The events of the Hearth Ceremony had replayed through her mind during the journey home. She’d watched Marow shiver and tremble beneath the blanket of soft, grey wool. After a sombre midday meal, Laya had ensured Trisha changed into simpler clothes and sent her off to her afternoon lessons, intent on providing a distraction. It had little effect. The memory of Marow’s eyes still haunted her, so wide and brimming with the tears of his mounting fear.

It was a fear Trisha shared.

She’d been praying all day. Praying that the Nine would not steal her cousin from her, that the Last Wind would not find him and bear his soul away on its final journey beyond the Morning Gate.

“Miss Banymor!”

The voice snapped like a whip, yanking Trisha out of her reverie in a single, heart-stopping moment. She glanced up to find Brother Burngath glaring at her over the top of his round, bronze-framed spectacles. The wizened old monk held his twig-like arms folded across his chest. The nostrils of his bulbous nose flared in visible irritation.

“I do not teach for the benefit of the air itself,” he snapped. “When I am speaking, I expect to command your full attention.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said. “It’s just that—”

“Your cousin is ill,” the monk interrupted. A glimmer of sympathy touched his squinty eyes. “I understand your concern. Truly, I do. But such is the way of things. I’m sure the Burning Fever will pass, and that in three years, it will be young Marow himself sitting here—hopefully paying better attention.”

“But what if it’s not the Burning Fever?” Trisha asked.

A hush fell over the small room. All at once, she felt six pairs of eyes on her—Brother Burngath and the five other students who formed their small class. Trisha swallowed, shrinking down in her seat and wishing that the magic of her Soulblaze had the power to make her vanish.

“Come off it, Tee,” said the dark-haired girl beside her. In all of Lanamor, Lynn Athana was the only person who ever called her that. “What else could it possibly be?”

“I don’t know,” Trisha confessed, shaking her head so that her hair rustled across her shoulders. “Mygan… I mean, the Arch Kadir… he said he’d never seen the fever set in so quickly. He seemed—”

“The Arch Kadir knows his business,” Brother Burngath assured her.

“But—”

“We’ll leave it in his hands, and the hands of the Nine. Still, the question of the Burning Fever does have some relevance on our current discussion of the spheres of power. Allow me to pose a question. Over the years, Cinderborn physickers have devised different evocations that allow them to treat more natural forms of fever. Some of these evocations have proven more effective than others. Why might that be?”

“Different levels of power?” suggested a husky boy named Ped. “Maybe some physickers are weaker than others?”

“An interesting idea, but overly simplistic, I’m afraid. No, the answer lies in the inner working of the body itself. Many evocations use the magic of the physicker’s Soulblaze to mask outward symptoms: the fever itself and the related aches and chills that accompany it. This is all very good, but it does nothing to eliminate the root cause. Too often, the fever will simply return.”

“But why does it matter?” grumbled Lukas, a smallish boy whose body still hadn’t caught up with the size of his eyes. “Trisha’s the only one of us who’s Cinderborn. The rest of us can’t touch the Ectosphere at all.”

Trisha considered the point. Of the four spheres of Hearthborn magic, the Cinderborn could only touch the Ectosphere, allowing them to use the power of their Soulblaze to affect the physical bodies of others. Conversely, the Endosphere allowed Emberborn to work evocations to affect their own bodies. Of course, the Flameborn could touch all four spheres—including the elemental Parasphere and Anasphere—but such Hearthborn were rare.

There were no Flameborn in their current class, and Trisha was the only Cinderborn. All the other students were limited to the evocations of the Endosphere.

Lynn sighed and rolled her eyes at Lukas. “It matters, owl-face, because understanding the body makes it easier to work an evocation—even for us Emberborn.”

Brother Burngath nodded encouragingly. “Go on, Miss Athana.”

“Well, suppose I want to lift something particularly heavy,” said Lynn. “Ped, for instance.”

“Hey!” the boy protested.

Lynn grinned. “I could try flaring my Soulblaze to increase the strength in my arms, but we all know that’s not going to be all that effective, right? I also need to strengthen the rest of my muscles to help support the effort. But it’s more than that. If I were lifting something really heavy, I’d also pay attention to my bones and tendons. I’d want to ensure they’re able to withstand the physical weight of whatever I’m lifting. Otherwise, I might snap a bone or tear a muscle.”

