30. Max
MAX
I stepped into the class. The gray sky pressed low overhead. The air tasted of ozone, residue from yesterday’s spellwork still clinging to the packed earth.
Inside stood about forty cadets, all in first-year fatigues. More women than men, which tracked: magic ran stronger in female bloodlines, or so the books said.
I recognized a few faces. The most distinct was Delia’s.
She’d hung off Drakken’s arm at the Broken Drum last night, sliding her hand along his thigh while he ignored her in favor of glaring at me.
Up close, she was still striking—blond hair swept back, corn-blue eyes lined with precise black kohl, lips full and ripe.
She carried herself with the air of a woman who believed proximity to power was the same as possessing it.
Drakken’s golden aura gilded her, and she wore it like a crown she thought she’d earned .
I had zero makeup. Even if I knew how to apply it, I wouldn’t bother.
You should not feel threatened by that blonde, or anyone, the demon tutored, as if it were a relationship guru.
I wasn’t threatened. I just didn’t like her. But I wasn’t about to argue with the creature. Zero engagement. It was more dangerous than any force in this yard, and I wasn’t fool enough to let it lure me into conversation.
“Why is Scarecrow here?” Delia hissed, her gaze raking over me before cutting to Instructor Greer.
“Scarecrow?” I arched an eyebrow. “We’re doing nicknames now? Should I come up with one for you, or would you prefer I let the class vote?”
Another dig at my height. But I wasn’t bony anymore.
I’d filled out faster than I’d thought possible, which left me feeling gleeful and guilty in the same breath.
Every night before sleep, the heirs’ faces would visit me behind my eyelids, and then Missy’s would replace them—small frame, hollowed cheeks, helpless eyes.
Little viper, hang in there a little longer, I murmured silently, hoping the message could somehow reach her across hundreds of miles. I’ll come for you. Soon.
Instructor Greer was a middle-aged mage who specialized in kinetic magic and spell weaving. Brown eyes that missed nothing. Chestnut hair pinned in a sleek, no-nonsense twist. She wore a mage’s garb—tunic and trousers in muted earth green, fitted close for movement.
“The new student is Max Morning, not Scarecrow,” she chided. “If you have an issue with her presence in my class, Delia, take it up with Prince Drakken, whom I believe you’re friendly with.”
The emphasis on “friendly” was surgical. Someone snickered. Delia shot daggers in their direction.
Wait—did Drakken assign me to this class? He either wanted to test what I could do since the Sorting had backfired on him, or he needed evidence to toss me from his academy.
“I’m his girlfriend, not just ‘friendly with,’” Delia said, turning up her nose. “And my grandfather was a general before he retired with honors. I’m from the bloodline of the founders of the Zodiac Covenant.”
Impressive résumé. But what could she actually do?
“The founding father is Prince Aelindor,” Instructor Greer said, moving on. “The other three heirs joined him later. Perhaps we should revisit the history of the four kingdoms at some point.”
“I’d love to,” I said eagerly. “Always been a history buff.”
Delia’s circle turned their glares on me.
A couple of them flashed smiles that promised nothing pleasant.
I shrugged. It didn’t matter that I’d tried to lie low.
It made no difference that I’d been passive instead of aggressive.
People like Delia, Slade, Kevin, and their kind would always find me.
Maybe the demon was right about my power making the lesser ones uneasy, forcing them to lash out at what they feared or couldn’t understand.
“Gather around, cadets,” Instructor Greer called before the situation could escalate.
We formed a half-circle in the yard, facing the obstacle course grid beyond. The instructor paced in front of us, one hand behind her back, the other twirling a wand between her fingers.
“How much do you understand about the magic system and its classifications, Cadet Max?”
“Not enough,” I admitted. “I’ve been reading about supernaturals. In the age of the Rupture, there’s old money versus new money. But I haven’t gotten to the full magical system yet.”
“Oh, the peasant can read.” Delia’s snort was loud enough for the entire yard to hear.
Most miners couldn’t read. My scholar parents had poured everything they had into homeschooling me in the dark between shifts.
“I was never a peasant,” I said, meeting her gaze. “I was a slave miner. Which was worse. You have advantages that most people can’t dream of, so maybe don’t mock the ones who didn’t. Karma’s a bitch, and I wouldn’t wish the life of a slave on any of you.”
