The Collarbound

Book 1: Tales of the Edge

by Rebecca Zahabi

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy action & adventure; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

'Beautifully wrought dark fantasy' NetGalley Reviewer

A MAN MARKED BY MAGIC. A WOMAN MARKED BY HER PAST.

On the other side of the Shadowpass, rebellion is brewing and refugees have begun to trickle into the city at the edge of the world. Looming high on the cliff is The Nest, a fortress full of mages who offer protection, but also embody everything the rebellion is fighting against: a strict hierarchy based on magic abilities.

When Isha arrives as a refugee, she attempts to fit in amongst the other mages, but her Kher tattoo brands her as an outcast. She can't remember her past or why she has the tattoo. All she knows is that she survived. She doesn't intend to give up now.

Tatters, who wears the golden collar of a slave, knows that this rebellion is different from past skirmishes. He was once one of the rebels, and technically, they still own him. He plans to stay in the shadows, until Isha appears in his tavern. He's never seen a human with a tattoo, and the markings look eerily familiar . . .

As the rebellion carves a path of destruction towards the city, an unlikely friendship forms between a man trying to escape his past and a woman trying to uncover hers, until their secrets threaten to tear them apart.

The Collarbound hooks from the opening page and will appeal to fans of magical, brink-of-war settings, like that of The Poppy War and The City of Brass.

'Zahabi deftly creates a fully-realized and richly described world, providing a quiet yet striking exploration of the way inequality and injustice often serve as the bedrock of systems of power' M. J. Kuhn, author of Among Thieves

Release date: May 12, 2022

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 352

Sample

Tatters knew the girl was a newcomer by the way she stared at him. City folk didn’t stare at collarbounds. But people who didn’t know what it was were attracted to the glint of gold, and they didn’t know any better, and they looked. Not that Tatters had anything against newcomers. There had been a time when he didn’t know what a collarbound was, either.

The tavern was crowded this evening. The wood had soaked up the beer and puke from generations of apprentices, and now, thanks to the heat of too many bodies, the heady aroma was seeping out of the old beams. The owner was pouring foamy drinks into wooden tumblers. He took a copper for the cup, which he kept if you became too drunk to give it back. He was all right. He rented the room upstairs to Tatters and never asked questions. Questions weren’t good for trade; besides, Tatters was good at bringing customers in.

At the start of autumn, the young mages who had recently been recruited poured into the high towers of the Nest. The first evening, guided by older apprentices, they left their Nest and flooded the streets. The ones who had been around long enough came to see Tatters.

The girl stood out immediately. She was the only human Tatters had ever seen with a tattoo. It covered the left side of her face, from chin to brow. It was weird, ragged, the black lines smudged as if the ink had spilt. She had dark curly hair, the kind that wouldn’t fall down her shoulders and couldn’t be brushed. Tatters winked at her and she – at last, but too late – turned away.

He wondered who the girl had come with. The tavern – which locals called the Coop – was crowded, and he soon lost sight of her in the throng. Amongst the apprentices jostling each other for space, Tatters spotted Kilian. She must be with him, judging by the way he tailed her, guided her to the counter, handed her a drink. He was taller than her; older but not that much older. They all looked like children to Tatters, these twenty-something kids who thought the city was theirs. Kilian flounced about as if he owned the place. Of course, he’d been here a year already and was officially a disciple.

Most of the guys who’d been around a year or more were assigned newbies and the task of showing them around, which they did either by flirting with them or teasing them, depending on their mood. Kilian was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and tall-ish, so he was often considered attractive by the female population. But he wasn’t charming, and he wasn’t much of a magician. She’d grow tired of him soon enough.

Well, it would only be a matter of time before they came to talk to him. Kilian would want to show off. Tatters relaxed against the wall, resting his shoulders against the stones. He liked this part. Meeting people was fun. He wouldn’t have chosen a tavern as a refuge if he didn’t believe that.

It took fifteen minutes. Kilian joined him with the girl and a mismatched group of apprentices from the first and second years. Soon they were pulling stools across, shouting greetings to Tatters. He touched wrists with a few people before turning to Kilian.

‘May you grow tall, young man. Haven’t seen you in a while.’ Tatters smirked. You had to laugh with these young ones, otherwise they got on your nerves.

Despite his good looks, Kilian didn’t know where to put all of himself. He reminded Tatters of a dippy horse that couldn’t work out how to use four legs at the same time.

