by Beth Alvarez
Nondar sighed and shook his head. “And you,” he said as he moved toward the desk, “you and I need to speak.”
“I have nothing to say, Master Nondar.” Ran replied, avoiding the Master’s eyes. Though he was a court mage now, he was not in a position of power within the temple. As a Master of an affinity, Nondar was still his superior. The old man made him uncomfortable.
“I do not need you to say anything. I need you to listen, my lord.”
Ran lifted his head as Nondar eased himself into the chair beside the desk. The old man’s face didn’t change, just as grim and condescending as ever, but the reverent tone he’d used was one Ran hadn’t heard from him before. He knew Nondar didn’t like him, though he wasn’t sure why. Respect was the last thing he expected from the old mage.
Nondar rested one gnarled hand atop his cane and scratched his eyebrow with the other. “You must take a message to your father. I’m sure you’ve heard mention of Alira being sent to Alwhen.”
“To Alwhen?” Ran repeated, startled. “What business do mages have in the eastern capital?”
Nondar lifted a finger to his lips. “Mind your voice. It isn’t safe to ward our words with magic now. If you’ll keep it down, I’ll explain everything.”
Ran drew back from the desk and crossed his arms, waiting for the Master to go on. He hadn’t known what had compelled him to return to the temple, but as Nondar related what he knew, Ran found himself grateful he’d come.
Evening breezes swept charred leaves from branches, filling the air with ash. Vahn coughed into his sleeve with a grimace. There was likely somewhere better to sit than beneath the burned trees, but the garden was the only place where he didn’t feel like he was underfoot.
There were more soldiers than the mages knew what to do with. Most were working, but he saw some of his comrades standing beside doorways or crouching beside buildings, looking uncomfortable and awkward. Just trying to stay out of the way, he figured, like him. He didn’t like feeling useless. It gave him too much time to think, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do.
Vahn scrubbed a hand through his blond hair and waved as a friend walked by. “Hey, Jolim, are you busy?”
Jolim paused mid-stride. “Working, like you should be.”
Pushing himself from the garden bench, Vahn stretched and motioned him closer. “Can you take a break? Sitting still is driving me crazy. How about a quick sparring match?”
“I don’t know,” Jolim murmured, glancing over his shoulder.
“Just a quick one, I promise. We’re not supposed to leave temple grounds or I’d take a walk.” Vahn scanned the trees and the ground beneath them and held up a finger in gesture for Jolim to wait.
Jolim rolled his eyes, but stayed put while Vahn scouted a pair of sticks out of the ash. Their swords would have been preferable, but the Masters had ordered the soldiers to stow their equipment in the temple’s central tower.
“Catch.” Vahn tossed his friend a stick and snapped a twig off his own.
Jolim snatched the branch out of the air and heaved a sigh. “All right, as long as it’s fast.” He twirled his stick in hand and settled into a defensive stance.
Vahn darted in with a jab.
Without moving a step, Jolim swatted his stick aside and struck him in the ribs. “Dead.”
“Ow!” Scowling, Vahn rubbed his side. He shifted on his feet and adjusted his grip on his stick before moving in again.
Jolim sidestepped and plunged the end of his stick toward the side of Vahn’s head. “Dead again.” He slapped his companion’s cheek with his stick and moved back, relaxing his stance. “Come on, Vahn, I thought we were sparring. If you’re not going to fight seriously, I’m going to go back to work.”
“I am fighting seriously,” Vahn protested.
Jolim shot him a reproachful look. “You’re too distracted. Why are we really sparring?”
Shrugging, Vahn lowered his makeshift weapon to his side. “I just wanted to clear my head, that’s all.”
“Too many mage girls in it?” Jolim grinned.
Vahn glared at him, his ears burning. “It’s not like that.”
“Well then what’s it like?” Jolim pitched his stick into the charred hedges and watched ashen leaves float into the air. “Must be pretty bad if it’s got you flustered.”
“I’m not flustered,” Vahn muttered. His hand drifted to the back of his neck. “Just distracted, like you said. I...I made a friend angry. Didn’t mean to, I was just curious about something and he didn’t like it being brought up.”
Jolim dusted his hands against his pants and crossed his arms. “So it is about a girl.”
Vahn threw his hands into the air with a growl of exasperation. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Because there’s not much that gets you flustered. One thing that does is matters involving girls. So?”
Eyeing his friend gloomily, Vahn relented and released a sigh. “Okay, fine. I was asking him about a girl.”
“And?”
Vahn threw his stick aside. “And he didn’t like me asking about her.”
“Well,” Jolim said with a shrug, “maybe you can’t relate, but if there were a girl you fancied, would you like other people asking about her?”
A vision of snapping hazel eyes and neat brown curls came to mind. Vahn grimaced and shook it away.
Jolim ticked a finger at him. “And there’s your answer.”
“I don’t think that’s the same,” Vahn said. “It’s not like she knows I like her.”
“Why not?”
“It was one night. And she’s not even here, she’s off on temple business with a Master mage.” Vahn scuffed the toe of his boot against the cobblestones.
“Well, that’s your problem. Can’t help you. It sounds like you just need some time to think.” Jolim glanced over his shoulder. “But I’d better get back to work. Good luck, either way.”
