Leolin was true to his word. He visited again barely a week later, pulling Órlaith out of her timetable once more. It had to be his status as Anwen’s apprentice that let him do that – Órlaith saw the look of irritation on the reception staff’s face, but the woman said nothing to either of them.

They went to the same park as before, though Leolin had brought a bag of food with him this time, rather than stopping to collect it. It was good, some kind of pasta dish that tasted, or so Leolin told her, even better cold than it did hot.

“I’m sorry,” Leolin said, once they’d eaten. “I’ve spoken to Anwen, but...” He sighed. “She’s busy. Especially at the moment, because – well. I can’t say. But she promised she would look into the Peak Academy and your placement there, just... not yet.”

Órlaith nodded. She hadn’t really expected any different. “It’s fine. Thank you for asking her.”

“Is it any better?” Leolin asked, and Órlaith grimaced.

“Not really,” she admitted. “It’s the same, honestly. One of the other students did ask when we’d begin to work on more advanced topics, and the teacher said not until next year. Which reminds me, how long does your apprenticeship last?”

Leolin shrugged. “As long as it needs to,” he said. “For some people, that’s only a year, and for others, it’s closer to five. Anwen said that depending on what I want to learn, it might be two to four years for me.”

“Apparently you have to spend more than five years at the Peak Academy,” Órlaith said. She sighed. “I don’t – I really don’t want to seem ungrateful. Not when the City has taken us in, not when they’ve gone to so much effort to find us places, to find us training. But I – I honestly don’t know if I can stay there like this for five years, Leolin.” She winced. “Sorry. I don’t mean to push you, I know Anwen is busy.”

Leolin shook his head. “You won’t be there for five years,” he said firmly. “Anwen may be busy now, but we’ll find an option. And until then...” He smiled at her. “If you wanted, I could... show you some of the things Anwen taught me?”

Órlaith’s eyes widened. “Leolin, that would be – are you allowed to?” Outside the City, Órlaith knew that it was a rare master who’d permit their apprentice to share tricks of the trade with anyone else.

“As long as I don’t teach you anything I’m not supposed to,” Leolin said. “And I know what those are – I can’t even tell you about them, let alone teach you.” He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“No, there’s no need to apologise!” Órlaith said quickly. “Anything would be amazing, Leolin. Thank you.”

They spent the rest of the morning working on magic. Leolin’s approach was still similar enough to Órlaith’s that it didn’t frustrate her in the same way the Academy’s did, although there were a few things that she half-argued with him about – mostly things that he said Anwen had taught him, and had proven to him, but he wasn’t able to tell her how. All Leolin could say was that it was to do with something confidential.

Still, it felt like a far better way of spending her time than all her hours at the Academy so far had, and when Órlaith went back, she found that the afternoon lessons she attended were far easier to focus on, even if they were still just as frustrating as before.

She and Leolin settled into something of a routine after that. Once or twice a week, he would visit, and they would talk and wander the City. Sometimes, if Leolin had something new to show her, they would practise magic. More often, though, they would just talk. Even though Órlaith didn’t have much to say about the City itself, beyond what she saw when she was out with Leolin, she found plenty to talk about in the things she’d seen before. The places she’d visited, the people she’d met, the different types of magic she’d learnt about – Leolin listened to it all attentively, and asked questions that reminded her of bits and pieces she’d forgotten.

In return, Leolin told her as much as he could about his own everyday life in the City. He didn’t talk about before, about his time with the magehunters, but he didn’t need to. It seemed like every time they met, he had some new story to tell her – someone he had helped whilst patrolling the City, or something funny that had happened whilst he was training, or even just complaints about the dullness of the paperwork that had to be done. Órlaith drank it all in, savouring her only real connection to anything outside the Peak Academy.

It was during one of those visits that Órlaith realised something was wrong.

Leolin had been quiet, strangely so. It would have been normal for him before the City, when he had been far warier. Now, though, his silence was jarring, so different from the new Leolin she had gotten used to.

