Honor's Price

by Sever Bronny

  “I’d lodge a complaint,” Bridget whispered weakly. A drop of sweat trickled down her pert nose. “But we’ve got other problems to consider.” She winced as she gingerly pressed a hand to her forehead. “What are we doing again? I’m a little hazy.”

  Augum glanced about and saw that no one was near. Just in case, he dropped his voice. “We’re going to Archives to find Arcaner course material. I’ll explain on the way.”

  And explain he did, going further by passing on what The Grizzly had told him, though he avoided the topic of the deep plan that was germinating in the back of his mind. As the trio strode down the majestic and eternal Hall of Rapture, they spotted two people arguing a distance off in hushed voices, partially hidden by a deep-set door alcove.

  “Wait, that’s Eric and Katrina,” Leera hissed. “Come on, let’s see if we can sneak a listen.”

  The trio hurried their pace, keeping close to the wall and staying on their tiptoes. Katrina’s back was turned and she was now raging at Eric, who said nothing as he stared at his feet. The trio ducked into the doorway before theirs. Unfortunately, all they caught was the tail end of her shouting.

  “I know it was you,” Katrina hissed in conclusion. “I know.” Then she strode off, fists clenched.

  Eric did not follow. Instead, he placed a hand to his forehead and squeezed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. The trio waited until Katrina had disappeared through the distant portal before scurrying over to Eric. He looked up, his face red.

  “What was that all about?” Augum asked.

  “The bank loan. She knows I pushed to let it go through.”

  Augum felt a cold prickle of sweat on his neck. His castle would have been yanked from his fingers last month all because his poor management of it had led to a debt crisis. Luckily his steward, Mr. Haroun, had secured a crucial last-moment loan from the dreaded Black Bank—all thanks to Eric. As the sole heir to the throne, he had done the trio a huge favor by pulling strings and allowing it to be approved, even though his father would have instantly denied such a move. Katrina, who had the king’s ear as his precious niece, had been scheming to get his castle all for herself as revenge for the slighted Von Edgeworth honor, knowing how much it would wound Augum and the Arinthian line.

  “So she knows we’re playing on the same team here,” Leera said.

  Eric did not reply, merely kept squeezing his temples.

  “What will she do?” Bridget asked.

  “That I do not know. Whereas I have been gifted with practicality, my cousin has been gifted with guile. Let me give you a small example. When Katrina visited Castle Southguard a few years back, she caught the eye of an older boy whom she despised, mistaking his teasing for animosity. She concocted a story that the boy sought to bed her without permission. He was never seen in court again. Word later came that the boy’s father had beaten him to within a smidge of his life. He lived as a cripple for a few years before succumbing to his injuries. Katrina sent the father a thank-you letter for “dispensing justice.” She confessed the whole story to me once to show me her strength. That is the type of person my dear cousin is.”

  The trio gaped at him.

  “Now if you will excuse me, I need to drop in at court. It is a tumultuous time there and I believe it is best to keep close to the fray. Especially if I’m to uncover anything about your … problem.” He turned his back with a flourish of his amber robe and strode off.

  “He means the assassins, right?” Leera asked. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You two know I can be a bit …”

  “Clueless?” Augum and Bridget playfully chorused.

  “Shut up.” Leera sighed and murmured, “I had no idea she could be that cruel. Wait, yes I did. That evil witch.”

  Augum watched Eric go. The king’s court was a place where flies followed lions, as the old proverb said, and was filled with treachery and cunning. A perfect playground for scheming nobles … and for a person like Katrina.

  “Don’t forget the worship meeting!” Leera called after Eric, but he ignored her. She shrugged. “Well, if anyone can get away with not attending, I bet it’s the king’s only son and heir.” Then she grimaced and began rummaging through her satchel. “Speaking of not forgetting, I’m going to drop off this rewrite with Gonzalez. I’ll catch up with you two outside Archives?”

  “No, we stick together,” Augum said firmly.

  Leera glanced up. “You playing nanny or something?”

