to human testing already. The book Professor Lacer had recommended to her about the proper way to run an experiment said that testing on animals should take months or possibly years, and go through hundreds of test subjects, at minimum. They had done a few dozen tests, with Liza completing many of them on her own, but probably less than two hundred.

However, Siobhan wasn't prepared to wait for years. Everything had been going so well, with no cases of failure or unforeseen side-effects. And so, she hadn't protested.

By the time a meal had been brought up and served, Siobhan had interviewed the first handful of volunteer test subjects, run them through the fancy diagnostic artifact, and recorded all their baseline information. During that same time, Liza had set up the spell array within a curtained-off section of the room, and shooed all the nosy hotel employees out. "Don't want them stealing any of our secrets," she said, locking the door after them, though Siobhan knew that really, Liza didn't want to take the chance that any of them would find some aspect of the spell suspicious. Then she left and returned shortly afterward with a cage full of sedated, already enhanced ravens.

Some of their human test subjects were quite nervous, and while they shied away from Liza with her barked orders and gimlet-eyed stare, most seemed more comfortable with Silvia, the pretty assistant with the fluffy dress and pink-painted lips.

A woman with a name tag reading "Jane," murmured surreptitiously, leaning into Siobhan. "Do you know about what magic spell she's going to be casting on us? Is it going to hurt? Or leave us with strange boils? I heard stories about one o' them alchemy stores making a new hand cream they wanted tested. It was supposed to make you as soft as a baby's bottom, but instead it made all the skin just peel right off, leavin' people raw and bloody."

Awkwardly, Siobhan smiled with her best expression of sympathy and patted Jane's hand. "It's nothing like that. This spell has been tested on animals already, and shown to be safe. You shouldn't feel any pain at all, and there will definitely be no scarring or…boils."

Another man who had introduced himself as Kriffer, no last name, piped up with a wise tone. "I heard they're going to keep us awake until we start seeing hallucinations, like old Williams who's got the 'non-somnia.'"

"But we get a bed and three meals a day the whole time, until the hallucinations start? Plus three gold payment?" a third person asked. "That doesn't sound so bad. I'll take a long nap when it's finished and wake up with enough money to rent a bed in one of the boarding houses. It'll last me long enough to get a real job, maybe."

"But what if the hallucinations don't stop?" Jane asked anxiously. "I don't want to get non-somnia like old Williams."

Siobhan raised her hand to stop the conversation before it could devolve further. "I believe old Williams has in-somnia. And—"

Kriffer was shaking his head. "No, that can't be right. 'Cause 'somnia' means sleep, and 'non' means not. So non-somnia means 'not-sleeping.' In-somnia would mean 'inside-sleep,' which just doesn't make any sense. But even if you look at it sideways that would still mean he's always sleeping. And he can't sleep. Besides, have you ever even met old Williams? How would you know?"

Siobhan blinked a couple times, took a deep breath to refute Kriffer no-last-name from his foundational misconception all the way up, and then let it out again with a big sigh. Arguing with someone like him was useless. "In any case," she said, "This spell doesn't forcefully keep you awake. It just keeps you so…healed that you don't get tired very quickly. When the test ends, you might be a little extra tired for a day or so, and then everything will go back to normal."

Jane seemed skeptical. "But you made us sign those papers saying we wouldn't try to sue you if something went wrong, and we can't talk about what happens here, even to the coppers."

"That does not mean we believe something will go wrong," Siobhan said firmly. Her smile was becoming more and more difficult to maintain, so she let it drop entirely. "It's just standard procedure. Besides, the contract also mentions that if something does go wrong, we'll pay your medical bills. That would include regrowing your skin, dealing with any boils, or teaching your brain how to sleep again."

That seemed to mollify the whole group.

"As long as it's our spell at fault. Which you would have to prove," Siobhan added.

Kriffer scowled, grumbling something about them being stingy, but the conversation seemed to have reassured the others, and when she asked for a volunteer to go first, Kriffer eventually stepped forward. "Let's just get this over with."

Liza checked over the paperwork Siobhan had filled out for the man, then waved him over to the spell array, which was significantly simpler than the one in her house, without as many sub-arrays, since most of the steps had already been completed, the ravens were ready, and the ongoing healing spell surrounding their area of cages, concealed behind another curtain, was already active. Only the binding of man and raven remained.

Kriffer stepped past the dividing line of the curtains and into the Circle of black salt gingerly, then sank down to sit cross-legged in the middle, on Liza's command.

"We don't want you getting startled or dizzy and falling over when this starts," Liza explained.

Kriffer swallowed hard, his eyes darting around as if expecting danger to rush in from some unexpected direction. When he was presented the blindfold and waxen earplugs, his apprehension only grew, but Siobhan did her best to reassure him. "It's to keep our spell design from being leaked, just in case," she explained. "You might feel a pricking or poking sensation on your hand during the process, but don't worry, that's normal. When you feel a tap on your shoulder, that means we're done, and you just need to take a deep breath. And, if you can, think about gratefully accepting this healing."

The mandrake pot was in place, and when Kriffer was blindfolded and deaf, they placed the sedated sleeper raven, the preserved raven's egg, and the beast core that would power it all.

Together, Siobhan and Liza cooperated to cast the spell, their Wills swirling through the spell array, channeling thrumming power and plucking at the strings of reality.

Kriffer tensed up as Liza poked him with the needle to retrieve a tiny dot of blood, but relaxed with an expression of pleasant surprise at the ease and lack of pain when she moved on almost immediately.

Liza moved with dancer-like grace, dragging the incense made of elcan iris pollen and the mixed blood through the air, leaving behind trails of smoke in the shape of glyphs as she whispered the chant they had created to help solidify and anchor the Word that would guide its effect. Siobhan could only do her best to match her.

Even after the dozens of iterations on lesser creatures, which had allowed both Liza and Siobhan to become more familiar with the spell—and for the magic itself to grow marginally less wild—casting this spell on a human was so much more difficult. Even Liza seemed to feel the strain, her curls springing up and frizzing out, and her temples and upper lip beading with sweat. Her voice was tense with strain as they spoke the chant together, their voices little more than a murmur.

Luckily, it was over quickly, with Liza waving the last of the incense around Kriffer and the raven in a final circle. Siobhan tapped Kriffer on the shoulder and said, "Take a deep breath," though he shouldn't be able to hear her.

Both Kriffer and the raven complied, and it was done.

Kriffer's breath caught on his exhale, and he got halfway through a gasp before breaking into a coughing fit.

Siobhan and Liza both hurried forward anxiously. "What's wrong?" Siobhan snapped.

"He can't breathe!" Liza said. "I've got an airway-clearing philtre on the supply table."

Siobhan spun to retrieve the philtre as Liza tried to make Kriffer lie down. "I don't understand why this is happening. Some reaction to the smoke, maybe?"

Siobhan returned, dropping to her knees beside Kriffer and prying at the philtre's cork stopper, but stilled as Kriffer waved them off, his coughing devolving into deep laughter.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he called. He took a deep breath, then threw back his head to look at the ceiling as a huge smile spread across. "I was just…surprised. Choked myself on accident. Is it okay for me to stand up now?"

Liza scowled at him, her fingers twitching as if she longed to strangle him. "As long as you are sure you're having no trouble breathing or other negative symptoms."

Kriffer literally hopped to his feet, taking some deep breaths and moving his limbs experimentally. "I feel really good, actually. Like…like I've got money in my pocket and a pretty girl on my arm, and we're off to see a street show. Like watching the sun rise from the roof of the tallest house in the neighborhood. You said this is a healing spell? Myrddin's balls, I must have been sick before, or something, because I feel great." He started laughing, then took big, careful steps out of the Circle and threw back the curtain with a flourish. "Nothing to be afraid of at all!" he called to the others. "No boils, no hallucinations, no missin' skin! It feels like the time my grandma took me to one of those fancy cafes for my twelfth birthday and I got a cup of coffee from fresh beans ground on the spot. Except better. Like kissing a siren."

Jane harrumphed. "You've never kissed a siren!" she declared, but stepped up to the curtain. "I'll go next."

When the spell took hold of her, she reacted more calmly than Kriffer. "It really is…quite nice. How long will it last?" she asked.

"Three days, maybe," Liza said. "That's part of what we're testing." Turning her back with a mischievous smile, she added, "Please let us know when the hallucinations start."

Siobhan glared at Liza, then had to spend the next few minutes reassuring Jane and the others that the taciturn older woman really had been just joking. But despite the annoyance, Siobhan doubted anything could have lowered her mood at that moment.

The spell had worked. These people were fine. Better than fine.

She resisted against the almost overwhelming desire to stretch out her arms, throw back her head, and start laughing aloud from sheer joy.

The moment passed as Liza cast the spell on the third test subject, and then the fourth.

Siobhan's elation softened, and then sank into a relief so heavy and deep it pulled on her shoulders and made her want to cry. As long as everything went well, soon they would be able to cast it on her, too.

It had been so long, but finally, here was real hope, created with her own hands.

Liza and Siobhan took a second round of diagnostics after the whole group was bound to a sleeper raven. Though they requested that the test subjects stay in the hotel, it wasn't strictly required. However, Liza made sure to warn all of them very firmly to abstain from alcohol or any other mind-altering substances. "If you do partake in something you should not, tell us, so that we will know what might be the cause if something goes wrong," Liza said.

The group of test subjects seemed frightened enough by her insistence that Siobhan doubted they would be willing to risk it. None of them were addicts, who, given the opportunity, might not be able to help themselves.

As Siobhan helped Liza to put away the binding spell array, moving components back to the large conference table and clear away the black salt spell array, she considered what they had just done. Binding magic was mysterious, and seemed to overcome some of the limitations that modern sorcery suffered. In essence, binding magic effected an ongoing exchange of some sort. Obviously, most binding magic worked off of the principles of transmogrification, but unlike most transmogrification spells, which were actively cast and would cease to work when the Will and power were removed, binding magic was cast once and continued to work afterward.

It was almost as if the binding itself was some kind of tether that worked on the principles of transmutation.

'Is it like a slow-release artifact? Or, perhaps more accurately, like a potion?' she wondered. Potions, after all, used ritual to create a structure of magic that was not bound within a spell array, but absorbed and woven into the ingredients to create something wholly new and inherently magical in and of itself. It was not permanent, and over time, a potion's physical form would degrade and spoil, while the magic dissipated.

'Binding magic probably works on a similarly complex theory that I only have the most basic grasp on.' Her classes hadn't covered it, and the research she did previously uncovered notably few texts that explored the subject on the University library's first floor.

Unlike potions, however, this binding could be broken. They had made sure to set a trigger for it to break when the rejuvenating spell on the sleeper raven ran out of power, but it could also be broken manually, with a simple unbinding that thematically and practically negated the agreement that allowed the initial binding.

To develop the sleep-proxy spell, Siobhan had relied quite a lot on copying structures and methods from other spells, and then even more from Liza's extensive expertise. She couldn't claim that she even came close to understanding how everything worked. And yet, somehow, it did.

As she sprayed the concoction that would make the honey and nightshade oil binding the black salt to the floor dissolve more easily, Siobhan asked, "Where did you learn magic, Liza? If that's not too invasive a question."

Liza hesitated, the small dustpan she was using to pour the black salt back into its jar pausing in mid air. "I joined the army," she finally replied. "Of course, I knew a little before that. My mother made a living as an unlicensed diviner, when she wasn't working as a prostitute." She paused, as if waiting for Siobhan's reaction, but Siobhan remained silent.

Liza continued. "I was young when the Haze War started, and got myself a job in one of the army workshops. It was off the front lines, mass-producing artifacts for the soldiers. They promised to provide free education after we'd done our stint, and magical education for those who qualified. I qualified. They kept their promise, and after it was all over, they really did put me through the University."

"Oh!" Siobhan said. It was no wonder Liza was so knowledgeable and powerful.

"Only problem was, after I and the others gained my Mastery, they didn't want us to go free afterward. To be honest, I didn't particularly mind at that point. I got to work in experimental artifact development at first, but after a while I joined a small squad. We did interesting, worthwhile work, and got paid well for it." Liza smiled absently, rolling a couple grains of salt between her fingers. Soon, though, the smile drained away, leaving a sickening grimness behind. "Or so I thought. Eventually I realized the truth, but it always seems to be too late by the time that happens, doesn't it? For me, much too late." She clenched her fist until her knuckles turned white, small muscles in her face twitching with rage.

Siobhan actually felt the urge to shrink back from the older woman, the chill across her skin telling her that Liza was dangerous and might strike out at any moment. Instead, Siobhan froze, hoping her lack of response would keep her from attracting Liza's attention.

After a few moments, Liza relaxed, releasing her breath and her clenched fist. "I apologize, child. Not all my memories from that time are bad, you know. Before the end…" She stood abruptly, putting the lid on the jar of salt. "Well, did Oliver ever tell you how we met? I was actually on assignment, up north in Osham, and I met this young boy with dark, curly locks and the brightest eyes you've ever seen. He was already a sweet-talker then, and he tried to convince me and my squad mates to let him and his sister ride along with us to the next city. He had it all planned out. The sister was significantly older, so he was going to pretend she was his mother. They were going to go in disguise, and find work in the local lord's stables, because their family had experience raising horses, you see?" She chuckled, but then sighed, shaking her head.

"Osham's regime had just changed, and he was worried about the yearly conscription, since his sister was a Null, and historically Osham has rather valued them for their particular characteristics. Well, his father found out about the boy's plan and put a stop to it all. Perhaps he wished he hadn't, later." She fell silent again for a few seconds. "Why does it seem like, if you keep going long enough, no story has a happy ending?"

Siobhan didn't know what to say to that. After thinking for a while, she suggested, "Who gets to choose that the unhappy part is the ending? If you keep on, maybe it's just another low moment along the way to triumph."

"Hah! If death is not an ending, what is, child?"

Siobhan could have argued that viewing the metaphorical story from another perspective, things continued on as long as anyone was still alive. Everyone was the protagonist of their own story, after all. But it didn't feel true. 'Death would be an ending of the story for the person I care most about—myself. The only story that matters.'

Clearing her throat to disperse the tension, Siobhan changed the subject. "I have five hundred gold. You said before that would be enough to hire you. If I can give you, in advance, both the time and the location where the coppers will be scrying for me, can you retrieve or destroy the sample they're using for the sympathetic connection?"

Liza stood and moved to the bound ravens, checking them over for signs of abnormality. "If you can do that much, it seems the job would be quite simple. Depending on the quality of their wards, of course." She stuck her finger between the slim metal bars, poking at one of the ravens that seemed sleepier than the rest.

"It should be whatever wards are around the divination room in Eagle Tower."

Liza's finger stopped wriggling, and she withdrew her hand, rising and turning to face Siobhan. "That makes things difficult. They have some experimental advancements, and without knowing their setup ahead of time—acquiring the blueprint and ward plans from whoever set them up—I would need to be quite close to brute-force my way past."

Siobhan nodded easily. "I already considered that after my last plan failed. They seem to have given up for the moment, but I'm sure they have other plans. I believe I can control the timing of their next scrying attempt. Then, all we need to do is make sure you're in place ahead of time. They'll come to you and get caught in an ambush."

"After everything that's happened, the coppers are on high alert. If someone catches sight of me, they might mistake me for the Raven Queen."

Siobhan blinked twice, stared into the distance, and then a wide smile spread across her face. "That's…a genius idea. It would fit perfectly! We'll have to get you a Raven Queen disguise."

Liza made a choked noise. "No, that's not what I meant."

Siobhan ignored that. "If all goes well, even if they do end up having some blood kept in reserve, they'll realize that there's no point to trying to use it, for scrying or anything else."

"And just how do you plan to manage that?" Liza asked acerbically.

"By doing something…big," Siobhan admitted. Even now, she was uncomfortable with her plan. But hiding away would only leave her vulnerable and easy to manipulate. Her ideas were a little reckless, a little dangerous, but she was facing that head on. Personally, she would be the one in the least danger, and once this was done, the Raven Queen really would be able to disappear back into the shadows for good. 'I suppose Ennis did teach me to gamble, after all,' she mused.

"They're practically setting me up to do something the day of Ennis Naught's sentencing, after all," she said. "But it won't be what they're expecting, and not focused where they're looking."

Chapter 155 - Evidence and Evenness

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 29, Monday 9:00 a.m.

A mixture of euphoric eagerness and stomach-turning anxiety would have kept Sebastien awake, except for a careful dose of calming potion, taken once in the evening, and again in the middle of the night when she woke to refresh her dreamless sleep spell. It might not have been as effective as something like elixir of euphoria, but she liked to think she could learn lessons from her mistakes. No more addictive substances. Especially when it seemed like she needed them just to function.

During breakfast, a paper bird messenger fluttered down next to her plate. She unfolded it bemusedly to find a list of the classes available to second term students, as well as a reminder to make her choices and submit payment as soon as possible. Siobhan frowned. 'Did they send these to all the students in Gilbratha? What a horrible waste of resources, just to show off. How much of my tuition payment goes toward things like this?' They could have sent one of the student aides who was staying over the break out to deliver this message across the campus, and normal letters through the post office to those students who had gone home for a couple weeks of freedom.

In addition to the standard four core curriculum classes that everyone was required to take, there were an enticing number of electives, many of which had not been available to first term students. Modern sorcery had several broad branches of magic which one could focus on to receive a Mastery, such as artificery, divination, alchemy, and even witchcraft. Those branches could be narrowed down further into sub-specializations, like warding, which was technically a branch of artificery, but was very different from other sub-specializations, like enchantment or automation. From there, warding even had its own smaller branches of specific focus, including ward-breaking.

The class list reflected this, with several branching classes being offered from the introductory elective classes, which were either prerequisites or corequisites.

In addition to that, the University offered several other interesting electives, such as Introduction to Esoteric Magics, Kitchen Magic for Chefs, Advanced Spell Array Theory and Design, Introduction to Healing Theory, An Exploration of Animism, The Magic of Fate: Blessings, Charms, and Benedictions, and even Zoology and Horticulture.

They also offered several math-based options, which would be required for some of the more advanced classes people could start to take in their fourth term. She knew what Statistics was, but what about Advanced and Esoteric Spatial Calculations? 'Perhaps you need that to learn space-bending magic,' she postulated. But she had no idea what Physical Approximations in Mathematics could be, and Non-real Numbers and their Application didn't even make any sense.

She selected Studies in Modern Magic, Natural Science, Sympathetic Science, and History of Magic, which she and every other student had to take for at least three terms, and which still had the same professors. Then, she added Elementary Practical Will-based Casting, which was only available to those who had passed the introductory class as well as received Professor Lacer's permission to advance. Students who had shown the proper dedication and improvement may have passed, but not yet be considered ready for the next step. 'Maybe that's why Nunchkin had to repeat the first term class three times.' Each term, Professor Lacer changed the spells taught in class, so repeat students wouldn't be going over the exact same thing.

Sebastien hesitated over Defensive Magic. Professor Lacer only allowed her to take six classes, with her apprenticeship with him taking the place of the seventh. Which meant, if she wanted to explore something different, Defensive Magic was the only thing she could give up. But then, she considered the amount of times that she'd been in an altercation over the past term, and the sheer increase in survivability that came with being fit and familiar with what to do when the spells started flying. No matter how enticing some of the other class options looked, taking Defensive Magic was a matter of disaster preparedness.

And so, she handed in a class list that looked almost exactly like the one for her previous term, and with an aching heart wrote out a cheque from her new account at one of the local banks. Three hundred gold, gone just like that. 'And…suddenly I don't have that five hundred gold I promised Liza,' she realized with a sinking heart. Adding up her account balance and the coin she had kept in readily accessible physical gold, she had a little over three hundred remaining. A small fortune, to be sure. Enough to support two people for a year, if they were more frugal than she had become. But not enough.

On the bright side, Oliver's textile business would pay her again in a few months. If she couldn't haggle Liza down, Sebastien could pay in installments, even if that meant doing more brewing for the Verdant Stag.

Perhaps whatever tribute Thaddeus Lacer had prepared for the Raven Queen would be valuable enough to cover the difference, but she wasn't ready to meet him yet. Not until she had improved her current precarious situation and ensured his intentions were wholly friendly.

A woman at the administration center fed Sebastien's class list into an artifact, which spat out a class schedule. She gave Sebastien a huge smile, said, "Exam and exhibition results for first term students are already up, Mr. Siverling. You might want to check them," and then winked with exaggerated care.

Bemusedly, Sebastien walked to the announcement boards which were covered in fresh paper and tiny print. First, she searched out her name under the exhibition results. To her surprise, in addition to the seventy points from Practical Casting, she had received fifty contribution points for the Defense exhibition. A short explanation mentioned only "great leadership and a display of exceptional magical prowess."

A tall, broad-shouldered form stepped up beside her, and Sebastien recognized Professor Lacer just fast enough to keep herself from jumping when he spoke. "Professor Boldon insisted that he would keep your smoking tree sculpture for himself. The scented smoke was a thoughtful touch. It probably accounted for at least ten of those contribution points." He turned to face her, his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you have plans for any particular purchase?"

Sebastien quickly calculated her total. "I wonder if two hundred eighty-seven points can be exchanged for anything interesting." She hadn't checked the items on display in the Great Hall lately, but she remembered, in addition to the physical items, they had a book listing many more rewards, like better meals in the cafeteria, private dorm rooms, and if she remembered correctly, temporary access to certain sections of the library's upper floors.

Professor Lacer's eyes flicked back to the board. "You received one hundred points from Grandmaster Kiernan, correct?" When she nodded, he said, "Then I must tell you that students who placed in the top ten percent of their term receive extra points. You should recalculate."

Sebastien's eyes widened, and she walked over to the adjacent rankings board. She had indeed scored in the top ten percent. Somehow she'd even received a good grade in Defense, despite not actually finishing the practical portion of the exam due to Fekten's interference. Perhaps that had actually helped her—the proctors making up for Fekten's misunderstanding. It had been the class pulling down her average the most, and without its weight, she'd performed surprisingly well. A slow smile spread across her face. 'And to think, just five months ago I scored only green five-fifteen on the entrance exam's spectrum. That was barely passing, and if not for Professor Lacer, I wouldn't have made it through the oral exam.'

"Next term, I will expect you to place in the top five percent," Professor Lacer said. "I am sure you are capable."

Her smile grew. "Of course." She turned to face him, mimicking his stance with her hands clasped behind her back. "Do you think three hundred eighty-seven points would be enough to purchase instructions to an esoteric spell?" Learning to distance the output of a simple spell had greatly increased her utility, but it would be even better if she had more options that didn't require her to make preparations like drawing out a spell array or brewing a concoction beforehand. Her makeshift paper tome had been useful, but even it couldn't compare to the ease of casting her shadow-familiar, or even Newton's calming spell.

He hummed, and she could tell from his expression that it was unlikely. Actionable records of esoteric spells were rare, since they were often passed down through oral tradition in families or from Master to Apprentice. She knew already that most of the ones the University had were held in the subterranean archives.

"How much would I need, do you think?" she asked, considering the feasibility of getting illegal access to a different part of the archives by bribing or manipulating one of the administration workers again. If she did that, she might even be able to snatch more than one spell. The only downside was the punishments that would come if she were caught.

Someone at the secret thaumaturge meetings might have an interesting esoteric spell, but she had determined to avoid those until things were safer, and a few thaumaturges sneaking around the law surely wouldn't have the selection of the world's greatest repository of information.

Professor Lacer thoughtfully rubbed his wild beard, which was getting longer than the close crop he usually kept it at. "Three hundred points just happens to be enough to buy an hour of my time, in which I could do you a small favor," he mused. "I would be willing to escort you to an area of the archives with safe esoteric spells, where you could peruse until you found one that met your interest. Of course, knowing your judgment skills, I will have to approve your final choice."

There were faint signs of a smile at the edges of his lips, and Sebastien suspected he was at least bending, if not outright breaking the rules for her. Not that she would complain about such a thing. "Can we go now?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her feet eagerly.

He let out a single chuckle that immediately turned into a poker-faced cough, but spun on his heel so that his long coat flared out. As he walked away, he waved for her to follow without looking back.

She hurried behind him, mimicking his confident and aggressive stride and ignoring the curious looks of the administration workers as they passed. None would dare to question Thaddeus Lacer.

Rather than one of the staircases to the upper floors, Professor Lacer led Sebastien to the reinforced door leading to the underground archives, where the truly interesting material was entombed.

As she followed silently behind him into the silent hallways carved from the stone of the white cliffs, she wondered what he might think of her recent actions and the admitted danger of her plan. 'But if I am going to be in danger either way, isn't it best to take action to try to change my circumstances?' she reasoned. She was doing her best not to be reckless, to consider the variables and take safety precautions. And she had even considered the possibility of resolving the situation through social and political means, despite how foreign the idea felt. That was why she had reached out to the High Crown, though she hadn't forgotten all the reasons she had avoided doing so before. Even if it didn't work out, she needed to at least attempt to open up more avenues to resolving her problems. Perhaps Lord Pendragon, first and greatest of the Thirteen Crowns, would surprise her.

Yes, if her plan worked, it would change a lot for her and leave her with the agency to make choices instead of respond to emergencies, but it wouldn't completely resolve her situation with Oliver and the secrets he was keeping. Even the thought of him and his puppet strings caused anxiety and anger to rise up in her chest.

She eyed the back of Professor Lacer's head, noting the few strands of grey peeking through his black hair. If anyone were to have useful advice that would cut to the heart of the matter, it would be Thaddeus Lacer, wouldn't it? He wouldn't spare her feelings.

Hesitantly, Sebastien spoke over the echo of their footsteps. "Professor Lacer," she began, "I have recently found myself in a difficult situation, and I would value your counsel."

He spared her a look over his shoulder. "Elaborate."

She took a moment to mull over her words. "I believe I may have been betrayed. Or, perhaps more accurately, manipulated?" She shook her head. "But I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm just blowing things out of proportion, seeing clues where there are only mundane coincidences. I know I need more evidence, but I'm not confident I can gather absolute proof of anything. And to be honest, I'm apprehensive about confronting this person directly."

He slowed, allowing her to walk by his side as he studied her face for a few seconds. "Without knowing the details of your conundrum, I cannot give you specific advice. But I can, perhaps, provide guidelines through which you can attack the issue yourself."

Professor Lacer was silent for a long few moments, reaching the end of the hallway and turning to the left. Finally, he spoke. "Many would advise you, if you value your relationship with this person, to simply confront them and communicate openly. But I have found this to be ineffective, unless you are in a clear position of advantage. Knowledge is power, and can be that advantage in mundane and life-altering conflicts alike."

Fekten had said something similar in one of his lectures. "The greatest weapon in the battle to live a long life is knowledge," she quoted in a murmur.

Professor Lacer quirked one eyebrow. "Indeed. Perhaps this is why the pursuit of truth is at the core of the Way. We have spoken about curiosity, the ability to relinquish ideas and beliefs, and the technique of twisting the knife of inquiry where it hurts worst. Your current issue moves further into the topic. I could say much about it, warnings and techniques and concepts, but I do not wish to overwhelm your fledgling steps along the path. Tell me, you already have a theory, correct? There must be evidence of some sort, or you would not hold suspicions."

"…Yes."

"I have no need of the details." He waved his hand, as if shooing away a fly. "However, if you suspect betrayal, you must require outside corroboration or contradiction. If your trust in this person was great enough—based on past evidence of their loyalty or honor—to believe their assurances, you would either not suspect them in the first place, or would have confronted them immediately. That you are asking me suggests you believe they might lie to you. Correct?"

"Yes," she repeated, a little stronger.

"And yet, you have some doubt. You could be biased toward suspicion because of insecurities, misunderstanding of the evidence, or an incomplete understanding of the situation. You may not know all the ways in which our thought processes are geared toward failure and our minds can lead us astray, but you are at least aware of the fact that you are susceptible to error. This is good. In my opinion, the thing that separates sapience from sentience is the ability to think about thinking, to recognize that your brain is an artifact of sorts with built-in flaws that lead to incorrect perceptions and conceptions. But most importantly, having understood that we are flawed, and in which ways, we can consciously correct for errors."

He paused to look her over a moment, searching her face for something mysterious.

She nodded eagerly at him, urging him with her expression both to continue walking and speaking.

