“So what’s all this about you feeling magic?”

Fia said nothing but instead motioned to one of the Athairólthain twins with an index finger as he continued to squat beside the thief. While he couldn’t say this man was, beyond all shadow of a doubt, the thief in question, there was no denying he was a shadow mage. 

The evidence sat on the ground beside the thief’s head, a half-written line of magic with tiny wisps of smoke reaching through the dirt like new shoots grasping for sunlight. He understood the concept well enough, though it had never been used with any regularity in his home country. Writing allowed a mage to pull power from whatever they wrote upon. Paper, earth, stone, air. Anything that could be written upon could be used as a power source. It spared the mage their own reserves, but something was always taken from the caster regardless. Always a price, but one that could be bargained.

If writing proved difficult, then putting voice to one's magic came next. 

Spoken intent.

It carried its own sort of power, but a mage could not think one thing and speak something that contradicted it while still expecting the same results imagined in their mind. Most mages learned this through one hard lesson or another in their youth, and in general, had led the majority of magic users to travel the tried and true roads of straightforward delivery. However, this had also led to some mages growing rather creative with their word-crafting. Often taken as a sign of that mage’s abilities, the more subtle an incantation was while still achieving the maximum effect imagined through their thoughts became the pinnacle of what it meant to be a mage. Few ever achieved it. 

Yet, not only did this young man seem capable of such a feat, he also wielded it as easily as Fia did his sword. 

Even now, Fia could sense the connection this thief had to the shadows, how his thoughts kept probing the darkness, looking for doors to open, gateways to pass through. If not for the Athairólthain’s bodies creating a physical ward between him and the other world, Fia would likely have lost the man to some deviously devised escape route. 

“This is going to be a very boring affair if you insist on silence,” the thief said. 

Fia glanced over at him, eyebrow quirked.

“Ah, so you are capable of expression. For a good moment there, I thought maybe I had been imagining things with you. Because you really looked like you wanted to say something, possibly a good many things, a minute or two ago.”

With a shake of his head, Fia drummed his fingers along the body of the nearest snake. The creature lifted its head, flicked its tongue, then began to slither over the thief’s shoulder. As it moved, its body gradually decreased in size, and where its coils left an opening, its twin slid one of its own into place to fill it. No gaps left for the thief to take advantage of, not that Fia thought he had any particularly enticing openings waiting for him now. Still, he would rather not underestimate the man. 

“That one is the world-ender,” Fia said as the serpent, now no larger than a common grass snake, wound itself around the thief’s wrists. “I’d suggest you remember that not all endings occur in a heartbeat but that some take their time before arriving at the finish.”

Laughter as the thief glanced over at Fia. “Tying me up and talking to me about slow finishes. Are you sure you’re threatening me, knight?”

That was…

Fia snorted. Here this thief lay, bound up tighter than anger’s own fist, and yet, he still had the audacity (because it certainly wasn’t a lack of self-awareness as far as Fia could tell) to insinuate that this was all some elaborate scheme to flirt with him of all things. Sinking back onto his heels, Fia brought a hand to his mouth and tried not to laugh.

The thief looked at him, expectation written all over his face. His mouth held the smallest of smirks, but so loud was it in its surety that he had hit upon something worthwhile, Fia almost relented and gave him what he wanted. A tease in return. Instead, he shook his head again.

“You think the emperor sent me all the way out here to find a date with a shadow mage?” Fia asked.

The thief shrugged. Or he attempted it. The motion came out as a half-hitch of his right shoulder that he quickly gave up trying to force into anything more impactful. With a sigh, he dropped his head back onto one thick coil of the snake still beneath him. “It’s a possibility.” He turned his head ever so slightly, just far enough to set one copper-brown eye on Fia. “Handsome blood knight. Charming shadowscrawler. Both skirting the lines of death. Sounds like the perfect romantic arrangement to me.”

“Except for the part where I deliver you to the Winter Guard and escort you back to the imperial capital to confess.”

“Confess to what?”

“You’re a thief, aren’t you?”

“I don’t remember saying anything of the like.”

“Then why were you in the city spying on us? Why was your magic crawling all over the streets there?” 

The corner of the thief’s mouth twitched, and in its wake, his smirk morphed into a full-blown smile. “Like I said — handsome blood knight.”

