“Vilebloom pollen?” Kon whispered, inspecting the magically-copied page of a botany textbook. He’d already dissected the pictures and pored over the words four times. Lafer grunted in confirmation while Vigor nodded gravely slow, yet Kon was still having trouble believing it.
Groundsmaster Hazen’s tongue clicked near his ear, where he was reading over Kon’s shoulder. Despite just being told that someone had tried to assassinate him, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Instead, he lit his pipe again, inhaled a deep puff, then blew concentric rings into the air.
The other students were seated at a lengthy table on the grass behind the Farmer’s Market, eating the lunch served by gracious workers, including a few of the bigots that had been set straight by Kon’s lecture. All of his peers were devouring their meals except for Morus, who didn’t seem to have an appetite. The boy was a trembling blur, only going still when Kon caught him looking in their direction.
“That would explain how our avokados died,” said Lush, using her fan of leaves to dispel the Groundsmaster’s smoke. “The glow of animized emerald could have triggered the vilebloom’s latent poison, thus killing the laced plant instead of saving it.”
“If so,” her Seer began, “my would-be assassin is clearly an amateur. Even if they were able to shroud themselves from Fate.”
“How is that even possible?” Kon asked with a shallow breath.
“Harbingers,” answered Lafer. "Headmaster Nise suspects a wraith is hiding in the shadows of Zephyr’s Cradle, manipulating vulnerable people to do its bidding. Though Lucid can’t find the source, she can foresee more unrest in the future than usual."
Kon’s heart sank into his stomach. “I’ve been noticing a lot of that, like the cloth merchant we met in the Shady District. I think we need to do something big to end people’s unjustified fear of the lidkhin refugees. Even Lili, a Fate Chosen Seer, is being treated horribly by some of the locals. I can’t stand it.”
“Hazen told me about your ‘talk’ with the farmhands. Vigor and I have to admit, we’re insanely jealous we missed it. ‘Kon yelling?’ I asked,” said Lafer, looking up into Vigor’s torch-like eyes.
“Then I said, ‘That must sound heavenly,’ and laughed,” the fae added, chuckling to himself. “What did you say to them, anyway?”
Kon forced a smile. “Enough,” he said, trying to sound casual. The word rang out hollow instead. He found it hard to be light-hearted with it so deep in his gut. “Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee the bigots will see reason forever. Worse, there’s surely more people like them in a roost as large as this.”
“So what are you proposing?” asked the Groundsmaster, taking another puff of smoke. Kon looked at the man, then shook his head when Hazen tried offering him the pipe for a third time.
Vigor’s gauntlet reached into Kon’s vision, only to be slapped away by Lafer’s hand. With a look, the girl seemed to inform her fae that it wasn’t the right time for making jokes. Vigor tilted his helmet in guilt, the coals in his eyes barely lit by his inner flame.
“We hold a discussion in the foyer of Westwind Academy,” suggested Kon. “Headmaster Nise, each professor, us students, and every person living in Zephyr’s Cradle. We can alleviate their concerns, no matter what they are, and convince them to consider each other like family, no matter where they come from. If there is a wraith manipulating people from the shadows, then we might be able to disrupt its influence by calling everyone into the light.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Lafer considered. “If there is a wraith hiding out here somewhere, we could use the opportunity to search for it without risking any innocent lives. Armsmaster Topek and I could lead a team in secret while the rest of you watch over our people.”
“I’m on board already,” said Vigor, his helmet nodded and eyes burning with renewed enthusiasm. “We killed a feral wraith on our first mission. How much more difficult could a harbinger be, really?”
“You should consult Lucid and ask what Nise thinks,” the Groundsmaster added, tapping the burnt ash out from his pipe. Before it could litter the dirt, a breeze of emerald wind swept it away, indicating that Zephyr was paying attention to their conversation. “If they say it’s a good idea, then it must be. But what of my would-be assassin? Should they realize their first attempt failed before we can find them, they’ll probably try again with a more direct method.”
“Headmaster Nise said the same thing,” said Lafer. “After Professor Meir and Dr. Zali used their sciency gadgets to determine your avokados were killed by vilebloom pollen, I brought the information to Lucid, who told us to serve as your bodyguards for the rest of the school day. Considering I’m also meant to work on finding the culprit, that means you and Lush will accompany us for the rest of the day, handing out these flyers and gathering information. After the Armsmaster is done teaching Soldiery, he’ll take over your protection from there.”
