The Alchemist's Touch by Garrett Robinson

his arm in reassurance. “The choice is yours, of course. I would never dream of forcing you into such studies, if they are not what your heart truly desires.”
    “Show some wisdom for once in your life, and think ahead,” snarled Shay. “What do you think you can still learn, now that you are nearly full-grown?”
    Ebon looked at him, and then back to Halab. His first instinct was to shout, with all his joy and fervor, that of course he would stay and attend the Academy. And yet, as they so often did, his father’s words wormed their way into his mind. What would it be like at the Academy? One thing was certain: he was here four years later than he should have been, and would certainly feel that deficit if he attended.  
    If? Finally he realized the foolishness of his thought. He had dreamed of nothing more in all his years. Now that the gift was finally presented, on a silver platter as it were, would he shrink from the offer? He had seen the Academy now, and knew what lay behind its granite walls. And he knew he had never longed for anything so keenly.
    “I wish to attend the Academy,” he said, almost shouting. Then he leapt forwards, forgetting all his courtesy, and squeezed Halab in an embrace tight enough to hear the air whoosh from her lungs. “And thank you, Aunt. Thank you. This is a gift greater than ever I could have dreamed.” Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes.
    “You are welcome, dearest Nephew,” she said, gently patting his back. At last he released her, and she fell a step back. “Now you are under but one obligation: to make your family proud to have sent you. Learn your magic well. Can you do this for us?”
    He refused to look at his father, and so kept his eyes on hers. “Yes. I give you my oath.”
    “I shall remember it. Now quickly—say your farewells, for you should make your way to the Academy right away. I have sent word to Cyrus already, and they are waiting for you.”
    Ebon turned to look at Tamen. His retainer looked befuddled, as though he did not fully understand what had happened. He raised the satchel in his hand, then lowered it again, then looked helplessly back and forth.
    “I…I do not know what to say, Ebon.”
    “Say only that you are happy for me,” said Ebon in a low voice, holding forth his hand.
    Tamen took it, grasping his wrist, and they shook. “Happier than you can know.” His hand came up to grip Ebon’s shoulder. “I am sorry I could not be a better friend to you in the years we have had. Mayhap another time will let me pay that debt.”
    Ebon answered Tamen with a smile—then jumped as he heard a door slam behind him. He turned to find the carriage door had shut, with his father inside it. But his mother waited for him by the carriage, arms wide, a pleased smile upon her face. Ebon went to her and took her in his arms, breathing in the familiar smell of her favored perfumes.
    “Go and make me proud, my son,” she said, scarcely speaking above a whisper. “I do not weep to see you go, for I know you are ready.”
    “Then you know more than I, Mother,” said Ebon. “But Father…”
    “Do not concern yourself for him,” she said quickly. “I know you cannot see it, but he, too, knows this is best. And mayhap the distance between you will mend what time never could.”
    Ebon doubted that, but forced himself to smile as he gave her a final kiss on the cheek. At last he turned to Halab, who stood there beaming at him. Mako stood just behind her, but Ebon tried to ignore him.
    “Well, what are you waiting for?” said Halab. “Go, or they shall mark you tardy on your first day.”
    “Do well, little goldbag,” said Mako. Ebon’s skin crawled at his crooked grin. “I know you will be of great service to the family.”
    Ebon held a smile for his aunt. But at the last moment, he turned towards the carriage. Its door had a window, and though a curtain was drawn across it, sunlight showed his father’s silhouette. The shadow did not move, even