15

The summons was always the same. The creak of his prison door, the blinding line of light, and Henri’s soft, polite voice extending the invitation from Denais. After the initial visit, Dominic had been summoned twice. Each visit was nerve-wracking, especially after Dominic discovered his captor had some level of inside knowledge. It was not complete, however, and Dominic struggled to keep his expression from revealing anything.

He hoped he hadn’t revealed anything. It was hard to tell. Denais had a light, casual manner, but Dominic was not fooled. There had been some awkward moments at dinner. It had gone on forever, but he could at least pretend to be busy with his food while he tried to invent an answer. When Denais mentioned that “someone” had told him the Mage Guardian was a woman, his fork dropped from his grasp and he made a great show of being impeded by the manacles while he tried to gather his frightened thoughts.

“Did they really say that? How amusing.” He took a deep breath and gestured for Henri to fill his wineglass again. Carefully holding the chain back with one hand, he picked it up and sipped cautiously. “Perhaps you have heard that illusion is a specialty of mine. It is a pity I cannot give you a demonstration,” he added, in the absent, careless way he had affected.

The lines about Denais’ eyes deepened in amused appreciation, and he raised his glass. “It is indeed a pity. But why? There is also talk that the young lady is some relation to the late Oron, but I find it hard to believe she could be involved in these matters. Yet, there she is.”

Dominic shrugged, his heart beating so hard he felt dizzy. “Oron taught her to be his assistant. I find her useful as well. Besides, I do not care to be surrounded by strangers. I have switched our appearances now and then, especially if there was a boring meeting I was required to attend.”

Denais laughed and relaxed back in his chair. From his reaction, Dominic judged the immediate danger over.

“I understand completely. Why else do you think I am so eager for your reluctant company? For safety, I keep myself apart as much as possible from my associates, and even if that were not the case, their abilities are not remotely comparable to mine.” He made a contemptuous brushing motion. “I have little interest in their conversation. It is enough if they serve me well.”

And those like Henri, only there because he was under a geas, would be understandably prone to silence if not compelled to talk. Dominic wondered about that afterward, as he was being escorted to his cell by the rough, criminal-looking servants. Why hadn’t Denais put a geas on him? It added another level of fear to his thoughts. He could do nothing to prevent it. Given that the Gaulan mage used them so casually, there must be a reason he had not.

It had been nearly a day since he had gotten the stickpin out of his cell. He looked as carefully as he could in the flickering lamplight of the corridor when he returned, but he didn’t see it anywhere. Had the cat taken it somewhere else that was shielded? Where was Ardhuin?

The next morning, Henri brought the shaving gear again, saying as he poured out the hot water, “His lordship wishes to enquire if there is anything he might do to make your…confinement more comfortable.”

Dominic froze, his face half-lathered, thinking furiously. Henri was probably a friend, but was also probably under a compulsion to repeat everything said to him. “It would be a relief to be free of these wretched manacles, but I doubt his concern for me would extend so far.” Henri said nothing, but tears welled up at the corner of his eyes. Dominic looked at the manacles, suddenly caught by the close-worked combination of chryselectrum and metal. A dimly remembered article from The Family Museum stirred an idea. “But beside that, my great annoyance is boredom. Something to read, to take my mind off my troubles—but perhaps he would not permit a lamp, either.”

“I will enquire, sir,” Henri said with resolute dignity.

It was still quite dark and bitterly cold outside as Ardhuin went out to the courtyard and the waiting coach. It had no insignia, but the mounted military escort would remove any doubt about it being an ordinary carriage.

“A fine morning for hunting, ladies,” Markus Asgaya said cheerfully, assisting Ardhuin and Gutrune into the coach before mounting his own horse.

Ardhuin barely refrained from snapping at him. Mornings were never her best time, and she had hardly slept at all last night. “Is he always like that?” she grumbled.

Gutrune smiled. “I am afraid so. He is relieved to be taking action again. He did not like waiting any more than you did.”

He had certainly hidden it better, which was probably what Gutrune was hinting at. Feeling rebuked, Ardhuin stared out the window. She could just make out the black outline of the rooftops against the slightly lighter blackness of the sky.

“How long will it take to get there?” she asked, wincing inwardly when she heard herself sounding even more like a child.

