Allaster’s expression hardened, and she feared she had gone too far. A con was about more than what you knew about your mark; it was about what they knew of you. To Allaster, she was a religious fanatic who despised everything he stood for and had come to dismantle it. She had to change that perception, but slowly, so as to not rouse his suspicions. She would feed him little pieces of herself: a lingering glance of curiosity at a beast, an extra hour spent reading about the Library, a conversation that showed she too was a person, not a role.
But first she had to give him a baseline to compare against—withoutinvoking the wrath of an immortal sorcerer.
In the end, Allaster only snapped his fingers. They materialized in a vast oval training ground with a floor of hard-packed earth. A domed metal cage occupied one side, a sparring arena the other. She stumbled, her boot clanging against metal, and turned to face an endless wall of weapons. There were Kalish daggers and short swords, Jacari longbows, and even an ancient Avari hunting axe she longed to heft. It must have been here for centuries.
“Staffs should do.” Allaster pulled two wooden rods off the wall and tossed her one. “I know they’re a favorite among Kalish nobility.”
They were, though not among the country nobles. Staff sparring was a common hobby for those at court, but as a minor noble, it was less likely Eirlana would have been trained as a child. That said, there was no hiding her muscled build, nor her comfort with the weapon. It would be much easier to convince Allaster she’d had an unorthodox upbringing than that she was a weapons prodigy, and where Eirlana might not wield a staff with ease, Kasira could.
Allaster appraised her openly, the intensity of his gaze making her skin prickle. “I wonder: Of all three tests, why is this the only one you came prepared for?” He didn’t wait for an answer, striking at her shoulder. She deflected the blow and countered quickly, ignoring the way her wounds complained. He spun his staff lengthwise to catch her down strike, and she immediately swung hers up from the bottom, clipping his shin.
Surprise flitted across his face, and she rolled her neck. “My family’s lands bordered the Isherwood,” she said, a truth for her and Eirlana. “I had reason to know how to handle myself.” Then she was on him again. Back and forth they went, catching strikes and trading blows in a brutal dance.
Allaster was too close to the truth for her to convince him that all the details he’d noticed weren’t true—which meant she needed to spin them into another story. Something like a girl who grew up in close proximity to beasts, who had reasons to learn to defend herself, and a story to tell that would force Allaster to reconsider his assumptions about her.
“Do I pass your test, Librarian?” She struck at his arm. “Are you sufficiently satisfied of my identity?”
Allaster blocked her attack, then countered, but she retreated out of range. “Hardly. You’re more soldier than scholar, and I’m tired of playing this game. Tell your master to face me outright, and let’s be done with this charade.”
“That would require me to have a master, and despite your confidence, that alone is not enough to manifest one.” He caught her next blow, and they both threw their weights behind their weapons, the distance between them closing to inches. This close, he smelled of paper and ink and something sharper, and his strength radiated through the cross of their staffs.
“Tell me,” he growled. “Why did they choose you?”
She offered him a joyless smile. “Because I am expendable, and they had the power to make me.”
“And you expect me to trust that they don’t intend to exert that power?” He gave her an arch look. “I don’t believe for a second that Vera would waste this opportunity on a throwaway.”
Interesting. He’d referred to Ambassador Vera by her first name. As the Kalish Ambassador to the Library, it made sense that Allaster and Vera knew each other. But his tone spoke of a storied history. It would explain why he was so convinced that anyone Vera selected would be a pawn.
Kasira drove her shoulder forward, shoving him back a step, and then lowered her staff. “Unless they knew you would be so busy suspecting me, you wouldn’t see the real threat until it was too late.”
Allaster regarded her with thinly veiled contempt, but she held her tongue. She had laid her groundwork. Pressing further now would seem out of character. So she let the silence linger, holding his gaze as he held hers, letting him see the determination she had built her version of Eirlana around. Later, she would take the pieces she had shown him—her knowledge of beasts, her fighting skills, that little flash of curiosity at Benlo—and give them new meaning.
This was the part of the con she had always excelled at, the storytelling. Where Thane was charisma incarnate and Loraya thequick-fingered thief, it had been Kasira who transformed herself into another. Kasira who had become noblewomen and politicians’ sisters and merchants’ daughters, whatever the role demanded of her. She had worried she would be rusty, but after all these years, that instinct still came to her as naturally as breathing.
A door at Allaster’s back flew open, revealing the Riviairen woman she had seen kneading dough yesterday. “Class C in Jacara. Requesting immediate assistance. I’ve dispatched two mages, but I think you ought to go.”
Allaster spared Kasira one final, contemptuous look before he snapped his fingers, vanishing from the spot.
Kasira returned her staff to its rack, feeling strangely disquieted. It wasn’t that she had thought this task would be easy—far from it. She had predicted Allaster would be a difficult opponent; she hadn’t expected him to frustrate her so much. He thought himself too clever for his own good, an attitude she should have anticipated from his name alone: St. Archer.
Like all the Miravi families named after the saints they honored, his was a noble one, and he had the spoiled demeanor to match. Born to a noble family, then elevated to one of the most powerful positions in the six nations? It was a miracle he could see past the cloud of privilege cocooning him.
No matter. She would find a way to deal with him. For now, her back ached from all the sparring, the wounds making their displeasure known. She only hoped she hadn’t reopened them, as the blood would show easily through her white uniform.
She turned around, surprised to find the mage still standing in the doorway. She had a round, pretty face, with gentle brown eyes, loose curls, and light brown skin. Her uniform hugged her shapely frame, and though her head only came up to Kasira’s shoulders, she had the impression this woman could deftly put her on her ass.
“I am Airamay Selvera, First Mage of Amorlin,” she said, her words drawn out by her melodic Riviairen accent. “You must be the new Assistant.”
The Kalish agent’s report had mentioned Airamay. She was one ofthe key people they had noted whose loyalty to Allaster was unwavering, and she had apparently been helping him fill the gap left in the absence of a new Assistant. She was also the first person who had looked at Kasira with anything less than animosity. In fact, she was smiling.
That, Kasira could work with.
Earning Allaster’s trust would be a long and difficult process, but it would go much smoother if she began by influencing the minds around him, making Airamay the perfect person to establish her first anchor around which to build her lie. Besides, it made sense that Lady Eirlana, a woman used to being surrounded by courtiers and servants, would seek at least one mark of comfort in an unfamiliar place.
Kasira made a point of looking crestfallen. “Is that what I am? I feel more like a spider someone found in their shoe.”
Airamay hid her laughter behind a hand, a Riviairen marriage bracelet dangling from her wrist. Made of thin silver filigree, it had a sapphire crescent moon charm that caught the sunlight. “Yes, Allaster can have that effect on people. He is like a fine wine that must be paired with the right food.”
