A dark sky sparkled above, a magnificent display of twinkling diamonds filled the aphotic expanse. After the encounter with her captors, she rode east to obscure her trail. Others would come looking. For nigh a week she kept her course, reaching Lone Man Lake. Arriving, she teleported to random destinations leading away from Far Point. After several jumps, she sat in a heap against a cluster of trees, sweat trickling from her brow. She only meant to take a moment to rest, but exhaustion overcame her.

  A blood-red evening welcomed her. Praema slinked in the south. A fog of confusion hovered. Standing, her back and neck protested. Fife had taught her how to ease her pain, to heal her body, and after a few moments, the last of her kinks and pangs faded. With a stretch, her back popped.

  A grumble in her stomach reminded her of the many days of neglect. She sustained her body with magic throughout her journey, eating sparingly. After a quick rifling of her pack, she found herself without.

  “Shades.”

  With her reclaimed money, she could port to any city and eat, but more important tasks gnawed at her. Her conjury eased the pangs. Magic had its limits, and eventually it would fail, at least in regards to sustenance; the more she staved off hunger and sleep, the quicker the need for both would return.

  Something cold and metallic brushed her sifting fingers. Grasping the small object, she withdrew a ring. Recollection shot through her.

  Rusem!

  The ring had been a gift from the spirit, an echo of his former self. Simple in design, the band would teleport her to and from the temple in the City of Despair. Between her confrontation with the dark lord Xilor, her rescue by the archangels, and the heinous captivity, his gift had slipped her mind.

  Is he still in the temple?

  The City of Despair, once a prosperous metropolis, now lay cursed and barren. Only one structure remained within the ruined walls. With cunning and treachery, she tricked Rusem’s spirit into taking physical form. Starriace leeched his essence and drained him of magic. She channeled the essence back into the lifeless, corporeal form, and he was born anew.

  She slipped the ring on her finger. Her vision blurred, swirling for a moment, before the insides of the temple manifested. Rusem stood near the pedestal in the center. He turned as she closed the distance. Other than his sallow skin and lifeless eyes, he appeared unchanged. His movements were spastic as if he had lost the fluid grace of movements. Starriace eyed him warily, uncertain. She reached out for his presence but found nothing. She tried again with the same disconcerting results.

  I need to test him, find his limitations.

  “Kneel,” she commanded.

  I obey, his thoughts came to her. His response seemed simple and lacked the cognitive capacity he once possessed. With the same jerky movements, he knelt.

  “Rise.”

  I obey. His mental voice was almost identical to the one she was used to, only now it rasped in her head.

  Is he having difficulty breathing?

  She scrutinized his chest for the telltale sign of rising and falling. It didn’t.

  Dead, yet alive.

  Bound, he answered.

  “Bound?”

  Bound between…

  Bound between what?

  He remained silent. “Bound to my commands?”

  Bound to obey.

  Starriace allowed herself a small smile. She had compelled Rusem, could she bind others? If so, they’d all answer to her will.

  “Come Rusem, let us be gone.”

  He lumbered forward, and she put her arm through his. Replacing the ring on her finger, she returned to her previous location. Her bag still lay next to the copse of trees, almost impossible to see in the darkness. Belongings gathered, she hooked arms with Rusem and teleported away. Far Point lay to the north, a week by foot or days by horse. With silent purpose, she climbed up the sloping hills, disappearing into the thick trees and shallow crags.

  Soft footfalls marked their presence; tumbling rocks cascading down the rocky terrain puncturing the comfortable, country silence. Sweat broke between Starriace’s shoulder blades and a bead streaked across her temple. The cool night felt hollow, void of sound except for the intermittent chirps of scattered insects or the hoot of an owl. A gentle breeze caressed her face, a welcome companion to combat her perspiration. The treetops swayed in mild temperance, like gentle sighs in the night.

  Her thoughts turned back to her actions, not the slaying of the men, but the behavior afterward. Her entire flight hinged on the notion that Judas would come searching. Surely if he attempted to track her down, he would’ve caught up with her by now. She wrestled with the question until the early hours of the morning.

  A spirited pace whittled the hours away. The hunger pains returned as the magic faded. She could no longer afford to put off eating. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion. Sleep crept up on her as a close second. Dawn threatened the night’s solemn hold in the north. Starriace passed an entrance to a cave and halted. Tendrils of her mysticism rushed forward to probe the vacant hollow. A trail weaved a short, sloped path to a room no more than two dozen feet from the opening. Her creation lumbered in her wake.

