Learning to read elven was a slow, though not arduous, process. It was a strange language, very different from the Sigília. It sounded sweet and fluid, drifting from syllable to syllable like a singer from note to note. The script of Nicol's tome was neat and flowing, written in a delicate hand and emerald ink on thin pages. Iona was always painstakingly careful when she turned a page, so as not to tear the fragile paper. She spent months pouring over that book and Nicol's notes, at least when she wasn't pestering the experienced mage with questions or practicing manipulation magic.
She had struggled for most of her life with learning magic. Now, under the tutelage of Radek and Nicol, suddenly she was making progress by leaps and bounds. She felt like a bird taking wing for the first time. The shackles of her family's history were gone. She was just Iona Velane, a quiet but skilled apprentice who happened to be half elven. She was making friends, people who respected her for what she could do and wanted to be on good terms with her. There were compliments, congratulations, and other things that she'd never really experienced before coming from all kinds of directions. The only downside seemed to be that she hadn't had much room to see Kája between her studies and the spellguard's duties.
Ctirad and Eider were becoming good friends, and she'd even seen Ciar a time or two when he stopped by some of the libraries to shelve books. The central library at the heart of the Pharos was massive. The collection, carefully shielded from sun and other bright lights in a giant cylindrical room where the air was cool and dry, had to number in the millions, rather than the bare hundreds she'd seen in Yssa's royal library. There were so many volumes that Iona knew that even an elven lifetime might not have been long enough to even acquaint herself with every book. There were texts in every language under the sun and many more dead ones, preserved scrolls and saved standing stones graven with ancient writings. Many of the pieces in the collection were First World texts, treatises on magic, alchemy, nature, and existence. There were star charts and astrological signs, old treaties and histories, saved alchemical formula books, and scorched forbidden tomes rescued from the flames of purification. It was Iona's favorite room in her new home. Just being close to the books, breathing in their vanilla scent, made her feel connected to something beyond ancient. It inspired the same reverence as primordial forest, majestic mountains, and the unfathomable depths of the sea.
This was the sum of the knowledge of more than just humans. There were secrets of dwarven artifice smuggled out of the Low Kingdoms, recorded lore of orcs and the other wild races, volumes of elven poetic histories and assorted lore, and even sorcerous texts wrested from the claws of terrifying demons. Some, she'd heard, were copies donated by the Imperium itself from the collection of the demon lords, the Princes of Iron themselves. It was magic, though, that held a special place in Iona's heart. She spent weeks on every page of the few elven magical tomes there were, each pass over a paragraph bringing new secrets to life. They were written in almost cyphered ways, but she had been around her mother long enough to understand the word games that elves indulged in.
In the Pharos, Iona finally felt like she belonged, like she was no longer trapped between worlds.
Right now, however, she was following Nicol deep into the Ossuary, back in the city proper. She still hadn't had a chance to explore the city as much as she would have liked, but only because she was too caught up exploring the many halls and libraries of the Pharos. "What's down here?" the half elf asked, catching the sickly-sweet smell of decay that was only growing stronger and stronger. Her curiosity was mingled with a slight disgust as they descended. She stepped around a beetle trundling across a floor damp with mildew. The walls were lined with rows upon rows of bones and cobwebs.
"Mine...charges," Nicol said without looking back. "And practice for thee."
Iona had no trouble seeing in the dim light cast by that flickering blue mage-fire, so she made it down without a stumble. Apparently elves had good vision by nature and she was fortunate to have inherited that much from her mother. These days, her blood didn't feel like a curse. "Practice?" she said, nerves returning. She'd been studying with Nicol for almost a year now, and it was a fascinating experience...if frequently a somewhat unsettling one.
"Thou hast demonstrated an aptitude for manipulating life," Nicol said. "Thou canst heal adroitly now."
Nicol had certainly bolstered her knowledge, driving anatomy and physiology firmly into Iona's head. She could name every bone in the body, every muscle and organ. The precision made a vast difference in her casting. Suddenly, her healing that had been basically a brute force repair was targeted. She hadn't tried an illness, but she'd learned to patch up even severe wounds. She'd spent some time over with the spellguards, treating training injuries and old battle-wounds under her mentor's watchful eyes, as well as a few accidents.
"I try." Iona wasn't certain exactly where this was going, but she had a definite feeling that it was going to be something less than delightful.
