Matabar

The road wound in serpentine curves along the hill where the Old Park district was situated. Boris, cracking jokes with a bright, playful grin, guided the car through turn after turn. Elena and Tess were chatting about something, their girlish laughter ringing out every now and then, interwoven with Boris' easy baritone. Ardi watched the road ahead and glanced down the slope.

Another turn passed, another whisper of green leaves on branches arching over the roadway, and suddenly, a glittering sheet of diamonds stretched out before them. They sparkled, scattering the sunlight like it had been caught by invisible hands, tossing the rays back and forth in a brazen, almost absurd attempt to masquerade as reflections on the Swallow Ocean.

That swath of blue water spread out from one rocky shore to the other, its tranquil surface lapping against the bay. Out here, the ships — heavy, unwieldy iron leviathans with tall, smoke-spewing funnels — looked tiny amid the vastness of the water. Only the swallows and gulls glided among them, catching the invisible currents of air beneath their wings.

He wondered where all that cargo had come from. Who had hoisted those massive containers and barrels onto the barges? What lay inside all those crates and boxes? What stories might they tell about the other side of those rainbow-hued reflections dancing across the calm ocean?

And the people… What had compelled them to cross that boundless expanse and visit foreign shores? Why had they come to a strange land with unfamiliar attire worn by those speaking an alien tongue, one where Firstborn lived alongside humans?

Ardan stretched out his arm and spread his fingers, feeling the rush of air against his skin. He couldn't help but wonder if birds experienced the same kind of exhilaration.

***

The young hunter was lying on the very edge of the Stairs, lazily kicking his paws and watching the clouds drift away into the distance. Amid those clouds, Kaishas would spread his four enormous wings, soaring freely and effortlessly, sometimes plunging into the billowing white masses, and sometimes emerging again as if they were nearly-motionless giants.

Was the great water those swallows spoke of during their summertime return just like this? Summer… It was ending, and with it, the final stretch of his lessons with Atta'nha was about to begin.

The she-wolf, as always, was nearby. Ardi sometimes thought that his wise friend was forever at his side, whether he was learning to walk along the snowy trails or descending into the forest depths to play with Skusty, Guta and Shali. Atta'nha would always linger somewhere close, watching him from the dense foliage or from behind a rocky ledge.

"I remember how you once told me not to envy the birds, she-wolf," Ardi sighed.

Atta'nha shook off the snow. Graceful and silent, her thick, flowing fur gleamed with a pristine white glow. With each step, with each motion, her outline shifted until someone who looked simultaneously like Ardi and a wolf stood before him.

"When will I be able to do that?" Asked the young hunter.

Atta'nha regarded him with the look she always gave him — a gaze like the ones birds wore when the sky sinks lower, and cold winds begin to blow. Like the look in a wild creature's eyes when the earth grows hard and the rains fall more rarely and with a bitter chill.

It was the expression of someone ready to say farewell to something familiar and dear to them, fully aware of the fact that the hour of parting was approaching, inevitable and merciless.

"When you learn to hear their trails," Atta'nha replied.

She settled in beside him, placing her palm against Ardi's head. It was soft and furry and so very warm. The young hunter had no fear of her claws or the staff she always carried when traveling. It was white as snow, and had been carved from the wood that grew on the snowy meadows of the City on the Hill. The young hunter had read about it in the she-wolf's scrolls, which had been written in the dialect of the northern forest elves. He'd had to work diligently to translate the text into the language of the steppe orcs, which he knew far better.

Of course, he would have preferred it if all the books and scrolls in the she-wolf's home had been written in the Fae tongue. A single page in the language of the City on the Hill could contain as much meaning as entire weighty tomes in other languages simply because the Fae communicated through "essences" and "images." Ardi didn't quite grasp what that meant, but that was what the she-wolf had taught him.

"It's like with the Names, right?" The young hunter asked, still kicking his paw — no, his foot — in the air.

"Almost." Atta'nha smiled, revealing sturdy, powerful fangs that somehow seemed amusing. "When you listen for Names, my little friend, you listen for what has always belonged to you."

