‘Yes, Syline?’
‘Do you mind if I stay a bit late? I kind of want to do some reading here before I go home.’
‘Reading you couldn’t do at home?’
‘Please? You know I love it here.’
The archivist gave a grand sigh. Like her mother, he found it hard to be harsh on Syline, and unlike her mother, he didn’t have a stern streak laced into him. He fished out the keys from his pocket, and, immediately, Syline’s eyes lit up with glee.
He held them up.
‘You’ll lock up when I leave and I’ll let your mother know. This storm’s getting worse. If you don’t come home soon, it’ll be too bad for you to come home, so you’ll be better spending the night.’ Anatoly placed the keys down on the table and leaned over to peck her on the cheek. ‘Have a good evening, little sparrow. Stay safe.’
After Anatoly left, Syline spent a fair bit of time dawdling in the Petranski’s holding in the library, running back over her notes and practising the flame dagger spell to light candles that had run low around the room. Once she had the variations of the incantation in mind, it was none too difficult to lower the power of the spell to a simple, weak flame, just enough to light the candles and give her some practice. While she was practising, Lauralee popped her head in to wish her a goodnight and let her know that she and her mistress were leaving now. Syline reaffirmed her promise that they would catch up some time. It was rare she met someone who shared her taste in adventure novels.
She was rooting through her bag for The Dragonslayer’s Lance when it occurred to her that she should lock up the library. This late, it was shut to the public, and only court wizards and nobles, who had the keys, were allowed entry. Tonight, that included her, something which she was rather smug about. As it stood, she was alone here, bar the scant few guards patrolling outside. The library was her kingdom this night, no court wizards were there and, as much as it made her feel smug, that smugness came with a rush of excitement and fear both.
Making her way down the steps, her eyes glanced to the windows by the door, and she was surprised to see the silhouette of a man cast in black against the snow by the lanterns hung on either side of the door. At first, she assumed it was just one of the guards passing by on their patrol. But he was heading straight for the door, and she recognised the silhouette, the big, brawny shoulders, huge arms, and loping gait.
It was the man from the alley.
Panic gripped her heart and Syline sprinted for the door as fast as her legs and her entangling robes would allow. The door began to open, the man’s hand appearing on its edge and Syline simply threw herself against it. She heard a muffled cry of pain through the slammed door as she frantically pushed the key into the lock. There was a splatter of blood around where his hand had been. Turning the key, she slumped against the door, panting as she watched the handle rattle, once, twice, then the man seemed to finally give up. She breathed a sigh of relief and began to back away from the door, just in time to see as the man’s face appeared in the window. She thanked the Wanderer that the first-floor windows of the library were barred on the inside, but still the man’s glare made her quiver in fear.
The man turned his head like he had heard something. He looked back at her and slammed his hand against the window, leaving a bloody trio of fingerprints. A guard must’ve heard his cry and the man had no intention of getting caught as he ran off into the night. Even with him gone, Syline felt her breath coming short to her as she ran to lock any other entrance to the library. The shadows cast by lanterns around the building were long. More than once Syline could have sworn she saw one move or one that was just a little too close to a human shape. She prayed it was just her fear and paranoia in the wake of the man. She didn’t run into any more trouble as she locked the two backdoors into the library, the one out into the carriage stands, and the one back into the palace itself, which really, she didn’t need to lock, but it made her feel better.
Finally, beginning to convince herself she was safe, she made her way back to the Petranski holdings and locked the bar door behind her. A long sigh shook the fear out, relief and safety washing over her now that she knew for near certain no one would be able to reach her. There was no way she’d be going home tonight. She’d just have to stick it out in here. She could make it up to her mother in the morning. She dragged a chair over by the window and grabbed a pillow she had left here the last time she stayed overnight, along with the spare pair of robes stashed under a cabinet. Finally, fetching her book from her satchel, she nestled herself down in the chair, pillow at her back and both robes cocooning her against the freezing cold outside.
‘I’m okay,’ she promised herself. Reaching into her scarf she produced her little plush sparrow, Malir, and hugged it to her breast as she said once more, ‘I’m okay.’
Opening her book, she eventually started to sink into the tawdry tale and forget her worries, hidden away in her little nook of the world as she was. She couldn’t help but imagine the dragon slayer as Ioann, and the princess he saved, as herself. Eventually though, she found herself placing the pillow onto the arm rest and laying her head down. Hugging tight to her proto-familiar, Syline soon enough dozed off in the seat, content and warm in her own little domain.
The sound of glass shattering and the screeching of the harsh wind pulled Syline out of her slumber. It must’ve only been a few hours or so, for it was pitch black outside, and only a couple of candles still burned around her hideaway, flickering limply at the end of their wicks. Sitting up, Syline unwound herself from in amongst her robes and climbed to her feet. A thief? Someone coming to steal from the library? The thrill of excitement and fear ran through her. She tried to rationalise that no one would be fool enough to try and rob the king’s own library, but memories of the man from earlier pushed those illusions away. Some would be fool enough.
