Banners edged with gold and crimson fill my mind’s eye. Two days of forced marches—with Nicanor, that really means running, not quick-stepping—bring the team close enough to my glass falcon to see with clarity again through our connection. Fluttering in the wind like a company of ghostly dancers, the ornate flags snap and ripple in hypnotic rhythm, drawing me toward the encampment below, a sure sign that an artful advertisement Skill is at work.

  A brief pulse of my cluster of Domain Skills sweeps away the compulsion, but I’m surprised to discover it reached me through the connection to my golem. Clear-headed again, I grimace at the intrusion and wonder if my beloved golems are actually weak points. I scratch my beard in consideration. Distributed casting seems so promising when it’s my attack vector, but I hadn’t considered that connections go two ways.

  Something to shore up later.

  “We’re close. Watch out for compulsions.”

  “Enemies?” Mikko asks, frowning.

  We slow down to a jog as we talk, and I take my time answering, savoring the chance to breathe more easily after our run. “I don’t think the people running the market are malicious, but they sure seem eager to pull in customers.”

  “Show me a [Merchant] who isn’t looking to make a profit, and I’ll send flowers to the family to put on the grave,” Nicanor says, chuckling darkly at his own joke.

  “Hey. Don’t make fun of [Merchants],” Avelina chides, catching her breath as we relax from the frantic pace. “Mel’s planning to marry one.”

  “Apologies for my offense,” Nicanor says. His rare mirth disappears at once, replaced by his usual solemn mein. The muscles in his neck twitch briefly, betraying his discomfort, before he masters himself and grows still.

  “No need for that. Even Padouk would admit it’s true,” Melina says. An impish smile spreads across her face at the mention of her beloved’s name.

  Nicanor nods. “Ah, the Naftalan.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You know him?” Mikko asks, a strong undercurrent of suspicion in his tone.

  Nicanor’s professional smile returns, but his facial muscles still strain to avoid a scowl instead. “Naturally. You keep interesting company. From one war to another.”

  The color drains from Melina’s already-pale cheeks. Sometimes Avelina teases her that she got a double portion, inheriting all the fire and color that Melina lacks, but it’s not quite true. Peach hues often show through Melina’s complexion. Right now? The scholarly sister looks as white as a sun-bleached skeleton.

  I’m about to intervene on her behalf when she takes a long, shuddering breath. She swallows hard, sets her shoulders, and turns to drill Nicanor with a piercing stare. “The treaty failed?”

  “Nothing like that,” he assures her.

  She arches her brow. “But war’s coming?”

  “Yes. Tenuous as it may be, the peace still holds. I fear that will last only until Tapirs returns to seize the reins.”

  “Then nothing changes. We grow strong and return home as soon as we can,” Melina replies, her voice as hard and cold as frost-kissed steel.

  “Our mission remains the same,” Nicanor agrees. He inclines his head slightly.

  It’s not much of a gesture, but it appears to be enough for Melina. A tremulous smile spreads across her face in response. She picks up the pace, her gaze straight ahead, and soon we’re all running again to keep up.

  By early afternoon, we’re close enough for the rest of the team to feel the charm of the shop-owners and stall operators. It’s potent enough that I have to remain on guard, but I haven’t sensed the blazing bonfire indicative of someone who’s broken through the Second Threshold.

  Huh. A cumulative effect? Then I snap my fingers as a new thought strikes me. Perhaps they’ve come up with a combination Skill.

  That knowledge fills me with a strange sense of hunger, a desire to see the runes and arrays that make the ability possible. Rakesh must have influenced me more than I realized. Even in his absence I’m thrilling to the thought of scholarship.

  How the mighty have fallen.

  “Wards are alarming, Sir. Mental magic detected. Non-hostile for now,” the more vocal of Nicanor’s [Honorbound Bodyguards] murmurs behind me.

  The non-injured guard. I still haven’t caught his name, unfortunately. They’re tight-lipped and distant. Polite enough, but they’ve made it abundantly clear that traveling together doesn’t make us friends.

  I would say he doesn’t realize I can hear everything he says within the sphere of my [Arcane Domain], but after weeks together on the road, I doubt that’s the truth. He’s choosing to include me in the discussion. Perhaps we’re closer to grudging allies than I thought.