“Tomorrow afternoon, if the weather holds. If it were not so remote we could travel all night.”

There were rail lines, but none where they needed to go.

What would she do if they found no sign of Dominic on von Stangen’s estates? It would take another day and a half of travel to return, still knowing nothing. He could be dead, and she wouldn’t know.

The dark, ice-covered arch of the bridge came into view, and as the coach crossed the broad river, Ardhuin cast the finding spell one last time.

There.

Ardhuin gasped, sitting bolt upright. Gutrune reached for her. “What is wrong?”

“I found him. The location device I mentioned…over there!” Ardhuin pointed across the river, along the bank. “It’s so close! Why couldn’t I find it before?”

Gutrune gave her a serious look. “Perhaps it wasn’t there before. Or it is a trick. Can they be faked?”

“This? No! It is grown. Even I couldn’t make one from scratch.” Ardhuin gritted her teeth. “And even if it is a trap, they must have gotten it from Dominic—and will know where he is. Tell them to turn the coach.”

“They will not permit it. We cannot risk you like that.” Gutrune’s eyes were wide, and went even wider as Ardhuin reached for the door handle.

She’d wasted too much time already, and Dominic was in danger.

“What are you doing? You’ll be killed!”

Ardhuin shook her head sharply. “No I won’t. Have you forgotten what I am?” She gathered power around her, preparing to levitate as soon as she was outside the coach, and turned the handle.

“Wait!” Gutrune yanked hard on the check cord. The coach slowed but did not stop.

“Was ist los herein?” yelled a voice from the coachman’s seat.

Gutrune pulled down the window and called back something clipped in Preusan. Ardhuin had no problem understanding the reply. No.

“Ladies? What’s amiss?” Markus rode closer to the coach.

“I found him!” Ardhuin called. Markus’ horse broke into a gallop until it was reined back. Markus stared at her.

“You are certain?”

“Yes!” She almost screamed. “They won’t turn around! He’s over there.” Ardhuin pointed. “Make them stop!”

If he hesitated, it was only for a moment. He spurred up to argue with the commander of the escort.

“He’s taking too long,” grumbled Ardhuin. “We’re almost out of the city.”

Gutrune bit her lip. “Have patience. Oh, here he comes.”

They were still moving, and the expression on Markus’ face was not encouraging. Ardhuin yanked the door open, clutching the side and trying to pick a good place to jump. She’d have to get away from the rest of the escort, too, and travel back a good distance. Maybe she could steal one of the trooper’s horses?

A rush of horse, and black uniform, and a familiar voice swearing in Preusan at her.

“No! Gott, please, what do you want? What do you want me to do?” Markus tried to push her back into the coach one-handed, a look of horror on his face.

Or she could just steal the coach.

“Can you get on the box?” she yelled, pointing. He nodded, uncomprehending, and she leaned out again, clutching the doorjamb, and cast vital stasis on the coachman. “Do it now!”

She had a brief glimpse of him snatching at the rail on the side and swinging off his horse as she stumbled back inside and scrabbled at the window fastenings on the other side. There was an armed guard seated beside the coachman, who was just realizing something was wrong. She cast vital stasis on him too.

Ardhuin frowned. “Any guards on the back?” she asked.

Raising an eyebrow, Gutrune remarked, “Fortunately for them, no. I can see you are in a ruthless mood.” She appeared calm again, if breathing a little quickly. “The escort will have noticed what just happened, and will at the very least investigate,” she added, as if she were commenting on the weather.

“Oh.” Ardhuin leaned out the door again. Sure enough, the troopers behind them were speeding to catch up to the coach, and shouting. It wouldn’t be long before the ones in front figured it out as well. “Turn back!” she yelled to Markus, who was awkwardly trying to steer the coach using the reins still frozen in the coachman’s hands.

“I expect you to attend it, you know,” he shouted back.

“Attend what?”

“Funeral, execution,” he yelled, and grinned. “Both!”

Ardhuin shook her head and cast a cloud of deep shadow about the oncoming troopers. More Preusan profanity, and terrified neighing from the horses. “Take that street, before they notice!”

One wheel hit the curb as Markus took the sharp turn, tilting the coach for a dangerous moment. Ardhuin glanced inside. Gutrune was holding onto a strap, looking mildly concerned.

