The agony on Simber’s face was clear. He had been governed by a strict set of rules from the moment Mr. Today brought him to life. Loyalty to the head mage was his strongest instinct. But it was true he’d been struggling with Frieda Stubbs ever since Aaron had handed the robe to her. She wasn’t a true head mage—her takeover had been manipulative and underhanded. And she didn’t have the good of Artimé in mind. Simber doubted that Marcus would have ever imagined such a situation in Artimé, but here they were. Still, a right-hand cheetah statue had to follow the rules that were instilled in him. Didn’t he? What would disappoint Marcus more?

Simber had already pushed the boundaries when he’d declared to Frieda that he wouldn’t hurt her Artiméan adversaries. He’d said it, then thought immediately that he’d gone a step too far. But who had truly put these strict rules in place? Marcus had never once lectured Simber about any of the cat’s duties. But he had come to him for advice from time to time. He’d trusted Simber’s competence in making wise and thoughtful decisions. He’d trusted his instincts and his ability to discern right from wrong. And his tendency to show compassion despite his gruff nature. Mr. Today had valued those traits in Simber, while never once demanding that Simber must be loyal to the head mage above all. It was just something Simber felt. Perhaps the severity of that rule had been self-imposed.

If Marcus were alive, what would he say to Simber right now? What would Alex say? Simber stopped pacing and dropped his gaze as shame filled him. Sky had said Alex would be disappointed. And he knew deep down that Sky was right. Admitting that stung the most out of all the arguments they’d made. Simber’s greatest fear was disappointing people who counted on him.

Artimé was counting on him now.

Simber closed his eyes as heartbreaking pain speared through him. Thinking about Marcus and Alex was almost too much for him to bear. He felt completely lost in his current position with Frieda Stubbs, which made the memories of his former mages all the more precious. It didn’t take much thinking to know what they would have him do right now.

But the fact was still true that Marcus, perhaps errantly, had instilled him with at least some sense of loyalty to the head mage. And that would be very hard for Simber to push aside. Could he do it?

His mind echoed the thought: Artimé was counting on him now.

He would have to use every bit of everything else Marcus had given him: Compassion. His sense of right and wrong. Kindness. And he must think of his loyalty as one to Artimé rather than some random person who undeservedly wore the robe of the head mage.

It would be a struggle. Simber’s mind turned to Drock the dark purple dragon. Drock was struggling in a similar way, he realized. Struggling to fight the call of evil. While Simber empathized with Drock, there was something comforting about having him as a kindred spirit. When everyone else was compromised, Drock had chosen the harder path, the more dangerous fight. He chose to struggle against the inner pull to join forces with the one who called on him.