Chapter 121 - 120 - THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK

The whole hill, set a little apart from the Royal Hill where the Agrov family were interred, was sown with their headstones bearing the image of a golden triangle, dates, and an unending succession of names.

These were plain, gray granite effigies. There was nothing superfluous about them. And instead of resting on slabs of concrete or something similar, they were surrounded by pebbles, with loose earth in the center, and bushes of dog rose ringing them. That, as far as Ardi could recall, was the central motif of this old family's coat of arms. A family that had become part of history.

For all these years, Edward Aversky had borne the burden of being the last of his blood. His wife, who had not had enough time to give him an heir, had perished… in that very same catastrophic experiment which had led to Aversky being forced to join the Second Chancery.

Aversky had never found the resolve to bind himself in marriage a second time. To his last breath, his wife had remained Star Magic, and his mistress his service to the realm. Or perhaps it had been the other way around. No one could ask him now…

As a result, since he'd had no direct heirs, all the property of the Grand Magister — including the income from his patents on the training grounds — had reverted to the Crown. Everything except for his collection of grimoires and his house. Lord Aversky had bequeathed his research to the Mage Guild, and his private training ground together with his manor had been assigned for quartering and use at the discretion of the Guild's military wing, so that the serving officers in the capital would always have a place to practice and rest.

Ardan hadn't been the least bit surprised by such a will. It was entirely in character for the man whose patriotism had been rivaled only by his ego and… kind heart. Not "kind" in the way people for whom brass smells only of brass think of it. It had been kind in another way. Ardi did not yet understand how exactly, but he felt that this knowledge was somehow connected to Katerina's words… and Hector's… and Arkar's and… perhaps to why he had really not taken the Sidhe's scroll.

He hadn't done so just because he'd feared falling into a trap. He simply… hadn't wanted to. Why? For now, he could not answer that question.

Was it possible to possess kindness and compassion when your hands weren't merely elbow-deep in other people's blood, but when there was so much of that gore that you could flood several basements with it?

Ardi looked at the golden triangle on the granite headstone.

He did not know the answer to that question, either. And, as Atta'nha had said, he was unlikely to find a book or a scroll from which he could glean the necessary knowledge.

"There's something I'm curious about, Magister," Milar removed the cigarette from his lips and contemplatively examined the glowing ash. "The false Anvar was helping the Spiders in order to get to us and take that candle of yours which was, in fact, the legendary Flame of Mendera."

"The Sidhe Flame," Ardi corrected him automatically.

"Don't care," the captain shrugged, then continued. "Or is he still somehow tied to the Puppeteers?"

"The Puppeteers?" The young man repeated.

"Yeah." Milar shifted his gaze from his cigarette to the procession climbing the hill. "I decided to call those who are — or were — behind the Spiders 'The Puppeteers.' Makes it easier."

"Easier…" Ardan echoed.

Not far from the two partners, leaning on a crutch with his leg bandaged and in a cast, Alexander Ursky stood in silence. Din Erson, whose head now sported a bandana identical to Alexander's, had rested a hand on his shoulder. His left eye socket was hidden by a leather patch, and sutures that had not yet dried drew together the furrows left behind by claws across his face.

Beside Din, blindly gazing somewhere ahead, rocking from heels to toes and back again, stood Alice Rovnev. She was wearing a black dress and a black hat, and she kept touching the veil of netting that fell from the brim down over her face. Milar swore that they had been able to pull Alice out of the Black House's dungeons before the interrogations had begun, but the very fact that she'd been taken to the Second Chancery's underground cells had left a scar on her soul that would not stop reminding her of its existence anytime soon.

Mshisty was also there, yawning languidly and gnawing on a hard biscuit. And behind him were dozens and even hundreds of other people clad in black: suits, dresses, and some were even in autumn leather coats.

At the head of this black haze, both hands resting on the knob of his cane, the Colonel stared stubbornly ahead at the freshly-dug grave over which ropes had been stretched, ready to receive the coffin. As always, he wore his favorite felt hat and cloak, his sharp mind shining through in his predatory gaze. Only now, deep within those blue eyes of his, faint, cold sparks of bitterness and quiet, icy rage smoldered.

Ardan did not know whether men like the Colonel and Aversky could be friends, but perhaps the Colonel's fury had been awakened not by the bitterness of losing a friend, which, in the grand scheme of things, mattered little. Either way, Ardi did not envy whoever had stirred such deep emotions in a man like the Colonel.

"Why did you just hand the Flame over to that Sidhe?" Milar finally posed one of the most important questions.

To be frank, Ardan did not fully understand why he'd done it himself. Perhaps because he'd felt — with some sense beyond even a sixth — that if he refused, things would turn out worse. Maybe not now. Maybe not in a year, or even five. But someday, something would inevitably happen that would make Ardi regret the fact that he had not returned the Flame to its rightful owner.

"I think, Milar, that five centuries ago, Mendera didn't steal the Flame at all — he merely borrowed it."

"Borrowed?"

"That's when-"

"I know what the word 'borrow' means, Magister," Milar cut in, though without any particular rudeness or rancor. "You thought the time had come to return what was borrowed?"

"It seemed like it to me…"

"Seemed like it to him…" The captain grumbled again. "Just like it 'seemed' like a splendid idea to not take payment for the Flame?"

"My… teacher…" Ardi stumbled on the word. While Milar already knew about Atta'nha, he didn't want to risk someone else overhearing their conversation. "Taught me that the best thing you can take from a Fae is nothing at all. Whatever their gift or trade offer may be, you will always pay for more than you receive. Think about Sergeant Mendera and his soldiers. They got the Flame, didn't they? And what was the result? Some of them died. Some are lost to the pages of history. Mendera became a traitor. And all over the world, ulcers appeared in the form of the Dead Lands. No, Milar, I am not going to accept anything from a Sidhe — neither as a gift nor as payment."

Milar had been giving Ardan a strange look all this time, acting as though he were seeing his partner for the first time and not after spending half a year alongside him — half a year of unrest painted with blood, seasoned with pain, and filled with cursed adventures.

"What's wrong with you?" Ardi asked, surprised.

"That's probably the longest sentence you've ever said to me, Magister," Milar tried to smile, but the attempt twisted into a grimace of pain — his arm hadn't just been broken along the forearm, his collarbone had cracked as well.

The captain now sported a sling looped over his good shoulder, his plaster-bound arm cradled inside it.

They waited for the main procession to climb the hill. Ahead, amid the tangle of footpaths all around the tombstones and the trees that were under the cemetery wardens' care, that procession stretched out for several kilometers.

At its head walked the Emperor himself. His Imperial Majesty Pavel IV, true to habit, was leaning on a plain cane whose knob had clearly seen better days. He was dressed in an equally plain, businesslike suit, and he led the way solemnly. To his left, Duchess Anorsky, the Empress Consort, shimmered in one of her indecently expensive, exquisite gowns.

On the Emperor's right was the Grand Princess Anastasia. She held her staff in both hands and kept casting glances to either side. Perhaps she was looking for Ardi? Hardly. First, a gulf of more than a kilometer lay between them — a distance beyond a human eye's reach — and second, why would she be searching for a mere pen pal?

In the nine months since they had last seen each other, Anastasia had changed. She had grown taller, statelier. In her curious, ardent stare flickered a spark of, if not arrogance, then a very real weariness — not of life itself, but of the crowd that forever surrounded her. Even from here, he could see how the young woman, who was dressed in a dark maroon gown and gray thigh-high boots, was trying to drift to the edge of the procession, only for figures in black to rise out of the shadows and move in beside her.

The Second Chancery had brought its eternal honor guard…

Behind the Imperial family came certain members of the Agrov line, Iolai and his father among them. Ardan hurriedly fished a mask out of an inner pocket and placed it over his face.

"Will they be here soon?" Milar asked, noting his partner's actions.

"They'll reach us in a quarter of an hour."

"Damn… We have another whole day of paperwork ahead of us, and you just had to sign yourself out of the hospital in such a rush, Ard… Maybe you'll start scribbling the forms yourself?"

"I've got exams today, Milar."

"Slipped the noose, did you… brat."

His day promised to be jam-packed, mapped out to nearly the last minute. His morning would be dedicated to saying farewell to Grand Magister Aversky, followed by his exams at the Grand University. After that, come evening (a relative term — Metropolis would still enjoy an almost endless day for the next few months) and the first stars, Din Erson and Plamena Yanev's wedding would take place in the Church of the Blood of Saints. They had decided not to postpone their celebration despite Din's injuries.

Ardi felt like he could understand them, maybe.

"Don't forget, we still have to talk with the Colonel before the wedding," Milar said as though reading his partner's thoughts. He grimaced — partly due to the pain, and partly… because of another kind of pain. "So try not to dawdle over your exams."

"I've also got-"

"A duel against Iolai Agrov, yes, I remember," Milar cut in. "Just refuse to fight him. They've approved your disclosure of your Green Star. So, you can simply state that the disparity in power makes any sort of fair combat impossible, and that will be that."

"Right," Ardi answered, and said no more.

Truth be told, he had neither a motive to fight a bloody duel against Iolai, nor the slightest desire to do so.

"And, Ard, sorry to bring this up now, but-"

"The Governor-General of Shamtur is already in the city."

Milar's brows twitched and his grimace returned.

"You've already met him?"

"Not yet," Ardan shook his head.

"Then how do you know?"

"I counted, approximately."

Milar sighed and gave Ardan a once-over.

"You're a strange lad, Magister… I still can't get used to you."

The partners fell silent. After a time, the procession crested the hill. Behind the Agrov retinue, eight mages bore a coffin of lacquered cherrywood on their shoulders, and behind them flowed a river of red, green, blue, yellow, and even a few flashes of rose-colored cloaks, along with hundreds — if not nearly a thousand — staves. Hidden behind his mask, Ardi noted the grieving faces of several Grand University students he knew personally, or ones he had at least passed in its halls.

He spotted Boris and Elena in the procession, Professor Convel too, even an Manish — this time without a charming woman half his age accompanying him. Grand Magister Aversky had been, for Star Mages, a living symbol of progress. His training grounds had driven science further than any other discovery or invention of this century.

A few minutes later, the Emperor, standing beside the coffin slung on ropes, began his address. He spoke of honor, of duty, of what a worthy man Grand Magister Edward Aversky had been, and of how tragically he had died during his final experiment.

Ardi did not listen to Pavel IV's speech.

Instead, his gaze clung to a familiar figure wrapped in dark garments. She stood a hundred meters away from the gravesite, yet her eyes never left the coffin.

***

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"Damn it, Magister, today's schedule is packed too tight!"

"A couple of minutes," Ardan asked again.

Milar waved a hand and stayed beside the car. The burial had been swift, even spare in a way. The Emperor had spoken above the coffin, then a few mages had added words of their own, including the Head of the Empire's Magister Lodge, who also served as Rector of the Imperial Magical University: an elderly, short, somewhat stout woman with three chins that, surprisingly, did not detract from her visage at all. The keen sparkle of her intelligent eyes more than compensated for them — along with the six-Star insignia on her shoulders.

Mages still lingered on the hill. One by one, they were stepping up to the coffin and laying a red carnation beside it. Some murmured farewells, others withdrew in silence. This would likely stretch on until "nightfall."

Because of the funeral, even the university exams had been postponed — too many had wished to pay their last respects.

The Second Chancery had driven off right after the Emperor's speech, escorting the Agrov family beyond the cemetery gates. And so Ardan had found himself in a parking lot crammed with cars.

Leaving Milar by the battered "Derks," Ardan walked away, following the wrought-iron fence that rose up from an old stone wall that had once served as the cemetery's boundary.

He was still masked as mages streamed past him. Having honored the Grand Magister, they were now hurrying to tram stops, and those lucky enough to own their own transportation were heading for their vehicles.

The first lesson a hunter learns on the trails is that after every hunt, life goes on.

And so it is with funerals.

Life goes on.

Always and everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere.

"Hello," Ardan said, taking his place beside the figure swathed in dark clothing.

The very same figure who had stood on the hill, alone, seeing off her… truth be told, Ardi did not know what had bound the vampire to the world-renowned Star Mage.

"Hello, little one," came a voice as melodious as song, and yet cold — as cold as the headstones nearby.

Cassara.

"You-"

"They let me say goodbye to him," the vampire answered his question before he could even ask it.

She wore the same clothes Ardi had last seen her in: a wide-brimmed, enormous hat that served as her parasol, hiding her from the sun, tight leather pants, high boots, a sabre sheathed on her belt, a bandolier, and two heavy revolvers that were almost the size of Sergeant Boad's own.

Her white hair framed a doll-like face, so beautiful that to look upon it was almost… unpleasant. Cassara's mere presence seemed to drain the color and grace from the world, casting a bottomless shadow over a creation too poor to echo the vampire's beauty.

But Ardi was thinking of other things.

It had been only four days since Aversky's death, which meant…

"I have my own ways to travel, little one," Cassara flicked the hem of her cloak, and the shadow behind her swelled like water boiling. "But I'm not always allowed to use them."

Unconsciously, the vampire touched the bracelets on her wrists — bracelets marked with the same symbols as the amulet owned by Yonatan Kornosskiy.

"You look well, little one," she whispered, gloved fingers brushing Ardan's mask — apparently, it did not bother her at all. "How is your schooling going?"

Ardan did not know why, but he wanted to answer Cassara, and perhaps, had they had more time, speak with her for a while. Ever since the prairies, he had felt much the same as he had in the presence of Atta'nha whenever he was with the vampire. It was almost the same as when he was with his mother.

Calm.

And warm.

Despite the dead chill of the vampire's skin, her icy, pale eyes, and still heart.

"I'm doing my best," Ardi answered honestly. "And you?"

"We're in the Ralsk foothills right now," Cassara replied honestly. "Soon, we'll be sent on an assignment to the Dead Lands."

"Is that connected to Grand Magister Aversky's death?"

Cassara only smiled at him. Ardan, in truth, was neither surprised nor disappointed.

"Each person knows only what they must know."

That was their work.

"Why didn't you tell me that Grandfather struck the bargain with the Crown himself?"

Cassara sighed — or rather, she pretended to sigh, perhaps for her companion's sake, because a vampire had no need for breath — and turned toward the cemetery wall.

"I met your great-grandfather, Ardi, before he had seen seven winters. He was in his first year under Atta'nha and he'd wandered somewhere he ought not to have gone." Cassara ran her fingers through the air, almost but not quite touching the moss-covered stonework. "I never knew what lay in his mind back then, nor was I able to learn it over all the centuries of our acquaintance. Aror acted as he acted, and why he chose certain things over others, no one knew but himself."

Ardan nodded and stood next to the vampire. To his surprise, she turned out to be just a little taller than Tess.

"And Aversky, he-"

"When his parents died, someone had to look after Edward." Cassara's voice rasped like an unwaxed, ancient hinge. "His family had served the Crown for generations, and it could not simply leave a young, gifted mage to the mercy of courtiers and aristocrats."

Ardan must have grown tired of surprises, because his only reaction was to calmly say, "You were Edward's nanny. That's why he was willing to grant your request."

The vampire gave no answer. None was needed. Ardi remembered all too well how Cassara had laughed and played with the northern settlers' children.

