The House of Esteri

by zielle

Summary:

All Ariyen cares about is to prove himself. No one knows where he came from, but at the House of Esteri, he masquerades as a star, an outstanding wielder of the Divine Arts. How much of it is a show, even he doesn’t know.

Endellian, the grim and sullen newcomer who harbors a festering grief, is the outsider at the House. His skill with magic only serves to keep him apart from everyone else. Always on the periphery, he cares for no one and nothing but himself, and he doesn’t care to change that.

Outside the walls of the House, however, forces move to disrupt their craft and calling. Faced with threats from their pasts, the two of them must learn to trust each other to protect themselves and their friends.

or, two dumb hoes and their friends against the world

Chapter 1

Endellian was going to be the death of Ariyen.

 

Which was not an exaggeration, considering he had tried to kill him upon their first meeting. Since then, things had only soured further between them. Now, Ariyen just couldn’t look Endellian’s way without wanting to knock his teeth in.

 

And now, as Endellian spoke a word of power into the charged air between them, Ariyen met him head-on, white-hot energy surging through him and warping his vision as it surrounded him protectively. Endellian’s spell hit him like a fist, leeching him of warmth, of vital energy. It roared with the raw icy bloodlust Ariyen saw teeming in Endellian’s narrow stony eyes.

 

He fought back, lashing out with the fiercest heat he could summon. Spectral eyes burst open on his cheekbones and forehead as his magic flared, vibrant and glaring. He felt the moment of impact crumple up his arm. The horn that sprouted from Endellian’s right temple took the brunt of the blow with a crack , his cheek erupting in a spray of blood. Then Ariyen’s own defenses shattered.

 

Teeth of steel and bone. Icicles crystallizing his blood. Ariyen cried out in pain, feeling all of his eyes flash once—twice—before going dim. Left with just his ordinary two eyes, he felt blind. He crumpled to his knees, each breath tearing him open from the inside. His panicked fingers clawed at his face, only to come away covered with black blood.

 

Somewhere, Nior shouted. His voice rang in Ariyen’s ears, but he sounded underwater, a million miles away.

 

His vision went like a sputtering candle, and suddenly Nior was there, picking up Endellian under one huge arm. Endellian’s face was a bloody mess, and the front of his robes was stained red and charred. In a sudden moment of clarity, Ariyen felt a twinge of panic, laced with guilt. He hadn’t meant to do that much damage, did he?

 

Any other thought he might have spared for the other boy was swallowed by the relentless clawing pain that racked his whole body like poisonous barbs, leaving stiff numbness in their wake. Ariyen collapsed, convulsions wresting control of his body away from him. He fought to get up, to move of his own accord, but as hands bore him out of the grounds into the cool shade of the indoors, his eyes fell shut and he knew no more.

Chapter 2

Ariyen was going to be the death of Endellian.

 

Which was not an exaggeration, since Ariyen had the striking ability to make Endellian’s blood boil by sheer proximity. Endellian couldn’t look Ariyen’s way without wanting to strangle him.

 

“Endellian,” Eshke said. She was sitting near Endellian’s narrow bed in the western infirmary, swallowed by her robes. Her hair, white as dandelion fluff, grew in soft downy tufts that curled around the small nubby horns at her hairline. “Please tell me that I saw wrong. What you did out there.”

 

Endellian met her question with sullen silence. He’d been lying in motionless agony, one hand cupped around the cracked remains of his right horn. Zu-An, the House’s master healer, had been by earlier to change his bandages and reapply salve. She’d managed to mend the horn with a spell, and reassured him it would heal if left alone, but Endellian barely heard her over the radiating pain.

 

The last rays of the day’s sunlight filtered through the cloth-covered window, making the blistered flesh that peeked through the bandages on his hands glow molten red. The burns weren’t as bad as they could have been, but it had been Ariyen’s power he’d been going up against.

 

He flicked her an annoyed glance. “Leave me alone.”

 

“That spell of yours,” Eshke said, ignoring him. She had to be a few years younger than him, yet her hands belonged to someone decades older—they were callused and sinewy, with knobbled joints and tough fingers. “How can I say this? It fit like a key in the lock. Like water through cracks in the earth. I have never seen anyone take Ariyen down like that. It was…so well done. Almost too well done, really.”

 

Endellian remembered the way Ariyen’s face had seized up, the glowing eyes bursting from his cheeks and forehead leaking sizzling black blood. He had honed and polished that spell specifically to counteract Ariyen’s energy, going through draft upon draft of rune circles, shaving his pencils down to stubs. The result had been a highly toxic acid, voracious in its destructive ability, exceptionally difficult to neutralize. It was so corrosive, it wouldn’t have even looked like a chemical attack.

 

Of course, only Eshke would have noticed something like it. She saw too much.

 

Endellian kept his gaze on his hands. The sutures holding the right side of his face together made it difficult to speak. “How long have I been out?”

 

“Only a couple hours.”

 

“Did I miss chapel?”

 

“Yeah. But it’s okay, I skipped too. I told Zu-An-zen I wanted to watch her treat you. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but that laceration on your face is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. I had to make some sketches of the burns on your hands. And I helped her bandage them!”

 

Endellian huffed a short sigh. For an aspiring healer, Eshke was far too fascinated with gore and gristle. “Good to know my injuries weren’t for naught.”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Eshke said, a little sheepishly.

 

“Where is Keren?” Endellian asked. Anything to keep his mind off the pain. He almost wished for Zu-An to come by. Perhaps she’d order Eshke to leave him alone.

 

“You mean Kieryn? He went to bed early. Poor dear was sick with fright after seeing your face explode like that.” Eshke sighed affectionately, then giggled. “My darling’s heart is too soft for this world.”

 

Kieryn was Eshke’s betrothed, and he was as terrified of the gruesome as she was fascinated by it. Endellian would have rolled his eyes, but his head hurt too much for that. 

 

“Well, I hope you feel better soon. I know that look on your face; you are sick of me,” Eshke said brightly. “Good morrow, Endellian of Tur.”

 

And she was gone.

Chapter 3

Celys scurried through the bare slate hallway, her small wrapped feet padding silently on the swept floors, her robes flowing behind her. The acolytes attended chapel to recite daily orisons, and hers had fallen right after the incident. But she couldn’t bear the thought of skipping, not even if Ariyen was bedridden.

 

“I can’t believe I missed it,” Vinashren complained, following Celys as she made her way to the eastern wing of the infirmary, past colonnade pillars that cast long dramatic shadows this time of day. With her lush figure, large brown eyes, and thick auburn hair, Vinashren of Renuaz had an exquisite beauty that made her a source of both envy and admiration for their fellow acolytes. “The bloodiest fight in months, and I was crafting a saintforsaken skeltern !”

 

“We always need skelterns, Vina,” Celys said calmly. “Better for you to be doing something productive than watching two idiots blow each others’ brains out.”

 

“Well, these two idiots are the best out of all of us.”

 

“What use is it if you are a great sorcerer but still a fool?” Celys paused in the corridor. A small group of acolytes had gathered before the door of the infirmary’s eastern wing, whispering and trying to peek inside. Among them were the twins, Idax and Ithiel, who quickly turned at their approach.

 

“How did you get here before us?” Vinashren demanded. Not all the acolytes made their orisons at the same time, but the twins had been sitting in the same pew as her and Celys. “Chapel just ended!”

 

“We ran very fast,” Idax replied, a smile on her clever, bird-like face. She and her brother Ithiel had magical signatures that complemented and amplified each other, allowing them to accomplish certain feats of sorcery impossible to do alone. Their shared aptitude in mathematics allowed them to wield elaborate spells that involved geometry and physics, like teleportation.

 

“Zu-An-zen said no visitors,” Ithiel said. He had the same face as his sister, but it was easy to tell them apart because he always looked like he’d just woken up. His expression now, however, was distinctly annoyed. “Like, seriously? Ariyen loves attention even more than Idax does. He’d perk right up.”

 

Celys’s face soured. “Of course she wouldn’t let you lot in, seeing how you’re all camped out here. Now step aside, please.”

 

Zu-An, luckily, was nowhere to be seen. Siqiri, a mage that had recently earned her staff and an internship at the House, directed them towards Ariyen. He was sitting up on the edge of his bed, sweat beaded on his face. For someone as tall and powerful as he was, he looked so fragile at that moment, his face tight with pain and his tanned skin shot through with dead, ashen gray. His hands were tucked against his bare chest, as if they hurt him.

 

Endellian’s sorcery was opposed to Ariyen’s in every way. Ariyen channeled his magic through the vessels of his body and wrestled it to obedience; Endellian spoke his energy into existence, shaped by the mastery of his unbending will. They were among the most talented mages-in-training in the House of Esteri, and it was no small grief to the Keepers that they did not get along. 

