Lost Rings and Other Things: Rathburn, #1

Chapter One

Chasing Shadows

It’s too quiet. 

Neglect had a way of making noise and adding unwanted weight. After a lifetime of prowling streets littered with trash, being kept awake by the fury of empty stomachs, and hiding behind cracked windows, a person’s ears and shoulders ached from the heft of it. But neglect reminded Emily why she was the only one still awake when the rest of her fellow orphans huddled deep in their beds, asleep—it was an enemy to fight. And fighting was better than staying still.

Cold snaked its way through Emily’s threadbare blanket and she shivered into her thin, warped mattress. It was impossible to get comfortable, but that was all right. Her bed wasn’t supposed to be comfortable—none of the beds she’d slept in ever were. And there had been many. Thankfully, the Commons weren’t designed for comfort, so her expectations were appropriately low whenever she outgrew one home before jumping to the next.

Crumbling walls boxed her into her own little prison, the cracks in the stone crying tears of condensation that would turn to ice by morning. This bedroom was larger than her last, at least. With walls of exposed and rotting timber instead of stone, her previous residence shook and rattled with the slightest breeze. Her straw cot was laced with splinters as well as rat droppings, the solitary window empty and crooked. Here, in her thin bed, she was dry, her hands and feet numb from the draft. But there was glass in her window and cats to keep the rats at bay.

She flexed her fingers, willing the blood to keep moving.

She always had to keep moving.

Molly?

No response from the bed beside hers.

Should she stay?

Not unless you like eating stale bread for three days. Emily wrinkled her nose, and her stomach rumbled, a dull tug in the pit of her gut. She had to leave.

Maybe the quiet’s a good thing. No complications.

Her legs twitched under the blanket, ready to run, ready to go. Saint Barth’s was heavy with sleep, the street it sat on empty as the homeless and the merchants escaped from the unexpected cold. Frost crept across the deep-blue glass like a delicate spider’s web, and she traced the crystal filigree with hooded eyes. She forced each muscle to relax, the tension moving from her neck to her shoulders, arms, stomach, and she counted the cracks in the ceiling as she completed her assessment. A rogue spring in the old cot dug into her back and she winced, abandoning her half-hearted attempt to relax.

Comfort was a myth.

Quiet was a trap.

Everything was a trap.

See? This is why you’re alone. No one likes a downer. The voice crept up from the dark, muddy place in her mind, so she rolled onto her side, the creaking mattress springs chasing the voice away. She ran through the plan again, closing her eyes to let the familiar mantra sweep over her: Hide, listen, hurt, run.

Sliding the blanket off her legs, Emily’s life cleaved in two; a small part of her stayed behind, watching over Molly in the next bed, while a much bigger part itched for freedom that was at her fingertips. She ghosted across the cold wood floor to the window in her thickest woollen socks. A pair of leather boots waited for her under the barred window, and she pulled them on, wriggling her toes into the grooves.

Her black braid coiled into the hood of her sweater, and Emily pulled the thin cotton low over her eyes to keep out the night. Her hands were steady, her focus on the patchy rooftops giving off a thin blanket of mist—heat escaping into the night. Tongue trapped between her teeth, she snaked her thin fingers between the bars and forced the latch on the window open. She held her breath, like she did every time, waiting for someone to wake, to catch her and tell her to stay.

You’re going again, aren’t you?

Right on cue. Behold, the complication. Emily turned away from the cold and sighed. Go back to sleep.

Molly’s face was blue in the faint moonlight, her hair like ribbons of blood against her pillow. You’re going to get caught.

Pretty sure I won’t. Emily leaned against the windowsill and crossed her arms into a tight knot over her chest. I’m only going for a walk, remember?

Molly’s delicate features melted into a frown. Small hands pulled her blanket higher, so a pair of large eyes and blue fingernails were the only things visible. She shuddered against the icy air. I still don’t like this.

