The Scent of the Ideal

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The Arms Room, as Academy Trianon’s training complex was known, was the size of several barns put together, but made of stone, not wood.

It was also a series of rooms, or at least, of divisions.

Vaulted ceilings led to arched doorways, and the straw on the floor meant to soften landings did not muffle the sounds of dozens of students and instructors laughing or swearing as they sparred and fell and got up again.

Rafi stepped away from the practice dummy he’d been pummeling to stand near one of the arches that led outside, leaning against the wall as Katoh and Laure tied their protective leathers into place a few feet away.

Laure’s control of aer had slipped a few days before and so Instructor Guen was pushing more practice and extra caution.

A slip was unusual for an older student.

Laure insisted he was fine and that it wouldn’t happen again.

At the time of the slip, Laure had received a letter from home in which he’d learned he now had a nephew and the baby had been named after him, and all that had actually resulted was a window slammed open and some wind gusting into the library.

So Laure was correct; the situation was unlikely to happen again.

Nonetheless, Rafi discreetly monitored the nearly invisible, whisper-light hint of aer around and within Laure, giving Laure a smile so he hopefully wouldn’t notice.

Rafi was being ridiculous. Instructor Guen would spot any issues before he did, and anyway, Rafi was hardly strong enough to do anything about it if there was a problem.

He was a year younger than Laure and hadn’t yet learned to fully contain his aer either.

Katoh would say Rafi worried too much. Rafi would say there was no one else to do the worrying, so he must. Well, no, he would not say that.

He would agree that he was anxious over nothing, and then continue to worry, but privately, so as not to bother his friends.

Perhaps that was why full control kept evading him; he had too many concerns.

After over four years at Trianon, Rafi could sit for hours in meditation and yet his hold on his aer would falter in unexpected moments, something that might lead to real harm one day.

But he should worry less over it since the worrying did nothing, and he had another year here to master his control.

The sensation of energy, of life, at his shoulder distracted him from the study of how Laure’s aer looked and felt.

Rafi turned toward the sensation and found Instructor Briene, at Academy Trianon to instruct potential swersoldis like Rafi on the manners and protocols of the noble households where they would someday work.

Many of the academy’s students were also nobles, but usually from minor families, and a skilled swersoldi, trained in martial defenses as well as how to use aer, were valued as guards and often placed in the palace or in one of the manors around the capital.

That meant they had to know what to expect in such high places.

“Tizzan.” Instructor Briene greeted Rafi by his family’s name and moved before Rafi could respond. “Come this way, won’t you?”

Rafi hadn’t done anything to get him in trouble but Briene’s tone seemed to imply he had. He cast a quick look around the Arms Room, catching Katoh’s concerned look before he ducked out after the manners instructor.

Briene was in a long cloak, responding the chill that had lingered despite how the snow had melted a few weeks before.

In a moment, Rafi would feel that too. He had no coat with him, and he had worked with the dummy wearing pants and a thin shirt, now both damp with sweat.

He took the time as they walked to retie his hair at the back of neck though his shorter curls would not be contained and tickled his ears as they slipped free.

He wiped some of the sweat from his face as well, grateful for once to be a nex and to not have to deal with facial hair although it was currently in style at court, and every miné who could grow a mustache, like Laure, was currently sporting one.

Briene led Rafi down stone paths and under arches, through one meditation garden and then to the entrance of another before he stopped and turned around.

Briene had golden curls that fell into place as they should, and a neat, trimmed beard and mustache that probably appealed to his wife.

Instructor Preteau was a tall, fierce miná who would have no problems objecting to a beard if she didn’t fancy one.

“Sorry,” Briene began, after a glance around the empty garden. “I probably alarmed you, but I wanted this to be a private discussion and my office has been taken over by first-years because… that’s not important now. Forgive me.”

Briene wasn’t from a noble family, which was probably why he took manners so seriously.

Rafi could relate, as the Tizzan were a minor noble family.

