by Beth Alvarez
Firal understood Shymin’s sigh; nothing had ever felt as good as sinking to the floor to rest. “It was. He was looking for Ran, so I sent him off to the Masters.”
“Why would Ran be with the Masters?” Marreli asked.
Firal pursed her lips, sure it made her look as if she had a wedge of lemon—or perhaps one of those sour fruits from the ruins—in her mouth. Even an expression that sour wasn’t strong enough for how she felt. “He wears the white now. With court mage colors.”
“Ran does?” Kytenia exclaimed. “But he’s not even—”
“All of you, on your feet!” Alira’s roar from the stairs made all of them flinch and everyone scrambled to do as they were told. The Master’s gaze weighed on their group longer than it did the rest of the magelings. “You and you.” She pointed to Rikka and Kytenia, the two closest to where she stood. “Come with me. The rest of you are to take shifts working and sleeping until everything is moved.”
Rikka straightened. “Where are we going, Master Alira?”
“We are to seek assistance in restoring the temple. I have orders from the Archmage to take two magelings with me. The men sent with us are useful as guards, but little else.” Alira gestured for them to move. Neither looked pleased, but they obeyed.
Kytenia touched Firal’s arm. “You’re going to have to explain everything later.”
Alira swept down the stairs, her white robes swirling about her ankles. She must have found a stash of robes that hadn’t been damaged, or else used magic to clean hers, for the skirts of her robes bore not a smudge of dirt. Rikka and Kytenia hurried to follow her, though they looked weary enough to sleep on their feet.
As soon as Alira was out of sight, everyone sat again.
“Restoring the temple?” Marreli asked. “Where are they going to find carpenters and stonemasons at this time of night?”
“The sun will be up by the time they reach the market, you goose,” Shymin said. “They may be headed to Wethertree, besides. I don’t know where else you’d find carpenters and masons.” She righted her skirts and tried to settle again. “I just hope Alira doesn’t push too hard. I’d be surprised if Rikka and Kyt didn’t fall asleep in the saddle.”
“I’m sure they’ll be all right,” Firal said. “Nondar would throttle Alira if she did anything to hurt the health of one of his students.”
“It’s probably best for Rikka to go, in any case. I’m not sure she’d be able to sit still with this many eligible men about.” A sarcastic smirk twisted Shymin’s features. “She wouldn’t rest until she’d found a husband. Lifetree forbid she find a man who’s interested. She’d leave the temple in a heartbeat if she found someone to marry her.”
“Do you think so?” Marreli tilted her head, stifling a yawn. Firal patted the floor beside her and Marreli laid down. The floor wasn’t comfortable, but it had been scrubbed clean. Firal stroked the younger girl’s braids.
“Oh, I know so.” Shymin picked at the grit under her fingernails. “She told me as much. I guess her parents were the ones who decided she ought to attend the temple for training. The only way out of it is for her to settle down somewhere.”
Marreli tucked her legs close. “I think it’d be nice to settle and have a family somewhere. I don’t think I want to stay in the temple forever.” She yawned again. Her eyes looked heavier by the moment.
Shymin shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about marriage before. But Kytenia is more likely to jump at the chance than I am. I’m not sure it’s for me. Regardless, I’d like to finish my studies before going home.”
Home. The thought stirred an ache in Firal’s chest. She’d always thought of the temple as home, having nowhere else, but now the word reminded her of how close she’d come to finding her family. “You’re lucky to have somewhere to go.”
Shymin grinned. “You could always go home with me and Kytenia, live with our family. They’d be happy to have another girl about.”
Firal couldn’t recall hearing either one of them speak of their family, though their shared blood was obvious. “Where is your home? Your family? I don’t think Kytenia’s said much about them before.”
“Oh.” Shymin laughed weakly and lowered her eyes. Marreli had already fallen asleep. “We’re really only half-sisters. My mother passed away during childbirth. My—our—father remarried right away because he couldn’t care for all us children on his own. I was so happy when Kytenia was born. I’d only had brothers until then. Five of them.”
