The morning after Calder’s harrowing visit, Dante was to start training with Death. Scarlet fetched him at sunrise. He tried to make conversation with her the whole way out of the castle and through the swamp, but she appeared to have little interest in befriending him, giving him curt answers to his questions about where they were going and what to expect.

Though Dante was grateful for Bronwen rescuing him, he wasn’t exactly excited to be here. Once he’d met Death, he realized that she was one of the mages from his dream. A god. The other mage he saw, he now assumed was Riordan. Suddenly, Dante was caught up in a conflict out of his league, in a place even more dangerous than Saridian.

Dante’s boots became soaked with water as they trudged through the swamp toward where he and Scarlet were to meet Death. “So, I told you how I got here. How about you? Did Bronwen bring you here, too?”

Scarlet glared at him and his continued efforts of trying to ignite a conversation. “No,” she said, and stopped at that.

Dante sighed. Prying anything out of this girl was futile. Guessing at her past was the best he could do. She didn’t look Saridi—her eyes were angular and sharp, unlike his own rounded eyes, and he’d never seen hair as dark as hers. With Saridian’s borders being as tight as they were and Briarglen being both small and remote, he’d had little chance to meet anyone outside of his home region, so he couldn’t even take a stab at guessing her heritage.

They reached a part of the swamp that was less wet and mostly clear of trees and brush. Death was there, waiting for them. This isn’t a dream, he had to remind himself.

“We will start at the beginning, to get Dante caught up,” Death said.

Dante thought he caught Scarlet rolling her eyes.

“Dante,” Death said, “What do you know of your magic? Do you know what god you are attuned to?”

“I’m not a mage.” He tried not to let his voice shake.

He had told Jayden that magic was dangerous, and now he believed it more than ever. Scarlet and Bronwen were both emissaries of Death, whatever that meant—so far, he had discovered that Death could draw energy from them to the point where they were incapacitated. It wasn’t a good first impression.

“You’re not a mage,” Death repeated dryly. “You were exiled because you got caught doing magic, were you not?”

“I have magic. But it’s brought nothing but pain into my life, so I’m not going to use it. Therefore, I’m not a mage.”

“You are from Saridian.” Death sighed. “I suppose you have spent your life being brainwashed by Riordan and the like.”

“Sure, but—”

Scarlet broke in. “Magic gives you the chance to fight back.” A flame sparked to life in her hand.

Dante jumped away from the fire. “Get that away from me. I don’t—I don’t want to fight anyone.”

Scarlet stared at him. The light of her fire cast an orange glow onto her face. She was so nonchalant about using magic. It was easy to tell she was comfortable with it. She didn’t get it.

Scarlet glanced at her flame, then back to Dante. “It’s not going to hurt you. I’m attuned to Kajiem. I have immolation magic. Do you know what your gifts are?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “because I don’t want them.”

“You may observe today,” Death said. “Tomorrow, you will participate in the lesson. If not, you will go.”

Dante glanced around the swamp. “Go where?”

“You must leave the Crossworld. Beyond that, I care little.”

Dante bit his lip. Maybe Bronwen could portal me back somewhere other than Saridian. It would still be tough to make it with no resources, but at least he wouldn’t be murdered for being a mage. He’d be no worse off than before.

“Fine,” he said. He sat down with his back to a twisting, leafless tree.

Death started the lesson by leading Scarlet through a series of exercises based on focus and meditation. Scarlet struggled with these tasks. She fidgeted and sighed as the time wore on, Death rebuking her every time she grew distracted.

Once they moved onto a more active lesson, Scarlet was in her element. Dante saw her light up as she moved through a combat drill. While Scarlet was turned away, Death would set up a series of target dummies. Once the set-up was complete, Scarlet would turn and immediately shoot controlled balls of fire at each one, aiming for an area on each dummy that had been circled with red paint. Both her speed and accuracy were tested by this exercise, and she did well at it.

