AKI:

  Many had taken the Pondus assessment. There wasn't much to learn with much of the Art lost or undiscovered. Except for Dako, all the Fioras had taken the Pondus test before the first lecture was given. By our fourth, only six students remained besides me and my friends.

  “Would you mind waiting outside?” I asked Sil and Dako. The lecture had ended, and the other students were leaving.

  Dako got up with a heavy sigh. Sil, as expected, was far more comfortable with expressing her discontent.

  “More secrets?” she asked. “After the incident with Illora, I’d have thought…”

  I looked at her, hoping the sincerity of my guilt was a good enough apology. “If I had a choice—”

  “You do.”

  “Not if it’s predicated on my survival.”

  Sil’s shoulders slumped. We’d had the same conversation a dozen times in a dozen different ways. And as mysterious as the dangers I faced were, she was careful never to pester me into disregarding my safety.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “We’ll be outside. Don’t keep us waiting too long.”

  I went to stand before Mistress Brittle, hands clasped behind my back, a little nervous and more so for the amused smile she wore.

  “I take it you’ve solved the rather obvious riddle?” she asked.

  I nodded. If I got a letter, it also stood to reason she did. “It is only obvious to those who—”

  “Don’t make excuses, Aki. It’s unbecoming.”

  I bit down a cutting response, the metaphorical gums of my pride bleeding in protest.

  Mistress Brittle tapped the corner of her mouth with a finger and furrowed her brows, an oddly youthful gesture that added to her youthful appearance. “How about Black?”

  I chuckled, amusement easing the swell of my irritation. “Apt, if not aptly inscrutable.”

  Brittle smirked. “I think he’d appreciate the choice. Don’t you?” Knite's penchant for all things dark was evident to anyone who’d ever laid eyes on him.

  “So, Mistress Brittle,” I began, my expression turning serious, “what does Black have planned for me?”

  She shrugged. “For all his plans, few are ever known before their time of completion.”

  “I see. Well, seeing as he’d told me to trust you, I’ve come to accept your advice.”

  Brittle clapped her hands, and the air shrilled as if in pain. “Delightful! Then let’s get started.”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. My friends are waiting.”

  “Send them away.”

  “I can’t.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I won’t,” I corrected.

  “But we have so much to do.”

  I remained silent.

  Mistress Brittle sighed. “Fine. Go.”

  The walk back to the dorms was quiet. My friends seemed willing to wallow in their brooding, punishing me with silence, an emptiness where my guilt could fester. Unlike Sil’s, Dako’s was difficult to bear. Silence grated on him, but he was willing to bear the discomfort to ensure I understood his dissatisfaction. He had every right; I’d not have been so patient if the roles were reversed.

  Upon entering our dormitories, Sil and Dako headed toward their rooms without a word.

  “As usual?” I asked. Meeting in the refectory an hour after supper to avoid the initial crowd had become a habit of ours.

  “Not today,” Sil said. Dako stood in silent agreement.

  I watched them leave, hoping they’d turn back and change their minds. That hope still lived when I went to the refectory an hour later. My hope withered to nothing after my third supper and their persistent absence.

  Someone called my name as I crossed the dorm courtyard. I lurched to a stop and whipped around, eyes scanning the courtyard. Brittle stood by the broken statue in robes the orange of fire, arms crossed and tucked into loose sleaves.

  “I take it you are free to begin?” she asked.

  I relaxed, closed my eyes, and drank in the humid night air of spring. The thick breeze brushed against my skin and through my hair, calming my nerves. When I was ready to exhale, words followed. “If I may ask, Mistress, why the urgency?”

  Brittle stepped closer. “I’ve already told you.”

  I gnashed my teeth. “Either tell me the truth or say nothing.”

  “Fine,” she said. “If you must know, I’m keen to put to bed the matter of your ability to use Meaning in Pondus Arts. To use meaning in any Art for that matter.”

  “Could you not have tested us in class?”

  “And let others know?” she asked, almost disgusted by the idea.

  “Why?”

  The mistress kissed her teeth. Patience was not a virtue her House was known for. “You’re too clever to ask such an inane question.” And I was. No godling would advertise their abilities. Their power? Sure. Their abilities? Not so long as they had enemies, and they’d forever have enemies.

  Brittle strode towards the dorm's gates without a word, a wave of her hand gesturing me to follow.

  Despite the late hour, The Academy was far from quiet, the busy to-and-fro of erudite students choking the wide streets with crowds and conversations. Chatter seized, and traffic parted before us as we walked up North Guri, a little past the Duros Chambers, and onto a side street I’d never taken. At last, we came to a heavily warded building, smaller than its neighbors by half.

  “We’re here,” Mistress Brittle said.

  I looked around for an entrance. There was none until Brittle pressed her palm onto the smooth, flat wall. The stone groaned and parted, curling inwards.