Vahn hooked his thumbs in his pockets and watched as his friend vanished into the central tower. Time to think was the last thing he wanted, but he suspected Jolim was right. He scratched his neck and wandered across the courtyard at a languid pace.
He wanted to be annoyed at Ran, he realized, but that wasn’t fair. Trying to get Ran to admit his interest in Firal had little bearing on anything in the end. Vahn liked Firal well enough, but it was obvious Ran thought something of her, or he wouldn’t have let Firal into the palace in the first place. Vahn was used to being a womanizer; Ran had always been subdued around women, even going so far as avoiding them altogether. He understood why. Ran’s situation was complicated enough without adding women into the mix.
And yet Vahn couldn’t help wishing his friend would act. He wasn’t certain he understood the dynamic between Firal and Ran, his efforts to ferret out information rather fruitless, but it was clear his attempt to nudge his friend into action had not been appreciated. Vahn figured Firal would make a fine friend, but whatever ties she had to Ran were complicated. His thoughts were complicated enough without letting Ran’s problems into his head.
Again Vahn thought of Kytenia’s bright eyes and perfect curls, and his ears grew hot once more. That was something new. He was used to making girls blush, but he couldn’t recall a girl making him feel flustered before. Maybe that was part of his problem. Vahn considered that as he ran his conversation with Jolim back through his head. There had to be an easier way to get his thoughts straight.
Stopping in the doorway of a ruined office, he found himself staring at an overturned shelf of supplies. An idea stole into his mind and he crept forward, taking refuge in the abandoned office and digging through the mess until he found paper, a bottle of ink, and a pen.
After the dozenth time she tripped over her own feet in the dark, Firal regretted her decision to venture into the ruins. It had been hard enough to get out of the upper floors of the tower once the magelings were herded in for the night. It had been impossible to sneak past the soldiers in the lower floors.
>
She should have gone sooner. It had crossed her mind when she’d ventured into the courtyard, the first night after she’d returned from Ilmenhith. She’d seen him waiting. But the scent of smoke had still clung to the temple as if the fires still burned, and her feelings had been too raw. Passing on that opportunity had been a mistake, but after several days of attempting to escape, she’d finally made up an excuse about wanting to check her room for belongings. After some deliberation, the guards had let her go.
Part of her wished she had gone to the burned-out dormitory instead of the outermost rings of the ruins. She was sure the other girls would be looking for her, and she felt guilty for leaving them. Shymin and Marreli had made a point of seeking her out so they could sleep in a group, their presence a small comfort in the crowd. But Firal had put this meeting off longer than she should have, and every day she waited only made it harder to act.
With the guards roving the temple courtyard, she had not dared take a lantern or create a mage-light. Her hands roved the stone walls in hopes of finding her way. With no light, it was difficult going.
“You’re late.” Daemon’s gruff greeting took her by surprise. She spun to face him. He crouched atop the wall of the narrow corridor, his form silhouetted by the moon.
Despite her best efforts to remain calm, anger seeped into her voice. “The temple is teeming with soldiers after what happened. But you know all about that, don’t you?”
The soft violet of his eyes flickered in the dark. “You know I was nowhere near the temple when it was razed.”
“You could have been anywhere. And your men, General?” She clutched the skirt of her robe. “The temple is my entire life. Everything I know, everyone I love! If any mages had been there—”
“If any mages had been there, the mage-barrier wouldn’t have fallen,” Daemon said. “The temple was almost empty and none of you were harmed. Do you honestly think I would burden myself the way I did, taking you all the way to Ilmenhith, just to shatter your trust like that?”
“I think I was foolish to trust an Underling in the first place.” She glowered up at him. Being called a burden after the hours she’d spent training him during their travels made her seethe.
“We had a deal, mageling.” Daemon dropped into the corridor. His luminescent eyes narrowed behind his mask. “One you’ve apparently forgotten about. You’ve been back, what, a week already? And you’re only just now crawling into the ruins to—”
“The temple is destroyed!” Firal cried. Angry tears brimmed against her eyelashes and she blinked hard to clear them. “My home, my belongings, everything is gone. The past week has been nothing but efforts to clean up while the king’s soldiers are here to help, and you want to lecture me on being late to teach you to wield a power that would let you destroy even more?”
“I told you I had nothing to do with that. I wasn’t even here! You think I would have let this happen?” He thrust a clawed finger toward the sky, where the light from the Archmage’s tower threw a dim, ruddy glow against the hazy clouds.
“The mask you sent me was flames.” Her throat tightened and she blinked away tears again. “You were taunting me before it happened, and I was too blind to see it.”
“Coincidence.” His dismissive tone only fueled the anger burning in her chest.
“You’ve boasted about your rank and power among your people. You think I’d believe for a moment you didn’t know they planned to attack the temple?” She fought back a bitter laugh. “And why? What does it gain you to ruin us? What benefit is it for you to anger an entire college of mages?”
“It was about a vendetta,” Daemon said. “Not the temple.”
