Matabar

Ardi pressed his forehead against the blisteringly cold, ice-covered steel handrail — it was so frigid that its frostiness bit through his woolen hat — and mulled over everything that had transpired.

In the worst possible scenario, if Kerimov died… would they expel him from the Grand? Who could say? On the one hand, he had taken part in an official, preapproved bloody duel. On the other…

"Damn," Ardan muttered, closing his eyes.

And then there was Kshtovsky… Ardi wasn't even bothered by what Bazhen had told him about the colonel's daughter. He just wanted to know why the colonel hadn't intervened? Though, in truth, the answer was quite obvious.

Ardan had used about as many rays — or maybe one more — as Kerimov had channeled into his absorbing-type shield. All other things being equal, even if Ardi's spell had overloaded the stone cocoon's properties, at most, the baron might have been cut by flying shards.

That was likely why Kshtovsky hadn't stepped in. He couldn't possibly have foreseen the influence of the Aean'Hane art, about which he likely knew very little, save for the mere fact that such magic connection even existed.

Ardi could only hope that the two healers, even if they were just students, along with the help of a five-Star, seasoned military mage, would be able to pull Kerimov back from the brink.

"Damn," Ardan repeated.

"Tough day?" Asked the conductor, who was sporting a funny hat with flappy ear coverings that he'd pulled snugly over his standard-issue cap with its gleaming, lacquered visor.

"Something like that."

"Got it… Markov Canal!"

The tram screeched to a halt, its wheels whining against rails made brittle by the biting cold. Ardan stepped outside, pulled off his hat, and let the chill wind that was rushing across the snowy surface of the slumbering river lick his face.

Tapping out the rhythm of his own footsteps with his staff, the young man passed a few buildings and arrived at number 23, where the familiar "Bruce's" sign flickered, and on the top floor, an oriel window with a rust-stained, steel roof glimmered faintly.

Ardi intended to clean that roof come spring, so that when the rains began, he wouldn't have to live like a marsh frog always searching for higher ground — it would flood otherwise.

Entering the building, Ardan found Arkar still hunched over numerous invoices and financial reports.

"That was quick," the half-orc snorted, scribbling something into the columns of an enormous ledger.

"Yeah," Ardi said simply.

He shrugged off his coat, hung it on the wardrobe rack, then pulled up a chair and settled in across from him.

The clack of wooden beads sliding along steel wires calmed him somewhat.

"Why don't you buy an arithmometer?" Ardi asked as he saw how often Arkar lost his place in the rows and units.

Anna's brother, for instance, had used one. It was a wooden, collapsible device with two metal plates inside of it, jam-packed with gears and rollers that shifted digit-bearing strips.

It could handle both simple arithmetic and multiplication, division… The most expensive variants, which would be fitted with four plates rather than two, even supported trigonometry and more advanced calculations.

Ardan had long dreamed of buying one for himself someday. Working on his Star Magic seals would go at least ten times faster that way. But even the simplest models started at sixty exes, at the very least.

"Arih… aritt… What did you call it?" Arkar tore his gaze from the ledger for a second.

"An ari-thmo-meter," Ardan repeated, practically saying it syllable by syllable. "It's a calculating machine. Very convenient."

"Don't need it…" The half-orc mumbled, losing his place yet again. He cursed, then slammed the abacus down onto the desk so hard that both the frame and the tabletop creaked in protest. "Tess usually helps me," he grumbled in displeasure. "But today, she's slacking off… refusing to help, I mean. Says she's got plans tonight, even canceled her own show. Me, I'm not about to butt into her life, so here I am, left to shift these beads by myself."

Ardan often found it amusing how Arkar tried to restrain himself from lapsing into pure gangster slang. He was, after all, the official face of a rather prominent jazz bar and had to behave accordingly.

"Want me to help?"

Arkar leaned back in his chair, fingers laced over his chest.

"What, you gonna swoosh… handle, I mean, a month's worth of bookkeeping for me… just like that?"

Ardan flipped open the ledger, picked up the forms, and… nearly choked. At least now he understood why, when he'd first moved in, Arkar had asked him to sign a receipt for a deposit far larger than the amount he'd actually paid.

Under "expenses upon moving out," every last tenant — absolutely every single one — was noted as owing money for various repairs or compensation for broken or damaged household items.

"A broken doorknob that costs seventy-five exes to replace?" Ardi arched an eyebrow.

"It was inlaid with diamonds from the necklace of Mrs. Dirati — one of the most renowned opera belters… singers, I mean," Arkar lied without batting an eye.

"May I see this doorknob?"

"Do I need to smash your face in?" The half-orc snorted. "What, you fancy yourself an investigator now? Besides, it's gone — broken. It's all written down in there. Signed by the tenant, too."

"Sure, of course," Ardan grimaced and continued scanning the list. "A scratch on the parquet…"

"Which was carved from a type of wood that grows… well, who knows where, but definitely someplace very sparkly… a place of honor and luxury, I mean."

"…164 exes," Ardan muttered, feeling a bit dizzy. "A damaged Ley cable sheath…"

"…made from the hide of a dragon's ass, by all that's holy."

"They're extinct."

"Care to prove it?" Arkar smirked. "Your mage bloods… Your Guild, I mean, has been sending expansions after them for decades."

"Expeditions, not expansions," Ardan corrected him. "And how much was it? 279 exes?!"

"Made from a dragon's ass!" The half-orc jabbed a clawed finger in the air for emphasis, then flexed his enormous muscles so powerfully that the seams of his shirt nearly gave way.

Ardan pushed one ledger aside and opened the second, which Arkar had been wrestling with. This one looked rather more proper and aboveboard: expenses for goods, the maintenance of the bar, servicing the Ley cables and transformers, household accumulators, staff salaries, and a few smaller items. On the other side were daily income columns showing the most popular food and drink orders.

