Mara had never been more aware that she was walking the edge of a knife. She collapsed to her knees in front of Sammael, the flesh of her arm seared by sorcery. Her breathing came in sobs now as she tried to pull herself back together. “I can’t.” 

Her master brushed his hollow, needle-like claws across her forehead. “DO NOT CLOSE THE DOOR OF POTENTIAL INSIDE YOU.”

She heard her tears more than felt them, harsh catches in her words. “It hurts so much.” Void had a way of making her a stranger to her own body. “I can’t take it.” 

Claws dug into the flesh of her shoulders. “YOU WILL ENDURE IT AND MORE. THAT IS WHAT IT WILL TAKE TO ACHIEVE YOUR FULL POWER.” Sammael leaned down, putting his blunt muzzle beside her ear. The next words came softly, but held that same demonic coldness. “DO YOU NOT WANT YOUR GUARDIAN FREED FROM HER CURSE?” 

Mara tried to stem her tears with her good hand, but they refused to stop. “You know that I want that more than anything.” 

“THEN YOU KNOW WHAT IS REQUIRED OF YOU. WE HAVE SURMOUNTED SUCH PLATEAUS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.” Sammael held her firmly in place. “ONE MUST BREAK THE BONDS OF IRON IN THE INFERNO BEFORE IT CAN BECOME STEEL."

Despite all the pain, the sorcerer tried to reach down into the blackness again. The higher she reached, the more conscious she was that Void itself was trying to rip her apart for daring to think she could bend it to her will. Someday, she knew she might over-commit and destroy herself, but while she was always cautious on her own, Sammael seemed intent on forcing her beyond her limits. 

When he said they had passed several plateaus in this way, however, he was not lying. 

Mara collapsed completely before she could even bring her will together. Her body had taken all that it could for the moment, demanding rest that not even her determination could overpower. Sammael was pushing her to the bitter edge of what she could maintain without another modification. 

It was hours before Mara’s consciousness returned. Eyes closed, she took stock of her situation. Warmth suffused her body where there had only been cold, blankets warmed by the fire now wrapped around her. Aallotar was somewhere nearby, humming in the depths of her voice, and the smell of cooking food filled the air. Her arm still hurt, but barely a drop when compared to the oceans of agony from earlier. Sammael had to have tended to her wounds, her arm stiff from bandages. 

It was strange how comfortable and safe she could feel in a place that came with such merciless torment. That was probably Aallotar’s doing.

“Is she often like this?” Theudhar asked quietly. 

Saxa made a mumbling sound, probably asleep with her head in his lap. The big man liked to run his fingers through her hair, which was just about guaranteed to put the semi-aquatic woman straight into the world of dreams. The cold was hard on the two southerners and left them fatigued whenever they had to contend with it for too long. With winter’s grip on the Red Mountains slowly easing, they could be outside more and more, but the streams were still too frozen over for Saxa to swim. 

The humming stopped. “This is...worse,” Aallotar admitted softly, her worry clear in her tone. 

Mara felt her heart clench at that sound. It was necessary, but she hated it when her condition really weighed on the wildling’s mind. 

“I am glad she has you to care for her.” Theudhar paused for a moment, then continued even more softly, “I heard you and Saxa talking. You should tell her.” 

Aallotar blew out a tense breath. Mara heard the soft clink of a ladle against the side of the pot. “It’s not a good time. She has too much on her mind already.” 

“I don’t think it would be such a bad thing,” he countered gently. 

“Mmm?” Saxa mumbled, stirring to half-waking.

Theudhar chuckled warmly. “I suppose it is about time for you to be awake, love. Food’s ready.” 

A warm hand touched the center of Mara’s back. If the sorcerer hadn’t been awake already, it would have been just enough to rouse her. “Mara, do you want to eat?” Aallotar’s breath tickled at her ear.

Mara let her eyes open, adjusting to the firelight that bathed the room in an amber glow. When things were bad, Aallotar would bring her down to be near the hearth. The cold of Void wouldn’t let go on its own. “Depends on who cooked,” she mumbled. 

“You’re safe, Mara,” Theudhar said with a chuckle. “I didn’t touch it once.” 

At times like these, the conditioning that Sammael put her through seemed almost like a bad dream. The demon never approached when Theudhar and Saxa were around. For his own part, Caliban tended not to stay in their company for too long either and had opted to take a journey on his master’s orders that would take him far from their little hideaway. 

Mara eased herself up, stifling a yawn. She was still exhausted, but much better than she had been. 

Saxa seemed sleepy-eyed still as she sat up as well. With her wrist mending quickly, the semi-aquatic woman ventured out now and then, though she never ranged too far without Theudhar. His knees were still healing more slowly, so he was far less able to maneuver even though his warg was finally to where she could take the weight of riders without issue. Staying in the saddle still caused him some pain. 

