Miles resumed walking again. “Let’s hope they haven’t lost their cantrip suppliers to the enemy, too.”
Dawson’s place turned out to be located on a corner of a side street, not far from the Houses’ headquarters. A red flag if I ever saw one, though maybe not, considering the middle of the city was also the centre for all things magical.
Miles led the way to the black-painted door and knocked, and a man with long grey hair answered.
“Hey, Dawson,” said Miles. “I’m here from the Spirit Agents.”
“Miles,” he said, in an accent I couldn’t place. “What’s up? You want more cantrips?”
“Wouldn’t mind a refresher,” he said.
Dawson passed on the order to a broad-shouldered young man behind him, who moved to the shelves and started taking cantrips down and putting them into a cardboard bag.
“Who else do you sell to?” asked Miles.
“Who wants to know?” said the man. “The Houses of the Elements, plus a bunch of people like you. Practitioners, independent mages, whatever.”
So they did sell to the House of Fire. Which… didn’t tell me much. That cantrip which had killed the jailor might have been carved by anyone. I needed to narrow it down.
I pulled the cantrip in question from my pocket. “Can you identify this? It’s a reusable cantrip, and I don’t know which spell was used on it before it wiped itself clean.”
“You’d need an expert to identify the previous spell used on it,” he said. “I can do it myself, but it’ll cost you.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” If he identified the spell and it turned out to be illegal, it might come back to hit us instead of the person who’d actually carved it. Besides, identifying the spell wouldn’t point to the person who’d actually created it. I flipped over the coin to show the mark instead. “What about this?”
“That?” He peered at the back of the cantrip. “That’s a signature, isn’t it? Some practitioners use them, but I reckon it’s a waste of time.”
His expression showed no recognition at the sight of the Family’s mark. Maybe he doesn’t know.
The assistant handed Miles the bag of cantrips. “Have a good day.”
We couldn’t have a snoop around inside the place without drawing too much attention, so we took the cantrips and left.
“Good call,” Miles said to me. “Dawson isn’t a bad sort, but I doubt your salary from the Death King so far will cover the cost of him identifying that spell.”
“Figures,” I said. “He didn’t seem to recognise the mark, but I wonder if he was telling the truth. If we came back here later under an invisibility cantrip to have a poke around…”
“Bria, he’s a cantrip supplier. Pretty sure someone’s tried that one on him before at least once.”
I shrugged. “Worth a shot.”
“I’m not sure he knows the Family,” said Miles. “He’s a decent guy. Gives us a discount on all new cantrips.”
“Is he the one who sold you the transporter spell?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Shawn said he got it from the market, but maybe the enemy gave it to him instead. Anyone’s guess.”
“His big mistake was handing it over to me,” I said. “I’m not giving it up anytime soon.”
“Wise decision there,” he said.
“Yeah.”
Never mind the transporter spell. If the Family had a hold over Elysium’s cantrip supplier, they had links to every practitioner here in Elysium, as well as all four of the Houses of the Elements.
The Order has fallen to the enemy already. How long before the Houses followed the same path?
7
A week passed with no further instructions from the Death King about our new prisoner. My boss had reacted without any surprise when I’d told him we’d hit a dead end when searching for evidence of where the cantrip which had killed the jailor had come from, but I’d at least thought he might want me to talk to Adair. Whenever I went near the jail, it was to find glaring liches blocking my way, so I got on with the job and went to check up on the House of Fire in every spare moment I had.
I was more concerned with Tay than with my incarcerated brother, but by the fourth day, the House of Fire’s guards had taken to slamming the door in my face whenever I tried to ask them for updates. I assumed she was still alive, but until Adair started talking, I’d have no evidence to draw on which might prove she wasn’t responsible for Zade’s death. By the seventh day, I’d put Adair to the back of my mind altogether, so it damn near made me jump out of my skin when I walked out of the castle that morning and heard Adair’s loud shouts from the direction of the jail. The racket filled my ears as I crossed the grounds and addressed the liches guarding the Death King’s prison. “Can’t you shut him up?”
“No,” said one of them. “We can tell him not to make a sound, but we can’t enforce it. He can’t use his persuasive magic on any of us, so all he can do is yell until he tires himself out. Sounds like he’s found his voice again, anyway.”
“Can I speak to him?” I said. “Maybe I can shut him up.”
“Fine,” said the lich, “but we’ll be watching. No funny business.”
“Hey, I work for the Death King, too.” Even the liches didn’t trust me? Maybe I didn’t blame them, given how some of them had ended up being burned to a crisp during the trials, but it’d be nice to have a little cooperation against my delight of a brother.
I entered the jail and walked up to Adair’s cell, covering my ears against his yelling.
“What is wrong with you?” I shouted over the noise, taking care not to make eye contact with him.
He stopped yelling. “Did they kill your friend yet?”
“Fuck you,” I said. “You know you can’t get out of here, don’t you? You can yell all you like. Nobody’s going
