Sydney shook her head. “I don’t think the master researcher would help us arrest—”

  “See if anyone at the library knows how to contact her,” Sir Robert said as if he hadn’t heard. “Makes sense you know, witches and libraries. Books of spells and books of knowledge and whatnot.” He nodded and threw down his napkin. “Bound to be someone there who knows the witch and can contact her.”

  “But…sir…” Her thoughts whirled as she pictured her conversation with Camille. I know you think magic isn’t evil, but would you mind contacting this witch so I can set a trap for her?

  “We’ll get her to move our troops, then we can arrest her.” He nodded as if this was a fantastic idea and stroked his mustache before smiling at Sydney. “Set it up, Major. Time is of the essence.”

  Sydney rushed to stand as he did, bowing as he made his leave, but she was too stunned for words. The head of the Knights of the Flame had just suggested using magic, a witch, and then he strode away as if it was nothing? She remembered something Camille had said about how people only believed something was evil until they needed it.

  “Sir,” she managed to bellow. “Even if we find her, she won’t…the Hawk won’t do it, sir, especially not for me.”

  Sir Robert frowned as if she was speaking some other language. “Don’t ask her to do it for you, Major. Tell her the real reason.”

  She waited a moment. “Which is, sir?”

  He blinked before bursting into laughter. “Oh, that’s right. I forget which people know what facts, don’tcha know.” He chuckled again before seemingly remembering what they were talking about. “Tell her that if she doesn’t cooperate, tens of thousands might die when the Kells march from the north.”

  He turned on his heel and left. Sydney sagged back into her seat, happy that none of the servants or other knights had been in the room to hear that. She didn’t know how Sir Robert knew, but if an army of Arnvild’s most fearsome enemies was coming, then many people between Kingston and the border would die if a large fighting force wasn’t there to protect them.

  But how could an enemy army move so swiftly that Sir Robert hadn’t heard about it until recently? How come refugees weren’t already pouring through Kingston’s gates, pushed by the sightings of scouts and the wings of rumor?

  The same way Sir Robert now hoped to move his own troops. The Kells had a witch.

  * * *

  Camille knew some people would have been irked to wake up and find their lover flown, but she secretly enjoyed it. She’d always hated the awkward small talk that some insisted on in the morning. She enjoyed having a quiet cup of coffee to herself at the small table in her apartment as she watched the light gradually grow outside her window.

  The note had been a nice touch. And she was looking forward to spending more time with Sydney, but mornings had a sacredness she was loath to share.

  She wondered when exactly she’d get irritated with Sydney’s quest for ordinary among the magical. She had other projects to attend to, other clients who’d hired a master researcher through the library. If she took too long with the Knights of the Flame, other researchers would grab those projects and leave her with only the dullest, least interesting ones. She bet none of them would want to research something as interesting as magic. She hadn’t even had a query about magical creatures in years, and they were usually pretty popular.

  But she was beyond the scope of her job with Sydney now; convincing someone of the veracity of her research wasn’t normally part of what she did. She presented the facts as she found them in texts. She could explain what she’d found, could compile facts so they might be more easily understood, but she felt as if she’d already done that for Sydney. There was nothing in recorded history that proved magic was “evil” no matter which definition one used.

  A very short report indeed.

  As she put away her cup and dressed, Camille let herself grouse a little. She’d never labeled facts and history with loose terms like good and evil. She’d had her own opinions, of course, but no one had ever proposed questions like: What were the crop yields between certain years? What were the reasons behind these numbers, and were they good or evil?

  At least the sex was great. It made her feel a little guilty, though; she wasn’t paid to do that, either.

  When she saw Sydney waiting outside the library, her heart picked up the pace, and her complaints muted under memories of the night before. Camille was so busy looking down the line of Sydney’s body that she missed the look of worry on her face until they stood right next to each other.

