Matabar

"Ardi…"

Ardan was gazing out the window. Outside, the clouds were lazily marching across the azure sky that was painted with faintly-shimmering sunlight. There was so little time left until spring ended and the first day of summer arrived, and even less until the airship auction: it was a mere day and a half away since today was already drawing to a close.

Despite the bright light and lofty blue sky, the clock's hands were already nearing six in the evening.

Everything was just as Mart Borskov had described it.

In winter, the sun in the Metropolis — if it even mustered the strength to break through the shroud of heavy, gray, low-hanging clouds — would only peek out for a couple of hours. But by late spring and early summer, as if making up for its prolonged winter slumber, it was in no hurry to abandon the horizon, even in the evenings and late at night.

Ardi still wasn't sure whether he liked this peculiarity of the capital or if he found it tiresome.

"Ardi!"

Elena, following their now-established tradition, nudged him slightly with her elbow.

Ardan snapped out of his thoughts about the weather, which he had been using to distract himself from everything happening in his life.

He was sitting at a desk in a spacious lecture hall that had been designed for far more students than were currently present. The ongoing lecture — or rather, the lab session on Applied Healing — was supposed to be held jointly with the first group from the Military Faculty. However, they had urgently left for off-campus lessons.

Boris had told them that several groups of military mages had arrived in the city unexpectedly, and the university had arranged a demonstration session with them. Thus, for the past two days, the Grand had been practically devoid of Military Faculty students.

Elena and Boris, while discussing this situation with their friend, had insisted that the military mages had converged on the capital due to an increasingly oppressive atmosphere. After the bombing of the Imperial Archive, the city — despite the approach of summer and the almost perfect weather — had grown somewhat… chilly. Figuratively speaking, of course. Besides, mages weren't the only ones out and about; people were running into reinforced guard patrols much more often nowadays. Instead of the usual two or three patrolmen, groups of five officers were wandering along the sidewalks.

Ardi had also noticed that more and more of those "inconspicuous" cars were now cruising down the streets. Tess had been right — he really had learned how to distinguish the Second Chancery's vehicles from the rest of the traffic.

Not to mention the fact that, apart from the Cloaks and the guards, soldiers were now appearing on the streets as well. Their light summer uniforms stood out among the civilian suits and dresses, and their keen eyes would sometimes single someone out in the crowd. The guards would then immediately approach those "lucky few" to check their documents.

So…

"So, student Egobar, will you finally snap out of your undoubtedly very important musings on the pleasant weather outside?" Came the slightly sarcastic, somewhat "unkempt" voice of Professor Lea. "I'll be honest, Ard, we are all eagerly awaiting the moment when you finish your work, so that we can not only admire the sun from afar, but finally leave this auditorium. You're not the only one who wants to get some rest before exams."

"Yes… Professor," Ardi flinched, returning his attention to the lesson. "I'm sorry. I got distracted."

"I noticed that, student."

A wave of chuckles swept through the lecture hall. It was mostly harmless, and underscored by fatigue, which was understandable in this final week before the annual exams, which, for many, brought lingering anxiety mixed with sleepless nights spent huddled over tomes and Star Magic textbooks.

But among those laughs, a few stood out. Two were of the sort Ardi sometimes heard from Tess when they shared some silly joke. And one was laced with venom, arrogance, and something so sharp that even just hearing it might cut you.

Naturally, that laugh belonged to Eveless. As always, the elven woman looked as though she had just arrived from a modeling job at one of Baliero's fashion houses. She wore a light dress in a refined, cream shade, along with white brocade gloves extending to her elbows so that, following the rules of propriety, she could bare her forearms if needed. On her left wrist, over the brocade, sparkled a bracelet with diamonds so large that one might've mistaken them for the crystal drops adorning simple chandeliers. She also had a tightly-arranged hairstyle, a small hat she'd set aside, and a little knitted-wool purse — the very height of summer fashion.

