GRAVE SITUATION

LOUISA MASTERS

Grave Situation

Copyright © 2024 by Louisa Masters

Cover: Booksmith Design

Editor: Hot Tree Editing

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

GRAVE SITUATION

He’s not the hero they deserve, but he’s the hero they’ve got.

No, seriously. Talon wants to know what he did to deserve this. What would make a sentient rock decide that he of all people should be the one to save the world from zombies? That’s right. Zombies. Because apparently a higher power decided that teaching magic to teenagers wasn’t enough of a challenge.

With a ridiculously attractive healer (who may or may not hate him), his sister (who he miiiight have a forbidden telepathic link with), a sentient god-like rock (that can only communicate via yes/no vibes), a disdainful dragon, and a rude matchmaking horse by his side, he just might be able to save the world.

Or die trying.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

As I look at the rows of faces seated before me, some excited, some angry, some blank, and some… well, let’s just say that “blank” would be a compliment, I wonder how the fucking fuck my life came to this.

Oh yeah, it’s because I have a smart mouth and don’t know when to shut up.

Sighing, I perch on the edge of the desk at the front of the room. The wide banks of windows letting in a flood of morning sunshine are the only good thing in my life right now. “Welcome, all, to the Academy of Mages. You’re here because, for reasons nobody has ever been able to determine, you were born with a Talent, and it happens to be magic.” My gaze skims the room again, and not for the first time since I got stuck teaching this class, I wonder if the gods’ idea of humor is allocating magical power to random people on a whim. “My name is Talon Silverbright, and I’ll be your professor for Introduction to Magic.” I pause. I’ve been teaching for five years, and this is inevitably when⁠—

In the third row, a young man scoffs. If I remember the student profiles right—and I always do—he’s the third son of a wealthy merchant with the reputation of being a bully. Oh, goody. “You? A professor? You’re barely older than we are. Is this a joke? Who are you really, another student?”

I smile at him. I’ve practiced it in the mirror, so I know it’s not a nice one. “I’m a level-2 mage, little boy. If you like, I can dangle you above the chasm outside to prove it. It’s a lovely fifty-foot drop to the bottom… but I wouldn’t drop you. Would you prefer me to hold you by the ankle or the neck? I’m told the ankle makes all the blood rush to your head and feels quite uncomfortable, but with the neck, your breathing is cut off, so…” I shrug as though the decision is equally weighted. “Your choice.”

For maybe the first time in his life, he seems uncertain. His father’s position probably shielded him from threats, but I don’t believe in babying students. Becoming a mage is hard. It takes dedication and focus and a complete acknowledgment of your teacher’s authority. If I give an instruction that’s disobeyed at a crucial moment, the student could literally die. I’m sure they regret their disobedience then, but they wouldn’t be around to ask. I pride myself on being such an ass to my students that I’ve never lost one.

While Mr. Baby Merchant tries to decide if he believes me or not, a girl in the front row half-raises a hand. “If you’re a mage, why aren’t you wearing robes?”

“Because they’re hot and bloody uncomfortable,” I retort. “All that fabric flapping around just gets in the way. It’s also highly flammable, and you first years have a disturbing habit of accidentally starting fires. I’d rather not be kindling just to satisfy your sense of the appropriate.”

She nods slowly, disappointment on her face. She’s from a backwater farming region, and I’m pretty sure I just shattered whatever fairy-tale idea she had of mages. Just as well. If she thinks I’m a let-down, just wait until she meets Master Freir. He might wear robes, but they’re the same ones he received when he graduated fifty or so years ago, and we’re all pretty sure they haven’t been washed since then.

“Okay then. Since that’s settled, let’s move on. In my experience, there are three kinds of student in this classroom right now. Some of you don’t want to be here. Don’t worry, I understand. I don’t want to be here either.”

“Then why are you?” Mr. Baby Merchant snipes, finally recovered from his fear of me actually being able to dangle him over the chasm. I give him a look that promises I can absolutely, definitely follow through on that particular threat, and he shrinks back slightly.

“Because when I was a student, I pissed off a lot of people. All of them being wiser than me, they bided their time until I graduated and then got their revenge by sticking me with teaching this class. It’s the one nobody wants, by the way. Introducing you to magic is tiresome, frustrating, and occasionally dangerous.” I smile at him again. “I’m still not as wise as my old professors and tend to take my revenge at the earliest opportunity.”

His face goes sheet white, but then his mouth twists in a sneer. Yep. He’s going to do it.

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You’re probably just a messenger from our real professor. Tell us where he is, right now!”

I reach out with my magic and open the big window at the back of the room. As the breeze gusts in and half the students turn to see where it’s coming from, I seize hold of Mr. Baby Merchant and levitate him out of his chair.

His scream gets the attention of every eye in the room, and they watch in shock and horror as he floats toward the window… and through it, despite his desperate attempt to grab hold of the frame.

As my magic carries him farther from the safety of the academy and out over the middle of the chasm, I stroll to the back of the classroom and lean out the window. “Neck or ankle?” I call, as casually as if I’m asking whether he likes milk with his tea.

He says something that’s so creatively filthy, I’m impressed. Nevertheless, I tsk. “Choose, or I’ll just drop you.” I loosen my hold on his waist a little. He doesn’t have to know there’s a pillow of air ten feet below him, just in case.

His eyes widen in terror. “Ankle! Ankle!”

Obligingly, I flip him upside down and dangle him from his ankle. “Do you believe I’m your professor now?”

His nod is frantic. “Yes! Yes, Professor! I’m sorry.”

I flip him upright again and float him back toward the window. “No need to be sorry, friend. Questioning things is a sign of intelligence.” As he reenters the room, I close the window and then set him gently in his chair. “Just be prepared for the fact that sometimes, the consequences of asking questions can be different from what you expected. The trick is to ask the right questions.”

I stroll back to the front of the room as he sags in his seat. Every other gaze follows my steps, and petty satisfaction fills me. I feel a tug at the corner of my mind that’s linked to my twin sister.

“Not now. I’m in the middle of intimidating the new first years,” I tell her, and hear the mental echo of her laughter.

“I wondered why you were so happy. You can tell me all about it later.”

I let go of her mind—I’m the telepath, not her—and give the class my full attention again.

“Where was I? Oh, yes. Some of you don’t want to be here, but since you have an ability that, untrained, can kill you, all your loved ones, and potentially a whole lot of other people, the law requires you to attend the academy. If that’s you, you probably already know that once you pass your first-year exams, your legal obligation will be met and you’ll be considered to have enough control of your powers to rejoin the general population, should you choose to do so.”

A few faces around the room relax. Not everyone wants to be a mage. Some of my peers are irritated by those people. They feel that anyone who’s been “blessed” with magic should be required to commit to life as a mage. Me, not so much. I’d rather be surrounded by colleagues who actually want to be here than those who are forced to be. My uncle is one of those people, and trust me, nobody wants him to have detailed knowledge of magic. It’s bad enough he knows the little he was taught in his first year.

“Some of you,” I continue, “are excited to be here. You were thrilled when your tests showed you have an aptitude for magic, and you can’t wait to throw yourself into your studies. I can’t wait to see how many of you still feel that way at the end of the year.” That was a little mean, even for me. The truth is, most of the students who feel genuine determination right now will make it through to graduation. Their ideals and preconceptions will change, but a lot of them probably knew there was something different about themselves even before they took their tests. I did. I’ve known since I was a small child that magic was my destiny.

“And then there’s the third group.” My tone indicates what I think of them. “You’re not all that excited about the idea of being a mage, but hey, everyone knows that mages live here in the City of Knowledge rent-free, right? All you’ve gotta do is graduate, and then you can spend the rest of your life coasting by, all because of an accident of birth. That has to be better than farming, or trading, or squabbling with your siblings for a share of Daddy’s money.” I don’t bother to smile this time. “I’ve found that those of you in this group don’t tend to read the curriculum or try to find out the hierarchy of mages, so let’s take a minute to go over that. First, you spend four years at the academy. That’s four.” I hold up four fingers, because in past years I’ve given this speech and then had someone ask me how many years it would take to graduate. He was one of the students who kept accidentally setting himself on fire, too.

“Now, it might not be four,” I caution. “Some of you might need a little longer. Magic is powerful and unpredictable, and learning to control it isn’t easy. But at a minimum, it will take four”—I hold up the fingers again—“years to graduate.”

A hand at the back goes up. It belongs to one of the eager students—who is from a family with six generations of mages. She probably already knows a few tricks. “What if we learn fast? Can we skip ahead and graduate early?”

I shrug. “One thing I’ve learned since I came here is not to say ‘never.’ Things that seem impossible could just be problems we don’t have the right knowledge to solve yet. Having said that, it hasn’t happened in the seven thousand years of the academy’s history. There are often exceptionally bright students who are quick to master tasks. Your teachers will give you more advanced tasks that are tailored to your abilities if that’s the case. There are reasons the masters don’t want students graduating in fewer than four years.” I don’t tell them what those reasons are. It’ll give them something fun to speculate about over lunch.

“So, I’ll bet you’re all thinking, four years until graduation, then a life on Easy Street.” I fold my arms. “Sorry. That’s wrong. Once you graduate, you’ll be a level-1 mage. By then, your special skills will have made themselves known, and you’ll be apprenticed to a master who specializes in that field. You’ll be expected to continue your studies, to hone your abilities and become a level-2 mage. Depending on your aptitude and focus, that takes an average of six years.” I hold up six fingers. “The fastest anyone’s ever done it was in two years.” I lower one hand and fold down three fingers on the other. I did it in three years. I was distracted, though—Tia was on courier duty for eight months during that time, and having her so far away so often messed with my focus. I’ve since worked out how to deal with that, as long as we’re not separated over huge distances for more than a month at a time.

“After you become a level-2 mage, you’ll continue your studies. On average, it takes longer at level-2 than level-1, because that’s when you’ll start dealing with the exotic stuff.” Aka, the fun stuff. “Most people get to level-3 within eight years.” I’m aiming for the end of this year, myself, which will be three again. My next goal? To become the youngest ever mage to attain the rank of master. The record currently is by age thirty-four, so I have seven years left to do it. “Once you’re at level-3, it can take anywhere from two to twenty years for you to be recognized as a master.” I smile. This time, it’s kind and benevolent. “So if we add all those average years up, we have four, plus six, plus eight, plus nine. What does that equal?”

Mostly blank faces stare at me, and I resist the urge to sigh. “Twenty-seven,” the farm girl in the front row says quietly, and I nod.

“Yep. Twenty-seven years. And why am I telling you all this? Partly because I’m required to by the curriculum. Mostly, though, it’s so those of you who think you can coast by once you graduate realize that you can’t. Not for about twenty-three more years, at least. A mage who is not showing progress toward achieving mastery is not welcome to live in the City of Knowledge. If the master you’re apprenticed to isn’t satisfied with your work, they will request a peer review. A panel of three other masters will be appointed, and if they find you aren’t sufficiently invested in your studies, you’ll be asked to leave. If you remain at any level beyond a time that is considered acceptable, a panel will be appointed, and you’ll be required to prove that you’re making sufficient effort. If you cannot do so, you’ll be asked to leave.”

All eyes are on me now, and several students who previously looked bored now seem somewhat panicked. Good. I’m somewhat gratified to see the spark of determination in the eyes of Mr. Baby Merchant, though. Either I got through to him, or he’s planning to murder me.

Interesting, either way.

“The only people who get to live on Easy Street in the City of Knowledge are the masters, and that’s because once you’ve studied and fought for twenty-seven years or more to get to that level, you don’t want to take it easy. You want to learn more. But don’t worry,” I add, “if you don’t want to devote the first half of your life—and probably the rest of it—to the art of magic, all you have to do is pass your first-year exams. Then you can go back to farming or trading or scheming to stab your older siblings in the back. Believe me, that would be a lot easier.” As my uncle can attest. Though, to be fair, he hasn’t actually tried to stab my father in the back yet, and even if he did, not many people would blame him.

I clap my hands. “Now! Before we get started, does anyone have any questions?”

The room is dead silent, and I sigh.

“Really? Nobody? You’re amongst the less-than-one percent of the population with an aptitude for magic. This is the first class of your first day ever learning how to use this aptitude. Your years here will be filled with learning, power, and danger, and you may well die before you graduate. And you don’t have any questions?”

A boy with red braids slowly raises his hand, and hope bursts inside me. “Yes?”

He whispers something so softly that even with a spell to amplify my hearing, I don’t catch it.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again—a little louder?”

He blushes and says, barely loud enough to hear, “Could I go to the bathroom?”

Fuck. My. Life.

“It’s down the hall to the left,” I tell him resignedly. “Hurry up. You don’t want to miss too much.”

He scurries out, and I eye the rest of the class. I know from past experience that some of them will shape up into something I can actually be proud to have been a part of, but right now…

“There’s a copy of the curriculum on each of your desks. Turn to page one, and let’s talk about what we’ll be learning this week and what I expect of you by the end of it.”

They reach for the neat stacks of paper—because of course none of them looked already—and a ripple of excitement runs through the room when they see that we’ll be studying fire first. I fucking hate teaching them to use fire.

“Who would like to read first?” I ask, resigned to my fate. Maybe one day, I’ll learn not to have a smart mouth.

CHAPTER TWO

By the time I send the class off to the mess hall for lunch, and then their afternoon classes—Meditation, Continental History and Politics, and Life Skills—I’m just about ready to set them on fire myself.

I hate teaching.

Hate it with a passion and loathing that mere words cannot describe.

And I hate baby mages—untrained, sometimes unwilling, always clumsy. Some of them are barely capable of thinking, much less understanding the vast concepts behind magic use. Was I ever that way? Did my professors despair of me as I despair right now?

I snort as I go in search of my sister. Of course they did—I know because they told me so. Usually at the top of their lungs and using very creative language. I was not popular with my teachers, and after five years of being stuck with first-year students, I sympathize. I marvel that none of them pushed me over a cliff or accidentally smothered me when they had the chance. I even wondered, once, if the reason some students die before graduation isn’t because they lose control of their magic, but rather that their professors lost control of their homicidal urges.

I dismissed that idea quickly. As teachers, we’re all judged on how well our students do. Death is pretty much the biggest failure of them all. I’ve started this year with forty-one students, and damned if I won’t have forty-one at the end.

Crossing the great lawn toward the dragon riders’ barracks, I tip my head back and enjoy the warm sunlight on my face. The elevation of the City of Knowledge means it’s cool here, if not downright cold, for most of the year, but we do get some lovely days in summer and early autumn. And it’s a wonderful incentive for the students to learn basic magic to keep themselves warm.

Even if it does lead to many fires. Many, many fires. At least the city’s stone and doesn’t burn down that easily.

“Talon!”

I hear the shout even as I feel the tug in my mind, and lower my head to squint at the person approaching. I’d recognize her anywhere, even without the help of my magic. We’ve been bonded from the womb.

I stop walking and wait for my twin to reach me. I’m a lazy bastard, and she’s required to keep fit for her job. Why take the extra steps when I don’t have to?

“It’s such a nice day,” she says as she gets closer, and I see she’s carrying a bag. “Let’s have lunch out here.” Without waiting for me to agree, she drops to sit cross-legged on the grass.

“Here?” Outside? “But there’s a perfectly good mess in the riders’ barracks.” With tables and chairs and a better head cook than the one at the academy. Technically, since I’m not a student and have quarters of my own, I don’t have to eat in the academy cafeteria. But the alternative is cooking for myself—which the healers have banned me from doing—or going into the city to eat. And I’m not made of money.

Tavia—Tia—gives me a knowing look. “I brought the food from the mess. When I told Chelica I was meeting you for lunch, she put your favorite dessert in. Which, by the way, is not on the menu today. Are you sure you’re not bribing her?”

Chelica is the wonderful, talented head cook at the riders’ mess. “Of course I’m not bribing her.” Much. “I just won her over with my irresistible charm.” And a charmed cup that doesn’t allow her tea to get cold, no matter how many times she’s called away from it. It took me ages to get that spell right.

Reluctantly, I join Tia on the grass. Sure, the food will be good, but we’re still eating outside. Like savages.

Tia laughs as she hands over the food bag for me to unpack and lies back in the grass. “Your irresistible charm. Sure. Irresistible like the plague.”

My sister loves me so much. We have a special twin bond.

I dig out a fat roll stuffed with roast boar and all the trimmings—Tia can get her own when she’s ready—and take a huge bite as I reach out through our bond for just a tiny, harmless bit of revenge.

Tia’s hand comes up to scratch the side of her nose. Then switches to scratch the other side. To give her credit, even as she’s moving to scratch the first side again, her head turns toward me. “I’m not afraid to tell Leicht to burn you to ashes,” she threatens.

Sighing, I let the itch lapse. Even after all these years, even knowing he’d never hurt me due to my bond with Tia, her dragon still intimidates me. To be fair, it’s not like he’s gone out of his way to be nice to me or anything. There have been a few times he’s puffed smoke in my direction that had some embers in it. And he’s very fond of baring his teeth at me.

Some of it miiiiiiiight be my fault. There was one time, way back right after Tia bonded him, when I’d had a little too much to drink and suggested that there’s nothing a dragon can do that a mage can’t. I didn’t know then that Leicht can hear and see everything Tia does, through their bond, unless she’s actively shielding him out. Our bond doesn’t work that way at all—it truly only exists because I’m a mage with telepathic abilities, and when we were babies, I kind of linked us.

That’s a secret, of course. It’s not supposed to be possible, and gives both of us advantages that regular mages and riders don’t have. But it’s also how we both knew when we were still children what we were going to grow up to be. I could rummage around in my twin’s head—though she came up with some pretty creative ways to kick me out, even before I taught her how to shield against it—and while I was doing that, I found the dark place there. The part of her brain that I couldn’t—can’t—touch. The part that’s Tia, but not Tia. That’s where the ability to bond with a dragon lies.

Dragon riders aren’t mages. They can’t do magic. Their strength is wholly in the way they can link with their dragons to become the ultimate war machine. Dragons are the reason we have peace on our continent. They got tired of our petty human wars, and so they… ended them. Now, anytime one of the kings or queens or councils or whatever starts to get covetous of their neighbors, the dragons show up to remind them of the consequences. By treaty, they’ll work in tandem with the City of Knowledge and the three councils—mages, healers, and riders—since we’re neutral territory, but they answer only to their own councils.

It's pretty badass, when you think of it. Even if they still scare the gods-blessed turds out of me.

Tia sits up and reaches for the bag of food as I take another bite, and I look at her face. It’s a prettier, feminine version of mine—long, with a straight nose, blue eyes, and dark brown hair. Hers is shorter than mine—because otherwise it gets loose and ends up in her face while flying. I’m too lazy to see a barber regularly, so mine’s a shaggy mop.

The other major difference is the silver scar running down the right side. It’s close enough to her hairline and ear that you can only see it at certain angles, but it’s a reminder that she’s often in dangerous situations.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” she says, and I have to concede that’s true. You’d think that other people who enjoy eating like savages would also take advantage of the sunny day and wide expanse of grass, but the truth is, most of us who live at the academy are indoorsy. The few that aren’t know that dragons occasionally like to frolic here, and nobody wants to have to abandon their picnic because a forty-foot-long scaled, fire-breathing beast wants to sun itself.

The dragon riders, who, being the opposite of mages, love to spend time outside, have several gardens and lawns on the other side of the barracks, where they can watch their dragons doing dragonish stuff in the hanging valley where they live. I’m not allowed over there, so Tia comes to me when she wants a picnic.

A fly lands on my hand and inches toward my sandwich. I shoo it off. “Peaceful. Yeah.”

My sister is lucky I love her so much.

A lot of mages, when they find out that I’m apprenticed to Master Samoine, are envious. “You’re so lucky,” they say. “He’s never taken an apprentice before. He’s so powerful and wise. Your master is on the Council of Mages!”

All of that is true, which is why it’s easy to smile and nod and burble about how grateful I am. I hardly ever tell them that he’s a tyrant taskmaster who often wakes me in the middle of the night to do some obscure bit of research, frequently tells me I can do better with my own magic practice, and laughed outright when I asked him to get me out of teaching duties.

I also love him like a father—more than I love my own, to be honest—and know he’d lay down his life for me if it came to that. He pushes me hard, and he’s a grumpy ass when he’s not being the oh-so-wise councilor, but having him take me as his apprentice was the highest of honors, and he expects me to live up to that. I expect me to live up to that. He’s training me to be the greatest master I can be, and that’s what I want.

Which is why, after a lunch consisting of great food and company, I take myself off to his rooms to see what tasks he has for me today. Yesterday, he had me use magic to dry a puddle of water—which is a basic task my first years should be able to complete when I’m done with them—but only one drop at a time. And if I went too fast, like doing two drops at once, he’d add more water to the puddle. He’s gotten this idea lately that I’m too focused on my telepathic skills and have been neglecting the finer elements of other areas of magic. He’s not completely wrong—after all, telepathy is where I have the most strength, and it’s the focus of my future mastery—but I’m not particularly enjoying these lessons.

I knock and enter without being summoned. He doesn’t always invite people in, if he’s not in the mood to be social. Before I worked that out, I would spend hours waiting in the hallway for him to return to his rooms, only to discover he’d been in there the whole time. I aspire to be like that one day.

“How are the first years?” he asks without turning from where he’s staring out the window, his white hair standing up in tufts all over his head. Until a few weeks ago, it was long. Then one day he found it annoying and hacked it off with a letter opener.

I don’t bother to wonder how he knows it’s me. He’s a master telepath—he knows exactly who’s in this part of the building right now.

“Annoying. One of them thought he’d stirred a little eddy of air and began announcing that he was going to be a great wind mage.” I join him by the window. He has the best view, out toward the dragons’ valley. Several of them are in the air today, circling lazily. The rider recruits started training this week, and the dragons who haven’t bonded yet like to keep an eye on them in the early days, see if anyone has potential.

They don’t like it if you suggest it’s creepy and stalkerish, though. I found that out the hard way.

“And did he?”

I snort. “No. The student at the next desk dropped her copy of the curriculum. What he felt was the displaced air as it fell.”

Master shudders. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you lost that one.”

I don’t bother to reply. He knows how I feel about this—losing students is a sign of a mediocre teacher, and I will not accept mediocrity in myself.

Which is why when he turns his head and smirks at me, I know I’m going to perform whatever hideous task he’s about to assign without complaint.

But then we both turn toward the door. Someone’s approaching—someone who’s a little nervous. A knock comes a second later, and Master jerks his head at me.

I go to answer it. A fourth-year student is standing there, wringing his hands—which he stops instantly when he sees me. I recognize him—he was in the second class I ever taught. I disliked him then, and from what I’ve heard, he hasn’t improved any over the years.

He has survived, though. I’ll give him that.

“What?”

“Master Eldridge wants to see you,” he blurts.

I sigh. That came faster than expected. I was sure I’d have until dinnertime, at least. “Master?” I call over my shoulder. He’s turned back to the window.

“Go.”

When I look back at the student, he’s actually sweating. “Is there a problem?” I ask him as I step out into the hall and close the door behind me.

“No! Uh. I don’t know. I’m sure there isn’t. And if there is, it’s not my fault.”

Ah. He thinks the Dean of Students summoned me because I’m in trouble, and he’s worried I’ll punish the messenger.

“You can go.” I get a lot of satisfaction from the way he practically flees.

By the time I make my way down to Master Eldridge’s office, I’ve glared at three other students and one level-1 mage. Seeing their faces go pale as they backed away made me feel a lot better about wasting my time with this. It’s why I’m almost whistling as I stroll into the anteroom.

“You took your time,” says Preet, the dean’s assistant, a level-3 mage I’ve worked with in the past and don’t find too annoying. “Or did the student dawdle coming to find you?” She smirks. We once compared tricks for scaring students, and it forged a deep level of respect between us.

I shrug. “Probably both.”

With a little huff of laughter, she opens the door to the dean’s office. “Talon Silverbright, Master Eldridge.” I walk inside, and she closes the door in my wake.

The dean looks up from his desk. “Sit, Mage Silverbright.” His gimlet gaze bores into me as I obey, lounging in one of the chairs before his desk—the left one. It’s my favorite. I’ve been called here a lot over the past nine years, so I’ve had plenty of experience to judge by. “A formal complaint has been made about you.”

“I guessed as much. It came sooner than I expected, though.”

His face doesn’t change. He’s mastered the art of the grim expression, and the neat, silky fall of his shoulder-length gray hair frames it perfectly. “I’m told you suspended a student by the ankle above the chasm and threatened to drop him.”

I cast my mind back. Did I threaten to drop him? I don’t always. But yes—right after he swore at me. “That’s correct, Master Eldridge.”

He heaves a huge, put-upon sigh. “I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t do that again. Not on the first day, at least.”

“But it’s so effective.”

“For you, perhaps. I had to waste forty minutes listening to a tirade about what a monster you are. Not to mention this meeting.” He gestures between us.

I lean forward. “About that… what if, next time, instead of us having this meeting, you just send a note to let me know there’s been a complaint? It would save us both so much effort. Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” I tack on as his brows lower.

“Talon, there are days when I could quite cheerfully strangle you.”

I nod, returning to my previous slumped posture. “I get that a lot.”

“And no, I can’t send a note. The academy rules require me to meet in person with any instructor about whom a complaint is made.”

“You know, there’s an easy solution to that.”

His smile is mean. “Nice try. I’m not removing you as an instructor.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “Haven’t I been punished enough? It’s been five years. At least let me move on to teaching one of the older classes.” They’re marginally less annoying.

To my surprise, he says, “That was my original plan, but you’ve proved too valuable with the first years. Did you know that you’re the only teacher in the history of the academy who’s never lost one?”

I blink. “The only one?” Considering how far back the academy’s history goes, that makes me a fucking legend. Dammit. Now he’s never going to let me go.

“The only one. I’ve already set people to checking if we can change the rules to keep you here once you achieve mastery.” It’s only the twinkle deep in his eye that assures me he’s not serious.

I hope.

“Maybe Master Samoine was right, and it wouldn’t be so bad if I lost one,” I mutter. That earns me a full-blown laugh. I’m so glad somebody’s amused.

“All right, then. I’ve called you in, advised you of the complaint, and heard your response. Consider this your official slap on the wrist. Now go, so I can do some work.” The dean goes back to the papers on his desk, and I stand to leave.

Halfway to the door, I turn back. “Who made the complaint?”

He lifts his head and meets my gaze. “What makes you think it wasn’t the student you dangled?”

Remembering the look on Mr. Baby Merchant’s face—I don’t use their names until they’ve earned it—I shake my head. “No. He’s either plotting my homicide or planning to excel just to spite me, but he wouldn’t have come running to whine about me.” There was too much determination there.

With a faint smile, the dean nods. “The student’s name was Lenora Gill.”

Ah. Farm girl. I guess her shattered ideals couldn’t cope with the idea of someone like me being a mage. Lucky for her, I don’t hold a grudge… well, not against my students, anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

The weeks pass, and late summer quickly turns to autumn in the City of Knowledge—damn that higher elevation—and teaching my students how to master fire becomes a looming priority. Not that I care if they’re shivering in their beds at night, but humans do die from the cold, and winter is fast approaching. The academy has a rule about students being required to heat their own dorms, and to foster a cooperative spirit and prevent the load from falling to the few who show an early aptitude for fire, the house leaders set up a schedule specifying whose turn it is to handle the task each evening.

In my experience, the last thing that schedule fosters is cooperative spirit. I distinctly remember, in my first year, helping two of my dormmates hold one of our compatriots out a window by his legs, threatening to drop him if he didn’t get a fire going immediately. He did, incidentally, but unfortunately, it was one of the bunks that caught alight, not the pile of kindling in the hearth. Still, it gave new meaning to “trial by fire,” and he had the knack of it after that. It was also the inspiration for one of my favorite teaching techniques.

And the first time I was called to the dean’s office. So many fond memories.

But since I don’t want any of my students accidentally (or purposefully) dropped from windows, and I definitely want to minimize the number of times they set fire to themselves and other things that shouldn’t be set fire to, I throw all my efforts into encouraging them to learn in class.

“Not like that, dolt! Do you want to kill us all?” I direct a flame-smothering spell at the giant fireball hovering in the middle of the classroom. It collapses into wispy smoke, and I glare at the student responsible. He’s one of the ones who still hasn’t earned the right to have his name used.

“But, Professor… you said to think of fire!”

“And your mind instantly went to a fireball hanging in midair instead of, perhaps, lighting the candle I gave you for that specific purpose?” I wave a hand to the taper on his desk, and he blinks at it in bewilderment.

“I… don’t know?”

It’s only the tug from Tia’s part of my mind that stops me from lunging at him. I suck in a deep breath. “Remember what I taught you, that a spell is the visualization of your intent?” He nods. “Excellent. So do you understand why thinking of a large fireball in the middle of the classroom while trying to use your magic might be a bad idea?”

A blank stare is his only response, and I grit my teeth.

“Tell me: What is magic?”

“It’s energy in our bodies,” he replies promptly, seeming proud to know the answer. “Mages have more kintick energy⁠—”

“Kinetic.”

“Yes, that. We have more than other people, who only have what they need to survive. And we can learn to use the extra energy to do stuff.”

At least he knows that much. “Good. How do we ‘do stuff’?”

He grins. “We picture the extra energy and then imagine it doing what we want it to.”

My hands twitch. That’s the most dumbed-down explanation I’ve ever heard. He definitely didn’t hear it from me. “Close enough. Now, when you imagined using your magic—the kinetic energy—did it occur to you that it might be bad to also imagine a fireball?”

His face turns tragic. “I couldn’t help it! The fireball just popped into my head when you said to think of fire!”

My patience is disappearing at an alarming rate. “That’s why you have meditation classes, to keep you from accidentally visualizing random things at the wrong times.”

“Oh.” He grimaces. “I can’t get the hang of meditation. I keep falling asleep in that class.”

I clench my fists to keep from actually strangling him and think grimly about the conversation I’m going to have with the meditation professor later. He’s not going to enjoy it at all. “Do not think of fire until I tell you otherwise. In fact, try not to think at all. You should find that a simple task.”

He seems puzzled by that, and as I turn toward the next student, Tia tugs again. I send my thoughts winging toward her. “Yes?”

“Everything okay? You seem… upset.”

“I was nearly incinerated by a moron who can’t tell the difference between lighting a candle and laying siege to a settlement.”

Her amusement flows along the connection between us, and I relax slightly. “Oh. Just another day in the life of teaching, then. You should bring them out here and let the dragons teach them all about fire.”

The only reason I don’t shudder is because I don’t want anyone to suspect the link between us. It’s not uncommon for telepaths to frequently hold mind-to-mind conversations, but that’s not exactly what I’m doing right now.

“No, thanks. Now let me get back to work. You dragon riders seem to have all this free time.”

In response, an image forms in my head. It’s the City of Knowledge, spread out far below, and as I realize I’m seeing what she is, Leicht—the bastard—banks into a steep dive. My stomach churns as I cut the connection with Tia to the sound of her laughter. I fucking hate dragons. And heights. And the very idea of flying.

“Professor?” a tentative voice asks, and I focus on the student in front of me. It’s Lenora Gill, the farm girl who thinks I’m a monster and a disgrace to mages everywhere. Surprisingly, she earned the use of her name within the first three weeks, and there’s been a grudging truce between us. Grudging on her part. I’m quite happy for her to exist.

Well, as happy as I am for any of my students to exist.

“Have you been practicing, Lenora?” She lit the candle for the first time at the beginning of the week, and once I was satisfied she could do it reliably and without any unwanted side effects, I gave her a taper to practice on outside of class.

“Yes, Professor.”

I nod to her candle and feel the tiny, controlled surge from her as it lights. She’s a bit clumsy still, but her technique is solid.

“Excellent work. Could you please go light the coals in that brazier?” I point toward the fireplace, which has been set up for this little challenge. There’s no tinder or kindling, just the cold coals. To get them alight, she’ll need to make the flame hotter and sustain it. Lighting a candle is easy in comparison—a single surge of magic to set the wick alight. This, though, requires focus, steady use of power, and creative visualization. Not everything we do with magic is easy to visualize.

She walks toward the hearth confidently, no doubt not realizing exactly what this will take. I watch carefully as she makes her first attempt and some of that confidence fades. She was raised on a farm—she should be aware that coals require concentrated heat to light. That puts her several steps ahead of the pampered, wealthier students who’ve never had to light their own fires in their life. I know, because I was one of them, and it was only when one of my classmates explained things to me that I realized I’d been going about it the wrong way.

Keeping half my attention on her, I turn to the next student and brace myself. “Okay. Try to light the candle.”

By the time the last of the leaves have left the trees and autumn is only a technicality, I’m finally satisfied that all my students can light the fires in their dorms. Some of them are still likely to set fire to themselves at random other times, but for different reasons. Fire is one of the tougher abilities to fully master, which is why we have the students begin with it right away.

Leaving one of my fire-prone students in the infirmary under the watchful eye of the academy healer on night shift, I head toward my master’s rooms. Her burns aren’t all that bad, but her dormmates were pissed off about nearly being part of a human bonfire, so I decided it would be better for her to spend the night elsewhere.

“Master?” I push open the door, surprised to find the room lit only by the fire crackling in the hearth. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm.”

My eyes adjust, and I find him standing over by the window. He’s been doing that more and more lately, just standing and staring out. I’m not sure if he’s thinking, processing a new magical concept, or just… staring. I’m not going to ask either. He’ll tell me when he’s ready for me to know.

Another lesson I learned the hard way.

“Do you need anything, Master?”

With a sigh, he turns. “No. How are the burns?”

I shrug. “Minor. But I suspect some of the other students want to hold her down and set the rest of her on fire, so I left her in the infirmary for the night.”

He huffs. “That’s remarkably indulgent for you. What happened to tough love?”

“That’s my job. I can’t be sure these baby mages are capable of doling it out without killing anyone.”

That gets a small smile from him, and he turns back to the window. “I don’t need anything tonight.”

“Good night, then.” I head back toward the door.

“Talon?”

Taking my hand off the knob, I face him. “Yes, Master?”

“I know you want to get ahead with your research, but perhaps get an early night.”

Okay, there’s definitely something going on. “Is there something I should know, Master?”

He shakes his head, still looking out the window. “No. Just… a feeling. Something…. We should be rested.”

I wait to see if he has anything else to add, but that’s it.

“Good night, Master.”

Back in my snug room—kept warm because I’m very fucking good with fire—I glance toward my desk. There’s a lot of research still to do if I want to make it to level-3 this year. And these few hours when my master doesn’t need me are my only time to get it done.

But he doesn’t often try to govern my time, so I can’t take his suggestion lightly. Instead of giving in to the urge to study, I go to bed.

I surge to wakefulness, sitting bolt upright and slamming a protective shield of air into place around my bed before I realize the threat isn’t physical.

In fact… it isn’t a threat. Not to me, at least.

“Tia?!” I scramble to reach my twin’s mind. “What’s happening?”

She doesn’t bother to reply, just lets me see and hear through her. The riders’ barracks are buzzing, with half-dressed riders racing through the halls and out into the night, toward the dragons’ valley. The roars coming from it are terrifyingly loud, and as I dampen the sound a little—for both of us—I realize I can actually hear the echo of it with my own ears. It’s carrying through the night, all the way to the academy.

Tia blocks my sensory input as she enters the valley. No human can go there unless they’re bonded to a dragon, and she decided long ago that meant mentally as well as physically. I stay with her, though, waiting for information, tensed to leap out of bed and prepare for… I don’t know what. Battle? We haven’t been at war for centuries. And the City of Knowledge is in the dead center of the continent of Vaderyn. If the Baswich Empire across the ocean was attacking, we’d know long before they got here.

Finally, Tia says, “Something’s upset the dragons. We don’t know what. Leicht keeps saying, ‘It’s back,’ but I can’t get anything else out of him. None of them are saying more.”

Fucking dragons and their fucking drama. Still, there’s nothing I can do about dragons having a joint nightmare.

“Okay. Let me know if you need me. Or if they say anything useful.”

She sends a vague acknowledgment, already preoccupied with settling Leicht, and I pull back from her mind.

Then, knowing that the councilors will have woken—hundreds of dragons causing a ruckus is the kind of thing the Council of Mages stays abreast of—I send a telepathic knock to my master.

“Stay in bed. We’ve no useful information. Did Tia have any?” His response is so immediate, I know he was waiting for me.

“No. Leicht says, ‘It’s back,’ but that’s all. They’re all quite distressed. I think the riders will be with them all night.”

“That’s what we’ve heard also. Get some rest. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

Tomorrow brought nothing except the odd, itchy feeling of expectation. Or, as I once heard one of the city’s gate guards say, “Sweet fuck all.” I’ve found the best forms of expression are to be found amongst the guard. Or dockworkers. Now there’s an education. Too bad the City of Knowledge doesn’t have docks.

The day after was the same. No new information, just an annoying mental itch. By day fifteen, the only thing that’s happened is the first true snowfall of the season—one that sticks to the ground instead of melting quickly—and most of the mages around the city were losing interest. Even Master Samoine told me to stop worrying about it. The dragons would tell us more when they could. Fucking dragons. If I was even a slightly stupider person, I’d march down to their valley and tell them exactly what I thought of them.

I said as much to Tia, and when she’d finished laughing so hard she cried, she told me she didn’t think the dragons knew anything more than they’d already said. She wouldn’t say more than that, but honestly, it sends cold chills down my spine.

It’s back? What is? Why? Clearly not anything good, or they wouldn’t have been in such a flurry.

My class is distracted this morning, whispering to each other whenever they think I’m not paying attention—which is never, but they haven’t caught on to that yet. We’ve been trying to work with air, which is the easiest element, and after fire should be simple for them, but clearly I’ve overestimated their capabilities. I’m about three seconds from threatening to hang them all over the chasm by their pinky fingers when a hushed argument breaks out.

I fold my arms across my chest and watch. It seems mostly to consist of Lenora Gill, Drey Hart—Mr. Baby Merchant—and Cary Meister hissing at each other, “No, you do it!”

“One of you had better do it before you all find yourselves scrubbing latrines for a week,” I say lazily. It’s quite amusing, the way their heads snap around, eyes wide. “What is it that none of you want to do, by the way?”

They exchange glances.

“Someone had better speak very soon. I’m losing patience, and you all know how little I had to begin with.”

Drey gulps and casts a glance over his shoulder toward the window I floated him through only a few months ago. “It’s not… That is…”

I raise a brow, and he pales. “Well, Professor, yesterday we heard a rumor that your sister is a dragon rider.”

Oh. That. Really? It took them this long to find that out?

“Yes.”

They wait.

“Was that all?”

Cary, who’s the only one so far able to use air to blow out a candle after he’s lit it, says, “The dragons seemed really upset a few weeks ago. Most of us woke up; they were that loud. Do they… Do they do that a lot? Only… nobody’s talking about it.”

Not to first-year students, they wouldn’t be. Well, fuck. I guess I get stuck with this delightful little task. “They don’t do that a lot. In fact, in all the time I’ve been here, they’ve never done that—not all of them at once. You will occasionally hear dragons screaming. They have… feelings just like we do.” I try not to choke on that sentence, glad Tia’s not paying attention right now. She’d just tell Leicht, and then he might think I liked him. “They’ll scream if their rider is seriously injured or killed, or if another dragon is. They also scream if they’re angry. Basically, if you’re close to a dragon who’s screaming, leave.”

The whole class is staring at me in fascination. I haven’t gotten such undivided attention from them since the first day. I suppose that’s a sign I should continue. Ugh.

“Dragons communicate telepathically amongst each other and can do so over long distances. Any distance, to the best of my knowledge. They can also communicate this way with their bonded rider.”

A hand shoots up. It’s one of the students who hasn’t earned her name yet. “Does that mean telepaths can speak to dragons?” she asks breathlessly.

“No. Mages cannot speak to dragons—well, they can, using their voices, but if they expect to get an answer in return, they will be sorely disappointed. Despite what many people think, dragon riders are not mages, in the same way that healers are not mages. They are three completely different Talents that do not cross over, ever. Riders don’t have an excess of kinetic energy the way we do, and we don’t have the brain structure that would allow a bond with a dragon. The only human who can speak telepathically with a dragon is their bonded rider.”

The disappointment on her face tells me she had dreams of being a mage and a dragon rider. Perhaps I should ask Tia to introduce the class to Leicht. That would cure them of such ridiculous notions.

“So… did someone die? Or a dragon?” Drey asks. “Is that why they were so upset?”

“No. We’re… unsure at this time what the fuss was. The dragons themselves aren’t being very clear. It’s important to remember that dragons are an intelligent species and not subject to the laws of humans. They have treaties with us because it suits them to do so. They bond with riders for the same reason.” Fuck knows what it is, though. I asked Tia once if she knew, and she told me it was none of my business. I’m still not sure if she knows or not.

“What I don’t understand,” Lenora begins, speaking slowly, as though she’s choosing every word carefully, “is why it’s so important to have dragon riders. They train for war, don’t they? For battle. But there hasn’t been a war in Vaderyn in hundreds of years.”

One of the more highly educated students parts his lips, a superior expression on his face, but I cut him off. “That’s true. The primary reason for that is that the dragons won’t permit it. However, our dragon riders train for war for other reasons too. They support all continental nations in stamping out banditry and maintaining neutral borders. And while there hasn’t been war in Vaderyn for a long time, the world is bigger than the continent. This year, you’re learning continental politics and history, but next year, you’ll be learning about other places.”

Those students who never expected to leave their villages and definitely didn’t know how big their own countries were, much less the world, stare at me in shock. “There are other places?”

I nod. “Lots of them. But they aren’t your priority right now. Air is. And if you don’t master it, you’ll have to repeat this year and wait even longer to learn world history.” I narrow my eyes. “Not to mention, I will be most displeased to have to teach any of you again after this year.”

They all instantly return their attention to trying to blow out candles.

When my class finally leaves, I have a pounding headache that’s just made worse by the mental itch of worry that’s been chasing me since the night the dragons had their collective tantrum. I decide to detour past the infirmary and see if I can sweet-talk whoever’s on duty into doing anything about it.

The infirmary is on the other side of the academy, and although there are several ways to get there, at this time of day most of them are inevitably teeming with loud, annoying students. I skip that ruckus by taking a slightly longer route through the main receiving halls used for visiting dignitaries. They’re empty, rarely used at all, and in one, I sneeze three times—clearly the housekeeping staff is being neglectful.

I step into the great entrance hall, and as I always do, I take a moment to look up at the soaring cathedral ceiling. The stone arches so high above frame windows that let soft winter light filter in and make what could have been a forbidding place quite warm and welcoming.

Then my head throbs and itches, and I start toward the other side of the hall. It’s not as quiet as usual; the guard at the massive front doors is arguing with someone trying to enter. I slow down a little and look while trying to seem like I’m not looking.

“You can’t come in,” the guard—it’s Prentice, I know all the guards from having bribed them to look the other way while I sneaked out as a student—insists. “Only mages and students and invited guests. Sometimes messengers.”

“I’m a messenger. I have a very important delivery to make,” the man insists. Taking him in from the side of my eye, I frown. He doesn’t look like a messenger. He looks like a farmer who came directly from his fields. He also looks like a southerner and speaks with a decidedly Camblish accent. It’s a long way from Camblin to the City of Knowledge for a farmer to come.

“What’s your name, then? Messengers are all registered on the list.” Prentice waves toward the document on the wall beside the door.

“I’m Wat Shien. I have to see Master Samoine.”

I slow even more. What does this man want with my master?

Prentice scans the list, though from his smirk, he already knows the man isn’t on it. “Sorry. You’re not on the list. I can let the master know you were here. If you let me know where you’re staying, he might decide to invite you back.” His tone says how unlikely that is.

The farmer—Wat—shakes his head. “No, I have to see him. I have to give him this.” He digs in his pocket and pulls something out, showing it to Prentice.

The utter silence that follows stops me in my tracks.

“Of course,” Prentice says, his tone completely different. “You need to take that to the master right away.”

What. The. Fuck?

CHAPTER FOUR

Trying not to swear out loud, I detour toward the doors, where Prentice is busy giving a complete stranger directions to my master’s rooms. As though it’s perfectly normal to let people wander willy-nilly through the Academy of Mages.

“Hello,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “How are you today, Prentice?”

They both look at me, almost startled. “Mage Silverbright!” Prentice smiles back. “Need a favor?” My propensity to bribe people into making my life more comfortable didn’t end when I graduated from being a student.

“Not today, thanks. I couldn’t help overhearing some of what you were both saying. Am I to understand that this man—Wat, isn’t it?”

Farmer Wat nods.

“Yes. Wat is not on the list and doesn’t have an appointment, but you were going to let him in anyway?” You complete imbecile is left unsaid but heavily implied.

“Yes, sir. He needs to bring something to Master Samoine.”

I press my lips together and nod, wondering if he can even hear himself. A quick probe with my magic shows no spells, no compulsion that would influence him this way. I may not be a master, but I’m a very strong telepath—there are only a few people in the world with the skill to craft a compulsion I wouldn’t be able to detect, and most of them are right here in the city. “I see. Well, perhaps he could leave a message and set up an appointment.”

They shake their heads in unison.

“I need to deliver it to him today,” Wat says earnestly. “It came back after all this time.”

Alarm bells screech in my head. “You didn’t happen to encounter any dragons recently, did you?”

His eyes go as wide as saucers. “Dragons?” he breathes. “Fuck no. I wouldn’t know what to do if I saw a dragon.”

So much for that. I don’t know what’s going on here, but my head still aches, I’m hungry, and there’s no way I can allow Wat free access to the academy. “What about if I take whatever it is to Master Samoine? I’m his apprentice.”

“That’s true,” Prentice says helpfully, then shakes his head again. “But no.”

“No?” The incredulous rise in pitch makes the word three syllables long.

“I have to give it to him myself,” Wat informs me. “It’s my duty.”

“Your duty.”

“Yes.”

“To deliver something to Master Samoine.”

“Yes.”

“Even though you’re not an official messenger.”

“I’m a farmer,” he volunteers, as though I couldn’t have guessed that. “I have a lovely little farm in the south of Camblin. If you’re ever traveling through the area, you should stop in. We’re always glad to have visitors.”

I clench my teeth. This is going nowhere. “Could I at least see what it is you need to deliver?”

Obligingly, he digs back into his pocket and pulls out a rock.

The second my gaze lands on it, my stomach fills with lead.

Oh, fuck.

It’s a light-toned gray, irregular-shaped rock of some indeterminate kind of stone. I’ve never seen it before in my life, never seen a picture or a description. But I still know exactly what it is, because it’s not a rock at all.

Tia’s urgent tug at my mind is a distraction I don’t need, and I send a vehement “Not now!” before returning my full attention to the innocuous-looking rock in Wat’s hand.

Fuck the dragons for not being even a tiny bit more specific.

“I’ll take you to Master Samoine” is all I say. Wat and Prentice both beam at me.

“Thanks, Mage Silverbright.” Prentice winks. “I heard there’s going to be a delivery of late harvest wines for the councilors’ cellar in the next few days. Want me to see if any bottles go missing?”

I’m going to need a fucking case. I manage to scrape together a smile and slip him some coins. I don’t have much on me, but he knows I’m good for the rest. “That would be wonderful.” Gesturing to Wat, I start across the hall—sadly, not in the direction of the infirmary. Interestingly, while my headache hasn’t lessened, that blasted brain itch is gone. I cast a sour sidelong glance at the rock in Wat’s hand.

“Could you put that back in your pocket?” I ask him, more or less politely. Everyone is going to know about this soon enough, but I’d rather not cause a panic because some level-1 mage with a loose tongue went blabbing in every alehouse in the city. Besides, for whatever reason, Wat was… told… to deliver to Master Samoine, and that’s what’s going to happen.

He obligingly slips it away, and we make our way through the halls. More than one person looks at us strangely—probably because farmers don’t usually wander around the academy, and I’m not known for having visitors anyway—but I have my very best “talk to me and I will cut you” face on, so nobody dares to waylay us.

I don’t bother to knock before pushing open the door to my master’s rooms. He knows we’re coming. And sure enough, he’s standing in the middle of the room, waiting. His hair is sticking out in all directions as usual, and he hacked off the sleeves of his robe, leaving dozens of loose threads to trail haphazardly, but his face is still and closed, and the aura of his magic clings tightly to him. There can be no doubt of his power.

“Master, this is Wat. He has something for you.” I glance at Wat, who’s already stepping forward. “This is Master Samoine.”

The farmer holds out his hand, the rock in his palm. “Here you go.”

My master’s gaze scrutinizes the stone, then rises to Wat’s face. “You’ve come a long way to bring this.”

It’s not a question, but Wat nods. “Yes, sir! Been two whole weeks since I set out. I got lucky, though. My wife’s brother is a fisherman, and he sailed me all the way to this village on the Lenlese coast. Cut weeks of travel overland that way—maybe even months! Then I found this family, they had to race home in a hurry on account of their manor burning down. They let me ride on the back of their carriage. Whew, that was bumpy! But those horses were fast, and I covered a lot of ground. Only had to walk the last two days. This snow didn’t help much, though. I’ve never even seen snow before. Damn cold, isn’t it?”

Master nods, as though that isn’t one of the weirdest stories he’s ever heard. “And how did you find this?”

Wat shrugs. “I’ve been tilling the fields for the winter planting. We get a nice season of crops through the winter, not like here, where it snows. I went out one morning, and it was just there.”

I can’t hold my tongue. “It was just there.”

“Yep. In the middle of a furrow. I swear it wasn’t there the night before. I’d have noticed a rock that big. Probably would have nicked my blade.”

“What happened then?” Master asks, to Wat’s clear surprise.

“Well… I picked it up, and I knew I had to bring it to you. So I did.”

“Had you heard of me before that?”

Wat shakes his head, brow furrowing. “Now that you ask, I can’t say I had.”

Master Samoine nods and goes to ring the bell for one of the castle staff. “Thank you for your assistance, Wat. Could you please put it in that box on my desk?” He gestures, and I glance over at the box. It’s sat on his desk for as long as I’ve known him. I’ve never seen him open it, never asked what’s inside. It’s just a plain wooden box, about five inches square.

Wat goes to the desk and flips open the box. It’s empty. I flick an inquiring glance at my master, but he just shakes his head. Okay. I can wait.

Once the stone is inside and the lid closed, Master Samoine smiles at Wat. “Thank you. Someone⁠—”

There’s a knock at the door, and I turn to open it. Jass, who looks after Master’s rooms, is standing there with a smile. “He rang for me?”

I manage to smile back—Jass is always nice, and it’s stupid to get on the wrong side of the staff—and stand back to let him in.

“Ah, Jass. This is Wat. Could you please take him to the kitchens and make sure he gets a decent meal, then arrange a room for him for tonight at an inn in the city? A comfortable one. And in the morning, he’ll need a good horse and provisions for a week of riding. You can ride a horse?” he asks Wat, who nods, jaw dropped.

“Yes, sir, but I don’t need all that. I⁠—”

“It’s payment for your message safely delivered,” Master Samoine interrupts. “And I must also ask that you do not speak of the message to anyone.”

Seeming somewhat confused, Wat shrugs. “Sir, I don’t even understand the message. It all sounded like gibberish to me. I just repeated what I was told.”

I look at him sharply. Does he not remember the rock? Does he think he really just delivered a spoken message?

Master thanks him again, and Jass leads him out into the hall. I wait until the door closes to say, “Holy fucking turds of the gods.”

The smile that appears on my master’s face seems involuntary. “Tell me what happened.”

I fill him in, from the moment I decided to go to the infirmary right up until we reached his door. He’s silent for a moment.

“You know what it is, then?”

I’m scared to say the words aloud, so I nod.

“Talon.” He’s not going to let me get away with that. I suck in a deep breath.

“The life stone.”

My words seem to echo through the room. The life stone. Also known as the source of all creation. I scrape through distant memories, trying to recall anything that might be useful. Truthfully, I barely paid attention during our second-year class on the prophecies. I mean, everyone knows that prophecies happen during someone else’s lifetime, right? I never expected to have to actually live through a prophetic event. That’s for legends and dreamers.

It's not like the prophecies are all that clear, anyway. And on that note…

“Now what?”

The look my master gives me tells me he knows exactly how little devotion I gave to studying prophecy. “Perhaps before we move on, you should assure Tia that you’re well.”

Gods’ turds—Tia. I blew her off, and she’ll be pissed and worried.

“But be sparing with details,” Master adds. “See if the dragons have anything new to add.”

Sure, sure. Tell her nothing but dig for information. That totally won’t make her suspicious. I reach out through our bond.

“I’m okay. Sorry. I was dealing with a magic situation.” There, that’s pretty vague.

Her mental touch tells me she doesn’t believe a word of it. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s… complicated. Still some things to sort out. I’ll try to meet you for dinner, but not sure if it’ll happen.” Which reminds me, I need lunch. Lack of food isn’t going to help this headache.

“Are you sick? Something isn’t right.”

Aw. She really loves me. “A headache. I’ll see a healer when I have a second. I’m fine, Tia, I promise.”

“So you wouldn’t have any idea why the dragons are all restless today?”

I meet Master’s gaze.

“Are they? Why? Something to do with the other week?”

Her mental sigh is clear and makes me feel guilty. “I don’t know. They’re being very closemouthed. I’m worried about Leicht.”

Yep, lots and lots of guilt. It’s not a common feeling for me, and I don’t like it.

“Leicht will be fine. You know dragons have their own fucked-up culture. He’ll share with you when he can. I have to go—I’ll let you know if I can make it to dinner.” I break the connection before she can reply.

“The dragons are restless but not talking,” I report. “I guess that means they can sense that.” I point to the box. “Why do you even have an empty box sitting on your desk? You’re not a useless-trinket kind of person. Did you know this would happen?” The least he could have done was warn me.

“If I’d known this would happen, I would have chosen a different career path,” he retorts, and something settles inside me. It’s a relief to know I’m not the only one who’s thrown by this. “I’ve had that box for nearly thirty years, and I never had any clue why. One day I just had an urge to have it made. It’s sat there, unused, and every time I decide to get rid of it, I end up changing my mind.” He shakes his head. “Fucking prophecy.”

“I’ll second that. So… is it a special box?”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “It’s a box. How can a box be special?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Does it maybe prevent anyone from sensing the stone?”

“Can you sense it?” he demands.

I shrug. “No, but… I didn’t sense it before either. Not until Wat showed it to me.”

Master frowns, and I feel a light surge of magic from him. “Try a search,” he suggests.

I blink. “For what? A rock? Master, this whole city is made of stone.”

I get another one of those looks. “There’s only one stone here that’s the essence of all life, Talon.” Somehow, he even makes my name sound like “idiot.” It’s a skill he has. I’m still working on perfecting it.

Instead of protesting that I wouldn’t even know how to search for the life stone—the most basic rule of searching is that you have to understand what the thing you’re searching for is—I just go along with him and give it a shot. Then I can tell him I failed and⁠—

“Gods’ turds!”

“So it seems the box doesn’t protect it from being found by those who are searching,” Master muses. “We’re going to have to find a diff⁠—”

We both freeze. In unison, we turn toward the box, jaws agape.

“Did… did that rock just disagree with us?” I whisper. I heard nothing, but…

“I certainly felt a strong sensation of disagreement.” Master Samoine takes a step toward the box.

“It’s sentient?”

Master gives me a withering look. “It’s the source of all creation, Talon. I hardly think it having sentience should be such a surprise.”

Maybe not for him, but I’ve never come across a sentient rock before, and I find it plenty surprising.

“Well, if it’s capable of communicating, perhaps it could tell us what the—” I bite back an invective. It might be a rock, but it is the source of all creation, and I probably shouldn’t swear at it. “What the next steps are?”

Instead of an answer, I get the feeling of mocking laughter. The rock has an attitude problem.

Master’s lips twitch. “I don’t think it can communicate with words,” he suggests, and yes, there’s agreement. Okay. So we’re dealing with nonverbal, nonvisual cues.

“Yes or no questions, then,” I murmur, and Master nods approvingly. “Did you influence Wat and everyone who helped him in order to get here?” That’s an easy one, since I’m about 99.999 percent sure it’s true.

Agreement—and smug satisfaction. It’s proud of how it manipulated things. Great. A rock with an ego.

“Why Wat’s farm?” I ask, purely out of curiosity. “Why not just directly here?”

Exasperation and annoyance.

“Fine, don’t answer then,” I mutter. Master gives me a hard nudge and a warning look.

“Are you only searchable to those who you wish to know of your location and presence?” he asks. Grudgingly, I concede that it’s probably a more important question.

The stone obviously agrees, because in addition to a strong affirmative, there’s approval. This is so unbelievable. A rock is talking to us via emotional responses.

“Very well,” Master acknowledges. “Do you wish for us to keep your presence here secret?”

I blink as a very confusing sensation of yes and no overtakes me. I haven’t felt this indecisive since I was twelve years old, stealing sweets from the larder, and only had room in my pocket for one tart—lemon or raspberry. Cook nearly caught me, but I sneaked out just in time—after breaking the tarts into pieces and taking half of each. She was convinced mice had gotten to them and threw the remainder away. I would have felt bad, but… I still had my share.

Master, clearly not being privy to my reminiscences, says, “Secret from some but not all?”

A definite positive response to that, and he nods in satisfaction. “The Council of Mages?”

~Yes~

“The support staff?”

~Yes/No~

“Some of the support staff?”

~Yes~

I think of the sheer number of support staff and dearly hope we don’t need to go through each of them by name. I’m not sure I even remember all their names. Some of them are too annoying for that privilege.

Master doesn’t seem fazed, though, and starts from the top of the list. “Apprentices only?”

~Yes/No~

We both pause. Only some of the apprentices? That’s going to ruffle feathers.

“Hmm.” Master Samoine’s expression turns speculative. “Talon?”

~Yes~

Oh goody. Yay for me.

To my surprise, instead of listing any other names, Master says, “Any other apprentices?”

~No~

My jaw drops—again. I’m going to have to break the habit of being surprised by a hunk of rock. It’s not dignified. But… does the life stone like me? Why, for the love of all that’s holy?

Or maybe it just wants to torment me. That’s far more likely.

Master seems to take it in stride. “Anyone else from the support staff?”

~No~

“Anyone else at all?”

~Yes~

We exchange glances. “Representatives from the dragon riders and healers?” I suggest. They have their own senior councils, academies, and structures within the city. We more or less work in harmony, with representatives from each council invited to take part in most meetings of each.

~Yes~

“Just their council chairs?” Master asks.

~No~

“Their entire councils?”

~Yes~

“Support staff?”

~No~

This is getting easier.

“Anyone else?”

~No~

Phew. There are still thousands of others living in the city—if we’d had to start guessing, it could have become very tedious.

“Are we calling the meeting immediately?”

A very decided yes.

“Very well then.” Master turns to me. “Could you please send word of an immediate, closed emergency meeting of all three councils, to take place in our council chamber here? There should be room, if you’re the only apprentice there.”

I try not to let my feelings show on my face. A “closed” meeting means councilors only, and whoever brings word of it is always asked dozens of questions. I don’t like being interrogated. “Of course.”

“And send word to the kitchen for refreshments to be provided. This may take some time.”

I nod, already halfway to the door. Lunch. Yes, please.

“And Talon?”

“Yes, Master?” I half turn to look at him.

“Before you do any of that, go to the infirmary and have that headache seen to. I need you at your best.”

“Thank you.” The life stone turning up and a closed emergency meeting of all three councils? My best isn’t going to be nearly good enough.

CHAPTER FIVE

In a completely unsurprising act of defiance, I go to the kitchens first, to give the cooks as much time as possible to prepare. I know what side my bread’s buttered on—and more importantly, who does the buttering. I also wheedle an apple to tide me over until I can get something more substantial.

Then I begin the task of advising councilors of the meeting. As I expected, there are many, many questions. I find myself frequently repeating the excuse of “need to tell others, immediate and urgent, must go,” while backing toward doorways.

But it’s safe to say that by the time I’ve told everyone who needs to be told and they’re getting themselves ready—though, come on, all they need to do is walk down to the chamber. Who cares if their robes are wrinkled?—my headache has worsened, and the infirmary seems to be a shining beacon on my horizon.

Which is why I’m horrified to stumble inside and find myself faced with Jaimin Kahwyn.

It’s like this day is doing its utter best to fuck with me.

Who is Jaimin Kahwyn? Let’s start with the facts. He’s a healer. The healer, some would say. Objectively, he’s the strongest healer alive—capable of anything short of resurrection. I’ve heard that in some alehouses, people bet whether or not he could do even that, but they’re destined to never find out. Everyone with an ounce of Talent and training knows that resurrection is a biiiiiig mistake. Zombies weren’t always just a tale to scare children with.

So… Jaimin is strong. He’s also young—only forty-ish. He’s the youngest ever healer to have achieved mastery, at the age of twenty-nine, when he cured a fucking plague. Cured. A. Whole. Ass. Plague. There are songs written about him. Like most healers, he’s fairly reclusive, and from what I’ve heard, he was offered a position on the Council of Healers but turned it down. But that’s an unconfirmed rumor.

He’s… attractive. Since I’m stating facts, I can’t leave that out. His nose is on the big side, though. But his eyes… dammit. They’re so light a brown, they’re almost golden, and his smooth, dusky skin makes them seem to glow. And people say he has a nice smile.

Not that I’ve seen it. I’ve only ever seen him in person once before… well, twice, but I was unconscious the first time. And mostly dead. It was my third year at the academy, and I’d been drinking some kind of spirits the guards smuggled in for me. I still don’t know what it was, exactly, but I’d told them I wanted something cheap and potent, and they definitely delivered. I don’t remember all the details of my thought processes that night, but we’d been working a lot with air in class, and I felt certain I could master flight. My dormmates, who were as drunk as I was, later presented a sheet of scribblings that I’d apparently been sure proved my theory. It’s hard to say whether I was right and just lacked the necessary sobriety to make it happen, since my handwriting was completely illegible.

Long story short, I did not master flight. While a certain amount of levitation is possible for mages, flight has yet to be achieved. What I did manage to do was plummet five stories to the ground, bounce, and then tumble even farther down the side of the mountain. I suppose I’m lucky I didn’t choose one of the windows on the chasm side of the building.

The healer in the infirmary that night sent for Jaimin immediately. My list of injuries was… long. Both legs and arms broken in multiple places, six cracked ribs, collapsed lung, perforated diaphragm, shattered collarbone, skull fractures… and those are just the major ones. When I woke up the next afternoon—still achy and sore, not to mention exhausted from the healing—I was told in no uncertain terms that if Jaimin hadn’t been so close by, I wouldn’t have survived. I was lambasted and yelled at and thoroughly berated by the dean, my house master, my magic professor, Tia, and the healer on duty.

So when Jaimin walked in, I was smarting, furious with myself, and ready to lash out. I didn’t know who he was—thought perhaps he was there to visit with the infirmary healer. In fact, I was comforting myself with the idea that at least I could admire the pretty man while I licked my emotional wounds and recovered from the stress of the healing.

Then he introduced himself and tore strips off me.

Everything he said was true: I was irresponsible, reckless, and shortsighted. I did take a stupid risk. I did almost die. I did owe my life to pure chance, to the dumb luck that he had the strength and skill to save me.

But I wasn’t feeling particularly mature at that moment, so instead of apologizing and thanking him, what I said was “Suck my dick.”

To which he gave me a thoroughly disgusted look and replied, “Petulant children don’t interest me,” before walking out, thus completing my humiliation.

I haven’t seen him since, not for more than six years. I’ve been glad of that—there are a lot of moments in my life that I kind of regret, but that’s at the top of the list. So of course it makes sense that today, of all days, I’d run into him.

I’m just wondering if I can escape without being noticed when he looks up from the desk and smiles. Those gorgeous eyes are warm. “Hello. That’s a nasty headache you have.”

“Uh…” That particular ability of healers has always taken me off-guard—that they don’t need me to tell them what the problem is. Most of them do need to touch the patient to make a diagnosis, though. Only the really strong ones can do it without physical contact.

“Come on over here and I’ll get it sorted out.” He gestures me forward, and my feet obey.

Does he… Does he not remember me? I can’t imagine why else he’d still be smiling. Not that I want to be remembered as the idiot who jumped off a building because he thought he could fly, but it’s a little offensive that I’m so unmemorable.

What’s he even doing here, anyway? Infirmary duty in the Academy of Mages is waaaaaay below his pay grade.

“Just a light touch,” he’s saying. “It won’t take a moment.” His fingertips rise to rest on my temples, and the headache ebbs within literal seconds. I take a breath, only now realizing how bad the pain had truly been.

“There you go. You’re a little dehydrated, too, and you need to eat. Make sure to get plenty of rest—even a light healing can be taxing for the body.”

I mumble an agreement and wonder if I can just bolt for the door. “Thank you,” I manage. I don’t just mean for healing me today, but if he doesn’t remember me, I’m not going to explain. It’s balm enough to my conscience that I’ve said the words.

“You’re very welcome.” I didn’t notice back then how nice his voice is, probably because he was furious at the time. But it’s so mellow and inviting. He could make a living just smiling at people and saying lovely things to them in that voice.

I stand and turn toward the door, and a healer I recognize comes flying in. “Master Kahwyn, thank you! We’re so grateful for you filling in this afternoon. I don’t know what happened with the schedule, but I got here as fast as I could. I hope there weren’t any problems.”

“None at all,” he assures her smoothly, and I take advantage of the distraction to slip away.

I’m literally two steps from the door when Jaimin says, “Nice to see you again, Talon. You’re looking much better than last time.”

I freeze.

Then I peer over my shoulder. He’s smiling at me still, but this time, it’s a touch mocking. The other healer is studying the floor and trying not to smirk.

“Uh. Yeah. I… grew my hair longer.”

The staff healer snorts, and Jaimin’s smile widens. Holy gods’ turds, did I really just say that?

Since the floor is clearly not going to open up and swallow me, there’s only one thing I can do: brazen it out.

“If you ever change your mind about the offer I made back then, just let me know.” I muster a smirk of my own. “I’m all grown up now.”

His smile disappears, and I decide to take my victory and flee while I still have some shreds of tattered dignity left.

I’m not late for the meeting when I reach the door to the council chamber—I know, because I passed a few of the councilors on my way, dawdling along as though the words “immediate” and “urgent” mean something different to them. Regardless, one of the guards steps forward to block my way.

“Sorry, sir. This is a closed meeting. Councilors only.”

Briefly, I consider floating him out through one of the lovely big gallery windows and suspending him over the chasm, but he is only doing his job. It’s not his fault my day’s been a giant heaping pile of steaming turds.

Plus, I like to stay on the good side of the guards. One day in the future, there’s a chance someone will actually come up with a reason to arrest me, and I’ll need people who are willing to look the other way when Tia breaks me out of jail.

I nod, say, “Of course,” and reach out to my master. I can see him over the guard’s shoulder, not thirty feet away from me.

“Master, could you write me a note for the guards?”

“What? Talon, I’m busy with these fools who don’t want to wait for everyone to arrive.”

“Everyone like me? Standing in the doorway, barred from entry?”

His head turns my way, and he scowls. “Let him in!” he shouts. “I need him for this.”

There’s an immediate hum of protest from the other councilors, but the guard just shrugs and steps aside. “If they make me drag you out again, no hard feelings, eh?”

I wave that off. “Just don’t slam my head against anything.”

“Pfft.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s for amateurs.”

Stifling a grin, I enter the council chamber and join my master. He’s wearing a brand-new robe and has taken the time to smooth down his hair, even though it won’t stay that way. But some of the councilors are snobs, and he probably figures he’s already going to upset them enough for one day.

“This is outrageous,” Master Meele is declaring loudly. “You said a closed meeting. You cannot have your apprentice here if I cannot have mine!”

Master levels him with a look that makes lesser mages quail. “If, within ten minutes of this meeting beginning, it has not been made sufficiently clear to you why my apprentice is here and yours is not, then he will leave. Or you can invite yours to join us. I don’t care.”

Master Meele is still sputtering, apparently not happy that I might be here for even ten minutes that his apprentice won’t be, but Master Cranch, the current chair of the council, interjects smoothly. “That sounds reasonable enough. And I believe we’re all here now.” He raises his voice. “If we could all take our seats, we can begin.” On cue, the heavy doors to the chamber clang shut.

Without waiting to be instructed, I go to sit in one of the chairs to the left of the dais. The council chamber is constructed like a semicircular lecture hall. Seats rise in tiers from the floor on three sides. On the fourth side, with the doors behind it, is a low dais with a lectern. Whoever is speaking stands at the lectern. Since Master called this meeting, he’ll be speaking today. On the right side of the dais is a small table for the records master. He’s a councilor in his own right, but also responsible for recording everything that takes place in a meeting and checking old records when needed.

It’s interesting to see the way the three councils all cluster together, even though the mages, at least, have their own preferred seats. It seems like all like to be surrounded by those who are most familiar to them. The mages have opted for the middle section, directly opposite the lectern. They’re all dressed in black or beige robes to depict their mage status. Oops. Guess I forgot to stop by my room to get mine.

The healers, who have taken up residence on the left side of the room, are dressed less uniformly. Some are in robes, while others prefer trousers with many pockets sewn in and shirts with half sleeves. This is what most people see healers wearing—clothing that gives them easy movement of their arms for healing and allows them to carry medicines, bandages, and other things they might need. In the same way that I teach my students the principles behind the magic they learn—you need sustained heat to light coals—healers learn how to augment their Talent with practical medicine. Not all healers are strong enough to heal all wounds and illnesses.

On the right side of the room are the dragon riders, and they are dressed uniformly… ish. They’re all in leathers, but since dragon riders aren’t really big on conformity, those leathers are in a variety of garishly dyed colors. It’s a rainbow of dead animal skin over there.

I asked Tia once why all the leather. Turns out, it’s not just because it looks badass. Leather is durable and tough, easy to maintain, and warm. Apparently warmth is an important factor when you’re flying at high elevations. She proceeded to give me nightmares by adding that it was skintight so the wind couldn’t catch hold of it and drag a rider from their seat to plummet to their death. And, just as a bonus, dragons are meat eaters, and the riders figure they might as well make the most of it and not waste what’s left of the carcasses.

Master Cranch steps up to the lectern with my master at his side. “It’s unusual for all three councils to meet in this way, so I won’t hold things up. Master Samoine, the floor is yours.” He comes to take the seat beside me, and I try not to squirm. I wonder if he suspects it was me who stole his box of imported Baswegian chocolates seven years ago?

“Thank you all for coming,” Master says. “I understand you all had other plans for the afternoon, and certainly this is unusual in any case. But something was brought to my attention today that you all need to know about. The attendee list for this meeting was not dictated by me.”

A confused murmur.

Master takes the wooden box from the voluminous pocket of his robe and sets it on the lectern, on the tilted part where people put their notes. He uses his magic to rotate the lectern so the box is clearly visible to the whole room. And then he flips open the lid.

I see it… the moment they all realize what they’re looking at.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Master Cranch murmurs beside me. I glance over at his face, which is as calm as always. There’s a hint of tightness around his eyes, though.

A hand rises among the mages. “I think now would be a good time for me to resign from the council,” someone calls. I can’t see who it is, but nobody laughs, and I get the feeling most of them are thinking the same thing.

“Denied,” Master Cranch says placidly. “Master Samoine, please continue.”

“As you can all see, the life stone has… rejoined us. It was found in southern Camblin by a farmer named Wat. It influenced Wat, and others who aided him, to bring it here to me.” He raises his hand, palm out, as the whole room seems to rustle. “I don’t know why me. It didn’t seem the most important question. My apprentice was in the Great Hall when the stone was influencing the guards to let Wat enter, and he stepped in, realized what was happening, and conveyed Wat and the stone directly to me. After Wat was questioned and had departed, we discovered that the stone is capable of a rudimentary form of communication.”

“What does that mean? Rudimentary?” one of the dragon riders asks.

Master looks down at the stone. “Could I impose upon you to demonstrate?”

~Yes~

Around the chamber, some faces go pale with surprise. Others cover their mouths or gasp.

“That’s what it means. Simple questions that require simple responses. It was not easy to determine who the stone wanted at this meeting, but everyone in this room was hand-picked.” The last part is rather pointedly directed at Master Meele, but I don’t think Master need have bothered. Master Meele seems about thirty seconds away from fainting. It’s a good look for him.

“What… what do we do now?” a healer asks.

Master spreads his hands. “That’s what we’re here to determine. It is, unfortunately, too open-ended a question for the stone to respond to directly.”

“We need to decide what questions to ask,” Master Cranch suggests, but that immediately prompts a free-for-all of shouting. Good thing I got my headache healed.

I wince. No, I’m not thinking about that little encounter.

The stone, clearly not happy, blasts us all with its displeasure, and the room falls silent in shock.

“I’ve discovered,” Master says blandly, “that it has quite strong opinions and prefers things done in an orderly fashion.”

“But how can we know what questions to ask?” someone bleats pathetically. “The possibilities are endless!”

The records master clears his throat. He’s about a million years old and has a croaky, wispy kind of voice, and I swear, when he walks, you can actually hear his bones groaning. But he doesn’t suffer fools, and I’ve seen him swigging from a flask that smells of spirits more than once. There are worse ways to get old. “It seems to me,” he gasp-wheezes, “that we have a document designed for this very occasion.”

Awareness smacks me over the head. I should have remembered that earlier. I even thought that I should have paid more attention in classes about the prophecies.

“We do?” someone calls, and I immediately feel a lot better. I’m just a level-2 mage. These people are councilors. They have no excuse.

“The Prophecy of the Stone,” the records master intones, then coughs. I try not to smirk at the number of embarrassed faces in the room.

“An excellent point.” Master Samoine turns to the stone. “Should we consult the prophecies to guide us in the next steps?”

~Yes~

CHAPTER SIX

While the records master brings out the correct scroll and Master Cranch asks the prophetic scholars to come forward to help find the more relevant parts, I wander over to the refreshments table. It’s been ignored by everyone else so far, which means I get first pick.

The options are good. They always are for council meetings—much better than what we get in the cafeteria. I pile my plate high with delicate little sandwiches, exotic stuffed peppers, tiny savory tarts, and some kind of puffy pastry thing that smells like cheese, and then turn my attention to the sweets. I’m going to need another plate.

“If Mage Silverbright is quite done thinking of his stomach instead of this serious situation, perhaps we can move on,” a voice snaps. Dessert might have to wait. I glance over my shoulder to see all eyes on me and Master Meele glaring with squinty eyes. He seems to have recovered from his fit of the vapors.

“Master Kahwyn said I had to eat,” I say as meekly as I can manage, making my way back to my seat. I’ll get through this plate and think about more later.

“He had a headache earlier, and I sent him for a healing,” Master adds in support.

One of the healers gasps. “You bothered Master Kahwyn for a headache?”

Uh… sure. Even if I hadn’t been avoiding the guy, I would definitely have chosen to leave the Academy of Mages and cross the chasm to the Academy of Healers to demand that the best healer in the world take care of my headache.

I push aside the thought that it really wouldn’t be unlike me to do so, and prepare to defend myself against affronted healers.

But I don’t have to. One of the others is speaking. “He was at the mages’ infirmary this afternoon. There was some problem with the schedule, and he offered to fill in for an hour until someone else could be found.”

I nod and cram a sandwich in my mouth. The first healer looks slightly mollified.

“Well. I suppose that’s acceptable. He’s always been very generous with his time when it comes to the mages.”

Oh, gag. I cram in another sandwich, then regret it when the healer looks at me and says, “I hope you know how lucky you are, young mage. Not everyone can be healed by someone so Talented.”

I nod again and chew frantically, swallowing a too-big lump that hurts my throat. “I made sure to tell Master Kahwyn exactly how grateful I was,” I croak. Master glances sharply at me. He knows me too well to take that at face value, but I muster an innocent smile.

“Let’s move on,” Master Cranch interjects, and as the attention turns away from me, I sag in relief and rub my throat.

“Serves you right,” Master says. “I better not find out you disrespected Master Kahwyn.”

“I thanked him sincerely,” I reply honestly. And suggested he could give me a blow job, but Master definitely doesn’t need to hear that.

“Read that part of the prophecy,” one of the dragon riders suggests, and I pick up the cheese thing, prepared to listen carefully. My memory needs a lot of refreshing.

The records master clears his throat, and alarmed glances are exchanged by the prophetic scholars. “Perhaps I could read it?” Master Leng offers. “It’s my area of expertise, after all.”

That’s a relief. I’d like to actually hear what’s being read… not to mention get to the end without the records master dying from the exertion.

Oooh, this cheese thing is good. I need to stuff some in my pockets before I go. Now I’m sad I didn’t wear a robe—the pockets are so much bigger.

Master Leng begins to read from the scroll in his measured, sonorous voice. “The Stone of All Creation shall appear only in times of great need and crisis, when the danger facing the world is beyond that of which its peoples are capable.”

I pause mid-chew. Was the population of the entire world just insulted? Who wrote this prophecy, anyway? I should probably know that.

“The danger will not be petty war, nor famine, nor pestilence. The vagaries of climes and movements of the earth and seas do not concern the Stone.”

I really should have paid attention all those years ago. Not war, famine, disease, weather, or other natural disasters? What the fuck is left? From the muted murmurs around the room, I’m not the only one getting concerned.

“Only the danger beyond death shall bring forth the Stone to render its knowledge and champion…” Master Leng trails off with a grimace. “I feel the need to explain here that this next part is one of great contention to scholars. There are many who believe it was a transcription error and should be stricken from all future copies made.”

“Read it as it appears and then explain,” Master Cranch instructs.

“‘Only the danger beyond death shall bring forth the Stone to render its knowledge and champion to the people.’ Many of us believe the ‘to’ is an error, and the sentence should, in fact, be ‘render its knowledge and champion the people.’ Because of course the stone itself will be our champion.”

“Bollocks,” Master Gao, another prophetic scholar, pronounces. He’s got a bushy mustache and always reminds me of the walruses that used to breed near my childhood home. It’s quite comforting. “The prophecy was dictated by the stone. The notion that it would allow any kind of mistake is the next thing to heretical. It’s as clear as can be that the stone means to choose a champion, not be the champion.” The words have the rhythm of an old argument, as do the put-upon sigh and eye roll from Master Leng.

“Oh, please. I’ve just read that the danger is ‘beyond that of which its peoples are capable,’ and you think a single person would suddenly prove equal to the task? Be serious.”

Master Gao plants his fists on his hips and puffs out his chest. I lean forward. Could this devolve into a physical altercation? I wish there was someone here I could lay bets with. “The ‘person’ would in fact be ‘rendered’ by the stone—the champion of the source of all creation. Not just some random bystander!”

I hold back a shudder. If he’s right, that poor sucker’s gotta be the unluckiest person in the world right now… except for when they have to actually face whatever this danger is. That’s gonna be the worst fucking day of their life.

Probably all of our lives too.

Ugh. All those people who yammer about wanting to live in exciting times need to be kicked in the head.

“Gentlemen,” my master intervenes just as Master Leng is squaring up to Master Gao. He always did have the worst timing. “If I may… this is your chance to find out once and for all.”

They stare at him, and he gestures to the stone.

Jaws drop.

“You ask,” Master Gao says, all his usual bluster gone.

“Oh, I-I couldn’t.” Master Leng is trembling. “The answer… it would change centuries of study.”

Holy gods’ turds, are they serious? They’re not going to ask because they don’t want to give up a centuries-old argument?

Before anyone else can speak, I call, “Hey, stone, is the prophecy transcribed correctly?”

There’s a round of gasps at my audacity, and Master sends me a warning look, but over it all comes the stone’s clear answer.

~Yes~

I quirk a brow at my master. Does he want me to ask the obvious follow-up question?

He sighs. “You will choose a champion to act on your behalf against this danger?”

~Yes/No~

“Ugh, not again,” I mutter. Beside me, Master Cranch slowly turns his head in my direction, and I slump down in my seat, avoiding his gaze. Best not to antagonize the chair of the Council of Mages.

Not more than usual, anyway.

The room is filled with yammering again as everyone argues over what that could mean. It’s like they don’t even know that the only way they’ll get any answers is by asking the stone.

As if it can hear me, the stone blasts its displeasure again, and the assembled councilors fall silent.

Master waits a beat, then asks, “You will not choose a champion?”

~No~

He lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and I know he’s getting frustrated. He usually does that right before blasting something.

“Master Samoine, if I may?” One of the dragon riders comes forward, and I recognize her. She was one of Tia’s teachers years ago, one of the few who would tolerate me hanging around the dragon riders’ mess. The others tended to kick me out whenever they could. What was her name?

Jania? Janesy? Jillian?

“Of course, Rider Kanesha.”

Wow, I was way off.

She clears her throat and faces the stone. “Have you already chosen your champion?”

~Yes~

A buzz of excitement goes through the room.

“Can you name them for us?”

~No~

Damn. So close.

She casts a desperate look around at the assembled councilors. “Is it… one of us?”

~No~

The collective sigh of relief would be funny in other circumstances.

Master speaks again. “Will you guide us to finding them?”

~Yes/No~

The relief turns to a rumble of frustration. I gobble down a tiny tart while they debate the next question.

“Will you guide someone to finding them?”

~Yes~

“Is that someone a councilor?”

~No~

“Someone in this city?” Master Leng’s question smacks of desperation.

~Yes~

I pick up my last tart as, beside me, Master Cranch stands. “Is that person Talon Silverbright?”

I drop the tart. It bounces off my empty plate and spatters on the floor.

~Yes~

Tia yanks urgently at my mind, but I block her completely. She’ll make me pay for it later, but right now, my focus has to be on the utterly asinine bullshit happening in this room.

As the councilors erupt into chaos, I get to my feet, take three quick steps onto the dais, and ask the stone, “Are you out of your fucking shale?”

Unfortunately for me, the question comes a beat after the stone sends out another wave of displeasure, and my voice carries clearly through the resulting silence. Shocked and appalled eyes turn to me.

“Mage Silverbright, you are speaking to the source of all creation,” Master snaps. His private warning is much sharper. “Embarrass me here, and you will regret it.”

I take a deep breath, fighting the instinctive urge to swear, and scramble for an appropriate response. “I only meant that perhaps the stone has confused my name with someone else’s. I’m a level-2 mage. This is a serious undertaking, surely better served by an esteemed master.” I try not to choke on the words.

Master Cranch coughs and comes to stand beside me. “To be clear, you believe the stone of life has mixed up your name with that of another person.”

It sounds even less believable when he says it. “Yes,” I lie.

“Whose?” His mouth is twitching in a way that suggests he’s enjoying this. Maybe he does know it was me with the chocolates.

“Whose?” I stall.

“Yes. Whose name could sound like yours, Talon Silverbright?”

For the first time, I curse my name. Why couldn’t I be called Pat Miller? “Uh… Malon Wilversight?”

The amusement that comes from the stone puts paid to that attempt, though someone asks, “Who’s Malon Wilversight?”

“Fictional.” I recognize that voice. It’s Master Eldridge, the Dean of Students. He sounds thoroughly entertained, and I come to the sour realization that I’m not likely to find a lot of support in this room. I’ve pissed off too many of them.

“Well, let’s ask again, to be perfectly clear,” Master Cranch declares. “Mage Talon Silverbright, who is standing beside me at this moment, is the person you will guide to your chosen champion?”

~Yes~

“That seems clear enough.” Master Cranch is decidedly chipper, but I can only stare at the ugly gray rock in the box, my thoughts whirling. What in the actual fucking gods is going on here? Has the stone been damaged in some way? I’m the last person who should be a tool of prophecy.

A sensation of confidence seeps through me, and I freeze. The councilors are still quietly conferring amongst themselves, Master Cranch with his head bent toward my master. None of them seem to have felt that.

But…

Can you read my thoughts? I don’t use any of my telepathic ability, none of my magic at all. It’s a thought, a private one. Nobody should hear it.

~Yes~

Another glance around. Nobody noticed. The stone is speaking only to me.

Oh, goody.

Seriously, did Wat accidentally chip part of your brain or whatever? I ask it. Because this is a bad idea.

Amusement, and again, that sense of confidence. Yay. The rock believes in me.

I try again. This is a mistake. Tell them you’ve changed your mind. There are people who suit this task far better than me. And anyway, I have a life and duties here. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep first years alive?

A sense of curiosity is all I get in response. Is it asking me to tell it how hard dealing with first years is?

“Talon?” Master’s voice calls for my attention, and I look away from the stone—which is currently radiating smugness.

“Yes, Master?”

“Are you all right? You seem greatly preoccupied.”

It’s only then that I notice the silence that permeates the room and all the eyes on me. Fuck.

“This is a monumental task,” I say honestly. “I’m not certain where to begin.” To my master, I add, “The stone can communicate with me directly. No need for me to speak.”

He shows no outward reaction, but his mental touch is surprised and… afraid? “We’ll speak of it later.”

“We feel much the same, Mage Silverbright,” Master Cranch admits. “Perhaps we should turn again to the prophecy for guidance.”

~Yes~

The stone’s response surprises us all, since that hadn’t been a question. I guess it likes to take part in conversation too.

The prophetic scholars, though still shaken, take up the reins once more. “I-I suppose the next question we need to address as a group is specifically the danger that’s coming,” Master Gao ventures. All his usual bluster is gone, even though he was proved right in his theory. “That way we can determine how best to give aid to the champion.” He pales and looks at the stone. “Not that your champion would need aid,” he adds quickly. “But… but…”

“But we’ll need to tell the rulers of the continent something,” Master Samoine interjects smoothly. “And while the champion performs their vital task, we need to know if there is still likely to be some danger to innocents. So…” He turns to the scholars. “What are the theories?”

“Danger beyond death,” Master Leng mutters. “I don’t even know what I believe anymore.”

That’s helpful. Just the kind of support I’m going to need when I’m going fuck knows where to find fuck knows who to get them to do fuck knows what to stop fuck knows what evil. Yippee.

The stone pulses a warning in my mind. Only not a warning exactly… a minor chastisement. Is it telling me to be patient with them?

They’re not toddlers. These are supposed to be the wisest leaders we have.

It doesn’t reply.

Master Gao seems to have pulled himself together a little more, and he’s explaining the theories of “danger beyond death.”

“…obviously the key word is death. That is the catalyst for whatever creates this danger. We know it’s not anything living. The debate is in the meaning of ‘beyond.’”

I take a deep breath and try to be patient.

“Some believe that this refers to spirits—ghosts, poltergeists, and the like. Beings without corporeal form.”

“Wait,” the healer who scolded me before interrupts. “You’re suggesting that the spirits of our own dead will come back to harm us? Our loved ones?”

Master Gao harrumphs. “There’s also some debate on what the danger will be. Will the spirits cause direct harm, or will their mere presence drive the living to insanity? Or perhaps those living will be overcome with the desire to rejoin their loved ones and take their own lives.”

Those are both very unpleasant theories. I’m not sure how believable they are, either. The person I loved most growing up—aside from Tia—was our nanny, Heather. She died just a few years before we came to the academy, and I know that if she came back as a ghost and I tried to kill myself to be with her again, she’d get out her willow switch and turn my backside red as a fucking cherry.

Around the room, nobody seems terribly excited about that theory.

“What other meaning has been given to ‘beyond’?” one of the riders asks.

Master Gao looks a little sick. “The corporeal dead, resurrected. The bodies of those who have died, brought back without their souls. Zombies.”

There’s a gentle nudge in my brain, so gentle that it takes me a moment to comprehend it. My mouth fills with bile. “Master,” I send, “Ask the stone if the prophecy means zombies.”

This time, he can’t prevent himself from reacting. His eyes cut to me, and whatever he sees on my face has him paling. I hope he understands that I need him to do this because I can’t. I can’t ask this question. I can’t seal this fate.

His throat works, and his lips part, but it’s still a few moments before the words come out. “Source of Creation,” he begins formally, “is the danger beyond death the thing that we know as zombies?”

The chamber stills as we hold a collective breath.

~Yes~

Someone moans, the sound a mournful, despair-filled echo of our feelings. Master Cranch raises a shaking hand toward the stone, then drops it. “Someone is raising zombies?” he croaks.

~Yes~

“Just one someone?” I ask sharply, the question bursting from me. “Can we stop them before this becomes a greater issue?” Because one class I did pay attention to was the one on the zombie wars. They happened a long time ago, so long that most history books don’t reference them anymore, and the common people believe zombies to be a mere nightmare tale. After all, the easiest way to prevent someone from doing something is to make them think it’s not possible.

But at the academies, we’re taught a deeper history. Partly so no healer or mage will ever be tempted to play with the veil of death, and partly because if some fool does, we—and the dragon riders—will be the first and only line of defense. The unTalented have little recourse against a zombie. The only saving grace is that a necromancer can raise only one zombie at a time, and it takes a certain amount of kinetic energy—more than any other spell. To raise them in army-level numbers would take years, and people tend to notice something like that. Unfortunately, that’s why necromancers like to work in groups—and recruitment is often too easy. The promise of riches, revenge, power… the return of a dead love or child. After the stories I’ve heard, nothing could convince me to seek out the spells to raise the dead, but clearly, not everyone feels the same way.

Which is why I wait with bated breath for the stone’s response.

CHAPTER SEVEN

~No~

The thin hope fades. Whether it was answering the first question, the second, or both, it doesn’t matter. If we can’t stop the necromancer—or necromancers—early, then what’s coming is a disaster beyond imagining. Our only hope now is to find the stone’s champion.

Which is going to be my job.

I should have done as my father wanted and become a courtier. I could be lolling around at the Queen’s palace right now, flirting with pretty young men and women and getting drunk on the best wine around.

A jolt of impatience startles me, and I flick a glare at the stone. This manner of communication is going to get old very fast. But I let go of my self-pity and glance around the chamber. Unlike with the responses to earlier questions, there is no uproar. No chatter. No arguments. The room is quiet, the councilors overcome with their fear and despair.

Maybe the stone has reason to be impatient.

“Well,” I say, my voice tearing through the silence and startling several of the masters, “at least we know what’s coming. I suppose the next step is to consult the scholars, prepare as best we can.”

Master Cranch stares at me blankly. “What scholars?”

Suddenly unsure, I look at Master Samoine. His face is gray, drawn, and his eyes are lost. That scares me more than anything else could. “The… the scholars of the zombie wars. They’re the experts on this, yes? Which masters have made the wars their field of expertise?”

My master slowly shakes his head. “There are no scholars of the zombie wars.”

The sudden dryness in my throat makes it hurt to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

“Everything we know about the zombie wars, you learned in your classes,” Master Cranch says somberly. “There is nothing else. No records. No stories. Nothing. It was all destroyed to keep it from happening again.”

My jaw drops. The stone pulses in my mind, a sense of contempt for our stupidity. “We only know what we teach in classes?” I repeat. “But… that’s nothing. That’s….” I scrape through my memories. “It’s a handful of tales about the scale of slaughter and the length of the wars. It’s… it was barely enough to fill a single term!” My voice is rising. “How can we not know anything else?”

“It was destroyed,” Master Cranch says again, “to keep anyone from⁠—”

“That obviously failed,” I shout. “Because someone out there is raising zombies, which means they not only learned how, but they know more about them than we do!” I suck in a breath. “How can we protect anyone if we don’t even know how to kill the damn things?”

“Our predecessors did what they thought was best,” someone behind me says, and I round on the assembled mages with thoughts of murder uppermost in my mind.

“They were wrong,” I snap. “And we will pay for⁠—”

“Talon!” Master’s whip-sharp warning stops me. This is not the time to lose my temper. I’m a very junior mage in this room.

I take a breath. “Forgive me. I’m… afraid. People are going to die before we can even work out how to kill the enemy. I know our ancestors were trying to protect us, but… someone should have been designated the guardian of this information.” My breathing is ragged as I turn back to the stone. When the councilors recover from their shock, I’m going to be knee-deep in shit for speaking to them that way. I don’t have time for that, so we need to move on. “Do you know how to kill zombies?”

~Yes~

I consider that answer, then rephrase the question. “Do you know how we can kill zombies?”

~Yes~

“Can the unTalented do it?”

~No~

Damn. It was a long shot, but I hoped. “Magic?”