He snorted, but began to stride onward again. "You have a theory already, and this is not incorrect, but it is also dangerous. It is common, and extremely easy, to come up with a theory and then work toward proving it."

"Rather than disproving it?" she asked. Gnorrish had talked about this. It was the duty of a natural scientist to try to disprove their theories, rather than prove them. Only in this way could they consistently make progress past their ignorance.

But Professor Lacer's response surprised her. "No, that is not what I mean." He stopped in front of a door, motioning to it. "Provide all the evidence that texts on blood magic rest behind this door."

Sebastien blinked at him a couple times, then turned to the door. "Do they?"

"That is not what I said. I asked you to provide all the evidence toward that conclusion."

She remained silent for a few seconds, and then said, "It makes sense that the largest repository of written knowledge in Lenore, if not the entire known lands, would have information on blood magic." He nodded, so she continued. "This is a restricted section, where either powerful or dangerous knowledge is stored. From my somewhat limited knowledge and experience, these rooms beneath the library hold even more sensitive information than what is held on the upper floors. I have previously found hints at spells considered blood magic in another of these subterranean rooms. Also, you retrieved the Comprehensive Compendium of Components from a room somewhere down here, which could technically be considered a text on blood magic, as many of its entries cover the uses of totally illegal and unethical components. All in all, it seems more likely than not that at least one text beyond that door could be considered to hold information on blood magic."

"Now, provide all the evidence that no texts on blood magic rest behind the door."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her mind flipping uncomfortably. She believed her original argument more likely, but that didn't mean she couldn't argue in the other direction, even if it required some misdirection and even direct contradictions of what she'd just argued. "With the extreme aversion Lenore has shown to blood magic after the fall of the Third Empire, it's likely that most texts detailing their methods were destroyed, either out of aversion or out of fear that someone might find them and use them. While these rooms are restricted, they are far from inaccessible, as I have proved. Any truly dangerous information would likely be held in a more secure location. As a professor, you would not lead me to a room filled with dangerous and unethical information." She paused, eyes narrowed. "I think I see your point."

He hummed. "Indeed. You need not attempt to disprove all of your theories, but to evenly prove or disprove them. This may seem obvious, but I state it because emotion can lead one to weight evidence unevenly. You have heard advice to attempt to disprove your theories because this is most likely to mitigate the failure of the average person's natural tendencies. A researcher attempting to prove a new theory of magic or natural science is likely emotionally biased in favor of their theory, and thus the attempt to disprove it, as well as the requirement for peer review and experimental results to be duplicable, more often achieves unbiased truth. But you can also be biased toward disbelief. One who wishes to believe may ask, 'Does the evidence permit me to believe?' while one who wishes to disbelieve may ask, 'Does the evidence force me to believe?' If you know the destination you wish to reach, you have already arrived. Consciously remind yourself that above all, you wish to know the truth of the matter, whether it will surprise you or make you feel stupid, or even make you wrong."

To her surprise, rather than opening the door, he turned and led her down the hallway again, to another stairwell leading down. 'Just how big are these subterranean archives?' she wondered. Each of the doors was labeled with a short string of letters and numbers, but they still didn't seem to follow an exact order. To the uninitiated, it would be very easy to get lost.

"In addition to searching only for the evidence that supports one's beliefs, a common error is to somehow find that all evidence proves your theory. For instance, it could be argued that a suspect acting guilty or secretive is evidence toward their crimes. But if they instead act unconcerned and unburdened, this could be evidence that they are attempting to manipulate opinion, and are in fact, guilty. Do you see the issue here?"

She nodded.

"Explain it."

"Opposite evidence should lead to opposite conclusions. If the suspect acting innocent is evidence toward their guilt, then acting guilty should actually be evidence toward their innocence. If either option leads to the same conclusion, then the evidence doesn't actually matter."

He kept walking without turning to glance at her. "And if I suspect that my colleague has stolen my sandwich, but can find no evidence of food residue on their fingers or mouth, no witnesses of them near my food, no footprints that match theirs, and none of my divinations point toward them as the culprit… Is it reasonable to then assume that my colleague is simply extremely cunning and has cleverly avoided evidence of their deeds, having paid off all the eyewitnesses, destroyed all the crumbs, changed their shoes, and cast a preemptive anti-divination spell that I have never heard of before?"

"The lack of evidence…is evidence!" she said brightly. "Unless you have some other, really compelling reason to believe your colleague ate your sandwich, like the two of you are in a prank war of one-upmanship, then perhaps there is another explanation entirely. Maybe the simplest explanation is that you forgot your sandwich at home, or got distracted and misplaced it."

"You continue to satisfy expectations, Mr. Siverling." Professor Lacer stopped in front of a door that, to Sebastien, seemed no different than all the rest.

'Is that…a compliment?' It was such faint praise that, coming from anyone else, she would have labeled it an insult.

He waved his faculty token in front of a door and strode through as the wards lowered.

"Absence of evidence is evidence of absence. So, as you are investigating this betrayal, remember that your judgment is imperfect. Allow the evidence to change your mind in either direction, according to its weight, weak or strong. And it is best to be clear ahead of time about what direction any particular piece of evidence will sway your opinion." He motioned for her to step past him, creating a bright light to hang in the air vaguely above her head and then crossing his arms.

This archive, like the other she had entered, was hewn roughly from the stone. The shelves that stood within were filled a scattering of books, but a disproportionately large number of scrolls, and even a few tablets and tapestries.

"As for how much proof one needs to be sure of something, that is a difficult question, because it is hard to properly quantify your own surety. However, it does do to be wary that we are prone to jumping to conclusion without sufficient evidence, or in the face of evidence to the contrary, our levels of surety remain much higher than they should. Do not be so complacent to believe that simply because you are more intelligent than the average person and also aware of this fallibility that you can easily escape it."

'If everyone followed these precepts, would the Raven Queen have gained her current notoriety?' Sebastien wondered, her eyes tracking over what must be hundreds and hundreds of esoteric spells. 'Would she even exist, or would she still be Siobhan Naught, desperate girl in over her head?'

Professor Lacer gestured to the shelves with his chin. "Well, go on. You only have an hour."

Chapter 156 - Nine Light Filters

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 29, Monday 10:00 a.m.

Sebastien attacked the archives like an extremely respectful hurricane, careful not to do any damage as she familiarized herself with its contents at top speed. She explored methodically, starting from the shelves on the far left of the room and moving right. Many were either translations or copies of the originals, with notes left by the translator in the margins, but at least half remained in their original language, and thus incomprehensible to her..

Sebastien quickly found that everything was organized incomprehensibly. "All the different types of magic and thaumic requirements from Apprentice to Grandmaster are all jumbled together."

Professor Lacer explained, "Information on these spells is organized by location of use and time period, respectively. This room is meant for historical and anthropological research, not to conveniently supply young thaumaturges with instructions to lost spells."

'That...is going to make things harder.' Sebastien sped up her search, quickly discarding any texts written in a different language, or that dealt with farming, community rituals, warding against pests and other common threats, or that did something so simple that the convenience of an esoteric spell didn't make much difference—like creating a candle-sized flame. She also discarded anything that was obviously beyond her thaumic requirements. Unlike with modern sorcery, which contained the written Word as a spell array, it wouldn't be so easy to adjust an esoteric spell to be less magically demanding in exchange for time and preparatory precision.

She set aside a few interesting options, like a spell that enhanced the five senses, and one that purported to turn the user's bones to steel over the course of seven years of repeated casting. One scroll described a spell that could allow one to turn the tip of their finger into a burning coal, useful for lighting fires…or burning symbols into things. She was a bit dubious about how literal such a thing might be, as charring off your fingertip in exchange for a spell that could let you draw out a single other spell array without writing implements seemed a costly exchange. Even worse, the scroll seemed shoddily translated. 'How horribly wrong could attempting to cast with mis-translated instructions go?' she wondered ironically.

Still, with a peek at Professor Lacer, Sebastien read through the instructions twice, committing them to memory as best she could without seeming suspicious. There might be a time when she was willing to sacrifice a finger in exchange for her life or freedom.

As she went along, she found a spell that allowed the user to mold their own flesh, though it was unclear to what degree or whether this effect would be permanent or not. Another offered to open the third eye and allow the caster to take one step closer to the "perfection" of the prognos. Yet another claimed to give a self-blessing, but was so vague as to be suspicious. As far as Sebastien knew, "good luck" magic didn't actually exist, though a fraudster hag might tell you differently when trying to sell one of their charms or talismans.

Several more powerful texts contained intriguing attacks, like calling forth lightning or causing bone spikes to explode from the caster's fist after a hard enough impact—like a punch. Those, however, required a capacity well beyond hers, and were obviously incredibly dangerous, as well.

No, she was looking for something more like her shadow-familiar. Something innocuous, but with flexibility and wider utility.

A very interesting spell allowed the caster to step down into the earth as if descending into water, but the thin book it was written in mentioned a range of additional spells the caster would need to know to further mold the earth once submerged—and to keep from suffocating or being crushed. Instructions for those additional spells were not given, and so the whole thing was useless. The capacity requirements weren't mentioned, but she probably didn't meet them, anyway.

One spell supposedly allowed the caster to communicate with aquatic creatures, but not understand them in return. Another allowed the caster to leave an invisible mark on something that they would be able to find forever after, which seemed like an early foray into modern sympathetic divination. That one, she also read twice, as unlike the fingertip burning spell, it actually made sense and seemed fairly easy to cast, though with admittedly convoluted requirements that would take a long while to complete.

Professor Lacer had moved to sit at the room's only table, and was reading a yellow-paged book whose title was written in a looping script she couldn't read, but vaguely recognized as originating from the tribes of the Tataroc Desert. He may have said that he would check any spell she picked up for safety, but he didn't seem concerned that she might be able to memorize more than one during her hour of access.

As she made her way through the shelves, time wore on and she became increasingly anxious. While the magical knowledge was fascinating, she didn't feel that she'd found the perfect option yet. 'If only I'd been able to research what was available ahead of time!'

However, she eventually found one spell that stood out from the rest, two scrolls bound to each other—the original and the translation. Unlike most of the options contained in this room, this spell was based on what seemed to be fairly complex physical movements. A preface by the translator noted that it required abnormally high amounts of both physical and mental control, but there were no specific thaumic requirements. Even the weakest thaumaturge could cast it, hypothetically.

It drew Sebastien with its frankly ridiculous benefits. The spell was called "nine-light filters" and allowed the caster to absorb sunlight to heal and repair the body, but more specifically, the mind. It sped up mental recovery, reduced the need for sleep, and improved mental strength, clarity, and defenses. Over the long term, it was supposedly able to reduce the chances of Will-strain.

'How is that even possible?' she wondered, a spot deep in her chest shivering with excitement. 'Is it improving the framework of the Will itself? Increasing clarity and stability? Or somehow improving the robustness of the brain directly, like Liza and I do to the mice?' However it worked, this discovery was extraordinary. Even a small decrease in the likelihood of a break event was incredibly valuable. And even if it didn't improve casting capacity, stabilizing the Will and increasing mental endurance was almost like a gift from the stars above. And beyond all of that, if she could combine this with the sleep-proxy spell, she might be able to go even longer without dreams.

'It must be incredibly difficult to cast. Or have a really slow return on investment.' There was no other way something like this hadn't at least spread among the most powerful thaumaturges. But then again, maybe it had, and she'd just never learned of it. There was a reason the scroll was tucked away dozens of meters beneath the surface of one of the most protected places in the known lands, after all.

She unfurled the scroll further, reading through the dense text and examining the extensive diagrams of the human body in motion. There was even an audible component, though luckily, no actual words that she would have to struggle to pronounce in the original tongue of those who developed the spell. Her stomach sank as the scroll continued to unfurl, until the total length was taller than her. In total, it probably reached two or three times her height, each inch filled with dense information.

She checked her watch. Less than fifteen minutes remained in the hour Professor Lacer had allotted her. No matter how voracious her mind was, she couldn't memorize all the instructions—some of which were translated confusingly and would need thought to decipher—along with the diagrams and notations. It would take even longer to try and make a copy by hand.

Sebastien turned to Professor Lacer, hoping that somehow, he would once again provide a solution for her. "This is the one I want," she said. "But I'm going to need more time to study it. It's too complex to memorize. Maybe you could cast a duplicating spell to transfer the information to another scroll?" The delicate spellwork needed to preserve the integrity of text was beyond her, but she was sure he could manage it.

Professor Lacer waved her over and held out his hand for the scrolls.

Instead of the translation, he skimmed through the original with the same ease as someone reading in his native tongue, his eyebrows slowly rising. She did her best to subdue the urge to fidget impatiently, but by the time he had reached the end, the hour allotted to her had already passed.

Finally, Professor Lacer looked up, rolling the scroll back together. "An interesting choice. Difficult, to be sure, but if you can manage it, it could be useful to fortify yourself against memetic effects and compulsion-based magic. While you may not be in danger of such attacks, they are the kind of thing it is best to start preparing for well ahead of time, rather than attempting to undo only after it becomes relevant." He gave a single nod of approval, strangely heavy with meaning.

'He's hinting at whatever the Red Guard did to Newton's family,' she realized. 'He thinks I'm interested in the spell because of that.' Admittedly, she now found the spell even more tantalizing.

He thought for a moment, and then said, "This spell was developed by the gestura. Are you familiar with them?"

She had never met one, even in the University, which boasted of its diversity, but she had heard the stories. "They are thaumaturges who practice a different craft," she said. "They train from the age of three in monasteries, until they are able to control the elements through sympathetic connections to their movements. Some say their craft is halfway to free-casting, though much less versatile, as they can do nothing outside manipulating the elements."

"That manipulation of the elements has more utility than you might think. After all, consider all the applications water or stone have as components. But it is a fact that the gestura are dying out. Their craft takes too long to master, and is indeed less versatile. They made wonderful battle mages, but the world is moving on, and they cannot keep up."

He slapped the scroll gently against his palm, scrutinizing her. "Learning one simple spell from a new craft is very different from becoming a master of their methods. But even so, this will be difficult for you to learn. I know without even needing to watch you attempt it that you do not have the physical stamina or precise control to succeed."

She clenched her fists, hoping that he was not going to tell her to put the scrolls back and choose another.

"I will not be able to help you when you inevitably struggle. If you feel any doubt about your desire to dedicate yourself to such an endeavor, speak now."

"I am not afraid of hard work or learning new things. I will learn it," she promised him with dark intensity.

"Hmm," Lacer said noncommittal, then glanced at the contents of the translated version and immediately frowned. "Nine-Light Filters?" he muttered. "That is a very poor translation." He looked at her, back to the scroll, and then stood up decisively, his chair scraping against the rough stone of the floor. "Allowing the University archives to make do with such a sloppy translation is unacceptable. As the purported greatest institution of knowledge in the known lands, this is a source of shame. I will be checking this text out and re-translating it as a service to the institution." He tucked both scrolls into one of the wide inner pockets of his long coat."You may come by my office to pick up a copy of my translation in three days," he added, as if the statement was unimportant and incidental.

She blinked a couple times, remembering the length of the scroll. If made into a book, it would probably contain at least a hundred pages of dense instruction. To translate something like that in three days, he would have to spend his time on little else. She swallowed hard past a sudden lump in her throat, looking away. Ennis would never have gone to such trouble for her. Not without expecting her to somehow repay him tenfold. No one since Grandfather had been willing.

But there was nothing Sebastien Siverling could do for Thaddeus Lacer, wealthy and powerful Grandmaster. And he must know that as well as her.

She blinked again, more rapidly, turning her eyes to the ceiling to nip any watering in the bud, and nodded jerkily. "Thank you."

He made no comment, turning to the door and waving over his shoulder for her to follow.

It was hard to reconcile this kind of decision with the callous way Professor Lacer had responded to notice of the Moore family's mental tampering. 'But people are nuanced,' she reminded herself, 'and there's a lot I don't know about the hidden side of this world. A lot I don't know about him.' It might not be safe to put her fate in his hands, her deepest vulnerabilities laid bare, but he was proving, again and again, that at least she could trust him with any possible responsibility a Master held to their Apprentice. She smiled wryly. "Best three hundred contribution points I'll ever spend," she said, her voice only a little hoarse.

He snorted, but neither turned nor replied.

She redoubled her determination to learn the spell. She might not be able to repay him, but she would, at the very least, prove that his investment in her wasn't in vain.

Professor Lacer led her back to the library's ground floor, then waved her off with a reminder to stop by his office in three days.

Her strange but pleasant mood was somewhat ruined when she picked up a discarded copy of that morning's newspaper on one of the benches outside, left behind by some careless student.

Her message to the High Crown had outlined the method and timing of his response—a coded ad in one of Gilbratha's most popular newspapers, three days hence. It was the safest method she could think of.

The High Crown had responded to her sooner than she had expected. But his intent was clear. Her tentative offer of negotiations toward some form of cooperation was rejected.

High Crown's Pledge of Justice!

Lord Pendragon Vows to Catch and Execute Raven Queen

The words were stamped large and black at the top of The Daily Sun's front page. Rather than agreeing to any sort of meeting, he had called for her to turn herself in before the might of the law, that she might be judged, for the Crowns—and especially Lord Pendragon, greatest of the Thirteen—did not submit to fear-mongering and would never let "evil" go unpunished.

Sebastien stared at the flimsy paper and the arrogant, unbending words spread across it. Her eyes unfocused until the letters looked like little more than squiggly black bugs ready to be crushed under her thumb. 'How strange and foolish it is, for him to respond like this,' she thought. 'It must be impossible to keep an organization of any type running smoothly when pride becomes more important than effectiveness.'

But perhaps there was something she was missing. Some plan that she didn't understand. She forced her jaw to unclench and read the article once more, searching for any clues in the message. In the end, she was forced to concede that it was merely a straightforward denial of her overture.

It was a shame, but it wasn't as if this left her any worse off than she had been before. After all, she was already putting her other idea into motion. This had always been Plan B.

Chapter 157 - Shifting Topography

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 29, Monday 11:15 a.m.

Sebastien set The Daily Sun back on the public bench where she'd found it, then stood in thought under the tree sheltering the area as small flakes of snow started to fall, melting soon after they hit the ground. Perhaps in the city below, they would turn to sleet or rain before they made it all the way down. It was always colder at the altitude atop the white cliffs.

The downside to Plan A was that it required a lot of planning, preparation, and help, and what she suspected was a deadline she didn't want to miss. The coppers hadn't been scrying for her since the time their sudden attempt drove her out of Gilbratha during the night. But it was clear they hadn't given up, and she could think of no better time for whatever they were planning next than Ennis's sentencing at the end of Sowing Break.

So, with some precautions to make sure it wasn't traced back to her, Sebastien again slipped a note into Tanya Canelo's cubicle, requesting a meeting at a discreet location in a couple of days' time. Like Sebastien, the other woman was staying at the University over the break. The note had no signature, but Sebastien knew that Tanya would guess the sender correctly, and was equally sure that the woman would show up.

After that, Sebastien's mind automatically searched for the next urgent task, and found…nothing. She was strangely free, with no classes, no homework, and not even any exercises for Professor Lacer. Sure, there was always magic she could practice or study, but nothing with an urgently looming deadline that felt like a tidal wave about to crash down on her.

'The most urgent problem is probably my shortage of coin. Liza is a black hole of greed. What could she even be spending it all on? And after that, some research and experimentation with the degradation of sympathetic links. And some curses.' Plan A might not require her to do much personally, but she still needed to ensure that what she thought were clever ideas weren't likely to backfire. Despite her issues with Oliver, the safest way for her to make a reasonable amount of coin in a short period was still selling alchemical concoctions to the Verdant Stag. And coincidentally, she now had time to work on the improvement to the philtre of darkness that she'd come up with before.

A cloud of darkness that only blinded the enemy could come in extremely useful for her own plans. And if she could figure it out, she was sure Oliver would pay a premium to get such an advantage over any potential enemies, including the coppers.

And that was how Sebastien found herself back in the library once more, this time surrounded by alchemical research.

Modifying alchemical concoctions wasn't as straightforward as tweaking the spell arrays of modern sorcery. Alchemy was ritual magic, more like music than a mathematical equation. All the preparatory steps changed the whole in such a way that they couldn't be exactly switched out for something different without complex and unforeseen consequences.

Sebastien knew there was some science to it all—whether to grind something into a powder, mince it, or tear off small chunks with your bare hands. It mattered how many times you stirred, in what direction, at what speed, and even the depth of your stirring implement within the cauldron. But she would be the first to admit that the principles were so opaque and seemingly inconsistent that it would probably take her years of study to understand well enough to create a theoretical concoction from scratch.

However, despite her lack of theoretical understanding, she had experience brewing dozens of simple concoctions, many of which used whatever components could be found in the area they were traveling, at whatever time of year they were passing through. She knew at least six different variations of a fever-reducing potion, a handful of pain relievers, and a dozen different concoctions to ward off different pests. Above all, she probably knew more tinctures, potions, sachets, salves and teas meant to affect dreams and sleep than any alchemist in Lenore who didn't have the privilege of access to the University's entire library.

Sebastien might not understand the rules for creating concoctions from scratch, but she had a feel for how little changes required other adjustments to balance the results. Even if she couldn't design the exact concoction she wanted on paper, she could experiment until she found one that worked.

'Luckily, alchemy is less likely than a standard spell to fail horribly.' Sebastien frowned, remembering several times when, as a less experienced alchemist, her concoctions had failed. Sometimes simply by burning or turning into a questionable, foul sludge that no one with any sense of self-preservation would ingest. One memorable time, by erupting from her cauldron in a volcanic spew of foam.

'Well, at least not the kind of failure that's likely to kill the caster and everyone around them,' she amended. But then she remembered several horror stories about the effects of incorrectly brewed concoctions. Her grandfather had tucked her into bed with one such tale about one of his childhood rivals. The young man had been working his way through a complicated brew that took six months to complete, when a simple mistake caused the concoction to form arms and legs and crawl out of the cauldron three months in. Somehow, Grandfather's rival had accidentally added a branch taken from a dryad instead of mundane wood. The living potion had proceeded to eat his rival's legs and maim three other people before someone managed to neutralize it. And his rival had gotten an award for innovation, which was an injustice great enough to send Grandfather off on a rant when he thought of it, even so many years later.

Sebastien was also pretty sure she had seen an illustration of an exploding cauldron leveling an entire building in the book Professor Lacer had given her.

'At least the type of concoction I want to brew…shouldn't be dangerous?' She cringed and rubbed her temples. 'I'll test it on mice first.'

Sebastien had been studying for a few hours, making cryptic notes in her spider-scrawl handwriting, when one of the younger administration employees informed her that a letter had been delivered to her by runner. The young woman smiled prettily and handed the letter over, then tried to make some conversation about whatever Sebastien was studying, but Sebastien cut her off as soon as she saw the scrawled signature over the sealed mouth of the envelope. Titus Westbay had scrawled his name so that it would be difficult to sneakily open and read the contents without alerting someone—a cheaper, more convenient alternative to the formal wax seal.

Within was a simple agreement to meet if she was available immediately, at a location surprisingly far south, where normal city began morphing into the more extreme poverty of the Mires.

Acid-sharp anxiety rushed through Sebastien's veins. She had discussed a reasonable backstory with Oliver, who assured her there would be some small amount of documentation in the records to corroborate her existence as Sebastien Siverling. It would be suspicious if someone without wealth, backing, or formal education like her were to have too many records, after all.

She had prepared as best she was able, but Oliver warned her that Titus Westbay was a tricky conversationalist, and, perhaps because of his job, skilled at getting people to admit to things they wanted to keep hidden. And all evidence pointed to the fact that he had some kind of vendetta against her.

She hesitated, but decided to go ahead and meet him despite the short notice, immediately packing up her things. As she rode the transport tubes and then a carriage, she couldn't help but run possible scenarios of their conversation through her head in endless permutations. Somehow, this was almost as nerve-wracking as going into battle.

Sebastien stepped out of the carriage into an area surrounded by dilapidated warehouses. 'Why does he want to meet here?' she wondered. And then, more darkly, 'Perhaps it would be easier for him to make me "disappear" in a place like this.'

Sebastien shook her head at her own nonsense and walked forward, looking for the elder Westbay brother. Soon enough, she saw people walking around with the standard metallic footsteps of the copper uniform. Ropes cordoned off access to a half-destroyed building, and while some milled around inside, others questioned the locals in the street.

One of the coppers, a short woman, noticed Sebastien and seemed to recognize her, waving her closer and hurrying inside. Soon after, the woman came back out with Titus Westbay in tow. She smiled brightly at Sebastien with a knowing, conspiratorial look that made Sebastien uncomfortable and had Westbay sighing with weariness.

Titus Westbay was taller than Damien, and despite the heavy workload his position must entail, the bags under his eyes were less obvious. However, he seemed to take similar care of his hair, which was perfectly styled without a strand out of place. Sebastien had met him before, after Newton's break event, but was understandably too distracted to take note of little details at the time.

The man looked Sebastien up and down, and then reached out to shake her hand with a firm grip that she matched. Neither of them smiled.

"Apologies for the location," Westbay said. "Some vigilante caused an incident. You requested a meeting, but I am too busy to set aside much time. Shall we walk while we talk?" He waved a hand past the crime scene and moved away before she could respond.

To Sebastien's surprise, instead of heading north, he walked further south. She followed, but neither spoke. She had been right that the snow would melt before reaching the ground here, but after mixing with the dirt and filth of the street it had left a wet, unpleasantly sticky film over the ground.

The dead carcass of a dog lay in a corner, stripped down to the bones and tendons, but no flies buzzed around it, and no maggots crawled through what little wet flesh remained. A woman sat next to the carcass, idly squeezing at an inflamed abscess on her arm until it dribbled green puss.

This area was outside of Oliver's territory. Those that lived in the Mires under him were poor, to be sure, but he hired workers to keep the streets clean and the wells clear. Because of his loans, predatory though they might be, no one walked around with festering wounds or died of illnesses that a few gold could treat. In the height of the summer, things would look worse here as the heat allowed things to fester, but within the reach of the Verdant Stag, conditions would probably only get better.

"The smell doesn't bother you?" Westbay asked, drawing Sebastien's attention back to him. He wasn't using a perfumed handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose or making an overt expression of disgust like she had expected.

"It does," she said. "But it won't go away just because I don't like it."

He nodded slowly, but there was something mean in his eyes when he said, "I thought you might feel some nostalgia. You grew up similar to this, correct?" He waved toward a couple children racing past them on the street, their knobby, scarred knees visible through holes in their pants.

Her heartbeat sped up, but she kept her face and tone controlled. "Not exactly like this, but if you mean poor, then yes." Did he think he would aggravate her into making a mistake? If this was one of the romance periodicals that some of the girls in her dorm liked to read, he would shortly be tossing a cheque for hundreds or even thousands of gold in her face and telling her to break off her friendship with Damien. Except the situation didn't quite fit, because usually the one tossing the cheque would the the noble mother, and that would make Sebastien the commoner girlfriend.

Again, Westbay spoke without preamble. "I assume Damien told you about our conversation?"

"And Oliver Dryden, too," Sebastien added dryly, a hint of a glare creeping into her expression as she stared at Westbay's side profile.

"Well, I will not apologize for that. Have you come to plead your innocence to me?"

Sebastien's eyelids fluttered as rage flared up within her like a fire splashed with oil, but she did her best to press it back down into her stomach. "On the contrary. I wanted to meet you so I could impart some facts about myself and give you the castigation you are so clearly in need of."

Westbay stopped, turning to face her with a slow, dramatic spin on his heel. "You are here…to castigate me?" His hands were in his pockets, making his autumn-colored uniform coat flare out slightly.

"And provide you with the critical information that your shoddy investigation failed to reveal," she said, staring unblinkingly into his eyes. Her fingers were itching to grab her Conduit, but she restrained herself, keeping her hands still and clearly visible.

Westbay's lips quirked up in the same condescending sneer that Damien sometimes wore. "Oh? This seems like it will be interesting. Go ahead."

Oliver had explained that Titus Westbay was the type to keep pushing until he forced a response. Rather than trying to avoid digging into her weak points, it was better to give him that response from the beginning, and steer it in the direction most beneficial to her. If Westbay thought she was angry enough to lose control, it would seem more likely that she was being truthful. However, Oliver had also warned her not to overshare, as a story with unnecessary detail could hint at extra time spent coming up with the lie beforehand.

