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by Sarah Prineas

  I lifted my fingers from the globe. “The spell slowed down in the Sunrise, did you see?”

  He nodded, still staring at the globe. “Does that mean he’s there?”

  I wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “The spark would’ve stopped and flared up if he was, and there’s no way to hide from the anstriker spell.” No way that I knew of, anyway.

  “Good,” Embre said. “Now be sure he’s not coming here or lurking somewhere outside the city.”

  I pushed aside the smaller globe and pulled the larger globe in its bowl of slowsilver to the edge of the table. I did the thing with the anstriker spell and the true name.

  This time the globe showed a dragon’s-eye view of the lands around Wellmet and beyond, a long, wide stretch of ocean-edged land with tiny cities and trade roads and vast green forests and rivers that glinted like silver threads, and mountains that scraped against the inside of the glass. The spell-spark began at the dark spot that was Wellmet and circled outward, slowly at first, like a bee circling a flower. The spell-spark grew larger, and flew faster, a ball of sparks whooshing past the desert and the city of Desh, then swirling over a carpet of forest and darting among tall mountain peaks, burning more and more brightly.

  For just a second Dusk House faded away and I felt the two magics overhead, shifting like two huge, impatient dragons, tied together, yet straining against each other. I strained just as hard to hold on to the spell.

  It slipped away. Under my fingers, the surface of the glass globe buzzed like a thousand angry wasps. The sparks burst into flame; the flames expanded until they filled the entire globe. The glass grew warm, then sizzling hot.

  I jerked my hand away from the globe and leaped back. The rainbow glass darkened to molten red and the slowsilver in the metal dish bubbled and boiled. Flames crackled on the inside curve of the globe. Then, right in its center, a new, white-bright light blossomed and expanded.

  As I shouted a warning, Embre pushed his wheeled chair away from the table, covering his head. I threw myself to the floor. A sharp crack and crash, and the scrying globe exploded, shards of burning glass shooting like arrows through the air, shattering against the walls and ceiling. Sparks swarmed around the room. A thick cloud of gray-black smoke billowed up and swirled. Pip crouched on the table, blinking.

  From out in the hallway came the sound of running feet, and then two minions flung open the door and rushed into the room. Their feet crunched on the shattered glass. “Underlord, are you all right?” one of them asked.

  Embre had ended up across the room against the wall. He coughed and waved smoke away from his face. Blood seeped from a thin cut on his cheek. “I’m fine,” he said sharply. “Thanks for coming so quickly. Go wait outside.”

  The minions nodded and went out.

  The room fell silent. The smoke drifted up to the ceiling and hung there. Overhead, the magics settled again, but I could still feel their uneasiness. I got up from the floor.

  Embre coughed again. “So,” he said, after another silent moment. “He’s not here.”

  I shook my head. Crowe wasn’t in Wellmet, and he wasn’t anywhere near the city, either.

  Embre let out his breath and rested his head on his hand, which was shaking. He’d been a lot more worried about Crowe than I’d realized.

  “You all right?” I asked, stepping closer.

  “Yes.” He wiped the blood off his face. “Ow.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  He looked at the smear of blood on his hand, then gave me a shaky grin. “Well, Cousin, I am the Underlord, but I’m also a pyrotechnist. I’ve seen explosions before.”

  True, he had.

  “And you did warn me,” he said.

  Yes. I had.

  “I’m glad Crowe’s not here,” he added.

  A shudder of dread crept up my back, thinking of Crowe. “So am I.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  After collecting as much of the slowsilver as I could coax back into a glass beaker and then wrapping the scrying globe in its wormsilk cloth, I said good-bye to Embre and left.

  At the front door of Dusk House, Sparks was waiting for me.

  Pip, seeing her, twitched its tail. “No more blackpowder tea for you, Pip,” I said.

  Sparks grinned at me and Pip; then she edged closer. “Got a bit of information you might like to know, eh?”

  Information? “What?” I asked.

  “One of them magister wizards has been asking ’round the Twilight for pyrotechnic materials.”

