The Break of Day: Part One - Chapter One
Jan. 21st, 2011 05:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Brand new original fiction today! This is the prequel to the Infinity's End series and my submission for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
freeficfriday . The master link to the chapters can be found here.
Series: Infinity's End, Prequel
Rating: T (for part one)
Warning: violence (later), erotica (eventually), foul language, character death, het and slash romance
Summary: A friendship that takes everyone by surprise slowly evolves into a deeper bond as Azriel, illegitimate son of the house Celestine, and Kieran, heir to the house Azura, throw themselves into the heart of a building altercation that explodes into an all out revolution.
August 30th, 1978
Azriel fought off the yawn that threatened to break through his composure. There was a weight on his shoulders that had nothing to do with his present boredom and everything with how late he'd stayed out the night before. He should’ve been back earlier, but he never could refuse Manah's stories or her loveliness in general.
Of course, he couldn't say that truth to anyone else. Not if he wanted to live. It was easier to claim he’d been studying. Safer, too.
“Not getting enough sleep again?” his Uncle Adair asked.
Azriel shook his head. “I stayed up too late,” he answered truthfully enough.
Long nights of insomnia weren't uncommon for him either. He could no longer count the number of evenings he'd spent pacing back and forth through the house he shared with his mother, begging his body to grow tired enough to sleep. It was as if Azriel could never turn his mind down long enough to rest.
Brown eyes that were just a shade lighter than Azriel's own glanced at him briefly. His uncle had a peculiar look to his face. Something like worry mixed with amusement.
“Most students spend their break relaxing, nephew. Not studying,” he chided gently, one hand reaching up to squeeze Azriel’s shoulder but releasing soon after.
“Most students have the luxury of ignoring their responsibilities,” Azriel countered.
He wouldn't exactly say he was bitter, but there was a part of him that despised the system under which Meropis operated. It was hopelessly one-sided and class-based. Azriel never really saw the point. A human was a human, whether blessed with magic, money, status or not. But then, to think such things were blasphemous, so Azriel wisely kept his mouth shut.
As with most things in Grayshire, it was better to keep silent.
Adair drew to a halt in the hallway, prompting Azriel to stop beside him with an uncertain glance around. The corridor was empty of others, but that was only because the two of them were late in returning. Adair had that luxury, however. He was a Celestine, one of the highest ranked men in Grayshire. He could show up naked and dance around the interview hall while singing at the top of his lungs, and they’d do nothing more than look away and pretend to see nothing.
But Azriel, though his nephew, was a half-blood bastard who was never meant to exist. He could scarcely breathe without earning a dirty look.
Uncle stared at nephew, his hands folded into the sleeves of his robes. “Our offer still stands, you know,” Adair said with a look down to meet Azriel's eyes; there was only a few inches of height difference, but it suddenly seemed all the larger. “Aidan and I will sponsor you. We don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
Azriel inclined his head, resisting the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes. It was a nervous tic, a carryover from his childhood that he was stridently trying to chase away.
“I want to do this on my own,” he replied with squared shoulders and a lifted chin.
Even if the both of them were aware of the mysterious deposits into his account. So long as the truth was never spoken aloud, Azriel would accept them. He’d pretend he didn't know for the sake of both his uncles. It was better this way. Better if they didn’t go against their elder brother. At least, not so openly.
Adair sighed and tucked a loosened strand of hair back behind his ear. “You are as stubborn as your mother,” he commented as he picked up the pace once more, but Adair smiled as Azriel fell into step beside him.
“I'll consider that a compliment.”
His uncle chuckled, and moment of tension passed until they finally stood at the door to the interview hall. Adair stepped through first since his presence held actual importance, and Azriel trailed behind like a good underling. The rest of the examiners were already present, occupying four of the five seats spaced perfectly around a half-moon table raised on a dais. The higher ground was meant to give them an air of superiority, to test the applicants’ response to such situations. To see whether they still accomplished themselves with grace or bent under pressure.
No nobleman or woman would dare crumple. It’d be unseemly.
There was a smaller table to the side, holding a set of writing utensils, and a sheaf of rolled up paper. This was Azriel's seat, and he slid into the hard chair, pointedly ignoring the stares of the other examiners. Holmes in particular. The old man never failed to make Azriel's life miserable for no other reason than his heritage.
