Sinitïa raised her right leg, bent at the knee, in front of her, then straightened it out to her right while she arced her arms past her face and then out to the sides. Her speed was improving, but she still wobbled as she lowered her foot back to the ground and stood in a straddling position. She squeaked slightly, then grimaced, but continued with the exercise.

“Relax,” Jorvanultumn told her.

“Mm hmm.” She dragged her left foot across the floor to touch her right. Then she spun around.

Clockwise again. It was supposed to be counter-clockwise, but at least the movement was fluid. She would get the correct direction eventually, he hoped. Or perhaps once she learned to understand her own body, counter-clockwise would turn out to be correct for her.

“Was it okay?” she asked as she finished the routine.

Okay was such a vague word, and Jorvanultumn did not want to use it to critique her performance, even if it might be the kindest way. “You are improving, but there is still much to do. Your movements lack confidence. They are...jerky. Remember to relax and just let the movements happen. If you slip or wobble, do not worry. Continue and correct them next time. The aim for now is fluid movements. Perfection can come later.”

“Okay. Should I go again?”

Jorvanultumn nodded. “Yes. This time, close your eyes and focus on your inner self.”

This time, Sinitïa moved through the routine much more quickly—and fluidly! Unfortunately, as she brought her feet together for the final spin, she moved too fast and knocked herself over. She hit the hard floor with a cry.

Jorvanultumn rushed over to her and offered her his hand.

She stared up at him, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. That was very good.”

“But I fell!”

“Yes, you did, but until then it was very good. The best I have seen from you so far.”

She took his hand and he helped her to her feet. She rubbed her backside. “I’m so clumsy.”

The truth was, she was a bit clumsy, though probably not as much as she was accusing herself of. In Isyaria, that clumsiness would have been trained out of her in childhood, but she was not an Isyar. She had had training in Folith dance, so she said, but what he had seen of Folith dance required much simpler movements.

“Do not worry yourself about clumsiness. That will go away. You are already improving.”

“Was it because I closed my eyes?”

“Closing your eyes helped you focus on yourself, and not worry about me and other outside influences.” He should have had her do that earlier, but truth be told, he was learning too. He had never taught anyone before. He was trying to draw on his memories of how his diare taught him, but these were exercises he had first learned when he was four or five years old, and his memories of that age were very vague.

“Should I do it again?”

Jorvanultumn shook his head. “Exercise one. This time with your eyes closed.”

Sinitïa nodded and turned her back to him, allowing him to come up to her and place his legs and arms against hers. As she started, he moved with her. He was getting a bit better at guiding her this way, despite her being so much taller than he was, but it was still awkward, though he did his best to hide that awkwardness from her. Luckily, these were very basic, repetitive movements.

Her first two times through the routine were virtually flawless. As she started the third time, he said, “Tell me, what do you feel inside?”

She stumbled a little, just as she did every time he asked her this question, but at least she had gotten over being tense until he asked the question.

“A little nervous.” She usually started with that response.

He took hold of her arm and gently guided her back in step. “Just breathe.”

“Mm hmm.”

“What else?”

She tensed.

“Breathe.”

“I can’t feel what you want me to feel.”

“It is all right. Just—”

“But it’s not working!”

“It will. Give it—”

She stopped and stepped away from him. “I can’t do it. It never works!”

Jorvanultumn approached her again and put his arms around her. She was shaking, so he placed his hands on her stomach and his face against her back. He closed his eyes and held her tight. “It is all right.” Tiny pricks ran across his cheek, arms, and hands. “Be calm.”

“I’m hurting you.”

“Not much. Just be calm. Relax. Breathe.”

Slowly, the pricking sensations became less frequent, and then stopped completely. Sinitïa leaned back into his embrace and began to breathe more calmly. “I’m sorry.”

“There is no need.” Jorvanultumn let go of her stomach and opened his eyes. There were numerous tiny red marks along his arms, and presumably on his cheek, from where her light had pierced him, but they would not take long to heal. He lined his arms up with hers again. “Are you ready to try again?”

She took a couple deep breaths. “Yes.”

