you.”
Practical as a quartermaster. It reminded me once again of Cara—though Cara would’ve mocked me ’til the sun came up for getting drunk on something mild as blackberry wine. I nodded to Lena, and even managed a smile before I staggered off to the kitchen to gulp down water that tasted faintly of rosehips. Once back in my room, I flung myself on my bed and tried to think of nothing but Cara, and how in Ninavel I’d see her again. But the memories that chased me down into sleep weren’t of Cara’s lithe body and flashing smile, but of Simon’s Taint charm glittering on my wrist, and a rock hanging high in the air as I laughed in wild exultation, uncaring of the pain savaging my gut.
* * *
(Kiran)
“You know the worst part of this translocation business?” Dev said, as he and Kiran trailed Lena through the gray stone corridors of the Arcanum. “I could’ve really used some time in the Whitefires.”
He said it lightly, but Kiran caught the flash of longing in Dev’s eyes. He remembered Dev dangling from pitons on an improbably steep cliff, his head thrown back in a laugh of purest joy, and a pang squeezed Kiran’s chest.
“If all goes well in Ninavel, maybe you won’t have to wait long to climb in the mountains again.” Perhaps not long at all. Kiran knew Dev had no intention of returning to Alathia once beyond the border, regardless of what happened in Ninavel. A thought that brought equal parts relief and regret. Marten and Lena were kind enough, but the shadow of the Council hung over every interaction. It felt so good to have a friend whose loyalty was unconstrained.
“Maybe.” Dev looked wistful again. His stride held a simmering energy Kiran hadn’t seen in him since the Whitefires.
Kiran’s footsteps were far heavier. Ever since Lena had brought the news the Council had agreed to his conditions, he felt as if he stood in the path of an onrushing avalanche, helpless to cast against it. He tried to think only of the removal of his binding in Ninavel. No more cramped, gnawing confinement of his senses, his ikilhia freed to spark spells once more…oh, how he yearned for it! Yet the specter of Ruslan shadowed his heart.
Lena halted before the door of Marten’s personal workroom. A thicket of black ward lines covered the frame, so dense hardly any wood showed. Lena laid a palm flat on the wards.
Marten called something encouraging but indistinct from within, and the wards glowed silver. Lena pushed open the door and led them inside.
No matter how many times Kiran visited Marten’s workroom, the disarray within never ceased to startle him. Ruslan had always been adamant in his insistence upon order, with all spell materials, diagrams, and treatises catalogued and neatly stored. Stevannes and the other arcanists seemed similar in outlook, but Marten worked in a kind of floating chaos. Scribbled diagrams covered the walls, while random assortments of gems and metal rods lay scattered over shelves. Marten himself stood behind a desk half buried under teetering piles of papers and books.
“Good news, you two.” Marten skirted a stray pile and waved Dev and Kiran to a pair of empty chairs amid the clutter. Lena remained standing by the door, her hands behind her back and her spine as straight as any soldier’s. “The preparations are almost complete for the translocation spell. The Watch will cast at moonrise.”
Moonrise was little more than an hour away. Kiran nodded, his mouth gone dry.
Marten said, “I told you my team would include an arcanist. I’m pleased to say my top choice agreed to come to Ninavel with us.” He glanced at Lena. “Did you send Talm to find—”
A rap came on the door. Martennan brightened. “Ah, excellent. There’s Stevan now. Come in!”
Kiran stiffened. Stevan—did Marten mean…?
Stevannes strode into the workroom, accompanied by Talmaddis. Chalk smudged the sleeves of the arcanist’s uniform, his wiry auburn hair in disarray. He carried a
Practical as a quartermaster. It reminded me once again of Cara—though Cara would’ve mocked me ’til the sun came up for getting drunk on something mild as blackberry wine. I nodded to Lena, and even managed a smile before I staggered off to the kitchen to gulp down water that tasted faintly of rosehips. Once back in my room, I flung myself on my bed and tried to think of nothing but Cara, and how in Ninavel I’d see her again. But the memories that chased me down into sleep weren’t of Cara’s lithe body and flashing smile, but of Simon’s Taint charm glittering on my wrist, and a rock hanging high in the air as I laughed in wild exultation, uncaring of the pain savaging my gut.
* * *
(Kiran)
“You know the worst part of this translocation business?” Dev said, as he and Kiran trailed Lena through the gray stone corridors of the Arcanum. “I could’ve really used some time in the Whitefires.”
He said it lightly, but Kiran caught the flash of longing in Dev’s eyes. He remembered Dev dangling from pitons on an improbably steep cliff, his head thrown back in a laugh of purest joy, and a pang squeezed Kiran’s chest.
“If all goes well in Ninavel, maybe you won’t have to wait long to climb in the mountains again.” Perhaps not long at all. Kiran knew Dev had no intention of returning to Alathia once beyond the border, regardless of what happened in Ninavel. A thought that brought equal parts relief and regret. Marten and Lena were kind enough, but the shadow of the Council hung over every interaction. It felt so good to have a friend whose loyalty was unconstrained.
“Maybe.” Dev looked wistful again. His stride held a simmering energy Kiran hadn’t seen in him since the Whitefires.
Kiran’s footsteps were far heavier. Ever since Lena had brought the news the Council had agreed to his conditions, he felt as if he stood in the path of an onrushing avalanche, helpless to cast against it. He tried to think only of the removal of his binding in Ninavel. No more cramped, gnawing confinement of his senses, his ikilhia freed to spark spells once more…oh, how he yearned for it! Yet the specter of Ruslan shadowed his heart.
Lena halted before the door of Marten’s personal workroom. A thicket of black ward lines covered the frame, so dense hardly any wood showed. Lena laid a palm flat on the wards.
Marten called something encouraging but indistinct from within, and the wards glowed silver. Lena pushed open the door and led them inside.
No matter how many times Kiran visited Marten’s workroom, the disarray within never ceased to startle him. Ruslan had always been adamant in his insistence upon order, with all spell materials, diagrams, and treatises catalogued and neatly stored. Stevannes and the other arcanists seemed similar in outlook, but Marten worked in a kind of floating chaos. Scribbled diagrams covered the walls, while random assortments of gems and metal rods lay scattered over shelves. Marten himself stood behind a desk half buried under teetering piles of papers and books.
“Good news, you two.” Marten skirted a stray pile and waved Dev and Kiran to a pair of empty chairs amid the clutter. Lena remained standing by the door, her hands behind her back and her spine as straight as any soldier’s. “The preparations are almost complete for the translocation spell. The Watch will cast at moonrise.”
Moonrise was little more than an hour away. Kiran nodded, his mouth gone dry.
Marten said, “I told you my team would include an arcanist. I’m pleased to say my top choice agreed to come to Ninavel with us.” He glanced at Lena. “Did you send Talm to find—”
A rap came on the door. Martennan brightened. “Ah, excellent. There’s Stevan now. Come in!”
Kiran stiffened. Stevan—did Marten mean…?
Stevannes strode into the workroom, accompanied by Talmaddis. Chalk smudged the sleeves of the arcanist’s uniform, his wiry auburn hair in disarray. He carried a
Similar Books
