In Brand’s bedroom, in the highest turret, sitting unprotected on his desk, was the item of power he’d retrieved from Ida. It was a silver medallion on a chain with a diamond at its center, a heavy, cumbersome, and frankly out-of-style piece of jewelry. But it contained a potent store of raw magic, and so Brand slung it around his neck. He always took extra magic when preparing to rob a vault.

Lotte’s family was rich, but not particularly good with magic. Between the medallion, Lotte’s blood, and Brand’s illusions, he’d be fine. Brand put on a dark cape and heaved the rolled carpet over his shoulder. He walked down to his private room, where Lotte was waiting. She wore the dress he kidnapped her in. She carried nothing else with her.

“Where are the things I gave you?” he asked. “Your dresses and combs?”

“I didn’t want them.”

The words stung. Brand shrugged them off.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They flew high in the air. It was a clear, bright night. Brand summoned illusions of clouds to cover them. Lotte shivered, so he let her wear his cloak. He’d donned it more for disguise than comfort. Even at night, it was still the hottest part of summer.

They stopped near the wall of Lotte’s castle. He could feel the barrier magic, stronger this time. Repairs had been done since the he’d last visited. Pressed against his chest, the medallion hummed with magic. At a word, he might summon fire and destruction, destroy the walls and tear up the magical charms.

But there was a much easier way to get in.

“Give me permission to enter,” Brand said to Lotte. “Do not shout, but say, in a firm voice, ‘This man, the sorcerer Brandeis, is my guest. He may freely pass through my castle walls and practice his magic within it.’ ”

Lotte repeated his words.

Brand felt the barrier ease. He was a guest. Lotte’s castle was protected by blood magic, and blood took precedence over all other charms.

“Which place would be least guarded?” he asked.

“There’s a grove in the southeast corner.”

Brand dropped down. He hid the carpet amid the trees and took Lotte by the hand. He cast an illusion about them, him a young stable hand and her a pretty maid. He hoped that if anyone saw them, they’d look like a young couple out for a tryst. Hopefully Lotte wouldn’t make any surprise movements. It was very hard to align an illusion to someone else’s body.

“Take me to your family’s vault.”

She led the way.

Most family vaults were unguarded. Family’s preferred disguise and blood magic spells to secure their treasures. But it seemed that Lotte’s family had heard news of the thefts, because there were four guards posted around the vault and a small metal bell hanging from a scaffolding beside the.

“It wasn’t guarded like this before,” Lotte whispered.

“Families are catching on,” Brand said softly. “Maybe Ida’s family warned them.”

This would complicate matters. Still, Brand was confident. He could take the guards out and get inside the vault. But to do that, he needed silence.

The quickest way, of course, was to bind the tongues of those he wished to be quiet, but that was testing the limits of the Castle’s hospitality. As a guest, he was permitted to do magic; he was not allowed to do harm to those within its walls.

Instead, Brand drew upon the magic of the amulet and created a dome out of compressed air. This invisible force would muffle the sounds of noise. It was a complicated spell, and it took a lot of magic. Brand drew power from the medallion as he erected the dome of silence. Fortunately, the rest of the plan would be easier on him.

Brand gripped Lotte by the arm. “We’re going to walk toward the vault,” he said. “You in front, me following at your heels. Walk slowly, and don’t speak.”

“But won’t the guards—” Lotte began.

“Hush. Do as I say.”

Lotte stepped forward. Brand, right behind her, put an illusion over both of them. He chose the face of his great-grandfather, Alemannus, who, with his flowing hair, sharp nose, and wild eyes, was the very picture of a sorcerer.

The guards saw the illusion immediately and raised the alarm. The chime of bell rang sharp through the air—at least, here, inside the dome. Outside, it would sound like nothing more than a low, whistling wind. No one would hear and no help would come.

Brand and Lotte continued to walk toward the vault. Two guards raised their spears; the other two aimed crossbows. Not good enough. The guards needed to attack.

“Lotte,” Brand said in a low voice, “lift your arm.”

Lotte trembled. Her arm slowly moved up. Brand amended the illusion to include a glowing orb, sparking with lightning bolts, forming in the palm of the sorcerer’s raised hand.

A guard shot.

A crossbow bolt whizzed through the air. It stopped, frozen, a mere inch from Lotte’s face.

Lotte whimpered. Brand smiled.

Got you.

The magic of Castle Norhorn rippled through the air indignantly. Someone had shot at its daughter. Brand seized his chance and grabbed the now-awakened magic. He was a sorcerer and a guest; he would stop those who tried to hurt a child of Norhorn blood. Having commandeered the castle’s defenses, Brand shot it back at the guards, binding them: hand, foot, and tongue. They seized up, like poles, unable to move or cry out.

At this, Brand dropped the dome of silence.

