It Ends in Fire

by Andrew Shvarts

  All that’s left of me is that scream.

  CHAPTER 3

  Now

  The ferry to Blackwater Academy leaves at midnight, but I don’t want to risk being late so I get there at sundown, which means I’m standing around by myself on the Lauderdale Docks for a good three hours before anyone even arrives. Lauderdale’s a nicer town than I’m used to, a small cluster of elegant estates and upscale markets on the southern coast. Being in places this nice makes me uneasy; money and magic always go hand in hand. And I really don’t like being this exposed, standing by myself under a streetlight in a stuffy dress. I want nothing more than to scramble up to a rooftop and scout the scene, to crouch in the shadows, Loci in hand, ready to strike. But instead I have to wait around here. All exposed. Like a sap.

  The others begin to show up around eleven. They trickle onto the docks slowly, first a few at a time and then a crowd, the rest of Blackwater Academy’s incoming class. They look harmless enough, teenagers dressed in crisp suits and sparkling gowns. I can make out features from all over the Republic: southerners with pale skin and reddish-brown hair, Velkschen northerners with icy blue eyes, tall lanky Sithartics with their black hair in beaded braids, a pair of Kindrali Islanders, heads shaved bald and ornate gold jewelry shining against their black skin. Some students walk alone, shy, nervous, while others clearly know one another, chatting as they stroll across the pier. Looking at them, you’d never know that in just a decade, they’d be among the most powerful people in the world. Looking at them, you’d never know how dangerous they all are.

  Murderers. Tyrants. Monsters, the lot of them.

  I feel a sudden pang of uncertainty. This is the last opportunity I have to turn back, my last chance to run before walking into the lion’s den. This is the point of no return.

  I wish Sera were here. I wish we were doing this together. Gods, I wish she was with me.

  But no. I’m on my own and I haven’t come this far just to come this far. So with a deep breath I pull myself together and stroll right into the enemy’s ranks.

  I blend in with them instantly, slipping right into the crowd. I’d damn well better, because getting myself dolled up had taken the better part of my week, not to mention the last of my coin. I had my hair dyed a dark black, I went to one of those expensive salons where they clean your nails, and I bought myself a long beautiful dress, the kind the rich Wizard girls wear, with the lace trim and the little jade clasps and the embroidered flowers along the sleeves. It’s not that I don’t like it. I do, especially the way it swishes when I twirl and the way the yellow light of the lanterns catches the purple fabric just right. But it feels wrong to be dressed up so fancy now, on the most important mission of my life. I feel trapped.

  The crowd makes its way along the pier, and I lose myself in the bustle of their chatter, their laughter and excitement. My normal posture is hunched, hidden, trying not to draw attention to myself, but here I try to walk like them: head held high, long confident strides, pushing forward like I own the world. The crowd bustles onward, none the wiser, and comes to a massive ferry anchored at the end of a dock. It’s the nicest boat I’ve ever seen, big enough to fit a few hundred, with a fresh coat of bright-red paint and two enormous waterwheels spinning along the sides. Each wheel has a glass orb at its center, and in that orb swirls a column of dancing fire, a bottled tempest of flame. Dozens and dozens of Glyphs line the orb, glowing silver and red and iridescent purple, generating the heat and trapping it inside.

  I can’t help but gawk. I’ve heard of Magic Engine Vessels before, of course, but I never imagined I’d see one in person. They’re the most ornate and expensive artifacts in the Republic, requiring thousands of hours of labor from the most masterful of Wizards. And they’re using one to ferry us to the campus. I know that attending Blackwater is an enormous honor, but it’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around.

  We board one by one, and as I make my way up, I can see a burly bald man at the edge of the gangway, flanked by a pair of Enforcers, checking each student’s paperwork before letting them on. The man wears a rumpled black cloak that hangs on him like a shroud, and a scowl seems permanently etched onto his bearded face. The process looks simple enough, just hand him the invitation, but I can’t help worrying: what if there’s something I’m missing, something Whispers didn’t know about, like a secret password or a special wink? But there’s nothing to be done now, not with a student pressing into my back, so I swallow hard and shove out the paper I took from Alayne’s carriage.

