CRASH!

The door to Quinten's room flew open and armored men came storming in. Instinct took over, and with a wave of his hand, he hurled them back through the doorway, their metal-clad bodies slamming into the stone wall with a crash. A loud crunch rang through the hall as a second, nearby door was forced open.

Summoning a wall of mist to blind their attackers. Quinten turned and met Izzy’s wide eyes. Sitting up in bed, she shifted backwards until she pressed against the headboard, holding the blankets clutched tightly to her chest.

Telekinetically, he tossed her the first robe he saw, keeping his focus across the room. If he hadn’t been paying close attention, he may have missed it, a shift in the mist—someone trying to manipulate the water within.

"Explain yourselves, or the next person who comes through that door is a dead man!” Quinten said, his voice booming down the hallway, echoing even without augmentation.

The reply, though it wasn’t directed at him, came from the last voice he’d expected to hear. "You idiots! Who thought it was a good idea to try to grab him by force? You’re lucky he didn’t kill you all.”

“Grandfather?” Quinten's brow furrowed as he glanced at Izzy, now covered in the black and gold of his clothing.

“Out of my way, you morons.” Councilman Edmund Wycliffe snapped, appearing in the doorway and parting the mist with a casual wave of his hand. Behind him, the armored men lay in an unconscious heap. Quinten watched his eyes flick to Izzy, going wide at her presence. Edmund stopped, turning his back to them and effectively blocking anyone from seeing into the room.

Glaring out into the hallway, he barked, “Pick up your people and get out of here. I’ll escort them myself.”

"Councilman, with respect, we were ordered to bring them in—by your own Council,” one of the men stammered.

“I bet you were,” Edmund grumbled low enough that only Quinten, and maybe Izzy, were able to hear. “Wait downstairs by the entrance. When they’re presentable, I’ll bring them both down. Now, get out."

Quinten, still standing naked in the middle of his room, felt his breath start to slow. The tight grip on his magic began to ease.

His grandfather glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t relax just yet. Get dressed. You and Cedric are to be placed under guard while the king decides what the consequences of last night will be.”

Quinten blinked as he tried to process all the things left unsaid.

He jumped, realizing he wasn’t as calm as he thought he was, when a loud groan came from the hall. Accompanied by the telltale scraping of armor on stone as the men outside were helped to their feet.

Peering over his shoulder, Quinten's grandfather looked at him in apology. “The Council hid this from me due to our relation. I only just found out and came as quickly as I could.” With another quick glance at Izzy, he wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “I’ll fetch Cedric and meet you downstairs. I suggest you wait until we’re gone to sneak out, my Lady. We should be enough of a spectacle that no one will notice.” The last was added with a wink, closing the door behind him.

Quinten took in what felt like his first real breath since waking. “Well… shit,” he said, his shoulders slumping as he traded one last look with Izzy.

Not knowing what was in store for them, he chose to don last night’s robes instead of putting on the grey’s of an Academy second-year. Quinten descended the stairs to find Cedric standing beside his grandfather. His friend appeared to be whole, but Quinten had heard the sound of a second door being broken down. He peered at the dozen guards surrounding them, each wearing the insignia of the Mage’s Council. An arcane star with five points, one for each of the Gifts of Rivenna, laid out in silver with a circle encompassing and connecting each point.

Quinten saw several of the guards glaring in Cedric’s direction. Deep scratch marks scoring their previously pristine armor. It was then that he noticed two Core Mages, dressed in their uniform brown robes, included among the group sent to fetch them.

Without a word, their escort marched them across campus. Just as his grandfather predicted, they were indeed quite the spectacle. Dozens of students stopping to stare. Their march ended in front of a large carriage, with the three men climbing in. To Quinten's surprise, it wasn’t just them, with the two Core Mages sliding in before the door was shut. The thump of the locking bar dropping into place added an awkward tension inside of the transport.

The silence continued as the carriage trundled along. Quinten didn’t mind, as it gave him the chance to study the mages sitting across from him. Both young women. Their ranks, as general mages, were sown into their robes and they appeared to be only a few years older than himself. They were also clearly nervous. Sweat glistened on their brows, and their eyes kept darting between the trio sitting across from them.

It struck him then, the realization. They are here to stop us if we try to run, He thought. His genuine belief that they couldn’t stop him, let alone if Cedric and his grandfather worked together, put their anxiety into perspective.

The rest of the ride passed in that same tense silence. By the time they arrived, Quinten's opinion had changed, and he was almost happy for it.

Almost.

The door unbolted and swung open, allowing Edmund to step out first, followed by Quinten and Cedric. The dozen men from the Mage’s Council were replaced by a dozen Palace Guards. They, and the two Core mages formed up around the trio. Leading them into the palace.

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The grandeur of the Royal Palace was touted as one of the crowning achievements of artisans, gifted and non-gifted alike. Decades of planning, building, and expansion forming a palatial rose, each petal a new addition with the sole purpose of filling out the rose’s corolla.

Unfortunately, Quinten and Cedric were not fated to see its beauty that day. Being escorted through a well manned and fortified side entrance used by the Palace Guards. Lifeless, but serviceable grey stone walls welcomed Quinten into the castle's depths. The clomping of heavy boots on stone and the rattle of armor heralded their way through the tight corridors and doorways. The farther they marched, the staler the air became and the glow of overhead crystal lights inexplicably dimming with each turn.

Quinten couldn’t tell if the temperature was dropping or if the sinking feeling in his gut was stealing the heat from his core, and he wasn’t the only one to notice. He watched his grandfather’s expression shift, his frown deepening with every step.

Finally, Grandfather stopped walking. Holding up a hand, he brought the entire group to a halt.

