Still uneasy, Leah self-isolates in her new room, unsure if she is truly a guest now and no longer a prisoner. A few hours later, Seffon finds her there.

“There’s time for another spell attempt, if you feel well.”

She nods, and he gestures for her to follow him. She accompanies him through the Hold – so odd to think of it as a school! – and the further they go towards his tower, the more she understands why it comes as a surprise; the section she had been kept in was clearly off-limits to students, and more the domain of professional militia-guards and other staff. Closer to his quarters? Certainly closer to Areiu’s quarters. Leah has decided that child is almost certainly his daughter, though the wife’s identity remains a mystery.

Seffon and Leah go over the shelves together, looking for ingredients as Seffon lists them out absent-mindedly. “Sage…memory, memory, uh…toad, no…there we go, the eggs…”

Leah ends up with a glass dish full of herbs and powdered amethyst, and a tiny metal pot simmering over a candle in which some sort of silvery roe is bubbling and popping. Leah tries not to think about whether she will have to eat it.

“How has the recovery gone? Does the arm work the same?” Seffon asks absently, adjusting the distance between the pot and the flame.

Leah flexes it and confirms. “Although it sort of smells like garlic now? Hope that’s not permanent.”

“Ah, well, heavy blood loss, it was the only thing I had on hand.” Leah tries to figure out what he is implying, but he presses onwards. “Usually garlic scapes are best used to encourage bloodletting, but most basic magics can be reversed easily enough, if you know how.”

You shoved garlic in my stab wound? Leah does not ask.

“Pity we can’t do that with you! Too complicated, we would never figure it out in my lifetime…” He is back to his puttering about, and Leah lets him.

He finally finishes with the ingredients, and instructs her to dab the dry mixture over her eyelids, then stare into the liquid.

“What is it?”

“Salamander roe.”

“Salamanders…why is it always salamanders?” Leah does as instructed. “What should I look for?”

“Describe whatever you see.”

“First three words you find will reveal what the new year will bring you…” Leah mutters, and dismisses Seffon’s curious look. “Bubbling silvery goop. Uhh, should I be seeing shapes? Images? How do I know what’s important?”

“Keep looking. Blink a few times maybe.”

Leah feels less confident in this spell now, but does so. Suddenly, eye-illusions, like those you see from pressing against your closed eyes, start to ripple across the surface.

“Lightning. Um, red. It feels like I’m looking at the inside of a spinning globe, going this way.” She turns her hands to demonstrate, always looking. “Oh! That stuff looks like a microscopic view of a leaf. Gone now. Lime green, like a neon sign, fading to black. Wow this is so cool. Um, orange ripples? Diagonal. Sliding a bit.” She pauses. “Is this at all what I’m supposed to be seeing because I feel stupid – ”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“Okay uhh, blue circles shrinking. More lightning. Is this telling us anything, because it seems pretty random to me – ”

“Focus.”

“Yellow everywhere, with a kind of crackling, shifting. Blue again. Lots of blue. Kinda golden-orange flecks, spreading, taking over. Reddish ripples. Lots of red. Speckling back to black.”

“Talesh.” Seffon suddenly drops something in the pot; Leah’s eyes flick to it, but have trouble focusing.

“Doorbell. Down. Left. Seven. Left.” She suddenly clears up, and can focus again. “Why did I say that?”

Seffon seems disappointed; he goes back to the shelves, muttering to himself, and Leah steps away from the strange-smelling pot.

“What did we just try?”

“It’s a derivative of an alibi spell; usually used to determine when a person was first met, and most often employed by those seeking information about whether two people already knew each other before a certain date.” He turns back with a frustrated look, but shakes it off. “It came to me yesterday, and I figured it might be ridiculous enough to try. See, the spell determines the exact moment you first met a certain person – so long as you know that person’s soul-colour and name. The subject will get a flash of exactly where they were when they first encountered a certain person, if they encountered them at all. Unfortunately, what you said sounded like gibberish.”

