Fyron and Jerika looked on from their vantage point upon the wall, confusion and caution growing as the leader of the riders dismounted, approached and bowed to Micaiah. When the helmet came off and the woman began to speak they strained their ears to hear more. The distance worked against them, only allowing them to catch about every third word. What they did hear only confused them more. Former fiance? And there was no missing her addressing him as “prince”.  Why would she announce his identity in front of all these people? It was something of an open secret, but still. And did she just pledge her people to the cause? Not her house, or her resources, but herself and her people? 

The pair looked at each other and shrugged, racing for the gate. Only Micaiah could answer any of their questions. And he would answer. Whether he liked it or not, they were going to have to trust each other and communicate; they were, for all intents and purposes, plotting treason. What had started as a simple network of safehouses had become a plan for a totally separate domain. Even if the mages escaped the capital, or the major cities, royal law demanded mages be registered in whatever city or town they resided, report any relocation, and if a crime was reported, fingers were always pointed at  the registered mages. Mages needed a place free from the influence of royal law but creating such a place branded anyone associated with it as traitors. 

The guards opened the gate to allow the party in, showing a nervous attentiveness they hadn’t before. Several offered Micaiah bowed heads or fists over their heart. Whatever had been said, had apparently earned the man some measure of respect and loyalty.

As the party approached, Fyron offered an elegant nod to their newest ally, “Greetings, Dame Amitie of House Verena. I am pleased you could join us.”

At the stunned look on Lady Amitie’s face, Micaiah lips twitched as if holding back a smile and Jerika decided the formalities were likely unnecessary, “Welcome to Aarov. I am certain Micaiah can find you and your men suitable lodging. In the meantime, allow me to introduce myself and my companion. I’m Jerika and this is Fyron.”

Amitie studied Jerika for a long moment then chuckled, “Now her, I like.” 

The small band of riders were dismissed to find food and baths and beds, which they enthusiastically scurried off in search of. Then the remaining four of them leisurely made their way through town in a charged silence, but all that changed once inside Micaiah’s house.

Amitie’s steely gray eyes found Fyron and lit with amusement as she noticed the slight pout he’d worn since her dismissal of his greeting, “So…Fyron. Of House Kyde of Thyr?”

Fyron noticeably perked up at her recognition, “Yes!”

She studied him closely, “I had heard rumors that the second son of House Kyde had gone missing after a succession dispute, but to think that was just a cover for you actually being a mage…”

“My family did not know about my magic and there was no dispute. My father is a traditionalist, only the oldest is worthy to inherit, no matter the flaws of the eldest or the merits of another.”

Bitterness laced Fyron’s voice and Jerika smoothed a hand down his back to comfort and soothe him, an action that did not go unnoticed by either of the other two. 

Micaiah cleared his throat, “Are there other useful rumors? Children suddenly dropping out of sight? Freak accidents? Any news about the Shadow Houses?”

Amitie nodded, understanding his intention to distract Fyron from his troubles, “There was an out of season flood reported on one of the farms just outside of Yadeth. Lightning struck and caused a massive fire to the guard barracks in Erebus hours before the storm blew in. Both of those accounts are confirmed and my people are already looking for those responsible.” At Micaiah’s sharp look, she continued, “They will not be handed over to the guard, they will instead be quietly brought here for you to judge.”

Micaiah nodded, his relief evident, “Anything else relevant?”

Amitie’s eyes found Jerika, “There are also rumors of House Feol weakening. It would seem two of their mage killers have gone missing and there seems to be dissent among those who remain.”

Jerika allowed herself a smile, not denying her part in that, “Good. Perhaps the less corrupt among them will find their way to freedom as I did.”

Any further discussion was put on hold as Fyron’s stomach growled. Loudly. The midday meal was a lively affair; Amitie fit in well and serious talk- about the events of the past, the needs of the present, and the plans for the future- was set aside until later. 

The darkness cloaked her, hiding her, but that did nothing to keep her hands from trembling as she crept from the bedroom she shared with three other mages. She kept her footfalls light as she slipped down the stairs and outside into the night. The crumpled letter tucked within her tunic seemed to burn against her skin and she thanked the Weaver she had only been fitted with one binding sigil, albeit one of high quality. She had seen the pain even low grade sigils could cause, especially if they were embedded. 

She stole around a corner and paused in the deeper shadow to calm herself. The letter had said to ask for Father Mattias in the temple district. Keeping to the shadows, it would take her almost two hours to get there. Best get moving.

It was nearing daybreak when she finally reached the temple and rapped upon the door. She shuffled her feet nervously, realizing belatedly that this could all be a trap. Yes the code was one only she and two others knew, but Jerika had been missing for weeks and there had been no word or rumor of Corsha in nearly as long. 

