The classroom for spellcraft was located in the center of the sanctum, just off to the side of a water fountain that featured a sculpture depicting two demons in an intimate dance. One looked curiously like Lillith.

  Floating lamps hovered around the room, offering the students a warm welcome as they chose their individual desks. Tall shelves filled with books lined the entirety of one wall, and framed charts depicting star constellations, spell flows, and descriptions of elements hung neatly across the remaining three.

  Saahira took a seat at the back of the class as other students filled in around her. She recognized Renelor, Dimitri, Nia, and Eland from demonology, though they didn’t give her a second glance. That suited her just fine.

  She retrieved her quill and a new stack of brilight paper, organizing them across the smaller desk with the book on spellcraft.

  “Hey, is this seat taken?”

  Saahira glanced up to find the white-haired boy from that morning. Embarrassment crept up her neck. “No.”

  “It is now.” He smiled easily and slid into the chair. His caramel-colored skin contrasted against his bright hair, and his ice-blue eyes were hard to look away from. A cuff with spine-like protrusions framed the whole of his ear, ending in a dark, uncut stone that blinked green in the light.

  He dug through his bag for his book and writing implements. Saahira envied him the larger satchel—that much leather would cost more than what her family earned in a month. Her modest pack was a hand-me-down from her mother and bore the lines and creases of hard work and sunlight.

  “Sorry again for running into you this morning,” he said. “I thought I was going to be late to necromancy. Professor Lawrence hates tardiness.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Which class did you start with?”

  “Demonology.” Why is he talking to me? She’d left him in the dust before class had begun.

  “Oh really? Is that a family specialty?”

  Saahira shifted awkwardly in her chair. “No.” Does he pity me?

  “Not much for small talk, hm?” He chuckled. “Do you have a name?”

  “It’s Saahira.” He’d seen her old editions and tattered clothes up close. Surely, he knew by now that she wasn’t worth knowing. But a tiny voice of encouragement—her own, separate from the choir—urged her to try. Having a friend during her schooling would be…nice. “What’s yours?”

  “No surnames. I like it.” He nodded approvingly. “I’m Cyprus.”

  “It’s, er, nice to meet you.” Was that the right thing to say? She’d never really had friends. She was always too busy to keep them around.

  “Likewise.” Cyprus touched his book and lowered his voice. “If we review anything in here and yours doesn’t match, just tap the upper corner of your desk twice. I’ll show you mine.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Her embarrassment returned. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”

  “No trouble at all.” He shrugged. “I offered.”

  Before Saahira could think of how to continue the conversation, the lamps in the room flickered out, and a flash of fire erupted at the front of the room. As she blinked away the white spots in her vision from the sudden burst, the flames were quenched inside of a geyser. A cloud of steam erupted upon their collision, outlining a tall, striking silhouette in a collared robe.

  It seemed the teachers enjoyed their grand entrances for new students.

  The lamps sparked back to life, and a handsome man in his middle years smiled at his charges. His dark beard and mustache were trimmed close to his face, and his hair was similarly groomed. Glowing, perpetual swirls punctuated his intense blue gaze. “Welcome to spellcraft. I am Professor Gallowood, and I will be your teacher from now until your graduation, assuming you make it that far.”

  “Do people really fail at magic?” Dimitri remarked with a smirk. He’d taken the desk immediately in front of Saahira.

  Professor Gallowood favored him with a dark look in his eye. “No. They die.”

  That certainly quieted Dimitri. He flushed and chewed his cheek.

  Saahira wasn’t surprised to hear it after Lillith’s display. Perhaps if Dimitri had paid more attention rather than giggling away with Lily, he would have felt the same.

  “The Sanctum of the Nine Arts is not for the faint of heart,” the professor continued. “By your second year, a quarter of your classmates will have dropped out. By your third year, there will be half your number, and at least a dozen of you will die from your willful ignorance.” An awkward silence rested over the classroom. He adjusted the thick leather gloves on his hands, then pulled his arms behind his back. “The lucky few of you who obtain permission to practice outside of schooling during your fourth year will go on to become legends.

  “As you should be well-informed by now, your first year in the sanctum will determine your area of specialty.”

  Saahira hadn’t heard such a thing. Not in her welcome letter nor in her first class. She quickly scribbled it down in her notes.

  “One of the latent abilities within you all is an elemental affinity. Today, we will discover which element calls to you. Yes? Please tell me your name and then your question.”

  “My name is Melony Truefang,” the pale girl replied. Her clothing was trimmed with smooth leathers and furs. “How are you certain that we have an affinity?” She grinned at Gallowood as if she were challenging him.