  Inside, the air was heavy. Not stale, just… cumbersome. There were no hints of any scent to give reasons as to why. Glowing surfaces lit the room. Tools and weapons hung from racks or lay on shelves along one wall, obscuring the lower edge of one of the four Auger matrixes etched on each of the four walls. On the ceiling was a grand Pondus design, the fulcrum on which the room's functions were set.

  Brittle pointed to the middle of the room. “Stand over there.”

  I walked to the spot she indicated and turned to face her.

  “What do you know of namats?” she asked.

  “They are natural matrixes born from one’s soul.”

  Brittle nodded. “Yes. They’re a product of nature and nurture, a confluence of who the person is and what they’ve been through during their early cycles. Each person’s namats, if they have any, vary in number, complexity, and range, usually coming into existence sometime at the beginning of their journey from childhood to adulthood.”

  “What does this have to do with Meaning? Are you saying the ability comes from a namat? Is a Namat?”

  Brittle shook her head. “No, on the contrary, the theory that namats inhibit the use of Meaning has significant merit.”

  “Then why broach the subject of namats?”

  “Because they are tested the same way.”

  “My namats have never been tested.”

  “What are academies for but to test you?”

  “To indoctrinate and control.”

  Brittle stiffened. Words of heresy tended to have that effect, even among godlings of high standing. “What I was trying to say,” she said, overlooking my blasphemy, “is that namats can't be taught, just used.”

  “I would think using them effectively can be taught.”

  “Yes, but such lessons will not be covered until your second cycle.”

  I threw up my hands, my lousy mood refusing to entertain her any longer. “Can we please get on with this?”

  “Patience, boy.”

  “Funny. Did you not drag me here in your haste to get this done?”

  Irritation creased between her smoldering eyes. “The Pondus matrix takes time to trigger.” Her eyes flickered up at the ceiling.

  My gaze followed. Half the Pondus matrix was filled with the yellowish orange of Brittle’s sensus, spreading outwards along the crevices of the complex matrix, not an iota of it spilling out or over the template.

  “What does it do?” I asked, too awed to keep the wonder from my voice. It was the first time I’d seen such fine control exercised from such a distance—the ceiling stood over ten times her height.

  “It takes sensus, converts it into pure Pondus energy, and compresses it into a mist.”

  “Why?”

  “For one, the mist, an ownerless manifestation of Pondus sensus, will reflect whatever matrix you draw from Meaning, resonating with whatever purpose your intent supplies. Any matrix drawn from memory will not be reflected. For another, it’ll measure which of the two classifications you lean towards.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Is this your way of trying to find out which House I’m from?”

  “Black can be so miserly about sharing information.”

  … I woke up on the floor, half-deaf, vision blurred, and with a thumping headache that refused to let me think. Brittle stood over me. None of it made sense until I remembered trying to leave.

  “I grow tired of your tantrums, boy,” she growled.

  Brittle lowered herself to a knee and reached for me. I flinched away, the sharp pain the movement caused eliciting a hiss. She hesitated, then reached for me again, laying her hand over my ear and part of my cheek. I was in too much pain to resist. Somehow, I’d been too self-involved to remember she was a Bainan Fiora.

  Brittle healed me. Fully. Once my ear had stopped bleeding and the cracks in my jaw and cheekbones had mended, she stood.

  “You may leave, but so too may I punish you for wasting my time,” she explained. “Now, go or stay—the choice is yours. But remember, if you choose to stay, I will no longer suffer your infantile conduct.”

  …I was on the floor again, the haze lifting from my mind, the rage, the frenzy, the thirst for blood, all of the emotions that had bombarded me just moments ago fading into something like a distant memory, like a dream or a well-told story, seeming more a product of imagination than reality. It scared me. I scared me. Deep down, I reveled in that madness, in that sense of freedom, in the lack of fear and control.

  “A stubborn one,” Brittle said. She was laughing. That was Bainan Fioras for you: a capricious lot who hovered between goodwill and animosity, violence and gaiety.

  “Why didn’t you kill me?” I asked.

  “Because Black wouldn’t want me to.” Brittle shrugged. “He’s not an enemy I can afford. Few, if any, can contend with him.”

  I labored to my feet but made no move to leave. “So…”

  “Make yourself weigh less with the matrix I taught you in my lectures.”

  I looked down at myself, noticing my weight and feeling heavier than I ever had. “Then?”

  “Will the power to do more, to lift you up or sideways or however you please. Just make it do more.”

  I tried.

  I failed.

  “Again.” Mistress Brittle crossed her arms, resignation bracing her for further disappointment.