However, such purses were usually knitted from dog's wool and sold for around thirty, maybe forty kso. But thanks to his mother's teachings, Ardan immediately recognized the expensive Scaidavin sheepskin this one had been made from.

This meant that even such a tiny purse, which was barely big enough to hold a wallet, had definitely cost her about fifteen exes.

"Student Egobar," Professor Lea prompted him, her porcelain mask glinting faintly in the sunlight. "We're still waiting."

"Yes, my apologies," Ardan repeated, clearing his throat.

He rose from his seat and approached today's "exhibit." That was their name for the students who drew the "lucky" ticket. Ardan had been "lucky" twice. The first time, Professor Lea had used a simple military spell to create a hematoma between Ardan's shoulder blades. The second time, she'd used a plain scalpel to make a shallow incision on his thigh, just above the knee.

Although such a practice might've seemed barbaric or inappropriate to most inhabitants of the Empire, it served several purposes at once.

First of all, a mage could learn how to use spells not only on themselves, but on someone else as well — a very useful skill given their military obligation. Second, healing magic was complicated due to numerous individual factors, and properly selecting the arrays and contours required for treating yourself versus another person were two entirely different stories. That was precisely why (with a few added nuances) Ardan hadn't been able to fully heal Milar.

And finally, and perhaps most importantly — the student who served as the "exhibit" got to experience firsthand the "charm" of any mistakes made when casting healing spells. After you've personally felt someone's sloppy calculations turn an array intended to, say, regrow the top layer of skin, into one that caused abscesses to sprout around the wound instead, you'll be sure to triple-check everything afterward.

In Ardi's case, however, he had stepped away from calculating arrays a while ago. Instead, over the past two months, his attention had been entirely focused on the runic connections that made up the arrays themselves. Yes, he was still deciding which sort of array to encapsulate them in — free or dynamic — but often, when working with large structures, he acted almost unconsciously.

After you calculated a three-digit number of runic connections among a two-digit number of objects a hundred times over, the array itself seemed to form on its own.

So, it was no surprise that arrays and contours were first-year topics. After that, it wasn't like nobody needed to calculate them anymore, but no one really struggled with such a thing after that.

On the other hand, if you were unable to calculate the array itself, you wouldn't be able to handle counting the runes inside it, either.

"What can you tell us, student Egobar?" The professor asked, rolling her chair closer to the surgical table.

Lying on the gleaming steel was Ella, a friend of the Nelvir sisters — the same young woman with whom Ardi had talked a couple of months ago in the library about healing magic and its limitations. She was also the one who had invited him to a student party he'd never attended.

She was a statuesque, pleasant-looking girl who was always coming up with elaborate hairstyles to disguise a quirk of her appearance that was perpetually tormenting her. Ella's hair was naturally oily and thin, and, if left unchecked, would end up hanging limply by the third lecture. And so, using fancy hairstyles, she masked what she considered to be two flaws at once.

Those flaws being her hair and slightly-protruding ears.

Upon seeing Ardi, Ella smiled. He smiled back at her.

Thank the Sleeping Spirits that she hadn't held a grudge against him for missing the party. He actually had a valid excuse for skipping it, too! He had most likely been risking his life somewhere on the streets of the capital that night…

Ardan leaned in so close to Ella's neck that he could smell her perfume — it was like ocean spray mixed with, perhaps, cardamom — and even feel her breath. The cut he was supposed to heal was along her collarbone. Naturally, except for her face and the wound itself, everything else was covered by a special sheet worn over her clothing.

This was done to avoid staining anything and because… well, the lecture was mixed-gender. Then again, Professor Lea didn't bother hiding her favoritism toward the female students. The most serious first-year injuries — those that required baring more sensitive areas of the body or the ones that caused quite unpleasant sensations — were inflicted exclusively on the male students.

