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  Daniel knew all of this. He would have preferred the fellow skip the speech, but Marriott answered to an inflexible, tightly wound rule enforcer—the new High Chancellor. Daniel had never seen her, but her reputation was well known within the Miraclist circle. The “Terror from the North,” Mrs. Doppledodger had told them. And she was not even a Miraclist, but the first High Chancellor to ever be of normal blood. But she did not need to be of Primal descent to be a force to be reckoned with. She was like an eagle, making sure everyone did as they should at all times; that included reading out loud every word of the expectations that every student knew by heart from the time they could hear. Daniel was afraid the little judge might be forced to drone on for hours, and was pleasantly surprised by his brevity.

  Daniel felt the warmth leave his body. The High Chancellor appeared in the gateway below, a statue of cold steel. The rumors were not just true, they were an understatement. Everything about her was sharp: her rigid and perfect posture, pointed nose, and hair that shone like metal, pulled tightly into a bun on top of her head. About her shoulders fell a grey cloak like a sheath over its blade. She strode forward, a mirthless creature with permanently lifted eyebrows, straight into the center of the Cauldron.

  “Hart, Daniel,” she barked, her long, spindly finger sliding across a scroll.

  A knot twisted in Daniel’s gut. He tightened the leather bracers about his forearms and shot a nervous glance across the fence to his Headmaster, Mordecai. The large old man flashed him a smile. He looked younger, Daniel thought, with his white hair and beard trimmed close to his face, his muscular physique revealed through a form fitting, honey-colored cloak. Despite the smile, Mordecai’s dark eyes betrayed him. He was just as nervous as Daniel, having waited nearly fifteen years for this day.

  “Scared, Danny boy?” asked one of the boys from behind.

  Daniel turned to see his smirking friend, Gregory. He was tall and wiry with thin, devious blue eyes and a curled mess of blonde hair. Behind him, book up to his brow, stood Jude, the last of the potential Guardians waiting his turn. The only thing visible behind Jude’s book was the top of his head, revealing jet-black hair tied back into a ponytail. All three of them wore identical white cloaks, differentiated only by the blue trim on Daniel’s, where Gregory’s was red and Jude’s was green. Since their earliest days at Littleton, not a day went by that he and Jude and Gregory were not together, separated only by the summers when Gregory went home to his parents. Now was the moment that would connect them for the rest of their lives—or split them forever.

  “Just remember—” Daniel replied, returning Gregory’s smirk with a half smile of his own, “you’re next.”

  Daniel took hold of the training staff lying against the fence, dusted the gray orb at the top with the sleeve of his cloak, lifted the latch to the gate and descended down the wooden steps. He inhaled hot spring air, sand, and the smell of sweat wafting off his classmates that surrounded the Cauldron’s exterior like a pack of dogs awaiting their meal. Directly at the center of the grounds, High Chancellor Harquist stood—a mountain of hard stone. Her stern gaze bore into Daniel’s sockets as she glared down her nose over a pair of half-moon glasses.

  Daniel suddenly felt as though everything about him was out of place. He reached up and combed his sandy brown hair with his fingers and straightened his belt.

  “Sapphire Miraclist—Daniel Hart, age fifteen,” Harquist boomed. “It says in your essay that you’ve ‘mastered’ the art of pulling water from thin air. Is this true?”

  Daniel gulped. His throat was so dry, it felt like swallowing gravel.

  “Well?” she snapped.

  He cleared his throat. “If the humidity is high enough.”

  “Demonstrate,” she ordered.

  Daniel looked down the hilt of his staff and then held it forward. The primal energy coursed through his veins, waiting to be released. He sensed the moisture around him as easily as one might detect a breeze. The air—saturated by recent rain and a nearby lake—felt heavy. His fist tightened around the wood. His eyes and the orb at the top of the staff shone bright blue as he held forth his hand. A solitary droplet blossomed at the center of his palm, condensing as dozens of drops materialized and raced toward it, filling it until it was the size of a grapefruit. Daniel allowed himself a smile. This was easy, and yet he knew few Sapphire Miraclists could perform such a feat. He spun his hand, the ball flattening into a ribbon of water, swirling about him several times like living crystal.