“I’m looking forward to the company,” the Groundsmaster said, bowing and brandishing a bright pink laferil flower hidden in his overalls.
The once-princess crushed its fuzzy, feather-like petals in her fist. “Not funny,” she exclaimed, though Vigor laughed merrily at her expense.
Kon’s heart had almost returned to his chest, though it still hung low and heavy. “Did you find any evidence on who the assassin could be? Knowing that someone like that has access to Westwind Academy… I’ll admit, the main reason I’m not freaking out is because I don’t want to scare the children. If you can tell me anything, it could help me remain steady. At least for the rest of today. You’ll probably have to assure me again tomorrow morning.”
Vigor chuckled softly, though Lafer shut her eyes and sighed. “Sadly, we don’t have much. Armsmaster Topek caught Saiet asleep on duty, never having done his morning rove, so if someone managed to sneak into the Groundsmaster’s office — either by picking the door’s lock or climbing in through his window — he didn’t witness anything.”
“What about the Barrack’s Officer keys?”
“They were latched to his belt. Saiet told me they were exactly where he left them when he dozed off.”
Kon almost didn’t want to ask. “And you believe him?”
“I could feel his heartbeat, Kon. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t lying.”
“Did you ask him if he lent the keys to anyone before he fell asleep?”
“...No. Do you think he did?”
“Maybe.” Kon resolved to hear the words from Saiet’s mouth himself.
“I don’t understand why he would give anyone the B.O. keys, except maybe another professor.”
“Or a friend,” Kon suggested. “A corporal guarding our Academy on this very day.”
At that, Lafer finally understood. “Corporal Ulen?” she asked. “Why him?”
Kon mulled his response, unconsciously glancing between the happy faces of students and farmhands devouring their meals. Hungry as he was, especially after throwing up his breakfast in Phantom’s illusory labyrinth, he didn’t have an appetite himself. Thankfully his fellow students were able to enjoy their meals in peace. Even Morus was beginning to pick at his bowl with a spoon.
Kon finally mustered the courage to speak.
“My fae overheard Ulen say some unsettling things to his subordinate after we departed for the Cradle. At the time, I figured Headmaster Nise and Lucid would know if he was going to become a problem. Knowing a wraith might be influencing people invisibly, though… now I’m worried that Ulen could be the culprit. As a close friend and a corporal of the guards, Saiet might have given him the keys willingly, having no idea what he was planning. What do you know about Ulen, Lafer? Like really know about him? Do you think he could be a sympathizer of wraiths?”
“I severely doubt it,” Lafer answered, not missing a beat. “Ulen’s parents were both killed by a wraith. They were soldiers too, hence the profession he grew into. What did your fae hear Ulen say, exactly?”
“That he was angry. Asked Private Stad if he was angry, too, because Fate hadn’t deemed them special enough in spite of their hard work. Private Stad wasn’t on the same page, so he got mad and ordered him to sweep the foyer. Ulen didn’t seem to be a fan of our Groundsmaster either, blaming him for leaving a mess wherever he goes.” Kon looked at the portly man. “Do you two have a history we don’t know about?”
“It’s nothing big, but...” Hazen began, pausing to sigh. “I remember he was offended the second time I met him because I forgot his name. I tried to explain how foggy my memory was because of my line of work, but he didn’t seem to accept it. From then on, Lush reminded me of his name every time we crossed paths until I could recall it on my own, but I haven’t gotten the impression he’s forgiven me since. That must have been a year ago.”
“Small as that is, a lasting grudge could fester into a motive,” said Lafer, her voice uncertain. Vigor brushed the auburn hair out of her eyes with a giant armored finger, then caressed her cheek, as if to reassure her. Tears began to steam from her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Kon whispered.
Clenching a fist that glowed with scarlet veins, Lafer mustered the strength to compose herself. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re a bad liar,” accused the Groundsmaster. Lush nodded her agreement with a gentle smile.
“Friends don’t lie to each other,” Kon said, grinning softly. “Especially good friends.”
