Camille rose on her tiptoes and touched her lips to Sydney’s, and the rest was a blur of kissing and caressing, pausing only long enough to get rid of Sydney’s mail, but they kept the rest of their clothing on as they tumbled onto a group of rolled-up tapestries that were probably priceless. Camille’s full lips latched skillfully on to Sydney’s, and their tongues meshed as if they’d been kissing for years.

  Sydney caressed every inch of Camille that she could reach, taking joy in the soft moans and purrs. When Sydney left off kissing Camille’s mouth in order to attend to her flawless neck, Camille took a shuddering breath and said, “We have to stop.”

  Sydney paused and drew back, pulling her hand back from where she’d been creeping up Camille’s skirt. “Too fast?’

  Camille chuckled, and her warm breath tickled Sydney’s neck. “Yes. And before you point it out, I know I started this.”

  Sydney grinned and pulled away farther so she could see Camille’s face in the light from the dingy basement window. “I would never complain about that round of kissing, even were it all I had for the rest of my life.”

  Camille blinked before her own smile came out. “There’s the smoothness I’d expect from a knight.”

  “Happy to oblige.” And she was. As much as she’d enjoyed kissing Camille, the fact that Camille wanted to slow things down, perhaps to have an actual conversation, tickled Sydney from her head to her toes.

  But when they were both on their feet, an awkward silence descended. Sydney hefted her mail on one arm and took Camille’s hand with the other. “Would you like to have lunch now? I’m not that bad at conversation.”

  Camille laughed, and a bit of the tense bubble burst. “Yes, please.” She led Sydney out a back door and around a corner of the street to where food vendors hawked their wares by a large fountain in the middle of the square. The library rose behind them in four, statue-adorned stories, topped with a copper dome long gone to green; an impressive building.

  Sydney couldn’t wait to see the rest of the inside. Maybe since they’d been assigned to each other, this relationship would last a bit, whether it included more kissing or not.

  They bought meat pies and sat on the lip of the fountain. At midday, quite a few people strolled the square, eating, talking, or breathing the fresh air and avoiding the pigeons who pecked for food amongst the cobblestones.

  “I feel…guilty,” Camille said as she turned her lunch in her hands. “The knights didn’t assign you to me so I could maul you in the basement.”

  Sydney shrugged, not certain how she felt about someone being guilty for being with her. “I quite enjoyed the mauling, and my superiors never have to know.”

  Camille quirked an eyebrow. “I thought that Knights of the Flame always told the truth.”

  “Only when we speak.” Sydney winked before taking a bite, careful not to let the grease run down her chin.

  “Good to know.” After chewing a bite, Camille said, “What Sir Robert wants is impossible without magic.”

  Sydney coughed, certain she’d heard wrong. “Surely, you remember who you’re talking to.”

  “I know what your people think of magic, of witches.” She held her pie in her lap as if she’d lost her appetite, and her voice turned hard. “And I don’t need to do a moment’s research to know he can’t move his troops so quickly without magical aid.”

  Sydney’s mind reeled, and she wondered just what Camille was playing at. “I know it’s possible with magic, but surely there are stories about other means—”

  “No.”

  “Examples from history?”

  “About magic.”

  “Anecdotes?” Sydney tried, her stomach shrinking.

  Camille’s smile was only a little sympathetic. “I’m sure some people could tell a story or two, but if they don’t include magic, they’re lying.”

  “Magic is evil,” Sydney said flatly.

  Camille stood, put her pie on the ground, and pushed it into a flock of pigeons with her foot. They tore into it like wolves. “One thing I can tell you from years of research is that, throughout history, many people thought of various practices as evil until they needed those same practices.”

  Sydney didn’t know what to say. No one had ever disagreed with the tenets of her order so flatly. Camille’s gaze was hard, unwavering. There was nothing against the law about having such opinions, but…

  Sydney sighed and looked at the ground, her own appetite waning as she thought again of Elion and the shambling dead. “Allow magic in one circumstance, and you will find reasons to use it in others, and then the Witch Wars will happen all over again.”

  Camille sighed and brushed Sydney’s shoulder, a slight amount of sympathy coming through her anger, as if she couldn’t stand to see someone upset, even someone she vehemently disagreed with. “I’m sorry I kissed you before I told you all that. I understand if you want to go home.”

  Sydney’s heart warmed. At least Camille didn’t insist she leave. “I’m not sorry. And I suppose I should be grateful for your honesty, but…” No doubt even a master researcher made mistakes from time to time. In all these tales Camille referenced, someone had to find a way to achieve the seemingly impossible without relying on the same power that disturbed the rest of the dead. “Would you show me the stories you’re talking about?”

  “Where magic accomplished great deeds? Of course.” Her smile bloomed anew, and she glanced wistfully at where her lunch had disappeared.

  Sydney stood and offered Camille a bite of pie as they returned to the library. Sydney let herself enjoy the afternoon again. Camille was beautiful and clearly intelligent and only a little misguided. Sydney could bring her around as she never could have brought the pirate captain; they’d find a non-magical solution, and one more person would be brought into the light.

