FALL TERM - DAY 1
I'm not much for keeping a diary, though I'm told for this year - my first year at the Midnight Court - it would be a useful exercise. So I must, at least, endeavor to try.
Where to begin? I am Zephyr Ashbourne, only son of Sylvaris and Petra Ashbourne, the long-time advisors to Lord Hart of The Stag's Court. Though none of that matters much now that I'm half a world away. Here in Mesym, most people have never heard of Nizari, let alone The Stag's Court, and fewer still could find either on a map. Even then, the minute anyone realizes both of those places are in Caburh, they stand a little straighter, breathe a little shallower, conversations end abruptly. Caburh is a strange black stain on my reputation. Even after I've left it.
To some extent, I understand. I've been in Mesym for less than a fortnight and I'm still just learning how to catch my breath. It's evening now, and night skies here are bright - the fat, triple moons, a spattering of stars. Marblebrook told me that the founders of the Midnight Court cast enchantments over the grounds and school to make the night sky more vibrant. It's useful for teaching new mages, sure. But more than that, it's ever more the reminder I'm no longer in Caburh. In Caburh, the cloud cover never burns away, the shadows never fully lift. It's hard to explain it to anyone who's never been there. I'm in a place with bright skies and no vampires. How strange.
No bloodthirsty noblemen. No fanged princesses in bloodstained gowns. None of that. At all.
That alone will take some time to get used to.
It's hard to say what kind of things I'm even supposed to write about here. What's meant to be significant? This whole thing - the journalling - was initially brought up by my coven leader, Mistress Elandria Marblebrook. She's head of the Vodalysa coven, one of the four covens that comprise the Midnight Court. And I've been told that I have a place in her coven so long as I am training to become a mage.
Have I ever practiced magic? No.
Have I ever thought about practicing magic? Also, no.
But, I'm here. I haven't the faintest clue if I'll be any good. But I was told to keep a journal, and so I am.
Today was the first day I've ever attempted practicing magic. While most of my courses were lectures with reading-intensive syllabi, my assigned combat lesson was ever the exception. The professor, Master Garion Blackclaw, is very much the kind of aging war veteran who can't go half a lecture without bringing up his oh-so-important role in the War of Nightmares. The war ended over a decade ago, but given the role Caburh played in the conflict, I can't help but wonder if my presence in the class reignited something for him.
"Another bigot. Good. Like we don't remember who won the war…" I hadn't really been paying much attention to my classmates, but he'd caught my ear. Until then, I'd mostly tried to focus on the lecture over the incessant tapping of his gold signet ring against his desk. This was how I met Aries de la Fel.
"Are you even old enough to know anything about it?" I shot back. I could hardly remember the war, though admittedly, it was more due to my situation than age. For one thing, it was fought on Mesym's shores all the way over here. And also, it wasn't exactly the makings of polite conversation, so whatever did happen, wasn't exactly my concern. And he, like many of my classmates, had to have been at least a few years younger than I was. How old would he have been? Eight? Nine? I figured that might at least shut him up. But then, on second thought, moments after I'd spoken, I realized what he'd said. He was from Caburh. Or at least, he'd implied as much.
I hadn't met anyone from home since I'd arrived. I wasn't even really sure the Midnight Court accepted applications from Caburh. I'd only been offered a spot as a personal favor to my mother. If I felt a twinge of homesickness then, I'd deny it.
My desk mate was slumped over his desk with his head against the wood grain. I suspected he was trying to look bored instead of actually being bored. I knew the type. He wanted more attention than he was currently getting. He had short fair hair, and a stocky build. He wasn't anything like the fine-boned royals of The Stag's Court. I couldn't imagine he was from anywhere near Nizari. Had to have been from down south. He had square features - a square jaw, a pronounced chin, and a snub nose.
He could only hold his tongue so long before snapping back, "I probably remember it about as well as you do. I'm not that young."
I ignored him. Blackclaw at the front of the lecture hall was moving through the motions for casting a simple shield spell — something we all were expected to be able to do on our own by the end of the class. I was paying attention. But I can admit too, I noticed it when Aries was back to tapping his fingers against the edge of his desk. The ring on his hand was annoying, but also, it bore his family crest. I was no expert in heraldry, but I didn't need to be to recognize it. A wolf beneath a blazing sun. The sign of Alden de la Fel.
You didn't need to know the nuanced ins and outs of Caburhian politics to know his story. Alden of Fel was a wild card general in the War of Nightmares who returned to Caburh and appointed himself king. The previous king of Fel had apparently perished in the war. Honestly, I couldn't tell you much about that king, only that he most notably had been a werewolf — like every king of Fel, stretching as far back as Caburh's own history, and something Alden, most notably, was not.