 

“Thank you, Siqiri-zen.” Vinashren smiled at the older girl, who nodded amiably at her before ducking out. She sat on the bed and patted Ariyen’s hair, which fell in unruly blond waves nearly to his shoulders. “Poor Ariy. How are you feeling?”

 

Ariyen looked away shyly before plastering on his most charming smile, the one he reserved for Vinashren. “Better now that you’re here.”

 

Celys said nothing. She took one of Ariyen’s stiff-clawed hands and rubbed it. It felt like trying to bend iron rods. Ariyen fought a pained wince.

 

“How you have time for all that fighting, I will never know,” Vinashren was saying. “At this rate, Nyi-zen and Tiansen-zen will send you away to Bluerun’s tower! You’ll be kept back a season—two if you’re unlucky.”

 

Ariyen’s face tightened. “They wouldn’t do that. If anything, they should send Endellian . He’s done nothing but scowl and sneer and act like a total prick ever since that stinking ship dropped him onto our doorstep!”

 

Vinashren scratched her cheek with a perfect fingernail. “He’s always been decent to me. I guess it’s a you problem.”

 

“They would send both of you, if you don’t stop acting like bloodthirsty witches,” Celys snapped finally. Ariyen only gave a heavy sigh and scrubbed his face with a stiff hand.

 

The tower bell sounded, clear and sonorous, and Vinashren perked up. Celys waved a hand. “Go ahead, Vina. Save me a seat?”

 

“You got it, Cel,” said Vinashren, who was already slipping out of the room. Nothing—not even a horde of witch-men—would keep Vinashren from her dinner. “Good morrow, Ariyen! Feel better soon!”

 

Celys turned on him as the door closed. “I’m so sick of you.”

 

“You’re not the only one,” Ariyen said, an uncharacteristically weak attempt at humor. His smile was gone—he never bothered to mask himself around Celys. She was the only one who knew him too well for that.

 

The corners of Celys’s mouth turned down. Her bottom lip trembled. She flung her arms around his neck, holding him tight. “I can’t stand you. I really can’t.”

 

Ariyen rested his cheek on top of Celys’s head, carefully avoiding the sharp little horns which protruded from her hairline. For the first time since he’d woken up, he found himself relaxing. If the world was a roiling ocean under a starless sky, her small soft warmth was a lighthouse.

 

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, making her grumble and release him. She rummaged through the pockets of her robes, coming up with a small bag of assorted comfits. “Here. I got these for you, you dimwit.”

 

They split the sweets, Ariyen taking most of the dried ginger candies while Celys went after the chewy sesame squares. The two of them shared the preferences that mattered, and differed on the ones that didn’t. It was why their friendship had thrived so well for so long. They ate in relative silence, Ariyen lying down with Celys curled against his side.

 

“What did Siqiri-zen say to you?”

 

“Not much,” Ariyen answered, around a piece of caramel. “It was pretty obvious she was nervous, though. I’d never seen her like that before. Not even when I broke both my arms that one time.”

 

Even before Endellian had arrived at the House, Ariyen was notorious for getting himself into scrapes of all kinds. It was one of the reasons Celys had befriended him. She had been raised in a lavish household with rich mothers who had spoiled her endlessly, and while she enjoyed the allowances and opulent gifts, being a goody-two-shoes was so mind-numbingly boring sometimes. And Ariyen was her idea of a rebellion. He was enough of a troublemaker for the both of them.

 

At least, that was what people saw. As far as she knew, Ariyen had no problem being the “bad influence” in their friendship. And neither did she.

 

“It seems the two of you are evenly matched,” Celys mused. “Now, there’s no way I could fight him by myself. But I could definitely tip the scales.”

 

Ariyen gave a hoarse, wheezing laugh. “You’re already thinking of a rematch? I can barely move!”

 

“Well, there are other things to do in the meantime, can’t we? Like, we can scream EWWW at the top of our lungs whenever he enters the room.”

 

“Saint’s eyes. That alone would ensure a rematch.”

 

“That’s fine. We’ll kill him together.” Celys reached for another sesame square. She munched contentedly, her cheeks puffing out.

 

Ariyen laughed harder, his voice pitching up into a giggle. Celys scowled at him. “Stop laughing! We are busy scheming here!”

 

“I can’t . You—you’re just so cute when you say stuff like that.” Ariyen poked her cheek with a finger, affectionately. “Like an angry little chipmunk.” He cracked up at this last part, tears of mirth pooling at the corners of his eyes.

 

“Fuck you! What is wrong with you guys? Vina keeps calling me ‘little rabbit’, and now you!” Celys fumed and crossed her arms. It only made her look more adorable, if anything. Her soft features and small frame had always made her look younger than she was. It didn’t help that she loved lacy dresses with frills and bows. She had sharpened her horns in an effort to look less dainty, but it was dubious how effective that had been, given that they were hardly the length of a pinky finger and often draped with gold jewelry.

 

Ariyen wiped at his eyes. He curled an arm around her waist and hugged her closer, like a child snuggling a favorite toy. “Don’t worry about it, Celly. Really, I mean it. I’ll be better in no time and we can go back to making trouble.”

 

“You mean you will,” Celys sniffed, taking his hand and resuming her attempt to relax them. She straightened one of his fingers, and Ariyen was unable to smother the pained sound that left him. There was a reason her vocation was not in healing. “All I shall do is bear witness, because I am a stellar student.”

 

Ariyen smiled. For all of Celys’s sharp wits, her commitment to delusion was truly impressive. “Sure you will.”

Chapter 4

The coastal nation of Losk was home to the House of Esteri, the oldest House of sorcery in the known world. The first time Ariyen had set foot inside it as a child, he’d been enchanted by its stately courtyards, its quiet prayer gardens, its clean-swept vestibules. The high-flung towers, with their ornamental crenellations, had seemed to pierce the sky. Nyi and Tiansen, the Keepers of the House, were stern but kind—Nyi more stern, Tiansen more kind. The other initiates had been friendly enough, given that they were to live, work, and learn together for the next several years. Celys, Vinashren, Kieryn, Eshke, most of the others too—they had proven to be dear and wonderful friends.

 

Then that hateful monster had arrived at their door last winter, and nothing had been the same.

 

Rumors had swirled instantly. That Endellian had been cast out of another House for an unspeakable atrocity, some terrible crime. That he had been a heretic, a blasphemer, a cultist. That he was affiliated with the witch-men of Tur—though this last one was a bit too racist for Ariyen’s liking. Nevertheless, he always brushed off such talk as mere gossip, even though he hadn’t gotten an opportunity to befriend the newcomer. He would never get that chance.

 

It had started innocuously enough. Along with spellwork, art, incantations, and music lessons, the acolytes were trained in combat, facing each other in the arena rings. Nior, the mage that oversaw this part of their training, had paired each student with a partner. Celys had been put with Olesina, who was twice her size, but they’d sparred fairly and respectfully. By the end of the hour, they flowed together smoothly in their techniques, perfecting their roles both as zima and reka, attacker and defender.

 

Ariyen, on the other hand, had been partnered with the demon from Tur, as most of the acolytes called him behind his back. Endellian certainly looked the part, with his rangy build and bone-pale skin. Ariyen had never seen eyes like his, cloudy-white and sunken. The sides of his head were shaved, leaving a thick shock of long black hair that ran down the center of his head to the nape of his neck. Like most Turishmen, he had horns, but they weren’t delicate little prongs like Celys’s or Eshke’s. Thick and curved like a ram’s, they curled along the sides of his head, framing a mean and narrow face. He had twisted Ariyen’s arm with a cruel ferocity that nearly popped the shoulder out of its socket. Any harder, Ariyen was sure the bone would have snapped. The sudden lancing pain had startled him into fighting back with everything he had. Their fists had been bloody by the time Nior pried them apart.

 

Ariyen still didn’t quite understand what had happened and why. He liked people, and people liked him—making friends was one of the things he did best. Yet, Endellian seemed determined to antagonize him from the start. And the part of Ariyen that liked a fight—which was a big part—reacted very strongly to that.

 

Ever since then, everything had been a competition between the two of them. They’d only barely managed to maintain the barest veneer of civility in their rivalry—just enough to avoid disciplinary action by the Keepers.

 

That paper-thin pretense had been blown to hell yesterday.

 

Today, the air swept sweet and fresh through the stone-hewn windows of the tower, carrying the delicate scent of red pear blossoms with it. Ariyen knelt on the bare marble floor, hands on his knees. He wore a loose dress of dark emerald silk that felt cool against his hot skin. It was the nicest thing he had, and it wasn’t even technically his.

