Tucked into Melody’s wealthiest district, Songbird’s Bower is one of the largest church estates in Charain. Noble manors sandwich it on either side, and across the street are some of the most expensive shops and restaurants Karis has ever loitered in front of. The carriage he and Ronan prepared as a hideout is nearby, parked in an alleyway behind an antique bookshop. It’s loaded with more concealment wards and look-away charms than even the Locksmiths’ base. Once they make it to the carriage, it will be like they’ve disappeared from Melody.
There aren’t many people around, and the Bower walls are thick and foreboding. If not for the number of gates and filigreed windows, the place would look like a fortress. Its primary function is as a music academy, training bard-priests in their god’s modes and instruments of worship. A steady trickle of student priests and worshipers moves in and out the front gate. No guards in sight, but Karis knows they’re there. Ronan pointed a few out in the surrounding streets, and signs of more waiting inside the council hall.
The Bower is cold and quiet. It looks like a cage.
One hundred seconds later, Karis crosses the street with his head held high, as if he’s supposed to be here.
Tall iron lamp posts line the streets, with strands of smaller bulbs between them. Karis stops beneath one, touches his earring out of habit, and closes his eyes.
Power pours from him. Radiance catches hold in the lamp bulbs and ignites, a magnificent streak of stars bursting above the street. Brighter and brighter, with dazzling force. Screams break out along the street, and passersby take flight in panic.
Less dazzled than the unprepared crowd, Karis takes off at a sprint too. The look-away spell is thoroughly broken, but with everyone scattering, there’s enough cover. He doesn’t spare a second thought to the militant shouts and rattling armor emerging from the side doors. All that matters is getting to his destination.
He skids to a halt between gates on the western wall. Strands of ivy crawl up the dark stone, too thin to climb. But when Karis fumbles along the wall, he finds the invisible indentations he expects. Footholds Ronan says he carved three years ago.
So many years of planning and preparation have gone into this scheme. Karis walks a giddy line between admiration, pressure, and excitement that he gets to be part of this too.
He scales the wall quickly and spares a glance around. Not as many soldiers heading for the front gate as he expected—they must suspect the lamp flares are a distraction.
That’s fine. He and Ronan want to be caught trying.
Karis has never been to the Bower, but everything is exactly as Ronan described in word and diagram. The outer courtyard is filled with musical fountains and rock arrangements. The occasional flowering tree and elaborate standing bird feeder. Rippling water and muted windchimes combine in strange chorus with the military deployment. Karis makes his way carefully down the wall, then strides towards the nearest building. Not running—not panicked. But not too calm.
Rounding a corner, he nearly runs into a green-cloaked figure.
“What are you doing?” the man snaps, in a strangely familiar voice. The height and short brown hair are familiar too, and the silver, snarling wolf on his chest. A troop of soldiers bristles behind him.
Karis backpedals, eyes wide. “Sir, what’s going on?” He stutters on the lie, despite his practice. “I can’t find my teacher.”
General Anton ka Tariel looks him up and down with a formidable scowl. He has an imposing, brutish aura that makes it difficult to believe he’s related to slim, soft-spoken Leth.
A tremor runs through the back of Karis’s mind. Vara urges,Get out of here.
The general’s hand falls to the wolf-carved hilt of his sword. “All student priests should be—”
A bell resounds.
The tremendous brass noise reverberates through the Bower, through the garden, perhaps through all of Melody. A second great clang follows the first, hammering the alarm into the hearts of all who hear.
General ka Tariel swears and turns away from Karis. “Get to your dormitory,” he barks, and gestures to his men to follow him to the main building.
Magic flares over the blue and green tiled roof of the church. Sparks of cyan and plumes of dark Dravan gray. Karis’s heart leaps into his throat, and he sprints back towards the outer wall.
He was supposed to duck into the nearest training hall to grab an instrument as a prop. But the encounter with Anton delayed him too long—he needs to reunite with Ronan now.
As he runs, he pulls two egg-sized objects from his pocket. They warm to his touch, and he holds them very gingerly. He places the first at the nearest stretch of wall, then coaxes a small fire from the sunlight reflecting on its glossy black surface. The flame will take half a minute to eat through the outer shell. When the fire takes hold, he scrambles away with renewed haste and starts counting in his head.
The great bell of Melody continues. The alarm weighs on Karis’s shoulders. There’s no sign of Ronan on the tiled roof.
Twenty seconds left. He skids around an ornamental fountain and ducks just as a troop of soldiers runs past. Dravan magic flashes, warlike and dangerous in flavor. The soldiers here are far stronger than the ones who struggled against the vaidkos in the woods.
Ten seconds. Still no sign of Ronan. Karis sets the second egg at the base of another wall, then finds a place at least twenty feet away to crouch down. He doesn’t light this one on fire yet.
Ronan told him not to wait for him. But fuck if Karis is leaving without him.
Three seconds. Two.
One.
