by Mary Fan
The Triumvirate’s rule wouldn’t last. After almost a century, the people were growing restless—not just the Norms, but the many Enchanters as well. Soon, fear would turn to anger, and anger would turn to action.
The air seemed to crackle with the people’s latent discontent. The Lord only needed a spark strong enough to ignite their passions. When that happened, they would rise up against the tyrants, and the Triumvirs’ very attempts to hold onto power would lead to their downfall. The Lord would watch as the people took down the ones who had imprisoned him.
With the Triumvirs defeated, the nation would fall into chaos, leaving no one to oppose him when he seized power once more. Everyone would worship him, feeding his powers, until he gained enough strength to tear open the Portal to his kingdom and expand his fiery realm into this world. He would destroy everything they knew, everything they’d built, everything they were.
Then, at last, he would have his revenge.
Chapter 2
The Rebellious Seed
The assembly had ended an hour earlier, but Flynn was still in the auditorium, cleaning up after the glitzy affair. Following the Gold Triumvir’s address, there had been presentations by various student performance groups from across the nation, culminating in a rousing rendition of “Glory to the Triumvirate” that had ended in glittering sparks shooting from the wands of all Enchanters in the room.
Pretty as the display had been, it had left scorch marks all over the walls. And guess who has to stay behind and clean them up? Meanwhile, the Scholars and Cadets were outside partying.
Flynn dunked his sponge into the bucket attached to his ladder, wishing he had a way to change the way things were. But what could he do when even talking about it was considered treason?
He was glad the other Secondstringers were on the other side of the auditorium because he wasn’t in the mood for chatting—except maybe with Brax, but he’d been assigned to clean the costumes used in the ceremony, and the laundry room was in another building.
As Flynn wrung out his sponge, his thoughts went back to the attack and the low-voiced man who’d called it off. Just what had he wanted to say via the Eye Stone? Who was he? Had to be someone powerful, since he’d infiltrated both the Capital’s perimeter and the Academy’s on a day when everyone was on high alert due to the Gold Triumvir’s appearance. But how was such a man connected to Vivian Nightsider?
I need to find him. That man was the only one with the answers. Who, other than the patrolmen or Sentinels, might know his identity? Scrubbing a scorch mark on the wall, Flynn ran through his mind for ideas. Details of the attack would be reported to the Bureau of Security, the government’s criminal investigation agency, but they wouldn’t help him. He’d gone to them in the past, hoping to learn more about his mom’s death, and they’d always given him the same vague—and possibly untrue—story about her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Principal Everett’s sharp, proud voice floated up from below. “I still don’t understand how those anarchists got away.”
Flynn glanced down from the ladder. The principal, a tall man with frown lines etched into his pale, sharp-planed face, strode into the auditorium, his white-blond hair gleaming under the electric lights and his gold-white-and-blue Day of Glory robes swishing around his ankles. What’s he doing here during cleanup?
“They were in this very building with twenty patrolmen after them!” Everett exclaimed.
A thin, brown-haired Sentinel walked beside Everett. Flynn recognized the woman at once. She’d been among those who had responded to the specter attack. He stopped scrubbing to listen. The two had to be talking about the incident, and Everett would surely know what had gone down. He knew about everything that went on at the Academy, and he was a prominent Sentinel. He wouldn’t talk to Flynn—he made no secret of his disdain toward the Secondstringers—but that didn’t mean Flynn couldn’t learn something by eavesdropping.
“My subordinates are working on a tracer spell,” the Sentinel said to Everett. “However, it may be difficult to –”
“Not here!” Everett eyed a group of Secondstringers.
Wow, he noticed us. Being on the cleaning crew usually meant people forgot you existed. Flynn turned to the wall and resumed his scrubbing, keeping his ears alert.
“Apologies, sir,” the Sentinel mumbled. “Ostendere me.”
