Page 86 of Turncloak

Where could she possibly go from here?

Her entire life had had a purpose until now—because of this terrible mage. Was it not enough to take her grandfather, take the love of her life? Did he have to take her livelihood too?

All at once, she understood how hate and anger could coalesce into a force so strong it might drive a person to murder.

Not that she would ever act on it. But for the first time, she understood.

As her throat stung and bled, she ran through a series of alternate plays in her mind, tactical steps that could wrest this ghastly situation back into her favor without costing her the morals she lived her life by—because if she didn’t have her values, she really did have nothing. She came up empty. She doubted that bartering with the information she had on the Whitewings, on the King’s Prophet’s involvement, would be enough to convince Levan Celadon to leave this building without Saffron’s letter.

But then—a stumbling block.

The password Nissa uttered at the lock of Karvas’s door did not cause it to open. The captain must have changed it recently. Nissa tried several more combinations of words from previous passcodes, but nothing worked.

Hope sprung up in Auria’s chest for the first time, until the vague invisible shape of the kingpin turned to her and said, “You’re a gifted enough Enchanter to successfully cast exuan, are you not?”

Auria’s heart sank into her stomach. Exuan was a charm used to strip an object—such as a lock or keyhole—of all its enchantments. It was costly to cast, since a mage had to use more raw power than the sum of all prior enchantments combined, and the captain’s door would’ve been layered with so many old magical passwords that stripping them back would take everything she had. Little wonder Levan was not willing to do it himself.

And the truth was that despite her many magical classifications, Auria was not, by nature, an especially powerful mage. She was smart, a quick study, precise, stringent, but the natural depths of her well were not so substantial. It might not be within her ability at all.

With a dark look that said if you try anything smart, I’ll slay your friend, the kingpin handed back Auria’s wand. Her beloved wand, with its smooth willow and sapphire studs, its elegantly carved spheres and gleaming ascenite handle.

For the briefest of moments, Auria considered one final attempt at disarming the kingpin, but merely repossessing his wand would not be enough. He was too skilled in physical combat and could somehow wrest free from debilitan—the same was likely true of the statue curse. Anything else would be too violent, too risky with Nissa pinned to his body.

Loathing herself with every breath, Auria gathered all the power she could. She crossed to the lock, rested the tip of her wand against it, and murmured, “Sen exuan.”

The magic rushed out of her in a destructive whoosh, and with it went all her worldly energy. She staggered to the side, more depleted than she’d ever been, and slumped to the ground as the door swung open.

Her well was bone dry, her glorious wand now useless, with no clear way to replenish. There was nary a velvine to be seen, and the rosemarroa and varouli perfume she’d applied before her shift had faded entirely.

She closed her eyes and resigned herself to her own impotence. “The letter is in the desk drawer, and the password is Ashen Narrows.”

Goodbye, life’s purpose.

Levan shoved Nissa forward into the office. After several moments of hearing them shuffle and tap and incant, Auria peered around the corner in time to see Levan’s milky outline retrieve the parchment envelope. She thought maybe his invisibility tincture was fading slightly, but was too exhausted to figure out how to use that to their advantage. The migraine pulsed and pounded at her temples, her forehead, the marrow of her skull. The knife wounds on her throat were hot, throbbing.

Nissa’s form relaxed infinitesimally, and behind her, the window opened to a rose-gold dawn. The empty air above the sill filled with an almost imperceptible presence; the kingpin planned to jump.

Then, terribly, and perhaps inevitably, the door to Malcus’s chamber, the room separating the captain’s office from the rest of the Order, banged open.

Vel Karvas stood on the threshold, straggly hair hanging to his clavicle, still dressed in his bed robes but with his silver cloak slung hastily over the top. A vein throbbed in his tattooed neck, and his glasses were askew over his pale blue eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Not an authoritative bark, but rather a deathly cold murmur.

Auria scrambled to her feet, vision swooping so severely she almost lost consciousness. She grabbed at the doorframe for support. “There’s an intruder. The Bloodmoon kingpin came for the letter.”

But a quick glance over her shoulder revealed that the misty smudge over the windowsill had already leapt free.

Karvas took a step into the room, raising his wand—a short, black walnut—and hissed, “I warned you, Marriosan.”

Shaking rather violently, Auria gestured to the three narrow slits on her throat, the blood around the wounds already crusting and clotting. “Would I have done this to myself?”

Nissa appeared at her side. “It’s true, sir. Levan Celadon was here. He threatened us—both of us. Only when he had a blade to my throat did Marriosan relent. Before that, she was willing to die to keep the letter in our possession.”

Karvas barged past them into the office, so close that Auria could smell the stale morning breath, the must of recent sleep. He went to the desk drawer, found it hanging open, and slammed it shut so hard that it popped back out. Auria flinched.

“The kingpin leapt from the window mere moments ago,” Nissa said hurriedly. “We could still pursue him. We tried our best, sir, and we almost had him—I had the cuffs in my hand, but he wrenched free of debilitan, somehow, and—”