They started again. He spoke calmly to her as she went through the routine, her arms and legs moving in gentle rotations. He let her go through the routine five times, each time almost perfect. He was about to ask her the question again, when she gasped.

“I see them!”

“You…”

She stumbled to a stop. “It’s gone.” She stepped away from him and spun around. “But I saw them! I finally saw them!”

“You saw...them?”

“The colours!” She spun around again, squealed, and threw her arms around him. “And Jorvan, they’re so beautiful! So beautiful!”

This was not what he had been expecting, though he probably should have. Everything was colour with Sinitïa. It was mystifying at times, but then again, everyone experienced magic differently. “The colours are your magical potential. Your energy.” The words were more for himself than for her. Normally, one felt their power rather than saw it, but she clearly understood that.

Sinitïa squealed some more, then kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you! I get it now.” She began to dance randomly about the ballroom, giggling and squealing. “Do you think I’ll see them again?”

“I have no doubt, but you must practise. Perhaps exercise three.”

“Eyes closed?”

“No, you need to see where you are going.”

“Right!” She quickly adjusted her movements so she was following the routine. Jorvanultumn had designed it so she could move about the full breadth of the room, which she seemed to like doing, especially when she was happy or excited.

“If I seem them again, will they make it difficult for me to see other things?” she called as she danced along the far side of the room, near the main entrance doors.

“I…” He honestly did not know. He had to assume they would not impede her, at least not in the long run. However, this was completely outside his experience.

“I bet it will be like the colour of words,” she called. “I can still—” She cried out as the doors opened, nearly colliding with her as she passed them, and she fell onto her backside.

Jorvanultumn hurried towards her.

Horaz Belone was at the doors, a couple palace servants following behind him. “Your Highness! I’m so sorry. I…” He trailed off and looked away from Sinitïa.

Jorvanultumn reached her and offered her his hand.

“Your Highness, you’re barely dressed,” Horaz said.

With Jorvanultumn’s help, Sinitïa pulled herself to her feet, then pulled up her shift which had slipped down her chest somewhat. “Yes, that’s because I’m training.” Her head was lowered and her words soft.

“I’m not sure I understand, your Highness.” Horaz continued to look away from her.

Sinitïa crossed her arms over her chest, her hands clutching her shoulders. She lowered her head even farther.

“Arnorin garments are constricting,” Jorvanultumn said. “She needs to learn to move without them before she can learn to move with them.”

“I have seen some very elegant dancing in full gowns,” Horaz said.

“I have no doubt, but the types of movements Sinitïa must learn to make are much more demanding.”

Horaz glanced at them. “Yes, well, I suppose you know best. I know nothing of magic. But must you do it in such a visible space?”

“We need open space, and outside is too cold for Sinitïa.”

“It’s kind of cold in here too,” Sinitïa said.

“And we were told that no one comes through here when it is not in use or being prepared for use. In fact, you are the first to accidentally interrupt us.”

Horaz nodded meekly. “Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t get too many going through here. I like to use it as a shortcut on occasion. I suppose I’ll need to be more careful in future. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He glanced back briefly at them again. “I should continue on my way and avoid causing her Highness any more embarrassment.” He motioned to the servants behind him, and they crossed the ballroom. The servants bowed briefly to Sinitïa as they passed.

“Do you think he’s still angry at me because of his servant?” Sinitïa asked. She was still hiding her chest with her arms.

Jorvanultumn thought for a moment. “Perhaps, though he seemed more embarrassed than angry, and he was not in any way impolite.”

Sinitïa shrugged, and slowly lowered her arms. “I guess so. I just worry he’s still angry at me.”

Jorvanultumn squeezed her arm comfortingly. “I am sure he will forgive you if he has not already. After all, you did not kill Godran.”

“I wanted to, and I still think it’s good he’s dead.”

“Yes, it is good he is dead, and Horaz Belone will come to recognise that eventually.”

Sinitïa looked at him in surprise. “You don’t think we needed him alive for information?”

Jorvanultumn shook his head. “I think he could have provided us with very little information, if any. There is powerful mentalism magic at work hiding the Darkers from us. The manner of his death proves he could not have provided us with anything useful.”

