WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

What had Marvel ever offered Aisling? Absolutely nothing. He hadn't deserved to imagine he had a chance with her, which made his actions the night before his death unbearably foolish.

But now… Now, Marvel was a Mage. A Novice, true, but still miles better than a common maverick, no matter how talented.

This thought made him stand taller, offering Grimm Boll a wry smile.

"It's a new development," he said, lifting his chin. "I'm getting used to it."

"Are you," said Grimm Boll, turning back to Aisling, the only Mage he tolerated. "Why don't I start a pot of tea? And biscuits! I have biscuits somewhere! Why don't you two sit down? You must be thirsty after all that walking… Are those the potions? What lovely colours they are…"

Later, seated at Grimm Boll's rough, wooden table, Marvel distracted himself from the awkward flirting happening in front of him by considering how to approach his request to the Enchanter. He sipped his tea and nibbled on a dry biscuit.

He couldn't discuss his needs in front of Aisling; she would sense the deception immediately. How could he get the Enchanter alone?

"…the Ascendancy coming up in a few weeks," Grimm Boll was saying. "I assume you'll be participating?"

"Oh, I'm probably not going to…" Aisling trailed off, her voice artificially bright. "I'll certainly be busy organising the festival. It's always up to the Apprentice Class to come up with the entertainment."

Marvel couldn't picture Apprentice Echo planning a party.

"It must be exciting, being responsible for entertaining His Majesty," Grimm Boll said. "I don't think I could ever manage it. I heard you're in charge of the festivities this year. It's good to know everything will be in the very best hands."

Aisling blushed slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I wouldn't say the best…"

Marvel tuned out again, focusing on more pressing matters, like his upcoming duel with Caspian Griffith. Even after securing what he needed from Grimm Boll, he still had to convince his athar to cooperate and learn spells that could actually defeat Caspian Griffith.

Satis, it seemed every turn brought a new problem. He suddenly felt utterly exhausted.

"Marvel?"

He snapped back to reality.

Aisling's eyes were once again filled with concern. Grimm Boll looked at him thoughtfully.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "Is it the exhaustion again? Do you need to res—"

"I'm fine," he said, shaking his head. "I just— I think I need some air."

"Are you sure? We could—"

Marvel stood up. "I'll just wait outside while you discuss… potions."

He left before she could protest, returning to the workroom. Undoing the surprisingly simple bolt on the door, he stepped into the warm summer evening and took a deep breath.

Satis, that had been… awful. He wanted nothing more than to go home. But he still needed an excuse to stay behind and speak with Grimm Boll. A walk seemed like a good idea, but he doubted the wealthy residents of Ift Street would appreciate a random man wandering aimlessly around their houses. He decided a lap around Grimm Boll's house wouldn't hurt.

As he walked, he poked at the annoying athar that had been persistently noisy in his head since his battle with the golems. It was silent now, sulking. He could sense its thick, black resentment, unable to breach his protective arrays.

What was he supposed to do with it now? Apologise? He doubted that would work. Even if it did, did he really want to use the unpredictable magical energy again? Contrary to what he'd told Baylin, he wasn't so sure.

You must be very loyal to your original master, Marvel thought. What would it take to make you loyal to me?

A presence sizzled over his skin, the familiar uncomfortable touch of akathar. But not from within him.

He stopped and looked around. Suddenly, he felt ravenously hungry, as if he hadn't eaten for days, even though he and Aisling had had a quick meal of bread and cheese before leaving the Castle.

What is this? Satis' teeth, I'm starving.

Instinct took over. There was something here, something he could sense. Whatever it was, he wanted it desperately, feeling his stomach churn and his mouth water.

His akathar had stopped sulking. The shadows were on high alert for… something.

He was standing in the small garden behind Grimm Boll's house. There was nothing unusual about it: just the fence separating the house from the next, the brick wall, and the cellar door.

Nothing else.

"You can sense something, can't you?" Marvel asked the athar. "And you're starving. What is it? Where is it?"

The athar recoiled from him, snarling.

"You want this, don't you? Whatever it is?" he asked. "Then it's yours. Just help me find it first."

At first, nothing happened. A wave of hunger so intense brought him to his knees. His mind clouded with the primal urge to consume immediately.

He was so, so hungry. Instinctively, madly, he reached for it, blindly feeling around for the thing that was making his mouth water. He felt it within his grasp, even though his hands were empty. He pulled.

The cellar door shattered as the thing flew through the air toward him. First Circle, Fifth Circle— he didn't care. The athar, starving and seeing food, pushed through his arrays and out of him. It grabbed the scaly, wriggling thing in midair and pulled it straight into Marvel's mouth.

Marvel couldn't breathe, half-choking on the sudden mouthful of what he realised was a snake as it slid down his throat. The athar didn't care. He felt it unhinge his jaw, widening his mouth enough to accommodate the snake's writhing head.

Suffocating, he collapsed to the ground.

His arms were too weak to take hold of the snake, leaving him powerless to watch. The snake's tail thrashed wildly, trying to escape the athar's grip. No, not a tail. Another head, with eyes like gleaming gold coins. But the athar kept pulling, until the entire length of the snake and its second head was forced down his throat.

Marvel gasped for air as soon as it was over. He could move his body again, gulping down breaths as his jaw clicked back into place. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the darkening sky, bewildered by what had just happened.

A shout made him turn his head with great effort.

Grimm Boll stood, his face drained of colour, staring in horror. Panic surged through Marvel. Oh Satis, he saw me, he saw me, he saw me— I'm doomed.

Amidst the fear, Marvel's confused mind noted that Grimm Boll wasn't looking at him. He was focused on the broken cellar door.

From the cellar door, a dozen more monstrous two-headed snakes emerged, their gold eyes reflecting the setting sun. They clearly were not pleased that Marvel had consumed one of them.

"You fool," the Enchanter hissed from behind Marvel, "what in Boll's name have you done?"