“I…I really don’t know. I don’t like to keep secrets from my coven. Any secrets.”

Alfir’s brows were nudged together again—by the permanent furrow between the scales there, I guessed they spent a lot of time that way. I didn’t trust Shen not to eavesdrop on us somehow, but thankfully I’d managed to convince Alfir to come all the way back to my coven’s suite with me to discuss the situation. Everyone else was either gone or in their own rooms by then, so we had the main chamber to ourselves.

I licked my lips, fighting the urge to plead.

“It’s alright,” I said. “I understand. Take a day or so to think about it, and get back to me?”

He nodded.

“Thanks for your time,” he said. “I’ll seek you out during first meal tomorrow with my answer. And if it turns out I can’t help you…I hope you find someone who can.”

“Thanks Alfir,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment even as my ears and tail drooped. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Yes,” he replied, that troubled look fixed across his broad, kindly features as he turned toward the door. “Later.”

And with that he left, shutting the door behind him. At once I sagged, dropped to my haunches, propping my elbows on my knees and letting my head hang. Damnit. I don’t have a good feeling about this.

As soon as the skyborn was gone, Imbris’s door flew open and she came strolling out.

“You were listening, I take it?”

“Oh, honey-nectar,” purred Imbris. “Of course.”

“He’s not going to help me, is he?”

The Jade deepborn pursed her not-lips, staring thoughtfullly toward the door the kobold in question had only just left through.

“You know,” she said. “I am honestly not sure.” She looked almost shocked at her own admission, glossy brow-scales knitting briefly together before springing immediately apart and back up as she took in my appearance.

“The necklace looks lovely on you, of course,” she said, indicating her welcome gift with its glossy moonstone pendant where it hung in the hollow of my throat. “Have I mentioned that already?”

“Th-thank you,” I said, feeling suddenly awkward. I swallowed. “For the gift, I mean. You did a wonderful job on it.”

Her smile deepened, eyebrows climbing still further.

“My pleasure. Well, I have to get going. Keep me updated on the search, won’t you? I look forward to the challenge.”

I stared at her as something occurred to me.

“Do you…do you already know about—”

“Your otherworldly origins?” Delight broke across her features. “I doooooo! And I can’t wait to hear everything about it. Our very own otherworlder!”

I scrunched my nose. That was a lot like being called an alien, and that’s exactly how I didn’t want to feel here. I’d had enough of that back on Earth.

“I uh…I’d appreciate it if we didn’t make a big deal about it,” I said. “I’m happy to tell you whatever you want to know about it, but otherwise, I just don’t want to feel…”

“Other?” The excited lashing of Imbris’s tail slowed, her eyes widening with sudden realization and sympathy. “Oh, I am so sorry. Of course. I…I know what you mean, I think.” She tilted her head as she regarded me. “Hug?”

“I…” my initial instinct, my human instinct, was to say no. “Sure.”

A beautiful smile lit Imbris’ foxy face, and then she lunged forward to sweep me up in a hug more forceful than her lithe form suggested possible.

“You are a part of the same vast being as the other Zia who occupied this body, and always have been. You are one of us. You are sworn to us.” She rubbed her cheek against mine, her tail against my leg. Marking me—but not possessively. No. She was reassuring me that I belonged.

The corners of my eyes stinging with tears for the thousand-bazillionth time, I relaxed into her embrace. Wrapped my arms about her waist in turn and squeezed her right back, head coming to rest where her neck met her shoulders.

“You are,” she crooned. “You are one of our own.”

“Thank you,” I breathed. “I really…thank you.”

Sniffing and fighting further tears, I broke away from her.

“I—I should get back to my practical application stuff. I’ll let you know what happens with Alfir.”

She squeezed me one more time and released me, stepping back.

“Of course. And good luck with your first service session tonight.”

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“Ugh.” My service session. I brought my hands up to my face and dragged them down. “I could not possibly be less ready.”

“You’ll get through it, pretty thing,” said Imbris, shouldering the pack she’d dropped at her side before hugging me. “See you after service.”

“See you then” I said, sniffing again and wiping at my eyes. “Bye.”

And a few seconds later, she was gone, too. Immediately I turned and made for my room, shutting myself inside. I wasn’t going to go back out there and try my hand with more disdainful strangers. I’d lucked out with Alfir’s sympathy, and even he didn’t seem particularly inclined to help me once he’d learned of the oath of secrecy. I didn’t think there was much chance I’d get that lucky again.

So instead, I went straight for my book shelves and dug out The Art and Applications of Sigilcraft and took it to my bed scoop to immerse myself in research for the rest of the period.

And what I learned suprised me.

At its very foundation—putting aside all the Gem and Abilities stuff—sigilcraft worked in much the same way I’d personally approached it in my own life. It was art, plain and simple. A visual language of shape, form and color which, either abstractly or in a more directly representational sense, came together to invoke the impressions and emotions which in turn defined the magic they conjured. And while a great deal of that language was shared and standardized, it was also possible to diverge into a more personal dialect, with each method having its own advantages and disadvantages.

