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Kalahad sat up, setting his cup to the side. “I steal humans, but because I’m rumored to hate them, people assume I must be doing something nefarious. But what if I was simply giving them a different life? I’ve visited the free cities, spoken with Feseraa once they’ve been relieved of their contracts. They live in squalor. They sacrificed to attain immortality, and now that they have it…” A soft, derisive chuckle. “It’s a great cosmic joke. They discovered the secret to eternal life, only to discover that it wasn’t worth living.”

Kato stared at the man. “And how do I know you’re telling me the truth right now?”

“You don’t. But I just confirmed a rumor my brother has been working very hard to quell. Good or bad intent, it wouldn’t look good for someone of my station to be seen fraternizing with the lower classes. I’ve given you a certain amount of power over me. Consider that a token of good faith.”

A flicker of movement at the northern end of the camp drew his attention, and Kato saw a familiar shock of dark hair weaving through the crowd. His brother was still covered in blood, and his face looked haggard and worn. It was the look of a man that had been hollowed out, that only continued to move forward out of necessity.

Kato pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I really should go.” Afterall, he still needed to check the new duty roster. His guard rotation could’ve already started, and he wouldn’t even know it.

“I understand,” Kalahad said, rising from his chair. “It was good to meet you. If you ever need anything at all—even if it’s just a drink—don’t hesitate to bend my ear. I don’t have as much sway here on Tempris as I would back home, but I’ll try my best.”

Kato took the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, for the first time noticing the serving ladies behind them as they still ladled soup. They passed the bowls through a break in the tent—to humans. Even with the meager resources available to them in camp, he had his people feeding the Shardless.

Maybe Kalahad wasn’t just blowing hot air.

“I don’t know if I trust you yet,” Kato said, meeting the man’s eyes, “but I’m glad we met.”

Kalahad’s smile widened, and he laughed, clapping a hand to Kato’s shoulder. “Us half-breeds have to stick together.”

Chapter 10

-An excerpt from the ABCs of Time Magic

M is for mimic.

The mimic is a Class VII multidimensional eldritch beast that feeds off anomalies and aberrations in the timelines. During periods of overpopulation or famine, they can be drawn to our world to feed, often lured by the imprecise nature of a young time mage’s magic. For this reason, the mimic is considered one of the greatest risks for untrained time mages. Adult mimics are highly aggressive and predatory and will suck their victims down to the marrow, sometimes continuing to feed on a time mage’s anima once their bloodborne aether is spent.

“Time is a tapestry,” Azura said one morning over breakfast.

Taly was seated on a low garden wall, idly chewing on a piece of toast while she scribbled notes. They didn’t usually take their morning meal together, but when they did, Azura insisted they start their day in the solarium. With its glass ceiling and glass walls all covered with creeping vines dotted with clusters of fat red berries, it made dealing with the Queen almost tolerable. Especially considering the early hour.

“Not literally, of course,” Azura went on, carefully trimming a handful of berries from a nearby bush. “But that is, perhaps, the easiest way to visualize it. If you look at a tapestry on a loom, the threads all interlock, weaving together into something larger; something more than its individual parts. And then if you begin to think of those threads as people, animals, places, each one forging its own path through the weft, all feeding into the greater design—it’s like a tapestry.

“All of creation is bound by time, every one of us—our lives, the decisions we make—merely threads on a loom. That is why we call the picture it creates the Weave. It’s simpler, that way.”

“So then where do time mages fit in?” Taly asked, checking over her notes before looking up from her journal.

Azura arched a brow—a signal to continue.

“If you cut a thread in a tapestry,” Taly said, “it begins to fray. Loosen or pull that thread, and the image distorts. A time mage’s spells inherently alter time, which means that if time really is a tapestry, they would change the structure of the Weave—loosening, pulling, cutting. Why doesn’t the whole thing unravel?”

Azura moved to the next plant, rearranging the smock she wore over her sunshine yellow gownas she said, “Can a tapestry not be repaired? If a thread is cut, can it not be rewoven so that the greater work of art remains unbroken? Our magic alters time—that is true. But if a spell is cast correctly, it will stabilize the surrounding threads.”

“And if a spellisn’tcast correctly?”

“It depends.” Azura clipped off another cluster of berries, adding them to the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. “Sometimes nothing. Time does have some ability to self-repair.” She shot meaningful glance at Taly. “In other cases, you’ll see a mage that manages to remove herself from the Weave entirely, creating her own little time loop outside the fabric of reality.” Taly blushed, ducking her head and pretending to write something very important. “That is why untrained time mages are so dangerous. Their magic is unpredictable and can have far-reaching consequences.”

Moving to a nearby table, Azura set down her garden shears and her basket, then pulled the floppy brimmed hat from her head. She picked up a cluster of berries, smiling as she held them up to the light. “Have you ever seen a more perfect sugarberry?” she asked. “It took me 400 years to refine the growing process. They need full sun in the morning, but also protection from the afternoon heat. If the soil goes dry at any point during the growing cycle, the crop suffers.”

There was a small control interface resting on the edge of the table, and Azura touched a finger to a water crystal set into the surface, releasing a flurry of liquid butterflies that flitted through the air. They alighted on leaves and berries before dissolving into a rain of mist that began to trickledown. “I never had time for such things when I was serving as queen, but now… well, I’ve become something of an amateur horticulturalist. I’ve set up several solariums inside the protection of the palace, where time still moves linearly. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see my orchids. They started blooming last night.”

Taly let out a soft sigh, licked butter and jam off her fingers, and reached for a cup of coffee sitting beside her. Turning a page, she skimmed her notes from the previous day. The Queen was always going off on tangents. Eventually, she would find her way back to the lesson, and until then, all Taly had to do was nod at the appropriate times and give the occasional “uh-huh.”

Which she did as she turned another page, only half-listening as the Queen droned on about soil acidity, pH balance, and other things that weren’t time magic.

After two months, life at the palace had fallen into a relentless rhythm, sliding by in a blur of hard work and constant toil. Meditation before breakfast, then she’d spend the rest of the morning studying chronal theory in either her room or the library. Afternoons, she worked one-on-one with the Queen, and if their lesson released on time, she would be sent to the training yard for conditioning exercises and weapons training. Otherwise, Leto would pick her up straight from the study room, rushing her off to be primped and plucked and stuffed into a frothy creampuff of a dress for a formal dinner with the Queen.

Every day followed the same pattern, the same endless cycle, right down to the nightmares that chased her from sleep every night. Most mornings, she woke up feeling worse than she hadwhen she’d collapsed into bed, although sometimes, if she was lucky, she managed to push herself past the point of exhaustion. That was the only way to stop the dreams.