Page 47

“Try not to drool with your mouth hanging open.”

My mouth slams shut, and I pivot on the spot to hurry down the stone passageway to the west tower. My breaths come in short gasps. I punch the onyx stone button a few times on the glass lift that levitates up to the tenth floor. White spots dance across my vision.

A genderless voice narrates my arrival. “Level Ten—Elementation and General Classrooms.”

I dash out of the glass box and run to the arched windows in an alcove, then press my head against the cool glass. Morning sunlight reflects off the lake in the distance. The forest is lush and full of foliage reaching up the side of the mountain. I watch the sparkling lights of the water until my heartbeat has slowed and my vision clears.

My hands stop shaking. Mostly.

“Akemi?” Ramona’s voice is a soft knock on my spine. I don’t jump—small mercies—but my shoulders still hitch. I turn, and she’s there in her cobalt-blue uniform, curls piled messily atop her head, the sun-stone in her leather choker catching the light. Her eyes flick to the lift, then back to me.

“Hey,” she says, low. “I saw Sabra in the hall.”

I swallow. “Of course you did.”

Her mouth tightens. She steps closer and presses her shoulder to mine, grounding, familiar. “You okay?”

I nod because that’s easier than explaining the way my skin still feels too tight. “I will be.”

“Good,” she says, and hooks her arm through mine without asking. “Because if you weren’t, I was prepared to accidentally-on-purpose trip someone down the stairs.”

That earns a huff of a laugh out of me. “Your restraint is inspiring.”

“I practice,” she says solemnly. “Come on. Gregorio hates late arrivals.”

We walk together down the hall, boots echoing off stone. The Elementation classroom doors stand open, sunlight spilling across the threshold in a golden sheet. Inside, the room is a tiered amphitheater, desks carved from pale stone that seems to glow faintly even without magic. At the center is the Source dais, a circular platform etched with runes.

Professor Gregorio stands near the dais, rust-colored beard catching the light like a banked ember. His mousey brown hair sticks up at odd angles. He looks up as we enter, bulbous nose crinkling.

“Cadet Nox. Cadet Mitchell,” he says warmly. “Cutting it close.”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing your riveting lectures, Professor,” Ramona says, flashing an innocent smile as we slip into our seats.

He snorts. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Settle.”

The room fills quickly. Sun’chers file in, the air buzzing with anticipation. Leo drops into a seat two rows ahead and turns to grin at me, lifting his hand in a small wave. Sabra slides into a chair on the opposite side of the room, her gaze snagging on me like a hook. I look away first.

Professor Gregorio claps his hands once, the sound sharp. “Today, we begin manipulation of sunfyre. You’ve all learned to call the Source. Now, we shape it. We’ll start small with simple geographic shapes.”

A ripple of excitement passes through the room.

He steps onto the dais. Light gathers around his hands, not blinding but warm, a living thing responding to his will. A flame blooms, then steadies into a bright orb the size of a melon. He rotates his wrists, and the orb stretches, edges flattening until it becomes a perfect square. He compresses it into a triangle, then relaxes it back into a sphere.

“Simple forms,” he says. “The Source wants to move. You must give it intention. We will continue to build on this over the year.” The professor pauses, as if recalling the other half of his students need direction as well. “Moon’chers, you’ll be practicing your lunaflow—the water equivalent—in the conjoining classroom.”

The Moon Watchers file through the conjoined doorway, the air cooling as they pass. When the door shuts, the room feels smaller.

He gestures to us. “Begin.”

I take a breath and close my eyes. I reach for the familiar hum against my skin. The Source is all around me, flowing in various patterns like a scarf unwound on the wind. I just need to… there! I caught it!

The sunfyre answers, a spark igniting in my palms.

I open my eyes. A wavering flame flickers above my hands, pale gold shot through with starlight. I try to steady it, picturing a sphere.

It bulges, flutters, then collapses.

“Come on,” I whisper, jaw tight. It’s just a circle. A sphere. Just a… argh!