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“Evil begets evil,” Bringham said. “Their ancestors worshipped false gods and passed that darkness on to them. If they truly want redemption, they can earn it. They can cross into Tiran, convert to the light, and work for their immortal souls.”

“They don’t make it across, though,” Sciona said. “The vast majority of them die in the Reserve siphoning zone around the barrier.”

“And thank goodness for that,” Bringham said with a laugh. “Can you imagine this city without the use of the Reserve—or worse, overrun with Kwen in such numbers?”

Worse? The implication was nauseating: that the most important function of the Reserve was not to provide energy to the city but to keep the vermin out.

“Blight has always been God’s way of striking down the unworthy.”

“But God doesn’t bring about Blight,” Sciona protested, unable to cede this point.

“We do. Humans, with our fallible, selfish human motives. Like you and me—and Sabernyn, for Feryn’s sake!

If God really intended Blight as a punishment for those who rejected him, then why…

” Her voice caught on the memory of the girl in the ocean.

There had been no black-haired warriors in the Horde of Thousands.

Tiran was siphoning people too far away to ever have heard of Leon or the god he may or may not have fabricated to justify his greed.

“There is no moral basis for Blight. There can’t—”

“Sciona.” Bringham cut her off, his voice infuriatingly gentle. “You’re thinking about this too logically.”

“Too logically?” she repeated. “Too logically? I thought the female crime I was supposed to avoid was thinking about magic emotionally. Too logically, Archmage?”

“God is beyond mere mortal logic. It is not for even the greatest minds to question His will. Remember this. It makes it easier.”

“But—I—”

“I know,” he said softly. “You’ve learned to question everything, turn over the rocks no one else pauses to notice.

It is your greatest strength as a mage, but every mortal has his or her limits defined by God.

And this is where our role as mages is not to question but to accept.

Not because it’s logical but because all beings have their limits, and you will destroy yourself if you don’t.

I can’t afford that. The women of Tiran can’t afford that.

Tiran itself can’t afford that. If we are to keep developing our civilization as we must, this is where we mages lay down our tools of science and kneel before God, All-knowing. ”

But Sciona couldn’t do that. Not when science was supposed to be the godliest of arts.

Not when this creeping doubt kept pointing out that all Tiran’s knowledge of God came from Leon, who, it seemed, had been a prolific murderer, plagiarist, and liar.

There was too much dissonance from God all the way down.

“Then I…” I’m a heretic .

The thought had been building since the throes of her panic in Aunt Winny’s apartment. Now it manifested in the form of a void where her soul used to be. It left her empty. Terrified. Yet oddly exhilarated.

“Many think that women are too soft for what we do here, too weak for the burden of this knowledge. But I know you, Sciona Freynan. Your first devotion is to magic and advancement. Your head will clear, you will remember who you are, and you will move beyond this.”

Sciona was nodding—not just because she had promised Thomil she would play along—but because, on this, Bringham had a point about her.

She had never given any indication that she cared about the well-being of others.

As far as Bringham knew, she had no interest in people who couldn’t further her ambitions.

“Your devotion has always been to magic,” Bringham said again, his voice so soothing—because perhaps this was the voice he used with himself to get to sleep at night. “None of that has to change because you’ve uncovered a few skeletons.”

“Yes, sir,” Sciona answered from the void inside her, this vacuous space where an enthusiastic girl used to live.

Because her ambition hadn’t come from a pure desire for power.

Maybe, at its core, it was that, but the desire had come to her swaddled in a softer delusion: that her work would ultimately benefit others.

It would help other girls avoid the obscurity she feared.

It would improve the lives of working people like Alba and Aunt Winny and even their Kwen neighbors.

Somewhere in her soul, Sciona had used that notion to justify all her selfishness.

The belief that her work was good… That wasn’t something she could give up.

Maybe Bringham and the others couldn’t give it up either.

But unlike them, Sciona wouldn’t lie to herself, wouldn’t use God to ease her guilt when reason screamed otherwise.

Bringham smiled that proud smile that had always sparked such a glow in her and now fizzled in the dark. “I can’t tell you how many people warned me that a woman would be too soft for this revelation. Do not prove them right.”

“I won’t,” Sciona said, and with those words, a fresh determination flickered to life in the emptiness.

It wasn’t a strong feeling; the hollow was too oppressive, and the first sparks wouldn’t catch on cold nothing.

But it was the beginning of a conviction: she would not be soft, but nor would she be hard ice in the way that Bringham wanted.

She was going to show Tiran something they had never seen before.

She was going to show them Hellfire.

Bringham saw something of the spark in her and chucked her under the chin.

“That’s my star pupil,” he said. “Just remember that there are girls all over the city looking up to you at this moment. For them, if no one else, let’s get through this next week, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” A week. Sciona had a week to prepare her next move. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me about this, Archmage. I realize that I’ve been difficult, and I’m sorry.”