The doors opened again to reveal Fevionawishtensen and Meleng.

“Melly!” Sinitïa threw her arms around Meleng. “I saw them! I saw my colours!”

Meleng stumbled back a little. “Your...colours?”

“Yes, I saw them!”

While Sinitïa giddily spoke with Meleng, Jorvanultumn approached Fevionawishtensen, and they touched foreheads and wing tips. He had not seen much of her the last few days, and it was good to feel her against him now.

They held their greeting for some time, but when they parted, Fevionawishtensen said, “We saw nothing on our patrol, as usual.”

Jorvanultumn shook his head and sighed. He spoke to her in Isyarian. “It makes no sense. Why these initial attacks followed by...nothing?”

“Something changed. We just need to figure out what.”

“You’re right, of course. Just the longer it goes on with us finding nothing, the more…” He sighed deeply.

“We will figure it out.”

“Feviona!” Sinitïa threw her arms around Fevionawishtensen, and the two greeted each other. Then Sinitïa signed, “I saw my colours!”

Fevionawishtensen tilted her head slightly. “Explain.”

While Sinitïa proceeded to eagerly tell Fevionawishtensen about her breakthrough, Jorvanultumn took a moment to greet Meleng. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Meleng said.

There was that word again, a word that told so little. “Really?”

Meleng nodded, but looked away. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You can talk to me. You can talk to any of us.”

Meleng looked at him with a smile that appeared forced. “I know.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Sinitïa and Fevionawishtensen were still engaged in conversation.

“How is your training going?” Jorvanultumn asked.

“It’s okay.”

Okay.

“Fevionawishtensen is taking you on patrols again, I see.”

“She said it’s customary for the young of the Élite to accompany their diaree when they reach a certain level of skill.”

“Yes, I know.”

“She said I’m well beyond that now. She was just giving me time to recover from my injury.”

“This is good.”

Meleng looked towards his missing right arm, and the mostly empty sleeve of his doublet jerked. “As if I can recover from this.”

“You can. Perhaps not physically, but…”

Meleng gave a non-committal grunt.

They stood in silence for a moment again. To the side, Sinitïa continued to excitedly sign at Fevionawishtensen.

“She doesn’t talk to me much anymore,” Meleng said. “I mean, she never talked much, I guess, but it’s even less now. She instructs. She tells me what to do. But nothing else.”

Jorvanultumn looked to Fevionawishtensen, who was watching Sinitïa intently. “She blames herself for what happened to you.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Perhaps, but she does. You should talk to her about it. Tell her you do not blame her.”

Meleng shrugged.

“I get the impression Fevionawishtensen is not the only one reluctant to talk.”

“I suppose.”

“What about Nin-Akna? I understand you and she—”

“Akna hasn’t lost an arm.”

“I realise that, but…”

Meleng rounded on him. “Look, I just need time, okay?”

Jorvanultumn bowed his head. “Of course. I apologise.”

“I need to rest. I’ll see you later.” Meleng turned and headed out of the ballroom.

“Melly?” Sinitïa called. She signed a quick apology to Fevionawishtensen and rushed after him.

Fevionawishtensen looked quizzically at Jorvanultumn.

“That was my fault,” Jorvanultumn said. “I pushed him to talk.”

Fevionawishtensen nodded sadly.

“He says you don’t talk to him anymore.”

Fevionawishtensen lowered her head. “It is difficult for both of us.”

“I know, but you have to talk to him eventually.”

She glared at him. “So, after pushing him too hard, you proceed to push me?”

Jorvanultumn shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean…”

Fevionawishtensen held up her hand. “It’s all right. I know I’m oversensitive about it.”

“What happened is not your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I knowingly took him into battle when he was not ready.”

“No one is truly ready for battle. You have said it yourself. Terrible things can happen. This was not the first battle Meleng has been in. He knew the risks too, and he accepted them.”

Fevionawishtensen stared at him for a moment, twitching. Then she took a deep breath. “I understand that in here.” She tapped her head. “But not in here.” She tapped her chest. “I will talk to him when I am ready.”