The cloud had only given them a brief respite. The troopers ahead, even in the dark, would have been able to see which way the coach had gone, so it was only a matter of time before they were found again. Realistically, Ardhuin was glad. She had no idea what they would find, and armed soldiers would be welcome, even if they were annoyed with her.

They had to slow their speed more than she liked in the twisting streets, which were not in very good repair. Ardhuin pointed directions, but she only had a sense of where the stickpin was—not which streets to take to get there.

“Stop here,” she called.

Markus glanced about. The river was close by, and there were many old, dingy warehouses. “Here?” he asked, looking dubious.

“No, but we’re very close. I don’t want to attract attention.” She stepped down from the coach, followed by Gutrune.

“I am afraid a coach such as this has already attracted attention,” Gutrune remarked, looking at its glossy black sides.

“So we send it away,” Markus said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Gutrune regarded him for a moment, expressionless. “You are enjoying this.”

He nodded, cheerfulness undiminished. “A grand adventure, with exquisite company, and in a good cause. I will be very surprised if we don’t get a splendid fight in as well.”

I hope we win. Ardhuin determinedly ignored the conversation and sent out the detection spell again. More focused, less powerful. She blinked. She almost felt as if she could reach out and touch it! She looked about, frowning. It felt down.

“I think he’s in a cellar. Somewhere below ground level,” she said slowly. “This way.”

On the river side, in a gap between the warehouses, was an ancient, crumbling mansion. In the pale light of dawn she could see that dead yellow grass filled the front yard almost shoulder-high, hidden behind a rusting, partially collapsed wrought-iron fence. Slates had fallen off the roof in patches, one balcony had completely given way and was lying on the ground, and the windows were coated in grey grime.

Markus whistled softly. “It’s immense! What on earth is it doing here? It must be over a hundred years old.”

“Approximately two hundred and twenty-five,” Gutrune said, just loud enough to hear. She joined them, huddling behind a watchman’s shed for concealment. “At that time it was forbidden for any but nobility to build such a large house within the old walls of Baerlen. This area became fashionable among the wealthy commoners.”

“I don’t want to sound critical, but this house looks quite thoroughly abandoned,” Markus said. “In fact, at the point of falling down.”

If only Dominic were there, he could see what they were missing. Ardhuin looked more closely, then snorted. She’d lived in Peran by herself, almost abandoned, and yet she’d had plenty of company. Animal company. “I don’t see any squirrel or bird nests, or tracks in the grass. By the river would be prime hunting area for mice and rats. If that’s real, there’s magic keeping the animals out.”

Still, it was doubtful anyone went in the front door. Too open and easily observed.

“But how could Herr Kermarec be here? It’s on the other side of the river, and all the bridges from the palace were blocked by the curfew.”

Ardhuin shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s here now. This place is going to have considerable magical defenses, and I don’t have time to find them all myself. Do you think if we free the coachman, he could go get more magicians?”

Henri brought a small oil lamp and a selection of books with Dominic’s breakfast. The lamp was metal, and the usual glass chimney was missing.

“I am to remove it after your midday meal,” Henri said, looking apologetic. “Are the books sufficient, or shall I attempt to find others? I am afraid the library is not extensive.”

One volume was a tattered collection of classical poetry, another a treatise on migratory sea birds, and the rest parts two and three of a gothic romance.

“I believe these will be satisfactory,” Dominic said, wondering if the library were truly that limited or if Denais was having a joke. It was just as well he had no intention of actually reading them.

He pretended to do so at first in case Henri had been ordered to check, loudly rustling the pages when he turned them. He continued to appear fascinated by the hand-colored illustrations of the Gervy’s blue-footed tern even after the cell door was closed, but when he heard Henri’s footsteps fade, he sat up and quickly got to work.

If he was lucky, he had less than three hours to escape. He took down the oil lamp from the shelf and placed it carefully on the floor. His chains clinked, so he ripped a strip from his blanket and wrapped it around them.

The concept was quite simple, really. Chryselectrum was a form of glass and therefore brittle. The chryselectrum in the shackles was protected by the outer shell of iron, but metal, when heated, expanded more than glass. The article he had read detailed the clever means devised to work around this difficulty, but he was going to make use of it. That is, if he could only ignore that the metal and glass were firmly attached to his wrists.

