Breathe in

Breathe out.

Quinten sat submerged in the calm he’d come to rely on over the last few weeks. Delving deeply into the meditation techniques that Instructor Burns had first shown them. The daily routine helped bank the fire in his gut over what’d been done to his friends.

The lack of punishment for anyone involved had irritated him for weeks before Burns pointed out that he hadn’t received any reprisal from his abuse of Mental magic either, as justifiable as it may have been.

Adding fuel to the flame, in a move that Quinten could only rationalize as pettiness. The headmistress managed her own form of retribution for his defiance. Assigning him to assist Instructor Highbridge for an hour every other day during his lessons with the first-years. He now had a front-row seat to the man’s shameless flirting with his young students. The more he bore witness to, the harder it was for him to remain silent. He’d already submitted one report of impropriety after asking Burns how to do it officially.

Nothing had come of it so far.

Breathe in

Breathe out

The balmy evening breeze helped cool the day’s heat, radiating off the formed stone roof of the boy’s dormitory. A place that’d become a sanctuary away from all the noise and boys below. He wasn’t the first person to seek refuge up there. The hand-holds he’d found formed into the side of the building had been made for concealment, his own discovery a happy accident.

Looking up at the night's sky, he inhaled a deep breath, not in meditation, but in contemplation. The scent of sun-baked stone tickled his nose and the fluttering wings of what Quinten assumed to be a bat flew by overhead. The stars twinkling above, bearing witness to his restless thoughts.

A few more months and we’ll be done here, he thought. A light streaking across the black, catching his eye. He couldn’t help wondering if the stars were agreeing with—or warning him.

*****

“You need to understand the differences between the elements you are manipulating. To be so familiar with them that the transition between each, and your ability to touch on those parts of your Gift become instinctual.” Quinten explained as he watched Izzy attempt to raise a pillar of earth with one hand and conjure fire in the other. Similar to what Delka had done in her duel with him, but he wanted Izzy to control both elements simultaneously. Her concentration wavered when the fire ignited, causing the pillar to collapse.

He frowned as he watched her hands clench and unclench as she fought back her frustration.

The academy taught that the ability to multi-cast elements was rare. Something Quinten had not expected after reading several books that detailed numerous mages being able to do so. It’d come naturally to him, and he hadn’t thought it much of an achievement at the time.

How did I first manage it? Quinten asked himself. Thinking back to his early lessons with his grandparents, he had an idea.

Beckoning Izzy to take a seat next to him. Quinten assumed the cross-legged position he used when meditating. She looked at him oddly but followed suit, arranging her legs the same position.

“Close your eyes and focus on your Gift. Which element do you connect with on the deepest level?”

Her answer was immediate. “Fire,” she said.

Chuckling, he asked. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Izzy raised a sardonic eyebrow, her eyes still closed.

“Moving on,” Quinten said, the grin apparent in his voice. “What do you feel when you touch on fire?”

“Warmth. I feel a surge of pleasant heat welling up from within my core, flowing down my hand like a stream of warm liquid. As the magic leaves me, there’s a tingling sensation, almost like static jumping between fingertips.”

“And earth? How is it different?”

Izzy bit her lip, eyes narrowing. “Heaviness…? It starts as a buildup of pressure in my chest, as it increases, I feel more solid, grounded. Then it slides down my arms or legs like thick clay. Instead of the tingling, I go numb for a breath as the magic lingers.”

“Your connection and your ability to sense your Gift has improved immensely.” Quinten said, smiling.

Her golden-brown eyes, like maple syrup swirled with fresh honey, captured his gaze, and the smell of warm spices from her preferred tea played across his tongue, robbing him of thought.

“I can’t seem to get the transition between the two right. The pressure in my chest from controlling earth is too rigid, and the fire’s warmth, too free. How do you balance it?”

It took Quinten a moment to put her words in order and to form an actual question. His mind was distracted by the pout of her lips and the new style in which she wore her hair, intricately arranged in curls atop her head. Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his robes, he answered. “The way you connect with your Gift is a lot like my own. I rely on feeling and intention more than anything.” He scratched at the light stubble beginning to shadow his jaw. “My grandfather, though, uses visualization for most of his magic.”

Quinten paused, drumming his fingers on his knee and staring at nothing. “Let’s try something different. On your next attempt, visualize the pressure in your chest as a stone. When you conjure your flame, imagine that stone warming—either from the sun’s heat or from deep within the earth. Play around with a few ideas, and we’ll see which ones work best.”

