SETTING THE SCENE: Anna searches for her daughter, who she suspects went to an illegal underground warlock tournament. In order to blend in to the youthful crowd of students, Anna, who is 49 years old and their warlock teacher, casts Metamorphosis to make herself look 16 again. And amidst that crowd, she spots a vaguely familiar face:
He was down in the hallway that led to the arena, milling with the other combatants, the only turquoise robe of the bunch. His face was scarred and brutish, a dark bottle of ale clutched in a thick-fingered fist.
Anna was trying to place that face, which looked remarkably familiar. But from where?
Then, strangely, the man, who hadn’t torn his eyes away from her, cupped his mouth with a shaking hand—and burst into tears.
It was in that moment that Anna recognized him. Flashes of practice and arena duels zipped through her memory; cuddling by an infinite window in her dorm room; kissing, talking, arguing; and then catching him with another girl.
Standing in the pit, as a fifty-year-old competitor, a notorious dueling champion, was none other than her ex-boyfriend, Scadius Von Edgeworth.
Anna tried to vanish in the crush of the crowd, but Scadius soon caught up to her anyway, for people quickly moved to make room for him. The old warrior grabbed her by the arm and flung her about. All around, people gawked, most too in awe of him to notice his treatment of Anna.
“Look at me,” he growled, eyes red and wide and searching her face. “Who are you?”
“No one,” Anna replied, struck by how he had aged, how his face had soured over the years from wear and tear. Too much ale had permanently reddened his nose and the arena had left countless scars, from burn cuts to lightning trees to black ice marks.
He shook her. “Liar! Who are you!”
With people staring, Anna could not afford a scene. “We can talk, but not here.”
Scadius was breathing rapidly. “Come with me,” and he manhandled her through the crowd with a tight grip on her arm.
Anna let him drag her away only to avoid drawing more attention. He used a guarded side door to take her down to the arena back area. There he spun her about to face him once more. After looking her over, he raised a shaking hand to cup her cheek, his chin trembling.
Anna stepped away from the hand, leaving it to waver in place. Her face was impassive and plain. She did not feel for this man, nor did she respect what he had become.
“Are … are you her daughter?” he whispered.
Anna shook her head.
“Are you related to her?”
Anna stayed quiet, watching him.
“Gods, you look like her. I … I can’t believe it. I can’t.” His Canterran accent, once lilting and smooth and beautiful, had decayed to a raspy growl. He splayed the fingers of that wavering hand. “Dare I?”
Anna, seeing the single golden band on his upper shoulder that, combined with his robe color, indicated he was the same degree as her—18th—knew he could see through the Metamorphosis. An inexperienced lower degree, who would not know what to look for, might not.
“You know what you will see,” Anna said.
The man staggered back as if struck. “Gods …”
“What are you doing here, Scadius?”
“Making a living. Providing for my son.”
“You were warned never to return.” Years and years ago. But how he had changed since!
“You should have been his mother.”
“Those days are long gone.”
“I … I heard you married him. That worthless noble. It broke me. You know, I still rage at you sometimes for what you did. Giving away my lineage’s scion like that …” He shook his head, eyes distant. “There are holes in many a wall from my fists.”
“You have a son, a family, yet you risk them with this foolery?”
“I … I do not have a family. Only my son. My precious boy, Zigmund.”
“Named after the great Canterran dueler of old. Your choice, or hers?”
“Mine of course.” He took a swig of the ale still gripped in his fist and sniffed with that red nose. “She left me. Caught me out with a girl, like you did. Except the girl was half her age. She did not take it well.”
Anna didn’t know what to say. Although his appearance had changed drastically, who he was inside hadn’t changed at all, and he was suffering for it.
Scadius turned his back on her. “You … you don’t know how much I loved you. Still love you. Yet … yet I still sometimes rage in the night. I rage about what you did. I loathe you more, I think. Yes. I cannot forgive you. Ever.” Then he whispered, “You should have been his mother …”
“I am a mother.”
