Now Brother Qown had received a more in-depth education on the magical arts than most Academy graduates. Father Zajhera had been a thorough instructor, one who believed in teaching fundamentals and theory. So Brother Qown knew magical instruction could only inspire and advise. Magic was personal. No two people approached spellcasting the same way. Even twins would have different approaches to how they cast spells.

But Relos Var cast spells the same way as Father Zajhera.

Exactly the same.

Qown saw no difference at all.

And his eyes widened in horror as he stood up from the bench.

“Zajhera,” he whispered.

Relos Var looked up.

Their eyes met across the room.

Relos Var frowned. For that split second, Var looked bereft.

Heartbroken.

Relos Var broke eye contact and tossed down the crystal he’d been using as a focusing device. He chuckled. “I’m not surprised you failed, student. Someone’s beaten us to it.”

Senera blinked at him. “What?”

“You can’t gaesh her because she’s already gaeshed. Someone has preempted us. Her soul already belongs to another.”

“Who?”

Relos Var seemed to give the matter some thought. “I don’t know.” He laughed. “Oh, now, that’s a sentence I haven’t said in centuries. Unfortunately…” He gestured toward Janel. “We don’t have time to answer it to our satisfaction. If gaeshing isn’t possible, we’ll need to find a different way.”

“What are you thinking?” Senera asked.

“Declaw our little lion,” Relos Var answered. “Let’s at least limit her ability to toss soldiers about like mice. I don’t relish taking her back to Duke Kaen only to see her rip his head off.” He paused. “Don’t tell Duke Kaen about her gaesh. He has enough problems with paranoia.”

They didn’t seem to be paying attention to him. Brother Qown thought Relos Var must not have heard what he’d said. Qown felt the metaphorical hand around his throat loosen. He exhaled.

“Let’s turn her over,” Senera suggested. “This will be better on her back.” She added a bit more water to thin her black ink, while Relos Var gently flipped Janel over on the table.

Brother Qown looked toward the door. How far could he run before the guards caught him? He didn’t know any good spells for invisibility either—he only knew how to hide words. Maybe if something distracted the guards …

Yet when he looked back, Senera was drawing on Janel’s back. He couldn’t help but pause.

She was drawing a sigil.

Not the same one he’d seen her use to clean the air, but it shared a similar style. As Senera swirled the brush over Janel’s skin, the ink sank in and dried, permanent and dark as Janel’s fingers.

Senera stood back and admired her work.