Disbelief slowly fades to horror on Saphora’s face as we approach. She beckons to her crew to stop us, but they’re too busy running back and forth attempting to fix the hole in the side of the ship. Bailing out water as quickly as they can is a futile endeavor, thanks to Vedarian flanking them and bringing his torpedo launcher to bear. Without Tapirs to block the attack, they were helpless before the threat of his retribution, and now they’re taking on water and listing to port.

Stiff and unnatural as a broken doll in the hands of an angry toddler, Saphora jerks toward us. She was staring at the faint blood stains spreading in an irregular circle where the last remains of the [Death Mage]—no, to them he’s simply a [Viceroy]; best if I don’t let that secret slip just yet—disappeared beneath the waves. A complicated and pained expression pinches her otherwise pretty face into a mask of ugliness. Her eyes are hollow when she finally looks at us.

“You’ve doomed us all,” she whispers.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Lionel says. He bristles, looking like he’s about to say more, but he holds his peace when Melina squeezes his shoulder.

The disgraced [Healer] lets out a bitter laugh. “Hate me all you want, boy. Our petty feud is nothing compared with what’s coming for you now.”

“Nice of you to worry about us,” Lionel says in a tone that’s too sweet by half. His heart is beating faster, sending tremors through my Domain, and his fingers keep twitching toward the hilt of his rapier. If he works himself up any more, he might burst from the inside out. To my relief, he takes a deep breath and masters himself.

I lift my voice, addressing the crew behind her, who still haven’t given up on patching the hole in the side of their vessel and turned their attention to deploying the lifeboats. Fools. There’s no saving this ship. Not anymore.

“Listen up!” I bellow. “You’ve allied yourself with a madwoman and traitor to the realm, but we’ll overlook your trespasses if you turn over [Lady] Saphora.”

“We don’t treat with the dogs of Densmore,” the [Captain] barks, looking up from turning the winch to lower a small escape craft over the side. “Pray your steel is sharp and your aim is true, or we’ll send you to a watery grave! Board at your peril, dogs. Win or lose, we’ll take as many with us as we can. One final, glorious stand against your tyranny!”

The ragged cheers from the sailors drives home an undeniable fact: we’ll find no room for mercy here. These are patriots, true believers in Gilead’s war of independence. Misguided or not, right or wrong, isn’t for me to judge at this moment. Someone else will weigh their actions and dole out blame or praise. For me, a simple truth remains.

They stand in our way, so they must be eliminated.

I mark the shape and desperate fire of each soul, vowing to carry their memories with me even if circumstances made us enemies. Mind made up, I close my eyes, reaching out with my Domain, and sever each of their lives where they stand with a condensed mana blade of pure sharpness. It’s over an instant, guaranteeing our safety, but I still breathe out a bitter sigh. The world seems dimmer with their passing. I respect their passion, even though we stood on opposite sides, but I can’t risk them maiming or killing my friends if it comes to a fight.

More blood to stain your soul, the whispers condemn me. I wish I could deny the foul accusation, but I can’t lie to myself. Not anymore. In my pursuit of power, I’ve become the very monster I’ve fought against. One day, the cycle will continue and some young hero will put me out of my misery if I keep on this path. I only hope I can accomplish good in the world before that time comes.

I shiver involuntarily, closing off that line of thought. Around me, my friends are staring at all the bodies that slumped to the deck in unison like I’m a [Maestro] conducting an orchestra of death. I avoid their eyes, but through the power of my Domain, it’s impossible to completely avoid the knowledge of their reactions.

I wish they wouldn’t pity me so much.

“The old [Viceroy] showed me just how powerful a Domain can be,” I say by way of explanation as our team climbs aboard the ship. It’s inadequate, sparse on detail, but it will have to do. No one pushes for more information, which makes me feel even worse for not saying anything further. They’re on my side, but maybe they shouldn’t be. Not after today.

The love and support radiating through my Domain is almost unbearable. A lump rises in my throat in response to their care.

“You actually knew who that was?” Saphora says, and I startle as her voice screeches. For a moment, I was so lost in my own self-pity that I forgot why we were here.

My friends are more focused than I am, and they’re holding her fast, wary even though we have her alone and surrounded. No one wants to fall victim to her necrotic touch again.

“Old friend of mine,” I say sarcastically. “He treated me to dinner when I was in the Capital and tried to recruit me. He should have stayed in his palace with Coco.”

“You’ll be the ruin of my city,” Saphora says blankly. “Your greedy [King] will take and take and take until we have no more to give. He’ll bleed us dry and toss away our empty husk.”

