Epilogue

Pushing through the mists, Sioned sidled past the black and brown workers and stepped onto Bradsbridge. Before Granite hired her, she hadn’t really noticed how many denizens of the Plague District populated The Exchange’s night shift, but now it was to notice how there seemed to be more and more of them every night,  their strange spices tickling her nose while their languages tickled her ears. When she’d made her way halfway down the bridge, she made sure that no one was looking and then slipped over the railing.

Landing on a catwalk that had been affixed to the bridge with iron and stone, the last remnants of some long ago construction work that had never been cleaned up, Sioned tread lightly on the rusty metal and slipped under the bridge where a wooden box, supposedly built to watch the boats and barges on the water below, was tucked into the bridge’s arches. After a quick pause to slip on a simple brown mask, Sioned unlocked the door and stepped inside.

When her eyes adjusted to the gloom, they found only a chair, a second entrance, a cupboard and the three covered jars of blazebugs sitting upon it. In the cupboard, Sioned found three empty jars, dropped slices of ghalinana into each of them, and then transferred the blazebugs into the new jars by opening the old jar lids and flipping them onto the new ones really fast. She lost a couple of bugs, but the food in the jars would spawn new ones within the day. When she was done, she leaned against the wall and waited for the others and Granite.

This wasn’t like the Engelhaus hideout, where sounds of laughter and song and the smells of beer and sausage drifted up from below. There were sounds, the tromping of boots on the bridge, the calls of the boatmen on the river, the constant lapping of water, and there were smells, ones Sioned did her best to ignore, but this place wasn’t somewhere to linger, which must be why it had been forgotten until Granite.

Usually Sioned was the third one to arrive. Ash probably arrived first, the stick in his bum probably demanded it, and then Sky arrived early enough to help see if the stick could be removed, which was why Sioned always timed her arrival to give them time to finish. Once Sioned arrived, Gold would float in. The last one to arrive was always Granite.

Tonight however Sioned was first as Ash, Gold, and Sky had all been tasked with some secret job Granite hadn’t let Sioned learn a single detail about. She’d hoped that her task would have taken long enough so that she could listen at the door and find out something, but even after tramping through the woods, using the key Sky had copied to break into the Tower, searching the entire building, and then tramping right back here empty handed hadn’t been enough time for the others to complete their task. Granite wouldn’t be happy about the failure. The ring they’d… taken was supposed to open some vault in the Tower, but there was nothing it fit into.

Sioned was considering going back out to grab something to eat when the door slammed open, and Sky and Gold stumbled in, Ash’s heavy arms draped across their shoulders, his foot leaking blood onto the floor.

Sioned jerked the chair out of the way. “What happened?”

Ash glared at Sky. “He thought that she wouldn’t get in the way.”

Sioned scowled. Only one ‘she’ needed no introduction.

Sky put Ash down on the floor. “It was her first ball! She-”

“Stop,” commanded Gold. “Don’t make this worse.” She gestured to Ash settle. “Clay, fix him up.”

Sioned rolled her eyes. When Granite wasn’t around, Gold thought she was boss. “Do it yourself. I’m not his nurse.”

As blood poured out of his boot, Ash groaned. “Please.”

“Argh, fine.” Sioned pulled a knife and a roll of bandages out of her hip pack. “But you owe me.”

“Of course. On my honor.”

Sky brought over a blazebug jar to watch her work. “Is it bad?”

When Sioned pulled Ash’s boot off his foot, it made a sucking sound. She glanced at the two holes, one in the top and one in the bottom. “She got you good, huh?” Using the knife, Sioned cut off Ash’s bloody sock and tossed it away. Now she could answer Sky’s question. “The bones look fine. He’ll be fine I reckon.”

“You reckon?” asked Gold.

“Not my purview.” Sioned bandaged up Ash’s foot. “But it look just like that one time I stepped on a nail.”

“Good.” Gold probably wasn’t thinking the right kind of nail because she looked too relieved when she rounded on Sky. “Why didn’t you just kill her?”

“De- Gold, she’s his-“

“No, don’t defend him.” Gold stomped over to Sky, who was barely taller than her. “Every time you’ve given us assurances that that she’ll be out of our way, bam, there she is in our way. Poor Clay has been nearly run out of the city she’s so in our way. We have to deal with her.”

“If you’d searched during your rehearsal like I suggested, then she wouldn’t been in the way,” growled Sky.

“Have you ever been to the Gray Tower during the day? It’s packed with mages hoping to get provisional licenses. Besides, as I’ve said before, one can’t just waltz up to the counters and demand to be let into the Royal Secretary’s Office.”

“I could.”

Gold’s lips curled. “I doubt it.”

Sky bared his teeth. “Just watch-”

The other entrance slammed open, and dark smoke billowed in, filling the room until Sioned’s own hands were lost in them. The chair was shifted, the door shut, and then the smoke was gone and Granite was among them, sitting in the chair.

“Sky, Gold, Ash.” Granite’s featureless gray mask, their black hooded robes, and their strange rasp hid everything but how tall they were. “Report.”

“My master.” Gold curtsied. “There was no evidence of the Vesicant in the Gray Tower, and we were seen by a senior scrytive,” she glared at Sky, “and Mei.”

Granite’s hood turned to Sky. “All of you?”

Sky bowed his head. “Yes, master.”

Granite leaned forward in the chair, the better to see Ash’s foot. “She did this?”

“A flesh wound, master.” Ash managed to sit up. “I’ll be at your command in no time.”

“I know.” Granite patted Ash’s foot. “Just as I know that you will not let this happen again.”

“Yes, master.”

“Clay,” Granite’s hood turned to Sioned, who had to hold in a squeak, “were you able to complete your task?”

Sioned gulped. “No, master.” Even hooded, she knew there was a glare under that hood. “I used the key to get in, but there wasn’t anything valuable anywhere. I swear!”

“I don’t know why you bothered sending her,” said Sky.

“Oh?” Sioned put her hands on her hips. “So you think you and your weird magic could have done better?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why don’t you take a shot?”

“Maybe I will!”

“No, you won’t.” Granite got to her feet. “The next Royal Sorcerer has been chosen.”

“Who is it?” asked Gold.

“Lady Luisa Pol.”

“What? What happened to Baron Thadden?”

“Not relevant. However, we need to move faster. Gold, you’re to enact our backup plan. Ash, you’re to rest up. Clay, you’re to wait for further instructions. Sky, will stay here. We have much to discuss.”

Sky paled under his mask. “I assure you that-”

“Later.”

As Sioned closed the door after helping Gold get Ash onto the catwalk, she saw Sky quiver under Granite’s gaze.

Serves him right.

Chapter 36: nQeanum, Solidify

In the other aisle, Blue Mask insisted, “It wasn’t in Thadden’s office. It has to be here!”

“Regardless, it’s not,” said Delma. “For some reason, Thadden used the absolutely archaic Wainwright system here, which means that if the book were here, it would be right here. Wait, where is she?”

“Mei? Mei!”

Read more: Chapter 36: nQeanum, Solidify

Mei rounded the corner and dropped her jacket onto Delma’s lantern, sealing all three of them in darkness.

“lo!”

As Delma’s blind casting showered her with splinters and bits of paper, Mei grabbed the lantern and fled along the back wall of the room. Since Blue Mask’s lantern was with Kay, Delma and Blue Mask were stuck groping in the dark, which should give Mei enough time to-

“Mei!” Thunk. Pop. “Mei!”

Blue Mask was suddenly in front of her, Mei could feel him reaching to grab her, so she closed her eyes, whipped her jacket off the lantern, and shoved the light into his face. When the thief howled in pain, Mei slashed at his knife belt, cutting through the leather and dropping the strange weapons to the floor..

“No!”

Blue Mask dove for the knives, but Mei slammed him into a bookshelf with her shoulder and stole the red-handled knife from his stunned fingers. When he tried to take it back, she elbowed him in the stomach then kicked the knife belt away from them. By the time Blue Mask recovered, Mei’s dagger was at his neck and the red-handled knife was lost to the dark.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“You’re doing it again.” The thief shook with emotion. “Getting in my way.”

“Who are you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Part of Mei didn’t, but she’d ignored too much  – Huan’s disappearances, Blue Mask’s Tuquese, Huan knowing Kay, Blue Mask’s familiarity with her rifle, Huan having been in the Gray Tower tonight – for her to stop now.

Her dagger forced Blue Mask against a bookshelf. “Who are you?”

“Look,”  Blue Mask’s hands came up, “just give me back my knives and we’ll forget all about this. I mean, why are you even here? This isn’t your problem.”

She’d heard that argument before. “It is my problem. They think my brother is you and I know you’re not.”

“Because family is paramount?”

“Because my brother doesn’t hurt my friends!”

“Family is more important than friendship, Mei.” Blue Mask’s voice had turned cold. “He knows that. Why don’t you?”

Mei’s dagger pressed against Blue Mask’s neck. “Take off the mask.”

“You don’t want to know.”

Mei’s dagger drew blood. “Take off the mask!”

“Don’t do this. He’d die for you. He’d never hurt you.”

“Sky, where are you?” shouted Delma. “We have to go!”

“I’m-” Blue Mask found Mei’s dagger pressing closer. “Look, Mei, it’s over. Just-“

“Take off the mask.” The threat of Mei’s dagger became the promise of a blade ready to bleed her quarry. “Or I will.”

“Sky? Where are you?”

“Mei.” Blue Mask’s accent rounded, became the one she’d heard this morning at breakfast, this afternoon at shift change, and tonight right before she’d left for the Ball. “Just let me go and let him pretend. Besides, you know, don’t you?”

The blade flinched. “I don’t.”

“You do. On that rooftop,” Blue Mask switched to Imperial Tuquese, “when that impostor attacked, you heard me speak. Did you think that a mere band of thieves just happened to have a Tuquese speaker?”

The dagger fell back. “No, I-”

The Imperial quality fell away from Blue Mask’s words. “Who else would know where that nosy steward hid th ebest books? These fools, the same people who failed to take down a single mage, wouldn’t have gotten anything without him pointing the way.”

