Felix hated to see his people struggle. But he’d change things someday.
Wielders might have been forbidden from holding any positions of power—a stupid, backwards law—but Felix had spent most of his life hiding his abilities to ensure he’d end up in one. He was lucky enough to have been born without rings. Whether it was the mixture of powers or pure chance, it gave him an opportunity that other wielders didn’t have. And he intended to use it to make a difference.
He’d be a legend, just like his da.
He looked back to confirm Henry was still following. The boy looked utterly lost, his wide eyes bouncing from the banners to the bustling crowd until suddenly, he stopped, his posture rigid.
Felix followed his gaze to a flamewielder juggling three small pink fireballs that crackled with heat. A few onlookers clapped politely. The act was hardly original, and it was surprising the crowd gave him any reaction at all.
And yet, stark terror was etched across Henry’s face.
People rarely surprised Felix anymore. But there was something about Henry—a subtle dissonance, like a new note in a familiar song—that was utterly intriguing.
And then there were those eyes. Slate grey with rings like polished metal.
He prided himself on his vast knowledge of magic, so he was confident that no power bore silver rings. And yet, there they were.
A fierce curiosity gnawed at him. The need to ask, to understand. Felix despised not knowing. But the question felt too personal to pose to someone he’d only just met. He’d have to work his way to it. He was good at getting people to open up.
Felix slowed to match Henry’s pace. “We’ve established that you’re not from here,” he started, dragging Henry’s attention from the flamewielder. “So, whereareyou from?”
The hesitation was a clear indicator that whatever answer Henry was about to give would be a lie, so Felix didn’t bother to wait for it. He didn’t have the attention span to suffer through made-up stories.
He waved the question away with a flourish of his hand. “Alright, scratch that. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
Henry’s disgruntled frown turned down the corners of his mouth, and Felix couldn’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Henry asked, clearly offended.
“You.”
The frown intensified.
“You’ve mastered the cantankerous scowl of an eighty-year-old at, what? Seventeen?”
Henry’s face softened, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Sixteen today, actually.”
“It’s your birthday?”
The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, his expression slamming shut. Clearly, this was a detail Henry hadn’t meant to share, and Felix filed it away as important for that very reason.
“There you are!” A girl appeared beside Henry, taking his arm with an affectionate ease. The resemblance was impossible to miss. She was every bit as beautiful, and nearly as intriguing. But her eyes were warm brown, without a trace of rings. And the moment they met Felix’s, they hardened with suspicion.
“Everything alright, Auggie?” she asked.
Felix quirked an eyebrow. “Yes,Auggie,” he said, emphasizing the name that was very muchnota shortened version of Henry. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine,” he answered, eyes wide as he turned to the girl and added, “cousin.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” said Felix.
“Lottie,” the girl replied with an outstretched hand.
“Felix Connolly.” Taking her fingers in his, he bowed his head slightly, then met her eyes and offered his most radiant smile. A greeting perfected through practice.
His manners were a refined art, every introduction a subtle performance. With plans to climb the political ladder, every interaction with someone of a higher social status held potential significance.
Lottie’s eyes narrowed. Then she freed her hand and pivoted her attention back to Not-Henry. “I’m going to get a drink with some new friends. Join me?”
