The knife-sharp pain ebbed, and images took its place. Images from a long-forgotten time, which I had stuffed deep inside myself into a drawer I had never wanted to open again. Just like everything connected to Sol.
Without my wanting it, the drawer had overflowed, and the images from back then rose to the surface.
The smell of dust and old paper, mingled with something fresh, pressed in on me.
Shelves full of books rose high against pale stone. Large, clear windows let warm daylight flow into the library.
My small fingers traced the spines of the volumes and made my heart race. I wondered what stories or what knowledge they might be hiding from me.
The library was so vast that I could have gotten lost in it, and the wooden shelves towered so high that a ladder was needed just to reach the middle ones.
Slowly, the heat that had burned my skin outside yielded to the pleasant coolness of the library. Although the sun in Arcania was relentless, nothing penetrated inside thanks to the arcanist spells woven into the buildings.
If one stared at the windows long enough, a faint shimmer appeared, and now and then wafer-thin lines of light drifted gently across the glass.
I tiptoed through the aisles, because I knew perfectly well that I was not allowed to be here.
All the books bore strange symbols. Some resembled tiny bolts of lightning winding around one another, others more like spirals or rows of linked strokes.
Fine dust glimmered like golden sparks in the light. Even so, the shelves were spotless, as if someone lovingly dusted them every single day.
I was so captivated by the books that I paid no attention to my surroundings.
Only a calm, friendly voice speaking to me in Arcanian tore me out of my daydreaming:
"Have you found an interesting book?"
I came to an abrupt halt and flinched. Oh, I had been caught.
When I turned toward the voice with my shoulders drawn up, a man stood before me. He was tall. I had to tilt my head back to see his face.
He had skin almost as pale as paper, silver-white hair that reached past his ears and was neatly combed, with a few strands that had strayed into his face. His reddish eyes studied me attentively through his glasses, whose lenses reflected the light from outside. An arcanist.
I frowned. Strange. Glasses…
So far, I had never encountered an arcanist who wore them. No matter their age, they usually did not. That was why it had been so difficult for my mother to obtain reading glasses. In Arcania, they were not usually sold.
I pressed my lips together and folded my arms behind my back. My pulse was racing so fast that I could barely draw enough air to speak.
The arcanist smiled gently and crossed his arms, his hands resting on his elbows.
His clothing, like his entire appearance, was impeccably neat. Only his shirt, which was too large for him, hung loosely in places, breaking the otherwise polished impression. The long black robe contributed to this as well, its sleeves far too long and wide.
He addressed me in flawless Granian:
"Do you understand me?"
I tilted my head to the side. He spoke Granian. It had been years since I had last heard it outside my family.
He raised an eyebrow.
I did not like it when someone looked at me with raised brows. It always seemed reproachful. But he smiled. A slightly crooked, yet gentle smile. Nothing about his behavior was reproachful. On the contrary, he seemed understanding, as though one could talk to him about anything.
"Yes, I-I understand you," I replied hesitantly.
Was I in trouble now? My mother would scold me if I got myself into trouble again just because I had been too curious.
He bent down toward me and asked:
"You are Sol's little sister, if my mind does not deceive me?"
Damn it, he knows which family I belong to.
Why did my hair color have to be so unusual in this land? It made me far too conspicuous.
I nodded slowly.
"And where is your sister? Or your parents?" he asked.
I looked aside.
"Oh, there you are, little star!" I suddenly heard my sister call. Hurried footsteps echoed through the room and faded somewhere into its apparent infinity.
The stranger turned toward her and greeted her:
"Peaceful day, Sol."
She stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath:
"Morning, Iska. Sorry for being late … and also for this little wanderer here."
When she brushed her hand through my hair, my shoulders sank a little.
My sister looked as she always did. She wore a black and blue uniform and a gray knitted wrap that hung open. Her shoulder-length waves were tied into a loose ponytail with a red ribbon.
She gave me a warm smile that made my heart feel heavy. My guilt nearly crushed it. I had come here because of her, after all. Even though I knew the library was not open to just anyone, I had sneaked inside when no one was looking. The temptation had simply been too great.
"It is only natural that you miss your family. But you know it is better if you do not receive any visitors for the time being. At least not while your magic is unstable. We need to get that under control first. If something happens here, dozens of other arcanists will be nearby to help. For everyone else, however, it would be far too dangerous," Iska admonished her as he looked over the rim of his glasses.
