Relia stood on the front steps of the Palace Prime, watching the black car glide toward the curb. Its smooth black surface caught the sharp lines of the palace, but the windows revealed nothing.

“Another one?” Relia asked under her breath. “How many cars do my parents own?”

“I believe this one’s new,” Master Dain said from a few paces behind her. Her bodyguard was a brown-haired Espirian man in his mid-thirties, with a receding hairline and a chiseled face. Not only was he the youngest Honor Guard, he was one of the youngest Masters in all of Espiria.

“What’s it called?” Relia asked. Dain only talked about two things: work and cars. Relia didn’t care much for cars, but it was still better than silence. Besides, the topic reminded her of Elend.

“An 872 Liberty Paradise,” he replied.

“Liberty Paradise?” Relia pivoted to face him, and she almost felt a smile on her lips. “Did you just make a joke?”

Dain frowned at her. “I’m sorry, Lady Moonfire, but I don’t understand. Liberty is the brand name, and Paradise is the model number.”

“Sorry, forget I said anything.” Clearly, Dain had no sense of irony. So much for comparing him to Elend.

He nodded and turned his attention back toward the approaching car. “Of course, Lady Moonfire.”

“Please call me Relia.” For most of her young life, she’d dreamt of using her parents’ clan name. Now, the sound was like nails on a chalkboard.

Dain didn’t reply, but she knew from experience that he wouldn’t listen to her. He probably had no choice, just like the rest of their household staff.

Relia stepped toward the curb, and a stranger stared back at her in the car’s reflective window. A crimson dress clung to her frame, its single strap leaving her left shoulder bare. Layers of makeup covered her freckles, and her hair spilled freely down her back, with a few strands curling around her heart-shaped face. She looked like a red-haired version of Elise, and her parents expected her to play the same role. Almost as if nothing in their life had changed.

Dain pulled open the car’s back door and stood like a soldier at attention. Relia’s shoes clicked against the stone as she approached, and her dress dug into her ribs with each breath. The whole outfit was impossible to move in, much less fight. Apparently, that was a status symbol for Espiria’s elite. They didn’t need to fight, because they had Master-level guards to fight for them.

She smoothed out the back of her dress and slid into the car’s leather seat. It had plenty of space to stretch out her legs, and a mirror separated the passengers from the driver. Various screens and control panels sat beneath the mirror, but she had no idea how to operate those.

Several moments of silence passed, then her mother joined her in the backseat.

Clara Moonfire wore a sleeveless dress of black silk, and several bracelets adorned her wrists. Her short hair was like a golden crown, sharp at the edges but softened by a side-swept fringe. Their eyes met in the mirror, and the older woman gave her a pleasant nod. “Relia.”

Relia returned her mother’s smile. “Highlady Moonfire.” She’d experimented with several personas this past month, and formality seemed to annoy her parents the most. It also had a sense of poetic justice to it.

“Try not to slouch,” her mother said.

Seriously? It wasn’t like anyone could see them through the tinted windows. Relia almost said as much, but she held her tongue. Her mother would probably give her this small victory, then punish her tutors for it tomorrow.

Better to pick her battles with care. Kalden would do the same thing in her place. He would play the long game, earning the Moonfires’ trust, and quietly planning his escape.

Someone knocked on her mother’s side of the car, and Clara rolled down the window to reveal Dain standing there with a gallon-sized glass jar. “Your package just arrived, Highlady Moonfire. You said we should—”

“Yes.” Her mother reached out a hand and accepted the jar. “Thank the Angels” She rolled up the window and placed it on the seat between them. A pair of pink, squid-like creatures floated inside, and they seemed to swim through the air as if it were water.

Weird. Some sort of gravity mana, maybe?

“They’re called dolorphins,” Clara said as the car surged forward. “They attach to your skin and drink in your pain.”

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Relia frowned at the creatures. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Endorphins can block pain, but nothing can drink it.”

“Emotional pain,” her mother said, as if that explained things. “Our mana takes on sub-aspects based on our thoughts. This mana strengthens the corresponding neural pathways in our brains . . . ” She lifted the jar and began unscrewing the lid. “The result is a downward spiral.”

Relia had heard of these so-called sub-aspects, but it was all wild speculation with no real science to back it up. More likely, the creatures just released some chemical that bound to your opioid receptor.

“But spirals can go both ways,” her mother continued. “Remove the mana, and you can remove the pain.”

Yeah, this lady was nuts. Then again, what mentally sane person would abandon her own daughter then force her to come back home against her will?

Besides, natural selection forced animals to survive and reproduce. What was the purpose of drinking pain? Unless . . .

“Did an alchemist make these?” Relia asked.

