Page 57 of Sword & Sacrifice

Penn watched the show while sitting atop the sales counter, legs dangling idly. “Would you like me to take over?” he asked, bracing his hands in preparation to hop down and assist.

His readiness to help made Niall suspiciously narrow his eyes and clutch the pry bar jealously to his chest. “And give you a weapon? How stupid do you think I am?”

Very. Penn settled back into a relaxed pose. “If you’re sure.”

Niall’s brow furrowed as he looked between Penn, the pry bar, and the floor, trying to figure out if he’d somehow been tricked. He started to offer the tool to Penn, then pulled it back toward himself, repeating the action twice more before deciding to keep it. “You can search the area once I’ve finished,” he grumbled as he pried up another floorboard.

The back door to the shop opened and Valistair walked in. While Niall and Penn had spent the past two days searching the shop, Valistair had been recovering at the inn. At least, he was supposed to be recovering. Exhaustion painted his face with dark purple circles under his eyes and a sallowness to his once golden skin. Despite sleeping in a warm bed, he looked worse off than both Niall and Penn, who had remained in the shop the whole time and slept on the bare wooden floors.

“Bad dreams?” Penn asked.

The mage glared at him, and a shudder went down Penn’s spine, as if the icy blue eye could actually freeze him. The burning cold hate in the mage’s eyes made him look more like Alistair, like Val was losing his hold on his own face.

Penn shrank away like a dog who’d expected a treat and instead received a swift kick. He cast his eyes downward, and his lower lip trembled once.

Valistair sighed and stepped toward Penn, hand outstretched to soothe his poor pet.

“I’ve almost finished dismantling the floorboards!” Niall exclaimed.

That outstretched hand dropped, and the mage returned his attention to their task.

Once everyone looked away from him, Penn’s wounded expression disappeared. What a waste of my acting skills. Pretending to be pitiful had worked before, and it would have worked again if Niall hadn’t interrupted them.

Niall’s lips smushed into a suppressed smirk as he shot a triumphant look over his master’s shoulder. With more enthusiasm than he’d shown all morning, Niall jabbed the pry bar between the floorboards and yanked the next one up.

A large chunk of wood snapped off and flipped through the air toward Valistair’s face. A few inches away, it smashed into an invisible barrier, breaking into smaller pieces that scattered over the ground. Glittering ice crystals clung to the wood, spreading from the point of contact.

Niall’s triumph dissolved into panic. “Master, I—I’m so sorry!” He leapt forward and brushed his hands over Valistair’s clothes, checking to see if any debris clung to him.

Valistair ignored his efforts and shoved him away. Niall cried out in alarm as he stumbled backwards and fell hard against the wall. The other mage stared at him, stunned, then looked down at his own hand as if he didn’t recognize it.

Most mages cloistered themselves away with their books, investing more in their research than their bodies. Alistair’s original body perfectly exemplified this—thin, weak, as pale as untouched snow. Valerian had always been an outlier, valuing his physical strength as much as his magical abilities. If it’d come down to a fistfight between the two mages, Valerian would have knocked Alistair out in three moves or less. Now that Alistair was controlling that strength, he didn’t know what to do with it.

Valistair flexed his fingers several times before dropping his hand. He turned away from his subordinate without offering to help him up. Looking down at the floorboards, he demanded, “Why are you tearing the shop apart?”

Niall pushed to his feet, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. “You … you told me to search the place for whatever the mercenary left behind.”

“Did you think he would hide his valuables in such a mundane way?”

“Well, if he wanted to throw someone off his trail …” This time, Niall was on the receiving end of that ice cold glare. His stammering came to an abrupt halt as he snapped his mouth shut.

“Valerian Sommers specialized in illusion and transfiguration magic. He did not need to hide his research under the floorboards or in the attic when he could transform it into anything he wanted.”

Niall looked down at the pry bar in his hands, then hid it behind his back, as if placing it out of sight would help his master forget the blunder. “Yes, of course.” After a few seconds, he asked, “So … where should I look?”

Valistair rubbed his temples, his eyes pinched in pain.

Penn watched each movement carefully. Is Niall just annoying him, or is Valerian fighting back?

“Have you searched the upstairs?” Valistair asked.

“Yes. A few personal effects were left behind—all the furniture, some dirty bed linens, and a used bar of soap. The rest was stripped clean.”

Valistair silently nursed his headache for a few minutes before speaking. “I will take another look.” Then he glanced at Penn and said simply, “Come.”

Next, he’ll issue commands by crooking his finger or patting his side. Penn smiled through his annoyance and hopped off the counter. As he landed, he tripped over his own feet and grabbed Valistair’s shoulder to catch himself. The mage’s arm wrapped around his waist to steady him.

Niall scowled at the display. “You shouldn’t be alone with him when you’re so weak—” his words choked off and his eyes bulged in shock. His jaw hung open, forced to expand as ice filled his mouth. Drool and ice melt dripped down his chin, and he clawed at his throat, gasping for air.