Page 131

Ivain always made it a point to read the names of the dead.

Every day, the list grew longer. The shades had pulled back in recent weeks, but they were still in the forest, always looking for ways to test their defenses. Patrols often returned smaller than when they set out, and mages disappeared from the troops stationed around the perimeter.

The city was secure—for now. But with the shades killing them outside the wall and the Curse killing them within, he was running out of soldiers, running out of trained mages to replace them.

He’d already opened recruitment to humans, knowing their names would quickly find their way to his list. If they didn’t get off this island soon, he’d be arming children.

They’d lost two more today in a skirmish by the eastern perimeter.

Ivain read their names before setting aside the list. They were from the island, and he would need to write letters to their families.

Need to find some way to tell their loved ones how they died and why there wouldn’t be bodies to bury.

He was halfway through the first letter when the door to his office opened and closed.

The scent was familiar—Taly—and it eased some of the tightness in his chest. He’d been too hard on her today, his words too sharp.

He’d failed to give her credit where it was due, focusing instead on everything wrong.

The argument replayed in his mind like a bad echo.

She’d come to his office after breakfast, and he’d…

doubled down. As she stood in front of him, itching to defend herself, he could feel his frustration bubbling over as he reiterated his points, the same grievances surfacing over and over.

The argument circled like a tempest, their words crashing against each other with no clear end in sight.

Finally, he reached a breaking point. “No more risks,” he declared. “No more using your magic, inside or out.”

A desecration spell—designed to nullify all magical functions, and, in one fell swoop, ensure his daughter never spoke to him again.

He hadn’t even needed to get her to sit for it.

The words he’d inked on her arm— Can you read this?

—had provided the perfect conduit. Fey ink needed aether to bind it.

Otherwise, the body’s natural healing would reject the tattoo entirely.

She hadn’t questioned it when he applied the mark. She’d trusted him.

And he’d used that trust against her.

It was still his aether. And it knew its master. It obeyed without question, forming the necessary runes.

Was it harsh? Yes. Was it necessary? Also… yes.

Every use of her magic, whether within the townhouse or beyond its walls, was a beacon. A flare in the dark that the Time Shard could follow straight to her. He could survive her anger, even her hate—so long as she lived long enough to hate him.

Though if she was here… well, that had to be something. He tried not to let too much excitement show.

Ivain picked up his pen, setting it to paper. He said without looking up, “If you’re looking for my brandy, I’ve hidden it. This time somewhere you won’t find.”

Taly strolled past him. He saw her reflection in the bulb of the hourglass on his desk, heard the stairs behind him creak as she climbed to the second story, no doubt scanning the shelves.

Ivain didn’t let himself worry. The bottle was locked in a safe hidden inside a secret compartment, glamoured so that even if—

Two glasses landed on the desk beside him. She poured two fingers into each.

“Oh, for Shard’s sake…” Ivain muttered. That girl was a liquor-sniffing dog so long as it was expensive. Throwing down his pen, he leaned back in his chair, turning—

Ivain froze as a memory clicked into place, filling in gaps he hadn’t even known existed. Images which had been so clear in his mind’s eye suddenly crystallized, and for the first time he looked—really looked—at the woman in his office.

She was dressed all in black, the first few buttons of her tunic thrown open to reveal tattooed skin.

Her hair was at least a foot longer than the Taly upstairs, the tilt of her smile too sly.

Plucking up one of the glasses with a gloved hand, she strolled around his desk, moving with a fluid ease her younger counterpart had yet to master.

The woman took a seat, staring at him from across the desk with Taly’s eyes.

“Well?” she asked, cocking her head. “You called. I came.” She took a sip from her glass, then made a face. “Holy fuck, old man. Usually, you have better brandy.” But she swallowed it.

Ivain’s heart was pounding, his mind still reeling. In an instant, an entire lifetime had suddenly been re-written.

His voice a rasp, he said simply, “Hello, Bilal.”

Ivain met Bilal with his head in a toilet on the backwater desert planet Sorcopii-9.

He was 38 years old, away from his family for the first time, and when he discovered that he’d just spent most of his coin on a fake map leading to a fake treasure had promptly spent the rest of it getting rip-roaring drunk.

