“Give me your arm,” Scalpel demands, barging into my tiny room while I’m mid-yawn.

I pause from stretching my sore muscles, still cranky thanks to sleeping poorly during my all-too-brief nap. My muddled brain wrestles to make sense of what’s happening. As my mind catches up with Scalpel’s words at last, I scramble to my feet, immediately wary. Part of me wants to resist, but my curiosity wins the war. I hold out my right arm.

“The other one,” she says, staring at me with her nerve-wracking, unblinking eyes.

Instantly, my tightly-bound emotions threaten to uncoil from their knot. I squeeze down hard, constricting the thread of hope trying to untangle itself from the snarled mess inside me. Is she here to help with my hand? The vehemence of my desire to be whole overcomes all of the emotional protections I’d so carefully constructed, and I open my mouth to thank her profusely for her kindness.

Before I can say a word, however, she seizes my wrist. A wave of mana billows out from her. Wide bands of the mana wind around my biceps, encasing the upper arm in a swath of complex weaves that I can see in the air, swirling and pulsing with power like magical snakes. A sharp edge emerges, cutting through my skin and parting flesh until the bones are exposed.

I stare at her, numb, all my strength draining out of me. “I thought you were going to fix my hand,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

“Why would I?” Scalpel says, frowning. “You don’t need it to write notes.”

Once the surface of the bones in my wrist are revealed, Scalpel waves a hand, and the complex security wards, scripted in miniscule runes, disappear. Her lips twist in displeasure, but I faintly feel the restrictions on me lift. She can’t track me or trap me here against my will any longer, at least not through the inscription.

“But . . . with your control over flesh, I thought—that is, I’d hoped—” I sputter out, biting down on my tongue before I say the wrong thing. I settle for a helpless shrug. “I could probably work faster with two hands. And you—well. With your Skills, it would be trivial.”

“Ah. I see your confusion,” Scalpel says patiently, as though I’m a slow student in need of extra explanation. “I don’t have any flesh-shaping or regenerative Skills. Can’t do it.”

I freeze in place for a moment before I regain a semblance of control. Bitterness poisons the swirling storm within, wrests away my vision of a healed future. I flatten down the storming, surging seas of anger and disappointment, transforming them back into placid waters by sheer force of will.

The world slowly stops spinning around me as the shock of disappointment wears off. I breathe in, puff out my cheeks, and hold it for a moment until I regain equilibrium. “I see. And you wouldn’t do it even if you could, since it holds no utility for you.”

“You’re finally learning,” Scalpel replies, nodding.

The faint approval in her voice makes me sick. Dully, I ask my next question. “Applying the control rune and removing it—that was all external mana manipulation?”

“Indeed. I pinpointed your nerves, blocked off the pain signal with mana, and separated the muscle fibers in your body with delicate scalpels made of mana. That’s how I first got my name. I don’t recall what my first name was, back in my youth. This one suits me better.”

“That’s remarkable,” I admit, as much as praising my captor leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Scalpel is a genius with mana. I’ve never met anyone like her. Grudging admiration sits cheek-by-jowl with hatred in my heart as I regard her, and neither one feels out of place. On the plus side, my [Manasight] is also slowly rounding back into form. I’m seeing more of the energy flows around me than I have in months.

“Once you fix your shredded internal channels in a decade or so, you can begin to walk my path,” she says confidently, casually crushing my dreams of recovering anytime in the next few months.

“So, this is it,” I say, holding up my wrist and staring at the place my hand used to be. “This is my life now.”

“What is flesh but a shell for the soul?” Scalpel replies, her brow knitting in confusion. It’s the most passionate statement I’ve ever heard from her. I don’t know whether to find it inspiring, or horrifying.

She folds her long, articulated hands in front of her and regards me blankly again, all the emotion vanishing behind a mask. “We’re wasting valuable time, apprentice. I’ve released your bonds and your security tracker for now. Please see me immediately when you return from your visit with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote so I can reapply them. His guards will escort you back after your meeting. Come; your carriage awaits.”

She ghosts out of the room without waiting for a reply.

=+=

The carriage ride to my meeting is the first time I’ve climbed into a vehicle since my time in the prisoner’s cart. I brace myself for a flood of negative feelings when the door shuts me in, but they don’t materialize. Perhaps I’ve finally moved past the trauma. Or perhaps it’s the window in the side of the carriage that lets in a comforting stream of warm light.