‘Good to be back, Tatters,’ said Kilian. Before he could do the introductions, Tatters turned to the girl. She was too dark-skinned to be from the city, but her features weren’t quite Sunriser. She held his gaze.

‘And I’m sure I’ve never seen you,’ said Tatters.

She extended her forearm and they touched wrists. He could feel her eyes sliding down his face to his throat. The circle of gold was so close to his skin that it could have been part of his neck – a metallic deformity.

‘Isha,’ she said. A Sunriser name, then, probably Wingshade. She didn’t hesitate before asking, ‘Is Tatters your real name?’

Kilian rolled his eyes at her.

‘As real as any name,’ said Tatters.

He’d been around long enough to be careful about who he gave his name to. The people who knew the real one were far away; far enough that he would never have to worry about them again, hopefully.

But you’re still in hiding, whispered Lal inside his mind.

Nice of you to remind me, he thought back.

To brush away Isha’s frown, Tatters said, ‘Don’t worry. Within the safe community of the Nest, everyone knows everyone’s name.’

‘And you’re not part of the safe community, then?’

‘I told you we’d go deep tonight,’ whispered Kilian. Tatters tried not to laugh. He hid it as a sort of cough behind his mug of ale.

She crossed her arms. Clearly struggling to get used to the Nest’s robes, she tugged at the cloth to make herself comfortable on her stool. Tatters was perched at one end of a bench, the plank nailed into the wall to form a sort of booth, which he shared with Kilian. The thrum of voices echoed across the tavern.

Tatters was curious about the girl, not least because of the tattoo. He could see why Kilian had been drawn to her. Isha had a strange intensity about her. She must be eighteen, nineteen at a stretch. She hadn’t quite shaken off the ungainliness of that in-between age, half an adult, half a child.

‘I’m not a regular mage, as you might have guessed,’ Tatters said. He sipped some beer, considering his options. ‘Hey,’ he spoke only to her. ‘How about I ask you a question you don’t want me to ask, and then you ask me a question I don’t want you to ask?’

Kilian seemed nonplussed at this. He must have planned to speak about duels and impress Isha with his knowledge of underground mindbrawling. But Tatters wasn’t much interested in Kilian or what he believed to be deep. He was curious about this tattoo. He wasn’t sure what it represented. It could be an outstretched wing, or a cliff-edge, or a monstrous hand with too many fingers. It was difficult to pin down.

He had the eerie feeling he’d seen the pattern before, but he couldn’t place it. Something thrummed at the back of his skull, a half-recalled dream. A hand covered in blood, fingers stained – or maybe it wasn’t blood but cloth, red cloth, running down like liquid from the clenched fist. But the moment he tried to remember it, the image faded.

Not wanting to be left out, Kilian chipped in, ‘I didn’t know Tatters answered questions for anyone. Lucky you!’

‘Go paint your face and you might have a chance,’ chuckled someone further down their table.

Isha’s expression didn’t change. ‘What makes you think I’ve got a question for you that you don’t want me to ask?’

Tatters smiled. Cute, but he’d been playing this game much longer than her.

‘You mean you’ve got nothing to ask the first collarbound you’ve ever met?’

She bristled, clenching her jaw, which only seemed to emphasise the black lines along her cheek. Body art like that wasn’t human. Only khers did it. Tatters would have sworn it was a tribal kher tattoo, if it hadn’t been on a human – and on a mage, at that.

‘Very well,’ said Isha. She cast him glares that would have withered a twenty-year-old hoping to score. Kilian was trying to find a way back into the conversation, but Isha spoke before he could: ‘Go on. Ask me. I know what it’s going to be, and you won’t like the answer anyway.’

‘I was going to say ladies first, but if you insist …’ Tatters wondered if it would be too cheeky to ask her to show him more of the tattoo by pushing the tangled hair out of the way, and decided it would. ‘Where does that tattoo come from?’

‘My parents did it to me when I was born. That’s all there is to know.’

Isha hadn’t uncrossed her arms, although she’d rested them on the sticky table. She was hunched there, a dark shape in the flickering light of the tavern. There was clatter and laughter around them, but she stayed in that position, her grey robes creasing around her waist.

Tatters didn’t push, but he was puzzled. What had gone through her parents’ minds, branding their newborn like a kher?

If it really was her parents who did it, thought Lal.