  Camille took Sydney’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” Sydney glanced around as if wary of eavesdroppers, even though few people were near the library at this hour. But noise from the nearby square seemed to be putting her off. “Can we…” She looked to the library.

  Camille used her key on a side entrance. She couldn’t take Sydney to the small set of offices she shared with the other researchers, so she led her to one of the rooms where delicate manuscripts were kept behind a closed and locked door.

  “No one will disturb us in here, though we can’t touch anything,” Camille said, a sentence that seemed made to be misconstrued between two lovers.

  Sydney grinned, but the licentious gleam in her eye faded before Camille even had time to correct her. “I had a word with Sir Robert this morning.”

  Her tale came out in fits and starts, leaving Camille’s anger plenty of room to grow. She’d never been proven right so succinctly. “Now that he needs a witch, they’re no longer evil.” She paced, waiting for Sydney to try to defend her boss’s opinion, ready with some choice words, but Sydney merely hung her head, seemingly gutted by Sir Robert’s opinions.

  Camille corralled her anger and sat again. Sydney’s respect for her order had been evident in her voice yesterday. To see the leader of that order walk unashamedly over its ideals had to feel like the keenest of betrayals.

  And she was far out on a limb admitting everything, though Camille didn’t know what she could do with such information. She could spread rumors, she supposed, but what good would that do? The only people who might care were other knights, and they wouldn’t believe her.

  But they might believe Sydney, which left her no one to confide in except an outsider. Like Camille. She couldn’t turn away someone so in need.

  Especially when this revelation might convince her that magic wasn’t evil.

  “You’re allowed to be angry,” Camille said. “I would be. I am. Just because Sir Robert is your leader doesn’t mean he’s always right.”

  Sydney only hung her head. “I have to do as he says.”

  Camille stood again. “You don’t have to do anything, Sydney. Especially not ask someone for their help, wait until they’ve aided you, then arrest them. I can’t believe you’d even consider—”

  “The Kells are invading.”

  Camille stuttered to a halt, her thoughts wrenched from one direction to another. Anger dropped away in the face of dread. She didn’t need to reread a single book to know what the Kells were capable of. Even the few Kellish texts the library had essentially said, we’re really great, and everyone else deserves to die horribly because they aren’t us.

  Still, she had to argue. “But…no one’s heard from them in decades. After they stormed Arnvild before the Witch Wars, they pushed farther south and…”

  Sydney shrugged. “Maybe they killed everyone to the south, and now they’ve come back around the globe for us.”

  The last war with the Kells had cost Arnvild dearly, and they’d had witches then. “Oh, shit,” Camille said.

  “Sir Robert wants the Hawk to move the troops, that’s all,” Sydney said, a note of hope in her voice.

  Camille had to quash that hope before it truly kindled. “Once she’s done that, a request for aid against the Kells won’t be far behind, I’m sure.” She paused, going back over Sydney’s words. “Did you say, the Hawk?”

  Sydney nodded. “That’s the witch I’ve been after. If the Kellish troops are moving as swiftly as Sir Robert says, they might also have a witch.”

  “Maybe,” Camille whispered. Her belly had gone cold as Sydney kept talking about how witch vs. witch had been a situation that had to be avoided. She kept hearing that name. The Hawk. She’d heard it before. It had been spoken of by other friends who didn’t believe that magic was evil.

  “How could Sir Robert do this?” Sydney said.

  “Because he’s a hypocrite,” Camille muttered, able to answer that one without any thought.

  “But to ask for help and then arrest the Hawk?” Sydney had tears in her eyes as if her whole world was falling apart.

  “I haven’t even gotten to my anger about that part yet,” Camille said as she leaned forward and pulled Sydney’s head to her shoulder, both to comfort and to hide her own distress.

  “I’ve never been dishonest about my intentions toward her.” Sydney’s voice was muffled as she clung to Camille. “I wouldn’t be. Sir Robert isn’t supposed to be.”

  “He’s probably content with not mentioning that part until it’s too late.”

  “The worst part is, we do need her help.”