  I obliged. Nothing happened. We continued late into the night, running test after test, all to no avail. We moved on to other matrixes and other Arts, each time with the same result—there was no way to definitively prove to her I had no talent in Meaning for the other Arts without that Art’s equivalence of the room’s Pondus matrix given the inferior facsimiles she employed lacked their power, but it was clear to me. In the end, I found I had no talent for injecting Meaning. None at all.

  We left the room a few turns before dawn. Fatigue and discontent hung off me like invisible weights, sagging my skin, slumping my shoulders, and slowing my step.

  “A pinnacle is nothing to sneeze at,” Mistress Brittle tried. “And with your intellect, intermittent though it may be, you could do very well in bridging the gap between you and the Leaves.”

  Her words did nothing to redress my state, and I labored back to my room, growing increasingly despondent.

  ***

  The sound of the curtains woke me, the rattle of their metallic rings scraping across the railing above the window. Light spilled in and revealed the shape of a man, a mass of darkness against the otherwise bright afternoon sun.

  “Get up,” he said. “We have work to do.” I recognized the voice.

  “Why are you here?” I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes as I lumbered out of bed—a first since I usually woke up on the floor, alert and ready for violence.

  Master Fuller turned, hands on his hips. “I believe my mistress has tasked you with learning a new matrix. She sent me to aid you in your efforts.” He looked me up and down. “And I think I’m going to enjoy doing so, given you continue to greet me so gloriously.”

  I jumped for the bedsheets, then hurriedly wrapped them around my naked form.

  “Or maybe not,” Fuller said, chuckling.

  Snatching a clean set of clothes from my chest, I rushed into the washroom. A quarter turn later, I was clean, dressed, and vastly more awake.

  Fuller led me to the building separating North and South Guri—a large structure that housed the Master offices. Being the first building you saw upon entering The Academy, it was, as you’d expect, impressive, sporting engraved walls, complex arches, and larger-than-life statues. Conversely, the small room Master Fuller called his own was, at first glance, relatively modest, being rather small and bare. Only when I noticed it doubled as a small Auger chamber was its true opulence revealed.

  Inviting me in with a gesture, Fuller said, “Come and show me what you’ve managed so far.”

  I looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Erm, I’m afraid I’ve not had the chance to practice much.”

  “I see,” he said, pursing his lips. “Well then, since I’m not familiar with the matrix, and since I do not have the right to become familiar with it, let me help you with your control instead. I believe improving that aspect will have the added benefit of addressing your other concerns.”

  “She expected you to help me with a matrix you’re not allowed to know?”

  Fuller shrugged. “Such is the burden of a capable servant.”

  Henceforth, Fuller and I met two hours before dawn. As he’d said, the practice helped with more than Auger Arts. Of the three primal Arts—the other three being dual derivatives—Duros matrixes were nauseously detailed, Vapor serpentine, and Auger erratic. Because of its disorderly nature and because it so often required sudden shifts in paradigm, practicing Auger Arts was ideal for improving control.

  Spring passed in a blur of ceaseless training, with dawns spent with Fuller, days in class, early evenings with Sil and Dako, and late evenings with Brittle. I’d improved some. That was the good news. The problem was my skills crawled along like an injured sloth, uncaring of my efforts and in stark contrast to my harmonies. A better harmony ought to have increased my control and have me improve more quickly. I dreaded to think of the lack of improvement I might’ve suffered if my harmonies were lower. The only saving grace was my growing familiarity with the matrix Lorail had given me. It was a good thing, too, since no sooner had I achieved a passable grasp than the need for it arose.

  Master Ackhart approached me at the beginning of our last Aedificator lesson of the season. “We must speak,” he said, grave as ever. He turned and left the class. I followed.

  Outside, the Aedificator subtly glanced up and down the deserted hallway. Satisfied we were alone, he pulled a harmony stone from the folds of his robes.

  “I see,” I said, unsurprised yet conflicted. On the one hand, this was my chance to escape suspicion. On the other, his feeling the need to retest my harmony was far from flattering.

  Ackhart lit the stone with his sensus, revealing the ten lines that marked him the same as I. “It is rare for a stone to develop a defect, but it does happen. And this time, I’ll be watching for the activation of any namat of yours that might affect the result.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I stayed silent, readying the matrix.

  “Nothing else would explain your lack of control,” Ackhart continued, misreading my silence. “It is odd, though, how even your most inefficient successes contain so much power.” He held the stone closer to me. “Come, let us find out for certain.”

  I was ready. All that practice didn't make for perfect, but it did make for passable. Four lines flashed into being.

  “As I’d thought,” he said. “I sensed a hint of a matrix, though I am unsure. Regardless, I’m afraid you’ll be moving to the back of my class.”

  I sighed. Ackhart put a hand on my shoulder, mistaking my relief for disappointment, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward for the Aedificator. I guessed his spending so much time with the inanimate had rendered his reading of emotions less astute. Or perhaps he saw me better than I saw myself. Perhaps he saw exactly how much being thought less of irked me.