"Why was it you, and not someone else…" Ardan began, then broke off.

Edward Aversky had been one of the most gifted mages of the last few centuries, and a genius when it came to war magic. Who else could the Crown, and thereby the Second Chancery, have sent to watch and guide him if not an ancient vampire?

Amusing.

Aversky had been right.

He and Ardan indeed had much — had had much in common.

"Cassara, I wanted to ask you…"

Ardan turned to his companion, and found himself standing alone beside the cemetery wall.

The vampire had disappeared without saying goodbye.

"You better seize the moment and get used to it."

"Used to what?"

"Leaving without goodbyes."

Ardi cast one last glance at the hill and the hundreds of mages threading their way along the cemetery paths, then he turned and started heading back toward the parking lot. As he walked away, he heard a clear metallic chime, as though the tip of a shoe had struck some sort of metal.

Glancing down, Ardan saw a heavy iron key rolling across the cobblestones. Pitted here and there by rust, it looked utterly lost amid the tramrails and glass towers, like a splinter of some past age of swords and plate mail that had wandered into the city.

A slip of paper had been tied to the palm-length key with a bit of felted thread. It was not a letter sealed with wax, nor a costly sheet of thick stationery placed into a proper envelope, but simply a piece of paper torn from a workbook and folded over.

Ardi bent down and picked it up. The key and note smelled of damp, stale air and a pungent berry perfume.

Cassara had been keeping it…

After unfolding the paper, Ardi squinted at the tiny, cramped writing, which was more like a string of beads threaded on a wire than proper letters.

"Dear Ard,

If you are reading this message, it means that I have at last encountered something so astonishing, so mind-shattering, that it managed — perhaps at the cost of its own life — to cut my own short. Forgive me. Letters were never my strong suit. Nor, alas, was speaking to people.

And though I consider the prospect of my death wildly improbable, recent events in the city have persuaded me to leave this note behind.

I still find you lamentably talentless in the field of military magic. Our sessions together forced me to question both my good sense and my sanity; they also obliged me to write a lengthy essay to the Mage Guild insisting that the enrollment criteria of the Military Faculty at the Grand be tightened forthwith, lest complete incompetents like you, dear Ard, gain admittance.

On the other hand, I also composed a second essay to ensure that prodigiously-gifted Star Engineers such as yourself would never again be herded into that pen called the General Faculty. I am not sure I have met a keener mind than yours. Save, of course, my own — but I long ago ceased comparing anyone to such unattainable heights.

Do you recall, dear Ard, how you once asked me why I sent word through Mr. Eorsky that you should not hesitate to show Baron Kerimov his proper place? And, bless you, you even exceeded my expectations.

The reason is simple, dear Ard. Yet without my telling you outright, I fear you would never guess — just as you will never guess so many other things I shall no longer be able to explain to you. Still, it is unlikely that you will read this anytime soon, or read it at all. Perhaps in fifty years…

No matter.

You try so hard to remain unnoticed, dear Ard, that at times, I find it amusing, though I understand whence you learned the art. For a hunter, the chief virtue is to stay in the shadows, to strike quickly and without being seen.

But you are no hunter.

You are a Star Mage. You spend hours, weeks, months studying what most cannot even imagine reading. Know your worth, Ard. You are not a beast, nor a Matabar roaming some snow-choked ridge.

You are Ard Egobar, an Officer of the Empire.

One day, you will stand shoulder to shoulder with others to shield our lands from blood and horror. And do you know what the surest shield is? When you walk into a room and every other soul lowers their eyes to the shine of their ridiculous shoes, knowing their mere presence there is possible only because you do not trouble yourself with them.

Never hide your power, should you ever succeed in finding it.

You have earned it — earned it with your sweat and time. It is your achievement and yours alone.

You have lived so long in a beast's skin, dear Ard; try, if only for a while, to stroll beneath the cloak of a Star Mage.

What about the key you now hold?

You will find the answer at the following address:

'Central District, St. Vasily Island, building 4 on Undying Street, the former 'Aversky Stables.''

Farewell, my friend. I hope we finished our research in time. I enjoyed working with you, though you have the tiresome habit of refusing cigarettes. I found you worthy company for my incomparable intellect.

Always yours,

Grand Magister of Military Magic,

Lord Edward Aversky."

Ardan read the note once, then again, then lifted his gaze to the sky — not to admire the dawn-blue expanse exchanging its gray blanket for sheets of gold, but because he was not sure he could keep the traitorous moisture from spilling if he kept looking down.

Why? Why… Ever since Sheriff Kelly had climbed the mountain to ask them for help, death seemed to be stalking Ardan. Perhaps, as people believed in far-off Kargaam, he was paying for the sins of his ancestors — and by their merits, death had spared him personally.

"Such is the dream the Sleeping Spirits," Ardan whispered. Folding the note, he slipped it and the key into his pocket and hurried toward the parked cars.

***

"Good luck in there," Milar growled around his cigarette. He was somehow steering with one hand, smoking a cigarette clamped between his lips, and carrying on a conversation. "Try not to disgrace the department with those exams of yours… while the department drowns in paperwork."

"Thanks… I suppose," Ardan answered, not wholly convinced.

"Mm-hm," Alexander and Din rumbled from the back seat. It was hard to tell which of the two looked worse.

As for Ardi himself, the combination of medicines and Star brews the Heroes' Hospital had pumped into him (no one really knew how to treat a Matabar) had left him feeling magnificent. Boris and Elena's gift would not be needed anytime soon, which — upon reflection — was not a bad thing.

After saying his farewells, Ardan retrieved his staff and, after making sure he would not end his life smeared across the antique cobbles of Star Boulevard, dashed across to the other side.

Star Square, which spread out before the Grand's main edifice and was hemmed in by its many wings, greeted Ardi with its usual bustle. And yet today, the air positively crackled with the many worries rattling around inside hundreds of students' skulls. Red, green, and the occasional blue cloak all spilled from trams and cars, hurrying toward the atrium gates.

Merging with the current, Ardi watched as a haze of hats vanished beneath the tall entrance arch. For a moment, he stopped and lifted his gaze to the roofs.

Nine months had passed since Milar — merely a strange, talkative officer of the Second Chancery back then, and not yet his partner — had dropped him off here in the dark. And now that same man, perhaps even an older comrade, had brought him here again in the morning light. Only the Grand itself remained unchanged: it was the same vast edifice as always, looking like an ancient giant had fused a dozen mages' towers at the behest of an architect summoned from equally-ancient legends. Over the past year, Ardan's life had seen enough excitement to fill several volumes, yet the building seemed not to have aged a day.

"Ardi!" A familiar voice called out.

Ardan turned.

Fate was a curious thing.

Boris and Elena were cutting through the crowd toward him, finishing a nine-month cycle with their very appearance. Boris, as always, was wearing an expensive silk suit and leaning heavily on his staff (his knee had never quite healed). Elena all but floated beside him in an airy dress and a fashionable hat decorated with flowers. They looked happy and inspired, nothing like most of the students around them. They also appeared far more lively than they'd been at the cemetery mere hours earlier…

Ardan looked at Elena, then let his gaze fall a shade lower and listened intently. The hearts of husband and wife were beating quick and bright, but beneath Elena's rhythm lay another — still soft, tentative, and hidden in its mother's pulse.

Boris shook Ardi's hand while Elena, by well-worn custom, gave him a light embrace.

Ardan managed to whisper in her ear, "Does Boris know?"

Elena, just as quietly, nodded. "Please look surprised," she breathed back.

Boris, wedging himself between his wife and friend, spread his arms around their shoulders. "Well then, my fanged comrade, guess what fine news the hospital gave me an hour ago? By the way, I didn't see you at Aversky's funeral."

Ardi did not miss how Elena rolled her eyes at those words and cast a not-entirely-approving glance not at Boris, but at Ardan himself, though he could not guess why.

"They brewed you a potion to cure you of your habit of crushing my jackets?" Ardi grumbled, peeling Boris' hand off his lapel.

"Ha! Dream on!" Boris snorted, but he did let go. "Seven months from now, we'll expect you and Tess in the maternity ward, and afterward, at our place. We'll celebrate!"

Ardi did his best to look stunned, then he genuinely embraced his friends… yes, friends… First Boris, then Elena.

"Congratulations, my friends," he smiled, tasting that last word on his tongue as though sampling a new spice.

For the first time, he'd used it to refer to people rather than beasts. Friend — what a fine word. Pleasant to both the ears and the heart.

"Well then, my dears," Boris said, forgetting himself and clutching both wife and friend anew as he turned them toward the Grand's arch. "Just like last time — welcome to exam season at the finest magical university on the whole planet!"

***

Ardan stood by the door that led into Professor Convel's lecture hall, replaying the last few hours in his mind. For first-years, the exam session, as always, was packed into a single day. Later, of course, the finals would stretch out to span a week, sometimes two, but that would come in due time.

For now, Ardan immersed himself in his recollections, reliving his scholastic adventures up to this point…

His exam session began with twenty minutes of History of Magic and then, in that same room, another twenty was given over to Star Jurisprudence. Both professors watched their prey like hawks, with the prey being the young students who would come up to the lectern one at a time and draw their tickets — rectangular cards bearing the questions. Because the tickets lay face down, it was impossible to choose in advance which question you would have to answer.

Ardan drew the following question in History:

"Technological progress as a fundamental factor in the Galessian Kingdom's struggle against the tyranny of Ectassus. Include four theses. Make it a 300-word discussion. Provide one piece of evidence. You have twenty minutes."

And in Jurisprudence:

"Discuss the specifics of active service for military mages, especially their rights and duties. Provide the relevant articles from the labor and criminal codes as well as the Imperial Army Statute. You have twenty minutes."

All in all, Ardan could hardly have hoped for more convenient questions. After spending the allotted forty minutes on both exams, he left the lecture hall after placing two pages covered in dense writing on the desk.

For his next exam, he had to dash up the stairs, drop down into the atrium, and from there, go to the Faculty of Star Biology and Alchemy building. Professor Kovertsky, like his colleagues before him, was lounging behind the lectern with the same stack of question cards.

Ardi drew a question that was, in his opinion, somewhat perplexing:

"Theory: Analyze the properties of Carnivorous Ley-Mollusk ink. 350 words."

"Practical: Prepare a concoction from the ink of the above-mentioned creature."

He thought it was perplexing because the ink of the Carnivorous Ley-Mollusk — created by Star Mages for the same reason they'd made the Maw, to fight the Firstborn denizens of rivers and lakes — did not possess many properties. In truth, it really only had one. The ink changed the density of water, turning it into a viscous medium in which buoyancy was impossible. It was used to create aquatic traps.

Strictly speaking, the concoction — an alchemical potion to be precise — was simple to brew but revolting to handle, for if prepared improperly, it could cause serious harm upon contact with the skin.

So why did he think it "somewhat" perplexing? Because, knowing Kovertsky, Ardan was sure that the professor did not care in the slightest what the students wrote. He simply wanted to gauge their general grasp of the subject and spare himself the trouble of dealing with anyone who, after nine months, still could not master the basics of Star Biology and Alchemy.

Ardi spent about three hundred words and twenty minutes on the essay, then roughly the same amount of time on deriving the formula and brewing the concoction itself. That left him with a bit under twenty minutes to get to his next exam, which the youth used to sprint to the lecture hall for Star Healing.

Because Professor Lea Morimer had, according to the faculty dean's office, taken indefinite medical leave, another professor was administering the exam: an elderly, slightly portly, mildly-bored mage of the Yellow Star. With ostentatious reluctance, he would accept the essay pages and the work done on the cadaver lying on a steel table at the amphitheater's center.

The unfortunate corpse had been deliberately subjected to a dozen different post-mortem injuries. Star Magic would not work on them, but a student could still demonstrate knowledge of which seal to apply in each case.

Ardan drew the ticket:

"Superficial damage to the dermal covering. Four theses. Discussion. 450 words.

Seal for the restoration of injury number '27.'"

The theory posed no problem, but injury number "27" was… Holding his ticket, Ardan joined his female classmates around the cadaver. Injury "27" proved to be nothing more — or less — than a severed eyelid on the left eye.

An extraordinarily unusual wound. So unusual, in fact, that one could call it as truly disastrous a draw as his earlier questions in History and Jurisprudence had been fortuitous.

The theoretical portion had given the young man no trouble. Because of his line of work, he dealt with skin injuries on an almost weekly basis. The seal, however…

Unlike those around him, Ardi didn't use any reference books because he simply had no idea where to look for the needed seal. While the others flipped through pages and copied structures, selecting the most suitable one, Ardan bent over his paper with an entirely different purpose.

To begin with, regrowing an entire eyelid may appear to be a rather tricky task, which, in truth, it was. Since an eyelid was not merely muscle nor only epidermis, but a movable fold of skin, at least two contours would be required.

One contour to recreate the skin, the second to preserve its mobility. And the task only grew more complicated from there.

The eyelid has two layers, the dermo-muscular and the conjunctival-cartilaginous, so three arrays apiece would be needed to structure the runic links.

Two contours and six arrays — that was already five rays of the Red Star, an amount of energy not everyone in the lecture hall could channel. However, Ardi knew that he could always employ complex bridges of reversible runic links, weakening insignificant auxiliary runes while reinforcing the load-bearing structures he required. In that way, he could reduce the consumption to four rays, which was precisely the quota for the practical portion of the Healing exam.

And what if a student lacked four rays? Then they could forget about receiving a stipend, for they would automatically fail half the exam.

Nor could one forget the tear ducts. And the intricate blood supply system… and the eyelash follicles… and the supra-orbital groove as well.

On the other hand, the task did not stipulate that the eyelid had to be restored in perfect condition. Perhaps the task was meant to simulate an emergency? Like if the wound was recent and thus demanded immediate, yet temporary repair?

And so Ardan simply focused on restoring the organ's most essential functions but not their full range, managing to finish sketching his seal on time.

"You don't use reference books?" The unfamiliar professor asked, a little surprised, when Ardan approached the cadaver. "You're tall… I suppose you're student Egobar?"

Ardi merely nodded.

The professor assessed him with a brief yet interested look and gestured permissively. "Proceed."

Ardan, who'd carefully studied the seal he had produced and now felt somewhat ready —there'd been no time left to truly memorize everything he had cobbled together — tapped the floor with his staff. Four red rays poured out from his Star, warmed his hand, and flooded into his staff. A complex pattern flared beneath his feet, and a dark crimson haze appeared above the cadaver's eye. A second passed, then another, and nothing happened.

Nothing save the professor's eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.

"Come to the lectern, student Egobar," he said softly so as not to disturb the other students still working on their tickets.

Ardan stepped away from the cadaver and positioned himself opposite the lectern. Up close, the professor looked even more bored than he had from a distance.

"Your schematic," the professor demanded, extending a sweaty hand.

Ardan surrendered the sheet. He'd written everything down using a pencil stub that had accompanied him throughout the last month of classes and his personal research.

The professor studied the seal, then lifted his gaze to Ardan, after which he let it drift over the youth's shoulder toward the first row, where Ardan's grimoire still lay.