It turned out that "Bruce's" patrons most often ordered gin and whiskey, while among the dishes, "Selkado Salad" (apples and turkey drizzled with a tangy berry sauce, sweet peppers, and lettuce leaves) proved to be the favorite cold dish, with braised veal and duck legs with baked potatoes topping the list of cooked offerings.

Ardi's stomach rumbled.

"Hey, how many tenants actually live in the building?" He asked.

Arkar remained silent.

"I get that we have multiple entrances, but I hardly ever see anybody."

The half-orc sighed, his broad chest rising and falling slowly before he finally answered curtly:

"Besides you and Tess, there are nine more boarders."

"Eleven total," Ardi said, shaking his head, "in a place with sixty-eight apartments. And you don't have your own accountant?"

"You think I can't figure out numbers myself?" Arkar bared his tusks.

"I think, orc, that fascinating tasks like these should be handled by a professional."

Arkar huffed again.

"He does handle them," the half-orc admitted grudgingly. "Only right now, he's 'taking a break' in the slammer… In the honorable guards' lockup, I mean. They nabbed him last week on fraud charges. We're still trying to bail him out."

Ardi recalled how Yonatan had mentioned serving time in a penal colony with a lawyer who'd helped the Orcish Jackets launder money. Their scheme was simple enough.

On paper, the building was never empty. Each apartment boasted its own tenant, who, upon moving in, supposedly paid them a huge deposit. Then, at least judging by the documents, roughly every two weeks, that tenant would move out, having presumably broken something. All the necessary forms and signatures were also surely in order.

So, the guards had nothing concrete to latch onto. If they wanted to inspect the premises, every entranceway would have a tenant or two. Why so few? Well, the rest might be away at work or traveling somewhere.

Ardi returned to the first ledger, skimmed the columns on eviction charges, and unfastened the top button of his shirt collar.

"This is… almost six thousand exes a month."

"Roughly," Arkar did not deny it, pulling the bottle of weak ale he drank in place of water closer to him. "Sometimes more, sometimes less. All legitimate, all taxed."

Ardi sighed and closed the murky accounts for good.

"I could figure out 'Bruce's' expenses for you," he offered.

"Oh yeah?" Arkar clicked his tongue and took a swig from the bottle, leaning forward. "And what do you want in return?"

"A suit."

"I don't get it…"

"A suit, if you happen to have one," Ardi clarified. "Something that won't look awful on me."

"On you, is it…" Arkar grinned wolfishly, glancing first at the door that led to the stairs, then back at Ardi. His grin widened. "So that's why Tess refused to help me and canceled her show. She's been on edge for two days straight."

"She's nervous?" Ardan raised an eyebrow.

"You been knocked in the head at your univers-a-whatever?"

"University," Ardan corrected him automatically.

"University, cloakroom, outhouse — whatever." The half-orc growled. "Look, right there, on your back, is the best suit a man could hope for."

Arkar reached out and snagged a claw in the edge of Ardan's crimson cloak, giving it a little tug.

"An Imperial Mage," he drawled, almost mockingly. "A student of the Grand. Nah, kid. Naive girls might like what's right in front of them, but wise women look for prospects. And Tess has never been stupid or naive."

"I-"

"Don't hem and haw," Arkar laughed, failing to explain the slang well enough for Ardan to grasp it. "Seems I've got one old advert stuffed away… a suit, I mean. When I got out of the service and before I bulked up… gained weight, you might say, I wore it. Hang on a minute."

With his bottle still in hand, he retreated to the back room that was off-limits to anyone but the orcish bruisers or the guests who sometimes booked a private room or a roped-off booth. In other words, only members of the Orcish Jackets had free rein in that storeroom.

Ardi rarely crossed paths with them, and when he did, the orcs were invariably courteous. Then again, they treated all of "Bruce's" patrons that way.

While Ardan deftly rattled through the abacus, filling in columns within the report, Arkar rummaged in the storeroom, muttering curses now and again. Judging by the racket, that back room must have been nearly as large as the actual bar portion of "Bruce's."

By the time Arkar finally emerged a quarter hour later, Ardi had already finished the calculations and was eyeing the kitchen door with undisguised hunger. His stomach kept up its treacherous growling.

"You already done?" Arkar asked.

"Compared to Star Magic formulas, this was nothing," Ardi replied with a modest shrug that was anything but modest.

"So, are you calling me an idiot or yourself a genius?" Arkar narrowed his eyes at him, a faint, half-playful, half-threatening spark there. It was as mild of a threat as a more-than-two-meter-tall bruiser with arms thicker than most folks' heads could muster.

Ardi discreetly held his tongue, prompting Arkar to flash his tusks once more.

"Here," the half-orc said. Stepping up to the table, he gently placed a bundle on the chair. "Try it out. Doesn't fit me these days, so maybe it'll be just right for you."

Ardan loosened the braided ties and pulled from the cloth sleeve a rather respectable-looking suit. It had been made from thin wool, and was dark blue with a vertical white stripe. It didn't quite have a standard cut — it was tapered, with short lapels and sleeves that barely reached the wrists. The trousers, boasting a wide waistband, had slightly cropped legs that would ride up well above the ankles when seated. The glossy silk vest was the final flourish to this unusual ensemble.

Respectable folk usually couldn't afford such suits, nor would they want them — they weren't exactly practical. You'd only see that kind of attire on fashion hounds from Baliero or, of course, on gangsters.

Ardi could only hope that, due to lacking the style of the former, he wouldn't end up looking too much like the latter.

"Did you buy flowers?" Arkar asked suddenly.

