Órlaith didn’t make her move immediately.

She waited. She could be patient. She needed to know more, if she could, and then... She needed to make a decision, figure out the best way to confront Leolin about it. Not Anwen, not anyone else – Leolin. He was the safest option. He’d asked her that question, after all – her opinion mattered to him, in some way.

In the meantime, she spent her time on books. She dove into texts on the history of the City, how it had ended up as it was now, its enemies. She took it all with a pinch of salt, of course – even before, any history classes she’d attended had seemed light on hard fact, and heavy on warnings about the outside world. Now, knowing what she did about Anwen, Órlaith deliberately searched between the lines. She looked not just at what the books she found said, but at what they didn’t say.

There was a conspicuous lack of information about Gwydion, for example. Even in books that purported to tell the City’s recent history, as recent as only a couple of years ago, Gwydion wasn’t mentioned. Not even when the books talked about who might have been the City’s leader, or about Anwen herself. It was a glaring omission, when Órlaith thought about it.

Gwydion had told them that the City wasn’t safe. Gwydion had then tried to – so he claimed – imprison them safely, to be released later. Leolin had been told by Anwen that Gwydion was building an army. Leolin had told Órlaith that Gwydion would have killed them, not imprisoned them.

The City wasn’t all that it had seemed. That much was true. What else was true? What wasn’t? If Gwydion really was building an army... why? What was the real reason he had fled the City?

Órlaith remembered the first time she’d seen him, in the waystation. The scar that wrapped around his cheek, shaped like a hand, the thumb over his mouth.

Had he gotten that before or after leaving the City?

Leolin didn’t visit, that week. Órlaith had to suppress her anxiety at that. A note was delivered to her, slipped under her door, claiming that Leolin was too busy this week – he apologised in it, and his handwriting was shaky. She hadn’t seen much of his writing to compare, but Órlaith couldn’t help but wonder if the shakiness was a result of what she’d witnessed. Part of the aftermath of doing something like that, the horror, the distress. If that was the real reason he wasn’t visiting – because he couldn’t look her in the eye. Or if it was because Leolin or Anwen suspected her.

Órlaith couldn’t dwell on that forever, though. All she would do was think herself around in circles. She hoped that Leolin did regret it, what he’d done. She hoped that he was horrified by it – not because she wanted him to be miserable, but because she wanted him to understand what he had done.

If he wasn’t horrified, if he felt no remorse for having ripped that man’s mind apart... Well. Órlaith wasn’t sure what she would do then.

One step at a time. Another week without seeing Leolin meant another week to research, and research she did. Something else that turned out to be missing from the library, and from any texts she could access, was information regarding magic and the mind. At least the City as a whole wasn’t being taught to tear into people’s minds. It was a small comfort. However, whilst there weren’t any books giving instruction on that kind of magic, there also weren’t any books warning against it, or detailing the potential consequences. It could have just been to stop people getting ideas. But Órlaith didn’t think so. Far easier to convince people to do something when they had no idea what might happen if they did.

The next question, then, was how to approach Leolin.

Immediately after that night, Órlaith had been full of fire, ready to storm up to him and confront him, shout about how could he, what was he thinking, and so on. It had only taken a little thought to realise that wouldn’t work. At best, Leolin would be defensive; at worst, Órlaith could end up arrested or worse. She wasn’t meant to know, after all. She shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have heard it. And she didn’t want to know what Anwen might do if she found out.

But she had to confront Leolin. She couldn’t just keep going like before, pretending she hadn’t witnessed what she’d witnessed, pretending she didn’t know what Leolin was capable of. For Leolin’s sake, as well, she couldn’t just do nothing. She had to at least try and talk to him, convince him it was wrong, that he didn’t need to do this.

By the time Leolin visited again, Órlaith was ready. Or, well. As ready as she could be, for something like this.

She held her tongue all through their usual meal, the usual swapping of stories. Leolin seemed subdued, but not as much as she did. It was obvious, she knew, that something was wrong. She couldn’t hide it. Leolin didn’t ask, though; he just kept giving her worried glances.

