“Good evening, Guardian Alonnen,” she told him.
“And a good morning to you, Guardian Tipa’thia. I’m surprised to see you tonight. I thought your apprentice, Pelai, said you were still too ill to participate.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I am not doing well, but I have to do something to get the Hierarchy off my back regarding the Convocation fiasco. They know better than to castigate me, but they also will not be allowed to abuse my best Disciplinarian.”
“Fiasco?” he asked, curious. “Disciplinarian?”
“Temple business. Suffice to say, with the Puhon brothers out of immediate reach, the Hierarchy is frothing at the mouth for someone to blame. It is an odd day when discussing demons is an adequate distraction. So. How are those paper spies doing, young man?” she asked him.
“They’re doing fine for the most part, and thank you for sending them. Unfortunately, I lost two on the way in,” he confessed, “but the rest are tucked into good scrying angles.”
“Two? How?” the Mendhite Guardian asked.
“The door closed a bit fast on the last one scuttling into the building, and an unexpected shoe squashed the other a short while later,” he told her. “I didn’t move it fast enough across a set of steps.”
“I sent you ten. Eight should still be more than enough . . . though I suppose it is too soon to have any word on what they are doing,” the elderly mage muttered.
“Actually, I’ve already heard some relatively encouraging news. The downside is that it’s Torven Shel Von who’s guiding the ex-Mekhanan priests in their demon-summoning quest. That’s the fellow Guardian Kerric originally kicked out of the Tower for trying to steal its Fountain,” he added in an aside. “The one connected to Kerric’s forescrying mirror and its demon sightings.”
“So what is he doing, that this Torven fellow keeps stirring up intermittent Netherhell invasions?” Tipa’thia asked, frowning softly.
“I have no idea. Actually, it looks like he’s trying to prevent a Netherhell invasion. He’s being very insistent on methodical training, discipline, and perfecting every safety precaution available.” Alonnen folded his arms, then quickly readjusted the scarf as it threatened to slip and expose his jawline. He shrugged as he did so. “On the one hand, that should buy us a lot more time than I’d feared we would have before any summonings begin in earnest. On the other hand, that means when they do begin, it’ll be hard to counter, since there’ll be fewer errors being made.”
“True. Well. Having extra time while they practice their precautions is still good news. If you will tell everyone west of you—to the Guardians of Fortuna, Natallia, and so forth, I will pass along the news to the east myself, to Althinac, Senod-Gra, and beyond. Guardians Callaia, Koro, Kelezam, and Ilaiea can wait until morning comes to their portion of the world,” Tipa’thia added. “It is not an emergency, so there is no need to awaken them.”
“Good news can wait, but bad news cannot, eh?” Alonnen quipped. He glanced briefly to the side, to where Rexei had reseated herself, her cheek on one fist, the other holding a graphite stick, back to marking down more Charter ideas for her incipient Holy Guild. Dragging his mind back to the problem at hand, he asked, “Do you have any spare recording crystals? What I have for the scrying paper bugs will last a couple days, but from the sounds of it, we may be monitoring their activities for at least a couple of weeks.”
The elderly woman lifted her brows. “You do not have enough? What about just making your own?”
“We’re on a tight budget here, and saving the world is expensive,” he retorted lightly. The last thing he wanted to get into was an admission that he didn’t know how to make the necessary crystals and probably did not have any of the right materials on hand. “Do you have any to spare or not?”
“You should contact Guardian Kerric. He has pledged the resources of the Tower to this cause, and I am certain they have many to spare.”
Not caring much for her dismissive tone, Alonnen narrowed his eyes. “And what does Mendhi’s Guardian pledge?”
“We were going to pledge the resources of the Convocation. But as that power has been wrenched from our control, then I suppose we will simply offer what we always have. Knowledge.” Her smug look was spoiled by the sound of a voice somewhere on her side of the mirror connection, some sort of reminder. Guardian Tipa’thia lifted her chin. “I am needed elsewhere. Good evening to you, Guardian Alonnen.”
“And good morning to you, Guardian Tipa’thia,” Alonnen muttered. He reached up to tap the mirror into quiescence and blew out the breath he had been holding. “Annoying, smug, arrogant . . . I’ll not ask you for any of the help we need,” he added to his own reflection, though his thoughts were on the Mendhite Guardian. “I’d rather ask that apprentice of yours . . .”
“Muttering at an unconnected mirror isn’t going to get you what you want,” Rexei told him. She hadn’t quite heard his words, but she understood his tone. “Either speak up or say nothing.”
“Pelai seems like a reasonable sort, rather than superior-than-you,” he clarified, unwinding the soft black scarf from his head and shoulders. Removing the green-tinted glasses as well, he rubbed briefly at his eyes and the bridge of his nose. “Call it my own pride acting up, because while I know we don’t know nearly enough about magic here in ex-Mekhana, I’m not about to allow anyone with that much pride learn just how little we know. There are times when she seems approachable, even amiable, and times when she seems like a vulture waiting for its prey to stagger. I do know that she’s trustworthy as a Guardian, but I don’t know if she’s trustworthy as a confidante.”
An amused thought crossed Rexei’s mind. “Do you trust her as far as you can throw her?”
“She does look skinny enough for me to throw . . . but I’m told Mendhites are taller than most people, so I’m not quite sure how far I could actually throw her,” he allowed, scratching at his chin. “The height’ll add more weight, plus the awkwardness of the length . . . and all that kicking and screaming, of course.”
Rexei snorted with laughter. She clapped her hand over her nose and mouth, but it was too late; Alonnen heard it and grinned back at her.
• • •
A dozen nights of sleeping on the Guild Master’s couch. That was her lot in life of late. No one wanted to share a room with a God summoner, though most of those living in the inner Vortex were polite to her. Nor were there any empty rooms to spare; a number of the freed mages had proven too scared of being recaptured and re-abused to be housed anywhere else, plus ones were coming in from far-flung regions which were now being torn apart by civil war. Heias Precinct was one of the few peaceful regions around, and the dam was its safest zone for mages needing to recover from the trauma of their capture. So Rexei camped each night on Alonnen’s couch. At least it was broad and comfortable, with enough bedding to keep her feeling warm.
Except that kiss, and the four or five they had shared in quiet moments since, made everything feel different. Too warm, and too unsettling. Empty in a way. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, and about him. Too restless to sleep, Rexei gave up and got up, slipping her feet into lamb’s-wool-lined slippers borrowed from her host. By now, she could navigate her way through his suite reasonably well in the dim light provided by the barely glowing crystals in the ceiling. Only after she knocked on the door to his bedchamber did she realize she was wearing nothing more than a thin pair of sleeping trousers and a matching loose linen shirt.
He opened the door just as she started to turn away. “Rexei? Is something wrong?”