he said. “Sure.” He fished in a pocket and pulled out a silver striber, worth a hundred copper myedyen.
“I don’t have change.” Celka spoke the expected lie.
He shrugged and held out the striber. Celka took it, her fingers brushing his.
A jolt like an electric shock burst up her arm and, for an instant, the boy stood on her high wire platform in sousednia. Instead of his tailored dress uniform, he wore rugged olive trousers and a short-sleeved undershirt that showed off the lean, whipcord muscles of his arms.
Celka recoiled, tearing free of sousednia. She met his gaze with wide eyes. He straightened, surprised, but something in his expression suggested he’d expected her reaction.
“Who are you?” he asked, calm—too calm.
Celka swallowed, her throat dry. Nina lashed her head back and forth, reacting to her fear.
The boy wasn’t just Storm Guard, he was an imbuement mage. And he’d seen her in sousednia.
“Gema Alatas.” She tried to give her sideshow name like nothing had happened, but her voice shook. “Here’s your postcard.” She held it by the edge, careful not to touch him.
The boy took the card, still studying her. “What are—?”
“Gerrit,” another Storm Guard cadet hurried up to him, “we need to talk.” The new cadet’s dress uniform looked rumpled, gold bozhk bolts and russet knee-boots not as shiny as the boy’s. Instead of a regular bozhk heat-shimmer, the newcomer appeared double-exposed, and when Celka shifted her focus, she found them wearing fine embroidered skirts and a brilliant pair of earrings dangling with precious stones.
Another imbuement mage. Celka squeezed her eyes shut and sent a silent prayer to the Storm Gods. Maybe today they’d deign to listen.
“You’re all right?” Gerrit looked the new imbuement mage over. He sounded relieved.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” She caught Gerrit’s arm, ignoring Celka like she didn’t exist. “You have to talk to your father.”
Gerrit recoiled.
“Please, you have to do something.”
Gerrit glanced up at Celka, but he looked distracted now, frustrated. She smiled wanly and turned away, crouching to pick up one of the smaller snakes. She held her breath, praying he would go away and decide that he’d imagined the flash of her in sousednia. She clung to true-life with every fiber of her being, weakening her sousedni-shape as much as possible. Just a normal girl. Nothing to see here.
“Did you imbue?” Gerrit asked the other Storm Guard cadet.
She sighed. “A stable Category Three healing bandage. I reattached an infantry soldier’s leg.”
“Storm Gods, Hana...” Taking the girl’s arm, Gerrit led her away, saying something that Celka couldn’t hear.
“They chained him to a field gun,” Hana’s voice faded as they moved away, “had a squad use him for target practice...”
“WAX BULLETS,” HANA said, “but still.”
“How is he?” Gerrit led Hana toward the crowd around a fire-eater, now holding a flaming torch over their open mouth. He didn’t want her to notice the snake charmer’s sousedni-shape, though the girl held true-life strongly now. If he needed further proof that she was trained, he had it. He’d never seen anyone but Captain Vrana retreat so quickly from sousednia.
“Your sister carried a sniper rifle loaded with tranquilizer darts,” Hana said. “She shot him as soon as the Gods’ Breath faded.”
“Did it stop him from firing?” He didn’t have much hope. Hana had reattached a leg, after all.
“He fired once, simultaneous with the imbuement.”
Gerrit’s stomach twisted. “Has anyone tried to activate it? Can anyone activate it?”
“I don’t know,” Hana said. The largest historical imbuement they’d worked with had been Category Five. Each category was ten times as strong as the one below. When Gerrit had activated the historic Category Five sword, he’d nearly run Filip through just because his best friend had approached too aggressively. Holding that nuzhda for five minutes had left him belligerent for days. Pulling against combat hard enough to activate a Category Seven imbuement, even long enough to fire once, would probably break most mages.
He forced the worry aside. Unless he came up with some way to outsmart Tesarik’s Tayemstvoy faction, Branislav wouldn’t be the only one imbuing objects as dangerous to bozhki as they were to the enemy.
“Has Branyek come to?” he asked.
“In the cell.” Her voice was tight.
“And?”
Hana’s lips pressed thin as she shook her head. “He’s not coming back.”
“Did they let Jolana—?”
“They’re keeping her away. Tesarik rescinded all our access.”
Gerrit locked down the urge to run screaming to the Storm Guard fortress’ dungeon, to fight and bully his way through to see his friend. He’s not your friend anymore. Branislav’s gone.