After a miserable forty-minute walk in the chilling snow - we don’t dare take the tube, even if we have fallback IDs - we reach the memorial park.

I’ve been here a couple of times, once on a boring school trip, once to attend an even more boring charity event chaired by Big Sis.

It’s strange to think that a couple years ago, the Moonbreaking didn’t mean much to me. Just another historical event, like the Landing and the Last Empress’ Fall. Something interesting, but remote and irrelevant to my life. The Memorial is nothing more than a boring public park.

I knew the Exiled still lives, chilling on the Moon with her court of immortal mages. I saw the crack in the sky, of course. I saw the bright comet-like trails of Demonfalls, and heard so many times fortunately we don’t get those at this latitude - I even joked I’d trade a few demons for less snow in return.

But I never thought it could matter to me. Even if by the time of the charity event, I had started dreaming of the moon, I convinced myself they were only dreams.

Now the Memorial hits differently. It’s a place to remember something terrible that mages did.

It’s a reminder we’re supposed to hate and fear magic.

After Valanes, I’m not sure the message is wrong.

The memorial is a large park on a hill, full of broken things. Steel pillars, still covered in charred sigils, lie in the middle of flower beds - they were the supports of the grand bridge, which broke when magic failed.

We walk between two lines of broken black columns from buildings as old as the Thaumocracy, torn apart when mages started losing control and going nova. It’s still early in the morning, on a chilly day, and this isn’t a welcoming place - there are few people here, and we walk almost alone between the elegant marble lanes and the incongruous, ugly pieces of a world that broke in one day.

Finally, we reach the centerpiece of the memorial, a horrible silver sphere etched with thousands and thousands of names - the immediate victims of the Moonbreaking, in Rakavdon only. Wait, is it supposed to be Moon-shaped? Who the fuck designed this? It’s incredibly ugly and of incredibly bad taste.

“Why the fuck are we meeting here?” I ask, after a while. This place is getting under my skin.

“Mostly, the Prop Master likes pointless symbolism,” Iketek says, “but it’s not purely that. There’s a lot of silver in this park. It makes divination more difficult.”

“You think someone is still trying to scry us?” I ask.

Iketek sighs, she looks really tired. “Honestly, I don’t know. Depends on who the grad student is, and who he works for. It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.” she says. “You’re probably more gifted for the Path of Sight than I am. I should have taught you how to detect and resist divination, instead of playing videogames. I was remiss.”

Of course she’d blame herself for occasionally having fun. This is like having another elder sibling, which I have mixed feelings about. Before I can tell her to chill for once, she stops mid-step, and her eyes flash gold.

“He’s here. Follow me,” she says.

We walk past the horrible monument and take a side path to a rotunda of marble and hardy, cold-resistant shrubs. It’s ringed with broken machinery - pieces of the magical airships that fell from the sky with all their passengers. Next to each one is a plaque with names and old, black-and-white pictures.

They show Rakavdon, without the domes, without the thin, new skyscrapers. Columns of smoke rise from the city, you can see two broken bridges, the rubble of a flooded neighborhood that is now the New Docks.

In the middle of the rotunda are three statues, toppled down and defaced with angry graffiti. A silver plaque reads, FORGET NOT THE NAME OF THE ENEMY.

I never really looked at them. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of the Three Moonbreakers, even if they’re old, shitty pictures in black and white. But the statues hit differently – they remind me they were honored, once. Mages got statues, and the three names which now are used as curses, were once spoken in admiration.

“They don’t look like much,” Daravoi says.

I scan them. The Black Liar is depicted as a small, harmless-looking man wearing glasses, in the pose of someone giving a speech. Ikejon the Unmaker is a smiling old woman in a long robe, her hair gathered in a bun.

“Well, Keidesek and Ikejon, maybe. Tainedorian looks… intense,” Iketek says.