  A day later, a similar scene played out with Master Royce, except my results and his high-spirited disposition made it all far more jovial. Royce smiled at the ten lines I brought about, then gave me an energetic speech about how interesting my failures were. I think he meant well.

  Another day, and it was Master Asherian’s turn. He didn’t react to my three lines. Abundance had made him and his house uncaring. Why pilfer from commoner stock when breeding was so common among Bainan godlings? Simple: you didn’t.

  Next was Master Rizal. She was the kindest of them. Manar and her progeny were widely known to be the… gentlest of the godlings. Maybe that image was why they didn’t try so hard at recruiting commoners. Kindness is precious in Evergreen; people flock to it without much convincing.

  Master Fuller followed their example. He needn't, but he did. Taking hold of my hand, he led me out of the classroom without a word.

  “I take it our efforts weren't in vain.” He began to caress a thumb over my hand as he held it.

  “As well as expected,” I said, pulling away in disgust.

  He pouted in that exaggerated way a girl who’d just discovered the power of her womanly wiles might. “Don’t I deserve some sign of appreciation?”

  “Why have you taken me out of class?” I said brusquely.

  “Tut-tut, Young Master. Think before you ask. Someone mentioned you can be rather insightful when you choose to be.”

  I tensed. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Young, master, or insightful?”

  “Any. All. And strictly speaking, you didn’t call me insightful.”

  “I guess the person who did was right,” he said, his expression so fallaciously coy as to disgust me. “I take it you don’t care for me calling you Young Master then?”

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “Separately or together.”

  “Both.”

  “But both are true and truer still when used together.”

  “Master Ful—”

  Fuller waved a limp hand at me. “Oh, fine. Anyway, we’re here because your initial results might become known. Further investigation by any interested parties will discover your lackluster progress. Then they’ll find all your teachers had retested you at the behest of Headmaster Ricell. It’d be odd if I alone did not do so. Suspicious, even. Hopefully, they’ll assume your namat or some peculiarity obfuscated the readings. Such cases aren't entirely unheard of.”

  I walked past him, heading to the door. “I think enough time has passed to give credence to this little charade.”

  That evening, I told Brittle of the ploy. To my dismay, she agreed with Fuller. And so the next day, the cycle's penultimate, she asked me outside. I counted the deception as a success. Unfortunately, it did not spell the end of my troubles.

  ***

  They attacked us on the last day of spring, on one of the smaller streets near the Duros chamber. Dako fell first. He’d been distracted lately; the age of my secrets distilled his frustrations. The masked figure had dropped down from a roof and clubbed him over the head with a vicious strike that echoed in the narrow confines of the alleyway.

  Sil reacted swiftly, but not swiftly enough. She’d barely readied to pounce on the man before a second assailant crept out of the shadows and cracked an elbow against the back of her neck. The feral ferocity on her face went slack, and she fell a half-breath after Dako.

  I almost reacted too slowly. I’d seen Dako fall. Saw his eyes roll back. Saw his considerable strength flee his considerable frame. Then I’d heard the crack of Sil’s neck and winced at how loud it rang in my ears. I heard her softly whimper moments before she lost consciousness. Her breathing staggered as she came to rest on the hard stone of the street.

  Then I reacted.

  It was a flash of rage. Less than a flash. Like a slice of time too thin to be a moment. Yet, in that infinitely small glimpse, one of the attackers died. No sign of how was apparent. Even to me who’d done the deed. Dako’s attacker was no more, nothing but a puddle of pulpous flesh flecked with grains of crushed bone.

  The other attacker turned to me—Sil’s attacker. A woman, I noticed.

  I tried to step back and nearly lost my footing. It took all my strength to remain standing. Whatever I’d done had taken something from me. Something substantial. Weakness tore into me, trying to wrestle me to the ground, beckoning me to relinquish my awareness. The burning embers of my rage refused to listen.

  The woman and I locked eyes. A smirk lifted one side of her mouth at my sudden fatigue. She came for me. Fast. Ruthless.

  Suddenly, the world slowed. Her dagger crawled towards me, the light from the matrix lanterns hanging overhead glinting along its silver edge as it inched towards my throat. I dodged the blow, the speed of my mind compensating for my sluggish body. Missing, she tried to cut across my stomach. I grabbed her wrist with one hand and the back of her elbow with the other, steering the dagger into her abdomen. It slid in without much effort on my part.

  Shock crept onto her face. Slowly. She tried to backhand me, but there was no force in the strike. I leaned away from the blow and delivered a frontal kick that shoved the dagger deeper. She stepped back, first one step, then another. Her knee buckled on the third.