As the morning melted into noon, they started the final chapter of training before taking a break for lunch. There were a number of stones set up in a circle to denote an arena. Death and Scarlet stepped into the ring, each took a deep breath, then began to spar.

Death sent out round after round of energy bolts at Scarlet, which were dodged or dissipated by Scarlet’s flames. Scarlet weaved lithely around the makeshift arena, careful to stay within the boundary lines. She held her own against the intense barrage that Death sent at her, but lacked an opening to force an offensive strike.

“Is that all you have in you today?” Death goaded.

Scarlet’s eyes hardened. Fire sprang into being around her, swirling until it formed a long whip of flames held in her hand, which she lashed at Death with a fluid motion.

Death grinned as she sidestepped out of danger. “Better.”

Scarlet kept swiping her improvised weapon at Death. Her brow was furrowed, she was more serious than before. More reckless, too. After her whip proved to be ineffective against Death’s speed, she began to blast large spheres of flame at the spots she predicted that Death would leap to.

As fireballs began to sizzle through the air, Dante suddenly felt much too close. He stood up just in time for a blaze to strike inches from his feet, causing him to fall right back down in his attempt to skitter away from it. He yelped and his heart hammered as the fire sputtered out against the damp ground.

He made brief eye contact with Scarlet as she glanced over at him. Death took advantage of the diversion by zapping Scarlet in the shoulder with a quick jolt of magic. Scarlet cried out and grabbed her shoulder.

“No distractions,” Death said.

“No distractions,” Scarlet repeated. She was breathing heavily. Through her curtain of dense curls, she watched Death.

Death smirked. She circled Scarlet. The space of a few breaths was all the time Scarlet got to recover before Death renewed her assault. With vigor, she released a volley of energy bolts that Scarlet struggled to evade. Scarlet had lost her rhythm, and Death wasn’t cutting her any slack. Scarlet dodged each blow, though each leap away was a closer and closer call.

Sweat dripped from Scarlet’s face. She looked like she was about to collapse. Then, she took a deep, long breath, and appeared to gain a second wind. Fire danced around her, moving as one with her body. Jets of flame shot at Death, sustained blasts of heat and fire more powerful than before. Death swiped her attacks away easily with well-timed shields, similar to the one Dante had used to save Jayden. Scarlet’s face grew tight with frustration as she increased the intensity of her bombardment against Death.

Dante felt something go wrong before he saw it. Scarlet flung an arm out to release another stream of flames, but instead, there was a flash of light and a crack. Dante, momentarily blinded by the burst of magic, blinked away the bright spots in his eyes. When his sight returned, Scarlet was face up on the ground. Death stood over her, expression unreadable.

Dante tentatively stepped forward. “Is… is she alright?”

“I’m fine,” Scarlet said. She rolled to her side, which revealed that the sleeve of her shirt had disintegrated, leaving only tatters of fabric. Almost the entirety of her arm was rippled red with burns. Dante smelled the burnt flesh.

“Her magic backfired. That is what happens if you are not in control. If you are distracted or overcome by your emotions,” Death said. “We are finished until tomorrow. I will see you both then.” She gave Dante a meaningful glance. “Or, not.”

Death headed back towards the castle, leaving Dante alone with Scarlet.

“I—you’re burned badly. I’m an herbalist. I can try to help—”

“There’s a healer. Bronwen.” Scarlet wobbled up onto her knees. Her face was drained of all color.

So the man who’d brought him here was a healer, too. “Are you getting Bronwen?” Dante called after Death. There was no response, and she disappeared over a ridge.

“It’s fine,” Scarlet said.

“You need to cool the burn, or else it’ll get worse.” Dante glanced around. There was the grungy swamp water—not exactly ideal. He scanned the area for familiar plants as well, but the flora was foreign to him. “Let’s get inside, so we can get some clean water.”

“I can manage on my own.”

“I’m trained for this. Please, let me help.”

“No.”

“I—I don’t understand. Why?”

Scarlet got to her feet. “Because this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t here,” she said. “So leave me alone. Okay?”

