The wolfhound loomed over Max, no less terrifying for being so familiar.

“What are you about? Answer quick or I’ll gobble you up!”

Max did not have a chance to answer, for an urgent knocking interrupted the dream. As Max awoke, the monster withdrew into his subconscious where it would lurk until the next time he shut his eyes. He no longer dreaded these visits. Since Ymir, they came so often he’d grown accustomed to them. Few nights passed when he didn’t dream of the wolfhound.

And few nights passed when he wasn’t awoken by urgent knocks. But that was the price of having Rowan’s Director as your roommate. David’s reaction to these frequent intrusions on his sleep had become routine. From across the Observatory, Max heard the inevitable groan as David slipped on his robe and shuffled reluctantly to the door.

The instant the door was opened, someone burst in and began chastising David in a strong Scottish brogue. “I’ve been knocking for three minutes, Director. Three! The longest Gabrielle Richter—God rest her soul—ever required to answer a door was forty-two seconds. And that was when she had the flu.”

“Good morning, Tweedy,” David yawned. “Happy Midsummer.”

“Don’t you ‘Happy Midsummer’ me. This island’s bursting with visitors for the treaty signing and you’re content to act like it’s any old …” Tweedy trailed off into a stupefied silence. Max hardly needed to open his eyes to know the Highlands hare was now gazing about their room.

“Y-you haven’t packed?” Tweedy sputtered.

David sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been a little busy—”

“Ha!” roared the hare. “I don’t want to hear it! Room Three-Eighteen needs to be reconfigured. We need it for the new class, not to mention that the recently-confirmed-and-no-longer-temporary Director of Rowan cannot live in the dormitories.”

“That’s a lot of hyphens,” observed David.

“This is not the time for one of your smart replies,” Tweedy snapped. “Do you know what smart replies got sassy kits in the Burrfoot clan? A red bottom! There are countless things to do, Director, and I hadn’t planned for your gross negligence when it came to packing your personal effects.”

“Well,” said David, “I suppose I knew you’d do a better job.”

“Hmph,” said Tweedy. “And where’s McDaniels? Sleeping, I have no doubt. Has he packed?”

“No!” Max called out from beneath his pillow.

A second later, his bed curtain was ripped aside and his pillow was yanked away as Tweedy harangued him on the importance of respect for one’s elders, rising early, and keeping a tidy room. Rolling out of bed, a bleary Max agreed that Tweedy was right, and he should indeed be ashamed, and that rising late was a sure sign of moral decay.

“It’s already half past eight, McDaniels. I’ve been up since three making certain everything will run just so. And what have—Dear God! What happened? Are you all right, my boy?”

The hare was staring at the injury whose dressings Max had begun to change. Over four months had passed since Imbolc and Max’s wound had worsened from a raw red gash to an area of blackened, necrotic flesh that covered most of his midsection. Anyone with a lesser constitution would have died months ago. Hours spent in Ember’s coils could cause the infection to retreat but these interventions were becoming less effective. Disheartening as this was, there was a bright side: dead tissue didn’t hurt nearly as much as living tissue.

“I’m fine, Tweedy,” said Max, rubbing the area with an ointment that was medically useless but marvelous at masking the smell of rotting flesh. “Hand me one of those, will you?”

The hare brought over a fresh bandage from the stack upon a chair. “This is a perfect example of what I’m talking about, McDaniels. Any lad gritty enough to put up with such an injury can manage to rise at a decent hour and make himself presentable.”

“I am making myself presentable,” said Max, finishing the bandage and reaching for a shirt. “Can you hand me those pants?”

Tweedy eyed the pair in question on the floor. “Those are trousers,” he sniffed. “Canvas trousers of a type favored by transients, gadabouts, and pirates.”

“They’re pants,” said Max, slipping them on. “Very comfortable pants.”

“Comfort has no place in the wardrobe of a young gentleman.”

This was stated with the authority and conviction of a commandment. With a sigh, Max buckled the gae bolga about his waist. It was a shame they could not simply enjoy a moment’s peace after years of struggle, but Max could not ignore reality. They may have defeated Astaroth and conquered Prusias, but the Atropos remained a threat. Mina did not go anywhere without Ember or considerable security.

“Tweedy, we’re going to get some breakfast,” said Max. “Have you eaten?”

The hare was picking up stray clothes. “I had a modest meal at five before taking a brisk constitutional. Others might learn from my example …”

“And others will,” said Max, pulling on his shoes.

“Yes, yes,” said Tweedy. “You two go on. I’m going to whip this calamity into shape.”

Bidding the hare farewell, Max and David slipped out of the Observatory and into the hallway where four members of the Bloodstone Circle stood at attention. Max hated the idea of bodyguards and absolutely refused to let them follow him unless he was with David, in which case he had no choice—Rowan’s Director was required to have security. As he closed the door, David paused to polish its brass number.

“Room Three-Eighteen,” he said quietly. “I’m going to miss it.”

“Life goes on,” said Max. “I wonder what it’ll be next.”

David grunted. “A yurt.”

From within, they heard Chester’s high-pitched chittering followed by a scream that might have reached the Burrfoot clan. Max and David hurried away with the four Agents in tow.

Their friends were waiting in the Manse’s foyer—Sarah, Lucia, Connor Lynch, and a fully recovered Cynthia. The girls did not have to be in their scarlet Seventh Year robes until later and wore casual clothes. Baron Lynch, however, was here in a diplomatic capacity and dressed accordingly. He’d arrived two days ago with a sizable Raszna contingent that included scholars, soldiers, and students. Thus far, Connor had only assumed his human form. Max suspected this had nothing to do with diplomacy and everything to do with making a favorable impression on Lucia’s protective father.

“There they are,” Connor exclaimed, hoisting Kettlemouth as though the comatose bullfrog might actually greet them. “We almost thought you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry,” said David, smoothing his navy robes and adjusting the recovered Founder’s Ring. His office had rigid standards of attire, a fact he bitterly resented. “Are they still serving breakfast?”

“You’re the bleeding Director, David,” said Connor. “You can get breakfast whenever you want. We just have to slip into the kitchens quietly.”

