The two mages appeared a few dozen feet from Saffra, at the center of the thoroughfare. She herself stood elevated on a pile of rubble that had once been some guildhall or another. Her eyes went wider and wider as she tried to make sense of the development. Because surely she wasn’t seeing what she thought she was. The past three days, she’d fallen into such a pit of resignation that her brain refused the evidence of her own eyes.

Surely they weren’t back? Both of them?

Isabella Caldimore looked, strangely and impossibly, better than Saffra had last seen her. Dressed in a slightly ruffled Institute uniform, and her hair not brushed to her usual grooming standards, she was hardly in the always-pristine state that Saffra remembered from their days spent as classmates. But the girl didn’t look like hunted prey anymore. The weight hunching her shoulders had, if only halfway, lifted.

Lady Vivi was the one who didn’t look well. And that sight was something to strike Saffra like a bolt of lightning. She’d never seen Lady Vivi so much as the slightest bit strained, not even when she’d been smiting Cataclysm-rank monsters back to back. If anything, Lady Vivi had seemed rejuvenated by stretching her magical muscles, then.

So what could make her appear visibly exhausted, almost sickly?

Lady Vivi was hardly swaying on her feet or green in the face, but thanks to her stoic demeanor, the small signs that were present—a slight grimace, pinched features—were five times as concerning for anyone who knew her. She was much worse off than she seemed.

Saffra was pretty sure she could have stood there, frozen, and not found words for a year straight, if not for the shocking condition of her mentor. Lady Vivi’s obviously fatigued sickliness jolted her out of her surprise, and she rushed over, nearly tripping over a structural beam jutting from the rubble.

“Lady Vivi! Are you hurt?”

Despite Lady Vivi’s apparent indisposition, the barest hint of amusement twitched onto her lips, as if Saffra’s worry was silly and unwarranted. “No. I’m fine.” A slight wince. “Not the best I’ve ever been, but it’s nothing serious. I have only myself to blame.”

Jasper, who’d been working some distance away, had noticed the commotion—as many others had, though an illusion covered Lady Vivi’s distinct tattoos—and jogged over. He whistled when he saw her.

“Wow, pipsqueak. You’re looking worse for wear. Never thought I’d see it.”

Two reactions surged through Saffra at his words, somewhat disconnected from each other. First, shock that, despite this man now knowing who Lady Vivi was, he maintained his utter disregard for appropriate respect; and second, bristling outrage at the implied insult. She glared daggers at the man.

Jasper raised his hands and laughed. “Just saying. I know the feeling. Getting back from a mission that turned out hairier than expected. Glad to see that you’re still mortal, your Eminence.”

Lady Vivi’s features were difficult to read, as usual. She weighed Jasper for a moment, deliberating over her response, before saying, “That’s not entirely what happened—but yes. I’ll admit that I’m certainly…looking forward to some rest.” A hand drifted up as if to touch her temple, then dropped. She turned to Saffra. “I told you I would bring her back.” There was a hint of pride in her exhausted tone as she nodded at Isabella, who, for her part, seemed roughly on the same page as Saffra half a minute prior, not knowing how to act, hands fidgeting in front of her as she watched the interaction.

The words hit Saffra harder than they should’ve. Or maybe exactly as hard as they should have. Saffra had already cried twice in front of Lady Vivi, and she refused to make that three times. No matter the surge of emotions that slammed into her, she firmly kept control of herself.

“But you’re hurt,” Saffra accused. “You said it would be easy.”

Instead of being annoyed at the inane words that had come out of Saffra’s mouth, Lady Vivi’s lips twitched in amusement. A hand dropped onto Saffra’s head and ruffled her hair—an action that normally would’ve been met with her jerking away and glaring at the perpetrator, but she allowed it, this time.

“It was easy,” Lady Vivi said. “I made it harder for myself than it needed to be. I’m perfectly fine, though; I promise. There’s no need to worry.”

The hand withdrew.

“But I do need to lie down,” her mentor admitted, touching her temple again with a wince. She took a breath. “One more spell. I’m taking us to the manor.”