You don’t have to. Emily released one of her hands and ran her palm over the rough steel bars decorating their window, ignoring the prickle of rust against her callused skin. Her nails were broken and gnawed down to half moons—not pretty, but they didn’t have to be. If someone got close enough to see them, she was doing something wrong.

You know you can get back to bed anytime, right? Molly’s voice lilted, whined. Young. So young. Just come back to bed, Emily. You can sleep here with me, if you’re lonely.

I will in a bit. Promise. Emily reached for the necklace sitting above her breastbone, twisting her fingers around the warm, soft gold, and her heartbeat slowed. A talisman, a comfort, a constant. The trinket was her only true friend in the world. But instead of being overwhelmed by sadness and self-pity, she was at peace—loneliness was part of the job.

I don’t like it when you’re gone. Molly’s voice quivered. Small. So small. My stomach hurts. If they find you, they’ll take you away and I won’t see you again.

Emily shrank away from the sadness forming invisible hands to claw her back to bed. I’ll be back before you even wake up.

Molly wiggled her toes under her thin blanket. Whatever you’re doing, I can be your backup.

Not this again. Molly— Emily began, but it was no use. It never was.

"Come on, Emily! Her voice barely registered above a whisper, but the words screamed panic. I promise, if you give me a chance—"

No, Emily said, and Molly shrank into her mattress. One more year, maybe two, and Chancellor Pascale will send you off to some initiate up at the castle. You can get out of this place, be more than an orphan with no magic. If you get caught helping me, you’ll never get out of here. You understand that, right?

Molly was stubborn, even in her brief bouts of silence. But what if you get caught? People get caught, and you’re not supposed to be out after hours. They’ll lock you up.

There it was again: a familiar question Emily never wanted to answer. She focused instead on the solid weight of her necklace and breathed. In and out, in and out. I never get caught. It’s just a walk, kid. Come on, why don’t you go back to sleep?

I’m not tired. Molly stifled a yawn.

Uh-huh. Poor girl. Please go to sleep.

It’s true.

Oh, I believe you. Emily longed to cross the careful distance between them, to wrap her arms around Molly’s shoulders, so thin and fragile. To reassure instead of disappoint. But she couldn’t. Distance was safety—for them both.

A cry pierced the bitter night, and Emily turned back to the window, glaring out at the dark pinpricks circling the stars. The sky spread over the realm like a navy dome, tiny shadows streaking across the heavens like a fiery storm of arrows. They were only spots of brightness, too far to make out against the backdrop of the heavens, but the hatred boiling up inside told Emily everything she needed to know.

Dragons.

Molly’s large eyes were fixed and unblinking. I hate that sound. Gives me nightmares.

Me too, kid. The dragons would never come down here.

Molly sniffed. Thank Elders for that.

The surge of anger took Emily by surprise, and her hate bubbled over. She turned, voice sharpened to a point. "The Elders are the reason you’re here half-frozen and starving and they’re up there living in fancy castles. Don’t mention the Elders to me."

I just meant—

I know what you meant. Molly’s eyes swam and Emily’s heart sank, and the cycle repeated itself, yet again. Oh, perfect. Way to go, Roth.

Dragons circled the distant city, towering over the rest of the realm, and Emily tracked their blazing movements just as she had done day after day. Large part hate . . . tiny part envy. She steadied her breath, following the bursts of fire in the distance with practiced eyes. Listen, I’m sorry, she said when she was certain there wouldn’t be any lingering bitterness in her voice. "The dragons stay around magic—around their kind. They won’t travel so far away from the castle. So don’t worry about it, okay?"

Silence.

Molly?

The sheet covering Molly’s chest moved up and down in an even, predictable rhythm. Sadness, bitter and unexpected, kept Emily rooted there for a moment longer than necessary. The tiny folds between the sleeping girl’s eyebrows smoothed into the flat plane of easy dreams, all the prying questions dissolving on her chapped, parted lips. So peaceful.