Cradling her burnt arm, she stumbled back towards the castle. Dante kept his distance, as she clearly wanted, but followed behind her. Her gait was unsteady, and she was evidently in a lot of pain.

“Wait, how is this my fault?” he called after her.

“Because you’re here! And it’s distracting, and you don’t even want to be here, and you don’t have to be here, so just go.” Her words were heated, and then suddenly became cold. “I can’t afford to lose focus.”

This only confirmed that it was better if he left. At least he’d been saved from the grasp of some Saridi soldiers-to-be, and now he could, hopefully, build a life somewhere safe. He would leave magic behind him. As much as his visions would let him, anyway.

Once back inside, Scarlet wound her way through the halls. It still amazed Dante that she knew her way around this maze of a castle at all. She looked back at him. “Stop following me.”

“I’m at least going to make sure you get to Bronwen.”

She grunted and continued forward. They reached a door that Scarlet knocked on. It looked identical to every other door in the seemingly endless series of hallways.

Bronwen swung the door open, his posture stiffening as he saw Scarlet’s condition. “What happened?”

“Training.”

“Come in,” Bronwen said. Bronwen glanced at Dante as Scarlet moved past him. “Him too?”

Dante cleared his throat. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude—”

“I’d like for you to see this, actually, if it’s alright with Scarlet.”

“I don’t care,” Scarlet said.

Dante hesitated, very much doubting Scarlet’s not-caring-ness, but Bronwen’s eagerness for him to stay was apparent. Besides, he’d be gone soon, and then Scarlet wouldn’t have to put up with him. He stepped into Bronwen’s quarters.

He couldn’t have imagined that a place this bright and airy existed within Deianira. It was much larger than his own room. They were nestled in the corner of the castle, with large windows on both outer walls. Natural light streamed in, giving life to the multitude of plants and herbs growing out of a variety of pots scattered around. Some hung from the ceiling, others littered the floor and tables. Luxurious couches and cushions were spread across the room, draped with colorful fabrics. A curtain of similar vividity hung in a doorway to an adjacent room, which Dante assumed was Bronwen’s bedroom.

Scarlet collapsed onto one of the sofas and wiped her sweaty brow. Dante stood at a respectful distance as Bronwen got to work. He opened a kit full of salves and examined Scarlet’s burn.

“Anywhere else? Or just the arm?” he asked.

“Mm. My shoulder too. Not a burn, but—” She pulled her collar down to show where Death had struck her. The mark had turned black.

Bronwen muttered something that Dante couldn’t hear, but the words sounded harsh. He pulled out a crisp white cloth, doused it with a liquid, and wiped both of her injuries clean. Then, he laid his hands over Scarlet’s arm and a shimmering flow of magic streamed from his palms into her skin.

Dante watched in fascination as the marks grew less severe before his eyes. After a few minutes of flowing energy into her burns, Bronwen moved on to her shoulder. The strained look on Scarlet’s face gradually eased, though it didn’t disappear completely.

“Why does this feel worse than my other wound?” Scarlet asked. “My first one. I mean it was painful, but…”

“When you came here, that wound was much more serious than the ones you suffered today, but you were unconscious for the worst of it. It took all of Death’s power to save you, and then all of mine to get you into working order again.”

Scarlet’s lips pulled tight. She seemed deep in thought.

Bronwen turned to Dante. “You were training as an herbalist, right? Do you know what aloe looks like?”

“I don’t know that one.”

“Ah, I shouldn’t be surprised. It doesn’t grow in your part of the World. It’s up high in the corner, in the red pot. It’s a succulent. Thick and fleshy. Cut a piece off for me, would you?” Bronwen handed him a small pair of clippers from his kit as he passed by.

Dante found the correct pot, and stood on his tiptoes to slice a plump leaf off the aloe. He’d never seen another plant anything like it, and was slightly less disappointed in himself for not knowing what it was offhand. He gave the clipping to Bronwen and watched as he sliced it open with a small blade to reveal a gel-like substance. He scored the leaves to loosen the insides, then scraped it into a dish.