"Belonged to me?" The young hunter was puzzled. "But if that's so, why can't I Speak them, or sometimes even Hear them? It's like… I have my pa…" Ardi shook his head. "My hands. They've always been mine, and I can use them anytime I want. But I can't do that with Names."

The she-wolf's smile deepened, and she nudged him in the cheek with her cold, rough nose. Ardi wrinkled his brow. He didn't like it when Atta'nha did that.

No, it wasn't unpleasant. Quite the opposite, really. It was just…

It was just that whenever she pressed her nose against him, or gently scratched him with her claws, or whenever they played chase-nip with each other, or when they talked while the wind danced with the leaves and tall grass… In those moments, the young hunter felt as though he'd forgotten something.

Something very important. Something deeply cherished. Something that didn't quite hurt, but… it was that feeling of standing at the mouth of a cave, waiting for the rain to end. You'd wait for the Eye of the Spirit of the Day to peek out from behind the clouds, glancing over cliffs and forests, and start beckoning both hunters and prey alike to once more head out along their paths.

But the rain wouldn't stop. It would keep hissing and drumming, its heavy drops loud and unending, and all Ardi could do was wait, not knowing if the sun would ever show itself.

In her scrolls, the she-wolf had called that feeling longing.

Ardi could feel that longing for something — or someone — but he didn't know exactly what or whom.

"Because you're used to relying on your own hands and feet, my little friend," Atta'nha said softly, pulling back enough to let the young hunter lay his shaggy head on her knees. She combed through Ardi's hai… his fur with her claws, untangling any knots and letting the wavy locks fall freely around his neck. "You're used to doing everything on your own. With your own two hands, with your own strength. That's how Ergar, Shali and Guta teach you — not because they're wrong, but because they simply don't know another way. Remember, my little friend, few in this world commit a wrong because they choose to do so. More often than not, evil arises because those who cause it simply don't know any other path."

"Then why don't they learn?!" Ardi exclaimed in frustration.

Atta'nha flicked him lightly on the nose, echoing the same question he had just asked her.

"Why is it, my little friend, that you still can't always Hear the Names or see what the world hides from you when you stare into its face instead of its eyes?"

"Because… Because…" The young hunter sighed and slumped down, pressing his face against her fur and speaking in a muffled voice. "It's hard. Listening is hard. And Speaking is even harder. It's like trying to swim against the current of a springtime river with stones stuck to my legs — those heavy ones Guta pushes around in the mornings."

"Yes, my little friend," Atta'nha murmured. Ardi couldn't see her expression, but he was sure she'd lifted her head to gaze into the distance, maybe even beyond what Kaishas could see. "Learning to do what you're not used to doing is difficult. And many will simply refuse to try. They look at how this new thing is harder than the old one and come up with a thousand reasons for why what they already have is enough."

As was often the case, Ardi couldn't fully grasp what the she-wolf was telling him.

"Is that also something I'll understand later?" The young hunter asked, pointing to his chest. "Through this?" Then he touched his cheek. "And this?"

Atta'nha nodded.

"No matter what your quick mind discovers, my little friend, until your heart aches and your eyes shed salty tears, you won't truly accept the new knowledge."

"Why?" He asked.

"Because you" — Atta'nha pronounced that single word in such a way that Ardi felt like she meant for it to include far more than just him and his companions — "awake from the dreams of the Sleeping Spirits crying out in pain. And you live with it day after day, trying to make it hurt a bit less. But it's always there."

Ardi furrowed his brow. A couple of nights ago, he had slipped off the trail and taken a bad tumble down a slope, so he had a few bruises here and there. But they were already healing. Why was she talking about that now?

"To Hear a Name, my little friend, you need only claim what the Sleeping Spirits gave you at birth. But to walk another's trail…" The she-wolf picked up a small handful of gravel and tossed it forward. The pebbles soared across the clouds, then shattered, releasing little stone swallows that glided as weightlessly as goose down. "To walk the path of another and don their skin, my gentle friend, you must know all the pain that they were born with. You must know the agony of the one whose form you wish to assume."

"So I can't do it?" The young hunter sighed sadly. "I can't shift as easily as you do?"