  “Good,” Chancellor Harquist clipped. “Now freeze it.”

  Daniel bit his lip. A challenge.

  With a flick of his wrist he launched the swirl into the sky. He emptied his mind of all its contents save the image of pure white snow; he felt his body temperature plummet. His skin blanched. A snap of his fingers and the water turned to ice, shattering against the ground.

  The children around the training grounds let out a cheer at Daniel’s success.

  “I’ve seen enough.” She rolled Daniel’s scroll and stuck it inside her belt. “Your scores will be tallied and returned to your headmaster posthaste. Next!”

  “That’s it?” Daniel asked, forgetting himself. “No combat demonstrations?”

  “You’ll be in combat soon enough during the Grand Investiture,” she replied. “Next!”

  That was all Daniel needed to hear. A surge of joy spread through him and he looked to the Headmaster. Mordecai gave him a vigorous thumb-up and his classmates went wild with applause.

  Daniel spun on the toe of his boot and marched back to the gate. He opened it only to find Gregory a light shade of nauseated green.

  “Don’t worry, they don’t mark off for vomiting,” Daniel said, patting him on the shoulder.

  Gregory gulped. “I can’t do it. I’m done.”

  “Come on now. It’s not nearly as bad you think. Just show her what you know.”

  “Should be a short demonstration then,” quipped Jude from behind his book.

  Gregory’s head shot up, eyebrows knit. “What’s that supposed to—”

  “Now’s not the time for fighting,” Daniel interjected, presenting his staff to Gregory. “Hurry up. She’s waiting.”

  Gregory snatched the staff from Daniel and pushed his way through the gate, slamming it shut behind him.

  “Why do you always have to be such a boor?” Daniel chastised, giving Jude a look of disgust.

  Jude turned a page. “Trust me; I did him a favor.”

  Daniel let out a snort and knelt behind the fence, gazing out through the gap. Gregory stood with all the confidence he could muster. In Daniel’s mind, Gregory was just as talented a Miraclist as he or Jude. However, when it came to academia, the boy was all but secure. He disliked school so much he’d rather be “boiled in a vat of acid” than study, as he so eloquently put it when he and Daniel first met. Still, despite his academic shortcomings, he managed to muster high enough scores to be considered for acceptance. And there he stood facing his greatest foe: a test.

  “Ruby Miraclist, Gregory McPherson—sixteen years old.” The Chancellor made a note and then looked up. “A fireball,” she demanded.

  “Right—a fireball,” Gregory muttered, rolling up his right sleeve. “That I can do.”

  His eyes shone red along with the orb at the top of his staff. He spread out his palm. A spark and a pop; the fireball ignited, flames rolling upward into thin wisps of smoke.

  “Separate the flame.”

  Gregory’s arm shivered and the fireball split into five tongues of fire, encircling his wrist like a glowing bracelet. Slowly, they began to rotate. One of the lights flickered, and then vanished with a puff.

  Chancellor Harquist frowned and took a note.

  The flames vanished with a hiss as Gregory lowered his arm to his side.

  Jude’s shadow fell over Daniel as he came over and stood beside him.

  “Is Gregory’s performance more entertaining than your book?” Daniel asked.

  Gregor
y stole a look up to his friends, devastated, his self-assurance all but gone.

  “Go on, you buffoon,” Jude murmured. “Go on.”

  Suddenly, Gregory turned, spinning the staff around his body like a high-speed windmill. The ends of the staff ignited, flames growing into flickering tails. Faster and faster they sped until they were nothing more than a blur of orange. He caught his staff mid spin, shooting the blaze into the sky with an explosion that rocked the ground below.

  Chancellor Harquist stood a moment, taken aback, blinking, lips taut. “Next!” she finally hollered.

  “Did I pass?” Gregory asked.

  “Next!” she repeated, staring down at the scroll.

