Mara clutched her apron, gathering the fabric into a tight bunch, but she didn’t say a word. When I finished, she slid off her chair and hugged me.
“Oh, Yelena, that’s terrible.” She squeezed tight then let go. “What can I do to help?”
“Help?” I hadn’t thought about it.
“Of course. I’m sure you have a plan of attack. And don’t tell me to keep it quiet. I’m not an idiot.”
True. “Can you find out if any of the students are able to siphon magic? Opal had done it with glass, but perhaps there is another magician who can do it with another object.”
She brightened. “I can. I know all the students and they like to brag about who can do what.” She held up her hand. Burn scars marked her fingers and wrist. “Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet. Are you going to talk to Opal? She might have some ideas.”
I groaned. Another possible avenue that I’d missed. “I will.”
“Good. Now go get some sleep. Leif’s at the Council Hall this morning, but he’ll be in the training yard later this afternoon, helping Marrok teach the juniors how to defend against a machete.”
“Thanks.”
She escorted me out the door and then remained on the workshop’s steps, ensuring I headed in the right direction. Another knot in my stomach eased as I skirted the pasture that occupied the space between the glass shop and the stables. Telling Mara had been the right thing to do.
When I entered the large wooden barn, Kiki whinnied a welcome. She looked over the Stable Master’s broad shoulder as he bent to clean dirt from her hooves. Her copper coat shone, her mane had been brushed and her whiskers were trimmed. Oh no.
“I was planning on—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The Stable Master cut me off. “Always the same. In a hurry with urgent business to attend to. I’ve heard all the excuses.” He moved to her back feet. “She was a muddy mess,” he grumbled. “Keep taking advantage of her and one day you’ll come out here and she’ll be gone.”
Not unless he stopped feeding her his famous milk oats. I sighed. The Stable Master lived and breathed horses. To him, nothing was more important. And he had a point.
“I’m sorry.” I draped my cloak over a stall door, picked up a comb and worked on untangling her tail. Then I helped him clean tack and muck out stalls until he no longer muttered quite as much. Which was as good of a mood as possible for him.
Before he left to order more feed, I asked about Quinn’s riding lessons.
“Strong as an ox, that boy,” the Stable Master said. “He don’t look it, but all those years of diving for oysters honed his muscles. See that bay?” He pointed through the window.
A horse with a deep garnet-colored coat and a black mane and tail trotted around the inside of the pasture’s fence. “Yes.”
“Flann’s a son of a bitch—stubborn, spirited and strong. Quinn’s the only one who can ride him.”
“A Sandseed horse?” Sandseed horses, like Kiki, were picky about who they allowed to ride them.
“Nope. One of those new Bloodgood breeds. I was gonna send him back because he’s been a real pain in my ass, but he took a liking to the boy.”
“Is Quinn enjoying his lessons?”
“I don’t care. He shows up on time and has improved. That’s all I care about.”
“Did he miss his last lesson?”
“No. Why?”
And there went another lead. “Flann looks like he needs a workout.”
“Tell that to the Master Magicians. Quinn’s too busy to do more.” The Stable Master hooked his thumb toward the bay. “You’re welcome to try.” He patted Kiki’s neck with affection. “I’m sure Kiki here won’t mind. Will you, girl?” He slipped her a milk oat then left without saying goodbye.
After he left, I scratched Kiki behind her ears. She closed her eyes and leaned closer. Sadness panged deep inside me, radiating out with pain. The loss of our connection hurt the most. And I cringed at the thought of riding another horse. It would also be an unnecessary risk. Kiki rested her chin on my shoulder as if consoling me.
“I’ll figure this out,” I promised her.
She nipped my ear playfully then left the stable. I followed her out. She hopped the pasture’s fence, joining the other horses. I scanned them. Silk, Irys’s horse, and Leif’s horse, Rusalka, nickered a greeting to Kiki.
Exhaustion clung to me, but horse hair and slobber coated my clothes and hands. I stopped at the bathhouse to wash up before I trudged to my apartment in Irys’s tower.
Each Master Magician lived in one of the four towers of the Keep. Irys occupied the northwest tower and Bain had the southeastern one. The northeast tower belonged to Zitora Cowan, Second Magician, even though she’d retired. We all hoped she’d return. The southwest tower still remained empty. Roze Featherstone, who had been the First Magician, had lived there until she betrayed Sitia. After the Warper battle, she was killed and her soul trapped in a glass prison.
When I was no longer considered a student of the Keep, Irys offered me three floors of her tower to use. A generous offer. My few belongings had all fit on one floor, but I had since expanded to another, setting up guest quarters for visitors. So far, only my parents had used the space.
I lumbered up the three flights of steps. At least I hadn’t been gone long enough for my bedroom to be coated with dust. I glanced around. The single bed, armoire, desk, chair and night table all appeared to be undisturbed. My footsteps echoed against the hard marble walls. I hadn’t had time to install tapestries and heavy curtains to absorb the harsh sounds. Good thing since now I’d need to hear an intruder in order to wake up in time to defend myself.
Bending down, I checked under the bed and then opened the armoire. Yes, I felt silly and paranoid, but sleeping would be impossible unless I ensured no one hid in my room.
Satisfied, I tossed my cloak over the chair and crawled into bed. The chilly air swirled as I drew the thick blankets up to my chin. If I had any energy, I would light the brassier nearby. Instead, I drifted to sleep.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t dream.
* * *
I woke a few hours later when the late-afternoon sunlight streamed through my window and touched my face. Without thinking, I reached for my magic and encountered deadness. The desire to curl into a ball and remain in bed pulsed through my heart. But I refused to give up. Plus I needed to speak to Leif. I flung my blankets off.
The training yard was located next to the glass shop. I leaned against the fence and studied the various matches. Most of the students held wooden practice swords or wooden machetes since they were only in their third year at the Keep. They wouldn’t use real weapons until their final, apprentice year.
Leif sparred with a tall lanky student. I smiled at the mismatched pair. His stocky, powerful build, black hair and square face were the opposite of his opponent—a lean, lithe, blonde woman with a pointy chin. She used her longer reach and sword to stay out of his machete’s chopping zone. Moving with the quick grace of a Greenblade, she dodged Leif’s strikes.
However, experience won over fancy footwork and Leif ducked low and rushed her, knocking her down while unarming her. He grinned and helped her to her feet, then explained his strategy.
I waited as he wrapped up the session and lectured the group on where to focus.
“Don’t stare at their eyes or shoulders,” he said. “Watch your opponent’s hips to anticipate his next strike. You’ve seen how a machete can counter a sword with the right moves and tactics. Do you think