The Silvered

Chapter Fifteen

FOR THE FIRST TIME since the Soothsayers had placed him at the emperor’s elbow, dinner was not served in the Imperial dining room. The palace staff—as opposed to the emperor’s staff—were preparing for the festival.

“On public festivals, the palace is opened up to the citizens of the empire and anyone can wander around as if they have a right to be there.” Major Meritin pushed a pile of paper across his desk toward the corporal waiting for it, leaned back, and continued as the corporal left the room. “Their Imperial Majesties appear off and on throughout the day and have, in the past, gone so far as to interact with random persons in the crowd. It’s a security nightmare.”

Tavert had already explained what happened at a public festival, up to and including the phrase: it’s a security nightmare. That wasn’t why Reiter was in Major Meritin’s office. “So you’ll have to deploy more Shields within the palace.”

“I tend to think of it as more of a reassignment than a deployment, Captain, but yes, I will. More than a few. You won’t be one of them. I know,” the major raised a hand before Reiter could argue. “You’re bored spitless playing politics, but, honestly, all you can hope for at this point is for the flaming Soothsayers to announce you’ll be better off at the border. You’re not under my command; I can’t reassign you. Even temporarily. Enjoy your freedom.”

If the major saw him wince at the word, he didn’t mention it.

He had the rest of the day and most of tomorrow until he was required to dance attendance on the emperor again although, as Tavert had reminded him, he could be recalled to the palace at any time.

The guards at the north gate took his name, and he stepped out into Citizens’ Square.

A band practiced for the festival to the west by the garrison wall. Half a dozen or so people sat around the base of the fountain. Three kids chased the pigeons. Two old women were arguing loudly about…cheese? It sounded like cheese. There were soldiers walking toward the garrison gates. And soldiers walking away from the garrison gates. There were soldiers gathered around the meat pie cart, so old Duff was probably selling off the last of the day’s stock.

Out of his braid, Reiter looked like any other soldier killing time in Citizens’ Square.

He didn’t look like he knew the sound bones made cracked between teeth, or the smell of burnt fur when a charged staff finally came into play, or the look of hate in eyes that were not an animal’s eyes. He didn’t look like the man the Soothsayers had given to the emperor. He didn’t look like he knew what he knew and had seen what he’d seen.

He wanted to take that anonymity to the Blue Goose, the least disreputable tavern his rank would allow him into, eat greasy food, drink cheap liquor, and start a fight where he could use his fists to pound out his anger and frustration. He wanted to. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t guarantee his tongue if he got drunk, wouldn’t recognize one of the emperor’s special guards if the ass bought him a drink, and while he hated the thought of the beastmen starving, he had no desire to be the next to feed them.

So he’d find a coffee shop and eat, find a whorehouse and fuck, buy a bottle and take it back to his room and empty it where no one could overhear what the liquor let loose. If he were very lucky, he’d be called to the emperor while he was drunk and get bounced back to private and sent to one of the southern colonies to fight natives, disease, and heat.

Halfway across the square toward the shops fronting the north side, Reiter saw Chard talking to a young couple obviously in from the country for the festival. No one from Karis wore that much homespun.

He walked another three steps before he recognized them.

“The mage who escaped from you, my sixth mage; I have word that she’s on her way to Karis.”

Not only Mirian, but Tomas.

He’d freed them, burn it! Freed them and here they were, ready to play a part in the emperor’s horror story.

And Chard was talking to them. The one person in the entire flaming city who’d recognize them on sight.

But Chard hadn’t given the alarm. Did he not know who they were?

Reiter angled west. No one would suspect one soldier talking to another. No one should suspect…anything if he talked to Chard. They’d spent days together on the road before he’d disappeared into the palace.

“Private Chard.”

“Captain Reiter!” Chard spun around and smiled so broadly Reiter could see a missing back tooth. “You’re not in an oubliette!”

Behind Chard, Mirian put her hand on Tomas’ arm. Just a touch, but it closed his mouth and held him in place. They were both wound so tightly—eyes a little wild, breathing fast and shallow—he was amazed at their control.

“Do you even know what an oubliette is, Chard?”

“Sure, Cap, it’s like a dungeon. Sergeant Black said you were probably in one.” Chard pushed an obviously new bicorn up off his forehead and scratched at the red line where the leather binding had pressed into his skin. “I think he was kidding, but I bet there’s bits in that palace no one knows about, right? The sarge got sent north to the Spears and that trouble in the port. They’re wanting rights about something, I dunno. Pretty near everyone that went into Aydori got reassigned out of Karis. Just me and Corporal Selven and Hare, and now you, left as Shields. And you disappeared. I heard some guy named Linnit cleared your stuff out of quarters.” He took a deep breath and flushed. “I’m glad you’re not court-martialed or dead.”

“Why would I be dead?”

“’Cause, you know, it was a special mission and we lost them, but you were in charge and…”

Every time Reiter saw her, her eyes were paler than he remembered. Here and now, they truly seemed more silver than gray. The barest gleam of color between the white and black. When Chard’s voice trailed off, finally realizing no one was listening, he said, “So, what’s going on here?”

“This is my…uh, sister and her…uh, husband. Yeah. They’re uh, they’re here for the festival.”

Reiter reluctantly turned his attention back to Chard. “You don’t have a sister. You have two brothers. Try again.”

“He’s trying to convince us to leave,” Mirian said quietly, the words running together.

“He should have called every soldier in this square over here to help take you back into custody,” Reiter said at the same volume, gaze still locked on Chard’s face.

“It wouldn’t have helped.” She sounded entirely matter-of-fact.

Reiter remembered the circle of trees and almost smiled. “I suppose not.”

Chard opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then to Reiter’s surprise said, “It’s not right.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“And you can’t make me…What?”

“Have you told Private Chard why you’re here?” She was here to free the mages because she sure as shit wasn’t here to give herself up to any prophecy. Chard opened his mouth, confused, but Reiter raised a hand, giving Mirian room to answer.

“No.”

He almost smiled again at the way she made one word, two letters, sound like a challenge. “Chard, go away.”

“But, Cap…”

“Private, this is not something you want to be involved in. This is not something you want to be interrogated about, and every moment you spend talking to us brings you a moment closer to shit you do not want to be in.”

