But exercises were one thing, requiring only trickles of power from his own
ikilhia
. Now the time had come to attempt true spellcasting, in which he would release his barriers and draw on channeled power for the first time since the accident. The power would merely be stored
ikilhia
from a
zhivnoi
crystal, just as Kiran had done countless times before…and yet, the red gleam in the crystal Mikail held unsettled Kiran as deeply as if it were the eye of some slumbering beast, ready to wake and devour him. He scanned the delicate spirals of silver yet again, searching for the merest flaw in their placement. Even a relatively simple illusion spell such as he meant to cast would be dangerous if the pattern wasn’t perfect.
Or if Kiran lost his focus. He shut his eyes, seeking calm.
“You’ll be fine,” said Mikail. “You were still waist-high when we first cast this.”
“I know.” He could recall his own childish excitement, Mikail’s solemn eagerness, the shock of delight when they’d succeeded in linking minds deeply enough to cast together. “I’m ready.”
Mikail handed him the crystal and stepped back into the channeler’s position, coolly confident. Kiran bent and placed the
zhivnoi
crystal at the pattern’s anchor point. The red glow heightened, the
ikilhia
within ready and waiting to flow at Kiran’s direction.
His unease surged. He blocked it out. He’d cast a thousand times before without harm; this would be no different.
Kiran released his barriers, opening his senses wide. The life energy stored within the stone snapped into sharp focus as an orb of contained light. Mikail’s
ikilhia
blazed as bright as a signal fire. Beyond was the glowing shroud of the workroom wards, a steady thrum of energy keeping the raw, wild currents of the confluence at bay.
Unlike the snarl of violent power Ruslan had forced through makeshift channels that morning, the
ikilhia
within the crystal didn’t hurt when it lapped against his mind. Far from it. The stored power sang to him, sweet and seductive. His soul ached for it as strongly as if he’d gone
years
without tasting magic. All hesitation forgotten, Kiran reached out.
Energy poured into him. Magic swelled in his blood, joy rising with it. He gloried in the sensations for a timeless interval, letting magic eddy through body and mind.
“Kiran,” Mikail said, chiding but amused.
Recalled to his purpose, Kiran stretched his senses for his mage-brother. Their minds meshed with smooth ease, far more easily than in his childhood memories. With Mikail’s strength as his anchor, Kiran sent power coursing out into the channels. As he layered the spell into shape, Mikail shadowed his every move, smoothing and adjusting the channels’ flow to support Kiran’s efforts. When the intricate latticework was complete, Kiran narrowed his focus and brought his will to bear. Nothing else existed but his desired result; he commanded the spell to supply it.
Magic leapt to obey. In the center of the room, the air flared bright, and a shining pillar formed. Gradually, the pillar resolved into a peach tree, the trunk rooted in the stone floor, the branches laden with rosy-gold fruit and the leaves thick and green.
Kiran called back the remaining power and funneled it safely away into the crystal’s spelled reservoir. As the magic dancing in his blood faded, his link with Mikail thinned and dissolved. Reluctantly, Kiran rebuilt his barriers. His ordinary senses felt muffled, the world leached of beauty and color.
“Nicely done, Kiran,” Ruslan said from the doorway. A spark of pride warmed Kiran’s chest as Ruslan studied the peach tree. The illusory leaves appeared to quiver in the gentle breeze wafting through the open window. “Ah, snow peaches. Lizaveta’s favorite kind. Shame they’re only illusion.”
“We could make her some real ones if we cast a higher level spell,” Mikail said.
Ruslan shook his head. “Enough for today, I think. Kiran, did you feel any discomfort while casting?”
“No.” Kiran’s inner senses tingled, but in a good way, as if he’d stretched muscles that hadn’t been used in too long. “It felt…” Words couldn’t suffice to explain the glory; he settled on, “Wonderful. Can’t I cast another?”
Ruslan chuckled. “Patience,
akhelysh.
Better to do less than you can than too much. You were not so comfortable this morning even with the damping charms, yes?”
“It only hurt when you neared the limit of what the channels could hold,” Kiran said. “Even then, the pain wasn’t bad.”
“Still, any pain means you have not yet fully recovered.” Ruslan’s face grew stern. “I have another question about this morning, Kiran.”
Kiran’s delight withered. Had Ruslan seen how his questioning of the servant had upset Kiran? Or was this about the
nathahlen
guide? Kiran swallowed and met Ruslan’s eyes, waiting.