"If you hadn't been sitting right under my nose, student Egobar, I'd have thought you were cheating… somehow. I would have had to visit the library to find anything like this…"

"But what-"

"Sign your work," the professor interrupted him, handing the sheet back. "Then you are free to go."

Ardi had neither the time nor the inclination to probe further, so he hurried to comply. He signed the sheet, collected his writing materials, and once again rushed through the maze of stairways and warm passageways until he reached the Faculty of Defensive Magic.

An Manish, who, as always, was in an excellent mood, beamed at Ardan and silently pointed him toward the tickets. Expecting nothing particularly surprising by now, Ardi grabbed the first card off the pile.

The theoretical part read:

"Explain how one should connect a shield spell's structure to a stationary power source."

By itself, this was basic knowledge and required someone to simply describe the special array responsible for allowing the seal to draw upon ambient energy continuously, not merely the charge originally imparted by the Star Mage.

The practical portion, however, gave Ardan pause:

"Condition: you have an object whose mass exceeds ten kilograms but does not reach twenty. The object is at rest.

Task: using no more than four rays of the Red Star, raise a shield over the object that prevents any movement."

The first thought he had was to create a dispersing shield that would swallow the momentum in an instant. That made sense if you looked at the problem from the inside. But from the outside, the snag was that the object would begin in a state of rest. In other words, an Manish, in his own sly way, had tried to trick the student.

One had to work not with the object itself, but with the intruding energy that wanted to move it. And for that, an absorbing shield would do.

No intruding energy, no motion.

Ardi had already begun to sketch the seal when he paused. What if the energy were to be directed not at the object, but at the surrounding medium? Or what if the energy were simply an immediate mechanical force, nothing intricate at all?

In that case… one could simply build a chamber: a shield so dense and with a surface so close to the object itself that the very principle of displacement within its bounds would become impossible.

Yes, this was a trap within a trap.

The shield would still be of the absorbing sort. He merely needed to add a contour that would permit the object's volume inside the shield and then lock it inside the lattice.

His creation ended up having three contours and nine arrays, which wasn't all that many runic links, just twenty-seven overall. And once again, it took precisely four rays of the Red Star to cast. He could have, of course, dropped it to three, but then he would have had to double the number of links, and Ardi didn't even have a plain wooden abacus with him.

Working that out longhand had not appealed to him, and the problem — not all that intriguing to begin with — had already been solved.

"I'm ready, Professor," Ardan said, stepping up to the lectern and handing over the page.

Professor an Manish, who was sprawled out in a comfortable chair (unlike the other lecturers who preferred stools, the Defensive Magic professor used nothing but chairs), drawled in his customary manner, "Oh, Ard, whose crown will soon scratch not only the plaster of the lecture hall ceiling, but the unscalable heights of scholarly knowledge itself, allow me a look at your creation before you begin to burn through the university accumulators."

He took the sheet, skimmed it, sighed briefly, and waved a hand. "Go, dearest and loftiest Ard, herald of my future migraines and reaper of sleepless nights spent pondering what on earth I should do with you next term."

"And the practical part?" Ardan asked, a little surprised.

"My dear Ard, whose eyes are brighter than amber, if you can work this out" — the professor flicked the sheet of paper — "in ten minutes, I have not the slightest doubt that you can incarnate your own design into our modest, gray reality. There is no need for us to once more dip our lovely fingers into the university's equally-lovely coffers and waste accumulators. Off you go."

Ardan lingered a moment and then, for the umpteenth time, he set out on a journey through the tangled stairs, walkways and corners, leaving behind dozens of eyes boring into his back with a full spectrum of feelings — some flattering, some less so. A moment later, the students returned to their endless handbooks and notes.

…And now, with the hour hand nearly grazing noon, Ardan finally reached Convel's classroom. Near the windows stood several of his schoolmates — two, to be precise. Tina Eveless looked… well, as Tina Eveless always looked: like a beautiful yet unfeeling statue dressed in the finest fashions from Baliero.

Beside her stood Elena Promyslov-Fahtov, a faint smile wandering across her face. In her left hand, she held the "Handbook of Basic Seals of Star Engineering" — a compendium of one hundred and ten constructions from which most first-year modifications were derived. Her right hand, as though possessed of its own will, kept sliding toward her belly.

"How did your exams go?" Ardan asked gently.

Elena started and almost dropped her book. "Oh, Ardi…" She closed the volume and set it on the sill. "I won't say it was easy, but it was far simpler than I feared. And yours?"

Ardan offered her an ambiguous gesture. "I may be heading for a scholarship, and a stipend, too."

"Really?" Genuine delight for a friend's good luck lit up Elena's face. "That's wonderful! I was so worried for you, Ard… You missed so much, especially these last few months."

Eveless, who was standing nearby, had clearly overheard them, but was pretending like she hadn't. The elf was reading the same handbook Elena had been engrossed in, only bound far more luxuriously. It was a recent edition complete with commentary on every seal — a decidedly nontrivial expense, even for families like the Fahtovs and the Eveless.

"Have you decided what you're going to…" Ardi did not finish the question. Instead, he quirked a brow, his glance indicating Elena's stomach.

For a moment, the smile faded from her face. "Ardi…" She touched his hand briefly. "I wish my studies at the Grand were the biggest issue."

Ardan opened his mouth and then closed it again. That was true enough… Boris Fahtov was still a scion of Lady Talia's house and, incidentally, the son of the Duke-General who commanded the Empire's Southern Fleet. Even if he had been practically disowned, Boris was still an aristocrat, while Elena was an ordinary citizen, and the daughter of the Fahtovs' servants — a status that did not make her a "second class" person exactly, but did complicate their marriage with an obvious mismatch of rank.

A broad target adorned Boris' back in the minds of a vast swath of society — both aristocrats and those who despised them. Perhaps that was why Elena and Boris didn't so much hide their marriage as simply refrain from announcing it.

But a child was not a pair of wedding rings or a certificate from the church and city hall. You could never conceal it, nor the condition that, once Elena began to show, would be plain to everyone.

And that was indeed far more important than the intricacies of their coursework at the Grand.

"I love Star Magic, Ardi," Elena said, looking at him with the warmth he had seen only in the eyes of women who carried new life within them. "But the thought that soon, I will…" She rubbed her hand over her belly. "That thought pleases me far more than any magic, my friend. Do you understand?"

Ardan thought of the scent of spring flowers by the river. "I understand," he answered honestly, and after a moment, he added, "I can always bring you my notes."

"If you don't skip the lectures," Elena laughed lightly, "which I very much doubt."

"I'll try to sort things out at work."

"Ardi," she touched his hand again, "Boris may have seen no one at the funeral, but a two-meter-tall mage, even in a mask, makes for a very distinctive figure… And there's also the accumulator you brought to us at the hospital almost half a year ago… And our very first meeting…"

Ardan turned away. He had always known Elena was intelligent — wickedly so, and just as perceptive. He'd expected her to grasp things sooner or later, and judging by how calmly she was speaking, she had figured out the reason behind his weeks-long absences long before this morning.

"I-"

"Just be careful, will you?" Elena interrupted, squeezing his fingers. "Boris and I don't have many friends. You and Tess… no one else in this city. Perhaps in the whole world… I would rather not go searching for another Father in Light afterward."

A Father in Light was the one who dedicated a child to the Light, performing the rite in the church.

Ardan's eyebrows rose. "But I'm a half-blood and not even been brought to Light myself, and-"

"And you are our friend," Elena interrupted him once more, "and nothing else concerns us. Nor should it concern you."

"I-"

Apparently, Ardi was not fated to finish many sentences right then, for the door opened and Professor Convel appeared in the corridor, his gaze tired yet lively.

Since his exam was second to last on the list, not many first-years had made it this far.

"By the Eternal Angels, I have precisely three seats available. So, Miss Promyslov, Miss Eveless, Mr. Egobar, do come in."

With a theatrical flourish, the professor stepped aside and extended a welcoming hand. The three entered the now-familiar room — the very one where their first lesson had been held. They were greeted by rows of workbenches, several Ley-lamps swaying on their wires hanging from wooden beams, a graphite chalkboard, shelves of books, and the rustle of quill pens scratching at pages.

Ardan took one of the exam tickets from the lectern and sat at an empty desk.

The theoretical section opened with a question that dealt directly with engineering, which was hardly Ardan's strong suit. He preferred working with the spell itself, not the apparatus.

"Describe the operating principles of a stationary linear generator, Green Star voltage, with a combustion chamber volume of 1.4 liters."

In other words, this was a household generator for water supply pumps, for that was exactly what such generators were used for.

The practical section said this:

"Condition: From an indeterminate height, with constant acceleration, an object of complex geometry and low-density material is falling.

Task: create a seal that negates the possibility of the object breaking when it strikes a surface of higher density than the falling object.

Clarifications: Maximum single load on the seal — three red rays. Maximum continuous load on the seal — thirty-five red rays of the generator."

This was once again a very real problem grounded in practical experiences. The description fit a factory issue: say a workpiece fell from an overhead crane — it had to be saved. That was all.

Thank the Sleeping Spirits that the theory once more posed little difficulty for Ardan, who had repaired the generator at "Bruce's" side by side with Arkar more than once.

As for the practical part, the seal evidently served an utterly simple function. If you knew nothing about the workpiece, not even its parameters, the only way to save it was to proceed from what you did know.

What, in this problem, did Ardi know? Free fall acceleration was, of course, a constant, but given the indeterminate geometry, the terminal velocity could vary — because only in a vacuum do a kilogram of down and a kilogram of iron fall at the same rate. In reality, things differ.

And so, that constant was useless here. What was reliable? The fact that the object would hit the ground.

Ardi smiled.

How many times had he wondered how he might do away with "licking his wounds" after another leap from a window, a roof, or… an airship.

If you built on the one inviolate constant, which was that any object, of whatever shape, volume, or density, could not simply hover by itself and was doomed to collide with the earth, then you had to work precisely with that.

Which meant that the only sensible course of action was not to work with the object at all but, as in an Manish's problem, to come at it from the opposite end.

Would anyone care that something had fallen if no object at all, whatever it was, could even break? How would you manage that? You first had to make the ground elastic and redirect the kinetic energy into stretching the surface, and, so the object didn't bounce skyward like on a trampoline, divert the return energy — the energy of the surface relaxing — into any free receiver.

After all, the object has already fallen. The potential was already created. Why waste it in vain and…

Ardi froze, his pencil still hovering above the paper.

That! That was his answer! This was how he could improve the Water Shroud! If he could redirect the enemy spell's energy not into the seal of the Water Shroud itself, but into another reservoir, he would not merely neutralize the opponent's spell, he would also-

"Student Egobar," Professor Convel said as he paced between the desks, lingering for a heartbeat beside Ardi. "You look a little out of sorts. Is everything all right?"

"Y-yes, Professor," Ardan stammered, and scarcely five minutes later, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

"Need to step outside?" Convel arched an eyebrow. "Let me remind you: until an exam is handed in, no one leaves the hall. Even if, shall we say, a biological urgency visits you."

"I'm ready."

Unlike the other professors — Magister an Manish among them — Convel showed not the slightest bit of surprise. He merely shrugged, threaded his way between the tables, and halted opposite his lectern, lifting a glass sphere from it.

"Demonstrate," he said, not bothering to glance at Ardan's page nor to ask him which seal the student intended to use.

Ardan stepped forward and, his eyes fixed on his diagram, tapped his staff against the floor. For the span of a sigh, the worn brown carpet beneath Convel's boots was sheathed in a shimmering pinkish film, like froth upon the evening surf; then the film was gone, drunk deep into the fibers.

Of course, the seal Ardan had wrought did not escape the professor's eye. With renewed, near-boyish eagerness, Convel simply flipped his hand.

The glass sphere plummeted. For an instant, the twisted reflection of the Ley-lights shone inside its clear shell, and a moment later, it lay unbroken upon the carpet, whole and unharmed. Only a brief crimson spark had flared above it — where the kinetic energy had dissipated — hinting that it had ever fallen at all.

"If you would, Ard." Convel held out a hand.

Ardan surrendered his diagram at once. From an inner pocket, the professor produced a seldom-used pair of spectacles, circled the lectern, and seated himself, lifting the sheet close to his face.

The seconds drew themselves out until they felt like minutes, during which Ardi stood before the lectern, feeling oddly foolish, the glass sphere resting on the floor between them.

Naturally, no one could render an entire stone floor elastic over such a large area for the cost of just Red rays. Altering the properties of dozens of square meters would demand not three rays, but three Stars at the very least. But had anyone said that you could not change the elasticity only at the exact point of impact, and only for the crucial heartbeat when two surfaces met, while bleeding the released energy into…

"Approach, Ard." Convel whipped his glasses off his face and — unnoticed by the rest of the class — flipped Ardi's diagram seal-side down.

Puzzled, Ardan stepped up to the lectern.

"Is something amiss, Professor? Is the seal faulty?"

"You saw yourself that it functions," Convel whispered. "Eternal Angels, Ard, why is it always like this with you…"

"Like… this?"

"Like this," he breathed, invoking the mercy of the Face of Light. "I have no idea what you do when you skip my lectures, but I'll wager it is highly specialized, because I cannot conceive how else you managed to turn a harmless construction yard seal into a weapon."

"A weapon?" Ardan echoed and glanced at the glass sphere once more.

He'd redirected the energy…

If he redirected the energy back into the object, increasing its velocity, and then looped the effect, he could, in an impossibly short span of time, accelerate the object to a tremendous degree, and heat it in equal measure.

Yes, heating it would reduce its density, but that could be remedied with a handful of additional rays. Just as many would go to recursion, draining and restoring velocity.

Better yet, he should shift the energy burden to a second Star outright.

One could, for instance, refine Ice Arrow that way. True, it would become a two-Star spell, but it would gain such murderous swiftness and force — especially at middle range — that the cost would be amply justified.

"How many?"

"Pardon, Professor?"

"How many Stars and rays did you just tally to finish your diagram?" Convel clarified, not doubting for an instant that Ardi had already reworked the seal from engineering curiosity to military application in the space of two heartbeats.

"Two Stars. Three Red Star rays to stabilize the four contours, and four Green Star rays for-"

"If you recalculate properly, you will see that two Green Star rays should suffice," the professor cut in, then leaned back with a long breath. "Do you know what troubles me, Ard? Rhetorical question… You barely attend half the lectures, which means you primarily study alone. And on your own, you have mastered runic links, and, judging by what I can see here, vectors, which are all studied in the second and third years. What next? Will you tackle elemental interactions and nested-seal constructs by this time next year? Close out the fourth and fifth-year material as well?"

"I can still only grasp vectors and links superficially, Professor…"

"Of course, Ard," Convel waved the protest aside. "Otherwise, you would have immediately seen what you had drawn. And it is only the relative — emphasis on relative — shallowness of your understanding that restrains me from… I don't know, Ard. I do not know what to do with you." He sighed again, closed his eyes, and kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Take your sheet, Ard, and go."

"And the exam-"

"You need not submit anything today." Clearly, this was one of those days when Ardan would be wiser to hold his tongue. "I believe that you have already comprehend the workings of household generators. Refine the seal and try your luck at the Spell Market. You can find your own way out."

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"Thank you." Ardi retrieved his paper and was turning for the door when the professor called out to him softly.

