Brother Qown smashed it to the tile floor, shattering it into countless pieces. “Father Zajhera, I need your help!”

The second stretched out into an eternity. A thousand worries gave birth to a thousand more.

Had the magic failed? Had something happened to Father Zajhera? Was he too busy?

Then the wall began to glow. Its luminance condensed, flowed into shapes and fractals circling each other while the center fell back into nothingness.

“What the—” Ninavis started to say.

Brother Qown remembered to breathe.

“Thank Selanol.”

He’d known Father Zajhera since he was a boy. Father Zajhera, tall and thin and wise. The man who had offered his parents another option besides House D’Lorus, when their son’s mage gift first manifested. He wore his white cloud-curl hair matted into thick strands, held back by bamboo clips, and dressed in robes the same as Qown’s. He looked like a simple monk rather than the leader of an entire religion.

Zajhera read the situation with a glance, dismissed Ninavis as unimportant, and rushed to Brother Qown’s side. “How long ago did this happen?”

“A half hour, perhaps? She’s lost so much blood, and yet she rebuffs my efforts to heal her.”

“I’m not at all surprised.” Father Zajhera pulled the agolé from his shoulders and set it aside. “Let us begin.”

Such a simple thing reminded Brother Qown the Joratese lived in a city they hadn’t built:

Atrine possessed working plumbing.

Even by western Quuros standards, the bathing rooms amazed: beautiful tile work, efficient sewage disposal, sunken wading pools—heated, of course.

He wondered if the Joratese took it for granted. Did they think about it at all? Did the citizens ever stop to marvel at the sorcery that brought fresh water to their apartments, which also bore away their waste? Did some forgotten branch of House D’Evelin maintain the sewer system—or was Atrin Kandor’s enchantment on this city so great it continued to function after centuries? Did the sewage dump into Lake Jorat or the Zaibur River, or did someone do a roaring business selling fertilizer back to the Royal Houses?

Trivial matters such as these filled Brother Qown’s thoughts as he washed his hands.

“She’ll be fine, dear boy. I can see from the look on your face you’re still worried about her.” Father Zajhera stepped through the door behind Qown and presented the priest with a cup of hot tea; Nina’s hot water had served a different purpose.