melt and absorb the breakage he had been desperately trying to slow. Mandoran remained by his side.
Lord Baltrin had dropped to his knees, but he was not dead; the flow of blood from a severed limb had been staunched by flame. The scent of burned flesh lingered as he pushed himself—with the aid of his staff—to his feet. Human eyes didn’t change color by dint of emotion, but their expressions did.
She let her hand fall away from Starrante.
“Gentlemen,” Kavallac said, “You are not welcome here.” Her eyes were a glittering red.
To Kaylin’s dismay, Illanen handed Candallar the book that he had clutched so tightly, bringing the tally of symbols the fieflord now possessed to three. In this space, he had finally claimed the full power of an interim chancellor—or of a chancellor.
“You are mistaken,” Candallar said. His cape fluttered before it joined the still fall of his hair. “The library is the heart of the Academia, and I am now its lord.” Illanen was uninjured, but his perfect skin was dark with what appeared to be ash. Baltrin, robes bloodied, was likewise whole. “It is your companions who are not welcome here.”
Kaylin grimaced. Candallar—without the book—had thrown most of them out of the library once.
“They are welcome here,” Androsse said. “They have our permission to enter the library. The student body has that permission now.”
“Denied,” Candallar said. “The library might be your province, Arbiters—but the Academia is mine.” Kaylin heard his voice as if it were a storm.
“What is the Academia without its heart?” It was Starrante who spoke; he had turned to face Candallar. “You have almost destroyed its heart; we preserve it. You understand the chancellorship only in terms of power, but your definition of power is far too narrow. Seek you to destroy us or master us for your own purpose? When we were sleeping, that was a possibility—but a distant possibility.”
“Oh?” Illanen said softly. “We found you.” His smile was chilly but pleasant. “Your time is past—long past. In the world now, only the Dragons remain, and they, too, are in their twilight.”
“Knowledge remains,” Starrante said. “You are chancellor, Candallar, but interim. Killianas would not accept you as you are now.”
“Where I have power, he will. I found this place. I worked to bring it what it needed. I woke him.” He lifted his hands, and Kaylin could see, circling his wrists, light: blue, red, purple, glints of opal and obsidian between them as if they were chains. “I say again: the library is closed. Return to your resting places, Arbiters—you are not yet required here!”
Kaylin watched, mouth half-open, as the Arbiters began to fade. She reached out to grab Starrante again, but her hand fell through his side—and his leg passed through Robin.
The Arbiters were being dismissed, and when they were gone, Kaylin thought nothing would prevent Candallar from trapping them—and killing them at his leisure.
As if they could hear that thought, the Dragons moved in concert. Bellusdeo tensed. Emmerian sprouted the wings that could not safely be spread before the Arbiters had solidified the library space. But he did not fully transform; Bellusdeo didn’t try.
The two Dragons roared, the sound almost deafening.
Across Candallar’s brow, lights sprang into being—lights similar in motion and color to the bands around his wrist. He lifted both hands as the Arcanist by his side began to cast.
“Leave the female Dragon,” he told Candallar.
Kaylin wasn’t certain that Candallar had heard him. His eyes reflected moving light, the surfaces dark enough they implied the shadow that distorted and transformed. He didn’t call purple flame; he didn’t call anything. It seemed to Kaylin that he was absorbing light and color as Bellusdeo leaped. She didn’t hit him.
She didn’t move at all. Some invisible gravity held her fast.
Something was moving, though. From the heights of the library, wings spread, jaws open in a roar of sound, came a gold Dragon. His breath was silver fire—but no, it wasn’t the Dragon’s breath at all.
It was Hope’s breath. Hope was with the Arkon.
Silver fire—silver mist—blanketed the air and the ground directly in front of Candallar and his two companions; Illanen’s eyes widened until Kaylin could see the whites from where she stood. The Arcanist stepped back, breaking the determined formation of the three; Lord Baltrin’s eyes narrowed and widened as he, too, realized the source of that breath.
Only Candallar stood firm; the silver mist stopped a yard from his face and shoulders, and hung there like a limp cloud, falling slowly to the ground. The