Shadow Mage

by Sarah McCarthy

  “Well, don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of material for you to look over. I’m happy to pay you for the extra time. I’m sure you’re not cheap.”

  “I have to get back.”

  “Like I said, if you want to try again, be my guest.”

  A brief mental image of herself lunging at him, chopping him into pieces, and throwing some of them out the window flashed across her mind, followed by a vision of those body parts climbing back up the outside walls and reforming in front of her. She sighed and rubbed her temple. She’d only been hired for a simple assassination. She’d already murdered this guy three times tonight, after riding across the plains in the rain for days. All she wanted to do was sleep and forget this stupid night ever happened. But she couldn’t go back to Jeremy without completing her mission. That had only ever happened once, and Sarai would make sure it never happened again.

  Finn was watching her thoughtfully, one hand on his hip, the other scratching his chin again.

  “We have very nice guest rooms…” he said, and she glared at him, annoyed at herself for being tempted. I’m a professional.

  “I can have some food sent up for you…”

  Her stomach growled.

  “I mean, when was the last time you had a vacation anyway? You look like you work all the time.”

  I mean, I do work all the time. When was the last time she’d had a few days off? She couldn’t kill this guy right now, couldn’t go back without doing the deed. She chewed her thumbnail, eyeing Finn, gauging how likely he was to kill her. Not very likely. As crazy as this is, he’s sincere.

  “OK.”

  His shoulders relaxed.

  “But,” she went on, “you can have two weeks. That’s it.” Unless I think of something sooner. She wasn’t sticking around here any longer than she had to.

  His face split into a wide grin. “That’s all I need.”

  The fire crackled in the grate, and Sarai sat cross-legged in the midst of a cloud of down comforter. She ran her palm across the weave of the fabric; she’d never seen threads so fine, felt cloth so soft. The nightshirt she’d found in the chest of drawers was so large she’d had to roll up the sleeves. Her soaked and grubby pack slumped on the rug in front of the fire, steaming, surrounded by an expanding wet spot.

  Finn had gone with her to collect her things and take her horse to the stables, where a sleepy naturalist mage had given the animal a fond pat—to which it did not react at all—and assured her she would care for it.

  Now, warm and dry and incredibly comfortable, Sarai looked down at the silver mirror in her hands. Its edges were made of braided metals. Its surface had an iridescent sheen to it as she examined her reflection.

  I look like death. She poked at the circles under her eyes, tilted her head to the side to see if a different angle in the firelight might help. Nope. Still looked like death. Well, that was fitting. She was death, spent all her days in the dark corners of people’s lives, often ending them.

  She brought the mirror close to her face, looking into her own dark eyes, seeing her own shadows, like she saw those of everyone around her. That’s enough. She opened her mouth, and exhaled forcefully onto the glass, steaming it. A few more deep breaths and, slightly dizzy, she traced a name through the steam. Jeremy.

  The steam sank into the surface of the glass, the letters of the name glowed red and then disappeared, the reflection in the glass no longer her own. Instead, there was darkness, with a small streak of light at the bottom edge.

  “Jeremy,” she hissed. Nothing. “Jeremy, I know you’re awake, come on.”

  There was a thump, and some muttered words, and the sound of footsteps.

  The darkness lifted and Jeremy’s face appeared, the familiar room behind him lit only by firelight. His dark brown hair was messy, and he glanced over his shoulder as a noise came from the other side of the room. He whispered something she couldn’t hear to someone she couldn’t see, then turned back to her, grinning.

  “Miss me already?”

  Besides the messy hair, the only word for Jeremy’s face was elegant. Sarai often found herself distracted by those sharp, laughing green eyes and the strong curve of his chin, the high forehead and sharp nose. He was beautiful, and he knew it.

  She glared at him.

  “I’ve been gone a week.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, running a hand through his hair. She realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt and swallowed.

  “Where are you? Did you get a room at an inn? We can’t aff—”

  “Of course I didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “There’s a… a problem.”

  “Oh, what kind of problem?”

  “The guy’s magically protected.”

  Jeremy frowned and cocked his head to the side quizzically. “Magically protected? How so?”

  She described her various attempts, and his eyebrows rose into his messy hair.

  “Did the person who hired you say anything?” Sarai asked.

  Jeremy shook his head. “Is this going to be a problem?”

  She bristled. “Of course not.”

  Jeremy lifted a hand. “All right, all right, I was just asking. I’m not questioning your skills.”

  “Good. I’ve got this.”

  His eyes went serious. “I know you do. But… if it’s not going well, or… if you need help—”

  “I’m not going to need any help. I’ll chop him up, put his organs in different locked boxes and send them to different countries if I have to.”

  “Eeesh. You’re terrifying, you know that?”

  “I’m good at my job.”

  “That’s what I pay you for.”

  “And I don’t need help.”

  “Of course you don’t.” He stretched and she watched his smooth chest muscles. “If you would like any—"

  “I don’t need help.”

  “I wasn’t going to say help,” he said, laughing. “I was going to say resources. If you would like any resources, for example a mage or something. Like, someone who knows anything about magic at all, then let me know.”

