by Sever Bronny
The twelve blessed bells of lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough, and when they finally sounded, everyone was on their feet and shuffling out the door even as Arcanist Rowan feebly assigned homework, which few bothered to write down.
The trio and their friends filed past the silent overseer. Augum tried to get a glimpse inside his hood, but it was too loose and too dark.
“We have to raise crowns,” Leera said as they stepped out into the Hall of Rapture.
“Seven every morning,” Augum said. It meant performing warlock duties for Ordinaries. There were standard prices for standard tasks. Several castles for a basic repair, several spines for a more advanced one. Ten castles made a spine and ten spines made a crown. Telekinetically moving heavy objects was a classic, but it was still tedious work. There was the black market too, which paid handsomely but was unethical, and getting caught meant expulsion and often arrest and de-robing. The black market was one thing the arcanists never messed around with—they had enough trouble with arcanery being conflated with witchery and demons; gods help the fool who risked giving it a reputation of banditry too.
Augum spotted Eric and, realizing he had extensive connections with the nobility, came upon an idea. “Hey, catch up with you in the Supper Hall,” he said to his friends, then he pssst’d at Eric, taking him aside.
“We shouldn’t be seen talking together in public,” Eric warned in a whisper, pretending to look in another direction while Augum stood near. They knew it was best to hide their secret alliance lest the rest of the Southguards, especially Katrina, find out.
“I need your help, Prince Eric,” Augum began. “I’m hoping you can discover which corrupt noble is hiring Whisper Blades to kill me.”
“That’s the job of the Lady High Inquisitor and the constables.”
“You know they don’t give one hoof about me. They serve the nobility, not justice. Please, just see what you can dig up. You’ve got the best connections to the nobility that we know of, and you have a way with words.”
“You are putting me in great danger with this discussion. You do not know how ruthless and greedy some of these nobles are. These people spend their lives dueling in the arena of intrigue. And they are not all who I fear. Cousin Katrina knows I am a wayward and she’s still angling for public revenge against you for slighting the Von Edgeworth honor.”
“It’s an Arinthian tradition to slight a Von Edgeworth,” Augum said wryly.
“This is no time for jests, Stone. I’m terrified she might even know about Iguyin. If I help you in any way and she finds out …”
Augum pretended to root around in his satchel as a young warlock passed by, gawking at Augum. “I know it’s a risk,” he said after the boy had passed, “but I hope you’ll do what you can.” Augum wondered if Eric and Iguyin were still risking seeing each other. They were surely terrified of being found out. Augum didn’t blame them. The moment The Path discovered them—heck, if Eric’s own father found out—Iguyin would be swinging from a noose or burning in a pyre.
“Do you at least have any leads as to which noble it could be?” Eric pressed.
“Not really, but I did tell two people that I wanted to become an Arcaner prior to revealing my intentions publicly.”
“And you were attacked before going public, is that correct?”
“Exactly.”
“And the two people are?”
“Katrina and Iron Byron.”
Eric scoffed.
“I know, I know. Look, Byron threw me out of his office, and Katrina denied it and then toyed with me.”
“You have lost your mind, Stone.”
Augum sighed. “How’s your father taking the invasion, anyway?”
“Privately, livid that he lost his kingdom. Publicly, he’s playing the diplomat. He knows they are bleeding the kingdom dry, but seeing as our army is woefully unprepared for war, he can’t do a thing about it. Not to mention he discovered all that captured Dreadnought equipment from the war is useless.”
“What do you mean?”
“We had no less than three arcaneologists study the problem. They discovered the Dreadnoughts crafted the equipment to work only for those who had sworn their allegiance to the Lord of the Legion. Except the man’s death rendered the equipment completely useless from an arcane perspective. Sure, it could be used as regular armor, but that would hardly help against trained military warlocks.” Eric glanced past Augum. “I need to go. I will see what I can do, but I make no promises, Stone. And don’t talk to me in public like this again. It’s too dangerous.”
