desert traveler deprived of water. “Did you ever see your parents again?” Kiran couldn’t keep the wistfulness from his voice. He’d never known his parents, hadn’t even a single memory of a time before Ruslan.
“Yes, though not until I was inducted into the Watch. The journey to Tamanath is long, and they couldn’t afford to leave their steading. We wrote letters through the years, but by the time I went back to visit…” She shrugged. “My sisters had married, had children of their own, and I was no longer the little girl my parents remembered. We had little left in common.”
“I’m sorry,” Kiran said awkwardly.
“Don’t be.” Lena raised her eyes to meet his. “I don’t regret my talent now. You may feel differently about your own in years to come.”
Kiran released a bitter chuckle. “Oh, certainly. The day Ruslan miraculously relinquishes his claim and the Council decides I’m not a demon in disguise, I’ll delight in magic once more. Yet to hope for that feels as foolish as wishing for snow in Ninavel.”
“Even Ninavel has…” Lena stood, her head tilting, as a muffled sound of feet and voices filtered through the study door. Kiran straightened, torn between curiosity and worry. If Marten had returned at last, his visit would be welcome if he brought news of Dev. Yet Kiran couldn’t shake the fear the tidings might be darker.
A smile lit Lena’s face. “Ah, Kiran, this should help your troubles fade. Look: you have a visitor.”
The study door swung open. Marten strode in, beaming. Behind him trailed a wiry young man wearing dirt-streaked leathers, a thin gold torc gleaming around his neck.
“Dev!” Kiran hurried forward, delight banishing fear. “You’re here, and safe—I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure—” He stopped, not wanting to admit he’d doubted Marten’s promises, and abruptly struck by worry that Dev’s friendship might have faded into resentment during his time in the mines.
Dev grinned. He looked thinner than Kiran remembered. His bones were sharp under skin the rich brown of seasoned mahogany, his vivid green eyes as startling as ever in contrast. “Good to see you, too.” He caught Kiran up in a quick, rough hug.
A knot loosened in Kiran’s chest. He ducked his head, embarrassed at the force of his relief.
“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Marten said. “I have a few matters that need discussing with Lena, and then I’m afraid I must dash back to the Arcanum for a meeting. I’ll return afterward—at which time, Kiran, I hope I can be more forthcoming in response to your questions about these recent tremors.”
Dev cast Marten a sharp glance. Kiran nodded, an uneasy mix of nerves and hope churning in his gut.
“One last thing…” Marten laid a finger on Dev’s torc. The faint mutter of quiescent magic in the study’s walls abruptly heightened, then resettled.
“Dev, I’ve keyed your collaring charm to the wards here,” Marten said. “You’ll have the freedom of the house and back garden, but one step past the walls, and—”
“Your gods-damned charm strangles me into submission, yeah, I know.” Dev rubbed a hand over his throat.
The darker shading of skin there—not dirt, but old bruises. Guilt stabbed Kiran.
With a bow and a last genial wave, Marten exited, Lena following. The moment the door shut, Kiran spoke.
“Dev, I’m sorry. For the mines, and for—for everything…” He couldn’t take his gaze from the black shadows ringing Dev’s throat. “I worked every waking moment on Simon’s spell. I was so close to finishing before all this. If only I’d deciphered the pattern faster—”
“Hey.” Dev cuffed his shoulder. “Don’t tie yourself in knots. Who’s to say the Council would’ve kept their end of the deal, even if you’d finished? Never mind me…” His green eyes searched Kiran’s face. “I’d ask how you’re holding up in the face of these quakes, but the answer’s written all over you. When
“Yes, though not until I was inducted into the Watch. The journey to Tamanath is long, and they couldn’t afford to leave their steading. We wrote letters through the years, but by the time I went back to visit…” She shrugged. “My sisters had married, had children of their own, and I was no longer the little girl my parents remembered. We had little left in common.”
“I’m sorry,” Kiran said awkwardly.
“Don’t be.” Lena raised her eyes to meet his. “I don’t regret my talent now. You may feel differently about your own in years to come.”
Kiran released a bitter chuckle. “Oh, certainly. The day Ruslan miraculously relinquishes his claim and the Council decides I’m not a demon in disguise, I’ll delight in magic once more. Yet to hope for that feels as foolish as wishing for snow in Ninavel.”
“Even Ninavel has…” Lena stood, her head tilting, as a muffled sound of feet and voices filtered through the study door. Kiran straightened, torn between curiosity and worry. If Marten had returned at last, his visit would be welcome if he brought news of Dev. Yet Kiran couldn’t shake the fear the tidings might be darker.
A smile lit Lena’s face. “Ah, Kiran, this should help your troubles fade. Look: you have a visitor.”
The study door swung open. Marten strode in, beaming. Behind him trailed a wiry young man wearing dirt-streaked leathers, a thin gold torc gleaming around his neck.
“Dev!” Kiran hurried forward, delight banishing fear. “You’re here, and safe—I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure—” He stopped, not wanting to admit he’d doubted Marten’s promises, and abruptly struck by worry that Dev’s friendship might have faded into resentment during his time in the mines.
Dev grinned. He looked thinner than Kiran remembered. His bones were sharp under skin the rich brown of seasoned mahogany, his vivid green eyes as startling as ever in contrast. “Good to see you, too.” He caught Kiran up in a quick, rough hug.
A knot loosened in Kiran’s chest. He ducked his head, embarrassed at the force of his relief.
“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Marten said. “I have a few matters that need discussing with Lena, and then I’m afraid I must dash back to the Arcanum for a meeting. I’ll return afterward—at which time, Kiran, I hope I can be more forthcoming in response to your questions about these recent tremors.”
Dev cast Marten a sharp glance. Kiran nodded, an uneasy mix of nerves and hope churning in his gut.
“One last thing…” Marten laid a finger on Dev’s torc. The faint mutter of quiescent magic in the study’s walls abruptly heightened, then resettled.
“Dev, I’ve keyed your collaring charm to the wards here,” Marten said. “You’ll have the freedom of the house and back garden, but one step past the walls, and—”
“Your gods-damned charm strangles me into submission, yeah, I know.” Dev rubbed a hand over his throat.
The darker shading of skin there—not dirt, but old bruises. Guilt stabbed Kiran.
With a bow and a last genial wave, Marten exited, Lena following. The moment the door shut, Kiran spoke.
“Dev, I’m sorry. For the mines, and for—for everything…” He couldn’t take his gaze from the black shadows ringing Dev’s throat. “I worked every waking moment on Simon’s spell. I was so close to finishing before all this. If only I’d deciphered the pattern faster—”
“Hey.” Dev cuffed his shoulder. “Don’t tie yourself in knots. Who’s to say the Council would’ve kept their end of the deal, even if you’d finished? Never mind me…” His green eyes searched Kiran’s face. “I’d ask how you’re holding up in the face of these quakes, but the answer’s written all over you. When
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