Book 4: Chapter Twenty-Four

“I don’t wanna read no more today,” Harri complained, distracted by a group of chattering girls who were filing through the hallway. “I already know all the letters.”

Katrin had taken the children to a sitting room so they wouldn’t be cooped up in the same spot all day, but she was starting to think she’d made a mistake. There was too much activity in the busy chapter house.

“You might know the letters, but do you know the sounds they make?” she asked.

“Harri, look!” Ditte exclaimed, bringing her primer over to her brother and pointing to a word. “C … a … t. Cat!”

Harri scowled but tried to smile at her. He didn’t like that his little sister was learning faster than him.

“I’ll help you go over it again,” Katrin told him.

Just then, Mother Yewen came into the sitting room, accompanied by Nallee. Katrin stood to greet them.

“How’s the teaching coming along?” Yewen asked. “Nallee told me what you were doing.”

“We’re … getting through it,” Katrin said.

“Good. How do you feel about taking on a few more students?”

“What?”

“I’ve been talking to the families in the shelters,” Nallee said in a rush. “The younger children don’t have anything to do all day long, and most of them can’t read. We need something to keep them busy and distracted, but the Sisters who still live here are already busy teaching our own girls, or helping with the refugees in other ways. So, I thought, since you’d already started with these two …” She trailed off when she saw Katrin’s expression.

“I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” Katrin said. “I haven’t done much reading in Western before. I grew up speaking Eastern.” She’d looked far enough ahead in the primer to realize she’d need to do some studying of her own to stay ahead of Harri and Ditte.

“You can recruit some of the older students to help,” Yewen said. “They’ve all gone through it themselves, so that should make it easier. Most of the girls can get by in both languages, which is good—the refugees speak a mix.”

Nallee gave Katrin a weak grin and a shrug. “That’s just how it is around here,” she said. “If you stay too long, you get put to work.”

Yewen waited expectantly, her eyes unrelenting. She ruled her small domain with an iron fist, and it was clear she expected agreement.

It seemed inevitable, so Katrin gave in. “If you want me to, I’ll try. At least until my friends get back.”

“Excellent,” Yewen said with a smile. “And perhaps you could also sing for the people in the shelters, to keep their spirits up. The children aren’t the only ones without enough to do, and Treya mentioned you were a bard.”

Katrin nodded. She didn’t have a problem with that one—though it would have been nice if she’d come up with the idea on her own. Ever since their time in Cordaea, where none of the locals could understand her songs, she’d been uncertain about her future. She liked music, but was that enough? Playing in taverns wasn’t particularly fulfilling, but what else could she do? Don a suit of armor and a sword like Ariadne? The idea seemed laughable.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

They were interrupted then when one of the students rushed in and handed a folded note to Mother Yewen, whispering something in her ear.

“Thank you, Mera,” Yewen said to the girl. “You may return to your duties.”

The old woman unfolded the note. As she read through it, her expression grew grim. To Katrin, she said, “Your friend, the one who can go back and forth, will she be here today?”

“Yes. Why?”

“A message came in by pigeon for the knights. They’ve been ordered to return to Larso.” Yewen handed the note over. To keep the size and weight down, pigeon messages weren’t sealed by wax the way a letter would be.

Katrin stared at the scrap of paper, her insides going cold. The orders came from a Knight Commander Sir Noris, requesting that the squad of knights return to Larso by way of the northern pass.

Corec was depending on those knights. He’d hoped to train the weapon crews well enough that they could operate on their own, but in private, he’d admitted to Katrin that the crews worked better with the knights to serve as spotters. Right up until they day the expedition had left, he’d worried the knights would be called away.

And now they had been. They’d just left town three days earlier. If Leena delivered the message, the knights would turn around and leave—most of them, at least.

There was a fire burning in the sitting room’s hearth, warding off the winter’s chill. Katrin dropped the note into the flames.

She watched it burn, then turned back to Mother Yewen. “Unfortunately, the message was lost before it could be delivered.”