“Sounds like a tactic you learned well,” Lionel replies. He steps forward and motions for the others to move away from her. “Do your worst, witch. Only one of us is walking away from here.”

Avelina cries out and leans forward, but Mikko restrains her with an arm around her shoulder. “His battle, Ava. Trust Lio.”

The disgraced Mender turns toward Lionel. Arrogance flashes in her eyes once more. “Ooh, brave of you now that I’m in your grasp! You squealed like a stuck pig last year, boy. What makes you think you have any chance against me now?”

“I know how to heal your rot now. You’re out of tricks,” Lionel says dismissively. “My only regret is how disappointed your Aunt and Uncle will be when they learn your true colors. They really love you, for reasons only the heavens know. They’re sweet and kind. It breaks my heart to think how they’ll cry when they learn who you really are.”

“Leave my family out of this!” Saphora snarls, baring her teeth. Mana swirls within her, fueling her trademark Skill.

“Make me,” Lionel taunts, slashing with his hand and contesting the rotten Skill before it can take root. His own power wells up, a delicate symphony of runic resonance. Trilling in song, the healing arrays in his soul overwhelm the crude death magic that seems so out of place in a [Healer] of Saphora’s ability. Despite her training and years of advancement, she’s lacking refinement, too spread out between [Lady], [Healer], and the stolen strength of a [Death Mage]’s forbidden power.

Lionel snorts in contempt as her eyes widen and her lips part. No sound comes forth, but her shock is evident. He’s grown since their last encounter, trading his glass-related Class for razor-edged focus now that he’s a full-time [Healer]. He’s finally shored up his mana leakage, and his power is growing rapidly. He’s flourishing in his new role.

Falling into stances we’ve drilled for weeks, he shields himself from her magical assault. Despite all his hard work, it’s a close thing; Saphora is still older and has broken through to a higher grade. Lionel staggers, but doesn’t lose his footing, pushing back against her attack. He draws his rapier and snaps into a guard position just in time to deflect a thrown dagger.

Saphora shrieks and rushes forward, a second dagger in her hand that’s glowing with potent mana not her own—a dangerous artifact of some kind.

I reach forward, about to intervene, but my friend shows just how much he’s grown. Before she can reach Lionel, he extends the blade and straightens his arm, pointing straight toward her heart. His stance is exemplary, honed to perfection through rigorous sparring with me and the [Inquisitors]. Casella and Mbukhe have pushed him beyond Saphora’s league.

He lunges forward with an elegance I’ve never seen from him before.

His tip strikes true.

Despite how much death I’ve witnessed today—how much death I’ve caused today—the bright bloom of red still catches me off guard. There’s a jarring finality to the end of Saphora’s long reign of terror against my friends. As she sinks to the deck, her face contorted in rage, Lionel pulls the sword free, flicks the excess blood in her face, and wipes the blade across her cloak to clean it.

A carefree whistle slips from him as he polishes the glass. His glass rapier glistens in the sunlight, and he turns it in his hands, admiring it with a smile. Flourishing it one last time, Lionel returns the blade to its sheath. He pivots on his heel, standing tall, and clutches the railing with both hands, staring out to sea.

“Let’s go home,” he finally sighs.

=+=

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“Apologies,” Vedarian says, his head bowed as he addresses us. He sounds more genuinely sorrowful than I’ve heard from the typically-bombastic Yathawn.

He’s towing us with his watercraft again, this time heading back to Gilead. All his bluster is gone, and I don’t detect any further duplicity from him. Despite my reassurances, Mikko keeps glaring at him as though we’re going to break into open combat at any second.

I place a hand on my brother’s arm and murmur just loud enough for him to hear. “Peace. It’s been a rough day already.”

Mikko grunts, but doesn’t stop glaring. Still, he’s let go of his hammer, so that will have to be good enough for now.

“The [Viceroy] threatened to destroy our Rift if we did not comply. I could not doom our people's great dreams of Return. Not even for the saviors of Natan,” Vedarian continues.

I bite my lip before I say something I regret, drawing blood with the force of my displeasure. I can’t help myself, though. A few words slip out. “So you sold us out to save your own skin?”

“Good trade, no?”

Vedarian’s grin never fades as he cracks a joke, but I sense his inward turmoil as he awaits my answer. He puts on a brave face, at least. I’ll give him that.

“I would do the same,” Lionel says solemnly.