"Ard."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Nine months ago, I handed you a reading list, thinking you knew nothing."

"I remember, Professor."

"No one — even the heir of Aror Egobar, may the Eternal Angels withhold their favor from him — could make such progress in so little time without a solid foundation." Ardi did not miss the bitterness in Convel's mention of his great-grandfather, but the man had every right to despise him, and he also spoke to Ard with respect and honest interest. "You deceived me, Ard, but do not count on getting away with it next year. From now on, your practical assignments and exams will be quite different from your colleagues'. And I swear by my Magister's medallion, if you fail them, you will lose both your stipend and your place at the Grand. Stop squandering that formidable mind. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Professor."

"Also, I shall speak with an Manish. I think he will gladly join me… and Kovertsky, if he can rouse himself."

Ardi exhaled.

"Very well, Professor."

"Now off with you — and allow yourself to feel some pride. Because I, without question, am proud of you."

Professor Convel smiled at him broadly, sincerely, and without a trace of malice, contempt, or fear. This man whose history, it seemed, carried pain inflicted by Aror, was nonetheless honestly glad about Ardan's presence in his lecture hall.

"Thank you," Ardan said, and stepped through the door.

One last exam awaited him.

Military Training…

"Well," Ardi muttered to his reflection in the window, "this truly is an endless day."

Just like the day he had first been admitted to the Grand. Life, it seemed, was nothing if not cyclical.

***

He took the lift down, shedding three buckets of sweat in the process. The events in the abandoned underground Temple of the Old Gods had only sharpened his claustrophobia. Breathing heavily, he reached the locker room. Naturally, he possessed no uniform — why waste coin on attire he never wore? He'd never shown up for Military Training classes at the Grand, and Aversky — may the Eternal Angels receive him, or as the Firstborn said, may his name never be forgotten — had supplied the uniforms for their weekly sessions.

Skirting rows of iron lockers and benches, Ardan stepped out onto the main training ground of the Grand and nearly stumbled. He had expected to see the usual crowd, with myriads of students battling mannequins shielded by wards, or erecting their own wards to fend off an automaton's strikes.

Instead, Ardi beheld a decidedly unconventional scene. Around the training ground's central expanse, just as on the day of his and Kerimov's duel, tiers of seating had been folded out from the walls, and there was scarcely an elbow's width to spare. Cloaks rustled in every color — including the blue of the rare upper-year students from the Military and Healing Faculties — and whispers danced through a crowd of nearly a hundred and fifty, perhaps even a hundred and eighty, students packed in tight. And those were only the audience.

Along the perimeter of the grounds stood ranks of first-years in uniform.

At the center of it all, like a conductor before his orchestra, Colonel Vseslav Kshtovsky waited. Upon his shoulders, his epaulettes still glimmered darkly, denoting that he had five stars with seven, nine, eight, six, and eight rays again. Had Kshtovsky ever kindled a sixth Star, even a meager two-ray one, he might have joined the monsters such as Edward Aversky. But alas, the colonel had failed that trial and had forever remained stuck on his undeniably impressive five Stars.

He was of average height, with an average build, and had a round, unremarkable face. He was also balding. Whenever Ardi had glimpsed him in the university corridors, the colonel had favored a plain civilian business suit, a gray-and-navy tweed three-piece. In class, according to Boris, Kshtovsky preferred an old-fashioned fencer's uniform.

Beside the colonel stood his assistants, including Kery Lavrilov, who had once overseen the group where Ardan had spent nearly half a year.

For some reason, Kery looked anxious. Just as anxious as Bazhen Eorsky, who approached Ardan. However, despite his urgency, he still used that rolling, languid gait that he was so fond of. He was also stone-faced, the mocking indifference of his clever eyes hiding his concerns masterfully.

"I'm having déjà vu, cowboy," Bazhen drawled around his perpetual sugar lozenge, glancing sideways at the crowd. "You keep climbing the ladder. First a baron, and now… damn it, Ard. Why the giant leaps? Could you not have had a mild quarrel with some lordling, just for form's sake?"

Ardan frowned.

"You still owe me my cut from the bets last time," he reminded him.

"Your cut? From the bets? Did we agree on that?" Bazhen fluttered his lashes in a parody of innocence, then gave it up.

"I'll pay. Will a check do?"

"No."

"Rude… but acceptable." Bazhen spread his hands out. This was the star student of the Jurisprudence Faculty and heir to one of the oldest families of lawyers — and, for reasons that were unfathomable to almost everyone, an employee of the Second Chancery. Bazhen's secrets and mysteries could have populated several lives. "There's going to be a show."

"A show?" Ardan asked.

"By the way, I'm going to be your second again… Should we discuss my fee?" Bazhen crunched his lozenge. "Let's say the first installment equals what I owe you now?"

Ardi had no time to repeat his question. Boris came into the hall without Elena, who had evidently decided to skip the military exam (a choice that was easy to understand). A few more classmates followed after him, and, a heartbeat later, Iolai Agrov strode into the room with his full entourage.

At the cemetery, Ardan had been too busy keeping an eye on Cassara to pay attention to either the Emperor's speech or to the appearance of Iolai and Arkady Agrov. Judging, however, by the way Iolai now strutted — preening like the most important rooster in the coop and gleaming no less than the freshly-waxed parquet — everything seemed perfectly in order with the two of them.

Bazhen let out a short, derisive snort.

"Eternal Angels, it's as though he genuinely believes every bit of that nonsense," Bazhen muttered.

"What nonsense, exactly?" Ardan asked.

"You ought to read the papers, my dear colleague," Bazhen Eorsky chuckled again. "Make sure to take a look at how they've dressed up the airship affair…" Bazhen cleared his throat, changed his tone to affect a mock official air, and intoned, "An unforeseen malfunction, a crash within the city limits, a tragedy averted through the valiant efforts of Great Prince Arkady Agrov and his son, Great Prince Iolai Agrov."

Ardan only shrugged. From the perspective of the Second Chancery, that explanation sounded perfectly logical and, most likely, was useful for swaying public opinion.

"And not a single mention of the fact that half the Crown's opposition leadership happened to be onboard," Bazhen added.

"Ah…"

"Trevor Man died in the crash," Bazhen answered the unspoken question. "So did Le'mrity. Our mutual acquaintance — the mutant — most likely managed to see to it in time."

"I can't fathom why."

"Oh, my dear Investigator, that is for you and your department to puzzle out," Bazhen said, raising his hands. "I've no intention of wading into that morass. The only advice I'll give you is to swear you didn't see her at all."

"Her… who?"

"Taisia Shpritz," Bazhen answered. "Somehow, that ink-shark slipped aboard the vessel and has now rolled out another of her 'independent investigations,' claiming that the real events may differ from the official version fed to the masses."

Taisia Shpritz… Ardi had come across the name more than once in newspapers and journals. And he also remembered how, at the Sevens table, a little old lady had been sitting beside him — only she had not been an old lady at all, but rather a painstakingly-disguised individual.

"I imagine the Colonel will enlighten you before the day is out…"

Ardan turned to Bazhen.

"For some reason, your tone fails to inspire optimism, Eorsky."

"Nor should it, cowboy," Bazhen said, crunching on his hard candy again. "You rammed the Treasury Tower — did you, or did you not? Do you know what the total ended up being? You don't? It'd be better if you never find out."

Ardan had no intention of commenting. Not because he couldn't, but because he knew that today, he would not be allowed to finish a single thought aloud.

He was right. Had he opened his mouth, he'd have been interrupted. When the last of the first-year students entered, Kshtovsky turned to address everyone and tapped his staff lightly against the floor. A heavy hush settled at once.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the audience, since you have been permitted to observe today's first-year examination, be so kind as to not interfere," Kshtovsky declared, his tone grave and granting no leeway. "As for the first-years themselves, this year's exam will proceed in an unusual manner. To forestall any arguments or indignation…" The colonel reached into his inner pocket and produced a sheet of parchment embossed with the university's seal, bearing the signatures of the Rector and every dean. "…the examination will take the form of training duels. The victor will receive twelve points for the course, and the loser…" Kshtovsky swept his gaze over the petrified audience and let the pause stretch out theatrically. "…will receive nothing at all."

It took the students a few moments to grasp what they had just heard. Then, despite the warning, they began to murmur.

"But how can that be!?"

"I could lose my stipend over this!"

"It's simply unfair!"

"We aren't even in the same training groups!"

Studying in the Faculty of General Knowledge — surrounded by the heiresses of major merchants or the scions of minor nobility — spending time with Boris Fahtov, and suffering unpleasantness at the hands of the Great Prince and his retinue, it was all too easy to forget that the majority of the Grand University's students were not nobles or the children of wealthy parents, but the most ordinary citizens of the Empire.

They were the people who attended lectures while holding down jobs, who took loans from the bank to pay the next semester's fees and burned the candle at both ends in hopes of earning a Crown stipend. Some of them already worked for the Mage Guild, and those less fortunate pulled the apprentice's yoke in a sponsoring firm.

Such students accounted for more than two thirds of the total. It was no wonder that they were discontent.

"As I have already said!" Kshtovsky's voice cracked like an old revolver shot, compelling the vast majority of first-years to fall silent. "This order has been endorsed by every authority, including the Mage Guild. From now on, the Military Training exam will be conducted only in this manner. This year, as a trial, it will happen for the first-years alone. And afterwards" — the colonel's gaze shifted to the audience — "for every other year as well."

"But this is…"

"What kind of nonsense…"

"We'll protest and…"

"A war mage cannot be graded!" Kshtovsky barked, strangling the new protests in their cradle. "A war mage is either dead or alive — there is no third state!"

"We're not at the front!" Someone in the audience shouted — a young man in a green cloak wearing very thick glasses.

"Then pray to the Eternal Angels that you never find yourself there," the colonel cut him off. "But if, Face of Light forbid, you do, you'll view today's change from a very different perspective. And now, so that you may understand what awaits you and how it will look, I invite student Iolai Agrov and student Ard Egobar to the floor."

Ardan, like every other student, was stunned by the news. Losing twelve points on this exam meant that, in order to earn a stipend, one would have to score almost perfectly in every remaining subject for the first three years. From the fourth year on, the number of subjects dropped from twelve to eight, and they became purely specialized courses for one's chosen department.

And worse still, if you made any further mistakes, you could lose your Crown-funded scholarship, or even be expelled outright.

"So they are getting ready after all…" Bazhen muttered, showing no surprise whatsoever, unlike the others.

"For what?" Ardan asked, his throat instantly going dry.

"Think about it, cowboy…" Bazhen took out his candy and nudged his bushy brows together. "Right now, we're building several military shipyards, preparing combat airships for serial production, raising salaries across the board for privates all the way to generals, and kicking off yet another industrial boom. And now they're herding us young mages with almost literal sticks so that we spend half our time studying war magic. Can you spot the common thread?"

He could. Everything was somehow related to the word 'military.'

For the moment, however, those were worries for tomorrow.

"Go on," Bazhen urged, giving him a shove. "Quit dawdling."

Ardan nodded, handed his satchel of writing supplies to his "second," and stepped forward. Once again, the cyclical nature of reality was rearing its head: his academic year had begun with a duel against Iolai Agrov, and now it would end with one.

The Great Prince didn't so much as glance at the man who had "insulted" him, behaving as though an insignificant, harmless gnat were buzzing nearby, one unworthy of even an iota of his attention. In public, Iolai always played his part perfectly.

"From first through third year, the examination duels will, according to standard dueling etiquette, not allow any accumulators," Kshtovsky explained, pacing before the rows of students. "From third through fifth year, the duels will be conducted under bloody duel rules. Each mage will be provided with two accumulators, which may be distributed among any of their Stars."

The students who had been murmuring and whispering fell silent at once. Some even turned pale.

"But bloody duels are forbidden without a Mage Guild permit," someone in the audience croaked.

"Any of their Stars?" One of the girls from Bazhen's faculty seized on this crucial clause. "So if I'm paired with someone who has more Stars-"

"Yes!" The colonel barked again. "You heard me correctly. It matters not how many rays you bear, or how many Stars — you will be equal participants in a bloody duel. My assistants and the additional medical staff who will be taking part in the exams beginning with next winter will ensure the preservation of your lives and health."

"Our health?! Tell that to Kerimov!"

As soon as the injured baron's surname was spoken, the dam of stunned silence burst.

"You're violating our rights!"

"It's unconstitutional! We live in a free country and have every right to refuse this barbarity!"

"This will end up in court!"

"You don't have the authority!"

"We-"

Kshtovsky slammed his staff against the floor and a complex pattern of five interlocked seals flared into being beneath him. Ardan noted that the colonel was nearly as fast as Aversky himself had been when it came to spellcasting. A moment later, a bead of flame coalesced before the face of every single person present.

Ardi could have raised a shield, but he doubted Kshtovsky intended to cause them any real harm. And indeed, that was how it turned out. Unsurprisingly, a couple dozen students — mostly from the Military Faculty — had managed to throw up shields.

"You are all dead," Kshtovsky said curtly, withdrawing his magic. "Had you been at the frontier instead of here, where it's warm and cozy and the meals follow a schedule, you would be corpses…" The colonel's gaze swept the auditorium again, unyielding and grim, its weight crushing the very air. "Anyone who feels slighted by the new rules, anyone unwilling to accept them, is free to submit their withdrawal from the university today."

To their credit, a handful of students — though only a very small percentage of them — did leap to their feet at that.

"I will add," the colonel continued with undisguised contempt, "that this order of the Mage Guild extends not only to the Imperial Magical University, but to every institute of higher learning that maintains a Faculty of Star Magic."

The standing students froze awkwardly for a heartbeat or two and then… sat back down.

"That's what I thought," Kshtovsky chuckled, the sound unpleasantly feral. "Now, on to our volunteers."

The former colonel turned around to face Iolai and Ardan, who were standing behind him.

"As a special exception, your bout" — his eyes glittered as brightly as a freshly-polished saber — "my dear freshmen, will be conducted as a bloody duel. And, as I have already stated, no one cares about a difference in Stars, so… " The colonel shifted his gaze from Ardi to the Great Prince. "Student Agrov, bear in mind that you will be fighting an opponent who is known to be weaker than you."

"Yes, sir!" Iolai barked, standing ramrod straight and clicking the heels of his training shoes together in a manner that was both stiff and strangely awkward.

A ripple of whispers swept through the students again. It was rare for someone to kindle a second Star during their first year of university studies. Ardan now understood why Iolai had sought out him and his friends that day.

Iolai had simply been tailing them, and he himself had provoked everything that had come next. He had almost certainly known about the upcoming changes to the examinations and had perhaps been planning to force Ardan to challenge him to a duel. In that way, he would, in his own eyes, repay him for all the "insults" he'd had to endure from a "half-breed beast." Only, through his own lack of restraint, he had ended up being the one to issue the challenge for a bloody duel, even though there had been no real need for it.

How could Iolai have known about the new law in advance?

His father, Arkady Agrov, was a prominent veteran with enormous influence, one who was very respected in militaristic circles. And Iolai never tired of flaunting his successes in military magic. His tutor — his mentor, his teacher, call him what you will — had most likely told him. Ardan didn't even have to strain to see how proudly Kshtovsky was looking at the Great Prince. He had obviously trained Iolai, and he had also told him in advance about the changes in the military exam protocol.