“Yeah, I get that, Cap, and I’m getting that you know what’s going on more than me, and I’m fucking thrilled you showed up, and I’m good with walking away and letting you deal because…”

“Chard. Get to the point.”

Chard, who was squinting toward the square, swallowed and nodded past Reiter’s shoulder. “Lieutenant Geurin’s coming this way.”

“He’s never seen me,” Mirian began.

“He hasn’t,” Reiter agreed. “But he’s one of the few people in Karis who might be able to see what Tomas is, and that’s as bad.”

Mirian’s lips pulled back off her teeth. “Worse.”

Reiter turned. Lieutenant Lord Geurin’s uniform had been draped in enough braid that anyone who hadn’t been forced to endure court dress might mistake it. The plume in his bicorn was as high as regulation allowed and absurdly poofy. He’d recently been shaved and his narrow mustache looked like a dark line on his upper lip. He was, at the moment, the most dangerous man in the square.

“I see you finally made it back to the capital, Captain, although I hear you failed in your mission. My uncle seems to think he’s seen you around the court, but given the…inexpensive uniform you’re wearing, he must be mistaken.” His smile was as self-satisfied as it had ever been. His gaze flicked past Reiter, over Chard, and paused on Mirian…

At the last instant, Reiter managed to lay off enough that he didn’t break the lieutenant’s jaw. Or his own hand.

Geurin dropped like he’d had his strings cut. His mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged. His hat spun away, the plume bent.

“You punched him, Cap!”

“I did.” The soldiers by the meat pie cart had already noticed. Another minute and they’d be on their way over. “And when they ask you why, tell them I said Major Meritin informed me of what the lieutenant wrote in his report.”

“What did he write?”

“I have no idea, but I’m certain it was self-serving and puerile.”

“He’s going to be mad you hit him.”

“I’m a captain, he’s a lieutenant.”

“He’s a lord.”

Reiter smiled tightly. “Tell him to take it up with the Duke of Burron. And now, I’m going to take my sister and her new husband to the inn where they’ll be staying.”

Chard shoved his hands in his pockets and squinted down at the lieutenant. “Yeah, I’d have hit him, too, if he’d said that to me in front of my sister. If I had one.”

“Thank you, Chard.”

He shrugged and grinned, but he met Reiter’s gaze squarely, and something in his face said he knew exactly what he’d been thanked for. “It’s okay. No one likes him.”

Her hand still on Tomas’ arm, Mirian remained silent until they were far enough from Chard and the group of soldiers gathering around the fallen lieutenant they wouldn’t be overheard. “Why?”

Reiter, walking on Tomas’ other side, a shield against the curious, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Why did he interfere? Why was he helping them? Why was he committing treason…again? “One of the mages was killed,” he said at last. “I was there.”

“And you did nothing to stop it,” Tomas growled.

He’d accused himself of that more than once, so he had an answer ready. “I couldn’t have stopped it. At best, I’d have died with her, and that won’t help the rest.”

“Who?” Mirian asked and Reiter heard a similar self-accusation in her voice. Why wasn’t I here in time to stop it?

“You couldn’t have stopped it either,” he said. “Her name was Kirstin. Small, dark-haired, blue flecks.”

“Kirstin Yerick. Her husband was one of the Pack Leader’s advisers. She has twin sons. Had.” Tomas’ response had a soldier’s rhythm. Superiors didn’t want emotion in reports. “And Danika?”

“Danika is…alive.” He remembered the dagger drawing a gaping red line across pale flesh, her expression when she threw Kirstin’s choice at the emperor. “Uninjured.”

Tomas actually stumbled, his breathing suddenly ragged.

Danika was family. That explained why Tomas was here.

“Captain, how did Kirstin die? Why did she die?”

“She died because the emperor is…insane.” Saying it out loud made it real. Explained why he was here. “I’m not going to tell you how.”

He could feel Mirian leaning around the boy to stare at the side of his face. He expected a protest. He didn’t get one.

They left the square and started down a narrow street between a wine shop and a tavern, the tavern’s patio extending far enough to mask them from prying eyes, but offering no cover should anyone try to overhear their conversation. Reiter didn’t expect to be followed—Chard was right, no one liked Geurin—but this wasn’t the time to take chances. “I have a question for you now.” He moved out into the street just far enough for him to be able to look Mirian in the face. “As stupidly suicidal as it is, it’s obvious he’s here for family. Why are you?”

She stared at him for a long moment. Made longer by the danger they were in. Finally she said, “Someone had to do something, and I was there.”

“That’s it?” Reiter knew that tone. He’d heard it from young soldiers who suddenly found themselves called heroes because they were the last man standing. And every one of them—the ones who didn’t brag and bluster and accept the accolades as their due—was a soldier he wanted to have at his side. “You’re a mage.”

“You’ve known that since we…” Her lip curled. “…met.”

Tomas growled low in his throat.

“Unless you’re planning to get her killed,” Reiter snapped, “stop it.”

The boy’s back straightened as he went silent. Definitely military. Good. If he could be convinced to follow orders, the odds he’d survive this madness went up.

“Powerful?” Reiter’d seen what she’d done in Abyek. Seen a man burn where he stood. He knew she was powerful, but he was curious about what she’d say.

She didn’t.

“Yes,” Tomas snapped. “She’s powerful.” He began to move between them, but again a touch to his arm held him in place. “We don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do. Among other reasons, I can get my hands on the artifact that’ll remove the tangles from your mages.”

“The net? We don’t need it. I took the other net off.”

The ab…Tomas came from mage-craft and the tangles suppressed mage-craft. “Did you feel anything when you touched it?”

“Me?” He frowned. “No. Why?”

Either the Pack had moved far enough from their beginning or Mirian had fried it before Tomas arrived on the scene. Given the blackened gold, he suspected the latter. “You won’t be able to take the rest of the nets off.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re not on her.” They turned together toward Mirian.

She sighed and said, “We need his help, Tomas.”

“Then why are we standing here?” Tomas demanded, glancing back toward the square.

“Because you don’t just walk into the Imperial palace.” Mirian shrugged, the movement so deliberate she’d obviously thought about making it. It was too common a gesture for the girl she’d been. “It’s the logical reason,” she explained. “If people could just walk in and out of the palace, it would be a security nightmare.”

Reiter grinned. “Which brings us to tomorrow. The Soothsayers have Seen a public festival…”

“The banners.”

