“Can you teach me?” Caelen asked, bright-eyed and eager.
Lark tousled his hair, her fingers tangling in his curls. “I’d need your mother’s permission. Can’t have her court-martial me already.”
“Archers, get ready for the big contest on the east lawn,” the announcer bellowed into his megaphone.
Caelen hung his head, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Are you going to compete? Mom says a bow is your main weapon.”
Wonder forced Lark’s mouth to gape. It was unreal to learn that Queen Frost had so much to say about her.
“I didn’t bring my bow and arrows,” she answered as a warm ball of sunshine spun in her belly. “Look over there. The egg toss is about to begin. That’s something we could do together.”
“Yeah, sweet! Last one to the line is a rotten egg,” he giggled, and jolted off in a head start.
All around, the festival thrummed with a sense of pride and belonging: a rare day when nobility and common folk shared the same air, the same laughter, under the shadow of the enduring mountain.
Marenne, Bernard, Cassandra, and Suzanne had all wandered off to enjoy the festivities. Darian and Mira Whitfield had taken little Rowan Jr. to a pavilion tocare for the baby’s needs in a more private setting, leaving Azaleen and Eldrin with the older nobles. Lady Evelyn—the dear—had shifted seats to converse with Orielle, leaving Lords Rowan and Roderic to posture over whose accomplishments were the most notable. Eldrin and his grandfather discussed classic literature, history, and philosophy. But Azaleen’s interest lay elsewhere.
She’d noticed Caelen strike up a conversation with Lark, touch her hair, and then they’d run off. Azaleen used the excuse of refilling pitchers to leave the table so she could see where they’d gone. Watching Lark run up the wall and flip through the air amazed her as much as the first time she’d witnessed the feat. She loved Caelen with all her heart, but seeing him at the festival with Lark also stirred her envy. He got to enjoy his innocence a little longer, unburdened with life-altering decisions and the future of the kingdom riding on his every word. She had begun grooming Eldrin for kingship, but, for a few years more, Caelen was still her little boy. And though she hardly dared admit it, jealousy flared over one more thing—Caelen got to feel Lark’s hair.
Chapter thirty-five
Critical Relay
Clover Hollow, Appalachia, same day
“Who can reproduce the Core initialization code from memory?” asked Professor Jiro Sakamoto. He stood at the chalkboard in a charcoal suit with a short, high collar, chin lifted, brows arched. He tapped the board with a wooden pointer for emphasis.
Soren’s hand shot into the air first. He was desperate to prove his rank as first in class.
“Mr. Delacroix.” The professor, whose ancestors hailed from somewhere in the Far East, offered Soren a slight bow as he approached the board. Soren bowed in return in the ritual of respect. Teachers were revered almost as much as shepherds, both being dispensers of knowledge. Sakamoto was shorter than Soren, slender, black hair slicked back, his shoes gleaming like spotlights.
Taking the chalk, Soren scratched out the formula, precise down to the last symbol. When he finished, he returned the chalk to the tray and stood at attention facing the class. The moment of truth—ridicule or reward?
Sakamoto paced the front of the classroom, twenty other students watching with interest, waiting to spring forward with a solution if Soren had made an error. The moment was both nerve-racking and exhilarating. Regardless of theoutcome, he needed something to distract him from the letter he’d received from Nathan.
No, don’t think about that now,he ordered himself.
“Exemplary, Mr. Delacroix,” the professor praised. “You may return to your seat. Class, why must we memorize the reboot code?”
Soren knew, but he didn’t wish to appear too insufferable. People didn’t like a know-it-all. He waited in his chair while other hands flew up.
“Miss Darby.” Sakamoto gripped the stick behind his back, rocking from heel to toe.
“In case we can’t find the book with the instructions?” The young woman, tawny hair clipped sharp in the prevailing style, bit her lip, her voice tenuous.
“I suppose that’s one scenario,” he replied with a deep frown. “Who recalls what occurred eight years, seven months, and sixteen days ago?”
The class blinked. Students scratched their heads.Enough of this!Soren raised his hand. With a nod from the professor, he answered, “During the Great Whiteout—a storm of unprecedented severity—a critical relay failed in the Core’s primary power generator, triggering a massive blackout. Once the fault was corrected, the Core had to be rebooted with exact precision to preserve data integrity. Anyone who works directly with Core maintenance must know the code by heart. Every second counts.”
Sakamoto nodded, a slight smile curving his thin lips. “Which you know because it was your father who performed the successful reboot. Very good.”
Soren suddenly felt everyone looking at him. Were they judging him? Thinking he had favor because his father sat with the College of Ministers? Or because Adélard played such a vital role in maintaining the power that ruled their entire society? Soren wanted respect for his own achievements, not for his father’s. But when he looked around, he wasn’t met with glares or sneers—only with admiring gazes and congratulatory smiles.
His gut unclenched, relief breaking across his face. “Thank you, sir,” he replied to Sakamoto.
The professor set his pointing stick in the chalk tray and stepped to his lectern. “Take notes, class,” he instructed. “Today’s topic—how to spot faulty lines of code.”
Soren immersed himself in note taking, soaking in every word Sakamoto said. The dean had granted his first choice in career paths—Data Harmonization, which meant the Oracle must have approved.The Oracle is the ultimate logic,he thought.All my data went in, churned, and came out as I had hoped. Well … not really,he admitted.I wanted to be an artist, but that would never have been approved. My aptitude scores were too high. But I’ll still have time to paint.
