Chapter 1
Chapter One
Alwyn
He’d been dreaming of the waterfall again.
Before his failed mission to infiltrate the rebel orc camp, Alwyn could swear that he had never seen the house before, even in dreams. But during his long sleep, when the orcs had captured him and kept him sedated so he couldn’t use his magic, he had dreamt of many things.
By far the most frequent included scenes of a little cottage along a riverbank, near enough to a waterfall that its distant roar was a constant backdrop.
He remembered little else from those countless dreams had in captivity, but he still dreamt of the waterfall house nearly every night in the weeks since then.
It had troubled him at first that something borne of his sedation was still following him. Now, though, it didn’t so much bother him as make him wonder if the house really was just a dream, or perhaps a distant memory from his earliest childhood.
In the dream, he would sometimes sit outside the cottage along the riverbank, watching an older man stand in the shallows and fish.
Other times, he would be in the house, following a fair-haired woman through each room and reaching for the food and treats she offered him.
He could never quite recall their faces, though they always seemed familiar.
Less common were the dreams where he ran away from the house, dashing along the river until the waterfall came into view, vast and deafening. He would always wake up when he reached it, his heart pounding as if he really had been running for his life.
This morning, though, it had been a more pleasant dream.
In it, he had been sitting at a table, one his head barely cleared.
Outside the kitchen window, he watched a deer on the opposite riverbank slowly approach for a drink of water.
It startled at some sound, then dashed out of sight, and just like that he awoke.
Alwyn sat up and rubbed his eyes, the bright details of the dream already fading. The details in the dream felt so vivid that he was sure they were memories; but when he woke, they felt nearly as indistinct as any other dream, which made him feel less sure.
Maybe it really was something he’d just come up with in the depths of that unnatural sedation: some conceived notion of a childhood to keep him anchored to reality, when everything else in his mind was slipping away.
Alwyn sighed as he rose to his feet. He didn’t like remembering that part of it—or any part of his failed mission, really—and thinking of it first thing in the morning was an abysmal way to start his day.
Just another in a long string of dismal days, he supposed. It had been two weeks now since he’d returned to Castle Aefraya to report his failure to Tessarion, the Mage Princeps.
Tessarion had listened to his report in silence, then dismissed him without comment.
Alwyn had heard nothing from him since; it was the longest he’d ever gone without communication from his mentor while not away in the field.
That, too, left him unsettled. Being cut off from the Mage Princeps was to be cut off from the Order of Twilight, and the Order was all he had ever known.
Tessarion was all he had ever known. The older elf had mentored him from the time he first entered the library as a student of just seven years old, the closest thing to a father he had.
But Tessarion was his mentor, not his father. Alwyn was his star pupil, the example by which other members of the Order were judged, making failure humiliating on multiple levels. He’d disappointed the man he held in the highest esteem, and his peers all knew it.
Alwyn stifled a groan as he readied himself for the day, unable to push away the intrusive thoughts.
Ruminating on the situation was entirely unhelpful, but he didn’t have much else to keep him occupied.
He was, technically, a researcher for the Royal Library; but all his work was managed and assigned by Tessarion, so he didn’t even have the facade of study to fall back on.
His work for the Order was all he had, so for now, he had nothing.
Despite the silence, he knew he wasn’t dismissed—he couldn’t think of a single living member who was not still an agent under the Mage Princeps.
So he’d tried to keep busy by training to improve the skills that had failed him in the field; but he had to admit that only forestalled the cycle of rumination and self-pity.
He’d found himself turning to his hidden stash of adventure novels more often than usual of late.
The novels had been a guilty pleasure for as long as he could remember.
It wasn’t befitting for a member of their esteemed Order to read such drivel—he could clearly hear Tessarion’s voice telling him as much—but sometimes it was nice to get away from all the stoic studiousness that dominated his life in the capital.
He was particularly fond of a series detailing the adventures of Blythe Everwood, a human investigator who traveled all throughout Autreth, solving mysteries and bringing criminals to justice.
In some ways, it felt like a less messy version of his own work.
Alwyn had the newest installment of that series tucked underneath a stack of larger tomes from the library, but he had been holding off on reading it.
He had intended to reward himself for tracking down his list of known orc seditionists on his last mission; but his return in disgrace two weeks ago had spoiled that as well.
When Tessarion showed no sign of allowing Alwyn to redeem himself anytime soon, he tried to cheer himself up by rereading some of his favorites, with varying degrees of success.
Now, he decided, he would pick up the new book when he’d returned from breakfast.
Once he was dressed, Alwyn shuffled out of his room and found that the halls of the dormitory were quiet.
Here on the top floor, everyone was also a sorcerer of the Order and was accustomed to moving silently.
As he descended the stairs, though, more mages walked through the halls on their way down to the dining hall for breakfast. He recognized many faces, elves who had been residents of the library for as long as he had, or even longer.
Maybe they recognized him, too, but he could call none of them his friends.
Alwyn hadn’t had much appetite of late, nerves twisting his stomach into knots.
Despite the spread of offerings in the breakfast hall, he only took a bowl of light broth, a warm roll of bread with a golden crust, a small pat of butter to dollop on top, and a steaming cup of tea.
He found a corner spot on a long table that was free and kept his eyes downcast on his tray.
Mages of the library were held to a high standard, so even with the dining hall as crowded as it was, the noise stayed at a low hum of quiet conversations and the occasional clatter or scrape of utensils. It was all easy enough to ignore.
He’d finished his bread and broth, and was sipping at the last of his tea, when someone sat down at the empty spot across from him. His eyes flicked up, irritation blooming, but it died quickly as he recognized the High Sorcerer now sitting primly on the other side of the table.
Fionia was about his age, having entered the Order as a child, the same as him.
Her black hair was short, cropped in a clean line right at the curve of her jaw, and her dark brown eyes regarded him coolly for a moment.
As he acknowledged her presence, Fionia’s face betrayed no emotion.
Alwyn could only hope his own expression was the same.
“When you are done, Alwyn,” she said, as idly as if they were discussing the weather, “Master Tessarion has requested you to visit his office.”
Alwyn’s heart skipped a beat. Finally, the silent treatment was over. Whether what happened next was a relief, or an actual punishment, at least this uncertain limbo would end.
“Thank you,” he said simply, nodding once. Fionia’s eyes lingered on him for just a moment longer, then she stood and walked away, vanishing into the crowd.
He wondered what Fionia knew of his failed mission, and how harshly she might be judging him.
After all, if their roles had been reversed, he knew he would have looked down on her, scoffing that surely he would have succeeded where she had failed.
They were of an age and had trained for the same amount of time; but he had Tessarion’s favor.
Maybe that only added to the derision that had so briefly flickered in her eyes during their terse exchange.
He hated how much that brief flicker bothered him.
A new, sharp twist in his guts told him that his nerves were back on edge, so he gave up on finishing his tea. Better to get this over with now, he thought.
“Enter.”
The intonation came before Alwyn could even knock on the ornate wooden door. He flinched—he knew Tessarion could sense the approach of anyone to his private office, but usually he at least let visitors knock first.
Still, there was nothing to do but get through the whole ordeal.
Alwyn pushed open the heavy door, its weight familiar against his frame, then stepped inside.
The faint buzz of magic washed over him as he passed through the doorframe, and that too was familiar: the Mage Princeps would naturally have countless wards and protections in their office.
A sanctum within a sanctum, Tessarion’s office within Castle Aefraya’s library would allow no whisper of a threat to go unnoticed.
Alwyn knew that at least some of those protections were meant to detect hidden weapons and banish magical disguises, but even now there were others he had never quite been able to parse out.