Magus Balthas shivered as he and his sister methodically checked the projector equipment for the last time. The atmosphere in the captain’s cabin was tense. He glanced over at his sister. Magister Lumina studied the reflection of the opulent cabin in the golden mask covering her face, mirrored in silver. The cursed punishment their mother had forced onto them at birth—the artifacts that had made them the mages they were.

  Balthas checked the projector one last time, steady even as the ship rocked beneath him. His fists clenched. Today. Today I will stop this—stand against her, end the madness before it consumes us all.

  He knew his sister would not be his ally. She had always been Mother’s favorite—aggressive, decisive, more powerful than him. Lumina’s golden mask hid everything, even the slightest twitch of feeling. When she spoke, her voice was flat as iron, empty of warmth or hesitation.

  “Shall we?”

  He understood the question without deliberation. Shall we call Mother? Shall we call our mistress?

  He nodded, and together they went through the gestures and muttered the incantation, then prostrated themselves on the floor before the ritual circle. Grey light thickened until the air itself pressed against their lungs like deep water. The storm coalesced, heavy and inevitable—then she appeared. Archmagister Garlina, Iron Lady of Seaguard.

  Using a carefully concealed divination sensor while pressing his mask into the wooden floor, Balthas studied her. The years had taken their toll. She stood straight only by forcing her weight onto the staff, every muscle taut with stubborn defiance. Even frailty bent beneath her rage—vengeful will holding her upright where her body faltered. Even through this pale projection, he could feel the influence of the curse—the poisoned chalice the Luciferian sage had bestowed on her under the guise of alliance.

  Balthas’s breathing sped up as he resolved himself. Then she loosened one hand, made a circular gesture, and motioned them to speak.

  “Mistress,” both intoned. Never Mother. Beatings had long ago ensured that cursed word would never pass their lips again.

  “Report,” the crone demanded.

  She did not order them up, and neither expected her to.

  Balthas spoke first. “The advance units are ready, Mistress. I will lead them into the city with our allies—”

  “Very good,” Garlina cut him off, having heard what she wanted, as always.

  Balthas ground his teeth but said nothing. Her attention shifted to his sister.

  “Mistress,” Lumina said, “the ships are prepared as well. The army stands ready. Once the Maholians are weak, once the greenskins have exhausted them, we will take the city. This will be our day of triumph. We’ll finally no longer be their pawns.”

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  “Good, good,” Garlina murmured. Then her lips curled. “And Prince Karl? Is the potion working?”

  Balthas felt his sister flinch. He shuddered at the thought of the old, bloated man their mother had forced on her—her ‘backup plan’ to give the Marholians a legitimate claim to keep their family in power in Seaguard. He had heard the rumors of the prince’s tastes. The fact Lumina wore nothing but long sleeves ever since told him the soldiers’ whispers were true.

  Cold rage boiled in Balthas’s gut.

  The words tore free before he could stop them, bursting past his lips like floodwater through a broken dam. “Mistress, this is a mistake. We are risking everything on an uncertain gamble. If anything goes wrong, if the rebels fail—”

  “Silence.”

  The matron hissed, and the carved sigils in his flesh ignited. Agony lanced through him, every nerve alight with her contempt.

  “It is not the fate of the weak to speak against the strong, magus.” She spat the word like venom. “You will do as I tell you.”

  “You’re risking everything—” he tried again, desperation and fear clawing at his heart.

  “Our walls are worthless if we do not seize more,” she snapped. “If you and your sister weren’t so weak—”

  The old woman’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do what you are good at. Do not fail me.”

  Balthas swallowed his fury and rallied his resolve one final time. “Mistress… the reports from the Holy Land. The Holy City. Scouts have vanished.”

  Surprisingly, his mother did not enact her usual punishments. She bit her lip and replied with a curiously neutral voice. “Yes. Something is happening there. My magic is shrouded. That will be your next mission.”

  A glint of something—not quite sanity, not quite madness—lit her eyes as her lips spread into a terrible grin. “We will be the ones to reclaim the Holy City. No matter the cost. No matter who stands in our way.”

  Silence pressed down on the cabin. Balthas felt the weight of Lumina’s disapproval as sharply as if it had been spoken aloud. When does this end? He reflected on his situation and ground his teeth. He had considered running before, and the temptation gnawed at him again.

  Garlina let them wait, minute after minute, before her projection faded.

  The twins lay on the floor, breathing the silence.

  The period where there was still enough power in the equipment for their mother to manifest again, checking in on her children if they dared speak before spending a sufficient amount of time in respectful silence, passed with uneventful heaviness.

  Then Lumina exploded. “Have you lost your mind, talking back to her now?!”

  Balthas took a step towards her without thinking, guided by nothing but his fury. “You know very well she has gone mad with her idea of—”

  She advanced in two sharp strides, golden invocations sparking at her fingertips, and clamped her hand around his throat.

  “You, brother, with your pathetic whining. You don’t know what sacrifices I make. It’s always you, you, you, isn’t it?”

  He dared not fight back. She had Mother’s favor. Her grip constricted, crushing windpipe and arteries alike until his vision tunneled to a dark blur.

  Then suddenly her hand snapped back as if it had never touched him.

  “You with your freedoms and your constant whining,” Lumina spat. “Go rally our allies and leave the real work to me. And don’t fuck this up—or Mother will kill you. Do you understand?”

  Balthas glared at her for a heartbeat too long. He instantly knew it was a mistake. Her glowing hand cracked across his face, the force of the backhand snapping his head sideways.

  For a brief moment, he considered fighting back. But it would be suicide—Magister versus Magus.

  Lumina took several sharp steps toward him, then let out a shuddering breath. “He’s stirring. I must return before he notices. This isn’t over, brother—do you understand?”

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