"Now we will see if thou hast the aptitude for manipulating death." When Nicol saw Iona's look—something between fear and revulsion—the experienced mage laughed. "'Tis merely a little test, a little nudge at the boundaries of thine ken.'Tis no corruption of thine immortal soul or whatever stories thou hast heard. What art thou frighted of?"
"I..." Iona swallowed hard. "This is not good magic, Mágissa. It's dangerous."
"All magic is dangerous, sweet thing. Thou hast seen a mageling immolate himself with his own fireball, hast thou not?"
Iona shuddered at the memory of the screams. She'd been far enough along in her training to save him and even restore his face, but the rest of those scars would never heal and her actions couldn't scrub away her own memories of the sight and sounds and smell. Cooking meat in the kitchens had made her retch for days afterwards. "I...that is true. But this is different. These are...were people."
"Aye," Nicol said. "So explain to me why 'tis different from using harmful magic on the living. If anything, this seems better. 'Tis less horrific for the one under the effect, for one."
"But you're disturbing their rest," Iona said as they approached a big iron grate just beyond the foot of the stairs. She could hear sniffing and shuffling on the other side.
"Superstition," Nicol scoffed. "The soul has flown. 'Tis only fántasma left, that which animates."
Iona couldn't help the churning feeling in her stomach. "I can't do this," she said, tensing up.
Nicol sighed and stopped walking, turning to face her. She put her hands on the half-elf's shoulders. "What art thou truly frighted of, sweet thing?" she said in a low voice. "What others will think? Of what they would say if they didst ken? 'Tis misunderstood magic, no less worthy of investigation for its sordid reputation. If nothing else, study it so that thou mayest counter it. Perhaps a day will come where thou art again in a duel with me. Thou wilt thank me on that day."
"You wouldn't try to hurt me," Iona said with a shake of her head.
"Oh, sweet thing, if only the world were as simple as thou dost see it," Nicol said almost wistfully. She laughed then. "Another necromancer, then. I am not the only who chases this facet of the Art, and I assure thee that their manners and gentility are far lacking when compared to mine own scarce ones. 'Tis sometimes our task to clear such foes out. A dangerous one, one thou couldst make a great deal safer for thyself and others."
"I'm not going to do it," Iona said firmly. "But if you want to show me, I'll listen...if you tell me what this is actually about."
"Clever, sweet thing. Thou dost ken that I have an ulterior motive," Nicol said with an approving smile as she leaned against the dirty iron grate. She didn't seem to even notice the grime clinging to the sleeve of her dress. "What is the final law of magic?"
"It cannot restore the d—you're joking!" Iona blurted out. "It's not possible. Not even for you."
"Aye," Nicol said. Her smile widened. "Yet. Think of it, sweet thing. But 'tis an intellectual exercise of mine, not mine goal."
"What is your goal, then?"
"A story for another day." Nicol was not an easy woman to read. There was a slam against the grate and a clawed, mottled hand blackened in places by rot reached through the grate in Iona's direction. "Ah, they smell thee." She turned her head towards the ghoul in the darkness. "Good morn, pet. How art thou?"
It groaned in answer to her voice, the flickering mage-light making its milky eyes gleam.
Iona had seldom heard Nicol speak with such warmth outside of behind closed doors. It was as if that cold that lived behind the experienced mage's breastbone had eased for a moment, like she felt less alone. The half-elf couldn't help her own natural revulsion at the sight of the creature on the other side. "Gods' breath," she whispered softly in horror. She could see it now, a stooped creature with a distended belly and nail-less fingers curled into wicked claws, bone protruding from the end of each digit where the flesh had torn away. It breathed through its mouth as well as its nose, maw gaping open to show cracked, brown teeth.
"The Nejvyšši Král reserves the right to condemn his worst foes to this," Nicol said calmly. "'Tis not a fetching fate, aye."
"Why would he do this?" Iona asked, almost lost for words.
The experienced mage shrugged. "'Tis not for me to ken. I am merely a servant, tasked to carry out his will."
"But you could let them die," the half-elf said softly. "You could put them out of their misery."
"Aye and nay. 'Tis possible, aye. But thou wilt someday come to find that 'tis difficult to say nay to the Nejvyšši Král."
