"Hurrah for the Ashborn! His flames burn hotter than the sun!"
The cheer rang through the barracks hall as members of the Red Jaguar raised their cups. Tankards thumped against tables, wine splashed onto the floor, and laughter filled the room. The air smelled of sweat, smoke, and strong drink.
Ithan had barely stepped through the door with Kallus when Benji sprang from his seat to greet him.
Word of their encounter with the Vrykolax had spread throughout the company. Apparently, saving the squad from becoming a night devil's meal had earned him some goodwill.
He wasn't sure what to make of the welcome. He was still getting used to being part of the Red Jaguar, let alone having a roomful of people cheer for him. But it felt good, even if he didn't quite know how to show it. Across the hall, Andrea and Nicodemus smiled and clapped along with the others.
He joined them at the table, accepting the drink Nicodemus handed him. For a moment, he simply held it. His face warmed at the sound of his name being called out with such pride, and he let himself smile. Some of the weight he'd carried since Volos eased.
"Well, look at that. First smile since he joined us."
Kallus bumped his shoulder against Ithan's, nearly sending him off the bench. Ithan caught himself against the table and turned to glare at him.
"I smile."
Kallus grinned. "Could've fooled me."
"I don't think I've seen you smile before either," Andrea said from across the table, her relic bow resting beside her.
"Neither have I," Nicodemus added.
"It's good to know your face can do something else," Kallus said before taking a long drink.
"What's wrong with my face?"
Ithan took a cautious sip from his cup. He'd hated the taste of alcohol since childhood, but the drink was cold, and he found he didn't mind it as much as he remembered.
"Have you seen it?" Benji asked.
The table erupted in laughter. Ithan shook his head, though he couldn't quite keep the smile from returning.
Then the hall doors opened, and Helen stepped inside. The laughter faded to a murmur. Around the room, backs straightened and cups were lowered. Kallus set his drink on the table, and Ithan turned with the others to face her.
"At ease, gentlemen. Ladies."
Helen's scarlet gaze swept across the hall before settling on Ithan and the others. She walked toward their table, her boots sounding against the wooden floor.
"Ithan. Come with me."
He shot Kallus a parting glare before getting up and following her to a quiet corner of the hall. Behind them, the chatter and laughter gradually resumed.
Helen settled into a chair and motioned for him to sit opposite her. At a tap of her fingers, the hall's keeper approached with a bottle of wine and a cup. He poured for her, bowed his head, and left the bottle on the table.
She took a slow sip, savoring the wine, then turned her attention to Ithan.
His Mystery had grown. She could sense how deeply it had integrated into him, reaching into the heart of his soul. He was still at Protos, but its resonance was unusually strong.
Perhaps that had something to do with him being Curseborn. His natural constitution was already abnormal. With a Mystery strengthening him further, it made sense that he would surpass the average Mystique at his stage.
Even so, she studied him for another moment before speaking.
"It seems your first mission with the Red Jaguar was a success."
"Was it?" Ithan asked. "The Vrykolax got away. She beat us."
"You found what was happening to the caravans, and every member of your squad came back alive. I'd call that a success." Helen set down her cup. "From what Kallus told me, you were fortunate to survive her at all. A Vrykolax who knows Mageía is a dangerous opponent."
"You sound like you've dealt with them before."
"I've lived long enough to encounter a few."
Ithan studied her. She looked scarcely older than he was, perhaps by a year, but that meant little. If she had reached the full depth of her Mystery, as he suspected, she could be far older than her appearance suggested.
"Take your victories where you can," Helen said.
Ithan said nothing. He took a sip of his beer, thinking about the Mageía the Vrykolax had used. She'd countered their Mysteries with spells and nearly killed them all.
He knew of Mageía, of course. He'd met his share of mages, but he'd never taken much interest in their craft. Larson distrusted them and wanted nothing to do with them. Under his leadership, the Ashborn Mercenary Company had never recruited one.
"What do you think of Mageía?" he asked.
Helen considered the question.
"Complicated. Tedious. Far too much studying for my taste."
Ithan gave her a look.
"But impressive," she added with a faint smile.
That wasn't quite the answer he'd expected.
"A Mystery gives you a foundation," Helen continued. "A piece of the world becomes part of you. Understanding it takes work, sometimes a lifetime, but you have somewhere to begin."
She rested her cup on the table.