He held one manacle directly in the lamp’s flame, but not so close as to put it out. This was his only chance. Dominic started to feel an uncomfortable warmth on his skin. What if Henri came back early? He’d have to prevent him from alerting Denais. The heat grew painful, then excruciating, and he bit his lip to keep from making any noise.

A tiny tink came from the manacle, then another. Wincing at the pain, he quickly took it away from the flame and, covering his arm with the blanket, brought the manacle quick and hard down on the edge of his iron bedframe.

Holding his breath, he listened for any sound in the corridor. There was none. The pain in his wrist had a sharp new component now, and when he took his arm out from under the blanket there was a thin line of red trickling down his hand. The chryselectrum had cracked, but was still either attached to the iron or too large to remove from the manacle. He would have to do it again.

It hurt even more than the first time. Tears of pain ran down his face as he forced himself to hold his wrist over the lamp. More crackling noises, several in a row, and finally he could bear it no longer. He smashed the manacle against the bedframe, gasping at the staggering wave of pain that made him dizzy.

The shards of chryselectrum that came out were bloody, but they did come out. He checked his watch. Over an hour from the time Henri had left him, and he still hadn’t even gotten out of his chains. Dominic tugged fiercely, despite the stabbing sensation this caused, and slowly pulled his hand free. A long, deep cut ran along his thumb, dripping blood.

He sacrificed his cravat to tie up his hand, desperately wishing he had water, or anything for the burns. He had to bandage the cuts that were bleeding freely, but even soft cloth touching the burns was agonizing.

Dominic gritted his teeth and started the procedure on the second manacle. He knew what to do now, which made it easier, but now he had one hand throbbing with pain already and the other on its way. Just as he started to hear the cracking noises of the chryselectrum giving way, the rattle of the key in the door made his heart jump.

He had just enough warning to put the lamp on the shelf and wrap his arm in the blanket. He needed Henri to show up again, to open the cell door, but if Denais wanted to talk to him, the two thugs would be outside to escort him.

There was no sign of the thugs. Henri came in with a tray of food containing, in addition, a pitcher of water.

“Oh good,” Dominic sighed.

Henri put down the tray, stiffened, then leaned over to pick a shard of chryselectrum off the floor. “Why, what is this?”

Dominic gripped his hands together and swung as hard as he could at the back of Henri’s neck. The older man crumpled to the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry….” Dominic quickly picked him up and laid him carefully on the bed. He smashed the remaining manacle again and again, dragging his hand free with a whimper of pain he could not entirely suppress. More burns, more blood. He poured water over his hands, his breath hissing in when the cold water made contact. It helped, but not enough. He felt unsteady for a moment.

Henri moaned, and Dominic panicked. He couldn’t use the manacles—even if he had the key, Henri’s wrists were much thinner than his. He ripped up more of the blanket and quickly tied Henri’s hands and feet together. Thinking a moment more, he added a gag. It was hard to focus through the pain.

Henri didn’t look very good. His face was pale and his skin, when Dominic felt for a pulse, was clammy. He dragged the remaining scrap of blanket over Henri’s thin shoulders and tried not to feel guilty. He failed.

He’d had no choice. If he wanted to escape and help both Henri and his wife, this was the only way. He tried not to think that he might have done Henri more harm than could be fixed. Dominic sighed, poured more water on his bandages, and carefully left the cell with the manacles in hand as an improvised weapon.

He kept the door unlocked but closed, just in case. Unhooking a lantern from the hallway, he set off towards the mysterious far end of the corridor. Going back towards the cellar ran the risk of encountering one of Denais’ servants.

The stone got rougher as he continued on. The air was cool, and slightly damp. Dominic turned a corner, and stopped short. A web of magic filled the corridor ahead, completely blocking the way. He didn’t recognize what it was, nor the complex, multilayered seal-like device on the floor. Were those faint gold markings around it? Why did they seem familiar?

He could walk around the seal without touching it, or jump, but the mesh was a difficulty. Well, didn’t magic have a problem with iron? He held one manacle in each hand, spreading the chain wide, and tossed it at the mesh.

