Ms. Richter considered this. “Very well,” she said. “We’ll leave you there for now, but I’d like to see a demonstration of their readiness one week from today.”
“Can we have two?” pressed Max.
“One,” repeated the Director. “We may not have two weeks. One week to show me they’re ready or I’m reassigning them and you.”
“We’ll be ready,” said Max.
“I know you will,” she said. “Now go get some sleep. I will be waiting for you outside the Archmage’s chambers tomorrow at noon. Do not be late.”
Indeed, the Director was waiting outside the Archmage’s door at the appointed hour. But the Archmage did not answer when they knocked. Instead, David’s mother opened the door, looking sleepy and disheveled as Lila trailed at her skirts. Recognizing them, Emer smiled dimly and took Max by the hand, leading them past the stacks of books and maps.
“Is your father here?” asked Max. “He wanted to see me.”
The woman did not answer but merely shooed Lila away from a canister of tea leaves. Setting the kettle above the hearth, Emer sat in her rocking chair and the amiable cat settled in her lap.
“Is that Max?” called an excited voice from inside one of the bedrooms. Its door flew open and Mina came racing out, wearing an embroidered blue robe and clutching something against her chest. She came to a sudden halt when she saw the Director.
“I thought you were alone,” she murmured shyly.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Ms. Richter kindly. “What have you got there?”
Mina’s enthusiasm rekindled. “Sit down and I’ll show you!”
The little girl practically bulldozed them back onto the bench beneath the window. Once they were seated, she laughed gleefully and ordered Max to lean back and close his eyes. Once Max complied, he felt something warm being placed delicately on his chest.
“Mina, what is that?” he asked, as its surprising weight settled on him.
“Shhh,” she hissed, “just a minute.”
The weight was repositioned and Max felt something move and issue a tiny mewl. Reaching up, he touched something both soft and sharp, as though a million hairs were each tipped with a razor-sharp needle. Opening his eyes, Max looked down.
A baby lymrill was clinging to his chest.
It was no larger than a newborn kitten and yet the shockingly dense creature must have weighed more than Lila. Its quills were a glossy blue-black, but the claws that clung to Max’s tunic were red-gold and gleamed by the firelight. The animal peered at Max with a pair of coppery eyes just as Nick had done when he’d chosen Max to be his steward years before. Almost immediately, a lump formed in his throat.
“Why are you sad?” asked Mina, looking concerned.
“I’m not,” Max insisted, taking a deep breath. “It’s just that this is how I said goodbye to this little guy’s daddy. Does he have a name?”
“
“The Goddess of Night,” said Ms. Richter. “A fitting name for such a beauty. But should she be away from her mother?”
“They don’t nurse anymore,” replied Mina, scooting between them on the bench. “Nox is a huntress now. She gets all the mice Lila’s too lazy to chase. Just yesterday, she killed a rat that was three times her size!”
“Just like Nick,” said Max, grinning as Nox nipped his finger and grazed his chin with her velvety muzzle.
“She likes you,” Mina observed. “And she doesn’t like anyone else but me. I think you should keep her.”
“I’d like that,” said Max, gently easing the lymrill’s claws away from his neck. “But I’m too busy these days to look after a charge. Nolan will match her with someone else—a younger student.”
“No, he won’t,” said Mina knowingly. “They’ve already tried. Her brothers and sisters have all been matched, but Nox wouldn’t choose anyone.”
“Perhaps she’s chosen you,” suggested Ms. Richter.
“No,” sighed Mina. “I love squirmy little Nox, but she’s not my charge. She’s meant to be with fierce Max. She’s Nick’s last gift.”
Max said nothing but cupped the little creature in his hands. Closing her eyes, Nox retracted her claws and lay on her back, so dark and glossy she might have been a scoop of volcanic glass. From beneath the study’s door, Max glimpsed a faint pulse of light, followed by the sound of heavy boots.
“The Archmage is home!” Mina whispered.
The door opened and Elias Bram walked into the room. His face was ruddy, his gray robes wet and fringed with melting snow as was his tangled beard and crown of curls. He looked like he’d just been out in a heavy blizzard, yet it hadn’t snowed at Rowan in days. Leaning down, he kissed Emer on the forehead and asked Mina what she would be preparing for supper.
“I’m going to make stew!” the girl declared, hopping up from the bench.
“Very good,” said Bram, removing his cloak and tossing it to dry by the fire. “But follow a recipe, child. No more experiments.”
At last the man’s piercing eyes fell on Max and Ms. Richter. He looked briefly from one to the other, as though he’d just registered their presence.
“You’re both here,” he observed. “Well and good. Come in.”
Pushing the door wide, the Archmage beckoned Max and Ms. Richter into his study, a long and cluttered room whose bookcases and tables were laden with manuscripts, odd bits of amber and stone, and what appeared to be the skeleton of a humpbacked homunculus. There were several chairs scattered about, but these, too, were piled high with books and papers. Clearing two of them off with an unceremonious grunt, Bram urged them to sit while he went back out to fetch the tea.
It was only when the Archmage returned and shut the door and settled into another chair that Max experienced the room’s strangeness. Once the door closed, he began to see double. It seemed as though his eyes registered more than a cluttered study, but also an alternate version whose planes were constantly folding and warping to form bizarre, almost incomprehensible spaces as though it were simultaneously collapsing and expanding. The effect was extremely disorienting, and there were instances when Max could have sworn that he was upside down. Apparently, Ms. Richter noticed it, too.
“I wasn’t aware you had configured this room,” she said.
“I haven’t,” replied Bram, gazing about with mild interest. “It’s merely
“Are you aware that Astaroth made a proposal to Max?” she asked pointedly.
“I am.”
“And are you aware of its particulars?”
“I think so.”
The Archmage betrayed no surprise or emotion as he answered Ms. Richter’s questions. His face was a mask of granite stoicism.
“Well,” she said, leaning forward. “I’m here to ask if you intend to harm this fine young man.”
Stoicism vanished. The Archmage’s eyes twinkled, as though her frankness amused him.
“I believe the question is whether or not he intends to harm me,” he replied.
“Of course he doesn’t,” snapped Ms. Richter. “This is nothing more than Astaroth’s attempt to sow dissension in our midst. Surely you can see that.”
Turning to Max, Bram calmly appraised him. “I see many things,” he reflected. “And I see not only Astaroth whispering in his ear, but also the Morrigan. The Hound is bound to that perilous blade and she is a part of it. The Morrigan lusts for war; she craves the blood of gods and kings, and she is very strong. Does Max possess the will to resist such powerful voices?”
Even as the Archmage spoke, Max recalled Astaroth’s plying words from the churchyard:
