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CHAPTER ONE
Sei
Nobody explains the change in plans to Sei Mallory. He only learns the plan has changed on his second morning in Draskora. That’s the day Lady Naoko should have arrived to greet Sei before handing him off to the transport caravan. Instead, a frightening drasgard soldier accompanies the servant with Sei’s breakfast and says Sei will be staying in the Port Avar fortress for a few more days.
That was five days ago.
Five days in this fortress guest suite—an improvement over the ship from Fellrin. At least Sei isn’t heaving his guts into the waters of the Jaws anymore. But there’s not much to do. There are books, but none of them are in Trade. Sei has only studied Draskoran for a year, and he’s still rusty.
Sei tries not to worry about the delay. Worrying won’t change anything, and stress is bad for his body. The guildmasters taught Sei that at an early age. Sei’s role as a grail is to be the perfect vessel of power. Simple diet, movement, and meditation are all key to balancing his mind, body, and magic. Sei has been carefully crafted and kept pristine for his eventual mage.
He can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. Anything more is out of the question. Physical intimacy creates bonds between people, and Sei should only form bonds with his claimant.
Which is why, even though Sei is nervous, he’s also excited. All the guildmasters reassured him not to be afraid. So Sei tried to hide his excitement. If everyone knew how much he looked forward to this, they might take it away from him.
When Sei is properly claimed, he won’t have the guild’s comforting rules and structure anymore. But he’ll at last be able to fulfill his true purpose. The role he’s spent his entire life preparing for.
At twenty-one, Sei was one of the oldest grails in the Porcelain Guild. Most are chosen as soon as they turn eighteen, with negotiations beginning a few months ahead of that date. Sei used to think he might be defective in some way. But if Sei was defective, surely they wouldn’t give him to a prince.
Prince Vana of House Dire. A storm mage, and possibly the next king of Draskora. Sei has known he was heading to Draskora for a year, since he was assigned to learn the language. But only a week before he left on the ship did they tell him who would claim him. Prince Vana will be a relief—even though the guildmasters carefully vet prospective claimants, Sei still worried about the cruel blood mages said to wander Draskora’s wilderness.
By all accounts, Prince Vana is at least civilized. Hopefully he’ll find Sei useful and pleasing.
Sei has never considered himself particularly ugly or attractive. Appearance is important in the guild, but not in those terms. Grails should be blank slates, ready to be decorated however their mage prefers. Sei is short for a man, but not extremely so. Neither obviously muscular nor obviously soft, trained for balance and flexibility.
He’s ordinary, except for the magic he can’t even feel. That will have to be enough for Sei’s foreign prince.
Soon, Sei tells himself the morning of the fifth day. He leans on the balcony railing. Salty air ruffles through his silky black hair. His hairstyle is one of the few things he’s allowed to choose—no piercings, no tattoos, no colored dye—and it’s currently cropped at a sharp angle just below his jaw. His equally sharp bangs hit his brow when the ocean wind doesn’t blow them astray.
Port Avar’s courtyard is cavernous and open. So much space would be a luxury where Sei comes from, repurposed as barracks or even civilian housing. Sei’s guest room is three stories up, and the soldiers milling about seem very small. Most of the movement surrounds a wagon across the courtyard. As Sei watches, black-clad drasgard begin escorting boxy, covered wheelbarrows towards the wagon.
A woman in a fancier uniform stops one barrow in three to inspect them. When she lifts the coverings, the flash of shimmering purple is clear even from Sei’s distance.
Scalestone.
The almost-mythical ore is the reason Sei is here. He chews his lip, then stops himself before he mars the skin. How much scalestone is he worth? He hasn’t dared ask, unsure whether the answer will seem too much or too little compared to his life.
He’s worth quite a lot, judging by the number of wheelbarrows.
Behind Sei, the door bangs open. Sei startles away from the balcony, whirling to find his guildmaster escort and a squad of four drasgard. The drasgard soldiers are all very intimidating, with their weapons and purple eyes and unnatural hair.
“Good morning, Guildmaster,” Sei says politely. He should wait for a greeting in turn, but he can’t help being impertinent and asking, “What’s going on?”
Because the drasgard are fanning out to pack Sei’s belongings in leather carry-sacks. Sei doesn’t mind them going through his things—it’s mostly just clothes, all bought new for the journey. Nothing personal. But he hadn’t realized it was time to leave.
The guildmaster is an elderly woman charged with security rather than instruction. Sei rarely met her before this journey. Her deeply lined face is unreadable. “Your escort to Ostomar is arriving. I won’t be able to accompany you, so this is where we part.”
“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” Sei asks, then cringes. Stupid, asking a question the guildmaster just answered. Sei is supposed to be clever, insightful, and intuitive. Not bothersome.
The guildmaster truly isn’t an instructor; she doesn’t chastise him for the stupid question. “You’re no longer under the guild’s protection. Remember your training and your calling, Sei Mallory. The guild and all of Fellrin are very proud of you.”
Sei suppresses his alarm with a deep, steadying breath. He bows. “Thank you, Guildmaster.”
A drasgard steps between them, a stuffed leather bag over her shoulder. “Your guildmaster will send the rest via caravan. Is there anything else you need immediately?”
Sei looks around the room. They’ve gathered up half his clothes, and all the brushes and toiletries from the water counter. “No, the rest can wait. Thank you.”
