Page 59

All at once, All Coins Day arrives. Despite our weeks of preparation and planning inside and out of the classroom, it seems to appear out of nowhere, just like the chill that’s settled in the autumn air.

Initiates and students alike buzz with excitement as we gather in the common area to head into the city for the All Coins Day festival—where we will offer our services as Arcanists to the community and be judged by the students of the academy.

It strikes me that this will be the first time since entering the school during the Fire Festival—now sixty days ago—that most of my peers have left the fortress.

A few seemed to have had exceptions made for them for Prince Ravin’s soiree…

but only the highest born. Perhaps I’d be shuffling in my boots and restlessly readjusting my scarf and coat countless times, too, if I hadn’t been able to find my own way out.

The three department heads—Las Rothou, Raethana Duskflame, and Vaduin Thornbrow—lead the procession, with the students in four lines behind them.

The King, Queen, Knight, and Page lead the other students in their respective house.

Then come the initiates, who fall naturally into four lines as well.

Finally, a handful of other faculty walk behind us.

I’ve seen some of these professors in the halls, but they seem to teach only second and third years.

We’re led through the academy, around the central conservatory that houses the tomb of the last queen of the ancient kingdom of Revisan, and down into a grand entryway that I recognize from the night of the soiree.

However, that night it was shrouded completely in darkness.

Today, with the wide doors open to the morning light, I can see the thick layer of dust that has blanketed the stone carvings around the room and turned them silver.

The stone carvings are of all the Majors, I realize: There are twenty columns, each with a cloaked figure representing one of the Majors at its apex and stoic guardians—wielding a variety of weapons, dressed in armor both familiar and foreign.

Sculpted lines swirl around them, weaving every statue together like a tapestry.

Every carved ribbon connects at one point, right above the doors.

But the statue they’d connect to is missing, as if it has been ripped from its place.

Wind blusters through the open doors, and a shiver runs down my spine.

Would that statue have been the World? Or the Fool?

“Look, it’s the Wheel of Fortune,” Sorza leans in and whispers to me, gesturing with a tilt of her head toward one of the statues opposite where the World would have been. “Maybe it’ll grant you luck today.”

“Hopefully.” I could use it.

“I’ll take all the luck I can get.” Luren overheard us. Fortunately, Sorza hadn’t said anything too suspicious.

I grab Luren’s hand. “You’ll be great. And, when the sun sets, you’re going to come right back here with us.”

“I’ll try my best.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

When she pulls her hand from mine, staring out the main entry of the academy, I wonder if she’s thinking about how the last time she walked through these doors was with Kel.

I stand a little bit closer to Luren as the procession begins to walk.

There are no carriages this time. We march across the big bridge that spans the mouth of the Farlum River, connecting the cliffs between city and academy. Wind threatens to rip off scarves and hats. Luren sinks deeper into the thick wool of her coat, her eyes red from more than the cold, I suspect.

Midway across the bridge is a slightly wider section. I can’t see it from here, but I know that it houses a massive, fortified portcullis that can be opened and closed to control vessels entering and leaving Oricalis.

At the other end of the bridge is another gate: The three department heads combine their powers to unlock it.

From here, I know the way. As I pass through the gates, my head swivels, and I find my eyes drawn back to the stony archway that houses them—inset in the wall that curves around the cliffs.

The black ironwork of the gates is somehow stronger than steel but more delicate than lace, and I remember…

I’m a little girl, no older than ten, standing before this same gate.

I clutch the cold ironwork instead of my mother’s hand as she waits patiently for me.

She indulges me often by taking me here.

Though, even as a child, I know it is begrudgingly so.

It is before the days of the academy, before Kaelis…

a time when the education of Arcanists is much more decentralized and the fortress is nothing more than a relic from a kingdom that fell centuries upon centuries ago.

It is both a forbidden place; the crown does not take kindly to mentions of its predecessor’s glory.