 

Every nerve in his body was acutely aware of Endellian kneeling beside him, some few feet away, in a pool of black silks. Ariyen could see his hands out of the corner of his eye. They had healed remarkably well, the new skin just beginning to lose its tight pinkish shine.

 

“Children,” Nyi was saying, “ought to be disciplined as children. But you are no longer children, and therefore I have no wish to discipline you as such.” The Keeper knelt before them in a simple gown, soft gray like starlight. He had the long, sloping forehead and fine-boned features typical of those who hailed from the island nation of Tenkoro. His hair, sleek inky black shot through with gray at the temples, was pulled up into a topknot. “Nior advised me to send you both to Bluerun’s tower and be rid of your foolishness. But I have a different course of action in mind.”

 

Beside him, Ariyen heard Endellian inhale slowly.

 

“The time for your Ascension has come. It has been decided that you will embark on this journey together.”

 

Ariyen felt his lungs turn to sand. Endellian breathed out like he was in pain.

 

Nyi went on, calm as ever. “By the next winter solstice, you will create an original rune wheel born from equal parts of your own magic, twined together as one. It will have no fewer than sixty-four harmonious components and eight discordant ones. You will also choreograph and perform an original Form that is equal parts offensive and defensive.” The Keeper’s brow hardened. “I want to see equal parts of yourselves in both elements—not just Ariyen in the Form, nor Endellian in the equations. They must represent both of you, at your best.”

 

Nyi could have announced that they were being expelled, and Ariyen would have been less dismayed. “That’s impossible,” he burst out. “You can’t be serious, Nyi-zen. There’s no way that’s going to work!”

 

“I agree for once,” Endellian said, in his usual flat monotone. “Our magic cannot mix.”

 

“This decision is final,” said Nyi. “You only think your gifts cannot work together because you have long used them against each other. I wonder what marvels would arise if you cared to put aside your differences and work together. The House of our Lady Esteri will not see your talent wasted. So may it be, until the moon falls into the sea.”

 

“Until the moon falls into the sea,” Ariyen and Endellian echoed, in monotone. Nyi nodded curtly, and was gone with a swish of his robes.

Chapter 5

Unlike Ariyen, who stormed from the room like a sunlit thundercloud, Endellian took his leave in stony silence. He locked himself inside one of the Eastern tower’s archival rooms, ignoring the helpful ministrations of the librarian, and studied in solitude for the rest of the day. His hands were like tongues of fire, always moving, always changing, free to create and destroy. But his heart was a bird trapped in a cage.

 

The Ascension. The ultimate display of skill from a mage-acolyte, a culmination of their finest work as demonstration that they deserved to earn their staff as a full-fledged sorcerer. Endellian had already begun to work on his—chemical equations of runes he had meticulously strung together, all cohesive and balanced.

 

Now he’d have to start all over again. The thought of Ariyen’s unpredictable, temperamental magic crashing into his fine-tuned diagrams made him physically ill.

 

Eventually, hunger drove him to the refectory, where he swallowed his dinner without tasting it. His feet took him out into one of the inner courtyards.

 

The sky was a fathomless inkwell, framed by fair sandstone walls. Evenings were chilly this time of year, but it was nothing to him. Losk was much more temperate than his homeland of Tur, where it was frozen all year round and the sun was a bleeding sore in the grim sky.

 

The covered walkways took him to the gardens. Skelterns floated among the flower beds, casting soft blue and green light. It was easy to tell which ones Vinashren had made; they were beautifully wrought in intricate scrollwork and clever twisting vines.

 

Endellian had briefly considered pursuing Vinashren just to irritate Ariyen. He’d thought it might be easy enough to feign an interest in her. Her company was agreeable, and he had learned a thing or two about wardings from her. And for a girl without horns, she was very pretty. But he never followed through, mainly because he didn’t know the first thing about flirting.

 

He had since decided this was for the better, though, as he did genuinely want to be her friend. There was a sense of unspoken kinship between those who had given up everything to study the Divine Arts.

 

Besides, Vinashren wasn’t even into men, that much was obvious. He had seen the way the redheaded girl looked at Celys. No one else could make her laugh the way that little prissy brat could.

 

Thinking of Celys only turned his thoughts back to Ariyen, as they were inseparable. Endellian shook his head and sat by the fountain, watching the dark ripples of water.

 

“You’re fucking hard to track down, you know that?” a familiar voice said. Endellian could see the outline of his reflection in the water, a shadowy blot in the glow of the skelterns.

 

“Go away.”

 

“Do you think I want to do this?” Ariyen snapped. “We need to talk. About the Ascension.” He hesitated, thickly. “Our Ascension.”

 

Endellian did not turn around. “Not now. I’m busy.”

 

“Stop being so obstinate,” Ariyen demanded, and he sounded so irritated Endellian half-expected him to take a swing at him right then and there. But Ariyen was not a coward, and he would never attack like one. “You’re going to cooperate with me. And if you don’t, I’ll wring those components out of you myself.”

 

“I’m sure you would. Ill-begotten cretin that you are.” Endellian got to his feet, finally facing him. Ariyen always held himself with a lethal grace, long muscular limbs poised like a lynx ready to pounce. The garden lights reflected off his hair like molten gold, lining the sharp cheekbones and elegant hollow of his throat. Like Vinashren, Ariyen received much admiration for having done absolutely nothing save for being born beautiful. Endellian despised every shallow, useless inch of him, no matter how gilded it was.

 

“It’s late. And I really don’t want to hear your voice right now.” Or at any other given time, he wanted to add, but there was already murder in Ariyen’s pale green eyes. “We’ll start tomorrow after Concoctions.”

Chapter 6

Celys’s laugh was Ariyen’s favorite sound in the world. It was the reason why he sang loud and bright and warbling as he wove her snowy hair into a plait, uncaring of who else might hear his horrible rendition of the Lay of Minaki. He hit a high note, throwing his head back, his voice soaring like a bird. Celys shrieked with laughter, putting her small hands over her ears.

 

Celys, like Eshke, came from the cliff-dwelling people of Tzirsir. They shared the same curling white hair, large glassy eyes, and short pointy horns. Her family, the Selindrans, lived in the Loskian capital of Florrit, where her mothers made a wealthy living as renowned mages. They had sent her here with a lavish endowment, and regularly sent her gifts on top of that.

 

By contrast, Ariyen had come here alone and penniless, looking for work in exchange for shelter. He had only become an acolyte at the House by sheer good fortune. The Keepers had noted a latent aptitude for magic in the bedraggled little boy who had shown up at their doorstep and quietly taken him in.

 

Ariyen had thought that being offered admission into the House of Esteri was the best thing that could have happened to him. Then he met Celys vi Selindran. At ten, she had been one of the younger initiates that year. He had been the oldest, at thirteen. He remembered being utterly enchanted by the sight of her at first—by her fair, delicate complexion, her big clear eyes, her chubby little cheeks which he’d wanted so badly to pinch. Never had he seen anyone more adorable. Then it turned out that this cute little girl shared the same appetite for trouble as he did, and the rest was history. It had been nearly a decade since they’d met, but Ariyen’s love for her only grew every day.

 

He couldn’t say that out loud, though. She’d beat him up and call him a sappy fool.

 

The morning light spilled pale and golden into the room. Celys wore her usual acolyte robes, which she’d had trimmed with handmade lace and embroidered tastefully in floral patterns. They draped elegantly and luxuriously over her little body, leaving plenty of freedom for movement and potential for dramatic billowing. Ariyen, on the other hand, wore a simple chiton that draped from one shoulder, leaving his arms and legs bare. He finished braiding her hair and went with her out into one of the inner courtyards of the House, where Kieryn and Eshke were batting a feathered ball back and forth with stringed batons.

 

The pair joined them at the sport for a time before Vinashren came to whisk Celys away for their tzinke lessons with Xinthe. The three remaining acolytes retreated to the seclusion of a quiet prayer garden. Ariyen sat on the grass, and Eshke settled beside him in a flutter of shining gauze, curling her arm around his. Kieryn put his head in Ariyen’s lap and smiled up at him.

 

Ariyen smiled back and rubbed Eshke’s head. He liked the way she kept her hair, in short curling tufts that reminded him of a lamb’s wool. Equally endearing were the horns she kept blunt and rounded, cute as buttons. The illusion was made complete by the soft velvet thread tied around her delicate neck. “You guys are clingy today.”

 

“Only with you, Ariy,” Kieryn said. His skin gleamed deep brown in the sunlight, his hair shaved close to his scalp in striking patterns. He had the full lips and broad nose typical of the people of Sufrea, the proud empire across the Halish Sea. The chiton he wore was clasped at one shoulder like Ariyen’s, baring the sprawling inkwork that laced his upper arms. The pair of thin scars that limned the underside of his chest were neat and precise, made by the most skilled of surgeons.

