The inscription of scripts into living flesh falls under the jurisdiction of the Zimuvath in every kingdom that recognizes its authority. A licensed scribe must be ordained by both the crown and the Zimuvath, complete years of study under a recognized master, and register every inscription before and after the procedure. The cost puts it beyond the reach of all but the wealthiest.
The black market fills the gap, as it always has. Unlicensed scribes operate in every port city. Their work is cheaper and unregistered. It is also far more dangerous — a badly prepared inscription does not simply fail. It turns.
The Zimuvath buries its turned cases quietly. The black market does not have that option.
— On the Nature of Script Magic, compiled by the First Schools. Year of Foundation, 44. Revised edition, annotated by the Office of the High Scribe.
Inside the room lit by the wide window, the cries of seagulls echoed softly, carrying with them the feeling of a warm spring morning. Yet Mistress Vahl, seated at her desk before the great bookshelf and occupied with stacks of documents, was far too busy—and far too troubled—to enjoy the weather.
As if the financial matters alone were not enough, she had also been forced to apologize to numerous guests for last night’s incident, offering them discounts and even complimentary favors. For a while it seemed the business would have to operate at a loss. The tunnel exit would also need to be reopened. Though it was not used often, the secret passage was one of the most important services offered to certain guests, and being unable to use it when necessary would bring no end of trouble.
Then again, it might be wiser to seal the tunnel entirely.
Even though neither Tarr’en nor the captain of the Wardens had said anything, they had seen the tunnels. The captain did not concern her much—his position was one that could be bought, and a few well-placed secrets would likely be enough to keep him quiet. The other one, however, was another matter entirely. She had nothing she could use against him, and worse still, she had given him leverage over herself. The mere thought of someone holding a card against her was enough to sour Mistress’s expression. If that knowledge were shared with any superior, they would all find themselves squarely in the palm of the Ledger.
These thoughts circled endlessly in her mind as she threw the papers onto the desk and leaned back in her chair with weary frustration. And as if that were not enough, the fact that no one now seemed to remember the incident that had thrown the entire building into chaos only a few hours earlier only added salt to the wound.
“Aagrhh!”
She shouted toward the ceiling, as though struggling to escape the suffocating knot of anger and helplessness tightening around her. Slumped in her chair with her head tilted back, she closed her eyes.
Knock. Knock.
At the sound of the door she did not open them immediately; instead she let out a long breath before slowly bringing her head forward again. When she finally opened her eyes it was clear the effort cost her. After cracking her neck, she called toward the door in a voice that sounded reluctant—almost unusually subdued for her.
“Come.”
The door opened quietly. A short-haired, athletic woman slipped inside with surprising speed, pushing the door behind her; yet just before it shut, she slowed it carefully so it would not make a sound. She did it almost unconsciously, like a reflex long practiced.
“I’ve never seen an answer come back this quickly,” she said as she crossed the room toward the desk, holding a folded sheet of thick paper shaped like an envelope.
The mistress said nothing, yet the surprise on her face made it clear she felt the same. Leaning forward from the edge of her chair, she reached out and took the paper the woman held out to her. The sheet was thicker than usual, and stamped with the Matron’s seal.
Seeing that deepened her surprise, though the emotion that truly took hold of her now was curiosity. Normally messages from the district overseer were written and delivered by assistants, but this one had clearly been written and sealed personally by Matron Shabimu.
“Must be important,” the woman remarked as the Mistress studied the paper in her hand, curiosity having seized her as well.
Breaking the seal carefully, the Mistress unfolded the letter. The handwriting on the thick, high-quality page was far more elegant than the previous messages she had received, and the message itself was considerably longer.
Standing beside the desk and watching her read, the woman realized she had never seen Mistress’s face take on an expression quite like this before. At times she even muttered curses under her breath while reading.
When she finally reached the end, the Mistress lowered the paper slowly and looked up at her with a gaze that was both troubled and deeply thoughtful.
“Trouble?”
“The worst kind.”
With that she tossed the open letter across the desk toward her and walked over to the window.
“I’m not sure it’s right for me to rea—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Asha,” Mistress cut her off impatiently. “Just read the message.”
She continued staring out the window, her gaze distant as though already turning plans over in her mind.
Asha read the message in silence, though when she reached the end a single word escaped her.
“Fuuuuck.”
The mistress knew even that reaction was an understatement, and said nothing.
Asha remained standing there with the letter in her hand, staring into empty space.