  “Nuri’s a specialist. Proceed.”

  Not a hint of wavering or doubt from the [Spear Commander]. Warmth spreads through me at the vote of confidence. My appreciation for Nicanor is continuing to climb. He trusts me to pull my own weight within my area of expertise and doesn’t interfere. He’s proven himself a strict but informative teacher, demanding excellence from me but never acting heavy-handed or demeaning, no matter how much I might deserve it.

  I feel bad for misjudging him when we first met. He’s loyal and fair. Strong. Good addition to the team. That stray thought lingers as we crest a final ridge and take in the full sight of the sprawling caravan below us, buzzing with sound and a riot of color.

  In only a few short weeks, I’ve left my old friends behind and replaced them in my mind. How cruel.

  No, not replaced them. I’ve simply inducted a new friend into membership.

  “Hey, there’s the market! C’mon, Ko. Buy me something nice before Nuri makes everything awkward,” Avelina says. She whoops in delight, dragging Mikko down the hill and shaking me out of my musings.

  “Hey!” I protest, but they’ve already run ahead and aren’t paying attention. I turn and put my fists on my hips. “Mel, tell your sister I don’t make things awkward.”

  “Wow, Nuri. You’re a bad influence. Lying to family is wrong,” Melina replies, giving me a look. She clicks her tongue, then snickers when I sputter in offense. “Race ya down there! I’ve got my own shopping to do.”

  I turn to commiserate with Nicanor, but he and his guards have abandoned me in my moment of need. They’re jogging down the slope toward the sprawling market, angling toward a pop-up tent in the back of a particularly large wagon, from which wafts the tantalizing smell of grilled meat. The sizzling sounds of fat on a hot grill makes my mouth water.

  “Traitors, one and all!” I call after them. Swirling mana empowers my legs, and I fly by on light feet and powerful strides, beating them to the queue for the grill and laughing at the looks on their faces. I’ve never felt so good about my smug smile before.

  Observing the meat up close only increases my anticipation. Red flakes of some kind of unfamiliar pepper coat the outside of the roast, which is seared to perfection. Just imagining how it will taste almost sends me into an out of body experience. Ten excruciating minutes of shuffling forward in the queue later—the wait amplified by my growing hunger—I reach the well-worn counter. The wood glows with the sheen of years of oil and fat, which have painted it with a warm brown patina. Gouges and score lines tell the story of countless cuts of meat served up to satisfied customers.

  In a daze, I hand over the money, my eyes locked on the thick slices of meat. I forgo the offered cup of dipping sauce and ignoring the [Cook]’s warning that it’s piping hot, opting to use my [Greater Heat Manipulation] and the connected Skill [Quick Cool] to keep me from burning myself. Activating them simultaneously is easy since they share so many runes, which makes me wonder if I should force myself to merge them together before using the Skills again.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Seconds later, all thoughts of theorycrafting flees as I take a bite. The flavor explodes on my tongue, a simple mix of savory heat that’s all the more delicious for its lack of nuance. All the cold leftovers on the road fade into memory.

  Ah, yes. This was worth the wait.

  Nicanor and his men make it through shortly later. Like me, their eyes seem to linger on the seasoned haunch of beef roasting over the fire, and I wonder for a moment if they’re going to try to buy the grill and roast entire.

  Before I know it, I’ve devoured my generous serving, while they’ve just begun. Casting an envious glance at the happy customers sinking their teeth into grilled meat on a stick, I sigh and promise myself I’m coming back for dinner.

  Unfortunately, the rest of the market is all downhill from there. I catch up with my brother and wander the marketplace, looking for anything interesting, but even cheating and scouting ahead with falcon doesn’t reveal anything worthwhile.

  Browsing the stalls is an exercise in disappointment. Baubles with flecks of mica glitter in the mage lamps arrayed on a table to my left. Across the way, an [Armorer] displays a few plain shields, little more than rectangles of wood with a shield boss in the center. In the next stall over, I run my fingers over the soft weave of fine linens in scarlet, lime, and sky-blue. They’re better quality than the rest of the items for sale, and I like the audacious colors, but I still can’t help but frown. After the wonders I saw on display in the Orpheus house, the wares here lack any lustre.

