*

  With a grunt, Vetch dropped heavily into the creaky chair by the fire. His entire body ached. Yet, for the first time in weeks, his aches were all the result of physical labor, not his wounds. These were the kinds of aches he used to have after a rigorous day of sword training. It was a welcome soreness. It reinforced for him the knowledge that he was growing stronger by the day.

  But, while his convalescence progressed rapidly, time seemed to crawl with Lily in Slumber again. They’d hardly had a moment to speak after she’d woken the first time. Now, he was once more having to count the minutes until she woke again. Grumbling about it did no good. Marigold had only chuckled and counseled, “Better get used to it if ya plan on hitchin’ your wagon to a mage.”

  He had actually been pleased when the owner of their hideaway noticed his restlessness and decided he was recovered enough to be given chores to do. It was a pleasant distraction; better than being tethered to the couch all day. Since dawn, she’d had him doing everything from weeding the garden, to chopping firewood, to retrieving heavy bags of flour. He was finally finished for the day, having just returned from bringing fodder out to Fae and Revenge, and filling their water buckets. He’d arrived back just as the sun was setting, and was content to rest in the chair and watch the sky change from pink to purple to black out the window. If he’d had a mug of ale, he could almost pretend he was fresh off his shift at gate duty, waiting in the tavern for his garrison companions to join him.

  “You look done in, boy,” observed Marigold, as she descended the stairs.

  Vetch looked up. Through a yawn, he asked, “How much longer until Lily wakes?”

  The old mage mirrored Vetch’s yawn. Taking a seat at a little desk, she began what had become her nightly routine of pulling out a fresh sheet of paper and preparing ink and quill. “Two days ago I told ya four days,” she grumbled. “Leaving ...”

  “Mm,” Vetch responded.

  “Go to bed and then you’ll wake up that much closer to her waking.”

  “If only it were a proper bed, instead of a couch.” The sound of Marigold’s quill scratching on the paper was the only reply he got. “What’re you writing?” he asked. The scratching ceased.

  “Lily’s Journeyer letter.” The scratching resumed.

  Vetch sat up a little higher. “And what is that?”

  The scratching stopped again, punctuated by a sigh from Marigold. “When Lily takes to the road for her Mage’s Journey, she’ll carry with her a letter of introduction from her Mage-Matron. It serves as the Journeyer’s credentials. It’s what is presented to other mages when requesting instruction, or to employers when offering services in magic.”

  “She’ll be traveling for years,” Vetch said.

  “Mhm.” The scratching started, then stopped. Marigold turned in her chair to fix her silvery eyes on him. “If you need help securing your release from the garrison, I can speak to the heads of town.”

  After some hesitation, Vetch mumbled, “You needn’t trouble yourself with that.”

  Marigold shrugged. The smile the old woman favored him with was such a genuine one it broke his heart. She turned and resumed her writing.

  Vetch yawned again and allowed his heavy eyelids to close. It was too much trouble to drag himself over to the couch. He was aware he dozed in the chair for a time. Strange dreams came and went like wisps in the night. A few times he woke, unsure of how much time had passed, or whether the night sounds and candle-cast shadows were real or part of his dreams.

  He opened his eyes to find a blanket had been placed over him. It was deep night. A baby fussed upstairs, a sound so familiar in this house that he hardly noticed. The floor creaked above, then there was hushed singing, then silence again. A small fire was burning in the grate, lending its warmth. Drowsily, Vetch let his eyes wander the room. Marigold still sat at the writing desk, but there was no more sound of her quill scratching away. She was perfectly still, as though she, too, had fallen asleep in her chair.

  But as Vetch watched, she turned her head and looked wide-eyed up at a fixed point on the ceiling. When Vetch followed her gaze, he saw nothing.

  “That’s not possible,” Marigold whispered into the darkness.

  “What isn’t?” Vetch asked sleepily. The old mage didn’t answer, nor did she seem to hear him at all. Was he still dreaming? If this were real, Marigold would surely have gone to bed already.

