ㅤ
The testing crystal struck the student's barrier for the second time.
ㅤ
A crack ran across its surface, and the boy stumbled backward, one boot scraping the edge of the brass circle.
ㅤ
“Forty-one,” Professor Halden said.
ㅤ
“That can't be right. You changed the crystal after my first attempt.”
ㅤ
“Both were calibrated this morning.”
ㅤ
“Then let me try again.”
ㅤ
“You've had two attempts.”
ㅤ
The boy stayed on the platform. Halden waited, pencil resting against his assessment sheet, until the boy finally stepped down.
ㅤ
I understood the feeling. Failing defensive magic would mean repeating the course, and another term at the academy meant another term of rent. I'd already checked the figures in my notebook twice that morning. They hadn't improved.
ㅤ
“Adrian.”
ㅤ
I closed it. My name was next.
ㅤ
Halden watched me step onto the platform.
ㅤ
“Did you notice anything during the previous attempts?”
ㅤ
“The second strike is stronger than the first. There's less time before the third.”
ㅤ
He nodded toward the circle. “Take your position.”
ㅤ
I set my bag beside the platform and rolled my right shoulder. I'd spent too long bent over my notebook while the other students took their turns. The muscle between my neck and shoulder had tightened, which was inconvenient for an examination that involved being hit repeatedly.
ㅤ
The testing crystal hung above me from a jointed brass arm. Chalk dust had settled into the grooves between the floor markers. Someone had opened the high windows after a student's sleeve caught fire earlier that morning, but the room still smelled faintly of scorched wool.
ㅤ
“Whenever you're ready,” Halden said.
ㅤ
I raised my hand.
ㅤ
Mana gathered behind my ribs, a pressure that grew less comfortable as I drew it forward. For me, maintaining a barrier felt like carrying a full bucket while someone tried to knock it out of my hands.
ㅤ
I formed a thin shell around myself.
ㅤ
The students before me had generally made theirs thicker. But a barrier wasn't much use if I exhausted myself keeping it intact before the examination ended.
ㅤ
My reserves were average. The examiner who'd measured them during my first week at the academy had said so without looking up from his sheet. I'd practiced for a month and asked to be measured again.
ㅤ
Still average.
ㅤ
The crystal clicked.
ㅤ
I shifted mana toward my left shoulder. The first impact struck the reinforced section and sent a dull ache down my arm. The shell held. I drew the reinforcement back toward the center.
ㅤ
Another click.
ㅤ
Too late.
ㅤ
The second strike caught the edge of the section I was moving. My breath left me, and a bright fracture spread across the barrier.
ㅤ
I pulled mana from the untouched side and fed it into the damaged area. The fracture narrowed without disappearing.
ㅤ
Then came the third click.
ㅤ
Sooner than I wanted.
ㅤ
I had enough mana left to strengthen the entire barrier for a moment. The trouble was that the crystal hadn't struck yet. If I spent everything now, I'd have nothing left to resist the impact.
ㅤ
I kept the reinforcement where it was and planted my feet.
ㅤ
The final blow drove the barrier inward. My right heel scraped across the platform. Pain tightened through my forearm as I held the spell together around the crystal's pressure.
ㅤ
Then the pressure lifted.
ㅤ
“Lower your hand,” Halden said.
ㅤ
I obeyed. The barrier dissolved into faint threads of light, leaving my fingers tingling.
ㅤ
Halden waited for the dial to settle. “Seventy-eight.”
ㅤ
I checked the number myself. Seventy-eight was enough to pass. I'd wanted a little more, but there were limits to how ambitious I could afford to be.
ㅤ
“Adrian, stay a moment.”
ㅤ
I stopped halfway down the steps.
ㅤ
Halden turned over his assessment sheet. “You spent less mana than the last six students.”
ㅤ
“I reinforced the areas where the crystal would strike.”
ㅤ
“I saw that.” He tapped a figure with his pencil. “I also saw what happened when you moved too late.”