Not everyone lies as much as we do. Give the girl the benefit of the doubt.

Why?

Tatters couldn’t argue with Lal. He drank some more beer. He didn’t even taste it any more, he was so used to it. It could have been water.

‘Where does the collar come from?’ Isha asked.

‘A collarbound is someone bound by magic to obey his master. This is what the collar is. A bind.’ Tatters was used to this. It was like the beer; he couldn’t taste it anymore.

‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

Tatters lifted an eyebrow. Isha hadn’t budged. Kilian glanced from her to Tatters, before giving Tatters a grimace behind her back, as if to say, ‘terrible manners, I know’.

‘I asked where it came from.’

Good for her, laughed Lal inside Tatters’ head.

Whose side are you on?

Give the girl that, at least. She’s right. And what you’ve just said, Kilian could’ve told her.

Someone opened the door of the Coop, and cold night air wafted in. As soon as it shut, the din and smell of sweat closed in on him once more – the heat of people, the shouting across the room, the surfaces glistening with grime.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Where it comes from …’ How to put it? ‘It comes from the other side of the Shadowpass,’ he said at last, relieved to have found a way to say it that didn’t involve unpacking the past.

‘I lived close to the Shadowpass,’ she said. ‘You crossed?’

‘I crossed.’ Although not during the light-tide, like you should, like everybody did. But there was no point in admitting he had crossed during the night-tide. For one thing, nobody would believe him.

If she had lived close to the Shadowpass, like she said, then all the more reason not to believe him. She must have seen her share of poor fools caught by the night-tide, emerging wrecked on the other side. It messed you up, crossing the Shadowpass, even when it went well. That was one of the reasons there was so little contact between both halves of the country – because the crossing was so tough. Not much was worth the trip.

‘Trying to get out of trouble, were you?’ said Kilian, giving Tatters a prod with his elbow. He smiled widely, showing too much tooth and lip.

‘I’m always trying to get out of trouble.’

‘One of the downsides of being too good at mindbrawl, I guess,’ said Kilian. ‘Speaking of which, will you give us a demonstration?’

Isha’s interest perked up; she pulled her stool closer to the table. Tatters stretched, cracking his fingers as he tugged them towards the ceiling.

‘We’ll see. If someone’s up for a fight, I might consider it.’ He eyed Kilian, but the boy hated getting messy. If he could watch, he would. If he could avoid getting involved, all the better. Kilian was a sore loser – and of course, Tatters would win a mindbrawl. Plus, no point in losing in front of his maybe-girlfriend on the first night out. No, the lad wouldn’t fight tonight.

‘What was home like?’ Tatters turned towards Isha, trying to change the subject.

‘Different,’ she said. She glanced around the room, trying to find a way to express the change. ‘Going from my village to this is …’

‘It’s always a shock,’ interrupted Kilian. Tatters did wish he would shut up. Isha might have something interesting to say, but Kilian only came out with platitudes and, occasionally, dirty jokes. ‘The city is so big, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

Tell me something I don’t know, thought Tatters. Lal did the mental equivalent of a shrug.

‘The village I was sent to this summer was a bore,’ said Kilian. Disciples were usually dispatched to different areas during the summer, so they could learn first-hand how a mage ruled over a piece of land. ‘Nothing happened. I helped the local mage organise the harvest and decide on the price for brews and flour. I wrote reports that I’m pretty sure nobody at the Nest reads. That’s about it.’

He didn’t seem to notice the conversation subject was also a bore. Isha turned to Tatters and asked: ‘You do fights?’

Tatters nodded. Kilian launched into an enthusiastic explanation of how a mindbrawl went, and how you could duel someone, and how it was forbidden outside the Nest, and how you could do it with Tatters. This, supposedly, would awe Isha. She didn’t seem awed so far.

‘We did cock fights in the village,’ she said.

Tatters burst out laughing. She cracked an inch of a smile when he did, just about visible under the thick black hair.

‘This isn’t cockerels! It’s a clash of minds!’ said Kilian. So much for impressing the new girl.

It brought in money, as far as Tatters was concerned, and it meant he could keep informed about the Nest. The apprentices coming to see him for extra training – and drinking afterwards – meant his room was kept at a few silvers a week. He was on the edge of legality, but he suspected the high mages didn’t mind. He would know if the Nest disapproved. A bit of fighting cleared the air, the teachers believed, and kept everyone on their toes.

