REVEALED: Shadowheist - Chapter One

Chapter One

A Long Carriage Ride

The tree of House Furtius has many branches, family members, and scions, and it shall bear diverse fruits: some with the Talent of Darkness and some without. All are Furtiusi, first and foremost, and their loyalties lie with the House whether they have been gifted with Talent or not. Mundane and arcane alike are united. They shall help us continue our unique legacy.

— from The Shield of Darkness, written by Kiera the Great

“Darkness, Attie, this . . . this is so unfair!” Gatina said in disgust. As the carriage rocked back and forth down the bumpy road, Gatina fumed in quiet outrage, arms folded tightly across her chest. She never thought that Mother would send her away. It was unthinkable . . . but it had happened. It was as if her friend Marga had seen the future when she had joked about it, a few weeks before in Falas.

Gatina had considered the idea highly unlikely, but there she was, in an enclosed coach headed away from home. The chill of the early summer air skated across her skin, making her shiver as a gust of wind blew into the carriage. Her father, Hance, was disguised as a hired coachman driving the team. She blamed him as much as Mother for the sudden and unexpected change in her life.

Her brother, Atopol, sat on the bench across from her, watching out the window, while Gatina bit her lip and suffered the torrent of dark thoughts running through her head. As usual, Atopol didn’t seem the least bit disturbed by the sudden announcement of their departure. And that irritated her even more.

Earlier that morning in Cysgodol Hall, he had watched her in silence from the foot of her bed while she ruthlessly emptied her wardrobe, tossing items onto the bed in a fit of anger, shock, and resolution. She had made a production of stomping back and forth, which was very unladylike, unusually emotional, and just plain loud. It was so out of character for her that she knew he found it entertaining.

And she found that infuriating.

She knew the announcement of their parents’ decision to send them both to Palomar Abbey for the foreseeable future had taken him by surprise, as well, but he had not reacted so forcefully at the news. Indeed, he had accepted it with grace, not voicing a word of dissent. She recalled watching his quietly amused face as she had closed her wardrobe door with a final, violent slam and thrown the final few gowns onto the bed. It had frustrated her to witness his smirk. Why wasn’t he as upset as she was about this?

The long carriage ride had done nothing to dissuade her from being upset, nor had it tempered her irritation with her brother. And it had not rattled her big brother’s calm demeanor one bit. They had ridden in silence for hours now, but she could not stand it one moment longer.

“This is some sort of punishment, isn’t it?” she demanded, suddenly. Atopol looked up. His smirk was still there. And that irritated her.

“I did warn you that Mother would not be happy about your unauthorized heist,” he answered, gently but loud enough to be heard over the crunch of the horses’ hooves and the rumble of the wagon wheels. He sounded perfectly reasonable, which was grating. She knew he was baiting her, waiting for a reaction. The closed carriage allowed for a normal conversation, especially with Mother’s added magical touches, which included spells to discourage eavesdroppers and to muffle outside noises.

So, she just stared through the crack in the window, after giving him a stony stare. He was supposed to be on her side, after all.

“Gat? I know you can hear me.” It wasn’t that she couldn’t hear his soft voice it was that she didn’t want to answer.

Gatina was quiet and withdrawn, brooding about her exile and thinking about what to say, how she could best explain herself again and keep this awful punishment from happening. They weren’t even in proper disguises or traveling under proper aliases, though they did not look as they naturally did. Her striking white hair, a legacy of her family’s unusual nature, was covered by a brown wig, and her violet eyes had been darkened to a hazel by magic, as had her brother’s. Atopol’s white hair, though, had been dyed a jet black. It gave him a swarthy look. But neither of them had true aliases yet. It was as if their parents were rushing them off into the wilderness without even a plan. She could think of no better reason than to punish her for her deeds in Falas Town.

Attie sighed. He wasn’t even willing to argue with her. She took a deep breath and exhaled so hard that her hair blew off of her face.

“I know,” she admitted with a sullen stare. “But she already yelled at me about that. I had thought she had forgiven me.”

“Forgiven, not forgotten.” Atopol chuckled. “Telling family secrets to outsiders is generally frowned upon in a family of professional thieves. It puts us all in danger, especially now. You should have known better,” he reproved.

“I do know better, I really do. But Marga’s my best friend. They are my friends. Do you know what that feels like? To have friends? To be in a position to help your friends?” she asked him, her eyes now boring into his. Gatina did not quite have the penetrating stare that her mother had perfected, but she was working on it. She hoped to play on her brother’s emotions.