Mei backed away, the point of her dagger shaking. “Please, it can’t be.”

“He had no alibi for that night or the night of any of robberies or the night that poor little windsong was murdered, and so who else could it have been? But you decided not to see.” The mask didn’t hide a smile. “You believed him when he said he was satisfied with this life. You believed him when he said he’d gotten rid of me. Well,” hands reached up and removed the mask, “he lied.”

Despite the blue light and the gold eyes and the strange stripe-like bruises on his cheeks, the face the mask had hid was unmistakably that of her brother Huan Li.

“Little sister,” Huan switched back to Souran, “if you wanted to help, you should have told me, and now, it’s too late. Delma, I’m here!”

“Finally, we’re leaving!”

“Coming!” Huan collected his knives. “You know, this is all your fault. You put strangers before him and that meant that all he has is me. See you soon.” He disappeared into the shelves.

When the lights finally came on, Charlie and the guards found Mei sobbing over a blue mask she clutched in her hands.

Pages: 1 2

Chapter 33: Xa-Xeci-Shei-Bian, Scorpion’s Tail

Dwayne had left the entrance hall right as Anda and Lyna began their assault on Kasra, not because of how the Paecergad Massacre had been retold as a heroic tale of reclamation, or because everyone, including Mei, loved the performance, but because right then, he spotted Thadden and Ziegler had slipping out together.

Muttering some excuse he knew the entranced Mei wouldn’t hear, Dwayne stepped away and followed the baron and his ally out into the corridor leading to the Grand Ballroom. Neither man noticed, their attention entirely on the conversation they were having. They weren’t walking fast either, Dwayne could catch up to them, maybe even maybe catch snippets of what they were talking about, but if they did notice him, what was his excuse going to be? That he was bored? That he just wanted to ask a few questions?

Read more: Chapter 33: Xa-Xeci-Shei-Bian, Scorpion’s Tail

Those questions wouldn’t be the kind an apprentice would ask his prospective master nor would they allow said master to continue believe said apprentice had nothing but faith in their arrangement. From the Thadden’s promise to start the legal process to free Akunna to the way every single one of his allies had glanced at Dwayne’s empty finger, from the baron’s hostile interrogation at the examination to his clear disappointment that Dwayne had passed the Slips Test, Dwayne had ample reason for doubt. What made things worse was that Dwayne’s actual allies – Mei who’d risked life and limb to defend Sanford, Rodion who’d worked tirelessly to get the estate ready, and Magdala who’d taken on an almost impossible project just to lighten his load – had never filled Dwayne’s stomach with the queasy feeling that they really weren’t on his side. However, queasy feelings and other indirect indications were not enough for Dwayne to break his commitments. For that, he needed inarguable proof.

Further down the corridor, Thadden and Ziegler continued to walk and talk, completely ignorant of Dwayne’s anguish.

Of course, one way to get such proof would be to march up to them and ask, but the baron would give evasive, if not outright false, answers, which would leave Dwayne’s stomach ever more unsettled. There wasn’t any other way though.

“My lord?” Rodion appeared at Dwayne’s elbow. “Are you okay?”

“Ye-” Dwayne had to cough to clear his throat. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Was the performance that upsetting? Or,” Rodion looked down the corridor, “did something come up?”

He knew the answer of course. He was wanted Dwayne to say it out loud.

Dwayne tried to talk himself out of his present course of action. Baron Thadden did have two advantages over Lord Kalan: he was here and he was interested in being here. Possibly, it was better for the queendom to have any Royal Sorcerer than to have none. Possibly, that was enough for the Queen, but that wasn’t enough for Dwayne.

Rodion was still waiting. If Dwayne laughed it off, said something about just needing air, and returned to the entrance hall, that would be the end of it.

But not that queasy feeling.

“I want to know what the baron really thinks of me,” said Dwayne finally.

“You…” Rodion’s eyes widened. “You want to spy on him?”

“No, I…” Dwayne hadn’t thought of spying, but, “Yes.”

“Understood.” Rodion glanced down the corridor, where Thadden and Ziegler had just turned left to head to the Grand Ballroom. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

The steward smiled a sad smile. “No hesitation.”

“What?” asked Dwayne.

“Nothing.” Rodion took Dwayne’s hand. “Come with me.”

The steward led Dwayne down the corridor and up to a tapestry depicting the whole of the queendom, which he pulled away to reveal a closet.

“How did you-”

“I have been here all day.” Rodion pushed Dwayne into the closet and closed them in. “It’s a big palace, and- My lord!”

“Ri’t.” Dwayne winced as the little candle-flame, a result of his surprise at the sudden darkness, above their heads went out. “Sorry.”

Rodion’s voice sounded unsteady. “You can cast silently?”

“I-”

“Wait, we don’t have time. Cast it again. I need the light.”

Dwayne hesitated. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes, but so is spying on an Associate Secretary.”

“Ah, right. Ri’a’tha.” The candleflame popped back into being. “Now what?”

“Turn around, take off your jacket, and hand it to me.”

Dwayne complied. “Are you going to make me wear yours? Will that be enough?” He left the other, more obvious question unspoken.

“That’s part of it.” Not answering the unspoken question, Rodion put his suit jacket on Dwayne. “Now you’ll have to trust me.”

“I trusted you enough to let you drag me into a closet and make me to take off my clothes.” There was the sharp intake of breath behind him. “Don’t worry. I know you’ve not been leading me on.”

“R-right. When I put my hands over your ears, hum.”

Now the unspoken question had many silent friends. Dwayne nodded.  “Okay.”

When the steward’s hands covered his ears, Dwayne began to hum, aimlessly at first, until he hit a familiar series of notes and found a soft slow tune that reminded him of waves and stars and warmth.

He was still wondering at where it came from when Rodion took his hands away. “I’m done.”

Blinking away tears, Dwayne turned to the steward. “I’m ready?”

“You’re ready.” Rodion was busying himself with Dwayne’s jacket. “When I open the door, go straight to the ballroom. When you find him, walk up behind him and don’t speak. Souran nobles like Thadden don’t care what people behind them hear because they’re mattered they’d be in front of them.”

“That… makes sense.” Dwayne fanned his face, which was strangely warm. “Anything else?”

“I’ll find you afterwards. Douse the light.” After Dwayne did so, Rodion opened the closet and peeked out. “Okay, go.”

He pushed Dwayne out from behind the tapestry and into a gaggle of nobles. When he saw them, Dwayne froze, ready for a a torrent of suggestive comments, but they barely noticed him as they passed, almost as if he’d turned invisible.

Rodion’s jacket – out of respect for the steward, Dwayne would not ask the unspoken question even to himself – must make him look more like a servant, despite the fact that it barely fit him.

Best not question it.

Dwayne turned to the Grand Ballroom and started walking.

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Fixed last chapter numbering

I know how to count I swear

Chapter 32: Qebintsperuke, Wind Spiral

“Miss Ma? I know some dances from your native land. We could-”

“No.”

“You’re the Axesnapper, right? I was wondering if-”

“No.”

“Surely you could be so kind as to-”

“No.”

Using quick steps and lowered eyes, Mei raced ahead of the smiles and stares and of the knot of Tuquese making their way sedately around the room. It was unfair. The two with Momin were shielded from these ridiculous invitations by the spy’s gregarious manner while all Mei had were her feet and her growing desire to brandish her dagger to stave them off. Although, given how the Sourans were looking at her, she wasn’t sure that would work.

Dodging Empire and invitation, Mei had completed a circuit of the room when a prim voice said, “Axesnapper, I see that young Kalan has abandoned you this evening.”

Read more: Chapter 32: Qebintsperuke, Wind Spiral

“No.” Then Mei heard Dean Bruce’s words. “He’s at the Gray Tower. My brother is guarding him.”

When the dean chuckled at this, Mei knew she’d made a mistake.

“Still, someone must escort the escort.” The dean took in Mei’s hair and face, her dagger and dress. “I’ve been told that you’re friends with young Gallus and the youngest Lucchesi daughter.”

Around them, people spotted Mei, started to come up to her, and then shied away when they saw Dean Bruce. Good. Mei needed to get something out of this.

“Who told you?” she asked.

The dean smiled. “Gossip flies swiftly, Miss Ma, particularly at the Magisterium.”

“Right.” Mei turned away. “Have a good evening.”

“If you don’t have other plans,” the dean caught up to her, “I have the right to stand right next to the stage. Would you like to watch their Offering from there? They’d be able to see you most clearly.”

Somewhere in that tantalizing bait was a hook. The dance invitations had been unbaited hooks, easily dodged, but this one Mei found harder to refuse because she did want to support her friends and having to stand next to Dean Bruce didn’t sound like a bad deal except that Mei had a feeling that the dean wanted to collect Mei.

Best make the baited hook disappear. “I’m Tuquese.”

The dean laughed. “No one would dare object to the Axesnapper and the Head Guard of the Indigo Tower showing support for her… friends.”

Which sounded very rational and very hard to refuse and Mei only had a vague feeling, not proof, not certainty. Maybe she should say yes. Maybe she should just run.

“There you are, Mei!” A Souran wearing a shimmering purple tunic and tight leather leggings joined them, his jeweled eyebrows sparkling as he said, “I was wondering where you were.”

The voice was familiar, but it took a substitution of leather and jewels for jacket and a badge before Mei could say, “Charlie?”

“The very same.” The clearly off-duty scrytive grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stumped before. Ah, Dean Bruce.” A deep bow was offered to the dean. “Good evening. I hope you’re enjoying the Harvest Ball?”

Bruce’s nose wrinkled. “Miss Ma and I were talking, Mister…?”

“This one is no mister, my dear dean.” Another Souran, this one wearing a white shirt open to his navel, slipped his arm over Charlie’s shoulders. “This is Senior Scrytive Charles Vogt.”

“I see.” Dean Bruce’s eyes ranged over Charlie’s outfit. “I’m surprised that the High Judge allows her employees to dress so… suggestively.”

