DEADALUS author of AETHERBORN
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CHAPTER 220
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 20:11:34 +0000 UTCThe storm had faded, but the room still bore its scars.
Ashthorn sat warm in Thorne’s hand, calm now, but only just. Not quiet. Not tame. The wand wasn’t still because it had been conquered. It was still because it was watching.
Thorne tested a flick of his wrist. A pulse of silver light shimmered from the wand’s tip, sharp and neat, no larger than a flickering flame, but it carried weight, like a dagger sheathed in silence.
Another motion, another test.
This time, the light coiled outward, then vanished before it struck the nearest wall.
Precise. Controlled.
But not obedient.
Ashthorn did not follow commands. It evaluated them.
Behind him, Argessa conjured a fresh armchair and sat down with a relieved sigh. Her previous seat was still smoldering against the wall, its frame warped and split.
“You bonded with a tier four focus,” she said, watching him like someone watching a wild animal pretend to behave. “Do you understand what that means?”
Thorne didn’t answer right away. He was still listening to the wand’s hum through his core. Still feeling how it settled against him, not like something he held, but something that fit.
Argessa didn’t wait for a reply.
“Tier four foci aren’t just strong. They aren’t just rare. They’re alive in ways most mages will never experience. They have will. They have memory. And they have preferences.”
She pointed her staff toward Ashthorn.
“That one? It won’t take kindly to being treated like a stick. You don’t use it. You work with it. Understand?”
He nodded slowly.
“You’ve already felt it, haven’t you?” she said. “It didn’t bond because you reached out. It bonded because you gave everything you had and survived the backlash.”
Thorne’s hand tightened on the wand.
She leaned forward now, her voice lowering, more serious.
“Tier fours like Ashthorn don’t always wait for your orders. They don’t always stay quiet. Some of them, when they sense danger, to themselves or to you, they’ll act. They’ll strike. Unleash.”
“Without casting?” Thorne asked, frowning.
“Without permission,” she said.
A pause.
“They’re protective,” she added. “But protection doesn’t mean control. Some foci have wounded their wielders trying to shield them from a threat they didn’t understand.”
Thorne glanced down at the wand again. It was so unassuming, so worn.
And yet… it pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
It was listening.
Argessa exhaled. “Normally I’d never let a first-year walk out with something like that. But…”
She gestured vaguely at the room, the scorched walls, the ruined chair, the faint lines of ward residue still glowing on the stone.
“Well. Here we are.”
Thorne offered her a faint, crooked smile. “Not your usual shopping trip?”
She snorted. “If it were, I’d charge hazard pay.”
He moved toward the table where the wand’s box had once been, now a pile of splinters, and paused.
“Speaking of charges,” he said. “I, uh… should probably pay for this.”
“Ah. Payment.” Argessa’s voice turned instantly predatory, her eyes glittering as she steepled her fingers. “Yes, let’s talk about that.”
Thorne shifted, coughing lightly. “I don’t exactly have much coin on me right now.”
“No?” she said, clearly enjoying this. “How unfortunate.”
“But I will,” he added quickly. “Soon, probably.” He left it vague, though his thoughts drifted toward the fencer Vellin had mentioned. If that meeting went well, he’d have something again. Enough to survive. Maybe even enough to blend in.
Argessa hummed thoughtfully, then rested her chin on her knuckles.
“Well then,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps we can come to… an arrangement.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I see that look,” she said. “Don’t worry. No blood pacts. No binding contracts. I have enough cursed rings in my vault already.”
He didn’t smile.
A lifetime among schemers, spies, and killers had taught him one truth, no one offers kindness without angle.
She tilted her head and offered a knowing chuckle. “You’ve been surrounded by liars so long you forgot what honest pragmatism looks like.”
“I haven’t met much of either.”
“Pity,” she said. “But understandable.”
Thorne said nothing, the wand still humming faintly in his hand. He could feel its readiness, its presence. It was still tense, still studying the space.
Argessa leaned back, tapping her staff idly on the floor.
“I propose something simple,” she said. “When your schedule allows, and only when it does, you work for me. Just a few hours a week. In exchange, I consider your debt paid.”
“What kind of work?”
“Testing,” she said. “Focus testing.”
Thorne blinked. “That’s it?”