On the table beside Ella — who was now breathing more heavily, probably because she was tired after lying there for an hour and a half — were a special flexible ruler, a surgical caliper, tweezers, and a sort of "scalpel," only dull and short, and marked for measuring depth. Ardi could never remember its name. A few more instruments lay in a metal basin filled with alcohol. Slightly farther away were a pair of double gloves — they were leather on the inside and rubber on the outside so they could be washed.

"Student Egobar?" The professor prompted him again. "Are you really so taken aback by what you're seeing, or can you simply not tear your eyes away from Miss Riitov's collarbone?"

Another round of laughter followed. This time, Elena joined in, as did Tanya Tetrov and the sisters Ishka and Veshka Nelvir — Ella's friends. The girl herself turned faintly pink.

Apparently, she was holding back her laughter so as not to make the bleeding worse.

From time to time, the short scepter in Lea's hands that professors sometimes used would flare up as she kept adjusting the wound. She was tweaking the injury's characteristics so that every new student would face a new problem instead of a repeat, and simultaneously preventing the wound from closing too soon while stopping Ella from losing too much blood.

In general, given the superficial nature of the cut, you might've expected this to be a simple process, but considering the fact that the wound had been held open for nearly ninety minutes, the energy expenditure was colossal. After all, to ensure the wound could even be healed by the Ley, the professor had to maintain uninterrupted contact with it. Which meant the energy drain was also constant.

That was why the entire Healing Faculty building was hooked up to the same generators and Ley-cables as the underground training grounds used for military magic practice.

"Fifty-six millimeters long," Ardi announced after carefully applying the ruler to the wound. "Four millimeters deep," he added as he used the "thickness gauge," which instantly made Ella forget her embarrassment and grimace, jerking aside slightly and nearly ruining the measurement. "It's a standard cut with smooth edges. The layers of epidermis and the upper layer of muscle are damaged. No tendons or arteries have been hit. Under most circumstances, this cut doesn't require immediate suturing. You could close the edges with a soft bandage soaked in anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial ointment."

"And what if we were to recall the fact that this isn't Professor Kovertsky's lecture, but the Star Healers' building?" Lea asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Ardan understood perfectly well what she was driving at. She wanted him to name the seal that would address the requirements of the wound. After all, in first-year exams, that was precisely what students needed to do.

After being given a problem, you were supposed to name the seal that solved it, and then, by opening the reference book of basic seals, implement that seal with a few simple modifications.

It was believed that if you stuffed your head with the names and properties of a few dozen seals in your first year, you'd have an easier time handling more complicated topics later on due to building up a foundation you could always lean on, so to speak.

But the problem was that Ardi didn't have time to memorize hundreds of seal names. It was far easier for him to simply calculate a solution on his own rather than comb through reference books for something premade.

That approach was considered… impossible. To others, the way Ardi used Star Magic looked as if he had first learned how to write, and only afterwards how to read and speak.

"Here we need a fixed array to bring the edges of the wound together, then two free arrays," Ardan tried to dodge her question. "One should be static, to ensure the necessary depth of cell growth, and one should be dynamic, to handle the changing parameters of growth speed. The runic connections are elementary: sixteen… no, twenty-four. Yes, twenty-four. It doesn't really matter if they're progressive or direct. Sure, you could tweak it by mixing them, but that won't reduce the energy cost, only increase the healing speed. And with such a superficial cut, it makes no difference whether it heals in five seconds or five minutes."

Ardan straightened up and gave her a somewhat awkward smile, absently scratching the back of his head with his staff — an old habit of his.

"A very thorough analysis of the problem, student Egobar," Professor Lea acknowledged with no trace of irony or sarcasm. "But I must remind you yet again that this is not Professor Convel's class. Though I suspect even he would require you to give the proper name of the seal, rather than just its characteristics — which is exactly what I'm asking of you."