Loneliness sucked.

Sweet dreams, kid. Emily grasped the bars on their window with tight fists and closed her eyes against the onslaught of doubt. Her breathing slowed; her mind cleared. There was no Molly, no dragons in the distance, or weight from her necklace. There was only the cold under her fingers, the rusted hardness of the metal caging her in.

Gone. She urged her shoulders to relax enough to let the millions of tiny insects travel through her veins at their own will, acutely aware of every shift in her body.

The steel wasn’t trapped by the brick and rust of the prison she had no choice but to call home. No . . . it was rubber, so flexible and light.

Gone.

The rubber shrank under her hands. Fragile. But breaking anything would make too much noise, and she needed it to be . . . Gone. 

Emily exhaled, the insects prickling her skin fading to a light whisper across her palms, twisting into the sharp sparks of fire. Her blood was flame, but her hands ran cold. Empty. She opened her eyes, and a small smile played across her face.

Widely considered a runt by the other orphans of Saint Barth’s who were no bigger than runts themselves, she should have minded the way clothes hung off her, the way her wild, dark hair and large, black eyes overwhelmed her sharp cheekbones and jutting bones, always making her appear slightly out of balance. But she didn’t mind much. Small meant agility. Speed. The ability to move like a shadow, an invisible plague among the eternally invisible.

She squeezed through the remaining gap in the bars, a shadow.

The rest was simple muscle memory: the narrow ledge, the gutter dripping with black sludge snaking its way to the ground, cracked but solid enough to support her shifting weight. Freedom. Exposure.

Her soul flew faster than her feet. The shadows were allies racing her along narrow paths, over rubble, rocks, rats scratching and soon gone on their own hunt for survival. Rotting vegetables piled into blackened corners, low-hanging trees, the sorrow of the village calling her back, calling her home. She pounded the pavement, reveling in the burn tearing at her leg muscles, her lungs. The burn of the hunt. Of leaving it all behind.

Hide, listen, hurt, run.

Hide, listen, hurt, run.

The silent command played in her mind as she chased Coven Hill up a road of gravel. She sprinted for a patch of maples, eager to return to the safety of the dark. Chest heaving, eyes sharp, her thin sweater clinging to her back in a pool of sweat, she ran without breaking stride. It’s what she was born for.

Old forests were always her favorite. As a child, she would pretend the ancient trees were ogres, monsters with two heads, teeth dripping with hunger, and she would slay them all. Attack those monsters, one by one, until the day had run out and she was too tired to hear her growling stomach. In the woods, a thousand thick, gnarled branches with broad trunks concealed her with ease, their shadows the perfect cloak. And on raid nights, those trunks—those monsters—were her allies. Emily crouched low behind the line of trees and pressed her fingers against the flaking bark, using the solid weight for support as she hunkered down.

Hide. Listen.

The road was still empty, which meant either she was too late, or her timing was perfect. As soon as the wayward thought crossed her mind, the steady crunch of rock pounded in the distance, and she grinned into her hood. Emily’s heart stuttered, her muscles bunched tight, and her fingertips tingled in anticipation. Large wheels crunched the ground, and an S scrawled in shimmering gold cursive pulled into view on the side of a large caravan. Calling her, begging to be defiled.

Right on time. She nestled into the darkness, letting it consume her just a little longer.

Two shadows hunched behind the massive purebreds disturbing the rubble-encrusted path, breathing smoke and chatting low over the hoofbeats. But Emily could only see the horses with their twin pairs of dark, shiny eyes set in chestnut coats, fixed on the road ahead. Their powerful flanks worked to pull the heavy cargo, those eyes searching the darkness for danger. For monsters. For her.

Closer now, enough to notice the white curls peeking out from one rider’s hood, hear the exasperated mutterings of a female. She sat straighter than her companion. A brooch glittered under her chin, pulling the embroidered edges of her cloak closed. She’s the boss. Good to know. Emily’s fingers dragged through the wet earth, leaves slithering under her palms. She turned the stone around in her hand, testing its weight, the sharp edges perfect for causing pain.