“This is the Harvest Ball, not an office function, and,” Charlie smiled a shark’s grin, “I suggest you stop what you’re doing.”

The dean’s face went blank. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Dean Bruce,” the scytive lowered his voice, “I know that Academy graduates are proficient at reading between the lines. As such, Magisterium deans must be masters at it.”

Mei looked between dean and scrytive. Whatever Charlie was implying, it was making the dean scowl like a fisherman whose line has snapped.

“It seems that you’re occupied, Miss Ma.” The dean bowed. “Do tell me if you’ve decided to accept my invitation. I’ll be in the Grand Ballroom. Have a good evening.”

When the dean was gone, Charlie grabbed Mei’s shoulders and looked her over. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Mei let out a breath. “I’m fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Busy.”

Charlie’s eyes searched Mei’s. “And your brother?”

“Guarding Dwayne…” Mei pulled back. “Why? Are you looking for him?”

“No, it’s just…” Charlie sighed. “Wagner and I went to the house Orlaith Jung pointed us to and there was nothing there. And he never showed up-”

“Charlie, are you working?” The other Souran leaned against the scrytive. “Because you said you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I did say that. We’ll talk later, Mei.” He winced. “And now I’m being rude. Jens, this is my friend Mei.” Despite her concerns, Mei’s heart warmed at this. “Mei, this is Count Jens Houseknecht, my-”

“Lover.”

Charlie gaped at Jens. “S-sorry?”

“Oh, we can say it in front of your friends.” Jens’s lips slid close to Charlie’s ear. “After all, I’m going back to your cute little apartment later.”

The scrtytive’s face went red. “Jens!”

The count laughed. “It’s such fun to fluster you. So, Mei,” he turned to her, “what are you doing alone?”

Mei glanced at the people waiting for their chance to approach. “I don’t want to dance.”

“Why? Are you shy or-”

“Jens,” said Charlie. “She doesn’t want to… dance.”

Jens blinked, frowned and then said, “Oh, I understand. In that case, it must be so hard, being the talk of the evening I mean.”

Mei frowned. “Why am I ‘the talk?’”

“Ooo, I like that. ‘The Talk.’ I’m stealing that.”

Charlie gave her a look. “You know why, Mei the Axesnapper.”

“Oh, it’s not just that,” said Jens. “Here she is, wearing a Lucchesi original, eating Bradford food, guarding Her Majesty’s assets. Obviously, she wants to be Souran, which makes her-” He caught sight of Mei’s expression. “I know you don’t, not really, but the ones Mrs. Momin brings to these functions are always so controlled, so polite, so dull. Especially these new ones.”

“What new ones?” Mei’s stomach growled, her hunger now longer suppressed by unwanted invitations.

“I’ll grab us some food,” said Charlie.

“Oh, just get a plate for her. I’m not hungry. So, no one’s seen those two,” he gestured at the Tuquese contingent, “before. Their paperwork claims they’re here for ‘diplomatic training’, but I heard that they’re looking for someone.”

The young woman’s every step had zero sway and the young man’s massive shoulders weren’t from doing paperwork. Whoever they were looking for, and Mei knew who, they’d better run.

“Do you know anything else about them?”

Jens shrugged. “They’re either cousins or siblings. They refer to each other as ‘sister’ and ‘brother’,” he used the Tuquese words, “although the boy is very formal about it.”

Mei stared at Jens. “You know Tuquese?”

“Of course he does,” Charlie placed a full plate of food in her hands. “He’s assigned to Ti Mei as part of the Souran diplomatic contingent. It’s a prerequisite for the job.”

“No, it’s not.” Jens accepted a goblet from Charlie. “It’s a hobby that keeps me from dying of boredom. The most excitement we’ve ever had happened a couple months ago when the Jade Lotus decided to search our quadrant for fugitives.”

One of the fugitives Mei paused mid-bite of cabbage. “What happened after that?”

“Nothing. They left, without even a brief explanation as to why they’d practically invaded the place mind you, we filed a complaint, and nothing resumed happening.” Jens gestured to the Tuquese. “I don’t think they found what they were looking for though.”

“Jens,” Charlie had guided them to an empty table so that Mei could put her plate down, “if I’m not allowed to work, neither are you.”

“She asked. I answered.” Jens smiled at Mei. “At any rate, you are a refreshing change of pace, and you look cute in that dress.”

Mei swallowed. “I’m not cute.”

Jens stared. “You didn’t just say that.”

Mei frowned. “What?”

“Cups, how’d you make it this far?”

“I walked?”

Charlie snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Jens mock-glared at him. “You’re not helping.” He turned back to Mei. “I have a question that you don’t have to answer. May I ask it?”

Mei nodded.

“When you look at someone, anyone, do you want to be… intimate with them?”

Mei frowned. “Intimate? What does that mean?”

“It means private, personal, close,” answered Charlie.

Mei chewed on the question. “I like spending time with my close friends.”

Charlie groaned. “Not quite what we mean.”

“Let’s skip past inneundo.” Jens switched to highly formal and stiff Tuquese. “Honored Mei, have you ever desired to have sexual intercourse with someone?”

“No.”

And suddenly, the invitations, Huan’s comments about catching eyes, even one of the hooks in Dean Bruce’s invitation – Mei was sure there were more than one – made sense. “Oh.”

Jens relaxed. “Oh, good,” he said in Souran, “I was worried I’d have to go have Momin translate.”

Thank the heavens he hadn’t resorted to that. “Am I strange?” Mei asked.

“No.” Charlie patted her shoulder. “No more than we are.”

“That’s hardly comforting.” Something high up caught Jens’s eye. “Oh, it looks like the show is about to start.”

Up in the entrance hall rafters, a lithe girl in silver stood between two panther-like boys, one in green, the other lavender. “Citizens and residents of Bradford. I am Delma Lo Duca and these are my brothers, Giona,” the boy in green bowed, “and Mattia.” The boy in lavender bowed. “In just a few moments, it will be our and our company’s honor to perform this evening’s entertainment. So please finish your food and drink, settle your affairs,” she winked to a scattering of laughs, “and we’ll begin shortly.”

“The Lo Ducas are famous for wind dancing,” said Charlie to Mei. “You’re in for a treat.”

Good. She needed the distraction.

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Chapter 31: yRi’keph’lo’uya’po, Creeping Shadow

“Thanks again for your help.”

“No,” Dana, as Rodion, returned the servant’s bow, “thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to stitch on those silver torches without your help.”

“Are you,” the palace servant’s face turned pink, “going to be around later?”

Read more: Chapter 31: yRi’keph’lo’uya’po, Creeping Shadow

Dana assessed them: swarthy, hard worker, but, unfortunately, a diVida and as such a member of the third most prominent mercantile family after the Lucchesis and the Giordanos. Where one had made the sea their business and the other money itself, the diVidas focused on hospitality and required all its members to study the art as it was practiced across the queendom. However, since this one had just started out here at the Palace, it would be some time before they would be useful.

“Perhaps.” To soften the blow of rejection, Dana made a show of looking out the window. “Oh, I believe that my charge will have arrived by now. I should go and get him settled.”

“Of course.” The servant laughed awkwardly. “You have duties. I have duties. I should get back to those duties. Excuse me.”

As they scampered away, Dana straightened Rodion’s sea-green suit then took stock of where lu was. Currently, lu was on the second floor of the West Wing where the more important nobles, mainly Royal cousins, lived while away from their far-flung estates. While there was some intelligence to be gathered here – the duke-in-residence at Ti Mei was of particular interest to the Circle – Rodion’s brightly colored suit and obvious Southern looks stood out too much here, and besides, it was best to hurry. Dwayne would be praying for any excuse to escape.

Following the shortest route to the Royal Secretary’s Office, Dana went down to the first floor and entered the Grand Ballroom through the servant’s entrance, along the way sneaking only a couple glimpses at the discarded pamphlets and letters lu saw along the way. The letters were banal and the pamphlets were the natural responses to last month’s foolish vengehna raid on Walton and spoke of the necessity of “Restoring Soura’s Glory” and “Removing the Blight.” In time, such jingoism would fade.

As lu crossed the Grand Ballroom’s endless expanse of shiny hardwood floors, Dana let only luz peripheral vision admire the brightly polished aluminum fixtures, the careful arrangements of thistles and out-of-season lilac blooms, the quickly constructed Royal seats, and the stage where the Royal Offerings were to be made. Considering how much time the Palace servants had had to set all this up, it was very impressive.

Dana reached the stage, turned right to exit the room, and heard Magdala Gallus’s voice behind luz. “Can’t we be moved to later?”

A clipped, curled voice asked, “Are you not prepared, young Gallus?”

Curious, Dana slipped into a nearby group of servants to listen to the voices emanating from the purple curtains separating the backstage from the ballroom.

“Of course, we’re ready.” Gallus’s attempt at bravado only highlighted her nervousness, “but…”

“The first Offering of the night is expected to astonish and amaze the audience.” Francesca Lucchesi, Magdala’s roommate. “Surely, you don’t want us to follow right after the Lo Ducas.”

“Colin, do you agree with your project partners?” asked the mystery voice.

There was a squeak. “I… I…”

As Colin – presumably Nicole Fletcher’s brother – continued to fail to answer, Dana’s hands busied themselves arranging thistles and lilacs into vases. The mystery voice had to belong to someone older than the students, but not to someone of the same class as Gallus; that “young Gallus” had sounded too deferential for that. They’re saying “project partners” did narrow things considerably, from any number of Magisterium mages to one, the Dean of the College of Martial Magic, Roberta Bruce.

“Young Gallus,” the dean’s voice was low, dangerous, “when I submitted your Offering for tonight, both Her Majesty and Her Highness personally requested for you to go first. Do you want me to throw that back in their faces?”

“No,” said Gallus, “but- ow!”

“We understand, Dean,” said Lucchesi. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, you will. Now,” The dean’s voice softened. Slightly. “I have some business to attend to. Please use this area to resolve any issues. Good luck.” Then she stepped out from behind the curtains, passed Dana, and left.

