Alabasel Frond was a fearsome woman at the best of times. Right now, she was like something out of Brock’s nightmares. Her leathers were torn, stained dark with blood and a substance that reeked of vinegar and bile. Though he could see no injuries, there was new blood smeared across the old wounds on her face, and more blood drying black in her gray hair. Her eyes were dark pinpricks of fury, and she tapped the throwing stars along her belt as if daring their razor-sharp tips to pierce her.

Brock’s every instinct rebelled at the thought of delivering bad news to her in this moment. Seeing his hesitation, Jett stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, Guildmistress,” he said. “Justyn is dead.”

The news was met not with more anger, but with a moment of such profound sadness that it quenched her fury in the space of a single breath. She stopped her pacing, closed her eyes tight, and winced as though he’d struck her.

But when she opened her eyes an instant later, the fury was back.

“Tell me,” she growled.

It was only the second time Brock had set foot in the guildmistress’s private quarters. He and Jett had been sent upstairs to debrief her while the rest of their party brought Justyn’s body—which they’d all carried back together, atop a canvas sheet—to a basement room they called the morgue. The adventurers who’d greeted them on their return had looked on somberly, saluting their fallen comrade. Clobbler had been well-liked and a little feared; most adventurers had expected he would outlive them all.

They’d been the last group to return, and Brock had breathed a huge sigh of relief at that. He’d been on edge the entire walk back to Freestone, straining his ears for any sign that another party had run into trouble. If any had, and they’d tried to signal for help, none would be coming.

Whatever trouble Frond had found, Zed appeared unscathed. He leaned against a far wall, frowning. Micah was there, too, and Fel and Lotte, all of them standing well clear of Frond while Jett told her about their encounter with the brain-jaw.

“Any sign of magical traps in the area?” Frond asked. “Did you get a sense the Danger had been put there in your path?”

“Is this a ‘Why did the brain-jaw cross the road’ sort of thing?” Brock asked. “What do you mean put there? Weren’t we looking for a brain-jaw?”

“Traps?” echoed Jett. “What happened out there, Guildmistress?”

Frond actually gritted her teeth and snarled.

“Kids, why don’t you give us the room?” Lotte suggested.

“Wait,” Frond said. “Zed. As a sorcerer, you can…smell magic, is that right?”

Zed perked up. He nodded cheerfully.

“So if there were any mages among us. Any adventurers hiding magical abilities. You’d know?”

Lotte sighed wearily. “Frond, you’re grasping at straws.”

“I’m considering all the possibilities.” Her voice was low. “I won’t condemn one of our own unless I’m absolutely sure.”

“Wait, what?” Jett said. “Condemn who? What’s going on?”

“Well, basically,” Zed began, “Hexam created a demiplane that circumvents the wards and allows him to perform gruesome experiments on Dangers in secret.” Frond gave Zed a murderous look. “Allegedly,” he added, but he didn’t shrink from her. “There’s no one else, Guildmistress. If anyone in this guildhall were accessing mana, I’d have noticed.”

Jett rubbed his face. “I didn’t understand half of that, and even the part I understood doesn’t make sense.”

Brock thumbed the useless summoning crystal in his pocket. Hexam, a traitor? Was it possible?

“I’m with Frond on this one,” Micah said. “We need to slow down here. There could be another explanation for all this.”

“Oh yeah?” said Zed. “Like what?”

“Like all sorts of things!” Micah said. “Maybe there’s a coven of criminal elves who never went back to their city. Maybe Fel’s creepy cat is an evil spell-caster playing us all for fools. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe one of us is possessed! That Jayna girl knows magic, doesn’t she?”

“Mousebane is not creepy,” Fel said, bristling with annoyance.

“That Jayna girl?!” Jett said hotly.

Micah put up his hands. “I’m just saying…there could be stuff happening here that we don’t understand. Details we’re missing …”

“You’re right,” Brock said.

Micah looked taken aback. “I am?” he said. “I mean…I know I am, but you agree with me?”

“Rarely,” Brock said. “But there are some additional angles here we need to consider.” He took a deep breath. Since his very first day as an apprentice, he’d been keeping secrets from his guildmates. Chief among them was the Lady Gray’s insistence that there was a smuggler operating within the Sea of Stars. He’d kept that knowledge to himself because he was never sure whom to trust.

But whoever the smuggler was, they’d been at it longer than any of the apprentices had been around. And Lotte had nearly gutted Brock when she’d caught him doing some smuggling of his own during their journey to Llethanyl. As for Frond…the guild was her whole life.