“Excellent!” said Brother Burngath. “Which is why, for the next several months, we will be undertaking a detailed study of human physiology. We’ll begin with our understanding of the basic systems.”

The old monk prattled on about musculature and skeletal structures, along with his usual warnings about using the Soulblaze to harm or sicken. Such evocations were considered an abomination and forbidden by the laws of the Sanctum.

Trisha did her best to pay attention, especially when the old monk touched on matters that might pertain to evocations of healing. It was difficult. She found herself continually distracted by her thoughts and worries for Marow.

Eventually, mercifully, they were dismissed. Brother Burngath distributed the square, mahogany tokens that would provide them each with access to the Annex, where the Kadir Monks maintained a collection of tomes and scrolls specifically intended for study by young Hearthborn. Trisha tucked the token carefully into her purse before leaving the small building in which they’d gathered.

“Storm’s breath!” Lynn muttered when they were well away. “I didn’t think old potato-nose would ever stop talking.”

Trisha offered a tired smile. Though Lynn was only a few months younger than Trisha, she was taller, a distinction that seemed unlikely to correct itself. Her lanky limbs already promised the height and stature of her mother. The straight, raven-black hair, however, was a trait she must have inherited from her father. Other than its natural lustre, it was nothing at all like the coppery locks for which Gwendolyn Athana was so widely renowned.

“Headed back home?” asked Lynn.

Trisha sighed. “Not yet. The house is still full of monks and physickers. Mother thought it best that I remain here until sixth bell.” Fresh pangs of worry for Marow filled her mind. She tried to push them down. “Aldar’s supposed to bring the carriage around to pick me up. Want to come back for dinner? There should be plenty of food.”

Lynn shrugged. “Sounds good. Ma’s out testing some recent repairs to the Sea Leopard. I doubt she’ll be back until after sundown. Sounds like we both have some time to kill. Wanna head over to Merrin’s bakery? Ped says her new cranberry sticky buns are to die for.”

“Ped says anything slathered in icing is to die for.”

“Very true,” Lynn said with a laugh.

They continued on down the streets for several minutes before Lynn spoke again.

“So how bad is it?” she asked. “With Marow, I mean.”

“I wish I knew,” Trisha replied. She thought of how small her cousin had seemed in Aunt Dina’s arms, and how pale he’d looked when they’d tucked him into his bed. “But from the look I saw in the Arch Kadir’s eyes, I think it’s bad.”

“Do you really think it’s something other than the Burning Fever?”

Trisha shook her head as they turned down the street that would take them toward the bakery. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s all just happened so fast. Nothing at all like what I experienced. It was a whole day before I felt any symptoms.”

“Two days for me,” said Lynn.

“Exactly. This feels different… and it scares me.”

Lynn reached out to squeeze Trisha’s hand. “It’ll work out, Tee. The physickers and monks all know their business, and I doubt there’s anywhere in all the Realm with more collected knowledge than the Tower.”

Trisha opened her mouth to reply when both girls were suddenly yanked into the narrow alley between two buildings. The world spun around Trisha, and she very nearly tripped over her own feet. When her vision cleared, she found they were surrounded by three older boys, all of whom were scowling at Lynn.

The dark-haired girl met their glares with a nonchalance that Trisha could not begin to understand. Or to imitate. Her own gut was already fluttering wildly.

“Doln,” Lynn spat. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

Dolnadain Scurn was a blocky youth, with broad shoulders and pale-reddish hair that always appeared in desperate need of a comb. He’d recently taken to wearing a downy beard. Trisha could only assume it was an effort to make him look older than his fifteen years. He was another student of the Kadir Monks, two years ahead of Lynn and Trisha. He was also the son of one of Gwendolyn Athana’s most bitter rivals.

Put plainly, Doln and Lynn hated each other.

“I want it back,” he said.

“What’re you talking about?” Lynn retorted.

“You know what I mean.”

She waved a hand at him. “If I did, would I be asking?”

“You don’t want to push me,” Doln warned.

“Why not? It’s one of my favourite pastimes.”

“Don’t make me hurt you. Or Trisha.”

