Chapter 1

A nadae Helm muttered a curse as she searched through the pile of accumulated paperwork stuffed into the shelves over the kitchen table. Normally, she kept the scholarship application forms in her room, but today of all days, she’d thought a small change of scenery might grant her a bit of motivation to finish filling them out. Inspiration had not been forthcoming. The small water feature on the table had been more distraction than comfort, tickling the edges of her concentration as her magic buzzed beneath her skin. Her mind was happy to concentrate on making ribbons of water splash silly designs in the air rather than writing out an explanation of why she was qualified for the scholarship. A surprise visit from her sister, Calya, meant convenience had won out over familiarity in choosing a hiding place for the forms.

Choosing being a relative term, when the reality had been a panicked shove into the closest shelf. She needed to find the unfinished application—and soon. The deadline to submit for the scholarship loomed mere days away, and Anadae had been dithering over it much too long. Her windows of privacy narrowed as work and social commitments converged. Best to simply fill it out and submit. She didn’t have to accept an offer, and that presumed she’d get in at all.

A short sting of pain lanced through her finger as she flipped too quickly past an assortment of papers. “Shit. Gods all...” Anadae stuck her finger in her mouth, thumbing through the shelf with more care. How had she and Brint acquired so much? They’d been living together for a few years now in loveless affiance, yet she could count on one hand the number of times he’d brought home any work.

Not that they spent much time together so much as they shared a roof. Most of the time. Some. Some of the time. The dwindling amount wasn’t something she counted so much as appreciated.

Anadae let out a muffled cheer when she finally spied the envelope. She yanked it free, unseating several other papers and thin books crammed alongside. She put her hand up to keep them from cascading off the shelf, the prized envelope gripped between her fingers. She lifted the flap with its already broken seal and skimmed through the contents again, even though she’d committed most of it to memory. A quick run through of the requirements and then she could write up the necessary—

A frown creased her brow at the unfamiliar pages. Instead of the criteria for scholarship eligibility, neat rows of figures and a loosely detailed map for a building plan she didn’t recognize graced the top page.

“What is…” She trailed off, peering closer at the envelope still in her hand. It was bulkier than she remembered. The broken seal along the flap—a snowcapped mountain with an open book at its base, the spine resembling a river—belonged to Sylveren University, the small school north of her home country of Graelynd. But this seal was green. Her envelope’s should’ve been bronze. Gods all break.

A wave of dread washed over her, followed by grim curiosity. The paper bore the same seal, this one embossed onto the paper. Nestled in the enigmatic Valley of Sylveren, the eponymous university took a broad, intellectual approach to the interactions of the magical and mundane. Anadae had been up to the Valley a few times as a youth, accompanying her best friend, Eunny Song, in visiting her aunt’s teashop. But neither Anadae nor Brint had ventured north to Sylveren for schooling, instead attending university in Central District in Graelynd’s capital. Brint had even gone on for the first tier of his Adept levels. Him having anything to do with Sylveren was unthinkable. He was a Central-dweller to the core, thriving in the bustle that came with living in the capital.

Eyes back on the shelf, taking her time to rove over the contents with more discipline, Anadae found a matching ivory envelope. Hers. Thinner, with the bronze seal of university administration.

Taking both envelopes, she sank into a chair at the table. After a moment’s hesitation, she set hers aside and went back to perusing the contents from the green seal. The papers were loosely bound together, with pages of damage summaries. A second, thinner booklet detailed numerous figures broken down by timeframes and locations. Severities. She didn’t recognize the project name nor the company, but then, she was only privy to a few of Brint’s enterprises.

Anadae gathered the papers and stuffed them back into the envelope, but as she did, they crumpled against a small loose note she’d missed. She pulled it out, smoothing the creases with her fingers. It was an informal letter, the writing less tidy than the neatly printed report. Her eyes only picked out a few words—something about the grovetender’s estimated costs for cleanup, subject to further evaluation. Recommendations for more consultation regarding bioremediation and safe handling for poison dispersal.

Idly, her mind put ‘grovetender’ together with the green seal. Fitting for earth magic specialists to utilize green for their emblem, though she’d always thought brown would be their thematic color choice. But the contents of the note didn’t make sense. Poison cleanup? That sounded like the environmental damage plaguing the kingdom of Rhell in the north. It was a tragic occurrence but had shown no sign of spreading beyond Rhell. Besides, what did Brint’s family’s company of Avenor Guard have to do with such work? A private security company didn’t do land assessments.

As those thoughts popped in her head, she didn’t register the sound of the door opening, of her name being called, until it was too late.

“Ana?” Brint Avenor, her somewhat-fiancé, stood across from her. No, such amorphous terms as somewhat didn’t work anymore. He’d begrudgingly given her a ring, and she’d been forced to accept. A betrothal of technicality, nothing more, on either of their parts.

