Scarlet nearly had to die for it to happen, but she was going to learn magic.

The past week she’d spent continuing her recovery. She had regained her vitality, and could move without pain as long as she didn’t push herself. Bronwen continued to heal her, and their daily visits were the only thing that kept her mind from spinning itself into a tangled web of anxiety about her mother and impatience about when she’d get to learn magic.

Yesterday, Bronwen told her that her training would begin, and gave her directions to the throne room. Now, as the sun rose, lighting up the strange violet sky that Scarlet still hadn’t gotten used to, she navigated the castle halls and ended up at the foot of an imposing obsidian door.

There was no handle, so Scarlet put her hand on the stone to push the door open. However, the moment her fingers made contact, her hand buzzed with the sensation of flowing magic. Silver tendrils extended out from her touch, designs lighting up the stone as the door swung open.

A long, red carpet stretched across the floor, creating a path between her and Death. The god lounged upon a simple throne atop a dais at the other end of the cavernous room. Scarlet made her way towards the god, uneasy.

The room was vast, overbearing in its emptiness. There were no decorations other than the blood-red carpet, no furniture other than the throne itself.

Death didn’t look up at her. Instead, she absently picked at a cuticle. Scarlet wasn’t sure if she was supposed to kneel before the god. She chose not to.

“You have questions, before we begin?” The size of the room made Death’s words echo.

“I—”

“And please, no more whining about where your mother is.”

Scarlet clenched her jaw. “I want to know what to expect. And what you expect of me.”

Death looked up now, her green eyes staring through Scarlet. “I want you to know that I will not go easy on you. At some point, during all this, you might wonder—why? Why suffer, why struggle for this god? I will tell you right now the reason why: Riordan. He is a scourge that must be removed, at all costs.”

Maybe I’ll finally get my answers. “Why do you care what he does?”

“If Riordan has his way,” Death said, “he will stop me from tending to the cycle of souls between Worlds. This disruption would be catastrophic for both gods and mortals. And if for some reason that is not enough, you are my emissary now, and that means he will come for you, eventually. When that time comes, you must defend yourself.”

A blurred memory flashed—the silhouette of Riordan in Scarlet’s peripheral vision, back in the forest. His power crackled around him, his aura ripping through her even from a distance. She had to run—

No. No fear. Being afraid would only get her killed faster. Running hadn’t saved her then. To survive, she’d have to fight. Scarlet took a couple of shaky breaths before she spoke again. “And what about the other gods? If he’s that dangerous, why don’t you all work together to stop him?”

“The other gods.” Death snorted. “They are useless. Self-involved. They don’t see it coming, and even if they did, interfering with one another would break the treaty and begin the Magus War anew.”

“Then aren’t you and Riordan breaking the treaty already?”

“I never took part in the other gods’ petty war. So I am neither protected nor hindered by their treaty.” Death twisted her braid in her hands. “Is that all? I would like to begin.”

“One more. Why does Riordan want to stop you from shepherding souls to the Nextworld?”

“That is not his aim, but a consequence of him succeeding in his goals.” Death clapped her hands together, a signal of finality even though Scarlet’s questions had been dodged once more. “Alright, let’s begin.”

Death stood, and beckoned Scarlet to follow her out of the throne room. She led her through the halls of Deianira and out a set of towering obsidian doors, many times taller than the door to the throne room, but opened just the same when Death placed her hand upon the stone.

Scarlet took a deep breath of relief. According to Bronwen, it had been about two months since she had come to the Crossworld. She hadn’t realized how confining the dark walls of Deianira were until stepping out into the open swampland surrounding the castle.

The air here was thin, too light, and more humid than Scarlet was used to. It made her curly hair even more unmanageable than normal. The reeds that sprouted from the moist ground around her were teal instead of a true green. The twin moons were visible even in the daytime, looming over her in the violet sky as a constant reminder that she was far from home.

Deianira was on an elevated area, so the farther away they went, the more swamp Scarlet got inside her boots. They slogged through rivulets and muddy terrain until they were close to the river—the stream of souls. She’d heard about the stream from the books she’d copied, and about how they separated the gods’ realms in the Crossworld. Bronwen had confirmed that they were in the center of the Crossworld. Death’s realm. They were encircled by a river that was fed by the five streams which, like spokes on a wheel, separated the other surrounding realms.

The water itself looked the same as in any other river, except it had a glimmering undercurrent. Scarlet could feel the energy rushing within the stream. It tugged at her, almost as if it were beckoning her. Death stopped, which snapped Scarlet back to attention. Her feet were freezing and her heart was pounding.