  “Because you would not be here if you didn’t,” Gallowood said simply. “You showed promise outside of the sanctum, whether in casting a spell or perhaps calling an element by accident. Even if the current link to your element is weak, we will strengthen it together over time.”

  Saahira recalled the bloody magic circle on her floor. What element applied to that? She sketched the patterns in the corner of her notes and shivered.

  “The test is simple enough, and you will perform it one at a time.” He moved around his desk, lifted the cushioned chair, and repositioned it in front of the classroom. From the desk’s surface, he procured a polished wooden bowl and a small implement that vanished into his palm.

  “We will start in the front row with you,” Gallowood nodded toward the student in the leftmost corner, “and weave our way through all of you. Please approach, tell me your name, and have a seat.”

  A boy with short, pointed ears and green hair stood up from the corner desk and strode forward with an air of nobility. Saahira’s gaze flicked between him and Dimitri, whose ears jutted out nearly a handspan from his head.

  “My name is Theodred Vasyie.” He pushed his half cloak to the side and took a seat in the chair.

  “So much confidence for a half-elf,” Dimitri whispered to a new companion to his left.

  “Take care with your words. His mother is the Duchess of Toria,” the girl whispered back.

  “Very good, Theodred. Please hold this in your left hand and show me the fingers of your right,” Professor Gallowood said.

  Theodred accepted the bowl and peered inside it. “Is this…water?”

  “No. It is an ancient concoction created by Professor Cardaimont. It will read the affinity in your blood.”

  At the mention of blood, Theodred paled. “It…what?”

  “Your right hand, please,” Gallowood repeated.

  Theodred shifted uncomfortably in his chair, passed the bowl to his left hand, and then displayed his right hand palm up. Gallowood repositioned the implement in his palm, pinching the small square between his forefinger and thumb as he held his student’s right hand in his left. With five quick movements, he pressed the implement to each awaiting fingertip, then pulled away.

  Theodred hissed and studied his fingers. Small beads of blood gathered on the tips, and he glowered up at the professor.

  “Now put your hand in the bowl,” Gallowood instructed.

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  With one last frown at the professor, Theodred dropped his hand inside the polished wood. A few drops of its contents splashed and spilled onto his trousers. Saahira watched the exchange with interest. Just what was it they were waiting for?

  But the answer arrived as soon as Theodred submerged his fingertips. A gust of wind swirled around his shoulders, rustling the stacks of papers on the professor’s desk and the parchment of students sitting in the front row. The rolling of thunder reverberated against the walls, and Gallowood snatched Theodred’s wrist and pulled his hand free from the bowl.

  “If the signs were not clear enough, your element is wind.” He smiled. “Very good. Next?”

  The students continued in order of their desks, repeating the ritual to the professor’s satisfaction. Curious about her classmates from demonology, Saahira pulled a separate sheet of paper from beneath her stack and made note of their names, if any of the class remarked on their heritage, and their elemental affinity.

  Renelor Bainbridge walked away from the bowl, soaking wet—his water element had opened a thundercloud over his head, and his classmates laughed. As the professor swept away the puddle on the floor with a wind spell, Nia approached the chair.

  “Nia Folayan.” She looked at the chair, frowned, and swiped the remaining raindrops away with her palm.

  “A little water never hurt anyone,” Gallowood mused.

  “It will stain my skirt,” Nia murmured. Satisfied, she took a seat.

  “Should have expected that from a princess,” Dimitri whispered.

  Princess? Saahira wrote beside Nia’s name and underlined it.

  When Nia’s fingers touched the bowl’s contents, the classroom floor trembled. Books danced from their shelves and toppled to the ground. Saahira grabbed the sides of her desk just as Gallowood yanked Nia’s hand away from the bowl. The floor stilled, and Saahira hissed a breath between her teeth.

  “It is safe to say your element is earth. Take care not to call upon it until you’ve learned to hone it further, lest you meet your demise at the bottom of a ravine.”

  “Y-yes, Professor,” Nia replied. She shook the droplets from her fingertips as far from her impeccable clothing as she could, then returned to her seat.

  Eland was next, and twin fangs glittered in the lamplight. “Eland Weiss.”

  A vampire? Saahira noted beside his name.

  The room heated around him, and a burst of flame erupted above his head. He ripped his hand away from the elixir and held it close to his chest.

  “C-can we change our elemental affinity, Professor Gallowood?” Eland murmured. His hands trembled and his breathing came in rasps.