  Camille pulled away. “You’re not going along with his scheme?” She held her breath, waiting for an answer.

  “To trick her? No. To ask for her help?” She shrugged. “We have to. I’ll just have to suffer any consequences for my own disobedience.”

  Camille didn’t know what to say. She was happy Sydney wasn’t heartless, but the idea of going along with any of Sir Robert’s plan chilled her.

  Thoughts of the Kells chilled her more.

  Camille sighed and wished for an option besides Sir Robert’s plan and doing nothing. There had to be a way to aid Arnvild and thwart Sir Robert at the same time. It was time to speak with her friends who knew people who knew the Hawk. “Let me see what I can find out.”

  Sydney looked at her with gratitude, and Camille took the hand she offered and pressed it warmly. She didn’t feel as warm inside.

  “I’ll need a few hours,” Camille said.

  Sydney nodded and sniffled as she stood, managing to be both sexy and vulnerable, a heartbreaking combination. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to get in the way.” She smiled sheepishly. “But if you need someone to fetch or carry or fight, I’ll be at the chapterhouse.”

  Camille only managed a wan smile. After Sydney left, Camille sank into a chair and tried to calm her worry for her kingdom and her anger at Sir Robert. Even if Sydney refused to trick the Hawk—and Camille would have been disgusted if she hadn’t—that didn’t mean the other knights would be so conscientious.

  And now Camille had to take Sydney’s secrets and go behind her back. She had to find a way to contact the Hawk, both to seek her help and to warn her. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t trust Sydney to tell the Hawk everything. They just didn’t know each other well enough.

  And if the betrayal of Sydney’s confidence cost their relationship?

  Camille sighed. So be it.

  * * *

  Rowena the Hawk bent over the crystal ball and gently placed her hands on it. She barely breathed as she focused on the delicate magic of imbuing the rock with a sending spell that would allow it to communicate with the other orbs she had scattered around Arnvild.

  “Bloody, buggery heartfire,” she mumbled as the magic flowed from her into the crystal. She’d known the heartfire magic of the knights was powerful, but she’d never expected a jolt to flow through two crystal balls with enough power to destroy them both. She should have severed the connection to the pirate’s crystal when she’d shut off the picture, but she’d hoped to get some good eavesdropping in.

  “But no,” she mumbled, deepening her voice to a mocking tone. “We have to destroy all the super bad magics.”

  “Concentration is key,” Ember said from somewhere behind her.

  “I know.” Rowena kept her voice low but couldn’t help the growl. The unseen magic that passed from her fluttered, and she felt it dance over her skin like cobwebs before she redirected it again.

  “Think of all the reagents you’ll have wasted if you lose focus,” Ember said. “It’s what you always say.”

  Reagents and hours of work. Stupid knights. At least Rowena had managed to whisk the pirate crew away and leave her calling card in their place. She grinned, wishing she could have seen the knight’s stupid face when her captives had disappeared.

  That glee improved her focus greatly, and she finally sat back from her finished crystal ball with a satisfied smirk. Using such delicate magic always left her feeling as if she needed a nap, and this was no exception. She leaned back in her chair and rested her head on Ember’s knee.

  From her seat on the desk, Ember tilted her head down, and Rowena’s eyes were drawn to the scar that cut across her face. It had faded to a slim white line in the years since Ember’s creation, but it still leaped out as it slanted from her right temple, through her eyebrow, across her nose, and down her cheek to her jaw. All the time she spent outside sparring with the husks didn’t help. The rest of her face had turned as brown as a bean, but that line would remain white forever.

  Still, the bright green eyes smiled along with her full lips. She didn’t lament the scar because she’d never been told to. Rowena never mentioned it, even as often as she gazed at it, so Ember didn’t think it out of the ordinary. After all, the only other “people” she spent time with—the husks—were covered in scars, and they didn’t seem to mind.

  Not that they could have minded.

  “What did you do with the pirates?” Rowena asked.