Lafer shrunk meekly. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Trying to solve a crime like this… well, let’s just say it makes me feel like my mother. Inspecting evidence, listening to alibis, and making judgments… When Headmaster Nise first ordered me to find out what happened to the avokados, Vigor and I just thought it was a prank. Even if we had to put the culprit in handcuffs, we planned on fist bumping them first. Not to encourage them, of course, but because that must have taken a massive pair of eggs to pull off. No offense, Hazen.”
“None taken,” the Groundsmaster said, yawning sleepily. Lafer didn’t say another word, seemingly happy to let the conversation end there.
“Go on,” said Kon. “You were saying how your current mission was making you feel like your mother?”
“Right,” Lafer sighed. “What do you know about Regent Ferona?”
“Not much. She’s the interim ruler of Kolod Vor, and a veteran Seer. With her fae, Justice, she is often likened to a modern-day Heavenly Knight. I’ve also heard she’s executed more criminals than any other Regent in history, though I haven’t seen the exact statistics.”
“Then you know what’s important. The woman I once considered to be my mother has condemned a lot of people to death. As she aged and became further set in her ways, assured by the successes claimed by her War on Crime, the frequency of executions only increased… as did her failure rate. Not that people are told about those cases. I’ve seen many innocent people die by a hasty stroke of her guillotine blade. Some of those judgments were made in a lone second.”
“I think I understand,” said Kon. “You’re worried about making the same mistake.”
“...Yeah. That’s why I think I’ll talk with Saiet again before I confront Ulen. You’ve given me a lot to consider, Kon, but for now…”
“Let’s not make any hasty assumptions,” he answered for her. “You’re right, Lafer. And, I’m guessing, probably hungry.”
Lafer wiped the steaming tears from her eyes and nodded. She glanced over her shoulder toward the lengthy table of students eating with the local farmhands. Two seats were empty beside Wilm, another empty across the table, between Rej and Gaj. Ora filled three seats herself, devouring her seventh bowl of food, with Lili, Dowen, and Morus facing her on the other side.
Perhaps informed by Rugged, who stood behind Wilm, Lafer’s best friend met her stare and beckoned for her to join them. Farmhands joined in turning and hollering for the scarlet armor cladded princess. Kon had almost forgotten the girl was so popular.
The sight of so many grateful people shouting and waving filled his chest with warmth. Finally, his heart had found its way back home.
With it, his appetite surged, making his stomach groan hungrily.
“I’m starving,” declared the Groundsmaster, running ahead to slump into the seat between the twins. Lafer sprinted even faster, reaching the opposite side and plopping down next to Wilm, where she pulled him in close to gossip. Farmhands jumped from their seats and hurried to fetch the princess several bowls and plates of meals. “What are you waiting for?” the Groundsmaster yelled over the fluttering chaos. “Come on, Kon! Before all the food is gone or cold!”
Chiming and twinkling brightly, Kon’s lute-string fae led him to his chair. As soon as he was comfortable, the Groundsmaster demanded everyone to quiet down and return to their seats. The man was apparently devout, ordering the entire table to link hands and bow their heads, so that he could pray to Fate.
The farmhands obeyed quickly, though his students were more reluctant. Lili and Ora held each other's eyes as they relented their hands beside them. Kon found one of his hands clenched in Lafer’s warm fist, and the other grasped softly by Morus’ blurry, trembling hand.
When the Groundsmaster began speaking, everyone closed their eyes. All the while, Kon’s fae hovered over the table, listening for danger so he could feel safe enough to finally relax. As soon as they were done eating, his class would come next. Kon needed to be ready. He needed peace of mind.
𝅘𝅥
“Peace of Mind,” Kon announced deeply, relishing in the acoustics of his classroom. When spoken at the right volume from one specific corner, the echo resounded back quickly, emphasizing and punctuating his voice. Naturally that made it the best place for his lectern and blackboard. Kon swiped a line of chalk across the latter, underlining his topic for the day. “Who among you is open to sharing what ‘peace of mind’ means to you?”
Kon turned around, looking out at his students. They were spread out across the room in a crescent, each seated in armless, upholstered chairs, including a giant one made just for Ora. Instead of desks, empty music stands lay in front or beside them, depending on how they were oriented. Various instruments hung on or stood against the walls, as well as a tall mirror in the opposite corner, shining with the radiance of Lucid’s slender figure. Eventually, when no one else seemed willing to answer, Morus’ blurred into motion, a hand raising into the air. Kon pointed to him with a grateful smile.