Ardan sighed and set the instruments aside. The truth was that he had no idea what the seal that might close the wound in question was called. Yes, in the first semester, he had studied the seal names and their properties like everyone else. But then… As Ardi had delved deeper and deeper into the mechanisms and principles of Star Magic, the specific seals that interested him had become ever more specialized.

And now, just like his classmates in the past, he was unable to name a specific seal.

"Mr. Egobar, I'm waiting for your answer," the professor said, tapping her short scepter against her palm as though preparing to rap Ardi with it.

Elena had shared a bit of wisdom with him once: "Never, under any circumstances, say 'I don't know' to a professor. They'll forget what exactly you didn't know, but they'll remember that phrase. And they'll bring it up on the exam. It's better to be wrong than to say 'I don't know.'"

"The Narimov-Kletskikh… Seal?"

Even before the professor could reply, he realized that he hadn't merely missed the mark, but, judging by the chuckles he could hear behind him, he had shot off in the exact opposite direction.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Professor Lea merely sighed in disappointment and tapped her scepter lightly against the edge of the surgical table. The cut on Ella's neck sealed itself, leaving no trace behind of the recent wound.

"The Narimov-Kletskikh Seal, Mr. Egobar, doesn't treat cuts at all — it's for fractures," Professor Lea said, rolling back to her desk, which stood within arm's reach of the surgical table. "Specifically, fractures of the finger joints. How are you planning to pass your exams, Ard? Or have you not really thought about that yet? Because if not, let me enlighten you: you have a little over a week left until the start of the summer exams."

Ardan had thought about it. Of course he had. Memorizing over a hundred seal names in a week, plus remembering which seal was in which reference book (they didn't have to learn the seals themselves by heart, which made sense since they were building a foundation and trying to comprehend the underlying principles) was simply impossible. And it seemed hopeless.

But if he applied Skusty's arts…

The first-year exams that dealt with seals had three parts. The first was theoretical — which Ardan wasn't worried about at all — and required answering, as the name implied, a theoretical question. The second part was simply not messing up the choice of seal. And the third involved actually using that seal from the reference book.

Usually, if you couldn't name the right seal, you also couldn't apply it.

It was in this nuance that Ardan saw his salvation.

After all, the seal still had to be applied. So even if he couldn't — or rather, when he couldn't — name the seal, he could still apply it. How?

By calculating it himself. By creating the full construct from scratch. Over the centuries, countless seals had been developed, and any problem could be solved by one, or two… or by dozens of different seals. The point of the exam wasn't to just guess the correct seal, but to deal with the problem given to you.

And so Ardi would solve the problem not with a reference book, but on his own.

Which was considered impossible not just for a first-year, but for most third-year students as well.

Yes, Ardan still wouldn't be able to earn the maximum score, but he didn't need that. To receive the Crown's scholarship and stipend for next year — which would ensure he didn't need to pay tuition — he needed only a hundred points out of a possible one hundred and twenty. They gave a student two points for naming the correct seal, so Ardi had almost no margin for error.

This "almost" was there because not every subject required seals — for instance, History, Jurisprudence, or Professor Kovertsky's course. In those, seals were irrelevant. This meant that Ardi theoretically had some room to maneuver. And yet… maybe he didn't, because he doubted he could score more than six points out of ten on Star Magic History or Jurisprudence. Which meant that in order to pass, he'd have to ace Kovertsky's class with the highest possible marks…

Yes, amid all these concerns, it was easy to forget that the Imperial Archive had only recently been blown up, and the airship auction was right around the corner…

"I worry about you, Ard," the professor said, adjusting her mask, opening her register, and making a few notes. As she wrote, her prosthetic arm kept knocking against the table, producing a rather unpleasant clacking sound. "It would be quite a shame if your bright head were to roll off your shoulders… For now, help Miss Riitov get down, and you're all free to go for today. Since this is our last class before exams, I sincerely wish everyone the best of luck!"

"Thank you, Professor."

"See you at the exam, Professor!"

