Bound

chapter 8

APRIL AND MAY

The cold winter turned into a cold spring. Down in London, the days grew warmer, but every morning in the Welsh valleys still dawned icy and sharp.

Rachel didn’t come back. I put out some feelers, trying to talk to her again, but she didn’t respond, which frankly was pretty much what I’d expected. I still remembered what Shireen had told me, but I couldn’t really track her down against her will, and short of some order from Richard bringing us together, we had a stalemate. In any case, I didn’t have time to sit around waiting: between training with Anne and my duties at the War Rooms with Morden, I was busy all spring. What spare time I did have I put into following Arachne’s advice and searching for a dreamstone. It was slow and frustrating work. Arachne hadn’t been exaggerating about how rare they were, and the few rumours I could find suggested that the only dreamstones anyone knew about were in the private collections of master mages, where they were most definitely not for sale. Trying to steal one from said master mages seemed like a bad idea for a variety of reasons, but as the weeks crept by I started to wonder if I was getting desperate enough to try.

In the meantime, life went on. Luna found a new flat to live in, but this time she kept the location a secret from everyone but us, arriving and departing via gate stone. As the spring wore on, she started disappearing, working on some project that she didn’t tell us about. Her spare time she mostly spent with Variam, who’d started training for his journeyman tests; Landis had started the negotiations for a testing date, and Variam was clearly determined to pass first try. As for Anne, when the healer corps continued to refuse to give her shift work, she put in a request to be allowed to treat normals in her own time. The Council said no. Anne ignored them and did it anyway. Given our position, we really couldn’t afford to get caught breaking the rules, but Anne was adamant and I gave in and worked to help her keep it a secret.

The Crusaders stayed quiet for April, then took another shot at me in May, trying to catch me while I was sleeping. The attack was well planned, but I’d been expecting it this time, and managed to give them the slip without having to fight. Unfortunately, the attack also showed up the weaknesses of the Welsh farmhouse. The location just wasn’t defensible, and I’d never had the chance to set up the protections that I’d had at my shop in Camden. It had been meant as a place to hide, but I’d been using it for too long and now too many people knew how to find it. Reluctantly I left the house empty and switched to hotels and temporary accommodation, staying on the move. It threw off the Crusaders, but as the weeks went by it started to wear me down. It’s depressing being a nomad.

Morden kept playing his political games, but more defensively. Rather than pursue active plans, he simply waited, occupying himself by blocking the Crusaders’ and Guardians’ schemes. Instead of taking it at face value, this apparent inactivity seemed to convince his enemies among the Light mages that Morden must be up to something even more secret and nefarious, and they drove themselves crazy trying to figure out what it was. It wouldn’t have been my problem, except that one of the first people they’d go calling upon to find that out was me. By the beginning of the summer, it felt as though everyone on the Council was trying to pump me for information.

One Light mage in particular was especially persistent.

| | | | | | | | |

JUNE

“For the fourth time,” I told Talisid, “I don’t know.”

“What about the apprentice committee?” Talisid asked. “What’s going on with that?”

“Morden’s still trying to get a Dark mage on there.”

“Which one?”

“No names yet.”

“Then what’s his objective?”

“That is his objective.”

“Then what about the debate on South America?” Talisid asked. “Morden’s been siding with the Isolationists.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I was staying at a hotel near Leicester Square. The room was pretty nice, with draped windows and a big comfortable bed on which I was currently lying, my head propped up against the headboard. In my left hand I held Talisid’s communicator, while in my right hand I held a knife. Right at the moment, I was a lot more interested in playing with the knife. “Why not?” I asked.

“Come on, Verus,” Talisid said. The audio quality was good enough that I could pick up the undertone of annoyance in his voice.

I balanced the knife hilt-first on one finger, then flipped it into the air and caught it by the blade. “Don’t know what to tell you.”

“What’s he pushing for?” Talisid asked. “What’s the long game?”

“Make people owe him favours? Foster acceptance of a Dark mage on the Council?”

“That can’t be all of it.”