The third statue – Tainedorian the Exiled – looks half-molten, one side of her face is gone. The other half is the angular, stern one I’ve seen one million times in history, propaganda, and a few times on her own broadcasts. Even the statue stands in a rigid pose, like she’s keeping watch – she was some kind of soldier, before the Moonbreaking.

“She was the least dangerous of the three,” someone says, in a musing tone. “She was never as devious as the Black Liar, nor as unpredictable as the Unmaker. And yet, she’s the one all the armies of the world can’t defeat.”

We turn to see the Prop Master sitting on a bench, wearing a heavy, fancy woolen coat instead of the synthetic thermal vests everyone uses. Either he wasn’t there a moment ago, or we couldn’t see him. Iketek says he’s not a mage, and I don’t know why she’d lie to us, but he definitely isn’t just some guy – does he use relics for his tricks, maybe?

We walk toward him, and he stares at us as we approach. He looks somber, contemplative.

“Couldn’t you walk to us and say hello, like any normal person?” Iketek says, annoyed.

“For once, I was acting for the sake of precaution, and not dramatics,” he says, jovial. “I came here earlier, to make sure no one was waiting for us. And for that, it was best to remain unseen.”

Iketek glares at him. “So, are we safe here?” she asks.

“Very,” he answers. “I took my precautions. Even if it’s obvious some of those aren’t as good as I believed.”

He looks at me. “I heard of your narrow escape. You did well. But as your fixer, it’s partly my fault that it happened at all. I was confident the local ThauCons would be harmless, short of enormous mistakes on your side.”

“I don’t know if I did any enormous mistake,” I say, starting to sweat. It usually turns out that yes, I did some enormous mistake.

The Prop master waves a hand in dismissal, and looks away. “I don’t think so,” he says. He sounds distracted.

“I owe you some frankness,” he goes on. “I have extensive contacts inside the local ThauCon base. They ensured the surveillance by the Vault would be as poor as can be, with a single team of green recruits keeping watch. And yet, they spotted your fake identity. That’s surprising.”

“Couldn’t you tell us you had double agents?” Daravoi asks.

“Why?” The Prop Master asks, his tone mild. “So that you could be less cautious? My contacts couldn’t leave the Vault entirely unguarded, so they couldn’t help you more than this anyway. And I’m not in the habit of exposing my contacts without good reason. That’s bad for business.”

“So, did your contact betray us?” Iketek asks.

The Prop Master shakes his head. “Very unlikely. I have a good hold on them. They were as surprised as I were that the ThauCons spotted Korentis. They claim it happened because xir attitude was suspicious, but I got the impression they were unsure about this explanation themselves. I fear we aren’t the only ones playing games here.”

“This is getting too dangerous,” Iketek says. “ThauCon knows Korentis’ name, and possibly Daravoi’s. They know we’re looking for a relic. And they have some decent mages with them - the grad student I told you about turns out to be a competent Sight mage. However much the client pays, we’re in no position to complete this job.”

“I’m not convinced the grad student is a Council agent,” the Prop Master says, quietly. “But I agree the job is becoming very dangerous. Unfortunately, dropping it and jumping city isn’t… entirely viable, as an option.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Is this the part where he threatens us? What will we do if he says we must try again? We accepted his deal, after all. And whatever Iketek says, I’m pretty sure the Prop Master can be as dangerous as any ThauCon.

“What do you mean, it’s not a viable option?” Iketek snaps.

The Prop Master sighs, looking pained. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t entirely honest about our client, and our arrangement. I know who they are.”

Iketek frowns, looking at a loss. “Who are they? I know you don’t tell me about clients. What’s different this time?”

“They’re the Sacred Song Syndicate,” he says.

“What the Abyss?” Iketek actually screams, throwing up her arms. “Are you insane? You’re making me work for them? I’ll never do it! And you fucking knew!”

Her outburst is so sudden I flinch. My head spins - we are dealing with the Syndicates, specifically the mind-enslaving Syndicate Iketek told us about. And, apparently, we’re in quite deep.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” the Prop Master says, “and that’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry, Iketek. But we’re running out of options. Since Sacred Song joined the new cartel, their reach grew and grew. They kept finding us. I had to cut a deal.”