‘Could I do it?’ Isha’s voice snapped Tatters out of his reverie.

‘What?’

‘Could I duel you?’

Kilian’s eyes goggled. Someone nearby laughed loudly. The right answer was ‘no’, but to the underworlds with right answers.

‘How often have you used mindlink?’ asked Tatters.

Isha shrugged. She pushed up the heavy wool sleeves of her robes, knotting her fingers together, resting her tanned forearms on the table.

‘They gave me a talk today.’ She held his gaze.

The farm girl who wanted to prove herself. Too young to impress the adults. Too much of a peasant to impress the city-dwellers. Too much of a newcomer to impress the mages. And the tattoo everyone looked at, which meant they only asked about that and never about her. Yes, he could read her without even using mindlink. It had happened to him, too. He’d been sick of people mentioning the collar and forgetting to ask if he was more than what was etched across his skin.

‘Why not? Kilian, will you be so good as to be the settler?’

It was difficult to know if Kilian was more shocked by Isha offering the challenge, or Tatters accepting it.

‘You won’t hurt her, will you?’ He gaped.

‘If I’ve never hurt you, I won’t hurt her.’

‘If you’re sure …’ Kilian addressed this as much to Isha as Tatters. She shrugged.

‘I’m here to learn,’ she said.

‘That’s the spirit.’ Tatters smiled. This evening promised to be interesting.

As the settler, Kilian created a space inside his mind, a mental platform where they could meet. He had an imagery that he had built for that purpose. Tatters stepped inside Kilian’s mind. It was a theatre of velvet chairs and wrought balconies, with ornate statues at every corner. The stage was the space where the duellists fought. Kilian wanted to impress his guests with complicated, several-storeys-high architecture and detailed decoration.

The problem was, he wasn’t a good enough mage. Around the third level the seats disappeared into a black fog, where Kilian was hazy on how the roof linked to the balconies. Some statues started melting if guests focused on them hard enough, like carved chunks of soft cheese. The perspective didn’t work; the chairs were mismatched sizes depending on their distance from the stage, and the pillars didn’t always reach the ceiling or the floor. The overall effect was an ambitious sketch from someone who had no idea how to draw, and who had grown bored with the exercise halfway through.

Kilian imagined himself in a chair close to the stage. He didn’t need to – he was the arena, from its floorboards to its columns. But some mages found it easier to visualise a space if they could place themselves inside it.

Isha stumbled inside the arena, struggling to find her footing. Inside Kilian’s mind, she was different. She looked the way she believed herself to be, which wasn’t flattering. She painted herself plumper, and smudged the tattoo even more, as if the ink had been flung at her face. She appeared younger, too, with less refined features, more of the ruddy peasant girl she must have been told she was.

Tatters knew how to draw himself in someone’s mind. He made himself taller – a few extra inches couldn’t hurt. He thickened his hair, giving it more shine. He cleaned away some of the freckles that dappled his skin. Most importantly, he didn’t try to underplay the collar. If anything, he thickened the rim of gold and made sure it burned with inner light, adding decorations to the plain line of metal cutting across his throat.

‘You attack,’ said Tatters. ‘See what you can do. See what you can imagine. Trust me, you probably won’t hurt me. I’d be surprised if you grazed me.’

Isha gritted her teeth. She lifted both her hands, palms towards Tatters. This kind of gesturing could help you concentrate, but it didn’t affect the strength of your mindbrawl. She imagined fire and hurled it at him. He imagined water, crashing down from the pulleys and other special effects gear hanging fuzzily above the stage, dousing the flame before drenching her. She jumped in shock at the cold. First contact with mindlink was always surprising, especially if the imaginings used against you were well-crafted, using all five senses. Tatters was good. He knew she could taste salt on her tongue.

The water dribbled between the stage’s wooden floorboards and was gone. She stood, straggled, wet.

‘Dry it off,’ said Tatters.

‘How?’

‘Just imagine yourself dry,’ he said.

It took her a while. Kilian was sitting on the front row, on a chair of frayed red velvet. ‘Should I let anyone else in?’ he asked.

‘Be a gentleman,’ said Tatters. ‘The last thing she wants is an audience.’

Isha shook herself dry. She brushed back her black hair, tucking the curls behind her ears.

‘You’re doing something,’ she said.

Tatters shrugged. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’

She waved at him. ‘You’re … manlier.’

