White smoke billowed from the stack atop the glass workshop. When I entered, the heat pushed against my skin like a wet wool blanket. The roar of the kilns rumbled deep in my chest and through the soles of my boots. Students sat at gaffer benches, spinning their iron rods to shape the molten glass gathered on the end. Others blew into pipes and the glass expanded into bubbles.
I scanned the activity, seeking a familiar face. In the center of the bustle stood Mara, instructing a student. A beautiful woman with a heart-shaped face and the sweetest soul. My brother had done plenty of stupid, annoying and crazy things, but marrying Mara had been the smartest thing he’d ever done.
Her tawny-colored eyes lit when she spotted me. A kerchief tied back her golden-brown hair. Dirt smudged her cheek and her apron had seen better days. She gestured to her office and held up two fingers.
Understanding the signal, I wove through the glassmaking equipment and entered the relative coolness of her office. Glass vases, paperweights, bowls and tumblers littered the room. Student efforts or Mara’s, I couldn’t tell. Did my sister-in-law even have time to produce her own work? The Council hoped another magician would develop an affinity with glass like Mara’s sister, Opal, and Quinn, so a steady stream of first years arrived for their mandatory glass lessons. Those who enjoyed it continued to study the art during the rest of their five-year stay at the Keep.
I settled in the chair next to her desk, considering how much had changed since Opal’s glass magic had been discovered. It gave me a bit of comfort. Despite Bain’s lifelong quest to learn about magic and magicians, he’d never heard of Opal’s particular skills. Therefore, there was no reason to panic because he hadn’t heard of a magic-blocking poison.
Mara bustled in with a swish of skirts and I stood.
She embraced me. “Yelena! What a wonderful surprise. I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Then she pulled away and frowned. “Is something—”
“Nothing’s wrong. Valek had to leave early. The Commander’s patience had finally run out.”
“Oh dear, I hope he’s not in trouble.”
“In trouble? No. Causing trouble? Always.”
Her musical laugh warmed me.
She closed the door to her office, reducing the noise of the kilns and ensuring privacy. “Would you like some tea?” Mara lifted a glass teapot by its handle.
“Yes, please.”
She poured two steaming cups and then sat down.
“Is that—”
“One of Quinn’s hot glass pieces? Yes. It stays hot for days. A marvel! He’s a darling boy and gave it to me when I cleared two hours each evening just for him. Poor boy doesn’t like working with a crowd drooling over his shoulder. Who would?” Mara sipped from her cup. “And I had to ban the kitchen staff, too. They love his hot and cold glass and had been pestering him for more pieces. Who knew keeping meat cold keeps it from spoiling longer?” Wonder touched her voice.
“Has he discovered any other glass abilities since coming here?”
“He’s been concentrating on the messengers and the temperature glass. Opal told me he could attach a null shield to glass and other...” Mara swept her arms out as if searching for the right word. “Emotions. But between his classes and his work, the poor boy hasn’t had time to experiment.”
Interesting about the null shield. “He’s here every night?”
“Except for one night a week.”
Keeping my tone neutral, I asked, “Which night?”
Mara gazed at me. “Why? Is it important?”
Shoot. She’d been spending too much time with Leif.
“Just curious.”
“Uh-huh.” She waited.
“Oh all right. I want to talk to him.”
“Better. Let’s see...” Mara checked a ledger on her desk. “He was here the last couple of nights... His night off was four days ago.”
The timing matched the night of the attack. My heart thumped. “What does he do on his nights off?”
“He has riding lessons.”
Oh. Still, he could have missed his lesson. I needed to talk to the Stable Master.
“Is that the reason you stopped by?” Mara asked.
“No, I was looking for Leif.” Only after I said it did I realize how it must have sounded. “And to visit you.” Weak.
“How nice.” Her tone didn’t match her words.
“Sorry. It’s just...something came up and I haven’t been sleeping...” Weaker.
Concern softened the hard lines around her mouth. “And it’s probably some political problem that you can’t tell me. Between Leif and Opal, I’m used to being in the dark.”
From the way her shoulders drooped, I knew she was far from used to the idea, yet she put on a brave front. I drank my tea and reflected. Leif and Mara hadn’t even been married a year yet. It had been a lovely wedding and she had glowed with pure joy. She was part of my family. Kidnapped from Sitia at age six, I’d grown up in Ixia believing I had no family. Dreams of a fictional loving family had helped me through the dark times. And now I planned to enlist Leif’s help, taking his time away from Mara. Not very nice.
“The reason I need to talk to my brother is...” I filled her in on what had happened.
Mara clutched her apron, gathering the fabric into a tight bunch, but she didn’t say a word. When I finished, she slid off her chair and hugged me.
“Oh, Yelena, that’s terrible.” She squeezed tight then let go. “What can I do to help?”
“Help?” I hadn’t thought about it.
“Of course. I’m sure you have a plan of attack. And don’t tell me to keep it quiet. I’m not an idiot.”
True. “Can you find out if any of the students are able to siphon magic? Opal had done it with glass, but perhaps there is another magician who can do it with another object.”