“You should have told me!” She yells, balling her fists. Her fingers flicker with gold.

“She’s, uh, kind of right,” Daravoi says, looking at the Prop Master. His face is neutral, but his muscles are taut, and his stance shifts a little - like he does before summoning his magic.

“Of course Iketek is right,” the Prop Master says, sounding genuinely sad, “but I only had bad options. You wouldn’t join the Hidden Schools for protection, Iketek. You couldn’t run beyond Sacred Song’s reach, not for long – an Abbot was looking for you, with all the resources at his command. We were able to evade them by hiding in rival territories, but no one will stand up to the Cartel.”

“So, you sold me?” She asks, fury distorting her face.

The Prop Master raises his hands, slowly. “I tried to keep you away from this job, actually,” he says. “And I saw an opportunity. You see, Sacred Song wants the Twisting Tetrahedron, and wants it stolen without involving their agents. Now, I happen to know something about that relic. It’s not what they believe - it’s just a harmless shadow of the… thing they’re seeking. So I offered to procure it. In return, they would strike you from their hit list. They gain nothing that matters, and you’re free. That was as good a way out as I could find.”

Just a harmless shadow of the thing they’re seeking.

So, the Prop Master knows what the Syndicates want. I itch to ask him more about it, but Daravoi grabs my arm, nodding toward Iketek, and I shut up. It’s a really useful trick, shutting up, I should try it more often.

Iketek looks at the Prop Master, her eyes murderous. She takes a deep breath. Her fingers turn back to flesh, her expression a mask of calm.

“I’m furious,” she says, her tone perfectly emotionless, which makes her ten times as scary. “But we’ll deal with it another day. What is the situation right now? Are their goons following us?”

The Prop Master shakes his head.

“What I gathered is they’re very reluctant to enter Rakavdon,” he says, “The Faceless Army is rallying mundane criminals against them, and I believe other factions are overtly opposing them - but I digress. What matters to us is that the Syndicates aren’t here. But if I won’t update them soon, or you try to leave the city and they find out, they’ll assume I broke our agreement. At that point, they will send their goons. And we can’t fight them off forever.”

“Fuck,” Iketek says, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. “Fuck.”

“So,” I say, smiling, “these mind-fucking assassins are looking for me and Dara as well? Not that I mind. I’d just like to know.”

Daravoi’s eyes are wide with fear. But I must be out of fear once and for all, because the idea that I’m on the run from Syndicate hitmen sounds cool.

“No, not you,” the Prop Master says. “You weren’t mentioned in the deal with Sacred Song. You’re… subcontractors, you could say. I’m sorry I involved you in this at all. I honestly didn’t think it would be this dangerous - but that’s how every disaster starts. While I can’t make up for it, I have something for you.”

He takes the small, black suitcase that was at his side, and hands it to me.

“What’s in it?” I ask.

“A book you were interested in,” he says.

“Wait, what?” Daravoi squints. “The million-credit book? And you're giving it to us like this? We didn’t get you the relic, you know that, right? Or was the million-credit story bullshit after all?”

I peek into the Else, and I feel it. The weight, the compressed, dormant power inside the suitcase. The Art of the Veil is really there.

Or is this another lie? What if it’s a tracking spell? What if he’s selling us to the Syndicates?

“The book’s value was not a lie,” the Prop Master says, somber. “Actually, with the Hidden Schools gearing up for war, it would be hard to get a copy for double that price, at this time. But whatever will happen now, I won’t see much commerce for a while. So, I decided I could do something good with my stock. You did your best to fulfill our agreement, and I don’t believe it is because of any fault of yours that you failed.”

“So… we can just take the book and go?” I say. It feels wrong, and I can’t even spell why. Like being cheated out of the consequences of my poor choices.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Daravoi says, with surprising vehemence. “Not if Iketek has Sacred Song chasing her. Can we still get that relic? How dangerous would it be?”

