A week passed. Then another.

Leolin didn’t visit. Nor did he send a note.

Órlaith tried not to think about it too much. He was probably busy. Or he was trying to convince Anwen to take her on as a student, and didn’t want to see her again until he had succeeded. Or Anwen was suspicious, and was waiting for Órlaith to slip up.

Despite the temptation, Órlaith didn’t break curfew. She didn’t go back to that tunnel. She didn’t explore the City any further, and she tried to forget about the strange markings she’d once noticed on buildings. All in all, she tried to make herself seem as unassuming, dull, and overall uninteresting as possible. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, not from teachers, not from students, and certainly not from the City’s higher-ups. She might be fighting a losing battle, given that Leolin seemed determined to bring her to Anwen’s attention, but there was no sense in making herself obvious. Not when Órlaith was planning to flee the City at the first opportunity.

She had no idea, though, what that opportunity might be. Without Leolin’s visits, she had no way of getting out of the Academy without breaking curfew, and whilst she hadn’t caught anyone’s attention by breaking curfew before, it would be just her luck to end up getting caught at the worst possible time. Órlaith knew that the City’s gates were guarded, but how well? What was the guard rotation?

Without knowing that, there wasn’t much Órlaith could do to prepare. She read as many books as she could – a teacher even praised her studiousness, saying that there had been concerns she wasn’t integrating to the City well, given her age, and that everyone was reassured by her efforts to learn more about her new home. Órlaith debated whether to read less, after that – but it had already caught people’s attention. Stopping would only draw more questions.

There was some information about the City’s defences available. More than Órlaith had expected, but not as much as she needed. And probably not as up to date as she needed, either. Still, she soaked it all in. Any information could be useful.

Órlaith briefly considered asking the teacher who’d spoken to her about the City’s defences. Surely they would know something? But no, the last thing she needed was for anyone to realise her interest. Then again, maybe she could frame it as worry – being afraid that the City might be breached. It was too risky, though.

Three weeks after her confrontation with Leolin, Órlaith was summoned to meet with Emyr and Anwen.

The message arrived in the middle of a class. The teacher and students looked at her curiously as she left – it was rare for anyone to be called to meet with Emyr or Anwen, let alone both of them. Even rarer for a student to be summoned by them, even one at the Peak Academy.

Órlaith struggled to keep herself from panicking as she followed the messenger to Emyr’s tower. She didn’t know what this was about. It might be that Leolin had convinced Anwen, that Anwen wanted to talk to her about helping the City. It might not be anything bad – Leolin must have spoken to Anwen, that was certain, but Anwen could have been persuaded that Órlaith wanted to help. That Órlaith hadn’t been lying through her teeth to Leolin, when she’d suggested that she understood why he had done it.

She was sorely tempted to make a break for it when they passed the gates of the City. But she stopped herself, and kept walking behind the messenger.

Eventually, they got to the tower, and the messenger gestured for her to make her way up the stairs alone. Órlaith gave them an apprehensive look, remembering what Anwen had said that first day about the traps in the tower. But even if she had been found out, surely they wouldn’t just send her up the stairs if it wasn’t safe. They must have disabled the traps, or somehow set them to recognise her.

So Órlaith made her way up the stairs. She had forgotten how brutal they were – every time she thought she was nearly there, she would look up and realise that she had even further to go. Eventually, though, Órlaith reached the top of the staircase. The door was closed, and it was still dim enough up here that she couldn’t tell what the carvings on it were supposed to be.

Órlaith swallowed, and raised her hand to knock. The door slid open before she could, leaving her standing there with one hand in the air.

Emyr sat behind his desk, Anwen perched gracefully on a low stool in front of it. There was another stool beside hers, and Anwen smiled at Órlaith, patting it.

“Come in,” she said. “Take a seat.”

Órlaith did, trying to ignore the way the door slid shut behind her.

“So,” Emyr said. “I’ve been hearing some very interesting things, young Órlaith. Very interesting indeed.” He stroked his chin. “Some from Anwen. Some from your teachers. Some from Anwen’s apprentice, your friend. They all say you’re an intelligent girl. Powerful, too. Creative with magic, if Anwen’s apprentice is to be believed – he was very certain of that, too. Very keen to tell us all about how talented you are with magic.”

He looked at Órlaith expectantly. She stayed silent, not sure what he was expecting her to say. What he wanted her to say.

“Leolin has also told us some other things,” Anwen said, smiling at Órlaith. It felt like being smiled at by a predator. “Such as, for example, your nighttime escapades. Tell me, Órlaith, what did you hope to learn when you broke curfew? When you found your way to our interrogation rooms?”

The silence hung in the air, both of them watching her. She was going to have to answer this time. There was no way around it.

“I don’t know,” Órlaith said. “I – I wanted to learn more. About the City.”

“And yet you did not seek information from the Peak Academy’s books, or even its teachers,” Anwen noted. “Why is that? Are they not of value to you?”

