Page 9 of A Thousand Burning Ravens

A tinge of guilt threatens to erase the warmth collecting in her middle as she breathes the same air as he. She is privileged to learn so much more than Bryar on account of her status and finances. He is lucky to even be here, learning the art of the sword.

“Alright,” she whispers. “The headmaster says common magic is not gifted on account of status, but that many nobles have only that. Whereas some commoners throughout history have been known to have ethereal magic, or magic of the Gods even. It is not a matter of social standing that determines what tier of magic one receives, but the gamble of the Gods’ will.”

“There is not much of the Gods’ magic left, is there?” he asks, his tone a bit too loud with excitement, catching Sir Roderick’s attention.

“That there is not,” Roderick replies, turning to face his pupils. “Have you not learned of the tiers of magic?”

Bryar shrugs, glancing down at his boots before shaking his head. “I know of it. My father simply does not tell me as much as I want to know.” Through a few comments of this sort, Myla has come to realize Bryar’s father, a well-meaning man, seems to be restricting the world of magic from his son. To what purpose, she has yet to learn.

Roderick gnaws at his lower lip, deep in thought. “I have not much time before my next lessons begin, but I shall answer your questions now, as long as you both are sworn to secrecy. If the headmaster knew I was giving out additional lessons for free, he would find a replacement for me.” A severe look passes across his kind features, warranting nods of agreement from both of them. “Alright,” he continues. “What do you want to know?”

Bryar briefly looks to Myla, excitement written on his face. With a nod of encouragement from her, he speaks. “I want to know why magic has anything to do with the king not marrying.”

A stillness fills the room, Bryar’s bold question clearly catching Roderick off guard. Myla’s brows furrow, and she too, turns to the blademaster, curious about the answer to this question she herself has never considered.

Clearing his throat, Roderick nods, beginning to pace the circular stone room as though he walks on unstable ground. Perhaps with this question, he does. “His Grace is said to be a part of a much larger prophesy, spoken by the Seer on the mountain when he was born.”

“What prophesy?” Myla blurts, asking what she and Bryar both clearly think.

“Well,” Roderick says, kneeling before the two of them, “a prophesy to eradicate the Blood Stealer.” Silence settles over the trio, the blademaster observing his students’ perplexed expressions before continuing. “You see, the Blood Stealer went undetected for centuries as he built his strength off the magic of mortal men. By the time our kind realized he was here and troublesome, it was too late for any simple solutions. He had consumed the blood of far too many—”

“But where did he come from?” Bryar interrupts.

“Oh, that is simple,” Myla retorts, surprised he does not know. “He is a fallen Dark Fae God.”

Roderick nods in affirmation. “Precisely, Lady Alerys. And when he fell from the graces of his fellow Gods, he took to the mortal world, quietly consuming us one by one. Now, we know the only magic which has ever been known to weaken him is that of a Restorer, although we found it could not kill him entirely.”

“Why?” Bryar challenges, his dark brows pushed together.

“Because it is the only equivalent magic to still be found in our realm. Magic of the Gods, channeled directly from the palms of the Gods above and down through the veins of our king. However, it does not overpower the magic of the Fae Gods. In any case,” Roderick redirects the conversation back to their original topic, “His Grace is the only being left known to channel the magic of the Gods. Therefore, he is the only one capable of stunting the Blood Stealer.

“When His Grace was born, the Seer prophesied that in our lifetime, a bride with the magic of the Gods would be found for him, and together they would bring forth a child of incomparable abilities. The existence of that child would be the end of the Blood Stealer. For this very reason, the Institute of Mystic Arts exists. Why do you think the King himself attends every single aptitude test? He is waiting for the day his bride reveals herself.”

Myla scowls, thinking of the poor girls walking in here with hopes for their future, not realizing they are all on display to the king, a mere fulfillment of prophesy. “You mean the day someone accepts the King’s ransom and turns a poor girl in? Is that all?” Her stomach sours at the thought, aware that deep within, she is likely one of very few girls who do not see the honor in this prophesy, but the prison.

Roderick answers with a deflated sigh. “The Seer spoke of this woman’s abilities and how she would not only be a potential vessel for the King’s heir, but should the Blood Stealer entice her, she could secure his line of darkness instead. It is said that once this woman be revealed, she is at greater risk of calling the Blood Stealer’s attention to herself, for she will decide the fate of our realm. Will we be ruled by the light magic of the Old Gods or will be we ruled by the dark magic of the fallen Fae God?”

Roderick concludes his lessons by encouraging them to understand as much of their history as possible before sending them on their way. Together, the two scale the spiral staircase leading up to the main floor of the Institute before either of them speaks.

“He says you should understand as much of our history as possible,” Myla whispers to Bryar as students pass them in the halls. “He says that to you like he did not just have to give you a lesson behind the headmaster’s back. It is not fair that having enough coin is what determines what parts of our history you can or can not know.”

Bryar shrugs, smiling down at her. “I know more today than I did yesterday. I can not complain.”

Myla’s eyes lower, and she finds herself absently chewing her nails, nervous to speak should they be heard. With a discreet gesture, she encourages him a step closer before whispering, “Yes, well I can.” Her blue eyes narrow, a seed planting itself in her mind. “I can meet in the afternoons, just before supper. I shall teach you everything I learn. Meet me tomorrow, and I shall bring my notes from all of my classes so far. You can keep them for a few days to catch up, we will begin meeting every day next week.”

It is not a suggestion, and Bryar knows it. Myla will not take ‘no’ for an answer. If she is to be educated, then so is he.

Myla could lose herself in memory, an indulgence she allows more regularly than she cares to admit. For the past is where her happiness lives. Tonight is no exception. The memory threatens to lure her down the more secret paths of what her and Bryar’s meetings would become.

That is, until six Council members and Myla’s flushed father come pouring into the room. Their faces are a mix of ashen concern and rage.

“Forgive the late disruption,” Lord Sorrin offers hoarsely, though it is clear he is not sorry at all. His voice is cold as the officers form a strategic standing circle around him. He unfurls a detailed map of the realm, the parchment crisp under the tension of the moment, and decisively points to a location fifty miles west of the palace with a pudgy finger. “Here, just before Titonfall. The Raven’s Veil reports the Blood Stealer, accompanied by a small army, is advancing toward us. We have a strict timeline of forty-eight hours before they reach the palace gates.”

A visceral jolt of shock courses through Myla. Thoughts of her own blood staining these floors, dripping down the Fae God’s chin within the week, flash unwelcome through her mind’s eye. Gathering her resolve, she steadies her voice, projecting confidence amid the turmoil. “A small army, you say. What are their estimated numbers?”

Sorrin casts a glance to his right, where Lady Jameson stands, visibly fatigued and road-weary from travel, yet composed. “My scouts estimate the hostile forces to comprise approximately two hundred combatants.”

Turning to Bryar, Myla furrows her brow, urgency lacing her tone. “What is the status of our border defenses?”