Firal drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Did the youngest make it? The one your mother passed with?” she asked cautiously, afraid she might strike a nerve.
“Yes, he did, but his health has never been good. That’s why I came to the temple, actually. At first, Kytenia only came because she didn’t want to be the only girl at home, but it helped her discover her own goals. I don’t know if we’ve learned enough yet, but I’ve always hoped that between the two of us, we’d gain enough skill with healing to help our family. Especially my youngest full brother. He suffers so much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Firal murmured.
“Everyone is dealt a hand in life, I suppose.” Shymin shrugged. “But what about you? You said you haven’t got anywhere else to go. Surely you have relatives somewhere.”
Firal squirmed. Just the topic she wanted to avoid. “I suppose so. I mean, perhaps. I was told my mother was a court mage back when the temple was founded. I think I’ve told you that before. I don’t know what happened to her, but she left me here. I don’t remember her at all. So I...I had hoped the mages in Ilmenhith could tell me more.”
A hint of surprise tugged Shymin’s brows upward. “Did they?”
“Their leader said she would grant me permission to read the records to find my mother’s name when I returned to the temple, but now...” Tears welled in Firal’s eyes and she covered her mouth.
“Oh...Oh, Firal.” Shymin leaned forward and rested a hand on Firal’s knee. “We haven’t combed the whole tower yet. The records might be upstairs. And even if they’re not, it doesn’t mean you don’t still have a family. It doesn’t mean anything. Perhaps your mother was one of the mage emissaries they sent to connect with the colleges on the mainland. She wouldn’t have been able to take a child with her, traveling that far.”
Firal scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’d like to think someone would have told me, if that was the case.” It seemed unlikely both her parents would have just disappeared from her life. She knew nothing of her father, but the children of mages weren’t just abandoned, especially not those with a spark of the Gift perceptible within them. Left for training, certainly, but not abandoned.
She swallowed hard and tried to change the subject. “You know, I heard some of the older magelings talking. Some of them said that this isn’t the first time the temple has burned, though it is the worst.”
Shymin frowned. “I still want to know who burned it.”
Firal hesitated. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best thing to talk about, either. She’d seen Daemon at the palace, but where had he been until they danced? Knowing he could open a Gate alone made her nervous. The memory of teaching him to light a flame made her shudder.
“What’s wrong?” Shymin asked.
“I think...I think I know who did it.” Firal lowered her voice so no one else would hear. “But you’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.”
Shymin snorted. “A week ago, if you’d told me someone might try to burn Kirban Temple, I’d have thought you crazy. Now, I might consider anything.”
Still, Firal was reluctant to speak. Her mouth worked wordlessly a moment before she found her voice. “I think it was…well, in the ruins...”
Shymin shrank back. “Was it...him?” Firal gave her a startled look and she went on quickly. “Kytenia told us. I thought it was ridiculous at first. I thought you were just embellishing on those silly rumors that got started that first night you went
out and Ran carried you back. But then you disappeared again, and now this.”
Firal twitched at the reminder of Ran’s confession. Had all of them known? “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t want it to be him. But I don’t know if any of the others would be capable of doing this. I haven’t met many.” But it couldn’t have been, could it? She’d only just agreed to teach him. He’d learned a lot in the days they traveled together, but that didn’t even brush the surface of what she could help him learn. Why, then, would he risk their agreement by burning the temple to the ground?
“Why would you go back into the ruins after meeting him?” Shymin’s question was free of accusation, though she wore a skeptical frown. “Weren’t you afraid to run into him again?”
“Of course I was. But I lost my journal, that was the only reason I went back. I had to—Oh!” Firal cried, curling her hands to fists. “He still has my journal!”