“What do you mean?” said Max as they headed down a flight of steps. Once he heard the voice holding court in the dining hall, no explanation was required.

No one was eating in the dining hall. Instead, Max saw twenty young Raszna wearing Rowan First Year robes and standing at attention. The vyes were arranged in a line, shortest to tallest, their eyes fixed on the same pillar. Among them, Max spied Lupo, the talkative page who had been his guide at Arcanum. Miss Awolowo and a Raszna professor stood off to the side looking rather uneasy as a hag addressed the young vyes. While the clasped hands and measured pacing suggested the hag was a person of some consequence, she chose to remove any doubt.

“You will never meet anyone more important at Rowan,” she declared, pivoting suddenly to see if a young Raszna was eyeballing her. He was not. “I control not only your food supply but also your access to reasonably priced soaps and personal care items. If you offend me, ignore me, or laugh at the ogre’s jokes, you will face my wrath. Is that understood?”

“Mum!” cried Miss Awolowo. “Get on with it!”

The hag made a hideous face that Miss Awolowo failed to catch, as she was now apologizing to her Raszna counterpart. Mum turned back to her audience.

“Pay no attention to that interruption,” said the hag breezily. “Now, if you’ll pull back your sleeves, we’re going to play a little game where I give each of your arms a teensy sniff.”

“Why do you do that?” asked a Raszna girl.

“So I know not to eat you, dear.”

“I heard you once tried to eat the Director,” said Lupo.

“THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO!”

The hag’s outburst and subsequent tirade presented a perfect opportunity for Max and the others to slip inconspicuously into the kitchen. There, they found Bob hunched upon a stool and spooning dough onto baking sheets. “Is Mum frightening the guests?” he muttered, glancing at David’s bodyguards.

“She’s doing her best,” said Sarah, standing on tiptoe to kiss the ogre’s cheek.

Setting down his spoon, the ogre appraised them with grandfatherly affection. “My little ones are all grown up,” he sighed.

“And hungry,” said Sarah. “Did you save us anything?”

The ogre nodded toward a chafing dish beside a stack of plates and silverware. A cloud of steam rose as Sarah raised the cover.

“Ooh!” said Connor, reaching past her to grab a sausage. “I almost forgot about these. My chef tried to make them but they just don’t taste the same.”

The ogre shrugged. “Bob has gift.”

“You’re a baron!” Lucia hissed at Connor. “Use a knife and fork like a human being.”

“But I’m not a human being,” said Connor, taking Cynthia’s fork. “Not entirely anyway.”

Lucia groaned. “Don’t remind me. If my father knew you were Raszna, he’d never let me sail with you.”

“Where does Lucia go?” inquired Bob.

The Italian beauty lifted her head proudly. “Arcanum. I was chosen to lead a Mystics course as part of the academic exchange.”

“Lead?” said Connor, his mouth full of ham. “I thought you were a teaching assistant. Like one of five.” He froze when he noticed Lucia’s expression. “What? Did I get that wrong?”

“Anyway,” said Cynthia quickly. “We’re very proud of Lucia. Lots of students volunteered and only a few got picked. It’s an honor.”

“It is,” said Bob decisively. “I know you stay put, Cynthia, but what about Miss Amankwe? Is she leaving us, too?”

“No,” said Sarah, heaping a plate with fresh fruit. “You’re stuck with me for at least another year. But once I graduate, I plan on joining the Vanguard.”

“Not Red Branch?” asked Bob. “I thought Red Branch was best.”

Sarah laughed. “Not even Cooper made the Red Branch right out of school. But give me a few years, and who knows?”

“Well,” said Connor, “I know someone who’s going to be mighty disappointed to hear you’re not coming back with us.” While in Blys, Sarah had struck up a romance with a young captain in Baron Lynch’s trading fleet.

“Markus can write me,” said Sarah primly. “And now that trade’s resumed, I think his boss could send him to Rowan now and again, don’t you?”

“That could be arranged,” said Connor, inspecting some sweet rolls.

The ogre turned to Max. “And what of you, malyenki? What will you do now that the … troubles … have passed?”

“I don’t know,” said Max, happy to pretend that they had. “The first thing I have to figure out is where to live. David and I are being evicted.”

Connor stared. “From the Observatory? But that’s your room!”

“It’s a Manse dormitory room,” David corrected. “We need it for students. With the Raszna and a new class starting in the fall, space is tight.”

Baron Lynch did not approve. “You should make the Observatory a museum,” he said. “Someday, people are going to want to see where Max McDaniels and David Menlo lived. It’s got historical significance.”

“Listen to you,” said Cynthia. “So cultured!”

Connor wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “I know about these things. My people in Enlyll have been saving every little thing from the médim. Heck, someone tracked down the carriage that Max and Scath …” He trailed off, looking anxious.

Few people spoke Scathach’s name in front of Max. Avoiding it had almost become an art among those closest to him. Another taboo topic was Max himself. Connor, Sarah, and Lucia never mentioned the time Max unveiled his true nature while addressing the Raszna in Amber Hall. They treated Max as they always had. And for that, he was very grateful.

“Well,” said Max, trying to put Connor at ease, “I hope the carriage fetched a decent price. It was expensive.”

“It fetched a bloody fortune,” said Connor.

“So, where will malyenki live?” Bob persisted.

“There’s a caravan I might use,” Max replied. “At least until I figure something else out.”

“Mmm,” said the ogre, eyeing him shrewdly. But he said no more.

When Old Tom began chiming, David quickly downed his coffee.

“Where are you off to?” asked Cynthia.

“Meeting with Archon,” he replied. “We’re touring possible sites for the ‘Bram Institute of Advanced Magical Research.’ What do you think of the name?”

Cynthia wrinkled her nose. “It sounds very technical.”

“Good,” said David. “That’s exactly what it’s going to be. Do you want to come? We’re thinking about putting it near Southgate.”

“Can’t,” said Cynthia. “I promised Lucia I’d help her pack.”