That meant everyone in this room could be trusted with what he knew.

“The penanggalan. The thing that grew inside Mother Brenner. It had to come from somewhere. It had to come from outside the wall.” He leveled a look at Frond. “How would it get past the wards? We’re the only people who go out there!”

Frond met his gaze. “We’ve always taken care not to bring anything dangerous back with us. And we have some theories about what went wrong in that case. The spore could have been brought in accidentally by the previous delegation from Llethanyl—lain dormant within the Luminous Mother for more than a decade.”

“That was Hexam’s theory,” Lotte said softly.

Brock shook his head. “Other people have theories, too. The…well, some people in the Merchants Guild, they say sometimes things show up for sale. Things that could only come from beyond the wall. Weapons. Poisons …”

Frond started tapping her throwing stars again. “It’s not possible,” she said. “I would have known.”

“Certainly it’d have to be someone clever,” Brock said.

“Not so clever,” Lotte said, a bitter edge to her voice. “If they accidentally killed the Luminous Mother—and almost brought down the wards.”

“I’m not sure it was an accident,” Brock said. “I thought so for a long time. A hapless smuggler, smuggling the wrong thing. But after what happened to that magus? Infected with a monster? Doesn’t that sound a little too familiar?”

“Then it’s definitely not Hexam,” Frond said. “I could see him making a mistake—letting his passions carry him away without fully considering the consequences. But the man is no murderer.”

“He had bad blood with the magus, though, didn’t he?” Zed asked. “Wasn’t Phylo the one who got Hexam expelled from the Silverglows?”

Frond narrowed her eyes. “Fie. And how do you know that?”

Zed shrugged meekly. “He would talk about it sometimes in lessons.”

Micah made a sound like he wanted to object, but in the end he shook his head. He glared so intently into a far corner of the room that Brock turned to look, but nothing was there.

“I don’t believe Hexam’s capable of this,” Fel said.

Jett grinned. “Yeah, but you always see the best in people, Fel.”

“No, forgive me,” she said. “I mean I do not think he is a capable enough spell-caster.”

“Oh,” Jett said. “Ouch.”

Fel continued, “Elderon’s Shade—the demiplane through which we entered Llethanyl—is very old magic, only vaguely understood by our finest scholars.”

Zed scoffed. “Even elven humility sounds like bragging.”

Fel flinched a little, and Brock gave Zed a dirty look. He wasn’t the only one.

“What?” Zed said to the room. “I can say that. I’m elf-blooded.”

Brock thought it was strange that Zed didn’t blush in that moment. He always blushed when he was the center of attention. When had he stopped blushing?

“Anyway,” Brock said. “There’s also this.” He took the broken crystal from his pocket, holding it up for everyone to see. “We tried to call for help against the brain-jaw. This thing—it’s a dud. And it’s the reason someone died out there today.”

Frond went still, fury seeping back into her eyes. Lotte dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, no,” she breathed.

“He gave us these, right?” Brock said. He tossed the crystal onto Frond’s desk. “And where was he today? Where is he right now?”

“He’s at Silverglow Tower,” Frond answered. “He’s cataloging their vault. Looking …” She cursed under her breath. “He’s looking for anything dangerous.”

The apprentices were kicked out of the room while Frond and Lotte discussed what to do next.

“I can’t believe it,” Jett said as they descended the staircase. “Hexam’s trying to get us all killed?” His eyes widened with realization. “This is going to break Jayna’s heart. She practically worships the guy—when she’s not ready to strangle him.”

“I should find Mousebane,” Fel said. “She picks up on interpersonal conflict. It makes her very anxious!”

The way she wrung her hands, Brock suspected Fel was actually speaking about herself.

In fact, Jayna and Mousebane were both in the common room at the foot of the stairs, along with Liza and Nirav. Mousebane showed no signs of anxiety as she sniffed curiously at a bowl of two-day-old porridge.

“Where have you all been?” Liza asked. “Everyone’s downstairs. Clobbler—”

“We know,” Jett said. “Boy, do we know. Listen, Jayna, you might want to sit down. …”

They all sat around a table, and as Fel launched into the story of how she and Micah had saved Frond from a Danger, Brock made an excuse about needing to change his clothes and slunk away.

Zed’s room was unlocked. Brock crept inside and shut the door softly behind him. The space barely looked lived in. Zed had no mementos on display. No dirty dishes cluttered the surfaces. The bed was neatly made.

