It Ends in Fire

by Andrew Shvarts

  “Okay,” I say at last. “I’ll talk to Whispers. I’ll tell her to take you. And if she says no, I’ll put my foot down and insist I won’t do it.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Of course,” I pull her in for a hug. “Sera, I love you, and this matters to you. I’m not going to stand in your way.”

  “You’re the best sister ever,” she says.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say with a laugh. “Just promise me you’ll be safe, all right? Promise me you’ll come back.”

  She grips me tight. “I promise I’ll come back.”

  It’s a lie.

  CHAPTER 25

  Now

  Headmaster Aberdeen’s office is in the main building, on the top floor, which means to get there I have to walk all the way across campus. The sun shines a hot white off the fresh, fluffy snow blanketing the campus, which makes the dull pounding in my temples so much worse. I’d hoped most of the campus would still be asleep, but a surprising number of people are out, enjoying the first snowfall of the year. Students lie on their backs, making Goddesses with their arms and legs, while others hurl snowballs or just sit on benches, admiring the view. Groundskeeper Tyms oversees some Humbles shoveling the path and snarls at me as I pass. At the center of the quad, Professor Hapsted holds court with a small group of gawkers. A snowball hovers in front of him as he weaves his gnarled wooden Loci through the air, creating a haze of silver strands of light that envelop it like a fly in a web.

  I just want to quietly walk to Aberdeen’s office and get whatever this is over with, but as I stroll through the quad, everyone turns to stare at me. Everyone, even Professor Hapsted, who looks away from his snowball long enough for it to crumble in the middle of the web. Some of the students, especially the Vanguards, glare at me with anger and hate. But a surprising amount stare without judgment, just awe, while a few even smile. A girl in Javellos colors gives me a wave. A boy in a Zartan cloak offers me a raised fist.

  It seems I’m not the only one who wanted to see Vanguard defeated.

  Aberdeen’s office is up four flights of stairs, and every step I take feels heavy with dread. I’ve gotten confident in my ability to fool the other students and professors, but it’s one thing to blend in with a crowd of Nethros and entirely another to sit alone in a tiny room with the headmaster and lie directly to his face. Sera could’ve done this effortlessly. But Sera’s not here.

  Aberdeen’s office is behind a pair of heavy ornate doors, engraved with a detailed carving of the Gods. I stand outside awkwardly for a few minutes, and, when no one comes out to greet me, gently shove them open.

  Aberdeen’s office is massive. Bookshelves line every wall, reaching up nearly three stories to a domed ceiling painted to look like the night sky. A scarlet silk curtain blocks a wide window at the back wall, and instead the room is illuminated by dozens of magical lanterns built into the walls. A grandfather clock taller than I am stands against a corner, with a glass front so I can see hundreds of intricately clicking gears. Relics sit around the room behind displays: a pair of jagged black Loci, a six-eyed skull, a broadsword bigger than my head. The real prize is at the center of the room on a tall dais encased in glass. A massive tome, bound in chains, sealed with a crystal lock. The Codex Transcendent. I twitch a little just looking at it.

  Aberdeen himself sits behind a desk at the back of the room. He gestures toward the chair opposite him. “Please. Have a seat.”

  I slide into the chair, just a desk away from the man who took it all away from me. “Headmaster. You wanted to meet with me.”

  “I wanted to congratulate you!” he beams, radiating paternal warmth. He’s wearing a long robe, like always, this one a dark purple adorned with hundreds of tiny bright beads. His gray hair hangs down his back in a neat braid, a white eyepatch covers his eye, and a delicate silver circlet rests on his forehead. “Your victory yesterday, well, it was one for the history books.”

  “Thank you, Headmaster.” I drop my head respectfully, sounding awed and a little proud. Find the truth behind the lie, I think, and the truth here is thinking of Whispers.

  “If I may be so bold as to ask.” He leans back in his chair. “It’s not every day someone discovers an entirely new Balitesta strategy. It’s not every decade. How did you come up with such a daring approach?”

