I bow. “Grand Magus, I swear I will solve the puzzle you put before me.”
This is the usual way of things for him, so he doesn’t bat an eye before swearing in return, “Sierra Walker, I swear I will provide you the magic to do so.”
A flare of heat in my chest as the oath takes root. That feeling alone, of magic inside me, of casual, easy magic, almost has me in tears.
I get a grip. “The puzzle?”
He pulls a holding stone out of his robes, a deep black, perfectly spherical rock. After tapping it with his wand, an elaborate magical diagram unfolds, golden threads and arcane symbols that I now stand among. Any line I walk through feels like it sizzles within me.
To cast a spell, you need a wand and access to magic. Once you have that, there are basically two ways to do it.
Spells are constructions of arcane symbolism. You can visualize them flawlessly in your mind and channel your magic through them—or, as most people do if you’re not a combat specialist like I am, establish a word or gesture as a kind of mental shorthand for a given spell.
But that’s for spells that are one-offs, temporary effects, not built to last. For those, you have to somehow physically scribe them in a way that renders them visible.
What Evram has done is capture the physical spell that needs unraveling with a different spell inscribed into the stone that establishes it as a kind of remote access point. It’s a multilayered, sophisticated process, and one I used to be able to do as easily as breathing.
I do breathe now, centering myself, and actually look at the thing.
“A plague?” I ask after a minute, surprised. There aren’t many people in High Earth whocouldcreate a spell-structure this intricate, and the ones who could are politically powerful—which is to say, they don’t benefit from people dying indiscriminately when they could be profiting from their labor, and their magic, instead.
“Nearly a third of Sarenac City is dead or dying,” Evram says.
My head snaps around to look at him then, and this time I see the weariness and fear buried in his gaze. Sarenac City is the seat of his power, a thriving metropolis that has stood for centuries. To have lost a third of its people is unimaginable. It’s like saying someone snapped their fingers and everyone in Paris or Beijing fell over dead. That doesn’thappento a place like Sarenac.
No wonder Evram was desperate enough to come for me, and to make this deal.
“I will fix this,” I promise him.
His throat works, and he just nods.
Probably because he can’t bring himself to admit that for all his power, experience, and genius,hecan’t fix it.
But he thinks I can.
I turn back to the spell, walking among the golden lines and symbols, passing my hand and body through the magic, studying how everything connects and feeling it with my wholebody. Another former student from Low Earth would be rusty, and probably wouldn’t have seen many of these symbols in training at all—most only learn enough to not be dangerous to themselves, then are returned here in a year or two.
Not me.
I was there for ten years, from age seven to seventeen, and I still see spells behind my eyes when I sleep.
And if ever I don’t, I spend hours dreaming of spells by day to keep the magic alive, at least in my mind.
I have never moved on. I can’t—I won’t.
So with a sharp sense of vindication, I at least am not surprised when within a few minutes of study, I see the piece of this spell that will unravel the rest. Given how Evram views the world, I also understand how he could have missed it.
I scan another moment longer to make sure I haven’t missed anything, then turn and hold my hand out to him. “Wand.”
His eyes widen, then his expression turns furious—at how fast I’ve solved this. “Tell me.”
“Even better: I’ll show you.”
Evram clenches his jaw, and it only then occurs to me he doesn’t really believe I’ve solved it. He thinks I’m playing with him.
My own anger rushes up. “Do you really think I would just let people die?”
“You are the one who negotiated with people’s lives,” he snaps.