"A mage has to learn how to cast a spell, how to shape it, how to sustain it. If they want fire, they have to know how to produce it without setting themselves alight."
"So you respect mages?"
"I respect good ones."
Ithan snorted. Helen took another sip of wine.
"You're drawing on something that's become part of you," she said. "They're using what they've learned to wield power they weren't born with. There's skill in both."
Ithan glanced down at his beer, considering that.
"Which is stronger?"
"Depends on who's using it." Helen studied him. "Why are you asking about Mageía?"
Ithan wasn't sure how to answer. He knew little about it, but learning seemed like a good place to start.
He was weak. His encounter with the Blue Orca had made that clear, and the fight with the Vrykolax had only driven it home. Even with the others beside him, he'd barely survived. If he'd faced her alone, he doubted he would have made it out of that temple.
If he wanted revenge—if he was going to rescue Lyra and Dorian—he needed more than what he had now.
"Do you think I could learn it?"
Helen blinked, then set her cup down.
"Yes. Anyone can learn Mageía, given enough time, dedication, and discipline. Having the right mindset helps, too." She paused. "You're a Mystique, so some of it should come more easily to you. How much depends on what you want to learn."
She could see why he was interested. There was common ground between a Mystique's Logoi arts and a mage's spells. A Mystique already carried the knowledge embodied in their Mystery, though learning to understand and use it took practice. A mage had to study the principles behind a spell and the conditions needed to make it work.
Ithan's experience with his Mystery would give him somewhere to begin. The rest, he would have to learn.
"I have a few beginner's books on Mageía," Helen said. "You're welcome to borrow them if you want to do some reading."
"Really?"
"They're only gathering dust. You might as well get some use out of them."
She finished her wine and poured herself another cup. Then she glanced at his empty one, raising an eyebrow. Ithan nodded, and she filled it for him.
"For now, try to enjoy being alive, Ashborn," she said. "There's always tomorrow."
Ithan nodded and took a sip. The wine was a change from the cold beer he'd been drinking, but he liked the sweetness it left on his tongue.
"Good, isn't it? Imported straight from the Aurlieon League," Helen said.
"Better than the beer Kallus gave me."
Helen smiled. "You never have a kind word for him, do you?"
"He rarely gives me a reason."
"Funny. You two have more in common than you think."
Ithan lowered his cup. "Me and that big oaf?"
She rested her chin on her hand. "You both grew up in small villages. You were both treated as outcasts because of what you carried in your blood."
His expression changed.
"I didn't know they treated Kallus that way."
"Superstition doesn't begin and end with Curseborn. Fishing villages depend on the sea for their lives. Anything unusual gets people talking." She leaned forward, her braid slipping over her shoulder. "And a boy who can speak to fish before they've even been hauled aboard gives them plenty to talk about."
Ithan turned his cup between his hands. He'd never imagined Kallus as a boy trying to find his place among people who feared him. It was difficult enough to imagine him being quiet.
"He doesn't act like it bothered him."
"Perhaps he'd rather give you something else to notice."
Ithan glanced toward the others. Kallus was laughing at something Benji had said, one arm flung over the back of his chair.
"And for all your complaining about each other," Helen continued, "neither of you left the others behind when things went bad."
"He's still an oaf."
"I didn't say he wasn't."
Ithan smiled into his wine.
Helen reached for her cup, her fingers brushing his hand. He looked down, then back at her. She seemed not to notice, but he suddenly found it difficult to hold her gaze.
Heavy footsteps spared him the effort.
"Captain."
Kallus stopped beside their table, wine sloshing over the rim of his cup. He propped his trident against the wall with a loud clack and looked between them.
"How come this ashen idiot gets you all to himself? The rest of us have been waiting."
His grin didn't quite hide the edge in his voice.
Helen leaned back. "You had your drink with me when you joined. All of you did." She raised her cup toward Ithan. "Tonight was his turn."
Kallus glanced at Ithan, who took another sip rather than answer.
Helen finished her wine and set the cup down. As she drew on her Mystery, the faint flush in her cheeks faded. She stood without a trace of unsteadiness.
"Keep him company, Kallus."
"I was doing that before you stole him."
"Then you can manage it again." She turned to Ithan. "My office. Bright and early. We have things to discuss."
He nodded. "I'll be there."
She left them at the table.
Kallus watched her go, then turned back to Ithan.
"What?" Ithan asked.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"So are you."