For instance, by the standardized method and paired with the appropriate intent, connecting elements of a sigil together in a circle would ensure the effects were cyclical. Adding the shape of a sun to the center like the spoke of a wheel would make it a yearly cycle, while a pair of crescents to either side of another circle made it monthly. With no modifier, the cycle repeated by the day.

A great deal of the craft involved either breaking down visual representations of the concepts involved to their most basic forms—though plenty of kobolds didn’t break it down at all, preferring to create sigils that were entire paintings at various points on the spectrum of realism to stylization. Others worked with words, cutting them down until each was represented by a few simple strokes and arranged in the necessary patterns, or else contorted into the shapes of the concepts they represented.

But there were also sigils whose visual language meant nothing to anyone except the one who made it, or their family, or their coven, and still others were specific to different clans and cultures. They could be powerful and highly potent—but it was difficult for them to achieve far-reaching results to rival the scope of standardized sigils. They had to be more concentrated, have a focused area of effect. They were often also shorter lived. When there was no one left who understood the language of a sigil, there was no left who could properly maintain it if something went wrong, and usage grew increasingly risky.

Standardized language, however, had the power of numbers behind it…but that was its disadvantage, as well. If the tide of collective perception regarding a symbol changed, it could have unexpected results on the sigil’s outcome. One that had worked as intended for years could suddenly backfire or warp, resulting in all kinds of nasty issues. Those sorts of sigils often required regular updating—the more complex the sigil, the more frequent the updates. The same thing could technically happen with personal language sigils too, but with significantly lower frequency.

I could have sat there and read that book for the rest of the day and night, and I was kicking myself for not starting it sooner. But my practical application period was almost up and it was time to head back to the Opal wing, where I half-expected to run into Shen again. Thankfully, though, he was nowhere to be seen. I checked the assignment board in peace, where I found that I was supposed to report down to somewhere called “the docks.” A place which I had not yet been to in any of my tours or wanderings about the school.

So I pulled out my little book of marks, called up Jenner, and began the first assault in my campaign to make him regret ever insisting on giving it to me.

“Jenner,” I said when he picked up. “I need directions.”

“I’m on guard duty right now, Zia,” he answered. “I—”

“Oh good! So you’re just standing around.” Other Zia, is that you coming through? “I need to get to the docks from the Shaft, and you’re gonna be my Google Maps.”

“Your what?”

“Just tell me how to get there, I don’t want to be late!”

The call-stone sighed.

“Alright. Where exactly are you standing right now?”

At that, I actually managed a smile. Dad-mode engaged. With Jenner’s help I managed to make it to my first service session on time—all the way on the other side of the mountain.

I stepped down from a curving stone stairwell and into a low-ceilinged chamber dancing with ribbons of light in pastel hues and jewel tones. I blinked, taking a moment to process what I was looking at.

To my right, the chamber opened through a broad archway into the outside air beyond, letting the waters of the rainbow-colored crater lake flow into the shelter of the carved-out space, where it lapped around a row of docks filled with sleek gray boats to one side and filled tiered pools to the other. As I stepped out onto the pier leading down the center of the chamber, the kobold who stood bent over and knee-deep in the nearest pool righted themselves.

“Ah, you’re the Opal on student service, right? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“But I’m right on—”

“We’re really overdue for some help. Get over here.”

He was an older deepborn, 22Gem and a Garnet, his darkly crimson gemstone glittering through the laces of a patchy gray-green tunic that clashed with his rust-colored fur and scales.

He glanced over me skeptically.

“Steward Saltis,” he said, slapping his chest with dripping fingers. “You’re of Ashri?”

I nodded in confirmation, opening my mouth to answer—but he didn’t have time for such a frivolous thing as a full verbal response to his own question.

“Ah, right. You’re that sigil prodigy, yeah? Thank the Highest and Lowest. I have a major kipse worm problem down here. Pest control sigils have gone off. Been going off for a while. Need you to take a look.”

“Er, alright,” I said. “Where—”

He beckoned me forward with grimy claws.

“Along the pier’s base, down there,” he said, pointing to the archway where the carved-out pools opened into the lake itself.

“Underwater?”

He looked at me like I was growing another head out of my head and simply couldn’t abide such nonsense.

“Yes underwater!” he barked. “Of course underwater.”

“Er,” I said, looking down at my clothes. “I’m not exactly…prepared for that?”

“What are you talking about?” The steward seemed genuinely bewildered. “Just get it in!”

I scrunched my nose. Does he expect me to strip down in front of him, or just walk straight in clothed? Judging by his own example, the latter. I wasn’t risking my pretty dappled fur gift from Vyr, though, so I slipped it off and set it to the side.Then I stepped into surprisingly warm water that teemed with life—every different color of illumination another sort of creature. Fish and eels and things I had no name for swirled around my legs and darted away as I walked the length of the tier and stepped down into the next, deeper one. And then the next, until I was up past my waist and could see that the last step would take me in over my head.

Hauling in a deep breath, I took the plunge.