"I never said you couldn't, my gentle friend," the she-wolf replied with a shake of her head. "I only said it would be difficult. And long. And painful."

"Ergar taught me not to fear pain," Ardi said quickly. "He says that a hunter who fears pain will tread the invisible paths of the Sleeping Spirits soon enough. Pain is like Hunger — you only lose to it if you give in."

"Ergar is teaching you well," the she-wolf agreed. "But he's showing you how to conquer the pain of your body. No one truly knows, Ardi, how to conquer the pain that lives deeper, beneath your skin. And anyone who says they do is lying — both to you and themselves."

"Beneath my skin…" The young hunter frowned. "You mean like when my muscles and bones hurt?"

Once again, Atta'nha smiled as she had before, her expression like the delicate ice of early spring slipping away. It was something that had to be left behind for a long, long time, until the moment came when it would return.

"When you finally realize what I mean, my little friend, you'll also understand how to walk the same trails the swallows traverse."

Ardi perked up.

"Why the swallows? Maybe I want to be like Kaishas, or like the hawks that he always mocks, or like the crows, or…"

He went on for quite a while, complaining and frowning. Atta'nha merely combed his hair and smiled.

***

Ardi plucked at the wind's chords with his fingers, watching the swallows as they flew among the people winding their way down to the pier. There were plenty of men and women in suits and dresses, some with baggage, some without, a few sheltering beneath umbrellas from the midday sun. Children darted about, devouring ice cream.

One boy wearing short pants and a goofy sunhat stood clutching a melting cone in one hand, while the other gripped the leash of a scruffy little dog. Those creatures didn't even know the language of domestic beasts — people had bred them themselves by crossing various types of dogs.

What strange thoughts.

"What's on your mind, Ardi-the-wizard?" Tess whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

She held onto her hat, her eyes catching the sunlight like the glimmering waves of the Swallow Ocean, though the sun overhead was neither fully spring nor truly summer.

"I was thinking about what the swallows might have seen this winter," Ardi answered honestly.

They had planned to spend the whole day wandering around together. It was the weekend and the weather was pleasant, that season when the sun scarcely dipped below the horizon, draping the warm, capital nights in the gentle garments of twilight.

Streetlamps were hardly lit at all — why bother when it never truly got dark?

Ardi might have spent the whole day in the library or pondering the Spiders case. Perhaps he would have headed to the Spell Market to experiment with his own seals, or tried out some of the modifications he'd seen in Nicholas the Stranger's book and studied at the Grand.

Not to mention the research he had begun with Aversky. During their next session, Ardan was expected to propose a few working variants of rune connections for an analytical array. So far, he'd managed to calculate only one viable link for four runes.

Compared to Aversky's current pursuits, his university lectures were starting to feel like children merely learning their letters. And since the gap in required knowledge kept growing, the list of books Ardan needed from the library was expanding exponentially.

"And now what are you thinking about?" Tess squeezed his hand, jolting him out of his musings.

He looked into her bright, mischievous eyes and shook his newly-grown-out hair slightly.

"Sorry… I got lost in thought."

He'd promised her a day off spent with friends. That meant no work, no Star Magic, and… Ardi glanced toward the ocean shore… no swallows.

"I've always been curious about what's out there, beyond the ocean," Tess suddenly murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder the way a cat might. "And beyond the islands, too… I'd love to visit Seiros or Viroeira someday."

She was so genuine, Ardi was sure of it, and not just because he could sense the steady beating of her heart and feel the calm in her breath. He knew simply because… he knew.

As Atta'nha had once said, Ardi could recognize Tess' sincerity with something beneath his own skin.

"How about the prairies?" He asked quietly, his voice wavering just a bit. "Would you want to see the steppe and the foothills?"

Tess, still holding her hat in place, lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Would you be there with me?" She asked.

Ardi nodded.

"Then I don't care where we go, Ardi-the-wizard," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder again. "Anywhere is perfect, as long as you're with me."

And again, not a single word rang false; she hadn't embellished or pretended at all. Ardi knew that just as surely… because it was how he felt, too.

It was a strange awareness.