“So I heard. A son and a daughter. They must be beautiful children. I wish they were mine …”
“You do not mean that.”
“Oh, I do. You have no idea.” He sighed. “I also heard your boy died.”
Anna swallowed, unable to speak of her son with this man.
“I am sorry. It must have hurt.” He turned back to her. “But I also hope it hurt deep.”
There was a smack as Anna slapped him.
Scadius, head averted from the slap, kept it there. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, I remember what that felt like.”
“You deserved it then too.”
“I probably did.” He grabbed her arms with such violence it startled her, the ale bottle digging into her right arm beneath his punishing grip. “What is this game? Why do you play with me still?”
Anna’s scion buzzed angrily in her pocket.
He let go of her and stepped back, his eyes shooting to the bulge. “Gods, it’s here. In my presence. Of course it is …”
“Scadius Von Edgeworth, the king explicitly warned you never to return. You are a vicious dueler, a taker of arena lives, a scoundrel, a gambler, a drunk. Out of respect for our past, I give you this final warning.” She lowered her chin, voice menacing. “Dispel yourself from this kingdom.”
He scoffed, guzzled down the rest of the ale, and tossed the bottle aside. It shattered against the filthy ground. “Are they here? The constables? I reckon I could smite them all.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Oh, darling. Sweet darling. You haven’t seen me drunk. And I pray you never do.” A crooked smile splayed across his chapped lips. “I bet you’ve grown soft over the years. Sure, I heard about some of your duels and tricks. But holding class isn’t the same, and you know it. Neither is training alone. Shadows put up no fight. The instincts and arcane muscles wither. The strength ebbs. But I—” He tapped his chest with a fist. “—I am strong. A mighty Von Edgeworth. The kids in my kingdom have my poster on their walls now. I have become the greatest dueler of my time.”
“A dueler who makes his money fighting weaker opponents? Taking extra purse if they die a gruesome death? Pissing that money away on ale and bad bets?”
“Then battle me, Anna. Face me, if you dare. We can finally settle that old score.”
“I have no score to settle with you. On the contrary, I wish you only peace. But a peace not in this place, but in your own kingdom, in your own home.”
“You’re afraid. I can see it in your eyes. You fear I would lay siege to the castle of your mind. And you would be right.” He raised his chin. “I like you afraid. Gods, but you’re so beautiful still. And you look as mighty as you did in those posters of you in your prime. It gives me goosebumps, Anna.” He pulled back a sleeve to show a scarred arm riddled with bumps. “Goosebumps.” He dropped the arm, letting the sleeve cover the scars. “Show me what you look like. I heard you have hardly aged. I want to see if you have scars or remain as unblemished as you did then. But I suppose your healing saved your countenance, didn’t it? You always had that over me, your dual element. I hadn’t bothered trying. Didn’t want to weaken my primary. You know what they say—focus is strength.”
“Go home. Go to your son. Make something of him. Become decent. I know it is within you.” She’d almost called him by his old pet name—Scadie—and that made her cheeks color with shame.
The man laughed, but it was a laugh that masked great pain. “You stand here and say these things with such ease! You, a bookworm who got lucky with the lottery of bequeathment. A teacher, a nosy busybody. You dare judge me after what you did?”
Anna walked to the stairs, turning at the foot of them. “Go home, Scadius. Let us never lay eyes on each other again.”
Scadius stood with glassy eyes. Behind him, down a long hallway of doorless openings from which emerged the silhouettes of competitors, awaited the arena. The rhythmic sound of drums and snares and now a bagpipe was reaching a crescendo, indicating the first duel was about to begin.
He gave her a bittersweet smile, voice lost to the din. Yet she could see him mouth, “I can’t.” His head shook as he repeated, “I can’t …”
“So be it,” Anna said, and she turned her back on him and strode up the stairs.
—Excerpt from the freshly launched Flames of Stone (Chronicles of Anna Atticus Stone, book 3), available from Amazon.