ㅤ
I glanced at my right hand. It hadn't quite stopped trembling.
ㅤ
“Your method depends on anticipating the impact,” he continued. “What happens when you can't?”
ㅤ
“I'd have to leave more protection in the outer layer.”
ㅤ
“And pay for it with mana you don't have.”
ㅤ
That was the problem. I'd tried keeping a second reinforcement ready during practice, but maintaining both sections had cost more than expected. There might be a better approach in Veyr's textbook. I'd stopped reading after the chapters required for our lectures because I needed the time for paid work.
ㅤ
Halden studied me for a moment.
ㅤ
“Next week, repeat the exercise with an irregular attack sequence. Read the fourth chapter of Veyr's Defensive Applications beforehand.”
ㅤ
“Professor, is that a retest?”
ㅤ
“Your examination is complete. I'm interested in whether the technique works when you can't predict the strikes.”
ㅤ
“You have a week,” he added. “Read the chapter, not the summary in your course notes.”
ㅤ
Then he called the next student.
ㅤ
I stepped down and reached for my bag, already trying to remember whether the library had a copy of Veyr that students could borrow.
ㅤ
Marcus was waiting outside with a meat pie in his hand. Most of it was gone.
ㅤ
“Thought you'd gone home,” he said.
ㅤ
“Halden kept me back.”
ㅤ
His eyes dropped to the hand I was still flexing. “Overdid it?”
ㅤ
“Nearly lost the second impact. Got seventy-eight.”
ㅤ
“Good.”
ㅤ
He held out the last piece of his pie, glanced at it, and seemed to reconsider whether it counted as an offer.
ㅤ
“Sorry.”
ㅤ
“I'll survive.”
ㅤ
Marcus studied in the martial department. He'd once spent an entire dinner explaining how someone had broken his guard and swollen his jaw. When I asked whether he'd won the match, he said that wasn't the interesting part.
ㅤ
We crossed the courtyard while he described a first-year who'd managed to dislocate his own shoulder during a practice throw. Somewhere between the unfortunate student's arrival at the infirmary and Marcus's explanation of why the throw shouldn't have worked, I remembered Halden's assignment.
ㅤ
“He wants me back next week. Irregular attacks.”
ㅤ
Marcus looked pleased. “He wouldn't bother if he thought your technique wasn't worth testing.”
ㅤ
“That's one way to interpret it. I need Veyr's fourth chapter.”
ㅤ
“I've got the book. Come by before two. Training after that.”
ㅤ
“The copy with your diagrams in the margins?”
ㅤ
“Don't complain about my handwriting.”
ㅤ
“I wasn't going to.”
ㅤ
“You were thinking about it.”
ㅤ
“Still applying for ward maintenance?” Marcus asked as we passed the dry fountain.
ㅤ
“If they'll take someone without family connections.”
ㅤ
“They took two graduates last year.”
ㅤ
“Both had recommendations.”
ㅤ
He gave me a look.
ㅤ
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
ㅤ
“Then I won't say it.”
ㅤ
Ward maintenance wasn't the kind of career people boasted about at academy receptions. It involved inspecting formations, replacing damaged components, and writing reports when something failed.
ㅤ
That sounded fine to me. A steady salary would let me move out of the academy district. After a few years, perhaps I could afford a small house.
ㅤ
There was one in the northern neighborhoods that I passed on my way to the market. It had a narrow garden behind it, with beans growing against the back wall. I didn't know whether it would still be available when I graduated. I took that route anyway.
ㅤ
“There's also the city archive,” Marcus said. “They hire defensive mages for preservation work.”
ㅤ
“I sent an inquiry last week.”
ㅤ
“You didn't tell me.”
ㅤ
“They haven't answered.”
ㅤ
He nodded and let the subject go.
ㅤ
The academy bells rang as we reached the covered walkway. Three slow notes.
ㅤ
Students began turning toward the administration tower. An announcement carried across the courtyard, directing us to review the revised attendance requirements for the upcoming imperial reception.
