“How do you know where to go?” I asked.

“What kind of personal guard would I be if I hadn’t performed the necessary reconnaissance?”

“When did you have time for that?”

“Last night.”

“I told you to rest.”

“In a strange house among strange people, do you really expect me to let down my guard?”

I puffed a gusty sigh. “Well, promise me you’ll at least eat a decent breakfast. I can’t have you fainting because of an empty stomach.”

He snorted. “Yes, m’lady.”

“And stop calling me that.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

I dug my elbow into Gideon’s ribs as we rounded the corner into an open space glowing with early-morning sunlight. Glass walls and a crystalline roof encased a room furnished in rattan and wicker. The color palette evoked the seaside in the summer: sandy beiges, seafoam whites, and shades of ocean blue. Birds twittered in a floor-to-ceiling cage of scrolling wrought iron painted white. Astonished by their unexpected presence, I stopped to admire their bright feathers and energetic chirping.

Otokar, sitting at a corner table surrounded by potted palms, looked up from a thick, leather-bound book and smiled. “Good morning, Lady Thunder. Sir Faust.”

“Evie,” I said, slitting my eyes at him. “Call me Evie. I insist.”

He set aside his book, picked up his teacup, and gestured to the open seats at his table. “Will you not join me, Evie?”

I wrinkled my nose at his mockery, but took a seat across from him. Gideon pulled out a chair at my right hand and joined us. A servant hurried to bring us each cups of hot steaming tea and plates of toast, jam, and butter. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Otokar asked.

“Forgive me for being direct so early in the morning, but the empress offered her assistance in helping me locate a certain band of Fantazikes.”

Beside me, Gideon silently slathered butter onto his toast. He hadn’t taken my advice about getting plenty of rest, but at least he wouldn’t starve himself.

“Yes, she did.” Otokar slid the jam jar closer to Gideon’s reach. “I remember. So why have you come to me instead of Tereza?”

“What can she do, other than send out messengers? I’ve already done that. But you are a Magician. Can’t you do anything”—I waggled my fingers—“Magical?”

He buried his wry smile in his teacup. After swallowing a sip, he blotted his lips and settled his dark gaze on me. “Something Magical? Perhaps I could.” He slid away from the table and stood. “Come find me after you have finished breakfast. I will be in my workroom. Ask the staff; they will show you the way.”

“I know where it is.” Gideon’s cheek bulged with toast.

Otokar’s eyes hardened. “Very well. Bring your mistress when you are done.” The Magician turned on his heel, and his black robes swirled around his feet as he exited the room. His departure upset the birds. They twittered sharply from their cage in the corner.

“What do you think he’s going to do?” I asked Gideon.

He selected a second slice of toast and smeared it with a thick swath of butter. “I don’t have much experience with Magicians. They never came to Daeg’s estate unless there was a special occasion of some sort.”

“My father didn’t keep a Magician either. We couldn’t afford it, and they were rare on Inselgrau, from what I understood.” Involuntary shivers rippled over me. “Jackie, Ruelle Thibodaux, and that man Daeg hired for the birthright ceremony are my only real experiences with Magicians. Based on that alone, I’m not inclined to believe Otokar should be trusted, no matter how charming he is.”

He scoffed. “You think he’s charming?”

Instead of answering, I reached for the butter and jam. After we reduced the pile of toast to crumbs and scraped the jam jar clean, Gideon and I left the sunroom and climbed the stairs, ascending until we reached the top floor, a level mostly free of furnishings. Our footsteps echoed against stone floors and walls. Instead of gaslights, pale-blue luminaries in tiny glass bulbs hovered several feet off the floor like fireflies marking the pathway.

I reached out to touch one, but Gideon caught my hand and drew me away. “What are they?” I asked. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Not sure. Which is why we shouldn’t touch them.”

Agreeing with his logic, I tucked my hands in my trouser pockets and followed him down the hallway until we reached another short set of stone stairs that landed before a thick wooden door. Gideon knocked, and moments later, Otokar opened the door. He waved us into his workspace, a windowless round room filled with sturdy worktables and overflowing bookshelves. More blue lights floated near the ceiling, and lamps burned scented oil of some rich citrus herb—verbena, perhaps. My nursemaid, Gerda, had often used it in her herbal concoctions for fevers and upset stomachs.