The man. What if he had come back for her yet again? She approached the barred door of the Petranski holdings and looked out into the library, conjuring a tiny mote of light at her shoulder with a muttered incantation and a flick of her wand, fetched from the table. It drifted through the bars and she used the moving mote of light to try and discern just what had happened. There, from another of the locked noble holdings, snow drifted between the bars of the door. Only the most determined thief would try and steal from the second storey in a night like this. Surely, the wind would blow them from here to three kingdoms over if it caught them wrong. That meant it most likely wasn’t a thief, but Syline knew just how much damage wild weather like this could do to books. Already she could imagine the pages destroyed beneath the melting snow’s touch.
Fancying herself a bit of a little hero, Syline unlocked the door and walked that way, holding Malir to her breast as she did. The dark library made her uneasy, especially with the whistle and howl of the wind outside. She recognised the holdings as that of the Petrov family – known more for their merchant connections than anything else. They brought a lot of money to the capital at least, and – much more interestingly – it was said that their matriarch, Jane, who Syline had come this close to meeting tonight, was a wizard from a foreign land.
She’d always hoped for the chance to sit down and talk to her, but she seemed quite an unapproachable woman. Maybe Lauralee could give her an “in” with her.
Syline looked through the bars of the door and moved her magical light through them ahead of her, using it to probe the area. Just in case there really was a thief. But the room seemed empty but for innumerable chests and ledgers, and, in the centre of the room, a desk upon which sat an open book. The writing upon it gleamed like oil, even dry. A sure sign of the ink. A spell-book. To have a spell-book ruined by weather, especially for a learned mage like Jane, she could think of nothing worse. Who knows how many years’ worth of curated spells were hidden in that tome! She knew a mending spell. Surely, they’d thank her if she fixed that window before it caused any problems.
It looked as if the wind had shattered the window with bluster alone, or perhaps, a chunk of ice had been kicked up into it. Either way, snow was falling heavily in through the window. The wind was coming this way and blew inside eagerly, making Syline shiver and pull her robes closer around her. That spell-book made up Syline’s mind for her. She couldn’t imagine how shattered she’d be if she found her spell-book sodden and worthless, the ink run off the pages by silt and snow. No, she wouldn’t let that happen to Jane’s book. Especially after the family, well, family servant Lauralee, had been so kind to her. Putting Malir back in her pocket and pulling out the keys, she tested each one on the door. None worked.
‘Broken bridges,’ she muttered, cursing the private nature of nobles. She should have known; she’d given the key to her family’s sanctum to Anatoly herself, after all. She’d have to break the doors lock to get in, but she’d be able to mend that with the spell she’d use to mend the window as well, but first she’d need to be able to touch the shards of glass to even cast the spell. It was a motto of her father’s, one that her mother tried very hard to make sure none of the girls took as their own, ‘Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.’
Better yet, if she repaired the door, no one would ever need to know what she’d done. Her heroics could stay her little secret and keep her out of trouble. If she did get found out though, maybe then, she’d finally get to speak with Lady Jane.
Her mind made up, she found herself staring at the lock. Wondering just how she was going to manage this. With a grin and a nod to herself, she set off to fetch her spell-book as her little light moved to float just above her head. Grabbing her spell-book off the table, on a whim she threw her satchel over her shoulder, as well. Walking back to the door, she flipped through her book until she found the spell she was looking for, one that conjured balls of arcane force. A simple, but powerful offensive spell that was one of the few Anatoly had taught her. She bookmarked it under her thumb as she flipped forward to her notes from that evening on the fire dagger.
From her outstretched finger came the length of flame. She had it burning bright, its centre tinged blue. She’d only need it for a few moments hopefully, so the drain on her reserves wouldn’t be much an issue. She held the flame against the lock. Holding it right where it connected to the door, Syline watched the metal slowly grow to a brighter and brighter red. When she was confident it would be enough, she released the spell and the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Stepping back, she flipped to the page she’d bookmarked and took a moment to consider. She’d want the magic left over to perform the two mending spells and she didn’t want nausea that came with bringing herself to her limit in magic. So, for her next spell, she’d use the bare minimum, a kick should finish the rest.
She spoke the familiar incantation and from her fingertip two glowing blue distortions in the air flew forth and into the heated metal, warping and buckling it. She hoped that would do the trick. Putting her spell-book away in her satchel, she put her back to the balcony railing, giving herself a run up as she launched a kick against the warped lock. It buckled, sitting awkwardly in the door frame, but didn’t break fully just yet. One more kick broke it. Syline stumbled forth into the room. She felt a strange, tingling sensation across her skin. Looking back, she saw a blue skein of magic peeling away from the door frame. An alarm spell. Syline knew it herself, she should have guessed Jane, a far greater wizard than she, would have had one in her vault. That was fine! The lock would be repaired, the window would be fixed and she’d be back asleep in her own holdings before anyone was the wiser. It’d be fine. She hoped. Besides! Even if they did find out it was her, she wasn’t doing anything bad. She was helping Jane. They’d probably thank her for her initiative.