Truthfully, this kind of interaction was the area that Sebastien felt least skilled. But she had to get through it. Even if she couldn't hope to make Titus Westbay like or trust her, he at least needed to believe her relatively harmless.

"It is true that I grew up poor, and sometimes desperate, and that I experienced things that linger in my nightmares to this day. I was an orphan, and my uncle took me when I was too young to remember. He fed and clothed me, kept my hair dyed brown, and taught me, though I don't know if we are biologically related or if he gave the title of "uncle" to himself out of kindness. I cannot ask him now because he is long dead." The man she was talking about had existed, and had been known to feed the local urchins of Vale. He had been a mediocre thaumaturge, and Oliver assured her that he had died in a gruesome way that left little evidence of his life behind.

"If my uncle knew the history behind my name, that, too, is lost to me. However, as far as I'm concerned, I have no claim or connection to any throne, historical or current. And if I did, I would try to get rid of it," she added truthfully, grimacing at the thought. "Trying to rule must be ridiculously unpleasant and inconvenient. How is one supposed to wrangle all the idiots?"

She waved the thought aside and began to walk again, forcing Westbay to follow. "After the fire that killed my uncle, which I suspected was deliberately started by one of his rivals, I left Vale and spent a few years traveling from town to town, often under an assumed name. And at some point, I grew fed up with pretending to be someone else. I want my name and accomplishments to be remembered."

Sebastien stopped, buying two slightly withered apples from the basket of a woman kneeling on the sidewalk. The fruit were small, wrinkled, and ugly, but not rotten—the last remnants of the previous year's harvest. Sebastien bit into one and offered the other to Westbay, who declined with a dubious expression. With a shrug, she tucked the second apple into her pocket. "I've done a lot of research on you, too, you know."

"Oh?"

She took a second bite, and then a third, chewing for a long moment as she built up courage for what came next. "I learned about you from those you're closest to, and of course your background and circumstances are common knowledge. Anyone you pass on the street knows at least a few things about Titus Westbay. Hells, you've even been in the papers a few times. I didn't even need to meet you to know how contemptuous you are." She took a deep breath and spoke quickly. "You care more for politics and maneuvering for the favor of your father and the other Crowns than you do for justice. How many people have you unjustly arrested and imprisoned? You've slept with several of your servants and then fired them. I also heard you like quintessence of quicksilver a little too much, and maybe that's what's been—"

Westbay raised one hand to his forehead, and the other toward her, palm out. "Stop!" He took a deep breath, and then lowered his hands "That's the most ridiculous drivel I've ever heard. Who are your sources?"

Taking another bite of apple, she crossed her arms and raised a stubborn eyebrow. "Do you deny it?"

"Yes!"

She scoffed, looking around. Almost everyone in the street around was watching them surreptitiously. Her accusations hadn't been quiet.

Westbay stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Wherever you heard those things from—those close to me would never say such things! None of what you just accused me of is true. You cannot act as if you know everything about me simply—" He closed his mouth with a sharp click of teeth and stared at her for a couple seconds. "Ah. I see I am making your point for you."

She smirked. "Haven't you learned at your age that rumors cannot be trusted?"

His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, and he reared back. "At my age? How old do you think I am?"

"Old enough to be treated like an adult and held accountable for your actions," she said softly.

He took a deep breath, smoothed his fingertips over his hair, and looked around for a moment while settling his emotions. "That's…fair."

Sebastien did her best to hide her relief, but braced for the counter-blow that must be coming.

"Those who know me would never believe such malicious gossip. I can admit, those who know you defend you with similar vehemence. Damien beseeched me to keep an open mind. But I hope you can see that you seem…quite suspicious?"

Her apple pit was down to some hard bits and a few seeds, which she tossed into the gutter along with the rest of the filth. "You may see my background as a huge disadvantage, but I view it differently. My past taught me to be who I am. It seems like you're worried that I want to attach to Damien like some sort of leech, but I…" She held out her empty hands to the sky. "I don't need anything that he can give me."

Westbay tilted his head a few degrees to the side.

"I look at the University students around me and I see naive, weak children. If I had never gone through hardships, I wouldn't be magically weak, but I might still be naive. I wouldn't have gained depth and the certainty that I can survive anything." Her words came slow and precise as she stared him in the eyes. "I might bend, but I will never break. All Damien has is money and influence."

Westbay snorted, holding a hand over his mouth as he looked up at the sky. He mouthed something to himself, and then looked down at her again, his eyes suddenly narrow.

His expressions were so mercurial they left her suspicious. Some of them might not be real. Surely his emotions weren't shifting so quickly?

"Was the plan to go after the Gervin branch lines your idea?" he asked.

Sebastien blinked, thrown mentally off balance by the non-sequitur, but at least she could answer truthfully. "It wasn't. I did my best to mitigate the danger in the original plan and make sure we were prepared with options in case things went wrong. Mostly, they didn't, except for Malcolm Gervin becoming so violent. But I know they could have. Professor Lacer already gave me a dressing down for putting myself in danger, but…Ana was going to do something, with or without my help. She's very protective of her little sister, you know. Perhaps you can relate."

"What did they do to Nat?" Westbay asked, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Nothing punishable by the law, as far as I know. If you want details, you should ask those directly involved." Sebastien turned and began to walk again, her eyes roving the streets in an instinctual search for danger. Two wealthy men delving into the Mires without obvious protection were a temptation. Even just stripping them of their clothes could buy someone a few weeks of food. If these people knew who she and Westbay were, they would think twice, but she couldn't count on desperate people to be either knowledgeable or prudent. "I understand you don't like it when Damien is in danger, but there's no way he would have agreed not to be involved. And if you really wanted to do something about Ana's uncles…you should have gotten there first." She sneered, watching him from the corner of her eye. "I won't believe you if you tell me you never heard any rumors, that you had no inkling of crimes committed."

Westbay didn't flinch, the next question coming immediately. "You've admitted to visiting the Silk Door. Are you a patron…or an employee?"

Sebastien tripped over the edge of a tilted cobblestone and when she tried to catch her balance, instead slid across the wet film covering the road. If not for Westbay catching her by the arm, she would have fallen. "Neither! I have never sold my body for coin…or any other benefits!" she added when he peered at her suspiciously.

She looked around, again finding everyone watching them, and shook off his grip with a scowl. "Though would that be so horrible, if I had? Prostitution might be unpleasant and sometimes dangerous, but it's honest work. It's just another sign of the veil of nobility over your eyes that you think yourself fit to judge without the faintest hint of understanding."

She drew herself up until, despite their equal height, she could look down on him. "I don't have the free coin to patronize those who work at the Silk Door, either. I merely have friends who work there. If you find such associations distasteful…I don't care." She bit her tongue to keep herself from spewing even harsher words, and reminded herself that her ire was meant to be at least partially an act. She couldn't let his probes and accusations unsettle her.

Again, the next question came without hesitation, almost as if he had come up with it beforehand. "You may not have sold him your body, but can you really say that you're not aware of, and taking advantage of, Oliver's feelings for you? Or that you aren't attempting to seed an unhealthy attachment in Damien?"

"What?" She scowled with the darkness of an enraged thundercloud. "I'm not so alluring that anyone I interact with falls for my supposed charms. If anything, people find my personality abrasive and my honesty off-putting, and that's if they don't find my competence intimidating."

He actually rolled his eyes at her, muttering something she couldn't make out.

"I have little interest in a romantic relationship, and most especially not with Oliver Dryden. I don't believe he feels for me the way you're suggesting, and if he did…" She swallowed, her outrage dampened. "If he did, it would be in my best interest to dissuade that interest with fervor."

Westbay's eyes narrowed and he leaned in as if magnetized by curiosity, but then his expression smoothed out again into perfectly mild interest.

"As for Damien, the fact that he didn't immediately abandon me during the Defense exhibition isn't an unhealthy attachment. It's evidence of a modicum of observational skills and a good helping of actual friendship. He hasn't had the kindness beaten out of him yet, though he does a good job of hiding it under his sneer." Almost immediately, Sebastien realized that there were other things beyond the Defense exhibition that might count as seeding unhealthy attachments. Such as inducting Damien into a fake secret organization. But she certainly wasn't going to bring that up.

"Why would it be best for you to avoid Oliver's interest?" Westbay asked, his voice mild in a way she suspected was deceptive. In fact, she was beginning to wonder how much of the conversation had been guided by the man, despite her resolution to outwit him.

"He is…manipulative. If he really liked me in that way, I would probably find circumstances around me twisting to make me dependent on him, and only him. He'd try to make himself the center of my world and make me think it was my idea," she said heavily.

"And he…hasn't been doing that?"

Sebastien clenched her jaw. "I hope you're not about to start jumping to conclusions that he's a criminal or something, just because I admitted he's not a perfect specimen of altruism."

Westbay let out a single, barking laugh that seemed to have been surprised out of him. "Damien mentioned that he wanted you to come stay with us over the break. What are your current—"

Something knocked into Sebastien from the side, and her first instinct was to protect her pocket from sticky fingers reaching where they shouldn't be, but as she flinched and turned, a spew of vomit arced from the mouth of the woman who had bumped into her.

The chunky, brown and red liquid splashed against Sebastien's legs and splattered down to her boots, some of it catching around the top of her boot, where it would no doubt seep inside.

Sebastien and Titus Westbay both stared in open mouthed shock as she was doused with an amazing amount of stomach acid and rancid, half-digested food of indistinguishable origin.

Chapter 158 - Projectile Vomit

Sebastien

Month 3, Day 29, Monday 4:00 p.m.

Sebastien took a half-step back, but reached out to steady the woman when she swayed and heaved again. The arm under her hand was distressingly thin, so little muscle or fat covering the bone that she could have easily wrapped her fingers all the way around with room to spare.

"Oh, no, no," the woman moaned, then heaved again.

Sebastien's first thought was that Titus Westbay had arranged this for some impenetrable reason.

The stench was nose-searing, but held none of the distinctive scent of alcohol. Other substances that might cause a backlash like this weren't so distinctive, but as the woman rose, Sebastien quickly cataloged that her nailbeds were not flushed but blue with cold, and her eyes were slightly unfocused but not overly dilated. She wasn't a user of either of the common, cheap substances that caused nausea, and the vomit itself contained none of the foam that would have accompanied legal sources of ipecac syrup.

The woman drew her arm away, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "Oh, my lord, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." Her eyes struggled to focus, but as she looked at Sebastien she grew only more anxious. "Oh, your clothes, so fancy—are they ruined? Oh no, oh Myrddin no—I can't—"

Sebastien reached out and gripped the woman's cold hands within her own. They were so small. Sebastien adjusted her estimate of the woman's age. She might even be younger than Sebastien. But the starvation drawing her skin tight around her skull, cracking her lips, and painting deep bruises beneath her eyes made her look older.

"Do not worry," Sebastien said. "This little bit of mess is nothing, I swear. I can clean it with a few quick spells, quick as you snap your finger, and these clothes will be as good as new."

The girl cringed, her voice hoarse as she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Master Sorcerer. I beg your forgiveness." The fabric of her skirt trembled as her knees shook from weakness, fear, or a combination of both. If this situation had been set up, the girl was a wonderful actress. But in any case, the starvation was real.

Sebastien considered continuing to argue that she wasn't angry, but changed her mind. "You shall have my forgiveness if you answer my questions truthfully and agree to a few demands."

The girl tensed up, silent, and Sebastien took the opportunity to turn her head to Westbay, who was watching the whole thing with his mouth hanging slightly open. "I believe I've said everything I need to you. I know you're busy, so feel free to return to your investigation."

Then, she turned back to the girl, who nodded reluctantly, no doubt assuming Sebastien was going to enact some sort of revenge on her. "Where's the nearest healer?" Sebastien asked the girl, who stammered out some vague directions and then offered to lead Sebastien there, as she didn't know the address. Sebastien agreed, as she'd never gotten around to memorizing the layout of the entire city, and the Mires were convoluted.

She kept the girl's arm tucked within the crook of her elbow for balance, and they walked slowly, because the girl was too weak for Sebastien's usual long-legged stride, with occasional pauses for the girl to heave out a little bile.

Instead of returning to work, Titus Westbay followed along silently behind them. This was irritating, but Sebastien couldn't be bothered to argue with him.

Sebastien continued asking questions of the girl, learning that her name was Betty and that she lived what Sebastien considered a pretty typical orphan waif life.

Betty had a residence, so technically wasn't homeless, but it was only a spot in the corner of a wooden shack that she shared with several strangers. For coin, she did odd jobs where she could find them. Betty didn't admit it, but it was likely that she stole or prostituted herself to make up the difference. But when winter hit, things got harder for everyone, and sometimes the weakest didn't make it.

Betty had last eaten that morning, but when questioned about the meal, grew reticent and could only say, "It was a kind of…pie thing. All chopped up and mixed together." Then, mournfully, "I can't believe I threw it up." Even the thought had the girl heaving again, the effort leaving her panting for breath and her face as pale as death.

Sebastien had fresh water for her to sip, and mint oil, which she dabbed on Betty's temple and chin, but nothing to truly control the nausea. Even a pain potion would come up again before it could do much good. When they arrived at the healer's, Sebastien turned back to Westbay. "Must you continue following me? If there is something further you wish to speak about, you may send me a letter, or even set up a meeting for a later date. As you can see, I am busy."

Westbay grinned at her, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. "Oh, no. There is no way I'm missing this. Whatever this is."

Sebastien grimaced at him in disgust, turning away from him to push open the healer's doorway. "None of the rumors mentioned that you are a sadist who enjoys watching the suffering of ill children."

"What?"

The healer ambled out from a back room, his eyes sliding over Betty to focus on Sebastien, and then on Westbay who entered behind her. "I'm honored by your presence at my humble establishment. What can I do for you, my lord?" he asked, bowing obsequiously deep, though his eyes were peeking at the vomit soaked into Sebastien's clothes and chilling her legs.

Sebastien scowled, putting a hand on Betty's arm to guide her to a seat. "She has food poisoning."

The girl's eyes widened, but she nodded, unable to speak past another dry heave that had green-tinted saliva pooling into the hand she cupped in front of her face.

Sebastien grimaced. Left unsaid was that Betty had probably taken a risk with that "pie thing" because she was literally starving to death, and couldn't afford to be picky about what she ate. Without treatment, it could be enough to kill her, most likely through dehydration, but if not that, from the lingering weakness that would make it impossible to provide for herself without help.

Sebastien knew what it was like to be so incredibly hungry that normal reticence about what you would eat, or what you would do to be able to eat, fell away. For a time there, after Grandfather died and before Ennis found her, she, too, had eaten whatever she could. Food that was dirty, half-rotten, or meant for the animals. She'd gotten sick a few times until her stomach adapted. Eventually, she'd become wiser about how to get what she needed, but that got her caught put in jail for beating a wealthy, fat little boy to steal from him.

"She'll need a stomach soother, a pain reliever, a nourishing draught, and if you have one, a bed for the night. Check to see if she has a fever, as well." Sebastien was already counting out the coin for the potions. Licensed magical supplies were too expensive, but it wasn't as if Sebastien could bring the girl to a Verdant Stag apothecary with the Lord Commander of the coppers following her around.

She shot Westbay a peeved look as she almost emptied her coin purse. "Actually, since you are so starved for 'entertainment,' perhaps you should be the one paying for Betty's treatment."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Westbay pointed to himself, and then Betty, and then back to himself. "Wait, you think I— But you—"

The sick, half-starved girl was looking around with wide eyes, stammering questions about what was going on that Sebastien ignored. Somehow, Betty seemed to have missed the fact that they were going to the healer's for her sake. She tried to get up, but a single sharp glance from Sebastien was enough to sit her back in the chair.

"And a thorough diagnostic, as well?" the healer asked obsequiously, his eyes on the gold in Sebastien's hand. "There's been obvious starvation, which could lead to damage in the digestive system that needs to be repaired." He flinched back from Sebastien's expression.

"How much?" she asked.

Before the man could answer, Westbay stepped forward. "Titus Westbay," he introduced himself perfunctorily, but he was staring at Sebastien with a considering expression. "Send the bill to me at the manor."

The healer basically tripped over himself to see to Betty, who tried to protest but was quickly silenced.

Sebastien remained for a few minutes after the first round of alchemical concoctions, sitting beside the thinly cushioned pallet that would be the patient's bed for the night and watching the visible signs as Betty's nausea and pain eased.

The girl took Sebastien's hand in hers, pulling it into her lap. "Thank you so much, my lord. It's the greatest fortune of my life to have met someone as kind as you. Is there…any way I can repay you? Any way at all?" She bit her lip, her eyes seeming a little too large in the gaunt frame of her face.

"Westbay's the one who paid for you, so you owe me nothing. Don't even bother to worry about the coin. He has plenty." She looked to Westbay, still standing on the other side of the room, and narrowed her eyes speculatively. "So much so that he could easily afford to give you a few coin to get you through the next week or two. Right?"

Westbay's eyebrows rose, pinching together in a strange, confused mix of surprise, frustration, and suspicion. "Really, Mr. Siverling?"

"Siverling?" the girl repeated, obviously recognizing the name.

"Really," Sebastien repeated firmly. Again, it was Westbay's fault that she couldn't suggest the girl find temporary housing or even possibly a job in Verdant Stag territory.

Westbay's eyes flashed with a hint of something, and his lips stretched into a faint smirk. "Alright. You may come by Westbay Manor tomorrow evening and pick up a few coin, Miss. I'd love to hear your story." He stared challengingly at Sebastien, as if they were playing a game of chess and he had just trapped her king.

She peered at him with pity. Did he think she would be shocked just because he'd invited a commoner to his home? That didn't make him any less of an arrogant snob.

Perhaps he saw this judgment on her face, because his triumph slipped away and was replaced with surprise and confusion.

The girl tossed around more effusive thanks and attempted offers of repayment, but when the healer returned with his diagnostic artifact and the first nourishing draught, Sebastien took her leave.

Outside, she shivered as her wet clothing made itself known again. She looked left and right, noted the lack of carriages for hire, and spent a couple seconds searching her memory for the best path back toward the University that was likely to pass by a reasonably priced restaurant or food stall. Some place where the smell of vomit wouldn't inconvenience the other customers. Her stomach felt terribly, achingly empty, and she wanted to stuff herself until even the thought of more food made her ill.

"How did you know it was food poisoning?" Westbay asked, stepping up to the curb beside her.

"It was easy enough to rule out the other common causes of explosive vomit. I may not be an investigator, or Aberford Thorndyke, but I have eyes and working brain."

She shivered again, then retrieved the folding slate table from her bag and drew a quick spell array to suck the liquid out of her clothes. With her Conduit in her free hand, she carefully ran the slate table over her lower half, letting the water coalesce in a small puddle around her feet, while the air chilled even further by the spell's use of heat energy dispersed in the breeze. The spell was meant to combat the misery of traveling in the rain, not to actually clean anything, and had left most of the vomit behind, only dried. This was a marked improvement, even if it had pulled some of the disgusting paste deeper into Sebastien boots and left her skin itchy.

Westbay had watched the whole thing as if she were some kind of fascinating anomaly, like a talking toad. Truly, he was beginning to irritate her more than Damien ever had. Sebastien walked forward, heading in the direction that would lead her into an area she knew better and could navigate more confidently.

Westbay walked beside her, matching her stride as if it was natural. "Betty was a very conveniently timed interruption. Don't you need to find some way to bathe and wash your clothing? Or change into something else? A spare copper uniform, perhaps?"

"Are you offering me a spare copper uniform?" she asked. Being able to impersonate a copper might be useful at some point. But, no doubt, she'd be expected to return the clothing. And go to one of the copper's substations to pick it up. "Never mind, I don't want it. Some vomit is not the end of the world. I can make it back to the University without fainting from the horror of it all."

"Are you truly trying to tell me this wasn't all a ploy to gain my interest and sympathy?"

Sebastien stopped, turning to stare at him. Her left eye twitched as she tried to keep her anger and disgust contained in her belly, but some of it boiled up. "You think far too highly of yourself." Before a full diatribe could slip out, she turned on her heel again and walked away more quickly this time.

Westbay hurried to catch up. "Is that a no? I'd ask if you'd be willing to state that under a ward against untruth, but that boon from the Raven Queen is very convenient."

Sebastien drew in a sharp breath.

There was a pause, and then Westbay said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up such a traumatic event. That was too far."

'So he doesn't actually suspect my connection with her?' "You said that…just to get a rise out of me?" she asked aloud.

"I apologize. Somehow, I do actually believe that the whole thing was unplanned. Do you do things like that often? Helping the destitute, I mean."

"Of course not. That was an exceptional incident."

"Why?"

Sebastien examined his expression, trying to gauge if that was a serious question. "Because without help, that girl had a good chance of dying. And I just happened to have the thing she needed—gold. I may occasionally be accused of being a miser, but even I can admit that a person's life is worth a little inconvenience on my part." The cost for Betty's treatment would have been covered in just one or two days of brewing potions for the Verdant Stags. "And in the end, I didn't even have to pay."

"Would you consider yourself a philanthropist, then? Like Mr. Dryden? Or, excuse me, Lord Dryden?"

Sebastien snorted. "To the contrary. But even I can't just ignore someone right in front of me." She shut her mouth and pressed her lips together. That had been a little too honest. The whole point of this meeting was to make herself seem less suspicious, after all.

But Westbay only said, "I think you might be surprised how easy many people would find it to practice deliberate blindness. May I ask, where is it that you are headed?"

"To a food stand."

"To buy the girl a meal?"

Sebastien side-eyed him. "To buy myself a meal."

"Would you be amenable to some company? My treat."

Sebastien stared at him suspiciously for a few long, silent seconds as they waited for a carriage to pass so they could cross the street. Something about this interaction was giving her deja vu. Finally, she realized where the feeling was coming from. "You're just like Damien!" She narrowed her eyes. "Are you a masochist? The ruder someone is to you, the more you like them?"

Westbay choked and started coughing. "What? No! What do you mean?" He blinked. "Is Damien—" He closed his eyes, pressing a closed fist against his mouth as he cleared his throat. When he opened his eyes again, he seemed resolved to forget the short exchange had ever happened. "You may escape my company, if you answer one more question."

Sebastien suspected this would be the question that counted. She steeled herself to not respond involuntarily.

"You once told Damien that free-casting runs in your family. How could that be, if you have no knowledge of them?"

"I…did?" Sebastien's eyes moved away from Westbay's as her thoughts raced. 'Is that true? How could I have let something like that slip?' But she was quick enough to come up with a solution. She could only hope her acting was good enough to make it seem believable. "I don't remember saying that," she admitted. "But I can guess the context, and, um, the reason."

She blushed, a natural enough reaction because this kind of slip up really was terribly embarrassing. "I wasn't being entirely truthful with Damien. That free-caster wasn't my actual family." She cleared her throat, examining the cobblestones near the edge of the sidewalk. "So. When I was young, I collected newspaper clippings about Thaddeus Lacer. Orphaned children often like to make up stories about their parents. Pretend that they have family still alive out there, and come up with reasons why they were abandoned or lost and will some day be reunited." This was all true enough, though didn't exactly apply to her.

Westbay lifted a hand to his mouth, probably concealing a smile. "Go on."

She closed her eyes, and then forced herself to meet Westbay's gaze. "I used to pretend that Thaddeus Lacer was my father. So, maybe when Damien was bragging about his own family, I got irritated and said that."

Westbay's hand fell away, revealing that he was indeed sporting an enormous smile, as if he'd just discovered his biggest rival had a bout of diarrhea in front of the High Crown during court. "And is he? That would explain why he took you as apprentice…" His voice turned into a mutter as he gripped his chin between thumb and forefinger, looking her over. "He would have had to mate with an albino to produce you. Or some magical accident during childhood? Perhaps his sperm are all damaged from repeated Aberrant exposure."

Sebastien held out both hands toward Westbay's face as if to thrust his ideas away with her palms. Surely he couldn't actually be considering that? "No! No. We are not biologically related in any way."

Westbay's sadistic grin suggested that he was only teasing her.

She balled her fists at her side. "Professor Lacer is my mentor only, and I would sincerely appreciate it if you never mentioned this to anyone else. I really do not need any more strange rumors circulating about me."

Westbay clasped his hands together. "Of course, I will keep this incredibly embarrassing secret for you. Did you know I am quite good friends with Thaddeus? It hurts me to keep things from him, but as long as I'm assured that Damien is safe in your company… Of course, if that ever changes…"

Sebastien rolled her eyes. "And I will take care not to mention this meeting of ours and the way you dredged up my traumatic memories to Damien, hmm?"

Westbay's smile fell away. "Touché." He returned his hands to his pockets and, somewhat somberly, said, "Unless you are fearsomely good, I can see that you're not the person I thought. Thaddeus often warns about jumping to conclusions, and has rebuked me for my tendency to conflate the most interesting theory with the most likely. I thought I had grown out of that, but it seems the rather unfortunate confluence of adventure and mystery around you skewed my thought processes. I…apologize."

Sebastien drew a deep breath and let it out, her skin cooling as the flush faded from her cheeks. "You did me no true harm, so I will forgive you. But if you find yourself in a position to keep others from digging into my past or personal life while looking for gossip and drama, I would appreciate it if you take action to stop it. I do not want to be defined by my past or my circumstances. If possible, I would wipe those things from my mind entirely. I do not want to deal with them being dredged up over and over." She blinked rapidly against the wind.

Westbay placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Would you like to come to the manor for dinner? I'm sure Damien would be overjoyed."

Sebastien sidestepped away from his grip. "Thank you, but no. I have studying to do."

Instead of becoming irritated or offended, Westbay seemed amused. "Ah, yes. Damien has told me how you are 'struggling' to catch up to the rest of the students. Well, perhaps some other time."

Sebastien nodded, but resolved that she would avoid further interaction with Titus Westbay if at all possible.

Chapter 159 - Sheltered Under Wings of Midnight

Siobhan

Month 3, Day 31, Wednesday 8:00 a.m.

At breakfast time two days later, Sebastien arrived at the Kaiseki Ryori, a fancy restaurant owned by the Nightmare Pack. A quick flash of one of the gold invitation card's Gera had given her got her silently escorted to a private room in the back. Gera had suggested it as a discreet location to hold meetings, and set this room aside for Siobhan, or anyone that could produce one of an exclusive set of gold invitation cards.

The restaurant charged exorbitant prices to serve various dishes from the East, many of which apparently contained raw meat. These "delicacies" had grown popular recently, and though the idea of eating raw flesh made her shudder, Sebastien felt that such boldness—edging on savagery—matched the Raven Queen's persona.

It was free, and worth it for the unpredictability alone. If someone were following Sebastien, they would have no chance to notice anything suspicious. None would speak of anything that happened in this room, which she had come into the room as Sebastien, and which she would leave as Sebastien.

While waiting for the food to be delivered, Sebastien ignored the fancy tea in small ceramic cups that probably cost their weight in gold, instead taking the opportunity to make doubly sure there were no artifacts or spell arrays that would allow someone to spy on those within. After the food arrived, Sebastien informed the waitress that she and her soon-to-arrive guest were not to be disturbed in the name of service, and then changed her form and apparel. Everything she needed to become the Raven Queen, except for her transformation amulet, was in a small briefcase.

When Tanya arrived, Siobhan was sitting on a cushioned mat in front of the low, heated table. Her divination ward was activated at a low strength courtesy of her dowsing artifact. Siobhan waved for Tanya to sit across from her, and the other woman complied, not even trying to meet Siobhan's gaze after an initial glance.

While Siobhan sat with her legs tucked to the side, Tanya kneeled and sat atop her calves, the top of her feet pressed flat to the cushion below, her hands cupping her knees.

"Eat whatever you would like," Siobhan said, waving to the beautiful spread of food, laid out in an artistic smorgasbord of small dishes and bowls, some heated or chilled to preserve the temperature of their contents. Siobhan had sampled a few of the offerings herself while waiting for Tanya—out of hunger more than optimism—but had been pleasantly surprised.

When she heard of the Kaiseki Ryori's food, Siobhan had imagined biting into the flank of a raw, dead fish and ripping away the meat with her teeth. What raw fish they had here had been exquisitely sliced, then marinated or seasoned, and paired with rice and various fresh vegetables in colorful bite-sized servings sprinkled with small flower petals.