Ardi nodded toward the coat rack, where he'd left a wrapped bouquet on a nearby ottoman.

"You're supposed to put them in water!" The half-orc grumbled, heaving himself to his feet. "Kid's clueless. And enough with that stomach growling of yours. Let's go see what's in the stable… in the kitchen, I mean. I'll throw something together for you."

"What's all this generosity for, Arkar?"

"Oh-ho… You're getting bold, kid," the gangster clapped him on the back. "A couple months ago, you wouldn't have dared ask. Consider it me making sure that my precious singer isn't shocked half to death by a rough-around-the-edges cowboy."

And so it was that, after Ardi quickly changed — yes, the suit proved a touch big for him, but not glaringly so — Arkar fed him a hearty porridge with venison, and then even gave him a bowl of grouse soup on the side.

When the doors swung open and Tess entered, having hurried back home from work, they both remained in the kitchen and decided not to show themselves yet.

"You never said why you returned so quickly," Arkar reminded him, raising the bottle to his lips.

Sometimes, Ardan thought that the half-orc could down an entire barrel of whiskey and still remain steady on his feet.

"I destroyed a baron's guts."

Arkar nearly choked, spraying ale like a fireman's hose and drenching the wall. Mercifully, Ardi's "new" suit was spared.

The young man couldn't fathom what had prompted such a reaction. Arkar gaped at him for a couple of heartbeats before slapping his forehead.

"Demons… You don't speak like we do… so I thought you meant something else."

"Something else?" Ardan blinked, scooping up the last bits of meat from his soup.

"Never mind," the half-orc waved it off. "But watch your words. Someone else might take them the wrong way."

Ardi shrugged. He honestly didn't care who thought what about him.

"So, how'd that happen?" Arkar asked, shifting back to the main topic.

Ardan gave him a brief rundown of the day's events. Given that Arkar knew his tenant possessed the powers of a Speaker, the veteran criminal's perspective seemed worth hearing.

"You sure that colonel… what's his name…?"

"Kshtovsky."

"You're sure this Ksh… Kshs… oh, never mind…" Arkar slapped a heavy hand on the steel countertop where the cooks usually butchered meat. "You're sure that clown… fella… fuck it… You sure that human doesn't know about your Speaker abilities?"

"To a certain degree."

"A certain damned degree," the half-orc cursed, then drained the bottle and tossed it into the trash can. "Either way, Ard, your scrap — your duel, I mean — was official and supervised. If anyone's in hot water, it's that colonel with the unpronounceable name, not you. So loosen up."

"But what if Kerimov dies?"

"Bring flowers to his grave," Arkar said calmly. "Or don't. Your call."

"But-"

"Screw it, Ard," the half-orc cut him off, biting off the end of a cigar. He lit it and took a long drag. "If his family has some clout, maybe they'll try something, but you're a standup young man — you'll figure it out. Whether Kerimov bites it… dies, I mean, or not, shouldn't be your concern. The law's on your side. All that moral agonizing? You'll outgrow it. Trust me."

Ardan sighed and changed the subject. For a while, they discussed swapping out a transformer that had blown during the winter solstice and the fact that the company handling their installation and calibration was trying to fleece them by charging them triple the normal rate.

And so, the clock hands crept around to five in the evening. Together, Ardan and Arkar strolled into the main bar area. Barely a few seconds later, Tess walked in as well.

"Good evening, Ardi," she greeted him.

Ardan felt his breath catch and his heart skip a beat, entirely forgetting how to function. Tess was beautiful even on her most casual days, but here she was, wearing a subtle, tasteful bit of makeup, a soft lilac dress with a long skirt, white fur boots she reserved for special occasions, and a matching, white fur coat and fox-fur hat, carrying a sleek, black leather purse in her hands. She was so dazzling that Arkar had to clear his throat to snap Ardan out of his trance.

"You look… incredible," Ardan managed to say through a tight throat, his tongue almost tripping over itself.

"You look nice, too," Tess answered, giving him a sweet, slightly shy smile.

"I, uh…" On unsteady legs, Ardan made his way to the bouquet, peeled away the paper, and revealed a modest bunch of wildflowers. They were colorful, ragged blossoms, and oh so far from what tradition said you should bring on a first date. "Here… These are for you…"

Arkar let out a soft curse and buried his face in his palm in dismay.

"My favorites!" Tess exclaimed, lifting them close to inhale their scent. "They smell like spring."

Arkar lowered his hand from his face, jaw slack, and looked from Ardi to Tess, then just shrugged and mumbled something like "they'll figure it out themselves" before heading behind the bar.

"Shall we?" Ardan put on his coat and opened the door for Tess.

She placed the bouquet into a vase she must have prepared in advance, setting it down on the edge of the bar, then nodded gently.

"Won't you get cold?" She asked, eyeing his light, autumn coat.

"I'll be fine." Ardi fought the silly, almost foolish grin that insisted on spreading across his face — and lost.

Tess giggled into her fuzzy mitten and stepped outside. Ardan followed, offering her his elbow and waiting for her gloved hand to rest upon it. Heart pounding, he led her along a route he had meticulously planned out and calculated, even factoring in the average walking speed of a person.

They walked alongside the embankment. Cars glided by, headlights slicing through the darkening evening, scattering shadows that cloaked the city. People trudged along well-trodden paths between piles of snow, collars turned up against the wind, scarves or gloves hiding half their faces. White puffs of breath rose like lazy dogs into the low, gray sky, melting into the colorless, heavenly ceiling that seemed to sag ever closer to the earth, which was equally gray beneath its blanket of asphalt, cobblestones, and slightly grimy snow.

Tess, with her collar up, tightened a scarf featuring little snowflake patterns around her face, stepping carefully along the cleared walkway in silence.