  “I’m literally at a school full of mages.”

  “True, but none of them are on board with you murdering their leader, I would imagine.”

  “They don’t have to know what it’s for. I’ll be here pretending to be a student.”

  His hand slipped on the mirror, and it dropped a few inches before he pulled it back up to his face again.

  “Umm… did I miss something? How is that supposed to work?”

  Sarai waved a hand. “Apparently it’s not that uncommon for students here to just… refuse to learn? He’s putting me with the thread mages, and I’ll pretend to be a mage who refuses to use their powers.”

  “So… you’re going to pretend to be a thread mage who’s dead set against magic but who wants to learn all about magical methods of murdering people? Sounds completely unsuspicious.”

  “I’ll pull it off.”

  “Oh, no, I’m sure you will. I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends.”

  She grimaced, and he laughed.

  A mischievous glint came into his eyes. “So… what you’re saying is you have your first day of school tomorrow?”

  She glared at him. “You want to come down here and murder this guy yourself?”

  He laughed. “No. I’m sorry. I know you’ll figure it out.” His face went serious again and he swallowed. “Just, and look, please don’t take this the wrong way… be careful?”

  “You have literally never said that to me before. Ever. Do you not remember sending me to take out that group of bandits that were robbing shipping caravans?”

  “No, no, I remember.”

  “How many of them did you tell me there were?”

  He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Twelve.”

  “And how many were there actually?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  “And how many are still alive?”

  “None.”

  Actually, i
t was two, but she’d never let him find that out.

  “So… now I’m here, and my target is happy to have my help doing him in, and he’s set me up in this nice room, with a perfectly plausible cover story, and all the resources I want at my disposal, and… you’re worried about my safety now?”

  “A lot of people are unhappy with what that guy is doing. This contract isn’t the only one I was offered. It’s just the one I took.”

  “Is there anything I should know?”

  “Not really.” He shook his head. “If there was, I’d tell you. But, for now, just… get it done as quickly as you can and get out of there, OK?”

  She nodded, her stomach turning over, not from the danger, she didn’t care about that, but about the sudden, uncharacteristic seriousness in his expression. There were more words there that she wished he would say. “Yeah, all right.”

  There was a noise behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. His gaze landed on something and he grinned. “Uh, thanks for the update Sarai, I’ve got to go now.” Something flickered in his eyes and his grin widened. Sarai’s stomach twisted.

  “I’ll check in again tom—”

  “Yeah, OK, sounds great,” he said, only glancing at her for a moment. He was already bringing up the cloth to cover the mirror again. “Bye!”

  She heard a woman laugh and quickly wiped her hand across the mirror, frowning. She tossed the mirror onto her bag and dropped back onto the bed, crawling under the covers and pulling their soft smoothness tightly around herself, trying not to imagine what was happening in that room in Westwend.

  2

  Finn

  When Finn awoke the next morning, Isabelle was already gone. He lay in bed for several minutes, staring up at the beams in the ceiling, thinking.

  Aside from the somewhat troubling question of who had sent that assassin to kill him, and whether they had any other plans, everything was working out perfectly. His heart skittered in his chest and he threw back the covers and hopped out of bed. Today was the day.

  He stood, padding over to the mirror and examining his reflection. Ten years. He’d been working for this for ten years.

  The man in the mirror was still skinny, but the resemblance to his father was clearer than it had ever been. He ran five miles every morning, in loops around the battlements, and his body showed it. Where once he had been pale and scrawny, someone his father looked at with disdain, now he was, if not muscular, at least fit. Strong. And scarred: marks of what he had given up for what he wanted. At first, he had covered up the gaping hole where his eye had been. Then he had asked some of the mages to make him replacement eyes out of glass, even made himself one with flames burning in it, but Isabelle had laughed hysterically and told him the scar was more intimidating than a flame marble.

  So now he left it how it was. The new arrivals always stared for a few weeks, but they got over it. And Finn was used to the stares, now. Almost proud. Proud of his strengths, and of the signs of what he’d lost, how he’d been hurt, what he’d faced. He thought maybe his father would be proud, too, of what he’d become.

  He wasn’t afraid to die now. He just had to finish what he’d started.

  Today. It’s happening today.

  He pulled on a loose pair of grey trousers and left, locking the door behind him. Jogging through the tunnels he came out into the grey, early morning light. The rain had stopped, the clouds were thin and high above, and the air was clean and sharp, the stones still wet from the rains the night before.

  Isabelle had probably dreamed up something insane and awoken early to head to her workshop, but almost everyone else was still asleep. He waved to the few mages patrolling the walls on guard duty and began his customary run.

  The tension drained out of him almost immediately, and his mind cleared. For a while he didn’t think about anything. He just ran.

  He finished his final lap just as the sun rose fully above the horizon. All the anxiety for the day was gone, replaced by a pleasant, tired feeling.

  He returned to his room, picking up the cup of coffee that had been left for him outside his door, rinsed himself with the device the water mages had created, and went to sit on the balcony.

