“How much farther, Warden?” I slowed to a stop, ignoring the lewd, sneering comments from the peanut gallery of prisoners in the cells around me. Some tried to touch me, but a flick of electricity had hands being snatched back with muttered curses. Pain was already starting to creep into my limbs, and my temper responded accordingly. We’d only gone down a handful of levels, but these stairs were steep and awkward.

“Not much farther, Lady kyl’Solidor,” the Warden wheezed. He stooped over, placing pudgy hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

“What level is your death ward?”

“Level 12.”

“I see. And we are on… let me think, now…” I made a show of tapping my finger against my chin. “We’re on–”

“Yer on Five,” a deep voice rumbled from one of the cells.

The Warden straightened, his small eyes darting about, searching for the voice.

“Stop messin’ with the mage, Fergin. Use the lift.” A gaunt greybeard appeared at one of the barred doors. “It’s not like yer lazy ass walks the stairs any other day.”

I seethed, feeling my teeth grind together. The pain racheted higher. I knew there’d been an easier way to get around. Sevfahl had an enclave of artificers. Rigging tech in old places was cake to them, and the Sevfahlans loved their luxury.

“Look, I want to be here even less than you want me here. Take me to the death ward, let me look, and then I’m gone. I have to be able to at least say I checked,” I snapped at the warden.

“Oh, ye’ll find what ye need here, lass.” The greybeard flashed me a grin, his eyes flaring dim silver as he turned back into the darkness of his cell. “What we all need.”

“Wait, what?” I gave an irritated wave of my hand, turning from the cell. “No, nevermind. Take me to the lift and let’s just get this over with.”

“This way, Lady kyl’Solidor.” The Warden bustled off down the hall. I started to follow, but turned half back as the mournful rise and fall of six repeating notes filled the greybeard’s cell. He was still whistling as the Warden led me into a small, windowless room, barely bigger than a broom closet. As the door clicked shut, a wooden panel hissed open, revealing a biometrics panel. He placed a hand against the palm panel.

“Level 12.”

The lift beeped and began whirring downwards. Neither of us spoke until the door clicked open. The Warden stalked out, going down the dim corridor bellowing for the inmates to line up, telling them what was expected. I breathed out, slow and steady.

I could do this.

The Inferno wasn’t my last option. There were three other prisons left on my list, including the Golden Court, in Imperia Argosia.

A low murmur of excitement and shuffling brought my attention back to the Warden.

“All yours,” he said.

The chance to be a magister was a rare and lucky break for a criminal sentenced to death. Each of the inmates had lined up by their doors. There were men and women, most Sevfahlan. One Kymry woman, and a hulking brute of a Ne Rameridean. I walked the line, forcing myself to look every one of them in the eyes. Some I asked questions of, nodding as if I cared about the answers. I was glad to reach the end, and started back up the aisle. The Warden stood by the lift, shifting from foot to foot.

“Ready to go back up, then?” He looked hopeful.

Muffled coughing caught my attention. I looked back down the aisle, trying to figure out where it had come from. It came again, fainter. Ignoring the warden’s protests, I walked back down, past the cells to a closed room I had assumed was for storage. I shook the door, but it was locked.

I turned to the Warden. “Open it,” I commanded.

Now I was irritated. They were all supposed to be given a fair chance for me to decline, not that I wanted to see them. Scowling, the Warden pulled out a solitary key hung around his neck and shoved it in the lock. The door swung open to reveal a small room with four tiny cramped cells. I winced, nose wrinkling as the potent smell of urine, old blood, and infection washed over me. Three of the rooms stood empty, doors slightly ajar. The fourth, however, contained a shirtless man chained to the wall, feet barely touching the ground.

I frowned as I got a good look at him. One eye was completely swollen shut and, if his wheezy breathing was any indication, he had fractured ribs. Dried blood crusted festering wounds along his face, arms and chest. Just barely visible under the aftermath of his new wounds I could see a series of older scars, parallel lines across his chest and the top of one shoulder.