  “Loaded with provisions and sent on their way after they told me some stories.” She grinned. “They were very entertaining.”

  Rowena sat up and laughed. She tousled Ember’s short red hair, leaving it to flop artfully around her face. She always forgot to comb it. “Out the front door? I’m sure they’re loving that.”

  Ember cocked her head, making the numerous earrings on her right ear jingle. “I warned them not to go near the husks if they saw any and about the giant spiders in the lower tunnels that sometimes get out, and that they had to keep to the path down the mountain, or they’d be eaten by the yeti.” She cocked her head farther and stared at nothing. “They seemed upset and wanted you to magic them home. When I said that spell required time and energy to prepare, and that you only did it when you rescued them because you prepared it in advance, they yelled at me. They were very angry.”

  Rowena snorted. “I bet.”

  “I told them that I thought you’d let them stay until the spell was ready, but I told them what you wanted me to say, that there isn’t much room, so they’d have to stay downstairs with the husks, and some of them bite.” She shook her head. “They don’t bite unless you tell them to, though.”

  “And I would have. Can’t have them thinking me a liar.”

  The pirates had probably thought she was threatening them, but Ember was simply doing as Rowena had asked. Her body was that of an adult’s, but her rapid-fire way of speaking put some in mind of a child, and they either thought she was joking or underestimated her.

  And some of the husks would bite if instructed.

  “So,” Rowena said, “they decided to risk the spiders and the yeti?”

  “And your traps. They wanted to speak to you, to thank you,” Ember said, her brow wrinkling. “Why didn’t you want to talk to them?”

  Rowena turned away and began sorting through the reagents on the table, putting them away. “I just didn’t.”

  “But why?”

  Rowena sighed. She couldn’t help but be proud of Ember, her homunculus, her finest creation, but sometimes, Ember was too inquisitive by half.

  “They’re couriers, hired swords,” Rowena said. “Not friends.”

  “You saved them.”

  “A good crew is hard to find.”

  “They believe in you.”

  “That’s enough,” Rowena snapped over her shoulder, then felt like a dog for doing so. “I’m sorry, Ember. I just…they’re just…not friends.” Her stomach tightened in knots as she thought of speaking to a crowd of people, even for a moment, without the distance of the crystal ball.

  Ember’s arms went around her shoulders. “You don’t need to say sorry. Everything you do is all right with me.”

  Rowena sighed. Ember’s inability to really understand her was one of their problems. Ember couldn’t be a lot of things. “Go and spar with the husks.”

  “All right.” Her arms went away, but her steps paused by the door. “Maybe you should get some more friends.”

  Rowena snorted again and didn’t bother to reply. Ember was already gone. Oh yes, her mountain hideaway with its traps and beasties and husks was the perfect place for friends. “Please, come to my party,” the invitation would read. “Including possible poisoning, maiming, and even death! Oh, and Knights of the Flame will also be looking to hunt us down and find a way to either bar us from our home forever or throw us down a dark hole. Refreshments provided!”

  Bringing magic back to Arnvild was worth not having friends. She couldn’t let the bloody, buggery knights win. They were fine with their heartfire, magic of pure destruction, but they wanted to eradicate powers like hers, those of creation. And they couldn’t get it into their thick, pig-headed skulls that trying to have one without the other would set the entire world out of balance.

  Besides, Arnvild was her home, and no set of tight-assed, more-righteous-than-you idiots was going to keep her out of it.

  As she finished putting away her reagents, her crystal ball flickered, and the sounds of tinkling bells filled the air. Someone was handling one of the orbs she’d sent to her contacts in Arnvild.

  Rowena passed a hand over her own ball and added to its power with her life force. She used just a tad, wanting to see before she was seen. The rat-like face of Abe the clockmaker in Kingston peered back at her, his brows drawn together as if searching for her in the crystalline depths.

  “You won’t see me unless I want you to, Abe,” she said dryly.