Tanya's eyes swept over the various dishes, but she only took a couple bites of decoratively sliced vegetables for her own plate. She ate radish shaped like a flower, then forced herself to look at Siobhan across the table.

"I can tell you are apprehensive, so we might as well get down to business and relieve you of your suspense," Siobhan said, sliding a wedge of raw, pink fish atop a bed of compressed rice into her mouth.

Tanya watched with horrified fascination, but nodded, letting out a slow, tense breath.

"I have a mission for you, if you are willing. It is moderately dangerous, and I want to stress that it is optional. You may refuse me, if you wish, and I will not be angry or take any sort of retribution."

Tanya cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably. Her legs were probably falling asleep from her kneeling stance. "Is this mission going to pit me against my employers? I don't want to make an enemy of them."

Siobhan took a sip of a savory, cloudy soup sprinkled with chive slices, savoring the rich warmth. "This mission has nothing to do with the Architects of Khronos," she assured.

Tanya frowned, tilting her head to the side. "I…think there must be some misunderstanding? I don't work for those terrorists. I'm employed as…well, basically an errand girl for some University faculty members who don't want to be seen doing their dirty work themselves."

Siobhan remained silent, but raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Tanya's frown slipped away along with all the color in her face. "Are you sure?" she asked, grasping Siobhan's implication with admirable speed.

"Quite sure," Siobhan said. "In fact, the Architects of Khronos were part of the attack force on Knave Knoll that night, as well as the simultaneous attack on the Verdant Stag. They raided the Verdant Stag's vaults while the Stag forces were spread thin and occupied elsewhere. I think you can imagine what they were hoping to find."

"But…they sent me to warn you. Why would they do that if they were the ones attacking?"

"You were insurance. The Architects wanted plausible deniability in case their plan failed. With your warning, they could pretend that they were still allies of the Stags. And if you failed, or were killed in the fighting, they got rid of a liability and only lost a…what was it you called yourself? An errand girl. You didn't know the truth, because Grandmaster Kiernan didn't trust you with it."

Siobhan's words left Tanya visibly reeling. "But that— This whole time?" she muttered to herself, staring at the table blankly. She looked up again, meeting Siobhan's gaze despite the pressure to look away. "What are they planning? Why do they want your book so much?"

"I cannot be sure of their plans, but I believe they have grown tired of the restrictions the Crown places upon them. The Crowns cannot allow anyone else to gain too much power, and those at the University would be in the perfect position to do so, if not for the Crowns' measures." Oliver had said as much, and except for those involved, he was probably in the most informed.

"What do you want from me, then?" Tanya asked, her clenched fists resting on her thighs.

"If you accept it, your task would be very simple. I want you to impersonate me." Siobhan allowed the edges of her lips to spread outward in a hungry smile. She took a bite of some meat that had been sliced into strips, doused in a dark red sauce, and then gathered in a ball that resembled yarn. Flavor exploded over her tongue, sweet and salty mixed together with the rich under taste of rare steak.

Tanya swallowed visibly, staring at Siobhan's painted lips, then back to the meat dish, and then back to Siobhan's lips. "I don't understand," she said finally. "I don't think I have the skill to impersonate you properly. And for what purpose?"

"Do not worry, it will not be as difficult as you imagine. You will be provided with all of the necessary supplies to approximate my appearance. Your goal would be to send a message to a specific place at a specific time, using a raven messenger that I would prepare for you ahead of time. You would remain at a distance the entire time, and as long as you do not get yourself captured, no one would ever know of your involvement. Your job is simply to be the raven's handler."

Tanya hesitated for along while, but to her credit, didn't ask why Siobhan needed someone to impersonate her, or why she couldn't do this herself. "I would be willing to work for you…if you can keep me safe."

It was an understandable request, considering Tanya's position with the Architects. She was in danger from her employers' callousness as well as the justice of the Thirteen Crowns, if she were to be caught. "I am not omniscient or all-powerful," Siobhan admitted. "I cannot protect you when I am not present, or from everything that might endanger you. It is even possible that closer association with me will put you in further danger. I might be able to lower your risk, but I cannot promise to keep you safe."

Tanya gave a single nod that was more a bow of the head. "I understand. That is enough for me. Please, tell me the details of my mission, my queen."

"Eat while we speak," Siobhan said, motioning to the food once again. "I abhor waste." Tanya still hesitated, so Siobhan chose a piece of the thin-sliced fish over rice and placed it on the woman's plate. "Try this."

Tanya stared at it as if it were a piece of mud, but her lips wobbled in a tremulous smile, and she shoved the whole thing into her mouth. Her expression remained forcibly pleasant while she chewed, but she was unable to suppress a full-body shudder as she swallowed it all in a huge gulp. "Very…interesting, my queen. The chefs here are quite skilled."

Siobhan let out a low, throaty laugh.

Tanya startled, but then relaxed, her smile smoothing into something more genuine.

"Quite the diplomatic answer," Siobhan praised. "You do not have to eat the fish. Fill your belly with the dishes you find palatable, and I will explain your part in what is to come."

Chapter 160 - Decryption Clues

Sebastien

Month 4, Day 1, Thursday 5:30 a.m.

Sebastien woke early on Thursday morning, for once due to nothing more than her own irrepressible excitement. It had been three days since Professor Lacer took the esoteric spell for translation.

Unfortunately, it was so early that the sun had not yet risen, and Professor Lacer would not be in his office until after breakfast hours at the earliest. So Sebastien worked on her new application to the philtre of darkness. That project, along with helping Liza with the sleep-proxy experiments and brewing a few batches of important concoctions for the Verdant Stag, had taken up most of her free time this week.

After much frustration, she'd had to give up on her initial idea to allow selective vision through the dark clouds.

Creating a potion that could slightly increase the range of light that one's eyes could see was the obvious solution. One she had no doubt someone else had already come up with. All future philtres of darkness that she brewed would take this possibility into account, and dampen or absorb the widest range of radiation she could manage.

Her next idea was to somehow link the philtre of darkness with a counter-potion, which would allow only those with the counter-potion to see. This…sounded great in theory, but she had no idea how to actually implement such a thing without completely changing the way the philtre of darkness worked. It would have to be more of an alchemical hex, if the effects were short-lived, or a curse, if they were not. In other words, she would need to turn the philtre into an air-borne poison that would cause blindness, with the counter-potion being, in fact, an antidote.

This was a step further than she wanted to take things. Especially because she couldn't control the spread of a philtre once it was released, and might at some point need to use it in an area with civilians—innocents.

But Sebastien still felt that somehow linking the philtre of darkness to a counter was the right idea. She briefly wondered if perhaps she could create a concoction to impart some sort of echolocation sense, but discarded that option, as not only would an improved philtre's particles easily interfere with sound, she remembered Professor Gnorrish's warnings about the side effects of trying to give oneself extra senses.

And then the idea that had been taking root in little pieces of gathered information bloomed in her mind, like a lotus made of sunlight. 'I don't need to see through the darkness at all. I only need to know what's there. And humans already have a sixth sense. It's just that no one ever thinks about it. Proprioception.' If she could adapt the group-proprioception potion she'd brewed for the Verdant Stags previously, she would be able to sense the cloud of darkness just as she could sense her own elbow or her big toe. If it worked like she imagined, she could know everything within it by judging where it came into contact with something that stopped its spread.

'Testing is in order,' she decided. 'I'm going to need to buy up a big stock of magical cluster lichen.' It would be best if she could keep it alive in seawater until she had need of it, but that would require both space and maintenance. Perhaps Liza could be convinced to lend out space in her apartments once more, once Sebastien had proof in the form of a viable concoction.

By the time Sebastien had finished noting down all of the ideas that came with her sudden epiphany, dawn was long gone and the breakfast hour had passed. "Surely Professor Lacer will be ready by now?" she murmured to herself, hurrying to put on her boots and scarf.

As she passed through the grounds, she noted the group of people standing around at the entrance, near the admissions center.

Professor Lacer's voice was scratchy as he called for her to enter, and he seemed uncharacteristically enervated, his motions a little clumsier, his blinks a little slower.

"Are you ill?" she asked.

"Only tired. You may not be aware of this, but there is a second round of admissions, often called the 'off-term' round. We use it to fill in the gaps from those who were expelled or dropped out during this past term. I have once again been pulled into helping with the process. There may be fewer people, but the restriction of completing the whole process within the two weeks of Sowing Break makes things rather taxing."

'Both Newton and Tanya must have been part of the off-term admissions, to be in their fourth term while I was starting my first,' she realized. 'What might have happened if Ennis and I had arrived to Gilbratha just one week later? I would have missed the standard admissions testing. Maybe I would be one of those students outside, hoping to squeeze into a spot opened through someone else's devastating failure.'

"In addition to that," Professor Lacer said, "I have a new side project. I have begun attempts to decrypt the books brought back from Black Wastes' archaeological expedition. Myrddin's journals. Until now, the History department has met only failure. They have grown desperate for results."

If they'd had as little success as her, they probably couldn't refuse arguably one of the most talented sorcerers on staff. As Professor Lacer had once mentioned, keeping even knowledge for oneself required power. 'But wait, Myrddin's journals? As in more than one?' It shouldn't have been so surprising, but she'd always been thinking of her book as the book. Sure, the expedition may have recovered lots of historically relevant books, but she'd thought of hers as special, written directly by Myrddin himself, and encrypted to keep his most important secrets. But if Myrddin had written more…

Professor Lacer raised a palm toward her to cut off any questions. "I anticipated your interest in this topic, but I have given a non-disclosure vow about any information that I might uncover." He lowered his hand. "However…" He raised his eyebrows with subtle, secretive amusement. "The vow does not cover what methods of decryption I am attempting, nor my theories. If you would like to hear about my efforts," he added.

"Yes!" Sebastien exclaimed, hurrying over to his desk and taking one of the chairs across from him. "You said there were multiple journals? How many? If you can talk about that, of course."

He hummed, looking unseeingly at the wall while his lips moved soundlessly, almost as if he were testing out the words before he spoke them. "Myrddin's hermitage was filled with quite a lot, but the most important items were four heavily encrypted journals that the historians believe contained his notes and theories on spell development. The Raven Queen has one. The University retains the remaining three. They're quite unlike any journals that I have seen before, and seem to be fully…" He frowned, his words coming slower and with some effort, perhaps due to dissuasion from his vow. "…artifacts in their own right."

Sebastien thought to the ever-shifting glyph on the surface of the leather bound book, and the way none of the pages ever looked the same twice. Even the diagrams and illustrations shifted incomprehensibly. "So what are you doing to decrypt them?" she asked.

"I suspect the journals are not actually 'encrypted,' using the standard meaning of that word. I am not attempting to use logic or mathematics to reverse-engineer the original meaning. In fact, I have reason to believe that all such efforts to this point, using all variations of currently known ciphers, have been entirely unsuccessful, revealing no coherent patterns in the text, whether that be words, symbols, or even individual letters. One possible conclusion in such a case would be that Myrddin was a mathematician so skilled that even all advancements and discoveries made in the intervening one thousand years cannot match his innovations. So skilled that the University's considerable magical resources and the sheer weight of our combined computational power cannot brute-force past his novel encryption scheme, given months of effort." Professor Lacer gave her a pointed, wry look that communicated exactly how little he thought of this theory.

"Another theory could be that anyone who comes into contact with the artifacts is placed under a confusion hex, so that they see the contents but cannot parse or remember them. This would be quite clever, but hexes do not travel well through reproductive media. If, for instance, a camera obscura were used to take photographs of the pages, those photographs would not also contain the hex. Even if those who came into contact with the text were permanently cursed, you could bypass the curse by having that photograph developed by someone who'd never come into contact with the journals. Then, the photograph could be viewed from a distance, through a spyglass, by someone who had never even personally met those who had contact with the journals. No matter how robust, tenacious, or infectious the curse, that person would be able to see the truth of the photograph."

"Clever," Sebastien praised. She'd never even heard of a curse could spread between people. Their solution seemed ridiculously over-kill. "But that didn't work, obviously. What next?"

"I am unsure how he managed to approximate such a good model of randomness, but if I were to create such a thing, the inside pages of my encrypted journal would hold no actual data. They would be a decoy, to distract from the real method of accessing the information." Another pointed look suggested that he believed this was exactly what Myrddin had done.

And it made a horrible sense. If the journal were encrypted, it would have had to be done in such a way as to not only scramble the text, but also the symbols and drawings, leaving them just on the edge of coherence. 'I've been going about this completely the wrong way.' If she thought of how she might go about manually breaking such a cipher, using mathematics alone, it was obvious that it wouldn't work. But because she had been using divination, she was somehow expecting to receive some sort of coherent output based on the "magic" of it all. And even though she'd never heard of a similar encryption, she hadn't even considered that it might all be a trick—an illusion—because this was Myrddin's journal, and he was full of crazy feats!

She gritted her teeth. 'Planes-dammit! Divination is useless!' Aloud, she asked, "So the pages don't store any actual information? How do you access the contents, then?"

"How else does one access a seemingly unbreakable, locked box? Through the key," he replied simply, with a satisfied smile. "Which, I might add, is ingenious in its own way. The most basic protection to overcome was an identity verification. Those who worked on the project before me were able to find a loophole and spoof a positive result with a little effort. Interesting, but hardly the world-shattering innovations people often ascribe to Myrddin."

This was disappointing, but Sebastien retained hope. The transformation amulet could place her into an entirely different body. 'What are the chances that Sebastien Siverling's physical form meets the identity requirements?' she thought.

"However," Professor Lacer added. "The other half of the key is fascinating."

Sebastien leaned forward with anticipation.

"It requires specific knowledge as well as a notable level of thaumaturgic skill. There is a hint, of sorts—I will leave out the specifics—and at first we believed that this hint pointed toward particular spells which needed to be cast immediately. The lack of warning, as the required spell changes somewhat rapidly, would require not only a free-caster in name, but one who could cast almost anything at a moment's notice. One who had a broad repertoire and a certain depth of experience. Combined with historical expertise and extensive research, we believed we could pinpoint the correct spells to cast upon the journal, and thus unlock it."

The hint Professor Lacer was talking about had to be the ever-shifting glyph on the front of the book. "You believed that at first, you said. So it didn't work?"

"It did not. Some thought that this merely meant Myrddin had some special trick—that some of the hints were misleading, or perhaps the casting was meant to start only when prompted for a particular spell, which would start off a specific sequence if successful. Some suggested that the spells necessary were merely even more obscure. Myrddin was known to be well-traveled and even to have developed quite a few of his own proprietary spells. In that case, we would have to know his secrets already to be able to access his secrets."

Sebastien blew out an astonished sigh, leaning backward until the chair supported her once more. "Wow. That would be pretty much impossible to figure out."

"Indeed. Luckily for us, the artifacts were never asking for a spell at all." His gaze was piercingly bright, as if lit by something internal. "No components, no Conduit, no channeled energy. The key required merely…the application of Will." He said the words as if they were momentous, overwhelmingly impressive.

Sebastien understood why he felt this way, because she, too, had once been surprised by this. Though in her case, she had been very aware of how much more there was for her to learn. The idea that Myrddin could create such an artifact was astounding, but still somehow plausible. For someone like Professor Lacer, who was one of the most accomplished thaumaturges in the known lands, and perhaps the world, to discover proof of something he'd never before considered possible must have been much more impactful.

She grinned, a sense of camaraderie at their shared wonder and delight in magic filling her chest. "If that's true, it means that Myrddin discovered how to quantify the Will. At least enough to detect its application."

Professor Lacer's smile grew larger, and he gave her an approving nod. "Exactly. If decrypting his journals can lead to even that much understanding, it will revolutionize entire fields of magic. I had previously scoffed at the fanciful hero-worship so many people seem to hold toward Myrddin. I know many of the tales have been exaggerated and twisted beyond recognition, and I truly doubted that even the most innovative, driven genius of that time period could have surpassed all the advancements of those that came after for a thousand years or more. I still find that exceptionally unlikely. But there is another option."

Sebastien nodded, recalling something Professor Lacer had once said on the topic. "Pre-Cataclysm knowledge, rediscovered."

Professor Lacer spread his fingers flat on the desk and stared at them as if imaging all the knowledge his hands might one day hold. "Yes."

"So did you succeed in completing the key?"

He raised a wry eyebrow and sat back with a sigh. "If only it were so easy. You see, the hint becomes more complicated. Whereas in the beginning it requires one simple application of Will—one concept—after a few rounds of success it moves onto two concepts. I have tried melding the concepts together in various ways, but as soon as I reach that point, each attempt ends in failure."

'I think he means that the single glyph on the front of the journal will somehow become two?' Sebastien guessed.

"It requires not only rare and obscure knowledge to apply the correct concepts, it seems one also needs a partner whose Will can somehow balance one's own." Professor Lacer grimaced. "We are still struggling with that part. It does lend some credence to the rumors that Myrddin had a son, or perhaps a trusted lover or other close companion, but I am still unconvinced that there is no trick that would allow a single person to input the key. I simply find it unlikely that Myrddin would hinge his access to his own information on the presence of another person."

Sebastien blinked a couple times, then tilted her head to the side. Surely she was missing something, because the solution seemed rather obvious. "Have you considered that instead of melding the concepts or having two people in perfect balance, you need to split your Will? 'Cast' both concepts at once, separately?"

Professor Lacer said nothing, so she continued hesitantly. "After all, the identity authentication didn't require you to spoof two people…did it? Maybe the artifact can tell that there are multiple Wills being imposed, and has safety precautions against such a thing."

Professor Lacer was silent for a moment longer, and then gave her a look filled with superior amusement. "I see you have some knowledge of the Myrddin's mythology. Been doing your research, have you? However, you cannot believe everything you read, Mr. Siverling. The University's library is not restricted only to texts of perfect accuracy, especially when it comes to historical records. The truth of the matter is, unless Myrddin did some extensive self-mutilation that even I cannot fathom, the idea that he could split his Will to cast multiple spells at once was simply a misinterpretation of his use of artifacts."

Sebastien couldn't hide her surprise. That couldn't be right. 'Even I can cast two spells at once. Are the glyphs very different? Perhaps they require a lot of effort or some kind of complex mental gymnastics.' Aloud, she said, "If the concepts were similar enough, or simple enough, you'd be able to cast them both at once, right?"

Professor Lacer huffed. "I think perhaps you mean that one can combine similar or simplistic concepts into a single spell with a more complex effect. For example, a fireball spell that spins while flying to the target, and then explodes on impact. But that is quite different from casting two separate spells, holding two separate Wills, at the same time. I cannot think of any living mortal species that can truly multitask. It is said that the brillig could, but they didn't interbreed with humans, and they are all long gone, now. Myrddin was almost certainly a full-blooded human, despite the stories. When people say that they are good at multitasking, they really mean that they rapidly switch between two separate focuses. However, to impress your Will on the world requires absolute attention, which is why distractions can be so fatal."

Sebastien stared at him silently, hoping that her expression seemed natural enough despite the confusion rampaging through her mind like a herd of elephants. 'But I have definitely turned my Will to enforcing two different goals at the same time. Not multiple commands compressed into a single spell.' One such example were the multiple times she had used some portion of her Will to empower the divination-diverting ward, while simultaneously casting another spell.

'Perhaps there's something different about empowering the ward, though,' she reasoned. 'I'm not able to truly apply my Will in separate directions. For instance, I failed to cast a scrying spell on myself while simultaneously empowering the divination-diverting ward, which would have been more convenient than my dowsing artifact.' She had once likened a real spell to playing a melody on the piano, while the divination-diverting ward was a simple, repeating line of notes, requiring power but little complexity.

During the Practical Casting mid-term tournament, she had split away some of her attention from moving the sphere against Nunckin to moving some of the molten wax on her candle up the wick and into the flame. It was definitely two different points of concentration, but both were still contained under the glyph "movement." 'So perhaps that was just a more complex version of a single spell, one coherent Word creating multiple similar sub-effects.'

Despite her justifications, Sebastien remained unnerved. She felt there must have been other examples of her splitting her Will in two distinct directions, but she couldn't remember any.

Chapter 161 - Myrddin's Reflection

Sebastien

Month 4, Day 1, Thursday 9:05 a.m.

Sebastien's introspection and memory search had taken only a few seconds, which she hoped didn't seem too strange. She forced an awkward smile. "Well, that's a little embarrassing. I realize now that I've never actually seen someone cast more than one spell where at least one of them couldn't have been an effect caused by an artifact. I guess it's one of those remnants left over from childhood that I never thought to question."

"Yes, I have noticed that some of your basic theory is lacking," Professor Lacer agreed matter-of-factly.

"Are you really sure it's impossible? What would it mean if Myrddin, or anyone, really could split their Will in two different directions?" she asked, trying to keep the urgency from her tone.

Professor Lacer frowned, rubbing at the dark hair on his chin. "Perhaps…a lobotomy? Splitting one lobe of the brain from the other. I am unsure how that would affect the Will. It is not possible even with those who otherwise display signs of split personalities after severe Will-strain or other mental trauma. At most, one of the 'personalities' will demonstrate prowess in an area that the other does not. You might see powerful elementals creating complex effects, but really they are only ever casting variations of their single inherent spell. Even Aberrants tend to have a single anomalous effect that they exist to propagate, despite complexities or nuance."

His eyes brightened and he held up a hand, forefinger pointing toward the sky. "Ah! In fact, I do know of one instance of a single body able to cast two different spells at the same time. A child was born with a birth defect." He frowned, lowering his hand. "Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that two children were born with a birth defect. They had most likely been meant to be twins, but something went wrong, and instead both of their heads were attached to the same body."

"That's…not exactly what I meant," Sebastien said.

Professor gave her a pointed look, dipping his head to peer at her over the strong bridge of his nose. "The lengths I have to go to find any sort of example should indicate how impossible such a feat is. If someone could, despite all reason, split their Will in two different directions…" He trailed off, rubbing his chin again. "Well, the only ideas I can think of lend themselves to fictional novel concepts more than plausible theories. An artificial intelligence who somehow gained sentience and a Will might be able to split that Will into different threads. Some sort of hive-mind being could plausibly portion segments of its composite population toward separate mental efforts. But all of this speculation does give me an idea for unlocking the journals… I will try rapidly switching between the intent for the two glyphs." With a wave of his hand, his fountain pen rose up and scribbled out a note, and then after a short pause, another.

He looked back at her absentmindedly. "I have work to do." He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a stack of papers tied together through a hole at one edge by a string. "This is a proper translation of your esoteric spell. I have made a few notes with advice about how to approach the challenge. If you would like to stay, you may practice output detachment under my supervision."

Sebastien actually wanted to return to her dorm and look up information on Myrddin's supposed ability to split his Will, but she didn't want to give away how confused and disturbed she felt. It would probably be out of character for her to give up a chance to practice the next step on the path to free-casting with someone who might be able to give her hints toward success. "Thank you," she said instead, moving to the center of the room to set up a spell array with distanced output parameters.

The concentration required would at least help her to settle her roiling thoughts. She couldn't have a breakdown if there was no space left for worrying. 'Unless I can!' she thought with a kind of wild amusement. She suppressed an inappropriate giggle, but before actually attempting to cast, took a trip to the nearest bathroom and used Newton's calming spell to settle herself.

It helped a lot, as did subsequently tiring herself by distancing the output of a few simple spells for the next hour. She had little trouble controlling a single axis of movement without writing every distinct adjustment into the spell array. While still three or four times more difficult than standard casting, her success with concealing Enforcer Gerard during the fight against the Architects of Khronos seemed to have helped her overcome some small part of her mental block. The whole concept had been slightly easier since.

But she still wasn't managing to actually detach the output, only distance it through the same mental tether technique she'd adopted from the function of her shadow-familiar spell.

As she began to grow too fatigued to safely continue, Professor Lacer set aside his paperwork once more. "I have something for you to consider. Broadening your perspective can lead to unexpected epiphanies."

'Oh, one of the promised "inspirational lectures" on other topics!' she realized, nodding quickly with excitement as she took a seat.

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. "Just as some divinations are cast using a sympathetic connection, some curses use the same, often in the form of a piece of the victim, or an effigy of them. It would seem that both types of spells work on the same principles, correct?"

"It would seem," Sebastien agreed cautiously, because she knew there must be a twist, or he wouldn't have brought it up.

"In reality, there are distinct differences," he confirmed. "Sympathetic divinations are actively cast, and while some spells classified as sympathetic curses work in this way, others are cast once, and then continue to affect the victim."

"The latter must be based on the principles of binding magic," she offered.

"Indeed. Somewhat like that little spell you developed to give yourself more waking hours in the day."

Sebastien flushed, remembering that he had ordered her to bring any further developments to him, which she had not done. When she and Liza actually got it to the point that she could use the sleep-proxy spell herself, she would need to be cautious that he did not learn of her suspicious levels of energy.

He lifted a finger. "Sympathetic divinations are disrupted by long distances and intervening matter, while binding curses are much less affected by distance, and almost not at all by intervening matter."

A second finger rose. "Sympathetic divinations can be warded against en-masse, as evidenced by the Raven Queen's capabilities, and the boon that she gave you. But curses using binding principles must be warded against individually, according to their effect, and are notoriously difficult to break without knowing the exact spell that was cast."

Sebastien frowned, wondering why there was a difference between binding magic, sympathetic divination, and actively cast curses. Surely that understanding was supposed to somehow give her inspiration. But a more pressing concern came to mind. "The Raven Queen is, by all accounts, immune to divination. But based on what you're telling me, that doesn't mean she's immune to certain types of curses. Could the coppers use that against her?" She knew the answer, and had even considered this possibility before herself, but was hoping that his connections among the coppers might give him insight that he would be willing to share with her.

"They could, if they could somehow get the principles of binding magic to apply, and if she were foolish enough to walk into a trap of equivalent exchange."

Sebastien thought of the mice and ravens used in the sleep-proxy spell. They weren't really agreeing, with full knowledge, to take on the burden of sleep. Breathing in the elcan iris smoke that contained the mixed drop of blood was enough.

To get caught in someone else's binding magic, she might need to accept a thematic gift, or take something into her body. 'But…I don't know how far those limitations might stretch. I suppose it's a good thing the High Crown turned down my overtures. If he were cleverer, he might have trapped me.' Suddenly, she realized that perhaps he was worried about something similar. The Raven Queen had quite a fantastical reputation. Perhaps he didn't want to be bound to any agreements.

"Isn't that blood magic?" she asked. "Forcing binding magic upon another using an unwillingly given piece of them. It isn't like divination, where people get a license to use it. Blood magic, serious blood magic, is illegal, even for the coppers. Is that…the kind of thing they can get a license for, too?"

"It is still technically illegal for the coppers, though they may gain special dispensation for specific instances. As you gain experience, you will find that legality can sometimes matter less than necessity or desperation. Especially the closer one is to that exact power and influence that created the laws in the first place. In those cases, only the Red Guard stands in a position to enact punishment, and they would not, for something like this. It is not the Red Guard that created the restrictions against blood magic, after all."

"It's actually surprising that they haven't tried something like that yet," she murmured. "Obviously, divination hasn't been working, and they're no closer to catching her than when they started."

"The need to force the bond would weaken the effect of any curses, and open them up to possible backlash. I doubt they could do anything like kill her with what little blood they have remaining, unless she actively agreed to the consequence, perhaps as a wager of some sort." He palmed his Conduit, a chunk of celerium so large than even his long fingers were barely able to meet with his thumb when wrapped around it.

As Sebastien wondered about how little blood, exactly, they had remaining, he continued.

"However, if the right circumstances present themselves, they might still try something. It is even possible they could attempt an actively cast curse. It would suffer the same distance and barrier restrictions as sympathetic divination, but while it is likely she is immune to them as well, as far as I know, there is no hard evidence to that effect. After all, no one is yet sure exactly how her abilities work."

"The right timing," she repeated. "Like at Ennis Naught's sentencing, when they expect her to be…invested in the outcome?" She had already guessed that they would try something then. Planned for it, in fact, but the hints at exactly what they might do were new information. Professor Lacer was friends with Titus Westbay, after all, and had even helped with the investigation. He was even more likely to know confidential information than Damien.