“Be glad that’s all you’re missing. Everyone who was in Ilmenhith left belongings in the capital. I’m sure they’ll be collected and sent with supplies for the king’s men, but who knows how long that will take. We’re stuck sharing everything until then.” Shymin sounded frustrated, though Firal couldn’t blame her. No one was pleased about being crammed into the Archmage’s tower, much less having to share the space with soldiers. It was a small consolation that the soldiers would be confined to the lowest floors.
Shymin sighed before going on. “But Firal, about the Underlings—”
Firal hushed her. “I don’t think this is the time or place to talk about that,” she said, glancing around the crowded room. “You stay here with Marreli while she sleeps. I’m going to keep moving things for a while. With any luck, the soldiers won’t be here long.”
“With any luck, none of this would have happened to begin with.” Shymin made herself as comfortable on the floor as she could manage.
Firal said nothing more, slipping off to return to the books.
Though she didn’t want to think about it, Shymin was right. About several things. The fear the records had been destroyed threatened her hope, but she had one advantage the other magelings didn’t.
Her most precious belongings hadn’t been in the temple when it burned.
She still had her mother’s pendant, tucked into the bodice of her ballgown, and there was still hope she might retrieve her journal. But that thought brought uncomfortable feelings, as well. Daemon’s power had developed by leaps and bounds during their brief travel together, but he had never volunteered to give back her journal. She supposed it was her fault. She’d had a chance to reclaim it and pretended it didn’t matter, but after her necklace, it was the only thing she owned that did. Since he’d taken it, she suspected he knew.
Unable to focus, Firal finished moving the stack of damaged books she’d picked up and then found somewhere between the scorched shelves to sit.
She’d never had reason to trust him, but in spite of everything, she wanted to believe they’d developed some small spark of a connection during their travels; maybe even a friendship. He’d even sought her out to dance with her.
But then he’d disappeared. Perhaps he’d done that on purpose, meaning to throw her off, intending to make her believe he’d been in Ilmenhith the whole time. He could have traveled to the temple before or after that point; she hadn’t seen him again, and he certainly hadn’t been there when the Masters opened the massive Gate that took them back to the temple’s ruins. And if he’d had anything to do with the temple’s destruction, she only had herself to blame.
That realization rang with crystal clarity in her head. She’d been foolish, letting her heart’s desires cloud her judgment. Daemon had used her skill and her desperation to his advantage, and she’d sacrificed everything—maybe even her dreams—in a moment of selfish weakness.
Nodding to herself, she made her decision.
She would not risk it again.
No matter what she’d promised, their bargain had to end.
A groom with saddled horses waited at the stable door when Alira and the magelings arrived. It was a small blessing that the temple’s few animals had been spared, but it was no wonder. The stable was in the farthest corner from the main gates. While it was hard to be certain where the fires started, the residual energy of magic at the temple’s entrance had borne the oldest signature.
Master Alira’s attention turned to Kytenia first. “Hold still,” the Master ordered. She touched Kytenia’s face with both hands.
Kytenia gasped as the jolt of energy poured through her. A shudder rolled through her body despite the warmth of the air. The sharing of energy wasn’t unheard of, but outside of healing, the practice wasn’t common. It poured into her with a hot, prickling sensation and made her skin crawl. But when the energy flow halted, she felt as refreshed as if she’d slept a full night. Rikka squeaked when Alira repeated the process with her, but neither girl dared protest. As strange as the sensation was, it would be better to suffer briefly than to make the ride while exhausted.
“Mount up and follow me.” Alira climbed into the saddle and kicked her horse into a quick trot without stopping to see if they followed.
The groom boosted both magelings to their saddles. Kytenia turned her horse and twitched her heels against its sides. The beast needed little urging to follow Alira’s mount.
At first, Kytenia thought herself disoriented from lack of rest. But as the temple shrank behind them and the road narrowed, she exchanged worried glances with Rikka. They were not headed in the direction of the market. Instead, Alira led them east, along a curving road no wider than a single horse. They fell in line behind the Master mage and Kytenia bit her tongue as she took up the rear.