Wondering what kind of hocus-pocus the Sentinel was conjuring, Flynn risked a glance over his shoulder. The Sentinel held her thick, golden-brown wand before her face. Its tip glowed a stormy shade of dark gray.
“His essence lingers,” the Sentinel muttered. “I’m surprised he came himself this time.”
What’s an essence? Probably something to do with a person’s presence, judging from what the Sentinel had said, but what exactly did that mean?
“He ran off quickly enough,” Everett said disdainfully. “I’ll give the patrolmen credit for their speed.”
Who’s “he?” They had to be talking about Low Voice. Who else could it be?
Flynn watched the two, hoping one of them would drop a hint that might help him make sense of everything. While the Sentinel extinguished the light on her wand with a mumbled spell, Everett reached into his pocket and produced his own wand, which was several inches longer than the Sentinel’s and dark blue in color. Gripping it by its slender gray handle, he waved its tip over the palm of his left hand. His lips moved in the words of an inaudible incantation, and three small silver spheres stuck together in a triangular shape appeared, their surfaces so smooth, they reflected every detail of the yellow ceiling lights.
Judging from the shimmering blue mist that clung to them, they made up some kind of magical device. Flynn didn’t know much about spells, thanks to the Triumvirate’s laws against Norms learning about magic, but he’d picked up enough from listening to Enchanters talk to know that Everett hadn’t conjured the thing out of thin air. That would have taken a lot of effort, and the bored expression on the principal’s narrow face made it clear he hadn’t strained himself. So the three stuck-together spheres must have already existed somewhere, and Everett merely summoned them.
Everett held the silver spheres close to his mouth and whispered something. At his words, the spheres separated and zoomed around the auditorium, mist trailing behind like comet tails. One flew straight at Flynn, smashing into his shoulder and nearly causing him to lose his balance.
He braced himself against the wall to keep from falling off the ladder. “Hey!”
Everett didn’t acknowledge him. Flynn rubbed his shoulder and felt a bruise forming. The spheres wove around the other Secondstringers—who gave them fleeting glances—navigated around the lights, and dove between the seats without hitting anything. It seemed weird that Flynn was the only one who’d been invisible to them.
After a few moments, Everett sighed with impatience and held out his hand. As if summoned, the spheres landed in his palm, one by one, forming a stack, and turned bright blue. Flynn stared at them, wondering what the spheres’ change in color indicated. He hoped Everett’s next words would tell him, but all the principal said was, “I see.”
“Satisfied?” the Sentinel asked.
Everett pointed his wand at the spheres with a frown. “All this tells me is that we’re no longer under attack.”
No longer under attack… Maybe they’re telling Everett that the presence of the specter is completely gone. Irritation flashed through Flynn at not knowing what such a simple-looking device was for and at the way those with magic kept the purpose behind their enchanted items secret, even if that purpose was mundane.
The spheres vanished at a whispered word from Everett, who turned his gaze to the Sentinel. “We need to find out how he infiltrated the Academy.”
If only one of them would say that man’s name…
The Sentinel nodded. “I will include my theories regarding how he
breached our safeguards, along with all the details of my investigation, in the official report.”
Flynn’s interest sparked. Bet that report would tell me who Low Voice is. He realized that he was staring at Everett and dropped his gaze to the bucket. C’mon, Everett, don’t clam up now. Tell me where the report will be…
“I want to review this report before it’s sent to the Bureau of Security,” Everett said. “Have it in my office by tomorrow morning.”
That’s it! Flynn’s nerves tingled with excitement. If the report was going to the Bureau of Security, it had to be extensive. It might even contain details about Low Voice’s background and tell Flynn what the man had been involved in when he’d known Vivian Nightsider, and that information could reveal what she’d been doing. And it’ll be here, at the Academy, right behind Everett’s office door. He could scarcely believe it. The answers were so close, and he just needed to find a way to seize them. It wouldn’t be easy, but difficult was better than impossible. Maybe after all these years of screwing with me, luck’s finally on my side.