If he'd only been acknowledged...
Azriel pushed that thought aside. He'd given up on that dream long ago and would now abandon it if the chance were offered. He'd rather be poor and living in Moriarty. He may be a bastard but better that than a hypocrite like the man who had fathered him, High Lord or not.
“Lord Adair,” Dionne Vasuda began with his rich voice spilling into the otherwise empty hall, “we worried you had gotten lost.”
Adair smiled thinly. He stepped onto the raised dais and took the last of the padded seats, just above Azriel and next to Tierney Misae, a bronze-skinned woman who was a close cousin to the head of her house.
“I'm afraid I was distracted by the lovely weather. You can understand, of course.”
Dionne inclined his head. “Of course. It won't be long before the bitter cold sets in.” His gaze flickered briefly past Adair to settle on Azriel as if blaming him for his uncle's tardy return.
“Indeed,” added another voice.
Master Kylie was a mid-noble, but she'd been teaching at Conservatory for over four decades and had built up her own respect. There was more poise in the way she carried herself than some of the highest nobles could hope to be born with.
“But let us concentrate on the candidates, shall we?” The woman gave a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I've no desire to spend the rest of the day here.”
Azriel listened idly to their exchange, unrolling the paper and setting small stones on the corners to keep it flat. He dipped his quill into the ink, lightly scraping off the excess, and marked the page with the date and time. It was his responsibility to record the events as accurately as possible, and they’d use any excuse to dock his pay.
“Who's the next candidate?” Holmes demanded gruffly, chair squeaking as he shifted his muscled bulk.
There was a rustle of papers. “Souya Tegan,” Master Kylie answered. “A scholarship student sponsored by Amaryllis Dryden.”
Holmes snorted. “Amaryllis always did have a soft spot for common trash. They'll let anyone in these days.”
Azriel clenched his jaw, keeping himself from commenting. It wasn't his place, and he knew that any of Holmes' vitriol was directed at him as well.
‘You are cool, steady as a streambed, my dear.’ Manah's words floated in the back of his mind, a balm to soothe anger that always seemed to rise in Holmes' presence.
“Hush, Holmes,” Tierney chastised, not because she was a supporter of the so-called commoners but because she considered it unseemly to be so rude. Then, she lifted her voice to call out, “Send in the next candidate, please.”
The double doors on the opposite end of the room swung open, and Azriel watched as a teenaged boy who had to be Souya Tegan stepped through. His shoulders were back and his jaw squared, not looking an inch intimidated. He didn't seem to mind the fact he was being eyed like chattel by people who considered themselves his betters. But even Azriel could feel the aether brimming around the young man. No wonder Lady Dryden had been willing to sponsor him.
“Mr. Tegan,” Adair greeted, head of these proceedings as he was the most highly-ranked of those present. “You seek admission into the Conservatory. What have you to offer in service to Meropis?”
Tegan pressed his fists together at the knuckles, a commoner sign of respect that Azriel had seen many times, and bowed shallowly. Yet, his intense amber eyes never left the dais. He would lower his body but not his gaze. Interesting.
Azriel's quill scribbled across the parchment. Of the seven applicants he'd seen today, Tegan was the first to show any true backbone. Perhaps there was promise in this class after all.
“The earth has shown me favor, my lords... and ladies,” he amended, the corner of his lip curling with something like amusement at himself. Aether was beginning to curl around him, slow and steady, like a soft pulse. “And by your leave, I'll present myself.”
Dionne gestured with a well-manicured hand. “As you will,” he said, and his brow twitched.
There was a low chuckle, something the others might not have caught, but Azriel did. He was closer to the floor and to Tegan by proxy, so the murmured laugh floated to his ears. Intrigued, Azriel watched as Tegan straightened and flexed his fingers.
The floor trembled then. Azriel's ink well rattled on the desktop, and his hand shot out to steady it as Tegan's foot slid across the floor, cheap shoes making a raspy noise. He breathed slowly in and out, and the floor rumbled, a slow rolling motion. The walls quivered and above them, the chandelier tinkled musically. It swayed on its chain, making the candles flicker and shift.
Azriel leaned forward, breath all but held in anticipation. He couldn't remember the last time someone had made the examination chamber so much as twitch. To do so was a feat unto itself. The entire building had been magically crafted from stone by master Earth-shapers. It was seamless, without breaks or flaws. It was supposed to be unshakable.