“Brint.”

Her hand jerked, an itch in her fingertips causing her to clench them tight. The water in the small fountain on the table rippled, its presence resonating in her mind. She set the papers down and clasped her hands, lacing her fingers together as she willed herself to be calm. The fountain took on a glass-like stillness.

Brint didn’t notice the strange behavior of the water, instead staring at her, a flurry of emotions skittering across his face. Shock that gave way to a stab of fear before morphing into anger.

“I thought it was mine.” The words were out before she could think twice, judge their impact. She offered the letter to him with an apologetic smile.

Brint plucked the paperwork from her hand, then snatched the bronze-sealed envelope from where she’d set it down on the table next to her. He ignored her attempts to claim it, tearing the envelope in his haste to get at the forms inside.

“A scholarship, Ana? For Sylveren?” he said, scorn thick in his voice.

“You didn’t have a problem with Sylveren for whatever that is.” Anadae pointed at the report still peeking out from its own envelope. “What are you doing that needs—” She tried to remember the contents. “Environmental cleanup? Is it consultant work?”

Brint shrugged, stepping past her to lounge against the table, the picture of ease. “It’s nothing. Doesn’t concern you.”

“Neither does mine. Give it back, please.”

Brint’s grin had a nasty edge, the likes of which the public never saw. He straightened, using his superior height to hold the scholarship application aloft.

“‘At Sylveren, I hope to grow my magic skills and utilize them for public service,’” Brint recited. “Oh, Ana. Sweetheart, this is embarrassing.”

The term of endearment made her teeth ache even as her cheeks burned with shame. She’d planned to go to Sylveren straight after primary, so many years ago now. Was going to focus her study as a water mage, then follow in her mother’s footsteps and go into the creative department at the family’s Helm Naval Engineering. From humble beginnings, HNE had gained a solid reputation in maritime logistics and transport. Not bad for a merchant-class family who had spun a background in transport and shipbuilding to develop the Sea Runner enchantment. The durability spell might’ve been the company’s only significant success to date, but considering it graced every ship in Graelynd in one form or another, the Sea Runner had launched the Helm family toward greater things.

Things that left the workshop and the port behind. Perhaps this was Anadae following her mother’s path, only skipping a few steps—her Hanyeok-born mother hadn’t gone to Sylveren, either, her magical education having been attained back in the Radiant Isles. No need for Anadae to go that route when her father had been friendly with Brint’s for so long already. Avenor early investments had helped fund the Sea Runner. Laid the stonework for an arranged marriage, an eventual union of the two families. And companies.

Unofficially, of course, a younger Anadae had been assured. For the future, a When you’re older, dear, sort of plan. One that wouldn’t have any effect until formalized.

Perhaps her parents had really thought that. Had good intentions for her. Perhaps they’d imagined there wouldn’t be any ill effects—on them. But for her? Unofficial consequences were inescapable once it was public knowledge, from the time Anadae was eighteen, that eventually she’d be married to Brint Avenor. Such an honor, she’d been told, for an aristocratic family, minor though the Avenors were, to make such an offer.

Whatever discomfort he’d felt upon first finding her with his envelope, Brint was quick to replace it with his usual condescension. Anadae bit the inside of her cheek to keep her temper in check. “Brint, give it back.”

“A scholarship for nontraditional students?” Brint said, reading the heading. “You’ll never qualify. Even without my name.”

“It’s a conditional stipend amount.”

“Yes, but why don’t you just apply— Oh.” Irritated confusion switched to malicious glee in a heartbeat. “You haven’t told your family. Not just keeping this from me, are you?”

She flushed, lips pinching together.

Anadae’s parents were living a dream life, her father elected to Central District’s Council of Standards in the Transportation division, and her mother taking to being a politician’s wife like a duck to water.

And Anadae … she had been young and foolish. So eager to make her parents happy. So easily dazzled by Brint’s charm and good looks. So damned na?ve, thinking she would be his partner, that they would represent a merger of Helm Naval Engineering and his family’s security firm, Avenor Guard. She’d thought that she would still have a life and career of her own.

She’d been wrong. Their personal relationship had guttered out almost from the start, though Brint was careful to seem attentive when they were in public. She’d been discouraged—gently at first, then in increasingly blunt terms—from pursuing any work that didn’t directly support Brint’s career in the capital.

She was told to be patient. Meanwhile, everyone else was moving on, up, happy in their lives. Brint was considering going back to Grae University for his Adept Two. Calya steadily acquired more responsibility at HNE; her life track hadn’t wavered, her place in the family company known and secure. She was the younger sister, yet she’d always been the one with her goals defined and aggressively sought.

Ana had been stuck, drifting without a rudder to steer her life from its depressing downward spiral. Stuck, until she’d seen the scholarship notice posted at the docks. An opportunity for people looking to return to school with a focus on magic. It had felt written just for her.

