Seiren's breath hitched. The king's mages were involved?

Mother knew about this?

"They declared me guilty within minutes and stripped me of my mageship."

"Stripped... how?" Bile turned sour at the back of her throat. He turned just enough to see his narrowed, pained eyes.

"They purged me of magic, severed my links, and banished me from Benover." His words had bitter, ragged edges that kept Seiren far away. She felt sick at the very thought. Purged of magic? How was that possible? How inhumane must the king's mages be to sentence a desperate man this severely? And what devilish, unnatural magic must it be to sever his magical bonds? Seiren swallowed a wave of nausea. It then dawned on her.

"Kori doesn't know."

Fernard sighed. "No, he doesn't."

"He loves magic... you always did magic for him. You wanted to hold up that façade. You didn't want him to know you'd lost your magic."

He snorted.

"You didn't want to disappoint him."

"The boy has already lost too much. His mother I couldn't bring back. His father was a disgrace and a pathetic excuse of a human being, but he still revered him so. It would kill him to know his father had fallen from grace and couldn't do magic any more." He gave a mirthless laugh. "What matters now? I have already killed him. I killed my wife. I killed my son."

"Kori's health isn't your fault," Seiren said. He was so buried in his guilt he couldn't even see Kori's poor health from birth was just down to bad luck. He blamed himself so entirely. "There's nothing to make up to or punish. He's just... unlucky."

"Unlucky to have this wretched soul for a father. I deserve all this torment, but not him. Never him." Fernard stepped away from her, his shoulders hunched.

"Kori never blamed you."

Fernard stopped.

"He revered you. He loved you for taking the time to do magic for him. He never hated you for his mother dying. He told me." Seiren's throat closed up even without a hand clutching her neck. "He's dying, Professor. He needs his papa. Be there for him."

He turned to her. For a brief moment, there was light on that prematurely-ageing, haunted face.

"Professor."

Myrtin stood at the door, his hands clasped in front of him. Without another look at Seiren, Ebanon Fernard strode back to Kori's room, leaving Seiren in the semi-darkness.

Seiren wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse, but she lay in bed wide awake for the entire rest of that evening, staring up at the shadows the branches cast on the ceiling when the moonlight shone on them. They looked almost like stick figures were trying to signal to her, mesmerising in their gentle sways and little dances.

Loren's chaos magic didn't work. Seiren wasn't surprised. Untested magic in the hands of an inexperienced mage who had only ever practised on an anaesthetised fat cat was hardly promising. It didn't stop the heavy sag of disappointment deep in her chest. Perhaps she could have alleviated Kori's breathing to make his passing less scary for him. She remembered when the light faded from Madeleine's eyes that night, the deep gash across her chest and throat. How terrified she must have been.

It wasn't that bad, actually, piped up Madeleine. I don't remember much of it. Maybe it was the shock, but I was too cold to feel anything.

Thanks for the reassurance, Seiren thought with a sigh. She stretched and curled her toes beneath the covers again, shivering when a draught crept through the floorboards and patrolled her bedroom. Guess that means I'm definitely fired now, huh?

It's quite toxic, this household. Poor old Kori, who's forever housebound and will die here; this derelict house, barely held up by Myrtin; and the Professor who's obsessed by death. It's not good for you.

I can't fail an assignment.

Are you dense? This is a household of death and you're worried about not doing your homework?

Seiren sat up, rubbing her forehead where a dull headache brewed. The moon hid behind dark clouds; a hint of winter chilled the air. Madeleine was right. Seiren could feel her sister huffing in satisfaction. She withdrew the pigeon summoning rune and snapped her fingers. It glowed a mix of yellow and purple. She stuck it on the dirt-streaked, weather-beaten window, and scribbled a short letter requesting a runed motor to pick her up and take her to the train station when dawn broke.

Several minutes later, a fat pigeon tapped its beak against the glass. She pushed it open with a groan. Freezing air poured in, making her skin tingle and her toes curl. With numbing fingers, she tied the request against the proffered leg and the fat bird flew off, stumpy wings flapping furiously to keep it afloat. Its sleek grey feathers were soon swallowed by the pitch blackness of the night. Wind whistled, singing its usual eerie tune through the nooks and crannies of the old house, skating past her ankles and darting between the oak furniture.

Ebanon Fernard, the esteemed philosopher, was stripped of his mageship by the king's mages, his verdict hushed by the higher-ups. Was it because of his renown that they spared him the shame of public punishment? Or did they not want others to know what Fernard had known?

