avoid touching the splintered boards. He lowered a sturdy wooden brace into place, ensuring that he would have no more unwelcome visitors entering his space. He couldn’t afford any distractions; not with so much riding on the next twenty-four hours.
Jilmaq opened his trunk and looked down at the small black bag resting on top of his faded clothes. The wizard swallowed, but his throat stayed dry. He lifted the bag by its drawstring, and the light braid inside raised up with no effort at all. Such a delicate weight , he thought. His heart began to race in his chest. There was no denying that he was about to commit a great crime. The fact that it was for a great reward was an explanation, not an excuse; and certainly not an exculpation. Was the reward worth it? His visitor had promised him wealth, and a new life outside Delia where he could weave spells for the worthy people in society again. But what if the Mobinoji abandoned him for so great a sin? What if they denied him their power, barring him from ever harnessing magic again? The spirits were not known to be especially moral beings, but there were tales of wizards with far cleaner consciences suddenly finding themselves bereft of magical ability. A momentary windfall was hardly compensation for a lifetime of impotence.
Jilmaq exhaled through his teeth. Even as he ran through the same uneasy thoughts one more time, he knew that the time for making decisions was long past. When he’d taken the visitor’s money, and accepted this black bag, he had cast his lot. Any hope of survival now lay in his ability to do what he’d been paid to do, no matter how ill the thought of it made him.
The wizard reached into the black bag and grabbed hold of the silky hair within. He let the bag drop to the floor, cradling the braid in his hands. His bloodshot eyes grew wet with tears. “Forgive me, Princess,” he whispered.
As the last of the sun’s rays was filtering through a gap in his barred-up window, Jilmaq moved into the back room of his hut to begin casting the most important spell of his life.
Chapter Nine
Beneath The White
The royal apartments gleamed so brilliantly they made Lundin squint. He and Samanthi had just been in the bright dawn sun, traversing the trellised open-air breezeway from the main body of the palace to the west wing where the Princess lived. Looking down from the marble walkway, spacious enough for five people to walk side by side, their eyes had been dazzled by a riot of colors from the blooming garden below and the vibrantly painted city buildings outside the palace gates. And then, ushered through the ornate double doors by a pair of footmen, Lundin and Samanthi found themselves enclosed in a world of white.
White upholstered furniture. White silk wall coverings with off-white satin stripes. White marble sculptures portraying the chiseled features of generations of Haberstorm rulers. A white staircase with an elegant white wooden railing. And, naturally, a flock of servants bustling in every direction in white jackets and skirts. Morning sunlight pouring through the arched windows reflected off these pale surfaces in an assault of radiant white beams. Lundin felt his eyes start to water. Or maybe they’re melting , he thought with sudden concern, narrowing his lids so much he could barely see through his eyelashes.
“I heard,” Samanthi said, blinking furiously, “that once a Haberstorm passes the First Ordeals and becomes a midling, she gets to decide on new colors for the royal apartment.”
“One more reason to wish Her Highness all the best,” Lundin said, wiping his eyes.
A hulking, blurry shape appeared in front of his eyes. “You two should get sun visors like we have,” Sir Mathias said, tapping what was either his helmet or his ear. It was hard to tell. The Petronaut put a hand on Lundin’s shoulder, rotating him gently towards a corridor
Jilmaq opened his trunk and looked down at the small black bag resting on top of his faded clothes. The wizard swallowed, but his throat stayed dry. He lifted the bag by its drawstring, and the light braid inside raised up with no effort at all. Such a delicate weight , he thought. His heart began to race in his chest. There was no denying that he was about to commit a great crime. The fact that it was for a great reward was an explanation, not an excuse; and certainly not an exculpation. Was the reward worth it? His visitor had promised him wealth, and a new life outside Delia where he could weave spells for the worthy people in society again. But what if the Mobinoji abandoned him for so great a sin? What if they denied him their power, barring him from ever harnessing magic again? The spirits were not known to be especially moral beings, but there were tales of wizards with far cleaner consciences suddenly finding themselves bereft of magical ability. A momentary windfall was hardly compensation for a lifetime of impotence.
Jilmaq exhaled through his teeth. Even as he ran through the same uneasy thoughts one more time, he knew that the time for making decisions was long past. When he’d taken the visitor’s money, and accepted this black bag, he had cast his lot. Any hope of survival now lay in his ability to do what he’d been paid to do, no matter how ill the thought of it made him.
The wizard reached into the black bag and grabbed hold of the silky hair within. He let the bag drop to the floor, cradling the braid in his hands. His bloodshot eyes grew wet with tears. “Forgive me, Princess,” he whispered.
As the last of the sun’s rays was filtering through a gap in his barred-up window, Jilmaq moved into the back room of his hut to begin casting the most important spell of his life.
Chapter Nine
Beneath The White
The royal apartments gleamed so brilliantly they made Lundin squint. He and Samanthi had just been in the bright dawn sun, traversing the trellised open-air breezeway from the main body of the palace to the west wing where the Princess lived. Looking down from the marble walkway, spacious enough for five people to walk side by side, their eyes had been dazzled by a riot of colors from the blooming garden below and the vibrantly painted city buildings outside the palace gates. And then, ushered through the ornate double doors by a pair of footmen, Lundin and Samanthi found themselves enclosed in a world of white.
White upholstered furniture. White silk wall coverings with off-white satin stripes. White marble sculptures portraying the chiseled features of generations of Haberstorm rulers. A white staircase with an elegant white wooden railing. And, naturally, a flock of servants bustling in every direction in white jackets and skirts. Morning sunlight pouring through the arched windows reflected off these pale surfaces in an assault of radiant white beams. Lundin felt his eyes start to water. Or maybe they’re melting , he thought with sudden concern, narrowing his lids so much he could barely see through his eyelashes.
“I heard,” Samanthi said, blinking furiously, “that once a Haberstorm passes the First Ordeals and becomes a midling, she gets to decide on new colors for the royal apartment.”
“One more reason to wish Her Highness all the best,” Lundin said, wiping his eyes.
A hulking, blurry shape appeared in front of his eyes. “You two should get sun visors like we have,” Sir Mathias said, tapping what was either his helmet or his ear. It was hard to tell. The Petronaut put a hand on Lundin’s shoulder, rotating him gently towards a corridor
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