That was a problem. Dwayne needed this Offering to go off without a hitch. However, maybe there was an opportunity for he and Gallus to get closer if-

“Cups, where did you learn how work so fast?”

“Pardon?” Dana looked down at luz handiwork: fifteen flower vases, each with matching flower arrangements, all ready for placement in the ballroom.

Right, Rodion wasn’t supposed to stand out, not here. “Ah… I just pick up things quickly. Do you need any more help?”

The servant shook her head. “No, you’ve done more than enough.”

“Then I must step away.”

With a bow, Dana did so and entered the little world behind the curtain, where Fletcher was sitting on a crate with a pale blank expression, Lucchesi was rummaging through another crate with a grim look on her face, and Gallus was standing in a corner with her face in her hands.

“Cups, we’re doomed,” declared Fletcher.

“Move,” ordered Lucchesi, brandishing a crowbar. When he did, she levered open the crate and looked inside. “Here’s the large ones.”

Gallus peered through her fingers. “You’re thinking that we have to go with those?”

“Yes.” Lucchesi pulled a ball of azade the size of Dana’s head out of the crate. “They’re the only ones that can be seen from the Royal Seats.”

“But we’ve never gotten those ones to work,” said Fletcher. “We get the small ones to work half the time.”

Lucchesi pulled out another azade ball of equal size and quality. “And we only have two left.”

Fletcher groaned.

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Gallus was trying to slow her breathing, trying not to hyperventilate. “We just need to calm down and consider the consequences. It’s not like Her Majesty will feed us to a Revenant if we fail. She’ll just be disappointed. Right?” Her question elicited only silence from her partners. “Right?”

Lucchesi sighed. “Mag, you know that Her Majesty could sink our careers. Why are you asking?”

“I would very much like to pretend otherwise.”

Fletcher hung his head. “We’re doomed.”

Dana had intended to offer assistance, but the two azade balls in Lucchesi’s hands could each buy a county back in Vanuria. And they’d apparently wasted others.

Gallus took a deep breath. “Let’s just go with the small ones then. Highest chance of success and we can try again if we fail.”

“What if that’s not bold enough?” asked Lucchesi. “This isn’t a small party at one of our houses. This is the Palace. This is the Harvest Ball. We have to go big.”

“We’re doomed.”

“Colin,” Gallus turned to Fletcher, “are you actually going to be helpful?”

“No,” Colin covered his mouth, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

That was enough to pull Dana’s attention away from the insane wealth in Lucchesi’s hands and back to the issue at hand, which is that nervous, uncertain mages rarely did good work.

Lu cleared luz throat. “Young Gallus?”

Gallus jumped. “Rodion! What are you doing here?”

“I was passing by, and I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Lucchesi narrowed her eyes. “We were that loud?”

Noting Lucchesi’s self-possession, Dana inclined Rodion’s head. “I recognized young Gallus’s voice.”

“Great.” Fletcher threw his hands up. “Even the servants know we’re going to fail.”

“I believe I have a solution.” Dana kept Rodion’s tone deferential, yet suggestive. “Why not consult young Kalan? He’s here in the Palace, attending the Royal Secretary’s Reception.”

Dana had expected that the mages to grab at this lifeline, but actually happened was that Fletcher’s despair turned to anger, Lucchesi’s cool melted into concern for her roommate, and Gallus’s nervousness crumbled into a mix of relief, resentment, and embarrassment.

“We don’t need his help,” announced Fletcher.

“Mag, what do you think?” asked Lucchesi.

Dana watched Gallus deal with her feelings. Lu had an explanation for the relief, Dwayne’s help would definitely get them out of this jam, and the resentment was also easy to explain; Magdala Gallus was Heir to the House of Gallus, whom the Circle’s files described as “bred to be as prideful as their war horses.” The embarrassment was harder to parse. Perhaps, Magdala hated that someone like Rodion had discovered about their predicament, but that was the Circle training speaking. No, the real answer had to lie in the hours that Gallus and Dwayne had spent working together side by side.

Stripping as much guile as lu could from Rodion’s tone, Dana said, “I’m sure he’d be happy to help make your Offering a success.”

Gallus’s eyes widened for just a moment. “Do you think so?”

“Mag, darling,” said Lucchesi, “I know so.  Listen…”

As the wind Qe mage leaned in close to whisper something into her roommate’s ear, Dana realized that not only was the Circle’s assessment of Lucchesi correct, lu had an ally in the Gallus and Dwayne project.

Gallus’s face turned bright pink. “He wouldn’t!”

Lucchesi waggled her eyebrows. “He might.”

“Well,” Gallus cleared her throat, “at any rate, his help would be, uh, helpful.”

“Excellent.” Dana ignored Fletcher’s strangled protest. “I’ll take you right to him.”

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Chapter 30: Fo’taj’nka’po, Heighten Unease

After stepping out of Fran’s carriage and onto the drawbridge, Mei stopped to stare at the Palace’s outer walls, which were festooned with prancing striped stags, somber oak trees, serene white-sailed ships, ferocious mottled badgers and many, many more creatures, plants, and objects, each the mark of a Souran noble or merchant. Among them, three held the place of honor under the royal cup and lilacs that hung over the Palace gates: a golden cup flanked by eagles, a trio of silver fishes, and a crimson mustang rearing in a field of golden grain, the mark of the Gallus family.

“Looks like Dwayne got his banner in.” Fran frowned at the three silver torches over the cerulean river on the banner hanging from the bottom far left corner. “Are those torches new?”

Read more: Chapter 30: Fo’taj’nka’po, Heighten Unease

“Maybe.” Mei sniffed and caught wind of more important things. “Let’s go over there.”

Fran goggled at the stalls laden with fried fish, glazed buns, roasted sage apples, and pies of every filling. “Really? After the lunch we had, you’re still hungry?”

“Yes.”

Fran eyed Mei. “I don’t see where it all goes.”

It went towards running on city rooftops and trying to find a roofrunner who did not want to be found, but Mei only shrugged.

“Ha, well said. Before you go though, I just need to…” Fran fussed over Mei’s outfit, the sheathed dagger on her upper arm, the embroidered jacket sleeves, the gold buttons. “If only we had time to do something about-”

“It’s perfect.” Mei caught her friend’s hands and squeezed them. “Yours is too.”

After much agonizing, Maggie’s roommate had settled on a panniered dress and a knee-length jacket with wide open sleeves. Both were the color of the summer sky, and both were embroidered with gold and ivory dolphins dancing in teal ocean waves. The rest of it – the teal eye shadow, the storm gray lip paint, the impressive curly cloud her maids had made of Fran’s black hair with combs and pins – had been an easy decision.

“Is it?” Fran pulled out a tiny foldable mirror to check her makeup again. “Is it really good enough for a Royal Offering?”

Mei closed the mirror. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Fran sighed. “Of course, you’re sure. You’d do something like this without breaking a sweat. I just hope my roommate- Cups, Mags! What if she’s wearing something frumpy?”

“She’s fine.” Mei did not want to ask what “frumpy” meant, in case it was a fashion term that needed lengthy explanation. “You’ll see when she gets here. Let’s go eat.”

Taking her friend by the hand, Mei led Fran past finely silked merchants and strikingly furred nobles and over to a food stall with dozens of hand pies, each impressed with the Royal cup and lilacs.

“Ma’am.” The vendor bowed. “What would you like?”

“One of each,” declared Mei.

As slightly bemused vendor collected the pies, Mei turned to Fran, who was watching diamonds orbit a bragging mage’s head.

The wind Qe sighed. “And I’m still working on preparing spells.”

“You’ll figure them out.” Mei took the bag of pies from the vendor and offered Fran one. “Want one?”

“Sure.” When Fran bit into a pie, her eyes lit up. “Oh, this is good! Is that G’nj pepper?”

Mei sniffed the pie. “No, it’s Vanurian.”

“We have got to move in on this. There are some very bored people up north who desperately need this in their lives.” Fran took another bite. “By the way, where’s Dwayne? Shouldn’t you be guarding him?”

Mei paused mid-bite. “Huan… volunteered to guard him.”

“He did?” Fran’s eyes narrowed. “Your brother, who has skipped guard duty more times than you can count, volunteered?”

That had been Dwayne and Rodion’s reaction too. “Maybe he’s trying to be good?” Maybe he felt guilty. “Or he wants to make a good impression?”

“Oh, I think that ship has sailed,” said Maggie.

Mei frowned. “What ship?”

“Mags!” Fran engulfed her roommate in a hug. “Please save me from Mei’s insatiable appetite and her impeccable nose. They’ll have me fit for the feast table by the end of the night!”

“Mei,” Maggie returned the hug while giving Mei a mock glare, “we need her to at least be able to walk onto the stage.” Then her eyes drifted.

“Dwayne isn’t here.” Mei gestured in the vague direction of the Gray Tower. “The baron wanted him to meet people.”

Maggie’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Mag, is gray Dwayne’s favorite color?” Fran looked over Maggie’s dress. “Because if it isn’t, I’m confused as to why you went with it.”

Maggie’s dress had the usual shape Mei had come to expect: narrow waist, panniered hips, complicated bump of fabric just below the back. The main difference was how much collarbone the neckline showed off and how blandly gray it was, a fact that didn’t match the pink lip, the green eyeshadow, or the bright jewels threaded into Maggie’s hair.

Maggie grinned at their reactions. “Oh, this? Is it really gray? Or is it…” She placed a hand on her stomach and muttered under her breath. “Something more?”

Cream burst out from under her hand, chasing away the gray and leaving rearing red mustangs in its wake in a revelation that made the braggart’s orbiting diamonds look banal.

Maggie twirled. “Well?”

“Not bad, not bad at all.” Fran circled her roommate. “How many colors can you do? Can you do the makeup too? What about your hair?”

“Hair? Why would I-” Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “Fran…”

Her roommate grinned. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It’s amazing, it looks great, and it’s a very, very good choice. You got something special planned for Dwayne?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” Maggie looked down at her feet. “I mean… He didn’t ask me to dance.”

“Just ask him.” Mei pulled out another hand pie. “He has time.”

