leading to a building with a dome of glass.
On the way, Hiresha spotted Spellsword Fos jogging across the Academy Plateau. He leapt and was carried into the air by a gust. Hiresha guessed he had missed the timing on his jump, had Lightened himself too long, and a trill of fear passed through her that he would blow off a cliff.
He thumped down into the snow, his natural weight restored. He ran closer to Hiresha and the Lord of the Feast, and Hiresha worried Fos would see them. As an Academy guard he was charged to kill Feasters without trial, and seeing her arm and arm with one would lead to exponential awkwardness.
I won’t let one hurt the other, she thought.
The purple and red flames smoldered, but the spellsword gave no sign of seeing them or their smoke. He trudged on. Hiresha was relieved then recalled that she had promised to bring Fos the extra cloak, but she must have dropped it while shoving the Feaster away from his sister. She admired Fos for running on a night like this and hoped he would continue and keep himself warm.
Her skin burned with relief when they entered the shelter of an entrance hall. Hiresha slipped into a darkened parlor and returned with a crystal key. It opened a transparent door of quartz leading into the Academy Ballroom, a domed space of echoes and stars. If not for the sheen on the clear stone and the lack of chillsome wind, Hiresha might have believed herself outside. The floor tiles curved upward to meet the glassy walls and ceiling in a sphere.
“At last we may enjoy the room in privacy,” The Lord of the Feast said. “The yearly Starstorm Balls have far too many people to be sociable. Crowds make you feel so alone.”
Even though they walked at arm’s length, he seemed so near that Hiresha felt it as a painfully invigorating pressure. They circled up the polished slope and onto the crystal so that their feet pointed toward the crags capped with glowing snow. They ascended to the crest of the Ballroom, and enchantments made Hiresha feel upright and on level ground. Stars glittered below the hem of her dress as if she levitated above shimmering ice.
The enchantress said, “I would have invited you to the Academy if you’d asked. On—”
“I never go where I’m invited.”
“On the condition that you behave as a guest should.”
“So far I’m the best mannered Feaster in the Mindvault. I do apologize for Minara. It’s my place to discipline my children, but I have far too many. And my children have entirely too many mothers.”
Hiresha knew Lord Tethiel was not Minna’s true father, but the girl’s forbidden magic now bound her to him. Did the girl start Feasting to hide her birthmark? A tragedy. And whatever shall I tell Janny? More to the point, what must I do with a Feaster in the novice registry?
“You may punish Minara as you see fit.” Tethiel answered her unspoken question. Each time his boot lifted, a filigree of red bloomed through the crystal floor, or ceiling, rather. The branching patterns twined and twisted after them in a multihued wake. “I consider you the master of the Mindvault.”
“The Chancellor of Precious—”
“Is the block of wood that keeps the door open,” he said.
Hiresha’s gowns trailed an essence of purple into the crystal, and the light rippled and seeped through the Ballroom. This spread of color did not come from her enchantments. Hiresha thought Tethiel considerate to give her footfalls an equal measure of his magic.
She asked, “What would you have done if she had disobeyed you outside the Academy?”
“Been most severe. My children know not to attack you, my heart.”
Pleasant and painful sensations of wading through a steam bath as well as being scalded warred in Hiresha’s tension-petrified stomach. She tended to think Tethiel wanted to leave the Feaster novice here as a spy, and that he would kill her if Hiresha expelled her. Neither could she think of keeping the Feaster in her sanctuary.
“I ask only one
On the way, Hiresha spotted Spellsword Fos jogging across the Academy Plateau. He leapt and was carried into the air by a gust. Hiresha guessed he had missed the timing on his jump, had Lightened himself too long, and a trill of fear passed through her that he would blow off a cliff.
He thumped down into the snow, his natural weight restored. He ran closer to Hiresha and the Lord of the Feast, and Hiresha worried Fos would see them. As an Academy guard he was charged to kill Feasters without trial, and seeing her arm and arm with one would lead to exponential awkwardness.
I won’t let one hurt the other, she thought.
The purple and red flames smoldered, but the spellsword gave no sign of seeing them or their smoke. He trudged on. Hiresha was relieved then recalled that she had promised to bring Fos the extra cloak, but she must have dropped it while shoving the Feaster away from his sister. She admired Fos for running on a night like this and hoped he would continue and keep himself warm.
Her skin burned with relief when they entered the shelter of an entrance hall. Hiresha slipped into a darkened parlor and returned with a crystal key. It opened a transparent door of quartz leading into the Academy Ballroom, a domed space of echoes and stars. If not for the sheen on the clear stone and the lack of chillsome wind, Hiresha might have believed herself outside. The floor tiles curved upward to meet the glassy walls and ceiling in a sphere.
“At last we may enjoy the room in privacy,” The Lord of the Feast said. “The yearly Starstorm Balls have far too many people to be sociable. Crowds make you feel so alone.”
Even though they walked at arm’s length, he seemed so near that Hiresha felt it as a painfully invigorating pressure. They circled up the polished slope and onto the crystal so that their feet pointed toward the crags capped with glowing snow. They ascended to the crest of the Ballroom, and enchantments made Hiresha feel upright and on level ground. Stars glittered below the hem of her dress as if she levitated above shimmering ice.
The enchantress said, “I would have invited you to the Academy if you’d asked. On—”
“I never go where I’m invited.”
“On the condition that you behave as a guest should.”
“So far I’m the best mannered Feaster in the Mindvault. I do apologize for Minara. It’s my place to discipline my children, but I have far too many. And my children have entirely too many mothers.”
Hiresha knew Lord Tethiel was not Minna’s true father, but the girl’s forbidden magic now bound her to him. Did the girl start Feasting to hide her birthmark? A tragedy. And whatever shall I tell Janny? More to the point, what must I do with a Feaster in the novice registry?
“You may punish Minara as you see fit.” Tethiel answered her unspoken question. Each time his boot lifted, a filigree of red bloomed through the crystal floor, or ceiling, rather. The branching patterns twined and twisted after them in a multihued wake. “I consider you the master of the Mindvault.”
“The Chancellor of Precious—”
“Is the block of wood that keeps the door open,” he said.
Hiresha’s gowns trailed an essence of purple into the crystal, and the light rippled and seeped through the Ballroom. This spread of color did not come from her enchantments. Hiresha thought Tethiel considerate to give her footfalls an equal measure of his magic.
She asked, “What would you have done if she had disobeyed you outside the Academy?”
“Been most severe. My children know not to attack you, my heart.”
Pleasant and painful sensations of wading through a steam bath as well as being scalded warred in Hiresha’s tension-petrified stomach. She tended to think Tethiel wanted to leave the Feaster novice here as a spy, and that he would kill her if Hiresha expelled her. Neither could she think of keeping the Feaster in her sanctuary.
“I ask only one
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