Page 162 of Turncloak

One Year Ago

“You’re not really a Brewer, are you?” Gaian murmured, studying Sebran from beneath long, fluffy lashes. “You’re a Compeller.”

It was the night before the final assessment at the Silvercloak Academy, and the rest of the cohort had retired to their chambers to catch some fitful sleep. The common room was littered with the debris of their evening—a fire burned down to glowing ashes, decks of polderdash cards stained with flamebrandy, Auria’s scattered textbooks and Nissa’s discarded achullah roll-ups, Tiernan’s list of reminders to himself, which he had, inevitably, forgotten.

Until Gaian’s question, the two remaining mages had occupied separate squashy maroon armchairs, contemplating the upcoming challenge in amiable silence. Upon hearing the accusation, however, Sebran stilled, fixing his gaze on the creamstone hearth.

His silence was as damning as an outright confession.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Gaian shook his head and sipped from a leather hipflask. “You so nearly made it to the end of the program without anyone finding out.”

Dread sank into Sebran’s stomach.

The day had finally come.

After making it through the military academy and completing two years of service in the Vallish infantry—which involved no active combat—he had at last applied to the Silvercloak Academy.

Only to be rejected.

It had been a record year for applications, since the rise in Bloodmoon crime had led to a rise in civilian desire to do something. The quality of applicants was high, and the range of abilities and life experiences was vast, and the two playing cards that made Sebran the perfect candidate—his inner knowledge of the Bloodmoons, though his early years were faded in his memory, and his lethal compelling—were kept close to his chest. He applied as a Mage Practer with minimal military experience, and was rejected as such.

Until Tarth Vertillon took matters into his own hands.

Until he told Captain Aspar both truths.

Until she agreed to admit Sebran into the Academy—with a forged Brewer accreditation slapped onto his file, so that the admission of a lackluster candidate did not raise too many eyebrows. He’d even been made to use a less conspicuous wand; pine, instead of the garnet grovus associated with compelling.

Sebran had barely spoken to Tarth since. His mentor had known how much it meant to Sebran never to use his power.

For the last twelve months, the captain had set Sebran clandestine task after clandestine task, made him manipulate his friends and co-workers, made the self-loathing in his belly rot into a noxious black substance that burned him from the inside out.

“How did you know?” he asked Gaian gruffly.

Gaian shrugged, sipping again at his bivkar. “Last month, I realized I’d never seen you mix your own potions from scratch. I’ve seen you tinker endlessly, pour from the cauldron into vials, stopper and rearrange your belt. But never brew. So I watched you more closely. I’m fairly certain you compelled Nissa in the tactical village last week. She would never have surrendered of her own volition.”

Sebran ran a finger over the tincture belt looped over the arm of the chair, notched with potions slipped to him by Aspar herself. Said nothing.

Gaian unhooked his gaze from Sebran and peered out the nearest arched window at the starry sky. Beyond the glass, Atherin glowed gold and crimson and deep shimmering purple. “I can keep a secret. I’ll trade you for one of mine.”

Sebran shrugged to disguise his thumping heart. “Go on.”

“I also have a past life few know about. I was born female. Underwent the transition spells a few months before I joined the Academy. Changed my name, all of it. My mother knew what it meant to me, gave up part of her own well to make the transition permanent.”

There were two different ways one could change physical sexes. The first was less costly in terms of magic, the equivalent of surface level surgery, and once it was completed, it required no ongoing flow of power to maintain. The second was deeper, more complete, and altogether more costly—a continuous enchantment that caused the body and its organs to function exactly as the desired sex. It required medei perpetua to uphold.

At the revelation, surprise flickered through Sebran. “I had no idea.”

Gaian’s gray eyes glittered silver. “Now we’re even.”

“Hardly. Compelling is shameful in a way your secret is not.”

“Only if you allow it to be.” Gaian took another swig of bivkar. “Does Aspar know?”

A stiff nod. “She ordered me to compel Nissa. She orders me to compel a lot of people.”

Gaian’s stare ripped back to him. “And someone as powerful as you likes that? To be ordered?”

Something in the intensity of Gaian’s gray eyes sent a shiver down Sebran’s spine. “You don’t make it through the military without taking command well.”