Hurt.

The caravan drew level, the heavy musk of manure and sweet wine mingling with the wintry bluster. No matter how often she practiced, timing went hand in hand with pure luck. She gripped the stone and pulled her elbow back, trapping her lower lip between her teeth. The stone whispered through the air, a silent arrow.

The horse whinnied, bucked. Both riders cried out in the night. Hooves gouged the earth, and the caravan came to a shuddering stop.

Shhh, now! It’s all right, girl. What’s gotcha so spooked? Boots landed on the ground and stomped uncertain circles around the animals. The driver’s cloak swept a path around him, feathering the loose gravel into fan-like rubble.

Run.

The forest collapsed behind Emily like a tower of cards. She bolted for the back of the caravan, its canvas thick and broad enough to hide behind. The even mumbles from the other end never changed, never stopped or spiralled into protests of alarm.

No one had spotted her. At least not yet.

You see a spirit in these trees, girl? The driver’s words were hushed and soft. A caress.

Don’t be silly. The woman sighed. Spirits haven’t haunted these woods for centuries. Besides, she has some sort of welt on her side. It looks like she was hit with something.

Oh no, stay where you are, don’t go looking around. The canvas was thick and well protected. Emily’s frantic fingers ran over the heavy ropes set in stubborn knots, crossing like diamonds over the caravan. The last barrier between her and her goal. Emily closed her eyes.

Vengeful ghosts! he cried out.

Oh, for Elders’ sake. Have you ever met a ghost that enjoys flinging rocks at animals?

He grunted. No, but I never met a ghost before, so I can’t really say nothin’ for sure, now, can I?

Emily suppressed the urge to laugh and refocused on the caravan—the things she needed inside it, begging for a well-deserved relocation.

The knots were flowers in her mind, budding in the spring, delicate and fragile. Sweetness filled her senses, the leathery petals thin and supple. They weren’t ropes but pretty vines decorating the cargo like ivy filigree twisting across a castle wall.

Loose. Her fingers moved with gentle ease, the coarse fibers growing soft. Every pump of her heart filled her hands with calm, with certainty. With fire.

A peek through hooded lids, and she exhaled in a silent huff. Not a rope in sight. She shook off her hands, willing them to stop trembling, and slithered inside.

The thick, warm smell of success assaulted her. Crate after crate of berries, apples, the ripest melon she’d ever come across, sat brimming with possibility in the belly of the wagon. Emily’s mouth watered, the yeasty warmth of rolls fresh from a wood stove battling with the spice of warm cider for her attention. Both could win, for all she was concerned. There was enough of her appetite to go around.

The female rider cried out in the distance. Honestly, Marcus, the horse is fine!

Hurtin’ don’t always happen on the outside, now, does it, Magdale? Or do all ya Elementals not believe in what ya can’t see?

First went the strawberries. Emily popped the firm, red fruit into her mouth with unsteady fingers while the other hand caressed the barrel, urging the fire through her arms and into her fingers, eager for it to do its job.

This shouldn’t be so easy.

She ignored the nagging thoughts, moving to the peaches next. The flesh tore with a light snap over her teeth, the nectar sliding down her chin and throat with the burn of sweetness.

Why aren’t they nailing these crates shut?

A cold sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling down her temples. Her fingers slid from crate to crate, slower and slower. It was harder to breathe. As the caravan emptied, so did her reserves, her energy draining away into the slatted cargo bed.

Lemme check the back, Maggie. Don’t wanna give no initiate some bruised apples. You know how they get, am I right? The man chuckled, his voice closer now. Not yet. No, not yet! The footsteps stopped. What the Elder is this?

The canvas flap peeled open as a grey hand with nails caked in mud sliced through the blackness, spilling light across her feet. Emily retreated to a corner, her breathing shallow and fast. She clutched the lid, grateful for the solid weight between her fingers.