The yard went quiet. A few cadets dropped their eyes. Even one of Delia’s friends shifted her weight, uncomfortable.
“All right, let’s move on,” Instructor Greer said, pinning Delia with a look that dared her to derail the class one more time. She turned back to me. “Your analogy of new money and old money is interesting. Elaborate, Cadet Max.”
“That analogy came from my mother,” I said, pushing down a sudden grief.
“The world now refers to old-bloodline magical users as witches. Mages, druids, and sorcerers are all lumped under the umbrella of ‘ witch.’ They’ve always had magic in their veins, dormant or not.
When the White Witch’s Q-bomb tore the dimensional rift open, old magic flooded into the mortal realm.
While it boosted the old bloodlines, it also chose new hosts—less than one percent of the human population. They’re the new money.”
I scanned the faces around me. Some were listening. Some were judging. I kept going.
“The old money consider themselves purebloods: the Chosen. They named the new magic users the Scourged. But the new money call themselves the Forged. Purebloods mostly serve in the Pallid Court, while the Forged are spread across the other three kingdoms.” I paused.
“The third kind—the ones who caught the residual dark magic from the Q-bomb and couldn’t handle it—turned feral.
The mutants. Cannibals are one of their branches. ”
I swallowed against the image of Rogue being torn apart by those things. It never faded.
The yard was quiet. Several cadets who’d been whispering had stopped. Delia’s smirk had thinned. A cadet near the back—a broad-shouldered earth shaper, judging from the dirt residue on his hands—gave me a slow, surprised nod.
Instructor Greer’s approval was subtle—a slight lift of her chin, a softening around her eyes.
“We have both old money and new money in the Zodiac Covenant.” She gestured at the cadets gathered around.
“All of us are in here together, fighting for the same cause: everyone has the right to be born free.”
My throat tightened. I’d make sure Missy would be set free. And if it was the last thing I did, I’d free every miner, every slave still buried in the dark.
“Discrimination won’t be tolerated in my class or on this base,” Instructor Greer continued, her gaze sweeping the group before settling on me.
“Every student here has an established magical discipline. We have fire mages, water channelers, kinetic casters, wind callers, earth shapers, spellweavers, and shadow binders.” She tilted her head. “What is your magic, Cadet Max?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Delia’s group sneered with the smug satisfaction of people who’d been waiting for this moment.
Then a darker thought hit me. Some of Delia’s friends might’ve slept with Caspian.
Others might belong to Nikolai’s circle of regular donors.
The vampire prince had promised to stop handing out orgasms as long as he could drink from me.
If any of them had figured out why their arrangement ended, I’d handed them a motive for hatred that went deeper than jealousy.
“The pretender doesn’t have a flicker of magic.” Delia pointed at me with one lacquered nail. “Send her away instead of wasting the entire class’s time.”
“You can make that call when you become an instructor,” Greer said.
“In a decade, give or take.” She turned to the class, her voice carrying the weight of someone who’d had this argument before and won every time.
“Max is here because she has magic—probably stronger than all of you combined. Her presence carries a power signature that only a very strong supernatural can sense, which is precisely why all four heirs placed her here with their personal signatures. This class will help Cadet Max Morning realize her potential, the same way it’s done for every one of you. ”
The room shifted. Delia’s circle stared at me with hatred and jealousy so blended I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. But a handful of cadets looked at me differently—with curiosity, even a trace of reverence, though I knew that reverence was borrowed from the heirs.
“The princes have never gotten involved in a cadet’s training before,” a girl near the back whispered.
My heart skipped. So this wasn’t Drakken trying to humiliate me or ship me out. All four heirs had signed off. They wanted me here.
What did they see in me that I couldn’t?
Instructor Greer paired the students for drills: fire mages against kinetic casters, spellweavers running defensive patterns. Then she turned to me.
We stood in the chalk circle at the yard’s center. She had me extend my hands, palms up. Close my eyes. Reach for the magic inside.
Nothing stirred.
Kinetic exercises next—pushing air, pulling objects. I couldn’t shift a pebble. Guided visualization after that: build the image, feel the channel, release. I built. Felt nothing. Released zilch.