After the escape, Precious regrouped with Saphiria and used her faerie senses to locate Ignacius and Dimitry. Together, all four skulked under the cover of invisall to Coldust’s port and boarded a boat. The vessel set sail before sunrise. By midday, the desert city had vanished from the horizon.

Dimitry inhaled a deep and calming breath of salty air. Although ocean voyages aroused in him headaches and nausea, leaving him begging for respite, this time, the queasiness in his gut served as proof of his freedom.

Amalthean authorities couldn’t reach him.

Nor could the Church.

As far as they knew, he had disappeared from his cage and was whisked away with the wind. In truth, Dimitry had rushed towards a vessel called a hulk. What he imagined as a giant green boat turned out to be a ship resembling The Dirty Matilda except with a larger hull, a square-sailed mast, and thrice the crew. He stood on the edge of the spacious deck.

Saphiria leaned over the railings beside him. Her indigo eyes traced waves breaking against the hull and erupting into foam, which swiftly fizzled back into green, algae-infested waters.

How did she do it? How could a twenty-year-old girl procure resources, commission a perfectly timed voyage, and execute a complex escape plan within an evening? Saphiria astounded him. Her resourcefulness exceeded those of surgeons operating in impoverished countries without a single radiology machine to guide their incisions.

Dimitry wanted to hug her, to show his appreciation for rescuing him despite every odd against her, yet he didn’t. Not only was his role that of a noble’s subservient court surgeon, but unlike her, he never had the opportunity to bathe. She wore a tidy azure dress with a bottom that opened like a skirt, and his tunic smelled of concentrated sweat.

Instead of getting uncomfortably close, Dimitry nudged her shoulder.

Raven black hair blowing in an icy gale, Saphiria glanced up.

“Thanks for saving my ass.”

“You’ve already thanked me.”

“Maybe so, but after what you pulled, I figure one thanks isn’t enough.”

Her big indigo eyes, somehow innocent and carrying the world’s burden, probed his face. “You’re not sad?”

“Sad? Why the hell would I be sad?”

“I’ve incinerated many homes to distract the Church. Those nomads are poor. Winter is fast approaching, and they’ll have no shelter to shield them from the frost.”

Dimitry sighed. Although he too had considered the ramifications of his rescue, the thrill of freedom numbed him to its price.

But this crime wasn’t his. Nor was it Saphiria’s. Their only sin was fleeing Church-ordained slavery and doing whatever it took to reach safety.

“With all the gold coins on that convoy,” he said, “the Church’ll have no trouble rebuilding those tents. Whether it’s out of divine duty or to maintain their holy image and cover up for their blunder, I’m sure they’ll get it done.”

“I see.” Saphiria’s downcast gaze returned to the ocean.

“Look on the bright side. In a few weeks, we’ll be—”

Her hand shot to grab his forearm, irritating the circuits Ignacius treated with relaxia that morning.

He winced but said nothing.

A silent while passed.

“Dimitry.”

“Yeah?”

“What does it mean when there are many bandits near a city?”

His brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

Saphiria bit her lip, and her grip around his arm tightened. “The merchant warned me that there have been many bandit attacks around Malten. It’s just a coincidence. Right?”

Ah. So that was what troubled her. Back on Earth, violence increased post-crisis like after hurricanes and riots. Widespread muggings signaled the collapse of established order. Combined with what Ignacius said, that the Church had abandoned the Gestalt Empire, he too began to question the security of his destination.

But Dimitry didn’t voice his concerns. While Saphiria was headstrong, she also loved Malten. His pessimism could turn her three-week-long voyage into an anxiety-pumped nightmare. As for him, watching a girl fret about her family the entire time would crush his heart. Why worry when the truth remained uncertain? They couldn’t turn back even if they wanted to.

“Banditry is troublesome,” Dimitry said. “but I’m sure it’s just a temporary problem.”

“But if there are so many bandits,” she said, “then Malten’s knights and sorceresses must have suffered peril. Father’s army would never let such barbarism go unpunished.”

“If the situation with his army is really that bad, wouldn’t the merchant have known about it?” He recalled how the stock market turned on its head with the latest headline. “Traders stay current. That’s how they make money.”

“What if Maren didn’t wish to dishonor the Pesce name by speaking of our fall?”

“Doubt it. If your family fell from grace, she wouldn’t have agreed to take you to Malten. There’d be nothing in it for her aside from the three gold gadots you paid. Look at the size of this boat. Do you think she cares about some loose change? Your father is definitely wealthy enough to pay her.”

Saphiria’s mouth opened as if to argue, but after grappling for a counterpoint that never took form, she looked away instead. “… You’re right.”

“See? You’ll be home soon and everything will be fine.”

“You’re right.” She leaned against his shoulder. “Once we arrive, I’ll introduce you to the court. You’ll never fear for your life again.”