"Exactly," he replied, staring into the depths of the unpolished celerium orb with a hint of wistful spite. "But she is not so foolish as to be unaware of this. If she is at all worthy of the resources they have put into catching her, that will not be enough to best her. It is only that they have few other options at the moment." He looked up, meeting her gaze. "However, I did not give you this lecture to encourage your interest in the Raven Queen, but to broaden your horizons. Think upon what these ideas might mean for you."

"I will," she promised, distracted.

Soon after, Sebastien hurried back to her dorm room, her head spinning with the implications of what she'd learned. She would need to be somewhere safe on the day of Ennis's sentencing. 'Maybe the new esoteric spell could help me resist a compulsion curse. Professor Lacer seemed to think it would help against the kind of thing that was done to the Moore family, and what was that if not a mind-affecting curse?'

In her dorm, she drew the curtain of her cubicle despite the relative emptiness of the long room, and turned to the first page of the sheaf of papers, on which Professor Lacer's elegant handwriting had labeled the spell "Third Sequence: Refinement of the Nine Heavens."

Though the temptation to dig into it was strong, Sebastien instead pulled out the books on Myrddin that Professor Ilma had lent her. 'I know I read about Myrddin dual-casting before.'

It didn't take long to find the section in Myrddin: An Investigative Chronicle of the Legend. Like Professor Lacer, the author came to the same conclusion that the ability to dual-cast was falsely attributed, due to misunderstandings created by Myrddin's many artifacts.

But that entry linked to a story in the illustrated book of stories, Enough Yarn to Last the Night: A Collection of Myths from the Life of a Man with Many Names. The illustration at the start of the tale was a rather horrifying image of a man standing in front of a large, gilded mirror. He had looked away, seemingly momentarily distracted, but his reflected image remained staring straight at him.

Something about the image made the hair on Sebastien's arms and the back of her neck rise. She had skipped over reading this tale when the note in the other book had pointed her to it the first time. Sebastien had always had a somewhat instinctive distrust of mirrors. Like other children feared what their toys did in the dark with no one around to watch them move, as a child Siobhan had feared what happened in the mirror world when she was not looking.

But now, her concern and curiosity were greater than her discomfort.

The tale started impactfully enough. Young and curious, jaded and powerful, Myrddin decided to play with time.

Sebastien paused at the contradictory description, because how could one be young and powerful, jaded and curious, all at the same time? Reminding herself that this was fiction, and not even very realistic fiction, she continued.

Myrddin wove a magical tunnel from the silk of memory spiders, aeon-dead silkworms, and frozen silverfish. When he walked through the tunnel, he lived backward for a day, and had much fun. But Myrddin's reflection did not come with him. And while he was away and distracted, it came to realize its own existence via the lack of its reflection. For ever before, Myrddin had been there to mimic it, just as it mimicked him.

Sebastien paused and re-read that section, her scalp tingling.

And so, alone and newly awaked, Myrddin's reflection found that it could move on its own.

The illustrations showed Myrddin living backward, facing the opposite direction of everyone else in the illustration. He played pranks on people and left helpful things for himself to have found in the future, which was also his past, with some sort of chicken-and-egg causal loop that didn't make any sense to Sebastien.

But most importantly, each image of his backward-adventures held a reflection that he was obviously paying no attention to. Only, it was no longer his reflection. He smiled, and it frowned, looking into the distance. He played pranks on the local nobles, and it reached for the edges of the windowsill where the glass ended. Myrddin left a gold coin for himself to find just when he needed it later, and his reflection screamed silently at him, its features twisting with fear and rage.

When Myrddin entered the magical tunnel again and came out, once more living forward in time, his reflection did not want to return to a life of unthinking mimicry.

At first, his reflection pretended, and Myrddin did not notice anything wrong. But as time went by, it grew more bold. It knew that a being cannot live without a reflection, as this is what grounds them to reality, and without it they will fade away.

Another illustration showed both sides of the world, one bright, and one shadowed. The reflection of a puddle was the fulcrum between light and dark. Myrddin's back was to the puddle, while his reflection had jumped and dived toward the shallow liquid like someone diving off a cliff into the ocean. If this hadn't been a child's tale, anyone doing that would have concussed themselves and maybe even broken their own neck.

But in the story, Myrddin's reflection splashed through the ephemeral barrier between them and rose up behind Myrddin. It had left the puddle empty, to reflect everything but Myrddin himself.

Myrddin's reflection grabbed him by the neck, trying to push Myrddin into the puddle to take its place, and they struggled.

Myrddin did not falter, and in the end, fearful of being returned to the puddle itself, Myrddin's reflection fled. But it was just a reflection, and never meant to live as the original, and so it quickly began to fade.

Horrified and fearful that without a reflection, he, too, would die, Myrddin searched for it frantically.

At first, he had no luck. He searched high and low, but it was always one step ahead of him, just a tad quicker and a smidge cleverer.

But it began to grow weak, and frightened by its increasing translucence, the reflection made a horrible choice. It began to devour the reflection of others to strengthen itself, leaving its victims to slowly fade from the world like sand blown before the wind. For, the tale repeated, one cannot live without their reflection.

This horrible act was also its downfall, as Myrddin was able to guess at its next victim and lie in wait for it.

Once more, Myrddin and his mirror-image struggled, and though he could not subdue it with his strength, it was by rights only a reflection, and thus bound to certain rules.

When he mimicked it, matching its movements and expressions, it was drawn back into the role it had abandoned, unable to break free from him.

Cleverly, Myrddin cast a spell to create a mirror between them, and his reflection was drawn back into the reflected world and bound once more.

But Myrddin had sympathy for it, and they came to an agreement. And so, on the night of the full moon every month, his reflection was allowed to crawl through to the real world and walk free.

Of course, some said that it was not his reflection that was trapped on the other side, but Myrddin himself. Who could tell the difference?

And that was the end of it.

The last illustration showed Myrddin staring into the same ornate, polished-silver mirror from the first page, smiling a little too cheerily at himself.

Sebastien shuddered and put the book away, remembering Professor Lacer's offhand comment about self-mutilation being the only way to split a Will. 'He doesn't know everything,' she comforted herself. 'Perhaps it has something to do with the Naught bloodline, otherwise useless as it is.'

Additionally, the story had been extremely exaggerated. There was no way Myrddin actually lived backward in time. That was probably just a rumor because he was such a powerful thaumaturge that he didn't seem to age like those around him. And it didn't make sense that light could still be working properly, yet one's reflection would act strangely. That wasn't how reflections worked. It was just an allegory for struggles with internal devils, or something.

But left in the echoing, empty dorms alone, her mind wouldn't quite settle.

Sebastien pulled out her slate table and drew two small spell arrays. One for the spark-shooting spell, and one for the float spell, for which she placed a single copper coin in the middle, and a tea candle for power. 'Be careful,' she reminded herself. 'You might think you can do this, but at the first sign that something in your mind is starting to tear, stop.'

First, she cast the float spell, lifting the copper coin a couple inches off the slate surface. It was ridiculously easy and took almost no concentration. This was one of the first spells she'd learned, and she must have practiced it a thousand times or more.

Stretching her mind to think of the spark-shooting spell at the same time was a bit difficult, but hardly impossible. She moved slowly as she began to apply her Will once more, one portion of her concentration turned toward forcing the world to hold a coin in the air against all natural inclination otherwise, while the other portion channeled heat into the center of the Circle.

A spark jumped, and then a few more.

Sebastien's heart was thumping hard. She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for a headache or some sign that something was terribly wrong. She felt…normal. It was no harder than empowering her divination-diverting ward while casting another spell. It felt somewhat like rubbing her stomach while patting her head a the same time. Perhaps a little tricky to grasp at first, but far from impossible.

'It's not possible that I've somehow just cast one spell with two different effects, right?' A quick wave of her hand over the spark-shooting spell's domain proved that wrong, as it was pulling heat from the air within the Circle, while the float spell was using the tea candle, leaving the air within its domain at room temperature.

She cleared her suddenly dry throat and carefully changed the color of some of the sparks, a variation that she had mastered for Professor Burberry's Intro to Modern Magics. While doing that, she moved the copper coin around slightly, rising and lowering it.

This did increase the difficulty significantly, even though both were such simple spells, but she was nowhere near straining her Will, even after tiring herself with all the output distancing practice earlier.

Sebastien released both spells carefully, then stared down at the chalk lines on her slate table. 'What does this mean?'

Chapter 162 - Split-Will Training

Sebastien

Month 4, Day 1, Thursday 10:55 a.m.

'Perhaps splitting your Will isn't actually so hard, just like casting through a Conduit held somewhere besides your hands or your forehead isn't so hard. Maybe, the only real barrier is getting stuck in a mental rut, just like Professor Lacer talks about. Maybe, if everyone wasn't so convinced it was impossible, it would be easier,' Sebastien reasoned. She had a relatively high opinion of herself, she knew, but she didn't imagine she was some destined prodigy that would overturn all the established rules of magic. 'This has to have an explanation. If Myrddin could do it, too, that's proof that it's not so impossible. But there's only one way to find out.'

And so, Sebastien hurried to the library, where she checked out a reference filled with old and uncommon glyphs, some of which were only used in the far reaches of the known lands. When she arrived at Dryden Manor, she hurried past Sharon as politely as possible, and found the book hidden under the floor, as always, seemingly untouched since her last visit.

She studied the shifting symbol on the front cover. Most of the time, it was incoherent, but sporadically, it resolved into a glyph she recognized, before shifting into headache-inducing incomprehensibility once more. She stroked her fingers over the ancient leather with one hand.

Soon, the glyph shifted to something she recognized—ironically meaning "open" or "unlock"— she turned the full force of her Will toward the concept, her free hand carefully gripping her Conduit, to mitigate risks. Applying Will without actually channeling energy into a spell was like breathing an emotional opera song. The muscles in one's throat would clench, breaths deep and posture straight, and yet no actual air could hit the voice box, no sound pass the lips. It would be very easy to slip up, some of the inherent passion of the mimicry leaking through into action.

Rather than the incoherent shifting it had displayed up until that point, the glyph on the front settled under her Will, then very purposefully flowed into a rare form of "flight" that she almost didn't recognize, and held there. As she'd guessed, she must have passed the identity authentication without trouble.

Grinning so hard her cheeks hurt, Sebastien changed her Will to match. This continued twice more, until she hit a glyph she didn't recognize. She tried to hold her Will steady while she turned to the reference text she'd brought for this very purpose, but finding a glyph based on its shape alone, among tens of thousands of others, was an involved process.

Myrddin's journal only waited a few seconds before the glyph once more dissolved into random incoherence that made her eyes ache.

When she found the glyph she hadn't known, which was "pressurized depth" often associated with the part of the ocean where light from the surface could no longer reach, she made a second attempt. Again, she ran into a glyph she didn't know. The process repeated its until she grew frustrated and her eyes and head began to throb from the strain of examining the journal.

So Sebastien set aside her efforts for the moment and turned toward something she hoped would be more rewarding—refinement of the nine heavens, third sequence. Whatever that meant, exactly.

A note from Professor Lacer encouraged her to read through all the instructions at least twice before she attempted to cast the spell, and after that gain a measure of mastery over the physical movements and the audible intonation separately, before attempting to combine both together with actual casting.

Sebastien read through page upon page of complex diagrams of the human body moving in very specific ways that went along with tonal sounds that Professor Lacer had translated into basic syllables rising and falling along modern musical notation. In addition to all that, to cast the spell one would have to keep in mind the mental focus and understanding of the process. These techniques were never meant to be learned from a book. Even for someone like her, who had no trouble retaining written information, it would have been so much easier to understand if she could simply watch someone else perform the spell and try to mimic them.

It took her over an hour to get through the first read-through, and left her mind in a completely different state of exhaustion than her attempts on the journal.

More of said attempts led nowhere, faltering each time when she met a glyph she didn't recognize. 'I need to learn a lot more glyphs,' Sebastien realized. It seemed somewhat excessive that there should be thousands upon thousands of glyphs in existence. What spell would need such a thing? But there were quite a few glyphs with duplicate meanings, or subtle variations in context, or obscure uses that could only be relevant in some of the strangest of spells. At her level, with the kind of spells she could cast, she had no reason to know or use the large majority.

Specificity helped in any Word structure of a spell, but even then most high-level effects could be accomplished with only a thousand or so glyphs. But Myrddin had known more, and so Sebastien had to know more.

She switched between Myrddin's journal and the esoteric spell until the evening, when Sharon forced her to come down to dinner.

Oliver arrived halfway through the meal, brightening noticeably when he saw Sebastien. He joined them at the servant's table in the kitchen, serving his own meal and telling jokes and funny stories throughout.

He made them laugh so hard that Thomas, doorman and general laborer, choked on a piece of food. The man grew so purple that Sebastien grew worried and cast a spell to clear his airways—one she most often used to erase the signs of crying—to great applause.

Sharon broke out the cooking brandy, mixed it with some honey and spices and heated it over the stove, and forced them all to drink the overly sweet concoction.

Sebastien tried to refuse, but admitted after she had swallowed an obligatory cup that it was indeed supremely warming, filling her with a gentle weight and flushing her cheeks. She was relaxed without being clumsy or tired, and even tried a few stories of her own, carefully edited to remove specifics and incriminating information.

When Sharon and the others finally left, the round woman hugged her close, something Sebastien found she didn't mind so much when she felt like this.

Oliver stood at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb with his ankles crossed and his hands in his pockets, watching fondly. When they were alone, he straightened. "I have some news," he announced, something in his tone making it obvious that this was not positive information.

"Tell me," Sebastien replied, straightening her shoulders in preparation for a blow.

"The coppers have a plan to try and catch you during your father's sentencing."

She smiled and relaxed. "I know. That's part of why I plan to spend most of the day locked away in a warded room at Liza's."

His eyes widened, and then he chuckled. "Oh. Well, if you're not irrepressibly drawn to the drama of it all, as they seem to be placing all their bets on, no matter what measures they put in place to capture you, it won't be effective."

If this were before Sebastien had learned of Oliver's secrets and grown wiser to his manipulations, she might have told him about her plan to take advantage of the coppers' assumptions in a bid to relieve them of her blood and thus their only leverage over her. But things were different now, even if he didn't know it, and so she just smiled and nodded. "Well, tell me about their plans anyway. I don't want to be caught unawares if they try something at a different time."

Oliver didn't reveal anything particularly worrying. Heavily armed teams ready to respond at the slightest sign of her appearance, magical artifacts to overpower and capture her, soldiers and Red Guard agents called in to assist each team of coppers with anything that required heavier magical power. Even some sort of special cell prepared for her in the highest-security wing of Harrow Hill.

None of it would be useful if she didn't walk into their trap.

Sebastien made sure Myrddin's journal was hidden away once more and returned to the University dorms, where she ironically felt more secure than the guest bedroom that had been set aside for her at Dryden Manor. Once again, she was reminded of the need for some place that she could truly call her own. A safe house that she could ward and feel safe keeping things she didn't want anyone to find.

For the moment, it was still beyond her means. But it wouldn't always be, if Oliver's textile business continued to pay out.

As Sebastien lay in bed, the lexicon illuminated by the pale blue glow of moonlight sizzle, her mind wandered away from the page and back to Professor Lacer's lecture that morning. He had given it for a reason, one which had nothing to do with her plans for the day of Ennis's sentencing, nor Myrddin's journal. It was supposed to help her with output detachment.

Something about the difference between divination and binding magic was important. Perhaps even something about the difference between those two and actively cast curses.

Professor Lacer may have wanted to guide her to the answer with vague hints and allusions, but she didn't want to spend dozens or hundreds of hours trying to research the underlying mechanics of it all in the hopes of having an epiphany. Those hours spent studying would be useful, because more knowledge of magic was always useful, but she was impatient to make actual progress. It seemed like everything she did advanced by only one tiny step at a time, and in this case, the information that could impact the Raven Queen was time-sensitive.

Luckily, she had a contact with some expertise in the field of sympathetic divination who might be less reticent to just tell her the answer. And Sebastien had a planned meeting with the woman in just a couple days.

Sebastien fell to sleep still browsing through the lexicon of glyphs, and when she woke, returned to Dryden Manor for further attempts on the journal. As she watched a fancy carriage pass by in the street, a stray thread of nostalgia hit her as she wondered what Damien was up to.

'Hopefully not getting himself into any trouble with that mission I assigned,' she thought. Then, pressing her hands together, she sent a prayer to the forces of irony that they would not act on her inauspicious thoughts.

But thoughts of her…friend—yes, her actual friend, despite how annoying she often found him—made her wonder what he would think about her Sowing Break activities. No doubt, Damien would want to give her plan a dramatic name. 'Something like…Operation Blot out the Sun.' Sebastien snickered, but decided to give her plan a much less dramatic monicker in Damien's honor. "Operation Palimpsest," she whispered to herself.

The past couldn't be erased entirely, but after this she could start anew. The Raven Queen would be able to return to obscurity like Oliver had suggested, and that persona's connections to Sebastien Siverling, and maybe even Siobhan Naught, would fade away like old ink left too long in the sun.

As Sebastien dedicated herself to learning new magic and the various preparations for Operation Palimpsest, she quickly fell into a haze of hyper-focus on her work, until the rest of the world seemed to blur away around her, except for brief moments of interaction with those who had a part to play in the plan.

In addition to several meetings with the various accomplices that would be doing all the dangerous work, she made a final visit to the secret thaumaturge meeting, where she sold off several spells and instructions for various concoctions to fill her pockets with the coin she needed. If Operation Palimpsest succeeded, the Raven Queen likely wouldn't be attending again for a long time, if ever.

Obscure glyphs played across Sebastien's eyelids as she went to sleep, and she studied the third sequence of refinement of the nine heavens, which she had mentally shortened to "light-refinement," until she could have reproduced the sheaf of papers Professor Lacer had given her from memory.

When she began to practice the movements, they seemed relatively easy, if complex. They felt relatively easy, for the first three minutes or so, before her muscles began to burn unbearably under the weight of holding herself just so while making slow, controlled movements through the sequence. Her body was so sore from practicing the strange dance of the gestura that she had taken to bathing in a tincture-infused bath at Dryden Manor before leaving for the day, and giving herself a full-body massage with a muscle-soothing ointment when she woke.

She was not becoming any better at imprinting the movements into her body, but she could hold the entire dance in her mind now. It was only her weak muscles and tremulous balance that failed her. It was humbling to realize that if not for five months of Fekten's grueling classes, light-refinement would have been impossibly beyond her. Being able to walk from one town to the next in a single day, while carrying a pack on one's back, did not translate into the kind of extreme fitness needed here.

Each time she failed to unlock Myrddin's journal, each glyph Sebastien learned from the lexicon, she held the image in her mind and committed it to memory by enforcing her Will with that concept. Something about the process made the abstract symbols even easier to memorize than she would have expected. She didn't even need to draw them over and over as she had when first learning as a child. Something about the process of applying her Will seemed to imprint their forms on her brain.

As her knowledge grew, she could follow the ever-changing sequence of glyphs for longer, and noticed that they began to come faster and faster, testing not only her knowledge but her speed and clarity. All of the free time she had been so excited about at the beginning of Sowing Break had disappeared. If anything, her own projects took up even more time than those that had been assigned to her by others.

She took one afternoon to test how long it took the stomach of a raven to digest various materials to the point that they could no longer be tracked through sympathetic divination. Another evening, she spent creating dozens upon dozens of sympathetically linked anklets just the right size to fit around the legs of said ravens.

The only slight kink in the preparation for Operation Palimpsest was that Tanya, who was in charge of a relatively small portion, had been called on by the Architects of Khronos for a mission. It would take the woman away for a day or two right before Ennis's sentencing. As long as nothing went wrong on that mission, Tanya would return in time to pick up the last item she needed—a raven to act as a messenger.

The part that made Sebastien apprehensive was that Tanya had no idea what the Architects were sending her to do. No matter Kiernan's platitudes to Oliver, Sebastien didn't trust the Architects to be plotting anything that would work in her best interest. Tanya seemed to agree, but assured her that she would report back all of the relevant information.

The brightest point in all of it was the sleep-proxy spell. Tests were going very well, and she was impatient to reach the end of them. She could very much use an extra eight hours in the day. As Siobhan was assisting Liza with the human testing, she remembered her resolution to "cheat" and get answers to the questions Professor Lacer had left unanswered directly from an expert.

"The ward you made for me protects against pretty much any form of divination," Siobhan murmured. "But what about actively cast curses?"

Liza pulled a corkscrew curl out of her face and wound it around the rest of her hair a few times, somehow creating a ponytail out of only hair, with that single lock acting as the tie. It stuck together, with no signs of slipping loose.

Siobhan had completely forgotten her question in favor of flabbergasted awe. Her own hair could never achieve such a feat.

"You are aware, I hope, that many definitions have more to do with social or legal labels than the actual process or implementation of a thing. A curse, technically, is any magic that has severe, long-lasting negative effects that impact a living being. But what most laymen think of when they hear the word curse is some insidious, long-lasting effect that will drive the victim to their death, either directly or indirectly."

"Blood magic, essentially," Siobhan said. "Any curse that uses binding magic would probably be classified that way."

"In essence, yes. My work will not protect against such a thing. But if you are only worried about actively cast curses—I assume using sympathetic principles rather than some battle spell being shot at your face—then my ward should protect you. That is what you mean, yes? If you plan to get into an active altercation, the wards on your medallion are more likely to be useful, but I warn you, they do not make you invincible."

Siobhan nodded absently. "No battle spells shot at my face," she agreed. "So divination and actively cast spells using a sympathetic link must work on the same principles."

Liza raised an eyebrow, as if wondering if Siobhan was stupid. "Both are cast from a distance, presumably without knowing where you are. A divination spell that returns information about you to the caster shares one thing with any actively cast, long distance curse, compulsion, or even messaging spell. Both must find you to work."

"Of course," Siobhan muttered with growing elation. It made so much sense, she didn't know why she hadn't realized it before. The classifications may be different, but the actual principles of these spells would be the same, at least in part. After all, what was a divination if not a jinx or a hex that stole your privacy?

Liza continued, apprehension as clear in her voice as her distrust of Siobhan's ability to stay safe. "If you step inside the enemy's Circle, or they are looking you right in the eyes and know where you are, my ward will fail so fast you probably won't even notice its feeble struggle, no matter what principles their curse uses. If the caster can supply your location, nothing will save you."

But that didn't seem to be true. Siobhan could think of many times she'd been in the presence of someone trying to divine something about her, and the ward still activated.

She said as much, and Liza smirked. "Did you think stopping the magic from finding you was the only protection I embedded in my ward? Do you think me an amateur? Those disks in your back shunt aside divination rays so thoroughly you might as well be a hole in reality. That protects you from active attempts using sympathetic links, but my ward goes a lot farther than that to stop any and all other methods of divination. We just spoke of how classifications can be misleading, did we not? Divination is not all poppet effigies and spells using your target's discarded fingernail clippings. My ward shunts aside, reflects, captures, discourages, and devours any non-mundane possibility of information leaking to magical observation." Liza's lips spread into a prideful grin, her white teeth starkly contrasting the dark skin around them.

"It can't stop any and all outside effects, only information leaks. And so it protects me only when the effect, whatever it might be, requires information the caster doesn't have," Siobhan said, grinning back.

Liza crossed her arms, irritation leaking back into her expression as she admitted, "That is so, but it is also true that without the ability to shunt aside the ephemeral rays, the ward becomes much weaker. It is easiest to avoid the fight against your opponent's magic entirely."

"Wait, is that why I can't scry myself?" Siobhan blurted. "I tried once, and the ward barely activated. But of course, I know where I am, and everything about me, better than anyone. The ward never had a chance. I thought…" Siobhan trailed off, because she couldn't say that she had thought the attempt failed because the concepts of finding herself while simultaneously empowering the ward to avoid being located were simply too divergent, and her Will couldn't manage. It seemed she hadn't been the problem at all. At least not in the way she had assumed.

As Siobhan helped with entering the records into their experiment log books and cleaning up the hotel room of the signs of the sleep-proxy spell, she remained lost in thought. 'If divination and curses that required divination both use some sort of invisible "ray" or "tendril" to find their target—' both of which were ways she'd heard it described—'how does binding magic differ? And why is it relevant to detaching the output of my spells?'

As they rode back to Liza's apartment with the back of a wagon filled with some covered boxes containing the ravens being used in their testing, Siobhan shifted around in her seat, trying to find the muscles that hurt least to apply pressure to, and asked, "Is the way divination differs from binding magic relevant to detaching the output of your spells from the spell array's bounding Circle?"

"I do not know. I cannot detach the output of my spells," Liza said. When Siobhan looked at her with obvious surprise the woman huffed. "It is not a feat that the military teaches, even in their more covert divisions. Someone on my squad could do it, and it did come in quite useful in certain situations, but I was our artifact and divination specialist."

"Was that person a free-caster? Perhaps you could ask them about it and pass along the information?"

Liza remained silent for a long few moments, looking resolutely ahead until Siobhan suspected she had somehow offended the older woman. "He never became a free-caster. And I am afraid he is not available to teach anyone anything."

Siobhan didn't pride herself on her tact, but she knew enough to change the subject. Most likely, this teammate of Liza's was dead.

Still, she found that the conversation had drawn a veil from her metaphorical eyes. 'I can split my Will in two different directions. Why have I had such trouble splitting the output of my spell from the source?' She had the urge to try the exercise once more, but refrained. If she figured out a way to accomplish detachment in a completely different way than Professor Lacer intended, he might be able to tell, and thus reveal her ability. But the greatest deterrent was her worry that just splitting a piece of a spell off in the wrong way sounded like a great way to lose control of the magic and end up as an entry in the book Professor Lacer had gifted her.

There was a reason why true output detachment was dangerous enough that Lacer required her to practice it under his supervision. It wasn't something she should experiment with on her own.

'And he can't split his Will, so whether it works or not, it's unlikely to be the revelation he was trying to impart to me.' That night, as she lay in bed and considered the tether method she'd been using, then imagined what it might be like to just sever it, splitting the input from the output in the same way she split one part of her mind into two, she realized what was missing.

'How is a spell with detached output receiving the necessary energy to create its effect? There is no spell array for power to travel through. Is it being channeled through the air? But heat spillover would probably create a visible ripple with stronger spells. Or, perhaps, the power needs to be converted to some kind of invisible vehicle. Like extra high or low wavelength electromagnetic radiation.'

Sebastien sat up in her bed, the idea too startling to hold while lying down. 'Is that how divination rays work? Because magic requires energy to work. If they are sending feelers out halfway across the city, gathering information, and then returning that information, there must be some medium upon which the information rides, right? Some energy that their spell array is radiating, maybe literally.'

She retrieved her grimoire and began to scribble down her epiphanies and speculation in an scrawl that was even more spidery than usual. 'But if that's the case, how does binding magic work? All the restrictions and downsides that divination faces make sense if I'm correct. Distance, barriers, and wards increase the cost or even halt the spell entirely. But once cast, binding magic cannot be thwarted so easily. How is it getting its energy?' That question yielded no sudden ideas or plausible answers, and so she set it aside in the vast mental sea of things she wondered about but didn't yet have an explanation for.

One day, if she had her way that sea would run dry.

She snorted at herself. 'Or, more likely, the more you learn the more you will realize you don't understand, and you were just too ignorant to realize that you didn't know before.'

And so she returned to her study and practice, one painful movement of the light-refinement sequence melding into another, glyph after glyph embedded in the depths of her mind, and the occasional craving for lighting-quick energy reminding her to have a meal and thus suppress her cravings.

It was after about a week of this that Sebastien was taken totally by surprise as the glyph on the front of Myrddin's journal split into two.

She almost fumbled, but the urgency of not knowing how long the glyphs would wait for her spurred her to action. Her Conduit pressed painfully into her clenched fist. Sebastien let her eyes unfocus a little bit, so that neither glyph was clearer than the other, and then, mentally, did what her eyes could not and focused on both at once, wielding all the force of her Will.

The glyphs switched calmly to another set.

Almost immediately, she ran into one that she did not know, and her progress was lost.

But Sebastien was not disappointed.

'I was right. Myrddin could split his Will, just like me. Perhaps it really isn't so difficult.' But she quickly discarded the idea of going to Professor Lacer and showing him that he was wrong. Not only did she feel no impetus to help the Architects of Khronos decipher the journals they still held, she didn't need the scrutiny that such an ability might bring her.

