was tangled, and her fingers were smudged with ink.
I sat up and put the book down. “Hello, Ro,” I said.
Rowan tossed her bookbag onto her bed and flopped onto the chair next to mine. She glanced sideways at me. “Are you coming back to school, Connwaer?”
“No,” I said.
“They’re still upset with you, then.”
The magisters would never stop being upset with me. I shrugged.
“Mmm. I have a swordcraft lesson in a few minutes.” She bent to untie the laces of her boot.
Get to the point, she was saying. “Can I have some money?” I asked.
She looked up. “We-ell, I don’t know. What do you need it for?”
I took a deep breath. “Charcoal and colophony, sulfur and saltpeter. And slowsilver.”
“Explosive materials, I believe.” She sat up straight and gave me her sharp, slanting look. “From what I hear, my lad, wizards are not supposed to have anything to do with that sort of thing.”
Right, true enough. “Ro, I don’t have any choice.”
“Really,” she said, her voice dry; it made her sound like her mother. “What are your choices?”
“I have to make some explosions.”
“Indeed,” Rowan said.
“Small ones,” I said.
Rowan pulled off her boot and tossed it toward the door of her dressing room. “You do have another choice, Connwaer.” She started on the other boot.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“You do,” she said. “You could choose not to do any pyrotechnic experiments.”
I couldn’t abandon the magic like that, not when it needed my help. “Ro, I’m a wizard. I don’t have a locus stone, so I have to find some way to talk to the magic.”
She pulled off her other boot. “Pyrotechnics?”
I nodded. I knew she’d understand, better than anyone except for Nevery.
There was a knock at the outer door. “Lady Rowan,” a deep voice called. “Are you there?”
Rowan sprang up from her chair. “Just a minute, Argent. I’m just getting ready.” She turned to me. “My lesson,” she whispered.
Right, time for me to leave. “Will you give me the money, then?”
She nibbled on her thumbnail, deciding. “How much do you need?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe eight silver faces,” I said, knowing it was a lot to ask for.
“Is that all?” Rowan said. “All right. Wait a moment.”
She went into her dressing room. I heard rustlings and the thump of a drawer opening and closing, and then Rowan came out wearing plain brown trousers, a white shirt, a long black coat, and, under the coat, a sword in a scabbard.
Her friend banged at the door again. “Lady Rowan, are you coming?”
She smiled at me. “Not today, Argent,” she called. “I’ll meet you at the salle tomorrow afternoon.”
What was she up to?
“I’ll give you the money,” she said, showing me a heavy purse string, which she put into her pocket. “But I’m coming with you.”
Brumbee correct. Boy’s ideas about magic shocking. But though boy is stupid about some things, is not stupid about magic. Is likely correct that magic is living being, protector of city, spellwords its language. Magic certainly protected boy when he was living on streets of Twilight. Boy was never sick, had no vermin, did not freeze in the winters; only explanation is that magical being has some kind of bond with him. What that bond is, I do not know.
Twenty years ago, when I conducted my own experiments to see if pyrotechnics enhanced magical spells cast with a locus stone, explosion ripped Heartsease in half. At time, did not understand how I survived. Now think likely that magic protected me as it protected boywhen Underlord’s device exploded. Wrote treatise at the time about magical effects, sounds heard when explosion occurred. Wonder if it was magic trying to speak to me.
CHAPTER 4
O nce Rowan and I had snuck out of the Dawn Palace, we headed down the hill toward the Night Bridge. “Pyrotechnics is illegal,” I said. “We’ll have to go to the Twilight to get what I need.”
Rowan’s eyes
I sat up and put the book down. “Hello, Ro,” I said.
Rowan tossed her bookbag onto her bed and flopped onto the chair next to mine. She glanced sideways at me. “Are you coming back to school, Connwaer?”
“No,” I said.
“They’re still upset with you, then.”
The magisters would never stop being upset with me. I shrugged.
“Mmm. I have a swordcraft lesson in a few minutes.” She bent to untie the laces of her boot.
Get to the point, she was saying. “Can I have some money?” I asked.
She looked up. “We-ell, I don’t know. What do you need it for?”
I took a deep breath. “Charcoal and colophony, sulfur and saltpeter. And slowsilver.”
“Explosive materials, I believe.” She sat up straight and gave me her sharp, slanting look. “From what I hear, my lad, wizards are not supposed to have anything to do with that sort of thing.”
Right, true enough. “Ro, I don’t have any choice.”
“Really,” she said, her voice dry; it made her sound like her mother. “What are your choices?”
“I have to make some explosions.”
“Indeed,” Rowan said.
“Small ones,” I said.
Rowan pulled off her boot and tossed it toward the door of her dressing room. “You do have another choice, Connwaer.” She started on the other boot.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“You do,” she said. “You could choose not to do any pyrotechnic experiments.”
I couldn’t abandon the magic like that, not when it needed my help. “Ro, I’m a wizard. I don’t have a locus stone, so I have to find some way to talk to the magic.”
She pulled off her other boot. “Pyrotechnics?”
I nodded. I knew she’d understand, better than anyone except for Nevery.
There was a knock at the outer door. “Lady Rowan,” a deep voice called. “Are you there?”
Rowan sprang up from her chair. “Just a minute, Argent. I’m just getting ready.” She turned to me. “My lesson,” she whispered.
Right, time for me to leave. “Will you give me the money, then?”
She nibbled on her thumbnail, deciding. “How much do you need?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe eight silver faces,” I said, knowing it was a lot to ask for.
“Is that all?” Rowan said. “All right. Wait a moment.”
She went into her dressing room. I heard rustlings and the thump of a drawer opening and closing, and then Rowan came out wearing plain brown trousers, a white shirt, a long black coat, and, under the coat, a sword in a scabbard.
Her friend banged at the door again. “Lady Rowan, are you coming?”
She smiled at me. “Not today, Argent,” she called. “I’ll meet you at the salle tomorrow afternoon.”
What was she up to?
“I’ll give you the money,” she said, showing me a heavy purse string, which she put into her pocket. “But I’m coming with you.”
Brumbee correct. Boy’s ideas about magic shocking. But though boy is stupid about some things, is not stupid about magic. Is likely correct that magic is living being, protector of city, spellwords its language. Magic certainly protected boy when he was living on streets of Twilight. Boy was never sick, had no vermin, did not freeze in the winters; only explanation is that magical being has some kind of bond with him. What that bond is, I do not know.
Twenty years ago, when I conducted my own experiments to see if pyrotechnics enhanced magical spells cast with a locus stone, explosion ripped Heartsease in half. At time, did not understand how I survived. Now think likely that magic protected me as it protected boywhen Underlord’s device exploded. Wrote treatise at the time about magical effects, sounds heard when explosion occurred. Wonder if it was magic trying to speak to me.
CHAPTER 4
O nce Rowan and I had snuck out of the Dawn Palace, we headed down the hill toward the Night Bridge. “Pyrotechnics is illegal,” I said. “We’ll have to go to the Twilight to get what I need.”
Rowan’s eyes
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