The night market of Luminaris was a different world after sunset. The crowds that thronged the streets during the day had thinned to a scattering of couples and merchants closing their stalls, their voices low, their movements unhurried. The torches that lined the cobblestones cast flickering shadows across the facades of the old buildings, and somewhere in the distance a musician played something soft and melancholy on a stringed instrument I did not recognize.
I walked alone, my black coat blending with the darkness, my steps silent on the worn stones. The shop I sought was at the end of a narrow alley, its sign a single sword carved from dark wood, its windows dark except for the light that spilled from within. I pushed open the door.
Master swordsmith Orin Vos stood behind the counter, his hands wrapped around a whetstone, his white hair catching the lamplight. He did not look up when I entered.
Professor, he said. I wondered when you would come.
I need a sword, I said. For a debutant knight.
He set down the whetstone and disappeared into the back. He returned with a blade wrapped in cloth. He pulled the cloth away.
The sword was beautiful. The steel was folded in the old way, the grain like water flowing over stone. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the pommel a sphere of polished silver.
This is Dawnbreaker, Orin said. Forged for a knight who fell in the border wars a century ago. It will not dull. It will not break. And it will never cut its wielder by accident.
I lifted the blade. The balance was perfect.
I will take it, I said.
Five million Ast, Orin said.
I set the coins on the counter. He swept them into a drawer and placed the blade in a wooden box lined with velvet. He handed it to me with both hands.
Tell the young knight that this blade has been waiting a hundred years for someone worthy.
I took the box. I will tell her.
---
The wand shop was called Aether & Ash, its door a slab of black oak carved with runes that glowed faintly in the moonlight. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The interior was small, the walls lined with shelves that held wands of every length and composition. The mage who owned the shop was a woman named Ilara Vex, her silver hair cropped short, her eyes the deep blue of the twilight sky.
Professor, she said. I was told you might come.
I need a wand, I said. For a debutant mage. Someone who has been trained poorly and is only now learning what she is capable of.
She laid wands on the counter. Ash with phoenix feather. Oak with dragon heartstring. Yew with thestral hair.
None of them felt right.
Do you have anything in rosewood? I asked.
She raised an eyebrow. Rosewood is uncommon. It requires a delicate touch.
I know.
She disappeared into the back and returned with a slender wand, its wood a warm pink that seemed to glow in the lamplight. It was shorter than standard, its balance shifted toward the tip.
Rosewood with unicorn hair, she said. Commissioned for a mage who died before she could claim it.
I picked up the wand. The mana in the room stirred. The wand was precise. Patient. It would wait.
This is suitable, I said.
Three million Ast.
I placed the coins on the counter. She set the wand in a silk-lined case.
Tell the young mage that this wand will not obey her. It will guide her. If she listens, she will become something remarkable.
I took the case and left.
---
The library in the mansion was a long room lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. A fire burned in the hearth, casting warm light across the chairs where Adrienne and Theron sat, their voices low.
Have you decided what you are giving them? Adrienne asked.
Theron closed the book he had not been reading. For Mirielle, I found a treatise on elemental resonance. It is an old text, out of print for decades.
Adrienne smiled. That is very you. A book.
His face colored slightly. And what are you giving her?
She pulled out a small box wrapped in silver paper. A resonance crystal. It helps stabilize a mage's focus. I thought she might find it useful.
He nodded. That is thoughtful.
And for Rosalind? Adrienne asked.
I found a book on the history of Valenridge combat techniques. It collects records that were scattered. I thought she might like something connected to her family's legacy.
Adrienne reached into her bag again. I found a set of practice weights. The professor said her form is good but her power needs development.
She stopped, suddenly self-conscious. He was watching her with an expression she could not read.
What? she asked.
Nothing. I did not expect you to be so thoughtful.
She looked away, toward the fire. I am not entirely cold, Theron. I have just never had reason to show it.
They sat in silence for a moment. Then he spoke.
I think you are not cold at all. I think you are someone who has been waiting for a reason to care.
Adrienne did not answer. But she did not look away from the fire, and after a moment, she smiled.
---
Sunday morning came with sunlight streaming through the windows. The six heirs gathered in the dining room for breakfast. Daevan was not there. He had left early, the servants said, to meet with the Emperor.
Aldric pushed his food around his plate, his stomach tight. Beside him, Mirielle was talking to Adrienne, her laughter bright. She did not seem to notice that it was her birthday.
He looked across the table at Reynolt. The Crown Prince was staring at his plate, his face pale, his hands wrapped around his cup. Rosalind sat two seats away, her expression calm, her eyes fixed on the window.
How do we give them to them? Aldric whispered.
Reynolt's jaw tightened. I do not know. We cannot just hand them across the table.
Aldric glanced at Mirielle again. What if she thinks it is strange?
She will not think it is strange. She is your childhood friend.
I have never given her cookies before.