“Well, I’m off, too,” said Sarah, setting her plate in the sink. “I’m demonstrating Euclidean soccer to the Raszna students. You should come, Max. It’s been ages since we’ve had a game.”

Max smiled, but demurred. He’d tried kicking a soccer ball a month ago and nearly torn his wound wide open. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m meeting the Coopers in the Sanctuary.”

“Don’t be late for the treaty signing,” said David. “You’re center stage.”

“Ah,” said Max, snagging a last sausage. “But unlike you, I don’t have to say a word. I can just stand there looking serious. Thanks for breakfast, Bob.”

Max headed through the inner kitchen before slipping out a service door. With all the visitors and activity at Rowan these days, he rarely used main entrances or pathways. He was the Hound of Rowan, Bragha Rùn, the Raszna’s moschiach, the shining hero who’d conquered Prusias and slain Astaroth. Not even Mina’s renown approached his.

And this was not a good thing. Max could barely walk through Old College without being mobbed. While he refused to have a security detail, he appreciated David posting Agents to restrict access to their hallway. This was not merely a precaution against the Atropos but to prevent people from pestering him at all hours. Max could not even eat at the Hanged Man without people seeking autographs or interviews.

To protect his privacy as best he could, Max varied his routine and attire and sometimes employed illusion. He was getting so good at changing his appearance he’d even fooled Cooper once or twice. At the moment, however, his disguise consisted solely of an old cotton jacket whose length hid the gae bolga and whose hood hid Max’s hair and the torque around his neck. Still, with his eyes downcast and his hands thrust in his pockets, he might have been any tall, introverted teenager. Rowan had plenty of those.

The path he took through the orchard was nearly empty. While this was certainly welcome, Max had come this way to visit a certain class tree. It took him a few minutes to find the apple he sought, a particularly large one that had turned to gold the instant Gabrielle Richter died aboard the flagship. David deserved every bit of credit and acclaim he’d received for leading Rowan to victory. But in people’s eagerness to praise him, they often overlooked his predecessor. Max did not.

Touching the sacred apples was forbidden, but Max paused to pay his respects before continuing on. For some reason, he felt closer to Ms. Richter here than by the memorial they’d erected for her by Northgate. There were so many graves there. There had been many white tombstones and memorials following the Battle of Rowan, but the number was growing quickly as ships returned from Blys with the remains of the fallen. Even those without remains to bury were given their own marker, their name and unit chiseled in the stone. The graves were all past Northgate, many thousands of them on either side of the Hound’s Trench, that dead black chasm Max had made with the gae bolga. Max hated to look at it. He rarely ventured past Northgate.

The Sanctuary was where he spent most of his time these days. Not because it was warmer than anyplace else—David had ended the red winter as soon as they obtained the Book—but because he felt most comfortable there. Ever since Rowan had become an island, it felt small to Max. Strange as it seemed, the Sanctuary was much more spacious than the entire island that housed it. There was room to roam, and the wild things that lived in the foothills and mountains did not particularly care who he was, so long as he left them alone.

The Sanctuary gate was open and Max received more than several curious stares as he passed people in the leafy green tunnel. Many were Rowan students or faculty, but there were outsiders, too—Raszna scholars, witch envoys, representatives from distant human settlements, even a proud-looking brayma who had fought against Prusias in the war. Thousands had sailed to Rowan to partake in today’s history-making events, and almost all wished to see its famous Sanctuary for themselves.

Skirting the busy township, Max made for the lagoon by the Warming Lodge. The Coopers and Bristows had already arrived and had set up blankets and baskets for a picnic. Nigel, ever immaculate in a pressed blue shirt and tan slacks, saw Max coming and picked up his daughter Emma in the hope she might wave hello. But the toddler wriggled out his arms to resume playing with Lucy, a robust pink piglet that was rolling in the nearby grass.

While the Bristows had always been the picture of domestic bliss, the Coopers were a different story. Marriage might have changed William Cooper, but fatherhood triggered complete metamorphosis. The man lay on his back upon the blanket, holding up a tiny bundle in his wiry arms. He was cooing to it, his scarred face twisting into grins of idiot delight whenever the baby so much as gurgled. This was an unprecedented sight, as was the image of him barefoot, bareheaded, and wearing summer clothes. A green linen shirt? If not for the Red Branch tattoo and the sheathed kris lying casually on the blanket, Max would not have believed it was Cooper.

“William,” said Hazel, perusing the morning Tattler. “I think we should put her under the parasol. She’s getting too much sun. Frankly, so are you. Do not—do not put her by Grendel!”

Max only now noticed the Cheshirewulf lying in the grass by the blanket. With each slow breath, the beast’s powerful, gray-striped body faded entirely from view.

“C’mon, love,” said Cooper, now cycling the baby’s legs. “Grendel’s gentle as a lamb with her.”

“Just watch he doesn’t roll,” said Hazel, adjusting her sun hat. “Max!” she exclaimed, catching sight of him as he walked up. “So nice you could make it. Have a muffin. I made them myself. Who would have guessed I have a talent for baking?”

Max peered at the blackened lumps lovingly arranged in a tin. “They look great, but I just ate with Bob in the kitchens.”

“Was Mum there?” asked Nigel, pouring Max a juice.

“She was.”

“And was she behaving?” Nigel inquired hopefully.

“Of course not,” said Max. “She was terrorizing the Raszna students.”

“You need to have a talk with her, dear,” said Emily Bristow, brushing grass from Emma’s dress. There was little mistaking mother and daughter; both had strawberry-blond hair, fair skin, and light freckles. “She won’t take you seriously otherwise.”

“I know,” said Nigel, frowning. “But Gabrielle’s the only one Mum ever really listened to. She barely behaves with Ndidi.”

Cooper plucked up the baby and rose to join them. “Maybe this Gabrielle should set that hag straight.” He kissed the infant’s tummy as she blinked and gazed about like a sleepy puppy. Cooper handed her to Max. “Here you go. You share a birthday, after all.”

