Chapter 25

Puzzle I

Two days later, the routine aboard Skithbladnir had already become something of a rhythm for Mags. Each morning, she rose before dawn, muscles aching but determination unyielding. The ship’s internal staircases had become her nemesis. Malacoda’s voice rang out behind her as she sprinted up and down, steps pounding against wood, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “Faster!” he barked, reclining lazily against the railing of the upper deck, a toothpick casually hanging from his lips. While Mags pushed herself to exhaustion, he remained an unmoved observer, lounging in the shade, the epitome of effortless authority.

“Are we ever going to practice actual fighting?” she had asked one morning between gulps of air, her legs shaking as she hefted the water-filled barbell for the umpteenth time. After the stairs, she had to squat the bar just shy of one hundred times.

“When I’m satisfied with your conditioning,” Malacoda replied without even opening his eyes, arms crossed behind his head as he reclined on a crate.

“I think I hate you,” she breathed.

Malacoda cracked open an eye. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“Thank you! Thank you for explaining,” she blurted.

The climb up the ship’s masts had been the worst part. Her palms were calloused now, raw from gripping the ropes, muscles straining with each ascent. But with every climb, she felt herself growing stronger, more resilient. The ship seemed to mock her efforts, its towering masts swaying in the wind as if daring her to falter. And yet, each time, she reached the top, breathless but victorious.

The bath that followed those brutal mornings had quickly become her sanctuary. The first day, she had made the mistake of bringing one of her assigned books from Libicocco with her into the bath, propping it up on the tub’s edge as she soaked. She was mid-chapter when Libicocco had burst into the bathroom, horror-stricken at the sight. “A first edition?” she’d exclaimed, snatching the tome from her wet hands. “Do you have any idea how much damage water can do to these pages?” The lecture that followed—despite Mags being unclothed and sopping wet—was of epic proportions.

Since then, she had learned her lesson, though she still preferred to read immediately after her baths, sitting on a stool with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, the remnants of steam curling in the air.

Breakfast in the mess hall was a welcome reprieve, a time to sit and let her body recover. The meals were hearty and simple—bread, cheese, raw vegetables and fruits—and she always took leftovers, stuffing them into her satchel for later. Mags usually found herself seated next to Calcabrina, whose company had quickly become a comfort. The older girl had taken Mags under her wing, lending her clothes and shoes with a dry comment about how sweaty Malacoda’s training had made her.

“If you’re going to be running around like that, you’ll need more than one outfit,” Calcabrina had said with a teasing smile. “For everyone’s sake.”

The clothes Calcabrina gave her were fine, far nicer than anything Mags had ever owned. Silk tunics, embroidered sashes, leather boots that, while snug, fit well enough. The generosity had left Mags feeling awkward at first, but Calcabrina had brushed it off. “If you care so much, you can give these back to me after we get to Perun,” she’d said. “The capital’s got the best markets, and you’ll want your own wardrobe by then.”

After breakfast, her days were a blur of reading and struggling with the Daedalus Orb. The orb was an enigma, resisting her every effort to unlock its secrets. She spent hours meditating, focusing her intent on the glass-like surface, hoping for even a flicker of response. But it remained frustratingly inert, a silent challenge she had yet to overcome. She pouted, staring down the orb and thinking of whether she was doing something wrong. I am focusing my mind just like I do when I want to access Yggdrasil’s interface. Am I supposed to be doing something else? No answer came to her that first day.

Libicocco’s lessons were no less relentless. Her quizzes were sharp, each question more obscure than the last. “You’ve read the material, haven’t you?” she’d ask, her eyes narrowing as Mags fumbled for an answer. Every misstep was met with more reading, more drilling. She was a patient but unforgiving teacher, pressing her on topics that ranged far beyond the assigned chapters. The deeper Mags delved into the studies, the more she realized how little she knew. Each afternoon, additional books were added to the pile accumulating on the desk in her room.

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But there were bright spots in her days too. Dinner in the mess hall was a lively affair, filled with the banter of the Ghost Hounds and the clatter of plates. Mags quickly found herself a regular at the gaming tables before and after meals, learning the finer intricacies of Sovereign’s Gambit from the gruff Dragnazzo. The old Artificer was a hard man to beat, posing more of a challenge than the elders of Solstice. While he had been standoffish when Mags had first met him, he seemed to enjoy Mags’ company, offering her tips and corrections after each game. Despite never winning, she could feel herself improving with each match.