  This is a test, no doubt, but I’m not sure exactly what he’s testing, which makes this delicate. “I knew I’d have to find some kind of unique strategy to win, so I spent weeks reading over accounts of the game and then…” I shrug. “It just came to me in a flash.”

  “How remarkable.” Aberdeen’s good eye shines with cunning. “So you did it all alone? No one helped you?”

  My face doesn’t crack, even as ice races down my spine. Is he asking about Marlena? How much does he know? “A Humble Nethro servant helped me. She—”

  “I’m not asking about some Humble servant,” Aberdeen cuts in, with a hint of annoyance. “I meant, did any of the other students help you? Perhaps those from other noble families?”

  Oh. Oh. He doesn’t think I could have come up with it on my own. He thinks I’m a patsy, a tool being wielded against him, some dumb girl manipulated by a powerful noble. I have to fight back a laugh. “No,” I say confidently. “No one helped me.”

  “Remarkable. Truly remarkable.” He leans back, smiling, and I almost think I’m off the hook when he abruptly stops, stroking his chin while staring me down. “All right then. Thank you for answering my questions, Lady Dewinter. I think at last I understand.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll admit, you’ve been something of an enigma to me,” he says. “When I first met you, well, I can’t say I was overly impressed. I thought you were just an ignorant new Mark, untrained and unprepared, spilling wine in the hall and nearly blowing yourself up with that ice Glyph. Then you pulled off the play of the century in the challenge, and I was just bewildered. Who is this girl? But now, now I get it.” He leans forward, glaring right through me. “I know exactly who you are.”

  Do not blink. Do not sweat. Do not let my heart betray me. “And who is that?”

  He rises from his chair, taller up close than I’d thought. “An outsider,” he says. “You’re the first in your family to get the Godsmark. A Wizard raised by Humbles on some dusty rock halfway across the world. Your father’s a decorated general, a hero who proved himself through courage and strategy. A man who rose from nothing to greatness, all through his own cunning and conviction. And you’re his daughter, fulfilling his legacy.” I don’t know how to answer that, how Alayne would have responded, but I don’t have to, because he keeps talking. “You didn’t come here to make friends or to learn magic, did you, Lady Dewinter? No, you came here to conquer. To make a name for yourself. To ensure that House Dewinter earns its place in our society. You came here ready to do whatever it took to come out on top. You’re not a great Wizard, no, but you’re smart, you’re ambitious, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes, break whatever rule you have to, in order to win. Is that right?”

  “I haven’t broken any rules,” I say, to which he just laughs. “But yes. I am ambitious. I do want to win. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “I respect that. I really do.” He paces across the room, so I have to crane around in my seat just to follow him. “But as your headmaster, as the patriarch of this great institution, I feel a duty to caution you. In my long tenure here, I’ve seen a dozen students like you. And it has never ended well for them.”

  “Why not?”

  Rather than answer my question, Aberdeen crosses over to the grandfather clock, resting his hand against its polished wood frame. “Byron Blackwater was the first headmaster of this school. He was a great man, a First Father, a visionary who helped create our beloved Republic. And do you know what his first act as headmaster was? Why, it was to commission this very clock.” His hand runs down its surface, almost caressing it. “It’s a beautiful machine made of hundreds of little parts, all worki
ng together in perfect balance and harmony. Every gear, every lever, every dial, knows its function. And combined, they create something truly great and wonderful, something that lasts across the centuries. Do you understand?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “I see myself as a caretaker of intricate machines, Lady Dewinter. This clock… this school… this Republic. What matters most to me, the only thing that matters to me, is keeping it running smoothly.” He steps away from the clock, pacing toward me. “I harbor my own beliefs, of course. I abhor rituals like the krova-yan, even as the Senate insists I permit it. I preach the wisdom of peace to Grandmaster Madison, even as he wages his endless wars. I wish for a world that is gentler, better, kinder… and yet when I must, I put my own beliefs aside. I stay neutral. Neutral and moderate, above all else. Why?” He takes another step. “Because I am just one gear. And if I placed myself first, if I let myself get too big, if I leaned in to my own ambitions, why, then the whole machine would fall apart.”