The old woman gave her a solemn nod. “Communication can be difficult in these troubled times,” she said. “It’s a shame you didn’t come to us sooner. You would have made an excellent concubine.”

Katrin figured that was meant as a compliment.

#

Melithar slipped through the streets late at night, taking care not to attract attention. He was well outside the city center, with its palaces, towers, and mansions all illuminated by the mage lights lining the streets. Here, in this quiet residential neighborhood, the only light came from the stars in the sky, and from the flickering of oil lamps through the windows of those who were still awake at this hour.

One of those windows, belonging to a small cottage, drew his attention. It had to be the place he was looking for. He went up the cobbled walk and rapped his knuckles against the door.

The door opened, and he found himself face-to-face with a seaborn man, of all things. He was dressed as a sailor, with just a loose tunic that left his arms bare despite the winter chill in the air. There was a cutlass hanging from his sword belt.

“Come in,” the fellow said, standing aside to allow him through. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Melithar entered and looked around. The cottage appeared to be a home rather than a place of business, but what was a seaborn man doing in this part of Terevas?

“I was told I could find a …” Melithar hesitated. What had he been told? His memory was hazy. Be at this place, at this time, for … what? “I was told I could find a wardbreaker here,” he finished, part of the memory returning.

“Don’t worry,” the seaborn man said with a small smile. “You’re in the right place. Come. She’ll see you now.”

“You’re not the wardbreaker?” Melithar asked, blinking rapidly to try to clear his head. Who was it who’d told him to come here? Why couldn’t he remember?

“I’m not the person you came to see,” the man replied. “She’s through here.” He held aside a silk curtain hanging at a doorway, and led Melithar into a study.

There was a woman there looking out into the night through a window. She was elven, but didn’t have the mottled brown hair or the slight greenish tinge to her skin of the dorvasta. With her inky black hair, she wasn’t nilvasta either. She turned to face him.

“You’re yanvasta,” he said with sudden realization.

She tilted her head to the side and gave a slight nod. “That is how we are called,” she said.

The not-elves. A puzzling word to describe an obviously elven people, though this woman was only the fourth yanvasta Melithar had ever seen. They rarely left their island home.

“You’re the wardbreaker?” he asked.

“You’re not here to find a wardbreaker, Ambassador Melithar.”

Melithar frowned. He’d been told there was a wizard here who specialized in breaking wards. Or had he? The details of the conversation were slipping from his mind again.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Why am I … ? How did I get here?”

“Have no fear,” the woman said. “You’re not in any danger from me or mine.”

The seaborn man stood blocking the curtained entryway, his muscular arms crossed in front of him. A shadow detached itself from a dark corner of the room and moved to stand near the yanvasta woman. Melithar blinked again and the shadow became a figure in a black robe, the cowl pulled up to hide the wearer’s face.

“What’s happening?” Melithar said. “Why can’t I … ?” Why couldn’t he what?

“My name is Shayliel,” the woman said. “Though I’m afraid you’ll forget that detail after you leave.”

“Forget? I’m here for …” What was it again? “A wardbreaker. I’m here to find someone who can break wards.”

“It’s too much, Zora,” Shayliel said to the robed figure. “I have questions for him.”

Some of the pressure on Melithar’s mind relaxed.

“What are you doing to me?” he said. “Why can’t I remember how I got here?” And why wasn’t he trying to get away?

“My presence in Terevas might draw attention from certain parties,” Shayliel said. “Given the sensitive nature of your task, I felt it best to retain some secrecy. It wouldn’t do to lose the book because of a lack of caution.”

“The book!” Melithar said, patting the satchel at his side to reassure himself it was still there. “Why did you bring me here?”

“You’re looking for someone to help you destroy it.”

Melithar blinked. “You already know?”

“You and I had this conversation earlier today, though I imagine you don’t remember much of it. I asked you to retrieve the book from its hiding place and meet me here.”

“You can destroy it?”

“I can, but I won’t. I had you bring it to me so I can study it.”

“But it’s dark magic!” he protested. “It’s dangerous!”