Jorvanultumn nodded. “Of course. I am sorry for pushing.”

She approached him. “You are just looking out for your loved ones. I understand that, and I love your for it, even if it exasperates me.” She smiled and kissed him.

It had been days since they had last kissed, even longer since they had spent the night together. It made his heart drop when she stepped away from him.

“You need to start your patrol.”

He nodded.

“I will see you later.”

As he flew over Quorge a short while later, Jorvanultumn reflected back on some of what Fevionawishtensen had said. He needed to give her whatever time she needed. He was just worried about both her and Meleng. But it was what she had said before that discussion, about the demons and Darkers.

Something had changed.

The warning they had received had given four words—burn, crumble, drown, suffocate—three of which had occurred. The fourth had not happened as expected. Those first three attacks seemed to have been intended to cause fear and confusion, spaced just far enough apart to allow people to start to adjust before hitting them again. So what had happened to the fourth?

Something had changed, but what?

Perhaps they had met more resistance than expected. That was possible, but it was not convincing. Their enemies seemed to know a lot about them. They must have known the type of resistance they would encounter.

Godran’s death? It had happened after the third attack, but before the fourth was due. Were their enemies worried that the Will-Breaker and her people were getting to close too the truth? Perhaps, but if that was the case, why not increase the pressure and send all the demons, including Kranian, at once? And why not go directly for Felitïa if she was their ultimate target?

Another possibility was a change on their enemies’ side. A change in leadership? With Plavistalorik gone, there could be a power struggle going on. Different people in control had different ideas on how to proceed. Unfortunately, there was no way to know the truth of that until they had some idea who their enemies were.

Up ahead, there was smoke rising into the air—more than just from chimneys. The burn demon again? That would certainly indicate something had changed. However, there could be numerous reasons for a fire. Whatever the case, he could provide help.

He flew towards the rising smoke. It was in the direction of the docks, but some distance before them. Yells rang out as he got closer, and below him, people ran about gathering buckets of water.

There were actually several fires. A panicked horse was pulling a burning cart along the street, setting further things alight as the burning substance in the back—straw?—fell out onto the road.

Jorvanultumn did his best to match his pace with the horse, though it was a strain to go that fast. Fevionawishtensen would have been better at it, but she was not here, so he managed. There was still a lot of snow on the tops of buildings, so he gathered that up, melted it, and dumped it onto the cart. Once the cart was out, he turned away from it. The horse would hopefully calm soon.

He then flew back along the street dumping snow water on the various fires along its length. Once they were all out, he landed, and several people ran over to him

“Thank you,” one man said. “That was my cart. I don’t know what happened. I was about to offload hay at the stables over there, and someone threw a torch in it.”

Jorvanultumn looked to where the man was pointing. “A torch?”

“I didn’t see who did it.”

There was no upper floor to the stables, so someone must have thrown it from the roof or side.

Suffocate.

Oh gods. Had the fire been a diversion?

As Jorvanultumn turned to look for the source, his next breath did not come. He tried to breathe in again, but the air would not enter his lungs. There was lots of air around him, and he caught it with a swipe of his arm. But he could not push it past his mouth or nose. He stumbled as he gasped for breath.

“Are you all right?” the man asked.

Without air, he could not speak, which severely limited what spells he could cast.

Suffocate.

The man beside him clutched at his throat, gargling, and falling to his knees.

Suffocate.

A nearby woman faltered.

“Forget the others!” a high-pitched nasally voice yelled. “Focus on the Isyar! Kill the Isyar!”

Jorvanultumn fell to his knees as the lack of air became ever more painful. It had not been that long. He could hold his breath longer than this, yet it felt far worse.

“Yes, that’s it! Kill him! Kill him!”

Jorvanultumn looked about. On the roof of a shop stood three figures. One was a naked bald man with pale skin. The second was the Tall Man, Kranian. The third he did not recognise. It was a short elderly man in a plain brown robe. It was hard to tell from this distance, but his eyes sockets looked empty, and his nose was...flat? Or just gone. There were only a few wisps of hair on his head. He was laughing and dancing about gleefully.

