Prologue

There were no details in the letter. The sender had been quite brief and he could only assume it was from a lack of writing ability. Which was why the local temple requested his aid. It was safer to send a Paladin rather than a priestess. The words Arcanist and magic always sent them over the edge, fear strangling even the kindest and most devout of priestesses. Some days he wondered if they feared magic itself or the King’s laws.

His boots sloshed through the mud as he squeezed down alleyways and ducked under rows of laundry hung out to dry. The scent of mold permeated the air and lingered inside of his helmet. It soured his mouth. His stomach flopped sickeningly the further he went into the slums.

Houses were poorly patched together with planks of wood, mud, and whatever discarded materials the refugees could find. He caught glimpses of them before they ducked into doorways. They feared he was there to arrest them or someone they loved. And someday, Ser Merrick might have to return for just that reason.

But today, his prisoner was waiting for him.

He parted some of the laundry, the river finally coming into view around the corner. Whoever had sent for him would be waiting close by. And there she was, pacing back and forth in front of a curtained doorway. The moment their eyes met, she rushed forward and tossed a bundle of blankets into his arms. If it hadn’t been for the weight, he might not have realized there was something wrapped inside.

He tilted his head down to peer through the narrow slits in his helmet. When he carefully peeled back the threadbare cloth, there she was squirming inside. She had to be a newborn. She was certainly too small to be older. Her eyes were shut tight and a sleepy yawn pried itself from her toothless mouth.

She was the youngest prisoner he had ever been charged with retrieving.

“I knew what it was. I hoped but I knew.” The mother crossed her arms and nudged her chin at the newborn.

He held the infant closer. Even his years of experience hadn’t prepared him for such a reaction. Mothers had shown dislike, mosty fear, when their children displayed signs of magic. Most mothers tried to hide their children’s abilities from the Paladins to avoid losing them. But he had never experienced anything like this, an infant, cast aside with foolish hatred. It reminded him why he chose to become a Paladin in the first place.

The mother snarled under her breath, “Monster.” She was young, thin and bony. The hard life of being a refugee made her cheekbones more prominent and the auburn in her hair dull.

“Does she have a name?” He covered the baby with the blanket again. There was a chill in the air and he didn’t need her getting sick. He feared the mother hadn’t even fed the child since learning she was an Arcanist.

“Take it already,” she spat loudly for every passerby to hear. “I don’t need that thing in my house.”

If he hadn’t stepped back, he thought for sure she would have shoved him.

She clenched her jaw and tightened her folded arms. She lost her daughter long before his arrival. She was grieving albeit in a way Ser Merrick didn’t quite approve of. Nor could he understand. He didn’t have children of his own but he never would have thrown a child away like trash.

He carried the child back through the slums towards the markets but she weighed so little. He was so afraid of dropping her or crushing her with his armor that his movements through the narrow streets were awkward. His shield snagged a hanging shirt and all he could do was pull the laundry along with him.

He looked at the infant again. It was hard to accept that someone quite so young could even display signs of magic. The youngest Arcanist taken to Sunstone was six. And in all his years as a Paladin he never saw anyone younger than that.

The mother could have lied. It wouldn’t be the first time a parent tried to get rid of an extra mouth or an unsavory family secret. He hoped with a little time he could disprove the allegations. The orphanage was a far better place for a child than lifelong imprisonment.

The closest Arcanist’s college was a week away. It might give him enough time to unveil the truth behind the matter. If necessary, he could stop in a town somewhere and rest for a few more days.

Before leaving the capital, he stopped by the temple in the marketplace. It was one of the larger temples in the area. Devoted to the Amitran pantheon, statues of the four gods stood watch on peaked rooftops, sacred scenes were depicted in stone along the outside of temple’s walls.

He didn’t make it far past the foyer before a priestess scooped the infant out of his arms and awed. She called the others over and they gathered around, calling her sweet names and begging to hold her next.

“An Arcanist,” he confessed.

They all sighed in despair. “Poor thing.”

He moved further into the temple round hall, past flickering candelabra and down encircled steps. At center stage was the Golden Elm, a bed of verdant moss cushioning its root. An elderly woman, draped in green robes, tended to the garden that bloomed further behind the grand tree.

“High Priestess.” He bowed lowly to her in greeting then peered back at the group of women huddled around the infant. “I ask for the gods to bless our journey and the newborn.”

Even the old woman sighed and wrung her hands. “So innocent.” She wiped the dirt from her hands but it still stained her nails, marking her as the gardener, devout to the Giver of Life. “Poor dear didn’t stand a chance, did she?” Her eyes glistened, wet with tears.

He nodded his head and whispered softly, “She’ll never see the outside world. I can not feel my duty in this. Imprisoning an infant.”

“It is not for us to decide.” She raised her chin and hardened her tone, “Magic is a blight upon the world, a disease that needs to be controlled.”

He stayed quiet, bowing his head in submission.

“Here.” She grabbed a basket from the nearby garden and gave it to him. Flecks of dirt were still visible and it smelled of root vegetables freshly plucked from the earth. “Carry her in this and let us pray the gods guide her path.”

“She needs a name,” he admitted.

