Isabelle watched the seer as he examined her. If something was wrong, it would show in the faint crease of his expression, or in a muttered word slipping from his lips.

  His robe, ash-gray and loose, carried stains that might have been tea, ink, dried blood—Orbisar knew what else. Gray hair, wild and tangled, framed pale blue eyes that shifted in quick, restless motions, chasing too many thoughts at once. From time to time he spoke in short, singsong phrases, each followed by long silences while his gaze locked on some invisible point in the air.

  Other than that, his face stayed a perfect blank.

  Perhaps that was a good sign. Perhaps she was fine.

  Yorrin was not the most gifted seer she had met, but he was the most discreet. He would read you, deliver his report without fuss, take his fee, and send you on your way.

  Swift and uncomplicated.

  In any case, if she had been tainted by Death magic like Alyra, “complication” would have been the understatement of the century. Uriela would strip her of her title as Warden on the spot, and Garath would have her in an interrogation chamber before the hour was out. If her answers failed to satisfy him, an arrest would hardly be unthinkable.

  And her answers would certainly not satisfy him. Lying to a Church officer during an official inquiry was not an option.

  Still, with her auric level and the powers she had already absorbed, she should have been shielded from Death magic. This was only a precaution.

  To keep the reading free of bias, she had not told the seer what to search for. A simple, “Check my chakras and tell me if you notice anything unusual,” was all she had said.

  He had not asked for details. Requests like this were common. People seeking reassurance they carried no trace of forbidden magic or corruption.

  While Yorrin continued his inspection, Isabelle let her eyes wander to steady her nerves. They were alone; he saw only one client at a time for privacy’s sake. The place looked like an abandoned reliquary. Faded fabrics hung on the walls, patched from old tapestries and curtains into a dull mosaic.

  Half-melted candles crowded every surface, their sweetness of wax and resin cut by the sharpness of dried herbs. At the center stood a low, worm-eaten table, piled with bowls of colored powders and faintly glowing crystals. The silence broke only with the slow drip of some hidden vial in the shadows.

  Yorrin’s brow tightened. “Death magic,” he murmured.

  Isabelle’s heart faltered. “E–excuse me?”

  The seer drew a long breath, his brow creasing with focus. “You’ve been exposed to a strong current of Death magic. Something that could only come from a sphere.” He stepped back and fixed his gaze on her. “And not a low-rank sphere either, am I right?”

  The room seemed to tilt around her. Good thing she was already sitting. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. “What about my chakras? Am I contaminated?”

  Yorrin waved a hand, vague and dismissive. “The energy tried every way it could to breach your defenses, but your aura held. And I doubt you touched that sphere for long. Minutes, perhaps an hour.”

  She nodded slowly. He was good. At least she wasn’t wasting her coin on a charlatan. But he still hadn’t given her the part she’d paid for. “The state of my chakras,” she repeated.

  Yorrin shook his head and brushed her concern aside with a flick of his hand. “Your chakras are intact, Warden. You can rest easy. I’m just wondering if I can rest easy.”

  Her heartbeat steadied, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “What’s troubling you, Seer? Afraid I won’t pay you?”

  Lines carved into his face. “It’s not the coin. I know you’ll pay.” He stepped back and picked up a blue crystal from the table, gripping it with both hands.

  Isabelle rose from the armchair with a wince. The fights yesterday still lingered in her body. Ebonshade had left its marks, even if not on her chakras. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I’m troubled that a Bronze-rank Death sphere was near Rothmere. Power like that can unleash horrors beyond description.”

  The Warden inclined her head. “Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. But you can relax. That Death sphere has been… neutralized. I can’t tell you more.”

  Yorrin raised a hand. “I don’t need to hear more, Warden of Narkhara. Your word is enough for me.”

  She nodded and set the agreed payment on the low table. “Thank you, Yorrin. As always, keep what was said in this room… in this room.”

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  He gave her a short bow.

  Isabelle turned to leave, but something tugged at her sleeve.

  Yorrin held her there. His pale blue eyes stared at nothing. Or at something she could not see.

