Life in Long Reach was just too good.

  That wasn’t likely an assessment most of its citizens would share, considering they were living under the shadow of a potentially hostile army just outside their walls, and a massive werewolf pack had nearly broken in and slaughtered them less than a week ago. But to Osmod, it was the best week of his life since everything had fallen apart during that hunt.

  “Is your back feeling alright? I remember you said the mattress wasn’t sturdy enough, and I don’t want you to suffer in silence,” Epistula asked, biting her lip and eyeing the offending furniture as if she was seriously considering marching out of their room to request a new one.

  “I’m fine,” he said with a calming smile, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him. “You shouldn’t worry this much. I know not to tire myself after all the lectures I had to endure.”

  His girlfriend sighed but offered him a warm smile as she settled next to him. It was the most affection she had shown in months, and all it took was risking his eternal soul to alert Master Tholm about the upcoming attack on Alluria.

  Admittedly, Osmod wasn’t eager to do that again anytime soon. Once was more than enough for him, and he wasn’t sure Lady Luck would smile on him once more if he tried it, but he was happy to reap the benefits.

  Many things could be said about Master Tholm, starting with his decision to send all his apprentices into a dungeon with only a few artifacts for protection, but he knew how to repay service and loyalty.

  Since he nearly blew himself up, Osmod and Epistula lacked for nothing. A new apartment was arranged for them in the Tower, among the better ones for non-Prestige mages, and even here in the field, they had assigned servants and were living essentially like nobles.

  “Do you think they are okay?” Epistula asked after a long moment of enjoying each other’s company.

  He didn’t need to ask who she meant. “They are probably tearing their way through the dungeon. I’d be surprised if anything they encounter outside the core area could even give them pause, much less pose a real threat.”

  Osmod had once been part of a group like that, so he could honestly say the older apprentices alone would be more than enough to handle a few werewolf packs.

  Then there was that little monster Tholm had been sheltering. To say that the kid scared him would be an understatement, and Osmod had stared death in the eyes more than once. His whole life had fallen apart on him.

  None of that prepared him for Nicholas Crowley. There was something about him that simply didn’t seem right, and it wasn’t because he was using forbidden spells, though he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

  No teenager, and hardly one at that, should have wielded that much power. Even the most talented, those who would eventually become Archmages, who came to the Tower once a decade, didn’t evoke the same sense of real danger that a second son from the countryside did.

  Before Epistula could speak further, a knock came at the door, and Osmod lazily gestured with his right hand, opening it telekinetically with only the slightest twinge in his coils, a good sign that he was almost fully recovered. “Yes?”

  A maid, one of those who had been with House Rohm for a long time but hadn’t batted an eye at the change in leadership, was revealed and bowed lightly. “My lord, His Grace wishes to speak with you.”

  Osmod grunted as he pushed himself up, despite the worried look Epistula shot his way. He may have gotten back into her good graces, but making Tholm wait was never a smart move.

  The maid led him up to the lord’s study, where the Archmage had taken residence, and left him with another bow.

  He walked in, doing his best to ignore the frozen figure of the Prestige-rank assassin who had once been manipulating the entire town in the shadows. Looking at the soulless, empty face gave him the creeps, and he stopped before the desk, behind which his mentor was working through some paperwork.

  “Sir,” he said after a moment. There was a time when he would have waited hours to be acknowledged, but he knew Tholm better than to think he was playing such petty games.

  Well, he wouldn’t do that to someone like me, who’s too weak to care. He really enjoys doing that with the powerful, but that’s none of my business.

  “Ah, Osmod, my boy. Do sit down,” Tholm said, gesturing toward one of the open seats.

  Once he’d done so, Tholm set the papers down and looked him over. “I hope your recovery is going well. I know moving down here must have been a surprise, and not the vacation you might have hoped for.”

  Osmod shook his head. “Not at all, sir. I’m feeling a bit restless, though I know I should still be cautious with magic.”

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  That seemed to be exactly what Tholm had been waiting for, because he smiled in a way that showed Osmod he had passed some kind of checkpoint.

  “Wonderful. Then I believe I might have something to occupy your time while we wait for your soul to stabilize enough for more intensive magic to be possible.” He handed over a stack of papers, which Osmod quickly skimmed, feeling his eyebrows raise.

  “Yes, as you can see, we have just welcomed a group of children from one of the southern hamlets. A group that had once been affected by lycanthropy, but is no longer.”

  “He did it again, then?” There was no need to clarify who he was referring to. Only one person could have done something like this.

  “Young Nick did, indeed. This is joyful news, of course, as it means another way to rid the world of the loathsome curse beyond the very intensive and expensive elixirs that have been known so far, but it also means that we will start seeing more and more interest being generated the longer we stay here," Tholm said.

  His eyes were warm and grandfatherly, as if that little monster playing with souls was a happy little surprise. But there was also something ancient and terribly cold about him, and when his gaze shifted eastward, where the army still camped despite the repeated refusals from the local militia to host them within the walls, Osmod almost felt pity for them.

  “I believe it’s time we find something to distract our guests with before they ask too many questions. I can trust you with that, right?”

  Osmod bowed low, “You can, Master.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time he was assigned to eliminate uncomfortable situations.