"Maybe you could give us a friendly hint about the questions?"

"Yes! Just between us girls! We have to support each other in this cruel, male-dominated world!"

"Who's supporting whom, ladies?" The professor joked.

And so, amid all the chatter and laughter of the female students (in the second group of the first year of the General Faculty, they had long since stopped viewing Ardi as a man and treated him more like a genderless being), Ardan moved over to Ella and, after making sure she had detached the sheet, he lifted her into his arms.

In his efforts not to touch any place a young man was not supposed to touch on a respectable, unmarried girl, he… nearly dropped Ella on the floor.

And this was through no fault of her own.

Apparently, she truly had grown weary of lying on the table, her arms had gone numb, and her breathing had become strained. It was the only way to explain the red blotches that had suddenly blossomed across her skin, how she'd nearly choked on air, and how her trembling hands had failed to encircle Ardan's neck, making him lose his balance.

Thankfully, disaster and the need for urgent healing magic were both avoided. Ardan managed to grab the girl's waist in time and set her down on her feet. Ella, however, was startled by the abrupt motion, and so she flung out her arms and knocked over the papers on Professor Lea's desk.

They scattered in every direction, and the register went far enough to brush against the professor's personal bag, which hung from the handle of her wheelchair.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Professor," Ella wailed. "I got rather stiff after lying there for so long. I'll help you put everything back."

"Thank you, my dear," Lea replied. After all, it wasn't like she could easily bend down to do it herself.

Ardan quietly joined in. While gathering the papers, he didn't even notice that he'd also picked up Lea's bag and her personal grimoire that had slipped out from it. It lay open roughly in the middle. Unable to resist his curiosity, he glanced inside and, naturally, spotted the encrypted seal.

"Mr. Egobar?" Professor Lea's voice came from behind him. "It's not really proper to read someone else's grimoire, even if it's encrypted."

"My apologies, Professor. My natural curiosity got the better of me for a moment," Ardi said earnestly, holding out the grimoire to its owner.

"Your honesty never ceases to amaze me, Ard," Lea said, taking the papers from Ella and beginning to sort them. "Even Professor an Manish is complaining that you need to lie more often, like all the other students."

"I've never lied to you, Professor," Ella protested, flushing even more deeply.

"Do you know, my dear Miss Riitov, how a professor can tell when a student is lying?"

"How, Professor Lea?"

"The student's lips are moving," she answered with a smile beneath her mask.

Ella plainly didn't get the joke, though she did her best to hide her confusion behind a polite, well-rehearsed smile. Ardi sometimes saw that same well-bred expression on Tess' face, especially whenever she spoke to strangers. Apparently, every high-society girl learned that sort of composed little smile.

They said their goodbyes to the professor and stepped out of the classroom. Elena, out of habit, was waiting for Ardi near the window, but before he could walk up to her, Ella called out to him.

"Ard."

He paused and turned back to his classmate. Perhaps he had squeezed her too tightly? Hurt her somehow? He probably ought to apologize…

"Sorry if I'm being too forward, but you missed the last party," Ella said, straightening her already flawless hair and switching her staff from one hand to the other. "After the exams, we're celebrating all night until the results are announced. At Baliero, on Flowers Street, house seventeen, apartment four. A friend of Tetrov's lives there — she's a poet, I believe... Come with Elena and Boris, alright? I mean, if you can, please do drop by. If you can. Yes. Alright?"

"Ah…" Ardi scratched the back of his head with his staff again. "Sure, alright. Thank you. I'll definitely tell them."

"Yes… thanks. I'll be off, then."

She flitted away as lightly and swiftly as a butterfly leaving its blossom. In a mere moment, she was gone from the corridor, the swish of her skirt disappearing somewhere down the stairwell.

Ardan made his way over to Elena, who was watching him with a mischievous, almost sly squint.

"And what were you two chatting about so sweetly?"