Finally, she said, “I need to talk to you. In private.”

They went to Órlaith’s rooms, despite her misgivings. She couldn’t be certain of their privacy, after all. Magic could be used to listen in, or even something simpler, like an eavesdropper outside. So she asked Leolin to make certain they couldn’t be overheard, told him it was to do with secrets like those he’d shared with her before.

As soon as she was certain they were shielded, Órlaith spoke.

“I know what you did,” she said, and waited.

Leolin looked panicked, just for a split second, before he covered it with confusion.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

He was going with that angle, then. All right.

“The other night,” she said, “I went out after curfew. I’ve done it a few times – I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think it would be fair, I didn’t know if you would have to tell Anwen,” she added. Leolin nodded, still looking unsure.

“I found – some kind of tunnel,” Órlaith went on. “I – Leolin, you know I’m curious. I wanted to know what it was, where it went.” He was paling rapidly. He knew. Good. “When I followed it...” She trailed off, shook her head.

“You found the interrogation rooms,” Leolin whispered. Órlaith nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and then the words were spilling out of him. “I – Órlaith, I should have told you, I know that, I should have given you a chance to help as well, but Anwen said -”

“Wait,” Órlaith said. “Leolin, wait, I – what?”

Leolin shook his head once, sharply.

“You brought us here,” he said, earnest. “If it weren’t for you... You should be able to help the City, too. You shouldn’t be trapped here learning nothing whilst I’m allowed to help.”

Órlaith stared at him.

“Leolin,” she said. “I – you know what I heard, don’t you? You know what it was I witnessed?”

Leolin looked away.

“I know,” he said quietly. “The interrogation. That was only my second one, that’s why Anwen had to check. But I got the right information, and Anwen has told me how much it’s helped already. How it might have saved lives.”

The fervour with which he spoke, the way his eyes lit up as he said the last few words...

Órlaith didn’t know what to do.

“Has she said anything?” she asked him, trying not to let her voice shake. “About – about what happens, if you mess with people’s minds using magic. About what happens to them. About what might happen to you.”

Leolin sighed.

“It’s – not ideal, I know that,” he admitted. “If we could find a way to learn what they know without – without the consequences, then...” His eyes widened. “Órlaith. Órlaith, you could find a way. I know you could. You know so much about magic, you understand it in a way I’m not sure anyone else in the City does, maybe not even Anwen or Emyr. If you were to help us, if Anwen would agree... we could keep them alive. They would have to be prisoners, of course, at least until we won, but...”

“What about you?” Órlaith repeated. It was the only thing she could think to say.

Was he – did he really not understand what she was trying to tell him? Could Leolin really not see the horror of what he had done, how wrong it was? Did he truly think that Órlaith would not only tear someone’s mind apart, but work on ways to improve their interrogation methods?

Leolin shook his head. “That’s a myth, Órlaith. If you mean the risks of using that kind of magic. Anwen explained it to me – I’d heard about it before, though only briefly. For spellweavers, it’s fine. It’s safe, because we’re more powerful than others, more resilient.”

Órlaith wasn’t sure how true that might be. She had no way of knowing – perhaps Anwen had told him the truth, and there was no danger to spellweavers. It certainly seemed that Anwen had survived doing it for however long she had. But maybe she was lying. Maybe she wasn’t the one to tear minds apart – maybe she used her apprentices for that, let them destroy themselves in her place. Órlaith didn’t know.

What she did know was that Leolin wasn’t going to be convinced otherwise. He wasn’t going to be convinced that it was wrong. He wasn’t going to believe that it was unnecessary.

“Explain it to me,” Órlaith said eventually. “I – Leolin, I want to understand, but... You said before that you were tired of hurting people with magic. That you wanted to learn magic that helped people. Everything I have ever learnt, everything I was told by my family... all of it says that using magic on the mind is dangerous. That it’s wrong, so wrong. But you’re doing it. And Anwen does it. And – I don’t know who else. So help me understand, Leolin. Tell me why it’s okay.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t, and Órlaith was never going to believe otherwise. But if he really had a good reason, or thought he did... then maybe she could find another way. Could persuade him to stop.

