by Kaylin Lee
Three members of the Tiger clan joined, all women about Opal’s age, who reacted to the Hawks like cats faced with water, all but hissing as they seated themselves on the other side of the room. They wore none of the legendary face paint I’d heard of, but their clan was easily distinguished by the black and orange mage-craft jewelry that sparkled in their ears and around their necks and wrists.
No one from the Wolf clan joined the class. I wiped sweaty palms on my skirt and tried in vain not to fixate on that fact.
“Welcome, students,” Professor Kristof said, addressing the room from beside the fireplace once everyone was seated. “Before we begin, a few administrative items to note. This first class will be six weeks long and will cover Kireth history, from the decline of the Kireth homeland to the Fenra revolution seven-hundred years ago. Anyone is welcome to attend, but the cost for the class will be twenty marks per student, regardless …” He coughed. “Regardless of clan affiliation.”
I kept my eyes on Professor Kristof, but I felt the clan members bristle at his words. We’d wrestled with class fees all week, but we finally decided to stick with the old university policy of charging a modest fee for every student and treating them all equally. As Professor Kristof pointed out, the sooner the university covered its own expenses, the sooner it would be free of the Praetor’s whims for its continued existence.
“You can pay my assistant, Miss Kata, at the end of this class or tomorrow, up to you,” he finished. “Now, let’s begin with—”
“Professor!” Felix, Leonardo, and three other young Wolf men strolled into the classroom, their posture relaxed. Felix greeted me with a wave. “Miss Kata. We’ve missed you, beautiful. And just so you know, Lucien left for Asylia this morning, so if you’re feeling lonely,” he said with a leer, “I’m here for you.”
A strange weight sank into my stomach. Lucien is gone. I hated that he was gone, and I hated the disappointment and worry that rushed through me at the news.
“I’m not lonely,” I managed, keeping my voice neutral. “Thank you.” What a kind offer, Felix.
“Sit anywhere you like.” Professor Kristof repeated the class fee information he’d just shared with the rest of the class.
Felix and his friends sat at the table right next to the Hawk clan men, in what I desperately hoped was not a deliberate provocation. “Got it, Professor.” Felix lounged in his chair, his legs sprawled casually out in front of him. His wide smile was beginning to look like it was just a way to show his teeth. “We’ll just follow up with your sweet assistant about that.”
“Very good.” Professor Kristof cleared his throat and picked up his notes again. “We’ll begin with an overview of the Kireth historical timeline. You’ll be responsible for knowing each event and approximate date on the final exam, so it’s a good idea to begin reviewing it daily now. That way, you’ll have it memorized by the exam, and you’ll have a broader framework for our more in-depth discussions as we progress through the timeline in this class.”
Only Emil flipped his notebook open and lifted his pencil. The rest of the class stared at the professor without moving, their expressions blank.
“Ah … that means you should write down what I’m going to say next,” he clarified.
I held back a smile at the sound of nineteen students shuffling to get their paper and pencils ready at once.
“We’ll begin with the earliest known Kireth historical writings, a collection of court records begun by the first Kireth royal family two thousand years ago. The ancient Kireth homeland was, as far as we know, the only ancient civilization to the north of Theros. As you know, the Kireths were a unique, isolated people, a civilization in possession of the ability to manipulate the magic that exists all around us. This innate power allowed them to absorb and expel magic to varying degrees with their own bodies.”
The students listened to Professor Kristof without interrupting, unphased by the discussion of mages. Perhaps Demetrius had been right, and Draicia really was freer and more open-minded than Asylia.
“Their homeland was lush and fertile, with abundant resources and, as far as we can discern from the court records, a wealthy and generally content populace. That all changed fifteen-hundred years ago with the invention of a new kind of magic, a power distilled through what they called the science of alchemy. Curses, potions, and the like.”
My ears pricked at the mention of curses, and I flinched. There was something there, a thought that wasn’t fully formed yet, but it seemed important. An idea or something from my research for an article? The article I’d written after interviewing Zel?
“This new magic resulted in the creation of what you know today as the mage’s True Name, among other things that have since been lost to us. At any rate, with the advent of alchemy in Kireth, a somewhat boring record of peaceful transitions of power and slow, steady cultural development became a series of bloody power struggles, with new factions inventing new ways to seize power from each other every decade or so.”
He continued through the saga of Kireth royalty, alchemy, and magical battles that ultimately brought about the wholesale destruction of their once-fertile homeland, leading them to invade Fenra lands on the southern shore of the sea that separated our two lands. I’d heard the professor practice this first lecture already, earlier in the week. Though the subject matter was admittedly fascinating, my thoughts were about Lucien’s trip to Asylia.
If they’d left, that meant they had the new replacement to aurae that supposedly wouldn’t kill aurists. If there were no dangers to aurae, scaring off potential users, how long would it be before Asylia had been overrun completely? We can’t have the Asylians killing off their own people before we’ve made full use of them, the woman in Demetrius’s office had said. I still didn’t know what that meant, but the voice haunted my dreams all the same.