“Difficult, my dear? Not at all! This must have been a terrible shock.” Bringham was still looking at her in concern, and Sciona realized that she needed to sell her part better.

She couldn’t make her next moves with a worried eye on her.

Bringham needed to believe she was the same driven, single-minded Sciona she had always been, that nothing had fundamentally changed.

“Yes, sir, but I feel better now that you’ve helped me understand. You’re right. My first loyalty is to magic. And who am I to question the will of God?”

“There’s a good girl.”

“I just…” Why not play the weak little woman for once if that was the quickest way out of this office? “Honestly, all of this has exhausted me, sir.”

“I’m sure,” Bringham said sympathetically.

“I wonder if I could have the rest of the week off? I think I need to take a few days to sort out my thoughts before I return to my lab.”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “And I’m sorry to trouble you with this when you’ve just gone through so much, but we have a loose end to tie up. Your Kwen assistant will have to be dismissed.”

Dismissed? Sciona didn’t let the alarm show on her face. “That seems unfair, sir. I brought this on him. The mistake was mine.”

“Of course, but if he chooses to be vocal outside the university, what he witnessed in your lab must never be believed. You’ll dismiss him on the grounds of mental instability.”

“But he wasn’t—”

“You must do this, Freynan. For his own good and the good of Tiran.”

“Right,” she said, realizing that this might not be the disaster it seemed. Perhaps it would be best if Thomil vanished from the Magistry’s gaze.

“I can arrange for a proper assistant to help you prepare for the presentation if you like?”

“No, thank you, sir. That’s not necessary.”

“If you’re sure you can finish without an assistant.”

Sciona wasn’t sure she could, but what she definitely couldn’t do was finish her work in her laboratory with the eyes of the Magistry on her.

“Getting a new assistant caught up would take more time than it would be worth,” she said, “and you know me, Archmage. I’ve had the bulk of my material ready for days now. ”

He seemed to buy the lie. “I bet you have. I just want to make sure you’ll be ready to present it before the Council.”

“Oh, I will be.”

The green jewel eyes of the Founding Mages flashed judgment through the mist as Sciona climbed the steps of the Main Magistry. She glared right back at them.

This is where we lay down our tools of logic and kneel before God, All-knowing.

Sciona figuratively chewed on the words as she physically chewed the inside of her cheek.

Maybe it made sense for Bringham to push the boundaries of magical knowledge only until he reached God and demurred before his superior.

That was the canonized destiny of men like Derrith Bringham.

They did what a man was supposed to: they revered and obeyed the men who had come before them, strove for greatness in the model of their predecessors, and, in the end, they were rewarded with power, acclaim, and dominion over lesser beings—a small godhood of their own.

It was a tidy path for a highborn man like Bringham, but it didn’t apply to Sciona.

After all, if she had done only what a girl was supposed to do until now, she would have no power, no acclaim.

Only an obscure existence as the subject of someone else’s dominion.

The path to God wasn’t laid for women like her. It was laid on their backs.

If there was a signpost where Sciona was supposed to lay down her tools and kneel —let herself be a stepping stone for someone else—she had passed it a long time ago. She had passed it over and over again by simply refusing to slow down for anyone. Why should Bringham be an exception?

Why should God Himself be an exception?

Sciona’s laboratory was not the mess she had left it.

Some time during the past few days, an invisible Kwen janitor had cleaned it, top to bottom.

The papers that had flurried to the floor had been carefully placed back on her desk.

The spellograph Thomil had smashed against the wall was gone, scattered keys and all.

“Miss Freynan?” a voice said, and Sciona turned to find Jerrin Mordra in the hall behind her, a stack of notes clutched nervously to his chest. “I wanted to ask… are you alright?”

“What?” It might have been the first time one of Sciona’s co-workers had spoken to her kindly. Thrown off, she fumbled. “I mean—yes. Fine. H-how have you been?”

“I just wanted to let you know… Some of the things I’ve said to you… I didn’t mean any harm by them.”

“Right.” Sciona blinked and failed to remember what, in particular, Mordra the Tenth had said to her. Whatever barbs he was sorry for, they had been dull compared to Renthorn’s and fallen out of her head without leaving an impression.

“I never meant for you to… I didn’t know you were having such a hard time.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Sciona studied Jerrin Mordra for a moment. There was a nervous pain in his fern-green eyes that seemed sincere. “Are you a kind person, Highmage Mordra?”

He looked confused. “I’d like to think so. I hope so.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, Freynan?”

“Highmage Mordra, if you’re a good person—or you aspire to be—you should ask your father to pull some strings and find you a different job. One far from magic and politics.”

“Why?”

“I appreciate you checking on me. I have to get going.”

“Highmage Freynan?” Mordra said, but Sciona had already swept down the hall, a plan crackling on the kindling inside her.

Fire filled the void.