“The situation is more dangerous than any of us expected when we made our deal,” the Prop Master says. “And you have no obligation to either of us.”

Daravoi points at Iketek. “To you, no. To her, yes.” he says, his voice firm.

“You don’t owe me jack shit,” Iketek says, sounding angry, and I can’t help but notice her spotless, cultured Landfall accent slips into a provincial Riverlander one. “I’m not into the controlling-people-with-favors shit!”

She takes a deep breath, then turns to the Prop Master again.

“I taught Korentis and Daravoi signature-masking freely. Then, we made a fair agreement for this job. But we were misled.”

Ok, she’s super angry, and if we let her, she’ll keep ranting at the Prop Master for hours, and he’ll either waste time trying to explain his reasons or get angry too and make everything worse. So, I step between them, and look her in the eyes.

“Is it really over if we get that relic? Will Sacred Song let you go?” I ask. “ThauCon doesn’t know we’re after the Twisting Tetrahedron, specifically. And it’s not in the vault. We can steal it.”

Iketek points at the suitcase. “Your reward for the whole job is right there,” she says, . “And Sacred Song isn’t looking for you. Involving yourself with the Syndicates, and possibly other magical factions, is a terrible idea, and you have no reason to risk it. I’ll show you some tricks to travel without ID chips, or I’ll buy you basic ones out of my personal funds.”

I see she’s angry, really angry, at our attempt to help her. It seems stupid, but I remember the story about her master controlling her, and the hairline cracks going through her face in the Else.

I might be fucked up and unreliable, but she’s not much better, and I realize I want to help her, but don’t know how.

“Stop being an idiot,” Daravoi says, rolling his eyes. “We’re not helping you for some favor-trading scheme. We’re helping you because you’re a friend, and we don’t have a lot of those.”

She freezes shut, as if she’s going to scream, or slap Daravoi.

“You can’t fight everyone, Iketek,” the Prop Master says, soft. “No matter how smart and powerful you are. No one can face the whole world alone – the Unmaker tried that, and she was the most powerful mage ever to live, but even she fell in the end. You need either a faction to protect you, or friends willing to help you.”

I raise a hand. “About that,” I say, “I’m all for dying to protect our friends, it’s cool, but, uh, is joining a faction off the table? The Black Library looks nice.”

“I could contact the Hidden Ones for you,” the Prop Master says. “I have a long, if not always easy, relationship with the Schools. The Blue Haven would be best, they’re the ones who protect and train young mages. But the Library would accept you, too – you’re old enough, if barely, and you have sufficient power.”

“I won’t put myself in anyone’s power, not the Schools, not the Council, not you!” Iketek says, almost spitting the words. But then, she takes a deep breath. “It’s a good idea for Korentis and Daravoi, though. Just leave me here.”

I look at Daravoi. I know he’d really like a place where we’re safe. But I also know he won’t leave Iketek - he’s really into the loyalty stuff. And at least right now, Iketek won’t see reason about accepting a protector. She can be really hard-headed. She’ll fight the Syndicates and die, before asking the Hidden Schools for the time of the day.

I don’t feel that compelled to die at her side. But I like her, and I’m sorry for her, and the truth is, I don’t like the idea of being trapped somewhere safe and comfortable again, under the care of responsible adults. I had enough of that with my mothers.

The Prop Master clears his voice. “As for your previous question,” he adds, “yes, if you can deliver the Twisting Tetrahedron, I believe Sacred Song will honor our agreement. The Syndicates need their word to be reliable, at least with other players in the magical world. And I think the Abbot would prefer letting this feud go, too. I have a great many enemies. But also a few friends powerful enough to worry him. If you want to stay on this job, I’ll be grateful.”

“You two are idiots,” Iketek says, her voice brittle. “This isn’t a game.”

I shrug. “Partners in crime, right? We know who took the relic, xe’s a harmless professor. And we have the book to help, now. Don't worry for us, this will be a piece of cake!”