Jorvanultumn turned his attention to the naked man—the demon. He had to break its focus and there was not much time. He considered whipping up a strong wind to blow the demon over, but air was this demon’s providence, so he doubted it would work. If only he had not put the fires out.

Could he gather enough earth from the road to push the demon over? Did he have the strength remaining? His vision was blurring and he felt faint. He spread his wings, then bent them back until they touched, pulling earth up from the road.

The old man stopped jumping about. “What’s he doing? I said, kill him!” The man raised his arm, palm held out flat and facing down. Then he slammed his arm down as if he was slapping something.

Something smashed into Jorvanultumn’s head, knocking him flat to the ground. The earth he had gathered dropped.

A conjuror? Except nothing had actually hit him. It had just been an insubstantial force.

“Now die, you blasted Isyar! Die!”

Jorvanultumn turned his aching head and tried to focus on the shop the three figures were standing on. It was a bakery. He could not tell if there was anyone inside, though given it was still early afternoon, there was no reason to believe the shop would be empty. But he had no remaining options. He would pass out in a moment and then die, and numerous other people would die too, and this was the only thing he could do with any hope of not being noticed. Maybe, with luck, he would not bring the whole building down.

Gods forgive him if he did.

He straightened his legs out and placed his hands flat on the ground. He tried to make it look as though he was trying to stand, but instead took hold of the ground beneath one of the support beams of the shop. With a jerk, he pulled it away, and the beam shifted. The whole building shifted.

The old man cried out, and Jorvanultumn could breathe again. Gasping for air, he looked up. The demon had fallen off the tilted roof, and the old man was flailing about on his back. Only the Tall Man still stood, apparently undisturbed.

The whole building was shaking, but it thankfully had not collapsed yet. People were running out of it onto the street. After a moment, it began to rumble loudly, and then it collapsed, sending dust and bits of timber into the street. Hopefully, everyone had gotten out.

When the dust cleared, there was no sign of Kranian or the old man. However, the demon was rising to its feet, throwing aside parts of the building’s wall.

“Run!” Jorvanultumn yelled. “Everyone, get away, now!”

He had not really needed to. People were already running, yelling and screaming. Somebody threw a rock at the demon, which bounced harmlessly off its chest. The demon looked in Jorvanultumn’s direction.

He spread his wings. Apparently, he was the primary target, and he needed to keep it that way.

Suffo—

Jorvanultumn leapt to his feet and spun, pulling up dirt from under the demon’s feet, wrapping it around the demon’s legs, and pulling it down.

He flew into the air, directly over where the demon was rising again. With his wings, he gathered air into a vortex and threw it down around the demon. As expected, it had no effect, and merely evaporated away. However, it did provide a distraction, long enough for his legs to bring together enough snow, which he melted and moulded into a sphere of water. He then placed that around the demon’s head and froze it again.

He doubted the demon needed to breathe, but it would hopefully make it difficult for the demon to see and locate Jorvanultumn—long enough for him to locate to large slabs of stone, which he eased out of the ground, careful not to destabilise any other buildings.

The demon stumbled about, shaking its head.

With wide sweeps of his arms, Jorvanultumn slammed the slabs into the demon’s chest and back, crushing it between them. Then he did it again. And again. When he had smashed the ribs, flattened the chest cavity, and shattered the spine, he let the broken form fall to the ground. It was already reforming, so he slammed one of the slabs down multiple times on the demon’s neck until he severed the head.

He flew down and scooped up the head, still covered in the ball of ice, then flew high up above the city, keeping the slabs with him. As he flew, he moulded the stone around the head, removing the ice only as the stone replaced it. Once he was done, he had a boulder bigger than a person, with the head sealed in the centre. At this point, he was over the harbour, where he dropped it into the water, then turned back again.

It was not as far as he would have liked to have taken the head, but he still had to deal with the body. Hopefully, he could get people—the City Watch or even soldiers from the palace—to help cut the demon’s body up and take the pieces far apart.

He took the opportunity to breathe in deeply as he flew, and to let it calm his nerves.

So, had something changed again?

And who was the old man?