Ardi, likewise, offered no bursts of eloquence. His autumn coat felt thin, and the cold nipped at his feet through the soles of his shoes.

Each time he tried to speak, the words felt clumsy and banal, his thoughts scattering like startled birds. He wouldn't ask how her day had gone or what the last week had been like for her — too trivial. So, he said nothing, simply savoring the soft sparkle of the lamplight in her bright green eyes, which were so warm and welcoming. Tess' gaze seemed to wash away the city's soot and smog, that dingy cloak the Metropolis wore so stubbornly.

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Even dressed in white and almost blending into the snowy drifts, she seemed strangely out of place in this grim, unyielding city.

"Ardi-"

"Tess-"

They spoke in unison, then paused, bursting into shared laughter that was both light and free. It was as though they hadn't just spent nearly their entire walk in silence, strolling side by side from the canal onto Niewa Avenue, and making their way toward the bridge that led to Baliero.

"That suit really does suit you," she said at last with such a radiant smile that Ardi felt as if summer had bloomed for a heartbeat. Even if only in his own trembling heart.

"Thanks," he replied, unbuttoning his coat just a bit. "I was afraid I might look like some upstart gangster."

"Or a bankrupt fashionista," Tess giggled again.

Suddenly, all of Ardi's awkwardness and anxiety melted away. He forgot his fear of appearing foolish or pathetic.

"You look wonderful, too," he said, smiling that silly grin once more. "Like a snowflake. Soft and delicate. And very lovely."

"A snowflake…" Tess echoed. Her smile became smaller, more private, while the biting cold painted her cheeks a faint rosy hue.

They started chatting casually, jumping from one random topic to the next. Tess told him about pricking her finger at work that day, and how everyone had teased her that she might end up sleeping like those fairy-tale princesses.

Ardan vowed to rescue her if some evil sorceress cast a spell on her.

Then he described how an obnoxious pigeon had kept him awake last night, flapping imaginary wings by flailing the hem of his coat as he ran circles around her, making a proper fool of himself.

"I heard that pigeon too!" Tess laughed, and so they went on — words winding their own paths from heart to lips, tumbling out in a rush of stories that, despite the only occasional overlap, somehow harmonized together.

Cars drifted past. Sometimes, they ventured too close to the curb, spraying slushy snow at them, only for the wet spray to dissolve in midair, like it had hit an invisible wall and scattered into a ghostly swirl.

The pair didn't seem to notice, oblivious to the vehicles or the pedestrians who stepped around them, shooting curious or disapproving glances at the couple's loud and carefree conversation.

They ignored the city lights shining in their wake and the snapping tension in the ice-laden Ley cables overhead, which seemed like the strands of some great spider's web.

They simply walked and talked, as though they were parched travelers who'd finally come upon a cool spring, relaxed and safe at the end of a long, wearying journey. They lingered on a bridge for a while, the tram rattling behind them, while below, atop the thick ice, wooden stalls had been set up and city folk glided about on skates.

In the Metropolis, each winter, the narrow canals branching off the Niewa turned into genuine marketplaces on ice — literal arteries of commerce.

"I don't know how to skate," Tess admitted softly, with just a hint of wistfulness. "Back in Shamtur, the ice is always too thin to skate on. I didn't have a chance to learn. And now I don't have the time."

"Me neither," Ardan said with a nod.

Tess turned to him, surprise flickering in her eyes.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Ardan turned so that his back was resting against the railing. He threw his head back, letting the falling snow melt against his cheeks. "When I got back from the Alkade, I went straight to work on a farm. I don't know… My friends would go to the lake — swimming in summer, skating and playing with a puck in winter — but I… In my spare time, I was either buried in my books or dabbling with Star Magic."

Tess mimicked his posture, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. A few moments ago, she had said that she was suddenly feeling warmer and had undone her scarf, removed her mittens, and even unfastened her coat's collar, drawing stern looks (and envious ones) from the more thickly bundled women passing by.

"That's so like you," she said with a tender smile, leaning her shoulder against his arm. She was a good bit shorter than him — she was maybe around 165 centimeters tall — enough so that the difference, despite her heels, was obvious. Oddly, Ardi found himself liking it. "As a kid, I was either busy with my younger siblings or, occasionally, hanging out with friends. We had a magician living just a few streets away. He was not a mage, just an old stage magician. His house was full of things that whirred and squeaked, and sometimes exploded. He loved tinkering with contraptions. One of them made edible floss out of sugar."

"Floss? Out of sugar? Edible?"

Tess nodded, her face dreamy with the memory.

"I know, it sounds silly, but that's what it was — colored and unbelievably sweet. He'd shape it into flowers and animal figures, almost like modeling clay. One time, he fashioned a miniature train and ran it along rails made of thin, airy sugar threads. We all laughed so hard…" Tess closed her eyes, lost in recollection. "Every child in Shamtur adored that old man. We'd swarm his place during our breaks between lessons and side jobs, and he was always happy to see us — never charging us a single kso…"

"He loved children?"

"Madly," she murmured, nodding. "He and his wife never had any of their own, and when she died of smallpox, he was left all alone… He was so kind and gentle, though a little odd. I used to think - that's what wizards were supposed to be. But then…"

Her expression turned somber, and her smile faded.

"Shamtur is a border city, Ardi," she said, voice going quiet. "We'd sometimes get groups of Fatian saboteurs trying to cause chaos. They'd blow up factories, sabotage train lines… all sorts of things. One night, a few Fatian mages set fire to the magician's house. He died in the collapse. We couldn't save him in time. My father and brothers caught them, of course, but it was already too late."

"Fatian mages killed a simple stage magician?"

"He was loved by the whole town," Tess replied. "He gave children a bit of joy and a piece of wonder to hold on to. And the Fatians decided to take all of that away from us."