Benji approached with his cup in hand. "Are you two going to do this all night?"
Kallus pulled out Helen's empty chair and dropped into it.
"Lloyd! More drinks!" he called. "Let's see if the newcomer can keep up."
"I don't do drinking contests," Ithan said.
"Afraid you'll lose?"
"I barely drink."
Kallus opened his mouth, but Benji caught the back of his chair.
"He said no."
For a moment, Kallus looked as though he might argue. Then he shrugged.
"One drink, then. You can go back to glaring at us afterward."
Benji drew another chair up to the table. Andrea and Nicodemus followed, bringing their drinks with them.
Ithan looked around at the gathering faces. Even in the Ashborn company, he'd rarely stayed when the others sat down to drink. He'd always found a reason to leave, sometimes even when the people he liked were there.
Tonight, he didn't particularly want to go.
"One," he said.
Kallus grinned. "That's the spirit."
Lloyd arrived with fresh tankards. Kallus took one and raised it above his head.
"To the Red Jaguar!"
"To the Red Jaguar!" the hall answered.
Ithan lifted his drink with the others.
Kallus drained his and brought it down hard enough to spill ale from the neighboring cups.
Ithan stared at him. "Was that necessary?"
"Yes."
He shook his head and drank. Too much went down at once, catching in his throat. He lowered the tankard, swallowed, and tried to disguise a cough.
Kallus's grin widened.
"Easy, Ashborn. It's not going anywhere."
"Neither are you, apparently."
Benji laughed into his cup.
One drink became two. Someone bought another round, and Ithan stayed for that one too.
Kallus told a story about a fishing boat, a broken mast, and a catch so large that Andrea interrupted him three times to dispute the details. With each interruption, the fish grew bigger.
By the time Nicodemus asked whether they'd caught a fish or dragged an island ashore, Ithan was laughing hard enough to make his healing ribs ache.
He pressed a hand to his side.
Kallus noticed. "Still hurting?"
"A little."
"Should've let Benji sit on her. Would've saved us all some trouble."
"Next time, I'll sit on you," Benji said.
Another round arrived. Ithan couldn't remember who had ordered it.
By the sixth tankard, Kallus was swaying in his chair.
"Thought you'd have folded by now, village boy."
Ithan looked at him over his drink.
"You're from a fishing village."
"So?"
"So at least mine was on dry land."
Nicodemus choked on his ale.
Kallus stared at Ithan, then burst out laughing.
"That's the best you've got?"
Ithan tried to answer, but the sight of Nicodemus coughing while Andrea thumped his back set him laughing too.
Kallus reached across and clapped him on the shoulder. Ithan winced.
"Careful. The ribs."
"Right." Kallus withdrew his hand, still grinning. "You're all right, Ashborn. Stubborn as a mule, but all right."
"And you're still an oaf."
"You've said that already."
"It keeps being true."
Kallus laughed again.
By the time they slumped over the table, neither could remember whose turn it was. Cups crowded the space between them, and the others had begun arguing over who had drunk more.
Ithan lifted his head to find Kallus pointing at his unfinished tankard.
"You've got some left."
Ithan pushed it toward him.
"Be my guest."
Kallus considered it for a long moment, then lowered his head onto his folded arms.
From somewhere beside them, Benji declared it a draw.
****
Cold water struck Ithan's face.
He jerked upright with a gasp, then immediately regretted it. Pain throbbed behind his eyes. He pressed a hand to his temple while water ran down his neck and soaked into his shirt.
Kallus stood over the cot with an empty bucket and a thoroughly pleased grin. He'd woken Ithan much the same way when he first arrived at the barracks. Apparently, he hadn't found a better method.
"You…" Ithan squinted up at him through his dripping hair. "How are you feeling fine?"
"I know how to handle my liquor."
Kallus set the bucket down with a clatter. Ithan flinched.
"I'm never drinking again."
"That's what everyone says."
Ithan dragged a hand down his wet face. "You're enjoying this."
"A little." Kallus leaned against the bunk post. "Shouldn't you be at the captain's office? She wanted you there early."
Ithan went still.
"Shit."
He threw off the blanket and climbed out of bed, catching his foot on a boot as he did. Steadying himself against the bunk, he drew on his Mystery.
Heat stirred beneath his skin. He let it spread through him, burning away the lingering alcohol and clearing the fog from his head. Sweat gathered along his brow. Within moments, the nausea eased and the pounding behind his eyes faded.