“The banners,” he agreed. “During public festivals, people walk in and out of the palace. You’ll be able to disappear into the crowds.” He frowned. They were so country he could see the emperor heading right for them, beaming broadly, wanting to share the wonder. “But not dressed like that.”

Reiter knew Mirian was young, but he hadn’t realized how young until he saw her in one of the clothing stores up by the garrison. The tallest of the captive mages, the one who wore green, wasn’t very old, but Mirian was younger still. Once convinced she could do nothing until the next day, she’d relaxed. The tension that had her nearly quivering in place out on the square was gone. Even though the reason behind that tension still remained.

“If we can’t go into the palace in homespun…” She’d steered Tomas away from the square. “…then we logically have to buy new clothes.”

Given the quality of the clothes she’d been wearing when she came out of the river, Reiter found her to be surprisingly sensible about buying secondhand.

In spite of the pittance they were paid, junior officers were expected to take part in the socializing that might lead to promotion. Single men who had only to come up with a dress uniform managed, but for those with families who already found their pockets to let every payday, it could be a disaster outfitting wives and sometimes older children. The Duchess of Novyk, whose husband had been a past Commander-in-chief of the Shields, had convinced her wealthy friends to donate gently used clothing and Lady Shops had sprung up in every garrison town. The rising numbers of women in the army who suddenly had to outfit husbands had put a rack or two of mens’ clothing in most of them.

Mirian moved from rack to rack, touching fabric, pulling clothes out to hold against her. Reiter thought it was the first time he’d seen her smile although, given their history, that was hardly surprising. It was definitely the first time he’d seen her wrinkle her nose and roll her eyes at what he’d thought was a kind of pretty pink-flowered thing.

Both of them clearly came from money. Tomas pulled what he liked from the racks without looking at the tags. Mirian checked the tags, but weighed quality against price. Then she put Tomas’ choice of jacket back and pulled another that even Reiter could see had been badly mended down the inside of one sleeve.

“You’re not going to be wearing it long enough to pay the price of the other,” she told him quietly. Sensibly.

Reiter found their relationship interesting. They weren’t equals; she was definitely in charge. They didn’t act the way he thought lovers should act, but while they weren’t attached at the hip they stayed close and touched when they were close enough. Still, he’d noticed the mages did the same, so the touching could be cultural.

And it didn’t matter. Whatever he felt about this young woman—and in all honesty he had no idea whether it was admiration, desire, guilt, or a mix of all three—he’d captured her twice, had her dragged through the woods, tied her in the back of a wagon, and drugged her. She might tolerate his presence for the sake of freeing her countrywomen, but she’d never trust him.

He recognized his purse when she pulled it out to pay and her brows lowered as she silently dared him to say something. “Spoils of war,” he said. The shop girl frowned, Tomas scowled, but Mirian laughed, and losing his back pay seemed worth it. It wasn’t like he’d need it after tomorrow.

Leaving the shop carrying a worn carpetbag, dressed in their new clothes, Tomas had the easy confidence of the aristocracy. Watching him move with a grace Reiter knew he’d never master, no one would suspect the younger man ran on four feet and ate raw rabbit.

Mirian twitched at her clothing and looked annoyed. “How can you run in a skirt like this?”

“Perhaps Imperial ladies don’t run.”

The skirt didn’t look all that tight to Reiter. It fell straighter than what she’d been wearing, but with fabric enough gathered in the back for her to take a full stride. He’d watched her check the range of movement in the shop. On the other hand, he did have a sister even if he hadn’t seen her for some years. “The color suits you.” The dress was a deep burgundy with black trim. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

Any of the young men under his command would have jumped in with further compliments or a protest of how she shouldn’t care what the enemy thought. Tomas remained silent, clearly very certain of his place.

“Where are you taking us now?”

Reiter tried not to resent the easy way she’d tucked her hand into the bend of Tomas’ elbow. “To a guesthouse where relatives of officers stay when they’re in Karis. The Soothsayers didn’t give a lot of warning for this festival, so there should be room. My sister lives in Aboos, it’s a northern port. That should be enough to explain your accents.” The narrow streets off the square were still essentially empty and, as he had no way of knowing who else might be at the guesthouse, it was safer to talk while walking. “Get into the palace as early as you can tomorrow then make your way to the first assembly room. It’s powder blue with winged babies on the ceiling. I’ll find you there. He has them—the women—on a shifted sleep schedule, and if we can get to them early, it’ll still be night in their rooms.”

“Cells,” Mirian corrected.

He let it stand because she was right.

“Won’t having to wake them slow us?”

“Fewer guards on at night,” Tomas told her.

Reiter nodded. “There’s a limited number of guards. I’ll bet most of them sleep when the women do.”

“If there’s a garrison right on the square, how can there be a limited number of guards?”

“The guards in the north wing are his private guards. They’re not army, not soldiers, they’re…” He took a deep breath and locked down the memories of them watching as Adeline slashed open Danika’s chest, as they dragged the wolf from the observation room. “…they’re prison guards who’ve bought into his insanity.”

“If it’s so bad, and you know how to get the nets off, why have you waited?” Tomas asked. “You know the palace. You know where they’re kept.”

“You think it’s easy to commit treason? You could turn on your…” What was he called? “…on your Pack Leader?”

“I wouldn’t get the chance. If a Pack Leader went crazy, the nearest Alphas would take them down.”

“Seriously?”

Tomas frowned. “Of course. A crazy Pack Leader can’t take care of the Pack.”

“Politicians…”

“They’d likely be the nearest Alphas.”

No using the insanity of their leader to consolidate their own hold on power. “I like your system.”

“So do we.”

“So, if it isn’t easy to commit treason,” Mirian said quietly, “when did you decide to make the effort?”

“When I saw you in the square.” When he saw her in the square, but with luck he sounded like he meant both of them. “If you were stupid enough…”

“Hey!”

“…to come into the heart of the empire,” Reiter continued, ignoring Tomas’ protest, “knowing what would happen to both of you if you were caught, then I can be stupid enough to help.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It’s not smart. He has…Pack as well as the mages. It’s going to take all three of us to get them out. This is it.”

“This is what?”

“The guesthouse.”