“Peace of mind is a synonym for inner tranquility. A whole and total calm from within, like we’re supposed to find while meditating in our sanctuaries.”
“That’s certainly a definition of ‘peace of mind.’ But I’m asking on a more personal level. What do you do to find your peace of mind, Morus?”
“That’s easy. I read. That’s why the Library is my sanctuary.”
Kon hummed, delaying his reply while tapping his chin. His fae could tell Morus was lying, but it was an especially well hidden deception. So well hidden, in fact, that Morus actually believed he was speaking honestly. Kon suspected reading was primarily an escape for the boy. A way to run away from his reality, rather than accept it. Kon considered his next words carefully; the veil covering Morus’ eyes needed to be peeled away with a gentle hand.
“For me, I find my ‘peace of mind’ most easily in the company of my wife and daughter. Being able to see the people I love are thriving is all I need to feel safe and happy. As such, it’s been incredibly hard to find my inner tranquility since I had to leave them behind to join you here. I’m sure you’re all familiar with this pain. The hollow ache of distance. The cold void of absence. Nowadays, I find my ‘peace of mind’ by recalling the best memories we shared, turning many of them into songs. I find it by trusting Fate to bring us even better days ahead.”
Nearly every student’s head nodded, many wearing a frown deep enough to rival their professor’s. Only Dowen remained still, his smile defiant. “I never had any loved ones,” he chuckled, not buckling to the gravity of his statement. “What’s this have to do with music, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be a bard? I expected you to at least sing your lectures.”
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Kon took a deep breath, swallowing his pride. His fae could tell Dowen was lying too, and his self-delusion was so deep, there was no gentle way to lift his veil. It was more like a mask fused into his face. Fortunately, no one encouraged his flippant interruption with laughter. Even Lili glared at him, though Dowen was too oblivious to notice. His gaze was fixated on Kon, as if anticipating a volatile reaction.
Their professor elected to smile instead. “Dowen. Would you please join Lucid in the corner of the room?”
“I’d rather not,” he declared, crossing his arms and slouching into his seat, his backsack rustling in front of his feet. “I’m just saying. You told us this was a music class. I was expecting to hear music.”
“Then remain silent and pay attention to what I’m saying. This subject is a prelude to an important fundamental of music; one that you’ll need to understand before I allow you to pick up an instrument. If you interrupt me again, I’m certain Lucid won’t mind keeping you occupied with conversation while the rest of us get to have fun.”
Dowen huffed and slinked further back, his gaze drifting to a polished gold flute on the wall. Thankfully, he didn’t say another word. Judging by the eager cast of his eyes, the flute was the boy’s instrument of choice.
Kon had failed to consider the pain of an orphan who never knew his family, and because of that, he struck a sore nerve in Dowen. Though similar to the hollow ache of distance and the cold void of absence, what orphans dealt with on a daily basis… it was so much worse. Knowing nothing of his parentage, Dowen could do nothing but wonder and yearn. He had no happy memories of family to turn into songs. Only impossible daydreams.
Thus Kon didn’t push Dowen, planning to reach out to him later. For now, there was a point he needed to make. “Where was I?” he asked, testing to see which students were listening. “Someone other than Morus,” he said, waving the boy’s blurry hand to fall onto his lap.
Rugged placed a hand on Wilm’s shoulder, prompting the young man to lift a calloused palm. “You were talking about distance and absence. Remembering your old memories and using them for inspiration. Though I’ve never played an instrument in my life, I think I understand what you’re saying. If you don’t mind, I’d like to share how I find my peace of mind.”
“Please,” Kon said, bowing politely. “The floor is yours.”
Rugged helped Wilm stand. Perhaps nervous, the Seer tugged on his lengthy braid of orange hair before speaking. His voice was gravely serious, rumbling like the quaking of the earth beneath them, while tears began to well in his eyes. “I’ve not told you any of this before, and by telling you it now, I expect no one to talk of it again. Got it?”
Everyone, Dowen included, nodded their heads. Wilm had the room’s full attention.
