2 Months Ago

Sand mixed with obsidian blurred across the ground as Grevor rushed forward. A spike of black glass rushed by so close he felt it rip against his coat. His enemy, a stout man with a full beard, was already gathering another pillar at his side.

He was too late, however. Grevor pushed light through Lungs. His body flashed, blurring into energy, motion, and speed. He flashed across the field in an instant, hand and Dagger outstretched, reaching for the man.

Ice snapped into existence, vapor immediately drifting off the structure. Aborting his blocked attack, Grev shifted in motion. Tensing his legs, he took the impact easily. Energy rose rapidly within his thighs as he sensed the cold-tethered’s location.

Grevor recognized his mistake moments after he leapt. He blasted through the air, throwing as much light as he could. Both the ice and obsidian caught him in the air before he managed much. Grevor slammed onto his stomach in the sand, layers of material nailing him to the ground.

The obsidian pressed in so close, he couldn’t even get a hand under his chest to push himself up and the ice was already working to send the temperature into a free fall. His breath plumed into his own face, freezing on his lashes.

Both tore away and he let out a groan as fresh air rushed to meet him. Rolling onto his back, he saw Master Ayvir standing above him.

Though he no longer perfectly filled the regulations of a tethered officer, he was still dressed in a uniform. His coat bore no markings of rank or organization, and one sleeve was folded up and pinned to his elbow, so it didn’t dangle. He also wore a patchy beard that never quite filled out.

“Never get so—“

“Never get so high you can’t touch the ground,” Grevor groaned, playing up the embarrassment of forgetting. With Lungs, Grevor could in theory throw out enough power to move through the air a little, but he’d never successfully channeled that much energy through his Dagger.

Matilda joined them and offered a hand. Grevor accepted it and the ice tethered heaved him into the air, the energy still coursing through his body making him lighter than normal.

“That was a good dodge,” she offered reconciliatory and took a step back. Grevor nodded in thanks.

“You are improving,” Ayvir said. Apparently, it was a time of praise-giving.

“Only because of your service and assistance,” Grevor said, bowing to the two of them.

Matilda rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Whatever,” she grabbed her Starstone uniform coat and joined the other guards milling about in the training field. Grevor rolled his shoulder. It had gotten pinched under the obsidian but had already recovered.

Grevor eased off the draw, slowing his tether down until a bare trickle was suffusing his body. Whether Ranvir was just a monster of different proportions, or space was a simpler power to hold, Grevor had never mentioned maintaining his power even half as long as his old friend had.

He nearly winced at the thought, remembering his face in those moments. His distraught appearance, his eyes glowing and dimming intermittently.

“What are you thinking about?” Ayvir asked.

Grevor shook his head. “Memories.”

“Sometimes, it’s best to leave them behind,” Ayvir said.

“Sometimes, it’s necessary to bring them up again,” Grevor countered.

Ayvir chuckled, the routine settling on them with an easy familiarity.

“What was it like?” Ayvir asked after a moment of them walking the field’s perimeter.

Grevor rolled his neck side-to-side. Ayvir wasn’t talking about his memory. He knew that, yet his mind couldn’t stop from treading old roads. That woman’s sheer power. In all his years, Grevor had seen nothing like it. And he hadn’t even known the half of it. In a week, Saleema had single-handedly changed the everyday course of life of hundreds of thousands. From the lowliest beggar to the highest of kings. Especially the kings.

“I got too caught up in the rush of powers,” Grevor said, turning his focus back on training. “I felt too invincible. Let it get to my head when I avoided Matilda’s wall.”

“What was that like?”

“Quite chilling.”

Ayvir gave him a dead-eyed look. Grevor grinned at him with all of his might and youthful exuberance. It died on his lips before Ayvir could speak again. The Master turned to look behind him and found the messenger approaching. He whispered two words into Grevor’s ear. “Another one.”

“I’ve got to go,” Grevor said, taking Ayvir’s hand. “Thank you for your training today.”

Ayvir smiled at him. “You hardly need it.”

But you do, Grevor didn’t break his smile as he squeezed his old mentor’s hand. “It’s more important than you know.”

