Chapter 3

CHAPTERTHREE

There were days that Zahir truly resented his decision to sit on the Council of Ten. The Ten ruled all the Republic from the powerful seat of Venice, and they made sure that anyone—shape changer, mage, djinn, or normal human—was welcome. If you obeyed the rules and worshiped trade above all else, there was no finer place to live.

The djinn loved bureaucracy. They excelled at it, so Zahir resented not enjoying himself far more with the intricacies of running the Republic. The truth was, he was bored down to the bones he didn’t really have. The war with the magic hating Varangian Empire seemed to be never-ending, and his days were filled with endless meetings like the one he was currently trapped in.

Zahir was doing his best to focus on the dashingly handsome Admiral Nico D’Argento and the report he was giving the council. It was an update on new ship designs that could help them in the war. There was a brilliant artifice mage in Constantinople who had taken old engine designs and had begun to create something similar that used magic to power it. It was going to be far more powerful and efficient than the current magical batteries. Nico wanted to bring him to Venice and give him more funding to expand the experiment to one of his warships.

Zahir could remember when petrol had powered such things, and he had vowed to ensure that nothing so filthy contaminated the atmosphere. Humans had fucked the world once, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

Zahir glanced over to Arkon’s notebook. The sorcerer beside him was busily drawing a picture of the Wolf Mage with devil horns and a pitchfork. Arkon was perhaps the closest thing he had to a friend, and his mind was only ever on one thing.

Every day that the Wolf Mage evaded capture, or assassination, was another day Arkon was planning to take her down. He had gotten more gray in his hair in recent months. He had far too much for a man so young.

Zahir felt a twinge of something that could have been concern. He pushed it aside. If the djinn knew one thing, it was not to get attached to humans. They were fragile little butterflies that died too young.

"We still haven’t uncovered what the Varangians wanted with our unregistered magic users," Gio said, his deep voice bringing Zahir back to the present. The former had curly dark hair and eyes that could strip you bare with a glance. Zahir only ever saw them soften when Gio talked to one person—Carmella Aladoro. The female shedu shapeshifter in question was the leader of the Wands District, along with her son Domenico.

They had all rescued a shipload of their own people that winter, thanks to Domenico and his lovely mate, Stella. Carmella was the kindest of people right up until you crossed her. Zahir had seen what had been left of her late husband and knew that he would never dare to get on her bad side.

The Varangians hadn’t gotten their hands on the Republic’s stolen mages. That they wanted them at all still made no sense. They hated magic, except for their blessed Wolf Mage.

Gio cleared his throat and said louder, "Where are your Ravens at with that, Arkon?"

Zahir gave the Grand Sorcerer and spy master a helpful kick under the table.

"Ah, um, yes. The Ravens." Arkon flipped through his notebook, pretending he was looking for information. The entire book was filled with his sketches of the Wolf Mage in varying gory deaths. "They traced the last shipload of unregistered magic users to Sarajevo. There, the trail went cold. My informant believes they were handed over to the army and shipped off to a camp. They couldn’t find anything reliable to corroborate that and have headed to Kyiv to see if the Wolf Mage might be training them or using them for something…else."

Zahir knew when his friend was holding back, but the council meetings weren’t the place for actual information. Gio and Arkon had their own agreements, Zahir knew it, and so did anyone with half a brain in the Republic. They attended the Council of Ten for the day to day. The things that occurred in the night were for them alone.

"Keep me informed, and let’s continue to look at changing the registration policies to encourage other unlisted users to come forward," Gio replied smoothly. He raised a slight brow at Arkon, and the sorcerer nodded. They would talk later.

After the meeting was finally over, Zahir looped his arm around Arkon’s before he could go anywhere. The sorcerer had an uncanny knack for disappearing after meetings.

"Before you ask, I can’t come drinking with you tonight," Arkon said before Zahir could open his mouth.

"I wasn’t going to, though you seem in dire need of a drink. Tell me what’s wrong, my dear sorcerer," Zahir replied. It was a sunny afternoon, and they walked along the marble mezzanine that looked over St. Mark’s Square.

"The Wolf Mage is what is wrong. Just like always," Arkon admitted, running a hand through his already messy curls.

They stopped to lean against the railings and stare at the glittering blue ocean. It was a sight Zahir never tired of although it still frightened many of his brethren. He loved the sea. If he ever decided to kill himself, he would throw himself into the dark blue waters and let them unmake him.

"What has she done now that has you so vexed, Arkon?" Zahir prompted him.

"That’s the thing. I don’t think she’s done anything. The attacks on our soldiers recently aren’t her," Arkon struggled to explain.

"She’s their only mage."

"Is she? Because I know this magic looks like her, but it’s not. The last report said that she tore horses and men apart. Some were reported to be inside out. That’s horrific."

"That’s war."

Arkon shook his head. "Not our war. The Wolf Mage isn’t the slaughtering type. Her magic is subtle."

"Sending a plague of mice onto our military encampment isn’t subtle," Zahir argued.

"It is fair, though. Magic should never be used to kill. There’s balance and a natural law that it defies. You know this better than anyone. Besides, I turned the mice into potatoes and fed the men for a month." Arkon leaned against the railing. "These attacks we have been seeing in the past month are not her doing."

"Maybe you are only hoping that they’re not," Zahir suggested softly.

Arkon’s expression turned fierce. "What do you mean by that?"

"She’s your rival and your equal, Arkon. You two have played a game of magical chess with each other for years. You respect her, and you think you know her. You don’t. You play by a code of honor, but you can’t expect her to do the same."

Arkon gnawed on his lip. "She has up until now. What has changed?"

"She answers to her masters. Maybe they are forcing her hand. The king might want this war over by any means necessary," Zahir suggested. He didn’t want to upset the sorcerer more, but he wouldn’t lie to him either. "I’m sure your Ravens will find something. They always do."

"I don’t know what to do, Zahir," Akron admitted, his dark brown eyes worried. "Gio wants me to respond in kind, to show the king and his mage that we aren’t to be fucked with. I don’t think I can do it. Just because she is willing to kill with magic doesn’t mean I can. Not even for Gio."

Zahir thought about the horrible position the sorcerer was in. He knew what it was like to have a master. "How about a freak snowstorm?" he suggested eventually.

Arkon’s mouth twitched. "I like it. Powerful. Uncomfortable. It will give the men a fighting chance, at least. If any die, the blame will bounce back onto the king for not equipping his army as he should. Has anyone ever told you that you would make an excellent advisor?"

Zahir laughed, a rich sound that had heads turning. "I only give advice when I feel like it. I only give good advice if I like you."

"There is another possibility that I have to consider where these recent attacks are concerned," Arkon said, his mirth vanishing.

"And what is that?"

"That perhaps the Varangians have stopped killing their magicians and have started training them to be obedient soldiers of the empire."

Zahir gave Arkon’s shoulder a squeeze. "The Creator help us all if that’s the case. The Wolf Mage alone has vexed you enough."

"I just need to kill her, and everything will be fine," Arkon said decisively.

"That’s the spirit." Not that that plan had worked so far. "You need any help to put together a decent weather spell?"

"Don’t insult me," Arkon said, batting Zahir’s hand from his arm. "Don’t you have petitioners to attend to?"

Zahir sighed. "Don’t remind me."

"I won’t keep you from your duties, Highness," Arkon said, his sly grin finally making an appearance.

"Enjoy making snow flurries for your girlfriend," Zahir countered, and he headed for the stairs.