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“Holy is magical conquest, for God gives power to the mages, and through them His Might is known. The mage’s responsibility is to bring to heel the wild of the world and make it civil through the cleansing Light of Feryn, the Father.

As he tames the wild energy given into his hands by God so too must he tame his inferiors, though they resist him. ”

O NLY

HIGHMAGES

WERE allowed to take books from the fourth-floor of the library out of the building, a privilege that Sciona intended to exercise for the first time.

Her mind raced as she walked among the stacks trying to think: What do I need?

What might I need that I can’t pull from my memory or get anywhere else?

She tumbled through all the terrible eventualities of the coming plan and made her decision: Highmage Jurowyn’s Maps of the Greater Kwen and Archmage Sintrell’s System of Coordinate and Spellweb Organization, Highmage Gorbel’s Maps of Modern Tiran.

She slipped the last book into her shoulder bag and turned to find a white robe blocking her way between the shelves.

“Renthorn!” She started back. “God, is this some kind of joke? Do you spend all day lurking behind shelves?”

“Only when I’m on the hunt for something. Same as you.”

She could see immediately that Renthorn was unwell. He looked like he’d gotten about as much sleep as she had over the past few days—and possibly supplemented his teas with alcohol.

“How’s your mapping coming, then?” Sciona couldn’t help a malicious smile. “Not as well as you’d hoped?”

“Well, I daresay not as well as yours , Miss Freynan.” Renthorn took in her bedraggled hair and bloodshot eyes. “You found out about the Otherrealm, didn’t you?”

Sciona was mute for a moment before she said tightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You opened a clear mapping visual, didn’t you? You saw it.”

“How do you know that?” Even Bringham hadn’t known until she told him.

Renthorn shrugged. “I make it a point to keep an eye on my fellow mages, how they’re doing, what they’re reading. No one reads that much Stravos except the idiots trying to replicate his methods. I put it together when you started screaming.”

“Oh.”

“I’m just curious how you did it when so many before you have failed.”

“Just a bit of creative composition.”

Renthorn chuckled, but there was something strained about it. “No, but honestly, Freynan. People have tried to adapt Stravos for a hundred years. You expect me to believe you did it in three months, and there was no special trick to it?”

“Two days,” Sciona couldn’t help saying.

“Excuse me?”

“I took two days to adapt Stravos’s mapping method.

And there was no special trick.” As she said it, though, she realized that it wasn’t entirely true.

Thomil was the special trick. He had led her to Stravos’s maternal Kwen lineage.

Without Thomil, she never would have looked up all those accounts of Kwen witches and known what sort of spellwork she was trying to glean from Stravos’s writings.

“It seems I misjudged you, Freynan.”

“Misjudged me?”

“I concede. My theories about you were flawed. I thought you’d gotten where you are with your feminine wiles alone. But you’re quite the formidable mage, aren’t you? Just like the rest of us.”

“I am not like the rest of you!” Sciona protested before thinking better of it. She was supposed to be playing along.

“True enough.” Renthorn somehow managed an insufferable smugness even through his exhaustion. “I didn’t scream and cry quite so much when I learned the truth of the Otherrealm. I suppose that’s what comes of being a woman.”

“If you’re just here to comment further on my sex, I couldn’t be less interested.”

“On the contrary”—he blocked her way between the stacks—“I’m here to help you.”

“Really?”

“I know uncovering the truth must have shaken you. And so close to the meeting of the High Magistry, there’s no way you’ll be in any condition to present your findings by Feryn’s Feast. I have an offer.”

“Let me guess. You want us to present together.”

“My plan for the expansion is polished and ready for application. If you explain to me how you did this—how you generated your mapping visual—I can help you use this new spell to its full potential.”

“Alright now, Renthorn,” Sciona laughed. “Let’s not pretend you’re trying to do me any favors. You want access to my spellwork because you know you’ll never come up with anything half as good yourself.”

Utter spite flashed across Renthorn’s face, but for once, he held the bile behind his teeth and spoke politely. “I think you’ll agree that we would be better off combining our expertise. You can’t do what I can with spellwebs.”

“I don’t think you know me well enough to say what I can and can’t do.”

“Well then, Sciona Freynan”—he took a step closer—“let’s get to know each other better.”

