AKI:

  Silaani kin Lore and Dakomir kin Bainan, better known to me as Sil and Dako, were a godsend. Whensoever life seemed too doomed to continue, some god had sent me hope. I knew which of them had sent me Diloni. I knew, too, who had sent me Merkus. I couldn’t help but wonder which of them, if any, had guided Sil and Dako into my path.

  My new friends and I followed our classmates north. The Academy and the hill it sat upon drenched us in the tall shadows of early morning. Dormitories indistinguishable from our own lined our left, a series of replicas separated only by location and the differing statues that adorned their courtyards. To our right were mind arenas; slabs of stone, flawless, smooth, fifty paces on each side, and standing half again as tall as me, were arranged into a series of stages, each capable of projecting incorporeal manifestations of Arts by using Auger matrixes to mimic real effects, thus saving those who practiced on them from injury. They put the pedestals at the preparatory academy to shame.

  One man, a Golem, a wielder of earth, held before him a shield of hardened soil as tall as himself. He stood against a long-limbed Alchemist, a weaver of souls, an extractor, a thief of abilities and traits. She punched through his advance with a jet of water, using some power she’d filched from an evolved sea creature. I wondered how water, soft and malleable as it was, could defeat hard earth without spending eons nipping and eroding away at its surface. On another stage, thin vines of metal sent forth by a Telum, a commander of ores, slithered around a Vapor who kept them at bay with streams of fire. I wondered how intense the blaze would have to be to melt the metal so quickly and thoroughly. Yet another exhibited a woman gliding in the air, moving with the grace of a swallow. Whims of soaring through the sky took hold of my imagination. There were more showings, many more, each vying for my attention.

  A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward.

  “You’ll be at The Academy for years to come,” Sil said. “Time enough to learn—if you can avoid wasting your time watching in dumbfounded amazement, that is.” She dragged me along until we fell into step beside Dako, who, with his build, was easy to find among the thin crowd of students.

  “So, what is your prospective field?” Sil asked.

  I shrugged. For all the time I’d spent contemplating the future, I had not spent long plotting the details of my ascensions to power. Most of the thoughts I projected forward into possible futures consisted of possessing an undefined yet vast strength and all the securities and fancies I’d spend it on.

  Sil quirked an eyebrow. “You mean to say you haven't decided? And exactly how many affinities were you born with that you have difficulty choosing? I’ve heard commoners have a degree of talent in all the Arts, but aren’t most skewed towards one or two? Or are you one of those rare few who have equal potential across the board?”

  I peeled my eyes from the field, my interest drawn by the disbelief in her tone. “I thought specialization was only finalized in the last season of the cycle.”

  “Gods, you are a Mud,” Sil exclaimed.

  Dako put a hand on my shoulder. “Most have been training for specialization from birth. You can’t learn enough to rank at more than two. It takes a lifetime to become adept at just one.”

  We came upon the Mundane building, a structure of brown bricks and stained glass where knowledgable Roots taught non-sensus-related subjects. For all its size and elegance, amid the academy's cusping towers and hulking trees, it was a rather humble building.

  The lecture hall where our first lesson took place was a small amphitheater. Tiered rows of seating surrounded a stage pushed against the far wall. A man, older in appearance than even Diloni, stood hunched at the center of the stage, facing the incoming throng of students, his liver-spotted hands clasped before him. Our schedules identified him as Jasom, master of the mundane and our instructor for languages.

  My friends and I took the leftmost seats in a row a little further to the back than the front. Only three dozen or so of the hundred and twenty were present. A disdain born of arrogance caused many of the godlings to underestimate the usefulness of mundane knowledge; emulation born of servility caused many of the Roots to adopt a congruent perspective.

  Jasom cleared his throat. “Sirs.”

  I nudged Sil and Dako out of their heated debate about the merits of their chosen specialties—a conversation I’d begun to realize had no end. They both settled back into their seats, quiet and ready for instruction.

  “Sirs,” Jasom called again, this time loud enough for it to be a shout. Some offered him a glance. A few offered more. Many continued to disregard his arrival.

  Calmly, Jasom pulled out a grey medallion from within the folds of his grey robes. He scanned the room, offering gentle smiles to those few he met eyes with and cold indifference to those many he didn’t. Then he pressed a finger to his medallion.