  “What is it?” Isabelle said. “Wasn’t that the agreed price? I don’t make a habit of renegotiating once payment is set.”

  He shook his head, furrows deepening again across his brow. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Even if the Death sphere is gone, its magic hasn’t vanished completely. There are traces, somewhere, here in Rothmere.”

  Isabelle’s stomach tightened. Could he somehow sense Alyra’s contamination? But how, when Alyra wasn’t even here? No, either rambling nonsense or a ploy to wring more coin from her.

  She pulled her sleeve free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, seer. But it has nothing to do with me. If my chakras are clean, then as far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”

  The man had gone pale. If it was an act, he played it well. Hardly surprising.

  Yorrin pressed on. “No… it’s not as closed as you think.”

  That one seemed determined to squeeze more from her. Best to toss him something, or he’d never let her go. Her lips curved in a half-smile as she reached into her pocket and dropped a few more coins onto his pay. “Fine, here. But leave it be, or next time I’ll find another seer.”

  She stepped into the sunlight. Heat and humidity pressed against her, but after the tension and the pungent stench of Yorrin’s chamber, it almost felt like relief.

  She glanced back at the doorway, half-expecting to find him trailing after her. Thankfully, Yorrin stayed inside. The extra pay had likely been enough to calm his “concerns.”

  For a moment she had feared he might have sensed the Death magic in Alyra or the trace bound into Derek’s armor. But that was impossible. In both cases, the power was contained, stabilized, and hidden from all but the closest scrutiny.

  Still… perhaps she should stop by the Citadel and check on Derek. Just to be sure.

  She halted at the threshold of Ithara’s lab. Something was wrong. Normally the place seethed with noise and clutter. An explosion wouldn’t have drawn a second glance. But this silence? Something was off.

  Her hand rested on her sword hilt as she stepped inside, slow and deliberate.

  Derek, pale, faced an even paler Ithara. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The air between them felt as if it had been split open by something sharp.

  The lab was a wreck of strange devices. She couldn’t tell which twisted pieces came from Derek’s absurd armor and which belonged to Ithara’s experiments.

  Neither of them acknowledged her, until the armor’s female voice, the one called Vanda, broke the stillness.

  “Hi, Isabelle!” Vanda chimed.

  Talking to an inanimate object still unsettled her, and she doubted she would ever get used to it. She gave a short nod. “What’s going on?” Her eyes flicked between Derek and Ithara.

  Derek was still wearing the clothes she had bought him days ago. She had meant to expand his wardrobe, maybe get him to dress like someone in his position.

  After yesterday’s argument, that plan was dead in the water. And right now, there seemed to be far more urgent matters at hand.

  “Isabelle,” Derek said, stiff, his gaze averted. “Any news on the investigation?”

  She caught the chill in his voice, tightened her jaw, and kept her own even. “Meeting with Garath later. Maybe tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  He nodded.

  “How are things here?” she asked. The tension in the room felt older than her arrival.

  Vanda replied, “NOVA’s repairs will take longer than expected. It would be easier if the Repair Bots returned to work. I can’t imagine where they’ve gone.”

  The Warden inclined her head toward Derek. “And aside from the armor? Anything I should know?”

  Ithara’s eyes darted to Derek.

  He gave her a faint nod toward Isabelle. “Go ahead,” he muttered.

  Isabelle’s brows drew tight. “Tell me what?”

  Ithara exhaled. “Reaper’s Curse.”

  Isabelle’s heart skipped. “You’re certain?”

  The scholar nodded. “I’ve run the tests again and again.”

  “But it isn’t inside Derek, is it?” Isabelle asked. “He has no contact with sphere magic.”

  “Correct,” Ithara said. “It seems to have manifested in his armor during the fight with an undead creature. Hard to say what effect it might have on Derek if he keeps using it—especially against the living.”

  Isabelle stiffened. “So that weapon he wielded… that scythe was—”

  Ithara nodded. “The physical manifestation of the Reaper’s Curse. From what I’ve seen, it invaded the armor’s right arm. The traces are still visible.”