  Finn sat, at first watching the sunrise, then closing his eyes and focusing, watching the source of his magic deep in his chest, as he did every morning. When at last the sun hit his face, he smiled. Opening his eyes, he warmed his coffee with some well-placed flames and went inside to change.

  He dressed carefully, polishing every silver clasp on his blue wool tunic, going over his boots yet again to make sure there wasn’t a single scuff mark.

  Perfect.

  He took one final look in the mirror, closed the balcony doors and, on reflection, locked them. Then he left, locking the bedroom door behind him, too.

  The Academy had come to life. The hallways were bustling, full of young mages carrying books and half-finished projects, eating as they hurried to their classes. One hall was now blocked with a waterfall, a crying sixteen-year-old next to it, a woman’s face, her image made of water, scolding him silently.

  Finn laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it happens,” he said, bending down. The boy looked up at him with tears in his eyes, and the tears and waterfall alike suddenly froze solid.

  “Oh, Finn, sir, sorry, I…”

  “It’s all right, Arl, you’re doing fine.” He caught the attention of another boy, who was attempting to edge his way around the angry spray. “Eric, will you take Arl here to get Rafe? Tell him to get the stone so you can take care of this, all right?”

  Eric readjusted his grip on the clanking sack he was holding and glowered. “But I—”

  “I said now,” Finn said simply.

  “All right, fine,” Eric said, sighing heavily.

  Finn patted Arl on the back once more. The freezing tears were making two little icicles that dripped off the boy’s jaw like drool now. “It’ll be just fine, Arl. Happens to the best of us. No harm done.”

  The boy nodded and followed Eric off down the hall.

  Finn swept his hand in a circle, and a line of flames cut through the waterfall, right through the woman’s forehead. A cloud of steam billowed up and Finn stepped through the break in the water he had created. A thick, damp mist was filling the hall now, so Finn waved his hand again and the flames disappeared, the falls reforming.

  Finn took a quick sweep through the classrooms, checking in with the teachers, then went past the kitchens, where there was a flurry of anxious activity. Piles of desserts and fancy appetizers rested on silver and gold platters, ready to be brought into the dining room.

  “Everything going all right?” Finn asked Samuel as he swept past, six platters balanced on a current of air in front of him.

  “For the thousandth time, yes, Finn. Go distract someone else. Everything’s ready.”

  Finn plucked a cookie off a plate as it went by. Samuel was outdoing himself, and that was saying something.

  Finn took a loop through the dining room, adjusting a fork here and a pitcher of water there, but couldn’t find a single smudge on a single glass, or any stains on the white silk tablecloths. The etched marble map on the far wall had been dusted and polished, the golden names of the nearby nations sparkling brightly, the thousands of magical flames burning clear and bright from the glass chandeliers above illuminating everything. Each table had an elaborate centerpiece of ice and flame, the fires burning in little alcoves of the ice, melting water so that it trickled down into silver pools, only to be lifted by currents of air back to the top, where it refroze. Each sculpture changed as you watched it, melting here and reforming there, the sound changing musically as water fell different distances into differently sized pools.

  Finn stood surveying the room with his hands on his hips and took a long, deep breath.

  It’s perfect. They’ll have to see that.

  He took a final look around, swallowing the excitement that rose in his throat, and made his way o
ut into the central courtyard.

  What had once been a barren garden of crumbling, broken statues had become his sister’s domain. Clouds of multi-colored butterflies flitted between swathes of bright red and yellow flowers. A hummingbird buzzed past, aiming for a flowering tree. He took a deep breath, smelling the perfume of the flowers, looking up into the reaching arms of a thick-trunked sycamore.

  The gardens of the King’s Table were famous, even if the mage academy was looked upon with suspicion; tales of the gardens had reached so far that every month hundreds of visitors arrived to marvel at them.

  Clusters of fruit trees reached into the sky, their branches crowded with birds’ nests. Rows and rows of white iron trellises held flowering vines.

  The many visitors brought with them gifts, seeds and cuttings from plants Finn had never seen or heard of. And Kel always instinctively knew what to do with them. The King’s Table now grew the best coffee and sugar, and the massive gardens held every kind of spice and herb imaginable, spilling out over the walls, past the edges of the Table.

  For security reasons, Finn had asked Kel not to allow anything to grow on the outside of the walls that could be climbed, but the plains around them which had once been dusty and barren were now covered in thick, wild forests and flower meadows, all interlaced with trickling streams, all built by Kel as she had tested and expanded her powers.

  Finn strode down a wide path shaded by trees, the air filled with birdsong. He bent to pick up a single leaf that had fallen on the path, tossed it into one of the neighboring beds, and continued to the central plaza. Here was Finn’s project, his pride and joy. A great glass structure, six stories high, with metal cables running in and out and away. In front of it, the stage was already constructed.

  Finn straightened his shoulders and adjusted one of his silver cufflinks. Martin, one of the young fire mages, ran up carrying a clipboard, a large ink stain on the corner of his mouth, and distractedly began rattling through details. His pen ran down the list with a twitchy anxiety.

  “The extra chairs are almost done, the sconces have all been lit, the guest rooms turned down…”