Page 8

“Yes, Archmage,” the man murmured. It rumbled through his chest and vibrated through me, setting my entire body aching again.

The Archmage nodded and crossed the room, but before he left, he said, “Good. Let her go and return to your post until Lillian comes.”

The soldier released me like I’d caught on fire. I stumbled forward a step before I managed to get enough balance to not end up sprawled on my face in my own vomit. He slid around me, avoiding contact with me. The door closed behind him with a soft click and slide of a lock.

I slowly slid to my knees, doing my best to avoid the vomit I’d gotten pretty much everywhere near me. My head still ached, and the spot behind my ear where that… archmage touched burned like the worst curling iron burn I’d ever gotten in college. I rested my head against the edge of the bed with a groan. Sloane didn’t stir at all, still turned away from me with her hair trapped under her.

A small set of interconnected dots sat behind her ear, right where the man had touched her and dropped the odd liquid. It reminded me of the old connect-the-dot books I’d draw in while with the social workers and waiting for the new placement families. On Sloane, they expanded out from a central point, not quite circular but not truly angular, either. It reminded me of stars, actually. Like I could reach out and draw constellations with the marks.

The door opened just as I reached for her, and I froze, my hand still suspended between us.

A small woman came in, her hair a deep red that bordered on only being possible from a salon. Freckles dotted every inch of skin I could see. She wore a simple black dress with a small set of laces running up the chest. A beige dress was draped over her arm, folded perfectly to not drag on the ground. Her gaze fell on me, and her lips pursed. My breath caught as I realized her eyes were bloodred.

“Why he decided this hour of the night was the best for preparing you is beyond me,” she murmured. “The morning would have worked just as well, and then I wouldn’t need to worry about your dress getting messy a second time.”

She crossed to the nearly-extinguished fire and held out her hand. The embers flickered before gaining strength. Not quite a roaring fire, but significantly warmer than the single flame it had been before. She turned back to me with a decisive nod.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up so you’re ready for tomorrow.”

My gaze flitted between her and the fire, shock and confusion warring within me. My hands trembled as I tried to fight through the headache to try and make sense of any of this.

Magic.

When I didn’t stand after several long moments, she sighed and held out her hand.

“Come now, let’s not wait until it’s made you sick again. Tomorrow will be hectic as it is. We don’t want to have to add a last-minute visit to the baths. He certainly won’t appreciate that.”

I forced a swallow. The urge to fight had drained out of me, overridden by the pain and dizziness. My legs shook as I eased to my feet, pushing off the edge of the bed for leverage. She moved without hesitation, tactfully avoiding the vomit on the floor and undoing a set of laces along the back of the dress. It dropped to the floor. She was quick to wipe away the bits of mess still on my arms and legs.

Before I could blush from the reality that I was entirely naked, she eased the new dress over my head and smoothed it down my belly and hips. Her fingers were soft but sure as she pushed my hair over one shoulder and quickly tightened the laces of the new dress.

“There we are,” she said. “Just enough to keep it on, but it should still be comfortable enough to sleep in. We’ll adjust it in the morning before you’re taken to the Passage.”

The… Passage?

“Now, let’s have a look at that wound on your head,” she continued, all business, pulling my hair up. Her fingers were quick and impersonal as they traced a raised bit of skin. “Much better. It should be good as new by morning, which is perfect timing.”

She let my hair drop as she pulled away from me. Without another word, she grabbed the dirty dress and used it to wipe the vomit off the floor then tossed it toward the closed door. She pursed her lips as she focused on Sloane.

“I see she’s already asleep.”

She walked around the foot of the bed and ran a hand down Sloane’s cheek, muttering something too softly for me to understand. After a minute, she sighed and turned toward the door.

“If you need anything,” she said, focusing on me again even as she crossed the room, “have Gareth alert me. The Archmage will be here at some point tomorrow to transport you in preparation for presenting to the Votarists. I’m sure you’re full of nerves and excitement, but the best thing you can do right now is rest. Especially with the translation spell. It’s a bit of nasty work. I imagine your head hurts right now.”

She paused, her eyebrow raised. The instinct to snarl and lie rose in me, but I quashed it.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word a bit slurred.

She nodded. “Rest, and you’ll have food in the morning.”

Without another word—or even a chance for me to respond—she picked up the soiled dress in a careful grip and disappeared beyond the door, closing it gently behind her. The lock slid into place again.

4

CALLUM

Mornings were always grounding, and despite the temporary nature of our encampment, today proved no different. The air was warm despite the late winter date, allowing me to forgo a sweater as I eased out of the cot situated along one side of the platformed tent. The mages must have enchanted the tents after the rain began yesterday evening, making it nearly impossible to keep a warming fire going in the heart of the camp.