The ride brings us deeper into the capital, past famous state buildings I recognize from my adventure books. The longer we travel, the more my wariness fades away, replaced by an effervescent excitement at finally seeing Modilaraon up close—a simple pleasure denied me during my initial trip into the capital. I crane my neck out the window, glancing around like a gleeful child in a candy store and taking in the sights and sounds. And the smells. Gardens with thousands of hyacinths fill the air with a pleasant fragrance.

“The Lion itself!” I shout a few streets later, leaning halfway out of the window to get as good of a view of the relic as I can. I wish Lionel were here to see it with me. We always talked about visiting together when we were younger.

A heavy, gauntleted hand on my shoulder reminds me that I’m technically still a prisoner, but it can’t dampen the fierce, heady rush of joy at seeing the pinnacle of glass-making craft in person. I’ll have to brag about it to the Linas if—no, when, I correct myself—I return to Silaraon.

The enthusiasm lasts right up until the carriage horses trot right on by Fort Kaatavarus, with their barracks and military administration campuses. Confusion mounts within me as we turn down a street leading toward the palace neighborhood, leaving the governmental center in our wake.

Royal [Guards] block our path, arrayed around a blockade. They’re all hawk-eyed and domineering, exuding the kind of violent competence that scares off troublemakers. The driver provides his credentials to the lithe, muscular man who approaches him. Moments later, the [Guards] wave us on through. My breathing relaxes after we’re past the checkpoint, although I haven’t done anything wrong. Other than the declaration of treason, ha.

Shortly thereafter, we enter an exclusive enclave nestled between the state garden, near the palace but sheltered away from prying eyes. We stop in front of another private residence, which puts my hackles up. I expected the [Inquisitor] headquarters, not a mansion in the middle of an aristocratic district.

When Scalpel’s own guards nudge me out of the carriage door, I swallow my irritation and settle for meek compliance. My only act of defiance is taking my sweet time to thank the driver. The delay makes the guards grumble. Definitely worth it. Nonetheless, the sight of a house instead of headquarters leaves me sour. This smells of more schemes afoot.

The gates swing open silently. I shuffle forward, staring down the walkway at the golden double doors of the mansion. Apparently, [Chief Inquisitor] is a lucrative position.

A pair of liveried servants escort me inside the enormous mansion. At first glance, the decor is remarkable for its austerity and restraint, all dark stone and burnished brass. Further scrutiny soon reveals that my initial impressions are all off. There’s an undeniable quality to the building materials that I haven’t seen before; they fairly glimmer in my half-working [Manasight]. The marble flooring is cut with almost impossible precision, gleaming in the gentle mage light like it was installed this morning.

In the room beyond, easily the size of my entire workshop back in Silaraon, twin curved staircases wing up to either side of the space, leading to a balcony. Frescos decorate the ceiling far overhead. A marble fountain murmurs softly in the center of the room, large enough to swim in if I were so inclined. A restorative wave of mana washes off the water, refreshing and cool. This house alone is probably worth more than my entire hometown, let alone its artifacts, I realize with a shiver.

I’m not a [Builder] or [Architect], but expertise isn’t exactly required to recognize that this is a different level of luxury and wealth compared with the [Enchanter] in Grand Ile. I admire the fit and finish as we walk through the entryway and into a formal sitting room, where the servants leave me to my own devices.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The tapestries hanging from the walls depict moments of glory from Densmore’s past. I recognize a few from my adventure books, such as the founding of the country, but most of the battles and galas are unknown to me. All the hangings are richly woven, with green and blue hues predominating. The glimmer of gold peeks out from the edges of a few tapestries. Not a single stitch of fabric is out of place.

“If this is the [Chief Inquisitor]’s mansion, I’ll cut off my other hand,” I mutter under my breath as I scan the room. There’s no way he can afford this kind of opulence.

“Luckily, you’ll get to keep your remaining hand,” a new voice interrupts.

I spin around in surprise, instantly on guard. I didn’t see anyone in here with me. Nary a sound or a hint of mana betrayed the newcomer’s arrival. Garbed in red silk robes and more gold embroidery along his high collar than any one person needs, the man is clearly not with the [Inquisitors]. He glides toward me, and with a shock I realize that he’s hovering every few steps. His slippered feet make no sound.

“A pleasure to meet you, Nuri. [Viceroy] Tapirs, at your service,” the man says, inclining his head slightly, as though he’s doing me a great honor. A bow seems far beneath his dignity. “I’ve heard the most fascinating tales about you, young man. I look forward to determining their truth in person.”

=+=

“I’ll smooth things over with [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote. He’s earnest, but impatient. Such is the folly of youth,” the [Viceroy] says with a sly smile as he guides me into a relatively small but well-appointed dining room.