‘Ouch!’ he laughed. She had bite. He couldn’t help but enjoy her frankness. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him: the lanky red hair – which usually surprised Sunrisers – the freckles down his arms, the mark of age and weathered skin over his face. The unkempt beard growing in sprouts across his cheeks, which he trimmed only when he remembered to. He was lean, even when he had eaten well, and the rags he was wearing were too large for him, which revealed how gaunt he was. He wondered what she guessed of who he was while she watched him, and whether it was as crude as what he guessed of her.

He drew himself to his full height, which became taller as she watched. He changed the rags he wore into a dyed shirt and matching trousers. ‘Why should I let you see me as I am when I can show you what I could be?’

She fumbled around for a while as she tried to grow herself.

‘Size isn’t everything,’ said Kilian.

‘Later on, not now, practise thinking about your perfect self. A good shell to visit other people’s minds is something you need to work on.’

She nodded. At least she didn’t blabber as much as Kilian. During his first fight with Tatters, the boy had barely stopped long enough to breathe.

Isha studied Tatters, then Kilian lounging in his gilded chair.

She wants to impress him as much as he wants to impress her, whispered Lal.

Shouldn’t you be making sure no-one gets inside my mind while I’m doing this? Tatters wasn’t so much bothered as amused. Lal was showing unusual interest. They were both curious about this tattooed Isha, for whatever reason. It was something about the energy she radiated, he decided. As if she believed she could take over the world.

I was sharing my female insights with you, Lal said.

Noted.

Isha suddenly lifted one hand and did a power grip in front of her.

‘Kneel, slave!’

It was a good attempt, but only half-hearted. She didn’t expect him to bend the knee; she probably would’ve felt bad if he had. The collar glowed, but the pang that squeezed Tatters’ heart was only that – a pang.

‘Everyone goes for the collar, girl.’ But still, she’d gone from physical manifestations, such as fire, to more cerebral attacks. It was an improvement.

‘But there must be something there, right?’

‘Of course. But it’s also where I’m most expecting you. And, to tell you the truth, no-one has ever managed to get the collar to work in a mindbrawl against me. Everyone tries it, but it never works.’

Except for the times it did. But that was a long time ago, and the memory was faded, like an oil painting smudged with a wet sponge. Tatters was careful to keep such recollections as far away as possible, especially during a fight.

‘You’re not all there,’ said Isha.

‘Why should I be? You’re not enough of a threat.’ He knew from her expression that she was stung. Even with a settled mind, it betrayed what she was thinking. That would be something else to work on. But one thing at a time.

They sparred in Kilian’s mind for a few more minutes; he stayed defensive for the whole brawl. He didn’t want to risk hurting her. It was like fencing – if the opponent had no idea how to fight, and the weapons were sharp, then you didn’t hit them, or only lightly, as lightly as you could, to be sure you wouldn’t cut them.

Isha tried different tactics, but her imagination wasn’t vivid enough. She lacked training, but that would come. Some of her approaches to mindbrawl were original and would prove dangerous to her enemies in the long run, if she ever got the discipline to practise. Some mages never did and remained mediocre their whole lives.

‘Enough,’ said Tatters, when he decided she was looking tired.

‘Why?’ asked Isha. ‘I haven’t even touched you yet.’

The faith she had in her own talent! He’d had that once. Like everyone else, life had kicked him in the teeth until he learnt otherwise. Maybe it was a bit early to start the teeth-kicking on Isha, though.

‘No offence, but you won’t do that any time soon,’ he said. ‘Now leave Kilian’s mind. If he collapses it, you’ll be stuck.’

‘Collapses?’

‘See what I mean? When you’ve got the basics of mindbrawl, come back to me, and we’ll see if you can land a hit that hurts.’

Tatters left Kilian’s mind. He opened his eyes. The sounds and lights of the tavern hit him in waves; voices first, then music from a bard in the corner, then the bangs of chairs being pushed back and the hiss of beer pouring out of kegs. He rubbed his arms and his shoulders, blinking a few times, trying to shake off the after-effects of mindlink. Isha sat very straight on her stool, her eyes vacant. Her lips were parted, a thin line of spittle running down the side of her mouth.

Tatters waved the tavern keeper over for another round of beer. The man picked up their empty tumblers to refill them at the barrels.

‘Already starting on the duels?’ the keeper asked.

‘Nah, this was more like training.’ Tatters indicated Isha with his chin. ‘New to the game.’