Augum watched Eric stride off, ruminating on what he had revealed about the Dreadnought equipment. It was a massive trove that would have had a substantial impact on the battlefield, and helped explain why the king had capitulated so quickly. Yet he wondered if …
Suddenly an idea struck him so hard he staggered.
He bolted after his friends, eager to tell them about it.
* * *
“That is an absolutely crazy idea, Augum,” Bridget said as they sat eating in the Supper Hall. She stirred her lumpy porridge, nodding. “But I have to concede it just might work.”
“We’ll have to research if it’s even possible,” Haylee said. She stood, leaving her porridge in place, deeming it inedible. “Cai, Laud, Jengo—you all are good at digging information up from books. Want to hit the library with me? If we find the info quickly, you can help refine the guest list for my womanhood ceremony.”
“What, you mean the whole school isn’t invited?” Jengo asked with pretend shock.
Haylee scoffed. “Are you coming to the library or not?”
“ ’Course I’m coming,” Jengo said. “But no yapping about—” He wiggled his fingers at the girls as his face twisted with revulsion. “—any sort of … girly things … or whatever.”
Caireen’s right eyebrow rose. “Are you kidding? Do we need to remind you of the boys club your manhood ceremonies turn into? Get moving, you gangly beanpole.”
Before they left, Augum said, “Hey, I’ll use castle funds to pay our tithes for now.” He should have told Isaac too, who he suspected was already out in the city performing arcane errands for people in exchange for coin. He was, after all, quite poor, having spent all his money on that term’s tuition.
“That won’t last, you know,” Bridget said. “So many crowns a day for so many people adds up fast.”
“But it’ll buy us the time we need.” Augum looked around the half-empty hall. That’s how many students were out in the city desperately doing arcane work in exchange for coppers and silvers. They were braving the snow and people’s superstitions, but only the latter was dangerous to a warlock.
“Much appreciated, thank you,” Haylee said, the others nodding in agreement. “Wish us luck.”
“Good luck,” the trio said as their friends sped off.
Leera grimaced at her porridge. “What, did the Canterrans take over the kitchen too? Revolting.” She shoved the bowl aside, drummed her fingers on the table with a flourish and finished by pointing her index fingers at Augum. “So let me get this straight, the Dreadnought armor was originally crafted to be worn by anyone who had sworn a sacred oath to the Lord of the Legion, mostly intended for necromancers.”
“Yes.”
Another short drum flourish and dual finger point. “But any undead raised by those necromancers could also use that armor, for the oath extended to them too.”
“Yes.”
“And now, because you share the same blood as the Lord of the Legion, you think there might be a way to transfer—” She gripped the air and swung her hands as if moving an invisible object from one spot to another. “—the equipment’s allegiance to you.”
“Yes.”
Her finger drumming transferred to her chin. “So anyone who thereafter swore the oath to you could use the Dreadnought armor’s full arcane protections? Just … just like that?”
“Yes.”
Leera blinked, cocked her head
. “Why again?”
“Because after the war, arcaneologists identified two primary powerful benefits the armor provides.” He raised a finger. “The first is partial spell immunity—” He raised a second finger. “—and the second is that it amplifies Elemental Armor for those who can cast that spell. His necromancers enjoyed the latter benefit, but it was wasted on the undead. Now imagine our warlocks benefitting from both powers. It would balance the odds against a massive force.”
“But who do you think will swear an oath to you and join a rebellion and use this armor?”
Augum deflated. “Uh … I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
She crinkled her nose. “I’ll be honest. Sounds like delusional thinking.”
Augum spread his hands. “I’m all ears. Let’s hear the awesome plan you have that will surely trump mine.”
Leera snorted. “I got nothing. We’re screwed.” She rubbed her face. “Ugh, and then we have to deal with Gritchards back at the castle. What a nightmare.”