Like her, he had grown up surrounded only by their family and a few trusted retainers, insulated from the real world on a remote country estate. They had learned only recently about the reasons for that, and their unusual hair and eyes, and a good number of other things that most children did not have to contend with. That was part of their complicated legacy from House Furtius. Their mutual apprenticeships to their parents were another.

“Friends are nice,” he conceded, “but they don’t take precedence over the family rules,” he reminded her. “You could have gotten me killed. Or others.”

“I didn’t know what Father had you doing. Mother didn’t even know you were there, for that matter. I did not want to mess up our missions. I just went on instinct. But I didn’t think Mother would send me away to an abbey for that! Everything turned out all right, after all. Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction?” she demanded with another exasperated sigh.

“It’s not meant as a punishment, Gat,” Atopol assured her, gently. “Our family has sent their children to Palomar Abbey for more than a century now. It has nothing to do with your insubordination and ignoring the rules. Mother might still be angry, but that’s not why she’s doing this.”

“But everything turned out all right!” she objected.

“Do you think that Mother thinks that’s an excuse?” he snorted, as he removed a book from his bag. “You broke the rules. You can’t break the rules, even when it turns out all right.”

That was what had really stung her pride. Gatina had been working her first mission in Falas, the capital, during the chaotic time after the Duke and Duchess’s assassinations. House Furtius had secretly moved to counter the attempt of Count Vichetral of Rhemes to seize power, and had employed every member in assisting—including her and Atopol. As a family of magically Talented thieves, the House had used its skills and resources adeptly, which included sending her on her first mission for the House.

She had infiltrated a band of street orphans by disguising herself as one of them and then befriending them. It was all part of her greater mission in the big city. Mother had instructed her to gain access to the Brotherhood of the Rat, a ruthless gang of thugs that was working with the usurper, Count Vichetral, in the new regime. The goal was to gain access to the Brotherhood’s ways and learn information about the cutthroats that could help the greater effort against Vichetral and his cronies.

She had done well, Gatina knew. She’d made friends amongst the Nits, as the orphans were known, especially with a girl named Marga. And she had used her alias as a Nit to run errands for the Brotherhood of the Rats, for coin, of course. That had given her access to what had gotten her into trouble—the loot.

Without Mother’s approval, Gatina had stolen from the Brotherhood not once but twice. And then when Marga had been taken prisoner by the gang because she was mistaken for Gatina’s alias, Lissa the Mouse, Gatina had rescued the poor girl. She had to. But she had acted alone, without asking permission.

Worse—according to her parents—she had revealed too much about herself and her secretive family to the street orphan. And that led to House Furtius taking Marga under their protection and arranging for her service in the Temple of Trygg. Gatina had also gone off the mission plan to help a young noble pay off a debt to the Brotherhood, which had further imperiled the entire effort. So, she had, technically, broken the rules of the House and the instructions of her mistress, her mother.

When you were a newly apprenticed thief, at the very beginning of her complicated training, that was frowned upon by the family of thieves of which you were a part. But Mother should have expected that. Gatina felt that her behavior was entirely predictable, considering she had chosen her working name—“Kitten of Night”—largely because she was as curious and as fearless as a kitten.

Fortunately, Gatina had found a way to salvage the entire mission, not just hers. They had saved scores of hostages to the new regime’s power, innocent people who might even prove useful against Count Vichetral in the future. Even her friend Marga. But Mother seemed to think that Gatina was far too impetuous for her own good. Just like a kitten.

Atopol sighed. “Gat, we both know Mother and Father didn’t send you—and me—away because of Falas.” Again, he waited to see if she would react. She gave him an annoyed look. “We need more training,” he emphasized. “More education. Most young nobles go to some sort of temple school. The Temples of Trygg, Ishi, Duin, and Luin run theirs all year long. This one is just a bit . . . unusual.”

Gatina grunted and stared out the window. She had heard her brother, but she was still not in the mood to talk to him, or anyone else, right then. So, she didn’t.

Instead, she thought about the deck of blank cards in her satchel. That was something she’d been instructed to pack, along with her working blacks and her thieving tools, all safely tucked into a hidden compartment in the special case. But the cards were a new project.

She was responsible for making her own set of the family cards, just as everyone on both sides of the family had to do. Most magically Talented Coastlord families had something similar, a deck of cards that represented their lore and their ideals. Their use went back all the way to the Later Magocracy, when the magi ruled the world. Now they were a dearly held custom by the descendants of the magelords who became Coastlords in Alshar. The deck of cards was part teaching device and part inspirational tool, a means of quietly communicating important elements of a family’s history and lore to the next generation without attracting the attention of the hated Royal Censorate of Magic. They were also supposed to advise and suggest wisdom to those who employed them. She considered the card known as OPPORTUNITY and wondered if she was seeing this unfair and punishing exile in the proper light.