“You don’t understand. I-”

“‘I just don’t know if he’s into me or if he’s interested in someone else or if he’s just not interested in anyone.’” Fran rolled her eyes. “The worst he’ll say is no. Ask him.”

“But I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“I don’t think you can,” said Mei.

Maggie frowned. “What does-”

“There you are!” A scrawny brown-haired boy in an ill-fitting dark brown suit ran up to them. “They moved up our Offering. We’re first.”

“We’re what?” asked both Maggie and Fran.

“First. Right after Her Majesty’s remarks.”

“Why?” asked Fran.

“How should I know?”

“This is bad.” Maggie started to pace. “Her Majesty always pays the most attention to the first Offering, and we’re only able to create the small cores about half the time, and they’re not impressive enough for a first Offering!”

“We have got to get out of this,” said Fran.

“I don’t think even you can pull that off,” said the boy.

Mei finally put two and two together. “You’re Colin Fletcher.”

The boy blinked at Mei. “Yeah, and who are you?”

“She’s Mei and we have to go.” Fran grabbed her project partners and started to drag them away. “Sorry, Mei, we have to go set up.”

“Sorry, Mei!” Maggie called out. “We’ll catch up with you afterwards!”

Mei waved good-bye until they were out of sight, and then she went to wander around the drawbridge. When she finished her hand pies, she tossed the bag away, found that, for some reason, she wasn’t hungry anymore, and so decided to make her way through the Palace gates and into the entrance hall, which, just like outside, had been decorated for the season. Since she didn’t recognize anyone, she made her way to an empty corner of the room and watched the crowd nibble on fruit, marvel at jugglers and mill about under nut trees. This, unfortunately, gave her time to stew in her worries.

When Huan had volunteered for escort duty, dread had dripped its way down Mei’s back because she knew that he had to be using Dwayne to get into the Harvest Ball for a reason she could not identify. She’d tried to believe what he told the shocked Dwayne and skeptical Rodion: that he was demonstrating commitment to his work, that he wanted to make up for not being there the night of the attack, that he really wanted Mei to have fun, but it all rang false in her ears.

She shook her head. Standing in lonely corners and questioning her brother’s motives was not how she’d planned to spend tonight. She’d planned to support her friends and enjoy herself. Besides, in addition to the guards, even more than there’d been during the Autumn Session, there were hundreds of Sourans to call out if something got stolen, and while that also meant there were any number of ways to create a distraction, that was something Lord Gallus and the Royal Guard were surely prepared for.

Still, Mei was almost elated to see Momin walk in with two other Imperial citizens, a lean young woman in gold celk robe and black skirt and a heavyset young man in a long silver blue tunic, following close behind her because threats she could deal with.

Unfortunately, the night had other plans for her. “Excuse me?” A Souran in a high-collared silver dress approached. “Are you Mei the Axesnapper?”

Her eyes still on the spy and her entourage, Mei nodded.

“I thought so!” The Souran pulled closer. “You look so daring in that dress. Would you be available for a dance?”

“Sorry, what?” Mei’s attention snapped to the Souran. “No, I… Sorry.”

She fled, but another Souran in a wolf’s head cloak was already approaching.

“Excuse me. Did you say you were Mei the Axesnapper?”

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Chapter 29: Xa-Yamg-Chou-Tshe-Zi, Mantis Arm

That evening, Mei used her old hunting clothes and a gang of hardly sober soldiers to slip into the Slipped Finger. Technically, she was supposed to go on shift at Sanford at the next bell, but when she’d said that she’d be late for her guard shift, Rodion had responded, with a grave expression, “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

No idea what that meant. Maybe the steward’s mind was on Dwayne’s Rite and not the house.

Pushing through the drinking and shouting and meditating happening over, and something under, frothy tankards of sour beer, Mei searched for a place to sit. She disregarded the corners, which were both occupied and the first places suspicious persons would look for suspicious people, and selected a crowded table three rows from the doors and sat down to wait for her quarry.

Read more: Chapter 29: Xa-Yamg-Chou-Tshe-Zi, Mantis Arm

A hand brushed Mei’s shoulder. “I’ll get you in the minute, hon.”

Before Mei could reply, the hand was back under a fully laden tray, and its owner, a swarthy woman wearing an embroidered blue and white headscarf, was gone.

The old man sitting next to Mei laughed at her expression. “Yeah, she does that, like she’s one of those buxing shadow assassins.” He peered at Mei. “You’re new, aren’t ya?”

“That,” declared a red-faced woman from the other side of the table, “is the most pathetic line I’ve ever heard.”

The two wore the same uniform: muted red and gray striped tunics under fitted breastplates with a short blade at their hips. They weren’t soldiers, whose armor never fit, or city guards, whose swords resembled clubs, or house guards, whose tunics were made from finely woven wool like Mei’s. They were mercenaries.

The older one glared at the other. “It’s not a line. I haven’t seen her before.”

Carefully, Mei placed both of her hands on the table, away from her dagger. “I haven’t seen you before either.”

As his partner guffawed, the older one sucked his front teeth. “Then why are you here in this fine,” he made a grand gesture at the stains on the wall and the old straw on the floor, “establishment? Seeing the sights?”

Mei’s eyes flicked over the two mercenaries. The older one’s arm was freshly bandaged, his drinking partner’s breastplate had fresh dents in it, and between them sat seven empty tankards of cheap beer, which didn’t include the full tankards they each held in their fists. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The old mercenary’s eyes widened. “How did you…?” His eyes dropped down to his tankard. “Damn, even foreigners can see we lost, huh?”

His drinking partner took a deep swig of her beer. “We got paid, though.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Is it ever?”

“No,” answered Mei. The Empire had given her and Huan 2 tio, one for each dead parent. “It’s never enough.”

“Damn right, it isn’t.” The old mercenary slammed his tankard onto the table. “Damn right.”

The barmaid appeared at Mei’s elbow. “Are you getting anything, hon?”

“Elsa,” the old mercenary raised his tankard, “get her a pint of this on my tab.”

“On the way!” The barmaid disappeared before Mei could protest.

“Why?” she asked the old mercenary.

He and his drinking partner shared a shrug. “Been a long while since anyone thought us worth a ‘sorry.’ I’ll leave you to your business now.”

As the mercenaries sank back into contemplative silence, Mei pondered those words, considered the idea that one could do a thing so terrible that even the dregs of common courtesy were denied you. Her considerations led to dark places that disquieted her.

By the time Mei’s beer arrived, a number of patrons had come through the tavern’s doors: two separate gangs of mercenaries, a bandit, a tall mysterious figure wrapped in a rich dark brown cloak, and then, finally, a roofrunner, her face looking rosier than usual, her brown and gray clothes slightly disheveled. Sioned took the crow’s path to the bar, ordered a drink, settled onto a stool, and waited.

After a quick good-bye to the mercenaries, Mei took her untouched beer and sat on the unoccupied stool next to Sioned, who turned to her and said, “Hey, I’m not looking for-”

Sioned tried to rise, but Mei caught her elbow and forced her back down.

“Jung described you,” said Mei in a low voice.

“N-no, he didn’t. I don’t know who that is.”

Ignore the inane lie. “Who are the thieves?”

Sioned tried to squirm free. “I’ll tell Boss Angel that you’re harassing me.”

“She’ll ask why. I’ll say you’re a thief.” Mei’s grip on Sioned’s elbow was firm enough, but not painful. “Then I’ll tell Charlie-”

“Cups, no-” Sioned bit down on her words and then continued in a quieter voice. “Don’t do that. Either of that.”

“Then tell me. Who are the thieves?”

“I can’t.” Sioned’s eyes darted away. “They’ll… She’ll…”

Mei knew how to get past the roofrunner’s fear, pain and the promise of more pain would do it, but that was the kind of thing that made even a sorry a rare thing. Still, Mei was considering tightening her grip when familiar fingers under it and broke it with a twist.

“Little sister,” said Mei’s brother in Tuquese, “that is not the way.”

As Sioned fled, Mei glared at Huan, her frustration hiding her relief at not going down the path of pain and her dismay at yet another coincidence. “What are you doing here?” she asked in Tuquese.

Huan flashed a smile. “Giving my little sister tips on courtship, obviously.” He picked up Sioned’s untouched tankard, tasted its contents, grimaced. “My next tip: don’t wear something that looks like it was made of mud. I recommend-”

“She knows who robbed Sanford,” Mei hissed.

“You’re still doing that.” Her brother blew out a large sigh. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“What?”

“After all, you’re doing all this work, fighting robbers, accosting young women in bars, all for what? So that Dwayne won’t get kicked out of that ridiculous Tower of his?” Huan leaned close. “None of that matters, not to us. What you should be focusing on is on making sure we come out of this mess better than we went in.”

“I’m not doing this for him.” She kept her eyes on her brother’s face and away from his hands, his feet, his clothes. “I’m doing it for Juanelo.”

“Who? Oh, the windsong who died.” Huan’s head tilted to the side. “Why?”

For his grieving family. “For justice.”

“Justice.” Huan rolled his eyes. “There’s no justice for people like us. Justice belongs to those with power and if you want power, you can’t afford to waste time helping Dwayne with his ridiculous plan to became the next Royal Sorcerer.”

“What are you talking about? Dwayne is trying to find the next Royal Sorcerer.”

“Oh, that’s what he says.” Huan sipped his beer. “But he wants power, just like the rest of us. Why else would he work so hard?”

“Because he likes magic.”

“Because it makes him feel powerful.”

“Because he likes figuring out how it works and how to make it work for other people.” Which would make Dwayne a better Royal Sorcerer than Lord Kalan. “He’s not trying to gain power.”

“Fine.” Huan shook his head. “Believe what you want to believe, but I’ll give you some advice: keep your other options open.”

Mei’s voice went flat. “What other options?”

“Other,” her brother waggled his eyebrows, “options. Real ones like your friend Magdala’s rich roommate or that mage dean you met at dinner or even that scrytive you’ve been ‘investigating’ with.”