  That was strange. The magisters hated pyrotechnics; once they’d banished me from the city and almost hanged me as punishment for doing pyrotechnic spells. And now that we had two magics in the city, the risks of setting off explosions were even bigger. “Who was it?”

  “Dunno what his name was. Scrawny.” Sparks pointed at her head. “Big ears.”

  Magister Nimble, it sounded like. That didn’t make sense at all; Nimble hated me, and pyrotechnics, more than any of the other magisters. And he’d had his locus stone stolen, he’d said. Strange. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it now. “If you hear anything else, tell me, all right?”

  “Righty-o!” Sparks said, grinning.

  I said good-bye to her and stepped out the front door of Dusk House and stopped. We’d spent the afternoon on the anstriker spell, and now it was night.

  Oh, no. Rowan was expecting me for dinner.

  The streets were dark and empty, and my hurrying footsteps sounded loud on the wet cobblestones. Pip dropped off my shoulder and flew ahead, pausing to perch on shop signs and on piles of trash in the street, then flying ahead again. As I turned a corner onto a street that would lead me to the Night Bridge, I caught a glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of shadowy figures. Following me.

  My heart jolted with fright. The kidnappers! I looked around for Pip. “Tallennar!” I whispered. A rustle of wings and Pip was there, scrambling up my leg and onto my shoulder, where it crouched, lashing its tail. I stared into the street behind me.

  Two dark shapes loomed up. I flinched back and got ready to run and shout my new dazzler spell at the same time.

  “No harm, Blackbird,” one of the shapes said, a deep, gravelly voice.

  I let out my breath. Not the men who’d beaten the fluff out of me, then. Fist. One of Embre’s men. And beside him, his partner, Hand.

  “What d’you want?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Fist said. Beside him, Hand nodded.

  “What’re you doing, then?” I asked.

  “Underlord told us to keep an eye on you, little bird,” Fist said. “When you’re in the Twilight. You see the men what did that”—he pointed at my face—“and you give us the nod, right? We want a word with ’em.” He held up his fist to show what kind of word it would be.

  Embre had sent his men to watch me? To protect me when I was in the Twilight?

  Curse it. More fuss and worry. More looking after.

  With Pip clinging to my coat with its claws, I stepped off the Night Bridge and into the Sunrise part of the city. Captain Kerrn was there. Scowling, she stepped in front of me. Behind her, the wide street, lit by werelights, led up the hill. Kerrn reached out to grab me by the front of the sweater so she could slam me against a wall and growl at me, but then she jerked her hand back and rested it on her sword pommel.

  “Where have you been?” She bit off her words and spat them out. Angry.

  I shrugged. I was coming off the bridge; clear as clear I’d been in the Twilight.

  When she saw I wasn’t going to answer, she whirled and started stalking up the street. “You have missed dinner with the duchess. And another locus magicalicus has been stolen.”

  Oh, no. Not another one. I’d lost my locus stone once; I knew what a horrible, empty, desperate thing that was. I hurried a little to catch up with her. “Whose stone?”

  “One belonging to another magister. Sandera. Taken from her workroom.”

&n
bsp; Big trouble, then. Kerrn probably thought that’s what I’d been off doing during the afternoon, stealing Sandera’s locus stone.

  We headed up the street, passing the tall stone houses and shops and the werelights, which cast pink light across the stone pavements.

  “Tell me what is going on,” Kerrn said suddenly. “You can trust me.”

  I blinked. I trusted her to toss me into a prison cell if she thought I belonged there. “I didn’t steal the locus stones, Kerrn,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “I do not mean the thefts. You were attacked. You are in trouble of some kind. Your safety has been entrusted to me. You must tell me what is going on.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I said. She wouldn’t believe that, sure as sure. Maybe I could drink truth-telling phlister and tell her and then she’d believe me.

  She stopped and pointed at my bruised face. “I will not allow you to be hurt again.”

  Wait. She was worried about me getting the fluff beaten out of myself? “I’m being careful,” I said.