She may not get accepted, but the notion of Brint, with his “Sweetheart, this is embarrassing” and his amusement of what he saw as her debasement—if those were the reasons she’d never know, never even try …

Something in her finally cracked.

Anadae had shelved many of her career ambitions, but perhaps so many years managing accounts for HNE and AG projects, of memorizing business partnerships and social circles and having to keep abreast of the constant changes inherent to both realms, would finally work in her favor.

“Doesn’t Avenor Guard use that company from South District for cleanup work?” she said. “The Moroe family’s business, isn’t it?”

Brint stiffened for a moment before turning toward her, a flash of teeth visible through his full beard. He raked a hand through his dark blond hair, his manner easy and oozing congeniality. “We do. This is just a second opinion.” He nodded toward the report he had tucked under his arm. “Didn’t want the boys at work to know I was scouting cheaper options. It’s for future reference, that’s all.”

“That’s good. Reneging on a contract with the Moroes would be…” Anadae cleared her throat.

Brint’s smile turned to a frown, his air of charm souring. “What are you getting at, Ana?”

“I’ll keep your secret.” She reached for her application. “You keep mine.”

At first, Brint didn’t let go, eyes searching her face. Perhaps he sensed that she’d reached the end of her patience, was teetering on the edge of no longer being meek, tractable Ana. He smirked, releasing the papers with a little wave of his fingers.

“Fine. But Sylveren, Ana? You don’t know anything about magic.”

“I took an elective at Grae U. And I had … I had a tutor. Back in primary.” She wouldn’t think about him now.

Brint mistook the reason for her embarrassment. “You’re almost thirty. Little late to start over now, isn’t it? You want to go freeze up in the Valley, surrounded by a bunch of children who know more about magic than you?”

Her stomach clenched. “They aren’t—I’m going for my Adept levels. There’s plenty of graduate students at—”

“The Initiate Ones are teenagers Ana, and the magic-born ones will be able to do more than you on the first day.”

“If you’re so worried about how my academic ambitions will look, don’t go blabbing about it to your friends at Grae Port News, hmm?”

Light flared around Brint’s hands as he waggled them in her direction. “Do you even remember how to call light?”

She crossed her arms, refusing to be baited even as a spark of magic zipped beneath her fingers. A puff of light spurred on by a fit of temper didn’t speak well to her control. It was nothing new, his sneering. She’d been asking herself the same things, been fretting over the same fears. It was why the application was still here, hidden away at home, unfinished. Yet, something about the way it sounded coming from Brint and his patronizing mouth put Anadae on edge.

“What do you care?” she snapped.

“You don’t have any magic schooling. You’re going to be rejected, and once it gets out, it’ll reflect poorly on me, and I—”

“I’m applying,” Anadae said. “And if I get in, you’re going to support me—”

Brint’s head reared back. “Hold on.”

“—in calling off this sham of an engagement.”

Rarely had she seen Brint truly surprised. He paused, mouth agape, as her words registered. He gave her an appraising look, eyebrows drawing together in thought. His lips curled in a half-sneer.

“Agree to it, Brint, or I’ll share your infidelities with the Moroes.” She gave him a sweet, false smile. Charming Brint Avenor stepping out on his betrothed? Meh. It wasn’t condoned, but the aristocratic circles he pranced around in lived on such gossip. But disloyalty amongst prominent Graelynd family businesses? That simply wasn’t done.

“You’d break your mother’s heart.”

True, but she couldn’t think about that. Caring more for her parents’ wants than her own was what had led to Anadae’s current predicament in the first place. “That’s my concern, not yours.”

“You’re full of moxie today.” His brows went up, a condescending smile on his face. “Fine, you have a deal.” He gave her a pat on the arm before sauntering past and disappearing down the hall.

Amazed that her gambit had worked, Anadae stood transfixed, watching his retreating back. She shook her head, then hurried to her room, the scholarship form clutched in her hands.

She laid the form on her desk, the half-finished essay taunting her. She stared at her hand, focusing inward until she could feel the slight hum beneath her skin, radiating out from her center. A soft, constant whisper of magic.

A flare of golden light danced across her fingertips. It came to her—not instantly, not yet—but it would, and not only when her blood was up. Let Brint think that she’d choke on the test, was suited for nothing but a life of making him look good. Let him think that he was the stronger magic user. More practiced, yes, Anadae would admit to that. Fortunate for her that being out of practice and being forgotten had not yet become the same thing.

You’ll regret it, Ana. You’ll regret it forever. The voice crept up from memory. Not Brint’s but Ez—no, no thinking about him. Not now. But perhaps with time.

Because regret, yes, but forever? No. That would change.

Dipping her pen into the inkwell on her desk, Anadae began to write.