Lynn tensed and stepped forward. Her hands lingered near her belt. “She’s none of your concern.”

Trisha tensed.

“Maybe you’re making her my concern,” Doln sneered. “Marauder’s brat.”

He lunged, grasping for Trisha, but Lynn was already moving. She threw herself to one side, lashing out with her elbow. The flecks of green in her eyes indicated that she was flaring Emberborn strength from her Soulblaze. She struck Doln in the chest, hitting hard enough to send him crashing into a wall.

“You’re lucky I don’t carry my knives in the Tower complex,” Lynn growled. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Athana,” Doln said. He was shaking with anger, and his cheek was already red and puffy. “Or your stupid knives. You’re done. Get her!”

His companions surged forward, and Trisha’s gut leaped into her throat. Lynn was moving again, grabbing Trisha by the wrist and pulling her along. She barrelled into the smaller of the boys, knocking him off balance just long enough to slip past. Then they were on the street.

“After them!” Doln cried.

Trisha heard the footsteps pounding behind her, but she didn’t dare look back. Instead, she lifted her skirts and ran as fast as she could.

“What’s going on?” she yelled at Lynn.

“We’re running.”

“I can see that! Why?”

Lynn turned, yanking Trisha down an alley even more narrow than the one in which Doln had accosted them. They ran no more than five paces before coming to a door. Something appeared in Lynn’s hand as she appeared to fiddle with the lock. An instant later, they were through and surrounded by dry, velvety darkness. The door slammed behind them, followed by a quiet click.

“What—” Trisha started. A hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shhh!” Lynn hissed just as the sound of boots stopped on the other side of the door.

The handle rattled briefly.

“It’s locked,” someone called.

A muffled response was followed by more footsteps moving away from the door. Still, Lynn didn’t remove her hand for several tense moments.

Finally, she sighed. “Dolnadain Scurn. One of these days he’s really going to push me too far.”

“At least we got away,” Trisha muttered. Her heart was still pounding. “What’s he so angry about?”

“He thinks I stole something from him,” said Lynn.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you?”

“Tee!” Lynn replied in mock indignation. “Would I do something like that?”

“If you could get away with it?” Trisha replied. “In a heartbeat. Where are we, anyway?”

She glanced around, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. A second door stood opposite the first. The gap at its base let in just enough light to illuminate the contents of a room so small it could have been called a closet. Shelves were packed with stacks of paper, rolls of leather, and brushes and bottles of various sizes. Several brooms leaned in one corner.

“The Annex, I think,” said Lynn. “Snuck in through a back door.”

“The Annex?” Trisha gasped, keeping her voice to a sharp whisper.

Panic washed through her. The Annex was carefully restricted. Visitors were permitted in the main lobby and its connected study rooms. Students and academs could use tokens like the ones Brother Burngath had distributed to gain access to the prescribed materials, but those materials were always brought to the lobby. Only a few authorized attendants were permitted into the back rooms or the cellar, which were rumoured to be filled with all manner of wonders and forbidden knowledge. As far as Trisha knew, nobody ever ventured into the cellar—not even Brother Kichel, the quiet old monk who managed the Annex. Of course, that only contributed to the outlandish nature of many of the rumours.

“We need to get out of here,” said Trisha, “before someone catches us. I don’t want to—”

“Hello?” came a weak voice. “Is someone back there?”

The door opened, and light streamed through. A smallish man stared at them through dark, bleary eyes. His wrinkled face was partially obscured by a wispy white beard. He wore the simple robes of a Kadir Monk, and his fingers were so stained with ink as to appear terribly bruised.

“What’s all this now?” he asked. His tone was stern but not unkind. “What the blazes are you girls doing back here?”

“See, Trisha,” said Lynn with a triumphant smirk. “I was right. Excuse us, Brother Kichel. We were just on our way here after our lessons with Master Burngath, but we got a bit turned around. I knew we couldn’t have drifted too far, though, and when we came across this door, I was sure it had to be part of the Annex. And so it was, and here we are.”

“Turned around?” asked the monk, arching one drooping white eyebrow. “The Annex isn’t so hard to find.”

