Everett Zelfree

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> ...my mistakes are just lessons for you to learn from, and your mistakes are opportunities for me to lecture you,” Zelfree quipped. “And it never goes in the opposite direction.”
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## Everett Zelfree

Master Everett Zelfree is a Mimic arcanist and member of the Frith Guild.

Age at introduction : Unknown but in the prime of life for arcanist

Intro : He is introduced in the book as one of two masters who took on apprentices. The second one was Gregory Ruma. He is first seen as a drunkard with more time in the bottle than out.

Eldrin : Mimic - Traces - Most commonly seen as a cat with a long tail or a bracelet of bangles.

As a mimic arcanist, Master Zelfree can copy the powers of nearly any arcanist, which should — in theory — make him the best trainer there can be. However his disposition is generally grumpy, he drinks too much, and his teaching style is "figure it out for yourself" (followed by suggestions after the student fails several times or succeeds), all of which makes him an extremely frustrating instructor. However, despite his shortcomings, he is exceptionally knowledgeable and always put his students first.

He has had a long relationship with the Dread Pirate Calisto/Lynus, who was formerly his best friend. He worked undercover for the Frith Guild with him, helping build his reputation as a fearsome pirate. During this time Everett was known as "the Faceless."

He was also once close friends with Gregory Ruma, but they had a falling out after Ruma publicly blamed Zelfree for the death of all Zelfree's apprentices at the hands of pirates.

> The door to the map room opened. A man wearing scraggly clothing shuffled in, his eyes half-lidded and marked with dark rings of sleeplessness. His long black hair hung to his shoulders, disheveled and matted in clumps. In one hand he carried a cup of tea, with his other hand he poured the contents of a flask into the drink and swirled it all around.
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> The sting of hard liquor dominated his odor.
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> When he got close, I lifted an eyebrow, confused by his presence. “Uh,” I said. “Sir, are you in the right place?”
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> He cocked an eyebrow and threw back a gulp of his drink.
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> No answer.
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> The man wore a black button-up shirt—though most of the buttons weren’t properly secured—along with a pair of trousers, a loose fitting belt, and worn boots. A pair of gold bangles hung on his wrist, but the most interesting accessory was his silver guild pendant hanging around his neck, marking him as a master arcanist.
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> No. Not him. It couldn’t be.
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> Did the Frith Guild accept drunkards into their ranks?
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> I glanced up at his forehead. He had a seven-pointed star arcanist mark—and nothing else. No mystical creature. No other indication of where his powers came from or what his eldrin looked like.
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> And if his eldrin had died, the mark would’ve disappeared completely, so that wasn’t the reason. How was it even possible for him to have a blank one?
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> Illia walked to my side, her good eye on the stranger, her hand covering her missing eye. “Can we help you?”
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> The man rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he gave us the once-over. “Who are you two?” he asked, his voice gruff and rusty, as though he hadn’t spoken in a long time.
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> “I’m Volke Savan. This is, uh, my sister. Illia. We’re new apprentices.”
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> “Uh-huh. Where’s your guild pendant?”
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> I held it up. “Here.”
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> “Are you slow, boy? You hang it around your neck.”
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> I gritted my teeth, holding back commentary. But I did as he directed. I threw the pendant around my neck, and my frustrations melted away. This proved I belonged. No more being an outsider.
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> The man glared at us for a moment longer. “I’m Everett Zelfree, a master arcanist of this guild.”
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> He lifted his cup in a sarcastic *cheers* before downing the second half in a powerful swig. A shiver washed over him a moment later. He let out a contented exhale before placing the cup onto the edge of the map.
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> *This* was the man I had read about? The infiltrator and spymaster extraordinaire? My new mentor? He wobbled like the only place he ever infiltrated was an alehouse. And even then, it was the alehouse infiltrating his coin purse, not the other way around.
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> Nicholin scurried over to the edge of the map and examined Zelfree’s tea cup. He dragged a paw along the inside and then tasted the residue. I held back a laugh as Nicholin locked up, his hair on end and his eyes scrunched shut.
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> “Gross,” he muttered in his squeaky voice.
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> Illia pointed to the back door. “I think Guildmaster Eventide is looking for you.”
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> “She’ll find me soon enough,” Zelfree said with a grunt.
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> Illia gave me one of her *what is even happening* looks. I wanted to agree with her, but I still hoped it was all a joke. Or maybe we were meeting the man at a bad time.
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> Without warning, Zelfree walked over to me. Although I normally didn’t care about someone’s proximity, Zelfree crossed the line of decency and went straight to invasive. He got up close, pushed my hair aside, and stared at the arcanist mark on my forehead, his brandy-breath the only thing I could smell.
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> The shadows flickered and moved until Luthair rose from my shadow, his sword drawn.
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> “Calm down,” Zelfree said. “I was simply lookin’.” He removed his hand from my hair and backed away. “And it’s just as I thought. Second-bonded. That’s unfortunate. For you.”
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> I reached up and rubbed my head. “You can tell that by my mark?”
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> He didn’t respond.
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