I shivered and rubbed my hands on my arms. I’d spent every night this week poring through Professor Kristof’s old copies of Trade & Commerce and the Herald, painstakingly matching the company names from my lists with the products they made and the city where they operated.
It was frustrating, agonizing work. For every name I managed to cross off the list for being in the wrong city or not having any spirits in their product line, I had to scan through a hundred pages of old, faded newsprint that made my head ache and took far, far too long. And who was to say that a trading company which specialized in one product might not occasionally import spirits too? Twice now, I’d removed Asylian importers from the list, only to add them back when I discovered they did indeed occasionally trade in spirits.
Countless lives depend on your success. My vision blurred as I stared down at the desk before me. I was so tired and so far behind where I’d hoped to be by now. How many would die before I got to the bottom of this story? I supposed lives would be saved, temporarily, with the introduction of the new vials. But then that mysterious woman, whoever she was, would make full use of the Asylians, whatever that meant.
Whoever.
Whatever.
What did it say that, so far into this assignment, I was still using words like that to describe what I’d learned?
You’re too easily distracted, Ruby. Vain. Foolish. Soft. No matter how hard you work, it’s never going to be—
“Must be nice, being born into power.” The male voice was loud and casual but carried a mocking tone. I looked up to see a Hawk man with red and turquoise feather tattoos on his neck turning in his seat as he spoke. He studied Felix and the other Wolves with a grim smile on his face. “I have to wonder, though,” he continued, “if power has the same meaning when it’s simply been handed to you. Is it really yours, or does it ultimately belong to the one who gave it to you?”
I tensed. Was he trying to start a fight?
“Good question, Erik,” Professor Kristof interjected, looking between the two groups with his brow furrowed. “But if—”
“Yes, Erik, good question.” Felix’s voice dripped with malice. �
�I say we do a little experiment right now, Professor. See how much power those born to it do indeed have.” As if there were any mistaking his words, he stood slowly and opened his arms in an arrogant, provoking gesture toward the Hawk men. “Well? Ready to experiment?”
Professor Kristof’s knuckles were white as he gripped his stack of notes. “Actually—”
The Hawk men got to their feet in a single, fluid movement, spreading out into a defensive formation like the move had been planned ahead of time.
Which, I supposed as my heart began to pound, it probably had been.
The other Wolves shot to their feet behind Felix, their hands clenched into fists.
“For the sake of our education,” Erik said, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, “I really think we should find out.”
The moment he dropped his hands to his sides, Felix attacked. The brawl erupted into pure chaos within seconds, the library nothing but a blur of flying fists, with grunts of pain and curses splitting the air. I darted around the tables and huddled along the far wall with the other students, separated from the exit by the eleven men fighting each other in the middle of the library.
“What do we do?” I whispered to Professor Kristof, who hovered beside me, his expression bewildered.
“Wait for the guards,” he said after a moment, looking around helplessly. “And hope no one dies before—”
“Idiots!” A familiar, female voice shrieked over the din of the fighting.
Chloe? There was a sudden rush of wind. The eleven fighters were lifted into the air mid-brawl and slammed unceremoniously against Opal’s polished library floor. Chloe entered the library, her face set in a cold, furious scowl, gold sparkles dripping down from her hands and disappearing before they touched the ground.
Chloe was a mover mage. I gaped at her, my stomach tightening as I realized how dangerous she was. A really, really powerful expellant mage.
“Today, of all days,” she said icily. “Honestly, you’re like wild animals! All of you!”
Felix groaned from the floor and struggled into a sitting position. His face was red, with three bruises already forming, and his shirt ripped half open. “Chloe, you’re the worst.”
She flicked her fingers. There was another rush of air as he floated up off the ground, then slammed into the floor a second time. “Say it again, Cousin,” she hissed. “I dare you.”
He sat up and slouched over his knees, his expression sullen. “Never mind.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The Hawk with the red and turquoise tattoo pulled himself up off the floor, his jaw tight. “Hello, Chloe. Been a long time.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not long enough.”
“I was hoping you’d join us this morning.” Something about the hungry way Erik watched her made me nervous, like not even he knew what he’d do next.
Chloe’s posture stiffened. “I’m sure you were.” He made as though to approach her, and she held up one finger, her expression deadly. “You’re only standing because I’m allowing you to stand, Erik.”
He paused, but nothing on his face expressed defeat. If anything, he looked impressed, maybe even enamored. “Then I thank you, lovely Chloe.” He offered her a shallow bow. “Any gift from you is surely worth treasuring.”
A Hawk behind him chuckled, and a few Wolves smirked. They pulled themselves off the ground and collapsed in their seats, a few men emitting good-natured groans of pain.
Just like that, the tension had broken for everyone else. Chloe still looked like she was two finger twitches from committing murder, and Erik made no move to go back to his seat.
I glanced at the other students, some of whom seemed more overwhelmed than others. The three Tiger ladies pointed their noses in the air and sauntered haughtily out of the library, muttering something about uncivilized teenagers.