And even if she couldn’t... Órlaith knew that she couldn’t let Leolin see how horrified she truly was. She couldn’t openly condemn him or the City, couldn’t tell him that Anwen was a monster for what she’d taught him to do, couldn’t show how she felt. Because if she did, then he would tell Anwen, if he didn’t anyway. And if Anwen found out, or anyone else high-up in the City, Órlaith knew that she would be in one of those interrogation rooms herself before long. If they didn’t just put her down like a rabid animal.

Leolin drew in a deep breath.

“I told you what they think about Gwydion,” he began. “That he’s amassing an army. That’s not all. They think – they think he’s working with outsiders, too. He might be able to break through the City’s defences, with enough spellweavers. And then...” He swallowed. “Magehunters, Órlaith. Some of the information we’ve gathered makes Anwen and Emyr think that Gwydion is trying to involve magehunters. He wants to sell us all off to the highest bidder.”

“How would he stay free?” Órlaith asked, frowning.

“Bargains, deals, power,” Leolin said simply. “If the highest ranks of the outside world are involved, then he could have made deals with them to keep himself and anyone he favours free. Everyone else would just be sold off. He would be rich enough to do whatever he wanted, then.”

“How does tearing people’s minds apart help?” Órlaith asked, perhaps a little too sharply.

“We need information,” Leolin said, staring at her as though she were missing the blazingly obvious. “If we can’t keep track of what Gwydion is doing, what the outside world is doing, how can we protect the City? They won’t tell us the truth if we ask. Anwen has tried that. They lie, or they refuse to answer. Taking the information from them is the fastest way. And it – it doesn’t hurt them. I know it’s – I know that it does harm them. I can’t deny that. But, Órlaith – places in the outside world would use torture to get that information. It would hurt more, and it would be less accurate, and it would take longer. Isn’t this way better?”

“He screamed,” Órlaith said. “That man. It sounded like it hurt him.”

Leolin winced. “I’m not as good at it yet. Not as good as Anwen. But it only hurt him for a moment, not long at all, and then he didn’t feel anything at all any more. Isn’t it better, Órlaith? A moment of pain, and then we have everything we need to know, and we can keep the City safe. I can keep you safe, Órlaith. Isn’t it better this way?”

Órlaith stared at him.

Oh, there was no way she was going to get both herself and Leolin out of here, was there?

He believed it, that was the problem. Every word of what he was saying to her. Even if he hadn’t believed it at first, Leolin had convinced himself it was true. Convinced himself that breaking people’s minds was somehow a kindness.

“What if I don’t want you to keep me safe, Leolin?” she whispered.

Leolin nodded quickly. “I understand,” he said. “I – of course you want to protect yourself, and not rely on me. I understand. You were the one who saved us both before, after all. That’s okay. I just – I just wanted to be able to do the same for you. So that you wouldn’t have to worry, Órlaith. We said that the City could be somewhere where we didn’t have to be afraid any more, and I wanted that for you.”

“Don’t you deserve that more?” Leolin was the one who had spent most of his life afraid, after all. Órlaith didn’t want to get drawn into this, didn’t want to feel like Leolin had a point, even for a moment. What he had done was still wrong. But it was difficult not to empathise with him, when she knew him. Knew how easily Anwen could have manipulated him, how easily she must have found the ways to mould him into what she wanted.

Leolin hesitated, opened his mouth. Shut it again.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Órlaith wasn’t sure what else to say. Nor was Leolin, by the look of it.

What could she say? He had told her why he thought it was justified. Órlaith could tell he wasn’t going to be convinced otherwise. Not now, not when he had already broken minds for the sake of what he thought was right. How could he? If Leolin changed his mind now, then the awful things he’d done would be for nothing. Órlaith didn’t think Leolin could accept that.

She wasn’t going to join him, though. She wasn’t going to do what he’d suggested, wasn’t going to find better ways for them to destroy people. She couldn’t. Not with everything the caravan had taught her, not with their memory still there in the back of her mind – duller, since she had entered the City, just like all her memories of the outside world, but there.

