She rose and got some food for them from her pack. Aven, of course, was also awake. She ate briefly, washed her face and neck in the washbasin, and began packing her things. She gave him a few moments with the basin and fire as well, finally unchaining him from the bed. He stretched—as well as he could with the shackles—and then, fairly quickly, they were on their way. Well, her way. But she felt quite sure he didn’t want to stay in that inn any longer than she did. They left the drunk behind on the floor, untied, unconscious, but breathing.

They took to the road as the sky was brightening to an overcast white. They saw no one. Few townspeople seemed to have stirred; it’d be a while before anyone found the drunken lout in their room.

“It just occurred to me,” he said in the quiet morning air, “that there must have been others in the inn. The innkeeper, other guests. They must have heard him, right?” He stopped, letting the silence speak for him.

She nodded. “Yes. They let him come.”

“The question is, do they suspect he succeeded or failed?”

She shrugged. “Maybe they’re not sure. Maybe they don’t care. Maybe they think he succeeded. Best to get out of here, whichever way, and be more careful next time.”

He nodded.

As they rounded a bend and were out of sight of the town, a question finally struck her that she wasn’t afraid to ask him. They’d skirted the subject, but they might as well face it head-on.

“Why weren’t you trained?”

He said nothing for a moment.

“If I’m to teach you anything, I must know at least that.”

He shrugged awkwardly, looking nervous now. Self-conscious or secretive? “Like I said, I’m to be king. Kings need to know battle, economics, military history, diplomacy. Not magic.”

“So, just out of neglect? No one ever bothered? Or were you just too busy to get around to it?”

He glared at her. “No. People don’t know. I certainly wouldn’t have told you about it, but turns out you already knew. No one knows there’s anything to neglect.”

She frowned. “Mages would know. You said your mother was a mage. Surely she knew.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

“And still you learned nothing?”

“She feared for me more, and for the kingdom. She gave up most of the practice of magic when she married my father. It was a hard decision for her, but they were—and still are—very much in love. She has tried to sneak me a few tidbits from time to time, in secret, when we were alone.” He paused, measuring his next words carefully. “I… I’ve heard it is a very bad thing to have magic in Kavanar, though never in much detail. That’s the way Kavanar prefers it, I’m sure. So I don’t know what it’s been like for you, but it’s not popular to have magic in Akaria. It is mostly kept secret. There are no open teachers of magic.”

She paused, frowning. “I would think a king or queen could do whatever they wished.”

“Perhaps we could. We didn’t try to find out. We’re caretakers, not plowmen or slave drivers. Our service is not about me or my needs, but about what the people need. If it had seemed like they needed my magic, well, perhaps we would have tried. That has not seemed to be the case.”

He puffed up his chest a little with pride. He deserved to be proud of such a stance. To have power but know its purpose… that was a rare thing. But there was even more to what he said that she couldn’t quite articulate. Her life was dominated by plowmen, and she was cattle, as her brand attested. He was more different than she could have ever guessed.

“To tell you the truth, they hoped my magic would not emerge or that it would fade away,” he said into her long silence. “But it did not cooperate.”

She could not help but scowl at that. “Fade away? You are an air mage—have you been told at least that much?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what an air mage can do?”

He sighed, then fidgeted. Of course, he was thinking through his answer. Admitting any lack here was weakness that she as his captor could exploit. But how could he not admit it if he wanted teaching from her? And she could see he wanted it very much. Who wouldn’t? This was working out quite well for her, really. She could find out quite a bit of useful information. But in return, she would make him not quite as weak as before. And while that might be a bad idea from some angles, she did not care.

“No,” he said. “Not really. Definitely blowing drunk men into walls. Swishing at leaves and candle flames seem to be my specialty. That’s about the end of my knowledge.”

She nodded, thinking. Now came the part where he was the one that benefited. Should she tell him what they could do? She doubted he could attempt most spells without training; air magic was notoriously hard to learn because magic required seeing things so clearly in your head, and things like light and air were themselves invisible. How does one picture something that’s invisible? But he had developed some magic on his own in spite of this. If any mage could learn these spells on their own, chances were in his favor.

“I won’t tell you everything, at first,” she said, deciding as she spoke. “The first spells are the best place to start. You already know about calling the wind. Air mages are also prized for their ability to ignite fire. Calling fog can be a useful tool for hiding, which may come in handy for us.”

He looked deep in thought. “Oh! Oh. That was the bit about the fire, then. I… see. You knew even then.”

She nodded. “I knew the first moment I saw you.”

He cursed under his breath. “How many others…” he whispered, perhaps to himself.

They rode in silence for a while.

“So what causes this vigilante magic of yours?” she asked sometime later. “If you’re not causing it to happen, is it random, or is there some logic to it?”

“It seems related to intense emotion of any kind—joy, anger, irritation, fear—but once in a while, it seems unrelated to anything.”

Of course! He was like a child. Magic running wild like wolves in the hills. How could she have not seen that sooner? There were few children at Mage Hall, and nearly all of them arrived after their magic had surfaced on its own. She’d seen a woman pregnant three times in all her years there. Children were not something most mages wanted, her father being one notable exception. Why bring another into the service of the Masters? Why create another mage just to do their will? The greatest act of rebellion would be to let themselves die out—then who would the Masters have to order around and exploit? She sighed. So much darkness in her heart that even a child was just a symbol of suffering or rebellion.