An angry whisper ran through the crowd. Varden squeezed his eyes shut. He hung midair before a group of Myrians who had always had more fear than respect for him. They had trusted him to lead the ceremony, but Avenazar would destroy that sentiment. The wizard cackled.
“The Long Night is difficult for many of Keroth’s flock. It is filled with dangers, sometimes from within. We should be thankful the Firelord showed us the truth about this traitor. Should we learn more? Make him pay?”
“Make him pay!”
The chorus sank his heart. Unanimous decision. Varden searched for a friendly face, desperate for a little comfort. At the back of the crowd, Jilssan cast him an apologetic look before slipping away with Isra.
Another woman stepped forward as the door clicked behind them—Kira, the temple’s second-highest-ranking member. She threw him a savage grin. “In this darkest of nights, we must stand strong and united. We cannot let past sentiment stay our hands. The Firelord wouldn’t. The High Priest has deceived us. Let him pay.”
She lifted her hand, and everyone’s torches lit again, shining brighter than ever. The gathering cheered. With just a few words, she had cast Varden as the outsider to defend themselves against. Cries of “burn him” and “traitorous scum” rang through the hall, each a stab to his stomach, cutting deeper than Avenazar’s magic ever could.
“You heard them,” Avenazar whispered as he dropped Varden to the ground. “Let’s see what else is in your beautiful mind.”
A scream escaped his lips as Avenazar trampled back into his head, harder than before. The pain spiralled out, tendrils of shock running down his spine. The world blurred once again, but the cheers of his fellow priests echoed in Varden’s mind, clear and loud, as Avenazar ripped through the recent memories of his time with Branwen.
Nevian didn’t dare escape the enclave through the oak tree tonight. He hated sneaking out so soon after being spotted, but what choice did he have? He had a rendezvous with Brune, and they had so little time together, he had to see her. Plus, skipping out would anger her, and he couldn’t risk it. He approached the eastern gates gingerly, keeping an eye on the pathway above. This place brought back memories of the one time, early in his nightly outings, when he’d almost been caught. If the guard’s torch hadn’t flickered out, causing him to swear, Nevian wouldn’t have made it out. The warning had sufficed for him to dive under the cover of shadows and escape unseen, however. He had never repeated his mistake.
At least tonight was the winter solstice, and a large part of the enclave would be praying in Keroth’s temple or in their personal chambers. Nevian cast another glance around the empty courtyard, then hurried through the gate. He had have to stop sneaking out for the next few months. He had to let them think blaming Varden had solved the problem or they’d realize Isra’s mistake and start looking for the real culprit. Nevian would need to lay low. It unnerved him to stall his magical progress this way, but ‘better safe than sorry’ was a saying he very much agreed with.
One last night out, then he would bide his time again. He hurried down the cobblestone road, his mind turning back to his protection spell. He had almost figured it all out, and he expected to spend the night practising with Brune. If he could nail this one, he might be capable of mastering the others on his own.
He should look into invisibility, too. The area between the enclave and Isandor proper had a few choice pieces of cover—a large rock, a clump of gnarly trees, and the rather tall grass on the left—but otherwise it contained little to hide behind. It wasn’t a long stretch of road to the city, perhaps half an hour’s walk, but late at night, anyone would appear suspicious. He kept to the side as much as he could, ready to duck away should someone else come along.
If they spotted him tonight, while Varden led the Long Night Watch’s ceremony in front of fifty acolytes, they would know to search for another traitor. Letting him take the fall shot bitter pain through Nevian’s stomach, but he saw no way out. Surviving Avenazar meant allowing others to sink. Still … he let his mind wander, seeking a solution. What if he convinced Isra not to tell yet? He could argue he’d thought about her words some more, and she was right, he wanted to bring it to Avenazar himself. Only if he witnessed it first, however. She owed that much to him, didn’t she? Then they would waste entire nights waiting for this nonexistent traitor to sneak out again. When no one showed up, he could tell Isra that if she’d wanted to spend time with him, she should have invented a better lie.