  Mana is conspicuously absent from everything, even the most expensive of items. They’re all completely mundane.

  “Anything catch your eye?” Mikko murmurs under his breath, sliding away from Avelina and angling his body so she can’t hear his question.

  “Nothing suitable for Ava,” I reply just as quietly. “Want me to make an artifact?”

  “Nah. Just sniff something out for me with that big ole magical nose of yours.”

  “My nose isn’t big!” I protest.

  “Way to miss my point,” he mutters. His lips pull apart into a vicious grin as he drifts back toward his soon-to-be-betrothed. “And it’s huge, bro.”

  I chuckle and wave off his blatant lie, continuing through the marketplace to take in the textures and colors. My eyes are far less useful than my Domain sight, however.

  I loose the chains on my perception, allowing my [Arcane Domain] to expand outward like steam rising from a boiling kettle. The energy of the world around me swirls, arranging itself in whorls and loops in the air. Formless, dizzying patterns, ever shifting and moving, phasing in and out of the physical world.

  That is, until the wisps and threads reach people. Whenever life is present, the energy coalesces into tiny nodes, glistening like gemstones arrayed by a [Jeweler]. People in the crowd stand out, pearls on a string, some brighter than others. No one notable other than Nicanor, of course, who feels more solid than the rest. More real.

  Yet in the absence of worthy goods, I sense an opportunity. If no one else is selling high-quality items, then I might as well make some money.

  Mikko might be disappointed by the lack of gifts for Avelina, but surely he won’t complain if I hand over a fat bag of coins. Besides, he can buy her something better when we reach a larger town or trade hub.

  Guided by my Domain—and the bundled Skill, [Fault Finder], I seek out the administrators of the lively market, following the knotted flows of tangled Skills to track down their location. Though not made of mana, whatever binds the sellers and buyers together is still energy.

  Strictly speaking, I no longer have [Manasense] or [Manasight]. Instead, I perceive the underlying truths of the world through my Domain. My Skill even says as much, claiming that my eyes will pierce the veil. I always thought it was a vague and potentially pretentious description, but lately I’m starting to realize that I haven’t been thinking big enough. Significance is energy. Emotion is energy. Connections are energy.

  My powers are too small, limited by what I secretly believe is and isn’t possible. Only by unshackling my imagination will I learn to fully leverage my [Arcane Domain] along with the two other Skills I’m planning to fold into it.

  In the center of the market, surrounded by the tents and stalls of the various sellers, I find the administrators I’m seeking. It’s hard to miss their building, with its gaudy color and ostentatious sign out front that declares them the greatest [Merchants] in all Densmore.

  The door guard eyes me with suspicion, which is probably wise if I’m honest. Every time I go somewhere new, trouble seems to come crashing along soon after. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m a lot like this poor little brown and white spotted dog I once saw as a kid. Bullies tied bits of scrap metal to its tail, which made an awful racket dragging along behind it. The more it ran, the worse the clatter.

  Me, dog? Not sure I like that.

  A flash of coin in my hands earns a grunt from the guard. He pockets the bribe, waves me inside, and resumes his glower.

  “Pleasure is all mine,” I say lightly as I step inside the surprisingly simple office. A long desk to the right is the only nod to customers. Several workers lean over a maze of desks shoved together in the center of the room, wading through piles of paperwork, but they don’t look up when I enter.

  I pay them no mind. [Fault Finder] is pulling me toward the desk, anyway. I haven’t used the Skill much since acquiring it, but empowered by my Domain, it’s applying to situations that I never would have expected. More proof I need to practice harder.

  Behind the long desk, a thin man with curly hair peers at me through spectacles that are in need of a good cleaning. He hunches forward, adjusts his tweed vest, scrunches his nose, and fiddles with the frame of his spectacles until I apparently come into focus. A weak Skill pings me, and I let it through.

  His face lights up immediately. “An honored guest! Buy or sell, my good sir?” he asks, pulling out two forms from a drawer and sliding them both across the counter, one in each hand.

  “I’d like to sell.”

  “Excellent! Fill this out and we’ll get you sorted by tomorrow.” His gaze flickers over to the workers drowning in mountains of paperwork, and he winces. “Or perhaps the next day.”