  Time resumed its usual pace. I staggered towards her. My anger was losing to my weakness. She would have to die before the fight was lost. She collapsed on her side, her breathing fast and shallow. I hunched over her, pulled the dagger out of her stomach, and plunged it into her throat. She gurgled, and I watched her for a long and vindictive while, enjoying her suffering.

  When the light of life left her eyes, I tore my gaze from the dead woman and moved toward my friends. Dako was the nearer of the two. Palm to his chest, I felt his heartbeat, faint but there. Black dots swam in my vision. Try as I might, I couldn’t get back up. I settled for a crawl. I didn’t need to reach Sil to know she lived; her quiet wheezing was enough to waylay my fears.

  I rolled to my back. Assured Sil and Dako yet lived, I wanted to listen to my weakness and let the pain beckon me to oblivion. And I would’ve if not for the face I saw looking down at me from atop one of the buildings.

  Danger spurred me into action. Burning reserves of energy I didn’t think I had, I rolled back to my front and pushed myself to my hands and knees. I got to my feet with a mighty exertion of will. My vision left me. Only darkness remained. Somehow, I found my balance despite my blindness. I blinked. Hazy shapes bloomed. I blinked again. They came into focus, revealing Illora’s face inches from mine.

  I jerked back and let loose a pitiful whimper. I would’ve fallen to the ground again had my back not struck the alley wall.

  Illora laughed. It seemed especially loud to my ears. “I see why he’s interested in you.”

  Like a drowsy newborn, my head swayed, and my eyes drooped. Sleep whispered to me. I snapped my head back and into the wall to rush her from my mind.

  “W-why are y-you here?” I asked, my speech stilted.

  “I’ve been watching you,” she said. “To find an opportunity to speak in private.”

  “A-and?” I asked. My body, cold, weak, and ready to give up, trembled. “What n-now?”

  Illora crossed her arms, looking distinctly dissatisfied. “Your mind is muddled. Asking my questions and reading your aura will not do. I’m afraid my only other choice will not be to either of our likings.”

  I had enough wherewithal to think her funny; she had taken this option the first time we’d met. I laughed. Or tried to. Only a fragmented cough escaped my trembling lips.

  Illora stepped towards me, her hand raised. I did nothing. With my body too exhausted to run, my sensus too depleted to call on any Arts, and my mind too scrambled to deliberate on ways to escape my predicament, I could do nothing. Her fingertips touched my forehead. Softly. As if to make up for the brutality of what came next. Her hand pushed forward until the fingers slid into my hair. She leaned in close and whispered, “I’m sorry—”

  “Stop!”

  Illora froze and looked to her left. My gaze followed, trying to catch the source of the voice from the corner of my eye—I didn’t think I had it in me to turn my head.

  Master Fuller stood at the alleyway’s entrance, transformed. He still had the same soft features, more beautiful than handsome; the same soft body, neither portly nor muscular, yet he looked different. There was a danger about him far more explicit than the understated threat of his status or the feminine guise of his casual competence. It weighed on me. On Illora. On the very air as it shimmered with his sensus.

  “I warned you, Illora.” A wave of his hand sent an invisible force toward us. It hit me like a breeze; it hit Illora like a boulder. The Seculor’s eyes widened. Her hand slipped off my head as she slammed against a wall, then crumpled to the ground, dazed.

  Fuller came to stand over the baffled Illora.

  “You stripped me,” she accused. “Only my mother has ever done that. Only when I had dared…”

  “Please leave, Mistress Illora,” Fuller said, his words a polite request, his tone a stern command. “And remember, however great your talents, however privileged your status, you cannot stand against our mistress’ will.”

  Illora stood. I could see her gather her wits, her demeanor shifting from fearful to composed. Then, surprising us both, she bowed to him. “As you say, Master Fuller.” Then, calmly, as though nothing of note had occurred, she walked away.

  “Well,” Fuller said, looking at my unconscious friends and the dead would-be assassins, “aren't you popular?”

  ***

  I awoke in a familiar room of unnatural white. Tentatively, I sat up and observed the room. To my left was another bed. I rushed towards the figure who lay there, heedless of my body’s protests.

  Dako appeared to be in good health. A quick inspection found him free of obvious injuries. Sil was not as lucky. I discovered her on the other side of the room, to my right, where Dako had been to my left. I hurried to her side. She looked worse for wear, her skin pale and clammy. Even asleep, she grimaced, restlessly shuddering as pain and fever plagued her. Dako was a Bainan. His body only needed a little encouragement to heal itself. But Sil? Sil was a Zephyr. They were notoriously difficult to heal, their bodies tempered for externalizing rather than internalizing sensus.

  I reached over and cradled her hand in mine, her sweaty skin cold to the touch. This was my fault. My problem. A problem I’d let fester and grow. I’d done this. Hurt Dako. Put Sil here, injured and fighting for her life.

  “How is she?” asked a voice.