  All chatter seized. Rich echoes hummed in the wake of the sudden hush. The boy seated next to Dako was the first I noticed. He quivered, fingers curled in tension, facial muscles stuck between an expression of pain and shock. He gurgled softly as a scream scrambled for purchase at the back of his throat. I looked about the room. Many suffered the same fate. My companions and I were safe. As were those who’d opted to listen to Jasom’s call to attention. We stared for a handful of breaths, stunned that godlings were included in those inflicted with whatever strange punishment Jasom had passed. After a time, those affected sputtered, bursting out with violent exhalations. A few of the more feeble students slumped in their seats, breathless.

  “I take it I have your attention now?” Jasom asked, his voice calm.

  A commotion broke out. Sturdier students jumped to their feet. A wiry boy with the golden hair of a highborn godling scrambled down the rows directly at the instructor, shouting insults as he went. Another finger to the medallion, and the boy fell into a rigid stillness, his momentum toppling him over like an overbalanced statue.

  “A few things to note,” Jasom said. In a room of absolute quiet, his soft words echoed. “Master Klaral and Master Holden—heads of the Vapor and Aedificator schools, respectively—designed this tool to help me deal with unruly nothings attempting to disrupt my class. Such behavior will not be tolerated. Know that your sensus, except under the express permission of a true Master, is locked to you. Know that the rather unpleasant and debilitating sensation this ingenious creation can evoke is what awaits those who dare disrupt my class again.”

  “He will pay for that,” Sil whispered, her voice hidden in a wave of others.

  “It sure is good to see godlings humbled, though,” I said.

  “You mean to say you’d find pleasure in my pain?” Sil teased.

  “Our pain?” Dako joined.

  “Right now? Yes.”

  Dako’s expression sobered before he spoke. “From the look of our master of the mundane, he’ll be dead before any of us ascend. Why worry about a future you’ll never reach.”

  “His well of offspring best be as dry as that of his life,” Sil said. “Because if they can't punish him for it, they’ll surely find the closest substitute. Us godlings have a talent for holding grudges.”

  When the humdrum of threats and complaints had died down, a sudden thing encouraged by Jasom’s theatrical stroke of his medallion, our new language assessor began his scheduled lesson. He was, surprisingly, a rather competent teacher, clear in his descriptions, entertaining in his method, and rich with his praise.

  Deep into his lecture on languages, Jasom expounded on the inadequacies of direct translations. “…The ancient language is perhaps the most notorious for such losses and gains.” He peered around the class, gazing at the only Leaf who’d chosen to attend. “Would you please give us an example of each, Sir Vignil?” Jasom had shown an uncanny knowledge of all our names. I surmised it had to do with our new marks and his medallion.

  The Leaf shrugged. “It seems that, by asking us to answer these questions, you are neglecting your duty to teach, Jasom.”

  Jasom smiled as though the boy's disrespect was part of a plan. “Anger at oneself is so often expressed as anger at others, don’t you think, Sir Vignil? It seems your ignorance, which, as with all my students, is what I wished to identify and correct, has you seeking faults in others rather than addressing your own.”

  Vignil’s jaw clenched. “I would say you are committing the very act you accuse me of.”

  Jasom’s eyes narrowed at the retort, but he made no move toward his already infamous medallion. “And where does my fault lie, Sir Vignil?”

  “Atop your accusations.”

  Jasom smiled. “Ah, yes. A calculated guess, I admit, but one you can refute simply by answering my question. So, good sir, care to prove me wrong?”

  Vignil stood, rising to an impressive height, though not in the realms of Dako and Farian. “The word for ‘tree’ and ‘thing’ is the same in the ancient language. That is an example of a translation lacking the full meaning.”

  Jasom yawned into his fist. “Not exactly. The issue persists in the original language. There is no loss in translation if the deficiency exists before the conversion.”

  Vignil’s nostrils flared, the muscles of his arms flexing. “The context in the original would rectify such issues of clarity—”

  “As would any translation.”

  “Not if the translation is but an excerpt.”

  “Again, the problem would exist before the translation. But fine, I grow tired of your excuses.” After a moment of silence, Jasom crossed his arms and said, “Well, I’m waiting.”

  Vignil lowered his head, his eyes flickering about in search of an answer. After another few breaths, Jasom dismissed him with a wave and shifted his attention to me. I hadn't considered it then, but to my detriment, his choice was wholly deliberate.