“Yes,” Lynn agreed. “But Trisha and I were so engrossed in our conversation—about anatomy and the spheres, you understand—and you know how the Tower complex can be.”

“I see,” Brother Kichel replied. Trisha didn’t think he looked all that convinced, but Lynn just went on smiling as though she’d solved a particularly vexing problem. “Well, come along now.”

The monk ushered them down a short corridor and into the Annex’s lobby. The wide, open space was well lit by rows of square windows. A large desk sat along one wall, with several small study chambers to its immediate left. All had identical, rectangular doors, each standing slightly ajar. The only exception was the larger, arched door in the far corner—the entrance to the Annex’s cellar.

Incredibly, it swung open. Mygan Betara stepped out into the lobby.

The Arch Kadir paused, his dark eyes fixing on Trisha. He regarded her for a long moment before closing the door and fastening it with a heavy key, which he promptly slipped into a pouch at his belt.

“Trisha,” he said with a sad smile. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here for the extra reading,” she explained, producing the small token and passing it to Brother Kichel.

The old monk snorted, the sound deteriorating into a ragged hack of a cough. He wiped the corner of his lips on the fringes of his sleeve as he pushed himself to his feet. “Please excuse this cough. Eager this week, are we?”

“No time like the present,” said Lynn, with that tone she adopted whenever she wanted to be at her most charming.

Brother Kichel seemed unimpressed. “Indeed,” he said, accepting Trisha’s token. Lynn was quick to produce hers as well.

“Wait here,” said the monk. He cast one brief, unreadable look at the Arch Kadir before shuffling away, vanishing briefly through the door behind the desk. Trisha prepared herself to ask Mygan about Marow. Before she could give voice to her questions, Brother Kichel returned, carrying a dusty old volume in his arms.

“Of Flesh and Bone,” he said, “by the esteemed physicker Jidean Bole. This volume is more than two centuries old. I trust you’ll treat it with all possible care?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Trisha assured him, taking the book in her hands. “We’ll be careful.”

“It is good to see you take your studies seriously, girls,” said the Arch Kadir. He fixed his gaze on Trisha. “It will help keep your mind off other matters.”

She wasn’t so sure. “How is he?”

“We’re doing everything we can for Marow,” Mygan assured her.

There was something in his eyes that she could not quite discern, but which hinted at something he was not saying. Trisha had to force herself to not glance toward the cellar door.

“But I have some matters to discuss with Brother Kichel,” said Mygan. “I’ll not keep you from your reading.”

“Thank you,” said Trisha.

The Arch Kadir nodded kindly. Together, the girls crossed the lobby to one of the study rooms. It was sparsely furnished, with a sturdy wooden table and a pair of matching chairs. A tapestry hung on one wall, depicting an image of the Teacher imparting sacred knowledge to a group of sages.

“Well,” said Lynn as she closed the door, “let’s see what the great and wise Master Bole has to say about the human body.”

Trisha opened the cover, and the musty smell of aged paper rose up to greet them. The script was clear and neat, though faded with the passing of long years. Trisha struggled with some of the more archaic language—even with the accompaniment of various anatomical drawings. Lynn did her best to help. Despite her general lack of enthusiasm for her studies, she’d always been the more natural scholar.

They spent nearly an hour poring over the book, absorbing what they could and trying to infer which passages would be of particular interest to Brother Burngath. Trisha had trouble focusing. She found herself looking for any hint of what might be wrong with Marow, and wondering what the Arch Kadir had been doing down in the cellar.

Eventually, Lynn leaned back in her chair. “Your mind’s not in this, is it?”

“Not really,” Trisha confessed. “I’m too distracted.”

“Thinking about Marow?”

“Yes. I just can’t help feeling that I should be doing something. I’ve already learned so much about Cinderborn healing.”

“You’re no physicker, though, Tee.”

“But I could help.”

“Maybe,” Lynn murmured. “What I want to know is what the Arch Kadir was doing here. Isn’t he supposed to be focusing on helping Marow? What if that’s why he was here? What if there’s something down there that could help?”

“I suppose it’s possible…”

“Wanna take a look?”

Trisha frowned. “And just how are we supposed to do that? You saw Mygan lock the door and tuck the key away.”