  Augum had a vision of Leera being dragged away by overseers, or worse, being attacked by an assassin. “Indulge me.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.” She finally withdrew the parchment, which had somehow gotten all scrunched up in the brief time it had spent in her satchel. “Gonzalez is in her office, which is—” She made a graceful arrow-being-shot gesture toward the distant looming portal. “—that-a-way. Move it, people.”

  Statues in the Dark

  After dropping off Leera’s essay rewrite at Gonzalez’s office—and enduring a short lecture on the merits of propriety while The Path occupied the academy—the trio headed to Archives.

  “I think Gonzalez skipped all of childhood, teenagehood, and young adulthood,” Leera remarked as they strode along, “and simply dove straight into old age. She sucks the fun out of everything. Like reverse bellows. Or something.”

  “She’s just being practical, Lee,” Bridget said. “And you two are notorious. You’re lucky overseers haven’t snatched either of you away.”

  Augum silently agreed. They had to be more careful. Leera didn’t see it that way and argued how they should try to get away with whatever they could, screw propriety.

  “All it takes is one misstep,” Bridget said. “One. Why gamble? And what’s with you two, anyway? You’re both gambling. Not only with this, but—”

  “—with the assassins, I know,” Augum muttered, once more seeing a pool of blood creeping toward his shoes. “Can we not discuss this right now?” he added after seeing Leera wind up to argue another point.

  Bridget shrugged and the trio fell silent for a time. But then Leera brightened and launched into a diatribe about how adorable it would be for Isaac and Caireen to get together.

  “Certainly chose an awful time,” Bridget said.

  “I think you’re a candidate to skip young adulthood too.”

  Bridget’s face fell at the remark, no doubt because Brandon had accused her of being a humorless shrew.

  “Lee,” Augum said. “Play fair.”

  “You’re right. Throw another apology on the pile.”

  “Is that really an apology?”

  “Ouch, I know I’ve overstepped when even my boyfriend calls me out. Bridge, I … I apologize, and I’ll try to needle you less. You know me, I can’t help myself.”

  Bridget’s mouth pressed into a thin line that reminded Augum of his great-grandmother, who would show her disapproval in the same manner.

  “Anyway, anyone know where Archives actually is?” Leera asked after they stepped into a corridor they had already walked through. “This wing’s like a labyrinth.”

  “It wouldn’t be if we were boarding here,” Bridget said. “Hence the name Student Wing.”

  “Except Arcanists board here too.” Leera elbowed Augum. “And did you hear that? Genuine snark from Bridgey. Well deserved, but I’m starting to think I’m a bit of a bad influence.”

  “You sometimes can be,” Augum absently mumbled, for he was preoccupied. Where was Archives? He swore he had seen a map showing it around here somewhere.

  “Double ouch,” Leera muttered.

  As Augum turned in place, he saw someone duck into another corridor. “Don’t look now, but someone’s following us,” he whispered. “Corridor behind us.”

  The girls stole secretive peeks.

  “Can’t see a thing,” Leera muttered.

  “That’s because you need spectacles and are too ashamed to get them.”

  “Triple ouch, Bridge.”

  “You t
hink it undeserved?”

  Leera stood in flustered silence before blurting, “I’m not that blind.”

  “If you say so.” Bridget nodded subtly at a quadruple fork of curving hallways. “Let’s walk down that corridor there. Then jump into a room.”

  “Good call,” Leera said. “I need a place to nurse my wounds.”

  Augum elbowed her. “Someone can dish it out but can’t take it.”

  Bridget snuck a grin at that remark.

  Leera glanced between the two of them. “Point taken.”

  They strode on in a pretend casual manner. After turning a bend, they jumped into the closest open room—a janitorial closet. It smelled of lime soap and was full of mops, brooms, buckets, and shelves of neatly folded cloth.

  The trio gathered near the door, leaving a slight crack to peer through. Footsteps soon approached and froze nearby. No one moved or breathed, only listened to the deep silence. Then came the sound of distant student voices and the footsteps hurried off.