Before she could ask if he was alright, he spoke.

“Órlaith,” he said. “Do you ever...” He stopped, stared at his hands for a moment. Started again. “What would you do, if... Say that you were in a situation, one where people you – people you cared about were in danger. And you could do something to try and stop it, to help them. But you aren’t certain if that’s the right thing to do. Even though it’s the only way you know of to save them. What would you do?”

Something had brought this on. And given that, to the best of Órlaith’s knowledge, Leolin had yet to leave the City, there were only so many things it could be.

But Órlaith didn’t ask about that. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, she leant back on her hands, staring up at the pristine blue sky, and thought about it.

Honestly, though, it didn’t need that much thinking about. Because hadn’t she already done something like that?

“I think I’d do it,” she said. “It would depend on what it was, probably. There are some things...” She shook her head. “Some things you shouldn’t do, no matter what. Some things are just wrong, and you can’t justify them. But if it were to save the people I loved, and I knew it really would save them... There’s a lot of things I would do, even if they maybe weren’t the right thing to do.”

Leolin let out a slow, shaky breath. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes more. Then Órlaith asked, “Why do you ask?” She saw the look on Leolin’s face, and shook her head. “Never mind. You can’t tell me, can you?”

“No,” Leolin said, sighing. “I’m sorry. If I could...” He shook his head. “Thank you, Órlaith. I needed... I had to ask you.”

“Was it the answer you wanted?”

Leolin didn’t answer.

---

That night, Órlaith broke curfew again, for the first time since she’d begun meeting with Leolin.

She wasn’t really sure why, or what she hoped to gain from it. But she was worried. Something wasn’t right. Leolin’s question earlier had set alarm bells ringing in her head, once she’d thought about it a little longer. It had been easy enough to answer at the time – it seemed like what she had done when they’d faced Gwydion, after all.

Thinking back, though... Leolin had fought before. Leolin had killed before, she was almost certain – at the command of the magehunters, true, but still. So what was he being asked to do now, that he had to ask Órlaith that question? What had Anwen, or the City, wanted from him?

And what was he going to do with the answer Órlaith had given?

She knew the City better now than when she had first snuck out, thanks to the time she had spent with Leolin. It felt different at night – colder, almost.

Except that wasn’t exactly true, Órlaith realised. Because that odd, lurking sensation of unease was there during the day as well. It was hidden, masked behind Órlaith’s focus on Leolin and on enjoying her time away from the Academy. But it was still there, and she knew that she would notice it every time from now on.

The City was still so empty. Once again, Órlaith didn’t encounter a single guard patrol. There was nobody on the streets except her, and she was sorely tempted to shout, stamp, sing, anything to feel less alone, less exposed, in the silent streets.

Where was everybody? Where was everything? The streets were too clean, too gleaming, no sign of habitation at all. Even with magic, surely there should be some sign of people living here. Órlaith knew that the City was inhabited, she had seen the evidence of it herself. But here, now, it would be easy to believe that she was walking through a ghost town.

She wandered for a while longer, making note of a few strange things she wanted a closer look at. A sewer cover placed incongruously down a side street, which she swore she heard sounds coming from; a little barred grate, barely a handspan tall from the ground; and a pattern of symbols she didn’t recognise, carved into different walls at hand-height. Too low to be easily seen, but just the right height if you knew to feel for them.

Then Órlaith went back to the Academy, spent the rest of the night in fitful sleep, and paid even less attention than normal in her classes. As soon as darkness fell, she was out again, slipping past the spellwork easily.

She made a beeline for the sewer cover, brushing her hand against the markings on the walls as she went. Órlaith couldn’t make any sense of them yet – there was a faint tingle to them which made her think they had a magic of their own, just like the symbol on that book Aneirin had shown them. But if they did have magic, they weren’t letting her see it.