“When I was born, I was named after my mother, a woman I never knew named Nika. I came nearly a season later than I was expected, and there were complications surrounding my birth that resulted in her death. My father, Wilm, told me from the very moment I was born, I looked just like her. He said that she put so much of herself into me, that her body couldn’t bear to let me go. Despite this, Dad loved me so much that he never once blamed me for her death. He never treated me less than I deserved, and he always supported my dreams and hobbies, showering me with praise when it was due. Even so, it was easy for anyone to see he was a broken man, crippled by his pain. Pain that I had believed for the longest time was inflicted by my very existence.”
Wilm paused and caught his breath, hesitating to wipe his eyes and clear his throat. It took a long moment to find his voice again.
“I took Dad’s name the night he was killed by a clan of Carrion. They raided our roost, pillaged our nests, and took everything they could get their bloody hands on. After they caught and slaughtered him before my eyes, they almost got a hold of me. Fate brought Seers to our doorstep before the worst could happen, but even once the savages were all killed… it was like the whole world had gone quiet. ‘The cold void of absence,’ right? Strange as it might sound, that’s where I find my peace of mind.”
Wilm sniffed and cleared his throat, receiving a couple rough pats from Rugged. The not-very-soft blows seemed to knock his next words right out of him.
“Hurting like that? It’s exactly what inspires me to keep on living. Fate gave me the Sight on that night for a reason, and it only took me seconds to understand why. I never wanted anyone else to suffer the same way. Never wanted anyone to suffer like my Dad. So my peace of mind comes from knowing that no matter what the future brings, I will make sure I’m ready to do whatever it takes. I would happily give my life if it only means saving one child’s heart from breaking like mine did.”
Kon gave the young man a moment to compose himself. “Thank you for sharing that, Wilm. That was perfectly said. Would you like to be the first one to choose an instrument? Since you’ve never played one before, it seems fitting that you get to first.”
Wilm tugged at his braid again. “Honestly, Professor, I’m not sure I can even learn. Thanks to Rugged’s influence on my body, my fingers are much stiffer than they used to be, and I’m pretty sure I’d break that drum if I tried pounding it, with a stick or my fist.”
“Preach,” grumbled Ora. Kon was surprised the giantess was listening enough to comment. Her gaze lingered on the kettledrum across the room, shaped like an egg with its big end cleaved off. The hide was brand new and sturdy, the wooden shell painted a soothing cerulean and varnished into shining, with an unused mallet hanging from the wall above it.
“How about a tambourine?” Kon suggested, walking toward the disc-shaped instrument nearby. “It’s a percussion based instrument like the drum, but instead of hitting a leather membrane with a blunt weapon, you softly tap its rim with your heel while shaking the metal coins in its sides. I find rhythms made by tambourines are more hopeful than a drum’s. If you ask me, it might be the perfect fit.”
Rugged pat Wilm’s shoulder, prompting the Seer to nod. “Sure. I’ll try it.”
Kon removed the instrument from the wall and carried it over. Wilm seemed reluctant to grab it. “Do you want me to demonstrate?”
Wilm shook his head. “I think I can figure it out,” he said, gripping one end of the tambourine with the heel of his left hand, then flicking his wrist to make the opposite side collide with his right palm. A shimmer of clanging metal crashed into a solid beat. Then another, interspersed with two shakes of the instrument. Wilm stopped as quickly as he started, grinning proudly at what his whims had created.
“You’re a natural,” said Kon, smiling just as wide on his way back to his lectern. “Would anyone else like to share how they find their peace of mind?”
Despite the power of Wilm’s response, none of the other students were brave enough to reply. Instead, they looked at Kon or themselves with pensive faces. All except for Lili, who eyed her hands while petting the slimy Leach wrapped around her midsection.
Kon almost called on her to drag her out of her daydream. There was a better way to reach her, however. “What about you, Ora? I’ve caught you staring at the kettledrum a couple times now. It was crafted to be especially resilient, so you don’t need to worry about it breaking.”
The giantess changed positions in her chair, its wooden legs creaking with her shifting weight. Arms crossed over her tunic, one leg folded over the knee of the other, and a spiteful grimace on her face. The weight of Ora’s heavy glare settled on Kon like he’d just became her worst enemy. “Do I have a choice?”