  “You there,” he called. “Yes, you, good sir. Sir Aki, isn't it? Care to try at an answer?”

  My mind floundered through memories, not considering what these answers I searched for would cost me. “Placement. A placement can be used instead of a verb to illustrate the action. When translated, the action—and sometimes an appropriate adverb—is added to clarify.”

  Jasom nodded, pleased. “Not the clearest examples, but sufficient to illustrate the point. And?”

  Sil pinched my thigh under the table. I shot her a look of annoyance, not heeding the warning in her eyes. Too often are the unwise lured away from foresight by the allure of triumph.

  I turned back to Jasom. “The word for ‘like,’ as in being fond of something, though translated as ‘like’ in common practice, is more accurately translated as ‘found.’ This says much of what the word means to them, and a direct translation loses some of that meaning.”

  Jasom clapped his hands together. “Excellent.” He turned to Vignil. “Observe, my dear sir, and learn.”

  I later found that it is never a good idea to tarnish the pride of a Leaf, least of all one from House Bainan.

  ***

  As with the first week of each month, my first week at The Academy was dedicated to subjects of the mundane. I attended classes in mathematics, sciences, history, and a litany of others. With fewer and fewer students choosing to attend, and with Sil and Dako filling my time in between with pleasant and near cheerful company, I found myself the happiest I’d ever been. It was then, trapped in the complacency contentment brings, that I was taught another lesson in caution.

  The last day of each week was our own. Ekolise advised us to use the time to consolidate the contents of our lessons. Though there might've been one or two studious persons I was not accounting for, none of us did as he suggested.

  It was the eve before our first free day. Dako and I waited for Sil by the broken statue outside our dorms. We’d returned to our rooms after a grueling class with Hansool—mundane master of mathematics—to freshen up before touring The Academy grounds.

  “He has me questioning my decision to join the Admin.” Dako shook his head, dismayed by the boredom we’d suffered.

  I smiled at him. It was an expression I was beginning to find more comfortable. “I suppose he takes pride in truly being a master of the mundane.”

  Dako laughed and slapped my arm. He didn’t notice me wince in pain. “Ha! Yes, a master of the mundane indeed. Another quarter-hour and my ears would’ve bled in protest.”

  A familiar voice cut through Dako’s laughter. “Admin? I’d heard you’d given up on your martial heritage for softer pursuits, but who would’ve thought you’d fall so low as to settle your ambitions on shepherding the common rabble.”

  Dako’s shift was instant, as warm and boisterous as a happy child, then as still and cold as a mountain peak. I saw Vignil strolling towards us with three of his fellow Leaves. Two came up from behind, following his lead. Linus, taking an extra step for every two of Vignil’s, scurried by his side, unwilling to accept the implications of trailing his social peer. Last I’d seen of the petulant Leaf, he was on his knees, bawling against the backdrop of blazing fires, horrid screams, and animalistic cheers.

  Dako offered a curt nod to Vignil and another to a rat-faced boy with a receding chin and accented nose.

  “Must we continue this endless feud?” Dako asked.

  Vignil shrugged. “If you had chosen your friends more wisely, our peace might’ve lasted. As it stands, and knowing you, this conceited dungheap”—he waved a hand in my direction, not deigning to look my way—“has guaranteed the restoration of our enmity. I take it you will attempt to protect him from me?”

  Dako offered another curt nod, his eyes hard. “As you said, he’s a friend.”

  Vignil reacted with another shrug. “Then there is nothing for it.”

  Dako rolled his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. He interlocked his fingers and stretched out his arms until his knuckles cracked. “The reasons you think Aki is insufferable are the very reasons our enmity will never die, Brother. So, are you here to act on these intentions of yours?”

  Vignil smiled. I had seen many wicked expressions in The Muds, from the dissolute licking of lips of soulless reprobates to the harsh cackle of callous murderers. Vignil’s casual smile was far more chilling.

  “I am a Leaf, Dakomir,” he said. “All I intend for today is a declaration of my intent. You, Brother, are owed that much.”