Because she knew Atopol was correct: most noble families sent their children to one of the many temple schools in the duchy for education and instruction beyond what private tutors could provide. Sometimes it was just a few weeks at Trygg’s temple, she knew, or a summer at Luin’s temple school. The Narasi-descended Vale Lords preferred Ishi and Duin to educate their young nobles, and the Sea Lords in the coastal havens had their own version, under their strange religion.

It wasn’t a punishment, her reason told her; it was just a part of growing up. And Mother and Father had sent their private tutors away shortly after the Ducal assassinations.

But the idea of sitting in a temple, learning a bunch of poetics or mathematics or natural history or whatever it was the Saganites wanted to teach her, sounded so absolutely boring that it felt like punishment. Especially after Falas . . . and the four weeks she and her family had spent quietly looting the manor houses and treasuries of the usurpers afterward.

Gatina had tried not to be upset and hurt by her parents’ decision . . . but she was. She did not want to listen to Attie, especially when he sounded so reasonable. It suited her better to be mad.

So, she ignored him. He finally shrugged and pulled a book out of his own satchel—it was not one she had seen before in the family library. It was a history of Sea Lord families. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask where he’d found it. She wanted to brood in silence. And the carriage bumped along at a steady pace.

But her passionate feeling of betrayal would not let her brood in silence for long.

“I don’t see how this isn’t a punishment,” she insisted, finally. “It seems to me, Attie, that Mother and Father certainly decided very quickly to send us away.”

Atopol looked up from his book. In characteristic Gatina fashion, she had picked up the conversation from their last statement as if no time had passed. Thankfully, her brother followed suit instead of reproving her. 

Gatina continued. “This is the first they’ve ever mentioned going to school. At an abbey. And it was very sudden. And that decision was made immediately after our time in Falas, during which, I admit, I behaved in a manner that Mother did not approve. I took an opportunity or two and acted in the best interests of the mission . . . eventually. And now I’m going to be locked away in an abbey for months for a few minor little mistakes.” She glanced at her big brother, looking for a reaction. “What else should I think?”

She was trying to be persuasive to her very reasonable brother. If she could get him to agree with her and be on her side, she would feel vindicated in her anger. And less irritated, maybe. Atopol always seemed to have a sensible perspective on things, which irritated her eleven-year-old soul, but if he agreed with her that their parents were being unusually punitive by sending them off to an abbey school, she would at least feel vindicated.

Patiently, Attie closed his book and set it on the tiny folding table between them. He studied Gatina for a moment before speaking. The road had smoothed, and the jostling had lessened as the horses found a rhythm in their pacing. He leaned forward on his cushioned bench, placing his arms out across the folding table around his book, as he tried his best to avoid patronizing his sister with his response. It was at that moment that she saw how much more like their father he was becoming, in both appearance and his mannerisms.

“Gat, your actions in Falas were selfish, in my opinion.” She winced at his assessment, but she did not speak. “By acting as you did, you not only endangered your mission but also all of the missions.” He paused to gauge her emotions. She was calm, but that could change quickly. She made a point of keeping quiet instead of reacting. He would call a reaction emotional, she knew, and dismiss it out of hand.

“That being said, your actions and your compassion for others helped to salvage the House’s main objective—as I understand it—while also helping to rescue a considerable number of almost-hostages and find them a place to hide. I honestly do not think Mother or Father are sending you to Palomar Abbey because of your actions in Falas. Not in the least bit. I think they are sending you and me— yes,us—to the abbey for other reasons. Falas is just not safe for us right now,” he reminded her. “We’re involved in a conspiracy against Count Vichetral, who is diligently searching for traitors and supporters of the old regime. Lingering in Falas, where we’ve just plundered the estates of four of his biggest supporters to support our conspiracy, is not a terribly wise idea. Besides, everyone has to go to school eventually,” he reasoned.

Gatina considered her brother. Matching his gaze with her own, which could be both intimidating and unnerving to those not used to such seriousness, especially from younger people, she quietly considered his statement for a moment. She stifled the desire to scream at him passionately and answered him as reasonably as possible, using her training to regulate both her breathing and her voice.

Perhaps her best tactic was to appear to concede, she decided.

“I can see your point, Attie. I suppose it’s not really a punishment. I also understand that Mother and Father may need us away for the foreseeable future. Four heists from four estates owned by vassals and supporters of the same person of interest might draw the wrong type of attention,” she admitted.