The mesh twisted and pulsed, but held. The manacles landed just on the edge of the magical seal, and when they hit, a long piece of chryselectrum fell out. Magic flared along the edge of the silvery glass, warping the intricate symmetry of the seal. The pattern was changing, flowing, becoming…larger. The magic writhed like a living thing in pain, making the gold markings more clearly visible, and he suddenly remembered where he had seen them before—in the Adaran temple. Was the mesh there to block whatever it did?

The seal suddenly vanished in a powerful blast of magic. Dominic felt something like a shudder in the air, and then an orange-and-white furry streak flew by from beyond the darkness, ears flat against its head. The mesh had not impeded the cat at all, and Dominic wondered if he should just go through.

Then he saw the water. It was filling the end of the corridor and brought a strangely familiar smell with it. Well, now he knew what the seal was intended to do. He had just destroyed the spell that kept the water out.

The edge of the water glittered in the lamplight, because it was moving. Towards him. He stared at it resentfully. He was so tired—all he wanted to do was escape. Now he was going to have to go the other way, and he couldn’t leave Henri down here. Who knew where the water would stop?

“A slight setback,” he whispered to the still-unconscious Henri, lifting him to his shoulders and trying not to gasp when his burns made contact. Fortunately, Henri was thin and not very heavy. “I think I broke something.”

If he had to go through the cellar, there was something else he definitely wanted to break on the way. He crept cautiously to the end of the corridor. The main cellar appeared empty. Dominic went as quickly and silently as he could to the cabinet and smashed the door in, remembering the magical lock. Magicians rarely considered more brutal methods of burglary when designing their defenses.

Freezing water was seeping into his shoes and rising higher as he watched. Dominic’s heart sank when he saw two of the bottles were missing, but then realized one was his. Denais would not be getting any use from that one. He took the rest and emptied them out, feeling unclean. It was like pouring out someone’s life.

Dominic headed to the stairs. Then he heard the shouting, and the sounds of running feet, and wondered where in the mostly-empty cellar he could hide.

In a way, it was fortunate they had been planning to leave the city, Ardhuin mused. Her most crucial equipment had been packed on the carriage. It would have been nice to have everything, of course, but she did not want to leave the ruined mansion, and no one else would be able to enter her workroom. Time was running out.

She looked up from the hollow glass ball she was warming in her hands when Markus approached. It was a cold, grey day and she was having trouble getting the lodestone powder active.

“Did you find it?” she asked.

He nodded. “It took longer than I expected. The one by the north warehouse—two laborers came by, one after the other. At least that’s what they looked like. The sound their shoes made did not match their appearance.” Markus grinned. “I think that is the entrance.”

“Is Colonel Biedermer gone?”

His grin widened. “He saw no need to stay, since he is only setting up the area cordon. It doubtless occurred to him that criticizing you so vehemently was not wise, considering what you did to von Koller. I greatly admired your restraint.”

The dust was not floating at all. She needed something warm. “He wasn’t afraid of me, and his complaints were quite justified. I can’t blame him for being upset with how I dealt with his troops.”

“More likely he was upset that you were able to do it. Made him think several entirely new thoughts, and he’s not used to that. Where is Fraülein von Kitren?”

Ardhuin pointed down the street. “Diplomatically informing the owner we’ve taken over his building. Do we have anything to build a fire with?”

Markus frowned. “Wouldn’t that be too noticeable? Are you cold?”

“No, it’s not for me,” Ardhuin said quickly, as he went to take off his caped greatcoat. “It’s for this.” She held up the scrying ball.

They both turned to look when the sound of hooves rang along the street. “How the devil did Biedermer let anyone through? He’s going to alert whoever is in the mansion!” Markus said, looking annoyed. “Oh. It’s von Koller. The coachman must have been persuasive. I only asked for him to send any magicians he could find.”

“Speak of the devil and he appears,” Ardhuin said dryly. He must have ridden as fast as he could when the summons was delivered. His horse’s sides were heaving. That gave her an idea, and she started walking towards him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” growled the head of the Kriegszauberkollegium.

“If I had my way, I would have left you unable to say anything to anyone,” Ardhuin snapped back. She pressed the scrying ball against the flank of his steaming horse, and noted with approval the lodestone dust beginning to swirl.