  Augum jumped out of the room to see who it was, but the person must have taken one of the hallways curving off the fork. He glanced down each one, but by then the person had disappeared behind a bend.

  “Wait, something doesn’t add up,” he said upon reentering the closet. “How could they have followed us to this exact spot?”

  The trio glanced at each other in the dimness and struck upon the same thought. Each hurriedly rifled through their pockets and then dumped out the contents of their satchels, searching for anything untoward.

  “Shyneo,” Leera said, lighting her palm with her watery Shine spell. It cast a cool glow on the room and their stuff, which they had dumped most unceremoniously onto the floor. She flicked a finger at the door and it slammed closed, then held the light for Augum and Bridget, who took a long moment to concentrate on casting the illegal 11th degree spell Reveal—illegal because it was more than two degrees above their current rank, and the academy strictly forbade learning spells more than two degrees above one’s own degree. But in the trio’s defense, they had learned it in the war as a matter of necessity. And one did not just forget a useful spell like Reveal. Useful and beautiful, for it allowed one to see what arcanery looked like.

  “Un vun asperio aurum enchantus,” they chorused, the fingers of one hand spread in the cool light of Leera’s watery palm.

  Augum felt a gentle cold drain on his arcane stamina as his soul touched the eternal void of the arcane ether. The first thing he noticed was the master key to the catacombs. It had lit up with complex enchantment weavings. Further, the arcanery was ancient and had long sunk to permanence. But that wasn’t what they were looking for. Sure enough, he and Bridget homed in on the same object, no doubt surreptitiously dropped into one of their satchels. It lit up with the complex wispy artistry of arcane tendrils that made up a familiar spell.

  “A pebble,” Augum said, shaking his hand to snuff out the Reveal spell. The problem was, their stuff was in a heap, so it was impossible to tell whose satchel it had been in.

  “Object Track?” Leera asked. When they nodded, she added, “Classic.”

  “Don’t touch it,” Bridget said. “Could be alarmed.”

  “I didn’t see an alarm enchantment, but I agree it’s best to be sure.” He gently cleared all the items near it away, then readied for the next phase.

  Bridget grabbed his arm. “Wait, maybe Disenchant isn’t the best idea.”

  “Yeah, we could find out who left it,” Leera said.

  “I disagree,” Augum replied. “They’ve been spooked off, probably figure we know. Plus, we need to search Archives in secret.” And time was running out—almost an entire hour had already passed.

  “Is there some way we can use it against them?” Leera asked, face lit from underneath by her watery light, as if readying to tell a ghost story.

  The trio sat in thought. Augum ran through various ideas. Disenchanting and then re-enchanting the pebble ran the risk of the other party figuring out they knew an illegal spell. In fact, doing anything to it ran that risk, for how could they have found it otherwise? But also, it was a breach of the student code of ethics to use an Object Track spell on another student—it was strictly forbidden, and the offender could be whipped or even expelled. Either way, it was a gamble.

  “I know what we can do with it,” Bridget said, glancing between Augum and Leera. “Bring it to an arcanist. They might recognize the spellcraft and tie it to a particular pupil.”

  Augum nodded. Spellcraft weaving was like handwriting—each casting was unique to that individual, and to the trained eye, that casting was readable and identifiable. One problem here was the physical area of the casting was miniscule, which made it that much more difficult to identify for anybody, expert or not. Not to mention the arcanist would have to be familiar with the person’s handiwork.

  “If it’s even a pupil,” Leera said in a spooky tone, dimming her light for dramatic effect.

  Bridget shook her head. “No, that won’t work either because bringing it to an arcanist would still raise questions of how we know it’s enchanted. If we do anything that suggests we know about the pebble, whether it’s leaving it here or disenchanting it, the person will know we know, and they’ll know we’ll be watchful.”

  “What are you suggesting, we keep carrying it around?” Augum asked.

  “Think about it. The person probably knows you saw them in the corridor back there. So they think you caught them the old-fashioned way—by laying eyes on them. But if we continued carrying it around, they might think we haven’t found it, that we just jumped into this closet to hide from them. Whoever it is, they suspect we’re up to no good.”