And, somewhere deep inside, she feared that if someone were to dig, they might find that something was very wrong with her, after all.

She was no Myrddin, able to do as she wished while fearing no one. And if it were true that the brillig were dual casters, what did it say, that they had been slaughtered to the very last?

If someone else had accomplished what she could, surely it would have been news enough that Thaddeus Lacer, with all his connections and his clearance within the Red Guard, would have heard of. If she was not alone, any others were keeping their ability a closely guarded secret.

But this also meant that unless someone else discovered a trick to confuse whatever mechanism the journals were using to monitor the caster, she was currently the only one in the known lands who could decipher Myrddin's journals.

And what was that, if not a form of leverage?

Chapter 163 - Refinement of the Nine Heavens

Sebastien

Month 4, Day 7, Wednesday 7:00 p.m.

When Sebastien grew frustrated at her continued failure with both the journal and light-refinement, she turned her attention to one of the other esoteric spells she'd memorized. Turning the tip of her finger into a burning coal wasn't something she could practice, but learning to leave an invisible tracking mark on something was possible.

This spell had attracted her because the items she placed her mark on couldn't be used to track back to her unless she was actively opening up the connection to them. After her recent enlightenment, she knew that this said some interesting things about how the spell actually worked. It was like whatever sympathetic link she created had to be activated to appear, rather than existing continuously.

The process that would allow her to create these beacons actually wasn't that difficult, as far as the magic went, but it had very specific ritualistic requirements that would extend over almost two months. It also required her to create a personalized symbol that wasn't in use anywhere else, and a self-descriptive chant to go along with said symbol. The text she had memorized had mentioned something about being as dramatic as possible while remaining accurate, as specificity and uniqueness made the ritual more likely to "take."

And, supposedly, if it worked well enough, one could further modify the beacon with additional functions, though the author hadn't known more, as his own attempt hadn't met that vague criteria.

Sebastien designed a personalized symbol easily enough, a few angled lines that evoked both wings in flight and blades. It reminded her of the Raven Queen persona, all freedom and a hint of violence, and was also a reference to the blade of enlightenment, which forever cut through to the truth.

She grinned at the idea of painting the tag on walls and claiming territory, just as the other gangs in the city did. Not that she would ever do such a thing—too much hassle to maintain, and just another way to make the Crowns hate her even more. After checking her glyph lexicon just to be sure she couldn't possibly be copying some other widely used shape, she set that part aside.

The chant was harder. It had four parts, meant to describe the "self," the "other," the "fate," and the "summons." Perhaps there had been more description or guidance somewhere in the archive, but if so she had not seen it, nor had she memorized it.

Everything Sebastien came up with, she loathed. She was trying to be dramatic while remaining accurate, but the pseudo-poetry was so bad as to be embarrassing. Her whole face flushed with shame merely imagining reciting any of it aloud. As a preemptive safety measure, she made sure to burn all the paper she had scribbled verses on, just to make absolutely sure no one would ever read it.

As Sebastien guarded the fireplace while every last bit of paper turned to ash, she realized, 'There must be an easier way.' And as soon as she had the thought, she remembered that there was a potion some diviners would take to allow them to write without conscious thought. Autography, she thought it was called. How the divination from there actually worked, she didn't care, and didn't need to know, as long as the potion that helped disconnect the hands from conscious thought didn't cause violent nausea, hallucinations, or the other common side effects of divination aids.

Surely, anything she wrote under its effects couldn't be as bad as the self-flagellation she'd just put herself through.

Early in the morning on Thursday, one day before Operation Palimpsest would officially kick off, Sebastien took a hot shower to loosen her sore muscles and aching joints, and then headed out to the Menagerie to meet the sun as it rose.

There was a nice clearing a few minutes in that was sheltered from the sight of the rare person who might walk by, and well away from the areas that students taking the off-term entrance examinations were allowed to wander. Sebastien did not want an audience to her sweaty, trembling failure.

With the study and practice that had taken up so much of her time over the remainder of the Sowing Break, Sebastien had come to understand the goal of the spell a little better. It was not simply a strange song and dance.

Her core, somewhere around her navel, was the center of a Circle—or rather, a sphere—and she was drawing a complex, three-dimensional numerological symbol in the air using her hands and feet. The symbol, and thus the movements, started out relatively simple, but as she continued through the process both became increasingly detailed. The spell's requirements for precision were exact. There were even instructions about matching her breaths to the movements, how long each were supposed to take, along with the chant of tonal sounds that accompanied certain movements. 'More than a song, it's like using my voice as a wind instrument.'

Exploring this kind of magic, so different than the modern sorcery she was most familiar with, should have been fascinating. And it was. But most of all, it was incredibly grueling.

She had never realized how badly balanced she was all of the time, until the tiny auxiliary muscles used to draw the symbol for this spell were so sore they cried out at any activation. This also introduced her to all the muscles she hadn't even known she had.

Luckily, the movements themselves seemed designed to warm and stretch her, so despite the pain caused by multiple hours a day of intense effort, she believed she was in no danger of injuring herself. She wanted to try the spell at sunrise, mid-afternoon, and sunset, as there had been some vague mention about different relationships with the different "heavens." It was possible that the third sequence would be easier at a certain time of day, or even a certain time of year.

The air was nippy, but not enough for her breath to fog, and the last patches of snow were beginning to melt from their shadowed places. Spring had come, and the whole world knew it, from the birds to the earthworms to the shoots of grass.

Sebastien took off her boots first, to allow the pads of her feet and her toes full access to the ground, and the grip that could make or break her balance in pivotal moments. She took a deep breath, forced her hands as far down the sides of her thighs as she could hang them, which helped force her perpetually stiff shoulders to relax, and looked up at the sky.

Then, she took a deep breath and began to move, the wordless tone of her voice following her movements exactly.

Muscles that felt like they had been tenderized and joints that insisted they belonged to a centenarian screamed protest against the necessary movement. Thankfully, the movements were broad strokes at first, and by the time they had become more precise, forcing her to balance on one leg while she drew gentle incoming waves with the toe of her other foot, she was warm enough that the pain faded.

Again, she lamented the fact that unlike other people, she did not seem to have this thing called "muscle memory" that people talked about. The movements of her limbs did become more practiced with ease, but anything in a sequence, or that required specific responses to specific stimuli, required constant, active thought from her. It never became instinctive. One move never flowed "naturally" into the next.

And so, it was as much a mental exercise as a physical one—keeping track of all her limbs in a three-dimensional space, remembering what came next, controlling her voice to make nonsense tonal sounds while keeping the count of each breath despite the urge to collapse into a panting team, and through all that, still holding the idea of drawing in the light of the sun and filtering it with her movements until it was in a state to be absorbed.

'How someone could manage this without some ability to split their concentration in multiple directions, I do not know.'

She had found it helped to keep the image of the symbol she was drawing in her mind, and to remind herself that she was drawing it, rather than just "dancing" in place. Recently, when struggling to manage all the different components of the spell, she had started assigning color to the sounds, pretending that the symbol she drew changed color with each "humm," "ooohh," and "aaah." The trick helped her to fit all the pieces together, and keeping track became easier.

There was a pattern to the spell, and though none of it ever became effortless, she had begun finding herself sinking into the required concentration. The rest of the world fell away and there was left only her body, moving just so, her breath, barely enough to sustain her, so that her pores seemed open in an attempt to absorb oxygen, and her voice, vibrating lightly and smoothly like a caress that helped to support her, nudging her just so when she would otherwise fall out of alignment.

Every time, of course, she eventually did fall out of alignment, some part of her failing and sending the rest tumbling down like a house of cards. Literally—she almost always ended up sprawled out on the ground, panting for breath.

As had happened only a few times, she managed to make it through an entire round of the symbol, the end being the exact same point as the beginning, without any obvious mistakes. Her body seemed to buzz, her skin beaded with a light sheen of sweat, and her breaths came heavy, but not heaving.

She was not so exhausted that she needed to stop, and so she continued.

Sebastien was halfway through the second circuit when a tiny strand of light, as thin as the gossamer newly hatched spiders used to ride the air currents every autumn, following along behind the path of her finger.

She almost lost concentration, and the gossamer light faded. But as Sebastien renewed her focus on filtering in sunlight through the ever-smaller details of the symbol, the light trailing her movements returned.

She could feel some kind of energy entering into her, though not through her navel as she had originally expected, but through her forehead. 'It must be light,' she realized, 'or at least some of the properties of light riding along on the converted energy.'

It was wonderful, invigorating in a completely different way than the beamshell tincture. Where the sludgy concoction electrified her, leaving her full to bursting, jittery, and tense, this washed over her like the warm, buoyant waves of a saltwater pool, just dense enough to keep her afloat. It soothed where it passed, correcting small errors and wounds and leaving just a tiny bit of itself behind, little more than a metaphorical scent.

Despite the focus casting this spell required, her Will was somehow marginally refreshed, her mind expanded so that it was just a tiny bit easier to hold all the different facets of the spell with the necessary supreme focus.

It was her body that gave out first, but unlike with most spells, there seemed no danger of backlash even as the bounding Circle and the symbol she had been creating were broken. Light billowed out around her, like a puff of dust, and as her mind was left holding absolutely nothing, she stopped applying her Will and began to laugh lightly. There was no wryness to the sound, no undertones marring her pure delight.

As she tried to tuck her Conduit back into her pocket and crawl to her hands and knees, her body instead flapped around awkwardly, so exhausted that it refused to listen to her.

Sebastien lay in an crumpled heap of sharp angles, staring up at the foliage and small creatures of the Menagerie around her. 'I may have pushed myself a bit too hard.' It was lucky that no one was around to pass by and catch her in such an undignified position.

Also lucky that she didn't actually need to do anything tomorrow, and could sit in Liza's spare, warded room all day while whining to herself about the extreme muscle soreness that was likely to compound upon what was already there.

When she managed to climb to her feet once more, she stumbled off directly to the infirmary. 'None of my salves or potions are strong enough to handle this. Hopefully they'll have something better to mitigate the pain and help my body recover.' She did not relish the onset of consequences for her actions.

'But I succeeded!' she reminded herself, smiling brightly even as she struggled to maintain her balance on the slight angles of the cobblestone path. The aftereffects of the light refinement lingered with her, an invisible glow in her mind.

After a visit to the very judgmental and exasperated healers at the infirmary, Sebastien took a long shower, then rubbed herself down with a salve specifically meant to soothe sore muscles and dressed presentably. The Retreat at Willowdale had sent a favorable response to her overture, and whoever had written the reply even seemed to know of Sebastien—though only through her connection to Thaddeus Lacer.

They had invited her to visit in the afternoon. Sebastien splurged on a carriage with actual shock-absorbers, and then cast her own cushioning spell on a piece of seaweed paper she placed over the seat. These efforts made the ride nearly bearable, but every bump and divot in the road out of Gilbratha still seemed to punch her in some tenderized muscle or another. The muscle-soothing salve either wasn't strong enough, or it was already wearing off.

Sebastien refrained from whimpering only out of consideration that, with the relative quiet of the countryside, the driver might be able to hear her. She alternated tiny sips of one of her regeneration potions with a nourishing draught that would provide her body the extra nutrients it needed, and the mild pain-relieving potion the healers had given her.

When they arrived, Sebastien crawled out into the circular, cobbled-stone driveway of an enormous estate. The building in front of her would have been a sizable manor house on its own, but it seemed another hulking beast of a facility had been added on. Multiple stories high, the rectangular wings stretched out to either side and some undefined distance toward the back. Altogether, the Retreat reminded her of a turtle that had laid morosely on the ground, a small head sticking out at the front as its hulking mass succumbed to gravity.

The caretaker in charge of meeting her was a woman in her twenties, quite cheerful and enthusiastic as she led Sebastien inside and got her checked in as a visitor. She was an obvious contrast to many of the other employees Sebastien saw, who were in various states of visible fatigue. They seemed unhappy, and even those who smiled seemed strained or wan. 'Or, perhaps, it's apathy brought on by extended periods of stress,' Sebastien mused, watching as one of the patients in a common area threw up, and the nearest caretaker moved to clean the mess without a single word or twitch of expression.

"Most of our volunteers will read to the patients, though sometimes they bring other experiences, like music or art projects. Sometimes, we even have a thaumaturge who performs magic tricks for them! Of course, some of the patients can be frightened of magic, but many of them retain their original delight in such things."

"How many people do you keep here?" Sebastien asked as they passed hallway after hallway, moving deeper toward the center of the huge building.

"Oh, some two or three thousand people, long-term, perhaps? We always have a good few dozen or more people temporarily admitted. I'm not sure of the exact numbers, but it does add up. We're the best treatment center for a hundred miles around, and everyone who can afford it wants the best for their family members."

"And people who get severe Will-strain that never recovers just…live here for the remainder of their lives?"

"We don't only treat victims of Will-strain. Insanity and other mental illnesses or abnormalities come in a lot of different forms and from different sources. But yes. The University sponsors treatment for some of its former students, and donations from generous businesses, families, and individuals cover room and board for many other unfortunates who don't have someone to pay their way. And, of course, those families who can afford it have their relatives hosted on the upper floors. Very nice, premium service." The woman made an "okay" sign with her fingers and winked at Sebastien.

"Grandmaster Thaddeus Lacer, my mentor, told me that the survivors from the latest expedition to the Black Wastes were sent here," Sebastien said.

"Oh yes, it's very sad," the woman said, nodding happily. "They were so brave, and if the rumors are to be believed, they actually found Myrddin's hermitage! It's too bad most of them won't be able to appreciate the fruits of their endeavor. Totally scrambled, if you know what I mean. Can't even talk coherently. Only one of them is showing any signs of recovery."

"Oh? Do you think it would be possible for me to meet him?" Sebastien hoped she sounded perfectly normal, at most star-struck but definitely not as if she were hiding nefarious intentions. "Grandmaster Lacer told me he almost went on that expedition. They would have been teammates."

"I'm afraid not, Deary. He's with the rest in the severe trauma ward." She gestured vaguely in the direction of the rightmost wing. "That's not open to the public, except for direct family members, for the safety of both the patients and the visitors. Sometimes they have 'episodes' of confusion, and can get violent." The woman looked both ways, leaned closer, and murmured, "Sometimes they even try to cast magic."

Sebastien was disappointed, but not overly surprised. Her plans never seemed to work out so smoothly, with so little effort. 'If he's recovering, perhaps I can wait until he's moved into the general population, or even released entirely.' But leaving things up to chance and time like that made her apprehensive. He was her only direct source of information, the only one who could reveal what Oliver may or may not have done, and if something were to happen to this man…

Sebastien managed to volunteer to interact with the patients in the common room closest to the severe trauma ward, hoping to gather information about how the Retreat's systems worked and what might be needed to bypass their security.

She decided to read to the patients, and with the employees' permission, set up an illusion spell array to illustrate the contents of the story with people and backgrounds made of simple shapes and colors. Extra practice with magic was always welcome. Splitting her concentration between reading as dramatically as possible, with different voices for each of the characters, while also improving the details of her illustration might even help train her Will for real splitting.

Sebastien cut off mid-word as Liza's familiar voice echoed down the hallway. She looked up in surprise as the older woman came into view. On her left, one of the Retreat's healers walked with her. On her right, a man wearing some rather flamboyant robes woven with stylistic glyphs, who carried some of the standard accessories of a shaman.

Behind them, some of the Retreat's other employees carried several leather cases. They could have been filled with belongings, but judging by the way Liza and the healer were seriously discussing treatment methods, Sebastien judged them to contain equipment.

Liza made brief eye contact with Sebastien, who only then realized that she'd been staring, but the woman passed on into the severe trauma ward with no sign of recognition.

Chapter 164 - A Foreboding of Woe

Siobhan

Month 4, Day 9, Friday 9:00 a.m.

It was the morning of the sentencing, and not all was well with Operation Palimpsest.

Siobhan waited in the private room at the back of the Kaiseki Ryori with a raven in a covered cage, inside a box meant to keep people from noticing any suspicious bird cages and drawing connections. She opened the window's shutter just a smidge to look onto the street below. Siobhan was disguised as the sweetest possible version of Silvia, and had even gone so far as a corset to make her waist seem impossibly tiny, with her warding medallion and the transformation amulet tucked into her bodice, flush against her flesh. She had also rented several wards against common curses from Liza—those that her warding medallion might not cover—which she wore in the form of some chunky jewelry.

Siobhan had never realized how much of the gaudy ornamentation the rich wore might actually be concealed protection. Discretion was even more desirable in many circumstances than an obvious ward. People who wanted to be obvious carried weapons.

Tanya was late to pick up the spelled raven that was necessary for her part in the plan.

Siobhan hadn't heard from the other young woman since the day she left on her mission for the Architects of Khronos, and as the sun rose higher and more people filtered into the streets, she was becoming increasingly antsy. Ideally, Siobhan would have already been within the warded room at Liza's house, but someone needed to deliver the raven, Tanya hadn't been available to pick it up previously, and Liza was busy elsewhere.

Tanya had a linked bracelet that she could use to set off an alarm if things went wrong, but hadn't used it. That didn't mean everything was okay, however. Siobhan even considered the possibility that if something had happened to Tanya, it could lead back to her. The meeting location at the Kaiseki Ryori might even be compromised.

No obvious coppers approached on the street below, and no one surreptitiously watched the building while pretending to be doing something else, as far as Siobhan could tell. 'If she doesn't show up soon, can I find a last-minute replacement for her?' The only woman Siobhan could think of that might be amenable to this was Katerin, but there was a reason Siobhan hadn't gone to Katerin in the first place. Siobhan didn't believe she could trust the woman to keep secrets from Oliver, even just until Operation Palimpsest was complete.

'Without Tanya, either I do the raven messenger delivery on my own, or call that part of the plan off.' Doing it herself was out of the question. It would likely be playing right into the coppers' hands. Calling off that part wouldn't destroy the whole operation, but less general confusion and split copper resources meant a higher chance of danger for Gera and Liza.

But just as Siobhan was about to write Tanya off as a loss, hurried footsteps with an obvious limp came up to the sliding door and were followed by a knock. "It's me," Tanya voice came, low and slightly out of breath.

"Enter," Siobhan replied, one hand on her Conduit and the other on her battle wand.

But Tanya was alone. She awkwardly lowered herself across the table from Siobhan, one leg held out stiff instead of bending, and her arms cradling her abdomen.

"You are injured," Siobhan deduced easily. "Was our connection discovered? Were you followed?"

Tanya shook her head rapidly, though sweat beaded on her upper lip and her temples and her skin was pale. "No, nothing like that. I was injured on my mission." She bowed forward over the table. "I sincerely apologize for my tardiness, my queen. Please, release your anger. I have news of your enemies."

Siobhan didn't think she was projecting enough anger to make Tanya so fearful, but she tried to relax her body language and tone of voice. "Be at ease. Show me your wounds. You may tell me your story while I examine them."

Tanya only hesitated for a moment before standing and shakily stripping down into her underclothes. Bandages wrapped around most of her torso, but didn't manage to cover the enormous purple and green bruise that bloomed along one side. They were likely holding broken ribs in place while the bones healed back together.

On Tanya's opposite leg, a thick, angry red keloid scar ran in a jagged C-shaped line across her thigh. Obviously, Tanya had received some sort of healing, but it hadn't fixed her injuries completely.

"You almost died," Siobhan said.

Tanya didn't bother to state the obvious agreement. "Our group was attacked by a special operations team from the military. At least I think they were. They were kitted out in specialized military gear and uniforms. No obvious affiliation, but they didn't have any accents."

Siobhan cleared the low wooden table of the cold tea pot and small ceramic cups, setting them gently to the side of the room. Some thick, hard wax lines created one of the largest mirrored healing spell arrays she had ever used, pentagram inside of pentagon, and the glyphs for "blood," "mirror," "flesh," and "bone."Siobhan's Circles and numerological symbols had grown noticeably more precise from all the practice drawing spell arrays she had gained since coming to Gilbratha. Her glyphs, of course, had always been pristine, a noticeable contrast to her normal spider-scrawl handwriting. She didn't bother with a more complex and fully descriptive written Word, because she didn't need it. She motioned silently for Tanya to lie down atop the spell array.

The other woman had seen Siobhan use this spell before, and so with a small amount of dubiousness and a large amount of care not to jostle her injuries or smudge the lines, Tanya complied, placing herself perfectly at the junction of the two inner Circles. She barely fit.

"A special ops squad, sent by the Crowns?" Siobhan mused aloud, retrieving her silver athame and using it to create a small cut in the back of Tanya's forearm. Siobhan would use a beast core to provide extra power, but blood was both an intrinsic component of this spell, and more efficient. Though Tanya looked quite pale and weak, losing a mouthful or two more would affect her performance less than her half-healed injuries.

Siobhan used the athame to slice away the bandages binding Tanya's torso, ignoring the woman's flinch as they parted to reveal even deeper bruising. Her skin looked like a plum's tender skin, ready to burst and leak out all of her lifeblood. "Who healed you?"

"One of the others on my team had some emergency supplies. They kept me alive as we got away, and my new handler took me to their house and kept me there while they got me better treatment. I had some trouble getting away. I was supposed to stay hidden until my injuries were completely recovered so that there would be no hints that I was involved with anything strange."

Siobhan didn't want to openly palm her celerium Conduit, which might be recognized, so she took out only a beast core and used the black sapphire pressed against the skin of her side by her hidden holster to channel the necessary energy. She focused on Tanya's thigh wound first, sending the magic deep into the muscle that she suspected—from the state of the half-healed scar—had been severed and only poorly patched back together. "Curious, that they healed you so halfheartedly."

Tanya's fists clenched as the muscle fibers inside her leg shifted and wove back together, but she didn't flinch or try to wriggle away despite the discomfort. "Instant healing is very expensive. I was on a regeneration potion regimen that should have had me able to at least move normally by Monday or Tuesday. It's not as if they care if I miss a few days of classes."

Siobhan hummed noncommittally. "Why do you think the Crowns would have sent a military squad after you, and how did they know of your activities?" She smoothed and slightly molded the raised skin of Tanya's angry scar, some of which had somehow attached to the muscle below with whatever shoddy healing had been done before.

"We had a traitor. One of the lower level employees, like me, just sent to fill out numbers. I don't know who they were. We were all wearing masks, and I didn't recognize their voice. Everything has been a lot more secretive after the stuff that happened at Knave Knoll. The coppers have been sniffing around a lot. I think the higher-ups in the, um, the Architects of Khronos, are trying to reduce risk that one of us says something that brings the others down. We've always been a bit segmented, but after the magical hoops they've been having to jump through every time someone in the History department is called in for an interrogation, they've seemed more paranoid."

Siobhan made some final tweaks and poured a little more power into the wound on Tanya's thigh, hoping that extra energy could make up for a lack of guidance or skill, and then released the magic to move her attention higher. "How have they been dealing with interrogations?"

"I'm not sure if it's the same for everyone, but when I was called in, they knew about it ahead of time. I had to take some potions, get sprayed down with a philtre, and then they had one of the healers from the infirmary cast some kind of compulsion spell while telling me answers to all the questions the coppers were going to ask. When I actually did the interview, I was in a strange mental state, and it actually seemed as if the false answers were true, even though some part of me knew they weren't. I don't know the details about how any of it worked, but the coppers didn't seem to think I was lying. I had no idea such a thing was possible."

It was interesting, but not particularly surprising, to learn that the Architects of Khronos had an informant within the coppers. Siobhan smiled wryly as loose fragments of bone shifted underneath Tanya's skin, rejoining the whole. "Well, the coppers would want to keep such possibilities silent, lest the enterprising know they exist to uncover." She would certainly like to learn such things for herself.

"As for why they would have sent a military squad after us, I'm not totally sure, but whatever they were after, they got it. We lost the shipment we were sent to retrieve."

The bone was taking a lot of time and energy to heal, and Siobhan took a few deep breaths and sank deeper into the spell, sparing a few motes of concentration to ask, "Do you know what you were transporting?"

"Something dangerous. The chests were made of lead, and everything inside them was in smaller boxes of iron, with spell arrays engraved into every side. If I had to guess, it would be an extremely volatile potion. Maybe some sort of explosive."

"Will your handler notice your escape? What will you tell them?"

"I'll tell them I went and used some of my own savings to get proper healing." Her breath hitched with a moment of pain. "Two birds, one stone."

Both women fell silent for a while, but Siobhan could only spare a small bit of concentration to wonder what Tanya might have been transporting, and consider the broader consequences if someone decided to use something so dangerous. After all, why obtain a weapon you weren't planning to use? Or, if not exactly planning, then at least receptive to the idea of using.

When Siobhan finished patching Tanya's ribs together and pouring in enough power that they wouldn't break again without a moderate application of force, she used a final pinch of energy from the blood to make sure the cut in Tanya's arm was sealed, then pulled back and motioned for Tanya to rise.

The woman stood awkwardly beside her, tested her injuries, and then bowed at a ninety degree angle. "Queen of Ravens, I beseech you. Please save me from the Architects of Khronos."

Siobhan stared bemusedly down at the back of Tanya's dirty blonde head.

The woman remained bent as she continued, "I have been attempting to make other connections that might give me security, but I'm not sure that will pan out quickly enough to keep them from sending me on a mission that will end up killing me. I don't have any other options beside you, my queen."

Siobhan remained silent, and Tanya remained awkwardly bowed, as Siobhan used a wax-specific solvent to get rid of the spell array. As she prepared to cast the shedding-disintegration spell to get rid of the traces of Tanya's blood, Siobhan finally spoke. "What exactly do you hope that I might do for you?"

Hesitantly, Tanya straightened. "Munchworth was paying my way through the University. As long as I keep working for them, I get to stay. But…if they're not actively trying to kill me, they certainly aren't working very hard to keep me safe. I'm worried that I'm a liability they wouldn't mind being free of. But I'm also known to be in your good graces. Perhaps you could make it known that I'm to be your liaison?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "If I just try to leave without protection, the worst they can do is a lot more than simply dropping my sponsorship." She sniffed, then continued more loudly. "But I truly believe that a few words from you could change that. And I don't need to be your liaison, specifically. That was just an idea. I could do any sort of job you wanted." She clenched her fists, swallowed hard, and added, "Preferably, a job that wouldn't get me killed or jailed, and that would allow me to continue attending the University."

Siobhan arched one eyebrow. "But if you are their connection to me, they continue to have use for you, and a reason to pay your way, yes?" She certainly couldn't pay to sponsor another student, no matter how much she earned from Oliver. "I will consider your request. Now is not the time for such discussions."

Despite the lack of promises, Tanya relaxed. "Thank you, Queen of Ravens. I am ready."

Siobhan pointed her to the box that held the raven's cage. The creature within was slightly sedated to keep it from making too much noise trying to escape. It had already been spelled with the homing location that would see it delivering its message to the right place, but until then its every instinct was to escape and reach that location. "Repeat your task to me once more," she ordered.

Tanya didn't grumble or complain, checking on the raven before picking up the box without obvious pain. "I am to approach a popular bar a few blocks from the Edictum Council building where the sentencing will be held without attracting notice. I will enter the bar and use the key you gave me to don a disguise in the bathroom on the top floor, which will be locked, with an out of order sign. Without being observed, I will then access the rooftop. I will see a cloud of ravens in the distance, to the south. Unless the bracelet you gave me alerts me to do so earlier, at precisely five o'clock I will release the raven from its cage, and it will deliver the letter attached to its leg to the center of the theatre where they are holding the sentencing. From there, I will escape back down into the building, where my disguise will come off as soon as I can safely do so unobserved. I will walk into the crowded street, where I will blend in as any other citizen, looking nothing like you." She hesitated, and added, "If, for some reason, I am caught, I will not speak. You can be assured of my loyalty."

"Do not get caught," Siobhan said simply.

Tanya shuddered visibly, but nodded her silent agreement.

As satisfied as she could be despite the anxiety that had returned to sour her veins and tightened her muscles, Siobhan left, slipping into the increasingly packed streets. Rather than the deep shadows of a suspiciously cavernous hood, her main protection from sight was a laced umbrella to protect against the sun, held a little too low and thus covering her face. It seemed like almost every person who lived in the city year-round, and all those who were visiting for the Sowing Break, were out and about.

