by Sever Bronny
Sir Pawsalot hopped up on the bed, kneaded the blanket with his paws, made a slow circle, and settled into a ball of fur.
Augum sat there for some time, watching Leera sleep. Her presence, so peaceful and serene, so soft and gentle, chipped away at the mountain of anger and doubt and fear and self-loathing until it was nothing more than a small hill.
She was right there, yet he missed her so much; he missed spending time with her. But he did not want to wake her either. What he wanted for her was safety and comfort and happiness and freedom from worry. He wanted to grow old with her. He could not, and would not, die in a duel.
Sitting beside her in the dead of night, he realized with certainty that one day … one day he would marry her.
But first he needed to survive. And surviving the duel with Katrina meant killing her, and that did not feel like an option. So what was there to be done about it?
“You watch over my girl,” Augum whispered, stroking Sir Pawsalot’s curled back. Then he leaned down and kissed Leera on the forehead, adjusted the cover and blanket to keep her snug, and returned to bed.
Marvellous
“So that’s everything we’ve learned so far,” Bridget said. “And it’s basically useless stuff. Need a magistrate to find any hidden loopholes to get you out of the duel, but it would cost a lot of money and time we do not have, and it would most likely turn up nothing as it’s quite clear that the king’s word in these matters is law.” She shoved a dusty book away from her while puffing up her cheeks and releasing a long breath.
The trio was in the library awaiting lunch. Augum had caught up with the girls after sleeping in until noon, a rare treat Jez had gifted him for his study day as an act of mercy, one that had allowed him to regain some perspective, not to mention catch up on some badly needed rest. As for the girls, they had spent their morning training, researching and doing homework.
“So … you’ve been gossiping the entire time, then?” Augum said with a wry grin.
Bridget’s face contorted with offense, only to relax. “You’re jesting.”
Leera raised a finger. “Did Bridget just pick up on a joke?”
“I think that might have indeed happened,” Augum said.
Leera raised her arms skyward. “May the gods take note of this day. Oh, ye of honorable nature, let us now rejoice in—”
Bridget smacked her shoulder. “Hush, you.”
Leera let her arms fall to her lap. Then she drummed the table. “Kind of exciting to be hunted again, eh?”
Bridget shot her a hard look. “Augum almost died yesterday. And tomorrow he has to duel to the death.”
Leera deflated, and her voice softened. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Bridget’s expression did not change.
“Oh, come on,” Leera said. “We’ll get to the bottom of those assassins. What? We will! And I don’t really believe Augum and Katrina will duel. She’s a classmate … and kind of vapid in her own way.”
“You underestimate her, Lee,” Bridget said. “She’s callous and dangerous. The law is quite clear here. There’s no way out, short of running away and becoming outlaws or having the king pardon or commute the duel indefinitely.”
“Meh. I think it’s all for show, I’m telling you. She has to know Augum would destroy her, and there’s way too much self-preservation in her to take that kind of a risk.”
“Open your eyes, Lee. She’s certain Augum will sacrifice his life for us! That’s the unspoken threat here from King Rupert. You kill my niece, you lose everything.”
“Yeah, but we won’t let it get that far. That’s my point—”
“Is that your point? Because—”
“Hey, easy now, you two,” Augum said.
The girls blew hair out of their faces, crossed their arms and leaned back in their chairs, not looking at each other.
Augum leaned back as well, rubbing his elbow. The library was musty, the walls filled with ornate bookcases. It contained a scant collection, however, for the few tomes that lined the shelves had been purchased or given as gifts or arcanely repaired. Like the rest of the castle, the library used to be a total wreck, with broken furniture, loose parchments and burnt books strewn about. The trio had practiced their Repair spell here, laboriously fixing the detritus until it was all cleaned up. Much of the castle had been arcanely repaired by them, something they took quiet pride in.
“I’m wondering if we can use the fact that she’s a Von Edgeworth to our advantage,” Augum said. “Maybe tell the public she has a grudge.”