His coffee skin and reddish-brown hair suggested Arkaddian heritage. It was unusual for any of the Plains people to be found in a skycity and I wondered how he had ended up on Sevfahl to begin with. I turned on the Warden, hands clenched to fists.

“Isn’t it enough you’re going to kill these prisoners horribly?” I asked, incredulity filling my voice. “What the hells could this man have done that you’d do this? And then you try to hide him from me?”

“He was supposed to be gone by the time you got here,” the Warden replied sullenly. “What does it matter?”

The man stirred at our words, peering at me through his good eye. He coughed again, wincing in pain.

“I am a thief, milady,” he said.

I blinked, too flabbergasted at first to process that his voice did have an Arkaddian lilt to it, with hints of Argoth’s rolling tones.

“A… thief? This–” I gestured up and down his frame, “this is not what you do to a thief. Truth now: how many did you kill?”

The prisoner shook his head, grimacing in pain. “I killed no one, milady. I merely had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He fell silent, bowing his head back down.

Beside me, the warden snorted. “He assassinated the Lord Governor of Sevfahl,” he spat.

I had heard of the Governor’s assassination, but had assumed the culprit hadn’t lived past the day they were caught.

“Did you truthread him to be sure?”

“No, we didn’t truthread him! We can’t afford to keep a mage for that. Besides, he was caught inside the palace, holding a sack of stolen goods.”

“Which a thief would be carrying.” I scowled, touching the lock with a brief pulse of magic. It clicked open, and I entered the cramped cell. “May I truthread you?”

The prisoner gave me a wary nod, though his breathing quickened when I touched his forehead. I brushed against his mind, sending a bit of calming magic to ease the tumult of his thoughts. Order gradually replaced the chaos, and I was surprised to find a hint of vague familiarity to his thoughts.

Show me that night.

His good eye widened at my mental voice, showing blood-speckled white. After a moment, images began to flicker past. One in particular stuck out. A scarred Arkaddian male dressed in black.

I flick of my hand and the shackles snicked open. I caught the Arkaddian in coils of air, lowering him to the ground.

Behind me, the warden huffed. “Lord Tysin will not be pleased, Lady kyl’Solidor.”

“I don’t give a vykr’s ass for Lord Tysin’s pleasure,” I snapped back. The prisoner gave a weak laugh.  “The thief was telling you the truth. He didn’t kill anyone. There was another Arkaddian, unlikely as that might be.”

I knelt down by the man, where he slumped against the wall. I ran gentle hands over him, magically assessing his injuries. Though he had many wounds, none were too severe. I studied him for a long moment. It only required that a magister come from a death ward. Nowhere did it say they had to have belonged there.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Alei-” He coughed again, looking away from me. When the fit passed, he turned back, attempting a wry grin. “Aleister Balflear, the Sky Fox, at your service, milady.”

“My name is Kalla,” I started.

“kyl’Solidor, right? And you need a magister. I heard. Milady, no offense, but I’m a thief, not a warrior. You’d be getting the short end of that stick.”

“I’m not looking for brute strength. I value cunning and intelligence and a Fox should have more than enough of that. Besides,” I said with a sly grin, “I have yet to meet an Arkaddian who wasn’t a warrior.”

“Very well, milady. If it keeps me from Tysin’s clutches, I accept.”

“You understand what this commitment is? Being a magister means you are bound to me. It’s your job to protect me, and to serve as an extra source of power when I need it. If I die, so will you.”

”Then I guess I’d better make sure that doesn’t happen anytime soon.”  Aleister sank back against the wall, his strength starting to fade.

“Well, first things first. Let’s get you healed. Lie down.”

