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Casimir rubs his jaw, his eyes gone pensive. “You’d need to tread carefully. The gods could be offended byyoupretending to speak for them too.”
But the new idea has given me a renewed surge of inspiration. “They don’t have to speak. Most people don’t hear voices from their godlen anyway. They interpret dreams—well, I suppose that isn’t likely to be applicable in the middle of a gathering—and signs that catch their attention. If you could create a significant omen that would look like disapproval without outright impersonating one of the godlen…”
Stavros clears his throat. “To make a big enough ‘sign’ to unsettle the scourge sorcerers, I’d imagine Ivy would need to use her magic.”
An uneasy silence settles over the room. Ivy’s mouth twists as she studies Stavros’s expression.
“You’re right,” she says after a moment. “So maybe I can’t attempt a different approach after all. I—I’d be willing to tap into my power if it means throwing the conspirators into disorder, but I don’t know if I’d be able to control it well enough to avoid doing more harm than good. It’s always been Kosmel guiding the consequences when I’ve handled it effectively, and he hasn’t givenmeany signs in days.”
The hopelessness that’s crept back into her voice lances through my gut.
I grope for any tool I have to counter it. “I was able to find an antidote for the crozzemi toxin’s effects. I’ve already arranged to pick some up tomorrow morning, so you’ll have it in time. You’ll be more in control of your reactions than before.”
Ivy shoots me a grateful smile, but she still looks deflated. “Thank you. That’ll make some difference, assuming it works. But even when I’m fully conscious, I’ve never been able to harness the backlash my magic creates. It seems to decide for itself.”
Except when the godlen who appeared to have chosen her as his champion intervened.
I knit my brow. “You said Kosmel hasn’t offered any guidance recently. What exactly has he said before when he’s spoken to you directly—when you’ve asked him to regulate your magic?”
Ivy pauses, her lips pursing as she thinks back. “The first time, when I was dying, he talked as if he couldn’t guide it unless I agreed. In the tower, he said he’d help as long as I let him in. And the last time, with Benedikt… He basically said it was up to me. That I had to decide how I wanted to handle the situation and he’d just back me up, essentially.”
I consider that and what she said about her initiation. “Did you ask him to help you do something when you were struggling with your magic the other night?”
Her forehead furrows. “Nothing specific, I guess. It was more of a broad call for help.”
“Then maybe that’s the problem. The gods don’t generally intervene all that blatantly in anyone’s life—and it sounds like he’s said you have to direct how he assists rather than the other way around.”
Casimir lets out a thoughtful hum. “That does align with a lot of the philosophy I’ve heard and read from clerics and devouts. The gods will act through us but not for us.”
“So if I decide what I want to happen and tell him exactly what I need,” Ivy says slowly, “maybe he’ll show up? But I won’t know until I try.”
The courtesan offers her a wry grin. “That’s why they call it faith and not certainty.”
Stavros stirs on his feet. “Normally in a situation this dangerous, I’d say only trust what you can hold in your hands. But he’s supported you multiple times before.”
Ivy inhales deeply and seems to gather herself. “All right. I don’t have to make the ultimate decision until I’m there. I’ll prepare as much as possible, but I can still go straight to the stabbing if I don’t like the looks of things.”
The ex-general tips his head. “We may also be able to arrange for some supplies to be left in the general area, so possibly your magic could draw on something concrete rather than having to conjure every effect from nothing. If you have any idea what sort of effects you’d want to create?”
Ivy has always seemed awkward when anyone’s complimented her appearance, but I can honestly say that when that shrewd yet hopeful light comes into her face, I can’t imagine another person looking more stunning. I can see everything she’s been through—and all the strength she’s used to rise above it.
She wets her lips and glances around at us. “The scourge sorcerers like to use fire to destroy what they don’t want. What if I could turn the flames around on them?”
Forty-Six
Ivy
In the moments after I’ve pressed the inside of my locket, I clutch the trinket tightly, waiting under the warm glow of the meeting room’s chandelier for the men I’ve summoned to arrive. Despite all the sentiments we’ve already exchanged, I feel unexpectedly adrift when I think of why I’m here.
I need to say it. I’m heading out in a matter of minutes to try to take down a murderously obsessive conspiracy.
I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.
Here with no one to see me, I let my anxious fingers fidget with the folds of my skirt. I’ve put on the turquoise gown that’s my favorite, its vibrant hue mostly tucked away under my cloak, in an attempt to boost my spirits in every way possible.
I can become a noblewoman. I can catch a man’s eye.
I’m a force to be reckoned with, and I will wield my magic asIwish it tonight.