There was a room available, and his old purse held just enough for one night, so he took them to the tavern next door and bought them dinner, emptying his new. Leaving them on their own unsupervised was just asking for trouble. They had better table manners than he did.

He escorted them up to their room and stepped inside to murmur, “The palace gates will open at nine. Be careful. Don’t attract attention and, most of all, don’t…” He waved a hand. “…you know. He knows you’re coming. It was Seen and he’s had word from Tardford.”

She flushed. “That was an accident.”

“Don’t have another.” He nodded and backed away, allowing the door to close between them.

The first night after they’d escaped from the Imperials, Mirian had slept curled around him, clutching his fur, taking what comfort the presence of the Pack provided. They’d slept together in caves, old barns, on a filthy carpet in the midst of the homeless, under trees, in a nest of blankets on Jake and Gryham’s floor. She’d defined both the distance and the closeness between them.

But this, this wasn’t adventure. This wasn’t war. This wasn’t excusable. This was something he’d have to explain to his mother. Or worse, to her mother. He couldn’t pace in fur; his toenails clicked against the wooden floor exposing him to the people in the rooms around them, so he paced in skin. And his trousers.

“Tomas.”

Wiping his palms against the fabric covering his thighs, he turned and faced her.

“Take a deep breath.”

A pillow hit him in the face as he inhaled.

“Through your nose!”

Familiar. Powerful.

“Tell me how I smell?”

He rolled his eyes but told her. “Amazing. You smell amazing.”

His trousers ended up on the chair with the rest of his clothes. The mattress gave under him as he rolled onto his side, then gave again as Mirian fitted herself against his back, her hand over his heart. The same way they slept when he was in fur. The sheets smelled of soap.

Her breath lapped warm against the back of his neck when she sighed. “I can’t believe after all we’ve been through and what we have to face tomorrow, you got upset by a bed.”

When Danika closed her eyes, she dreamed of the white room. But not of Kirstin, of Ryder. Of his skin hanging from jutting bones, of his throat pierced by silver spikes, of his teeth…of blood on his teeth.

She lay in her nest on the floor by the door and she stared into an artificial darkness. She whispered strength to the others and listened for the fall of Stina’s door.

Reiter stared at the ceiling and thought of treason.

Mirian woke with the Sunrise bell, snuggled her face into the pillow, and wished that she’d stayed in the carriage and continued on to Trouge with her parents. That she’d never been cold or wet or hungry or afraid. That she’d never had to discover how a man’s flesh smelled as it burned. That she’d never had to wake in the morning and face anything more difficult than the new books still not having arrived at the lending library. That she’d tested too low to enter the university and she’d married the dark-haired young clerk at her father’s bank who had sad eyes but had nearly smiled at her once or twice. That she wasn’t about to get up and get dressed and walk into the Imperial palace and do whatever she had to do to steal both Pack and Mage-pack away from a crazy emperor.

After a moment, she sighed. Given the chance to do it again, she knew she wouldn’t stay in the carriage, so there was no point pretending she could have faced a life of walks and shopping and a safe, affectionate marriage without screaming. She couldn’t honestly say she’d been fundamentally changed by everything that had happened to her and around her since that morning. She was who she’d always been. Practical. Stubborn. More aware of what she could do. Less naive, perhaps. But not really any different.

She carefully pulled away from the warmth of Tomas’ back, rolled over, and slid out of bed.

The bucket of hot water had already been left outside the door. She didn’t see it at first, stubbed her toe on the side, then brought it in and emptied it into the large washbasin. At home, one of the maids would have brought in a pitcher of hot water, opened the curtains, and lit a fire depending on the time of year. The guesthouse, with the chipped basin, the frayed wash flannel, and the mug half filled with soft soap, would have appalled her mother. Her mother had never spent a night under the bent boughs of an evergreen. Or in a cave. Or on a pile of straw that smelled strongly of goat.

Mirian liked the room. She liked the worn furniture, the too-soft mattress, the uneven floor. She liked that someone had made an attempt to dress it up with chintz curtains and bits of glass that hung in the window to catch the sun. Although, they worshiped the sun in the empire, so maybe the glass pieces were religious rather than decorative.

The window faced east, and she reached out a finger and touched patterns of light that danced across the faded wallpaper. Followed the places where sunlight poured through clear pieces of glass and broke into rainbows. When she was young, Mirian used to sneak down early to the dining room and open the curtains to watch the crystal drops on the chandelier paint the walls with rainbows, courting a lecture on how sunlight faded expensive, imported silk carpets.

Light that broke into colors…

White light. The Soothsayer by the well in Herdon had touched her and said white light.

Leaning over the washstand, Mirian stared into the small oval mirror, forcing her eyes open as wide as possible. She’d tested high but had no mage marks. She smelled of power but had no mage marks.

Her eyes were paler than she remembered. The edges of her pupils no longer smoothly curved. As she turned her head, she could see patches of silver slide across the black, the blurring of her vision following the movement.

The more powerful the mage, the more mage marks they carried.

The Air-master at the university had marks enough that, at first sight, her brown eyes looked almost blue.

Gryham told her that mages had become unwilling to pay the price the old way of power demanded and had bound mage-craft in rules.

She could work in all six crafts. Blue, green, gold, brown, red, indigo…

Her mage marks were white.

The more power she used, the more there were.

Eventually…No. She touched the mirror. Soon, if she kept pouring power through the crafts, there’d be marks enough to fill her eyes and blind her. Logically, inevitably, given what they were about to do…She clutched the mirror’s frame to keep her fingers from shaking. Now she wanted to go home more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

Her vision blurred.

Cleared.

“Lorela?”

Her sister turned, dress half on, and staggered toward her side of the mirror. “Miri! You’re alive! Lord and Lady, you’re alive! Where are you?”

Leaning so close her breath fogged the glass, Mirian swallowed and said, “I’m in Karis.”

“What? What are you doing…? Mama said you died! That you were killed trying to rescue the Mage-pack, but there was no body. The elder Lady Hagen actually visited her. Mama was in her glory. But you’re not dead. Cedryc said you weren’t. He said he Saw you, but I couldn’t tell…” Lorela swiped her palm across her cheek and took a deep breath. “Were you captured with the Mage-pack? Have you escaped? Are you coming home?”