This was true. Gabrielle Cooper had been born on March 15, the very day Max turned nineteen. Max was not terribly familiar with babies. He’d spent a little time with Emma Bristow and there had been Gianna, Isabella’s daughter at the Blys farmhouse. But he still regarded them as mysterious beings. Hefting Gabrielle like a loaf, he peered at her, smiled with kindly intent, and watched her round little face curdle with disapproval. This person was not familiar to her, was not even practiced in the art of holding babies. She must be returned to her father—immediately. Her crying ceased the instant she was handed back.

Cooper was visibly pleased by her loyalty. “She just needs to get used to you. A bit of babysitting and you’ll be old friends.”

“Ha!” boomed a familiar baritone. “Max McDaniels a babysitter? Don’t be absurd, man.”

Max turned, gazing about until he spied a small yellow towel on which Toby was lounging in his native form. He had mistaken Toby for a pair of shoes, for there was a second smee right next to him. The other specimen was somewhat larger and paler, but rapidly turning an angry red in the bright sun.

“Toby,” said Max. “I didn’t see you. When did you get back? Who’s your friend?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, sir,” said the other smee. “It demeans us both.”

“I’m sorry,” said Max, coming over. “Do I—”

“Reginald was Prusias’s body double,” Toby explained. “We go way back. Had a few adventures in Monte Carlo back in ’74.”

“Seventy-three,” corrected Reginald.

“Right you are,” said Toby agreeably. “Well, it’s been ages since I’ve bumped into this scoundrel. Didn’t even recognize ol’ Reggie when you popped him out of his disguise. No offense, chum, but you’ve put on a few.”

The other smee raised his apparent head to peer at his midsection.

“Anyhoo,” continued Toby. “When I finally recognized him, I told William they couldn’t clap ol’ Reggie in irons—he was just an actor hired to play a part. Once they let him go, we’ve been catching up and seeing a bit of the world. Had to get back for tonight, though. Peace always brings out the ladies. Ladies in high spirits. Ladies with a new zest for life …”

“Dear Lord,” sighed Hazel. “Toby, you are disgusting.”

“Ha!” laughed the smee, flipping over. “You’re just sorry you’re out of the game, my dear. When I’ve got a tan, it’s not even fair.”

“How am I looking, Toby?” inquired the other smee.

“Crispy, Reggie. Crispy.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s fantastic.”

Max left the smees to their chortling, rather optimistic predictions for the evening and sat on a blanket to talk with the others. After thirty minutes of perfectly pleasant chitchat and several unsuccessful baby holdings, Cooper nudged him.

“Could I get a private word?”

“No shop talk, William,” said Hazel, changing Gabrielle. “Not until noon. You promised.”

“It’ll just take a minute,” said Cooper, leading Max a little ways around the lagoon where the selkies Frigga and Helga were turning lazing circles in the water.

“What’s up?” said Max.

“I know you keep turning down security, but I don’t think you should be walking around alone,” said Cooper. “Not in the Manse. Not in Old College—certainly not through the Sanctuary tunnel. If I’d known you were going to do that, I’d have come to get you.”

“You’re worried I can’t look after myself?” said Max.

“Let’s have a look at that stomach, and I’ll tell ya.”

“I’m fine.”

Cooper folded his arms. “There’s over five hundred ships anchored off Rowan. This whole island’s crawling with visitors—braymas, witches, Workshop, you name it. Treaty or not, there’s plenty that’d like to see you dead.”

Max said nothing.

“Alex Muñoz didn’t have poison on him when he was put in the Hollows,” continued Cooper. He waved pleasantly to Hazel, who looked like she might come to Max’s rescue. “Someone slipped it to him so he could take his life before he was questioned. You think that was a coincidence?”

“No,” said Max. “But if the Atropos are here, you think a few bodyguards are going to make a difference? I’d just get them killed. Anyway, I’m sharper when someone isn’t watching my back.”

Cooper frowned. “Without security, you’re practically inviting an attack.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” said Max with a polite firmness suggesting he was done discussing the matter. “Any thing else?”

“Yeah, actually. The Red Branch needs a new member. Since Scathach can’t designate her replacement, it’s my duty to name one. There’s plenty of candidates, but I wanted your opinion first. Anyone leap out at you? Can’t guarantee I’ll pick them, but they’ll get first look.”

Max considered a moment before answering. “Lady Nico.”

“But she’s Raszna,” said Cooper pointedly.

Max only shrugged. “So what? She’s well qualified, and the Raszna are our closest allies. It’d send a strong message if we asked one of them to join. And I think Scathach would approve. She had a lot of respect for Lady Nico.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Cooper, swatting a mosquito. “No promises, but it’s an interesting idea.”

“There you are!” cried a shrill voice behind them.

The two turned to see Hannah, a plump white goose, waddling swiftly across the grass followed by a dozen downy goslings. They gathered around, pecking everything in sight while their mother caught her breath.

“I heard you were here,” said Hannah, fixing Max with her beady black eyes. “Listen, it’s a busy day, so I’ll cut right to the chase. I want your endorsement.”

Max glanced at Cooper, who looked as confused as he was. “Endorse what?”

“My candidacy,” she said pointedly. “I’m running for Great Matriarch.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” she said, buffeting Honk, who was now pecking his siblings. “We all loved YaYa, but she’s not here anymore and we need a new Great Matriarch. I’m throwing my hat in the ring.”

“I … didn’t know it was an elected office,” said Max hesitantly. “I thought it was more of an honorary title.”

With a sniff, Hannah examined her wingtips. “Things change, Max. I miss YaYa, but I’m a practical goose and this place needs another Great Matriarch. Who’s going to preside over matchings? Who’s going to spank lazy stewards who blow off their duties? The satyrs are this close to starting trouble with the fauns. How do I know? Because I know everything that goes on around this place, that’s why.”

“Do you have any other qualifications?” Cooper deadpanned.

She thrust out her chest. “I’m a single parent raising twelve goslings that never grow up. That’s as matriarchal as it gets!” Turning back to Max, the goose’s voice became pure honey. “So, what do you say, dear? Can I tell people I’ve got your vote?”

Max offered a firm yes.

