Ariadne thumbed through the two spell books. “You found these in the same chamber as the king’s weapons?” she asked the elf.

“Yes,” Ellerie said, “but Bobo and I were too busy exploring the city to finish translating them. Do you recognize them?”

Ariadne raised an eyebrow. “Why would I? They’re just spell books.”

“One is labeled. Bobo translated it as Fundamental Materials. Does that sound familiar? It’s not like any spell book I’ve seen before.”

“The label is handwritten,” Ariadne said, skimming through that book more carefully. “It’s just there so the owner can identify it separately from her other spell books. I’m sure she has a lot of them.” She grimaced. “Had a lot of them.”

“She?”

“If you found them in the king’s chambers, these must belong to Gaiana, his consort. Argyros isn’t a wizard. These look like formulae for shaping materials. Stone-shaping, metal-shaping.” She flipped to the end of the book. “And the spells to create and shape them.”

“You can read the wizard language?”

“I am a wizard.”

Ellerie glanced at Ariadne’s metal armor but didn’t comment.

“Can you tell me more about it?” the elven woman asked instead. “I’d already figured out that the book explains how to create some of the metals your people used, but I’m having trouble understanding even the parts we’ve already translated.”

“I’m not a shaper.”

“Anything you know would be helpful.”

Ariadne shrugged. “Shaping is used to construct materials that can’t be created through normal means. For shaped stone, you start with the stone that’s already there, and then add other components based on what type of stone it is. You’d have to read through the book for details. You use one spell to turn all the components into a liquid and mix them together, and then another spell to create the shape you want and return it to solid form. The inner city is mostly built of shaped stone. The builders added enchantments to ensure the structures could never collapse or crumble, but shaped stone holds up well on its own.” Which left more questions. How had the shaped stone in Fortress West melted? How had the entire eastern section of the city collapsed?

“What about metals?” Ellerie asked.

“There are a lot of shaped metals, but most are rare and just used for specific purposes. This book only includes a few of the more common ones.”

“The first one is like the armor you’re wearing now, right?” Ellerie asked, indicating the cuirass Ariadne had borrowed.

Ariadne had to stop for a moment and think about how to translate the name. The necklace didn’t provide a direct translation, so she had to split up the component words and translate them separately, then recombine them.

“Yes, silversteel,” she said. “It’s used for armor or jewelry, or sometimes expensive dinnerware.”

“It’s steel?”

“I’ve never studied shaping. I don’t know if it’s truly steel or if that’s just what it’s called.”

“What about the others?”

Ariadne sighed and glanced down at the book again. “The next … I’m not sure what to call it. Fortisteel, perhaps? There isn’t a precise translation in this language. It’s used for weapon blades and certain tools.”

“Like the weapons we found in the armory?” Ellerie asked.

“Yes.” Ariadne flipped through the pages until she reached the next formula. “This last one is mirrorsteel. It’s expensive to create, and hardly ever used outside the Mage Knights, or certain war mages who can benefit from its properties. It’s similar to silversteel, but can be easily infused with temporary enchantments. It also dampens spells cast against the bearer.”

“That’s what your own armor is made from?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you can cast spells while wearing it?”

“No.” Ariadne didn’t elaborate.

The silence stretched uncomfortably long, and then Ellerie said, “I’m sorry about our last conversation. I really do want to help you, but I also want to learn as much as I can about the Chosar and Tir Yadar. I think we can help each other.”

Ariadne hesitated, then nodded. “We’ll see.”

“There’s a warden in Aencyr by the name of Hildra. She claims to be over two thousand years old, and she’s heard of the Chosar before. Corec has spoken to her, and says she didn’t seem to know much about them, but if we tell her what you know, she might have some ideas we haven’t thought of yet.”

Another of these false wardens. Or, perhaps, she should simply think of them as new wardens. Ariadne had seen the six blue sigils along Corec’s arms a few times when he’d been sparring shirtless, and three of them matched the sigils she’d seen on Leena, Shavala, and the redheaded human—Katrin. Ariadne wasn’t sure who the other sigils belonged to, though she suspected Ellerie was one of them. It seemed a strange ruse to keep up if Corec wasn’t actually a warden. And if he was, then perhaps this Hildra was as well.

She nodded again. “We’ll see,” she repeated.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Ellerie said, looking uncomfortable. “We’re granting you two shares from the expedition’s profits.”