“The pulp of the aloe vera plant aids in the healing of burns,” said Bronwen as he began to gently spread the gel onto Scarlet’s arm. Dante quickly realized that he would need a lot more aloe to cover the whole burn, and fetched some more. Bronwen nodded his approval, and handed him the knife. Dante began to process the aloe in the same way he had observed, as Bronwen continued to apply it. “You don’t want to use this on a burn if it’s any worse than this one. If the skin is burned enough that there are open wounds, the aloe won’t allow it to dry properly.”

Once Bronwen finished with the aloe, he bandaged Scarlet’s arm with gauze. “Come back tonight,” he told her. “I’ll re-apply the aloe. Perhaps another healing session as well, if I have the energy.”

Scarlet nodded. Her eyes were still closed. “What was the point of Death saving me if she’s just going to tear me apart?”

“Death has gone through a lot of her own pain. Though that’s no excuse for how… severe she can be. She often forgets basic kindness.”

“And yet you’ve chosen to work for her.”

“Death isn’t perfect. Sometimes, she is downright cruel. I would say she’s only human, but that isn’t fully true. Even so, I don’t believe the gods to be infallible.” Bronwen paused. “You think I’ve put all of my faith in her, but I haven’t, as hard as it might be to see. And sure, I understand the burdens she carries. But that still doesn’t excuse her horrendous actions.

“I’ve dedicated my life to fighting the same injustices that she does. Fighting Riordan, trying to keep the World safe, as well as trying to protect Death herself. Along the way, I try to remind Death of compassion. I’m not always successful. But I do my best. And that’s why I’m still here. In my official capacity, I am the caretaker of the castle. In my own eyes, I see myself as Death’s caretaker as well.”

Silence permeated the room for a few heartbeats. Scarlet’s eyes opened. Dante realized for the first time how blue they were. They were dark, and hard. Exhaustion and passion swirled equally in their depths. “And what about my mother?”

“Calder was telling the truth,” Bronwen said. “We haven’t been able to find her.”

“Neither of you told me.”

“It would have worried you more if we had. We were hoping we could find her and then—”

“I’m an emissary, too, aren’t I? I can help.”

“You aren’t ready for those dangers.”

“So what, you want to protect me? You’ve already proved that you can’t do that, Bronwen. You help clean me up, but you can’t stop Death from breaking me in the first place.” Scarlet stood and made for the door.

“Scarlet—”

“And there is something I can do,” she added, standing in the doorway. “If you and Death stop protecting me for long enough, I can find my mother.” She slammed the door behind her as she left.

Bronwen ran his fingers through his hair. He cleared his throat. “May I offer you some tea, Dante?”

“I suppose.”

Dante tried to process what he just witnessed as Bronwen lit his woodburning stove and heated water, then steeping a blend of tea when it boiled. Dante wondered if the mix Bronwen used was of herbs that he grew himself. The tension hanging in the room from Scarlet’s outburst began to dissipate.

“I know magic has brought a lot of pain into your life,” Bronwen said, setting a cup down for Dante on the side table nearest him. “But, I wanted you to watch me healing Scarlet so you could see for yourself that there’s more to it than suffering. Magic can do good, in the right hands. It can do good in your hands.”

It was captivating to watch Scarlet’s wounds heal at an unimaginable rate. Many of the herbs he had learned about in his apprenticeship aided healing, and that was the part of the work that he enjoyed the most. Magical healing was on a whole different level.

“So some people can do good things with magic. But maybe… maybe not just anyone should be allowed to use it,” Dante said.

Bronwen shrugged, and took a sip of his tea. “But who gets to make that decision? Riordan banned his whole region from using magic, and many people could be using it for good. Many people get punished for even having the ability to use magic. That isn’t fair. I think the only thing we can do is to use our gifts in the best way we can and hope others follow suit.”

Dante picked up his mug and stared into his tea, but didn’t drink any.

