The halting, mumbling explanation Saffra received wasn’t easy to follow—bordering on incoherent. Clearly not rehearsed, either aloud or in Isabella’s head. Still, Saffra pieced together the big picture, and it was as bad as she had feared.

Saffra hadn’t even done something to draw Duke Caldimore’s ire. The Duke had simply wanted to punish Isabella, or ‘remove a distraction’ and ‘test her’—the specifics were somewhat unclear, since Isabella wasn’t being particularly articulate—and Saffra had been an available target. Although primarily furious for Isabella, she took a moment to be indignant for herself. Once again, her own actions weren’t even to blame. She had simply been a victim of fate. Caught in a noble house’s twisted drama.

Saffra made sure to, quite vocally, point out that Isabella shouldn’t be feeling guilty about this at all—she was hardly to blame. Saying so just had the girl’s eyes watering again, though, so she didn’t push the point like she might have otherwise. Even if by Isabella’s expression it didn’t seem like she agreed.

Guilt clearly wasn’t exclusively what had put Isabella in this miserable state, though. In her stumbling explanations, she had mentioned how her father had been ‘involving her more in the family business.’ But what did that mean? Was simply being around her father more doing this to her? Where the girl had willingly spilled answers as to why she’d turned on Saffra, she was far more tight-lipped when it came to those questions.

“You don’t understand,” Isabella mumbled. She no longer looked so brittle, or like she was one wrong word from bursting into tears, but where those emotions had left, more exhausted ones had replaced them. She slumped over the bench table, head in her hands, her voice no louder than a whisper. “My father…he isn’t the kind of person everyone thinks he is.”

“I think you’d be surprised what people think of Duke Caldimore,” Saffra said dubiously. But maybe that was her personal experience speaking. Other than through William, most of what Saffra heard about Duke Caldimore tended to be positive. “Just tell me. I can help.”

Isabella let out a hollow laugh. “Be serious, Saffra. There’s nothing anyone can do, much less you. You shouldn’t even be here. If my father knew I was speaking to you…” Her hands clenched into fists. “He made it very clear that if I didn’t take care of it myself, he would.”

Maybe on some other day, Saffra would’ve tensed at that. Having a duke’s ire was a terrifying thing. But Saffra’s indignation and anger carried her forward.

“Whatever he’s doing, and dragging you into, is bad.” Isabella wouldn’t look like she was coming apart at the seams otherwise. “And maybe you’re right, that you or I can’t do anything, but that doesn’t mean no one can.”

Saffra hated asking other people for help. That went double for Lady Vivi, who’d done way too much for her already. More than she could repay in ten lifetimes. So if this had been her own problem, she wouldn’t even have considered it.

But for Isabella? She would. Saffra could hardly stand against a Duke herself, so she had no other choice. Even if it ruined her apprenticeship by continuing to make herself a massive nuisance to the woman, she would go and ask. Beg, if she needed to. It didn’t matter that she hated the idea to her core.

“No,” Isabella mumbled. “I’m serious. No one could. It doesn’t matter who.”

“Not even a Titled mage?”

Isabella hesitated briefly, turning to give her a curious look—but not one with any hope in it. “You met a Titled who would stand against a Duke of the Kingdom for you?”

Surprisingly, there was only a small hint of dubiousness in her voice, when the claim deserved a bucket full.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but yes.” She didn’t understand why, but the proof was there. “And not for me. For anyone who needs help, I think. She’s…not a bad person.”

Isabella considered her with a furrowed brow, then slowly shook her head. “This is my father we’re talking about. The Duke. He has several Titled just in his own guild.” Her tone dropped. “And those aren’t even the ones to worry about,” she mumbled.

Saffra opened her mouth to insist, but Isabella talked over her.

