“Oh, God, what a long day.” Alboim sighed in relief as his head hit his pillow. The linen sheets wicked moisture away from his body almost fast enough to keep him dry in the hot still air. Hopefully, it would cool down overnight. A small ornate brazier gave off fragrant smoke—not to heat the room, but to ward against insects and encourage sleep. Keeping bugs away was so important that not even slaves were denied the herbs necessary. Otherwise, he reasoned, diseases like yellow fever, malaria, or West Nile would ravage slave and noble alike.

  Grabbing his micro comp, he intended to research paper making. Surely with all the trees around here, it should be possible to make wood pulp and, from that, paper. Unfortunately, everything he’d found on the cube was just too vague to be of any use. Still, the paper he’d shown the mages was so astonishing that Elspith had commanded an entire team to experiment using the vague hints he’d discovered.

  What he found was quite different. A picture of a page in Dad’s handwriting. It read, “The password is Liatris’s nickname. Your aunt knows.” The words were Barugalan. Underneath, “Auf Deutsch, bitte.”

  “Who the hell is Liatris?” he wondered. There was no use for it, he got up and padded out to the parlor and into the break room, where Bennit would be. “I have a question. Do you know of a woman named Liatris?”

  An hour later, he had the answer to the question. Bennit had had to go ask Dobsen, who in turn questioned Elspith, who let him know her great-grandmother was ‘cherry grandma’ because she adored candied cherries and gave them as little presents.

  ‘Kirschoma’, and not the more formal ‘Kirschgro?mutter’ worked. The locked folder contained dozens of sub-folders, with one highlighted, and marked ‘read first’. With shaking fingers, he opened it.

  My son, it read, I wish like hell that I could have warned you, or prepared you better for what you are going through. Unfortunately, I consulted a Sybil after Brittany’s death, and I know I will not live much longer. If you got to this though, you know that her real name was Brigid. I never intended for you to get caught up in things, but it was prophesied. This is the best I can do. If he is still alive, please tell my father that I am sorry. He will know what for. Theoban or Elspith are good people. Trust them, but try to stay away from Occam, he’s trouble and will come to a bad end.

  I do not know why but only that the sybil says the fate of three worlds rests on this, that you cannot be warned, and that I love you with all my heart. It is every father’s dream to have their son become a better man than they were, and you have far outstripped me. Do not worry about the girls. They’ll miss you but I have friends watching over them in secret. They are as safe as I can make them.

  Love, Dad.

  The next file was a short video from Mom, from maybe six months before she’d died. He almost broke down seeing her wasted form. “Alboim, Susan, Agatha. I love you all so much. I suppose if you are watching this, it means that I am gone. Forgive me, that I wasn’t able to watch you finish growing up. I am so sorry I won’t be there for your first date, your weddings, to hold my grandchildren. I am sorry for the pain I will leave you where there should only be love and joy. Please forgive me.

  You are an adult now, and it is time to teach you how to use your magic. Yes, it is real. ‘Ixghel id-dawl’” she intoned, and her palm burst with light. ‘Wakfa!’” and it disappeared. Do not experiment by yourselves. Always have your father, or in a pinch, Ms. MacTaggart, with you. But neither are experts in spoken magic. I hope you will find these lessons helpful in your studies.”

  Alboim wiped tears from his face, buried his head in his hands and wept to hear his mother’s voice again. Over and over, he replayed Mom’s last message, read Dad’s letter, cried tears of longing and tears of relief. Dad had prepared others to keep his sisters safe. They would be alright.

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  It was late in the night when he finally succumbed to exhaustion. For once, Bennit had to shake him awake in the morning.

  “I have to meet with Aunt Elspith as soon as possible.” he told Bennit.’ Can you run up and ask Dobsen to squeeze me into your schedule?”

  “Actually, Lord,” his butler replied, “Lady Elspith was intrigued by your unusual question last night, and has invited you to breakfast in her suite.”

  Alboim nodded. “That will be perfect.”

  ~*** *** ***~

  Forty minutes later—almost a chime in Barugalan—Dobsen ushered Alboim and Bennit into Elspith’s personal suite. The sitting room was much like Alboim’s, but a touch larger, and with more doors leading deeper into her most private retreats. It was decorated with more of the redwood furniture that Alboim had recently learned was local only to the Brantle Hills, the southernmost extension of a ridge of low-rising hills that extended a thousand miles into Dwarven territory.

  Alboim followed the dignified butler to a table fit for twelve, but only two places were set. Bennit pulled out the chair for him, and he sat. Only a moment later, Elspith herself emerged from her bedroom, and graced them all with a smile.

  Once seated, Dobsen served, and Bennit served tea. Elspith did not wait until breakfast was over to ask Alboim. “Why, nephew, did you want to know what my brothers and I called our grandmother?”

  “A hidden file popped up on my data cube, and the hint was ‘The password is Liatris’s nickname. Your aunt knows.’” He then told her about the letter from Dad and the message from Mom. “Frankly, this is a huge weight off my mind. Even if Dad could not tell us, he knew and planned for Susan’s and Agatha’s protection. They’ll be safe at least until I get back home.”

  “I see.”

  “Also, with Mom’s videos, I think I can learn her system now. I would like to study them and try.”

  Elspith tipped her head to the side, regarding him for a long moment.

  “Not yet. You only managed to successfully touch your arwa to your etere yesterday. Until you are more practiced, doing so on your own may lead to more scorching, and it could end up fatal this time. The more powerful you are, the easier it is to siphon off too much of your power. Until Harralt and Oswalt are satisfied, I cannot grant you permission to experiment on your own.”

  “Fair enough. I was thinking of keeping this a secret from everyone.” She arched an eyebrow. “Naturally not you, I promised you and won’t go back on my word. And telling you means Dobsen will know. It’ll be impossible to keep this from Bennit and Suzsise. Other than that, if no one knows, it can be an ace in the hole if things go sideways.”

  “I see. If you would like, I can bind their silence through their slave collars.” Elspith offered.

  Alboim boggled, then shook his head, frowning. “No. Absolutely not. Bennit and Suzsise are my friends, and I will not treat them otherwise. I will not be dragged deeper into slavery.” His eyes were hard, bright with determination.

  “As you wish. It is a poor master who binds his own butler so, anyway. Well then, once the boys say you are no longer in danger of an accidental scorching, I wish to observe you attempting your mother’s magic, at least a few times. If something goes wrong, at the very least, I may be able to save your life.”

  “Sounds fair.” After that awra-scorching, I’m a little afraid to try it again. But I won’t be stupid and use fireball again. Something safe, like Mom’s version of the mage-light. And with Aunt Elspith to watch over me, nothing too bad will happen. About time to climb back onto that horse.

  The rest of breakfast went well, and eventually Alboim left for his magic practice. Elspith’s smile was almost as warm as the sun burning the morning mist away. Her brother, whom she mourned for so long, had in the end lived a full life and had raised a fine young man. If her allies succeeded in court, he would make for a fine heir, and he no longer had to worry about his family on Earth. They were taken care of.

  “You do realize,” Dobsen threw cold water on her happy thoughts, “that if the Hero’s transport circle is in those files Arnulf gave him, you can lose him even if your allies succeed. He will be able to go home any time he wishes.

  She frowned at the thought, then replied with a small smile. “But it also means that he can succeed even if my enemies succeed. Either way, in the end it is all up to Alboim. He has a good head on his shoulders and will make the right choice in the end.” Please, God of Light, guide him to the right choice. And rescue my people from Brantly.

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