“No, I wasn’t captured. Well, I was, but I escaped.” She almost giggled as Lorela frowned, clearly about to accuse her of not taking things seriously. “I’m here, with Tomas Hagen, to rescue the Mage-pack.”

“Tomas Hagen is alive and you’re with him?”

“Yes.” Mirian braced herself. Her mother was, after all, Lorela’s mother.

Lorela ran both hands up through her hair. “Lady Hagen needs to be told her younger son is alive.”

“Yes.” She blinked away tears and remembered she had information to give her sister in return. “Lor, if you touch Cedryc when he starts to See, it might bring him back. Touch him as much as you can, skin to skin.”

“You’re not supposed to touch a…” She couldn’t say it.

“Because then what they See will be lost. Maybe they go so deep and fall so far because as soon as they start to See, people stop touching them. Maybe that’s why they find what focus they have when they get to touch people. It’s a stupid, selfish rule.”

“Cedryc…” Lorela stopped, took another deep breath, and wiped her eyes. “All right. Thank you, Miri. Now then…” She squared her shoulders and frowned again. “…what do you mean you’re in Karis to rescue the Mage-pack? And who set up this link? This isn’t even a crafted mirror!”

“Just what I said. I did. Love you.” She lifted her hands from the mirror, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she saw only the blurry image of her own reflection.

“Who were you talking to?”

Mirian turned to see Tomas sitting up in bed. “My sister.”

“Through a mirror-link?” He sounded impressed, but she couldn’t make out his expression. “Danika has one set up with her mother—Ryder kept hanging his jackets over it, said the last thing he need was the abiding presence of his mother-in-law. I didn’t know you could link with an uncrafted mirror, though.”

“Neither did I.” Teeth clenched, she lifted the first layer of the stupidly restrictive Imperial undergarments off the hook and pulled it over her head. By the time she tugged it down into place and brushed her hair back off her face, Tomas stood less than an arm’s length away.

“Are you all right?” He sounded worried.

She shrugged. “Busy day.”

“Is it the captain?”

“Is what the captain?”

“I know you’re willing to work with him because he let you—let us—go on the road, but what if this is a trick? A trap? I mean, he’s already told us we’re expected. If we get grabbed, he’s still in the clear and he can play the sympathy angle with you.”

“Why would he do that?”

Tomas shrugged in turn. “I don’t know. He likes you.”

“Funny way of showing it. Pass me the thing with the laces.” She wrapped it around her waist and began hooking the busk in the front. “If he plans to stop us, why didn’t he do it yesterday in the square.”

“He didn’t have a net and he knows what you can do.”

After the sound left her mouth, Mirian thought it might have been better had she not tried to laugh. “I don’t know what I can do.”

“Anything.”

“What?”

Hands on her shoulders, he moved close enough she could finally see his face. Close enough one leg bumped against hers and she could smell the warm, musky, morning scent of him. “You can do anything,” he said.

And he believed it.

“Thank you.” Mirian let her head fall forward and rest on his shoulder for a moment. Then, as a cart rolled by outside on the street, she straightened and took a deep breath. “We have to trust him.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“What I want doesn’t matter, at least not until after we rescue the Mage-pack. And the others.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay, then?”

He grinned as she leaned back to look up at him. “Whatever you decide, you know I’m right beside you.”

Beside. Not behind. “You’d better get dressed, then. They’re not going to let you into the palace in fur.”

There was no way he could do this and hide his involvement. This time, having Mirian knock him out as the emperor’s captives fled the palace would only make it easier for him to be caught. He could get the necessary artifact only because he’d been sent to get it before. Because he was known to the Lord Warder. “The emperor requests that I be given…”

“It’s a festival day. I could tell from the bunting.” The Lord Warder sighed as he unlocked the cabinet. “The palace will be swarming with people.” The old man snorted, carefully opened the cabinet’s front, then slid a smaller key into the lock of one of the exposed drawers. “People. They’ll touch things with their dirty fingers. They always do. I plan on hiding down here until it’s over.”

He always did, according to the pages Reiter’d overheard complaining. He went to the Archive early and stayed late, sometimes sleeping on a cot in the corner if he felt the palace wasn’t yet empty enough. The pages hated traveling all the way down to the Archive. The service halls didn’t extend that far and they had to run to get the food there still warm.

Jiggling the key, the Lord Warder finally got the drawer open. He pulled out the fork and stared down at it for a moment before handing it to Reiter. “His Imperial Majesty will have no time for hobbies today.”

Reiter slipped the small artifact into the inside pocket of his tunic. “I don’t know about that, Lord Warder,” he said, closing the frogging and trying to get the ridiculous amount of braid to lay flat. “I’m just following orders.”

The old man snorted again. “Aren’t we all, Captain? Aren’t we all?”

Back in his room, Reiter changed out of his court dress and into his regular dress uniform. With half the garrison pulled in on extra duty and the other half wandering through the halls gawking, it granted him even more invisibility than usual. He had no reason to sign his sidearm out of the armory and being mistaken for an officer on duty could cause problems without it, but he missed its weight by his side. Not as much as he missed the weight of his musket over his shoulder, but that was a whole other level of not going to happen.

Ten past nine.

Reiter snapped his watch closed and slid it into his pocket. Walking over to the window, he buttoned his tunic and stared at the golden arc of the emperor’s balloon, a hobby the emperor’d had no time for for a while. At least the aeronauts wouldn’t be bored today.

Just before nine, they joined the crowd already gathered in the square, staying well back from those who clearly intended to be first in. Mirian didn’t know if there were prizes or merely bragging rights, but the people nearest the gate were weirdly intent. She didn’t need to be able to see their expressions; the need to be first in rose off them like smoke.

The food carts set up around the edges of the square were doing a brisk business among the more casual attendees. Although she hadn’t eaten the dumpling the guesthouse had provided, and she should be hungry, the smell of the food made her stomach churn.

When she stepped back against Tomas, he jerked away.

“What have you got under your skirt!”

“The telescope. I left everything else in the room, but…” It wasn’t that she thought she’d forget the soldier she’d killed, it was just that it was the only memorial he had. She couldn’t carry it, so she’d tied it to her petticoat and figured it would remain unseen with all the extra useless folds of fabric. “What did you think it was?”

Before Tomas could answer, trumpets blared, loud enough the echo chased itself four or five times around the square.

A few people shrieked, a few more laughed at them, but the crowd quickly quieted.