“Master?” Rikka called, not sharing the same inhibition. “Where are we going?”
“The help we need can’t be found in the markets here or in Wethertree,” Alira said.
“But there’s nothing to the east,” Rikka said.
“I am not on this trip to give lessons in geography.” Alira clicked at her horse and spurred it into a canter.
Rikka grimaced at the speed, but followed suit. Kytenia felt sorry for her. She and Alira might have been comfortable on horseback, but Rikka was not. She bounced hard in the saddle, wincing each time she came down.
Alira said no more.
“The only thing east from the temple is Alwhen, out in the human territories, isn’t it?” Rikka asked quietly, mindful that the Master wouldn’t hear.
Kytenia set her jaw. There was no reason for them to seek human carpenters when there would be Eldani craftsmen in Wethertree to do the job. Alwhen was at least several days away, even by horseback.
The ruins and temple fell away behind them as the sun climbed into the gray sky. Thick humidity and an unpleasant drizzle turned Kytenia’s hair to a frizz against her neck. The curls crawled against her skin and made her itch, but as they ventured farther eastward through the day, the rain began to subside.
For a time, Kytenia was grateful she would not have to assist with the day’s cleanup efforts in the temple. But Alira did not let them stop often for rest and by the time sunset came, Kytenia wished bitterly that they hadn’t chosen to sit so close to the stairs.
A strange haze hung before the moon; remnants of smoke from the night before. Soldiers and magelings had spent all afternoon clearing debris, but once the setting sun painted the sky crimson, things grew still. There was little more that could be accomplished after dark. Daemon tried not to look at the murky sky as he picked another leaf off the weed he twirled between his claws.
Where was she? He checked the position of the rising moon again. They would have finished the evening meal some time ago. The soldiers would have quieted down, leaving the mages to settle in their tower. He’d ventured close enough to see the courtyard before sitting down to wait. A few had stayed up, men walking the gardens in some mockery of patrol and mages trying to find possessions left unburned among the ashes, but they were scattered
enough that they shouldn’t hinder her ability to sneak out.
He plucked another leaf and mulled over the wording of their agreement once more. It was the first night after Firal had returned to the temple. Perhaps she thought he hadn’t made it back yet? He’d seen her come through the massive Gate not long after he slipped through, but it made sense that she wouldn’t have spotted him, what with all the mages and men in armor pushing their way into the temple’s courtyard. Perhaps she thought it unlikely he would have recovered enough to open a Gate on his own again so soon. But they had agreed on the first night after she returned to the temple.
A handful of mages had ridden off to the east the night before, but she hadn’t been one of them. He’d recognized the magelings behind the white-robed Master as friends of hers, but she was still in the temple. Surely he wasn’t remembering the bargain wrong.
Daemon stood, casting one final look to the stars overhead. His jaw tightened behind his mask as he flicked the leafless weed to the ground. The moon indicated it was near dawn. Clawed hands clenched to fists at his sides as he traced a path back to the edge of the ruins.
The temple sprawled before him, just across the grassy field. Where trees and shrubs had sheltered the temple before, it stood bare, naked, and everything within it was exposed. He watched, knowing his luminescent eyes might draw attention, no longer caring if they did. What could the king’s men do to him?
A shadow moved across the courtyard in the wake of a soldier’s patrol. Daemon straightened.
She moved like a specter in the moonlight, her red-slashed skirt swirling around her with every step. She stopped at the edge of the temple’s grounds, pensive. He willed her to see him, a dark-cloaked figure in the night, revealed only by the soft light of his eyes.
Firal stared back. Then, slowly, her chin lifted and she turned back the way she’d come, leaving him and the crumbling outer rings of the ruins behind.
Anger swelled in his chest, followed by a crushing sense of defeat.