Indeed, the whirlwind round of heists her family had conducted had been one of the most exciting and fascinating things she had ever done. Seeing her parents—both master thieves—in action while they also guided her and her brother through the various ways to steal a place blind had given her valuable insight into the family business . . . which made her sudden exile all the more difficult. She was good at stealing, she knew, and she loved the challenge of doing it without getting caught. Giving that up for the prospect of school—of all things!—just seemed completely unfair.

“So, maybe they are sending us away for safekeeping.” Atopol smiled and settled back into his seat, relieved, she could tell.

“Or maybe we are going on another mission, and they just haven’t told us,” she proposed. “What do you think, Attie?”

Atopol sighed. “I think I know a kitten who is entirely too eager to get into trouble, when she should know when to curl into a ball and stay quiet. Falas is dangerous now. Home is not as dangerous, but Mother and Father won’t be there often, I suspect, with their work for the conspiracy. But that doesn’t mean we’ll be bored, I think. From what Father said, we are being sent to Palomar Abbey for both safekeeping and training while the hornet’s nest we stirred up last month has a chance to die down.”

“Do you really think we caused that much trouble?” Gatina asked, amused at the thought. “It was only four little estates, after all.”

“Gat, we stole more than five thousand ounces of gold and silver and plenty of priceless heirlooms and art that are likely worth more than that,” Atopol snorted. “Enough to fund the efforts of the conspiracy for months. Each of those nobles will be complaining bitterly to the new regime about it. Vichetral will know that they are connected, since they were so close together, and he’ll know his enemies are behind it, since each of the nobles is a very public supporter of the new regime. The four heists will, of course, draw all sorts of attention, and not only from Count Vichetral. He will have his guards looking for anyone he thinks was capable of such a feat. He may even bring on a few rogue Censors if he suspects magic was involved.”

Gatina flinched at the mention of the dreaded Censors. She had often heard her parents warn them of the enforcers of the Bans.

The Censors from the Royal Censorate of Magic, Gatina knew, were despised and feared by everyone with any ounce of rajira. Censors were magi who policed other magi. In her mind, she imagined them to be similar to the Town Watchmen she had seen in Falas but for magi instead of people without Talent. They were regulators of the ancient Bans on Magic, one of the few institutions left from the original Narasi invasion. They answered to no higher authority than themselves. And they didn’t just take you to the magistrate; they were empowered to convict and punish as well as investigate.

She had heard her parents talk about them in the past and knew the history from her own private lessons with her mother. Mother had explained that the Royal Censorate of Magic employed magi called Censors to enforce the Bans on Magic. The Censors were zealots, Mother had lectured, obsessed with policing magical use and ability. They had the support of the nonmagical nobility and were used as a means of keeping the magi—especially those magi descended from the magelords of the Imperial Magocracy, like she was.

Censors were incredibly dangerous, her parents had emphasized. They used all sorts of spells to enforce the Bans. They were difficult to bribe, impossible to overrule, and enjoyed complete immunity from the civil authorities, all in the name of “protecting” mundane people against illegal and unethical magic. The Bans were one reason why House Furtius was never properly registered. While not explicitly illegal, shadowmagic was frowned upon, after all.

“But Father has placed so many pieces on the board, in so many different locations, I doubt the Count will know where to look,” Atopol continued, hopefully, as he tapped the book. “Confusion is as good as darkness to hide something. And not being around to get caught because you’re masquerading as someone else entirely in a new temple school seems like a good way to avoid detection.”

“That, too, makes sense,” Gatina admitted, coolly. “How do you keep from getting depressed about it, though? I can hardly stand the idea of hiding out studying the stars when there are heists I could be planning!” She shifted in her seat, bothered once more by the unfair situation in which she found herself. Not even the prospect of the Censorate investigating concerned her. A group of Talented men hunting hedgewitches did not frighten her, despite Mother’s lectures.

“I see it as an opportunity,” her brother said, simply. “As a way to keep my mind occupied as well as preparing myself for the future. I’m excited by the possibilities, if you want me to be honest.”

“Yes, but you’re always reading books!” Gatina snorted. “They’re good, in their way, I suppose, but it’s no substitute for learning things by doing things. What’s that one about?” she asked, curious but also dismissive of her brother’s interests.

“I am reading about the Sea Lords and their havens in Enultramar, and their contributions to Alshar. It’s fascinating, really—the Sea Lords ruled the coasts for a century before the Magocracy sent our Coastlord ancestors here, and they have an entirely different society. You should read this too. I will be finished tonight. I think you will find it very useful, regardless of what Mother and Father have planned for us.”