I sighed. “Look. Ever since Morden was raised, he’s built political capital and increased his influence on the Council. Has it occurred to you that maybe the reason he’s doing that is because that’s what he wants? That the reason it looks like he’s playing nice with the Council and building political influence is because that really is exactly what he’s doing?”

“But to what end?”

I swung the knife hilt-first onto the bed and watched it bounce. “Why do any of the Council mages want what they want? In case it’s escaped your notice, Morden’s acting exactly like any other Light mage. Scramble and manoeuvre until you’re on top of the heap. He’s just somewhat better at it than average.”

“Don’t fall into the trap of assuming that there’s no difference between him and his rivals,” Talisid said sharply. “You have no idea of the things Morden did to get where he is now.”

I rolled my eyes. I like Talisid, more or less, but he’s definitely a Light mage. Council good, Dark mages bad, and anything that doesn’t fit with that is just an individual exception to the rule. “Sure.”

“So what are his plans?”

“What exactly are you expecting me to do here?” I said. “Break into Morden’s office and grab a PowerPoint presentation lying on his desk titled ‘World Domination in Six Easy Steps’? Here’s an idea for you. Has it occurred to you that Morden might know perfectly well that I’m giving you these reports?”

Talisid’s voice was suddenly alert. “Has he hinted at that?”

“No,” I said. “And no, I wasn’t traced to where I am right now, and yes, I’ve taken precautions. The point I’m making is that it doesn’t matter. I could be the perfect employee and do everything Morden possibly wants, and he still isn’t going to trust me with anything top secret, because he’s not fucking stupid.”

“But do you think he suspects anything?”

I closed my eyes and banged my head against the headboard. “Jesus Christ.”

“All right,” Talisid said, his voice soothing. “I hear what you’re saying.”

“Right from the start, you knew that Morden was the face of Richard’s operation,” I said. “He can’t exactly do that if he’s breaking the Concord every five minutes, can he? If you want my advice, you’d spent less time looking at Morden and more time at whatever the hell Archon’s doing.”

“Has there been another meeting?”

I’d seen Archon twice more since our first encounter in February. He’d returned in late March, and again in April. One of the meetings had been in Birmingham, and one in London, but other than the location, things had gone pretty much the same way. We’d been met by a bunch of adepts, who’d questioned me to make sure I was really Morden’s aide, then they’d all disappeared into a private room. There had been no more opportunities to eavesdrop, but if Archon knew I’d been spying on him that first time, he hadn’t given any hint of it. “Not since April,” I said.

“Hm.”

“I don’t understand why you haven’t moved on this,” I said. “The whole reason you wanted me as a spy was to know Richard’s plans. Now that I’m reporting on them, you don’t seem to care.”

“We care very much,” Talisid said. “But it’s Morden who’s the priority now.”

“And the whole reason that Archon’s bringing me along to these meetings is so that I can represent Morden.”

“But not officially,” Talisid said. “He’s being too careful for that. Even if we could prove that this Archon is involved in something illegal with these adepts—which is by no means certain—there’s no direct link to Morden. Without that, there’s no case.”

And that’s what you really care about, I thought. The Guardians and Crusaders hated having a Dark mage on the Council. “What about the adepts Archon’s been talking to?”

“We’ve done some follow-up,” Talisid said. “Several of them have links to political groups—agitating for changes to the Concord, that sort of thing. Nothing serious.”

“You haven’t found out anything more?”

“We don’t want to tip our hand just yet.”

I was silent. What Talisid had told me didn’t seem like much to have turned up in all this time, and I had a feeling I knew why. Adepts just aren’t taken seriously by the Council, and Talisid probably had standing orders not to report further on the subject unless something changed.

And that worried me. Yes, adepts are less powerful than mages, and they don’t have anything like the organisation of the Council, but there are a lot of them. By most estimates there aren’t much more than five thousand mages in all of Britain. The exact number of adepts is hard to pin down, but I’ve heard guesses ranging between five and twenty times that. The idea of Richard having dealings with them made me uneasy, but I didn’t see what I could do about it. Talisid had no more news, and after a few more exchanges he hung up.