"I-I know, but she was suddenly standing right in front of my door. It will not happen again!" Sol replied in a higher pitch. She tensed slightly.
I pulled a guilty face.
He sighed and adjusted his glasses:
"We can hardly let her go back on her own. I will accompany you. That way, you can spend a little time with her."
This time it was me who smiled broadly and squeezed Sol's hand. Over the past years, our time together had grown increasingly rare. Especially since Sol no longer lived with us.
She clapped her hands:
"Oh, really? That would be wonderful! How lucky I am to have such an understanding teacher! With you by our side, we have nothing to fear."
Iska's brows drew closer together.
"Hm, why are you saying that with such a strange expression? And stop trying to flatter me. I'm not comfortable with that," he said, shaking his head.
With slow steps and a slightly stooped back, he headed for the door. His movements lacked momentum, yet they were still very deliberate.
My smile vanished at once. In my eyes back then, anyone who was no longer a child was old, but he did not look much older than my sister. So why did he walk like an old man? Was he ill?
Sol took my hand and followed him, humming softly. Every now and then she tugged me back when I walked too fast. Each time, I shot her a dark look, but she only grinned and winked at me.
"Yes, yes. I will stop… But seriously, I am very grateful for your help. So … thank you!" she said cheerfully.
She tapped my nose and murmured in a warm tone:
"And do not sneak off anymore. Every time you do, they sentence me to cleaning the shelves. Do you know how long it takes to get all of this clean?"
She gestured toward a row of bookshelves.
With my head tilted, I replied:
"It must be really quick if magic is used"
I did not understand much about magic. After all, I did not possess any myself, but if there were spells that controlled room temperature, then surely there had to be ones that removed dust as well.
Sol and Iska exchanged a wordless glance. He gave a small chuckle, which made my sister laugh before she ruffled my hair.
"Unfortunately, it is not that simple, little star," she sighed, amused.
My eyes widened, but before I could press further, Iska changed the subject:
"Have you ever considered teaching her to read? She will take a great interest in it if she keeps coming here."
He inclined his head in my direction and gave me a brief but sincere smile.
I blinked several times and cast a discreet glance at Sol. What I really wanted, though, was to jump for joy.
"In our family, very few people can actually read. When I'm allowed to return home, I'll teach her," Sol said.
Hearing that made something tingle in my stomach, but I did my best not to show it.
We left the library and stepped into an elegant corridor of polished stone. Our footsteps echoed loudly into the distance.
"So that she doesn't wander into this place again. I will speak to your mother. I'm sure a solution can be found," he said, holding open the large wooden door with its glass panes.
Outside, the sun forced us to squint. Heat hit us full on. Within a few breaths, I was drenched in sweat.
As we crossed the courtyard, we encountered many other students and professors.
Some had horns, pointed ears, sharp teeth, or even claws. Others bore golden, glowing markings etched into their skin.
Most of them, however, had silver white hair, strikingly pale skin, and reddish eyes, just like Iska.
Here and there, one could also spot humans with ruby red hair.
A few students waved at us, others greeted Iska first and then me.
Sol looked at me with lowered chin and narrowed eyes. I shrugged innocently.
A girl with long black hair, blue eyes, and lilac colored skin stopped when she noticed us, broke into a smile, and asked in Arkanish:
"Ah! Are you sneaking into our lessons again today?"
Sol's eyebrows shot up. Then she planted her free hand on her hip and asked me:
"And where exactly are you sneaking off to?"
The girl ruffled my hair and laughed. Then she turned to Sol:
"Is she your sister? She's really cute."
Heat rushed to my face, which only made her laugh even more. Sol giggled and replied in Arkanish:
"Yes, I hope she hasn't caused you any trouble."
I knew Sol hadn't meant it badly, but her remark still gave me a small sting.
"Not at all," the girl said. "It's quite nice having her around. She's clever for her age."
And just like that, the sting was healed again.
One last time, she ran her hand through my hair. Then she smiled at Iska as well, who returned the gesture, and bid us a friendly farewell. Sol and I waved after her.
"If your mother agrees, feel free to send her to me in the library next time she turns up at your door," Iska told my sister and continued on his way.
