Trito returned an hour later. By then the constant downpour had thawed the ilethian, but it had not stood back up.

He turned to Mother with anger in his white eyes.

“What spell did you cast to draw it to us again?”

“Nothing,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I have abstained since we departed Waterrest.”

“You’re lying,” Trito said. “It found us from your magic.”

“It did not.” She seemed calm, but Corvo knew she was furious at this accusation; she was telling the truth.

“It tracked us a hundred miles. The scroll is not enough. It has found us because of you. Do not lie to me.”

“You will be turned to ash if you make this accusation again, Trito,” Mother said. “Turn your gaze elsewhere.”

He stared at her. Then they both looked to Aletheia.

She shook her head.

“I don’t—I haven’t done anything. Not since the lion. That was all. I haven’t even focused on magic.”

“One of you is lying. It found us somehow.” Trito shook his head. Corvo had not seen him so flustered since they had met. He seemed always supernaturally calm; to see him this way was the surest sign that something was terribly wrong.

“Perhaps we should point our fingers at you for a change,” Mother said. “Perhaps you are not so free of magic as you claim. Casting spells in your sleep, maybe? Or could this have been your plan? ‘Tis conspicuous, that you did not notice the ilethian, and departed just as it attacked.”

“What would I gain from that?”

“I do not know, but it surely would be more than I would gain from pointlessly using magic, imperiling my son, after we have both learned to avoid such things.” Their fire—which was arcane now—flared at her anger. “And now there is no choice. How many more creatures shall we attract before the night is out, for the crisis this ilethian caused?”

Trito sighed, shaking his head. “Few. They are rare. It must have been following us since our arrival in Seneria. That would mean….”

“Your assurances do not mean much to me any longer,” Mother said. “You have been wrong too many times.”

“Even elves can be mistaken.” He gave Mother a long look.

Then he did what Corvo recognized, but never thought Trito would do.

He closed his eyes, and he inhaled.

The storm outside quieted. The fire, green, went out for a single second before bursting back to life. Trito’s skin seemed to pale.

When he opened his eyes, they were no longer white, but pure red, and they glowed.

He turned around himself. Spinning in place. Looking at every member of the party. Corvo, then Mother, then Aletheia, and at last Dorian.

He stopped when he saw Dorian.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

“He’s using Supernal Vision,” Aletheia said slowly. “He’s looking for magic. He…”

She gave a pleading look to Mother. But Mother said nothing. She seemed resigned, like she was surprised while also realizing she had been caught stealing. Corvo did not understand.

Trito looked from Dorian to Mother.

He closed his eyes, and they returned to white when opened again.

He sighed.

“You hid it well,” he said to her. “I almost didn’t see it. But now, before we enter the City, is the time to end your spell on Dorian.”

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“What spell?” Dorian said. “What is he talking about?”

“He is ‘talking about’ nonsense. You are deranged, Trito.”

“I have broken an ancient vow, and it is for your sake,” Trito said. “Don’t insult me with lies now.”

“What lies?”

“Eris,” Aletheia said. She slumped down with her back to the wall. “Just tell him.”

“Aletheia!” Mother snapped. But she stopped when she heard her own voice. “You—this is not the time.”

“Your magic has made it time,” Trito said.

“My magic—has taken hold—months ago. How could an ilethian, how could any creature, detect it now?”

“So there is a spell?” Dorian asked. “What is it? What did you do to me?”

Mother sank her head to Corvo’s shoulder on her lap. She let its weight press against him. Instinctively he hugged her in return.

Now Dorian sounded angry.

“What did you do to me, Eris?”

“Go to Aunt Aletheia,” Mother said. “Quickly. Go.” She tapped Corvo.

He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with his mother. But he obeyed, reluctantly, going over to Aletheia and sitting on her feet for warmth.

Mother and Dorian stared at each other for a long time.

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I had forgotten—so much has happened. I had forgotten I had cast it. You must understand that I had no choice.”

“For what, woman?” he snapped. “What the hell did you do to me? Tell me!”

Mother covered her face. “I did not know if I could trust you. You knew this. You knew what a risk I took, welcoming you into my company?”

He nodded slowly.

