Xenophon

The tower was cold, but the wizard barely noticed.

He stood at the center of his workroom, his ancient hands hovering over the still form of Calista. She lay on a stone slab, her face pale, her breathing shallow, her body limp and unresponsive. The candles that surrounded her flickered with an unsteady light, casting dancing shadows across her skin, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs and incense.

Xenophon had been studying her for days, ever since Atlas had brought her to ...