Ennette stuck close to Zerathon as she and Maziar fell into line to walk through the door. It was a large office, with six desks flanking the carpeted path leading up to the front of the room and a much larger one where the woman Ennette assumed to be the Archon herself sat. The Archon was stunning, and Ennette couldn’t help but blush when she gave them a warm smile.

She was younger than Ennette thought she would be. The book described her as a middle-aged woman with graying hair and wrinkles around her eyes. She’d been horribly injured in a battle with the Dark Magician and his minions. It had left her weak and scarred to the point that she rarely left her rooms, and by the time Laria had risen to power, she’d become something of a myth.

But the version of Yulda Izaria that Ennette now stood face-to-face with was entirely different.

Yulda was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Ennette had ever seen. Ruby-studded, gold-adorned earrings fell past her short dark locks and brushed against her shoulders. A larger, fiery gem suspended from a gold chain and threatened to fall into the exposed cleavage of her small chest—a bold contrast against her tawny skin tone.

Wearing a long-sleeved, yellow wrap-around top and black leather pants with lightweight boots that came up just past her calves, she looked more like she should be gracing the cover of a magazine than serving as the Archon of a Tower—though she was serving. She was tall, confident, and radiated charisma.

It was her eyes that drew Ennette in, though: deep, black eyes that seemed like they could read all the thoughts in Ennette’s mind and devour them. Ennette wasn’t all that great at listening to authority figures, but there was something about Yulda Izaria that screamed she was not to be crossed.

“You may leave, Zerathon,” the Archon told the professor in a sharp tone. He bowed and exited, with the door shutting softly behind him.

Ennette wasn’t too happy that he had gone; no matter how kind Yulda Izaria came across here and now, she wasn’t the most pleasant of people in the novel. She was always on the side of the kingdom, but that didn’t mean she felt any need to be “nice.” Ennette also knew that Maziar would never rise to her defense, even if he could.

With no allies in the room, all Ennette could do was stand as straight as she could to show her respect. Maziar, on the other hand, was fidgeting as he looked at his feet.

There was a prolonged silence as the Archon sat and stared at them. It was as if she was waiting to see which would talk first, but her aura felt like it was telling Ennette no one was to speak until spoken to.

Whether it was due to bravery or stupidity, Maziar was the first to open his mouth.

“Archon, this—”

“I’ll hear your explanation after, Maziar,” Yulda snapped. She stood up and went around her desk with easy strides, her fingertips tracing the edge of the desk. “Your name is Ennette?”

“Yes… ma’am,” said Ennette, swallowing.

Yulda snorted as she circled her. “No need for that. You aren’t my student, nor are you one of my underlings. You may call me Yulda if you like.”

“I couldn’t!” Ennette squeaked, shaking her head quickly. In a surprising shift in facial expression, Yulda smiled warmly and with soft eyes.

Ennette cringed. It just felt wrong.

“She isn’t going to eat you, you know,” Maziar said, frowning.

“It’s called ‘having manners!’” Yulda told him and turned back to her desk. “You could learn a thing or two about it, and it would not cause you to hurt or itch.”

Maziar mocked her with exaggerated gestures when her back was turned, and Ennette felt like she was about to faint from anxiety.

The Archon leaned against the desk and folded her arms. “Zerathon tells me that this poor girl is your new ‘familiar.’”

“It seems so,” Maziar said. “I tried to break it, but apparently, the terms of the contract aren’t what I expected them to be.”

“Curious,” she said. “So somehow you not only botched the summoning but also the deal that you made. I know I’ve asked this before, but do you actually have a death wish?”

He winced. “Could we skip this, maybe, and spend more time trying to find a way to break it?”

“For now, yes, but don’t think you’ve gotten out of this without explanation.”

Maziar clicked his tongue and looked away.