Mei took a long moment to accept what her brother was saying because in Tuquese, he could only mean one thing. “No.”

“No to who? I’m not sure about the scrytive, but I know Lucc-”

“No. I’m not interested…”

“It’s not a question of whether or not you’re interested,” hissed Huan. “It’s a question of who has what you want and how to get it.”

But Mei wasn’t listening because shame had pulled her gaze away from Huan’s face and down to the bruises on his arms, the cuts on his hands, his comfort in a place where people who’d made awful choices came to escape said choices, and his fortuitous arrival that let Sioned escape. Again.

She read the obvious story there and rejected it. “I take my responsibilities seriously.” She got to her feet. “I will find who killed Juanelo and he’ll have his justice.”

“Look, Mei,” Huan reached for her, “I-”

Mei stepped out of reach. “Charlie thinks you’re the thief. Everything fits. The timing. How Juanelo’s attackers knew when to intercept him. How, despite Dwayne and Rodion’s efforts, two books were stolen from Sanford. Even how Blue Mask knew Imperial Tuquese…” Her voice hitched. She hadn’t let herself think that before. “It fits. I’ve been trying to prove that it wasn’t you, but you’re here making it all fit.”

Huan’s face contorted with some unknowable emotion. “I bet there are any number of Sourans who know Tuquese. The Empire has a consulate here, full of Tuquese who could have done it.”

“They wouldn’t, not with the new Tiger-”

“Impossible!” Huan spat.

“There is a new Tiger. I saw her.” Mei would not let her brother try to deny this. “I saw the mask. It was Tiger.”

“No, Tiger is gone. He’s…” Huan grabbed the tankard and took a deep drink. “He’s gone. I destroyed the mask. He’s. Gone.”

He let out a breath, put on a smile. “Well, I guess you have been looking out for us. However, we can’t afford to miss the opportunity the Harvest Ball offers. I have a dress that-”

“No. I’ll have a dress.” Mei turned away. “I’m going.”

“Wait!” Mei let him catch her. “Just… Thank you.”

“I’m your sister.” Mei patted his hand and then pulled herself free. “You don’t need to thank me.”

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Chapter 28: Qeuldistubost, Pebble Roll

Two bells before lunch, Mei met Charlie in the center of the collection of ugly, three storied, twelve pane windowed colored-brick buildings that made up West Boscage. After a brief exchagne of greetings, the scrytive led her past the pearl while Earthhoist Reference Center, the sky blue Waterimpelers Association, and the blood-red Dyer’s Foundation to the old flowery yellow Cartographic Repository.

Before opening the door, Charlie glanced back at Mei. “You’re wondering why we’re here?”

Read more: Chapter 28: Qeuldistubost, Pebble Roll

She nodded. As her reading comprehension hadn’t caught up to her pronunciation, she had no idea what “Cartographic” meant.

Charlie smiled. “Unlike those… enterprising fellows on the other side of the wall, most working mages don’t set up stalls on the side of the street.”

Mei glanced around. Considering how little foot traffic this part of the Bradford got, not setting up where people were seemed foolish. “So people come here to hire them?”

“Not exactly.” The door rang as Charlie opened it. “After you.”

Stepping into the Cartographic Repository meant entering a world of little gray triangles, red dots, lumpy green shapes, squiggly blue lines, black bars, all labeled names like Grandel’s Way and Polsglen. It took Mei a long while to see the mountain ranges, cities, forests, rivers, roads, to see, in whole and in part, the Queendom of Soura.

“Maps,” she stated.

“Of every corner of the Queendom.” Charlie approached the nearest one and tapped a green blob several inches below Bradford. “That’s Bradschwald, the best place in the world for peace and quiet.”

“Far too many trees for my liking.” A creak and a breeze accompanied the entrance of an older woman in a chair equipped with wheels and a pair of tiny sails. “A scrytive and a guard of the Indigo Tower? That’s a surprise.” She cleared her throat. “Well welcome. I am Mrs. Frida Nausbaum, a caretaker here at the Repo. What can I do for you?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Nausbaum.” Charlie dipped into a bow. “I am Senior Scrytive Charles Vogt, and this is Head Guard Mei Ma. We would like some information on a windsong messenger…” He made a show of pulling his notes out of his pocket and checking them. “An Orlaith Jung?”

“Interesting.” Mrs. Nausbaum wheeled closer. “And you came here? Why?”

Because unlike Tiffany, the Chamber had no record of Orlaith Jung’s address. That wasn’t so alarming. As far as Mei could tell, the Chamber only kept track of landowners and residents of the Noble District and Boscage, but Mrs. Nausbaum didn’t need to know that.

Mei shrugged. “Where else would we ask?”

“What my colleague means to say is,” said Charlie, “that we’re aware that if a windsong messenger is looking for work, and lacks the contacts to get one on her own, she comes here.”

“Maybe before those new provies.” Mrs. Nausbaum scoffed. “Now, their sponsors keep them so busy they have no time to find any work of their own.”

“The ones in the Plague District are finding their own work,” stated Mei.

Mrs. Nausbaum shook her head. “There is little work suitable for mages like them. It’s unfortunate, but they lack the disposition to earn a proper license and that limits their options in proper society.”

Mei frowned. Somewhere in there was an insult to the mages of the Plague District, but before she could ask for an explanation, Charlie asked, “How many windsong messengers have proper licenses at the moment?”

“Around a couple hundred, I think.” Mrs. Nausbaum sighed. “Nowadays, they don’t do proper work. They mostly sponsor provies and lounge around in fancy flats, getting lazy and soft.” Her lips curled. “They might as well be nobles or a Magisterium scholars.”

That was casting a broad net. Judging by Dwayne and Magdala, Magisterium scholars were hardly lazy and were incredibly hard-headed, but Mei decided to follow Charlie’s lead and keep their focus on their investigation. “Orlaith Jung tried to work with Vanurians.”

Mrs. Nausbaum rolled her eyes. “He would. After pissing off his sponsor and trashing any hope of getting a real license, he would work with heretics.” She shot a look at Charlie. “What do you want him for? The boy has the common sense of a bottom burp, but he’s no criminal.”

“Oh.” Charlie looked up from his notebook. “We just wanted to ask him a couple of questions. Do you think he’ll be by soon?”

“Oh, he’ll be by. Lately, he’s taken to asking if the Repo will hire him, but the boy’s hands are as steady as grass in the wind, and his body could fit between two pieces of paper. Good cartographers need the former, good scouts the latter.”

Which sounded like the average Magisterium mage, but Mei kept her mouth shut.

“Then we’ll wait as long as we’re able. In the meantime,” Charlie stepped over to a desk that was covered in pens and paper. “What’s the first step in map-making?”

Taking that as her cue to step away, Mei went to take a closer look at the maps, which had a level of detail that would get them censored in the Empire. However, she didn’t absorb any of the information because her nightly efforts to track down either Blue Mask or Sioned had failed, which made Orlaith Jung was their last lead. Without him, there was only one course of action left.

Mrs. Nausbaum laughed. “Yes, only a fool would try to complete an aerial survey at this time of year. Clear days are a requirement for good map-making.”

“That must make the North impossible to map,” said Charlie.

“Only in fall. And winter. And most of spring. Oh, and the coolest days in the summer.”

This was no time to dwell on failures. Forcing her whole attention onto the maps, Mei walked around the room. Aside from mountains, rivers, and cities, the maps also detailed landing areas, cross winds, and something called calorials. Bradford’s map didn’t even stop there. It included the names of the districts and quarters, the streets and avenues, even the estates and who owned them. Apparently, Sanford was jointly owned by both Lord Kalan and Lady Gallus, Tarpan by Lord Gerald Gallus, and an Andreas Ziegler owned the Bilges warehouse that Mei used to live in, but the surprising thing was that there was an estate right on the edge of the Gentle District that was owned by a Chin Ching, a name that, when Mei muttered it under her breath, sounded almost like the name of the Emperor.

Maybe that was a coincidence.

The door’s bell rang.

“Mrs. Nausbaum,” a tall, rangy windsong in plain brown leathers ducked into the Repository, “about that job…” He spotted Charlie, saw the black scrytive jacket and silver badge. “Oh, it looks like you’re busy. I’ll come back later.”

Even before Charlie’s eyes asked her to, Mei slid between the windsong and the door.

“No matter, Mr. Jung.” Mrs. Nausbaum gestured to Charlie. “They’re here to speak to you.”

“Oh,” Orlaith backed up, “I see.”

He spun to face the door, the first syllables of a spell already on his lips, but Mei tacked him to the ground and covered his mouth with her hand.

“Orlaith Jung?” She pinned the windsong’s arms to the floor with her knees. “We have some questions.”

Mrs. Nausbaum whistled. “Cups, she’s fast.”

“She is.” Charlie closed the door. “You have him, Mei?” When she nodded, he knelt down next to them and said, “Okay, then, Mr. Jung. I’m Senior Scrytive Vogt from the Chamber. This,” he placed a hand on Mei’s shoulder, “is Head Guard Ma of the Indigo Tower. Nod, if you understand.”

Orlaith nodded.

“Very good.” Charlie stood up. “Now, are you going to try and escape again, Mr. Jung?”

Orlaith shook his head.

Charlie glanced at Mrs. Nausbaum. “What do you think?”

The mapmaker glared at Orlaith. “If you break anything, young man, I will have my husband hunt you down and take the damages out of your hide.”

As Orlaith paled, Mei finished her assessment of him. Mrs. Nausbaum’s description had been accurate; the pale dark-haired boy had the kind of delicate bone structure that Mei associated with long-legged wading birds. Considering how easily she’d pinned him down, he weighed about the same as one.

Charlie patted her shoulder. “Let him up, Mei.”

Mei did so but kept herself between the windsong and the door.

“I thought mages protected mages,” muttered Orlaith as he got to his feet.

“We do,” said Mrs. Nausbaum, “but not against the Chamber and the Indigo Tower. That’s a lot of Royal power coming after you, child.”

Deflated, Orlaith turned to Charlie. “I don’t know anything.”