The Magician shut the door behind us and pointed at a stack of giant throw pillows heaped on the floor away from the center of his workroom. “Have a seat, you two. I must finish some things before I lose my thoughts.”

He bustled around one of his worktables, dampening the flames of several small gas burners heating a collection of flasks. The glassware held strangely colored liquids that burbled and belched steam clouds of a dubious nature. A large slate hung on the only bare wall in the room, and Otokar scribbled several unintelligible symbols on the board’s dark surface. I turned to Gideon and gave him a questioning look. He shook his head and frowned. In Otokar’s workroom, we were both far beyond our realms of knowledge and comfort.

The Magician set down his chalk and brushed the residue from his fingers. “This thing you ask me to do, it can be hard, or it can be easy. If you had something that belonged to these Fantazikes, something personal, it would be easy to locate them. Do you possess such an item?”

I held out my hands, empty palms open. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Otokar exhaled. “It is as I expected. To locate something unknown is more difficult.” He crossed the room and stopped before his bookshelves, arms folded over his chest, finger to his lips as he inspected his collection. “It requires the skill of scrying or divination. This is a skill some are good at, and others...not too much.”

“Are you good at it?” I asked. “Or not too much?”

He plucked a heavy book from his shelf, carried it to a worktable, and cracked it open. “If you were asking me to tell you where these Fantazikes will be in the future, it would be much harder. But you are only asking me to tell you something that is happening now. Where your friends are at this moment—this is what you want to know. Am I correct?”

I nodded and he continued. “This is not so easy, but it is easier than telling the future.” He scurried around the room, collecting a shallow golden bowl and a pitcher of water. He set these next to his book. From the folds of his cloak he removed a small blade. After referring to his manual, he scratched his knife against the bowl’s wide rim, etching something in the soft gold.

“What are you doing?” Gideon asked. He shifted, leaning around me to get a better look.

“Ancient symbols, given to us by the gods long ago. Your first ancestors, Lady Thunder, they gave these glyphs to their most trusted followers. Those men were my ancestors—the first Magicians. Used in the right combinations, these figures act as keys, unlocking things that are usually inaccessible to humankind. In this case, we want to unlock space, time, and knowledge.” He set down his knife and poured water from the pitcher, stopping the instant before it overflowed the bowl’s edges. The water’s surface bulged in a slightly convex curve.

He waved, mumbled something under his breath, and the blue firefly lights dimmed until only a pair of oil lamps illuminated the room. He braced his hands flat on the table on either side of the bowl and leaned forward until his face hovered over the water.

A low, soft hum filled the room, and only after I listened for a while did I realize the sound came from Otokar, although he hadn’t moved his mouth. He hummed from his throat, and the air cooled as he gazed into the water. Frigid mists rose from the bowl and swelled, filling the room until I shivered and my breath came out in visible puffs of condensation. Without breaking his focus on the water, he paused his singing. “Come, Evie. This requires a small sacrifice from you. You are the one who has knowledge of these people. You must give what you know to the Magic.”

Hesitantly I rose and approached him. “How do I do that?”

“Knowledge and memories are carried in the blood. You must give the Magic your blood.”

“No.” Gideon scrambled to his feet.

I raised a hand, stopping him before he uttered another protest. “What are we talking about? A deep flesh wound, an open vein?”

Otoakar huffed. “A mere finger prick should do.”

I waved at Gideon, motioning for him to step back and calm down. “A prick. That’s all?”

The Magician presented his knife to me. “One drop.”

I studied his face, searching for deception, but saw none. Before I could talk myself out of it, I took the knife and pressed the tip against my thumb, gritting my teeth as the blade punctured sensitive skin. A drop of red bloomed from the tiny wound. Otokar gestured toward the water bowl. I squeezed my thumb, and the blood dripped, spreading rings across the water’s taut surface. A pale-red cloud dispersed through the liquid and faded. “What now?” I asked.