  And maybe one of Camille’s history books would have a clue about where witches chose to hide when they went to ground, and Sydney could get back on the trail of the Hawk.

  * * *

  Camille set yet another book in front of Sydney, delighting in the fact that someone wanted to learn. This entire day had been full of surprises.

  And not just because of the kissing. Camille hadn’t spent time frantically snogging in the basement since she’d been a teenager, but there was something irresistible about Sydney. It was more than just good looks. She radiated…something. Honesty or dedication, maybe. Camille could tell from their brief talk by the fountain that Sydney truly believed magic to be evil, and she seemed saddened by some memory or maybe by the lessons she’d learned at the chapterhouse. Camille had expected haughty anger; Sydney’s face had shown genuine pain. With that, Camille doubted Sydney would change her mind quickly, but no one could maintain the stubborn idea that magic was wholly evil after being presented with so much evidence to the contrary.

  “Um,” Sydney said, and the quiet word seemed to reverberate in the silent library. She gestured to the stack of books Camille had put in front of her. “I don’t know if I can get through all this.”

  Camille was about to say, “It’s only eight,” but stopped herself. Not everyone read so much that they’d dreamed of becoming a master researcher since the age of ten. “We’ll start with this one.” She took the first leather-bound book off the stack and opened it on the table’s scratched, well-worn surface. The library took pride in its battered furniture and carpets, leaving the inspiring awe to the marble floors of the foyer or the richly painted frescoes and ceilings.

  Camille sat beside her and tried to ignore her scent of leather, metal oil, and sandalwood. Kissing time was over; this was work. “Here is the history of the Battle of Bourjon when the Coven of the Moon helped turn the tide in Arnvild’s favor.”

  Sydney leaned forward, frowning, but her eyes didn’t scan the page as if reading. Camille kept her temper in check and turned to an illumination of the scene, showing the witches hovering above the battle and throwing handfuls of tiny objects onto the enemy. “These seeds broke open as they landed,” Camille said, “creating vines that held the enemy fast.”

  Sydney sighed. “I’d wager that the Arnvild soldiers who also got tangled in vines didn’t praise the witches.”

  Camille wanted to grind her teeth, but Sydney’s words weren’t snide, just doubtful, and Camille reminded herself that they had a lot of indoctrination to undo. She opened another book and put it on top of the first.

  “All right, let’s look at something less gruesome. This tells of a great flood in Perdue, when the sea rose and battered the coastal village. The Spring Coven helped evacuate the trapped and injured.” She cleared her throat and read, “‘They came from the south and lifted the people up as they cried out for aid. The witches soothed their wounded bodies and carried those encircled by the raging waters.’ How about that?”

  Sydney frowned harder. “I can only wonder why the witches didn’t stop the flood to begin with.”

  Camille tried to swallow her irritation, but before she could answer, Sydney held up a hand.

  “I’m not trying to be difficult,” Sydney said. “Such questions are the exact problem with magic. Once it is introduced, it becomes the solution to everything, luring people to become ever more powerful, and then—”

  “I know, I know. The Witch Wars. But magic is just a tool, and in the right hands…”

  “Show me these ‘right hands,’” Sydney said. “I can’t think of anyone I’d trust with that much power.”

  “I would show you,” Camille said, her temper rising further. “But there are no witches left in Arnvild.” Not precisely true. She knew of at least one. Not personally, but she knew people who knew people, and so on. She shook her head, determined that Sydney would never know about any of them, not with her stubbornness. “But there are still witches outside this kingdom, and the world hasn’t burned down.”

  After another sigh, Sydney smiled. “I don’t wish to fight, Camille. It’s just…” She paused as if searching for the right words. “I was taught that magic disrupts the natural order of things, that those who became powerful enough to tinker with the weather actually caused floods like the one in Perdue.”

  “There’s no proof of that,” Camille said. “And moving a thousand troops across the kingdom in two days is also against the natural order of things.”

  Sydney chuckled. “I actually thought that myself.” She lifted her hands. “Please, don’t tell Sir Robert.”

  Camille couldn’t help smiling back. “Why does he want to move his troops so quickly?”

  “Only the highest-ranking knights are allowed to know, and I am a lowly major.”

  “Goodness. You’re practically a page.”

  Sydney put a hand to her chest as if wounded. “A squire, at least.”

  Camille laughed, then quieted as a passing patron gave her a dark look. “All right, but if I find a squire who knows more about the history of magic than you, you’re back to being a page.”

  Sydney took her hand and rubbed a calloused thumb over her knuckles. “I enjoy talking with you even if we’re arguing.”

  “Me, too,” Camille said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks again. She forced the feeling down. It wouldn’t do any more good than her anger would. “But nothing changes the fact that Sir Robert needs magic to do what he wants.”

  With a great sigh, Sydney put her hands behind her head and stretched in her seat. “Even if he would ever accept that, there are no witches here.”

  Camille pressed her lips together to keep from speaking; it was in her nature to correct misinformation, but she couldn’t this time. “Let me show you a few more books.” She took another book off the pile, determined.

  A few became a handful, which turned into a slew, then a torrent. Their lamp burned out of oil at last, and they sat in near darkness with a lone candle. Soon, the sun streaming through the windows died to almost nothing, and the Kingston bells sounded, announcing dusk. Time for the library to close.