“Smells good,” Mara said, leaning against Aallotar’s shoulder as the wildling scooped stew into bowls for each of them. She knew that things returning to normal would ease the worry more than retreating into herself. 

Aallotar chuckled despite her weighty thoughts. “You taught me.” 

“Apparently I do good work.” Mara took her bowl with a grateful smile. It was nice to be taken care of, whatever the circumstances. “How is the weather outside?” 

Saxa stirred her bowl, blowing over the top for a moment before answering Mara’s question. “A storm is rolling in from the east. Does it ever stop snowing?” 

“Occasionally.” Mara grinned when Saxa practically deflated at that answer. “I remember one year when it snowed on Midsummer’s Day. My sister Sabine had to ward the crops. She was always better at that kind of magic than my mother.” A stab of regret hit her at those words, though. When would she ever see either of them again? 

She missed even Sabine’s needling whenever she thought of Sjaligr, but no one more than her mother.

“What about you, Mara?” Theudhar asked curiously. “I have not seen you or Aallotar use magic since we arrived.” 

Mara had not forgotten Sammael’s warnings about what fresh hells would find her if the Princes of Iron learned she could bend sorcery. “Aamu, a mentor of mine, used to say magic isn’t for all the everyday things everyone else uses it for,” Mara said, carefully following the bounds of the truth. She wasn't good at bold-faced lies, but she knew how to leave things out. “It’s a powerful, dangerous thing. Best to work with your hands if you can.” 

Aallotar seemed to sense the question turning to her. “I cannot control mine,” the wildling said, tensing at even the thought of the beast inside herself. “It is a curse that only Mara’s presence soothes, though the walls here can stop it from showing.” 

“I’m sorry,” Saxa said with sympathy. “That sounds very difficult.” 

“It...is.” Aallotar turned golden eyes towards Mara for a moment, glancing before studiously looking back at her food. “I am very glad of her.” The wildling’s old, stilted way of talking always returned when her thoughts moved towards her affliction. 

Mara bumped her good shoulder into Aallotar’s. “Happy to be here,” she said gently. 

Theudhar looked towards the library. “I have been browsing,” he said. “I was surprised to see so many books, particularly in so many languages. Most lack the scholarly knack here. Sadly little in the way of the history of the region, even of the many kings.”

“Most of it is older,” Mara acknowledged. “Parts of the repository have been here for a very, very long time.” She knew Sammael had been stockpiling his knowledge for more than a thousand years, well back into the time of the great cataclysms when gods walked the earth. Her master had concealed the most ancient pieces of knowledge, but there were still hints in even what he had left in the library. “Besides, we pass most of the histories story-teller to story-teller. You’d be robbing them of all their chances to out-lie each other if you scrawled the truth down in a book.” 

“True enough,” he said with a chuckle. “My compliments to your master all the same.” 

The lie that Aallotar, Mara, and Caliban had agreed on was that Sammael was a mage of significant power and dangerous temper who stayed in seclusion from all except his apprentice. It was the easiest way to explain things and close enough to the truth that none of them would have to stretch themselves. Denying Sammael’s existence altogether would raise too many questions about when Mara disappeared and then reappeared with injuries from the strain. 

Mara felt a throb through her arm and winced, almost dropping her bowl. 

“Are you alright?” Saxa asked, genuine concern in her tone. 

“Fine,” Mara lied through clenched teeth. It didn’t seem to fool anyone, least of all Aallotar. When the three of them fixed her with quiet judgment, she admitted, “The pain is returning.” 

“You should not let him abuse you so,” Theudhar said more firmly even as Aallotar immediately moved to fetch the numbing salve Sammael kept for her. 

Mara shook her head slightly at that. “It’s not him. My power is just a little more than my body can handle right now.” 

Saxa paused for a moment, eyes following Aallotar’s departure. She waited until the wildling was out of earshot. “Be careful, Mara. She’s worried half to death.” 

The twinge of guilt bit deeply. “I know, but I have to do this.”

“Is there no other way?” the semi-aquatic woman asked. 

“No,” Mara said firmly. “He would tell me if there was.” 

Aallotar returned with the jar of salve and clean bandages. She knelt down at Mara’s side, gently turning the sorcerer’s bandaged arm. “I’ll be careful,” the wildling promised. “Where does it hurt?”

Mara tried her hardest not to flinch when Aallotar touched her wrist, but the pain was intensifying. Sammael always gave her things to speed the healing to nigh-miraculous rates, but even that could not be fast enough to spare her agony. She tried never to show it, but she could only take so much. “My hand is the worst, but none of it feels great.” 

