Page 12 of This Monster of Mine

Knife-sharp eyes cut into hers. “A pleasure to meet you, Sarai of Arsamea.” The door swung open, clattering in the howling wind. She’d barely started to her feet when it slammed shut.

She’d never told him where she was from.

Perhaps all the Academiae’s magi had been told to watch for her arrival.That was the most logical explanation, because if not, then …he was waiting for me.

A chill ran through her.Don’t be paranoid.There was no reason for a magus to do that.

Outside, the storm raged, streaks of lightning painting the sky for what felt like hours before dwindling to a few stray flashes. Rain pattered to a stop. A wave of humidity slammed into her the second she opened the door. The ground not covered by cobblestones was sodden, little more than mud.

So this is what stormfall leaves in its wake.She couldn’t imagine life before Aelius’s fulgur scuta. At least they protected the populace from lightning strikes, even if not the deluge.

Avoiding the muck, she tried to figure out how to get back to the Lisran Tower Gate when a yell sounded behind her.

“Sarai!” A blurry figure raced toward her. She barely had time to take in the girl’s familiar features before she found herself enfolded in a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

A rusty grin stretched Sarai’s cheeks as she hugged her oldest friend back just as tightly. Time blurred and for a moment, she was fourteen, unscarred.

“I was on my way to get you, but the storm—” Cisuré pulled back, grasping her shoulders. “How are you? I was so worried that you didn’t make it inside.”

“A magus helped.” Sarai grinned, taking her in. There was a new maturity to Cisuré’s eyes, a tautening of her impish features, but the pale-haired girl still radiated the same sunniness. Four years. It felt like a lifetime. “He already knew I was from Arsamea, though.”

“That’ll be Telmar’s fault. He’s been regaling everyone about how you went from pouring wine to Probing him like a seasoned Petitor. At this rate, we’ll have assessors scouring taverns for Candidates.”

“They can search the outhouses if they’d like. Deaths aside, tuition is the issue. I thought I’d be fifty before I saved up enough.”

“That’s the price of prestige.” Linking their arms, Cisuré steered her past an obscenely ornate fountain. “If everyone can come here, then no one will want to come.”

“It’s an education, not passage to the Bright Realms,” Sarai said wryly, sighing when the other girl wrinkled her nose and shrugged. Cisuré had wanted for much in life, but not wealth. Sometimes, it showed. “So, you’re my minder!”

Cisuré winked. “The magi know I won’t run, so they let me show you around. You look great by the way. Your skin …” she trailed off with a flinch. “It must have been a relief, getting the scars removed.”

Sarai’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t.”

There had never been any hope of that. The healers who’d knit her back together had warned afterward that the scars would never fade. No magic could do more for her than what had been done, short of Summoning a god and begging for mercy. Perhaps Cisuré had forgotten.

The other girl faltered. Something dimmed in her eyes as she traced the invisible ridges of the scars over Sarai’s hands. “Was this the illusion rune you were talking about after …”

Sarai nodded. She’d gone more than a little mad in the months after the Fall, drawing rune after rune in blood, praying that one of them would light up, that she had something left now that healing had been stolen from her. Onlynihumband the Trio had shown promise.

“It’ll last about a day, even through sleep, so I should be safe.”

Releasing her hand, Cisuré bit her lip. “Well, that’s … good.”

Havïd. Perhaps starting their reunion with her most glaring remnants of the Fall hadn’t been the best idea. Glancing around, Sarai tapped one of the banners.

“Any reason why these make the job sound like we’re being paid to sleep with a Tetrarch?”

“Right?” Cisuré’s good humor returned. “Still, it’s a marriage of careers, and a bargain. A husband wouldn’t pay half as well.”

Sarai winced in agreement.Marriage in Arsamea had meant rearing children, and slaving over cooking fires while men like Marus slept their way through the surrounding villages. Neither she nor Cisuré had thought highly of that future. And after the Fall, she’d barely thought of men at all.

“I still can’t believe it.” Cisuré squeezed her arm like she thought Sarai would vanish. “You,here. Just like—” She looked uncomfortable again.

“Like we’d initially planned,” Sarai finished tightly.

A protracted silence fell. Cisuré’s grip loosened. “That day we returned to Arsamea … I thought that was the end.”

So did I. “Never! We wrote to each other every month.”

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