Once upon a time, his home had been amid the meadows of the Alcade. Then it had become that place that smelled of warm pastries and blackberry pie, a scent reminiscent of his mother.

And now…

Now his home could be anywhere, as long as a pair of green eyes caught the sunlight, fiery hair burned his skin, and the air hummed with the fragrance of spring flowers blooming by the riverbank.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Oh no!" Tess gasped, reaching for her hat as a sudden gust of mischievous wind tore it away.

She missed, and the hat tumbled down the hill, flying over other cars that crawled along the serpentine road like ants.

Ardi smiled and reached out. He sought the Name, Hearing it in the shrill cries of birds traversing unseen paths, in the rustle of skirts, in the splat of melted ice cream falling onto a small dog's head somewhere far below, and in the deep, echoing blast of a steamship preparing to leave port, carrying humans and Firstborn alike toward the horizon where the ocean embraced the azure sky.

He Spoke a shard of that Name, and the hat whirled among the swirling birds, drifting back up to land on Tess' head once more.

"Thank you," she mouthed, sneaking a quick kiss on his cheek so as not to breach decorum.

Meanwhile, Boris was going on about the upcoming qualifiers for the University Magic Boxing League. They would begin in summer, right alongside the Sponsor League qualifiers, and while Boris didn't think that he would manage to kindle his second Star in time, he was aiming to join some sort of "training division." Ardi didn't know what that was, but it sounded as pointless and unappealing as Magic Boxing itself — an absurd sport, in his opinion. It was as though people didn't already have enough wars, and so they wanted to pay absurd sums to watch magic turned into a weapon amid cheers and whistles in colossal arenas.

And yet Ardi would, during his next academic year, have to learn some of this nonsense called Magic Boxing.

Recent events — especially his battle against Darton at "Bruce's" — had vividly demonstrated Aversky's point. As much as Ardi disliked it, he would have to learn something new…

He remembered that talk he'd had with Atta'nha again.
It was strange how he couldn't comprehend her words back then, and now…

Now he caught Elena Promyslov's gaze in the rearview mirror. She had noticed the incident with Tess' hat. Ardi had no doubt that sooner or later — if she hadn't already — she would figure out that her friend and fellow Star Magic enthusiast was also an Aean'Hane. But for now, they were simply laughing together and cracking jokes as they drove down the winding road toward the Swallow's Quay.

They had agreed to spend the day strolling about, then attend the Swallow Festival in the evening. It was held every year on the oceanfront, at the end of spring. People in the capital no longer remembered its true origins; they only saw it as an excuse to celebrate good weather, to bask in the rule of sunshine after a long, gloomy season, and to dance, sip light wine, mingle with foreign guests, listen to street musicians, commission portraits from local artists, and sample delicacies from all corners of the world.

Essentially, the Swallow Festival was a one-day event where the city's oceanfront turned into a more sober and genteel version of Baliero — or so Boris, Elena and Tess had claimed.

After descending the hill and weaving their way through the residential streets, they emerged onto the main boulevard running along the water's edge. Ardi leaned back, letting out little gasps of awe — which prompted amused chuckles from his friends — as he stared at the ships. It was one thing to see those steel giants from afar, and quite another to see them close enough that you could almost stretch out your hand and touch them. Their decks rose higher than most of the buildings in Old Town, and their funnels resembled smaller versions of the city's skyscrapers. Their mooring ropes — Ardi had no idea if that was the right term for them — were as thick as a fairly stout horse, and their anchors were larger than many trucks.

These were iron cities buoyed by… air.

And all of this had been created in just seventy years. That was how much time had passed since the advent of the steam engine and the first railways that had united the continent. And now here they were, driving a humming, rumbling machine that had all but replaced horses, riding beside steel behemoths that had conquered waters even the Aean'Hane hadn't been able to navigate. And soon enough, there would be airships. He found himself agreeing with something one of Marenir's ballads had once proclaimed: "The final frontier will yield to the dreams of humankind, and the world shall at last lie prostrate before them."

And it all stirred a faint but sweet melancholy in him.

They entered Sailors' Avenue, eventually stopping by a small café. Ardi barely had time to glimpse its name before he and Boris found themselves sitting at an outdoor table. When the weather was fine, cafés would place seating out on the sidewalk. Today was no exception.