  She began shaking her head in disbelief, repeating, “No. No, no, no ...”

  Vetch watched in confusion as Marigold turned and started writing furiously again, the scratching of her quill on the pages coming in fitful bursts. What a strange dream, Vetch thought. He closed his eyes again, thinking he’d soon wake and it’d be morning.

  Did more time pass, or was it instantaneous? The faint sound of a bell ringing across the town snapped him awake. Marigold fixed her eyes on him.

  “What is—?” she said, almost at the same time as he asked, “What’s happening? What is it?”

  In the light of the candle burning on the desk, the old mage’s face had taken on a sickly pallor. She looked more than troubled; she was terrified. “What is it?” Vetch repeated.

  “She’s awake,” Marigold whispered.

  “Who?” Vetch wanted to believe it was Lily she meant. He knew it wasn’t.

  Marigold pushed herself to her feet and went out the front door. Vetch threw off the blanket and followed. The night was chilly and clear. The bell was distant enough that its sound shifted unevenly on the wind, but Vetch knew its source. When they came out of the alley to the street, he turned to look up at the castle on its hill, its outline silhouetted against the fragile stars. The ringing carried to them from there. As he and Marigold watched, little glowing rectangles began materializing all over the manor—candle and lantern lights appearing through windows as the castle was roused. They reminded Vetch of Barriers.

  Other people were coming out of their homes now to look sleepily up at the castle, questioning one another in confusion. Beside Vetch, Marigold’s face bore a look of dread.

  Vetch spoke. “I know that pattern. It’s a bell to muster a garrison to arms. To call all soldiers within hearing to gather to it.” To this, Marigold nodded once, but did not take her eyes from the castle. “Marigold, you said she would never wake.”

  Marigold shook her head. “I know what I said, boy,” she snapped. “And it shouldn’t be possible. Not this soon. I have never ... and now she calls her killers to her. Damn and thrice damned!” Turning, she hastened back to the house. “Come on.”

  Vetch trailed her and watched as, back inside, Marigold went straight to the desk and leaned heavily on it, looking down at the loose sheets of paper covered in her writing. Her sigh was almost imperceptible. She lifted the quill, dipped it in ink, and scratched more words down on a fresh page. The distant bell’s incessant pattern continued. Upstairs, a baby began wailing. Marigold finished off the sheet with some final, hasty scribbles, then thrust the quill back in the ink pot.

  Leaving only that last page on the desk, she gathered up all the rest of the sheets and went to the fireplace. Standing before it, she seemed about the throw them into the flames. But she hesitated, as if paralyzed by momentary indecision. Her gnarled old hands shook as she held the pages above the fire.

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  Then, she pulled them back. Almost reluctantly, she separated a couple pages from the stack, closed her eyes, and cast them into the flames. They burned to nothing in seconds. The pages she’d retained, she folded neatly and brought back to the desk. Lifting her candle, she dribbled melted wax onto the parcel to form a seal.

  “This,” she said sharply, holding up the sealed parcel for Vetch, “Lily can open whenever she pleases. And this one ...” She folded the single remaining page she’d left on the desk and dabbed a few drops of wax onto it, sealing it in kind. “Only when she is ready to begin her Mage’s Journeying. Understand?”

  Baffled, Vetch stared at the old mage.

  “Understand?” she pressed him. “Can you make sure of that?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “But, why—?"

  “Good.” She slapped both letters down on the desk. “Now, come with me,” she said, and went to the back door, throwing it open to the garden. “Quickly, boy.”

  Vetch followed but stopped in the open doorway, watching in confusion as the old woman marched through the garden, trampling flowers and herbs on her way out the gate to the alley. “Where are we going?”

  He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to ask. It wasn’t as if he was going to refuse and leave Marigold to troop off into the night alone. It was just a natural question. Maybe it could shed some light on a moment that otherwise made no sense. Something was terribly amiss—something that had the master mage terrified. Of that, Vetch was certain. But in his fatigue-addled state, he couldn’t work out what.

