“Why not?” I asked.

  Mother Geslin eyed me.

  “If they figure out she's a mage, they’ll kidnap her… and worse."

  Isla's face turned a sickly green, and she retightened her grip around her staff.

  The act of kidnapping nobles and making them bear illegitimate children was highly illegal in Luskaine. It was a direct threat to the ruling class as these children, known as foulborn, diluted a noble family’s magical potential by adding more living relatives to their bloodline. In a place as lawless as the Dellends, it made sense that this type of crime would be more common.

  While Mother Geslin stared at Isla, Castille and Dugan looked at me.

  They didn’t need to tell me; I already knew. As Lady Sin’s heir, Mrs. Dulldrey often gave me the talk. The ideal targets for these kidnappings were young men. A male victim could create many foulborn at the same time, and, more importantly, they didn't need to be around for the children’s births. Disposing of the male victim immediately was less risky than keeping a powerful mage captive for nine months. It also reduced the number of living family members.

  From now on, Dugan, Isla and I could not be seen using Landbound Magic. This quest was getting harder by the second.

  Castille took one last sweeping gaze over her party's mages. If she was concerned, it didn't show in her grey eyes.

  "We look after our own, and I expect you not to share this information."

  "Of course, do I look like a rat?"

  Castille didn’t answer. Mother Geslin gave her a bitter smile.

  "Oh, I like you. You can stay here for tonight. It's big enough, and there are stables at the side of the house."

  Castille gave her a slight smile.

  "Very generous. We accept."

  # # #

  With our meeting with Mother Geslin complete, we got to work. Castille and Dugan took care of the horses, laying out food for them, the party and Mother Geslin. We decided that Isla's staff made her look too much like a mage. With some reluctance on her end, she packed it away in Thor's saddlebags. Castille gave Isla her old sword belt and a spare dagger. Combined with her navy cloak, she fit the image of a rogue I pegged her for when we first met. As repayment for her magic lessons, I spent most of the afternoon walking her through the drills that were a part of my later training. With her focused mind, she took to the training quickly. She would be ready to spar if she kept practicing for a few weeks.

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  Our dinner was livelier than usual, with Mother Geslin as a guest. While the old woman had her quirks, she was a natural storyteller who entertained us with tales from her childhood.

  Back in the old days, Southsun was a thriving community that barely felt the curse's effects. Her stories taught us that the curse originated in the Brimspoke Mountains and slowly crept across the Dellends. For generations, the villagers of Southsun thought they were too far away to be affected. It was Mother Geslin's generation that saw their crops fail, their livestock die, and their children be born with defects.

  Castille made us pack up early before her stories spoiled our dinner. After weeks of camping on the road, I couldn’t wait to sleep in a soft bed. We split off into our usual pairs, finding rooms on the house's second floor. By this point, it was normal for Isla and me to sleep beside each other, my feelings of disgust retreating to the back of my mind.

  There was still an invisible line of propriety between us; Mrs. Dulldrey raised me right. As I lay over the sheets with my hands behind my head, I turned to Isla. She was asleep, bundled under the bed’s covers. Between the dagger drills and filling up every container Mother Geslin could find with water, she had burned through a lot of will.

  Good for her. I couldn’t sleep. There was a door-shaped thorn sticking in my mind. In a village of broken doors and walls, that Sanctifier building was unscathed. What treasures did it contain? What secrets? Checking again that Isla was asleep, I slipped out of bed and changed into my clothes.

  Sneaking out of the house was easy; Dugan and Castille seemed to enjoy their bed far more than me and Isla. I walked by Mother Geslin, who lay comatose on the first floor, full from her first proper meal in years. Past the enlarged entrance, I conjured a ball of fire to light my way. It hovered just above my right hand as I navigated through the village to the Sanctifier building in the middle of town.

  In the moonlight, the grey brick building was ominous, its thick, black door a portal to another world. Holding my flame close to the door, I pulled my lockpick from the base of my top knot.

  Cindra… Where are you right now? Are you safe?

  A dumb question. She was more of a survivor than I could ever be. I slipped the lockpick into the keyhole. A proper lockpicking set would consist of at least one lockpick and a tension wrench. Cindra had taught me how to open locks with just a lockpick, and, in return, I taught her Sin’s first two lessons. It was only fair. She was someone broken.

  Just.

  Click.

  Like.

  Click.

  Me.

  With one last satisfying click, the door unlocked.

  I pushed it open and braced myself for what awaited me on the other side.

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