LILIA HELSTEA
Where are they? I asked myself for what must have been the tenth time.
I was standing in the shadows outside of the Helstea Auction House, watching the streets impatiently. Had I been wrong to trust them to make it to me? Suddenly my plan seemed unnecessarily risky.
This all would have been a lot easier if their parents had been willing to go along with it.
I heard light, running footsteps from down the road and tucked myself more deeply into the shadows. Two children, both blonde and about the same height, came into view, and I let out a sigh of relief.
Then three more children appeared behind them. I leaned out into the street and waved to them. The blonde twins, one boy and one girl, whispered something to the others, and the five children ran—much too loudly—in my direction.
I had the door open and was waving them in by the time they got there. With one last look around, I closed the door and turned to face my latest group of refugees.
The twins burst into an explanation before I could even ask.
"Miss Helstea, we're so sorry—"
"—friends were being treated horribly at the academy—"
"—worried they wouldn't be okay without us—"
"—parents have been standing up against—"
I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it!"
The three newcomers were all slightly younger than the twins, with the oldest looking to be around ten, while the youngest was only six or seven at the most. "Names?"
The youngest, a dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl, hid behind her older brother. It was the middle child who spoke. "I'm Miah. My little sister's name is Mara, and this is Holden."
I bent down so I was eye to eye with Mara. "And what house are you from, Mara?" She turned and hid her face in Holden's back.
"We're members of House Havenhurst," Miah, a taller version of her little sister, said haltingly.
Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I turned back to the twins.
Clara and Cleo Ravenpoor had come to my attention almost entirely by chance. Their parents had been quick enough to support the Alacryans after Xyrus was taken, and so the twins had avoided the worst that the Testers had to offer at Xyrus Academy. It was hardly surprising, considering that their older brother, Charles, had been a part of the attack on the academy back in my second year.
What did surprise me was finding the two twelve-year-olds standing in front of the gates leading into Xyrus Academy and arguing about running away. After scolding them for having their conversation out in the open where anyone could overhear, I walked the twins to their class and bid them farewell, but their words stayed with me the rest of that day and the next.
After that, I invented reasons to run across them at the Academy, to spend time with them and speak to them. In just a few days, I managed to foster some kinship between us, something encouraged by the Testers, as it helped to indoctrinate the younger students.
They say desperation breeds trust, and I think it was this more than anything that drove the twins to finally tell me that they hated what they were being asked to do at the academy. They wanted to run away, to escape their family and their house, but they were afraid.
And so I repaid their trust with my own, and told them I could help. Not the specifics, just that I could get them to safety, and a time and a place to meet.
I guess I should have been a little more specific, especially about not bringing anyone else along, but it was too late for that now.
Clara wrung her hands as she waited for me to say something. "They were being tortured…" she said finally.
I gave the young girl's shoulder a faint squeeze. "I understand. I've only made preparations for you two, but…I'm sure I can figure something out, okay? For now, we need to—"
Three sharp knocks at the same side door we'd entered through made all six of us jump.
Breath held, I stared at the door. After a few seconds, whoever it was knocked again, louder.
I waved to get the children's attention and held one finger to my lips, then led them quickly through the warehouse to a huge mound of crates fronted by a rolling display of magical artifacts. When the rack was moved, it revealed a small empty space within, complete with a thick floor of blankets and pillows, a simple lighting artifact, a couple of adventure stories, and a few snacks.
It would be cramped with all five of them in there, but I couldn't help that.
The wide-eyed children all shuffled into the hideaway and sat on the blankets, shoulder to shoulder.
"Don't make a sound," I ordered before moving the display back into place. "And keep that light doused!"
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang bang.
I examined the hidden alcove to make sure I had reset the display properly, then, at the last second, remembered to lock both sets of wheels. When I was comfortable that the children were properly hidden, I dashed across the warehouse to the door. Before I opened it, I took a second to muss up my hair and rub hard at my eyes, adopting a slightly bleary, I-just-woke-up sort of expression.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
On the third knock, I jerked the door open on a soldier in the uniform of an Alacryan battlemage.
The man had muddy brown eyes that glared down his stumpy nose at me. He did not look pleased. "Took you long enough," he snarled. "Sleeping on the job, were you?"
I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to look startled—which wasn't too difficult under the circumstances.
"I don't imagine the master of this auction house is in, is he?" He watched me closely as I shook my head. "I've heard of this Victor Helstea. I'm surprised he can't find better help, considering the allowances he's been given."
I didn't dare inform this Alacryan that my father's name was Vincent Helstea, or that there would normally be a pair of night guards stationed at the Helstea Auction House to protect the artifacts. Father had "accidentally" left an opening in the schedule, which was easier than explaining to his guards why I would be spending the night there with a pair of runaway noble children.
"Can I—"
"I am Sanborn Troel, and I'm going to need you to step aside so I can take a look around."
