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“They sucked the magic out of each of the kids who walked in before me and tossed the bodies into a firepit out back, like trash they no longer needed.”
The boy arched backward, reminding me of what I’d seen from Grant on that roof.
Except, where they’d been unable to fight back, young Grant closed his hands into fists and jerked away. The bond between him and the Magistrate broke, and the Magistrate fell, eyes wide.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Do you know why I survived on the streets when so few kids did? Because I’m stubborn. Because I used everything I had to keep on living, to scrape by, no matter what was thrown at me. Often, it was my magic that gave me that edge. When I realized that the Magistrate was trying to steal it, I was furious. That wasmine. It was all I had to my name, all that was mine and mine alone, and I lost my temper when he tried to take it.”
“What does that mean? Is that why you’re different?”
He nodded. “When the Magistrate tried to steal my magic, he left a wound. It was as if the space where my magic fits against me was torn. When I refused to let him have it—which no other mage has ever done—the wound healed with…” He sighed, as if trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Think of it like thick scar tissue. It adhered the power to my soul, made my grasp on my magic stronger than it should be.”
“And that made you more powerful?”
“No,” he said softly. “The power came later. I knew what the Magistrate was, what the whole council was. They drained those kids and so many before them and split the power among themselves to help them stay in power. He kept me, like a pet, because I intrigued him. I was different, and he thought he could use me, make me his heir and turn me into his perfect little puppet. The Magistrate swore he’d stopped the practice of stealing magic after me, but I found out that wasn’t true. I think maybe I always knew it, but it wasn’t until I found one of the rejects that I knew for sure. See, most kids die in the process, but a few unlucky ones survive it as a shell of their old self. That’s what I found, this girl, no older than seven, who just sat there in a hidden area of the guild, rocking back and forth, fingers shifting in the motion to make a ward but without the magic to do it. I realized he’d never stopped, that he never would, that he’d always steal from others and it wouldn’t ever end unless I ended it.”
The image shifted to an adult Grant. He had no tattoos, telling me this had happened a long time ago. His steps were hard, striking the stones I recognized.The Jade Room.
So much anger rested in his green eyes despite his face showing none of it. Then again, Grant had always been good at hiding what he thought. It was probably a lesson he’d learned young. Keeping things to himself was safer.
“Grant,” the Magistrate said, the council room coming into sight with the others seated at those tables and benches. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is there a problem?”
Grant walked up the center of the room until he stood before the Magistrate, who sat on that stone seat. “You didn’t stop,” Grant said. “You said you would, but you didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ifoundher.”
They stared at one another for a moment, a tense silence as if no one wanted to interrupt the exchange, to break first.
Finally, the Magistrate smiled without a speck of regret on his face. “Of course we didn’t. Why would we stop doing something that makes us more powerful?” He offered such acondescending look, one that said Grant was still a child who needed to grow up and understand the world. “You understand what power does for people—it’s why you spend every day nose-deep in old books. The difference is that you’re trying to make use of a limited pool, whereas I’m willing to do what it takes to gain actual power.”
“At the cost of innocent lives?”
“There are no innocent lives. There are people who haven’t betrayed youyet. That is all. If those mages gain immortality, if we allow them to learn and grow, then they’ll reach the point where they become a risk to you. That’s how life works. Better to put them down early and take what you need to protect yourself.”
Grant didn’t move, staring at the Magistrate as if everything were sliding together, some puzzle he hadn’t fully understood.
The real Grant spoke with a soft voice beside me. “I knew I’d end up killing him, even from that first day I met him. I never loved him, never cared for him. He was useful, taught me a lot, but at the most, I respected him for what he knew. Still, I never doubted I’d end up killing him for what he did to those others, for what he did to me.” Grant rubbed his chest with the heel of his palm. “I canfeelthat scar tissue inside me. It’s twisted, and it hurts when I use magic, andhedid that to me. Magic is supposed to be a part of a mage, something inside us that is easy. He changed that in me, broke me. He kept me around because he had no idea what it would mean for me, what I’d be capable of. If he’d known what it would turn me into, I bet he would have killed me on the spot.”
“What did it turn you into?”
“Most people can’t steal the magic of an adult mage, especially an immortal, because it’s entrenched too deeply, connected too strongly to the mage. If someone tried to pull it free, they’d damage themselves and their own magic.” He dug his palm against his chest harder. “But that scar tissue adhered my magic to me in a different way, in a way that won’t break.”
“Which is how you could do that on the roof?”
He nodded. “I had no idea Icoulddo it until I was there, in front of the Magistrate. I remembered how it felt when he’d tried to take my magic, and I just did it back. It was automatic.”
In front of us, the same thing I’d seen on the roof happened again. That horror on the mages’ faces, a realization that something they didn’t think possible could happen.
“They lived their entire lives in power, given everything by the ones who came before, so sure they’d always have their precious status. They crushed others beneath them just to keep it, and that was thefirsttime any of them felt helpless. I wanted them to feel what those kids felt—I wanted to take from them what they stole. They didn’t deserve to keep it. I would have given it back if I could, but even the kids who’d survived could never have the magic returned.”
The scene was horrific. Whereas I had stopped him on the roof, I could do nothing but watch this time, watch as Grant tore the mages’ magic away.
It was hideous. The fact that the mages were monsters didn’t faze me, and even them dying wasn’t any sort of hang-up for me. Instead, it was watching Grant do it. It was knowing he would carry those scars with him, worse than the one left on his magic.
Thiswas the moment he’d decided he was a monster, that he was damaged, that he was some abomination who didn’t deserve to exist.