“I’m sent dozens of foci every season,” she said. “Wands, staffs, grimoires, and orbs, all claiming to be rare, high-tier, or exceptionally powerful. Most are garbage. But they still need to be tested. Verified. Sometimes safely disposed of.”
“And you want me to be your… tester.”
“You’ve already shown you can handle volatile objects. You’re attuned. Dangerous. Precise.” She gave him a sly look. “And disposable, in the bureaucratic sense.”
He grimaced.
“I’m joking,” she said, not sounding at all like she was joking.
She went on. “The point is, I need someone who can sort real magic from enchanted junk. And you need coin. Seems fair to me.”
Thorne hesitated.
It did seem fair. But fairness was rarely the whole truth.
Still…
“You’ll pay?”
“Coin, sure. And if you’re useful, maybe more than that.”
She rose, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves.
“Knowledge. Tools. Access. There are things in Evermist you won’t find in books. I have a key to a few of them.”
Thorne gave a slow nod. Not committing. But not refusing.
Argessa’s smile returned, slow and pleased.
“Good. Then we’re in business.”
She turned toward the doorway, then added over her shoulder, “Try not to bond with anything else on your way out. My insurance premiums can’t take it.”
Thorne tucked the wand into the inside of his waistband, letting the fabric of his coat fall to hide it. Ashthorn settled there with a quiet hum, like a blade returned to its sheath. It didn’t feel like an object anymore. It felt like a presence, subtle, alert, and waiting.
Argessa opened the door with a flick of her staff, letting the scents and chatter of the wand shop spill into the corridor. Outside, Elias was slumped across a waiting bench, arms folded and head back, snoring softly. His mouth hung open just enough to let a thin line of drool escape.
Argessa glanced at the elf, made a noise somewhere between amusement and disapproval, and strode off with her staff tapping against the floor.
“I’ll send for you when I need you,” she called behind her. “Try not to break anything until then.”
Thorne followed her out, then paused beside the bench. He nudged Elias in the shin with his boot.
The elf jerked awake with a sharp snort, blinking rapidly and wiping at his chin.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Elias muttered, then caught sight of Thorne and straightened. “What took you so long? I thought you’d been eaten by a sentient orb or something.”
Thorne said nothing.
Elias grinned and gestured proudly to the staff leaning beside the bench. It was long, sleek, and gleamed faintly with a polished darkwood finish. Thin silver runes spiraled along its shaft.
“Feast your eyes,” he said. “Tier one. Maybe not flashy, but the assistant said its channelling capabilities are phenomenal. Said it’s ideal for first-years.”
Thorne nodded, resisting a smile.
Elias stood and shouldered the staff with a flourish. “I almost bonded with a grimoire too. There was a moment, you know? I felt it. Like it saw me.”
He trailed off, expression distant.
“But I wanted a staff,” he said after a beat, shaking his head. “No regrets. Mostly.”
He turned to Thorne, eyes lighting up again. “What about you? What did you get?”
Thorne reached into his coat and pulled the wand free just enough to show the handle. Elias squinted.
“That’s… secondhand?” He tilted his head. “Looks like something out of a clearance crate.”
Thorne smirked. “It works.”
“You sure it won’t explode?”
“Pretty sure.”
Elias eyed him, suspicious. “You’re being cryptic.”
Thorne tucked the wand away again. Let them think it was just a bargain pick-up. The less anyone knew about Ashthorn, the better. His spellbinding ritual had been dramatic enough. No need to give anyone more reasons to look twice.
“Anyway,” Elias said, brightening again, “my assistant took my list. They’ll send the supplies straight to Aetherhold. No need to lug everything through the city.”
Thorne nodded. “Smart.”
They made their way back into the main showroom. The place was still packed, students, parents, wandering arcanists, and a few scholarly types huddled over catalogues of magical gear. Voices echoed through the air, competing with softly glowing signage that shifted between languages every few seconds.
The two of them weaved past shelves of focus polish, wand holsters, enchanted quills, and shimmering display cases of elemental gemstones until they spotted one of the shop’s assistants near the back.
He was currently enduring a very enthusiastic explanation from a beastkin girl, another first year, judging by her size and the way her tail flicked with nervous energy. Her dark fur was sleek and well-kept, and she wore tiny gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose.