They fell silent again. Ardan had heard rumors that, despite its status as a city, Shamtur was more of a front-line fortress — a bastion, really. It was mostly soldiers and workers from the defense industry who lived there.

"When you lived in the Alkade," Tess said, changing the subject, "was it hard for you afterwards in Evergale?"

"A lot," Ardan admitted without pretense. "For almost a year, I fought every single day against the urge to run back. To my friends. To the forests and mountains."

"And now?"

Ardan said nothing at first.

"It comes less often," he answered at last. He didn't want to lie to or mislead her, nor did he wish to use a trick of Skusty's craft to disguise the truth. "But sometimes, I still feel that desire. My family lives in Delpas. They're doing well. And occasionally, I think my place isn't here, or even with them — rather, it's out there, among the forest flows and the winding trails of the mountains."

They went quiet for a moment. Then Tess sneezed, pulled him along by the hand, and started off toward Baliero.

"Enough with the gloomy talk, Ardi-the-wizard!" Tess said, raising her voice on purpose, almost playfully. "Let's move along!"

He wrapped his fingers gently, almost reverently, around her hand and obediently followed. Ardan felt a soft, steady warmth flickering out from where their palms touched. It was not defenseless or fragile, but gentle and comforting — like a hearth fire on nights so dreary that it felt as though the wind might sweep you away.

They laughed again, chatting about everything and nothing, and Ardan forgot all about the route he'd planned out. He forgot about formulas, calculations, about the Alkade, demonologists, the Second Chancery, even magic itself.

They strolled among Baliero's bright lights that shattered the night's gloom with their relentless brilliance. It was as if some benevolent deity had decided to spare the townsfolk from this season of fleeting sunlight, letting them bask in the illusion of a sunny autumn noon. The snow beneath their feet felt more like heaps of fallen leaves, crisp and rustling.

Ardan even forgot about the address Milar had given him. They simply walked, laughing and talking.

"Look!" Tess exclaimed suddenly, pointing to a little nook along a sort of veranda jutting out from the embankment, shaped like a building's apse.

There, half-buried in the snow, concealed by a wooden platform, stood a semicircle gleaming with strands of simple lights wrapped around steel columns and a domed frame.

It seemed like, in summer, musicians must have performed here while people danced.

"I love dancing under the open sky," Tess sighed, sounding faintly wistful.

Ardan's lips curved into a slight smile. Milar had been right…

"Listen," he said.

"To what?"

"Shh." Ardi pressed a finger to his lips, turning her toward a building that could just be seen past a small park.

By the entrance, a sign read, "Fifth Day Dances," and it seemed to be precisely where the captain of the Second Chancery had directed him to.

A gentle tune drifted out through the door that had been left slightly ajar.

The usual dread Ardan felt at the thought of dancing simply melted away.

He offered his hand. "May I have this dance?" He asked, feigning playful formality.

"By all means," Tess answered in the same mock-regal tone, mimicking some grand lady at court.

They both laughed and stepped onto the little platform. He placed his right hand at her waist; she let her left settle in his palm, resting her other hand lightly against his back.

And then they began to whirl. To Ardi, it was almost like that time back at the Palace of the Kings of the Past.

One-two-three.

One-two-three.

The snow beneath their feet seemed to scatter like glittering dust, revealing the platform's planks as though by magic. Perhaps it really was magic, but neither Tess nor Ardan paid it any mind.

They only listened to the music and spun in slow circles, alone on the embankment. Overhead, for some reason, those lights, which had been disconnected from the Ley cables, came to life, glowing faintly in the darkness like a scattering of summertime stars.

And the soft melody hovered nearby.

"When did you know that you wanted to sing?" Ardi asked, gazing into her green eyes, unafraid of his own Witch's Gaze.

Somehow, he knew with perfect certainty that nothing untoward would happen — he wouldn't slip into Tess' mind.

"During the holidays, whenever the whole family gathered, I'd sing with my mother. She played the piano," Tess said, her eyes never leaving his. "And whenever I sang, something in the people around me… lit up. Their eyes sparkled. For a few minutes, Ardi, they left our dreary world and went someplace better, freer, lighter. And I went with them. That's how I learned to love singing. Maybe it's because of the way I feel on stage, or maybe it's how others feel… I'm not sure."

She turned her face away and drew back, removing her hand from his back and guiding his arm away from her waist. The lights above them went dark, the snow reclaimed the wooden boards, and that faint music — drifting toward them from a distant building they technically shouldn't have been able to hear — fell silent.

"Tess, I-"

"Don't, Ardi," she murmured, still turned away. "I grew up in a military family, and I can always spot a soldier's eyes."

"I'm not a soldier," Ardan protested.

"Live in the Metropolis a bit longer, and you'll be able to recognize the Second Chancery's cars by how they rumble," she answered quietly and a touch sadly. "I've seen how my mother suffers whenever my father or brothers go off to fulfill their duty. I've felt it myself. And I don't ever want to feel that again."

Ardan stood there as if rooted to the spot, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break free of his ribs. Ghostly fingers clutched at his throat, the way they had in his childhood.

"And you're an Imperial Mage," Tess went on, her voice trembling just a little. "While all I do is sing at a gangster's bar… And you're almost two years younger than I am…"

She moved toward the steps leading down from the snow-covered platform to the park below.

"Let's go home, Ardi," she said in a broken voice. "This isn't a fairy tale. And the Metropolis isn't some magician's workshop…"

She'd let go of his hand and had nearly reached the edge of the platform by the time he could act. In that instant, Ardan suddenly understood: if she descended those steps, they might never again stroll through the city together. One evening, while he was hunched over his schematics, idly gazing out the window, a sleek automobile would pull up in front of "Bruce's." A driver would open the door, and Tess, casting only a brief, slightly melancholy glance toward his window, would climb inside and never return.