“Dark magic is … not what you believe it to be,” Shayliel said. “You’ve heard the scary tales for children, and the excuses the Church of Pallisur uses to burn elder witches at the stake. That sort of dark magic doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t understand!” Melithar said. “The book is evil. It changes people. It …” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to describe it. He wasn’t even certain it was the cause of the changes he’d seen in Revana and Vilisa.

“I know very well what the book is,” Shayliel said. “It’s been calling to me ever since you took it outside the palace wards to hide it. That’s why I came to Terevas. But the thing you call dark magic isn’t really evil, at least not in the way you think. It corrupts the minds and bodies of those who attempt to use it—not intentionally, but because it’s … not meant for us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I can give a good explanation, but I’ll try. What you think of as dark magic is like a mirror of the magics we know, but there’s something just slightly off about it. Unfortunately, that little bit of wrongness can build up in the minds of anyone attempting to use it, because the people of this world aren’t its intended wielders. We’re not capable of handling it safely.”

Melithar couldn’t keep himself from asking the obvious. “If we’re not capable, then who is?”

“That’s a question to which I’m still seeking an answer.”

“Then how do you know any of this?”

Shayliel lifted a necklace over her head and laid it on the table. It held a tiny silver skull pendant with ruby eyes. “Dark magic,” she said. “A divine healing spell, if you manage to use it correctly. Something else if you don’t.” She unlatched a golden chain from her wrist and set it next to the necklace. “Dark magic,” she repeated. “This one, I believe, is derived from elder magic. They’re always calling to me, and there’s always a battle of wills to avoid the corruption. You’re right. It does change you, unless you know what you’re doing. Unless you’re strong enough to resist. Once, when I was much younger, I had to spend three years alone on a tiny island, trying to scrub it from my mind.”

Melithar swallowed. “You’re a dark mage.”

“No, I’m a wizard. I have yet to meet a dark mage, if there is such a thing.” She gestured to the jewelry. “I don’t even know if these were created by dark mages, or if they were the unfortunate results of enchantment spells gone awry. This is the first time I’ve seen it in a spell book—it suggests there was some sort of guiding hand behind it. That’s why I need to study it.”

Melithar stared at her. Could he really leave the book in the hands of someone who intended to keep it, and possibly even use it? Even if she understood the risks, it was still dangerous.

It would get it away from Vilisa, though, and that was his priority.

Plus, he doubted he’d be allowed to take it with him when he left. Something was still affecting his mind. He was standing calmly, holding a polite conversation, when in other similar situations, he would have fought or fled. He shot a glare at the figure in black. Whatever she—if Zora was a feminine name—was doing to him, it was subtle enough that he couldn’t tell the difference between her spell and his own thoughts. As soon as he returned to the Glass Palace, he intended to head straight to the wizardry archive to look for mind-warding spells.

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With a sigh, he lifted the spell book out of his satchel and dropped it on a nearby table.

“Thank you,” Shayliel said. “What can you tell me about it? Where did it come from?”

“When I was young, Revana’s father, King Alarin, decided to build a real road leading to the seaborn enclave that his mother had allowed to settle on the western peninsula. This was well before Revana opened up our borders for outside trade, and with our isolation, prior rulers hadn’t seen any need for a seaport. Alarin felt differently, though, and the enclave was the closest port to the city. It was faster and cheaper than building a new one somewhere down south.”

“Yes, I remember all that,” Shayliel said. “It certainly made it easier to visit Terevas, but how is the book involved?”

She remembered? She didn’t look any older than Vilisa.

“There are some ruins along the border with the enclave,” Melithar said. “They don’t seem to be nilvasta in origin, and they’ve been around longer than the enclave so the seaborn didn’t build them. Revana and I learned about them while the road was being built, so we and another friend decided to explore.”

Revana had been so different back then, carefree and full of life, though even then she’d had an acerbic, judgemental wit. Melithar—or Vilar, as he’d still gone by back then—hadn’t minded sharing her with Jorel. Jorel was acceptable to her father, which allowed Revana’s relationship with Vilar to slip by unnoticed.