Bridget absently played with a lock of her cinnamon hair. “Maybe …”
Silence passed between them.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry about losing us the royal titles.”
Leera snorted. “You were struggling with being a prince.” She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s a blessing in disguise. Now people don’t have to bow to us or put us on pedestals.” Then she thought about it and crinkled her nose, perhaps realizing they were still Heroes of the Kingdom, and to the people, that title meant a lot more.
“Other than the income that comes with it, I don’t mind that we lost those titles,” Bridget said. “Truly. What worries me is this coming duel, and the Southguards’ aim to capture the castle. I’m out of ideas at the moment, but we can keep working on the problem until we have something solid. In the meantime, have a gander.” She reached into her satchel and withdrew an Academy Herald. She unfurled the parchment and slid it before Augum.
Augum read the headline aloud. “ ‘A Fall from Grace, A Duel to the Death.’ ” He glanced up. “Cry?”
Leera gave a sarcastic bob of her head. “How’d you guess?”
“Glad you still have a sense of humor about it all,” Bridget muttered in a tone that indicated the opposite would be prudent.
Augum continued with the article. “ ‘The famous trio, who had been granted royal titles and a generous pension by the kingdom, have been seeing their starlight rapidly dim of late. In addition to Lord Augum Stone and Lady Leera Jones being poor students—’ ”
Augum winced. “Ouch.”
“It gets better,” Leera muttered. “Read on.”
“ ‘—the trio have let their castle run up a severe debt, have chipped away at the famous Arinthian honor that is Lord Stone’s lineage, and have fallen under a cloud of suspicion for possibly possessing the scions, though final proof has yet to be found.’ ”
“No thanks to you, you jackal!” Leera shouted at the parchment.
Bridget pursed her lips at her.
Augum read on. “ ‘They have also insulted the entire nobility by refusing to back a single family for the throne—’ ” Augum scowled. “That’s not fair. That was all me doing the insulting.” He gave an irritated sigh and continued. “ ‘—forcing a late vote by the council. But it is now known how little respect the trio has for noble blood. Lady Leera Jones was publicly heard uttering a curse under her breath, one aimed at the nobility during the occasion of the trio’s now famous Occupation Ceremony.’ ” Augum glanced up, but Leera raised a stern finger.
“Not a word, mister.”
Augum returned to the parchment. “ ‘They declared that they would revive the Arcaner ethos and become Arcaners. When asked whether that meant they would actively ferret out corruption in the kingdom, Lord Augum Stone replied, “I just want to serve my kingdom in the best way I know how.” ’ ” Augum nodded to himself, muttering, “Damn right.”
Leera placed her chin on her folded hands. “Jez is right. You are getting cranky.”
Augum wagged his head playfully before continuing. “ ‘It is well known that one of the reasons the Arcaners died out was because their quest to root out corruption ran contrary to any kingdom’s judiciary. Some even likened Arcaners to outlaws and bandits. But there is no denying the trio’s prowess on the field of battle. Lord Stone has already demonstrated a talent for war, more recently by soundly defeating Prince Eric Southguard in a mock battle at the academy.’
”
Augum looked up again. “Interesting. Cry isn’t sucking up to the Southguards here as much.” He read on. “ ‘The reader may be wondering why this author does not use the titles of prince and princess for the kingdom heroes. The answer comes as scandalous news, for Lord Stone and Lady Bridget Burns committed a Black Slight against the king on his coronation day by refusing a royal coronation request—that Lady Bridget marry Prince Eric Southguard.’ ”
“Technically, it was your Black Slight,” Leera interrupted. “But when have facts ever gotten in the way of a good sleaze piece?”