He was hurling up his guts when Bilal plopped herself down beside him on the filthy floor, introduced herself, and asked if he was still interested in finding treasure.

To this day, he still didn’t know why he’d said yes.

Maybe he was just glad to see another Fey, or maybe he really was just that drunk. Maybe it was because she offered him a cut, and he hadn’t saved any coin to buy passage off-world. But what came next was still one of the more surreal experiences of his life.

A two-week journey that involved a trip across the desert, getting captured by sand goblin mercenaries, a slagworm and the pearl he had to cut from its stinking, still steaming belly while Bilal “supervised”, and finally, the ceremonial smoke pipe of an Iskari warlord, which Bilal traded the pearl to acquire—a trade he had not supported at the time.

A pearl the size of his head— that had value. A little piece of wood with fading gold and silver inlay and sandsmoke ash crusted into the bowl—that was a trinket.

One could only imagine his surprise when she then sold that “trinket” to a relic seeker for a truly obscene amount of gold. A gentle breeze could’ve knocked him over.

“See,” she said, tossing him his share. He stumbled under the weight. “I told you we’d find treasure.”

With a week until the Vergal Gate opened, they burned every bit of it at the bar.

There were few friends Ivain had held on to over the course of his long, long life. But Bilal—she’d always been there, dipping in and out. Always showing up right when he needed a miracle.

And here she was again.

Taly was Bilal. And Bilal was Taly. And even sitting right in front of him, he still couldn’t quite get his head around it.

“You…” he tried. “You altered my memory.”

“Blurred,” she corrected, as if that made any difference. “Your memories are the same. I just… clouded the specifics of my face.” And her voice, her scent, and a thousand other little details.

“We fought together,” he said. “ Killed together.”

She shrugged with the kind of nonchalance only a time mage could pull off. “Yes, and yes.”

Ivain leaned over the desk, fingers forking through his hair. His foot bounced out a relentless rhythm. “You were the one that dragged me into bounty hunting. You… It was your idea to be pirates!”

“And that was the best six months of your life.”

Ivain opened his mouth… and then closed it. She had him there. “You used to drag me out of brothels,” he said with no small amount of horror. “I… I tried to kiss you.”

She nodded, grimacing. Not quite making eye contact. “I’m sure you can see now why that was so traumatizing for me.”

Traumatizing ? Well, that was one word for it, he supposed. She’d let out the most nervous, shrill laugh—more akin to an existential scream—and then promptly vomited on his shoes. It had been a tremendous blow to his ego at the time, though now he was getting a similar feeling.

Hands shaking, Ivain reached for his drink, downed it, and immediately poured another.

The bottle refilled, and an airy, high-pitched laugh stuttered out of him.

He remembered that trick. It had gotten them out of a particularly sticky situation with a prominent Fey Lord and the painting they’d been caught trying to steal.

Yes, he and Bilal also had a stint as art thieves. She really was a bad influence. Though he raised her, so maybe the problem was him? Shards only knew he’d undoubtedly come up with plenty of their bad ideas himself.

How many needlessly dangerous situations had he put her in? How careless… reckless even… had he been with her life?

“What… what are you doing here? Taly—”

“My name isn’t Taly.”

Ivain’s brows rose at the edge in her voice.

She shrugged and said, “Call me Cori, if you must. But not Taly. I left that name behind.”

No humor in her eyes, no mischief. Nothing but pain, more than any one person should ever have to carry.

She blinked, and it was gone.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“Easy,” Cori said with a sip of brandy. “I got your message. Bold move, by the way, sending a Bodach. Scared the shit out of me when he popped into my bedroom, all wrinkly and dead-looking. Which, if it comes up, is why he’s missing a certain piece of his anatomy.”

Ivain stared at her.

“Don’t worry, it’ll grow back. Probably.”

“That’s not…” He shook his head. “I mean, what are you— you —doing here? In your past?”

The smile she gave him was far too cutting. It didn’t belong on his daughter’s face. “Do I really need to explain Weave walking, old friend? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Don’t,” he growled. “I know you, and I know this tactic. Deflect, distract, and if that doesn’t work, goad .”

Her eyes narrowed, and he got the feeling it had been a very long time since anyone had challenged her.

“This is parallel contact. Your past is sleeping right upstairs.”

“It’s cute you think she’s sleeping.”