Using magic for the greater good. And letting people be who they were. He thought about Jayden, so insistent on using magic despite all the risks. It was a part of her. He didn’t feel the same way that she did. Was it possible for him to accept the dubious “gift” of magic?

“If I were going to use magic, I’d like to use it for something like that. Healing. But my gifts are… something else.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” Bronwen said. “We are both attuned to Io. My skills lie more in healing, but I have a small gift of insight. Enough to see that we are similar. I believe you are a healer.”

“I mean, I was training as a healer. But not with magic, just the, uh, regular kind. Are you sure your insight isn’t seeing that?”

Bronwen chuckled. “No, I’m sure.”

“What is Io, anyway?”

“Ah. I forget how hard it is to learn of the world when one grows up in Saridian. Io is not a what, but a who. They are the Sage, the god of knowledge and restoration, among other things.”

“They? Are there more than one of them?”

“Io is a single being—at least, if they are not bonded with a human incarnate so that they may roam the World—rather, they have no strong gender identification, and choose neutrality instead.”

Dante paused for a moment, and took a sip of his tea. Though he couldn’t quite place the flavors, they were familiar. “Okay, so. I am ‘attuned’ to this god. And I might be able to heal.”

“Healing is a rare art, but I believe I sense it within you. That’s part of the reason I brought you here.”

“What’s the rest of the reason?” Dante wondered if Bronwen knew about his visions as well. Were those also from Io?

“Ah. The truth is, Scarlet must stay here. And she needs a friend. A peer. I can’t be that for her for a number of reasons, including the fact that my duties often take me elsewhere.”

“I’m not sure how well I can do at that either. She doesn’t seem to like me.”

“Give her time. Like Death, she’s been through a lot,” Bronwen said. “I realize living in the Crossworld and becoming a mage wasn’t what you wanted. But now that you’re here, I hope you will stay.”

“Should I be worried?” Dante asked. “About Death.”

“I can see how what you’ve seen so far could give you pause. But, what I will say is that Death has more of an investment in Scarlet than she does in you. You aren’t an emissary. And if you have healing abilities, your combat abilities are less vital. You would also be training with me for half of the time, rather than with her.”

Dante bit his lip. Could I do it? Could I really stay?

“Take the night to consider it, alright?”

“Okay. I will. Thank you, Bronwen.”

“Of course.”

“I have one more question.”

“What is it?”

“My sister.” Dante swallowed, finding a lump in his throat. “She’s a mage. Would it be possible to bring her here, too?”

Bronwen looked down. “I wish I could say yes. However, it was hard enough to convince Death to allow me to bring you here. I don’t think she would take in another. I’m sorry.”

Dante was both relieved and distressed. After what had happened to Scarlet today, perhaps Jayden would be safer at home. Then again, much worse could happen in Saridian; he knew that well enough.

As they drank the rest of their tea, Dante almost asked Bronwen to look at the crystal orb he’d dragged here all the way from Saridian. With Bronwen’s insight, perhaps he could tell Dante what it did. But somehow, the orb felt like something private. Something he shouldn’t share, even though a magical object shouldn’t get him in trouble here. His visions felt personal as well, so if Bronwen couldn’t sense that as a part of Dante’s powers, he wasn’t going to bring it up.

When Dante left Bronwen’s quarters, he let out a deep sigh. He was surprised at his own resolve, but he’d already decided what he was going to do.

Staying, leaving—either was a risk. But if he left, how would he help Jayden? Trying to smuggle them both out of Saridian was a death sentence, as much as he wanted it to be viable. But if he stayed… if he learned, to fight, to heal… then maybe, he could actually do something. Something… good. Maybe, he could have hope. Maybe he could help the people who were fighting the god that made his, his sister, and every Saridi mage’s lives miserable, if they even got to live them.

And so, regardless of the pit of dread brewing in his gut, his warnings to his sister, and every promise he’d made to give up magic, he had decided. He was going to be a mage after all.