The Protection of Ren Crown (30 page)

“You are good protectors,” I whispered, patting them.

I looked around the workshop, not gazing at anything in particular as concept and design formed in my head. I released the research and mind map into the air over my work bench. My hands and magic gathered supplies—paper that I had made with pulp and mixed magic, a pencil I had created while concentrating on warding and protecting my brother's soul, and the lavender paint that had been produced in my Awakening event. Then I focused on the exact enchantments I needed to wield, and to will, into existence.

First I sketched an egg—drawn inside a caterpillar, inside a pupa, in the wing of a butterfly—and layered wards and screens throughout in intricate designs that whirled along the edges of the embedded designs.

Four drops of precious paint activated it. The life stages slowly bent, morphed, and furled together as they rolled into the three-dimensional egg that would incubate the magic inside until it was provoked.

I very carefully made sure not to get any of the paint near my brand new cuff. I'd been doing well at keeping my magic usage deliberately conscious and controlled, and I couldn't afford for anyone with enhanced sight to see a ratty half-eaten cuff on my wrist.

Guard Rock and Guard Friend watched attentively from their post, their rocks tipped toward me, ultra-focused like they always were when I used Awakening paint. The lavender paint had been used in their conception, and they seemed to be connected to the magic of creation.

I was shaking by the end, but finally, balanced in my palm, was a small paper egg that would be indestructible until its magic was called forth. I slipped it into my bag and took a deep breath, surveying my dwindling supplies.

The lavender paint tube was nearly empty. I still had the garish orange tube, but it had been created under the mindset of unease and betrayal. Raphael actively
wanted
me using it. Outside of applying it for destructive purposes, using that tube was out of the question.

With regret, I thought of the ultramarine paint that I had wantonly wasted months ago. Powerful, protective paint mixed to match the color of Alexander Dare's eyes.

I needed to do something about my paint situation soon. Somehow, I needed to convince Stevens to help me make another batch in the vault. I still required a guide to tweak my mixing and magical induction, in order to focus the power I needed.

Professor Stevens...who knew Raphael.

An evil Stevens in league with Raphael would be just my luck.

I popped an energy mint from a tin Delia had given me last term. I'd given her a fabric pen I had made especially for her, and she'd been so giddy that she had pressed the tin into my hand the very next moment. The mints didn't replace the naturally beneficial alternatives that sleep and direct magic-sharing provided, but the small energy boost tricked my overexerted magic into thinking it wasn't quite as depleted.

I chewed the mint and tried not to think about my paint supply options as I walked toward my first real class at Excelsine. The first class in which I was truly and legally enrolled.

Layer politics was sure to be...interesting. And in a class of a thousand students, I wouldn't stick out. I pasted a smile onto my face and thought cheerful thoughts.

Upon entering the enormous indoor amphitheater and lecture hall, I stuttered to a stop. The green-eyed girl from Dorm One was standing near the podium and her gaze immediately narrowed on me.

Right.

As I carefully navigated the huge auditorium to get to the open seat next to Neph, I learned the green-eyed girl's name and background from the whisperings of the mages milling in the aisles.

The infamous Bellacia Bailey was leader of the Second Layer Magicists on campus, the daughter of a press mogul, and an all-around intolerant individual. Her eyes followed my movements, even after I sat down.
Lovely
.

Beauty mark on her left cheek. Long hair, styled in a multitude of braids and wavy sections. Tasteful, but form-fitting clothing that swirled dramatically between black, green, and gray. It wasn't hard to see why Johnson, the combat mage, was mooning after her—her facial features were perfect and her assets plentiful on a fit, but not-too-thin, frame. Christian would have already been forming a game plan.

Mike, Delia, and Will were trading quips, and I tried to listen to them instead of awkwardly staring back at the girl whose narrowed gaze was focused on me.

The rest of our thousand classmates quickly filled the seats and an energetic, medium-sized man strode into the pit of the lecture hall. His cream shirt had one swirling white button loose at the neck and his arms were relaxed and resting in the pockets of his twelve-buckle trousers. “I'm Professor Harrow. And you are in for a ride this season as we observe and discuss what is happening across the layers and how the different policies and politics will drastically affect the lives of many.”