The sewer cover was simple enough to prise up, and Órlaith pressed her sleeve to her nose in anticipation as she lifted it and set it aside as quietly as she could one-handed. It turned out she didn’t need to – the sewer didn’t smell, not even a faint stench. Órlaith narrowed her eyes.

She had already been suspicious of the supposed sewer, given its placement and the fact that she hadn’t seen any other evidence of the City’s sewage system so far. Now, she knew it wasn’t a sewer. Even with magic, sewers stank, no matter the place – city, large town, or the rare village or smaller town lucky enough to have a proper system.

So if it wasn’t a sewer, what was it?

Órlaith peered down, but she couldn’t see anything. As usual, there was no sign of the moon or stars in the sky – that was something she’d gotten so used to that she forgot about it now. It was a result of the City’s protections, Leolin had told her – an unintended and unfortunate side-effect.

A magelight could draw attention. But it would also let her see what was going on down there. The choice was easy, really.

Órlaith reached down into the sewer, hoping she was right about it not actually being a sewer – the last thing she wanted was to plunge her hand into something unmentionable. Once she was sure her hand was all but out of sight, she called upon her magic and let the magelight wreath her hand, glowing a faint pale blue.

She didn’t see anything dramatic. Just a white tunnel, barely big enough to work as a crawlspace, leading away into the City. It could be a sewer, she supposed, or some kind of drainage system. There was nothing about it to suggest otherwise, other than the cleanliness.

And the nagging feeling at the back of Órlaith’s mind. The one she knew better than to ignore.

This, Órlaith knew, could be a very big mistake.

She sighed, and climbed down into the tunnel, pulling the cover back over behind her.

---

Órlaith had been inching her way through the tunnel for what felt like hours when she first heard the noise. She froze, every fibre of her body straining to listen.

Voices, it sounded like. Too muffled and distant for her to pick up on what they were saying, or guess anything at all, really. But she was absolutely certain that she was hearing people talking.

In the tunnel, though, there was no way to follow the sound. Órlaith suppressed a sigh, and kept moving. With any luck, the tunnel would put her somewhere closer to the voices, and she’d be able to make out at least some of what they were saying.

She wondered idly what Leolin would say, if she were able to tell him about this. Would he see the similarities to the tunnel they’d made their way through to get to the City? Would he wonder, as she was, what the purpose of the tunnel was? Órlaith could never actually tell him about this, of course. He was Anwen’s apprentice; she wasn’t going to put him in that situation. But it was something to keep her mind busy, even as her muscles ached from the awkward angles and strain of shuffling herself along.

It turned out Órlaith was in luck. As she kept going along the tunnel, the voices grew louder and clearer – still not enough to make out what they were saying, but enough to know that she was going in the right direction. Sometimes they faded, but they always became clearer again. Something seemed almost familiar about them, oddly enough. Órlaith dearly hoped that she was imagining things, given that there were only really two people in the City whose voices she might recognise.

Eventually, the tunnel opened out, becoming far wider, although it was still very shallow. Órlaith had to stay flattened to the floor, but at least she had space to stretch her limbs out now. It spread into what seemed to be some kind of diamond shape – and there was light ahead. It was dim, probably not actually in the tunnel itself, but Órlaith sped up nevertheless.

The ground seemed to slip out from under her, and Órlaith’s heart jumped into her throat for a moment before she realised it was just tilting. As she moved over the diamond shape, the ground had begun to slant down into the middle of it, and when she reached out a hand, she could feel some kind of metal grate in the middle. She frowned. There were only so many reasons for something like this, and she didn’t like any of them,

Órlaith kept moving, across the diamond towards where she could still make out the faint light. The tunnel narrowed again, and then opened out once more to what felt like another – yes, it was identical to the space before, grate and all. What was this place? It wasn’t a sewer, she was almost certain. These spaces, with the slanted floors and the grates... they were built like that for a reason. They had a purpose.