We did the same and matched his pace.
"Oh, but you're not planning to teach her yourself, are you? You already have enough on your plate. When are you supposed to sleep, Professor?" Sol asked.
"Sleep is overrated," he laughed. "The education of the next generations is far more important."
Sol joined in his laughter.
"Oh dear. You sound like an old man. And yet you're what, mid twenties? Late twenties?" she asked, shaking her head.
"Don't let my appearance deceive you," he replied with a wry smile.
I liked his smile. It seemed kind and stirred a warm feeling inside me, even though his cheeks were sunken and his smile was never very pronounced. But in his eyes, for a fleeting moment, something else sometimes flared up. Something heavy. Something dark. At the time, I could not place it.
Was it … melancholy?
*********************************************************************
Barely half an hour had passed since Jarek had sent Lucian away.
With his arms crossed and his teeth grinding, he sat on the bench outside the guardroom and waited.
His fingers clenched into his upper arm until it hurt, and his leg bounced restlessly up and down. He could hear his heart pounding loud and clear in his chest. It was so loud that he could barely hear the other guards breathing outside Captain Fenn's room.
He had originally intended to listen outside Nova's cell, but Captain Fenn had insisted that both of them wait here. Supposedly this was due to certain regulations, now that Nova had officially been placed in Jarek's custody.
Because Jarek had thrown him out of the room, he had been stripped of the right to remain near the prisoners, and that would remain the case until Jarek revoked his order.
Damned rules. Damned Jarek. He had not been this furiously angry in a long time.
During the unbearable waiting, his thoughts circled around Nova.
The mysterious girl whom Eoghan, the man who had taught Lucian so much, had suddenly brought back to the village after one of his journeys many years ago.
He then claimed that she was his daughter, even though he had never mentioned having children before. Not even Lucian's mother and her husband had known about it, despite being friends with Eoghan.
Nova had always kept her past secret, even after all these years. And yet he had believed he knew her.
If Nova were a mage, he would have known, wouldn't he? Which meant she could not be the Flame Hunter everyone was talking about.
According to Jarek, the Flame Hunter was a human who, until nearly ten years ago, had killed countless people to steal the magic of foreign lands. And all of that for what? A hunger for power? To reshape the order of the world?
The stories claimed that Silvandar had ultimately fallen because of her and one other person. Supposedly, she had attempted the same in other countries as well, before vanishing without a trace.
There might be species that aged more slowly than humans, but Nova aged perfectly normally. At the height of the Flame Hunter's reign, she had been only eleven years old. That fact alone proved her innocence.
And yet Jarek was not a liar either. He knew him better than anyone else.
Lucian leaned forward, ran a hand through his hair, and buried his face in his hands.
This has to be a cruel joke.
How was he supposed to help Nova now? It had already been difficult enough to avert the consequences for Val when the unsealed entrance to the city's underground had been discovered.
He had confronted her about it, but she had assured him with wide eyes that she had not known the entrance existed. Supposedly because she was afraid of the cellar.
Of course a lie. Val would never have come as far as she had if she were someone who shrank from a little dust and darkness.
The sound of hurried footsteps made him look up, his brow creasing.
One of the guards in the corridor addressed him:
"Everything all right?"
Then the guards fell still. One after another, they turned their heads toward the end of the corridor, where another passage branched off.
A female soldier rounded the corner and hurried toward them. Lucian jumped to his feet at once.
"An emergency! I need to speak with Captain Fenn immediately!" she called out, breathless.
One of the guards knocked on the door. A few heartbeats later, Lucian heard a chair scraping across the floor. The sound was sharp and grating, making his mouth tighten. Then heavy footsteps thundered through the room before the door was thrown open.
Captain Fenn demanded in a firm voice:
"What is it? Is there a problem?"
The soldier reported:
"There is an arcanist at the main entrance and something else. He says he comes from Magura…!"
When she said 'something else', her eyes dropped to the floor, blinking rapidly several times.
Lucian froze. Had she said Magura?!
He knew only the reports, but… He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing out loud or slamming his fist into the wall.
Those bastards.
"What does he want?" Fenn asked. Her tension was visibly rising.
With an ashen face, the subordinate replied:
"He demands the surrender of the Flame Hunter. Otherwise…"
She fell silent.
