The next morning, it took three people over an hour to come to the decision that Jerika should be allowed out of bed. Fyron hovered anxiously while trying to keep a distance so as not to overwhelm. Micaiah watched the proceedings with the stoic poise of a born leader, though his eyes betrayed his desire to be more involved. And lastly, the healer Micaiah had brought in studied Jerika’s every expression, noting any hesitance in moving, any facial twitches caused by pain, and even any discomfort with the others in the room. 

When Jerika was comfortably seated at the table, the multitude of important papers shoved aside into messy piles, the healer sent the men from the room and took the seat across from Jerika. Her gray eyes missed nothing as she stared at Jerika and when she finally spoke, it was in a gentle voice that soothed Rika far more than she cared to admit.

“Your young friend expressed concern that you may be allowing your past to torment you, to keep you imprisoned.”

Rika froze, a thrill of fear raced down her spine, just how much of her past did Fyron even know? And how much had he shared with this stranger?

Magic began to gather at Rika’s fingertips as she jumped to her feet, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight swirling into dozens of tiny needle sharp projectiles, “What do you know?”

The woman did not flinch, her steely eyes boring into Ri’s bright amber eyes, “I knew nothing. Your friend merely asked that I speak with you regarding your past that he suspected still haunted you. But now… “ She gestured to Rika and the floating weapons that even now tracked her every move, “Now I know far more.”

Indignant, Rika just stared at the other woman. Seconds passed, then minutes, but Rika could find no words to refute the healer's claim. Calming herself with effort, Rika dismissed her magic and collapsed back into her chair. 

"So… how do we do this?"

A spark of amusement flared to life in the healer's eyes, "We simply talk. Acknowledging the past and how it has affected you can be freeing. From there we will find ways to overcome it, healthy ways, ways that won't cause long term harm to you or others."

Rika took a deep breath and nodded resolutely, "Well, I suppose it began when I was eight or nine…"

"Master Micaiah! A letter!"

The boy skidded to a stop before the former prince with a wide smile, the letter clutched so tightly it was slightly crinkled.

Micaiah shook his head but accepted his delivery with a rueful smile of his own and a playful pat on the head, "Thank you, Rin. Back to work now."

"Yes sir!"

And the boy was gone just as fast as he'd come. Fyron peeked around Micaiah to spy the letter.

"One of my contacts or yours?"

Micaiah handed the letter over, "Obviously yours. My contacts, well… contact, singular, would take twice as long to reply out of spite. It's just her way."

Fyron studied the letter with barely controlled nerves, before breaking the simple wax seal, "Here goes nothing."

The writing was neat, precise and exactly what one would expect from a high ranking priest. And the content…

"He said yes!" Fyron was ecstatic, barely keeping himself from leaping with joy, "Father Mattias has agreed to help! He says parents often ask for prayer for their children or advice from the temple in the early stages of magic manifestation. Most commoners don't want to abandon their children unless it becomes dangerous. And nobles prefer to use the power as a secret weapon until it becomes too obvious or unstable. If he can pass the message to the kids before everything spirals, he can help get them out!"

Micaiah nodded, Fyron's excitement infectious, "What of the innkeeper? Will he provide safe haven for our runaways?"

Fyron read further, concentration lines forming between his brows, "Yes! Mattias has already contacted him. Between the two of them, they've also persuaded a forester just outside the city walls. We have an extraction point and two stops on the way." He looked up at Micaiah, his eyes alight with passion, "We have the start of something real now."

Fear fluttered in Micaiah's gut at the enormity of the task before them, but he tightened his hold on it, "We do. We should check out that town you and Ri stopped at. Along with the mining town, we'd be about halfway there. Any mages sent our way now would have to spend a week or more camping out, at the mercy of wild animals, bandits or-"

"Mage killers."

Both men looked up at Jerika's addition. Her silent approach had caught them off guard. She held out a sealed letter, ready to send. 

"For an old friend, a powerful blood mage reluctantly in the employ of House Feol. It's coded so only she will understand its contents. A return letter will be sent to Gyueson, the town we stopped at. I suggest one of your people wait there for a reply for one week and no more, just in case."

Micaiah turned the plan over in his mind. It would be nice to have others with powerful gifts to aid in their endeavor, but a blood mage? 

"Blood mage…?"

Fyron's words drew Micaiah's attention, did he also have reservations about recruiting blood mages? Or was it more about poaching from a Shadow House and risking their wrath?

"You don't mean…?"

Ri nodded, her smile sad,  "Yes. Analie, your maid's cousin."

The hope that bloomed on Fyron's face chased away all of the niggling doubts that Micaiah faced. To accomplish their goal of freeing mages, of ensuring their equality, he had to accept all magic disciplines without bias, and eventually facing the Shadow Houses would be unavoidable. He had to overcome his doubts, fears and prejudices. 

"Good. I'll send someone I trust to Gyueson then."

"Master Micaiah!"

A guard staggered into the house, winded and drenched in sweat. He had clearly run at top speed without regard to endurance. Something was wrong.

Micaiah straightened, claiming his sword from its place by the door,"What is it?"

"Riders, sir. About a dozen, lightly armored and riding fast."

"What colors?"

"House Verena."

Micaiah froze, "Verena? But… there's no way."

He strode from the house, his sword in hand though still sheathed. The guards were motionless at their posts upon the walls, their weapons drawn. The gates were shut tight, the captain of the guard standing before them as if waiting for someone. 

"Captain," Micaiah acknowledged with a nod as he approached. 

"Your hi-" the captain startled, nearly blurting out the honorific before recovering, "Sir. They claim to be from House Verena. They also claim you called them here."

"I asked for a favor from the daughter of Verena a few days ago. This… this is not what I intended or expected. "

The captain nodded, "Their leader wishes to speak with you, but…"

Micaiah shook his head and lowered his voice so only they could hear, "I am no longer a prince, captain, you needn't fear for my safety. Nor should you address me so formally, it only draws attention."

His voice low but vehement, the captain replied, "The royal family was wrong, sir. I've heard whispers that you intend to build an army of mages and wrest the throne from your brother. IF those whispers were true, the guard would be behind you, as would most of Aarov. You need only convince, or depose, the viscount."

Once again overwhelmed by the scale of their endeavor, Micaiah could only nod before approaching the gate to be let out.

Stepping into the sun from the shade of the wall, Micaiah shaded his eyes to study the group before him. The leader dismounted at his approach and offered him a half bow.

Uneasy at the show of obeisance, Micaiah settled his weight, ready to draw his sword if it became necessary, "What purpose brought you here?"

The leader chuckled, removing their helm to allow a long ebony braid to fall free, "Such a way to greet your former fiancé. You asked for my help, no? I greet you, Micaiah, former prince of the kingdom of Malkut.” She nodded to her men and then dismounted, removed their helms and took to their knees, “I pledge my help and that of my men to your cause, for it is as just and true as the man at its head. Let us reshape this world together, my friend.”