  The man glances down at it, reads it closely, then looks right at me. He’s got deep creases in his forehead, a mottled scar along his cheek, and his beady black eyes narrow with disdain. “Alayne of House Dewinter?” he asks, slurring his words just a little.

  “Yes. That’s me,” I reply. Did I sound right? How would Alayne say it?

  He turns the paper over, squinting at it like he’s looking for a sign of forgery. “Don’t recognize your family,” he grumbles, and the Enforcers’ masks flit toward me. My hand inches down for the hidden sheaths under my dress that strap my Loci to my thighs. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but by the Gods, I’m not going out without a fight.

  But the man doesn’t fight, and the Enforcers don’t strike. “Let me see your Godsmark,” he says instead.

  Of course. Godsmarks are the most precious currency of the Senate, the ultimate source of power, the line that divides the world in two. When a baby is born, its parents may petition the Senate for the child to be given a Godsmark, to be made a Wizard. If both parents are Wizards, the request is usually granted; if only one parent is, it depends on their standing with the Senate. Children of Humble parents are almost never even considered, except in the cases in which one of the parents has distinguished themselves in their service to the Republic. It’s the ultimate reward, the great hanging incentive for Humbles. Serve us well, the Wizards say, and you can become one of us.

  As a child, I’d always wondered why I had the Mark and Sera didn’t; I wondered if I was special somehow, more my father’s daughter, destined. Now I know it had nothing to do with me at all. When I was born, my father was still beloved by the Senate; a year later, he was a fugitive on the run.

  But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is getting onto that ferry. So I roll up my sleeve and shove out my left forearm. There it glows, just above my wrist, the Godsblood tattoo that grants me my magic: two diamonds pulsing a delicate blue, with a serpentine band running through their centers. The Mark of a Wizard.

  The bald man squints at it, then nods. “Well, all right then, Alayne Dewinter. Looks like you get to board after all.”

  “I’m the first Marked of my line,” I explain, though why am I talking at all? “The first Dewinter to be a Wizard.”

  “Ha!” he laughs. “You’re not a Wizard yet, missy. Not till you graduate. And looking at you, I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Then he shoves the letter back into my hands and jerks his head up the gangway. “Move along, then. We don’t have all night to gawk.”

  A few of the students around me chuckle, and I give the man a polite little laugh like I’m in on the joke, even though I’m burning with rage. I know I’m not actually Alayne Dewinter, but I also know that I don’t like being laughed at, especially not by some drunk old Wizard who pulled ferry duty. And my Loci would make a deeply satisfying crunch if I drove them into his skull.

  Another time. I keep my friendly smile and make my way past him, up the gangway, and onto the deck of the ship. This is a fancy vessel, all right. A band plays on a stage, while trays of salted oysters and cubes of cheese rest on a long buffet. The other students loiter around, leaning on railings and sitting on benches, chatting away without a care in the world. I know I just cleared the biggest hurdle and I ought to relax, but my neck’s still tight and my heart’s still pounding, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I’ve spent the past decade fearing Wizards, running from them, hiding in the shadows as they hunted me down. How am
I supposed to relax when I’m surrounded by them?

  I make my way across the deck to the most remote spot I can find, an empty patch of railing on the bow, looking out over the endless expanse of starlit ocean. A night breeze blows over me, and I close my eyes and grip the railing, savoring its chill on my skin, the way it runs through my hair like a gentle caress. Somewhere behind me, the bald man yells “All aboard!” and the other students clap and cheer. There’s a dull groan as those massive waterwheels spin to life, cutting through the water like giant plows as they push the boat out from the docks, into the water, into the night.

  Somewhere out there, Blackwater Academy is waiting.

  “Are you really the first of your line to get a Mark?” a girl’s voice asks from behind me.

  I spin around to see her sitting up on a platform a few feet away. She’s another student, with pale skin and narrow black eyes. “I am,” I say cautiously. Who the hell is she and what does she want? Is she testing me?