~Yes~

That still leaves a lot of ground to cover. I’m debating my next question when one of the dragon riders steps forward. “Dragon fire?”

~Yes~

Shaky relief flows through me. A dragon can breathe fire over large areas. Potentially, a few dragons could take out hundreds of zombies without ever endangering themselves or their riders. You know, as long as the zombies stay clustered together and aren’t too close to innocent humans.

Still, it’s better than nothing.

The rider meets my gaze, and I see my own relief reflected in his shrewd, weathered face. “That’s a good start. What about regular fire?”

I nod. Great question.

~No~

Fuck.

“Magefire?” Master Cranch asks, and I hold my breath, almost afraid of the answer. Magefire isn’t actually fire, not like what I’ve been teaching my students and that we use in daily life. It’s a magical construct that doesn’t stop burning until the thing it was set on is destroyed. It’s battle magic, and advanced battle magic at that. If you accidentally set magefire on something, that’s it. There’s no way to take it back; no way to save it.

~Yes~

A ripple of reaction goes around the room. Some of the riders and healers are confused, but their companions lean close to explain.

“Anything else?” Master Samoine asks. “Any other weapon we can use, other than your champion?”

~No~

That’s… dire.

“We start preparing,” Master Cranch declares grimly. “Every mage begins training with magefire. There will be no accidents. We need to send messages to those spread across the continent. If they can, they should return here for training.” Not all mages choose to live in the City of Knowledge. Some are assigned to royal courts, and some prefer to live a more everyday life, using their magic to help people—or make profit, depending on how big of an ass they are.

“We can send riders to fetch them,” the dragon rider at my side offers, and my brain finally connects his face with his name: Hearne, the chair of the rider council. “Cut down the time they need to be away from their posts.”

Master Cranch nods. “Thank you. Your riders will be ready?”

Hearne’s smile is thin and probably would frighten small children, but I find it reassuring. “We drill extensively with fire. We’ll confer with the dragons; they may know more, remember more. Any information we have, we will share.”

“It’s settled, then. We train for war. Master Eldridge, will you need additional assistance?”

My mind, racing ahead as I try to work out where I fit into all this, comes to a screeching halt.

“I would prefer to hold off until the professors themselves have received refresher training in magefire. But at that time, the third and fourth years should be capable of picking up the skill without the need for extra instructors. For the second years, I would like to have some additional teachers,” Master Eldrige replies.

“And the first years?” Master Leng asks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not!” The words burst from my throat. “Are you insane?”

“Mage Silverbright,” Master Cranch begins warningly, but I hold up a hand.

“No. With all due respect, there is no way I will ever teach a first year how to use magefire.” What is wrong with these people?

“You will not be teaching anyone anything,” Master Cranch snaps, his legendary calm finally shattered. “You will be seeking out the champion who can save us from this all!”

I grind my teeth, even as Master Samoine orders, “Stop. Choose your battles. We need every ounce of magical strength we can get.”

He’s right, I know he’s right, but… I can’t let this go.

“You’ll need to kill me and burn my body to ash before I allow you to put the students you entrusted to me in that much danger. I will fight you on this with every breath I have.”

Master Cranch takes a step back, shaken. I’m not usually so emphatic about things, but I stand resolute. My first years are babies. I work hard every day to keep them alive, to get them to the point where their magic won’t hurt them or anyone else. Teaching them magefire… It would be quicker and more merciful to stab them through their hearts.

“As much as I hate to say it, Talon and I are in agreement on this.” Master Eldridge comes forward, striding across the floor and stopping a few feet from the dais. “The first years are too unstable. If we were closer to the end of the year, I would consider it, but they have been here only a few months. It would be slaughter and would put the whole academy at risk.”

Master Leng still has the temerity to argue. “We need every mage. Every drop of Talent.”

I press my lips together. I’ve said my part. The dean can take up the battle of words, and I’ll save myself for the lambasting I’m going to get later.

“Perhaps a compromise,” Master Eldridge offers, darting a glance at me. “What if the first years were trained in support magic?” His lips twitch at the corners. “Would that be acceptable to you?” He’s looking at Master Leng, but I know he’s asking me.

I think it over. Support magic is exactly what it sounds like: providing your own Talent to another mage for them to direct. It’s tricky to learn when you’re the focus, the one directing the magic, but providing it is fairly simple. It’s normally taught in third year, purely because no student can resist the temptation to try to be the focus, and that leads to disaster.

But I’m confident I can scare my students enough that they won’t dare. Besides, they’ll be so busy sharing their Talent with more senior mages to use in training, they won’t have the time or energy to make trouble.

I tilt my head in the most subtle of nods, and the dean’s face relaxes slightly. In my head, the stone pulses approvingly.

“Perhaps that would be the safer option,” Master Cranch concedes, taking back control of the conversation. “Mage Silverbright,” there’s an acid bite to his voice, “is it within their capabilities?”

“I believe so, with proper instruction.”

“Then while you are preparing for your journey, you will ensure your class is prepared for their new instructor.”

“Of course,” I manage, even though I feel like the bottom just fell out of my world. Because of course they’ll have a new instructor. I have other responsibilities now. But who can I trust to keep them all alive until I get back?

Master Cranch moves on, and I put the question aside for later. My new duties have already begun.

As the discussion about preparations continues, I return to my seat beside the dais, needing some space to think. Something squishes beneath my shoe, and I look down at the remnants of the tiny tart I dropped. I’d forgotten about it, but now pangs of hunger remind me that I was healed earlier and haven’t eaten enough to make up for it.

The stone nudges my mind with approval, so I haul myself out of my chair and go back to the refreshments table. It’s still mostly untouched, but this time, even though I’m hungry, nothing appeals to me. How can it, with the thought of a zombie war weighing on my mind? With the knowledge that I have to somehow, in all the millions of people on the continent, find the one who’s the stone’s champion.

A thought strikes, and I stare at the selection of meringues in horror. What if the champion isn’t from Vaderyn? I’ve never been the adventurous type. Crossing an ocean to visit unfamiliar lands with unfamiliar customs and people isn’t high on my list of fun things to do. It’s not on the list at all.

The soothing reassurance from the stone settles me somewhat, although I’m not sure if it means I won’t have to leave the continent or that I will, but it’ll be okay. Stupid stone with its annoyingly dense means of communication. Annoyed, I randomly grab an assortment of food and take it back to my seat.

I work my way through the whole plateful, keeping half my mind on the discussion and the other half on planning the best way to prepare my students for a new teacher and learning support magic. I’ll have to track down the dean after this and find out who he plans to give my class to, and it had better not be that imbecile, Torgid Hacke. He couldn’t teach his way out of a paper bag, and some of my sneakier students would run rings around him.

“…which I suppose brings us to the question of Mage Silverbright’s journey.”

I snap back to full attention at the mention of my name. Master Cranch has half turned in my direction, and Master Samoine is looking at me expectantly.

“Uh… yes.”

“Have you any thoughts on how you will manage this? Which way will you travel first?”

“South,” I answer promptly. Winter’s already set in at this elevation, and the northern countries will be cold as fuck right now too, but if we head south, the weather will be mild for at least a little longer. The farther south we go, the milder it will be, but my fervent hope is that I’ll find the champion in our nearest neighboring country, Lenle, and be back here before winter hits with full force. From the way my master’s mouth quirks, he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

That’s probably why he turns toward the stone and solemnly asks, “Should Talon go south first?”

Say yes, I urge the stone, even though I know I’ll go anywhere I need to.

~Yes~

Dammit. Did you just say that because I asked you to? I refuse to fuck up this task just because I don’t like the cold.

The flick of contempt from the stone assures me that’s not going to happen.

“South it is,” Master is saying. “We should get you on the road as soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow,” one of the healers suggests, and I commit her face to memory to add to my list of sworn enemies. “I’d say tonight, but he needs more time to properly rest after being healed.”

How very generous of her.

“Not tomorrow,” I insist. “I have some matters to settle here, including my students.”

“This is urgent,” Master Leng begins. “The champion must⁠—”

“The champion will be found when the stone wants me to find them,” I point out. “It can lead me from here directly to them if it so chooses. We could even ask for some help from a dragon rider and be there in mere hours.”

There are far too many surprised faces for my liking. Did that thought not occur to any of them?

“Could… could a dragon take him directly to the champion?” Master Leng asks the stone cautiously.

~No~

The murmur of disappointment makes me want to bash some heads together. They really, truly hadn’t already considered it? Not even the dragon riders? I look over at Hearne and am relieved to see the frustration I’m feeling mirrored on his face. At least someone’s not lacking their wits.

“Will it matter if Talon delays a day or so?” Master asks the stone.

~No~

Well, thank all the gods for that.

Master’s next question is inspired. “Does he need to travel alone?”

~No~

Relief settles over me like a blanket. I hadn’t even thought of that. Master Cranch gestures. “Who would you like to take, Talon?”

I meet Master’s gaze, and he shakes his head slightly. “No. I’m needed here.”

“Tia.” I say it firmly. I would have argued to take both of them, but if Master won’t come, I won’t go without her.

~Yes~

The stone’s confirmation sets the councilors to murmuring again. Most of them don’t know who I’m talking about, but it’s Master Gao who finally asks, “Who is Tia?”

“Tavia Silverbright,” Rider Kanesha answers, and Hearne smiles.

“Leicht’s rider?” He nods. “An excellent choice.” Pause. “Silverbright? Any relation?”

“My sister.” Here it comes.

“A mage and a rider from the same parents?” His surprise is evident. It’s not uncommon for different Talents to run in families, but usually the same Talent manifests within a single generation. Siblings with different Talents, like me and Tia, are rare.

“They’re twins,” Rider Kanesha adds. There’s a flurry of gasps, and anyone who wasn’t already looking at me like I’m a bug they want to study is now. If siblings with different Talents are rare, twins with different Talents are like golden eggs. Tia and I looked it up once, and the last time it happened was about twelve generations ago.

“A lucky omen,” I hear someone on the healer side of the room say, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Is there anyone else who needs to go with him?” Master Cranch asks briskly, trying to get the situation under control.

~Yes~

Well, shit. Figuring out who it is could take a while.

“But not one of the councilors assembled here?” Master Cranch confirms what the stone said earlier.

~No~

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m tired, I have a lot to do, and I can feel Tia waiting at the edge of my mind—and wow, is she furious. A drawn-out guessing game could take hours.

“Someone I know personally?”

~Yes~

Okay, that narrows it down to… a lot of people.

“In the City of Knowledge?”

~Yes~

Better. At least it’s not my father. That would have been a terrific journey.

“Within the three academies?”

~Yes~

“An initiate?” I’m half hoping for a no on this one—one of the guards or cooks would make for a useful traveling companion.

~Yes~

So much for that.

“Another mage?” I know more mages than anyone else, so that would make the most sense, especially given Tia’s already coming and the type of journey we’re going on.

~No~

I’m a mage. Tia’s a dragon rider. “A healer?” Please don’t tell me the stone is into that kind of hokey unity-of-three kind of symbolism.

~Yes~

I bite back my groan. No need to offend the healers in the room. Master, knowing me as well as he does, smirks in my direction. “A healer you know personally? That will narrow down the list.”

“Yes.” I try to sound happy about it. “But I’m not sure I trust myself to think of every name right now. Could I make a list this evening and come back with it tomorrow?” I’m asking the councilors, but it’s the stone that answers.

~Yes~

Accompanying that is the firm sense of dismissal. Jaws drop, and I cough lightly to keep from laughing.

“It seems as though we’re done here for the day,” Master Cranch says dryly. “We all have enough to be getting started with, I think. Remember, apprentices and other masters only for now, until we can agree on the phrasing of the formal announcement. Would the other chairs please join me in my office so we can work on that?”

Hearne and a tall woman from amongst the healers agree, and then people begin standing, conversation breaking out. Master Samoine snaps closed the box with the stone in it and puts it in his pocket, turning toward me.

“Hey!” The shout cuts through all the other noise in the room. “What are you doing? Put that back.”

It’s Master Janssen, a man I barely know because Master Samoine considers him to be completely intolerable. He’s pushing forward, pointing accusingly.

What…?

“Put the stone back,” he insists. “It’s not yours. The councils should decide fairly who gets to look after it.”

Oh, holy burning gods’ turds. Is he seriously playing childish politics right now? No wonder Master can’t stand him.

Wordlessly, Master Samoine takes the box out of his pocket and puts it back on the lectern, opening it. Then he smiles faintly—disparagingly—at Master Janssen. “Forgive me. Since the stone made its way to me initially, I assumed it wanted me to be its caretaker until the next part of its journey begins.”

The words are humble, but the tone implies that Master Janssen is an attention-seeking imbecile. I love my master so much.

“We don’t have time for this,” Rider Hearne barks, striding forward. “Stone, is Master Samoine your preferred guardian until Mage Silverbright begins his journey?”

~Yes~

“Excellent, that’s settled. Let’s not waste more time on nonsense.”

I eye him with new respect. Say what you will about riders, they have a certain way of getting things done. Too bad about the dragons.

While Master Janssen sputters, my master calmly pockets the box again. “Go now, before anyone can waylay you,” he urges. “Talk to Tia, then come to my chambers.”

I’m already sidling toward the exit. I don’t know how the councilors signal the guards outside, but the heavy doors begin to swing ponderously open, and I’m between them as soon as the gap is wide enough. I flip a quick wave of thanks at the guards, then head for my rooms. Tia’s waiting for me there, and what I have to tell her is best done in person.

It’s going to be a long night.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I don’t even make it all the way across the gallery before I’m waylaid. Ambushed, you could say. I recognize the faces—they’re all people who normally would have been sitting in on a council meeting. Mage and healer apprentices to the councilors. Riders don’t have apprentices—their structure is more military-based—but they have aides and adjuncts or whatever they call them. Right now, they’re all crowding around me, demanding to know why I was allowed in the meeting when they weren’t.

“Your masters will tell you,” I promise. “They’re coming now. I have to go.” I shove through them all, ignoring the questions. Dammit, I don’t have time for this.

Rather than risk being stopped again, I sneak through some of the lesser-used passages to get to my room. It takes a little longer, but if a master stops me to ask questions, it won’t be quite as easy to fob them off.

When I finally get to the corridor outside my room, it’s no surprise to see Tia sitting on the floor, leaning against my door. She could have gone inside to wait for me—the wards on the door are keyed to allow her entry—but the effect of this is far more dramatic. She wants me to know how pissed off she is. I shut her out? She’s saying fine, you’ve literally shut me out.

Normally I’d appreciate the subtle messaging there, but today isn’t the day for one-upmanship between us. “Come inside. I have a lot to tell you, and then we have to go see my master.”

Wordlessly, she follows, waits until I’ve closed the door, then shoves me against it so hard, I see stars.

“Do. Not. Ever. Do that again. I’m not joking, Talon. Whatever happened to make you react that way, to make every fucking dragon in the valley suddenly get very agitated today, do not ever tell me ‘not now’ and cut me off and leave me to wait for hours, terrified that something happened to you.” Her forearm is against my throat—lightly, but the threat is real. Her eyes, so much like mine, are cold and calm. Anyone else might think she was merely angry, but I can feel her fear.

Fuck. I really am an asshole.

“I’m sorry.” I drop all barriers between us and let her see how genuinely true it is. “I didn’t intend to make you wait so long. Things kept happening, and all my attention had to be on what I was doing. I swear, Tia. I swear it wasn’t on purpose.”

A beat passes, and then she steps back. “Tell me.”

So I do. I start with the headache that made me detour through the Great Hall and tell her everything. At the mention of the life stone, her knees give way, and she sits right there on the floor. I don’t stop, joining her on the rug to tell the rest.

When I’m done, she turns her head and stares out the window. I’m pretty sure she’s talking to Leicht.

“So we’ve been volunteered for this, have we?” she says finally.

“I tried to get out of it.”

She scoffs. “You would. Most people dream of this kind of honor. Being a tool of prophecy? Going on a quest to find the one person who can save us all?”

“Most people are idiots.”

She shrugs. “True.” The silence stretches for another minute, then she sighs and gets to her feet. “I guess we better go see your master.”

I blink and scramble after her. “You don’t have more questions?”

“Of course I do. But you probably don’t know the answers, and even if you did, what difference would it make? In two days, you, me, and some healer we haven’t identified yet are heading south to find someone who can stop a zombie horde. That’s a fact. Between now and then, my job is to make sure Leicht and I are ready to deal with any trouble we might face on the road, including zombies, and to get us fully provisioned.” She pats my chest lightly. “You’re the brains in this little game, brother dear. I’m the brawn.”

“I have brawn,” I mutter. Shit. I didn’t even think about provisions. Maybe she’s the brawn and the brains. How are we even going to do this? With Leicht along, the sensible option would be to fly to where we’re going, but the stone already said no to that. Am I walking? Do I need to talk to every person I encounter, or will the stone be more specific than that? And if I’m walking, what are Tia and Leicht supposed to do? Circle above me the whole way? Because that won’t attract attention at all.

The impatient hum of the stone in my head is entirely unwelcome. It seems distance isn’t any impediment to its ability to read my thoughts.

Growling, I turn to the door. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Master Samoine is waiting for us in his chambers. Tia follows me in, then stops dead at the sight of the open box on the desk and the stone within.

“Holy…” Her exhale is long and unsteady. “Part of me was hoping you made it up.”

I close the door. “I wish.”

“Has he told you everything?” Master asks my sister, ignoring me.

“I think so, but you know what he’s like. He always leaves something out.”

“I do not!” Why is everyone against me today?

The stone pulses in my head, reassuring me that it’s on my side. Somehow, I don’t find that particularly comforting.

While Tia and Master Samoine talk, I sit at the desk and begin making the list of healers I know. It’s not too long, but probably longer than it would be for other mages my age. I’ve had a lot of incidents that required healing over my years here. Plus, you never know when you might need a healer on your side, so I’ve gone out of my way to be friendly when I run into them, same as with the guards and the kitchen staff.

The last name I add to the list is Jaimin Kahwyn’s. It’s not likely to be him—when you get down to it, I can only say I “know” him in the loosest possible definition, and he’s too important a healer to be running around on errands. But this isn’t the kind of situation where I can assume I know the answers, so I scribble his name at the bottom anyway, then push the list away.

“Done?” Master asks, and I look up to see him and Tia watching me.

“Yes. Are you done picking apart every word I said?”

“We are,” he answers gravely. “And well done. You actually did tell her everything.”

Sometimes I hate all the people in my life.

“So… what now? How are we doing this? Is Leicht going to fly us all, or⁠—”

~No~

“Okay, so not that.” I address the stone. “But you do know that Leicht can fly a whole lot faster than I can walk, right?”

~Yes~

“If I had to guess,” Master suggests, “you and the healer, whoever they are, will travel on horseback. Tia and Leicht will be your scout—they’ll be able to see danger coming from a long way off.”

~Yes~

“Horseback?” I. Am. Appalled. “No.”

Tia sighs. “Talon⁠—”

“No. No. Absolutely not. I became a mage so I would never have to ride a horse, ever.”

Master blinks at me a few times, then turns to Tia. “This is new information. Can he not ride?”

“He can ride. Passably well, even. Enough not to get thrown off, anyway. He just doesn’t like it.”

“He can hear you and speak for himself, thank you very much. And I am not riding a horse for days on end.” I shudder at the very thought. “Or at all.”

“It’s unfortunate that you feel that way, since the stone has decided you will, in fact, be riding a horse. For days on end.” Master Samoine pauses dramatically. “Perhaps even weeks or months.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I accuse. “You sadistic old bastard.”

Master cackles. “I truly am. It’s been a very stressful week and a rotten day, but this has brought sunshine back into my life.”

“I’ll choose your horse myself,” Tia promises. “I swear, it’ll be a gentle one, and I’ll find you a saddle that’s broken in and comfortable.”

That’s sweet, but I know from past experience that even with a broken-in saddle and gentle mount, my ass and thighs and every other muscle in my body will suffer greatly.

“And I’ll get the good tents from the riders’ store,” she adds. “The ones that practically assemble themselves.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Tents?” I whisper. “You mean… sleeping outside? On the ground?”

She exchanges a glance with my master. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find a village with an inn most nights. This is just in case.”

I’d feel better if I didn’t know she was lying.

The councilors reconvene early the next morning, just after dawn, but Master and I decided I don’t need to be there. If something comes up that needs my attention, he—or the stone—can let me know.

Master already interrupted my breakfast to advise me that the dean has arranged a meeting in his office for me and the teacher who’ll be taking over my students. Then he interrupted again to let me know that the official announcement would be made to all mages, healers, and dragon riders tomorrow morning—right after our departure. I have permission to give limited information to my students so they’re not taken by surprise when someone new turns up tomorrow.

I refrained from making any comments that could be perceived as offensive to the councilors, thanked my master, and avoided asking if they’d found out who our traveling companion would be. We decided last night not to ask the stone in advance. The last thing anyone needs is another councilor getting huffy that we have access to extra or early information. I don’t really care that much anyway—I’m going to be too busy bruising my posterior and hating my life to chat with whoever’s on the horse next to mine.

Fucking horses. I tried to negotiate for a carriage, or even a wagon, but the stone was adamant. I think it’s just messing with me for its own sadistic pleasure.

I enter the antechamber to the dean’s office. Preet isn’t there, and the door to the office is ajar, so I go over and stick my head in. I don’t have time to waste—my class starts in fifteen minutes.

Preet is sitting in my favorite chair in front of the dean’s desk. The dean, of course, isn’t here—he’s in the council meeting.

“Hey, do you know where the new teacher—” I stop, feeling like an idiot. “You? Oh, thank fuck.” Then, remembering how much I hate teaching, I wince and say, “What I mean is, I’m sorry this is being dumped on you, but⁠—”

“Shut up, Talon.” She rolls her eyes. “Like I don’t know how important those students are to you. ‘Thank fuck it’s you’ is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I don’t think that’s exactly what I said, but the gist is there, so I let it go. Instead, I go to perch on the edge of the dean’s desk. Partly because she’s sitting in my favorite chair, but mostly because he’s not here and I can.

From the way her mouth twitches, I can tell she knows what I’m doing. “Sometimes when he’s not here, I sit in his chair,” she confides.

Hah! I knew it. “You’re going to be fine with my class. Just don’t be afraid to threaten them early. They need to know who’s in charge.”

“I solemnly swear to dangle them over the chasm if necessary. But I think once they learn what’s happening, they’ll fall into line pretty fast.” She shivers. “I regret every single time I ever said I was bored. I would give anything to be bored right now, instead of preparing for this.”

I nod. “Yep. Get that. At least you don’t have to ride a fucking horse over half the continent because a chunk of rock said you can’t travel any other way.”

“What’s wrong with riding a horse?” she asks, confused.

“So much for any chance of us being friends,” I mutter. “Listen, I have to get to class. I’m not worried about you taking over. It’s a relief. I’ll tell them what I can this morning, and get them started on some of the preparatory exercises for support magic. Do you think you can join us for the last hour? Let me introduce you, then help out as they try it properly for the first time.”

“Yes, no problem. It’ll be good for them to see us work together before you go. I don’t want them to think you’re in disgrace or anything.”

I snort. “That might help. I’m pretty sure half of them would stab me in the back. The other half wouldn’t, but only because they’d want me to see it coming.”

She gives me a strange look, then shakes her head. “You better go. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

When I step into the classroom, I’m shocked to see my students sitting silently at their desks, eyes glued to the door. Normally I have to glare at them for a few seconds before they shut up and take their seats. For a second, I wonder if we’re in bigger trouble than we thought, and the zombies are already taking over the City of Knowledge.

No. None of the tales I ever heard mention zombies sitting quietly. Usually they’re killing wantonly.

“Has somebody died?” I ask, checking to make sure there isn’t an empty desk. I should have been notified if there was a serious incident, but sometimes things get missed.

“We want to know what’s going on.” Drey makes the statement with only the barest tremor in his voice. “We know you’re involved. Everyone’s talking about how you were the only apprentice at the council meeting yesterday. And the dragons are upset again. We deserve to know.”

Well. This is… unexpected. For the first time ever, I feel a tiny ray of pride in my students. I squash it down quickly.

“You deserve nothing,” I tell him flatly. “What you know is what most of the mages here know. What makes you think you deserve to know more than level-3 mages? You, who are the most untrained here? The lowest of the low? Most of whom, statistically, will either leave at the end of the year or die before graduation. And you claim to deserve to know more than those who’ve worked and studied and achieved for more than a decade? Some of them for multiple decades?”

Drey shrinks a little in his chair but lifts his chin. “We all deserve to know.”

This time, I don’t squelch the pride. Maybe the little fucker will actually achieve something someday.

“Fortunately for you, everyone is going to know. An announcement will be made tomorrow morning.” Before they can get too excited, I hold up a hand. “My master and I fought hard to gain special permission to tell you some details today.”

This time, I can’t stop the excited outburst of questions. So I stand with my arms folded and wait for them to fall silent.

“Thank you for that extraordinary waste of all our time. I can assure you that you’ll be sorry in a moment, when you hear what I have to say. First, though, let me warn you… if one whisper of what I tell you is leaked beyond this group, the regret I will make you feel will linger with you until your dying day… which may not be too far off. Learning secrets is a privilege, and as a mage, you need to be able to keep those secrets. Learning secrets early because Master Samoine and I put our reputations on the line for you… well, you don’t want to know what will happen if you betray my faith in you.” I skim my gaze along the rows of students, making sure to lock eyes with each of them. “Understood?”

Some of them are pale, but they all nod and murmur agreement.

“Excellent. As I said, I can tell you some things. First is that today will be the last class you have with me for the foreseeable future.”

A protest rises but stills under my glare. They’re learning.

“I’ve been called away. You’ll understand more tomorrow. Your new professor will join us later. She’s a level-3 mage, and I consider her to be outstanding in Talent and personality… a trait many of you still lack. She will also not take any bullshit from you, so don’t waste time trying it. Time is of the essence right now.”

I wait for another murmur of agreement before continuing.

“We’re also going to deviate from the planned curriculum. As I said, you’ll understand why tomorrow. We’re going to begin work on something that ordinarily isn’t taught until third year. There are reasons for that, and the primary one is to keep you alive. So you will follow all instructions to the letter, and you will not do any foolish experimenting of your own. Understood?”

The murmur this time sounds rather frightened, and I sigh.

“Do any of you know what support magic is?”

There’s a moment of confused silence, and then Lenora says, “Isn’t that b-battle magic?”

I nod. “Yes. Today you’re going to start learning support magic. Those lessons will continue for as long as possible, and then you may be called on to use them.” Eyes widen, and I grimace. “I see you’re beginning to understand. We have a lot of ground to cover, so let’s get started.”

CHAPTER NINE

I slip out of the classroom a few minutes before the class is due to finish, taking advantage of my students’—my former students’—distraction with the new magic they’ve been taught to sneak away and leave them in Preet’s hands. It’s for the best. If I dismissed the class myself, there would likely be some awkward farewells—and attempts to ask more questions, never mind that they already know more than they really should.

There’s a lot still for me to do before I have to get on a godsdamned horse tomorrow, but first I’m stealing ten minutes to go to the kitchens and beg for lunch. The cafeteria will be opening soon, but I want to avoid the possibility of being cornered by mages with questions.

My mission is successful, and I hide in the scullery with my sandwich as I reach out to Master for an update.

“Class is done. Do you need me there?” It’s a courtesy question—of course he does.

“No.”

What?

“You need to begin packing. We’re almost done here for the time being, anyway. The stone has made it clear that it’s told us what it can—the rest depends on what happens next.”

In other words, the rest depends on how soon the rogue mages raising zombies decide to unleash them on us all… and how soon I can find the stone’s champion. No pressure there. Just the most important race of the past thirty generations.

But… “Don’t you need me there while you speak to my mystery healer traveling companion?”

Master’s long pause has me setting my sandwich down. What’s happened? Did one of the councilors say something idiotic that he needed to call them out for?

“We already spoke with him. I thought it best that way. He was shocked, of course, but is willing to do what must be done and has gone to make preparations. You should go see him.”

I blink a few times. They spoke to him without me there? I knew Master planned to read the list to the stone this morning—we decided that last night. We could have done it then, but with so many of the masters already miffed about Master Samoine having constant access to the stone, we thought it best to let them think they’re important. I assumed, though, that telling the healer was something I would be there for.

“You spoke to him without me?” I try not to let it sound accusatory, but that’s hard with telepathy.

“I thought it best.”

Sudden dread curls in my stomach, making me wish I hadn’t already eaten half of the sandwich.

“Who is it?”

I can almost feel my master mentally bracing himself. “Jaimin Kahwyn.”

No.

No.

No no no no no.

No fucking way.

If you can hear me right now, I think furiously in the direction of the stone, know that you are a sadistic lump of… I founder. How do I insult a rock? …of clay, and I will get my revenge one day.

The pulse of condescending amusement I feel in return only stokes my rage. Stupid rock with a superiority complex.

“Talon?” Master’s mental voice is sharp. “You’re not doing anything foolish, are you?”

That depends on whether threatening the source of all creation can be considered foolish. Personally, I think it lands solidly in the maybe column.

So of course I lie. “No. Just… thinking.”

“I know you don’t like Master Kahwyn,” he continues. “But the stone was completely certain he’s the third in your traveling triumvirate… well, fourth, if we count Leicht.”

Yeah. I just bet it was.

“He said he’d expect you this afternoon. He made it quite clear that he understands you’re the expedition leader, despite his senior rank.” Master pauses. “I’m not certain what you have against him, Talon, but you will not embarrass me. Is that understood?”

The heat that floods my face is born of shame and humiliation. Master Samoine gives me a lot of freedom when it comes to self-expression. We both know a lot of my fellow mages dislike me because I’ve told them exactly what I think of them. He’s the same, so he doesn’t care. But there are some lines I won’t cross, and insulting a superior to his face—mage, healer, or dragon rider—would reflect very poorly on my master. I’ve never done it… with the exception of my outburst yesterday. That Master thinks I might do so now…

“Understood. I’ll treat Master Kahwyn with the respect he’s due.” It’s not as if I actually dislike him, anyway. I’m just… embarrassed by my own behavior and don’t want to deal with the consequences. “And I’ll go see him now.” I’m not going to be able to eat the rest of my lunch until I do. A thought occurs. “Does Tia know yet?” I doubt it. She’s the only one aside from me and Jaimin who knows everything that happened. If she’d already been told, I’d have had her laughing in my head all morning.

“No. As the expedition leader, that’s your job.”

It’s the second time he’s called me that, and I must admit, it makes me nervous. I’m not really the leader type. I’m more the “ignore instructions and do what I want” member of any group. The fact that Tia and Jaimin will be deferring to me on this journey is… unsettling.

“I’ll take care of it. I’m going to finish packing this afternoon, but I’ll come to your chamber this evening.”

Master sends back a wordless acknowledgment and then breaks contact.

I stare at what’s left of my sandwich and then wrap it in a napkin and shove it in my pocket, ignoring the scullery maid who’s sliding me wary sidelong glances. Since I’m wearing trousers, it’ll be a bit squished, but it will still taste good… later. When I’ve finished swallowing crow.

Seizing on one last chance to delay, I reach out to Tia. “What are you doing?”

“Packing your things.”

Er… what?

“What? I was going to do that. Don’t touch my things!”

Her mental scoff is just as annoying as when she does it out loud. “Please, Talon, be serious. You have no idea how to pack for a horseback journey.”

There’s a special way? Can’t I just shove what I need in my trunk and…

Oh. Where would I put a trunk on a horse? Shit. I hate when she’s right.

Clinging to what little dignity I have left, I say, “Fine, be that way. It saves me the effort. Have you arranged our supplies?”

“Yes. But if the stone plans to take us too far off the main highway, we may run into problems with food. I’ve only got one packhorse for us, so we’re carrying a limited supply.”

I don’t know what the usual number is supposed to be or even what a packhorse really does. I guess it’s right there in the name? But why would that affect food? Surely we’ll be stopping to eat in nice, clean, well-appointed inns and eating establishments.

I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that Tia means for us to actually use those tents she was talking about. “Do what you can,” I say, leaving that problem for future me to deal with. I’m the expedition leader, right? So we can stop for the night where I say, and if that means stopping in a village in the early afternoon because I’m not sure we’ll make it to the next one before nightfall, well, the stone will just have to deal with that.

I ignore the pulse of amusement from the stone. I’m the boss of it, not the other way around.

“Do we know who the healer is yet?” she asks. “I need to know if they have their own horse or if I should find one for them.”

Sighing, I tell her, “It’s Jaimin Kahwyn.”

For a split second, the only reaction I sense from her is shock.

And then she laughs. Not just mentally—she’s laughing out loud too. I can tell because it creates a telepathic echo. “This might just be the best moment of my life,” she says.

“I hate you. I’m going to talk to him now. If he needs a horse, I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, oh, please let me listen when you talk to him! Please!”

If this is sisterly love, I almost wish I was an only child. “I’m going now.”

“Fine. Have fun! And don’t worry about the horse thing—I can find out if he has one.” Her attention shifts away, and I mute the connection between us. What a day this has been. Being forced to hand my students over to someone else without ensuring they have the tools to stay alive—not the way I dreamed of ending my servitude as a teacher. Learning that I’ll have to travel with my… sworn enemy? That might be a bit harsh. But certainly the last person I ever wanted to travel with.

On a fucking horse.

Without all my things. If I can’t bring a trunk, what’s the available option? A satchel? My clothes aren’t going to fit in that, much less my books and other necessities. I’m going to need to check exactly what Tia’s packed for me. And look at a map, try to plot out which villages we can stay in.

Gods… money. I’m going to need money if we’re staying in inns. I make a mental note to speak to Master about it later. I have some, thanks to my allowance from the family estate and the royalties I get on some clever little pieces of magic—like the warming teacup—but I really think the combined councils should be funding this little journey. Anyone who argues is welcome to take my place on horseback and in a tent.

And now… now I need to go and speak to Jaimin Kahwyn, my new traveling companion. As if yesterday’s encounter wasn’t enough to make me want to avoid him for another six years.

It’s possible my old nanny was right about karmic justice being a real thing.

Someone with a less-than-charitable nature might suggest that I deliberately take the busiest hallways through the academy because I know I’ll be waylaid by mages with questions, thus delaying my meeting with Jaimin Kahwyn. They might say that my sudden agreeable nature in stopping to answer those questions—even though all I’m permitted to say is that an announcement is coming soon—is another delaying tactic. They also might find it unusual that when I finally do cross the chasm to the Academy of Healers, I don’t ask for directions but instead wander around in search of the right rooms… somehow getting lost and ending up in the kitchens, the guards’ mess, and, embarrassingly for everyone involved, one of the guest receiving rooms that’s occupied by two people in a very delicate situation. The kind that requires trousers to be around ankles.

It was that last one that finally convinced me to get on with it, and while they were both scrambling to cover themselves, I said, “Oh, don’t mind me—if you could just give me directions to Master Kahwyn’s rooms, I’ll let you get back to it.”

But even though I finally made it here, I somehow can’t bring myself to knock. I’ve been staring at the door for the past five minutes. I’m just lucky this isn’t a busy corridor, or knowing healers as I do, they’d be asking if I needed counseling.

What I need is a way to travel back in time and stop myself from being a jackass six years ago. And while I’m at it, I can go further back and make sure our ancestors don’t destroy all knowledge of zombies. Because that really was the worst decision they could have made.

Since the ability to time travel isn’t one I—or anyone—possesses, I suppose I’ll just have to⁠—

The door opens before I can lift my hand to knock. I was going to, though. I swear I was.

“I got tired of waiting,” Jaimin informs me, that little twitch of amusement from yesterday still on his lips. “We both have better things to do than have you stand in the hallway all afternoon.”

I open my mouth to deny it, close it, then ask, “How did you know I was here?”

He holds the door wide and gestures for me to enter. “There’s some muscle soreness in your right shoulder. Minor strain.”

“And you could sense that?” No way. No way could he sense that through the door, without knowing I was here, without trying.

He closes the door, but instead of answering my question, he asks one of his own. “Would you like me to take care of it?”

I rotate my shoulder while I think it over. I woke this morning with it feeling a little stiff, likely from the way I’d been sleeping. He’s right that it’s minor—one of those everyday aches that you stop feeling after a while and know will go away on its own.

“Thank you, but it’s fine. We have more important things to focus on.” Like how awkward this whole situation is.

He shrugs and crosses the room to a wall of shelves packed full of jars, bottles, and boxes. “It’s your decision.” That little quirk of the mouth again. “You’re the expedition leader.”

“Yes. I am. Er… I hope you’re packing light. We’ll only have one packhorse.” Does that sound like something a leader would say?

He nods to his pack sitting beside the door. It’s the kind I’ve seen Tia putting things in when she prepares for a few days away. Larger than a satchel, but not nearly large enough, if you ask me. “Those are my personal belongings. I’m also going to need to bring some medicines and other supplies, since we don’t know exactly what we’ll be facing. I can handle most healing without a problem, but you and your sister have somewhat of a reputation here in the healers’ academy, so I want to be prepared for anything.” He adds two bottles and a small silk pouch to an already half-full satchel.

My jaw drops with indignation. “A reputation?” I sputter. “What for? We’re not⁠—”

The look he gives me is enough to make me shut up. For a moment, I’d forgotten that he’s the one who saved my life when I thought it would be clever to leap out a five-story window and fall down the side of a mountain. And dragon riders are known for being reckless. There’s a whole team of healers on duty at their barracks, and Tia knows them all very well.

“We’ve matured,” I say instead. “And we both know how important this is. Important enough to ride horses.”

He turns to face me with a jar in his hand. “What’s wrong with riding horses?”

I groan. “Don’t tell me. You love horses. You think they’re the gods’ gift to humanity. You have one that you love like a child, and you can’t wait to spend however long riding the beast across half the continent.”

The lip twitch is back. It makes me want to rip his mouth off. “I do, in fact, have a horse and enjoy riding. I take it you’re not an equestrian, then? I’d better pack some salve for muscle stiffness… and something that will help a bruised bottom.”

Does that mean he won’t heal away my sore muscles? I refuse to ask. Somehow, I’ve lost control of this conversation, and begging for help isn’t going to get it back.

“I’m told you saw the stone this morning,” I say. “At this stage, it’s being somewhat closemouthed about the route we’ll need to take. All we know is that we’re heading south into Lenle.”

He stops packing, sets the satchel down carefully, and walks over to the window, looking out toward the dragons’ valley. “I’ve never had an experience like that before.” His voice is so soft, I almost don’t hear him. “When I looked at the stone…” He shakes his head. “Well. We may not know what the journey will bring, but at least we have the stone on our side.”

If he thinks that’s a good thing, he clearly doesn’t know the stone like I do.

“Yes. Definitely. On our side.” A chunk of rock and a dragon, both with attitude problems, both who hate me. That’s a great omen.

Speaking of people who hate me whose help I might need… I suck in a breath.

“I haven’t apologized to you yet. For… what I said. After you helped me. I-I… There’s no excuse. I’ve regretted my actions that caused the situation, and I regret that I didn’t show you the gratitude you deserve for saving my life. I’m deeply sorry.”

He’d turned to face me when I began speaking, and now he tilts his head slightly. “Thank you. Does that mean the offer’s off the table?”

The off— I remember my parting words to him yesterday, and for the second time in minutes, I sputter, and his laugh fills the room. It’s a truly joyous sound, and I’d probably appreciate it more if I wasn’t trying not to swallow my tongue.

“You should see your face right now. I’d happily save your life again just for this moment.”

“You’re evil,” I accuse, but I can’t help smiling. That was a good one, even I have to admit it. I shove down the tiny part of me that’s sad he was joking. It’s not like I could ever have let it happen. We have a mission. He’s a master, and I’m only a level-2 mage. And… and… I need to let this go right now, before I start coming up with reasons it would be a good idea.

“There needs to be no awkwardness between us,” he insists, still grinning at me. “The stone’s put you in charge of this vital job, and for some reason, it wants me to go with you. We have to be prepared to work as a team. That means leaving your asinine past deeds in the past.”

I want to argue with his use of “asinine,” but I don’t have any grounds on which to do so. I nod instead. “Agreed.” Briefly, I hesitate, then decide it’s time for some trust. “You should know—and so far, the only others who do are me, my sister, and my master—the stone can read my thoughts and communicate privately with me.”

Mild startlement crosses his face. “That’s interesting. And it’s going to prove very useful if we need directions but can’t risk having anyone see it. You’re right to keep it secret, though. There’s already quite a few grumbles about Master Samoine having possession of the stone now and you, his apprentice, being the one chosen to search for the champion. Let’s not kick the hornets’ nest any further.”

That’s sensible, which of course makes me immediately want to parade through the halls shouting the news to all and sundry. I squash that urge. It’s those kinds of urges that lead to me jumping out of windows. Well, the urges and copious amounts of unlabeled spirits.

“My main concern right now,” I confess, “is whether the three of us being chosen is some kind of symmetry thing—mage, healer, rider—or not.”

He nods slowly. “I had the same thought. The stone isn’t my area of expertise—we do some minor studies on it, but mostly, it falls in the domain of you mages. However, nothing I remember learning indicated that it had a penchant for symbolism.”

“Me either.”

“And if it did, why make the choices it did?”

I raise a brow. “You mean, why choose a level-2 mage, and a mid-rank dragon rider, then decide on a master healer so tremendous he has songs written about him?”

His face flushes dark red. “That’s not⁠—”

“No, I agree. If this was about symbolism, the stone would have chosen three masters of more or less equal rank. I think we’ve been chosen because there’s something we, individually, can bring to the group.” Although fuck knows what I’m bringing, aside from the ability to take no bullshit and piss people off everywhere I go.

“It’s still not exactly what I meant,” he insists. “But I don’t think you’re wrong. I’m a… an outlier. My family has a healer bloodline, but it’s not particularly strong. It even skipped the last three generations. Then I came along… and now suddenly, we’re on the verge of a zombie war, and I’ve been chosen to help you find the only hope we have of surviving it.”

“You think something’s going to happen to one of us. Or maybe to the champion. That it’s… fated, or something. And that you’re as strong as you are so this whole mission isn’t doomed.”

He swallows. “I hope not.”

Yeah. I hope not too.

CHAPTER TEN

When I find Master in his chambers that evening, he’s in one of his solemn moods. The stone is on his desk, box open, and I wonder if he’s been talking to it. He’s staring out the window toward the dragons’ valley. People seem to be doing that a lot lately. I understand it to a point—the view is nice, and the dragons have been unsettled, so definitely you’d want to see them coming if they planned to raze the academies to the ground—but it’s dark right now. Aside from a few stars, there’s nothing to see.

“Are you ready to go?” Master asks, still gazing out into the darkness.

“Yes. Well, everything’s packed, anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this.” If I can’t be honest with him, that leaves me with only Tia. And she already knows I’m not the important-mission type.

“No, you wouldn’t be.” He turns suddenly and looks me in the eye. “But if it helps, I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust with this.”

For a second, I don’t know what I feel. Shock, certainly. Surprise also. Pleasure? And then the heavy weight of expectation.

“That does not help, Master.”

He chuckles. “The stone will guide you. It would be a real achievement for you to fuck this up.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” I mutter.

“Not a challenge.” The edge of exasperation in his voice is as welcome as it is familiar. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe you are the only person who could pull this off. Not just because the stone insisted.”

I make myself comfortable in one of the armchairs by the fire. “Have you lost your marbles, Master? Should I call for a healer?”

He doesn’t laugh this time. “You’re a strong telepath—I believe that’s what allows the stone to communicate directly with you. It’s also going to allow you to stay in touch with me and the council no matter where you are. Not everyone else could manage that.”

It’s true—I’m a very strong telepath, and sometimes I feel as though I still have more in me that I can’t quite reach. That’s why I’m working so hard toward my mastery—I want to unlock every part of my Talent.

“But there are other strong telepaths who could do it,” I point out.

“None who also have your ability to fit in with everyone you meet,” he counters.

“People hate me!”

“Only the ones you don’t want to like you. Be honest, Talon—the kitchen staff, the guards, the housekeepers… none of them hate you.”

“That’s because I bribe them.” How dare he say people actually like me?

“Before you came here, the staff had a reputation for being unbribable,” he says dryly. “Even now, haven’t you noticed that you’re the only one who does it?”

I blink a few times. “I just thought that was because everyone else is too stupid to think of it.”

He huffs. “I swear, how such an intelligent man can be so dense sometimes… You’re charming when you want to be, and people respond to that. You’re blunt and honest to a fault, and other people respond positively to that. Better, you know when to use each tactic. You’re a powerful mage, and your ego is uncontrollable, but you eschew the trappings of magic that intimidate unTalented people.”

“Eschew.” I snort. “What a stupid word.” Then I think about what he said. “Is this because I hate wearing robes? You think I’ll be good at this because I don’t like having miles of fabric flapping around me?”

If looks could kill, Master would have just eviscerated me. “That’s part of it,” he says, his patience waning. “But you’re also the son of a nobleman and you know how to behave at court.”

“Court?” I sit forward, humor vanishing. “Nobody said I had to go to any of the courts. Do you really think the champion could be there?”

Master shrugs. “The stone will guide you,” he repeats. “It may be that you need to visit every court on the continent and a whole lot of aristocratic estates as well.”

“Or none of the above.”

He winces.

“Noooooo. No. Fuck, no. What did the stone say?” I glare at it. Dammit, part of the benefit of being a mage was that I’d never have to go back to court again. I hate politics. And fuck knows, I was never popular with other aristocratic families—I had even less patience as an adolescent than I do now, and my insults may have flowed a little too freely.

“It wasn’t so much the stone,” Master admits. “We passed the news to the court mages, and Master Haftel has requested that you visit and speak to the king on your way through.”

Haftel—she’s in Lenle. It’s the closest country, and if we stick to the highway—which I’m very much hoping we will—we’ll reach the capital, Lenledia, within a week or so.

“The stone might direct us elsewhere,” I say hopefully. A visit to court, and not even a court I’m familiar with, isn’t high on my fun-to-do list.

He spreads his hands. “If it does, it does. But if you do end up in Lenledia, or even in the near vicinity, the councils agreed that you’d pay a visit to the king.”

I groan. “What am I even supposed to say to him? Will he know why I’m there?”

Master nods. “Once the announcement’s been made tomorrow, the court mages have been instructed to advise the rulers of the situation. It will be kept in strictest confidence—nobody wants widespread panic. But we’ll likely need them to quietly begin making preparations.”

“For what?” I ask bitterly. “The unTalented can’t fight zombies. The stone said so.” Surely he can’t mean to send soldiers on suicide missions?

“No, but they can set up and man supply dumps and camps for our people. They can evacuate communities that may be endangered. And they can ensure that the looting and other crimes that always occur during war are quashed. Once war breaks out, it won’t just be zombies we need to worry about, Talon. The criminal element thrives on unrest, and confused, frightened innocents can cause more trouble without meaning to than you’d think.”

That’s a steaming pile of gods’ turds I hadn’t considered. “Shit.”

He nods. “Exactly. But none of that is your concern. If the opportunity arises, visit the king, show him the stone, and assure him everything is under control. There may be other requests for you to visit courts, but don’t worry about them for now. Your focus needs to be on finding the champion… a task for which you’re uniquely suited.”

I sigh. “If you say so. I still maintain that there must be someone else who’s a strong telepath and good with people.” Though even admitting I’m that last one makes me want to vomit.

“Not really, but that brings me to the third reason it could only have been you.”

“I’m waiting with bated breath.”

Shaking his head, he says, “There are times when I wish that were true and I could leave you waiting forever.”

Well, that’s not very nice.

“The third reason is Tia.”

I frown. “Tia? Master, I’m not sure if this has escaped you, but she and I are two people. And while I agree that it would have been very difficult for us to be apart for so long, there are other dragon riders who could…” I trail off. The look he’s giving me now is his “don’t fucking test me” one.

“There is nobody else with whom you have such a unique bond.” He’s being vague, but I instantly realize what he means. Our mind-to-mind connection—the way I’m always partly in Tia’s head, and she’s in mine. The bond we never spoke of to anyone because we knew, even as children, that it had to be secret.

There’s no record of anyone else in the world being connected like we are. I checked. And when something inside me suggested I could trust Master with this, he checked, too, in archives I don’t have access to. Then he told us both to never speak of it to anyone, not ever.

What Jaimin said earlier about feeling as though his entire existence was fated for this event comes back to me. Could that mean…?

“Master… do you think we’re the way we are because we were born to be tools of prophecy?”

He says nothing, but I see the answer in his eyes, and bile rises in my throat.

“I am my own man,” I rasp. “Not anyone’s pawn. Neither is Tia.”

“We’re all pawns of the gods,” he chides. “I know you think little of religion—and rightly so, given the current state of the priesthood—but you still believe in the gods.”

I grimace.

“This doesn’t make you any less yourself, Talon. Fate and prophecy are funny things. They plant the seeds, but free will is real. You made the choices you did of your own accord, and it made you the person fate needs. If you’d chosen differently…” He shrugs. “There would have been another. But I, for one, am glad it’s you.”

If only I could say the same.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A sharp shake jerks me to wakefulness. Tia’s standing over me with a candle, fully dressed in her flight leathers and armed to the teeth. For a split second, I wonder if she’s finally come to kill me like she threatened to do when we were six and I dropped her doll in the well to see how far down the water was. Nearly twenty feet, which I thought was impressive. She did not.

“Wake up, Talon,” she demands impatiently. “We don’t have all day.”

I blink at her, then cast a glance toward the window. It’s still dark outside. “It’s not day at all. What the fuck, Tia? I’m sleeping.”

“We need to leave. Important mission, remember? Vital to the survival of humanity?”

Ugh. I try to roll over, but she’s got a firm grip on my shoulder.

“Tia,” I whine. “Why do you hate me?”

“You don’t want to ask that question. One day, someone’s going to answer it, and you won’t like how long the answer is. Get. Up. We need to leave.”

“We’re not leaving until nine,” I inform her, trying not to take pride in the fact that there are many reasons for people to hate me. I don’t think that was her intention. “Dark means it’s not close enough to nine for me to get up.”

She rips back my blankets.

“Tia! What if I was naked?” I half sit up, reaching for the covers before all the warmth can disappear.

“Please. Like you have anything I haven’t seen before. Or even want to see. Now get up.”

Since it seems like she’s not going to let this go, I muster all my patience and ask, “Why? We’re not leaving until nine.”

“No, we’re leaving at six. In half an hour. Because every master in the city knows we’re supposed to leave at nine, and I can guarantee most of them will be there. And when everyone else sees them, they’ll want to know what’s happening and join the crowd. Do you really want to ride out with an audience that big?”

Fuck me dead.

I scramble out of bed. “On second thought, an early start is just what we need. Could you send someone to let J—Master Kahwyn know?”

“Jaimin is already in the stable, saddling the horses. Which, by the way, you’ll need to do for yourself in future.” She stands with her hands on her hips, watching as I splash water on my face and then look around blankly.

“Gods’ turds, what am I supposed to wear to ride a horse?”

Tia points to my desk chair, where she’s apparently laid out clothes for me as though I’m a child. To distract from that, I accuse, “You woke Jaimin before me?”

“No. Because he and I discussed it last night and decided this was the most sensible course of action. It was his idea—he’d heard the talk from the other masters.”

Where exactly was I during this secret meeting they had? “I think you’ve both forgotten who the expedition leader is,” I complain.

“He did suggest we talk to you,” she concedes. “But I know exactly how much you hate mornings, so I figured this way was better.”

She’s not wrong, but there’s no way I’m admitting that. “I need to tell my master and get the stone. Or have you already done that too?”

The annoying little smirk on her face is the only warning I have before my door opens. Choking down a shriek—and very glad I’m not still in only my underclothes—I spin to face it.

“Ah, Talon. I can see you’re your usual cheerful morning self,” Master says, grinning. Of course he and Tia are enjoying the fact that they’ve dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night to ride a horse in the fucking cold. “I won’t come down to see you on your way—it’s a little nippy out there in this time before dawn. But I’ve brought you this.” He holds out the box, and I move forward to snatch it from him.

“You’re an evil man.”

“Isn’t it delightful?” he agrees. “Take this as well.”

It’s a leather pouch on a long thong, the kind of thing people use to carry valuables around their necks to deter pickpockets. A shirt and coat usually do the trick to hide the bulge and make it difficult to access.

“I had it made especially,” Master says. “It should make carrying the stone easier when you don’t want to cart a box around.”

“Thank you.” I hadn’t even thought of that, but it’s not like I can just leave the stone in my room at all the inns I’m planning on staying in. And taking a wooden box, even a small one, down to dinner or everywhere else would attract attention. I quickly move the stone from the box to the pouch and hang it inside my shirt. The chunk of rock has been oddly silent so far—it’s probably planning ways to torment me.

“Be careful. We still don’t know enough about these rogues who are raising zombies. Or about the zombies themselves. It’s possible you may run into trouble on the road.”

I stare at him. “Trouble? Master, don’t you think this is something you should have mentioned earlier? When I could have recruited some nice burly guards to come with us?”

“The stone wouldn’t have allowed that,” he reminds me. “Only the three of you were permitted.”

“Then a lesson in how to wield a damn sword. And a sword to wield!”

“You know how to wield a sword,” Tia reminds me. “Father insisted you be taught. And that’s why you don’t have a sword. Stop worrying. Leicht and I are there to protect you.”

That’s an excellent point—Tia has been training for battle while I’ve been training to use magic, and dragons are basically giant flying lizards who kill. Though I’d never say that to Leicht. I ignore the denigration of my sword-fighting abilities. I might be somewhat rusty now, but I was a competent enough student. Ish. I never accidentally maimed anyone, anyway. They were all healed.

“What if you’re off scouting when we’re attacked? What happens then? I know basic battle magic, but it’s not my area of expertise, and I’ll have Jaimin to protect too.”

They both laugh. I must have missed the joke.

“Then you call for me,” Tia says patiently. “I’ll come back to save you.”

“And you don’t need to worry about Jaimin Kahwyn,” Master adds. “He’s spent a lot more time in the real world than you have. He can protect himself.” Unsaid but heavily implied is and you too.

My pride thoroughly battered, I say, “Well, this has been lovely, but I have a dangerous and uncomfortable journey to begin. In the cold and dark. With a man who believes I'm an immature child and a dragon who hates me.”

“Let’s go, then,” Tia replies, not bothering to refute any of those statements. “Grab your pack.” She strides out without waiting for me.

Miffed, I shove a few last-minute things—including the box—into my already bulging pack and make to follow. Master grabs my arm. “Talon, don’t be shy about checking in with me. Listen to the stone—it will guide you. And… remember what I said.”

Fate and free will. What a fun combination. “I’m honored to be your apprentice, Master.”

He nods and lets me go, and I hurry to catch up to Tia, the damn pack thumping against my side.

She’s already halfway down the stairs when I reach her, and I fall silently into step beside her—until we get to the bottom, and she turns to the right.

“You’re going the wrong way,” I whisper. “The stables are down there.” I point to the left, but she shakes her head.

“Jaimin is meeting us with the horses on the lawn,” she says at a normal volume. “Leicht needs somewhere to launch from, remember? You can take the chasm path around the academy and meet up with the road.”

The chasm path. In the dark and snow. On horseback. This just keeps getting better and better.

When we slip out the side door to the lawn, I’m thrilled to find that it’s just as cold as I was expecting. At least it’s not currently snowing. Off to the east, the sky is slightly lighter, which I suppose means it’ll be light soon… maybe. I don’t know exactly how long the sun takes to rise, since I’ve never been stupid enough to wake this early.

There’s a huge shadow in the middle of the snow-covered lawn that I’m guessing—hoping—is Leicht, and as we get closer and my eyes adjust more, I see a clump of smaller shadows. Jaimin, holding the reins of three horses.

Yay.

“Good morning,” he says, his tone far too cheerful even though he pitches it low enough so it won’t carry. “Give me your pack, and I’ll get it stowed. This lady here is yours. Her name is Sweetie.”

My gaze flies to Tia. “You picked a horse called Sweetie for me?”

She shrugs. “She’s the steadiest one I could find. The stablemaster said she’d stand still in a hurricane.”

That’s comforting, though I’m really hoping this will all be done with long before hurricane season arrives. And that we don’t have to travel as far as any of the regions where hurricanes occur.

I approach the horse warily as Jaimin secures my things to the packhorse and Tia scrambles up Leicht’s leg. “Good morning…, Sweetie.” I try not to cringe. “How do you feel about a change of name?”

In the faint light from the stars, it’s hard to see what color she is, but it’s impossible to miss the way her ears go back and she snorts, tossing her head. I look up at Tia accusingly. “You said she was gentle!”

“I said steady,” Tia calls softly. “I also didn’t say change her name. Stop being an ass, Talon, and mount up. We need to get going.”

The sound of a choked laugh draws my gaze to Jaimin, but the shadows hide his expression from me as he swings easily into the saddle of his tall horse. At least Sweetie isn’t a million feet high. It would hurt to fall that far—trust me, I know.

Sighing, I lean in to whisper to my horse, “Listen, a little mutual respect can go a long way. You like apples? I can get you apples.”

I’m close enough to see the way she stares back at me disdainfully, and I give up. Keeping a hand on her neck so as not to startle her in the dark, I take the few steps necessary to reach the saddle. Fuck, it seems a long way up. Do I even remember how to do this?

Five agonizing minutes and a humiliating scramble later, I’m finally mounted. “Let’s go,” I order, as though they haven’t been waiting for me.

Leicht launches with a giant flap of his wings, the backdraft making me cling to my pommel. Sweetie doesn’t even twitch, so at least the stablemaster wasn’t lying about that.

However, it takes three attempts from me to get her started, and even then I think she just notices that Jaimin and the packhorse are leaving and doesn’t want to be left behind.

The stories about glorious quests never mentioned this part.

We reach the city gates in the pearly light of dawn and are the first to go through when the guards open them as the sun breaks above the horizon. After our slow walk along the chasm path and then through the city streets, I’m more or less used to being on a horse now, but still wait another half hour, until the city road meets with the highway, before I begrudgingly tell Jaimin we should pick up the pace. There isn’t another village or town for miles yet, so it’s unlikely we’ll accidentally ride right past the champion. Not to mention, if they’re this close to the city and the stone has made me go through all this rigmarole, I’m going to find a hammer and smash it into pebbles.

Jaimin’s mouth quirks in the way that irritates me so much, but he obligingly nudges his horse into a canter. It takes me a moment to convince Sweetie to do the same. I’m starting to think that when the stablemaster said “steady,” he actually meant “stubborn.”

Or it could be that she just doesn’t like me.

The highway is well-maintained, but even though we’re already at a lower elevation and most of the snow here has melted off, the mud remains. It’s been a long time since I rode, too, much less at this pace, so I bump along like a sack of flour until I remember how to keep my seat properly. I hope Jaimin was serious when he said he was bringing something to help a bruised ass, because mine is going to be black and blue after this.

Tia stays in more or less constant contact with me as she and Leicht scout ahead and behind us, occasionally returning to circle overhead, but the first part of the morning passes uneventfully. We trade off walking with cantering a few times, pausing to water the horses, and it’s a little past nine when we approach the second village off the highway. We’re well below the snow here, and it’s definitely warmer—though at this time of year, that’s not saying much. I slow Sweetie before we get there, reaching out to Tia.

“Is there somewhere around here you can land? The horses need a break, and I think we should talk.”

“Let me look.”

“Is something wrong?” Jaimin asks, slowing beside me. I glance over and see him looking at me with a curious expression.

“No. I’m just hungry and thinking this might be a good time for us to rest the horses. Do you know if there’s somewhere nearby where Leicht could land? That way when Tia circles back, she can join us.” I mentally pat myself on the back for that clever idea.

Jaimin looks around. “Hmm. It’s been some time since I came this way, but I think if we head over that way, there’s an old quarry. It’s only a few hundred feet off the road, through those trees. There should be a small road somewhere…”

While he looks for the road, Tia says, “Leicht’s spotted a clear space off to the right of you, about a hundred yards into the trees. I think I can see a road, too.”

I hide my grin. I really am a genius. “Perfect. Jaimin’s about to lead us there. Give us a ten-minute head start before you join us.”

“There it is.” Jaimin points just ahead, where an overgrown road branches off the highway into the sparse forest. “Do you want to try that? Or maybe we shouldn’t leave the road, in case Tia can’t find us.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I assure him, trying to get Sweetie to turn and succeeding on the fourth attempt. “Leicht’s eyesight is a lot better than you’d think, and Tia says they can see pretty much everything that’s not under cover. Besides, I’d still rather we stopped out of sight, at least until we’ve got our stories straight. We’re likely to get some questions.”

He follows me, but there’s a doubting look on his face. I don’t blame him. We’re following a major highway, not a backwoods road. The villagers who live near highways are used to seeing travelers and don’t usually ask a lot of questions.

Despite the condition of the road, we reach the quarry quickly enough. It’s probably not the best place in the world for Leicht to land, what with all the random rubble strewn around, but I know the dragons can manage with worse conditions—and it was his suggestion, anyway.

“Is that a well?” I ask, squinting toward a cluster of abandoned buildings that were probably used for… whatever it is that people use buildings for at quarries. I wouldn’t know, not having any interest in digging for rocks.

Jaimin’s already headed toward it. “Yes,” he calls back. “Let me check if the water’s safe.”

Huh. Looks like having a healer along is going to be more useful than I thought. Though, now I think about it, it’s possible I was taught how to use magic to check if water is foul or safe. It was a long time ago, and since I never planned to be away from the comforts of a well-stocked kitchen, I didn’t pay that much attention.

Sweetie ambles to a stop beside Jaimin’s tall gray horse, and I maneuver out of the saddle, trying not to wince as my muscles protest. I spend a moment clinging to Sweetie while my legs learn that yes, standing is something they know how to do.

“It’s good,” Jaimin says just as I attempt a few faltering steps. I manage to stay on my feet, and as he drops the bucket to pull up some water, I rack my brain to remember what I need to do for my horse while she rests. Water, food… check her hooves. That’s going to be fun. Loosen the girth? Yes, I need to loosen the girth a little too.

I do that first, since it’s the easiest. There’s plenty of grass along the edge of the trees, so they can graze on that while we talk. Maybe I can check her hooves while she’s distracted by the water Jaimin is right now pouring into an ancient trough.

That’s if I can even remember how to do it.

While I’m mulling that over, I warily approach the packhorse. It seems placid enough, but a single glance at the pack-holder-thing tells me I have no idea what to do to make it more comfortable.

“I’ll take care of him,” Jaimin says behind me, and I jump and spin around. He’s closer than I expected, and I swallow hard. It’s really unfair that he’s so handsome and smells good even after riding a horse all morning.

“Uh… we should take turns,” I protest weakly, and he laughs, moving forward to loosen a strap on the pack that somehow doesn’t make the whole thing fall apart.

“I don’t mind. Your job is looking after the stone and finding the champion. Until we work out what my job is supposed to be, I can look after the horses.”

“Except Sweetie,” I insist. I might hate riding, but one thing our old groom beat into me was that you look after your own mount. You can’t expect a horse to carry you where you want it to if it doesn’t know you. Personally, I’d rather not know Sweetie, but I don’t shirk my responsibilities. Dammit.

He studies me for a moment, then nods. “That’s your decision to make. I won’t come between a man and his horse. But I need you to demonstrate that you know what you’re doing.”

Aw, the super-powerful healer cares about equine well-being. I bet he rescues kittens too.

“Fine. But I’ll be honest, I don’t remember how to check her hooves.”

He smiles at me. It’s warm and encouraging and makes me feel like I did something amazing. “You remembered it has to be done, though. I can show you how.”

I trail after him like a puppy, hating that his approval is seemingly so important to me, and grateful that I get to stand close and breathe him in for a moment longer.

Tia can never learn of this.

We spend the next few minutes making sure all three horses get enough water and their hooves are free of stones, then retrieve food and water for ourselves and turn them loose on the grass for their snack. No sooner have we found a semi-comfortable group of rocks to sit on than Jaimin glances up and says, “There’s Leicht.”

Faster than most people expect—though not me because the bastard’s surprised me this way many times before—Leicht dives from high overhead to land with surprising grace not too far away. He waits for Tia to slide down, then launches into the air again.

“Where’s he going?” Jaimin calls to my sister. There’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“To find a sheep or something,” she replies, smiling at him. “He’ll be back.”

“Too soon,” I mutter, but it’s not quiet enough. She kicks me lightly before taking a seat on the rock beside mine. I pass her a chunk of bread and cheese.

“Be nice to Leicht, or I’ll let him eat you like he’s been threatening to do all these years.”

“If he’d stop threatening, maybe I’d be nicer,” I counter, and they both laugh as though I’ve said something hilarious. I’m feeling distinctly ganged up on right now. “Let’s not waste time,” I continue in an attempt to actually show I’m the expedition leader. “It’s time to talk to the stone and see if we can form an actual plan.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What kind of plan were you thinking of?” Tia asks as I fish the pouch from around my neck and dump the stone into my hand.

“The kind where we have some idea what we’re doing,” I retort. “Okay, you ugly chunk of rock, are you ready to give us answers?”

The stone doesn’t even bother to react.

“I really hate you,” I tell it.

Jaimin winces. “That may not be helpful.”

“Neither would ‘accidentally’ losing it amongst all these other rocks, but it would make me feel better,” I mutter, then take a deep breath. “Fine. Here’s the thing, oh source of all creation. I don’t know what you want me to do, and yes, I know, you’ll guide me, but can you tell me how you plan to guide me?”

~Yes~

It seems begrudging somehow, and I want to ask the others if they noticed the stone’s attitude problem, but since it’s actually cooperating, now doesn’t seem like the time.

“Thank you.” See? I can be nice. “Do you know who we’re looking for?”

~Yes~

Okay, we can work with that. “Do you know their name?”

~Yes~

“That’s a good start,” Jaimin comments.

Tia pulls a face. “Is it? I don’t know the names of every single person on the continent, and even if I did, we don’t have time to list all of them.”

I’m still ignoring them, mulling over my options. It knows the champion’s name. What else?

“Do you know where they are?”

~Yes~

“What they look like?”

~Yes~

This isn’t going the way I thought it would. “Why can’t we just send for them, then?” I demand in sheer frustration, knowing it’s too complicated for the stone to answer.

A sense of helplessness is the only response.

“Let’s approach this differently,” Jaimin suggests calmly. “The stone obviously can’t just tell us who we’re looking for and directly where to go. Are we on the right road?”

~Yes~

“We bloody well should be, since this is the road it said we should take,” I mumble. My head echoes with the distinct sound of someone blowing a raspberry. I guess the stone heard me. “Do I need to stop every person we pass on the road?”

~No~

“You’ll tell me if I need to stop someone?”

~Yes~

“Well, that’s something.” Tia sounds relieved. “Leicht and I would be constantly rescuing you if you had to accost every traveler.”

I’d argue that I can take care of myself, but I’ve seen the armed guards that travel with some of the merchant wagons. Unless I wanted to seriously harm them—which I don’t—I couldn’t fight them all off.

“Do we need to stop in every village?” I’m hoping it says yes to this one—if we have to stop at every village, I’ll have more reasons to suggest we stay the night there instead of camping by the roadside.

~No~

Tia snorts. “There goes that plan, hey.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stupid stone. Never on my side. “You’ll tell me when we have to stop?”

~Yes~

Remembering what Master said last night, I ask, “Are we going to Lenledia?”

~Yes/No~

I resist the urge to throw the stone deeper into the quarry.

“Let me try,” Jaimin says, taking it from me. “At this point in time, do we need to go to Lenledia?”

~Yes~

“But that may change?”

~Yes~

I’m an idiot. Of course there’s a chance the person we’re looking for is going to move around. “So for now we can plan to stay on the highway until Lenledia?”

~Yes~

“Excellent.” Lenledia’s only a week or so away. Unless our quarry leaves there immediately and stays moving indefinitely, we’ll catch up to them soon. And then I can hand over the stone, wish them well, and make my way back to the City of Knowledge, where I’ll never have to see a horse or a tent again. “Where’s my map? Did we bring a map?” I look at Tia, who rolls her eyes and pulls a folded piece of paper from one of the many pockets sewn into her leathers.

“Here.” She unfolds it, and we all lean in to see.

“You’re the horseman,” I tell Jaimin. “How far can we get before they need to rest again?”

He taps his lip, studying the thickly drawn line that represents the highway. “Probably here,” he says at last, pointing to a village that doesn’t look that far away on the map. “At about lunchtime. And then we could stop here”—his fingers move along the line of the highway to where the bridge over the River Harnc is—“for the day. Unless there’s any urgent need to move quickly, I don’t think we should push the horses too hard.”

“I agree,” Tia says. “Things look quiet so far, but we don’t want the horses worn out if you suddenly need to run.”

She’s the warrior, and he’s the horseman, so it would be stupid of me to argue. “At that pace, how long to get to Lenledia?”

“That’s a little faster than it would take a good carriage,” Jaimin says. “Eight or nine days, maybe.”

Still in line with my original reckoning, then. And if I remember right, there’s a good-sized town at the Harnc river crossing. And a town means inns. Suddenly, I’m extremely grateful for greedy traders. That bridge was expensive as fuck to build, but the merchants’ guild of Lenle agreed to split the cost of hiring mages to help with the king of the time, because they wanted a feasible overland way to get goods to the City of Knowledge and through the passes to the northern countries. I’ve never seen the bridge for myself, but Tia says that from the air, she can see it from miles away.

“That sounds like our best option, then,” I say casually. “Stone? Do you agree with this plan?”

~Yes~

Wow, finally something going my way.

“I have some more questions, if you don’t mind.” Jaimin’s frowning, his expression faintly troubled. I gesture for him to be my guest. I’m enjoying this little reprieve from jostling around on horseback.

“Are there zombies already loose on the continent?”

And there goes my relaxation. I wait tensely for the stone’s reply.

~Yes~

“Actually loose? Not contained by their masters?”

~Yes~

Tia swears viciously.

“Have they caused harm to innocents?”

~Yes~

Now it’s my turn to swear. I stand and pace away, kicking rocks. Then a thought occurs, and I swing around. “Do the councils know?” Is this one of the questions they asked while I was saying goodbye to my class?

~Yes~

“And they’re acting on this information?”

~Yes/No~

Before I can reach out to shout angry expletives at my master, Jaimin says, “Is everything that can be done at this time being done?”

~Yes~

His jaw sets. “Is there anything we can do, aside from what we’re doing?”

~No~

“Dammit,” I hiss. “Fucking steaming piles of disease-ridden gods’ turds!”

Jaimin’s voice is still steady. “Are we likely to encounter zombies on our travels?”

~Yes~

Tia’s gaze clashes with mine, both of us stunned. Why didn’t I think of that? My focus was on possible living minions of our enemies, not the undead ones. I was sure they’d keep those in reserve for a mass attack.

“Dragon fire,” she whispers. “Magefire. We can handle this.”

We can. I think.

“Will you warn us if there’s a zombie in the area?” I manage.

~Yes/No~

“Well, that’s comforting.”

Jaimin’s staring at the stone. “I don’t know what to ask next,” he confesses, looking a little lost. It’s the first time I’ve seen him less than confident, and it scares me. He’s a master, the strongest healer of his generation, twelve years older and more experienced than I am… if he doesn’t know what to do, how am I supposed to?

A gentle pulse of assurance from the stone brings me out of my funk. “We’ll have time for more questions later,” I say, trying to sound like I’m not on the verge of riding into the nearest village, taking up some useful trade, and spending the rest of my life in obscurity. “Let’s get back on the road now. Maybe the… steady, uh, rhythm of the horses’ hooves will get our brains thinking.”

Tia looks at me as though I’ve gone insane, but Jaimin nods. “I’ve always found riding to be an astonishing way to clear the head,” he says, straight-faced.

“Astonishing,” I agree. “Absolutely. Tia, is Leicht nearby? We won’t leave you here alone, but it’ll take a few minutes to get the horses ready.”

Her gaze goes slightly distant. “He’s on his way. The sheep are apparently very good around here.”

I don’t know if I want to take meal recommendations from a dragon.

Jaimin and I have no trouble catching the horses—they seem to like him a lot—and I make sure Sweetie has some more water before I tighten the girth and painfully haul myself into the saddle. Leicht lands, graceful as always, and less than a minute later launches again with Tia safely on his back.

Jaimin and I go back down the overgrown quarry road to the highway, and are soon cantering again. Another few hours, and we’ll stop for lunch. This is fine. In a week, we’ll be in Lenledia, where hopefully the champion will still be.

Everything is under control.

Except the world is tilting sideways.

No, wait, I’m tilting sideways. Am I falling out of the saddle?

I haul back hard on the reins as the saddle slides to the side, desperately kicking my feet free of the stirrups and trying to roll as I hit the ground head and shoulder first. Fortunately, Sweetie’s slowed enough that I don’t get trampled, and I scramble away from her deadly hooves, then lie in the muddy road, panting.

What. The. Fuck?

“Talon?” There’s alarm in Jaimin’s voice as he approaches, and I lift my head.

“I’m fine,” I groan. Except for my dignity, which is never going to recover. What even happened?

A distant memory stirs, and I sit up. Sweetie’s standing a few yards away, patiently waiting. My saddle is hanging upside down, the strap across her back and the seat dangling under her belly. There’s about half an inch of daylight visible between belly and saddle. “But I tightened the girth!” I exclaim.

Jaimin reins in beside me and swings down. “This is my fault,” he says apologetically, though I swear his lips are twitching. “I forgot to tell you that she likes to hold her breath right before you tighten the girth. You have to check it twice and make sure it’s actually tight enough.”

My eyes narrow as I scramble to my feet and stalk over to my horse. Leaning close to her ear, I hiss, “So that’s how you want to do this? Fine, then. It’s war.”

Late in the afternoon, I’m forced to admit that Sweetie is winning the war.

I tried. Really, I did. I was ruthless about keeping her on the road and at the pace we set. I stayed in the saddle. When we prepared to ride again after breaks, I tightened the girth twice, just so she couldn’t mess with me. And even though I swear she went out of her way to make the ride as bumpy as possible, I never made a peep about it. Bruises? What bruises? Aches and pains? Pffft. She will never know how much I hurt right now. How desperate I am for a long soak in a hot tub.

Except I think she does know, because this whole time I’ve been grooming her, she’s been making it as difficult as possible. But only when Jaimin’s looking the other way.

Sneaky Sweetie.

So far, she’s stepped on my feet—both of them, at different times—shifted so suddenly that I was knocked onto my ass, and overturned the water bucket so violently that it splashed me. Despite all that, I’ve done my best to curry and brush her, check her for ticks and other roadside nasties, and now I’m trying to check her hooves. “Trying” being the relevant word, because she’s not cooperating.

I straighten after my fifth attempt to get her to lift her leg and go to look her in the eye. “Listen, if you want to get a sharp stone stuck in there until it bruises or gets infected so people will say what a horrible person I am, fine. Just remember, though… it’s going to hurt you more than me. I’ve got no problem selling you to the butcher for dog meat and finding myself a nice, biddable horse with a decent name.”

She snorts, and I half expect smoke to come out of her nose.

“What are you saying?” Jaimin demands, sounding completely exasperated. “Gods turds’, Talon, are you threatening your horse? She can’t understand you!”

I narrow my eyes, not taking them off Sweetie’s. “Oh, she understands.”

His sigh makes me feel a little embarrassed. This is not how I want the great and powerful master healer to think of me—as the idiot whose horse gets the better of him.

“Are you done?” he asks. “She looks well-brushed. Let’s settle her in a stall and get her something to eat.”

For a split second, I’m tempted to agree. But the fact is, I don’t want to be the asshole who neglected his horse. Even if we are at war.

“She won’t let me check her hooves,” I say finally.

“Oh. Show me what you’re doing. That can be tricky.” He sounds solemn, but when I glance over my shoulder at him, there’s a twinkle of amusement in his gaze. I hate the way he always seems to be laughing at some inside joke. Doesn’t he know that he should be an old grouch like most of the other masters?

“Okay,” I agree. The hoof pick is still in my hand. I can show him. All I have to do is bend over and present my ass to him while I try to get Sweetie to raise her damn hoof.

To my relief, he moves, coming around Sweetie’s side with me to get a better view. Well, a view of the hoof instead of my ass. I disagree that it’s better.

Bending, I grab her hoof⁠—

“No, stop. She won’t cooperate if you do it that way,” he says immediately. “She doesn’t understand what you’re doing.” Suddenly, there’s a warm body pressed up to my side, bent over next to me. His hand covers mine, big and warm and surprisingly calloused, and he repositions my palm higher on Sweetie’s leg. “Start here, and run your hand down her leg. Like this. A firm but gentle stroke.” He guides me in the motion even as air catches in my chest. I barely notice when my horse lifts her hoof. “There you go. Talon?”

“Yes,” I gasp, bringing my eyes back into focus. “Uh… thank you.” In my defense, it’s not easy to concentrate on a horse when an attractive man is holding your hand and talking in his warm, delicious voice about firm stroking.

As he straightens, I adjust my stance to hide the part of me that would be very happy to discuss his “firm but gentle stroke” technique, and hope he puts the flush in my cheeks down to the increased blood flow from being bent over.

Sweetie hasn’t picked up any stones, just a bit of mud, so I clear that out, then, with Jaimin supervising, check her other three hooves.

It’s a relief when he goes to talk to the inn’s stablehand about food for the horses, and I settle Sweetie into her stall for the night and get her more water. “I guess I owe you a partial apology for the whole butcher thing,” I grumble. “The hoof-cleaning was on me, not you. The rest, though…” I shake my head. “I’ll remember it all.”

She ignores me, drinking some water, and I open the stall door to step out. That’s when she shoves me in the back, hard, sending me stumbling into the thoroughfare… and directly into Jaimin’s arms.

“Careful,” he says, tightening his hold while I get my feet under me. “Are you okay? Did you trip?”

My whole face burning hot—both with embarrassment and from that brief moment when our bodies were pressed together from chest to knee—I step back and look over my shoulder at Sweetie, prepared to make another threat.

She’s watching me. Expectantly. Does she want me to sell her?

No. Maybe she just wants me to look like a fool in front of Jaimin. That makes a lot more sense.

“Did she push you? I bet she’s impatient for dinner,” he says, moving past me and securing the stall door, then petting Sweetie’s nose. She pushes into his palm, eager for the attention… then nudges his chest, knocking him slightly off-balance. He takes a half step back to compensate, and for a moment, he’s pressed flush against me again. “Sorry,” he apologizes as we move apart. “I’ll go see what’s holding up the feed. You can go up to your room, if you like.”

I don’t look at him, focused instead on Sweetie’s face. “I’m going now,” I reply. “Thank you for your help.”

He pats my shoulder, and I pretend the touch doesn’t burn. “Of course.”

As he walks away, I lean closer to my horse. “I don’t know what your game is, but you can quit it. We’re on very important business. Your job is to carry me where I need to go so I can do my job. If we all do our jobs, none of us will end up dead.” Maybe. “So let’s call a truce, because we’re on the same team.”

She nickers and gives me an innocent look. I don’t know whether to trust it, but since I don’t speak horse, there’s nothing else to do except go up to my room and hope we get along better tomorrow.

While Jaimin and I were getting the horses settled, Tia took all our stuff up to our rooms—for which I’ll be forever grateful. Except when I get up there, I find it’s only one room.

“Stop griping,” she orders. “There’s plenty of space, and I rented the whole room, so we have privacy.”

I stare down the line of four cot-sized beds that definitely don’t have the generous, plush mattress I’ve been dreaming of all day. “Don’t they have anything else? Why didn’t you say—we could have looked for another inn.”

She rolls her eyes. “Talon, I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but we’re already conspicuous enough. A mage, a healer, and a dragon rider traveling together—people who know how to recognize us are going to remember us. If our enemy is, by some chance, looking for us, we want to be as unmemorable as possible.”

The blank expression on my face must give away the fact that I have no idea what she’s talking about, and she sighs. “Three people, two on horseback, one in leathers, flashing money around—say, on three big rooms at one of the better inns—will get everyone’s attention. It’s enough that some people will notice us. Let’s make it so that as far as most people are concerned, we’re just passing travelers.”

“We are just passing travelers,” I protest, not ready to let go of my dreams of comfort.

“Yes. But we want them to think we’re poor, boring travelers. Maybe mercenaries heading south for winter work. Not travelers on a mission with money to spend.”

Reluctantly, I begin to see her point. And at least I still get to sleep in a bed. But… “I really wanted a hot bath.”

“I asked, and there’s a public bathhouse on the next street,” she advises. “I’m going to head there now.”

A shared bath. And here I thought the joys of dormitory living had ended when I graduated.

This had all better be worth it, I think toward the stone. It doesn’t respond.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Four days later, there still hasn’t been a peep from the stone. We’ve ridden past a lot of people on the road, past more villages and farms than I care to remember, and through another good-sized town, and not once has it suggested that we might want to stop so I can talk to someone. It was too much to hope that the champion might leave Lenledia and head in our direction, I suppose. At least the stone is continuing to insist that we need to stop at court—I ask it every night. The very last thing I want to hear is that the champion has left the city and is traveling even farther from us.

My relationship with Sweetie is… unsteady. And I’m not just talking about how I feel after riding all day. The muscle soreness that plagued me the first few days is finally beginning to wear off, but I’ll never be a fan of this mode of travel. Who thought sitting on a horse was a good idea? I’ll bet their horse was a gentle sort who adored them. Not like mine, who switches between hot and cold so many times a day, I’ve given up trying to remember if we’re at war or not. Now I just hope she’s not going to kill me while my guard’s down.

Tia thinks I’m being ridiculous—after all, horses are vegetarians. What would be the point of Sweetie killing me? She doesn’t realize that my seemingly placid mare is actually a sadistic demon disguised as a horse and would kill me just for the fun of it.

As though she can hear me, Sweetie tosses her head, her black mane flying. Sometimes I try to console myself with the knowledge that at least she’s a pretty horse, a fifteen-hand bay with a glossy coat I’ve been taking good care of. And definitely steady—she never flinches when Leicht’s near, unlike the packhorse, and didn’t even bat an eyelid when we rode past a group of village children playing with toy bows and an “arrow” flew right past her head. Even Jaimin’s gray was skittish then.

On the other hand, she seems to get nervy at the oddest times, usually when she has an opportunity to send me stumbling backward—or like yesterday, when she shied for no reason and I went flying out of the saddle and practically into Jaimin’s lap. He always seems to be there when she’s in the mood to humiliate me, and I hate that. It’s not the image I want him to have of me. I need to redeem myself in his eyes, not make things worse.

Tia tugs at my mind, and I reach out to her. I can see Leicht, a distant speck against the blue sky. At least the weather has been cooperating—though cold, we’ve had no rain or snow. That’s not likely to last, given the time of year.

“Yes?”

“Stop mooning.”

My face gets hot. Damn her. Somehow she’s gotten the idea that I have an infatuation with Jaimin—which is obviously not true. It’s just been a long while since I’ve had time for sex, and he’s an extraordinarily attractive man. It’s normal to notice. And have the occasional sweaty dream. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit true, but who can blame me? He’s slept mere feet away from me for days now, and we spend almost every waking moment together. That doesn’t mean I’m “mooning.”

Unfortunately, I wasn’t guarding my mind strongly enough that first night, and Tia caught a few snatches of one of the aforementioned dreams. After waking me with a mental screech so loud that I leapt off my cot before I was fully awake, she’s taken it upon herself to tease me ever since. And because our minds are so linked, she can somehow tell when my thoughts turn to him.

“I’m not mooning! I was thinking about my horse!”

Her mental laughter echoes through my mind, and I wince. That was definitely not the right response.

“What do you want, Tia?”

“There’s a decent place to make camp about two miles ahead of you, but nothing after that for ages, not even a village. I think we’ll have to stop early today.”

I narrow my eyes. Interesting how she waited to tell me this until we were just far enough past the last village to make turning back illogical. We’ve already had to camp once, and it’s definitely not on my list of things I want to do again.

“I hate you,” I tell her.

“I love you too, baby brother.”

I don’t bother to argue that we were born less than three minutes apart.

“I’m going to ask Tia to scout ahead for a place to stop tonight,” I say casually to Jaimin. As part of our effort to keep the unusual twin bond a secret, I’ve been making a big fuss about being the one to initiate contact, since I’m the telepath.

He gives me a slightly puzzled glance. “It’s early yet. Is something wrong?”

“No. Just… uh… I don’t want to get caught out camping again.” That’s absolutely true. He doesn’t need to know yet that it’s going to happen. “I’d rather have her start looking now.”

He nods slowly, brow furrowed. “That’s sensible. You do hate camping.”

“So, so much,” I agree fervently, then paste on a distant, focused expression, as though I’m mind-talking with my sister. When I sneak a sidelong glance at him, the frown is gone, replaced by the usual lip-twitching amusement. It’s really a crime for a man to be that attractive.

Tia tugs at my mind again, but I ignore her. I’ve had enough mocking for one day.

When I’m finally sure the “easy-to-assemble” tent is actually assembled and not going to collapse like it has five times already—not embarrassing at all—I plant my hands on my hips and survey the clearing.

Tia’s right that it’s a decent place to camp, just far enough off the road that anyone passing won’t see us, but if I find out tomorrow that there was a nice, tidy little village within easy reach, I’ll risk Leicht’s wrath to kill her.

As though thinking of her was a summons, Tia and Jaimin choose that moment to return to the clearing. They got their tents up quickly, so she went to hunt some game while he fetched water from the stream that’s close enough to hear but out of sight through the trees.

“Want me to test it?” my sister asks with a teasing grin, two fat rabbits dangling from her belt. “We wouldn’t want it to fall on you in the middle of the night.” Like it did last time is implied.

“You can sleep in it, if you want,” I offer, because I’m generous that way. She makes a rude hand gesture and begins digging a fire pit. Until this week, I didn’t even know that was something people needed to do. It just makes me even more thankful I’m a mage and not a rider.

Between the three of us, we finish setting up camp and get a meal started. I do my share, but mostly that means obeying the orders they give me. Being expedition leader means nothing at times like this. A good leader knows when to let others demonstrate their expertise. So I start a fire with magic in the pit, then roughly chop the last of our vegetables while Tia skins and cleans the rabbits and Jaimin sees to the horses. Once I’ve turned the beginnings of the stew over to Tia—since she actually knows how to cook—I go help him.

It surprises me how much I enjoy dinner. Not just the food, although that’s tastier than I expected for something cooked in a can over a campfire. But sitting in the dirt, talking quietly about how we’ll handle our approach to Lenledia, what I’ll say to the king… the comradery of it all is nice. I’m used to working alone, with my master peering over my shoulder occasionally and commenting that I’ve fucked something up. It’s new and different to work collaboratively with others—I haven’t done it since I graduated.

We clean up, then linger around the fire. Stopping early meant we had plenty of light still to set up camp, and it’s nice to be settled and (relatively) comfortable as twilight falls and turns to dark. Overhead, in the space between trees, the stars come out. There’s supposed to be a bright moon tonight—it’s waxing toward full.

“Is Leicht settled?” Jaimin asks Tia. The big dragon won’t fit in the clearing with us, and Tia tells us he doesn’t want to anyway. He’ll share space with her if they’re traveling alone, because it’s safer for her that way, but dragons are very private when it comes to sleep.

She nods. “He’s about half a mile away, and he’s just finished dinner.”

I hold up a hand. “Spare us the details. I don’t want to lose my dinner.”

Jaimin chuckles, the sound warm and inviting in the shadows cast by the fire, and that annoying zing of attraction stirs in me again. Tia tugs at my mind, but I can sense her amusement already and don’t need it confirmed.

“I’m going to bed,” she says. “Since we stopped early, I’m guessing you want an early start tomorrow?”

I nod. “I don’t want to delay our arrival into Lenledia,” I confirm. “The sooner we find the champion, the sooner this can all be over. Bed sounds like a good idea.”

We bank the fire, and Jaimin and I go to check the horses. Then we all retire to our tents. Considering how early we stopped, I’m half expecting to have trouble falling asleep, but I start drifting off almost immediately. My last thought is gratitude that Tia let us each have our own tent, and Jaimin isn’t quite so close tonight…

The stone’s scream in my head jolts me to consciousness and has me scrambling from my blankets, not sure whether I’m awake or dreaming. I rip back the tent flap just in time to see the moonlight reflecting off the blade plunging toward me.

My mind goes completely blank with shock, reflexes taking over as I throw myself to the side, and my magic lashes out. My shoulder hits the ground jarringly hard as my attacker crumples in a heap beside me. I lie panting in the dirt for a second before a shadowy movement gets my attention.

“Tia!” I blast the full force of my power through our bond. “Danger!” Scrambling to my feet, I try desperately to remember any kind of battle magic that might be useful right now. I manage a solid blast of telekinetic energy that knocks Tia’s attacker momentarily off-balance just as she emerges from her tent with blades unsheathed. Then a cry has me spinning toward Jaimin’s tent.

The flap is open.

No.

Cold sweat breaks out on my spine as I race toward it, my foot slipping in the cold ash of the firepit. I fall⁠—

And a blade swooshes above my head.

Fuck. How did I miss the number of attackers? Dark shadows are detaching themselves from the trees, the occasional reflection of moonlight on skin or metal the only way to see them clearly.

Grimly, I roll to my back and aim another telekinetic blast at the man swinging his sword down toward me. It must hit him somewhere vulnerable, because he drops like a stone, but I don’t waste time waiting for the next attack. Tia’s awake, and the ring of steel on steel, plus the occasional grunt or yelp, tells me she’s got my back. I need to check on Jaimin.

By the grace of the gods, I make it the rest of the way to his tent unhindered. I can hear whimpering from inside and brace myself before peering in.

It’s dark.

Too dark to see.

“I need a distraction so I can make a light,” I throw at Tia.

Mentally sending acknowledgment, she gives a ringing cry, drawing our attackers’ attention. “Come and get me, you bastards!” she shouts.

“Leicht’s coming, but in this clearing…”

There’s not much he can do.

Not wasting another second, I summon a tiny, dim light, barely a glow. I don’t need to attract attention right now, not until I know what I’m facing.

There’s a man in black clothing sprawled just inside the small tent, taking up most of the space, a dagger protruding from his chest. Dead.

In the far corner, Jaimin is curled up tight, whimpering. At first I think he’s frightened, but as he raises his head to look at me, I realize he’s in pain.

Gods’ turds. What happens when the healer’s the injured one? And how long can Tia fight them off without help?

“Where—”

“I’m unhurt,” he gasps. “Go. Help Tia.”

“Jaimin—”

“I swear, I’m fine. Go.”

I hesitate a moment longer, then throw a telekinetic barrier around him. It’s not much, but it’ll keep any other attackers off him—unless they kill me first.

Backing away from the tent opening, I stand and turn to assess the battle. My eyes have more or less adjusted to the moonlight, although the dark colors our attackers are wearing don’t help. I can do something about that, at least.

“Tia, cover your eyes!”

My sister immediately drops to the ground mid-stab, confusing her opponent, and I fill the clearing with light as bright as day. Our attackers cry out and try to shield their eyes, and I take advantage of the opportunity to begin blasting them with telekinesis. Tia’s on her feet in the next second, blades slashing, and just as the remaining men pull themselves together, there’s an earsplitting roar.

Leicht swoops low enough over the canopy that the backdraft from his wings whips the air, and in the moment of distraction, Tia slays the two gaping men.

Silence falls, and I suck in a breath. “Have we got rope?” I manage. “Those ones I hit are still alive… I think.” Some of them aren’t moving at all, so either I accidentally killed them, or they’re well and truly unconscious.

Tia gives me a pitying look as Leicht circles overhead, and then I gasp as she runs her sword through one of the fallen men.

“Tia!”

“What? Think this through, Talon. There’s no way we can transport this many prisoners, even if we had the right to do so and somewhere to take them. We can’t leave them alive here and risk having them come after us with better luck next time. These men are either extremely well-disciplined and equipped bandits who, for some reason, decided to kill us instead of bothering to steal the extremely valuable horses”—she points to where the horses are still hobbled, the packhorse tossing its head skittishly—“or they were sent here specifically to kill us.”