“His Imperial Majesty Leopald, by the light of the Sun and the strength of his people, Exalted ruler of the Kresentian Empire, Commander in Truth of the Imperial army, Supreme Protector of the Holy Church of the One True Sun welcomes you, his people, to this public festival.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“There’s brass…I don’t know, horns? Bells? Up on top of the gate.”

Mirian could see the gate. She took Tomas’ word for the bells.

“When the gate opens,” the voice continued, “the palace will be laid out for your enjoyment. Your emperor trusts you’ll behave in his home as he would behave in yours.”

“Kidnapping, murder…”

“Shhh.”

“Do not open doors that have not been opened for you. Do not speak to the soldiers. May the Sun grant warmth and life to His Imperial Majesty!”

A cheer went up, the gates opened, and the first few ranks surged forward.

Mirian’s palms were damp as they followed, her mouth dry. She tightened her grip on Tomas’ arm, frowning at a familiar noise. “You’re growling.”

“Sorry.”

As they finally crossed the inner courtyard, heading toward the stairs leading up the open double doors, Tomas leaned in and murmured, “There’s guards on the roof with muskets watching the gate.” He didn’t sound surprised.

“Just the gate?”

“It’s a lot of roof.”

It was a lot of palace. Mirian wondered how they’d find the first assembly room and Captain Reiter. Then she saw there were signs designed to look like theatrical scene cards by each open door and a soldier by each sign. The edges of the signs were soft and worn and they looked like they’d been used a number of times before. Most of the soldiers looked bored already. They’d be thrilled for the chance to chase escaped prisoners. More thrilled, no doubt to be able to shoot them in the back.

“You put half of Tardford to sleep,” Tomas murmured against her ear.

There was that. But how did he…

“And you’re cutting off the circulation in my lower arm.”

Oh.

She tried to look overwhelmed by the magnificence, but suspected she looked like she wanted to throw up. Although, logically, that could be interpreted as overwhelmed, it would definitely attract more attention than they wanted.

The hall eventually dumped them into the small assembly room they were looking for. Most of the people around them kept walking out the open doors on the other side, one loudly declaring that only first timers stopped so close to the gate.

Mirian followed Tomas’ gaze up to the ceiling and the naked, winged babies that cavorted across the painted sky. She couldn’t see details, but they were large enough and gold enough, she couldn’t mistake what they were. “My father says expensive ugly is still ugly.”

“Your father’s right.”

“My mother never agreed.”

“The emperor’s mother had it restored just before she died.”

She hadn’t noticed Reiter arrive. Tomas hadn’t started, so he must have picked up the captain’s scent.

“If you’re interested in her restoration work, she saved some ornate plasterwork as well.” He looked as bored as the guards on duty, but then he would, showing his sister and her husband around the palace.

“I’d love to see the plasterwork.” Mirian smiled broadly, then toned it down a little as his eyes narrowed.

They fell into step beside him as he led the way out of the assembly room and along a broad hall. Outside the narrow windows that provided light, was a small interior courtyard dominated by a tall post covered in trumpet vine.

“It’s what’s left of the old gibbet,” Reiter told her, catching her staring. “That was the palace’s execution yard before they built this wing.”

“Foreshadowing,” Tomas muttered. “Ow.”

“Why would they keep the gibbet?” Mirian asked as Tomas rubbed his side where she’d pinched him.

Reiter shrugged. “Sentiment.”

The prison on the southern edge of Bercarit had an execution yard and hangings were open to the public, but Mirian’s mother had declared only the low and the vulgar attended. Mirian didn’t care who went; she only knew she’d never see death as entertainment.

The vine burst into flower.

“Mirian.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“What did I say about accidents?”

“If I could control it, it wouldn’t be an accident. It would be a deliberate!”

“Fair enough.” Reiter’s voice had gotten deeper. “Now keep walking. Look at the pretty flowers if you want to. Aren’t they nice? Don’t make a big deal of it.”

It was a voice intended to calm soldiers. Mirian had heard it in the woods when she’d been his captive. She could almost see him walking along a line of men in uniform, speaking quietly, calmly, steadying them to get the job done.

“I’m not one of your soldiers.” She didn’t know why she said it.

“No.” He almost smiled. “At this point, I expect I’m one of yours.”

Her elbow stopped Tomas’ growling almost before he got started.

“Where is everyone?”

The hall was nearly empty.

“I was told the emperor often shows himself in the antechamber of his private wing in the first hour on a festival day. The crowds are crazy, though. I was warned away. There’ll be other chances.”

About to make it clear she had no interest in seeing the emperor, Mirian realized Reiter was once again talking to them like they were visiting family, assuming he’d be overheard. At the end of the hall, most of the crowd had turned right, but they stopped and stared at the plasterwork on the ceiling while Reiter opened a door and slipped into the room, pulling the door closed but not latching it behind him.

After a moment, of pretending interest in a white blur, Mirian heard. “Follow me when it’s clear.”

When the halls were clear? When no one was looking their way? “Tomas…I can’t see that far.”

His hand was warm on the small of her back. “I’ve got it. Look at the plaster…at the plaster…Move, now!”

She let his shove carry her forward, her weight opening the door. Tomas latched it behind them. The room wasn’t large and held only a long narrow table at one end with a single, high-backed chair behind it. There was a smaller door on the back wall.

“This is the first room I was ever in, in the palace.” Reiter stood by the second door. “Come on.

As Mirian stepped closer to the rear wall, she managed to identify the repeating blue pattern of the wallpaper as a shepherdess playing the flute. Her mother would have loved it. The door opened into an empty hall. Painted a soft gray, with gaslights along the left, it had little in common with the high ceilings and ornate paint effects in the hall they’d just left.

“Service hall?”

“Imperial shortcut. There’s service halls that connect to it, but this will take us to the mages.”

A sigh as the wood crumbled.

A crack as the bolt hit the floor.

A bare foot on slate.

A slow creak as the door at the end of the hall began to open…

…opened faster.

The hollow melon slam of a head against a wall.

A grunt. A groan.

A body hitting the floor.

Being dragged…

Danika scrambled to her feet as the bolts of her door were eased open. Although the light from the guard’s lantern abandoned at the far end of the corridor didn’t spill as far as Danika’s cell, it was enough to turn the black to deepest gray, enough for her to see Stina’s unmistakable silhouette on her threshold. She pressed two fingers against the other woman’s mouth before Stina could speak, then leaned in close.