It actually did sound interesting, but Gatina didn’t want to admit that to him. She didn’t get the chance. Before Gatina could pursue her line of questioning, Hance had stopped the carriage for their late luncheon.

Of course, the man driving the team looked nothing like her father—his white hair was covered under a wig, and he was dressed in clothes far below his station, as a common coachman would appear. When he walked, it was with a pronounced stoop, and his gait was completely different from her father’s normal decidedly graceful and purposeful steps.

Father parked the carriage under a lonely grove of trees near the side of the road. The foliage provided brilliant shades of green overhead and an abundance of shade from the bright sunlight, which was ideal, as she and Atopol had been riding in a darkened carriage for hours. Her father had unhitched the team and tied the two brown working horses to a tree, where they had fresh tall grass to graze upon to complement their oats and water.

Gatina found the lovely day a bit irritating, considering her mood. The three members of House Furtius shared a meal of watered wine, boiled eggs, a bit of cheese, and delicious apple tarts while sitting on a wool blanket. It occurred to Gatina that it might be the last good meal she would have for a while. Drella, the family’s cook who had been part of the household since Hance was born, had prepared the meal, and she had added their favorite tarts for both Atopol and Gatina because she wanted to make sure they had something tasty to eat before they were forced to depend on food from the abbey. Ecclesiastical fare was filling but also known to be lacking in flavor.

“I think you’ll like the abbey,” Hance suggested while they ate. “I went to school there when I was your age. Most of our family undertook the Saganite Mysteries. You’ll be taught all sorts of things— mathematics, literature, history, philosophy, and, of course, astronomy. The Saganites are master astronomers,” he added. “They study the stars and watch them in their courses.”

“Why in the name of Darkness would anyone bother to do that?” Gatina asked as she nibbled her tart. She really could not think of anything more useless and boring than that, with the possible exception of needlework.

“Because that’s how ships navigate the open seas, for one thing,” Atopol supplied, tapping his book. “The Sea Lords were good at it, but it took the Saganites from the Magocracy to establish the charts and such for truly accurate navigation. It allowed them to win several key battles back in history.”

“Palomar Abbey was established in Alshar even before the Sea Lords colonized the coasts,” Hance agreed, his unfamiliar face looking thoughtful. “It dates back to the very beginning of humanity’s existence on Callidore. It’s not a large or popular temple, but it is well distinguished among the clergy and noted for its academic rigor. You’ll learn many useful things there . . . and plenty of useless things as well.

“But the most important lesson to learn is how to portray yourself as clergy,” he continued, in a more serious tone. “In our business, that can be an extremely useful thing. The clergy are exempt from many rules and laws, and the Saganites have special regulations that even other clergy don’t enjoy. They have often proven useful in our endeavors.”

“I’ve never really heard of them before,” Gatina admitted.

“They’re fairly obscure,” agreed her father. “Unlike the larger, flashier temples, the Saganites keep to themselves and are generally quiet about their liturgies. Their devotion to the stars necessitates that they honor the darkness of night—something I think you’ll agree suits our family business. Our House has patronized them for centuries now, as much as any other temple. And part of the reason for that is that there are things that you can learn at Palomar Abbey that you simply can’t learn anywhere else.”

“So, we will be getting more training!” Atopol grinned. Gatina shot him a dirty look.

“Oh, you’ll be continuing your training for the House along with your regular temple studies—at which you will be expected to excel. But you will have to do it all in disguise,” he reminded them. “The temple is aware of the special relationship that we enjoy with it, and the senior clergy will be aware that some of their students are not what they seem, but you must attend to your aliases religiously—pardon the pun—while you are at the abbey.”

After eating the last of the apple tarts, Hance continued to explain to them the details of their new lives, particularly their new aliases. He handed them each a leaf of parchment with the details of their new identities written upon them.

“Cat, you will be called Lord Dain of Newmarket in northern Falas, the middle son of a family of Coastlord merchants who has opted to learn astronomy and has a calling to the stars. You are to be quiet, studious, and constantly reading. Dark hair and a persistent squint,” he suggested. That did seem to play into Atopol’s natural talents, Gatina had to admit.

“And Kitten, you will now become Maid Avorrita of Dentran, the bucktoothed, befreckled youngest daughter of a minor Coastlord family from southern Falas. Intellectually bright but socially awkward. Kind of dull would be best. And you will be Lord Dain’s distant cousin, in case you have to consult with him.”

“That sounds . . . completely boring,” Gatina groaned as she took the parchment.

“It’s supposed to be. The goal is to not attract too much attention. Any attention, if you can help it,” their father reminded her.

Gatina and Atopol sat up straighter as Father explained the details to them.