“No,” Leah says quietly, with humour. Seffon’s eyes flick to her, and he gestures for her to explain. “The words I said were the layout of the launderette nearest my apartment – and I went there, the night before I woke up here.

“It was a stinking warm day, and I’d just finished walking around the neighbourhood looking for ‘work wanted’ ads on doors or bus stops. Laundry was the last thing on my to-do list. The one nearest my apartment is a dingy, terrifying place, but high quality for the price they charge. When I got there, someone was at my usual machine, seventh down the left-most aisle. I’m weird, yeah, I have a favourite washing machine at the launderette. That means nothing to you, never mind.

“Anyway, I set up in the machine next to her, and we started talking, just friendly right, and when her load was done she wished me well and left to dry her stuff at home. It was one of the nicest interactions I’d had with a stranger in months. Since I moved to that city, actually.”

“Was she…Leah Talesh?” Seffon sounds like he doubts the words himself.

“No, just some girl. But it was the last place I went to, before I woke up here, and I guess she was the last person I spoke to.”

They ponder this.

“Could Leah have been elsewhere in the building?”

“I’d have noticed an identical twin.”

“Or disembodied?”

“Maybe? Is that possible?”

Seffon shrugs broadly. “This is new territory for me.”

“Hm. Literally. For both of us.”

They grin a bit, staring at the wall and leaning against the stone table together.

Leah chews her lip, her foot tapping idly. “If Leah was unconscious for three days…and there was a gap of about half a day between when she left this body and I arrived…”

“Yes?”

She sighs. “Nothing. No clue.”

They stand in silence a while longer. Seffon mutters a bit, half-formed ideas, but nothing solid.

“Will the guards be coming back – the ones outside my door, or the ones that accompanied me everywhere?” Leah asks, half-turning her head to his, and Seffon snaps out of his muttering.

“They won’t. You’ll be free to wander public spaces to your heart’s content, though some people might still be gruff towards you, at first.”

“Will I be allowed to ride Beeswax?”

Seffon runs a hand over his hair. “Maybe.”

Leah tries not to be too disappointed. “Are there any other spells we ought to try today?”

“Too much magic in too short a time is not good, either for target or caster. Exhaustion is how mistakes happen.”

“Then we can at least discuss things. Brainstorm. Innovate.”

“Hm. I can’t exactly invent on a whim.” His tone isn’t bitter, exactly, but Leah picks up on something a little glum.

She looks at him sideways. “This is the whole ‘born-magic, learned-magic’ thing, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. It doesn’t come to me as easily; I have to study, follow steps. I mean, I don’t complain: I’m good at research, and I enjoy reading, but…”

Leah nods along. “The doctor…I’ve forgotten her name, I was recovering from blood-loss when you first gave it to me – ”

He chuckles a bit. “Sewheil.”

“Yeah. Her magic is very different from what I’ve seen Wellen or you do.”

“She’s a born-magic user, yes.”

“And a…Glly…”

“Gllythe.”

“Yeah.”

“She is.”

“Cool.”

Seffon raises an eyebrow.

Leah smirks. “First non-human person I’ve met in my life.”

The second eyebrow jumps up to join the first. Seffon considers, and nods. “Right. Yes. Your world has only had humans for ages. Nyandi…”

“Neanderthals.”

“Yes, right.”

Leah thinks for a moment, before turning to face him fully, a baffled look on her face. “She doesn’t speak Volsti, but she understands it?”

Seffon chuckles. “Gllythe have excellent hearing, but speaking above water is hard for them. Mastering the pronunciation of more than one language is even harder, and not usually worth the effort.”

Leah’s eyes widen. “Above water?”

“Ah…she could explain it better than I could.”

“I’m sure she could, but I wouldn’t be able to understand her. John and I are trying our best but it’s a whole other language for me to learn.”

“John?”

“Zon. We figured out that it would be pronounced ‘John’ in Engl – Volsti.”

Seffon hums, with a little smirk. “Actually, no: Zon is an Olues variant of the Volsti name Jonoth.”

“Well, in my world John is short for Jonathan, so, still works.”