Her mother nodded as she watched the squid-like creatures dart around their jar. “These two were bred. But yes, an alchemist made the first pair.” She finished unscrewing the lid but held it in place. “They can sense our pain. They crave it, the way other animals crave food and water.”

“You sure about that?” Relia raised an eyebrow. “Looks like they’re trying to get away from you.”

“You’re right,” she said. I’ve been using these for decades, and they’ve never . . .” She trailed off as the creatures turned their attention toward Relia. “Would you like to try one?”

Relia bit her lip and looked away.

“I can tell you’re skeptical,” Clara said. “But a single dolorphin costs more than this car. And I promise you, they’re worth every last esper.”

Her mother gave a light shrug when Relia didn’t reply. “Suit yourself.” She lifted the jar to her left temple and removed the lid. Clearly, she expected the creature to comply without any prompting.

Instead, they squeezed through the gap and soared straight toward Relia.

Relia threw up her right hand and formed a Construct of pure mana. Both creatures slammed into the shield, and Relia hurled them back with a burst from her channels. “No thanks,” she said. “My conscience is clear.”

Her mother reached out with tendrils of pure mana and pulled the struggling creatures back toward her outstretched hand. One went back in the jar, while the other clung to her skin like a leech. Clara closed her eyes, and a look of profound relief wash over her face.

The creature stiffened a second later, then it fell limp and dropped on the leather seat. Relia didn’t need her aspect to know the truth: it was dead.

Her mother waved a hand over its limp body, and it vanished into some unseen pocket dimension. They drove in silence for several minutes, and Relia watched the sunset over the Koreldon City skyline. Things didn’t look so bad from this angle. How nice of Storm’s Eye to preserve the view for parents and their friends.

“You know,” Clara said, “not a day went by that I didn’t—”

“Save it,” Relia cut in. “I’m glad things worked out this way.”

So much for being like Kalden. But Akari had rubbed off on her, too. That girl fought every battle as if it were her last.

The older woman cocked her head to the side as if she didn’t quite believe her. “You’re obviously in pain, Relia.” Her eyes fell to the jar on the seat, and the creature that tried to reach her.

“Of course I am, Highlady Moonfire.” Relia fixed her with a look. “I miss my family.”

As usual, Clare refused to take the bait. Then again, it was easy to stay calm when you were hopped up on dolorphin juice. Or however the heck those things worked.

“You’re a Master,” Relia said. “How can you live this way?”

“What way is that?”

“You’re a Master, but you’re living as a trophy wife for your husband.” Relia gestured to the jar. “I guess now I know why. How can a person change without pain?”

She shrugged. “You of all people should understand. Didn’t you rely on shardbreaker pills to make it through life?”

“That was different. I used those pills to survive. So I could live to fight another day.”

“And you think this is different? You think I’d still be here if it weren’t for these lovely things?” She put an affectionate hand on the sealed jar. “Your father doesn’t approve any more than you do. He’d rather I be more like him. But I’m tired of it. Decades of training and fighting and sacrifices. And where does it get us? There’s always more enemies. More advancements. More goals to conquer. I know I’ll never be immortal, so I might as well not be miserable along the way.”

“It’s not about that,” Relia countered. “You could still help people with your power. You’re stronger than ninety-nine percent of people on the planet.”

Clara gave a humorless smile. “For all that, I’m not a real Master.”

“What does that even mean?”

Her mother leaned back in her chair, ignoring her own advice about proper posture. “Anyone can brute force their way through the Apprentice or Artisan realms. It’s simply a matter of training hard, and enduring the pain.”

Her hand wandered back toward the jar, as if she wanted to go back for a second helping. “But Mastery is different. Mastery is about knowledge, insight, and skill.”

Relia nodded. “The Darklights already taught me about revelations.” Human souls protected the body by restricting the flow and mana, and they fought harder with every advancement. Without a strong personal revelation—a reason to fight—they would never expand past their natural limits.

“Revelations,” Clara echoed. “It’s the step where most mana artists fail, including me. Fortunately, these things can still be forced . . . for a price.”

Relia felt a surge of ice rush through her veins. She’d heard of pills that could force a soul to expand without a personal revelation—almost like a more extreme version of soulshine. But the consequences were equally steep. In other words, her mother would never reach Grandmaster or Mystic.

“Why would you choose that?” Relia asked. “Why not keep searching for your revelation?”

Her mother waved a dismissive hand, and her bracelets caught the light of the evening sun. “Your father couldn’t have a mere Artisan for a wife. That would disgrace him.”

“It was still your choice. You can’t blame him for everything.”

Before she could answer, their car pulled up to their destination. It was an ancient mansion with an intricate stone facade, not so different from the Palace Prime. Other cars lined the driveway, and well-dressed guests stepped through the house’s front doors.

“Remember to smile tonight,” Clara said as their own car slowed to a halt. “The whole world is watching us.”