  Linus stepped forward, eager to drag himself into the light of the conversation. “A Branch protecting a Mud from a Leaf? What heresy! Vignil, snap this lowly insect’s neck and be done with it. Even if Dakomir is a Fiora, he is not a Leaf and can do naught to stop you. Do not tell me you’ve taken all that babble about our lost status as anything but The Academy trying to tame our gods-given rights to act as we so please.”

  Irritation flashed in Vignil’s eyes as he turned to Linus. “What would Uncle Silas say if you killed one of your brothers?”

  “He would think nothing of it. Why?”

  Vignil sighed. “A bad example. Alas, try to imagine what my father would say. Imagine what he would do when I cut away a seedling whose potential nearly ascended him into the Leaves and yet might.”

  “Ah, I see. I’ve heard of Bainan’s love for war and how he detests the needless loss of good soldiers. Is it true Muraad still wears the scars of his punishment?”

  Vignil nodded, then turned to Dako. “You are a stubborn man, Dakomir, but I urge you to reconsider. I will kill the boy for his disrespect. He and Jasom will see death as soon as I can arrange their meetings. Do not stand in the way when the time comes.”

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  Vignil turned and strode toward the gate, his two Leaves close at his heels. Linus laughed awkwardly at their departure. Though he eventually snubbed the idea of following Vignil’s lead, his steps faltered before taking him back toward the dormitories.

  Once they were out of sight, I asked, “Was it me or him?”

  Dako turned to me, his eyes hard. “Was what you or him?”

  “The reason you chose to stand between us.”

  Dako’s gaze softened, and a little of the affable giant I first met returned. Still, there was a heavy measure of somberness left in him. “I’ll not lie, Aki,” he said. “I hate Vignil. That is not to say I do not count you as a friend, but…”

  I smiled, surprising him. “As you are mine, Dako, which is precisely why that answer pleases me. And I understand we do not know each other well enough to be… better friends, though I do hope we are on a path that will lead us there.” My awkward laughter removed the somberness from him. My next question, however, brought much of it back. “Will I escape his wrath if I offered him an apology? Enough groveling could excuse my reckless affront if he is anything like what I suspect Linus to be.”

  Dako shook his head. “Vignil is nothing like Linus. While Linus drowns his talent in decadence, Vignil sharpens his with diligence. Do not judge him for his linguistic shortcomings—he, like me, has, by design, paid little effort into accruing mundane knowledge, choosing instead to perfect the paths our progenitor approves of the most. Only that man’s displeasure has stopped his hand this day.

  “Nevertheless, Vignil’s ambition is too great to allow such an offense, and we’ll both inexorably face the onslaught of his wrath. As much as it hurts me to admit it, fist to fist, I am not his equal.” His admission and the melancholy it inspired in him reminded me of the bleak moments when all hope seemed lost and all effort pointless. In that sadness, slight as it was compared to my own, I understood why Dako was a man I could call a friend.

  I lay a hand on his shoulder, my fingers fragile against his dense muscles. “Is that why you seek to harness power by other means?”

  Dako turned his head, unwilling to meet my eyes. I think pity from a Mud would’ve shattered him. He was, after all, still a Fiora.

  They aimed for Dako first.

  A fist to his jaw staggered my friend. I stepped forward. Someone’s arms snaked under my own, their fingers interlocking around the back of my neck. I flailed against the hold. Another two came up behind me and pounced on Dako as I struggled.

  Dako kicked out, sending his first opponent stumbling backward. He struck the second on his throat with the outside edge of his open hand, then ducked under the swing of the third. That was the last I saw of his battle.

  My opponent pushed me to the ground. My forehead struck the cobbled stone. Pain arced across my brow, pulsed at my temples, ran along my jaw, and into my teeth. I lost a second there. When I regained my senses, something long since locked away came rushing out. It wasn’t anger, though, that, too, came in abundance. It was the pure ferocity of my early youth where I’d been taught not the intricacies of combat but the savagery of survival.

  I stopped flailing and reached behind me, my arms stretched, my thumbs trying to find his eyes. He leaned back and craned his neck to the side. His grip loosened. I latched my teeth into his forearm, breaking the skin and digging into the flesh. The bite hurt him as much as it hurt me. My vision blurred. Still, when his hold loosened further, I had enough presence of mind to dig my teeth into him again, finding the thinner, less muscle-bound flesh nearer his wrist. This earned me a fist to the side of my head, dislodging my teeth. I took a part of him with me. Another fist came down, and the world flashed.