“The speaking tubes can be used for listening as well. We need to tie him and gag him if we’re going to leave him here.”

She felt Stina nod.

They had no time for sentiment, but she took a moment to hug the older mage and breathe, “Well done. You’re amazing.”

The guard was still conscious, but only just. There wasn’t light enough to tell which guard it was even as they stripped him and tied him with his own clothing, afraid the sound of tearing sheets would warn any listener something was up. Danika checked that he could breathe while Stina checked his weapons.

Then they shoved him under the bed and locked him in.

Out in the hall, Danika ran to Jesine’s door while Stina freed Annalyse.

“We can’t go through concrete blocks,” Danika whispered as they huddled together, needing the contact. Annalyse was shaking so hard Danika could feel the tremors through Jesine. “So we can’t get out the way we came in. The lower level goes by the dark cells, it goes to…well, it goes somewhere we don’t want to and there’s a greater risk of running into guards that way. But they move food and furniture in and out of the big room, so there has to be another door.”

“Probably a hidden part of the wall,” Stina pointed out. “Like the emperor’s rathole.”

“We find it and we get out through the palace. No one will be up at this hour.”

Jesine’s hand closed around her arm. “And the captive Pack?”

“They’re past reason. We have to get the nets off before we can release them.” Danika laced Jesine’s fingers with hers. “We will do everything we can to come back for them, but if we have to sacrifice them to save our children, we will.”

“I hate the thought of leaving them.”

“I know.” She’d promised she wouldn’t leave without them. It was a promise she couldn’t keep, and breaking it cut more painfully than Adeline’s dagger. “Come on.”

In the big room, the guard’s shielded lantern provided a pale circle of light, not strong enough to push the darkness back beyond its border.

“Find the door with your fingertips, with your nails,” Danika told them. “Find the seams. I don’t care how good the empire is with gears and motors, if you push two solids up against each other, there will be a crack!”

“Before we get going…” Stina handed Annalyse the guard’s baton. “I’ll keep the pistol, I expect I’m the best shot of the four of us, but you’ve got the longest reach and a good strong arm. Best this is with you if we need it to be used.”

“You took his stick?”

Stina’s teeth flashed white. “I would have, sweetheart, but Lady Hagen thought it would make too much noise.”

One hand clutching the baton, Annalyse covered her mouth with the other to stop the spill of giggles.

“How did you deal with him?” Jesine asked.

“While he was still thinking we were harmless, I flicked his hat off him and slammed his head into the wall. Once he hit the floor, I kicked him in the chest, and knocked the air out of his lungs. Wouldn’t have worked, though, if he hadn’t hesitated.”

“The door,” Danika said, pushing her gently toward the wall. “We can hear your tales of battle when we’re out.”

They’d find the door, they’d slip through a quiet castle, and they’d disappear into Karis before the capital woke. Aydori had withdrawn their ambassador when the Imperial army crossed the border into the Duchy of Traiton, but the embassy was still there. Empty as far as Danika knew. It would, of course, be the first place Leopald would look, but they’d have time to…

She froze, fingertips splayed against the plaster.

She could hear voices coming from above. From Leopald’s rathole.

“He watches the mages from here. It’s the only way I know to get to them.” With the emperor held by the duties of a public festival, the lamp in his little room hadn’t been attended to. Reiter lifted the glass chimney off and set it on the chair. Then he pulled a fire-starter from his pocket, rolled up the lamp’s wick, and lit it.

He turned and saw Mirian blinking in the spill of light. She rubbed her eyes, looked down, and jerked backward.

Tomas barely grabbed her in time to keep her from falling down the stairs. “What is it?” he demanded as he hauled her upright.

When she pointed, Tomas’ lips drew back off his teeth and he began to growl. This time, Mirian didn’t stop him. She kept swallowing as though she were about to be sick.

Reiter had no idea…

The rug!

Burn it, it wasn’t even anyone they knew! He dove for the chair as Tomas clawed at his clothing, impressed, in spite of the danger, by how fast the boy could undress. The glass chimney toppled, fall cushioned by the thick fur underfoot. His hand closed around the lever in the side of the chair and he yanked it back, turning to see if…

It was one thing to know they changed. It was another to see it happen. Or almost see it happen. There was a glimpse of limbs stretching, changing, pale skin suddenly covered in black fur, a flash of silver on one shoulder, teeth…

Which was when he realized that the wall was taking longer to open than Tomas was taking to change and he was stuck in a small room with an enraged wolf. “Mirian.”

Hand on Tomas’ shoulder, she shook her head. “You don’t understand. How would you feel if you saw Private Chard’s head on the wall?”

He tried a laugh. “Chard may not be the best example.”

“Captain!”

“We can’t save him.” Heart pounding, he waved a hand at the pelt and moved up and out and to the right of the chair as the wolf moved forward along the left. “And we don’t have the time to waste on…”

Tomas leaped forward, out through the still opening door in the wall.

It looked like a shadow leaping out of the spill of light. It cleared them easily, landed, spun around, took a step forward, head up…

“Tomas?” Danika knew that silhouette and if her heart said Ryder first, no one had to know. He turned toward her, made a sound half whine, half word and she threw herself at him, her arms around his neck, her face buried in his fur repeating his name over and over. Then Jesine and Stina and Annalyse were there, touching him, stroking his ears, his shoulder…

When he began to change, they backed away and only Danika held the young man whose strong, callused hands lifted her head off his shoulder so he could look into her face. “Are you hurt! You’re not hurt? You don’t smell hurt…Is the baby all right?”

“The baby is fine.” She dropped one hand to the curve of her belly, kept the other on his shoulder. “Tomas, what are you doing here?”

“We’re here to rescue you.”

“Ryder…” Twisting in his hold, she stared up at Leopald’s rathole. No, not Ryder. Captain Reiter and a girl she didn’t know. “No, of course not. The Pack Leader can’t leave Aydori.” When she turned back to Tomas, his cheeks were wet. “He sent you, though.”

“No, he…There wasn’t…” Tomas’ grip on her arms tightened to the edge of pain. “Ryder’s dead, Dani.”