  Jude handed his book to Daniel, his jade-green eyes catching Daniel’s for a moment. The gate opened and Gregory thrust the staff into Jude’s chest. Jude accepted it, brushing past without a word; he shut the gate and made his way to the center of the grounds.

  “I failed,” said Gregory, flopping down beside Daniel. “Back home to become a blacksmith I go. Father will never let me live this down.”

  “Don’t count yourself out yet,” Daniel encouraged.

  “Emerald Miraclist, Jude Elm. Age fifteen,” said Chancellor Harquist. Before she could continue, Judge Marriott stepped forward.

  “Ah, Mr. Elm,” he said excitedly. “We’ve heard good things about you. We’re looking forward to having you in the Capital—”

  “Enough, Marriott,” Chancellor Harquist interrupted, her words biting Judge Marriott so hard he jumped backward, wringing his hands. “A tree. Now.”

  Jude gave a stiff nod. He reached inside a leather pouch at his side and tossed a seed onto the ground, which promptly burrowed like an insect. His eyes glowed green; a sprout appeared, growing, stretching, and creaking until it became a sturdy oak, alive with fresh spring leaves, shading the entirety of the training grounds.

  Judge Marriott looked noticeably impressed by the feat, staring up at the star-like leaves with an open mouth.

  Jude bent his fingers and the trees branches followed his movements—the puppeteer of the great oak’s soul. Then, with tremendous force, Jude slammed the butt of his staff to the ground. The tree let out a low moan; a fissure of white flesh ripped down its middle as if a massive axe split it in two.

  Marriott clapped his hands together.

  “Impressive,” said Chancellor Harquist, eyebrow raised, ignoring Marriott’s outburst. “That will be all.”

  Jude snapped his fingers and the oak wove itself back together and began to shrink.

  “Your scores will be given to your Headmaster.” She stuck Jude’s scroll in her belt next to Daniel’s and Gregory’s. “Good day and good luck. Come Marriott, it’s time we were off.”

  “Already?” replied the man, clearly disappointed. “We only arrived this morning. Oughtn’t we stay for dinner at the very least? I for one would like a chance to meet some of the students.”

  “We’ve been absent long enough,” she said, whirling around and making a beeline for the gate. “I’ve an Investiture to run, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Marriott let out a disappointed sigh and shuffled after her. Before exiting the gate he stole a look over his shoulder at Jude, a look of almost parental admiration written on his face. Then he disappeared up the steps after the High Chancellor.

  Chapter 3

  A shadow whirred across the night sky toward Littleton Academy, fear emanating through her. Over hills, trees, and the black lake she sped, skimming white capped waves and sailing over the pebbled beach. Finally, up the sloping grassland, her destination was in sight. With a mighty beat of her feathered wings she launched like a javelin over the campus walls.

  The buildings were dead, save the upper story of the dormitory, laughter and light pouring out onto the wide balcony. The beast flapped her great wings, alighting nimbly on soft paws directly on the railing, peering inside with cat-like yellow eyes.

  “All three!” roared a stocky, white haired man from inside, tossing his head back and releasing a booming laugh to the ceiling. “All three of my boys accepted into Brightcastle—I couldn’t be more proud!”

  The beast crouched; she tucked her wings to her side, nervous, but the spectacle inside held her curiosity. The man appeared safe, with eyes like warm chestnuts. He had a kind smile and a powerful square jaw.

  The large man flopped down into a wing-backed chair and flung his feet up onto the dinner table, raised a frothy mug to his lips and, after several large gulps, released a satisfied exhale and wiped his mouth with a swipe of his broad hand.

  “I must admit, you had me worried,” he continued, wagging his mug. “Especially you, Gregory. I mean, just look at our history, lads. Twenty-four years since Littleton sent a student to Brightcastle. Twenty-four! And thirty-two before that. But now we’re sending three!”

  A crowd of younglings was scattered about the room, resting in knobby wooden chairs and sprawled out on a massive bearskin rug beneath the glow of an antler chandelier. The pull felt strong here, stronger than she had ever felt it before. Yes, this had to be the place.