  When I came to, I was on my back, the taste of blood in my mouth, the chunk of meat I’d bitten off lying beside me covered in my spit. A pale boy with dark, shoulder-length hair and thin eyes stood over me, hand clamped around his bleeding wrist.

  The wild beast in me roared. It came out as a bubbling growl that sputtered flecks of blood. The boy’s eyes widened, and he scrambled back, floundering as he turned and ran.

  I pushed to my feet and cast a sweeping gaze that nearly put me back down. A score of students had gathered. A few more watched us from dorm windows. The spell of dizziness faded.

  Dako sat atop one of his opponents, hailing down a flurry of blows. His two other assailants were limping away. Mine fell in behind them.

  I saw Sil next. She rushed down the steps towards Dako. I had never seen concern on a godling before. A surge of jealousy urged me to hate my handsome friend. I shook the thought away before it took root.

  My vision went black. What felt like the span of a breath passed, but I knew it was more. A voice asked me a question. I turned to it.

  “Can you walk?” Sil asked. She said it as though she was repeating herself. She probably was.

  I looked down, woozy but still upright. “Yes.”

  As if to deny my claim, the world spun once more, and my balance betrayed me. Oblivion took me before my face met the ground.

  ***

  … I maintain eye contact. She may have broken herself, but not me. I refuse to be broken. I am heavy. Heavy with duty, with anger, with my imminent death.

  I stand. Best to die on my feet, unbroken.

  A thought invades my mind as I reach my full height, giving me strength. What if? What if I can break it all? My heart lays in my arms, dead. My hate stands before me, strong. I cannot let that be. I cannot bring her back, but damn if I cannot make sure my hate follows her into death.

  So, what if—

  ***

  My eyes flew open. I tried to sit up. My leaden arms rose a little. The rest of me refused even that much.

  The pain was the first thing I noticed. That and the darkness. My head throbbed like trapped insects were trying to excavate their way out. I coughed. Another kick to the head might’ve hurt the same. I hacked until the sting of blood soothed my dry throat. My headache was twice as bad by then, each convulsion lending weapons to the invading insects.

  The door opened. Light flooded in from the bright hallway beyond. A dark silhouette stood in the archway, a large bowl in hand. Purple robes fluttered as the figure approached. They laid the bowl beside me, took a jug from the bedside table, poured a cup, and made to have me drink it. I kept my lips sealed. A pinch to the nose cut short my rebellion. Once the cup was empty, the figure took a cloth from their robes and dabbed away what little had spilled. Then they plunged the fabric into the bowl of water beside me, wrung out the excess, and placed it on my forehead. My headache eased.

  “Sleep,” they ordered.

  I tried my best not to listen, but sleep pulled at me. Resistance was futile. They must’ve put something in the water. They must’ve…

  ***

  I awoke without pain. I never knew how tranquil waking could be when one was allowed to go about one's sleep without the torture of wicked dreams or the dark welcome of night.

  I leaned forward. The bedding no longer sought to stop me. The headache was gone, but a tightness remained. I reached up. Careful prodding found a bandage wrapped firmly around my head. I let it be lest I caused the pain to return.

  My eyes roamed the room. Everything was white. Not the off-color white everyone refers to as white, but a pure white that almost cured the room of shadows. The pitcher of water from the night before lay beside me, refilled. I started to reach for it. A creak of the door froze me mid-motion.

  The purple-robed woman. My vague recollection of her dark figure had done her little justice. I’d thought her an ominous herald of doom, of pain and demise, of malevolent intent. Now, standing in the doorway in much the same way she had before, I let my eyes rectify that prejudice.

  Far from the doe-eyed torpor or shifty-eyed craze I expected from any who wore the purple of Alchemists, she was clear-eyed, awake, and tacitly animated. On her round face, below kind eyes and a button nose, was a toothy smile that tried to put me at ease. It almost did. That only served to make me more apprehensive.

  “I assure you,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm, “the water is pure.”

  I believed her. I hated myself for it, but I believed her. Still, my hand jerked back. I knew better than to listen to what I felt, for belief is hope’s false claim to knowledge.

  “Where am I?” My voice was hoarse with thirst.