“So the whispers we’ve been hearing… those disturbing stories…” she murmured to herself before turning toward Mistress, who still stood with her back to the room and her gaze fixed on the window. “So the Ledger has really been—”
“Yes,” the mistress interrupted without changing her posture. “We can’t know how far back it goes, but for at least centuries they’ve held power this way—controlling people, controlling kingdoms.”
“That’s insane,” Asha said under her breath, anger creeping into her voice.
After a deep sigh, Mistress moved to the elegant red chair beside the window and sat down, her eyes still turned toward the city outside. “Is it?” she asked at last, casting a brief glance toward Asha. “Do you remember last night?”
Asha opened her mouth, yet no words came.
The mistress offered no answer, only a small, knowing nod before returning her gaze to the window.
“So the girl really does…”
“Have the power to break it,” Mistress finished for her. “Whatever it is, or why she possesses it, that information seems far too valuable to share with us—at least openly. The message only hints at it. But one thing is clear: that girl may be the greatest threat the Ledger has ever faced. And judging by this letter, it seems the guild leaders have been preparing for this moment for a very long time.”
“But how are you still able to remember any of this?” Asha asked.
“Always carry the gold ring you were given,” Mistress replied. “When they put me in charge of this place, that was the strangest instruction they gave me. I always thought it ridiculous—until now.”
“This is…” Asha began, but the words failed her; nothing she could say seemed adequate to describe how wild this was. After a brief pause she forced herself back to the matter at hand. “So we follow the orders?”
“These are not merely orders that must be carried out,” Mistress said, narrowing her eyes as she stared out the window. “That girl is an extraordinary leverage against the Ledger—and she might also be the first real step toward standing against them.” Her voice grew firmer as she continued, still gazing outside. “It seems the time has finally come for us to step out from the shadows and onto the stage. I’m afraid the spark of a war we cannot turn back from may have been lit last night.”
For a while the two of them stood there in silence, both trying to absorb the weight of what they had learned, while the cries of seagulls continued to echo through the room.
At last the Mistress spoke again.
“For now it will be impossible to pass through the city gates,” she said. “Which means the girl must still be somewhere inside the city. I want you to find her—before the Ledger does.” She emphasized the last sentence deliberately.
Asha looked as though she was about to speak, but Mistress continued.
“Find Mayra as well. Bring her back here if you can. I know the two of them are close, which means it’s only a matter of time before she ends up in danger too.”
Asha’s expression fell immediately.
“I was actually going to tell you about that,” she said, the weight of it heavy in her voice. “About an hour ago something happened in the old Varn district… in the block where some of our girls stay.”
For the first time since the conversation began, Mistress tore her gaze away from the window and turned toward her.
“What happened?”
“Tarr’en and Rhoren raided the building. Kaelin was there. From what I heard she managed to escape with someone’s help… but Mayra—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Her expression said enough.
“I’m sorry.”
A deep sadness settled over Mistress’s face as she turned away and sank back into the chair.
She knew she had to be harsh with everyone in order to keep this place running; she was well aware of that. But every one of the girls here lived under her protection, and she held herself responsible for their safety. No one understood better than she did what those girls had endured, what they were forced to do, and how the feeling of safety was the greatest luxury they could ever hope to possess.
She had failed.
“She wasn’t even twenty yet,” she murmured to herself, her voice breaking.
Without a word Asha stepped closer from behind and placed her hands on Mistress’s shoulders before leaning down to wrap her arms around her tightly. The mistress gripped the arms holding her and rested her head against Asha’s.
“They’ll pay for this.”
◈◈◈
The waiters moved from table to table, clearing away the plates and beer mugs scattered across the room while gathering the night’s mess and wiping away its traces, and behind the bar Harrik was doing much the same, polishing whatever surface or bottle his rag happened to reach.
The Night Forge usually began filling in the late afternoon and reached its peak sometime after midnight, and once that point was passed everything tended to blur together until the pale light of morning forced the place back into awareness. The morning cleaning followed that slow return to sobriety, and once it was finished everyone hurried off to their beds as soon as the two waiters who remained on duty until midnight arrived. Harrik himself usually made a round through the upper floors after the cleaning, making sure nothing was out of order before finally lying down, and he would not return to the bar again until the heavy hours of the evening began.
He was just about to finish the morning’s cleaning when the sight of two figures entering through the door gave him the distinct feeling that his plans for rest were about to fall apart.
Vaelra stepped through the doorway first, still holding Kaelin’s hand and almost dragging her along behind while the waiters glanced at them curiously as they hurried toward the bar.
“Isn’t it a little early in the day for trouble?” Harrik asked, already turning back to wipe the counter again.