Nevian couldn’t help but smile. She might even be angry enough to leave him alone for a while. This plan’s only flaw was that he would need to endure all those nights with an annoying brat rather than studying, but Varden deserved the sacrifice. Nevian might even manage to make up for the lost time by borrowing his magical bandanna again.
As Nevian finessed his future talking points for Isra, a rock rattled on the road behind him. He spun around, eyes wide, heart threatening to burst through his chest. No one. He scolded himself for letting his mind wander and scanned his surroundings. Nothing moved but a few dead leaves in the wind. Perhaps it had been a small animal. He might even have imagined the sound. He didn’t think so, though. Every other step Nevian glanced back, certain he would notice someone, certain he would be attacked. Yet he reached Isandor without anything happening.
Nevian wiped his palms on his cloak, which didn’t quite hide his apprentice robes. He wished he had something subtler to wear. Perhaps that should be his first order of business once he started returning to Isandor in a few months. For now, though, he had to remain calm. Take normal steps. Not look suspicious.
Despite his best efforts, anxiety sped his heartbeat and lengthened his strides. He hurried through the Lower City, unable to slow himself. Something was coming. He could tell in the shiver creeping up his arms, the lurching of his stomach, and the lump tightening his throat. Nothing rational about the way his mind spun out of control, dragging his body along with it, but he couldn’t help it. The lack of logical reason was the worst part to him. He could not justify his urge to get to Brune before it was too late, before—
Master Avenazar materialized in front of him.
It was too late.
They stood on top of one of Isandor’s many bridges, halfway to the Middle City and Brune’s tea shop. A cold wind buffeted Nevian’s cloak. Avenazar hadn’t bothered with extra layers—he intended to make this short. Nevian’s mouth went dry. There would be no Lord Dathirii to save him this time.
“Good evening, Apprentice,” Master Avenazar said. “I don’t recall sending you out for a bout of nightly shopping.”
Words froze in Nevian’s throat before they could escape.
“I’m disappointed, Nevian. I used to think I could break this streak of disobedience in you—that given time and patience, you would learn to do as told, without questions. Yet what do I discover tonight? You are too much like your old master. She lied to me, too. Humiliated me. What am I going to do with you now?” After a noncommittal shrug, Avenazar’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “One meaningless escapade, I could forgive. More than a year of betrayal, however …”
Dead. He was dead. Nevian stumbled back. How had Avenazar discovered? How could he know how long Nevian had been with Brune? Did he know about her? Had she told him? Did it even matter? He had seen what Avenazar was capable of—had lived through it. His hands shaking, his voice a desperate whisper, he launched into the only protection spell in his repertoire. Kind of. If one counted his scribbled notes and untested beliefs of how to cast it. But Nevian had to try something at least, even if he didn’t stand a chance. Terrified obedience wouldn’t cut it, not anymore. A shimmering barrier appeared around the apprentice as he finished. What little satisfaction Nevian drew at his success vanished when Avenazar cackled.
“Is that a shield against elements? Fantastic! Let’s test how good you became while I wasn’t looking, shall we?” Avenazar tilted his head to the side and clapped his hands. “I say we start with fire! It’
ll be an homage to your Isbari friend. Watch out, though. If your spell fails, he won’t be there to douse the flames for you.”
His Isbari friend? Avenazar had to mean Varden. Why was he talking about Varden?
Nevian had no time to think further about it. Great flames burst from Avenazar’s hands and crashed into his meagre protection. His spell deflected the initial blast of heat, but the shield cracked, and fire leaked inside. Sweat rolled down Nevian’s forehead as he tried to hold. He poured all his willpower into that simple spell, praying for it to survive Avenazar’s assault. It felt like a hammer pounding on his thin defence. It burst in a handful of seconds, and fire crashed through.
Flames seared Nevian’s flesh and skin as he stumbled backward and fell with a scream. He raised his arm to protect himself, curling up. Avenazar dropped the magic and strode closer. Laughing. Of course he was laughing. Exactly like he had three years ago. Nevian crawled away, still on his back, tears rolling down his cheeks. He wanted to hide, to disappear and be safe, just this once. He whispered the start of another spell, but Avenazar stomped on his ankle, and Nevian’s casting morphed into a cry of pain.
