Marcus went first. He submerged himself without fear into the dead end of the tunnel. It was as if fog consumed him whole. Eira went after, passing through the illusion of a stone wall and into a palace hall. The only marker of the illusion was a small symbol—two halves of a circle, broken and offset from each other. It was the old symbol of the Tower, called the Broken Moon. That symbol had persisted for more than a hundred years before the crown princess, Vi Solaris, had decreed it must be changed to the marking of four circles and triangles that was now on the back of Eira’s robes. A sudden and strange demand, for sure. But Eira favored the new symbol over the old.
They walked down through the palace hallways to the training grounds. Uncle Fritz had told her that sorcerers were once an oddity on the grounds—unwelcome, as sorcerers had been in most places. It was a strange thought, because one wouldn’t think it had ever been true now.
The dusty training grounds of the palace had a whole section dedicated to sorcerers. They practiced alongside the palace guard and remnants of the Solaris army. Now, the vast expanse was empty, save for six people.
Marcus paused at a rampart, staring down at the small group that trained more by torchlight than sunlight. He rested his hand on the tall stone railing, looking on with what Eira could only describe as awe. She came to a stop alongside him, watching as well.
Three children sat off to the side. They were the newest class of Tower apprentices. Eira had heard the youngest was seven. The children watched as two young men practiced their sorcery, facing off against each other. They lobbed gusts of air that dug trenches into the packed earth. They dodged with unnatural grace, bodies hovering in the air for longer than should be possible. Their feet and hands moved like the wind. Because that’s what they were…Windwalkers.
Windwalkers were the rarest of all the elemental affinities of the Solaris Empire—sorcerers thought to be extinct until one emerged from the ashes of a dark history: Vhalla Yarl. The woman who was born a commoner, thought to be a Commons, and then ascended beyond her station like a bird soaring against gravity to become the empress.
The same woman who was currently instructing both young men in the sparring ring.
“Just think of it,” Marcus whispered. “Learning from the empress herself.”
“You learn from the Minister of Sorcery himself.” Something Eira yearned for. Even though she had the same blood as Marcus, she had never received the same privileges as her brother. Fritz had never pulled her aside for time one-on-one.
“It’s not the same.”
“Fate would have seen you born as a Windwalker if it wanted you to learn from the empress.” Eira watched the two combatants dance. She didn’t know the name of the younger, but she knew the older—Cullen.
Cullen was the oldest Windwalker. The first to awaken after Empress Vhalla. He had been treated with all the care that would be given to a quail egg from the moment he’d arrived in the Tower. Nothing was too good when it came to him. He was the darling child of every instructor.
Even the city had been enamored with him when he’d arrived. Being the first Windwalker after Vhalla Yarl had created an air of mystery and allure surrounding him. He’d even been granted a place in the Solaris court just for being a Windwalker. And because his father had gained a swift senate appointment.
He was first-generation money and nobility, and he acted like it.
“If only.” Marcus sighed wistfully, dropping to his elbows and leaning against the railing.
Eira couldn’t stand watching her brother daydream over being in the prick’s shoes. Instead of watching, she placed the small of her back on the stone, leaning on her elbows and turning her gaze to the frosty mountains beyond. Her brother, the epitome of perfection in her eyes, hoisted Cullen up on a pedestal as if he were the Mother’s gift to all sorcery. As if Cullen were somehow even better than the empress.
“You have a lot, Marcus. Don’t wish it away,” Eira murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Any further conversation was cut off.
“Marcus, is that you?” Cullen called up.
“Hello, friend!” Marcus waved furiously. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“We just finished; it’s all right, come down.”
“Are you sure?”
A pause to no doubt check with the empress. Then, “Yes, it’s fine.”
Marcus wheeled to face her. “Come on.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Come on. We have a chance to meet the empress!” Marcus grabbed her hand and nearly tore Eira’s arm from her socket as he tugged her down the stairs pocketed into the wall that surrounded the training grounds.
Had this been his plan all along? Eira wouldn’t exactly be shocked if it had been. Her brother was good at getting what he wanted. Perhaps befriending Cullen years ago and slowly working his way closer and closer to the other man was a long game to this moment. She stared at the back of her brother’s golden-bronze hair. Whatever went on in his head was a mystery to her. But if only she were half as talented…half as determined…and half as loved as he was…
The world would be hers.
They emerged out of a side door and onto the training grounds. Cullen was already making his way over to them. The empress hung back, giving instructions that couldn’t be heard to the other Windwalkers.
“I’m sorry, friend. Time got away from me,” Cullen apologized with a suave smile. He said the words, but he didn’t look sorry in the slightest. Eira had no doubt he was used to people being at his beck and call.
Marcus finally let go of