***

Only after Lady Vivi collapsed into bed at her estate, with Jasper and the others either conferring amongst themselves or rushing off for one reason or another—Mae had hurried to the guildhall to make potions that would ease Lady Vivi’s manaburn symptoms—was Saffra confronted with the reality of Isabella Caldimore. Outside in the hall, with the initial frenzy of the situation over, that dilemma from earlier resurfaced.

She didn’t know what to say.

Well, maybe she did.

“You’re not hurt either, right?” Saffra asked. “You’re sure?”

There was a brief moment of surprise in Isabella’s blue eyes before the girl lifted her chin. She really was more herself than when Saffra last saw her; Isabella had come back better somehow. “As I’ve already said, I’m perfectly fine.” A hesitation, before she folded her hands in front of herself. “Obviously, I have your mentor to thank for that. I truly don’t know where to begin when it comes to showing my gratitude.”

Saffra couldn’t decide if she was happy that the false confidence—that she was only now realizing was false—had returned. It pleased her for obvious reasons, but also, Isabella adopting her usual attitude meant…well, they hadn’t exactly gotten along swimmingly, had they? There had always been something about Isabella’s behavior, how the girl chose her words and presented herself, that had agitated Saffra. For all that she had never outright considered them enemies, they had spent most of their time bickering or competing in various ways. They certainly hadn’t had a standard friendship. Saffra wouldn’t even have called it a friendship, not until after the dust had settled. Because only a friend’s betrayal could have devastated her that much.

Where a year ago she might have sniped at the girl, she instead insisted, “You’re really okay? Promise?”

The question jarred Isabella, for some reason. The composure she’d cobbled together sagged slightly. She looked away, shoulders pulling forward, and mumbled, “Yes. Mostly, in any case. But…is this even…?”

“Even what?”

“Real.”

Saffra frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just, with everything that’s happened…” She trailed off, then breathed in. “We’re standing in Vivisari Vexaria’s personal estate, Saffra. The White Glove Academy. I just got back from some void half-world. I saw—” She cut off. “You wouldn’t believe what I saw, or heard, there. I barely believe it.”

Saffra perfectly understood, to such a sympathetic extent that she couldn’t help but laugh. “Believe me. I do know what you mean. That’s been my entire life since I met her.”

Though maybe her introduction to Lady Vivi hadn’t been quite as extreme as questing past the dimensional horizon. She really wanted to know what had happened there, but now was hardly the time to grill Isabella.

A short silence passed.

“It is, then?” Isabella asked. “Real? It feels real.”

“As ridiculous as it seems, yes.”

“Then, my father.”

Saffra stiffened. Somehow, she had forgotten about Duke Caldimore—or at least how Isabella might feel about him. “He’s being watched,” she said carefully.

“He’s alive?” Isabella asked, alarmed.

Saffra blinked. “For…now?”

Isabella stared at Saffra, not distraught, but certainly not pleased by the announcement.

“I don’t think he’s going to escape execution?” Saffra very slowly offered.

That brought relief to the girl’s face. “I see. As long as he’ll be…appropriately dealt with.”

Well. Saffra was pleased to see that Isabella hadn’t retained any undeserved attachment to that monster. Family was family, but there were lines that could be crossed, invalidating any expectation of filial faithfulness—and Duke Caldimore had obviously crossed them, even from what little Saffra knew of their relationship. And that was just their relationship; never mind how the man had nearly gotten half the world killed through his greed and ambition. Only providence had saved them, placing the Sorceress in his path.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone in the garden,” Saffra blurted out. “I should have—I don’t know. Brought you with.” There were a lot of things she could have done differently that night.

Isabella gave her a strange look. “There was no reason to think I was in immediate danger, Saffra. And you needed to ask Lady Vivisari, first, not just assume your master would help. Why would you have brought me with?”

“Still.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t even deserve to be helped in the first place, after what I did to you. How are you blaming yourself?” She sighed. “Honestly, you’re hopeless.”

Saffra fidgeted in place. Logically speaking, there was no reason she should have dragged Isabella to Vivi. Even in hindsight. But it would have prevented so many problems that the irrational part of her couldn’t help but lay the blame at her own feet anyway.

Isabella maybe sensed that, because she shook her head. “Always the savior,” she muttered. “This is why you’re always getting in trouble.” She continued before Saffra could retort, “Do you know what happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“To me.”

“Um. Well.” She didn’t know how to answer that. “What do you want to happen?”