He introduced the five teaching assistants, of whom Bellacia Bailey was one. Each assistant looked over the audience with a sharp smile.

“Let's start with our syllabus and an outline of the current conflict.” And with that, opening salvos into the tenseness that would be our term began.

I took copious and agonizing notes as each bullet point made me slip down further and further in my seat.

Seventy years ago, an Origin Mage named Flavel Valeris had accidentally blown the majority of the Third Layer to bits along with irreversibly killing the brightest scientific and magithetical minds who had been experimenting with him.

Every Third Layer citizen in the surrounding one thousand miles—which contained the most populous and enlightened cities in the layer—had also been irreversibly destroyed.

The blown layer magic had been thrust unequally into the Second and Fourth Layers, with smaller amounts blasting through to the First and Fifth. There had been no one capable of fixing it.

The Second and Fourth Layer citizens and politicians had steadily appropriated the extra magic surrounding them—taking a little here, a little there. Decades later, when a new Origin Mage Awakened, returning the layers to how they had previously been arranged was no longer...desired by all parties.

Due to all of the factors above, the new Origin Mage, Sergei Kinsky, had been leashed immediately upon discovery by the Second Layer government and hidden from public and inter-layer knowledge.

When Kinsky's existence was discovered by the public at large, the people of the Second Layer needed little convincing that their government had done the right thing. The Third Layer's cataclysmic devastation—and new propaganda—had justified Kinsky's leashing. He had been considered a danger to society.

But politicians in the Third Layer had been up in arms and had immediately shouted about broken treaties. Here was someone who could restore their homeland, and yet the Second Layer was storing up Kinsky's Origin Magic for their own use instead of for equitable magic redistribution.

At this point a number of students in class began to look mutinous, and disagreeable murmurs traveled through the room.

The professor sliced his hand through the air to silence the crowd, and I noticed that more swirling buttons appeared on his shirt the more animated he became.

“We will explore
both
sides of the conflict this term. If that bothers you or threatens your family's values, you are in the wrong class. Feel free to exit at the back.”

No one rose.

Bellacia Bailey's expression remained calm—a politician's smile plastered on her lips. I nervously turned my attention back to the professor.

“Here in the Second Layer, we have built entrenched infrastructure for the last sixty years using that extra magic...infrastructure that, if lost, would cripple our magical functioning.” Harrow was a man much given to gesturing and he used both his voice and energy to fill the space and keep student attention. “And in the Fourth Layer, creature transformations rely completely on the bubbled spaces that were 'given' to them seventy years ago. Illicitly gained or freely taken, no matter how anyone thinks about it, those living in the two surrounding layers now require that space to continue their way of life. And yet, should the magic space not be returned, as the layer creators designated, and as treaties state? Exploring this very real problem will be one of our challenges this season.”

He rubbed his hands together and the sleeves of his arms rolled half up his arms. It was obvious he found this all very exciting.

I, on the other hand, was panicking.

“Over the term we will discuss Origin Magic and the Origin Mages, the gods and villains of our system.”

My panic experienced a sharp spike. I skimmed the expanded syllabus, heart pounding.

“
How
can we utilize the magic that was leeched from Sergei Kinsky, the last Origin Mage? How do we use the
next
Origin Mage? Should the Second Layer give its leeched magic to the Third? Should the Third Layer be responsible for dealing with its own mess? Seventy years after the detonation in the Third Layer, which side of the endless debate will
you
be on?”

I swallowed.

Harrow smiled. “If you want to talk about the political system and checks and balances, take Government. This course is titled
Layer Politics
. We will be exploring political philosophy, ideals, triumphs, and
mistakes
between and among Layers, with an emphasis on what is happening in the world right now—the failed negotiations, the progress, the terror campaign, the next steps, and possible consequences. If ‘might makes right,’ should the broken Third Layer be collapsed completely and the immensely valuable remaining space be integrated into the others? Do we look to the First Layer to re-distribute that which has been lost? Do we have an intrinsic responsibility to protect the non-magical world? Throughout the course, there will be many ideas and implications for you to consider. Let's begin with free discussion!”

