Page 101

She swallowed and looked at the ground.

The Highmage put down her notebook and moved on to the pile of papers on his desk. He took a quill and red ink and began to grade them.

“What happened?”

There was no use in denying it.

“I used the relic.”

She waited for him to scold her, but he didn’t even look up from his papers, as if he had already come to that conclusion on his own.

“Consequences?”

“Visions. Nightmares.”

He crossed out something, and the sharp quill on the paper made a screeching noise. “What were they about?”

“Nothing of significance. My typical nightmares.”

Obryn flipped the page. “Tell me about the vision.”

“Rakkley stood in an alleyway. I thought he was real.”

“Was something said?” He scribbled a note on the student’s paper.

“Yes, he said something about my scar. That I couldn’t remove it. That it was part of me.”

The tip of Obryn’s quill snapped, and the Highmage looked up at her. “And you didn’t think to inform me about this right away?”

Until now, nobody had been interested in her nightmares. “I didn’t think it was important. I dream a lot.”

“That is, Miss Winters, if they are dreams.”

She froze. “You…you think they’re not?”

Obryn tossed the broken quill into a bin by his desk. “I have my suspicions. Synth is unlike anything we’ve seen. People normally died from Synth, so we never learned how it behaves in the victim’s body. The Dark Magic residue in your arm isn’t dormant. It is active somehow. As if it has a mind of its own.”

She tasted bile. “The more magic I use, the stronger it’s getting. That’s why I had a vision after gaining my second signifier.”

“It’s a theory. One of many. Perhaps it’s simply hallucinations you suffer because of the leftover Dark Magic in your scar.”

“All the more reason to get it out.”

“All the more reason not to act rashly. It is powerful magic, and to extract its base is dangerous work.”

She couldn’t do base magic extraction by herself, but she knew of a group of reckless Wielders who might help her.

“Winters.” Harrington smiled at her when he opened his door. “Welcome back. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

“I love having people indebted to me.” He smirked. “Come on in.”

Amelia and Evren sat in the living room like they themselves were ornate furniture. In typical Harrington fashion, he offered her Goldwine, which she declined, to his obvious dismay. Ivercrest Wielders drank Goldwine like others drank water.

“What can I help you with on this fine evening?” he asked, taking a seat next to his girlfriend.

“I need to extract base Dark Magic, and I can’t do it by myself.”