  Alayne would be angry here. I’m angry for her. “Are you telling me to know my place, Headmaster?”

  Aberdeen presses a hand to his chest, a wounded look on his face. “I would never phrase it like that!” he says. “All I do is suggest caution. Systems, societies, exist to protect those within them… and to destroy those outside them. It’s just nature.” He takes another step, drawing closer. “If you can work within the system, if you can fit in and learn when to climb and when to sit, when to thrive and when to boost others, well, I see greatness in your future. I see glory for your family and for you.…” He steps up close, too close, right behind me. I can smell his perfume, rosewater and lavender, can feel the heat radiating off him. I’m so tense I feel ready to shatter.

  Then he reaches out and grabs my shoulders, and he’s actually touching me, his horrible pallid hands resting on me, and my stomach lurches and my skin crawls and I have to use every ounce of strength not to whip out my Loci and stab one right through his neck. “Word of advice, Lady Dewinter.” He leans in, so close I can feel his beard scrape the skin of my cheek, so close I can feel his breath on my neck, and his voice is a rumbling growl. “When the time comes for the Second Challenge? Lose.”

  Then he steps away and the mask is back on, a pleasant smile on his face, the kindly headmaster again. “Do we have an understanding?”

  The cause. The cause. Always the cause. “Yes,” I choke out, and I sound more scared than I want to, but maybe that’s right for Alayne. “I understand.”

  “Good.” He walks back around to his desk and slides into his chair opposite me. “Well. If that’s all cleared up, I do believe we can move on with our day.”

  “Of course, Headmaster.” My eyes drop, and I can still feel his hands on me, still feel his breath on my skin. “Thank you for the advice.”

  I rise from my chair and stride out the door and I’m halfway down the stairs before I actually let out my breath, before I release the tension built up within me like steam bursting from a kettle. I slump against a wall, gasping, shaking, and I lean there in the stairwell for a good ten minutes, eyes shut, just inhaling and exhaling, letting the air rush through me, letting myself become myself again. And as the tension melts away, as the fear of being caught dissolves, all that’s left is the burning core of righteous rage.

  This isn’t the rage of my childhood trauma or the political fury that Whispers cultivated in me. No, this is something new, something personal and immediate. I’m angry on my own behalf, on behalf of Fyl and Zigmund and Desmond and Tish, on behalf of all the Nethros. None of us asked for this, to be put into this position. It’s bad enough they shovel us all into the least-respected Order, bad enough we get mocked at every turn, bad enough we have to compete in a game stacked against us in every way. But when we actually win, when we give it all on the field and risk everything and actually pull through, now Aberdeen is going to try to threaten me into losing?

  Screw that. Screw every last single part of that. Magnus Aberdeen wants me to know my place? He prizes his precious little clock, his systems, his order?

  I’m going to take it from him. I’m going to wreck him. Absolutely utterly destroy him. I’m going to kill him, that’s a promise, and I’m going to send everything he loves and values with him.

  But first? I’m going to win House Nethro the Second godsdamned Challenge.

  CHAPTER 26

  Now

  Founders’ Day is the biggest holiday in the Republic, so of course, it’s of utmost importance at Blackwater. According to Fyl, the Founders’ Day Gala is the single most important social event of the school year, a grand ball for all students and faculty to celebrate the founding of the Republic. The patriotic framing is just pretense though; what matters is the party itself. Fancy gowns and expensive suits, the finest food and drink, dazzling decor and a performance by the Republic’s premier band.

  Fyl can’t stop gushing. There’s nothing I want less.

  I’ve managed to avoid big social engagements through the fall and winter terms, sleeping through the Harvest Picnic and hiding in my room during the Night of Lights. After that disastrous trip to the village pub, it seemed like the safer bet. But there’s no getting out of the Founders’ Day Gala. It’s mandatory, for one, and Fyl says she’d never forgive me if I missed it. So that’s why I’m sitting in her room in a massive dress, wincing as she weaves my hair into a braid that encircles my head like a crown.