Lynn grinned widely. With a flourish of her hand, she produced a key. Trisha gaped. At first glance, she thought her friend had stolen it from the Arch Kadir, but then she saw that the key was cut from some form of pale, glossy substance. There was a translucence to its surface that was not quite like glass, but which was certainly no metal she’d ever seen.

“What is it?”

“A mimic key,” said Lynn.

Trisha gaped, certain that she’d misheard. It was a wild claim. Mimic keys were supposed to be devices of Old Magic. According to the stories, they could open any lock. They were also said to have a limited number of uses.

“How do you think I got us into the Annex and away from Doln?” Lynn asked, as though sensing Trisha’s uncertainty. “That door was locked.”

“Doln...” Trisha murmured thoughtfully. She gasped. “This is the thing you stole from him, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Lynn insisted. “I acquired it. There’s a difference. Besides, he probably stole it from someone else.”

“Maybe he found it,” Trisha suggested.

“Maybe. But can you imagine the trouble Doln could cause with this thing? He might have taken his oath before the Sacred Hearth, but you know he’s got fewer scruples than a Kith marauder.”

“But you want to use it to sneak into the cellar of the Annex?” Trisha countered.

“Just to poke around, see if we can find anything to help Marow. Come on, Tee. You just said you wanted to do something.”

“This isn’t what I meant. If we get caught down there…”

Lynn grinned. “Who said anything about getting caught?”

Trisha just sighed and sank into one of the chairs. She was sorely tempted, and for reasons beyond just her concern for Marow. There was also her natural curiosity. Every student in the Tower had wondered at the secrets contained below the Annex. If those secrets held some means of helping her cousin…

“No,” she said at last. “It’s forbidden. If there was anything of use down there, the Arch Kadir would already have made use of it.”

“Whatever you say,” said Lynn. “But I don’t think we’re going to get much more done here. How about we head to that bakery, now?”

“Sure,” Trisha agreed.

She closed the book and carried it back to Brother Kichel. The wizened old monk was seated at his desk now, sipping from a cup of steaming chai as he flipped through a folio of loose pages.

“All finished?” he asked.

“I think so,” Trisha replied, passing the book across the desk. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, accepting the tome reverently. “I trust you learned what you needed?”

“We did.”

“Very good. I’ll just—”

The monk cut off abruptly. He scowled and grumbled something to himself, far too quietly for Trisha to make out.

“Your Grace?” she asked. “Are you unwell?”

He started. “What’s that now? Oh, no. I’m fine. My apologies, girls,” he grunted. “I’ve a matter I’d best be attending to.”

Without another word, he turned and trundled into the back room, taking the book with him.

“Well, that was strange,” Trisha started to say.

Before she could finish the thought, Lynn grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her across the lobby to where the cellar door stood, broad and foreboding. By the time they reached it, Lynn already had the mimic key in her hand. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, then slipped it into the keyhole and turned.

“Wait…” Trisha started.

Click.

The door swung open.

“Hurry!” Lynn hissed, ushering Trisha through with a firm nudge.

An instant later, the door closed behind them. The girls found themselves standing at the top of a darkened staircase, illuminated only by the slivers of light peeking through the edges of the door. There was a mustiness to the air: the familiar smell of old books and dried wood mixed with the piquant aroma that reminded Trisha oddly of orange and cinnamon.

“I can’t see anything,” Lynn whispered.

“Me neither,” Trisha grumbled through clenched teeth. “I thought I said I didn’t want to do this.”

“It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Is there a railing or something?”

Trisha reached out until her fingers closed around a length of smooth, polished wood.

“Found it,” she said.

“Then get moving,” Lynn whispered. “Unless these monks can see in the dark, there must be some kind of light down there. Glowstones, maybe?”

“Or they might bring their own lanterns.”

“Just get going.”

With a steadying breath, Trisha continued her descent, moving with the utmost caution and counting every step. She thought she could see the vaguest shape of the stairs beneath her feet, leading down into a smear of darkness. By the time she reached a count of twenty, the length of the railing had vanished, and her foot found level ground.

“I reached the bottom,” she said quietly.

“I’m right behind you,” came Lynn’s hushed response.