Augum would rather not think about the fanatical Path Disciple he had booted out of Arinthia.
“Jez will keep him in check while we’re out,” Bridget said.
“Unless he brought a hundred warlocks with him too,” Leera sniped.
“Well, no sense in worrying about it right now,” Augum said. “We’ll simply have to deal with him later.”
“Good idea.” Leera made a digging motion.
“No, we’re not sticking him in a hole,” Bridget said, and added in a mutter, “Nutcase.” Then she leveled her spoon at Augum. “What are we doing about those assassins?”
Leera slapped Augum’s arm with the back of her hand. “Yeah! What are we doing about those assassins?” She leaned closer to him.
Out of habit, Augum almost pecked her on the lips, but remembered there were a slew of overseers about the hall. He gently nudged her with his elbow instead, already missing cuddling with her. “I talked to Eric about that,” and he explained what he had asked of him.
“Taking a big risk,” Bridget said, spooning another mouthful of porridge and scrunching her face in disgust.
“I know. And he knows too.” Augum stared at his untouched porridge. He pointed at the bowl and it rose off the table. Might as well practice. He playfully made miniature bolts of lightning flick between his fingers and the porridge. “We also need to find out where they’re taking people.”
“What, and free them?” Leera said, pointing at her own porridge and making the soupy substance rise, forming a miniature figurine. The friends sometimes idly played like this, each fooling around with their particular element. “Play hero again? Then what? Think of the reprisal. I’m sure they’re just sitting in some time-out room or something. That golden-eyed freak looks crazy but kind of harmless. Obviously he hates women, but I can live with that considering how much worse it could have been.”
“Really, Lee, you can be quite crass sometimes.”
Leera let the porridge drop back down with a shloop. “It’s called being pragmatic, Bridge. I’d think you’d understand.” She absently flicked a finger and her spoon telekinetically twirled on the table. “We could all have been put in arcane chains and forced to use our precious, beautiful sorcery to work in a Canterran mine.” The spoon slowed. She flicked it again and watched it twirl. “Or we could be dead. Like I said, you just know it could have been a thousand times worse.”
Bridget pursed her lips but said nothing. Then her gaze wandered and she gave a small sigh. Augum glanced over at where she was looking and saw Brandon laughing with Katrina.
“He’s an ass,” Augum said.
Bridget started and averted her eyes. “I don’t think about him anymore.”
“Is that right?” It was Leera now who pressed, her hands folded neatly in front of her on the table. “Bridgey—”
Bridget’s finger shot upright. “Don’t. Just … don’t.”
Leera raised her hands in surrender. “All right. All right. I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t say anything.”
A hurt look passed over Leera’s face before she nodded. “Fine, but you can’t keep it bottled up forever.”
Bridget took another mouthful only to wince. She shoved the bowl away. “You’re right, that is revolting.”
“Putrid,” Leera quickly agreed.
“I’m going to the library to help with research. You two better not find a room to make out in.”
They watched Bridget march off.
“Want to find a room to make out in?” Leera asked.
“Definitely.” Being in grave danger had that effect on him.
* * *
Augum bolted upright, untangling himself from Leera’s embrace.
“What is it? I do something wrong?” Leera asked in the darkness. They were on top of the teacher’s desk in one of the many abandoned classrooms in the Lecture Wing, a leftover from back in the day when the academy had hosted thousands of students.
“Of course not. I’d like to be with you until the sun goes down, you know that, but it feels wrong right now.” He wanted her more than he dared admit, even to himself.
“That’s exactly what makes it so thrilling. We’ll never be this young again. Heck, we may not live beyond this term. Screw The Path and its ‘propriety.’ ”
“Agreed. But I need to find The Grizzly.” He also felt guilty that they were being so self-indulgent while the others were researching, or out earning crowns.
