It had to be a test.

If it were a test, then it was simply a matter of figuring out the rules of the game and playing along.

But if it wasn't a test — if Brendan was being honest, as absurd as that idea was — then the very doctrines that had governed my life for the last six years had changed overnight.

Because no mage would ask this. Because no Catalyst would agree to it. Because the Brendan I knew would never permit this, let alone encourage it...

Morning sunlight streamed in through the windows of his office, the sun climbing up over the lake, its rays glinting off the glossy surface. Brendan had purposefully arranged his office so that he sat with his back to the windows, and the sunlight formed a golden halo as it poured around him, bathing him in a seemingly divine radiance.

It also meant that whoever was facing him had to squint uncomfortably into the glare.

It was a basic power play, one I'd long since learned how to navigate. The key was to sit with my head demurely lowered and only glance up through the filter of my lashes when he spoke my name. Brendan liked the apparent subservience, and I got to avoid crow's feet crinkling in the corners of my eyes. See? Compromise at its finest.

Half-way through Brendan's recap of yesterday's commands — to ensure the Parkkonen representative was thoroughly entertained today, though he was still maddeningly vague about what all was included in "entertained" — his computer chimed. He swiveled away from me mid-syllable, a satisfied grin seizing both corners of his mouth.

I didn't need to read the message to know what it said.

Nor did I need his instruction to know my role. Wordlessly, I pushed to my feet and stepped away from my chair, circling over to the side of Brendan's desk. My position was just offset enough that anyone coming through the doors would have their eyes land on Brendan first, lounging in his executive chair like a king in his throne. I was a secondary feature, a lady-in-waiting to his Highness, only slightly more significant than the Tiffany floor lamp that flanked the opposite end of the desk.

Already I could feel my professional smile settling over my face, as pretty and practiced as abstract art — and just as detached from reality. Three years enduring retail “guests” from behind a returns counter at a posh department store had taught me how to keep that blankly delighted look on my face even as the world burned down around me. Spending the subsequent six years in the world of mages had honed that false smile until it was as impenetrable as battle armor.

And yet, when he walked through the door, I felt my expression crack.

The man strode in with his hands thrust in his pockets and a careless grin curling his mouth, as if he were entering his favorite bar and not the executive office of one of the most dangerous mages on the continent.

He was handsome in the Hollywood way, tall and broad-shouldered, the strong bone structure of his face offset by the kissable softness of his lips. There was just enough swell of muscle beneath his blazer that he could have auditioned for a role as an action hero, but the playful gleam in his hazel eyes was all romantic lead.

Truthfully, he was gorgeous enough that any casting director would be lucky to have him, no matter what the film. His skin was the rich, cool brown of acacia wood under moonlight, while the tight curls he'd pulled into a bun at the base of his skull boasted a warm, almost toasted mahogany shade. More mahogany came in the form of a perfectly unkempt mustache and goatee, the facial hair just rugged enough that it tipped him from "beautiful" into "handsome."

But it wasn't his stunning good looks that made my heart freeze within my chest.

It was the fact that he was a mage.

Catalysts have two main abilities. The first, for which we are named, is the ability to enhance another person's magic. A mage on his own is a formidable thing, worth two or three other men on the battlefield — or, rather, he used to be, before the invention of pesky things like firearms — but that same mage with a strong Catalyst is an army unto himself.

The problem, of course, is the shortage of Catalysts. We are a rare breed, made rarer by the fact that there is no reliable method — no spell, no blood test, no DNA profile — to identify a Catalyst. Even tracing bloodlines is notoriously useless: back in the 1800s, when Mendelian genetics had first been discovered, there had been an attempt to breed Catalysts as one might breed cattle. It had been nothing short of a disaster, provoking a revolt among the parents and producing not a single Catalyst among the children.

Instead, mages must rely on Catalysts voluntarily coming forward. Thus the universal agreement: in return for pledging to a mage, a Catalyst is kept in comfort. In return for bearing Brendan's mark, I would never have to worry about being hungry or homeless, about finding a job or paying a bill, about saving for retirement or affording medical care.

We may be birds in a gilded cage, but at least we get to choose our cages.

The other, lesser ability of a Catalyst is the power to recognize those who possess magic, whether they be mage or faerie, vampire or shapeshifter. In fact, this is usually how one realizes they are a Catalyst in the first place: the coppery taste of a mage's power upon our tongue, or the sudden chill at the bottom of one's lungs of a vampire's presence.

And looking at the Parkkonen representative, I felt like I'd swallowed a purse full of spare change.

"Juhan!" Brendan greeted, rising from his chair. He had his cheerful facade on once more, blue eyes twinkling — likely more with magic than actual amiability. "So good for your father to have sent you."