“Let’s go,” he told Lotte. “Quickly now!”

The entrance to the vault of Castle Norhorn looked like a regular wall, built of brick, with ivy covering it. But it had one feature that signaled its true purpose. A little metal thorn stuck out from the mortar.

“Press your finger to the thorn and draw blood,” Brand instructed.

Lotte did as she was told. Her blood triggered the spell. The bricks slid apart and an entrance appeared, a dark tunnel in the stone wall.

“Say that I am your guest and may freely enter,” Brand instructed.

“He’s my guest and may freely enter,” Lotte said, with a tremble in her voice.

Brand stepped through the doorway with Lotte in tow.

The vault was dark. Brand spent several minutes fumbling with flint and striker to light a candle. Damn that he couldn’t use magic to start a fire. When he finally got a candle lit, he ran through the vault, tearing through the volumes of journals and books. Family history was of no use. He had no time for spells. Ah, here it was. The debt ledger.

Lotte’s family were moneylenders, and money lending required names. Brand was going to find out who had ordered the destruction of his castle, once and for all.

“Willmarr of Castle Elbe-Antona,” his grandfather said. “Or whatever the hell he’s calling himself now.”

Willmarr of Castle Elbe-Antona had betrayed and murdered Brand’s uncle Arnwolf while he was a guest. At the same time, their allies had struck at Castle Satyros and slaughtered those within. In one day, Willmarr had murdered most of Brand’s family. But they had failed to kill Brand’s grandfather, Arnaud, the Lord of Castle Satyros. And so, fearing Arnaud and his vengeance, Willmarr and his family had gone into hiding.

They had abandoned Castle Elbe-Antona, changed their names, and disappeared into foreign lands or the ranks of obscure families. His grandfather had spent many years tracking them down, to no avail.

Brand needed a name. One name, and he could hunt them down.

His eyes pored through ledger.

There!

Willmarr of Castle Elbe-Antona.

So he had been indebted to Castle Norhorn. How much? Brand checked the principle, and began to run his finger down the page, looking for the same number. What was his new name? What was his new name?

Clovis of House Elmfield.

Brand sucked in his breath. That was his enemy’s new name.

He should have felt triumphant. For a moment, he did, but it quickly dissolved. Brand looked at the name and felt… nothing. He was almost disappointed. Three years searching for this name, and here it was: a name, like any other.

A name that sounded familiar.

Brand tilted his head. In the years spent researching his enemy, he had pored through so many Castle and House genealogies that the names blurred together. But he thought… he thought he had read this name before. Hadn’t he? House Elmfield. Wasn’t that one of his leads that sounded promising but had fizzled out?

Frowning, Brand continued through the ledger, following the name.

House Elmfield destroyed. Debt in suspension.

Destroyed?

Now, Brand remembered why the name sounded familiar. He had noted that House Elmfield’s line had ended abruptly and had needed to be reforged. But, of course, that happened all the time. Men went to war and died. Bloodlines ended, only to be reforged by a distant relatives or bastard sons. But there was something odd about when it happened.

Brand checked the ledger.

He saw the year.

That was why.

The year he turned thirteen.

The year his grandfather died.

Brand had never known how Arnaud died. He would not have known he was dead at all, except that the spells that bound him and his mother to the Tower of Abnoba fell away. Brand had assumed that Arnaud’s enemies had ambushed him one day, overpowered him, and slit his throat. But maybe it wasn’t that simple. What if his grandfather had died fighting the man who had killed his family?

What if he had won? Had Arnaud, with his last spiteful breath, actually succeeded in killing Willmarr? And he must have killed his sons, or else the House and the debt would have transferred to them.

But even if it wasn’t Brand’s grandfather who had killed them, his enemy’s line was broken. There was no one left to take revenge on. That feeling of disappointment, of nothingness grew. All these years, Brand had been searching for one girl, one name, one clue to lead him to his enemy. All these years, had he been chasing a ghost?

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Lotte asked.

Brand looked up from the ledger. In the candlelight, Lotte’s face was pale, shade and shadows deepening the lines of her young face.

“Brand?”

He shook himself. No. The line was not broken. Willmarr was dead. His sons were dead. But his daughters—they had almost certainly survived. By now they’d all be married, mothers, matriarchs of other castles. The blood was hidden, but alive.

And he still had the dragon spell.

It would be long and messy, but he’d find them.

“I’m done, Lotte,” Brand said, closing the book and putting it away. “Walk back with me to the grove. Once I pass from the Castle walls, you’re free to do as you will.”

They came to the forest, and he rolled out the carpet. Lotte stood and watched him. As he rose above the walls, Brand said, out loud, “Lotte has fulfilled her oath.” He felt the last of the spell melt away.

He did not see Lotte run for help. He did, distantly, hear castle bells ringing behind him, but by then, he was too far gone.