  Calling upon her abilities, she rendered Rusem unconscious. The temple restricted him to a diligent but sedentary state. But here, free from confines, he could venture anywhere. She’d leave him while returning to Far Point. An undead creature would raise questions, and the hermit, Harold, wouldn’t understand.

  The cave lay between Far Point and the Ruins of Sheol and provided an appropriate place to keep him nearby. Though nearly a mindless monster, some intelligence lingered within. Just how much influence did she have over him? What were the limitations of her bond?

  Will distance affect it? Is it permanent until I die?

  Starriace waited a day to make sure the slumber would hold. After building a fire, she passed the time meditating, exploring new tears in her tattered robes, and inspecting her scant possessions. Judas had bought her these robes; Lily’s gifted clothing stayed tucked away in her pack, prizing them above the warlock’s. Stained, ripped, and reeking, they outlived their usefulness like her former teacher. These clothes represented the last reminders of the life she’d forsaken and of her failed mentor.

  She’d get a few new sets, ones more optimal for her needs and style. A darker color would blend in well at night, and, if need be, conceal her in the brush during the day.

  Why should I hide?

  You know why, the voice purred.

  They’ll come after me now. They found the bodies, I know they did, and if Judas was summoned, he’ll figure out at least half of the truth.

  Still, half of the truth, as monstrous as it was, was better than unequivocal. She relived the scenes and shuddered. Tears threatened to well up, stinging her eyes. She rubbed the feeling away. The smoldering irritation rose as the memories flashed through her mind.

  I wish I could forget them.

  They were animals. They deserved death.

  Starriace had no misconception: murder was murder; self-defense was something else entirely. But she delivered justice.

  Well, it was revenge, too.

  She focused on the justice aspect. They didn’t need to die, but they came against her with arms, and she defended herself. They deserved retaliation for leaving her for dead. She went to their camp with the intention to hurt them as they hurt her. Murder happened to be a byproduct of her defense.

  Or was it?

  She thought back, trying to remember her capture, but only her destination came to mind: Harold’s. Despite her abhorrent abduction, Harold and the trove of knowledge he possessed remained the priority. No one could help on her quest, which is why she traveled alone, but how did she fall victim to the trio?

  Despair threatened to ensnare her, but she distracted herself by rummaging through her bag. A decorative belt made of black leather and studded with aquamarine gems caught her eye. She pulled the item out, a treasure taken from the lawless men. The belt radiated beauty and uniqueness. No doubt they intended to sell it for a handsome coin. She started to stow it when she noticed a faint aura.

  The tingling filled her head, tickling her memory. The sensation was familiar if not faint. The realization came like an epiphany. Dropping the belt, she fumbled through her tattered bag for the one possession that held any sentimentality. The book Judas bestowed in the swampland came free. While Judas remained a bitter memory, his gift wasn’t.

  The book emanated power and was written in a lost language. Sometimes the pages were blank. Other times, text appeared in an unreadable form. Regardless, the book spoke, opening for her. The tome had called her the Bearer of Secrets.

  She thumbed through the blank pages, looking for writing. The trickle of power she felt was meant to ensnare her attention. It wanted to show her something. Halfway through, she found a page littered with a tiny scrawl. The strange words shifted to Myshku, her language.

  Of all creatures that walk Ermaeyth, only one race holds the vast secrets of charging stones with power. The elyves are the gifted race in this matter, and even the most elementary secrets elude us. More can be read about this in the elyfian book Du’ Garuaex.

  Below it, in fading ink, read: ‘Beware of the elyves.’ Intrigue ensnared her as she tried to recall vague facts about the race. Still, she had never heard to be wary of them.

  Starriace had her own brief encounter with an assorted group of nine elyves while she rested. The motley group was comprised of males and females. Most seemed reserved, but the leader of the group, Iddrial, greeted her and assured no ill intentions. The momentary occurrence ended with the nine fading into the foliage.

  “Why show me?” she asked aloud, but the book didn’t answer.

  Ambiguous certainty crept over her as her eyes fell back on the belt. Snatching up the item, she looked between the two.

  “Did you mean this?” Again, only silence greeted her.

  Where would she find the book Du’ Garuaex? Certainly, Ralloc had it, but she couldn’t go there. Judas would most likely be within the city, and she wasn’t ready for that encounter, for good or ill. Harold had an extensive book collection, and she was already headed there. If an extra copy floated around, the hermit would have it.