Hey, Maggie! the man cried. C’mere!

What now?

A shiny head with ears boasting an alarming number of wiry grey hairs popped into view. Eyes covered in milky-white film roved around the corners of the caravan, and Emily willed herself to become as small as possible, her shoulder brushing against the side of a barrel of wine. The darkness was thick but still not deep enough to make her disappear. The forest was a collection of monsters she knew. Getting caught was another beast altogether.

Stuff is missin’ in here!

Concern now. What are you talking about?

The lid was bulky, hard to grasp with slick and guilty fingers. The wood scratched against the slatted floor as the wizened face pivoted toward her, the crack of arthritic bone locking her location in his crosshairs. His eyes widened, two moons lighting her small hiding place.

Go. C’mon, move!

"What the ’ell do you think you’re—oumf!"

Emily didn’t stop to see the extent of the damage. Her foot slid on a puddle of something dark, but her legs pumped without faltering, her recovery immediate. A heavy thud made her heart stutter. He fell—more darkness, this time spilling from the man’s head as he crumpled to the ground. She jumped, and the lid clattered to the earth while cold air slapped her face, raking through her hair as the trees called her back. Her necklace bounced under the moonlight with every step, glinting and flailing with every beat of her frantic footfalls.

Ancient maples swallowed her whole, but she couldn’t hide from the eyes on her, seeing her, the blood on his head, the man on the floor. Too much colour washed past in blinding streaks, and she missed the grey. Her muscles ached, her heart screamed in her ears, drowning the sounds of the night with its even beat.

Get away.

Just get far away.

From all the monsters. From everything.

Dawn broke as soon as Emily shut her eyes. The morning filled with shuffles and grunts, pillows still warm compared to the frosty shiver of the air in the halls. But she had no desire to return to her dreams. Images poked at her thoughts, and she pushed them aside, gripping the edges of her cot. With heavy eyes, she counted the bars in the window, then again for good measure. The complete set of vertical lines were intact and keeping her safe from whatever lurked outside. And there was too much waiting for her.

You’re finally up. Molly peered at Emily from her bed with eyes as round as teacups. "So? How’d it go? I guess if something had gone wrong, you wouldn’t be back, right?" She twisted her hair around her finger, over and over, red on cream.

Too early, Emily grunted. She squinted against the daylight, the knife in her stomach twisting with slow precision. And if you talk any louder, you might as well hand me over to the Guard yourself.

Molly fidgeted, mattress springs creaking under her slight form. Right. Sorry. But . . . did you get it?

Emily grinned, the eagerness on Molly’s face enough to distract her from her worries. Distractions meant lowered defenses, but they were also useful. Distractions kept Emily from looking too hard at everything around her, and the Commons weren’t a place to linger too long. Keep moving. Nothing like success to make kitchen duty less annoying. Lying was a regrettable necessity. She couldn’t burden anyone with the life she chose.

Molly grinned. That’s a relief. I was worried about you, you know.

You shouldn’t. She pulled her fingers through the tangles in her hair into some semblance of a braid and wiped her face clean with the corner of a bedsheet. Let the others know they can come in twos and threes after lunch when I’ve had a chance to ration it all. I’ll be back right after I’m done scrubbing the pots. She stretched, winced. Her legs screamed, the muscles in her calves pulling as her feet hit the ground.

Right, Molly said, her toothy smile contagious. She set to straightening her skirt, smoothing her palms over the box pleats. More wrinkles creased the old cotton, so she stopped, setting to taming her mane of fire instead.

Emily dressed with nimble fingers, hoping busy hands would be enough to ease her nagging worries. In her experience, though, hope never panned out.

The crash of knees hitting the floor echoed from her memory, the deep pool of burgundy spreading across a worn, wooden floor, drip, drip, dripping between the slats onto the gravel . . .

