How Meether managed to ease the man’s scorched magic, he didn’t know, because the moment he tried, the man’s Guardian got in the way.

  But then…his Healing was through.

  Meether shook his head. His mind felt off-kilter, almost lightheaded, and surrounded by a green sensation… Meether paused, looking around, puzzled, but he couldn’t sense anyone or anything near.

  Meether was far too experienced to take it for granted or to trust something suspicious.

  Misgivings eased quickly, soothed by green reassurance… He could almost hear someone…ignore, forget…

  Dammit, he didn’t have time to track down whatever that was. He had a job to do. Using the magical energy within himself, Meether Healed each of the soul-tinders while he could. He had a feeling he’d never get back into his mind again, so it had to be now—and couldn’t say why he sensed that.

  Eventually, Meether sensed the two Healers’ magic leaving the man’s body, and followed. He’d eased the backlash as best he could. It too, would take time to Heal.

  He met Nohl’s blind gaze. “I don’t know how this man is alive, Papa,” Nohl said grimly. “Frankly, he could still die. Ihllaea made a huge difference. Without her, we wouldn’t have kept him here.”

  Meether believed it. Ihllaea’s talent in micro-healing was astonishing, especially for her age. “What do you need?”

  “A bath, a drip line with hydration bags and another with liquid antibiotic, preferably bastheus. A cot or bed, a table and chairs, blankets, energy drinks, wound bath, bandages and wraps.”

  “I’ve got those,” Ihllaea called, walking back into the room.

  Meether’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, then turned to scold her. She grinned impudently at him as she directed a group of young Journeymen to place a supply-laden cot against the wall, juggling her own armful of items. Meether sent two Warriors to retrieve a table and chairs from the supply closet.

  Ihllaea emptied her arms onto the table, laying the supplies out for immediate use, finally handing Nohl and Curu energy drinks.

  Curu had cut the ragged clothes from the man, revealing a patchwork of old scars, stark bones, and the gruesome mess of the wound on his side. The injury on his thigh was infected, too.

  The Journeymen had filled the tub they brought with water now. Nohl and Curu lifted the man into the bath, cleaned him head-to-toe, then placed him on the cot. Working exclusively on his side, they accepted dripping cloths of medicated water from Ihllaea. The stench of putrid flesh filled the air as they cleaned the wound. Meether had to use his Healing to close his sense of smell and ease his stomach.

  Meether turned to Ihllaea. She was exhausted, but she wasn’t going to leave her Spark willingly, even if she was terrified of him. Ihllaea had expended large amounts of energy today. She was still technically a student, still growing into her powers.

  He was going to have to make her leave to rest.

  “Alright young lady. You’ve helped all you can. Go bathe and go to bed!” he ordered.

  Ihllaea looked startled. She opened her mouth and he lifted a hand to stop her.

  “If the words, ‘yes, my lord,’ aren’t what’s coming out of your mouth, I don’t want to hear it.” That was the signal that her High Mystic was speaking, not her grandfather.

  She scowled. “Papa…” And the child was trying to reclaim her Papa, lessening his official authority. Flames knew she and the other grandchildren knew how to wheedle their way into what they wanted most of the time.

  Now was not the time though, and Ihllaea knew it, the little stinker!

  “Go!” he ordered, pointing at the door. The High Mystic was speaking; Ihllaea recognized it, he knew she did.

  Mulishly, she fidgeted, lifting her hair to nibble, eyes flitting to the man then away as she stalled.

  Nohl sighed in exasperation. “Laea, you’ve done an excellent job. But he’s stable for now, and we’re going to be here for hours yet. Go on,” he said quietly.

  “Go, Laea. We’ll keep you up-to-date,” Daeg said, too. Meether glanced at Daeg, heard the unwillingness to keep that promise in his voice. Daeg didn’t want Ihllaea around this man.

  Meether wholeheartedly agreed.

  And finally she acknowledged she was done. Ihllaea gave a soft grumble, eyes flashing, then whirled and stamped from the room with a lingering glance at the man.

  The stubbornness drained rapidly and fear flit across her gaze. With a gulp, Ihllaea turned and obeyed, leaving the room with an ill-disguised need to flee.

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  Meether went to the clothes on the floor, scraped them into a bundle, and glanced at Daeg. “I’ll look through these. And I’ll make sure she goes home.”

  Green eyes amused, Daeg smiled wryly. They all knew her too well. Case in point, her return with the items Nohl and Curu needed. “Good idea,” Daeg said.

  Meether followed her. She left the lower levels of the Keep, mumbling and cussing the whole way, by the sound. He sighed in relief when she actually went into the Circle Room.

  Each of the eight Circle Rooms in the Keep held sixteen arches embedded into the stone walls. One was the doorway into the Keep from the Room. Eight of them held the permanent Circles from the Villages. The other seven were stone walled archways, locations to place a Circle to prevent accidents from happening, should a Mystic need to Circle from outside the Valley and into the Keep.

  Ihllaea disappeared through the green Circle that took travelers into Ithae, the Healers’ village.

  Meether headed for his tower, so tired he could hardly think. He wondered how Nohl and Curu were going to work for several hours more.

  When he stepped out into the garden in the center of the Keep he was shocked to find it was nearly sundown. Meether made his way to his office, dropped the bundle on a seat in front of his desk and plopped into his chair. He’d no sooner sat down than his daughter arrived, setting a plate in front of him.