  With conviction, she stowed both items, stood, and stretched. The movement made her sway. Drowsiness washed over her. When was the last time she slept? Days? Weeks? She couldn’t remember. She rarely slept anymore. Most of the time, she opted for a meditative trance. It took less time, and she wasn’t as vulnerable. Meditation for an hour freed up the rest of the day for searching, reading, and training. Sleep provided the best rejuvenation, but a little discomfort was an acceptable price for productivity. Only genuine rest restored the full breadth of her abilities.

  Despite the reckless behavior, her essence grew stronger. She often pondered the reasons, but thus far, the answers eluded her.

  “You never sleep, do you?” a voice called, startling her.

  Eyes snapping to the cave entrance, she projected her aura out. Someone stood outside. Her wand materialized in her hand. Fear spurred her into action. The air shimmered, a defensive barrier encompassed her, and she exited the cave. The opening behind her, she called out into the night. “Who are you? Show yourself.” With subtle conjury, she searched for his presence, but pinpointing his location required finesse.

  “I mean you no harm,” the voice floated towards her.

  She perceived movement. A soft crunch reached her ears. The man came forward. When he stepped into the light, she sucked in a breath. A man in black robes with a white, skeletal face materialized.

  No, a mask.

  He loomed close enough for Starriace to see the dark skin of his neck. He stayed well out of striking distance. Did he intend to attack or run?

  “What do you want?”

  “You’ve come to our attention.”

  “Our?” At the mention of others, she searched, but only found the man in the immediate vicinity.

  “I’m alone,” he assured her. “But we are a group of people, somewhat like you, who carry out recompense when needed.”

  While he spoke, Starriace stretched out her awareness, expanding further than ever before. Every life form that fell within her sphere of influence was an animal. The man spoke truth. Satisfied, Starriace turned her attention back to him.

  “Who are you?”

  “Who am I or who are we?” he asked in his deep, throaty voice. “I am the Summoner, one of the Embrace, a sect of the One.”

  She hid her reactions behind an expressionless face. She tried to recall the names Embrace or Summoner. She crossed her arms. “I’m not familiar with you.”

  “This is to be expected. No one finds us; we find them.”

  “Then, how did you find me, Summoner?”

  “We’ve been aware of you since the caravan when you traveled to Far Point. A member of our sect was there, returning from a mission in Ralloc’s domain.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “We kept tabs on you in Far Point, but when you left, our man lost your trail. He abandoned hope until he saw you again—the men’s camp? You never knew he was there. The men rode into Far Point, pissing away their money with drink. When they bragged about what they had done, our man intended to act. But you did instead.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Starriace repeated, forcing the point. She preferred directness.

  “The Embrace extends you an invitation to join our ranks, to dispense rightness where others have failed.”

  “Vigilante work? Mercenaries?” she scoffed. She shifted on her feet.

  “That is such a … harsh assessment. We give justice to those who deserve it. Where the courts, the corrupt judges, and inept law enforcement blunder their duties, we stand for the helpless.”

  “Where were you when I was in need?” Starriace said. The bitterness bubbled up. The familiar itch returned to her eyes.

  “Ah, you are referring to…” he paused, searching for the most delicate word. His eyes rolled up as he searched for the words. His gaze lingered, and a sense of vulnerability washed over her. “… your unfortunate predicament. We can’t stop every ill deed. We moved to destroy them, the men, but you arrived first. Do you feel better now that you have obtained your revenge, or did they receive true justice?”

  Though a question, the accusation stung. Anger simmered within. “They got both.” Behind her back Starriace clinched her fist, her knuckles turning white. “Go away, I am no murderer.”

  “Neither is the Embrace. We are the extension of law. You have done what we do. You know you were right, justified. Who can stand by and let innocent people be harmed?”

  “I said, I’m not interested.”

  “There are innocent people who are just as helpless as you—”

  You were weak and helpless!

  Starriace lashed out. With a deft swipe of her wand, the Summoner slammed to the ground.

  “Innocent people?” Starriace screamed, closing the gap between them. Rage flared within her chest. “You think I’m helpless? Innocent, helpless, lame, it’s all the same to you! I managed without you! I survived. I saved myself!” Even as the words left her, the last sentence lingered as a lie. Ava and Lily had saved her. The Summoner lay motionless, held by her dominating force. “I got my justice and revenge. That is enough, don’t you think? Shall I kill everybody and everything until I am alone? Should I start with you?”