Emily shook her head. Stop.

Molly’s hairbrush stopped midway through her locks. She looked up. I didn’t say anything.

Sorry. I was talking to myself. She forced her feet to move, hoping to outrun the images crowding her mind. The door handle was cold in her sweaty palm. You ready to go?

A blue bow flew onto Molly’s bed, abandoned for an emerald ribbon, frayed, but still the perfect shade of green. She raced past, the ghost of a flush colouring her milky cheeks. You got the rolls I like, right?

’Course. I set a few aside for you already. She grinned, and Molly beamed back. One last smile, so sweet and trusting.

When the girl disappeared around the corner, panic overcame Emily like a storm, fast and overwhelming. Her stomach turned and her hands shook, the ground unsteady under her aching feet. A few days at most was all she needed to forget it ever happened, to be sure no one had followed her. It would all be a lesson, a cautionary tale. She’d had close calls before, unexpected meetings in the halls or bed checks that made it necessary to pile on the lies. But it had never been as close as the night before. Not by a mile. She’d get through this, too, and the fear would stop gripping her chest so tight. One day.

Until then, she’d have to wait.

Close the door, please, Emily dear.

Emily’s stomach dropped. Her legs turned to lead, anchors refusing to move. Numb. Forgetting to blink, she turned toward the new yet familiar voice, the door still ajar.

On second thought, allow me.

A light click and they were alone. Trapped together.

Who are you? Emily asked, her mouth dry.

The short, heavy-set woman shifted on Emily’s bed, jabbing the pillow with a forefinger. This bed really is uncomfortable. My back would be in agony if I had to sleep on this. Her hair glowed silver under the weak sun filtering in through the windows, her eyes a deep sapphire. Her voice . . . the silver curls a true pearly shade of white…

You. Emily’s tongue was scratchy, uncomfortable against the ribbed roof of her mouth.

Hello, Emily. The rider from the supply caravan gestured to Molly’s bed. We should chat.

Chapter Two

Ghosts of Present’s Past

The air clung to Emily’s lungs like dirty water to a dry rag. The sun climbed higher through her window, chasing away the chill in her room and brightening the rooftops until they gleamed like blank ponds. Outside her door, the children of Saint Barth’s Common trudged off to their individual days, word of a long-awaited treat soon to be making its way from Molly’s mouth to every ear. Staring at the woman perched on her bed, Emily doubted she would ever experience excitement again.

"Randall—no—Randall! Give that here. What is that in your mouth, Randall?" Chancellor Pascale cackled down the hall, eager to ruin poor Randall Leeman’s day with her reprimands filtering through closed doors and stone walls alike. Emily pressed her back against the door, feeling the Chancellor’s shrill voice vibrate against the wood.

Poor boy. The woman pondered the door and sighed. Why put a wooden toy in your mouth at all?

You’d do funny things, too, if you were hungry. There was no doubt left in her mind; Emily had been seen, and punishment was sure to follow. If someone from the city had found her, the Council Guard wasn’t far behind. What would they do to her? Were dungeons still in use, or did they banish lawbreakers and leave them to their own defenses outside the city walls? If punishment was around the corner, there was no time to be polite. And if directness failed, there was always escape.

Uh-huh. Did you hit your head in that caravan? Blood on the floor, drip, drip, drip, the man sprawled at her feet, because of her, her fault, her fault. All my fault. Emily cringed away from the memory.

The stranger considered her carefully as though Emily’s inner thoughts screamed across the room. I suppose you’re right, she said. He seems rather attached to that small toy horse.

Emily shrugged, shoulders stiff. I’ve never heard him speak, so I can’t tell for sure what his deal is with the horse. Her tone was even, but her heart stuttered. He showed up with it a few years ago and never let it go since.

The woman nodded. Poor boy.

So you said. The silence was deafening, and Emily was sure her chest would explode if things didn’t move along. So…

Yes? Wide, blue eyes, clear of anger and absent of explanation, bored into hers. The stranger waited, hands clasped across her lap.