That seems to shut up the rest of the team. As much as we dislike how the Yawthawn lied to us, it’s impossible to say we wouldn’t have done whatever it took to keep our clan and country alive. Thus, an uneasy truce settles over us. We turn our discussion toward more pleasant matters, and Vedarian pulls us swiftly through the waters.

Dusk’s rosy fingers are pulling the velvet cover of night over the famous city of Menders by the time we return to the docks. Playing it safe, Vedarian bids us farewell on the outskirts of the bay, declining to approach Gilead, although he tells us with a gleam in his lidded eyes that he looks forward to hearing from the Orpheus about their trade propositions.

Predictably, Ozana is part of the welcoming committee waiting for us when we pull in, as though she sniffed out a deal on the wind. Who knows? Maybe she did. I haven’t fully analyzed her Skills, but a strong sense of opportunity matches her behavior. The pieces fit together almost too well not to be true, unless it’s actually misdirection.

“The heroes of the day,” she calls to us brightly as we disembark. She’s all smiles, which instantly puts me on guard.

What is she planning this time?

“We are pretty amazing. Feel free to shower us with praise. Oh, and gold,” Avelina fires back.

“A performance like that is worthy of gold, I must admit. But how will you follow up with an encore?”

I freeze as her implication hits me. The scrying sensor from my last surviving golem. She was watching us the entire time. She saw everything.

At the sight of my stricken face, Ozana winks at me. “Don’t worry, Nuri. I’m selective about my clientele. You’ll be able to name your price from now on when they see what you can do. A word of advice? Stay out of the Capital until Gold at the earliest. You’re powerful, but so are your foes.”

I swallow a bitter retort. As much as I hate the idea that she has leverage over me, she’s been a stalwart ally so far. If she knows all my secrets, so be it. I’ll simply have to get strong enough that it doesn’t matter. And if I treat her well, she will be a reliable ally for what comes next, whatever that looks like.

Getting Tem out of prison is my next priority, but that depends entirely on the rest of the team. I won’t endanger my friends further without their consent. I’m almost certain that we’ll lose Lionel and Rakesh shortly, and I wouldn’t be all that surprised if Mikko and Ava want to tie the knot and settle down when we return to Silaraon. That would make Ma happy, at any rate.

I force myself to smile at the head of the Orpheus House. “You have yet to steer me wrong. I’ll accelerate my rank up so I’m ready when we get to Modilaraon.”

She smirks at me. “Just like that?”

“Yep. Reckon it won’t be too hard.”

She lets out a low gasp and holds the back of her hand to her forehead, pretending to be shocked. “A prodigy in our midst! To think I’ve lived to witness such talent.”

I roll my eyes.

“Well, good thing we have a contract for mutual benefit. Stay profitable, young man,” she says briskly.

I promise that I will. Apparently, that satisfies her, and she abruptly departs in a fast rickshaw to head back to her work, leaving us to make our own way to the Orpheus by slower means. As we check in with our [Inquisitor] friends, I mull over her words.

She must have broadcast the fight to select figures in Gilead—which means that I am now firmly pitted against the crown. I grind my teeth at the station I find myself in at first, but the more I think about it, the more inevitable it seems. Siding with Tem, as well as Casella and Mbukhe, was always going to put me on this path. Now I’m running a little farther and faster than I meant, but my direction is the same.

So. Where does that leave me?

My friends seem to sense my bad mood and keep silent as we walk, which I appreciate. It gives me time to think. Scrying can’t be undone. The recordings exist, so I can’t very well deny my actions. That means that I have to take a page from the politicians and ensure that the narrative is in my favor. Spinning the truth is a time-honored art. Unfortunately, I’m not very good at it. Rakesh will know what to do, I tell myself. He’s a genius at plots and planning.

Our trip back to our rooms is quiet and uneventful, thank the heavens. Once I’m on my own, I prepare for bed and crawl under the covers with a sense of dread. What will my dreams be like tonight? I brace for difficulty sleeping, expecting to be haunted by all the faces of the dead, but the next thing I know, it’s mid-morning the next day and I feel refreshed and ready for a day out with the team.

I don’t know what’s worse, I muse as I do my morning absolutions and dress for the day. Crippling guilt, or none at all? Shouldn’t I feel worse for what I’ve done?

At the city hall, our team is formally acknowledged by the [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote himself, whose arrival in town is strangely well timed. Braying trumpets almost deafen me while parties erupt all around us. Parades flood the streets, even if the average citizen barely knows why we’re celebrating. Streams of bright magic fill the air, marking the beginning of a week-long gala.