“You are a damned impertinent child who insists on playing with dangerous things. I have nothing but contempt for you.”

“And I for you,” Ardhuin replied, keeping her gaze focused on the scrying ball. She was amazed at her calm, almost worthy of Gutrune. She didn’t even feel her face getting hot. “Unfortunately for both of us, we have a common enemy. I require your aid to defeat this enemy and rescue my assistant. You will need my aid to stop a determined threat to your King and country. The question is, will you be able to overcome your distaste for my company long enough to do your duty?”

Von Koller jerked at the reins, making his horse toss up his head and dance nervously away. Ardhuin didn’t mind. The scrying ball was now cloudy with dust, and all she had to do was keep it protected from the wind.

“I do not need any advice from you on how to perform my duty,” von Koller hissed.

“I am pleased to hear it,” Ardhuin said, turning away with the ball carefully cupped in her hands. “We will need a basic scan done when your magicians arrive.”

“Is that sort of thing beneath you?” von Koller sneered. “That is a scrying ball, is it not? Do it yourself.”

Ardhuin sighed. “Can any of them cast Devourer Gate? If not, they cannot use a scrying ball to find it, can they? We are dealing with a mage who knows the spells of the Grand Armeé. Wouldn’t you prefer to know as much as possible where they are?”

Von Koller sat in silence for a moment, his face working. “Very well,” he said between clenched teeth, and rode away.

Ardhuin walked to the watchman’s shed, the closest point to the mansion that could not be seen from it. She felt depressed and disappointed, and wondered if they could succeed. Yes, she had won an argument with von Koller. Unfortunately, it was barely even a truce, and she had not been able to ask him for advice on which spells to trace.

It wasn’t exactly the same as casting the whole spell—just the elements that comprised it. But it still took power, and she had been made painfully aware that she had limits. Use too much with detection, and she would not have enough to fight with. Use too little, and she might not survive to fight at all.

Devourer Gate, of course. Von Gerling had that set up in his quarters. She considered the spells her great-uncle had taught her, narrowed down the list to ones that would be useful here, and then selected five of the most dangerous.

The scans required a great deal of concentration, and she was only distantly aware of the sound of voices, of Markus and Gutrune and the hurrying of feet. The magic revealed itself as patterns in the dust, responding to the magic she cast and the resonances felt by the little activated pebbles she’d had Markus place about the perimeter of the mansion. It was horribly crude, but without Dominic, it was the best she could do.

As she finished the last scan, she felt the scrying ball tremble. Suddenly the dust compressed itself into a tight lump in the very center, and just as suddenly exploded. A crack formed and darted in a jagged line over the surface of the ball, which she nearly dropped in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” Both Markus and Gutrune stood in front of her. She must have cried out. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Ardhuin looked at the broken scrying ball, and then at the mansion. She frowned. “I’m not sure. There was a very powerful event just now. But…but it felt like a release, not a construction.”

Markus, being a magician himself, understood what she was trying to say. “You mean a spell was broken? Did you do that?”

“Not with a scrying ball,” Ardhuin blurted. “Was someone else casting spells?”

“Will they be able to detect this broken spell?” Gutrune asked, looking worried.

“If it was one of theirs, most likely,” Ardhuin said slowly. “I am not sure it was one of theirs. I have never seen anything like it before.”

Von Koller was quickly made aware of the situation, and he flatly declared that regardless of the source, the people in the mansion would be alerted and the attack should begin immediately. He delayed only long enough for Ardhuin to indicate where she had found the dangerous spells before ordering his magicians to attack.

She managed to stifle her protest before von Koller heard it; instead, she silently followed the Kriegsa magicians. Taking action was a relief even if her knees felt dangerously weak. If she had seen it, the enemy could have seen it too. But it felt wrong. Something told her the powerful burst of magic had not been created by either side. It felt old.

Denais’ voice shouted something unintelligible. He sounded annoyed, and the shouting was coming closer. Dominic cast about frantically for a hiding place. The water was nearly to his knees, and numbingly cold. The cellar was too open, there was nothing…no. The stairs themselves—behind them, there was a space. Moving as quickly as he could without sloshing, Dominic wedged himself and his burden in the cramped space even as he heard feet descend.