“Don’t you have to start the day early?” Vaelra replied, though he knew her well enough to hear the tension beneath the words.
“Where are the others?” he asked, casting a brief look toward the door. “Did they go out looking for more trouble?”
“They’ll come,” Vaelra said while still glancing through the half-open door. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“I hope…” she added under her breath.
Then she stepped closer to the bar and lowered her voice. “If anyone asks about us—”
“I don’t know you,” Harrik cut in immediately.
Vaelra didn’t answer, but the small nod she gave him carried unmistakable gratitude before she pulled Kaelin toward the stairs.
“I don’t want to know you either,” Harrik muttered after them.
He liked them—more than that, he was grateful for what they had done for him—but the kind of trouble they could bring to his tavern was enough to keep a man uneasy. After finishing the counter he stepped outside the doorway and stood for a moment in the morning sun, staring out at the street while his thoughts drifted.
…
Vaelra shut the room door quickly behind them and went straight to the window, parting the curtain slightly so she could watch the street outside. She was almost certain they had not been followed, yet she had no intention of relaxing, especially while the others were still out there.
Kaelin, meanwhile, had collapsed onto the bed and sat there without even lowering the hood of her robe.
Everything that had happened within the last hour had come at her too quickly for her mind to absorb, and now that the frantic rush had ended and the adrenaline was slowly leaving her body, the one thing that truly mattered rose painfully to the surface.
The beautiful girl who might have been the love of her life—the girl who had even been willing to run away with her—had died before her eyes.
During every brief moment of stillness since then she had found herself staring into empty space, yet now it almost felt as though the emptiness itself had begun staring back. Whenever those final moments replayed in her mind, her chest tightened painfully and a bitter taste spread across her mouth. Still staring into that void, she began to tremble where she sat, cold sweat running down her skin while her ears burned.
At last a pair of arms wrapped around her and pulled her tightly against a warm chest, and the sobs she had been holding back finally broke free along with the tears.
Vaelra simply held her.
She said nothing. There was nothing that could be said.
When Kaelin’s crying finally began to slow, Vaelra shifted slightly so that Kaelin’s head rested in her lap while she gently stroked her hair, one ear still turned toward the door to listen for any sound outside.
“Why?” Kaelin whispered at last. The trembling had passed, but her voice sounded fragile. “Why her? Why not me?”
Vaelra didn’t answer, because she still had no answer herself.
“I never should have dragged her into this,” Kaelin continued. “If I hadn’t gone to see her…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“That girl…” Vaelra began quietly, though she didn’t finish the thought either. Still, she knew Kaelin understood.
Kaelin turned and looked up at her, meeting her eyes before giving a small nod. Vaelra’s expression darkened even further, yet she said nothing, because there were no words that could offer comfort; instead she simply held her more tightly. They remained that way for a while, until the sound of hurried footsteps and voices climbing the stairs abruptly pulled them back into the present.
Vaelra rose immediately and hurried to the door, and the moment she opened it Veylith nearly stumbled inside, followed by Tivver and Darian, both of whom looked exhausted and were clearly helping her walk.
Blood covered much of Veylith’s clothing, several cuts marked her body, and she swayed slightly as she struggled to keep her balance.
“What happened?” Vaelra asked anxiously while catching her and helping her stay upright.
“We held them off for a while and then started running,” Veylith replied through obvious pain. “We managed to lose most of them, but another group blocked our path. After that we didn’t have much choice but to fight.”
Turning to the others, Vaelra asked, “Are you two alright?” while she and Kaelin tried to ease Veylith onto the bed.
“We’re fine,” Tivver said despite the cuts across his body. “She kept most of them off us,” he added, nodding toward Veylith.
Darian, meanwhile, had already turned back toward the stairwell, and Tivver followed his gaze before adding quietly, “But she wasn’t the one who took the worst hit.”
When Darian stepped aside from the doorway, Harrik entered the room supporting Ravah under one arm, almost carrying her.
“Quick, onto the bed!” Darian shouted, pointing toward Vaelra’s.
Harrik carefully lowered Ravah onto the mattress while Darian and Vaelra immediately leaned over her to examine the wounds; her body bore far more cuts than the others, yet those were not the real problem, for the true danger was the deep stab wound in her abdomen, which was bleeding heavily.
“I can bring a healer,” Harrik said quietly, fully aware of how serious the injury was.
“No,” Ravah answered weakly. “We can’t trust anyone.”
They all knew that was the truth.
“I can heal her,” Darian said while kneeling beside the bed and already rolling up his sleeves. “You stop the bleeding,” he added to Vaelra as he brought his hands together over Ravah’s body, where they began glowing almost immediately.