“I placed a charm on you. To ensure you did not do anything—dangerous, to my son. And to see that you enacted your side of our bargain. That is all.”

“A charm.”

“A simple spell. To make you incapable of harming Corvo, or desiring to do so. I could never have left him in your company without me unless such a charm were present.”

Corvo did not understand what any of this meant. Was she saying that Dorian’s affection was fake? It had seemed real; and for all of the fathers that had come and gone, Dorian was his favorite by far. The only one, really, who seemed like a father at all.

Dorian’s jaw clenched. His nostrils flared.

“Remove it,” he said. “You risked keeping it active, even here, even—when it drew that ilethian to us. Remove it!”

Mother shook her head. “I cannot.”

“Remove it!” he shouted. Spit flew from the corners of his mouth. A globule caught mother on the cheek. “You can! Remove it now, Eris!”

She wiped the spit from her cheek. “You are right. I can. But I will not.”

Aletheia sighed. She picked Corvo up and tried to make him look away. But there was nowhere to go and nowhere to look to except at the fight, so instead she said, “Don’t look. Try to go back to sleep.”

But Corvo did look. How couldn’t he?

“It is the worst perversion of magic,” Trito said, “to use it to influence the thoughts of another. Of an ally.”

“Spare your moralizing, elf,” Mother said. “My son is marked for death by the Duke of Korakos and the Magisters of Pyrthos, and no doubt many others. He is hardly an infant. I will not risk his life on the kindness of another. I have—come to respect you, Dorian, and I do not regret allowing you in our company. But you have no sense if you think I should have done so without protection.”

“You could have turned me away,” Dorian growled.

“And what? Killed you, for having found us? Or wiped your memory? Would these be better than protection? You are rich, saying this offends you; you yourself are a traitor. Why should I have trusted you?”

“You do now.”

“Yes. I do. And I am—grateful you have come with us. More than you know. And I promise I will lift your curse the moment this business is settled.”

“Then lift the spell now.”

“No.” Mother did not say the word happily, but with reluctance, a shake of her head, and an averted gaze. “I am sorry. I cannot.”

He stared at her. Then he drew his sword. He pointed it toward her.

“Your charm doesn’t work if I know about it, witch,” he said.

She laughed sadly. “The charm is not to protect me. I did not need magic to ensorcel you, Dorian, nor for any man. It is to protect Corvo.”

“I swear, it won’t work!” He pointed his sword toward Corvo instead.

Everything changed in an instant. Corvo was on the ground, terrified, and Aletheia had her own sword in her hands; there was a gust of air, and Dorian fell to the floor, sliding across the wet and weathered tile of the ruin. His sword clattered to the side as he toppled onto his back.

Aletheia put the tip of her blade to his neck.

Corvo stood to watch. But he was too afraid to move.

Dorian smiled after a moment. “She has a spell on you, too, eh?” he said.

“No spell,” Aletheia said. “But if you ever point your sword at Corvo again, I’ll turn your arm to ash.”

He pulled himself away from her, coughing, and drawing near the wall. He shook his head.

“You’re both mad. Magicians. Girls. I don’t know—” He shook his head. “You’re both—more trouble than you’re worth.”

Aletheia sheathed her sword. “Eris probably agrees.”

“She is not joking,” Mother said. “I do not blame you for being upset. But if you do not calm yourself, the alternative is not freedom. It is a very painful death. I will only end my spell when all is concluded. And once it is, I promise, I will do as you ask.”

Dorian closed his eyes for a long time. Then he nodded, his breath gathering before his face.

“I’ll see it through. Yes. I’ll see it through. For Corvo’s sake. But the moment we’re done here, I’m gone. Forever. You’ll never see me again. I promise you that.”

“That will be a shame,” Mother said slowly. “Yet—so be it.” Then she looked to Trito. “And before you give a screed on how this proves the dangers of magic, know that I am I very prideful and self-righteous and your platitudes are wasted on me. So do not try. Nor am I interested in being told how you will not travel with us again when we leave Seneria, for we both know this already.”

Trito was still. But then he nodded. “You know me too well,” he said. “Well enough that you can foresee my instruction to put out your fire, end your spells, and prepare to journey once again.”

“So it always goes,” Mother said. “Then lead the way.”