 

“Especially with you,” Eshke added. She reached up and tucked a stray lock of golden hair behind Ariyen’s ear. “Ryn and I heard about your…arrangement. With Endellian.” Kieryn made a sound of sympathy.

 

Ariyen sighed. “It’s all right. I’ll…I’ll survive. I have to.”

 

“Oh, of course. You can do it, Ariy. But, well, you don’t have to weather such a burden alone.” Eshke’s breath was warm and sweet on his shoulder. She put her hand on his, her knobbed fingers slipping between his. “To be yoked so on a matter of such importance must be draining.”

 

“Draining is putting it lightly,” Ariyen replied dryly. “Our magic types are polar opposites. I don’t know how we will forge sixty-fucking-four harmonious components into a wheel without killing each other. Let alone dance with each other.”

 

“There’s not much we can offer by way of help, sadly,” Kieryn said. “But there is something. We were wondering, Esh and I.” He shifted himself towards Ariyen and put a hand on the taller boy’s waist, his fingers slipping past cloth to meet bare skin. “Perhaps you’d like to come to our room in Starquill’s square at the day’s end? We could help you take your mind off things, soothe you for a time. Give you that extra measure of energy, if you know what I mean.” His voice was low and gentle, but there was something electric in it.

 

Ariyen felt his heart quicken, heat blooming under his skin. Eshke’s and Kieryn’s devotion to each other was the stuff of legends and epic ballads. He had never once imagined that they would take a third person to their bed. “I’d love that. I can show you both a good time.” He rested his palm on Kieryn’s warm cheek and thumbed his full lower lip. It was as soft as it looked. Kieryn flicked amused eyes up at him and nipped playfully at him, his lips parting gently around the tip of his thumb.

 

Eshke laughed, her large doll-like eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But you’ll be a dear and let us take care of you, won’t you, sundrop?” Her other hand rested on Kieryn’s knee.

 

“Absolutely not,” Ariyen said. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “If you want me, you’ll get all of me.” She giggled and curled her fingers around his nape.

 

“By the Divine. Save it for tonight, Ariyen,” Kieryn purred. Despite his words, his thumb stroked Ariyen’s waist slowly, leisurely. The smirk on his bronzed face, combined with the warm weight of his head on Ariyen’s thighs, suddenly made the short garment Ariyen was wearing feel very flimsy.

 

All thoughts of future pleasures were chased away by the clear toll of the tower bell, heralding the next session. Eshke got to her feet and pulled Kieryn up with her. As one, the couple kissed Ariyen on both cheeks.

 

“See you later,” Kieryn called, slipping his fingers between Eshke’s as they turned to leave. Ariyen waved, grinning. Anything he might have said was unable to get past the thrum of his heart in his throat.

 

A flat voice jolted him from his reverie. “So this is who you are. A tramp who sleeps with anyone who’ll have him.”

 

Ariyen spun. Endellian stood by the flowering bushes. As usual, he wore a plain gown of crisp black linen that laced all the way to his throat and wrists, the hem reaching down to the tops of his shoes. The effect was made even more austere by the chiseled curve of his horns and the hard lines of his shoulders, which tapered down into a narrow waist. The long crest of hair that spilled down the center of his head was even spikier than usual. Under it, his eyes were dull and colorless like bits of raw quartz. He carried a slender length of twisted birch wood—an acolyte’s wand, precursor to the mage’s staff.

 

“Fucking creep,” Ariyen spat. Heat fanned across his face, the pleasant warmth from earlier chased away by a scorching burn. It was not a good feeling. “How long have you been standing there?”

 

“Long enough to realize what a ran-through piece of meat you are.” Endellian met his gaze with a cruel sneer. “I thought the House of Esteri trained warriors and scholars, not dirty whores.”

 

It took every shred of self control Ariyen had not to lunge for Endellian’s throat with a flaming fist. “What I do in my free time is none of your business.”

 

“No mage worth his salt will waste his time in worthless pursuits when he could be sharpening his skills. And don’t you dare tell me it’s none of my business. Now that our work is intertwined, so is our time.”

 

Ariyen laughed, sharp and loud. “Oh, is that so? If we are so entwined as you say, you should come watch us tonight, if you like. Perhaps it’ll help you fathom what love is like, and how such a dearth of it has shrunken you into this, Endellian of Tur .” He flapped a hand at Endellian’s chest.

 

Endellian’s face, which seemed only capable of scowls or sneers, twisted in a disgust so visceral it was nearly inhuman. “You are vile,” he spat. “I can’t believe such a House of renown would accept a piece of filth like you into its ranks. Unless you slept your way into it, as I’m sure you have plenty of experience doing.”

 

Ariyen recoiled, his eyes like those of a trapped animal. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

 

“Well, I suppose it could be something you’re proud of,” Endellian mused. A thin, mocking smile played on his lips; he knew this barb had struck true. “Many students worked hard to get into here, myself included. But all you had to do was take off your dress.”

 

Ariyen was swinging before he fully knew what he was doing. But Endellian had anticipated this and flung up a warding, shimmering glassy blue around himself. Ariyen snarled, his fists glowing with gold light. He struck the warding a shattering blow once, twice, and it exploded into shards of glittering ice, the force of it flinging Endellian back. The Turish acolyte recovered in a crouch, his dark skirts pooling around him. He planted a hand to the ground, and radially symmetrical patterns of blue light bloomed from it in lethal spirals.

 

“ Endellian!” Celys’s shriek pierced the air, and the world melted away. The garden disappeared like a vision in a dream, replaced with endless white mist. She stepped towards them, which felt disorienting, since Ariyen had the feeling that he couldn’t see a foot past his nose into this fathomless mist. The air warped and hissed. “Come hither, nasty boy! I’m going to put your nuts on a skewer. If you even have any.”

 

Endellian sneered. “Go away. This has nothing to do with you.” Despite his haughty demeanor, he was poised lightly on his feet, wand at the ready. He knew, as well as anyone, that Celys’s illusionwork was unrivaled. No one escaped once she got a hold. Celys only lifted her chin and presented to him a dainty hand in a rude gesture.

 

“I didn’t!” Ariyen burst out, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Believe what you will about me, but I didn’t sleep my way into the House.” The insult directed at him he could stand, but the insult directed towards the mages, intentional or not, was unbearable. He was too upset to be ashamed of the way his voice shook.

 

Celys stared at him. The fog cleared, resolving back into the shaded gardens and sweet grass, sunlight dappled on paved stones. Endellian gave her a cool glance and pointed the wand her way. “I hate when you do that.”

 

“Put that thing away,” she snapped at him. Endellian gave her a flat stare before tucking the wand under his arm. She stepped up to him—her head not even reaching his shoulder—and slapped him across the face. “Fuck you and your poisonous tongue.”

 

Endellian slowly turned his face back to her, smoothing his hair between his horns. “Tell me something,” he said, a note of infinite contempt in his voice. “What’s a spoiled little princess like you doing with a worthless whore like that? Did your parents not teach you to keep better company?”

 

“Like who? You ?” Celys let out a scornful laugh that belonged to a frame much larger than hers. Despite her small size and dainty looks, she could project all the condescending hauteur of a domineering matron. “Ariyen is twice the man you are, you mold-faced bully.”

 

Endellian tipped his head. “Sure. I wouldn’t be surprised, considering how many of them he’s entertained. Surely something had to stick, right?”

 

Ariyen’s nails dug into his palms. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was trembling. A sudden loathing poured over him, so stifling he could barely breathe. For once, he hated himself more than the fork-tongued demon before him. He turned and ran as fast as his feet would go, out of the gardens, out of his mind, out of anywhere that was this wretched moment.

Chapter 7

Instead of meeting with Endellian after Zu-An’s Concoctions, Ariyen ditched class to visit one of his other instructors. Dashara of Kothe was a slender middle-aged man, neat and trim as the plain hawthorn staff he carried, shaped like a shepherd’s crook. A native of Shental, he had smooth brown skin and deep set eyes. Despite his soft-spoken and somewhat eccentric manner, there was a lively sparkle in his eyes, the flicker of a candle, the whisper of a secret. He carried himself with all the natural poise of an accomplished sorcerer, but when he was glad he would laugh aloud and clap his hands like a little child.

 

Ariyen had always liked him. He would never know who his father was, but he often liked to imagine Dashara as that father. Maybe in another life.

 

They spent an hour in Dashara’s green-draped office, ostensibly reviewing techniques to balance equations of glyphs and drawing patterns of runes. In reality, Ariyen only paid the symbols half a mind while he listened to Dashara recount stories from his childhood in the city of Kothe, the tumultuous path sorcery had led him on, and his days as a traveling healer. The large gilt window facing the south orchards was open, bringing in a breeze that smelled of the sea. It ruffled the swaying fronds of the tall potted plants by the various cabinets and shelves and played with Dashara’s greying curls.

