Chapter 27
LYRA
Someone had painted me along the eastern wall of the Hall of Theory.
Or tried to, anyway. This version of me had too much hair, not enough nose, and breasts generous enough that I almost respected the artist’s commitment to fiction.
The resemblance deteriorated from there.
A crooked crown floated above my head in black paint.
Silver streaks spilled from both hands, and whoever had done those had apparently run out of patience halfway through because one ended in a smear across the stone.
Across my chest, in letters large enough to read from the opposite end of the corridor, someone had written:
STARBORN.
I stopped. Vareena walked into me. “What are you—” She leaned around my shoulder. “Oh.”
Dax nearly collided with both of us before Emrin caught the back of his tunic. “Why did everyone stop?”
Lidia pushed past him. “Move.” She saw the wall. Her eyes traveled slowly over the painting. “Your tits aren’t that big.”
“Thank you, Lidia.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t.” Raiden choked on whatever he had been drinking.
Dax stepped closer to inspect the work. “I think the artist was trying to be flattering.”
“Do you?”
“No.” Emrin elbowed him. I barely heard them.
Starborn.
My eyes stayed on the word. The Codex had called me that. I had never told them. I hadn’t told anyone except—no. Kieran knew about the Codex now, but even he didn’t know everything it had shown me. And Kieran certainly hadn’t painted my breasts across a public corridor.
At least I hoped not.
Candidates passed behind us, slowing when they recognized me. A pair of younger candidates whispered to one another near the stairwell. “How do they know?”
Vareena looked at me. “Know what?”
I pointed. “That.”
Lidia frowned. “That you’re Starborn?”
My head turned toward her so quickly the lingering ache in my ribs protested. “What?”
She looked at Vareena. Vareena looked at Emrin. Dax’s amusement faded. Raiden lowered his cup. I hated all of their faces. “What?” I repeated.
Vareena stepped closer. “Lyra, what exactly are you asking?”
“How do they know that word?”
Emrin answered first. “Everyone knows that word.” For several seconds, the corridor continued around us as if she hadn’t just rearranged the last several weeks of my life.
Someone dropped a book. A door slammed farther down the hall.
Candidates squeezed around our little obstruction and pretended not to listen.
“Everyone?” I asked.
Dax rubbed the back of his neck. “Everyone might be generous.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It isn’t exactly a secret in Alareth. The story’s been around since before the Sundering.”
Vareena was watching me too closely now. “You’ve never heard of the Starborn legend?”
“Legend.”
“Lyra—” The bell rang. All seven of us flinched.
“Oh, crap.” Emrin gathered her books against her chest. “We’re going to be late for Deylan.”
Dax glanced toward the lecture hall doors. “Do you think nearly becoming prophetic graffiti qualifies as an excused absence?”
“No.”
“What if we ask?”
“You can.”
He considered it. “I’m good.” I didn’t move.
Vareena caught my wrist. “Go.”
“You expect me to sit through a lecture after that?”
“I expect you not to give Halos another reason to watch you.”
That worked. I hated that it worked. “After.”
Vareena nodded. “After.”
Lidia was still studying me. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Apparently less than I thought.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Lidia.” Emrin caught my sleeve and pulled me toward the lecture hall. Vareena headed for the western corridor with Lidia and Raiden, already late for their own divisions. Dax followed Emrin and me. I looked back once. The mural remained.
So did the word.
Master Deylan closed the doors behind us.
He didn’t comment on our lateness, which was worse than if he had. Emrin hurried toward our usual seats while Dax and I followed. The Hall of Theory had already settled into that peculiar silence produced by sixty people trying very hard not to look at the three entering late.
Deylan turned toward the board.
“Now that we’re all here.”
A few people laughed. Emrin sank lower. Dax looked delighted.
I wanted to die.
Half the board was covered in names and branching lines. Families, I realized. Some stretched across generations, each name marked with a small elemental symbol.
“Affinity inheritance,” Deylan said. “Despite what certain families have spent centuries attempting to prove, magic does not care nearly as much about surnames as people do.”
Several candidates wearing house insignia shifted in their seats.
Deylan continued as though he hadn’t noticed.
“A child born to two Earth wielders may manifest Earth. They may also manifest Fire. Or Light. Water remains more common among certain Earth bloodlines, but common does not mean guaranteed.”
Emrin had already begun taking notes. Dax drew a tiny tree. Normally, I would have found the lecture interesting.
Today I kept seeing black paint.
Everyone knows that word.