  I spun, finding Dako pushing himself up into a seated position. He looked at me blankly. I turned away. There was anger in his expression, I knew; his anger always came as cold indifference. It hurt to look at that soulless gaze he’d once reserved for his brother—and now for me.

  “Bad,” I said, my voice weak. “Very bad.”

  I heard him get up and approach, the slap of his naked feet on the uncharacteristically warm marble growing louder with each step. My eyes remained on Sil.

  The shove came as a surprise. It added to my pain. My guilt. I knew I deserved worse, but I’d thought… hoped…

  I staggered away.

  “Leave,” he said. The word echoed in my head. I remembered Diloni saying the very same. Though she spoke out of fear and he out of anger, they hurt the same. More now for being justified, for having come from someone who hadn't betrayed me before we’d met.

  My mouth opened but was empty of words.

  “Unless your next utterance explains why this happened, I will consider them fighting words,” Dako growled. I stepped back, as much from his words as from the pulse of sensus that bulged his hulking frame. They must’ve turned off the restriction to better care for us. He looked over his shoulder at me, nostrils flaring, jaw tense, brow furrowed, the angriest I’d ever seen him—so enraged that he let it show. Oddly, I found it comforting.

  “Think carefully before you speak,” he warned. “And think quickly before I act.”

  “I…” My mind raced for what to do.

  Dako turned to me, fully, facing me with his whole body as the pulse of his sensus added to his already considerable weight.

  I stepped back. One step. No more. Leaving would leave me friendless in a place full of enemies. Staying would see me face Dako’s wrath. Neither option felt bearable. Did I tell him who I was? Why I was here? No. That would merely put them in more danger.

  Dako loomed closer.

  “I am a son of House Lorail,” I blurted. “A Fiora.”

  Dako stopped where he was. Silence took hold. Neither of us spoke as he waited for the rest of my confession.

  “For reasons unbeknownst to me,” I said, “she left me in The Muds to be raised by my father. She’d ordered me not to speak of it. As you must know, her word is law. More than that, her word is divine. I had no choi—”

  He seized me. Quick and tight. I flinched, ready for pain. It never came. He enveloped me in his embrace, the grandeur of his frame smothering me in an act that took my breath. I stuttered, lost for words.

  As I’ve told you, I rarely cry. But then again, the tears I shed were of a different kind. What exactly was it? Not grief or pain. Not happiness. Relief? That was it. Relief. Relief that I did not have to face his anger. Relief that I had avoided losing a friend. One of very few.

  Dako released me. “Finally.”

  “Finally?”

  “I nearly got tired of waiting.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We knew. Well, suspected.”

  I threw my hands up in frustration. “Then what was this all about?”

  Dako frowned. “We have to walk the path together, Aki. Did you expect us to risk our lives for you when you would not do the same for us? Trust, my friend, is what paves the road. It is time you helped carry the load, time you labored with us.”

  “I am beginning to understand.” I glanced over at Sil. “I’ve… erred.”

  Dako nodded, his expression grave. “Do not take this the wrong way, my friend, but one way or another, it is all but certain your mother is the cause of this.”

  “She’s no mother of mine.” I sighed, wiping away tears. The only tears I had for her were the tears of happiness I kept safe for the day I snuffed out her existence. “But yes, she is. They came for me. You and Sil were merely in the way.”

  Dako sat on my bed, grunting in pain. Only now did I notice he wasn’t as free of injury as he appeared.

  “Speaking of,” he said, “how exactly did you escape them?”

  Despite myself, I smiled in satisfaction. “There’s no reason to escape if your pursuers are dead.”

  Dako arched an eyebrow. “Are you implying you did what Sil and I failed to do?” The curve of his smile dulled when he said her name.

  “Quicker than you knew to try,” I said. Dako snorted.

  “We must stop meeting like this,” said a voice. Mistress Acadia stood by the door, wiping her hands off on a purple-stained rag. “I’m sure you’d rather forego the pain. Certainly, I would rather spend my time differently.”

  Dako jumped to his feet. “Master Acadia! How is Sil?”

  The Alchemist ambled closer to our sleeping friend, inspecting her condition. She lay the back of her hand on Sil’s forehead, put two fingers on her throat to gauge her pulse, then pressed a thumb to her eyelid and pushed it open, revealing a rapidly shifting eye.

  “Is she awake?” I asked, leaning in close.

  “No,” Mistress Acadia answered. “She’s dreaming.” Sensing my worry, she added, “Your friend is not yet back to full health, but rest assured, she will be once I am done with her. Now, you two, get back in bed before you undo all my work.”

  Mistress Acadia spent a while with Sil, doing various other tests. Upon concluding her work, she forced Sil to drink an elixir, rubbed an ointment on the back of her neck, and placed a small, wet towel on her forehead. Done, she turned to me.

