Dorian broke into a big smile. “Good! Now help me figure out how we’re going to get Curoch out of here.”

Feir was sure he had misunderstood. Then he felt the blood draining from his face. There were wards on the door to keep magic in. “When you say ‘here’ you mean ‘here, in the school.’ Like I still have a chance to convince you not to try to steal the most guarded artifact in Midcyru. Right?”

Dorian threw back the covers on the bed. There was a plain sheathed sword on it. It looked entirely normal, except that the sheath was made entirely of lead, and it covered the sword entirely, even the hilt, damping the magic. But this wasn’t just a magic sword. It was more like The Magic Sword. This was Curoch, Emperor Jorsin Alkestes’ sword. The Sword of Power. Most magi weren’t even strong enough to use it. If Feir (or most others) tried, it would kill him in a second. Dorian had said even Solon couldn’t use it safely. But after Jorsin Alkestes’ death, there had been quite a few magi who had been able to—and they’d destroyed more than one civilization. “At first, I thought I was going to have to prophesy my own future to get it, but instead, I prophesied the guards’. Everything worked perfect except one guard came down a hallway that he only had maybe a one in a thousand chance of taking. I had to knock him out. The good news is, he’s going to be nursed back to health by a lovely girl whom he’ll later marry.”

“You’re telling me there’s some guard unconscious upstairs right now, just waiting to be found? While we’re talking? Why are you even doing this?”

“Because he needs it.”

“He? You’re stealing Curoch for ‘ask Momma K’ boy?” Feir asked.

“Oh no, well, not directly. The boy who needs to hold Curoch—the one the whole world needs to hold Curoch—isn’t even born yet. But this is our only chance to take it.”

“Gods, you’re serious,” Feir said.

“Stop pretending this changes anything. You’ve already decided. We’re going to Cenaria.”

Sometimes a seer could be a pain in the ass? Try always.

Chapter 29

29

W hat is your problem!” Master Blint screamed.

“I don’t—” Kylar said.

“Again!” Blint roared.

Kylar stopped the practice knife with an X block, crossing his wrists in front of him. He tried to grab Durzo’s hand and twist, but the wetboy slipped aside.

They ranged around the practice building of Blint’s newest safe house, vaulting off walls, maneuvering each other into beams, attempting to use every uneven edge of the floor against each other. But the match was even.