The moment he did, Hannah turned toward the selkies and cupped a wing to her beak. “Did ya hear that, girls?” she hollered. “He endorsed me! So get off the fence, already!”

Frigga and Helga submerged.

Max left the Sanctuary soon after, returning to the Manse with Cooper, who insisted on accompanying him all the way to the Observatory. Bidding the Agent farewell, Max went inside to find that Tweedy’s stubbornness had overcome his shock at encountering Chester. The pinlegs had been stuffed back in his glass case, antennae undulating, while Max’s and David’s possessions had been organized and placed by moving crates. The hare had even gone so far as to lay out what Max was to wear for the treaty signing.

Removing his shirt, Max sat on the edge of his bed and carefully peeled off his bandage. It was damp with sweat and blood, while the blackened area had grown since this morning. When he prodded it, the impression from his finger remained, as if everything beneath was rotten. Exhaling, he reached for the balm and began cleaning and bandaging it anew. The process was unpleasant and tedious, but he would not have to do it for much longer. Once he’d finished, Max eased back against his pillow to watch the Observatory’s twinkling constellations. It was far more soothing than the balm.

The Red Winter Treaty was to be signed at sunset in the gardens of Túr an Ghrian. Max started getting ready well in advance, aware that Tweedy would combust if he looked anything less than perfect. It was, as he had been informed many times, a historic occasion. Everything would be saved and documented for posterity. David had even promised to shower.

When Max emerged from Room 318, he was dressed in a corselet of silver mail, the simple black tunic of the Red Branch, a white cloak, and black boots and breeches. Tweedy had pressed and polished everything that could be pressed or polished. Max carried the gae bolga as a spear, not a sword, for this was how his enemies had seen him on the battlefield. Given that some would be in attendance, David had thought a reminder would be useful.

Agents from the Bloodstone Circle were waiting outside to accompany him. As they walked through the Manse, Max reflected on how hard David had worked to bring so many disparate parties together. The signing itself would largely be a formality, a ritual to sanctify terms and provisions already agreed upon. Most of the negotiating had taken place in the weeks and months leading up to this evening. With two notable exceptions, Max did not expect any drama.

By the time Max and his escort arrived, many people had already congregated in the fragrant gardens surrounding Túr an Ghrian. This gathering was not nearly so large as the celebrations that would take place later to commemorate the treaty’s signing. Only a few hundred people would attend this meeting—the signatories themselves, key dignitaries, and the various entourages. Most were glancing uneasily at the dragon.

Ember was twined about the tower’s base with smoke trickling from his nostrils. They had not seen Ember for several weeks following his encounter with N’aagha. When he reappeared at Rowan, he was shockingly knocked about, with one eye gone and great gouges in his sides. But Ember’s powers of recovery were remarkable. Looking at him now, one would be hard-pressed to find the merest scratch. Even the dragon’s eye had regenerated. N’aagha’s fate and whereabouts remained a mystery.

A large round table was center stage, its chairs reserved for those who would sign for their respective factions. Seated around it were the main players: David Menlo; the Archon Fenwulf from the Raszna; Queen Lilith of the allied braymas; Dame Mako of the witch clans; and Dr. Kim, who had led the Workshop revolt. Others were seated, too—envoys from regions that had remained neutral, a rakshasa speaking for lesser braymas in the former Americas. In all, twelve figures sat around the table with the purpose of dividing up the world and agreeing to some basic principles to keep the peace.

Max took his place, standing behind David’s right shoulder while Mina stood behind his left. The symbolism was clear: Rowan’s political leadership flanked by embodiments of its armed might and magical heritage. The other signatories had their own people beside them. Lady Nico and the towering war chief Vechna stood by Fenwulf. A pair of elegant kitsune stood behind Queen Lilith. Situated on either side of Dame Mako were a very young acolyte and the ancient Umadahm. One of Dr. Kim’s attendants was a pleasant surprise—Max had not seen Jason Barrett for almost five years.

Of course, many other Rowan people were in attendance—Miss Awolowo, Nigel Bristow, most of the Red Branch and Bloodstone Circle, all the Promethean Scholars, and a slew of senior faculty. While the Agents were positioned here and there to provide security, the others sat in chairs waiting patiently for the proceedings to begin.

The Director’s opening remarks were courteous, brief, and delivered with a composure that almost brought a smile to Max’s face. David’s audience could have no inkling how nervous he had been in the weeks leading up to this moment. Max had heard many versions of this address and even more fits of cursing as David strived to hit the right notes.

Having done so, he moved briskly into the key provisions and agreements. The largest and most controversial involved Queen Lilith and those braymas who had joined Rowan in the war against Prusias. In exchange for her support, Rowan and the other factions granted the Queen additional lands. As a result, she would control much more territory than her realm of Zenuvia, but considerably less than that which comprised the Four Kingdoms. In addition, David handed over the hated Seal of Solomon as a pledge of good faith between Rowan and Lilith’s people. For her part, Lilith pledged that demons would remain within these lands and not make war upon their neighbors unless their boundaries were violated.

Of course, there were many other provisions to this agreement—endless clauses detailing rights and responsibilities, the settling of disputes, and so on—but Max knew it was the main point that ruffled so many feathers at Rowan. The “Puritans” (as David called them) were offended by the very idea of an accord with “evil spirits,” while the “Jingoists” (another David label) questioned whether these allies had made significant contributions. In their minds, Rowan had won the war all by itself and Lilith’s rewards were far too great for her minor role.

David laughed off most of these criticisms, privately sharing with Max that Lilith had convinced dozens of braymas to abandon Prusias or remain neutral in exchange for her promise to share her expanded territory. David believed strongly that a mutually beneficial agreement with daemona was the only way to achieve a lasting peace. As Lilith was highly rational and not nearly so bloodthirsty as her counterparts, David viewed her as a valuable partner.

The treaty’s next sections were far less controversial. Rowan’s Director and the Raszna’s Archon formalized their ongoing alliance and partnership. The witches and Rowan officially made peace and promised future cooperation. In exchange for various pledges made to the Faeregine (whose person and word were regarded as sacred), the independent braymas were granted lands in places where they could thrive but were unlikely to come into conflict with human beings. These lands were typically located at extreme elevations and latitudes.