 

Doing such exercises anywhere else with anyone else would have bored Ariyen to the bone, as he was far more wont to more physically active means of channeling his power. But Dashara’s teaching had unlocked his heart to glyphwork and runes. Ariyen only really felt connected to this distant side of his magic when the Shentali mage was guiding him.

 

Still, it made him restless to ply his craft while sitting still, and it must have shown. Dashara took one look at Ariyen’s tapping fingers and stood up, startling him. He pulled Ariyen to his feet, sweeping him into a basic yet energetic Form that took them around the desk. On a whim, Ariyen picked his teacher up and spun him around in a graceful twirl, making him laugh. Golden lines of energy swirled through the air, curling around the large ornate desk. Loose sheets of papers turned into butterflies and sparrows and fluttered out the windows.

 

“You rascal! I indulge you too much,” Dashara scolded as Ariyen released him, but he was smiling too widely to be serious. “That’s quite enough, thank you. You have much work to do, and I want you to make me proud.”

 

“I thought I always made you proud, Dashara-zen,” Ariyen said, taking his seat again.

 

“You do, my dear. But I was talking about your Ascension.” Dashara fixed his already flawlessly pleated robes and sat as well. “I am excited to see what you’ll come up with.”

 

“Oh.” Ariyen’s face darkened. “Yeah. Me too, I guess.”

 

The Shentali mage looked confused. “Why, what’s the matter?”

 

“I have to complete it with Endellian.” Ariyen sighed heavily. “We got into a fight, and Nyi-zen decided this was the best way to set us straight. Sometimes I wish he’d listened to Nior-zen and shipped us off to Blureun’s tower. I’d rather spend a season there than another day with him.”

 

Dashara raised his eyebrows. “I knew you two disliked each other, but I wasn’t aware it was this bad.”

 

“Well, we always had something of a rivalry. But it just kept snowballing into something bigger and uglier. He is—he is simply the most detestable, judgemental, self-righteous bully these Halls have ever seen.” Ariyen raked his hands through his hair, smudging a bit of ink across his cheek. “I don’t know how I’m going to get on with him.”

 

“Ah,” Dashara said. He turned a slim brown finger in the air, as if etching a circle into an invisible surface. A shimmering wheel of light appeared, its facets solidifying and multiplying as he worked with it. Runes, seamless and flowing, sparked into existence as he thought of them, a feat honed over decades. “I used to argue with this one other student every single day when we were acolytes in the House of Lantara. He loved to tease me, and I’m afraid I wasn’t as easygoing as I am today. We were forced to team up to hunt feral wurlings in a remote village, and it brought us together. He’s my husband now, and the reason I have so many grey hairs.”

 

“ Dashara-zen ! How could you ever think that—that I—by the Divine, I can’t even say it.” Ariyen made a choked noise of disgust. “This is not the same. Your husband probably had some redeeming qualities that made you love him. Endellian has none at all.”

 

Dashara grinned dryly. “I never suggested anything of the sort.” He reached out and rubbed the ink from Ariyen’s face with a clean handkerchief. “It’s just a story, my dear. You’ll forgive an old man for finding excuses to talk about his love.”

 

“No, I get it. I’d do the same, if things turn out that well for me.” Ariyen rested his chin in his palm, drumming his fingers on a sheet of paper that had been a fluttering bird not a minute ago.

 

“They will. Not only are you among our best and brightest, you have a wonderful journey ahead of you. But you need to work for it.” Dashara pushed the wheel of runes towards him.

 

Ariyen cradled the circles of equations, fingers slipping through lines of glyphs. The light in his palms was nothing compared to the warm glow that spilled from his heart at his teacher’s words. Those words would have been trite platitudes from anyone else, but from Dashara, they were priceless gems.

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a short while, during which Ariyen passed the finished spell circle back to Dashara, who appraised his work with a critical but kindly eye.

 

“I think we have done enough good work for a time here. Come back soon, all right?” The Shentali mage gave him a knowing smile.

 

Ariyen returned the smile, but lingered, unable to take his leave. “Dashara-zen, did you mean it? You really think I’m one of the best? That I belong here?”

 

“Does the Saint love the Goddess?” Dashara retorted. “Of course you belong here, my dear. There is no one else I’d rather have turn up at my office without an appointment.” His dark eyes twinkled.

 

Ariyen chuckled, but it was weak and stilted. “Sorry. I, um, I just really wanted to see you, that’s all.” He hesitated, but it was already spilling out of him. “You’re really good at making everything feel better.”

 

Dashara studied him, warm eyes gentle yet piercing. “Is something the matter? You can tell me anything.”

 

All you had to do was take off your dress. Endellian’s sneering words were a cold knife under his skin. Ariyen couldn’t stop the words that were already on their way out of him. “I was never supposed to be here, Dashara-zen. I…I never even took any of the entrance tests. The Keepers only admitted me because they took pity on me.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “I’ve tried so hard to change. To be anything but what I used to be. But no matter how much I do, it’s all people ever see.” He fidgeted miserably, his eyes fixed on the inkwell near Dashara’s hand.

 

“And what do you see?” Any trace of playfulness was gone from Dashara’s face. He clasped his hands and peered intently at his student. “It’s not enough, wanting not to be something. What do you want to be?”

 

“I want to be the best,” Ariyen said fervently. “But I can’t be like you. I just…I care too much.”

 

Dashara rose, resting his hand on Ariyen’s cheek. “It’s all right to care. To live is to care, Ariyen. But don’t squander your heart on things that don’t matter. Now, I want you to do this.” He held Ariyen’s gaze. “Make a list of things that are important to you. People, ideas, goals. As you grow, cross things out, add others in. If something bothers you, see if it is on the list. Anything that is not, does not deserve your time of day.”

 

“I will.” Ariyen smiled again, a genuine one. “Thank you, Dashara-zen.”

 

The ornery spark was back in Dashara’s brown eyes. “Run along, now, before I come to my senses and recall certain things, like…the fact that you skipped class to be here, did you not?”

 

Ariyen was gone before Dashara’s last words cooled in the air. The old mage smiled fondly, before leaning back in his chair and letting his gaze stray out the window, where the sea glittered in the distance.

Chapter 8

Vinashren was as fast as she was beautiful. She darted past Ariyen like an arrow, kicking off the wall to hurl herself onto the next set of bars. Her vibrant red hair, bound up securely into a thick braid, whipped behind her like a snake. He leapt after her, matching her nimble twists and swift turns. They always took to the high bars in the arena court after Forms, with the implicit agreement that there was still plenty of energy to be burned off. There was no better place to do that than here, on the complex of metal struts several feet up in the air.

 

Agility was the most important asset of a warrior. An enemy could only win if they could strike you, and you needed to elude him while retaining enough strength to hit back. Ariyen knew this all too well, even before beginning his training as a mage. He prided himself on his speed, but Vinashren always gave him a hard run. They landed at the end of the course, Vinashren with a gymnast’s flourish and Ariyen in a simple defensive pose.

 

“You’re getting too fast for me, Vinashren.” Ariyen shook out his hands. “I’m going to have to start training with Celys on my back if I want to keep up with you.” He honestly didn’t know what his mouth was saying half the time he was around Vinashren. Just having the privilege to look at her—those thickly-lashed brown eyes, the upward curve of her full mouth, the sheen of her flaming hair—that was enough for him.

 

“Oh, not Celly. She weighs as much as a couple of grapes,” Vinashren retorted, but her proud smile made his heart leap. “This is all I’ve ever wanted to do, you know. I came here because I wanted to master my own affairs, my comings and goings, what I say and do…But to know balance, and peace, and truth, that is true power.” She gestured him along, and he walked with her out of the court. “Either way, I’ll return to Renuaz with my staff. And they’ll see. They’ll see!”

 

Ariyen lifted his eyebrows. “Surely they will!…Who?”

 

“My family. My brothers,” she said sourly. “They wanted me to stay home and play house-maid till I could be married off to some jowly old landowner for a hefty dowry. But I always knew I was made for better things.” Her face grew smug. “My only regret is that I never got to see their faces when they realized I was gone!”

 

“Wow. Did they know that you came here?”

 

“Probably not. I bet they thought I ran off with some sugar-tongued nobleman.” She snickered and nudged him. “Come to think of it, all we do is talk shit and swing around like monkeys. You never told me how you came to be here. Did your parents send you here, like Celys’s did?”

 

He swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. “Um, no. I, uh, I came here on my own! Like you.”

 

“Seriously? A face like yours belongs in the Highlord’s court—you could have been living a life of luxury!”

 

Ariyen blushed to the roots of his hair. “Look who’s talking. The first time I saw you, I thought you were a princess.”