Melithar brought his mind back to the present. “Some of the ruins were more remote than others. One of those was a tower that I don’t think anyone had mapped yet, but someone had found it before us, perhaps no more than a few years earlier. The book was there, along with a bit of clothing and a bedroll he’d left behind. I think it was a man—the clothes looked like something a human male might wear.”

“This was, what, two hundred ten years ago? Two hundred twenty?” Shayliel asked.

“Closer to two hundred twenty.”

The seaborn man leaned forward intently. “Daceus?” he said.

“This could be where he came when we lost track of him,” Shayliel replied.

“Who is Daceus?” Melithar asked.

“The sort of man you’re concerned about, though I don’t believe he was a real dark mage,” the yanvasta woman replied. “Just someone who allowed himself to be corrupted.” She picked up the necklace by its skull pendant and rolled it absently between her fingers. “No matter. He’s dead now. If it was Daceus, he was no wizard. Even with the rather unique nature of dark magic, perhaps he realized he couldn’t use the book if he couldn’t read it, so he left it behind to throw me off his trail. But then Revana found it and took it inside the Glass Palace’s wards before I returned to Aravor, so I never learned of it.”

The robed woman gestured to the west.

Shayliel peered toward her as if listening, then shook her head. “No, we’re close enough to the enclave that I’d be able to feel if there were any other artifacts. I don’t see any need to search further. We’ve got what we came here for.”

“If this is all true, why doesn’t anyone know about it?” Melithar asked her. “Why is dark magic just a rumor, a story?”

“We tend to only see what’s around us,” Shayliel said. “The world is a big place, and there’s alway something bad happening somewhere—demons, dragons, dark magic, pirates, scourlings, tyrannical kings. There’s a long list.”

“Scourlings?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important. What matters is that, yes, there will always be dangers out there that you don’t know about, but there are also people who stand against those dangers.” She gave a hint of a smile. “Wardens, you might call us, though that’s another detail you’ll forget after you leave. Zora, could you—”

“Wait!” Melithar exclaimed. There was something he needed to know before they fogged up his mind again. “The queen is sick. Can you help her?”

Shayliel gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. Once the wasting has progressed this far, there’s nothing that can be done.”

“But what about Vilisa?”

“The queen’s second daughter? The one you took the book from?”

“Yes.” At least he hadn’t given away all his secrets during the conversation he couldn’t remember.

“Take comfort in the fact that Queen Revana held out against the corruption for over two hundred years. Perhaps the spell book isn’t as dangerous as some of the other artifacts I’ve found, or perhaps she unknowingly discovered a way to cleanse her own mind. If the corruption is in the book itself, the daughter should return to normal soon enough. If it’s in the spells she’s learned, let’s hope she forgets them before too much time passes.” Wizards had to occasionally study even the spells they already knew, to keep them fresh in their minds.

“And that’s it? You’re just going to take the book and go? How will I know … ?” He hesitated, not sure what he was asking for. She’d already said she wasn’t going to destroy it.

“You won’t know anything, except that the book is in safe hands,” Shayliel said. “Zora, can you leave him with that much?”

“Vilisa might order a truth spell on me,” Melithar admitted.

“Ahh, I see,” Shayliel said. “You want a mystery, then. Very well. You won’t remember any of this, not even stealing the book.” She gave Zora a slight nod.

Blackness washed over Melithar, and he awoke in his own bed.

#

“Ambassador Alana, I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Lord Seneschal Branley said.

“King Orlin asked me to deliver a message to His Majesty,” Razai replied, raising her right palm in a delicate half-shrug. She’d spent two days hiding in the Matagoran embassy learning the ambassador’s face, voice, and mannerisms. Impersonating someone in front of those who knew them was much trickier than becoming a nameless face in the crowd.

“And this message is important enough that it couldn’t wait for your next scheduled meeting?” Branley asked.

“I presume all messages from my king are important.” And, of course, the real Alana would show up at the regular meeting. Keeping her from it would have been an added complication Razai didn’t want to bother with.