Captain Fenn lifted her chin and shifted her stance.
"Otherwise what?" she pressed.
Shit, you have got to be kidding me today, flashed through Lucian's mind. His hand instinctively sought the hilt of his weapon.
The soldier swallowed and finished her sentence:
"Otherwise he declares immediate war on Grania and will take her by force."
Lucian's fingers tightened around his sword.
"Which arcan—" Fenn began, but broke off as Lucian bolted.
Shit!
No sooner had he reached the corner the soldier had come from than Captain Fenn's roar rang out behind him:
"Commander, stay where you are! On this ground, I am still in command!"
His name was shouted more than once, but Fenn's voice failed to reach him, swallowed by the noise around him.
He nearly bowled over a few unsuspecting guards. At the last moment he leapt aside and shoved past them.
"What happened?" he heard one of them call.
Lucian did not answer. His thoughts were already elsewhere.
Magura.
The word would not leave his mind.
Magura was a coalition of outcasts from all over the world, as powerful as a nation and older than some realms. The Flame Hunter was said to have belonged to them.
As long as Nova remained in Grania's custody, there was a chance she would survive.
But if she fell into their hands … then she was lost.
His hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white.
They were also responsible for Jarek's condition. That alone made Lucian's stomach churn.
He shoved open the heavy double doors of ironwood as if they were nothing more than a decorative curtain offering no resistance at all.
At first, he did not even notice that the doors had originally been locked. Then he saw the twisted metal bolts meant to keep them from swinging shut again.
He stepped into the glaring, deathly silent courtyard surrounded by high stone walls.
Several guards had gathered, weapons drawn, their gazes fixed straight ahead. Lucian followed their line of sight and spotted two figures.
With swift strides he cleared the stone steps and marched across the cobbled ground.
A familiar, biting smell of sweat and adrenaline hung in the air.
The guards stood in a semicircle before the intruders.
One of them turned to Lucian over his shoulder:
"Commander, is Captain Fenn on her way?"
Without addressing the question, Lucian pushed past the soldier and stepped straight up to the enemies.
The smaller figure wore a dark cloak and hid its face. A cloying floral scent emanated from it, mixed with a trace of damp earth. Lucian wrinkled his nose in disgust.
The other, a tall, slender man, smelled of a mixture of ink and old paper. He wore a floor length cloak of heavy fabric, its hems shimmering like a starry sky. His hair was silver-white. He had to be the arcanist the soldier had spoken of.
The arcanist spoke up in a calm voice:
"Might I inquire whether you are Captain Fenn, sir?"
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
'Sir'? What was that courtly form of address supposed to mean? And why did he ask in such a casual tone, as if he were merely inquiring about the time of day?
At that instant, the labored creaking of the worn entrance door rang out. A woman's voice muttered from afar:
"What in the hell happened here?"
Lucian knew at once that it was Captain Fenn. He had noticed her before anyone else. Even so, he did not dare take his eyes off the man facing him.
Quick footsteps clicked over the cobblestones.
"Commander, if I may," Fenn hissed into his ear.
Lucian replied:
"Took you long enough, Captain."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Fenn step up beside him and pause briefly.
"Is that a child with him?" she asked quietly, turning slightly toward Lucian.
The same thought had crossed Lucian's mind at first as well. The smaller of the two was barely four to five feet tall. That put her not even at the arcanist's shoulder.
"I'm afraid that's no child," Lucian replied.
His fists trembled, as did everything inside him. He forced himself to remain calm. Ripping the man's head off would only trigger a war that would cost many lives. They had to find a way that endangered neither the lives of the citizens nor Nova's.
Was there such a way at all?
He drew a deep breath.
What would Jarek do?
Fenn raised her voice:
"I am Captain Fenn, responsible for this district! Who dares threaten us with war?"
The arcanist remained silent and let his gaze sweep over the troops behind Fenn and Lucian.
After several heartbeats, he looked back at Captain Fenn and placed a hand against his chest.
"My name is Iska ta'Varius," he began, adjusting his glasses, "I am here representing Magura."
Captain Fenn snorted. Lucian heard her breathing quicken noticeably.
There was a brief pause. Then the arcanist continued:
"Hand over the Flame Hunter. Should this be refused, measures will follow whose consequences Grania cannot afford to ignore."