She wanted to scream, to weep, to wail, to lie on the floor and kick her feet and refuse to believe him. Except she could hear the pain in Tomas’ voice. Her belief was irrelevant. And they didn’t have time for her to fall apart.

Tomas stood as she did.

“Mirian and I came to rescue you.”

Unexpectedly, Annalyse spoke next. “You were at the opera. I saw you on the promenade.”

“My mother’s idea.”

Danika looked up to meet the gaze of a girl probably no more than Tomas’ age. Eighteen. Nineteen maybe. Younger by three or four years than Annalyse, who Danika had been thinking of as so very young. “You’re the sixth mage.”

She nodded. “Mirian Maylin. I’ve been following you since you were taken.”

“You should have gone to Lord Hagen…”

“That was the plan, but first I ran into Captain Reiter and then Tomas.”

“I rescued her.”

Mirian smiled pointedly at Tomas. “We rescued each other.”

“So just the two of you?” Jesine moved to stand by Danika’s side. “There must have been someone else.”

“Everyone else is fighting a war. Or dead.”

“If you were captured…How did you get the net off?”

“I heard your warning, Lady Hagen, and I twisted resin and sticks into my hair. It hasn’t been cut in Pack fashion, so there’s more of it.”

Hasn’t been? Hadn’t been. Danika listened to Tomas breathing beside her and thought, It could be now.

“We could have defeated the net with a hat?” Stina snorted.

“So it seems.” The girl, Mirian, reached back to pull Captain Reiter to the edge. If the skin was still up there, it had been rolled back. “The captain has the artifact to remove the nets.”

“The fork,” Jesine said in Imperial.

“That is what it looks like,” the captain agreed, reaching into an inside pocket and pulling out the small wooden fork they’d used to remove Jesine’s net before cutting into Danika’s chest.

The scar throbbed. She only just managed to stop herself from touching it. He’d been there when it happened. He’d been there when Kirstin died. “Why are you helping us?”

“There’s a difference between serving the needs of your country and supporting a madman.” Because he looked so miserable about realizing it, Danika decided to believe him.

“You didn’t know he was mad when you let Tomas and me go.” Mirian spoke to the captain almost the same way she spoke to Tomas.

He stared at the girl for a long moment then said, “I knew he was wrong.” But the look on his face told Danika he hadn’t been thinking of Leopald at the time.

“You have no mage marks.” Danika squinted up toward the rathole. Even from here she should be able to see the color in Mirian Maylin’s eyes. “You can’t be the sixth mage without mage marks.”

“My mage marks are white, Lady Hagen.”

Beside her, Tomas made a questioning noise—it seemed as though this was news to him as well—and Danika shook her head. “There’s no such thing.”

“Yes, there is.” Stina spoke in Aydori, but it was clear she’d understood at least the gist what had been said in Imperial. “My mother was from Orin. Most Earth-mages have closer ties to the old country, but that’s neither here nor there. When I was young, she told me stories of mages with white mage marks, mages who could work in all six of the crafts.”

“All six?” Annalyse shook her head. “My professors always said that to divide your power between disciplines would keep you from realizing your full potential.”

Stina snorted and, watching her stare up at Mirian through narrowed eyes, Danika wondered what she knew the rest of them didn’t. “All our professors said that. I suspect it depends on how much power you have and how much you’re willing to let it shape you instead of you shaping it.”

Smiling tightly, Mirian said only, “If you could throw the artifact to Tomas, Captain. It would be best to leave this discussion for another time.”

“Sensible,” Tomas murmured as he caught the fork. He grinned up at the girl, she smiled down at him and Danika could hear history in the word. They’d have a lot to talk about, her and Tomas. Her and Mirian Maylin. Later.

He didn’t give her a chance to tell him to free Jesine first. He shoved the prongs through her hair and forced the net up off her head. There was a flare of pain and then the headache she’d had since that morning on the Trouge Road lifted with it. It felt like a cool drink of water running down a dry throat. Like the first strawberry in the spring. Like stepping out of too-tight shoes. Like a lover’s touch…

“You could have warned me it would feel this good,” she said quietly to Jesine as Tomas freed first the Healer-mage then Stina and Annalyse.

“I was too distracted the last time to notice,” Jesine reminded her.

“Tomas, boost them up and let’s go. This is the only way I know to get you out,” the captain added as Danika turned her attention to him.

“They can’t go through the palace dressed like that,” Mirian protested. If Mirian wore current Imperial fashion, then she was right. Her wine-colored dress with the bulk of the skirt fabric gathered at the back below a fitted waist and hips looked nothing like the loose, high-waisted dresses they were wearing.

“Does it matter?” Annalyse asked. “It’s night.”

“Not out there,” Tomas told them. “Out there it’s midmorning, and there’s a crowd of people in the palace for a public festival.”

“But…”

Captain Reiter cut her off. “The emperor time shifted you, possibly to make it more convenient for him to observe you eating. Probably because he’s insane. Let’s move, people.”

“Their clothes will give them away.” Mirian grabbed his arm. “Even in the back halls, if a servant sees them…”

“We don’t have any other clothes,” Danika snapped. “Unless you want us to dress up in bedsheets.”

“There you go.” The captain pulled free of her grip and dropped to one knee at the edge of the wall. “Tomas! Boost them up.”

“Wait!”

Tomas froze, responding to Mirian’s voice. Danika added his reaction to the list of things they had to talk about later. He was far too young to make any kind of a commitment, no matter what he thought the girl smelled like.

“You have bedsheets?” Mirian asked. “Tomas, the Sisters of Starlight!”

Tomas grinned. “What was it you said, like they wore sheets over nightgowns?”

“Who are the Sisters of Starlight?” Danika demanded.

“A charitable religious order,” he told her.

“An Imperial charitable religious order.” Mirian grabbed the captain’s sleeve and released him almost immediately. “Would they be noticed in the palace?”

The captain glanced down at his arm, then up at the girl. “Not today.”

“Get the sheets…”

“We also have nightgowns.” Danika bent and picked up the lantern. “Jesine, you’re with me. Stina, Annalyse, jam the door leading to the dark cells. I believe that’s the way the guards arrive, and it has to be nearly morning. We need to delay them.”

“You need to hurry,” the captain snapped.

Both Tomas and Mirian made a small sound at the emphasis.

“Run,” Danika said, and led the way.