Emily shifted her weight and fiddled with her necklace. Are you really going to make me say it?

She smiled. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make this more difficult for you. I thought giving you your space to settle was best. But I see you prefer getting straight to business.

I might stand a chance of surviving that way, yeah. But for how long? Were they already waiting outside her door? What was the penalty for theft? Funny, she never thought to ask.

Very well, the woman said, voice kind. Too kind. So, you took some things that don’t belong to you.

Quick and painless. Although, waiting for the guillotine blade to drop was anything but.

Nothing to lose if you lie. Emily peered out the window and allowed her eyes to relax, the edges of the world blurring. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Are you certain you wish to begin this way? The woman motioned for her to sit on Molly’s bed, the picture of patience.

Emily ground her teeth but obeyed. No sense in irritating the woman more than she had to. The room was small, but it took an eternity to navigate the tight space. She lowered herself onto the uneven mattress, the invitation to sit in her own room mildly irritating. Fine. I was out last night, and I found your caravan. You were at a stop and seemed to be having some trouble with your horses, so I thought I’d take a look.

Try again, please.

Emily blinked. What?

I’d like the truth if you’d be so kind. Calm. Peaceful. A request and not a command. You weren’t simply taking a stroll, dear. It was cold enough to freeze dragon fire last night. I should know—I was sitting outside that Elder-forsaken caravan.

Stall. Just stall her. I hadn’t noticed. I don’t usually mind the cold.

But more to the point, she continued, you were out for another reason, were you not?

Emily focused on her breathing, willing it to slow down. Torture. I know where the caravans come in from the city and that there’s food in them. I was hungry, and my door was unlocked, so I slipped out to find something to eat. No harm, no foul.

Except my companion ended up with a gash on his forehead and a new, unhealthy fear of forest spirits. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, her thoughts on the idea of forest spirits obvious. So, there was some harm done. Especially to my patience.

Emily’s cheeks heated. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

Surprise flashed across the woman’s face. You didn’t, dear! I had to knock the poor man unconscious before he got a good enough look at you! By the time I realized what was happening, he was already inside the caravan, so I’m not sure it worked. At least he didn’t run straight to the Guard. Yet.

Wait. It was impossible. The rosy-cheeked, polished woman before her was without a doubt a resident of Gildenveil City, lover of order, of division. Of power. "You knocked him out?"

No choice, I’m afraid. Her face sagged. I hope you don’t think less of me for it. I don’t condone violence, but desperate times and all that.

Emily’s ears buzzed, her body taking on a foreign lightness. "You . . . you’re scared I’m judging you? The concept left her with a mild headache. It was a trick, a way to get her to confess, a tactic she hadn’t anticipated. What’s your play here, exactly?"

The woman blinked, her eyebrows disappearing into her hair. Play, dear?

Yeah, your game! If everything you’re saying is true, then you knew what I was doing last night, and you helped me.

Yes.

That makes absolutely no sense.

The woman smiled. I can see how it looks that way.

I did hit my head, then. That’s exactly how it is.

Blue eyes, twin sapphires set in iridescent opal, drank her in. Colour in a world of grey. I can see we’ve gotten off to a less than desirable start. I’m Magdale Toth, Master Elemental at Selwyn castle. And you’re Emily Roth, yes?

An invisible force swung out and hit Emily between the eyes, throwing her off guard. Master Elemental?

Yes, I work with the initiates at the castle to hone their various abilities—

I know what a Master does. Karma, some cosmic joke. Years of work, dozens of close calls, never a mess this big. This damaging.

Of course, Magdale allowed. How long have you known you’re an Elemental, too?

The room shrank around her like a cold prison cell, and Emily froze. This wasn’t a discussion she’d ever had with anyone, and the idea of being thrown into it without warning brought a thin sheen of sweat to her forehead. "I’ve