I hate when she’s right, and I flinch again as she beheads another one of the men, even though this one is stirring.

Then she stops, staring at him. She takes a step back and looks around the clearing. “Talon?”

“Yes?”

“Is there a man lying in front of my tent with his throat open?”

That’s a question I never wanted to hear. “Um…” Reluctantly, I look. “No?”

She nods. “That’s what I thought.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s here. Ten feet away. Still with his throat open.” His head rolls slightly, and my stomach heaves. “Even more open now.”

Every hair on my body stands on end.

Then horror strikes, and I spin and take the three strides to get to Jaimin’s tent, terrified by what I might find.

But nothing’s changed. The dead man is still dead. Jaimin is still huddled, breathing in painful gasps. I brighten the light a little, kneeling to examine the dead man more closely. His wound looks the same, though I didn’t see it all that well before, anyway. He looks… human. Hesitantly, I reach out and check for a pulse. Nothing. Do zombies even have a pulse?

Not for the first time, I curse the ancestors who decided lack of knowledge would prevent stupidity.

“What are you doing?” Jaimin wheezes.

“At least one of the ones outside is a zombie.” Shit, I’ve left Tia alone with them. As I scoot backward, I run into something solid.

“Watch it,” my sister snaps, and I relax, glancing up. She’s got her back to me, blades in hands, attention focused on the rest of the clearing as she guards us. “Is he okay?”

Blinking, I glance back at the dead man before I realize she means Jaimin. “Working on that,” I reply. “Have any of the rest risen… or risen again?”

“No. I dismembered the first one. It won’t stop it, but it’ll do while we make a plan.”

We don’t have a lot of options.

“Not a zombie,” Jaimin says, and I turn my attention to him. His breathing seems to be a little easier, but his face is still tense with pain.

“How do you know?”

He slowly lifts his hand, wincing, and taps his temple. “Feels different. That’s what woke me. People that felt wrong.” A slight shake of the head. “Not him. He was human.”

“Talon,” Tia warns. I peek over my shoulder and see some of the bodies stirring.

“I’ll be back,” I tell Jaimin, removing the telekinetic shield. I’m going to need that energy. “Let me out, Tia.”

She shifts a step sideways, and I wriggle past her and stand. Two of the men are now on their feet, at least three more moving. The two standing are easy to identify as zombies now—one’s missing an arm, and one has a gaping wound in its chest, but neither seems to notice their injuries. They’re not in pain, not confused—just intent on us as they stride forward.

I brace myself and hit them both with magefire.

It engulfs them instantly, but they keep walking, and it’s a fight not to take my eyes off them. I’m going to be seeing this in nightmares for the rest of my life.

They’re two feet away before their legs fail and they collapse to the ground, the magefire eating every trace of them, reducing them to ashes and those ashes to dust. I watch grimly until the last spark is extinguished, then raise my gaze to the others. Two more are on their feet. One’s staggering, and I’m not sure if it’s because it can feel the wound in its thigh or because Tia’s severed something important, but that doesn’t matter. I shoot magefire at both of them.

There’s movement behind me as I burn another zombie as it rises. No wounded human could move that smoothly.

“Talon?” Jaimin murmurs just as I feel his warm presence at my back. “Let me pass. I’ll check the rest.”

I move so he can come up beside me, but then fall into step with him, Tia at my other side. “We’ll come with you. We need to take care of them all, anyway.” Bile rises in my throat as I realize how easily I’ve warped the meaning of “take care of.”

We move swiftly around the clearing, Tia keeping an eye on the burning zombies as Jaimin glances at each of the remaining seven men, pronouncing them either human or not. I mostly didn’t need his help—the ones that aren’t zombies seem to be actually dead—but I obediently wait for his pronouncement before striking the zombies with magefire.

The last body we stop beside is the man who tried to kill me. Jaimin, swaying slightly, frowns down at him. “He’s human, and definitely dead. I can’t work out how, though. There’s not a wound on him.”

“Heart attack?” Tia suggests, not bothering to turn around and look.

Jaimin slowly shakes his head. “No. His heart’s healthy. Talon, how did you kill him?”

I shrug uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I wasn’t fully awake yet. My magic was involved, but that’s all I can tell you.”

He raises a troubled gaze to study me, and I resist the urge to squirm.

Overhead, Leicht continues to circle, keeping watch for further danger.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the end, Tia insists I burn the human bodies as well, destroying all the evidence of what happened here. First, though, she searches them for any clues as to who they are or who sent them. I’m too squeamish to watch, so I drag my bedroll out of my tent and make Jaimin sit on it.

“Tell me what’s wrong with you,” I order, and he sighs.

“I’m fine.”

I look him over. He’s still moving awkwardly, and his face is set. I can’t see any evidence of wounds, though, or broken bones. “No. You’re not.”

“It’s… complicated.” His gaze drifts away, then back. “How much do you know about healing?”

“I do stupid things and healers make them better,” I say, trying to coax a smile. His face doesn’t look right without that twinkle of amusement.

To my relief, his lips quirk. “Anything else?”

Uhhh… “Healers have different strengths, just like mages. Some need to use medicines to supplement their ability, while others are superstars who don’t even need to touch someone to identify the problem. That’s it, though. That’s all I know. Oh, and you can’t heal death. Because…” I sweep my hand at the ashes scattered around us.

He nods. “Okay. Everything in a human body gives off a particular resonance. Healers have the ability to sense that resonance. When something affects it, like an illness or a wound, the resonance changes, and it feels wrong to us. What we do is like⁠—”

“Retuning it?”

He makes a face. “That’s as good an analogy as any. But the ability to sense resonance is also why healers have such good natural shields. We form them in self-defense, because every changed resonance, every papercut or sniffle, is loud.”

I think that through. “To stick with the musical analogy, like hearing an out-of-tune instrument playing constantly?”

“Yes.” He nods. “You want to block your ears, because it reverberates through you until you feel it in your bones.”

“You’re not making this whole healer thing sound all that great,” I tell him honestly, and that earns me a chuckle.

“No, it is. It’s amazing. Because I get to tune all those instruments back to perfect health. But what I’m saying is… it can be uncomfortable, especially when you’re not prepared. And especially when there’s a lot of wounds. Injuries caused by violence hurt the most.”

I wince. “So Tia and me killing all these people hurt you?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Not like you mean. What I’m feeling now is because I killed a man.”

Shock and horror are twin lightning strikes. “You were defending yourself!”

“It’s still anathema to every fiber of my being. My Talent wants me to heal, not kill. At the academy, we drill extensively in defensive fighting, because it’s better to know how to fight someone off, give them minor wounds and hope they run, than to accidentally kill them and face the backlash.”

“That’s what this is? Backlash?”

He nods.

“How does it work? It’s painful, obviously. But it doesn’t replicate the wound on your own body, or you’d be dead.”

“Nothing like that. Just pain, in every nerve I have. The worse the wound I inflict, the worse it feels.”

“Wait, so… if you accidentally scratched someone, it would cause you pain?” That’s fucked up. Does Master know about this?

“Not for a genuine accident. If I was doing something I knew could potentially cause harm and judged it worth the risk, then someone was injured or killed, that would hurt, but not like this. Intent is the main driver of backlash. To intentionally kill is the most painful.”

Involuntarily, I look across the clearing to his tent. Tia’s dragged the dead man out and is pulling the dagger from his chest. I avert my eyes before I can gag. “So you didn’t kill him accidentally?”

Jaimin grimaces. “I woke because something felt bad. The resonance was shrieking at me, the same way it did with the plague, only worse. Plague, for all its horror, is natural. Zombies are not. I was lying there, trying to count how many of them were here, when my tent was opened.” He takes a breath. “I sleep with my dagger. All healers do. People… Some people consider us easy targets. They’ve heard about backlash and think we can’t fight back.”

Holy gods. Holy fucking gods. I bite my tongue to keep from interrupting.

“I had mere seconds to decide what to do. I decided this mission—you and the stone—was the priority. I couldn’t risk a drawn-out tussle; couldn’t risk being killed. Couldn’t risk that I’d fight him off, but not wound him badly enough to stop him from causing more trouble. So I intentionally killed him.” He grimaces again. “I underestimated the backlash, though. I’ve never killed anyone before, not even accidentally. My plan was to help fight off the others, but…” He shrugs slightly. “Instead I was a liability after all.”

“You were not,” I insist. “You took one down and looked after yourself. I only managed two, and I wasn’t dealing with incredible pain afterward. Let’s face it, without Tia, we’d have been in trouble.”

As if on cue, my twin calls, “Talon, come and deal with this.”

I help Jaimin to his feet, and we walk over to where she’s piled the five human bodies. It’s grotesque. “Can I use ordinary fire?”

“Can you make it hot enough to burn them completely, fast, and without spreading into the trees?” she counters. “I’d ask Leicht to do this, but I don’t want to set the whole eastern forest on fire.”

Damn her. Without another word, I set the bodies alight.

“What do we do now?” she asks as we watch the blaze. I rub my tired eyes.

“Can you ride?” I ask Jaimin. He nods immediately.

“Yes. I’ll feel better as time progresses.”

I’m not sure how much I trust that answer, having already heard that he put himself through unbearable pain for the sake of our mission. “Tia, how far was the next village?”

Tia winces. “About five or six miles.”

Jaimin and I both glare at her. “Do you mean that if we hadn’t stopped early, we would have made it there last night?”

“Yes,” she admits. “This is my fault. I wanted you to get more experience camping. This was a good opportunity, because it’s not too far from help and the campsite is excellent.” She shakes her head. “I also know better than to camp without someone standing watch. My commander would kill me.”

I don’t bother to forgive her. She can feel guilty for a while longer. This is good news, though—we can make it to the village within a few hours. Even if the innkeeper won’t open for us this late, at least we’ll be around other people who’ll hear us if we call for help.

I check in with the stone, realizing suddenly that it’s been silent since it woke me. At least… It was you who woke me, right?

~Yes~

Is riding for the village a good idea?

~Yes~

I frown. Are there more zombies in the vicinity?

~No~

That’s something, at least.

“Here’s the plan,” I say aloud. “I checked with our friend”—I pat my chest, where the pouch sits under my shirt—“and even though there aren’t any zombies around at the moment, our best option is to head for the village. If we can, we’ll get a room right away. If that’s not possible, we’ll find a stable or barn and hole up until morning, and then get a room. I need to report this attack to my master, and Jaimin needs some rest.”

“I’m fine,” he protests immediately.

“Yes, I know. But I’m in charge, and I say you rest. You can sense zombies, so you and the stone are our only chance of getting an early warning of attacks. We also need time to reevaluate our plans. Tia, did you find anything on them?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing but a few coins on the humans. I didn’t get a chance to check the others.”

I shudder at the very thought.

“Their weapons are in good shape, though, and excellent quality. I’ve put some aside to take with us. We need to get you both armed better.”

“How did they get here?” Jaimin asks suddenly. “We’re at least a mile from the nearest farm, even.”

“Closer to two,” Tia confirms slowly. “Hold on.” Her eyes go distant, the way they do when she’s talking to her dragon. “Leicht says there are no horses nearby.”

A chill races down my spine. “Is he sure? Maybe they’re hidden in the trees.”

She shrugs. “Maybe? It’s dark and we’ve been burning things. There’s a chance he just missed them.”

Overhead, Leicht roars a protest, and we all cringe.

“Well, since I’m not willing to go searching for horses that might not exist, let’s take his word for it,” I declare. If there are no horses nearby, the logical assumption would be that the attackers—human and zombie—walked. Which means they couldn’t have been that far from our camp. The stone said there were zombies loose throughout the continent, but I didn’t stop to consider what that meant.

“Strike camp?” Jaimin asks.

“Yes. It’s time to leave this place.” I glance up toward Leicht and catch sight of the moon. It’s surrounded by a clear ring of light, and I blink. “That’s unusual.”

Tia’s gaze follows mine, and she grunts. “Not that unusual. We better get moving.”

“Ring around the moon, rain coming soon,” Jaimin says softly, and my head snaps around.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It’s usually the case. It’ll probably storm by morning.”

Fuck. I knew there was a reason I’m an indoors type of person. “By all means, let’s beat the rain to the village.”

We don’t quite manage to beat the storm. It’s close, and the dark shadows of the village are within sight, but clouds blot out the glow of predawn ferociously fast. Within mere minutes, the sky goes from clear to the first heavy drops of rain, and by the time we ride into the innyard, we’re soaked through.

So delightful.

Thankfully, the scullery boy is already awake and opens the door to my pounding, racing off to fetch the innkeeper. He’s grumpy at being woken an hour early but cheers up when I tell him we want a room for the day and night, stabling and fodder for three horses, and all our meals. I also pay extra for private baths and ask if there’s somewhere we can dry our clothes. His face is alight as he babbles that his wife and daughter can look after everything for us. Business is likely to be slow for him in this weather anyway—most people are intelligent, like me, and don’t travel in the rain.

Tia takes Jaimin upstairs—he’s been swaying in his saddle for the last half hour—and the innkeeper rouses the stablehand to help me with the horses. Only when I’m satisfied they’re all dry, warm, watered, and fed in their cozy stalls do I enter the inn.

The innwife meets me at the bottom of the stairs, a huge covered tray in her hands.

“Is that for us?” I ask. My stomach growls. I don’t normally eat this early in the morning, but my body’s been awake long enough to decide it needs sustenance.

“It is,” she says. “If you’ll take this one, I’ll fetch the other. We’re heating the water for your baths, so the sooner you get some food in you, the better.”

I almost break down weeping. Instead, I muster my most charming smile. “If you ever decide you’d like a new husband, I’d run away with you in a heartbeat.”

She laughs. “As if I’d marry trouble like you. Get upstairs and out of those wet things.”

I obey, because it’s only force of will that’s keeping my teeth from chattering right now. At the top of the stairs, I turn right, remembering the innkeeper’s directions, and go to the end. The door there is firmly closed, and I reach out to my sister.

“Open the door, would you?”

A moment later, she’s standing there, out of her leathers and wearing simple cotton trousers and a shirt. “Is that food? Thank all the gods.”

Following her in, I say, “Leave the door open—there’s another tray coming,” and take in the room. We’re in luck—it’s a nice one. There’s a wide window with a bench seat, a huge four-poster bed at one end, and two armchairs before a fireplace with the fire crackling cheerfully away. Jaimin’s sitting in one of them, his head leaned back, eyes closed. At the other end of the room is a cot, but it’s a good size and made up with decent linens. There’s also a screened-off area and a small table and chairs. My guess is that this room runs the entire width of the inn and is usually reserved for traveling nobles.

No wonder the innkeeper was so happy to see us. This isn’t a room most travelers can afford.

I set the tray on the table and shoot Tia an apologetic look. “This doesn’t fit with your low-profile plan. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs and lifts the cloth off the food. “We need a place to regroup. And I’m rethinking the whole low-profile thing. We might need more muscle.”

My frown comes swiftly—the stone won’t like that—but the innwife bustles in before I can reply.

“Here we are.” She sets down the other tray. This one is only half covered, and the other half has a teapot with steam rising from the spout and a jug of pale liquid. “This is my own restorative tea recipe—will do you all good! And the cider is from Carby’s orchard, over the other side of the village. The baker was just taking the first loaves out, so you’ve got those too, and porridge. There’s some cheese and a bit of last night’s roast. That should get you started.”

My stomach growls again. “Ma’am, that offer of marriage stands.”

She scoffs. “Now, you’ve probably found the tub.” She gestures to the screen. “I’ll send someone up to fill it for the lady. You gentlemen can bathe after she does, or we’ve a private room off the kitchen with another tub. There’s no guests awake at the moment, so you’d have it to yourselves. I can tell the girls to start filling it, if you’d like.”

“Please do,” Tia says. “But our friend will use the tub up here. He had the sleeping sickness last month, and riding through the night has worn him out.” She makes a face. “We were trying to beat the rain.”

The innwife’s face softens as she glances toward Jaimin. “Oh, the poor dear. I had that a few years back, and I swear it seemed to linger for months after. You’re the only ones at this end of the hall, so he should be able to get some rest, and he’ll feel better in a few hours—all of you should. I’ll get a nice tea together for you around midmorning to keep you going until lunch.”

“You’re so kind. We truly appreciate it—we haven’t been the best guests, waking you this early.”

She clucks her tongue. “Nothing of it—you’ve been the soul of gentility. Now eat, and I’ll have both tubs filled for you.” She closes the door on her way out.

“I love her,” I declare. “Can you wake Jaimin while I change?”

Tia waves me off, already crossing the room, and I grab fresh clothes from my—thankfully waterproof—pack, then duck behind the screen. My mind is whirling—I need to speak with my master and find out what Tia meant about needing muscle. I desperately want to sleep. And the stone needs to give us more information.

But first thing first: If I don’t eat soon, my stomach may just start digesting my other organs.

It’s midmorning, and we’ve just demolished a giant tray of tea and cake when I decide I’m finally ready to start thinking again. I’d intended to contact Master after my bath, but I came back to the room to find Tia snoring in the cot and Jaimin sleeping peacefully on one side of the big bed. It didn’t seem worth disturbing them, and the lure of sleep was strong, so I blocked the door and window with telekinetic energy, hoped it would be good enough, and sprawled on the other side of the mattress.

Tia woke me four hours later, desperate to use the privy, and I let her out of the room just as the innkeeper’s daughter arrived with the tea tray. Jaimin opened his eyes when the scent of warm apple cake reached him, and he looks a lot better now, working on his second cup of tea.

“We need to decide what to do next,” Tia declares, her thoughts in sync with mine.

Jaimin looks across the table at me. “Have you spoken to Master Samoine?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. But first…” I telepathically sweep the hallway—nobody’s nearby. In fact, I don’t think there’s anybody at the inn except us and the staff, who are all downstairs. That works in our favor. I put a clever little telepathic tripwire at the top of the stairs—it won’t be noticed, but if anyone comes up here, I’ll know. Something I learned to do in my student days.

“Okay, we can be assured of privacy.” I pull the pouch out of my shirt and dump the stone into the center of the table. It rattles against the teapot and then sits there, looking particularly unattractive. “Stone, are we safe here for now?”

~Yes~

“No zombies nearby—or friends of zombies?” I press.

~No~

“And you’ll let us know if that changes?”

~Yes~

“That’s something, at least,” Jaimin murmurs.

Nodding, I reach out to my master.

“Talon?” His surprise is clear. I’ve been reporting to him in the early evenings, not mornings. “Has something happened?”

“We were attacked last night. Seven zombies, five humans.”

He swears viciously, the echo of his concern vibrating down our mental connection. “Are you all well? Somewhere safe?”

“We’re safe for now, at an inn. I think we’ll be here for at least tonight, maybe tomorrow night also. Jaimin killed one of them.”

Master swears again.

“Yes. It would have been nice if someone told me about backlash before I found him curled up in agony in the middle of a zombie attack.”

“It’s not something I thought you’d need to know,” he admits. “I didn’t even think of it. Has he recovered?”

“Mostly. I think he’s just worn out now.”

“Tell me everything that happened.”

I begin, but I only have my own perspective, and after the third time I stop to question the others and relay information, Master loses patience.

“Let me speak through you,” he demands.

Ugh. I hate doing this—it always leaves me with a headache after. My teachers, including Master Samoine, all said it wouldn’t if I’d stop resisting it so hard, but how else is a man to react when he’s sharing his eyes, mouth, and ears with another person?

Grimacing, I warn Tia and Jaimin. “Master wants to talk to us all. He’s going to use me as his… puppet.” I deliberately let him catch that comment.

“Stop calling it that!”

Jaimin chuckles. “This is always so disconcerting to see.”

“Is it?” Tia’s fascinated. “How does it work?”

“We’ll both be in my body,” I explain, “participating in the conversation.”

Her eyes widen. “Can all telepaths do that? Maybe we need to train some of you to ride dragons.”

I shake my head. “Not all. And definitely no on the dragons.”

“Only the strongest can do it,” Jaimin tells her. “At both ends. Your brother is very Talented.”

I preen. “Don’t forget charming, intelligent, and handsome.”

His eyes flick over me, and he shrugs. “Meh.”

Outraged, I gasp, but Master telepathically clearing his throat drags my attention back to what I’m supposed to be doing. Though I take a moment to glower at Jaimin before I tell Tia, “Brace yourself.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Master and I reach for each other, and I try not to wince at the odd, uncomfortable sensation of his consciousness melding with my senses. This isn’t a mind merge—he can’t tell what I’m thinking or see my memories. He only has access to what I can see, hear, smell, taste, and say right now. And even then, if I’m speaking, it’s unlikely he’d be able to wrest control of my tongue from me.

“How will we know if it’s Talon talking or Master Samoine?” Tia asks Jaimin. “Because I’m not that interested in Talon’s opinion.”

“I’ll sound like myself,” Master says… through me. Feeling my tongue move but not controlling it myself is unpleasant. I don’t actually know what it’s going to do. And hearing Master’s voice come from me is just plain disconcerting. I can tell by the startled look on Tia’s face that she agrees. “All right. Tell me about the attackers. You couldn’t tell they were zombies by looking at them?”

“Not until they started moving around with mortal wounds,” Tia agrees, recovering. “Otherwise, they looked normal.”

“Jaimin could feel the difference,” I remind them. “But visually, it wasn’t possible to spot.”

We look at each other. “Is that normal?” Jaimin asks. “We don’t have enough information. I suppose I assumed that the dead would look… dead.”

“Could they be newly dead? Their bodies hadn’t had time to… do the dead people thing.” I shudder at the thought—not that I’ve seen a dead body after it was buried. Personally, I prefer it when the dead stay in their graves. They say in the empire across the sea, it’s traditional to always burn the dead, not just when there’s pestilence, and frankly, that’s beginning to sound like a custom we should have adopted.

“That seems likely,” Jaimin agrees. “I don’t know what the theory behind raising zombies is, but practically, a body that hasn’t begun to decompose and still has all its muscle function would move a lot more easily.”

What a charming thought that is.

“It would certainly make it easier for the zombies to remain inconspicuous,” Master muses. “We wondered how they could already be on the continent but not have been noticed. A walking decomposed corpse should attract attention.”

“You’d certainly hope so,” Tia mutters. “But how can we be sure? What if the process of zombification restores the bodies to what they looked like before? Nobody could ever be sure if they were fighting zombies or not unless there was a healer there to tell them.”

“We can’t be sure,” Master says flatly. “Not until and unless a more decomposed zombie is sighted.”

I sigh. It’s not often I get to be smarter than my master. “Stone, were the zombies that attacked us last night newly dead?”

~Yes~

In the embarrassed little silence, I ask, “Would older corpses look the same?”

~No~

Smiling smugly, I say, “Well, that’s good news.”

Tia pulls a face. “I suppose.”

“No, it is,” Jaimin says, putting down his cup. “The newly dead are the most likely to be missed. The zombies who attacked us were all healthy before they died… I think. They didn’t look emaciated or dirty, anyway, which they would have been if they’d been buried in paupers’ graves, so they likely have family or friends who would visit their gravesites.”

“And notice them missing,” Tia finishes.

“I’ll get the word out to the kingdoms,” Master says. “Perhaps we can find reports of graverobbers, narrow down where the bodies came from. That may lead us to the necromancers involved.”

Grateful none of that is my job, I continue, “Tia thinks we need more fighters, but the stone was very specific about who could travel with us.”

“We’re too dependent on Leicht,” Tia adds immediately. “Our whole plan was that he and I could protect Talon and the stone, and Jaimin could mostly look after himself, with us as backup in an emergency.”

My jaw drops at the insult. “Excuse me? I’m not a useless ornament! I killed two men last night!”

“I have questions about that, by the way. Let’s get back to it later,” Jaimin says. “I agree with Tia. I had to make a decision last night that impacted everyone’s safety, and I still don’t know if I chose correctly or not. Either way, a zombie is unlikely to give up simply because I fight back, so I’m going to be a liability in a fight.”

“Not a liability,” I insist. “You killed a man too. And you have other skills.”

“The point,” Tia says patiently, “is that Leicht was unable to help us because of our location. Not without setting half the forest of northern Lenle on fire, anyway. And frankly, I was lucky. If Talon hadn’t blinded them and knocked a few out, I would have been overwhelmed. Nine-to-one odds aren’t good.”

“And they may send more next time,” Master says. “Stone, can we hire some additional fighters to escort them?”

~No~

Fuck.

“Can we recruit some?” Jaimin asks suddenly. “Not hire.”

~Yes/No~

We exchange glances. “We’ll be adding to our group?” I check.

~Yes~

“Soon?”

~Yes~

“Here, in the village?”

~No~

“Well, fuck. When, then?” I grimace. The stone can’t answer that. It said soon, though…

“In Lenledia?” Master asks, his brain following the same path as mine.

~Yes~

My hopes soar… and then plummet. If the champion is in Lenledia and I hand over the stone to them, then there’s no reason for us to need an escort of the fighter kind. This must mean the champion isn’t there… or they are, and the stone is going to make me stay with them. I was really hoping to be back at the academy before winter set in properly.

“Where are you, exactly?” Master asks. “How far from the city?”

“Maybe two days,” Tia says. “I’d have to check on the name of the village, though.”

“The inn’s called the Boar,” I volunteer. “And the highway runs through the middle of the village.”

“Hmm. Maybe we can have the king send some soldiers to escort you the rest of the way to the palace. Experienced, loyal veterans whose only job is to keep you safe on the road, a temporary escort, no knowledge about why needed. Stone, would that be acceptable?”

~Yes~

I sag with relief.

“Excellent,” Master announces. “I’ll reach out to Haftel and have her lean on the king. Stay where you are—it’s safe enough for now, with the stone to warn you. Rest up, and I’ll let you know when your escort will be arriving.”

With the vision of two days—at least—of comfort in this delightful inn, I find myself almost giddy. “I suppose we can do that.”

Tia shoots me a look that says I’m not fooling anyone.

“Master Samoine, before you go,” Jaimin says, leaning forward, “I wanted to ask… is it possible to kill using telepathy?”

I blink. I’d forgotten about that—when I told Master that part, I just said I’d killed my attacker.

“It is,” Master says slowly. “Usually by driving them insane—bombardment of mental images and thoughts that aren’t their own. Destruction of their natural mental shield will also do it for most people—the sudden ability to hear the thoughts of others drives them mad. Telepathy isn’t good for directly killing—it’s a slower process that ends in the victim either being put to death or taking their own life. Though a strong enough telepath could theoretically take over someone’s mind so completely that they could be compelled to kill themselves without choosing to do so.”

Just the thought makes me feel ill. People always think telepaths are so eager to invade their minds, but the truth is, we’re even more rabid about mental privacy than ordinary people. We know exactly what it’s like to share thoughts—we go through the gamut in training, and it’s invasive and awful.

“No… I mean a telepathic strike. Something that would kill instantly but leave the body intact.” Jaimin’s voice is intent.

“You’re thinking of telekinesis. A strong telekinetic could theoretically crush the brain, instantly killing someone and leaving their body outwardly intact.”

Jaimin slowly shakes his head. “The brain was intact. There was no injury whatsoever.”

Master’s confusion sharpens suddenly. “This happened?”

“The man I killed last night,” I admit. “I never touched him. It was… instinctive. I don’t know what I did.”

“The brain was intact?” Master asks Jaimin. “You’re certain?”

“Yes. I checked everything—he was human, and he was completely uninjured and healthy prior to death. No heart attack, no stroke. Not so much as a bruise. Just dead.”

There’s a long silence, and dread creeps over me. What the fuck did I do?

“Speak of this to no one,” Master says at last. “No one. It shouldn’t be possible. I don’t even know what it is. I need to do some research.”

Jaimin glances from me to Tia, then says casually, “Are there many things the twins can do that are never spoken of?”

Tia freezes, and my guts turn to water. “What do you mean?” I’m proud it doesn’t come out as a croak.

He hesitates, and my master asks me directly, “Does he know? Have you been careful?”

“We’ve been careful.” I rack my brain for anything that might have given us away. “I don’t think he knows. He might be suspicious?”

“It’s just… Talented twins… and one a rider, one a mage… that’s… unusual. I thought perhaps there might be some special skills associated with it.”

I breathe again. If he’s fishing, he’s not sure. I trust him—much more than I thought I would—but now’s not the time to make decisions that could potentially end with me and Tia being locked up and studied for the rest of our lives.

“Just extraordinary good looks and charm,” I quip.

“And intelligence,” Tia adds. “That’s mine, though. Not so much for Talon.”

“Hey!”

Jaimin nods. “Of course.”

Master changes the subject. “I’ll reach out to Haftel now and let you know what she says, but I think King Brend will be eager to help. He’s always been a good neighbor to us, and he and Haftel have an excellent working relationship.” He’s rambling, and I try not to wince. At this rate, Jaimin’s going to know his suspicions are founded just because of how badly we’re trying to distract him.

“Thank you,” Tia says. “We’ll wait here until we hear from you. Well, Talon will. I’m going to look around the village.”

Master withdraws, and as Tia leaves, I give my tongue a bit of a wriggle, glad to have control of it back.

When I glance up, Jaimin is watching me with that amused quirk to his mouth. Oops. I kept my tongue in my mouth, but there was some jaw movement.

“That’s such a strange experience,” I say in my own defense.

“I’m sure it is,” he agrees. “Does it hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. It’s just…” I shudder. “It takes getting used to.” I look him over. “How are you feeling? You look a little more like yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he says immediately, and when I laugh, sheepishly adds, “No, really. A little tired still, and some residual sporadic neuralgia⁠—”

“What?”

“Nerve pain. It’s not bad, and it’s not constant. It’ll be completely gone by tomorrow morning, I’d say, and it won’t stop me from doing anything today.”

I’m not completely convinced of that. Nerve pain, even if it’s not bad, doesn’t sound good. “We don’t have anything to do,” I remind him. “Just rest and enjoy the hospitality of this fine establishment.” I can’t wait to see what we’re having for lunch. Anything has to be better than what’s in our packs.

“You could let me heal that bruise on your shoulder,” he suggests. “It has to be hurting quite a bit.”

I resist the urge to rotate my shoulder, which is sore from when I fell on it during the fight, and wasn’t helped any by our ride immediately after. “Nope. It’s fine. No pain at all,” I lie. I’m not letting him heal me when he probably needs healing himself.

He gives me a level look. “Talon.”

“Jaimin.” I smile innocently, and he laughs.

“I promise, this won’t hurt me.”

“It won’t, because you’re not doing it. The only thing you’re doing today is resting and eating… and if you want, I’ll go and get a book from that shelf the innkeeper has downstairs. You can read on that nice window seat.” I gesture toward the window, and he sighs.

“I can’t remember the last time I read purely for pleasure,” he admits, and I puff up my chest. I’m the hero who’s giving him this small luxury! “But I wish you’d let me heal you.”

I set my jaw, and he holds up a hand. “Okay, I can see I’m not going to win this argument. Will you let me put some bruise balm on you? And drink a tea to help boost blood circulation. I brought both with me.”

That sounds like a reasonable compromise. “If it makes you happy.”

He’s already half risen from his chair, but he pauses and meets my gaze. “It would make me very happy.”

I wait until he’s bent over his pack before swallowing hard. This may not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

“Shirt off,” he says as he turns back toward me with a jar in hand.

Shirt. Off.

Definitely not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I can’t back out now. Grimly, I stand, unlacing the neck of my shirt, and then, in one motion, pull it free of my trousers and over my head. In my mind, it’s a smooth, easy move. In reality, I get slightly stuck with my shirt around my head and have to yank it free.

When I emerge from the annoying fabric, flushed and annoyed, Jaimin’s face is neutral. His eyes, on the other hand, are laughing, and I like how it makes them look so much that I can’t even be upset.

“Sit,” he instructs, pointing to the bench at the end of the bed, and I obey. He unscrews the lid from the jar, and as the fresh herbal smell of the balm rises to my nose, he dips his fingers in.

That’s when I realize he’s going to put his hands on my bare skin. “Uh, I can probably⁠—”

“Reach the back of your own shoulder? No, you can’t. Not with it strained like this, anyway. Just sit still.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” I argue, even though I totally was. “I was going to say that I can probably ask the innwife for hot water to steep the tea.”

That little smile is back. “Of course you were. This might feel cold.” His fingers touch my shoulder, and yes, the balm is chilly, but his hand is not. I feel the burn of his skin on mine through my whole body, and it doesn’t ease as he gently rubs in the balm. “Is that helping?” he asks, and I don’t think I’m imagining the slight strain in his voice—but I can’t bring myself to look up at his face.

Instead, I focus on my shoulder. The balm has a cooling effect, and it’s starting to numb the ache. “Yes. Thank you.”

His hand withdraws, and I instantly miss it. “Good.” He screws the lid back on the jar while I reach for my shirt. “We’ll, uh, reapply it later. And then tomorrow I’ll heal any strain that’s left.”

I barely hear that last part, my brain fixed on the thought that he’s going to touch me again later. I make a barely intelligible sound of agreement and manage to gasp out “Tea,” before racing out the door, my shirt still untucked and unlaced.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My hopes and dreams are fulfilled, and we spend another two glorious days in the comfortable room at the inn. Despite my apprehension—and anticipation—the next application of bruise balm was uneventful, entirely because Tia was in the room with us. I’m still not sure if I’m happy about that or not.

Master contacted me shortly after I returned to the room with a pot of hot water for tea, and assured us that Haftel and King Brend of Lenle had promised to send a squad of the King’s Own Guard—which is a stupid name—to escort us. Tia was pleased about that. Apparently they’re the finest fighters in the country. I was more interested in how fast they ride, but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask if they were dawdlers.

They’re not, because late the third morning, two men in uniform, armed to the teeth, ride into the innyard. I just happen to be on the window seat at that precise moment, enjoying the sunshine in a civilized, indoor way. The rain that’s plagued us for the last two days cleared yesterday afternoon. It’s probably muddy outside, though, so I don’t see any reason to venture from the inn.

I glare sourly at the two soldiers dismounting. They just couldn’t ride slowly, enjoy being out on the road, could they? No. They had to be efficient.

Sighing, I get up and go to meet them. Tia’s off with Leicht, scouting, so she’ll have seen them and probably be on the way back. Jaimin, fully rested and back to his old self after the first day, has been visiting with villagers since. He heard that there hasn’t been a healer here since the old one died a year ago, and he’s taken it upon himself to attend to all the small ailments for which the villagers don’t bother traveling to the nearest village with a healer. They’re suitably grateful, and even though he’s told them he doesn’t want payment, we’ve already been sent a range of foodstuffs and goods. The cider and sweet preserves, I appreciated. The live hen, not so much. I suppose it doesn’t matter—we won’t be able to take much with us. We returned some, and the food we’ve been having for our meals here. The cook has been very pleased with the sudden influx of extra supplies.

At the base of the stairs, I’m met by the innkeeper. He’s frowning. “Mister Silverbright”—I deliberately didn’t tell him I’m a mage. It’s bad enough they all know Jaimin’s a healer—“there’s some men looking for you and your friends. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see them or not, so I said you weren’t here.”

Aw. I’m going to believe that’s because he’s so fond of me and my amazing personality, and not because I paid in advance for a week and have been tipping like a drunk lord. “Some men?” I say, putting on a quizzical face. “Did they leave?” Possibly I can delay our departure until after lunch. I heard roast chicken is on today’s menu.

“No.” He wrings his hands. “They laughed and said they’d wait in the yard while we fetched you.” His voice lowers. “They’re soldiers. From the King’s Own Guard!”

Well, damn. So much for delaying. I muster a smile and pat his arm. “Ah, you should have said. That’s our escort. I’ll just go out and speak with them. No need for them to bring their muddy boots inside.”

His smile is a combination of relief and disappointment. “Escort? You’re leaving?”

“As much as it pains me, yes. Is lunch nearly ready, do you know?”

He blinks. “I’ll go check.”

While he ventures into the kitchen, I go in search of the soldiers. Sadly, they haven’t decided to leave, but are waiting for me in the yard, watering their horses at the trough by the gate.

“I believe you were looking for me?” I avoid the only remaining mud puddle as I stroll over to them. The sun’s been doing good work, even if it is winter-weak.

They turn to face me. One has an insignia on his shoulder that I’m guessing is supposed to signify rank. Too bad I have no idea what it means. They’re wearing gray tunics under leather vests, heavy riding trousers, and leather hats that look like helmets. The ranking one is middle-aged and has a brown beard and a scar slashing across his nose; the other is clean-shaven and blond. He’s also younger and eyeing me skeptically, which is yet another sign I should have stayed upstairs in my sunny spot by the window.

“Were we?” He smirks.

I shrug. “You’d be the one who knows. If you’re not sure, I’m going to have lunch. What do you Lenlese usually serve with roast chicken?”

They’re taken aback by that and exchange glances. “Uh… root vegetables and gravy is popular,” the older one says slowly. “Sometimes beans.”

“Excellent.” My stomach rumbles at the mere thought, and I turn back toward the inn.

“Wait!”

Gods’ turds. Facing them again, I raise a brow. “Yes?”

“Are you the person we’re here to meet, or not?” The younger one—Blond—folds his arms across his admittedly impressive chest.

“Again, only you’d know that. I’m Talon Silverbright, if that helps.” Look how nice and forgiving I’m being.

They exchange glances again. “You’re Talon Silverbright?” the older one—Scar—asks.

“Yes.” The sun goes behind a cloud, and I shiver, glancing up. There better not be more rain coming. It’s bad enough I’ll have to deal with arrogant soldiers, without adding rain to the mix.

“Prove it,” Blond demands, jutting his chin out.

I look at him and try not to blink in surprise. “Prove it? How, precisely? Would you like me to produce my mother from my pocket so she can attest to having given birth to me?” Does he realize how ridiculous he is?

His face flushes. “Talon Silverbright is a mage. Do something magic—if you’re really him.” The last words are infused heavily with doubt, and I sigh.

Then grab hold of his ankle and yank him off his feet, dangling him midair. His yelp is absolutely delightful, but not as much as the way his hands scrabble toward the ground, that’s about eight inches out of reach. “Put me down!” he shrieks.

“But you asked me to do something magic,” I protest. “I need to prove I’m a mage, remember? Actually…” I tap a finger against my lips. “You wanted me to prove I’m Talon Silverbright, not just any old mage. In that case, I should do this from a greater height. That’s what I’m known for at the academy—hanging people over the chasm.”

Scar draws his sword and points it at me. “Put him down.”

I scoff. “Sheathe that now, before I take it away from you and melt it into scrap.” Just because I can, and they’ve annoyed me, I give Blond a bit of a shake. He squeaks, and something falls out of his pocket. Scar seems indecisive, so I give his sword a light tug and am rewarded when he hurriedly sheathes it. “Are we quite convinced?”

“Yes!” Blond screams. “Yes, you’re him!”

Scar nods, and I flip Blond right side up and set him gently on his feet. I even telekinetically pick up whatever it was that fell from his pocket and float it to him. He snatches it from the air, red-faced and panting, and shoves it away. Not even a thank-you. I resist the urge to cluck my tongue and chide his manners.

“Let’s begin again, shall we?” I offer magnanimously. “I’m Talon Silverbright. I believe you were looking for me?”

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Blond’s panting as he slowly regains his composure. Finally, Scar unclenches his jaw and says, “Mage Silverbright, I’m Sergeant Pim, and this is Clem. We’re here to escort you and your companions to the king’s palace.”

“I suppose we have to. Though I did think there’d be more of you.”

Another pause while they try to decide how to respond. I guess humor isn’t one of the things these soldiers are selected for.

“The rest of the squad—eight men—is waiting outside the village. We didn’t want to cause a ruckus,” Sergeant Pim volunteers at last.

“That’s very considerate of you. I’m sure the villagers appreciate it. My sister, Tavia, has probably already found your men, since she’s not back yet.”

They go on sudden alert. “Sister?” Clem asks. “A woman? Found the men?”

I really, really hope he’s not thinking what I think he is. “Yes. You were told one of us was a rider, correct? That we have a dragon with us?”

From the way Clem pales, I’m guessing he was thinking lascivious thoughts about my sister and is now regretting them as he realizes she’s not a mere damsel. Riders are known to be very open about sex, but they’ll also cut you for the slightest insult.

“We were told,” Pim says neutrally. “We didn’t realize it was your sister.”

I smile. “You’ll adore her. And Leicht, the dragon. He’s delightful. Ask if you can pet him. So… shall we leave after lunch?”

Tia’s spitting mad when she gets back to the inn half an hour later. I warned her telepathically that I’d spoken to the sergeant and that he and Clem weren’t my biggest fans, but I left out the details.

“You hung him upside down by the ankle?” she hisses as she joins me and Jaimin at a table in the dining room.

“What?” Jaimin asks. “You actually do that? I thought it was a rumor!”

I preen a little. It seems word of my work has spread to the Academy of Healers too.

“Talon!” Tia snaps.

“What?” I whine. “They asked me to prove that I was me. How else was I supposed to do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, what about a fucking mage light? Or something else small and harmless that wouldn’t antagonize the armed soldiers we’ll be sleeping next to!”

Huh. That’s… a good point. “I’ll apologize,” I promise. “And I’ll make it up to him. Do you think he’d want some of this roast chicken?” It’s really excellent. I didn’t wait for Tia’s arrival to start eating.

She huffs and shakes her head, then looks down at her plate. “Is this the hen that farmer gave Jaimin for healing his wife’s gout?”

I immediately gag.

“We don’t ask those questions,” Jaimin tells her placidly, lifting another forkful of chicken to his mouth. “Apparently Talon can’t eat meat when he has to associate it with a living animal.”

“This is a random chicken,” I inform my sister. “Completely random chicken that I never met while it was alive.”

She picks up her fork. “You’re deranged. Also, did you really tell them they should ask to pet Leicht?”

I pick up my wine and study her face. “Are you mad at me about that too?”

“No. You’re an ass for saying it, but they’re adults and soldiers. They know better than to think it might be true.”

“Exactly.” I fork up more chicken. “Are we sure these are the king’s most elite guards? Because I think he sent us the rejects by mistake.”

She snorts. “I’ve met Pim before. He’s an elite soldier—they all are. They’re just not used to Talon Silverbright.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I can’t help feeling indignant. I’m a delight, damn her. All the guards at the academy love me… and my money.

Maybe that’s where I went wrong. Should I have bribed Pim and Clem? I just assumed the king’s most senior soldiers would be offended by that.

“It means that they’re used to mages who are more… traditional,” Jaimin soothes. “Have you met Haftel, the king’s mage advisor? She’s very skilled and knowledgeable, but she doesn’t go around hanging people midair.”

I roll my eyes. “Talking to her is going to be fun.”

They both laugh at me.

“I think you’ll like her,” Jaimin says. “Just… until we get to the palace, try not to annoy the guards too much.”

Ugh. Fine, then.

We set out after lunch. Tia goes ahead, since Leicht is already with the soldiers at their camp, while Jaimin and I saddle the horses and settle up with the innkeeper, who’s most distraught to see us go.

When we ride into the camp—though it’s not really a camp anymore, since Tia’s arrival was a signal to the guards and they’re all mounted up and waiting for us—I’m gratified to see everyone giving Leicht a wide berth. I’d have been extremely upset if he’d decided to befriend them all just to get at me. That’s the kind of petty thing he’d do, no matter how many times Tia tells me I’m crazy. That dragon hates me.

I look around, then nudge Sweetie in the direction of Sergeant Pim and Clem. Sweetie, who’s also not happy about leaving the comfort of the inn, decides to rear instead. I cling to the saddle, hoping I’m not about to be tossed on my ass in front of all these soldiers, and pretend I can’t hear their gasps.

When my demon horse’s hooves are once again firmly on the ground, I lean along her neck and mutter, “Don’t embarrass me, and I’ll get oats for you at the palace. Oats.”

That doesn’t seem to have any effect, so I try again.

“There’s an apple and a carrot in my saddlebag. Cooperate, and they’re yours tonight.”

She snorts and begins walking in the direction I wanted her to. We pass Jaimin, who’s shaking his head, habitual smirk on his handsome face.

I rein Sweetie in, then fish a paper-wrapped parcel from inside my coat. When I told the innkeeper I wanted to take some chicken with me to eat on the road, he suggested it might be easier to ask the cook to put it in a half-loaf of bread.

“Here.” I hold out my offering. “I apologize for what happened earlier. It was a reflexive action, I’m afraid.”

Tia tugs at my mind.

“What? I’m in the middle of something.”

“That’s not how you apologize, Talon!”

Shutting her out, I give the two wary-looking soldiers my most loveable smile. They exchange a cautious glance. My arm is starting to get tired. How would they react if I used telekinesis to hold the sandwich?

“A reflexive action?” Pim asks hesitantly.

I nod. “Muscle memory. I teach, you see. And every year, with the new class, there’s always someone who doubts I’m actually a mage.” I shrug. “So I prove it to them. The class is always very tractable after that.”

Jaws drop. “You actually do that? What you said about hanging people over a chasm?” Clem exclaims. “I thought that was posturing!”

“Nope.” I give the sandwich a little shake, hoping he’ll take it, but he’s too busy staring at me like a fool.

“But they’re children!” Pim sputters.

“They’re eighteen. And the first thing I teach them is how to use fire. Do you know how dangerous fire is? I don’t need them sassing me when fire’s in the equation.” This is getting very boring. “Are you going to take my peace offering or not?”

They both seem to notice it at the same time. “What is it?” Clem asks warily.

“A roast chicken sandwich. With gravy.”

He snatches it from my hand so fast, I blink. “Thank you,” he says, already unwrapping it.

Another win for my charm.

It thankfully stays dry for the next leg of our journey, though the sun is mostly hidden behind ominous banks of clouds. The King’s Own Guard—which is still such a stupid name—aren’t that bad, as far as traveling companions go. They stay fairly alert on the road, but they’re all willing to have a chat, and they have a variety of interesting stories from their soldiering lives. I spend a bit of time riding next to each of the ten men, winning them over with my charm and extensive knowledge of ribald jokes. I’ve yet to meet a fighting man who doesn’t like a dirty joke.

The first night, I’m delightfully surprised to return from making Sweetie comfortable to discover one of them has already set up my tent. When Jaimin questions it (I tried to stop him, but he insisted), they merely say that’s what they always do on escort duty. I privately ask the stone if it would be possible to keep this escort, but it ignores me.

We reach a hill overlooking the city of Lenledia late on the second morning of travel. Pim decides this is a good time to stop for lunch, and I gaze longingly at the city and its plethora of eating houses.

“Or we could press on,” I suggest. “Have lunch at the palace.” I’m sure they have a whole team of excellent cooks there who won’t give us jerky and oatcakes, with resinous canteen water to wash them down.

“Never been to the city before, Mage Silverbright?” he says knowingly. No matter how often I ask, none of them will call me Talon—just like the guards at the academy. It’s vastly annoying.

“Not this one. Why? Is the food at the palace bad?” I hope not.

He shakes his head. “It’s good enough, likely even better for you. But riding through Lenledia isn’t like riding on a highway.”

I’m sure he’s right. No doubt it’s much better.

“He means the roads inside are narrow and full of people,” Jaimin explains quietly from beside me. “We’ll have to go slowly, and it might be a few hours until we reach the palace.”

A few hours? Belatedly, I remember that Lenledia is one of the oldest cities on the continent. Unlike the City of Knowledge, which was purpose-designed and built, and Harfarin, where my own queen reigns, which was burned to the ground and rebuilt seven hundred years ago, Lenledia’s streets are still made up of the original winding animal paths the first settlers built alongside.

I look around. “What a lovely spot for lunch.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I gaze around the chamber I’ve been allocated with deep satisfaction. We were met, after a delightful ride through chaotic, noisy, bustling streets—how I’ve missed civilization—by the palace’s chief steward, who informed us that His Majesty the King and Master Haftel had been detained in an important meeting of the King’s Council, but that he would be happy to show us our rooms and have bathwater and a light snack sent up. I could have kissed him.

So now I’m clean, dressed in fresh clothing, and snacking on what may be the best crumpets I’ve ever tasted. I think the butter’s helping too. Does royalty get better butter than the rest of us?

There’s a knock on the door, but it opens before I can respond, and Tia stomps into the room, followed by Jaimin.

“What are you doing?” she demands. She’s tetchy because I’ve been ignoring her mind tugs for the past hour. A man deserves the chance to wash and eat, dammit. But she can’t yell at me about that with Jaimin here.

“Waiting for the king’s summons,” I say, smiling cheerfully.

“You don’t think you’d be better off exploring the castle and looking for the champion?”

I shrug and pat my chest, where the stone is resting snugly in its little pouch. “Nobody told me I had to. I guess they’ll cross my path when the stone is ready.” I’m still hopeful that the champion is here. Even if I can’t immediately head home as planned, I’d like to hand over this whole gods-damned mission to someone else and take a background role. Preferably one where I remain here in the palace and coordinate… things. Messages. Maybe I could put pins in maps or something. I’d be good at that, and it wouldn’t involve riding horses or sleeping outside.

Tia’s eyes narrow, and I don’t need to be in her head to know she wants to throw something at me. “Leicht settled?” I ask. Tia had the easiest time of us all in reaching the palace—there’s a whole battlement dedicated solely to dragons landing on it. I made sure that my room isn’t in that wing of the palace. The last thing I need is for some oversized lizard to get enthusiastic and land with less grace than usual, plunging through the stone and crushing me to death.

She’s still scowling, but she says, “Yes. There’s a field on the south side of the city where dragons stay while their riders are here. He’s enjoying the sheep.”

I’m revolted. “They keep sheep in the field for a dragon to prey on?”

Jaimin chuckles and strolls over to the window. “It’s called farming, Talon. That’s where your mutton stew comes from.”

Before I have to spend too much time thinking about that, there’s another knock on the door. I contemplate not answering it so I can finish my crumpets in relative peace.

“Enter,” Tia calls. Siblings are the worst.

A page pokes his head around the door. “His Majesty will see you now.”

So much for my crumpets. Would it be terribly rude if I took one for the walk?

I reach for it, but Tia slaps my hand. “I swear to all the gods,” she begins, but I wave her off.

“Fine. Let’s go, then.”

In the hallway, Jaimin falls into step beside me. “Are you ready for this?” he murmurs.

I shrug nonchalantly, but the truth is, I’m not particularly. I’ve never met a monarch in my capacity as a mage. In fact, I’ve only ever met one monarch, and that’s just because she’s fond of my mother and once paid a royal visit to our estate. I was nine, not at all interested in the monarchy, court, or anything to do with either, and after a stilted two minutes of her talking to Mother about what a “fine boy” I was, I made my escape and spent most of that chaotic week in my room, reading books I wasn’t supposed to have. There were also a few sojourns down to the kitchen. Cook was out to impress that week, and I still have fond memories of some of the sweets I stole.

Jaimin’s sidelong glance is brimming with amusement. “Just try not to insult him… or dangle him out the window.”

I purse my lips. “I’ll try.” Not the dangling—I’m not stupid enough to do that. But who knows what the king will consider an insult? Maybe he’s particularly sensitive.

The page stops in front of a door. It’s not all that impressive except for the two guards flanking it. Just an ordinary door. I guess we’re not going to the throne room or anything, then.

Ignoring the guards, the page knocks. I’m not close enough to the door to hear a response, but he opens it wide a moment later, steps inside, and announces, “Master Kahwyn, Rider Silverbright, and Mage Silverbright.”

I guess that’s our cue to enter. Letting Jaimin and Tia go first, since we were announced by rank, I bring up the rear. The page closes the door behind us, and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s gone.

“Your Majesty,” Jaimin says, and I turn back to see him and Tia inclining their heads. I hurry to do the same. Dammit. This is not the time to get distracted.

The stone chooses that moment to send me a reassuring pulse.

“Please, let’s be informal. Thank you for coming. I know your journey is important.”

I lift my head and study the man with the deep voice. He’s got a big body to go with it—tall and wide. His bushy hair and beard are black with lots of gray, and his stern gaze doesn’t match his words. He’s the kind of man you look at and expect to be… disciplined. In a good way.

I cast a sideways glance at Jaimin and my sister, but they’re both smiling politely and thanking the king for his kind welcome. Maybe it’s just me, then.

“And you, Mage Silverbright,” the deep voice says. “I hope your room is to your liking.”

I perk up. “The room is perfect, Your Majesty. And your cook’s crumpets are a gift to humanity. May I ask, is the butter produced especially for you, or could anyone buy it?”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. For a moment, he stares at me, then he blinks. “Do you know, I have no idea.” He looks at the white-haired woman sitting in the next chair. “Do you?”

Tuuuuurds. How could I have forgotten that Master Haftel was here? My master’s going to hear about this, and then I’ll have to deal with his lecture as well as Tia’s. I smile at the short, extremely round older woman who, according to everything I’ve heard, has a mind like a steel trap and suffers no fools. Maybe if I pretend to feel confident right now, I can pull this off.

“I never asked,” she says in a firm, clear voice. “But it is excellent butter. I’m sure we can find out for you, Mage Silverbright.” There’s an amused gleam in her blue eyes, and a moment later, I feel a polite telepathic knock.

“Yes, Master Haftel?” Please don’t let her scold me now.

“The butter comes from a dairy a day’s ride south from here. I can arrange an order for you and have it sent to the academy.”

It’s a challenge to keep my face blank. “That’s very kind of you, Ma⁠—”

“I’m not kind, Silverbright. I heard you have a case of Camblemere apple brandy from the last vintage before the blight. I want some.”

Ahhh. Now she’s speaking my language. Although, that brandy was hard to get, and the bribes were expensive. “That should be possible. Shall we discuss terms later?”

I sense her shock that I would dare to make a master negotiate, then grudging respect. She gives a single nod and breaks contact.

The king looks curiously between us. “You telepaths are creepy beyond all reason sometimes. Care to let the rest of us in on the secret?”

“Mage Silverbright and I were just discussing the journey. It seems he demonstrated one of his special skills to your guards.”

I wince. Haftel likes to play dirty.

“Oh?” the king asks, intrigued. “Could I see this skill?”

“No!” Tia and Jaimin shout together. The king draws back, clearly offended.

“They’re protecting you, Your Majesty,” I explain hurriedly, before he can kick us out. I’m really enjoying royal hospitality. “I suspended one of your guards in midair by his ankle.”

The king cocks his head. “By the ankle? But that would mean…” He rotates a finger to point up.

I nod. “Yes, sir. He was upside down.”

Slowly nodding, he asks, “But why?”

I shrug. “He asked me to prove who I am.”

The deep belly laugh that bursts from him is unexpected and gratifying. “He’s lucky you didn’t turn him into a toad, then.”

Haftel sighs. “I keep telling you, we can’t do that.”

The king doesn’t look convinced, and I get the feeling he’s determined to believe that if someone annoys him enough, he can ask Haftel to toad-ify them. It’s actually not a terrible idea… except for the fact that only the gods can change a living creature’s form. “If you say so,” he agrees, and we can all tell he doesn’t mean it. “Now… I hope you won’t think me rude for cutting through the pleasantries, but is there any possibility of me seeing the stone of creation?” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to believe those are words I really said. This is such a phenomenal event!”

Clearly he hasn’t spent any time with the stone. I refrain from saying that, though, and reach inside my shirt for the pouch as Jaimin replies, “It certainly is. Of course you can see the stone, sir.”

I tip the rock into my palm and extend it toward King Brend and Master Haftel.

Silence.

“I shouldn’t be surprised it’s so ordinary-looking,” the king muses as he stares at it. “But… it’s so ordinary.”

“An ugly hunk of rock,” I agree, and the stone shares its disapproval.

“My goodness,” the king breathes. “Was that…?”

“The life stone doesn’t like when Talon insults it,” Jaimin says pointedly. “He still hasn’t grasped that.”

I shrug and dump it back in the pouch. “It forced me to leave home and come on this journey, so I get to tell it what I think of it. Relationships are about give and take.”

The king blinks at me, then turns to Haftel. “If you ever decide to leave my court, I want him to replace you.”

Oh, fuck no. “She’s irreplaceable, Your Majesty,” I insist. “And you don’t want me. Trust me on this.”

“You definitely don’t,” Tia mutters. “I’ve been trying to get rid of him for years.”

Haftel’s lips lift in a tiny smile. “Talented twins,” she murmurs. “How fortuitous for the stone that this occurred now, while you were both around to take on this task.”

Tia and I exchange glances. “I’m sorry, Master Haftel, I don’t follow.”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Just a little theory of mine.”

Fear races down my spine. She can’t possibly know about the connection between me and Tia—or even have guessed. It’s probably just that, like everyone else, she’s thinking about how rare twins with different Talents are.

Jaimin shifts his weight, and his arm brushes against mine. Calm reassurance immediately seeps through me, and I resist the urge to yowl with surprise and leap away from him. Did I know he could do that?

More to the point, how did he know I needed it? And would it be bad if I leaned my whole body against him?

“Is there anything you need from us while you’re here?” the king asks. “Or for when you leave? I can have soldiers escort you.”

The negative response from the stone is very clear, and his majesty raises a brow. “Or not.”

“It’s been very specific about who can travel with us,” I explain. “The escort you gave us was a concession specifically because of the attack. I believe we’ll be adding someone to our group while we’re here, but we don’t know who yet.” I hesitate. “Or when.”

Haftel purses her lips. “Samoine implied as much. That may prove helpful—I’ve heard a rumor that the priesthood is interested in your visit here.”

Oh no. “The priesthood? How do they know… What do they know?”

She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “There are some mages who have strong religious ties. It’s possible one of them spoke out of turn and mentioned that the stone has reappeared in the world.” Her tone heavily implies that those mages are idiots. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground, but it’s good to know that if some deluded high priest tries to intervene and take the stone, it will express its opinion firmly.”

My mind races. “It will,” I agree, wondering what in all the gods’ names the priesthood could want with the stone—and how much they know about us and our reason for carrying it. “We’ll avoid the temples, just in case.”

“You’ll be busy with your search for the companion,” she points out. “I doubt you’d spend much time in the temple district anyway. Will you be wandering the halls in the hopes of meeting the right person? Or must your search extend to the city?”

Gods, I hope not. When I visit the city, I want it to be enjoyable. “The stone will tell me what I need to do when it feels like it.” I shrug again. “It can’t give us names or anything, I’m afraid, but it’s very good at conveying emotion. Right now it’s not saying much of anything.” I glance down at where it rests against my chest. “Stone, do I need to wander the hallways right now?”

~No~

“See?” I spread my hands. “Does that mean I can go back to my room and have a nap?”

The stone’s agreement is accompanied by a strong sense of judgment, and the king chuckles.

“That’s astounding. It really doesn’t seem to approve of you, though.”

“Sadly, Your Majesty, that seems to be my lot in life.”

“Perhaps the stone would like you to attend the little gathering this evening?” Haftel interjects. “The captain of the King’s Own Guard is retiring, and we’re having a little party here in the palace, to properly honor him at court, before the real party at the barracks.”

The barracks party sounds a lot more interesting, to be honest, and I cons⁠—

~Yes~

Really? I ask the stone. A court party? I trained to be a mage partly to avoid that very thing.

“We’ll be there,” Tia says before I can talk the stone out of it. “Thank you for the invitation. It seems the stone doesn’t want Talon growing moss from idleness.”

I resent that, but it’s not worth arguing with her about it while she’s in this mood. Maybe the party will mellow her. The one good thing you can say about a court party, according to what I’ve heard, is that there’s always plenty to drink.

“We’ll see you this evening, then,” the king says with a charming smile I wouldn’t have thought would suit his face, but somehow does. “I’ll call for someone to show you the way back to your rooms.”

“That’s kind of you, sir, but we’ve got it,” I assure him. I don’t want to wait until we get back there to demand answers from Jaimin. We take our leave of them both and close the door firmly behind us.

I wait until we’re out of earshot of the men guarding the door before I hiss to Jaimin, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Tia asks.

Jaimin takes us both in with his usual calm gaze. “Talon was anxious, so I fixed it.”

“By brushing his arm against mine, through all our clothing,” I add. Damn that clothing. “And I was not anxious. I was… annoyed. People are always trying to make a big deal of us being twins.”

“Oh,” Tia says, and the single word encapsulates so much. She tugs gently at my mind, and this time, I reach out. “Does he know?”

“I don’t think so. He probably suspects there’s something going on.” I hope, anyway.

“What do we do?”

“Nothing. Bluff. Hope he hasn’t guessed somehow.”

“Are you both done?”

The simple question has the impact of a boulder. I try not to react, try not to freeze, but I can’t stop my heartbeat from racing out of control… and damn him, he’s close enough to me and a strong enough healer to know that.

“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m sticking with bluffing for now.

“I won’t betray you,” he says, still in that calm, gentle tone, as though we’re discussing the weather and not something that could get me and Tia locked up and studied for the rest of our lives. Tia’s safety is the only thing that stops me from telling him everything.

“Betray what?” Tia asks, doing an excellent job of sounding confused. “Talon being annoyed about people’s obsession with twins? They already know. He doesn’t keep it secret.”

Jaimin stops walking, and we do too. To keep going would be to make it seem like we were trying to get away from him. He studies us both, and I make myself breathe evenly. Calm. I’m calm. I’m not worried about becoming some master’s lifelong research project.

“You’re saying,” he begins slowly, “that you can’t speak mind-to-mind with each other?”

“Of course he can,” Tia says impatiently. She’s really a better actress than I give her credit for. “He’s a telepath.” She pauses. “Wait, do you mean can I speak in Talon’s mind?”

Jaimin raises his brows. “Can you?”

“Only when he reaches out to talk to me. Does that count? I can’t reach out to him, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a dragon rider, not a telepath.”

I owe Tia the biggest apology that exists. She’s a goddess. Not a single word she said was a lie… exactly. I concentrate on looking innocent and confused.

Jaimin glances between us both, then sighs. “I would never betray you,” he repeats. “But I can’t be fully useful if you’re keeping secrets.”

“Of course we’re keeping secrets.” I try to sound surprised. “I’m sure you are too. But if you think we have some kind of mystical twin bond that allows us to talk to each other…” I shake my head. “I’m a telepath, so yeah, sometimes I talk privately to my sister. I can try to stop, if it bothers you.”

He shakes his head. “When the time comes, remember you can trust me.”

I want to believe that. More than anything, I want to believe I can trust him with this. But I won’t risk my life, and I definitely won’t risk Tia’s.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thanks to a neat little bribe and some charm, this party hasn’t been all that bad. One of the serving staff has been meticulous about bringing every new offering from the kitchens to me first—with the exception of the time he had to either stop and serve the king or walk past him. That’s perfectly understandable—I wouldn’t expect him to snub the king in his own palace just for the sake of some coin.

The king also did his retiring captain the honor of bringing out a very nice wine vintage, and despite Tia’s disapproval, I’m on my third goblet. She’s of the opinion that we shouldn’t imbibe while we’re “working.” I’m of the opinion that if something happens that requires me to be sober, we’re fucked anyway. And Jaimin can probably heal the drunk out of me.

I frown. If it’s something he can heal, does that mean he can feel the “wrongness” of it? Is me getting tipsy going to cause him discomfort? I search the room, my gaze finally falling on him in conversation with two strangers. He’s smiling, but there’s something different about his face. An element of strain. Being in such a highly populated city—not to mention this crowded room—is probably wearing on him.

Suddenly the wine isn’t so appealing. I don’t want to contribute to his problems, and since I don’t really understand how it works, I guess that means abstaining until I can talk to him about it. Which he might not want to do, now that he thinks I don’t trust him.

This has become way too complicated.

Haftel sidles up beside me. “Any luck?” she asks, sipping from her own goblet. I bite back my envy.

“Nothing,” I report. She and I stole a few minutes earlier to haggle out our butter-for-brandy bargain, and it turned out well for us both. She reminds me a lot of my master, only more inclined to put up with the bullshit of others. It surprised me—I expected a court mage to be a lot more… pompous.

“It’s not giving you any clues at all?” She sounds disappointed, and I don’t blame her.

“Well, it’s not letting me leave.” I tried that fifteen minutes ago, and the stone very firmly insisted I should stay. “So either there’s somebody here that I need to meet, but the time isn’t right, or they have—” My gaze lands on a small group of soldiers fifteen or so feet away. They’re in their dress uniforms, fancy swords by their sides, and they seem to be having a heated conversation.

The stone hums in my mind.

“Who are they?” I ask Haftel, taking in the details of each of the four men. She turns to look.

“Those men? The two with the gold insignia on their shoulders are lieutenants in the King’s Own Guard—two of the better ones, to be frank. I don’t care for all of them.”

“Hmm.” The stone doesn’t react as I examine them, so I turn my attention to the next. “And the sergeant?”

“I don’t know him well, but he’s been attending a few events lately—I think they may be grooming him for a promotion. There’s likely to be some movement in the ranks now that Jurgen is retiring.”

The stone’s still not interested. That leaves only one—the only one who doesn’t have rank on display. That’s unusual, right? All the other soldiers here tonight are officers or sergeants. The others are at the barracks party… where I wanted to slip away to before the stone stopped me.

I study the fourth man. He is, frankly, beautiful. Huge—well over six feet, and broad through the chest and shoulders—and possessing curly golden hair. I can’t quite make out his eye color from here, but it looks like it might be dark. And as he throws back his head and laughs, a dimple pops into view.

The stone urges me toward him. I’m not opposed… but I want to know more first.

“What about the blond? Why’s he not wearing his rank?”

Haftel sighs, and I glance over to a wistful little smile on her face… and a fair dose of lust. That’s… unsettling. “He doesn’t have any. Not in the guard, anyway. That’s Coryn, Duke Kelter’s youngest son. He’s one of the finest fighters you’ll ever see—absolutely superb. Hasn’t lost a fight or been bested in training for years. People actually come here just for a chance to fight with him and learn from it. Between that and his father’s rank, he’s always mingling with the court.”

I keep my eyes on the blond man—Coryn—as he begins debating something with the sergeant. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but whatever it is has the sergeant throwing up his hands in exasperation as Coryn shakes his head stubbornly and the senior officers look on in amusement. “Do the other guards resent that? Is that why he hasn’t risen through the ranks, even though he’s so good?”

“Resent Coryn?” Her shock is clear, and then she laughs. “Oh, no. Nobody could resent Coryn. He’s the sweetest, kindest, most generous man. Everyone loves him, even the people who want to hate him.”

The stone is still insisting I need to speak with him, but I resist the urge. “I don’t understand, then. He’s an excellent fighter, well-liked, experienced, has rank of his own and could only be of value to the king… why isn’t he already a sergeant at least? And being groomed toward one day being captain of the whole outfit?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, the ambient noise level in the room dips just enough that I can hear what Coryn is saying.

“…telling you, it’s possible! If you flip the world around, the sun would rise in the west!”

“Oh,” I say.

“Yes.” Haftel’s grimace is clear in the single word.

“He’s an idiot.”

“Weeeeeell… that’s a harsh way to put it.”

“He’s a kind, talented fighter who completely lacks intelligence?” I suggest.

“We like to think that the gods were so generous in every other part of his life that they had to compensate somehow.”

I’d laugh, but the stone is still urging me toward the man arguing that… I can’t even bring myself to think it. Really? I send the thought winging toward the source of all creation. That one?

The affirmative is firm, and I sigh. “I need to meet him.”

Haftel’s eyes bug out. “What? Coryn? Are you sure?”

“The stone is.”

“I…” She glances helplessly between me and the big blond. “I suppose it knows what it’s doing.”

“You have more faith in it than I do.”

Haftel brightens suddenly. “Maybe it wants you to be introduced to the duke, or somebody else Coryn knows well. He could be a link to the person you need.”

Let’s hope that’s it and not that the stone has decided the champion is someone so pure of heart and mind that an original thought never polluted his brain.

I chide myself for being mean. The man can’t help it if he’s not intelligent. His other qualities obviously make up for it, anyway.

Following Haftel, I remind myself to be kind… or at least courteous. If I do need his help, insulting him is not a wise choice.

“Gentlemen?” The master speaks at a normal decibel, but the men instantly cease their conversation and turn to face her. Coryn’s face breaks into a happy grin, and he lifts his hand in a little wave.

“Master Haftel,” one of the lieutenants says. “Are you keeping the king in line?”

“Of course.” She chuckles. “Though if you ask him, it’s the other way around. I’d like you all to meet a colleague of mine from the City of Knowledge. This is Talon Silverbright. Mage Silverbright, Lieutenants Legg and Paier, Sergeant Trigg, and Lord Cor⁠—”

“Not Lord,” Coryn breaks in, his jaw setting stubbornly. “Just Coryn.”

Haftel rolls her eyes. “Guardsman Coryn Kelter.”

I exchange pleasantries and handshakes with them all, then turn my attention to Coryn. “I understand not wanting the whole lord thing,” I commiserate. “Well, not exactly. My father’s only a baron.” Thank fuck. People still try to call me “Lord Talon” sometimes, but not as much as he must get. “But I didn’t want any part of it.”

He brightens. “Yes! I don’t want to be Lord Coryn and get married and… stuff. I want to fight and ride my horse and be useful to the king!” His face shines with unbridled enthusiasm and idealism.

My heart sinks.

He’s coming with us, isn’t he? I ask the stone. Its positive pulse is smug. A horrifying thought strikes. He’s not the champion, is he?

A strong negative, and I breathe a little easier. He’s a good fighter—the best, if Haftel’s right. He’s pleasant enough to talk to. And he’s definitely pretty—he’ll be something to look at during our travels.

“Could you come with me for a moment? There’re some people I’d like you to meet.” I reach out to Tia. She’s going to love this.

Haftel points us toward a small parlor where we won’t be disturbed, and Coryn happily follows me there.

“Are you really a mage?” he asks as I make myself comfortable in a plush chair. “Only every mage I’ve ever seen wears robes.” He eyes me. “And is older.”

“You’re probably used to seeing masters,” I explain. “They’re older because it takes them a while to become masters.”

“What about the robes?” He leans against the mantel and folds his arms, but it’s not an intimidating posture. Instead, he looks entirely too delicious. “Mage Silverbright?”

I blink and drag my thoughts away from their contemplation of his bulging arm muscles. “What? Oh, robes. They’re uncomfortable.” The steward or whoever has the responsibility of looking after my room had the forethought to supply a robe for me. It was fresh and new and wrinkle-free… and I completely ignored it. If the people of Lenledia won’t take me seriously as a mage purely because I’m not wearing a robe, that’s their mistake.

Coryn nods sagely. “If I was a mage, I wouldn’t wear them either. All that material flapping around… how’s a man supposed to fight like that?”

Mages don’t usually fight with swords and fists, but pointing that out might shatter the tenuous connection between us that I definitely am going to need to convince him to abandon his life to go up against zombies. In the winter. So I just smile. “Do you want to sit down? They should be here in a moment.”

He shakes his head and taps the ceremonial sword at his waist. “Can’t. Not on that kind of chair, anyway. The scabbard isn’t designed for it.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Just another reason to be glad I’m not a soldier. “Could you sit on the arm of one of the chairs? This might take a while, and I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Or we could have a different kind of chair brought in.” Something without arms.

He smiles sunnily at me. “You’re so nice. I’m okay, though. Thank you.”

The door opens then, saving me from having to think of anything else to say, and Tia and Jaimin come in.

“What did you— Whoa. Hello.” My sister’s jaw drops at the sight of Coryn, and I can’t say I blame her. With the light from the lamps gleaming off his golden curls and his smile still in place—not to mention the muscles—he’s something to behold.

Then he straightens, takes a step forward, and sweeps an elegant bow. “My lady, it is my honor and pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Tia breathes, and I choke back a laugh. “That is… I mean… please don’t call me lady.” Her flustered words are matched by the red that stains her cheeks, and as Coryn straightens, I intercede. She can thank me later.

“This is Guardsman Coryn Kelter,” I say. “Coryn, meet my sister, Rider Tavia Silverbright, and Master Jaimin Kahwyn.”

Coryn’s face brightens. “You’re a dragon rider? That’s amazing! Is the dragon here?” He looks around as though the thirty-foot-long dragon—plus tail—might have followed Tia into the room. “Can I pet it?”

Sense returns to Tia with a rude slap, and she shoots me a look that says Oh. I know exactly how she feels. “He’s outside the city right now,” she says gently. “It’s not a good idea to pet dragons without their permission, though.”

The crestfallen expression on that pretty face is just too much to bear.

“I’ll ask him,” she continues. “But I can’t promise he’ll agree.”

I reach out telepathically and let her hear my mental laughter.

Coryn brightens again. “Thank you. You’re just as nice as your brother.” While Tia chokes on that, he turns to Jaimin. “You’re a mage too?”

“A healer,” Jaimin corrects. “Would you like me to help with that scrape on your lower back?”

“That’s kind, but I couldn’t put you to the trouble. Healers are precious, and it’ll be much better tomorrow. I slept on the stairs, is all.”

Jaimin blinks. “Pardon?”

“I slept on the stairs,” Coryn repeats. “There was a leak in the barracks roof right above my bed last night, so I couldn’t sleep there.”

“No, of course. But… when you say you slept on the stairs…?”

He nods. “I didn’t want to clutter up the floor in the bunkroom or the hallways, because you never know when we’re going to get called out. People would not be happy to trip over me. But the stairs up to the old watch room have been blocked off for years, so nobody ever goes there. It was the best place to stretch out.”

“Wait,” Tia says. “You mean you lay down on the stairs? Not… sat on one and propped yourself against the wall or something?”

“That might have been a smarter idea,” he muses thoughtfully. “Do they teach you stuff like that at the rider academy?”

Tia’s mouth opens and closes twice before she musters the brainpower to say, “Something like that.”

Before the conversation derails any further, I clap my hands. “Coryn, now that you’ve met Tia and Jaimin⁠—”

“Tia? Who’s Tia?” He looks around again, presumably for a third person. Jaimin shoots me a worried glance.

“That’s me.” Tia gives him a little wave, and he frowns.

“I thought your name was Tavia.”

She nods. “It is. Tia’s for short.”

The frown only deepens. “Why not Tav?”

I can tell my sister’s patience is wearing thin by the vicious way she tugs on the connection between us, but there’s no sign of it on her face or in her voice as she says, “Because my twin’s name”—she points at me—“is Talon, and even when I was a little girl I thought Tal and Tav sounded ridiculous.”

The frown clears up, replaced by that sunny smile. “Ohhhh. What’s it like being a twin? I tried to convince one of my brothers to be my twin, but he didn’t want to.”

Oh steaming holy gods’ turds.

“We can talk about that another time,” I interrupt hastily. “There should be plenty of time if you agree to come with us.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, instantly distracted. “It’s kind of you to invite me, but I have duties here to the king.”

“Yes, I know,” I assure him. “But I’m certain the king will be happy to assign you to travel with us. He knows all about why we’re here.”

“Okay then,” he agrees, and I’m taken aback.

“Okay?”

“Yes. If the king says it’s okay, I’ll come.”

“Don’t you want to know more?” Jaimin asks gently.

Coryn shrugs. “Like what?”

“Where we’re going… why? How long it will take?”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know all of that if it was a guards’ assignment.” He stops. “Well, maybe some of it. My sergeant keeps telling me things that I don’t remember.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation.

Jaimin turns to me with an expression that clearly demands I fix this. Honestly, my inclination is to just let it go. He’s happy to come with us if the king orders it, which he will, and if Haftel and the stone are right, he’s capable of protecting us. This is a win-win. No need for messy explanations.

But Jaimin’s scowl won’t relent, and I don’t like to see it on his face. Plus, the stone is buzzing persistently in my head, so I sigh. “That’s great. I’m glad you’re coming with us. Let me tell you a little bit about the job, so you can protect us better.”

That gets his attention. “How much protection do you need?”

“You, for now. Five days ago, our camp was attacked in the middle of the night by a dozen men.” I leave out the zombie bit. I’ll get to it later. “They targeted us specifically because of our mission. We got word to the king, and he sent an escort of the guard to bring us here. You may have heard about it?”

He frowns. “Was that Pim’s squad? They just got back from escort duty.”

“Yes.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, are you the mage that flipped Clem upside down?”

I’m tempted to ask him how many other mages might have been escorted to the city by the King’s Own Guard today, but I restrain myself. “Yes.”

“Can you do that to me?” His face lights up like a small child’s. “Please?”

Nobody has ever asked me that before. I don’t know what to say.

“Not indoors,” Jaimin says firmly. “And not while you’re wearing your sword. Maybe tomorrow.”

Coryn pouts but nods. “Okay.” He looks at me expectantly.

“Okay,” I echo, then pull myself together. “We expect there will be further attacks. Our plan was for Leicht—the dragon—and Tia to be our protectors, but⁠—”

“That’s not a good plan,” he interrupts. “Dragons are perfect for battle, but traveling on the highway…” He shakes his head. “There’s too many villages and trees. How’s a dragon gonna do his job if he needs to worry about not setting things on fire?” He looks over at Tia. “And no offense to you, Rider, I’m sure you’re deadly, but one fighter woken from sleep against a dozen attackers? Those are bad odds.”

Relief floods through me. He may not be the smartest person I’ve ever met, but clearly he knows what he’s talking about in this situation.

Tia smiles at him, her thoughts following the same path as mine. “We learned that the hard way.”

“That’s why you need me?”

I nod. “That’s why. When the next wave comes—and it will—we can’t be weakened again. We lost two days of travel time waiting for the escort.” It pains me to say that, because I enjoyed those two glorious days at the inn, but it was time our enemy has been using for ill. We need to stop them fast.

“I can do that,” he assures me confidently. “With Rider Tia’s help.”

“Just Tia is fine.”

He grins at her. “I’m Just Coryn!”

Tia’s confusion is delightful, but I explain anyway. “Coryn is the Duke of Kelter’s son, but he prefers to be just Coryn.”

“Mm,” Jaimin says. “I’ve met your father. He’s a great man, but I can understand needing some distance from the title.”

The stars that appear in Coryn’s eyes as he gazes at Jaimin with newfound hero worship make me… something. Irritated. Because we don’t have time for him to develop a crush.

That’s all.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Let me tell you about our mission,” I say a little louder than necessary, determined to drag Coryn’s attention away from Jaimin.

“Do you have to?” he asks.

The stone thrums, so I ignore what I really want to do and instead say, “Yes. You need to know what we’re facing so you’ll be prepared.”

Again, his face immediately becomes alert. It seems the secret to managing Coryn is to speak to his sense of duty. “I’m ready.”

“A month ago”—has it been so long already?—“the life stone returned to the continent and made itself known to the combined councils of mages, healers, and riders.” I pause for the usual gasp of surprise.

He just looks at me blankly.

“You do know what the life stone is?” I prompt.

“The source of all creation,” he replies, and I swear, Jaimin sighs in relief.

“Yes. You probably also know that it disappears from the world except when there are situations of great need.” I decide not to go into the vagaries of the prophecy. Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be.

“And now’s one of those times? It has to be if the stone’s here, right?”

I nod. “Right.”

He beams.

“The stone revealed to us that necromancers have begun raising zombies, and⁠—”

Coryn scoffs, the smile disappearing. “If you’re going to tell fairy stories, just don’t tell me anything. I don’t need to know. All I need is for the king to tell me to protect you, and I will, whatever you’re doing.”

Tia pinches the bridge of her nose, and I reach out to her. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t love putting our safety in the hands of someone who doesn’t use deductive reasoning to make decisions,” she snaps.

“Then put it in the stone’s hands. That’s what he is—another tool of prophecy, just like us.” I hate that concept so much, but there’s no denying it. Not anymore.

She nods curtly.

“It’s not a fairy story,” I tell Coryn. “You can speak to the king about this—or Master Haftel. They’ll confirm what I’m saying. A long time ago, necromancers raised zombies and used them to wage war against the nations of the continent. It was long and bloody, and millions died. We won in the end, and in an attempt to prevent it from ever happening again”—these words are bitter on my tongue, but I force myself to say them—“most of the details were wiped from history. Our ancestors believed that if people thought zombies were only a nightmare, a tale to scare children, nobody would ever again try to raise one.”

He frowns. “So how come you know this?”

“We’re taught a little more at the City of Knowledge. Part of the history classes at the academy include a very brief segment about the zombie wars and how terrible they were. Not enough information for anyone to know how to raise them—or how to stop them once they’re raised.”

The frown deepens. “Then how did someone raise some?”

Excellent question. I spread my hands. “We don’t know. It’s not the most important part right now—the stone told us that there’s a person, a champion, who can defeat the necromancers and the zombies. This is also in the prophecies, so we have a very obscure instruction manual. Our mission is to find that champion. The other side is trying to stop us, since they don’t want to be defeated.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Cautiously, because this is where I might lose him again, I say, “Some of our attackers the other night were zombies. They looked just like ordinary men, but they wouldn’t die until I used magefire on them. Not even when we dismembered them.”

His eyes widen. “They wouldn’t die? Wait… zombies are when dead people are brought back to life, right?”

“No,” Jaimin interrupts sharply. “They are not brought back to life. It’s impossible to bring a dead person back to life, because their soul has departed from their body. Zombies are merely reanimated corpses.” Seeing Coryn’s confusion, he continues, “A necromancer finds a corpse—a dead body—and makes it move around like a living person—kill like a living person can—but it’s not alive. It has no thoughts or feelings, doesn’t need to eat or drink or sleep or breathe.”

That, Coryn understands, and sick revulsion is clear in his voice when he says, “Like a human puppet?”

Jaimin nods. “It’s desecration of the worst kind.”

“I don’t know about that, but it’s wrong to treat dead people that way,” Coryn declares. “You gotta stop them.”

“That’s our plan. We just have to find the champion and let them take over, and we need you to make sure we don’t die before we can do that,” I remind him.

He worries his lip with his teeth, making it red and puffy and entirely too pretty. “Did you say they don’t die? I’ve never fought an enemy who doesn’t die. That would change the odds—every one of theirs would become…” His face scrunches in concentration as he struggles to come up with a number. “…a lot.”

“They go down for a short while,” Tia assures him. “Dismember them if you can and get their weapons away from them. It won’t stop them, but it buys us time. The only two ways to kill them permanently are magefire and dragon fire. Luckily, we have both—Talon and Leicht. So your job—and mine—is to disable them long enough for Talon to kill them.”

Coryn nods confidently, his worry gone. “I can do that.”

“They’ll likely also have living humans with them, but it might be hard to tell the difference,” Jaimin warns. “Treat them all the same until we know otherwise.”

“Yeah, you said that before, that they look like normal. But I thought zombies were supposed to be all rotting and falling apart. Because they’re dead people.”

I let Jaimin handle this, since he was the one who found the answer to begin with.

“We thought the same, but after the attack, the stone confirmed our theory that the zombies we met were made from the newly dead. Men who hadn’t died long enough ago to begin deco—uh, rotting.”

“So they might look normal, and I should treat anyone who attacks like they’re a zombie. Killing blow, disarm, dismember,” he recites. “Got it.”

I wait, but that seems to be it. “Do you have any questions?”

“When do you want to leave?”

“Uh…” Never is what I want to say, but instead, I reach for the pouch around my neck. “We should ask the stone, I guess.”

Coryn’s face lights up, and he leans forward. “You have it with you? The life stone? I get to see it?”

I swear, if he had a tail, it would be wagging. “I have it with me,” I confirm. “Of course you can see it. You’re… Did I mention that the stone was the one who said you were coming? It gets to choose everyone who travels with us.”

His mouth opens in an O shape. “Really?” he breathes. “It knows my name?”

“Sort of? I mean, yes, but… It can’t really… Let me show you.” It seems easier to let the stone handle this than to attempt to explain nonverbal communication. I tip the stone into my palm and then stand to set it carefully on the low table before me. Its presence is a warm hum in the room.

Coryn glances at it, then looks at me expectantly. “Are you going to go get it now? I can escort you to your room, if you like.”

Tia chokes back a groan, but I smile. “That’s it.” I point to the stone.

He looks at it again. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“But… it’s a rock.”

“It’s not a rock.”

“It looks like a rock.”

“Well, it is a rock, technically. A stone. The life stone.” I cling to my patience. Meanwhile, the stone, the one entity whose contribution would be helpful right now, remains completely silent. Stupid hunk of gravel.

“Sure, but it’s… a rock.”

“Coryn, what were you expecting, exactly?” Jaimin breaks in. He’s using his gentle tone again.

Coryn shrugs. “You said the stone told you stuff, so… I thought it would have a mouth, at least. Like, a talking stone, that’s pretty cool. This is just a rock.”

“It’s not a rock,” I snap. “It’s the source of all creation, for the sake of all the fucking gods.”

He looks contrite. “Am I being stupid again? I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to.”

Hello, guilt. “You’re not stupid,” I tell him, ignoring the memory of calling him an idiot earlier. “Don’t let anyone call you that. Just because this kind of thinking isn’t where you do best doesn’t mean you’re stupid. You’re really good at the fighting stuff, and you knew our first plan for Leicht to protect us was a bad one, even though all of us didn’t.”

He looks at me with the same starry eyes he gave Jaimin before, and I’m not going to lie, it doesn’t suck. Even better is the warm smile Jaimin aims at me. Who knew being nice to people was the way to get the attention of attractive men?

“I know it looks like an ordinary rock,” I continue. “It’s even kind of ugly.” I get vicious satisfaction from saying that. “And it doesn’t have a mouth. It can’t ‘talk’ to us, exactly. But it can make itself understood. Isn’t that right, stone?” I prod it mentally. If you want him to come with us, you’d better damn well respond.

~Yes~

Coryn’s mouth drops open and then stretches into a wonder-filled grin. He moves away from the mantel and leans over to examine the stone, then lifts his gaze to mine.

“Can I pet it?”

My sputtering goes on for longer than I like to admit. “Pet it? Can you pet it?”

Coryn nods. “It’s nice. It feels like a hug. Can I pet it?”

“I—No—Well…” I sigh. “Sure. Go ahead and… pet it.” If the stone doesn’t want him touching it, it’ll let us know.

The source of all creation remains quiet, however, and Coryn bends over the low table and gently strokes two fingers over the top of the stone. “Aw,” he murmurs. “That’s nice, isn’t it? I bet people don’t pet you very often.”

I have no words.

The stone continues to fill the room with its warm, soothing presence, and I reach out to Tia.

“Am I experiencing some kind of delusion? This isn’t real, is it?”

She meets my gaze. “If it’s not, I’m having the same delusion. I guess the stone likes to be petted?” A tiny smirk teases her lips. “Maybe you’ve been falling down in your duties, Talon. You should be petting the stone twice a day.”

I send her a mental image of a rude gesture as Coryn straightens. “Thank you,” he says politely.

“Anytime. Consider petting the stone to be one of your duties on this trip.” I rein myself in before I say something I’ll regret. It’s not his fault he’s so… sweet. Though I can’t be the only one who finds it odd that someone so seemingly innocent is apparently a ruthless fighter. “Stone, is there anything else for us to do here?”

~No~

“So we can leave when we’re ready?”

~Yes/No~

I sigh in frustration.

“Let me try,” Jaimin murmurs. He has that little smirk on his face that gives me so many feelings, but I gesture for him to go ahead. “Should we leave tomorrow?”

~Yes~

Dammit. I was hoping to stretch out our stay for a few nights. The sidelong glance Jaimin gives me says he’d guessed as much.

“Tomorrow it is,” I concede. “Coryn, is that enough time for you to prepare?”

He nods. “Yup! I’m used to being sent out on short notice. I could go tonight, if you want.”

“No.” The word tumbles from my mouth. I want at least one night in that delightful bedroom—and a chance to eat some more crumpets. “Tomorrow’s fine. Uh, you have your own horse?”

“Of course.”

“You’re probably an expert at this, but you need to pack light,” Tia tells him. “One pack of personal belongings.” She looks at Jaimin. “Do we need another packhorse? With his bag, extra food, and his bedroll⁠—”

“Oh, I can share Talon’s bedroll,” Coryn says blithely.

“What?” I ask blankly, even as Jaimin snaps, “No!”

Coryn blinks at the tone, and I hide my frown. Is Jaimin interested in Coryn?

“But I don’t mind,” Coryn assures us. “That way I get cuddles.”

I swear, I can hear the stone laughing in my head.

“Cuddles,” I repeat, and he nods.

“I like cuddles, but people don’t always like to give them. That’s okay, though. I don’t mind sex, and it means I get cuddles after.”

Tia’s shock and pity echo through my head with my own.

“I see.” I pause, trying to decide what to say. “I see. Well… uh, I’m…”

Jaimin steps in. “What Talon’s trying to say is that we’re all happy to give you cuddles whenever you want them, no sex needed.”

“Really?” Coryn looks between us, and the naked vulnerability on his face makes me swallow down my instinctive refusal.

“Yes. Uh… of course. I… love cuddles.”

“Me too,” Tia chimes in, opening her arms. Coryn’s grin is instant, and he swoops in to grab her in a big bear hug.

“Cuddles are the best,” he says, his voice slightly muffled.

I meet Jaimin’s gaze. He’s smirking at me, and I swear, that smirk is almost a dare. Bastard. He knows I’m not the cuddling type.

Not without sex, anyway.

Does that make me the kind of horrible person who’s been taking advantage of Coryn? Because for all he said that he doesn’t mind sex, I got the distinct impression he only does it to get cuddles.

No. I wouldn’t have taken him up on his offer. Though if he hadn’t said anything, just crawled into my bedroll one night, I might not have asked as many questions as I should. I mentally flinch away from what that says about me.

“Okay,” I say as Coryn finally lets go of Tia. “That’s settled then. Coryn gets cuddles whenever he wants them. And I suppose we need another packhorse?” The ratio of humans to horses just keeps getting smaller. Pretty soon, there will be enough horses for them to plan an uprising and kill us all. Sweetie would be their leader.

“Yes,” Jaimin confirms. “Coryn, who’s the best person for us to speak to about that?”

“I can do it,” he offers cheerfully. “I just need official orders from the king to say I’m coming with you.”

“We’ll go talk to the king, then.” I stand. “And then make plans to leave tomorrow. Maybe after lunch—that will give us the morning to⁠—”

~No~

Dammit. Tia laughs outright, but Coryn seems confused.

“Doesn’t the pretty stone want to go?”

“It wants to leave early,” Jaimin explains, sounding far too amused for my liking. “Is that right, stone?”

~Yes~

Stupid chipped gravel. “Fine,” I grumble. “We’ll leave in the morning. But after breakfast. None of this sunrise bollocks.”

“Talon doesn’t like mornings,” Tia informs Coryn. “Or afternoons, to be fair. Or people. Or horses.”

“Please, continue,” I invite acidly. She makes it sound like all of that is unreasonable.

“The list is too long, and we don’t have time. Don’t you need to talk to the king?”

I narrow my eyes and snatch up the stone. “There are times I wish I was an only child. Come on, Coryn.” The sound of her laughter follows us out of the room.

“You don’t really, do you?” Coryn asks, trailing after me. With a glance over my shoulder, I slow my pace so he can catch up.

“Don’t what?”

“Wish you were an only child.”

“No. But Tia and I are very good at annoying each other.”

He nods, lips pressed together. “I annoy my brothers too. Sometimes…” He sighs. “Sometimes I did wish they were different. They’re not nice like you and Tia are. Not to me, anyway.”

Hmm. When this is all over, I think a visit to Coryn’s father and brothers might be in order. Someone needs to dangle them by the ankle over a ravine. “Do you need another hug?” I ask, a little grudgingly. It’s not something I particularly want to do, but the last thing we need right now is for the king to see him all mopey and think we had something to do with it.

He immediately brightens. “Yes, please. Just a little one, though.”

I hold out my arms and he steps into them. At first, it’s strange. He’s taller and wider than me, and I’m not used to hugging or being hugged. But it’s also… nice. It obviously makes him happy too. Is this what doing nice things for other people feels like?

It’s not terrible.

“There!” he pronounces, letting me go and grinning at me with his beautiful face. “Much better.”

“Much better,” I echo. “Thank you.” Did I just… thank him? For a hug?

The stone must be playing with my mind. Stop that.

There’s no response.