Death cleared her throat and began. “Your mother has been remiss in her duties. She should have been training you in magic from the moment your gift revealed itself.”

“I wanted to learn, but—”

Death held a hand up, and Scarlet’s tattoo began to tingle in warning. “Tsk. She has taught you nothing about self-defense, is that correct?”

Scarlet kneeled down and pulled the dagger out of her boot sheath. “She taught me to use this.”

Death snorted. “Oh, useful. If you need to cut a tough steak, that is. That dagger may as well be a needle, for all the help it will give you against another mage.”

Scarlet sheepishly resheathed her weapon and stood tall.

“Do you even know what your powers are? Which god you are attuned to?”

In response, Scarlet held out her hand and summoned a flame into her palm. It flickered, threatening to be snuffed out by the slightest breeze. “I can do small flames. And flamescribing. Light orbs. That’s about it.”

“Immolation magic. You’re attuned to Kajiem.” A grimace briefly passed over Death’s face.

“Is something wrong with that?”

“No. No, it is useful. And beautiful. Have you heard of the fire dancers of Suraskrit? In the desert, magic is an art. Much like your flamescribing, I suppose.” Death stared out over the river for a moment before continuing. “The other aspect of Kajiem’s gifts, which you may have as well, is enhancement. Magic that you can use to make your skin tougher, reflexes quicker. Or someone else’s, as enhancement mages often do.”

Scarlet coaxed her flame to dance between her fingers. She’d tried to use enhancement magic—behind her mother’s back—but had never been able to make it work. “Did you come from Suraskrit? I mean, your human half, of course—”

Death snatched Scarlet’s hand, forcing her fingers to close around the flame, extinguishing it. Smoke filtered out between the fingers of Scarlet’s closed fist, weaving upward between her and Death, their faces close. “Focus. You must practice discipline above all else. The power you wield is not for free. Magic is taking your own life energy and weaving it into physical effects. Negligence can, and will, result in injury. Or, what’s probably worse in your eyes: death.”

Death released her grip on Scarlet and stepped away. Scarlet tried to center herself and banish the fear beginning to creep up her throat.

“So pay attention,” Death said. “We’ll start with the basics.”

Death took her through a series of meditative exercises, urging Scarlet to clear her mind and breathe deeply. Scarlet fidgeted throughout.

Death’s frustration at Scarlet’s lack of focus became increasingly apparent. She snapped at Scarlet for squirming more than once. “What did I say about discipline?” she growled. “You might not think this is important, but I assure you that it is.”

Scarlet gave a deep sigh, then made a renewed effort. A multitude of thoughts and emotions rushed through her, plus she wanted to finally use magic, not just prepare for it. She did her best to shove these things aside.

After Scarlet had sat quietly for some time, Death spoke up. “Reach out with your mind, feel the space around you. Tell me what you sense.”

Scarlet drew in a breath, exhaled slowly, and let her mind unfurl and discern the energies around herself. The stream of souls and Death’s aura were overpowering. It took her a few minutes to hone in on the finer details of the energy flowing throughout this area, at which point she realized something about the Crossworld that she hadn’t before. “There’s so much energy here, all around. It’s not like this in the World.”

“In the World, mortals access the divine gift through the veins of magus stone that run beneath the earth. The power of the gods flows through that stone and some mortals become, by proximity, attuned to a god’s energy in a way that lets them use magic. But the Crossworld is the divine realm. Here, our power is everywhere.”

Scarlet paused to consider. “Does that mean I can use any god’s magic here?”

“No. You are attuned to Kajiem’s energy and that will not change. Your magic will be stronger here though, and more difficult to control. Hence, my insistence on discipline.”

Scarlet nodded, resigning herself to taking the process of learning magic more slowly than she’d hoped. After the earlier lecture, Scarlet certainly didn’t want to face the consequences of losing control of her magic.

Before the lesson ended, Death got her to summon a small flame. Death told her to focus on the stream of energy that Scarlet fed the fire with, to be aware of how much power she was using, and how to increase and decrease the flow. Scarlet practiced making the flame roar large and hot, a new and invigorating sensation, and reducing it to a tiny pinprick, a practice she was used to but that indeed seemed more difficult now.

The whole training session, she worried whether her oathbond was helping or hindering her magic. She had no baseline to compare to, so it was hard to know either way. She could only hope her nightly refrains, convincing herself that she would, in fact, one day come to destroy this castle somehow, were working.

When she returned to her room, she was drained both mentally and physically, but pleased. Even if it was a slow process, it was happening. She was learning magic.