“So you admit it!” A deep ache swelled behind her ribs. “You did know, and you knew why. What if it wasn’t just the Archmage? What if there had been more people there? Other Masters? Other mages? What if I’d been there? What if—”
“The only person she wanted to be there was you! You really want to know why it happened? Why Lumia did it? It’s because of you!” The venom evaporated from his voice, leaving only bitterness. “And because of me.”
Firal drew back a step. The burning thoughts of her involvement—her guilt—returned. “She wanted...me?”
“Because I asked you to be here. Because I moved without her consent, getting you to teach me something she can’t. You think she wants me to be stronger than she is?” Daemon scoffed. “The moment I make the Underlings independent, that’s the moment she loses control. You think I was happy about what she did to the temple? You think I had something to do with it? I’m as angry as you are.”
Then it was her doing in more ways than one. She swallowed as his words stole the heat out of her anger. Her mistake and her selfish folly had drawn the Underling queen’s ire. All the more reason to cut ties. “It doesn’t matter if you’re angry or not. This happened because of what we’ve done, and it won’t happen again.” She steeled herself and turned on her heel.
“Where are you going?”
“I have better things to do,” she snapped.
“Like frolic with that blond-headed distraction of yours?”
Firal stopped mid-stride and spun back with her mouth agape. “What?”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, nothing. Never mind. The temple keeps you so busy, of course you can’t make good on your promises. Far too busy to flirt over lunch or sit in the gardens talking to some prick-eared whelp.”
Her amber eyes widened. “You...are you jealous?”
His breath caught and for a moment, she swore she saw him stiffen.
“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Firal said coolly. “I’d much rather spend my time with a prick-eared whelp than be out here with a monster like you.” She tossed her head and stormed down the ruined corridor.
“We had a deal!” Daemon snarled after her.
“The deal was that I would teach you more once I got home,” she called over her shoulder. “Now I practically have no home to return to.”
“Firal!”
She stomped a foot. “Our deal is off!”
“If you set one foot outside these halls, you will not be welcome here again.”
“You make it sound like I’d come back!” She laughed humorlessly as she rounded the corner and slipped out of sight.
The moment she escaped his illuminated gaze, it felt like a weight had been lifted.
22
To Rebuild
Firal rounded the doorway into a burned-out office and planted her hands on her hips. “There you are!”
Shymin squealed and thumped a hand to her chest as if to catch her heart.
Giggling, Marreli hid her smirk behind the sheaf of papers in her hand. She waved Firal into the room. “I was starting to wonder when we’d see you.”
Firal inspected their progress as she crept in. They had already cleaned a great deal, but as with the rest of the temple, it would be some time before the space was usable again. “I was starting to wonder the same. There were only three offices left to check. I should have guessed you’d be here.”
Nondar’s office was one of the most interesting, packed full of notes, scrolls, trinkets, and all manner of other things. It was also one of the offices farthest from the Archmage’s tower, meaning it still contained some usable goods. Most magelings had started their own small caches of interesting and useful objects, from partially-filled bottles of ink to odd insects trapped in pieces of amber.
“We didn’t pick it,” Shymin said. “We were assigned. I’d rather not sort through all of this and find my grades from our last test.”
Again, Marreli giggled. “You might find Firal’s. That would be worth looking at. That was the day she got in trouble for daydreaming, wasn’t it?”
Firal stifled a groan. Marreli’s earth affinity meant she rarely set foot in Master Nondar’s classrooms. Firal had long thought those blunders were outside the younger girl’s knowledge. “How did you hear about that?”
“Kytenia told us all
about it,” Marreli said.
Shymin coughed as if clearing her throat and turned her attention to the crates of supplies they’d already sealed. “Either way, there are plenty of things I’d rather be doing than cleaning out offices. But the Masters want us to have them all emptied by the end of the day.”
“Of course they do,” Firal grumbled. A stray paper caught her eye and she picked it up to peruse the childish doodles on its margins. “Brant forbid we get our bedrooms back soon.”
Marreli put aside her papers and hopped over to assist Shymin with a crate. “But once they’re done with the offices, they want to repair the classrooms. We’ll be back to our studies in no time.”
Firal laughed. “I do suppose we’ll be free of housekeeping duty once classes start again. I imagine they’ll have the king’s men finishing the job.”
“Speaking of soldiers,” Shymin said, grunting as she pushed the crate beyond the door, “where did you get off to last night? We couldn’t find you.”
“What does that have to do with soldiers?” Firal looked between the two of them and a flush crept into her cheeks. “I just needed some fresh air. I went outside to clear my head. I don’t think I can stand being stuck in that tower with so many people for much longer.”
Marreli dusted her hands together and pulled a glass paperweight from a pile of ash. A crack marred its surface, catching the light and throwing dancing rainbows against the wall and floor. She dusted off the glass. “I understand. I’d like some time alone, too.”
“We all would.” Shymin gave Firal a meaningful glance. “Though the only place left where you’d have an ounce of privacy is the ruins.”
Firal met her stare impassively. “I just went for a walk, that’s all.”
“In the ruins?” Marreli asked.
“Even after you said you thought Underlings did this?” Shymin gestured around the classroom. “What did you think you were going to earn by doing that? Answers? Apologies?”