Anyone who had to deal with the higher classes lived with the concern that they might offend a more powerful house, which was hardly baseless; years of conflicts and killings among the noble families had led to the existence of the swersoldi and the swersoldi continued to be needed, though perhaps not as frequently as they had once been.

He smiled to reassure his fretful instructor. “I was only slightly alarmed.”

Briene grew so serious that some of Rafi’s smile faded. “You are near twenty now, correct?”

Rafi kept himself still except for a shiver as his sweat began to dry. At the moment, he was the opposite of hot, not that it mattered.

“Twenty, in fact,” he answered quietly, now aware of what this conference was about.

Briene pushed out a breath and looked him over.

Rafi was neither short nor tall, with strength in his shoulders and a body that showed how seriously he took his training.

He had a smooth face. Like all nex, he was smooth almost everywhere, although his clothing didn’t allow Briene a view of anything more revealing than some of his chest, and that only because the laces at the neckline of his shirt had come loose, and because the shirt itself was thin and patched.

Rafi had patched it over the winter, not wanting to write home to beg for a new shirt that would only be something his brothers no longer needed and likely also in need of repair.

Rafi had three such shirts—meant to be worn to pieces as he trained, two better shirts, one nightshirt, some pants and boots, a coat meant to be worn at court should he ever be called there, and a cloak for the winter.

He also had a few gloves and scarves, nameday gifts from his friends here, who were too kind to admit to pity.

But they had all seen his mail cubby empty of letters and packages from home, and they all knew how it often was for third or four children.

Academy Trianon was full of younger children from noble homes who’d had to be dealt with somehow and who had lucked into some abilities with aer.

Enough skill with aer to make them slightly useful, not enough to be sent to work for a mage.

The perfect amount of talent to get them out of the way and into a profession where they might at least do their families some service.

If Rafi could get assigned to the palace or to the home of some other high-ranking noble, his family might benefit.

He might even make a name for himself and become famous, as some swersoldi did.

Usually through something dramatic, like saving a prince, but swersoldi were valued for a reason and those from Academy Trianon were valued the most. Rafi truly was fortunate to be there. So he didn’t allow himself to lose all of his smile when Instructor Briene cleared his throat and continued.

“Your instructors feel you are coming along nicely, despite some issues with your control. But that is not my area of knowledge. Neither is healing,” Briene went on, clearly uncomfortable.

“However, Chief Healer Emma has temporarily left the academy to attend to a family matter and none of her assistants feel qualified to….” Briene cleared his throat again.

“Emma mentioned that you have not come to her with questions about or symptoms of aedis. And she does not believe your control is at the point where you can handle it on your own or with an untrained partner. You haven’t already begun to experience aedis, then? ”

Rafi shook his head, aware that his smile had fallen but unable to summon a new one.

“Sorry again.” Briene did truly seem sorry. “A miná or another nex might be able to answer more questions than I can, but I didn’t think you’d want the matter bandied about among the instructors unless absolutely necessary.”

“Thank you,” Rafi said, throat tight at the small consideration. He took a breath and tried to steady the rise of nerves and flood of aer in his body. He ought to have more control, even when uncomfortable.

“Have you felt any signs yet?” Briene frowned, probably not at Rafi but Rafi tried harder to tamp down his nervous energy.

All around them was aer: life, breath, energy, a force that everyone knew but only a few could sense and even fewer could intentionally manipulate.

It was within him and within Briene and in every plant in the garden.

It was the wind and the dirt. It was his heart and his soul and the brown-and-gold curl the wind teased into his eyes.

Aer was everything, and Rafi’s limited ability to sense and use it was what had granted him a place here, and he was grateful.

But it was also about to lead to something humiliating.

Rafi took a breath and imagined the spirit and life in the garden spilling into him and merging with his own, then pushed that excess spirit away on an exhale, leaving himself with only the aer normally within him.

He kept that inside, contained as his skin held in his blood.

A talented swersoldi or mage could conceal their aer from the sight of others, but Rafi was not on that level.