She brightened. “I can. I know all the students and they like to brag about who can do what.” She held up her hand. Burn scars marked her fingers and wrist. “Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet. Are you going to talk to Opal? She might have some ideas.”
I groaned. Another possible avenue that I’d missed. “I will.”
“Good. Now go get some sleep. Leif’s at the Council Hall this morning, but he’ll be in the training yard later this afternoon, helping Marrok teach the juniors how to defend against a machete.”
“Thanks.”
She escorted me out the door and then remained on the workshop’s steps, ensuring I headed in the right direction. Another knot in my stomach eased as I skirted the pasture that occupied the space between the glass shop and the stables. Telling Mara had been the right thing to do.
When I entered the large wooden barn, Kiki whinnied a welcome. She looked over the Stable Master’s broad shoulder as he bent to clean dirt from her hooves. Her copper coat shone, her mane had been brushed and her whiskers were trimmed. Oh no.
“I was planning on—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The Stable Master cut me off. “Always the same. In a hurry with urgent business to attend to. I’ve heard all the excuses.” He moved to her back feet. “She was a muddy mess,” he grumbled. “Keep taking advantage of her and one day you’ll come out here and she’ll be gone.”
Not unless he stopped feeding her his famous milk oats. I sighed. The Stable Master lived and breathed horses. To him, nothing was more important. And he had a point.
“I’m sorry.” I draped my cloak over a stall door, picked up a comb and worked on untangling her tail. Then I helped him clean tack and muck out stalls until he no longer muttered quite as much. Which was as good of a mood as possible for him.
Before he left to order more feed, I asked about Quinn’s riding lessons.
“Strong as an ox, that boy,” the Stable Master said. “He don’t look it, but all those years of
diving for oysters honed his muscles. See that bay?” He pointed through the window.
A horse with a deep garnet-colored coat and a black mane and tail trotted around the inside of the pasture’s fence. “Yes.”
“Flann’s a son of a bitch—stubborn, spirited and strong. Quinn’s the only one who can ride him.”
“A Sandseed horse?” Sandseed horses, like Kiki, were picky about who they allowed to ride them.
“Nope. One of those new Bloodgood breeds. I was gonna send him back because he’s been a real pain in my ass, but he took a liking to the boy.”
“Is Quinn enjoying his lessons?”
“I don’t care. He shows up on time and has improved. That’s all I care about.”
“Did he miss his last lesson?”
“No. Why?”
And there went another lead. “Flann looks like he needs a workout.”
“Tell that to the Master Magicians. Quinn’s too busy to do more.” The Stable Master hooked his thumb toward the bay. “You’re welcome to try.” He patted Kiki’s neck with affection. “I’m sure Kiki here won’t mind. Will you, girl?” He slipped her a milk oat then left without saying goodbye.
After he left, I scratched Kiki behind her ears. She closed her eyes and leaned closer. Sadness panged deep inside me, radiating out with pain. The loss of our connection hurt the most. And I cringed at the thought of riding another horse. It would also be an unnecessary risk. Kiki rested her chin on my shoulder as if consoling me.
“I’ll figure this out,” I promised her.
She nipped my ear playfully then left the stable. I followed her out. She hopped the pasture’s fence, joining the other horses. I scanned them. Silk, Irys’s horse, and Leif’s horse, Rusalka, nickered a greeting to Kiki.
Exhaustion clung to me, but horse hair and slobber coated my clothes and hands. I stopped at the bathhouse to wash up before I trudged to my apartment in Irys’s tower.
Each Master Magician lived in one of the four towers of the Keep. Irys occupied the northwest tower and Bain had the southeastern one. The northeast tower belonged to Zitora Cowan, Second Magician, even though she’d retired. We all hoped she’d return. The southwest tower still remained empty. Roze Featherstone, who had been the First Magician, had lived there until she betrayed Sitia. After the Warper battle, she was killed and her soul trapped in a glass prison.
When I was no longer considered a student of the Keep, Irys offered me three floors of her tower to use. A generous offer. My few belongings had all fit on one floor, but I had since expanded to another, setting up guest quarters for visitors. So far, only my parents had used the space.
I lumbered up the three flights of steps. At least I hadn’t been gone long enough for my bedroom to be coated with dust. I glanced around. The single bed, armoire, desk, chair and night table all appeared to be undisturbed. My footsteps echoed against the hard marble walls. I hadn’t had time to install tapestries and heavy curtains to absorb the harsh sounds. Good thing since now I’d need to hear an intruder in order to wake up in time to defend myself.
Bending down, I checked under the bed and then opened the armoire. Yes, I felt silly and paranoid, but sleeping would be impossible unless I ensured no one hid in my room.
Satisfied, I tossed my cloak over the chair and crawled into bed. The chilly air swirled as I drew the thick blankets up to my chin. If I had any energy, I would light the brassier nearby. Instead, I drifted to sleep.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t dream.
* * *
I woke a few hours later when the late-afternoon sunlight streamed through my window and touched my face. Without thinking, I reached for my magic and encountered deadness. The desire to curl into a ball and remain in bed pulsed through my heart. But I refused to give up. Plus I needed to speak to Leif. I flung my blankets off.