“Sounds wonderful, but what I’m really hoping for right now is a bath.”

“There are multiple baths with incendia-heated floors in the castle. I will arrange them for your use.”

He chuckled. “Looks like I struck it big by accompanying a duke’s daughter.”

“Seems that way.” Saphiria released her vice-like grip on his forearm, and they watched the ocean in silence.

Given the scarcity and importance of freshwater on a long voyage, Dimitry had to bathe in a tub of icy seawater. The saltiness clung to his skin even after scrubbing with soap and changing into a thick ceremonial dress similar to the one Saphiria wore. Although he preferred simple clothes without excess accessories or labels, the tassels and loose fabric that dangled off the sides didn’t bother him. The dress’s layered design captured and retained heat.

Dimitry hoped the fantastical apparel would suffice as apprentice robes. Seeing Ignacius cast assorted spells to secure their escape reaffirmed the importance of magic. Attractia, a spell that allowed for magnetism, allowed them to procure vol from a distance. Silencia muted the warnings of pursuers and the opening of a metal cell. Meltia not only liquidized a padlock’s shackle but set a molten quicksand trap beneath a knight’s horse.

Spells seemed simple at a glance, yet each one had as many uses as the wielder had cunning. And those uses weren’t limited to combat. Preservia’s ability to delay infection proved they had medical applications, too. Magic could revolutionize Dimitry’s surgical practice.

Excited jitters jolted through his nape at the prospect. With time aplenty, a lack of hostiles, and nothing better to do, Dimitry would take advantage of the wizard sat across the cabin.

His gaze traveled past a girl brushing long raven black hair atop a bed and towards a trail of minty smoke drifting from the corner. The source was an old man in a red robe. Pipe in hand, crafted from the horn of some alien beast and purchased from the ship’s captain for a silver, Ignacius leaned back against a layered plank wall.

“Ignacius,” Dimitry said.

“Hmm?”

“You mentioned instructing your granddaughters in magic, right?”

“That I did, my boy.” The old man flashed a hesitant smile. “I wager they’re marvelous sorceresses by now. Little Angelika always showed talent.”

“How about me? Think you can teach me too?”

Amidst an elegant, downward stroke of the brush, Saphiria’s hand froze. Her gaze trailed the inflamed circuits on Dimitry’s palms and wrists.

“Well… I can’t say for sure. You have high efficiency with your strange magics, yet you’re ignorant of the basics. Young girls learn fastest. A boy your age typically struggles for years.”

Dimitry thought he understood. Like in all skills, children grasped the fundamentals sooner than their elders. For example, Dimitry played the piano since childhood and had a massive advantage over late starters. Adult learners repeatedly struggled with posture and finger independence while he breezed through both as a five-year-old. Perhaps the neuroplasticity offered by youth hastened magic mastery as well. The boons of young age made sense.

But why did sex matter? Although women outperformed men across multiple physiological parameters, and the opposite was also true, few disparities were significant enough to thwart skill acquisition. “How does me being a man make a difference?”

Ignacius shrugged. “That’s just the way it is.”

His wishy-washy answer provided Dimitry little confidence. Hoping his proficiency with invisall and accelall gave him a much-needed boost, he held out a nearly empty vol pouch. “Let’s try anyway.”

Saphiria dropped her brush and rose from the bed. “You shouldn’t.”

The concerned look in her indigo eyes resembled the heartrending glance she shot Dimitry after he had cast the second invisall during their escape. The purple vessels that traversed his arms had begun to protrude through his skin, inflamed as if about to burst, and he had retched despite an empty stomach. A calculated risk. Ignacius was nearby to provide immediate treatment. Most of the damage had healed since.

“I’ll be fine,” Dimitry said. “Ignacius is with me.”

“Rushing will only harm you.”

“I feel great. There’s no need to worry.”

She stepped closer. “If you wait until we get home, I’ll enlist a court sorceress to guide your apprenticeship. You won’t find better instruction anywhere else.”

Just as Ignacius did beneath the cathedral’s dungeon and whenever the ship’s crew knelt before Saphiria, the old man glanced away at any mention of her noble heritage. Precious had already confirmed that he wasn’t scheming nefarious plots. The wizard felt only guilt. While the truth behind his crime was concerning, Ignacius had already proved himself an ally and an enemy of the Church. Bombarding him with nosy questions would strain their mutually beneficial alliance.

“We have to be ready for anything,” Dimitry said. “If Ignacius wasn’t with me, I would never have escaped. Now is the perfect opportunity for me to become useful to the both of us.”

Saphiria’s gaze traveled up his arms and to his eyes. After a prolonged stare, she reached into her dress to retrieve the hefty pouch of vol she purchased while making preparations for his rescue. Her fingers plucked several dark green pellets and dropped them into her pocket. She lowered the rest of the pouch onto his palm. “Don’t overdo it. I vowed to show you around Malten, and I intend to keep my promise.”