Brock looked under the pillow, then slid his hand beneath the cot. Nothing.

He examined the dresser, pulling the drawers out one at a time. Zed’s guild token, the one he’d dropped in the mud the day he’d been drafted, sat atop a carefully folded pile of laundry. Otherwise, it was nothing but clothes. Zed didn’t own many; the bottom drawer was entirely empty.

In the end, what Brock was looking for was sitting out in plain view atop Zed’s desk. His friend hadn’t even thought it worth hiding his forbidden tome on fiendish magic.

Zed was a sorcerer, not a wizard—and as Brock understood the distinction, that meant Zed could sense and even access the forbidden mana of Fie. He’d done it during their initiation, unleashing the fiendish magic stored within a staff, and he’d flushed with panic when he finally confessed about it to his friends. Brock had told him it didn’t matter—that magic was magic.

But people were put to death for using fiendish magic. And the man who had encouraged Zed—who had insisted the taboo was misguided, that people would look the other way for an adventurer—he had clearly been working in secret to destroy them all along.

And Brock knew he’d given Zed a dangerous book.

There were two books, though, on Zed’s desk, and Brock wasn’t sure which had come from Hexam. Maybe they both had. He picked up the first, Bonds of Blood and Fire—that didn’t sound harmless. But when he turned to a random page, he couldn’t make heads or tails of what he read.

The second book had no title that he could see, which was somehow more worrying. It was white and silver, with a sheet of folded vellum inside, used like a bookmark. Brock put the paper in his pocket and examined the page where it had been left. It was all about breathing and focus and self-control. It didn’t sound especially fiendish. …

There was a shuffle of footsteps from outside, and a shadow broke the line of light beneath the door. The doorknob began to turn. Brock hurriedly placed the book back on the desk and swiveled toward the door as it swung inward.

Zed stood in the open doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Surprise!” Brock said weakly.

“Let me guess: You lost a bet with Micah, and now you have to do all of our laundry for a week.” Zed grinned. “Although, having encountered Micah’s dirty laundry before, I hope for your sake that I’m wrong.”

Brock nodded playfully. “On the subject of Micah’s dirty socks, I think magical fire is the only solution.”

“Ha!” Zed barked. “Don’t tempt me.”

Brock smiled, but it was a tentative smile. He hated to spoil the moment, but this was too good a chance to pass up.

“Listen,” he said. “These books of yours. Are they from Hexam?”

“One of them,” Zed answered. He sat on his cot and pulled off a boot.

“I think maybe you should give it back,” Brock said. “Let someone take a look and make sure it’s not…bad.”

Zed sat still, considering. “Let’s make a game out of it,” he said at last. “If you can pick out which book is from Hexam, you can have it.”

Brock crossed his arms. “And what if I get it wrong?”

Zed smiled menacingly. “A small thing,” he said, rising to his feet. “A trifle.” He closed the space between them in a single step. “You must only give me…a piece of your soul!”

With that, Zed tickled him, worming his fingers beneath Brock’s crossed arms. Brock laughed, squirming away. The small room offered no escape. “Stop it!” he cried when his laughter had left him short of breath.

Zed relented, smirking at him. With one boot off, he stood lopsided. His hair was a mess.

Brock’s heart ached with happiness. These last few months, moments like these—silly moments with his best friend—had been hard to come by.

“Take the books,” Zed said with a shrug. He walked back to his cot and plopped himself back down.

“Really?” Brock asked.

“Yeah, I don’t need them. But for the record”—Zed pointed at the first book, the one with the sinister title—“that one is from Hexam. The other is from Selby.”

Brock couldn’t keep the shock from registering on his face. “Are you kidding me? Selby the lich lord of Llethanyl, that Selby?”

Zed pulled off his second boot. “I think technically it was from the queen.”

“And she was such a gem.” Brock huffed. “We’ve really got to find you a mentor who isn’t a murderous megalomaniac.”

Zed gave him an appraising look. “Why do you hate magic so much, Brock?”

“I don’t,” he said.

“You do, though,” Zed said. “You always have.”

Brock crossed his arms again. “Where is this coming from? I always encouraged you—”

“Is that it? Is it because it’s the one thing I had that you didn’t?”

“That’s not fair,” Brock said.

“I’m not trying to be mean, Brock,” Zed said lightly. “But I think I get it now. You’re right—you don’t hate magic.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re scared of it.”