And it is sought after by Arcanists braving the journey anyway to seek the blessing of the Chalice in secret.

“Little one, we should go, it’s getting late,” my mother says.

“It is not,” I object, even though it’s so cold I can see my breath.

“The stars will be out soon.” She kneels next to me, wrapping her arms around my little body and holding me snug. “And the moon, and the night birds, and all the things that will say, ‘It’s time to sleep.’?”

My focus on the building that will become the academy can’t be shaken. It’s almost as if I feel something there. Whispering softly, calling to me…“One day…can I go inside?”

“You want to go in there?” she repeats softly, even though she heard and knows my current obsession well. “That place doesn’t hold your destiny, only danger. You and your sister must never go there, Clara.”

“They say the Chalice—”

“You don’t need the Chalice,” she repeats for what must be the thousandth time. “The Arcanum Chalice is a cursed ritual. You are plenty powerful all on your own.”

“But—”

“Swear to me you will do as I say and stay hidden. Keep your true name and your powers secret. Stay safe. Protect those like you.”

“Like you protect other Arcanists?” I turn my eyes to her, finally.

She gives a slight nod and holds me closer.

“One day, I will tell you of all the little passages through the mountains. Of those like us, and all the precious reasons why we must fight for them. But you will never learn those things if you go to the fortress. That is a place of foul magic and ill omens. So give me your word that you will never go there—and that you will keep learning all I have to teach.”

“I swear.”

“Good.” She kisses my cheek and stands, holding out her hand. Our shopping basket is tucked into the elbow of her other arm. “Now, come along, we don’t want to keep your sister waiting. And tonight we’ll keep working on your special inking…”

I’m sorry, Mother. I almost whisper it as I turn my attention forward once more. The gate is now far enough behind that it strains my neck to keep looking at it. I shift my grip on my bag. She was right—that building that became the academy ended up holding only danger forme.

But maybe danger is my destiny. Maybe I felt drawn to this place because it was what I was meant for all along. A part of fate that couldn’t be taken.

The festival for All Coins Day is held in the heart of the city, in the main square by the expansive greens of River Park.

On other days, the square is filled with temporary stalls set up on blankets and under sunshades by farmers and craftsmen who have traveled to Eclipse City to sell their products.

Local merchants also line the square, peddling everything from staple goods to luxury indulgences from the far reaches of the kingdom and beyond.

The Eclipse City merchants have still set up shop today, but the enforcers have prevented the seasonal vendors who usually migrate into Eclipse City for the day from setting up, to make room for the students and initiates.

I can only hope that they’re able to set up their stalls in the other smaller squares found throughout the city.

Or that one day without being able to sell their goods won’t mean their produce spoils and their families go hungry.

In place of their humble establishments, a labyrinth of small but stately tents have been erected.

There are five colors in total: dark gray for Swords, blue for Cups, gold for Coins, red for Wands, and a plain cream for initiates.

Full-fledged students participate in All Coins Day by simply enjoying the spirit of abundance, and also by giving their magic and skills to the community at no cost. In addition, students get an opportunity to assess the initiates’ skills to determine who they deem worthy of being potential future housemates, as this is the day they will bestow their house coins upon us.

“Shall we claim our spots?” Sorza asks.

“Might as well. Let’s go this way.” My tone is casual, but my strides are purposeful.

I’m replaying what Jura told me as I walk— third row down, midway…

I was able to make it back to the townhome twice more before this event to coordinate.

I just wish I didn’t have to do it with Silas’s help while I still don’t fully know if he can be trusted.

Bristara has continually reminded me not to act before all information is in hand.

Something that is still sometimes a struggle for me.

The tents for each house aren’t clumped together but rather are intermingled: Swords alternate with Cups in some aisles, Coins with Wands in others…

every row looks different. I look for the cream tent set up over a table with a chipped corner.

“I’ll take this one,” I announce and set my bag on it, grateful that the club’s plan to pick a tent a bit farther away worked—most of the students pour into the first two rows.