Tess and Elena disappeared inside the café to place an order and do…whatever it was women did whenever they vanished together. Like most men, Ardan had no idea about what that was and wasn't particularly curious.

"It's too bad you never come to military training, my friend," Boris remarked, sipping iced water with his pinky extended. The waiter had kindly brought them a pitcher of chilled, spring-fresh water with ice at no charge. "You should've seen what I did to Iolai last time. He tried to use a Reinforced Stone Shield when he saw me forming an Accelerated Expanded Stone Fist, but…" Boris smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "I may be cut off from all that 'honorable' Fahtov family nonsense, but…" Again, he trailed off. "I rewrote it mid-cast. It turned out a little sloppy and I missed my main target, but I still shattered his leg with a Concentrated Accelerated Stone Fist. Sent him to the infirmary for two hours, even with the practice ground's shield…"

Boris gave Ardi a look that made it clear he thought his friend ought to already know exactly what he meant by "I rewrote the spell mid-cast," despite the fact that such knowledge and skill was the purview of second-year students of the Military Faculty. Boris had probably overheard one of the discussions between Elena and Ardan where the two of them, caught up in theorizing, had debated whether one could design a runic array that would be able to autonomously rewrite a seal instead of the caster doing it manually.

Something akin to an active version of the Elissaar Seal, basically. It was theoretically possible, perhaps, but according to current knowledge of rune linkages, such an array would, by itself, devour power equivalent to at least seven hundred Red Star rays — or nearly nine rays of the fifth, Pink Star. That was a monstrous appetite far beyond the reach of most mages.

And that would happen with just one array. Add the demands of the seal itself, and you'd be soaring right past the Black Star and into the domain of the seventh Star, which meant the only person who could cast it would be the one wizard on the entire planet who bore the title of Supreme Magister…

"Go ahead and ask, my friend," Boris said, setting his glass back on the table. He straightened the pristine white tablecloth, then leaned against the back of his chair. The wind ruffled his hair and also made a playful grab for his hat, but he kept it firmly on his knee.

"What are you-"

"Rumor has it, Ardi," Boris interrupted, turning his gaze to the sidewalk where townsfolk were strolling, "that you hardly ever show up at the university because of your job."

Ardan held his breath. He had no idea how he was supposed to react to what Boris was about to say and-

"But I feel like I should warn you that Peter Oglanov isn't the best employer."

Ardi barely managed to hide the relief that mixed with his surprise.

"What do you mean?" He asked, trying to sound noncommittal.

"I'm saying that I'm a bit offended by your secrecy, but I get it." Boris turned back and picked up his glass again. "I think our company already has one soul laid bare with all its scars — we don't need another. We can make do with just mine. As for you, keep wearing that gloomy face of yours and risking your…" The lord from House Fahtov paused, allowing Ardi to fill in the missing word himself. "Yes, that. You've been seen a few times in the company of some rather… distinctive people. And non-humans as well. At first, I worried you might have gone to work for the Jackets gang, but thank the Eternal Angels that's not the case. Don't misunderstand me, Ardi — I'm grateful to Arkar for what he did to help with my… situation…"

Boris involuntarily adjusted the position of the hat on his knee — or not quite his own knee. Whatever Orvilov had done to him had required nearly several days of reconstruction work, both medical and Star-based. Ardan didn't know exactly what had happened, but Boris now relied heavily on his cane when he walked, hardly ever went beyond a moderate stride (and if he did, he soon turned pale and broke out in a cold sweat), and if you looked closely, you could always discern the presence of a bracing wrap under his trousers.

Anyone else might have ended up permanently disabled. Boris, however, had money. A lot of money. An astronomical amount of it.

Which raised some questions, given his supposed banishment from his family. Questions no less significant than the presence of the medallion carrying a seal from Lady Talia's Chaos School.

"Are you working as Peter Oglanov's assistant?" Boris finally came right out with it. "Investigating whatever's going on in the city alongside him?"

Ardi said nothing. Boris eyed him, then slapped his hand on the table.