The seneschal pursed his lips. “May I tell King Rusol what the message is regarding?”

“That’s a private matter for His Majesty,” Razai said. Branley was taller than her—and taller than her Alana disguise—but she did her best to look down on him. She didn’t know Branley, or what his relationship with Ambassador Alana was like, so she could only hope she wasn’t over-playing her part.

It seemed to work.

“His Majesty is in the audience chamber now, giving judgements. When he’s finished there, I’ll ask if he’s available to meet with you.”

Razai gave a slight bow of her head. “Thank you.”

Less than an hour later, Branley returned to escort her to the king’s study. Rusol was seated behind a desk made from dark wood polished to a bright sheen, and he was flanked by two royal guards. Both guards gave off the same tainted scent Razai had found on Nedley’s brother.

She’d only seen her grand-nephew from a distance before. Close up, the young king was small in stature, almost frail. He could pass as human, but something about him seemed obviously demonborn, at least to Razai. To keep it a secret for so long, he must not have come in contact with many others of their kind. Or perhaps those he encountered had a vested interest in keeping quiet.

His voice was steady. “Ambassador, please sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs facing his desk.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Razai said.

As she took a seat, her skin prickled the way it did around divine mages. There was a priest in the room. It wasn’t Branley. One of the guards? That was possible, especially if the guards were actually Rusol’s bondmates in disguise. Or perhaps the priest was Rusol himself. Razai had assumed he was responsible for the demonic compulsion magic, but if he was a priest instead, perhaps he’d bonded another demonborn.

“The Lord Seneschal tells me you bring a message from King Orlin,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Now that you’ve ascended to the throne, my king has suggested it would be a good time to discuss the wardens with you.” It had taken Razai a while to come up with a way to convince Rusol to speak to her alone. She didn’t want to hint at anything that might give away his demonborn nature, but she didn’t care about keeping the wardens’ secrets.

Her nephew gave a startled jerk of his head.

“Wardens?” Branley asked with a frown. “Do you mean the king’s gamekeepers? They don’t patrol anywhere near the Matagoran border.”

Razai didn’t respond, waiting to see what Rusol would do.

“Lord Branley,” he said, “I would like to have a private conversation with the ambassador. I’ll speak to you in the morning about tomorrow’s audiences. Guards, take your posts outside the door.”

The two royal guards left without argument, simply bowing to the king and then stepping out of the room. Branley, however, protested.

“Sire,” he said, “I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

“It’s a personal message from King Orlin, Branley,” Rusol said. “Ambassador Alana has been the Matagoran envoy to Larso for years. I think we can ignore protocol in this instance.” There was more confidence in his voice than Razai would have expected from his demeanor, but then, if he was a mage and a warden, he had to be more dangerous than he appeared.

“But Sire—”

“Now, please, Branley.”

The Lord Seneschal grimaced. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, then bowed and took his leave.

Once they were alone, Rusol turned back to Razai, regarding her with a piercing stare. “What do you know about wardens?” he asked, an air of quiet menace in his tone.

He was suspicious of her. Did he think the ambassador had learned he was a mage and was trying to use that information as leverage for negotiations? If Razai wanted to set him at ease, hints and innuendo weren’t going to do the job. She’d have to be more straightforward.

“I know a little about them, but the wardens aren’t the real reason I came. I’m here to bring an offer of support from your grandmother’s side of the family. Queen Benere’s side.”

Rusol’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not Ambassador Alana.”

“No, Your Majesty.” She allowed her disguise to fade, resuming her normal appearance. She kept her weapons hidden though, not wanting to alarm him. “My name is Razai. The ambassador is most likely at the embassy having her afternoon tea. She doesn’t know me, and she doesn’t know anything about this.”

He stared at her fangs as she spoke, and then his eyes widened when he caught sight of her own snake-like eyes.

“The demonborn have always kept their distance before,” he said, not admitting that he, too, was demonborn.

