by Kesia Lupo
I relax in her arms. I know I’ve lost this argument, such as it was. ‘You’re my little sister. I’m supposed to comfort you,’ I mumble, my face pressed into the black veil pulled back over her hair.
‘We support each other. One soul split three ways – remember?’
For some reason, tears wrack me harder than ever. She holds my trembling body tight. ‘There, there, sister. You can’t fight against fate and win. So surrender gladly.’
ELEVEN:
A Lesson
Livio
I open my wooden locker, the muted roar of my fellow novices’ voices filling the changing room next to the arena. As usual, I am in my own silent corner, ignored, my stomach fizzing with nerves. I’m frustrated already – wishing I could summon the bravado that filled my heart in the Battaglia, wishing I could be the Wolf, just once more.
But my life as Vico is over now, for good.
After Elisao left me last night, I lingered in the palazzo square for a while, watching the people – my people, I suppose – as they laughed and stumbled and talked and drank and lived. I thought I was one of them, thought I could be part of their world. I was wrong. If I am to protect them from Shadow and the other dangers that face us, I have to embrace my destiny. I have to be a mage strong enough to earn the respect of my peers; an astromancer skilled enough to retain the ancient bargain with Mythris; a ruler detached and smart enough to judge clearly.
Grandmother was right. To be the people’s champion, I have to set myself apart from them, however much it hurts.
And, holy twins, it hurts.
Shrugging off my formal purple robes, I bundle them into a ball and replace them with the loose trews and tunic assigned for my least favourite lesson: combat.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
I sit down on the low pitted bench to tie my sandals. My mother’s book lies under my pillow at home – I read a few pages last night, distracting my mind from the memory of Elisao’s sharp words, before sleep pulled me under. Now, I turn one passage over in my mind …
This form of magic consists of two main strands – astromancers inherit one or the other. Half of astromancers possess the ability to conjure visions of the future in the stars. The other half can command the natural magical creatures of the Wishes.
The ‘natural magical creatures of the Wishes’ … is the author referring to sandwolves? Surely not … no one can command creatures of Chaos. I pull the leather cords of my sandals tight, frowning as I puzzle it over. I can’t wait to return to the palazzo tonight to read on.
But first, somehow, I have to endure this godsdamned day.
I lean against my locker and shut my eyes. Today is the day of the announcement – today everyone will find out that Constance is dead and I am heir to the Wishes. Grandmother didn’t tell me what time it would happen. I’ve already sat through an hour of lore, expecting the door to burst open at any moment with a message from the palazzo. What will the others think when they find out that I am to rule over them?
I glance up through the hair flopping over my face, scanning the locker room. I’m sitting on the far end, right by the corridor – no one is paying any attention to me, as usual. I stand, gripped by a sudden thirst, walk out into the corridor and over to a nearby fountain. I bend, drinking the cool water gratefully. My fellow novices are busy chatting to one another, voices raised, jokes thrown from end to end of the narrow room behind me. But a little down the corridor, through a slightly ajar door, I hear a confrontation. I wipe my mouth and, on instinct, edge closer.
‘… must do better,’ a cultured male voice is saying quietly. I lean slightly to one side to catch a glimpse of who’s speaking through the gap in the door. My breath hitches in my throat as I recognise the back of the gold-edged robes of the Cardinal, his flame-bright hair tied at the nape of his neck. Carlotta is standing opposite him, facing me, her head bowed, expression unreadable. ‘Your ascendancy within the temple is far from guaranteed. You do still wish to follow in my footsteps to be the Cardinal, some day?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Carlotta says, her voice unenthused. I frown, leaning into the shadows.
‘Then you must prove your worth and loyalty with utmost obedience and perfect performance – no less will do.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Be prepared tonight. Events are coming to a head, and we have to be ready to seize our advantage. Now, go. I will be watching.’
I step quickly back to the fountain, bending down to sip again as the door opens fully and Carlotta’s footsteps approach. Be prepared tonight … Events are coming to a head…. What did the Cardinal mean?