“Even if she’s high-Titled—even if she was as strong as Archmage Aeris himself—she wouldn’t be able to do anything. My father…he’s always been obsessed with the Cataclysms. How couldn’t he be? His father, his brothers, most of his family. They all died in that final siege. Even his children, just to what was left behind.” She bit her lip. “So that’s what he’s been working on. A way to fight back against monsters that should be beyond him. Monsters beyond all of us…helpless mortals.” She repeated the last words in a way that told Saffra she was quoting her father directly. “And he’s succeeded, in some manner of speaking. Even a high-Titled wouldn’t stand a chance. It’s better that I don’t say more. You need to leave, Saffra. Meridian. Maybe the Central Kingdom entirely. Just forget about me.”

Saffra poked the girl hard enough that she pulled sideways. “Don’t say that,” she said angrily. “I’m not leaving you. And I understand that this is serious. That your father is dangerous. It doesn’t matter. She can help. I promise.”

It didn’t matter if the Duke was working on some kind of project that could threaten even a Cataclysm. It certainly didn’t matter that the Duke had connections to other Titled. Saffra had irrevocable proof that her teacher was, at a very minimum, a peer to some of the Cataclysms. Quite likely the daughter of the Dragon King, a creature that everyone feared might become the Eighth Cataclysm—and if so, would stand among the worst of them.

Saffra was nearly certain that Isabella feared her father more than he deserved—because if Cataclysms were so easy to destroy, they wouldn’t have survived for millennia against all of the strongest mortals of history—but even if Isabella was right about how dangerous her father was, then Lady Vivi could still help.

Despite the firmness of Saffra’s voice, not so much as a spark of hope appeared in Isabella’s eyes. But the girl did study her curiously. Saffra supposed she should be flattered that Isabella was considering the ridiculous statement without laughing at her.

“Who are you talking about, Saffra? Who did you meet while you were gone?” She hesitated. “Where have you even been, these past eight months?” The girl crumpled in on herself. “I hope things weren’t too hard for you,” she whispered. “I wanted to try to help somehow, send coin maybe, but it was too dangerous. If my father found out…”

“I’ve been fine. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad,” Saffra lied. “I went north. Got an early start on my adventuring career. I did just fine.”

Isabella stared down at her clenched fists, not seeming comforted. Saffra squeezed her shoulder. She wasn’t a touchy person by nature, but if there was ever a time.

“But yes,” Saffra said. “You need to believe me. She’s…she’s stronger than Archmage Aeris, or the Headmaster, or—” She cut off. “I shouldn’t say more, either. I don’t want to break her trust.” Maybe she already had. “She wants to keep a low profile. But if your father is planning something awful, she can help. And she will. Just because she can.” Saffra was surprised by how much she believed that. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ N0v3l.Fiɾe.net

Isabella looked at her strangely. To be fair, it was a very bizarre thing to claim, that she’d gone and made allies with someone more powerful than the strongest living human archmage.

“You’re making it sound like you went and found the Sorceress herself,” Isabella said.

Saffra’s brain briefly stopped working. She stayed frozen for nearly five full seconds before she jerked and responded, “What? Don’t—don’t be ridiculous.” She rejected the idea with her whole being. Refused to even entertain the words that had come out of Isabella’s mouth. “It doesn’t matter who she is,” she said, shaking her head furiously to clear it. “Only that she’s strong enough to do something, no matter what you think. I promise.”

Isabella turned her gaze back to her clenched fists. She silently stared down at them for a long time.

“Okay,” she said.

Saffra paused. “Really?” She hadn’t expected Isabella to agree so quickly.

Then again, after the breakdown Saffra had just watched, was it really surprising Isabella would seize the first opportunity she could? This had obviously been weighing on her for months.

“It’s better to try something than nothing,” Isabella said, shrugging weakly. “And if you say she can, despite what I’ve told you…” She trailed off. “I trust you.”

Saffra flinched. Trust. Something she hadn’t mustered enough of herself, apparently.

“Okay. I can—I can go get her.” She would have to burn through another valuable scroll to escape the Institute unnoticed. A problem to feel awful about later. “If she wants to help—and she will—and she proves she can, you’ll explain everything? And we’ll figure out what to do?”

Another weak shrug. It wasn’t a promise, but she suspected she wouldn’t get more out of Isabella. Despite claiming to trust Saffra, the girl clearly wasn’t daring to hope.