  Standing at his feet, her eyes blazed in the night. The ebony-skinned Summoner stared up at her. “Start with me if you wish to become like them.”

  His words smothered the fire in her eyes. Her face softened, and the welled up energy dissipated. When reason wrestled control away from the emotions, she collected herself. Wand stowed, she smoothed her tattered robes and released the Summoner. Hand outstretched, she helped him to his feet.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed. She turned away, walking to the cave’s mouth. Back turned, she monitored him with magic. He didn’t attack.

  “You have an amazing gift,” he said at last. “Few of us possess such potent abilities. I’m one of the strongest of the Embrace, and no one has ever handled me in that manner,” he confessed, unashamed. “You’d be a great value to us and a credit to others. Help us; help them by joining us.”

  Starriace entered the cave, retrieving her bag. Returning, she fastened her pack. Though her irritation rose at his repetitive badgering, she vowed not to lose control again. If she did, who knew where she’d stop? When she questioned why his words angered her, she was surprised to find that it wasn’t him, the Summoner, but the three men. They proved the helplessness she feared, and though she survived against the dark lord, she was still too weak to stop them. Others would become victims without people like the Summoner, like her.

  “How would this work?” She smirked. “Would I answer to you?”

  “No, not to me, to us. All are equals in the Embrace. The Embrace is governed by three members who are in charge until voted out. Turnover is frequent. They tell us what to do, who to help, and who needs to be compelled.”

  “I’ll think about it, but I don’t promise anything. Other things more important than your cause require my attention.”

  “What could possibly be more important?”

  She sneered, “Wait a moment, it’ll come to me. Oh, yeah, how about the war? Maybe finding a way to defeat Xilor? Is that good enough?”

  “A noble cause,” the swarthy man said. For the first time, she detected an emotion from him: resentment. “Foolish and wasteful but noble. There’s no defeating Xilor; even we of the Embrace know that.”

  She bit back a retort of how she nearly succeeded with less than seven months of training.

  “In one moon turn, we’ll change locations, leaving Far Point. If you wish to join us, come to Crystal Falls, near Ruhkhi, south of the Melodic Mountains. If you come, we’ll find you. If you have not sought us out by the end of next season, the Embrace will consider it a refusal to our offer.”

  “Very well.” Starriace tightened her straps on her pack. “Like I said, I’ll consider it.”

  “Good. Let your journeys be far and fair.”

  He took a step back, and another, and kept backing until he faded into the darkness. Starriace tracked him with her magical awareness. Once he faded, she called upon her essence and teleported away.

  When she emerged, a familiar town greeted her. Far Point: the place where her life began.

  Judas may have awakened her, but life began when she met Lily, Kam, and Harold. The village lay in a shallow valley. A gush of nostalgia ran through her. In a way, Far Point distinguished itself as her home. Setbacks hindered a swift return and altered her fate, but perseverance arranged a long-awaited homecoming. She ground her teeth at the memory of the men.

  No more. I’ll not think of them again! That part of me is vanquished. They don’t deserve my tears, my soul, or my thoughts. I’ll bury them and forget they ever existed.

  As she finished, she restated the original mantra that comforted her in the darkest of times. I’ll never be weak, I’ll never be powerless. I’ll never be that vulnerable again. Then, she added to the chant, I control my destiny.

  The reflections receded, locked behind walls of iron-clad resolve. She kept many things interred there, including the other half of her banished conscience. The warring within took its toll, and she partitioned her mind, barricading it away.

  The contumacious thoughts darkened her mood, but the proximity of Harold’s home teased the excitement peeking through exhaustion. The sagacious hermit, though quiet and withdrawn, was kind. Why did she keep him in high regard compared to Judas and Fife? Perhaps because she had so little time with him yet learned Shadowcasting. Or perhaps because he never angered her. Many factors weaved through the conundrum, and none presented a complete answer.

  He was always nice, but so was Judas.

  She inhaled the crisp air, shaking off deliberation. The changing of the seasons weaved through the breeze. Seven months ago she had awoken in Judas’s manor at the end of spring. She spent the summer months and half of autumn in the Melodic Mountains with Fife Doole. Winter approached.

  The gnomling has skill. My training wasn’t a complete waste of time.