 

“I could have been, but my parents had the audacity to be weavers!” Vinashren laughed. “What do your parents do?”

 

Ariyen’s heart quailed in his chest, and this time it had nothing to do with her beauty. “It…well, it’s not really that important. I mean, I’d much rather talk shit with you. Much more interesting!”

 

It was a clumsy deflection, but Vinashren was gracious enough not to press him. “Ah yes. What better way to spend our formative years than indulge in petty gossip?”

 

He nodded. “Among other trifling distractions, like homemaking, and survival skills, and the Divine Arts.”

 

“Of course! And making lifelong enemies out of Turish demons.” She gave him a crooked grin.

 

“Hey! Only I get to call him that. After spending two days in the infirmary because of him, I think I’ve earned it.”

 

Despite the afternoon heat, neither of them were quite ready to go indoors, so they made for the cool shade of a courtyard. Vinashren hummed thoughtfully to herself as she shook out her hair, taming it with a wooden comb. “You know, Ariy, Endellian isn’t all that bad. He’s kind to me, and I see him sit with Kieryn and Eshke sometimes. He just seems to have a bone to pick with you specifically. But I couldn’t tell you why.”

 

Ariyen only shrugged. “Of course he is kind to you. Who wouldn’t be? You’re sweet and beautiful and smart.” He smiled at her. “But don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with my fair share of bullies. I can handle him.”

 

Vinashren cast a sad look at him, but whatever she might have said was interrupted by the arrival of Celys, who was accompanied by Kieryn and Eshke. Sitting on the grass, surrounded by his dearest friends, talking about sorcery techniques and upcoming homework and gossip and idle jokes, Ariyen decided that this was at the top of his list. He truly could not think of anything more important to him. Why had he let Endellian’s words cut so deeply? It was irrelevant what some pale-eyed jerk thought of him. His friends liked and accepted him as one of their own, and that was all that mattered.

 

And yet, Ariyen couldn’t shake the fear that they’d abandon him once they found out who he really was. He couldn’t tell Vinashren he was a runaway like her, for there was nothing they could bond over beyond that.

 

Nothing terrified him more than the looks of disgust they’d surely cast at him once they learned that he had spent most of his life as a brothel-boy, a child prostitute. His mother had slept with men for money, and instead of going to school once he’d been old enough, he’d done the same.

 

It sickened him to think that despite only having known him for a few months, Endellian had managed to hit eerily close to the truth with his cruel words. Ariyen needed to outdo him. Not only to prove himself better, but to rub it in his face. He could reinvent himself; he could be the best, Dashara believed in him.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Kieryn’s warm voice was soft like a summer breeze. He reached over and twirled a stray piece of Ariyen’s hair with a finger. “I like you better when you’re talking, you know.” Beside him, Eshke and Celys were laughing at something Vinashren had said. Eshke was running her fingers through Celys’s silken hair, a privilege only very few people had access to.

 

“Oh, nothing.” Ariyen caught Kieryn’s hand and pressed his cheek to it. “I’ve missed you, Ryn. I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you lately.”

 

“It’s no fault of yours.” Kieryn smiled and let his hand trail down to Ariyen’s neck, fingers brushing his collarbone. “I know you have a lot going on. But surely you can find time for a quick game of battledore and shuttlecock every now and then! Esh and I are also open to…other methods of stress relief.” He lowered his voice, something playful dancing in his clear dark eyes. “Only for you, of course.”

 

Ariyen blushed despite himself. So far, the affair between the three of them had only been a one-time event. But while it had been enjoyable, he knew it would never grow into something more. The problem wasn’t the sex itself—Kieryn and Eshke were both eager and receptive and gorgeous , quick to communicate and to please. But Ariyen would never enter into the close bond that Kieryn and Eshke shared. There would never be anything more between him and the two of them besides genuine friendship. And that was fine, for who Ariyen really desired was Vinashren.

 

Vinashren, who joked and rough-housed with him like he was one of her brothers. Ariyen’s eyes lingered on her now, sitting across from him. Celys was reclining in her lap, her legs draped across Ariyen’s.

 

Kieryn tracked his gaze. A flicker of understanding flitted across his face, and he squeezed Ariyen’s hand. “Battledore-and-shuttlecock is just fine, you know. But we’ve been practicing every single day, so you better be ready for us!”

 

Ariyen grinned and rubbed Kieryn’s shaved head. “Oh yeah? I bet you’re the terror of the courts.”

 

“Yes, we are,” Eshke said, overhearing this last bit. “Not to boast, but I hit an apple off Druen’s head the other day. He’d bet me five crowns I couldn’t!” She giggled so hard, her cheeks flushed pink.

 

Celys opened one eye and looked up at her. “I would have given you ten to hit him in the face instead.”

 

“Celys! How dreadful!” Eshke gave a dainty gasp. “I’m not that mean.”

 

“Well, you could be. You have potential, Esh.”

 

“Celly cottontail here thinks the world should be run by an iron fist,” Vinashren said, squeezing Celys’s cheeks affectionately—another privilege held by very few. “My sweet little tyrant.”

 

“Yes. May the strongest and most fashionable prevail,” Celys agreed. The laughter of Ariyen’s friends filled the air, surrounding him like kindling glowing in the furnace of his heart. For that one golden moment, all was well.

Notes:

Fun fact: Ariyen's name was originally "Aeron", and Endellian was "Endellion". Celys was "Celshi" but I didn't like the sound of it.
Also, she and Ariyen were bio siblings at one (very early) point but that was changed too.

Chapter 9

Endellian spent the week immersed in his own studies, his own patterns, his own Forms. He didn’t have much by way of friends at the House, and it suited him fine. Fewer people to please meant fewer distractions, fewer inconveniences, and more time for himself.

 

Speaking of distractions, it seemed Ariyen had gone out of his way to avoid him—every glimpse of blond hair Endellian caught out of the corner of his eye had belonged to either Druen or Olesina. His loud, bright voice seemed farther away every time it sounded through the halls.

 

He was not spared from Ariyen’s friends, however. Eshke still pestered him cheerfully and faithfully, often accompanied by Kieryn, completely undaunted by his rude attempts to brush her off. Vinashren often went out of her way to sit with him at dinner, where he had the opportunity to bear witness to her truly prodigious appetite. And Celys had been paired with him for an exercise in Patternings, which they completed far ahead of everyone else. She might be a spoiled brat, but there was no question she was talented and intelligent.

 

At the end of the week, he went to the library and tucked himself into one of the cozy window seats on the second floor. The view looked out onto an atrium with a bubbling fountain, patterns of smooth rocks swirling among the mounds of grass. Idax and Ithiel sat on the fountain’s edge, weaving a spell with their fingers, like a cat’s cradle of sinuous light. He couldn’t hear their laughter, but it was surely there, soft as the gurgle of silver water.

 

The House was full of siblings, lovers, and friend groups all mixed together. Endellian saw them everywhere he went. Which was why the inexplicable dull pang of loneliness that now surged unbidden within his chest was as baffling as it was unwelcome. He turned away from the window, taking out his writing instruments. But instead of resuming his homework, he found himself penning a letter. Before he could think about tearing it up, he folded it up without rereading it and sealed it with a bit of wax.

 

He took the long way to the posts, going through the cloisters that lined the courtyards. The outer grounds of the House were bathed in the splendor of late afternoon, the orchard trees crowned in red gold light. A small group of acolytes was walking across the fields, their singing voices as varied and colorful as their garb.

 

Yevy, the postmistress, was a small wizened woman who greeted him with a smile and silent nod. Endellian didn’t stay long enough to watch her attach his message to a homing pigeon. He took a different way back, passing the arena grounds on the west side of the House, where the sunspray blossoms grew thickest. It was empty save for two figures, who were circling each other like sharks.

 

Ariyen and Druen shared the same golden hair and athletic prowess, but the similarities ended there. Ariyen was lean and sculpted like a sprinter, boundless energy coiled in his graceful limbs. Druen was hulking and brutish, his muscles bunched from years of hard labor. He came from the rural province of Ghrentos, known as the breadbasket of Losk. Speed and agility were Ariyen’s forte, but if it came down to sheer strength, Druen would win.

 

Endellian paused, watching as Druen closed in on Ariyen like a charging rhinocerous. He was fast, but Ariyen was faster. The sounds of flesh striking flesh were brutal, as were their shouts, the scuffle of their heels against the earth.

 

Endellian must have been watching him too closely, because Ariyen’s eyes met his for the briefest moment. In that split second distraction, he failed to dodge a blow from Druen, which knocked him clean to the ground.

 

“Motherfucker,” was the first thing he spat, as Druen helped him up.

 

“Sorry. Thought you’d dodge,” Druen said, in his lumbering yet placid manner. He swiped a finger across Ariyen’s upper lip, but all it did was smear the blood.

