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  He lifted his fist, noticed that the green of his cloak matched the door perfectly—a sign, surely—and rapped sharply.

  The tinkling of bells filled the air, rising through the echoing castle above. Illiam waited. The sun had slipped behind the peaks; the air was becoming sharply cold, and the lights from the castle windows cast bright orange rectangles on the ground around him. He was about to knock again when the door was pulled open.

  A tall, slim woman stood before him. She was in her late fifities, her face lined around the eyes and mouth. The lines of someone who had made many, many serious decisions. She wore a green gown with black sleeves, a black collar, and a black belt around her narrow waist, to which two daggers were strapped, one on each side. The thin black circlet on her head was set with a single pale white stone.

  Eirin Morgan. The keeper of the floating citadel. Leader of the twelve villages, but barely more than a figurehead now.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes running down the length of Illiam’s body.

  “Hello,” Illiam said, extending his hand and smiling brightly in the way that had never failed to disarm anyone he’d ever met. “My name is Illiam. I’m trying to get to the mage school, and I’m wondering if you could help me.”

  “The mage school is down on the plains.”

  Illiam nodded without breaking eye contact and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Yes, of course, but I was told there is a wind runner that goes from here to there. Is that right?”

  “It is in use.”

  Illiam was not deterred. This was a threshold guardian. All quests had them. She was even literally standing on a threshold. He knew what to do. This was a test. If he passed, she would let him use the wind runner. Threshold guardians often became allies.

  “Of course. I’m sure. But it only takes a few hours, right? Could I wait here?”

  “There is only a single carriage, and it is at the Table currently. It’s only a few weeks of walking from here, though. That way.” She pointed and began to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the crack before she could close it all the way.

  Illiam’s mind raced. What did he know about Eirin Morgan? The famed defender of the north. As a fourteen-year-old, she had singlehandedly defended the Uplands from Montvan attacks and brokered peace between the mages and the non-mages to do so. She hated magic but it was rumored she was a wind mage herself. Her red hair was traced with white now, but behind her eyes Illiam could see the warrior she’d been in her younger days. And probably still was, actually. A mentor for him, maybe? But how to win her over? Not by keeping his boot stuck in her door, that was certain. Her face had gone cold and she was drawing one of her daggers.

  He took a chance and withdrew his boot.

  “I’m sorry, could I possibly stay the night? Is there some work around here that I could do?”

  She slid the dagger back into its sheath, but kept her hand resting on the hilt. Again, she eyed him up and down.

  “I doubt it.”

  He looked around. “Nothing you need swept or dusted?”

  Her eyes unfocused slightly for a moment, and she looked out into the darkening night behind him. She looked more closely at him suddenly.

  “Why do you want to go to the Table?”

  He knew she didn’t like mages, but lying to threshold guardians was never a good start.

  “I’m a mage. I’m going to the mage school.”

  Her lips thinned, going slightly white at the corners.

  “And I know, I know there are problems with magic—” he started, but she cut him off.

  “You don’t seem like a mage,” she said sharply.

  He readjusted his grip on his walking stick. “Er, well, I don’t know what type I am yet.”

  She paused again. This time for several long seconds. She shook her head, muttering something under her breath that he couldn’t quite catch, then sighed, shrugged, and moved back into the dark interior of the castle.

  “All right,” she said. “You can come in. Yes. I have a task for you.”

  Illiam’s pulse quickened. She was clearly keeping something back. There was some secret here, which only meant he was on the right track. He’d stumbled onto something important, something that would change the course of his journey, and bring him one step closer to his destiny.

  “This way,” she said, letting the door slam shut behind him.

  The castle was dark. From outside he had seen lights, but here in the dark corridors, the torches were not lit in their wall brackets, the chandeliers were cold and sooty. Eirin produced a lantern from a hook on the wall and led Illiam down a flight of stairs and a long stone corridor. He kept just outside the pool of her lamplight. The lamp swung in her hand as she passed down the hall, creaking on its rusty hinges.

  Eirin said nothing, her shadow leaping high onto the ceiling behind her. Illiam looked forward to the rest of the night, after he had accomplished whatever she had asked of him. Then, he would ask her questions.

  They took another winding staircase down further. Here the walls were rough stone. They must be in the rocky base of the citadel itself. They stopped before an ancient jade door, with runes carved over the top.

  “What is this?” Illiam asked, but she didn’t answer, only inserted a key into a lock and turned. It clicked and the door swung smoothly inwards. She gestured for him to go first.

  A cold sweat broke out on Illiam’s palms, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. A moment of doubt came to him. What if this was a trap? Not a guardian after all? Not his mentor? No. No. This was right. This was the path. Even questioning the path was the path.

  He stepped inside the shadowy room.

  “I’m sorry,” Eirin said, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  At first all was darkness and silence, broken only by the long echoes of the slamming door.

