Unsettled.
Because deep down...he knew his brother’s words were meant forhim.
6
He was twelve, locked in his room, with tear tracks staining his cheeks from yet another bout of penance.
He hadn’t Settled on magic yet, as all the other younglings had. Day after day, he’d tried invocating, begging one of the Five gods to answer. Surely, they’d not deny a Sacred prince.
But deny, they had. Time and time again.
He was already counting down the days until he turned thirteen, when it would become almost impossible for him to Settle after that. For the first time in his life...he didn’twantto grow older.
Still, he wasn’t one to wait around for opportunity to strike, for life to pass him by. He had other ways of living, so Kinlear had taken to using the cleverness of his mind as his own magic.
At least...until the gods remembered him.
They will,he told himself, as he wiped tears from his eyes.They must.
This time, he’d been caught out in thenomagebarracks beneath the Citadel, amidst a cluster of young soldiers placing bets in a game ofBear’s Bane.
He’d never once played the game before, but after a few tries, he had bested men and women three times his age, even the old Ravenminder who’d come down from his tower. The omen-watchers so often visited thenomagebarracks, half-drunk and eager to spill all their secrets alongside their coin.
Kinlear won every game. He had a purse full of earnings he did not need, for he was already rich. But for the first time in ages, he wasproudof himself.
At least, until one the Sacred Realmist Master had ridden past on his war bear...and locked eyes with Kinlear.
It was no use lying after that.
“A prince does not bet,”the Master had told him, as he scooped Kinlear from the snow and dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to the Citadel’s steps. “A prince certainly does not find himself fraternizing with lowly nomage recruits.”
“They’re more fun than any of you,”Kinlear had growled back at him.
The Master had raised a brow. “Us,”he said.“You are one of us, Little Laroux...even if you so often try to forget it.”
He’d paid penance.
A brand for every bit of coin he’d earned, and the pain was so deep he’d nearly passed out.
His cough came on heavy after that.
His mother had sent him straight to his quarters, where Runes of Locking had been inscribed on the other side of his door. His own Scribe’s practice blade, which he’d been given like the others who’d yet to Settle, had been taken from him as extra punishment.
But Kinlear was clever enough to know...
That was not the end of his sentence.
They’d left him in his room for hours while he awaited their decision. He was just beginning to wonder if one could die from boredom when a sound came from his bedroom door.
The shifting of a lock...then the creaking of the door opening.
“I told you I could get inside,” whispered a small, female voice.
Soraya,who’d Settled on her Windmage magic just weeks ago...later than all the others. For a moment, Kinlear had hoped she’d end up like him, a Scribe, if only so they could spend more time together in training.
She was a trulykindSacred. A girl who looked at both twins, despite their glaring differences, as if they were one and the same. She saw no difference betweenfuture kingandspare.Between crown and cane.
“An unlocking rune isn’t as difficult as you think, Arawn.”
