Zaira’s eyes widened. She stared at Jerith for a moment, her fists relaxing. Glancing back and forth between them, I understood Jerith’s comment about a certain look: they were both thin and keen as stiletto blades, their movements full of a terrible energy barely held in check.

Zaira flopped into a chair, crossing her arms. “So are you here to tell me how to be a good little mage?”

“No,” Jerith said. “We’re here to teach you how to be an effective one.”

“The first and greatest problem for warlocks,” Balos began, his voice deep and calm, “is control.”

“But you knew that, didn’t you, missy?” Jerith flashed his teeth at Zaira, who scowled in response.

Balos continued as if he were used to ignoring Jerith’s interruptions. “The warlock’s challenge is to keep your control. The Falconer’s is to recognize when the warlock has lost it and to make a quick and calculated judgment as to when to seal their power.”

Zaira dug deeper into her chair, uncharacteristically silent. As I settled down two seats away from her, Balos met my eyes with his deep-brown ones. “Warlocks often collapse if they’ve used more than a small portion of their power, since the energy comes from within them until it starts taking lives. But once the lightning—or the balefire, in your case—starts killing, it draws power from the slain, and gains a life of its own. And the more it kills, the greater it grows, until it surpasses its wielder’s control and possesses them with a madness of destruction, the hunger of the fire itself.” Sadness softened his face. “Sometimes you need to let your warlock go for a while, even when the killing madness has taken them. Sometimes more people die if you stop it too soon, before the threat is over. But if you wait a moment too late, your own life could be in danger. And if you fall, no one can stop them.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. But it would never happen, I reminded myself. This was all mere theory, so long as the Empire remained at peace.

So long as whoever had sent false Falconers after the heirs of Ardence failed to start a war.

“All very grim,” Jerith said lightly, watching Zaira’s face. “But the point is, timing is key. And having a Falconer means you can let loose sometimes without worrying about hurting the wrong people.”

Zaira scowled. “I know how to handle my fire, thank you very much. I’m not a child. I’ve lived with this for eighteen years.”

“Of course,” Balos agreed, his tone patient. “But now you have a Falconer, and it’s different. Even more so for a warlock than for, say, an alchemist or an artificer.”

“Why more so for warlocks?” I asked.