There were easier and certainly less painful ways to commit suicide. The only upside to this whole thing was that we’d be leaving for Regor within the hour. That didn’t leave much time for me to imagine all the ways Sarad Nukpana, the Saghred, or the Reapers could kill me. The less time I had to ponder any of those, the better.

Leaving here within the hour, and arriving in Regor seconds after that.

I despised mirror magic, but I had to admit that it was a damned efficient way to get from one place to another.

To tell you the truth, I was scared to death of it. Partly because I didn’t understand how the finer points of the art worked. Stepping into one mirror and instantly walking out of another one hundreds or even thousands of miles away sure as hell wasn’t a parlor trick—and mirror mages knew it. Superior to everyone else was how the best of them saw themselves; though most felt that simple worship would suffice. I’d never met a humble mirror mage.

I did a last check of the pack I was taking with me. More weapons than anything else, small and easily concealed. What couldn’t be hidden was already strapped to me. I wasn’t taking much by way of clothes—one change of everything in case what I was wearing picked up a couple of unsightly bloodstains or sword slashes. It’d been my experience that running for your life was best done while carrying as little extraneous weight as possible.

I slung my small pack over my shoulder and opened the door.

Standing there, hand raised to knock, was one of the last people I expected.

Piaras Rivalin.

He was a tall young elf, with big brown eyes and dark brown curls that would have made him look perfectly at home painted on the ceiling of some fancy chapel. To the pair of Guardians posted outside my door, Piaras was an eighteen-year-old cadet in their order. To me he was the little brother I’d never had, but always wanted.

I’d known Piaras since he was twelve.