  Grand Maghai Fife Doole’s training, bizarre and sometimes cruel like his sharp words, facilitated her learning. His teachings enhanced her minuscule understanding of magic. The two seasons with him equated to six months of self-discovery. He refused to teach what she craved, denying her knowledge of offensive magic. Her confrontation with Xilor pointed out the weakness. Luck is the only factor that kept her alive.

  A gentle gust stroked her face, dancing through her hair like a lover’s fingers. She closed her eyes at the sensation. It brought memories back of Kam and Lily. Starriace’s heart mourned again for having to say goodbye to her friend, but Lily couldn’t be a part of her plans. Starriace could never live past the shame of seeing the horror on Lily’s face; she could take Judas’s condemnation, no longer caring what he desired or believed. The warlock held no leg of morality after letting the Corridor destroy her mind. A part of her would wither if Lily likened her to a monster.

  Dark reflections fell away as she thought back on the week she spent in Far Point with Kam … and Lily. The memory of his naked, writhing form made her redden and her pulse quicken. Was it wrong that she enjoyed having sex with another woman’s husband? Lily blessed their coupling, even encouraged it. Held breath burned her lungs, the tightness of her chest in response to the licentious memories.

  The humble village filled her eyes, and a sigh of relief escaped her. Notions of calling the place home filled her. Why? Because nothing bad happened to her here? She spent more time with Judas and Fife. True, while with Judas, they had fled faceless pursuers. With Fife, she detested every waking moment. The fondness she fostered for Kam and Lily originated here. It was home, at least for the interim.

  She set off at a brisk pace. Fatigue riddled her joints. Each step made her body ache. The magic no longer helped as before; the pangs returned almost immediately. She had reached her limit.

  The faint glow of light pushed up into the night like a hazy dome hovering above the small village. Loose stones clamored when she stumbled. Each tumbling rock disappeared into the darkness before it lay still and quiet. Obstinance kept her moving forward, her body falling into a steady, mindless rhythm.

  Adrift in a thoughtless and exhaustive murk, the gate materialized much quicker than anticipated. She stood next to a tree, catching her breath. Her head throbbed, and her withering magic sputtered, sluggishly responding to soothe away the anguish. The discomfort passed for a few heartbeats before returning.

  Her aura warned her of another’s presence. A guard reclined in his chair, teetering between the cusps of slumber and cognizance. His consciousness rose and fell like gentle waves of the sea. Starriace waited for a recession before she implanted the suggestion to sleep. The persuasion took effect, and she stumbled towards the gate.

  While the gate remained locked, the guard’s door—an opening cut into the wall with a narrow tunnel leading into the city—was not. Without opening the gate to relieve sentries, changing of the guard became a quieter affair. Her vision swam, blurring like a drunkard’s. A hand on the wall helped steady her befuddled steps. Breath held, she passed the sleeping form. His hand clutched a spear with loose fingers. His head leaning against the wall lolled. Soft snores escaped through his half-opened mouth. Starriace didn’t take the time to scrutinize, but she swore she saw drool seeping from his slack lips.

  The sleeping sentry’s presence faded from her mind as she continued to the Enchanted Allure Guild. She stumbled up the steps, sagging in relief against the door frame. No one in the city could detect the building swathed in a graveyard illusion. The final resting place of ancestors tended to bring curious people or bereaved relatives, but the effect carried a foreboding sense of damned souls entombed within.

  Her hand clutched the cold, brass doorknob. With a slight turn, it opened. As before, only scant candlelight lit the dim interior. An eerie quiet settled over her as if the house watched and waited. Perhaps Harold slept like the rest of the city? The faint and familiar aroma hit her nostrils after three cautious steps inside. Harold was awake. Like her last visit, he sat in his chair with his back to the door and smoked a pipe while reading.

  “Well, come in already,” Harold said. He sounded just as she remembered, warm and inviting. She rounded his chair and saw a book in his lap. “Let me get a good look at you.”

  His wide smile beamed up at her, his gray-blue eyes soft and receptive. A fondness surged in her chest, an emotion she hadn’t experienced since Meristal’s arrival in Cape Gythmel. Harold’s smile faded with a curious glance. The luster of his pale gray-blue eyes waned. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, fearful of the sudden change in bearing. While mild mannered, just the question made him sound demanding and judgmental.

  How can he know? He doesn’t.

  “I can sense the taint of death upon you. You were near someone who died. The only alternative is murder. It’s not a sense that won’t go unnoticed in my presence.”