Iona studied Nicol for a long moment, trying to read her expression in the flickering blue glow. There was something undefinable lingering in her face, something beyond regret but short of sorrow. "Because you're bound," Iona said softly. "Mágissa, how did they...what did they do?"
"What they do to every mage, sweet thing. Someday thou wilt understand. But until then, 'tis not for me to say aught more than that." Nicol shrugged then. "Methinks 'tis a fine life all the same. I have aught I could wish for. I need never fear retaliation of mundanes, need never suffer privation, need never fret over mine purpose."
The half-elf could sense something lingering in the air unspoken. "Are you happy, though?"
"People like to us are not fashioned for contentment," Nicol said with a smile. "We are meant for better, but brilliance is seldom paired with happiness. Someday, thou wilt come to understand."
Iona shook her head. "I am happy," she said quietly, trying to peel her gaze away from the creature snuffling and groaning on the other side of the grate.
"Aye?" Nicol said with a smile. "Perhaps mine words are wrong for thee, then. But 'tis time that will reveal truth. Now, let us begin."
Iona swallowed her protests, knowing this was not the time to be squeamish. If spellguards and mages really were tasked with clearing out necromancers, she needed to understand their powers to better protect Kája from them. She paid close attention to which threads Nicol fed energy into and how, what incantations were used, and in what ways the power was tugged into shape. It was like watching a master with a marionette perform. It was repulsive, of course, but also difficult to look away from. There was a darkly fascinating quality to necromancy and that frightened Iona immeasurably. She could see what Nicol was doing in her own magics. It would be simple to reverse what she did and turn her power into that darkness. Would it leave her as cold and ebon-hearted as Nicol?
Those thoughts troubled her long after the lesson was over, when she was trying to study for Radek's next test. She heard the sound of the door to her quarters opening and smiled slightly, feeling the weight of worry lift for a moment. Only Kája didn't bother knocking. She closed the book that she hadn't been able to read anyway and got up, stepping out of her study. "I missed you."
Kája's whole face lit up and she drew Iona into an embrace. "I thought to find thee abed at this hour. Hard at work?"
"Pretending to be," Iona said. She felt the magical scar on her palm itch slightly, as if Nicol was trying to remind her not to speak of what knowledge she was pursuing. So far, that hadn't been an issue. Kája was curious about what she was learning, but she was also easily redirected and Iona had her mother's example to draw from, as distasteful as it was. It wasn't as if she was practicing necromancy herself, so no one was getting hurt. She'd told Kája quite truthfully that Nicol was allowing her to investigate old magics, primarily avalâ. The mention of elf-magic tomes had surprised the spellguard, but it wasn't beyond belief and so she'd accepted it without argument or concern.
"May I ruin that for thee?" Kája said. She seemed to have no intention of letting go, at least for a while.
"Of course. What's going on?"
"The Spring Masquerade," Kája said. "Benedikt wanted to invite thee, if thou canst be spared from thine studies. 'Tis not customary for an apprentice to attend, but as a guest of Král Hustovi and at a masquerade, methinks thou wilt have little trouble."
"What about you?" Iona said. She could feel anxiety building in her chest. She'd been at enough Yssan court functions to know to hate them.
Kája must have felt her tense, because she started to rub the half-elf's back reassuringly. "I told him I would deign to attend only if thou didst. 'Tis naught to be frighted of. Remember, thou art in Leus, not Yssa. 'Sides, thou wouldst be masked, like everyone else. They are enjoyable, I assure thee."
Iona relaxed again slowly. "I suppose it couldn't hurt." She was warming quickly to the idea of going to an event like this with Kája. She'd never been able to go and just have fun, but with Kája at her side and a mask over her face, maybe it would be possible. She took a deep breath. "Have you heard anything of Devyn?"
"Aye," Kája said more solemnly. She knew how anxious Iona was whenever her family came up. "A week north. Aiming to close that last gap quickly, I would wager. He poses as a knight errant, but that means his aid has been oft requested and his progress slowed nigh to a halt on many occasions. Methinks that once he arrives in Zaeylael, he will dispense with the disguise to demand the Nejvyšši Král's aid in finding thee."
"Is that safe?"
Kája shrugged. "I wish 'twas simple as aye or nay, but truth be told, 'tis entirely resting upon Devyn's conduct. Methinks Zdeněk has no cause to do him harm, but the Court is difficult to control." She gave the half-elf a small squeeze. "Benedikt has agreed to warn and ward thine brother, and thou hast mine dedication to such a task also."