The summons came two days later.

| | | | | | | | |

“And if Tarantis comes asking about Columbia, tell him that I’m willing to meet with him privately to discuss the matter,” Morden said. “Give him the usual number, but be sure to make it clear that none of his Guardian associates will be welcome.”

“Sure,” I said. We were just leaving the War Rooms, walking out from the entrance hall. It was a warm summer’s day, but the high buildings all around blocked out the sunlight. “What about the War Rooms security?”

“Tell them whatever you like.”

“They’re still convinced that you might know something about any possible attacks,” I said. Recently a rumour had been going around that Dark mages were planning some kind of assault on Council headquarters. The Keepers hadn’t been able to turn up any evidence for the claim, but it had still provoked a flurry of activity.

“I really have no interest in enabling their paranoia,” Morden said. “But if they insist on an official response, then tell them that it is my personal opinion that their fears are exaggerated and that the War Rooms will be equally safe whether they enact new security measures or not.”

Probably my biggest surprise in the five months I’d spent working for Morden had been coming to realise that he wasn’t actually a bad boss. He was ruthless with any challenges to his authority, but as long as I didn’t do that, he was fairly easygoing. He didn’t threaten or bully, or give me pointless tasks just for the sake of it. Oddest of all, he actually seemed willing to listen. He’d rarely change his plans based on my input, but he did pay attention, and if I didn’t understand what he was doing, then he’d take the time to fill me in.

I suppose it sounds weird for me to talk like that about someone who’d threatened to murder my entire family, and I have to admit, it’s a bit hard to explain. I suppose the best way to put it is that Dark mages are a known quantity to me. Morden had never pretended to be anything other than what he was. As far as he was concerned, authority derived from power. He had power over me; therefore I was under his authority. A equals B equals C. I might not like it, but I could live with it.

Then again, it might also have been because all the Light mages kept treating me as a Dark mage. When you’re surrounded week in, week out by people constantly lumping you in with a particular group, it’s hard not to start thinking of that group as “your side” and the others as “their side.” I’d caught myself falling into that trap over the past month, and each time I’d had to remind myself that I wasn’t doing this by choice.

“Oh,” Morden said. “One more thing.”

I paused, having just turned to go. “Richard has a job for you,” Morden said. He tossed me a small pouch and I caught it reflexively. “Report to that address tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“Address in the pouch, tomorrow before noon,” Morden said. “Don’t be late.” He started to turn away.

“Wait.”

Morden looked back at me. “Is there a problem?”

“What is it?” I said. It wasn’t the most coherent of questions, but I was off guard.

“A gate stone.”

“I’ve got a gate stone for the mansion,” I said.

“You’re not going to Richard’s mansion.” Morden smiled. “That stone is for Vihaela’s shadow realm. You’ll be reporting to her for instructions. Good luck.” He turned and walked away.

| | | | | | | | |

With hindsight, I wonder whether Morden went out of his way to tell me the day before just to make me sweat. If he did, it worked. I did not have a good night’s sleep.

The next morning found me in Plymouth, standing on a narrow, sloping street near the city centre. A fresh breeze was blowing from the south, carrying the smell of salt air, and the sky was cloudless and blue. I was standing outside a tall building made of grey stone blocks with high windows. Carved into the stone were the words STOKEDAMEREL HIGH SCHOOL FOR GIRLS. According to the directions Morden had given me, the access point to Vihaela’s shadow realm was somewhere inside. I couldn’t see a door.

Like many British people, I know a lot about the city I grew up in, but I’ve got only a hazy grasp of the rest of the country. London is my home, and here, in England’s far southwest, I felt as uneasy as an animal outside its native territory. I found myself wishing that the gate stone wouldn’t work and that I’d be able to go back to Morden, but somehow I didn’t think that was going to happen. There were no doors on the street side of the school, and I circled around.

