“I was thinking that I might come to court with you,” I say idly to Lyn. Live a life amongst her people, tell stories that seem one way for me, but which my listeners will forever hear in some other way denied me. Be the court magician of Lannesite. And grow old, I do not say. And, at last, give up my absurdly attenuated existence, I also omit. But first, I will have lived.
In Lyn’s eyes I see a spark. Not for me, Nyr Illim Tevitch, but for a world where there are sorcerers and monsters and wonders, and where courage and resolve can solve problems that intrigue and bookkeeping cannot. The last age of magic, perhaps.
Or perhaps not. The tower will still stand. Its systems will last for half a millennium, a hundred Storm-seasons and more. And if I am to be a wizard, maybe I should take on an apprentice.
Lyn grins at me, and I lift the cognitive shielding, and for a moment I am happy.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my agent, Simon Kavanagh; my editor, Lee Harris; everyone else involved at Tordotcom; and Liz Myles for acting as an advance reader.