Whatever’s happening, Carlotta’s not happy about it: her footsteps are sharp and fast, and she doesn’t even hesitate long enough to throw me an insult. I stand up, watch her disappear into the locker room, instantly greeted loudly by a group of her friends.
She’s lonelier than she looks.
Outside, the sun is burning and the heat feels like a living thing draped around my neck. It’s the hottest spring I can remember, and as we trudge on to the hard-packed sand, the grains whip up and singe the skin of my ankles.
Priest Talon starts his lesson. I try to pay attention, I really do. I know he’s talking about defensive shields, and shielding tactics – how to minimise the use of energy. But the sun is hot, my skin is itching, and my mind wanders to Elisao – the memory of our last encounter a fresh scab I can’t stop picking – and every few moments, my eyes dart to the arena entrance, expecting a messenger with news of the announcement.
‘Now … a little demonstration,’ Priest Talon is saying. ‘Carlotta Rosso. And … Lord Livio. Could you take the centre, please?’
I feel the blood drop from my face – my sweat prickles. The other novices snigger and whisper. Priest Talon appears to be oblivious to the reaction rippling across the room, and I suspect he’s picked us for no other reason than we happened to be standing in his line of vision.
‘Come on, novices – we haven’t all day.’
So, I find myself standing opposite Carlotta, her eyes burning with obvious hatred. Why does she despise me so much? The buildings of the temple circle us like spectators in cloaks of stone, our fellow students watching from their shade. Above, the sky is a burning disc of blue.
Priest Talon walks over to us. He is a thin, bald man with a wiry frame and lined brown skin. ‘This is a simple contest of attack and defence,’ he says, ‘to demonstrate how magical attacks can be shielded. Are you both ready?’
‘Yes, Priest Talon,’ Carlotta says.
Talon now turns to me.
‘Mmmggh,’ I manage, my eyes fixed on Carlotta, who is sending sparks flying between her fingers behind his back.
Talon signals the start of the fight. Even standing ready, I can’t muster a magical attack quicker than Carlotta. I duck under her first strike, which is close enough to singe my hair before exploding into the ground at my back, sparks flying. Her magic is the deepest of purples – so dark that rumour has it she was nearly assigned to Jurah’s temple, where the magic is black as coal.
I recover my footing on the compacted sand, my sandals skidding. In the split second I’m able to think, I run through all the training I can remember: breathe deep, draw on your power, aim and fire. But when I throw the attack, a pale lilac spark fizzes chaotically through the air – misaimed and hardly strong enough to stun a cat. Most first-year novices could produce a better attack. I curse in frustration as someone behind me snorts. Carlotta steps closer – she’s not yet broken a sweat – and sends a confident strike towards my feet. I stumble, hear laughter as I drop to one knee. She’s not even trying to win: she just wants to humiliate me.
‘Lord Livio’s bending the knee,’ a female novice calls mockingly.
‘Defence, Lord Livio,’ Priest Talon is saying, failing to disguise his exasperation. ‘At least try to throw up a shield.’
Carlotta smirks, another attack forming in her open palm. I’m angry, now – desperate.
I feel my muscles tensing, urging me to run, to punch, to fight – but I can’t. I’m not the Wolf. He’s gone forever.
The hope in my Grandmother’s eyes flashes through my mind. I have to do this right. If I can’t win the respect of my peers, if I can’t show them I can defend myself magically, what hope is there for Scarossa?
Time feels like it’s slowing down as I reach down deep for my magic. Too deep, I realise, too late to stop myself. Suddenly my vision blurs … the peaceful, powerful feeling I experienced in Fortune’s temple fills me up. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, so slow it’s like a drum …
Boom—boom …
There’s a lurching sensation in my stomach.
Then, a shape barrels into Carlotta, a swirling darkness, oddly glittery in the bright light of the quickening morning. The attack she’d prepared spins from her palm, exploding uselessly against the arena wall, dark sparks flying. She’s knocked prone by the thing, and Priest Talon steps in front of me, facing the creature. He sees it for what it is before I do, even though I’ve seen two only recently: ‘Sandwolf!’ he cries. ‘Everyone get inside – now!’
