The warrior in her. And she was a fine warrior, there was no doubting it. Perhaps that was why he liked her so much.

Well, well. Her fighting skills were not exactly what he’d estimated. He doubted he would have ever attacked her, but if he had… a creature like this, he had not been prepared for. And now he saw she could partially transform into many different animals. Could his mother do this as well? And he could barely manage a single gust of wind.

And yet, it had done the trick. The man lay unconscious on the floor.

Glancing back at her, her face had become her own again and the talons had receded, but the fur and paw remained. She was staring at him, panting, seemingly shocked. Her eyes held much emotion that he couldn’t quite decode.

“Did I… ?” he asked her, hope hanging on what she said next in spite of himself.

She nodded, seemingly speechless. The fur was half gone now.

“I wasn’t lying to you today, I swear,” he said, realizing she might think his earlier claims were a lie. “That’s only the second time I’ve done that in my life. I swear to you!” He probably shouldn’t admit his weakness to her; she could just exploit it. But wasn’t he thoroughly under her control already? What difference did it make? It was freeing to be able to admit his lack and even talk about magic openly in the first place. “I just couldn’t bear it, since it was my fault he showed up here in the first place—”

“You saved me,” she said, a little incredulous.

“Yes.” Of course he had saved her. How could he not?

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“Yes, I did,” he replied flatly. “The Code, remember?” But it was obvious that was not the reason. Clearly, he needed to work on his skill at deception.

She came around to his front and sank down on one knee, placing her hand over his. All animal traces had faded now.

“Thank you, Aven,” she said. “I believe you.” Then she rose and strode to the opposite wall, kneeling down where the bat had fallen.

Aven found he was breathing strangely hard, and his hand felt cold where her fingers had left his. As far as he could remember, it was the first time she’d ever said his name. His mind seized on it, savored the sound of her voice, tucked it away for later.

Oh, damn, he was a fool. Of all the stupid, moronic things he could do. His heart was pounding, blood racing as an idea both horrible and wonderful slowly dawned on him. He glanced over his shoulder and felt the thrill in his veins at the sight of her.

Oh, no. Oh, by the gods. What an idiot he was.

Of all the women he could fall for, he had picked the one that was probably going to kill him.

A high-pitched squeak broke through his thoughts—and he ducked instinctively as the bat lurched into the air and out of the slightly open window. Mara rose and stepped back to the drunk.

“The bat—did you bring it back to life?”

“I only healed him. He was unconscious, not dead. He did us a great service.”

Aven nodded as she bound and gagged the drunk. Then she took the heavy blanket from her bed and threw it over the shallowly breathing body.

She stood, put her hands on her hips, and regarded her efforts. “Think that’ll hold him?” she asked, looking at Aven over her shoulder.

He grinned in reply, beaming like a stupid schoolboy.

She strode to the window and looked out. “That’ll muffle him for a time when he wakes up, but I think you knocked him out pretty good. It’s still dark. Hopefully, with the alcohol, he’ll be out for a while. Let’s try to get a bit more rest, but we gotta get out of here first thing in the morning. Might as well get our money’s worth.”

They both lay back down, but neither fell asleep. Images kept flashing through his mind—of the drunk attacking her, of her strange animal form, of her hand over his.

“Oh, also—are you still awake?” she said suddenly.

“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes. He turned his face toward her. They were side by side, face to face, almost as if lying together.

But she was all business. “In the morning, I’ll teach you,” she said. “At least a little. We can’t have that happening again.”

She wasn’t a particularly good liar, either, it seemed. That was obviously not her real reason. Did that mean this was the first time he’d heard her lie? She was trying to pass it off as a practicality, but her tone revealed it was also a reward—for saving her, for even trying to save her. Or at least, he thought he could hear that in her voice.

He rolled away from her, smiling, and closed his eyes.

6

The Pursuit of Magic

Of course, Miara didn’t sleep any more after all that. But she needed the time to just breathe, meditate, recover from the chaos. She needed to recharge her powers to face the day. She listened to the fire crackle, Aven’s breathing. The drunk in the corner didn’t make a sound, and she refused to worry over him. He shouldn’t have mocked the Balance. That was the Way; it was fitting that he should end up tied up on the floor. Where were the Devoteds and priests now to convince her that it was right for this man to attack them? If one believed that magic was inherently against the Way, then yes, perhaps it followed that any act to control or end magic would not unbalance the world.

But how could Miara—or anyone—believe that? As if killing could sometimes be right. As if the end justified the means. Magic was more like the wind, the ocean, the seasons, her breath—it was just a part of the world. Her brand burned lightly at the idea. But no one ever declared that the wind or the sun or the mountains were evil. And since the king had enslaved the mages and handed them over to the Masters, had the world gotten any better? No. If anything, it had gotten worse. She shook her head, thinking of Brother Sefim again. He was the only priest who spoke any sense. What she wouldn’t give to talk with him again right now. Sefim had always been the one to reassure her, to insist that she wouldn’t be forever in debt to the Balance for these wrongs on behalf of the Masters. She wasn’t entirely convinced, but she would have welcomed the sound of his voice now. He was the only priest she could respect, though, as the rest were nothing but fountains of hatred and self-loathing.

Finally the brand burned a little too much, and she let the thoughts slip away. She glanced at the window. The light of dawn was turning the sky to a deep indigo. They might as well get started; she was rested enough.