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“I heard it’s all blackened now, like it’s decomposing from the inside out or something.”
Yagrin narrowed his eyes. “Have you seen it yourself?”
“I don’t know if it’s true, but if enough people believe it, does it being true even matter?”
Yagrin’s brow deepened. That almost made him want to hightail it to his House to see the Sphere’s state. An illusion of it hung in each House’s foyer as a reminder of the Commissioning Pact that had forged it centuries ago. Its actual location was a mystery.
It had all been so wondrous when he saw the Sphere the first time on a visit to his House with his father well before he was old enough to even think about inducting. It was so vivid, its insides sparkling with glowing granules of Sun Dust, swirling back and forth like a snow globe. His skin tingled then and again now. Pride in knowing he was a part of something grand and special—the Prestigious Order of Highest Mysteries. Magic. Something his bloodline had a firm hand in shaping.
That was before it all soured. Before he struggled to show any magic at all until two years after everyone else his age. After he saw how furious that made his father. After he’d been deemed an embarrassment.
“Consider your debt paid.”
“What . . . I—”
“I’m feeling generous tonight.” Yagrin squeezed his shoulder before walking away. He could sense the blood rushing through Des begin to slow. Yagrin hadn’t gotten the info he needed. But Des didn’t have it. In his gut, Yagrin was sure of it.
But this news of the Sphere kneaded his nerves. He let his mind wrap around Des’s words as the Trader blended into the crowd before dashing out the door. The Sphere was rotting from the inside. If the Sphere’s insides ever bled out . . . He steadied himself against the lip of the bar, his heart thumping . . . that would be the end of all magic. In their lifetime at least. It would vanish from every person who used to wield it.
Yagrin fell onto a stool at the bar. How did something like this happen? Was something responsible, or someone? Only someone powerful could do something like that. He could do something like that. But there weren’t many like him, with his bloodline’s prowess for magic. He looked for Felix, but he’d already gone. He reared back in his seat and thought of Pink Beanie and the toushana that used to course through her veins. The acrid way it smelled, burning. The mission of the Dragun brotherhood was to preserve and protect magic, whatever the cost. But his missions didn’t come with explanations. They were only orders. He sat up taller. Maybe it was better that way. His Headmistress would say his job wasn’t about his enjoyment, only his obedience. For the sake of everyone and everything. The mere suggestion should sink his shoulders, soothe his guilt.
But it didn’t.
Whatever was going on with the Sphere, whether it had to do with Pink Beanie or not, he didn’t feel good about any of it.
He waved for a drink, stewing on his predicament, trying to appease Mother to keep her in the dark about his treachery, avoiding the Dragunhead altogether. And now this. He shouldn’t even care. The bartender didn’t glance his way. He had no regrets about cheating out on Third Rite. That wasn’t the same as not caring if he got caught. But he’d made his choice when he met Red. He wouldn’t induct all the way. He’d seen what it did to his family. He would do enough to get by, fly under the radar. He flagged the bartender again.
“Kiziloxer?” the bartender asked, smoothing his hands on a towel that hung from his waist.
“Water, actually.”
“Got it. Sorry, I saw you earlier. Small crowd, but thirsty.”
“No problem.”
“I’m Rikken, by the way,” the bartender said. He was a barrel-chested fellow with a thick short beard and reddish-brown hair. “Slated class of ’15. House of Ambrose.”
He didn’t finish.
“Yagrin. Fresh out.”
Rikken wound one hand around another and pulled at the glass. It stretched, growing taller in size. He gathered his fingers, rubbing them together, pulling at the humidity in the air, and water filled the glass, straight from his fingertips.
“How’d a complex Shifter end up working a bar?” Yagrin asked, taking the glass. Shifter magic, even its basic form, had always evaded Yagrin. Anatomer and Audior magic took him a long time to master, but they were much more his speed.
“My great-great-grandfather started up a pub to help out the Order and they let him in on things. But his magic never took good enough to be usable. So he stuck to business, expanded into a string of pubs. Once he died, the family got tired of the upkeep. Most of ’em closed. ’Cept this one. I had nothing else going on, so I told them I’d take it.”
“Ah, I see.” He pointed to the water filling his glass. “I’d like to see you do that on a dry night,” Yagrin teased.
Rikken laughed and pointed to a very normal water dispenser behind him. “Backup.”
It was so much easier talking to people he didn’t have to threaten. “These whispers of the Sphere? You buy it?”
“Who’s asking?” he asked.
“I’m asking.”
“You or your Headmistress?”