  “Royce tells me you are a talented Alchemist,” she said.

  I shook my head. “Besides my harmony, I believe myself a rather poor student of the Art.”

  Acadia smiled. “He claims you have a quick mind. High praise from someone as sparing with compliments as him. With that and a perfect harmony, all else will come with practice and experience.”

  “How is she?” said another newcomer—Headmaster Ricell, dressed modestly as always.

  “Still on the mend,” Acadia said, unfazed by his sudden appearance.

  “What’s the prognosis?” he asked.

  Acadia turned then, eyes narrowing. “Headmaster, do you think so little of me?”

  Ricell’s head slumped, tired. “Apologies, Chimera. A father’s worry fogs the mind.” Chimera? I thought. A father’s worry? So much said in but a few words.

  “A little late for that now,” Dako said, and after a purposeful pause, and with as much venom as he could, added, “Headmaster Ricell.”

  Ricell turned to my friend, and I worried Dako’s recovery was about to be debased. “You know not of what you speak, child.”

  “I know enough,” Dako said.

  Ricell shook his head. “Believe what you will.”

  “Was it not you who disowned her?” Dako accused. “Who left her to fend for herself?”

  Ricell waved his hand in front of his face as if Dako’s words were but a stink he was helping dissipate. “As I said…” He turned to me, putting on what seemed to be a genuine smile. “How goes it, Aki?”

  “Um,” I began, unsure and caught off guard.

  “Twice I’ve had to call in Chimera to save you. What have you been up to for assassins to dare sneak into my academy?” He lifted two fingers. “Twice.”

  I placed my right hand on my chest and bowed from the neck and waist. “My apologies, Headmas—”

  “Did we not agree,” he said. I looked up to glance at Dako, who seemed confused and angry, then at the Mistress of Alchemy, who seemed her quietly merry self. “Don’t mind Chimera. She is a friend.”

  “Not to worry,” Acadia said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave. I believe my work here is done. Aki, your treatment is nearly complete. Rest until morning, and you are free to leave. Dakomir, you may leave when your sensus has healed the injury. A day and a half or so shall do. Muggy, your daughter’s treatment will take three more falls of the sun. She’ll wake in two. Make sure she stays for the third.”

  Muggy placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Acadia smiled, nodded once, and left.

  “So?” Muggy said, turning back to me.

  “I cannot say I know why I’ve been targeted,” I said. “I apologize for being the cause of your daughter’s… condition.”

  “Not your fault, my boy. This is my academy, and it was here they struck the blow. No, if anything, I’m thankful to you for minimizing the consequences of my failure.”

  “Might I be so daring as to ask a question?” I said.

  “Come now, Aki. There is no need to be so polite when no one here expects you to be.” He cast a look at Dako, some darker emotion momentarily disfiguring his pleasant expression. “He certainly doesn’t.”

  “And for good reason,” Dako said, glaring back.

  “The assassins?” I asked.

  “Assassins?” Muggy asked. “As in more than one? How many were there?”

  “Two.”

  “Fuller only brought in the one.”

  The other was little more than paste, I thought, disgust and pride warring as I recalled what I’d done to him.

  “What did Master Fuller tell you?” I asked.

  The headmaster shrugged. “Not much. He alleged to have gotten there after everything was said and done.”

  “Do we know who she is? The assassin, I mean.”

  “No. According to him, her soul had crossed when he arrived. Likely not a godling, though, if her features are anything to go by.”

  “Another mystery,” I said, frustrated.

  “What did the truthseekers find?” Dako asked. “They must’ve found something.”

  A shadow of irritation crossed Muggy’s face. “Admin refused to say.”

  “So Aki is right,” Dako said. “This is another mystery.”

  Muggy observed me, orbs of flecked grey peering at me from under wispy eyebrows. “Being outside any training facility and thus unable to use sensus, how exactly did you defeat two assassins?”

  I shrugged, finding enough in me not to let my racing thoughts falter my curated answer. “I never said I defeated them.”

  Muggy shook his head, amused. “I know sensus exhaustion when I see it, Aki. But fine, keep your secrets. I’m not one to pry. Well then, now that I’ve confirmed Sil’s well-being, I’ll be taking my leave.”

  Muggy made his way towards the exit, but when he reached the door and turned to Dako, it was not he who spoke, but Headmaster Ricell, his voice emotionless. “Today is the last time I forgive your insolence for the sake of Silani, Dakomir. I care little for your having spawned from a god, less for your status as a Leaf candidate—if you speak to me with anything less than respect whilst you remain within the walls of my academy, I will end you.” And as the cold certainty of his promise hung in the air, seeping the chill of fear into our blood, he departed.