There was something tickling at the back of her mind. Something telling her she knew what that purpose was, or had a suspicion, at least. Órlaith ignored it, and kept moving.

She passed through two more spaces like that before reaching the fifth, and finally finding the source of the light. And of the voices.

Where the others had been dark, this one seemed to have thin meshes in each corner, light seeping in through them. Maybe the others had had the same, and these ones were just uncovered. It provided barely enough light for Órlaith to see her hands in front of her – and to make out faint, dull stains on the otherwise pristinely white floor.

Órlaith swallowed. Then she tucked herself up against the side of the space, well away from the grates or the corners, and listened.

“He has the information,” one of the voices murmured, silky and soft. And familiar, though Órlaith couldn’t quite place it. “He has what we need. Getting that information from him could ensure the safety of the City and of everyone in it. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Órlaith nearly hit her head on the ceiling with the way she jerked in shock. It was only the paralysing realisation of the danger she could be in if she were caught that let her stay still.

Leolin.

His voice shook a little, but there was no hesitation in the word. What was going on? What was Órlaith hearing right now?

“Good.” The other voice sounded pleased. Órlaith still couldn’t place it, but – who else could it be, honestly? Leolin was Anwen’s apprentice. Leolin had asked Órlaith, only the other day, about what she would do if something awful could protect the people she cared about. Who else but Anwen would be here, now, guiding Leolin through – through what?

Órlaith wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. But Anwen kept talking.

“For those outside the City, gaining information like this could be a long and arduous process,” she said. “It would need time, it would need a willingness to do harm, and it might not even work – there would be no way to verify the information gained. For those like us, however...” She paused. “It will be relatively painless, apprentice. The information will be true, and we can be sure of it. And it will take only moments.”

“What if I make a mistake?” Leolin asked. “What if the information is wrong?”

“I will verify it,” Anwen said crisply. “For now, at least. I have every faith in you, my apprentice. Before long, I am certain you will be more than capable of doing this alone.”

A sigh. Then footsteps, crossing the room above. Frantic, muffled noises – oh, gods. There was someone else in there with them, had been the whole time. Órlaith swallowed back bile. Who was it? What had they done? What was Leolin going to do to them?

“For what it’s worth,” Leolin said, his voice far closer now, “I am sorry.” He sighed. “If you had chosen the right side, this wouldn’t be necessary. I – I’d prefer it if it weren’t necessary, in honesty.”

“Apprentice,” Anwen said, voice mild as milk. “Do recall what I told you. This man betrayed the City. He betrayed all of us, put every last person in the City in danger. Our leader. Myself. You. Your friend. Does he truly deserve your apologies?”

A long few moments of silence. Órlaith pressed her hand to her mouth.

“No,” Leolin said, cold. “No, he doesn’t.”

And then Leolin’s magic surged, and the man screamed.

It went on for what felt like a long time, but probably wasn’t more than a minute or two. The man fell abruptly silent, and Leolin’s magic settled again. Órlaith kept her hand pressed to her mouth, kept her magic tucked tightly away inside her – if she were caught now, then...

Leolin stepped back, by the sound of it.

“Very good.” Anwen sounded even more pleased than before. Órlaith could barely hear her footsteps as she glided across the room. “Allow me to see your handiwork.” Órlaith sensed Anwen’s magic then, far fainter than Leolin’s – more controlled, less familiar.

“Excellent,” she said. “Truly, my apprentice. You are exceeding all of my expectations. We are finished here, now.” She glided away again, towards the other side of the room.

“What about him?” Leolin asked.

“Leave him,” Anwen said dismissively. “The cleaners will take care of things. He is of no further use to us now.”

Footsteps, and then both of them were gone, or seemed to be.

Órlaith curled in on herself.

She knew what she had felt. She knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She knew exactly what Leolin had just done, with barely any hesitation, simply on Anwen’s orders.