There is a first time for everything.
The breakfast ended. The servants cleared the plates. The heirs drifted toward the gardens. Aldric caught Reynolt's eye. Later, he mouthed.
Reynolt nodded. Later.
---
The restaurant was called The Gilded Lily, its tables arranged in private alcoves overlooking the palace gardens. I arrived to find Emperor Caelus already seated. Beside him sat a man I had met only once before.
Grand Master Zylus Veylan, the head of the Imperial Mage Place. His silver hair was cropped short, his eyes the pale gray of winter storms, his robes the deep blue of the night sky.
Professor Daevan, he said, rising. It is good to see you again.
I inclined my head. Grand Master.
Caelus gestured to the chair across from him. Sit. We have much to discuss.
Reynolt graduates at the end of the year, Caelus said. Three months after that, he turns eighteen. The Succession Vote will follow within the week.
Grand Master Veylan leaned forward. The vote happens in the birth city of the first Emperor. The ministers, the nobles, the Hall of Companions gather there. Before the vote, there is a review of the Crown Prince's progress. If they see no improvement, they will suggest nominating a minister instead.
Caelus's jaw tightened. That cannot happen.
It will not, I said.
The Grand Master looked at me. You will be the royal family's representative at that meeting. The Emperor cannot attend without appearing to pressure the vote. The Empress cannot attend because she is the Guardian Knight. It falls to you.
I will handle it, I said.
He nodded. The ranks matter. The ministers will judge Reynolt against the standards of the empire.
There are five ranks for a mage, he said. Neophyte, Adept, Magus, Archmage, Grand Master. I hold the fifth rank. You are ranked as a third-rank Magus on paper. But I have observed your work. These are not the works of a third-rank Magus. These are the works of someone who could rival me.
I said nothing.
For knights, he continued, there are five ranks. Squire, Knight, Knight Commander, High Knight, Guardian Knight. The Empress holds the fifth rank. Her brother, Lord Gilton, is the head of the Igmit family and the second most powerful knight in the empire. He is a fourth-rank High Knight.
For summoners, there are three ranks. Evoker, Summoner Lord, High Summoner. Lord Ashcroft holds the third rank.
The ministers will look at the Crown Prince and see a young man who started fights in taverns. They will look at the Hall of Companions heirs and see children who disgraced their families. You have three months to make them worthy.
Caelus leaned forward. You will present Reynolt and the other five. You will make the ministers see what I see.
I looked at him. What do you see?
He met my eyes. I see children who were lost. And I see a man who is finding them.
I did not answer. The work was not done. It was only beginning.
When I rose to leave, the Grand Master caught my wrist. Your official rank may say Magus, but I know what you are. If you ever wish to make it official, my door is open.
I inclined my head. I will keep that in mind.
---
The afternoon sun was warm on the gardens. Adrienne and Theron walked together across the grass, their gifts wrapped and ready.
Are you nervous? Adrienne asked.
Theron shook his head. No. I am.
She laughed. That is not an answer.
They found Mirielle and Rosalind beneath the old oak tree, the treatise on elemental resonance open between them. They looked up when Adrienne and Theron approached.
We have something for you, Adrienne said.
Mirielle smiled. More gifts?
Adrienne held out the small box wrapped in silver paper. Happy birthday.
Mirielle opened it. The resonance crystal lay inside, its surface faintly pulsing with light. She looked up at Adrienne.
This is the same kind you use, she said.
Adrienne nodded. It helps with the awareness exercises. I thought you might find it useful.
Mirielle closed her hand around the crystal. Thank you.
Theron stepped forward, holding out his gift to Rosalind. This is for you.
She opened it. The book inside was old, its cover worn. She read the title and looked up at him.
The history of Valenridge combat techniques. I have been looking for this for years.
I know, he said. I found it in a shop in the lower city.
She looked at him for a long moment, and something in her expression softened. Thank you.
Adrienne reached into her bag and pulled out the practice weights. And this. For your training.
Rosalind took them, her fingers brushing against Adrienne's. Thank you. Both of you.
They sat together beneath the oak tree, the gifts spread out on the grass. Adrienne leaned against Rosalind's shoulder. Theron sat close to Mirielle, close enough that their arms almost touched. They did not speak. They did not need to.
---
The gardens were quiet when Aldric found Mirielle. She had moved from the oak tree to the stone bench near the fountain, the resonance crystal in her hand. She looked up when he approached, and she smiled.
Aldric. I was wondering when you would come.
His heart was pounding. He had planned what he would say, but now that she was looking at him, the words had fled.
I have something for you, he said. His voice came out rougher than he intended.
She set the crystal aside. What is it?
He pulled out the box wrapped in paper and ribbon. He held it out.
She took it, unwrapped it, opened it. Inside were the cookies. They were not perfect. Some were thicker than others, some thinner, some misshapen. But the scent of sugar and butter rose from the box.