The Sentinel nodded again. “When should my superiors expect the report back from you?”
“My having it won’t hinder the Bureau’s ability to pursue the anarchists, will it?” Everett asked.
“Of course not; I have copies. But we cannot allow such a sensitive report to remain outside the Bureau’s hands for long. If anyone else saw it…”
“Understood. You’ll have it back in three days.”
“I’ll let my superiors know.” The Sentinel disappeared in a burst of gold light.
As soon as he was gone, Everett pulled his lips into a deep frown, absentmindedly tapping his dark-blue wand against his hand.
Flynn briefly wondered why the principal was lingering, but another thought outshone that. I need to figure out how to get that report.
There was no chance the Secondstringer-hating principal would show it to him. The one way to see it would be to break into Everett’s office and read it in secret. A warning lit up in Flynn’s mind, telling him he was nuts. Though Everett’s position as a school principal by itself didn’t afford him much authority except within the Academy’s walls, his father had been the late White Triumvir Everett. That legacy gave the principal a status higher than many government officials.
Rumor had it that he kept many of the first White Triumvir’s possessions—sacred relics to the Triumvirate—in his office. The place was guarded by security enchantments and only accessible to those with the highest clearance. Norms were never allowed in, not even as janitors, since, of course, it was okay to use magic for menial tasks like cleaning if you were important. In fact, Flynn had never even been allowed into the section of the Scholars’ Wing where it resided. Given Everett’s status and the fact that he had national treasures on his shelves, Flynn wouldn’t just be breaking into a schoolteacher’s office. He might as well be scheming to infiltrate the Palace of Concord, and if he were caught…
I don’t have time to be scared. I’ve only got three days before that report’s sent to the Bureau of Security. If I fail, I might never get another chance to learn the truth.
A loud sigh interrupted Flynn’s thoughts. Everett walked to the auditorium’s doors, forehead crinkled with concern.
He’s probably heading to his office right now. Flynn dropped his sponge into the bucket and climbed down the ladder, aiming to follow the principal. In order to break into the office, Flynn at least had to know if the door used a key, or if it was all abracadabra guarding the place. And Everett almost never walked anywhere—he goldlighted. This meant that normally, Flynn would have had no way of following. He wasn’t about to waste this chance, so he jumped down the last few steps on the ladder and rushed toward the exit.
“Hey!” One of the other Secondstringers looked up from her scrubbing and gave Flynn an accusing look. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Storage closet,” Flynn said, thinking quickly. “My sponge is all worn out.” He didn’t wait for the girl to respond before leaving the auditorium.
Ahead, Everett strode down the stone corridor. Flynn followed, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. A rush filled his head. The truth was finally within reach. Once Everett reached his office and Flynn saw what kinds of safeguards secured it, he could figure out how to get past them. If he needed a key, he’d swipe it. If it was a spell, he’d steal some magic books from the Scholars’ library and find a way to break it. Though he’d never dealt with magic before, he was a fast learner and pretty resourceful. He’d figure out how to conquer any hocus-pocus keeping him from the Sentinel’s report. It was all he could do not to run after the principal, who turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Flynn started to follow but froze at the sound of a second set of footsteps approaching.
“Everett!” a man called from the hallway ahead. Though Flynn couldn’t see him, he recognized that gravelly voice as belonging to Professor Williams, one of the Enchanters who taught at the Academy. Williams had been a professor of all things supernatural at the Capital’s university until five years ago, when he’d transferred to the Academy. Flynn had never been allowed to take one of the professor’s classes on monster behavior and history, but he’d cleaned up after them plenty of times. Unlike the other teachers, Williams helped out now and then, using his magic to speed the Secondstringers’ work. That made him all right in Flynn’s book.
Not wanting to be seen, Flynn flattened himself against the wall.
“What do you want, Professor?” Everett said.