 

“Not you, Drew. Him.” Ariyen scowled at Endellian. “He’s always stalking me like the creep he is. It pisses me off.” Druen followed Ariyen’s accusing finger, and blinked in surprise as he spotted Endellian.

 

Endellian rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was watching Druen.” He nodded to the bigger blond. “You did well.”

 

“Um, thanks,” Druen said, a bit uncertainly. Endellian wasn’t exactly known for his friendliness.

 

“Go fuck yourself,” Ariyen spat. He began to undo the strips of cloth binding his hands. “Why are you here? Don’t you have other pressing matters to attend to, like giving small children nightmares and curdling milk by looking at it?”

 

“I already did those.” Endellian crossed his arms. “You can’t sulk forever, Ariyen. Each week we waste by doing nothing brings us closer to the winter solstice.”

 

“Oh, so now you want to cooperate, huh?” Ariyen snarled at him, unheeding of the blood dripping down his chin. “You’re so full of shit, you fork-tongued hypocrite, you mealymouthed pissant, you oily hyrax—”

 

Druen cleared his throat loudly, interrupting Ariyen’s tirade. “Well, this has been lovely, but I…I guess I’ll leave you guys to it! Hey, Ariy. Don’t do anything stupid, hear?”

 

As Druen lumbered off, Ariyen wheeled back on him. But before he could spit more venom, Endellian put up his hands. “Look here, I take it back.”

 

That brought Ariyen up short. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A slow frown settled on his features. “What?”

 

“Are you deaf, you bloody oaf,” Endellian snapped. “I admit I crossed a line that day. Mind you, my opinion of you hasn’t changed, but I won’t bring it up again. Who you fucked to get in here is none of my business.”

 

Ariyen’s face warred between fury, shock, and confusion. “That is the worst apology I have ever heard in my life.”

 

“Well, it’s the only one you’re getting from me.” Endellian shrugged. “But forget it. We have work to do.”

 

— ☀︎ —

 

“Why are we here again?” Ariyen grumbled. He peeked suspiciously inside Endellian’s room, which was a rectangular cell the size of a large closet. A pallet lay in one corner, covered by a woolen blanket. Opposite it sat a wooden chest and a table with a small jug of water. A tzinke, a stringed instrument similar to a viol, sat by the table. Save for the plain rug on the floor, nothing else adorned the room. 

 

“It’s the only place we’ll have total privacy.” Endellian sat on the rug and began to rifle through his notes, which were meticulously kept in leather-bound stacks. “We don’t want anyone else overhearing our ideas.”

 

Ariyen gave him an annoyed look. “What is wrong with you? This is an acolyte’s Ascension, not a confidential research project to develop some eldritch weapon!”

 

“It might as well be.” Endellian sat down on the floor and unrolled a half-finished matrix of runes. He deftly inked a quick line of glyphs into the emerging equation.

 

Ariyen knelt across from him. “Why are you using that conjugation there? Kanaraph, kanaraphi. It becomes discordant when Serregatri is present.”

 

Endellian scoffed, contemptuous. “You are thinking of non-Lrastian chemophysics.” Before Ariyen could say anything, he snatched up a journal and pushed it in the other boy’s direction. “Shut up and take a look. Last page.”

 

Ariyen glared at him. But Endellian was already turning back to the large roll of paper, engrossed in his art. He caught a glimpse of the pages of the open book, and promptly forgot his irritation.

 

There were two mainstream schools of thought when it came to sorcery: an Internal method and an External method. Internalist mages used their bodies as the primary vessel for their magic, honing the power that welled within them through physical exercise and meditation. Forms were developed to harness this power, allowing it to flow through the body like water through a channel. The more skillful sorcerers could weave basic Forms into complex dances, mesmerizing and terrible to behold. Gymnasts, athletes, dancers, and martial artists were drawn to this philosophy for obvious reasons, and Ariyen had always leaned towards it himself. His fire burned hottest after he’d just gone through a set of grueling, complex exercises.

 

However, others preferred Externalism—magic that sprouted from the mind. This type of spellwork was wrought on paper, planned out in lines of formulae that gave way to intricate patterns of glyphs that in turn culminated in wheels of runes. Such work was highly ordered and fine-tuned, allowing for great specificity and calculated effect. Artists, mathematicians, scientists, philosophers, and engineers were most likely to become Externalists. Since the mind and body were intertwined, neither practice was superior to the other. Some aspects of magic even blended the two. As a result, both methods had become enshrined in the formal education of sorcery. While some institutions specialized in one or the other, the House of Esteri gave equal importance to both ideologies.

 

Endellian was obviously an Externalist. These diagrams, wheels upon tiered wheels of runes, spelling out intricate chemical equations, were as beautiful as they were ingenious. Each line was deliberate and artful, forming cogs of wheels that seemed to move on the page. Directions for certain reactions, artfully staggered or in elegant concert. Summoning circles for reagents and catalysts timed for maximum efficiency, cascading together in harmony.

 

It was disorienting, looking at Endellian’s craft from this angle. Like reading the thoughts of a deadly monster before it killed you.

 

“This is ridiculous,” was what Ariyen finally said. He closed the book. “My Ascension was going to be a piece of choreography. Not a mess of chemistry equations.”

 

“Well, you don’t have much choice now, do you,” Endellian said dryly. “This is required, and it’s what I’m good at.”

 

Ariyen sighed. “What’s so top secret about all this anyway?” He eyed the lock on the wooden chest, which was where the books had been kept. “Are you making drugs or something?”

 

Endellian actually cracked a smile at that. He looked up, his eyes slitted with amusement. “Remember the shitshow that started this whole thing? One of the spells I used involved the synthesis of an acid. It turns into a poison once neutralized.” Taking back the journal, he flipped nearly to the end and pointed at the diagrams—lines upon lines of reagents, catalysts, conditions. “This one.”

 

Ariyen felt nauseous. “Why are you showing me that?”

 

“Because you’re the only person who’s ever touched it,” Endellian said. “I want to see how it will react to you now.” His smile grew snide. “If you can handle it.”

 

That was all Ariyen needed to hear. “Give me that,” he snapped, snatching the book from him. Twirling his wand in a familiar little gesture and taking a deep breath, he began to chant. Softly at first, but his voice rose in a crescendo as the runes began to leap off the paper, swirling around him into organized and tiered circles. Glowing eyes, spectral and vibrant, fluttered open on his cheeks, his forehead. Component by component, the pieces of the spell began to fit together, golden energy cascading over dark blue symbols.

 

It was a novel phenomenon—Endellian’s spellwork with Ariyen’s unique magical fingerprint. Discordant and incomplete as it was, the hybridization was breathtakingly incandescent, uniquely mesmerizing. Ariyen’s fingers trailed over the drawings Endellian had made, bleeding gold into blue into gold.

 

Endellian watched one of the rune wheels rotate around Ariyen, shuddering and spasming. It was so faded as to be transparent, completely outshone by its brilliant neighbors. He reached forward and palmed it, unlinking it and drawing it towards him. “Why’d you choose this conjugation? It’s pinned the harmonious set and turned it discordant. Like a tourniquet on a healthy arm.”

 

“It’s always worked for me,” Ariyen responded, and it sounded like three of his own voices were speaking—one voice answering, two others chanting. “It just doesn’t like you, I guess. Can’t blame it.”

 

Endellian muttered something rude under his breath. He reworked the rune wheel with a twist and a spin, but Ariyen had moved the spell forward without it, and there was nowhere to slot it back. But while Ariyen might be the caster, he was not the author. Endellian opened his hands, and lines of blue energy shimmered at his fingertips, linking him with the wheels of runes spiraling around Ariyen. The cat’s-cradle technique he’d happened to see Idax and Ithiel using had inspired him, and had turned out to be an amazing bookkeeping tool.

 

He slotted the wheel back in place, linking it to a larger circle of glyphs that glowed brightly as the harmonious elements sang together. 

 

All five of Ariyen’s eyes flickered. He ended his chant in what sounded suspiciously like “thank you” in the Old Speech. He rose to his feet and stretched leisurely, the mage-eyes adorning his face fluttering shut.

 

Endellian stared at him. “Ariyen. What did you do? Where’s the fucking acid?”

 

“Oh. I changed it to sugar.” Ariyen stifled a yawn. “Sorry.” He grinned, not looking apologetic in the slightest.

 

“You what?” Endellian could barely believe his ears. This spell, multilayered and complex, was some of his finest and most dangerous work, and this blond cretin had twisted it to follow the pathway of one of the most well-known chemical processes? It made sense now—the altered conjugation, the way Ariyen had positioned himself in front of the window, the soft green scent of trees…

 

“Oh, please. Don’t give me that look.” Ariyen’s grin was wide and satisfied, positively giddy with glee at himself. “You wanted progress? We just did something beautiful together. And nothing bad happened!”