  Devon tugged at his shirt. It was perfectly tailored to his body, which was necessary after the last growth spurt, but that didn’t change the fact that he much preferred wearing his well-worn leather vest and training clothes over this.

  Unfortunately, he was now the heir of a Baron, and while he could have been excused at first since he was still adjusting to his new status and the city had been in various states of chaos, now that things were finally calm again and the social season was beginning, he really couldn’t avoid it any longer.

  “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Sonya muttered, looking close to wringing her hands in stress.

  He looked over and couldn’t help but smile sappily at what he saw. His beautiful girlfriend, because that was what she was now that they finally had time to talk about their relationship, was even more enchanting thanks to the flowing pale green dress he’d bought her.

  There was a long pause, and Devon finally lifted his eyes to meet hers when he realized she was waiting for his reply. He racked his brain to remember what she had said, eventually deciding it was something demeaning about herself, since that was all she had been about lately. “I sincerely doubt there will be anyone even approaching your level of beauty at the ball. You do not need to worry about not fitting in.”

  She smiled, her frown melting away as it always did when he expressed his affection. It had taken him some time to realize that Sonya was holding back because of their different social statuses, and since then, he had done his best to show her that he was serious about her.

  It was a change of pace for someone like him, who’d once preferred short flings, but he didn’t see it as a bad thing.

  “But some of them may know me,” she finally said, addressing what had truly worried her.

  Devon gently took her hand. He could have told her that no nobleman or lady attending the ball at House Boer would ever remember the faces of other nobles’ servants. But he didn’t, simply kissing her softly and holding her.

  Admittedly, he hadn’t expected that to be his first invitation, considering they were seen as more aligned with the Tower than most martial nobles and even had a daughter living there, but it was a good lineage to be allied to, especially since he strongly suspected the real reason for his invitation was their desire for closer ties with his brother.

  Of course, they could simply have known about his father’s rise to Prestige and wanted to build a connection before it was too late, but Devon didn’t think so.

  The carriage was still waiting for them downstairs, so he gently disentangled himself from Sonya, took her hand again, and led her out of Wolfram Manor, ignoring his master’s gaze on his back.

  The old man hadn’t said anything about his relationship with Sonya, but he didn’t need to. If I ever make her cry, he’ll kill me. His intent is enough to know that much.

  Sonya kept her hand in his throughout the trip, gazing out the window as if she had never seen Alluria, masking her embarrassment and happiness at their closeness, which was cute enough to make him want to wrap her up and hide her from the scrutinizing eyes of the world.

  Unfortunately, if she wanted to pursue a relationship with him, she would have to get used to this kind of scrutiny, and this was the best way to put her name out there in a friendly environment.

  Their arrival at House Boer’s manse, which was just across the noble district and only took a few minutes of actual travel, plus double that time to enter the mansion itself due to the traffic from other carriages, went smoothly.

  They were greeted by the steward, their invitations checked, and told that the Lady of the house would soon come to greet them.

  Devon had to suppress a gasp as he saw the stunning floral arrangements covering the walls and ceiling of the hall they entered, and he was even more impressed when he realized they weren’t just placed there, but grown in place.

  Sonya appeared less surprised, probably because she managed her own garden of magical flowers.

  “Ah, Lord Crowley. Just the man I was looking for,” he heard a familiar voice and turned around.

  Drusilla Boer was dressed in a pale cream garment that reached her ankles, yet it still fit well enough to show she was a woman, which might have been mildly scandalous for a regular noble girl, but she was a mage, and a pretty skilled one, if what he’d heard was true, meaning she could get away with much more.

  She spared a quick look at his outfit before fixing Sonya with a curious gaze. “And it seems like you’ve found yourself a date worth calling that, didn’t you?”

  He inclined his head, softly squeezing Sonya’s arm. “I was very lucky.”

  Drusilla gave him a faint smile before turning around and signaling for them to follow. “Well, come on then. I doubt you want to spend the night waiting for my parents to do their rounds and question you about your Mentor’s sudden activity after such a long period of quiet.”

  That didn’t interest him in the slightest, so he followed her into a smaller room that was more crowded with young people. He even spotted a few of the squires he’d sparred with, exchanging nods and stopping briefly to introduce Sonya, until they finally reached a small circle of robed scions. The most impressive was a tall, blonde girl he recognized from the lunch at the Antlers & Ink.

  “Lady Sadie,” he greeted.

  Eona nodded, and after a moment, it was just the four of them left, the others having drifted off at some unseen signal. Moving smoothly, she handed him a letter and gave him a meaningful look.

  It was embossed with the symbol of the fourteenth special company, the knight group fighting alongside his father, and Devon felt his heart stutter as he read about a very dangerous mission deep in the Burroways. He finally smiled when he learned Eugene’s army had managed to capture an entire dwarven outpost.

  He looked up, ready to thank Eona, only to find her with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. “This is good news,” he said.

  She nodded but didn’t change her expression. “It is, but this kind of operation should have had much more support. They only did it because of their own power.”

  “Ah,” he said. Now that he thought about it, it was strange that no mention had been made of any other army group.

  “Yeah,” she grunted. “We need to start pushing things from here, if we don’t want them to be left on their own again.”

  She didn’t seem pleased, and neither was Devon, but if schmoozing with a few nobles was what his father needed to survive, he would do it.

  Persimmon