  “The infirmary.” She held up a hand, halting my questions. “Relax, child, you are safe here.” She strode towards the bed, her ingratiating smile closing on me like an inescapable blade. “My name is Acadia.”

  I gasped. “W-why would the head of the Alchemy school…?”

  “Yes, indeed. I do not visit the infirmary often nowadays—what with the support of my staff and the importance of my other duties, I don’t much need to—but circumstance and a rather shrewd Headmaster have urged me to attend to your injuries.”

  “Circumstance? Headmaster? Where am I? Where are Dako and Sil and…?”

  Acadia leaned in, touched my brow with the back of her hand, and closed her eyes. “It seems my task is complete. You shall need the remainder of the day to rest, but beyond that, you are as healthy as could be, if not a little underdeveloped for your age. A half-cycle of hearty meals should remedy that. If my memory serves me right, The Academy has always been generous to first-cycle students on that front.”

  “What happened to me?”

  Master Acadia regarded me carefully. “You took quite a blow to the head. One of the Surgeons confirmed you were bleeding from the brain, a problem they were ill-equipped to handle.”

  “My brain?”

  “Worry not—I’ve resolved the issue.”

  “How did you fix what Surgeons could not?” I asked, my tone unwittingly bereft of the expected respect.

  “Surgeons risk alterations in their pursuit of healing. While slight changes are acceptable for most injuries, they are not for those to the brain. Even the most minor of alterations could leave any number of disabilities.”

  “I thought the soul kept hold of our knowledge and skills?”

  “Unless you are a god, you need your mind to navigate your soul. Imagine a road in an expansive, interconnecting series of roads. If the road is damaged and you rebuild along a different path without anyone the wiser, you included, all who’d think to travel that road would be lost. The mind works much the same way, though, being the soul's conduit, it is far more complicated. Surgery is incapable of preserving these roads when they are damaged. Alchemy, on the other hand, though more tedious, slower, and with its own sleuth of drawbacks, can, with the use of exotic and expensive souls who’ve developed particular skills and kinds of healing abilities, convince your brain to reorient itself to its previous configuration, all the while healing the damage.”

  “What scrambled my brain?”

  “You do not remember?”

  “None of the blows I recall seemed strong enough to cause such an injury.”

  “And what would you know of such injuries?”

  “I… um, have some experience taking blows to the head.”

  “That explains the scars.” Pity flashed across her eyes. “I suspect the two waiting outside may be better informed. Since my work here is complete, I’ll grant them entry on my way out. Remember to rest. Despite my treatment, your body needs time to recuperate.”

  Sil and Dako were both smiling when they came in. It did nothing to hide their anger and worry. Notwithstanding the bitterness of ventless anger they felt on my account, I had rarely tasted anything sweeter.

  “You’re looking well,” Dako said.

  “Was I in so bad a condition that I now look well to you?” I asked, forcing a smile.

  “Yes,” Dako answered. “By whatever standards you wish to use, it is always bad when blood leaks from your every orifice.”

  “Every orifice?” I asked.

  Dako smiled. “Maybe. Maybe not. You can't have thought I’d check.”

  “Nevertheless, it was a rather worrying sight,” Sil said.

  I blushed. Blushing was not something I did, but it seemed the natural response. Dako grinned in understanding, though his following words showed very little of it—or maybe too much.

  “I don’t know what it is about a woman’s concern that brings fire to a man’s loins,” he said, causing the pink of my blush to redden. “Ha! Who knew you were so sensitive? The mere mention of carnal realities, and you turn the color of a battle-ready Ignis.”

  “You two are insufferable,” I said.

  “No lasting effects?” Sil asked, her eyes filled with the light of mischief. I was too slow to notice the bait.

  “Acadia herself saw to my treatment,” I said innocently. Both my friends burst into laughter.

  “You mean Acadia,” Dako said, chuckling between his words, “the nearly three-hundred-year-old head of the Alchemy personally cured you of your shyness?”

  “Truly insufferable,” I muttered.

  When the humor of such a ridiculous fiction left us, Dako turned to me, serious. I reacted in kind. He was a perpetually cheerful fellow; his every moment of sobriety always came across as intensely earnest.

  “You had me worried, Aki.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, his touch heavy with meaning but otherwise gentle. “I almost came to blows with Vignil over it.”

  “Me or him?” I asked.

