James had no family. Well, no family that he was on speaking terms with, at any rate. His parents had been good friends of the usurper Felix Blackthorn before the war, and now fought for his side, and his sister had fled the country and married a Sirgalese count rather than be forced to choose between her parents and her brother. He still hated her for it.

He wasn’t married, either. In normal circumstances he would have been by his current age of twenty-five. But this was war. It was no time to think about settling down and raising a family. He’d vowed privately that he wouldn’t take a wife until he’d seen Charles crowned.

That meant there was no-one to leave behind. No-one to miss him. He’d insisted on not being part of the formal chain of command, which meant there was no need to make sure it would continue to function in his absence.

It was disturbing, realising how little he’d be missed if he never returned from this mission. Well, if there was one exception to that, at least it was the future King. Once the war was over, he’d see about making sure he had his place in the new kingdom they’d build together.

In the meantime, he had to disguise himself. No-one in Felix’s court had seen him in seven years, but he could still be recognised if he appeared as himself. Self-disguise was a tricky business, though, that needed all his magical talent.

He worked piece by piece, staring into the mirror as he did so. First he cast subtle illusions to make sure each changed feature still looked natural, that it wouldn’t be obvious he’d magically changed his appearance. His blond hair turned a deep black, his eyes turned from green to a pale grey and narrowed, his nose became longer and more pronounced.

James paused to take in his new look when he was done. He’d changed the superficial details, which were all that most people remembered about a person. His seven years of absence would take care of the rest. And the man staring back at him was certainly handsome, maybe even a little more so than he was. When you were creating a new identity, why not make it good-looking?

Then he dismissed the illusion and set to work replicating it with proper spellwork. That was a much trickier task, because now he was truly changing himself. It was the only way to make sure that his disguise wasn’t obvious to a sensitive or vulnerable to being dispelled, though.

It took about twenty minutes to complete the changes. That was his appearance taken care of; now he would need a new character to play.

Magic made that significantly more difficult. Hiding the fact that he was a magician would make it far harder to get close to the supposed Theola, since without magic he was just another common recruit. And lying about his School was also out, because while he could plausibly fake casting in a different way he wasn’t confident he could do that in the heat of battle.

Which meant he would have to go as the Siaril he truly was. The problem that posed was that Siaril was passed down through family bloodlines. And most of the Siaril families were powerful nobles like his own or the Blackthorns; they were known. If a strange new Siaril appeared out of nowhere, questions would be asked.

Fortunately, he had an answer: he would be a bastard. Illegitimate children were common enough. Every so often a child from a non-magical family would turn out to be Siaril and possibly learn that their parentage wasn’t what they had always believed; they had a noble parent who had given them magic and would never come to claim them.

If James had been a bastard like that, he likely would have hidden his power and stayed away from court as this new identity of his must have done. It was a plausible enough story it wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion. After all, it had even been the first Lord Blackthorn’s backstory.

“So,” said James to the mirror, “what’s your name, you handsome bastard?”

He’d had a few false names in those years on the run with Charles. Most of them had been chosen more or less at random, but this identity would be more permanent than any of his past ones. The name deserved more thought.

He’d always liked best to keep his first initial. John? Jacob? Maybe he could even go by James, because no-one would ever suspect that James Wilde would walk right into Felix’s camp without even bothering to change his name. He laughed a little at the thought, but shook his head. There were risks, and then there were stupid risks. Best not to take the latter.

No, he would be Jacob. Known to his friends as Jay, perhaps. And for a surname? He might as well keep that initial as well. Wilson? It was very ordinary; perhaps that was safest, but like most Siaril James had a loathing for the ordinary.

What other surnames began with the letter W? He thought through the people he knew. Most of them were nobles, though, which meant taking their name was out of the question. Except… he remembered dragging a man out of the swamp at Clirith. He’d thought nothing of it at the time – it was just what you did for a fellow soldier – but afterwards the man had found him and shaken his hand.

The name’s Winter, my lord. Lieutenant Winter. You saved my life. Thank you.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Jacob Winter. Jay Winter. It had a ring to it. When he came back from this, he’d have to find the lieutenant and tell him how he’d unknowingly repaid that debt.

James met Cat Perkins outside the city gates the next morning. Cat was one of the most useful assets the army’s Magical Division had. She’d developed Malaina a couple of years ago after seeing her home burnt to the ground and her parents murdered by Felix’s troops, and had immediately signed on with Charles for a chance at vengeance.

Accepting her had been a risk. There was a reason armies didn’t normally take Malaina despite their vast power reserves: if she were to have an episode during a battle, there was no way to make sure the resulting destruction would be aimed solely at the enemy. She’d been pretty persuasive, though, and after intense testing James and his king had decided it was worth the risk. She didn’t disappoint: she was one of the most efficient raiders they had, and fought well as part of a team too. James had trusted her with his life in more than one battle.

“Hey, Kitty,” he said.