“Poor Nevian. Did you think you could resist?”
Avenazar snatched his forearm, and Nevian’s nausea hit before the first wave of agonizing energy. His muscles stiffened as the pain reached his mind like a powerful hand crushing everything inside his skull. Nevian almost welcomed the familiar sensation. He knew how to deal with it, could endure the mental assault more easily than the burns. No matter how long it would take to get back on his feet from it, he would. All he needed was to survive.
The painful flare shifted as Master Avenazar’s presence slipped into Nevian’s mind. Raw pain became a throbbing crush, and Avenazar withdrew the last memory of studying. He forced Nevian to remember his evening at the library, dissecting the different types of protection spells, classifying them, searching for common ground. The longer Nevian watched himself, the fuzzier the details became. He sat there by the flickering candlelight, writing a flurry of notes, but what had sparked such enthusiasm? What had he understood? What was he even studying at the time? Nevian recognized Avenazar’s touch with growing panic. He was washing the knowledge away, leaving nothing but the hours of work. The memory faded, and Avenazar called forth another one.
“N-no!” Tears ran down Nevian’s cheeks as Avenazar browsed through his mind. He felt their distant coolness, a stark contrast against his burning skin. “Please.”
Master Avenazar kept going. He found every sleepless night, every moment snatched away to learn new spells or acquire new tomes, and he wiped the result clean. All the risks taken to become a competent wizard, all the information given by Brune … Hours upon hours of back-breaking work, erased one by one as Master Avenazar careened through his memories and destroyed them.
You will die without the spells you worked so hard for, Avenazar warned. When I’m done, the most basic knowledge of magic will have been wiped from your mind.
Nevian squeezed his eyes shut and set his forehead against the bridge’s cool stone. He didn’t want to die, not like this. Working day and night was the story of his life. Even in his early years in the large classes, when the other kids created small sparks and read scrolls while he couldn’t name basic runes, he had persevered. He had found the time and discipline to catch up to what their rich or talented parents had taught them and earned himself a spot with one of the capital’s best wizards. And when Avenazar had exterminated Sauria and forced him to be his servant? He had created time in the dead of night for his studies. Nevian didn’t give up. He didn’t even slow down. He found a way to make it work, because he knew he could become an incredible wizard if life gave him the chance.
It wasn’t going to, though. He would die with nothing but the memory of his sacrifices and the certainty they’d been useless.
The grip on Nevian’s mind vanished, and his eyes flew open as Avenazar stumbled back, a slim dagger embedded in his shoulder. A single dagger—nothing that would stop him for long. The sudden release in his mind created a vacuum, and some of his memories flooded back in. He groaned against the blossoming pain. Avenazar gave the surroundings a quick scan, then advanced on him.
“Seems you’ll have to die now after all,” he said.
No. He still remembered tiny glimpses of knowledge. He had to preserve them. Nevian took the only escape offered to him. He brought his legs back underneath him and swung his weight to the side, rolling off the bridge’s edge. Throwing himself into a lethal fall. Perhaps he would survive. He hadn’t climbed so high in the city yet. Wind whistled in his ears, half-covering Avenazar’s cry of frustration. The ground of the Lower City rushed to meet him, faster than he had expected or wanted it to. It would hurt. Snap his spine. But that was okay.
Even if he died, he would at least remember something of his magic. He would remember himself.
Nevian hit a bridge with a bone-crushing crack.
✵
Many had told Branwen that her curiosity would get her killed—a silly statement in her opinion. As House Dathirii’s spy and main source of information, curiosity was a job requirement. Her work was by no means safe, so they had a point: it might get her killed. She wouldn’t stop, though, so they might as well cease warning her.
She wasn’t sure tracking Nevian could be called work, however. It could lead her to useful information, true, but she mostly wanted to know what made the teenager tick. His master was a sadistic maniac, yet this kid sneaked out of the enclave on a regular basis. What could be worth the impending torture? Nevian endured Master Avenazar’s wrath more often than not, and Branwen couldn’t think of a good reason to risk it, but she’d learned long ago that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. She would find her mark’s motivation if she followed him.