  “As I said, you had me worried.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t come to blows on my account. I’m no worse for wear. In any case, what do you know of what happened?”

  “They were Roots,” Dako said. “All three of them.”

  “Any news as to why they attacked us?”

  Dako shrugged. “None I’m privy to. It has been frustrating, to say the least. Both were found dead in their rooms soon after the incident. Suicide, they say. I say they’re spouting horse-dung of the highest order.”

  “Suicide?”

  “Supposedly. We’re meant to believe their failure to terminate us drove them to it.”

  “And the third?”

  Dako looked at me and smiled. “Died from his injuries.”

  I blanched a little, uneasy with this ruthless side of him.

  Sil shook her head. “You beat him to death, you oaf. Pummeled his flesh and bones until his soul deemed his body uninhabitable. I would’ve pitied him if he hadn’t deserved it.”

  “They?” I asked Dako. He seemed puzzled, so I clarified. “You said, ‘Suicide, they say.’”

  “Ah, yes, the truthseekers. The city Admin sent them over to investigate the matter. Two men. I didn’t much like the look of them. But then again, I’ve never liked the look of Tunnellers.”

  “Conspiracies are afoot,” I said. “There were too many witnesses for them to get away with attacking us so publicly. The culprits would know that. As would the truthseekers.”

  “If it wasn’t all so suspicious, I might've believed them,” Dako said. “As it stands…”

  “How many enemies have you made?” Sil asked me, her first foray into the topic of who might’ve been responsible.

  “Why would you think I was the cause?” I asked, taken aback. “I’m sure Dako was the target, seeing as they concentrated their efforts his way.”

  “I assume they did so to neutralize him before he had a chance to intervene,” Sill said. “Mind my bluntness, Aki, but Dako is plainly the more dangerous. Knowing he would not stand for their assault without attempting to hamper their task, they lent the greater part of their strength to ensure he couldn’t. They underestimated you both with that decision.”

  “Plausible,” I said, “but it doesn’t explain why you think me the target.”

  “Simple. The only enemy Dako has is Vignil, a man too scared of his father to be so blatant as to organize the attack so soon after he had publicly threatened you. Graduating is a condition for his keeping his standing, and risking his Leafdom for petty revenge makes little sense.”

  “Much as I find Dako likable,” I said, “it is rather farfetched to say he has but one enemy, as is the possibility of me having enemies who could influence the city’s Administration. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a Mud.”

  “A Heartwood,” Sil corrected. “But that is beside the point. If you knew how Dako was rai—”

  “Enough!” Dako glared at Sil. “That is not your story to tell.”

  Sil bowed her head. “I only meant to…”

  “I know.” Dako sighed. “But she’s likely right, Aki. Until my arrival here, I’d been largely confined to a compound.”

  “So?” I asked.

  A sadness grew in Dako, burrowing into his expression: the corners of his lips lowered a hair, and the shadow of a wrinkle creased between his eyes. And for the first time I could remember, his hold on his immaculate posture frayed, and his shoulders drooped.

  “My father is,” he began, “for lack of a better term, a prolific breeder, siring more children than all the other gods combined. To control the power distribution within the house, he’s long ago adopted a merit-based system whereby the most talented of his descendants spent their younger years in one of three compounds. I…”

  Sil placed a supportive hand on Dako’s broad back. “You don’t have to tell it. I’m sure your word shall suffice.” She turned to me, awaiting my support.

  Dako raised a hand before I could speak. “Vignil and this mystery enemy have tied us together. My past seems to be, to one degree or another, pertinent to both.”

  Sil nodded. “But must you dredge up all the particulars?”

  “Maybe not, but if we are right and Aki is the target, he will soon have to tell us his story. I doubt it would be any less—”

  “No,” I said. They turned to me. “I will not tell you my story. If it is the price for yours, stop, because I cannot afford it.”

  “Why?” Dako’s emotions were evident. The hurt. The disappointment. He’d have to learn to keep them from roaming the surface if he meant to realize his ambitions as an Administrator. I will like him less when that day comes, I thought.

  “We may have moved further on the path,” I said, “enough for you to trust me with your past. Unfortunately, it is not yet enough for me to trust you with mine.”

  Sil faced Dako. “What's he talking about? What path?”