I nod sagely in response, as though I understand what it’s like to deal with the hastiness of youngsters. After several hours of an extremely thorough and disorienting house tour, this cozy dining room is a welcome relief. The warm terra cotta walls, single table, and open bay window overlooking a private garden seem almost intimate. The rest of his house is massive and sprawling in a way that reminds me of the Labyrinth, in an odd way.

[Viceroy] Tapirs chuckles quietly as he eases his tall, slender frame into a seat. “Little Xharr owes me, after all. My grandson helped him learn mana control before he Classed, and under my guidance, he achieved his First Threshold a few years thereafter. I’ve taken him under my wing ever since.”

I school my expression into bland neutrality, but his verbal volley finds its mark. Inwardly, I’m doing yet another double take at the revelation of the [Viceroy]’s age. All throughout my visit, Tapirs has launched similar arrows designed to surprise and overawe me. He appears a few decades younger than the wizened [Chief Inquisitor], but I don’t doubt that he’s telling the truth about the difference in their ages; he might be the strongest person I’ve ever met, with a lifespan a few times that of a Second Threshold individual.

“I am more concerned about Scalpel,” I admit, unease churning in my stomach.

“That hag? She won’t interfere with our business. She’s on my payroll, after all.”

I flinch, although I catch myself a moment later. His eyes spark with amusement; he’s enjoyed each shock he’s unleashed today. I regain my composure and chuckle weakly. “She never said.”

“Nor would she phrase it so crassly! Our patronage is rather indirect, to be fair. Enough with the minutiae; it’s so endlessly boring. How is she treating you? You seem jumpy.”

“I’m not looking forward to being gone so long,” I say slowly, suddenly unsure of myself. How much do I reveal to this [Viceroy]? I blow out a breath through my nose. There’s probably no getting around it, not if he really bankrolls her operation. “We’re behind on research already. She’s going to make me work through the night to catch up when I return.”

He arches a finely-shaped eyebrow. “Ah. You’re an apprentice?”

“Functionally, yes. No contract.”

Tapirs nods to himself, looking pleased. “There’s one rumor confirmed. I never thought I’d see the day when she parted with information willingly. Well done!”

“I’m surprised she works for you,” I venture. “She doesn’t seem like the type to put up with outside interference—begging your pardon.”

“You’re entirely correct,” the [Viceroy] says, still nodding. “She hates it, which is why I still wasn’t certain of your position. She never reports these matters.”

“She never lets her notebooks out of her sight,” I say, shaking my head. “I think she’d rather die.’

“Indeed. She often fails to report—well, nevermind all that. For now, sit! Eat! Enjoy yourself!” Tapirs declares grandly, gesturing to a seat nearby. “Let‘s celebrate your arrival in the capital. I apologize that your time in Modilaraon thus far has been less than hospitable. We’ll try to rectify that.”

Right on cue, [Servants] flit through the room, silent and quick, and soon a feast fit for a dozen covers the table. I’m salivating just looking at the scallion pancakes, fried plantain, and curried duck; by the time I take in the rest of the succulent-looking cuisine, I’m practically holding back tears of joy.

The [Viceroy] digs in, eating with gusto. I grin and snatch up a drumstick from the duck, sinking my teeth into the tangy, savory meat. A happy groan slips out, betraying my lack of decorum, but Tapirs pays me no heed, wrapped up in his own dinner. I take that as a good sign, and tuck in eagerly, savoring each new taste experience.

Bliss.

“How is your mana control?” the [Viceroy] asks after my frantic pace slows at last. He looks at me shrewdly, as though taking inventory of my insides. “I admire your gumption to continue training, given your rather spectacular and debilitating injuries,” Tapir continues.

I finish my bite of flat, spicy noodles, biding my time so I can determine how I want to answer. In some ways, I think I prefer Xharrote’s straightforward methods to this kind of soft interrogation. “It’s difficult for me to hold mana for any meaningful duration, but I’m learning how to be more precise and efficient with the few drops I can control. I still need a mana crystal for anything to work for more than a split second, although my command of mana is improving.”

“Perhaps you can show me later. You’re in a fascinating position. Most would give up in your dire straits—but you persevered. Well done, Nuri! That’s the kind of attitude I’m always on the lookout for. Truth be told, we could use an infusion of fresh blood in my department, and I keep a watchful eye for promising candidates. Tell me, what do you know about our work?”

“That depends who you mean. I don’t actually know who you are or what you do, other than your title. Forgive my ignorance,” I add somewhat tepidly. I’m not interested in any further entanglements.

“Ha! It’s quite refreshing, truth be told. Before I answer further, however, why don’t you tell me what you hope to do while you’re in the capital? Surely, you have some goals of your own.”