“I don’t want your charity,” Ariadne said, scowling at the other woman.

“It’s not charity. As the last liv— … as the last resident of Tir Yadar, you’re entitled to a portion of what we found. It comes out to a bit over ten percent. It should be enough to help you do … whatever it is that you want to do. You’re going to need money and resources if you want to find out what happened to your people.”

“I suppose,” Ariadne admitted.

“And your shares are separate from the Mage Knights’ equipment and the king’s swords,” Ellerie continued. “We figure those things belong to you and your people, and we don’t have any claim on them. The same with the necklace and the bracelet.”

Ariadne scowled. “I didn’t take the damned bracelet.”

“Then why didn’t you say so before?”

“Because what I do or don’t do is not your concern!”

Ellerie took a moment to visibly calm herself before responding. “Perhaps that’s true, but if you didn’t take it, then it actually was stolen, and we don’t know who by. It would have been helpful to know before now.”

“You’re all thieves. What’s the difference?”

“We don’t know if it’s dangerous! Do you know what it does?”

“I’d never heard of it until you mentioned it. If it came from the Enchantment Repository, I’m hardly the best person to ask. It’s just luck that I recognized the Necklace of Tongues—I’ve spent enough time in the Fortress complex to have seen someone wearing it before.”

“Would you recognize anything else from the Enchantment Repository?”

“No,” Ariadne said. Then she shrugged. “Maybe from stories.”

“Would you be willing to look at the other items?”

“To what end? To aid in your looting?”

Ellerie looked down, a disappointed expression on her face. “Never mind,” she said.

Ariadne wanted to shout at her, to argue with her about what the group had done to Tir Yadar, but she couldn’t muster the energy. She was tired of being angry all the time. Besides, after thousands of years, even by Chosar law it wouldn’t be considered looting. Worldly goods were of no use to the dead.

“I’ll consider it,” she said.

#

Tears blurred Yassi’s vision. Jasper was dead? That sweet old man?

And it was all her fault. She was the one who’d found him for Rusol. She was the one who’d sealed his fate when he could instead have continued to live his old life in Westport. First Samir and now Jasper. How many more deaths would she be responsible for? She’d found Rodulf too. Would he be the next to die?

“Are you paying attention?” Rusol snapped.

“How did it happen?” she asked.

“How did what happen?”

“How did he die?”

“You’re still going on about Jasper? I’m trying to talk to you about something important!”

“Rus, please!”

Rusol growled, then relented. “He wasn’t ready for a battle, even with the new spell books. It’s unfortunate, and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I need you to find me some real wizards—ones who actually know how to fight. Stop looking in Larso. We’re only finding the dregs here. Look in Matagor instead.”

Just like that he’d already forgotten Jasper. He thought nothing of the old man’s death, just as he thought nothing of the compulsion spell he’d laid upon Yassi’s mind, or the orders he’d given her that had slowly stripped away more and more of who she was. She had to face the truth. To Rusol, other people only mattered to the extent he could get something from them. Sometimes he’d say something that let her believe there was more to him, some part of him that wanted to do the right thing, but in the end, it always came to nothing. He was friendlier to Kolvi and Magnus simply because of the power they brought him. He’d forced Yassi to marry him only because marriage gave him an air of respectability—or perhaps because he’d wanted a bedmate. There was nothing more to it, and there never would be.

“Yassi! Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” she answered in a dull tone, not meeting his gaze.

“Look for wizards or other mages we might be able to hire. In Matagor, they won’t be hiding, so it should be easier than the ones you’ve found here. If we find more than we need, that’s even better. I’ll bond the best of the bunch, and turn the others into hunters.”

He wanted her to find him more puppet slaves, and since he’d ordered it, she wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.

“Why are we talking about this in front of him?” she asked, indicating the other man in the sunroom, who stood staring blankly at a wall.

“Do you remember Sir Barat, from our last visit to Northtower?” Rusol said. “It seems he’s an elder witch, from one of the northern clans. He’s not very strong yet, but I bonded him and Kolvi’s going to work with him. I need you to find chambers for him near hers.”

Yassi shivered at the dead expression on the young knight’s face. “Why is he like that?”

“I don’t think he’s going to be happy about what I did, and I didn’t want to deal with him on the trip back, so I left the other compulsion spells on him. Tonight, I’ll sit down and come up with a list of commands to make sure he won’t turn against me. Once that’s done, I’ll remove the other spells.”