  “Of course this means we’ll need to purchase more mana-crystals,” said the man. “But don’t worry; I warned Moda this might happen. He promised to set aside an extra supply; though he said we’ll have to pay double—the greedy little mongrel.”

  “I could decline my acceptance into Brightcastle if it’s too much of an inconvenience, Mordecai,” said a blonde haired boy with a half-grin. “I’ll just stay here and help you teach the incoming students.”

  Laughter broke out amongst the room.

  “After all the trouble you’ve put me through these past few years I think we’ll all be glad to be rid of you and your antics, Gregory.”

  “That can’t be true,” the blonde boy replied, covering his heart with his hand. “You love my antics. And Martha will miss me, won’t you Martha?”

  A girl with a round face and a long braid choked on a tart, blushing profusely. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Moda’s cave is rather far, is it not?”

  “It’s about a day’s journey on foot,” the man replied. “We’ll need to leave first thing tomorrow morning. Martha, you’ll have to look after things while we are away.”

  “We?” said a black haired boy with hawk-like features, lowering a heavy book.

  “Yes ‘we,’” Mordecai replied. “I’ll be taking you boys with me this time. It’s important for you to learn to deal with chimaroos, especially if you’re going to become Guardians.”

  “You seem rather sure of us,” scoffed the boy, climbing back inside his novel.

  Another boy with wavy brown hair turned in his chair. “And why shouldn’t he be?”

  The shadow’s feline ears perked. That voice—that voice sent shocks of excitement running through her out to the end of her long black tail. She sensed that the boy was good; could it really be him?

  “We’ve just as great a chance at becoming Guardians as anyone.”

  “False,” the dark-haired boy said. “There are over seven hundred students competing from the most prestigious schools in the land. We are dwarves among giants. And judging by past prejudices, we will be shoved to the side while the Apex Academy students are treated with the favor reserved for a first born child.”

  “Quality over quantity, Jude,” said the older man, a displeased line creasing his forehead.

  The boy snapped his book shut. “Quality?” he scoffed. “A bumbling blacksmith’s boy who torched his own home, and an orphaned street urchin from the lowest rung of society? You call that quality? There’s only one student you can rely on during the games, Mordecai, and that’s me.”

  The brown-haired boy bolted up. “Need I remind you that you’re an orphan too, you arrogant jackal. I’ve been training for this my whole life; Gregory’s worked harder than anyone. If there’s no hope then why are we even competing?”

  The black-haired boy’s eyebrow rose. “Cannon fodder. For those of us w
ith an actual chance.”

  “Enough!” the old man boomed. “You three are not adversaries! You must go in as allies; assist each other in every way possible. It will do nothing but help your own chances…” he looked directly at the dark-haired boy, “considering that’s the only thing you care about. Now that’s enough for tonight—everyone, bed.”

  The children in the room looked up as the man stood up from his seat, imposing as a thunderhead.

  “Now!” he barked.

  The children scattered, heading toward the doors, along with the boy that drew her here. The beast felt an urge to follow, but suddenly, her fear returned, as black and ominous as before. She needed a place to hide.

  * * *

  “Our last night at Littleton,” said Daniel as he breathed in the cool night air from the open window of his dormitory.

  “And it couldn’t pass quickly enough,” Jude shot, effortlessly slipping his shiny black boots from his feet and setting them beside his bed.

  Daniel turned away from the window, glancing over at Jude, his face lit by the dwindling light of a melted candle. “Come now, it hasn’t been that bad. I daresay I’ll miss this place.”

  “Good for you,” Jude replied as he flicked the blankets aside and crawled beneath.

  “You mean to tell me you don’t feel the least bit sad about leaving?” said Daniel, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

  “I’ve been ready to graduate since the day I arrived,” Jude replied, again splaying the lengthy book out beside him.

  “Well this is home for me,” Daniel said, kicking off his boots. He slid them beneath his bed and unfastened the brooch from his neck. “That’s not to say I’m not ready for Brightcastle—I’m more than ready. But my only memories before Littleton are of hunger, lice, and the chill of that dilapidated orphanage.”