“Are you alright if I take the bandages off here? The light is the best.”

Theudhar and Saxa would see the burns and other scars for the first time, but Mara knew she wouldn’t be able to wait for Aallotar to secret her away and then hunt down a stray lamp. She would have to hope that they didn’t recognize it for the demonic meddling it was. “That’s fine. Please be quick. It hurts.”

Aallotar nodded, unwrapping her arm with a practiced ease. She had learned months ago exactly how Sammael bandaged a wound and to replicate it, so Mara would always be well cared for. 

Theudhar and Saca both let out a sympathetic hiss when they saw the extent of the burns to Mara’s arm, blistered and angry across the topography of incision scars.“Lightning flowers,” Saxa murmured, dark eyes wide as when she saw the fern-like patterns of the burns. “Your poor arm, Mara.”

Mara gasped in pain and then relief as Aallotar spread the numbing agent across the wounds. It was mixed with sorcery that fought infection, always something to be wary of with repeated injury. “Sweet hells that feels better,” Mara said, leaning her head against Aallotar’s shoulder.

Theudhar shook his head slightly. “Playing with a storm?” he joked as best he could, brows furrowed with concern. 

“I suppose you could say that,” the sorcerer said.

“It looks more like torture,” Saxa observed when Aallotar turned over Mara’s arm, revealing more scarring. Much of it was too regular to be anything other than deliberate incisions. Then again, Mara knew she had so many scars from just growing up that it was less obvious. 

“I had an…adventurous youth.” Mara relaxed slowly as the wildling double-checked to make certain every burn was covered before starting to bandage it again.

“A cruel one,” Aallotar said before it could be brushed away, tone stubborn in its refusal to let that slide. “Do not excuse them.”

Mara looked away. “Sorry. I just don’t like talking about the details.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Theudhar said firmly. “You owe us no explanation.”

Something about the way he said it made sudden, grateful tears threaten in Mara’s eyes. Maybe he and Saxa would try to kill them if they learned the truth, but for now, Mara had more friends than she had ever had before in her life. She pulled in a shaky breath, hoping it would just seem unsteady from the pain and then relief. “Thank you.”

A sudden cold draft swept through their little area, the door to the outside world opening with a swirl of snow that had managed to make it in through the cave mouth and the outer chamber. “I hope some of that food is for me,” Caliban muttered as he entered, eyes darting and dangerous. His eyes flickered over the scene before him as Aallotar bandaged the sorcerer’s arm. The wildling ignored him, too focused on her work to scowl.

“Welcome back,” Mara said, ignoring the way Theudhar and Saxa both tensed slightly. Both of the southerners seemed to know that the narrow-faced man was not pleased with their presence. Things there were uneasy whenever they were near each other. Mara was the only person who seemed able to stand him for long. “Where have you been?” 

Caliban approached. “Sjaligr.” He flashed Mara an oily smile. “I have news.” 

Mara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold outside settling into her blood, the old venom rearing its frigid head. “You say that like I’d care.” 

“You may find that you do. It seems the Lord of Sjaligr has lost both his wife and son.” The man gave Mara a wolfish smile when she paled. “They aspire to earn the title of kinslayers, if Gareth Earth-Cleaver is to be believed. Many riders have gone out in pursuit of them and come up empty-handed.” 

The sorcerer looked at him like he’d grown a second head as Aallotar finished the wrap. “Excuse me?”

“Did the Master’s thunder deafen your ears, Mistress?” Caliban asked, all innocent concern.

The wildling snarled at him, face almost bestial with defensive anger. “Leave her alone!” 

The wild-looking man sneered. “Your hound is showing.”

Mara had to grab Aallotar with her good hand to stop her from lunging. Theudhar put a hand on Saxa’s shoulder to keep her down as well. “This is not our affair to rule,” he reminded the semi-aquatic woman in their own language when her hand touched the hilt of the knife she wore up one sleeve. “Let Mara handle them.”

Saxa’s thin lips pressed together, looking supremely displeased.

“Aallotar, let it go,” Mara said firmly. “He only does it because it gets a rise out of you.”

Aallotar pulled away from the sorcerer’s hand, rising abruptly to her feet. Without a word, she stalked off through the shelves. 

Mara combed her fingers through her hair, not pleased with Caliban or being on the receiving end of a cold shoulder, even if it was perfectly understandable. She turned a glare on the demon’s servant. “You don’t have to antagonize her.” 

He helped himself to the stew. “I do not care to be snapped at. If she wants me not to remind her of her fangs, she can stop baring them at me.”

The temptation for Mara to throw up her hands was almost overwhelming. She sighed, thoughts in turmoil. “Great. Just great.”