  Camille had enjoyed arguing with Sydney. Their debates never turned personal, though Camille could have offered a few choice insults about the Knights of the Flame. But Sydney espoused their good works, of which they had done quite a few. As she pointed out, there was far less poverty after their social programs and less crime in the face of their patrols. They pitched in to stop every fire and volunteered at every festival.

  But some knights weren’t as open to discussion as Sydney. Some had called for all knowledge of magic and witches to be purged, and that would only happen if Camille was in her grave. “I think that’s enough for one day,” she said before such thoughts could get the better of her tongue.

  Sydney frowned as they stood. “Already?”

  Camille’s bad thoughts blew away at the question. She smiled. “I’ve had a good time, too.”

  “Where do these go?” Sydney asked as she returned the smile and began to gather the books.

  “Leave them. We’ll never get them put away before closing. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “All right. I’ll help you.”

  “Oh? Will you be here tomorrow?” Her chest warmed at the thought.

  Sydney’s eyes caught a bit of the fading light and sparkled. “Well, I haven’t finished my assignment.” Before Camille’s hopes could fall, Sydney added, “And I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

  Camille felt the warmth in her cheeks, and her heart picked up the pace. She knew she shouldn’t ask the question she wanted to ask, not when they were so divided by their beliefs, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Dinner?”

  A slow smile spread over Sydney’s face, and Camille thought she caught a hint of some other emotion in the way her lips twitched, a bit of sadness, perhaps, before Sydney turned away. “I’d love to.”

  Camille threaded her arm through Sydney’s and headed for the exit. If Sydney was at all concerned about the tales of magic she’d learned that day, Camille knew just how to cheer her.

  Chapter Three

  Sydney sat up slowly, trying not to wake Camille, but luckily, Camille slept like the dead. She snorted softly before rolling over and pulling the sheet higher on her shoulder. Sydney grinned and eased out from the covers. The first bell of the day hadn’t sounded, which meant dawn hadn’t yet broken. She didn’t want to sneak away like a thief, but she needed a change of clothes and a wash before the day started again.

  Camille’s apartment was small and narrow, only two rooms plus a small water closet. Sydney visited that before collecting her clothes and tiptoeing out of the bedroom and into the sitting room, which held a table and chairs and a small stove. She penned a quick note to Camille explaining her absence and added a lot of compliments bound to make any abandoned lover smile.

  Sydney’s heart was a little heavy as she dressed and left. She’d enjoyed her day with Camille immensely, and the night had been fantastic, but part of her had hoped they’d postpone the lovemaking for more conversation. Once they were behind closed doors, Camille had practically leaped on her.

  Sydney told herself she was being ungracious with her thoughts. Anyone would be lucky to spend a night in Camille’s arms, but she couldn’t help a bit of wistfulness as she pictured the two of them getting to know each other beyond their opinions on magic.

  The thought made her sigh as she hurried through the lightening streets to the chapterhouse and her own room. She’d been hoping to spot an inconsistency in the tales of witches and magic, something that would give her a clue as to how Sir Robert’s plan might be carried out through non-magical means, but she’d come up short, dash it all. She kept thinking about the pirates disappearing from the hold. A witch had clearly cracked Sir Robert’s problem, but he couldn’t very well go to one and ask for help, especially not a witch his knights had hunted as long as the Hawk.

  Sydney used her key to access the back chambers of the chapterhouse. Once she’d washed and changed in her room, she walked toward the great hall to see if she could scrounge some breakfast before she had to meet Camille at the library again.

  “Major Blakely?”

  Sydney turned in the hall and bowed as Sir Robert strode toward her. “Good morning, sir.”

  He nodded before heading past her into the dining room, and she wondered if he only stopped her so he could get there first, but he made a quick gesture to his side, and she joined him at his right as he sat at the head of the table.

  “How goes the research?” he said as the servants laid warm plates and cups of coffee before them. He didn’t wait for Sydney’s answer before lifting the covers off several dishes, revealing hard-boiled eggs, mutton, and some kind of fish. He began heaping his plate with everything while Sydney asked for toast.

  “The research is what we expected, sir,” Sydney said. “Magic and little else.”

  “Hmm.” He chewed thoughtfully, staring at nothing. “Bit like your prisoners, eh?”

  Sydney bit the inside of her cheek to keep from explaining yet again that she hadn’t known witches could do such things as whisk people away. Of course, if she had known, what could she have done? Lashed them to the deck instead of to each other? So the Hawk would have to take the entire ship? Sydney sighed. She was beginning to see a little of Camille’s point. The knights needed to learn more about witches, if only to see what was possible.

  “The Hawk seems very powerful, sir,” she mumbled.

  “She could probably move our troops in a twinkling.”

  Sydney coughed as she sipped her coffee, and stinging droplets spattered her hand. She managed to set her cup down before Sir Robert leaned forward and delivered two great thwacks across her shoulders.

  “Better see the sawbones if that cough gets any worse, Major. In the meantime, ask our master researcher about this Hawk, see if she knows where the witch can be found.”