Órlaith froze. For just a moment, she stopped breathing.

Well. That wasn’t good.

She set that realisation carefully aside for later, when Leolin wasn’t here watching her.

“What’s the point?” she asked eventually. “Why gather all of the information? What is the City going to do with it? They can’t be planning to just wait for Gwydion to attack.”

Leolin smiled.

“There are plans,” he said. “I can’t tell you much more, even though I want to. But – Emyr, Anwen. They understand who should have power, in the world. That it should be us, spellweavers – that we can be trusted with it. Like in the City. And so it’s not just Gwydion we need the information for, Órlaith. If he’s working with the outside world... we’re going to fight against him. And against them. And when it’s all over... everywhere will be safe, Órlaith. Everywhere can be like the City. Spellweavers won’t have to be afraid any more.”

“What about everyone else? What about the ordinary people who – people like my family. Like Meredi. People who would help us. What happens to them, if everywhere is like the City, and spellweavers are in charge?”

Leolin shook his head.

“There’s not enough of them,” he said. “Not enough people who care. Eventually, everyone will understand that spellweavers are the strongest, the ones who should lead, but that will take time. People like your family, or Meredi...” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I trust Anwen and Emyr to have a plan for them. A way they can contribute, still.”

That’s not enough, Órlaith wanted to say. But she held her tongue. This was only getting worse and worse with every explanation Leolin tried to give her.

“It’ll be war, then,” she said. “How many spellweavers will die for that? Can’t we all just stay in the City, and defend it?”

“No,” Leolin said sharply. “No, Órlaith, you don’t understand. How can we stay here, when there are so many spellweavers in the outside world hiding? Being taken by magehunters? Being hurt? I thought you would – I didn’t think you would suggest we should leave them there. And besides, it won’t be war.” He smirked. “Anwen has a plan, and it will finish things. Quickly, simply. It will be all right, Órlaith.”

“I didn’t mean that we should leave them,” Órlaith said. “I just...” She shook her head. “I didn’t understand. I thought there would be a war, a long one. That would involve other people. But now you’ve said that there are plans, it’s different.”

“You could be part of it, if you wanted,” Leolin said. “I know Anwen hasn’t been able to move you from the Academy yet. But -” He hesitated. “What if I asked her to train you, as well? What if you could help us? Would you?”

“Maybe,” Órlaith said, frantically trying to think of a way out of this. She’d complained about the Academy enough times, she couldn’t tell Leolin that she had suddenly changed her mind. But she didn’t want to end up dragged into this either. Not least because it would be far, far more difficult for her to escape the City if she were suddenly under Anwen’s watch.

“I’ll ask,” Leolin said firmly. “You could do so much, Órlaith. I know you could. Anwen will understand, too.” He stood. “I – it’s late. I’ve stayed here longer than I should have already. But I’ll be back soon, I promise. Once I’ve spoken to Anwen.”

The way he was looking at her... Órlaith hated it. It was the same as always, that faint hint of awe, almost adoration. Before, she had thought it sweet, been a little unsure what to do with it – but they’d had time. They’d had plenty of time for her to think about it, maybe for one of them to develop more interest, to say something.

Now, all she could think about was the way that man had screamed. The way Leolin didn’t seem to care about the person whose mind he had destroyed – the people. The look on his face when he’d told her that the City was planning a war – or not planning a war. Planning something worse, because what else could he mean? What could end a war quickly, if not something horrific?

Órlaith didn’t want Leolin to look at her that way now.

But she smiled at him anyway, hoped he would attribute any hesitance to the heavy conversation they’d had. She walked him to the door of the Academy, said goodbye to him, turned away when his eyes lingered on her a little too long.

Then Órlaith went back to her rooms, and screamed into a pillow.

Then she got up, and started packing her things. There wasn’t much – she hadn’t gotten anything new since she arrived, other than the uniform the Academy didn’t really seem to expect her to wear.

One way or another, Órlaith was going to get out of here.