  Panic stirred in her sluggish mind, but the lack of food, water, and sleep kept her from blurting out explanations or lies. How could he sense death? Had he been around it so much that it became second nature? What did death convey to him? Would it affect eventual dealings with others if they could sense the trail of bodies upon her? Would Lily sense it?

  More like a unique specialty that Harold alone commanded. The Summoner didn’t appear to be affected by this stigma, but he probably killed his fair share of victims. Did that mean that Harold had never killed anyone? She clamped down on the memory of killing those three men, banishing it again. What could she possibly say to tame his inquiry?

  “I fought Xilor after I left your place,” she blurted. Her statement remained true, contingent upon a technicality. She hoped he sensed honesty in her statement. “I almost died. Perhaps it’s that you feel?”

  “You know more than you are telling me, don't you, young one? No, I sense a majestic presence, too. This demise I feel, it’s as much yours as someone else’s.”

  Starriace couldn’t bear the thought of lying to him. She could lie to herself and accept it as truth, but the walls of emotions erupted, and she collapsed in silent tears. In a heap at Harold’s feet, she spilled her story. The terrible weight crushing her eased as she confessed. She no longer carried the burden alone.

  Still, in defiance of her admission, they deserved their fate, maybe not by her hand but death for their atrocities. Her hands would’ve remained clean had someone else executed them, but to forgo watching them suffer would rob her of closure.

  Harold’s hand touched her hair tenderly. She looked up at him with tears streaking her face. He smiled, one that empathized with her pain, encouraged her instead of condemned. His eyes misted over as his huge, warm hands cupped her face.

  “I don’t judge you,” he declared gently. "That’s not my job in this world. I can never imagine the anguish you went through no more than you can imagine what it is to be an old man. Do I agree with what transpired? Yes and no. They did deserve death but not by you. The appointed law should carry the burden of rendering guilt or innocence, not you the victim or the mindless masses. From this ordeal, more than anything, take this from it: what is done can never be undone.

  “Now, the hardest part is yet to come: to forgive yourself. I find heart and faith in your remorse. That means you’re not hopeless … yet.” He paused and drew a heavy breath. “But heed my words: you are lost, child. I knew you’d start down this path, just not so soon. I know where you go and where you have been, and your life is filled with pain and death. I pray you find yourself before the end.”

  “Is that my future?” She sobbed.

  “I don’t have the heart to tell you, child.”

  “Please!” she begged. “Tell me it’s better than this!”

  “You don’t know what you ask. To know one’s fate darkens the remaining days. You’ll spend your time worrying about an outcome that may or may not transpire. If it’s truly your wish …”

  She nodded. Would knowing help ease the anguish she suffered? She had endured more in the short span of weeks than most did in their entire lives. Defiled, invaded, abused, victimized, those men took something from her, something she’d never get back. Not innocence, she was too old and aware, but her virtue had been tainted. Killing them crushed the last remnants.

  Harold sighed. “The Underworld will claim your soul. One of your companions will die. A thing you most cherish will turn against you, and you will lose it forever. A bed of stone awaits you, graced with an angel.” He stopped, and she choked back her tears.

  Perhaps he’s right, it’s better to not know.

  He reached out and lifted her tear-streaked face, her amber eyes locking with his of pale winter. “But, before that comes to pass, you’ll find a family member. I also see the arms of a man you will come to love and three sets of arms that love you beyond comprehension.”

  His eyes grew distant, and he sucked in a breath. “A tenebrous figure haunts your future, unchanged by time. And stones of tremendous and harrowing capability.”

  Starriace wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She breathed a sigh of relief. He knew her future, what she was supposed to do. Rusem came to mind as Harold’s words settled. He mentioned stones, so did Rusem. The tenebrous figure? Xilor’s shadowy silhouette filled her mind. Even as she tried to navigate the forthcoming events, the hermit had nulled it by the laws of Shadowcasting. He changed her subsequent outlook twice, once because he peered into the future and twice because he revealed what he saw. Hope sparked within. Perhaps the bleaker aspects wouldn’t befall her.

  “Tell me what I must do.”

  “No!” Harold said with a sudden harshness. “You’ll never find out what you need from me. I’ll never mark out your steps. That’s for you and fate to decide. Life is a dance, and when you misstep, your partner, fate, must correct your error.” He ran his hand through her honeyed hair and gave a kind smile. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Upstairs on the third floor you’ll find a room and some clothes. Take a bath and rest; more than your soul is weary. When you wake, we can discuss why you’ve come.”