Back in the small ballroom—so named because it can only fit “intimate” groups of three hundred—the crowd has thinned considerably. Most of the soldiers are gone, probably to the real party in the barracks.

“If you want to go to the barracks party, we can delay our start tomorrow morning,” I tell Coryn, trying to sound casual. A short visit to a party and a later departure sound wonderful to me.

To my disappointment, he shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve partied with those guys more times than I can count. And the commander never knows what to say to me. He wanted to train me to take over one day, but I just want to do my job. Leadership seems stressful to me.”

He’s right. In the past two weeks, I’ve learned that leadership is stressful, mostly because of the way the people you’re leading keep telling you you’re doing it wrong.

I look around and spot the king and Haftel talking to several others. I’ve taken five steps before I realize Coryn is no longer with me.

“Is there a problem?” I ask when I’ve retraced my path to him. The happy smile is gone from his face again.

He scuffs his boot on the polished stone floor. “Noooo.”

The gods must hate me. I swear, they do. “Coryn, tell me what the problem is.”

His pout is a thing of beauty. Seriously. How does the man make pouting look attractive? “Nothing. It’s fine.” He darts a glance toward the king’s group, and a worried gleam appears in his eyes before he looks away.

I turn around and study them all. He was fine with Haftel earlier, and from the enthusiastic way he talks about the king, I doubt he’s the issue, either. My gaze slides to the other three—two women, one older, one about my age, and an older man with the same supercilious, stick-up-his-rectum expression my father wears.

My eyes narrow. The man is tall, blond, and has the same nose as Coryn. “Is that your father?”

He gasps. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Come on.”

“Wait, Talon…” He catches my arm. “It might be better if I don’t come with you. My father… he doesn’t like me much. If I’m there, he might say something mean to you.”

My mouth stretches into a smile. “I’m counting on it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The king looks up and smiles as I march over to the group, a reluctant Coryn dragging his heels in my wake.

“Talon,” he greets expansively. His bonhomie and the pink flush to his cheeks make me think he’s been partaking of the wine. “And Coryn! Join us. Haftel tells me— Ooof!”

Haftel’s elbow to his side cuts him off. Nobody told me the court mages were allowed to assault monarchs. Maybe I need to reconsider my stance on living at court. Good food, comfortable rooms, staff to look after my every whim….

“I’d hoped you’d been run through by now,” Coryn’s father drawls, looking at his son as if he’s gutter waste stuck to his shoe. Any desire I have to live at court flees with the reminder that people like him populate the courts.

Coryn flushes but says nothing, looking at the floor.

Fuck that.

“What a terrible thing to say.”

Awkward silence descends, but that was my goal, so I forge on.

“I don’t know who you are, but the whole reason I came here was to recruit Coryn, so it’s lucky for me that he hasn’t been run through.” I smile. “Not that anybody would find it easy to do so. Tales of his prowess have traveled far. That’s why Master Kahwyn insisted Coryn was the perfect person to join us.” The last bit stretches the truth—okay, so it’s a lie—but given the secrecy of our mission, Jaimin’s name is the best weapon I’ve got against this snob.

Beside me, Coryn straightens. Good.

“Master Kahwyn?” the older woman repeats. “Jaimin Kahwyn, the plague slayer?”

That’s such a stupid way to refer to him. Aside from the fact that he’s so much more than just the healer who cured a plague, how fucking ridiculous does “plague slayer” sound? He didn’t kill it with a sword.

I open my mouth to share some of those thoughts, but Haftel jumps in, shooting me a warning look. I think if she’d been standing beside me, I might have gotten an elbow to the ribs.

“The same,” she announces. “But we haven’t made introductions yet. Mage Talon Silverbright, meet her grace, High Priestess Hierane of the goddess Malna, Duke Kelter, and Priestess Whynne, also of Malna.”

Well, shit.

I bow to the high priestess. Kelter can go fuck himself, but the last thing I need right now is to get on the wrong side of the temples. “Your grace.”

She looks at me like she’s weighing me up for dinner—and not in the good way. “Mage Silverbright. How fortuitous to meet you this evening. I was so hoping you’d be here.”

Not. Good. She shouldn’t even know who I am. The fact that she does means she’s one of the priests that knows about the stone and what I’m doing here.

“Oh? That’s not something people usually say to me.” I try to brush it off with a joke. “Usually they’re hoping I’ll be somewhere else.” I smile at her and then turn to the king. “Your Majesty, further to our earlier discussion, I’d like to request that Guardsman Kelter be assigned to me for the foreseeable future.”

The king doesn’t look too surprised, so I’m guessing Haftel filled him in. “Of⁠—”

“What’s this?” Duke Kelter breaks in sharply. I ignore him—the king can deal with him.

However, it’s Haftel who says serenely, “The King’s Own Guard is none of your concern, Duke.” There’s a smug little curve to her lips that broadcasts how much she enjoyed saying that.

The duke opens his mouth to retort, but the high priestess is already speaking.

“Perhaps we could step into a private room?” she asks me. “I’m sure the king has somewhere suitable.”

Coryn stirs slightly, and I’m grateful he’s there. I don’t know what his feelings are when it comes to religion, but I’m reasonably sure I can rely on him to defend me and the stone.

“I’m afraid not,” I reply, managing to sound regretful even as I reach out to Tia. “Might have to leave early. High priestess of Malna is here.” I muster another smile for Hierane. “I have so much to do before we depart.”

Her return smile is full of teeth and not a little frightening. “Surely not so much that you cannot spare a moment for spiritual guidance?”

“Has she said anything? Do you need me and Jaimin to come there?” Tia sounds ready to spring into action.

“The gods themselves have blessed my journey,” I intone, hoping none of them choose this moment to strike me down. Everyone knows they had a hand in the prophecies, anyway, so as long as I’m doing what the prophecy wants, I’m carrying out the will of the gods… right? “She’s trying to talk to me alone. Let’s not cause a scene yet—I’ll let you know if I need rescuing.”

Hierane’s eyes gleam. “What an astonishing thought. And yet, none of the temples have reported you consulting them.”

“The gods work in mysterious ways.” I want to shoot Haftel a “rescue me” look, but I’m scared to take my gaze off the high priestess.

“It’s the lot of man to never fully understand the gods,” the king says piously. “Guardsman Kelter, you’re assigned to Mage Silverbright until his task is complete. Talon, we won’t keep you from your duties.”

“Yes, sir,” Coryn says, saluting.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I add. “I’ll take my leave of you all now.”

“Hold on,” Duke Kelter interrupts imperiously. “What exactly is this task? I don’t know if I like the idea of my family name being associated with something so shady.”

My magic twitches with the urge to flip him upside down and shake him. He’s worried about his family name? What about his son?

Lucky for me, the king stares him down. “I would never assign one of my guardsmen to anything shady.”

Kelter’s eyes narrow, but he grudgingly nods. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I apologize.” Clearly he doesn’t want to lose favor with the king.

I wait for him to say something to Coryn, but he doesn’t. What a turd. Taking a careful step backward, I snag Coryn’s arm and tug him with me. Maybe we can sneak away while they’re distrac⁠—

“Mage Silverbright.” Hierane’s voice could slice through steel. “I was hoping to afford you some privacy, but since you refuse…”

Oh, no.

“I demand you relinquish to the protection of the temples the holy object in your possession. I order this in the name of our holy mother Malna and her divine siblings.”

Holy steaming gods’ turds.

“I don’t understand, your grace,” I bluff, reaching out to Tia. “Get here now.” “What holy object?” I send an urgent telepathic knock Haftel’s way, and another to my master.

“The king and I will intercede if necessary,” Haftel says, not even needing me to ask for help. “But our influence won’t hold once you leave.”

“That’s tomorrow’s problem. Just support me now.”

Hierane’s eyes are narrowed, and Coryn shifts away from me. At first I think he’s distancing himself, but when I glance over, I notice the way his hand rests on the pommel of his sword.

Aww. That’s sweet, but… he can’t seriously be thinking about striking a high priestess?

“Don’t play games with me,” Hierane murmurs.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I say truthfully. I know perfectly well that I’m fighting for my life right now.

“Talon?” Master’s voice is sharp. Finally.

“Having an altercation with the high priestess of Malna. You might need to run interference after I shake her off.”

His vicious curse echoes through my brain. “Couldn’t you have avoided this?”

“She confronted me in the middle of a party at the king’s palace!”

“Hand over the stone,” Hierane demands, no longer trying to be subtle. Fuck. Tia tugs at my mind, and when I reach out, she sends the impression of being behind me but holding back. Good. Hopefully I can still defuse this.

“The stone isn’t a holy object,” I demur, giving the stone a mental nudge. It declines to respond, which I guess means it’s confident I can handle things. Great.

Hierane draws herself up, affronted. “Of course it is,” she hisses. “It’s the source of creation. And your refusal to comply with the temples places you on very shaky ground, Mage.” Somehow she makes my rank sound like a curse.

Duke Kelter draws a sharp breath. “The life stone?” he asks. Dammit, this is getting out of hand.

“That’s confidential,” the king orders, taking at least one worry off my shoulders.

“Your grace.” I make a last attempt at conciliation. I’m a little concerned about the younger priestess, to be honest. She hasn’t moved, spoken, or reacted in any way, just watched everything with solemn eyes. Something’s not right there. “While I understand the temples’ desire to look after so valuable a treasure, I can assure you that I don’t deny you lightly. The gods have entrusted me with this most sacred task.” I’m not going to tell her the stone is sentient. It’s my fallback argument. “Once it is complete, I will most gladly surrender the stone into the keeping and care of the holy orders.” If that’s what the stone wants.

She regards me coldly. “That is unacceptable to me. You will give it into my safekeeping immediately.”

The tension ramps up unbearably, but when I glance around, the other partygoers seem oblivious, enjoying themselves just as they were before. Idiots.

“I refuse.” The words are heavy. I do not want the temples as enemies.

“Then you leave me no choice but to⁠—”

“Before these witnesses, I demand a convocation hearing,” I interrupt. I might not think much of the priesthood, but I know the laws and customs of every temple. “It is my right as a son of the gods to plead my case before the convocation of high priests.”

“Witnessed,” the king and Haftel say in unison. From the way Hierane glares at them, they’ll pay for it later.

“Witnessed,” Duke Kelter adds reluctantly, two beats behind. He clearly doesn’t want to, but the law is firm on this.

Hierane knows it. The thwarted fury on her face speaks volumes, but she can’t act against me now, not with three witnesses—high-ranking ones, at that—to my demand for a convocation. If she did, it would be a blow to the trust people have in the temples. Or at least, it would when I finished telling everyone I know.

“Very well,” she concedes. “I will call a convocation.”

“Wonderful. I’m going to get some rest.” I take a step back, then another. I’m not even lying. We’ll be leaving even earlier than planned, if we want to avoid that convocation. And we have to—I’m certain the other high priests and priestesses will agree with Hierane.

“Good night,” the king says firmly, forestalling any further attempt to delay me, and I turn and beeline for the door, Coryn keeping pace at my side. Tia and Jaimin fall in with us halfway across the room, but it’s not until we’re in the hallway and putting serious distance between us and the ballroom that I start to relax.

“Well?” Tia asks.

“We’re screwed.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It’s only midmorning when fate—or the gods—decides to fuck with us again, and big, wet flakes of snow begin to fall from the gloomy skies.

“Are you joking?” I ask nobody in particular. “Not even twelve hours after the last catastrophe?” I huddle into my heavy traveling cloak. I’ve never had to test how waterproof it is, though when Tia gave it to me two years ago, she assured me it could hold up to all kinds of weather. I laughed and told her I didn’t go out in weather that needed to be held up against.

In retrospect, that might have been asking for trouble.

“This is hardly a catastrophe,” Jaimin says dryly beside me. “It’s only snow.”

I frown darkly. “I bet you’re one of those people who likes to play in the snow.”

His laugh is warm and reassuring, despite the vagaries of the weather and the fact that the temples are now officially out to get us. “Who doesn’t like to play in the snow?”

“I love snow,” Coryn chimes in enthusiastically from behind us. He insisted on bringing up the rear, saying he’d be able to see what was coming ahead of us, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head, so it was better that he be at the back. I didn’t argue—I don’t know whether that’s sensible or not, but it’s not like I know any better. “Maybe if it snows enough, we can build snow people when we stop for the night!”

My eyes widen. “We are not camping in the snow,” I declare vehemently. “No way.”

“Probably not tonight,” Jaimin agrees, “but at some stage, we might have to. Are you ready to ask me to heal your foot yet?”

I look away, a little guilty. After what he told me about injuries being discordant for him, I probably should have asked already. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But I also didn’t want to bring it up. For one thing, it’s not that bad, and he’s not my personal healer. And also, I didn’t want to have to explain how I injured it. He wouldn’t understand that Sweetie made her displeasure clear over leaving a warm stable before dawn… by stepping on my foot. She’s only vicious when he’s not around.

“Ah… if it’s not too much trouble?”

With a rueful huff, he leans over in the saddle and slides his fingers under the cuff of my coat, finding bare flesh. It’s an innocent touch, and yet I have to quell the urge to shiver at the intimacy of it. A moment later, the throbbing pain eases, and he straightens, smiling at me.

“Better?”

“Much.” I return the smile with a sheepish one of my own. “Thank you.”

“Did you drop something on your foot?”

Sweetie snorts and tosses her head, proving—to me—that she understands every word we say, and I mumble, “Something like that.” The last thing I need right now is for my horse to be out for blood.

“Any directions from the stone?”

Other than telling us to go south, the cursed rock has been bizarrely silent since its introduction to Coryn last night, to the point that an hour ago I was concerned enough to demand it reply to me or else. To which I got a mental raspberry. It’s so heartening to know that such a mature sentience was responsible for the creation of all life.

“Nothing but stay on the road south-west,” I gripe. “At least the farther south we go, the less likely we are to get this stupid snow. Hopefully our next stop is Camblin. The southernmost part.” Winter down there is positively mild.

The smugness suddenly radiating from the stone is a sign I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Jaimin must sense it too, because he winces.

Fuck my life.

A week passes, and the snow turns to slush—which makes the road positively delightful to travel on. On the eighth day of unrelenting travel south-west, I’m beginning to wonder if the stone’s doing this just to torment me. Why couldn’t we have boarded a ship at Lenledia? We crossed the border into Camblin yesterday, and we’re nearly to Josanin now, and that’s only a half-day journey by boat, even allowing for the time needed to get downriver to the coast. If the stone doesn’t stop us in one of the minor villages between here and Josanin, I’m going to be very unhappy.

Well…, unhappier than I already am.

We stop for lunch along the side of the road. It’s too wet and muddy to go far, but we get off the road anyway, in case some idiot mistreating their horse is traveling faster than wise in this muck. Leicht lands in the adjacent field, which is empty at this time of year. Hopefully we’ll be on our way without the farmer realizing we’re here.

“Where’s the next village, again?” I ask, trying to stop my teeth from chattering as I take my share of the currant buns we bought before leaving the inn this morning. So far, I haven’t had to camp in the snow. I’m hoping that will continue. Camping’s bad enough as it is.

“Too close to stop for the day,” Tia advises. “Maybe the one after that… or the one after.”

“I hate you.”

“He doesn’t really,” Coryn assures her solemnly. “He loves you. He’s just grumpy because he’s cold and wet. That’s why he’s been snappy today.”

A sliver of guilt worms through me. I did snap at Coryn earlier, and even though I apologized, I still feel bad about it.

“I’ll try to snap less,” I promise, and Tia and Jaimin laugh.

“Notice how he said ‘try,’” my beloved sister mocks. “He knows—” She freezes. “Leicht says there’s a group coming fast, behind us.”

Before she’s even finished speaking, Coryn’s tossed me the remainder of his bread (I bobble it, but it doesn’t hit the ground) and is tightening his horse’s girth. He’s in the saddle and riding back to the road while I wonder what I’m supposed to do now.

“Mount up,” Tia says, drawing her sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. “You’re less vulnerable on horseback.”

“What about you? Get on Leicht.” I cram the last of my current bun into my mouth, shove Coryn’s bread in a pocket, and reach for Sweetie’s girth. For once, she doesn’t try to resist.

“They’re too close for him to be effective,” she says, even as I hear the muffled squelch of hooves. “I’m more useful on the ground this time.”

Jaimin passes her the reins to his horse. “I’ll double with Talon. I’m not much use in a fight.”

She swings into his saddle immediately, turning the tall horse to follow Coryn just as the riders come into view. Any hope I had of them being travelers in a hurry flees when I see the flash of light on weapons. “Stay back and shield if you can,” Tia calls over her shoulder.

“I can do better than that.” It’s not loud enough for her to hear, but she’ll find out soon enough. I’ve been preparing for this—planning how I can help with my magic, rather than just reacting. “Are any of them zombies?” I ask Jaimin.

He nods. “A lot of them, if I had to guess. The wrongness is outweighing the sensation of regular people.”

I mount Sweetie and reach down a hand for him, ignoring the odd (but I’m not stupid; I know what it is, but this is not the time) tingle when his palm meets mine. He seats himself behind me just as Leicht screams in challenge and the front ranks of attackers reach Coryn and Tia.

And die.

I blink. I was told Coryn was pretty much an unparalleled fighter, but it’s different to see it with my own eyes. As he hacks his way through his share—and some of Tia’s—of the fifteen or so riders, leaving dismembered bodies and riderless horses behind him, I pull myself together and carefully aim magefire at every body part I can clearly see.

“Can you tell from here which of the living ones are zombies?” I’d really like a living, human prisoner so I can ask a few questions, but I can’t deny it would be safer for us all if I could burn them before they engage with Coryn and my sister.

Jaimin shakes his head. “Not for certain. Leave a few of them unburned, if you can. I want to examine them more closely now that I have all my wits about me.”

Leicht screams again, and if we were closer to him, I’d tell him to shut up. We’re all trying to concentrate, dammit; we’re busy.

“Okay, but if they get up and attack again…”

“Then you can burn them,” he agrees.

I reach out to Tia. “Try to leave a few alive if you can. Jaimin wants to examine them.”

She doesn’t reply, but the angle of her sword changes mid-strike, delivering a disabling rather than killing blow. Jaimin sucks in a breath.

“Surely you don’t expect me to believe that was a coincidence.”

“What was?” I ask, playing innocent as hard as I can. I’m starting to feel guilty about keeping this secret from him, which is ridiculous.

“You can trust me, you know,” he murmurs.

What does it mean that I find that scarier than the zombies attacking us?

When the fight is done, Tia’s prisoner is out cold. Possibly due to blood loss, but I’m no healer. Jaimin looked a bit grim when he paused beside the stranger, and he did do some kind of healing, though not enough to heal the wound completely. I try not to think about why that is—even though I understand we can’t take prisoners or leave living enemies behind us, I’m still squeamish about killing them.

Coryn, on the other hand, is not. For such a happy-go-lucky cuddle monster, he has a very wide bloody streak. Literally, at the moment. Apparently dismembering people is a good way to get yourself covered in blood. He stands over our prisoner, face grim in a way that makes him look completely different, sword in hand dripping blood on our captive’s arm.

“Maybe you should move your arm an inch or so away,” I suggest. “You know, so the blood falls on the ground and not on a human being.”

He shakes his head. “If he wakes up and sees me standing here with the blood getting on him, it’s scarier. We want him to talk, right? That’s why you won’t let me kill him even though I’m supposed to dismember them all?”

I give up. “That’s why. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Carry on. I’m going to”—go somewhere else—“see how Jaimin’s doing.” I take two steps back, but Coryn seems to be focused on glaring at the unconscious attacker at his feet and doesn’t even notice as I leave.

“Anything interesting?” I ask as I approach the others. Jaimin had me leave assorted body parts of three zombies (we think—it’s hard to tell when they’re in pieces), but I burned everyone else. He’s inspecting the sometimes-moving parts under Tia’s watchful eye. Every once in a while, she makes him stand back so she can hack at the reanimated limbs.

Safe to say that this time in my life will give me nightmares for many years to come.

“Horrifying, but not very interesting,” Jaimin replies, straightening from his crouch. “I was hoping to find some kind of weakness, but…” He shakes his head. “There is something strange, but I’m not sure if it’s noteworthy or just the fact that they’re zombies. They all have the same… resonance.”

“The fact that they’re zombies is fairly noteworthy on its own,” Tia comments, stabbing an arm that tries to reach for us. I prudently take a step back.

Jaimin smiles faintly, unfazed by the fingers straining in his direction. “True, but we already knew about that.” He shakes his head. “I’m on this journey for a reason, and I’m determined to discover what it is.”

“You’re here to keep me from murdering Talon.” My beloved sister winks at him. “And to make the vote go my way when the sensible solution is camping, but he wants to keep riding to find a village.”

I knew they were conspiring against me! I open my mouth to indignantly reply, but Coryn calls, his voice dripping with menace, “He’s awake.”

“Burn the remains,” Jaimin orders as he and Tia walk away, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and wondering when “expedition leader” turned into “lackey.”

A foot starts to inch in my direction, and I hasten to shoot magefire at it, deciding titles and positions aren’t really all that important, and who cares if Jaimin makes a suggestion or two along the way?

Once all the limbs and other things are ash, I go to join the others. The prisoner is sitting up, looking pasty and shaky, his wound still bleeding sluggishly. His eyes are guarded, and I don’t blame him. Coryn looks positively murderous, and Tia’s not far behind. Even Jaimin’s face is bleak.

But nobody’s spoken yet.

Time for me to take back the reins. Metaphorically. I already know Sweetie’s the one in charge of the actual reins.

“Who are you?” My voice seems ridiculously loud.

His eyes flick to me, but he doesn’t speak.

“You were asked a question.” Coryn looms over the man, sword somehow still dripping. How much blood was even on it? Did he add more for effect?

The prisoner still doesn’t speak, and Coryn looks at me. “Would you like me to break some of his fingers?”

I really hope he’s posturing and that’s not something the soldiers of Lenle actually do. Also, I like him better when he’s begging for cuddles. Warrior Coryn is terrifying.

“One moment,” I say. I want to check something first. If the mage who raised the zombies has put some kind of compulsion on this man, he won’t be able to tell us anything. And I draw the line at torturing someone who literally cannot comply with our demands.

I reach out and carefully sift through the top layer of the man’s brain, the part that’s always open. This is where I “knock” for other telepaths. It’s like a doorstep or front porch—part of the mind, but not inside where all the valuable stuff is.

There’s a shield there, just as I feared. Fuck.

Probing at it carefully, I try to glean any information I can without setting off any booby traps—if there are any. I’m fairly sure whoever built this isn’t as strong a telepath as I am, but it would still take me time to dismantle it. Time we don’t have right now, on the road so close to the border with Camblin.

“We definitely can’t bring him with us?” I check, even though I know the answer.

“No,” Tia replies, not bothering to add an explanation. She doesn’t need to—I’ve heard it already.

I let my magic slide along the shield, aware of the eyes on me, Tia and Jaimin waiting, Coryn and the prisoner a little confused. The shield has a different mental signature than the man’s mind, so he definitely didn’t build it himself—or if he did, he’s a master telepath beyond the ability of anyone alive. He would have had to make it look like he was completely unTalented, that a different mind created the shield and like that person was only a mid-level telepath. The latter, I could do—though not all that well yet—but the other… I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that.

“He can’t tell us anything,” I say at last, disappointment almost choking me.

Tia’s jaw sets. “Can you get information from him another way?”

It takes me a moment to realize what she’s suggesting. “No.” The only fast way to do that would be to smash through the shield, and that would more than likely leave the man a vegetable, nothing left in his mind for me to see. If we had time for me to dismantle the shield, then yes, theoretically I would be able to take the information from his brain… but just the idea makes me want to squirm. “It would take too long. He’s been shielded.”

She mutters a curse. “It was worth a try. Go back to your horse—Jaimin, you too.”

I take a step back, knowing what’s coming, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to go. If we have to kill this man in cold blood, why should I be spared the discomfort of that? Being expedition leader means taking responsibility for the decisions that are made.

As I hesitate, Tia tugs at my mind, and I reach out. “I’m staying.”

“You don’t want to see this. I mean it—go. Nobody will think anything of it. You’re not trained for this.”

“I’m staying. He might be our enemy, but he’s a person still, and he deserves this courtesy.”

Her exasperation rings through my mind like a bell. “He’s helping to destroy us all, Talon.”

True, but… “Maybe. He might also have been hired without knowing all the details. He literally can’t tell us—his shield won’t let him talk about it. Since I can’t be sure, let me do this. It will haunt me otherwise.”

“It’s going to haunt you regardless.” Her mental voice is grim, but in the next second, she floods me with comfort, a telepathic hug.

And nods to Coryn.

His sword flashes, the prisoner cries out, and it’s over.

But it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It’s another day and a half before we reach Josanin, but oddly, I don’t consider stopping for a few days in the capital city. My mood’s been low since the last attack, and I know I haven’t been great company, but I just want to get this godsdamned mission finished so I can go back to the City of Knowledge and help prepare for whatever happens next. I feel helpless and useless trekking across the continent in the winter, searching blindly for the person who can help, and yet, what we’re doing right now is more important than any of the other preparations could be.

I just wish it felt that way.

At least the farther south we go, the milder the weather becomes. The snow and sleet have stopped entirely, though I know it does still sometimes snow in this region. But it’s definitely been warmer, and I won’t complain about that.

It’s late afternoon our first day out of Josanin, and Tia’s just promised me there’s a village about an hour’s ride ahead. It’s small, but even if it doesn’t have an inn, it will be a better place to stop and camp than anywhere else. I may be leaning into paranoia at this point, but I have a strong feeling of impending doom. It’s looming over me like a shadow, making me twitchy as well as moody. I haven’t missed the way Jaimin keeps giving me sidelong looks, and Coryn’s dropped back a fair distance.

The road winds through the Queen’s Forest, and the density of the trees makes me very uncomfortable. We should break clear soon—Tia says—but it’s hard to see what’s ahead or what’s coming up behind us, and I don’t like it.

Soon, though, the trees begin to thin, and I breathe a little easier. Another forty minutes or so and we’ll be with other people again. Maybe tonight’s the night the stone will finally give us some different news.

Tia tugs urgently, and I go on high alert, reaching out immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“There are some people coming toward you. I’m not completely certain, but I think they’re from a temple—Leicht says they’re wearing white robes with blue sashes.”

Priests of Wasianth, then. He’s a mellow kind of god, as far as they can be mellow, but oddly, his priests in the last few generations have leaned toward fanatical. Even if they aren’t looking for us, we don’t want to clash with them.

“Anything else? Where even would they have come from?” I rack my brain, trying to remember if there’s a temple in this area. Josanin has one, of course, but if they’d come from there, they’d be behind us, not ahead.

“I don’t know. When we scouted over the village, Leicht saw a cluster of buildings over by the coast. We assumed it was a fishing village, but it could be a temple compound?”

All the way out here? Away from cities and politics and worshipers? Unlike some of the religions of the Baswich Empire, none of ours have monasteries or convents. The priesthood is expected to mingle with people and guide them in their faith.

“Okay. Thanks for the warning. I’ll be ready, but it’s not like I can say anything to the others.” Not for the first time, I wonder if I should have shared our secret with Jaimin. The very idea terrifies me, but also… not.

It’s too late now, though—as much as I like Coryn, I’m not willing to let him know, and there isn’t a lot of privacy for chatting at the moment.

Sweetie must feel my rising tension as we continue down the winding road, because she starts to act up, dancing sideways and nearly colliding with Jaimin’s tall gray.

“Sorry,” I mutter, reining her back. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“Maybe she’s just—” He breaks off and frowns. “Do you hear that?”

I do—it’s hoofbeats, quite a lot of them, moving fast. Which, with the road in such a bad state, can’t be good for the horses. Coryn rides up to join us.

“They must be coming from ahead,” he says, frowning as though he’s concentrating. “They couldn’t be moving that fast along the bendy road behind us.”

“It’s soon for another attack,” Jaimin adds. “I hope. How do they always seem to know exactly where we are, anyway?”

“We’ve pretty much stuck to this same road the whole trip,” I remind him. I feel a lot calmer now that I know they’re almost on us. “But we can’t be sure they’re looking for us. Let’s get over to the side of the road and hope they’re just passing through.”

Wishful thinking? Maybe.

Jaimin looks at me as though I’m crazy, and Coryn shakes his head. “I’d rather we got around this next bend first so I can see them. But we can ride on the side of the road.”

“We’ll be currying the horses later,” Jaimin warns as we steer them that way. Joy. One of my favorite jobs.

We make our way around the bend and find that the trees are even more sparse here, allowing us to see where the road breaks free of them entirely into the fields.

And to see the score or so of people riding hard toward us, all of them dressed in white robes accented with blue.

Fuck.

“Are those priests?” Jaimin demands incredulously, reining in. We stop beside him. “Since when do priests ride like that?”

“Uh-oh,” Coryn says, and Jaimin instantly turns to him.

“What uh-oh?”

“Talon made a priestess mad,” he reminds him. “And then we raced out of Lenledia before she could call the convocation.”

“Gods’ turds,” Jaimin swears, shocking us both. “I was so focused on the zombies that I’d forgotten that.”

“Master was supposed to smooth things over.” When I last spoke with him, he said the temples had been placated. “There’s a chance they might not be looking for us. Maybe there’s a religious crisis somewhere that they need to get to.”

“What even constitutes a religious crisis?” Jaimin wonders, and I snicker.

“So we’re waiting and hoping they ride past?” Coryn checks, and I nod.

“Yes.”

We sit, trying not to be tense, and I send Tia a quick update. Just before the riders reach us, I spot Leicht in the distance, winging toward us. That’s a relief. The trees are thin enough here, and wet enough, that he’s a real threat to any attackers without also being a threat to the Queen’s Forest.

My hopes of avoiding confrontation are dashed when the riders begin to slow. They’ve seen us, and for whatever reason—probably my arrest—they want to talk to us. Anything you want to tell me that could prove helpful? I ask the stone.

It merely pulses a feeling of anticipation. Does that mean it’s expecting something to happen soon or that it’s excited about me getting arrested? Because I could live without that. I’ve heard the food isn’t all that good in prison cells… and that temple food sucks even for the priests.

The front riders rein in fifteen or so yards from us. Coryn draws his sword halfway but waits. I take my cue from him.

The cluster of priests parts, and a man rides forward from the back. Even if he wasn’t wearing his rank on his robes, I’d guess he’s the one in charge. Who else would have their horse’s mane and tail braided with gold thread and jewels? I mean… jewels on a horse to ride hard through the country? How fucking pretentious. Surely Wasianth doesn’t know one of his high priests is this much of a waste of space?

If he does, I might need to revise down my opinion of the gods.

“Which one of you is Talon Silverbright?” the senior priest demands. His robes proclaim him to be a bishop.

“Who?” I ask, seizing on that delightful opportunity. “I’m Pat Miller, good sir.” Some of the priests look confused, but the senior priest smiles thinly.

Just as Leicht swoops overhead.

“Dragon!” I shriek, cowering down like I’ve never seen one in my life. My hopes that the priests would be terrified and flee are dashed when they… don’t. A few of their horses startle, but that’s the extent of it. So they really do know who we are, then, and they came prepared.

“Charming,” the bishop says. “I was told you thought you were clever.”

Ouch. “I haven’t been told anything about you at all.” I resist the urge to add that I am clever. Definitely more clever than an idiot who decks his horse out in jewels.

“I am a Bishop of Wasianth,” he declares, then pauses.

I wait. If he thinks I’m going to make some gesture of obeisance, we’ll be sitting here in silence for a while.

He doesn’t continue, just looks at me expectantly. Leicht swoops overhead again, and Tia tugs at my mind.

“I’m trying to outwit a bishop here, Tia.”

“Gods help us all. Want Leicht to set them all on fire?”

As nice as that thought is… “They haven’t said what they want yet.”

She scoffs.

“The dragon will get impatient soon,” I tell the bishop. “They’re not known for waiting quietly.”

“Are you threatening us?” He sounds outraged, but behind him, some of his followers look nervously toward the sky.

“I would never threaten a servant of the gods,” I proclaim with fake piety. “I’m just pointing out a fact. Dragons have short tempers, and this one is going to want supper soon.”

Oh look, is that outright alarm I see on some of those faces? Maybe I should have Tia ask Leicht to scream. There’s nothing quite so blood-chilling as a dragon’s scream. Especially when it wakes you from a sound sleep in the middle of the night.

“I tire of this game,” the bishop sneers, and Coryn tenses. “You fled from a convocation after denying the holy request of the high priestess of Malna. This brands you a criminal and⁠—”

“Actually, it doesn’t,” I interrupt helpfully. “Criminals have to commit a crime. Crimes are, by definition, the breach of a law. I have broken no law.” Jaimin swears softly, likely because antagonizing the temples is the last thing I should be doing.

Personally, I feel as though that ship has sailed.

“You refused to surrender the holy stone to the temples!” the bishop shouts, outraged.

“And when you can show me the law that says I’m required to, I gladly will. Unfortunately, I can’t wait here while you search, but when you find it, you can send word to the Academy of Mages, and they’ll pass the message along.”

He begins to sputter, his face turning puce. Seriously, though—did he think coming out here with no guards or soldiers, just priests, would convince me to change my mind?

“Get ready to create a distraction,” I warn Tia, eyeing the priests. None of them look particularly like fighters, and maybe if Leicht swoops again, breathing some fire—though not at them—they’ll run. I need time to talk to my master and make a plan, because we can’t be watching out for the temples the whole way across the⁠—

The stone pulses, and I freeze, my gaze on a young, nervous-looking acolyte near the back of the group. Oh, no.

No. No no no.

You’re joking.

~No~

Fuck.

“Change of plan,” I tell Tia. “One of them has to come with us.” I ignore her shocked exclamation, leaving a path open for her so she can hear what’s happening, and turn to Jaimin and Coryn. “The stone’s just given me a message,” I murmur, not wanting the bishop to hear. “See that acolyte at the back? Ginger hair, skinny, looks like he should be at home with his mama?”

They both look that way. “Yes?” Jaimin ventures cautiously.

“He’s coming with us. Go along with me.”

“I don’t like this,” Coryn whispers, but nods.

“Excuse me, Bishop?” I call, interrupting his fit of stutters. “I am, of course, a true son of the gods, and I find it hard to defy the temples in any wish. If I could surrender the stone to you, I would.” I’d think about it, anyway. “But my mission is from the gods themselves, and I cannot rest until it is fulfilled.”

The bishop opens his mouth, probably to yell.

“However,” I continue, “because of my deep, sacred respect for the temples, I offer a compromise. I will continue my quest under the watchful eye of one of your faithful acolytes. He will ensure I guard the stone with my very life and, upon the completion of my task, will escort me to deliver it into the hands of the convocation and submit myself for judgment.”

“Judgment?” Jaimin hisses, but he sounds amused.

The bishop narrows his eyes, appearing to consider it. “And if I refuse this absurdity and demand you surrender the stone immediately?”

Fuck. He’s not buying it. “I would refuse and continue on my way. With the stone.”

The bishop smiles thinly. “It seems you leave me no real choice.”

~!~

It’s the only warning we get, and I shout to the others, sending a mental cry to Tia as the first arrow winnows toward us. Sweetie shies, and I barely manage to keep my seat, only to be knocked out of it a moment later when Coryn dives for me.

“Turds, Coryn, what⁠—”

“They’re shooting from above. Get into the trees!” he yells, yanking Jaimin down from his saddle and shoving him after me. The horses, not being stupid, bolt. I hope they don’t go far.

Keeping low, we run into the trees, and I try not to think about the fact that the only place “above” for anyone to shoot from is in a tree. Let’s hope we’re not hiding underneath the person trying to kill us.

“Now what?” Jaimin asks as we huddle around a thick trunk with low branches. They impede our visibility, but that also means any archer won’t be able to get a good shot.

Coryn shrugs. “Usually I have other fighters with me. I need a minute to think of a plan.”

“Where’d the archers come from, anyway?” I ask.

“They must have been here before,” Coryn explains. “That’s probably why the priests were riding so hard—they knew we’d clear the trees soon and wanted to catch us first.”

Above, Leicht swoops close again, screaming in fury. I reach down my path to Tia.

“No fire yet. We’re in the trees.”

“We know. Leicht can see roughly where you are and thinks he can avoid you.”

That’s pretty risky. “Coryn’s working on a plan. Give him a minute before we set fire to priests.”

“How’s that plan going, Coryn?” An arrow bounces off a branch above us. “Do I need to shield us? Could we just ride through them?” Although a moving shield is going to tire me quickly.

“How long can you hold that shield?” Jaimin counters. “If we don’t do something about them now, they’ll just follow us. We can’t shelter in the village if there are angry priests after us.”

“I think we need to go deeper into the trees, then have Leicht set this part of the woods on fire,” Coryn adds regretfully. “Without more of us to hunt down the archers, I don’t see another choice.”

Great. Anything to add? I ask the stone. Its only reply is to show me the acolyte’s face. Yeah, fine, I’ll tell Tia to aim for trees and archers, not priests.

Looking up, I can see Leicht swinging back toward us again. He’s still some distance away, over the fields, but as he gets closer, an arrow rises from the trees in his direction. It falls well short, but another follows, and this one bounces off his hide.

I snort. “Those idiots are shooting at Leicht.”

Coryn’s eyes widen. “Will they hurt him?”

“They’ll make him mad, but nothing short of a giant crossbow can get through dragon hide. He’s going to enjoy⁠—”

The world slices away, and a scream tears from my throat.

“Talon?” Jaimin demands, grabbing my shoulder. “What— Tia!” he shouts, following my gaze.

My sister plummets from the sky, and my feet move, racing through the trees. An arrow buzzes past me, and rage cuts through my fear. Magic surges from me, but I don’t know what it does. All my focus is on getting to Tia, stopping her from crashing to the ground. Leicht’s diving after her, his screams enough to shake the forest and hurt my ears, and his massive claw snatches her from the air.

A moment later, as I finally break clear of the last of the trees, he lands with a shuddering thud and sets her gently on the road.

I skid to my knees beside her, my vision blurry, scrabbling to grab hold of her hand. I don’t need to see the arrow in her throat to know she’s gone. I knew the second it struck. My mind feels wrong, empty… hollow.

Leicht’s screams echo across the fields, bouncing off the trees.

Tia’s dead.

Leicht’s screams echo in my ears, a heartrending mourning dirge.

My sister’s gone.

Leicht’s screams rip through my head a⁠—

Through my head.

In my head.

I jerk my gaze up just as Leicht’s scream cuts off. He stares at me, giant golden eyes boring through me.

Oh no.

No.

It’s impossible.

“Impossible.”

Fuck.

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Fuck. Fuck.

This can’t be happening. It’s not possible.

“What did you do, Mage? I’ll rip you to⁠—”

“Shut up,” I snap. “Just… shut up. This has to be a mistake.” It’s not fucking possible, dammit!

I bend my head to Tia. Maybe that’s it—maybe she’s not dead. Maybe her body is so badly damaged that her mind has temporarily shut down, leaving me and Leicht, who are both bonded to her, somehow bonded to each other. All we have to do is heal her, and things will go back to normal.

“Talon?” Jaimin gasps, appearing at my side as if I summoned him. He drops to his knees and looks at Tia. “Oh, no. Oh, Talon, I’m⁠—”

“Heal her,” I demand. “You wanted to know what your purpose was—well, this is it. Heal her.”

He’s already shaking his head before he turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Talon, she’s gon—” His handsome face freezes, blood draining so fast, he sways. “What the…?” He looks at Leicht, then back at me, and takes a shuddering breath. “Say nothing,” he orders urgently. “Reach out to your master now and tell him, but let me do the talking to the priests.” He stands and spins to face away, and I’m confused. Tell Master, but let⁠—

“You will throw down your weapons and surrender yourselves to our custody,” the bishop demands pompously behind me, and rage surges. A low, threatening growl rumbles from Leicht as he turns his huge head toward them.

“How dare you?” Jaimin replies, and at this moment, he’s not the easygoing companion I know—he’s the plague slayer. The healer kings and queens rush to be of service to. He can handle the bishop.

I reach out to my master, my urgency slamming into his shields.

“Talon? What is it?”

“Tia’s dead.” I clutch her hand and let the tears fall as Master’s shock reverberates through me.

“What? The dragons are unsettled, but I didn’t⁠—”

“Leicht is bonded to me.”

His very silence echoes. “Where are you?”

“At the south end of the Queen’s Forest in Camblin. Priests of Wasianth tried to take the stone, then attacked and killed Tia. Tia’s dead.” I have to say it again, because it still doesn’t seem real. How can she be dead? We’ve never even been apart, not really. My head feels so wrong right now.

“I’m coming to you. The dragon riders will be sending someone to check on Leicht—I’ll come with them. Do not let anyone else know about the bond.”

“I think Jaimin guessed.”

“Let’s hope he’s trustworthy. And Talon, I’m so, so sorry.” He cuts the connection before I can tell him I trust Jaimin.

Above me, Leicht is still growling. I want to ask him if he knows which dragon riders are coming, but I don’t want to hear his voice in my head again. I can’t. He’s not supposed to be there.

So, instead, I focus on what’s happening behind me.

“…have in your possession a holy object, and I demand⁠—”

“Bishop,” Jaimin’s voice is like ice, “you’re in no position to demand anything. Are you aware of what you’ve done? You’ve murdered a dragon rider. At this precise moment, you’re within a hair of being burned to a crisp by an infuriated dragon—and if, by some freak chance, we convince him not to do that, you’ll still have to deal with the grieving mage whose twin sister you killed. I don’t think anything less than your bloody liver on a plate will appease his sorrow.”

There’s a stuttering breath, and I hear whispers as well, but I don’t turn around. I’m scared to look away from Tia again. I don’t know why, but a part of me still thinks that if I just hold on to her, she can come back.

Even though that’s not possible. You can’t bring back the dead, just reanimate their corpses. Tia would hate that… and it wouldn’t be her.

The stone pulses softly to me, a comforting assurance, but I irritably shove it away. How dare it make itself felt now, after leading my sister to her death?

“H-He fled from a convocation,” the bishop says, but he lacks the strength of his prior conviction now. “He refused to surrender a holy object to the temples.”

“Do you think that merits your murder of his sister?” Jaimin counters, his voice icy steel.

“I-I didn’t… How was I to know the archers would kill her?”

“That’s what archers do,” Coryn points out, and I wonder when he arrived. “If you give a man training and weapons, then order him to use them on people, you can’t be surprised when people die.” He sounds like scary Coryn again, and I resist the temptation to tell him to kill them all.

I want to. I want to see that bishop’s head fly from his body.

But that won’t fix this. It won’t bring Tia back. It will just delay the purpose she gave her life for.

So, instead, I’m going to let Jaimin handle the bishop, and I’m going to wait for my master.

And hold Tia’s hand. Because once I let go, my sister’s gone forever.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Jaimin continues. “You need to send a report to your high priest immediately, because dragons communicate with each other over long distances, and I can assure you, there are dragon riders on their way here now. They’re going to demand answers for why the Temple of Wasianth has killed one of their people, and your high priest won’t be happy if he hasn’t even been told about it.”

A murmur rises among the priests.

“We will wait here for the dragon riders, and then we will continue our journey unmolested. You’ll advise the convocation that it would be in the best interests of all of us, especially the temples, for us to be allowed to continue unhindered. Be very convincing, Bishop, because that may be the only thing that convinces Leicht here not to hunt you down and use your bones to pick his teeth.”

Leicht obligingly increases the volume of his growl, reaching over me and Tia toward the priests behind me. I hope he’s showing them all his teeth.

“Oh, I am.”

I shudder away from that voice. No. No. I didn’t hear him. That’s not possible. It’s a mistake.

“Do you understand me?” Jaimin finishes, and my vision fills with the red-haired acolyte’s face, the stone’s urgency swamping me. I grit my teeth. As much as I want to vindictively ignore it, I can’t. Not when it could lead to our failure and make Tia’s death worthless.

Is he the champion? I ask the stone, only to get a dissent in reply. Just another one of us, then, dragged along on the journey.

Clearing my throat, surprised to find it hurts—how hard did I scream before?—I mutter, “The acolyte.”

At first I’m not even sure if Jaimin hears me, but then he says, “However, as a sign of good faith and to prove our pure intentions, we will honor Mage Silverbright’s earlier offer. One of your acolytes may accompany us.”

I hate every word of that. One of the people responsible for Tia’s murder, riding with us every day? It burns.

There’s a rush of whispers, and I get the strong feeling that the bishop might be preparing to argue. Leicht’s snarl ends that, and the bishop says, through chattering teeth, “I accept your offer. Pen will acco⁠—”

“No,” Jaimin interrupts. “We will decide which acolyte will accompany us. Since we are making this generous concession, after all.”

“O-Of course. All the acolytes will step forward.”

I stare at Tia’s face. There’s a smear of blood on her jaw, and of course the horrible, hideous arrow in her throat. I want to pull it out, but what if it needs to stay there so she can be healed? I’ve heard of that happening—a blade or arrow preventing too much blood from being lost until a healer can arrive. Jaimin said she’s gone, and I know it’s true—I can feel her absence—but I can’t bring myself to end that tiny smudge of hope.

Just as I can’t let go of her hand.

So I kneel on the muddy road beside her rapidly cooling body, staring at her face, so peaceful and still, while behind me, Jaimin and Coryn make a show of asking the acolytes about themselves.

“It’s settled, then,” Jaimin says at last. “Arimen will come with us. If there are any belongings you’d like to bring with you, collect them now. You’ll camp here with us tonight. Is that horse yours or the temple’s?”

“T-The temple’s, s-sir.” It’s a breathy whisper, terrified and unhappy. Does Arimen not want to trek across the continent on a holy mission? Too fucking bad.

“I’m certain the bishop would be happy to consider her a loan. Though I’ll need to check her first.”

“Of course,” the bishop agrees, seemingly relieved to have things settled. “We’ll return to our temple now, and Arimen will be back in a few hours. I must send that report.”

“Yes. You must,” Jaimin agrees, and somehow, he makes it a threat. I’ve never seen this side of him before, and I wish I could enjoy it more.

I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy anything again. How can I? Half of me is missing.

“Bishop?” another voice says tentatively. “What about the archers?”

“Leave them,” Jaimin orders instantly. “We’ll take care of their remains.”

A shock runs through me. Remains? Did Coryn do that? When? How?

I hear horses moving away and the low murmur of voices, and then Jaimin and Coryn are with me, one on either side.

“The riders will be here by morning, I’m sure,” Jaimin murmurs. “Let’s get off the road and set up camp.”

I shake my head. “I can’t let her go.”

“Don’t worry,” Coryn says softly, patting my shoulder. “You won’t have to.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I don’t sleep, despite Jaimin’s coaxing. He and Coryn don’t sleep much either—I can hear them talking in the wee hours. After Jaimin set up my tent, Coryn carried her off the road and laid her inside—I didn’t have to let go of her hand even once. They bring me food, but I can’t eat it. Even thinking about it makes me feel ill. Instead, I sit with my sister in the dim light of the lamp, a blanket around my shoulders to ward off the winter night.

Just before dawn, Jaimin comes to check on me.

“Did the acolyte come back?” I ask, not looking away from Tia. My eyes are exhausted, burning, but I barely allow myself to blink.

“Yes. Leicht wouldn’t let him into camp, though, so I set up a tent for him right beside the road.” He told me last night that Leicht has set himself up as guardian of the camp, his body a shield behind us, his tail curled around to make a barrier in front.

“Not Tia’s te⁠—”

“Not Tia’s tent,” he assures me. “He has mine. But his belongings are pitiful, Talon. We’ll need to get supplies for him—he doesn’t even have a bedroll.”

He can sleep in the mud for all I care.

Jaimin must guess what I’m thinking, because he sighs. “Now’s not the time to talk about this. I’m going to bring you some tea and bread. Please eat.”

I automatically shake my head, my stomach rebelling.

“Just the tea, then,” he persists. “You must be thirsty. A few sips at a time.”

My throat’s still sore, and my mouth is parched. I guess I could manage some tea. “Thank you.”

His hand brushes over my shoulder, a fleeting touch, and I wish he’d stay and let me lean into him.

The weak light of dawn is filtering into the tent when he returns and nudges the tin mug into my free hand. It’s hot, almost painfully so, but I lift it to my cracked lips and sip gratefully. I was thirsty.

“Did you talk to Master Samoine?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

I nod. “He said he’s coming with the riders and not to tell anyone about… not to tell anyone.” I can’t say it out loud. It was bad enough that I had to tell Master.

“Hopefully he can give us some answers. I’m… concerned that the riders will know when they see you.”

“Tell the healer that nobody will know unless I choose to allow them.”

I shudder violently and from the corner of my eye see Jaimin lean forward. “Talon? What⁠—”

“Leicht—” It sticks in my throat. “Nobody will know.”

He sits back. “That’s good then. Did you also tell your master about the archers?”

That takes me by surprise. “What about them?”

The short, awkward silence almost makes me look away from Tia.

“Talon… they died the same way as that man during the first attack.”

For a moment, the words don’t make sense, then my mind clicks into action, and I realize what he means. The man I killed during the first attack. The one I somehow struck with my magic but who was completely unharmed—merely dead.

And I remember that, as I was running to Tia, my magic did something.

“Just the archers?” I ask, trying to understand. “Why not the bishop?”

Jaimin moves restlessly. “I don’t know. Maybe⁠—”

“Dragons approaching,” Coryn calls in a low voice. “Not close enough yet for me to count in this light.”

“Three.”

“I’ll meet them,” Jaimin says. “Remember, no matter what, I’m here for you.” He moves toward the tent opening, but I reach out blindly and catch hold of his arm.

“Tia really liked you,” I whisper. I want to say more—stay with me. I need you—want to keep him close, but the words stick in my throat.

“I really liked her too.” He puts his hand over mine and squeezes. “She was a special person.”

I stay in the tent, holding Tia’s hand, my eyes on her face, and listen to the sounds of the dragons landing. The people in the nearby village must be wondering what’s happening. Maybe they’ll even send someone out to see.

There’s a small commotion—someone having hysterics. The acolyte, I’d say. I can’t imagine Coryn, who still wants to pet Leicht, would be upset by the presence of more dragons. And Jaimin is used to them, of course.

Then voices approaching, not loud enough for me to hear what’s being said, but I recognize Master’s tone replying to Jaimin. Someone else speaks, but I don’t know who—a dragon rider, probably.

They stop outside the tent. “Talon?” Master calls softly.

I open my mouth to respond and find myself suddenly choked by tears. Clearing my throat, blinking away the blurriness, I try again. “I’m here.”

He sighs, and the familiar sound makes me long to be back in his rooms at the academy, cleaning up a puddle of water one drop at a time while Tia laughs in my head.

A moment later, he crawls into the tent and sits beside me. “I’m so sorry, Talon.”

I say nothing. What’s there to say?

“Jaimin said it happened fast—that she wouldn’t have felt pain.”

“She felt nothing,” I correct. “She didn’t even know it happened. She was just… gone.” The connection between us told me that much, if nothing else. One minute, she was soaring above us, gloating about the idiot archers who thought mere arrows could harm a dragon, and then next… nothing.

She was ripped from my head. From her life. From my life.

Master puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Look at me.”

I shake my head. I can’t.

“Look at me, Talon,” he orders.

“Master, I can’t.” My voice is raw. “If I do, she’ll be…”

“She’s dead, Talon. Nothing can change that. Her soul has moved on. It’s right that you grieve for her—she deserves that—but what would she say if she saw you now?”

A sob escapes me.

“Look at me. That’s all you need to do. Just turn your head.”

I take in Tia’s face, committing every last millimeter to memory… but Master’s right. This isn’t her anymore. This face, so still, so devoid of expression, isn’t my sister. Tia never had a thought or feeling she didn’t share.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and release her hand.

And weep.

Master’s arm comes around my shoulders, and he pulls me to him. “I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”

It’s a long time before my sobs subside, and I draw a shuddering breath. Master passes me a handkerchief.

“The riders want to see her,” he says in a low voice. “And talk to you. As far as I can tell, they don’t know.”

“Nobody will know.”

I grit my teeth, but Master needs to hear that. “Leicht says nobody will know,” I repeat in a flat tone. I want to tell him to get out of my head, but I don’t want to give him the recognition of a response.

Master gulps, but it’s followed by a nod. “Good. We’ll talk about it later, when we can be assured privacy.”

Remembering what Jaimin said, I whisper, “If anyone says anything about the dead archers, play it down.”

This time his eyes widen. “Gods’ turds, Talon. What is this mess?”

There’s no answer to give.

“We’ll talk about that too,” he murmurs grimly. “Are you ready to face the riders?”

I suck in another deep breath. “No. But I will.”

He hesitates. “You know they’ll want to take⁠—”

“No.” I cut him off firmly. “No. Nobody’s taking her away, not when some maniacs are raising zombies.”

“As her closest family member, you can request a rider’s pyre for her,” he points out. “They won’t inter her.”

“I will, and they’ll do it here, where I can watch and be sure it’s done.” I’m not taking any chances that someone will disrespect Tia’s corpse and reanimate it. I owe her that.

Master sighs. “We’ll see what can be done. What has the stone had to say?”

Bitterness swamps me. “I don’t care.”

He presses his lips together and says nothing, but I know I’ll hear it later. Maybe he’s right, and yes, I need to work with the stone to complete this mission, to avenge Tia’s death and give it some meaning, however small, but at this particular moment… I don’t care. I would happily take a hammer to the stone and see it shattered to dust, even if the end of the world followed.

“Come on then,” Master says, deciding to stick with the safer topic. “The riders are waiting. Rider Master Hearne came himself, and Rider Kanesha. She insisted—said Tia was a favorite of hers and refused to believe it unless she saw with her own eyes.”

I’m glad. Tia liked Kanesha, and she used to tolerate me hanging around a lot more than the other instructors and senior riders. It will be good to have a familiar, fond face here to farewell my sister.

“I’m ready.”

Master eyes me critically, like he doesn’t believe me, but nods and backs out of the tent. I crawl after him, blinking as I step outside for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

It’s a gray morning, and the weak winter dawn seems to be mourning Tia just as much as I am. Behind me, Leicht has moved, standing now, his attention on the camp. Not too far away, I see two more dragons, one bigger, one smaller. Both still enormous.

And waiting for me is a cluster of five people. Jaimin seems relieved to see me, but still worried. He half lifts a hand in my direction before letting it drop. Coryn’s eyes are red-rimmed, but his face is hard—he’s scary Coryn still, and I never thought I’d want one of his hugs, but I do. Right now, more than almost anything, I want a squeezy bear hug.

Rider Kanesha’s face is also concerned, her eyes puffy, and she gives me a sympathetic half-smile that’s not a smile at all. Rider Master Hearne, I don’t know, but I remember him from the council meeting when the stone arrived. His no-nonsense manner appealed to me then, and the hard-bitten anger and grief in his expression appeal to me now. Behind them⁠—

“Get him away from me.” The words tumble from me, and for the first time all night, the stone stirs in my mind, reproach pulsing through me. I don’t care. I’m not ready to see one of those damned priests yet. I don’t care if he is a blameless acolyte and is being forced to come with us.

“Talon,” Jaimin begins, then sighs and turns to look at the acolyte. “Go wait in your tent, Arimen.”

The boy—because he is just a boy, barely older than my students—flees. The urge to send a fireball after him is strong, but I resist.

Kanesha steps forward. “Talon, I’m so very sorry. This is a great loss to us all.”

I nod but find myself unable to speak—again.

“I didn’t know her well,” Hearne adds, his voice lower and rumblier than I remember, “but I was impressed by what I knew. She was going to go far with the riders, and everyone respected her—even those who didn’t like her.”

That makes me smile, just for a second. “She always says that. She didn’t need the world to be her friend, but she wanted their respect.” I close my eyes. “Said that. She said that.” It’s wrong to speak of her in past tense like this. It burns my tongue. “Master said you wanted to see her—you should know, I haven’t… I wasn’t able to remove… The arrow is…”

They understand immediately. “Thank you for warning us,” Kanesha says. “Would you like us to take care of that?”

I consider that, but it needs to be me. I owe her that much. So I shake my head. “Please leave it. I understand it’s not your usual policy, but I’d like for her pyre ceremony to take place as soon as possible. Today.”

“Today?” Hearne’s startled exclamation is almost a shout, and he clears his throat. “I beg your pardon. Today seems a bit hasty—our dragons are tired, and we’d like them to rest for a while before another flight. It would be late before we got back to the City of Knowledge.”

I prepare to stand firm. “You misunderstand me. I mean for the ceremony to take place here.”

Kanesha looks around at the empty fields, then exchanges a glance with Hearne. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t rather be back at the City, where your friends and hers could be there to support you?”

“No.”

Hearne looks at Master, who clears his throat. “What Talon means is, he’s unable to return to the City at this time. His mission demands all his attention, especially now, and he’d like to see his sister at rest before he continues.”

The reminder of why we’re even out here in Camblin to start with seems to resolve the issue for them, and Hearne nods soberly. “That’s understandable. It’s not our usual practice, but I suppose an exception can be made.”

One of the knots in my chest loosens slightly.

Jaimin steps forward. “Why don’t you look in on Tia?” he suggests. “Talon hasn’t had a chance to eat yet. We can finish this conversation in a few minutes.”

Wait… he wants me to leave Tia unguarded? To let the riders go into the tent while I’m somewhere else? I open my mouth to protest, but with a sharp glance at me, he continues, “Coryn and I will stay with you while Talon and his master refresh themselves. I’m sure we can answer any questions you might have.”

My mouth closes. I trust Jaimin. He’s earned that, keeping secrets that could end me. He was the one who told me to call Master here. He was the one who managed the priests. If he wanted to betray me, he could have. But it goes deeper than that—I know I can trust him with everything I am. I just wish I’d trusted him sooner.

He’ll protect Tia—I know he will. And Coryn will back him up. With them both standing guard, plus Leicht, she’ll be safe.

I nod, and Master draws me away from the tent, toward the small fire nearby. There’s another tent set up beside it, but I’m not interested in sleep right now.

“Do you want to wash?” Master asks. “I saw a stream as we were flying in.”

I shake my head but suddenly become aware of a pressing need. “No, but I need a minute.” I gesture toward some scraggly bushes closer to the road, and understanding dawns on his face.

“Go. I’ll make you some tea and find food.”

I want to refuse, but my traitorous stomach chooses that moment to rumble with hunger, so instead, I hurry off toward the makeshift privy. When all this is over, I’m never again relieving myself outdoors—especially in winter.

The water must have been hot already, because when I get back to the fire, Master hands me a steaming tin cup and two currant buns. “Where did these come from?” I ask, then tear into one. The sweet, yeasty dough almost brings me to tears.

“We brought some supplies. I went down to the kitchens to tell the cooks what I needed and happened to mention your name.” He lifts a brow and continues dryly, “It was as if I’d uttered a magic word. They tried to give me a whole side of beef.”

I manage a weak smile.

Master glances past me, then lowers his voice. “Tell me quickly—what happened, why is there an acolyte of Wasianth here, and why do you hate him?”

Rage surges again, but I shove it aside. “We were stopped on the road by a bishop of Wasianth and assorted underlings. They demanded the stone, wanted to take me into custody. The stone said—” I swallow bile. “The stone told me one of the acolytes had to come with us, so I tried to negotiate with the bishop. Hidden archers opened fire on us instead.” I shove more of the bun into my mouth to give myself time to regain my composure, and Master waits, his patience thin.

“Leicht swooped overhead to deter them, and…” I can’t say it again. “After, Jaimin cowed the bishop into doing what we wanted. Since Tia is dead by his actions.”

Master Samoine’s gaze sharpens. “The archers belonged to the bishop? Not our enemies?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” he presses.

“He signaled them to attack. They never aimed at the priests, and he never tried to deny it, not even when Jaimin told him the temple would regret killing a rider.”

“Very well.” He nods grimly. “Let Jaimin and me handle this with the riders. Answer only direct questions for now.”

I get to work on the second bun, happy to agree to that.

“But, Talon…”

That’s his you’re-not-going-to-like-this tone, and I lower the bun. “Yes?”

He meets my gaze, serious and a little apologetic. “If the stone says you need the acolyte, it’s not a good idea to make an enemy of him.”

“He did that. Not me.”

“Did he? He’s an underling, a mere student. I doubt he had any part of the bishop’s plans. He was just along for numbers.”

“He’s a cog in a religion that thinks killing people to get what they want is okay. I don’t want friends like that.”

Master sighs but doesn’t press. The stone pulses its disappointment, but I’m still ignoring it. “The riders will want to leave after the ceremony,” Master says, changing the subject. “We’ll need to find time and privacy to talk before then, and I believe it would be best if Master Kahwyn joined us for at least part of that conversation.”

I know what he’s hinting at—will I allow Tia to be left without me or Jaimin? “Maybe we could stay within sight,” I begin, although we’d need to be fairly close to be able to step in if necessary, and that would put us within hearing as well. “Or⁠—”

“I will watch over her and warn you if needed.”

“Stay out of my head,” I hiss, and Master gives me a startled look before understanding crosses his face.

“Talon,” he says gently, but I hold up a hand. I don’t need it explained to me.

Leicht can’t stay out of my head. He’s in my head, and there’s no way around that.

For now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The two riders, Jaimin, and Coryn join us a few minutes later. “Did you meet Coryn, Master?” I ask. I’m not sure why.

Master smiles gently. “I did. He certainly lives up to his reputation.”

Coryn maintains his sober expression, but his eyes light up, and I’m glad. He deserves to have people say nice things to him.

Hearne lowers himself onto a log across the fire from me, his leathers creaking slightly, and says, “Could you tell us exactly what happened? From previous reports, the zombie attackers didn’t bring archers with them—and with the last attack being only days ago, it seems unexpected that they were ready again so soon, and with a more coordinated plan.”

I look away, and Jaimin offers quietly, “Why don’t I tell this? Talon can step in if he has a different viewpoint to add.”

“Of course.” Hearne’s voice is dripping with sympathy and sorrow. He might not have known Tia well, but dragon riders are all very close-knit, and when one dies, even if they were disliked, everyone mourns them deeply. It has to do with the bond between dragons.

“I’d show you, but it would be a waste of time. Fix this, Mage. Or I’ll end you.”

“We were approaching the end of the woods,” Jaimin begins, and as I listen, I can’t believe this happened only yesterday. It feels as though an eternity has passed. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, but it’s the most hours I’ve ever lived without Tia.

“It’s unfortunate that Mage Silverbright felt the need to request a convocation in Lenledia,” Kanesha muses at one point, regaining my full attention. “Of course, the temples shouldn’t have put him in that position.”

“The temples shouldn’t even know about the stone resurfacing,” Hearne growls. “If I find out who told them, they’ll be meeting Weise.” Not far off, one of the strange dragons—presumably Weise—roars.

“We dragons are most displeased with the priesthood,” Leicht informs me, despite me not wondering about it at all. “The stone created us all, not just humans and their gods.”

If I had room in my head to think of anything new right now, I might care about that information.

“Still,” Kanesha continues, “to set the outlying temples on a hunt, knowing what his purpose is…” She shakes her head, then frowns. “Although… where would a temple even be out here?”

“We haven’t yet determined that,” Jaimin says. “It was low on our priority list.”

Because Tia is dead, and nothing else matters.

“The stone informed Talon that one of the acolytes—you saw him earlier—would be required to accompany us. Talon attempted to negotiate with the bishop, to suggest that we would take one of his people with us as a sign of our pure intent. That was when the bishop signaled the archers to fire.”

“The bishop did?” Hearne exclaims. “I thought the priests were merely there when the zombie attack came… that they hindered you, prevented Leicht from a full response.”

“There were no zombies this time. Just the bishop’s men.”

“The temples attacked—attacked—a group from the academies, on sanctioned business from the City of Knowledge, who had the support of every sovereign nation on the continent?” Kanesha shakes her head. “Why? What idiocy—” She breaks off. “Are you saying the Temple of Wasianth killed a dragon rider?”

“Leicht flew closer to aid us, and the archers fired at him—” The roars of the two visiting dragons drown Jaimin out, ringing in my ears.

“I hadn’t told them that part,” Leicht says dryly. “The temples are now at war with the dragons—or they will be, when our council meets.”

I’m still ignoring him—I have to, even if I wanted to ask for more information. Hearne and Kanesha cannot know about this bond.

“They fired upon a dragon?” Hearne’s face is red. “They broke treaty with the dragons?”

The way he says that makes me think there’s even more to this than I know about. Jaimin gives me a quick, questioning look, and I shrug minutely. It seems we’re both in the dark. Hopefully Master will know more.

“They fired at Leicht,” Jaimin repeats. “We weren’t initially concerned—not for ordinary arrows against a dragon. But one of those arrows…” He stops. We all know what happened next.

Hearne stands, paces away from the fire, then back. He clears his throat, holds up a finger, and says, “To sum up: the Temple of Wasianth, acting on behalf of the convocation of temples, ambushed a sanctioned mission of the City of Knowledge. They refused negotiation and committed an act of war against the dragons, at the same time killing a dragon rider. Is that correct?” His voice is even, but I can sense the rage boiling in him.

“Yes. At that point, Mage Silverbright wanted to reach his sister, and in a desperate act of magic was able to shield us from the archers long enough for Coryn to disable them—but they were already dead when he reached them. I was able to examine them last night and have determined some kind of suicide serum.”

That last part is an outright lie, and I envy the cool, collected manner in which he delivers it.

“What about the priests?” Kanesha asks. She’s as cold as ice now, her face hard, gaze analytical.

“The bishop realized that the consequences of his actions would be severe, and he was eager to take my suggestion that he accept Talon’s earlier offer to have an acolyte travel with us. I then recommended he return to his temple and send an immediate report to his high priest.”

“Where is the acolyte?” Master asks. “I think it’s time we spoke with him.”

Jaimin hesitates. “He’s… timid. I don’t believe he has any great understanding of the current situation.”

“Perhaps, but I’m very curious about the supposed presence of a temple near here. A few local priests in the villages, I would understand, but to merit a bishop, this must be a temple of considerable size, and I fail to see what purpose that would serve so far from a town with substantial population.”

Hearne’s eyes narrow. “Indeed. It seems the temples may be keeping secrets.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Jaimin cautions, but I can see he’s been thinking the same thing. “I’ll fetch Arimen, but I must remind you that we need to travel with him, and things are already… unsettled.”

“I’ll go,” Coryn says, speaking for the first time. He lays a hand on my shoulder as he passes, and I long for one of his hugs. When the riders have gone, perhaps.

I glance over toward the tent where Tia lies and start to stand. “I think I might⁠—”

Master’s hand clamps around my arm, and he pulls me back down. “You need to face him sooner or later, Talon. He’ll be traveling with you. And this is part of the story you may need to know.” A gentle telepathic tap precedes his next comment. “I’d also like the stone to advise us of the truth of what he’s saying, but I don’t think it wise to have it on display right now.”

Bitterly, I damn him. Not only do I need to face the acolyte, I also must communicate with the stone?

I say nothing but remain seated. Never let it be said that I shirked my duty.

Coryn returns a few minutes later, leading the acolyte. Although, it looks a little like he’s almost dragging him. The young man’s ginger hair is a mess, and his face is pale and, frankly, terrified.

“See? We’re just talking, and the dragons are all the way over there,” Coryn says, as though Leicht isn’t a mere twenty feet away. “Nothing to be afraid of. Sit down.”

The boy practically collapses as his knees fold under him, and I see Jaimin and Master exchange a look. Kanesha’s thoughts are written all over her face, and I’m struck by how similar her expression of disdain is to Tia’s. Do riders get taught that look of haughty derision?

“Arimen,” Jaimin begins gently, “you remember I introduced our guests earlier—Rider Master Hearne and Rider Kanesha? And Master Samoine.”

Bright green eyes dart nervously from face to face, and he nods rapidly.

“They have some questions now, about what happened yesterday.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible for him to pale even further, but he does.

“You’re not in trouble,” Hearne says gruffly, obviously having more sympathy for the sister-killer than I do. “We know acolytes don’t have enough seniority to cause that kind of trouble.”

Arimen visibly swallows, then says, barely above a whisper, “I’ll answer what I can, sir.”

The stone’s approval vibrates through me, and I resist the urge to yank it from around my neck and throw it in the fire.

“You’re in service to the Temple of Wasianth, correct?” Hearne begins, and Arimen nods. “For how long?”

The boy blinks his big eyes. “Until I die, sir.”

I resist the urge to call him an idiot. “The rider master meant how long have you been in service,” I snap, and he shrinks back.

Jaimin comes to stand behind me and clamps a hand on my shoulder. I get the feeling that if I yell again, I’m going to end up with bruises. At least they’ll hurt him as much as they do me… and at least his hand is on me. It’s ridiculous how comforting I find that small touch.

“I-I-I… th-three years.”

That makes us all frown. The temples, like the academies, don’t take acolytes until they’re of legal age—which on the continent is eighteen. I find it hard to believe this boy is twenty-one. Even if he has a natural baby face, surely he should have a little more confidence and self-assurance by now? Not to mention, there’s only one stripe on the shoulder of his robe. If he’s been an acolyte for three years, shouldn’t he be past the first level?

“You’ve been an acolyte for three years?” Master repeats, and Arimen nods. “How old are you?”

“S-S-Seventeen this past summer.”

“Seventeen?” Kanesha shouts, and Arimen falls backward off the log in his scramble to get away.

“Let me help you.” Coryn all but lifts him back into place, then pats his shoulder gently. “You’ve got nothing to worry about here. We’re just trying to understand. I have some toffees in my saddlebag that I got in Josanin, and when we’re done here, we can melt them until they’re gooey and have toffee bread.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, and from the perplexed expression on Arimen’s face, neither does he, but at least he seems less panicky.

Really, though—toffee bread? That doesn’t sound half bad.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” Kanesha says, and her tone is softer than any I’ve ever heard from her before. “Just to be sure I understand, you joined the temple as an acolyte when you were fourteen?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am.”

Hearne and Master exchange a grim look, and then Hearne asks, “Where did you live before that—where are you from?”

“Innsbrith, in the Halyn Isles. M-My family is still there.”

I turn that information over in my head. I’ve never been to the Halyn Isles—too far north, far too cold, and boring to boot—but they’re basically as far from here as you can get while still remaining on the continent. Maybe I’m misremembering—it’s not like I paid all that much attention to temple studies—but I thought the temples liked to keep their acolytes and priests local. The general consensus being that people were more comfortable with priests of their own cultures and upbringings. It seems odd that an acolyte from the Isles would be in a temple in Camblin. I’m not sure if the Isles has a temple large enough to train acolytes, but surely the next best thing would be my own home country of Rebithia.

Something is definitely going on with the temples.

“We may speak more about that later,” Master says kindly. “Which temple are you assigned to? The one in Josanin?”

Arimen shakes his head. “No, sir. I’m at the Sanctuary.”

We wait for more information, but it’s not coming.

“The Sanctuary,” Jaimin repeats. “I’m not familiar with that one. Where’s it located?”

Pointing shakily to the west, he says, “On the coast. About an hour’s ride.”

Remembering something, I reach out to Master. “Yesterday, Tia said Leicht saw a group of buildings over that way. They thought it looked too orderly to be a fishing village.”

Master doesn’t reply, just nods and says to Arimen, “We may speak more about that later too. For now, what can you tell us about what happened yesterday? Did the bishop advise you why you were leaving the temple?”

He looks shocked. “Not the bishop. He doesn’t speak to the acolytes. My mentor said news had arrived of a c-criminal fleeing a convocation, and our temple had been asked to apprehend him.” His face crumples slightly. “He didn’t mention the dragon.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Hearne mutters. “Did he say why so many of you were needed?”

Arimen shakes his head. “It was not my place to ask.”

Ugh. Not his place to ask? How’s he supposed to become a full-fledged priest if he can’t ask questions? What the hell kind of teachers do the temples have?

“What about the archers?” Master prods. “Did you know they were there?”

Fear steals over his expression, and behind me, Jaimin sighs. “You’re not in trouble, Arimen. We just need to know how this all happened.”

“You should talk to the bishop,” he suggests eagerly. “Or one of the mentors. They would know more than me.”

“But they’re not here right now, and you are,” Master reminds him. “So… what did you know about the archers?”

“I-I knew we had archers at the Sanctuary,” he falters. “I see them training sometimes. One of the other acolytes—a new one—asked if the criminal was dangerous and we should have w-weapons, but my mentor said that was taken care of.”

“Did your mentor say what your job was, exactly?”

“My job is whatever the Sanctuary and holy Wasianth require it to be,” he says promptly, as if by rote, clearly relieved to be able to give an answer.

“Yes, of course.” Master smiles thinly. “But specific to this task. Did your mentor give further instructions?”

Arimen’s gaze darts from face to face. “Only to follow his lead and remain silent.”

“Interesting,” Hearne muses. “What about during the altercation? When the bishop confronted Mage Silverbright while they were conversing? Were you given further instructions?”

His head turns from side to side. “No.”

“When the archers began to shoot?” Hearne persists, and Arimen hunches in on himself, shaking.

“N-No.”

“Were you frightened?” Coryn asks gently. “It’s okay if you were. I suppose priests don’t expect to be in the middle of such things.”

“I’m n-not a priest,” Arimen corrects quickly. “Only an acolyte. B-But… I never thought anyone would shoot at me.”

I bite my tongue to keep from saying acerbically that nobody did shoot at him. Those arrows weren’t aimed anywhere near the priests—I’d know, since they were aimed at me.

“I-Is the dragon going to eat me?” he ventures timidly, and this time I can’t stop myself.

“Maybe.”

Jaimin’s fingers dig sharply into my shoulder even as he assures a terrified Arimen that nobody’s getting eaten.

“The healer makes promises he shouldn’t,” Leicht comments darkly, and I grit my teeth.

“Let me explain what happened from our perspective, and what our plans are going forward,” Jaimin says soothingly. “Do you know what the life stone is?”

Arimen blinks a few times, seemingly taken aback. “The creation stone? Father of the gods, source of life?”

At least the temples taught him something, though I question the use of “father.” The stone doesn’t seem to me to have a gender, and it’s never indicated that it wants to be referred to in that manner.

Jaimin isn’t as fussy as I am about nomenclature, though, because he simply says, “Yes. It surfaced here in Camblin—we’re not sure why here—several months ago, and then traveled to the City of Knowledge, where it made itself known to the councils of mages, healers, and dragon riders. It warned of a great evil and selected a team of questers to search out its chosen champion, the one person capable of defeating that evil.”

Now Arimen’s mouth is open in awe. “The creation stone,” he whispers.

“We,” Jaimin gestures in an ambiguous way that could include everyone present or not, “are the chosen questers, searching for the hero who will save us all.”

The light in Arimen’s eyes fades. “B-But… they said he was fleeing a convocation.”

“Technically, that’s true. In Lenledia, the high priestess of Malna demanded we surrender the stone to her. Obviously, that is not within our capability—the stone decides where and with whom it travels. Mage Silverbright—Talon—requested the convocation in order to avoid a disturbance in the king’s palace. This mission, you understand, is secret from all but a few. The evil we attempt to thwart is so grave, it would cause widespread panic.”

Personally, I think Jaimin’s storytelling abilities need work. He’s laying it on a bit thick, and he sounds more like a minstrel telling fairy stories to children than someone relaying the details of a vital mission.

On the other hand, Arimen is still a child by most definitions. Gods’ turds, what are the temples up to? And how are we going to travel with this boy who’s scared of his own shadow and seems so naïve, he’d buy magic beans from a wandering salesman? Could he even handle the news of what we’re up against?

Or would he crumble at the first sign of trouble?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“We left before the convocation could be called because the stone compelled us to,” Jaimin continues, and I wonder if that could be considered a lie.

~No~

What is it with the people—beings—things I’m ignoring insisting on talking to me? Do they not understand I’m infuriated right now and don’t want to hear from them?

The stone wraps me in a metaphysical hug, and I ignore that, too, focusing instead on what our fearless healer is saying.

“Unfortunately, it seems the temples have not heeded the wishes of the stone, and so your bishop waylaid us to again demand its surrender. We were surprised that he was willing to go as far as murder to obtain it.”

Arimen opens his mouth and closes it a few times, seemingly at a loss.

“The Temple of Wasianth—and, if the bishop was truly acting for the convocation and not simply Wasianth, all the temples—has, in the act of firing upon a dragon, broken treaty with the dragons. By killing a dragon rider, the temple has declared war on the dragon riders. It remains to be seen how the Academies of Healing and Magic will consider the act of attempted murder against myself and Mage Silverbright. The nations of Lenle and Camblin may also become involved—Coryn is a member of Lenle’s King’s Own Guard, and the Camblish queen may not react well to hostile activities within her borders. That is for others to deal with and decide. What matters now, Arimen, is that the stone has chosen you to join our quest.”

I’ve never seen anyone’s face get that pale before. He begins shaking violently, and then his eyes roll up, and he passes out. It’s only due to Coryn’s reflexes that he doesn’t fall.

“This is a mistake,” I mutter as Coryn lays Arimen gently on the ground and Jaimin goes to see to him.

“It’s the stone’s will,” Master reminds me, his eyes on the young acolyte. “It does seem… But I’m not going to doubt the source of all creation.”

His tone says he’s doubting it plenty.

“Is the academy going to consider this an act of war?” I ask quietly. I hadn’t thought that far ahead—Tia’s death, yes, I knew the riders wouldn’t stand for that. But I’m not dead, and I’ve been threatened by my peers enough times that I’m fairly sure none of them would be too upset if one of those arrows had hit me.

Master pulls a face. “Politically, yes, I believe so. I don’t think anybody particularly cares that you were shot at⁠—”

“I’m touched.”

“—but the fact that a mage was shot at cannot be ignored. Especially when you were traveling under the aegis of the council. There will be a great deal of discussion, but ultimately, it’s likely the council will decide to use this to maneuver concessions from the temples.” He meets my gaze dead-on. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t like the way the priesthood has been behaving.”

That’s something, at least.

“Could you try to ensure that at least some of those concessions support our mission?” I request. “Not having to dodge priests would be a good start, but it would be even better if we could be assured lodging, board, and fresh supplies at every temple on the continent.”

He winces. “After you disrespected a high priestess and fled a convocation? Asking for welcome might be pushing things a bit far, Talon.”

“We’re on a holy quest,” I protest. “Also, if that’s not a possibility, the council needs to send us more money. I’d hoped to have found the champion by now, but it looks like we’ll be on the road for a while longer.” Dammit.

“I brought some for you, but yes—we’ll work something out,” Master promises. Across the circle, Arimen sits up. There’s a sweet smile on his face now, and he seems utterly relaxed. It’s the healer’s equivalent of a cup of soothing herbal tea, and far more effective. Some people say that chasing that feeling is what led to the development of certain recreational drugs. I think that’s a load of turds—most of those drugs are just mixtures of natural hallucinogens anyway, and any country person will tell you that idiots have been eating weird mushrooms since time began.

“Are you feeling better?” Jaimin asks as he and Coryn help Arimen back onto the log.

The boy nods eagerly. “Oh yes! I feel splendid!”

“Good.” The master healer watches his patient’s face carefully, so I do too, and I see it—the gradual easing of the relaxing effect. When Jaimin’s done, Arimen looks tense once more, but at least he doesn’t seem like he’s going to pass out again.

In fact, he bravely squares his shoulders and says, “I think I may have misheard what you said.”

“Nope,” Coryn announces cheerfully. “You didn’t. The stone has chosen you.”

“But…” He shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”

“And yet,” Jaimin says, “it’s true.”

“B-But I’m nobody! I can’t go on a quest.” His eyes widen. “Am I the sacrifice?”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. This feels an awful lot like the first day of classes, and I didn’t expect to go through that again until next autumn.

“What sacrifice?” Hearne asks, bewildered. “There’s no sacrifice.”

“Are you asking if we plan to sacrifice you to the gods?” Kanesha seems equally confused. “Because you’re an acolyte—you know our gods don’t require sacrifices, right?”

“No, I mean… in every story of great quests, there’s always a sacrifice. And if the creation stone has sent you on a quest to find a champion to defeat evil, then this has to be a great quest. Which means there’s a sacrifice,” he explains. “Someone in the group has to die.”

“You mean other than my sister?”

The question falls into a silence nobody wants to break. Arimen pales again, his eyes locked on me, and he begins to tremble, all signs of his courage gone.

“My sister, Tia, the dragon rider, is dead,” I say, the words as hard and piercing as crossbow bolts. “Is that not enough of a sacrifice for you? Do you feel that your life is worth more than hers?”

“N-N-N-N I-I-I-I,” he stutters.

“I’m sure that’s not what Arimen meant,” Jaimin says quietly, and Arimen nods frantically.

“I didn’t! I s-swear! I-I-I’m s-sorry about your sister! I-I-I—” He breaks down into tears.

“I think we’re done with this conversation,” I continue in the same hard tone. I don’t have time to baby him, and when—not if—we get attacked by zombies again, he needs to not assume he’s some kind of godsforsaken sacrifice and let them kill him. “You’re coming with us. I don’t know yet for what purpose, but until we figure it out, your job is to keep up, pull your weight, and not die. And stay out of my way,” I add. “Coryn will tell you everything else you need to know.” I stand. “Rider Master, Rider Kanesha, would you excuse me? I’d like to speak with my master before the pyre ceremony.”

Hearne inclines his head. “Of course. We need to speak with Leicht anyway.”

I know from what Tia told me that when the riders need to speak with a specific dragon, they do so via their own bonded dragons—an odd relay of messages, similar to what children do when they stubbornly refuse to speak directly to someone. It still concerns me, though, that they might guess⁠—

“Nobody will know unless I choose to tell them.”

That’s not as comforting as he seems to think, given our history of him disliking me.

Master Samoine also stands. “I think I’d like to stretch my legs—it was a long flight, and the return journey promises the same. Master Kahwyn, will you join us? I have some questions about the archers’ suicides.” He places the very faintest emphasis on the last word, as though he wants to cement the cause of their deaths in everyone’s minds.

The group disperses, with only Coryn staying to talk softly to a still-sobbing Arimen. Master, Jaimin, and I walk out into the barren fields. Farther south, farmers are still able to get crops in winter, but here in the northern part of Camblin, the frosts and occasional snowfall make it too risky.

“Very well,” Master says when we’re out of hearing distance. “Tell me exactly what happened. When did you realize that… that Leicht…” He trails off uncomfortably.

I blink back tears and clear my throat. “They were shooting arrows toward Leicht,” I say. He knows this, but the story would feel incomplete if I didn’t repeat it. “I thought they were stupid—arrows against a dragon? They were only going to make him angry. Then…” I stop walking and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. “It was as if I wasn’t real anymore. As if my limbs were gone. I knew—I knew…” I open my eyes. They understand. I don’t need to finish that sentence. Resuming our walk, I say, “She was falling, and I wanted to… catch her. It seems stupid now, but I couldn’t let her hit the ground. Leicht caught her and set her down, and I already knew, but seeing her… Leicht was screaming; I could hear him screaming, but then I realized I wasn’t just hearing with my ears.

“His screams were in my mind too. The part of me that was Tia was gone, but there’s something else there now.”

Master looks troubled. “I don’t need to tell you that this is impossible.”

“Believe me, we all know.” I wave a hand to indicate that “we” means me, Jaimin, and Leicht. “But somehow it happened anyway.”

He sighs, then glances at Jaimin.

“I know the twins can—could—communicate mind-to-mind,” Jaimin says quietly. “I’ve suspected for quite a while.” He looks me squarely in the eye. “I won’t betray you.”

I don’t have the emotional energy to untangle everything those words make me feel, so I shove it all aside. “If people knew, they’d lock us up and experiment on us. They still would, especially now that…”

He shudders and repeats, “I won’t betray you. And if somebody finds out and comes for you, I’ll stand between you and them. I don’t understand everything that’s happening, but I know what it feels like to be an anomaly. We stick together.”

“I trust the healer,” Leicht says. “Tia liked him.”

“Thank you.” I ignore Leicht, even though the reminder of how highly Tia regarded Jaimin is comforting, and turn to Master. “We can tell him everything.”

I don’t know if Master feels as confident about that as I do, but he doesn’t betray it in his expression or words. “Talon and Tia weren’t just able to communicate telepathically—they were present in each other’s minds in a way that is, to use a word that’s rapidly becoming meaningless, impossible. The best theory we have is that Talon is so gifted a telepath that as an infant, he unintentionally imprinted on his sister’s brain. Neither of them could remember a time when they couldn’t share thoughts and images.”

“Tia couldn’t initiate a conversation,” I continue. “But she could let me know when she wanted to speak to me. It always felt like she was pulling on an invisible string. I could always tell what she was feeling, and she was the same—if I had a strong reaction to anything, she’d immediately check on me. We were just… linked.” A wave of grief swamps me. The place in my head that was always Tia feels hollow and empty and so very wrong.

Jaimin wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean slightly into him. He smells like herbs and horses, and he’s warm against my side. I resist the urge to lay my head on his shoulder. For the first time since Tia died, I don’t feel so devastatingly alone.

“I suppose we need to work with the assumption that the bond transferred when Tia died because of the connection that existed between you,” Master muses. His brows are drawn together in a frown. “I don’t know enough about the bonds between dragons and their riders, I’m afraid. Did Tia ever tell you anything?”

“Not much,” I admit. “Just as there are some things about magehood that I couldn’t share with her, the riders have their secrets too.”

“So she never mentioned whether a bond could be broken?”

Leicht’s hiss in my head is answer enough. “She never said, but… it can’t.”

For a moment, Master looks confused, but then his gaze goes over my shoulder, back toward the camp where Leicht is. “Oh. He truly is in your head, then? He can hear what you hear?”

I shrug, uncomfortable with the concept. “So it seems. I’ve yet to discover a way to block him out.” Although in my defense, I’ve been preoccupied with other things.

“This presents a larger problem,” Jaimin says. “The bond between you and Tia could be hidden. But a bond with Leicht⁠—”

“He says nobody will know unless he wants them to,” I interrupt.

“Yes, but does he plan to return to the dragons’ valley today? Because that’s what Hearne and Kanesha—and their dragons—will expect. With his bonded gone, it would be the norm for him to go back there, correct?”

“I… He hasn’t said.” Part of me feels ill at the idea, and I don’t fully understand it. Is that because of the bond, or am I just loath to let any remaining link to Tia go?

“Can he even return?” Master asks. “I thought dragons and their bonded riders couldn’t be separated over long distances for prolonged periods—much like you and Tia.”

“I don’t know,” I admit. Leicht, for once, is quiet. How typical. The one time his input might actually be useful, the overgrown lizard keeps his thoughts to himself.

They both look at me expectantly.

“What?”

Jaimin sighs. “Ask him, Talon. What does he plan to do now?”

Dammit. “Ah… I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to.” He glances at Master, then back at me. “Why?”

“He’s trying to pretend Leicht’s not there,” Master says dryly. “Because Talon is the master of hoping if he ignores things, they’ll go away.”

Hold on now. “That’s not true!”

“What did you do when you were first assigned a class to teach?”

My mouth snaps shut. Gods’ turds, he had to bring that up.

“No,” Jaimin says, his mouth quirking in that little smile I used to find so annoying. “Don’t say you tried to ignore the existence of your class?”

I give in. “I wasn’t ignoring them. I was trying to outwait the dean and make him assign somebody else.” Except the wily bastard was prepared for that, and he had the students track me down and trail after me all over the academy, like lost kittens, until I finally conceded defeat.

“We don’t have time for you to sulk right now, Talon,” Master informs me. “Talk to Leicht. We need his input.”

Pressing my lips into a line, I try to think of an excuse. A good one that they’ll actually accept. There isn’t anything. “If I talk to him, the bond is real. Tia…” I bite back the rest. Tia’s dead. She’s not coming back.

They both stare at me with compassion, but that doesn’t change anything. My sister is gone forever, but this mission remains. If I walk away now—if I even can—then the continent is lost. Perhaps even the world. After all, once whoever is raising the zombies takes us down, what’s to stop them from expanding? Tia was a soldier, but even before that, before we went to the academies and began our training, she never ran away from problems. I liked to ignore them; she tackled them head-on.

She’d never forgive me for walking away from this.

“Fine.” I prod the new part of my mind. “Are you there?”

A sense of fleeting amusement flows over me. “Where else would I be?”

“Have you been listening, or do I need to explain?” I’m not in the mood to play word games or chat right now.

“I know what has been said.”

I wait for him to continue, but that seems to be it.

“Well? Do they expect you to return? Can we be apart? What are you planning to do?”

“I had not considered.”

How very helpful.

“Could you consider now? The decision will need to be made soon.” There’s a tiny bite to my mental tone, but it’s deserved. If I have to deal with my grief and make decisions, so does he.

“They will expect me to return,” he admits. “We dragons prefer the company of our own in times of grief.” He pauses. “I’m uncertain if I can. Separation from one’s bonded is uncomfortable for both parties, especially in the early stages of the bond. Whether this… thing… will behave as a regular bond, I don’t know.”

I relay that information.

“Does the bond seem different in any way?” Master asks intently.

The sensation of Leicht’s hesitation vibrates through my bones. He doesn’t want to answer this, and I can feel it. “No.”

Before I tell Master, I check, “It feels like the bond with Tia did? It doesn’t feel like it could be a temporary anomaly, like we could remove it? Or it might… fade?” I’m clinging to that idea, the thought that this is some kind of trauma response that will dissipate as we become accustomed to the loss of Tia. It almost makes sense—the two of us were linked to her, and she was suddenly and violently ripped from life.

“Does it feel to you as though it could be removed?” The image of a blade severing the tie rises in my mind, and I physically jerk away, causing Jaimin to exclaim in startlement. My mind recoils also, and I feel vaguely ill. How can a simple concept cause such a visceral reaction? “That is how a bonded feels about the loss of a bond,” Leicht replies to my unspoken question. “We must face the truth: It is real and permanent.”

I’m too tired to contemplate how impossible that is. I’ve had that thought already. So has Leicht. Master. Jaimin. We all know it’s not possible.

And yet, somehow, it is.

“It’s a real bond,” I say. “It’s not going anywhere, and it definitely can’t be removed.” I’m pretty sure I’d instinctively attack anyone who tried.

“Then we have to assume you and Leicht can’t be separated. Does… Does he want to go back?” Jaimin ventures.

“I want vengeance.”

“Yeah, I hear and agree with that, but I can’t delay this mission for vengeance. Tia would haunt me for all eternity. So can you trust that the other dragons and the riders—and maybe the mages—will enact vengeance on our behalf? Or are you going to drag me off with you?” I can’t believe this is a conversation I’m even having, but if Leicht decides we’re going, there’s not a lot I can do to stop him… unless I try to kill him using magic. Which might get me arrested by the dragon riders, and then I wouldn’t be able to continue the mission anyway.

Even from here, we all hear Leicht’s growl of annoyance, and we turn to glance in that direction. “Tia was determined to see this task met,” he says finally. “I will honor her memory.”

“He wants to stay,” I report. “He wants to finish what Tia started.”

“We could tell the riders that,” Master suggests. “They’d understand that kind of honor.”

“But they’ll bring up the communication barrier,” Jaimin argues, shaking his head. “What if they decide to have another bonded pair join us? There’s too much chance of them guessing.”

An idea strikes me. “What if we tell them the truth?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“I think you need some sleep.” Master shakes his head. “Tell them the truth? Didn’t we decide we wanted to avoid having you locked up for experiments?”

“Not the whole truth,” I explain. “Part of it. Or rather, we don’t tell them… we pretend we want it to happen.”

“He needs sleep,” Master says to Jaimin. “Is there something you can do for him?”

“Just listen to my idea,” I insist, even as Jaimin lifts a hand toward me. “We go back and have the ceremony, pretend everything is normal.” The word catches in my throat. There’s nothing normal about a pyre ceremony for Tia. I force myself to continue. “Then, when the riders start preparing to leave, Leicht tells them that he doesn’t want to go. That he needs to see this mission through. They can’t force him to go back.” Wait… “Can they?”

“No.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of one of them wanting to stay,” Jaimin begins, and I lift a finger in a wait gesture.