“They are,” Órlaith said quickly. “I do value them. But I’ve always learnt better by doing. And I used to spend a lot of my time exploring places. It was how I got to know them. I thought – I only broke the curfew because otherwise I could never leave the Academy. And I didn’t know where the tunnel would lead when I followed it.”

Anwen nodded. “Yes, Leolin has told me in great detail of your difficulties with the Peak Academy. He seems to feel that you find the City’s most prestigious educational institute dull.”

Órlaith stared at her, frozen. There was no way she could answer that truthfully.

Anwen laughed, throwing her head back.

“There’s no need to look so nervous,” she said. “You would hardly be the first to find it so. Indeed, it tends to be those of us with a more... creative bent who find themselves disinterested in what the Academy has to offer.”

“Like both of us,” Emyr added. “Why, I barely managed half a term at the Peak Academy before I found myself an alternative mentor! It’s an excellent institution, to be sure. But not one that caters to all of our best.” He leaned forward, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “In fact, I’d perhaps even go so far as to say that for the best of the best, the brightest of all, it can be somewhat stifling. Just as it seems you’ve found it.”

“A little,” Órlaith admitted, looking away. “I don’t want to complain. I know you’re both very busy.” And she really, really didn’t want Anwen or Emyr to offer to teach her personally. When she’d first come to the City, she would have welcomed that, would have been in awe of them both. Now, though, she just wanted them to forget they’d ever seen her.

“We are,” Anwen agreed, eyes glittering. “And as Leolin has told me, you’re well aware of what we are busy with.” She raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, Órlaith. In your own words, if you please. What is it that you think we are doing?”

Shit.

Órlaith searched frantically for something, anything to say. Something that wouldn’t incriminate her, wouldn’t incriminate Leolin – and wouldn’t end up with her down in one of those interrogation rooms, being asked to break someone’s mind.

Anwen shook her head.

“The look on your face tells me enough,” she said. “You are disgusted by us, aren’t you, Órlaith. Disgusted, horrified even, by the things that are necessary to keep you safe. Disgusted by the sacrifices we have made – Leolin has made – to ensure the safety and security of the City.”

“And if I am?” Órlaith snapped, the words leaping out of her before she had a chance to think about it. “What you’re doing is wrong, you’re – you’re destroying people and saying it’s right! Not just the prisoners, but people like Leolin too! He’s – everything he’s been through, and you’re using him, making him do your dirty work!”

Anwen sighed. “You shout as though you think I am a monster,” she said. “As though you do not see that having the luxury to think such things monstrous is only possible because we do such things.”

“You are a monster,” Órlaith said, and she believed it with her whole heart. “Even now – what is this? Are you trying to convince me that what you’re doing is right? Because if Leolin couldn’t persuade me, I don’t know what makes you think I’ll listen to you. You’re the one who’s manipulated Leolin into this, twisted him into tearing people’s minds apart – he just wanted to help! He wanted to do something good with magic! Not this!” She was nearly panting, voice raised til it echoed off the close walls of the office.

Neither of them looked especially fazed.

Emyr shook his head, frowning.

“You were right, Anwen,” he said, casting a disappointed look at Órlaith. “We should have picked her up far earlier if we wanted her to be of much use. A shame, truly – if Aneirin had been able to collect her when she was younger... why, she might even have surpassed you or I.” He sighed. “What a waste of potential. Tragic, truly.”

“What?” Órlaith stared at him. “Pick me – how do you know my uncle’s name?”

Anwen rolled her eyes. “For a girl supposedly so talented, you do seem somewhat slow on the uptake, Órlaith. Have you not noticed how few of the residents of the City grew up in the outside world? They’re of far less use to us once they develop family connections and loyalties outside the City. So messy to clear up. We have an excellent network of individuals outside the City who direct newly-discovered spellweavers to us. Aneirin is merely another of those, hardly anything special.”

“What?” Órlaith said again. This couldn’t be – Anwen couldn’t be saying what Órlaith thought she was. She couldn’t be.

Anwen sighed. “Silly girl. It isn’t worth the effort if a child will be missed. Children with no family, however, children desperate for someone who cares... They find a welcome here in the City. And, of course, their loyalties will then lie with those who saved them, gave them a home.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Órlaith stared at them both. This wasn’t information they could let her walk away with. This wasn’t something they could just let go.

“Because it hardly matters what you know now,” Anwen said, confirming Órlaith’s fears. “A shame Leolin is so attached to you, really. It would be simplest to remove you, but I suppose we can find a use for you eventually.” She smiled. “After all, everyone has a breaking point. How long do you think it will be until we find yours?”

---

Órlaith wasn’t sure how much time had passed.

She had collapsed in Emyr’s office. No, not collapsed – it was something Anwen or Emyr had done. She was certain of it. When she had woken, she was in a cell.

And that was where she was now. It was a small cell, not even long enough for her to lie down in either way. The floor was vaguely damp, for no discernable reason, and one side was made entirely of bars, no door visible. Órlaith supposed it was probably opened and closed with magic.

Magic that she couldn’t use.

