Finberry was a little town Loren had never really visited. The only significance it had was being home to Mage Harred back when she was alive – and being the site of her death – and as an en route point to Molash, on the south coast.

She got off the train, glancing at the ragged passengers that scurried away through the tiny station. Peron helped Felora hop off behind her and took most of the bags, lugging them over his broad shoulders without a word. Four platforms made up the station; only about five people also alighted from the train. Puffs of black smoke crept along the ceiling before escaping through the holes between the slate pieces in the roof; some of these trains still used coal instead of red runes. Her boots tapped on the rugged, cracked stone ground, her rainbow-lined cape swishing in her wake. Seiren and Madeleine's childhood home. The air was cleaner, reminding Loren of freshly-mown grass and the forest in the summer where she and Rowan used to play.

"What a nice little town," said Felora, peering left and right. Children played in the streets, but they weren't the sleek, shiny-faced children Loren was used to back in Sarre. Felora flinched when one of the little ruffians brushed past her, screeching in his pursuit of his equally small targets. "Like Danaway.. . but a bit cleaner."

"If you have nothing to say, Felora, you don't have to force yourself," said Loren with a smile. Felora flushed.

The Finberry children's faces were streaked with dirt, their hair in messy nests like the orphaned children in Bicknor. They looked just as happy, chasing and screaming after each other. The jovial cacophony brought a smile to Loren's face. Finberry might be poor, but at least they weren't impoverished or dangerous.

Small shops opened down the main street: florists with their collection of autumn blooms in their varying blood reds and violent oranges; cloth merchants with their rolls of material; fruit pickers with their baskets of apples and oranges. Their friendly chatter reminded Loren of Bicknor with its close-knit but vast community. A few glanced her way, recognising outsiders; none approached her. Peron kept close to Loren, wary given recent attacks. Felora hummed, taking an avid interest in Finberry but at the same time keeping a distance from the locals.

Rowan said Seiren once spoke of their childhood home atop a hill. It wasn't hard to find the solitary hill on Finberry's mostly-flat land populated by two-storey terraced houses, each with their tiny little front gardens. Occasionally, a dog barked behind the windows. It was quite a serene, peaceful atmosphere, without the hubbub of a large town and the harried feeling associated with a busy community. The houses thinned towards the hill, as did the passers-by and their curious looks. Loren kept her face hooded and strode up the slight incline, the flattened, bare ground running through the overgrown grass told her people still frequented this path, even though the only thing ahead of her was a little one-storey red-brick bungalow with a chimney. Peron and Felora kept quiet.

The air tingled here, like the beginnings of static electricity. The hairs on Loren's skin and the back of her neck stood on end. She breathed in, life flooding through her lungs. Magic. It was a sensation she knew well. She reached forward. The air particles trembled before her fingers. Even after six years of that dreadful incident, the magic still hadn't dissipated. There must have been some powerful spells that night.

Some powerful spells... from the hands of an untrained twelve-year-old. Loren frowned. How peculiar. No matter how raw Seiren's talent was – no, especially given how raw her talent was – there was no way she could concentrate it to leave such a mark behind. She could have perhaps destroyed the house and her mother's body, but she could never leave such remnants. It was impossible.

She paused, taking in the dainty brick house. The windows were covered with dust on the inside and streak marks of years of weathering. The doormat was caked in moss, as were patches of the red brick walls. The door handle had rusted, its surface flaking with pieces of brown and gold. The door knocker had long fallen off. On the west side, the wall disappeared in its entirety. Moss had grown over this side and vines stretched over the shards of glass still clinging to the window frame; sunlight reflected off the broken pieces. A few broken plant pots lay on the ground, their contents long swept away by the elements. To the average passer-by, this might not seem out of the ordinary, just another abandoned house, but there was a tingling in the air that throbbed with the traces of powerful magic.

Loren made to pick her way over.

"Mage Rummage," said Peron in his gravelly voice. Loren froze, and then whipped round.

"Who are you?" said a girl from behind. Loren's mind cleared to throw out magic at a split second's notice. She paused. Felora and Peron both had their hands on their runed guns kept at their waists, their postures stiff. The speaker was around Seiren's age, with smooth mahogany skin and a head of lively black curls. Suspicious brown eyes squinted at her, almost ignorant of the danger she would have been in had Peron or Felora deemed her a threat. She clutched fresh vegetables to her chest and wore a loose knitted top and thick farmer's boots with years of wear and tear. "Nobody's been this way in ages. You're not meant to be snooping."

"My apologies." Loren inclined her head, drawing her hood back and smiling at the young girl. As usual, the other party straightened up and her eyes widened. "It's okay, Felora, Peron."