  “How much to sell today?” I ask, plopping a leather bag down on the counter on top of the remaining sheet of paper.

  His eyes dart back and forth, and he leans to the side, looking past me at a backroom. Sudden sweat beads on his brow. “Shouldn’t say this, but more than it’s worth. You won’t make back the investment, not in a week of selling.”

  I frown, crossing my arms, and push on the [Clerk] with a tendril of my Domain. “Day after tomorrow’s no good. I’ll be gone by then.”

  He pales and gasps. “But, uh, perhaps I can waive the fee! For such an, ah, esteemed guest as yourself.”

  Gotcha.

  The man coughs into his fist, straightens his vest again, and composes himself with a shaky smile. He slides his spectacles back up his narrow nose. Without any further commentary on the cost, he fills out the form in an instant, his pen skittering like a spider across the page and leaving behind far more ink than it should from the simple pass.

  Clerical Skills fascinate me with the way they warp what’s possible. I peek into the man’s inner world as he works, trying to memorize the patterns of one of the runic arrays. They’re too unfamiliar for me to pick up more than the basics, but I’ll dutifully transcribe it later and send off my findings to Rakesh and Ezio.

  “Silas! Get in here!”

  A booming voice interrupts our proceedings right before I snatch the filled-out form from the rattled [Clerk]. He flinches and pulls his head down into his shoulders, looking for all the world like a turtle retracting into its shell.

  “Coming, sir!” Silas calls.

  I tag along, despite his frantic gestures for me to hang back. We duck into the back room I noticed earlier, where an imposing desk dominates an office that’s sparse on paperwork but full to the brim with expensive decorations. Finally, enchanted items.

  “What in the five abysses is going on out there? Skill’s telling me you just cut our day’s projected profits by a third. This ain’t a charity, Silas! Stop giving away day-of licenses at cost,” the man behind the desk rumbles, his brow furrowed and his fists clenched.

  He notices me a beat later, and the thundercloud of his scowl dissolves into a rough approximation of a smile. A weak charm flutters toward me, but I crush the social Skill like a bug ground beneath a boot heel.

  “Happy to help you obtain your license, of course. We simply have to follow protocol. I’m sure you understand. [Merchants] live and die by our bottom line, after all!”

  His forced laugh is even faker than his smile. I ratchet up the pressure on the room, and he swallows hard.

  “I’m not a [Merchant],” I reply flatly. “I’m a master glass smith, and I’m in a rush.”

  He sits up straight in his seat at that revelation. His fear evaporates on the spot. Greed practically oozes out of every pore instead, and his eyes grow sharp. “A master of glass? We can arrange something for you. Certainly! Although, a bit of verification may be in order. Need to make sure the books are proper.”

  I float Silas’s spectacles off his head, eliciting a small squeak, and pull them into my hands to examine their flaws more closely. My Artisanal bundle of Skills, which include all my analysis, prototyping, and vitrification abilities, combined with my Domain specialties, zeroes in on the problem almost immediately.

  I meet the timid [Clerk]’s gaze and pulse my mana through the spectacles, correcting the optical design and clearing out impurities from the original creation process. Whoever made the spectacles was the very definition of mediocre.

  Without melting them down and starting fresh, I can’t imbue them with unbreakable and innovation, but perhaps that’s overkill, anyway. Maybe I’ll leave him a gift on my way out of the market if sales go well.

  “Try these on now,” I suggest, handing the gleaming spectacles back to the harried man.

  He sets them on his face, and his eyes immediately go wide. He turns in a slow circle around the room, staring in slack-jawed wonder at everything around him.

  I chuckle. “Better?”

  “Perfect!” he yelps. “I can see . . . everything now. How did you do that?”

  “Trade secret,” I reply, winking.

  Silas grins, passes the selling form to his boss with one hand, and twirls his pen through the fingers of his other hand. “The world’s never looked this clear and vivid before. Thank you! He’s for real, sir.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Unlike you, my eyes work just fine,” the boss replies wryly.

  “Now, about that vendor license. Let’s put this song and dance behind us. How much to grease the wheels?” I ask him.

  The number he quotes in reply almost makes me faint. Truly, avarice knows no bounds!