  “Wow,” she says. She’s holding a palmful of nuts in one hand, and she casually pops one into her mouth. There’s something odd about her, a scruffiness that makes her stand out among her peers. Her black hair is cut short just below her ears, and she wears a crisp suit with a short red tie, black gloves, and a pair of tall leather boots. She’s pretty, pretty in a way that says she’s not trying too hard to please. “I thought the Senate stopped handing out Marks to new lines in our parents’ generation.”

  Oh, she’s definitely testing me. Good thing I know Alayne’s history better than my own. “They still make some exceptions for those who distinguish themselves in service to the Republic,” I confidently reply. “My father is a decorated general who helped put down the Sithartic Uprising. The Senate let me have the Mark as a reward for his valor.”

  “Oh. That’s nice of them.” The girl finishes off her nuts and hops off the platform, pacing over to me. “All my father ever did was run our family business into the ground.” She extends a hand. “Fylmonela Potts. But you can call me Fyl.”

  I glance down warily. I’m still not sure what’s happening here or what her game is. But the last thing I want right now is to make a scene and draw attention to myself, so I reach out and take her hand, a firm shake. “Alayne Dewinter,” I say.

  “Alayne Dewinter…” she repeats, like she’s tasting it. “Where are you from?”

  “New Kenshire. It’s an island off the coast of Sithar.”

  The girl—Fyl—lets out a low whistle. “You are far from home, aren’t you? That’s, what, a month’s travel away?”

  “Two,” I reply, going off the script I’ve memorized. “Wizard ships don’t run out to New Kenshire, so we have to sail the old-fashioned way.”

  “Two months from home.” Fyl cocks her head to the side, studying me like I’m a strange specimen. “So, do you not know anyone here?”

  “Not a soul,” I reply, and it’s the first honest thing I’ve said. “Why? Do you know many of the others?”

  “Well, of course.” Fyl leans with her back against the railing, gazing out at the bustling crowd of students on the deck. “Most of us grew up together in Arbormont. We went to the same schools, mingled in the same circles, got drunk at the same parties.…” She lets out a weary sigh. “I could probably name three-quarters of the people here.”

  I nod, taking it in. Arbormont is the capital of the Republic, a bustling, prosperous city a few days’ ride south of Lauderdale. It’s the seat of the wealthiest families in the Republic, home to the High Temple and the Senate. I knew going into this that many of the students at Blackwater were from the Republic’s elite, but still, if a solid three-quarters come from Arbormont, that’s even more tightly knit than I’d expected. And it doesn’t answer the most pressing question I have. “If you know everyone else,” I ask Fyl, “why are you talking to me?”

  “Maybe I just like meeting new people,” she says, but an odd expression flashes across her face for just a second, a hint of vulnerability beneath her confident facade.

  She’s lying, but why? Is she trying to play me? I’m not buying it. I turn away, facing back out to sea. “I’m fine on my own, thanks.”

  I hear Fyl sigh and then she’s up against the railing next to me. “Look,” she says, “I’ll be honest with you. From everything my parents told me about Blackwater, we’re about to be in for the two most brutally competitive years of our lives. We’re going to be tested, we’re going to be punished, we’re going to be at each other’s throats. And before I left, my parents sat me down and told me the first thing I’m going to need to do is make some allies, because there’s no way in hell I’m making it through on my own. So… here I am. Making an ally.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you look smart and capable and on your own?” Fyl says, and her eyes dart down. “And, well… because no one else would want to be my ally.”

  She’s being honest now, or she’s a great actress, but either way, I’m not going to fight it. “So your parents went to Blackwater?”

  “That’s right. And their parents before them, and their parents before them, and so on, all the way back to the first class. We used to be a pretty important family. We even have a wing of the library named after us.” She tilts her head up, staring up into the clear sky above. “The Potts were once one of the Great Families of Marovia. And now we’re just a sad joke.” Then she sees someone coming, and her expression darkens. “Speaking of Great Families… incoming.”