At that moment, Micah burst into the room. “There you are!” he said, red in the face and panting. “I…was just wondering where everyone had gotten to.”

Brock felt redness in his own face, as well. He was hurt and embarrassed—and angry.

“Micah, give it a rest,” he snapped. “Nobody likes a clingy friend.”

Zed snickered at that.

He snickered in a way that said: Look who’s talking.

“Actually, you know what? You two make each other miserable all you want.” Brock stomped toward the doorway, pushing past Micah. “I’m going to find a solution to our problems that, for once, doesn’t involve setting them on fire.”

“So you won’t be burning my books, then?” Zed teased.

“No promises,” Brock said, and he slammed the door behind him.

Sounds of revelry floated upstairs from the basement, but the common room on the ground floor was still mostly empty. Liza, Jett, Fel, and Jayna sat huddled around a table, whispering furiously about Hexam, while Nirav leaned against the wall, somber and silent. Jayna’s eyes were red.

“Everything okay?” Liza asked Brock.

“No,” Brock said, sliding onto the bench. “What’s going on in the basement?”

“A Sea of Stars wake looks a lot like a Sea of Stars party,” Jett said, grinning. “Which looks a lot like a riot.”

“At least they’re consistent,” Brock said, trying for humor but only sounding bitter.

“They say they’re celebrating his life, not dwelling on his death,” Liza explained.

“I’m afraid to ask what they did for me,” said Nirav.

Brock chuckled darkly. Then the front door swung open. A cold wind blew in from outside, and Hexam stepped into the room.

“Ah, hello!” he said cheerfully. The apprentices shot to their feet as he removed his outer cloak. “Just the young adventurers I’d hoped to find.”

Brock still had his daggers on his belt. He put his hands on them, trying to strike a casual pose, and he watched Liza for a signal. None of the others had weapons, though he saw Jayna flexing her fingers.

Hexam was oblivious. He hung his cloak on the rack by the door. “No evidence of anything untoward happening in the tower, so far, but I’ve already found some most remarkable artifacts. Their enchanting has come a long way in the last few years …”

“Fel,” Liza said under her breath. “Get Frond.”

Fel slipped away without a word, unseen by Hexam, who was rummaging through his cloak pocket. “Ah, here,” he said at last, producing a wand. Even Brock could tell it was a special one, a gleaming length of obsidian set with a series of bright pink gems. “I brought you something, Jayna.”

Tears leaked from Jayna’s eyes, but she held firm. “How could you?” she asked, her voice thick.

Confusion crossed Hexam’s face. He seemed to really look at the apprentices for the first time. “What’s happened?” he asked, suddenly worried. “Where’s Frond?”

“Frond is fine,” Liza said, her voice hard. “Why do you ask?”

The furrow in Hexam’s brow deepened. He paused, wand still in his hand, outstretched in offering.

“Put the wand down, Hexam,” Frond said coldly as she emerged from her staircase. “Put it down and let’s talk.”

“Alabasel,” he said. “Something’s happened?”

“Something did,” she said. “The wand, Hexam.”

Flustered, Hexam looked from the wand to the guildmistress. Brock could see the moment the mage realized there was blood smeared across her face. Hexam’s gaze swept from her to the apprentices, where it was met with naked hostility. His eyes landed on Brock’s daggers, halfway drawn.

Hexam tightened his grip on the wand.

“Let’s talk first,” said Hexam. “Then I’ll put this down.”

There was a chilling moment of silence, during which Hexam and Frond locked eyes. Brock hardly dared to breathe.

But Frond relented. “All right,” she said, signaling for the apprentices to back down. “All right, let’s talk this out.”

The tension left Brock’s shoulders. He breathed again.

“That smell—” said a quiet voice. Brock turned to see Zed had entered the room. His nose was wrinkled up as if he’d caught a whiff of something foul. Then his eyes went wide.

“Frond!” Zed cried. “Hexam’s casting a spell!”

Frond reacted so quickly it was all but over by the time Brock whipped his head around. His mind raced to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. The wand clattered to the ground; it was bloody; bladed silver stars were embedded in Hexam’s palms.

Someone was shouting. Someone was crying. Hexam did neither; he gazed at his hands in shock and horror in the instant before Frond slammed her sword’s pommel against the side of his head.

The mage crumpled heavily to the ground. In the stillness that followed, Brock heard laughter filtering up from below. The celebration in the basement was in full swing.