Augum grunted in agreement before continuing on. “ ‘This has resulted in two consequences. The first is a revocation of their royal titles and pension, though the king has shown mercy in allowing them to keep the lesser titles of lord and lady. He has also generously allowed them to retain the famous Castle Arinthian … at least for the time being.’ ”
Augum exchanged a brief, meaningful look with the girls. “ ‘The second consequence is a duel to the death between Lord Augum Stone and Lady Katrina Southguard, an exemplary academy student and niece to the king, who offered to defend her uncle’s honor. The duel is set to take place on the morrow after this publishing, in the fabled Black Arena. The event is expected to draw a massive crowd. Augum Arinthian Stone, Hero of the Resistance, son of a mass-murdering necromancer despot, great-grandson of the virtuous Anna Atticus Stone, will square off against the niece of the king and fellow classmate. One can only get the sense that, whatever happens, history will mark the day. Cry Slimwealth, Academy Herald.’ ”
“Was it me, or was Cry a tiny bit sympathetic at the end there?” Augum asked.
“You call that sympathetic?” Leera said. “Where’s the part about him apologizing for falsely accusing us of possessing the scions or the part about the king having no right to demand that Bridget take Eric’s hand in marriage? Why isn’t there an outcry about The Path suddenly being on the high council? Hmm? Spare me. He’s as much of a fiend as he ever was.”
“He was a smidge fairer this time around,” Bridget said. “In relation to his usual hit pieces, that is.”
“Bah.”
Augum flipped the parchment over and skimmed the headlines, which dealt with the coronation, of course, and today’s royal street parade. “Leera’s right. Nothing on The Path. Odd.” He flicked the parchment onto the table and telekinetically raised a nearby chair while he mulled over the situation.
Bridget rolled up the herald parchment. “Jez and the others had a morning meeting before she went off to visit the arcaneologist to follow up on those assassin clues.”
“Did they come up with anything interesting at the meeting?” he asked.
“Only a way for the castle to make money.”
“Oh?”
“It’s quite clever, actually,” Bridget went on. “You know how the Trainer beneath the castle runs all the way to the 20th degree?”
Augum nodded. “Yeah …”
“Well, it’s the only one in all of Sithesia still left intact that goes that high. The rest of them, even the one in the Library of Antioc—”
“—only run up to the 10th,” Augum finished for her, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. “Wait, she isn’t seriously suggesting we … sell access to the Trainers … is she?”
The girls were smiling.
“It’s perfectly legal,” Bridget said.
“And crazy lucrative,” Leera added. “We can charge whatever we want. A hundred gold per degree. A thousand. Whatever. Why? Because they’ll pay.”
Bridget nodded. “Jez and Mr. Haroun looked into it. There are precedents. The one stipulation is that they have to make sure the high council is aware of the enterprise and the appropriate taxes are paid, but all that should be easy. As long as you’re still technically the lord …”
“I can allow it,” he finished. And advertising it would be simple; he could use the heralds to get the word out. It would be huge news for warlocks all over Sithesia, from all seven kingdoms, to be able to use Trainers past the 10th degree. But it would also be dangerous, unless …” A smile spread across his face. “That gives me a marvelous idea.”
Leera’s sharp brows trawled up her forehead. “Marvelous? Since when do you use such flowery language?”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense. Tell us,” Bridget pressed.
Augum leaned forward and, with a cheeky grin, said, “When we advertise that warlocks can use the Trainers for a fee … we can also invite them to try to break into the vault.”
Leera’s mouth remained open. “Oh … my …” Then she reared back and punched his shoulder not once, but three times, each hit emphasizing a word. “You … genius … boy!”
Bridget leaned back in her chair, one arm folded across her stomach, the other elbow resting on top. She studied Augum as she tapped a thumb against her chin. “That is remarkably brilliant. It will prove we don’t have the scions … because people won’t be able to get in. No matter how high their degree, due to the laws of sunken permanence, they’ll see for themselves they can’t undo the sealing enchantments. It’s self-proving.”
“And it’ll solve our debt problem too,” Augum said.
“And then some,” Leera added with a snort. “We’ll be richer than the Black Bank.” She sat back, shaking her head at him while grinning. “Needed some good news for a change. Good work, you!”