  I turn around. Three students are walking toward us across the deck. There’s a burly boy with his shirt half untucked and crumbs in his mossy beard, and a tall girl with raven-black hair and intelligent green eyes. But it’s the boy leading them who catches my gaze, in part because he’s looking right at me. His skin is perfectly tanned, the kind of tan you get when you spend your days luxuriating under the southern sun. His neat brown hair billows elegantly down his shoulders. His eyes are a dazzling blue, his teeth sparkling white, and there’s a solid dimple in the middle of his chin. His clothes look like they’re worth more than my life, an ornate suit with jeweled buttons and a gold watch clasp, glistening diamond studs in his ears, the shiniest leather boots I’ve ever seen.

  But it’s his Loci that really catch my eye. Everyone else has theirs stowed in their bags (or, in my case, on my thighs). As far as I know, Loci aren’t permitted yet. But his are out nonetheless, hanging by his hips in brown leather holsters with the tops poking out. I’ve never even seen Loci like his: long, lean wands made of a material I can’t place, a deep black that glistens blue and gold like a dancing flame, with golden carved stags’ heads at the tops.

  “Fylmonela Potts!” He swaggers our way with a wide smile. “It’s been ages! I haven’t seen you since…” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “The Founders’ Day Gala? At my father’s estate?”

  “Oh, no, I… I wasn’t there, actually,” Fyl says, and in that moment, it’s like she’s instantly become a different person, someone so much smaller, shyer. “Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to. I just wasn’t… well… I never received an invitation.…”

  “Oh. Must have been an oversight,” the boy says gracefully. His smile is warm and his eyes friendly, but there’s something off about him, something I can’t quite put my finger on, something that sets me deeply on edge. “I’ll make sure you’re invited next time.”

  “Yeah,” the burly boy with the mossy beard snorts. “I mean, we’re going to need someone to pour us drinks, right?”

  “Very funny, Dean.” Fyl forces a smile, even as her gaze drops to the floor. I know that smile, the smile where you pretend you’re in on the joke even though you’re the butt. I hate that smile. “Besides. We’ll all be celebrating together at Blackwater.”

  “That’s right. I’ve heard their Founders’ Day Gala is amazing,” the handsome boy grins, gazing out at the night with a kind of sincere optimism that’s infectious. “We’re finally getting there. To Blackwater. To the best years of our lives.” Then
he turns back, and his eyes flit from Fyl to me, and I can feel them roam over me like an unwanted caress, sparkling that bright blue as he sizes me up. “Ah. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?”

  “She’s a new Mark,” the raven-haired girl answers. Her voice is flat, affectless, like she’s bored out of her mind. “Alayne Dewinter.”

  Had she been eavesdropping when I’d gotten on board? Or had word about me somehow spread? I press back against the railing, uneasy. “Yes. That’s me.”

  “Where the hell is House Dewinter?” the bearded boy grumbles, but the handsome one cuts him off with a sharply raised hand, a gesture that makes him instantly go quiet. “You’re General Grayson Dewinter’s daughter,” he says, taking a step closer to me. He smells like expensive perfume, flowers, and cinnamon, a smell at once intoxicating and overpowering. “My father spoke highly of him. We all thank him for his service.” He nods respectfully, and I force an honored smile. “Listen. I know it can be pretty hard being new. If you’d like, I can show you around this ship.…”

  “Thank you,” I say, and everything about this interaction is unsettling, destabilizing, like I’m standing on cracking ice. I don’t know who this boy is, don’t know what his intentions are, don’t know why he keeps the company of a boor like his bearded friend. I know his lips are smiling, but his eyes aren’t. And I decide I’m not going to take the chance. “But I’m all right out here with Fyl.”

  Something changes in that moment. It’s subtle, but there all the same: the way Fyl sucks in her breath, the way the bearded boy’s nostrils flare, the way the raven-haired girl looks up, for the first time, with interest. The handsome boy’s smile doesn’t fade. But something flickers in his eyes, a hint of surprise. This is not someone who’s used to hearing the word no. “Is that so?”

  “Marius,” the tall girl says, and she sounds almost amused. “She doesn’t know who you are.”