  Rounding on him, Marigold said, “Firstly, away from here. Gilliana is awake. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand, but what are we—?”

  “Which means,” Marigold cut him off, holding up a finger, “that she already knows where I am. She can sense my magic as easily as I am sensing her moving about her manor right now. Think, boy. When she comes down into town with her mercenaries seeking my presence, do you want it to be here that she leads them? To where Lily Slumbers?”

  A chill went down Vetch’s spine. The realization of what Marigold was saying was a cold slap in the face. How could he have been so ignorant? And here he was, wasting time by asking stupid questions.

  Closing the door behind him, he strode quickly after Marigold. “I follow.”

  “No, boy, you lead. Your young eyes are surely better than mine in the dark. We go out to Fae. I’m gonna need ‘er. And you, too. Lead the way.”

  The walk was a blur for Vetch. They went side by side in silence, the only sound being Marigold’s labored breathing as she struggled to match his pace. The times he tried to slow for her, she jabbed him in the ribs and made a motion with her hand for him to hurry on. So, he did. The old mage somehow kept up.

  The streets of Black Crux town were night-empty and somber. Only the odd townsperson still loitered outside to see what had triggered the disturbance up at the castle. The few fleeting glances Vetch could catch of the manor as they walked told him nothing. More of its windows had lit up, but that was all. The bell was still ringing. He was so damned tired of alarm bells.

  When Marigold spoke, it startled him. They were not yet away from Black Crux’s streets and buildings when her creaking voice called his attention.

  “Now. Tell me,” she said between breaths.

  “Tell you?” Vetch questioned.

  Marigold swallowed and spoke quickly, her words clipped off by her ragged breathing. “How bad was it really? You and Lily have been sparing with me about what happened at Moonfane Forge. I chalked it up to you and her not wantin’ to revisit it. But I need to know. How bad was it? What did Gilliana do?” The effort it took her to speak as she labored to keep pace with Vetch only lent more urgency to her words.

  There had been ample time during Vetch’s recovery for Marigold to question him about what had transpired the day she had been abducted from her home, and she had done so on more than one occasion. But, as she pointed out now, he had been reluctant to say much. It wasn’t because he was unwilling to revisit the horrific attack, but because he felt it wasn’t his place. It was Lily who was practically family to Marigold, and only Lily who understood the full extent of what she and the old mage had lost that day.

  But what right had he to deny Marigold that knowledge now? None, he decided. As she looked at him, hard-faced and resolute, he knew the unfairness of his reservedness.

  “Vetch!” she said harshly. “Get talkin’, boy. Now. I need to know. All of it. Every detail. No matter how terrible.”

  He would not insult her intelligence by sugarcoating it. As they turned off the street and onto the game trail leading into the woods, he took a breath and told her all.

  “The sellswords Lady Iris gathers to herself now were only a small fraction of the forces she unleashed on Moonfane Forge. It was an army. They overran us. Most of our garrison was killed. Many townsfolk died as well. They plundered the Silversmith’s District and many homes and shops besides. They burned and killed indiscriminately. Your house was amongst those torched. There had been Barriers cast around some of the burning homes, to make escape impossible ...” He swallowed. “Lily’s family were amongst the dead.”

  He reported as a soldier would report to their captain—information without emotion. As he spoke, Vetch stole a glance at Marigold. For most of his telling, she remained expressionless and staring straight ahead, her aged face appearing like carved wood in the scattered moonlight. But when Vetch described how her home had burned, and revealed how Lily’s family had died, Marigold’s chin began to tremble, and hard tears ran down her cheeks.

  Vetch looked away. It was difficult to keep tears from forming in his own eyes. He had not expected to be so similarly effected by his own description of that ruinous day.

  The pressing toll of the distant bell gave over to the chirps of crickets and hoots of an owl. The route to Fae and Revenge’s hiding place was confusing by night, but then Vetch caught sight of Fae’s pale form in the shadows. She stood and stretched like a giant house cat when he and Marigold stepped into the sheltered glade. It had been only hours since Vetch had last been here to feed the animals, but it felt longer. His horse nickered a greeting.