“Larso isn’t the most welcoming of places for our kind,” Razai pointed out. “Besides, we aren’t one people, or one cause.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To help. Like I said, I’m from Queen Benere’s side of the family—different bloodlines but the same progenitor.” She wasn’t ready to tell him just how close the relationship was.

He didn’t react to that. He was willing to let her hint at his heritage, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge it himself. “You represent others?” he asked. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted. “We all keep our own counsel. But for someone in the family to take the throne … I’d like to offer whatever support I can. And I’ll pass along the message to the rest of the family if you want me to.” If Vatarxis could be called family.

“You claim you want to support me, but why didn’t you come to my father?”

Razai had forgotten that detail. Vatarxis hadn’t mentioned whether Marten had been demonborn.

She tried to cover for the misstep. “We didn’t become aware of the relationship until recently,” she said. She had to hide a wince—everything she’d told him since dropping her disguise was the truth, but the longer she spoke, the more like a lie it sounded.

“Let’s say I believe you,” Rusol said, his tone indicating he didn’t. “What sort of support are you offering?”

“That depends on what you need. We can’t provide troops, of course, but there are those among us who have certain useful skills.” Razai wasn’t sure what her father would be willing to deliver. He’d never asked her to make contact with Rusol at all, but at the same time, he was invested in ensuring his great-grandson completed his tasks—whatever those might be. Regardless of what Vatarxis wanted, Razai wanted to help her nephew … but first she had to keep him from going to war with Corec.

“Like your own,” he said. “You can disguise yourself as anyone?”

“More or less, if I have time to study them.”

“A useful ability. It would let you go anywhere, see anything.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Razai said.

“And yet, you made it into the palace itself. It must not be too complicated.”

“Most rulers have warding spells in place to prevent intruders or illusion magic. I’d normally need a way past them.”

“Warding spells,” Rusol said, his voice flat. “Like the ones that block Seer visions? Priest magic?”

“Some priests, but usually wizards. I don’t know if they use the same kind of wards.”

He clenched his jaw and tapped his index finger against the desk. “I see,” he said.

It wasn’t the first time Razai had seen one of her kindred barely suppressing the demon rage, but why would the mention of warding spells make him so angry? No, it wasn’t the warding spells themselves. It was the realization that he was vulnerable within his own home, and that neither his bondmates nor the priests of Pallisur had offered up a solution.

But Razai had, which meant she could provide something he needed.

He seemed to realize it as well. “Perhaps you may be useful after all. You said you know about wardens?”

“Just what I’ve picked up here and there,” she said. “I doubt I know much that you don’t know.”

“Do you know who they are? Where to find them?”

Why was he asking that? Was Corec not the only one he was after?

She was trying not to lie to him any more than necessary. “Some,” she admitted.

He’d begun sketching something as they spoke—a stylized image of a bird.

“Tell me about them,” he said.

“For that, I’d need something in return.” She’d hoped to have a chance to prove herself before asking for a favor, but he hadn’t given her enough time.

“What do you want?”

“You’ve been sending compelled troops after one of the wardens, a man named Corec. I want you to stop.”

“Corec? That sounds like a Larsonian name. How do you know him?” Rusol was careful in his words, not admitting to the attacks, the compulsion magic, or even to being a warden.

But why would he try to kill Corec if he didn’t know who he was?

“I don’t know him well—mostly I try to stay as far away from him as I can—but he hasn’t done anything to you,” she said. “You’re risking a war. If the other kingdoms find out you’re using demonic compulsion and decide to take action, it’ll be worse than a war. I don’t want that to happen. If you stop your attacks, I’ll make sure Corec won’t retaliate.”

“Just how are you going to do that?”

“He’ll agree. He doesn’t want any further bloodshed.”

“And if I accept your bargain, you’ll tell me who the other wardens are?”

“The two that I know of,” Razai said. Yelena annoyed Vatarxis, so he probably wouldn’t mind if something happened to her. Hildra had been around long enough that Rusol was unlikely to offer a threat. Hopefully he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

He’d started tapping his finger again, but this time it seemed more like a nervous habit. “I have one left,” he murmured, almost to himself. “And you do seem useful.”