Leera sighed as she fixed her disheveled hair. “I suppose you’re right.” But then she grabbed the front of his robe and brought him in for one more tender kiss, which he thoroughly partook in. When she withdrew, he lovingly brushed the nape of her neck with his fingers, allowing his butterfly emotions to ebb and settle. He felt safe and loved in her arms, and knew she felt the same in his. He studied the gentle curve of her nose, the smoky darkness of her eyes, the small crook where the corner of her mischievous mouth settled into her cheek, the smattering of freckles that sprinkled her soft face like soot.
They had gone through so much together. Each moment could be their last. An assassin could kill him. The Canterrans could whisk them off to who knew where. They were young, foolish, and deeply in love. But they were alive.
He drew her near, kissed each of her cheeks, then kissed her mouth deeply, pressing himself against her.
“What was that for?” she asked with a suspicious look once he withdrew. “Is there some ceremony I don’t know about?”
He smiled. “No reason.” He wanted to say that one day he’d marry her. He wanted to say they’d be together forever. He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to ask for so much more. But the courage to ask to share the night in one bed … that he had yet to find.
They stared into each other’s eyes. Then she shoved him back playfully, muttering, “Fiend.”
“But I’m your fiend.”
“Yes, you sure as heck are.”
They peeled themselves off the desk, straightened their amber robes, and after checking that the coast was clear, stole away to find The Grizzly.
Dandelion
“I’m not impressed, Stone,” The Grizzly said without looking up from a scroll he was working on. His worn quill scratched away feverishly. The scroll was large, with elaborate crimson wax seals at the bottom.
Augum stood before The Grizzly, at a loss for words. Here was the Lord High Commander of the Solian army, a huge beast of a man, and he was squirreled away at his tiny beaten desk in his tiny beaten office, messing around with a scroll. A portrait of Attyla the Mighty hung on the wall, as did a small painting of a dandelion.
Leera waited outside the man’s office. Augum was glad she’d chosen not to come in with him, as a cantankerous and sarcastic Grizzly was not to be trifled with, and the man already found Leera flighty, immature, and downright unsoldierly.
“Sir, shouldn’t you be, uh, you know …”
The man did not even look up. “With my troops? Commanding my army? Teach
ing my pupils how to engage in war? Whatever gave you that idea, Stone?”
“Is there something the matter, sir?”
“Is there something the matter, he asks.” The Grizzly took a moment to look up. His gray shaggy beard was more unkempt than usual, and his coal eyes were tired and had the glassy look of defeat. “Did you suffer a knock to the head on the way in, Stone?”
“No, sir, I—”
“Are you drunk, then?”
“Of course not, sir, I merely—”
The quill continued scratching away. “I don’t have time to hear teenage solutions for adult problems. Why don’t you continue prancing about with that snowflake of a girl of yours and forget it.”
Ouch. Guess bringing up the idea of dragons was also out of the question then. “Can we at least try with one suit?” he pressed, choosing to ignore the insult about Leera.
The Grizzly dotted an i with an irritated flourish, crossed a t with a still greater flourish, and sat back, flicking the quill away from him. It twirled onto the desk like a sycamore seed. “Stone …” He rubbed his face with his giant hands. But he seemed too exasperated to continue.
“Sir, please at least let me try. I know you think it’s stupid, I know you think my head’s in the clouds, but please just let me try.” Augum cleared his throat and firmed his voice. “What harm could come of it?” He immediately regretted the question.
The Grizzly narrowed his eyes. “What harm could come of it? What harm could come of it? You jest with me.” He leaned forward. “Let’s start with, ‘Oh, the Canterrans captured a Hero of the Resistance for trying to start another Resistance and put him and everyone who helped him to death.’ ”
Augum squirmed.
“Or how about the possibility that you simply—” He made a poof gesture with his huge hands. “—disappear? How about some practicality, boy? Even should you succeed, what will you do when you discover—” He leaned forward a little more while tilting his head. “—we do not have nearly enough warlocks to fill the suits!”