Once Aleister was settled, I rested my hands gently on his chest. He tensed beneath my fingers, heart hammering as the healing magic washed through him. My brow furrowed, as followed the trail of damage. Bones shifted, tiny fractures knitting together. The cuts sealed over, pushing infection from them as they did. The swelling receded, revealing a chocolate brown eye to match the other. I finished, and sat back to survey my work, taking a moment to rest. Fatigue weighed me down. The pain blossomed, limning my limbs. The pain and fatigue were old friends, and easy to hide. I still had work to do yet. Though blood and infection still clung to Aleister’s skin, the cuts themselves were nothing more than shiny scars along his face, chest and arms.

“Sit up, please.” It was now or never. I had offered him the chance, now it was time to forge the magisterial bond. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Either I left with a magister or I left with the guilt of leaving an innocent man to die. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Woah, now.” Aleister pushed himself to sitting upright. He furrowed his brow. “I don’t want you to choose me if that’s not what you want. With your truthread, they’ll need to release me.”

“It’s not you. I don’t want to choose anyone. I think our system is foolish. If a mage can handle themselves without a magister, we should be allowed to. I’ve done fine so far.”

Not quite true. I had a tendency to push to the edge of my strength, but I also rarely left Cryshal. If I drained myself and lost consciousness, or if I succumbed to the pain and fatigue I was prone to, I was safe among my brethren. “But if I have to, which I do, well you aren’t too shabby a choice. You could do with a bath though.”

He snorted a laugh. “Let’s get this done, then.”

I raised my hands, placing them on his temples. He let out a shivery breath as I ran my fingers through his hair. I focused on his mind, stretching part of my essence down through my fingers. He tensed again, cringing from the intrusion.

Relax. Don’t fight it. That will only cause pain.  

I felt his tension release, bit by bit. I waited until he relaxed fully before forging the link.

Fear and uncertainty flooded my mind, nearly suffocating me. It took a moment to realise I was feeling Aleister. I tightened my mental shields and sent calming feelings through the bond. Aleister managed to rein his emotions in, creating a weak version of my own mental protection. I opened my eyes to find warm brown ones staring back at me. Aleister offered a shaky grin.

“Well, milady, I hope you don’t come to regret your choice,” he murmured. I rose to my feet and offered a hand to pull the thief up.

No, not a thief. A magister. My magister.

“You’re a far more savory choice than most I’ve come across. Now, let’s get out of here and go get you cleaned up.”

“You’ll get no argument from me there, milady.”

I swayed, blinking away the exhaustion. Aleister looked down at me, concern flicking over his face.

“I’m fine. I just need sleep,” I murmured. “Let’s go.”

We followed the Warden back to the elevator, taking it all the way to the first level. Sunlight streamed through large windows, a welcome sight after the dimness of the lower levels. Two more Wardens waited beyond the silvery doors, one the Headwarden himself. Unbidden, a faint frizzle of anxiety skittered down my spine.

“Well, well. You found our prize.” The Headwarden turned to Aleister, “The Governor was so looking forward to seeing you fly today. Tysin will be livid.”

“Let him. You both know I murdered no-one.” Aleister jerked his head towards me. “And now it has been corroborated by a truthread. Which you denied me, by the way.”

The Headwarden gave a slight bow of the head in Aleister’s direction. “And serendipity set you free. Follow Jeltin and get cleaned up. Lady kyl’Solidor, if you’ll follow me please. It seems we have some paperwork to take care of.”

Anxiety shivered through me again, faint but palatable. Aleister looked to me, a question in his eyes. Of course. I should have been better prepared to share my newly bonded magister’s emotions.

“Go ahead,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

Aleister nodded, mouth tightening in a frown. The Headwarden watched as he followed the other guard down a sunny corridor. Then he turned his bright, sea green gaze to me, gesturing down a shorter hallway.

As we sat, filling out the necessary documents to mark Aleister’s transition to magister, a riot of sensations tumbled through the shared link. Unease at the separation. Concern at my fatigue. Impressions of near scalding water ghosted my own skin, along with warm contentment. I grimaced, strengthening my mental shields, cutting the unfamiliar feelings off.