Azriel glanced at his uncle and wasn't surprised to find Adair barely able to conceal his enjoyment. He was as intrigued by Tegan as Azriel.
The commoner drew in a sharp breath and then suddenly lifted his foot, only to bring it back down harshly, stomping the ground. A column of marble shot from the flooring, effectively torn from the stone. It rose into the air, a perfect cylinder, and despite the distance, Azriel could see Tegan's smirk that was a perfect counterpoint to the gasps of outrage from the examiners.
Holmes was on his feet, chair scraping backward, face purpling. He looked ready to storm over, grab Tegan by his scruff, and propel him backward out the door. His mouth opened with fury curling his lips.
But Tegan wasn't finished.
As Azriel watched, the ground trembled again, and Tegan stomped his foot four more times, a rhythm oddly reminiscent of a dance. Four columns rose from the floor, leaving gaping holes behind, all the same perfect size and shape.
Tegan whirled, and one palm struck out, slamming flat against a column. It shattered to bits as he turned on his heel and attacked each column in perfect succession. When one crumbled to dust, another rose in its wake, the columns reforming as quickly as he was destroying them.
Tegan would be a perfect candidate for the Brigade, Azriel realized. He’d obviously picked up some martial skills prior to applying to the Conservatory.
The walls shuddered again, the floor rippling and waving as though it were nothing more than waves on a lake and not pure stone. Tegan's actions were rhythmic, almost hypnotic, and only the sweat on his forehead gave testament to his fatigue and intense concentration. The display was a little coarse and unpolished, but it was still powerful.
“Boy!” Holmes roared, whiskers quivering with fury. “You’ll cease destroying this room at once!”
Tegan startled, and for a moment, his concentration broke. The columns of half-formed stone dipped in the air. Amber eyes flickered to Holmes before he nodded, never losing his smirk. He turned, facing the dais, and slammed his fists together again to repeat the same bow as before.
The columns snapped downward and slammed into the pits he had created. There was a rumble, a rolling of stone. Then, the floor smoothed over seamlessly, looking as if it had never been broken in the first place.
Azriel had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. Now that was impressive.
Tegan was fit for the Brigade, yes. But Azriel wouldn't be surprised if they recommended him to study as an Earth-shaper either. That was if the examiners got over his flagrant display of disrespect for one of Grayshire's most valued institutions.
“I hope that my presentation has sufficed,” Tegan put in then, low tone rich with amusement. A hint of defiance darkened his eyes. This was one who would not be cowed by the nobles.
Azriel was impressed. He simply sat there for a few seconds, gaze tracing over the completely intact room, before he hurriedly picked up his quill.
Adair coughed into his hand. He was desperately trying to hide his mirth as Holmes sat back in his chair, still looking as though he'd like to haul Tegan out by the scruff.
“That was impressive, young man,” Azriel's uncle said. “You are worthy of your scholarship.”
Tegan beamed, a broad smile that completely belied his earlier control. “Thank you, Lord Celestine.” He bowed again, a bit deeper this time, a true showing of respect.
“You are dismissed,” Tierney cut in, waving a hand through the air.
Tegan didn't argue and was wise enough to hide his pleasure until after he'd turned away from the dais. Azriel, however, bore witness to the triumph that gleamed in his eyes. The rumble that shook the room as Tegan stepped back through the doors seemed to enrage Holmes all the more, even as it amused Adair more than before.
“He has no respect!” Holmes was quick to roar before the door had chance to close completely.
Master Kylie rolled her eyes, a motion that would’ve seemed juvenile on anyone else. “Oh, please. He’s a teenaged boy trying to make an impression.” She leaned forward with fingers tapping on her chin. “And a good one at that. We can't allow such talent to slip away. Have you any idea how few Earth-shapers have been born in the last decades?”
“There will be others,” Holmes retorted. His face was a stone mask but petulant, almost like a child.
“But can we take that chance?” Adair questioned, gesturing with one hand. “He’s too powerful to leave untrained. You wish for that talent to turn against us?”
Tierney sat back in her seat and elegantly folded one leg over the other. “You make a good point, Lord Adair. He can be taught respect, and I expect that he’ll learn it either way.”
