But I did not barter in luck or blessings with the Goddess of the Sun.
“Thank you,” I said, throwing a glance over my shoulder, “I’m already running a bit late, I should—”
“Go,” Rosie shooed me, “and be sure to tell all of the new friends you meet of my tavern!”
Saluting her, my laugh a chime lost to the din, I hurried on my way.
My steps didn’t slow again, not until the looming palace walls entered my gaze. Sparkling sunstone shone under the winter light, bright and harsh in all its glory. The wall shimmered, a kaleidoscope of sparkling golds, blues, and pinks that glowed in such a way that it appeared as though fire licked up its length. It was so tall my head had to crane to see the little watchtower that sat atop it.
A golden watchtower for a golden kingdom.
My breath caught in my throat when a sound called out, “Who goes there?”
I couldn’t see who spoke, hidden in their nest atop flame, like a watchful bird for all the city to see.
The words nearly caught in my throat. “Syra Sommers, Apprentice to Merle Sommers. I’ve come for my trials within the Institute."
A moment of silence.
It lingered long enough to have my anxiety blooming, my stomach churning. They couldn’t refuse me, could they? I’d filed my case months in advance and received my acceptance and date to arrive not long after.
Just when my nerves began to fray and I had half a thought to turn and flee, a great rumbling shook the earth beneath my feet. Stone began to shift and part, smooth and without a crack, like a knife cutting through soft butter. It was a feat that never ceased to amaze me, no matter how many times I laid witness. The stone split by those blessed with magic of the earth, a blessing of Soli.
I walked through the opening, my gaze awestruck as the stone shifted once more, closing me in. I couldn’t see the magic-blessed who split it, hidden somewhere, perhaps the watchtower? But I could still feel the tingle of magic in the air, could still smell the heady scent of rich soil and rocks baked under a blazing sun.
“Syra Sommers?”
A nasally voice called out, prim and arrogant, snatching my attention from the sunstone wall at my back.
The woman was tall, reed thin, and wore an expression so stern upon her narrow face that my spine straightened of its own accord. She wore the long flowing robes of a Palace Master, the olive color symbolizing her to be a Potions Master in particular. Her robes were threaded with gold, intricate little designs of swirling vines and flowers that crawled up the garment.
My excitement washed anew. I would soon have my own to wear, though I knew they would be nowhere near as opulent. Still the sameolive color to mark me a Potions Maker, but the threading would be black and simple, unlike the gold of a Master.
Realizing her shrewd gaze was expectant, I took a few hesitant steps forward. “Yes, I’m—”
“You’re late,” she intoned, pushing her thin rimmed glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose as disapproval tightened her features. “To be late is to hold a lack of respect for those who await your arrival, Miss Sommers.”
My mouth was that of a gaping fish plucked from the sea, opening and closing as I tried to force an apology from my traitorous tongue. Too stunned to let the words come forth, instead a silence stretched between us.
A sigh came from her, followed by atskas she spun upon her heel and gestured for me to follow. “Nothing to be done of it now. Let us get the preliminary questions out of the way while I escort you to your housing. You’ve already stated Merle Sommers as the Potions Master you’ve apprenticed under,” she said as she scribbled something upon a thick booklet she held in hand, “have you any blessed gift of the Goddess?”
My voice returned, nodding once, anxiety churned my stomach. “Yes, but it’s very weak.”
The woman gestured impatiently, glancing sidelong at me. Waiting, I realized with a start, for me to display the gift.
Heartbeat fluttering like the small wings of a sprite, I held out my hand, fingers shaking. Concentrating, I coaxed the shadows forth, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste the tang of iron upon my tongue.
Please,pleaselook like smoke.
This is an insult to our power. An indecency to those who have come before you.
The shadows grumbled through my mind.
Please,I prayed back. Coaxing them, willing them to work for me.
I heard thesighthrough my mind as loud as if it had come from my own mouth.
Nervous tension stooped my shoulders, as the first tendrils came forth—light and fluttering—and quickly snuffed away as if caught upon the breeze. Looking exactly like the smoke of a candle, blown out and dissipating quickly.