“Then one of us will raise the issue of communication—before they can. They tell us Leicht says he wants to stay. We say okay, if he wants to, sure, a dragon could be useful, but oh, wait… without Tia, we won’t be able to talk to him.”

I pause for any interruptions, but they seem to be past that stage now and just wait for me to finish.

“That’s when the stone will join the conversation. It will imply that it can solve that issue, we’ll ask it to, and then I’ll announce I can hear Leicht in my head.”

My master and my… Jaimin exchange doubting looks.

“That still brings us back to you being a mage who bonded a dragon,” Jaimin says gently. “They won’t let that go so easily.”

I shake my head. “No, they don’t need to know about the bond. It’s just about communication. When Leicht has something to say, I’ll ‘hear’ it. We can write it off as an extension of my telepathy and suggest it’s temporary for the mission.”

Master strokes his chin. “There are a lot of ways that could fall apart, but I don’t think we have a better idea,” he concedes. “Of course, it all depends on the stone’s cooperation. It may need to outright lie if one of them asks the wrong question—can it even do that?”

My shoulders sag. “I don’t know.”

They wait, and reluctantly, I fish the stone from the bag around my neck. I don’t want to talk to it, either, but today seems to be a day of things I don’t want, and I can’t let Tia down.

That doesn’t stop me from passing the chunk of rock to Master, though. He can have this chat.

His lips tighten, and I know he wants to scold me, but instead he looks at the stone in his hand. “Did you follow all that?” he asks it.

~Yes~

“Are you willing to assist with this plan? Can you lie if we need you to?”

~Yes~

Fleetingly, I wonder if the stone has lied to us already. We’re taking a lot of things on faith. What if it’s been blurring the truth all along?

In response to my thoughts, my mind fills with a series of dizzying images and concepts. They whiz past too quickly for me to grasp them individually, but the overall picture is clear: this mission is paramount, and the stone will do whatever is necessary to see it completed and the world safe.

The feeling of being a pawn is humbling and not one I particularly like.

“Just out of curiosity,” Jaimin begins, unaware of the revelation I’ve just been privy to, “is this something you could actually do if Leicht and Talon weren’t bonded? Allow a temporary communication channel between them?”

~Yes~

Jaimin’s brows draw together, and he seems about to ask something else but then changes his mind. “Do you think this plan will work?”

~Yes~

There’s an edge of determination this time, and we all understand that it will work because the stone will make it work.

Gods help us all.

“That’s what we’ll do, then,” Master says. “The riders might still want to stay, just to ensure everything goes well, but I’ll take care of that.” He hesitates. “Talon, are you certain you feel up to continuing? If you wanted to take a few days to⁠—”

“We don’t have time for that.” I might not be happy with the stone right now, but I won’t abandon this task. “Every day we delay is another day our enemies get ahead. We need to talk about the archers now.” I turn to Jaimin. “They were the same as the other man I killed, you said.”

He spreads his hands. “No injuries at all that could have caused death. One had minor arthritis in his dominant arm—he was probably going to have to retire soon. But otherwise, they were unhurt. Their brains were completely intact. They were just… dead.”

Master sighs. “Do you remember doing anything?” he asks me, and I shake my head.

“I wanted to get to Tia. She was falling,” I remind him, “and I wanted to catch her. They were shooting, and I was so furious that one stupid arrow that wasn’t even aimed at her, not truly, managed to kill her…. I know something happened. I felt my magic… surge, and then the arrows stopped. But I didn’t think anything or decide anything.”

“I don’t know what this could be,” he admits. “I’ve been haunting the archives, trying to find any mention of it, of anything that might help. There’s truly no cause of death?” he checks again with Jaimin, who shakes his head.

“If I’d had the chance to examine them before their deaths, I might be able to give more insight… but I’ve never seen a corpse I couldn’t pinpoint a cause of death for. Not someone so newly dead, anyway. There was no physical trauma whatsoever that could have caused death.”

“Am I a danger to my companions?” I ask bluntly. “I haven’t consciously chosen to do this either time—what if it happens again?”

They exchange glances. “There’s not enough evidence to rule that out,” Master admits.

~No~

“Or there is, but we just don’t know what it is,” he continues, looking at the stone in surprise. “Perhaps you could enlighten us?”

~No~

Of course not. “That’s not helpful,” I tell it.

“Maybe it is,” Jaimin muses thoughtfully. “Both times, you were under intense stress, essentially fighting for your life. Let’s assume your magic reacted to protect you, even though we don’t know how.”

“Magic doesn’t do that,” I protest, then glance at Master. “Right?”

“To the best of modern knowledge, it does not.”

Jaimin grimaces. “It also doesn’t kill without leaving a mark, so let’s assume for the sake of argument that Talon’s special and his magic wants to protect him.”

I preen slightly. I have always considered myself to be an improvement on my colleagues.

Master rolls his eyes. “If we must.”

“But,” Jaimin continues before I can protest, “both times, his magic left others unharmed. On the first occasion, not only me and Tia but also the other attackers who weren’t directly threatening him. And this time, it only took down the archers—not the priests who were, without question, also a threat to us.” He pauses to let that sink in. “I don’t think this is an uncontrolled, nondirectional weapon. I think Talon’s magic is acting to protect him by killing only those who are the immediate threat, and only when he’s unable to otherwise protect himself.”

I barely have time to process that before the stone’s response echoes through me.

~Yes~

“So I’m not a danger to my friends?” I double-check.

~No~

“Can you tell us anything more about this?”

~Yes/No~

In other words, it can, but it won’t. “Fine.” I look at Master. “What do you think?”

He shrugs helplessly. “I think we don’t have many options here. There’s no precedent that I can find for your magic to act this way. There’s no record that I can find of people dying without reason. There’s no record that I ever found to explain the bond between you and Tia. But the fact remains that no good would come of any of this being revealed to others. You need to find the champion so this threat can be neutralized. I’ll keep looking for information, any information that might help us. And nothing that has been said here will ever be repeated to anyone else.”

“I will not betray Talon,” Jaimin swears. “I still don’t know what my purpose here is, but it seems clear that it’s tied to him. I’ll take his secrets to my grave.”

I swallow hard. The past two days have made oaths like that seem a lot more real than they ever did before. I can only hope it won’t come to that—I’ve lost Tia already. I can’t lose him too.

When we return to camp, it’s to find Coryn still patting Arimen gently and talking to him in soft tones. If I hadn’t seen him kill with my own eyes, I’d never believe this was the same man. I try not to resent the fact that he’s being so sweet to Arimen and I still haven’t gotten my hug.

I really want that hug.

Dragging my attention away from them, I turn toward Hearne and Kanesha. They’re approaching at a rapid pace, troubled frowns on their faces.

“Apologies for disturbing you with this,” Hearne begins, and I suspect Leicht may have preempted our plan to wait until after the pyre ceremony. “Leicht tells us he wants to continue with you on your journey.”

“You couldn’t have waited? We had a plan!” I snarl mentally.

“Dragons are not subject to the plans of humans such as you.”

I’m certain he just insulted me personally as well as all of humanity, but whatever. I’ll manage. It’s not like his disdain for me is anything new.

“He does?” I inject surprise into my voice. “Why? I thought it was a tradition for dragons to return to the valley after… In these situations.”

Hearne pulls a face. “Tradition is a strong word for it. They prefer to mourn with their own, yes, but in this case, Leicht has expressed the wish to continue Tia’s mission. He’s, uh, quite insistent upon it. He sees it as a debt he owes her memory.”

I look away, and I’m not even acting. A debt owed to her memory. My entire life will be that. I’ll never live up to the standard she set, but I’ll spend all my days trying. “I… suppose. If that’s what he wants, I can’t exactly stop him.”

“Wait,” Jaimin interjects, right on cue. “That could present some difficulties—certainly frustrations. We won’t be able to communicate with Leicht, nor he with us.” He shakes his head. “I don’t see how it would be—Oh. Would the riders be willing to send another dragon and rider? To… translate, for want of a better word.”

Hearne opens his mouth to reply, already nodding, but the stone steps in to play its part.

~No~

From the corner of my eye, I see Arimen’s head snap around. I guess the stone wasn’t selective about its audience.

I pull it from the pouch around my neck. “No?”

~No~

“I don’t see any other solution,” Kanesha says, and bites her lip. It’s clear they don’t want to have to tell Leicht he must return home, and from what he said, they can’t. “It’s not as though there’s another way for him to speak with you all.”

I barely stifle my smile. She’s given the stone the perfect opening.

~Yes~

Hearne’s brows draw together in confusion. “There… is?”

~Yes~

“Is that something you can assist with?” Master asks.

~Yes~

Kanesha’s mouth drops open. “You can make it so they can talk to Leicht?”

~Yes/No~

She rubs her forehead. “I’d forgotten how frustrating this is. Can you make it so one of them can communicate with him?”

I am the master of plans. They’re practically doing it all for us.

~Yes~

“A bond?” Hearne shakes his head. “I don’t think⁠—”

~No~

“Not a bond,” Master muses thoughtfully. “Just a… communication channel? Somewhat like telepathy?”

~Yes~

Hearne looks at me. “I’m guessing it means you, then. That would be the obvious choice.”

~Yes~

He sighs. “I suppose we should see what Leicht thinks of this idea.” His eyes unfocus slightly, a sign that he’s speaking with his dragon, and a moment later, Leicht’s growl vibrates through the camp. It’s somehow… approving.

“Humans are not the only species that speaks,” he snipes.

“Stop reading my thoughts.” So fucking rude.

“He reluctantly agrees, if it will assist the cause,” Hearne reports. “Talon?”

I frown. “I don’t like the idea,” I admit truthfully. “Say something to me in five seconds.” “But I do agree that Tia would have wanted this mission completed by any means necessary, and I… I won’t deny her wishes. I⁠—”

“You are not half the warrior your sister was.”

I gasp. Sure, it’s true, but still… “Words hurt, you overgrown lizard.”

“What is it?” Jaimin asks, moving toward me with his hand outstretched.

“I heard him. In my head.”

“Are you certain?” Hearne asks, and I give him a withering look.

“I’m a telepath, Rider Master. I’m familiar with the feeling of someone speaking to me in that manner.”

“Do you sense his presence?” Kanesha asks intently. “As though you know exactly where he is without even looking?”

Yes. “No. Wait, let me see if I can speak back to him.” “Tell them I did.”

Leicht’s roar of offense rings through the air, and a second later, Hearne winces.

“They really don’t like being compared to lizards,” he murmurs to me. “Can you feel how annoyed he is right now?”

I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. Speaking to him was exactly the same as when I speak telepathically to my master or anyone—I had to reach out to him.” It’s a good thing I’ve never been squeamish about lying.

They exchange glances. “I can’t say I like it all that much,” Hearne admits. “But desperate times call for desperate measures.” He looks to the stone. “Can you reverse this? When the mission is done, can this be undone?”

~Yes~

A sudden shiver snakes down my spine. Can the stone reverse the bond between me and Leicht? Why didn’t we ask it about the bond? We were so focused on hiding the fact that it existed that we didn’t even think of that.

Why did the bond transfer to me?

The stone doesn’t reply, and the sense of foreboding increases. I didn’t want this bond. Never asked for it. Don’t particularly like having it. But it’s part of me now, and the thought that the stone may be able to sever it is disturbing.

“Tomorrow’s problems are for tomorrow,” Leicht informs me. “You have other priorities now. Don’t fail us all.” His tone strongly implies that he expects me to do exactly that.

Hearne shrugs. “Then I suppose the matter is settled. Leicht will continue on with you. In a way, this works out well—he’ll be able to report back immediately if he sees anything troubling, rather than having to return to you and land.”

“Er… yes.” That’s what we’ve been doing all along.

“Since that’s been solved…” He hesitates, and I take a deep breath.

“The pyre ceremony. Let’s have it now.” Delaying it isn’t going to make it less painful. And I know, deep in my heart, that this is how Tia would want to be given her final rest.

“It will take us a little while to prepare,” Kanesha says gently. “We need a clear space to prevent the fire from spreading.”

“The road?” Coryn suggests, joining the conversation with a wide-eyed Arimen at his side. “There’s no trees or anything there.”

“It might be too public,” Hearne begins, but I shake my head.

“The road is perfect. That’s where she died, and that’s where we’ll send her to her next life.” It fits perfectly, and I can feel Leicht’s agreement. I’m not sure how long it will take me to get used to this—Tia could always sense my emotions, and I hers, but she wasn’t an active presence in my head the way Leicht is now. No wonder she bonded him so easily—she was used to having me there all the time.

Gods, I wish she was still here. I need her more than ever.

“But what about other travelers? The dragons have already had to scare off some villagers who came nosing around.”

“Other travelers and any villagers who want to watch will do so with respect.” I don’t bother to add a threat to the end of the sentence. I don’t need to. There are three dragons here. Nobody would dare to complain about a short interruption to their journey—and if they do, Leicht will settle them with a glare.

Kanesha looks like she wants to protest, but instead she just nods, and she and Hearne head toward the road. I’ve never attended a pyre ceremony before—they’re usually closed to all except other dragon riders and close friends and family of the deceased. Tia’s told me about them, though, so I know the first step is to ensure there’s enough clear space, then a small pyre of branches is built. It doesn’t have to be big—the fire is coming from the dragons.

Squaring my shoulders, I walk toward the tent where I spent the night. Where Tia’s body lies.

Jaimin catches up to me. “I can do this, if you’d like,” he offers gently, but I shake my head.

“No. This is for me.”

Inside, nothing has changed. It’s up to me to take these next steps and ensure Tia is prepared for her pyre. Blocking out the riot of emotion that fights to break free, I assess what needs to be done.

First, the arrow. Swallowing hard, I place the fingers of one hand on her throat. The skin is cold to my touch, and that makes it easier to pretend it’s not her. With my other hand, I grasp the shaft of the arrow and pull.

It comes free more easily than I expected, and I hate that. I hate this arrow with every fiber of my being, and I snap it in half, then in half again, and when the pieces are too small to easily break, I blast them with magefire.

Not that it makes me feel better. Except for the absence of the arrow from Tia’s throat, nothing has changed. The wound is so small. How could something so visually insignificant have taken down my fearless sister?

It doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters, except protecting her in death the way I couldn’t when she was alive.

She’s wearing her favorite dark blue leathers, and I’m glad of that. She should have them with her when she meets the gods. I hope she tells them exactly how fucked-up their temples are. Her daggers are all in their sheaths still, but the sword she wears across her back is beside the bedroll. I can’t remember why. It’s not like she would have been uncomfortable lying on it.

“Jaimin?” I call quietly. I don’t need to be loud; he’s right outside in case I need him. I know he is. He’s always here for me when I need him.

“Yes?” He joins me.

“She should be wearing her sword.”

Anyone else might call me ridiculous, might say it was a waste of a good weapon, but he merely asks, “Would you like me to hold her or sheathe it?”

Together, we get the sword back into its sheath. I take a deep breath, reach for her, then stop.

“I’m here,” Jaimin says softly. I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m focused on Tia’s face. What would she want me to do if she was here?

Finish the mission. Defeat our enemies. Make the world safe again. Look after Leicht.

Avenge her.

I take her best dagger from the sheath at her hip. The one I had made for her when Leicht bonded her. She cried when I gave it to her, the only time I’d seen her cry since we were children. “Thank you for knowing I didn’t want a fancy ring,” she’d said, referring to the gaudy ruby our father sent her to honor the occasion. “I’m keeping this until I die, and then my children will inherit it.”

That won’t happen now. But if I get the chance, this is the blade I’ll use to avenge her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I emerge from the tent with Tia in my arms, Jaimin a step behind. Coryn and Master are waiting for us, and as I move toward the road, they fall in behind me. The dragons have all taken their positions, so there’s no doubting where to go.

Tia’s weight is heavier than anything I’ve ever borne in my life, and every step I take is painful, but none of that would be alleviated by letting anyone else carry her. I loved her best, and I owe her this, no matter how much it hurts.

Leicht is on the road itself, the other two dragons flanking him. Before him is the pyre—only a foot high, barely long or wide enough to fit her. But it’s enough.

On the other side of the pyre are the dragon riders—and Arimen.

I flinch and falter.

“He stays,” Leicht says, his tone brooking no argument. “He must see this.”

“He’s not⁠—”

“He stays.”

I sense that’s not a battle I’ll win, and I won’t demean the ceremony by stopping to argue about it. Instead, I continue forward. My companions split off to join the others, but I circle the pyre so my back is to Leicht and gently lay my sister on her final resting place.

Kneeling, I take the time to cross her arms over her torso and smooth her hair away from her face—not that it was really in the way. Even on our journey, she’s kept it neatly trimmed. She even came after me with her scissors one night, demanding I let her cut my hair before Leicht confused me with an unshorn sheep.

“I promise to visit a barber more often,” I whisper. “And no more fancy inns. We’re going to get this done, and I’m not going to embarrass you anymore.” There’s a hitch on the last word, but I pretend it never happened. “I love you.”

She doesn’t reply. She never will again.

Standing, I take five steps back, just like she described. Across the pyre, Hearne lifts his face to the sky and says, “Tavia Silverbright was born a rider, and she died a rider. Her name will live for eternity, and the dragons beyond welcome her home.”

Leicht roars, and a single stream of hot flame shoots over my head and sets the pyre alight. For a long count of three, there is only Leicht’s flame, sending his rider to her next life, and then the other two dragons roar also and join him.

The tower of flame shoots high into the air, a pillar of mourning, a beacon of loss. The heat is indescribable, unbearable, but I don’t step back. Don’t look away. I can’t. Even when my knees begin to shake and my head spins, I will not willingly dishonor Tia by stepping back.

A sudden, solid presence at my back, shoring me up, startles me. What⁠—

The wet kiss against my neck answers my question. Sweetie. She nickers in my ear and stands firm, bracing me, even as the flames rise higher and hotter.

Then they stop, and more than anything, I want them back. Because there’s nothing left of my sister except rapidly scattering dust.

I turn my face into Sweetie’s neck and weep.

“We spoke to the boy earlier,” Hearne tells me and Master. They and Kanesha are preparing to leave, and Jaimin and Coryn are striking camp. They’d planned to stay here another night, but I can’t. It’s only noon—we’ll be able to cover a decent amount of ground before we need to stop, and the horses are well rested. “He gave us more details about this sanctuary. We’re going to circle over it and hope the dragons see something that might be valuable, and then I’m certain the councils will want to discuss this.”

“I am too,” Master agrees grimly. “Whatever the temples are up to, they’ve crossed a line now. If we must use this secret… monastery, or whatever it is, to discredit them, then I have no compunction about doing so.”

It’s somewhat harsher than the stance he was taking earlier, but I think Tia’s pyre ceremony affected him more than he expected. For myself, I would happily see every temple on the continent razed to the ground at this particular moment, so I merely nod—and lean against Sweetie. My horse hasn’t left my side since the ceremony.

Hearne’s gaze flicks quickly to her and then away, an unsettled expression on his face. There are some horses that are comfortable around dragons, but the concept of a horse so comfortable—and so protective of her rider—that she’d pull up her picket and walk into a pyre ceremony has spooked him somewhat.

I can’t say I understand it myself, especially given the war between me and Sweetie, but it seems we’re in the midst of a ceasefire, and I’m eternally grateful for her support.

“I’ll keep in contact with you,” Master assures me. “Watch your back. The pyre would have been seen for miles, and it was a clear indication of where you are. There will likely be another attack soon.” And you’re down a fighter is left unsaid.

“We’ll be ready.”

Sweetie and I retreat off the road, and the riders mount their dragons, Hearne helping Master up into a saddle between Weise’s shoulders. I’ve never seen anything like that before, but I suppose it makes sense. How else would a non-rider ride a dragon?

Suddenly I wish I’d asked Tia more questions about the technical aspects of riding a dragon. It never interested me, but now that she’s gone, it’s information I’ll never have.

“You could ask.”

I don’t reply, but not just because I’m ignoring him. Master’s stopped. He says something to Hearne and then cocks his head the way he does when he’s talking to someone telepathically. His expression changes.

Turds.

I start toward Weise, then stop. Approaching a dragon without permission is a good way to meet the gods early. Before I can decide if it’s worth asking Leicht to intervene for me, Master’s straightening and speaking to Hearne.

I hear the rider master’s curses from here.

A moment later, they’re both back on the ground, and Master is striding toward me.

“What?” I demand. “What is it?”

“Mages in Terebyl report that corpses stored for the winter have gone missing in large numbers,” he says without preliminary. “And a patrol in Meswyn found a village… what was left of a village. At first they thought it was abandoned, but the livestock was still there, all people’s belongings. Then they found an arm—a forearm… It was…”

“I know what it was doing,” I say when it seems he’s struggling to finish the sentence. “Someone tried to defend themselves, but it likely didn’t help.” I inhale deeply. The stone told us that there were zombies loose, that they’d harmed innocents. I just didn’t want to think about it too much. “Maybe some of them managed to escape.” The ones that didn’t were clearly raised as zombies.

As for the stolen dead in Terebyl… we should have anticipated something like this. It’s damn cold there in winter, colder than any of the other northern countries for reasons I never paid attention to, and the ground freezes too hard for graves to be dug. It’s customary for them to store their recently dead in cold cellars until the spring thaw. That must be like a buffet for a necromancer.

“What now?” I ask Master, though I know what. It’s even more imperative than ever that I find the godsdamned champion and end this disaster.

“I don’t know,” he says. “The combined councils are meeting. We’re not going to be able to keep this secret anymore, and that’s going to cause turmoil. At the very least, the rulers of each country are going to need to increase patrols.”

Not that those patrols will be able to defend themselves or anyone else from zombies.

Master’s thinking the same thing, I can tell by the way his lips tighten. “I must return,” he says. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

I nod, and on impulse embrace him. “You fight your battles so I can fight mine,” I mutter, and he squeezes me wordlessly.

Minutes later, the two dragons launch, the backdraft from their wings blowing dust from the remnants of the pyre everywhere, and I watch as they gain altitude and then bank toward the coast. Part of me hopes that whatever they see at the so-called sanctuary is so awful, they have justification to raze it with fire.

Unlikely.

This will be a scenario where politics are the weapon of choice, not dragon fire.

Sighing, I turn toward the remains of the camp. Jaimin and Coryn are as efficient as ever; the tents and other supplies are already loaded onto the packhorses, and they’re dousing the remnants of the campfire. We’ll be able to leave in minutes.

~No~

As much as I’d like to ignore that, too, I know I can’t. Before we can leave, Arimen needs to meet the stone.

He needs to know what we’re really up against.

I look around and spot him hovering beside an unfamiliar horse—his, presumably. He still seems a little shaken after the ceremony, which would be understandable if I wanted to have any compassion for him.

Which I don’t.

“Arimen,” I call as I walk toward the remains of the campfire, and yes, my voice is a little harsher than usual. “Come here.”

He jumps, his eyes widening, and looks to Coryn, who nods encouragingly.

“Wait here,” I tell Sweetie as we get closer, and she obligingly stops and begins cropping at the sparse winter grass.

“Be kind,” Jaimin warns as Arimen approaches.

“Nothing about this is kind.”

Coryn gasps, and I relent. “I’ll try.” My reward is a sad smile. “Could I have a hug?” I ask, giving in to the need that’s been chasing me all day, and the words are barely out of my mouth before his huge arms squeeze me tight.

I close my eyes and let go of everything just for one short moment, and when I pull back, I breathe a little easier. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Hugs are free,” he assures me solemnly, and I manage a smile.

Then I turn to Arimen, who can’t meet my gaze. “It’s time you met the life stone,” I say bluntly, and he gasps.

“I-I couldn’t.”

“Strike that from your vocabulary. There are a lot of things that you’ll need to do on this trip. I don’t want you here—that’s not a secret—but the stone does, so you will do whatever’s needed to play your part. That starts now.”

Jaimin winces. “So much for kind.”

Dumping the stone into my palm, I extend my hand toward a visibly trembling Arimen. Is he…?

“Open your eyes!” Gods’ turds, what was the stone thinking? This boy can’t come with us.

Whimpering, Arimen jerks his eyes open. He looks at the sky. At the ground. At Coryn, then Jaimin. I’m seriously considering using my magic to flip him upside down, but then, finally, he looks at the stone.

And everything changes.

“Oh,” he says, and the reverence in his voice annoys me. Of course, everything about him has annoyed me so far, but given I had to force him to even look at the damn rock, I think I’m justified right now. “I understand now.”

Jaimin grabs my arm. It’s like he’s afraid I’m going to throw the life stone at Arimen’s head, when the truth is, I only contemplated it for a few seconds.

“Lovely. So glad you understand.”

Coryn gives me a reproachful look, but Arimen is so enthralled by the stone that he doesn’t even seem to notice the heavy sarcasm.

“Now that you’ve met the stone, allow me to tell you a little more about our mission.”

He shakes his head, eyes still on the stone in my hand. His intensity is getting a little uncomfortable. “If it’s what the stone wants, I don’t need to know more.”

Jaimin sighs, and in my head, Leicht groans. Coryn tsks and shakes his head. “You need to know a little more,” he lectures. “Talon can look after all the big details, but if you’re going to be helpful, you need to know what helpful is.”

I don’t know what part of that sentence terrifies me more: me looking after big details, or that I understood exactly what he meant.

But I do know that I can’t in clear conscience let Arimen come with us until he knows exactly what we’re facing, so I close my hand around the stone and stick it in my pocket.

His face falls, and if I had forgotten for even a second how damn young he is, the crestfallen expression would have reminded me.

What can the stone be thinking? We should be sending this child home to his mother, or somewhere else safe. Not dragging him along to fend off zombies while we hunt down the champion.

The stone pulses in my mind, as if to warn me not to even consider it, and I square my shoulders.

“You know we’re going on an important mission to find the stone’s champion,” I begin. He won’t look me in the eyes yet, but seeing the stone does seem to have given him more confidence.

As if to prove that, he nods. “To defeat a great evil,” he parrots what Jaimin said earlier.

“How good was your education?”

He flushes bright red and shrugs. “Not… It was a small village. I can read and do basic figures. That’s why the priests took me.”

That’s not helpful. “Did you learn any history?”

He brightens. “We have lessons at the Sanctuary about the history of the temples.”

I can just imagine how relevant and factual those are. “What about the zombie wars?”

The utter confusion on his face as he glances between us all answers that. “I-I… There are stories about zombies. My friends and I used to tell them in the woods to scare each other. But I never heard of zombie wars. Is that another story? If there’s a book, I can read it to you while we ride.” His eyes are wide and hopeful, as if he thinks this is how he’s going to be helpful on this mission. By reading to us.

Jaimin puts a hand on my shoulder, and the sudden stabbing pain behind my left eye eases. I shoot him a grateful smile.

“Maybe we should sit down,” he suggests, but I shake my head.

“We don’t have time for that if we want to gain any distance before dark. Arimen, I’m going to tell you the basics now. You’re going to be stoic and strong, and then we’ll fill in some details as we ride. Got it?”

All remaining color in his face drains away as he gulps, but he nods bravely, and grudging respect stirs in me.

“Zombies aren’t a story. They’re real. Over a thousand years ago—we don’t know exactly when—some rogue mages discovered a way to reanimate dead bodies. They raised armies of them and waged war across the continent.”

His jaw drops, and for a second I think he’s going to faint again. Instead, he sucks in a deep breath. “Are they like the stories?”

“We don’t know how much of the stories are true,” Jaimin admits. “We’ve encountered two groups of them so far, so we know the part about them being difficult to kill is real.”

“Dismembered body parts will still crawl after you,” I add, making a mental note to fill Jaimin in later on the current zombie situation. “The only way to destroy them is magefire or dragon fire… and the stone’s champion.”

“S-So they’re back? Or did they never… How did the war end?”

“We don’t know. Scholars at the time thought it best to wipe all records from existence and let zombies become a scary story.” I’m still bitter about that. “They thought if people didn’t believe it was real, nobody would search for a way to do it.”

Arimen screws his face up, looking even younger than he is. “That’s stupid.”

At least we agree on something.

“The stone appeared to warn us that somebody has, in fact, found how it’s done. Our job is to find the champion as fast as we can so they can end this before it results in war again.” I pull the stone from my pocket and hold it out. “Stone, could you please confirm that what I’ve said is true?” Not that Arimen seems to be doubting me, but once he gets over the shock, I’m sure he will.

~Yes~

The pure joy that lights up the boy’s face is almost painful to see. “It can talk to us?”

“Yes or no answers only,” Coryn says. “And sometimes it tells us how it’s feeling. You can pet it, if you like. It’s very friendly.”

Arimen reaches out tentatively, then snatches his hand back. “Uh… maybe another time. I don’t think it’s right for me to touch a holy object. I’m not worthy.”

Leicht’s groan isn’t just in my head this time.

“At least you get to fly,” I complain. “I have to ride with him.”

“There’s plenty of time for that later,” Jaimin intercedes hastily as Arimen takes a big step back from Leicht. “We need to get moving. Arimen, you can ride with me and Talon, and we’ll answer your questions as we go. Leicht will scout ahead—if that’s okay with him?” He glances questioningly up at the dragon, who nods, making Arimen take another step back and me roll my eyes. It was a fucking nod, for the gods’ sake.

“And I’ll take the rear,” Coryn declares. “At least until we’ve got some distance. I don’t trust that mean bishop.”

Arimen opens his mouth as if to defend his former master, then closes it again. Some things are indefensible, after all.

I leave him with Coryn and turn to Sweetie. She nuzzles me with her soft nose, showing the same support and affection she’s offered all day, then gives me a shove that sends me reeling backward.

Into Jaimin.

“Whoa!” He steadies me. “What happened? Maybe we should camp so you can get some sleep.”

I glare at my horse, whose moods apparently change with the wind. “No, I’m fine. Sorry about that. I stepped on a rock and lost my balance.”

We both look down at the rock-free ground, but he politely pretends I didn’t just tell an outright lie. Instead, he steps closer to me and lowers his voice. “While we have a moment… are you okay?”

The question is simple, even ordinary, but his face and the intensity of his gaze are not. It feels as though he can see inside me, see all the hurt and confusion and anger I’m gripping tight to. I don’t have time to let it go. I can’t. I have a mission.

“I’m—” Fine sticks in my throat. I can’t say it. Not to him. Not when I’ve hidden so much from him all these weeks, and yet he stepped in to protect me, no hesitation, no questions, when I needed him. I can’t forget his face in the moment he realized Leicht and I had bonded, the fierce way he shielded me from scrutiny.

He holds my secrets now, and I have no regrets. I won’t lie to him, not even about something this small.

“I can’t think about it,” I confess. “I need to keep going. I need to see this through.” I’m not even sure what “it” I’m referring to. Tia’s death? The bond with Leicht? The potential war with the temples? How did my life turn into this?

“Don’t think about it, then,” he says softly. “But if you want to talk, about anything, I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

I nod. “Would you be offended if I said I think your purpose on this mission is to keep me sane?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but my delivery is flat, and he doesn’t laugh.

“Nothing would bring me greater honor.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

It’s well into the next afternoon before Master reaches out to me. I’ve been waiting for an update from him all day, and between that, not having slept well, and having to listen to Arimen’s chatter—because as long as I’m not looking at him, he has plenty of confidence—I’m in a rotten mood.

“What?”

Master pauses. “I beg your pardon?”

In a different part of my head, Leicht snorts. I asked him yesterday if he could hear when I communicate with Master, and he said not the words, unless I let him. Just the tone. It’s an interesting little fact that I’m sure I’ll want to think about in greater detail one day, when I’ve processed being bonded to a dragon. Since that’s a task I haven’t even added to my list yet, I don’t anticipate it being anytime soon.

“It’s been a long day, Master. I apologize.”

The sense of his understanding and compassion makes me wish Sweetie would try to unseat me or something. The last thing I want right now is to cry. “I think I can forgive a sharp tone, Talon, considering everything you’re going through. There’s no need to apologize.” He hesitates. “I’ve been asked to convey sympathies by a great many people.”

Yeah. “Everyone liked Tia.”

“They did. Emotions have been running very high amongst the riders, and the feeling has spread to the other two academies. Especially after we got back and gave our reports.”

My stomach sinks. I have no fondness for the temples—as anyone who ever talks to me would know—but now isn’t the time for war with them. I want vengeance for Tia, yes, but not only do we need to be united as a continent now that the zombies are actively wreaking havoc, I also don’t want to be dodging priests in our search for the champion. “War, then?”

“We’ll see. The riders will send their demands within the hour, and the mages and healers agree to support them. The wording agreed upon for the statement was that it’s intolerable and abhorrent that a mage, a healer, and a dragon rider on sanctioned business of the City of Knowledge would be waylaid in any way, much less attacked. Further, that the business is that of the utmost holiness and that a rider was murdered⁠—”

“Murdered?” I interrupt. “That’s the word they chose?” Not that I dispute it, but I know the temples will.

“Yes. The temples will argue that she was killed in battle, but in order for them to do so, they’d be⁠—”

“Admitting that the battle occurred and conceding the point that we were attacked. What’s the expected outcome?”

“The riders have demanded reparations, of course, for your family and for Leicht. The healers and mages demand an apology and assurances of your safe conduct for the remainder of your journey, plus any food and lodging you might request along the way. Don’t expect them to agree to that part,” he adds. “But the council was outraged enough that nobody even commented when I suggested it.”

“Good.” Though part of me thinks some of the councilors see it as a way to minimize the expense of my journey. Leicht must agree, because his amusement echoes through my mind. “So now we await a response.”

“Yes. Be very careful, Talon. For the time being, at least, you’ll need to watch for the temples as well as zombies. It might be wise to avoid any of the larger towns that have more than one priest in residence.”

“Noted.” If we continue on the highway as we have been, the next big town is still nearly a week away. I hope there’s a positive resolution before then, because if the stone needs us to go there, I’m not sure how we can hide ourselves. It’s not like we all packed disguises. “Any further updates on the zombies?” I managed to find time to update Jaimin last night, and he said he’d talk to Coryn. We agreed that it might be a little soon to tell Arimen, given his youth, but Coryn needs to know. There’s not much any of us can do, unless we come across zombies—our focus has to be on finding the champion.

Master’s sigh echoes across the miles to me. “Yes. When we reached out to others, we started getting similar reports. Villages seemingly attacked but with no bodies—the soldiers assumed the inhabitants were frightened off by bandits or that their bodies were burned.”

I clamp down on my instinctive urge to ask if those soldiers are stupid. Why would bandits burn the dead of villages they’ve pillaged?

“Unfortunately, the attacks don’t seem to be localized by region. We’ve heard from mages and monarchs in every country, and we expect to hear of more incidents now that they’ve briefed their commanders.” He hesitates. “The councils have decided we can’t wait. We might not be facing armies on a battlefield, but we must deploy mages and dragons to assist.”

I swallow hard. Dragons aren’t precision weapons—point them to a massed army and let them loose, and you’re guaranteed victory, but against small guerilla groups in hiding? As we’ve discovered on this journey, they have limitations.

Leicht huffs in offense, but I don’t need his input right now. “How have they decided to do it?”

“We’re pairing mages and dragon riders,” Master replies. “The hope is that in doing so, we’ll be able to cover any eventuality. The pairs—and dragons—will be assigned to scout teams in each country.”

That’s sensible enough and will reduce the risk to the soldiers doing the scouting. “If we see anything that might be helpful, I’ll let you know immediately,” I promise. “It worries me that there are so many zombies already—and that they’re taking all the bodies of those they kill. How many necromancers do they have, that they’re able to raise so many dead?” Worse, how long have they been doing this without our knowledge?

“It worries me also. Each of those necromancers is a mage I likely have met at least once in the past forty years of my time here. It disturbs me that even one of those would do something like this, much less more.”

That hadn’t even occurred to me, but of course Master probably knows the necromancers by sight and name, if nothing else. He’s been at the academy for a long time.

“Talon.”

I brace myself. He’s rarely reticent about telling me anything. “Yes?”

“It’s been decided that the first years will be sent out with some of the more battle-experienced masters to provide support.”

For a long second, I feel like I can’t breathe, and Jaimin turns sharply in his saddle. “Talon?”

“I’m okay,” I assure him, though I’m not sure how true it is. He studies me, his lips tight, but then turns back to his conversation with Arimen.

“I suppose I should have expected it,” I reply to Master. “I hoped they’d be kept in reserve, though. Couldn’t they have sent the older students?”

“All the students are going,” he informs me, causing a ripple of shock. The reports must be even worse than he made out for even the students to be sent. There are a lot of mages at the academy and around the continent. “It was a topic of hot debate, but ultimately, we decided it wasn’t right to risk the soldiers against an enemy they cannot defeat without weighting the odds in their favor.”

I understand that logic. I can even respect it. But my very being objects to the idea of my students having to face a zombie. They’re so young. They’re not ready. I swallow hard. “I suppose I just have to hope Preet managed to drill enough common sense into them. Who argued against? Master Eldridge?”

“Yes, and Master Cranch and I. A few others sided with us initially but changed their minds. Surprisingly, the most fervent dissenter was Leng.”

I blink, scrabbling to comprehend. “Master Leng, the prophetic scholar? The one whose theory was proved right?”

“No, that was Gao,” Master corrects. “Leng’s the one whose theory was wrong. He thought the stone itself would be the champion.”

A lot of that meeting is a blur in my memory, due to the moment when the stone announced I was going on a ride across the continent. “Regardless, I wouldn’t have expected him to be fervent about student safety.”

Master makes a mental sound of agreement. “It surprised us all. In the end, it didn’t matter—we were outvoted.”

I take a moment to pray to any of the gods who might be listening that my students will be safe. I can’t protect them myself, but if the gods have any mercy, they will. “You did what you could. This will give them maturity if nothing else,” I add, trying to look on the bright side. “Thank you for the update, Master.”

“Have you… spoken with Arimen yet?” I sense Master’s hesitation and try not to sigh.

“He knows about the zombies. I showed him the stone, and he had some kind of religious experience. It was a little disturbing, but I think as long as we’re doing what the stone wants—which is our intention—he’ll happily follow along.”

“That’s good. But… has he said anything more about his time with the priesthood?”

“Not anything more than what you heard yesterday. Why? What did you see when you flew over the ‘sanctuary’?”

Master makes a mental noise of disgust. “It’s a full compound. Not a temple at all. There’s a godsdamned farm attached, Talon, and not a village for miles. I may not be a priest, but even I know a place like that goes against the teachings of all our gods.”

It does. How can priests minister to the spiritual needs of others if they’re isolated, surrounded only by other priests? Even those who dedicate their lives to learning and study have the additional duty of teaching. Our gods once lived amongst us, and they expected the same of their servants. Their credo was always that one could never understand the needs of others if one lived apart.

“Did the dragons see anything that might be significant?” I don’t know what the purpose of this sanctuary can be.

“We’re not sure. The riders are having detailed maps drawn up for examination. It’s possible something that we thought was inconsequential will have meaning for someone else.”

My head starts to ache. This isn’t a distraction I need, but considering I have an acolyte from the damned sanctuary riding six feet behind me, telling Jaimin animatedly how nice it is that winters here are so much shorter than in the Isles, it’s been dumped in my lap.

“I’ll ask Jaimin and Coryn to talk to Arimen about the sanctuary,” I concede. Since it seems like he’ll be talking anyway, it might as well be about something useful.

“Or you could do it,” Master counters.

“I don’t—” The pulse of the stone cuts me off.

“Talon?” Master’s voice is sharp, worried.

“It’s fine. I think… I think the stone wants us to leave the road.” That can’t be right.

A series of images rises in my mind’s eye: us, on the road; that oddly forked tree up ahead; us turning our horses off the road when we get to the tree, heading…east?

I blink the images away and peer ahead to the tree, looking for any sign of a turnoff. Part of me is aware of Leicht circling back from his scouting position ahead of us, veering off to the east to check for… anything.

Because there’s no road. Not even a goat track. And if I remember the map correctly, this part of Camblin is just farms, most of them lying fallow for the winter. We’re still not far enough south to get a reliable winter crop.

I rein Sweetie in. “Hold up for a moment.”

Jaimin circles his gray back to stop beside me. “What is it?”

“The stone wants us to turn here.”

He looks around. “Where, exactly? There’s nothing.”

“Talon?”

Turds.

“Master, the stone wants us to leave the road. I’ll update you when I know what’s happening.”

He sends an acknowledgment, and then our connection fades.

I glance up and down the road, see nobody, and pull the stone from its pouch. “Here?” I demand. “Really?”

~Yes~

“Ohhhh,” Arimen sighs. I try to block it out.

“To be clear, you want us to turn left at that forked tree?”

~Yes~

“Where there’s no road?”

~Yes~

This time it’s accompanied by a hint of impatience.

“Don’t get snippy with me. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good road that heads east somewhere along here—can’t we take that?”

~No~

Ignoring it, I fumble in my saddlebag for Tia’s map, wishing she was here. Reading maps is not my strength. Nevertheless, I get it unfolded—with my one free hand—and peer along the line that denotes the highway.

“Talon,” Jaimin begins, “maybe we should⁠—”

“There!” I jab at the map. “We should be there sometime tomorrow, right?” I glance at Jaimin. He sighs, leans in closer, and studies the map.

“Probably in the early afternoon,” he agrees.

“And it’s a perfectly good road, heading in exactly the direction you want. So we’ll take that.”

~No~

The sound that escapes me is a strangled scream of frustration.

“I guess we’re riding cross-country,” Coryn says. “At least the ground’s had a few days to dry off a bit since the last rain.”

On cue, we all look up at the dark gray clouds overhead.

“There is no road or village for miles,” Leicht reports. “A few farmhouses and barns. And it’s raining about two miles east of here.”

I glare at the stone. “I fucking hate you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

We make it less than a mile off the road before the rain reaches us—or we reach it. I hunch in my saddle, my heavy traveling cloak pulled close around me, and glower at the world for at least an hour.

The world doesn’t seem to notice. Or if it does, it doesn’t care.

Stupid world.

Finally, I sigh and twist halfway to see what the others are doing. They went suspiciously silent—and by “they,” I mean Arimen—while I was sulking.

Through the miserable rain, I note that Jaimin appears to be deep in thought, Coryn is alertly scanning the open—and deserted—fields around us, and Arimen… Well, Arimen is also looking around, but his expression is one of innocent delight and pleasure.

“What are you so happy about?” I bark, then wince. I swear, I didn’t mean it to come out so harshly. Though, in my defense, I’m cold and wet, my sister’s dead, I’m somehow bonded to a dragon, the continent is on the brink of war with zombies and civil war, and tonight I’m going to have to camp in the mud. From my perspective, there’s nothing to smile about.

Arimen’s face falls, and his lower lip trembles, but he sets his jaw and says, “I like the rain. After rain, things grow.”

Oh, blergh. I resist the urge to point out how much damage rain can cause—floods, landslides, idiots falling facedown into puddles and drowning—and instead grunt. “Come up and ride with me. I have questions for you.”

His eyes get big, and he casts a glance at Coryn, who nods encouragingly with a big smile. Hesitantly, he nudges his horse forward. I was relieved to see that he’s a competent rider—probably better than I was when we first set out. Or maybe his horse is just nicer to him.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Sweetie tosses her head and snorts loudly.

“Behave, or else,” I threaten her, and Arimen sucks in a sharp breath. I glance sideways at him. “Don’t worry, Sweetie and I talk to each other that way all the time.”

For some reason, that doesn’t look like it sets his mind at ease. Oh, well.

“I have some questions for you,” I repeat. “Tell me how you came to join the priesthood.”

He blinks those big green eyes at me in confusion. Whatever he was expecting me to ask, it obviously wasn’t that.

“I… I have a calling,” he begins hesitantly, and I gesture for him to elaborate. “Temple is the one place that always felt like peace for me,” he continues. “Even when I was small, I would go as often as I could. Our village is small, but we have a Temple of Wasianth there, and the priest is so kind. He never minded that I’d visit at odd times. He let me sit quietly, or he’d tell me the histories of the gods.” He pauses, and I nod. It sounds like he really does have a calling to the priesthood and not that he was bullied into it. That’s something, at least.

With a little more confidence, he adds, “The other children would get bored during temple or when we had religious teachings, but I never did. When I turned fourteen, my parents started talking about an apprenticeship for me, but I knew I wanted to join the temple. Wasianth’s specifically. The other gods are fascinating, but he’s… It feels like he’s my family.” Bright color suffuses his pale skin. “I’m sorry, that’s presumptuous. Of course a god isn’t⁠—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I understand. You felt a stronger connection to him than the other gods.” I suppose it can be compared to my connection with telepathy. Other forms of magic interest me, but telepathy is home.

He nods eagerly, encouraged by my comment. “I spoke to my priest about it, and he was overjoyed. He’s getting older, and he thought I’d be the perfect person to take over the village temple when my training was complete and he retired. Everybody knows me in the village—my father’s the baker—and my family has lived there forever. It seemed ideal.”

“It does.” Ideally boring, but just because I couldn’t wait to get away from home—and all my family except for Tia—doesn’t mean everyone’s the same. Some people like their parents.

I wonder what that feels like.

“He wrote to his superiors about me, hoping to gain permission to begin training me early—or at least to secure a place at a temple in Rebithia to train at once I came of age. We were all very surprised when the bishop came to the village to meet me.”

I straighten in my saddle. “The bishop? The same one I… met… the other day? He came all the way to the Halyn Isles to meet you?” That can’t be regular procedure. I know there are some priests whose job it is to travel to smaller villages, especially those that don’t have temples of their own, searching out any potential candidates for the priesthood. But none of them are bishops. And I very much doubt they’d bother to go all the way from Camblin to the Isles just to meet a fourteen-year-old who’s already expressed interest in becoming a priest.

“Yes. It was an h-honor.” His voice falters slightly. “He spoke with my priest for some time and then interviewed me. Afterward, he said there was a new training program the temples were beginning, and he thought I’d be a good candidate for it.”

I make a mental note to come back to that and ask, “What did you speak of when he interviewed you?”

Arimen shrugs restlessly. “My life. He wanted to know about my family and what life was like in the Isles, if I felt isolated by the lack of visitors and outsiders. He asked if I liked to ride or box or shoot. Things like that.”

The picture that’s forming in my mind is one I really don’t like. “Did he ask about your connection to Wasianth and your religious studies?”

He shakes his head. “No, but… I suppose my priest would have told him all that already.”

Probably, but still, given he was supposed to be interviewing Arimen for a career in the priesthood, it seems like the kind of thing they should have discussed. For the first time ever, I wish I understood more about the recruitment process for the temples.

“Then what happened? After he mentioned the new training program.”

“My priest was surprised. He’d never heard of a program that took candidates so young. It’s not unusual for someone like me to begin training early, but only within our own temple, so we can continue to live with our families until we’re of age.” He looks down at his saddle. “He thought it might be wiser for me to wait and join the program when I was older.”

It sounds to me as though his priest is genuinely looking out for his parishioners.

“But the bishop was insistent. He said he’d personally ensure I was placed at a temple where there was another acolyte my age, so I’d have a friend. I think my parents would still have refused, but when he pointed out that if I was doing an apprenticeship, I’d be leaving home at fourteen anyway…” He shrugged. “They gave their permission.”

“Did you?”

He jerks, his head snapping in my direction. “What?”

“You said your parents gave permission. Did you?”

His mouth opens and closes, and he looks lost. “I-It’s not… I was a child. I didn’t have permission to give.”

I hold in a sigh. I hate that I feel sympathy for him right now. “Did you want to leave your home right then? Did you agree to do so?”

There’s a small silence as he stares at me with his mouth agape. Finally, he whispers, “No.” Then a wave of color suffuses his face. “I mean—I wanted to serve Wasianth! I do. B-But⁠—”

“I know what you meant. You weren’t ready to leave the village and your family. Because, as you said, you were a child.” He still is, both technically and in so many other ways. “The bishop said he’d place you at a temple. How did you end up at the sanctuary?”

Arimen turns his attention back to the miserable, muddy fields ahead of us. “After we’d left the village, on the ship, he told me that he’d concealed the truth of the program. That there was more to it, but it was classified to certain ranks within the temple and the acolytes involved. He apologized for the need for secrecy.”

I resist the urge to turn Sweetie around and ride back to where the bishop is likely cowering in his beloved Sanctuary. If I’d known all this during our encounter, it would have gone very differently.

“It wouldn’t take me long to fly out to the coast and set the place alight,” Leicht muses. “It’s more satisfying in the rain… things burn slower and more painfully.”

The temptation is real.

“Not until we know more.” But definitely, one day, I’ll be sure that happens.

“What happened once you got to the Sanctuary?” I ask, moving away from the subject of him being pressured to leave home while he was still too young to advocate for himself… and trying not to make any mental comparisons to the way I just forced him to leave his home. This is different. I never would have brought him if the stone hadn’t said it was compulsory.

In response, the stone gives a comforting kind of pulse, reassuring me that I’ve done the right thing.

I’m not sure I believe it.

“Well… I was assigned to my mentor, and I started classes. There are other acolytes my age there, just like the bishop said,” he assures me. I’m sure he intended to set my mind at ease, but it does the opposite. I’ll have a lot to report to Master later. “Our class has its own dorm—there are twelve of us.”

“What kind of classes?” I press. My understanding of the usual process of joining the temples was that there is some studying, sure, but mostly shadowing the senior priest or priests and running errands. Doing things that would teach acolytes how to interact with worshipers on a daily basis and provide them guidance and aid. Those are the tenets of our gods—the reason I still have faith in the gods. Watching the temples stray farther and farther from that path, becoming more power-hungry and self-involved, is the reason I no longer have faith in the temples.

But this… this goes beyond that. How can acolytes be taught to tend to the people if they’re locked away, far from those very people?

“The histories of the gods,” he replies, “analysis and study of their deeds and time here. Study of religious texts written later, and how they correlate and conflict with what the gods represented while they were incarnate.”

Okay, that sounds reasonable, like the kind of thing a priest should probably know. Though for him to have done it for three years if he’s not planning to be a lifelong scholar seems a bit excess⁠—

“Medicinal herbs and healing tinctures,” he continues, and my train of thought screeches to a halt.

“There’s a healer at the Sanctuary?” It’s not uncommon for priests to know something about medicines. After all, there are more priests than healers in the world, and when the goal is to keep people alive, knowledge is shared freely. The Academy of Healers has a program that allows priests to visit for a unit of study on basic medicines and their uses, free of charge, all room and board covered. The only thing they ask in return is that any priest with an interest in learning about medicines come to the academy for training, rather than receiving secondhand instruction from someone who may not fully understand the finer nuances of body chemistry and biology.

“No,” Arimen replies uncertainly. “The class is taught by one of the senior priests.”

“Forgive me,” Jaimin interrupts, pulling his gray up on Arimen’s other side. His voice is as gentle as ever, but I know him well enough to hear the steely undertone. He’s not happy. “I’ve been eavesdropping, which is a terrible failing of mine, but I’m not certain I heard that clearly. Did you say a priest is teaching classes in medicines?”

Arimen nods. “Yes. It’s very interesting. I didn’t know that grinhelt leaves could be used to ease fevers and speed the healing of minor cuts.”

“Hmm,” Jaimin says. “They can indeed. What else were you taught about grinhelt leaves?”

Screwing up his face as though trying to remember, the boy says, “Well, for the most effectiveness, you need to harvest them after rain—when they’re still damp but not wet. But if you can only get dry ones, they’ll still work. You need to steep one leaf per hundred pounds of the patient’s body weight. And the tea must never be drunk chilled, or the body will flush it before it can take effect. Room temperature is best.” He smiles proudly.

“Yes, that’s excellent.” Jaimin returns his smile. “Anything else?”

Arimen’s confidence falters. “I-I don’t think so?”

“Well, it’s good for you to have this understanding of herbal medicines,” Jaimin tells him. “We can keep up your studies while we’re traveling. For instance, something very important to know about grinhelt leaves is that they should never be administered to anyone who weighs less than one hundred pounds.”

“Oh.” Arimen blinks a few times. “What about children, then?”

“Never give them to children. Even when the leaves were broken into smaller portions, more or less proportionate to body weight, the result in any person who weighs less than a hundred pounds is death.”

Whoa. I didn’t know that.

“An expert in medicines, are you?”

I ignore Leicht’s snide comment—it’s not rude of me, since he’s the eavesdropper—and watch as Arimen’s face goes ashen.

“Wh-Wh-What? Death?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jaimin’s tone stays calm and factual, but I can tell he’s angry. If he were closer, I’d pat his arm. “A great deal of research has been devoted to why, but the best anyone can determine is that the properties of the leaf that work so well to speed the healing of minor cuts are activated and multiplied when the leaf is broken. So half a leaf, which we might consider appropriate for a child weighing fifty pounds, actually causes an overdose. The same thing happens when the tea is more than an hour old—it becomes more potent over time.”

“The priest never said any of this,” Arimen gasps. “Someone needs to warn them!”

Jaimin glances over the boy’s head at me, and I nod. “Talon will ask his master to pass the message along. We’ll ensure that no harm is done. Tell me, how many classes have already graduated from the Sanctuary and joined the wider priesthood?”

“Only two. The program is still new.” Arimen’s eyes are wide, and he seems to be processing something he finds troubling. “Are… Is…” He lapses into silence, and I leave him be for the moment as our horses trudge through the endless damn rain. Try as I might, I can’t see what he sees in this weather—to me, it’s just wet and gloomy. Especially wet. My cloak is supposed to be waterproof, but somehow I’m feeling unmistakably damp underneath it, and I don’t even have the luxury of a hot bath to look forward to tonight. No inn, no village… if we’re lucky, there’ll be a barn. It’ll stink like old animal shit, but even if the roof leaks, it’ll be better than a godsdamned tent I’ll need to set up myself.

“You’re such a whiny human.”

“I hate you.”

“Mage Silverbright?”

“Talon,” I remind him. I may not want to be his friend, but not even I can insist he be formal with me when the others aren’t.

“May I see the stone, please?”

Taken aback, I stare at him. “Sorry?”

His cheeks flush pink and he avoids my gaze. “May I see the stone?”

Jaimin and I exchange a bewildered glance, and I mentally prod the stone. What does it want me to do?

“It’s just… looking at it makes my mind so much clearer,” he continues earnestly, just as the stone reassures me.

“Give me a moment.” I switch the reins to one hand, praying Sweetie doesn’t choose this time to assert her dominance over me, and reach under my cloak. It’s not easy, with my waterlogged leather gloves on—not to mention unpleasant—but I get a hand into my coat and shirt and manage to open the pouch.

This better be worth it, I tell the stone. There’s now cold, probably dirty water seeping down my sternum.

It pulses comfortingly, but I’m not comforted. I won’t be until this whole mess is over and I’m back at the academy. Maybe I’ll be able to use my newfound status as quester for the champion to get out of having to teach ever again.

Extending my arm toward Arimen means letting my cloak fall open to yet more miserable rain, but the peace that fills Arimen’s face makes it almost worth it.

Or at least, that’s what I’d say if I was a better person.

I count to thirty before he sighs and says, “Thank you.” Then begins the delightful struggle to get the stone back into its pouch.

“I think,” Arimen begins while I’m still wrestling with the opening of my shirt, “that maybe the Sanctuary is a bad place.”

I’m so surprised by his insight that I drop the damn stone—inside my shirt. It scrapes along my chest and winds up resting against my belly, right above my belt. I consider what it would take to retrieve it, then decide it’s fine there until we stop for the night.

“A bad place?” Jaimin asks cautiously.

“Yes. When I think about all the things my priest taught me about Wasianth, and all the things I read before I went there, and then I think about the way the priests at the Sanctuary wanted me to interpret them… I don’t think they’re truly holy.” He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes stricken. “Is that blasphemy? I didn’t mean to⁠—”

“It’s not blasphemy,” I say firmly. “It’s actually the most intelligent thing you’ve said so far.”

“Talon!” Jaimin scolds. Arimen looks even more stricken, and I relent.

“I think you’re a special young man, and not just because the stone wanted you to join us. You clearly have a true calling to serve your god. I respect that. But many of us have been aware for a while now that the temples aren’t always acting in the true ways of the gods. The Sanctuary is proof of that, and I’m glad you’ve recognized it.” While he’s processing that, I glance over my shoulder toward Coryn, riding about five yards behind us. “Why don’t you ride with Coryn for a while? He’s an excellent listener, and he has a perspective on this that Jaimin and I don’t, since we live at the academies.” It’s true, but Coryn’s also really good at cheering people up, and I think Arimen needs that right now.

I’ve got enough to deal with—I don’t need to add a mopey adolescent to the list.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A week later, we’re still plodding through the muddy countryside, though at least the rain’s stopped. The sun remains stubbornly absent, however, which means all our things are still damp. I’m fairly certain my bones are damp. All this rain has made me bitterly aware of the limitations of my magic—yes, I could have put a protective bubble over us to keep us dry, but expending that amount of magic for that much time, while moving, would have meant that if we were attacked, I would be already seriously depleted. What’s worse, being waterlogged or being killed by zombies and failing in my mission?

I’m only a little ashamed to say that I gave that question serious consideration.

One concession I did make to comfort was a small, shielded fire the night we had to camp in the rain, to allow us at least an hour of warmth and a hot meal. I also asked everyone to give me a small item they carried on their person, and I charmed them all—with magic, not my personality—to emit steady warmth, just like the teacup I charmed for Chelica, the head cook at the riders’ mess. With the unrelenting rain and this chill that seems to have set in under our skin, it’s something small to make continuing the journey easier.

For me, anyway. Arimen’s spent the last few days switching between his enchantment with all the good the rain is doing and his disappointment in the Temple of Wasianth. Every once in a while he throws in shining determination to “make things better” and “properly serve my god.” When his idealism shows its face, I ride ahead and let the others listen to his youthful zeal.

Coryn doesn’t even seem to notice the discomfort we’re going through. I would have thought the son of a duke would be a little more precious about such things, having grown up in wealth and splendor—gods know I am, and our estate wasn’t all that wealthy or splendid. But I guess he really is a soldier at heart, because as long as he has his horse and his mission, he’s content. Though, the warming charm fascinates him, and every once in a while I’ll see him cupping it in his hand and staring at it in delight. It’s very sweet, and I can’t deny that his solid, uncomplaining presence has been steadying.

The most comforting—and confusing—presence is Jaimin’s. He’s always ready to step in when frustration overcomes me and I get snappish. He knows when I need quiet time and when I want him to talk to me. He’s steady and quiet, but sometimes I’ll catch him in a moment of whimsy—like when we found a chest of old children’s toys in a barn, and he lined up all the little wooden people and gave them names and stories. Sometimes I can’t believe that not so long ago, I barely knew him and was worried about traveling with him.

Now, I couldn’t do this without him. Do anything without him. And that terrifies me.

“It would terrify you less if you acted on your feelings,” Leicht scoffs. “You’re just being stubborn. Tia hated how stubborn you are.”

“She used to say the same thing about you to me,” I retort. I’ve given up on ignoring him. He’s so damn pushy, it was impossible.

He’s also wrong, though. I absolutely would not be less terrified if I acted on the feelings I’m still refusing to acknowledge.

His harrumph is impressive, but since it’s wordless, I can get away with ignoring it. I know I need to explore our bond properly, but I… can’t. Not yet. No matter what Master and Jaimin say.

I’m thankfully distracted from that thought when Jaimin reins in beside me and Sweetie and says in a low voice, “I think I know where we’re headed. I just don’t know why.”

“To find the champion?” I suggest hopefully. Although, out here in the muddy fields, that seems like an impossible task. Unless the champion is some kind of mud monster, which I don’t think I’m ready for.

“It’s possible, but unlikely, since the place has been abandoned for a hundred years.”

I shoot him a sharp glance. “Please don’t say the stone is taking us to the site of a tragic massacre that’s haunted by the ghosts of those murdered.”

Leicht’s snort in my head is echoed by Jaimin’s chuckle. “No. Not a massacre. Have you ever heard of Caimae?”

My brows draw together as I try to remember. It sounds vaguely familiar. Caimae… Caimae… The etymology is Camblish, but I don’t remember a city by that name. Not that there are any cities this far inland anyway, not since⁠—

“No fucking way,” I burst out. “The dead city? Why?”

Arimen breaks off midsentence and twists around in his saddle to look at me. “There’s a dead city? How does a city die? Are we going there? Will there be bodies in the streets? If there are, we need to lay them to rest. It’s not right that they’ve just been abandoned there. We’ll do the best we can to give them last rites, and then… I guess it will have to be a mass grave, since there aren’t enough of us to dig all those individual graves. Wait, maybe we should have a pyre instead, so nobody can try to zombify them.”

I stare at him with my mouth agape. Is he serious? How did he build that entire narrative from the three words I said? I turn to Jaimin with a pleading expression, but as always, he just looks amused.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep your voice down,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair that you be the one to explain.”

Did I say him not being here would be terrible? I’m reconsidering that.

“There are no bodies in the streets,” I call irritably to Arimen. He circles his horse around to join us, much to my displeasure.

“Then why’s it called the dead city? And where is it?”

“It’s not called the dead city; it’s referred to as that. It’s called Caimae, and it’s in the hills closer to the border between Camblin and Laisanne.”

Arimen’s youthful face creases with a frown. “I don’t remember learning about any cities there. Aren’t those hills inhospitable?”

Grudgingly, I mentally applaud whoever educated him in geography. “They are. Caimae is still there, but it hasn’t been populated in a hundred years. And before you jump to any conclusions, it’s not because everyone died. They left.”

His green eyes widen. “Why?”

“Drought. The city was built well into the hills, and it’s almost impossible to get trade goods in and out—including basic supplies like food and clothing. The only point of access for large shipments or heavy goods is the river—it runs from the city all the way to the coast. But after a few years of serious drought⁠—”

His gasp cuts me off. “You’re talking about the floating city.”

Jaimin must see how thin my patience is wearing, because he says gently, “It doesn’t actually float. It was built into the hills around the source lake for the river.”

“I know that, but all the books say it looks like it’s floating. It’s said that the city was built in Wasianth’s favorite place in the world, and the temple to him there is considered his home.” His eyes shine with renewed religious fervor.

Uh-oh.

I look at Jaimin and raise a brow, wondering if that’s true. He shrugs in return. It seems neither of us paid that much attention to that part of our religious studies… such as they were.

“I’m sure that’s true, but since Wasianth isn’t here to confirm it, let’s put it aside for now and focus on our priority, which is finding the champion. I doubt they’re going to be hanging out in a crumbling, abandoned city.”

“You don’t know that,” Arimen insists stubbornly. “They could be a devotee of Wasianth, there on a pilgrimage to reconnect with their faith.” From the set expression on his face, I have a suspicion that he himself is now planning to do exactly that.

I sigh. “If that’s the case, the stone will take us to them. Gods know, I can’t think of anything else out this way that we might be heading toward—except Laisanne, and if the stone made us trek cross-country to get there when we could have used the perfectly good highway or gone by ship, I’m going to grind it to dust.”

Tsking reprovingly, our acolyte chides, “You shouldn’t speak so of a holy object. I’m going to tell Coryn where we’re going, and you should take a moment to consider your words and actions.” He rides off, leaving me speechless.

Leicht, on the other hand, is laughing. A lot.

“I liked him better when he was afraid of me,” I gripe to a grinning Jaimin. At least he has the courtesy not to laugh out loud.

“No, you didn’t. You’re glad he’s finding a backbone.”

I sniff. Maybe. “If we really are heading for Caimae, I don’t know why the stone didn’t just have us find a ship. We could have sailed down the coast and up the river and been there by now, or very nearly. As it is, we have another, what, three weeks at this pace?”

“We might not be going there after all,” Jaimin concedes, “but…”

“Yeah. There’s really nothing else, unless the stone wants us to meet a farmer along the way.” I give it a mental nudge, hoping for some kind of clue, but it remains silent.

“Look at the bright side,” Jaimin consoles me. “I’m starting to see signs of a farm, which means we might stumble across a homestead tonight. If we’re lucky, the farmer will let us sleep in the barn.”

Yippee.

Jaimin’s right (as he usually is), and we see the main farmhouse on a rise to the south almost two hours later. I’m willing to bet it’s not far from a road of some kind—and possibly even a village. No sooner has the thought entered my head, though, than the stone is blasting me with disapproval.

I peer down at my chest and mutter, “I didn’t say we had to go find the village,” even though that was, in fact, what I was thinking. Stupid rock knows me too well. “Can we at least go to the farmhouse?”

~No~

“Rude.” Sure, it looks like it’s maybe an hour’s ride from here, and we wouldn’t even be able to see it if it weren’t on that hill, but it won’t take us that far out of our way.

The stone is still giving off negative sensations, though, so I sigh and concede defeat. I suppose we’ll be camping again tonight.

“There is some kind of structure ahead of you. Perhaps a mile away,” Leicht reports.

“Is it empty?” And what exactly does “some kind of structure” mean?

In reply, he sends me an image of a cabin. It’s not all that large, but from this angle, I can see it has four walls and a roof that are in decent repair, and there’s even a covered area attached to the back that would shelter the horses. No smoke is coming from the stone chimney, and I can’t see tracks in the mud that would indicate people have been coming or going.

Leicht’s eyesight really is extraordinary.

“Every part of me is extraordinary,” he boasts, and I focus on screening him out.

“Leicht says there’s shelter for us about a mile ahead,” I tell Jaimin, and he nods.

“It’ll be nice not to camp. I think it might rain again tonight.”

Delightful.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Leicht, actually,” he continues, and I wince. No doubt he’s planning to say the same things Master has been—if Leicht and I are bonded, which it appears we are, I need to stop pretending this will all go away and actually explore what that means.

Much like my feelings for Jaimin, which I’m putting true effort into ignoring, the bond with Leicht is something I’d prefer not to think about.

The ghost of Tia’s impatience haunts me, but I push that aside too. I can’t believe she’d truly want this—to be replaced in this way so completely.

So all I say to Jaimin is a vague “Oh?” Hopefully he’ll get the hint that this isn’t up for discussion.

He does not.

Keeping his voice low so the others can’t hear, he says, “Aside from the fact that you’re underutilizing one of the few tactical advantages we have in this fight, have you stopped to consider what the riders and other dragons might do when this is over?”

Leicht’s shock is an echo of my own. “What do you mean?”

Jaimin shrugs. “This bond is completely out of the ordinary. You never went through the riders’ academy and have no training to be a rider. The fact that you’re also a mage is going to make a lot of people very nervous, and there’s going to be political pressure on the riders to act. Leicht was bonded to your sister—the dragons will argue that they can’t allow a precedent to be set where a dragon can be inherited. It gives the impression that dragons are lesser than their riders, or even chattel of some kind.”

Leicht’s growl rumbles through my head. “Relax,” I tell him. “Nobody’s saying that’s true. Only an idiot would believe it.” I heard enough from Tia to know that the dragons take their independence very seriously.

“You think people will try to separate a dragon from his bonded because of politics?” I scoff. “I’d like to see them try. I doubt any of the dragons would allow it.” “Right?” I add privately to Leicht, and get a grunt of agreement.

There’s an edge of uncertainty that worries me, though.

Jaimin shakes his head. “Under normal circumstances, nobody would dare,” he agrees. “But if you and Leicht aren’t showing outward signs of the bond, there are going to be some challenges. There will be people from all three academies who dislike the idea of you having so much additional power. The temples will hate it, and I’m willing to wager some of the monarchs will too.”

“None of them can do anything but talk,” I insist. “Petty envy is something I’ve been subjected to before.”

He sighs. “You’re not listening to me, Talon. Yes, all they can do is talk, but if they talk enough and say the right things, there’s going to be a lot of pressure put on the councils—and the dragons. Bonding a dragon comes with certain responsibilities—military service, for example. If those people start pointing out that you never ride Leicht, that you’re not fulfilling the duties of a rider, that you act more like a mage than a dragon rider⁠—”

“I am a mage.”

“Right now, you’re both,” he counters. “You’ve bonded a dragon. However that came to be, as much as all of us wish it was different, that’s the truth of it. But you and Leicht aren’t making any effort to deepen the bond, and that will be used against you. Especially since we—all three of us, your master, and the stone—deceived two riders and two dragons. They think this is temporary. That it’s not a full bond. Do you want them investigating ways it could be severed? Do you want them plotting to kill either or both of you?”

I stay silent. Not only do I not have a good answer for that, but I’m also feeling sick to my stomach and somewhat panicky at the thought. I don’t know how much of that is me and how much is Leicht, but it’s fair to say that as much as we antagonize each other, neither of us wants to be forcibly parted—or dead.

“Just think about it,” Jaimin says into the silence. “When this is over and it’s revealed that the bond is permanent, you and Leicht need to be a united front. Solid. Powerful enough that nobody would dare try to separate you—and you need to be prepared for whatever the councils will ask of you. The outcome otherwise isn’t going to be good for anyone except your enemies.”

“I cannot lose another bonded,” Leicht murmurs, almost too softly for me to “hear.” I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me. It doesn’t matter. However we came to be bonded, Leicht is one of my last remaining ties to Tia. She would want us to look after each other, and she would definitely not want us dead.

“I need to think about this.” It’s all I’m willing to commit to right now, even though I know what I have to do.

“That’s fine, but don’t think too long. We don’t know what’s waiting for us, and this idle time while we travel through sparsely populated areas would be ideal for flying lessons.”

My stomach takes a nosedive at the thought. “I said I’d think about it,” I snap. Me? Fly? Up high in the air?

“Yes, but I only mean⁠—”

“Leave me be, Jaimin. I’ll think about it. That’s the end of the conversation.”

He presses his lips together and looks forward. His face doesn’t otherwise change, but I get the distinct impression he’s upset. Good. I’m not exactly happy right now either.

Flying. Lessons.

On a dragon.

Where it’s cold and windy.

Oh, and let’s not forget the maybe-falling part. Tia spent weeks being taught what to do in case she fell from her dragon before she was allowed to start flying, and then a whole semester actually falling before she got the hang of it. First-year riders die even more than first-year mages, mostly from falling off a dragon.

And here I am, untrained, with nobody to teach me, expected to learn to ride a dragon who still mostly hates me.

“That may be,” Leicht agrees, “but I wouldn’t let you die.”

I suppress my instinctive response, but I’m pretty sure he guessed what it was, because his presence in my mind dims, as though he’s screened himself off. I can’t blame him—even if I never said it, thinking of Tia’s death in that moment was hurtful. To both of us.

It seems like I’m just pissing people off all over the place this afternoon.

As though on cue, Master chooses that moment to reach out to me. “Talon?”

Holding back a sigh, and trying not to sound impatient, I reply, “Yes?”

“The temples have responded at last.”

I straighten in my saddle. We’ve been waiting for this—do the high priests intend to tear the continent apart, or will they concede their wrongdoing?

“And?”

“They apologize most profusely for the accidental death of a dragon rider and will pay reparations. They further apologize for inadvertently endangering Master Kahwyn, for whom they have the greatest respect.”

“Let me guess, they’re not going to offer us lodging and supplies,” I say sardonically. We didn’t really expect that, and it’s not like there’s a temple out here that we can stop in at, but still. It would have been nice.

“Let me finish, Talon.” Master pauses. “However, despite their deep regret over Tia’s death and the danger to Jaimin, they maintain that they had every right to attempt to take the stone into safekeeping, and that in knowingly preventing them from doing so, you thwarted the will of the gods. Talon, they’ve declared you outcast and a fugitive from the temples.”

Well, fuck.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I’m still fuming when we reach the cabin, and not even the fact that it’s very comfortable can shake my mood. I’m not sure which part annoys me more, and that in itself is a surprise. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be upset about the temples declaring me outcast, I would have laughed it off. It’s not like I have a particularly high opinion of the temples, after all.

But to be declared outcast—no longer a son of the gods, unrecognized by them and therefore essentially less than every other being in the world—is a major thing. The temples reserve it for the worst of the worst, crimes so heinous that any decent person is sickened by them. Raising zombies, for instance. To cast me out, simply because I refuse to give them the stone… that’s infuriating. Offensive.

It completely reinforces my opinion that the gods need to do something about their priests.

Sweetie gives me a shove, though it’s without her usual vim, and I glare at her. “Not tonight, you demon. I’m not in the mood.”

Her nostrils flare and ears go back, and I realize how stupid it is to offend the horse I’ll have to ride tomorrow. “I’m sorry. I’m not annoyed with you.” She’s been shockingly well-behaved lately. “Are you warm enough?”

She glares for a moment longer, then tosses her head in dismissal, and I take that as my cue to leave. It’s likely that she’ll be warmer in the shelter with the other horses than I will be in the cabin.

I deliberately dawdled over getting her settled so the others would go inside and I could have some time alone to sulk, but now that I’m actually going to have to face them all and tell them what’s happened, I realize I didn’t spend nearly long enough dawdling. I’m sure I could give her hooves more attention. Or maybe brush her coat… again. For the third time.

I hesitate midstep and cast a longing glance back toward the shelter, then sigh. Sweetie might turn carnivore and rip my throat out if I go back there.

Instead, I enter the cabin.

In my snippy mood before, I didn’t really take in the details when I dropped my pack inside the main door. Now, I do, and realize this isn’t a run-of-the-mill cabin for farmworkers to save time on travel from the main bunkhouse and back every day while working these fields. This was once someone’s home, and it’s been kept in good order. The main living space has a kitchen along one wall, with a proper stove as well as the large hearth, a cozy table, two chairs, and two overstuffed armchairs with accompanying footstools. The floor is covered with a dusty but pretty braided rug.

I raise my gaze to the loft, where I can see Jaimin’s tall form, and then movement from the left catches my eye, and I glance that way. There’s an open door, and through it I spy Arimen sitting on the end of a big bed, chatting animatedly to… Coryn, I hope. I can’t see him from this angle, but I can’t imagine who else it would be.

A folding screen partitioning off the corner completes the cabin, and I send up a prayer to the gods that it’s hiding a tub… though the thought of having to fill it myself isn’t all that appealing.

“Could you all come in here, please?” I call. Before I can have a hot bath and hopefully a hot meal, I need to tell them the news.

“Are you okay?” Coryn asks as he emerges from the room, concern shining from his eyes, and I muster a smile. It feels twisted and off-center.

“Yes. Mostly. I know I’ve been… less than enthusiastic today. I’ll try to be better.” I really shouldn’t make promises I know I can’t keep.

Arimen pops out from behind Coryn’s wall of muscle. “All you can do is try,” he says earnestly. “Just be guided by the gods.”

I try really hard not to grimace. This news isn’t going to hit him well.

Jaimin comes down the ladder, his face a little wary. He’s not sure what I’m planning to say, and I feel a sharp stab of regret that I’ve made him worry about that. He deserves better from me.

“So.” I take a deep breath. “My master reached out to me earlier. The temples have responded to the demands made by the academies.” Their interest sharpens, and Arimen bites his lip.

I run them through the first parts, about reparations and apologies, and then I hesitate.

“Wasn’t there more to our demands?” Jaimin asks intently. “An apology to the mages and an assurance of our safe conduct on this mission?”

Here it comes. “Yes. They declined that part. Instead, they cast me out and declared me a fugitive.”

The words fall like stones into the shocked silence, and eventually I can’t take it anymore.

“I, uh, I haven’t consulted with the stone about this yet, but since anyone with me will probably be considered an accomplice, maybe it will release you⁠—”

~No~

“Or maybe not,” I concede. “I’m sorry. Hopefully if we encounter any more priests, they’ll be content to come after me and leave you all alone. It might be best if we try to avoid them, though.” I don’t want to go to prison, ever, but especially not before I finish this mission. Tia’s counting on me.

“I don’t understand,” Arimen says blankly. “How… Maybe they just need to see the stone. Once they do, they’ll stop this. We’re on a holy mission!”

His earnest naivete only makes me feel worse. “Unfortunately, it’s not possible to show them the stone at this point.” And I don’t think it would make a difference. They know what we’re trying to do, and they haven’t addressed it at all. Instead, their focus has been on retrieving the “holy relic.”

“Didn’t the councils smooth things over with the temples after we left Lenledia?” Jaimin asks. “I assumed that the bishop at the Sanctuary just hadn’t received the news yet.”

I shrug. “That’s what I thought too. But apparently, the temples told the councils one thing and then continued with their plans to arrest me anyway.” I’m a tiny bit bitter about that. I’m trying to save the world, dammit. Or at least find the person who’s going to do it. Doesn’t that take precedence over kowtowing to the priesthood?

Arimen is still shaking his head and muttering about how the temples have betrayed the gods, and why can’t they see how important this is, but Coryn is quiet.

“If we’re stopped by priests again, let me handle it,” I tell him. “Don’t do anything to get on their radar.”

His placid calm vanishes, and suddenly he’s scary Coryn—the soldier who hacks his way through the enemy and deliberately drips blood from his sword onto unconscious prisoners. “Anybody who tries to get to you will go through me,” he declares. “Anybody who tries to take the stone from you if it doesn’t want to go will meet my sword. I know what my role is on this journey, and it’s not to let you handle any trouble.”

I’d be offended by the implication that I can’t handle myself when there’s trouble, but I’m too busy being touched by the sentiment behind his words. Still…

“Coryn—”

“No.” He holds up a big hand. “You might be in charge when it comes to the mission and the magic stuff, but protecting everyone is my job. Maybe I didn’t know Tia all that long, but you get to know people when you’re traveling together, and I know she’d never have let the temples take you. Let me honor her by standing in her place now.”

My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. Instead, I clear my throat, give myself a moment, then just nod. “Thank you.” The words are choked. “She liked you a lot, Coryn. I think she was already planning the best way to keep you when this is all done.”

His smile is sad, not like his usual grin at all. “I wasn’t planning to let any of you out of my life forever either.”

“That human is a rare gift,” Leicht says, startling me. Aside from an outburst of rage when he heard Master’s news, he’s been unusually quiet for the past two hours. “I would not allow the priests to have you either. Humans aren’t the only ones who have instructions.”

I blink. “What does that mean?” I ask, but apparently he’s done with talking, so I muster a return smile for Coryn and say, “Leicht likes you too.” He beams, genuine pleasure returning to his face.

“Are we all agreed, then?” Jaimin asks, looking at Arimen. “We go on with our mission and hope the temples don’t find us, but if they do, we let Coryn defend Talon and the stone and get away as fast as we can.”

Arimen lifts his chin, green eyes flashing. “Agreed. When this is over, I’m going to find a way to fix the corruption in the priesthood. Our gods deserve better.”

Because apparently saving the world isn’t enough—he has to fix our religion as well. Was I ever that young and enthusiastic?

“Now,” he continues, “I found an old handwritten book of folklore in the bedroom, so after dinner, we can read stories!”

Gods’ turds.

“…never expected that she would befriend one of the godsborn and be swept off to new adventures away from the farm, but when she looked back on her life, she knew she’d lived it the way she was supposed to. After all, how could one refuse the will of the gods?” Arimen sighs and lowers the book, and I jerk out of my doze. In the chair across from me, Jaimin’s eyes have a glazed look, and Coryn long ago stretched out on the floor for a nap.

“Thank you, Arimen,” I manage, just in case he has any plans to read more. Whoever collected all this folklore was determined about it—the book is thick. The first few stories were mildly interesting, but I’ve heard versions of them before—as a child—and it didn’t take long for me to zone out. “I think it might be time for bed. We have an early start tomorrow.” Something I never thought to be grateful for.

“Oh! Good point.” He glances down at Coryn and his brow furrows. “Was I… boring?” His suddenly stricken expression has Jaimin hastening to reassure him.

“Coryn has to be extra alert all day, as our guard, and that means he needs a lot of rest at night. The brain is very strange like that.”

“Ohhhh. Is that why I’m always so tired when I’ve been studying all day?”

Jaimin nods. “Yes, exactly. Why don’t you wake him so he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor all night?”

Ten minutes later, Arimen and Coryn have disappeared into the bedroom, and Jaimin and I are up in the loft, where I look at the rather lumpy—though large—feather mattress.

“A mattress indoors is better than the mud,” I mutter, unrolling my bedding beside Jaimin’s as he takes off his boots.

“It is.” The usual note of amusement is absent from his voice. “What an unusually positive perspective from you.”

Sighing, I take off my own boots and then join him on the mattress, extinguishing the magelight as I do.

“I owe you an apology,” I say to the darkness. He doesn’t respond, but I can sense he’s listening. “I was rude this afternoon, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’re thinking of me, I know that.”

There’s a moment of silence, then a quiet rustle as the mattress shifts. I think he’s rolled over to face me.

“I care about you,” he says softly. “Leicht being bonded to you is dangerous. It’s going to upset a lot of people, and I want to make sure you’re as safe from them as possible.”

“Tell the healer his concern is unfounded. The dragons will stand by us,” Leicht announces cryptically.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why will they?”

He doesn’t answer, and I turn my attention back to Jaimin.

“I know. I appreciate that—so much more than I can say.” I don’t add that soft words are hard for me. We’ve been traveling together long enough, been through enough, that he’s aware of it already.

Although, it’s only been a few months. It just feels like forever.

“It’s… I…” The explanation he deserves gets stuck in my throat.

“You don’t want to solidify the bond with Leicht because that will feel like you’re erasing Tia completely?” he suggests, and a breathy sob explodes from me. “That’s not how it is, Talon. The people closest to you know that. You and Leicht were the ones who loved Tia most, and neither of you will ever let her be erased. She’ll always be part of your lives… but those lives will look different without her. And you know she’d hate it if either of you was killed because you refused to strengthen the bond out of some sense of loyalty to her.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I examine the truth of what he’s saying and then accept it on a sharp exhale. “How do you know me so well?” I murmur.

“I care about you.”

He said that before, and the words are innocuous enough, but something in his tone makes my heart beat faster. I don’t know what to say next.

“You shouldn’t.”

“You’re an idiot.” Leicht’s growl of annoyance echoes in my head.

“Fuck off. This is none of your business.”

He huffs, but I once again feel that sense of distance that means he’s put some kind of privacy barrier between our thoughts.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Now Jaimin’s amused, and while I’m glad to hear the fondness I’ve grown so used to from him, I can’t help wishing I hadn’t made him want to laugh at me in this moment. Maybe Leicht’s right and I am an idiot.

But… if Jaimin really does mean what I think he means—hope and yet fear he means—how do I deal with that? I’ve never felt that way about a person before. Not really. Not where it means something, with someone I know well and who knows me.

Not with someone who might feel the same way.

This wouldn’t be a meaningless sexual encounter. It wouldn’t be careless flirting to enjoy an evening or two. If something happened between me and Jaimin, it would be…

Earthshaking.

Heart-stopping.

Perfect… until I ruined it.

“I’m not… I don’t…” Fuck, I don’t know how to put all that into words. “I jumped out of a window and fell down the mountain trying to fly,” I try. “You’re the plague slayer.”

There’s a little pause, and then he says, “Could you make a light?”

But the darkness is so safe. So insulating. If I make a light, he’ll be able to see how hard this is for me. “I don’t want to.”

He chuckles. “Please, Talon.”

Damn him. How can I refuse him anything? Him, the man who’s supported me so unfailingly since this journey began?

I make a small, dim magelight, but the sudden glow in the dark makes it seem brighter than it is.

He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at me. Shadows play over his face, but even in the dimness I can see his beautiful eyes. His mouth is serious now, the ever-present quirk missing, but somehow the ghost of it is still there.

I never would have imagined anyone’s face could be so dear to me.

“Plague slayer is a ridiculous label,” he says solemnly. “I know it, and you know it. Yes, I cured a plague. I have a gods-given Talent, and I worked hard and studied hard, and maybe the gods never intended the plague to strike and were glad for me to cure it. We can’t know. The truth is, I’ve been an outlier my whole life. I’ve always felt like I was apart, different. I thought when I came to the academy it would be different; that being with others like me would finally mean I was part of the group.”

“But there are no others like you,” I realize, then wince.

He nods sadly. “Not for the reason they think, but yes. People are so in awe of the Talent I was born with that they think I’m different—better—than them. They treat me with deference, even when I hadn’t earned it. I don’t ever want you to think of me that way, Talon.”

I grimace and sit up. “The thing is,” I say candidly, “you are better than most people. Not because of your Talent—that just makes you Talented. Master Meele is extraordinarily Talented, and yet he’s an ass and an idiot and certainly isn’t better than anyone.”

He laughs quietly, and I revel in the sound.

“No, you’re better than other people because of how you treat them. You care. Part of that is the healer in you, but there are other healers that don’t care anywhere near as much as you. Healers who wouldn’t have bothered helping people in the village we stopped at after the first zombie attack. You heard they had no healer, and you went out to aid them, even though that’s not what you were there for.”

“It’s my calling.”

I nod. “And that’s what makes you better than other people. That, and how hard you work, and your sense of humor, and the way you can make oatcakes taste… well, not good, because that’s impossible, but better than paper and ashes.”

“Thank you,” he says dryly. “It’s good to know that if I decide to give up healing, I have a future career making oatcakes to look forward to.”

I take a deep breath. I seem to be doing that a lot tonight. “You know what I meant. You’re an extraordinary man, Jaimin. It would be impossible for me not to recognize that.”

He smiles faintly. “And yet, you don’t watch your tongue with me.”

My wince is involuntary. “I really am sorry I snapped⁠—”

“No, not what you said this afternoon—though your apology is accepted. I meant, you’re not constantly careful of what you say to me. You talk to me as though I’m part of the group—the way you spoke to Tia, even. As though I’m a close friend.”

“I’d like to think you are.” I tread carefully with him for the first time since we left the City of Knowledge. “I’d like to think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had aside from Tia.”

“I’d like to be more.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I’d like to be more….

His words echo through the still of the night—or maybe just through my brain. This is it. The crux of my dilemma. Because I want that too, more than anything, but I don’t deserve it.

Everything I’ve said about him being better than other people is true. He’s an incredible human being, and I’m… me. Not that I think I’m terrible, but I can recognize my own shortcomings, and I have… a few.

Some might say a lot.

I’ve been silent too long, because his face closes over, the animation in his expression fading. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We won’t speak of this again.”

“No,” I blurt. “I mean, you haven’t made me uncomfortable. I…” Fuck. How do I say this without making it sound like a cliché?

“You don’t have to feel the same as I do,” he says gently, and that makes me feel even worse. He’s trying to make me feel better about rejecting him, and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I do, though.” I force myself to keep going. “I just… I don’t think I’m… worthy.” I almost choke on that word, but I can’t deny it’s true. Jaimin deserves someone who’s just as extraordinary as he is. And when he finds that person, I’ll loathe and despise them from afar, because if I get too close, there’s a good chance I’ll claw their eyes out. Or set them on fire.

“You don’t need to make excuses, Talon.” He’s still using his gentle voice.

“It’s not an excuse,” I protest. “I’m a level-2 mage whose studies have gone off the rails lately.” To be fair, that’s not really my fault. It’s the stone’s. “People all over the world adore you, but even the ones closest to me think I’m smart-mouthed and difficult. You should be with someone who everyone—” I stop. Was I really about to say that he should base his future relationship on what other people think?

“I see you’ve realized how ridiculous you’re being,” he says dryly. “While you’re trying to think of a way to phrase it that will actually make sense—which it won’t, since it doesn’t—let me tell you why I think you are, in fact, the right person for me.”

I don’t have an answer yet, so I simply nod.

“You’re a level-2 mage,” he repeats what I said, “but you’re one of the top ten percent of mages to have reached level-2 within the time that you did. You’re an exceptional Talent, though we both agree that’s an accident of birth rather than an achievement. But, unlike many exceptional Talents, you’ve actually worked hard to learn and progress your career. I admire that. You also teach while studying, which most, if not all, of your peers do not do.”

“I only teach because I’m forced to,” I point out, and he smiles.

“Do you? Who forces you?”

“The dean. I tried to resist,” I remind him.

“That’s right. The first year, you ignored your class until having them follow you around got too annoying. How long was that for, again?”

“A week.” He’s trying to make a point, and I’m fairly certain I’m not going to like it.

He nods. “A week. And if you hadn’t given in, how much longer do you think the dean would have allowed the first years to go without instruction?”

I open my mouth—and close it again. Is he right? Could I have won the game the dean and I were playing if I’d just held out a little longer?

Probably, yes.

“I see you’re catching on. So, not only do you teach the first years, arguably the most important teaching job there is, but you also have an unblemished record for keeping them alive. You put effort into teaching them the right way.”

“How do you know that?” It comes out more of a demand than a question.

His mouth quirks. “People may think you’re smart-mouthed and difficult, but they also recognize your positive traits. They might not like you, but they admire you. They talk about you. And you’re universally thought well of in the Healers’ academy for how you treat your students. We healers see a lot.”

I can’t help the glow of pride that warms me. I might not want to teach, but I do work hard for my students, even when they annoy me. It’s nice to know people recognize that.

“Don’t forget,” he adds, “that I’m seeing firsthand how worried you are about your students. We’ve talked about it. You check in with your master far more than you used to, and my guess is that it’s so you can ask about their welfare.”

I press my lips together. It’s true, but I hadn’t realized that he’d put the pieces together. It’s hard for me not to worry about Drey and Lenora and Cary and the rest. They were my responsibility, and I keep wondering if I fucked everything up and failed to give them a sufficient grounding in magic. Every time I see smoke in the distance—smoke that could be a normal sign of farm or village life or could be a sign of dragons burning zombies—I wonder if one of my students is there, supporting the mage paired with that dragon.

Jaimin’s not finished. “You’re also the only person the source of all creation deemed fit to be its guardian on this journey, and before you call yourself an errand boy or something like it, remember that the stone influenced others so it could be brought to you. It didn’t want anyone else. Right now, until we find the champion, you are the single most important person on the continent. But ultimately, none of that matters in this situation,” he continues. “What matters is that you’re clever and sharp and kindhearted. What matters is that I enjoy every second we spend together, even under these circumstances. I want to spend more time with you, all the time. When you smile, it makes me happy, and when you’re sad, it rips my heart out. I love talking to you, love the way you meet everyone on their own level no matter who they are, love that you’re looking out for Arimen even though nobody would blame you if you avoided him completely.”

I try not to wince at that. After all, I did try to avoid him completely, and I wasn’t exactly kind to him those first few days.

“I love your sense of responsibility even though I know you don’t want to be here. I love how much you loved your sister and the relationship you had with her. I look at you, and my whole body aches to be closer to you, but I would give that up and be content to just be your friend if I had to. Because having you in my life is better than not having you in my life.”

I’m speechless.

“The only thing that matters right now, Talon, is how you feel. If you don’t have those feelings for me, that’s okay. We’ll never speak of this again, and things will go back to how they were. What we’re doing is too important to be derailed. But if my suspicions are right and you do feel the same way I do⁠—”

“I do.” I cut him off. “Gods help me, I do. I… I couldn’t do this without you, but more importantly, I wouldn’t want to. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and you’re kind and intelligent and make me feel like the most special person in the world when you talk to me. I love the way you care about everyone, and the way you take charge sometimes like you were born to lead us all. I love the way you take such pleasure out of small things and the way your mouth is always smiling—like that!” I exclaim as his lips quirk. “I keep going on this mission because it’s my duty and Tia would have wanted me to, but when I think about going back to my life after… The only reason I want to keep existing when this is over is because you’re in the world and I won’t give up a second of time I could spend with you. I love… you. All of you. Everything about you. You.” I sputter to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away from his. Those brown eyes are so warm right now, warm and welcoming and sending me a message that I never dreamed I could see there.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmurs, but before he can move, I swoop in and take his lips with mine.

Fire roars through me and only intensifies when he deepens the kiss, putting his arms around me and drawing our bodies together. Sitting the way that we are, it’s awkward, but I don’t care. It doesn’t matter—nothing does except the fact that I’m kissing Jaimin, that finally I’m touching him the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m kissing him, and he wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him.

Eventually, he breaks the kiss, though he doesn’t pull away. “More?” he murmurs against my mouth. “I want to know every part of you.”

“Every part of me belongs to you,” I promise.