“No, do not reveal yourselves! We have no idea who—salaude de chien!” The steps on the stairs halted, then continued. “So that was it! He escaped and destroyed the tunnel behind him. Piente jeune!”

Tunnel? A tunnel…under the river? That would explain the smell, then. Dominic could just peek around the edge of the stairs. Denais ran through the water to the cabinet, and when he found it was shattered and empty, he flung the cabinet door shut with a bang and strode back up the stairs, his face furious.

After waiting as long as he could stand it, Dominic carefully went up the stairs again. He could barely feel his feet from the cold. It was unlikely that anyone would come down again, which was good news, but he would be trapped if he remained here, and the water might continue to rise. He had to find another way out of the house.

Each step was an effort. Henri still had not stirred or made a sound, and Dominic worried even more. What if he had struck too hard? His burns throbbed, and his back ached with the strain of carrying Henri for so long. He had to find a hiding place for Henri as well.

He followed the damp trail left by Denais and his men to the ground floor, pleased that his own wet footprints would not be so noticeable by comparison. From the back of the house came sounds of argument.

No one was visible in the foyer, so he decided to risk attempting the front door. His hopes were dashed by the wash of strong magic framing the entrance just inside. It looked slightly familiar, and definitely dangerous. No, the front door was out. He would have to try the back, where the voices were.

Denais was yelling again. His calm, detached attitude was considerably frayed. “No, you fool! If we strike first we reveal our strength, and they could still call for assistance. Lure them in and destroy them utterly. From that beginning we can recover.”

Dominic glanced at the door to the cellar stairs, and then at the hallway where the voices came from. He would not be able to reach the door in time, not with the burden he had. He looked at the apparently collapsing staircase to the upper floor and took a deep breath. He had to risk it. There might still be someone up there, but Denais and others were definitely down here.

The uneven stairs made him lose his balance more than once, painfully landing on his knees. Had Denais heard him? Fear gave him strength, and he staggered up in one last burst before collapsing behind a plush settee in a corner.

He took deep, ragged breaths, trying to muffle the sound in the crook of his arm. Henri lay where he had fallen, a thin trickle of blood coming from one nostril. At least he was still alive enough to bleed. Dominic wrenched off his coat and covered him with it.

Now he had to escape. The upper parlor was empty, as he had hoped. There must be a servant’s stair somewhere that he could use to reach the ground floor undetected. It would probably be near a rear exit, too. He hesitated, thinking of Henri, but realized he was too tired to carry the man any further. If he was going to escape and rescue them both, it would have to be on his own.

Watching carefully, he passed the conservatory and Henri’s petrified wife. Dominic stopped short, staring. Sparks of magic flashed outside the conservatory glass, arcing from the iron framework that held it in place. Amazement held him motionless, until he realized what was happening. Denais was under attack.

“Ardhuin,” he breathed. His efforts had been successful, and she had found the emerald stickpin. But did she know about Denais? He had to warn her somehow.

The floor under his feet shook as if the whole mansion had been struck. His skin tingled with the wash of powerful magic, and in the distance he could hear shouting voices. How many people had come with her? Dominic hurried to the conservatory windows, but the glass was so scummy and streaked with dirt he could not make out much in the way of detail. Dark figures moving rapidly, one or two still and prone.

Dominic scrambled for a heavy stoneware pot with a sad-looking miniature palm tree in it, intending to throw it against the glass and call for help, until he heard two familiar voices coming from the direction of the main stairs—Denais, cursing, and Ardhuin.

Peering around the archway of the landing, he couldn’t see her, only a sudden bolt of magic so strong he had to look away. Denais was in the foyer in a defensive position, his hair disarranged and one hand reaching for an inner pocket of his jacket. Denais suddenly turned and ran up the stairs, and Dominic dropped down and backed behind the end of a sideboard. He could see what Denais held now—one of the vials of elixir, and it glowed with magic.

He must have used the other vial already, the one that only Dominic knew had no power. This one did, though, and Denais was apparently thinking of using it now. Dominic crept forward and wondered how he could steal the vial.