  “I don’t know, Fyl,” I say, staring down at myself. Apparently, none of the dresses I’d come with were formal enough, so Fyl bought me one from the tailor in town. It’s something else, the kind of dress I’ve seen in picture books about princesses. It’s a lush, dark scarlet, the color of roses in winter, the color of blood on snow. The top half fits me like a second skin, hugging tight at my waist, trailing down with a low neckline that leaves me feeling exposed. Frills of black lace line the collar, and the back is a thin black mesh adorned with dozens of embroidered roses. Below the waist is an ornate floof of ruffles, a wide, round wedding cake of lavish red that flows around me when I walk and is impossible to resist twirling in. Long lace gloves cover my hands, stretching up to my elbows, and delicate black ribbons tie into bows along my sleeves. And of course, there’s absolutely nowhere to put a Loci. “If Marius tries anything at the dance, I’ll be useless in this dress.”

  “No one is going to try anything,” Fyl replies, pulling a little too hard on a braid. “Founders’ Day is about putting our differences aside and celebrating being Marovians. There’s no Order competition at the dance. For one night, and one night only, we’re all the same.”

  Except for all the Humble servants who make the night actually happen, I think. I haven’t had a chance to practice with Marlena in more than a week, because she’s been so involved in setting up the event, working through the nights to chop fruit and embroider decorations. I glance down at my beautiful dress and wonder how many blistered Humble hands sewed it together. “If you say so,” I tell Fyl. “But I’m still watching my back.”

  “How can you be so visionary and so cynical at the same time?” Fyl laughs. “Come on, lighten up! This is going to be a blast. The dancing, the feasting, the wine, the music…” She pauses, leaning in close with a mischievous grin. “The romance.”

  “Kill me now.”

  Fyl playfully jerks the braid. “Everyone knows the Founders’ Day Gala is the time to make a romantic gesture to whoever you’ve been smitten with all year. There’s going to be so many dramatic declarations and long-awaited kisses. It’s great.”

  I arch an eyebrow her way. “And I can’t imagine there’s anyone in particular you have in mind for a long-awaited kiss. Definitely not someone whose name starts with D and ends with esmond.”

  “It’s not like that. I mean, it’d be nice if it was. I wish it was. But it’s not. Also, shut up.” Fyl’s cheeks burn red. “Besides, I was thinking more about you and that prince.…”

  “Talyn?” I blink. “No. It’s not l
ike that.”

  “Sure,” Fyl says. “I’ve seen you two on your walks. You’re looking awfully cozy.”

  It’s true, I’ve been spending a few of my evenings with Talyn. When we walk through the campus, the frost crunching so satisfyingly under our boots, he tells me about his home, about the great stone ziggurats and the crystal deserts. We commiserate over challenges in our classes, we laugh about the pompousness of the ceremonies, we fume together over the bullshit served up as history.

  He makes me laugh. That counts for a lot. And when he takes my hand or I slide my arm into his, I feel my stomach flutter and my heart quicken. That counts even more.

  Still, I’m not going to let Fyl know that. “We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah, well, you won’t be tonight. Not after he sees you.” Fyl steps back proudly. “Take a look.”

  I rise from my chair and turn to the full-length mirror against Fyl’s wall. I actually gasp. I’ve been many things in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever been beautiful, not like this. The girl in the mirror looking back at me, though? She’s stunning. The lush scarlet dress perfectly frames my body, sparkling like a starscape in red every time I move. My hair sits in a regal crown of braids and runs down my back in delicate strands. And the makeup Fyl put on me, all those little powders and brushes… my eyelashes blink full, my lips shine a dark red, my eyelids a soft purple. Flakes of delicate gold dazzle on my cheeks, and tear-shaped diamond earrings catch the light like prisms.

  “Come on. Admit it. I’ve done good,” Fyl says.

  “You have,” I reply, but I’m transfixed, lost, like I’m in a dream. Looking in the mirror, I don’t see myself at all. There’s no trace left of the scrappy Revenant who slept in bales of hay, of the scrawny girl with the messy hair and the furious eyes. Looking in that mirror, I don’t see a single trace of Alka Chelrazi. I just see Alayne Dewinter. And godsdamn, if she isn’t beautiful.