  Starriace left Harold sitting in his chair. He lit his pipe as she walked away. He always sat there, his natural element, like the house developed around him. A funny notion but true. The first time she came here, he left his chair for a few brief moments to fetch her a book. And this time? In the wee hours of morning, he remained unchanged. She couldn’t deny the strange behavior.

  She shrugged off the theory as she climbed the rickety stairs. The faded white railing stained by time ran smooth under her fingers. The stairs were the same kind of wood as the floor, a lyptus lumber with a dark stain finish. In an odd sense, the steps reminded her of Judas’s elaborate mansion. Judas’s stairs matched the pristine conditions of his manse. Here, the stairs mirrored the old, worn house, and the owner within.

  How old is Harold?

  ‘One of your companions will die.’ Did he foreshadow his fate?

  Is Harold the companion to die? Stop it! Prophecy’s greatest gift is to sow doubt.

  If Harold was the companion to die, so be it. She couldn’t change tomorrow … but perhaps Harold had. He may have seen his destiny while glimpsing hers. Perhaps by telling her, he skirted death, changed the outcome with just a few uttered words. Or had he? Starriace had encountered this paradox before, a vague and ever-changing enigma.

  Harold embodied the best qualities of a friend. Kind, nonjudgmental, patient, the opposite of everything she despised in wizardkind, but everything she needed in her life. Well, almost. Anything more than friendship never entered her mind.

  Harold’s words drummed through her mind, ‘I also see the arms of a man you will come to love …’

  Her pulse quickened. She would have someone but not Kam? Harold distinctly said a man. But love could be figurative, too. She just hoped it never happened until after the war. If she defeated Xilor, then she could have a life without fear of reprisals, like the tragedy visited upon Judas and Meristal. She thought about the second part of the hermit’s sentence, about three sets of arms that love her. Lily had always said that she and Kam had loved her. Perhaps they were two of the three Harold mentioned. She pondered who the third would be.

  Surely he didn’t mean Ava?

  A stray feeling of misplaced thoughts flickered through her mind. What was it? Something about Judas … Then, it hit her, burning in her mind. Both Meristal and Judas lost a child. Perhaps their children were taken on the same night, a coordinated attack? What were the chances of that? Judas once told her that Xilor’s followers held both prominent figures to blame. A failed coup for retribution?

  Meristal had come to them in Cape Gythmel. Starriace noted the chemistry between the two. Mayhaps it stemmed from a lifetime of friendship, of hardships endured together. They’d both been through so much. But still, something about the thought nagged at her.

  If they both lost a child … and on the same night … perhaps it was the same child? Judas said he had a daughter, and Meristal, a son. Did they both lie to protect the identity of the child? Was it me? She tried to shake that thought away, too, but it lingered and resonated within her. The more she dwelt on it, the more she couldn’t deny how right it felt. Like when she accepted her name, her true lineage, the magic swelled with a resonance. It did now.

  Starriace entered the first room to the right. A few lamps lit the room in a soft golden hue. On the bed, the mage found a fresh set of robes, a thin, linen inner robe of an off-white color, followed by a cotton outer robe of forest green. A traveler’s robe of black, forest green and off-white was folded next to it. Did Harold spy her arrival by Shadowcasting? She dismissed the notion. Why would he take the chance of altering the future?

  On her first visit, Harold introduced her to Shadowcasting, a way of seeing events to come. Peering into elements that may happen alters the outcome in small, subtle ways. The hermit did admit that the ability could alter dramatically, but such incidents were rare. Sometimes, she thought the skill as useless, but why would he teach her? In the Melodic Mountains, she used the ability to peer into her own future. She only glimpsed her imminent death. Each instance changed, but the outcome endured.

  Under Fife, she studied the art of scrying, but it seemed to be a waste of time and she gave it little attention. It was a lesson taught in between her more important lessons. Fife’s own opinion remained fairly obvious. He did reveal that there were people who could scry, but it was near impossible to find a legitimate seer. Scrying revealed aspects, not the full picture. Whatever you did perceive often led to a wrong conclusion, similar to Shadowcasting, but the latter revealed a much clearer and more precise revelation. But Shadowcasting provided a possibility of the shifting inevitabilities, changing realities with each glance.

  Starriace rubbed her eyes and sighed, bringing herself back to the present. The clothes proved his thoughtfulness. She shed the torn robes and caught her reflection in the mirror, horrified by her unkempt hair and the dirt and grime marring her face. Upon closer inspection, the whites of her eyes were almost clear, only a trace of the scarlet glow lingered.

