Night Study. Maria V. Snyder

      I fingered the ridges, remembering the force of the impact that had knocked me from Kiki’s back. The shaft had been filled with an unknown liquid poison. My magic expelled most of the drug—or so I’d thought—and healed the wound. That had been the last time I drew from the blanket of power that surrounded the world and fueled a magician’s magic. Once I recovered from the injury, Valek and I enjoyed the remaining day of our vacation before he left for Ixia. That morning, the symptoms of the poison began, and I spent the day suffering from intense hot and cold flashes. When they finally ceased, my ability to draw power was gone.

      A delay between poisoning and the onset of the symptoms was not unheard-of. Many assassins liked to be well away before anyone suspected foul play. Yet in this case, shooting a victim with an arrow was far from subtle. I considered. The poison may have nothing to do with my blocked magic. Perhaps it was just added insurance, in case the assassin missed my heart. My ability to drain the substance from my wound then turned a lethal dose into a sick day in bed. That scenario implied there was another cause.

      Conception? If I was with child, the timing coincided. But again, if magicians lost their powers while pregnant, it’d be well-known. Unless, as Valek had said, there was some quirk in the magic. Perhaps First Magician Bain Bloodgood would know, or he could search through his history books for a reference to a similar occurrence. It’d be too dangerous to send him a message right now, and it might be a bit premature at this point. Once I had confirmation of my condition, then I’d talk to Bain.

      Clean, I rinsed off the soap and dressed in record time. My stomach growled, so I searched for something to eat. No surprise that my brother, Leif, stood at the kitchen’s long counter with his hands in a large metal mixing bowl.

      Leif was never far from the food.

      His strong forearms flexed as he kneaded the dough. About six inches taller than me, his broad shoulders and square jaw gave him a stocky appearance, but despite being obsessed with eating, it was all muscle under his brown tunic.

      “You going to stand there all day?” Leif asked without glancing in my direction. His magic sensed a person’s proximity, as well as intentions, moods and guilt. He frequently aided the Sitian Council in their investigations.

      “I’m still recovering from the shock of seeing you cook.”

      He grunted. “Who do you think has been feeding you the last four days?”

      I stepped into the spacious kitchen. A mammoth stone hearth comprised the entire far wall. Coals glowed red-hot under a large-sized white brick oven, above which hung an assortment of black iron pots. The scent of baking bread filled the air. A long wooden table with seating for at least two dozen bisected the room.

      “I know you’re famous for your wet-dog tea and rabbit stew, but I thought you’d rather eat other people’s cooking.”

      “It’s corgarviy tea, and without it, you’d still be drooling on your pillow.”

      True. Even though it smelled awful, it had helped rejuvenate me. I joined him at the counter. An impressive array of utensils, tools, bowls and equipment lined the shelves.

      “Besides, if I had a kitchen like this, I’d cook all the time.” Leif studied me. “Hungry?”

      “Very.”

      He gestured to the bench near the table. “Sit.”

      I didn’t waste any time, and he laughed. In that instant, he looked much younger than twenty-nine, which was two years older than me. He grabbed a bowl and uncovered one of the pots on the hearth. Ladling a heaping portion into the bowl, he then placed the steaming goodness in front of me, along with a spoon.

      After I inhaled a few bites of the beef-and-vegetable soup, I asked him if he’d identified any more of the other plants inside the glass hothouse Owen had constructed to grow the Curare vine. Before this invention, Curare only grew in the Illiais Jungle far to the south, where it was warm and humid all year round. Another benefit of the vine being confined to one area was that the Sitian Council could limit its availability, which it did. The Council kept strict control of who was allowed to carry it as a weapon. A watered-down version was also manufactured and given to healers in order to reduce a patient’s pain, which I thought was the best aspect of the drug. It was the reason my father had hunted for the vine all those years ago.

      “I know all but four. We’ll have to wait until Father arrives to identify the rest.” Leif filled another bowl and sat opposite me. He fiddled with his spoon, twirling it around on the table.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I keep thinking of that factory in Lapeer. In order to produce so much Curare, Owen must have more of those hothouses. Lots more.”

      I’d suspected as much. “We’ll find them. Has anyone interrogated Ben? He may know where the others are.” Owen’s brother had been caught, along with Loris and Cilly Cloud Mist. Ben wasn’t as powerful as Owen, but he could erect a null shield, light fires and move small objects. The Cloud Mist siblings’ abilities to mentally communicate and manipulate a person’s thoughts and memories had aided Owen in maintaining the deception of his death.

      “No. The three magicians were taken to Lapeer and incarcerated in a cell with a null shield. The authorities won’t let any of us near them, although Devlen left this morning to try again. The Captain claims he’s waiting for orders from the Sitian Council.”

      I cursed under my breath. “I hope the Captain’s a patient man.” The Council took far too much time to make a decision on anything.

      “I’d bet they’re in a panic,” Leif said. “The Commander has Curare, and he won’t be afraid to use it. Unlike our soldiers, I’d bet every single one of his soldiers will have darts laced with the stuff in no time. He could be preparing to invade Sitia as we speak.”

      As the Liaison between Ixia and Sitia, I found that scenario to be unlikely. However, with the Commander keeping secrets from even Valek, I might not know the Commander as well as I’d thought. Still... “Or he could just want to even the playing field. Having both Curare and magicians, Sitia has had the advantage for years.”

      Leif picked up the spoon. “Which has made me feel all safe and warm. Now I’m wondering what type of uniform I’d have to wear when we’re conquered.”

      Considering the Commander had banned all magicians, except me, from Ixia and executed most of those caught inside his borders, I knew that, at best, Leif and the others would be incarcerated in a magic-proof cell for the rest of their lives—or, at worst, they’d all be killed. I decided not to sour his mood any further.

      Instead I said, “I’m sure the Commander will find a job that’s perfect for your qualifications. You’d look good in a stable boy’s uniform, or spiffy as a chamber pot manager.”

      “Sure, you can laugh. The Commander likes you. And now you...” Leif ducked his head, focusing on the bowl in front of him.

      “What? Now I’m not a Soulfinder anymore, the Commander will welcome me with open arms?”

      He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Something like that.”

      “Then say it. I don’t want people dancing around the subject or treating me different...or locking me in jail ‘for my own protection.’”

      “I was under orders from the Council,” Leif protested.

      It had backfired. The second assassin had found me in no time. “And look how well that turned out.” Thank fate I still had a few tricks up my sleeves.

      “Sorry. Won’t happen again,” Leif promised.

      “Good.” I changed the subject. “Are you staying here until Father comes?”

      “Yes. I expect he’ll arrive in about fifteen days.”

      That was a long time to wait. Leif’s wife, Mara—a real sweetheart—wouldn’t ever complain, but she couldn’t be happy. “What will you do all that