"I don't know about birds, nor about the history of fire. But I think my solitude should have wings."
―Alejandra Pizarnik
Hadrian crouched at the door, leaning his head against the frame and listening to Cortez's heartbeat from across the hall. He hadn't left Hadrian's side since Lin left – possibly hoping to expand on their fragile relationship. He sighed and flexed his fingers. He knew he was approaching the age where he'd have to change tactics, but romance was far from his strong suit.
The energy of the Citadel's magic felt chaotic across his skin, pulling in all the wrong ways. He closed his eyes against the visions it gave him and reached out over it. It obeyed him--of course it did--and the air in the hall stilled enough to dim any noise he made.
He pushed the door open and slipped out.
Cortez was passed out on a chair, his sword slipping from his grasp. Hadrian's thumb twitched and the blade lowered soundlessly to the ground.
He could have lowered Cortez's blood pressure to deepen the sleep, but there was a tiny thrill at the prospect of a time crunch. Hadrian closed the door behind himself and strolled down the hall, timing his steps to the cycle of guards.
Hadrian changed his stance, his stride, pushed his hair back and plastered a Lin-like scowl on his face as he made his way down the levels of the Citadel.
Nobody looked at him twice.
He folded the shadows around himself as he walked, bending light as quietly as he could. Pain raced up and down his spine in fast strokes, the Citadel's corrupted magic resisting him. He hissed out a breath and ducked into the deepest, darkest levels of the Citadel. The corrupted magic gave way to the fresh freedom of the sea. He cut through a rusted-over door and smiled at the smell of the sea washing over him.
He closed it behind him, muffling the sound, and descended once again. Shabina hadn't dared send guards this deep underground. The gentle splash of water greeted him like an old friend. A more familiar touch of power rushed over him as the sea's magic washed the gold dust from his mind, clearing it for the first time in days.
The lowest level was ankle-deep in reddish seawater, lapping at the crumbling concrete.
He knelt in the water and dipped his fingers in it, shushing under his breath. "I know it's been a while, it's okay, I'm fine."
Magic curled around his hand, climbing his wrist and tugging insistently. He couldn't tell if that was magic itself or someone calling to him through it. He liked to think it was the magic. The prickle of energy soothed the coil of tension Lin had been stoking in his chest, but he couldn't enjoy it for much longer.
Hadrian sighed and stood, searching for the deepest part of the water. It read his intention and the surface stilled around him, magic humming in anticipation.
He'd barely sunk to his knees when the ground fell out from beneath him, giving way to a tunnel of speeding warm water. He didn't have time to gasp before he was completely submerged. The reddish water churned almost hot over his face, salt biting into his chapped lips.
A moment later, Hadrian crashed face-first into the wet sand, brilliant sunlight beating down on him. He groaned and swiped the sand from his face.
"About time!"
Ilse, a tall woman with brilliant crimson hair walked into the water and hauled Hadrian to his feet with one hand. Her white shift blinded him for a moment before he was able to squint into her freckled face. A sharp frown carved out her regal features, thin lips pale. "Sorry. Got caught up."
She hummed and turned on her heel, marching toward the brown tents that filled the island. It was massive and flat compared to most other surviving islands, made entirely out of desert sand and just longer then his eye could see. The tents rippled in the wind, chatter and magic flowing in its wake.
"How's Farah?" he asked. Ilse walked like she meant to leave him behind. He stretched his legs and kept pace with her.
"She punched Malachai, so half the sanctuary worships the ground she walks on." Ilse flipped her hair over her shoulder, glaring down at him. "And before you ask, no, I haven't heard anything about your mother."
He pursed his lips and nodded. "Didn't expect you to. Janus is dead. Lin's upset about it. She's out for blood and I wouldn't be surprised if she goes on a rampage."
"Think it'll be enough to flush your mom out?" though she seemed otherwise unaffected, Ilse was tense. She was always tense, but now she had a hard set to her shoulders that he might have read as pain if she were human.
"Wouldn't be surprised."