He had ripped that prisoner’s mind apart with his magic. Just a few moments, and it had been done. And he hadn’t even paused, and even his apology hadn’t been for doing it, but that it was necessary.

And, on some level, he had done it for her.

Órlaith felt vaguely like she were going to be sick.

This was it. This was what he had meant, when he asked her that question. Leolin had wanted to know if she would – if she would do this. More, he had wanted to know, perhaps, if she would absolve him for it.

Had she done this? Was this somehow her fault? The thought that she might have, however unwittingly, somehow given Leolin permission for this... Órlaith nearly sobbed aloud, only stopping herself when she realised that she had no guarantee Leolin and Anwen were really gone. And the prisoner was still up there, too.

She thought briefly of helping him – somehow getting up out of the tunnel, breaking him free, escaping the City. But she knew she couldn’t. Even if she had been able to get into that room, even if she knew how to get out of the City and past the guards...

The chances were, there wasn’t anything of the prisoner left.

Something that Órlaith had learnt, at a very young age, was that the mind and magic did not mix.

One of the other children of the caravan had had a particular skill with emotional magic – the kind of magic people used to cheer others up, lift the atmosphere at a festival, keep people calmer in a crisis. He had been taken aside early on, and Órlaith with him. She might not have had his knack for emotional magic, but she was a spellweaver. None of the caravan really knew the limits of her magic.

Then, aged barely eight years old, both of them had been treated to a horrific explanation of exactly what could happen if you used magic to toy with someone’s mind.

Emotional magic was one thing. That tended to just push gently on someone’s energy as it spilled out around them, or adjust the ambient energy that floated through the air wherever there were people. It couldn’t truly change someone’s mood from sad to happy, or anger to calm.

Except for when it could. When the magic-wielder pressed too far, too hard, and went beyond nudging someone’s emotions. When it all but took over someone’s mind, someone’s feelings, and forced the magic-wielder’s wishes upon them.

It broke people. Wielder and victim alike. Maybe not the first time, maybe not the second or even third. But eventually, under the weight of someone else’s self on your mind, it shattered. Killed the victim, or left them entirely insensate, unable to think or respond or do anything beyond breathe, an empty shell kept alive only by the brain’s most basic functions. And as for the wielder... some became monstrous, caring nothing for others. They didn’t tend to be harmed much by it, though Órlaith still counted that callousness as harm. Others became nervous wrecks, traumatised by their own magic and sometimes by that of others, too, often retreating into a hermit’s life out of guilt and fear and an inability to cope with being around others.

The rest just died, or became empty. Just like those they had harmed, the weight of their own power too much for them, the backlash taking their minds, as well.

But that was for normal people. Not spellweavers. Órlaith had been warned. They didn’t know what might happen to a spellweaver who meddled with minds – if the backlash would be greater, or if their greater magical ability would protect them. Either way... it was monstrous. To take someone’s will like that, to break open their mind as though you had any right to the deepest parts of them...

If Órlaith had ever, even once, had any curiosity about the mind and magic, that little lesson had wiped it out of her entirely. The thought of something like that never even crossed her mind. Even when manipulating someone with magic might have saved them, even when it would have made it far easier for them to reach the City... it never occurred to Órlaith. Not once.

And here she was. In the City, the supposed haven for spellweavers. And, to all appearances, they not only permitted that kind of mindbreaking magic here, they actively encouraged it. In the highest echelons of society, no less. Anwen did it, that was clear, and now so did Leolin. Who else? They couldn’t be the only ones. Not with the ease with which Anwen had coaxed Leolin into it. How long had she been planning this? And why Leolin?

Órlaith didn’t know. But she gritted her teeth.

The horror was cooling into a heavy, solid lump of anger now. It settled deep in her belly, making her feel cold with the rage.

Órlaith didn’t know why Leolin had been targeted. Or who that prisoner was, or why the City thought it was right to break his mind.

But she was going to find out.