David addressed the Workshop last since their situation was unique. Their cooperation with Prusias had played a key role in the devastation he wrought around the world. They supplied him with hideous engines of war, and many of their researches and technologies violated laws of nature. While many at the Workshop claimed they’d been forced to comply with Prusias’s demands, David believed the Workshop’s activities had posed a significant threat well before the war.

“Astaroth and I disagreed about many things,” said David, addressing Dr. Kim, “but not everything. I believe certain technologies create problems that far exceed their benefits and that things designed with good intentions can be used to horrific effect. For the Workshop to exist going forward, it must agree to the conditions I’ve stipulated. They are not negotiable.”

Copies of David’s stipulations were provided to all the signatories. With the exception of Dr. Kim, everyone nodded their approval. The engineer looked like he might be sick.

“B-but this is almost everything we do,” he stammered before reading a portion of the list aloud. “Artificial intelligence, cloning, genetic engineering, synthetic compounds, automated weaponry, nanotechnologies …” He looked in appeal to David. “Director, I realize the previous leadership acted irresponsibly, but—”

“You agree to these stipulations or we will destroy everything in the Workshop.”

“What about our people?” asked a stunned Dr. Kim. “You’re threatening genocide.”

David shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. Your people would be relocated and given new memories. They’ll have a chance to start over.”

“Why must this be negotiated?” asked Lilith. “You have the Book. Do what you wish.”

David looked around the table. “The Book of Thoth is no longer accessible,” he said simply. “Once I dispelled Astaroth’s winter, I used the Book’s power to put it beyond reach … forever. It will continue to function, but it can never again be found.”

This astonished almost everyone present, including some of the Rowan attendees. Max and Mina already knew, of course; David had done it before they left Ymir.

“I don’t understand,” said a man representing the human settlement of Piter’s Folly. “You could have fixed things. You could have made the world like it was before Astaroth!”

“No,” said David firmly. “I could not. That’s the great danger of the Book. No one can foresee the consequences of using it—not even Astaroth. The world is changed. Our task now is to move forward. The only question at present is whether the Workshop will be moving with us.”

Dr. Kim fidgeted with his pen. “I’m not sure I can sign this on my own authority.”

“That’s precisely what we’re here to do,” said David. “If you’re not empowered to speak for the Workshop, there’s little point in having you at this table.”

“I am empowered,” said Dr. Kim defensively. “I just … well, this isn’t fair.”

Rowan’s Director fixed him with a withering stare. “I’m not remotely interested in what you think is fair. My interest is laying a foundation for peace, not indulging your hobbies.”

“But advancements—” pleaded Dr. Kim.

“Are not advancements if they can destroy the planet,” said David sharply. “I can’t put it more plainly than that. If the Workshop refuses to content itself with a smaller playground, it won’t have a playground at all.”

“Hear, hear!” said Dame Mako.

Rubbing his temples, the scientist stared miserably at the agreement.

“We have other business to attend to,” said David impatiently.

Max thought Dr. Kim might whimper as he signed the papers with a golden pen that would be stored in a museum with the treaties and everything else associated with this day. Once Dr. Kim had signed, David thanked him and authorized Dr. Barrett to oversee compliance before moving to the final item on the agenda. As they reached it, Max heard an undertone of anxious whispers. Even the signatories looked nervous.

David turned to William Cooper. “Bring him here, please.”

Cooper and five other members of the Red Branch entered Túr an Ghrian. They returned several minutes later with a shackled but delighted Prusias.

“My, my,” he chuckled to the imp on his shoulder. “It looks like we’ve crashed a party, Mr. Bonn. Look at that big round table with all these fine folk about it. Nice touch, Director. Very Arthurian.”

David ignored the demon’s cheek. “Just over there,” he said, directing the Agents to position the demon by some flowers. Prusias leaned over to sniff them.

“Never liked hydrangeas,” he remarked. “They’re the bourgeoisie of flowers.”

“Let’s get this over with,” David sighed. “Prusias, the only reason you are here, the only reason you can see this beautiful sunset and smell that grasping, middle-class hydrangea is because we made a deal several months ago. Do you remember?”

“I most certainly do,” said the demon, grinning.

“In exchange for some useful information, we agreed to grant you your freedom—with certain conditions. Please share what those were.”

“With pleasure,” said Prusias. “In exchange for that information, I’m to be granted my freedom and lands of my own.”

David held up a finger. “Provided?”

The demon looked bored. “Provided I don’t leave them, make war, or interfere with anyone who has Rowan’s leave to cross my lands. Did you hear that, Lilith? Even you can slink across if the Faeregine says so.”

The Queen of Zenuvia looked coolly at her former rival.

“Very good,” said David, handing Cooper a ribbon-tied scroll and several documents for the demon’s inspection. “Here are your lands. Thousands of square miles, which is more than you deserve.”

Prusias ripped off the ribbon, his eyes devouring the deed’s particulars. “Where are they?” asked greedily.

“A map is in the documents,” said David.

Rifling through the pages, the demon found the coordinates, gazed at the map, and glared at the Director. “These are at the bottom of the bloody ocean!”

“I never said your lands wouldn’t be covered by water,” said David. “You can rule those deeps, Prusias. You can even bring your braymas, provided they take the same pledge you have—any ship bearing Rowan’s seal is free to pass without harm or interference.”

Prusias looked like he might explode. “I reject this!” he snarled. “I reject this, you smug little twit! I do not accept!”

“Those are the terms,” said David calmly. “Mina offered them to you, and you agreed to them. Are you reneging on a pledge you made to the Faeregine? I can’t speak to those consequences, but I can assure you that refusing this deal means you will spend eternity in a cell that I will design personally. You will never escape, and no one will ever find you.”

Max had never met a finer poker player than David Menlo. He suspected Prusias hadn’t either, for the demon was now studying David’s impassive face. And it was clear he was beginning to realize how badly he’d underestimated Rowan’s new Director in the Hollows. Not only had David fooled him into thinking he’d been the winner in their negotiations, but he also did not look like the sort who issued idle threats. He might even enjoy making good on them.