“I agree.” Dionne all but yawned into his hand. “Souya Tegan will be accepted. It’s already decided.” He tilted his head to inspect his fingernails. “Who is the next applicant?”
Azriel resigned himself to listening as his quill scratched across the parchment, firmly marking Tegan's acceptance into the Conservatory. There hadn't been any rejections today, which didn't happen often. The few scholarship students had been very lucky indeed.
Papers rustled as Master Kylie flipped through the list of applicants that had been given to her. “Hmm. Kieran Azura. This ought to be interesting.” She chuckled, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on the table. “I do so love the scientists. Send in the next candidate please,” she called out.
Azura? They hadn't had an Azura applicant in several years. This must be Lord Marduk's first born then. Azriel had heard mention of him once or twice but had never met him personally. They moved in separate social circles one could say.
He watched as the doors swung open then, and a young man strode in, smiling cheerily as though the proceedings weren't meant to be taken seriously at all. Eyes that were either gray or green gleamed behind a pair of spectacles. A trademark look for the Azura and something it seemed every member of their house were cursed to wear. Strangely for them though, the newcomer wore his dark hair long, pinned at the base of his neck with a leather thong.
Azura was also carrying something that Azriel couldn't identify. It was a box-shaped object with various projections jutting in all directions. A mishmash of wires, stone and glass.
“Kieran Azura,” Adair greeted as the boy clung to his mysterious item and tilted his head in an accepting bow. “You've applied for admission to the Conservatory. What have you to offer in service to Meropis?”
The words were formal. The typical opening for these examinations. But for Kieran Azura, the application process was merely a formality. No high noble had ever been denied admission and never would be. This was nothing more than a chance for Azura – and any other noble candidate – to show off the power of their families and themselves. The only ones in danger of being turned away were those on scholarship or people like Azriel. Someone from a noble if disgraceful background.
Azura's grin widened as he held out the mysterious contraption. It made a dull thunk somewhere within its boxy confines.
“This invention, naturally one of my own design, has been created to quickly heat water.”
Azriel blinked. That hardly seemed groundbreaking. What did they need such machinery for when magic was readily available to do the same task? Unless, of course, Azura planned to distribute said invention to the poor masses in Moriarty, many of whom had no magical talents whatsoever. It was a possibility, he supposed, but not one he’d associate with a noble. Much less a high one. They tended to be rather stingy with their luxuries and gifts.
“It is powered by magic,” Azura continued, which completely debunked Azriel's previous theory. “And it provides a steady stream of bath ready water. All for your convenience.”
Master Kylie didn't bother to hide her chuckle. “So how does it work?”
The scientist gestured with a free hand. “Allow me to give you a demonstration.”
He set the contraption down on the ground in front of him. One hand twisted through the air, an almost offhand motion, and the water from every pitcher set out for their use rose in the air and came to Azura's hand. It settled on his palm, a constantly churning sphere of perfectly collected liquid.
Azriel's brows rose. That, in itself, was impressive. Even without the display of whatever this boy claimed to have invented.
“Water is piped in on the left,” Azura explained, some of his grin fading as he shifted to concentrate and kneeled down behind his device.
As he spoke, his fingers directed his acquired water. It went in smoothly enough, and he pressed his palm to a flat portion of the machine.
“A subtle self-sustaining spell activates the heating coil,” he added, and there was a horrendous screeching noise that echoed through the room. His contraption rattled and clanked. “And within a minute, heated water pipes out the other side.”
He lifted his hand away from the box, while still directing water into one end, and waved triumphantly. The device made some other noises that didn't sound like a success to Azriel. And from the other end of it, nothing appeared. Steam, however, did rise from the top.
Or was it smoke?
Azura frowned. He made a low and confused sound in the back of his throat.
“Hmm.” He lowered his hand to fiddle with something that Azriel couldn't see. “It's not working.”
Adair's fingers covered his mouth, as though trying to hide the fact he was smiling. “Do you need more time?”
Grey rose in dull curls from the top of the contraption; Azriel was even more convinced it to be smoke and not steam. In fact, the temperature of the room was subtly increasing, a breath of warm heat that banked across Azriel's face and no doubt the skin of the examiners, too. Water splashed to the floor as the machine rattled and made a shrill noise. Azura winced, and when he took a step back, Azriel wondered if maybe he should take cover as well.