She startled when the door swung open to reveal an elderly priest with kind eyes and a face wrinkled from both age and laughter, “I… I need to speak with Father Mattias.”

His eyes sharpened and he looked over her shoulder, scanning the darkness before stepping aside and waving her in, “I’m Father Mattias. How can I help, child?”

She fished the letter from her tunic before nervously introducing herself, “I’m Analie, a mage of House Feol.” When the priest did not interrupt, she continued, “I received an encoded letter from a friend saying that if I wanted to get out, to be free, that I should come to you between dusk and dawn.”

He smiled sadly, “I am glad to see your courage in coming here, but this is only the first step. I have traveling clothes and hair dye to disguise your appearance but I can do nothing about your sigil. There is another safe place in the market district that will supply you with food and a way out of the city. Each safe house only knows the location of the previous and the next to protect the network.” He glanced out the window to the steadily brightening sky, “We need to get moving. The wagon will leave the city in just a few hours.”

Analie nodded slowly, it was safer to only know what was necessary, less chance of anyone being captured and tortured for information.. She wondered if there was somewhere along the line that could remove her sigil before Feol sent the other trackers after her. Then a thought occurred to her. If she could use the sigils to track others, could she stop others from tracking hers?

“Wait!”

She clenched her fists tightly, allowing her nails to bite and draw blood. Ignoring the priest’s curious gaze, she smeared her blood onto the collar that bore the red stone that bound her and poured her magic into it, willing it to hide her. She wasn’t sure how much magic she needed to pour into it, or if there would be some visible sign when it was done, or even if it would work, but she had to try; she couldn’t allow Feol and his people to endanger this. This was a chance for people like her to find freedom, safety, a place to belong…

The priest’s sharp inhalation signaled she had succeeded.

“The stone… It’s white!”

She nodded, gaining her feet, “I figured out how to block the tracking signal. It won’t help with the pain of a command but they won’t be able to track me. I can at least keep from endangering the network you’ve set up.”

Father Mattias smiled broadly as he ushered her toward a room to change, “This was not my doing but the idea of a young mage like yourself, seeking freedom and equality.”

She froze. Someone like her had started all this? Determination flooded her. She would escape. She would find this young mage. And she would help them, in whatever way she could.

Corsha practically vibrated with fury. Fyron was gone, and for that she was grateful, because his brother Dafyd was out of control. The announcement of Dafyd as heir had passed and the brute had taken that to mean no one could usurp his place now, no matter how badly he behaved. He regularly hit the servants, he squandered every coin he could lay his hands on on drugs or whores, he refused to do any of the work necessary to maintain the family’s status and influence. Enough was enough.

She ensured her hair was tightly pulled back out of her face, revealing the black eye and ring of bruising around her neck. She slung her small bag over her shoulder and strode purposefully to Lady Kyde’s chambers while the house was still asleep, a letter of resignation in hand.

She rapped respectfully on the polished wooden door and awaited permission to enter, knowing Lady Kyde was often awake before sunrise, her nerves causing tremors in her hands and an itchy crawly feeling over every inch of her skin.

“Enter.”

“Madame,” she began with a deep, heartfelt bow of respect, “I have come to request leave to retire from your service.”

The lady of house Kyde looked up from her lamplit reading and gawked at the bruising visible on the petite maid, “Corsha… Did… Did Dafyd do…?

Corsha nodded slowly, tears threatening, “I respect you greatly madame, and it has been my honor to serve you, but I cannot remain here.”

Lady Kyde nodded, accepting the proffered letter before standing. “I shall escort you to the door to ensure you receive no more bruises. Legalities and all that,” she said waving a hand airily as she pulled a robe over her nightgown. 

Behind her flippant attitude, Corsha sensed a fury nearly as deep as her own but tempered by grief and helplessness. She clutched the lady’s hand impulsively and squeezed it briefly in encouragement.

“The temple offers help to all, no matter their station,” she murmured quietly, “I’ve heard Father Mattias can aid in getting troubled people out of the city when necessary. Even those marked by hardship.”

Lady Kyde’s eyes widened at the implication that a priest was smuggling out mages. Then she grew introspective, the silence deep enough that their footsteps echoed through the empty halls. Was that enough of a hint? Would the lady understand that Fyron was a mage? Would she seek information from the priest?

Quickly brushing away tears, Lady Kyde smiled at Corsha, the two starting down the stairs, “Thank you. Be well and safe, Corsha. If you hear news worth mentioning, I would always welcome a letter from you.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Corsha strode into the sunshine and toward the temple. Rumors were such unreliable things but there was almost always a nugget of truth to them. Rumor had it that “those marked by hardship” were headed east with help from the temple. Analie had surely heard the rumors as well, if the Weaver willed it, perhaps the time had finally come for a family reunion.