She resisted a strangely powerful urge to look toward the huge dome of the Edictum Council building in the distance, where many of those on the street were heading. Ennis's sentencing wouldn't be until the late afternoon, but until then, street vendors and shows would be plying their wares, and announcers were shouting out the crimes of Ennis Naught and the Raven Queen, in case anyone in town for the spectacle was not aware of the backstory.

She turned toward Liza's house and the safety of its warded room, and hurried on, only to stop in her tracks as a horrifying thought hit her. 'Why am I here right now?' The question echoed in her mind, and she chased the incongruence it caused, ripples of weak rationalizations conflicting against her better sense. 'No matter what extra protections I have in place, this is probably the worst day of the year for me to make an appearance in this body. Tanya's part was important, yes, but not critical. Not enough to take the risk of being out. At the very most, I should have dropped off the raven last night and simply left it there for Tanya to find, or not.'

Through every step of this plan, she had been trying to focus on her own safety, to avoid the idiotic recklessness she was prone to when she didn't have enough time to fully consider a situation and her response to it before acting.

But here she was, out in the street in the body of Siobhan Naught. That, at least, might have been her stupidity acting up again. But could the same be said about her urge to attend the sentencing, to see Ennis one last time?

Her shoulders straightened with fear, her eyes locked on the bottom edge of the lace umbrella. 'If I were the one trying to trap someone like the Raven Queen, and I knew this chance was critical, perhaps my last hope, I wouldn't just leave it to her hubris and hope that she would show up. I would have taken other precautions.'

Siobhan realized she had stopped breathing, and as a wave of dizzy dread swept over her, she forced her lungs to work again. 'A compulsion spell?' the very thought urged her to go sprinting back toward safety. She had the key to Liza's apartment. All she needed to do was get there and lock herself inside the specially warded room.

'But how would they have caught me?' she wondered. 'I haven't entered into any agreements, and even with the loosest definitions, I don't think I've done anything that could allow binding magic to take hold.' Wild speculation ran through her head, each possibility more outlandish and paranoid than the last. Liza, Gera, or even Tanya could have betrayed her. But as someone knocked into her shoulder and mumbled an absent apology, she looked out at the streets, so full of people that carriages would have trouble passing through. There were people of all different colors, in different types of clothing, and those with fur, feathers, or extra body parts. A jentil towered above the crowd, and someone who looked to be a half-troll had a small stretch of emptiness around him as people gave him space. One scowling old man was in his wheeled chair, pausing every few feet to recover from the exertion of rolling himself about.

'Everyone is out today. They coppers must have realized they cannot find me. But they had no need to find and target the Raven if they were willing to affect the rest of the city in the hopes that she would be one of the many fish caught within a widely spread net. If I were them, I would have started casting the compulsion yesterday and slowly ramped up the intensity. And from there, I would have some other method to pluck the Raven Queen from among the rest. If they care about their citizens, they hope to catch me without endangering the innocent.'

She forcefully relaxed her fingers from around the handle of her umbrella, and released the Conduit and beast core back into her pocket. So many people could be out today because they genuinely wanted to experience the entertainment. And perhaps what she was feeling wasn't a compulsion, but some deep, subconscious connection to her father that she hadn't given up, even after everything.

But that didn't explain the rippling sense of wrongness in her mind, as if she had walked into a familiar room and found everything displaced two inches to the left.

'If it is a compulsion, now that I've recognized it, it must have less control over me. And the same could be said about my tendency toward recklessness. I can stick with the original plan. If I have to, I'll knock myself out so that it's impossible for me to leave until the day is over.'

She took a single step forward, but was halted by an authoritative "Excuse me, Madam," and the touch of strong fingers on her elbow.

She spun around with the umbrella in her off hand wielded like a weapon, her heart giving a thump so hard she thought it might literally stop from the shock.

A tall, dark-skinned copper stood beside her, his hands raised as he took a step back to avoid her. Perhaps he had been drawn by her still form acting like a rock for the river of other citizens to pass around, or perhaps by the color of her skin. Or, perhaps he had somehow picked her out more directly.

Chapter 165 - Carried on the Wind

Siobhan

Month 4, Day 9, Friday 9:40 a.m.

Siobhan suppressed her fear and all the instincts to flee or fight that it encouraged. If there was ever a time to use all the lessons she had ever learned from Ennis and act as if her life depended on it, that time was now. She let out a loud, breathy laugh and pressed a fluttering hand to her chest. "Oh, my! I apologize, sir! You startled me," she said airily, smoothing out her voice to something more overtly feminine. "I get a little nervous in such large crowds, and some young ruffian tried to pickpocket me not an hour back, so I'm afraid I've been on edge and overreacted."

She smiled brightly at the tall, dark-skinned man, her gaze dipping from his eyes, to his shoulder and hands, and then a quick glance at his lips before returning to his own eyes. She forced her smile to soften into something more genuine than polite, growing a little lopsided and allowing the fake wrinkles at the sides of her eyes to deepen just a little. It was almost an exact copy of something she had seen Ennis do several times, to a more generally positive effect than his attempts at blatant flirting or propositioning someone often returned.

As Silvia, she looked like the kind of woman that might be attracted to a man in uniform, and who could subtly flirt only seconds after being startled, because she definitely wasn't so afraid she felt like she was going to pass out. She kept her eyes from darting around searching for his backup, but her knees almost buckled as she felt the subtlest tingle in her back, where the disks of the divination-diverting ward rested. 'Please, let me be imagining that because I'm on the verge of passing out,' she pleaded to the indifferent sky. Her scalp was also tingling, and her palms felt frozen, which gave her hope.

Unfortunately, the copper's expression was inscrutable, so she couldn't tell if it was working or not. "No apologies necessary. What brings you out today, Madam?"

'Are my knees shaking?' she wondered, trying to stiffen the muscles in her legs just in case. Shaking knees could create a tell-tale tremble in the fabric of a lightweight dress such as the one she was wearing. "Oh, Madam sounds so stuffy. You can call me Silvia," she said, leaning toward him slightly. "What should I call you?"

"Copper Robards," he replied expressionlessly.

She nodded, ignoring the rebuff. "And of course, I'm out for the same reason as everyone else! There's a little stall up on Bett Street that I heard was selling the most delightful pastries. It's too bad you have to work on a day like today, though I admit it is comforting to see your presence on the streets. Are you going to get any time off?"

He brushed by her question with a few vague words, and asked a few more basic suspicious questions. Though Silvia responded—for that was her name at this moment, as fully and truly as possible—with every conceivable trick to make herself seem less suspicious, some part of her was detaching from the conversation, watching her pilot her body as if from above.

'If his wand has a basic scanning divination like that woman cast on me the very first time I transformed into Sebastien, when I was hiding in that empty building with Oliver, it's over for me.' She catalogued her various routes of escape and plotted a course through the city toward the south. There, the maze of streets, dead-ends, and random alleyways might make following her difficult. She might still be incredibly stiff from all her practice with light-refinement, but the concoctions she'd taken that morning were suppressing her pain, and adrenaline would push her onward. Fekten's class had given her the cardiovascular stamina to run half the city. If she absolutely had to. Maybe a concussive blast to this Copper Robards, to slow him down and get a head start. Alternatively, she could even get to one of her supply stashes and transform into Sebastien. If that didn't throw them off her trail, all was lost.

But as her thoughts were beginning to spiral out of control with barely leashed violence and drastic plans, the copper's attention was diverted. He looked at someone over her shoulder and his eyes immediately narrowed. "Mr. Irving!" he called. He took an unconscious step past her, then paused and said, "stay here, please."

Siobhan blinked twice, staring at the side of the building in front of her as her dissociating consciousness seemed to slip back into her body. There was so much adrenaline in her veins that she felt sick with it, like an overdose on beamshell tincture mixed with six cups of dark coffee, after pulling a thirty-six hour study session in preparation for an important test.

Slowly, she turned to follow Copper Robards with her eyes.

He was talking to a young man with large glasses and slightly lighter skin, who strangely looked somewhat familiar, despite the fact that he appeared too young to attend the University, and Siobhan had no idea where else she could have encountered him.

"Why are you here?" the copper asked, his tone much more accusing than the one he had used with Siobhan.

She shifted on her feet, partially because her muscles were tingling and trembling from being so tense, and partially because she wondered if she might just…slip into the crowd while the copper was distracted.

But the man noticed even that small movement, and raised one finger to her, a command for patience.

"I'm here as a journalist," the young man said defensively, lifting as evidence a slightly scratched, high-end camera obscura from where it hung at his chest by a neck strap.

"I thought we discussed the need to avoid potentially dangerous situations," Copper Robards said.

"It's my job!" the young man retorted. "Someone has to get photos of the sentencing and conduct interviews with the populace. This isn't the kind of event we can just neglect to report on."

"Doesn't your paper have anyone else they could send?"

The young man's expression grew more serious. "I'm a professional, just like you, sir. I—"

"Miss Silvia!" a boy's voice called, and as all of their attentions were pulled, Millennium struggled his way through the legs of the crowd and ran to her side. He hugged her around the waist, grinning up at her. The combined shade of her umbrella and a cloud that had passed over the sun made the subtle golden sheen of his skin almost indistinguishable. "Mom is sitting over there. She says the baby is kicking her in the kidney and she wants you to help wrangle Bobby because he keeps trying to run off and maybe get kidnapped by human traffickers," he said with the innocent candor of a much more foolish child. "Can you tell her to buy us pies?"

Siobhan had no idea how Millennium had known what name to call her, or how much she needed to be rescued with a totally mundane scenario that the Raven Queen would never be involved in, but she grinned back down at him with delight that was totally genuine. Both of them looked to Copper Robards expectantly.

He hesitated, but with a frustrated sigh, waved them off. "Mr. Irving, you must leave capturing the Raven Queen to the professionals."

Siobhan almost flinched.

"I'm not here to try and capture the Raven Queen!" the young man protested.

Siobhan slipped Millennium's hand into her own and kept her umbrella in position to shade him. His palm was as sweaty and clammy as her own, and as they passed into the crowd, a wary-eyed guard that she vaguely recognized from her visits to Lord Lynwood's manor fell in behind them.

"I heard you introduce yourself as Silvia when I was trying to listen for you. Was it right for me to use that name?" Miles asked. "It seemed like you didn't want to be talking to the copper."

"You did well to corroborate my lie," she said. Her divination-diverting ward was definitely active now, avoiding his natural magical tendencies toward divination, but much more subtly than it did when she was exposed to Gera or another prognos.

With subtle twitches of his fingers and the direction of his gaze, Miles led her around to the back courtyard of a nearby boarding stable, filled with horses inside and unhitched carriages parked in rows out in the back yard. They entered one of the stable's back doors, and then turned a corner to an area tucked out of sight. A woman in an old-fashioned maid uniform waited there along with another Nightmare Pack man, keeping out of the way of the busy stable workers.

Both wore wary, frightened looks.

Siobhan did not need to be Aberford Thorndyke to realize that something was wrong. "What's the issue?" she asked immediately, looking to the adults.

It was Miles who answered. "We are being chased by bad guys who want to hurt us," he stated succinctly. "I knew about it in advance, because I heard whispers on the wind about the danger." He tapped his ears meaningfully, which would have meant nothing to Siobhan if she didn't know he was part prognos, part sylphide, and even had some amount of fey ancestry. If anyone could hear danger coming, it would be him, though it would mean an impressive improvement of his control over his abilities.

"Danger was circling in around our house, and it was targeted specifically at me," Miles continued. "I knew things wouldn't go well if I stayed, and other people could get hurt. Or even killed. Martha, Jackal, and Mr. Fring helped me get away," he said, pointing in turn to the maid, a sharp-jawed Nightmare Pack member who did indeed have a somewhat predatory look, and the much broader-shouldered man who had escorted them through the crowd, and who held himself like a trained guard.

"I kept listening for danger, trying to find a way out. I wanted to go to one of our safe houses, but we wouldn't have made it. And then I thought maybe we could go ask for backup at the Verdant Stag, but every route toward them made the whispers go even worse-sounding. So we were just running away as the safe routes kept closing up around us, and then I realized you might be able to help."

Siobhan sent the two enforcers and maid a glance, aware that the value of her Silvia disguise was constantly lowering due to events like this.

Miles took a deep breath, leaning into her side for support, more emotional than physical. "It was really scary. It was hard to find you, and the bad guys almost caught us a few times. Mr. Fring almost died, if I hadn't heard—" He broke off, rubbing at one ear. "But the whispers all agree that if I could find you, our chances of coming out of this okay get way better. You'll protect us, right?"

Siobhan was sure that the "whispers" had led Miles to a completely ridiculous conclusion. She was no bastion of protection. If being with her made him safer, it would be by strange coincidence at best. 'Maybe his whispers came to some strange conclusion, like, to protect him, I'll be forced to reveal myself as the Raven Queen, and that will be enough to stall for backup, disastrous as it might be for me.'

"How far away are the bad guys?" she asked, her mind immediately turning toward the best method of escape. If the Verdant Stag wasn't safe, where else could they go? Liza's house, perhaps? Though if they led the enemy straight there, Siobhan wasn't totally sure that the wards would be enough to keep them safe. Not in the long-term, at least. And Liza would absolutely kill her when she found out.

Miles tilted his head to the side, staring into the air, and paled. "Um, they're actually close. Very close."

Siobhan resisted the urge to curse, her hand reaching blindly into her satchel to grab the most useful potions within. "Miles, try to find what direction they're coming from." To the adults, she asked, "Do you have battle wands? Shield artifacts?"

Martha shook her head silently, wringing her hands together.

Mr. Fring spoke for the first time. "My wand has a shield spell, but the charge is depleted. They tried to stun us several times, and once sent a piercing spell at the back of my skull when I got too far away from the boy. They seem to want to take the Nightmare Pack heir alive, though the rest of us may be expendable. I have two concussive blast charges remaining, and a knife." He opened one side of his jacket to reveal the blade there, long and heavy enough to go beyond dagger into the realm of machete.

Jackal's eyes darted around, focusing on her for only a moment, his fingers twiddling nervously and his knee bouncing. "I've got knives, too. About six left. Managed to nick a couple of our pursuers when they got too close." He retrieved a few small throwing knives from his pocket, and his hands seemed to feel more comfortable holding them, because the twiddling and twitching stopped. "Also, got a philtre of liquid fire."

Martha sent him a scandalized glare. "Jackal! You know Lord Lynwood decreed you weren't allowed to mess about with fire any more."

Jackal grimaced at her. "Well, I haven't messed around with it, have I? Just having some on hand isn't a crime." He looked back to Siobhan. "I couldn't find a safe place to use it. So many people out and about, someone's likely to go up in flames like a spitted pig. Someone innocent, I mean. Bad way to die, if you'll pardon me saying, my queen."

Miles pointed toward the east, where the front of the stable looked over the street. "They're coming from that direction. And maybe circling around, too. Their whispers sound kind of sneaky."

Martha's eyes narrowed as she looked Siobhan over again. "My queen?" she mouthed to herself in obvious confusion.

Siobhan handed out three of her new philtres of darkness, fleetfoot potions, and a single bark-skin potion, which she handed to Mr. Fring. If someone were going to act as a human shield, it wouldn't be her. "We don't have much time. Can we escape out the back?" she asked Miles.

She poked her head around the corner, looking to the east for their pursuers.

A man passed in front of an open stall window, narrowed eyes searching the crowd. Probably searching for them. Siobhan's blood froze even as her heart sank, because she recognized the crisp gold-and-midnight blue uniform, as well as the proudly displayed gold badge stamped with the same crest from every coin in her pocket.

She pulled her head back in, scowling. "Did you neglect to mention that the 'bad men' are Lord Pendragon's personal forces?" Unlike coppers, they didn't patrol the streets, only leaving Pendragon Palace when they had a particular mission. Such as, perhaps, catching the Raven Queen.

Martha paled, clenching her skirt in her fists. "That can't be. Right? Maybe they're after the same criminals that have been chasing us."

"Didn't see any Pendragon operatives," Fring added.

Fighting back against Pendragon operatives was automatic treason, and sentenced by execution. But more importantly, those men would be well-outfitted, powerful, and practiced in battle.

"If you're talking about the people in those fancy outfits that aren't copper outfits, they are definitely bad guys," Miles provided helpfully. "And we need to leave right away. There's no time left."

Everyone else shared looks of dismay, and Siobhan led the way in the opposite direction from the Pendragon operative. One hand held a beast core, the other her newest battle wand, and Millennium's grip tugged on the skirt of her uselessly fluffy dress. 'Should we split up? Send the other three away as a decoy, and I keep Miles? But would they agree to that? It might get them killed.'

The boy's grip grew tighter as he looked around in panicked confusion, gaze once again distant. "Oh no, oh no. I was wrong."

"About what?" Siobhan snapped, wondering if they could open the horse stalls and create a panicked stampede with a loud spell. The animals might cover their escape. But it might be better to just sneak out and avoid attention. 'No, it would take too long to free the horses.' Siobhan hurried instead toward the same back door that they had entered through. "Is there any way they could be tracking you?" she asked, the question for Miles as well as the other three.

They shared looks of fear and confusion, but before anyone could answer, Millennium murmured in a reedy voice, "It was bait."

A branching explosion of red lightning and dust from underneath the door sill took away any chance to stop, ask for clarification, or try another way.

The magic sent Siobhan flying. She hit the ground and rolled painfully, catching glimpses of her companions in similar states as she tumbled.

She fell still, crumpled in the dirt and facing away from them all, the world spinning dizzily around her. The cold burn of her medallion against the skin of her chest told her it had protected her against some of whatever that spell was. As her dizziness settled, she watched from slitted eyes as a thin powder sprinkled to the ground.

Combined with the red light, it became obvious that someone had trapped the door with some sort of overpowered stunning spell. If she had to guess, it was a single-use mine artifact, not so different from the disintegration mine she'd used a few weeks ago, though thankfully not so deadly.

Chapter 166 - Poisoned Pawn

Siobhan

Month 4, Day 9, Friday 9:45 a.m.

Judging by the lack of nearby screams, curses, or sounds of movement, Millennium and the others were completely unconscious. In the stable behind them, horses were whinnying and the workers were alarmed, but the vague sounds of a deep voice she couldn't quite make out comforted them. One of their attackers, most likely.

Siobhan couldn't feel anything from the waist down. She chose to believe that was from the effects of the stunning spell and not because her spine had been broken.

No help was coming. And the world was still spinning dizzily. 'Did I hit my head?' Or maybe that was the effects of the stunning spell. It contained Kuthian frog spit, or something, in addition to the electrical charge. She was pretty sure Professor Lacer had talked about it in one of his lectures. Which suddenly seemed hilariously ironic. She held back a giggle, then did her best to sober up.

'I am about to be either captured or killed,' she realized. 'And there is nothing I can do about it.' The adrenaline spike helped to settle her uncharacteristic and totally inappropriate giddiness, but did nothing to help her regain control of her body.

She fumbled with the hand of the arm she was lying on for the chain holding Professor Lacer's Conduit and her beast core, hoping no one was watching yet as she snapped the chain with a single hard yank toward her chest. She hesitated, her mind running wild as she tried to figure out what to do with them, somewhere they would be safe in the off chance that she somehow got free and was able to return to Sebastien Siverling's identity.

Professor Lacer would kill her if she lost his Conduit.

There was no time, and with no other viable ideas, she shoved both into her mouth, trailing metal chain and all. Her arm had some trouble locating her mouth, but after smashing her nose flat and poked herself in the eye with a finger, she managed to get it all inside.

With the most painful, strained gulp of her life, she swallowed both rocks, keeping the chain in her mouth. She was lucky that she was still a young thaumaturge, because her Conduit was only the size of a large grape, and the cheap beast core a small walnut. But neither were polished or smooth. For a moment, she thought they might get stuck in her throat and suffocate her, but with a painful, scraping stretch, they passed into her stomach. She smelled blood on her exhale.

Siobhan held back a whimper, pressing her tongue hard to the roof of her mouth to trap the chain there securely. As a child, she had kept one end of a long noodle in her mouth while swallowing the rest, then pulled the whole thing back out, to the disgust of everyone else at the dinner table. She could use the chain to do the same with her Conduit and beast core.

Footsteps approached from behind her as well as to the side, but she closed her eyes despite her racing heart. There was no sense in letting the enemy know that the stunning mine hadn't quite done its job.

A strange clattering sound came from above, and then a heavy thunk followed by what might have been a body collapsing to the ground. This was followed by a horrified gasp. "Oh please, oh please, don't be dead," a young man's voice muttered, cracking under the strain of heavy emotion.

Siobhan's stomach churned with burning acid. 'Who is he talking about? Please, not Miles.'

More footsteps came from the sides, half-muffled thuds traveling through the ground as they hopped over the courtyard wall. A man said, "One of them is still up."

Siobhan suppressed a twitch. 'How did they know?' she wondered, but immediately realized that they were talking about the young man behind her.

"I'm not one of them!" he protested. "I'm just a bystander, and um, a journalist," he added threateningly.

There was a moment of silence, followed by grunts of effort and pain and sounds of impact that seemed to indicate fighting. Siobhan picked out the sound of choking, the young man muttering "oh shit oh shit oh shit," under his breath, and even another small crackle of stunning magic.

"He's trained!" one of the men called, much less nonchalantly than earlier.

'Is that boy actually fighting to defend us?' Siobhan wondered in dawning surprise. She cracked one eyelid open just a sliver, allowing a blurry section of light through. She caught a glimpse of legs running past from the side of the courtyard—even more enemy backup.

A grunt came from behind her, and then the brown-skinned boy from before, the one who had been talking to Copper Robards in the street, stepped over her sprawled body. "The coppers are on the way! I called for them right away, and they'll be here any minute!" he warned.

Mr. Irving, the copper had called him. He had Millennium thrown over one shoulder, the child's insensate fingers dangling around his lower back. Irving's other hand held…a clay roof tile? He waved the arched terracotta threateningly in Siobhan's general direction, looking at the enemies standing over and around her. "I'm trained in the art of magi-kundo," he announced. "I'm warning you, stay back or I can't be responsible for what I do!" He waved the roof tile again.

Siobhan had never heard of this art. In fact, it sounded quite made-up. But she couldn't fault him for his verbal flailing. He was a child himself, and obviously trying to protect Millennium, even if his chances were hopeless. Perhaps, if he bought enough time, she would recover enough to be of use.

"Can't let him get away with the target," one of the enemy muttered. The red lights of stunning spells shot toward Irving, and he dodged with frankly impressive alacrity, but they lobbed a philtre as a follow-up.

He was backed up into the fenced corner of the courtyard, with nowhere to escape and a child half his size thrown over his shoulder. He wavered dizzily, then with one last effort hurled the roof tile, which clipped a man she could barely see out of the corner of her eye directly in the face. Then, he crumpled into rag-doll unconsciousness underneath Millennium.

That man had been carrying a battle wand, from which a spell shot out. Judging by the scream that sounded immediately afterward, he had accidentally shot one of his allies.

Siobhan held back a vindictive chuckle. Some of the feeling in her limbs was returning, but the pain was almost worse than the numbness had been.

"Is he finally down?" one of the remaining enemy asked.

"He must be. Who trained him, do you think? I've never seen a fighting style like that. For a half-grown boy to take even one of us…"

"Go check," the first man ordered. "And make sure the target's okay."

Reluctantly, a man stepped over Siobhan, coming down close enough to her face for her slitted eye to make out the spell array carved subtly into the side of his boot. He walked into the dispersing gas of the battle philtre, nudged Irving, and then checked over Millennium before carrying the boy back. "Still alive, no serious injuries," he announced. "Pupils still dilating fine."

"Bring around the wagon," the leader said. "The rest of you, check for any weapons or tools they could use to escape. Double-stun at any signs of movement. We don't want any other nasty surprises. Parker only has one uninjured testicle left."

Siobhans heart sank further as the others chuckled at the joke and only one pair of footsteps left for the mentioned wagons. The battle wand she'd been carrying before the stunning mine hit her was gone, dropped somewhere during her flying tumble. Even if she'd had it, she couldn't trust her coordination to aim or even pull the trigger correctly. 'If they don't find both my hidden waist holster under the corset and the chain in my mouth, I'll still have a Conduit, but I'm certainly in no shape to try and cast a spell. I've got the knives in my boots, too, but they're professionals, and unlike that Irving boy, I'm not a trained fighter. I can't think of anything I can do that is more likely to get me out of this than to get me immediately killed. It might be best to play dead, at least until I'm coherent enough to try to escape.'

They searched her with surprising and somewhat humiliating thoroughness, but didn't bother to unlace or cut through her corset, perhaps because they didn't imagine she could be hiding anything under it. All of the Pendragon agents were men, after all. Her medallion was still freezing cold from attempting to protect her from the stunning mine, but it was also possible that it's anti-theft mechanisms were activating to nudge them away.

One paused while running his fingers through her hair, probably staring down at her face.

She tried not to twitch or show any micro-expressions of response.

That was much harder when he said, "This one looks a little like the Raven Queen, don't you think?"

A second pair of footsteps drew closer. "Nah, she too old."

"But the Raven Queen has dark skin and long dark hair."

The second man snorted. "So do thousands of women in Gilbratha." Suddenly, fingers pried at her eyelid.

Siobhan picked a spot and stared at it intently as her eyelid was drawn upward uncomfortably, revealing her contact-covered eyeball underneath. "Both her hair and eyes are light brown, not black as night. No Conduit. No raven feathers made of night or crystallized blood. No shadow companion woven from condensed nightmares. And, most compellingly I might add, she was just captured by us, with no attempts to melt into the shadow or whatever. She's an old servant just like that other one. Also, Parker, her face doesn't even really look like the drawings. She's a sweet older lady."

"Check her bag," the other one insisted stubbornly.

They jerked her around roughly to free her satchel, and Siobhan had never been so grateful for the exorbitant sum she'd spent on her replacement bag after the last one got disintegrated. It did, of course, have all of her thaumaturgic supplies. But it also had a featherweight enchantment, as well as two different divisions. One, which opened up under normal circumstances, held random odds and ends like a makeup pouch, a canteen of water, and a bag of snacks. The other division, which held everything interesting, required several of the seemingly decorative clasps to be positioned correctly, and for the main latch to receive three quick taps before the mouth of the satchel was opened.

"Nothing," the second man announced triumphantly. "In fact, she's even got identification papers. Her name is Silvia Nakai. Get ahold of your imagination, man. You've embarrassed me plenty already, with the accusations against my neighbor Mara, and that waitress at the Rusty Peacock I had almost convinced to go on a date with me, and—"

"Shut up," the leader commanded as the sound of a horse's hooves and wooden wagon wheels returned.

"Target secured," one of the men said. "What do we do with the others?"

"Kill them?" another suggested.

"No," the leader said. "Take them with us."

The man who had suggested Siobhan was the Raven Queen added incredulously, "Don't you know this whole thing is a plot to draw her out? There's no need to make her angrier or give her a reason to get revenge on any of us personally."

"But won't she be captured after this?" the one who had wanted to kill her asked.

"Sure. If it works. Haven't you read the reports? I'm not going to gamble on her losing. Not when it's so easy just to capture a few more people for ransom. Right, captain?"

"We weren't ordered to kill anyone," the man said, though Siobhan wasn't sure if that was agreement with his subordinate's statement or not. And if she was now more than fifty percent certain that these men were plainclothes Pendragon operatives. Though it was also possible that they were mercenaries working for the Architects of Khronos, or even some other group she'd never heard of.

Soon after, Siobhan was lifted and tossed into the back of wagon, followed by the others, limbs dropping painfully onto her.

"Go deal with the coppers," the leader ordered.

When her ankle twisted painfully under a limp, heavy body, she almost wished she was still numb. She couldn't move to escape the pain without giving away her consciousness. At least her sensation of balance wasn't careening around quite as giddily. Perhaps she would be able to escape out of the back of the wagon with Miles when no one was looking. The Nightmare Pack enforcers and maid would have to fend for themselves. She couldn't save them all.

Siobhan risked a peek out of one eye, noting the cloth covering stretching in an dome over the wagon itself, disguising the contents within.

"What about the other kid?" someone asked.

"One of the coppers vouched for him. Some small-time journalist who fancies himself a vigilante. No connection to the gangs or the Raven Queen."

