Chapter I
Chapter One
Elion
By noon, Primordia had taken Elion’s sword, his title and half his luggage.
The sword, he had been assured, would be returned after registration. His trunks would eventually reach the South Tower. The title appeared to have been discarded on purpose.
The clerk behind the eastern registration table did not look up when he stopped in front of her.
“Name?”
“Elion Valceran.”
“Age?”
“Twenty.”
“Dominant current?”
“Fire.”
Her pen moved steadily. “Previous institutional training?”
“No.”
“Demon bond?”
“Not yet.”
That made her glance up. “No title either?”
Elion rested one hand on the edge of the table. “Would it improve the form?”
A laugh came from behind him. Kai’s was easy to pick out.
Kai Draxen stood three positions back with one boot hooked around the leg of his trunk, white hair already loose across his forehead. He had been enjoying Elion’s morning far more than Elion himself had.
The clerk followed Elion’s look. “Titles carry no authority during Potential Year. If an instructor asks for your number, give your number.”
The clerk slid a small iron token across the table. Sixty-three had been stamped beneath Primordia’s four-pointed seal.
“Keep it.”
Elion turned it over between his fingers. “And if I don’t?”
“If you lose it, you report the incident to Records.”
“That sounds survivable.”
“You haven’t met Records.”
He put the token into his pocket.
She continued through the remaining questions without ceremony. Formal tutoring in all four currents. Strongest control in fire. No previous sealing, magical collapse or disciplinary restriction. When she reached the section concerning family history, the tip of her pen hovered above the paper.
“Any instability among parents or siblings?”
Kai coughed behind him. It was not convincing.
Elion kept his eyes on the clerk. “How much space do you have?”
Her mouth twitched.
She stamped the bottom of his form and placed it on a finished stack. “South Tower until the Choosing. Orientation in the Hall of Measures at four. First assessment tomorrow morning. If an instructor asks whether you understand an order, don’t say yes because you think you’re expected to.”
“That happens often?”
“Every year.”
She held out her hand for the next set of papers. “Move.”
Elion did.
Kai stepped into his place and dropped his own documents on the table.
“Kai Draxen.”
“I didn’t ask yet.”
Elion left before Kai could recover.
The lower eastern wing was packed with new arrivals. Families, servants and trade escorts crowded the walls with luggage while Potentials queued beneath banners marking the four realms. A girl in Urdarian green was trying to free herself from a father who had both hands around her face and tears running openly down his cheeks. Across the hall, a Ránheim family stood in complete silence around a boy who looked as if he would have preferred the crying.
Primordia had a peculiar talent for making danger administrative. When manifested power became impossible to ignore, the summons came in a person’s twentieth year and the family sent them north to be numbered and examined. The stories Elion had heard about the Institute involved broken bones, failed Measures and students sent home without their magic. The registration hall smelled of wet wool, ink and old stone, and none of it looked particularly dramatic.
He was halfway to the southern stair when a voice from the Urdarian registration line stopped him.
“Mother’s origin?” a registrar asked.
“Mannheim.”
Both the answer and the voice were familiar enough that Elion turned before deciding whether he wanted to.
Mattyas Holt stood beside the Urdarian table with a travel coat folded over one arm. He was broader than Elion remembered and his dark hair had been cut shorter, though it still refused to lie properly near the crown. One hand remained in his pocket while the registrar studied the papers in front of him.
“Human?”
“My mother is.”
“And your father?”
“Urdarian. Elemental. Merchant.”
The registrar made a note.
A woman waiting behind Mattyas glanced at the line on his form, then at him. Her eyes lingered a fraction too long.
Mattyas gave no sign that he noticed. Elion slowed just long enough for him to look up.
Their eyes met across the hall.
Two years was not long enough to forget someone. It was, however, long enough for recognition to feel oddly formal.
Mattyas inclined his head. Elion returned the gesture and continued upstairs.
Kai caught him on the first landing and shoved a shoulder into his as he passed.
“You abandoned me.”
“You survived.”
“Barely. That woman has no respect for bloodlines.”
“You’ll recover.”
Kai glanced through the arch toward the registration floor. “Holt’s here.”
“So I saw.”
“I thought his father was still trading through the south.”
“He probably is.”
Kai looked at him for a moment, then seemed to think better of whatever was coming next.
“Come on,” he said instead. “If my trunk has reached the room before I have, I’m setting something on fire.”
“That should reassure the faculty.”
“I’m here to make an impression.”
“You usually do.”
Their rooms were two doors apart on the third floor of the South Tower. Elion’s chamber overlooked an inner courtyard rather than the southern road. It was smaller than anything he had occupied at home, with a narrow bed, writing desk, wardrobe and washstand.
He liked it immediately. A servant opened one of his trunks and began unpacking.
“I can manage.”
The man hesitated. “Ignar?”
“Not here, apparently.”
Kai appeared in the doorway. “Leave him. He needs to learn how slaves work.”
The servant escaped before Elion could answer.
Kai walked in without invitation and dropped into the chair by the window.
“You know what I like about this place?”
“You’ve been here four hours.” Elion pointed out.
“No one has asked what my father thinks.”
“They care. They simply aren’t required to obey him.”
“Even better.”
Elion shoved a stack of shirts into the wardrobe. “Imagine your father being the King.”
Kai considered this. “Fair.”
A knock sounded against the open door.
One of the Cinerean royal couriers stood outside with a sealed letter in hand.
Kai recognised the handwriting before Elion did.
“From home, Ignar.”
“That one is mine.” Kai was already standing.
The courier looked to Elion for permission.
Elion took the letter and passed it over. “Go on, then.”
Kai broke the seal with his thumb.
“Elissa?”
Kai ignored him for the first few lines. His expression answered well enough.
At eighteen, Elissa had acquired the conviction that most members of her family required regular correction. Her letters to Elion usually contained court gossip, a demand for something she had already been refused, and a final order that he answer immediately.
Kai smiled at the page.
“What?” Elion asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re grinning.”
“Mind your business.”
“She’s my sister.”
“Exactly.”
Elion reached for the letter. Kai held it out of range.
“Don’t.”
“Give it here.”
“No.”
“I can burn your sleeve without touching the paper.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Elion raised his hand.
Kai folded the letter quickly. “She says you have to write.”
“I will.”
“Today.”
“I heard you.”
“She also says if you come home acting important because you’re at Primordia and not her, she’ll tell everyone what happened with the mare in Vesta.”
Elion stared at him. “She wouldn’t.”
“She underlined it.”
He threw a rolled stocking at Kai’s head. Kai caught it against his chest, laughing.
Their friendship had always worked best without ceremony. They knew the same court families and the same rules that could only be mocked behind closed doors. Kai understood what it meant when Evander’s voice lowered instead of rose. Elion knew when Kai’s temper had stopped being amusing. They rarely needed to explain such things to each other.
The bell for orientation rang before Elion had finished with the trunk.
Kai tucked Elissa’s letter inside his coat. “If this takes more than an hour, I’m leaving.”
“Tell that to the headmistress.”
“I will.”
“You absolutely won’t.”