  “No. You cannot.” Gallowood clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Fear will be an obstacle you must overcome.”

  “I… I see…” Eland nodded. As he walked back to his desk, his shoulders slumped, and his dark eyes focused on the floor.

  Dimitri’s companion in gossip stood and moved to take the testing seat. Her deep blue hair tumbled down her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and her wide silver eyes were lined with dark coal. Twin wings, the length of Saahira’s hands, rested on either side of the girl’s head where her ears would have been. Her dress had sparkling gemstones sewn into the bodice that would look right at home on a member of royalty.

  A flügel. Saahira jotted down. She’d only heard about them in passing—a race that lived in the farthest northern reaches of Faylon.

  “Talia Chavadieu,” she announced proudly. Of course, Dimitri had nothing to mention about her. Though she held her chin and nose higher than the princess who’d come before her. She perched straight-backed in the chair and looked expectantly at Professor Gallowood. “I already know what element I command.”

  “Command, is it?” The corners of Gallowood’s mouth quirked into a smile.

  “Yes.” Talia raised her hand and closed her eyes. Her lips moved, but the words were barely a whisper. She turned her wrist so that her palm faced upward, and a slow breeze tousled her hair and brushed the tips of her feathers. When she turned her hand so that her palm faced downward, the breeze rushed between the desks, carrying the floral scent of a meadow with it.

  Murmurs blanketed the room as Talia opened her eyes.

  “See? Wind is at my command,” she repeated.

  Gallowood made a sweeping gesture with his arm, and a dark cloud formed above Talia’s head. Small bits of hail bolted downward, pelting Talia’s wings, hair, and shoulders.

  She shrieked in surprise and raised both arms to block the onslaught. “What is this nonsense?”

  “It is wind. Command it to stop,” Gallowood instructed.

  Saahira watched agape as more hail gathered in Talia’s dress and bit red gashes into her chest where it struck. Talia spoke a phrase in a language Saahira didn’t recognize, but the hail continued. She raised her voice and repeated the phrase, but still to no effect.

  “Stop it! Please!” Talia begged, switching back to Chivarian.

  With another sweep of his arm, the stormcloud vanished. “There are two lessons to be understood in this example,” Gallowood said slowly. “First, elements will never be at your command. Consider it a partnership at best.”

  Talia brushed the hail from her hair and chest, her mouth twisting with frustration.

  Saahira copied Gallowood’s words down. Never at my command. Partnership.

  “Second, while you may already have a familiarity with an element, it does not mean that it is the one you hold an affinity to.”

  Eland’s hand shot up in the air. Before Gallowood could say his name, he blurted, “Then we can cast other elements besides our own?”

  Gallowood nodded. “You can. There will be limitations to your access of the outside elements, which will keep you from certain spells, hexes, enchantments, and so forth. That is why it is imperative we learn your true elemental affinity now and learn to hone it.” He snapped his fingers beside Talia’s head. “Your hand, please, Miss Chavadieu.”

  Talia’s feathers twitched as she narrowed her eyes and begrudgingly laid her palm in his. He quickly punctured her fingers and let them fall into the mixture. A glowing aura framed Talia’s body, melting the remaining hail and bringing life back to her skin.

  “Your elemental affinity is light,” Gallowood said.

  Talia pulled her hand from the bowl, rose from the chair, and took her seat without another word.

  “How am I supposed to follow that up?” Dimitri quipped as he moved to the front of the room. “Dimitri Centofanti. My father shares ownership of the sanctum.”

  Saahira recognized the surname from her welcome letter. It certainly explained his lack of decency in class. However, his tailored clothing and the shimmering ruby on his hand backed his lineage claims.

  “I believe we are well aware, Mr. Centofanti. Your hand, please,” Gallowood said. He seemed to linger over Dimitri’s puncture wounds a little longer than the rest of the class. Dimitri shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Saahira swallowed a smile.

  He dipped his fingers in the mixture, and the raging fire that swirled around him forced Gallowood to take a step back and pull the bowl free. All amusement from the professor’s face vanished.

  “It appears there are quite a few among you who will need to temper your affinities.” Gallowood frowned and gestured to Dimitri’s desk. “A challenge, but a worthy one. Take your seat, Mr. Centofanti.”

  Two more students were tested, and then it was Cyprus’s turn. He winked at Saahira and then vacated his desk. No one said a word until he made it to the front of the classroom.

  “I’m Cyprus Reyner,” he said, taking a seat.

  The class exploded in murmurs.