"Ella invited you and Boris to a party," Ardan said with a shrug.

Elena's eyes narrowed even further, her expression growing more amused by the second.

"Me and Boris?" She asked in a tone akin to a fox coaxing a hare to join her for lunch in her den.

"And me as well," Ardan added with another shrug. "I guess she felt awkward about asking you directly, so she passed the invitation on through me."

"She passed it on through you?"

"Yeah."

"Ardi."

"What?"

"I don't understand how you can be so smart and at the same time so… clueless."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly that. Go on, tell Tess about it if you like. She'll explain," Elena said, then added hastily, "Actually, you better not. She might worry. You two only just started your relationship…"

"Elena, I really don't understand," Ardan frowned.

Elena merely burst out laughing. Ardi was about to ask what exactly his friend had meant, but just then, the medallion he'd gotten from Milar grew steadily hotter in his pants pocket.

***

A smoky silence hovered in the office, thick with the scent of tobacco, paper dust and trouble. The Colonel, his right arm trembling from an old shoulder injury, tapped out a fitful beat on a thick file labeled "The Spider Evening" — the internal code for that case within the Second Chancery. His blue eyes flashed in turn with fiery displeasure and icy calculation. A scar ran across his upper lip, which twitched as he smoked his ever-present cigar.

"Captain."

"Yes, Colonel?" Milar, who was seated opposite Ardan, asked.

At that moment, only the three of them were in the office. Aversky and Dagdag were off, so to speak, "preparing" for the upcoming auction.

The captain, as he always was in the Colonel's presence, seemed poised — an air that could be mistaken for ease, though it was merely the soft features of his oval face and the bright spark that forever lit up his eyes which gave that impression.

"Tell me, Captain," the Colonel began. His name was still a mystery to Ardi, and he was pretty sure that only a select few knew it. "You and the Corporal both appear to be busy. Always going somewhere. Sending in requests for clearance. Hard at work, so to speak. Getting your wages on time, too, no complaints there."

"That's all true, Colonel," Milar nodded and straightened slightly, as though preparing to leap… right out the window. "We are working. And earning our keep."

"Then how, in the span of just half a year, have we had," the Colonel opened the folder, "an explosion at the warehouses. Corpses. Then more explosions, fires, and chases in the Firstborn District. More corpses."

"We've neutralized Lorlov," Milar offered hopefully. "And we got Irigov."

"You got Irigov," the Colonel repeated, then, ignoring that aside, carried on. "Then what? We found nothing at the underground casino, but lost operatives who still haven't woken up. And there were bodies. Next, the Main Menagerie. Corpses again. And headlines in the newspapers," the Colonel brandished the same papers he'd shown them last time, "followed by damages totaling… how much again? Fourteen hundred exes?"

Milar and Ardan exchanged baffled looks.

"Did Le'mriti file a complaint?" Milar's eyebrows shot up. "Is he out of his damn-"

"Not merely a complaint," the Colonel interrupted, "but an official lawsuit, which has been stamped in the Upper Chamber of Parliament," he added in a tone that was both grim and resolved. "And finally, the Corporal's antics with a foreign mercenary who… got away. At least that episode ended without bodies. But you made up for it at the Archive. Corpses. Corpses. And once again, corpses. And what do we have to show for it?"

"We know-"

"You assume," the Colonel emphasized.

The captain swallowed hard.

"We can assume, Colonel, what the Spiders' intentions might be, and where they'll strike next. The Corporal and I even have a plan."

"A plan, is it…? You don't say!" The Colonel snapped the folder closed a bit harder than necessary. "Why is our entire city in flames, Captain? The Emperor still can't open the underground lines. Foreign envoys are afraid to step outside. There are six — six! — full divisions of troops in the city. And all I'm hearing from you, Captain, is that you 'even have a plan.'"

