Chapter 1

Magic was real, and nobody knew that better than Archil. It came to him when he was twelve, on a sticky summer afternoon in the garden.

In the heart of bustling Obrico, far past the wharves of docking ships and moored vessels and further past the streets of commerce, a mansion stood quietly at the edge of the residential district.

If you had asked someone to point out a building, they would have chosen this, for it simply stood out like a sore thumb. The estate stretched to cover the span of a boulevard, distinguished by its maroon facade and striking design. While the surrounding residences sat with peaked roofs and angular frames, the estate was much more monolithic, replete with domes and graceful arches. It was not uncommon for tourists to be taken by the unusual structure, stopping to admire it—and if they walked far enough, the garden behind. This was the Eelow estate.

Archil's father insisted on maintaining the garden as his forerunners had, and so it was. The garden was beautiful as it was impressive: trellises ran the length of the garden, bursting with fruits of every kind. Topiaries fashioned from hedges curled around the garden like an intricate web, festooned with roses, daisies and orchids to present a bewitching array of colours. At the centrepiece of the garden stood a giant sycamore tree girded by a cerulean lake of limpid water, its powerful trunk stretching up to a hundred feet into the air.

Perhaps surprising to tourists was that this was only a small parcel of the land which was maintained; the real area under the Eelow estate extended miles beyond the assiduously maintained garden, known only to the locals colloquially as the backyard.

The history of the backyard was far less unremarkable than it sounded. The original owner of the estate, a powerful, unscrupulous noble had laid claim to the entirety of the forested acreage behind the estate as his ‘backyard’, challenging anyone to say different. Following his demise, the estate was pushed from House to House in a furious battle of politics until the institution of the Aseaven Kingdom. With it, the Eelow House came, gratefully, into possession of the estate along with its fief.

Now in the garden, a solitary raven-haired boy lolled under the shady sycamore tree, reading a book—or at least pretending to. His wandering mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with a peculiar thought...a most perplexing problem. Giving up, Archil tossed the book away and peered at the gate that separated the garden and the backyard.

The size of the backyard was the real reason why it was among Archil’s favourite haunts. The backyard abutted the beautiful mountain ranges behind the estate, fringing its periphery and encompassing several acres of forested land.

It filled Archil with a liberating sense of adventure. The backyard allowed him to escape the noble life and the responsibility and the expectations that pinched like a pair of tight shoes. Here, he was insulated from the dreary civility of noble etiquette; he was not Archil Eelow, son of Leney Eelow; or Archil, scion of House Eelow; or so on and so forth.

No—here, he was just Archil.

And so Archil would disappear from swordsmanship lessons, and while away in the garden. In Summer, he would choose a good book and lounge under the trees. When Fall arrived, he would pluck the ripened apples along the trellises in the backyard and crunch into them, tasting the tart sweetness of the apples between his teeth. When the grass turned sere and cold and the sycamore tree shed sheaves of leaves from its boughs, Archil would sit by the water and finger a lonely tune on his lute. In Spring, he would gaze out from the garden and into the backyard, his vivid imagination gleaming with stories of the rumoured creatures that roamed the backyard.

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When Archil returned, only reprimand from his parents awaited, albeit that hardly deterred him from future disappearances. Never-mind that the garden was a nest of excellent hideouts; Archil had a knack for disappearing. Every secret nook and cranny in the mansion was as familiar to him as the back of his hand, from the giant cupboard in the pantry to the secret trapdoor in the library.

When it was time for a lesson he was not fond of, he would slip out through a window and make his timely escape, adroit as an experienced thief.

Such was his skill at absconding, that even his parents’ best attempts to thwart him proved futile. This, understandably, left Will and Leney Eelow at their wits’ end.

**

“Ithos save us, whatever are we to do about that child?” Leney Eelow, Principle Commander of House Eelow threw her hands up. “The kid refuses to attend lessons. He slips away whenever he wants. I’ve had three separate tutors complain to me about his repeated disappearances.