  “No time to waste,” said Marigold, pausing only briefly to catch her breath. “Pull up Fae’s stake and bring her over here. Up this hill.” Without further explanation, she left Vetch and went ahead of him, trudging up the short hill bordering one side of the glade.

  Vetch went to Fae and gave her a scratch behind the ear. One could never predict how agreeable the panthegrunn would be when Lily was not present, but when he yanked up the stake tethering her in place and coaxed her to follow, she did.

  Marigold stood at the crest of the hill engaged in plaiting her long, silvery hair into a tight bun atop her head. From this place, there was a clear view of Black Crux Manor through the trees. It stood stern and baleful above its town, dark black overlaying the night sky. Marigold was silent while her fingers worked, her eyes fixed on the imposing castle. When she sensed Vetch’s approach, she turned to him and spoke with urgency.

  “Quickly now, bring her over here, right beside me.” She gave the last plait in her hair a firm tug to secure it in place.

  “What are we doing here?” Vetch asked, halting Fae beside Marigold. The big panthegrunn’s bulk dwarfed the old woman.

  “Just be silent,” Marigold instructed him. “I need to concentrate.”

  At that moment, as if also heeding her command, the castle’s alarm bell fell quiet, leaving an eerie void in its wake. In the seconds after, Vetch thought he heard Marigold murmur “don’t be afraid” to herself. The mage lifted her hand and held it so her fingers hovered inches above Fae. She took a deep breath. But, then, she drew her fingers back from the panthegrunn and clasped both her hands together.

  She turned to Vetch with a sad smile. “Thank you for being straight with me. Lily made a wise choice in you. Heed this, young man: take good care of her. Stay by her and attend her well.”

  Before Vetch could react to those words, Marigold turned her attention back to the distant castle, and he recognized that he was meant to stand aside now for whatever was about to happen.

  Marigold closed her eyes. The night breeze carried her whisper of, “It can never happen again, girl. Never again ...” Once more, she hovered her hand above Fae. Then, she lowered it until her knobby fingers touched the panthegrunn’s powerful shoulders.

  Vetch had no magic with which to sense what happened when the master mage’s fingers came into contact with the magical charge-beast. But he saw how Marigold stood up straighter from her stooped posture. The set of her shoulders became relaxed and the lines in her face eased. Vetch could only liken it to seeing an injured soldier’s pain lifted by a powerful medicinal potion.

  For the span of a few breaths, Marigold only stared off at the black-stoned castle. Then, she lifted her other hand and, as if caressing the air, passed her fingers slowly across the distant keep. Vetch had seen Mage-Marigold cast Moonfane Forge’s town Barrier innumerous times since he was a small boy. The concentration required for even that seemed to pale in comparison to this feat. So slow was the circular sweep of the old mage’s arm that it began to shake with effort before completing even half of the remarkable Barrier she wrought. Before Vetch’s eyes, a massive cylinder of shimmering golden magic manifested around Black Crux Manor, forming in direct proportion to Marigold’s gesture.

  No sooner had she finished the painstaking Casting, and closed the gargantuan magical cylinder, than her arm fell dead at her side and she slumped heavily against Fae. There, across the woods and town, up on its hill, Black Crux Manor now stood surrounded by an impossibly magnificent Barrier. The shimmering magic enclosed the castle entirely and stretched so high up above it that it seemed almost to reach the stars.

  Vetch was awestruck, but he hadn’t time to stare, as he immediately had to lunge forward and catch Marigold before she collapsed to the ground. Lifting her in his arms, she seemed to weigh nothing at all, as if she, too, were composed of ethereal magic.

  “Let’s get you back to the house,” Vetch said, but Marigold gave no indication that she heard him.

  “I don’t want to go ...” she murmured, then she was asleep in his arms—in Slumber.

  Vetch took one glance back at the tall, golden Barrier now surrounding the castle. Then, calling for Fae to follow him, he carried the Slumbering Mage Marigold back down the hill.