“Take the body to Gorhail,” Gryff replies methodically. “Call in the report to Firstline, and send a unit from Secondline to investigate.”
I don’t answer. The corpse of a Grand Magus lies cold in the snow, two steps from Gorhail, and Paltro chooses to use it as a teaching moment? He didn’t even check for a pulse.
“Archyr?” Paltro looks at me.
I gulp. “I… uh…”
Paltro’s shoulders fall. He gently covers the body back up, then rises to his feet, facing Gryff and me. “Darro, you’ve been an asset to Secondline for the last four years. It has been an honor watching you evolve as a patrol leader. Congratulations, you’ve been drafted to Firstline with my highest recommendation as field leader.” Paltro pats him on the shoulder. “Report to DOTS by noon.”
A dead mage is at our feet, and Paltro’s assigning promotions. Does he not care because Victor’s from a different House? I don’t know him to be this… cold, like the rest of our institution, thinking of mages as disposable, their deaths inconsequential.
Paltro adjusts his silver, round glasses and clears his throat. “Archyr, likeDarro, you’ve served as an excellent patrol leader. You are undoubtedly your mother’s son. Brilliant and resourceful, but also reckless, stubborn, over-confident, and far too emotional. While these qualities served her as the Deathbringer’s second, Darro has better to do than to babysit you on duty.”
“I don’t need babysitting.” I frown. “A mage was killed, Uncle—”
He raises his eyebrows. A mage was killed; there’s nothing I can do other than follow protocol. If I want my place on Firstline, I cannot question leadership. “It won’t happen again.” I lower my head.
“And yet, it has beenhappening againfor four months, since your father’s death.” Paltro scribbles on his notepad. I stare at him with bated breath. He can’t be considering dismissal.
“Overseer—” Gryff interjects, but Paltro raises his palm. I realize that he’s already made his decision, even before we set foot in Gorhail Woods this morning. This is ludicrous; I belong in Firstline.
“On the other hand,” Paltro begins. “Railesza is a necessary addition to Firstline, especially with poacher activity increasing in all Ten Provinces…” He glances at Victor’s body. “And mages turning up dead right outside of Gorhail’s walls.”
At the mention of her name, Railesza takes a weary look at Paltro and then slithers back to my arm and coils herself to sleep.
“Uncle, Dad wanted me to join Firstline… to follow in his footsteps,” I try, hoping the mention of my father sways him. He knows I’ve been itching to track down and kill the poachers who stole him away from us. That he doesn’t want to do the same angers me. If poachers murdered Gryff, I wouldn’t rest a day until I bled them dry.
Paltro hums, giving me one final nod. “Retrials in six months. Dismissed.”
Retrials? I am the best Aspieri in Secondline, after Gryff. Theyneedme. TheyneedRailesza. He knows what this means to me. How could he do this?
“Leave the body untouched, and not a mention of this to anyone. We don’t need Aspieri associated with the death of an Arkani.” His loose black coat billows in the wind as he walks across to the gates of Gorhail, his boots crushing away my life’s purpose.
This isn’t how I thought my Tuesday would go. A dead mage at our doorstep, Paltro shrugging it off as a random poacher kill, and my failing recruitment.
I crouch next to Victor’s body, lifting the brown coat that covers him. His wounds are long, deep cuts that run across his chest. They look more like the work of an animal than a poacher’s dagger. As I notice the distinct claw marks at the base of his neck, a chill runs down my arms. Not an animal. A Mortemagi versed in blood magic. The covering makes sense now—only they go out of their way to cover the dead, as if this modicum of respect absolves them of being cold-blooded murderers.
“Sy,” Gryff says. “Don’t touch the body.”
I glower up at him. “Victor Carver was a stellar illusionist. This doesn’t make sense.”
Grand Magus Carver was one of the youngest mages about to acquire his last rank—Magus Principalis—from the House of Poison. With his Secondline training and extensive knowledge of death magic, he should have known how to fight a Mortemagi poacher.
“Firstline will investigate.” Gryff gestures to the gate. “Let’s go.”
What Firstline will do is toss his body to the nearest morgue and write off his death as an accident. That’s what they did to Dad. They didn’t care to investigate how the poachers knew where we would be. Didn’t care about his decades of service as one of their best investigators.
“You are such a stickler for the rules. This administration wouldn’t even think twice before executing you,” I mutter, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
My eyes lower to Freya, his teal aspier, slithering around his hand, a flash of silver catching the light of the sun. Everyone thinks it’s endearing that he gave his aspier a necklace; it’s common for Aspieri from the province of Wanora, Gryff’s birthplace. No one sees it for what it is—a curled manipulator Arkani relic. No one would question it either. Aspieri cross-mages are rare because aspiers are notorious for rejecting secondary relics.
“I have to be, Sylas.” He kicks the fresh snow.
“I know…” I trail. “Sorry, I…” I’m apologizing for more than my statement. By failing recruitment, I let him down.
“Who will cover for me on the field?” His voice breaks. I already know where this is going. We were supposed to join Firstline together. Him as a field leader, and me as his second. “If they find out I’m a crossmage, you know they’ll take Freya and seal my Arkani magic. That’s only if they’re lenient.”
Crossmages are shunned in most magical communities, supposedlybecause of the dangers of practicing more than one class of magic. But we all know the real reason. Purists make the rules, and anything that veers away from the ordinary needs to be controlled. DOTS’s anti-crossmage laws began soon after Gorhail was founded in the 1500s because of Rafael Grimm, a Mortemagi and Arkani crossmage they couldn’t control. Because of that one dangerous rogue, they punish generations and generations of crossmages for something they cannot change about themselves. As always, Mortemagi are at the source of every problem.