The night Iason was supposed to help Lazaros with the Archmage, he didn’t need to hide anyone with an illusion. Lazaros was at their door just after sundown, dressed in his black robes with the crimson flower on his shoulder, looking more tense than he’d been when he tried to defend Iason from a raging dragon.
“We’re bringing him to Summer’s house.” He didn’t need to say who. Iason nodded and glanced over his shoulder at Sophie, who was standing in the doorway.
“I know you’re used to walking into dangerous situations, but I have to ask you to stay back,” Iason told her. “Not because it’s dangerous. It’s just… not something I want you to see.”
Sophie was quiet for a few seconds. “I know you’ll be fine,” she said at last. “Levi will be there.”
“It will take much more than a deposed mage to ruffle my scales,” Levi said, preening. Iason had to suppress a smile.
They walked in silence to the beach. Levi kept a hand on Iason the entire time—touching his hip, or his waist, or the small of his back—and Iason remembered the lonely years after Alistair’s death, drawing in on himself until the only time he spoke was through a mirror to the Archmage. Even with Alistair, he’d never felt particularly supported. Certainly never safe. Safety wasn’t something that belonged to him, then—it had died with the boy who’d dreamt of running away with his sister. Now, he couldn’t imagine facing the next minutes without it.
The former Archmage was already there when they arrived. He was chained to the ground in a circle of spell ribbons, crouching as, even without memories, he refused to kneel. He sneered when he saw Lazaros, who straightened just a little, hands drifting behind his back.
“You’re standing at attention,” Iason whispered, and Lazaros twitched his hands away.
“Ah,” Drakos said. “You brought your little slave again.”
“I see no slaves here,” Lazaros said. He nodded to Summer and Tanis, who stood on the other side of the circle. “You’re ready?”
“For hours,” Summer said.
“I don’t think I can remove his magic without killing him,” Iason said, keeping his voice low. “But I can remove the curse. Are you prepared for that?”
“Yes.” Lazaros smiled. It was much colder than the kind he usually wore. “We suppressed his magic already. He won’t be able to reverse that.”
“I refuse to stand lower than a slave,” Drakos spat, then growled as Summer set a foot on one of the chains attached to his wrists, forcing him to his knees.
“You aren’t standing,” she said. She turned to Iason. “Do you need anything? Bones for a ritual, metal, ribbon?”
“He’s a wizard,” Levi scoffed. “He doesn’t need such things.”
“And that’s your ego, then?” Summer muttered. Tanis snickered and leaned in to whisper in Summer’s ear, and Summer’s mouth twitched in a half smile.
“I won’t be touched by a slave,” Drakos said as Iason approached. Iason opened his mouth to say he wasn’t one, then closed it again. It didn’t matter.
He stepped into the circle holding Drakos on his knees and crouched in front of him. “Dragon. This might be a lot of power I’m taking in.”
Levi gripped Iason’s waist with both hands, so close he could rest his head on Iason’s shoulder. “I’ll watch you, wizard.”
Levi smiled grimly and let himself drift in that in-between state where magic was almost visible. Drakos was swimming in magic, but Iason could see a film of it just under his skin that didn’t come from the core of him. It was like a barrier, and when Iason touched it, he knew he’d found the curse.
“It’s almost a shame to undo all that hard work,” he murmured, and pulled on the magic.
It came slowly at first, like dragging a viscous gel out of a bottle. It constantly tried to slip free, but Iason knew he’d done it before without thinking, too caught up in battling Levi’s storm, and tried to channel the feeling he’d had when he cut a path into the ocean.
The magic dragged out of Drakos and into Iason like a torrent, and Iason started to shake, skin burning with the sheer amount of magic running through him.
“Let it out,” Levi whispered into his ear. “Let it out, Iason.”
He ground his teeth and forced the magic building in his hands into a new shape. When it burst free, it emerged as water—a rush of seawater bubbling up from the sand. A wave of it engulfed Iason, Levi, and Drakos, then broke, sinking into the beach around them and rolling down the shore toward the ocean. Iason was kneeling in mud, and Drakos was looking at him with a mix of recognition and horror, struggling to lift his shackled hands.
“You,” Drakos said. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You don’t get to dictate where I am or what I do, Drakos.”
Drakos tried to rise, lovely face twisted in disgust and fury. “I made you.” He was shaking, chest heaving as he strained against his chains. “I made you, and this is what you do? Side with slaves and traitors? Your mother would have thrown you onto the rocks if it hadn’t been for me, and here you stand.”
“That’s right.” Iason got up, holding on to Levi for support. “Here I am. And do you know what I’m going to do now, Drakos? I’m going to go to bed. And I’ll wake up in the morning and see my daughter—” He paused, but it was too late; he’d already said it. “My daughter off to lessons, and visit the apothecary, and maybe I’ll even learn to surf. And then I’ll help these people drag your name through the mud, and maybe I’ll forget you.”
