4

Ash

Marcus stops midsentence and turns to me. “Ash, what’s wrong?”

I wish I knew.

My best friend has had one of the most important successes in his life. So why am I unhappy?

I twist on the marble bench to face Marcus and smile sheepishly. The sun has set, and the training field is quiet. We’ve met at this spot many, many times. Only this night is different. From now on…

“Things will never be the same?” my inner voice says, and my stomach sinks.

Stop it. I’m here to celebrate with him.

“Is that why you look like you’re about to cry?”

Right. I try for a better smile and nudge Marcus with my knee. “Your phantom holds to form, a giant warrior, ready for battle. He has…” I hesitate.

“Gold hair!” Marcus says in a rush.

“Like yours.” I was not on the field today, but thankfully, word spread quickly through the Sanctuary. “Brown eyes, also like yours, and huge limbs.” Not quite like his, but even in the short time I’d been in Tangeen, I can see that Marcus is bigger, his arms and shoulders more muscled.

“It was incredible, Ash.”

We stare at the training grounds where gardeners, under the lantern light, rake the turf called fresh to the field. Though phantoms can’t call new grass to life, they can bring sod to the gardeners in a fraction of the time it would take a non-savant to roll it in. I wave to Rustin, the chief groundskeeper, and he waves back.

“I’m so sorry I missed it.” I’d been deep in the Sanctuary archives translating texts at Master Brogal’s behest when Marcus brought his phantom to form.

“There will be plenty more times.”

I change the subject because I can’t see how that’s true. When will I get a chance to see it, let alone spend time with Marcus like this again? He’s off to the Isle of Aku for his initiation journey now. There won’t be any non-savant recorders going, even if I am skilled enough to do the job. By the time he returns, new duties will take him, and I’ll be who knows where.

I smooth down the sleeves of my dress, focusing on the faded lace cuffs until I’m certain my voice is under control. “Was your father present?”

Marcus’s cheery tone flattens. “He was informed of the event.”

The training field’s an arm’s reach from the palace. Would it have killed the Magistrate to make an appearance? To offer his only savant son a bit of encouragement or advice?

Even when Marcus and I were brown-robed potentials and touching knees to earth for the first time, the Magistrate had scarcely shown any interest. It made no sense to me then; it makes no sense now. With the Magistrate’s eldest child lost, wouldn’t he care for his remaining children more, not less? Especially with as hard as Marcus tries to please him?

I clasp Marcus’s hand and pour all the enthusiasm he deserves into my praise. “I’m so proud of you. And I know your father is, too. You’ve done it, Marcus!” I can imagine the crowd roaring, arms in the air, as he stood side by side with his warrior. It’s what we’ve all been waiting for.

His smile trembles for a moment, then spreads full on his face.

Yes, things will be different now, but they will be better, too, certainly for Marcus.

There have been so many rumors—even amid my travels in Tangeen, I’d heard them—and speculation on whether Marcus would, or even could, contain his phantom. Now, at least, his right to the throne cannot be contested.

The sound of crashing waves flows up from the sea, carried on the cool evening breeze. I scoot closer to Marcus for warmth.

“Is that the only reason?” my inner voice asks, all sweet and curious.

Don’t you ever sleep?

“Only when you do.”

Ha!

But I guess the question has some logic. Marcus has always been more than a friend. Years ago, when the other brown-robes teased and taunted, calling me non-savant, he stood up for me. And we’ve been supporting each other ever since.

The thing is, when Marcus and I are alone, we are just two people, no class or rank, simply best friends for life. Well, a little more than that for a short time a few years back. But the Magistrate wouldn’t stand for it. Of course he wouldn’t. What fire burned between us, the Magistrate and Master Brogal stomped out quickly.

“Tell me,” I murmur. “What’s it like in phantom perspective?”

“The best feeling.” His voice softens. “The link was light at first, but it was there, his form unshifting.”

I nod for him to continue.

“He said, I am De’ral. It boomed in my head and—” Marcus flushes red. “Forget I said that.”

“Forgotten.” I hold his gaze so he doesn’t panic.

“Seriously. You can’t ever—”

“I won’t speak it aloud.” A phantom’s name is known only to their savant, not shared even among close family members. I delight that Marcus feels so relaxed around me that he let it slip, but I understand his embarrassment and concern. “I promise, Marcus. No one will ever hear it from my lips.”

De’ral…

Marcus is silent for a while, no doubt debating in that big, logical mind of his if he should swear me to silence or if doing so would compel me to blurt about De’ral even more. I take pity on him. “You have my word, Marcus. Now stop worrying and tell me more about this gorgeous phantom of yours.”

He smirks. “One moment I’m studying a massive warrior and the next, I am the warrior, looking down on a green-robe savant. Together, we raised our arms and hollered a war cry into the crowd.”

“I know. I had to cover my ears in the library. I’m so happy for you.” I say the words and mean them. I am happy, of course I am. It’s just that—

“Things will never be the same?”

Can you stop saying that? My eyes burn at the thought.

“The initiation journey to Aku?” I keep my voice neutral, determined not to give in to the rising emotions. I refuse to blink, lest the tears escape. “Will you make it before winter?”

“The Bone Throwers think so.”

“With the cold season around the corner and the trade disputes in Northern Aturnia…” It’s no small matter, the unrest among the realms. “I know they’re in talks, but the tension still builds. And those spies you caught behind the palace, they were Aturnian, so the journey will have more risks. Unless you sail the whole way from Baiseen, which could slow you down if the wind’s not right…” I stop my running thoughts to study his face. The bright victory is gone, and he looks away. “Marcus?”

“We haven’t confirmed if the trespassers were actual Aturnian spies.”