Rising to her feet, Izzy moved a safe distance away to test out his suggestion. She closed her eyes and raised her left hand, a fresh column of earth rising with it. Izzy took a shaky breath to let her control of the magic stabilize before holding up her other hand, a small fireball slowly forming above her open palm.

A brilliant smile lit up her face while Quinten applauded, saying, “That’s it! Now, just get to the point where this comes naturally, and I might consider you worthy of being my apprentice.”

Scowling, she opened her mouth to reply when Cedric interrupted. “As cute as your flirting is—is that supposed to be smoking?”

The pair looked where he pointed and sure enough, Izzy’s column of earth was turning black. Starting at its top, red veins of smoldering heat spread within, and smoke rose from where they broke to the surface.

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“Well,” Quinten said, scratching his head. “That’s a new one.”

*****

“Are you three excited for the Mid-Year Ball?” Helena asked, looking between Quinten, Ronan, and Cedric. Her eyes lingering on the latter, a hair longer than the others.

Quinten sighed.

An official courier letter from his grandparents arrived a few days prior. It detailed the King’s declaration, clearing his parents and their family of treason. A note tucked inside, written in his grandmother’s hand, warned him of the social changes he would likely see now that the label of traitor’s son had been removed and familial pressures were applied.

Quinten had already seen evidence of it in the attention he received. The news already traveling throughout the academy. No one had been brave enough to approach him directly, but Izzy had complained of several ladies cornering her and asking questions about him.

“Not particularly.” He admitted, to which Ronan nodded his agreement. Cedric hesitated to answer and Quinten knew why. He was still sneaking around with Celeste, and based on his friend's complaints, she refused to have any serious conversations about the future.

Eventually, he did respond to Helena’s probing gaze.

“I am, actually,” he said. “We have been avoiding it, but this is likely where we will meet at least one of our future wives. Regardless of if you like the new laws, the reality is that we will have to marry in the next few years.”

Helena sat up straight at his words, and Quinten thought she even did a reasonable job controlling her expression as she stared at Cedric intently. Her hands giving her away as they clenched into fists where they rested on her thighs.

“Ooooh—I love engagement talk! Do you already have someone in mind? Is it someone we know? Spill!” Helena asked, her words an off-beat mix of excitement and apprehension.

Cedric’s shoulders turned in, but he couldn’t hide his blush. Shaking his head, he blurted. “Nothing like that. No one my mother has started talks with at least.”

Quinten and Ronan shared a grin at their friend’s discomfort, knowing the hole he’d just dug. They watched as he spent the next ten minutes evading the ladies’ probes. Doing his best to make it out alive after denying the pair the hinted gossip.

*****

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets as Quinten, Cedric, and Ronan made their way from the towering gates of the Mage Academy. The three young men walked casually, their steps relaxed as they navigated the bustling city toward their destination. It wasn’t the first time they’d left the academy since the year started, but their trips into the city proper had been few and far between.

Ronan adjusted the strap of his bag, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “You said Instructor Burns recommended this tailor? Did he say why?”

Cedric grinned, just as excited as his friend. “He did. This tailor and her family are all mages and they’ve developed their gifts almost solely to work needle and thread. Apparently, If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t be able to keep up with demand.”

His statement sparked a lively conversation between the trio over whether it was primarily a use of Mental, or some combination of Elemental or Transmutation magic that aided in their business.

Quinten surveyed their surroundings warily, considering the last few weeks and the changes that had come with them he was feeling oddly vulnerable outside of the academy’s thick walls.

Which is just silly, he berated himself. We aren’t going to get ambushed, and It’s not like we don’t have the ability to defend ourselves.

Sighing, Quinten tuned back into his friend’s discussion of the robes they wanted made for the Mid-Year Ball.

“I’m going with a black, grey-toned theme with white accented stitching for design. It’s going to pair perfectly with my dark, dashing good looks.” Cedric said.

Quinten snorted, forcing some cheer into his voice. “Well, if you have any of the fortune, you’re likely to spend on robes left over. You can use it to pay Ronan to give you the dark, dashing good looks you need to complete the outfit.”

Ronan laughed as Quinten skittered away from Cedric’s retaliatory swipe.

They turned the corner, and the street opened into a quieter part of town. Ornate shop signs hung above doorways, and the air was filled with the faint scent of leather, ink, and fresh parchment. The shop they sought was tucked away between a jeweler’s and a scribe’s workshop, its sign elegantly carved with the name "Callen’s Atelier."