Prusias blinked. “No,” he muttered. “No, I’m not refusing the deal. You think I’m finished? I’m going to build something down there—something far grander than Blys. There will come a day when my kingdom is the greatest on Earth!”

“We look forward to it,” said David. “When you sign that document, this war ends, and a ship will take you to your new lands.”

Prusias practically snatched the golden pen from Cooper’s hand. He signed with a dramatic flourish, his signature covering half the page. “There! Now, I demand these ridiculous shackles be removed and our ship made ready. I’m not staying here one second longer than necessary.”

As Cooper unlocked the demon’s shackles, Mr. Bonn gave a small cough. “Director, may I speak?”

David silenced Prusias’s protest. “Of course you may speak, Mr. Bonn.”

“Well,” said the imp, “my master promised to grant me koukerros once the war was over. If I understand correctly, that is now the case. I would like him to make good on his promise—here before the Faeregine.”

“This is preposterous,” Prusias growled. “You’re my imp!”

“Did you make this promise?” asked Mina, at David’s left shoulder.

The demon’s whole being seemed to writhe with discomfort as he looked at this young girl in her white robes and open, expectant face. It was clear he could not bring himself to lie to her. “I did,” he confessed. “But it was said in passing. A little joke to placate—”

Mina’s voice had an icy authority. “You will grant him koukerros right now.”

Prusias almost wilted. He glanced at Mr. Bonn with an expression of mingled anger and anguish. “So you’re abandoning me, eh? Right when I need you.”

Mr. Bonn’s smile was almost compassionate. “It’s time for a new chapter, master. One for you, and one for me. We’ve had many good years.”

Prusias gave a grudging nod, his savage features oddly introspective. “Aye, Mr. Bonn. That we have. Very well, then.”

The demon took hold of Mr. Bonn’s little hand and closed his eyes. A ball of green fire erupted around their clasped hands, growing brighter and brighter. As Prusias shuddered, Mr. Bonn gave a gasp of pain. The imp’s body burned away like tissue paper, leaving behind a lithe little spirit of shimmering air. Springing from Prusias’s shoulder, it gave an exultant cry and soared off into the twilight. Max watched it longest.

Later that evening, Max left the Observatory. He’d ditched the ceremonial garb from earlier, opting instead for his worn and comfortable travel clothes. Stopping at the threshold, he gazed back at the room’s beloved dome, constellations, and sleigh beds before locking the door behind him. The movers were coming early the next morning. Tweedy would make certain the important things ended up where they needed to go.

Old College was crowded with merrymakers celebrating the treaty signing. So was the Sanctuary. Max had never seen the township more packed—its square and avenues, shops and restaurants were teeming with revelers. Stopping briefly to buy a bag of toffees (Max could never resist toffee), he bumped into Aurvangr and Ginnarr, the dvergar smiths who had made the gae bolga’s spear shaft. Max greeted them pleasantly.

“It’s the Boy!” said Aurvangr, elbowing his brother. They always called him “the Boy” as though he were the only one in existence.

“You’re the one who’s always grousing about it,” sniffed Ginnarr. “You ask him.”

“Ask me what?” said Max, holding out the bag of candy.

A grateful Ginnarr took a toffee, but Aurvangr twiddled his fingers anxiously. “I hate to bring this up,” he said. “But when we lent you Ormenheid, it was for three years. She’s six months overdue. We didn’t want to say anything with the war and all the troubles, but now that the treaty’s signed, we want her back. She’s very special.”

Max popped a toffee in his mouth. “Yes, she is. What other ship can sail itself against weather, wind, and tide? She could probably fly if you asked her to.”

“Very special,” Ginnarr repeated proudly. “You understand we’re not trying to be greedy. Ormenheid is an heirloom of our people.”

“I know,” said Max. “I’m truly sorry to have kept her so long. Would it be okay if I gave her back in a few days?”

“The Boy wants to have a little fun,” chuckled a relieved Aurvangr to his brother. “I understand. Who wouldn’t like to take a pretty girl sailing in this weather? You keep her another week, okay? Then we get her back.”

“Deal,” said Max, shaking hands.

Nox was waiting by the Warming Lodge, chewing casually on an iron ingot. She rose at Max’s approach, padding toward him and fluttering her tail in greeting. Crouching, Max stroked her quills and gazed about at the Sanctuary’s foothills and forests, its ring of mountains, and the distant dunes.

“C’mon,” he said, scratching Nox’s ears. “It’s getting late.”

The two walked through the Sanctuary tunnel into Old College. With Nox at his side, it was silly to pretend he wasn’t Max McDaniels, so he didn’t bother with his hood. In any case, it was a warm night and he wanted to feel the breeze.

To his surprise and delight, Max ran into David as he and Nox passed by the Manse’s fountain. The visibly bored Director was listening to an urgent plea by a Raszna student who wanted to switch roommates. Catching sight of Max, David held up a finger for him and Nox to wait.

“I have nothing to do with roommate assignments,” said David, not unkindly. “You’ll have to take that up with Tweedy.”

Evidently this was unacceptable. Before stalking off, the indignant vye declared that Tweedy was “horrible,” that Rowan “smelled funny,” and that he wished to return to Arcanum. With a sigh, David came over to Max and ventured a cautious pat of Nox’s head.

“Any interest in being Director?” he asked.

“Nope,” said Max. “I’m glad I ran into you, though. Nice job at the signing. You were kind of a badass.”

“I try. What’s with the bag?”

Max thumped his pack. “Thought I might camp out in the caravan. I don’t need Tweedy’s movers waking me up at six in the morning. Do you get to take a break now?”

The question earned an incredulous look. “A break? I’m going to my fourth dinner. Apparently, if you don’t host a fancy dinner tonight, you don’t really count in the new scheme of things. This one’s with the witches. But let’s talk about your camping out at the caravan. I assume you’ll refuse for the thousandth time when I insist you take some Agents with you?”