  “Careful? Is that what you call it?” She leaned closer. “I will make sure you are more careful.” She glared down at me, then whirled and headed up the street.

  So Kerrn was looking after me, too. Drats.

  As we came into the Dawn Palace, there were more guards than usual at the front doors, and Kerrn had a couple of quick, brisk words with them. Then she “accompanied” me to the ducal magister’s rooms and left me there with two guards at the door. Pip prowled the shadowy edges of the room, its tail twitching, then came over and nosed at the window. I opened it and the dragon flew out. It didn’t like the Dawn Palace, either. And it probably wanted to hunt for pigeons. After closing the window, I shoved aside a couple of fringed, lumpy-laced pillows and sat on the window seat and looked out at the night. What I really needed to do was go out again so I could walk through the city and sense what was going on with the magics. But I was tired and I wouldn’t get past Kerrn’s guards, not tonight.

  There was a knock on the door. Go away, whoever you are.

  The door opened. Rowan.

  She said something to the guard outside and came in.

  Just inside the door, she stopped and looked around at the ducal magister’s room, frowning. “This is not what I was expecting.” She shook her head. “Curse it.”

  Then she went to one of the tall wooden chairs beside the hearth, shoved it around so it faced the window seat where I was sitting, and sat down. She wrinkled her nose. “Connwaer, you smell like smoke.”

  I raised my arm and sniffed at my sweater-sleeve. I did smell like smoke. From the anstriker spell gone wrong. She didn’t want to hear about that, though. “I was doing some magic,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I am a wizard,” I reminded her.

  “Mmm. It’s cold in here,” she said, rubbing her arms. “The servants should have built a fire.”

  They should have, but they wouldn’t come into my rooms. They were afraid of Pip, I guessed. My stomach gave an empty growl.

  “You didn’t get anything to eat, did you?” Rowan said. “I’ll send the servants with dinner.”

  I could definitely eat dinner. Maybe they’d bring hot biscuits and chicken pie like Benet baked. “Thanks,” I said.

  She smiled. “You’re very welcome.” Her smile faded. “I’m very sorry about the rooms. I know you don’t like them. I told Miss Dimity to be sure they would be warm and comfortable for you, but she misunderstood. I should have seen to it myself.”

  “You didn’t have time,” I muttered.

  “That’s right.” She sighed. “I know this is hard for you, Conn, but you’ll get used to it here, and you’ll find that being the ducal magister isn’t so bad if you just give it a chance.”

  It didn’t matter if I gave it a chance, and it didn’t matter if Rowan made the ducal magister’s rooms more comfortable. I didn’t belong here. Suddenly I felt a wave of homesickness for Nevery and Benet and the cozy study at Heartsease. I curled up and put my arms around my knees.

  Rowan sighed again and rubbed her eyes. She looked tired. “At dinner we talked about the theft of the locus magicalicus stones,” she said at last.

  I was glad I’d missed that, anyway.

  “Neither one of them has turned up yet, as Keeston’s stolen stone did. As you can imagine, the magisters are in an uproar.”

  “They’re good at uproar,” I said.

  “Yes, I suppose they are.” Rowan got up from the uncomfortable chair and sat down on the window seat next to me. She looked beautiful in her green dress, with her hair braided and pinned up on top of her head. “Conn, they’re pushing me very hard to arrest you for this latest theft. Where have you been all afternoon? What magic were you doing? Why did you miss dinner?”

  I scowled at her. “Ro, I don’t need all this looking after.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, my lad,” she said. “I’m worried. There’s something strange going on. Not only the locus stone thefts. It’s a feeling, as if there’s a . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Something wrong. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense.”

  I stayed quiet. I had thieves and kidnappers to deal with, and the two-magics problem; I couldn’t do anything about this other something wrong.

  “I’m not the only one who feels it. Kerrn has the guard on high alert. She’s on edge about it.”

  If Kerrn had any more edge, she’d cut herself.