I stare wordlessly at the sandwolf, unable to move.
My fellow novices flee inside the arena buildings, but I remain kneeling. The sandwolf stops its frantic spinning briefly and settles in the sunlight, fixing me with its burning yellow eyes. Then I watch the strange glittering blackness of its whirling body as it retreats, sizing up its new opponent. A magical dust devil with a wolf’s head and eyes like lamps … I should be scared, but I’m drawn to it. Instead of fear, I feel a sense of wonder.
Then Priest Talon throws an attack at the creature, which disappears and reforms a few paces away – and it’s looking at me expectantly, as if it’s waiting for me to do something. ‘Get inside!’ Talon barks at me.
The attack and his voice snap me out of a trance. Finally I notice Carlotta lying on the arena floor, clutching her ribs. I can’t see any visible injuries or blood, but her face is twisted in pain. I hurry over to her, try to help her up. Of course: magic is strong in her – the sandwolf sensed a feast.
‘Get off me,’ she growls, gritting her teeth as I reach down and take her hands gently in mine, but she looks afraid and allows me to pull her to her feet, looping her arm around my shoulders. We make it to the shade near the wall before her legs buckle. She’s ashen. I let her sit down – I could probably carry her, but I don’t think she would like it.
Talon has turned back to the sandwolf, and as I watch, he shoots another attack. This time, the sandwolf isn’t quick enough. I hear a sound like a howl of pain, and when the sandwolf reforms, it appears slightly smaller, diminished. I feel a flash of fear for its life.
‘Go,’ I whisper. ‘Just go.’ It glances at me again, and for some reason I feel like it’s listening. On instinct, I nod slightly. Priest Talon’s next attack melts into thin air – the creature is gone. I watch a swirling shadow reform high above us, on the roof, then disappear over the sides of the arena.
I glance down at Carlotta. ‘Are you all right?’
But Priest Talon arrives, kneeling at her side, and she doesn’t reply. Soon, others rush into the arena: first, Mythris priests and priestesses dressed in purple, checking the arena’s safe. Then, mages in blue robes from Imris’s temple, here to help Carlotta on to a stretcher and transport her to their hospital. Then, at last, other mages dressed in grey – huntsmen from Faul’s temple – scouring the walls for traces of the sandwolf and tracking the creature’s magical traces into the city beyond. All of this within minutes.
I’m sent inside, where the rest of the novices are gathered in a worried huddle. Priest Talon announces all classes for the rest of the day are to be held in the auditorium, the room with the highest security – and it’s as we’re filing in that the messenger arrives from the palazzo.
The woman was likely expecting a room of rapt students, for whom her announcement would be the most interesting thing to have happened that day. Instead, she is met with a pale-faced, frightened crowd. A few of the younger novices are sobbing. A space has formed around me. There’s a rumour going round the room that I did it. That I summoned the sandwolf and set it upon Carlotta.
‘Nonsense,’ I hear Priest Talon saying, a few paces to my left. ‘It’s impossible to control creatures of Chaos. And it’s irresponsible to spread rumours.’
‘Besides,’ someone else whispers, ‘he’s hardly got the magical talent to manage something like that.’
Don’t they know I can hear them? I think they do. I don’t think they care. As the messenger reads out the scroll, I feel eyes settle on me, and my hands curl into fists as I silently will the ground to open up.
Change is in the air as the carriage brings me home, in the rolling clouds now gathering over the sea. It feels as if the tide is turning – and I know which way I’m being pulled. Inward. Into the heart of Scarossa, where my destiny lies.
But I can’t help the way my heart is tugging me back. I think of Elisao and shut my eyes.
We’ve arrived. The sun is hot on my back as I walk the short distance into the palazzo. I climb the stairs, passing the ferns draping their grey-green fronds between the white banisters like soft, coaxing fingers.
