“What? Why?”
“Because good people can turn desperate when the horrors are upon them—especially people whose culture of plenty has left them with no systems to cope with scarcity or cataclysm. Good people will turn monstrous when it’s down to their survival or someone else’s.”
“This isn’t about survival for the Tiranish.”
“Isn’t it?” Thomil asked. “It’s spiritual survival, if nothing else, yes? The survival of their faith. Do you think they will give that up any more easily than a starving man would give up food?”
Sciona paused.
Carra had gone very still, eyes moving between Thomil and Sciona, looking a little too interested in who would back down first.
“It’s a bet then,” Sciona said finally.
“You lost the last one,” Thomil pointed out. “How can you be so sure that you’re right this time?”
“Because I have to be.” Sciona had to believe that there was good in Tiran. If not with the highmages and the Founding Mages, then somewhere. This great city, the pinnacle of human achievement, could not be rotten to its core. Even without God in the equation, there had to be some correlation between essential goodness and the innovation to which she had devoted her life.
“All I can say is… if you’re going to do this, I don’t co-sign it,” Thomil said finally. “Don’t do it for me—or for Tiran, or for the Kwen. Be selfish. Be arrogant. Do it for yourself.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt. I don’t want to be the reason you die.”
“This again?” Sciona said, unable to muster any exasperation. She was too touched. “Thomil, I’m not going to die!”
“You belong to an order of mass murderers,” he said, “and you’re about to point to them in front of their followers. It’s not a question this time. They will kill you.”
Sciona drew in a slow breath. She didn’t say ‘it will be worth it’ because that would mean conceding that Thomil could be right. Instead, she said, “This must be done.”
“So, you’re content to let the High Magistry kill you as a traitor? Like Sabernyn?”
“No,” Sciona said. “That’s actually the second reason I came to see you.” Because despite all the optimism she had tried to sell Thomil, some deep part of her had gone cynical the moment Archmage Bringham said progress comes first. That part of her had asked for Dermek’s keys. “I have a failsafe, in case I’m wrong.”
“A failsafe?” Thomil repeated.
“Yes, but assuming the worst, I won’t be able to execute it by myself. I’ll need your help.”
“What would you need our help for?” Carra clearly tried for an indignant tone but couldn’t quite mask a flash of curiosity.
“Thomil’s help,” Sciona clarified firmly, “but don’t worry, Carra. You’ll love the plan.”
“I will?”
“It’s really violent.”
“The sun set on five and rose on four.
Four friends fast, one betrayed.
Faith keep the dark at bay, at bay.
The sun set on four and rose on three.
Three wives home, one astray.
Faith keep the dark at bay, at bay.
The sun set on three and rose on two.
Two minds whole, one afray.
Faith keep the dark at bay, at bay.
The sun set on two and rose on one.
One body sound, one decayed.
Faith keep the dark at bay, at bay.”
— The Counting Song
SCIONA’S HEART BEAT in her temples as she mounted the steps to the Main Magistry.
“You wanna stop breathing so weird?” Carra hissed at her shoulder.
“Am I breathing weirdly?”
“Yeah. You sound like you’re about to pass out.”
“I might be.”
“And keep your head down,” Carra said. “I know your hair’s covered, but your eyes are a dead giveaway.”
“Right.” Sciona was used to holding her head high when she walked into the Magistry. She was also used to it feeling like home, not the mouth of a monster that might snap shut on her with one misplaced foot—or gaze, she reminded herself, training her eyes on her boots. Well, not actually her boots. They were Thomil’s, three sizes too big for Sciona, laced as tight as they could be around the ankles and stuffed with paper at the toes. Fortunately, an ill-fitting uniform wasn’t at all unusual for a Kwen boy working a man’s job. Carra had shown Sciona how to pin her hair under the cap, and the janitor’s garb was baggy enough to hide anything particularly feminine about Sciona’s shape.
Under the eyes of the Founding Mages, a pair of Kwen cleaning boys shuffled through the Magistry doors in Thomil’s clothing and made their way to the interior halls totally unnoticed. They had to make five trips—Sciona carrying one bucket and the stronger Caldonn girl carrying two—to transport all the copies of Sciona’s spellwork into the first-floor janitor’s closet. Then, with the spellpapers loaded onto a cart and carefully concealed under various cleaning supplies, the pair made their way to their destination. Carra had insisted that she could push the cart herself, but even she struggled with its weight.
“Just a little further, I think,” Sciona said.
“You think?” Carra grunted.
“I’ve never been in this wing,” Sciona said, gripping the bar beside Carra to help her push, “but I’ve read plenty about the towers, and archmages have a certain way they like to arrange their buildings.” Arms straining, the pair pushed the cart into the maintenance lift, and Sciona hit the topmost button. “They just can’t help putting their treasures on the highest floor of the tallest tower, even when more subtle placement might help with functionality.”
“Why?” Carra asked.
“Symbolism?” Sciona shrugged her burning shoulders. “I think it makes them feel like Leon on the Mount, conquering the natural world to touch divinity.”
“Oh.” Carra frowned. “When you said ‘symbolism,’ I thought you were going to say it was a penis thing.”
Sciona let out a snort of laughter and clapped a hand over her mouth as the lift creaked to a halt. “I suppose you’re right. It is a bit of a penis thing.”
“You Tiranish have problems,” Carra muttered, then braced a heel against the back wall of the lift to push the heavy cart forward as the doors opened.
Sciona was astonished that Thomil had let Carra come with her, but he couldn’t re-enter the Magistry with the guards keeping an eye out for him, and this plan was a two-person job. Luckily—or perhaps, on purpose—Mr. Dermek had yet to deactivate the janitor’s badge that granted Thomil access to all floors of the Magistry. It was ridiculous, upon reflection, that the only person with as much clearance as an archmage was a janitor. But Sciona supposed, if one didn’t consider the cleaning staff to be fully human, it didn’t seem like much of a safety hazard.
Sciona had consulted the master schedule in Dermek’s office to make sure she and Carra arrived within the window of time that the normal cleaning staff would have, so their presence raised no suspicion. The two highmages conversing on their way out the gates for the day didn’t pay Sciona and Carra a moment’s notice as they pushed their cart in the opposite direction.