He also understood that this was likely for the best. It would be better if this winter night, so cold and pure, became no more than a fleeting memory.

Like magical spun sugar at a traveling performer's stall. Or a dance upon icy boards by the frozen, dark river.

Yes. It was probably better for them both.

Ardan stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders, turned her back to face him, and looked her straight in the eyes. Tess didn't utter a single word. She simply gazed back at him, exactly as he did at her.

She understood it, too.

That it might be best if they remained apart, each in their own separate world.

"I don't care," Ardan said softly, and bending down, he pressed his lips to hers in a gentle, sweet kiss.

Tess let her purse slip from her fingers, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down closer. They stood there, locked in an embrace and lost in a kiss, as a ghostly swirl of snow whirled around them.

One-two-three.

One-two-three.

Lights that had been disconnected from the grid flickered overhead like stars. And from that distant building beyond the park, the soft melody began anew.

They noticed none of it. Nothing but each other — lips moving, hearts pounding.

Nor did they notice the dark figure lurking behind the trees.

***

"Why are you grinning like that?" Elena asked, setting aside the spoon she'd been using to feed Boris a hearty meat soup. She looked at Ardan, who was sitting in an armchair and trying to maintain a stone-faced expression while reading a chapter on magical engineering. The chapter was talking about the structure of high-capacity arrays used from the second Star onward. Such arrays weren't a separate type or subtype of anything, but rather, a structural hallmark of multiple-property fusions.

Boris, whose face and neck were no longer bandaged, peered at Ardan's silly, dreamy smile and gave a gruff, approving grunt.

"Well done," he rasped through his lingering discomfort. "I was afraid you might lose your nerve."

"Will someone please explain what's going on here?!" Elena exclaimed, exasperated. But Ardan and Boris only exchanged looks and nodded solemnly to each other, ignoring her outrage.

***

Adjusting his cap, Ardi stood before an unremarkable set of doors belonging to a building marked by a glaringly large sign. A staff shimmered beside an open book and a cloak, all of them neon.

Beneath it were the words: "Spell Market. Branch No. 14"

Around the enormous Spell Market, smaller shops also sold all manner of Star Magic supplies. But only the Spell Market was licensed for the use and creation of practice grounds. And those, along with specialized books, were precisely what Ardan needed.

So, he pushed open the doors — triggering a tinny bell — and stepped inside what, at first glance, seemed like the Face of Light's own paradise to him.

Towering shelves lined the walls, packed with books and treatises, all of them sorted by subject, year of publication, and academic field. The cheapest of them — textbooks for specialized school classes — started at an ex and a half, while the priciest ones, huge tomes on the principles of vector interconnections between seals and Ley structures, reached up to thirty-five exes in cost.

Beyond the shelves, large hallways branched out into spacious galleries, displaying rows of complex devices. Even the trigonometric arithmometers looked trivial and inexpensive by comparison. Ardan spotted massive printing contraptions bristling with bulbs, switches, and levers, capable of reproducing seal diagrams up to a certain complexity. There were also portable, smaller transformers, Ley cables in countless types of sheathing, instruments for measuring natural Ley concentrations in the atmosphere, analyzers of all shapes, prices, and functions (their price dictated how many phenomena they could identify), strange tubes, metal boxes bristling with gears and bulbs… and even more marvels conjured by the bright minds and geniuses of Star Engineering than he could have imagined.

Mouth agape, Ardi drifted among the shelves and display counters, feeling like a character in a fairy tale who'd stumbled into a wizard's shop.

Peeking into one hall, he found, under a skylight situated among rows of endless shelves, a group of mages gathered near some imposing Ley crystals. At least half a meter long and weighing over twenty kilograms, though of low purity, these crystals were sold by the kilo. Or rather, the gram.

One of the market's employees was brandishing a strange, vibrating knife with a large handle (festooned with bulbs and switches of its own) and was assisting customers.

"I'll take six grams of the blue, low purity," rumbled a bulky mage in a green cloak. "Twenty grams of the red, same purity. And let's do two grams of the pink."

"Certainly." The employee guided that odd knife along the chosen crystals, slicing off small chunks and weighing them out before handing the customer a slip for payment. Then the customer headed to the cashiers.

Beside the crystals, Ardan noticed an odd-looking golden cauldron meant for alchemy, and something resembling a dome made of crystal. The cauldron cost, to Ardan's shock, 240 exes, while the dome was priced at 612 exes.

Sleeping Spirits…

"Sir?" One of the Spell Market's employees — a young mage in a crimson cloak who was wearing a rather rumpled shirt beneath a poorly-fitted suit jacket and vest — stepped up to Ardi. "Are you looking for something in particular, or just getting a feel for the prices?"

"Both," Ardan said, offering a list of books he intended to buy.

The employee took the slip of paper and pivoted toward one of the halls. "Follow me."

Ardan was led through several more rooms, one of which sold crystal Cores from Ley-beasts at such astronomical prices that he tried not even to glance in their direction.

Finally, they arrived at a long counter lined with multiple cash registers. Buyers in cloaks of every hue were rustling through their exes, paying for their slips, while the staff — also dressed in cloaks — pounded on metal keys, pulling heavy levers that punched holes in their slips.

"All right…" The employee squinted at Ardan's list. "'Theory of Modular Seal Construction' by Abrax Dolgov… 'General Reference of Rune Connections' from Larikt Publishers… and… Looks like that comes out to at least 250 exes, sir."

Ardan had suspected as much.

"I only need the ones I've underlined."

"That brings it down to 84 exes and…" The staffer gave the arithmometer a brisk spin. "27 kso."

