Nevian hated coming to Isandor. No matter how often he’d snuck out successfully, the creeping sensation of being watched returned. Master Avenazar would find out. He always did. And this wasn’t a benign excursion to the city. It was treason, plain and simple, and he would be punished accordingly. If defying pointless rules on his assigned tasks earned him hours of mind torture, what would Avenazar do once he discovered Nevian traded enclave secrets for magic training?

But Nevian could not be blamed. If Avenazar taught him anything, he would endure the abuse. Except he wasn’t learning. He was losing years of potential improvement to Avenazar’s insatiable desire for revenge. Nevian refused to fall behind other apprentices because his former master had provoked Avenazar. He had sacrificed too much to get this far. He would do whatever was needed to keep growing as a wizard.

Right now, this included a deal with Brune, the most prominent mercenary leader in Isandor and one of the only magic wielders in this city who might be able to stand up to Avenazar. Nevian met with her on a regular basis, always in the city, despite the express interdiction against leaving the enclave.

The leader of the Crescent Moon was a muscular woman—unusual for a mage—who did not enjoy smiling. Her wardrobe featured nothing but shades of brown. Pants, robes, blouses, shirts … everything was some variation of brown, including her long hair and eyes. Even her skin was a pale ochre, a fairly common tone in Isandor. More often than not, Nevian wished she were his real mentor. Brune had no patience for wasted time. She went straight to the point, both in her questions and lessons, leaving no room for banter. Nevian loved it. Every second he spent out of the enclave was a terrible risk. The faster they worked, the better for everyone.

He sat at their usual meeting place, a tranquil tea shop owned by the Crescent Moon that closed early in the evening. Minutes trickled by without any sign of Brune, and the location’s usual soothing effect stopped working on Nevian’s nerves. He tapped his middle finger on the table, biting his lower lip, until the mercenary leader finally walked in from the kitchens and slid into the chair opposite him, unruffled by his obvious displeasure.

“You’re early,” she said.

Nevian gritted his teeth. She was half an hour late, and they both knew it. If he’d learned one thing from Avenazar, however, it was not to contradict his superior. He forced himself to stop tapping on the table.

“It’s not easy to sneak out of the enclave. I had no choice.” He might roll with her lie, but not without reminding her he didn’t have a lot of time, and she had just wasted a full thirty minutes of it.

Brune shrugged, a hint of irritation behind her bored mask. Instead of acknowledging his protest, she changed the topic to matters concerning her. “Has news of Hasryan’s arrest reached the enclave yet?”

“The dark elf? Yes. What of it?”

“They will accuse him of Lady Allastam’s murder, ending a long-lasting feud between two of Isandor’s noble families. This could stabilize the political situation, and those closest to House Allastam and House Freitz might look more kindly upon Lord Dathirii’s quest for allies. Who knows? Depending on how he plays it, he could garner enough support to stand a chance against your enclave.” She leaned back into her chair. “It’s unfortunate that this happens in the middle of your little war, and I would appreciate an indication of whether or not Master Avenazar intends to get involved, and if so, how.”

Nevian stared at Brune, baffled by her question, struggling to encompass how Avenazar worked in a single answer. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “You’re trying to use logic to predict his actions. When our agents reported the arrest, Master Avenazar yelled at them for wasting his time with trivial matters. The enclave’s mission might be to achieve control over Isandor’s politics and assimilate it into the Empire, but Master Avenazar … he doesn’t care. He cares about Diel Dathirii, who made the terrible mistake of giving him personal offence, and added a layer of insult by accusing the enclave of kidnapping his niece and hiding her. Let me tell you, this elven lord has a death wish.”

“You don’t have Lady Branwen Dathirii?”

“No!” Nevian’s heart hammered into his chest, painful and out of control. How could Brune not understand what it would mean? “If we had her, the entire city would know. No detail would be secret. Avenazar would rip every ounce of knowledge from her mind, mocking the Dathirii with the crunchiest parts, daring them to come rescue her. He’d wipe out her precious memories, maybe cut off a finger or two and have them delivered in special packages. Master Avenazar does not torture in secret. He likes his deed of vengeance to be gruesome and very public. If we held Branwen Dathirii at the enclave, she would be an example of just how far he is willing to go to crush those who defy him.”

His voice shook, and he pushed his hands into his lap to keep them from trembling. He remembered the shrieks of his first master as Avenazar tore her mind to shreds. Sauria had writhed on the ground, clutching at the rug, reaching for him—only to have her outstretched hand promptly incinerated. He had remained frozen, back against the wall, the stench of charred flesh filling his nose and his ears ringing from the shrill screams. Not a sound escaped his lips, not even her name. Nevian tried to shake off the memory. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Once angered, Master Avenazar forgets the consequences of his actions. He will hunt every one of Diel’s relatives, even if the elf is long dead and unable to see it. If he has to raze the entire city, he will. His last vengeance annihilated a whole block. He deprived his victim of all memories before he killed her, yet this didn’t satisfy him. He claimed her apprentice, declared he’d train him to make up for the destroyed property, and he’s still carrying out that particular revenge on him. So if you need to know whether or not Avenazar will do something … ask yourself if it’ll hurt Lord Dathirii, or anyone he cares about. That’s your answer.”

