Chapter 35
Talisa
The next morning, Elio was waiting for me when I emerged from the infirmary. His face was scrubbed, his chestnut hair combed back from his forehead, his amber eyes bright.
“How is Juno?” he asked.
“She had a hard night, but says she’s feeling better this morning,” I replied.
“Good. Are you ready for today’s challenge?” he asked.
I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway.
The morning air was sharp with frost. Billowing clouds of steam emerged from vents embedded in the ground next to each building on campus.
To my amazement, I’d learned that the dormitories, classrooms, and lecture halls at the academy were heated by boiling water flowing through metal pipes. It provided the buildings with a gentle, even warmth, more efficient than the smoky fireplaces I’d grown up with back home.
As we approached the amphitheater, I saw students and visitors crowding through the archways leading to the seating sections.
“Is it just me,” Elio asked a few minutes later, as we emerged into the seating section, “or is it even more crowded than yesterday?”
I looked around and saw every tier of marble benches was packed with spectators.
The dignitaries’ box was a solid wall of rich wool and silk, with even more imperial officials sitting shoulder to shoulder with academy administrators and a full company of military officers in their dark blue dress uniforms.
As for the arena floor, yesterday’s chaos of floating stone slabs was gone. In their place, the arena floor had been restored to an unbroken expanse of white sand.
On each end of the oval space, rising from a stone base, stood a tall wooden flagpole capped with gleaming gold.
Huge rectangular banners made of something that looked like silk woven through with threads of pure light rippled and unfurled to their full length as if stirred by a wind I couldn’t feel.
“Those are woven with spell-thread,” Elio told me.
“What’s that?” I asked. I’d never heard of it.
Elio was studying the banners with the focused attention of a merchant examining a rare and expensive textile.
“Spell-threads are constructs designed to hold and store magic, but they’re apparently tricky to use.
They’ll amplify whatever you feed them, but they’ll also push back if you don’t know how to handle them. ”
My stomach turned over. “How do you know all this?”
“My father imports spell-thread cloth from the Fae Federation. Military mages use them to anchor large-scale wards and spells,” he answered.
“They cost more than most people see in a lifetime. Each one of those banners is worth more than your entire village. Maybe worth even more than the entire yearly tax revenue of Baleares.”
“Do you know how to use them?” I asked, hoping against hope.
Elio shook his head. “I think that’s stuff that you only learn as a fifth- or sixth-year.”
Wonderful, I thought. Hopefully, that means none of the others know how to use them either.
I was sure that Lukhan and Damien wouldn’t have any experience using spell-threads. But I less certain about Cresta and Bernardo or Jofre de Bellmont and Berengar de Rocafort.
And that might make the difference for them winning their match.
As we made our way down to the competitors’ section, the commoners greeted us with waves and shouts.
Alara waved her “Circle of the Open Hand” banner. Varrix sat next to her, with Dante and Mavia on his other side.
When we had seated ourselves in the competitor’s section, now reduced to a single long bench, Chatelaine Lirelle appeared on the temporary dais erected in the center of the arena.
“Honored members of the Imperial Council, distinguished generals and admirals of the Imperial Legions, esteemed representatives of the Imperial Office of Arcane Standards, honored guests, faculty, students, and friends of the Academy,” she began, “I welcome you all to the fourth day of the Aurelian Trials.”
A warm ripple of applause spread through the amphitheater.
“Only four teams remain from the original forty. Over the past three days, these mage-students have demonstrated not only mastery of magical skill, but the discipline, judgment, and partnership expected of future mages of the Dominion. Now, let me introduce our semi-finalists!”
She had to pause until a fresh burst of applause and cheers died down.
“Fifth-year students Lord Jofre de Bellmont and Lord Berengar de Rocafort.”
The pair rose and bowed in unison towards the dignitaries’ box.
“Fourth-year students Lady Cresta of Pomerado and Lord Bernard de Espola.”
Cresta and Bernardo also rose and faced the dignitaries’ box. She curtsied, and he bowed.
“Second-year students Lord Lukhan FitzMurad and Mr. Damien Corvellan.”
Like the others, Lukhan and Damien rose and made their bows toward the dignitaries’ box.
“And, finally, our first-ever first-year semi-finalists, Mr. Elio Ferraro and Miss Talisa of Bernswick.”