"How about just the first three underlined titles?"

The employee gave him a mildly annoyed look and recalculated on the arithmometer. "32 exes, 96 kso."

Ardan certainly didn't have that much on him in cash.

"Do you take checks?" He asked hopefully.

"Only from members of our club," the employee answered, pointing to a notice posted on the wall behind him:

"Checks, loans, and property collateral are accepted only from holders of the Spell Market Club Card.
By joining our club, you gain not only the privileges mentioned above, but also a discount of ten percent on all subsequent purchases, a free monthly ticket to a viewing chamber for Magical Boxing events, a five percent discount on our training grounds, and of course, the right to visit our private lounge inside the 'Poet's Corner' restaurant on Small Oboronny Street.
Your monthly membership dues are five exes and five kso, or any Ley-related goods or Star Magic books equaling the same amount."

Ardan smirked, figuring that this explained Mart's fondness for the place.

A smaller note had been appended at the bottom:

"Club membership is issued free of charge to students and alumni of the Imperial Magical University. No membership dues required."

Ardan fished around in his bag and produced his student credentials, which the staffer took and then tapped his staff against the floor, echoing what Bazhen had done in the past. A spectral dog's head emerged from his staff's tip, inhaled the air above the credentials in a noisy snort, and vanished.

"Original document confirmed," the mage said. "Please give me five minutes, sir, while I process your membership and add you to the club roster. In the meantime, feel free to ask any questions since it's your first visit."

He pulled out a large register from beneath the counter, set an ink jar beside it, and, pen in hand, opened Ardan's student papers to copy down the details.

"How much would it cost for twenty-five rays of the Red Star and forty rays of the Green Star on a practice ground?" Ardan asked.

Rather than answer him, the employee tapped a notice mounted to the register's stand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ardan murmured, leaning in to read:

"Current Monthly Rates:

1 hour of access (Red and Green Stars) is 1 ex and 83 kso.
This includes unlimited Red rays plus 15 Green rays per hour. Each Green ray above the limit costs an added 19 kso.

1 hour of access (Blue Star) is 4 exes and 50 kso.
This includes unlimited Red rays, 15 Green rays, 10 Blue rays. Each Green ray above the limit is an added 19 kso. Each Blue ray above the limit is an added 36 kso.

1 hour of access (Yellow Star) is 10 exes.
This includes unlimited Red rays, 15 Green rays, 10 Blue rays, 6 Yellow rays. Each Green ray above the limit is an added 19 kso. Each Blue ray above the limit is an added 36 kso. Each Yellow ray above the limit is an added 94 kso.

All practice grounds above the Yellow Star are available only at the central branch. Scheduling is on a first come, first served basis, and the pricing is individually determined.

Respectfully,

The Administration."

"The prices are updated at the start of each month," the employee muttered under his breath. "Your discount is calculated separately."

Ardan patted the pocket holding his too-light wallet, which echoed emptily.

Yes, the Market's rates were far steeper than the Grand's. However, for nearly half a month now, Ardan hadn't managed to snag an open slot at the university's grounds.

"What about booking in advance…?"

"We schedule practice ground access three days ahead," the employee told him firmly. "You visit any branch, pay in advance, and they arrange a date for you at whichever branch best suits your location or earliest availability. Anything that goes above your limit, you settle the bill for it afterwards."

"Got it. And if I wanted to offer a seal for sale-"

"You'll need my colleague," the man interrupted Ardi, pointing toward a doorway leading to a staircase. "Second floor, first door on the right."

"Thank you."

It took the employee a few more minutes to finish copying Ardan's information, then he had Ardan sign several forms and handed him his club membership card.

Inside the stiff leather frame, on high-quality paper embossed with that same staff-book-cloak emblem, Ardan's name, date of enrollment, and current Star and ray level shimmered into view.

He was listed as "Seven, Red," which meant that they'd pulled the data straight from his student records.

"Your check, sir," the mage reminded him.

Ardan reluctantly filled out a check for the required amount and handed it over.

"I'll need ten minutes to gather your books," the staffer said. "In the meantime, you can go see my colleague."

"Thanks."

Ardan turned and headed upstairs.

Unlike the bustling ground floor, this level reminded him vaguely of the Cloaks' domain. Without dawdling, he went straight to the first door on the right, where a polished steel plaque read, "Seal Appraisal."

Inside the spacious, bright room lined with those same ubiquitous shelves, was an elderly mage who was likely in his seventies. He sat at a desk near the window. A thick-lensed pair of glasses perched on his hooked nose while he sifted through a sea of blueprints and scrolls.

"Good day," Ardan ventured. "I'd like-"

"Envelope's on the table," the older man cut him off, gesturing to another desk that was nearly overflowing with stacks of identical yellowish envelopes. "Slip your seal inside with your name and address. There's a month-long queue for appraisals. We'll send the results by post."

"I, uh…"

"There's no queue only for students and alumni of the Grand, Magistrate aspirants, or anyone with the rank of Magister or higher."

"Then I'm in luck," Ardan said, once again relying on his unexpectedly useful student papers.

Granted, the capital boasted about twenty other institutions that taught Star Magic alongside a more mundane curriculum, but none were so prestigious as the Grand. Boris' friends, for instance — the ones who'd been waiting in Presny along with him and Elena — hadn't been able to get into the Grand, and so they'd ended up attending a lesser institute instead.

"A student, yes…" The old man finally tore himself away from his scrolls and held out a trembling hand, clearly impatient. "Show me."

Ardan carefully retrieved a sheet of paper tucked between the pages of his grimoire and handed it over.

The crotchety appraiser snatched it from him as though it were filthy and malodorous. He gave the design only the briefest glance before pronouncing irrefutably, "Clumsy. Shoddy work at best," he croaked, "but the idea's decent. Forty kso."