Ilse hissed a curse through her teeth. The sanctuary was filled to the brim with witches, magic singing through the air and following people around. Most of them were women but Hadrian shared a nod with every man he passed, a small smile pulling at his lips. They all knew him. How could they not? He was the Witchking's son. Perhaps the next Witchking.
"Come on, you need a recharge," Ilse said. She led him into one of the larger tents, shoving the flap open for him.
Shelves lined the dark inside, bowls of minerals and bottles of dried herbs cluttering the table in the center. More bundles of herbs dangled from the top of the tent, swaying with the peals of wind. Ilse pushed a book out of the way and patted the cleared spot on the table. He perched himself on the ledge. Hadrian winced as he pulled his sweater off over his head. He tossed it aside, rubbing at the grimy gold dust that clung to his skin. He hadn't worn his binder that day and the exposure grated at him.
Ilse didn't notice. She unrolled a kit of sharp instruments and plucked tweezers and a scalpel from the array, smiling at the glint of metal. Hadrian relaxed his muscles as Ilse hovered her fingers over the tips, the tools turning a bright red. He sighed and closed his eyes.
Without warning, she dug the scalpel into an old scar above his hip.
He hissed but didn't pull away. "Jesus—fuck."
"I thought you didn't swear," Ilse shoved the tweezers into the wound. She carefully extracted a razor-sharp disc of quartz. Dropping the spent mineral into a dish, she picked up a charged slice of sapphire and slid it into the cut.
"I thought I could relax around you." He breathed around the pain as she sealed the skin and moved on to the next implant.
She shrugged. "You can. Doesn't mean you should. It helps to stay in character as long as you can."
"Don't lecture me, I know how to keep a cover. Better than you do, anyhow."
She winced. "Force of habit. Been training a new batch. Doesn't take much to be on the wrong end of a hunter. You know that better than most. Despite recent events saying otherwise."
Hadrian closed his eyes as she dug into him again. "Don't judge me. It was a smart move."
"To embed yourself as a hunter's apprentice? Yeah, real smart. We can't get you out if something goes wrong."
Hadrian clenched his jaw. Cruel retorts danced at the back of his throat, just waiting to be unleashed. They sounded like Lin. "If it comes down to it, I'll fight my way out. The hunter might be a problem but I can take her."
Ilse scoffed, healing a cut with a swipe of her thumb. Magic settled over his newly-healed skin like a balm. She dropped the tools into a dish and rubbed her hands together, leaning back onto the shelf behind her. Glass jars of preserved bits and bobs rattled dangerously behind her. "What makes you think that?"
"She's just a touch-starved teenager with self-esteem issues."
Lin was so much more than that. So much more dangerous. It should have frightened him how easily he was able to overlook the carnage in her wake, but he embraced it. It helped his mission, anyway.
Ilse smiled. "Reminds me of someone."
"Every traumatized witch who comes through here?" Hadrian gave a wry grin. "Yeah, I know. She's surprisingly just as softhearted."
"Sure you're not getting close?" Ilse lifted an eyebrow.
He shrugged and pulled on his sweater, cringing at the feeling of the dust. "I'm always close. That's the point."
She nodded. "You going after her? Lin, I mean."
"Yep. Whatever's starting will probably start with her. Mom's gonna be smack in the middle of it." He exhaled slowly, putting his Hadrian face back on. The one Lin and the Citadel knew, anyway. "I'll be good, promise."
Ilse gave a tight smile. "Alright. If shit hits the fan, you come right home, okay? The mission isn't worth your life."
He had no intention of doing that.
He could almost laugh at that. Of course the mission was worth his life. His mother was worth his life, Greymark's doom and the lives of every witch he'd ever known was worth his death.
He nodded and smiled. "'Course."
--
"Corvus oculum corvi non eruit" (from Latin. "a raven will not pick out the eye of another raven.")
It's essentially the same as "honor amongst thieves," and refers to complete solidarity amongst a group of like-minded people regardless of the consequences or condemnation.