The first thing Órlaith had done when she woke was reach for her magic. Even without anything nearby to draw on, her own energy might be enough to break free.

But there had been nothing there. Órlaith had panicked at first, terrified that they had somehow stripped her magic away from her entirely. Then she had calmed down, and looked around at the cell.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were the same white marble as everything else in the City. And, like only a few other things she had seen in the City, they were covered in carvings.

This was the first time Órlaith had been close enough to any carvings to figure them out. But she was still none the wiser. They didn’t seem to make any sense, no matter how she traced her hands across them. If it was writing, it wasn’t in any language Órlaith knew.

Whatever it was, though, it was suppressing her magic. It had to be. If she tried, really tried, she could feel it there, just the tiniest bit. It was as though a barrier cut her off from using any magic, but she could just barely sense it, just enough to know that it still existed. It was unpleasant, but at least she knew she still had it.

Órlaith sighed, finishing another round of pacing the cell and dropping to sit on the floor, pressed into a corner. There was very little she could do here. She could cross the cell in only a few steps, and she couldn’t do that too many times before getting dizzy. Other than that, the only thing she could do was trace the carvings over and over again, or sit and stare at the bars of the cell.

What were Anwen and Emyr planning? Anwen had said that they couldn’t kill her because Leolin was attached, whatever that was supposed to mean. Then she had spoken about finding Órlaith’s breaking point.

Órlaith swallowed.

They couldn’t be planning to break her mind like they had done to the prisoner. If Anwen had wanted to do that, she could have just done it then and there. And if they had a way to manipulate her mind without breaking it, Órlaith was sure Anwen would already be using it on prisoners, on residents, on anyone she wished. Leolin would have known. Probably.

So that left the old-fashioned ways of breaking her.

The caravan might have protected Órlaith, but she wasn’t naive. She knew that there were ways to convince people to do things they never would otherwise. Ways to destroy a person, so much so that they would do whatever they were ordered to do, just to avoid further pain. Sometimes, just to please whomever they’d been taught to think of as their master.

If that was what Anwen wanted to do to her, to break her so utterly that Órlaith became little more than a slave...

Órlaith wasn’t sure there was anything she could do about it. Not really. She could resist for a while, but nobody could hold out forever. Like Anwen had said, everyone had a breaking point.

Unless you died first. But Órlaith didn’t want that. And even if she had, Anwen would never allow it.

Órlaith was jolted out of her dark thoughts by footsteps. She strained her ears to listen – it sounded like they were coming down a staircase, judging by the echo. That was useful to know. It meant she was down, wherever she was. Somewhere underground. Maybe even somewhere near those interrogation rooms she had stumbled upon.

“Órlaith.”

Her eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet.

“Leolin!” she exclaimed, darting to the bars of the cell and catching hold of them. “Leolin, you have to -”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he cut her off. His voice was cold. Colder than she’d ever heard it before – when he was talking to her, at least. “I know what you did, Órlaith. I know what you said.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean!” he snarled, jerking forward sharply enough that Órlaith flinched back. There was a mixture of anger and hurt on his face. What was – oh. Oh, no.

“Anwen showed me,” he went on, turning sharply away from Órlaith. “They recorded that meeting. I heard what you said.” His voice was shaking. “I – Órlaith, if you thought I was a monster, couldn’t you have told me to my face? How long were you pretending? Was it all a lie, ever since the first time we met? I thought – I know it was my fault. I know it was my fault your family died. But when you told me you didn’t blame me, I believed you, Órlaith.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Órlaith said desperately. “Leolin, I swear to you, I wasn’t lying when I said that. I never called you a monster – they must have changed the recording somehow, told you -”

Leolin laughed, brittle and broken. “So now you tell me it’s Anwen who lied to me. Not you. Anwen, who put herself on the line for me. Anwen, who fought to teach me, against those who saw me as a liability. You want me to believe you over her? When I heard you calling me a monster, calling Anwen a monster?” He faced Órlaith again, stepping closer to the cell.

There were tears in his eyes, barely held back. Leolin swiped a hand over his face, swallowing. Órlaith just stared at him, something in her chest cracking.

“I don’t know what to say,” she told him quietly. “Leolin... I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t call you a monster. I called Anwen a monster, because the things she’s done are monstrous, and she’s made you do them too. She had you break people’s minds for her, Leolin.”

“No,” he said, slicing a hand through the air. “No, Órlaith. I’m done with this. I won’t stand here and listen to you lying to me any more. I thought...” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come down here. Anwen told me as much. But I wanted to see what you had to say. I couldn’t believe that you would really...” Leolin’s expression hardened. “But it’s just as they said. You won’t admit anything. All you do is try to avoid answering me, try to tell me I’m the one in the wrong.”

He took a step back from the cell, then another.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I hope it doesn’t take too much for them to break you. I... I’d like to be able to be friends with you again, Órlaith. Once you understand right and wrong again. I hope they don’t have to push you too much before you can accept that.”

And then he turned and walked away.