“To share your personal thoughts on the subject? Of course you do. No one needs to say anything they don’t feel comfortable with the rest of us knowing, but any more input would help this lesson move along.”
Ora tilted her face enough to gaze at Lili in the corner of her eyes. It seemed the giantess was looking for permission, though her leader didn’t give it. The cords of muscle that ran along her lengthy arms flexed while Ora shrugged and slouched further into her groaning chair.
“I don’t mind sharing,” Rej said, rising from his seat. The stocky twin shut his eyes and scratched the short, salt-and-pepper hair on his scalp. His fae, Grit, was in the hall outside with Gritty, where they could learn how to communicate without accidentally damaging the class’s equipment. Gaj straightened in his chair and watched his brother quizzically, perhaps uncertain what Rej would say.
“Many of you know the reputation of our flock, the Harrowings. Relentless mercenaries raised from birth into the profession, constantly on a mission to arrest wanted criminals or hunt down roaming clans of Carrion. You’ve probably heard that Harrowing children don’t live in a nest with their parents, but sleep together in a mobile barracks, overseen by a staff of retired veterans. In truth, there are more parent-superiors than elders too old to fight and the unfortunate few crippled in battle during their youth. Spouses with support roles take turns instructing us, too, ranging from strategists to chefs. They often told us ‘Armies need more than just warriors to successfully wage a war,’ but everyone aspires to become warriors anyway. Among the Harrowings, there is no greater honor. Not including Seers, of course.
“Our father-superior,” Rej continued, gesturing at his brother, “is one of our Seers. Not a warrior, but a strategist, in charge of organizing every child’s schedule based on their individual needs, strengths, and weaknesses. With his fae, Rout, he taught us things like which occasions require specific military formations; how to position scouts, analyze information, and plan operations; even how to negotiate fair contracts with potential employers. Though he’s never participated in a battle himself, our father-superior has been responsible for countless victories through implementations of his tactics.”
“Our father-superior is a badass,” said Gaj. “Him and Rout can predict the course of battles entire weeks before they even happen. Though Fate assists them sometimes, they mostly figure it out using information gathered by our scouts and researchers. They even helped the Fated King win the Battle of Vaska Toma.”
“Anyway, like I was saying before my brother interrupted me, our mother-superior was a chef. She trained us how to identify nutritious plants from their poisonous counterparts; how to skin beasts and harvest their meat; and, of course, how to cook delicious meals. This might come as a surprise, but my personal favorite lesson was baking desserts, because that was when our mother-superior felt most like our mother.”
“I preferred our father-superior’s mock skirmishes,” Gaj added from his seat. “We got to execute complex tactics in real-time combat. They would last for entire days, with two groups of warriors competing for a resource or territory.”
“Enough interruptions,” said Kon, making the lanky twin frown. “This is Rej’s time to talk. If you want to share more, you can once he’s finished.”
Gaj pouted and sank into his chair, his leg bouncing with pent-up energy. It was a minor distraction, but an improvement from the alternative nonetheless.
“Thank you,” Rej said, looking between his professor and brother. “To find my peace of mind, I often think back to our mother-superior’s laughter when I accidentally burned the entire batch of our Bloom Festival pies. That, or when I caught tears in her eyes the first time I made a soufflé rise. When Gaj and I need our alone time, I’ve been sneaking off to the kitchens to learn recipes from our cooks. You’ve all probably eaten something I’ve had a part in making.”
“I’m sure your mother-superior would be proud if she knew,” said Kon, prompting a toothy grin from the stocky boy. A trained mercenary, and a chef at that.
“I’m sure she would too. After I graduate, I plan on using my vacation week to surprise her with a visit, then spend every day cooking for the Harrowings in her stead. I know she could use a vacation too.”
Kon smiled even wider. “That’s a good plan. Thank you for sharing, Rej. Do you know what instrument you’d like to play?”
Rej seemed to scan the walls for the first time, his gaze lingering on each instrument for a moment before contemplating his decision. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the lute. Our flock met a wandering bard once, and every time he plucked a string, he did it with an odd face or an overexaggerated flourish. I can still remember that night clearly, even though I was probably five-years-old.”
“Four-years-old,” Gaj corrected. “Our nameday was a week later.”
“You remember that night too?” asked Rej, apparently surprised that he never heard this before.