"I knew it!" He declared loudly enough to draw everyone's attention. Ardi was using a trick he'd learned from Skusty: sometimes, in order to confuse whomever you're speaking to, all you need to do is let them believe they're right. It was, in essence, the same notion the Emperor had once expressed in the temple — though explained a bit differently. "By the Eternal Angels, Ardi, I realize Peter Oglanov might look like a good man. After all, he was once the Chief Inspector for the Guard. But he's not. He's a spiteful, petty individual who'll do anything to achieve his goal. Sure, to him, that goal may seem righteous, but people around him have always perished, and…" Boris swallowed the name "Lisa." "They keep dropping like flies. You should think of Tess. What would happen to her if something happened to you?"

Ardi remained silent. Milar had advised him not to wade into the endless swamp of "what ifs." The last thing he needed was another bout of panic. Fortunately, following the elven healer's advice, he had brewed some calming concoctions for himself alongside his usual invigorating ones.

"Fine," Boris muttered. "You're a grown man, and all I can offer is a friend's helping hand when you need it. And I'm sure, Ard, that if you keep working with that… detective, you will need it someday."

Ardi wasn't sure what to say. Hunters on the mountain's snowy trails never helped each other in the hunt. They didn't live in packs — no more than lynxes, bears, or squirrels did. Atta'nha only assumed the shape of a wolf, but she wasn't one, either.

Maybe, like so many new things, this was something Ardi would just have to learn.

"This is what you're interested in, isn't it?" Boris asked, pulling the medallion out from under his shirt. "I'm not a fool — well, not entirely, Ardi. I see what's going on in the city. I read the headlines in the papers…"

Ardan remembered the blurry photos the Colonel had shown him — images of Ardi astride the anomaly. But Boris and Elena hadn't recognized their friend in those grainy pictures. Neither had anyone else at the Grand, even as they'd spent a couple of weeks buzzing about some unknown Star Mage who had tamed the Wolf of Blazing Darkness.

"My mother…" Boris began.

"Boris, I-"

"No." Boris raised a hand. "I've been silent for too long already, my friend. I stayed quiet because you never asked, and I hid behind your unspoken acceptance. But I owe you. You have the right to know why you risked your life and got tangled up in Arkar's business."

Ardan said nothing. He had his own opinion on how things had played out, but if he mentioned it, Boris might clam up.

Did that make him like Peter Oglanov?

Probably.

Was Ardi pleased about that?

Not at all.

But it was as Ergar had used to say, "A hunter must do what a hunter does, even if all the prey thinks them a monster. Because to the prey, we are monsters."

As usual, the snow leopard had meant something else entirely, but…

"My mother came from the impoverished remnants of the old House Malesh," Boris went on, his gaze lost in his glass as though he were staring at fragments of old memories — his own and his family's both. "You guessed correctly back in the hospital. Lady Talia… Talia Malesh was indeed my many-times-great-grandmother. But even then, after the War of the Birth of the Empire, our family was barely scraping by."

He rotated the glass in his hands, creating little waves that threatened to spill over.

"A medallion with a coded seal," he said, flicking the steel disc with his finger, "a forgotten name, and a bit of money — that's all my mother and her sister inherited. I believe I've got cousins living somewhere near Cold Lake, but that's irrelevant. My mother and her sister, Ardi, loved Star Magic — maybe even more than you and Elena do. But you know how people generally feel about a woman who pursues Star Magic."

Ardi understood all too well.

Even at the Grand, prejudices still lingered. And that was now. Twenty or thirty years ago? Mart's words had already hinted at how much harsher things had been back then.

"So, after my grandparents died of consumption, my mother went to… the Dead Lands."

Ardi nearly choked on this new information.

"Your mother…"

"She was an Anomaly Hunter," Boris nodded. "Not out of some heartfelt calling, though. She did so simply because the only Star Mage in her hometown who took on apprentices happened to be an Anomaly Hunter — or so he styled himself. In truth, he and his companions roamed from one region of the Dead Lands to another, extracting anything they could sell."

Ardan was silent for several moments, letting this sink in.