“And when we confront him, he says he's 'practising by himself'. Practising by himself! It would be more believable if he said he was courting someone.”

Leney Eelow was a lissome woman with long fiery hair that spilt down to her shoulder. Her vivacious, green eyes were known to turn the heads of men she passed, but those unlucky enough to witness her ire perchance knew her temper as fiery as her crimson tresses.

“Actually, that would be better,” Leney frowned. “Do the maids know where he slinks off to?”

“I saw him slip a coin to one of the maids earlier,” Will Eelow said, “that probably explains why none of the maids have found him before. Though I doubt any of them but Eryn can follow him. Boy’s as slippery as an eel.”

Where Leney Eelow was like a walking tempest—volatile, passionate, a force of nature—Will Eelow was much more subdued. He was a tall, lanky man whose bespectacled eyes were kind, frank, grey—serene as the still sea on a windless night.

“The kid’s always two steps ahead of us. Do you remember the time we asked Rubed and he denied remotely seeing him even though we later found him playing in the garden?” Will laughed. “I swear, the kid's born to be a politician.”

Leney shot him a pointed look. “About as born to be a politician as he is born to be a monk. Don’t even joke about it, Will.”

“Well, maybe we’re taking this the wrong way," Will steepled his fingers, “Archil runs from the lessons he shows little to no interest in. Namely, swordsmanship, archery, etiquette, dancing, and anything moderately related to nobility. He does, however, show a profound interest in academics and arts. The tutors assigned to him in this regard have had nothing but praise to offer thus far.”

"And what are you suggesting? We're a military House, a House born through the collective military achievements of our predecessors,” Leney said, unmoved. “Archil is free to pursue his interests, but he must become a knight.”

Will held up a hand. “That we both agree on. Archil, however, does not. But I’m sure we can find some middle ground.”

“Like?”

Will shrugged, nonchalant. “Send him to knight academy.”

Leney stared at Will, incredulous. They were in Will’s office, a small, rustic room on the second storey of the Eelow mansion. A crackling fireplace filled one side of the room, a neat stack of firewood resting on the black mantelpiece. Dusty mullioned windows peeked out behind a heavy mahogany desk, stacked high with sheaves of parchments and thick ledgers.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

“Archil is twelve. He may seem older than he is at times, but he’s a child.”

Will waved away her worries, dismissive. “Archil’s smart. And strong. How long has he been taking lessons from you—some seven or eight years? At the very least, I know you were boldly accosting knights at that age to battle with them.”

“I was fifteen!” Leney flushed. “Anyways, I’m not handing over our little Archil to the company of some boorish men.”

“We don’t need to send him to knights’ academy. Archil’s so averse to knighthood, he’d probably run to the nethers and back before entertaining the thought of knight academy. We can just threa—warn him of the implications of not taking his lessons seriously.”

"He might call our bluff."

"Alternatively, we offer him the opportunity to learn some magic if he treats his studies seriously. I think there's a newly reinstated magic academy. 'Ezohr's school for the magical arts', was it? Archil has always been rather interested in magic."

"We've had this talk before," Leney said, weary. "Archil pursuing the magical arts is not a viable option."

"Why not? You know how much the public opinion on magicians has changed since the civil war. I know a few good friends who are magicians now, and I assure you none of them sacrifice their souls or perform weird pagan rituals." Will insisted. "The average age of admission into knight academy is seventeen to eighteen years of age. If Archil can juggle his current studies along with magic until he enters knight academy, then I see no issues with that."

There was a brief pause. Will looked at Leney, uncertain. He knew how stubborn his wife could be when it came to certain matters, especially when it involved Archil's safety. And he did, to an extent, understand that her caution with letting Archil pursue magic was not entirely unfounded.

"Alright." Leney relented. "But if he's going to study magic, then I want him to have at least several more hours of lessons with me a day."

Will exhaled. "You can tell him that the next time you have lessons with him."