I scrambled through the halls of the estate, my breath shallow, my heart drumming in my ears. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. I didn't have long before someone found the bodies.

  "The kitchen first."

  I stuffed half a loaf of bread, some dried meat, and a flask of water into my shoulder bag. It had once been Larissa's, a soft velvet thing I'd admired from afar. I needed it more now than she ever would.

  "Next, her library." I snatched the most promising-looking -one on magical theory, another on sorcery charms, and one that mentioned the old elemental affinities. They were barely light reading for me now, but still useful. I crammed them in beside the food and sprinted to my room.

  I grabbed the plainest outfit I owned: a soft gray tunic and dark leggings. Over that, I pulled on a hooded brown cloak-coarse and ugly, but warm. I didn't bother with the rest of my things. What could I carry, really? My hands were shaking too much to fold anything properly. I barely remembered latching the bag shut as I slipped into the stable.

  There was a sleek white mare, already saddled for the evening ride.

  I reached for the reins-and froze.

  I didn't know how to ride.

  I had always been carted about in carriages, not on horseback. The mere idea of climbing on a living beast that large made my knees wobble. After a minute of internal cursing, I let the reins fall from my hands and turned back.

  "I will walk."

  Each major kingdom had its own archive, but Tremont's was among the five largest-on the smaller side, but still enormous to someone like me.

  The closer I got, the more my stomach twisted. The Church was the one place that hoarded knowledge about Light Magic, but it was also the one place I feared more than anything-even more than the bounty that might be placed on me for what I did to Larissa.

  By carriage, it was only three days from Lady Larissa's estate to the Church of the Holy Tribunal in Tremont. But I wasn't in a carriage. I was walking-only during daylight, sleeping restlessly at night-and it took me two weeks.

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  My legs ached constantly. My boots-soft slippers meant for garden paths-were fraying at the seams. I made my way through forest trails and over rocky foothills, following the sun whenever I could. It was my only comfort. My only true ally.

  But the night...

  The night hated me.

  It was on the sixth night that I first encountered something that wanted to kill me.

  I had just drifted off, curled against the roots of a large tree in a shallow grove off the roadside. My illusion magic was off for the night-I couldn't afford the drain. I hadn't even eaten dinner. The last of the dried meat was gone. The stale bread had begun to mold.

  The forest around me was quiet. Still. Too still.

  I sat up, suddenly alert.

  And that's when I heard it.

  Snuffling. Breathing. Something big. Something wet.

  Then... a heavy thud.

  It stepped into the moonlight, shambling on three legs, its fourth dragging behind it like a broken stick. A gray hide stretched taut over a twisted, half-rotted body. Its eyes were glowing, its jaw unhinged far too wide, a Gravehound-an undead war beast raised by careless necromancers, often left behind when their masters died or were slain.

  It should have been a real threat.

  I should have been terrified.

  But instead... I stood up.

  Calm. Focused. Alive with light.

  "Stay back," I warned it softly. But it lunged.

  I raised my hand.

  A golden blade-thin, humming, edged in raw sunlight-formed instantly in my grasp. It took no thought. Only instinct.

  One swing. Just one.

  Slice.

  The Gravehound fell in two pieces, its body steaming as radiant energy burned through it like acid. Its head rolled to the base of a tree, already disintegrating into black smoke and bone dust.

  I stood there for several moments, heart pounding-not in fear, but in confusion.

  It was... too easy.

  The blade had cut through the creature like cloth. There was no resistance. No struggle. I hadn't even broken a sweat.

  I should have been relieved.

  Instead, I was unsettled.

  I crouched next to the corpse-or what was left of it. The moonlight reflected off the blade in my hand, golden and gleaming.

  It felt like holding part of the sun.

  I let it vanish, and it dissolved into floating motes of gold.

  "I need to practice these," I whispered aloud.

  Not just the illusions. Not just tricks and veils. Real spells. Real power.

  I was nearly out of food. My cloak stank of sweat and old blood. My skin itched beneath the grime, and my once-neat dreads had begun to mat, crusted with dirt and bits of leaves. I didn't have a single memory of ever being this filthy.

  Yes, I had been a slave... but probably as well-treated as any could hope. Larissa had wanted me presentable-clean, well-fed, pleasant to look at. I was to entertain, after all. For merchants. For nobles. Once, even for royalty

  The books I stole were no longer enough. I'd hit a wall with the basics of Light Sorcery. The deeper knowledge-ancient sigils, rituals, elemental dynamics-it was locked away.

  I needed to understand what I was truly capable of... and why the Church seemed so afraid of it.

  And there was only one place it might still be found.

  The Tribunal