Our clothes melt away amidst languid kisses that grow hotter and hotter, until we fall sideways to the lumpy mattress, wrapped in each other’s arms and the heat of our need. If I’d had a choice, the place I would have chosen to pleasure Jaimin for the first time would have a plush bed, silken sheets, rich wine, and a crackling fire. There would be an array of tempting foods for me to feed to him, plus a selection of the finest oils to use on each other.

Instead, we have a dusty, musty loft with an old mattress in an overlooked cabin. The fire has long given up, and dinner was… well, it was food. As for the oils—that’s a luxury we’ll have to work around for now.

But none of that matters with our bodies pressed together, our breath mingling. I have Jaimin; he has me. And as we writhe together, skin sliding against skin, and finally push each other to a pinnacle of joy, I acknowledge that Leicht was right.

I would have been an idiot to give this up.

And I never will.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I wake in an exceptionally good mood, and it’s entirely due to the wonderful man wrapped around me. Or am I wrapped around him? It’s hard to tell.

The temptation is strong to delay travel for a few days so we can stay wrapped around each other, but I have a feeling the stone won’t stand for that. Jaimin probably wouldn’t, either—it’s an irresponsible decision. Not to mention, the loft isn’t completely enclosed, and it would be very awkward for Coryn and Arimen to wait around while we’re… hmm. I’m not even sure that Arimen would understand what we’d be doing.

So, since staying here is out of the question anyway, and I’m sure Coryn is already awake, I may as well give in to the urging of my bladder.

Jaimin stirs, muttering a protest as I extract myself from his hold, and I lean down to press a kiss to his mouth. “Go back to sleep. I need to relieve myself.”

Reluctantly, he lets me go and pulls his blanket tighter around his neck, still not opening his eyes, and I linger for a moment to smile at his face.

I can’t believe this is real. That maybe, possibly, I’m going to be happy with this amazing, perfect man.

Outside, the cold bite of the winter morning wakes me the rest of the way up, and I give my usual thanks to the gods that we’re so far south. Traveling like this in the northern half of the continent at this time of year would be miserable. The cabin has an enclosed privy, which is a luxury I’ve done without for the past few weeks, and it’s nice not to have the wind whistling around my bits as I do my business.

As I start back in the direction of the cabin, the sound of someone speaking in low tones drifts to me on the brisk dawn breeze, and I pause. Is there someone out there? It’s most likely to be a farmworker, but they would have had to leave the farm hours ago to be here this early.

Cautiously, I edge through the sparse trees that shelter the cabin. There’s a field on the other side, and that seems to be where the voice is coming from. If this is our enemies, I’ll hopefully be able to ascertain that without them seeing me—though, maybe I should go back to the cabin and get Coryn first. He’ll be mad if⁠—

Twilight lifts a little more, and I blink through the gray light, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

There’s definitely no need to get Coryn.

“…know things have been tough for you lately, but Talon’s just confused. He needs a bit more time to get used to life without Tia. The two of you are going to get along so well when you have the chance to get to know each other better.”

Leicht’s huge golden eyes glance away from the earnest blond man at his flank and lock with mine.

“What is he doing?” he asks, and there’s a note of panic in his mental voice that has me choking back a laugh.

“He’s petting you.” Gods’ turds, he really is. Coryn is petting Leicht. “And it sounds like he’s reassuring you? How long has he been here?”

“Too long,” Leicht mutters darkly, but I notice that he doesn’t move away from Coryn’s hand or do anything to scare him off. “I woke when he approached, and he’s been burbling away ever since.”

“…anyway, I realized last night how thoughtless we’ve all been, and I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. We all are. You’ve had a great loss, and now Talon’s the only person you can talk to until you get back home. So I thought I’d come and let you know that even though you can’t talk to me, I’m still here for you. I can keep you company when you’re lonely.”

Guilt slams into me like a runaway horse. I’ve been so angry about the bond being forced on me that I didn’t consider Leicht’s in exactly the same situation—only he doesn’t have Jaimin to complain to or Coryn to hug him. Though the latter seems likely to change, if it hasn’t already.

“I’m sorry for not being more considerate of your feelings.” It’s painful to say, but Leicht deserves this consideration from me. Tia loved him, and even though we may not always have got along, I owe him for what he was to her.

Not to mention that Jaimin was right yesterday. I can’t keep ignoring the bond.

A low rumble vibrates through Leicht’s body, and Coryn’s hand freezes. “Tell the precious one that his company is welcome.” He sounds reluctant. “Tia valued him. I would not hurt his… feelings.”

Stifling a grin, because I know exactly how he feels, I call softly, “Coryn?”

My stalwart guard and granter of hugs looks over his shoulder. “Talon. Good morning. Um, could you ask Leicht if he’s going to eat me or if I should keep petting him? He made this growly sound a minute ago, and I’m not sure what he’s trying to say.”

Affection wells up in me. Only Coryn would be worried about being eaten by a dragon but not move away because doing so could hurt the dragon’s feelings. Leicht is right to call him “the precious one,” and when this is all over, I’m going to find his father and brothers and hang them all by their ankles. Preferably over a chasm… or a midden.

“I could take them for a flight and accidentally drop them,” Leicht suggests, and I send him a telepathic nod of approval.

“He said your company is welcome,” I tell Coryn. “He’s not going to eat you.” To Leicht, I add, “Yes or no to the petting?”

There’s a momentary pause, and then he grudgingly replies, “It’s not painful.”

I clear my throat. “If you want to keep petting him, that’s fine. Um… what are you doing out here, exactly?” I move closer so he doesn’t have to keep straining his neck to talk to me, since he’s clearly not planning to move away from Leicht yet.

Coryn beams and returns to stroking his big hand over Leicht’s scaly hide. “I just thought I’d keep Leicht company for a while. He’s part of our team, after all, but he doesn’t get to spend a lot of time with us, and he had a big loss too.” He glances over at me. “Do you think he’d mind if I gave him a hug?”

Suddenly, there’s nothing I want more than for Tia to be here. She’d love Coryn forever for the consideration he’s showing Leicht.

“He’d like that,” I say through my too-tight throat, not even bothering to ask. I can sense his wistful agreement. “But, uh, can you… reach?” It’s not like he’s got mile-long arms, and dragons aren’t exactly human-sized.

Coryn purses his lips in consideration. “I could hug his leg,” he suggests. “I bet I can get my arms almost all the way around it.”

A sudden visual rises in my mind of my father’s favorite hunting dog humping the leg of anybody who got too close, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard. I will not laugh. Coryn is doing a nice thing. He’s a good person. Leicht’s earned a Coryn hug. I will not laugh.

And yet, when Coryn wraps his arms around Leicht’s foreleg and rests his brow against the scales, saying, “It’s okay. You’re okay,” the last thing I want to do is laugh. Blinking away tears isn’t something I ever did a lot of until recently, and now it feels as though all the tears I never wanted to cry before are seizing their chance.

I close the distance to Leicht’s massive form and lean against his flank, where Coryn was a moment ago. I can’t quite bring myself to pet him, but I lay my hand on his scales and let his warmth seep into my skin. I’ve never touched him before. Never gotten this close. He was always a peripheral part of my life, connected to me only through Tia. We tolerated each other because of her.

Things are different now. We’re bonded, and that’s not going to change. I’d kill anyone who tried to separate us. I guess that means we not only have to learn to get along, but we also have to get used to being in each other’s space.

I have to learn to fly.

“I have never had anyone ride me save Tia,” Leicht confesses. “This won’t be easy for me either.”

He probably intended that to be reassuring, but now all I can think is, what if he has a panic attack about carrying a new rider when we’re hundreds of feet in the air and decides to dump me off?

Coryn releases his hold and gives Leicht’s foreleg a pat. “There. I’ll come back to talk to you tomorrow, if you like.” He looks inquiringly up at Leicht’s big head, and after a moment, it bobs in the world’s biggest nod. Coryn grins. “Excellent. Let Talon know if there’s anything you need, or maybe a treat you’d like? We can try to get it when we resupply.”

Sudden visions of having to carry around cattle intestines or something like it spur me to intervene. “We won’t be resupplying until we get to a good-sized town. Which doesn’t look like it’ll be soon. But that’s a kind thought, Coryn. Leicht’s grateful.”

The dragon makes a growly sound that might be agreement or laughter. It’s hard to tell, since I’m getting a mental sensation of both.

“Breakfast?” I ask Coryn brightly. “It’s my turn to cook, and Leicht needs to hunt for a sheep or something.”

“Okay!” Coryn starts in the direction of the cabin, and I follow.

“There are cattle not too far from here. I believe intestines are on the menu today.”

My good mood continues over the next few days, and Jaimin keeps shooting me secret little smiles that just make me feel even better. We never got the chance to talk about whether we were ready to announce our new relationship to Coryn and Arimen—though it’s not going to take long before they guess. I think Coryn might already have his suspicions, since we’ve been sharing a tent the last couple of days. If anything, though, it’s just made him happy.

Arimen doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. I’m putting that down to his youth and innocence.

It’s not until the third day that I decide I really can’t procrastinate any longer. That is, I could, but I shouldn’t. It’s already been too long, and Jaimin’s right. We don’t know what lies ahead and which direction the stone will take us.

Just to be on the safe side, though, I check in with it.

Would it be a terrible idea and detrimental to our mission if I learned how to ride Leicht?

The chunk of rock’s amusement is clear as it replies, ~No~

Hmm. Maybe my question wasn’t clear. I mean, what if I learn right now, today? Wouldn’t that be a bad idea?

~No~

Godsdammit. But I could fall and die. Then who would find the champion?

Disbelieving laughter is the only response. I didn’t realize how much I was depending on the stone vetoing this whole plan until right this moment, when it didn’t.

So… it would be completely fine if we stopped early for the day and I had a flying lesson?

~Yes~

Ugh. Fine, then.

“Is there somewhere nearby that would make a good stopping place?” I ask Leicht. “The stone thinks I should have my first flying lesson.” There’s a surprised silence, and belatedly I add, “If that’s okay with you, of course. If not, we can leave it for another time.” Maybe I won’t have to disobey the stone. Maybe Leicht will decide⁠—

“A flying lesson is a good idea,” he says, killing that hope. “There’s a decent stand of trees about a mile ahead. That should provide adequate shelter for the night.”

I grumble a mental thank-you, then clear my throat. “We’ll be stopping early today,” I declare, interrupting whatever Arimen is chattering about. “In about a mile. Leicht says there’s a good spot.”

I get three surprised glances. “But why?” Arimen asks. “Shouldn’t we press on? We have a holy mission!”

The stabbing pain in my temple is a nice reminder of what it feels like to teach first-year mages. “Yes. Holy mission. The stone suggested we stop. We need to forage for food, anyway, but it…” I can’t believe I have to say this out loud. “It also thinks now is a good time for me to ride Leicht.” I mumble the last few words, and they all lean closer.

“What was that?” Coryn asks, and I sigh.

“The stone wants me to learn to ride Leicht.”

Jaimin’s expression instantly changes to surprised relief, but the other two are just plain shocked.

“What?” Coryn exclaims. “But… only bonded riders have ever ridden dragons!” He casts a worried glance toward the sky. “What if he gets mad and tries to eat you? I don’t think I could hold a dragon off for very long.”

The fact that he thinks he could hold a dragon off for any time at all is something I make a mental note of. We’re going to have to talk about that—nobody wants him taking on an impossible challenge sometime in the future.

“Leicht has given permission,” I say, which is technically the truth. The fact that we’re bonded is a little detail they don’t need to know just yet.

Even as I think that, it makes me feel guilty. Coryn has been nothing but loyal and steadfast since the moment I met him. He’s put his life on the line for me and taken on every task that’s come up, even the ones that don’t necessarily fall within his remit as our protector—like looking out for Arimen. He’s earned my trust, and yet… This isn’t the kind of thing that even the most trustworthy friend needs to know. This could endanger me, Leicht, Master, Jaimin… even my parents. This could cause problems with the dragons. Until we know why or even how it happened, it’s best for everyone, including Coryn, if he doesn’t know.

“I suppose if he’s given permission,” Coryn says, but both his expression and tone are full of doubt.

“If the stone says you need to, then you need to,” Arimen insists, then bites his lip and asks, “But do we know why? It seems dangerous to me.”

“It seems dangerous to me too,” I say dryly. “Trust me, it’s not high on my list of things I want to do. I’ve delayed it as much as I can.”

His eyes widen in shock. “You’re defying the stone?”

A sigh escapes me. I should have known that would be his reaction.

“I’m sure Talon’s not intentionally defying the stone,” Jaimin placates, coming to my rescue as usual. “He’s probably just been trying to understand why this is necessary—and discussing it with Leicht.”

I seize on that. It sounds much better than “had a temper tantrum because I didn’t want to do it.” “Yes,” I agree. “I also needed to consider the logistics—as Arimen said, this isn’t the safest activity in the world, and I’d be learning in a very different environment to other riders. Plus, we wouldn’t want anyone to see and wonder why someone was learning to ride a dragon here instead of at the academy.” I try to look like this is something I’ve put careful planning into and not just been avoiding for weeks and then decided to throw myself into headfirst.

Although, I really hope there will be no throwing or headfirst anything going on.

“That makes sense,” Arimen ventures, though he’s sounding just as unsure as Coryn did. “But… do we know why? You didn’t say.”

Damn, I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed. “The stone didn’t say.” It’s not an outright lie—the stone didn’t say—but it is a lie of omission, and the guilt comes rushing back. “This is one of those situations where we just have to do what we’re told.” There’s a bitter edge to the words. I still hate that my life is apparently a plaything for fate. Not to mention, the stone hasn’t yet seen fit to tell us why we’re trudging across muddy fields instead of taking a nice road that goes through civilized villages. It’s been days since we’ve even seen a farmer, much less anyone else. I’m feeling very antsy about Master being our only contact with the outside world, especially since he can’t give us local Camblish information. The only positive is the reprieve from attacks.

“Okay,” Coryn says. “We’ll trust in the stone and the mission. At least Jaimin’s here for when you get hurt.”

“Let’s not say ‘when,’ as though it’s a foregone conclusion,” Jaimin suggests, but I pull a face.

“I’ve already thought of that,” I tell Coryn. “It’s a great comfort for me.”

The impatient sound Jaimin makes prompts me to grin at him. He should know by now that I’m not the kind to think positive. I’m in the “how many things can go wrong and how do I prepare for them” camp.

We reach the trees Leicht saw sooner than I would have liked, and I spend a ridiculous amount of time helping to set up camp. At one point, I even consider offering to hunt for food—which, even though we’ve been on the road for a while, I’m still terrible at.

Eventually, Jaimin raises both brows at me, and Leicht grumbles about immature mages, so I huff a sigh and walk out into the nearest field, where the mammoth dragon awaits me.

Seriously… was he always this big? I knew dragons were oversized, but I’m sure he’s grown since I saw him this morning. He’s gigantic.

“Or are you merely puny?”

“Let’s not snipe at each other,” I placate. If I have to climb onto him and let him carry me hundreds of feet into the air, I don’t want to get on his bad side. Or at least, not any more than I already am after years of calling him an overgrown lizard and other things that I’m now truly regretting. “You wouldn’t drop me over past grudges, would you?”

Maybe it’s a bad idea to remind him of that, but on the other hand, I’d hate to find out the hard way because I didn’t check.

“Not now. Perhaps before, I would have, but I won’t lose another bonded.”

Well, that’s… good.

“Great. Thank you. Um. Okay… how do we do this? I feel like I should have a month of theory and other training before my feet leave the ground.”

He snorts, tiny flames licking around his nostrils. “We have no time for that. Don’t be a coward.”

Now probably isn’t the best time to tell him Tia was the brave one. I’m the conflict avoider.

Leicht shifts his weight suddenly, making me jump, and extends his foreleg. “Climb up.”

I stare at the scaly expanse before me. Guess it’s time to learn to fly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I wish I could say I gracefully and easily mounted Leicht’s back, the way I’ve seen Tia and other riders do so many times in the past. The truth is, what I did ended up being more of a frantic scramble that resulted in me falling not once, not twice, but five times before I even got close to his back. One of those times I actually slid down his foreleg on my belly, scrabbling for a handhold that would stop my descent.

After the fifth time, Leicht is looking at me with outright disgust on his face. “Really? You’re supposed to be the future of mages?”

“You didn’t say I was allowed to use magic,” I snap, straightening my shirt and yanking my drawers out of my asscrack. I’m counting myself lucky that nothing delicate got twisted up in my clothing during that undignified slide.

“By all means,” he drawls, “continue to make a mockery of yourself and me. Perhaps by the time the zombie hordes have fully risen and reach us, you may have managed to mount up.”

Seething, I use a small amount of telekinesis to build myself an invisible staircase and regally ascend until I’m level with the top of his shoulder. I could have levitated myself, but this is a tiny bit easier and looks more impressive. Not that anyone other than Leicht can see.

I hope.

Just in case, I glance over my shoulder toward the campsite, but I don’t see anyone watching us. Thank the gods. It wouldn’t have done much for my reputation as expedition leader if they’d seen my attempts to climb Leicht’s leg. Jaimin’s seen me in worse situations, but I’d like to maintain some authority and mystique for the others.

From my position standing midair, I can see across the top of Leicht’s back. There’s a spot at the base of his neck that I think is where I’m supposed to sit. It’s kind of indented, with a knob of his spine rising behind and his neck in front. I send him a visual image. “Is that where I go?”

“Yes. Hurry up. We’re wasting time.”

Sure, that’s my concern right now. “What am I supposed to hold on to?” I knew better than to expect reins, but I figured there would be… something. I’ve seen dragons perform some very daring aeronautics with riders on them. How do the riders not fall off?

“You’ll see. Move!”

That’s not reassuring.

Reminding myself that we’re still on the ground, that I have my magic to help me get off him in a hurry if I need to, and that Jaimin, the world’s best healer, is nearby if I get injured, I gingerly step from my nice solid telekinetic stairs onto Leicht’s shoulder. Immediately, he flexes a muscle, and I lose my footing. Dropping to my knees, I scramble toward the wider part of his back, eyes narrowing as his laughter echoes through my mind.

“I really hate you,” I tell him. Making me crawl like this is rude.

He snorts in response.

I reach the divot I’ve been heading for and nearly plunge in face-first. Leicht’s amusement runs through me, and I make a mental note to get revenge somehow. I just need to work out how.

Meanwhile, I maneuver around and slide into the indent in a slightly more dignified manner. At the very least, this way won’t leave me with a broken nose. Once my ass is in place, I realize that this is almost more comfortable than Sweetie’s saddle. Which is to say, not as comfortable as my desk chair back at the academy, and certainly not as comfortable as the armchair at the king’s palace in Lenledia, but much better than what I was expecting. In this specific position, my legs fit into natural grooves along the sides of his neck, and the raised bone behind me gives support—and will hopefully prevent me from sliding right along his spine and off his tail once he’s moving.

There’s still nothing I can see to hold on to, though. I’m sure I’ve seen dragons turn completely upside down with riders aboard—how did they stay in place?

“Yeep!” I shriek as Leicht begins to move. “What are you doing?”

He sighs. “Getting you accustomed to how it feels when I’m not standing still.”

“This technically counts as riding a dragon, correct? Could we call this a successful first lesson and leave things here for the day?” I will willingly dig the latrine if I can get off his back right now.

“No.”

With absolutely no warning, he spreads his wings and pushes off the ground. I can feel the powerful muscles beneath me bunching as he launches into the air, and then I’m tipped back into the bone behind me as we angle upward. The sound that leaves my throat is shrill and entirely undignified.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I screech mentally. “Baby steps, baby steps! Where do I hold on?”

The only answer I get is his mocking laughter.

My heart is beating so hard and fast that I can actually hear it pounding in my ears. The wind whistles past as we continue to climb, but I’m surprisingly well sheltered here, tucked in behind Leicht’s thick neck and head. I don’t feel as though I’m going to be blown off. Not before I freeze to death, anyway. Because it’s damn cold up here.

Leicht hasn’t leveled off yet, and I bravely risk a glance downward, trying to see how far off the ground we are—farther than I’d like, but not as far as I’d feared. I can see now that he’s climbing at a fairly gentle angle, even if it doesn’t feel like it. We’re well above the tops of the trees that hold our campsite, but not anywhere near as high as dragons usually fly. It looks like he’s taking it easy on me after⁠—

He banks. Not sharply, but enough that I slide sideways and am suddenly freefalling toward the ground.

Lashing out with telekinesis, I thicken the air beneath me. Not enough to make it solid—that would hurt—but enough to slow my descent. The problem is that the thicker air is hard for me to breathe, and if I pass out, I’ll keep fa⁠—

A clawed talon snatches me from the air so sharply that I lose my grip on my magic—and almost my lunch. “Took you fucking long enough!”

Leicht doesn’t reply, just continues his shallow dive toward the ground. When he doesn’t let up speed, I begin to wonder if he’s planning to smash me into it, but then he pulls up sharply, drops me the remaining six or so feet, and angles steeply upward, leaving me staggering to regain my feet in the downdraft of his wings.

“I hate you.”

“I can’t speak to you right now. You’re a disgrace.”

“It’s not my fault I fell! You should have warned me before turning—and told me where to hold on!”

He wheels midair and returns to hover above me, staring down in a way that makes me think he’s considering whether roasting me would be worth the backlash.

“No rider, ever, falls on such a gentle turn.”

“I’m not a rider,” I remind him. “I don’t have what they have. Anyway, I know for a fact that they spend time learning how to keep their seat before they climb onto a dragon!” I remember that much from Tia’s first few months at the academy.

He huffs, and he’s close enough that hot breath washes over me. “You’re a rider now,” he insists, “and you will learn what must be learned.” The words ring inflexibly through my mind as he lands nearby. “Try again.”

I give him the most “are you fucking kidding me?” look in my repertoire. “Or, we could talk about the mechanics of flying. Maybe draw some diagrams.”

“No.”

I try to stare him down, but it’s hard when he’s looming over me. It seems unlikely that this is a fight I can win.

Resigned, I walk toward him, and the movement makes me ache. I guess I must have picked up some bruises when he caught me—or maybe when I hit the ground. Either way, I hope Jaimin’s still got that bruise cream he packed.

“Put your leg out,” I demand. If he’s making me do this, I’m going to do it right. Or at least waste time trying. Jaimin will interrupt us when it starts to get dark, I’m sure.

I hope.

Leicht gives me a superior look and extends his foreleg. I squint at it. The problem is with the angle. It’s too steep to climb without handholds—for me, anyway. Tia and other riders seem to get up with no problems, but that’s beyond my skill set right now.

Instead of making even more of a fool of myself by trying, I back up, crouch, and push off with my back leg, taking a running start. That gets me more than halfway up his leg, and I stretch up toward his shoulder, using my height to my advantage. The joint bone protrudes just enough to give me a handhold, and I brace my feet and scramble the rest of the way.

“Acceptable,” Leicht grumbles as I drop into what I’m privately thinking of as the saddle. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be happy if I called it that out loud. I don’t care, though—I made it up here on my own, and nobody can take that from me.

My satisfaction lasts right up until my next fall.

Nearly two weeks later, Jaimin rubs bruise balm into my hard-to-reach places and says, “They’re not as bad today. Are you sure you don’t want me to heal⁠—”

“No.” I soften my tone and smile at him over my shoulder. “Thank you, but no. The ache reminds me I need to try harder. Is it causing a problem for you?”

He shakes his head and screws the lid back onto the jar. “Not how you mean. I don’t like knowing that you’re in pain, though.”

Turning, I pass him a cloth to wipe his hands on, then kiss him while he’s preoccupied with that. Kissing him is the new highlight of my day.

“All my pain vanishes when we do this,” I murmur, and he chuckles against my mouth.

“Excellent. I’ll have to start testing this method of treatment with other patients.”

The growl that escapes my throat sounds remarkably like a more human version of the sound Leicht makes when he’s annoyed. “You will not.”

“I won’t,” he agrees, stealing another kiss. “Put your clothes back on and come out for dinner. Coryn caught six rabbits, and Arimen found some mushrooms, so we’ve got a decent meal tonight and leftovers for stew tomorrow.”

Rabbit and mushrooms, plus whatever we still have from yesterday’s forage… yay. I promise to be right there, then sigh when he’s left the tent. I’m going to need to talk to the stone later. We’re dangerously low on supplies, and even this far south, winter means poor foraging and game. The stone has to let us detour to a village or at least a larger farm so we can resupply. I haven’t said anything to anyone else, but I can tell Jaimin and Coryn are aware of how close we are to disaster. Plodding across back fields like this feels like a waste of time—if the stone really does want us to go to Caimae, there were faster, easier ways to get us there. Also, even though I’m still in regular contact with Master, we all feel cut off from the rest of the world right now. Our only sources of news and information are my master and Leicht. Master’s not omnipotent, and Leicht says the other dragons aren’t telling him everything. They say he needs to focus on his mission.

Every time I see smoke in the distance, my gut curdles with the thought of what it might be. Leicht admitted that he’s spotted a few dragons in the area—not close enough for human eyes to see, but clearly they’re patrolling even this remote region. There has to be a reason for that. The zombies haven’t found us—yet—but we haven’t found them either, or any clues to their whereabouts, or the champion.

Could the champion be a recluse, living apart from the world at Caimae? I give the stone a mental nudge, but it refuses to respond. Even if the champion is at Caimae, why couldn’t we have hired a nice, swift boat to take us there?

Those are all questions the stone refuses to answer.

Sighing, I pull my coat on and leave the tent. All I can do at this stage is follow the path the stone has pointed me on, keep my eyes open, and learn to ride Leicht so I’m not murdered when this is all over… assuming I live that long.

Jaimin looks up from where he’s sitting beside the fire, his expression softening when he sees me, and some of my tension flees. He—and Coryn, and even Arimen, but especially Jaimin—is the one part of this whole fiasco that I don’t want to forget about when I finally get home. I’m basking in every second I get to spend with him, and I’m planning a long and very happy future. It’s the only time I refuse to let myself acknowledge how slim the chances of my survival are.

“You only fell once today!” Arimen says proudly. “That’s great!”

I gingerly sit beside Jaimin. “I’m getting better,” I agree, and Leicht snorts in my head. He’s off finding his dinner but will be back to rest near our camp before we go to sleep. “The day I stop falling will be one of the best ones in my life.”

To my credit, I can keep my seat most of the time now. Sharp maneuvers still send me flying, no pun intended, but I can mount and dismount almost as well as an actual rider, and I’m fine for most turns and all level flying, even when it’s fast. I’ve also worked out that unless I want icicles to form on my extremities, it’s best to use magic to insulate myself. Tia always swore by her leathers to stay warm, but I’m not sure I’d be comfortable wearing them. Aside from the nature of the fit, which isn’t my style, riders’ leathers are a statement. Nobody would wear them who isn’t a rider, and though technically being bonded to Leicht does make me a rider, I’m a mage first and foremost. I don’t want to mix messages or give people the wrong idea.

Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m going to handle all this when the time comes. For now, I’m dealing with the essentials and leaving everything else for future Talon. He’s going to hate me.

I compliment Coryn and Arimen on dinner, which leads to a beaming smile from Arimen and chatter about how much fun it is to cook only with what can be found. Coryn thanks me, but the accompanying worried expression tells me he understands how dire our situation is becoming. Tonight we’re eating well, but we’re completely out of oatmeal and hardtack, so our meals are going to get sketchier and sketchier from now on. I prod the stone again, hoping for permission to deviate from our route and find a village, but it stubbornly clings to the same direction.

“We’ll reach the hills tomorrow,” Jaimin says when Arimen winds down.

“I saw them today,” he replies, face lighting with excitement. “We’ll be at the floating city before you know it! I can’t wait to commune with the spirit of Wasianth. It must be one of the most holy places on the planet.”

Holy. That’s just what we need. “We’ll do our best to give you time to… commune,” I promise. “But we don’t know what to expect at the city. It should be completely abandoned, but abandoned places are often used as hideouts for brigands.” Jaimin and I discussed this a few nights ago. We need to be ready for anything.

“Brigands? You mean like… pirates and highwaymen?” Those green eyes go wide.

“I mean like thieves and murderers,” I correct. It’s essentially the same as what he said, but he has a fondness for stories, and I want him to clearly understand that these aren’t likely to be nice people who are simply misunderstood. “Which is why Leicht is going to reconnoiter from the air, and we’ll approach cautiously.”

Arimen nods solemnly. “Whatever you say. I hope nobody’s despoiling Wasianth’s favorite city.”

I hold in my sigh and remind myself that he’s still a child.

“I’m sure they’re not,” Jaimin says diplomatically. “Now… once we reach the hills, I’m assuming we’ll find some kind of path? I know there isn’t a proper road or anything, but there has to be some way for small groups of travelers to reach the city other than by boat.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. The stone might.”

“Dry creek beds,” Coryn says. “And some animal trails—goats, mostly, and deer. Some Camblish soldiers told me once, when we were in Josanin on a state visit. They do training exercises in the hills sometimes.”

“Are we likely to run into them?” I can’t decide if that would be good or not. The last time I checked in with Master, he said the nations of the continent were still strongly supporting our mission, especially since the City of Knowledge has sent out its resources in force, but it would be stupid to underestimate the hold the temples have on individuals. People are committed to the gods.

Coryn shrugs. “Any other year, I would have said maybe. Late winter’s a good time for training. But whatever forces from the Camblish army that aren’t scouting and patrolling should be making preparations for a campaign against the zombies. I’d be surprised if they sent soldiers on a training exercise now.”

That’s not a no, and I don’t know enough about how army commanders think to rule it out. “Leicht, keep an eye out for any military activity, please.” It’s bad enough we already need to be on the lookout for bandits. Dodging soldiers would be a nightmare.

Leicht acknowledges my request. He’s been grumpy today, because we scouted ahead and it looks like once we enter the hills, there isn’t going to be anywhere he can comfortably land that will be easily accessible to us on foot. Especially if we’re using creek beds and game trails. That means he’s not going to be able to get to us if we run into trouble.

It also means he’s going to miss out on his daily conversation and petting with Coryn, but it might not be the best idea to tease him about that right now.

“Can I talk to the stone?” Arimen asks. “We need more information.”

For a split second, I consider telling him I’ve been begging the stone for more information for days. Instead, I fish it from around my neck and hand it to him. Maybe he’ll have more luck than me—and even if he doesn’t, the petty part of me likes the idea of someone else taking a turn to irritate the stone.

His questions get him nowhere, however, and eventually, his face falls into lines of frustration. “Here.” He holds it out to me. “We need to find this path on our own.”

“Stone,” Coryn says as I take it, “are we going to be able to resupply soon?”

~Yes~

I freeze, and Jaimin’s head turns in my direction. I’ve been asking the stone if we can detour to resupply, but I never phrased the question quite like that.

“In Caimae?” Jaimin asks.

~Yes/No~

We all sigh. “So something in Caimae will lead to our resupply,” I mutter. I’m not really asking the stone, but it replies anyway.

~Yes~

I tuck the chunk of rock away, and Jaimin pats my arm. “At least now we know we’re definitely going to Caimae,” he points out. “I wasn’t sure if we were just going to wander through the hills for a while.”

I shudder at the thought. “Lost in hill country or the dead city. This champion had better be worth it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“I fucking hate creek beds,” I declare for the umpteenth time. The past week has been an ordeal of the worst kind. Either I’m being slapped in the face by tree branches on game trails that barely exist, or I’m tramping through rocks in a dry creek. Somehow, nobody ever told me that dry creek beds aren’t smooth. Oh, no. They’re full of horrible little pebbles and fist-sized stones that are perfect for turning an ankle on. It’s rarely clear enough for us to even ride without risking the horses, so we’ve been walking on the bastards, and I swear, I can feel the imprint of the stones in the soles of my feet. These boots used to be sturdy, but they’re no match for a godsdamned creek bed.

That’s not even taking into account the number of times we’ve had to stop to clear stones out of the horses’ hooves. Sweetie no longer hates me—she’s pathetically grateful that I exist to wield the hoofpick.

“I wish there was water in this creek,” Arimen complains. “That way, we could build a raft and float to the city.”

Huh. That’s smart. “Is there ever water in this creek? Or did it dry up a long time ago?”

Jaimin purses his lips and glances around. “I can’t say for sure, but I think if it had dried up permanently, there’d be more growth in it, considering how brushy and wooded the hills are. My guess is that there’ll be water here when the rainy season starts.”

I try to remember when the rainy season is in this part of the world. Early spring, I think. Which means we’re damn lucky right now, because in just a few weeks, this creek might be flooded with water.

Coryn catches my eye, and I can see from his face that he’s thinking the same thing. “Let’s push on,” he suggests. “It’s too rocky for camping here. Maybe we can find a clear space on the bank somewhere.” Out of the creek is left unsaid, but I understand it just fine.

We scrabble through the rocks for another hour, and then Arimen says, “Does it seem brighter up ahead?”

I perk up. The hills and trees block out a lot of light, so brightness means a gap of some kind—or so I’ve learned over the past few days.

“I believe you may be close to the city,” Leicht observes. “It’s hard to be certain, as I can’t see you clearly.”

I debate whether or not to send up a beacon that will show him exactly where we are, but ultimately decide against it. It’s not important that he know right now, and anyone else in the area could see it and also know where we are. Which, if they’re bandits or soldiers, would be bad. If they’re zombies, it would be disastrous. Arimen hasn’t yet been subjected to any kind of fight, other than the day we met. For him, this journey has been a ride through the country, camping, and a lot of talking. I can’t even say if he noticed the discomfort, since he’s so determined to see the bright side of everything. As glad as I am that we haven’t encountered the enemy for weeks, it does mean that we still don’t know how he’ll react in battle. So there’s no need to bring an unnecessary one down on our heads.

I angle myself closer to Jaimin and keep my voice low. No need to get everyone’s hopes up. “Leicht thinks we might be close,” I murmur.

He gives a quick nod of encouragement. “Close enough to reach it before nightfall?”

We both look up at the sky through the tree branches reaching over the creek. It’s still daylight, but not as bright as it was earlier. The day is waning.

“I hope so.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the gods seem to be listening to me, because within fifteen minutes the trees are noticeably thinner. We stop to assess.

“If there was a large group of people there, especially bandits, I’d know by now,” Jaimin asserts. “People who live in hiding aren’t usually in the best of health.”

“What if they have a healer with them?” Arimen asks. “Someone who⁠—”

“I’d still know they were there,” Jaimin interjects firmly. “Healer or not, if there were more than five people within half a mile of here, I’d know.”

“So no more than a handful of people, if there’s anyone at all,” Coryn concludes. “That’s good. I’ll still go first, and I’ll be ready. Arimen, what’s your job if we’re attacked?”

“Grab the horses and get out of the way,” he replies promptly. “And take orders from Jaimin and Talon.”

I shoot Coryn a grateful smile. “We could stand around and talk all day, but we’re just wasting daylight. I’d like to look around the city before night falls. Leicht is circling overhead and says it doesn’t look like anyone’s been there for a long time, save maybe some random travelers.”

Coryn nods, drawing his sword. “Let’s go, then. Arimen, lead my horse, please.”

Arimen obediently takes the reins to Coryn’s big warhorse, pausing to pet his nose, and then we set off, following Coryn along the creek.

Walking over the rocks, trying to be quiet, it takes us almost half an hour before we can clearly see the opening in the trees and the lake beyond.

“That has to be it, right?” I murmur to Jaimin. “There wouldn’t be another lake, would there?” Even as the question leaves my mouth, I realize how stupid it is. Of course there’s more than one lake in these hills. Leicht even told me he’d seen several during his reconnoitering.

But there’s only one with a city built on the shores, and only one with the Hepalt River running from it to the ocean.

“And you’re approaching it,” Leicht says dryly. “I can see you now.”

I glance up, and sure enough, through the thinning canopy I can see Leicht high above us. Jaimin follows my gaze and smiles.

“This is it, then.” He whistles softly to get Coryn’s attention and then gestures in Leicht’s direction. Coryn, who just two nights ago tried to convince me that rivers always run to oceans, even if that means going uphill, somehow immediately comprehends the nonverbal message. I guess his intelligence is so focused in this particular skill set that he has no room to take in other things. He makes up for it with how sweet he is, though.

He reaches the edge of the trees, pauses, then steps out into the full winter sun and approaches the edge of the creek. Would that be a waterfall in the rainy season? How beautiful that would be—a view from the city of waterfalls cascading into the lake. No wonder they decided to build⁠—

“All clear,” he calls softly. “If anybody’s here, they’re in the city and lying low.”

Sighing with relief, I hand Sweetie’s reins to Jaimin and join Coryn. What I see makes my jaw drop.

“Wow.”

“It’s pretty, isn’t it? Even all falling down like that.” We stare at the city to our left. There are a few scattered buildings as close as a hundred yards along the shore, but the bulk of the stone and wood city is a few hundred yards beyond. The deep blue waters of the lake lap at a stone wall along the waterfront, with buildings rising into the hills beyond. It’s lovely, and I feel a surprising pang of sadness as I think of how it must have been when that waterfront was lined with boats and vendors and people, with pleasure craft skimming the lake. Now, as Coryn said, it’s all falling down, and the only sounds come from the birds and the quiet lap of water against stone.

Speaking of… I look down at the lake by my feet. The surface of the water is only six or eight inches below the creek bed. “Would you say it’s been a particularly wet winter in these parts?” I ask.

Coryn shakes his head. “Not that I’ve heard. I haven’t heard the regional weather reports since I left the barracks at Lenledia, but nobody mentioned anything about it being wet here before then.”

I nod. Not waterfalls, then—at least, not from this creek. It’s more likely that during the wet season, the lake water rises and floods into the creek, running back the way we came. In other words, it’s a good thing we didn’t dawdle.

“Okay. How do we get from here to the city?” I was hoping for a nice beach to stroll along, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Scratching his chin, Coryn says, “There’s probably a road or at least a path from one of those houses.” He points to the one nearest us. “We’ll need to cut through the trees to get there, though. I was hoping we’d be able to walk along the lake’s edge, but the footing doesn’t look safe for horses.”

Studying the trees, I sigh. Even thinned out here, the underbrush is overgrown. I guess he means “cut” literally.

Wonderful.

We call the others up to join us, and then Coryn takes charge. He takes the axe we use for cutting big branches into little ones for firewood, and he begins hacking through the trees and undergrowth. Our job is to make sure the horses don’t get scratched or otherwise injured walking through the resultant still-very-branchy gap. It’s not a fun job, and I’m bleeding from three scratches within the first half hour. Jaimin’s going to be busy later.

“I wonder if these are the same trees that were here when Caimae was populated?” Arimen asks, sounding far too chirpy for this situation. “Think of all the things they’ve seen!”

I’ve never been so grateful in my life for Master’s telepathic knock. Tuning out Arimen’s babble, I say, “Thank you for rescuing me from a discussion about the joy of trees.”

“Talon?”

Master’s mental tone is solemn, and my stomach lurches. Something’s happened.

“What is it?”

“I’m so sorry, Talon. Master Eldridge has informed me⁠—”

“My students.” Oh gods. No. “Who?”

“Drey Hart.”

I stop walking, and Sweetie crowds up behind me, but she must sense my mood, because she doesn’t bite. Drey. Mr. Baby Merchant. The one I suspended over the chasm that first day… and, once he found his determination, one of my better, more capable students.

If he couldn’t survive, what hope do the others have?

“Talon?” Jaimin asks, but I shake my head.

“What happened?”

“He was sent to Laisanne to give support. While on patrol, they found a village that had been attacked. It appeared abandoned, but they searched it anyway, and there was a zombie in one of the smaller houses. Drey was between it and the master he was assigned to, and…”

And the zombie killed Drey before the mage could get a clear shot to burn it. Bitterness floods my mouth. “This is my fault. He could have saved himself, but I argued against teaching them to use magefire.”

“You can’t think like that,” Master argues. “The dean was against it also, and his word had more weight than yours. You were right to argue—more of them would have died learning to use it than are dead now.”

The logical side of me, the teacher who’s been working with first years for half a decade, knows he’s right. The rest of me doesn’t care. Drey is dead, and I’m part of that.

“Did they burn his body?”

“Yes. Those are standing orders across Vaderyn. The dead are to be burned until we can be sure this crisis is over.”

At least that’s something. “Thank you for letting me know, Master.”

“This isn’t your fault, Talon.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t seem convinced of my sincerity, but breaks the connection between us.

“What’s happened?” Jaimin asks, and I look up into his deeply concerned eyes. Beyond him, Coryn and Arimen are still cutting through the trees. It’s just us—a rare moment of privacy.

“One of my students was killed.”

His face floods with sympathy, and he puts his arms around me. “Oh, Talon. I’m so sorry.”

The hug is awkward—we’re both still holding our horses’ reins, and the woods press in close—but it’s exactly what I need in this moment.

“We have to find the champion. This has to end.” My words are muffled against his shoulder.

“It will,” he promises. “We’re going to end it, no matter what we have to do.”

Dusk has well and truly fallen before we reach the city. Coryn stops us when the buildings go from scattered with outbuildings to packed closely together along actual streets.

“We’re not wandering around after dark,” he insists. “Pick one of these houses for us to stay in tonight, and we’ll explore tomorrow. We need something we can defend—just in case.”

Arimen looks longingly through the gloom. Toward the center of the city, elevated higher up the hill, is a very obvious temple dome. He’s been chattering excitedly about it since he spotted it twenty minutes ago.

“First thing tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.

“As soon as the sun’s up,” Coryn promises. “But not alone—nobody goes anywhere alone.”

“That sounds sensible,” I say. I don’t think Arimen will argue—he’s frighteningly obedient—but it’s getting darker by the second, and we’re sitting targets if there is anyone here. “Let’s pick somewhere to hole up for the night. Coryn, any preferences?” I’ve pushed my grief down into a tight, tiny ball deep inside me. I don’t have time to mourn now—it can wait until we’ve found the champion.

Coryn looks at the buildings nearest us with a dubious expression, and I understand why. These are the ones that have borne the brunt of the weather over the years and had the most animal incursions—and probably bandit incursions too. They look a little worse for wear, even considering they’ve been abandoned for a century. Most of them are completely roofless, and walls are crumbling on some.

Jaimin must be thinking the same thing, because he suggests, “We could try a little farther along, back from the water. Maybe it’s more sheltered there.”

Coryn shakes his head. “No, I want to be close to the water and this path in case we need to leave quickly. It would be bad if we got lost in a strange, abandoned city with zombies chasing us.”

I shudder. So much for sleeping tonight—that’s going to haunt my dreams.

He wanders in and around a few of the buildings, dragging me and a magelight with him, and finally decides on one that still has shutters on the downstairs windows. It looks like some enterprising squatter nailed them closed at one point, but that does mean the inside is warmer and there are fewer points of ingress that Coryn needs to worry about. It even still has most of its roof. It’s not supposed to rain tonight—I’ve gotten a lot better at predicting weather, and Coryn’s an expert—but if there’s one thing this damn journey has taught me, it’s that the weather is never reliable.

We settle in quickly, not bothering with tents and keeping our fire on the small side. The benefit to having trekked through the thickly wooded hills was the abundance of game, and we still have roast meat left from last night that Jaimin miraculously turns into stew. Another thing I’ve learned over the past weeks is not to be a picky eater. When I’m not having nightmares, I dream of the food back at the academy.

Itʼs not until after we’ve eaten that I pull out the stone and put it on the floor beside the small fire we’ve allowed ourselves.

“Wait, let me get something to lay it on.” Arimen begins to get up, but I pull him back down.

“Why?”

“The floor’s dirty, and the stone’s a holy object,” he frets.

Jaimin looks away, his mouth quirking in a smile, and I hold tight to my patience.

“It’s a rock, Arimen. It was found in the dirt by a farmer. I don’t think it cares all that much about the floor being a little dusty.” I’m seriously understating the condition of the floor, but if I think too much about how disgusting it is, I won’t be able to sleep on it. The same way I don’t wonder about how many animals have urinated on the ground where I sleep when we camp. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Arimen doesn’t look happy, but he nods. It might make him feel better if I’m nice to the stone, so I try not to sound too grumpy when I say, “So, stone, is this where you wanted us to be?”

~Yes~

Finally, a straight answer. “And is the champion here?”

~Yes/No~

So much for that.

“Is the champion on their way here now?”

~No~

I exchange a glance with Jaimin. “The champion is both here and not here?”

~Yes~

“I give up,” I mutter, and Jaimin puts his arm around my shoulders, letting me lean into him.

“Let’s try a different tack. Are we supposed to meet the champion here?”

~No~

The answer is accompanied by a sense of anticipation, as though…

“Are we not supposed to find the champion yet?” The question bursts from me a lot more loudly than I expected, and Arimen jumps.

~No~

I suck in a deep breath and clench my fists. I will not yell at the creation stone. I won’t.

“I don’t understand,” Arimen says, sounding lost. “Why are we here?”

“It can’t answer that.” There’s a slightly strained edge to Jaimin’s calm that only someone who knows him really well would be able to hear. He’s probably just as annoyed and frustrated as I am to learn that we’ve come all this way for no⁠—

Wait. Arimen’s right. Why are we here if it’s not time for us to meet the champion? Surely the stone doesn’t mean for us to wait days, weeks, or longer in an abandoned city that was unable to sustain itself without supplies from elsewhere?

“Are we supposed to meet someone here?” Jaimin asks, and I squeeze his thigh. I love that our logic is so similar, even though we think so differently.

~Yes~

“Will they be joining us on our journey?”

~Yes~

“Another companion,” I say, and it’s not a question. Frankly, I’m still not sure why we’ve gathered who we have. At first it made sense—a mage, a dragon rider, and a healer. The triumvirate of the academies was fully represented, even if we were at different stages of our careers. Coryn, too, seemed logical after the attack. But Arimen? And now this new person? I’m not sure any of it makes sense.

“That’s exciting!” Arimen’s smile is bright. “The more, the merrier.”

He and I do not think alike.

“Is this new person already here?” I glance toward the door.

~Yes~

Coryn immediately gets up and goes to peer outside.

“Should we try to find them tonight?”

~No~

“Tomorrow?”

~Yes/No~

I grit my teeth, and Jaimin takes over.

“Will they find us first?”

~Yes~

“Come and sit down, Coryn,” I call. “Apparently, we’re just waiting.”

“Is it okay if I explore the city tomorrow?” Arimen asks the stone. “Can I go to the Temple of Wasianth?”

~Yes~

“Are we going to be here long?” It did say we’d be able to resupply soon, which seems unlikely if we’re staying here. Or even if we’re leaving tomorrow. It’s going to take at least a week or more to get through the hills to a decent-sized village. I don’t even know which direction we’d need to go.

Too bad we don’t have a boat. Once it clears the hills, the Hepalt is lined with villages and towns almost all the way to the ocean. I swallow down my bitterness over having to trek through muddy countryside and along creek beds instead of being allowed to sail here on a nice, clean boat.

“I can guide you to the nearest village,” Leicht assures me. It’s unusually nice of him, and I suspect that’s because he was listening earlier. I can feel the edginess of his mood. We’ve been separated by no less than fifty yards for days—it’s the closest he’s been able to get to me with all the trees around.

“Where are you?” I ask. I was surprised by how unsettled it makes me to be apart from him—a lot like it was with Tia, but different.

“Behind the city. There’s a place that used to be kept clear for dragons to stay on the hilltop there. It’s overgrown now, but still usable.”

A knot loosens in my chest. He’s close, then. “Even if you can guide us,” I say, going back to his first comment, “it’s still going to be some time before we can resupply.”

“You could come and meet me up here,” he suggests. “I’ll fly you there and then carry you and the supplies back.”

That’s not a bad idea. It would mean staying here at least one day longer than needed, but we wouldn’t have to worry about hunting while we trek out. It’s definitely something to discuss with Jaimin and Coryn. “I’ll see if I can find the path up there tomorrow.”

“Talon?” Arimen says, drawing my attention away from Leicht.

“What?”

“The stone’s waiting for your next question.”

Damn. I missed the answer to the last one. “Uh…”

“Remember, you asked it if we’d be here long, and it said no,” Jaimin prompts. They all know I can talk to Leicht, but only he’s aware of how deep the connection truly is and how much adjusting it’s taken for me to get used to it.

“Yes,” I say, as though I knew all that and was just considering what to ask next. “I guess the only other thing you might tell us is, does our new companion know where we’re going next?” I’m being flippant, covering for my lapse in concentration. We all know what the answer to this⁠—

~Yes~

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

We stare up at the façade of the Temple of Wasianth. “Well?” I ask Arimen. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

He nods, and I can tell by the rapturous joy on his face that I’m probably not going to get coherent words out of him.

I look back at the building, and I have to admit, even weather-worn and with the stone crumbling, there’s something about it. It’s not trying to be ostentatious and pretentious like some of the newer temples. This isn’t a display of power or wealth—aside from the full-height doors and the stone carving of Wasianth’s face above the lintel, the building is quite plain. But it feels… comfortable. That’s an odd word, but it’s the one that pops into my head. It's almost homey, somehow.

The whole city, despite its desolate emptiness, has that same feeling. This must have been an incredible place when it was populated. Aside from the beauty of the view over the lake and the care taken with the architecture, this place has a sense of being magical, somehow. I’m completely aware of how ridiculous that sounds, since I’m a mage and I can say with complete assurance that no place can have magic. People have the ability to use kinetic energy and magic—Talent, we call it. Places, not so much. But something about this city is special. It’s empty, falling down, and lacking in any of the comforts I hold dear, but it feels more like home to me than anywhere other than the academy—including my actual home where I grew up.

I might talk to Jaimin about this later. Could there be something in the water here, maybe? He tested it, so it’s safe to drink, but perhaps the mineral composition is similar to that at the City of Knowledge, and that’s what’s making me feel so comfortable. My senses are associating this place with home because the water is the same.

That theory probably won’t hold up to much scrutiny, so I’m going to move past it.

“Let’s go inside,” I suggest, taking Arimen’s elbow and leading him forward. I’m worried that if I don’t get us moving, he’ll be happy to stand here and stare for the rest of the afternoon. I’m also surprisingly hot in the sun—it’s a clear day, and the hills and buildings block any hint of breeze. Coryn thinks we might get something off the water toward evening, but after having hiked up the unmaintained roads to the top of the hill to see where Leicht was, I’m stripped down to my shirt and pants and missing the biting wind that’s been our constant companion on this journey.

I expected the tall doors might be sealed shut, or at least stuck after so many years. Nearly every other building we’ve seen has had open doors or nothing at all, the wood long since rotted away. The temple doors are closed and only a little worn. I guess being so deeply inset into the front of the building gave them some protection. Plus, as big as they are, they’d take a lot longer to decay.

But we’ve noticed signs of squatters and scavengers all over the city, so to me, the fact that the temple’s doors are closed means that they were somehow locked. Surely otherwise they’d be open like all the others? So I’m prepared to use a little magic, if necessary, to force them open. Arimen wants to commune with his god, and it seems only fair to give him this tiny favor, since he’s been trying hard to do his part.

“Are you sure we should go in?” he whispers as I put my free hand on the door.

“Yes. It’s a temple. We’re supposed to go inside them. That’s why they were built—to give us a central location to speak to the gods.” That was the reason originally, anyway, when the gods walked among us. It was much easier to find them and tell them about your problems if they weren’t just staying with random friends all the time. After they left the corporeal world, the temples became the place to find the priest and meditate to feel closer to the gods, or learn about them. The modern idea that temples should only be accessible to certain people or at certain times has been a topic of a great deal of debate at the academies.

Arimen doesn’t look convinced, but I give the door a firm shove to ascertain how much magic it’s goi⁠—

I stumble forward as the door easily swings open without even a creaky hinge. What the fuck? Arimen races to steady me, and when I’m finished cursing at the door, we turn in unison to peer into the temple.

Light floods in from behind us, but also from the long-shattered skylights high overhead. The whole interior is sunny, despite its size, and it takes me a moment to spot the cleverly positioned mirrors that bounce light around.

The interior is mostly bare, with only the fixtures and items that were too heavy and not valuable enough to transport remaining, but somehow it doesn’t feel empty. One wall has a stone relief of Wasianth, surrounded by stone benches. I can see tattered remnants of fabric on the benches, which I guess once were cushions for people to sit on.

My gaze goes to Wasianth’s face. Most of the modern depictions of the gods show them as being solemn, but the very old ones have more personality. The drawings and statues from the time when the temples weren’t concerned about power are, in my opinion, truer to the natures of the gods, and this is a prime example. I’ve always thought Wasianth must be an easygoing kind of god, because in the stories he’s so laid-back, and the older artworks show him with an ever-present grin. The carving here is no exception—his lips are curved into a smirk, but even in stone, his eyes are kind, inviting everyone to be in on the joke.

“What are you smiling at?” Arimen asks, breaking into my thoughts, and I shake my head.

“Nothing. I—uh, this place is nicer than where we slept last night. Maybe we should stay here tonight.” Aside from the missing glass in the skylights, the roof seems to be intact, and the doors are a definite bonus.

“It feels good here, doesn’t it?” He wanders off toward Wasianth, leaving me to think about that. It does feel good here. Even more comfortable and homey than the rest of the city. Could this place be the source of it? Arimen said it was reputed to be Wasianth’s favorite place in the world—could there be some residual god-happiness here to make it seem so nice?

My god-obsessed young charge is sitting on one of the benches, gazing adoringly up at the stone relief, so I take the opportunity to wander around the temple and reach out to my Master.

“Talon,” he says in surprise. “Is everything well? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.” I reached out to him the night before to update him on our arrival in Caimae and let him know what the stone had said—which, other than that our new companion knows where we’re going, was nothing. It refused to answer any further questions on the topic. He was concerned about me after yesterday’s news, but I made it clear I wasn’t dealing with that right now. The best thing I can do for Drey and all of them is to complete my mission.

“We’re all fine,” I assure him. “Still waiting for a new friend to appear. Jaimin thinks he can sense them, but his ability doesn’t work well for tracking. Especially when the person is in good health.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Master concedes, though he sounds as annoyed about it as I am. “What can they be waiting for, I wonder?”

I grimace. “I was thinking about that—what if they don’t know yet that they’re supposed to join us? They might know where to go next once they’re aware of the need to go there, but⁠—”

“But not have the necessary information yet,” Master finishes. “I wish the stone would be more forthcoming. It can be stubborn sometimes.”

I heroically refrain from pointing out that I’ve been saying that all along. As well as some other relevant things.

“Anyway, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Arimen and I are in the temple.” I explain the feeling of homecoming I’ve been having and posit my theory that it might be due to Wasianth’s fondness for this place. “What do you think? I know the gods aren’t your area of expertise, but is that possible? A godly residue or stain of sort that would influence the emotions of others?”

He's silent for a long moment. “I suppose it would be possible,” he finally says slowly. “But—and I’m not certain of this. I’d want to consult with some colleagues—I think it would need to be deliberate. You said Arimen feels the same? What about the others?”

“I haven’t asked them,” I admit, sticking my head through a doorway into an empty room that looks like it might have been used for storage. “I have some time while Arimen is praying or whatever, and I thought I’d ask your opinion. It’s not really important.”

“I’m so glad you have time to think about unimportant things on this little jaunt.” That note of concern is back in his voice, but I’m ignoring it.

“Sarcasm is not becoming, Master. Besides, if I thought only about important things right now, I’d be a blubbering mess of nerves.”

His surprised laughter echoes through my head and then fades as he cuts the connection between us, and I glance toward the door. The light has started to fade—not a lot, but since we’re in a city we don’t know well, it’s enough that we shouldn’t linger for long. Coryn wanted to move us to a more secure building, and this is as good as any.

Now I just need to drag Arimen away from communing with Wasianth.

We’re only two streets away from the temple when the stone’s alarm blasts through me, followed by the faint sound of shouting.

“Fuck!” I grab Arimen’s arm and break into a run. “They need⁠—”

A man drops into the road six feet in front of us, and we skid to a stop. Pushing Arimen behind me, I reach for my magic and study the man closely. He looks completely ordinary except for the extreme blankness of his expression.

Zombie.

“Stay back,” I tell Arimen. If Coryn and Jaimin are pinned down themselves, they won’t be able to help, so this is all on me.

Waning daylight reflects off the zombie’s sword as it comes closer, moving like a living human but still oddly blank and silent, and I reach out to Leicht.

“I’m on my way,” he assures me. “The buildings are a problem. Can you get back up to the aerie or down to the lakeshore?”

“Don’t worry about us. I need you to be my eyes—can you see the others?” I can still hear them yelling, and I hate not knowing what’s happening.

The zombie suddenly lunges at me, and I slam a telekinetic wall in the way of its blade, then wonder why I’m bothering with it. I blast it with magefire.

“I can see them,” Leicht confirms as Arimen and I watch the zombie batter its blazing fists against the invisible barrier between us as it gruesomely burns to ash. “They are besieged but holding their own.” The sound of his wingbeats fills the air as he swoops lower. “They are now in control for the time being. The zombie pieces keep attempting to attack.”

“Yeah, I’m on my⁠—”

“Talon?” The fear in Arimen’s voice has me spinning quickly to see three zombies approaching from the direction we came.

“Behind you!”

Magefire is blooming from my hands even as I turn back, Leicht’s warning ringing in my head. Another five zombies converge, and three of them were not freshly dead when they were raised. The smell of rotting flesh precedes them, but even without it, I’d be able to tell.

Eight on one. Okay. I sweep magefire toward them, then grab Arimen and push him toward the nearest building. “Get your back against a wall,” I shout. The magefire should tip the odds in my favor, but with this many of them and the way they keep trying even while dying, there’s a chance one of them might reach us.

I don’t know what would happen then.

Leicht’s scream of fury echoes off the buildings around us as I aim fire at the nearest zombie. If we weren’t right in the middle of the enemy, I’d be telling him to burn the whole city down with dragon fire, and I can tell that’s what he wants. His frustration is burning through me.

I sweep two more zombies with magefire, then blast some toward a third, but I miss. Fucking turds, how could I miss? I don’t have the energy to waste on misses.

This zombie is fast, too, and even though the next blast gets it, I have to shove Arimen along the wall to avoid being grabbed. The moment of distraction is our undoing, and blades flash within reach in the next second… and a hand? Is the zombie trying to grab me? Why?

I put the question out of my mind and focus. The heat of the magefire surging from me is unbearable this close, and I’m eternally grateful that it will only burn its target. Otherwise, we’d be defenseless.

A random blade catches my arm, and I choke back a scream, intensifying the flame in that direction. Why haven’t they all burned yet? Are there more? Where are they coming from?

A yell carries to me over the crackle of the flames. I don’t know if it’s one of my friends or a human enemy, but I can’t stop to check. My priority has to be keeping me and Arimen alive. Gritting my teeth, I ignore the pain in my arm, ignore the wetness along my skin, and the way I can’t bend my elbow anymore, and focus on⁠—

The zombies are gone.

Blinking away sweat, I realize that’s not right. Some of the zombies are gone, piles of ash at my feet. The rest of them are wriggling, dismembered piles on the cobblestones, blood dripping on them from the point of a sword.

My gaze travels up the length of the sword. It’s not Coryn’s—the shape and size are wrong, designed for one-handed use instead of two. The hand on the hilt is smaller and slimmer than Coryn’s, though even from here, it looks just as callused and scarred.

I lift my eyes to the stranger’s face. Something about their manner makes me reluctant to assign them a binary gender, even in my own head. They’re watching me intently, and even though their sword isn’t pointed at me, I don’t assume it couldn’t skewer me in a heartbeat. I’ve seen that expression before—my swordmaster used to wear it, and so did Tia. Coryn. It’s the expression of a fighter who hasn’t let down their guard.

As if to prove me right, the sword slashes in a lightning-fast movement, and the arm that was creeping toward me loses its hand at the wrist.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mage?” the stranger says, their voice a mellow, mid tone. They have a light accent I don’t recognize, but I can puzzle that out later.

“Of course,” I croak. My throat is parched from the heat of the fire, but that’s not important. I incinerate the remaining zombie parts, keeping half my attention on the stranger, taking in as much detail as I can. Dark hair, somewhere between my mid-brown and Jaimin’s black. The front is pulled off their face in a braid, but the back is loose, and the stick-straight locks brush their shoulders. Brown eyes, smooth tawny skin, and a hooked, blade-thin nose that keeps their otherwise almost delicate face interesting. If they try to kill us, at least Leicht will have a description.

“I’ll know who I’m looking for, and that’s what’s important.”

Personally, I think me staying alive is the important part, but now isn’t the time to argue.

“W-Who are you?” Arimen asks shakily. I want to look at him, get visual confirmation that he’s okay, but there’s no way I’m taking my eyes off the stranger. They might have helped us, but I don’t know who they are or why they’re here.

Though I have a strong suspicion.

“I could ask you the same thing,” they say. “Why would those men who seemingly don’t die attack a mage? And what’s a mage even doing here in the dead city?”

“The floating city,” Arimen corrects, missing the point entirely. He must be okay, though, if that’s what he’s fixating on. “The people here didn’t all die, you know.”

The stranger blinks, then looks at me as though asking if he’s serious. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” my naïve friend insists. “They left. Because of drought.”

I sigh and shake my head. “He’s young,” I say by way of explanation. “We’re just passing through. This seemed like a good place to rest for a few nights.” I deliberately don’t say anything about the attack.

The wary expression shifts into disbelief. “How does one ‘pass through’ a city that’s famous for being inaccessible… and abandoned?”

“On horseback,” I reply blandly. “And why are you here?”

“Just passing through. Is that dragon yours?”

“Dragons are sentient and a highly independent species. They don’t belong to anyone.”

Their eyes narrow. “Mages can’t bond with dragons anyway.”

“That’s what they teach us,” I agree. “Personally, I’ve never tried.” That’s the absolute truth.

“Perhaps there’s a dragon rider with your group.”

I fight the instinctive wince as my loss hits me afresh. There’s supposed to be a dragon rider with us, dammit. And it’s not supposed to be me. “No,” I say flatly, and they immediately pick up the change in tone, posture stiffening.

There’s a little pause, and Arimen shifts restlessly beside me. Either this is the most coincidental encounter that ever was, and this person really is just a stranger who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they’re the person we’re here to meet and we’re both too wary to give away our hand.

Luckily for me, I can cheat. Is this our new traveling companion? I ask the stone.

~Yes~

Heaving a sigh of relief, I say, “I’m Talon Silverbright, and this is Arimen…” Uh. I don’t think I ever asked Arimen the rest of his name. Tia would be so ashamed of me.

“Arimen Loordine,” he supplies. “Hi.”

“Peiris.”

That’s it. Just the one name, nothing else. But then, they don’t have the source of all creation sending them waves of reassurance.

“Nice to meet you, Peiris. I’m not sure how much you know, but we’re here to meet you.”

Instead of looking shocked, like I expected, they tilt their head in challenge. “Oh? You have the wellspring?”

That throws me off-balance for a moment, until I remember something I learned as a second-year student. The accent, the features… referring to the stone as the “wellspring.” They’re from the Baswich Empire.

“Yes. Do you want me to show you?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Before Peiris can answer, the sound of Jaimin shouting my name carries to us, and our new companion raises a brow.

“Your friends?”

That answers the question of whether they’ve been watching us since we arrived. “Yes.” I raise my voice. “We’re over here!”

Peiris steps back, and I half-raise my hand to them, then gasp. Fuck, that hurts.

Arimen gasps. “Talon, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s fine,” I lie. I’m not looking at my arm. Tia told me once that wounds hurt more when you look at them, and she’d know more about it than I do.

“She did,” Leicht agrees, “but that doesn’t make it true.”

Ignoring him as the sound of running footsteps echoes closer, I look at Peiris. “Please don’t go. I have the st— the wellspring here.” My good hand fumbles with my shirt, but it’s not easy to get to the pouch one-handed. Peiris seems uncertain but doesn’t leave, to my great relief. I’m not in the mood to chase them all over the city, especially given their fighting ability.

“Talon?” Jaimin and Coryn race around the corner and skid to a stop, taking in the scene before them. Coryn raises his sword, and Peiris’s swings up in response.

“We’re all friends!” I shout. “We’re— Ow!” In my haste to stop any maiming, I automatically lifted my wounded arm. It was a mistake.

“You’re hurt.” Jaimin pushes past Coryn and stretches an arm toward me. Even before he reaches me, the pain in my arm lessens, and finally, I glance down at it.

My knees wobble just a tiny bit. That’s a lot of blood. And, oh fuck, is that white thing my bone?

I swallow down bile and look away. Jaimin takes gentle hold of my elbow and wrist, and the pain disappears entirely, but I keep my focus on Coryn and Peiris while he heals me.

“No fighting,” I say firmly. “Peiris, meet Coryn—and this is Jaimin, healing me. Peiris saved us when the zombies got the upper hand.” My ego doesn’t like to admit that I was losing the fight, but I was losing the fight.

“Thank you, Peiris. It’s nice to meet you,” Jaimin greets them. “You’ll have supper with us this evening, won’t you?”

I slide him a sideways glance, but he’s still looking at my arm. My plan was for Peiris to join us, of course, but I don’t know where Jaimin thinks we’re getting food for another mouth from.

“I can bring you a goat,” Leicht suggests. “But you’ll need to carry it down to wherever you’re cooking. Unless you want me to drop it? That would tenderize the meat.”

“No, thanks. Also, could you not talk about dropping things and tenderizing meat? I’m trying not to throw up right now.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Peiris replies politely, not committing either way.

“I like your hair,” Coryn tells them, then turns to me while they’re processing that. “How many came for you? We only had four, and Jaimin sensed them before they were close.”

“I counted nine before I didn’t have time for counting anymore. But I think there were more.”

“Many were already burning before I reached you, and I accounted for six,” Peiris puts in. Coryn frowns.

“That’s more than they sent last time. Were any of yours living? Ours were all—” He stops abruptly, gaze slicing to Peiris, who doesn’t seem at all surprised.

“Undead? It was hard to miss the way amputated limbs kept moving.”

I file away the information that they’re not distressed by the presence—or existence—of zombies. We can talk about that later. “I don’t think any were alive. They were all completely silent, and their faces looked… vacant.” I grimace. “But I stopped paying attention after the first minute. I was just burning anything that came at me.” My knees wobble again. I’ve used a lot of magic today, plus Jaimin’s still healing me, which means my injury was serious. That’s going to eat up energy too.

“Ours were all zombies too,” Coryn confirms. “I cut them up as much as I could before we came looking for you.”

What a delightful thought. “Let’s go, then. It would be bad if they crawled off before I can burn them.” I’m not even sure what would happen.

“It’s not as though they can reassemble,” Peiris says calmly. “They’ll just return to the mage who raised them and likely be burned. Nobody wants a disassembled body roaming around.”

Jaimin’s hands tighten on my arm. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

“Peiris is the person we came here to meet,” I interject. “I was just about to show them the stone.”

Coryn purses his lips and looks Peiris up and down, his eyes lingering on the bloody sword. “You killed six of them?”

“I did. All by myself.”

The sunny smile I’ve gotten so used to appears on Coryn’s face. “That’s wonderful! I’ve been worried about protecting everyone on my own, you know? Especially in places like this, where Leicht can’t help.”

Peiris isn’t quite as enthusiastic yet. “And Leicht is?”

Coryn points up before I can stop him. “Dragon. Didn’t you notice him?”

Knowing brown eyes turn to me, and I try to look innocent.

“I noticed. Who is the dragon rider among you?” Their eyes skim over all of us, and we clearly come up wanting. I don’t blame them—none of us fits the description of a dragon rider, except maybe Coryn. But that’s a stretch.

Coryn’s smile dims. “She died. Leicht wanted to stay, though, so⁠—”

“Okay, let’s explain later,” I cut in. The stone might say Peiris is coming with us, but I’d like to know more about them before we start telling secrets. “I need to go burn the zombie pieces, and it’s going to be dark soon. Arimen and I thought the temple might make a good place to sleep tonight—it has doors and everything.”

“The temple of Wasianth?” Peiris asks, and when I nod, adds, “For a group this size, it would be excellent. Especially if you have horses, as you said.”

Arimen gasps. “We can’t bring horses into the temple!”

“They’re children of the gods,” I say flatly. “I’m sure Wasianth won’t mind. He loved horses—remember his favorite horse, Freshy?”

“Frestin!” he corrects indignantly. “His horse’s name was Frestin, and he loved her so much that she lives with him in the afterlife.”

“That’s what I meant. Frestin. So he’d be fine with horses in the temple.”

While he’s sputtering and Peiris is biting back a smile—one of the few signs of a personality I’ve seen from them—I say to Jaimin, “Can you leave the rest for now?”

He frowns. “Do I have a choice?”

I’m going to pay for this later. “Will I lose my arm if you pause the healing for a while?”

His affronted expression tells me everything I need to know. “Your arm could be hanging by a flap of skin, and I’d be able to save it,” he retorts, then grimaces. “Most of the time. Fine. Let’s get this shirt off you and use it as a sling, though.”

Shirt… off? “Uh, how about I just hold my arm against my body?” The thought of having to lift my arm to get my shirt off has that bile rising in my throat again. Even though Jaimin’s deadened the pain, it still doesn’t feel normal.

“How about you do as you’re told?” His stern expression relaxes into a smirk. “The shirt is ruined, Talon. I’m going to rip it so you can take it off without moving your arm.”

I want to protest—I really like this shirt—but upsetting Jaimin seems like a bad idea, not to mention there are assorted zombie body parts currently meandering around, and that’s definitely a bad thing. So I sigh and nod. Someone is going to buy me a new shirt when this is all over.

He rips it with an efficiency I find very attractive—I’m going to need to stop getting rid of my clothes when they’re no longer suitable for wearing. He can rip them off me instead—and quickly binds my arm to my torso.

“Do not try to lift it,” he cautions. “Let’s⁠—”

“Uh-oh.”

We look at Arimen, whose pale face is even paler than usual. “What’s wrong?” Coryn demands. Arimen lifts a shaking hand and points down the street.

“I think the zombies are trying to find you.”

I’m not the only one whose jaw drops at the sight of assorted limbs dragging themselves along the cobblestones in our direction. Limbs with hands and toes attached—basically, digits that can be used to facilitate movement. I imagine the torsos are still stuck where they fell.

Peiris must be thinking the same thing I am, because they say, “I’m surprised the heads didn’t roll along too. Do you think it’s the incline of the street that’s stopped them?”

Arimen makes a retching sound.

“It could be,” Jaimin agrees, going to check on our young friend. “Or it could be that heads aren’t perfectly round, so they might be rolling on an elliptical trajectory.”

“Interesting. I hadn’t cons⁠—”

“Sorry to interrupt, but that’s already too much geometry for me,” I cut in. My stomach is unsettled enough; talk of rolling heads won’t help. “Coryn, while I burn these… pieces, why don’t you and Peiris go have a look at the temple, see if you agree we should move there for tonight? Then we can go get all our things.”

Peiris raises an eyebrow. “I’m not accustomed to being ordered about.”

“He’s the expedition leader,” Coryn says earnestly. “But don’t worry, he doesn’t do much ordering. Mostly he complains about sleeping on the ground and the food. You and I will be in charge when it comes to safety stuff. Come on, you can show me the temple, and I’ll explain how we all work together.”

I momentarily wonder if that was a poor decision on my part, but surely the stone would have stopped me if Peiris was going to be a risk to us. Shrugging it off—better that they learn upfront what their life is going to become for this mission—I set to work burning arms and legs.

Twilight is falling before we get our things and the horses to the temple. Jaimin and I were right about the heads and torsos of the dismembered zombies—the torsos were where they’d fallen, twitching desperately but barely making any progress, and the heads were rolling around in lopsided circles. I burned them all. Coryn and Jaimin are almost certain no parts got away, and considering that the ones that could move came after us, my guess is that their only orders were to kill us, and they couldn’t stop until that was achieved. The thought of facing that kind of single-mindedness in huge numbers on a battlefield sends chills down my spine.

When Coryn joined us, he advised that the temple would be perfect and that Peiris had gone to collect their belongings. I didn’t have the chance to ask for details, since Sweetie was trying to stomp on my foot—she obviously didn’t like being left at the mercy of the zombies—but now that my demon horse is contentedly drowsing in the corner we’ve blocked off for the horses, I turn my attention to important matters.

Or rather, Jaimin hauls me off to one of the stone benches and threatens me with dire consequences if I don’t sit still so he can finish healing me. I obey and pretend this bossy, strict side of him isn’t wildly attractive to me.

That lasts for about thirty seconds. “You know, it’s more fun than I expected when you order me around. Maybe we can⁠—”

“Do you want me to make this painful?” he threatens. “I can make it painful.”

I give up on trying to flirt… for now. “No,” I say meekly, then can’t resist adding, “It’s not my fault the zombies attacked. Why are you angry with me?”

“I’m not angry with you,” he begins, then immediately changes tack. “Actually, yes, I am. Since when are you the stoic hero who refuses healing?”

What? I blink at him in surprise. “I’m not,” I protest. “Heal me, please.”

His eyes narrow.

“Is this about before? Because I didn’t want zombie limbs creeping around the city and for us to be wandering around after dark?”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m being unreasonable,” he orders. “You have no idea how close you were to losing your arm—and your life, if the wound had festered.”

“I know it hurt like fire until you numbed the pain,” I counter. “And I know you’d never let anything bad happen to me if you could stop it. I don’t think you’re being unreasonable, Jaimin—you’re just underestimating how much faith I have in you.”

His expression softens a little. “Sweet words aren’t going to keep me from lecturing you later.”

“Okay,” I agree. “We’ll go into one of those private rooms and you can lecture me as long as you like. Can we be naked?”

He heaves a sigh that turns into a chuckle. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yes, but I also love you.”

The smile I get almost makes up for the fact that I nearly lost my godsdamned arm. I could have lived without knowing that little fact.

I give myself a few more seconds to process that and then ask Jaimin, “Do you mind if I call Coryn over? I want to know what he and Peiris talked about.”

He nods. “Good idea. Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

I shrug, then cringe when he scowls at me. “Sorry. I forgot. You’re too good at making the pain go away.” The scowl doesn’t lighten, so I move on. “Hey, Coryn? Could you come here?”

Our resident cuddle-bunny puts down the sword he’s sharpening—a sound I’ve become accustomed to but will never like—and joins us. “Hi! Is Talon okay?” he asks Jaimin.

“I’m right here,” I point out, but he ignores me.

“If he needs to rest, I can come back later,” he says earnestly.

Jaimin smiles at him. “You’re my favorite person in the world. But it’s fine for him to talk to you.”

Coryn beams and says, “Okay,” before turning to me. “Did you need something?”

I sputter for a good ten seconds. “I am an adult! I’m a mage, and a professor, and the leader of this group, and I can decide when I’m okay to talk!”

“Of course you can,” he assures me earnestly, and I get the distinct feeling of being humored. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”

This isn’t an argument I’m going to win. “No,” I mutter gracelessly. “What did you and Peiris talk about? Did they say where their camp is?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Now that I think of it, I even asked, but they never answered. Mostly I talked—I told them about Leicht and Tia.”

Jaimin looks up, his eyes intent. “Did you mention that Talon can communicate with Leicht?”

“No, but they’ll find out anyway, won’t they? I think they were curious about that, but they’re too polite to ask.”

I snort. “They’re not that polite. It’s more likely that they didn’t want to say anything that might make you stop talking.”

“It’s been a while,” Jaimin says. “Do you think they’ve just left?”

“No,” I say, even as Coryn shakes his head again. “I think they’ll want to see the stone.”

“Yeah,” Coryn agrees. “That was the one question they did ask—though they called it something else. It took us a few minutes to understand each other.”

“What did they call it?” Jaimin asks.

Coryn shrugs. “The wellspring,” I answer. “I’m almost positive that they’re from the Baswich Empire. Which raises a lot of questions.”

“The Baswich Empire?” Coryn’s eyes widen. “But that’s on the other side of the world! I didn’t think the people there were human.”

How Jaimin keeps a straight face, I have no idea. My jaw drops so fast, I’m surprised it stays attached. “Why—? What⁠—?”

“They’re human,” Jaimin says patiently. “And that would explain the accent. It’s a long way to travel, though. I wonder if this means the zombie threat is already more widespread than we’d guessed?”

“I wonder why someone from the other side of the world knows where we need to go next while we don’t,” I counter. “I don’t mind sailing, but I’ve never been interested in crossing whole oceans.” Not to mention that will delay my return to my studies indefinitely.

“Oceans are big,” Coryn comments. “And horses don’t like boats that much.”

Even though I’ve been keeping an eye out for the opportunity to get rid of Sweetie, suddenly the idea of leaving her behind isn’t so appealing. What if we get to the Empire and my horse there hates me too? Only I won’t have the history with it that I have with Sweetie. She might be a pain in the ass, but as least I know I can trust her when things go badly. “We’ll just have to hope we’re staying on the continent, then.”

“And wait for Peiris to come back and answer our questions,” Jaimin adds before patting my shoulder. “I’m done with you. Go put some clothes on before you catch a cold.”

Startled, I realize the odd numbness in my arm is gone, and it feels as good as new. “Thank you!” I jump to my feet and catch his face between my hands, pulling him in for a kiss before he can protest. He’s a very private person, but Coryn and Arimen don’t count as public.

“Oh.”

We break apart and turn toward the main temple doors. Peiris is standing there, a pack dangling from one hand and a bedroll over the other shoulder.

“Welcome back,” I say smoothly. “Is something wrong?” I don’t care how good they are with that sword, if I have to dangle them upside down, I will.

They shake their head. “No, I was just surprised. Apologies—I didn’t intend to make things awkward.”

I let out a silent breath of relief, and beside me, Jaimin relaxes.

“Where’s your horse?” Coryn asks, and I actually see the moment Peiris decides whether to tell us the truth or not.

“I didn’t bring him,” they say finally, and dammit, that’s the perfect neutral answer.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” Jaimin suggests, moving toward the fire I lit under one of the skylight holes. “Arimen will finish making supper soon, but in the meantime, Talon can show you the… wellspring.”

“Just let me put on a shirt now that I’m all healed up,” I confirm, heading toward my pack. Peiris takes in our small camp and sets their things slightly off to one side, neatly unrolling their bedding close enough to the fire to take advantage of the warmth, but still apart from the rest of us.

I pull on a shirt and my coat, thankful I wasn’t wearing it or my cloak when the zombies attacked, because I don’t have spares, and then take the stone from the pouch around my neck. “Here it is.”

Peiris’s dark eyes lock onto it, and a muscle works in their cheek. Finally, they nod. “I’m in the right place, then. It’s good to know that we interpreted the prophecies correctly.”

The stone clatters to the floor.

“Talon!” Jaimin starts toward me, concern on his face, even as Coryn snatches up his sword.

“I’m fine; everything’s okay,” I assure them both, bending to pick up the stone. I don’t know why they’re so worried. It’s not like it can break or anything… can it?

Just in case, I look it over cursorily, but it doesn’t seem to be misshapen or chipped. Not more than usual, anyway.

“Sorry about that,” I tell Peiris. “I was a little surprised. Whereabouts in the prophecies did you find the directions to meet us here?” And why were our prophetic scholars unable to find them?

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Peiris seems confused by the question. “It was at the beginning of the scroll for the fifteenth to thirtieth centuries,” they say. “How did you not see it?”

“At the beginning of the what?” I’ll admit to not being a strong prophetic scholar, but I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about. The fifteenth century?

We stare at each other.

“Are you really from the Baswich Empire?” Arimen pipes up suddenly from where he’s been stirring the stew.

Peiris gives me another one of those “is he seriously saying that right now?” looks. “I am.”

“Oh.” He looks at me. “The Empire has different prophecies from us.”

“What?”

“We do?”

Arimen’s eyes go wide at the sheer volume of our responses, and Jaimin steps in, asking gently, “How do you know that, Arimen?”

“Th-Th-Th S-Some of the priests… at the Sanctuary…”

“You’re not in trouble,” I assure him, trying not to sound impatient. “Did someone at the Sanctuary tell you about it?”

He shakes his head, then nods. “Y-Yes, but… There’s a copy of the Baswich Prophecies at the Sanctuary. All seventy-three scrolls. Some of the priests make their career in studying them.”

At first I’m confused—why would priests be dedicating themselves to the prophecies of an Empire that has its own gods?—and then understanding crashes in on me.

There’s something in those prophecies that’s driving the temples to take the stone from us. Something so valuable to them that they would willingly stand against the City of Knowledge and the combined nations of the continent.

“Have you seen the scrolls?” Jaimin asks, and there’s no gentleness in his voice now. He’s had the same realization as me.

“No. I wasn’t up to that part of my studies.”

“Okay.” Jaimin nods, then looks to me. It’s time for me to step into my leadership role.

“Could your leadership role include asking me to go burn the Sanctuary to ashes?” Leicht asks. “I’d do it, stop for a short rest, and be back before tomorrow afternoon.”

“Please don’t distract me right now. This is why Tia died. I need to concentrate.”

The wordless support he sends back is more comforting than I expected.

“Let’s eat,” I say abruptly. “We have a lot to talk about. Peiris, why don’t we tell you our story, and then you can tell us yours. At the end, we can ask any questions we haven’t already answered.”

There’s a slightly troubled expression on that almost-delicate face. “This is a wise plan.”

Coryn helps Arimen dish up the food, and then as we eat in the glow of the fire and scattered magelights, I cast my mind back to the beginning, only a few months ago, and begin to talk.

Peiris isn’t surprised by how the stone was found. Nor by the fact that it can communicate with us. They are surprised by how little we know about the zombie wars, and that we have no idea who we’re even looking for.

Surprise turns to anger when they learn that our temples are trying to take the stone, and then sympathy when I speak of Tia’s death. Shock comes when I explain that the stone has allowed me to communicate with Leicht; I can only imagine how much more shocked they would be if they knew the truth.

By the time I wind down the story, we’ve finished eating and their body language is much more open and receptive. The stone sends an approving pulse through me—obviously I’ve done the right thing.

Peiris sighs. “The small amount of information you have access to is deeply concerning,” they confess. “Without the wellspring, you would be in the dark. Yet it also is far less forthcoming than it could be.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” I say darkly. “That’s a conversation I’ve had with it many times before.”

“Does that mean you have more information?” Arimen asks. “Was it in your prophecies?”

Nodding, Peiris says, “In our prophecies and our histories. My people did not erase the knowledge gained during the Undead Uprising.”

Even as excitement races through me, I take a moment to appreciate the alliteration of “Undead Uprising.” I always thought “Zombie Wars” was a simple but effective name for it, but clearly our ancestors were second-best to those in the Empire for multiple reasons.

“Please, tell us your story,” Jaimin invites.

Leaning back on one hand, Peiris begins, “When I was a child, I was given the same education as many of my peers, and that included a basic understanding of the prophecies and histories. But once I reached my pubescent years, it became apparent that I was to play a larger role than anyone had expected.” They pause. “It’s a long tangent, and I don’t believe it’s entirely relevant. Perhaps we could save that for another time?”

I’m not about to delay the information I’ve wanted for months. “Whatever you think best.”

“Once I and everyone knew that I would be necessary to what came, I began a deeper study of the prophecies.” They pull a face. “Unfortunately, the prophecies, no matter how well they are studied, have a trick of not becoming clear until the moment of necessity. It was a key point of frustration for me.”

I make a mental note of that phrase. “Key point of frustration” sounds so much more refined than “completely fucked-up.” Peiris is going to be a great role model for me.

“It wasn’t until several months ago—I would need to check, but I believe it may have been only weeks before the wellspring revealed itself—that we in the Empire were made aware that the danger that came was the undead. I had been an indifferent student of that era, but I immediately sought counsel with expert scholars. The two most important things I learned are how the undead die—which you already know—and that it is vital at any battle to locate and kill the necromancers as quickly as possible… if it’s possible.”

“I definitely planned on doing that anyway,” Coryn assures them earnestly, but Peiris shakes their head.

“No, you don’t understand. Necromancers do not die easily. Many—not all, but many—are like the zombies they raise and can survive even the most fatal of blows. They are no longer human and do not die like humans.”

Well, turds. I exchange a look with Jaimin.

“How can I kill them then?” Coryn asks intently. Peiris shrugs helplessly.

“The ones that can be killed will die through regular means. The others… they don’t die. Not without the intervention of the gods.”

Arimen perks up. “The gods?”

“That’s how the Undead Uprising was ended—the gods intervened directly.”

Pain stabs behind my eye. “The gods did. Great. Okay.” I take a breath. “Let’s hope the champion has some ideas on how to contact them, then. In the meantime… why is it so important to kill the necromancers first at any battle?”

Peiris doesn’t look all that happy about my comments, but obligingly answers the question anyway. “It takes a great deal of energy for a necromancer to raise even one undead, and they can only raise one at a time.”

I nod. “Yes, we knew that much.”

“But so long as its necromancer lives, the undead can scratch or bite the living, then slay them, and they will immediately rise and join the ranks of the enemy.”

The crackle of the fire is the only thing that breaks the silence, until finally Jaimin clears his throat. “I want to be certain I understand this. Theoretically, if the zombie that injured Talon today had scratched him first, then succeeded in killing him—Talon would have become a zombie?”

“Yes. If the necromancer who raised that undead is alive, yes.”

That finally answers the question of how there can be so many zombies so quickly, and why all the people from attacked villages are missing. There might be far fewer necromancers involved than we feared… although this alternative option isn’t really better.

The babble of voices fades as horrific memory rises. A hand, reaching toward me amidst the flash of swords…

Leicht’s scream echoes through the city, and conversation cuts off.

“What’s wrong?” Jaimin demands. Coryn’s on his feet already, looking toward the door.

I shake my head. Telling them won’t help anything. “He’s just surprised.” “Stop. I’m fine. We know what to watch out for now.”

His fury doesn’t dim, but the screams stop. Coryn retakes his seat, and though Jaimin studies me for a moment longer, I can see when he decides to take my words at face value.

“Is it some kind of poison?” he muses. “Or magic? A link from their creator to the newly dead? But you said the slain would immediately rise. If it’s the necromancer raising them, wouldn’t it take time and effort, the same as when they first raise their zombies?”

“The undead are highly contagious,” Peiris explains. “There is a theory that merely living in close proximity to them for a prolonged time could cause infection. If they break the skin of the living, it is certain to transfer. There are several theories as to why the necromancer must be alive, but I was unable to find a definitive answer.”

Jaimin’s face becomes intent. “A virus of some kind? Viruses can be cured—or run their course. What happens if someone is scratched or bitten but the zombie doesn’t kill them? Was anyone ever successfully cured? Or did they rise after dying for other reasons, even years later?”

“And does the zombie that scratched them have to still be al—around, when the person does die?” Coryn adds. “What if a zombie had scratched someone today, then a mage or dragon killed the zombie before it could kill any of us? Would the person who got scratched still become a zombie when they die?”

“Before we get too far into the details,” I interrupt, “can we confirm that nobody got scratched or bitten today? Or any other time we’ve been attacked? I didn’t.” My heart is beating so fast, I feel dizzy. I can’t lose anyone else—I just can’t.

“Not me,” Coryn declares, and Jaimin shakes his head.

“Me either.”

“Nor I,” Peiris adds.

“My back got scratched,” Arimen volunteers, and my heart stops beating. No. “But it was when you shoved me along the wall. Those stones are rough.”

I suck in a harsh breath. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how fond I’ve gotten of him.

Jaimin has a hand pressed to his throat. “Next time,” he says faintly, “please start with that information. I’ll heal you before bed.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “Okay. I want to talk more about the zombies later, but first, tell us how you knew to come here—and where we’re supposed to go next.”

“The prophecies said to come to here,” they explain, then recite from memory, “They will travel to the place that died and come upon the companions of the wellspring. With the companions will they find the godsborn and journey to the birthplace.”

I fucking hate prophecies. “How… concise.”

Jaimin coughs. “ʻThe place that died’ is here, and our presence as ‘companions of the wellspring’ is proof of that. Though, I’ll be interested in how you reasoned it out. I’m guessing ‘the birthplace’ is where we’re going next?”

“After we find the godsborn,” Peiris reminds us.

“Godsborn,” I mutter. “Why does that sound familiar?” I feel like I’ve heard it recently. Maybe⁠—

“A real godsborn?” Arimen breathes, his face alight with excitement. “Did the prophecy say who? This is so exciting!”

I exchange a glance with Jaimin. It’s becoming rapidly apparent that Arimen is here to be our religious interpreter.

“Remind me, what’s a godsborn?” I can live with sounding ignorant if I have to; there’s no time to waste trying to finesse the information I need.

Arimen heaves a huge sigh. “Talon! We were talking about this just the other week, remember?”

“We… were?” He talks a lot, but I don’t usually zone out when he’s talking to me. Well, not often, anyway.

“Yes! When we stayed at the cottage and found the storybook? I read you the tale of Dreyda!”

Like a runaway carriage, the memory hits. Not just of that night—when, to be fair, I had a lot more on my mind than Arimen’s stories—but also of my nanny telling us the same stories when I was a child. “Godsborn?” I repeat, shocked. “You mean… gods born into mortal bodies? I thought that was a fairy tale!”

“So did I,” Jaimin murmurs, but Peiris shakes their head.

“They are acknowledged to exist,” they explain. “We’ve had several documented incarnations of our gods.”

“I thought they were just stories too,” Arimen confesses, “but at the Sanctuary they taught us that they’re real.” His grin is wide. “It makes the stories so much better.”

My head is spinning with this new information. “The champion,” I say. “Peiris, what was the prophecy, again? The bit you said about the godsborn.”

“With the companions will they find the godsborn and journey to the birthplace,” they recite again.

I look around the group. “I’m not the only one thinking it, am I? This godsborn has to be the stone’s champion we’ve been looking for.” And a god, which, in light of Peiris’s revelation that only gods can kill necromancers, is a huge relief.

“That does make sense,” Peiris agrees.

“So is the ‘birthplace’ it refers to the birthplace of the godsborn or the necromancer behind all this?” Jaimin asks.

“Or the zombies,” Coryn adds.

“Probably not the zombies,” I explain as kindly as I can. “People would notice if someone was bringing a lot of dead bodies to one place. It’s more likely the necromancer travels to the bodies and raises them there. If they’re even still raising them at all, instead of letting the zombies do the legwork.”

“Unless they’re the caretaker of a graveyard,” Arimen points out excitedly. “Oh! Or maybe they run a mortuary.”

Another stab behind my left eye. Why? Why am I the one who has to deal with excitable young adults? First at the academy and now with Arimen.

Thankfully, Jaimin is here. “Those are all options we can consider when we’re looking for the necromancer,” he says diplomatically. “For now, let’s focus on where we’ll find the godsborn.” He turns expectantly to Peiris.

Who looks just as expectantly back.

My stomach sinks. “The stone said you knew where we’re going next,” I prompt.

“Yes.” Peiris nods. “To the birthplace—of the godsborn, by the way. That was explained in another part of the prophecy. It hasn’t been made clear yet why we have to go there, but I always assumed it had something to do with the godsborn connecting with their full power.”

“Wait.” Coryn scratches his head. “I’m confused. Somebody needs to explain this to me.”

“It’s simple enough,” I say through gritted teeth. “The stone is a hunk of stupid rock that likes to play games with us.”

“Talon!” Arimen scolds.

Coryn shakes his head. “That’s not nice, Talon. The stone is trying its hardest to help us. Have you been petting it? Maybe it needs some pets.”

Jaimin’s hand squeezing my leg stops me from saying anything I’ll regret later. “The stone told us that Peiris would know where we’re going next—and they do. We need to go to the birthplace of the godsborn. Unfortunately, we don’t know where that is, where the godsborn is, or who the godsborn is. So…” He spreads his hands.

“So we know nothing,” Coryn finishes in dawning awareness.

“That’s not true! We know we’re going to get to meet a godsborn!” Arimen chirps. “Do you think they’ll like me? Will I get to talk to them? I need a haircut!”

Peiris blinks. “Why?”

“I’m sure you’ll get to talk to them and they’ll like you,” Jaimin says before Arimen can speak again. “And I’ll cut your hair if you want me to, but the longer length suits you.” His face is absolutely straight, and I wonder if he’s just good at maintaining his composure or if he’s really thought about hairstyles that suit Arimen. I study our young friend’s face, trying to remember if it looked better or worse when his hair was shorter, then give up.