Her thinly veiled concern for Dimitry brought cozy warmth to his cold extremities. He smiled to ease Saphiria’s distress. “I can’t wait.”

The girl returned to her bed and resumed brushing her hair, this time with tenser strokes.

“Guess this is yours too.” Ignacius tossed forward the massive pouch they stole from the Church’s convoy. The contents were worth at least twenty gold gadots. “Should be enough vol to keep you occupied.”

“So you’ll teach me?”

“Might as well pay you kids back. Going over the fundamentals keeps geezers like me sharp. But there is something I want you to show me in return, you see.”

“And what’s that?”

Ignacius leaned in and whispered. “The truth-seeking magic you used to discern my intentions during the voyage from Estoria.”

The old man referred to Precious, but he didn’t know that. Even during last night’s events, the faerie hid beneath Saphiria’s dress, out of sight at all times. Feeling guilty for misleading Ignacius, Dimitry threw in a bonus—one that might help him uncover more about his magic while compensating a curious wizard. “Sure, I can show you the truth-seeking magic. And I have another spell even more powerful than that one and invisall.”

“More powerful?” Ignacius’ wrinkled fingers ran through the stiff hairs of his white beard. “What’s it called?”

“Accelall.”

“And what’s it do, my boy?”

“All I can say is you won’t be disappointed. What do you say?”

Ignacius gulped and leaned back to take a big pull from his pipe. Minty white smoke seeped from his nostrils. “You’ll begin by learning illumina.”

Dimitry frowned. From the dozen spells he had seen, light magic interested him the least. “Can we try propelia instead?”

“Too dangerous. Although your invisall is phenomenal, your ignorance of the basics is unsettling. Even simple spells can be deadly. Hasty apprentices kill their masters with poorly controlled magic more often than you think, my boy. That’s why the wise start with illumina. A bit of light never killed no one. Not directly, anyway.”

The old man made good points. Propelia applied forward forces to objects. If Dimitry launched a wayward spell at someone’s brain, he could cause intracranial hemorrhaging or worse. “Makes sense.”

“Good. Ready to begin, Arnest?”

“About that. The name’s Dimitry.”

Ignacius’ eyes shot open. He chuckled. “With the Church looking for you, I should have figured two clever kids wouldn’t just throw their names around. Maybe I should’ve done the same. Grab a pellet.”

Saphiria watched intently.

Dimitry placed one on his palm. “Now what?”

“Absorb it through the core, pull its power through your circuits, and into your other hand. Say ‘illumina’ and imagine the brightest light you can as you release the vol through your palm.”

“That’s it?”

“For now it’s all you should concern yourself with.”

The simplicity of the process stumped Dimitry. Or did it only appear simple? He had many questions. For example, why did he have to chant spells when Ignacius didn’t? “I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t speak when casting magic during our escape.”

“Mumcasting is a skill that comes with time, my boy.”

Dimitry glanced at the pellet in his hand. Neither thinking ‘invisall’ nor envisioning his body vanishing from sight activated the spell. Either he lacked proficiency or his magic wasn’t compatible with mumcasting. A disappointment. The ability to cast magic stealthily could prove handy. “Are chants really that important?”

“You mastered ‘invisall’ without knowing that much?"

The last time Dimitry described the miraculous magic tomes he read in the dark hall, Ignacius doubted every word. Amnesia provided an easier explanation. “It seems I’ve forgotten more than I’d like to admit. Can you explain?”

“You really are a strange one.” Ignacius pulled the pipe out of his mouth. “We best start from the beginning then. The most important thing you ought to know is that chants have tremendous power. A novice mage could never cast spells without their help. Before they were discovered, no one had a use for vol.”

“Chants were discovered?”

“That’s right, my boy. Every magic chant we use was inscribed on a tablet discovered in a ruin or dungeon somewhere on Remora. Zera created them to give humanity the strength to fight demons. It’s been three centuries since the Church decoded the first one, they say. Without them, heathens would’ve slaughtered us by now.”

The ‘God did it’ explanation didn’t sit right with Dimitry. There had to be a better reason. Perhaps he could learn more from the object itself. “Can you get your hands on a tablet?”

“I’d sooner become the matriarch herself before I’m even allowed to see one.” Ignacius waved his hand. “Anyway, enough dawdling. Give illumina a try.”

The mysterious origins of magic had to wait. Dimitry turned his attention back to the aquamarine pellet resting on his palm. At the thought of absorbing its power, it melted into protruding purple vessels, leaving behind a small mound of gray residue. He guided its energy through his arm and into his chest. However, unlike invisall, the burning sensation didn’t travel smoothly—it scattered throughout his body. When a small amount reached his other hand, he imagined creating light.

“Illumina.”

Faint slivers of scattered light shimmered throughout the cabin.