  Illiam swallowed hard, his throat suddenly thick. He strained his eyes, trying to see anything in the pitch black. A soft, flickering light with the quality of water appeared. At first, he thought it was his eyes, a trick of the darkness, an imagined flickering. But it grew in strength. It emanated from a pool in the center of the room. All around it were bodies. Some decaying, some bones already. His stomach hardened, his gut twisting. Mages. Other mages.

  Apparently Eirin Morgan hated the mages more than he realized. Is that why there were so few of them in the Uplands? He’d thought they’d all simply left on their own. But was Eirin Morgan killing them? Killing them off to keep the tenuous peace? All while living in a palace built by magic?

  Something splashed in the water, and a pair of rotting hands appeared, grasping the rim of the pool. A horrible, burned, decaying face, the greasy white bone visible through one cheek, lifted above the sparkling surface. The eyes glowed red as they eyed him hungrily.

  Illiam took a stumbling step backwards, reaching into his pockets, his eyes searching the floor around him for any kind of weapon. Many of the dead were armed.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Illiam asked. Knowing what someone wanted was the first step to having the upper hand. Illiam did not have it now, but he would. This was a challenge. Simply a challenge. It couldn’t be how he died. He had a destiny. He knew he did. And it wasn’t dying in some self-hating mage’s basement.

  The creature pulled itself dripping out of the water and stood upright. It looked like it had once been something close to a man, with red eyes and long black nails, but it was clearly falling apart, its flesh dripping from its bones, rage and despair burning in its expression, in the hunch of its shoulders. The ragged garment it wore had once been very fine, trimmed in now-tarnished gold.

  It eyed him hungrily, but with a deep disappointment. “I see what she says is true. You are not a mage.”

  Illiam frowned, anger burning away the last traces of his fear. “I am. I just don’t know what kind.”

  The eyes like hot coals focused on his chest, suddenly giving Illiam the urge to run. H
e shifted uncomfortably.

  “No, no…” the creature said to itself, approaching slowly, its bones clicking.

  Illiam found he could no longer move. His heart thundered in his chest, his skin cold and crawling as the creature moved languidly around him. It bent down and looked into Illiam’s eyes, smiled. It reached up and slowly, almost lovingly, with one long, sharp, black nail, tapped the white of his eyeball, picking at it. The creature licked its lips, then shook its head, straightening.

  “No, not a mage. Not an interesting plaything at all. She knows this.”

  Illiam threw every ounce of his concentration into trying to move. He focused on his legs, willing them to kick, to twitch even at least, but his body was in a vice. Immobile, unresponsive.

  “However.” The thing bent down again and eyed him. “You can be useful to me.”

  It stood, examining him again.

  “You want something. You want it so desperately that you will do anything. Anything at all to get it. And that makes you exactly the kind of person I require.”

  Illiam relaxed. Ah. This kind of threshold guardian. This was the one he had come to meet. Not the woman at the door. She was simply a servant. He almost smiled.

  “I have a bargain for you,” the creature said.

  Without even having to ask what it was, Illiam knew he was going to agree, and that it was going to give him everything he’d ever wanted.

  10

  Sarai

  After a grueling three hours of lectures on meditation and getting to know her inner conflicts, Sarai skulked off down the halls in search of the library. Just because she had an idea didn’t mean she wasn’t going to research it a bit before she tried it. Always have at least three back-up plans, that was Sarai’s philosophy, and it had served her well.

  The library was warm, dry, and well-lit, and Sarai made her way down rows and rows of old, leather-bound books. Many were in languages she’d never seen before, and lots of them looked like they’d fall apart if she touched them.

  She perused a few books, seeing several mentions of copper as a deterrent of magic. This could work. The thought filled her with a mixture of relief and… something else. But no, she wasn’t disappointed. Why would she be? This place was insane, and she wanted to get home as soon as possible. Even if the food was great and some of the people were… not terrible.

  In the silence of the near-empty space, she noticed again that weird fluttering of her pant leg. She frowned and shook her foot, then crouched down, running her hand across the fabric. A faint ripple of energy pulsed through it. It stilled under her touch, but as soon as she lifted her hand it started fluttering again.

  Sarai stared at it.

  Well, time for new pants. She stood, rolling her eyes, and started down the aisle again, her gaze running over the titles.

  The Workings of Magical Objects and Artifacts, she read. That sounds promising. She reached out, but the air around her suddenly compressed, a tremor running through it, and Sarai froze.

  “What were you doing in my bedroom?”

  Sarai turned, pulling her hand back into herself and moving instinctively into the shadowy side of the aisle, flattening against the books. It was the white-haired woman who had been asleep in the bed with Finn. Not naked this time, luckily. What was her name? Isabelle.

  Isabelle’s eyes clouded; a confused look came onto her face, but she shook her head, and her eyes focused on Sarai again. She narrowed her eyes. “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?” Sarai asked. She wrapped her arms around herself, clasping her elbows with either hand and picking at the dry skin there.

  “I couldn’t see you for a second.”

  Sarai shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Isabelle crossed her arms and eyed her shrewdly. The long white hair tumbling over her shoulders waved in a slight breeze. Something clicked in Sarai’s mind.