"Colonel," Milar lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, "you know how this works. The Spiders had a head start: years of preparation and planning, plus massive resources. Meanwhile, we started from a losing position and can't even bring in other departments for help because of potential leaks. And one Aversky alone isn't enough to solve all the city's problems."

"He isn't enough," the Colonel exhaled a cloud of smoke and continued in a calm tone. "I understand your reasoning, Captain. And maybe those in the Upper Chamber understand it, too. But beyond that understanding, they also see how to use all of this against us — and against the Emperor. Which is precisely what they're doing."

The captain only spread his hands out in helpless acknowledgment.

Puffing on his cigar, the Colonel flicked off some ash.

"How sure are you about your plan?"

Ardan and Milar exchanged another glance.

"We're staking everything we have on it, Colonel," Milar answered plainly.

The Colonel clamped the cigar between his teeth and pulled a document signed with today's date from the folder.

"You're staking everything on… this?" He waved three stapled pages at them. "Whose idea was this to begin with?"

"Mine, Colonel," Ardan said, not bothering to keep quiet.

"And you're backing him up, Captain?"

"I've made the necessary adjustments," Milar shot a quick, tired look at Ardan. He was telling the truth — without his edits, the plan would've been nothing short of reckless. "But overall, yes. I see no other way."

"No other way…" The Colonel set the sheets aside. "And what if you two are wrong? What if it isn't at all like what you've described here? Then what?"

"Then we'd have to evacuate the city," the captain replied.

"You do know that's impossible?"

"I do."

"Then why say it?"

"To show you that we have no other choice. Only our plan, and the resources we've requested to carry it out."

The Colonel leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes, sending curls of smoke swirling up to where a hazy canopy of the stuff already hovered along the ceiling. It felt like the three of them had been in that office for hours.

"When you pull it off…" The Colonel began. "Note, gentlemen, that I'm not saying what happens 'if you fail,' because if you fail, you won't escape with a mere prison cell or Kornosskiy's fate. Best case, you'll be breaking coal with shackles on. Worst case…" He fell silent, though there was little need for elaboration. "Still, when you do succeed, we will have more questions than answers by the end of all this. Gang wars. Corrupt officials holding the highest offices. Some vast capital fueling it all. A link to… what did you call them? The Homeless Fae? Then there are demonologists, and foreigners to boot."

"The Spiders are just a façade, Colonel," the captain said, taking several more files from his briefcase and sliding them across the desk. "Here's everything the Corporal and I have gathered so far. When we finish with the Spiders… I fear that won't be the end of it — rather, it'll just be the very tip of the iceberg."

"The very tip of the iceberg…" The Colonel murmured. "You do realize, Captain, that if you're right, we're talking about a level of secrecy that would leave you alone within the city? I won't be able to assign you a single extra agent… just like now."

He paused. "At most, you can keep Aversky, but there's not enough of him to go around. Others need him, too."

"The Corporal is making good progress."

"I can see that," the Colonel said, tapping the folder again. "He nearly sent half the embankment into the Niewa. Fortunately, we managed to pin that on Edward."

Silence descended once more, along with another wave of cigar smoke. At least it wasn't as sharp and unpleasant as cigarette fumes, carrying instead a faint trace of chocolate.

"Corporal," the Colonel addressed Ardan directly for the first time that evening.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"How exactly did this idea even come to you?" Again, he waved the pages containing the plan and the list of requested resources.

Ardan couldn't answer him. He had no idea how to explain it.

The Colonel simply sighed and shook his head.

"Very well, gentlemen. I'll sign off on your 'Go Around the Bend' operation. But know this: if they end up executing you, and I get sent to dig trenches on the border with Fatia, every time I swing that shovel into some tree root, I will curse you and everything you hold dear."

He penned a broad signature on several documents and handed them to Milar.

***

Tess, who was wearing a light white dress, deftly wound a bit of pasta and meat around her fork and spoon, lifting the neatly-swirled portion to her mouth in a way that ensured no stray droplets went flying.