 

Endellian exploded. “Did you just turn my multi-step synthesis into a carbon reduction cycle? I’m going to pot you like the stupid plant you are, you bastard.”

 

Ariyen laughed so hard, tears glistened in his eyes. “Nah, I’m worse than a plant. I used up more oxygen than I produced, just now.” He looked at Endellian, a smile in his eyes. “Anyway. Can I see the rest of your notes?”

 

“Get the fuck out of my room.”

Notes:

Endellian: we are about to create biochemical abominations beyond comprehension
Ariyen: hehe carbs

Chapter 10

“Endellian, can you spare a moment?” Eshke blinked up at him with her big glassy eyes. “Please?”

 

They’d just got out of one of Dashara’s lectures on Transformation. He’d found it a struggle to concentrate throughout it, as her stare had been boring a hole through his head the entire time. Eshke was nice enough, given that he had given zero effort to befriend her in the first place, but there was no arguing that she was a little weird.

 

He spared her a bored glance. “What do you want?”

 

“Nothing much. Just your name.” She held up an ink-smudged pad of paper before him. “We are petitioning for Tiansen-zen to offer her Illuminations and Summoning lessons again! The class was very popular a few years ago, but you know how she distilled it all into texts when she became Keeper. Some people like taking Il-Sum in that format, but a lot of others want the old way back.” Behind her, Kieryn was spieling off to a pair of acolytes, a similar document in his brown hands.

 

He rolled his eyes. “She probably had a good reason for changing it.”

 

“Oh, don’t be like that. Just sign it, please. Look, so many of your friends have put their signatures down already!” Eshke trailed a knobbed finger up the list—here was Celys’s neatly looped handwriting, Druen’s blocky print, Ithiel’s heavy-handed scrawl followed immediately by Idax’s on the same line, as if they were one entity.

 

Endellian wanted to scoff at her. And he did. But he took the pen from her outstretched hand and scribbled three careless characters on the next blank line.

 

“Thank you!” Eshke beamed at him. “How wonderful of you. Oh, by the way, is it true that you and Ariyen are, um, on better terms now? If so, I’m glad to hear it! We can all hang out together sometime. Or something.” She left without waiting for an answer from him, her curly white head disappearing among the stream of students in the hall.

 

Irritation prickled under Endellian’s skin. Just because he and Ariyen had managed to study together for a little here and there without throwing any punches had not made them best friends. It was already tiring enough having to deal with that stubborn brat.

 

He wanted so very badly to go to the library and take a nap to escape the dull aching pain in his limbs, which only worsened every day. But he couldn’t—today Transformations directly preceded Forms. Forms had never been Endellian’s favorite, but they certifiably sucked now.

 

He entered the airswept studio with a sullen silence, as he did thrice a week. It was a long, rectangular room with narrow sliding windows that could open up an entire wall to a view of the sloping hills towards the village near the bay. Most of them were open, letting in a sweet sunlit breeze. The beautiful view did nothing to stop his mood from curdling even further when Ariyen, standing with a group of students, spotted him. He must have been feeling lively, as he called out a greeting. “Hey, demon!”

 

Endellian sneered. “Hi, princess.” Ariyen made a disgusted sound, which Endellian relished quietly. He sat down to wrap his feet in strips of gray cloth.

 

“Setting up to stomp on my feet again?” Ariyen’s taunting voice danced with a smile. “That’s all right. Zu-An-zen’s burn salve is very good, as I’m sure you know.”

 

“I’ll cut off your fingers and feed them to you.”

 

“I don’t need fingers to set fire to your face!”

 

“You two shut up,” Vinashren yelled, down the length of the room, just as Xinthe entered the classroom.

 

Tall and graceful, Xinthe was an elegant figure in red and silver silks, her elaborate coiffure of grey-marbled hair exposing a frail neck crepey with age. The crimson lacquered nails of her left hand were short and blunted, while those on her right were long and pointed like talons. She had been an instructor for longer than Nyi had been alive, and many mages still referred to her with the honorific suffix that acolytes used for their teachers. The only thing greater than her renown as a talented Formist and tzinke player was her love for teaching dance and music. She glided across the room and closed up a few of the windows, murmuring complaints of cold even though the sunlight flooding the room was warm as a hearth. A few nearby students, including Ariyen and his gang, scrambled to help her.

 

Endellian found his usual place by the wall, next to Ithiel, as they did warm-ups and simple exercises. Ithiel was well-liked and intelligent enough, but the poor acolyte was an even worse dancer than himself. He nearly collided with Endellian during a footwork drill, catching his arm to steady himself.

 

He ignored Ithiel’s hasty apologies, yanking his arm away from his grasp. He hadn’t entirely been paying attention, either, half his mind on his own moving feet and the other half on Ariyen’s smooth limbs. As deep as his dislike ran for the other boy, it was impossible not to admire the fluid grace with which he moved. Endellian was obliged, somewhat grudgingly, to acknowledge that Ariyen was probably the best dancer in the room besides of course Xinthe herself.

 

Of course, all the pirouettes and linework in the world were useless if they could not temper a stronger, more flexible vessel for one’s power. And every bit of Ariyen’s grace as a dancer was deadly as it was beautiful.

 

As the half-hour mark arrived, Xinthe called for students to pair off. Ariyen caught his gaze with a challenge in his pale green eyes, as he did every time. He scoffed to himself as he put a hand on Endellian’s back. “It’s like you didn’t even stretch at all. So stiff and cold. Is that why you almost killed poor Ithi?”

 

“One,” Endellian muttered under his breath. He put his hand on Ariyen’s back, and they began.

 

Not even five steps in, Ariyen’s movements grew sharper, more lethal. Endellian gritted his teeth and pushed harder to match him, even as his limbs screamed in protest. Ariyen’s eyes had just begun to glow as energy began to flow through him, vibrant and pulsing. By contrast, Endellian’s magic was a trapped animal clawing at his throat. Ariyen must have noticed the tightness in his face. A smug grin sliced its way across his mouth. “Seriously, would it kill you to loosen up? I feel like I’m hauling ass with a mannequin.”

 

“Two.”

 

“What?”

 

“When I get to three I will punch your lights out.”

 

Ariyen giggled like Endellian had cracked the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He’d been acting very strangely lately; the seething rage in his eyes had given way to an unhinged manic glee that was totally unpredictable. “Three? Wow! That’s really generous of you, actually.” He passed close, their hands clasping and unclasping, arms crossing and uncrossing. Endellian pulled away jerkily, making Ariyen’s brow pinch with irritation.

 

Despite his threat, it wasn’t worth it, truly, losing his temper in a setting like this. Especially not in front of Xinthe, who watched them all with a smile, not on her thin painted lips, but in her narrow gray eyes that glittered like little pieces of hematite. She carried her iconic folding fan, despite always being draped in warm robes. There were rumors among the students that she hid paper-thin blades in its silken folds. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her glide among the pairs of students, closer and closer. She stopped and watched them.

 

By now, a molten, caustic version of Endellian’s magic was burning through him. The familiar muscle aches that had accompanied a long session of Forms, steadily building to a crescendo, had turned to a scream throughout his entire body. He gritted his teeth. Just kill me now. But he only continued the Form, and Ariyen with him, and by the grace of the Divine neither of them made any missteps.

 

Xinthe smiled, slow and toothy. “Very good.” She inclined her head towards Endellian. “But where is the love?”

 

Endellian could not believe his ears. “I’m sorry?”

 

“You have improved much. But you dance as if you wish to inflict pain.”

 

He had to resist the urge to look down and make sure there weren’t actual knives slicing open his legs. “Isn’t that the point? Xinthe-zen.”

 

Xinthe laughed, a surprisingly full and loud sound coming from her fragile frame. “Well, that’s what they all believe, isn’t it?” She turned to face the whole class, and pair by pair, they stopped to heed her. “That all Forms are, is an exercise for warriors. A tool to carve the channels of the body. A means to an end. And yes, it can serve that purpose. But I have found, paradoxically, that those who dance for the pure enjoyment of it are those who transform themselves the most. For Forms to become a means, it must first be the end.”

 

“That’s what we’ve been doing, hasn’t it?” Ariyen remarked as Xinthe continued her pilgrimage amongst her students. He took Endellian’s wrists and shook them up and down, bouncing on the balls of his wrapped feet. “We’re having such a good time! This is so fun!” He threw back his head and laughed so loudly the acolytes around them threw bewildered looks at them.

 

Endellian just stood there. He was realizing, with a slow horror, that Ariyen’s lunatic coping mechanism was making him twice as intolerable as before. “Three.”