Fia ran a hand down his face. He cleared his throat, then popped up out of his squat. Giving each leg a gentle shake to work out the stiffness, he studied the man still bound on the ground before him. 

Charming. Fia could give him that. He also knew how to use a smile to his best advantage. His fingers no longer dripped darkness from their tips, but they remained stained the same black Fia had noted during their chase through the woods. The color rose beyond his wrists, then slowly faded out around the middle of his forearms. A living, breathing link to the shadows. Promising a part of himself to them in exchange for open access to that world. It wouldn’t affect Athairólthain. Neither of them. They were as much a part of the shadows and all that lived within them as the moon was the night. Perhaps even more so. 

Beneath the dim light that hovered around the thief like a fading shard of a fallen star, Fia could also see a dark mark creeping just over the neckline of his cloak. Clothing lightweight, in hues that would easily let him blend in with the forest, whether day or night. A dagger strapped to his thigh. Likely other weapons, all easy to conceal. Golden-brown hair that spoke of more time in the sun than the shadows. An easy smile and eyes that remained remarkably expressive while giving nothing about the man away. Someone well-trained in the art of deception. 

He was also good-looking. Fia could give him that as well. But not absurdly so. Not like Prince Akseli, whose mere prospect of marriage had caused several fights to break out at tea parties and dress fittings around the capital. His was a face that could make Räartesia forget her godly promise of purity. The thief, however, while handsome enough, was more likely to start a brawl in a tavern over a cheating accusation than a bedding prospect. Pleasant enough to look upon but not to risk life and reputation for. 

All things that made this man a perfect candidate for a thief. 

“Yet your magic was woven into the fabric of that city before we ever stepped foot in it,” Fia said as he leaned down and hauled the man to his feet. “I believe you have a date with honesty to get to now.”

Without waiting for a reply, he hefted the thief up and over his shoulder, earning him a surprised yelp that Fia allowed himself a small chuckle over. Relieved of her charge, the remaining serpent submerged herself back into the shadows, leaving behind only the thief’s half-written attempt to escape scrawled across the dirt. Fia turned toward the path he had come from and motioned toward a large cedar. Bháridnac emerged from the depths of its shadow with a snort and shook her head, sending her dark mane tumbling back into existence over the side of her neck. Fia reached out, ran his hand gently along the bridge of her nose, then swept around to her left side. He pulled the thief from his shoulder and draped him across the mare’s back. 

From this angle, Fia could see Athairólthain, world-ender and not healer, as she knotted herself around the thief’s wrists. Her nose lay snug along the meat of his right palm. All it would take was the opening of her mouth to sink fangs into flesh. 

Hovering around the thief like a concerned firefly, his spark of starlight flicker-flashed in soft pulses, illuminating his back and throwing a silver glimmer over Athairólthain's scales. Fia reached out and closed his hand around the small orb. The darkness around them sunk into the fullness of night.

“This is very uncomfortable,” the thief said. 

To his credit, he did actually sound a touch miserable. 

“The position or the horse?” Fia asked.

Wiggling his fingers, the thief let out a contemplative hum. “I don’t mind the horse so much. Though, she’s surprisingly solid, which, well…obviously as I’ve been slung across her back without falling through like some rock hurled at the Glasterkka’s winter mist. Is that some sort of thing special to you blood knights? Because I’ve never seen anyone call forth a heräkuom in full body before?”

“Are you going to tell me why you are uncomfortable, or should we get going?”

“Ah, yes. We’ll circle back to that one because I am fascinated by the idea of it. Terrified actually. Terribly fascinated? You get the point.” The thief shimmied himself awkwardly along Bháridnac’s back, only to stop when she immediately shifted her weight and threatened to send him sliding face-first over her side. He cleared his throat and took on a stillness close to death. In a whisper, he continued, “A little help would be appreciated as I think I’ve upset your horse.”

Fia reached up and set on hand on the thief’s left calf. He gave it a tug, resulting in another undignified squeak from the man. 

“Yes,” the thief muttered, sounding slightly breathless. “The position. It’s very uncomfortable…”

“Huh,” Fia said and started the walk back toward Syehnäki. “Good thing you only ran a mile or so from the city then, isn’t it?”