Having sworn himself to the warleader, Feir would be expected to suicide along with Garuwashi, but he wouldn’t. He knew that. Of course, the warleader might slay him. But Feir didn’t think he’d allow that, either. So he would cheat again, and defend himself with magic. Every sa’ceurai in Midcyru would despise him. Perhaps one would hunt him down. That was Feir’s future. Either that, or serving forever as Lantano Garuwashi’s illusionist-in-chief, threading pretend flames onto his beautiful sword for the rest of his life.

That deception would destroy Lantano Garuwashi. If he ruled, he would rule badly, knowing himself to be dishonored. Garuwashi was not so young that honor was the only important thing in his life, but he was sa’ceurai to the roots of his soul. The best thing for Garuwashi would be to bury a blade in his own guts.

The sun sat low in the sky as Feir ducked to step into the council tent. Inside the tent sat King Gyre, Lord General Agon Brant, a wan Vi Sovari, and an older maja Feir didn’t recognize. Feir took an empty seat. King Gyre sat with folded hands to Feir’s right. His face was emotionless, but that in itself told Feir that the king was worried. As Feir pulled his chair in, something about Logan’s right arm drew his attention. There was some magic there, woven small and tight into Logan’s vambrace or his arm.

Logan noticed his attention and folded his hands in his lap, under the table. Feir dismissed it and continued looking around the table. Vi Sovari had covered herself with a modest maja’s dress, but at the wrists and neck her gray-black skin-tight wetboy’s garb was still visible. She had dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pale from her magical exertions at the dam. She was four places down the table, almost at the end of Feir’s magical vision, but he could see she hadn’t overextended her Talent. After Solon had used Curoch, he’d looked broken. His hair had grown in white, and he’d only escaped permanent injuries because Dorian was such a gifted Healer. With her escapades at the dam, Vi hadn’t hurt herself at all. She’d come near the limit of her gifts, but hadn’t exceeded it. Feir suspected that with a good night’s sleep, she’d be ready to do as much tomorrow. She was easily the most powerful mage here. She might even equal Solon. And, sitting up straight now at a word from the old maja at her right hand, Vi felt huge. As a man’s muscles looked most impressive after hard labor, so now did Vi’s Talent feel enormous. It made Feir feel small, and he didn’t like it.