Her guards didn't relax, but stepped back, keeping close to her sides.

"My name is Loren Rummage. I'm a state mage."

"O-of course!" stammered the girl, realisation dawning as her eyes leapt to Loren's lined cloak. "That colour! I just haven't ever seen one since I was a kid!"

"That would be Mage Harred, right?"

She bobbed her head, those corkscrew curls bouncing along with her. "Yes. Seiren and Maddy were my friends before... back then."

"What's your name?"

"Kasia Febland."

Loren grinned. Bingo. "Nice to meet you, Kasia. I'm good friends with Seiren. Unfortunately she's tied up in Hartley with mage duties at the moment—"

Her face lit up; the brown eyes took on a golden sheen. "Seiren made it through King's? Wow! I'm so happy to hear that."

"She didn't tell you?" Her own childhood friend? How odd.

She shook her head, a small, sad smile on her lips. "Seiren hasn't contacted me or my brother since she disappeared to King's. She's never been back. We haven't had a word from her in years..."

It was no big surprise, really. Loren had gauged after a day with Seiren that this was a girl who wanted nothing to do with her bloody and ravaged past and to start anew at King's. Those haunted eyes, the broken girl behind layers of snark and anger... it was the only way she knew how to protect herself.

"She's well, though, Seiren?"

"Yes," said Loren. Kasia visibly deflated with relief. "Graduated at the top of her class. She's a probationary mage now. Judging by her progress, she'll be a fully-fledged mage in two years' time. She's quite extraordinary."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Oh, I never... that's great!"

"You're surprised." Loren raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, well." Kasia flushed, averting her eyes and clutching the vegetables closer to her chest. "Don't take this the wrong way. Seiren's a lovely girl, but it was always Maddy who was the clever one. Seiren and I were the dunces of the class, back when we were kids... probably because she was just plain lazy. I was the one that was a bit dim." She laughed nervously. "Guess she's changed a lot, huh?"

Indeed. 'Lazy' was the last word Loren would use to describe the Seiren she knew now. She wasn't surprised; Loren herself had changed a lot when her parents died. There was a nostalgic look on Kasia's face.

"Maddy was always the clever and serious one, and Seiren was the sillier, funnier one. I wrote to her every week when she first left for King's, but she never sent a reply. She never came back, even though we kept the plants outside alive and left packages there for her. I don't blame her. There's nothing to come back to. Finberry's a dump anyway." Kasia sighed.

"Kasia. Were you here when Seiren's family were killed that night?"

Kasia's mouth snapped shut. Her dark eyes swept around her, although there was no-one around except for the four of them. Her arms tightened around the paper bags containing her food. Without a word, she nodded, chewing her lip.

"I'm here to find out what happened six years ago. I don't suppose you can help me any?"

"People came and asked around. I thought the crime was solved. They executed that man." Kasia's words were guarded. There was a new spark of suspicion in her eyes. Peron and Felora exchanged uneasy looks. Loren sighed internally and smiled.

"That's what I was told, too, but Seiren wants to know. Nobody told her the details and she was too broken from the events... but she's asked me to look into it." The lies came without a hitch; after all, Loren had on more than one occasion had to adjust what she said to avoid dropping an emotional bomb on terrified relatives of her unwell patients. She kept a gentle and open look on her face, observing the suspicion replaced by uncertainty.

"It must be hard for her. Seiren..." Kasia gave a low chuckle. "She used to wear her heart on her sleeve. She was so honest about everything it got us all into trouble loads of times. I guess everything's changed when it's been so long. I—"

She jumped when someone yelled her name from the distance. Felora and Peron stiffened.

"Oh, it's my brother. I'm coming," she hollered. "I'm sorry. I have to go. My blasted brother's waiting for this stuff to make dinner. Why don't you come round? If you want to know about Seiren, Tala and I played with Seiren and Maddy growing up. Tala's older. He might remember more from when I was twelve."

"That will be very kind of you. I'd like to take another look at the house but we'd love to join your family for dinner tonight."

Kasia grinned and waved, rushing towards the house at the bottom of the hill, where a gangly young man stood with his arms crossed.

"They... executed whom, Mage Rummage?" said Felora, frowning. "I don't remember anyone being prosecuted for killing Mage Harred. The Hannan wasn't caught."

There was no Hannan, that was why. Loren straightened her shoulders. Felora and Peron weren't mages; they weren't privy to the whispers within the state mage circles and, certainly, if they were found to know of Kommora and Rowan's suspicions – that it was no assassination that night, by a Hannan or anybody else – their lives could very well be in danger.  

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