  Dako’s eyes stayed on mine. “I understand.” He sighed and lowered his head, then looked back up, his smile stiff. He’s already learning, I thought. “But when we get there, the story better be worth the distance.”

  I smiled back at him. “I assure you, it is.”

  “Where are you two going?” Sil asked. “And why am I not invited?”

  I chuckled. “Now that you’ve confirmed my health, you should both go.”

  “You're sending us away?” Dako asked, indignant.

  I waved my hands emphatically. “No, no. I mean, there’s only half a day left for you two to explore the wonders of The Academy.”

  Sil’s brow furrowed. “We’re not leaving.”

  “You can't spend your first free day stuck in here with me,” I explained. “Go and enjoy what remains of it. And tonight, if you have the time, bring me tales of all you’ve seen and done.”

  “But we’ve already—” Dako began.

  “And that is not your story to tell,” Sil said, frowning. Dako just nodded at her words.

  “I’m to rest if I hope to heal,” I said, choosing to ignore their suspicious interaction. “Tomorrow, our lessons in sensus begin in earnest. I will not fall further behind. As it is, my past has dragged me back far enough. It does none of us any good for you two to stay here to watch me sleep. Go.”

  “Then we’ll be back at dusk,” Sil said.

  ***

  Unable to fall asleep, I was tossing and turning when a knock on the door gave me a reason to stop trying. I sat up and waited. My visitor knocked again, unwilling to enter without permission.

  “It’s open,” I called.

  A short man on the cusp of middle age came in, eyes cast down. “Excuse me, sir. Are you Aki?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve your letters, sir. May I bring them to you?”

  “Letters?”

  “Came in this mornin’, sir. Two of them.”

  “For me?”

  “Aki au Farian. Is that not you, sir?”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Then yes, for you, sir.”

  “Alright, please bring them to me?”

  The man looked up, surprised. He ducked when he saw me looking back. “Yes, sir.”

  “Please stop calling my sir? It unnerves me.”

  Mid-stride, he snuck another look at me. “Course, si—I mean, what would you like me to call you, sir? Ah, sorry, sir.”

  I chortled. I shouldn’t have; the man was terrified, though I couldn’t fathom why, and fear was no laughing matter.

  “Think nothing of it,” I said. “And call me Aki.”

  He nodded. “Yes… Aki.”

  “So?” I said, nodding to the parchments he held.

  “Ah, yes.”

  “Your name?” I asked, taking the letters from his outstretched hands.

  He jerked another look at me. “Polkin.”

  “Why are you afraid of me, Polkin?”

  “You’re a Fiora, sir. A Seculor leastways.”

  “Am I?” I asked. “And stop calling me sir.” The words came out more forceful than I intended. Damn it, I thought, I’m no godling. Nor do I wish to be.

  The man winced. “So-sorry, uh, Aki. You just look…”

  I sighed. “Excuse my temper, Polkin. Thank you for bringing me the letters.”

  The man bowed, irritating me further. I forced my anger down. He did not deserve whatever else it would have me shout at him.

  I waited. He stood, gaze fixed on the floor.

  “Was there something else?” I asked.

  “No, si—erm, I mean, no, Aki. Just that you haven't dismissed me yet.”

  I sighed again. “You need not wait for my permission, Polkin. Again, thank you for bringing me the letters.”

  He bowed and ran from the room, risking one final look before silently closing the door behind him.

  I turned my attention to the letters. The first was folded and tied with a coarse ribbon of cheap cotton. I opened it.

  “Son, I’m wri—”

  I crushed the paper. Then, thinking worse of it, I ripped it up, stumbled out of bed, threw open the window, and launched the scraps as far as my strength allowed. As though agreeing with my decision, the wind scattered the pieces, hurling them into the night. I watched, my breathing heavy, my hands gripping the windowsill.

  How dare he!

  Some time passed before I calmed enough to slip back into bed. Longer still before I dared read the other letter.

  I took it out, slow, cautious, as though some cleverly disguised snake hid within, ready to lunge at me with poisonous fangs. I tore the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, which was much better quality paper than the last.

  The letter made no sense… until it did. Partly. It was blank with no ink, smudges, scent, or creases beyond the two purposeful folds. I supposed it was from Knite. He was acting with caution. With the enemies he had—we had—it made sense. Now, I had to figure out how to reveal whatever was so important and urgent that he risked sending it.