  Her tub filled, she stepped into the steaming water, and the warmth soothed her body. Glass bottles with droppers lined the shelf next to the tub. She scanned the containers, each body wash labeled with the different herbs within. Most she had never heard of or had forgotten. After scrubbing the filth from her body, she drained the tub and filled it again. Hot water soaked away the soreness, the tension in her neck and shoulders melting away. With careful diligence, she kneaded the fatigue away. Three times during her bath she fought off sleep. She nearly drowned, her face falling forward into the water.

  Exiting, she drained the tub and wrapped a towel around her body and used another for her hair. Dried and hair brushed, she returned to the bedroom and crawled up in bed. The soft linen sheets felt cold to the initial touch against her bare skin, but she liked it cold when she slept. Harold hadn’t laid out any sleeping clothes.

  Guess he doesn’t have any.

  Her eyes scarcely open, she threw back the blankets to the foot of the bed, loathing the oppressive weight and unwanted heat. The soft, feather pillow welcomed her, and she managed to pull the cool sheet up around her before surrendering to the blackness.

  It seemed as if she had just closed her eyes when she opened them again. She took a moment to remember where she was. Harold’s provided a comfort and safety, a respite. Standing, her legs buckled.

  I must have slept for a long time.

  An unattractive yawn escaped her lips as she stretched. With small, fast circles, she rubbed away the itch tickling her celestial nose. Reaching for the new robes, she dressed in haste, completing the outfit with the belt she acquired from the three thieves. The fresh robes boosted her spirits. A pitcher of cold water sat on the dresser next to a shallow basin. Calling on her essence, she raised the temperature of the water the way Fife had taught. When she reached for her magic, it lurched at her call. Within seconds, the water radiated warmth. She toweled her face dry and ran the brush through her hair. Satisfied, she used the privy before hurrying downstairs.

  She found Harold in the kitchen with a plate of food awaiting at the table. Harold rummaged through the cabinets, preparing to make tea.

  “Feel better?” he asked in his kind, deep voice.

  “Much better! Thank you.”

  He grunted and set the cup in front of her. “You should, you slept for a day.” He poured a dark liquid from the kettle. She scrutinized the liquid, frowning as he doled out milk and sugar from his cold cabinet. The black liquid turned a light brown. With two spoonfuls of sugar, he encouraged her to drink.

  “Harold? Isn’t tea supposed to be a lighter color like brown and not black?”

  “It isn’t tea. It’s coffee, a new import from the Forgotten Isles.”

  With the mention of the Isles, Starriace’s mind raced back to a flattering image of Kam and Lily. Color rose in her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide the embarrassment. Mastering herself, she eyed the coffee before taking a cautious sip. To her surprise, it was delicious, and she finished the cup before touching her food.

  “More?” Harold inquired.

  “Please.”

  Harold retrieved the pot as she dug into her plate of steak, eggs, toast, and some form of ground grain with water, the latter sweetened by honey. Harold returned with her cup and added the milk and sugar.

  Harold took a seat opposite of her. “I knew you’d be back, but you’re earlier than expected. What brings you my way?”

  He knew I’d be returning, but not why or when.

  “I found this belt on … the men,” she explained. “There is an aura emanating from it, and I wished to learn more about the skill.”

  “So, you put on a stranger’s belt that is emanating power without testing it to make sure that it wouldn’t kill you?” Harold balked, astonished.

  “Yes,” she admitted with uncertainty. She took a bite of the eggs.

  “And what does this belt or the aura have to do with me?”

  “I intend to research it, duplicate the process, if possible. You have the most extensive collection I know of besides Ralloc, and I hoped to use your library.” She cut into her steak, stuffing the bite in her mouth.

  “You can use my library anytime, though I don’t know if it’s the most extensive. Maybe the most eccentric….” He gave a wolfish grin.

  “Great!” Starriace returned his smile, careful not to reveal her complete motivations. She hadn’t lied, just been less than forthcoming. She danced on a precarious precipice and didn’t want to destroy any good will she’d fostered. “I’d like to start with the elyves. I heard somewhere that they are most adept at performing these kinds of arts.”

  “Hmm,” he muttered after a few moments. “Any book in particular?”

  “Yes.” Starriace drew a deep breath and swallowed. “Du’ Garuaex.”