“I want to find a hot shop,” I reply instantly. A pang of longing makes my heart twinge. “I think I’ve had my fill of adventure for the moment. If you have any way to convince Scalpel to let me work with glass again, I’d appreciate it. Sorry if that’s presuming upon your generosity.”

The stately [Viceroy] bursts out laughing. He slaps his hands together as though I’ve told a great joke. “Half the city would kill to have an audience with me. I can make or break a career—an entire clan’s worth of careers! Yet what favor do you ask? Only to return to your craft. How workmanlike! How rustic! How admirable. Truly, I never thought to meet someone so pure-hearted, so transparent and free from schemes. I will see it done.”

“T-thank you,” I stammer, caught off guard when he agrees so readily.

“Now, to answer your question about my identity: I lead the cabal of [Mages], both in Densmore and abroad. Whatever advances in magic you hope to achieve, I’m your best bet. So. Now that you know who I am, I’ll ask again—what do you want? Don’t you hunger for more? I would have thought Scalpel’s only apprentice would have more fire in his belly,” Tapirs says, watching me like a hawk.

This time the wild revelation doesn’t turn my mind to mush. I suspected he was far more powerful than he let on, so his words only confirm my suspicions. I make an effort to meet his intense gaze, though my mouth goes dry. I take a sip of wine to fortify myself, then straighten in my seat and speak my mind.

“Who says glass is weak?” I challenge him. “No one has fully explored its true potential. I appreciate artistry as much as the next crafter, but don’t think that limits my ambitions. One day, every young girl and boy will know my name. They will beg their parents to work in a hot shop, all thanks to the path I forge. Glass is the medium, but mana is both obsession and muse.”

“That’s more like it!” Tapirs all but shouts. “Fire in the belly, indeed. Glass as a greater path to power. Fascinating. I’ll see what I can do to facilitate your growth. Alas, for now I’m still dealing with this abyssal war. Casualties are mounting. We were in dire need of the astral navigator you found. I can’t tell you how much of a windfall that marvelous little artifact proved. We’ll turn the tides of this war yet!”

“I thought we were winning?” I say, pouncing on a change of subject before I’m harassed about the supposed inferiority of glass anymore. Just because he’s the preeminent [Mage] in the entire country doesn’t mean he knows everything about magic. “The way the guards talk around Scalpel’s workshop, we’re on the offensive. We’re gonna win.”

Tapirs scowls. “Would that it were so. We’re struggling to simply prevent a full-scale Invasion. Just last week, we lost an entire battalion in a Rift. Too bad they don’t know how to close it—like you did in the lesser Rift—once they realized that the labyrinth was shut. Two survivors staggered out of the Rift days after we’d given them all up for dead; one succumbed to his wounds within the hour, and the other lasted an additional day and a half. A Wraith ambush wiped them out. They had to fight their way through a horde of those despicable creatures, all for naught in the end.”

I blink rapidly, trying to imagine an entire battalion wiped out in a single encounter. My tongue and lips move before my mind catches up. “I’m surprised the Wraiths attacked like that. They usually just protect the Control Room and leave larger forces alone, don’t they?”

“Bah! A disciple of that troublemaker Tem, through and through,” Tapirs grumbles. “I should have guessed you’d defend those monsters from the depths of the abyss. Make no mistake, Nuri. They are monsters, no matter what your erstwhile mentor may have insinuated.”

“They certainly are terrifying fighters,” I reply, more nervous than ever after misspeaking. The blood pounds in my temples, and I tighten my grip on my fork so that he can’t see my hand trembling. “Although, they seem quite different in the Labyrinth, compared with the savage ghouls on the outside.”

[Viceroy] Tapirs’ eyes grow stormy. Cold. For the first time, his control seems to slip a little, and an overwhelming presence explodes out from him, pinning me to my chair. “Yet which is their true nature, and which is the mask? Make the wrong choice, Nuri, and we’ll all pay the price. Bah! Monsters, I tell you. The lot of them.”

“I’ve never seen monsters design architecture or build artifacts. Or talk to me,” I squeak out, torn between terror and a sudden need to defend my hero, but it’s hard to talk when faced with such overwhelming power. I hope this doesn’t cost me the [Viceroy]’s relatively good mood, or his willingness to help me work with glass again.

“No, I suppose you haven’t. The world’s full of surprises, however,” he says evenly, retracting his presence and smiling munificently once more. “I will grant that they’re a special case. But enough politicking! How about desert?”

I grin broadly. “On that front, we’re in resounding agreement.”