“Not that night in particular, but the week after? Definitely. That’s when you began to hum in your sleep. Because you slept in the bunk under me, I was always the one stuck listening, lying awake in the darkness. It used to annoy me so much, but…”
Finally, Gaj met Kon’s eyes. Rej appeared open to the conversation, so he waved the boy to continue on.
The lanky twin swept his streaked fringe of black-and-light-gray hair behind one ear, allowing him to properly look Rej in his eyes. “Nowadays, you whimper and scream when you dream. While you’re off sneaking into the kitchen, I’m usually napping and thinking of the nights when you still hummed. For the longest time, it kept me awake and infuriated, but now I can hardly sleep without it. I’ve had to start humming myself. As lame as it sounds, that’s how I find my ‘peace of mind.’”
“That’s not lame at all,” said Kon, ending Dowen’s soft chuckle with a stern glare. Instead of reprimanding Gaj’s last interruption, the professor tried a new tactic. “Did you want to play a stringed instrument too?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that xylofoam,” he said, pointing to the board of colorful bars, some made of different woods, others various alloys of metal.
“Xylophone,” Morus chimed in quickly, stirring into a visible blur.
“Yeah. That.”
Kon nodded and gestured for Gaj to rise. “You two may bring your chosen instruments back to your seats.”
For what seemed like the first time, the brothers didn’t compete for a single prize, nor race to see who returned the fastest. Both of them moved with care, and Rej hesitated, stuck between the lute and its longer-necked sibling, a talonfolk sitar. He cradled it gently and returned to his chair, while his twin was already seated and tapping the xylophone on his lap with anticipation.
Once both were settled, Morus raised a hand. “Professor Kon? What does this have to do with music, exactly?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” muttered Dowen, his gaze still cast on the gilded flute. The backsack at his feet rustled loudly with his voice.
“That’s a good question. If you want to learn how to create music, or aspire to gain mastery of an instrument, the most important thing you can do is learn how to clear your mind and establish complete self-control. Anyone can memorize motions and learn to read sheet music, but a true maestro uses ‘peace of mind’ to become one with the songs themselves. Though I’m not expecting you to all grow into maestros, I want to spend these next three weeks revealing everyone’s potential. Even if you don’t see it now, I promise you all have it.”
“How do you know?” asked Rej, his voice half as brave as usual.
Kon took a few seconds to look his students in their eyes. “Because we’ve all been hurt and faced hardships, no matter how different they may be. Among the greatest artists throughout history, most found their inspiration in their worst pains and miseries, and in humanity’s ability to keep on living and fighting, no matter how much we’ve suffered. I suspect that no one understands that better than us Fate-chosen Seers.”
Rej nodded quickly, discovering the courage to pluck his first low, trembling note from the sitar. Gaj followed it up by dragging his mallet across the bars of the xylophone, making both of them chuckle. The brothers quieted soon after, letting Kon resume his lecture.
“I won’t ask the rest of you to share. From what myself and your peers have said thus far, I trust you all can figure out what I mean by finding your ‘peace of mind.’ What’s important is that you feel safe and secure, so that you can focus on the moment you’re living, on the instrument in your hands, and on the song your heart wants to sing. Go ahead and pick your instruments. Once everyone is ready, we can begin experimenting.”
Dowen’s fae soared at top speed for the gilded flute, plucking it off the wall and depositing it on his lap. Morus blurred as he glided across the room toward a small piano, where he adjusted the stool’s height and sat down, resting his hands on the keys and hovering his feet over its pedals with clear familiarity. Dowen held his flute with a similar amount of experience. Fortunately, neither attempted to test a note.
Ora and Lili whispered among themselves, and Kon beckoned for his fae before she could overhear anything he wasn’t supposed to. The giantess removed her pink glob off her shoulder, then retrieved a narrow, rectangular case made of half-rotted wood from the fae’s depths. Lili took the case gently and wiped it clean of the fae’s glistening saliva. Beyond rusted hinges, a damaged fiddle lay within, its belly heavily scarred and its strings lost or snapped off its scroll.
By the frown on her face and the empty gaze of her eyes, the girl and the fiddle had a history. Lili stared at the instrument much like Kon had at Rin’s telescope, before taking it to the ritili’s grove with Kinjra.