Williams crossed the intersection, passing within full view of the corridor Flynn stood in. For a second, Flynn thought his game was up. But Williams seemed too focused on Everett to notice him. His bushy gray eyebrows, which usually appeared tilted, were low over his brown eyes, and a frown stretched his narrow, tanned face. He disappeared from sight again, and his footsteps came to a stop, presumably in front of the principal.
“I want that fangbeast off school grounds.”
Flynn’s jaw dropped. There’s a fangbeast here? Supernaturals had always been part of the Academy, but fangbeasts were no ordinary monsters. They were reputed to be the most fearsome of the Underworld’s fiends—practically undefeatable, since each ferocious, hound-like beast could split into countless duplicates. And they were known to rip entire teams of Defenders to shreds within minutes of an encounter. How the hell did the Academy capture one? Why the hell would they want one in the first place?
“If you have an ounce of sense in you, you’ll have it destroyed.” From the tone of Williams’s voice, the idea of such a monster so close by disturbed him as much as it did Flynn.
“That creature is needed for research.” Everett’s tone was cold.
“If you think there’s an enchantment that can control a fangbeast, you’re delusional. You know as well as I that only dark magic can control creatures of the Underworld.”
Flynn couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to control a fangbeast instead of offing it. Everett was always in line with the Triumvirs, so if he wanted to control a fangbeast, that meant the government did as well. Flynn narrowed his eyes. What would they do with a fangbeast if they could control it, especially if that meant tapping into the very dark magic they condemned the anarchists for using?
“Do you understand how dangerous that monster is?” Williams said. “What if it gets loose? Or the wrong people get their hands on it? If the anarchists were able to use a specter—”
“I assure you, the creature is quite secure,” Everett interrupted. “Its cage is guarded by high-caliber spells, the same ones that protect my office. They’re stronger than any physical lock, which is why I don’t bother with such Norm nonsense myself.”
No locks, just magic. Williams’s presence had given Flynn that much, at least. But knowing that there were “high-caliber spells” brought him no closer to figuring out how to break them. He still nee
ded to see what Everett did to gain entry to his office.
He huffed, wishing the principal would dismiss Williams and get moving again, but instead, Everett went into a tirade about how the professor shouldn’t question him. Flynn did his best not to jitter. The more time he spent away from the auditorium, the more likely someone was to come looking for him and thwart his plan entirely.
When Everett finally stopped talking, Williams didn’t respond for several seconds.
“If you’re going to insist on this madness,” the professor finally said, “at least let me use it for my classes, to teach the students how dangerous fangbeasts are, and allow them to prepare themselves for if, God forbid, they ever come across one.”
“And have you destroy it under the pretext of giving a demonstration?” Everett let out a disdainful noise. “I don’t think so.”
“I couldn’t destroy it if I wanted to,” Williams protested. “The Firedragon is the only person who’s ever killed a fangbeast singlehandedly, and she’s one of a kind.”
The Firedragon killed a fangbeast? If Flynn had been impressed by the Academy’s former star Cadet before, he presently found himself completely in awe. She’d been famed for her incredible combat prowess, but killing a fangbeast had seemed beyond even her abilities. How could that have happened? And when?
He knew that the Firedragon had participated in an international monster-fighting competition two years back, which had culminated in the contestants going after a fangbeast, but they’d all failed, and she’d only survived because the Sentinels had interfered to save her life. The idea of a teen girl defeating a fangbeast by herself… For a moment, he almost thought Williams was lying.
But then Everett growled. “That never happened. It was a Sentinel who defeated the monster.”
“Indeed,” Williams grumbled. “How could I forget the official story?”
Those words confirmed it. The Firedragon had slain a fangbeast. Though she’d been in the same year as Flynn, he’d known her only by reputation and didn’t even recall her real name. But he’d heard plenty about her. The Triumvirate used to send her out on monster-fighting missions alongside full-fledged Defenders.