She looked at them for a long moment. Then she looked up at him.
You made these? she said.
He nodded. The Empress helped. And Zeria. And the professor, a little. But I made them. For you.
She picked one up. It was one of the smaller ones, the one that had spread too much. She bit into it.
They are not very good, he said quickly. The texture is inconsistent. The sugar distribution is uneven. The edges are overbaked. The professor said.
She laughed. You made me cookies, Aldric.
Yes.
You, who set a table on fire trying to make toast, made me cookies.
His face was red. I wanted to give you something that required effort. Something that showed I was thinking about you.
She looked at him. Her expression had changed. The amusement was still there, but beneath it was something softer.
They are not perfect, she said.
I know.
But they are good. She took another bite. They are really good.
He sat beside her on the bench. She ate another cookie, and then another.
You do not have to eat them all now, he said.
I want to, she said. You made them for me.
She leaned against his shoulder, just slightly. Thank you, Aldric. It is the best gift I have ever received.
He did not know what to say. He simply sat there, in the sun, and let the moment hold them both.
---
The afternoon was fading when Reynolt found Rosalind. She was in the training yard, her blade drawn, her body moving through the stances. She had been practicing for hours.
He stood at the edge and watched her. Her platinum hair was loose, her face flushed with exertion. She was beautiful. But it was not her beauty that made his chest tight. It was the way she had taken everything the professor had given her and turned it into something of her own.
She finished the sequence and lowered her blade. She turned and saw him.
Reynolt. I did not hear you approach.
He stepped into the yard. I did not want to interrupt.
She smiled, a small smile she only wore when they were alone. You are not interrupting.
I have something for you, he said.
She set her blade against the fence. He pulled out the box, wrapped in paper, tied with ribbon. He held it out.
She took it. Her fingers were steady. Her eyes were not.
She unwrapped it and opened it. Inside were the cookies. They were arranged with care, the scent of sugar and butter rising from the box.
She looked at them for a long moment. Then she looked up at him.
You made these, she said. It was not a question.
He nodded. In the palace kitchen. My mother helped. And Zeria. And the professor, a little. But I made them. For you.
She picked one up, the roundest one, the one that had held its shape. She bit into it.
They are not perfect, he said. The texture is inconsistent. The sugar distribution is uneven. The edges are overbaked. The professor said.
She laughed. You made me cookies, Reynolt.
Yes.
You, heir to the empire, made me cookies.
His face was red. I wanted to give you something that required effort. Something that showed I was thinking about you.
She looked at him. Her expression had changed. The guard was gone. In its place was something open, something vulnerable.
They are not perfect, she said.
I know.
She took another bite. But they are perfect for me.
She stepped closer. Thank you, Reynolt. It is the best gift I have ever received.
He reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were warm, her palm calloused from the sword. They stood in the training yard, the sun setting behind them, the cookies forgotten on the bench.
It was enough. It was more than enough.
---
The sun had set when I returned to the mansion. I walked through the corridors with the sword box under one arm and the wand case under the other.
I found Mirielle in her room, the treatise on elemental resonance open on her bed. She looked up when I appeared.
Professor? Is something wrong?
I set the wand case on her desk. Nothing is wrong. Happy birthday.
She opened it carefully. The rosewood wand lay inside, its surface glowing in the lamplight. She picked it up. The moment her fingers closed around it, I saw something shift in her expression.
This is for me? she whispered.
It is. The wand will not obey you. It will guide you. If you listen, you will become something remarkable.
She looked at the wand, then at me. Thank you, Professor. I will listen.
I left her and walked to Rosalind's room. Her door was closed. I knocked.
Come.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her practice blade across her knees. She looked up and smiled.
Professor. I did not expect.
I set the sword box on her desk. Happy birthday.
She opened it slowly. Dawnbreaker caught the light, the steel gleaming. She lifted it with both hands. It was lighter than her practice blade, the balance perfect.
This is Dawnbreaker, I said. Forged for a knight who fell in the border wars a century ago. It has been waiting for someone worthy.
She looked at the blade for a long moment. Then she looked up at me, her eyes bright.
I will be worthy of it, she said. I promise.
I nodded. I know.
I left her and walked to my study. I sat in the high-backed chair by the window and opened the former Senior Professor's unfinished work on spell interpretation. The pages were yellowed, the ink faded. I had been working on it for weeks, trying to understand what he had been trying to do.
I read for an hour, then another. The patterns were beginning to make sense. The framework was sound. The key was still missing, but I could see its shape now, the place where it would fit.
I closed the book and set it aside. The meeting was coming, the Succession Vote, the judgment of ministers who had never seen the heirs as I had seen them. But tonight, there was only the quiet of the study, the lamplight on the pages, and the memory of six young people who had come to this place as strangers and were becoming something more.
I opened the book again and began to read.