“Where exactly are you supposed to be “guarding” them?” He asked.

The Core mages traded looks with one turning her gaze to the floor, the other meeting the older mage’s eyes, swallowing thickly.

“You don’t know, Councilman?”

The color drained from his grandfather’s face and rushed back like the sea’s tide, turning the man’s complexion mottled.

The entire group stood stock still as Edmund fought to control his anger. Cedric watched on in confusion, but Quinten's spine went rigid in understanding. A mix of nausea and an odd sense of curiosity settling in his stomach.

Reaching out slowly, Quinten gently took his grandfather by the shoulder. Neither spoke, but he was pulled into a desperate embrace that threatened to break bone in its intensity.

Returning the hug, Quinten wasn’t surprised to hear him whisper.

“I will figure this out, but if it comes to it. You must not die in there.”

*****

A morbid part of Quinten had always wondered about the cells that held his father leading up to his disastrous trial. He’d never expected to actually see them, let alone find himself placed inside one through his own actions.

Quinten stared at the metal cage, gaping open like some great beast. The question of whether or not it was the same cell clawed its way to the forefront.

Surely the stars wouldn’t curse you so.

He found himself frozen in place just as he and been at twelve years old, waiting in the foyer for his parents to climb out of the carriage after his grandfather.

As had happened so many years ago, a slight nudge from behind broke his trance. It sent him forward, forcing him to duck slightly to enter his new prison.

The door of interwoven metal slammed shut behind him. The scrape of the bolt sliding home bringing with it a feeling Quinten had never experienced before. His Gift-well, the source of all his power, felt like an air-filled container submerged and held captive underwater, the surrounding pressure constricting and suppressing his Gifts even as they fought to return to the surface. His breath was squeezed from his lungs and made him unsteady on his feet, bringing him to his knees.

The first thing his conscious mind registered was the guard's laughter as they watched the pair struggle. His second was the thought. That is even worse than Grandfather warned it would be.

Quinten bit his cheek so hard it bled, and he could hear Cedric groaning from the cell beside him, both fighting to adjust to the alien force, trying to smother them. Slowly, he made it back to his feet and gave his grandfather a small nod, letting him know he was fine.

*****

“This isn’t as bad as I thought a dungeon would be,” Cedric said a half hour later when they were finally alone. He lifted up the lid of his chamber pot before quickly letting it fall back into place. Putting some distance between himself and the metal container, he grumbled, “Never mind. Poor Bastard.”

Quinten snorted from the thin straw mattress provided as a bed. As soon as his Grandfather left, he’d lain down and dove within himself mentally to see what was being done to affect his Gifts and if there was any way to remove the heavy blanket of itchy wool being metaphysically thrown over him, a constant irritant since entering the cell.

“I’m just glad Ronan was left out of this,” He said absently, his eyes still shut.

“Me too.” Cedric said, “I don’t think this place would fit his sensibilities.”

Opening his eyes, he sat up and faced his friend directly. “I’m sorry you are here. Last night—” Quinten began, but Cedric cut him off.

“No. That punch was absolutely worth it. That pervert deserved everything he got and more.” He said, his fists clenching in remembrance.

A moment later, Cedric froze and finally stopped fidgeting for the first time since entering his cell. Running up to the metal bars closest to Quinten. He gripped one in each hand and stared at his friend, eyes wide in shock.

Quinten, taken aback at Cedric’s antics, rocked backward. The cold metal bars dug into his shoulders, a reminder of their presence.

“I completely forgot!” Grinning at Quinten, he winked, “At least there is one bright star in all of this—congratulations on becoming a man…”

Cedric jumped to the side as a piddly blast of icy water shot through where he’d been standing a moment before. His laughter choked off in surprise, both he and Quinten staring at the frozen line of water running between the cells.

“How’d you do that? I thought your Grandfather said these cages are able to suppress all of our Gifts.”

“He did…” Quinten said, frowning. “Maybe this one is defective?”

“Or maybe your Gift is just that powerful—You know what this means, don’t you?”

Quinten looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. “That I might be able to break us out of here if the worst should happen?”

Cedric’s brow lifted as understanding dawned.

“Oooh. That’s a good point….” He said with a nod.

Quinten continued to stare at his friend, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, he asked, “Are you going to tell me what you thought this meant?”

Cedric looked up, a tinge of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I—uh. It doesn’t matter. Hurry up and melt that before anyone comes to check on us and sees it.”

Frowning, Quinten knelt down and attempted to summon a small flame. The water getting shot at Cedric had been instinctive, a common occurrence when his friend was acting ridiculous.

The cage was effecting on him. That blast would normally have been enough to soak Cedric’s upper body. What he’d actually been able to summon would have just wet his head and face.

Quinten fought against the cloying blanket of fog as he tried to delve through its depths to connect with his Elemental gift, summoning heat from his core. It took him a few minutes, every time he mentally paused, the fog piled on top of his efforts like snow in an avalanche, smothering the heat and forcing him to start again.

Eventually, he discovered that as long as he continued mentally pushing through it, the suppression couldn’t actually stop him from making a connection with his Gift-well. It just made anything he did with it more difficult, as if the energy flowing through him was being forced through channels half the size of what he was used to.

Successfully conjuring a small flame in his palm, he directed its heat toward the icy floor and watched as water began to trickle toward a floor drain.

“Yeah,” Cedric mumbled to himself. “That’s much better than what I had in mind.”

Looking up from where he knelt, Quinten asked, “What were you going to say?”

Shrugging with a sheepish expression, Cedric said, “If you couldn’t figure out a flame to melt it and get rid of the evidence. I thought we were going to have to piss on it.”