ㅤ
Marcus headed toward the notice board.
ㅤ
I stopped walking.
ㅤ
The imperial reception.
ㅤ
I'd known it was approaching. Knowing something was coming and hearing the academy announce it were apparently different experiences.
ㅤ
Two years ago, I'd found myself living in the world of a novel called The Crown Beneath the Ashes. I'd arrived already enrolled at the academy, occupying the life of a student named Adrian.
ㅤ
Not a prince. Not an heir to some forgotten bloodline. Just an ordinary student whose name had barely appeared in the original story.
ㅤ
I'd been grateful for that.
ㅤ
The novel's protagonist was supposed to enroll next year. Until then, I'd expected to have time to finish my studies, find employment, and stay well away from the people who would eventually turn the empire's succession into a disaster.
ㅤ
But I remembered the princess's visit.
ㅤ
I remembered a confrontation involving students from noble families and the political dispute that followed it. At the time I'd read the novel, the incident had seemed minor compared with what came later.
ㅤ
Minor didn't mean harmless to someone standing nearby.
ㅤ
“Adrian?”
ㅤ
Marcus had reached the board.
ㅤ
I joined him and found the date.
ㅤ
Four days away.
ㅤ
Every department had to provide students for the reception. Defensive magic would assist with temporary protective formations around the main hall.
ㅤ
Assignments would be posted tomorrow.
ㅤ
“Maybe Halden will choose someone else,” Marcus said.
ㅤ
“Maybe.”
ㅤ
I copied the date into my notebook beneath the expenses and went to my afternoon lecture.
ㅤ
The instructor kept us late answering questions about the reception. He didn't know who would be assigned to it. That didn't prevent him from spending nearly half an hour explaining what might happen to our schedules.
ㅤ
By the time I reached Marcus's residence, he'd already left for training.
ㅤ
I considered asking his roommate for Veyr's book, then remembered Marcus had said it was somewhere in his room. I wasn't going to make a stranger search through his belongings.
ㅤ
The library had a reference copy. It couldn't be taken out, but I could at least read the chapter Halden wanted.
ㅤ
Veyr devoted six pages to the theory of layered barriers without including a single diagram showing where the layers were supposed to go. I began to understand why Marcus had covered his copy in drawings.
ㅤ
I copied what I could before the librarian announced closing time.
ㅤ
My shoulder had stiffened by the time I reached my room.
ㅤ
I left my boots beside the door and put water on the little stove. The room was barely large enough for a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe whose bottom drawer stuck whenever it rained.
ㅤ
I'd lived there for two years. The landlord had raised the rent once. The window still leaked. But the stove worked, and nobody complained when I stayed up late practicing magic.
ㅤ
For the moment, that was enough.
ㅤ
I opened my notebook to a clean page.
ㅤ
The reception. The princess. The confrontation.
ㅤ
The novel's original protagonist would arrive next year, become involved with the imperial family, and eventually stand at the center of a succession struggle that consumed people who'd probably believed they were safe from it.
ㅤ
I'd spent two years trying to remain the sort of person the story had no reason to notice.
ㅤ
An academy student. Average mana. No important family. No secret inheritance.
ㅤ
If I graduated, found a job, and saved enough for a house with a garden, I could live an entire life without becoming part of the story I'd spent two years trying to avoid.
ㅤ
I looked at the date I'd written earlier.
ㅤ
Four days.
ㅤ
A knock interrupted me.
ㅤ
I glanced at the clock. Marcus had training, and the landlord generally announced himself by shouting through the door.
ㅤ
The knock came again, quieter this time.
ㅤ
I got up.
ㅤ
A little girl stood in the corridor, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit to her chest.
ㅤ
She couldn't have been more than six. Dark hair had come loose around her face, and one of the rabbit's ears had been sewn back on with thread that didn't quite match.
ㅤ
She looked up at me.
ㅤ
Her eyes were crimson.
ㅤ
“Daddy?”