Alden of Fel was a kind of caricature in The Stag's Court - he was less of a war hero turned king and more of a charismatic nobody who failed upwards into politics. There was always a joke in there somewhere about werewolves being too oblivious to notice their own king doesn't turn at the full moon. But regardless, I knew a little about Alden. He was a popular leader among werewolves. He had made a somewhat laughable statement a few years back publicly announcing that he would be switching out all his silver jewelry to gold. And lastly, that he had several sons— the princes, all named something beginning with the letter A.
Of course the only other student from Caburh would be one of them.
I refocused on the lesson. Hand gestures to conjure a shield. That was all it was. It seemed that was all magic was, so long as you had a method to access it. Obviously there's more to it than that, but sometimes it really is that simple. I did my best to mimic Blackclaw's motions. On my second attempt, I felt a shift in the air around me, a strange static charge, but it dropped away before it could take shape.
Any doubt I'd had that I could cast magic suddenly fell away. How long had this been something I could do? But I knew the answer to that already - it's been two months. The dark brand on my bicep was a vivid enough reminder of that.
But anyway, I was casting magic. Or almost casting magic. I had yet to actually conjure the shield but I could feel the rough shape of what that might be.
I was ecstatic. Though to anyone else, I imagine it didn't look like much. Aries had yet to attempt casting anything yet. I could feel him watching from the other side of the table. Though when he did finally say something, he said, "What's wrong with your eyes?"
I couldn't help but bristle. Ignorant brat. I dropped my hands and felt the force of the spell fall away. "There's nothing wrong with my eyes. I'm drakari." My eyes are red - not bloodshot, but the irises. The same color as my mother's. Though I knew well enough why he was asking. Vampires too have red eyes.
Aries snorted. "You sure about that?"
I knew what he was thinking. Most drakari were significantly more draconic in appearance. I had a few gray scales around my eyes and down my spine, but in reality they more so had the texture of rough skin, a sign of draconic features that never fully materialized. I had my mother's horns - a partial crest atop my head. My hair hid most of it, but for the two most prominent horns. But beyond that, I was dreadfully human. My mother blamed years of genetic inbreeding. Every generation was a dice roll and I was the one that rolled poorly. She herself didn't even have a tail or wings, though given her distinctly reptilian face, no one ever questioned her race. My father also looked more draconic, though he too had more humans in his lineage than he cared to admit. All the Drakari in Caburh did. That's what happened when you lived in a nation cut off from the rest of the world for far too long. Most of the world no longer considered us Drakari, and I suppose we weren't in the traditional sense. A people with scales no vampire fangs could pierce. The Snakes of Caburh. Or at least supposedly. I didn't actually have enough scales to protect myself.
"I'm not a vampire, if that's what you're getting at. For one thing, it's ten 'til noon on a clear, autumn day and I'm not burnt to a crisp."
His eyes darted away, suddenly sheepish. I tried to get back to casting, but I could feel him watching me still, stealing glances. It was one of those rare instances that I wished I was actually a vampire. One quick flash of my fangs and he might leave me alone. But I didn't have fangs. I didn't even know of anyone in my family tree that had the kind of sharp teeth distinct to Drakari. The worst I could manage was a pointed glare.
We might have shared a homeland, but that didn't mean we had to be friends. I mimicked Blackclaw's casting gesture a few more times and slowly felt my way through it as the magic took shape. It was hardly visible, but the magic formed a protective barrier around me, shimmering slightly in the afternoon sun.
Aries beside me was having less success with the spell it seemed. I only saw him attempt it once or twice, but having seen Blackclaw cast it only moments ago, I could tell it was wrong. He wasn't the only one of course who struggled, but he was definitely the only one who grabbed a skull displayed on the sideboard and chucked it at my conjured shield.
The bone shattered against the magic barrier, to both of our amazement. I hadn't quite anticipated it being quite that effective this quickly. And apparently, neither had Aries. Our eyes locked momentarily, a little dumbfounded.
"Hey!" Blackclaw shouted.
My shield dropped away.
"We don't practice magic on artifacts. Another stunt like that and you're out of this class. Both of you."
I opened my mouth as though to argue, but I knew well enough it wasn't going to help the situation. Blackclaw didn't care who threw it, only that it was broken. Aries and I were asked to stay after class to clean up the shards of bone. Aries only leaned back in his chair to watch like the royal brat he was. Blackclaw handed me a broom.
I can count the number of times I've used a broom in my life on one hand, but with that said, I almost didn't mind. Aries was no less a prick in my eyes, but at least I had a chance to better see what my magic had done. The skull, a short-nosed Bristleback skull, had been shafted to pieces, splintered like a fine china vase. There was even a fine dust of powdered bone where it first collided with the barrier.
I'd been a mage for one day and already this. I could do this.
In a momentary flash I imagined what it might do to a living person. It wasn't a good thought exactly, but it still sent a shiver down my spine. Maybe I wanted to be a mage after all.