Raven's Strike

“Neither do I,” admitted Seraph readily as she reached out to touch Tier’s face. “Yet.”

He opened his eyes at her touch. He smiled at her, then looked at Phoran, who sat on Tier’s legs, and at Jes and Kissel, who were holding his arms.

“It’s all right, you can let me go,” Tier said. “I’m all right now… I think.”

They looked at Seraph and waited until she nodded before letting Tier go.

“Last time we thought he was done, too” said Phoran apologetically. “He was quiet for a little while, then went into convulsions again.”

“I thought you were going to break apart, this time.” Lehr’s voice was taut as he helped his father to stand.

Tier moved his left shoulder a little gingerly. “Nothing so dramatic—though I might have pulled a muscle or two.” He looked up at Seraph with a smile of ironic amusement. “You did learn something today. I usually feel worse after one of those instead of better. What did you do?”

Seraph opened her hand, so he could see the gemstone in it. He took the unset, rust-colored garnet from her hand gingerly.

“They might have chosen a prettier stone,” he quipped, then, seeing Seraph’s face, he gathered her against him, letting her use his shoulder to hide her tears.

“I almost lost you,” she said. “Almost.”

“I’m here,” he told her. “I’m right here.”

She let him comfort her, but she could see the remnants of his fragile Order sway to the tugging of the gem in her hands.

Phoran eased his way out of the chaos of the general meeting that followed Tier’s almost demise. Ri

He knew they wouldn’t leave him alone for long, though Toarsen and Kissel had appeared to be thoroughly fascinated at the thought of meeting a wizard who was old before the Empire had even been a twinkle in the eye of the cu

Phoran welcomed the silence of the old city, outside of the library’s door. A sunset, pale and subdued compared to the ones in Taela, lit the eastern sky.

He thought he’d grown accustomed to amazing things on the trip—a lonely mountain haunted with the remnants of ghosts, a legendary city frozen in time, a wizard older then the Empire—but Seraph had just proved him wrong.

It wasn’t the magic. Though he was sure that she had done something to help Tier, he hadn’t seen anything. He’d noticed the magic Seraph worked was usually less showy than the magic of the court mages—probably because Seraph had no patron to impress.

No, what Seraph had done was even more remarkable than her magic, at least from Phoran’s view.

“Introduce me to your family,” the old wizard had said—obviously expecting Seraph just to a

“This is my family,” she’d said.

She hadn’t meant it. She couldn’t have meant it. Tier would have, but then Phoran had listened to Ri

Phoran knew she hadn’t meant it, but it was precious to him just the same. Ever since his uncle died, Phoran had known that he was alone. Oh, there was Avar, but Avar didn’t make Phoran feel safe and… and loved. “My family,” she’d said, as if Phoran were one of her own children.

He heard someone come out of the library and sighed to himself, though he’d known Toarsen and Kissel wouldn’t leave him alone for long. A furry black head dropped onto Phoran’s boot, then Gura sighed, too.

“Phoran,” said Lehr, quietly from behind him.

He turned to look at the dark young man—if not the last person he expected to see, he was close to it.

“Get tired of the noise?” Phoran asked.

Lehr smiled, but didn’t admit it aloud. “Hi

Phoran looked back out at the sunset. “I heard some of that. Sounds like she, He

“Etched into the dais in reverse,” said Lehr. “She says we can get a rubbing with some char and someone’s shirt.” Then he said diffidently. “I can do it myself. There’s no need for anyone else to…”

His voice trailed off, and Phoran realized some of his irritation at having his private moment interrupted had made itself felt. Lehr thought it was because he resented Seraph’s assigning him tasks without consulting—which was something, thought Phoran, he really ought to be a little upset about since he was the Emperor and she was a farmer’s wife. But she had called him family: as far as he was concerned, Seraph could command him all she wanted to.

“Have you ever watched three wizards work together?” asked Phoran.

Lehr hesitated, and said cautiously, “No.”

“That’s because they can’t. I don’t want to be around when that old wizard, your mother, and He

Lehr gave him a slow smile.

“Seriously, Lehr, I don’t think any of us should be ru

“All right,” Lehr agreed. “Actually, I came out here because I thought you might answer a question for me. I thought I’d ask Toarsen, but since I have you alone…”

“Ask.”

“On the way to the library today, Rufort and Ielian were talking about being a Passerine. Ielian said something that bothered Rufort, but I don’t know exactly what it was or why it bothered him.”

“Tell me,” Phoran invited again.

“Rufort said that he liked being one of your guardsmen, that it was much better than being a Passerine had been. Then Ielian said he liked it, too. But being a Passerine had been better than being a clerk for his uncle. It bothered Rufort, but he didn’t let Ielian see his reaction.”

Phoran knew who Ielian’s uncle was, but then so should Rufort. Like Phoran, he didn’t see anything wrong with what Lehr had said. “Did he say why he liked being a Passerine better?”

“He said it paid better.”

“I thought we’d found all of those,” said Phoran, dismayed.

“All of what?”

“The only Passerines who were given coins by the Path were paid for killing people—or frightening them. Most of them were the older Passerines: Kissel and Toarsen knew who they were. Ielian is younger, from this year’s crop. We didn’t think that any of the youngest group were doing that sort of work.”

Kissel and Toarsen had both gone out to frighten people. “Bruised a few knuckles” was what Kissel had called it. But killing—particularly the kind of killing that the Path had been behind—was a different category.

He couldn’t trust Ielian anymore.

“It’s all right, Lehr,” he said. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll let Toarsen and Kissel know.”