Poor Professor Fernard, Madeleine said in a mournful voice. He just wanted his family to be whole again, but he's lost everything. His wife. Magic. Kori.

The idiot blames himself, too. None of it was his fault... well, maybe the attempt to resurrect his wife was a bit stupid.

Just a bit...?

But he didn't deserve to lose his magic for it. I didn't even know you can strip someone of magic. Seiren shivered and rubbed her arms, goosebumps rising on her flesh, and it wasn't from the cold air slipping in. What kind of magic was it, you think?

Something we should stay far away from.

She packed her bags in silence, still ruminating over the unfortunate fate of the grumpy professor. Above her was silent. She wondered if Kori had died. He seemed fairly unconscious the last time she saw him. Her chest tightened and her mouth dried. The first and last time she had seen death, it was so quick she barely knew what was going on beyond the drowning panic and roar of blood in her ears. Her fingertips tingled and she pushed the memory away.

With deft hands, she rolled up her study notes and tied them with string. The spare rune sheets she tucked into the folds of her cloak and her tunic dress pockets. Her hand curled instinctively around the scarlet crystal holding Madeleine. After this, Fernard would have nobody, except Myrtin, if he chose to stay. The old butler stuck with the Fernards through thick and thin even after all the occupants had deserted them. It must be a lonely life.

The sky lightened. A yellow glow crept behind the trees sprouting in the peripheries of the large garden. Over the past few days, most of them had shed their leaves, leaving pointy spikes behind and piles of dead leaves on the ground. There was no gardener to sweep them away, of course.

Seiren got up and swung her cloak around her; the chalk pieces in her pockets clicked together. She tied the strings around her neck, allowing the folds to encase her body. She pulled on high socks and buttoned her long leather boots. Her hand gripped her bag. She gave the tall, chilly room a final glance. She'd made the bed and cleared the table of her ink pens and scrolls. She'd also replaced all the books she'd thumbed through over the evenings she'd spent there, back onto the bookshelves.

Her hand froze when there was a creak outside the door.

Holding her breath, she gripped the bronze handle and swung it open. Behind stood Myrtin, sniffing and his eyes rimmed with pink.

"Ah, good mage." He sounded congested. He sniffled. "Forgive my appearance. I wish to pass on from the master..."

Seiren braced herself for the insults. Worst mage ever? Request for expulsion from the probationary scheme? Monetary fine for her attitude?

"...his deepest thanks."

"His what?" she blurted out, eyes bulging.

Myrtin handed her an envelope. It was addressed to the Council of Mages.

"The professor said he is grateful for your hard work over these past few days and, as you have fulfilled your quota, wishes for you to take this as acknowledgement of his contribution to the war funds."

Of course. Seiren had forgotten about the core purpose of her stay here.

"I see you have arranged transport to leave Hartley." Myrtin's voice held a hint of sadness. He glanced over her shoulder. Seiren followed his line of sight. The runed motor rumbled outside the main doors, the operator peering up at the many windows of the mansion. "I will escort you down."

Without a word, Seiren pocketed the envelope, picked up her bag, and followed Myrtin. There was a tightness around her chest and a lump in her throat. She wasn't sure what it was. Perhaps she was coming down with an illness.

Madeleine snorted in the background.

Myrtin wove through the maze of corridors Seiren had just about gotten used to, and then down the main steps to the heavy doors he'd struggled to open all those days back. Seiren tugged them open, not wishing the spindly old man to hurt himself a last time before their farewells.

Myrtin gave her a last sad smile and a small wave. Seiren retreated down the steps and glanced, once, up at the dusty windows. There was perhaps a figure standing there, watching her leave. Or maybe it was just the reflection of the clouds in the sky. And standing next to him, perhaps, maybe she could convince herself, was a smaller figure, holding tightly onto his hand at his side.

A man obsessed with death, obsessed with the untimely passing of his wife and the obligations he had towards his sickly, small son. Seiren couldn't help but feel he could very much have been her, if she'd fallen deeper down that rabbit hole and not met Loren.

Death isn't something to be meddled with. We've read plenty about that already.

She sighed, slipping into the motor and slamming the door shut. The front garden of Hartley Mansion trundled by. The back of her neck prickled, but she didn't turn around, and kept her eyes fixated to the back of the rune motorist's head, with his loose white shirt collar and curly hair.

She might have secured war funds as she'd been instructed by the council, but somehow she felt she hadn't succeeded at all.

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