Marvel didn't die.
But as the kathar blades rained down in the next few moments, he wished he had. Every inch of his arrays burned. He forgot his name, forgot he was a person as his entire world became pain, and pain, and only pain. In that moment, he didn't believe he had ever known anything else. He didn't think he would ever know anything else again.
And then it stopped.
Awareness slammed into him, unwelcome for the agony it brought roaring back. Gritting his teeth, he found himself lying on the cold, stone floor, surrounded by thick lines of blue light. Rods of kathar, circling around him like the bars of a cage.
The falling blades had disappeared.
Through the spaces between bars, Marvel saw Baylin sitting exactly where she had been when she'd summoned him. Green firelight washed over her entire profile, and he caught the triumphant grin she wore every time she confirmed an especially tricky theory.
Only this time, her theory had been about him.
Kathar blades. Kathar blades. Hadn't he read about them somewhere?
"Master?" he croaked out.
"You're still alive," she said lightly, as if she hadn't just put him in a godsdamn cage. "Good."
Beneath the pain rose a new sick feeling in his gut. "Why am I in here?"
She flapped a dismissive hand. "Don't take it personally. I was only trying to confirm something."
"What theory do you have to test that needs me locked in a cage?" he asked, abandoning Mage etiquette.
He knew. Of course, he knew. Hadn't he wondered whether the Grandmasters had figured it out yet?
"I'm sure you know why already," said Baylin.
Marvel scuttled back as far as he could until his back hit the bars of the cage behind him. "Are you reading my mind?"
"How could I?" Baylin shook her head. "All I see is what I think I should see."
"I—I don't—"
"It's a very sophisticated spell, one that would be taxing even for someone of my skill set," she said, though she sounded like she was talking to herself rather than him. "Even the greatest of the Grandmasters would falter at the prospect of—"
Marvel stopped listening, mind racing with panic. He examined the trap he had walked into. There had to be some weakness in the magic, some gap he could exploit and escape with. He had to get out of here. There was no doubt the Conclave was already on its way.
"—and let's not even talk about that spell that saved your life," continued Baylin. "By Pelen, that was extraordinary work. Somebody really is going out of their way to protect you."
Marvel's head snapped up. "What?"
"What I did was a little variation on a blade summoning spell mixed with a generated shield," she said, excited like a child with a new toy. "I've been thinking about your current situation for the past couple of days. How you managed to survive without a centre. Why none of the other Magi have been able to detect a single athar reading from you."
Marvel could only blink at her.
"Your little Healer friend reported that you'd been injured from magical exhaustion several times," Baylin added. "Yet the Novice instructor was unable to detect any signs of magic being used in the ludus."
He swallowed thickly. "Baylin…"
"I have a few dozen theories," Baylin breezed on, leaning her chin in her palm. "Fortunately, I've managed to narrow them down. Do you want to hear what I think?"
"Let me out of the cage," Marvel pleaded.
"You," she said, grinning, "have a new magical centre, one much, much more powerful than the last."
"Please." He hung his head against the bars. "Please, Master."
"It was put there by someone for some undoubtedly fascinating purpose."
"I'm begging you," he tried. "For all of our history, for all the years we've known one another. Let me out."
"You have no idea who it is, or else you would have tried to contact them by now." Baylin stroked her chin thoughtfully. "The energy you have now is not kathar. It's dangerous and destructive, something you fear the Conclave finding out." Her eyes fixed on him, green in the light of the eerie fire. "It's akathar, isn't it?"
"LET ME OUT!" Marvel roared in answer. Once the Grandmasters got here, he would be a goner. He had to be gone before they showed up to kill him. "Baylin, please. Please."
"Isn't it?" she asked, eyes shining with greed for knowledge. "I'm right, aren't I? About everything?"
Marvel hated himself, hated that he was begging, that he had to. Yet, how could he possibly escape with his life? "Master Baylin, I have served you since I was a child. I've done everything you asked. I've been a faithful and loyal servant, haven't I? Don't—don't let them come and take me. They'll kill me. Surely, Honoured One, you wouldn't just let your servant die."
Baylin finally seemed to listen to him, blinking in confusion. "What are you going on about?"
Marvel surged forward, gripping the bars of the cage. They hummed harmlessly beneath his hands. "Don't turn me in to the Grandmasters."
Baylin frowned, a wrinkle slicing between her eyebrows. "Why, in Pelen's name, would I do that?"
Marvel stared at her in shock. "Because it's your duty?"
"Duty?" Baylin scoffed. "You think I'd be idiotic enough to let this once-in-a-million opportunity slip away from me because of duty?"
Marvel's jaw fell, despite himself. What she was saying was insane. She had to be lulling him into a false sense of security to get more information out of him.
"Y-you're a mage," he said. "Isn't protecting people from Fusion magic your entire mission?"
Baylin giggled at that. Actually giggled. "I'm yet to meet a mage who began practising alchemy for that reason. Have you?"
Marvel scrambled to think of all the mages he knew. Pidge, Flynn, Adia: they'd all needed a means to support their families, and alchemy paid very well. He couldn't imagine Caspian or that awful woman Echo signing up to protect anyone. The Grandmasters had casually murdered him for lying; he couldn't believe those bastards cared that much about mavericks to begin with.
Maybe Aisling; but even she sometimes seemed like she would be more content making healing potions than learning battle spells.
"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it until just now." Baylin's lips curved. "You foolish, foolish boy. After all those lessons I've taught you about observation, you've been so blind."
"Then, why—"
"It's about power, the having of it," Baylin said. "Nobody who becomes a mage enjoys being weak. Anyone truly altruistic resigns themselves to becoming a Sorcerer or an Enchanter, where magic can be a means to an end. For a mage, magic is the end itself. And the beginning. It becomes everything."
Marvel's heart slammed in his chest as the library suddenly fell silent. Her words held a ring of truth to them, but—
"Just to be clear, you're not calling the Conclave?" he clarified.
Baylin didn't dignify him with an actual answer, opting to roll her eyes instead. "Your akathar—"
"It's not aka—"
His voice cut off suddenly, against his will. The only sign Baylin had done a spell was the slow tap of her pinky finger against the arm of her chair.
"Don't insult my intelligence by lying to me, Marvel Satis," Baylin said, her eyes glittering dangerously. "I've already confirmed the truth with my little trap. Those blades would have killed anything with Fusion magic who walked into that circle."
On hearing that, Marvel felt all his fear harden into fury. She might actually have killed him. Baylin was just like the rest.
She went on, oblivious to his anger. "The fascinating thing is that it didn't kill you. Whoever gave you this magic intends for you to stay alive to use it."
That snagged his attention. "What?"
"Your athar forced its will on my own kathar," Baylin explained. "It still did its work of detection, but your magic convinced it that it shouldn't kill you."