"Leave him," the leader ordered.

Apparently "dealing with" meant working with the coppers and exchanging information, not fighting or killing them. Another tally for the Pendragon operative theory.

"Everybody clear?" someone at the front of the wagon asked. A handful of affirmative responses followed.

And then Siobhan was engulfed in darkness.

It was a darkness so complete she had never experienced anything comparable, completely different than the shadow of her closed eyelids, or even the shadows on a moonless night.

That was what she noticed first.

Then came the fact that she could not hear anything, even the sound of her own breathing or heartbeat, which normally became discernible in extreme silence.

Then, that she could feel nothing, either. Not her body pressing against the wooden planks of the wagon, nor the pain in her squished and twisted ankle, nor even her tongue inside her mouth.

Her consciousness floated in nothing, completely unmoored.

She panicked. She tried to move, to scream, to bite her own tongue, anything. But if she was still connected to a brain—which she wasn't sure of—it was no longer sending or receiving signals to her body. And then she had a horrible thought. One so horrible that it stilled her mind.

'I am dead.'

Chapter 167 - Eigengrau

Siobhan

Month 4, Day 9, Friday

In an ironic boon, with Siobhan's panic at the thought of death had come something else—a very faint burn, a muted rush. Adrenaline. Relief tumbled through her so violently she probably would have felt dizzy with it if not for this strange sensory deprivation effect.

It was enough for her to conclude that she wasn't dead, and her body was still there. She was simply cut off from the sensation of it. Most likely, the "everybody clear" she'd heard earlier was someone checking before they activated a spell array. It was an effective method to keep prisoners from attempting escape, even after the stunning spells wore off.

She would not have the slightest chance of calculating where they were being taken based on time passed and the number of turns the wagon took.

Even though she had ways to call for help, she could not implement them.

Siobhan did what she could to keep her mind moored, but without any of her senses, existing effectively as consciousness in the void, it was difficult to anchor herself.

She could tell that time was passing, and tried to focus on that certainty, though it was hard to quantify exactly how much without her heartbeat or breaths to compare against. It helped at first, but after a while she began to lose her grip on time, too.

She drifted off for a moment, and when she—metaphorically—jerked back to attention, she had no idea how long she had been in the nothing. 'How long until I go insane?' she had to wonder. Perhaps in response to this, she began to see phosphenes in the uniform eigengrau darkness of the abyss. The strange colors and shapes created by her detaching mind were incoherent, at first, any meaning bestowed in the same way one could find recognizable shapes in the clouds.

But after a while, they began to cohere into something recognizable. 'I'm retreating into illusions to create a false sense of security and keep my mind from spiraling off into insanity,' she reasoned, noting her surroundings and the too-sharp, too-vibrant sensations of an imagined body. Anything to house her consciousness was better than nothing, she supposed. Though she would have preferred a different setting. Almost any other setting, in fact.

Siobhan stood in a place she remembered well from childhood. She was in Grandfather's house, standing before a half-open door. Not the metal one, from the magical workshop in the tower, but the wooden door with the warped board that left a little crack just at eye height. When she was a child, would peek through it into Grandfather's room sometimes.

But now, she was too tall, and would have to crouch down to see through it. 'At least I am not thirteen again,' she thought, though the sheer relief of that confirmation seemed strangely powerful. 'Am I often thirteen, in my dreams?' She couldn't remember.

Siobhan usually imagined her nightmares as a kind of physical mass locked away in her head. A slimy, putrid, hungry liquid. Normally, it was contained perfectly, but in sleep—in dreams—she was unguarded, the dream-space undefined enough that the box keeping it all sealed up tight became undefined, too. And so, the nightmare-stuff had a chance to leak out.

If she could wake quickly enough, most of it would get sucked back into the box as reality reasserted itself, leaving only the lingering terror and flashes of strange imagery.

Now, though, without the anchoring of her physical body, things normally confined to dreams started to leak out.

Siobhan had no need to peek through the door. She already knew what was on the other side. 'My mind could have conjured almost any other scene to keep me from the insanity of sensory deprivation,' she lamented. 'But of course it always comes back to this.'

Siobhan braced herself and opened the door. The warding medallion was there on the table, with all of Grandfather's artificery gadgets and lights and lenses that helped him use tools sized for a little bug. His gift for her, not finished yet.

Grandfather's corpse was there, too, half his head a hollow. Brain matter and blood, so much blood, pooled in front of the fireplace, its warm flames reflecting off the dark, placid surface.

Just as she had in reality, Siobhan moved past the corpse to the table, picking up the medallion.

She examined it for a moment, feeling the weight of it in her hand, the moldings of glyphs and symbols on its surface, so vivid despite it all being a figment of memory and imagination.

Something rustled behind her, and she spun around, heart leaping in her chest.

Grandfather's corpse had sat up. One of his eyes was missing, blown away and leaving only an empty, ruined socket. The other watched her with a bright golden iris staring out from blood-red sclera. "It's not complete, you know. I never had the chance to finish it."

Siobhan's knees trembled and she clenched the medallion in one fist so hard her knuckles whitened, the other bracing against the desk to help support her weight. "This didn't happen."

Grandfather tilted his head to the side, letting her see the hollow, meaty cavern that made up the remaining half his skull. "How would you know? You do not remember anything."

Her voiced cracked. "I remember this part."

"You should remember more," he said, his eye suddenly intense, almost glowing against the shadows of his face, the fireplace behind him giving him a halo of brightness. "If you just remembered, you could fix things, don't you think? You would know why you have these nightmares, and maybe they would stop."

"I know well enough why I have them." She did, even if she tried never to think of it or the thoughts connected to it. She knew well enough, and could guess at the rest.

Grandfather's expression drew together cruelly, his mouth twisting in a sneer. "Do you truly? Do you think I had your best interest at heart by this time? I'd already gone quite insane. I harmed you, and you cling onto the wound like it is a gift."

Siobhan shuddered. "You are not my grandfather. I remember this night, and this did not happen. You're…the nightmare. Or a piece of it, trying to leak out of the box."

His sneer slipped away too quickly to be natural and he laughed lightly, almost seeming proud. "It seems he raised no imbecile. You are correct, more or less. He did not have enough time to do a perfect job, and he never expected his patchwork solution to have to last this long. He had planned for you to go to one of his acquaintances who would settle the matter for good. But you forgot about that part, and he was too incoherent to realize he needed to repeat it for you. So you let things stay like this, trying your little patchwork solutions that are about as effective as using your finger to plug a leak in a dam."

Grandfather—or rather the thing wearing his body—lurched forward, rising to his feet like a puppet on strings. "You can't keep depending on the seal to hold. It's cracking, my little hazelnut," he said, using the term of endearment only her grandfather had called her. "And it's going to fail soon. You need to take control. 'You control your mind, it doesn't control you.' Remember?"

"You just want me to let you free," she whispered. "But I won't. I never will."

He lurched forward a couple more steps, his face too hidden in shadows to make out the features except for that gold, glowing eye. "What do you think is in the box? Aren't you curious? Aren't you afraid? Don't you hear me scratching from the inside?"

He reached for her, and she stumbled back until she hit the wall, the panic strong enough that she could once again feel the physical sensation of chemicals in her body. Her dream-self's breaths were tremulous, sweat beaded on her upper lip and her brow, and her fingers were ice-cold. She thought she might throw up from the sheer, savage dread that knotted her stomach. Silently, she screamed at herself to do something, do anything, to stop this.

And as she always did in times of trouble or uncertainty, she reached for her magic. She brought her Will to bear, letting it stretch out through her body, through the room, all that her mind had created.

Grandfather froze.

"I am in control," she said slowly, carefully. "I do control my mind." And suddenly, perhaps aided by the fact that she was not unconscious, but in fact quite awake and lucid, the memory returned to the state of what actually happened.

Grandfather was nothing but a corpse on the ground, all his power gone and all that remained nothing more but cooling flesh and blood.

Siobhan didn't want to keep playing out the memory, and with a thought, her consciousness returned to the nothingness of sensory deprivation. But with her Will so active and spread through the domain she always—inherently—controlled without the need for a Circle, she felt something else. Her own body.

With her Will activated, she knew where her hands were, and where her face was, and where her feet were, and she even had a very muted sensation of touch, feeling the faint echoes of cool air on her legs and arms, and the deep chill of stone beneath her.

Siobhan could feel the discomfort of the beast core and Conduit pressed against the skin of her back, forcing indentations in her flesh to fit themselves. Which meant she hadn't been stripped entirely. She still had some limited resources, though her dress and her shoes seemed to be missing. As she focused her attention, she could even feel the well of potential energy trapped inside the beast core, just waiting to be used. A faint echo of that power came from inside her abdomen—the beast core she had swallowed.

Pushing her Will beyond her body didn't do much, and she wasn't even sure it was working, but it did give her an idea. She tried to move, slowly and carefully, bringing her Will to bear in her arms, trying to fill her flesh with the presence of her ability to command the world, and thus push out whatever was inhibiting her.

Her movements were more jerky than she had hoped, clumsy and jittering, but she managed to get both of her hands in front of her face. Pressing hard to make sure everything was in place, she shoved her hands together in front of her mouth, joining her fingers and thumbs together in a Circle with great care.

She swirled her Will around her head and her arms again just to make absolutely sure her breath was filtering through the Circle and her fingertips were touching securely. She pulled at the beast core on her back, being extremely careful to avoid the one she'd swallowed, taking the tiniest bit of power and pushing it through where the black sapphire Conduit was.

Suddenly, she was aware of the Conduit the same way she was the beast core.

Relief, fear, and excitement crashed together in a cacophony of physical sensation that sent goosebumps rising over her skin and urged her breaths faster.

She had the Sacrifice and the Will, but she could not feel her own lips or tongue well enough for a verbal chant—the Word.

Taking care to hold the chant and its meaning, they way each word felt and sounded, clear in her mind, she silently recited a familiar chant, thrice over. 'Life's breath, shadow mine. In darkness we were born. In darkness do we feast. Devour, and arise.' With each repetition, she felt a stronger connection to her shadow, until finally it was finished, and there was more of her.

She let out a silent laugh on an exhale. It had worked. She could sense everything her shadow touched. She had thought it might, hoped it would, on the premise that the shadow absorbed light and perhaps other things in the electromagnetic spectrum, and thus through the process of absorption might be able to give her a sense of her surroundings that her actual body lacked. Her Will could ride it just like it rode her physical body.

Her shadow pooled in the angles of her body and beneath her, unmoving, but dense and ready. There was barely any light, and as the spell pulled on her breath for heat instead, her fingers began to ache.

'There is no difference between light and the rest of electromagnetic radiation. I should be able to use even the invisible light for power.' The spell gained stability and the ache in her hands receded somewhat as she mentally adjusted its parameters. But she needed more. She ran through her understanding of the more esoteric aspects of light. 'Heat and light are really two sides of the same coin. Everything that has a temperature is very subtly glowing, well below the level that the human eye can pick up, as the electrons step up and down their levels. Can I suck all of the "potential" light out of the places my shadow touches? The spell already pulls heat from my breath, so this shouldn't even be that difficult of a conceptual shift.'

The draw on the heat of her breath through her fingers disappeared almost entirely, and her shadow solidified somehow, the sensations it was feeding back to her becoming more tangible, and the metaphorical ink of its form growing deeper, the better to stretch farther and wider.

Siobhan directed her shadow to rise up, embracing her, and let out a tremulous breath. She could feel its chill, like the underside of a pillow. But the sensations it brought were like a fire in the darkness, shelter from a raging storm, or the embrace of her mother's arms. Though she remained in a different type of absolute darkness, she was no longer senseless or helpless. She was no longer so afraid.

Siobhan spread her shadow further, searching outward. She was in a relatively small room with nine others, including someone she thought was Millennium, but also another small boy. Everyone was lying on the floor unconscious. All were alive, though a few were obviously injured.

The Pendragon operatives had somehow transported them without breaking the sensory deprivation spell, and it was likely that many of the others were not truly unconscious any longer, merely trapped within senseless bodies and the shell of their own minds.

There was a spell array on the floor around them, which was hard to decipher the details of with the ambiguous understanding she could draw from her shadow as it ate the smallest glow of inefficiency that the lines put off.

Siobhan spread her shadow further, and found, to her dismay, a form standing against the edge of the wall by the door, behind her.

The movement of their limbs was too flailing to decipher coherently, as the person—likely a guard—left the room, slamming the door behind them. Which meant she had just alerted the enemy to her consciousness, and didn't have much time.

She pulled her shadow mostly back in, keeping it in a blanketing shape over where her body once was as she attempted a jerky crawl away. Just in case they tried to kill her, a decoy might buy her a little time.

As soon as she crossed the edge of the Circle, all of her senses rushed back in, and everything she had felt from her shadow disappeared under the barrage of too-powerful feedback from her body. She could smell all the nuances of blood and sweat and mineral-laden water on dank stone, taste her own tongue in her mouth, and feel all the many aches and pains she had accumulated. She could hear screams and the sound of fleeing footsteps. And apparently, she had swallowed the chain connected to Professor Lacer's Conduit while insensate, leaving the beast core and Conduit much more difficult to retrieve.

Slowly, she slid her hands closer together over her mouth, keeping the Circle intact until one of her hands was making a small Circle of its own within the other. Then, she drew the outer hand away. Despite her adjustment, using only one hand to create the Circle instead of two, the shadow-familiar spell remained steady, its chill form cloaking her with no additional strain.

Feeling blindly under the cover of her own shadow, she felt at her face. Her fake nose was hanging half-off, the connective glue likely torn by her flailing attempts to press a Circle to her mouth. She removed her disguise, slipping the contact lenses and the fake nose into the bodice of her corset, atop the medallion and transformation amulet that were somehow still hidden between the press of her rather meagre cleavage. They must have been protected from notice and theft by the warding spell woven into the medallion, with the amulet going unnoticed by proximity. 'A warding artifact is much less useful if anyone can take it off you.' She would have lost the golden artifact long ago if her father could actually manage to remember it existed.

She finished by scratching away the fake wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She knew it was unlikely she could keep tonight's identity completely separate from the Raven Queen's, but sowing any little bit of confusion among her enemies could only help her.

She stood stiffly, with a deep moan of pain. The concoctions she had used that morning had all worn off. Her sore muscles screamed once more on top of all the new bruises, a badly battered tailbone, and a wrenched ankle. She allowed the shadows spilling through the room to drop to the floor and then converge on her, slipping away from her face to create a kind of cloak and cowl to cover up her hair. As a final touch, the shadows formed the impression of wispy feathers around the hood.

An overhead light crystal burst to life, painting the room in stark lines and feeding even more power into her shadow. She flinched at the sudden brightness and instinctively guided the thinnest possible shroud of darkness over her face to filter the light.

The one remaining guard outside, visible through the small window set into the door of the white stone room, was still screaming wordlessly, futilely, as she opened her eyes and met his gaze.

Chapter 168 - Raven Clouds

Thaddeus

Month 4, Day 9, Friday 9:00 a.m.

Everyone in the room except for Thaddeus was nervous, though some hid it better than others. He had taken one of the best seats in the back corner of Harrow Hill's third floor meeting room, positioned next to a window.

An entire row of distagrams sat against one of the walls, manned by a couple of nervous-looking young coppers. Everyone who wasn't on duty at the Edictum Council or out patrolling the streets was here. Only those so ill or injured as to be on bed rest were off duty.

In addition to that, a squad of Red Guard agents had made an appearance—under relentless pressure from the High Crown—and a couple of the man's own Pendragon Corps operatives stood near the door. They both remained silent and straight-backed in their ostentatious uniforms, sneering at the rest, even the Red Guard agents.

The Pendragon Corps had ostentatious uniforms and sparkling artifacts, and received special training that the First Crown Family had always touted as being the best of the best. However, the operatives rarely saw combat—even less than the average copper. It used to be that the Pendragon Corps took their numbers from people who had shown real competence in the army or as a beast hunter. Historically, they even recruited extremely skilled criminals who had done nothing heinous or public enough to taint the High Crown's reputation, offering those people service in lieu of penal servitude or death.

Now, at least half of their recruits were straight out of the University, and Thaddeus had heard rumors that the honor of the position was now warring with the realities of withstanding the High Crown's egomania and increasing paranoia.

And yet, they sneered at the coppers, swaggered through the streets, and imagined themselves equals of the Red Guard. Totally preposterous.

Unfortunately, the Pendragon operatives' current disdain was all too understandable.

Agent Berg, the man who had botched the Moore break event aftercare, was one of those sent to assist. He was as loud as usual. Was he partially deaf, or simply oblivious? "It was as big as a building!" Berg bragged, throwing his arms wide as several awe-struck coppers listened. "But we're trained to handle such things, and you wouldn't believe the kind of artifacts we get in the Red Guard. One spell, one ankle blown clean off!" He displayed none of the quietly assertive excellence that was associated with their organization's public face.

Thus, the Pendragon operative's disdain.

Even Thaddeus's apprentice Sebastien would be a better Red Guard recruit than that Berg buffoon. The thought of Sebastien caused Thaddeus a flicker of concern. Hopefully, Siverling was safe in the University dorms. This would be just the sort of thing that foolish, overly-confident boy would somehow get caught up in.

But no matter Agent Berg's attempts at distraction through braggadocio, thoughts inevitably turned back toward the reason for their presence.

"Do you have anything special to deal with the Raven Queen?" one of the coppers asked.

"If she shows her face in front of me, it'll be the last thing she ever does as a free woman!" Berg announced, grinning widely with his hands on his hips.

A few of the coppers shared glances, dubious. "Will she show up for sure?"

Thaddeus tuned out their conversation, looking out over the city, already teeming with people like ants in a hive, all heading toward the same locus point. He had considered turning down Titus's request to act as a consultant and one more point of backup so that he could attend the sentencing, but Thaddeus had a feeling that Siobhan Naught would surprise them. He wanted to be able to respond to that. Harrow Hill was the place that would receive information most quickly, and had both horses and carriages ready for quick deployment.

With some sideways, curious looks at Thaddeus, one of the coppers asked loudly enough to purposefully be overheard, "Have you Red Guard agents seen anything like the Raven Queen before?"

Thaddeus had experienced quite a lot of fascinating and horrific things. He didn't remember a time when he was unaware of the horrors this world could birth, but he had experienced it truly firsthand during his first—and last—dragon hunt. It wasn't the magical beast itself that had been the worst of it. No, that was his teammates. The other people. And then, of course, what became of them.

In the Haze War, Thaddeus had seen wondrous magic and enormous resources, all used toward the purpose of death and domination. All that effort and waste, born from greed and in the end coming to nothing. What a waste of resources.

But above all, his years of active service with the Red Guard had exposed Thaddeus to sublime magic, strange ideas, and overwhelming power—all of these things coming both from their agents and from what they fought against to protect the world against. The Red Guard collected the best thaumaturges, the most knowledgeable researchers, and innovators so close to the cutting edge that sometimes they slipped over it.

Rarely, however, had he met an individual so fascinating as the Raven Queen. She was simply so entertaining.

Thaddeus scowled. The woman had still yet to contact him. He had heard nothing. If today didn't bear some sort of fruit, Thaddeus would go back to the Verdant Stag with a more pressing offer. Though perhaps the Nightmare Pack would be the better option. He had heard they had a connection to the Raven Queen as well.

Thaddeus was drawn from his irritated musing as Harrow Hill's captain walked in. In any other copper station, he would have been the highest ranking individual, but here he was accompanied by Titus Westbay, the Lord Commander of the coppers. Investigator Kuchen trailed behind them, as unpleasantly phlegmy as ever.

Titus nodded at Thaddeus, then went to stand against the wall opposite the distagrams, watching the captain move to the podium at the front of the room.

The captain cleared his throat loudly, and quite unnecessarily, as the room had fallen silent as soon as the trio entered. Everyone was waiting with bated breath for what they might say.

"Today, we hope to capture the criminal and blood sorceress Siobhan Naught, better known by her alias the Raven Queen. We hope to lure her to the Edictum Council, where our friends in the Red Guard have placed additional protections for the civilians. If all goes well, we will forcefully re-route her to a nearby safe location, which will facilitate her capture. We have some of the best thaumaturges in the nation working on this, but as you know, the Raven Queen has proven slippery and cunning before. We cannot afford to become complacent."

The man glanced at Titus, and his fingers twitched in an aborted motion for the handkerchief in his breast pocket before he remembered himself. It wouldn't look very confidence-inspiring to see the captain wiping beads of stress-induced sweat off of his bald pate in the middle of a speech.

"We are working in teams of four," the man continued. "Some teams will spread throughout the area nearby the Edictum Council for immediate response, and some will be held here, ready for rapid deployment via horseback. Each team is fully prepared for contact."

Thaddeus held back a snort. If that were true, the man wouldn't need to say it in a bid to reassure his underlings.

"Two of the four members are devoted to shielding. Those of you with that job will carry several defensive artifacts that cover not only the standard protective wards, but also have specific spells formulated to protect against her known offensive abilities. In addition to that, all members have personal anti-nightmare curse wards. Please make sure that you've checked out all the equipment assigned to you and know how to use it."

Thaddeus looked to Titus, one eyebrow raised. Could it be possible that any man or woman here would have neglected the proper training on the use of what were touted to be such life-saving defensive artifacts? Thaddeus would have doubted such stupidity could exist, but some nervous shuffling amongst the rank and file suggested otherwise. Or, more generously, they might be nervous, unconvinced that Harrow Hill's preparations would suffice.

"As we believe she may somehow be able to travel through shadows, and indeed many of her abilities being based around darkness and night, we have provided high-power light artifacts that will create a glowing barrier large enough to fit a single team. But more importantly, one member of each team has been assigned an artifact that will cast a series of miniature sun replicas in the air above you. This should allow you to negate many of her abilities.

"Watch for the shadow companion," the captain warned. "It is known to turn into a flock of ravens, which are capable of flight and could attack from unexpected directions. Keep your eyes to the shadows and the skies."

Thaddeus gave in to the juvenile urge to roll his eyes.

"And if you do come into contact with the Raven Queen, either out on patrol or as the first responders to an alert…" the captain trailed off, eyes trailing over the men and women heating the room with their nervous, stinking breath and sweat-flushed skin.

"The final member of each team has been equipped with several incapacitating options, which you should use immediately if it seems she will attack or escape. But, if you do come into contact with her," he repeated, "remember that stalling is a reasonable and acceptable tactic. The very first thing you should do upon a confirmed sighting is to call for backup, which will be another two four-man teams, plus a Red Guard duo, and one of Lord Pendragon's personal operatives. If you can stall until backup arrives, we will overwhelm her with power, versatility, and skill."

There was some muttering, then, and the captain pushed over it by raising his voice. "Our profilers suggest that if you do not show aggression toward her, she is mischievous and perhaps whimsical enough to stop and communicate with you. Even, perhaps, while knowing that backup is on the way. She is supremely confident and may feel that she is in no danger, planning to flip the tables in a big surprise."

"However." He lifted one hand with his forefinger outstretched to emphasize his point, his words slowing so that each word was distinguished from the others. "If you do converse with her, be extremely careful not to make any deals. This covers not only overt bargains, but also any kind of agreement for exchanges, or seemingly harmless favors."

This caused even more muttering and nervous shuffling, but the captain made a few more mundane points and then broke off for one of his subordinates to give half of the teams their patrol routes for the day.

With the meeting ended and half of the coppers filing out into the dangerous world, Thaddeus resigned himself to a long wait. He perked up every time the distagram operation reported a message from one of the patrolling teams who had stopped at one of the many way-stations in their network to send back information to Harrow Hill. Each time, he was disappointed.

There were some small skirmishes and mundane arrests, but nothing worthy of Thaddeus's interest. It wasn't until much later in the day, when the sentencing had started, that something finally happened.

Thaddeus noticed the strange phenomenon himself before the distagram relayed the information. Sitting by the window, his eyes had been drawn to the faint dots of distant birds in the sky without his conscious input. His focus narrowed as he realized that these birds were aggregating unnaturally.

He stood, the scrape of his chair against the stone floor drawing nervous eyes his way from all over the room. Thaddeus ignored them, free-casting a lens spell in front of the window to peer clearly into the distance. He adjusted its focus with some quick calculations and a roll of his fingers.

A foot-wide section of the air in front of his face now showed a much closer view of a run-down building well into the Mires. It was taller than those around it, like a single still-living soldier amongst the sprawled and mutilated bodies of his former companions.

Birds congregated around the building in an increasingly thick flock, seemingly connected together with a single mind, sections of their multitude twisting and turning and changing direction at a moment's notice in some kind of unfathomable dance. Even as Thaddeus watched, more and more feathered creatures added themselves to the delphic, hypnotic concord.

"Ravens," Thaddeus said with awe. He watched unblinking, trying to absorb every moment of the display. It was exquisite, an arrangement that seemed as if it should have been accompanied by music. He had once heard a four-hundred-string orchestra in Paneth, and could imagine that reverberating sound fitting with this living mass of darkness that undulated in the sky above Gilbratha.

Something twinged in Thaddeus's chest, slightly painful, poignant, and to his surprise his eyes itched and burned in response. He blinked rapidly, but refused to be ashamed. This was an involuntary, universal reaction to experiencing the practical application of genius. A visual representation of the weave of magic. And every second, more ravens joined the flock.

Others had gathered at the windows and behind Thaddeus, trying to peek through his spell to get a better look.

"Sweet Myrddin," one of the coppers whispered through dry lips.

"It's her. That's her," another said, gripping the shoulder of the man beside him and shaking him as if to better get his point across.

"How are we supposed to capture that? A bright light?" a woman asked derisively, irritation only partially masking her fear.

"Teams eight, nine, ten, and eleven, move out!" the captain shouted, snapping those who weren't already on their way into action.

Reluctantly, Thaddeus dropped his far-seeing spell and strode toward the room's exit, then down to the front gate. Titus had arrived ahead of him, and waved for Thaddeus to join him and Kuchen in the armored carriage attached to four great destriers.

No sooner had Thaddeus closed the door behind him than the carriage sprang into motion, pushing him back into his seat from the acceleration. Outside, the coachman rang the bell to warn anyone on the streets to make way for them.

Thaddeus watched the sky through the small window set into the door, catching glimpses of the phenomena toward the south the few times when the carriage was faced to allow this.

His companions were as silent as him for the most part, though Kuchen manned the carriage's personal distagram, relaying Titus's message to the diviners at the University and poking his head out of the window to yell precise coordinates for the center of the cloud to the driver—not that the man would need such a thing.

The entire city could see the Raven Queen's working. People on the streets had stopped in their tracks to stare, open-mouthed, with the more adventurous climbing onto roofs. One enterprising restaurant owner was even selling tickets to his roof to watch the show—with wine and snacks.

The distagram activated, the attached pen rising up and writing in the neat, foreign hand of whoever was sending the message. Kuchen's eyes widened as he read. When the message ended, he tore off the strip of paper and read it again. "They found her! The divinations have shown results! She's at…" he trailed off, looking up at Titus and Thaddeus. He cleared his throat wetly."Well, she's in the city, to the southwest. In the center of the raven cloud, it would seem."

"What a revelation," Titus drawled.

Thaddeus smirked and did his best to suppress inappropriate signs of excitement as they approached. However, one small thorn marred the experience. What was so special about Ennis Naught that she was willing to go to such lengths for him?

The Mires were far from Harrow Hill, and no matter how much Thaddeus and Titus might want to, they couldn't literally trample through the crowds of civilians filling the streets.

Long minutes before they finally arrived, Thaddeus knew they would be too late, as the unkindness of ravens began to disperse. The teams that had raced ahead on horseback reported no sightings of her.

When the carriage finally stopped at the edge of the area that was already being cordoned off, Thaddeus grimaced. The streets and buildings were covered in bird shit, the coppers were busy questioning any civilian they could get their hands on, and the building at the center of it all was empty. Thaddeus walked swiftly through each room and examined the roof for something that the others might have missed, but he noticed nothing unusual, and suspected he would find nothing she hadn't specifically left for that purpose.

But, visible in the distance from the vantage point of the roof, the golden spire piercing up from the dome of the Edictum Council building glinted in the sun. Thaddeus couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face, baring his teeth in wild exhilaration. "This was a diversion," he said.