"And why is that, exactly?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart.
His eyes narrowed. "I do not need to explain myself to you, Dicathian scum. Suffice it to say that I am an emblem-bearing Sentry in service to the Vritra, and as such have all the authority I need to move you by force if necessary."
I swallowed heavily, but kept my chin up and didn't break eye contact with the man. "And I am Lilia Helstea, daughter of Vincent Helstea, owner of this establishment. My family has received authorization to continue the operation of this auction house—catering largely to the Alacryans now residing in this city, I might add—as well as expanding our trading network.
"We have done everything that has been asked of us by your leadership, so perhaps you should not speak so boldly about Dicathian scum."
My jaw was set, my stance firm, and my gaze unblinking. Inside, though, it suddenly felt like my guts had turned into eels and my blood to ice water.
Perhaps demure supplication would have been wiser, but from what I had seen, these Alacryans ruled with a firm hand, and my hope was that standing up for myself and my family would draw the man's attention away from whatever business he had here.
Sanborn Troel leaned forward, smirking. "Even the lowliest Alacryan unad commoner is better than you, Dicathian scum. Speak to me like this again and I will have your blood's licenses revoked and every one of you thrown from the edge of the city. Clear enough for you?"
My prideful façade cracked and I felt the blood draining from my face. Looking at his feet, I nodded. "Now. Move."
I hesitated just an instant before moving aside, allowing the Alacryan to step into the warehouse. He glanced around, then began stalking through the aisles, his sharp gaze investigating every nook and cranny.
"Have you seen anything unusual tonight?"
"No," I said, a little too quickly. "As you said, I was sleeping when you knocked."
He scoffed. "So it is possible someone could have entered this building without you being aware?"
I blanched, grateful that he wasn't looking in my direction. "The—the doors were locked, so—unless you're searching for a powerful mage, someone who could bypass the wards—I don't think it would be possible for anyone to have entered, no."
He kept walking, speaking without looking at me, his head always moving as he scanned the warehouse. "Some Dicathian children have gone missing. Their blood, who have been very helpful in our effort to settle this city, believe they were manipulated into running away. A guard patrol saw a group of five children out after curfew not five minutes' walk from here."
I rearranged my face into passive curiosity, just in case he glanced at me for a reaction. "Why would the Alacryans care about a couple of missing children? I know plenty of Dicathians who have gone missing since you arrived. Perhaps you'd like a list of names?"
Sanborn Troel lifted the lid off a barrel, releasing the heavy scent of lamp oil. "I don't care, and neither do my superiors. But if there are Dicathian rebels operating in Xyrus…" He closed the barrel and kept moving.
"Well, I can assure you that a group of runaway children couldn't have broken into the auction house…"
"No," he said idly. "I don't suppose they could have."
Despite his statement, the Alacryan kept up his circuit of the warehouse. I noted with concern that we were headed directly for where the children were hidden. The magic artifacts will hide their mana signatures. We've planned for this, I assured myself. Somehow, the thought didn't make me feel any better.
Sanborn Troel stopped right in front of the rack displaying the array of minor magical artifacts. Most of them weren't worth much, but my gaze lingered on a round, metallic artifact about the size of an apple.
"What a shame to see such items hoarded by a lowly Dicathian trader."
"Our buyers are mostly Alacryans," I said, my voice constricted with nervousness despite my best efforts to keep calm. If the children made even the smallest noise…
He pulled a fine dagger off the rack and slid it from its sheath. The bright blade gleamed dully in the light. "Perhaps a little something for my trouble…" he said, seemingly to himself.
"Of course, I'm sure my father wouldn't mind at all," I replied, bowing slightly. The dagger was only a minor artifact: The blade would never grow dull or rust. If it got him to stop snooping around and leave, it was well worth the investment.
He ignored me as he clipped the dark sheath to his belt. Suddenly a ripple of mana pushed outward from him, tingling as it passed over every inch of my body.
Before I knew what was happening, the stocky Alacryan grabbed the edge of the rolling display and yanked, causing it to tip over and crash to the ground.
I jumped aside, only narrowly avoiding being struck. The display rack burst apart, scattering artifacts across the floor. The metallic ball bounced away, rolling under a stack of shelves.
Through the resounding noise of wood and metal striking the stone floor, I could hear the children's frightened yells.
The Alacryan wore a victorious expression. "Idiot girl. Did you really think you could deceive an emblem-bearing Sentry?" He reached into the hidden cubby and grabbed Clara by the hair with his free hand.
Orange light filled the dark space, highlighting each of the children as Cleo's hands became wreathed in claws of fire. He lunged at the Alacryan, but was met by a heavy boot to his chest, dropping him to the ground and dousing his spell.
Miah, Mara, and Holden crouched in the hidden alcove. Holden had moved in front of his sisters to shield them, but all three were trapped.