“The Alathians’ guide stood with you while you watched my casting. Did you speak to him?”
Kiran nodded, his stomach sinking. Surely Ruslan couldn’t be angry over such a brief conversation? “He asked what the
zhaveynikh
spell would do. I only answered because you said we need to share information with the Alathians.”
Ruslan leaned against the wall. His hazel eyes bored into Kiran’s. “Was that all you spoke of?”
“No,” Kiran admitted. “I told him the spell had showed us the time of death. If that was a mistake, I’m sorry—but I said nothing else of consequence, I swear it!”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Ruslan’s casual stance didn’t change, but magic slammed into Kiran through the mark-binding link. Kiran choked and fell to his knees, his vision darkening as Ruslan scoured his mind with the implacable, brutal force of a sandstorm. Ruslan found and examined the memory of his conversation with Dev, brushing away Kiran’s instinctive attempts to block him with casual strength.
When Ruslan released him at last, Kiran found himself splayed face-down on the workroom floor, sweat soaking his shirt and stinging his eyes. His muscles trembled and his head throbbed with renewed pain.
“I’m sorry!” he gasped. “I didn’t mean to disobey—I wouldn’t have—”
“Enough,” Ruslan said.
Kiran shut his mouth so fast he nearly bit his tongue. He stared at the stone beneath his nose, trying not to think of the agony in Torain’s cries. He could only hope that Ruslan wouldn’t decide to punish him in earnest.
“I did not intend you to share information with a mere servant,” Ruslan said. “In the future, I suggest you remember that speaking to
nathahlen
is a waste of time.”
“Yes, Ruslan.” Kiran rolled to sit up, shaky with relief. He struggled to silence the voice within that insisted Ruslan’s rules on talking to the untalented were both unreasonable and unfair. Ruslan was never so strict with Mikail.
“I must leave you for a time,” Ruslan said. “If Lizaveta seeks me, tell her I had to depart on an errand in the lower city, and will return as soon as I may. Kiran, no more exercises. Instead, review the theory behind the
zhaveynikh
spell you saw cast this morning—Mikail can show you the appropriate volume of the Dyadi codices. Mikail, you may return to working on the spell designs you began last week.”
“Yes, Ruslan,” Kiran said in concert with Mikail. He couldn’t help wondering what Ruslan sought in the lower districts, but he kept silent, fearful of rekindling Ruslan’s ire.
Mikail was braver. “Do you seek the killer? I would come, and help you—”
“No,
akhelysh,
” Ruslan said. “Finding our quarry will require more than a morning’s research. Have no fear, I’ll call upon your assistance soon enough. For now, continue your studies as usual.”
He stretched out a hand to the illusory peach tree. A tendril of power sliced through the spell’s pattern. The tree blurred and dissolved into nothing, the remaining mist of energies easily absorbed by the workroom wards. Ruslan left, after a last, satisfied nod.
Kiran climbed to his feet, waving off Mikail’s offered hand.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled. It was mostly the truth. The ache in his head had diminished to a dull throb.
Mikail sighed. “Why do you always test him? You know it never ends well.”
“I wasn’t trying to test him—I thought I was doing the right thing!” Kiran blotted sweat from his forehead, glaring. “His rules on
nathahlen
are ridiculous. Why can’t I talk to them if I please? What difference does it make?”
“That guide is working for our enemies.” Mikail’s voice was flat. “Ruslan had every right to rebuke you.”
“Ruslan was the one who said we had to share information! Besides, you speak with
nathahlen
sometimes and Ruslan doesn’t care. If it bothers him so much, why doesn’t he ever punish you for it?”
“Because I remember my place, and theirs.” Mikail’s eyes held a hint of the same anger Kiran had seen countless times in Ruslan’s. “I don’t make the mistake of treating them as equals.” The final word came out in a sneer.
“Just because they lack mage talent doesn’t mean they can’t be interesting,” Kiran said, thinking of Dev’s easy, friendly grin.
Mikail turned his eyes to the warded ceiling, his jaw clenching. “Little brother, sometimes you’re a complete fool.” He gripped Kiran’s shoulders and shook him, hard. “Look around you! Ruslan’s given us everything. Most men only dream of the lives we have, and the power we wield. How can any
nathahlen
possibly compare?”
Rare, to see his placid mage-brother so visibly upset. Kiran blinked at him in puzzlement. “All I did was converse for a few moments. Ruslan wasn’t that angry. Why are you?”
