“But I have practice in seeing, and I’ll tell you what I think. I think that you’re out of Shadows and working with that handsome young man because Shadows has told you to—to be contracted to someone, if not him specifically—and because Shara and the House will cut little pieces of you away, slowly if you do what you’re told and much faster if you don’t.
“I also think that you’re doing something else, and not just because you’d be a lot less careful in what you said to me if you had nothing to hide from Shara. Who probably told you to seek me out because she knew it would be the last thing you would do if she did, and she wanted to deny you an ally.”
A brow raised as question. Sydney kept her face clear of an answer, but it was precisely the sort of thing Shara would do.
Verenice continued. “I’ll tell you again that I’m not here on her behalf, that I haven’t spoken to her since I paid off my contract, but I don’t expect you to believe me—I wouldn’t, in your position. But I know how you filtered your influence spell during the first challenge—you set it up so that it would affect only the magicians who use the magic from Shadows to pay their cost. I think, perhaps, you were looking for allies.”
And that was close, very close. Sydney had set up the spell that way, though with the intent of counting enemies rather than of finding allies. She had wanted to see how deep Shadows’ influence was, to have some idea what the size of the fire would be when she lit the match. Apparently, a conflagration was in order. “Any other speculations?”
“I think you’re using the Turning as a way to move against Shadows, and I want to help you.” Verenice’s hands were flat on the table where Sydney could see them. Not that a magician had to use her hands to cast, but keeping them so obviously visible and unmoving was a sign that no magic was being done.
And then Sydney did ward the conversation, dipping a finger in her tea and drawing a quick symbol on the surface of the table.
“Assuming any of what you said is true, why would you want to get involved? Going up against Shadows would be risky. Dangerous even. If you’re out, you’re safe,” Sydney said, stepping hard on the last word. She might not trust Verenice, but she wouldn’t send anyone back into Shara’s clutches.
The lines of Verenice’s face changed then, and Sydney could see all the time, all the pain that had made them. “I opened the doors of the House when I was thirty-three. It held me under contract for ten years after. And for those ten years, and the thirty beyond them, I have lived in the Unseen World and known what went on in Shadows. Known I couldn’t stop or change it. Not on my own. That’s why.”
Sydney looked around the elegant patisserie, at the cream-and-gilt walls, the staff in the black-and-white uniforms, aprons edged with lace. She breathed in the scents of sugar and butter, cinnamon and chocolate, and thought how very far away they both were from where they had started.
She looked at Verenice’s shadow again. The rips, the torn places, the ragged edges. So much worse than her own, and the pain of her own, when she allowed herself to acknowledge it, was the constant shriek of skin flayed away, of open wounds. The balm to the pain, to the rage that lay underneath it, was the idea that she could change things. Could end them. Could make sure that no one else was broken and cut into pieces for the ease of other people’s magic.
She could almost have understood the existence of Shadows if it had been more than that. If using the magic that came out of it had been somehow a boost—if it let people be more powerful magicians. People were greedy and for power in particular. But the magic that came from Shadows didn’t give extra power. It made no one stronger. All it did was make things easier, because the pool of magic was always there, and ensure that those who used it faced no consequences for their magic use because someone else had paid them already.
Sydney had been one of those someone elses, for the first twenty-five years of her life, and Verenice had, too, for eight years of her life beyond that. She felt herself shake inside. She owed Verenice this choice, even if it made the other woman less safe. There were times when safety didn’t matter. And she didn’t have to trust Verenice to be able to use her.
“Okay,” Sydney said. “Okay.”
Verenice nodded. “You let me know when you’ve decided how I can be of use.”
“There is one thing,” Sydney said. She could start by asking the question Shara had wanted her to. That way there’d be nothing lost if it turned out Verenice wasn’t trustworthy after all. “Who do I most need to worry about?”
“Miles Merlin.” Verenice didn’t even have to consider her answer. “He’s furious already, because his son won’t use Shadows magic. He hates me because I’m the one who taught Ian that he didn’t have to. And once he learns what you are, where you’re from, he’ll come at you. He’ll be subtle, at the beginning, but don’t mistake that for him being anything less than dangerous. He’ll see any threat to Shadows as a threat to his power, and he won’t like it.”
“You’re the one who taught Ian?” Sydney said. A flicker of surprise before the realization that it made sense. Someone had to, and the choices were extremely limited. “Is he good?”
“Very.”
“One more thing, then,” Sydney said. “Have you heard about any failures of magic?”
“A little,” Verenice said. “Nothing concrete.”
“Please let me know if you do. It would, possibly, be a helpful thing to know, if I were actually planning any of the things you wondered about.” Her phrasing was vague enough that she could explain her way out of things if the request did get back to Shara.
Verenice collected her things, then paused. “Sydney. Thank you.”
“You may not want to thank me by the end of this,” Sydney said.
“If the end of this means an end to Shadows, I will.”
The next day, Sydney sent Verenice flowers. A kind gesture, nothing more.
Except for what it signaled, something she knew Verenice would understand: that Verenice, too, was findable. And there was the small matter of the spell, woven into the flowers, that would have wilted them on the instant had there been traces of any magic that came from Shadows in Verenice’s house, had she actually been in communication with Shara. And the secondary spell, set so if that magic wasn’t found, they opened exuberantly, in bright profusion, offering unmistakable signs of suspicion.
Verenice smiled and sent flowers in return. The card read, May our friendship, like these flowers, never wilt. Woven into the writing, a spell of her own. A binding to loyalty, making her unable to cast direct magic against Sydney.
Sydney held the card in her hand. There were ways—there were always ways—to get around such a binding. Verenice could very easily move against Sydney indirectly, or hurt someone else for leverage. But this, unasked for, was a strong sign that she had meant what she said—that she wasn’t bound to Shara or to Shadows any longer, and that she would work to help Sydney if that help was needed.
It was a good start.
CHAPTER FIVE