He had said too much. Nevian gritted his teeth and lowered his gaze. He hated revealing anything about his past, but after three years of bottling it, the memory had tumbled out on its own. Brune didn’t belong in Myria, had nothing to do with them, and for the first time, he’d felt free to explain. He had blurted it all out, and his cheeks burned from shame. How unprofessional.

Brune clacked her tongue. Her expression hadn’t changed at all. “I feel obligated to remind you our partnership does not include any form of protection. If he finds out you are here, he is yours to deal with. I will defend myself, but nothing else.”

“I know.” Nevian’s hand tightened into a fist. “I was not asking for it.”

What would be the point? No one could protect him, and the consequences of trying were disastrous. Nevian wouldn’t dare demand such a thing. Brune already taught him magic, and with her help, he could progress as a wizard despite Avenazar’s best efforts. Once they returned to Myria, he would petition for a transfer or pass the exams, and this hell would be behind him. Until then, he needed to endure and survive—to never forget the end goal.

“Excellent,” Brune said. “I’m baffled by their choice of leader, but the Myrian Empire is free to send brutes to Isandor if they’re in no hurry to conquer.”

“They think they don’t need better.” Nevian hadn’t reflected upon Myria’s politics, but Isra kept discussing them like an expert, no doubt using information gleaned from Jilssan. It might help Brune, so he endeavoured to repeat what he knew. “Sending Avenazar here was a form of punishment. They got rid of him before his volatile urges to destroy wiped out more than a neighbourhood. Isandor is an easy target to them, without glory or challenge.”

Brune pinched her lips, and the slight hint of irritation surprised Nevian. She rarely allowed emotion to show. “Two years is a long delay for an easy target. Let me guess: Master Avenazar found out he loved to rule his little kingdom and is taking his sweet time.”

“Yes. He plays with his prey. Once he grows bored or outraged, he’ll bludgeon his way through any resistance and make them pay for the insolence.”

“You are as insightful as ever, Nevian,” she said, then she stood up. “I’m afraid this is all the time I have today, however. I have important business to attend to.”

“What? You can’t!” Nevian’s stomach sank, and he jumped to his feet. “This isn’t the deal. I need help with a spell.”

“Not tonight, Nevian. Next time.”

Panic slid into him, a clawed hand clenching tight. Next time should be good enough, but what if she kept pushing back? What if she meant to drag information out of him yet no longer helped in exchange? She couldn’t! He needed these slivers of progress like a drowning man needed fresh air. He scrambled for his small sack, fumbled with the clasp closing it. His fingers slipped, but he managed to open it. Nevian rummaged inside until he found a neatly folded parchment. “Please … it’s just one spell.” He unfolded the notes, then handed them to Brune. “I can’t understand where I’m going wrong with this protection charm. It should ward against the elements.”

Brune sighed, snatched the notes, and scanned them. Her lips pursed, then she flattened his parchment on the table. “I’ll point out your mistake, and you can look deeper into it on your own. If it’s still a problem next time, we’ll fix it.”

“Please.”

“Basic protection spells can defend one of three elements: body, mind, or spirit. As with all things, they work in one of two ways: either by creating a shield, or by destroying the source of danger. So right here?” She tapped the beginning of the runes scribbled on his paper, underlining a particular set of three. “You failed to define what you wanted to protect. Pick one, you’re not powerful enough for more than that. Not to mention your runes on creation and destruction are a little off. These runes are your tools, Nevian. They let you craft magical energy into what you want. These are crude and blunt. Look all of that up, come back with a better version, and I’ll make time for practice.”

Nevian stared at the perfect cursive of his notes and the shapes of the runes. Now that she pointed out the one missing, it seemed obvious. He had browsed through so many different spells before trying to write this simple one that he had forgotten some of the most basic elements. The young wizard groaned, then picked up the paper and folded it back with extra care. Yet another revision. Would he ever get it right? Move from rune-casting to more flexible and powerful forms of magic? He had so much to learn, and so little time.

“Thank you.” He might need a lot of practice to cast this one, but he’d feel better if he could defend himself. Nevian stored the spell back in his sack before looking up at Brune. “If you have nothing planned during the winter solstice, the Myrian Enclave has an important ritual related to Keroth’s faith, and it would be easier for me to sneak out for an extended period of time.”

“Let’s do that.” Brune straightened up with a slight shrug. She didn’t seem to care, but Nevian suspected she had learned to hide what mattered and what didn’t a long time ago. Calculated disinterest made aiming for her weak points harder, and he admired the ease with which she maintained her mask. “Good luck on your return.”

Nevian nodded, though he believed in luck as much as he believed in Master Avenazar’s good will. Perhaps because his own was horrendous. What rare positive things had happened to him had always come from skill and hard work, and that wasn’t about to change.