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The second prophecy, cast by the Augur Nos, said that with all this cavalier writing and rewriting of time, the fabric of the world would wear thin and eventually fray.

That mages with opposing views would force a moment back and forth through the great loom of the world, changing the outcome over and over again, until that moment—and all the mages inside it—ceased to exist at all.

This had come to pass.

The third prophecy, cast by the Augur Vaurient, said that most mages would be seduced by this new power, desperate to claim a piece of it for themselves, and that only the bravest would remain faithful to the Augurests’ true purpose—eradicating Timeweavers altogether, in order to save the world from accidental destruction.

There would be a slaughter, but a necessary one.

This too had come to pass.

The fourth prophecy, cast by the Augur Emalin, said that the devout Augurests would emerge triumphant, but a few ancestral lines of Timeweavers would slip through the cracks, and the Augurests would have to remain vigilant for centuries, awaiting the second uprising, ensuring they slaughtered every last one.

This had not yet come to pass.

The last big purge of Timeweavers had happened long before Saff was born.

No stones were left unturned in the quest to eradicate the ancestral lines once and for all.

Not even the highborn were spared—the entirety of House Rezaran, one of the four royal houses in Vallin, was slain outside the Palace steps.

No Timeweavers had surfaced anywhere in the world for centuries. There had been no second uprising.

“Maybe the prophecies are factually true,” Saffron said carefully. “Three have already come to pass, I suppose. I just don’t believe in executing innocent mages, no matter what they’re capable of. We should have found a way to legislate and regulate timeweaving instead.”

“Timeweavers will unmake the world,” Aspar barked, thumping a fist on the Divine Augurtures like a judge hammering a gavel.

Saff met her captain’s blazing eyes. “For all we know, they’ll remake it soon after.”

The fifth and final prophecy, by the Augur Sarcane, had been long lost. Nobody knew how the foretelling actually ended, although plenty of evangelists had “found” forgeries in forgotten temples.

In the past thousand years, countless relic wands had been worshipped, fondled, coaxed, and caressed, trying to uncover that vanished prophecy. To no avail.

Aspar looked up at the ceiling, as though the final prophecy was playing across her own mind’s eye.

When she spoke, it was cool, quiet. “Imagine, if you will, a world where everyone and everything you’ve ever loved can be undone.

Including yourself. Imagine a mage so powerful that they could go back and make it so that you never existed at all. Does that not terrify you?”

“I guess it just feels like a fairy tale,” Saff admitted.

“I see. And do you think there’s a place for devout Augurests, like myself, in the Order of the Silvercloaks?”

Saffron stilled, weighing her thoughts. Truthfully, she didn’t think anyone with a eugenic agenda should be in a position of power, but she had read enough of Aspar’s passionate manifestos to know that her captain believed the Order of the Silvercloaks was the best place for Augurests.

After all, imagine a world in which criminals could become uncaught? Imagine a world in which kingpins and killers could wind back the clock again and again until their nefarious plans unfolded according to their wishes?

To that Saffron might counter: Imagine a world in which Silvercloaks could wind back the clock until they did catch their marks.

Imagine a world in which I had never turned that Saints-damned doorknob.

“I believe in religious freedom,” Saff replied steadily.

The captain leaned forward, almost hungrily. It unnerved Saffron, and she was not an easy person to unnerve.

“Did you see anything when you touched that relic wand?” Aspar searched Saff’s face, as though studying an ancient map. There was an intensity to the stare that Saffron couldn’t parse.

“No,” lied Saffron easily. “It’s just a replica, isn’t it?”

There was a loaded beat. Then, “Yes. Just a replica.” Aspar closed the Divine Augurtures, as though to signal the resolution of their theo logical debate. “Now, onto the next order of business. Where did you learn the praegelos enchantment?” Aspar’s gaze was blade-edged. “It’s a maligned spell.”

“I read it in a book of fables.” The second lie slid off Saff’s tongue instinctively. “Why is it maligned?”

“Too reminiscent of timeweaving.”

“I didn’t weave anything. Just froze it for a while.”

Any decently powerful mage could pause time, in theory, but only a Timeweaver could wind it back—or forward.

Aspar’s eyes narrowed. “I gather that you yourself were not frozen, given that you glitched from one side of the temple to the other inside a single second.”

So they couldn’t see what she’d been doing while time was paused. “No, I wasn’t frozen.”

“Yet praegelos is supposed to freeze everything. Caster included.”

Was that right? It had been twenty years since Saffron’s mother had spoken about using it. But sure enough, the way she’d phrased it … it bought her thinking space. Not actual space.

Was Mellora frozen too, with only her thoughts left spinning?

“Maybe I cast it wrong,” Saff said evenly, though her palms were sweating.

Aspar leaned forward in her chair, steepling her fingers on the desk. “Cadet Marriosan’s levitation potion didn’t work on you either.”

“She must have brewed it inaccurately.”

“Auria Marriosan has never brewed anything inaccurately in her life.”

“You’ve obviously never tried her tea,” Saff quipped, but there was an unspooling feeling in her stomach.

A strange pause. “Did you know that we have a Compeller in our midst?”

Aspar’s words were a taut murmur, a precise side step.

At this, Saffron blinked in surprise. “A cadet?”

A stony nod. “One of your peers has been given a false accreditation to protect their true identity. It’ll be extremely useful for undercover work.”

Saffron’s mind reeled. Who could it be? Sunny, bookish Auria? Surely not. Bumbling, awkward Tiernan? Nissa, the smoldering enigma with the wicked tongue? Brave, albeit brutish, Sebran, with the mysterious background? Gaian, with his quiet confidence, his keen intellect?

Nissa’s wielding was so strong that she couldn’t possibly be a Compeller too.

And Tiernan had been struck down so early that he seemed an unlikely candidate.

Auria … they’d stuck together the whole time.

She’d had no need to attempt to compel Saff.

And she already had three classes of magic. A fourth would be almost unprecedented.

That left Sebran and Gaian—the two cadets most hell-bent on the Pons Aelii undercover posting. Surely Gaian wouldn’t have lost to Saffron at cards so often if he’d been capable of compelling her into losing. Then again, would he risk exposing such a rare gift for the sake of a game of polderdash?

And Sebran … well. Nobody knew very much about Sebran at all.

“The Compeller was ordered to compel each and every one of you in a different way,” explained Aspar. “And yet despite their efforts, you did not bend to their will. In fact, I’m not sure their will even registered upon you at all.”

Saints.

“And you know, it’s funny,” the captain continued. “Because I could’ve sworn I saw an effigias enchantment strike you in that chamber.”

“It grazed past me,” Saffron said weakly, draining the last of her coffee.

“You forgot to continue your little mime, you know.” Aspar rose to her feet, smoothing down her long silver robes.

The velvine pattered to the ground, then stalked up the windowsill and leapt out the narrow crack.

“The frozen leg became remarkably unfrozen around the time the Bloodmoons started closing in on you. You used et esilan to make your boots spring, and landed rather too spryly for someone with a single working foot.”

Saffron didn’t know what to say to that. She knew she was caught.

“You know what’s remarkable, Killoran?” The captain crossed around the desk, footsteps clipped and smooth on the tiles, and rested a palm on Saff’s forearm. “I laced that coffee with enough truth elixir to make even the hardiest of Bloodmoons sing.”

With a soft swiping motion, she pulled the fabric of Saffron’s white cloak all the way up to the shoulder, revealing the unmistakable starburst imprint of a spell that had met its mark.

“And yet every single word out of your mouth has been a lie.”