Cued by the others’ actions, Elio and I stood, faced the assembled dignitaries, and made our respective bow and curtsey.
To my surprise and pleasure, we received the loudest and most prolonged applause.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bernardo and Cresta both wearing sour expressions.
They had seated themselves as far away from us as they could get, next to Lukhan and Damien.
Jofre de Bellmont and Berengar de Rocafort occupied the center section of the bench and treated us as if we were invisible.
“And now, our esteemed Herald of the Aurelian Trials will draw the names for the semi-final matches.”
The crowd quieted as Lirelle left the dais and the herald took her place. Today, the familiar urn had been replaced by a small box encased in gold filigree work.
I felt three thousand pairs of eyes settle on the eight of us sitting in the competitors’ section.
“Today’s challenge is the Trial of Banners,” the herald announced. He gestured toward the standards rising from the arena floor. “Each of these standards is enchanted with living spell-thread, which will serve as both focus and battery for the competitors’ spells today.
“The rules for this match are as follows: Each team will attune with, charge with magic, and maintain control of their assigned banner through an initial five-minute preparation period. Once charged, your assigned banner will serve as a reservoir for your magic, amplifying your spells beyond your natural capacity. You will then use whatever spells you choose to capture the opposing team’s banner while maintaining control of your own banner. ”
Elio’s hand found mine. His fingers felt icy, but I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or if it was only the morning chill.
“If both banners remain under the control of their respective teams when the fifteen-minute timer expires, the match will enter overtime. Overtime continues until one team either successfully captures the opposing team’s banner or forces the opposing team to yield their banner.”
He paused. The silence in the amphitheater was absolute.
“Direct attacks on opposing team members are permitted, provided they are not intended to cause lasting injury. This trial is intended to highlight our students’ abilities as future battle-mages.”
I couldn’t help myself. I glanced over at Damien and Lukhan. But both of them were intent on watching the herald.
“We will now draw the teams for the two semi-final matches.” The herald reached into the box.
I held my breath and hoped desperately that I’d have the chance to watch the other teams compete first, and learn from their strategies and mistakes.
“First match.” He unfolded the scrap of paper. “Miss Talisa of Bernswick and Mr. Elio Ferraro. You will command the blue standard.”
The first match again? I forced down a groan of disappointment.
Elio’s hand tightened around mine. “It’s not fair to make us go first.”
The herald reached back into the urn. “Opposing them, Lord Lukhan FitzMurad and Mr. Damien Corvellan. You will command the crimson standard.”
The amphitheater exploded with whistles, shouts of “Grudge match!” and the thunder of hands clapping in rhythm from the commoner sections.
Several of the attending dignitaries leaned forward to study us more closely.
Lukhan was already on his feet. His gaze found mine across the distance, and his mouth twisted into a familiar sneer.
Beside him, Damien rose. Unlike Lukhan, he didn’t spare us a glance.
“Second match.” The herald’s voice cut through the noise. “Lady Cresta of Pomerado and Lord Bernardo de Espola, commanding the blue standard. Opposing them, Lord Jofre de Bellmont and Lord Berengar de Rocafort, commanding the crimson.”
More applause. Cresta and Bernardo both acknowledged the announcement with a graceful inclination of their heads. Jofre and Berengar gave curt nods.
“May the best two teams advance to the finals.”
The herald stepped down from the dais. His assistants whisked it away.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” Elio said, his voice low and fierce.
“So have I.” My words came out steadier than I’d expected. The warm, humming warmth of my connection to Elio stirred and brightened, like embers catching a draft. “Let’s teach Lukhan and Damien a lesson they won’t forget.”
Despite my brave words, my stomach churned with nerves.
Elio and I had to win today. Not just for the prize money, but because if we didn’t, Lukhan would take it as confirmation that he was superior to me.
After four months of enduring his insults, petty torments, and outright attacks, I desperately wanted to take him and his hulking bodyguard-friend down a few pegs.
Elio and walked down to the arena floor, hand in hand, while the crowd roared above us.
∞∞∞
The starting bell rang, and Lukhan’s hand closed around the polished wooden pole. Earth magic poured from his fingers, flooding into the banner’s spell-thread.
The banner stiffened. Its fabric, which had been rippling gently a moment before, went taut. The spell-threads woven through the crimson silk blazed gold, then lightened to a searing silver that made me blink and squint. The air around the banner shimmered with heat.