I open the door to my room and step inside. As usual, someone has made an attempt to tidy and fallen short. Piles of books are pushed against the walls, but the bed is made, and the windows let in the evening sunlight. I walk over to the bed and check under my pillow, intending to read my mother’s book for a while on the balcony before I am called for dinner. But my stomach lurches: my hand finds nothing there but cool cotton.
‘You sure have a lot of books.’
I nearly fall back against the bedside table, my heart thudding wildly. There’s a man sitting in the chair by the fire, my mother’s book is open on his lap. ‘What—?’
He flicks closed the cover of the book and reads out the title in an accented voice I’m sure I recognise from somewhere. ‘The Queens of the Wishes. Gods, I hate history – but looks like that’s all you read.’ The sun sigil embossed on the front cover is gleaming in the dusk. He casts the volume down on a nearby pile as if it’s nothing, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks. He doesn’t know how special the book is, and I’m torn between relief and anger. He stands up. I’m tall, but he’s an inch taller, his shoulders broad as he rolls them back – utterly relaxed.
‘What are you doing in here?’ I say coldly. ‘And who gave you permission to search under my pillow?’
I recognise him, now: his dark skin and curly hair; his nonchalant, northern voice. He’s the one with the wildcat True Mask, the one who dropped down from the roof when the sandwolf was on my balcony the morning after the Battaglia.
He speaks now. ‘I’m here under the Contessa’s orders. The book was on the bed when I came in, not under the pillow. I guess whoever tidied the room left it there.’ He smiles, the gem on his tooth glinting, and goes on. ‘By the way, you really need to work on your observational skills. I wasn’t even hiding. Why do you read so much history, Lord?’
I draw myself up in outrage. ‘Only by studying the past can we understand the present.’ I hate the prissy, defensive tone that’s crept into my voice. Why do I feel the need to explain myself to this man?
‘Oh? I’d have thought studying the present would be more useful. But what do I know?’
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Hal. We sort of met the other morning …’
‘I know – I remember,’ I snap.
‘I’m your new personal bodyguard.’
There’s a pause as I let this sink in, my guts squirming in some unholy mixture of humiliation and horror. I stare at Hal dumbly.
‘Don’t look too pleased – it’s embarrassing.’ He shrugs. ‘Anyway, I’m here because the Contessa also wanted me to give you some extra lessons. I mean, in combat.’
‘Extra lessons?’ I feel blood rush to my cheeks and turn away from him towards the window and the s
unset. ‘Well, send Grandmother my thanks for her concern, but I don’t want any extra lessons.’
‘I’ve been warned about this.’ I glance over my shoulder, and Hal shrugs. ‘I’ve been told to insist.’
‘So you’re going to force me to learn?’ I shake my head ruefully. ‘The temple has been trying that for years, Hal. What makes you think you’ll have more success?’
He flashes another smile at me, the jewel on his canine gleaming once again. ‘I’m more fun,’ he replies. ‘Come on, follow me. I can’t teach you anything in here.’
He steps out on to the balcony and, ignoring the spiral staircase leading up, leaps on to the roof, magic glittering around his feet to power his jump in a way muscles never could. I follow him by foot, curious in spite of myself.
In the luscious rooftop garden, Hal is frowning and staring at the potted plants and raised stone flower beds scattered liberally around the ample round space, forming reading nooks and sun traps. The small glass spiralling tower of my room rises up from the centre, reflecting the warm red sunlight. Grandmother’s taller blue minaret towers over it about fifty feet away, hiding its true identity under jewel-blue glass. I don’t often come up here, and I’m surprised at how green and cool it is, the sounds of the city blowing up on the breeze.
Right now, a bell is ringing over in the temple of Faul in the university district – an alarum for the sandwolves, I think. It’s official: the city is infested with the creatures again for the first time in over fifteen years. I shiver at the thought of the danger that has crept up on us all while we were half asleep. Now the whole city is at risk – and unless I can master my two magics, there’s little I can do to help.