It was a ridiculous and simple riddle compared to the one Ard had had to solve to put a stop to the Spiders. It was almost unimportant… and somehow vile. Ard felt as if he had soiled his own mind with it.

He wondered if Aversky had felt like this while teaching him the art of war.

"Introduce yourself according to regulations, student Agrov."

"Student Iolai Agrov, first year of the Military Faculty!" The Great Prince thundered, enunciating every word as crisply as Kshtovsky had ever marched. "Red Star, nine rays! Green Star, seven rays!"

"Your accumulators," the colonel said, holding out a casket filled with multicolored crystals, from which Iolai drew two green ones.

Silence descended upon the room. Even the faintest whispers died away. The onlookers — even those clad in blue cloaks — could not tear their eyes away from the member of the Imperial family. The mere fact that he'd kindled a Green Star so soon was a fine achievement. Yes, from time to time, such prodigies would appear, but not all that often.

However, they weren't awed by just the fact that Iolai Agrov had lit his second Star — he had also managed to attain seven rays within it.

This was an accomplishment worthy of respect.

Yes, Iolai was an unpleasant, vindictive and rather insecure man. But he was no fool, no coward, and perhaps he even possessed other commendable traits that Ard didn't know about and, to be perfectly honest, didn't wish to learn about.

He felt nothing toward Iolai beyond, perhaps, a faint pity after witnessing his relationship with his father, Arkady Agrov.

"Student Egobar! Introduce yourself according to regulations!"

In truth, Ardan could have taken advantage of the situation by pretending to only have his Red Star. Then he could've lost quickly to Iolai, tried not to end up in the infirmary (which would not have been too hard of a quest), and then made his way over to the Black House where far more important matters awaited him…

"Student Egobar!" Came a voice from somewhere far away. "Did you hear me? Or are you so shaken by student Agrov's exploits?"

…That would have been the sensible decision. Rational. Reasonable. He would have ended, in one deft maneuver, his one-sided feud with the Great Prince that had burdened his studies and, indeed, his very life. Iolai would have vented his ire, proven to himself that he was the best, and calmed down, completely forgetting about the existence of a half-blood like Ardan. After all, it wasn't like the Great Prince had no other problems… Of course he had. All of them, regardless of blood and status, were wrestling with their own "Spiders."

"Student Egobar! Do I need to have new trousers brought in for you?!"

…Skusty would have approved of such farsightedness, Shali would have praised his cunning, Guta would have admired his restraint, Atta'nha would have said something about wisdom and kindness, and Ergar… Ergar would have also said that a hunter must not stray too far from their own shadow. One must not bare claws to their prey until those same claws are ready to split its artery open.

"Student!" Kshtovsky stepped right up to Ardi and waved a hand before his face.

Yes, however you looked at it, it would have been the correct decision. That was what the beasts had taught him.

And only the old iron key lying in his pocket spoke of a different truth. Besides the beasts, Ard had had another mentor. The man had been ill-tempered, had smoked like a locomotive, and his self-importance had reached loftier heights than even the Treasury Tower… And he had given up his life for his comrades without a second's hesitation.

Yes… Those six months spent in a smoke-stained office and on a training ground reeking of sweat had been worth something after all.

"Stu-"

"Student Egobar," Ardan interrupted the colonel and raised his gaze higher. "Red Star, seven rays."

"Excellent, you're awake. Take your accum-"

"Green Star," Ardan interrupted him again. "Nine rays."

If the room had been quiet before, sound itself now seemed to die as it was struck by a viscous hammer, thick as the mire of a marsh where one can only sink and vanish without a trace.

"A funny joke, student, you-"

Ardan slipped a hand into his pants pocket and produced a brown leather document case holding his civic papers, his student card, and a Spell Market Club card where the result of his apparatus test, taken several months earlier, had been recorded.

The colonel snatched the papers and ran his eyes over them several times.

"Is this true?" Iolai demanded, glaring at Ard with hatred.

Earlier, all the Great Prince had felt toward Ardan could be described as irritation. Now, however, his gaze was full of raw, venomous, burning malice.

"It is," the colonel nodded, handing the documents back. "Choose your accumulators, student Egobar."

Ard turned toward Iolai. This was a first-year student of the Military Faculty at the world's premier Star University, the protégé of one of the country's most seasoned military mages — he was not a Wanderer, nor the leader of the Shanti'Ra gang… He wasn't a vampire, a Star-born werewolf, a disgraced, drunken Blue Star war mage. Nor was he a demon, and he certainly wasn't a mage who had sunk so deep into demonology and chimerology that he had managed to create artificial Stars.

He was simply a student.

Perhaps he was wildly talented. Maybe he was even unimaginably gifted when it came to military magic, but he was still just a student.

"Not required."

"What?"

"I don't need them, Colonel," Ardi shrugged. "I don't wish to waste government property."

Iolai flushed crimson, then went blotchy white. It seemed like if he tried to speak, only froth — rabid dog froth — would leap from his lips instead of words.

"Very well," Kshtovsky ground out, his irritation seeping through his very teeth, and then called out more loudly, "Take your starting positions!"

Iolai spun on his heel and almost sprinted to the marked square at the far, eastern part of the training field.

This time, nearly a hundred meters would separate them instead of a few steps.

Ardan walked calmly to his own "corner," ignoring the shocked, sometimes frightened stares of the other students. He could almost hear what they were thinking.

The descendant of Aror Egobar… The last of the Matabar… Was a monster…

They had every right to think so — each and every one of them. Ardi neither judged nor condemned them for it. Truth be told, other people's opinions hardly bothered him anymore. What troubled Ardi far more was Boris, who was standing at the boundary.

This was his friend. He ought to have told his friend. It must have hurt him badly to learn that…

"Not bad, my friend," Boris said, smiling at him sincerely as Ardan drew near. "You'll see — by the end of summer, I'll have caught up to you. We'll compete in the League together."

The fear and awkwardness that had gripped Ardan melted away as he felt a hand touch his heart — not icy and clawed, but warm and gentle.

A friend …

"Elena will send you to the Eternal Angels before that," he said.

Boris blanched.

"Well… you seem to keep secrets pretty well," he mumbled.

Ard smiled without hiding his fangs with his upper lip.

"Stop grinning like an imbecile, Ardi," Boris grimaced. "I respect the way you spat in that dullard's face, but without any accumulators, it's going to be rough."

"It's all right, Boris," Ardan replied calmly. "Perfectly all right."

Boris arched his right eyebrow in puzzlement, and Ard turned his back on his friend, facing his opponent. Iolai was almost trembling with impatience, the accumulators in his hefty training rings glowing.

"Combat will continue until the complete depletion of Stars and accumulators, or until one party is unable to go on due to injury!" Kshtovsky's deep voice boomed. "Deliberate grievous harm is forbidden! At the slightest threat of a fatal outcome, the duel will be stopped immediately, and the person behind such a threat will face serious disciplinary action! Yes, this is a bloody duel, but it is still a training bloody duel. Do not forget that! And now — begin!"

For a heartbeat, Ardan wondered whether refusing the accumulators had been wise. He had, after all, seen Iolai in action only once, nine months ago, and since then, the Great Prince had surely honed his skills.

Taking a fraction longer than a second, a seal formed beneath Iolai's feet. Ardan recognized it by the very first two parameter knots: a modified Fire Flare, angled to strike him not from the front, but from behind.

Red Star, two rays.

The standard opening for a military mage. Apparently, Iolai meant to wield the fire element, then trigger a Resonance with it.

But he'd ended up casting it for just a hair too long…

The claws and fangs of beasts were way faster, revolver shots left no room for such deep thought, and the mages Ardan was used to facing would have unleashed a barrage by now.

Ard simply took a step forward. When a flare kindled at his back and slammed between his shoulder-blades, it encountered the shield he had prepared in advance. A crimson flash rippled over the metallic sheen that surrounded Ard, slid across the young man's chest, and burst straight into the stunned face of Iolai.

Redirecting another's spell once you had discerned its every parameter and felt — on the level of reflex rather than mere reason — how to answer it, took no effort at all.

Iolai, panicking for an instant, slammed his staff against the floor and raised a heavy, massive shield. A wing of water with several translucent feathers covered his torso.

It was a standard, entirely unmodified Swallow Water Wing — the baseline defense spell against offensive fire magic.

It demanded two red rays and two green rays. Such a shield might have, perhaps, stalled Davos' Lash for an instant, or fended off a single strike from that fire-wielding elven Aean'Hane.

But Iolai did not know that.

Just a student…

Ardi, staff moving a breath ahead of his steps, kept walking.

Iolai, after realizing he was not being attacked, rapped his staff against the floor again and conjured a complicated seal with five contours and seven arrays. He even managed to shape it in a mere second and a half — which was, on the whole, a second and a half longer than the army asked of a battle mage. The training dummy in Edward Aversky's basement could form such spells faster than Ard could recall they existed.

It was a good seal. It converted the power Iolai had poured into his elemental shield into a new construct — something like an artificial Resonance.

The watery wing reshaped itself into a beak of the same element, an icy tip gleaming at its point. To neutralize both the piercing quality of the Ice Beak and the pressure of the water stream, Ardi would have needed a two-layer shield, so he chose not to spend even a single ray from either of his Stars.

In fact, he spent nothing at all.

Iolai had already bungled the parameters, emphasizing distance over speed and misjudging the space between them.

The beak came at him slowly enough that Ardi simply leaned aside and the spell sailed past him and shattered against the training ground's stationary shield.

"Fight me, beast!" Iolai roared, sweating.

Ardi walked forward in silence, step by measured step.

Iolai struck the floor once more and cast a potent, Ley-hungry modification of Fire Stones — a dual-element spell weighted toward flame. It faintly resembled his Ice Barrage.

Five red rays, three green rays.

Six lava spheres sprang up around Ardan, whirling in a scorching ring that began to contract.

Did Iolai think that Ardi would try to dodge every spell? A battle mage, as Semyon Davos would say, ought to stand his ground. The parameters were hardly complex. Having read Iolai's seal already, Ardi had tapped his staff against the floor long before the ring of molten rock had begun to close in. A dim, icy mist flared up around him.

The stones froze, lost their momentum, and dropped. Six short detonations boomed as the spell's secondary effect triggered, yet instead of hammering Ardi's defense, they merely lit up the stationary barrier.

And all of it accomplished with a simple tweak to an elemental shield. Ardi had disabled the core property of his opponent's spell at a cost of… two Red Star rays.

Was Iolai never going to use Resonance? Since he had started with fire, he should have at least finished with it instead of burning through both of his Stars to shuffle his spells around like cards in a game of Sevens.

Sheer foolishness…

An ordinary student…

"You're a dead man, Egobar," Iolai mouthed soundlessly.

He drove his staff into the ground, and at his feet, an intricate, scarlet seal flared up almost instantly. A yellow ray leaped from his staff's head, reaching Ardi in an instant.

Apparently, Iolai's best and most polished spell was one that bore a suitably pompous name: Sun Arrow. In truth, it was just a lump of plasma accelerated to bullet speeds — a bullet that hit his Water Shroud, and when the Shroud drank its power, it simply… melted away. Ardi didn't really want to harm his opponent. To him, the Great Prince was inconsequential.

"Argh!" Iolai growled like a dog and hammered his staff against the floor in frantic succession.

Several Stone Fists were rebuffed by just one shield, a cloud of choking gas was dispersed by a single gust of wind, and a host of fiery spikes merely curved back toward Iolai's own face.

True, Ardi was draining his Stars as well, but because he was reading the parameters of Iolai's spells beforehand, he was spending three — sometimes four — times fewer rays.

Agrov… He was just "Student Agrov."

The last accumulator at Iolai's disposal crumbled to dust. At last, after a whole salvo of flame, he used Resonance, adding his own power on top.

From the finial of his staff, a blaze like the roar of a colossal beast or the surge of an ocean during a storm burst forth, intent on flooding the area.

Vulcan's Breath.

Six red rays, five green rays — a spell which military doctrine advised casting only with Resonance, because otherwise, it would drain nearly any mage capable of using it dry.

Ardi, who was left with only two red and a single green ray, could not have defended himself from it… had Iolai completed the casting.

Ardan struck the floor with his staff and shaped his trusty Ice Arrow — only shrunk to the size of a dart. It took a single red ray. It hit Iolai's right shoulder lightly, not even piercing his skin. Startled, overwrought and drenched in sweat, Iolai dropped his staff, collapsing his own seal.

The Vulcan's Breath dissolved at once within the stationary ward.

Iolai — pale from the exertion of casting a dozen spells, invoking Resonance, and unleashing a decidedly unsafe dual-Star war spell — could barely stay upright.

Ardi came to stand before him.

He had not used a single accumulator and had cast only one offensive spell. He hadn't managed all of this because he was some sort of prodigy.

Quite the opposite.

Iolai Agrov might've been a prodigy, perhaps even a genius of military magic. But! They, he and Ardan, simply lived in different, non-intersecting worlds.

Ardi lifted his staff and gently — it was barely a tap — touched Iolai's forehead. The Great Prince dropped onto his backside as though felled by a giant's mace.

I wonder what Aversky would have said...

"Just a child," Ardan said calmly. And since they were standing right beside the entrance to the locker rooms, he turned to leave amid a thunderous silence.

Bazhen would come to the Black House eventually and bring him his bag, and Ardi had matters far more pressing to attend to than student grudges.

***

"If you start talking like Aversky too — may the Eternal Angels greet him — I really will shoot you in the knee," Milar rasped.

The two of them were standing outside the doors that led to the Colonel's office.

"Dammit, Magister, couldn't you have handled him a bit more… politely?" His partner was fiddling with the sling around his arm, the bandage already darkened from how often the captain had twisted it between his fingers. "He is a Great Prince, after all."

"How many people already know?"

"How many?" Milar snorted, resting his brow against the cool glass. "Multiply your 'how many' by 'everyone' and you'll only have half the total!"

"Multiply many by all and get half?" Ardi echoed. "Sounds like sheer non-"

"Sounds like yet another needless problem we could have lived without!" Milar groaned. "You know, Magister, I'm beginning to regret ever taking that 'be careful what you wish for' saying so lightly. I begged and begged to get a mage assigned to our division, and now I'm thinking: why in all the abyss did I ever so much as touch the paper for those thrice-cursed requests?"

Ardi exhaled gloomily.

"Are you ashamed? Good — you should be! When I have to fill out yet another mountain of forms explaining why my subordinate caused… Saints know what you'll pull next… Understand this, partner: every gray hair, every callus, every evening I miss seeing my children because of the damn paperwork — that's on your Matabar paws!"

"Sorry."

"Oh, you can shove that sorry-!" Milar raised a hand — his injured hand. He lifted it and instantly groaned.

For a while, they remained silent.

"It's a pity."

"What is?"

"Aha! Don't like being kept in the dark, do you?" The captain barked. "Well, I don't like it either… I said it's a pity I didn't see you take him apart."

"I didn't 'take him apart' at all," Ardi objected. "I merely blocked his every spell. He shaped them too slowly, and never rewrote them during casting. He didn't have a strategy or even a plan. It was nothing special."

