“Friends,” he said—not a greeting, but a challenge, a word laid down like a marker, daring any to contest it. And yet, beneath the hush he had woven, the word rang hollow.

“Friends, as Simurgh rightly says, the caravan is a vital artery for Zakra. King Shahram knows your worth—spares you his scrutiny in light of your good work, your role in keeping the machinery of commerce and state turning as smoothly as the famed machines of perpetuity he commissioned for his grand hall.

“But like the magic of those machines, perpetuity has a price.

“Be you sons of sons of cameleers, or daughters of former enemies, we all dance the blades. And in this city, we show our loyalty to Zakra.

“The war rages now, closer to the gates than it has for many decades. No force of man can stop it—the fires of its hell burn deep in the veins of this land, flaring as they have for generations. It can no more be extinguished than an idea. But have no fear. This latest insurgency will be crushed. Zakra, as always, prevails.”

His voice was steady, measured, undeniable.

“I have come this night to inform you: the return leg of your journey to Kythia is delayed. Operational matters intervene, making your route too dangerous.”

The silence held. No one moved.

Simurgh was the only one who dared speak. Izzi saw him fighting against the inertia of Kalu’s spell, forcing breath into his lungs, shaping sound from lips that wanted to stay still. Kalu allowed him to talk.

“Friend,” Simurgh said. His voice was calm, composed—so well-crafted that none could guess the word a lie. “Foodstuffs will spoil. Livestock must be fed. The expense of this delay is great.”

Kalu shrugged, the gesture light, almost careless. He flicked up the fingers of one hand. “Business,” he said, turning those fingers as if the concept amused him, “is not without its risks. As Penza will attest. When a pause or gap in the battles allows, I will make it known.”

He started to turn to leave, but paused and twisted back to scan the onlookers. His eyes landed right on Izzi—impossible, considering her spell—or it should have been.

“Oh, and Izzi,” he said, maintaining the amused tone, “I hope you are studying for your assessment in only two days, and not just mucking around with your mother’s spell of deception.”

Casually, as if a continuation of his natural movement, he moved one hand behind his back so she could see no sigils, and held the other over his mouth to hide whatever spell he spoke from her. She felt a ripping at her skin as the spell of invisibility was wrenched away like the tearing of a bandage from a wound. 

“Ow!” She gave an involuntary cry of pain—small, mostly suppressed. But in Kalu’s imposed silence everyone heard and turned toward the sound.

She felt every expression of disapproval land on her. How could anyone trust her now, knowing she could observe them unknowingly? They could not know this was the first and only time. Her face burned, hot with shame and embarrassment. 

Kalu’s smile now was for her alone. “Magic too,” he said, “is not without risk.” His expression was benevolent, as if he had gracefully delivered another lesson, and she should be grateful.

Izzi’s hands went cold. She clenched her fists to stop her fingers from shaking. Her nails bit into her palms. He will pay, she thought. He will see what I can do, how far ahead Mother’s teachings have taken me.  

But every eye was on her, exposed as a sneak, a lurker, an eavesdropper. Untrustworthy. 

If she could not be invisible, she wanted to shrink. She knew no spell for that, so she fled. The people parted, slightly more afraid of her now. It was not the kind of respect she wanted.