Iona smiled. "You two are the best."
Kája looked faintly put out. "Thou art lumping me in with the reprobate? I had hoped I was higher in thine est—"
The half-elf cut her off with a kiss. If there was one thing that hadn't changed since she'd left Yssa, it was the way she felt when their lips met. It was still very much something that left her body burning and her nerves alight. Kája was also a reassuring constant in a world that could change so drastically from everything she'd ever known to her current life. She had no doubt that she would have been far, far less content at the Pharos without Kája. When their lips parted again, Iona smiled. "You never have to worry about my esteem, Kája. Now what do I have to wear to this masquerade?"
"Clothes, methinks," Kája said. She smiled when Iona laughed. "Fine, a dress. Truthfully, Bene has already sent the request and thine measurements to a seamstress. Tomorrow, when thou art freed for the day, I will fetch thee for a fitting. He was more adamant on thine attendance than I let on."
"Did he say why?"
"He said 'tis an introduction to the world thou art going to inhabit for the rest of thine life...and that 'tis less than healthy to be forever shut away from the world among books."
"It is hard not to have the forest," Iona admitted. That was one of the things she missed most about Yssa: the Argent Forest.
"When thou art a full mage, we may persuade the Královna Vrana to let us travel. Perhaps we could even see the Vale. Thou canst have thine elven woods as it pleases thee."
Iona was surprised despite herself. "That's a dangerous part of the world," she said. "You'd go there for me?"
"Anywhere," Kája said with a smile. "But until then, thou wilt have to settle for parties and potted plants."
Iona smiled and glanced over at the rosebush that sat on her windowsill. It was a red tea rose, one of the varieties so common in Yssa. It was flowering now and even in the night she could smell the roses' perfumed scent. It reminded her of home and the gardens she'd played in as a child. Kája's gift was, as always, thoughtful. "As long as they're your parties and your potted plants, gladly."
"The rose was mine. The party is House Vrana's." The spellguard leaned in, resting her forehead against Iona's. "I would dance with thee at the Masquerade."
"People will talk," Iona warned her. She knew that like Yssa, women together was not the norm in Leus.
"Benedikt will be most pleased. The man adores a scandal." More seriously, Kája continued, "I do not care who knows. I am thine and that is as far as my concerns may reach. If what they think troubles thee, there are many balconies and side halls where we may dance. But remember, thou wilt be masked and I as well. We will not be the sole pair who wish to dance with someone society says is not an appropriate partner. Many secret lovers will meet in the open. That is the thrill and magic of the masquerades."
"I'm not going to let what anyone thinks ever keep me from you." Iona's voice was firm. She softened slightly. There was something she wanted to say, but she wasn't certain if she was going to be able to tonight. She was still afraid of Kája suddenly coming to her senses. At the masquerade, she told herself. I'll tell her then.
"What?" Kája asked, recognizing that look. She hadn't been around nearly as much as she'd wanted to be, but she was still becoming very attuned to Iona's expressions. That one was...uncertain.
"It's nothing," Iona said, resting her head against Kája's shoulder. She could feel exhaustion creeping up through her own limbs. "Just tired."
The spellguard knew that wasn't a full answer, but she could hear tiredness in the soft tone of the half-elf's voice. "Then let's get thee to bed," she said.
Iona sighed. "Only if you stay with me."
Kája hadn't spent much time in her bed, mostly because they were generally separated by their respective tasks, but also because the spellguard wasn't entirely certain that she trusted herself to be on her best behavior. She hadn't wanted to push Iona into any situation that might be uncomfortable, and she was well aware that she was the half-elf's first romance as well. That meant an extra level of care. "Iona—"
The half-elf smiled. "I want you here, Kája. If I'm uncomfortable, I'll tell you. Is that fair?"
"Aye, 'tis," Kája agreed, relaxing a little bit and allowing herself to be led into the bedroom.
Iona was grateful that the spellguard had acquiesced, because she knew her sleep was going to be troubled. Thoughts of falling into dark magic reminded her immediately that she was still a havoc mage, no matter how calm and collected and controlled she seemed now. There was still something in her that was every bit as dark as what Nicol Kysely had demonstrated during the day.
Your road is dark, Lieren had said in Tamaris, and so are you.