"Nothing special… Curse it, you really are starting to sound like Aversky," Milar muttered without any genuine malice. He had been speaking more in feigned mockery, theatrically pitying himself, than with any true anger.

"Bad luck for the Great Prince, fighting you today of all days," the captain said with a faint bitterness.

"Yes," Ardi agreed. "Probably…"

On any day but today, Ardan would have most likely done what his beast friends had taught him. Any day… except today…

"Come in," came the voice from inside the office.

"How do you rate our chances?" Milar asked softly.

"He seems calm," Ardi replied.

"That's exactly what worries me, partner," the captain whispered.

Together, they stepped through the double wooden doors into the familiar, spacious, slightly empty office. As always, there was the conference table. To the right, there were floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows, and to the left, an armchair and side table loitering beside a glass cabinet full of books and files. The Emperor's portrait was still behind the Colonel's chair. Judging by the heap of stubs in his ashtray, the Colonel had not slept for several nights and was working on his fourth cigar.

"Sit," he said without turning toward his visitors, pointing his smoldering cigar at two chairs.

Chairs drawn up opposite a stack of forms.

"I hope this isn't a letter of resignation, partner," the captain whispered almost inaudibly. "Although…"

Side by side, they approached the desk and sat down in front of the forms.

"Access to classified information is hereby granted to:

Corporal Ard Egobar, Third-Rank Investigator.

Service Number: 14/647-3

This document confirms that the above-named officer of the Second Chancery is cleared for the following cases:

CASE – TOP SECRET – code name "Island of the Dead."

CASE – TOP SECRET – code name "Demon Epidemic."

CASE – TOP SECRET – code name "Echo of the Past."

This document grants the above-named officer unrestricted access to all materials and data concerning the cases listed.

This document vests the above-named officer with full freedom of action at his own discretion, together with any powers he deems necessary.

This document states that the above-named officer understands that, should the matter ever become public, the Crown and the Second Chancery will deny any connection with the cases or with the officer himself.

Date: TOP SECRET

Signature of the above-named officer:

Signature of the Head of the Second Chancery:"

"Eternal Angels take me!" Milar burst out. His own papers had another title that was familiar to Ardi — "Operation Mountain Predator." "Maybe I should retire instead. An honorable retirement would be best."

"The kind of retirement you'll get, Captain, is the one where you're met either by the trenches on the Fatian border or the hotel room Miss Rovnev vacationed in," the Colonel remarked without a flicker of sentiment. "And mind you, I'm still dubious about your decision to grant her a second probation."

"She's our only link to those who might want to use her again."

Milar had dragged Alice out of the Second Chancery's dungeons by pretending that he wished to set her up as bait. Or he'd pretended to pretend. Perhaps all of the above.

"So, we truly had no inkling about a ship crammed with forbidden experiments, did we?" Milar asked, scrawling his signature in a bold sweep.

Ardi set down an identical flourish on his own copy.

"Exactly right," the Colonel nodded. Clamping his cigar between his teeth, he bent over and hauled an entire sheaf of documents from a desk drawer. "Lea Morimer — whom, regrettably, we cannot interrogate because she is in no condition to speak at all…"

The Colonel's glance was keen enough to cut Ardi, but the corporal only spread his arms out helplessly.

"Morimer was misled," the Colonel began laying files out on the table. "They let her believe that the Second Chancery mounted a punitive raid. In the end, it is easy enough to blame the Black House — for anything."

Indeed, back at the temple, Ardi had noticed the dissonance in Professor Lea's tale. If the Second Chancery had staged a punitive strike on the ship, why had it not finished the job? Why the detour through the Dead Lands, and why the claim that the Crown feared an international scandal? Considering what the Daggers were capable of, eliminating Lea Morimer and the rest would have been child's play.

Therefore, the only reason they'd survived was that no one had known about them.

"Quite so," Milar drew a form bearing the state crest and the seal of the General Staff from the folder. "Unsigned… And what became of the muscle?"

The Colonel opened one of the folders and began turning pages.

"Retired military. Dead." He flipped another sheet and kept piling them up. "Drank himself to death. Killed in a street brawl. Poisoned. Went missing. Enlisted as a mercenary and vanished. Another missing. Dead again… Shall I continue?"

"What? All of them?"

"All forty-four hired guns we could identify using indirect clues in a fortnight," the Colonel confirmed. "Every man who, before the Emperor could delve into the Empire's affairs, helped sweep up the loose ends for the… How did you put it, Captain?"

"The Puppeteers."

The Colonel nodded.

"Everyone who participated in the Puppeteers' cleanup is either missing or dead — which, in this case, amounts to the same thing, I suppose. As does our next lead… though I doubt that particular orc would have told us anything useful. I console myself with the fact that his death has spared us a possible gang war."

He slid a newspaper clipping toward them. Ardi recognized the place: Sleepless Street, the main trading artery of the Firstborn District. In the center, by the busiest knot, someone had nailed Indgar's body to an old wooden lamppost. It hung there like a lifeless sack, stripped naked, the words "Betrayed the Ancestors' Path" carved across its chest. Only the knife, driven clean through its skull, pinned the corpse to the timber like a fly.

Ardi knew that knife.

It belonged to Arkar.

Milar swore, then — changing the subject — jabbed a finger at the "Echo of the Past" file.

"Is this about them? About the Puppeteers?"

"It's everything we managed to gather and stitch together," the Colonel nodded again. "Perhaps we added in something superfluous, or missed something crucial. For the last fifty years, as you know, the Black House has been in decline, and if not for Pavel-"

"Whom the Fatians nearly captured."

"What now, Corporal?"

"The Fatians," Ardi repeated. "Back at the temple, His Imperial Majesty told me that he didn't know how a Fatian spy got so close. What if it wasn't a spy, but one of those who serve the Puppeteers?"

The Colonel and the captain exchanged glances.

"That is why they herded the whole opposition onto the airship, Colonel," Milar leaned back. "To frame us. Supposedly, that was the Emperor eliminating his rivals using the Black House. One decisive strike, and the Emperor's image among the people would have been, if not shattered, then certainly cracked."

"It's a good thing that instead of such a tragedy, your subordinate, Captain, delivered only a modest loss of…" The Colonel produced another sheet stapled to several clippings. The photographs showed a blazing airship ploughing into the corner of the Treasury Tower. "…Seventy-eight thousand, one hundred and nineteen exes and eleven kso."

"How did they count the eleven kso?"

"Don't get smart with me, Captain."

"What am I to do, Colonel?" Milar protested earnestly. "Discipline the Corporal for hauling a dozen scoundrels' backsides out of the fire? Morally, I disagree with him entirely, yet tactically, he was correct."

"Which is why I am not docking that sum from your pay, Captain."

Ardi and Milar choked in unison. Had nearly eighty thousand exes been deducted from their pay — even split in two — their great-grandchildren would still be repaying the debt a century from now.

"What's this 'Demon Epidemic?'" Ardi asked, pointing to the second item on the list.

Instead of replying, the Colonel shoved a hefty folder across the table.

Ardan undid the ribbons around it and began to read.

"Possession-like incidents in the Tendari district… disappearances of pregnant girls… an unidentified anomaly… seventeen workers dead, another unidentified anomaly…" Ardi flipped through the pages, his eyebrows climbing ever higher. The dates stretched back more than a decade, and the first incident had been recorded exactly fifty years ago, on the very same day when-

"They didn't even bother to hide it," the Colonel breathed out a coil of smoke. "On the same day Parliament ratified the reform that clipped our rights and budget, the country saw its first demon-related episode."

"The fact that demons cropped up in our own business as well might just be coincidence," Milar reminded him.

"Perhaps," the Colonel conceded. "You will check once the whole department returns from leave. Ursky, Erson and Rovnev signed their papers in the hospital."

Milar and Ardi traded looks.

"Leave?" They echoed.

"This brew has been simmering for half a century, gentlemen," the Colonel appeared almost placid. "And the sight of you two would wring tears from a stone. Rest, gather your strength, and then get back into the fray. In ten weeks, little is likely to change. For the moment, the Puppeteers have achieved their goal…"

Silence settled over the office for a heartbeat.

"The Staff of Demons?" Ardi asked hoarsely, his throat rough.

"Lost in the airship crash," the Colonel replied. "So we must assume it is in our adversaries' hands. All the materials are in your file — titled, as you may have guessed, 'The Puppeteers.'"

"Dagdag has a morbid fondness for poetic titles," Milar muttered, then addressed the Colonel. "So we're on our own again?" Follow current novels on novel-fire.ɴet

"There's a leak in the Black House, Captain," the Colonel turned his chair toward the window. "The Emperor is counting on you — and I cannot stress this enough, only on you."

"And why would-"

"Don't be modest, Captain," the Colonel cut him off.

"Captain Milar Pnev: the most effective military detective and most effective Investigator of the Second Chancery, with a success rate above ninety-three points. Alexander Ursky, once a slave of the Armondo Ringing Sabers tribe, who singlehandedly cut down half that very same tribe. Din Erson, who pulled Mshisty and his squad out from the depths of the Dead Lands. Corporal Alice Rovnev, one of the brightest minds in chemistry and biology. And now, you also have Ard Egobar — Speaker and Star Mage."

After hearing more about Alexander and Din, Ardi blinked; these additional facts explained much.

"Yet they almost killed us all," Milar snapped the folder shut. "And they were civilians!"

"But they didn't kill you," the Colonel riposted. "And you managed to stop something that everyone — I repeat, everyone — overlooked. I deem the Emperor's wager justified."

Milar swore under his breath once more.

"Will someone cover our backs?"

"You don't need to know that."

"But of course…" The captain sighed. "And we don't need to know about that Dagger — Abrailaal's son — either?"

"Precisely," the Colonel confirmed without hesitation.

Milar tapped the case list with a finger.

"These can't possibly be all the files linked by a single motive, right?"

"Maybe not, Captain, but-"

"We don't need to know that."

The Colonel exhaled another plume of smoke.

"Such is the job," he mused, and, setting his cigar on his ashtray's edge, turned back to his companions. "Now for something pleasant. The Emperor thanks you for your service."

He drew out two small boxes and two scrolls — the very same kind Ardi had seen nine months earlier at the coronation ball.

"For exemplary service to the Empire, Captain Milar Pnev is awarded the Order of Valor, Third Class," the Colonel handed over a certificate and opened one wooden box, where, upon a velvet cushion, lay an Order shaped like two crossed swords entwined by a crimson ribbon. "Corporal Ard Egobar is likewise awarded the Order of Valor, Third Class."

"An Order? Money would be better, Colonel. A bonus of some sort… I have to get the kids ready for school again in three months, you know."

"Captain."

"What?"

"Eighty. Thousand. Exes." The Colonel enunciated, pausing between each word, "and a half-ruined Treasury Tower."

"I thought it was merely scratched. The tiniest bit scuffed. Barely a nick."

"Captain."

"What?"

"Keep jesting and I'll grant your request for retirement — complete with a lovely tour of the Fatian border."

***

Ardi and Tess were sitting together in their kitchen, sipping hot cocoa. The Metropolis had been wrapped in a summer night — warm, gentle and bright, scarcely darker than the late-evening twilight. The sun and moon were sharing the sky on equal terms, which meant that even at this late, nocturnal hour, both lights shone. Both the Spirit of the Day and the Spirit of the Night's Eyes peered down at them.

"That was a beautiful wedding." Tess removed the fine mesh with tiny chamomile buds from her hair, then slipped her blue, glitter-dusted shoes off her tired feet. "Plamena is a fine girl."

The wedding really had been beautiful. By Evergale standards — where half the town might gather for such an occasion — it had been small, no more than forty people, yet it had felt warm and intimate.

As he looked at Tess over the rim of his cup, Ardan felt an odd sensation stirring within him. He recalled the wedding, trying to discern what was causing it…

The ceremony was taking place in a modest church on the Avenue of the Three Thinkers. It stood beside an equally small square that opened directly onto the embankment of the Crookedwater Canal. It was a little building, but light and almost weightless, a place where one could breathe freely and think with ease.

A young priest bound Plamena's and Din's wrists with a golden ribbon. They exchanged vows — lovely pledges filled with honest words of love and care — and then rings as well. Afterwards, they had dinner. Thanks to the weather's mercy, it was all going splendidly.

But why mention supper at all?

Because they were celebrating in that same square, right under the open sky. Din and Plamena had strung garlands above the tables, set out small awnings in case of rain, and raised a low fence of tall, flowering bushes in massive pots. Ardan, incidentally, had hauled those pots from the truck.

The guests — including Din's and Plamena's parents, who had come to the capital for the occasion — started raising toasts. They danced. They drank. They laughed. Music spilled out of a wheezing gramophone whose needle sometimes scratched the record. When the gramophone finally surrendered to its old age, Plamena asked Tess to sing, and Tess did not refuse.

Ardi found a quiet spot for himself, rolling his Corporal's badge from the Second Chancery between his fingers. In Milar's car, which had been parked close to the square, his Order had been left behind — Third Class, the lowest grade.

The knowledge that his father was a full knight of that same Order, and holder of several others besides, suddenly gleamed with new colors as he examined it once more. It was one thing to know a fact, but quite another to understand it — to grasp what truly stands behind the seemingly-plain words: "Knight of the Order."

"A fine evening," the priest said as he came up to Ardi. He was clad in a black robe with a golden triangle on his chest.

Once, the Church had hunted the Firstborn for their faith in the Sleeping Spirits. Those days were long gone, of course, but the memories still lingered — among the Firstborn, and among the priests whom the Firstborn had sometimes captured to… flay alive. The rituals of certain races required such treatment for defilers of their faith. Certain races… like the Matabar.

"Fine indeed," Ardi confirmed.

"May I sit?"

The priest indicated the spot beside Ardan. Ardan slid over, granting the man more room on the narrow bench.

The priest nodded gratefully and took a seat. They stayed silent for a while, listening to Tess' song.

"Forgive my tactlessness, but I noticed that heavy thoughts seem to be clouding your face," the priest spoke first. "Yet this is a celebration, is it not?"

Ardan said nothing. He felt no resentment toward the faith of the Face of Light. His mother had practiced it, though not fervently.

"At times, a talk with a stranger is the best cure for a weary heart," the priest remarked as if in passing. "We shall not meet again. Your words are like the wind: they will blow past me and vanish. But our talk will remain and-"

Ardi bared his long, curved, inhuman fangs then.

"So that's what troubles you?"

Ardan had meant to ask the priest for silence with that gesture, but then he noticed the man suddenly shifting his gaze from Ardan to… Tess.

"What do you mean?" Ardi spoke at last.

The priest merely smiled — it seemed like an expression that only a person who lives with something greater than themselves could offer someone else.

"We are all part of the Light, my friend," the priest sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned his back against the tree beside the bench. "Skin color, the length of fangs, the presence of tusks or horns — these are but forms. Inside each of us is the Light."

Ardi looked toward Tess at that. She was laughing and singing for Plamena and Din while the newlyweds danced barefoot on the grass.

"It's hard…"

"Without a doubt," the priest nodded.

"And… painful."

"Naturally."

Ardan squeezed his badge.