The front of the building didn’t look so well preserved. Some of the lower windows had been knocked out, green mould was creeping up one of the inside corners, and I could see black scorch marks around the outbuildings which suggested a fire. The gates were locked, but they weren’t tall, and I vaulted over to see that the main doors were boarded up. Graffiti covered every surface and I could see security cameras watching the doors and windows. A brief glance through the futures confirmed that they weren’t just for show; if I got spotted, the police would be here within thirty minutes. I wondered why they were so determined to chase people away.

Of course, Vihaela wouldn’t care if the police were guarding the outside. She could just gate straight in. I could have done the same, if I were an elemental mage.

I sighed and pulled out my burglary tools. Sometimes being a diviner feels a lot like being a small-time criminal.

| | | | | | | | |

The inside of the school hadn’t aged as well as the outside. Paint was flaking onto the floor, cracks were showing through the walls, and broken building supplies and children’s toys were scattered on filthy tables; the only light was the gleams of sunlight through the dirty windows, and the air smelt of rot and damp. I checked whether I was close enough for the gate stone to work, and then took it out, a long splinter of petrified wood. I’ve become a lot better with gate stones than I used to be. The air shimmered and coalesced into a black vertical oval, and I stepped through, letting the portal close behind me.

I was standing on a floor of black stone. Dim lights shone from crevices, illuminating a bare and starkly furnished room. The air tasted different, and there was one person standing in front of me, a child. One other thing I noticed: the sounds of the city were gone. I was in Vihaela’s shadow realm, and all around me was silence.

The child was a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, thin and black-haired, with darting, nervous eyes. “Welcome, Mage Verus,” he said in a high voice. “Is there anything you need?”

“You can drop the ‘Mage Verus’ stuff,” I said. I tried to make my voice reassuring; I’d already seen the boy wasn’t a threat. “I’m guessing you’re here to take me to Vihaela?”

The boy bobbed his head but didn’t meet my eyes. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Luke.”

“Okay, Luke,” I said. “Lead on.”

Luke didn’t move. He glanced behind me, then down at the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mage—is anyone else coming?”

“Just me.”

Luke flinched and I looked at him. “Is there a problem?”

Luke licked his lips. “Mistress Vihaela said to expect two.”

“Mistress Vihaela was mistaken.”

Luke darted a glance up at my face, then looked behind me again as if hoping that the second guest might appear if he waited long enough.

“We probably shouldn’t keep her waiting,” I said.

Luke jumped and gave me a frightened glance. I’d expected that to get a response, but not one so strong. “It’s this way. Please.” He didn’t quite say hurry.

Luke led me out of the room and onto a widely curving spiral staircase. Our shoes rang on the stone as we climbed, echoing up and down. A window cut into the wall provided the first natural light, giving a view of decaying sandstone ruins. I wondered what the outside would be like. Shadow realms are shaped from the location they reflect in the real world, but they can grow apart given time. If this was an old one, it could have very little in common with the school.

As I climbed, I studied the back of Luke’s head, wondering who he was. He definitely wasn’t Vihaela’s Chosen or her apprentice. I hadn’t seen any futures in which he used magic, which pointed to him being a normal or a sensitive. Normally, Dark mages only allow mages or adepts into their shadow realms, but Vihaela was apparently an exception, and I had a nasty feeling that I knew why. When I’d first heard of Vihaela, she’d been a member of White Rose, an organisation that specialised in supplying sex slaves to Light mages and independents. Vihaela had been the one in charge of training new acquisitions, and her methods inspired so much fear that the Keepers had never been able to get any clear reports because her victims were too terrified of her to report anything. I wondered whether Luke was a leftover or a new acquisition, and whether there was anything I could do about it.

Another window passed by, this one showing branches and leaves. The spiral stairs kept going; apparently we were ascending the inside of a tower. From time to time, an archway to the left would lead off into a corridor. I looked into the futures in which I tried to talk to Luke and didn’t get much. He was afraid of displeasing me, but he was far more afraid of Vihaela, and he clearly didn’t dare breathe a word against her. We passed a third window, this one looking out onto a snow-swept tundra, and I wondered if I could—

I stopped short. What the hell?