Ora stood, bent low to mumble something in Lili’s ear, then wiped a tear off the smaller girl’s cheek with a single fingertip. The giantess stomped off toward the kettledrum and removed the mallet from its hook. Meanwhile, the white-haired lidkhin stood, looking paler than usual, and met Kon’s gaze with a scowl, before walking over to his lectern.
“Can you fix this?” Lili asked, her tone aggressive. Her squinted, lilac eyes and toothless sneer were directed at her instrument, not her professor. Though she could have asked more nicely, Kon was grateful she asked for his help at all.
“I can. Do you mind if I hold onto it for a couple minutes?”
“I do mind,” Lili replied.
Even so, she held it up for him to grab and place on his lectern carefully. Kon opened its top drawer and another near the bottom, retrieving a box of coiled strings and an especially expensive jar of glossy, non-flammable, wood bonding resin. Lili watched him as he softly kneaded glops of resin into the deep scars on her instrument’s belly. He used an accompanying cloth to wipe his hands, then used it to polish the fiddle until it shined. With a brush from the top drawer and a bottle of lubricant, he dislodged the old strings from the tuning pegs and scrubbed them clean of rust. The strings winded easily and fit perfectly within the tailpiece. Once done, Kon handed it back with a smile.
Lili glared at the somewhat-restored fiddle, her eyes wide as she turned it over in the emerald walls’ pleasant green light. Leach began to writhe across her stomach, but his Seer didn’t seem to notice. Nothing could draw her eyes away from her instrument.
“What about the bow?” asked Kon.
That roused her stare. “I lost it,” she admitted sourly, prompting her eyes to begin watering.
“That’s okay. You can hang onto the bow for that cello in the meantime,” he said, pointing out the larger stringed instrument across his classroom. “They’re made a little differently, so it won’t work perfectly, but I have leftover plumes from what the Headmaster gave me to purchase equipment, so I’ll get you a replacement next time I go down to Zephyr’s Cradle.”
Lili glared at Kon like she’d just been stricken. “Why?” she asked tersely, practically spitting the word.
“Why not?” Kon asked, just as curt.
“Don’t bother. I’m not going to let myself owe you anything.”
“You won’t owe me a thing. I put those plumes aside for any necessary replacements, and when I leave in three weeks, these instruments are going to belong to the students of this Academy. All of you, and any other Seer that might come in the future, will be free to play them whenever you need a break from the training and studying.”
“That’s just… ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Kon recalled Lili saying the same thing on Enday, when Lafer and him first told her about his music class. Even without the help of his fae, Kon could hear the doubt in her voice.
Without another word, Lili strode away to fetch the cello’s bow, joining Ora back at their chairs. The giantess carried the kettledrum and loomed over it, even when sitting down. Rej and Gaj were chatting to Wilm about their instruments, while Dowen gazed into the barrel of his flute like a pirate’s telescope. Morus was invisible, utterly patient, though Kon had a feeling the boy was looking in his direction. When their professor cleared his throat, every pair of eyes fell on him.
In Kon’s classroom, whenever the door was shut and music was playing, he wanted the terrors of the world outside to fade away from memory. He wanted a place where these suffering children would not be afraid to express themselves freely. If there was any legacy in the world he wanted to leave behind, this was the room where it would be born. A legacy of togetherness and understanding.
“You may spend the next five minutes playing your instruments to your heart's content, so long as you handle them with care. Don’t pay attention to any sounds around you. Just focus on your own song, whatever it may, or will someday, be. My fae will ring out when you're done so I can begin teaching you the basics. Have fun, class."
Tears began to well in Kon’s eyes while he drank in his students’ discordant cacophony of noise. Soon enough, he forgot about the dreadful reality that waited outside. He forgot of the assassination attempt on Groundsmaster Hazen, of the bigoted farmhands that nearly ruined their peaceful time in the Sunny District, and the wraith that might have been lingering in the shadows of Zephyr’s Cradle. For a moment, he even forgot about the hollow ache of distance in his chest, carved out when he was forced to leave his family and his flock behind.
When Kon shut his eyes, he could almost imagine the voices of his loved ones singing in the background. Memories both recent and ancient, perhaps echoed by his fae’s magic among the musical chaos.
With his soulbound companion beside him, Kon found his peace of mind.