The throne knew what I was doing. It loomed in the darkness, daring me to test myself against it. Not that I ever would. That was my master’s throne. Trimming its twisting branches would be like declawing a cat, and my master would not thank me for my efforts.
I’d cleared the rest of the throne room though. Smoothed out the floors so that an audience could walk across it without tripping. Cut the ivy at its roots so that it browned and drooped from the ceiling. A week had passed, and nothing had sprouted through the floor.
Pleased with myself, I decided to finally show it to my master. His rooms were on the top floor, a fifteen-minute walk scattered with blood-thirsty, murderous plants that tried to trip me on the stairs.
I closed my eyes and focused on his instructions for teleporting:
“I could teach you how to teleport with an array or a magical device, but what good would that do you if you’re caught unawares? You need to learn how to teleport on instinct, until it’s as easy as walking. Easier, once your knees start to creak. Second-class mages use shadows. Thebestones use air. Wrap it around yourself, feel the magic saturating every inch of you. Use your cloak to mimic the sensation if you need to. Inhale the magic and hold. Picture where you need to go—the more detailed, the better—and tell yourself that’s where you will be on your exhale.”
I still had to physically wrap my cloak around myself to succeed, but I arrived safely on the top floor. The master had told me never to enter his rooms uninvited, so I appeared in the hallway instead. I raised my hand to knock but paused when I heard my master’s low, sinister voice.
“So, my treasure, what news have you brought me?”
“Nothing?” the other speaker’s voice had an annoyed, sulky inflection I’d only ever heard in other teenagers.
“Then why did you call?”
“Gee, what could Ipossiblybe calling abouttodayof all days?”
“I don’t know!” Master snapped. Something crashed in the background, like he’d thrown it in anger or accidentally knocked it off the desk. “You have been on this mission for eight years already and all your reports are worthless!Father likes his eggs over medium, Dad prefers his scrambled,” he mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Always calling them ‘Father’ or ‘Dad’ as if thatmeanssomething. Need I remind you that your surname isArnulfnotBanes?”
A long silence followed this tirade, and then the other speaker said, “If you keep yelling, they’ll hear you, and they’ll discover your plot.” His voice cracked halfway through, though I couldn’t tell if it was from emotion or puberty.
Master sucked in an audible breath and forced out a loud, gusty sigh. “Have you learned anything more about the Kingdom Defense Spell? Specifically, a way to bring it down?”
“No.”
“Thenwhy are you calling?”
“Because it’s myfucking birthday, which you clearly forgot.”
“Oh.” No apology followed the realization. Evil mages did not apologize, otherwise they’d have to interrupt their monologues with ‘sorry’ every few lines. “You turn sixteen today?”
“Seventeen. You know how long I’ve been on this mission, but not how old I am?”
“I’ve beenvery busysince earning my title.”
“Oh right, what was it again?” The sneer came through clearly in his voice. “Lord of Assholes?”
“You watch your mouth!” The master took a deep, audible breath to calm himself down before saying. “You’re going through a rebellious phase, I understand. But I am the Lord of Grimnight, and you will use my title with all the respect it deserves.”
Several long seconds passed before the master angrily muttered, “He cut off the call? Damned brat.”
Since their conversation had finished, I wouldn’t learn anything else loitering outside the door. I knocked and waited for the master to call me inside.
He glowered at me. “You heard that didn’t you? You are supposed to spyforme, notonme.”
The ‘no apologies’ rule did not apply to apprentices. “I’m sorry, Master.” I didn’t explain myself any further, he wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. “Who were you speaking to?” I could guess, but I needed confirmation. Needed to know I hadn’t been waiting in vain.
The master sighed and rested his head in his hand. Blond curls brushed his forehead, which would have looked sweet on a baby or a cherub but looked out of place on an evil mage. “Treasure Banes, as he’s known now. He is my … employee. Not quite a minion, not technically an apprentice. A child I sent to the Desolated Lands to infiltrate the kingdom of Bane.”
He danced around the truth, not admitting that Treasure was his son. Had I remembered their relationship wrong? It’d been so many years since I’d met Treasure—almost as many as he’d been away, by the sounds of it.
“Unfortunately, he’s been gone so long that he’s forgotten who he really is.” Master sneered at the mirror on one wall, where I would have seen Treasure’s reflection if I’d been brave enough to interrupt them earlier. “One day, when you meet him, you will have to teach him proper manners.”
My heart thumped in anticipation. Those words promised a time when I would see Treasure again. I tried to picture our first meeting. Wouldhe be the sweet boy I remembered? A foul-mouthed teenager angry with the world? I wanted him to look at me, to smile at me, to speak the name I’d chosen for myself. “And when will that be?”
“Soon, I hope. Since you’ve witnessed all that, it’s time to let you in on my grand evil scheme.” The lord stood up and approached me, placing both hands on my shoulders. “I will conquer the Desolated Lands. Rule them with shadow and root. Will you join me in their defeat?”