Ayvir snorted and headed back for out of the Starstone estate. Grevor called Matilda over with a hand wave. Her expression went grim when she saw where he was headed. The Starstone estate had moved closer to the palace to more easily facilitate travel between the two. That had also allowed them a little more space, which opened up for a robustly built shed in the back of the gardens. Made of straywood, the smoke attuned wood dampening sounds efficiently. It was just big enough for a two-person bed with two people standing shoulder to shoulder all the way around.

A bed or something similar, if less comfortable.

Grevor ran a perfunctory check of his surroundings, his tether sweeping the area once before entering.

The shed was bright enough to make Grevor squint. Redirecting a hint away from his eyes, the space came into clarity. It was kept bright, bright enough to burn the eyes if you stared at the source for too long. The woman sat in the center of the rack, dressed only in a loincloth, though Grevor could see the shreds of her old clothing strayed across the floor.

Her heritage was clear in her exposed state. Even the areas that hadn’t been touched by light were darker than Grevor. Combined with her cursing in Kisi on his entrance was more than enough to condemn her.

Still, he’d give her a chance. Matilda immediately went to the people standing next to the door, while he crossed knelt on the wooden bed that form the base of the rack.

“Hello,” Grevor had been given plenty of chances to practice his Kisi over the last few years. While he certainly didn’t sound like a native, even an intermediary speaker would be perfectly capable of understanding him.

He didn’t smile at her or show any overt signs of kindness. They wouldn’t be accepted in the current situation. “If you will give us your name, my colleague will give you a shirt. How does that sound?”

She hissed and spat at him. It fell short, landing on the hand he used to support his weight rather than on his face. “And what if I don’t?” she asked in a rural accent that made Grevor’s heart ache. “You’re going to put me in chains?” she gestured to the coils of expensive iron.

His blond hair shook before his eyes as Grevor shook his head. “Unfortunately not,” he accepted the cloth from the guard, not giving Matilda the report. They’d learned to be prepared for much worse than spit in these situations. “I don’t have a taste for violence, if I’m honest,” Grevor continued. “Nor do the Purists allow your kind to learn much of consequence.”

The woman stared at him, the words slowly processing. She recoiled, scooting off the rack and pushing into the corner opposite them. Them and the door.

“You could always talk,” Grevor offered, giving the cloth back to the guard. “Work with us and we can figure out something better.”

“Fuck you,” the woman whispered harshly, then continued more strongly. “To depths of the road of the damned with you! May your feet bleed endlessly on the Downway! Ankiria will not bow to the Elusrian cow! Ankiria’s sons and daughters will rise above the—“

Grevor burned a hole through her eye and into her brain. The concentrated light leaving a trail in his eyes afterwards and a flash of heat that washed over exposed skin. Stinking of burned hair and seared eyeball, the woman slumped down in the corner, dead instantly.

Grevor had begun gathered light the moment she began her rant. There’d been enough assassins over the last two years that he knew where they were headed. It was a mercy, compared to what the torturers would do. He wasn’t as proficient as Ayvir with his attacks. He’d seen the Master launch attacks of complete darkness, capturing even the light that passed through.

He could’ve also controlled the beam better, as her eyeball popped from the flash of heat. Grevor clicked his tongue and rose to his feet. “Get her covered and sent away,” he nodded to the guards, then to Matilda. “Any new attempt at entry?”

She shook her head. “They tried to sneak her through as a courier. Again.”

Grevor shook his head and stepped out of the shed.

“Uncle!” cried a childish voice, small shoes rushed through grass. Bjalki rushed over to him. Light burst through Lungs, and Grevor swept her into a swirling embrace, spinning her around twice, shutting the door and taking several steps away.

His niece cocked her head and looked about in confusion. They’d settled far enough from the shed that even a stray scent from the corpse wouldn’t reach them. “What are you doing here, you little cold plunge?”

Bjalki grinned. “Daddy said you have to come see him.”

“Oh?” Grevor asked, finding his brother easily. Grevor would recognize Baug’s spirit anywhere, even if it was dimmer than a tethered. The search was only made easier by the three bright and powerful native presences close to him. “What does he need me for?”

“Something boring,” Bjalki said and slapped Grevor’s arm. “Put me down.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“Feeding little brother,” he mimed, lifting his shirt.

“That sounds boring,” Grevor said. “Let’s go find your father. At least we can play some tricks on him!”

Bjalki giggled and ran off just as the shed door opened. The guards exited, carrying a barrel between them. It would be placed on a wagon and sent to a mortuary to be burnt within the day.