Chapter 702 (Patreon)

Enjoy!


ToC


* * *


Atar stared through the slats of a window, holding his cloak tight around his body as snow swirled just beyond a pane of glass. Isla was behind him, seated on the room's only bed, scratching notes into a book. The sound of her quill was dry and incessant, a scratch-squeaking that made his teeth ache. He had heard for the last glass, and all he had to distract himself with were the thinning crowds on the street below as evening descended.

Atar sighed and leaned back. If only they had found something before this, they wouldn't be reduced to waiting in this tiny room. Atar had spent hours watching the building where the thief had fled, but no one had ever come out. It reached a point where he'd been frustrated enough to approach and enter—quietly of course. Inside, it had been spotless; the stolen metal was gone without a trace, as well as whoever had been within. The floors had squeaked beneath his leather boots.

Isla had returned with a similar disappointment. The large thief she had followed had evaded her senses, vanishing completely despite Atar’s enchanted amulets. Isla claimed them to be faulty, and Atar had protested vehemently. But of course, the Chanter could never be wrong. Regardless, the thief had disappeared somewhere in the Foot, which was highly suggestive. The only people who lived in the Foot were the elite of the city, and all of them were handpicked by either Felix or the Chancellor.

So now, in their tiny room above the tiny shop, they sat waiting near the main thoroughfare that intersected the Scale and Foot districts and even led all the way up to the Eye. While the Foot was less crowded, the Scale district was packed to the brim, so the road was extremely busy even as the sky darkened. Atar rolled his eyes as he saw yet another person walk by carrying a hand-stitched banner featuring a burning blue eye. They held it aloft as if it were holy and were trailed by at least twenty others. Atar knew where they were headed: to the Eye to pay their respects to the Spirit Tree…and the Fiend.

Atar wanted to sneer at them…but he had once given his allegiance to a sapient bonfire. At least Felix wasn't burning sacrifices and offering Blessings. Yet. Atar snorted, amused by that concept. Felix the Urge. Ridiculous.

Still, his humor couldn’t survive long, not in the cramped confines of their chill room while that scratching quill played upon Atar's last nerve. A fire blazed in the hearth, but it barely blunted the bitter cold. Atar had grown up underneath the desert sun—cold was still a terrible thing to him. Mostly, though, he was annoyed at having to waste his time in waiting for their thief to show up again. Atar had work to be done, sigaldry to complete, and his own training to progress.

"How long do you expect us to wait, Isla?” he asked finally. “It’s been three days, and we've had zero sign of our thief."

"I expect to wait until we've found a lead." Isla massaged her neck and looked up. Clearly, she was uncomfortable too. That gave Atar a bit of cheer. "I admit we've been unable to spot our sneak thief despite his obvious build, but that is no longer my concern. The thief stashed the stolen metal somewhere warded. Few in this city could ward their signature from me, and I know all of them."

"We’re not looking for the thief?” Atar asked, and heat built up behind his eyes. His skin felt tight. “Then what are we doing here? Why don't we go talk to your suspects?"

"We are waiting here because I've already sent them a missive explaining that their involvement with these criminals is known…threatening to report them to the Chancellor."

"What?" Atar sat up, a thrill of fear tearing down his restless legs. "When?"

"This morning."

"And they haven't made a move yet? How do you know you've got the right one?"

"I sent it to all of them."

Atar licked his lips nervously. "So you're throwing rocks into the monster Nest?"

"An apt metaphor. Yes, I expected a bit of a kerfuffle."

"Kerfuffle?”

“Indeed, are you sure you're combat ready, mage? Is your core stable?"

Atar pursed his lips, thinking back on his unfortunate experience. "It is."

"Are you certain? I could inspect it, if you would like."

"No," Atar said, and not for the first time. Isla had been too curious when Atar had fallen to the ground in extreme pain, and had said it was Felix's doing. Since then, she had tried to get a glimpse into Atar's core space at least five times. "Zara inspected me for any issues. I am as healthy as ever."

Isla raised a single eyebrow, "Even after this morning?"

Atar pursed his lips. Earlier, a few hours past dawn, a terrible feeling had poured into his core space. It was wild and gentle all at once, and it left Atar feeling restless and so lightheaded that he'd fallen over. Compared to what happened before, however, it was a shadow of a pale reflection of pain.

"That was simply an upset stomach," he lied. "My breakfast did not agree with me."

"I cooked our meal."

"Hm? I suppose you did."

Isla narrowed her eyes at him, and irritation slipped through the cracks in her Spirit. "Then answer me this: what is Felix doing? Zara refuses to tell me, and the Chancellor won't talk to me at all."

"I know as much as you, Isla. Felix left to save the Gnome Unbound. All reports indicate that he has, and is returning home." What Atar refused to detail were all of the problems that Felix had faced. Those weren't his to share, after all. If Karys or Zara didn't trust Isla enough to tell her, then Atar wouldn’t either.

so many secrets, atar. how can you keep them all straight?

Quiet.

no trust for the Chanter. no trust for me. The bird within his breast crackled, like logs splitting into ash. where shall you turn when the skies turn black?

What? Atar asked. What did you just say?

Flame went silent, his wings of flame tucking tight within his cage.

Answer me, Flame!

“What are you doing?” Isla asked, peering at him from atop the bed. “Where do you go when you stare into the Void, Atar?”

“Breakfast strikes again.”

Isla huffed and returned to her book, quill scratching furiously.

The skies turning black…the Highest Flame had said something similar before her end. Atar turned away and frowned into the hearth. ‘The sky must not tarnish,’ she’d said.

Atar recalled all the words the Urge had screamed at him during its final moments. How could he not? It was perhaps the most influential moment of his entire life—when he died and was reborn.

Keep your secrets, Flame, Atar sent. I will add this to the list of reasons why I will never trust you.

In the end, the light of the Highest Flame had gone out, which had been its greatest fear. The Urge had thought she was protecting people by lighting up the sky, even if that meant sacrificing those she was claiming to save.

Atar had no guilt over what he'd done. The Urge had needed to die. Yet, as Felix often said, all choices had consequences. The mage rubbed at his chest. His were particularly obvious.

"If you won't tell me what they're doing, explain that," Isla said, tearing herself away from her book and gesturing to the breastplate Atar wore. "You're a mage. Why wear armor?"

"Keeps me safe," Atar said, tugging his battle robes closed.

"And the sigaldry?”

“Enchanted to make it lighter." That much was true. He'd had to fight for enough space to add the inscription, but Atar had needed it. High steel was entirely too heavy for his thin frame. "My Strength is limited."

It was clear that Isla didn't believe him, but Atar was happy that she didn't press further. Honestly, he was simply tired of talking. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to continue to look out this window and hope something happens."

Atar wrapped himself up in his cloak again, trying to coax a bit more warmth into his tired limbs as he sat before the window. If it isn’t Isla, it’s Flame. Together I’m quite positive they’ll drive me mad. He clenched his jaw. Alister, what I wouldn’t give to have you back here.

Night Eye is level 70!

In the rushing flurries, two cloaked figures pressed through the crowd, heading out of the Foot against the flow of traffic. Atar couldn’t make out their faces, but one of them clutched a pale paper crumpled in their fist.

“Isla. Is that your letter?”

The Chanter was suddenly there, standing just over Atar’s shoulder as she peered out the window. “It is. Hurry. We must follow them."

Atar groaned and stood back up. "Ugh. Fine."