“She doesn’t even have a name?” The High Priestess tugged at her long robes and climbed the steps to the temple’s entrance. “She’ll need a strong name for a challenging life.”

As they reached the others, the High Priestess gathered the bundle into her arms. The child’s laughter was contagious, making even Merrick grin beneath his helmet. It reminded him of his youth, of summer days catching frogs and bugs, splashing in cold rivers without a care in the world.

“Rori,” he finally stated. “Rori Serana. She can take my family name.”

“You’ve thought about it, I see.” The edge of her lips curled as a smirk began to form. “But don’t you think it odd for a Paladin to give his surname to a stranger?”

He was a soldier, a verteran… It was odd, of course. “It’s odd that a newborn should be imprisoned without even a name.”

Her gaze jumped to his, the gravity of the situation darkening her features. “Yes, of course.”

“The gods sent me down this path for a reason.” He looked at the squirming infant then to the High Priestess. “If I’m the one to take her from her family then it is only right I claim her as my own.”

She nodded approvingly. “May the Giver of Life watch over her.”

“May the Ethereal Guide light her way,” he added gently.

“We can begin the naming ceremony.” She eased the infant into his arms and helped to remove his helmet. “As her family, you will lead the ritual.”

Without the helmet, his view of her was clearer. Her Elven ears were still curled, soft and undeveloped. The blue in her eyes would fade with time, as well. And then it dawned on him that he wouldn’t see any of it. He would have to watch from afar and catch only glimpses of her.

The High Priestess moved closer, voice soft as she must have seen the horror cross his expression. “Have faith, Ser Merrick.”

“What if they consider her dangerous? An infant can’t be trained.”

“We must trust in the balance between Arcanists and Paladins. Magic brings atrocities that can not be so easily ignored.”

His oath as a Paladin was fraying inside of him, threadbare and crumbling. Her words might have once steadied him and redirected him to his path. He knew the stories and memorized the holy hymnals that were sung in temples across Amitra. But after the decade’s worth of death and pain, his resolve was weakening.

They bathed the infant in the cool waters beneath the temple, then adorned her head with a crown of flowering vines. They burned a strand of her hair. Ser Merrick whispered her name into the flames for the goddess, the Harbinger of Light, to hear.

“Rori Serana,” he pleaded again. “Guide and protect her.”

After the ceremony was complete, he journeyed southwest towards Lake Sunstone.

That evening they left the temple and headed southwest of the capital. It was during their first night on the journey, as he trekked down the king’s road, that his worst fears came to light. He felt it at first, a spiderweb brushing across his face, a strand of hair tickling his ear. Then he saw it. Wisps of light green played among her pudgy fingers. She laughed with delight, and Ser Merrick chuckled as well.

Then his smile fell, and his eyes grew heavy. A knot formed low in his gut. It wasn’t a spell, he tried console himself. It was just the minor leaking of energy. But her ability to reach through the veil into the Aether was unsettling. It was dangerous.

He imagined the Paladin Commander’s decree to kill the infant before she posed a real threat. He tried to give Chancellor Nicaise more credit. The chancellor might be able to convince the Paladins to be patient. Someone might even step forward to raise the child as their own.

As someone who had killed countless Arcanists in the name of order and justice, he felt a growing bitterness choke him. His purpose of protecting Arcanists and innocent civilians was a faded ideal. It was a darkening gray ideal corrupted by Paladin politics.

He could raise her, he thought, then shoved the idea away. He didn’t know anything about children. A life of running from Paladins was no better. He knew they would hunt them down and whoever found them, would have them jailed or executed.

He marched to Sunstone Spire and tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. They reached the lakeside at dusk and took the ferry across blackening waters. The stars that speckled its surface might have been beautiful if it were any other night. Tonight, with the infant as a prisoner, he felt haunted by his decision.

The chancellor and commander greeted him at the door, glancing at the basket before motioning him to follow them further into the spire. Ser Merrick laid the basket down onto the commander’s desk before carefully pulling back the blankets to reveal Rori sleeping inside.

“This is unfortunate,” Chancellor Nicaise stated, then stiffly folded his arms. He glanced at the commander before ducking his head away in submission.

Commander Zadkiel smacked his mouth as if he had intended to say something then bit down on it. He crossed the room, groaning with the difficult choice at hand.

Ser Merrick kept his tone level, as best as he could, “What will happen to her?”

“She is home now.” The chancellor tilted the basket ever so slightly to get a look at the child. “I have just the woman in mind to raise her. She recently lost someone precious.”

The commander turned slightly. He gave a firm nod as if he agreed with the idea.

“Might I visit? Ensure she’s healthy and…”

“Ser Merrick,” the commander said flatly. “That’s not advisable.”

His voice hardened, chin tilting downwards as he stared at the commander. “I gave my life to the Paladins. To you. Now you’re asking me to arrest babies? To imprison a newborn?” He felt his teeth grind as he chewed on the rest of his anger.

Commander Zadkiel lost his breath, and he shuffled into the closest chair. He didn’t say anything further. He nodded his head meekly and glanced at the chancellor as if to allow it.

The chancellor bowed his head. “I’ll let her know you are interested in the child’s well-being. Rest assured, Ser Merrick, Winifred is a good woman.”