It's not like I’m the best judge when it comes to hairstyles, anyway. I should ask Jaimin to cut my hair, too, if I want to keep the promise I made to Tia. And I can’t believe I’m thinking about hair at a time like this.

“Let’s ask the stone what it thinks,” I say abruptly. “Maybe it can give us more information now that we’ve met Peiris.”

~No~

My jaw drops. “I didn’t even ask yet!” How rude.

Peiris, on the other hand, has that awestruck look people tend to get when the stone speaks to them for the first time. “That was the wellspring. The wellspring let me hear its voice,” they murmur.

Delightful.

“Why don’t you update your master?” Jaimin suggests, his mouth quirking like it always does when he wants to laugh at me. I’ll make him pay for that later.

I leave him explaining to Peiris that I’m a telepath and have been updating my master—and thus the academies—as we’ve traveled, and go to sit on my bedroll so I’m not distracted by their chatter. Master immediately responds to my telepathic knock.

“Talon? Has something happened? I only spoke to you this afternoon.”

Was it only a few hours ago? Eons have passed since then.

“We’re all okay,” I begin, and his mental concern ratchets up to alarm. “There was another zombie attack. More of them, this time.”

His vicious expletive gives me an odd sense of satisfaction. “How do they keep finding you? If there was anywhere I’d have thought you safe, it would have been Caimae.”

I pause. I hadn’t thought about that, but how did they know to come here? If they’d been following us through the fields before we reached the hills, we would have noticed—it’s not like there were a lot of places to hide. There’s nobody here who could have sent word of where we are; and anyway, we only just arrived. Even coming upriver in a good boat, they would have needed to be close already.

There’s really only one way.

“I think I might know,” I say slowly. “Let me tell you the rest first.” I quickly explain how Peiris saved me and Arimen and that the stone confirmed they’re coming with us, then launch into a rundown of what they’ve told us.

I’m barely finished when Master says, “Someone with a copy of the Baswich prophecies is in league with the necromancer behind this all.”

“It seems that way,” I agree. “Perhaps even the necromancer themselves. But I heard a line or two, and even if their prophecies have more information than ours, they’re still not a simple list of instructions. This is someone educated who’s had time to study and interpret the documents. Or it’s someone in the Baswich Empire—but the zombies have been finding us almost from the beginning, and from what Peiris has said, I don’t think anyone could have traveled here faster than them.”

“There is the possibility that we have a leak here,” Master concedes grimly. “We already know someone leaked news of the stone to the temples. It’s possible they were more highly placed than we thought.”

“A councilor?” I wish the idea was more shocking to me, but it’s really not. “Let’s not borrow trouble. But… maybe don’t share everything I’ve told you tonight. Wait and see who already seems to know we’re looking for a godsborn.”

There’s a sharp little pause as we both ponder how fantastical that is. “A godsborn,” Master echoes. “I thought them children’s stories.”

“So did I. It’s concerning, since apparently they’re accepted reality in the Empire. Has there been an effort to prevent us from knowing the truth? Or do our gods just not spend much time with us here?” I’m not sure which option is worse.

“I’ll do some research and see what I can find out—quietly. What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m hesitant to leave here without knowing what direction to go—and truthfully, I think we could all use a break before we tackle the hills again. But we’ve had very low supplies for a while now, and the stone said we’d be able to resupply soon, which we obviously can’t here. Leicht suggested I ride him to a town and bring back what we need. That might be the best idea—it would give the others a day or so to rest and let us stock up again before we face whatever’s next.”

“Hm, that does sound wise. It also gives me time to find something that might help you. The stone wants you to succeed, so I imagine there are clues for us somewhere.”

“Let’s just hope we find them before it’s too late.”

CHAPTER FORTY

I wake with a start and thrash against the hand clamped over my mouth. Leicht surges to wakefulness, but then relaxes, and I let my eyes focus in the dim starlight filtering through the skylights.

Jaimin crouches over me, a finger held to his lips, and my muscles untense. He must feel it, because he removes his hand and gestures for me to follow him.

Only the promise of some private personal time with Jaimin could get me out of my warm blankets on a cold night, and even then I take a second to wish we had a cozy bed to snuggle in together instead of having to go find a poky, chilly stone room.

But I follow him anyway. A man has to prioritize.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I reach for him in the darkness. “Next time you want to be spontaneous, can you plan to have a nice, comfortable inn nearby?”

He kisses me, then steps back. “I don’t think you know what spontaneous means. We’re not doing that. I need to talk to Master Samoine.”

What? My brain isn’t awake enough to process this. I create a dim magelight, just bright enough for me to see his face. “Huh?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I thought of something. I need to talk to him now.”

Rubbing my eyes, I say, “Wait. You woke me because you want me to wake my master in the middle of the night?”

“Yes.” There’s an edge of impatience in his voice now.

“Why?”

“Because I need to talk to him. Now.”

I finally wake up enough to process that this can’t be a good thing. “Can you summarize what you want to tell him? He’ll be less annoyed at being woken if I have the details for him right away.”

“No, I need to talk to him. I need you to let him have control of your mouth.”

I stare at him in shock. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable letting Master have that power—we’ve done it before, and I trust him completely—but is Jaimin really not even going to tell me what the problem is?

“But—”

“Talon, please. I need to be certain nothing is lost in relay, and since you’ll be listening anyway, there’s no point in saying it all twice. I’ve been worrying this thought for hours, and it’s urgent that Master Samoine know.”

I nod—whatever this is takes precedence over my ego. Bracing myself, I knock at Master’s mind, sharply enough to wake him.

“Talon? Are you being attacked?”

“No, nothing like that. J⁠—”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“A few minutes later than when I was woken from a sound sleep. Jaimin urgently needs to talk to you—directly to you.”

He’s sputtering when I reach for him, but after a moment, he reaches back, and I grimace at the disconcerting feeling of being pushed aside in my own head.

“Jaimin? Talon said you needed to speak with me.”

“Apologies for waking you, but this is… If I’m right, this is more important than anything.”

“Tell me.”

“I need information about the godsborn.”

I can feel Master’s surprise echoing mine. “Yes, Talon and I have discussed that. I’ll begin searching⁠—”

“No, specific information. I need any physiological or medical background we might have on the godsborn.”

“Medical background? They’re gods—would they need medical attention?”

A muscle twitches in Jaimin’s cheek. “That’s what I need to know. Also genealogical and other information for the families they’re born to.”

That shocks me enough that I take back control of my mouth. “Families? I don’t understand—what do you mean by born?”

“If I recall the stories correctly, they’re born human—godsborn. They have the power of their godhood, though somewhat limited by their humanity. But they have to be born, not just appear fully grown. If that’s right, I need information about it to confirm or disprove my theory.”

“What theory?” Master asks, and Jaimin hesitates.

“I don’t want to say yet. In case I’m wrong. If I think it gets to the point you need to know, regardless of evidence, I’ll tell you. But for now, I’d rather wait.”

Master and I digest that silently. He’s really not going to tell us?

“Is there anything else?” Master asks finally.

“Power. Anything that might give a clue as to how their power is limited and what abilities they still have. Th-That’s especially important.” It’s hard to tell in the low light, but Jaimin seems more shaken than I’d realized, and guilt stabs at me. This was clearly urgent for him, but instead of taking him at his word, I had to stop and question. I need to show more faith in him in the future, the way he does for me.

“Very well. I’ll begin searching in earnest tomorrow, though truthfully, I don’t even know where to look. I⁠—”

The stone pulses, and Master stops midsentence. “What was that?”

“The stone,” I tell him. “It has something to contribute, which makes a nice change.” Even as I’m speaking, an image rises in my mind’s eye of a small room lined with cabinets. They take up so much space that even in a mental picture, the room feels claustrophobic. Still, it’s obviously where the stone wants Master to start looking.

“Well, that’s nice, but we don’t know where that is,” I tell it.

“What?” Jaimin asks. “What did it say?”

“It showed me a room, but there wasn’t a locat⁠—”

“Showed us a room,” Master interrupts. That’s quite a feat when he needs to use my mouth to do it. I think my tongue got tied in a knot. “And I know perfectly well where that room is. I just don’t think anyone’s been in it for about thirty years.”

“Thirty years?” Jaimin’s voice has a peculiar note. “Exactly thirty years?”

Master hesitates. “I don’t know. The archives were reorganized when I was an apprentice, and we were directed to put the most unused and unreferenced documents and relics in there. Things nobody had looked at for over a decade. It’s possible that someone has gone looking in there since.”

~No~

“Or not,” Jaimin says, showing that he heard the stone this time. “It was thirty years ago that the documents went into that room?”

“I… Well, maybe not quite. Sorting and moving things was the task that took up most of the second year after I attained level-2. That would have been… twenty-eight years ago.”

Jaimin nods and repeats, “Twenty-eight years ago,” in that same peculiar tone. “I think it’s imperative that you begin your search in that room—and the stone clearly agrees.”

~Yes~

“I’ll begin as soon as the archives open for the day,” Master promises. “This will help the search considerably.”

Since the archives take up the basement of the entire academy, I’m certain it will.

Master says goodnight and withdraws from my head, and I turn my attention to Jaimin. “Are you okay?” I ask softly. His face is drawn into tense lines, and I wish he felt he could tell me what this is about, if only so I could share the burden with him.

He sucks in a deep breath. “Yes. I’m… This could have ramifications, if I’m right. But even if I am, I’m okay. I’d tell you if I wasn’t, because I believe honesty and communication are vital in a relationship.”

Whoa. This is going in an odd direction. “I do too. Not that I’ve had a relationship before this, but I believe anything you want is vital.”

His lips twitch in a smile, but it’s a pale reflection of itself. “Just… remember that, okay? I’d tell you upfront if I wasn’t okay or if I was… dealing with… problems. And I’d want you to do the same.”

I put a hand on his cheek. “I will. I swear.” I hesitate. “Jaimin, are you sure you can’t tell me what’s worrying you?”

“Soon,” he assures me. “Even if I’m wrong, I’ll tell you soon. I hope I’m wrong, because then we can laugh about it. But if I’m right… I’ll still be okay.”

I just promised to believe that, but I think he needs to convince himself first.

There’s no breakfast the next morning, just tea. Peiris is aghast when they hear.

“I have corn meal! I could have brought it. You should have told me you were low on food.”

I’d agree, but the thought of gruel is unappealing enough for me to concede that I’m not starving yet.

“We need to resupply,” I say instead. “As kind as your offer is, I doubt you have enough extra food to keep us all going for very long.”

They look around at our faces, then up and down Coryn’s big form—and sigh. “True.”

“Are we leaving here, then?” Arimen manages to make the question sound pathetic and gives me big eyes. He’s spent the time since waking wandering around the temple, clearing away debris and spiderwebs. It’s disconcerting.

I shake my head. “Not yet. Until we know where we’re going, it doesn’t seem worth fighting our way out through the hills. Instead, I thought I might take Leicht south along the river to the nearest good-sized village and get some things there. The rest of you can spend the day exploring, resting… mending,” I add, because weeks of travel tend to take a toll on clothes, tents, blankets, and everything else.

“The horses need to graze,” Jaimin reminds us. “So we’ll need to take them up to Leicht’s hilltop.” He gazes toward their makeshift pen, then glances at Arimen. “We might need to muck out, too.”

Mucking out an abandoned building in an abandoned city would seem insane to most people, but he’s right—Arimen will probably insist on it. If we’re staying a while longer, the horses will need a clean space, anyway.

“Do we need to stay here?” Peiris ventures. “I know we’re not sure where to go next, but since we don’t have enough supplies to stay here indefinitely, wouldn’t it be wiser for us all to go to the village and wait there for more information?”

“It would take more than a week to get there with the horses,” I explain. “We’d need to go around the lake and downriver, and there aren’t any roads until the first village.” I glance at Coryn to confirm. “Right?”

He shrugs. “That’s what I was told.”

“So it would be impractical. I’d need to go for supplies with Leicht first just to keep us going.” I definitely don’t want to live solely off winter forest forage for that long. It’s not really enough for the horses, either.

A thought strikes me. “Where’s your horse? Is there any grass there, and is it closer than the hilltop above the city?”

Peiris winces. “I planned to tell you when I was sure you were who I was here to meet, but then we got distracted by everything,” they begin, and I brace myself. “I don’t have a horse.”

“What?” Coryn asks blankly.

“How did you get here?” Jaimin adds—more sharply than is usual for him. He’s still tense about whatever his theory is.

“I sailed.”

We digest that.

“On a boat?” Arimen asks, and I hold back my instinctive need to ask what the fuck else they could have sailed here on.

“Yes.” Peiris nods. “On a boat.”

Coryn’s frowning into his tea. “Did it sink?”

“No, it’s docked in one of the coves to the east of the city. There are some big old mansions there and a fancy stone marina.”

I wish I had a map of this area, but of course we assumed that if we had to come this way, we’d be able to buy one before we left the road—or at the docks before we sailed. Nobody was prepared for the stone’s impulsive whims. Still, east of the city is opposite to the direction we came from, which would explain why we saw nothing.

“You have a boat,” I say, wanting to make sure I understand the situation. “How big is the boat you have that’s close to here and would mean no more camping in the stinking hills?”

“I liked the hills,” Arimen says to nobody in particular. I ignore him, because he likes everything and everybody, including the gloomy rain.

“Big enough,” Peiris admits. “We’d all fit comfortably, especially for a short voyage.”

“And the horses?” There’s a touch of anxiety in Coryn’s voice. He’s very attached to his horse.

“They’d have to stay on deck, but they’d fit… I think.”

I look over to see what Jaimin’s thinking, but he’s not paying attention anymore, his gaze distant as his fingers worry the hem of his shirt. I hope Master finds some answers soon, or this is going to become a real problem.

“What do you think?” I ask Leicht instead.

“I think you should let Jaimin work through this in his own time.”

Uh, what in the holy gods’ turds kind of advice is that? “I actually meant, what do you think about getting on Peiris’s boat and leaving Caimae? But also, you’re wrong. Jaimin’s worries are my worries, even if I don’t know what they are.”

I can almost see his look of disdain.

“Get on the boat. Even if you need to go north, Peiris doesn’t have a horse, so you’d need to sail somewhere to buy them one first. Do that now while you’re waiting.”

An excellent point, and damn the dragon for being the one to think of it.

“If we’re all in agreement,” I begin, “why don’t we sail south today and find a village where we can resupply and get Peiris a horse, just in case we need it later? I think we could all use a night or two in a comfortable inn, as well.” Or even an uncomfortable one. Anything has to be better than sleeping on mud or stone, right? “Then, once we have an idea of where we need to go, we’ll be rested and ready and can set off immediately.”

“Even if we can’t find a decent inn, there are three cabins on the ship,” Peiris volunteers. “They’re not big, but the bunks are decent.”

Bunks. Presumably with mattresses. It seems like a dream.

“The horses really need better feed,” Coryn agrees. “I like it.”

Only Arimen is devastated. “Leave?” he says, his lip trembling. “But we just got here!”

A pang of regret runs through me as I realize that leaving Caimae will mean leaving Caimae. This city has felt very welcoming for me, even in its abandoned state. I wonder if Master will remember to look into the idea that gods can leave residual energy in places, or if he’ll forget in his urgency to find information on the godsborn.

“How far is the nearest good-sized village?” I ask Peiris, who considers the question carefully.

“With the current in our favor, perhaps three hours away?”

“Let’s add another hour to get to your boat and ready to sail,” I muse, even though I have absolutely zero idea of what’s involved in readying a boat to sail. The boat can’t be too big, because Peiris sailed it on their own, but it’s not small if it has three cabins and enough deck space for six horses. “And some time to get settled and find what we need when we get there. We still don’t need to go for another few hours. Arimen, will that be enough time for you to say goodbye?”

At first I think he’s going to burst into tears, but then he squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “It’s not goodbye,” he declares. “I’ll be back. You’ll come with me, won’t you? When all this is over?”

Me? He wants me to come with him? I’m absurdly touched. “Of course. I like it here too. But how about we sail here on a comfortable pleasure yacht we can sleep on? And come a lot better prepared.”

He nods fervently. “I know priests are supposed to live a simple life, but this might be too simple even for me.”

Peiris coughs, and when I glance over, laughter is dancing in their eyes.

“Living a simple life is a lot more complicated than people tell you,” I say dryly. “Are we all good with the plan, then? We leave in three hours?”

There’s a chorus of general agreement, and as our morning huddle around the fire breaks up, Coryn sidles up to me.

“Talon?” he murmurs, and I really hope he’s going to ask for a hug. “Is Jaimin okay?”

Damn. I’m not prepared for this question, even though I should have been. “Yes.”

He eyes me, gaze full of doubt.

“He didn’t sleep well,” I add. It’s true. “The whole godsborn thing took him off guard.” Also true.

Coryn nods slowly but still seems worried. “Do you think he needs a hug?”

“Probably. I know I could use one.” The me of a few months ago wouldn’t believe I could ever say such a thing.

My big blond friend opens his arms, and I decide that past me was an idiot for a lot of reasons. Hugs are amazing. A genuine hug from a friend has the kind of power no mage will ever be able to harness.

Over Coryn’s shoulder, my gaze tracks Jaimin. He’s methodically packing his things, but his face is drawn and his gaze distant.

I hope Master finds something really soon.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

“This would be a good place,” Peiris announces, turning the… steering thing. The boat responds, changing direction toward the village on the west bank of the river.

I study it as we approach. They’re right—this one is bigger than the two we’ve passed since leaving Caimae, with busy docks and what looks like a good-sized market. We’ll be able to resupply here, and usually towns like this have a few decent inns. I clap them on the shoulder. “Good choice.”

They steer toward what looks like an open space down one end. “We’ll need to leave someone aboard to guard,” they warn. “Even small towns like this have their fair share of troublemakers, and strangers are the best people to rob, since you don’t have to see them in the town square every day.”

The more I get to know Peiris, the more I like them.

“That’s not a good outlook to have,” Arimen protests from behind us. “Most people are good!”

You’d think, after everything he’s heard and seen since joining us, that his starry-eyed naivete would have dimmed a little.

“Most people are,” Peiris agrees patiently—more patiently than I could manage. “But it won’t hurt to leave a guard, just in case one of them isn’t.”

I’m saved from having to hear Arimen’s response when we bump gently against the dock. Peiris leaps gracefully to the pier, rope in hand, and loops it around the cleat there for that purpose. Coryn throws another rope, and they fasten that one to a different cleat. It’s really very efficient.

By the time Coryn and I are on the dock—we told Jaimin to wait with Arimen and the horses while we arranged berthing for the night—the dockmaster has come to talk to Peiris.

“…one night, but tomorrow we’re expecting several merchant ships and we’ll need the space.”

“We only plan to stay one night,” Peiris assures him. “We leave at dawn.”

“Or slightly after,” I add. Dawn is so early, after all, and it’s been a while since I’ve been able to enjoy a bed and a meal that I didn’t have to either forage or watch someone skin first. “But definitely we’ll be gone before the merchants get here.”

“Very well. The berthing fee⁠—”

“Mage Silverbright!”

My head snaps in the direction of the voice, my magic racing through my body and rising to⁠—

Oh.

It’s a face I never expected to see again, but one I’ll never forget. How can I? He literally changed my life.

“Wat? Wat Shien?”

“You know him?” Coryn murmurs, his hand still on his sword as the farmer hurries over, dragging another man with him.

“Yes. It’s fine.” I don’t have time to say more.

“Mage Silverbright! What a happy surprise! Did you come to visit? My wife and I would be thrilled to have you at the farm. It’s only a few hours’ ride that way.” He points away from the river.

Uh… “That’s very kind of you, but we’re just passing through and need to leave in the morning,” I manage, wishing Jaimin wasn’t on the boat still. He’s much better in these situations than I am. “It’s good to see you, though.” I glance at Coryn and Peiris. “This is Wat Shien. He delivered a message to my master a few months ago.”

Peiris’s eyes widen and flash to my chest, where the stone is tucked safely under my shirt. It takes Coryn a second longer, but then he takes his hand off his sword and offers it to Wat. “I’m Coryn. It’s very good to meet you.”

While they exchange pleasantries, I check in with the stone. Is this supposed to happen? Is it significant?

The noncommittal pulse tells me it’s likely a very strange coincidence that in the whole of southern Camblin, we’ve come to the place where the stone was found.

“Mage Silverbright, meet my brother-in-law, Virk,” Wat says, gesturing to the man with him. “He sailed me all the way up to Lenle and saved me so much time.”

I remember him saying that, and offer my hand to the thin-faced man. “We’re grateful for your assistance. The message was important.”

“I knew I had to help,” Virk says gravely, then squints. “Can’t remember why, though.” He looks past me to Peiris’s boat. “This yours?”

“Yes,” Peiris confirms.

“And you’re only here for one night?” He turns to the dockmaster. “They can berth at my docks. I have the space, and it’ll save you the paperwork in the morning.”

The dockmaster looks a lot happier. “That would be wonderful.” He glances at us. “If it suits you?”

“Where are your docks?” Peiris asks, and Virk points down to the other end of the village, where the docks are backed by big barnlike buildings.

“Down there. I own a freight shipping business and transport crops and other farm goods from this area down to Josanin and even to other cities along the coast. I have guards patrolling the docks all night, so your vessel will be safe there.”

This can’t truly be a coincidence. Did you really have nothing to do with this?

The stone remains stubbornly silent.

Peiris glances inquiringly at me, then smiles at Virk. “That’s a very kind offer, and we’d be most grateful.”

“No trouble at all. Happy to do a favor for a friend of Wat’s. We’ll meet you down there and get you settled,” Virk assures us, and the manners my dear departed nanny drilled into me rear their head.

“You’ll join us for a drink too, I hope? We need to visit the market, but then we’d like to buy a drink for you both.”

Wat grins broadly. “A drink with a mage? That’ll be something to tell my wife when I get home tonight.”

“This is all I need,” I murmur, sinking neck-deep into the water and letting my eyes close. “Just have someone bring my supper. I’m staying here until we have to leave.”

Jaimin’s chuckle is the only thing in the world that could have enticed me to open my eyes. For the first time all day, the worn, worried look is gone from his face as he smiles down at me.

“Seriously? You’re going to eat in the tub? The water will get cold.”

I smirk. “You’re forgetting about my special skills—and I’m not talking about that thing I do with my mouth.”

“Would you really use magic to heat the water just so you can wrinkle up like a prune?” he demands skeptically, hands on hips—but his mouth still has that quirk I love so much.

Sighing, I admit, “Probably not. But after so long without any kind of bath, much less one as nice as this, it’s hard to think about getting out.”

He laughs and goes to sit cross-legged on the bed. Virk recommended this inn, and we were able to get very nice rooms for us, stabling for the horses, and, after a quick visit to the market, all the supplies we’ll need. We then paid a visit to the taproom downstairs, where Wat and Virk joined us for more rounds of ale than I’d planned, but it was quite the productive hour. Finally, we were able to get the kind of local news that weeks of travel through muddy fields and abandoned hills denied us. I was surprised by how quietly ready to deal with whatever comes people seem to be. There have been increased patrols from naval boats up the river, visiting villages like this, and Wat reported that inland, they’re seeing dragons fly overhead almost daily. The speculation about what the danger actually is has spawned a lively betting ring, but the news of zombies doesn’t seem to have spread yet. I decided to leave it that way—there’s nothing they can do to defend themselves against zombies, not really, so knowing would only lead to panic.

With all the expenses of the day, I was worried about making our money stretch, but Peiris came to the rescue there, too, pulling out silver to pay for everything. It also helps that we don’t need to pay for mooring, thanks to Virk and Wat.

I have my suspicions about Peiris. As soon as I have time to think about it properly, they and I will sit down for a talk, and I’m not going to let vague answers slide.

Meanwhile, there are worse things in the world than a warm room in a nice inn, with a private bathtub and a big bed to share with Jaimin. Well, relatively big. The room is a very good size for something in a village inn, but he’s still less than six feet away from me right now.

“Is this plan to live in the bath why you told me to go first?” he asks.

“Of course. There’s no way I could selfishly loll in the tub if you were waiting for your turn.” I’m a little hurt that he’d think that.

“If the tub was a little bigger, we could have shared it,” he suggests. The images that rise in my mind’s eye steal my breath.

“We’ll get a big tub when we get back,” I declare. “Then we can bathe together all the time. Even when we’re not dirty. Especially when we’re not dirty.”

He laughs and flops back onto the mattress. “Really? Where are we going to put this shared tub? Your room at the academy?”

I roll my eyes. “Your rooms are bigger and nicer, Master Kahwyn. We lowly apprentices are lucky to get rooms the size of closets.”

“Which are close to your masters, and that’s why you have them,” he reminds me. “Apprentices aren’t permitted to live in other housing.”

I’m not the kind of person who feels insecure all that often, so it takes me a moment to recognize it. Does… Does he not want to live with me when this is over?

“Ask him!” Leicht snaps in exasperation. “Don’t try guessing. You don’t have the brain for it.”

“Could you stop listening to private conversations?” I picture a closed door between us and am immediately rewarded with the sense of distance I get when he gives me privacy. Huh—guess that’s how it works.

He’s right, though, damn him. I wish he’d stop doing that. “Don’t you want us to live together?” I ask abruptly. There isn’t a polite way to introduce the subject, and diplomacy isn’t my forte, no matter what he thinks.

He sits up again and stares at me incredulously, then sighs and glances away. “Of course I do. I just don’t know how we’ll make it happen. Your master⁠—”

“Master will help us work this out,” I state confidently. “Not that I think there’s going to be a problem. You’re the Jaimin Kahwyn, plague slayer, and if we survive all of this, I’m going to be the mage who sacrificed everything to find the godsborn who saved us all. Nobody at the City of Knowledge will deny us anything ever again, much less the simple request to share rooms.”

Jaimin snorts. “Oh look, you’ve found your ego again.”

I grin smugly. “It’s this bath. My ego doesn’t like mud, and it got a bit downtrodden tramping across fields for⁠—”

Master telepathically hammers for my attention, and my foot slips on the floor of the tub, sending me under the water in a flailing, sputtering mess. When I splash my way upright again, Jaimin is laughing uncontrollably, and Master is still pounding for attention.

Coughing, I glare at my lover. “Is there an attack at the City?” I can’t think of anything else that would make Master act with such urgency. “Do I need to send Leicht back?” Even as I ask it, I realize that Leicht would already know if that was the case. The dragons have some kind of group link that he won’t tell me too much about. He just makes dramatic statements and then refuses to answer my follow-up questions.

“No, there’s no attack. I must speak with Jaimin, now.”

I’m getting very tired of this. “I’m in the bath, Master.” And Jaimin’s still laughing himself to tears.

“Then get out and go find him and take him somewhere private. I must speak with him, and we cannot be overheard.”

Despite the warmth of the water, chills go down my spine. This can’t be a good thing. “Jaimin,” I say, and my tone has him instantly sobering.

“What is it? Did you hurt yourself?” He’s off the bed in an instant.

“Master wants to talk to you.”

Paling, he sits—or rather, his knees give out, and it’s just lucky that the bed is right behind him. “He found something.”

I shake my head and clamber out of the tub. I don’t know what Master Samoine is going to say, but I doubt the bath will still bring me the same pleasure after. And I don’t want to be wet and naked while I hear this. “All he told me was that he must speak with you and nobody can be allowed to overhear.” With that in mind, I do a quick telepathic sweep. Coryn and Arimen are two rooms over, Peiris in the room beside them, but nobody else is on this floor at the moment. The inn wasn’t that busy, and it’s dinnertime.

I blot most of the water off with a soft towel and yank on my clothes, then sit on the bed beside Jaimin and take his hand. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

“Okay, Master.” I reach out, and grimace when we merge.

“I’ve found the information you need,” Master says without preamble. “And confirmed your theory, Jaimin.”

“I didn’t tell you my theory,” Jaimin replies, the words lacking the sharpness implied.

“True, but I know it anyway.”

There’s a tense little silence until I can’t stand it anymore. “Is anybody going to tell me the theory?”

“Not yet.”

“No.”

“Delightful,” I mutter, and then Master takes over my mouth again.

“The exceptional, once-in-a-lifetime Talent is there, and the ability that led you to your conclusion, but there are some elements missing. Awareness, for one. All the godsborn are born with the knowledge of who they are. Once they learn to speak, they communicate that very clearly.”

“So something went wrong,” Jaimin says heavily.

“Perhaps. It’s hard to say.”

What can they possibly be talking about? Master was supposed to be looking for information about the godsborn who’ll stop the zombies, not random godsborn facts. Who cares if they’re born knowing who they are, or that they have exceptional Ta⁠—

Exceptional Talent.

Exceptional.

An outlier.

“Jaimin,” I whisper, and when his gaze lands on my face, he winces. “You’re the godsborn?”

He swallows hard, and I feel Master withdraw slightly—not completely, but just enough to give the illusion that he’s turned away for a moment.

“No, Talon. You are.”

PART THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I cough, sure I’ve heard him incorrectly. “Huh? I’m… what?” Maybe the two sentences were unconnected. Maybe the “No, Talon” was a response to me, and then “You are” was the beginning of another sentence. He was going to tell me something else.

That has to be it, because there’s no way he means what it sounded like.

Although, the tragic expression on his face right now would indicate otherwise. And he still hasn’t said anything.

Desperately, I reach out to Leicht. “You’d know if I was godsborn, wouldn’t you? This is just a misunderstanding.”

“What are you rambling about this time?”

Turds, he hasn’t been listening. I shove my memories of the past few minutes toward him and wait for his reaction. I’m expecting it to be loud and indignant.

His silence speaks volumes.

“Leicht?” It’s barely a whisper, but he hears it.

“I need to consider the implications of this.”

That’s not the “it’s impossible” that I was hoping for, so I turn my attention back to Jaimin. “I don’t think you’re right about this, but explain your reasons for believing it. You too, Master,” I add. They both think this, and I can’t convince them otherwise until I know why.

Jaimin sucks in a deep breath. “There’s only one reason, really,” he admits. “One thing that’s convinced me I’m right about this. The people you killed, Talon. That man the night of the first attack, and the archers when we met the bishop.”

“What about them?” We still don’t know how they died. The only thing we—I—know for certain is that my magic was involved.

“They were just dead with no cause. Their brains and bodies were intact, with no explanation for their deaths.”

I nod. “You’ve said that. I can’t expl⁠—”

“I’m not asking you to explain; I’m telling you. There was no reason for them to be dead. It was as if their souls had just left their bodies. We know your magic killed them, but that’s not something mages can do. Only the gods have the power to move souls on to their next lives.”

I swallow hard.

“When Peiris and Arimen were talking about the godsborn, something clicked in my head. This is the puzzle piece we’ve been missing, Talon. You’re the champion.”

My head is shaking before he even finishes. “No. It can’t be.” He’s wrong. “Master, tell him it’s not true.” Surely I’d know if I was… a god?

It’s too ridiculous for words.

Master Samoine says nothing.

“Gods,” I whisper, suddenly glad I’m sitting down and not still in the tub. “But wait—you said the godsborn are all aware of who they are. So I can’t be one. I didn’t know anything about this—or even that they truly existed! And I don’t have god powers. Just this one thing I can’t control and don’t understand. Maybe I have some sort of brain disorder.” That sounds far more reasonable than the idea that I might be the incarnation of a god.

My mouth is suddenly not my own as Master speaks. “That was my thought, when I realized what Jaimin’s theory must be,” he says. “Not the brain disorder; the part where you have no awareness of godhood nor access to other powers or control of the one we believe you might have.”

We wait; his “but” is heavy in the air, if unspoken.

“You met Master Haftel in Lenledia, didn’t you?”

I glance over at Jaimin, confused. Is Master changing the subject? “Uh… yes. Why?”

“She and I came up through the ranks together as apprentices. Her specialist field of study is telepathy in families. Specifically how telepathy acts in families with multiple Talented siblings.”

I still don’t understand how this is related to the godsborn. “I think I’ve seen one of her papers before. Actually, when we were in Lenledia, she said something to me and Tia about having a theory on Talented twins. But Tia wasn’t a mage, so her theory⁠—”

“Her theory, which she’s never published because she’d be laughed out of the academy for having a theory about children’s stories, is that twins with different Talents are actually an anomaly—a mistake. They were supposed to be a godsborn, but something went wrong with the incarnation process, and the consciousness of the god was split between multiple fetuses.”

My breath is frozen in my lungs, and my heartbeat is drumming so loudly that, for a moment, I can’t hear anything else. “Don’t you ever call Tia a mistake,” I rasp.

“No,” Master says immediately. “I misspoke—that’s not what I meant, and I apologize. Tia herself wasn’t a mistake; she was an extraordinary person. But the god made a mistake, and instead of one of the children—you—being born with their consciousness, the process… Well, I don’t know what happened. Haftel’s theory is a little vague in this area— possibly because she was never able to speak to an actual godsborn. But she posits that when the process of incarnation doesn’t work as it’s supposed to, instead of the fetus dying, the god’s consciousness is divided between fetuses. Each holds a different portion of the god’s power, hence the reason for different Talents, which doesn’t normally occur in siblings, much less twins.” There’s an edge of frustration in his voice. “I don’t remember much else of her research—it was the kind of project she worked on in free time, and we only talked about it while drinking. I don’t know if it would be safe to ask her for more details.”

I stare at my hands in my lap, my brain blank. I can hear what Master’s saying, even understand it to a degree, but I can’t quite process it.

“That would explain why the bond with Leicht transferred to Talon,” Jaimin comments, and when I glance up, it’s to see him watching me closely. “It’s an ability he was meant to have from the beginning.”

“Wh—” I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”

“Several of your gods bonded dragons while they lived,” Leicht explains. “They were the first to do so and bequeathed the ability to dragon riders.” His pause is heavy. “There is a prophecy among dragons of a mage who becomes a rider.”

My mind reels away from that information—information he withheld when it could have been useful. There’s enough for me to deal with right now.

Jaimin is explaining, and I wait for him to finish before I say, “That’s what Leicht said. So… I’m supposedly one of those gods? Only… not?”

“You were supposed to be one of the gods,” Master corrects. “Your power was divided. I believe it probably would have been left at that, and you would have lived out your life in relative normality if not for the fact that we truly need a god on our side now.”

Ah. Yes. The whole champion thing. I’m not ready to deal with that now—or ever. “But I’m not a god. As you said, my power was divided. Even though I’m now bonded with Leicht, that doesn’t mean I have the powers of a god—or the awareness of one. I don’t even know which god I’m supposedly supposed to have been!” My voice rises on the last few words, and I snap my mouth closed, breathing deeply through my nose. Getting upset isn’t going to help me convince them that I’m right and they’re wrong.

“I believe you may find it’s the opposite,” Leicht says gravely, but I ignore the secret-keeping overgrown lizard. It doesn’t matter that he may have finished thinking over the implications and decided it’s true. If I don’t want it to be true, it won’t be.

Jaimin reaches out and takes my hand, and I resist the urge to pull away. I don’t want to, not really. I’m just… angry. Angry that he brought all this down on me. Scared, too.

Because what does it all mean?

“Talon.” His voice is gentle and low but deadly serious. “We can sit here all night debating whether it’s true and why, and we may never agree on an answer. There’s only one way to find out for certain.”

“I don’t want to.” It falls from my mouth before I can stop it. I don’t believe they’re right, but I’m so afraid they might be. At least now I can be angry and scared. If we ask the stone—which is what he’s hinting at—then I only have a fifty percent chance of everything going back to normal. The uncertainty of denial is safer.

“Talon,” Master chides, but it’s the look on Jaimin’s face that makes me sigh and reach for the pouch. That combination of disappointed understanding might be the death of me one day.

I tip the stone into my hand and look at it. “Well?” I demand. “What do you have to say about this absurdly outlandish suggestion?”

“That’s not helpful,” Jaimin says. I bite back the urge to tell him I’m not trying to be helpful.

“Stone, is Jaimin’s theory true?” I ask bluntly.

~Yes~

A chill races down my spine, and words abandon me.

“Talon is godsborn?” Jaimin confirms.

~Yes~

“And he is the champion we’ve been looking for?”

~Yes/No~

I’m too numb to feel my usual frustration at that answer.

“Let me try,” Master says, and my tongue has never felt so foreign in my mouth. “Will he be the champion when we find out how to restore his power and awareness to him?”

~Yes~

I drop the stone, cut my connection with my master, and walk out.

There’s nowhere for me to go, of course. I’m in a village inn far from home—far from most places. For a wild second, I consider going down to the docks and getting on the first ship that’s leaving. I could just run away from everything.

Then reality sets in. It’s evening, and this isn’t a bustling metropolis. The chances of any vessel leaving before morning are nonexistent, unless I want to hire one for my personal use—which I can’t afford to do. There’s a lot less impact in running away if you have to loiter at the docks for twelve hours first.

And anyway, I can’t abandon my friends and this mission. I made a promise to Tia… and myself. I’ll see this through, one way or another.

So I end up at the stables.

I don’t know why, except it’s nearly dark outside, and even though this far south the first hints of spring are already in the air, it’s still not exactly warm, and I left the room in only my shirt and trousers. I don’t even have boots on, which I’m going to regret so much later. Stables aren’t known for being a great place to go barefoot.

Sweetie doesn’t seem surprised to see me. She doesn’t seem all that pleased either. “Relax,” I tell her, leaning against the outside of her stall door. “We’re not going anywhere. You can stay in the nice, warm stable and eat well for a while longer.” Guilt stabs at me. We haven’t exactly been giving the horses the best of care lately. It wasn’t our fault, but it’s still not right to expect an animal to carry you around if you’re not going to feed and house it properly.

Just one more thing to blame on the stone. Or rather, on the monsters who think raising zombies is a good idea.

Sweetie nickers and nudges me with her nose, and I sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m in a mood. I just learned something terrible. For me, that is. I don’t know if it will affect you at all.”

She snorts and shoves me, sending me stumbling two steps back. “Hey! What was that for? It’s almost like you want it to⁠—”

I break off and stare at her as a long-forgotten afternoon of temple stories from my childhood filters through my memory. The local priestess had been trying to interest more of the children in the area in coming to temple, and she’d decided the best way to do that was to tell tales of the gods’ adventures. Most of them were about her goddess, Salella, but a few of the others got their turn as well. They weren’t the usual boring, moralistic stories we heard at temple; instead, these were the stories of Malna challenging the tide, of Salella living amongst the birds, and how she came to name them sacred to her. Of Wasianth whiling away the days racing against the plainsmen in what later became Meswyn on his beloved steed, Frestin. The horse he was so attached to, there are tales to this day of them still being together.

Sweetie stares back at me, and I swallow. “Frestin?” I whisper, then shake my head and chuckle. “I’m being ridiculous. The stone might have confirmed the stupid theory, but that doesn’t mean you’re a god’s reincarnated horse.”

She blinks, her stupidly long eyelashes sweeping down and up, and impulse makes me say, “But just to cover all possibilities, if you are Frestin, nudge my shoulder three times fast.” I absolutely don’t hold my breath.

Sweetie just blinks at me again, and I exhale on another laugh, surprised by how disappointed I am. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I better get back upstairs. There’s still a lot to talk about.” Like how we’re going to break this news to Arimen. I’m not sure if he’s going to be thrilled he knows a godsborn or devastated that it’s me, the least godly person he’s ever met. “You get some rest, hey? We won’t be here too long.” Not now that we know where “the birthplace” is, and yay for going back to the home I couldn’t wait to get away from. Maybe my father will be there to tell me all the ways I’m a disappointment.

I turn to leave and nearly go flying when Sweetie shoves my shoulder—one, two, three times.

Catching myself on the stall opposite hers, I prudently move just out of her reach, then spin around to meet her gaze.

If a horse could laugh, she would be.

“This has to be a joke,” I mumble, but if she were capable of joking, that would mean that she probably was some kind of god-horse. Or… whatever Frestin was. Is. Oh, holy gods’ turds.

Wait… can I still say that if I am one of the gods? Am I now invoking my own waste to curse with?

This is too confusing.

“So… Frestin, huh?” I say, more because I have no idea what else to say. “I guess that must mean I’m Wasianth.” The words seem to hang in the air, and I shudder lightly. “Shouldn’t I have known that?”

Sweetie—Frestin—stretches her nose toward me, and I move closer to stroke it. “Damn, what am I supposed to call you now?” I ask. “And also, why didn’t you maim the person who decided to name you ‘Sweetie’?” You’d think a god-horse waiting for her partner in adventure to remember who he was would be more assertive when it came to accepting a name.

She pulls away from my hand and snaps her teeth at me.

“Wow. Were you this mean in past lives too? Fine, if you like being called Sweetie so much, I’ll keep calling you that.” I wait, just in case she actually wants to be called Frestin instead, then realize I’m waiting for a horse to communicate with me about her name.

My life has changed so much, I don’t even know what normal is anymore.

“I’m going back up to tell Jaimin that you’re not a sweet horsey like he thinks. Maybe this will finally convince him, though, after all the times you— Hey! Were you trying to matchmake me and Jaimin?” My jaw hangs open. I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth, but it makes sense. She’s not an ordinary horse—the fact that she understood my request for her to confirm her identity proves that. And she did “coincidentally” shove me, throw me, and trip me in Jaimin’s direction a lot of times.

If a horse can look smug, that’s what Sweetie’s doing right now. I sigh. “At least I won’t have to worry about you disapproving of our relationship,” I mutter, then cringe. Apparently, I now worry what my horse thinks of my romantic partners. I’ve become one of those people. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It would be helpful if you could learn to talk before then so you can fill me in on some details.”

Her exasperated snort follows me out of the stable.

The inside of the inn is much warmer than outside, and I can hear the murmur of voices from the dining room as I pass, plus the more raucous sounds from the taproom down the hall. My stomach rumbles a reminder that it’s dinnertime and I haven’t been treating it kindly lately.

Apologize to Jaimin first, then gather the others for food.

Outside our room, I hesitate. Nothing’s changed, really. I’m still angry and confused about everything, and I still don’t know what happens next, except I’m fairly certain I’m not going to like it. The last few months have been full of that.

Squaring my shoulders, I knock softly, then let myself in. Jaimin looks up from where he’s still sitting on the bed, his posture tense.

“Why did you knock?” he asks as I close the door.

I shrug. “I don’t know. It was an extra two seconds of procrastination.” I’m hoping the comment will elicit a smile from him, but it doesn’t. His face is drawn into solemn, worried lines. I hate it. I especially hate that I’m partly responsible for it.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I shouldn’t… I don’t blame you for this. I just don’t know how to deal with it all, and we don’t seem to have any answers.”

He sags, and I cross to climb onto the bed beside him and take his hand. “You’ve been so worried about this, and I didn’t exactly take it well.”

The half-snort, half-laugh that comes from him is deeply reassuring. “I didn’t expect you to take it well, Talon. It’s… it’s not the kind of thing anyone ever thinks they’ll hear. You actually reacted a lot more mildly than I thought you would.” His fingers play with mine. “Have you talked to Samoine?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I will—but he knows I needed time to cool off.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the stables. Oh—I’m Wasianth, by the way.”

His hand stills. “You remember?”

“No.” I explain my strange encounter of the equine variety, and his whole face lights up.

“I knew she was a special horse.”

Special. Sure.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Wait… I… What?” Arimen blinks at us in bewilderment. It’s after dinner and we’re crammed into the room Jaimin and I share. Arimen’s been processing the news the stone revealed to us for the past ten minutes.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I know this is a big shock. For me too.”

“It’s kind of a relief,” Coryn says placidly. “Now at least we know where to go. And we like you. I was worried that we’d find the champion and they wouldn’t be a very nice person.” He turns to Peiris. “Some people with lots of power are mean.”

“Oh, I know.” Peiris nods vehemently. “Very mean.”

Since the whole day has been one upheaval after the next, I decide to add another one to the list. It will give Arimen time to finish spluttering, anyway. “Peiris, is there something you’d like to tell us?”

They freeze. “Uh…”

“Perhaps about your family,” I suggest. I might be wrong with that guess, but there’s definitely something.

Peiris glances away, then smiles weakly. “How did you know?” They check. “I forgot—you’re a god. But you said you don’t have your powers?”

“I don’t.” I shrug. “This has nothing to do with that. I’m a teacher, and my students often try to keep secrets.” Usually that they’ve been experimenting with things they shouldn’t be. “It’s made me good at reading people.” Sometimes.

They sigh. “It’s not a secret—I was just enjoying the anonymity. People are often different when they know the truth.”

Oh, I’m so going to regret having asked, aren’t I? I slide a sideways glance at Jaimin, wordlessly begging for help, but it’s too late.

“I’m the fifth child of the Imperial Pair.”

Yep. Regret, meet me. Visions rise of what will happen to me if I somehow manage to get a child of the Imperial Pair killed. “Oh. That’s… fine.”

Jaimin’s elbow connects with my ribs. “What he means is, that’s not important to us, Peiris. You’ve been selected by prophecy and fate to be here, and that’s all that matters. You’re the right person for this job, regardless of who your parents are.”

I nod. “Yes. That. What he said.” And also, do they want to stay here in this nice, out-of-the-way inn? Where they’re unlikely to encounter zombies and die, spurring an intercontinental war?

Peiris’s smile is much more genuine now. “Thank you.”

Half raising his hand, Coryn says, “I don’t understand. The imperial pair of what?”

At the same time, Arimen asks, “If Talon is Wasianth, does that mean I should be telling my prayers directly to him?”

For a long moment, I look at them both. Their faces are earnest—neither is joking. “I might need another tankard of ale,” I tell Jaimin, and he wordlessly rises to get it. Lucky him, getting to leave. I turn to Arimen first. “Do not tell me your prayers. Whatever you’ve been doing your whole life, keep doing. If that changes, I’ll let you know.” It’s not going to change. Not unless my personality does.

Next, I brace myself and tackle Coryn’s question. Peiris is biting their lip, apprehension back, and I need to fix that if our team is going to be able to work together. “You know how Peiris is from the Baswich Empire?” I begin, and he nods.

“Yes! It’s all the way across the ocean.” He squints. “Does the sun rise on the other side of the world there? Because I have this theory⁠—”

“No,” I interrupt. I’ve heard that theory, and I’m not arguing with him about it. “The sun rises in the east in the Baswich Empire.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, there are always two rulers in the empire. Peiris, correct me if I get this wrong. They don’t have to be married, but if they’re not, they usually have some kind of blood tie—siblings or cousins.”

Peiris nods.

“Great. So, the rulers are known as the Imperial Pair, and they’re the ultimate authority⁠—”

“Like my king?”

If I remember my second-year classes correctly, the empire actually has a parliament of sorts that governs day-to-day matters, but I’m not going to explain all of that to Coryn right now. “Something like that. The current Pair is a married couple, and Peiris is their child.”

Coryn blinks, then turns big brown eyes to Peiris. “Ohhhh, so you’re a princeps? I didn’t know. Is that why you’re so pretty?”

A tide of pink washes up Peiris’s face. “Yes. Um. No. I mean… What?”

“It’s okay,” Coryn assures them. “I’m not trying to have sex with you or anything. I don’t really like sex. But I think we should be able to tell our friends when we think they’re pretty. Everyone likes to hear nice things, right? I also think you have excellent sword skills, and I hope you’ll spar with me.”

He seems to have this under control, so I accept my fresh drink from Jaimin and sit back to watch. I deserve this—my whole life is being turned upside-down.

“I’ll spar with you,” Peiris says faintly. “Um. I think you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen. Your hair and your heart are like sunshine. And… um. I don’t like sex either.”

“Do you like hugs?” Coryn asks hopefully, and Peiris nods.

“Yes. I like hugs from my friends.”

Coryn’s beaming smile makes me think all might be right in the world after all. “That’s good! Because we’re friends now, aren’t we? So we can give each other hugs and compliments.” He screws up his face. “Unless I’m not supposed to because you’re a princeps. I know the rules are different for royalty sometimes.”

“You’re supposed to because I said so,” Peiris insists, showing some of their royal upbringing, and the two of them grin at each other.

“I still don’t understand how Talon can be Wasianth if he isn’t Wasianth,” Arimen says plaintively, and I chug from my tankard as Jaimin patiently explains it all again. Arimen doesn’t look more convinced when he’s done, but he seems to accept it.

“So… what happens now?”

Jaimin shoots me a sympathetic glance. He’s heard me—and Tia—talk enough about our parents to know I’m not excited about this next step. “We’ll set sail as soon as possible for Talon’s family home in Rebithia. That’s the birthplace mentioned in the Baswich prophecies. Along the way, we’ll keep searching for any information that will help us reconnect Talon with his awareness as Wasianth.”

“What happens if we get to Rebithia before we find what we need?” Arimen wants to know.

I blow out a breath. “We wait. Hopefully just being back where I was born will jog some element of awareness, now that I know who—what—I am.” The truth is, we have no idea what we’re doing or how to do it. “My master has already begun that research, and Leicht is asking the dragons if they know anything.” He doesn’t think they do, but we’re not willing to leave any avenue unexplored. Which reminds me… “Peiris and Arimen, I need you to consider what you know about the godsborn and Wasianth and write down anything that might be helpful.”

Arimen’s face lights up. “I can do that! Do you think the innkeeper has paper?”

Jaimin silently passes over the blank journal the innkeeper gave us earlier, along with a charcoal pencil. Arimen holds them to his chest as though they’re more valuable than the finest riches.

“I have paper of my own,” Peiris volunteers, eying Arimen with an indulgent smile. “I don’t know if you can read Baswegian, but I also have copies of the relevant section of the prophecies, if you’d like those.”

“Yes,” Jaimin and I say at the same time. Not that I read Baswegian or anything.

“Please,” Jaimin adds. “My Baswegian isn’t wonderful, but I’d still like to see them. Perhaps our perspective will reveal something relevant to Talon.”

They nod. “That’s what I was thinking. I can help with any words that cause problems. After all, I don’t know him as well as you do.” They pause. “My knowledge of geography in this part of the world isn’t very good, but I believe Rebithia is some distance from here?”

“Faster by sea than overland, even with having to sail downriver in the opposite direction first,” I say. “But yeah, it’s not close. It will take us at least three weeks to get there—probably four.” At least by then, it will be spring even that far north.

“In that case, when we get to the river mouth, we may want to consider buying a larger ship. The horses won’t be comfortable on the deck for that long, and our space for provisions is limited. The time we lose in searching for something will more than be made up with the need for fewer stops.”

Jaimin shakes his head before I have the chance to eagerly agree. “I’m not sure. Aside from the need to fund that kind of purchase, a bigger ship means a crew. The ‘solution’ becomes very complicated at that point. We might be able to buy passage aboard a ship heading in that direction, though.”

I can tell Peiris doesn’t like the idea, which fits with the whole royalty scenario. Personally, I’m not fond of the thought of strangers in my space while we’re on this mission, so I don’t like either scenario. “Let’s wait until we get to a seaport,” I prevaricate. “Maybe another idea will come to us before then.”

“Talon,” Arimen says suddenly, “is Sweetie really Frestin?”

In the middle of our first night aboard ship headed downriver, I’m woken by Leicht’s agitation. Sitting up abruptly, still half-asleep, I reach out to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Talon?” Jaimin asks sleepily, and I shush him, tapping my temple so he’ll know I’m speaking to someone. He closes his eyes, but I can tell he’s still awake.

“News from Harfarin,” he says curtly. “A dragon and rider stopped there to check in with the queen, and they report that your father arrived less than an hour ago.”

My father? In Harfarin at this time of year, with the estate about to begin spring planting and things unsettled across the continent? He would never—he thinks things would fall apart without him there to oversee them. “You mean my mother,” I guess. She’s a favorite of the queen and spends most of the year at court.

“No, your mother was already there. Your father rode in well after dark, as though monsters were chasing him. He had one man with him, no luggage, and burst into the poetry reading the queen was hosting to confess his sins and demand aid.”

Fear races through me, and I rub the sleep from my eyes. “Zombies attacked the estate?” Oh gods, the staff. Mrs. Hickings, the housekeeper, would need to be dragged away kicking and screaming—she’d never evacuate.

“No. Worse.”

Worse? How… I try to concentrate on what he actually said, and a knot begins to form in my chest. “Tell me the rest. What sins? Aid for what?”

“He claimed to have been overcome by grief since he got word about Tia, and now can no longer live with the guilt.”

The knot grows exponentially larger. No. No, no, no.

Master’s telepathic knock goes ignored. I suspect I know what he’s going to tell me, anyway.

“He says there’s an army of zombies at the estate under the command of your uncle and a high priest.”

“Jaimin, wake up,” I say grimly, then ask Leicht, “Uncle Domys?” I don’t know why I bother; I only have one uncle. A mage uncle who never amounted to anything in any area of life.

“What’s happened?” Jaimin asks, sitting up and reaching over to light the candle. I stay his hand and flick a mage light into being instead.

“Yes.”

Master knocks again, and I grit my teeth. “I need to talk to Master and Jaimin. Get as much detail as you can.”

Leicht doesn’t reply in words, just with a sense of acknowledgment. “Zombies at my family estate,” I tell Jaimin, and then before horror can fully form on his face, I add, “By invitation. Hold on a moment.”

“Master? Leicht has just given me some interesting news.”

“I thought that might be the reason for your delay. I’m so sorry, Talon. Kathion—he’s the court mage in Rebithia. Did you ever meet him?”

“Once or twice.” When I was too young for him to bother about, and definitely before my Talent began to make itself properly known.

“He was there when your father burst in. As soon as he heard the word ‘zombie,’ he and the dragon rider removed him from the room and questioned him.”

Well, that’s something, at least. Hopefully everyone else who was there thinks my father’s just losing his mind.

“Leicht said Uncle Domys and a high priest are in command of the zombies. How did that happen?”

Master’s mental demeanor is grim. “If I understand the situation properly, your uncle is one of the necromancers. He approached your father two years back with a plan to gather more power within Rebithia, perhaps even seize the throne.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “An idea my dear father no doubt jumped on.” Damn him. He’s always hated that all his influence at court comes from my mother; always resented the queen for not recognizing his value—such as it is. It doesn’t surprise me that he’d consider stealing the throne; not really. Tia and I even had a debate about it once. She didn’t think he’d go so far as treason, whereas I am far more cynical and declared that the only thing holding him back was the threat of dragons coming to settle the revolution.

But not even I thought he’d go as far as zombies.

As for Uncle Domys… I am surprised by his involvement. Not because of the whole treason thing, or even the zombies, if I’m being honest. He’s not the most moral of people. No, what surprises me is that he managed to apply himself to learning necromancy for long enough to be able to actually raise zombies. He’s never been known for working hard, and he left the academy as soon as he passed his first year, preferring to live off the allowance the estate allots to him than to actually learn to use his magic in any meaningful way.

“Who taught Uncle Domys how to raise zombies?” I ask as Jaimin gets out of bed and goes to the washstand to splash water on his face. “He wouldn’t have learned anything about them in his first year at the academy, and he’s not the kind of person who spends all his time reading old tales and prophecies… or practicing magic.”

Master considers that. “An excellent point. The priests couldn’t have taught him; they don’t have Talent. Could he have taught himself if they did the research?”

“Hardly. Trust me, my uncle isn’t that motivated.” I’d say I take after him in that area, but the difference between us is that I am motivated to learn about things that interest me. I also have morals, which he does not.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway, your father didn’t hesitate to get involved, although the way he tells it, he was reluctant and felt pressured by his brother. Kathion said he hinted at coercion, though nobody really believed that.”

I don’t either.

“His involvement mainly seems to have been hiding an army of zombies on his estate and providing occasional funds for Domys and his cadre of priests.”

My gag reflex kicks in, and I clap a hand over my mouth as Jaimin hurries over to lay a hand on my back. The nausea instantly recedes, but the feelings that caused it remain. There are zombies at my childhood home? In the fields Tia and I explored as children? I could never be glad my sister is dead, but I’m grateful she was spared this knowledge. It would have hurt her so badly. “The staff? And the workers? Are they safe?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Kathion to find out. Is your father the kind who’d allow…”

“He’s too fond of his comforts to allow himself to be inconvenienced,” I say bitterly. “For that reason alone, I don’t believe he’d deliberately allow the staff to be harmed.” But surrounded by zombies, the risk of accidents is very real.

“I’ll have Kathion find out,” Master promises.

Something tickles at the back of my mind. “Master, tell me about these priests. Are they renegades?”

“Not according to your father. He claims that the convocation of temples supports their efforts.”

I hang endlessly in the pause between seconds, trapped by time itself as I struggle to process his words. The convocation supports this. The same convocation that declared me outcast and killed my sister.

My father and uncle have been working with the people who murdered Tia.

Leicht’s earlier comments about grief, sins, and guilt flood back to me. My father has been harboring zombies. He’s betrayed his queen, his country, and the rest of the continent. By association, he’s guilty of Tia’s death. And now, weeks later, he claims to be so overcome by remorse that he raced to Harfarin to confess?

“Tell Kathion not to believe my father’s sudden change of heart. Whatever prompted him to go to court, it’s self-centered.” My chest feels tight. This… this would have killed Tia. She still believed, deep down, that Father isn’t a bad person.

“Kathion knows your father well,” Master advises. “He’s already questioning him again, and the dragon rider has gone to do reconnaissance over the estate.” He hesitates. “I’ll update you as things progress, but Talon… this changes everything. We thought the secret to unlocking your godhood was at your home. If it’s overrun by zombies, the chances of you being able to find it are slim.”

I swallow, trying to keep my demeanor calm. “I know, but I need to go there anyway, especially now. There’s time to consider options—we won’t even reach the mouth of the river for another two days. Unless… Do you think I should take Leicht and fly⁠—”

~No~

“No!” Master echoes the stone. “Not until you’ve regained your godhood, at least. Leaving your companions behind while you’re still so vulnerable would be a mistake.”

My head spins with exhaustion and new information. “Then it will be weeks before I get there.”

“We may be able to trim a few days off the trip, at least. What does the stone think of me commandeering a naval ship for you?”

I blink, but before I can ask, the stone gives its opinion.

~Yes~

“It agrees, but Master⁠—”

“There’s a navy yard at Trijmbin. I’ll reach out to the court mage in Camblin tonight and make the arrangements for you to meet them there. It will be a faster journey, and you’ll have trained fighters with you, at least.”

“I need to tell Jaimin what’s happened” is all I say. I don’t even know how to respond. It was one thing to request an escort for a short time in Lenle, but to borrow a whole naval ship and crew for weeks, if not months?

On the other hand, if I am a god, that gives things a new perspective.

Master promises to check in at dawn, then cuts the connection between us. I can sense that Leicht is busy talking to other dragons, so I turn to Jaimin, who’s back in the bed with me, his concerned gaze fixed on my face.

“Tell me,” he says, and I do. Then he folds me in his arms and holds me as I weep.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Two ragged days later, days of near-constant contact with Master as he and Leicht update me on what’s happening at the estate, of worrying for those who should have been able to rely on my family for safety, of grieving for the father I thought I had—pitiful as he was—we sail into the harbor at Trijmbin. Master followed through on his promise, and our instructions are to head directly to the naval yard, where a clipper is waiting for us and there’s moorage ready for Peiris’s boat.

As we sail past Trijmbin proper—the yard is a mile from the small city—I notice a dragon circling some ways inland, and the remnants of smoke hazing the air beyond the town.

“Was there an attack near here?” I ask Leicht. Surely not. They’ve been striking at backwoods villages and farms, not this close to established cities with trained fighters—and mages in residence. Even before this crisis arose, there were mages who’d chosen not to live at the academy making their living in cities like these, where they can sell practical magics. There have to be at least two stationed at the naval yard—the Navy loves mages. They help make ships more watertight and structurally sound, and air mages can give sails a little help when the wind isn’t cooperating. A small-scale zombie attack so close to here would be doomed to fail.

“A village two miles inland,” Leicht confirms, and my heart sinks. “Nobody was injured, and the zombies are no more.” He pauses, and it feels as though he’s talking to someone else. “The dragon and rider assigned to the city had just begun their morning patrol when they spotted a group of people behaving oddly. The zombies didn’t even get beyond the outskirts of the village.”

That’s something, at least.

Jaimin joins me by the railing, his eyes on the same dragon I’m watching. “Do you think⁠—”

I fill him in on what Leicht just told me, and he makes a frustrated sound. “It’s not good that they’re venturing this close to densely populated areas. What are these damn necromancers planning?”

“I wish I knew. I wish we knew who Domys was working with.” Whoever they are, they’re clever—very clever. I’m still not sure how many necromancers are out there, but the more I think about it, the more inclined I am to believe there aren’t many. Maybe only one, other than Domys. The mage masterminding all of this has managed to slide under the radar for a long time, and if there were multiple necromancers hungry for power, vengeance, or whatever their motive is, it would be hard to keep them leashed and the entire operation secret.

This is someone with patience, with resources, and who’s put in a great deal of time on research and study. They’ve negotiated an alliance with the temples—gotten the high priests to agree to cooperate with the slaughter and desecration of thousands of people. My opinion of the temples has been low for a long time, but even I don’t believe they’d do that without great temptation. This mage knew exactly how to manipulate them—and perhaps cause the downfall of millennia of religious tradition.

In other words, this is a dangerous person.

We reach the yard, and the commander is walking down the dock even as Peiris and Coryn throw ropes to the waiting sailors.

“Talon Silverbright?” he calls crisply, and I half raise my hand, wondering if I’m supposed to salute.

“That’s me.”

His gaze flicks over me, but his expression gives nothing away. “Good. The ship and crew are ready to depart when you are. We can take care of locking down your vessel.”

I glance over at Peiris. It’s their boat, so their decision.

“Thank you,” they say politely. “And thank you also for keeping it while we’re away.”

“I understand that your mission is of the greatest urgency.” His gaze shifts off to the right, to where the lone dragon still patrols. “That it has to do with our current troubles.”

“That’s right,” I confirm cautiously. I’m not sure exactly what he was told.

He nods. “Then we’ll do whatever it takes to aid you. Camblish Naval Clippers are the fastest seafaring vessels in the world—we’ll get you where you need to be as soon as possible.” He looks me squarely in the eye. “There was an attack a few miles from Trijmbin this morning.”

“I know.” I point up, where Leicht lazily circles. “The dragons talk.”

He blinks. “You’re a rider?”

Turds. Turds. How could I have forgotten? “No, I’m a telepath.” I leave it at that and hope he’s ignorant of how Talent works and the fact that even the strongest telepaths can’t talk to dragons.

That seems to satisfy him, because he continues, “I don’t want those things any closer to the city. It’s bad enough they’ve been raiding villages up and down the river.”

What?

“We just came downriver,” Jaimin says. “We didn’t see any sign of raids. When did this happen?”

The commander’s blank expression shifts to annoyance. “They’re staying inland enough that we’re useless against them. Any village or farmstead more than an hour from the river is at risk.”

My thoughts fly to Wat and his farm that’s a few hours’ ride inland from the nearest town. Dammit. Maybe I should have told him about the zombies, told him to get his family and stay in town with Virk for a while. I can’t change that now. “Commander, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but as my friend said, we just came from upriver, and I don’t think people are fully aware of how serious things are. Perhaps have your men advise that those on outlying properties should temporarily relocate. Safety in numbers, and all that.”

His face goes back to blank. “I have my orders.”

Fuck. I nod. “Of course.” I’m going to need to talk to Master about this. The monarchs have to start protecting people better, and that means encouraging the isolated ones to leave their homes for the short term. “We’ll be ready to go in half an hour. We just need to use your facilities first—and confer with Leicht.”

“Leicht?”

I point up again, and the commander nods.

“Of course. The hospitality of the Kingdom of Camblin is yours.”

“We need to find it,” Arimen says for what must be the thousandth time. “It’s here somewhere, and we need to find it!” He leans over the scroll he, Jaimin, and Peiris have been studying for two weeks, his expression frantic. When we told him and the others what Master and Leicht had told me about my childhood home, he took the betrayal of the temples personally. I think he feels it’s his responsibility to represent the gods now that their priests have failed them.

I don’t know what my godly self would think of that, but the person I’ve been during this life repeats what I’ve said many times already: “We’ll find it. This isn’t your fault, Arimen. Try to relax. It’s going to be okay.” None of us are sure if we believe that last sentence, but we’ve still been saying it over and over. It’s going to be okay.

Everything will be okay.

I really miss Tia. And Leicht. Even though he’s in my head, I haven’t seen him up close since we set sail in Trijmbin.

After eleven days, the hospitality of the Kingdom of Camblin is still good, but our patience is wearing thin. The novelty of beds and decent food only lasted a few days before we all decided we’d rather just arrive, already. The benefit of riding was that at least we were doing something all day. Aboard ship, we just sit around trying to think of how to bring the Wasianth part of me to the fore, and it’s not fun.

The horses might disagree. I did ask Sweetie if she had any ideas, and just got a snort and a bruised toe for my efforts. Part of me is struggling to believe the other me loves that horse enough to want her with me through eternity.

“This is the part that confuses me,” Jaimin says, pointing to something on the scroll, and he and Peiris launch into another discussion about word choice that I tune out. Maybe I should be paying closer attention, since this is, after all, about me, but I can’t get my brain to focus. Instead, I turn my head and stare out the porthole.

The downside of this being a military ship is that there isn’t anywhere fitted out for us to congregate. We’ve been given the officers’ cabins to sleep in, and this room is the captain’s dining room, where the officers take their meals. These ships weren’t built with the expectation that people would need space to sit and spend time. They’re supposed to be working, sleeping, or eating—or be the captain.

“Do you need a hug?” Coryn asks me softly. He’s sitting beside me, sharpening a knife. He’s made friends with a few of the sailors, and they invited him to some dagger-throwing contest being held on the foredeck tonight. Apparently, Agony Anbry is the one to beat. I didn’t ask why he’s called Agony Anbry, because at the beginning of our voyage I asked about Twofer Fren, and I really wish I hadn’t.

“Not right now,” I tell him, even though I could really use some hugs. I’m afraid the kindness will make me break down, and I can’t afford to do that right now. It turns out that the whole world is counting on me, and the me they’re counting on isn’t here. The me that is here doesn’t know if he—I—really wants the other me to make an appearance. What will happen when he does? Will I disappear? If I was supposed to know who I am from the beginning, and I didn’t, and there were parts of “me” that were Tia, does that mean I was never supposed to exist?

Will being Wasianth to save the world mean that I, Talon, have to give up my life and friends? Give up Jaimin? Will I know that I’ve given them up, or will I just no longer be?

I’m not used to these kinds of thoughts, and I don’t like them very much.

“I guess your father and mine would get along,” Coryn muses, and I stir myself enough to muster a commiserating smile.

“They definitely would. Though yours hasn’t betrayed his monarch and country or contributed to the death of his child. Not yet, anyway.”

He snorts. “Not yet.” He falls silent again, drawing his whetstone along the blade, and just when the repetitive sound is starting to lull me into a stupor, he says, “I was thinking… if I asked, I’m sure the king would send me to the City of Knowledge as part of the annual guard assignment. Then I wouldn’t have to see my father so much, and I could see you and Jaimin and Leicht all the time.” There’s a note of insecurity in his voice that makes me want to choke his father with his own intestines.

“I love that idea,” I declare and am rewarded by the smile that blooms on his face. “I think we can do better than the guard assignment, though. You’re too highly skilled to be an academy guard.” Not that they’re not skilled, but Coryn is renowned for his abilities, and the academies aren’t exactly known for being a hotbed of danger. The location in the center of the continent, right beside the dragons’ valley, makes the City of Knowledge the safest place on the continent.

“I don’t mind being a guard,” he assures me, though he doesn’t sound convinced.

“What about helping to train the dragon riders to fight?” I counter. I’m sure I can use Tia’s name to pull enough strings to get him the job, and then he’ll easily prove his value. He might even be able to help train the healers to defend themselves.

The idea turns his smile into the broadest grin I’ve ever seen. “That would be fun.”

“It’s a plan, then. We’ll get through this, then you’ll come back to the City with us.” I glance toward our youngest companion. “Arimen will probably come too, at least for a while.” The sensible thing to do would be to send him home to his parents and local priest, but he may have turned eighteen by then and not want to go. It all depends on how long this drags out for.

That depressing thought draws my attention back to the debate over the prophecies.

“…I’m confused about how it would happen,” Jaimin is saying. “ʻMade whole’ implies pieces or parts. If Talon’s consciousness is part of a greater whole, where are the other parts? Do we need to find them first? Are they people?” He makes a frustrated face. “I don’t like the idea of Talon having to be changed in that way.”

“Me either,” I chime in. “If the other parts of Wasianth are people, will they all be living in my body? That could be uncomfortable.” A joke is the only way I can think of to make this conversation less weird, but nobody laughs. Probably because we don’t know if it’ll turn out to be true or not.

“If it’s people, the logical place to find clues about their whereabouts would be the place Talon was born,” Arimen says thoughtfully. “But if that’s where the zombies are, would there be any clues still there? The priests at the Sanctuary had copies of these prophecies and were studying them. They might have worked out where we need to go and hidden all the clues there.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and Jaimin looks up in alarm. I take a deep breath to calm myself, and he turns to Arimen. “That presumes that they know Talon is Wasianth,” he protests. “The only people who know that are Talon’s master, who would never endanger him, and the people in this room.”

Arimen shakes his head. “What if someone else guessed? They know Talon is the keeper of the stone. What if they started to wonder why?”

This is getting off track. “It’s possible someone has made a guess and gotten it right,” I admit, “but there’s no way for us to know that, and no way for them to know for sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. If there are clues at my family home, we’ll figure out a way to find them when we get there, but until then, let’s keep thinking. It would be better for Wasianth to be the one who faces down the zombies than it would be for us to sneak around the estate and hope nobody notices.” Depending on how many zombies are there, that might be downright impossible.

“I think there might be a problem with my translation,” Peiris says quietly, and we all look at them. “You’re speaking of pieces and parts, but I don’t know why.”

There’s an awkward little pause as we realize our dilemma might not be real. “Uh,” Jaimin begins, but Coryn jumps up.

“I know this one!” He grabs one of the muffins from the plate in the center of the table, considers, and puts it beside him. “Too crumbly.” He reaches for a piece of fruitcake instead. There’s plenty there, since the sailors get around the navy’s “no drinking aboard ship” rule by soaking the fruitcake in enough rum to make your eyes water. “Now, this is the whole slice of cake,” Coryn instructs, then breaks the slice in half, and both halves into quarters. “These are pieces or parts of the slice. When I put them together, they make up the whole slice.” He moves the bits of cake around to demonstrate. “So to make Wasianth whole, we need the pieces of him. Talon’s one of them.”

Jaimin nods. “Exactly that. Does it make sense now?” he asks Peiris, who’s smiling fondly at Coryn.

“My deepest apologies,” they say. “I didn’t explain the translation correctly. ‘Make whole’ is the literal meaning, yes, but the context is important. You see, with this word preceding it, it’s still ‘make whole,’ but more in the sense of… ‘make better,’ perhaps? Or⁠—”

“Heal?” I ask. My heartbeat has picked up its pace, and Jaimin and I stare at each other, the word hanging in the air between us.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“No,” Jaimin says. “It must be something else.” It’s not the first time he’s said it—as soon as I suggested that he might need to heal whatever went wrong with the godly part of me, he began to argue about it. Peiris agreed that it fit with the context of the prophecy; Jaimin protested. Arimen said it was consistent with some of the stories of the godsborn; Jaimin argued. Coryn thought maybe Jaimin could just have a look at my mind and see if it was a possibility; Jaimin declined. I wisely said nothing then—if Jaimin was going to argue with Coryn, of all people, there was no chance he was ready to listen.

But most of the day has passed and we’re getting ready for bed, and I figured it was time to make my case. Turns out, he’s still not ready to listen.

“Jaimin—”

“No. I refuse to believe that my whole purpose for being on this trip is this.”

That throws me. This is arguably the most important thing any of us can do, with the exception of Wasianth when he finally shows up. When I show up? Whatever. The godsborn can’t defeat the zombie army if he—I—doesn’t have awareness of his abilities. That means it all depends on Jaimin.

“Why? This could save millions of lives. Isn’t that part of your calling as a healer?”

He looks away, his face a study of misery, and I decide it’s time to reassess. This seems to be about more than just what’s being said.

I sit on the edge of my bunk and wait. There are two beds in this room, and neither of them is wide enough to hold both of us comfortably. That hasn’t stopped us from sharing, though. We’ve gotten used to less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements. We did try to move the beds together, but they’re bolted down to prevent them sliding around on rough seas.

I’m starting to wonder if I’ll have to be the one to break the silence, but finally, he grabs his pillow and hits it angrily. “Is this why we love each other?” he demands.

“What?” Did the subject get changed without me noticing?

“The kind of healing this would be—if it’s even possible, because nobody’s ever even considered it before—would be deep inside the personality part of your brain. Healers don’t go there, as a rule. It’s… intimate. You’d have to trust the healer on a level that most people don’t trust others. I can’t think of any healer who’d be willing to do that kind of healing, because it’s uncomfortable for us too.”

His implication hits me hard. “You’re wondering if we were fated to fall in love with each other so we’d trust each other enough for you to heal me.”

He swallows hard and sinks down to sit on the edge of his bunk, still holding the pillow. “I… I’d begun to think that maybe the reason I was here was because you needed me. That I was supposed to be your support system so you could do whatever was needed. I’m okay with that. I actually like the idea of being here not because I’m Master Kahwyn, the healer, but because I’m Jaimin, the man you love and need. The idea that I’m still only needed for my Talent, that you were maneuvered into loving me just so I can do this…” He trails off, and I toss aside my intention to let him work through this on his own. I’m off my bunk and on his within seconds, curling my body around his and pulling him down to lie with me on the mattress.

“I love and need you, and I’ll still love and need you if you don’t do this,” I promise him. “Part of me doesn’t want you to, anyway. What happens to me when Wasianth is back? If I’m going to be selfish, I want to take you and run far away from this ship and everyone who might make us do the things that could pull us apart.”

He stares into my eyes, then inches his head forward until our lips touch. “Me too.”

For a long while, we lie like that, kissing but not, tangled together like we never want to let each other go. Eventually, we sigh in unison, startling a laugh from both of us.

Jaimin pulls back slightly, his lips quirking in the way I love so much. “We can’t, can we?”

“We can,” I correct. “But I don’t think it would make either of us happy in the long-term.” We both have too strong a sense of responsibility—even me, which is surprising.

He shakes his head. “No. It wouldn’t.” Sighing again, he untangles himself from me and sits up, and I make a grab for him as he immediately tumbles off the narrow bed. “Ow,” he says from the deck, and I lean over the edge and reach out a hand.

“I tried to catch you.”

He climbs back up beside me, rubbing his hip. “When we get that tub for our rooms, we should also get a bed so big, we can both lie horizontally across it.”

“Yes. And then we’ll never leave our rooms, and eventually people will start to ask what happened to us, but they’ll never know that we’re living out our lives in peaceful bliss, going from tub to bed and back again.”

He chuckles. “Why did you have to make it sound weird?”

“I didn’t!” I protest. I thought it sounded wonderful.

Sighing, he leans his head against my shoulder. “I have to do this, don’t I?”

“Do you even know what it is you’d need to do?” Maybe we can just plead ignorance.

He makes a humming sound. “Are you asking if there’s a guide on how to reconstruct the consciousness of a god?”

“It’s not a stupid question. Not very stupid, anyway.”

He straightens. “It’s not. I don’t know exactly what I’ll find, but I presume it will be in the part of the brain that makes you uniquely you. That’s not something we usually heal, since it’s centered around personality. Honestly, we don’t even look at it.”

This isn’t reassuring. “So you’re going to poke around in a part of my mind that you’re not familiar with and that’s the most personal, private part of me? Delightful.”

“Why do I love you, again?”

Grinning, I kiss his cheek and then stand. “How do you want to do this?” I try to sound confident and self-assured, and not like my palms are sweating.

His head snaps up, startlement all over his face. “Now? You want to do it now?”

“No, but waiting isn’t going to gain us anything. The dragons are patrolling over the estate, but the stone’s insistence that they can’t act without… me, means that everybody’s in a holding pattern until the right me arrives. If Uncle and the main zombie army move out before we’re ready, even more people will die, Jaimin. We’re barely coping with small groups of zombies.”

“They haven’t moved yet,” he says stubbornly.

“But they could anytime. What happens then? A pitched battle somewhere in Rebithia, or wherever we can get enough dragons and mages together to make an impact? How many more will be killed and turned into zombies? We can’t delay. Especially because we don’t know if this is the right answer. What if you’re not supposed to heal me, and we need to keep looking for how to bring Wasianth out? We’ll be wasting time if we wait.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, and then he nods curtly. “You’re right.” Taking a deep breath, he says, “You’ll be more comfortable if you lie on your bed.”

Oh gods’ turds, we’re really doing this. Swallowing hard, I muster a smile. “Okay.”

I lie down and try to make myself as comfortable as I can with every muscle clenched, and Jaimin sits on the side of the bed, right beside my hip. His warmth is both comforting and disconcerting. He’s going to be in my head in a second.

“Ready?”

No. “Yes.”

He hesitates, then leans down and kisses me hard and fast. “I love you. No matter what happens, I love you, Talon Silverbright.”

“I love you too. It’s going to be okay,” I add, and he looks away.

“Close your eyes. It’ll be easier.”

I obey, wrapping my forearms across my stomach and clenching my fists.

I feel the light touch of his fingertips on my temples. “Lower your shields, just for a second,” he murmurs, and I understand now why fate needed us to love each other. Jaimin is the only healer I would ever let inside my shields.

It’s immediately apparent when he reaches the part of my mind that’s always been private—I feel deeply squirmy, as though someone I don’t know has tried to give me a hug, only worse.

“Oh,” he murmurs, and the note of fascination in his voice is concerning.

“What?”

“Whoa. That echoes.”

Bile rises at the thought of someone being able to hear my words from inside my head.

“It’s just me,” he adds, proving that he can actually hear what I’m thinking.

“It’s still not nice,” I say, choosing to speak aloud. It’s a measure of control. Even if this is Jaimin, the man I’d do anything for and love more than my own self, there are parts of me that should be mine alone.

He chooses to pretend he can’t hear that thought, instead explaining, “I think I see what the problem is. There’s a part of your… you that’s separate. The threads that make up your consciousness are disconnected from it.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I don’t know. I can try.”

“Do it.” I’ve come too far now to turn back.

Hours later, as my muscles cramp and my skin crawls from the unrelenting sensation of someone being inside my head all this time, I wonder if this was a mistake. Maybe we should⁠—

My whole body bows off the bed, my lungs sucking in air as something in my head catches fire. White-hot pain consumes my mind, taking over every thought, every ounce of awareness, until⁠—

Until it stops. And I float in the stillness of a billion stars, only they’re not stars. They’re thoughts. Memories. Mine. And also not mine.

I see them then, the tiny filaments connecting the memories and thoughts to each other, a vast, complex network. I see the filament connecting it all to me. And I finally understand.

I’m Wasianth, but I’m Talon too. I’m the me I’ve always been, but I’m also a reincarnate. I know everything he ever knew, remember every life he’s lived, have access to almost all his powers… but I’m still Talon. I haven’t been booted out of myself.

“Talon?” Jaimin’s voice sounds like I’m underwater, muffled and distant, but I still hear the urgency, and I reluctantly leave the vault of my mind and return to full consciousness.

My eyes open. “I’m okay,” I rasp, and then, as my gaze focuses, I realize we’re no longer alone. Coryn, Peiris, and Arimen hover beside Jaimin, the former two armed, and behind them, in the doorway, is the ship’s captain.

“You were screaming,” Arimen says shakily. “Screaming like someone was murdering you.”

I don’t tell him that if I’d been being murdered, it probably would have hurt less. Instead, I manage a small smile. “Sorry. I’m okay, though.” I’m not sure what Jaimin’s told them.

“See? Just a nightmare, like I said,” he adds, filling in the gaps. “Thank you all for checking on us, though.”

The captain murmurs his goodnight and leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Was it really a nightmare?” Peiris asks softly, and I shake my head and sit up.

“Jaimin healed me.”

“Healing doesn’t hurt,” Coryn insists. “Let me check under the bed.”

Jaimin lays a hesitant hand on my cheek as Arimen explains to Coryn why nobody could possibly be hiding under the bed. “Talon?” he whispers.

I turn my face into his palm and kiss it. “Yes.”

Relief causes him to sag. “Good. That’s good. Did… Did it not work?”

“Oh no, it worked,” I say just as Arimen finishes. My words fall into a sudden silence.

“It worked?” Peiris breathed. Arimen’s mouth gapes open and closed like a fish’s. It would be funny if not for⁠—

“O, Great Wasianth!” he cries, dropping to his knees and bowing his head.

I sigh. “Please don’t do that, Arimen. I’m still me.”

“And you’ll wear out the knees of your pants,” Peiris adds practically. “Especially if you’re going to do this every time you see him.”

Arimen looks uncertain and confused. “But he’s a god. My god. I can’t just treat him like he’s any normal person.”

Those words make my skin crawl. “I’m going to need you to not call me ‘your god,’ please. Really. Please.”

Peiris coughs lightly, and Jaimin presses his lips together to hide a smile. “It would be safer for us all, especially Talon, if we didn’t mention godhood at all,” he suggests diplomatically. “We don’t know how people are going to react to it.”

The uncertainty on Arimen’s pale face instantly morphs into shocked indignation. “Do you mean people might not be happy to know that a god walks among us?”

“That’s exactly what he means,” I confirm. “We know the gods are special to you, but not everybody has the same relationship with them—plus, some people react badly to those with power. You’ve noticed how the crew is much more reserved around me and Jaimin, right?”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “I know I’m supposed to hold everyone in the same high esteem, but some people are just disappointments.”

This time, Jaimin lifts a hand to cover his mouth, unable to repress his amusement. I try to keep a straight face as I reply, “I understand. I feel that way about most people I meet.”

Arimen’s eyes narrow. “That’s a very Talon thing to say. Are you sure Wasianth is in you too?”

Resisting the urge to say that the only man who gets to be “in me” is Jaimin, I nod solemnly. “I’m still me, but I have all his memories and knowledge. I’m really sorry to tell you this, Arimen, but Wasianth was not a reverent or ascetic kind of god. He was more the ‘have fun as long as you do no harm’ kind of god.” That’s the most innocent-friendly way of explaining it, and I’m braced for Arimen’s heartbreak.

To my surprise, he smiles. “Oh, I know. That’s one of the things I like best about him… you. Him.”

“Him,” I agree, and he nods.

“He loves and supports his followers without being all fussy about it. Like a fun uncle who will take your side no matter what, but still tell you if you’ve done the wrong thing.”

Peiris stirs. “Perhaps I should have spent more time studying these gods of yours. None of ours are like fun uncles.”

“None of my uncles are fun,” Coryn interjects. “They’re all like my father, and he thinks fun is a dirty word… unless he’s the one having it. I don’t want to interrupt your god talk, but it’s really late, and if we need to get up early tomorrow, we should get some rest.”

“Why would we need to get up early?” Arimen asks. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

The question hangs in the room, and I let out a quiet sigh and lean slightly into Jaimin, letting the familiar warmth of him press against my arm. “Rest is a good idea. Tomorrow, we can talk to the stone and see what it thinks the next steps are.”

“You mean… No, I don’t understand. Why would the next steps be different? The prophecy said we need to go to the birthplace.” He sets his jaw stubbornly in a way that reminds me how young he is—not that I needed the reminder.

“Talon has his full power now,” Jaimin explains quietly. “That might change some things.”

“But the prophecy said⁠—”

“Yes, we know what the prophecy said,” I cut in before youthful enthusiasm can take over the whole night. “We’re following the prophecy’s dictates. In the meantime, though, there are some other things we can consider. Now that I’m not as vulnerable, I could take Leicht and reconnoiter, for one thing. We still don’t know the identity of the high priest who’s with my uncle. It might change things if we knew which god they serve and why they think raising zombies is a good idea.” No matter what angle I consider the situation from, I can’t understand why the temples got involved with this. Times of violent upheaval have never been beneficial for them. “I’d also like to speak to my father and personally wring some more details out of his hide.” Master and Leicht have informed me that he claims Uncle Domys learned to raise zombies all on his own, but I don’t believe that. There’s another mage involved in this somehow, and until we know who they are, they’re a danger to us all.

Arimen’s lips purse, like he’s weighing the importance of all that against his deep-seated need to obey the prophecy to the letter.

“We’re definitely following instructions and going where the prophecy wants us to,” I promise him. “I’m apparently the champion, remember?” And won’t that make most of the councilors back at the academy choke. “I need to do whatever I’m supposed to do to end all this.” The stone’s been very clear on that fact. A number of people thought we should just have dragons raze the whole of my family estate and get rid of those zombies that way—and I won’t lie, the idea wasn’t completely without appeal, even if it did make a secret part of me sad—but the queen objected vociferously, especially given there’s supposedly a champion somewhere who can help. After what I’ve been told was a heated discussion, it was agreed that the dragons would patrol from the air and ensure the zombie army stayed put, but that if it showed signs of moving out, they would take whatever steps necessary.

So far, there’s been no movement. That makes me very uneasy. Reports indicate that there are several thousand zombies at the estate. That may not sound like a lot up against all the armies of Vaderyn, plus mages and dragons, but even a hardened soldier might struggle to take down a foe that won’t die. Dragons have limitations depending on the terrain and location of innocent bystanders, as we’ve discovered, and mages are limited by the amount of energy needed. Magefire uses a lot, and the first thing students learn is that pushing beyond your magical reserves leads to death.

Plus, any close-quarters engagement runs the risk of soldiers and mages being scratched or bitten and turned into zombies themselves. History hasn’t taught us much about the zombie wars, but it did teach us that it only takes a few zombies to wreak havoc.

“Can we ask the stone now?” The vulnerability in Arimen’s voice is something I don’t like at all.

“Let’s wait until morning. Nothing’s going to change before then, and we all need some sleep,” Jaimin insists, and Arimen reluctantly nods.

Coryn and Peiris are already in the hallway when our youngest companion suddenly turns back and meets my gaze. “I know you think I’m disappointed that you’re Wasianth, but I’m not. I’m glad it’s you. I can trust you to do what’s right.”

His words keep me awake long into the night.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Getting from the ship to Leicht’s back is a lot harder than I expected. The ship’s deck isn’t big enough for Leicht to land on, and we’re concerned that the crew might not react well if he hovers alongside while I use magic to transfer to his back.

Instead, we opt for something far more sensational: I wait until nobody’s watching, then jump overboard. A bubble of my magic acts as a sort of floating teacup to keep me from getting wet or tiring myself out trying to stay afloat, and as soon as the ship is far enough away, I build a telekinetic platform to stand on when Leicht swoops down to hover beside me. He wanted to just pick me up and throw me on his back, but that sounds like it’ll leave bruises, so we’re doing it my way.

“What kind of rider moans about bruises?” he grumbles as I scramble up his leg and into the saddle divot.

“The kind who never wanted to be one,” I remind him. My godly memories have informed me that while Wasianth was, in fact, one of the gods who bonded a dragon, he preferred to ride his beloved horse, Frestin, and merely considered the bond a really good way to talk to dragons and make new friends. As someone who tries to avoid friend-making as much as possible, I’m convinced that Wasianth and I probably wouldn’t have been all that close if we’d lived at the same time.

“North?” Leicht asks.

“North,” I agree. We’re off the coast of Meswyn right now, and according to the map Coryn borrowed from the captain, if we fly due north from here we should reach land soon and eventually cross the mountains into Rebithia. It’ll be late evening by the time we get to Harfarin, but that’s still a lot faster than weeks at sea. Though the ship would be more comfortable.

“You’re welcome to walk there, if my back is too uncomfortable for you.”

Wow, he’s snippy today. “That’s a kind offer, but I’m good. What’s bothering you?” I hunch a little more into the shelter of his neck. It might be early spring, but it’s still cold, and even more so at this height over the ocean.

Leicht’s quiet for several wingbeats, and then he says, “Are you planning to do something stupid?”

“Why would you ask that?” I’m not even pretending to be indignant. “I don’t do stupid things—I sit on the sidelines eating nuts and criticizing other people who are doing stupid things.”

His snort rumbles through his whole body beneath me. “Usually, yes. That is the Talon I’ve heard so much about for the past ten years. But⁠—”

“Aww, you and Tia talked about me?” I keep my mental voice light, even though I still feel that knifelike pain at the reminder that she’s gone. I don’t know if that will ever go away.

“Stop trying to distract me,” he growls. “I can very easily drop you in the ocean, you know.”

“I was hoping our relationship had gone beyond the stage of you wanting to kill me,” I muse. “I’m foolishly glad it hasn’t. I think I would have missed all that adrenaline-stirring terror.”

In reply, he banks sharply to the left, forcing me to throw my weight in the other direction to compensate—at which point he banks right. I’m completely off-balance and scrabble for something to hold on to, but dragons don’t have convenient handles, so I slide right off his back and tumble toward the sea.

Damn dragons and their damn lack of humor.

Before I can draw on my magic to slow my fall, Leicht’s giant claw snatches me from the air and tosses me upward. I brace, and sure enough, a second later, I collide with hard bone and scales. That’s definitely going to leave bruises, but I don’t have time to think about it—if I don’t scramble back into the saddle divot, I’ll fall again and have to deal with even more bruises.

“I hate you,” I tell him when I’m more or less secure again. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“I disagree. Are you ready to take this seriously now?”

“Take what seriously? I’ve been taking things seriously from the second Wat waved a rock at me!”

“Is the reason we’re on this jaunt without Jaimin and the others so you can do something self-sacrificing?”

The words hit me like boulders, and if they could bruise, the marks would be worse than what I got falling on his back. But not because they’re untrue. Well… not completely untrue.

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “That’s not the reason,” I protest, and then honesty compels me to add, “But if a situation came up where a sacrifice on my part would keep the others sa—” I don’t get to finish. Leicht’s roar of fury echoes across the ocean and is so loud up close that my ears ring.

He banks shallowly and begins a wide turn. “I’m taking you back to that ship!”

Ugh. Dragons are so dramatic.

“Be reasonable, Leicht. I’m a god… sort of. It’s my job to sacrifice for my people.”

“You have no people. You don’t even like people!”

This really isn’t the best time for him to show off what he knows about me. “I have some people, and they’re special to me. I don’t want them to die if they don’t have to.”

The stone chooses that moment to give a clear and very disparaging opinion of that statement.

“Really?” I say aloud. “The one time in my life that I try to be noble and all ‘for the good of others,’ and you’re stopping me?” If anybody ever calls me selfish again after this, I’m tossing them into the chasm at the academy and smiling while I do it.

“Did you ever stop to consider that the stone wanted these specific people collected because they have a role to play in you defeating the zombies?” Leicht asks exasperatedly.

“Of course I did! They’ve all been playing their roles. Coryn protects us all, Peiris is the reason we knew where to go next and how to bring Wasianth’s power out, Jaimin brought Wasianth’s power out, and Arimen is the reason I know what a godsborn even is. They’ve all done their jobs… right?” I falter a little. What if they haven’t?

“You don’t know yet how you’ll defeat an entire army of zombies and the necromancers that raised them,” my annoying bonded dragon points out. “You don’t know how you’re going to deal with the temples in the aftermath either.”

I startle. “What do you mean? I don’t have to deal with them at all. That’s a job for the reigning monarchs and the go⁠—”

“The gods?”

Holy festering gods’ turds. Me? I have to kick the priesthood back into shape?

“Do you see any other gods around here?”

I heave a huge sigh. “Turn around,” I order resignedly. “I won’t do anything sacrificial, I promise. But if I’m going to defeat zombies and necromancers and beat the temples into submission, I need as much information as I can get, so I really do need to talk to my father.” As joyous as that’s going to be. “And we need to fly over the estate on the way to Harfarin, anyway, so we might as well see for ourselves what’s happening there.”

Leicht hesitates for long enough that I’m worried he’s actually going to ignore me, but eventually he banks into another wide turn. We fly in silence for a while, both thinking about the mammoth tasks that lie ahead. Well, that’s what I’m thinking about, anyway.