The training yard was located next to the glass shop. I leaned against the fence and studied the various matches. Most of the students held wooden practice swords or wooden machetes since they were only in their third year at the Keep. They wouldn’t use real weapons until their final, apprentice year.
Leif sparred with a tall lanky student. I smiled at the mismatched pair. His stocky, powerful build, black hair and square face were the opposite of his opponent—a lean, lithe, blonde woman with a pointy chin. She used her longer reach and sword to stay out of his machete’s chopping zone. Moving with the quick grace of a Greenblade, she dodged Leif’s strikes.
However, experience won over fancy footwork and Leif ducked low and rushed her, knocking her down while unarming her. He grinned and helped her to her feet, then explained his strategy.
I waited as he wrapped up the session and lectured the group on where to focus.
“Don’t stare at their eyes or shoulders,” he said. “Watch your opponent’s hips to anticipate his next strike. You’ve seen how a machete can counter a sword with the right moves and tactics. Do you think a machete can fight an opponent with a bo staff?”
A resounding no sounded from the students. Leif’s eyes gleamed and he picked up a five-foot wooden staff that had been lying next to the fence.
“Yelena,” he said and tossed the bo at me.
Instinctively, I caught it in my right hand.
“Let’s show them how it’s done.” Leif set his feet into a fighting stance. “Unless you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of a bunch of juniors?”
His challenge cut right through all reason and logic. It was physically impossible for a younger sister not to rise to her older brother’s bait. Shedding my cloak, I hopped the low fence.
I faced Leif and slid my hands along the smooth grain of the staff out of habit. The action helped me find that zone of concentration that allowed me to sense my opponent’s movements. This time, my fingers rubbed an ordinary piece of wood. No connection flared to life.
Could I still fight without my magic? Everyone had gathered to watch the match—not the best time to experiment. And Irys’s comment about keeping a low profile rose in my mind too late. Oops.
Leif stared at me with an odd expression. His nose wrinkled as if he smelled an offensive odor. Great. Guess I’d have to rely on my training, my experience and the thousands of hours of practice I’d sweated through. My magic couldn’t be that vital in my fighting. Could it?
Despite my worries, I clutched my weapon at the third points and twirled the bo into a ready position. As soon as the match started, I advanced, swinging the tip of the staff toward Leif’s left temple. He backpedaled and blocked my attack. I aimed for his right temple, then left. Right. Left. Feint right. Rib strike. Leif countered with ease.
“Predictable,” he said.
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
My next series of attacks aimed for his ribs, then temple. Rib. Temple. Rib. Chin strike. Leif jumped back with a laugh. Then he advanced. I scrambled to keep his thick blade from chopping my bo in half. When he swung at my neck, instead of blocking the weapon, I ducked and swept his feet out from under him. He landed with an oomph.
Pleased, I relaxed my guard. Big mistake. Leif grabbed my ankle and yanked. I joined him on the ground. And the advantage of having a longer weapon ended there. From that position, his machete had a greater range of motion, and within a few strikes, he disarmed me.
Far from being triumphant with his win, concern creased his face. I shook my head and signaled for him to keep his mouth shut. Valek had taught us both hand signals to communicate when talking would give away our hidden positions or our plans to an enemy listening nearby.
He sprang to his feet and gestured to me while addressing the students. “See? A machete can defend against a bo staff if you can get in close. Yelena let me take her down in order to demonstrate to you one way to gain an advantage. Normally, she isn’t so easy to beat. That’s it for today.” r />
The students picked up the training swords and talked in groups as they returned the weapons to the armory connected to the yard. I wiped dirt from my pants.
Once everyone left, Leif turned to me. “Okay, spill it. What’s wrong? You smell...”
Leif’s magic smelled people’s intentions and emotions. He frequently helped with solving crimes due to his unique ability to sniff out criminals. When we’d been reunited after fourteen years apart, he’d proclaimed to our entire clan that I’d killed and reeked of blood. Nice, eh?
“What do I smell like?”
“You smell like death.”
6
VALEK
Valek studied the figure standing behind the Commander. Five feet eight inches tall, about one hundred and forty pounds, either a young male or female—hard to tell when the only thing not covered with black was the assassin’s light gray eyes. Armed with a dagger, which was currently pressed against the Commander’s throat, but Valek guessed the assassin carried more than one knife.
The Commander frowned with annoyance.
“Impressive,” Valek said, sipping his brandy. He tightened his grip on his knife, suppressing his anger at the Commander’s security detail for not stopping the intruder. He’d deal with them later.
“Move and I’ll slit his throat,” the assassin said in a gravelly voice.
Not a natural tone, and Valek suspected the person wished to hide his or her true voice. It was an empty threat. If the assassin had wanted to kill the Commander, he’d have been dead before Valek had turned around.
“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” Valek said.
Ambrose moved, grabbing the attacker’s wrists, yanking the blade down and away from his body. He spun, trapping the assassin’s arm. Within a minute the knife clanged to the floor and the Commander had the intruder at his mercy.
“Good show, old man,” he said even though Ambrose was only about seven years older than Valek. “You still have the best knife-defense skills in the Territory. Do you want me to dispose of...that for you?” He set his drink down.