Cat scowled. She hated that nickname. That was why he used it. “Hey, Jamie,” she shot back. “You’re actually pretty now!”

He hated that nickname too. His mother had always called him that, and the reminder of her was somewhere between painful and rage-inducing. Still, he had no right to complain about her giving as good as she got. It was one of the things he liked most about her. That and the fact she couldn’t even compliment him without insulting his past appearance.

It was a shame about the war, and their difference in social status, and the care he had to take with his reputation. Because Cat was precisely his type. Gorgeously wavy dark hair, knew her own mind, wasn’t afraid to stand her ground in a battle of insults.

No use dwelling on what could never be, though. “You know the plan?”

“Yes, yes, hold back so you can look suitably amazing when you defeat me and all that.”

“It’s not so I can look amazing. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Ah, yes. Your famous modesty.”

He could have stayed here trading banter with her all day. He wanted to. “Enough backchat,” he snapped. “We have a job to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Cat saluted – how in stars’ names did that girl manage to make even a salute seem mocking? – turned on the spot and vanished.

The next part was a question of timing. Too soon, and the coincidence would be a suspicious one; too late, and Cat wouldn’t be able to hide the fact she was stalling. A minute and twenty seconds, he’d decided. He’d performed enough time-sensitive rituals he’d had to learn to judge time that exactly.

And exactly one minute and twenty seconds later, he too turned on the spot and vanished.

He reappeared outside another city gate, though this one was far grander than the one he’d left: it was the East Gate of Ryk. Like their own base in Crelt, the City was warded against teleportation in and out (though magicians could teleport freely within the wards), but the area just outside its walls wasn’t. There was a constant stream of refugees, volunteers and supplies queuing up here, the few harried officials struggling to keep up with their workload.

And it was vulnerable to attack. In fact, it was being attacked at the moment: Cat was holding back a small detachment of soldiers with magical force as she attempted to break into a large wagon. People were screaming, the horses that led the wagon were agitated, and the soldiers’ weapons were having no effect on her barrier. She’d already killed two men.

Backup must have been called in, but it would take a few minutes to arrive. By that time Cat could be gone along with the precious supplies.

Unless, that was, a talented and handsome young magician here to volunteer for Felix’s army were to happen across this unfolding incident and decide to play the hero.

James took a moment to assess the situation. He’d landed halfway up a small hill overlooking the road: a perfect position to cast without being in physical danger. Almost as if he’d planned it that way.

He began with a shield-breaker that effortlessly tore down Cat’s magical barrier. The soldiers were startled enough when their weapons’ pounding at the barrier suddenly met no resistance that it took them a second to regain their composure, by which time Cat too had noticed. She responded by vanishing into thin air: normally he’d expect invisibility over a short-range teleport, but he knew Cat. She was one of the best teleporters he’d known, but couldn’t cast a decent invisibility spell to save her life.

James spent the few seconds until she reappeared in advancing down the hill towards the recently-attacked wagon. It was shoddy strategy, of course, giving up the high ground and revealing his location in one move. But strategy wasn’t the point.

Cat materialised about five yards behind him and immediately rolled behind a cart, hoping to hide her position. He’d been looking in that direction, though, so he cast a summoning-spell on her uniform. That was a trick he liked, since it was a way around the increased difficulty of casting on a person.

Cat was fast enough to cast a counterspell before his spell activated. She knew half a dozen ways of countering his attack. She used none of them, and was dragged towards him, flying over the cart and nearly knocking it as she went. She recovered herself before she’d reached him, though – she dispelled his summoning and teleported the second her feet hit the ground.

James watched her go, feeling faintly disappointed. He’d thought of so many ways to defeat Cat without actually defeating her, and she just vanished before he had a chance to use more than a couple? Damn that woman.

“Sir?”

James whirled around: the leader of the detachment of soldiers, the markings on his breastplate designating him a sergeant, was approaching.

“Sir, thank you. You saved our lives and our supplies.”

It wasn’t in James’s nature to politely demur when congratulated, but it was in Jacob Winter’s. “Really, captain, I didn’t do anything. It was only a couple of spells. Any magician could have done the same. And I’m not a sir. I’m just Jacob.”

And Jacob knew nothing about military ranks. The sergeant would probably be flattered that he could be mistaken for a captain.

“Well, Just Jacob, I’m just a sergeant. What battalion are you with?”

“I’m not with any battalion. Not yet. I came here to volunteer. I heard about Clirith River, and I knew I had to do my bit.”

“Of course. I’m sure there won’t be any difficulty with that. In fact, if you’d like to come with me – we’ll have to report this incident to my superiors, and then we can see about the necessary paperwork. I’m not speaking for Felix, or for the cause, mind you. But if it were up to me? I’d say that we all owe you a debt.”

This was almost too easy. James had to fight to keep the smug look off his face as he asked apprehensively “Do you – do you think I could meet Theola?”