  “Micahel Reyner’s son?” Dimitri didn’t bother to whisper.

  “The necromancer?”

  “Didn’t Micahel—”

  “—kill hundreds—?”

  “That’s enough,” Professor Gallowood barked over the growing exclamations. “Give me your hand, Cyprus.”

  Cyprus’s expression remained impassive. Saahira tipped her head and watched her classmates squirm. There was nothing that seemed murderous about Cyprus, but his relief at not sharing his family name suddenly made sense. Perhaps having a recognizable lineage wasn’t as enviable as she’d imagined.

  The moment that Cyprus’s fingertips touched the elixir, the lamps in the room lost their fire, submerging the class in darkness. A pair of glowing, red eyes appeared behind him, hovering just above his head, and a white, ethereal smile cut through the black beneath.

  -Come to us, Saahira.-

  The teeth didn’t part, but she heard the words with perfect clarity. A cold sweat broke across her back, and a shiver ran down her spine. Not now!

  -Call our name.-

  Could anyone else in the room hear them? This wasn’t her test—so why…?

  “Dark. An uncommon element indeed,” Gallowood said.

  Saahira blinked. The light had returned, and all eyes remained focused on Cyprus. Gallowood had Cyprus’s wrist in his hand and his face under intense scrutiny. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow.

  “Like father, like son.” Dimitri snickered. “What did everyone expect?”

  When she opened them again, Cyprus had just made it back to his desk and gave her an apologetic smile with a shrug. He hadn’t heard the choir, had he?

  “And our last student?” Gallowood looked at Saahira and beckoned her to the front of the room.

  She stood on quivering knees and steadied herself—the blood-red eyes still hovered in her vision. Weaving her way between the desks, she squared her shoulders before turning and lowering herself into the chair.

  “S-Saahira Montarac,” Saahira said. She cursed herself for stuttering.

  “Who?” Dimitri hissed from the back.

  She flinched.

  Gallowood handed her the bowl and held out his palm for hers. She mimicked the other fifteen students, resting her hand in his and awaiting the pinch of the implement. The pain was welcome, helping to clear the image of the demon in the shadows as the professor made his way from pinky to thumb.

  The elixir in the bowl smelled of cloves and orange, with an overlay of spices that she didn’t recognize. Despite being shared amongst her peers, there wasn’t a single drop of blood lingering in the mixture. When she let her fingers sink beneath the surface, it felt impossibly cold.

  A low hum crescendoed in her ears, and goosebumps bloomed from her wrists to the back of her neck. The spectacle that unfolded before her eyes took her off guard. A stroke of flame vanished inside a splash of water, only to be overtaken by a small whirlwind that was soon crushed beneath a boulder. A brilliant burst of light erupted from the center of the rock, and each of its hundred fragments compressed in on itself until blinking away into pitch-black specks.

  Saahira ripped her hand from the bowl. Not one single student had experienced a similar reaction.

  “Fascinating…” Professor Gallowood set the bowl on his desk and crossed his arms.

  Saahira dropped her eyes to her hands. She wanted to run, conceal herself in a corner, under her desk, anywhere that didn’t allow so many eyes to seek her out. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, Miss Montarac. It seems you have an affinity to every element.” Gallowood lifted a leatherbound notebook and a quill, then turned open the cover and began to write. “While this is an incredibly rare occurrence, you will need to apply yourself more enthusiastically than your peers, I fear.”

  Saahira licked her lips. More work, then. “Thank you, Professor.”

  “Of course. Now, return to your seat.”

  She kept her eyes on the floor as she stood and marched back to her desk. She could feel everyone’s gaze following her.

  “Trash witch,” Dimitri jeered as she passed.

  “The term you seek is ‘inchoate,’” Talia added.

  Her cheeks pinked as she sat down. Cyprus leaned over and set a folded piece of paper on her desk.

  “When we next meet, we will begin our in-depth discussions on the purpose of elemental affinities. Be prepared to take notes, as these details will be tested later…”

  Gallowood’s voice trailed off into a dim hum as Saahira picked up Cyprus’s note. She unfolded it beneath her desk and read the three words he’d scrawled for her: It’ll be okay.

  Saahira took a deep breath and blew it out slowly between her lips. When she looked up at him, his lips quirked into a half smile, and he shrugged one shoulder.

  Echoes of the choir throbbed in her ears as the bells rang and she collected her things.

  Even if she had to work harder and was already suffering her classmate’s ire, she wasn’t alone. A friend was still a friend, even if he was the son of a monster.

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