It feels like an eggshell of a topic to broach. Because on the way back to the Crux after our meeting with the King concluded, Arlon only said one thing to me: do not breathe a word of this toanyone.
As uncomfortable as it is, I obey. I haven’t seen much of Olbric since the day we cast the sending spell, but in the brief times I glimpse him in the mess hall or with Dom, it’s hard not to feel like I’m lying to him.
Arlon warned me that this position could feel impossible some days, but only now do I understand why. Keeping such a monumental thing from Olbric hurts in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
We’ve been friends since our very first day at the Crux. Olbric had just arrived from the Eastern Tower, while I was fresh off the boat from Kenitka. Navigating a new place was far easier to do with him by my side, and me by his. I can only hope that our friendship survives once the command from the King comes out.
At least Dom seems to be acting more like himself. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that shy smile given so readily. It helps ease some of my churning worries. Even if things are about to go to shit in Olbric’s world, at least Dom will be there to support him.
“Galiva, would you notify Farlan that the anchor point in the third floor, third room of the abjuration tower seems to be loose? He may ask for your assistance in fixing it. It’s the room Emil and Sergei usually use.”
Arlon’s voice draws me from my thoughts. I’d been idly poking at my half-eaten breakfast, but I notice that Arlon has yet to touch the bowl I brought for him.
“Of course, sir,” I say. “But I’d appreciate that bowl being emptied by the time I get back.”
Arlon pauses in the middle of scribbling his note to look up at me, eyebrow raised. I meet his gaze levelly. It’s not passed my attention that he’s not sleeping, that there’s a gauntness in his cheeks from how little he’s eating. Finally, he lets out a sigh before he sets his pen down and picks up his bowl.
I suppress a grin. “I’ll be back.”
Arlon waves me off, and I head to the posterior courtyard where Quartermaster Farlan’s office is. Together, we head up to the third floor of the evocation tower to take down the loose anchor point and install a new one with the help of a low level transmutation.
By the time I return to Arlon’s office, his bowl is empty, and I settle down to finish mine in a comfortable silence. There’s blessedlyno appointments or meetings on the calendar today. It’s a rarity anymore, but we barely get a chance to enjoy the quiet before the air over Arlon’s desk ripples.
Arlon looks up, back straightening in surprise. From behind, I can only see the mirage of the spell, but my blood chills when I hear the crash of magic.
“Reneta?” Arlon breathes.
I topple my chair in my rush to circle his desk. In the sending, Reneta’s long braid has come unraveled, her spectacles hanging low on her nose. Sweat dots her skin, and her hands are thrown up to maintain the abjuration surrounding her. Shielding herself and the other Tower Wizards.
Beside me, Arlon’s gone eerily still. “Where are you?”
“North of Belingrad. We failed to get a ship out of Hastett and were trying to circle the loch to take the northern road! I never imagined it was being watched!” Ren’s voice is pinched with urgency, and she winces as something impacts her shield with acrash. Her eyes fly wide with panic. “Sir, I can’t hold them off for much longer!”
Even as I watch, the wizards closest to her reach up to pluck spells from her necklace. Divvying them out. It’s hard to make out faces, but I don’t need to. I canfeelthe aura of fear radiating through the sending.
Arlon yanks a desk drawer open, fishing out his full necklace. “Do you have any sort of anchoring spell?”
“No, sir,” Ren says as another loud crash slams against her shield. “There’s fifteen of them, but I-I don’t think they aim to kill us.”
Arlon’s hand closes tight around a fistful of spells. “No, I doubt they will.”
Awful clarity settles over me. It’s chased by a strange sort of numbness as I watch the Tower wizards prepare for a final resistance.
Twenty-threewizards are about to fall into enemy hands. And we have no way of stopping it from happening. Not without an anchor to get us to them.
Arlon is silent, his head low. “Stand down, Ren,” he says at last. “Your lives are more important than trying to win a losing fight.”
“Grandmaster -“
“Peace talks are to take place in Marikadar between the powers of the continent. Iwillnegotiate your release.” His voice is rough as he lifts his eyes to meet hers through the sending. “I’m sorry, Ren. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this.”
Reneta swallows, a scared, wavering smile on her lips, but no reply comes. Instead, there’s a final crash against the shield, the sound of magic shattering apart, before the sending disappears.
Arlon shoves away from his desk with enough force that the heavy piece of furniture scoots across the floor. “Dammit,dammit!” He starts to pace as I brace myself against his chair. “ItoldThora how risky it was to send them off without their godsdamned spells. Itold her! But she was so afraid of them deserting she didn’t fuckinglisten!”
It’s a rare time that Arlon yells, but under all that anger is the same anguish I feel. Ren was my sister’s apprentice. She’s my direct rival for the title of Grandmaster, but I feel no relief at what’s happened. Only a bone-deep ache of loss that accompanies my buzzing thoughts.
Slowly, they settle on one heavy realization. “We have to make sure these peace talks succeed.”
