Page 86 of All the Wandering Light

This was mad. The idea that Ragtooth was anything other than the spoiled, cantankerous fox who had been at my side since I was a baby was impossible to process. “So you’re saying Ragtooth has his own magic? Like Azar-at?”

“Not quite like Azar-at,” Tem said. “Like fire, Azar-at’s magic devours. It requires sustenance to exist—that is its defining characteristic. I don’t know precisely what powers the wind demons have, but it seems they’re a kind of protector spirit.”

I thought back to Raksha. “Ragtooth was hurt. He nearly died.”

“They’re not invulnerable,” Tem said. “Neither are fire demons. They can be hurt. Even killed.”

I bit my lip. The scroll Tem had handed me showed an ink sketch of a man with long hair and a fierce expression, holding a bow. At his side was a small creature that resembled a fox. The way its head was tilted—

I put the scroll aside. “Tem, Ragtooth is Ragtooth. If he had any special powers, don’t you think I would know?”

“All right.” Tem held up his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I won’t say any more—for now. But just think about it, Kamzin. The signs are there, if you’d only notice them.”

I frowned. I wasn’t sure why I was reacting this way. I should have been laughing at Tem’s suggestion that Ragtooth was some sort of mythical beast. Yet the notion bothered me on some fundamental level. It made me feel off balance—I didn’t even want to consider it. I wished Ragtooth were here now, so I could gather his warm, familiar weight into my arms.

“I did come here to investigate the star,” Tem said. “It sounds like they were widely sought after in ancient times—before the Empire, when this region was just a collection of warring villages. Shamans managed to catch several of them.”

“Really?” I pictured Norbu trying to track down a star, waving his useless talismans about. Tem heard the skepticism in my voice.

“The shamans that lived centuries ago weren’t like the shamans of today,” he said. “They were stronger. Not as strong as the witches, it’s true, but they had their own magic.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The conflict with the witches,” Tem said. “I read in the scrolls that the strongest shamans had witch blood—but as the Empire formed, and the emperors increasingly treated witches as the enemy, our bloodlines no longer mingled. Most shamans now have no witch blood at all, or if they do, it’s very distant.”

“That makes sense,” I said carefully. Tem spoke in an even tone, but there was a tension in his body. “River said something similar. And if witches carry magic in their blood, any shaman related to them would have an advantage.”

There was a small silence. Tem said, his voice distant, “It’s strange. The Empire has nearly hunted them to extinction. The binding spell was a part of that. No doubt the emperor thought it would make us stronger—but in a way, it’s also made us weak.”

I frowned. “What are you saying—that the spell shouldn’t be recast? That the emperor shouldn’t have cast it in the first place?”

“No.” Tem shook himself. “I guess I’m saying it would have been better if he’d never had to.”

I thought about it. Until recently, I would have argued with him—like every other child in the Empire, I had been raised with fireside stories of witches lurking in the shadows, monsters ready to burn our village to the ground or devour children. But now?

I thought of River, who had betrayed me thoughtlessly, but who had also saved my life more than once. I looked at Tem and felt something inside me soften. Tem wasn’t a monster. And yet he was one of them—his powers proved it.

I shook my head. The fireside stories didn’t make sense anymore.

“Here,” Tem said. “This account isn’t entirely about fallen stars—but it does reference spells of resurrection.”

Dubiously, I took up the papers Tem pressed into my hands. He rose to hunt down yet more scrolls, though the pile of papers on his desk was already teetering. We remained there for what might have been an hour, but which felt like much longer. As Tem handed me yet another scroll, murmuring excitedly over the notes he was accumulating, I thought back to all the time we had spent together in Father’s library, poring over Chirri’s assignments. The more abstruse the topic, the more delighted Tem became, and it was no different now. Most of the lore about fallen stars was written by seers, and thus tangled up in prevarications and theories so vague and meandering you became lost in them. For my part, I was beginning to wish I had never left the comforts of my rooms when a man approached us.

“The Royal Explorer has sent for you,” the man said. His voice, though pitched at an ordinary volume, caused several nearby scholars to shoot him poisonous glares. “He says it’s urgent.”

“What’s happened?” I demanded. Had the emperor returned? Had someone discovered River’s identity?

The man only shook his head. “Please come with me.”

“Urgent,” Tem muttered. He didn’t appear pleased at the prospect of being dragged away from his scrolls at River’s behest. I wondered again what they had spoken of when I was asleep.

I gave him a warning look—it wouldn’t do to disrespect the second most powerful man in the Empire, a man who, while he might intimidate the palace guards, clearly also had their respect. Tem caught my look and squelched any protest he had been considering. Setting aside our scrolls, we rose and followed the man outside.

Twenty-Seven

I DIDN’T KNOW what to expect from a royal banquet. I had pictured layers of luxury, tables piled high with wine and delicacies, dragons lounging everywhere in a spectacular display of wealth, courtiers in exquisite dress.

What I found surpassed anything I could imagine.