Not a hard feat. Branwen might be rusty from a week of nervous pacing in Varden’s warm quarters, but Nevian was so nervous and distracted even a beginner could’ve made it. He kept glancing back, so Branwen made sure to stay ahead, half-hidden in Varden’s overcoat. In Isandor proper, she used the crisscross of bridges and stairs to track his movements without ever following from behind. The city was her playground. One would need to know it by heart to ditch her, and Nevian certainly didn’t. The renewed freedom heartened Branwen, slowly unwinding the knots from these stressful last days. She could join the fight again—investigate Nevian, then bring back all the information she’d gathered to the family. She couldn’t wait to climb the Dathirii Tower again and burst into Uncle Diel’s quarters. If he had slept at all since her disappearance, she would be surprised. The sooner she returned, the better for everyone.
As Branwen imagined the tight hugs and apologies, Master Avenazar teleported to the middle of Nevian’s path.
She flung herself out of sight, flat against the bridge. Her road crossed Nevian’s, about fifteen feet above and at a sixty-degree angle, and she had an excellent view of the scene below. Good enough to twist her insides as the small wizard advanced on Nevian, mocking his apprentice’s defence, preparing a spell of his own. Branwen’s heart hammered against her chest as she leaned forward. Then Avenazar took a verbal stab at Varden—an Isbari friend with fire, who else?—and it climbed into her throat, beating faster. Her mouth went dry, and she squeezed her eyes shut as flames erupted from Avenazar’s hands. Had he found out about Varden? Was that how he had known to look for Nevian? It made sense, but it implied consequences Branwen refused to accept. Nevian’s screams made her imagine Varden’s. Was he even alive? Did Avenazar know about her? Branwen’s head spun as she wondered if he would come after her next. She fought the rising nausea and concentrated.
Avenazar had his fingers around Nevian’s forearm, claws digging into the thin flesh. She couldn’t tell what he was doing, only that the young man whimpered and struggled against the hold. Branwen’s hand went to her knife. Her tiny weapon, brought with her when she’d followed Varden. It was all she’d had then, and all she had now.
A
knife was more than enough when you knew what to do with it.
With an experienced flick of her wrist, she flung the blade, then threw herself backward. She didn’t wait for the satisfying thump of knife in flesh and dashed for the nearest tower, crouching to be invisible from the bridge down there. Her boots gave a faint echo as they hit the stone, but Nevian’s huffed breathing would cover it. She hoped. Either way, the angle of her throw revealed her general position. She didn’t have long to escape.
She ran for the Little Square, a park close by, knowing she’d never reach the Dathirii Tower before Avenazar came after her. Even at this hour and in the cold, the small plaza would have a fair crowd. She could hide in it—had to hide in it. Branwen rounded a corner, scrambled up a flight of stairs. As long as Avenazar didn’t know where she was, he couldn’t materialize in her face.
Instead, he rose behind her, floating up with an expression stuck between boredom and pain. The dagger was buried in his shoulder to the hilt, but in the dim light, Branwen saw no blood. The blade kept it in, and his robes were already red. Was he even hurt? Perhaps Master Avenazar endured pain as well as he could dish it out. Her little dagger throw no longer seemed that good an idea.
“Would you look at that?” Avenazar said. “Both of Varden’s protégés at once? It must be my lucky night!”
He definitely knew about the last week, then. Her heart sank, but Branwen dashed off. No time to dwell on it, not now. She had to get away first. Just survive the night. She climbed the stairs two by two, her hand trailing along the tower wall on her right as she went around. She tried to keep her wits about her, to control her breathing to avoid collapsing into a wheezing pile halfway through her escape. Inhale for three seconds, exhale for seven. And think of a way to buy enough time to slip out of sight. She reached a platform from which two arching bridges spanned and opted for the shortest of the two. The Little Square was right around the next tower.
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