A pointless lie. “What do you know about Juanelo Rincón Ybarra?” Mei asked.

Orlaith flinched. Then he muttered something under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jung.” Charlie stepped closer, “we couldn’t hear that.”

“He was nice to me.”Orlaith’s voice was gravelly. “He never got my name wrong after I… I… got some adjustments done.”

Mrs. Nausbaum’s eyes narrowed. “What adjustments?”

Orlaith quailed. “I just needed to be… needed to-”

“Reject what Cueller gave you, what your parents gave you?”

“No, I mean, yes, but it’s not like-”

“It is like that, you-”

“Mrs. Nausbaum,” Charlie turned to the mapmaker, “you mentioned that you had yet to complete this month’s meteorological projections?”

“I did.” Mrs. Nausbaum raised her chin. “And I’ll be getting back to it. I trust you’ll handle this.” She gestured at Orlaith.

Charlie’s look was unreadable. “I’m sure we will.”

When the mapmaker was gone, Orlaith sniffed. “There goes any chance I’ll get that job.”

“Trust me.” Charlie gestured to a chair. “You were never going to get it.”

Mei waited for Orlaith to sit, she didn’t care about whatever thing he’d had done to himself, before saying, “You said ‘was.’ You know he’s dead.”

Orlaith curled in on himself. “Yes.”

“How?”

“Because he went missing after he met… them.”

“Mr. Jung.” Charlie’s placed a hand on Mei’s shoulder to forestall her. “Please forgive my colleague. Her home was recently robbed-” Orlaith squeaked “-by persons you may be familiar with. What do you know about a trio of robbers wearing masks?”

The windsong’s eyes dropped to his knees. “Don’t most robbers wear masks?”

“Do most robbers wield stilettos?” Charlie’s voice was cold. “Do they cast lethal wind Qe magic?”

Orlaith’s eyes tried to find the door.

Instead they found Mei. “Answer the question.”.

“No, they don’t.” Orlaith’s eyes dropped back to his knees. “Who got hurt?”

“My friend.”

“I’m sorry.”

Instead of yelling about how much blood Dwayne had left in that ally, Mei managed a soft “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry because… I told them Juan’s route through the Noble District.”

Up until that moment, Mei had not discarded the possibility that Juanelo’s murder had been pure opportunity, one that had everything to do with his sponsor and nothing to do with the messages he carried. But they’d asked about him. That made this murder, this series of robberies, into a conspiracy, one that her brother might be a part of.

“What did you tell them?” asked Charlie.

“I told him his usual route, what times he comes and goes.” Orlaith’s voice shook. “You have to understand I had to get out of there. She kept wanting me to be more: the distraction, the look-out, the bagman. It was all just too much so I told her about Juan.”

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know. She wears a mask like the others. I only know she’s a she because she got so offended when I said…” Orlaith rubbed his cheek. “She speaks with a strange rasp though, like she messed up a throat cleanse potion or something. I wouldn’t recognize her real voice.”

Masks, black clothing, voice changing potions, it all sounded ridiculous, even to Mei who’d seen them with her own eyes. “Who are the others?”

“I don’t know. They wore masks so-”

“Describe them.”

Orlaith flinched at her tone, but said, “There’s five of them. Gold is a wind Qe mage like me. Well, I mean she’s like me if I were blessed by the wind. Clay is some sort of street urchin, I think, and Ash is a trained fighter. He’s Granite’s favorite. Granite is the leader, the one with the weird voice? She brought in Sky right a month before, before…”

“Sky’s mask is blue?” Mei’s question sounded like it came from very far off.

Orlaith nodded. “He’s the reason they knew about Juan.”

“Ah.” It could be just coincidence. It had to be just coincidence. When she caught Blue Mask, she’d find out that it was coincidence.

Charlie asked Orlaith, “Do you have any idea who Granite is?”

Orlaith shook his head.

“Do the others know who she is?”

“Clay doesn’t. Sky might. Gold and Ash… maybe? They know each other, and Granite always puts one of them in charge when she wasn’t around.” He shivered. “They’d kill me if they knew I spoke to you.”

“Which is why you’ll have the Chamber’s protection.” Charlie tapped his badge of office. “We’ll make sure they don’t lay a hand on you.”

Orlaith’s eyes met Charlie’s. “Really?”

“Really.” The scrytive smiled. “We just need to know everything you know about this Granite.”

“I… don’t know much else.” Orlaith clasped his hands. “No, that’s not true. I think she’s from the North, she prays like one, and I think she’s a mage. I haven’t seen her cast, but when certain mages look at you, it feels like they’re stripping you down to your component parts, seeing what you’re made of.”

Mei found herself nodding. It was a pretty good description of how Dwayne looked at magical animals and plants.

“The others?” asked Charlie.

“Ash talks like a soldier but don’t tell him that, he hates it. Gold sounds prissy? Like she’s used to people doing what she wants. Clay’s local and Sky is…strange.”

Ash sounded a lot like Kay, and Clay sounded familiar. “What does Clay look like?”.

“She’s tall-”

“How tall? Stand up. Show me.”

Orlaith stood up and placed his hand right at his temple. “About here?”

Taller than Mei, almost as tall as Dwayne, and exactly as tall as a certain roofrunner. “Hair? Eyes?”

“I have no idea. We always met at night in this old house on the other side of the river.”

“You said that Sky is strange,” said Charlie. “How so?”

Orlaith’s face screwed up in thought. “He sounds Bilges, but off? It’s hard to describe.”

“Like maybe he just learned the accent?”

“Maybe? You can learn accents?”

Huan had learned dozens.

“Thank you, Mr. Jung.” Charlie gestured to the door. “Now, if you’ll just give me the address of the house…”

Mei left the building, went to the curb, and did not scream. Orlaith Jung, their last lead, was leading them straight to her brother. There had to be something that would absolve Huan, something that Sioned or Kay would know.

The door opened and Charlie and Orlaith stepped out.

“I recommend you go to the Chamber now,” said Charlie.

“I just need to get some things first.”

Charlie’s face went blank. “It’s your call.”

Orlaith nodded and then rocketed into the air.

When the windsong was but a speck in the sky, Charlie asked “So what happened a month ago?”

Mei didn’t answer.

“I’m guessing that you think that that roofrunner you spoke to last week is involved, but when he mentioned this ‘Sky’ you went all stiff.”

Mei looked away.

Charlie sighed. “Mei, I know that you’re doing your best not to let yourself come to the obvious conclusion. But I do know that a month ago a certain Wesen mage and his two Tuquese guards were brought to the Palace for an audience with Her Majesty.”

Of course, he knew.

“You’re not ready to say so I won’t because if I do, I’ll have to act.”

Because Senior Scrytive Charles Vogt would have to act. Mei blinked away tears. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Literally.” Charlie put his hands in his pockets. “We are in agreement that Juanelo was targeted, right?”

“Yes.” Mei wiped her face. “This is about either Lord Kalan or Dwayne.”

“Considering what happened, I’m betting it’s Lord Kalan. We already know that Juanelo was handing messages over to his sponsor. Maybe his sponsor did something and tipped off this ‘Granite’ about Lord Kalan’s abdication.”

Mei shook her head. “Dwayne didn’t know about it. Juanelo had to have been carrying the message when they killed him.”

“Then what was ‘Granite’ trying to do?”

Mei’s heart sank. “Shaggy deer.”

Charlie crossed his arms. “I don’t follow.”

“Shaggy deer are too smart to fall in traps and too fast to chase down and catch, but if you make a very loud noise near them,” like a gunshot, “they freeze.”

“In other words, ‘Granite’ was trying to keep Dwayne from doing anything about the abdication.” Charlie grimaced. “Even worse, without Juanelo, Lord Kalan has no idea what’s happening here in Bradford.” He turned to Mei. “Could Granite be Juanelo’s sponsor?”

Mei gave him a look.

“Right, stupid question.” Charlie took out his notes. “Let’s assume that at least two people knew about Lord Kalan’s abdication before the Autumn Session. They would have had an opportunity to do something before then. I’ll look into that after I check out the address Mr. Jung gave me.”

“You do that.” Mei turned east. “I’ll find Sioned.”

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Chapter 27: Ri’weit’veem’ozi, Ignite

When Colin spotted Magdala approaching the table the next morning, he put away the old text he was studying and got to his feet. “Your message said you had something to say?” He crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”

Magdala didn’t want to do this. She wanted to find a way to make Colin help her with the project, the report she’d sent to Dwayne had made it clear that she needed help, but that would make things worse in the long run. So, she did what she promised Francesca she would do. She said, “I’m sorry.”

Colin blinked. “What did you say?”

Read more: Chapter 27: Ri’weit’veem’ozi, Ignite

“I’m sorry. I was being stubborn, high-handed, and unappreciative of you and your work.” Magdala bowed. “I hope we can work together in the future.”

“You’re apologizing?” asked Colin. “You don’t apologize.”

Hiding a wince, Magdala straightened up. “I’m sorry for that too.”

The other nQe mage’s brow wrinkled. “This isn’t a ploy to convince me to come back and work on your Wesen’s project?”

“I do need help,” Magdala let the “your Wesen” comment slide, “but this is about the nQe practicals we’ll have to complete together in the future. When those come, I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

“I see.” Colin sighed. “I guess I’ll be finding out sooner rather than later. I’m sticking with the project.”

“You are?”

“Not because of your apology, although it’s much appreciated, but because your Wesen-”

“He has a name.” Magdala put her hands on her hips. “You do know it, right?”

“Ah. Right.” It took Colin a moment to recover. “Dwayne Kalan gave Nicky a fire spell vial, and I had the opportunity to-”

“Use it? How did it go? What did it feel…” Magdala’s face heated. “I mean, ahem, w-what did you think of the experience?”

“It was amazing.” Colin’s eyes went distant. “Controlling fire as easily as earth felt amazing.” His face fell. “Of course, it does mean that Qe isn’t different from Ri or Xa, which is galling.”

“I think it’s amazing,” said Magdala. “We’re all part of this greater whole.”