Kallus watched him reach for a towel.
"Could've done that last night."
Ithan wiped his face. "Could've woken me without a bucket."
He pulled on a clean uniform, left his spear against the wall, and hurried out.
By the time he reached Helen's office, his head was clear. He straightened his tunic and knocked.
"Come in."
He opened the door.
The office smelled faintly of ink and sealing wax. Neat stacks of parchment covered the long desk, and morning sunlight fell across shelves filled with maps and scrolls.
The mayor stood before Helen, handing her a thick file. She sat behind the desk in a white tunic with small blade motifs embroidered along the cuffs. Beneath it, she wore black trousers and polished boots.
Ithan waited by the door while she examined the documents.
Seeing her brought back the previous evening: their quiet conversation, her fingers brushing his hand, the ease he'd felt sitting across from her.
He'd been flustered, but he didn't think it had been attraction. He'd never felt that pull toward anyone, man or woman. What he felt around Helen was closer to the trust he'd once placed in Larson—the comfort of having someone older and more experienced to turn to. At times, she felt almost like an older sister, though he couldn't imagine saying that to her.
Perhaps it came from the hours she'd spent correcting his spearwork. Perhaps it was because she'd offered him a way forward when he'd had none.
The others had begun to matter to him, too. After three months with the Red Jaguar, he was finding it harder to think of them as people he merely worked alongside.
"And these are the final reports, Commander," the mayor said, placing another set of documents before her.
Helen skimmed them, signed where needed, and pressed her seal into the waiting wax.
"That will be all. Thank you."
The mayor bowed. His gaze passed briefly over Ithan as he left, and the door closed behind him.
Helen looked up.
"Sit down, Ithan."
He took the chair opposite her desk, glancing at the paperwork.
"I didn't think you spent much time doing this."
"Someone has to." She dipped her quill into the inkwell and signed the last page. "With millions of people depending on how this city is run, I can hardly leave it all unattended."
She placed the document on a finished stack.
"And I'll be away for a while. I'd rather settle the important matters before I leave."
Ithan straightened. "You're leaving Achilles?"
"Yes. Governor Varro has summoned the major Imperial Stratos of the Iron March to the provincial capital for the Eagle Parade."
"Imperial Stratos," Ithan repeated.
He knew the title. The Stratos were recognized armies of the Imperium, sworn to the imperial family. With the emperor weakened and silent, much of their direction had passed to the Senate and provincial governors.
For a mercenary company to earn that status meant more than prestige. It brought authority, obligations, and powerful connections.
It explained some of what he'd seen since arriving in Achilles: the mayor yielding to Helen, the lack of resistance to her decisions, the confidence with which she governed. Her strength mattered, certainly, but there was more behind her position than strength alone.
He wondered whose support she had secured—and what they expected in return.
"I'll take a small group with me," Helen continued. "The rest will stay here to keep the city secure."
Ithan nodded, waiting.
"I want you to come. I'm assigning you to Jaguar Claw, the unit I lead personally."
His fingers tightened against his knee.
"The provincial capital?"
He hadn't expected to return so soon. His last visit had left him with little desire to see its marble buildings or endure the looks of the people who walked among them.
"Yes." Helen studied his face. "You still intend to rescue your comrades, don't you?"
Lyra. Doran.
He lowered his gaze. The thought of them waiting somewhere while he trained, recovered, and drank with his new comrades tightened his chest.
When he looked up again, his expression had settled into familiar severity.
"The Blue Orcas will be there."
"All the major Imperial Stratos in the Iron March have been summoned."
Helen watched him carefully. She was glad he'd begun to settle among her people, but she hadn't forgotten why he'd joined them. From the look on his face, neither had he.
"This year's parade will be worth attending," she said. "Especially for you."
Ithan held her gaze.
"All right. I'll join Jaguar Claw."
"Good."
She reached for a book at the edge of her desk.
"And before I forget—the Mageía books we discussed."
Its cover was plated in bronze, the surface dulled and scratched with age. She passed it across the desk.
"I thought this would be a good place for you to start. We leave next month, so you have some time to work through the basics."
Ithan took it carefully. The bronze was worn smooth along the edges, and unfamiliar symbols covered its face.
He traced one with his thumb, then opened the book.
For the first time that morning, he felt a flicker of excitement.