  ***

  Finding Fuller was the first thing I did the morning after. Dako had chosen to stay with Sil. He reckoned one of us had to—not that he blamed me for leaving; I’d told him everything. Well, almost everything. Knite’s secrets weren’t mine to share. Ultimately, neither Dako nor I could fathom who was after me and why. We reasoned it had to do with Lorail. That much was obvious. Did her enemies discover my identity? Did they think to strike at her through me? Was she herself the culprit? Did she find reasons to end her little experiment, namely me?

  Before I’d departed for Fuller’s office, I’d tried to ask Dako about Sil. He refused to speak of her past, chastising himself for what he’d already revealed. He seemed surprised when I accepted his refusal. He’d supposed his ultimatum the day before gave me cause to be more persistent. He didn’t know I knew what it was to protect a friend’s secrets.

  The whole academy felt deserted. In a way, it was. Many students had returned home for the week, eager to return to safer and more familiar settings, people, and freedoms. Only the poorest of Roots remained, too poor to visit home or their homes too poor to be worth visiting.

  Fuller sat in his chair as if waiting for me. I hadn't knocked, just strode in, but he was already behind his desk, idle, his arms crossed. “Took you long enough,” he said.

  “Too long,” said another voice. Lokos, the academy groundskeeper, the Named who’d escorted me and my dormmates from the capital, leaned against the far wall, his head gleaming as the morning sun streamed through the window and glanced off his bald scalp. He turned to me, smiling. “How’ve you been?”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “And here I thought you’d be glad to see a familiar face,” he said.

  Fuller cleared his throat. “Lokos here has come with instructions.”

  “Instructions?” I asked. “I didn’t come here for instructions. I came here for answers.”

  “Part and parcel of what she’d asked me to convey,” Lokos said.

  “Sit,” Fuller said, indicating one of a trio of chairs around a table near the window. I felt the nearly imperceptible brush of his sensus against my aura as he said the word.

  “Don’t,” I growled, and Fuller’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

  Lokos barked a laugh and clapped his hand. “Well, well, Aki, you continue to impress.”

  “Surprisingly often,” Fuller said, somehow proud of his failure to Tunnel my aura.

  “I’m glad to see you, boy,” Lokos laughed. “There aren't many your age who can resist this half-man thing when he thinks to use his talents.”

  Fuller glared at the groundskeeper. “Careful, Lokos. I am still a Seculor. Best you watch your words lest I—.”

  “Shut it, halfbreed. We all know our Goddess thinks nothing of your blood’s purity.”

  Fuller stood to his full high. “We aren't in Halor, gutter-shite.”

  Lokos stared him down, smiling. “Yes, we're in The Academy, where you and I are both assessors—no more, no less. Now seize your vociferous outbursts. I’ve already wasted enough time waiting for young Aki here.”

  “There will come a day, Lokos, when—”

  Lokos suddenly lost his smile. That was it. He merely stopped smiling, and Fuller, the talkative and flamboyant master Auger, fell silent. For the first time since I’d met him, I questioned if Lokos was indeed just a groundskeeper, just an Ascended Root.

  “So, Aki, where to start?” Lokos said, his smile returning just as suddenly as it had gone.

  Without Fuller’s Tunnel there to make me, I took the offer to sit. “I’d like to start with who’s trying to kill me and why?”

  “Well, dear boy, you’ve got the gist of it,” he said. “That is exactly our task. We are to find and eliminate the threat.”

  “You mean to tell me she doesn't know?”

  Lokos blew out a breath. “Of course she does. No, if my guess is right, this is merely a test. You'll grow accustomed to her tests if you are to be hers. And make no mistake, you already are.”

  “Is the test for you or me?”

  “Both, I suspect.”

  “I see why she’s testing me. Why is she testing you?”

  “To see if I’m fit for the role she’s assigned me.”

  “And what role is that?”

  “As her agent in The Academy.”

  I nodded in Master Fuller’s direction, noticing he’d poured himself a large glass of wine and acted as though sipping it took all his concentration. “I thought he was her agent in The Academy.”

  “More a recruiter than an agent.”

  “I see,” I said. “And am I correct in assuming this test is of her making?”

  Lokos shrugged, and in conjunction with his perpetual smile, the gesture seemed all too roguish. “Not wholly, I presume. Our lady is quite fond of using circumstances to further her ends, be they of her own making or not.”

  I stood to leave. “Are we to aid each other in this endeavor?”

  “I propose a division of labor. You find them, I kill them. How does that sound to you?”

  “Only if I may try my hand at killing them first.” It was my turn to bluster. For all my time in The Muds, I’d never taken a life. I’d blinded one or two, broken a few bones, even bitten off a chunk of flesh a time or more, but murder? But I couldn’t get Sil lying there drenched in sweat and moaning in pain out of my head.

  Lokos laughed heartily. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy your time here, Aki. I’m going to enjoy it immensely.”