Collecting herself and adjusting her robes, Syline moved for the window and fetched out her spell-book once again. The mending spell was one of the most useful spells a clumsy young wizard learned. Able to repair anything to how it once was, though the larger the item and the more cataclysmic the breakage, the more it would take out of you.
The spell tumbled from her lips and a golden, crackling glow overtook the window and each and every one of its shards. They floated past her outstretched hands as, one by one, the pieces fitted themselves back into the window and became one with the remains of the pane as if it had never broken. Syline stepped back and admired her handiwork, but her eyes couldn’t help but stray to the spell-book open on the table. Snow marred its surface. She stepped over and used the hem of her robe to do her best to dry the page, and as she did, without even thinking about it, she began to read.
It was an advanced spell, one that combined elemental with teleportation magic, something she hadn’t even begun to study. It was well past what Anatoly would let her touch, but reading the page, she felt she could grasp the basics of it. From the looks of things, the spell would cause a huge burst of lightning from the user’s feet, at the beginning and end of their teleportation, and the spell could be modulated to extend the range of distance travelled and increase or decrease the power of the lightning, even shut that portion of the spell off entirely.
Idly, she started flicking through the pages of the book, keeping her thumb on that page so she could get back to it when she left. Getting to scan a spell-book as great as this would be her secret little reward for her good deed. As she read on, she became more and more amazed; this book seemed to have every single spell. Ones of her level and ones far, far above it. Spells that broached into an archmage’s level of mastery. Interspersed were pages in a language she didn’t understand, strange, curling symbols more like art than language. She dismissed those as a fancy of the mage, for all around them were spells she could only dream of casting. But the further she read on, the more she felt her stomach sink. Some of these spells she did recognise, not because they were famous, not because they’d made the careers of an innovative mage, nor because they’d saved lives or been the focus of some fable.
No, she recognised these spells because they were illegal. Spells to drain the life energy of others, to create undead, to summon illusory assassins that would kill without a single clue leading back to you. Just owning a spell-book with these spells could get you sentenced to death. What were the Petrovs doing with a spell-book like this? Were these spells legal in a foreign land, or were they up to something sinister with them? She turned the book back to the page she’d found it on, thinking it best she mend the door and head back to her holdings when a prickling on the back of her neck led her to look up.
A silhouette was in the doorway, the little light hovering at her shoulder extended only so far as to show the hem of a woman’s scarlet evening dress, leaving the rest of her in shadow. She was quite a bit taller than Syline and she felt herself locking up like a deer before a hunter’s lantern. She’d been caught.
‘Now, just why are you in there young one?’ asked the woman, striding closer into the light. Her skin was porcelain pale, her auburn hair having just the slightest hint of red at its tips, which perfectly matched her deep red lipstick, and beautiful scarlet evening dress, entirely inappropriate for the weather tonight. Her voice was soft, curious, but her eyes burned with a terrible intensity, and with barely… barely contained fury.
‘W-well, I was spending the night here and I heard the window break under the storm, and I thought it might be a thief because there was a man following me before and I was scared what he’d do, but then it was just the wind, but I saw all the snow getting on your books and I thought about how hurt I’d be if my spell-book was destroyed by the weather and yours was so much bigger than mine, so I just thought I was doing something nice.’ Syline trailed off, rambling and wilting, fearful under the judgemental eyes of the foreign wizard.
‘You thought it would be alright to break into my family’s holdings, as long as you were doing it for a good reason? Fitting for your family, your “lineage of heroes”. You’re Syline, yes?’ The woman let out a small, melodic chuckle as she took a step closer. ‘Did you really think it was a good idea, even though this room is under the king’s protection, Syline? Even though knowing now you’ve been in here, I could have you punished, imprisoned, executed even? Kick up enough fuss, and the king would need to make an example of you, regardless of who your parents are. But it’s alright as long as you were doing something good. Ah, the road to damnation is full of good intentions and the naïvety of youth.’
A little bit of bluster worked its way up through Syline’s fear. Naïvety? Jane should be grateful! She’d saved all these documents! If she was going to threaten her for helping her, Syline was rapidly changing her mind on how much she wanted to talk to the foreign mage.
‘You’d go with me if he saw this spell-book! This book’s full of illegal spells! Spells that carry the death sentence.’ Jane’s expression darkened and Syline’s counter-threat slowly fell from a petulant squeak to a frightened mumble. ‘Just for recording them.’
Jane glared at Syline, her arms hanging by her sides. A moment passed in silence. Her lips twitched slightly, then turned fully into a snarl.