"Then what's the point?"

The priest did not answer him at once.

"Perhaps… no one can answer that for you. But ponder this: if you possess fangs, surely they are meant for something, yes?"

"To tear into prey," Ardi replied with brutal honesty.

"And it has swift legs to flee from you," the priest said, unfazed. "But if you have fangs that you need, then… perhaps the Light needs them, too."

"My fangs?"

"Any world where the Light exists, my dear friend, will always be warped by the shadows that same Light unavoidably casts. And to avoid perishing among them, one must, alas, fight the Darkness. We can choose not to. We can be idle, merely watch from the side. We can even surrender ourselves to the Darkness' mercy — but then, why were we given fangs… and claws… and a heart?"

Ardan frowned at that.

"I do not quite understand what we are speaking of."

The priest smiled again and patted Ardi's knee.

"If you are here now, my dear friend, then someone needs you here. It must be so, and maybe it's because no one else can stand here, can bear it. Perhaps only your fangs are long enough to grapple with the Darkness that creeps ever closer."

Ardan touched his staff at that. He found himself absolutely disliking this strange follower of the Face of Light!

"You-"

"Come to me if it ever becomes difficult," the priest cut him off. "You will always be welcome here, Mr. Wizard. And if it ever becomes unmanageable — unbearably so — then come all the more. Do not yield to the Darkness. Remember, we are all made from the Light, while the Darkness… The Darkness is merely a choice each of us can make."

The priest then reached up, plucked a fruit from the apple tree, and bit into it.

"Sour," he grimaced. "Not its season yet."

And he departed after that.

Ardi remained on that bench, watching Tess sing.

…The same way he was watching her now, after they had returned home and were sitting in the kitchen, drinking cocoa so hot it scalded their lips.

"What is it?"

Ardi looked into her eyes. So light. So bright. So beautiful. And so… homelike. They offered peace. And joy.

"Ardi, you're scaring me," Tess tensed up.

Long ago, in an ice cream café where a Sidhe of the Burning Dawn had been hiding, Tess had stepped across the chasm that separated their worlds. And Ardi had stood on the opposite side, watching her run toward him, yet he hadn't moved.

That was what he'd been taught to do.

On the hunters' trails, no matter how large his pack, a hunter ultimately survived alone. By himself. With the strength of his fangs alone. His claws.

And he had followed that path, submitting obediently to customs beaten into him by tails and carved upon him with claws. Because living that way was simpler… It was easier to just survive among the trails of other hunters.

"Ardi-"

"I haven't told you everything, Tess." Ardan looked away. Out there, above the rusted rooftops along Markov Canal, both luminaries shone — the two Eyes of the Spirits of the Day and Night, the two halves of one whole.

"Of course you haven't told me everything." Tess set her cup on its saucer. "But I know how this works. I don't ask needless questions to avoid putting you in an awkward spot. My mother always did that. So, Ardi-"

"Even this name," Ardan rasped. "Ard… The name Ard… It isn't my name, Tess. My name is entirely different."

Tess fell silent, and Ardan spoke. He spoke for a long time and he said a lot. He told her everything that lay within his heart. He told her everything that lived in his past — his own and his family's. Beginning with Aror Egobar and the Dark Lord, and ending with Alexander Taakov. He spoke of Ergar and Skusty, Shali and Guta. He recounted the paths of the Fae, spoke of Oktana Anorsky, of words that cannot be heard and trails no mortal can tread.

He spoke and spoke and spoke. Only one thing he kept to himself — the details of his work, for in this moment, they mattered not at all.

Ardi told her about Kelly and Mother, his brother and sister. He told her about the Grand Princess and why a half-cat, half-Vila sometimes came to him at midnight.

Beyond the window, the twin lights seemed to either be battling for dominion over the sky or whirling in some wondrous dance — or perhaps it was all just an illusion behind which Ardan hid from Tess' guarded silence.

Who would wish to be with a man like Ardi? Who would want to carry the weight of all that baggage slung across Ardan's shoulders? Tess wanted no dealings with the Orcish Jackets — Sleeping Spirits, she didn't even want to have any dealings with the army, lest she meet her mother's fate.

And now he had dumped all of that upon her — all the things that had festered, the things he was tired of burying in the far corners of his mind, stashing them away in his little cave so similar to Ergar's, but situated atop their building.

But Ardan did not want that.

He didn't want to hide. To be alone on his snowy trails.

Not anymore.

And the only true pain was the certainty that she would get up and leave. For any woman would. Ardan understood that. He didn't blame her at all, but since he'd begun, he could not stop.

"Ardan," he said at the end. "That is what Mother and Father named me. Ardan. In the language of the Matabar, it means Strong Roots."

In the kitchen of their apartment — or was it no longer theirs? — the silence hung, broken only by their breathing. Were they still close? Strangers now? Sleeping Spirits, Ardi was not even human… nor truly Firstborn.

"You took a long time."

Ardan started and looked up at Tess, who was smiling at him like she always did.

"Do you remember the cat I told you about — the one that would visit us but never stayed long, until it found a place beneath the old cherry tree?" She reached out and touched his cheek, mouthed "Ardan" soundlessly, then said aloud, in her usual way, "Wizard. Ardan-the-wizard… I'm glad you finally found your place beneath the cherry tree. Even though it took so long… What matters is you found it. I was waiting."

Ardan pressed his cheek to her palm, and something in his heart grew light… and bright.

"Forgive me for making you wait," he whispered.

***

Someone was knocking on the door.

Ardi had known that the knock would come, and so he had not lain down to sleep, though Tess had long since drifted off, curled up like a kitten on their bed.

How long?

How long would they last?

He could not keep the truth from her — no more than his father once could from Shaie — because Tess, just like Shaie, was entitled to a choice. Yet their world was such that Tess would not be the only one who got to choose. Right or wrong, that was the life they lived.

Her father had to choose as well.

Yes, Ardi knew that if he asked her to, Tess would leave with him — perhaps she'd even follow him to the ends of the world. But she loved her father, her mother, her brothers and sisters. He could not do to her what had been done to him — first by Ergar, then by the Second Chancery. He would not tear Tess away from her family.

Moving soundlessly, Ardan crossed the floor and opened the door. He stepped onto the landing and shut the door behind him just as silently. Arkar was already waiting.

He wasn't entirely sober, seemed decidedly rumpled, and he appeared to be partly cheerful and equally troubled.

"You've got guests downstairs."

"I know," Ardan said, nodding.

"Very… colorful guests."

"I know." Ardan started heading down.

A clawed hand caught his shoulder.

"Matabar, you kept your word. Indgar — may his name be forgotten — we settled him… finished him… dealt with him for good, I mean, so I can whistle up the fangs — call for the lads, I mean. They will help."

Ardan turned to his… friend? Temporary ally? His landlord? What exactly tied him to the Overseer of the Orcish Jackets? One more question for tomorrow.

But Arkar was serious and utterly sincere about his offer.

"I don't think a brawl with Shamtur's troops would do your gang much good."

"Well, maybe it won't come to a brawl… They're all shorties, after all, even if they're carrying rifles."

"You do know who Tess' father is, don't you?"

Arkar nodded. He had probably always known. That was likely why he had invited her to sing at the bar. Not for the music, but because who in their right mind would attack a building that housed the daughter of Shamtur's Governor-General?

On paper, the title might've sounded unimpressive, but in truth, Shamtur was a fortress city, the principal fort on the Empire's most problematic frontier. The Governor-General of Shamtur was not merely a political and military post — he commanded the largest and most battle-ready army in the land.

"I have to talk to him, Arkar."

The orc looked Ardi over and squeezed his shoulder.

"You've grown up… Nine months ago, you'd have bolted with your tail tucked between your legs. I'm glad we know each other, Ard. But listen — if they start killing you too hard for roughing up the general's girl, try not to be too noisy, will you? It'd be bad for business… Worse than it already is, even… You'll scare off the rest of my clientele."

"Very funny, orc."

"Not at all, Matabar, but try to keep it down anyway."

Ardi waved him off and started down the stairs again.

"Hey, Matabar," came the call from above.

Ardi glanced back.

"Orak Han-da," Arkar said, his face solemn.

Ardan opened his mouth… and just couldn't. He couldn't respond in kind. Perhaps he'd be able to do it someday, but not anytime soon. He only nodded again and headed down to the first floor.

At four in the morning, "Bruce's" seldom housed any patrons, save for the most bleary-eyed drunks snoring atop the bar until Arkar grew tired of them and threw them out.

As Ardi's feet landed on the cold concrete steps, he could not help recalling how exactly a year ago, he had walked through a meadow of flowers when returning from the brook where he and Anna had…

Just a year.

Twelve months.

It felt like an entire lifetime.

How ironic it was that, back then, he had been building castles made of clouds and hopes, dreaming, and plotting his convoluted plans… while knowing nothing of himself, his feelings, not even asking for Anna's opinion, and all the while, she'd known nothing about him, either.

Now he knew everything. About himself, about his heart, about Tess — and she, in turn, knew everything about him. More, perhaps, than his own mother. More than any living human or Firstborn.

However, just like in those Evergale fields, and now in this gang-owned jazz bar, he was not in a fairy tale, not in one of Grandpa's stories conjured beneath that old oak for a little boy.

Admittedly, in Grandpa's tales, the lovers had always been separated by fate, or by family, or by some other immutable force. Often, the whole tale had revolved around their struggle to return home — not to a place on a map, but to the light inside their souls.

But Ardi was not the protagonist of a story.

And this was no fairy tale.

This was real life.

Forty pairs of eyes turned to regard Ardan. The whole bar was crammed full of men in dark green infantry uniforms. Rifle straps lay across their shoulders and revolver holsters dangled at their belts.

Beyond the windows loomed the shapes of military trucks and a long, fastback officer's car parked directly before the entrance.

Ardi walked through the ranks of soldiers and approached a man one could hardly mistake for someone else. This was a human who, while standing, would not have to look up at him.

The Governor-General of Shamtur was nearly two meters tall. Beyond that, nothing about him was remarkable. He looked like an entirely ordinary man in his late middle years: he wore spectacles with a thin frame, a fashionable clipped mustache, and he had a build that was neither fat and complacent nor as muscular as his troopers' own. A gray felt hat lay on the table. He wore a gray three-piece suit, freshly-pressed yet clearly mended more than once.

His was a face of sharp angles —Tess had inherited those high cheekbones, those green eyes, that copper hair… but the General's had been hopelessly invaded by a paint-deep gray.

And the nose… It was faintly snub, though on the General, it was several times larger, which made sense.

All told, if one didn't know who this was, they could easily assume that he was just an ordinary clerk.

"May I?" Ardan gestured at the chair across from the man.

"Please, Mr. Egobar," the General replied in a tone that was perfectly polite, but no warmer than courtesy demanded. He indicated the seat.

Ardan sat.

"Reish Orman," the General said, extending his hand. Ardi took it.

"Ard Egobar."

Only when that cool, iron grip closed around his hand did it become irrevocably clear: this was no clerk. And his eyes — just like his father's, like Hector's — belonged to a man who had seen and done things that wouldn't merely turn most people's hair gray, but rip their very minds apart.

They sat in silence, studying one another: an Investigator of the Second Chancery and an Imperial officer. A man and a half-blood Matabar. They were two men who loved the same woman — one as a father, the other as-

"I assume you're still a Corporal?"

Of course Mr. Orman knew that. How could he not?

Ardi produced his credentials and passed them over. The General opened and read them with equal calm.

"Investigator, Third Class… To be honest, I have never understood the nature of Black House work."

"To be honest, neither do I, not yet."

Reish closed the wallet and handed it back.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're too candid?"

Ardi flinched as though struck by a bear's paw. Someone had. Lea Morimer. He did not say so out loud.

"My apologies if I spoke out of hand," the General said sincerely enough. "You likely know why I'm here."

Ardan nodded.

"Then, since you are a Second Chancery Investigator, and — as your clever eyes assure me — a rather intelligent young man, I will be blunt." Reish laced his fingers together. "I care nothing for noble bloodlines. I do not believe in them. What I do believe, Mr. Egobar, is that your name will bring only pain to my daughter. Your profession and pursuits — be it Star Magic or your service to the Black House — again… pain. The same pain my wife endures, but I will not have my daughter share it. Therefore, I will not give you my blessing. And if Tess chooses to defy my will, then-"

Reish left the sentence unfinished. In truth, he did not need to finish it. Everything had been clear from the start, back on that snow-choked quay.

They were not in a fairy tale. They should have let that evening become a pleasant memory and gone back to their worlds on opposite sides of an abyss.

Because Reish was right.

Ardi would hurt Tess eventually. However fiercely he shielded her, however staunchly he protected her… He wouldn't inflict bodily harm upon her, of course, but a wound of the soul — and that was far worse.

This time, he had come back from the subterranean Temple of the Old Gods, but who could guarantee that Ardan would never again face the same choice — and maybe not return at all next time?

Yes, he could claim that he would resign, that they would flee to the Azure Sea where she could sing and he could craft seals, build a house, and raise children in peace…

But that was a lie — he'd be lying to himself first and foremost.

Ardan would not.

Could not…

Because the priest had been right: there are those content to watch the Darkness gather at their threshold, and there are those like Hector who take up rifle and knife and go to fight it, even if the world brands them fools or murderers — even if for years after, their own sons cannot forgive them. Simply because they can't do anything else…

Nor could Ardan.

Perhaps… No. He did not wish to discover whether he could bear to watch the Darkness bite chunk after chunk out of the world. The Puppeteers would not stop with the Spiders, and Ardan would always know it.

He clenched his fists so hard his claws drew warm blood that trickled down his fingers.

"Tell her I lost my nerve," he said quietly but firmly. "That the moment I saw you, I ran."

"Why?"

"So she'll be disappointed. Think she was mistaken. It will be better that way."

Reish considered, then nodded. "Very well," he said. "I'll tell her that."

Ardan nodded and, without offering his hand, rose and headed for the stairs. Their fairy tale — brief though it had been — had ended. It was exactly like in Grandfather's stories and-

"Does no one care to hear my opinion?"

Tess, barefoot and clad in nothing but her nightclothes, stood in the doorway of the bar. Behind her loomed the massive shadow of an orc.

Arkar…

"Tess, my dear-" Reish began.

"You have said quite enough, Father." Tess' eyes blazed no less fiercely than those of an enraged Sidhe, and her hair all but breathed a fire hotter than any spell the Great Prince could conjure. Her own appearance and the forty soldiers meant nothing to her. "You arrived here in the middle of the night like some thief. No notice. Not a single word. You sent no letter, dispatched no rider. For what? To steal a husband from your own daughter?!"

"Tess, you-"

"We have already had this conversation!" Tess seemed to hiss like a cat, though not the one she sang about so often, but a far more terrible creature. "I wanted to sing, and I do sing. If I choose to marry Ardi, I shall marry him — with your blessing or without it. I care so little, Father, that if you knew how little I truly care, it would hurt you as much as it hurts me."

Reish rose to his feet.