  “What if they follow us to Archives?” Leera asked. “Or later, to the castle? What if it was an assassin?”

  “Then we stick together and watch each other’s backs,” Augum replied.

  The trio looked into each other’s faces, perhaps daring anyone to veto the plan. But no one did.

  “I can’t argue with your logic, Bridge,” Augum finally acceded. “We keep the pebble and catch whoever is following us.”

  “Agreed,” Leera said, giving Bridget a friendly elbow. “This is why we dragged you out of class. You’re the smart one.”

  “I’d have passed out or been forced to flee had I stayed anyway.”

  Leera smirked. “See? You’re not entirely humorless.”

  Bridget forced a smile. “All right, it’s a go then.” She started putting things back in her satchel, only to freeze. “Wait, if we put the pebble back into the wrong satchel, they’ll know we know.”

  “Unless we stick together at all times,” Leera said. “I mean, with obvious exceptions … like bathing room use. And when Aug and I want to make out. Which might be often.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll take the pebble,” Augum said.

  Leera raised a stern finger. “No way. You have assassins following you about as is.”

  “But—”

  “It’s not up for discussion, mister.” She scooped up the pebble with a parchment and dumped it into her satchel. Object Alarm was a delicate spell and if the person had cast it upon the pebble, all it would take was the slightest brush of skin to set it off. Augum supposed they could have studied the pebble closely under a magnifying glass while casting Reveal, but magnifying glasses were expensive and they didn’t have time to track one down.

  Bridget watched Leera cram the rest of her stuff into her satchel. “Now I see how all your essays get so mangled,” she muttered, neatly placing each of her things back into her satchel.

  “Stop picking at me,” Leera sang in high notes.

  After packing up, the trio, paranoid of pursuers, renewed their search. They lumbered about the labyrinthine castle-like halls of the Student Wing for another quarter of an hour before stumbling on a pair of monstrous iron doors with a keyhole, above which was an old sign that read, Catacombs. Secondary entrance.

  “So there’s a primary
entrance?” Leera asked.

  “Yes,” Bridget replied. “Somewhere on the other side of this wing. The catacombs sprawl under the entire academy grounds and probably have several entrances.”

  Leera elbowed Augum. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

  Augum dug out the key and slipped it into the lock. There was a loud click as the doors unlocked. Augum pulled on the handle of one and the heavy thing swung open with a mighty creak, revealing a descending stone staircase.

  “I’ve always wanted to come here,” Augum whispered, feeling the echo of ancient history. He’d heard stories about the academy catacombs. Ghosts, arcane rooms, dungeons, and danger. But it was the kind of danger that came with ancient underground places. Fragile walls, collapsed structures, gaping holes in the floor. That sort of thing.

  “It’s just the catacombs, Aug,” Leera said. “There’s nothing down there except unused tunnels, Archives, and old academy junk.”

  Bridget gazed down the dark steps with wonder. “You’ve forgotten.”

  “Forgotten what?” Leera said.

  Bridget nodded once before her as she spoke in reverent tones. “Down there was the legendary final battle between Mrs. Stone and Narsus the Necromancer, causing a collapse of the area.”

  Leera’s face softened. “Oh …”

  Augum recalled the famous story. When officials excavated the ruins, they found Narsus’s body, but not Mrs. Stone’s. Without their leader, Narsus’s army fell to King Ridian’s forces, and Solia was saved.

  “Look at the old sign,” Leera said, pointing at the wall where an ancient wooden sign hung, covered in soot. Etched into it were the words Dargarus, acca restrati.

  “Old tongue for ‘Danger, restricted access,’ ” Bridget whispered. “It’s no exaggeration. We’ve heard stories of students getting lost in the catacombs.”

  “They’re just stories, Bridge,” Leera said, sounding unsure.

  “Like the stories of students dying by walking too far down the Hall of Rapture and getting lost? Or going through some random academy door that led to who knows where and never returning? Like those stories?”