“Now, it is imperative that you remain in your alias at all times unless you are with me or the abbot, who is the only member of the Saganites who will know your true identity. He’s my uncle, actually. There will be others who understand that there are clandestine pupils at the abbey, but you are to stick to character constantly and not reveal yourselves. Consider it a test of your abilities. Do you understand?” Hance pointedly looked at both of his children. Gatina restrained herself from asking the many questions she had and simply nodded. “Good. This is an important exercise. I want you to create an alias based on the bit of truths you read on the parchment. But the details of each character will be up to you. You’ll have to maintain them, after all.

“Remember, it is easier, as Kiera the Great has suggested, to remain as close to the truth as possible in regard to your alias. In fact, these identities will hopefully be of use to you for years to come. Cat, yours will be a little easier than Kitten’s. Newmarket is also a real village, and the noble House you claim to come from is real, if minor, so you will have to study to be prepared to answer any questions about it. And they do have a history of magic, since they are Coastlords. Not a great one, but it has come up in the past.” After Atopol nodded his understanding, Hance turned his attention to Gatina.

“In your case, Kitten, the fictitious noble household of Dentran has been cultivated as the source of useful aliases for House Furtius for years. In fact, I have used the House Dentran alias myself, in my youth. There are records of Dentran nobles with magical Talent, even full adepts. All of those are your Furtiusi ancestors in disguise. That will be how we explain it if your rajira comes on this summer,” he explained.

Gatina smiled for the first time, finally excited by the thought of this trip, she realized. She had desperately wanted her rajira to finally emerge, the way her brother’s had the last year. Indeed, she was eager for the power to perform magic the way her parents did, and didn’t even mind the prospect of study. The things she could do with magic . . .

Her father saw her expression and caught her in a stare. Gatina tried to force a blank expression on her face. “Cat, if you would take over the driving duties, I will assist with Kitten’s disguise and give further specialized instruction on her mission to your sister.”

While Atopol tended to the horses, Hance opened a satchel and removed several jars, setting them on the blanket. Gatina remembered the last time she had seen a satchel and jars of this sort—in Falas before Cousin Huguenin used leeches to dye her hair. Instead of speaking, she watched as he gently lifted a velvet pouch from the bag.

“While wigs and dyes and cosmetics are useful to change your appearance, there are special prosthetics that can be used to distract attention from who you really are. In this case, this is how we will alter the appearance of your teeth,” he explained.

He opened the pouch and slid out two parchment-thin metal trays shaped like a crescent. “These are pliable and will be coated in a special mixture of beeswax that I will use to model a set of false teeth that will fit over your front teeth for you to create Avorrita’s bucktoothed appearance,” her father explained. “It will take a little getting used to, especially speaking and chewing. I don’t think this will be as unpleasant as your hair experience, Kitten, but it will require a bit of patience.”

Gatina nodded and watched. Her father mixed three heaping spoonsful of a sweet-smelling powder with a beige paste and a warm lump of wax and then smeared the mixture onto one of the metal appliances using a small brush. Once he was satisfied with the mixture’s consistency, he nodded.

“This is the part that requires your patience. And a bit of stillness. I will place this over your top teeth. Then we must press it up, as far as we can, to get a good impression. And then we must wait a few long moments for the impression to set. Do you understand?” Gatina nodded, wondering why there was not a spell for this. Hance saw her expression and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Unfortunately, Kitten, there are some circumstances where magic is of little help. This is one of those.”

Gatina sighed, then helped her father position the tray in her mouth and around her upper teeth. The sensation of the metal was odd. It didn’t hurt, but the tray was cold enough to send a chill down her spine. The taste of the mixture was neither good nor bad. It reminded her of unbaked bread dough. The texture was chalky and waxy at the same time. She nearly gagged as they worked to adjust the tray around her front teeth. The mixture squished out and covered her tongue, causing her to cough.

“I think it would be easier and more comfortable for you if you lay back. We can exert more pressure, which will lead to a better impression” Hance explained.

Gatina did as her father suggested. As it dried, the mixture stuck to her tongue. Hance continued to explain the process while she tried not to cough. “This is the first step in creating Avorrita’s false teeth. When this is removed, we will allow it to dry. Then, I will use wax that hardens over time to sculpt the gums and add the false teeth. Sculpture was one of the classes I took when I was a student at Palomar Abbey,” he added. “Terribly useful, sculpture is.”

After what felt like an eternity, but was only a quarter-hour, Hance gently pried the device from Gatina’s teeth and removed it from her mouth with a loud pop. There was a chalky residue in her mouth that made her forget all about the delicious tart she’d had—in fact, it seemed to be mocking it.