Eyes glowing gold, Yulda raised a hand and traced a magic circle in the air. It glittered with iridescent light as it hung, then faded when she finished. The air seemed to shift and ebb as similarly-colored marks spread out across the room, covering the floor and walls with circles and symbols placed in some kind of organized chaos. Then Yulda frowned.

“Is something wrong?” asked Ennette.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Yulda. “What I’m doing right now is simply tracking the flow of mana in the room by wrapping my own mana around it. Mana, you see, has its own kind of behavioral patterns, and by tracking it, I may be able to identify something about your contract.”

“So, what are you seeing?” Maziar asked.

“Well,” she started with furrowed brows. “I’m honestly not really sure. Ennette, Maziar, could you two walk apart, please?”

They did.

“Come closer again?”

They did.

“I understand that this is mildly inappropriate,” Yulda said. “But for the sake of science, Ennette, could you please let Maziar hold your hand?”

Ennette blinked, and she and Maziar exchanged a glance.

“Is it… necessary?” Ennette asked, her mind going blank.

“I’d like to say no, but yes, it is,” Yulda said. “There’s something I need to confirm.”

“Only for a moment,” Maziar told her with a note of warning in his voice, and he offered Ennette his hand. Hesitantly, she placed it in his.

His hand was warm and calloused. She would have thought his hands would have been softer, considering he was a caster, but perhaps he made up for his weakness in magic with other things.

“You can let go, but I want you to move apart and together again,” Yulda instructed. She walked around the room as they did so, her mana wrapped itself around the two of them in eddies and whirlpools. Seeming satisfied, her eyes returned to their natural color as she retracted the spell.

“What did you find?” Maziar asked.

“It’s interesting,” Yulda said. “When you separate, it’s almost like the mana of the whole area grows weaker. You, Maziar, seem to recover your magic twice as quickly when you are together.”

Maziar’s eyes went wide. “How is that possible?”

“I’m not sure,” Yulda said. “Something about her is able to stimulate your magic growth in a way I’ve never seen before. What exactly did you write when you drafted the spell?”

“It was just a standard familiar circle. Textbook. Except the circle shouldn’t have even worked.”

“Yes, Zerathon said as much. But surely there must have been something.”

“No—that’s not… I didn’t even use my own blood in the ink. I used animal blood. There’s no way I should have been able to summon anything since the data inscribed with the ink and the data of the caster were different,” Maziar admitted. Pausing, Yulda’s eyes flickered to his. “At worst, it should have generated a mana lash because technically, I shouldn’t have been identified as the owner of the circle.”

While Zerathon had been shocked and annoyed that Maziar had sabotaged his spell, Yulda seemed to accept it—if with resignation.

“I assume you did that because of your mana situation?” she asked him.

Maziar’s face fell. “I… don’t need a familiar,” he said. “I just need enough mana to live my life.”

“But if you had summoned a familiar properly, we could have simply dismissed it, Maziar,” she said imploringly. “I know I told you when you came here that you were free to do as you like, but if you were concerned about this, why couldn’t you just come to me first? If you were really so against it, I could have made other arrangements.”

“I don’t need you to go out of your way for me,” he said.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s better for you to have nothing to do with me,” Maziar said. His eyes were sharp as they glared at the floor. “The other casters… the things they already say about you because of me… but you didn’t even do anything! How can I make them understand that my choices are mine alone?”

“You can’t,” Yulda said shortly. “Aside from the fact that superiors are responsible for those under them, it might do you well to remember the fact that I gave birth to you, and no amount of your stupidity is going to change that.”

Ennette’s eyes went wide, and she looked between the two quickly. Maziar with his sand-colored hair and Yulda with her chocolate waves. Maziar with his black eyes and straight nose, and Yulda with her black eyes and straight nose. And those high cheekbones.

Oh, my God, Ennette cursed in her head as her hand went to her mouth to shut herself up. Yulda Izaria, the woman who took Laria in as a disciple to defeat the Dark Magician—was Maziar’s mother?