  “That’s extremely rare,” Isabelle said. “Every recorded case involved mages who filled every chakra with Death spheres.”

  Derek’s mouth twisted into a bitter half-smile. “Guess I hit the jackpot. Maybe the cultists are looking for a power armor, I could send them my résumé.”

  Isabelle’s teeth clenched. Why did he always crack jokes when it mattered least? “Anyone else know besides us three?”

  “Me!” Vanda chirped.

  No one answered her.

  “I only found out a few minutes before you walked in,” Ithara said.

  “Good.” Isabelle let the word hang. “Let’s keep it that way.” She turned to Derek. “Has she explained what it means?”

  He nodded. “Basically, don’t kill living things with NOVA’s new giant blade… or I might start enjoying it too much.”

  She stepped closer, close enough to force him to meet her eyes. “Derek, this isn’t a joke. I’ve seen soldiers butcher their own squads in frenzies they couldn’t stop.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not planning on killing anyone.”

  “You’ve been saying that since the day we met. And things still turned out differently.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “Thanks for the reminder. Sometimes you don’t get a choice.”

  “Exactly. And what happens when you decide you have no choice and that magic is the answer?”

  “It won’t happen.”

  Her jaw tightened. She hadn’t wanted to say this, but the risk was too high. “And if the only way to save Alyra was to use it?”

  Was that disgust flashing across his face?

  “You’d sacrifice her without blinking, wouldn’t you?” he said. “You already did when you let her carry that sphere. She’s just a stray orphan. Letting her die would be the prudent move. Especially now. Am I wrong?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, her fists locking tight. “That’s unfair, Derek. I saved her when her village was destroyed. I found her a home here in Rothmere. At the school I placed her in, she can have a future. Maybe even a calling.”

  Derek clapped slowly, mock applause. “Remarkable. The finest Warden Narkhara’s ever seen. Maybe they’ll set your statue beside Cashnar’s in the square.”

  Every word struck like a blow she couldn’t parry. Her eyes burned. Why couldn’t he understand? “I tried to bring you that sphere myself. I was ready to die for it.”

  Derek dragged a hand through his hair, eyes rolling upward. “You really can’t get it through that doctrine-stuffed head, can you?” He jabbed a finger hard into his chest. “I don’t want anyone sacrificing themselves for me. No one. Got it? If you think I’d rather watch you die instead of Alyra to save me, then you haven’t understood a damn thing.”

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. “And if you think I’d let you die just to save myself, then you’re the one who hasn’t understood anything.”

  From the corner, Ithara shifted uneasily and knocked something to the floor with a clang that echoed through the lab.

  Neither of them turned.

  Derek stepped toward Isabelle, his face flushed. “Don’t drag me into your religious delusions. You’re willing to give your life for Cashnar. For your damned Messiah. But not for me. Isn’t that right?”

  She shook her head slowly. “You don’t make sense… you are the Messiah. You are Cashnar.”

  He chuckled. “You really can’t step outside your dogma, can you? That’s the difference between us.”

  Her eyes burned, and she wasn’t even sure she was following him anymore. What was happening? How could he be so furious with her? “W-what difference?”

  “I see things for what they are. Titles, religions… they’re just stories we tell ourselves so we can believe we’re more than dust. While the universe laughs at us.”

  Heat climbed her cheeks. “And you’re the one who sees things as they truly are, is that it?” She nodded, a strained half-smile tugging at her lips. “You already know everything. You figured out how this world worked the very second you arrived.”

  She let out a sharp snort. “And the fact that this world has done nothing but kick you down hasn’t put a single crack in that certainty of yours.”

  Derek opened his mouth to fire back, but she cut him off.

  “And the way you keep hinting that I only stand by you because you’re Cashnar, that I don’t truly care about you… Has it never crossed your brilliant mind that I believe you are Cashnar precisely because I’ve had the chance to know you, to actually care for you?”

  That was enough. She couldn’t take another one of his barbs. Her chest tightened, her breath shallow and uneven. Without a glance back, she turned and strode out, fingers brushing the hilt of her sword to anchor herself.