Knowing there was no point in bargaining, Ardan agreed with a nod.

The old man waved a hand, conjuring a seal without using a staff at all. A ghostly hand materialized above his desk, snatched up a pen, dipped it in an ink jar, and wrote out the sum on a check. Then it grabbed a stamp, pressed it into the check, tore it off, and held it out to Ardan. The apparition dissolved the moment he accepted the check.

Ardi had watched the display with open-mouthed wonder. So many different actions had been encompassed in what appeared to be a single two-Star seal. For all his bad temper and off-putting manner, the old man was clearly a brilliant Star Engineer.

"Thank you," Ardan said, turning to go.

He'd barely reached the door when the old man's crabby voice stopped him.

"If you come up with anything else out of the ordinary, lad… bring it here."

"Of course," Ardan promised, now in far better spirits, and stepped out.

Descending the stairs, he found the employee wrapping a stack of books in sturdy brown paper.

"Well?" The employee asked with a faintly mocking edge to his tone. "Did you drop off an envelope?"

Instead of replying verbally, Ardan laid the check on the counter. The mage's eyes widened in surprise, and his earlier derision shifted to something like respect.

"That's some news… The old man seldom writes checks for those who are still in school…"

In the end, Ardan left the Market carrying an armload of thick tomes, his spirits high, though his bank balance was now sadly lean.

***

Three weeks passed. In the mornings and afternoons, Ardan devoted himself to his research and the study of two-Star seals, which turned out to be far more complex than their lesser cousins. A couple of times, he made trips to the practice grounds. Three times a week, he visited Boris and Elena — Tess even joined him once.

He and Tess would often take a stroll together at night. Not every evening, but nearly every other one. They chatted, laughed, and sometimes lingered on the park benches until the cold became too bitter. Ardan no longer missed her performances, either; Tess always saved him a seat in the front row, and Arkar never objected.

On Thursdays, Ardi had to check in with Aversky, who never really mentioned Kerimov. Only in passing did he reveal that the baron had survived, though he likely wouldn't return to classes for the rest of the semester.

Ardan wasn't in a hurry to get back to the Grand, either — he wanted to let things settle, and besides, he had plenty to do.

Milar's medallion remained silent. The postman, however, once brought Ardan a hefty stack of letters from his mother and brother, which delighted him to no end, and he spent an entire day reading them and then replying.

He told his mother many things, though not everything, of course. But the most important detail he did share: news about his burgeoning romance with Tess.

He wrote about how they were moving slowly, taking their time and getting used to each other — like two wary cats not yet ready to curl up close.

He told her how they had gone to the Ley-archaeology museum together, where he'd seen a few Matabar artifacts that had survived those well-known events of the past: a tribal drum and a hunting spear. Supposedly, something should have tugged at his soul at the sight of them, but all he'd felt was mild curiosity. The fact had left him feeling both guilty and oddly relieved.

"What are you thinking about?" Tess asked.

They were sitting in "Bruce's," sipping tea with gingerbread cookies, and talking the way they did nearly every evening. The place was full of rowdy patrons and thick with the haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, not to mention saturated with the stench of strong drink. And yet, after a long day, they could talk here for hours.

Afterwards, Ardi would walk Tess to her door, they would kiss, and then… each would go their separate way. Ardan never pushed for more. Tess never invited him in.

They were in no hurry.

Arkar, for his part, seemed endlessly amused by them, and it looked like his fellow orcish bruisers had started laying bets on the situation.

"I've got an idea for how to adapt my dynamic free arrays to a multi-contour seal structure," Ardan said, nibbling on a piece of gingerbread. A tart, berry-laced filling spilled across his tongue. "I'll try using basic rune connections. I'm not sure it'll work, but if it does, I can lower the cost of future two-Star seals by about one ray per Star. Of course, I could just open a reference text and look up the formula, since it's not a new idea at all… but I want to figure it out for myself. And… sorry, I'm rambling again."

"I've already told you, Ardi-the-wizard," Tess said, raising her pinky in a graceful gesture that was exactly like Boris'… Eveless'… or Iolai's silent style of tea sipping — this was something Ardan had never asked her about. "I love listening to you. Whenever you talk about Star Magic, your eyes light up. I like seeing them sparkle with that blue hue."

"In that case, I could also tell you about-"

The doors to "Bruce's" banged open, and in stomped several orcs in long fur coats thrown over their suits. They were helping — more like propping up — a massive monster of a figure.

He was a hulking brute, slate-skinned and easily over two meters and twenty centimeters tall, with muscles like boulders. He was leaning heavily on their shoulders. It was Ordargar, the head of the Orcish Jackets gang.

His left tusk, which seemed to erupt from his broad lower jaw, looked bigger than his right, which had been broken long ago, but later filed into a sharpened point. His bare skull betrayed not even the memory of hair, and he'd replaced his missing left ear with, bizarrely, a human prosthetic — a strange sight indeed.

Ordargar's mere presence, given his daunting proportions, inspired a primal sort of dread. Ardan had seen him only once before in "Bruce's," when he'd briefly held a private meeting with Arkar in a closed-off room before leaving in a luxurious, long car that most wealthy folk would've envied.

But now, without a proper coat, and wearing only a striped overcoat and matching vest (in his gang, everyone wore a suit without a vest, whereas Ordargar did precisely the opposite to stand out), he leaned on a subordinate's shoulder, flailing the bloody stump of his left leg, which was wrapped in a tattered pant leg, through the air.

"Arkar!" He roared, adjusting a monocle made of black glass and paying no mind to the sudden hush that fell over the crowd. "Rally the Fangs! We've got ourselves a party…"