Page 55

“Bringham and Tanrel have never been publicly confronted, though. That will make a difference.” At least, that was what Sciona had kept telling herself as she worked through the night on her spellwork.

“And again, we’re still talking about high-status mages.

But the common people of Tiran are different.

Kwen have lived side-by-side with Tiranish in my neighborhood for decades.

” Granted, Sciona never interacted much with them, but Winny did.

Alba did. “My aunt exchanges holiday gifts with them, same as anyone else.”

“Your aunt sounds like a lovely person, but—”

“There was a boy from my neighborhood,” Sciona said, “one of the baker’s sons. He went off to be a barrier guard last year. When he came back—after seeing what happened to the Kwen at the barrier and being forced to keep it a secret—he couldn’t take it. He took his own life.”

“So, your evidence that regular citizens will take this revelation well is that your sample size of one killed himself?”

“Alright, it sounds bad when you put it that way but consider: he couldn’t talk to anyone about what he’d seen, couldn’t do anything about it. If everyone in the city knows, everyone will have to reckon with it. Together.”

“And you think that will go well, do you?”

“Is she still at it?” a voice said, and Carra rounded the corner, drying her long hair with a borrowed towel. “Gods, mage, I tried to tell you he wouldn’t like your idea any better than I did.”

“I’m so sorry, Highmage Freynan,” Thomil said as Carra slid onto one of the barstools by her uncle, and he really sounded it. “I don’t think this is going to work out the way you want it to.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Sciona demanded, looking from Carra to Thomil in frustration. “Pretend nothing is wrong? Just let things at the Magistry go on as normal while people continue dying on the other side of the barrier?”

“No.” Thomil rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, fingers gripping the short hair there in agitation. “I just—”

“Look, I understand this is probably not the smart thing to do.”

“So, why are you doing it?” Thomil asked.

“Because I have to.”

Thomil made an exasperated noise. “Then why did you even bother asking my opinion?”

“That’s what I said,” Carra muttered.

“I…” Sciona faltered. Damn it. “You’re right.” They were both right. “I’m being selfish, and arrogant, and…” Painfully, Sciona swallowed her pride and all her instincts. “If you really don’t want me to go ahead with this, then I won’t.”

When Thomil just frowned, Sciona turned to Carra, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me, mage. If you want to make a mess of this cursed city, I’m not jumping in to stop you.”

“And you, Thomil?” Sciona asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.” Thomil let out a growl of frustration. “I don’t know because I honestly don’t know for sure what will happen—to you, to the Kwen in the city, to any of us.”

“But things should get better for the Kwen once people know the truth.”

“I really doubt that,” Thomil said. “Here in Tiran, we’ll probably be worse off.”

“How do you figure?”

“Don’t ask me to explain Tiranish behavior. All I know is that living honestly has always ended badly for my people, and I doubt it will end any better for you.”

“But maybe not,” Sciona said as Carra rolled her eyes. “The archmages are subject to public scrutiny and judgment. Half the power they wield is political, contingent on public opinion. After the city knows what they’ve done, the Council will be the enemy, not me and certainly not the Kwen.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because they’re butchers and cowards!”

“Butchers who have given the Tiranish homes, warmth, safety, electric lights, fast trains, running water, and a sense of being blessed by their God. That’s a lot to ask a person to give up for something as pesky as the truth.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sciona’s voice shook.

“I do. Firsthand. But if a selfish egomaniac like me can see sense, why shouldn’t the rest of Tiran?

” That actually got a smile out of Carra.

“They have parents, and siblings, and children. They know loss. They’ll understand the atrocity of magic. ”

“You forget that plenty of Tiranish don’t see Kwen as people,” Thomil said. “By the laws that govern your society, Kwen can’t be raped, can’t be wronged, can’t be murdered. This will just be a reason for the Tiranish to retreat further into the idea that Kwen aren’t human.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Among the Kwen tribes that predated Tiran, there was a tribe of the foothills called the Eresvin. Until my great grandparents’ time, they were known as the most peaceful of all people in the known world.

They farmed mostly and hunted rarely for dislike of killing.

By the time I was born, they had turned to cannibalism, hunting not just animals but smaller tribes.

They pursued my people a hundred miles past the edge of our former territory when we were too few to turn around and fight them. ”

“What? Why?”

“Because good people can turn desperate when the horrors are upon them— especially people whose culture of plenty has left them with no systems to cope with scarcity or cataclysm. Good people will turn monstrous when it’s down to their survival or someone else’s.”

“This isn’t about survival for the Tiranish.”

“Isn’t it?” Thomil asked. “It’s spiritual survival, if nothing else, yes? The survival of their faith. Do you think they will give that up any more easily than a starving man would give up food?”

Sciona paused.

Carra had gone very still, eyes moving between Thomil and Sciona, looking a little too interested in who would back down first.

“It’s a bet then,” Sciona said finally.

“You lost the last one,” Thomil pointed out. “How can you be so sure that you’re right this time?”

“Because I have to be.” Sciona had to believe that there was good in Tiran.

If not with the highmages and the Founding Mages, then somewhere.

This great city, the pinnacle of human achievement, could not be rotten to its core.

Even without God in the equation, there had to be some correlation between essential goodness and the innovation to which she had devoted her life.

“All I can say is… if you’re going to do this, I don’t co-sign it,” Thomil said finally. “Don’t do it for me—or for Tiran, or for the Kwen. Be selfish. Be arrogant. Do it for yourself.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt. I don’t want to be the reason you die.”

“This again?” Sciona said, unable to muster any exasperation. She was too touched. “Thomil, I’m not going to die!”

“You belong to an order of mass murderers,” he said, “and you’re about to point to them in front of their followers. It’s not a question this time. They will kill you.”

Sciona drew in a slow breath. She didn’t say ‘it will be worth it’ because that would mean conceding that Thomil could be right. Instead, she said, “This must be done.”

“So, you’re content to let the High Magistry kill you as a traitor? Like Sabernyn?”

“No,” Sciona said. “That’s actually the second reason I came to see you.

” Because despite all the optimism she had tried to sell Thomil, some deep part of her had gone cynical the moment Archmage Bringham said progress comes first. That part of her had asked for Dermek’s keys. “I have a failsafe, in case I’m wrong.”

“A failsafe?” Thomil repeated.

“Yes, but assuming the worst, I won’t be able to execute it by myself. I’ll need your help.”

“What would you need our help for?” Carra clearly tried for an indignant tone but couldn’t quite mask a flash of curiosity.

“Thomil’s help,” Sciona clarified firmly, “but don’t worry, Carra. You’ll love the plan.”

“I will?”

“It’s really violent.”