“You were lucky.” Mikail’s grip tightened. “Next time, you may not be. Risking his anger is never worth it. Never. I don’t understand why that’s such a hard concept for you to grasp.”
“Look who’s talking,” Kiran said. “What about that time you broke into his vault to steal a
zhivnoi
crystal because you wanted to try and make it snow in Ninavel? You thought it was worth it then.”
“That was years ago! We’re not children anymore, Kiran.” But Mikail’s gray eyes softened, one corner of his mouth lifting. He released Kiran with a shove, sending him staggering. “Go clean yourself up. I can’t concentrate on designing channels with you stinking of sweat like some
nathahlen
brute.”
Kiran went. In his room, he changed his shirt, and absently splashed citrus-infused water on his face from the full ewer at his washbasin. Regardless of the years he’d lost, he knew his mage-brother. Mikail’s cool composure wasn’t easily shaken. This business about
nathahlen
…something must have happened during the time Kiran couldn’t remember, to upset Mikail so deeply. But what? It was so maddening to have the past such a void. Kiran turned away from the washbasin, determination filling him. He might not be able to recover everything he’d lost, but this—this, he would find out.
Chapter Twelve
(Dev)
I
slipped into an alley barely wide enough to walk in, glad to escape the fierce blaze of the afternoon sun. Talm trailed after me. He wore the loose, flowing clothes Sulanian drovers favored, complete with a headwrap that left little more than his eyes showing, and cheap copper warding bracelets circling his wrists. So far he was good as his word about fitting in streetside, mostly because he was smart enough to keep his mouth firmly shut around others.
We’d already visited the few Acaltar taverns open at this hour, populated by sunburned, sweating foreigners too dumb to realize they should be sleeping off the day’s heat instead of drinking. I’d heard all kinds of rumors about the wardfire on the Aiyalen Spire. Each rumor was crazier than the last, none of them of any obvious use. But at the Blackstrike tavern, I’d left a message for Cara: a ward-sealed envelope containing a hastily snipped lock of my hair and the words
find me
. She could use the hair to key a charm to track me down, regardless of where Talm and I wandered to hunt information.
The banking scrip Halassian had given me was tucked firmly in my inner shirt pocket. I wanted to keep my bid for Melly anonymous, lest Red Dal rightly suspect I didn’t own the coin to pay up. Red Dal’s runner boys and minders all knew me, but they didn’t know Cara. I’d send her as my courier as soon as she met up with me.
“How do you stand living here?”
I turned, surprised. Talm was squinting up at the strip of searingly bright sky showing between the alley’s high walls. He said, “I’d forgotten how the lower city makes me feel like a rat in a well. All that weight of stone above us…doesn’t it bother you, to see so little of the sky?”
“When I want a view, I climb up onto a roof. At least Ninavel’s not buried in woodsmoke and river fog, and no man could be bored in the night markets.” That said, I desperately missed the expansive vistas and crisp, cool air of the Whitefires’ high cirques. This was the first summer in nine years that I hadn’t spent in the mountains.
Talm slowed, staring at me. “You actually like this city. But…you were Tainted. You’ve experienced firsthand how viciously men misuse power here! Children enslaved by criminals, the untalented killed or ruined on mere whims, with no recourse to any authority—how can you possibly think Ninavel anything but a plague den?”
I shrugged uncomfortably. “Some of it is, yeah. But it’s not all bad.” I thought of lazy afternoons full of laughter in Samis’s courtyard, of listening rapt to storytellers from every country under the sun, of friends like Sethan who’d fled the harsh laws of their home cities and cherished the chance to begin anew.
“Marten told me why you agreed to come,” Talm said. “Of the Tainted child you hope to save. Have you never thought of trying to change this…system of abuse? Stopping the enslavement of children entirely?”
Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand, did he think it would be so easy? Gods all damn mages and their arrogance. I laughed bitterly. “If I were a mage, maybe. Maybe then I could take on every ganglord in the city. Even so…have
you
ever thought about stopping Alathia’s forced conscription of mageborn kids? I’d bet you’d have just as much luck.”
“Some of us do hope to change the conscription laws,” Talm said. “Marten, in particular. It’s one of the reasons I requested to be transferred from Ninavel to join his Watch. He sees beyond the fear that keeps the Council so militant. He’s worked tirelessly to convince the Council that giving mages a little more choice in their lives and their magic would help and not harm our country. I only wish more in the Watch shared his strength of vision.”