  His fish—lightly battered and baked, and with a side of steamed vegetables—waited for his fork.

  Meether looked up at Cassaea with a smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. How’s Shonal?”

  “He was worried about Laea at first. Otherwise, he’s happy as can be. He caught three that are twice this size!”

  Meether laughed softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see that. I’ll reschedule our time together.”

  “Shonal understands. He’s a bit jealous he wasn’t there to help. What happened?”

  Meether’s smile slipped. “He’s not a true Rogue. He’s a Cannibal.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then blinked. “But… Then why are Nohl and Curu Healing him?”

  Meether leaned back. “Because he recognized Ihllaea as the Phoenix. And we need to find out how that man knows about her.”

  Her face went pale. As Ihllaea and Shonal’s adoptive mother—her twin sister’s children—this news terrified her. It terrified him, too.

  Meether nodded. “We’re going to Heal him. Hopefully. And when we can, we’re going to ask him how he knows.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “Did Ihllaea know he was talking about her?”

  Meether sighed in remembered relief. “No, I don’t think so. She wasn’t looking at him when he said it. But something did happen, sweetheart. Several somethings, and I don’t know what it’s about. Both Daeg and Ihllaea were moved by Foresight. And…” He didn’t want to say this. It was a complication, an emotional trap that Ihllaea shouldn’t have to face. She wasn’t even Mature yet. Meether scrubbed his face. “Ihllaea Sparked with him.”

  Cassaea’s jaw slipped. “Oh no,” she whispered, eyes going dim with instant understanding of what that could mean for Ihllaea, if the man wasn’t allowed to live. A Spark wasn’t a bond of any sort, but the loss of a Spark would always mean questioning what could-have-been.

  “I’m not going to touch that topic until I’ve gotten some sleep.”

  His daughter’s usual serenity settled. “Ihllaea was moved by Foresight, too? She barely has any at all.”

  “I know.”

  “Huh. Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?” she said, voice grim.

  “Needless to say, keep that quiet for now. Thank you for dinner, Cass.”

  “You’re welcome, Dad.” She smiled and kissed his cheek, then left him to his meal.

  Meether cleaned the plate, he was so famished, then leaned back in his chair, mind moving back to what had happened.

  He couldn’t believe what’d happened.

  Meether went to the ragged pile of the man’s clothes, laying them out on his desk. An unpleasant waft of odor rose from them; stale sweat, rotten flesh, vomit. The linen breeches were very fine, a quality too fine to be on a common soldier. A deep, rich blue, a saturated color pointing to gentry at least, possibly even nobility. It was plain, unadorned for all its quality, which didn’t indicate much more than working or indoor clothes for a nobleman, or finery for gentry. The leather sandals were well-made, but the wear-and-tear from this man’s struggles had rendered them completely unusable. It was a wonder they’d still been on his feet.

  Meether placed the tunic atop the breeches and sandals, laying it flat. He saw a lump, and a strip of leather poking from the neck of the garment. Meether gave a gentle tug, lifting the leather into the air, and the lump came with it.

  It had been a necklace, and on that necklace was a life-gem. When the leather came free, brilliant purple, almost-blue, caught the last light of the sun from his window with a flash.

  Auzhua, the dark queen of northern Shillialora and their bitter enemy, had long ago banned the practice of wearing one’s own life-gem, up there in her stolen kingdom. Meether frowned, vividly reminded that the Cannibal’s lifespark had been a very deep red, verging on black. This gem was bright purple, with enough blue in it to make it hard to decide which Memory Tower it would go in. It was someone else’s, perhaps even his latest victim’s? Some Cannibals had taken to collecting life-gems as trophies.

  Taking a deep breath, a sense of foreboding seized him. Frowning at the feeling, he placed the bead in his hand and activated it. The spell moved sluggishly, as if long unused, uncurling from the gem, out-of-focus at first. Above the gem, a woman’s face appeared, dark-brown almost black hair, happy smile, laughing blue-gray eyes that stared off into a distance the spell didn’t see. Her hair blew in a breeze, and a pine forest swayed behind her, dark against a bright noon sky.

  Meether heard himself weeping.

  He was on his knees as he stared at her beloved face, so long unseen he almost hadn’t recognized her. Meether clutched his sister’s gem to his heart, grief filling him anew—because this gem showed her from an age when he remembered her—not as she would appear now. Her life-gem had been separated from her for decades.

  He didn’t know how long he wept over her life-gem. When he got control of himself, he staggered to his chair, still staring at the winking gem, at the face, the name, the lineage—Yannaea Ae’Lyn, daughter of Saeraena Ae’Lyn Vonell and Hansin Rathor. Living in Rylee’Aea, Shillialora. Family in Lore Valley.

  How had this come to him? After all this time? Over thirty years…

  Meether’s head jerked up sharply, eyes narrowing. His hand clenched around her life-gem.

  How did that man come to possess this?

  Had he killed Yannaea? If so, when? Or was she, by some miracle, still alive? Meether couldn’t see how that would be possible. Yannaea would never allow such a long expanse of time to pass without some form of contact. She knew he would worry.

  Meether frowned. That Cannibal was too young to have been able to kill Yannaea when she disappeared those years ago.

  Meether bolted up in his chair, eyes wide. “Hell and damnation… Lirrin…”