The view from the window seemed to go on for miles, brown rocks poking out of patches of white snow, fading away into distant hills that rose up into mountains. Except that the last window had looked out onto a forest. What was going on?

I looked to the left, where an archway led off into a corridor. There was no trace of gate magic or dimensional warping, but . . . wait. If I moved a little farther down, I’d hear someone crying out. It was faint, but it was definitely there and it sounded like they were calling for—

“Mage Verus?”

The future splintered and turned to smoke. I looked up to see Luke giving me a nervous look. “This way, please?”

I took a last look at the archway, then turned away.

| | | | | | | | |

The top of the staircase opened out onto grass. Tall trees rose up all around, their trunks dark and shadowed, and beyond them I could see ornate walls and arches. Beams of light filtered down from far above, giving glimpses of sky. A faint wind blew, stirring the leaves on the trees, but although I could sense birds and animals around us, all was quiet. This place was alive, but almost as silent as the tower beneath. Something about the whole shadow realm—the black stone and the tower and the trees—nagged at my memory, reminding me of something, but I pushed the thought away, focusing on the person waiting for us.

Vihaela was sitting at a small table and chairs beneath the trees, and I walked towards her without waiting to be told. She’d been smiling, about to make some pleasantry, but as she saw that I was alone, the smile faded. “Where’s the other?” she asked Luke.

Luke quailed. I had the feeling he was about to be the scapegoat, and I took a step forward before he could answer. “There is no other.”

Vihaela frowned. “Anne was supposed to be here.”

“She’s not.”

Vihaela looked me up and down, and there was a slow, calculating look in her eyes. “Morden promised me both of you.”

I felt a chill go through me. Here in her shadow realm, Vihaela held all the cards. If she decided to stop being civilised, things could get very nasty, very fast . . . but the number one rule for dealing with Dark mages is that you don’t show fear. “Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Did he really?” I said. “Or did he just imply that she’d be coming, and let you hear what you wanted to hear?”

Vihaela kept frowning. I wanted to hold my breath but didn’t. Then suddenly Vihaela’s brow cleared and a smile flashed across her face. “Oh well,” she said. “I’ll just have to make do with you.”

I sat. “So did he behave himself?” Vihaela asked.

For a moment I didn’t understand what Vihaela was asking, then she nodded behind me at where Luke was standing. “Sure,” I said.

“Really? Nothing you’d like to add?”

“Not really.”

Vihaela looked at Luke. The boy had been very still throughout the conversation, stiff and tense. “Well, Luke?” Her voice was suddenly kindly. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

Luke hesitated. “Go on,” Vihaela said.

Luke opened his mouth, licked his lips. “No, Mistress Vihaela.” His voice wobbled.

Vihaela kept looking at him. Luke hunched over. “That’s odd,” Vihaela said. Her eyes lingered on Luke. “It seems to me you took a very long time getting here.”

Luke froze and Vihaela leant back in her chair, studying him. “Do you have a reason?”

I could already tell that Luke wasn’t going to answer. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I didn’t like it. “The reason was that I was doing some sightseeing,” I said.

Vihaela’s attention switched back to me. “You went off the stairs?”

“I went straight from the entry room to here, with some pauses at the windows,” I said. “You have some interesting views.”

Vihaela stared at me. I tried very hard not to tense up. “I suppose that does explain it,” she said at last. She sounded disappointed.

I let out a breath.

“However . . .” Vihaela looked at Luke. “Do you remember my instructions? I told you to bring Verus up here promptly. You can go. We’ll discuss this later.”

I saw Luke’s face go white. He swayed, then turned and scuttled away. Vihaela watched him disappear down the stairs.

“Was that necessary?” I asked Vihaela tightly.

“You seem angry.” Vihaela cocked her head. “You’re not one of those white-knight types, are you?”

“I have a problem with seeing people hurt for no reason,” I said. I was angry, and all of a sudden I didn’t care very much about offending her. “Did you set that up just to have a reason to punish him? As a demonstration?”

