A Change of Heart

Wednesday March 3, 1490

Trudging home from the Acropolis, I couldn't help but notice the tense atmosphere that pervaded the city. Although the bakeries and market stalls were bustling with shoppers, the streets choked by the usual jam of carts and pedestrians, and the taverns and restaurants packed with patrons, I had to dodge more and larger clusters of Athenians. They conversed in hushed whispers and cast nervous glances at the Tower of the Winds, still frozen within its case of blue lightning, and I caught the words "Plague" and "famine" and "failing Aegis" more than once. Only the smallest babies, too young to pick up on their parents' anxiety, were unaffected by the general mood; even the toddlers clung to their mothers' hands and gazed up at the Tower fearfully.

It reminded me of the Athens of my childhood, the Athens ravaged by Plague and famine. Tessa had only just begun to shield the seeds, but rumors of a secure food source spread immediately and refugees flooded into the city, straining already faltering institutions to the breaking point. Famine and disease became such familiar neighbors that Astera even placed wards around the orphanage to barricade us in, although luckily we never came close to starving (personally, I suspected that she'd bargained with Tessa for untainted food in exchange for Hearth Quintessence). For a time, the Forgotten Orphanage had felt like home, sanctuary, and prison all in one. (Sy would have hated it — or maybe he did, and I just didn't remember?)

But then Thoren had led his cabal into the city and built the Obscura, the population had stabilized at last, and with the construction of the Aegis, it felt as if he'd extended the safety of the orphanage all the way to the city wall. Athenians no longer lived in fear. We no longer eyed one another's market baskets covetously, or mobbed anyone who so much as sneezed in public. We conversed easily and laughed in the Agora, and shook hands in greeting. We even recovered the energy for intellectual and artistic pursuits. For five years, we'd lived in a bubble of paradise amid a collapsing world.

But now — now the time of reckoning had arrived.

As soon as I got home, I yanked an entire stack of books out of the new library wing and lugged them to our bedroom, scattering them all over my bed and sprawling out comfortably across the covers to read everything I could about Ars Vis — and House Bonisagus. I was scribbling notes furiously when Ynez trudged in. Slowly and stiffly, she lay down in her bed and drew the blanket over her head.

"Marina," she said after a moment. "Is it all right if I have the room to myself for a little while? I'd like to speak with my guardian angel, if you don't mind."

"Oh, of course!" I frantically started gathering up parchment and books. "I'll be out of here in a sec. I'm just working on these essays."

"Thanks Marina," she murmured. "I didn't assign anything, y'know, and Astera won't mind if you turn in homework late. She's really busy with Ashton."

I hesitated. How much should I tell her? I hated to lie — almost as much as she hated Thoren. In the end, I settled for, "Erm, I know, but they're due tomorrow anyway." Then I hastily added, hoping to distract her, "Go talk to your angel. I'm happy to work in one of the spare rooms."

My distraction failed. "Why are they due tomorrow anyway? She really won't mind."

"Umm...." Should I pretend I hadn't heard her and beat a hasty retreat?

"Marina?" Ynez's voice sharpened, and she folded down the blanket to stare at me. "What are you working on?"

I squirmed uncomfortably and just knew that guilt was blazoned all over my face. Not looking at her, I muttered, "I'm learning Ars Vis."