Trisha reached out and found another door before her. She fumbled blindly, and after a moment, her fingers closed around the cool metal of a latched handle. She pressed down, half expecting to find the door locked. Instead, it swung open with only a whispered creak.

The smells were stronger here, nearly pungent in their intensity. More importantly, Trisha found that she could see. A faint, bluish light filled the room, casting everything in hues of dim sapphire.

“Thank the Nine,” muttered Lynn. “I was worried it’d be as dark as the bottom of the sea down here. But what’s making the light?”

“I don’t know,” Trisha responded.

She cast her gaze around but found no lantern or candles or open hearth, not even a glowstone—which might at least have explained the unnatural colour of the light. Instead, it was as though a faint luminance simply hung in the air like a morning mist.

“Eerie,” said Lynn, her voice bright with excitement. “Let’s take a look around.”

Other than the strange blueness, the room looked a great deal like a library. As they approached the orderly aisles of shelves, they came across a large canvas depicting dozens of fanged and snarling figures, all bearing cruel-looking swords. They were led by a shadowy figure mounted on a massive bird with the curved horns that marked it as a rukthar. Unlike the serene depictions Trisha had seen of Blessed Mischa, this creature was all of sickly black, with eyes like blazing furnaces.

A bronze plate attached to the bottom of the canvas read: “Mounted on Fellwing, Tatalanaria leads her legions of vashyr.”

Lynn pulled a face. “Well,” she said. “I can certainly see why they’d want to keep that down here. It’s ghastly. I wonder if Fellwing’s eyes really burned like that, or if the vashyr were that ugly?”

Trisha shuddered, considering the stories the monks taught of the Annihilation. The vashyr were always described as hard and vicious warriors that the Fey Queen had marched across much of Varkas in her effort to destroy humanity. Those same stories named Fellwing as the lone rukthar that had embraced the Fey Queen’s cause. He was said to have fought several battles against Mischa herself.

“I’d prefer to never find out,” Trisha said.

They continued their exploration, moving between the aisles and examining the contents of the shelves. Some contained books and scroll cases, but many were lined with objects of a more peculiar nature. Trisha saw a series of oddly shaped skulls, too large and broad to have belonged to any human. She passed a sceptre, a case overflowing with wooden discs and an unusual orb covered in a strangely geometric script. There were other objects, too—things she couldn’t even begin to recognize.

They continued exploring for several minutes. Trisha had just stepped out from between another row of shelves when she thought she saw a shadow dart around one corner. It was small and quick, and she was almost certain she caught the shape of a large, bushy tail.

What was that? she wondered. I could’ve sworn…

The thought died half-formed in her mind when her eyes fell on the object sitting in the room’s far corner. It had the appearance of a gate, with a rounded frame of dark, twisted stone that gave the impression of a churning river. A face was carved at the top, mere inches from the ceiling. It had a broad nose and curved horns that reminded Trisha of those she’d seen on the carving of Mischa—or in the painting of Fellwing. Three stones of turquoise were set in a line beneath each closed eye, like a stream of tears. At the centre of it all was something almost like a mirror, all dull and tarnished.

Trisha found herself drawn forward. With every step she took, the mirror seemed to brighten. Faint ripples covered its surface, while the dimness began a slow retreat, like frost beneath a clear spring sun. The twisted shape of the frame brightened, shifting colour until it nearly matched the gems on the face.

“What is it?” asked Lynn.

Trisha hadn’t heard her friend’s approach. Lynn’s expression was wary and hesitant, nothing at all like the courageous adventurer she always pretended to be. There was worry in that face—and fear.

“I don’t know,” Trisha whispered. “But it seems familiar somehow.”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“I don’t think so.” Trisha took another step. She was almost close enough to touch it now. Close enough to see the vague shadow of her reflection in the flatness of its surface. “But there’s something…”

She raised her hand.

“Do not touch!”

The voice boomed, deep and commanding. Trisha whirled. Lynn gasped. A figure stepped out from between the rows of shelves. He was clad in dark robes, face obscured in the shadow of a deep hood. He held his hand up, outstretched toward them. After a moment of silence, that hand moved toward the hood, pushing it back and revealing his face. He had dark skin, a greying beard and narrow eyes that Trisha knew all too well.

It was the face of Mygan Betara. The face of the Arch Kadir.