“Are we just going to stand here, progressively making his name longer and longer?”

Both snicker, and Leah finds herself sincerely enjoying the pretender-lord’s company.

*

Walking towards the stables to visit Beeswax, she and Seffon continue to talk, lightly, about the spells they could yet try – or, more accurately, Seffon talks and Leah listens. Leah sees a change in the atmosphere of the Hold, as they go: militia-guards are walking more quickly as they go about their drills and tasks, and there are more of them stationed along the walls. The stable-hands are cleaning and polishing the leather of harnesses and saddles. A blacksmith is re-shoeing a horse with a handsome black-brown coat.

Seffon notices her looking, and pauses in his explanation of variants on scrying spells. “With the marriage accomplished, Cheden will likely be preparing to increase their military presence in Valerin and offshore of Devad. Seffonshold is getting ready to defend itself, preferably by waiting out any siege, but if necessary then talking it to the field.” He sighs, petting the horse distractedly as they pass around it. “Until we know more about the attackers, where they were from, we can’t even properly prepare a defence; should we expect cavalry from Devad, or mages from Cheden?”

Leah stops dead, a hand on the gate to Beeswax’s stall. “Attackers?”

Seffon nods. “Yes, like those two days ago.” He notices her expression. “What?”

“Where the attackers are from…”

“Yes?”

“Small units sent against the Hold.”

Seffon narrows his eyes, thoughtful. “Yes?”

Leah turns to face him full on. “Did we ever find out who sent those infiltration teams into Valerin, carrying the false missives in your name?”

Seffon freezes, eyes widening. Even the stable-hands seem to notice that something is up. The horse at his side whickers and nudges him, breaking his stunned silence.

“We need to get a copy of one of those missives,” Seffon says finally, eyes already darting with ideas. “I don’t have anyone I can send in safely…they will probably be under watch, or close to Lord Valerid’s study, or his quarters…a servant might be able…”

Leah tenses up a little, suddenly hopeful. “Will you really be able to get someone into the keep itself?”

Seffon grins. “With your help, yes.” At her confused look, he explains. “You can direct us to the likeliest places the scrolls would be kept, and who has them. One of my people can get them, if we can be confident in reducing the risk.”

“You said you never sent your people into the city proper?”

Seffon spreads his arms with a rueful smile. “You were a turncoat at the time, can you blame me for lying a little?” He takes her arm while saying this and pulls her along. “Besides, you want to learn magic? Here’s a perfect way to get a taste.”

*

The tower is warm and dark, lit by candles. Seffon sets up the spell he has planned, muttering and carefully selecting components, while Leah watches attentively.

“This is strong magic, but paradoxically easy to start with, as the materials do most of the work for you,” he explains, setting up a reflective silver bowl full of clear water. “You’ve been in the keep, and so you know best where the missives are held, and who might be able to access them unsuspected.”

“Who?” Leah asks, worried. “There’s a who?”

“You will need to choose.” Seffon pauses here to make eye contact, suddenly serious. “Most of my agents are in the countryside surrounding Valerin, and a precious few are within the city but low-ranking. There is no way anyone I know could get in safely, but all you need to do is choose someone to…influence, and get them to put the missives somewhere less protected.”

Leah considers. “Is there any chance the person I choose could resist, and would know that someone had tried to manipulate them?”

“Yes, if they are themselves trained in magic, but that’s not a concern in Valerin.”

Leah mentally crosses Wellen and the captain off the list. “You said…a servant?”

“If you think that’s best…” Leah studies his face, and Seffon nervously breaks eye-contact. “Maybe…one of the five would be more credible?”

“No,” she says immediately, “And for two reasons: the five are not trusted with that information, and I will not invade their minds.”

“I didn’t think you would want to, which is why I offered alternatives first.”

Leah thinks, then nods. “Okay.”

“Got someone?”

“Inexperienced with magic, and with access to the missives.”