Colin looked away. “Qe magic is supposed to be pri-”

“Good,” Francesca dropped a very heavy canvas bag on the table, “she’s apologized. Mr. Fletcher, you’re still on the project?”

“I am.” Colin shrugged. “I have to see how this works out.”

“Excellent. Any ideas on methodology?”

“Tes, but…” Colin glanced at Magdala.

She gestured for him to continue. “I’m listening.”

“Right. Uh. Just a moment.” Colin pulled notebooks and papers out of his bag. “For the past few days, I’ve been down in the college library, trying to find problems with Resonance Theory. I’ve read everything: Lord Kalan’s papers, the Duchess of Hamms’s rebuttals, Lady Pol’s defense of her conclusions from Yumma.” He glanced at Magdala. “She mentioned that ‘certain parties’ helped her. Was that you and Dwayne?”

Francesca grinned. “Oh, most definitely.”

Magdala’s ears grew hot. “That’s irrelevant. Did you find any problems?”

“Only one.” Colin put a stack of papers on the table. “As described, Resonance Theory doesn’t account for the differences in Proper and Inverse magic.”

“Right.” Magdala winced. “My lord uncle probably never got around to teaching Dwayne about that.”

“What does your- Dwayne have to do with this?” asked Colin.

“Dwayne wrote Lord Kalan’s papers.” Francesca peered at her nails. “I don’t blame him for not knowing about Proper and Inverse magic. I’m a fifth year, and I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

Both nQe mages stared at her.

“They didn’t teach you about Proper and Inverse the first time they let you cast?” asked Colin.

“‘They’ did not because ‘They’ were Mother,” said Francesca, “and all she did was point at a sail and yell the same spell at me over and over again until I managed to cast it. As I’ve told Mag here, I’ve learned more theory listening to Dwayne defend himself in Professor Corn’s class than I ever did before.”

“What about-“

“NQe mages,” Magdala cut in, “like Colin and I are Inverse. As a Qe mage, you’re Proper.”

“So they’re different names for the same thing?” asked Francesca.

“No,” said Colin, “they’re descriptions of how our magic rotates along the casting axis when applied to a neutral fluid medium like pure oxygen or molten iron.”

Francesca glanced at Magdala. “Meaning?”

“Proper magic twists out and clockwise,” explained Magdala, “and Inverse magic twists in and counterclockwise.”

“I’ll pretend like that was an explanation.” Francesca gestured to Colin’s notes. “What does it have to do with anything?”

“To capture Qe in azade, we need a Proper mage like you,” stated Colin.

Magdala nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?” asked Francesca. “I know you can cast Qe magic.”

“I can but, when I tried earlier ended up making tytumber.”

“Really? That’s really valuable.”

Magdala frowned. “Is it? Dean Bruce implied it was worthless.”

“My point is,” Colin got their attention again, “that we have to take our natural orientations into consideration and make sure we don’t interfere or overwhelm each other.” He pulled a sheet of paper of the pile and placed it on the table. “I’ve drawn a diagram showing what we did wrong last time.”

The diagram depicted three figures – labeled “Qe”, “nQerikwem”, and “nQeanum” – standing around a circle labeled “azade” with wavy lines of different thicknesses and colors connecting them. Assuming red meant Proper, green meant Inverse, and that the thickness of the lines indicated the intensity of the casting, then the fact that the two green lines were so much thicker than the one red line meant-

“You think that we overwhelmed Francesca,” said Magdala.

“Is that why it exploded?” asked Francesca.

“No,” Magdala swallowed, “that was because of me. As usual.”

Colin winced. “Not just you. We both let our natural magical tendencies get in the way. That azade was doomed to explode or disintegrate into dust.” He caught the quizzical look on Magdala’s face and shrugged. “That’s my talent. Making dust.”

That explained why he’d been put on that boring project. Magdala turned to her roommate. “You’re a really strong Wind Qe.”

“Aw,” Francesca put a hand to her heart, “good of you to say so.”

“Then how were we able to overwhelm you?”

“Oh, because it’s bad practice to put any effort into Qe itself.” Francesca rubbed her left hand. “Mother spent weeks conditioning me out of that habit.”

“Oh, right.” Magdala winced. “Mine too.”

“What did they do?” asked Colin.

“Slap our hands every time we put too much into Qe,” said Francesca.

“We used to run into the forest and practice in secret to avoid the pain,” remembered Magdala. “It’s practically why we’re friends.”

“That’s barbaric,” said Colin. “My aunt would never have done that.”

Magdala blinked. “She wouldn’t?”

“No. She just planted me in front of a barrel of luceberries in water and told me that she wouldn’t teach me any more spells until I turned the whole barrel into cordial.” He frowned at the expressions on their faces. “What?”

“I recommend never sharing that story with anyone else in your class,” said Francesca. “It will not engender good feelings.” She inspected the diagram. “At any rate, it sounds like once we’ve addressed this imbalance, we can… Oh!” Her eyes flicked to Magdala. “Do you remember that Lees College girl I dated?”

Magdala sorted through what she could remember of her roommate’s lovers. “Was she the one who bored you with small press fictions?”

“The very one.”

“You still kicked me out of the room at the end of the night.”

“What can I say?” Francesca’s eyes twinkled. “She made up for it later.”

Colin’s face was bright pink. “What’s your point?”

“Afterwards,” said Francesca, “she subjected me to her thesis on how Xa mages are made.”

Magdala frowned. “Aren’t they born, like us?”

“Oh?” Francesca’s expression was of pure glee. “I know something about magic you don’t? Xa mages aren’t born. They created in a ritual.”

“Impossible,” said Colin.

“The idea isn’t in conflict with Resonance Theory.” Magdala leaned forward. “Did she tell you how it works?”

“Probably, but I found a reason to interrupt so all I remember is that the ritual involves leaving young children in an ambersoul grove. When they come out, they’re Xa mages.”

“That sounds absurd,” said Colin. “And barbaric.”

Francesca shook her head. “Lee College grads are not known for making things up. Their tongues have other uses.”

Colin’s face was now bright red. “Are you suggesting we find an ambersoul grove and leave the azade there until it miraculously absorbs Qe?”

“I think that if that worked, they’d be creating Qe mages, not Xa ones.” Magdala stared at the diagram. Why did the ritual work? What was in those groves? “When Dwayne and I make spell vials, we take parts from animals with latent magical ability and soak them in an ambersoul or azade solution.”

“Hence your hunting of dragons,” said Colin.

“In this case, maybe the solution is like the Tuquese children who don’t have a thaumaturgical resonance with Xa but do have the potential for one. What if there’s something in the grove converts that potential?” Magdala turned to Francesca. “Do you know how long the ritual is?”

Her roommate shook her head. “Again, I wasn’t listening, but it didn’t sound like it was a quick process.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to just wait.” Magdala chuckled. “Imagine asking Her Majesty to just sit there in the middle of the Harvest Ball while-”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying we need a quick process because Her Majesty won’t wait…” Magdala’s cheeks burned. Oh, no. “I didn’t tell you? We’re to Offer this to Her Majesty at the Harvest Ball.”

As Colin went deathly pale, Francesca’s voice turned deadly sweet. “Mag, dear, when did you agree to this?”

“I didn’t! The dean said-”

“The dean said!” Colin’s head hit the table. “So we’re ordered to.”

“The Ball is in two days,” pointed out Francesca. “We haven’t even agreed on a methodology.”

“We can try to substitute time for power,” said Magdala. “While Colin and I cast our spells as lightly as possible, you cast Qe as hard as you can.”

“We have no idea if that will work,” said Colin.

“Which means that I’ll have to hold Qe until it settles in the azade,” said Francesca. “I’ve never done that before.”

“No one has,” said Colin.

He looked like he was about to faint, and Magdala couldn’t blame him. While her status as a noble and as Gallus’s heir was secure, Colin was a lay-born mage. Screwing up an Offering at the Harvest Ball might end his career. As for Francesca, she didn’t even need to be here, didn’t even want a career as a working mage. They didn’t need to take this risk.

“I could go to the dean.” Magdala would have to tell Dwayne that she couldn’t do it. He’d be disappointed, but they would find another way. “I could ask her to cancel the Offering.”

“You will do no such thing,” said Francesca.

Magdala stared at her roommate. “Why not?”

“This is the exact kind of thing that will convince Mother to leave me alone so I can focus on my internship at the Exchequer’s Office.”

“But this is a massive risk. If we fail, Colin will-”

“I appreciate the thought,” said Colin, raising his head, “But I have to do this.”

“Why?” asked Magdala.

“Because I’m the son of farmers, and farmers’ sons don’t get a professor’s position at the Magisterium unless they’ve done something truly amazing, and pulling this off, making history, counts.”

“Besides,” Francesca lowered her voice, “I will not deny you the chance to see the look on his face when you pull this off. He might even give you a reward.”

She didn’t mean Colin. Magdala’s face went hot. “Dwayne won’t… He’ll only…” She cleared her throat. “Then we’re doing this.”

“Yes, we are.” Francesca turned to Colin. “Was there anything else?”

“I had more thoughts on the methodology.” Colin glanced at Magdala. “Unless you want to do complete it yourself?”

She did, but she’d promised she’d be better. Magdala forced a smile. “You can do it.”

“Good.” Francesca clapped her hands. “While you do that, I’ll go around to our professors and ask them to let us out of class for the next two days.”

“You can do that?” asked Colin.

Francesca turned to Magdala. “None of us have done an Offering before. What should we expect?”

“I don’t know,” replied Magdala.

“Who can we ask?”

Magdala knew someone who had done dozens of Offerings, had done them so well that she now held a Royal appointed position at the Magisterium.

“We could ask the dean,” answered Colin.

“Isn’t she extremely busy?” asked Francesca.

“It wouldn’t take long to ask about the Offering. And the College’s reputation is at stake too.”

Asking that someone would hurt Magdala’s pride, but not asking her risked the hopes, dreams, and reputations of three people. She had to do it.

“I’ll handle that part.” Magdala smiled as if her insides weren’t quivering. “I’ll just ask my mother.”

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