“You may want to rinse,” he suggested, handing her a cup. She did, feeling a sense of relief.

“Once it dries, this will be your mouth appliance,” he announced. “And that is where magic can expedite the process. I was able to procure a powder from one of our most-trusted adepts. That is one of the many ways to speed the drying.” He held up a small vial and carefully shook a small amount of the fine powder over the impression of her teeth. “While I apply the potion, you can help. Knead this wax so that it becomes pliable.” He handed her a small wad of wax wrapped in parchment.

“You took sculpture class?” Gatina asked, finally able to speak. She removed the wax and began to knead it.

“Indeed I did. And it’s a good thing. You can do a lot of things with a bit of wax or clay and a knack for sculpture. I can copy keys or create keys. I can fabricate all sorts of things. And I can make false teeth, too,” he said. “The impression is dry.”

She watched, fascinated, as he worked using what she supposed were artisan tools—thin wire, small brushes, tiny knives, and several long needles of various sizes and widths. When he looked at her, Gatina handed him the now very soft and warm wax. He pushed it into place in the front four upper teeth.

“This is the medium I am using to craft your teeth,” he explained. “These wires will help secure the false teeth in place. When I’m done, they should be able to pop in and be held firmly.” He bent the wire to create a frame while the wax hardened in the mold. “It will be uncomfortable at first, but you will adjust to the fit and the feeling. You can take it out to sleep, of course.”

When the wax had hardened, also sped by the potion, he pried the teeth from the tray. He removed another jar, he explained, to give color to the teeth. The needles were used to add texture. “No teeth are perfectly smooth,” he explained. “This helps craft the illusion and it adds depth to the appearance. And this helps create your gumline.”

“And you learned this at Palomar?” she asked, intrigued.

“I learned a great many things at the abbey,” her father agreed. “My classes in art enriched my experience. The library there is filled with ancient knowledge. The Coastlord Houses have used it as a quiet repository for their archives and secrets, if you know where to look. And there are plenty of masters of all sorts of obscure and useful crafts lurking around the temple. Do not dismiss the possibilities, Gatina. A good thief—and a good mage—always embraces the chance to learn a new skill, a new discipline, or an obscure bit of knowledge that might make the difference someday,” he counseled.

Gatina nodded thoughtfully and felt the influence of her father’s words. They seemed to dash her reluctance to the disruption in her life and assure her of the value of a Palomar Abbey education. OPPORTUNITY, she suddenly knew, would surround her at the abbey. She just had to recognize it, as her father had done with his art class.

Hance took Atopol’s seat across from Gatina in the carriage after he’d helped Atopol hitch the team back up. They continued north. And her father continued his instruction.

“This is a nice change from being up there,” he sighed, pointing toward where Atopol sat in the coachman’s seat. “I even have a cushion! Less chance that I’ll eat bugs, too.” Gatina laughed and relaxed, some of her earlier tension forgotten. Her father’s easy nature was like magic. “I think you’ll enjoy Palomar more than you suspect,” he added.

“You really went to school there?” she asked, skeptically, her voice sounding odd with the dental device in place. His enthusiasm for the place was a surprise to her. In her experience, Father wasn’t particularly interested in the stars. The darkness, yes, but not the points of light that shone through it at night.

“It’s family tradition. Your great-uncle Handrig was my father’s youngest brother,” Hance explained. “He and I both came to the abbey about the same time, and he remains as one of the holy Starbrothers, as he had no talent for thieving or magic. But he supports the House as much as any. Indeed, he’s become the abbot of the place. But we both started out as Nocturns. I loved coming to Palomar for summers when I was a boy,” he recalled. “It was a magical place and a magical time before I had rajira—or girls—to distract me.” Hance sighed fondly at the memory and considered his precocious and currently odd-looking daughter. “You are carrying on a family tradition by coming here, Gat. It’s not a punishment. There’s no place in the duchies like Palomar. Maybe you’ll discover a hidden talent, as I did.”

As persuasive as he was, Gatina could not resist one last attempt at dissuasion. “But don’t you think I can learn a lot more from you and Mother, Daddy? We learned so much from you on those heists!” Gatina knew using the familiar word Daddy instead of the more formal Father sometimes worked to her advantage. But, she discovered, not this time.