“Excuse me?”

“Be realistic. The presentation is a week away, and you’re not ready.

I mean, the best of mages aren’t ready for their first presentation before the Council, but after all that experimentation with the mapping spells themselves, you won’t have had time to revise your web to a high standard.

And I know your assistant didn’t do it for you.

” Renthorn was right. Feryn damn him. “The spellweb I’ve put together is unparalleled.

You’ve seen my work from before I was a highmage. You know it is.”

“Only if you’ve learned to tighten up your connective composition.”

“See?” Renthorn was standing very close now. “We do know each other. And you understand that our partnership is inevitable. Once the archmages see my spellweb, they’ll order us to combine our work anyway. Eventually, you will be working for me.”

Not wanting to back up into the bookcase, Sciona held her ground and glared up at the other mage. “If it’s so inevitable, I’m sure you can wait a week.”

She made to move past Renthorn, but he caught her by the shoulders, shoving her back into the shelves.

Her heart jumped to her throat. In an instant, she was back in the schoolyard with a bully pinning her against the fence.

Only this was so much worse. More intimate.

More threatening. She could smell the oil Renthorn had used to slick back his hair.

“Let go of me.”

“What do we have here?” He pulled back the flap of her bag, despite her attempts to swat his hands away.

“Jurowyn, Sintrell, and… Gorbel? Interesting reading choices Freynan. Favorites of one Highmage Sabernyn, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I said let go!” Twisting away, at last, Sciona tugged her bag shut and shouldered past him.

“Wait!”

His hand fastened around her wrist with frantic strength, stopping her.

“What?” she snapped, hating the fear in her voice.

“Don’t go!” For a moment, Renthorn registered as a human—a boy as lost and desperate as Sciona had been grabbing at Thomil’s sleeve the day she found out. “This isn’t just about the barrier expansion.”

“Then what is it about?” Sciona demanded, wishing to God that he would just let go.

“It’s just that… you saw the siphoning itself.” Something in Renthorn’s voice had gone fragile, longing. “You witnessed magic as appetite, watched it feed.” Pupils dilated against brilliant green. “What was it like?” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t find out firsthand the way you did. For me, it was a dark suspicion that grew for years until my father confirmed it—and then made it immediately clear that he would disown me if I ever spoke of it again. I’m sure Archmage Bringham told you something similar.”

“He wasn’t quite so callous,” Sciona said and experienced an unwelcome pang of pity for this archmage’s son, who had probably never had the chance to come to his own conclusions about a thing once in his regimented, predetermined life.

“I suppose Bringham’s not really the callous type.

I just never understood why we couldn’t talk about it like real men—real mages,” Renthorn amended, meeting Sciona’s eyes.

His grip had tightened on her wrist, pulling slightly as though on a lifeline.

“Where is the honesty in that? Where is God’s holy truth? ”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Sciona admitted. “I think… for many mages, the denial must be a necessary shield against the guilt.”

“Not for me.” Renthorn pulled at her arm—harder this time—and his face lurched close, green eyes hungry in the low lamplight. “I don’t need a shield for my soul or my eyes, Freynan. I want to see what you saw. I need to look the truth of magic in the face.”

“That’s… commendable, Highmage,” she said, vaguely hoping it would get him to let go. “It seems I misjudged you as well. At the very least, I may have misjudged your level of integrity. Even so, I don’t think you want to see what I saw.”

“But I must . I must see and understand why the archmages want this thing hidden so badly.”

“I don’t think their reasons are that much of a mystery. Like I said, they need to avoid the guilt somehow.”

“But guilt over what , do you think? The taking? Or the enjoying?”

“Pardon?” Enjoying?

“You don’t think some of them get a thrill from it? A dark satisfaction they wouldn’t want God or anyone else to discover?”

Unbidden, Sciona recalled the sense of power she had felt at mapping to the distant ocean.

There was an abstract thrill that always came with magic, bending reality to one’s will.

For her, the excitement had turned to horror the moment the abstract turned to skin, blood, and stripped bones.

But what if it hadn’t? Horror could be close to excitement…

Fear could be close to excitement. What if Sciona’s hunger for power had carried her straight through the hideous nature of the discovery and on to a higher thrill?

She didn’t want to understand what Renthorn was talking about, but she did.