Max grinned. “You assume correctly, Director. And you’ll get no sympathy from me for having to attend all these dinners. That’s what you get for creating your little ‘Pax Rowana.’ ”

David blinked. He looked startled, even amazed by the expression. “That’s really clever.”

Max gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve been told I’m the great wit of the world.”

“The very peak of the bell curve,” said David, a curious twinkle in his eye.

Feeling rather pleased, Max said good night and set off across Old College. He hadn’t made it twenty yards before David’s voice called after him.

“Tweedy made that up, didn’t he?”

Cursing David’s intuition, Max shouldered his pack and carried on.

It took Max nearly an hour to walk from the Manse to Scathach’s caravan. It was only two miles, but Nox liked to dart into the woods, clamber up trees, and generally make her presence known to whatever poor creatures were trying to sleep.

Max was content to take his time and let her stretch her legs. Midnight was still a few hours away and it was a beautiful evening with a sky so clear he might have been standing atop the Witchpeaks. As he walked along the cliffs, he listened to the summer breeze, the crashing surf, and the distant ring of Old Tom chiming ten.

The caravan looked very pretty in the moonlight. There were flowers around it now, some of Scathach’s favorites planted among the vines that snaked through its wheels.

After Ymir, Max had recovered her remains from the Workshop and buried them here with some driftwood as a headstone. For a girl who’d lived in two worlds, he thought that was fitting. Besides, Scathach wouldn’t have wanted anything fancy—just a little plot by the sea. And that was what she had.

He looked around for Nox, but she had not returned from her latest detour. Setting down his pack, Max knelt by the grave. After all the noise and activity on campus, he was grateful for a bit of quiet. He knelt in silence for a few moments before touching his fingers to the headstone.

“You and no other.”

As he expected, two shadows slipped silently from the woods. Rising to face them, Max drew the gae bolga and offered the warrior’s salute.

It was not even six when a loud knocking woke David. What surprised him was not the knock, but the fact that he found Bob standing outside the Observatory’s door. David had never seen the ogre look so grim.

“You must come, Director. Something bad has happened.”

“What?” said David, his pulse quickening.

“Bob does not know exactly. Perhaps you will. We go outside.”

David asked no more questions. Pulling a Director’s robe over his head, he slipped on some shoes and scurried after the ogre, who was taking long, rapid strides down the hallway. A pair of guards followed as they hurried out the Manse’s front door and into the golden dawn.

“I go early to docks to buy crab,” Bob explained. “A fisherman showed me. I told him stay quiet and came right to you.”

“What is it?”

“Bob not sure. It might be our Max.”

David broke into a run.

By the time they descended the cliff steps and clambered far up the rocky beach, David could scarcely breathe. But he did not stop until they’d almost reached the spot that Bob indicated, a little cove past a dune crowned with sea grass. Coming to a wheezing halt, David told the guards to remain and went ahead with Bob.

Two bodies were lying ten feet from the water’s edge, arranged side by side and covered with stones. The hasty burial had done little to dissuade the seagulls, which had arrived in great numbers and took reluctant, screaming flight at the ogre’s approach.

David was almost numb when he removed the first few stones from the larger mound. Although it was bruised and bloodied, the face was all too familiar. It was only when he spied burn scars about the jaw that he exhaled. Max had only one facial scar—a thin white line that ran from cheek to chin. This person did not.

It was far easier to identify the other body. The smaller, emaciated clone stared up at the peach-colored sky with glassy eyes and an open mouth full of broken teeth.

“What make those?” asked Bob, pointing at some gruesome claw marks.

David closed the clone’s eyes. “A lymrill. He finally met an animal wilder than him.”

Bob looked around anxiously. “You think Max okay?”

Rising, David noted the piles of loose rocks and boulders that looked like they’d recently tumbled down the cliffs. One of the largest bore a bloody handprint. More blood had soaked into the sand, little droplets scattered about the many footprints whose number and patterns suggested a prolonged and furious struggle. Two sets of footprints stood out from the rest, however. One set had been made by a pair of boots, the other by heavy paws that had walked side by side away from the burial mounds. They ended at the water’s edge.

“I think Max is okay,” said David thoughtfully. “But I don’t think we’ll see him or Nox again. I think they’ve left us for good.”

A sad, deep rumble sounded in the ogre’s chest. “Bob will miss his little Max. But he thought malyenki might be leaving.”

David looked up at him. “How did you know?”

A grunt. “Before Bob was cook, Bob was ogre. Where you think he go?”

David gazed out at the ocean’s swells and then up at the sky where the last stars of evening were fading. “I don’t know, Bob. But yesterday was Midsummer. With a ship like Ormenheid, Max could have sailed just about anywhere. I think that was the idea.”

David returned to the Observatory physically and emotionally exhausted. What he wanted was sleep; what he found was Tweedy and a work crew packing up everything he owned. David glanced longingly at his sleigh bed, the lone piece of furniture that would be moved to his new accommodations.

“Tweedy, can I please get an hour of sleep?”

“Not a chance, Director. Busy day, you know.”

Nodding dazedly, David sat on his bed and gazed up at the Observatory dome. Orion gazed back.

“Oh,” said Tweedy, hopping over. “Some incompetent left something for you on McDaniels’s bed.”

The hare handed over a bundle wrapped in a plain brown bag with David’s name scrawled on it. Reaching within, David pulled out a mail shirt whose links were so fine, so tiny, it could be folded like cloth. Antonio de Lorca had bequeathed the armor to Max years ago when there was a city called Salamanca. Max was returning it to the Red Branch.

The bag also contained a letter. Setting aside the shirt, David opened the letter and read in silence. In true Max fashion, it was not particularly long or well written, but it brought a smile to David’s face.

“Tweedy,” he said, holding up the shirt. “This needs to go to the Red Branch vault.”

“Very good,” said the hare, noting it on a clipboard. “And the letter? Should it be filed?”

“No,” said David. “It’s not an official document. More of a personal invitation.”

“You can toss it in the fire, then. You’re booked solid for the next six months. When’s the event?”

David folded the letter. “If I’m lucky, not for a very long time.”

For once, Tweedy was speechless.