‘Good. Start them young.’ The innkeeper glanced across the room, shaking his head. He rubbed the back of his hand against his beard to scratch it. ‘Lucky sods, training without even getting up from their chairs, while I’m running around refilling cups, me. I’m getting too old for this, you know.’

‘Get yourself a servant. Be sure to choose a kher, so they don’t get mindlinked when counting the change.’

The innkeeper grunted. ‘You think I’m rich or something? Mages are the worst payers.’ He was wearing kher horn himself, as a protection against mindmagic. It coiled around his forearm several times, annulated like a ram’s horn, the spiral smaller towards the wrist, growing larger as it reached the elbow. It must have belonged to a small kher. It was tight on the innkeeper’s arm; skin and fat bulged between the annulations.

Kilian snapped out of mindlink and gratefully downed the beer. Isha emerged as if from a deep sleep, struggling to place herself. She nearly fell off her stool, but Kilian caught her in time.

‘Careful there!’

She rubbed her eyes and forehead. She hated being off-guard, Tatters could tell. At first, she refused the drink, but Kilian insisted. ‘Sense of taste helps you come back,’ he said. Reluctantly, she sipped the bitter ale.

Tatters gave them time together. He drank slowly and talked to a few other people around the table, or to apprentices who were curious about this closed mindbrawl and wanted to know the outcome. He told them it was only training.

‘If you do free training, I’m up for it!’ said someone.

‘Nothing’s free in this world,’ Tatters answered.

Kilian couldn’t believe his luck – Isha needed him after all, to help her hold onto her stool and to explain the after-effects of mindbrawl. She let him take her hand, and he used this as an excuse to bring her to the bench and hug her close.

She cast Tatters crushing glares, although he didn’t see what he’d done wrong. They didn’t stay long after that. When they left, Tatters crossed his hands on his lap and closed his eyes. It was getting late, but he couldn’t be bothered pushing through the crowd for the relief of a bed. It would be as noisy upstairs as it was here, anyway. And this way, if someone wanted anything from him, they’d tap his shoulder or chat loudly next to him until he woke up.

Now that he didn’t need to focus, memories of past training sessions drifted inside his mind. It hadn’t always been as controlled as it was today, not when he was the one learning. The shock of the stick across his face. The blue and yellow bruise going from his thumb to his wrist. The first time Passerine introduced himself and told Tatters he would remember his name soon enough. The weight of the shield strapped across his left arm.

You don’t want to go there, warned Lal.

The problem with being a mage was that remembering was never as easy as it had been. He was trained to keep an eye on his mind, and so nothing could ever drift, or emerge, or float to the surface. Everything was hand-picked.

‘Tatters? You sleeping?’

Maybe it was for the best. Tatters put the memories away and opened his eyes. He knew this disciple – Caitlin. She was beautiful but, compared to Isha, she was bland. Auburn, tall, bristling with the energy of youth but lacking the motivation to do anything with it.

‘May you grow tall, Tatters.’

They touched wrists. ‘It’s nice to see you too,’ he said. ‘How have you been?’

Caitlin was one of the older disciples. She worked with Tatters on his duels. She wanted to be rich and powerful and, because she had a face that could make boys swoon, she would be. But she didn’t want to work too hard for it.

‘I’ve spent the summer doing someone else’s accounts and counting coin that wasn’t mine. I’m fine.’ She had a deadpan, sharp humour. ‘Apparently you’re doing free training for the puffins? I never got that.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Skies, I gave one free lesson to one cute face! Don’t get excited, starting from now everyone is paying.’

She pulled her stool closer to the table, revealing her sleeves, where she had embroidered her grey robes with gold thread.

‘As I understood it, it wasn’t her pretty face. You were interested in her tattoo.’

‘Curious. I wouldn’t go as far as interested. But if you’ve got something to tell me, I might reconsider free training.’

‘Well, I thought you might want to know which mage brought her in, for starters,’ she said. That was true. Tatters hadn’t thought to ask. Depending on who it was, it might have influenced how much training she’d had, or how they’d introduced her to the Nest. Although, she might just as well have been sent by her family after they experienced weird phenomena around her.

‘Go on. Surprise me.’

‘It wasn’t someone sent off to pick up low-talented peasants across the countryside. It was a high mage who happened to meet her during his travels, and who decided she was too good to be left behind.’

Tatters pic. . .