“Excellent. Now, for this to work, the person must believe the thoughts you will suggest have come from their own mind. You cannot order them around; your goal is to make them arrive at the decision you want them to.” The casual way he says this makes Leah’s skin crawl a bit, but she forces down her discomfort and focuses on the spell at hand. Seffon instructs her on the order to add the ingredients to the bowl – the twig of rosewood, the sprinkling of powdered iron, and a single freshwater pearl. “Ready?”

Leah nods, bracing a hand against the table and looking into the bowl, at her distorted reflection. When he gestures for her to go, she drops the pearl in; it fizzes, changing the reflection to a window into a familiar room, where the endless debriefings used to be held.

Lord Valerid sits at his desk, wooden pen tapping a clean metal point against a clean white paper. He seems deeply focused, and does not react.

Seffon, looking into the bowl from the side, raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure – ”

“Yes.”

They watch to make sure the Lord hasn’t noticed anything.

Seffon exhales slowly. “Alright. Lean over the bowl, and give the instructions in first person – try to make them sound like thoughts.”

“How should I start?”

“Start small.” He then adds, more quietly, “Though given your choice of target I suspect that’s not in your nature.”

Leah thinks for a moment, then leans over the bowl and whispers. “I wonder if there are any hints about Talesh’s betrayal in those missives?”

The Lord’s head jerks up slightly, and his eyes narrow. The pen stills.

Leah looks at Seffon in concern, but he nods, gesturing her on.

“He might just be arrogant enough to brag about it, hinting at it before we ever suspected…”

The Lord sets the pen down, looking to his right.

“There was that part about our forces…how did he phrase it?”

The Lord stands up and starts walking. Seffon claps Leah on the shoulder gently, eyes fixed to the bowl.

“You’re a natural manipulator, you know that?” he says.

Leah leans back from the bowl for a moment. “Apparently…” she says wryly, but nonetheless takes it as a compliment.

They can just barely hear the Lord asking one of the guards outside the office doors to bring him the Jun missives. The guard nods and walks off.

“Do we wait now?” Leah asks.

“We need to use this time to figure out a way to get the missives to us.”

“Already got it.”

“Oh?”

Leah smirks. “Pride.”

A minute passes before the guard returns with a square case full of curled parchments. The Lord takes them and spreads a few of them out on the desk. Looking over his shoulder, the two in the Hold can just barely read the writing.

“Th kyng o Jun, sol warrior maige of the southenn lans, dimands surrendyr of the oppresson Lord, wheus incursions into oun lan are an affron teu oun divin an arcan sovr’nty. Yen warmakyng and bygotri an offensyv teu us aull, and tho war be haytful teu us, wi will defen our ryt teu end’pendance. Yen forcis are too feu, an resistance weud bi houpl’ss. Bi th lau ‘f ol tims, wi will nau tolleret ani furthen ensul teu oun nasion.”

“Gods, reading that spelling is painful…” Seffon mumbles.

Leah ignores him, and whispers again into the bowl. “We will not be so derided.”

The Lord’s eyes harden, and his hands tense almost into fists, before he takes a breath and focuses himself.

Seffon inhales sharply. “You’re losing him.”

“No I’m not.”

The Lord sets the missive down and stares into the distance.

Leah leans back over the bowl. “We can’t go on ignoring him. We need to send a message of our own.”

The Lord’s head nods slightly, still staring at the wall.

“But who could I send as messenger?”

The Lord’s eyes narrow.

“No. First, there needs to be a message to send.”

The Lord pulls out a new sheet of paper and begins to write.

“But – ” Seffon says worriedly.

Leah leans away. “I’m working on it…gotta go slowly.”

The Lord spends a minute writing a strictly worded missive in response to the one received, in Volsti. Your arrogance is unwarranted…threats are a child’s tool…if you seek nationhood then your leaders must demonstrate the maturity required to behave as one…

Seffon continues to mutter bitterly.

Leah rolls her eyes. “He’s writing it in response to the fake missive, don’t take it personally.”