Free discussion? My seat suddenly shifted, whirling me through space as the humongous lecture hall re-formed into a giant room containing circular discussion tables. Mike, Delia, Will, and I had, thankfully, magically slipped into the same table unit. Neph's seat had gotten separated from us, though. I took stock of the two strangers at our table. We'd need to pinpoint how the room's magic broke us into groups, so that next time we wouldn't be separated. Will nodded at me, obviously thinking the same thing.

A chair appeared to my right and a figure sat down, legs folded gracefully to the side, a picture of womanly confidence. Out of the hundreds of tables she could have chosen, Bellacia Bailey had chosen ours first.

“Delia.”

Delia tilted her head. “Bella.”

“I'm surprised to see you here.” Her voice was warm and lovely—gracious—but something about it set me on edge. It was practiced and perfect. The perfect tone and volume, just like Olivia at her most polite, but whereas Olivia naturally pushed people away, this girl drew listeners closer. To ensnare them.

My overactive and completely alarmed imagination was getting away from me again.

“Satisfies a requirement.” Delia's facial expression was friendly enough, but her eyeliner grew heavier, tapering to sharper points. “Our surprise is mutual—I thought your schedule precluded assistantships.”

“Triple focuses are a trial, but due to what is happening, I couldn't let current events be moderated by someone with less intensity and passion.”

Intensity? She certainly had that. For sure. I wondered what her three majors were. Politics, obviously. Communications, likely, with her family being in the media business. Business maybe?

“Speaking of moderation...” Her eyes focused on the rest of us. “My name is Bellacia Bailey. I'm a third-year student with a focus in politics, and I'll be one of your teaching assistants this term. And you are?”

We introduced ourselves in turn, but her eyes lingered on me. “I don't believe that I've seen you around campus before this year.”

Delia's lips pursed, Mike's gaze narrowed, Will's eyes widened, and the two unknown students in our group seemed mystified, as their gazes flipped between us.

“I'm not very noticeable.” I laughed uncomfortably. “I transferred this year.”

“
Mmmm.
Don't be unkind to yourself, dear. You are fairly lit from the inside.” Her smile was friendly and welcoming, and her words flowed graciously over me. I could tell her
anything
. I couldn't look away from her mouth as she formed her words. “From where did you transfer?” she asked.

I transferred from
nowhere
, I wanted to confide.

A sharp stab to my leg registered, and the sudden pain made me look down. Will's pencil tip retreated to a notebook open in his lap. A box sketch—my design—was detailed on the page. My mind sharpened on it.

“Four Corners,” I said, blinking at the design.

“Oh! I have a very good friend there.” Bellacia's voice made me look back up at her. Her smile was kind. “Charlotte Gregorferi. Do you know her?”

The image of the box sketch rotated in my mind, pushing against...something. “No.”

“What about Beresil Abutnot?”

“No.”

When I had chosen Four Corners Academy from Marsgrove's administrative packet as my first-year alibi, I had done so deliberately. Student population was thirty thousand. Located on top of the western United States, I had a better feel for the general vibe of the changed world there. And students—even the sixteen-year-olds—were able to live off campus, if they chose, as long as they were inside the perimeter ley lines that existed around the town.

“
Mmmm.
Alas. But their news frequency is a wonderful thing. Do you enjoy the Sounding Patrons or Cipri Cataclysm more?” A graceful hand waved through the air and I could hear a thread of magic like the tinkling of a bell.

Mike briskly leaned his arms on the table. “Do we need to
sureifeit
a
cresching
sheet?”

I stared at Mike, whose language was suddenly riddled with foreign words. Crap. I had forgotten to tell Will about my faulty translation spell. I subtly tapped Will's chair and motioned to my wrist. His eyes widened, and a second later, his fingers crept around my bracelet and wrist under the table. Mike's words rearranged in my head—‘Do we need to download a discussion sheet?’