“And I’ll need six inks,” she was saying, her voice rapid-fire. “Not five. One is for backup. Also, the leather for my focus holster must be phoenix-treated, because otherwise it warps in dry climates. I have fur. That matters.”
The assistant’s smile was stretched thin but polite. “Of course, miss. We’ll make sure everything is correctly bundled.”
When she finally finished and walked away clutching a glowing parchment, the assistant turned to them, clearly relieved.
Thorne handed over his supply list. “For Aetherhold.”
“Of course, sir,” the man said, far more relaxed now. “Everything will be delivered before classes begin. The standard package includes starter inks, focus tools, chalk, cleaning cloths, et cetera. If anything’s missing, just send a message and we’ll have it flown in.”
Thorne nodded and moved to pay, the jingle of the last of his remaining coins suddenly feeling a lot louder in his pouch.
Elias leaned on his staff beside him, chewing on a stick of candied root he’d somehow acquired. “This place really does have everything, huh?”
Thorne exhaled softly.
Too much, maybe.
And it was only the first day.
The late afternoon sun painted Evermist in tones of amber and rose, casting long shadows over its bridges and canal-laced streets. Magic flickered at the edges of everything, windows whispered, lanterns floated, and street signs rearranged themselves as pedestrians passed.
The city’s stone roads curved and wound like a great spell etched into the earth, wide enough for carts in some places, narrowing to intimate alleys in others. Ivy spilled from floating balconies. Crystal lamps glowed with soft aetherlight above shop doors. Above them, the sky shifted through hues of lilac and peach, the clouds cut by the occasional silhouette of a flying carriage or drifting platform.
Thorne and Elias had already stocked themselves with clothes earlier that morning, but there were still plenty of things left to gather for Aetherhold.
Their first stop was a quillwright’s shop, where a bored old man sold writing tools from behind a counter that looked suspiciously like a taxidermied basilisk. The glass cases were filled with enchanted quills that auto-translated, shimmered with emotion, or wrote only in poetic verse. Thorne selected something practical. Elias bought one that changed color depending on the writer’s mood and immediately named it “Quilly.”
Next was an apothecary built inside a hollowed-out tree. Shelves circled the entire trunk, climbing high into twisting staircases that led to more shelves. Floating wooden trays carried herbs, vials, and magical brews. Thorne bought bundles of crushed stormleaf, silverbark shavings, and a few sealed packets of sunroot. Elias nearly knocked over a jar labeled “salamander spit” and was politely asked not to touch anything unsupervised.
After that came a magical parchment shop where the walls were made of scrolls, and every time a new customer entered, the floor scribbled a polite greeting. They picked up spell paper, binding thread, and a tiny bottle of rune-ink that smelled faintly like cinnamon.
Then a potion stall run by a pair of floating masks, both of which argued over every sale in two different languages. Thorne purchased a few basic tonics, clarity draught, minor resistance elixir, and a vial of something labeled simply: “Don’t open here.” Elias bought a bottle of fizzing blue liquid because it sparkled when he smiled at it.
Finally, they ducked into a book nook hidden behind a waterfall curtain, a small, warm space filled with floating books and soft-glowing globes of light. They each picked up a blank grimoire for note-keeping, spell sketches, and class transcriptions.
By the time they emerged onto the canal-side promenade, the sky had slipped deeper into evening, and the streets were quieter. The crowds thinned to smaller groups and gentle conversation. A few musicians played on corners with flutes and arcane lyres, their notes echoing softly across the water.
Then they found the bistro.
They sat at a table under an ivy-covered trellis, the canal just a few feet below them, water shimmering with floating aetherlights shaped like drifting petals. The smell of spiced root stew and charred herb-bread curled around them like a comfort spell.
They ate slowly, quietly. Thorne didn’t realize how hungry he was until the first bite hit his tongue.
Across the water, laughter rang out from another group of students, and for a moment it almost felt normal.
Then silence.
A stillness.
Even the canal seemed to still for a second.
Thorne followed Elias’s gaze toward a corner table draped in white linen and seated beside a small enchanted fountain. There sat a girl surrounded by four retainer-mages dressed in matching silver and ice-blue.
Ingrid Valara.
The Ice Princess.