The display window showcased a series of robes in varying shades, each embroidered with intricate patterns that shimmered as though alive with magic.

"Well," Cedric said, pushing the door open, "let’s see what all the fuss is about."

A small bell tinkled as they walked inside. The interior was even more impressive. The walls were lined with bolts of fabric in every color imaginable. A faint, pleasant scent—something like lavender and freshly pressed linen, mixed with the undeniable hum of magic in the room.

Behind a polished mahogany counter stood a woman of late age, her silver hair pulled back into a sleek bun. Her sharp, discerning eyes took in the three young men with a single, sweeping glance, sizing up their needs without resorting to words. She wore a long, elegantly simple robe, the fabric rippling faintly as though it were woven with magic itself.

“Welcome to Callen’s Atelier,” she greeted them, her voice smooth and clear. “I am Mistress Callen, and you three must be the ones Instructor Burns sent my way.”

Her tone was polite but commanding, and it was clear she ran this establishment with the precision of a true artisan.

“We are.” Cedric said. Casting his gaze around the beautifully arranged shop, he continued. “We can’t wait to see what robes from the finest seamstress in the city will look like.”

Mistress Callen’s lips curved upward slightly. "Flattery will get you nowhere, young man. The only reason I even agreed to meet with you three is because Burns requested it. There are advantages to being family.” She said the last with a wink.

Cedric, frowning, asked, “Wait, Instructor Burns—” before he was cut off by Quinten's own question, “Family? You’re related?”

A door at the back of the shop that Quinten had not noticed opened. The faint sounds coming from within indicating the workshop beyond. Through the open door walked a younger version of Mistress Callen but with dark curly hair and warm welcoming brown eyes.

“Yes, Buefie is my husband.” She said with a Cheshire grin, her eyes twinkling as she surveyed the three.

“Buefie—Buford! Stars above, you’re his second wife!” Cedric blurted before clapping a hand over his mouth in horror.

Quinten jabbed his friend in the back with augmented fingers for his idiocy but Burns’ wife just laughed, “It’s alright. I am Lara. Adrian’s second wife.” She said with a pointed look at Cedric who had the decency to blush in shame. “He said you would be coming by today.”

Ronan shifted to the front, hoping to move past his friend’s misstep, saying, “We’re looking for robes for the upcoming Mid-Year Ball. Something that will stand out, but also be… functional.”

Mistress Callen nodded, coming out from behind the counter to circle them slowly. "Yes, yes. Robes for a ball full of nobles, mage instructors, and no doubt a great many interested eyes." Her gaze flicked knowingly toward Quinten. “I hear each of you will be getting quite a bit of attention, particularly you, Lord Ashford."

Quinten blinked, caught unaware by the comment. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the highly respected tailor would hear. The court’s gossip spread like wildfire. He nodded politely, saying only, “Word travels quickly.”

“Indeed, it does,” Mistress Callen replied, her eyes glinting. "But rest assured, my concern is what you wear, not your current standing at court."

Cedric laughed, breaking the tension. "I’m sure Q would rather talk fabric than court politics right now anyway.”

Lara came around the counter walking around each in a circle, “Let’s discuss your preferences. I am sure you all have ideas.”

Cedric didn’t hesitate. "Black and grey tones with white stitching. Something that makes me look... well, you know."

"Like a dashing nobleman ready to make an impression?" Lara quipped, one eyebrow raised.

Grinning, Cedric nodded. "Exactly."

“What were you thinking, Lord Hastings?”

Ronan shrugged, though his eyes lingered on the simpler fabrics. "Something functional. I don’t need to stand out, but I want to feel comfortable... and ready for anything."

Lara tilted her head thoughtfully, her fingers tapping lightly against her measuring tape. "Understated, but strong. I believe I have just the thing, it will go perfect with your auburn hair.”

"And you, Lord Ashford?" she asked, turning her attention to Quinten. “Something understated, I presume?”

Quinten glanced at the rich fabrics displayed along the walls, their colors shifting with the light. Lara would have been correct a few weeks prior, but recent events had caused him to feel some sort of way.

Shaking his head, Quinten answered, “Midnight veil.”

His request was met with several pairs of raised eyebrows, from both his friends and the seamstresses.

“The flower? All black and gold?” Mistress Callen repeated in a flat tone.

“Black, dark as night and gold, bright as sunlight.” He repeated the saying, a favorite of his mother’s.

A slow grin spread across the older woman’s face. “Oh yes. I can work with that.”