Vaelra pressed a cloth firmly against the wound while Darian worked, though after a moment he glanced toward the other bed where Veylith had been laid down. “I can’t heal two people at the same time,” he said, guilt clearly visible on his face.
“I’m fine,” Veylith said quickly. “Just save her.” Her body was clearly in pain, but she forced herself to endure it.
At that moment Kaelin suddenly moved beside her and lifted her head into her lap before Veylith even realized what she was doing. “I can’t heal your wounds,” Kaelin said quietly while placing one hand on her forehead and the other against her chest, “but I can ease the pain.”
Before Veylith could respond, Kaelin’s hands began to glow, and almost immediately Veylith felt warmth spreading through her body as the pain began to fade, slipping away little by little.
The others watched them briefly before returning to their tasks, though Vaelra—despite everything—allowed herself a small, proud smile that appeared and vanished almost instantly.
…
Nearly an hour later Harrik returned to the room carrying some food and found Darian and Kaelin exactly as he had left them. Both looked close to collapse from exhaustion after using their powers without pause. Vaelra had managed to stop the bleeding and was now dressing Ravah’s other wounds, while Tivver was applying medicine to the cuts on Veylith’s body and wrapping them all carefully. The pain of both injured women had eased, and they had begun to recover.
“Thanks, old man,” Tivver said to Harrik as he set the food down on the table. “How’s it looking outside?”
Harrik knew perfectly well he was not asking about the weather. “Partly cloudy,” he replied. “No sign of rain yet.” Then he quietly closed the door behind him and headed back downstairs.
That answer seemed to ease Tivver somewhat. “You need to eat something,” he said, turning to Kaelin. Kaelin, who looked as if she might collapse from exhaustion at any moment, gave only a weak nod, though she still seemed reluctant to stop.
“I’m fine,” Veylith cut in.
Kaelin had thought she was asleep, since her eyes had been closed.
“Thank you,” Veylith said, opening them slightly to look up at her.
“It’s nothing,” Kaelin answered after swallowing hard. “Not compared to what all of you did for me.”
At that, Veylith gently took the glowing hand resting on her chest and lowered it. “Rest,” she said, her voice already sounding much stronger.
“You too, darling,” Vaelra said from the other bed, turning to Darian. “She’s stable. Go get some rest.”
Darian looked as though he was about to protest, but Vaelra cut him off before he could. “I’m not asking for your opinion. Go eat something, then get some sleep.”
So Darian joined Kaelin at the table, and the two of them managed to force down a few bites together. Once Vaelra and Tivver had changed a few more bandages and made sure both of the injured were stable, they dragged the half-dozing Kaelin and Darian into the room across the hall. After putting Darian into his own bed and Kaelin into Tivver’s, they closed the curtain and the door behind them before returning.
Only then did they finally have a chance to sit and rest themselves.
“I suppose she won’t be trying to run away again after this,” Tivver said while picking at the food left on the table.
“You like her too, don’t you?” Vaelra replied with easy confidence while eating across from him.
“I’m starting to see why you were willing to risk so much for her,” Tivver said, neatly sidestepping the question. “I just hope she really can become one of us.” Then, with a sly expression, he added, “Though the real question is whether you’ll be able to handle there being another pretty chick in the group besides you.”
“Shut up, Tiv,” Vaelra shot back, though a smile touched her face all the same.
A few minutes later Tivver had finished eating and lit the pipe he pulled from his pocket, and the two of them remained sitting across from each other in the brief quiet that had settled over the room. “You said she was the reason for what happened last night,” he said eventually, his tone more serious now. “And we just saw her dull Veylith’s pain.”
After taking a slow pull from the pipe, he went on.
“For someone to have a secondary power, a script has to be carved into their body, and I don’t think courtesans are allowed to do that. Well… unless it’s for work.”
Vaelra took the pipe from him, drew on it, and let the smoke out slowly while staring ahead in thought. “She has no idea what happened last night,” she said at last. “And I didn’t see any script on her body.”
“If there’s no script on her, how can she have two different powers?” Tivver asked, though the way he said it made it sound almost as if he were thinking aloud. Vaelra said nothing. She took another pull, then handed the pipe back.
“I think this time we may really have outdone ourselves in the kind of trouble we’ve brought down on our heads,” Tivver added as he passed it to her again.
“Yeah,” Vaelra said quietly. Taking the pipe from him, she drew deeply on it, then turned toward the window and let the smoke drift out slowly into the pale morning light.