  Rowan gave a brisk nod. “With all of that, and those attackers on the loose, and the magisters insisting that you be arrested for thievery, it really is a good thing you’re living here under my protection, instead of at Heartsease. You’ll be safer as long as you stay in the Dawn Palace.”

  By safer she meant Kerrn and her guards following me around all the time. “But Ro, there’s things I have to do.”

  “You have to be more careful,” she said.

  “I am careful.”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “Conn, today you tricked your guard and went into the Twilight alone, where you apparently did a magical spell that left you smelling like smoke. You are not careful.” She folded her arms. “You are the ducal magister now. You simply must learn to act like it.”

  There she was, shoving me into the ducal magister box again. “Ro, I never agreed to that,” I reminded her.

  She stood up. “All right. Fine. Any moment now Miss Dimity is going to pop in here to remind me that I’d better go to bed because I have an early meeting in the morning. So good night, Connwaer.” She headed for the door, then paused and pulled a heavy-looking bag out of her pocket and tossed it on the table. It made a jingling sound when it landed. “Oh, and here,” she said crossly. “It’s your pay for serving as ducal magister.”

  Then she left, slamming the door behind her.

  CHAPTER

  9

  I didn’t want any pay for being the ducal magister. Still, I went over to investigate the bag. It was full of money—silver locks and even some golden sun coins. More money than I knew what to do with. I hid it away on a shelf behind some books and went to the door to have a look at the lock.

  I was just about to bring out my lockpick wires to see if I could open and close it—just to keep myself sharp—when the door was flung open, knocking me over, and Miss Dimity stepped into the room.

  I scrambled to my feet, shoving the wires back into my pocket.

  “The dragon is not here with the ducal magister,” she announced to the green-liveried servants behind her. “It is safe to enter.”

  Some of the servants brought coal and started a fire; she waved the rest to a table near the hearth. After eyeing the deep scratches on the back of the chair Pip liked to perch on, she gave me one of her scraped-on smiles.

  “Ducal Magister,” she said, with a stiff bow. “Your dinner.” She handed me a napkin and pointed at the Pip-scratched chair.

  I sat in it. My stomach rumbled.

  Servants trooped in a
nd, casting cautious-curious looks at me, laid out plates and forks, and covered dishes, enough to crowd three of the little tables.

  Miss Dimity swept the cover off the first dish. Something gray and wobbly. “Jellied eel with horseradish sauce,” she proclaimed. Another dish with a lump of bluish-white stuff in it: “Eggplant surprise!” A bowl: “Cabbage soup.” Another plate: “Piebald beans.” And last: “With candied fern-frond for dessert.” She pointed to a teapot. “Tea.” She nodded as a servant added a last plate covered with a white napkin. “And, as ordered especially for you by the duchess, biscuits.”

  She stepped back and waited as all the other servants went out; then she left, closing the door behind her with a polite click.

  I looked over the food. I’d start with the biscuits, of course, though I knew they wouldn’t be as good as Benet’s biscuits, hot out of the oven and dripping with butter and honey.

  These biscuits were a brownish-gray color and were arranged on a plate around a little pot of greasy-looking butter and a sprig of some sort of greenery. I tried one. Hard and tasting a bit like ash. Even the biscuits I baked were better than this!

  The cabbage soup sounded like the best of the rest of it, but when I tried a bite, it was cold. None of the other food was hot, either; it was all cold as cobblestones, and so was the tea. The kitchens were far away from the ducal magister’s rooms, I guessed. I dunked one of the ashy biscuits in the soup, which tasted like salted washwater, and ate a few bites, but didn’t feel like eating any more.

  In the hearth, the fire roared. The servants had lit fires in the other rooms, too, because Rowan had ordered them to make it more cozy in here, but now it was getting stuffy and hot. The bedroom was hottest of all, so I took the blankets off the bed and slept on the floor in the main room with the windows wide open.

  In the morning I woke up with the fire dead in the grate, frosty air pouring in the windows, and Pip crouched on my chest, glaring at me with its ember-red eyes.

  “Hello, you,” I said, and my voice sounded rusty.