Someone else was running up the stairs. First he saw the hat of shadows, the veiling tossed over the top, and then the angry and determined face of Ardhuin. In the distance, he could hear Markus Asgaya pleading with her to stay back or wait for him. Dominic couldn’t help smiling, even under the circumstances.

Ardhuin was alive but in danger. Dominic saw the explosive magical force building around Denais and shouted a warning. Her head snapped up, stormy eyes wide. Power was building around her, too, but he couldn’t tell what kind, and then the stairs disappeared in a thunderclap, and Ardhuin with them.

Dominic stared at the cloud of dust, his blood turned to ice. She wasn’t…she couldn’t be. Denais turned calmly away and walked towards the archway. The vial was in one hand now, and a syringe in the other. He looked about as if to see where the warning shout had come from, but he did not seem that concerned about it. Ardhuin had been his greatest worry, and she had been dealt with. Dominic wanted to scream.

The cloud of dust was thinning. There was magic in the dust. A bright core moved upward. With a desperate strength he didn’t know he had, Dominic put his shoulder to the sideboard and shoved it into Denais as he went through the archway.

The vial fell from his hand. Dominic dove for it and rolled away, expecting any minute to feel a bolt of magic. He scrambled to his feet. Denais stared at Dominic as he stood on the landing, then past him with a stunned expression.

Ardhuin levitated where the missing staircase should have been. Her dark coat was ragged and torn, and her bright red hair streamed about her like the rays of the sun. She looked like a vengeful fire goddess.

“You!” Denais said. “You are the mage!”

“I am,” Ardhuin replied, biting each word off. She dropped lightly down on the landing.

The two mages wasted no more words on each other. Denais was pale and furious, perhaps just now realizing the danger he was in. Ardhuin looked tired but equally angry.

Power built around Denais, and Dominic recognized the magic from Ardhuin's training back in the palace workroom. “Gesalt’s Lance!” he shouted, and Ardhuin parried the attack with a small defensive shield.

Denais narrowed his eyes, glancing at Dominic. Ardhuin stepped between them so her shielding covered him as well.

For every attack Denais came up with, Dominic either named it or gave the closest one he knew. Ardhuin grew even more tired, but she was doing better than Denais. She only had to deflect, and with Dominic’s help she wasted none of her power.

He could see when Denais knew he was defeated. The look in his eyes, followed by a desperate shadow spell when he ran. Dominic pointed, and Ardhuin cast her spell.

It was one Dominic had never seen before. It looked thick, like syrup. Ardhuin sagged, and he hastened to support her. The spell clearly was draining her last reserves.

Denais had not given up entirely. Ardhuin’s spell surrounded him, but he continued to fight, creating his own similar spell, which insulated him and prevented her magic from touching him. He was sweating, and his expression was one of terror.

Ardhuin’s spell slowly crept closer. A thud on the floor beside him made Dominic start and glance aside to see a fireman’s ladder with hooks grabbing the edge of the landing, and then a dark scramble of Preusan magicians. The first one was Markus, followed by others in Kriegszauberkollegium uniforms. Markus alertly put up a shield, but did nothing else.

Dominic caught the glow of magic from the corner of his eye, but not in time to stop it. One of the other magicians loosed a powerful bolt, intending to help, but when it struck the combined magic around Denais, all the magic exploded in a blinding flash that made Dominic cry out.

He could not see. Frightening, groaning noises came from the walls, and the floor shook beneath his feet. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling.

“He’s getting away! Frieder, get your men to circle back,” called Markus. “We’d better get out. He must have triggered a destructive spell.”

“There’s a man behind the settee, tied up—and the statue in the conservatory is a transformed woman,” Dominic said quickly. His vision was slowly returning. “We have to get them!”

The roof fell into the foyer with a thunderous roar of wood and brick. Debris pelted them.

“Well, we can’t go that way,” Markus panted. “What now?”

“Get to the conservatory!” Ardhuin said, coughing in the dust. Large chunks of plaster were falling, and the floor was tilting.

Dominic ran to where Henri lay and half-carried, half-dragged him to the conservatory. He had a hard time keeping on his feet as the floor bucked and sagged. He dumped Henri at the foot of the statue. Ardhuin put her back against it and held him, and he clutched her tightly. He had just enough time to see the bubble of shielding begin to take form around them as the house finally collapsed.