Clara wriggled in Sanborn Troel's grip, her hands clawing at his wrist. I was surprised to see her nails dig into his flesh, then remembered that the Alacryans' spells were very specific, controlled by runic tattoos along their spines, and he likely had no defensive magic.
I conjured a long whip of water, but was wary of the dagger still clutched in the Alacryan's hand. Before I could attack, another ripple of mana burst out from him, and a high-pitched, painful ringing pierced my mind.
Clara slumped in his grip, and the others slapped their hands to their ears as they collapsed into a heap, their mouths open in silent screams of pain.
The whip momentarily lost its form as I struggled to maintain my concentration on the spell through the awful mental noise. I gritted my teeth and focused on the drills they'd put us through at the academy. I'd practiced maintaining my spells through all kinds of distractions, though never anything quite like Sanborn Troel's mental attack.
Although my whip was still wavering, not fully under my control, I lashed out and caught the Alacryan across the calf. He flinched and jerked Clara's semi-conscious body around, holding her between us like a shield, the tip of the dagger pressed into her side, just under her ribs.
Cleo's small form appeared out of the hidden alcove again as he threw himself bodily into our attacker, but the boy was much too small to fight physically against the hardened Alacryan. Sanborn Troel laughed and backhanded Cleo across the ear, knocking him to the ground, but this gave me an opening.
My water-whip lashed across his arm, tearing his tunic and leaving a red welt on his tan skin. Clara slumped to the floor in a daze.
Not wanting to give him any time to recover, I brought the whip down in a cutting arc, forcing him to dodge away from Clara and Cleo, then slashed sideways, the water-whip curving gracefully around me, aimed at his neck.
The Alacryan ducked under the whip and released a burst of painful mental noise focused directly at me. Though I knew what to expect now, and condensed a dampening layer of mana around myself to defend against it, the pain was much more intense the second time, hitting me like a physical blow.
With my mind on the metal ball hidden out of sight beneath the shelves, I spun and let myself fall, sprawling into the clutter of scattered artifacts. Although my head was ringing like a bell and my heart was hammering against my chest, I had a plan.
I looked back over my shoulder from where I lay face-down on the floor, letting all the real fear I felt show. Sanborn Troel, dagger held point down, growled and took a menacing step toward me.
I let out a pitiful moan and crawled away from him, inching toward the shelves. He stalked after me like a hunter tracking wounded prey, unhurried and overconfident.
The timing had to be just right: too soon and I might miss; too late and I'd find out just how sharp the edge of the magical dagger really was.
His shadow fell over me as my hand darted under the shelves, reaching for the metallic sphere. My fingertips brushed it and it rolled away. Each beat of my heart felt like a punch to my chest as I felt frantically around under the shelf.
My fist closed on it at the same time as Sanborn Troel's strong hand grabbed my shoulder, flipping me over onto my back and flashing the dagger in front of my face.
"In the name of the Vritra and the High Sovereign, I sentence you to death—"
His eyes went wide with surprise and confusion as I pressed the artifact to his chest and pushed mana into it. He tried to pull away, but it was too late.
The mana trap was designed to instantly drain all the mana from the target's core, absorbing it into the artifact itself and leaving the affected mage defenseless. Unlike everything else that had been on the now-broken display, the mana trap was a rare and expensive artifact, though this one had been designed to look innocuous, mimicking a common artifact for training a mage's mana core.
Father had placed it here as an added precaution, a trap for anyone poking around the warehouse who shouldn't be.
Sanborn Troel's mana core was drained with a flash of light. The dagger fell to the floor with a ringing clang as both hands clutched at his sternum.
I stood as the Alacryan sank to his knees in front of me, his breath ragged and sweat pouring down his forehead. Our eyes met, mine now confident, his panicky and disoriented.
When his face contorted with concentration, I held up the artifact, now glowing slightly. "Did you really think a mere Sentry could defeat a Dicathian battlemage trained at Xyrus Academy?" I asked, throwing his own words back at him.
Movement behind him drew my eye: the Ravenpoor twins were struggling to help each other to their feet. "Stay where you are," I ordered.
Sanborn Troel looked from me to the dagger on the floor, then in the direction of the door. He tried to stand, wobbled, and went back to one knee.
"Are you going to kill me?" he panted, the physical toll of having his entire core instantly depleted putting him into a state of severe backlash.
I frowned. I didn't want to kill anyone, but…
"What would you do?" I asked.
He took a deep breath, like he was struggling to even keep talking, then shouted at the top of his voice, "Help! Guards! I'm in—"
Water mana condensed around him in a wide sphere and his shouts cut off, transformed into silent bubbles from his mouth. He kicked wildly, swimming but going nowhere, trapped at the center of the sphere.
Unsure what else to do, I turned away, walking around him to where the children were staring in horrified fascination. I pulled Clara and Cleo's heads to my body, hiding the sight of Sanborn Troel silently drowning behind me.