Seffon gestures to the bowl angrily. “That he thinks so little of us to begin with to believe that we would ever send such a message…”

“Hush.” She leans forward once the Lord is done writing. “And to make it clear…what happened to his messengers…”

The Lord considers, rolling up the new missive and setting wax to melt over a candle.

“Surely he must not even know if his missives have been received. Received, and understood, and discarded…”

The Lord’s hand trails over the open missive still in front of him. He hesitates, and Leah hopes that her prodding has been enough.

He unrolls his missive, and rerolls it around one of the false ones – the one with the wine stain. Both of them now together, and still small enough to fit in a single scroll case, he wraps them with ribbon and seals them in wax, pressing a sigil ring into the wax. He slips them back into one of the “Jun” cases, and latches the top closed.

The Lord calls again to the guards. One opens the door and bows.

Faintly, Leah hears him speak. He instructs the guard to find the quickest rider and best thief in the keep. He says that the scroll case is to be carried to Seffon’s keep, and pinned to the front doors of the walls. He insists that it must be done stealthily, and that he wants no-one to take any unnecessary risks.

Seffon is almost giddy.

Leah leans back. “Okay, I think that’s all; how do I hang up?”

“Huh?”

“How do I stop?”

“Oh, touch the water at the centre, just enough to cause ripples.”

“Ooh, touch-screen!” Leah says, tapping the water’s surface; the image distorts, then disappears totally.

As soon as it is done Seffon begins gushing. “This is brilliant! That was very well done, very cunningly done. I’ll instruct the guards to allow the messenger to get away unharmed, that they are to intentionally miss them with their arrows, to give the escape some credibility. Very clever!”

Leah allows the praise to lift her a bit, but eventually comes back down to reality. “So that was magic? That was a sort of magic? What kind?”

“A combination of scrying and compulsion. Tricky, but as I said, the materials do most of the work.”

“That’s one of the kinds that can sometimes cause memory loss?” Leah suddenly gets a nervous feeling. I’m not fond of the Lord, god knows, but memory loss? I didn’t want to give him brain damage…

“If done messily, yes: if the mind cannot logically connect thoughts with thinker, it can make errors in remembering them. But this! This was such a clean execution of the spell. You really are a master manipulator. I hate to think where you learned it.” He gives her a curious, teasing look.

Leah chuckles and steps aside, letting Seffon take the bowl away to be cleaned.

“You mentioned the spelling…”

“Yes; atrocious.”

“It seems odd that any nation pretending to be the Enterlan would neglect to find a skilled translator.”

“Don’t you get started,” he says strictly. “Speculation now will only make the wait more unbearable. Answers will come when we have a copy of the missive itself. The paper…the wax…the case…all have their secrets to reveal.”

Leah accepts this as sensible. “How long will the wait be?”

“With a fast horse and a light rider, it shouldn’t be more than twenty-four hours, if the rider rests the horse midway to allow for a quick retreat. Remember, they don’t know we’re going to let them get away.” He finishes cleaning the bowl and puts it away. “That being the case, we can get back to normal, for a day.”

“Oh? What does normal look like around here?”

Seffon spreads his arms and shrugs. “I have duties with the school, and with those under my protection, that I have been neglecting since your arrival. I have been leaving too much on my wife’s shoulders for your sake, and now that you have proven your honesty – and seem to have been taken on as a student of the school – I think it’s time you all met properly.”

Leah tries to sort through all this. She chooses the ‘student’ part as the most important. “I’ve been taken on?”

“Well, you’ve often expressed an interest in magic, and this first attempt was quite successful; we ought to find which branch is best suited to your personality, and get you equipped with some basic tools. After all, the situation with Valerin is not likely to settle down anytime soon, and if you are going to remain in this world, as a perceived traitor, you need to have every possible defence available to you.”

This is more depressing than Leah had hoped, but she decides she will continue to see the bright side – namely, that she gets to learn magic.

“And your wife?” Leah asks, remembering the other major question his little speech raised.

Seffon claps his hands together. “Leah Louise Armande, would you be free to join us for supper tonight?”

Leah stands in the tower awkwardly, struck silent for a long moment.

“What do I wear?”