Isabella surveyed Saffra calmly. “You misunderstand. My father almost spawned the Eighth Cataclysm. I’m not sure if the crown will look forgivingly on his family for that, much less his only direct descendant. I presume the Caldimore line is disgraced at the very minimum, and that what remains will be dissolved, our members stripped of their titles, and all assets seized. Exile would be the kindest fate. Execution wouldn’t be off the table, historically speaking.”

Saffra stared at Isabella for a long moment, then stepped forward to rap her knuckles against the tall girl’s forehead. The blonde went cross-eyed at the sudden attack before pulling back with a noise of outrage, rubbing at the spot.

“What was that for?”

“That hollow sound? It’s because nothing’s in there.”

“Excuse you?” the blonde sputtered, as easy to get a reaction out of as always.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Isabella. Why would you be punished?”

Isabella rolled her eyes. “You are somehow the least naive and most naive person I’ve ever met. That’s not how the crown will see it—or at least, they won’t care. A house is a house; a father’s sins are his daughter’s.”

“If the Sorceress disagrees,” Saffra said stubbornly, “then everyone will change their mind about whatever stupid thing they think. You’ll be fine. You’re obviously not going to be executed.”

Really, was this girl an idiot?

Isabella’s brow furrowed. “Why would the Sorceress help me?”

Yes, she clearly was. Saffra wondered how such an intelligent girl could be so dumb sometimes. “She dived into a hell-portal to save you.”

“I don’t need a reminder,” Isabella snapped, suddenly heated. She reined herself in, then studied Saffra in a way that made her uncomfortable. “But I’m not sure that was for me so much as it was for you, Saffra.”

Saffra froze. “She would’ve helped anyone like that,” she denied.

Isabella rolled her eyes. “If that’s true, then I’m not special to her,” she said reasonably. “I know the Sorceress is benevolent, but further inserting herself into this situation—a snarl of politics so sensitive—seems highly unlikely, no matter her personality.”

“You really don’t know her.” Saffra could say that with pretty total certainty, by now. “She’ll take care of this. You’ll go back to the Institute, I guess? Or whatever you want.” Her brow furrowed. “You’re thinking a little further than I have, to be honest.”

Though the fact Isabella was looking forward lifted Saffra’s spirits. Not caring at all and drifting along wouldn’t have fit the girl Saffra had known, and would have been a scary indicator for Isabella’s mindset. She really was much better than when Saffra had last seen her.

“It’s better than being caught unaware,” Isabella sniffed. She crossed her arms. “And what about you? Your future. You’re the Sorceress’s apprentice now.”

Hearing the words come out of a once-familiar fixture in her life nearly broke her brain. “I—I guess I am?”

Isabella pursed her lips at Saffra’s reaction. She opened her mouth to continue pressing, but was interrupted by shoes clicking against tile, quickly approaching.

Tall, with slick hair, short straight horns, and a cunning glint in his eyes, Guildmaster Rafael—or Steward Rafael, as Saffra supposed was the role he held in higher regard—strode in. She had only spoken with the demon a few times, and thus she still found herself nervous in his presence. She straightened out automatically.

“Ah. Isabella Caldimore. I’m pleased to find you hale and whole; we were deeply concerned for you, young lady.”

Isabella stared for a moment before stammering out a response. “Guildmaster Rafael. Ah, yes. Thank you for the well wishes, my lord.”

“I’ve been told Lady Vivisari has returned, and is not feeling well?”

“She’s suffering manaburn, Guildmaster.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She was pushed that hard?”

“There’s…a bit of a story, there.”

“I presume so,” he agreed with an amused quirk of his lips. “I shall receive it from my guildmaster herself. If you’ll excuse me.” He inclined his head respectfully and continued down the hall.

Isabella stared at him. “That was the Guildmaster. Of the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“It doesn’t stop being weird,” Saffra sighed. She’d dealt with a whole parade of individuals more powerful than she could imagine, this past week.

She squinted at Isabella. Though the girl seemed much better, mentally, than that night at the garden, she still had a gauntness to her features that Saffra didn’t like.

“Let’s go find something to eat,” she announced, grabbing Isabella by the arm and pulling her along, not giving her a choice in the matter. “I’m hungry. There should be something in the kitchen.”