  “What did you do to my pants?”

  Isabelle grinned. “Don’t change the subject. I want to know what you were doing in my room.”

  “I wasn’t in your room.” Right. Like she’s going to believe that.

  Isabelle gestured to the fluttering pant leg. “You tripped my sensor.”

  “You have a sensor but not an alarm?” You have a sensor that picked up that I was there, but it didn’t wake you? I could have killed you.

  Isabelle shrugged. “I’m not going to go into my security measures with you. Tell me what you’re doing here.” Her eyes went to the book Sarai had been reaching for. “Magical devices?”

  “I… I’m a thread mage.”

  “So I have been told,” Isabelle said dryly.

  This is why I assassinate people the first time. Dead people don’t question me.

  Her imagined voice of Jeremy came into her mind. Should have gotten your story straight, Sarai.

  How was I supposed to know she’d know I was there?

  “You’re pretty bad at lying,” Isabelle said. “I can see you standing there trying to figure out what to tell me.”

  Sarai looked down at the ground and swallowed again. “I… I’m… I was there with Finn. You know, like…” She trailed off, then looked up, met Isabelle’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  Isabelle laughed. It started out small, then grew until her hands were on her knees and she was gasping. Sarai cringed. Eventually, Isabelle pushed herself up, still laughing. “So… You’re trying to tell me you’re… what, sleeping with Finn?”

  Sarai nodded, her insides burning. Isabelle laughed again.

  “Come on, you can do better than that.”

  It’s not that implausible. Sarai felt herself blushing angrily.

  Isabelle suddenly went completely serious and took a step forward, bending down slightly to look straight into Sarai’s eyes.

  “Whatever you were doing, I know you didn’t take anything. I know you weren’t there long. I know you’re not a thread mage. That’s just some stupid excuse Finn’s made up for you.”

  “Sounds like you and Finn are real close,” Sarai shot back.

  Isabelle rolled her eyes, but there was an undercurrent of hurt there, Sarai could feel that she’d touched a nerve. “If I thought you were actually a threat, I’d ask him about it,” Isabelle said. “That is the least fun way to go about things.”

  Sarai wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. She felt oddly compelled to insist she was a threat. Which was the opposite of what she wanted to convey.

  Isabelle shrugged nonchalantly. “Just thought you should know I know. I know you’re here. I know you’re not a mage. I know you’re up to something. And I’m watching. I’m not the only one, either.”

  Sarai met her gaze, refusing to look away. You’re not going to intimidate me.

  Isabelle flicked a finger and the pant leg settled down.

  “I’ve been living here ten years. And when I get bored, I make things. And I get bored a lot. Just keep that in mind.”

  “Fine,” Sarai said. Come on, that’s it? Can’t you think of something better?

  Isabelle gave her one last long look, and then slowly levitated, drifting backwards, eyes still locked on Sarai until she bumped around a corner and was gone.

  Everyone here is insane. Good thing I’ll be done with this place by tomorrow.

  11

  Finn

  Today is going to be a good day. Finn breathed in deep. It was true, so far things had not gone as he had hoped, but today was going to be different. Better. They’d gotten through the worst of it and nothing could go wrong now.

  His arms pumped at his sides, his legs carrying him up the steps three or even four at a time, ascending to the battlements. The sky was still an inky blue hue above him, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon into the clouds. A few crows wheeled overhead, probably there to visit Kel.

  Ah, what a morning. He smiled. He was here, at his school. The school he had created. The place that would one day be again the seat of power, the central hub, the nexus of the greatest coun
try in the history of the world. Once again, the plains, the various cities in the Iron Mountains, the Macai, and the Uplands would be united. Strong and unassailable, connected and strengthened by magic. Yes, there were hurdles, but nothing good came easily, and something this good was worth—

  The metal bar smashed into his face. Pain blossomed and blood poured out as he stumbled backwards. He barely had a second to cry out, couldn’t even catch a glimpse of his attacker before the bar hit him again. He felt the wall of the battlements against his back, and the bar hit him again, knocking him backwards.

  His hands scrabbled against the sandstone, fire shot from his fingertips, but his attacker was utterly silent. Something gripped his feet, he felt them leave the pavers, and before he could do anything else, he had flipped up over the wall, plummeting down the other side. Now he screamed, his face burning in pain, fire shooting uselessly from his hands as he streaked meteorically towards the ground.

  12

  Sarai

  Sarai set the bar down, took a deep breath, and leaned out over the battlements. A hundred feet below, the body lay broken on the ground. Not for long; she could already sense the magic doing its work.

  Sorry, Finn, couldn’t wait anymore, she thought.

  Like a shadow, she jogged a few feet down the battlements to where the rope was stashed.

  She slipped over the wall, hand over hand, her feet braced against the sandstone, the wind whipping against her, and was on the ground in minutes. Not as fun as Agnes’ way, but effective. Without giving herself a second to pause, she ran for the body, only glancing up once at the top, to see if anyone had seen her. No one had, she could feel it.