Yassi kept her face expressionless as she considered what Rusol had said. Despite the compulsion magic he’d woven into the modified warden bond, he was still concerned one of his bondmates could act out against him if he didn’t give all the right commands. But how? Yassi was forced to obey anything he said, and he’d given her so many orders, she’d practically forgotten what it was like to make a decision for herself. Was it possible he’d missed something?

“I’ll ask the housekeeper to find rooms for him,” she said.

“Good. Get him settled, then watch over him for a while to make sure he understands what’s going on. I’d better go talk to Father and tell him what happened in Northtower. I’ll see you tonight for supper.”

Rusol left, and Yassi went to find a maid to send a message to the housekeeper. By the time she returned to the sunroom, Queen Merice had arrived and was attempting to engage Barat in conversation.

“You’re from Northtower, aren’t you Sir Knight?” the queen was saying. “Do you know my son, Rikard? He’s a knight at Fort Hightower, but he’ll be king one day. He’s Marten’s son!” She had a bright smile on her face.

Merice’s condition had worsened, and there were no longer any days where she remembered what had happened to Rikard. She’d descended into a permanent fantasy where her son was still alive, and Marten had given strict orders to everyone in the palace not to say anything to the contrary, not wanting to upset her.

“I don’t know him,” Barat said tonelessly.

But he certainly knew Rikard was dead, so Yassi spoke up quickly. “Your Majesty, is it time for your medicine?”

“I already had it, this morning!” the queen insisted. “I just woke up. I don’t want to go to sleep again!”

Yassi hesitated. Sometimes she wasn’t sure just how much the medicine was helping Merice as opposed to simply being used to keep her out of the way.

“Well, all right, but I need to show Sir Barat to his rooms. Will you wait here for me? I’ll come back and we can have tea together.”

“Of course,” Merice said. “And then I’ll braid your hair so you can look pretty for Rusol. He’s such a sweet little boy. You must be so happy to have him back.”

Yassi managed a fake smile and a nod, then excused herself.

As she and Barat walked down the corridor, she glanced at him and sighed. “Do you have any idea what’s happened to you?” she asked.

“Magic,” he said. “Hard to think.”

“He’ll change that soon. You’ll be able to think again, but it won’t make things any better.”

#

“You turned them all?” Marten roared. “What kind of idiocy possessed you to do that?”

Rusol withered under his father’s gaze. Marten had rarely been this angry with him. “I didn’t have a choice. Too many people knew something had happened involving magic. There would have been questions.”

“There’s always a choice!”

“Don’t yell at him!” Sharra, Rusol’s mother, exclaimed. The concubine had followed the two into the king’s study to hear the results of the trip.

“Do you have any idea what he’s done?” Marten spat out.

“He did what you should have done a long time ago! He took control of the situation!”

“No! He’s risked turning the entire Order of Pallisur against us, and with them, half the kingdom!”

“That’s better than sitting back and manipulating puppet strings for decades, hoping someday you’ll get what you want,” Sharra said, ice in her voice. “The priests are your subjects, Marten, and it’s about time they started acting like it. Take away the Church’s right of doctrinal law. If anyone complains, behead them. The rest will fall into line if they don’t want to be banished from the kingdom.”

“That’s not how it works! Right now, we’re balanced on a knife’s edge. The Church has been allowed too much political power over the centuries, and it takes time to undo that. If we move too fast, we’ll start a civil war!”

“That’s always your excuse, Marten, but I’ve read through Larso’s code of civil law and the code of royal law. The king still retains absolute authority. Your great-grandfather used it to stop the Church from burning mages, but you never do anything with it!”

“How do you still not understand after all this time? It doesn’t matter what the law says if the people believe differently! My great-grandfather changed a single law, and because of that, the monarchy lost popular support until my father’s time, giving the priesthood more power. Larso was founded by the Church—kings come and go, but the Church is constant, and most of our own soldiers are among the faithful. The people see me as an extension of the Church, but if I take action against it, a rebellion might start within our own royal guards!”

“More excuses,” Sharra said. “I’m glad it was Rusol at North Tower and not you. It’s a good thing he didn’t fall for your nonsense the way Rikard did.”

“Enough!” Marten growled, his eyes flashing red as he stalked toward her, his fist raised. “Don’t talk about Rikard ever again! I’ve had enough of your constant sniping! He’s been in his grave for five years!” He stopped when he realized what he was doing, and unclenched his fingers with visible effort, the red fading from his eyes as he got the demon rage under control.