“I don’t suppose you dragons know anything about how gods use their powers?” I ask abruptly.

“No.”

That’s not good. I’m not even sure if that was something our priestess tried to teach me when I was young—it’s a little exotic for an ordinary worshiper, especially since the gods have been gone from the world for a long time. But here I am with all this god power that I need to use to save the world… and no idea how to use it.

I try to remember every detail of what it felt like the times I used it before, when I apparently ushered the souls of our attackers to the afterlife. Unfortunately, both times that happened, I was thinking about other things, and the action was reflexive—a defensive instinct. That’s not going to do me much good in a fight, not unless I let myself get into a really bad situation first.

Okay. Use god magic. I can do this. I’ve been using magic for the past ten years… and a little before, if I’m honest, though I never admitted that to my professors at the academy. So this is god magic; so what? I can work out how to use it.

“Hey, Leicht, wanna play?”

Leicht’s still grumbling more than twelve hours later when he lands in one of the training fields behind the palace complex in Harfarin. So I accidentally shrank him down to the size of an actual lizard. I reversed it, didn’t I? Fast, too—I had incentive, since lizard-sized Leicht wasn’t able to carry me, and I was plunging toward the rocky, inhospitable mountains below. But he got all huffy and forbade me from experimenting any more with my god magic.

It's a shame, because it was going really well up until then. I can still do all the things my regular magic lets me do, only more. My power is boosted way beyond anything I could have dreamed of. I’m glad I took the time today to play with it, because it’s extremely possible that in a stressful situation I might have thrown the full force of my Talent into an action without realizing exactly how much that full force now is, and accidentally have knocked down a city or something. So, that was a productive use of my time.

Leicht was in full agreement, and even enjoying the demonstration of power—I think he was secretly planning to boast to the other dragons that his rider is a god-mage, and none of theirs are—until I started trying to work out what else I could do. The only “god” thing I’d done before was move souls on to the afterlife, and I didn’t even know I was doing it at the time. Not to mention, it’s an ability I’d rather not get too much practice with. But I figured that surely couldn’t be the extent of it.

It's not. Not even close. Proof: I shrank Leicht to the size of a lizard. God powers are incredible, but a lot of pressure comes with them. There’s this huge sense of responsibility—I can do almost anything, but that wouldn’t be right. I’m sure there are a lot of answers to my questions in Wasianth’s memories, but I’m not comfortable digging around in them. Not yet. It’s been less than a day since all this happened, and I’m selfishly taking as much time as I can to get used to it.

Although, I’ve noticed a few images and memories slipping into my consciousness that aren’t mine. Or they are, but they’re not—not Talon’s. They feel completely natural in my head, not intrusive or foreign at all, and yet, I’m acutely aware that while I was there, I wasn’t. It’s odd having first-hand knowledge from a whole lot of other lifetimes.

But I can ponder the implications of—and worry about—all that later. I don’t want to be away from the ship for more than two or three days, so I need to get moving.

I slide down Leicht’s leg as a guard jogs across the field toward us. That’s one thing about arriving on the back of a dragon—there’s always a welcoming committee. The guard slows considerably as he nears, and I stifle my smile as I move away from Leicht. It wasn’t that long ago that I wouldn’t have wanted to get that close to a dragon either. I choke down the longing that rises for those simpler times… and my sister.

I’d give anything for Tia to be here, teasing me about my apprehension near Leicht.

“Stop being melancholy. She would have slapped you for having feelings when there’s work to be done.”

I roll my eyes, glad the shadowy night hides the small action from the guard I’m approaching. “You’re so sympathetic. Go and find something to eat, then get some rest.”

“I’d rather be close if you’re going to see your father.”

Aw. I’m touched. “There’s nothing to worry about. He’s never been the type to be physically aggressive… or fit. He’ll be under guard, anyway, and don’t forget my awesome new powers. I’ll be fine.”

His mental touch is full of doubt, but I shut it out and smile casually at the guard. “Good evening. Is the queen receiving?” I don’t particularly want to pay a formal visit, but it would be a faux pas not to ask… and anyway, that’s where my mother probably is. I do want to speak with her.

“Her majesty is entertaining this evening, sir,” the guard shoots back, his tone balancing on the line between showing respect for a rider with a very large dragon and chiding me for the audacity to believe I can stroll in and meet with the queen at my leisure. “Have you come from the City of Knowledge?”

“No. I’m Talon Silverbright.”

At any other time, and certainly in any other nation, my arrogant statement would have gotten me nothing more than a blank stare. This is Rebithia, however, where my dear mother is the pearl of the queen’s court and has been for thirty years. That’s given the Silverbright name a whole lot of recognition. Plus, every guard in the palace would be aware that Lord Silverbright is under arrest right now and that the dragon riders have descended on Rebithia. The guard might not know specifically who I am, but he’ll recognize the name and possibly remember that there’s a rider in the family.

Sure enough, his eyes widen slightly. “You’d better come with me.”

I refrain from advising him that I planned to even if he tried to stop me, and instead sweep my arm out in an “after you” gesture. “Lead the way.”

His glare hovers somewhere between uncertain and suspicious, but he obediently guides me toward the palace.

“Dinner’s long over, but the cook leaves some bits out in the soldiers’ mess for the late patrols,” he volunteers abruptly. I think it’s his way of asking if I’m hungry.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m fine,” I reply. I haven’t eaten, but I’m pretty sure that I can do better than the hard bread and dried meat that’s probably been left out in the soldiers’ mess. Even if I’m not granted an audience with the queen tonight—which I absolutely will be—I’m still Lord Talon. Those aren’t strings I pull often, but after the hell I’ve been through these last few months, I think I’m entitled to a decent meal and a comfortable b⁠—

“There’s barracks for visitors on the other side of the east courtyard,” my guide pipes up again. “The riders and mages have been staying there when they come to the palace.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll be staying overnight,” I prevaricate. It’s easier than telling him I’ll be commandeering a guest room in the palace. Really, though, even knowing I’m a Silverbright, he thinks I’ll be staying in soldiers’ barracks? The queen barely knows me, and what she does know she’s never really been all that fond of, but she’d never stain her reputation for hospitality by making her favorite lady’s son sleep with the soldiers. The court would be whispering about it for months.

I fucking hate court.

We finally reach the palace’s rear gate and the guardhouse behind it, and two men come out to meet us. I’m not great with soldiers’ ranks, but even I can tell that the epaulets on the one to the right mean seniority, and sure enough, my guide salutes sharply. “Sir. This is Talon Silverbright, and he’s asked to see the queen.”

The senior officer’s hard gaze takes me in from head to toe. “You’re not dressed much like a dragon rider.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “No, I’m not.”

“I thought Lady Tavia was the rider. Aren’t you the mage?”

Grief hits me suddenly and harder than a runaway horse. Tia hated being referred to that way, but hearing it reminds me that she’s never going to get the chance to come back here. To be Lady Tavia, the retired dragon rider who doesn’t give a fuck for propriety and will teach all the court debutantes how to defend themselves. That was her dream—when her body could no longer handle the rigors of being an active fighter, she and Leicht were going to divide their time between the City of Knowledge and here, where she could delight in being a perfect scandal. That life’s been taken from her too.

Keeping my face stoic, I say, “It would greatly surprise me if you weren’t already aware of my sister’s death.” He knows enough about us to be privy to court news… Come to think of it, his face is somewhat familiar. He’s probably the younger son of a noble that I’ve met before.

The harsh lines of his face soften with remorse. “I beg your pardon for my carelessness. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Lady Tavia was an exceptional fighter and good company.”

Suddenly, a memory rushes to the fore of my mind. “Fenin,” I blurt, searching his face for more clues. It was a long time ago, during the queen’s one and only visit to our family estate. He was a young soldier then, but kind enough to answer all Tia’s questions and demonstrate some self-defense techniques. She’d mentioned running into him a few times when she and Leicht were on errands here. “Riverford?” I’m not as certain of his family name, but he nods.

“You remember me. I didn’t think you would, after all this time. We barely crossed paths.”

“Tia spoke well of you.” It’s all I need to say.

He bows his head briefly in acknowledgment of the compliment. “You’re here to see your mother?”

“Yes. Her Majesty as well, if she’s receiving, and Master Kathion.” I suppose I should report. The queen and her court mage are well aware of the situation and my quest, which is now doubly important to them, with so many zombies inside Rebithia’s borders. “And my father.” The last comes out grim and hard.

Fenin nods curtly. “Let me take you to the chief steward, and he’ll show you where you can wash up while I send word to the queen.”

A wash sounds divine. Maybe I can talk the steward into a supper plate too. “Lead on.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

I don’t even get to finish the fancy sandwiches the steward sent up before the queen’s summons comes. What is it with royalty and their habit of interrupting my meals?

At least I got to bathe, though, and the steward thoughtfully found me some clean clothes to wear. Somehow, none of us considered that I might need to change clothes at some point, so I didn’t bring any. An oversight, for sure.

The page who was sent to fetch me leads me to my mother’s apartments, which is interesting. Does the queen not want anyone to know she’s meeting with me? Or is this just her way of keeping things unofficial?

The page scratches at the door, then opens it and leans inside. A moment later, he stands back and motions for me to enter. As soon as I do, the door closes behind me.

My mother rises from where she was sitting beside the queen on a plush sofa. It’s been some time since I visited her here, but I’d swear the décor was different last time.

“Talon,” she says, and her usually melodic voice is strained. Now that I think of it, her face is rather set, and her eyes are a little puffy. She extends her hands toward me, and I cross the room to take them and kiss her cheek.

“Mother. How are yooooo—” The word becomes strangled as she throws herself against me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she sobs into my shoulder. Shocked, I meet the queen’s gaze over her downturned head.

“Your mother grieves Tavia most deeply,” she says quietly. “She fears for you also.”

I’m speechless. It’s not that I thought Mother wouldn’t grieve for Tia—I’ve always known she loves us in her distant, let-nanny-do-the-parenting way. While my father has always been an unloving ass, Mother is just… busy. I’m not certain she truly wanted children to begin with, but it’s not that she was ever unkind. I just didn’t expect this flood of emotion.

Awkwardly, I pat her back. “Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty,” I say to the queen. My court manners might be rusty and dirty and not all that good to begin with, but even I know it’s inexcusable to be in a room with a monarch and not acknowledge them.

Queen Nyana tilts her head in a regal nod. She hasn’t changed much since the last time I saw her—a few more lines around her eyes, maybe, and the golden blond of her hair is nearly all silver now. “I regret that it’s under such vile circumstances, Lord Talon.”

I automatically open my mouth to say, “Just Talon,” but then catch myself. One doesn’t correct a queen over something so minor as what she calls one. Especially when she’s not wrong. “So do I, ma’am.” I hesitate. “I suppose I should apologize on behalf of the family for my father and uncle and assure you that I had no part in it.”

To my surprise, she chuckles. “I’ve heard enough stories about your relationship with your father to know you wouldn’t have part in anything he did, no matter what it was. Besides, you forget that I’m privy to where you’ve been and why.”

Before I can reply, my mother lets out a fresh sob, and I wince.

“I gather Mother knows also?”

The queen shrugs, and it’s the third occupant of the room, the man sitting in an armchair, who replies. “Lady Silverbright is one of the queen’s closest advisors. We deemed it prudent to ensure she was aware of all the facts.”

I give Master Kathion a nod. I don’t know him well enough to have an opinion on him—he’s lived here at court my whole life, and the brief occasions we’ve met before were when I was too young to be intelligent. Talk at the academy paints him as a decent mage but mostly a political creature—there was never any doubt when he was there that he’d be going after a position as a court mage once he achieved mastery. But he’s been dedicated to serving Queen Nyana for more years than I’ve been alive, and rumor has it that he’s the one who introduced Mother to her. I wouldn’t say I’m ready to welcome him into the inner circle, but I can cautiously trust him.

I hope.

Of course, that’s all irrelevant if I can’t get Mother to stop crying long enough for us all to talk.

Bending my head to hers, I murmur, “Come now, it’s okay.”

She sucks in a jagged breath and looks up at me, her blue eyes wet and miserable. Tia and I got her coloring, but otherwise, we look more like our father’s family. Unfortunately for us. Mother is a noted beauty, and every spring, when young debutantes and courtiers flood into Harfarin, a whole new lot of poems and songs are written about her, even now that she’s older. Father is… not a beauty of any kind.

“She’s gone, Talon. How can she be gone? How do you bear it?”

I clench my teeth against the hot tears that rush to my eyes. The last thing this situation needs is both of us bawling. “I—” I stop and clear my throat, then look her squarely in the eye. “I bear it because she was dedicated to this mission, and I won’t disgrace her by giving up. I bear it because there is vengeance in my heart, and I will mete it out against those who are responsible for her death.” I take a breath. “I bear it because I have to, Mother. Because the alternative is to give up, to curl into a ball and wait for death to take me, and she would hate me for that. She would hate me for wasting the life she didn’t get to live.”

Her lower lip trembles. “It hurts, though. I-I wish I had been a better mother to her. I wish she’d known how I truly did l-l-l—” Her face contorts with another sob.

“It hurts,” I agree. “It guts me, and I can see it does you too. Tia knew you loved her, Mother. We both do.”

Her gaze searches my face, and finally, she nods. “You’ll avenge her?”

I’m surprised by the vicious intensity in her voice, but it makes me smile. “I have her dagger, and I’m going to use it on whoever is behind all this.”

Disentangling herself from my hold, she pats my chest. “Then I can leave it in your hands. You always were as stubborn as a rock.”

So much for our mother-son bonding moment.

As she reseats herself on the sofa and the queen takes her hand, Kathion clears his throat. “Your implication seems to be that you don’t believe your father and uncle are responsible for this.”

I turn to look at him. “They absolutely are responsible, and I’m confident my queen will deal with them as they deserve. But I don’t believe they are solely responsible, or even in charge. My uncle isn’t motivated or skilled enough to learn this kind of magic on his own.”

“He’s as thick and lazy as a whole stack of bricks,” Mother says bluntly. “But he’s mean and greedy, and if someone came to him with promises of power and wealth and showed him what to do, he’d leap at the chance.” She grimaces. “Your father would as well.”

“Oh, I know. He did, in fact. I believe he knows more than what he’s told you.”

“So do we,” the queen says grimly. “But Kathion says I can’t torture him into talking.”

“That might work against you, ma’am,” I say as diplomatically as I can. Executing him once we prove his treason is one thing, but torturing her lover’s husband when he’s seemingly confessed to his wrongdoings would probably look bad in the eyes of the royal court. “Let me talk to him instead.”

All three of them turn doubting expressions on me. “You think he’s likely to tell you more? He knows about your mission—that alone is proof of his guilt, as he was never told by official sources,” Kathion points out. “Why do you think he’d be likely to spill secrets to the other side?”

“I don’t. But if I can get him talking, the stone will tell me what’s a lie and what we need to investigate further. I just need some hints.” I purse my lips. “I really want to know why the temples got involved in this.”

“The stone,” Kathion repeats with chagrin. “You have it with you?”

“It’s not the kind of thing I can leave lying around.” I reach into my shirt and pull out the pouch. “Would you like to see it?”

“Perhaps later,” the queen interrupts before Kathion can reply. “It might be best for you to speak with your father now, if you truly think you can learn something new. He won’t be prepared to see you, especially at this time of night.”

“That seems a wise move, Your Majesty.”

“Talon,” my mother says suddenly, “Commander Riverford said you flew here on a dragon. He was teasing, wasn’t he?”

Kathion’s brows rise. “I’m very interested to hear the answer to that myself.”

Fuck.

“He wasn’t teasing. I assume you were advised that the stone forged a temporary communication ability between me and Leicht, so he could continue to travel with us?”

“Yes,” Kathion says. “I have many questions. A mage has never been able to speak directly with a dragon.”

I snort. “I don’t know about other dragons, but if they’re like Leicht, you’re really not missing much. He’s grumpy and doesn’t like me.”

“You have grown on me somewhat,” he says, surprising me. I didn’t think he was listening. “Do not give away secrets that could endanger you. It would be a breach of treaty if I tore apart the palace to save you.”

“God magic, remember? I’m not in danger.” I don’t want to test that, though, so I choose my next words carefully. “Leicht was deeply angered by what Father did. When he heard me say several days ago that I wanted to see what the stone could make of Father’s story, he offered to fly me here as a one-off, times-of-crisis solution.” I grimace. “Learning to fly on a dragon is not fun. There’s a lot of falling, and dragons aren’t gentle when they catch you.”

Mother pulls a face. “You never did like physical exertion.”

The cell my father is being held in is one designed for nobles who’ve done bad things. From what the queen said before I left Mother’s apartment, she feels that treason and zombies warrant one of the nastier cells where hardened criminals are sent, and I have to agree with her. Kathion, however, was the voice of reason who pointed out that we can’t afford for the other nobles to begin wondering what, exactly, my father did to warrant such harsh treatment—not until the zombies are vanquished. So Father gets a cushy cell that resembles a guest room more than anything else.

“I’ll wait out here,” Kathion says quietly as we approach. “I doubt he’ll speak as freely if I’m with you. The guards will come if you shout, but I presume you can handle a single unTalented man?”

My derisive glance is just this side of disrespectful. “Yes. He won’t get near enough to me to be a threat, and even if he does, I can manage.”

A smile tugs at the right side of his lips. “They told me you had a smart mouth.”

Turds. “I⁠—”

He waves me off. “I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned the right to some sarcasm. Find the champion and save the world, and you’ll earn the right to a whole lot more.”

I said something similar to Jaimin not that long ago, but for some reason, hearing it from someone else rubs me the wrong way. “I’m not doing this for what I can get out of it.”

He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head. “No. I don’t think you are. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t demand your due once it’s done. For your mother’s sake, if nothing else. When the truth about what your father’s done comes out, she’s going to face a great deal of backlash, and not even Queen Nyana will be able to fully protect her, no matter what she believes. You being the one to clean up your father’s mess will defuse the situation.”

I hold in my groan. I love my mother, and I don’t want her to pay for crimes she didn’t commit, but it seems as though the list of things I need to do and people I need to look after is getting longer and longer. All I want is to hide in Jaimin’s rooms with him, a giant bed, and a mammoth bathtub. Is that truly too much to ask?

Out loud, I say, “I’m glad she has people looking out for her.”

Kathion recognizes that for the conversation-ender I intended it to be and nods. “Don’t be delicate if you need to ask me a question while you’re in there. I’ll be ready for telepathic contact.”

“Thank you.” We part, him stopping to lean against the wall, me continuing toward the guarded door. The guards look at me, glance over my shoulder at Kathion, and then step forward.

“Are you armed, sir? We can’t permit weapons in with the prisoner.”

“I have no weapons.” Not any my father would be able to use, anyway. Talent skipped him entirely.

One of the guards unlocks the door while the other reminds me that I can call for them if I need assistance.

And then the door is closing behind me and I’m staring at my father’s surprised face.

He’s propped against plush pillows in bed, reading, and I take vicious satisfaction from the facts that the bed is on the smaller side and he’s never liked reading all that much. Otherwise, the luxury in the room infuriates me.

“Talon,” he says slowly, and just the sound of his voice raises the familiar urge to leave. Talking to him has never been something I enjoyed. “My son! I should have known you’d come to my aid.”

I blink stupidly at him.

“What did he say? Did he…” Leicht sounds just as befuddled as I am, and that gets my brain functioning again.

“I have no idea why you’d think that,” I say coolly, and his face crumples artfully.

Suspicion burns in my belly.

“Please don’t turn against me, Talon,” he implores. “I made a stupid, stupid mistake, and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it.”

“That last part is true,” I agree, strolling over to a cushy armchair and seating myself. I hook my ankle over my knee and lean back, hoping I look powerful and in control. It helps a little that he’s in his nightclothes. “Though I wouldn’t plan on having all that much time for the aforementioned regret.” I meet his tragic expression with a bland one.

“How can you be so unfeeling? Can’t you understand what I’m going through? I let your uncle and his friends talk me into unwise choices, and now my daughter⁠—”

“Do not,” I interrupt, “talk about my sister. Don’t even say her name, or you won’t need to worry about any trial or execution. I’ll gut you right here myself and laugh while I do it.”

I must be suitably convincing, because he closes his mouth. Not for long, though.

“I’m grieving too. It was never supposed to happen.”

“You killed her,” I say flatly, “just as much as if you’d shot the arrow yourself. It was never supposed to happen? What did you think would happen when the zombies came after us? Were you there when that order was given? Did you stop to consider that zombies sent to kill us might actually kill us?”

I watch his face closely, and sure enough, there’s a tiny flinch. He’s every bit as complicit as I thought he was, but this time he keeps his mouth shut.

The silence rides for long moments before I sigh. “You’re going to be executed, and there isn’t any way around it. If somehow the queen isn’t able to manage it, I’ll come back here and take you to the City of Knowledge myself, where you can face the dragons. They’re out for blood.”

“Does it give you pleasure to tell your father he’s going to die?” he asks, and it seems that he’s still playing for sympathy.

“No. I’m just making it clear that no matter what happens next, you will die. I’ll make sure Uncle Domys does, too—and his temple friends. It’s the least they deserve. But you and I both know that no matter what you’ve told everyone else, your brother isn’t capable of learning complex magic on his own. He wouldn’t even have known where to start looking for the spells—or thought his way through the best way to use them. Tell me who else is involved.”

“There’s nobody else,” he declares, but his eye twitches. He’s never been a good liar, which is ironic because he lies all the time.

I shrug. “Have it your way. I’ll find them eventually, anyway. It’s hard to hide that kind of magic at the academy for long.” That’s not exactly true, but he won’t know that, and I’m fishing. There is a chance the mage behind this is someone living away from the City of Knowledge, but I don’t think so. It would be much harder to do the research that would have been needed, and someone in the academies has definitely been feeding information to the other side.

Father’s eye twitches again, confirming my assumption, and I push it further.

“It’ll be easy enough to see who’s traveled this way in recent years,” I muse. “It’s not like Uncle Domys would have befriended that many people when he was at the academy.”

His eye twitches for a third time, and I make a mental note to have Master look for the class lists from when my uncle was a student. This also means we can rule out everyone younger than he is, which is helpful.

“They’re not friends,” Father mutters sullenly, and while I manage to hold in my cheer, Leicht’s roar of victory is so loud that we can hear it clearly through the thick stone walls. Father’s eyes widen.

“The dragons must be restless,” I say casually, as though I didn’t just threaten him with dragon justice a minute ago. “Not friends, huh? Are you sure they’re not fooling you about that? This is a pretty dangerous scheme to trust to someone who’s not a friend.”

Father snorts. “You’ve met your uncle’s friends. None of them have the brains for anything like this. Besides, Domys is ten years younger than—” He stops, but I don’t care. That’s enough information for me to get started with.

I stand and stretch. “Well, I’m glad we had this time together. I was worried that some part of me might regret that we never had a better relationship, but…” I shrug. “You’re not the kind of person I could ever want to have a good relationship with.” I make for the door.

“Don’t you want to know why I did it?”

The words stop me short, and I turn to face him. He’s dropped all pretense of remorse—the sorrow gone from his face, and his lips twisted in a sneer.

“I already know. You’re greedy and power-hungry, a bitter, miserable man with no morals.”

“No morals! I have more morals than your bitch queen! What kind of person buys a husband for her lover so she can control him?”

Leicht’s incredulity echoes through my mind. “Does he really not hear himself?”

“He has no self-awareness.”

“What kind of person sells himself in the hope of gaining power?” I counter. If he was hoping to shock me with the revelation that the queen found Mother a convenient husband so they could be together without complications, I hope he’s disappointed. I’ve known for years—Tia and I listened to the servants gossiping about it before we were even old enough to know what a lover was. “What kind of person makes an agreement, takes money for it, and then plots to betray his own word?”

His mouth works, but no sounds emerge. I wait another moment before turning away to knock for the guards to open the door.

“Good luck with the gods’ justice, Father.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Leicht and I leave early the next morning to rejoin the others, despite my mother’s vociferous displeasure. She wants me to spend at least another day with her, and if the situation wasn’t so dire, she might have convinced me with her argument of “I wasn’t a good mother to you when you were a child, but I want to try harder now that you’re an adult.”

Eventually, I convince her that now is not the time for bonding but that I’ll be back once everything is settled and spend at least a week here—and bring someone special with me. That delights her so much that she manages not to ask the million questions I can see brimming in her eyes, and she immediately sends for her maid so they can plan entertainment and activities for my visit. I leave her to it and slip out.

Leicht and I fly over my home estate again on our way south, but there’s no new information to gather. It seems that despite my father’s defection and their new dragon watchdogs, Domys and his temple cronies are sitting tight with their zombies—almost as though they’re waiting for something. What, though? Information from the spy at the academy, who I’m convinced is the mastermind behind all this?

There has to be something I’m missing. Maybe the reason for the delay is connected to why the temples got involved. But what could it be?

I fret over it for most of the morning, until Leicht’s finally had enough. “Stop thinking so loudly, and you might be able to hear the answers you seek.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I point out. “Anyway, nobody said you had to listen.”

He ignores that, because apparently my every thought is his property now. “You should use this time wisely. Speak to your master and have him begin searching for the traitor.”

It really bothers me that he’s right, and I’m tempted to ignore the suggestion purely out of spite, but we’re too close to our goal now for me to be petty.

After, though, I’ll be unleashing all my stored-up pettiness.

Leicht’s snort tells me what he thinks of that, but it’s my turn to ignore him as I reach out and politely knock on Master’s mind.

“Talon? I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Kathion contacted me last night and said you were in Harfarin.”

“We left this morning, but yes. I wanted to talk to my father and see if I could discover anything he hadn’t said yet. It was late when I finished, and I… needed time to process.” It surprised me a great deal how much the conversation—the last one I ever expect to have with the man who fathered me—bothered me. During, I didn’t think twice about it, but after… well, knowing how little he truly cares about anyone else, including his own children, upset me more than I expected.

“I understand. Frankly, if I were in your shoes with everything that’s happened lately, I’d probably have run away and joined a circus by now.”

That’s not as reassuring as I think he intended it to be. “Please don’t give me ideas.” Although a circus probably wouldn’t take me, given my inability to juggle worth a damn. “Father said some things that I’d like you to look into.” I give him a quick summary of the conversation.

“Someone here at the academy who is about a decade older than your uncle,” Master repeats. “That narrows it considerably. I’ll head back down to the archives immediately.” He hesitates. “Has the stone given any insight?”

“No. It’s been remarkably silent since Jaimin healed my mind—but then, it usually is when we need information.”

The stone half-heartedly chastises me but fails to add anything else.

“Hopefully this will give us some answers. I’d like a few moments alone with whoever’s behind everything we’ve been dealing with.”

“As long as you remember they’re mine to deal with.” I’m not giving up the right for vengeance.

“What do you plan to do now? Do we have any idea of the next steps, other than to go to your birthplace?”

Frustrated helplessness rises to choke me. Leicht hisses and banks slightly, jolting me out of my self-pity as I lurch to maintain my balance. I’ve noticed he does that—uses flight to distract me from my thoughts. I pet his neck lightly in acknowledgment, something I never would have dared to do before but know that he’s somewhat missing since he and Coryn haven’t been in the same place for a while.

“We don’t. I’m going to be mature and sensible and spend today digging through some of Wasianth’s memories. If I needed access to this part of myself to be the champion, then the answers have to be there somewhere.” I pause. “How are we going to explain this to the councils? And the world?”

“You being a god?” Even telepathically, Master’s voice is bone dry delivering that sentence. “I don’t know. If we tell them the truth, it would dramatically change your life here after all this is over.”

Gratitude swamps me. It’s nice to know Master is thinking about the impact it would have on me, personally. It’s nice to be cared about.

Leicht snorts. “A great many beings care about you, idiot.”

So much love there. But he’s right, and that’s something else I need to consider. My new friends and family will also be affected if the world knows I’m Wasianth.

“We’ll have to think of something to tell them. I’ll add it to my list of priorities… along with avenging my sister and saving the world.”

“You do that,” Master agrees. “Keep me up-to-date with your decision. People are starting to become concerned that you haven’t located the champion yet, and I can’t fob them off for too much longer.”

We end the conversation on that delightful note, and I turn my attention to rifling through the immense archive that is Wasianth’s consciousness.

Hours later, I’ve had no luck. Sadly, there’s no index to a god’s brain, no easy way to search—that I know of. I’m sure there has to be a trick to it. Some of his knowledge came to me at appropriate moments before, so why not now? Why can’t I just think, “How do I kill the zombies?” and have the answer pop fully-fledged into my head?

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions,” Leicht suggests.

“I don’t know many ways to ask how to kill a zombie army.” It seems like it should be a straightforward sentence.

“Start small. What do you know about zombies?” he counters, and I roll my eyes.

“Well, Leicht, they’re⁠—”

Soulless reanimated bodies with no will of their own. Their ambulation and ability to function come from the tiny sliver of soul energy the necromancer who raised them infuses into the spell used.

I’m so startled by the sudden appearance of that knowledge that my mouth drops open and something flies in.

Leicht’s laughter echoes through my head as I cough and hack, trying to get whatever the fuck that was out of my throat. Turds, I hate flying.

But it seems Leicht was right; I just had to ask the right question. Necromancers use their soul energy to raise zombies? That seems shortsighted—don’t they need their souls?

The answer comes to me before I even finish thinking the question: Yes. Inexperienced or stupid necromancers often use all their soul energy to raise the dead and find themselves sucked dry and as soulless as the zombies they created. However, unlike those zombies, who can exist until they are destroyed, the necromancer remains human and will die in due course—but without a soul, will not enter the afterlife and be reborn.

Now that I know where in my brain the relevant information is stored, I’m able to filter through it. Leicht was definitely right: Asking how to kill the zombies was the wrong question. Zombies are already dead; they can’t be killed. That’s not what I need to do.

It’s hours past sunset when Leicht tells me he can see the ship my friends are on. I don’t bother to ask how he can be sure it’s the right one—he can see a lot better than me, especially in the dark, and I don’t feel like being called an idiot again today.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks. “Should I drop you in the ocean?” There’s far too much anticipation in his tone for my liking.

“No. Let me tell Jaimin to warn the captain, and then get close enough for me to slide off onto the deck.” It won’t be easy, but he’s a dragon and I’m a mage-god. If we can’t manage it, what’s the point of having all this power?

Jaimin rallies despite his startlement, and twenty minutes later, Leicht is hovering above the ship’s deck, his wing beats making the sails billow wildly. I stare down at the wide-eyed sailors below and wonder if this was really a good idea.

Too late now.

Sucking in a breath, I pat Leicht’s leg and slide off, thickening the air beneath me slightly to slow my fifteen-foot drop to the deck. As soon as I’m clear of him, Leicht pulls up, putting some distance between himself and the main mast before he turns toward the coast. “I’m going to find dinner. Call if you need me.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

If I had hoped to make a heroic entrance, those hopes would have been dashed when I didn’t land on my feet. Instead, I wind up sprawled on the deck, thanks to the fact that I forgot to account for the movement of the waves.

“Ow,” I say, my nose pressed to the rough wood planks. I better not end up with a splinter in my face.

“That’s my graceful love,” Jaimin declares, and big hands that are not his help me to my feet.

“Are you hurt?” Coryn asks, his gaze skimming me in the light of the torches some of the sailors are holding.

“Only my pride.”

He purses his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t think Jaimin can heal that.”

“He’ll survive,” the love of my life declares, coming up beside me to slide an arm around my shoulders. “His pride is used to being bruised.” The light words are belied by how tightly his arm is holding me.

The sound of a throat being cleared draws our attention to the captain, who’s standing a few feet away with a decidedly neutral expression. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

“I wouldn’t say no to anything that might be left over from dinner.” I paste on a winning smile so he won’t be tempted to throw us all overboard.

“I’ll let the cook know. Uh… will the dragon be returning tonight?”

I shake my head. “Not unless we run into trouble.”

The captain doesn’t seem to know what to make of that, finally just nodding before he walks away.

“Come on,” Jaimin urges. “We told Peiris to keep Arimen below, just in case he said anything he shouldn’t, but we’re all eager to hear how things went. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just tired,” I assure him, leaning a little into his hold. “By the way, I promised my mother we’d visit when all this is over. She’s excited to meet you.”

He misses a step.

“That sounds nice,” Coryn enthuses, not noticing Jaimin’s reaction. “My mother died when I was a little boy.”

Aw. “You come too,” I say impulsively. “She’s not very maternal, but she’ll like you.”

That puts a happy grin on his face, and he leads the way to the officers’ dining room, where Peiris is slouched comfortably in a chair and Arimen is practically bouncing off the walls.

“Well?” he demands. “What did you find out?”

I keep silent while I settle into a chair and pull Jaimin down to sit beside me, keeping hold of his hand, and then I sigh.

“I talked to my father,” I begin, and give them a rundown of that conversation. Jaimin’s hold on my hand tightens to a squeeze. “Master Samoine has been searching the archives since late this morning,” I conclude. “He has the class rosters from my uncle’s time at the academy and is working on a list of who else he might have spent significant time with.”

“Does it need to have been a significant amount of time?” Peiris asks, and I shrug.

“Probably not, but would you approach someone you barely knew thirty-five years ago to bring them in on a plan like this? There has to have been enough contact between them for some trust… or maybe blackmail.”

“How long was your uncle at the academy?” Arimen asks. “Why would he want to blackmail someone? Or would they be blackmailing him?”

I shrug. “With Uncle Domys, it could go either way. He’s a nasty man who does nasty things, and he’s not above adding blackmail to the list. He was only at the academy for a year, though. He left as soon as he passed his first-year exams and proved he wasn’t a danger to the world.” I pause. “In hindsight, they may have been assessing for the wrong things.”

Arimen frowns. “But blackmail is bad. Why⁠—”

“He’s a bad person, Arimen,” Jaimin explains gently. “That’s why he’s involved in this.”

“Talon said he’s not smart, so I thought maybe he didn’t understand what he was doing. But if he’s a blackmailer too…” He shakes his head. “I guess he’s doing this on purpose.”

Oh holy steaming gods’ turds. I stare at my naïve young friend and wonder why I had to be here for the destruction of his innocence. What am I supposed to say now?

Coryn rescues me. “He probably is doing this on purpose, but remember that there are a lot more people working on purpose to stop him. The truly bad people will always be outnumbered by the ones who want good, even if sometimes the bad ones seem like the loudest.”

Arimen firms his shoulders and nods. Jaimin squeezes my hand again, and Peiris looks at Coryn like he hung the stars. Fuck. Did something happen between them while I was gone? It hasn’t even been two full days!

I meet Jaimin’s gaze and tilt my head meaningfully toward Peiris, a question in my eyes. His mouth twitches into a rueful half-smile, and he gives a tiny shrug.

Great. Just great. I add “diplomatic negotiations” to my to-do list and hope that Peiris’s imperial parents are the doting kind.

“Let me tell you what else I’ve learned,” I suggest. The budding relationship can wait, and Arimen could probably use a distraction right now. “I was able to access Wasianth’s knowledge of zombies.”

Eager faces turn to me, the previous subject put aside. “Do you know how to get rid of them?” Coryn asks. “Can I help?”

“Yes, and… maybe. I haven’t worked out the details yet. The key is with the necromancers. They use pieces of their souls to raise the zombies and animate them. If the necromancer dies, the energy from those soul shards is absorbed back into the world, and the zombies return to being corpses.”

Peiris is already shaking their head. “The imperial histories mention slaying necromancers by the score. Some few died, but most didn’t—the act of raising zombies turns them into some kind of undead themselves. It was only the intervention of the gods that saved us last time.”

They’ve said that before, and it caused me a lot of anxiety. Not this time, though. I understand now. “They’re not undead; not even close. Some necromancers use a spell of transference—” I stop. What I’m about to describe is going to distress all of them a lot. “Maybe you should just trust me on this. We need to kill the necromancers, but I—Wasianth—need to do something first to make sure they die.”

“Just tell us,” Arimen says, his world-weary tone at odds with his youthful face. “We already know it’s going to be bad.”

I glance at Jaimin, who nods, so I take a deep breath and continue. “The spell of transference removes their soul from their own body and puts it somewhere safe. The nature of the spell means that they’re still connected to their soul, thus retaining their humanity, and can also draw on it to raise more zombies.” I brace myself. “But, and this is the worst part, in order to keep their soul energy from being used up by all the zombies they’re raising, they do another spell. It's… a bad one. It draws soul energy and assimilates it.”

Jaimin gasps, understanding, but Coryn frowns. “Huh? I don’t understand?”

“The necromancers transfer their souls into another living being, like a pet or a person, and then make it so their soul energy is shared.”

He’s still frowning, but then his eyes go wide. “They steal other people’s souls?!”

I nod. “Essentially, yes. The spell, which is so vile it’s nameless, lets the necromancer merge the two soul essences and control the resultant power. They can then raise zombies that they’ll be able to control without using their own soul energy.”

Peiris swallows hard. “What happens when the stolen soul is used up?”

“The necromancer transfers what’s left—their own soul—out of that body and to a new one. The old one dies.”

“Soulless?” Arimen whispers. “They die without their soul?”

I nod. “These are bad people and they’re doing bad things. But that’s why the Baswegian histories show that necromancers are hard to kill. Their souls are elsewhere, so they can remove their consciousness from their bodies long enough for… repairs to be done.”

“Not how I would have worded it,” Jaimin murmurs. “You can get around this?”

The others perk up and look at me hopefully.

“Yes. Well, Wasianth can. Peiris is right that this needs the intervention of the gods. Souls are their—our—domain, and I can summon the necromancers’ souls out of the beings they were transferred to.” I give Jaimin a speaking look, and comprehension lights his eyes. The others don’t know I’ve already been using Wasianth’s power to convey souls to the afterlife. “The only other way to do it would be to identify who those beings are and kill them at the exact same time as the necromancer.”

“We’ll call that plan B,” Jaimin suggests. “Okay. As horrific as all that is, at least now we have answers and can form a plan.”

I slump down in my seat. “We don’t have all the answers. Why are the zombies still massed at my family estate? They know we know about them—my father left there weeks ago, and we have dragons patrolling overhead. Why wouldn’t they be moving out into the countryside, infecting villagers and marching toward Harfarin… or wherever?”

“Perhaps their leadership is falling apart,” Peiris suggests. “It could be that those remaining can’t agree on the next move.”

“Or they’re the decoy,” Coryn adds.

My gut freezes. “What?” I rasp.

“They’re the decoy. While we’re watching the big group at the estate, maybe lots of the little groups are getting ready to move in other places. They could even be joining up into a big army somewhere else.” His eyes go wide. “That’s not good.”

Not fucking good, indeed.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I stand at the ship’s rail and watch as the land gets closer and closer. Just uphill from the tiny cove we’ve chosen to disembark at, Leicht is waiting—I can see him clearly. Even more clear is the rocky spur extending into the cove. With the tide this low, it’s almost like a natural dock, and the only way we can get the horses off the ship without finding an actual dock. In the past—and probably not so past—smugglers used to use this spur as a convenient way to bring goods into Rebithia without paying tariffs. My father used to rant about it a lot, so of course Tia and I had to investigate.

Of course, the downside of the tide being this low is that there’s a serious risk of us running aground. Not being a sailor myself and never having been a smuggler, I wasn’t able to tell the captain or helmsman much about the conditions here. So as we inch closer and closer to the spur, it feels as though everyone aboard is holding their breath.

Finally, when it’s so close that I might almost be able to jump the distance, one of the sailors shouts something, and the captain calls for the anchor to be dropped.

“Ready?” Jaimin asks quietly from beside me, and I let out a slow breath.

“Not really, but since when has that mattered?”

He makes a sound that wants to be a laugh but isn’t quite, and we make our way toward where crew members are fitting the long boards meant for boarding other ships at sea into place to form ramps. They’ll be a little steep, and we’ll need to be very careful with the horses, but the captain assures me they’ll hold.

It’s been a week since my sojourn to Harfarin, and after Coryn’s terrifying revelation, I decided to use some of my god powers to move things along. Some of the sailors are deeply suspicious of the convenient wind that sprang up to push us up the coast, but everyone knows that even the best air mage can’t hold a strong wind for days on end without showing strain, so eventually they stopped looking sideways at me. Instead, they’re now saying that the gods must surely be on our side, which made Peiris laugh out loud.

Leicht spoke with the other dragons, and I with Master, and the patrols around the continent intensified their efforts, searching for any clues that the zombies scattered across Vaderyn might be massing together. It only took a few days for word to come back: Yes, that’s what appears to be happening. The only zombies that aren’t moving toward the City of Knowledge are the ones with my uncle and some small groups that seem poised to strike at mid-sized cities—likely as distractions.

At least now we have a better idea of what’s planned—the mage behind all this wants to take control of the academies, and presumably from there exert that control over the rest of Vaderyn. It’s unclear how they plan to neutralize the dragons or even the mages, but I don’t plan to let them get close enough to the city to find out. The combined councils went into an utter panic at the news, not at all helped by the reactions of the ruling monarchs—the King of Gall has apparently barricaded himself in his private apartments and is telling his generals to execute everybody and not let the zombie mages get him—so Master and I decided it was the right time to reveal “the truth” to the councils.

Of course, that “truth” was invented by Arimen, but it seemed to make them a lot happier anyway.

“They don’t need to know you’re Wasianth,” he declared when he heard about my dilemma. “That would be a mistake—people are greedy, and they’d try to use you. Just tell them that when we were at his temple at Caimae, you had a vision or found a sacred engraving or something that said Wasianth would act through the bearer of the stone at the time of greatest need. Only with fancy words. That way, they know it’s Wasianth who’s gonna fix everything, but they think he’s only using you like a puppet.”

So that’s what we did. It has more holes in it than an archer’s target, but nobody seems to be looking at those. It helps that the dragons finally stepped in and disclosed the secret that Leicht kept hinting at: their prophecy of a rider-mage, the only one to ever exist, who will step forward at the darkest hour and save the world.

Dragons. Always so dramatic. But that solves our other problem—anyone who tries to interfere with the bond between me and Leicht will be in direct violation of the treaty with the dragons. As far as they’re concerned, he and I are destined to be bonded.

Oh, and nobody’s worried about there being mass executions in Gall. The king there has basically been a figurehead for the past twenty years. Everyone knows his advisors and generals run things, and that’s why the kingdom hasn’t fallen to pieces.

It takes a lot less time than I expected for us to get the horses down the ramp, and then we’re standing on the uneven rocks, trying to keep our balance as waves wash over our feet. On the captain’s advice, we took our boots off to protect them from the salt water, and my feet are now freezing. We pick our way carefully through the cold water and sharp rocks to the beach. Spring has definitely reached this part of the world—finally—but I know from growing up just a few miles from here that the water will be frigid for months yet. The horses are not happy, though part of that might be that they’ve been saddled again after weeks without and forced to walk down a shaky plank.

When we finally reach the dry sand, I take my time putting my boots back on, letting the others get a little ahead of me, and murmur to Sweetie, “Well, looks like this is it. Are you ready for a fight?”

“Nobody will reach you if I can help it,” she says, her voice clear as a bell in my head. I suck in a breath. I expected this, but… I’ve been avoiding being alone with her because I didn’t want to deal with it.

I’ve accessed his memories.

I’ve played with his powers.

But this… this, more than anything, confirms that I am Wasianth.

“Of course you are,” she scoffs, stepping sideways to knock me off-balance. “I wouldn’t let just any idiot ride me.”

Apparently, Wasianth had an affinity for smart-mouthed friends of all species.

“Which explains why he chose to be incarnated as you.”

This conversation is going nowhere.

“One thing,” I can’t resist asking. “Were you really trying to matchmake between me and Jaimin?”

Her big brown eyes roll. “You were moving too slow. That man is exceptional, and somebody else was going to snap him up. One of the Lenlese soldiers tried, but I stepped on his foot and knocked him over.”

One of the Lenlese soldiers was flirting with Jaimin? I thought they all liked me! The betrayal! “Thanks for having my back, even when I was too stupid to know I needed it.”

She nickers and rubs her nose against my arm, and we catch up to the others, who are using Leicht as a windbreak. Coryn is petting him and murmuring some nonsense about what a good dragon he is.

“Now what?” Peiris asks, competently stroking their new horse, who seems very fond of them already.

I point west, away from the beach. “There’s a road a few hundred yards inland that will take us north to the fishing village that belongs to the estate. From there, there’s another road that will take us right through the home farm to the manor house. If we keep our heads down and Leicht stays high, there’s a chance nobody will notice us.”

“Is the village likely to be full of zombies?” Arimen worries at his lip with his teeth, but I shake my head.

“I call it a village out of habit, but it’s actually a decent-sized market town that gets a lot of traffic from passing boats, including naval ones. Someone would have noticed if the population had all been infected and reported it to the queen.” I hope. “But the turnoff is before we’d need to enter the village, anyway.”

We mount our horses, Leicht launches into the air, and what I really hope will be the last part of this quest begins.

The road is right where I remember it being—thankfully—and reasonably busy, though not as much as it should be for this time of year. Nobody will notice one more small group of travelers among the many strung out along the road. We’re even able to canter, so it takes no time at all to reach the place outside the village where a smaller road branches off. It’s surrounded by dense woods for the first few hundred yards, an attempt by one of my ancestors to discourage villagers from roaming around on the estate proper. In reality, it gave them somewhere new to hunt for small game.

For a moment, I hesitate. Maybe we should keep following the road, see if we can judge the situation in the vi⁠—

“Really?” Sweetie asks. “This close and you want to run away?”

Gritting my teeth, I turn toward the farm road. “It’s this way. Keep alert, and be ready—I’ll let you know if the dragons pass along any warnings.” There are three of them up there, including Leicht, watching everything.

“I’ll take the lead,” Coryn announces in the commanding voice he uses in these situations. “Peiris, can you bring up the rear?”

Peiris puts a hand on their sword and inclines their head. “Of course.”

“Arimen, what’s your job?”

“Stay close to Jaimin, follow orders, and yell if I need help,” he recites. His freckles stand out against the paleness of his face, and I wish I had somewhere safe to leave him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Even though I’m basically a god now and don’t need Coryn to protect me anymore, I let him lead. He needs this—all he’s ever wanted to do is take care of people. I won’t let him get hurt.

I won’t let any of them get hurt, not if I have to raze the world to the ground.

On cue, I hear two sighs in my head. Seriously? It’s not enough that I have to be scolded by both Leicht and Sweetie—now they’re giving me nonverbal attitude as well?

Coryn sets the pace at a brisk walk. We don’t know what we’re looking for. I assume my uncle and his pet priests are in the manor house, but it’s possible they’ve set up their headquarters elsewhere and the house will be a trap. The thought hurts, but I push my feelings aside and⁠—

A crowd of silent, expressionless people melt out of the trees to surround us.

CHAPTER FIFTY

We pull the horses up sharply. If Wasianth has any knowledge of whether animals are affected by zombie scratches and bites, I haven’t found it yet, so we made the decision to be careful with our horses. Coryn and Peiris draw their swords, and I gather my magic, but the zombies don’t attack. They just stand there, circled around us. Coryn looks to me for guidance, and I do a quick headcount.

Twenty-five.

Between us, we could probably take them. But…

I try to think like Coryn. This isn’t a public road, so the trees press close and there isn’t a lot of space to maneuver. Leicht can’t help us when we’re under such dense cover. Jaimin might be able to defend himself, but he’s armed only with knives, and any zombie that came within reach of those would be too close for my liking. Arimen absolutely cannot defend himself. Plus, we’re surrounded, and we don’t know how many more of them are in the woods.

Fuck. I open my mouth⁠—

“My dear nephew. What a charming surprise.”

—and close it again as Uncle Domys rides down the road toward us, flanked by an older man and a young woman. The woman seems familiar to me, somehow, but that thought is knocked aside by the realization that they knew we were coming. They had to, to have had time to get their horses saddled and ride down from the house. How, though?

“You’re surprised to see us, of c⁠—”

“Not really,” I interrupt flatly, because I’m not willing to give him any satisfaction. My gaze skims casually over his companions, whose clothing identifies them as part of the temples. The man’s a priest of Wasianth—the high priest, according to his sash, and I hope Jaimin is keeping an eye on Arimen. The last thing we need right now is him deciding to give a lecture on service to the gods.

The woman serves Malna, and again I feel that tickle of familiarity. I haven’t had that much contact with the temple of Malna—the most significant was my clash with the high priestess in Len⁠—

Ah. She was with Hierane and Coryn’s father that night. I can’t remember her name, but that’s not too significant. “Priestess.” I smirk. “How unfortunate to see you again.”

She smirks back. “For you, perhaps.”

“Yes. That’s why I said it. I’d really hoped never to encounter your kind again.”

Her jaw drops and she sputters, and the high priest narrows his eyes. “You will show respect when speaking to a⁠—”

“No.” A singular hatred I didn’t know I felt echoes through the word as I lock eyes with him. He’s not particularly a memorable man—medium height and build, dark hair liberally peppered with gray, and I’d bet that beard is an attempt to hide a weak chin, because it certainly doesn’t suit him. But every atom of Wasianth within me loathes and despises what this man has done in my name. “You will not speak to me of respect.”

His mouth snaps shut, and his jaw works frantically. I try not to wince as I realize I used some god power when I gave that order.

“What did you do to me?” he croaks finally, obviously having given up on his plan to lecture me about respecting the temples.

I don’t bother to answer, turning my gaze back to my uncle. “Was there something you wanted?”

“One of our spies saw you getting off your ship and sent a bird to let us know,” he says, proving everything I’ve ever thought about his intelligence.

“That’s nice for you. Irrelevant, but nice. Anything else?”

He flushes dark red. His face, which is an older, less attractive version of my own, always manages to look a little bit mean, but anger really brings it into focus. “Don’t talk to me that way, boy. You might think you’re special, but you’re going to die in the dirt just like your bitch sister.”

Time stops as my rage rises to consume me, echoing through the woods on Leicht’s unholy scream. The other horses dance nervously as my uncle and his cronies look up in fear, but Sweetie is solid as a rock beneath my shaking limbs. I raise a hand, magic pooling around my fingers⁠—

“He’s mine,” Leicht demands. “I will make him suffer untold agonies of fear before I let him seek solace in death.”

The shaking stops, and I take a deep breath as I lower my hand, letting the kinetic power that is my magic resume its path through my energy meridians. By the time they take their eyes off the glimpses of sky above us, I’m even smiling a little.

“I’ll ask again, Uncle. Was there something you wanted, or are we going to stand here all day?”

My composure seems to rattle him, and he glances at the high priest, then says, “If it was up to me, you’d already be dead. We’ve been trying to kill you for months—ever since he got his answers. We could have done the rest of it ourselves… though we didn’t know you’d come here. But you just wouldn’t die.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but the last bit is pretty clear. “I’d apologize, but I’m not interested in making you happy.” They’ve been trying to kill me since he got his answers? He is presumably the mage behind all this, but what answers? And they could have done the rest of⁠—

“Where is the godsborn?” the high priest demands, obviously out of patience, and a puzzle piece slips into place.

“Not here yet,” Arimen says, startling me as he brings his horse up alongside me and Coryn. “Holy father, I’m so glad to have found you. I beg you, free me from this duty. He has the stone—take it, and let me leave the company of these savages and return to my studies.” His green eyes are wide and earnest, and if he hadn’t started with a flat-out lie, I might actually have thought he meant it all. I make an outraged choking noise to give his story some credibility.

The high priest looks confused for a moment, then blinks as though remembering something. “You are the acolyte who was assigned to ensure the holy stone remained safe?”

Arimen bows his head. “Yes, most holy. I am Arimen, from the Sanctuary.”

Uncle shifts impatiently in the saddle, but the high priest studies Arimen’s downturned face. “You say the godsborn isn’t with you? You know of whom I speak?”

Nodding, Arimen says, “The Baswegian told them the prophecies, and they desecrated the holy temple at Caimae to find a sacred engraving.” His voice trembles with repressed fury, and I have to admit, I didn’t think his acting skills were this good. Coryn shifts slightly, catching my gaze, and I shake my head infinitesimally. Our odds haven’t changed—we need to get out from the trees, where we’ll have more room to fight and Leicht will be able to help. The other two dragons, too.

“A sacred engraving?” the high priest repeats. “The Baswegian prophecies didn’t say anything about that.” He shoots me a scathing look. “And no matter what story Silverbright has made up for his mage friends about the gods acting through him, we of the temples know the truth.”

Do they, though? It doesn’t seem like it. But if he knows we told the councils that Wasianth would act through me, then his source—the necromancer mastermind—is a councilor. That information was restricted to the combined councils to prevent excessive disruption to my life later.

More puzzle pieces click together.

“That story was made up,” Arimen agrees. “They didn’t want the councils to know about the godsborn. But the Baswegian said it’s a thing with their prophecies that sometimes they don’t become clear until the moment the information is needed, and then they realized there was this one line, I think it was scroll thirty-two? Or maybe twenty-three? I-I-I’m sorry, I’ve never seen the prophecies and⁠—”

“Yes, yes,” the high priest interrupts. “So the prophecy guided you to the temple?”

Arimen nods. “Yes, most holy. There was a stone in the wall with an engraving, and when he”—he tips his head toward me—“read the sacred words, the life stone began to hum, and then the godsborn came out of one of the inner chambers.” He rolls his eyes up as if in religious ecstasy, and I fight to hold in a laugh. “It was the living being of holy Wasianth, and I wept for joy.” His expression turns scathing. “These savages had no respect.”

My uncle is starting to look confused, but the two priests are enthralled. “You saw him?” the priestess breathes. “Did you speak to him?”

A hand flies to Arimen’s mouth to cover his gasp. “I did not dare! I am merely an acolyte and not worthy. But he spoke to us, and said we must come here and he would meet us when his task was complete.”

“Weasel,” Peiris mutters from behind us, and the priestess glares at them.

“What task?” the high priest demands, and Arimen spreads his hands.

“He did not say, and I would never dare ask.”

The high priest presses his lips together. “You will come with us,” he declares. “All of you. Until the godsborn arrives, you will be our guests.”

I’m pretty sure that with my father on trial for treason, I own this place now, but I don’t get a chance to point that out.

“What?” my uncle whines. “I want to kill Talon.”

“I really don’t know where all this hostility is coming from,” I murmur. “Could it be because I’m younger, better-looking, and a more Talented mage than you?”

He makes a strangled screeching sound, and one of the zombies starts toward me.

“Call it off, Uncle, or I’ll aim my magefire at you. The zombie may kill me, but you’ll be dead also.”

The zombie freezes midstep, and that tells me everything I need to know. My uncle hasn’t used transference to spare his soul—he still fears death. Whether he doesn’t know about it or didn’t have the skill for it, I don’t care. He can be killed without fuss.

“Stop this foolishness,” the high priest orders. “You can kill him later.”

Uncle glares, but finally jerks his head sullenly. “Let’s go.”

We fall in behind them, and I reach out to Leicht. “Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

“Wait for my signal. Are there more zombies around the house?”

“Yes. Perhaps two score that I can see in the grounds, and more elsewhere on the estate. They’re just standing vacantly—I don’t think they’re armed.”

That’s good. “When I tell you, take my uncle. I’m sorry to thwart your vengeance, but he needs to die fast, before the zombies can attack.”

“He’ll know fear before he dies, and that’s enough for me.”

I glance sideways at Jaimin and quirk a brow. His face is set, and I know having so many zombies close by makes his skin crawl, but he rallies and nods slightly.

“Oh, Arimen,” he chides sorrowfully. “I thought you cared for us. We care for you.”

Arimen’s eyes widen, and a stricken expression crosses his face before he hides it. “I was your hostage!”

While they distract everyone, I reach out with Wasianth’s power, carefully probing the zombies around the estate. As I suspected, most resonate with Domys’s soul energy, but some have a different tune. Luckily, they seem to be gathered in clumps. The academic part of my brain wonders if zombies raised by different necromancers are kept separate for a reason, but ultimately, it’s not important. I reach out to Leicht again and tell him where the other necromancer’s zombies are. “Could you ask the other dragons to take care of them once we act?” I don’t know if their necromancer will be able to tell what’s happening and give them new orders at this distance, but either way, I want them gone.

Next, I reach out to Sweetie. “Once we’re through the trees, wait for my signal. I’m going to need a distraction.”

“Can I throw you?”

I wince. “If you have to. Try to be gentle, though.”

Her eye roll is almost audible.

“I don’t understand why you want the godsborn here,” I say loudly, nudging Sweetie to bring me up closer to the priests, alongside but back a little. “He’s going to kill you.”

The high priest turns to give me a scathing look. “He will not. He is my god. It would have been easier had we been able to take possession of the stone and seek him out ourselves, but he will still accept our obeisance and lead us to a new age of the temples. With a living god among us, no longer will we have to kowtow to filthy mages and cower from dragons!”

“Ouch,” I mutter. I’m really going to enjoy the look on his face when he realizes how wrong he is.

The trees begin to thin, and I catch a glimpse of the manor house—the house I grew up in—up ahead. My chest tightens. Don’t worry, Tia. I’m cleansing this plague from our home.

Coryn catches my eye, and I know he’s ready for whatever comes. I can’t see Peiris, but I’m confident they’ll have my back. Jaimin subtly moves his horse closer to Arimen.

We break out of the trees, and the spring sunshine makes me squint. The road is fully visible from the house here, but in a moment, it dips slightly—barely enough to notice when you’re on it, but enough to make it hard to see from the house.

“Now.”

Sweetie stretches her neck out to bite the flank of the high priest’s horse, who immediately shies into my uncle’s horse, distracting both of them as Leicht begins his descent. Sweetie and I fall back, but not too much, and I see the delicious moment when Leicht’s shadow falls over them all and my uncle looks up.

Terror looks good on that mean face of his.

Then he does me a huge favor, and in his fear, he summons the zombies surrounding us forward to protect him. They can’t, of course—not against a dragon. But that leaves us free to fall back, gather together, and arm ourselves.

Leicht snatches Uncle from his saddle with such artistry that his terrified horse is untouched, and as he swoops away, the zombies collapse to the ground, corpses once again.

Uncle Domys is dead.

The priestess shrieks and urges her horse to run for the house—to what end, I don’t know—but Peiris kindly circles ahead and herds her back toward us. The high priest is staring at the pile of zombies with his mouth agape.

“That’s what happens when a necromancer dies,” I say coolly. He turns to look at me with real fear. “I’m not at all sorry to inform you this isn’t going to go the way you expected.”

“Wh-Wh-Wh⁠—”

“What do I mean?” I study them both, then draw on Wasianth’s power. “From this moment, any priest who was complicit in this plan, any who placed greed above the needs of the people, who chose to chase power instead of heeding the dictates of their gods—those priests will be stripped of their ordinance and cast out from the temples. All who meet them will know on sight that they transgressed against the will of the gods.”

The words resonate through the world, and the high priest’s eyes widen as he realizes I’m the godsborn.

“Holy Wasianth,” he gasps.

“Tell me now, did you give the order for the Sanctuary to attack us? Be honest, and I won’t kill you.”

He swallows audibly, then stammers, “Y-Y-Yes, holy one.”

Before I can reply, steel flashes, and Coryn’s sword cleaves his head from his body. Blood sprays as it bounces with a sickening thunk, and the high priest’s body topples, startling his horse into bolting.

“For Tia,” he says, then turns to meet my shocked gaze. “What? I didn’t say I wouldn’t kill him.”

The priestess screams, slides off her horse, and runs. Peiris shakes their head. “How far does she think she can get on foot?”

“It doesn’t matter. Her life is in pieces now, anyway. Let her go.” I watch her run away, knowing she doesn’t yet realize that there’s nowhere for her to go anymore.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

“What does that mean?” Arimen asks. “That her life is in pieces?”

I turn to face him and the others. His face is still paler than usual, and there’s a very slight tremor to his lower lip. He looks exactly as young as he is, and not for the first time I regret that he’s been dragged into this. “You did an amazing job,” I tell him. “That was really quick thinking, and you might just have saved the day.” He definitely made it a lot safer for us.

He flushes, a pleased expression chasing away the rest. “I’ve been watching Coryn and Peiris spar, and they always go somewhere that has plenty of space. There wasn’t enough space in those trees for them to do their best work,” he explains earnestly. “I thought it would be better if we went somewhere else.”

“You thought exactly right,” Peiris agrees. Coryn finishes wiping off his sword, sheathes it, and then walks over to give Arimen a hug.

“You kept your head and did the smart thing. I’d have you at my back any day.”

Stars dance in our young friend’s eyes. “I just tried to do what you all would do,” he mumbles, but it’s impossible for him to hide how happy the praise has made him. Then he stubbornly repeats his question. “Why is her life in pieces?”

He’ll soon find out anyway, so I go with blunt honesty. “Did you hear what I said to them?”

He nods. “That was Wasianth, right?”

“Yes.” Technically, we’re the same person, but I was using god power, so yes. “Everybody she meets will immediately know she’s not a priestess any longer. They won’t know how they know or why, but they’ll know deep inside. They’ll know she’s been outcast by the gods. That applies to any priest who knew about this and was willingly involved.”

Coryn’s eyes widen, but Arimen seems to be mulling it over. “That’s a good punishment,” he says finally. “They betrayed the oaths they took and led people astray in the names of the gods. People should know that the gods no longer recognize them.”

“Do you actually have the authority to speak on behalf of all the gods?” Jaimin asks curiously, and I flash him a smile.

“In this case, yes. I can’t exactly talk to them while I’m human, but the part of me that’s Wasianth still has a channel of communication open with them. If they’d disapproved, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Not to Malna’s priestess, anyway.”

Before anyone can say anything else, a shadow falls over us, and we look up to see two dragons sweeping in, one of them Leicht. They land between us and the house, and even though the front lawns are expansive, it suddenly feels a lot more crowded here.

“Problem?” I ask Leicht, and he snorts and shakes his head.

“No. But I assumed you’d want to leave soon, so I brought one of the riders to help the others take control of the estate back.”

I never thought I’d love this dragon, but he’s my brother now.

“Thank you.” I turn to Jaimin as the rider slides off the back of the other dragon. “I’m going to find someone in the house who knows me and tell them you speak on my behalf. Make sure they’re all healthy and help them start getting things back in order, would you?”

“Where will you be?” Coryn asks, but I can see from Jaimin’s face that he doesn’t need the answer.

“You know who?” he asks, and I nod. It’s so simple, I’m kicking myself for not having guessed before. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be back in two days,” I promise. There’s a lot of work to be done here, including finding a steward for the estate, because I don’t want to run it. And I should probably be present for Father’s execution.

The blond woman in green leathers who approaches is familiar to me, and I smile at her. “Hello, Sarsheena.”

“Talon. I’m so sorry about Tia. We all miss her.”

“Me, too. It’s been hard without her.”

Sarsheena looks around at the zombie corpses. “She’d be proud of the work you’ve done here today. I hear you need some help with cleanup?”

“If you don’t mind. Have the other zombies moved?”

She shakes her head. “Zolan is still watching them, but they didn’t react at all when the others died. There are bodies strewn all over the estate, though.”

I make a quick decision. “Come with me and Jaimin. As soon as we can be sure there aren’t any farmworkers wandering around, you and Zolan and your dragons can incinerate those bodies.”

It’s not that simple, of course. I find the housekeeper and the farm manager, both of whom have known me since I was born, and they immediately protest the fact that I want to set the whole estate on fire. Lindrin, the manager, tells me to run along and let him make arrangements to dispose of the bodies. Jaimin has to pinch me hard to stop me from saying something that a longtime family retainer doesn’t deserve. We finally agree that the farmhands will pile the bodies in several big heaps that will become bonfires.

“It will be good for morale,” Mrs. Hickings, the housekeeper, says. “We’ve all been feeling low this past year with this nonsense going on, and then the news about Lady Tia. We can have a nice wake for her and get to know your friends!” She smiles at Jaimin. Her excitement when she saw his arm around my waist was palpable. I would bet real money I don’t have that she’s picturing children in the nu— “You know, the Welfort children from the village were orphaned last year.”

I pat Jaimin’s chest. “Have a lovely time.”

“We’re about an hour away,” Leicht tells me late in the evening, and I immediately reach out to Master.

“We’re close. Call the meeting.”

“Do you still want me to keep the reason a secret?” he asks. We spoke earlier, and since then, he’s been waiting.

“Yes. Just tell them you have an update.” If we’ve timed this right, Leicht will land after the councilors are all in the chamber, and they won’t know I’m back until I walk in.

I’ve spent most of this flight thinking. A lot has changed, and a lot of things in my life are going to be different. I’m not sure if I want that. Some I won’t have a say in—Tia being gone, and Leicht being bonded to me. But other things, like where I’m going to live and what direction my studies will take—those are going to need me to make decisions. I can share the weight of some of those decisions with Jaimin, but not all.

That’s for later, though.

As Leicht touches down in the grassy expanse behind the academy, Master reaches out to tell me all the councilors are assembled.

“On my way.” I slide off Leicht’s back and glance down at myself. I don’t exactly look impressive in my travel-worn and rumpled clothes, and I think there’s some blood droplets on my pants from the spatter when Coryn killed the high priest, but I don’t care. I’m not here to impress with my clothes.

“Just as well, since that’s never been something you were capable of,” Leicht informs me. “Go. I have my own council meeting to attend, and when I’m done, the dragon riders will support anything you say.”

I pat his foreleg and then head across the lawn to the Academy of Mages.

This is it. This is… everything. The moment I end the threat to the world. The moment I avenge Tia. The moment I fulfil my destiny.

I haven’t told anyone that I don’t know if I’ll survive it. The whole flight here, I focused on what the future will look like when I win—because I’m determined to win—but I can’t escape the nagging thought that maybe even if I win, I’ll die. After all, to end this, I need to kill a mage much older and more experienced than me, one who’s embraced forbidden and awful uses for his magic, and I’ve never been much of a fighter.

Anything to add? I ask the stone.

It stays silent.

That’s okay. Whatever comes, I’ll give it my all.

The hallways are deserted—much more so than they should be, even at this hour—and it’s a reminder that one of our own engineered this and sent thousands of mages into danger. Even so, the first startled glance comes within minutes.

“Talon?” It’s another level-2 mage. “When did you get back? What does this mean? Has⁠—”

“Sorry, can’t talk. I need to get to the council meeting.” I breeze past, my stride long and purposeful but not hasty. I can almost feel his startlement, and then he hurries after me.

“Wait, Talon?” someone else calls from off to the left, but I wave and don’t stop. “When did he get back?” I hear her asking the other mage.

“I don’t know. He’s going to the council meeting.”

“The council’s meeting?”

“They must be.”

By the time I get to the council chambers, I’ve accumulated a small coterie of mages trailing after me. I steadfastly refused to answer any questions, and they’ve been discussing possibilities. Some are close to accurate, while others make me wants to laugh.

The guards at the door see us coming—it would be hard not to—and straighten. Master told them to expect me, so when I stop in front of them, one is already reaching to open the door. The other eyes the crowd behind me.

“Master Samoine didn’t mention them.”

“They’re not coming in,” I assure him, and he nods.

The doors swing wide, and I stroll in. The heated discussion that was taking place peters off as the doors thud closed behind me.

“Silverbright?” someone exclaims. “Is that Silverbright?”

It sets off a cacophony of sound as dozens of mages, riders, and healers ask stupid questions at the top of their lungs. Things like, “What’s he doing here?” and “How did he get here?” I ignore them all and walk directly to the dais, where Master and Master Cranch, the current chair of the council, are standing.

Master nods solemnly to me and goes to sit in one of the chairs off to the side, prompting the noise level in the room to rise even higher. Master Cranch meets my gaze, his eyes worried. “Whatever you’re about to say, I hope there’s still an academy left when you’re done.”

“There will be,” I promise. “I need a home to come back to.”

He joins Master Samoine, and I reach into my shirt and pull out the stone, setting it on the lectern just as Master did months ago.

The assembled councilors fall silent.

Turning, I skim my gaze around the room. My time away has wrought some interesting changes. The councilors are no longer grouped by Talent, but rather seem to have formed cliques—presumably born of interests and opinions. I wonder if that will last past the aftermath of the current crisis.

“Earlier today, the dragon Leicht executed one of the necromancers responsible for the current zombie crisis.”

Sound roars through the room as they shout questions at me. Some surge to their feet, but I say nothing, waiting them out, and eventually they quiet down.

“Also executed was the high priest of Wasianth, who was found by Wasianth himself to have betrayed his position in service to the gods.” My voice rises to be heard toward the end of the sentence, as this time, the councilors don’t wait before erupting into yet more useless questions. Again, I refuse to answer, and only when all voices are silent do I continue.

“Holy Wasianth also pronounced judgment upon all members of the temples who were complicit in this event. They have been cast out, and all who come across them will recognize that fact.”

That seems to be one shock too many for them, because the outcry this time is muted and lacking any real zeal.

“My father, who was also a conspirator, is being held by Queen Nyana of Rebithia and will face execution for his crimes, including treason, in due course.”

Some of them draw back in distaste, as though my being calm about the impending death of the man who was complicit in my sister’s death is something I should be ashamed of just because he sired me.

“With the death of one necromancer, a great many zombies are no longer animate. Riders Sarsheena Harbit and Zolan Creg are overseeing the cremation of the remains by their dragons. Thought was given to attempting to return the bodies to their rightful resting places”—briefly—“but Master Kahwyn vetoed the idea as having too high a risk of disease.” It also would have been next to impossible, but I’m not going to say that and give someone a reason to argue.

Most of the healers in the room are nodding and murmuring approval, so that puts a seal on that.

“There still remains a large number of zombies throughout Vaderyn, which indicates the existence of an additional necromancer. He will die today.”

The flat statement startles them. A healer in the front row half-raises his hand. I vaguely recognize him from the last time I faced this group. “Er… do you know who this person is? And where?”

I ignore the questions. “Why would someone do this? For power? We assumed they were waiting to amass certain strength before moving their forces. Stone,” I turn toward the unassuming rock that started all this, “was the necromancer who conceived of this plot waiting until he had more zombies?”

~No~

“Was his original motive power?”

~No~

“Did he, in fact, have control of sufficient zombies to seize sovereignty of the continent of Vaderyn before you came to us here months ago?”

~Yes~

The frightened murmur of voices is getting louder, but this time, I don’t wait.

“Is he in this room?”

Dead silence falls.

~Yes~

I thought they would erupt at that, but the silence holds, heavy and somber.

“Is he Master Leng?”

~Yes~

A gasp echoes through the room, followed by the rustle of movement as everyone sitting with Leng moves away.

I meet his gaze, surprised by how calm I am. He stares back, his face a mask that betrays his guilt more than anything else could. “Master Leng, is there anything you’d like to add?”

He shrugs. “Not particularly. My choices were made long ago.”

“Why?” someone cries, and I glance over at Master Gao, who’s another prophetic scholar. If I recall correctly, the two of them were arguing over their theories in this room when the stone came to us. “Why would you do this?”

“Because I wanted answers,” Leng hisses. “I spent decades studying the Prophecy of the Stone, decades debating whether the stone would champion us or choose a champion, and I wanted to know the answer!”

“For shame,” the records master wheezes, but my head spins. I suspected that was the reason, after what Uncle Domys said today, but part of me was convinced it couldn’t be. He raised zombies and killed thousands to infect them, all so he could find out if his theory was right? I barely even remember what the point of contention was, and he devastated Vaderyn for it.

While ugly words are thrown around the room, I reach out with Wasianth’s senses, searching the academy, and find what I need.

“Stop,” Master Cranch eventually shouts. “This is getting us nowhere.” He looks steadily at Leng. “You will be executed for this.”

Leng laughs. Standing, he saunters across the room and up the dais steps. “You can try, but I hold the power of necromancy now. Want to know a secret? I. Won’t. Die.”

I draw Tia’s dagger from the sheath at my thigh. The hilt warms in my hand, as though it knows it will finally taste vengeance. “That’s impossible,” I counter, stepping forward to face him down. “All beings die.”

He smirks. “Not me. Look at you with your knife, as if you know how to use it. We all know your sister was the fighter. You’re just a smart-mouthed waste of space.”

“You truly believe you won’t die?”

“I am immortal.”

“Then fight me. You’re right; I’m not a fighter. I don’t know if you are, but I’d say we’re either evenly matched or you outmatch me. But you’re the reason my sister’s dead, so that’s a risk I’m willing to take for the chance to hurt you.”

He laughs again, scornfully this time. “You want to fight? Very well. Someone get me a blade.”

The councilors look around uneasily. “Perhaps,” Master Cranch begins, but Leng cuts him off.

“A blade. Once I’ve dealt with this nuisance, the rest of us can discuss how things will be from now on.”

Master Cranch’s eyes narrow, and without looking at me, he says, “Do you have this in hand, Silverbright?”

“Yes.” Whether I fight fair or not, I will not lose and let this monster wreak havoc.

“Then by all means, we shall fetch a blade.”

“Talon—” Master sounds alarmed, but I can’t afford distractions right now, so I shut him out.

After an expectant little pause, Rider Master Hearne strides forward, pulling a dagger from its sheath. I’m grateful he doesn’t offer a sword—there would be no chance of me being able to fight fair against a sword.

“I hope I don’t regret this,” Hearne says, tossing the blade at Leng’s feet. The necromancer stoops to pick it up—then lunges directly at me.

Unprepared, I dart backward, glad I don’t trip over my own feet, and raise Tia’s dagger to defend myself. Leng doesn’t even pause to regroup, coming after me again with the blade held very competently. Dammit. How can an old man wearing robes move that nimbly?

I dodge again, trying to strike at him, but I’m not successful and it just seems to amuse him. Our “fight” quickly devolves into him chasing me around in a circle while I simultaneously try to stay out of his reach and somehow get close enough to wound him. If I’d known this was going to happen, I would have asked Coryn to train me to fight.

Finally, the worst happens and I trip. It’s sheer good luck that I don’t impale myself on Tia’s dagger when I sprawl on the floor. All my grandiose plans of taking Leng down in a fight were clearly misguided. The groans of the watching councilors indicate that they agree.

Time to use my wits instead.

“I’m obviously not going to win this fight,” I say, scrambling back to my feet and out of the way an instant before Leng reaches me. “If I surrender, will you still kill me?”

“Yes,” he says casually. “You’ve annoyed me to no end these past months, getting in the way of my plans. It will make me feel better. I might even raise you as a zombie so I can make you dance to my tune.”

Rage bubbles up in me, but I push it down and let my shoulders slump. “So I die either way, and you win.” Just the thought allows me to squeeze out a tear, and as it trickles down my cheek, I meet his gaze. “Will you give me one thing—one final wish?” I have to concentrate on my footing, since we’re still circling each other. It would be bad if I fell again now.

He raises a brow. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you win anyway, you’re the reason my sister’s dead, and you’re going to destroy everything I hold dear. My whole world. Surely you can let me have something.”

“I suppose it depends on what you want.”

“To stab you.” One of the watchers gasps.

“Stab me? Why would I let you do that? Do you think I’m stupid?”

I really hope he is. “You said you can’t die. That necromancy has made you immortal.”

He stops moving, the point of his dagger lowering, and I stop too. “Well… yes.”

“Then you’ll have no problem with me stabbing you. It’s the last thing I’ll ever get to do before I die, and you’ll be able to prove your immortality to everyone here—perhaps quell any further dissent.”

Mutters begin, and sweat breaks out on my spine. Please let them stay quiet.

Doubt crosses Leng’s face. “It would still hurt…”

Steaming gods’ turds. But at least he’s considering it. I look around the room. “Is there a healer here who will numb Master Leng’s pain after I stab him?”

The confusion is palpable; nobody knows what I’m doing. Eventually, though, one of the healers says, “I will. If you really think I should. You’ve earned the right to stab him.” She hesitates. “Stab him for me too.”

I smile at her. “Thank you.” Looking back at Leng, I raise a brow. “Now, can I stab you?”

“You’re pathetic,” he informs me, casting aside Hearne’s blade. It clatters to the stone floor, and the sound is as beautiful to my ears as the finest music. “I’ll enjoy making you my lapdog zombie. Go on, then. Stab me, and see that I won’t die.” He spreads his arms wide, smile mocking.

I raise the dagger, closing the distance between us, and call on a magic I’ve used twice before, but this time, I do it deliberately. My god-power summons Leng’s soul energy from the cat he’d transferred it to, but instead of releasing it to the afterlife, I slam it back into his body. His face goes pale as he realizes what’s happening.

“Wait! No, I⁠—”

I plunge Tia’s dagger low into his abdomen and rip it upward, not stopping until I hit his breastbone, and then I twist. The blade is long, and the sound that comes from his throat is one I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

Blood spatters me and the dais, and more sprays as he slides off the blade and crumples to the floor. I must have hit a major vessel… or two.

“Am I supposed to numb him now?” the healer calls, not making any move to come forward.

The light fades from Leng’s eyes, and finally, Tia’s death is avenged.

“Too late,” I say. “I guess he wasn’t immortal after all.”

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

As I look at the rows of faces seated before me, some excited, some angry, some blank, and some… well, let’s just say that “blank” would be a compliment, I smile. A year ago, if someone had told me I’d had the chance to stop teaching and refused, I would have laughed in their face and called them a liar. It’s amazing the changes a year has wrought, because right now, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

Except maybe the big tub in my and Jaimin’s rooms.

“Stop smiling at them like a fool. You’re making them nervous,” Sweetie chides. She’s grazing in the stable pasture, but she has no hesitation when it comes to being nosy. If I want her to stay out, I have to put up full mental shields against her—which leads to me being bitten or stepped on the next time I venture to the stables.

“They’re supposed to be nervous,” I tell her. “It helps me keep them in line.” But I do need to get the class started.

“Welcome, all, to the Academy of Mages. You’re here because, for reasons nobody has ever been able to determine, you were born with a Talent, and it happens to be magic. My name is Talon Silverbright, and I’ll be your professor for Introduction to Magic.” I pause and wait for the usual comments about my lack of professorial suitability.

Instead, there’s a hushed intake of air.

“Talon Silverbright?” someone whispers.

“The Talon Silverbright? The Hero of Vaderyn?”

Oh. That’s unexpected.

“It shouldn’t be,” Leicht says, his tone heavily implying that I’m an idiot for being surprised. “You knew the stories were circulating through Vaderyn. You’ve heard the songs.”

That’s another thing: songs. Some second-rate bard trying to make a name for herself wrote a song about me—even though she barely knew any of the details—and it caught on. Since then, it seems I can rarely walk past a taproom without hearing my name being sung by a drunken crowd. Jaimin thinks it’s hysterical that I can no longer tease him about being the subject of songs, but if I ever find out who leaked my name to the general populace, suspending them upside down over the chasm is the least I’ll do to them. At least nobody knows I’m also Wasianth. That would be a disaster.

“You can call me Professor Silverbright,” I finally reply, and then, since they all seem to be waiting, “But yes, that’s me.”

Excited chatter breaks out, and I frown. This isn’t how today is supposed to go. Am I really not going to have to threaten them to get their respect?

Maybe I’ll still get the chance. “Settle down,” I order, and to my disappointment, an immediate hush falls. Sighing, I move on. “In my experience, there are three types of student in this room right n⁠—”

A knock interrupts me, and I glance over at the door. “Enter.”

The person who slips in is familiar to me—on this day last year, she complained to the dean about me. “Excuse me, Professor. I have a message for you,” Lenora Bell, aka Farm Girl, says. She and my other surviving students from last year came to see me in the spring, after I’d returned to the academy, to offer their condolences on Tia’s death and talk about Drey. It was nice.

I take the note and ignore the glance she gives at the windows, as though she’s expecting to see someone out there. I don’t tell her I was too. “Thank you, Lenora.”

She grins and leaves, and I glance at the paper in my hand.

Talon—

Arimen has asked us to have lunch with him today. He says he has important things to talk about. Noon in our rooms.

—Jaimin

I have strong suspicions what this will be about, but they’ll have to wait. I have a class to teach.

“As I was saying, there are three types of student here…”

After sending the class to the cafeteria, I make my way through the academy and over the bridge to the healers’ side of the chasm. Despite Jaimin’s worries, I was right that nobody protested the idea of me, a level-2 mage, choosing my own living quarters away from the Academy of Mages. I honestly think some of the masters would have offered to help me move if I’d indicated I needed it… though that might just be because they wanted me farther away. Apparently, me stabbing another mage to death—even though he deserved it—and then standing there holding the dagger, blood all over me, and asking if anyone else was willing to take extreme measures to get questions answered made them all wary of me.

Not so wary that a few didn’t point out that I’d breached some “legalities” by killing Leng before he could be tried. The dragon riders promptly declared that I’d been acting on behalf of the dragons, and under the treaty, no trial was needed for dragons to execute a person who had confessed to a crime against them. I guess Leicht told his story fast, and the dragons gave their riders instructions. Just one small benefit of being part of a dragon prophecy. Another one is that I finally got to see the dragons’ valley.

“Talon?” someone calls, and I turn to see Preet, the dean’s assistant. She’s smirking. “How was class this morning?”

“Unsatisfying,” I tell her, but I can’t hold back my smile.

“So I shouldn’t expect indignant students to make complaints this afternoon?”

I narrow my eyes. “Did you know this would happen? The whole… respect thing?”

Her laugh makes me huff. “The dean and I had our suspicions.”

“You could have warned me!”

She winks. “But that would have taken all the fun out of it.” Sobering, she adds, “Master Eldridge is grateful that you decided to continue teaching. He thinks you’re the best thing that could have happened to the first years. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

“I’m grateful to teach,” I admit. “Turns out, I love it. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Preet pats my arm. “I understand. And I’ll let you know if I hear any rumors about students falling in love with the Hero of Vaderyn.”

What? My face drops. “What? Preet, what’s that supposed to mean?”

But she’s already walking away, her laughter floating back to me. She was joking. Of course she was joking.

I’ve convinced myself of that by the time I get to the apartment I now share with Jaimin. We had some small hiccups when I first moved in, even though we’d basically been living together for months at that point. It seems that cohabitating while traveling isn’t the same as when you’re at home and in your usual routine. But we worked it out, and now these rooms, with him, are my favorite place to be.

My family is waiting for me inside, and I grin at them as I slide into my chair at the table. “Sorry I’m late. The students were cooperative, and it threw me off-stride.”

Jaimin and Master Samoine, who know all about my teaching style, laugh. The others look bemused.

Jaimin passes me the platter of roast beef, and I help myself to a serving. “So, Arimen… you wanted to talk to us?”

Our young friend nods solemnly, his face serious. He’s changed a lot from the timid boy I met all those months ago—after everything he’s been through, he’s no longer intimidated so easily. He spent a month in the spring with me and Jaimin in Rebithia, helping us get the estate settled and people back on their feet after the trauma of living with zombies, and that made him very introspective. We offered to take him home, but he declined, saying he needed time to think first, and he’s spent the summer here at the City of Knowledge, talking to every healer, mage, and rider who’ll reply (which was all of them—he’s Arimen of the Heroes now) and studying in the archives with Master Samoine’s guidance. He’s still ridiculously young—only time will change that—but he’s matured a lot.

“Yes. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life. For a while, I was so disillusioned by what the temples did that I gave up on the idea of being a priest. That was hasty—I know that my calling is true. I’m supposed to be a priest, just not the kind who would betray the gods.” He takes a breath. “I’m afraid hubris took me for a while, and I began to build grandiose plans of revolutionizing the temples.”

None of us say anything, and he wrinkles his nose. “It’s okay—I got over that. The truth is, I still have a lot to learn if I’m going to help people. If I’m going to be the kind of priest who inspired me. And I think the best way to do that is to learn from him.” He looks around the table at all our faces and says, “I’m going to go back to the Halyn Isles and finish my service as an acolyte.”

“You’re leaving?” Coryn asks, devastated. “I haven’t finished teaching you to use a sword. And who will read me stories?”

Peiris pats his arm. “He’s a competent swordsman already, and I can read you stories. We can’t hold him back from his destiny because we’ll miss him.”

“It won’t be forever,” Arimen assures them earnestly. “A few years, and I’ll be back on the mainland. And we can visit in the meantime.”

Coryn doesn’t look convinced, but he smiles bravely and nods. He went back to Lenledia in the spring for just long enough to help in Lenle’s cleanup of zombie remains, and then he resigned from the King’s Own Guard and came here to start training dragon riders. I was right that they were grateful to have such a skilled fighter, especially when they saw how comfortable he is around dragons, thanks to Leicht. The dragons themselves love him. He talks to them and pets them and has healthy respect but no fear. Plus, Leicht told them all how Coryn beheaded the high priest of Wasianth for his part in Tia’s death, and that won them over instantly.

Peiris also went home in the spring, but only to update their parents and collect some personal items. They convinced the Imperial Pair to make them an official liaison between the Baswich Empire and the City of Knowledge, to enable information sharing so something like this won’t happen again. Before summer really had a chance to begin, they were here, demanding a voice on the combined council and spending every spare second with Coryn, who welcomed them eagerly. The two of them have been talking recently about adopting a cat.

Privately, Peiris told me that they’d probably have to return to the Empire and take up public duties when their older sibling inherits the Imperial throne, but that won’t be for a long while yet, and they’ve already decided that Coryn will go with them.

I’m just happy to have them all here with me, and I understand how Coryn feels about Arimen leaving. But…

“I think that’s an excellent plan, Arimen. I’ll miss you a lot, but now that you’re comfortable with me talking to you telepathically, we can stay in touch all the time.”

He beams at me. “Exactly! I need to do this if I’m going to be a good priest.” He bites his lip. “I really want to be a good priest.”

“You will be,” Master assures him, and I nod. I don’t tell him that one day, he’s going to be the High Priest of Wasianth. He’s got a long way to go before that happens, but I can feel it in him—he’s going to be my voice in the world.

“When do you want to leave?” Jaimin asks. “We’ll have a party to send you off.”

I swear, Arimen’s eyes get glassy. “Really? Do you think anyone will come?”

“Everyone will come,” I assure him. “They like you.” Even if they didn’t, I’d make them come.

“I-I was thinking… in a couple of weeks? I don’t want to be traveling in bad weather, and winter sets in earlier up north.”

Master nods. “That’s a very sensible decision. We’ll get you supplied, then, and make your travel arrangements—and plan the party.”

“Let’s have a toast,” Coryn says abruptly, standing. “To Arimen, who’s going to make so many lives better.”

Arimen flushes but can’t hide his happy smile, and the rest of us raise our glasses.

“To Arimen!”

That evening, long after our friends have gone back to their rooms and Jaimin and I have finished our duties for the day, we recline in the bathtub, wrapped in each other’s arms, and watch the sun set over the mountains through the big windows.

“Are you really okay with Arimen going?” he asks me quietly, and I sigh.

“I’m going to miss him. And worry, a lot. But this is his path, and he needs to forge it. We might want to plan a trip to the Isles soon, though.”

“How about in the spring?” the love of my life suggests. “It’s far enough in the future that he won’t feel like we’re checking up on him, and it means you won’t need to leave the academy this winter.”

He knows me so well. “Yes. I’m never traveling in winter again if I can avoid it.” I turn my head to kiss his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I’ll still love you when I ask why you’ve been slacking off with your studies.”

The sound that comes from my mouth is part surprised laugh, part annoyed sigh. “Ugh. I should have known you’d notice.”

“Your master has too. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shrug restlessly, and the warm water sloshes around us. “It’s foolish. I… last year, I had these plans. Ambitions. I was going to attain level-3 in three years, and be the youngest-ever mage to achieve mastery. I was… obsessed with it, as though it would make my mastery more valuable because I earned it young.”

“It’s not an uncommon goal, though,” he points out.

“I know. But after everything that’s happened this year, I don’t need it anymore. It’s okay if it takes me a little longer to get there—I’d rather enjoy my life along the way. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my studies, I could have spent more time with Tia before I lost her.”

Jaimin’s silent for a moment, and I relax into his hold. The sun will be all the way down soon, and then the stars will start to come out. I can warm the water a little, and we can stay here for⁠—

“That is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me, and you’ve said a lot of stupid things.”

My mood shatters. “What?”

“If you hadn’t studied so much, you could have spent more time with Tia? Talon, what exactly do you think your sister would have said if you’d foregone studying for any reason?”

“She—”

“Remember, I knew her.”

I close my mouth, and laughter from Leicht and Sweetie echoes through my mind. Blocking the nosy creatures out, I try again. “Okay, if I’d really slacked off, she would have told me to study, but⁠—”

“No. No buts. I’m not saying you can’t enjoy your life—as the person who hopes to be enjoying it with you, I encourage that. I love these quiet evenings together, and sneaking out in the middle of the day for picnic lunches. I like riding with you in the early mornings. We’ll still do all that, but you also need to decide if achieving mastery is what you want. Because if it’s not, staying here and halfheartedly studying is a waste of your Talent, your brain, and your time. It’s an insult to your master and to every mage here who’s working their ass off to progress. And it’s an insult to Tia’s memory to drag her into your excuses.”

Every word is a blow, but it’s like I needed those slaps to come to my senses. He’s right. Tia would be so mad with me right now.

I’m mad with me right now.

Shit happened this year. A lot of it, and I can never come back from some of it. I’m not the same person anymore, and not just because I’m also a god. But that doesn’t change who I am on the most fundamental level, and that’s a mage. It’s who I’ve always been, what I’ve always wanted.

I glance at the shelf to our left, where the stone sits. It’s just a rock now—the consciousness of creation, the thing that made it the life stone, faded from it when I killed Leng. One minute, it was there, and the next, everyone who looked at it could tell it was just a chunk of rock. I kept it anyway.

It reminds me of who I am, deep down inside, and of the sacrifices that were made this year.

I smile. “You’re right. I’ll apologize to Master in the morning and make a plan to get refocused. I can’t make level-3 in three years anymore—that timeline has ended—but I can still be the youngest master ever.” And a god, and the only mage to be a dragon rider, and the Hero of Vaderyn.

Watch out, world. Talon Silverbright is back.

Thanks for reading Grave Situation! I hoped you loved Talon and his team of misfits as much as I do.

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This book was originally a Patreon serial, and writing it while my Patrons cheered me on (and gave me ideas) was epic! If you want to be in on the fun with the next serial, or if you just want early access to chapters, artwork, and other bonus material, check out my Patreon here: patreon.com/user?u=84207502

ALSO BY LOUISA MASTERS

Saddles & Suits

Alistair’s Extraordinaries

Elf Magic

Wooing the Wiccan

Grave Situation

Elemental Men

Aether

Aqua

Flame

Zephyr

Pebble

The Collective

Higher Demon

Demon Hunter

Demons-In-Law

Asher

Micah

Zachary

Franklin U

Mr. Romance

The Holigay Hookup *related novella

Batting Style

Ghostly Guardians

Spirited Situation

Vortex Conundrum

Conduit Crisis

Gateway Catastrophe

Here Be Dragons

Dragon Ever After

The Professor’s Dragon

The Dragon Experiment

Conspiracy of Dragons

Hidden Species

Demons Do It Better

One Bite With A Vampire

Hijinks With A Hellhound

Sorcerers Always Satisfy

Hidden Species Box Set

Met His Match

Charming Him

Offside Rules

A Christmas Chance (novella)

Between the Covers (M/F)

Joy Universe

I’ve Got This

Follow My Lead

In Your Hands

Take Us There

Novellas

Fake It ’Til You Make It (permafree)

One Golden Night

O Hell, All Ye Shoppers

Out of the Office

After the Blaze

Blokes Down Under Novella Collection

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Louisa Masters started reading romance much earlier than her mother thought she should. While other teenagers were sneaking out of the house, Louisa was sneaking romance novels in and working out how to read them without being discovered. As an adult, she feeds her addiction in every spare second. She spent years trying to build a “sensible” career, working in bookstores, recruitment, resource management, administration, and as a travel agent, before finally conceding defeat and devoting herself to the world of romance novels.

Louisa has a long list of places first discovered in books that she wants to visit, and every so often she overcomes her loathing of jet lag and takes a trip that charges her imagination. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, where she whines about the weather for most of the year while secretly admitting she’ll probably never move.

http://www.louisamasters.com