“The old men from my town would love to watch you play,” she had caught herself saying before realizing that what she had said was an impossibility. They would, but they’re all gone now. From the Angels or the Empire…

It was on the third night, over a meal of flatbread, roasted lamb, and a creamy vegetable stew, that Mags found herself alone at a table with Calcabrina. The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, savoring the food. The mess hall was bustling with conversation, but their corner felt isolated, a small island of quiet amidst the noise. There was no sign of Libicocco or Rubicante, who would usually join them at some point during the course of dinner.

Mags hesitated before speaking, glancing up at Calcabrina. “Did you go to a military academy?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Were you ever in the service?” From Malacoda’s reaction, she didn’t know what was off limits about each of their pasts, so she had tread carefully the past couple of days.

Calcabrina let out a laugh, almost choking on her drink. “Gods, no,” she said, shaking her head. A few strands of hair fell over her face, which she deftly tucked behind the point tip of her left ear, just below the accompanying horn. “I was never registered with any Guilds or the Coalition.”

“Registered?”

“All Awakened Soulsingers must be registered with the Guilds or the Crown Coalition. Not doing so is a criminal act of the highest magnitude.” Calcabrina’s mouth twisted into a frown.

“So . . . how did you end up with the Ghost Hounds?”

Calcabrina’s smile faded further, her fingers tracing the edge of her plate. “I was captured. By another Company. You see, unregistered Awakened Soulsingers like me? We’re tracked. Either you’re with the Coalition or some Crown-sanctioned Company, or . . . well, you end up in a place no one wants to go.”

“That’s awful.” Mags wondered how many innocent people awakened to powers they had no say in having and were thus dragged into a world of servitude or otherwise being hunted like criminals. “What do they do to captured Soulsingers?”

“If you’re lucky?” Calcabrina looked up from her plate. “They execute you on sight.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Tartarus,” Calcabrina said the word like a curse, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s a prison—Death City, they call it. Built by the Empire to hold Soulsingers who are unregistered, or otherwise considered a threat to the general populace. You don’t just waste away there. It’s . . . worse. No one comes back from Tartarus. At least, if they do, they’re not whole.”

“You said you were captured?”

“Yeah. It was my tenth summer that my soul ‘ignited.’ That’s what they call it when you randomly Awaken. Not from a noble family that passes down its powers as part of its inheritance. It was a disaster. I didn’t mean to, but I hurt some people, Mags. I still feel terrible, even years later.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mags said, placing a hand into Calcabrina’s and giving it a friendly reassuring squeeze. A ghost of Calcabrina’s smile returned. Mags could imagine what Calcabrina had gone through. How many people in Solstice were killed or injured when the third Angel appeared?

“I was scared and alone for a while, grappling with being a Bonesinger. Only a kid. That’s when the Company found me. I had a track record that made me easy to identify as an unregistered. Long story, short: Lady Sarto found me the same time that other Company did.”

“Why are unregistered Awakened Soulsingers treated like criminals?”

Calcabrina locked eyes with Mags. Her icy blue eyes had hardened to steel. “Soulsingers are living weapons, Mags. Never forget that. Dangerous weapons, that degrade over time. If they aren’t accounted for, a degraded weapon that can harm a lot of people. Level entire cities. If a Soulsinger is registered, it means there is someone somewhere keeping an eye on any aether rot.”

“Aether rot?”

Calcabrina’s expression darkened. “When we use magic, our souls touch the Aethereal Sea to draw our power. You can touch the Aethereal Sea and may not notice for a long while, but a part of it always comes back with you. It stays with you. Warps you. The more you use your power, the more the rot creeps in. Only the strongest Soulsingers can fight it off.”

She paused, her eyes locking onto Mags’. “If you ever reach that point, it’s better to die than be taken to Tartarus.”

“What exactly happens to those with aether rot?”

“Madness. In one form or another. Some in the Company think that’s what happened to Scarmiglione—that Sarto dragged him out of Tartarus after he’d already lost his mind to the rot.”

Mags thought of the masked man, his strange behavior. A cold chill swept over her, and she suddenly felt the weight of the path she had chosen. Calcabrina stood from the table, letting Mags’ hand fall out of hers, but keeping her eyes trained on Mags. “We all touch the Aethereal Sea and grapple with the monsters that lurk beneath its surface. Not one of us comes back whole. Remember that, Mags. Remember that as you continue down this path you’ve chosen.”