"And your aunt…"

"She didn't go with my mother," Boris said, shaking his head. His gaze was all but lost in the bottom of his glass. "She stayed in town, married a carpenter, had kids. Formally, they're barons, but I think my eldest cousin is actually a shift supervisor at a sawmill."

"And…?"

"You mean all this?" Boris snorted dismissively, yanking at his jacket lapel and nodding at the expensive automobile parked nearby. "It's my mother's legacy. Before I was born, she went off on yet another expedition to the Dead Lands, somewhere on the Dancing Peninsula. They were searching for the legacy of some dark wizard from the era before the Empire. Turned out that the mage had dabbled in necromancy and even managed to create a phylactery. You know what that is?"

"Roughly," Ardi hedged.

He did know, of course. A phylactery was part of the process of becoming a lich — a foul creature, an undead being that retained both the consciousness of a Star Mage and the might of their Stars. That path had eventually led to the creation of the Longevity Seal, though using that seal devoured almost all the mage's power, leaving them with only a fraction of their magic. Meanwhile, a lich had full use of its Stars.

But if Ardi admitted he knew all about it, Boris would want to know how. That sort of literature was forbidden to students of the Grand.

"It's a vessel for a piece of consciousness," Boris explained. "It's a way to cheat death, turn yourself into a walking skeleton with shriveled flesh, and chain yourself to the place where the ritual was conducted. I don't understand how anyone could be willing to do that."

Ardi didn't understand it either.

"And so, my mother and the rest of her party descended into his temple. They were after that phylactery because, well, just imagine how much pure, pre-filtered Ley energy a lich could accumulate in it over several centuries."

Ardi didn't have to imagine it. He knew. Five hundred years of buildup would be enough to buy a car, a large apartment on Saint Warriors Street, pay for tuition at the Grand, and then some. Like… a lot of "some".

"They all died," Boris said curtly, skipping over many details. Apparently, he didn't want to share too much, and Ardi didn't really want to dwell on the gruesome image of a squad of Anomaly Hunters battling the undead. Baliero had inflicted enough horror upon him already. "My mother survived. She lost an arm, lost her hair, and her skin was horribly scarred by burns. But she survived — Lady Malesh was heralded as the hero who defeated a lich. A four-Star Mage. My…" Boris practically spat the word, "father couldn't pass up such an opportunity. Perhaps it was her fame. Or her dowry. He started courting her. He pretended not to mind her… physical deficiencies. I don't know, my friend. Maybe Mother actually believed him. Maybe she just wanted to have a child — me. But as a result, I was born. And nine years later, she was gone."

"Your-"

"Father had nothing to do with her death," Boris cut in again. "He never loved her, though. He acted like he did, but deep down… I saw my mother without that old-fashioned dress that covered even her neck exactly once. And never without her mask — one like Professor Lea's, except it covered her entire face. Father always kept her hidden. He'd galivant about while she'd stay at home, alone with me. Not a nanny or a governess — my own mother. She surely knew about his mistresses, that she meant nothing to him beyond being 'Lady Malesh-Fahtov, heiress to ancient mage blood from the Warband of the Kings of the Past.' That was all."

Boris swallowed sharply, noisily, and wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth.

"Then she died. Her old wounds worsened. It wasn't just burns — it was a magical infection. Even elven healers tried to save her… but they failed. She drowned in her own blood at night. Something to do with her lungs. The filth the lich had used on her must have reached them," Boris explained, then fell silent. Ardi waited patiently. "Father buried her in the garden. Like a dog. That bastard…" Boris ground his teeth. "And literally a week later, he remarried. Seven months later, his new wife gave birth. I was ten. They tried to pass it off as a premature delivery, but once Mother really started to fade, Father didn't even bother hiding his affair with that… that… woman. They went on right in the master bedroom, too, while Mother groaned in pain within her own chamber."

Ardan looked into Boris' eyes and saw something he might have recognized in himself, if not for the years he'd spent with Ergar, Guta, Skusty, Shali, and Atta'nha.

Boris' gaze burned with a fierce, intoxicating thirst for vengeance — the most savage, treacherous kind one could imagine.

Ardi had never forgiven the orcs of the Shanti'Ra, but he hadn't actively sought vengeance. Boris, on the other hand, very clearly had.