Sharra had shrunk back against the wall. “But Marty, I’m just—“

“Get out!”

Rusol’s mother stormed out of the room, slamming the door closed behind her.

Marten shook his head. “How can she be so blind?” he muttered, staring after her. “The change has to come from within the Church or it’ll never work, and I’m so close to convincing them. You understand that, don’t you, Rus? Do you realize why what you did is so dangerous?”

“I was careful,” Rusol said, trying to keep his voice steady. He’d killed a warden; he could surely face his father’s disappointment. “I took steps to make sure a blessed priest won’t discover the compulsion spells.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

Rusol hesitated. “No.”

“Do you know how many people will die if we go to war with ourselves? Our first duty is always to the people of Larso. Even if we won the war and exiled the Order, the people would never trust us again. You couldn’t be king once they know you’re a mage, not without slaughtering the tens of thousands of civilians who would rise up against you. Do you want to become a tyrant?”

“The clans would follow us.”

“Would they? We haven’t exactly done much for them over the past three hundred years. And even if they trusted our blood ties over our actions, the clans still in Larso are few and scattered. Except for the witches, they’re just like any other farmers and villagers. They’re hardly an army. No, the best way to save lives would be to cede the eastern half of Larso to the Church—from Telfort to the Black Crow Mountains—and take the coastal cities and clan territory for ourselves. The western cities have always been less provincial, more accepting of magic.”

Rusol couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You want to cut Larso in half?”

“No, I don’t want to!” Marten shouted, slamming his hands down on his desk with a thump. “It’s an absolute last resort if the Church discovers the royal family is full of mages! We take the rich half of the country, and let the Church try to support and protect the poor half while they lose out on three quarters of the tax income.”

“Three quarters?” Rusol had known the coastal cities were rich, but he hadn’t realized how wide the difference was.

“Of course. Ninety percent of our trade goes through the ports, and if the Black Crow mines want to continue using our ports, we can start taxing them, too. Why do you think I never conquered the hillfolk? The hills would cost us more to support than they could possibly provide in revenue. Everything is carefully balanced, Rus! I’ve told you that over and over! If you upset the balance, we’ll lose everything I’ve been working for!”

“I’ll see to it that it doesn’t come down to that.”

“But you can’t be sure,” Marten said more quietly. “That’s the problem. We’re so close. The next step is to get the Church elders to vote on removing all criminal sanctions for mages. Between the men I’ve turned and the ones I’ve managed to convince, I believe we can win that vote, now that most of the blessed elders have been shuffled off to the outlying regions. After the sanctions have been removed, it’ll be harder for the priests to argue against fully legalizing magic. Your mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about—there’s no reason to end doctrinal law completely. It’s doctrinal law that created the monarchy.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Rusol promised. “Whatever you need me to do.”

Marten sighed. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for at this point. I need to think about this for a while. I’ll see you at supper.”

Rusol had clearly been dismissed, but he stopped at the door. His father had to know the whole truth. “There might still be a threat from Blue Vale,” he said.

“You think they’ll want revenge for killing Leonis?” Marten asked. “Are they organized enough to put together a fighting force?”

“He only brought one or two of his bondmates with him. The others were just regular priests.”

“How do you know?”

Because I’m still alive, Rusol thought to himself.

Out loud, he said, “When a bondmate dies, the rune on the warden’s arm burns itself into a scar, but three of Leonis’s scars were old. Two were more recent. Magnus killed one of them—we know because the man’s own rune reappeared on his forehead after he died. We’re not sure about the other. Some of the bodies were burned too badly for us to check. But three of the runes were still alive, so Leonis still has three bondmates who could rally his troops.”

Marten tapped his fingers on his desk. Rusol waited for another explosion, but it didn’t come. Instead, his father said, “I suppose we should have expected that. We made an assumption without evidence. There was no real reason to believe that all eight of the priests he traveled with were his bondmates.” He thought for a moment. “We’ll be stretched too thin to try to wage war against them up in Blue Vale, especially without knowing what sort of army they can assemble. I suppose you just found your first use for your new troops. They’ll have to patrol the northern border more carefully than usual, to watch for any trouble. Send half of the mercenaries up there to support them, and see if Yassi can find out what they’re doing.”

“Yes, Father.”