I reach for his hand again and give it a squeeze. “It must have been awful.” The thought of the execution makes me nauseous, and I can tell it does him, too, though we barely had a chance to talk about it.

He nods and comes back to the present. “If we sail from Port Cabazon instead of Baiseen, we avoid the crosscurrents, saving two days there. Five days at sea and we touch Northern Aturnian soil only once at Capper Point to change from the ocean-going ship to a shallow draft sloop. Then it’s over the shallow reefs and we’re there, safe on the Isle before the gates close.”

I quote Master Brogal’s favorite saying. “Sometimes the Bone Throwers get it wrong.”

Marcus frowns.

“Sorry. Ignore me…” What’s wrong with me? I will not let my mood dampen this win just because I can’t see myself in his future. “When are you going?”

“I’d be ready to ride tomorrow, but we have to wait for the new crescent moon. At least, that’s what the Bone Thrower said. Mind the protocols.”

I look to the west, but the dark moon has set with the sun. “In three days?” The truth of it hardens in my heart like a brick. “That’s cutting it close.”

“We’ll make it.”

There he is with that we again, when he knows it’s never going to happen. He’ll go to Aku, and rightly so, to earn his yellow robes—doing whatever trials and tests are deemed necessary for warriors. It’s rigorous and not all initiates will pass, but that’s all I know. The trials, like so much of Aku, are shrouded in secrecy. Even the savants who have gone and returned are close-lipped about it. Something about honoring the traditions.

Anyway, after that, he’ll return to Baiseen to take up his duties as Heir. I, on the other hand…well, I can’t get any answer from Brogal about my future.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tonight is not about me. “Who will accompany you?” My voice catches and those blasted tears slip free because my dream of Aku is over. “Ash…” He brushes my cheek, his smile crooked. He knows me well enough not to coddle, which would only make tears run in earnest. “I’ve asked Larseen, of course, as my guard.”

Right. Larseen and Marcus have been friends since brown-robes, training together almost every day since. Lars took his initiate journey last year and came back a yellow-robe. I thought Marcus would be jealous, but he has nothing but respect for Larseen.

“And Piper as my healer.”

“That’s perfect. Her third journey to Aku, so she knows the way. Who else?”

“Samsen will come as a second guard.”

“Good choice, and I’m happy for Piper.” Those two are inseparable.

Marcus grins at me. “I’ll need a recorder.”

Any spirits I have left drain away . The recorder is the wordsmith responsible for narrating the initiation journey and the events upon Aku, their scripts are later bound into a book and kept in the library for all to read. It is the job I’ve dreamed of doing for Marcus, when his time came. I have proficient skills as a scribe and have studied the laws of the realms, the languages, and histories. But with no acknowledged standing from Master Brogal, they would never approve of me.

So as much as this is a dream come true for Marcus, it is the end of mine. Passage to Aku is only for savant initiates and their company. Not for the likes of me.

“Still, he should have the best wordsmith recording.”

Indeed.

“I recommend Allenren,” I say, my feelings contained. Mostly. “He’s from Tangeen. Raises a caller, and you know your father’s on a campaign to reinforce ties there.”

“Uh-huh.” Marcus nods. His thumbs brush my cheeks again. “Allenren’s fine, but he’s not who I want.”

“Don’t choose Greker.” I sniffle. “The least little thing goes wrong and—”

“I agree. Not him.”

“That leaves Katren or one of her yellow-robe apprentices.”

“Excellent suggestions, but I don’t think so.”

His expression blurs before me, and I give in and swipe my eyes against my sleeve. “Who, then?”

Marcus leans close, his breath apple-sweet and warm on my cheek. “I want you, Ash.”

Warmth floods through me for all of two seconds. Then I turn and punch him hard.

“Ouch!”

“Don’t tease! You know it’s not possible.”

He rubs his arm and grimaces. “I thought you’d be happy.”

I’m off the bench and facing him. “Look at me, Marcus. What do you see?”

“You, barefoot as usual, to start,” he says, still rubbing his arm.

“That’s not what I meant!”

He makes a show of further appraisal. “I see my favorite teal-eyed girl… Well, your eyes are red tonight. As are your cheeks—only a few shades lighter than your hair.”

“Keep it up.” I raise my fist.

He talks right over me. “And while we’re on the hair, I liked it better long.”

“Nobody asked you,” I huff. “Besides, you’re completely missing the point.”

“Which is?” He leans back against the bench.

“Dog stuggs for brains, Marcus, have you forgotten I’m non-savant?”

“I haven’t forgotten you can curse like an Aturnian sailor. That won’t be going in the records, I trust.”

“It’s a Sierrak curse,” I correct him without thinking. “And I’m telling you, they won’t let me go.”

He pulls me back beside him and digs a handkerchief out of his robe pocket. It’s an embroidered handkerchief—of course it is—and here I sit with dirt on my feet. “Ash, we promised we’d journey to Aku together. Remember?”

I blow my nose loudly in response.

“You swore an oath to set foot on every realm in Amassia. This is your chance for Aku.”

“You don’t have to convince me to come along. I want to go. I’ve always wanted to go, but my guardian—”

“Brogal?”

“Yes, Master Brogal, the High Savant of Baiseen.” I emphasize his titles. “He has to clear it. I can’t even get him to talk about my future as a wordsmith!”

Marcus grins stupidly, and I’m tempted to punch him again. “Ash, you’re coming to Aku as my recorder. That’s all there is to say.”

“Your father will forbid it, too.”

He taps my nose like I’m a puppy. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m Heir to the Throne of Baiseen, and I just contained the realm’s only warrior phantom.”

His heartbeat is strong against my ear. Steady and sure. “Meaning?”

“If I were you, I’d start packing.”