Watching her, Ardan suspected that he most likely looked like some stereotype of a pre-Imperial Scaldavin barbarian beside his dainty dining companion.

They were having dinner at "Bruce's." A troupe was performing onstage, playing jazz — purely instrumental, no vocals. The newly-expanded hall teemed with patrons. They'd clearly missed their favorite place and had flocked here for opening night of the refurbished "Bruce's Jazz Bar." Then again, perhaps the draw was partly due to Arkar's generous discounts: fifteen percent off the entire wine list and forty-five percent off the food menu.

As usual, orcs in vests guarded the entrance, and more of them stood behind the velvet rope that divided the main floor from that small, dark corner that would seemingly always be there. Now, though, Arkar had some extra help at the bar — several younger men mixing cocktails and pouring drinks. The team of waiters had also grown. They flitted like quiet, ghostly shadows among the tables, carrying trays of food and beverages.

Ardan, who was steadily working through his venison steak with Aosi sauce (yes, that same sauce he'd first tried on the train nearly a year ago), gazed at Tess. He gazed at her fiery hair framing that doll-like face, one that was so intimately familiar to him that he could name every dimple, every freckle, each tiny fleck, every slight line… It was etched in his memory more precisely than any star chart.

He gazed at her slender, graceful fingers, her full, warm lips, her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, and her eyes that were greener than a meadow at the height of summer.

He listened to the beat of her heart. He breathed in her scent.

Somewhere in the distance, music played, muted as if behind a veil of sand. Everything else blurred into a single, muddy smudge of unimportant trivialities beyond this moment with her.

Tess was talking. Laughing, even. Maybe Ardi was answering, maybe he was even laughing along with her.

"Ardi," she said suddenly, sounding a bit more serious than before.

"Yes?"

She was looking straight into his eyes, without the slightest flicker of doubt or fear. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

"The way you're staring at me is exactly how my father used to look at my mother before he would leave for a few days… on assignment."

Ardan started, instinctively trying to glance away. But her palm came to rest on his cheek — warm at first, then rapidly turning cold. Her heartbeat went wild, hammering so fast it nearly blurred into one continuous pulse, then skipping beats until it almost seemed to stop.

"Let's just buy the train tickets right now, and-"

"Remember those old, foolish stories I mentioned?" Ardi cut her off gently. Taking care not to harm her with any sudden gestures, he enveloped her hand in his own, touching his lips softly to the back of it, manners be damned. "You still have several shows before your season ends, and I have exams. Afterwards, we'll buy those tickets. I promise."

Her breath hitched, faltering with each forced inhale.

"Then… just tell me you'll come back."

"I'll come back," Ardan nodded.

"In a couple of days, right?"

"In a couple of days."

"Because it's nothing serious? Just a small trip?"

"It's nothing serious, Tess. Just a minor business trip."

They fell silent, gazing into each other's eyes. Even without the aid of a Witch's Gaze, they both knew it was a lie. A lie they each believed in… If only to keep the shadow of fear from overwhelming them.

Because if you didn't believe, then…

"Then go," she whispered. "And come back soon… I'll be waiting."

"Yes…" Ardan stood, grabbed his staff and satchel, and put on his new hat. "I'll be back soon."

He caught Arkar's eye across the room — they exchanged a quick nod — and then Ardan stepped out into the street. Waiting there was that faithful old "Derks," still sputtering yet reliable, with Captain Milar Pnev in the driver's seat. His partner.

Whatever that word truly meant.

And behind Ardan, people laughed and reveled, celebrating the grand reopening of "Bruce's," while his… his… his Tess was sitting there, worrying for him. Ardan closed his eyes as he had once before, in Delpas, inhaled, exhaled, and climbed into the car without looking back.

For the first time in more than six years, just like Ergar had taught him, Ardan licked his fangs and let his nails drag lightly over his palms.

Why?

Because the hunt beckoned.