Her posture was perfect. Every movement, cutting her food, lifting her glass, was precise and deliberate, like a spell practiced to perfection. She didn’t speak. Didn’t glance at the people around her. Her retainers murmured among themselves, never loud, never directed toward her. She remained a statue carved from winter, porcelain skin, pale blonde hair in a crown braid, eyes downcast but sharp.
Patrons around them tried not to stare, but failed.
Whispers danced like smoke between tables.
“Is that her? From the north?”
“She froze the stage during the ceremony.”
“Look at her eyes. Like frost over sapphire…”
Thorne watched for a few more seconds, then tore his gaze away. The air around her table felt colder, and not metaphorically.
“She always like that?” he asked softly.
Elias shrugged. “Dunno. Royal upbringing, maybe. Or she’s just allergic to joy.”
A few minutes passed.
The bistro’s enchanted lanterns lit on their own, casting a golden hue over their plates.
At last, Thorne pushed back his chair and stood.
“We should head back. It’s almost night.”
Elias gave one last glance at Ingrid’s table, then nodded, brushing crumbs from his lap.
“Yeah. Let’s not be late for our first not-quite-midnight back in magical boarding school.”
They stepped away from the canal as the breeze picked up, carrying the scents of night-blooming flowers and the first hints of sea wind drifting in from the horizon.
Evermist shimmered beneath the stars.
By the time they returned to the large square at the edge of Evermist, the sky had deepened into twilight. The city was awash in gentle hues of violet and silver, and the merchant stalls still bustled with activity. Floating candles hovered above crates of trinkets, while enchanted lanterns bobbed lazily from strings tied between lampposts. Glowing sticks had been pressed into the stones of the plaza floor, forming delicate patterns that shimmered faintly underfoot like constellations drawn by children.
The staircase had changed.
Where once it had been made of light, now it looked as though the night sky itself had been carved into steps, each one a sliver of darkness speckled with tiny, glittering stars. As Thorne and Elias stepped onto the first, the illusion shimmered beneath their feet, the stars moving slightly, responding to their presence like ripples in a celestial pond.
They climbed.
Their arms were full, bags of scrolls and bottles, enchanted threads, bundled herbs, charms, parchments, and more. Elias was practically groaning with every step.
“Remind me,” he huffed, “why the most powerful magical institution on the world is at the top of an infinite staircase.”
Thorne didn’t answer. He was breathing steadily, watching the stars shift beneath them as they rose higher through the clouds. The wind was cool now, brushing their cheeks as Evermist slowly disappeared below in a haze of mist and gold light.
By the time they reached the top, the courtyard was quiet.
Only a few students lingered, some seated on benches, others walking in pairs. The night air was crisp and still, and the castle loomed ahead, magnificent and eternal, the great double doors standing wide beneath flickering torches.
Just as they were nearing the entrance, a soft hum filled the air.
They both turned in time to see a flying carriage descend from the clouds above, drawn by two ethereal beasts with horned heads and hooves that sparked with flakes of ice as they touched the stone. The carriage itself was sculpted glass and silver, glowing with soft enchantments.
It landed without a sound.
The doors opened, and Ingrid Valara stepped out, flanked by her retainers. She moved like frost forming on glass, graceful, cold, distant. Her white cloak barely rustled as she passed, her eyes fixed ahead as though the world around her didn’t exist.
The carriage glided away silently, disappearing into a side courtyard and out of sight.
Elias whistled under his breath. “Must be nice,” he said. “It’s good to be royal.”
Thorne didn’t reply. He just watched the last of the starlight fade from the staircase behind them.
The great doors of Aetherhold stood open, warm light spilling out across the stones.
Without another word, they stepped inside.
At the first corridor, they paused. A brief glance. A nod.
“See you tomorrow?” Elias asked, shouldering his bag.
“Yeah,” Thorne said. “Good luck getting that staff into your room without breaking something.”
Elias grinned. “I’ll let you know if it starts talking.”
Then they split off, each heading toward their house’s stairwell, the castle settling around them like the beginning of a long, magical night.
Comments
Silver Beard
Wonder if first year students try to prank each other? That might go quite badly for the prankster.
Prokopis Manolis
Yes!
Silver Beard
Hopefully he'll trust her enough eventually to see about getting that crow mark removed. Sooner the better.