“Morden told me you had tendencies that way,” Vihaela said. “Ruthless but sentimental. I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, but come to think of it, that was when you first crossed my path, wasn’t it? When the Council went after White Rose. I thought you were just a contractor, but maybe you took it personally?” Vihaela smiled suddenly. “So is it anyone you don’t like seeing hurt? Or only children?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Whether it was necessary?” Vihaela shrugged. “Not really.”

“Then why?”

“Because he’s getting boring,” Vihaela said. “They always do, once they stop putting up a fight.”

A bolt of anger spiked through me. Vihaela saw it and smiled. “Well, well. Maybe Morden was telling the truth after all. Tell me, if I brought him up here and tortured him in front of you, would you try to rescue him?”

I looked at Vihaela, sitting in her garden chair with her chin resting in one hand, relaxed and interested, and felt an instant of pure hatred. The threat was bad enough, but that she could be so casual about it made it worse. I’ve met a lot of Dark mages in my life, and a lot of the time I think Light mages exaggerate how bad they are, but there’s a minority of Dark mages that are exactly as evil as the stories make them out to be, and Vihaela is one of them. All of a sudden I wanted to hurt her, to have her suffer the same way as her victims did . . .

. . . except that there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t match Vihaela in a fight. If I tried, I’d lose. I wasn’t willing to fight when I knew I couldn’t beat her, and a part of me was ashamed at that.

“I think you actually would,” Vihaela said. She’d sensed my anger, but not my thoughts. “How on earth did you manage as Richard’s apprentice? Actually, don’t bother answering, I can guess.” Vihaela studied me. “It wouldn’t work, by the way.”

“What?”

Vihaela crossed her legs, leaning back. “If I brought that boy up here and offered him the opportunity to leave with you, right now, do you know what he’d do? He’d refuse. And if I asked, he would tell me that it’s my right to hurt him or to reward him, whenever I please, for no other reason than that it’s what I desire. He’d mean it too.”

I looked back at Vihaela. I would have liked to believe she was bluffing, but I had an ugly feeling she wasn’t. “Part of it is his age, obviously,” Vihaela went on. From her tone, she might have been discussing the weather. “But I’ve found that boys are more easily broken than girls. Girls will bend, but it’s very hard to stamp out that last little spark. Boys are more like eggs. Once you break the shell . . .” She shrugged. “Someone at White Rose once brought me a boy who’d tried to escape. He was quite popular and one of their higher earners, but he’d managed to injure a guard, and so Marannis insisted I make an example of him. So I made him beg for me to amputate his body parts, one at a time. Toes first, then fingers. Then his left foot, then his right, then what was left of his hands, then his genitals. Once there wasn’t anything left of the arms or legs I started on the face. It’s really quite a challenge keeping a body alive when the mind wants so desperately to die. I made him plead quite creatively before agreeing to remove the eyes. I saved the tongue for last, but he didn’t really have much to say by then in any case. Once I was done, they brought the other children out to watch and had what was left thrown to the sniffers. You wouldn’t believe the sounds it made.”

I looked at Vihaela. She met my gaze, her eyes calm. “I don’t understand you,” I said. “Why do you do this?”

“Why not?” Vihaela said. “I decide how I live. Not the Council, not any other mages. Just me. I can do whatever I like, and this”—she opened her hands out, palms up—“is what I like.” She smiled. “Would you be surprised to know that a good number of Light mages envy me? Especially the girls. They’re given a taste of all that power, then they have to spend their time bowing and scraping to that old boys’ club above. Then they see me walk into a room and they see the Light mages flinch, and a part of them wishes that that could be them. They don’t have the courage to actually do it, of course, or they wouldn’t be Light mages in the first place, but they want it, even if they’re too scared to say it out loud. I can always tell when someone’s afraid of me.” Vihaela looked at me and the smile stayed on her face. “Always.”