"Tess-"

"How much longer will this go on?" Tess flung her hands wide. "Yes, it is hard for Mother — very hard. But you are together! Why can I not bez? Because you decreed it? Did it never occur to you to ask me? To speak to me? Perhaps to write to me? Did that never once pass through your General's mind — that I might hold an opinion of my own? That I might not be some empty-headed fool smitten beyond reason and common sense? That I might have thought things through, come to terms with them, and decided something for myself? Or am I merely your witless possession that-"

"TESS!" Reish barked, making Ardan whirl and tighten his grip on his staff, yet the General only sighed, lowered himself into a chair, removed his spectacles, and began polishing them with a handkerchief. "By the Face of Light, my dear… why did you have to take after your mother? When she starts talking, she, too, hears no one around her. You, Mr. Egobar, may have already become familiar with this."

Ardi inclined his head slightly. Indeed, when Tess grew heated, she was almost impossible to stop.

"Had you come down but two minutes later, my dear," the General continued, "you would have found your… friend and me sharing tea. Or do you prefer coffee?"

"Cocoa, Mr. Orman."

"Cocoa… Why am I not surprised," the General rolled his eyes precisely like his daughter would. More accurately, she echoed him. "My dear, had your… friend begun arguing and bickering with me, I would have known him for an unreliable fellow who sees you as only a prize or a trophy and cares nothing for your welfare. And — pardon me — but you are my daughter, and I must care for you. I cannot just hand you over to some empty-headed dolt — whom, I hasten to note, the world has altogether too many of."

Tess blinked in silence; Ardi likely did the same.

"Your sisters and your brothers would never forgive me if I were to withhold my blessing," the General breathed on his lenses and then set them back upon his nose. "I honestly believe you two would have both fared better had you never crossed paths — but what is, is. I love you and…" He measured Ardi with a glance, continuing rather unwillingly. "Apparently, I am not alone in that… Yet I had to make certain. Your fate is not something I can just ignore."

Tess thawed a little and hissed, "So you're giving us your blessing?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not much of one."

The General sighed again and nodded. "I give you both my blessing."

"Good." Tess wheeled toward Ardan and jabbed a finger at him. "You! Fool and blockhead! I don't want to see you till morning! Yes — till morning, you're to stay out of sight!" She spun just as sharply toward her father. "And you as well! No more until morning! I don't want to see either of you! You pair of pompous, puffed-up turkeys! Brutes! We shall drink tea in the morning — right now, I cannot look at either of you!"

Then Tess pinned the soldiers — who were doing their utmost to appear deaf — with that same burning gaze.

"And you… you… I can't even find the words!"

Like some mythic Fury, she whirled and dashed up the stairs.

For a moment, silence settled over the bar.

"Please sit, Mr. Egobar," the Governor-General said resignedly. "It seems like we must endure each other's company till morning."

Ardi, stiff as a tin soldier, returned to his seat.

"Since there will be tea in the morning, I would not refuse a whiskey now… Mr. Barman!" Reish's shout coincided with Arkar's entrance, the orc towering over the soldiers like a living mountain. Despite this, not a single one of them so much as blinked. They had obviously seen worse. "One…" Reish glanced at Ardi. "Do you drink?"

"I do not."

"Good. Maintain that virtue." Mr. Orman nodded and turned back to Arkar. "One whiskey, forty mugs of weak beer, and whatever the young man usually drinks."

"Certainly, Mr. General," Arkar nodded.

When necessary, the half-orc could be courteous. Otherwise, he could hardly have become the Orcish Jackets' Overseer.

Arkar slipped off to the kitchen, and Reish looked at Ardi far more gravely than before.

"Tess need not know this, but you, Mr. Egobar, have six months to move out of this den with her. If you do not, her mother will — quite suddenly — fall ill and beg her daughter to come home to Shamtur to help her."

"That is… devious."

"Have children and you will understand…" The General broke off suddenly, as if scalded, and muttered some curse. "Mr. Barman!"

"What?" Arkar asked from the kitchen.

"Bring two glasses of whiskey — no, just bring the whole bottle."

This truly wasn't one of his Grandfather's tales…

EPILOGUE

The train lurched and halted. Ardan, who'd been reading a treatise on organizing complex vector systems in seals, nearly slammed face-first into the little table.

"Are we there already?"

Tess opened her eyes and looked out the window. The green steppe spread from horizon to horizon, its endless smoothness disturbed only by the rooftops of Presny, which had grown a little over the past few months.

"We're not supposed to stop here." Ardi frowned and snapped his book shut. "Stay here. Open the door for no one. I'll find out what's going on."

Taking his staff, Ardan stepped into the corridor and briefly touched the finial above their door. A ghostly lattice of metal shimmered over the wood and vanished moments later.

Satisfied with his work, Ardi had only managed to take a few steps forward before he heard the conductor's voice.

"Breakdown! Boiler breakdown! The train will remain in Presny until repairs are complete! Breakdown!"

Ardan sighed, touched his staff to the door again, and reentered their compartment. The Governor-General had proven himself most farsighted and… had bought them six first-class tickets: two for the trip from the capital to Delpas, then, with a two-week buffer, from Delpas to Shamtur, and again, two weeks later, from Shamtur back to the capital. Judging by their purchase dates, he had bought them several months before Iolai Agrov's letter had reached him.

Tess had already laced up her corset and was pulling a light yet sturdy travel dress over her head — the sort wealthy young women wore on the road. Ardan hadn't even known that Tess owned such things.

"How long do you think the repairs will take?" She asked.

"A steam boiler…" Ardan frowned, summoning what little he knew of technologies unrelated to the Ley, and discovered it was very little indeed. "If the damage is serious, ten days for certain. If not, a week or so."

Tess' eyes widened — whether in surprise or horror, he could not tell.

"Ten days?! A full week?!"

"We are in the steppes, Snowflake. The only metal here is found in a marshal's teeth and a coach's springs."

"To the demons with those teeth, Ardi! We'll only get to spend a few days in Delpas at this rate!"

Ardan sighed. It did not look good.

"What if we hire a coach?"

"We'll just end up spending that same week on the road — maybe only a bit less. Five days or so."

Tess fell silent, deep in thought.

"I ride well, Ardi."

"I never doubted it," Ardan nodded.

Tess glanced at her luggage, opened it, pulled out a travel bag, and swiftly packed only the things a lady absolutely needed. Ardi turned away hastily.

He himself had that same sort of half-filled sack, stuffed mostly with gifts and the Star Magic books he meant to read during their journey, plus a change of underclothes and a pocket-sized tooth-cleaning kit.

"All right, I'm ready."

"Tess… We'll have to ride almost two days without stopping. No proper breaks — we'll just stop to sleep at night. And only for a few hours at that."

Tess rose, drifted over to Ardan, and traced a finger along his jaw.

"Do you have any idea how much girls love adventures, Ardi?"

Milar had once said something to that effect, perhaps, but Ardan did not mention it.

"Can you find the way for us?"

"By the stars," Ardan nodded. "I can find my way anywhere."

"Excellent!" His… his… his Tess brightened. "Onward, then, Ardi-the-wizard! Let's hire some horses!"

***

While her… her… her Ardan was negotiating in the shop for a pair of saddle-hung water skins, Tess was settling the bill for their two mounts at the horse station. She had not chosen expensive beasts — there was little sense in that — and had instead picked out a couple of sturdy foothill mares: not so old that their legs would slow down with fatigue, and not so young that they would bolt headlong without cause.

The station rented only by the week, which forced her to part with the rather significant sum of two exes and thirty kso — an ex and fifteen kso for each animal.

"And saddles as well," Tess added. "Two of them."

"That will be another ex, madam."

Tess opened her cloth purse again and produced a banknote of the proper denomination. She would have to ask Mother how to manage a shared budget — her mother understood such things far better than she did.

"And could you please see to the saddling?"

"Of course, madam. That will take a quarter hour."

"How much extra?"

"It is included in the fee. But — begging your pardon for the impertinence — may I ask, madam, how far you mean to ride?" The stationer, a middle-aged man with a sweaty, shining bald spot and an oily, somewhat lukewarm gaze, was otherwise a pleasant and open fellow.

"We're not merely going on a joyride, sir," Tess replied. "We are bound for Delpas."

The man blinked several times, very nearly choking on air.

"D-Delpas? The two of you alone?"

"Of course," Tess confirmed. "Our train broke down — you have likely heard about it already — and we do not wish to lose any days waiting."

"But that's two full days if you never halt to camp!"

"Most likely, yes."

"And this is summer, madam! The steppe is thick with creatures — thinking ones and otherwise!"

Tess glanced away from the counter and toward the street. A scent approached her, the scent of snow and ice. Anyone who claimed snow and ice had no such thing would be sorely mistaken. This was Ardi's scent. Her Ardi's scent. He was crossing the bustling, dusty avenue crowded with riders and coaches, water skins slung over his shoulders.

"You know what, my good sir," she said with a smile, "for some reason, I don't feel afraid at all…"

***

Ardan once again made sure that the girth was snug and gave a tug at the latigo on Tess' saddle — the seams there were, in his opinion, the most vexing part of any saddle to mend if they chose to split. That's strange… Why did he have déjà-vu…?

In any case, he had done it not because he doubted Tess' skills, but because… because he wished to care for her. And Tess had offered not the least bit of protest, for she knew and understood why Ardi was acting like this.

"Everything all right?" She asked.

"I suppose…" Ardan turned to look back at the little town, which was already growing more distant behind them. A whole year had passed… "Do you mind if I run a bit?"

"If you run?" Tess arched an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Well… all right, then. Of course — go ahead and run!"

Ardi nodded, sprang from his stirrups, kicked off his travel boots, lashed them to his saddle, urged the mares on with a pat on the rump, and then dashed after them.

"You're out of your mind!" Tess shouted, laughing as Ardi kept pace with the horses.

He felt the claws of his feet sink into the sun-warmed earth like a child pressing fingers into warm dough, a secret satisfaction sparking through him. His lungs filled with the breath of the steppe — cold and deep as ancient memory — and he flung his arms wide, as though embracing a friend he had dreamed of but never touched. The wind swept over him, headier than any whiskey, as if carrying a stolen glimpse of tomorrow on its back. It tangled in his hair, beckoning him forward, whispering of secrets he'd long forgotten.

Ardi spread his arms wide, as he once had on Kaishas' broad back when they'd raced the horses across open fields, his heart pounding in time with their hooves. He remembered how their laughter had scattered like birds at dawn, chasing scents he could not name: wild grasses, distant rain, the sharp tang of the sky. He inhaled again, as though trying to swallow the very essence of freedom the world contained within the Metropolis could never offer him: there was no diesel stink here, no coal smoke choking him, only this vast expanse that belonged to the wind and the earth alone.

These were the steppes beneath the Alcade Foothills — hills that climbed ever higher patiently, like a lover's promise whispered through generations. Here, the horizon stretched out forever, an invitation written in dusty gold and deep violet. There were no signposts, no roads stitched into the land — only one's own heart to guide the way, and eyes that could drink in the endless sky.

At times, the storms would come without warning. He remembered standing on these same hills as a boy, mud sucking at his boots while lightning had rent the clouds above, the voice of thunder roaring down at him. The earth had shaken beneath his feet, and he'd shivered, small and frightened, before the fury of the elements. Yet even back then — when rock had shattered and soil had churned — he'd felt a fierce exhilaration as he'd chosen to stand where the world could strip him bare, lifting his face toward the sky.

And at other times, the breeze would drift by, gentle and warm, carrying the soft promise of things poets tried to capture in their stuttering verses: sunrise turning dew to diamonds, grass bending like whispered prayers, and that hush before dawn where every creature held its breath. In those moments, Ardi felt a quiet swell within him, as though the very ground sang beneath his feet, and his heart understood the unspoken language of the land.

Here smelled of freedom — sweet and raw on the tongue. The wind came straight from the jagged, snow-clad peaks of the Alcade Mountains, carrying the cold fire of ice melt streams and the echoes of shattered stone. And the earth beneath him — hill after patient hill — climbed toward those peaks like a lover yearning for a distant gaze.

These lands were his, and he belonged to them. He could feel it in every fiber of himself: the pulse of soil under his nails, the taste of wind on his tongue, the slow drumbeat of the mountains in his chest. And as he ran, barefoot, arms spread, eyes closed against the light, he whispered to the steppe, "I see you. I am with you. Your breath is my breath, your earth my own." In that moment, the world fell silent — there was just sky and stone and wind — and Ardi, for the first time in a long while, felt whole.

***

Ardi finished tracing the seal upon the last of the stones and, tossing it far from the fire, struck his staff against the ground. Above them, a braid of metallic threads unfurled and then swiftly vanished. Now certain that the ward would hold until dawn, Ardan settled in beside Tess on the blanket. They warmed themselves by the fire that crackled merrily, fed by the dry brushwood they had been lucky enough to gather by the river.

This was a playful, impudent little fire. It was almost as though it were arguing with the night sky itself, saying: "I can set the stars alight just as well as you." It kept flinging sparks upward — each flared for a heartbeat, then died.

Tess pulled him down to the ground and lifted a finger toward the heavens.

"Do you know every constellation, Ardi-the-wizard?" She asked, studying the black velvet mantle strewn with lights.

They were so distant and so bright — nothing like back at the Metropolis, where a granite lid, filthy more often than not, pressed upon one's shoulders like the ceiling of a stranger's cellar, dank and stale enough to smother breath itself.

"Those that shine above us — yes."

"Goodness… That's marvelous… I would like to meet Atta'nha. I think she must be a good person — well, wolf woman… or Fae. Which is right, Ardi? Wolf or Fae?"

Ardan closed his fingers around a plain copper trinket in his pocket. He had taken it, along with the books, from his garret, where he'd kept them beneath that one floorboard beside Nicholas-the-Stranger's tome and the Sidhe Flame.

Long ago, his grandfather had hidden what he'd valued most in an ordinary shed: the Sword of Darkness, able to cut light itself, and the Staff of Stars, whose enchantments had made the Dark Lord so mighty that even fifty Imperial mages hadn't been able to subdue him. Not to mention the Sidhe Flame, which could confer incredible power on any Star Mage or Aean'Hane, and a book… his friend's book. And a ring. To anyone else, it would be a mere copper ring, but to his great-grandfather, it had been the most precious of all relics — his daughter's ring… This ring had belonged to Ardan's grandmother…

Questions swarmed Ardi's mind. Why had Aversky been murdered at all? For the Staff of Demons? What did the Staff of Demons have to do with any of it? What had bound Arkady Agrov to the Crown's opposition? How were "Operation Mountain Predator" and everything else that was now unfolding in the realm connected? How many more "Spiders" lurked outside — or perhaps within — the capital? Why pit the gangs against one another? That Star-born werewolf and the foreign mages — how were they involved? Who were the Puppeteers? Was the Homeless Fae Ardi had encountered in the Palace of the Kings of the Past one of them? And… a hundred other riddles besides.

And yet all of these were worries for tomorrow — questions that mattered little when compared to the present moment's quiet stirrings of the soul.

"Tess."

"What?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Ardi."

Ardi drew out the ring and offered it to her on his open palm.

"Will you be my wife?"

She smiled, accepted the plain copper band, and nodded softly.

The night's darkness wrapped them in a cool quilt, hiding them from any prying gazes. Tonight, the steppe belonged to them alone, and no one else.

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK