“You know nothing of cages,” my sister replied, the impassiveness of her tone more chilling than any malice. “We will take you back to Golden House tonight, regardless of what you desire. So let me help you. You know what will happen if you continue to resist the Guild.”
Golden House. The Guild’s headquarters within Harrow.
I said through gritted teeth, “Forced pregnancy, stolen children, a Glass Coffin. Yes, I am aware. But I am unclear what your help is worth. When have you ever tried to helpme, truly?”
“That is Pretoria talking, not you.” Madge stepped closer, the fine beadwork on her gown glittering, white and cream backed by the palest, powdery violet. She was a winter dawn, still cast in shadows of night. “After seeing what the Zealots are doing to this city, can you not understand why the Guildmatters? How being a Guild mage would benefit you? I offer you a life free of fear. A life where you will need never hide your face, your threads, or your name. You can be Ottilie Rushforth; you can step into a position of power.”
“What Entwined can kill,” I asked, voice still low, “with the touch of a hand?”
Madge’s eyes flashed, caged and perplexed, but before she could reply, the gate clanged and several sets of footsteps came towards us.
The constable I had met earlier, Hopgood, looked at me with grim, apologetic eyes as he unlocked the door and stepped aside.
Madge and her husband stood side by side in the passage now. The door of my cell was open, but my only path forward was into my sister’s pale, cold, outstretched hand.
“Come, dear sister,” Madge said. “You are safe, now.”
A NOTEUPON: THEENTWINED OF THESUN
The Entwined of the Sun fall into the following classes of mage: Gold (Glim), Copper, and Bronze. These are the most devious and misleading classes of Entwined, leaning towards proficiency in the arts, exuding charm and charisma that may lead the most Vigilant Lady astray.
FROMTHEVIGILANTLADYTRAVELLER:
A GENTLEWOMAN’SGUIDE TO THEWORLD
A Note to the Reader:
In Which I Take Flight
Iescaped the Guild on a humid summer night, seven months after Lewis’s and my engagement. He was the instrument of my freedom, for in his company I was permitted to leave the Guild’s fortress at Kesterlee and indulge in a supposedly romantic evening at the theater in Harrow city. This, I later understood, was part of Pretoria’s grand scheme for my liberation.
I use the words ‘escape’ and ‘liberation’—let the reader not be misled. I was entirely unaware of the events that would unfold that night. As such, kidnapping is a more precise term.
Lewis did not seem himself that night. We had rarely seen one another since we were engaged, though we both lived at Kesterlee. The fortress is something of a miniature kingdom, a small town in which several hundred mages lodged and worked, waited upon by human and Affinate servants. But we had our occupations, and Lewis was frequently travelling.
At that point he served as a Bronze Scribe for the Mage Regal—the Guild’s chief council member in residence. I assisted in the Guild’s extensive archives, as Eventide mages often do, with the end goal of becoming an Archivist. These placements enabled us to be, generally, closer together in the interim between engagement and marriage, which the Guild considered profitable.
I am straying from the point, however. On to my kidnapping/liberation.
Lewis was not himself that night. He sat in silence across from me as our carriage cut across the mist-strewn hills and twilight settled in. The trees and earth and rock were still hot from the heat of the day, but the breeze off the distant sea was cool.
Unfortunately, we received little of it. The carriage itself was stuffy and smelled of old perfume. I leaned forward to open the little window and the twilight spilled across my throat, exposed collarbones, and a rather generous—and intentional—expanse of bosom. My threads ignited, twining across my skin in a pleasant prickling.
I felt his eyes on me. I sat back and met his gaze with a half-smile. “Are you well?”
I had hoped to catch admiration in his eyes, but his focus was on my threads, and was sadly clinical. He raised his attention to my face. “I am, only distracted. My apologies. How are you, Ottilie?”
“Well enough,” I said. “Where were you and the Mage Regal, these last few weeks? Can you say?”
“Harrow.” Lewis settled back into his bench a little, though his posture was still immaculate. He looked very fine in his dress uniform, with its Guild bars. “I was approached by Major Barristan about a new position, abroad.”
I could not conceal my unhappy surprise. “Abroad? Abroad where? Why would he ask you that now?”
“He was unclear, but it would be some years away. Time enough for my current duties.” He smiled a little to soften the practicality of that description, which obviously included me, our pending marriage, and expected attempts at cultivating magelings.
I was grateful I did not blush. We spoke often enough on the topic.
“Is it a position you would enjoy?”
