Shelly Thomas - The Burning Sky

Titus had never thought he would use the curse. He was a liar, a schemer, and a manipulator, but not a murderer.

Not like his grandfather.

For Fairfax’s safety, he was willing to give up his life. But was he also willing to give up what remained of his soul?

The wyvern landed on the meadow. He pushed aside his agitation to concentrate on what needed to be done. Under normal circumstances, when a mage exited the Crucible, it did not matter whether he had filled his pockets full of objects from the tales. Nothing could be brought out; the slate was wiped clean. But using the Crucible as a portal changed all the rules. The book would not close, so to speak, if he left with something that belonged inside.

He had already decided he would keep Helgira’s cuff on his person. Should he escape the library of the Citadel unscathed, he would need a ready steed, and he could not find a better one than Helgira’s. All he needed to do to keep the wyvern in place and waiting, her groom had informed him, was to take the stake at the end of the long chain attached to the beast’s leg and push the stake into the ground.

The wyvern, however, did not seem to like the spot Titus had selected, on the bank of the stream that bisected the meadow. It bellowed plaintively, its claws clutching at the edges of Titus’s tunic.

“What is the matter? Do you smell something?”

Wyverns had extraordinarily sensitive noses and could smell prey from miles away.

“You cannot be hungry, can you? I thought they fed you fresh meat all the time.”

The wyvern hissed.

“I would not worry. Nothing menacing ever comes to the meadow. Not that I have seen, in any case.”

Then again, he had never before physically inhabited the Crucible and did not know how it behaved in this state. He looked around. Everything was familiar enough, including Sleeping Beauty’s castle on the hill.

Or was it? The castle glowed not with the usual coppery light of torches and lamps, but with something akin to the blue-green luminescence of deep-sea creatures.

This copy of the Crucible had been his grandfather’s. It would seem Prince Gaius had made changes. While one could not alter the underlying thrust of a story—Sleeping Beauty, for example, would never come downstairs on her own and help her rescuer battle the dragons—almost all the incidentals of a story could be modified.

Turning Sleeping Beauty into Fairfax was only the latest of the changes Titus had made in his particular copy of the Crucible. There had not been wyverns in the great hall when the Crucible first came to him. Nor had the pair of dragons that guarded the castle gate been colossus cockatrices.

The changes Prince Gaius had made, however, felt more unsettling. But Titus could not pay much attention—not when he had murder on his mind.

Or ought to, in any case.

“And they lived happily ever after.”

He was now in the Citadel, next to the Citadel’s copy of the Crucible, which sat on a pedestal at the exact center of the dimly lit library. He slipped between the shelves.

The doors opened, and in came Alectus’s voice. “And here we are, the library. Very soft lighting, exactly as Madam Inquisitor requested.”

Titus held his breath.

“It will do,” said the Inquisitor coldly. “You may leave us.”

Who were us ?

Titus had hid himself behind the end of a set of shelves. He peered around the edge, but could only see Alectus bowing and scraping on his way out.

“You should not have been so solicitous, sire,” said the Inquisitor, her tone so soft and deferential Titus barely recognized it. “I would have handled the Inquisition at the Inquisitory itself.”

“But we both know how sensitive a mind mage is to her surroundings, my dear Fia,” replied an extraordinarily mellifluous male voice. “The Inquisitory still holds too much pain and fear for you.”

“But it is a far safer place for you, my lord High Commander.”

Titus’s knees buckled. My lord High Commander . The man was the Bane .

“I am already overwhelmingly in my lord High Commander’s debt for wresting me from death’s grasp and restoring me to full health. How can I forgive myself exposing my lord High Commander to the likely perils of this place? Hesperia built it—it must be full of traps and snares.”

“Fia, Fia, speak not from fear. Our mages have already inspected the library from top to bottom—sometimes a room is just a room. Now stop worrying about me and concentrate. To think, all these years we’ve misapplied your rare and wonderful talents, using you like a hammer when you are a fine scalpel. We will waste no more time. Tonight we slice past all the layers of magic Haywood had applied to hide his memories. Tomorrow, our young prince.”

Titus shuddered.

“I cannot wait, my lord. And to think, since his mind will be perfectly whole afterward, he won’t even be able to raise a diplomatic ruckus.”

Titus leaned against the shelf, unable to support his own weight.

The doors of the library opened again. “Won’t you care for some refreshments, my Lord High Commander, Madam Inquisitor?” said Lady Callista.

She held the large tray herself, sauntering toward the Bane and the Inquisitor.

“We have only just now enjoyed your bounteous banquet—my compliments to you, Lady Callista, the Citadel has the world’s finest cooks. We might need a little time to recover our appetites.”

The Bane was the ideal guest, honey-tongued and suave, not at all what Titus had expected.

“If only we’d had a little more notice of my lord High Commander’s visit, we’d have put on a more suitable feast.”

The Bane probably had not arrived until the Inquisitor sent news that she had failed to secure Iolanthe Seabourne with her ambush. Between the two of them, they were determined not to fail again.

“I will set the tray here,” said Lady Callista, “and let my lord High Commander and Madam Inquisitor continue their preparation.”

She withdrew. Not a minute later an Atlantean soldier entered and, two steps inside, knelt. “My lord High Commander, Madam Inquisitor, we have the detainee Horatio Haywood.”

The Oracle had foretold that Haywood would not remain long in Atlantis’s grasp. Did it mean Titus must be the one to whisk him to freedom? But then who would kill the Inquisitor? He could not do both at once.

The blood oath called for him to do his utmost to help Fairfax in her goal of freeing her guardian. He clenched his teeth.

The duration of the time-freeze spell decreased steeply when more than one mage was on the receiving end. What would last three minutes on one person would last only thirty seconds covering three mages. And if he had to cover four mages, he’d have at best ten seconds.

Would that be enough time to drag Horatio Haywood to the Crucible and disappear inside?

Haywood shuffled in with two guards. Four mages to cover. Titus’s wand shook. Did he dare? Would his gallantry get himself caught, and result in Fairfax being yanked out of her bed in the dead of the night?

Titus saw his wand lifting. He could not believe what he was about to do. One. Two. Thr—

Haywood vanished before his eyes.

IOLANTHE HUFFED WITH IMPATIENCE.

Sleeping Beauty’s castle did not look terribly distant from the meadow, but to reach it on foot, even running at full speed, took far too long. And she’d already wasted enough time earlier, looking for a safe spot, worrying about the Crucible possibly bleeding again, before finally realizing that at this hour of the night, the Crucible could bleed a bucket and no one would notice a book lying in long grass.