Deylan moved to another lineage. “This did not prevent old governments from attempting to predict affinity. Marriage contracts included elemental histories. Military families maintained manifestation records. In several realms, inheritance rights were once affected by magical affinity.”
A Candidate near the front raised her hand. “Did Elyndor do that?”
“Extensively.” That caught my attention. Deylan added another branch to the board. “Before the Council assumed governance, Elyndorian birth registries often included affinity beside parentage, particularly among prominent families. The royal registries were obsessive about it.”
My quill stopped at Royal registries.
“Why?” someone asked.
“Succession. Political marriages. Treaties. Vanity.” Deylan shrugged. “Choose whichever explanation makes you feel most charitable.”
Dax leaned toward Emrin. “Vanity.”
“Obviously.”
“Most ordinary birth records were transferred into regional archives after the monarchy fell,” Deylan continued. “Older political and royal genealogies were scattered between Elyndor and institutions considered neutral enough to preserve them.”
“The Sanctum?” My question came out louder than intended.
Deylan looked at me. “Yes, Alerain. The Sanctum possesses a substantial collection.”
“Can candidates access them?” Emrin turned. Dax stopped drawing.
“Some.”
“Which ones?”
“That would depend upon why a candidate wanted them.” Several people glanced around.
I picked up my quill. “Just curious.”
Deylan studied me for another second. “Curiosity has ruined better people than you.”
Beside me, Dax murmured, “That’s ominous.” Deylan continued the lecture. I wrote four words across the bottom of my page.
Sanctum. Elyndor. Birth records. Restricted.
Then I underlined the last one. Dax noticed and, unusually, said nothing. That concerned me more than if he had. The moment the bell rang, Emrin caught my arm. “Whatever you are thinking, you should probably reconsider.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You underlined restricted three times.”
“Twice.”
“It was definitely three.”
I looked down. Three sharp lines crossed the page. Dax leaned over my shoulder. “That looks like an invitation.”
“Do not encourage her.”
“I’m not. The Sanctum did.”
“The Sanctum did not.”
“Deylan answered her question.”
“Because it was a question.”
“Dangerous precedent.”
Emrin began stuffing books into her satchel with unnecessary force. “You two are why rules exist.”
“And you’re why they’re written neatly.” She shoved one of his books into his chest.
We found the others in the courtyard behind the Hall of Theory.
Lidia had claimed the bench. Raiden sat on the low wall opposite her, and Vareena waited near the rain cistern with her arms crossed.
Dax went straight to the cistern. I took the empty place beside Lidia while Emrin remained standing.
Raiden tossed Dax a crinkled paper bundle.
Dax caught it. “Is this food?”
“You missed breakfast, I just snagged what was left.”
He unwrapped a small pastry. “I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about you.”
“So are we going to talk about this morning,” I asked, “or is everyone going to keep leaving me in the dark?” They all looked at me.
Dax nodded. “Right. The Starborn portrait with the inaccurately sized tits.”
A small flame caught the edge of his pastry as he lifted it. He stared at Lidia. “Thanks, Lid. Wasn’t like I was going to fucking eat that.” She shrugged.
I leaned forward. “So it’s real.”
“Depends what you mean by real,” Lidia said.
“You said everyone knows it.”
“Everyone knows the story.”
“What story?” Another round of looks passed between them. I was beginning to resent those.
Emrin settled beside her brother. “The versions are different.”
“How different?”
“My grandmother’s version says the Starborn will come when the earth forgets it belongs to life.”
Dax brushed ash from his trousers. “Grandmother also believed grave spirits climbed into your bed if you slept with wet hair.”
I looked at Lidia. “What does Cindralith say?”
She twirled the red band around her wrist. “That the Starborn comes when the realms are close to war.”
“And?”
“She either stops it or starts the last one.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“I didn’t write it.”
Raiden lifted a hand. “The war clans told it differently.”
“Which is?”
“That she would bring the death of Light and Earth, and anyone else who stood against her.”
Emrin looked over. “That’s definitely worse than grave spirits.”
Dax examined what remained of his pastry. “Anything about Fire?”
“No.”
“Damn. Lidia survives.”
“And if she didn’t, that means I wouldn’t either, idiot.”
A spark landed on his boot. Dax jerked his foot back. “Will you stop doing that?”
“When you stop being annoying.”
“So never.”
“What about Elyndor?” I asked.
Vareena had been quiet since we sat down. “Elyndor has dozens of versions.”
“Of course it does.”
“My father has three books in his study that disagree before the second verse.”
“Your father has books about it?”