Through it all, my suspicions only deepen. What’s in store for us next? We can’t seem to shake politics at this point. We’re neck-deep in other people’s schemes, and that makes me uneasy. I long to return to a life of simple adventure and creativity, but glasswork seems further away than ever before.

“Try to smile, young man,” Xharrote murmurs in my ear, breaking me out of my dour reverie as he leans close to pin a gleaming red and gold medal of honor to my chest.

I oblige, grinning wide and waving at the cheering crowd in the city square. I’m first in line: at the conclusion of the week of celebrations, each team member is receiving a Royal commendation, starting with me, and we’ll be paraded around until we’re sick of celebrations. Truth is, I’m already sick of it. We’re all hailed as the saviors of Gilead, noble heroes who foiled a plot against the [Headmistress] and the [Vice Regent], preventing the bloody insurrections from sowing further chaos and death. Few know the truth.

I’d like to keep it that way.

Suddenly, the noise falls away. I look around, suppressing a heavy sigh as I realize the schemes never end. The crowd appears entirely frozen in place, no matter how long I watch the same person for signs of movement, which means a [Chronomancer] much stronger than Melina accompanied Xharrote to today’s festivities. The wily old man came prepared to talk, or worse. I’m not sure which yet.

“Don’t look so glum. I’m impressed with you so far—and with your friend, Rakesh. There’s a true [Inquisitor] at heart!” Xharrote nods in approval. He claps me on the shoulder. “Get stronger, lad. You’re swimming with the big fish now, ya hear?”

I nod slowly. “The [King] won’t be happy.”

He frowns and spits to the side. “Who cares about that fop. You still don’t get it, do ya? Peh! I gotta spell it out for you. Typical rookie.” He sighs and lifts his eyes to the heavens imploringly.

I scowl, but Xharrote continues, cutting me off. “Look, you surprised him once, and I definitely want to know how you did it, but the [Viceroy] will neither forget nor forgive. You’re on his bad side now. Prepare for war, Nuri.”

A pit forms in my stomach. Awareness of my surroundings, my ever present companion thanks to my [Arcane Domain], fails me. My thoughts stutter and go completely blank. My entire world shrinks down to the grave lines of Xharrote’s flint-like face. “He’s alive, then?”

“Difficult to say for sure. He’s disappeared for months on end in the past, before reemerging when we least expect.” The [Chief Inquisitor] presses his lips into a firm line. He shrugs. “Talk later. I don’t want to push the time dilation right now, but I suspect that he’s anchored his soul somewhere on this plane. I’ll let you know when we have a location; abyss knows we’ll need your unique Skills. We won’t get rid of him without being more . . . thorough.”

Strangely enough, the news doesn’t frighten me the same way it would have a few months ago. In a way, I look forward to growing stronger and having a rematch. Butchering the ancient [Death Mage] like that never sat well with me. If I have to find the source of his power and destroy it, so be it. Then we can have a head-to-head battle, like real men. No butchering a helpless victim for me.

Cleaner that way, I think to myself. And if I die? So be it. If I don’t get stronger in all this time I’ve bought for us, then I deserve to fail.

“Gold by New Year’s,” I vow, holding Xharrote’s gaze. “Whatever it takes.”

He chuckles. “That’s the spirit. Train with Nicanor. He likes you for some reason.”

I cough. “He does?”

“Yep. Takes him a while to warm up to people. You’re one of his favorites, though. You’ve done a lot for his men, you know.”

I file that away for later. He’s the best fighter I’ve seen in person, so his help will be invaluable if I’m going to find myself in more battles.

“All right. Look me up when you’re back in the Capital. You’ll need my help with Tem. Poor fool near killed himself.”

I force myself not to react to his statement, which just sets him off laughing again. “You’re too easy to spook, kid. Gotta work on that if you want to be a full-fledged [Inquisitor].”

“I’ll leave the subterfuge to Rakesh or Mbukhe,” I say, although I’m finally ready to fully embrace my future as a member of Xharrote’s task force. “I’m more comfortable with traps and favorable fights.”

“You like to cheat, you mean.”

The corner of my lips quirk up. “Always have. Always will. Works so far.”

He chuckles. “So far. Let’s hope your lucky streak keeps up. All right. Time to honor your friends. Don’t slack off, Nuri. I’m counting on you.”

I nod. “Be seeing you, Xharrote.”

He smiles and fades from view as time resumes around us. The din of the roaring crowd washes over us, but somehow his voice echoes clearly in my ears, although he’s invisible even in my empowered Domain. “See ya around, kid.”