“It’s a greater opportunity, Kitten,” Father said calmly and patiently, his eyes shining with a promise of mischief. “We can teach you some of what you need, but there is a place for more- formalized instruction. I promise you: this is not about punishment. You and your brother are being sent to a safe place where you can be instructed in more than what your former tutors or your mother and I can teach you, especially now with the Rebel Counts positioning themselves to take power in Alshar,” he said. “It’s just not safe for you in Falas or even Cysgodol Hall now. You and Atopol would have visited either way, eventually. It’s tradition,” he emphasized. “And it’s not all bad. You’ll have new friends—or Maid Avorrita will. You’ll learn some interesting things, and not all about the stars. We’ll be working on some specialized techniques—swordplay, lock-picking, stealth, all sorts of things.”

“You mean you’ll be there too?” she asked, surprised.

“Only in the background,” he answered. “And only upon occasion. I will be portraying an honest servant . . . and pursuing my own investigations and missions,” he added, cryptically. “I will be known as Dareth, an ignorant, illiterate manservant of Newmarket hired to the abbey for the summer. That should be enough cover to disguise my efforts. And that way, I can keep an eye on you both without arousing any suspicion. There is much happening in Alshar now that the Duke has been killed. Ejecta is actually ideally positioned for my purposes. Being close enough to Falas to hear news yet far away enough to avoid suspicion is of benefit to the conspiracy, right now. Your mother is away at the coast on her own tasks. But at least for the summer, I’ll be around, though you must never become familiar with me in public,” he advised her.

“So, what is my mission?” she asked, curiously. “Besides studying stars and staying in my alias?”

“You should learn the history of the abbey and why Maid Avorrita of Dentran is attending to her education there, of course,” Hance said. “As you are aware, children of noble and merchant classes are often sent to temple schools for both their basic education and the possibility that they will take holy orders. If they have rajira, they can even get some elementary, Censorate-approved training there without inviting suspicion. Some of the Talented actually do take holy orders and become monks or nuns for the temple. That, of course, is not the goal for you. But education is the goal for dull little Maid Avorrita of House Dentran. As for more rigorous duties, I will let you know if you are required to do anything beyond that, at the proper time.”

“So, how did our House form this . . . alliance with the Saganites?” she asked, after thinking about the matter for a moment. “It seems an odd pairing.”

“But useful,” her father insisted. “House Furtius’s connection with the Saganites and Palomar Abbey dates back hundreds of years. Your great-uncle Handrig will doubtlessly go into greater detail about it at the proper time, if he sees value to it.

“But consider this. One reason the partnership has been so gratifying is very simple: it has allowed our family to evade the Censors by being right under their noses, should they visit the abbey. We hide in plain sight, just as you and Atopol will be doing. You do not need to attract attention. You need to become the entirely unremarkable Avorrita. Keep your lips sealed and your eyes open. Since the Duke’s death, I expect there will be plenty of gossip amongst the petty nobility for you to hear. Listen to all of it, carefully, so that we can identify which families are in favor of Count Vichetral and which are still loyal to the Ducal House . . . and might be open to assisting our efforts.”

Gatina nodded resolutely in agreement, drawing a smile from her father.

“It really won’t be that bad,” he assured her. “The temple is situated in the village of Ejecta, which is a quaint and sleepy little hamlet. You may even be able to spend some free time there.” As they rode on, he explained the abbey’s hierarchy. “There are three levels of priests and priestesses among the Saganites, each with distinct liturgical duties and distinguished by their clothing: Nightbrothers, Duskbrothers, and Nocturns. Of course, Nightsisters and Dusksisters for the women. You are to be trained as a Nocturn.”

He went on for two more hours about the history of Palomar Abbey and the village of Ejecta as well as important details about the Saganite Order. He also reminded her that the Censorate had been harassing Coastlord families for centuries, and that the abbey offered some protection from that.

By the time Hance had replaced Atopol in the coachman’s seat, her head was spinning with those details. And by the time they arrived at Ejecta, in the early evening, she was starting to get tired.

But she perked up when they arrived at the ecclesiastic estate. It was sheltered from prying eyes by a dense and lush forest of pine, oak, and cherry trees, as well as a tall hedge of cedar and hemlock. Rhododendron trees encircled the estate’s main house of the complex, she saw as they rode past the stately old manor. Abbey, she corrected herself. The great temple was a reminder of that and could be seen in the distance, looming on the edge of the cliff on a great rocky outcropping, framed between two small waterfalls. It was quite lovely, she decided.

Gatina realized that she needed to stop thinking of Palomar as an estate; it was an abbey, and it would be her home for the foreseeable future. Despite her misgivings and her skepticism about the reasons for that, Gatina—No, no, no, Maid Avorrita of Dentran, she corrected herself—would do her best to learn to be a Saganite Nocturn . . . at least well enough to fake it. There was a certain challenge in that, she conceded to herself. And she knew she would do her duty.