Bridget nodded along. “Agreed. Excellent thinking, Aug.”
They thought about it in smiling silence until the servants at last arrived carrying a steaming lunch. The trio dug in heartily.
Just as they finished, Charles rushed into the room, white as a sheet.
“Your Highnesses—err, my lord and ladies. You must come urgently. It’s Disciple Gritchards …”
A Fish to Catch
The trio sprinted to the village, snow pluming around their robes as they ran. A crowd had formed in the square, and they listened to Disciple Gritchards and his henchmen haranguing someone on stage. Shop signs creaked in the wind as dark clouds roiled overhead, serving as an ominous backdrop for a coming blizzard.
“There the devil worshippers are!” Gritchards spat, pointing at the trio.
The crowd, composed mostly of out-of-towners, surged forward and barraged them with questions.
“Can you bring back the dead like your father did?”
“Why won’t you let people in the vault? What are you hiding?”
“How can you stand by and watch people suffer while you get to live forever?”
“Can you heal my ailing daughter? She is most unwell. Please, we need a miracle only you can provide.”
“You’re going straight to hell. Yes, you are. Eternal damnation for your witching ways!”
Augum, Bridget and Leera advanced through them, calling out, “Let us pass! Let us pass, please!” Augum held his gaze on Gritchards as the man gripped a coughing, writhing girl with long blonde hair whom Augum instantly recognized.
“Gods, he’s got Haylee,” Leera said as they pushed through the crowd.
Haylee Tennyson was a friend who used to live in the castle with them, but she now lived on her own in a house the trio had gifted her.
And at the moment she was too weak to fight off her captors, for she was suffering from a heavy fever.
Augum touched his throat as he jumped onto the stage. “Amplifico.” Then he roared, “You will let go of her. Now.”
Disciple Gritchards, dressed in his flowing white robe, turned his shaved head to the crowd. He held Haylee by the neck with one hand, the other on his heart. “Warlocks are nothing more than devil-worshipping witches, so do the Unnameables inform me! And this here is a female warlock to boot! Are we not tired of them raising the dead, defacing our souls and opposing the will of the gods? I say we hang them all!”
There were a few sporadic shouts of assent, but mostly confused murmurs. The crowd didn’t quite know what to make of such a violent charge. They were here for healing miracl
es and to demand the trio share the scions.
But before the man could continue, Leera shot her arm out and rapidly traced his frame with an extended finger. “Paralizo carcusa cemente!”
Gritchards froze with his mouth open. One of his white-robed henchmen rushed Leera, shouting, “Devil witch! The gods will protect me with the armor of The Path!”
Bridget twisted her hand in his direction. “Flustrato!”
The man tripped and slammed face first into the planks, speaking utter gibberish.
“She cursed him!” someone called. “Done turned him into a demon!”
Another white-robed henchman, a huge brute with tiny eyes and a cleft chin, drew a cudgel. Ridiculously, he said the same prayer. “The gods will protect me with the armor of The Path!” He raised the club as he charged at Leera, who had to be half his height and a fraction of his weight.
But she did not hesitate in aiming a fierce twisting and gripping gesture at his head. “Dreadus terrablus!”
The man began screaming. The cudgel fell from his hands as he turned in a slow circle, eyes wide in horror. He kept screaming in short, rapid bursts, much like a child experiencing a terrible nightmare. “AAAA! AAAA! AAAA—!” The screaming was so unnerving that the audience retreated, and some even joined in the screaming as if it were an audible plague.
The sight of a young woman half his size reducing such a mammoth to nothing more than a horror-struck child was enough for the rest of the henchmen to drop to their knees and gesture frantically at the sky while rapidly mumbling prayers.
Leera reversed the twisting gesture. “Dreadus null.”
The huge man fell to his knees with a crash, weeping, one hand holding his chin and the other his head.
“Oh gods … oh gods …” he repeated between hefty sobs.