She didn’t want to leave her alone, but by the way the girl was talking, whatever her father had planned was serious—and probably happening soon.

“Stay here, okay? She can teleport, so it won’t be more than half an hour.” She squeezed Isabella’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”

***

Isabella shouldn’t have agreed. She knew that. She should have insisted that Saffra flee Meridian. Get as far away as possible. They should have pretended that they’d never seen each other. For that matter, it had been one of the only things she’d taken comfort in these past several months. How, despite the fact she’d ruined Saffra’s life, at least she’d left Meridian, and possibly the Central Kingdom entirely. And thus was safe.

Father hadn’t told her exactly what his plans were, but she’d seen and heard a lot, and more importantly, knew the man. More now than ever. She’d seen that dagger of his, the one that cut through even Titled-rank enchantments like they didn’t exist. That armor, reinforced with blasphemous material taken from the Shattered Oracle’s own workshop, and improved upon at costs Isabella didn’t want to imagine.

She knew her father wasn’t trying to bring ruin to the world. But few magical disasters of historic scale were intentional. How could a man as intelligent as him—and he was

intelligent, however much she’d grown to hate him—be so blind to such an obvious fact? This ritual, whatever it was, wasn’t going to end well. Saffra needed to leave. To get to safety. Isabella wanted to warn everybody…but if she could save just Saffra, that was something. A small payback. Inadequate, but something.

“What am I doing?” she groaned into her hands, shoulders slumping forward. “Why did I say yes?”

“That’s a great question,” a familiar voice quipped to her side.

Isabella’s skin went cold.

For a long moment, she refused to believe she’d heard what she had. She tried rejecting reality with her entire being. But that strategy had never worked in the past, and it didn’t now.

“I mean, colluding against your own family?” the voice continued. “What kind of horrible person does that? You really are your father’s daughter.”

She turned slowly around, and found a nightmare waiting for her.

The Red Tithe winked.

Isabella tried not to hyperventilate. How much had he heard? Clearly enough.

He’d seen Saffra.

Oh, gods. She was going to be sick. After everything she’d put that girl through…she’d gone and gotten her killed, too, at the very end.

“Please,” she whispered. She didn’t even know what she was pleading for.

“Stupid plan, too,” the Red Tithe said. “Seriously, you agreed to that? What’s the girl’s master going to do? You really think I can’t cut down one demonic Titled?” He waggled a finger at her. “You might as well slap me in the face. I’ll forgive you just this once, since I’m a good guy.”

Isabella stared at him.

‘Titled’? Saffra had described the woman as a lot more than that—like some kind of hidden immortal. She racked her brain for how the conversation had gone. What had been said, and in what order.

Maybe…the Red Tithe hadn’t heard everything, then? He must have arrived to listen in after Saffra had insisted this mysterious stranger was stronger than Archmage Aeris. He wouldn’t have called her just ‘Titled’, otherwise. She didn’t know exactly what level the assassin was, but she doubted even the Red Tithe would treat the prospect of fighting someone on equal footing with Archmage Aeris so casually.

And it seemed like he knew the woman already? Because he’d said ‘demonic’, and Saffra hadn’t mentioned the woman’s race. Had he been watching Saffra already, for some terrifying reason? Did that mean her father knew she was in Meridian?

What was going on? She was so confused.

And…demonic? This mystery woman was a demon? Isabella’s thoughts flickered, of course, back to the Sorceress. But Saffra had rejected that idea…if rather strangely?

She cut all of those thoughts off, merely because she wanted to look distraught. She didn’t give anything away. It might not matter, hiding what little she could, but better to do so than not, surely.

“Not even a thank you? So ungrateful,” the Red Tithe tutted. “Though, maybe I’m the one who should be saying thanks. I wanted to kill that Keresi woman the moment I saw her. There was a…special spark, I guess you could say.” A disgusting grin stretched his lips. “Your father seemed on the fence about it, but he’ll definitely let me now. They’re loose ends that need tying up, officially. Let’s go ask daddy dearest.” He held a hand out to Isabella. “Sometimes things just work out, don’t they? This really is my lucky day.”