"Some of the Agrovs came to the funeral," Boris said at last. "Including Iolai. While he was standing beside me, he decided to joke that I could finally stop feeling ashamed of my ugly witch of a mother, because now I had a new, young, beautiful one instead. We got into a fight, and before anyone could pull us apart, I turned his face into pulp. Even had a few of his teeth stuck in my knuckles." Boris lifted his hand, showing off narrow scars. "The rest is a blur. Father dragged me off. He said some insulting nonsense, so I responded with something equally foolish, though satisfying. Know what I did?"

"No."

"I spat in his face," Boris said, giving Ardi a hollow, humorless grin. "Right there, in front of all the courtiers and aristocrats. I spat straight into the red, gap-toothed mug of the Duke-Admiral of the Southern Fleet. Then I called his new wife a pathetic whore. Right to her face. She'd slept with the duke while his wife was still alive, in the same house no less… And I didn't care that she's a distant relative of the Agrov family. Damn it, all aristocrats are interlinked by blood. Wherever you look, there's someone's third cousin or fifth cousin."

"And that's why they banished you?"

"No." Boris' grin widened into something almost feral, not unlike Arkar's own. "I burned the whole fucking house down — my father's mansion. I waited until he left for another reception with his lady friend, chased out all the servants, and… Ardi, you'd be amazed at what a single barrel of lamp oil and an ember from the fireplace can accomplish."

Once again, he paused, and Ardi didn't rush him.

"I'm guessing Father wanted to disown me right after the funeral," Boris said, wrinkling his nose as if he'd tasted something sour, "but he tried to save face first, claiming his eldest son was merely grieving. The house was the final straw. His 'ancestral home…' He's still rebuilding it, and I say let him have his fun," Boris finished his water and poured more for himself. "Three months after the funeral, just as etiquette demanded, my Mother's trustee came to see me. At the time, I was staying at Elena's house — her parents worked for my father. Elena's father was the gamekeeper, her mother was the head governess. They took me in after…" Boris took another sip. "My Mother's trustee read her will, and that's how I found out I'd inherited an account with a scandalously large string of digits. Plus a set of safes filled with Star Magic books — some of them real rarities — and this medallion." He tapped the disc hanging from his neck. "And that's all I know, my friend. That's the end of the story."

He lifted his glass as if he were toasting, drank from it, and then set it down.

"Sorry to bury you under all this filth, and-"

"My father was killed," Ardi said quietly.

Boris fell silent. Now it was Ardi's turn to hide his gaze in his glass.

"A group of orcs attacked the settlement by our home. My father went down from the mountains to help. The orcs would've slaughtered everyone, including the children, and he… he couldn't bring himself to just take me, Mother, and Great-Grandfather farther into the mountains. He went down. To help."

Ardi had thought that, by now, he'd be able to tell that tale easily… So many years had passed…

He'd been wrong.

He couldn't.

His throat grew tight.

"And did he help?" Boris asked softly.

Ardan nodded.

"He saved the children and half the settlement, but lost his own life."

"Were you there to see it?"

Ardan nodded again.

Boris swore under his breath.

"Did you ever try to find whoever killed him?"

"Fate brought us together once."

"And?"

Ardan, feeling his fangs threatening to slip out from beneath his upper lip and his nails slicing into his palms as they shifted into claws, muttered, "He was stronger."

Boris swore again. Then he slammed his hand on the table and, forgetting his lordly manners, roared like a dockworker:

"Bloody hypocrites!" He bellowed loudly enough to catch the attention of people on the far side of the street. "They should've put up a statue of your father, given him some kind of medal… same with my Mother. And what did they get in the end? This is exactly why I despise all this aristocratic nonsense — nobles, blue bloods, the whole rotten lot. I'll finish my time at the Grand, serve as a frontline military mage, return to the capital, take my seat in the Upper Chamber, and you'd best believe I'll gut that nest of vipers and-"

"Lord Fahtov, did I just catch you plotting treason against the Crown?"

From around the corner of the café, none other than Great Prince Iolai Agrov himself, flanked by his retinue, approached them.