Razai felt a tugging sensation in her mind. Rusol was using some sort of magic against her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, reaching for her disguised knives.

Instead of responding, he jerked back, staring wide-eyed at the center of her forehead.

There were no mirrors in the room, but Razai knew what he was looking at. When he’d cast his spell, the blue rune on her brow must have somehow become visible. He’d tried to cast the warden bonding spell on her.

He scrambled out of his chair. “You’re one of them!” he shouted, raising a hand toward her. His fingers crackled with arcs of blue and white light, just like Sarette’s spear.

Razai dove to the floor just as the blast hit her chair, destroying it. Before he could cast another spell, she ran for the door, flinging it open hard enough that it slammed into one of the guards standing just outside. The man let out a startled oath.

“Stop her!” Rusol shouted. “Assassin! Kill her!”

Razai sprinted away, the guards in pursuit. Ahead of her, the corridor branched in different directions. Which way? she shouted in her mind.

Left, the whispers replied.

She followed their direction, and as soon as she was out of sight, she stopped and turned herself invisible. The guards came around the corner, looking around in confusion when they couldn’t see her.

Back in the direction of the king’s study, a bell started ringing—like those sometimes used to summon servants, but louder. Another bell answered it, somewhere ahead of her, and then another off in the distance. Some sort of alarm system.

The two royal guards started working their way down the hall, opening each door and checking inside, trying to find her.

Razai remained still. She could only creep about slowly while under cover of invisibility, and it would take hours to get out of the palace that way. Worse, now that Rusol knew what she could do, he or one of his bondmates might be able to pierce her illusion. She needed a faster way to escape, so while the guards continued their search, she pieced together a disguise based on Lord Seneschal Branley.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do as long as no one tried to speak to her. Male voices were harder for her to replicate, and she hadn’t had a chance to practice Branley’s.

Once the guards were out of sight, she dropped the invisibility and strode down the hall as if intent on a task. The ringing bells had caused servants and soldiers to wander into the halls, trying to find out what was going on. She joined the growing crowd, hoping to slip by unnoticed.

She made it halfway to the palace’s diplomats’ entrance before she was stopped at an anteroom outside the main audience chamber.

“Lord Branley!” a functionary said, rushing up to her. “Is the king safe? What’s happening?”

Other guards and courtiers gathered around, apparently having been drawn to the audience chamber by the bells.

“His Majesty is well,” she told the crowd in a rough approximation of Branley’s voice. “Someone thought there was a thief loose in the palace, but it was a false alarm.”

They exchanged concerned glances.

“Are you all right, Lord Branley? Your eyes …”

The voice had fooled them, but she’d messed up the disguise. Branley was taller than her, and his eyes weren’t meeting anyone else’s gaze.

“I’m just tired,” she said. She could fix the disguise and reassure the onlookers, but that meant staying in the palace longer. Running was the best option, but doing so would pinpoint her location for Rusol and his bondmates—and she had no idea what their capabilities were.

I need a way out, she said to the whispers.

There was the sound of wind blowing through tall grasses as the whispers argued amongst each other, and then one spoke, louder than the rest.

Darkness.

What? she asked.

Like this, the whisper said, and demonstrated.

Razai followed its example and summoned illusionary darkness, a blackness so complete that it blocked all light. It spread out from her in tendrils, quickly swallowing the antechamber and then spreading into the corridors beyond.

The courtiers and servants shrieked in fear, not realizing the illusion was harmless. They bumped into each other and tripped over furniture as they tried to flee.

Razai could see through darkness, though. She ran for the main entrance as quickly as she could. The commotion was likely to draw the attention of Rusol’s bondmates, and she didn’t want to find out whether they could banish her spell.

The darkness followed along, fifty feet in all directions, ensuring no one could see her. As she ran, she switched to her Aden disguise, but wearing the uniform of a royal guard. Once she was out of the palace, she could drop the darkness spell and pretend she’d managed to escape from it.

After that, it was time to get out of the city before Rusol tracked her down.