The commoners edged toward the seats furthest from the clansmen, their expressions wary, but one by one, they sat and faced the professor.
When Erik finally took his seat, Chloe walked to the opposite side of the classroom and perched on the edge of a chair before removing her mirror to inspect her mage-craft lip polish. “Go ahead, Professor,” she said primly. “I’m ready now.”
Chapter 27
The students left an hour later. Professor Kristof and I stood at the front windows as the commoners traipsed into the side streets and the clansmen piled into the fomecoaches that had arrived to retrieve them.
Professor Kristof beamed at me. “I’d call that a success, wouldn’t you?” Without waiting for my reply, he began to straighten the chairs our students had left scattered in various places throughout the classroom. “A resounding success,” he continued, apparently content to answer his own question. “Yes, indeed.”
I picked up the random pieces of paper that covered the tables and the floor. My thoughts were racing too fast, preventing me from coming up with any intelligent response.
Is it really yours, or does it ultimately belong to the one who gave it to you? Erik had meant the words as a challenge to the Wolf clan members. I knew he’d been pointing out that they’d been born into the ruling clan, rather than taking part in the battle over the position of Praetor themselves.
Now, all I could think of was Hal Dukas. I’ve taken power from the weak and made it my own, he’d written in his last letter to me. He was so arrogant, so sure of himself. He’d crushed countless lives by pushing aurae on Asylians—he had brought grown men to their knees, left widows and orphans with nothing. He’d ruined lives with his power—there was no question of the fact. And yet …
Was the power really his? Or did it belong to the one who’d given it to him?
Professor Kristof was saying something about the next day’s lecture, but I barely heard him. I walked to the nearest paper-strewn table, my feet moving of their own accord, and sat numbly in a chair.
Paper.
Pencil.
I drafted the note quickly, my pencil flying across the page like it had a life of its own. I signed my name, folded the paper, and stood so abruptly my chair screeched across the floor, making Professor Kristof stop mid-sentence to stare at me.
“Are you well, Kata?” He peered at me through his glasses, looking concerned.
My voice was hoarse. “I must take a quick trip to the courier’s office. I’ll be back to help clean up in just a moment.”
Professor Kristof studied me, an odd look in his eyes. “That’s fine,” he said slowly. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you.”
It took me a quarter hour of brisk walking to reach the courier’s office. The air was chilly, and I huddled in my red sweater as icy wind grazed my neck. It was midday, but the sky was dim, with low, gray clouds cold enough to threaten snow.
I’d walked several blocks before I realized the difference. Half of the windows I passed were glowing silver, and the air on every street tingled subtly.
I shivered. When I’d first arrived in Draicia, I could tell which alleys and shacks held aurists because the distinct halo and tingly feeling in the air were so obvious. Now, aurae—
No, I corrected myself, it must be the new formula now.
The new formula seemed to be everywhere. I could no longer tell which streets were completely free of it, if any even were.
When I finally slipped inside the small courier’s office, I was out of breath.
“I need to send this to Asylia as fast as possible.” I held up the envelope.
The young woman behind the desk glared at me. “Shut the door! You’re letting the cold in.”
I pushed the door closed until it clicked, the wind outside puffing against the door like it wanted to come inside with me. Then I turned back to her. “As I was saying, this needs to get to—”
“Ten marks. Six days. That’s the best I can offer.” She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Fast enough for you?”
“No.” I pulled my assistant’s stipend from my pocket and set fifty marks on the
counter, along with the letter. “And I need an envelope, please.”
The girl’s smirk disappeared. “Well, I might be able to get it there in two days. It won’t go out until tomorrow, though. Courier’s already been by today.”
My hands shook as I scrawled the Herald’s address on the envelope. “That’s fine. As soon as possible, though?”
She stamped my envelope and tossed it carelessly onto a sloppy stack in the basket beside her. “Of course.” A moment later, she was leaning forward in her chair to dip a spoon into a steaming bowl of soup, ignoring me as if I’d already left.
A tiny, glowing vial beside her bowl caught my eye. “What’s that?” I blurted.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not aurae.” She glanced up from her meal and smiled reassuringly. “Questus. It’s new. Not dangerous at all. And it’s much cheaper.”
I couldn’t speak. I left the office and stood outside on the footpath for a moment, my vision blurry.
A nice, warm meal with questus for dessert.
If the average commoner saw no harm in questus, what chance did either Asylia or Draicia have now?
~
Sir—
I received your letters, and I find your hypocrisy shocking. How can it be that you, a self-proclaimed powerful man, would allow another to hold power over you from the shadows?
You sold aurae. You destroyed lives. You used your power to murder the weak.
And yet you will go to your death little better than a slave to the one who gave you such power.
Unless … Can it be that in your final moments, you might find courage to defeat the one who handed you power in the first place? Have you the strength to subdue the one who made you nothing more than a pawn in their own plans for Asylia?
Surely, the Rat King of Asylia is no one’s pawn.
Surely, you can tell me this, Master Dukas. Whose crates held your first, stolen vials of aurae, thirteen years ago? Who enabled your power from the beginning?