I let out a breath, feeling a chill go through me. Inside me, anger was fighting with fear and losing. I wanted to put up a fight, to do something, but I’ve fought enough battles to know when I’m losing. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I’m just enjoying talking to you.”

“I don’t get the impression that you care about me that much.”

“Well, that’s true enough.” Vihaela stretched and rose to her feet. She walked to my right, towards a tree, so that I had to turn my head to keep her in view. “I would have much preferred Anne. Just as I would have rather pursued my own projects than made that little example for Marannis. But one has to make the best of what one gets.”

“So?”

Vihaela stroked the bark of the tree, not looking at me. “So?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, Richard has a job he wants done, and he asked me to brief you. I could do that.” And then Vihaela turned towards me, and all of a sudden she wasn’t smiling anymore. “Or then again, I could paralyse you, strip you of your clothes and those pathetic weapons you’re carrying, take you down to my dungeons, and torture you to death.”

I held very still, watching the Dark mage. Vihaela walked towards me, her movements graceful and sinuous, and she didn’t take her eyes off mine. “I’ve never broken a diviner before. As I understand it, you’d be able to see what I was going to do in advance. Which would mean I’d lose the element of surprise, but then, couldn’t that be its own form of punishment? To know exactly what’s going to happen to you, and not be able to do a thing to stop it?” Vihaela leant forward onto the chair, forcing me to turn my head farther to keep her in view. “What do you think?”

I didn’t move. Vihaela was leaning forward, her hands clasped flat over the back of the chair. Dark brown eyes in a dark brown face stared at me from only inches away. She was within touching distance, but I didn’t reach for any of the weapons in my clothes. I knew I wouldn’t be fast enough. “I think Richard might have a problem with that.”

“Richard doesn’t always get what he wants,” Vihaela said calmly.

The futures spread out before me, twisting and changing, and the patterns they made sent a spike of fear through me. Vihaela wasn’t definitely going to attack . . . but she wasn’t definitely not going to attack, either, and if she decided she wanted it badly enough, Richard’s name wouldn’t stop her. She reached out with one finger and traced it along my cheekbone, her eyes dark and enigmatic, and I stopped myself from flinching. Vihaela is a hybrid rather than a pure life mage, and unlike Anne, she doesn’t need to touch you to kill you. Range wouldn’t be any defence against her. But the touch was a threat all the same, and this close I could sense the spells inside her, complex and powerful, ready to lash out to bind or cripple.

I looked Vihaela straight in the eyes. “How much is Richard paying you?”

Vihaela threw her head back and laughed. She stood up, smiling again, and just that fast, the futures of violence were gone. “I do like you, Verus.” She made it sound as though I were a stray cat. “The answer is: more than you can match. But don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. At least, not right now.” She sat back down in her chair, her manner suddenly businesslike. “Let’s get to work.”

I nodded, not showing my relief. “What’s the job?”

“Richard wants you to retrieve an item currently located in a deep shadow realm,” Vihaela said. “It’s called a dreamstone. Ah, I see that rings a bell.”

I’d tried to hide my reaction, but Vihaela had caught it anyway. “I’ve heard the name.”

“Good. Now, shut up and listen.”

I shut up and listened. Vihaela gave me the details about the deep shadow realm, her descriptions quick and efficient, and it didn’t take me long to realise that she was an expert on the subject. It’s not hard to see why Richard chose Vihaela for his inner circle. What she does, she does very well.

Only at the very end did she revert to form. “Any questions?”

“Just one,” I said. “How soon does Richard want this?”

“As long as it arrives, he’s not picky.”

I nodded and rose to my feet.

“Oh, Verus?”

I paused.

“Do bear in mind that you’re not working for the Keepers this time. The Council is quite happy to send mages out on missions and have them come back empty-handed. Richard is . . . less tolerant, shall we say, of people who fail to carry out instructions? I wouldn’t think he’s as likely as Marannis to demand I make an example. But then again, maybe he would.”

I looked back at Vihaela. “You can tell Richard,” I said, “that the message has been received.”

“Good.” Vihaela waved. “Have fun.”