Juhan Parkkonen, then. Ernst's eldest son. Not just a representative, but heir to the entire Parkkonen fortune. And a mage in his own right.

It had been one thing for Brendan to ask me to entertain an inert representative; it was quite another to encourage me to flirt with — and potentially sleep with — another mage. And not just any mage, but a mage from outside Brendan's own employ. A mage who was heir to a competing corporate empire. A mage who, in another time and place, may have even been viewed as a challenger to Brendan's rule.

The mere idea violated every rule my Wielder had hammered into me since the first year I'd been with him. Other mages were strictly off limits. Powerful mages from other territories were even more forbidden. And the Brendan I knew made no exceptions to those rules.

It had to be a test.

Or perhaps he hadn't known that Ernst would be sending his own son. Had he been just as shocked as I was to see a mage walk through that door?

"The pleasure is mine, Brendan," Juhan responded, pumping Brendan's hand aggressively as the two shook. Rival males, testing out each other's strength. Some days, we are not so far separated from the animal kingdom. "A delight to be in your beautiful city. And a delight to spend the day with your beautiful Catalyst." Juhan's hazel eyes slid in my direction. "I assume this is her?"

I forced my stiff legs to step closer to the man, forced my smile to steady upon my lips.

"A pleasure to meet you," I said as I held out my hand, and by some miracle my voice came out calm and even, despite my rapidly swirling thoughts. "I did not realize we would be hosting such an illustrious guest."

"Isn't my little Severine just as lovely as I promised?" Brendan asked. On the surface, his grin was relaxed and good-humored, but something nasty swam just beneath the surface of the blue eyes that flicked in my direction. "I am sure she will keep you most entertained."

There was a warning there, hidden between the lines, but I wasn't sure what kind of warning. Was he trying to roll back his earlier command to make sure the Parkkonen left happy? Or was he trying to signal to me that nothing had changed, and I risked his wrath if Juhan wasn't completely satisfied by the end of the day?

Maybe determining the correct answer was part of the test.

Or Brendan thought he was being clear as day, and just happened to suck at nonverbal communication. Fuck, why were his real motivations so damned hard to pin down?

Juhan took my fingers, leaning down low so he could press a kiss to the back of my hand, and my hurried thoughts came to a crashing halt at the touch of his lips. He kissed my hand as if he were laying a kiss against a far more intimate patch of skin, his mouth lingering just a little too long, pressing a little too heavy. It had been so long since I'd been kissed like that, simple as it was — Brendan had no taste for romance, and Kasimir didn't dare cross that invisible line — that it sent sparks crackling through my veins, striking lightning low in my body.

"A pleasure, Severine," Juhan said as he straightened up. There was a hint of laughter to his voice, though I could not tell if it was meant to be playful or mocking. "You're even lovelier than Brendan said you would be."

"You two have been talking about me?" I glanced cautiously between the two men, pretending I could not still feel the outline of Juhan's lips tingling on my skin. "Hopefully only good things."

Brendan's grin deepened, even as his eyes sliced into me. "Juhan and I have been planning this little excursion for weeks. Today you will help him explore the city, and anything else that may catch his interest, and then tomorrow we will resume our business negotiations."

Well, that at least answered one of my questions: Brendan had known it would be Juhan specifically who would be serving at the Parkkonen representative. He'd known Juhan was a mage, and had still encouraged me to "entertain" him.

He had to be testing my loyalty.

Unless he was testing the Parkkonens' trustworthiness?

It was not necessarily a bad plan. There was a reason I was Brendan's third: While joining with a single Catalyst dramatically increased a mage's power, the effect was not exponential. A second Catalyst provided only a modest bump, while a third offered almost none at all. It was far wiser for a leader such as Brendan to spread his Catalysts out among his lieutenants, both as a way to deepen their loyalty and to strengthen his own reach.

The only problem was that I was the weakest among Brendan's Catalysts — not just among the three that he Wielded, but among the nine known Catalysts in the city. The reputation bump Brendan got from wielding three Catalysts did more for him than anything I could with my limited abilities. The simple fact was that I made a better trophy than anything else, and even I knew it. If one had to risk a Catalyst to test another mage's integrity prior to entering into an alliance, I was the wisest choice.

Maybe he was testing us both. Two birds, one stone. Very Brendan to be efficient like that.

"Given the limited time we've been allotted, I should like to get going right away," Juhan announced, offering me his arm. After a brief hesitation, I took it, trying not to think too hard about the corded muscle I could feel just beneath the fabric of his blazer. "I shall take the best care of your precious Severine."

Brendan chuckled, the sound so low it almost seemed a growl. "As, I'm sure, she'll take the best care of you. Until tomorrow then, Juhan."

"Until tomorrow, indeed," Juhan cheerfully answered as he started to lead me towards the doors.