Azura thumbed his chin and looked contemplative. “Perhaps I left a wire behind,” he mused aloud, staring down at his quivering, smoking machine.
Something whistled, like a tea kettle having reached its boiling point. Azriel realized with growing horror that for all the water Azura had pushed into the tiny device, none was coming back out. It was still in there, subject to the self-sustaining heating spell, no doubt of Azura's design.
Azriel jerked to his feet without even realizing it. He merely stared at the clunking device which was steadily pumping out more heat and more smoke but not an ounce of water.
Azura snapped his fingers. “Ah, I remember!” he declared triumphantly. “I was supposed to--”
Azriel reacted without thinking as the machine suddenly exploded outward. As it burst into shards of metal and stone and glass, his aether snapped out. A firm barrier rose in front of the council and himself, protecting everyone from the debris and boiling heat, and they merely gaped from behind it, watching as a billow of steam and fire curled toward the ceiling. Dark grey smoke began to fill the room then, and the sound of debris hitting the polished floor was a fine tinkle of noise as delicate as a musical ranat.
Azriel fed more power into the shield, his mana curling within him. A chair scraped just up from him as the last of the rumbling died down, and Azriel felt a stirring of aether that was familiar in multiple senses of the word. His uncle then.
There was a prickle of magic, and then, a soft wind blew into the room and pushed the smoke toward the nearest window, which opened after another strong but careful breeze. The haze gradually cleared, revealing the extent of the devastation.
It was hard to believe that such a small device could create such destruction. The candles in the chandelier above had been all snuffed out, and the crystals were streaked with soot. It hung from its one remaining chain, threatening to spill to the floor at any second. The walls were also covered in ash and peppered with shards of sharp debris. The floor itself looked to be sprinkled with bits of stone and glass, which crinkled under Azura's weight.
Azura coughed, rubbing a hand down his soot-marked face as he climbed to his feet. Apparently, he’d been blown backward by the blast. Which was quite possibly the one thing that had saved him from resembling a pincushion.
“--open the steam valve,” he finished lamely and coughed again. He had emerged relatively unscathed, save for the damage to his clothing. Not even his glasses seemed to be broken. “It's always the small details.”
Small details?
Azriel had to fight to keep from gaping. The Azura heir seemed entirely unperturbed by the fact his invention had just exploded into tiny bits. Was this a common occurrence then?
Shaking his head, Azriel slowly loosed control of his aether and let the shield drop. The bits of debris that had embedded themselves in the invisible barrier fell to the ground with an echoing, almost musical sound.
Adair cleared his throat and turned a grateful gaze his direction. “Thank you, nephew. Excellent timing as always and quick thinking.”
Azriel tipped his head in a bow but said nothing. He simply returned to his seat, leaning over to pick up his tipped over inkwell and flattening out his paper once more. Luckily enough, his shield had protected his desk and the things on it, too.
A small smile curved at Adair's lips before he turned his attention to Azura. The boy was crouching to examine what was left of his contraption. It wasn’t much. Just a few twisted wires and some splatters of water.
“I hope that this display isn't what we should come to expect of you, Kieran Azura.” Adair’s voice was stern, but his mouth twitched before he could stop himself.
“Oh, no, Lord Celestine,” Azura replied, looking up with a grin unaffected by the obvious failure. “This was an accident. A one-time event. It won't happen again.” He rose to his feet, tucking the remaining bits of his device under one arm. “My father wouldn't approve of me blowing up the manor, you see.”
Adair covered his chuckle with a cough. “No, I don't imagine that High Lord Azura would. You are dismissed.”
The Azura heir performed another one of those respectful, noble bows and made his exit, stepping gingerly over more pieces of detritus.
Master Kylie sat back in her chair, elbows braced on the arms as she tangled her fingers together. She seemed far too pleased considering what had just happened.
“As I said, never a dull moment with the Azura.”
Tierney rubbed her forehead. “It’ll take hours to clean up this mess,” she lamented, smoke still curling out the window and the swaying chandelier only accenting her point. “How many more candidates are there?”
“Two more scholarship students and your cousin, Yonah Misae,” Master Kylie answered after regaining her composure.
“I'll let Yonah know of her acceptance then.” Tierney flicked her fingers. “Reschedule the others for next week.”
“If accepted, they will start Conservatory a week late,” Adair argued.
Azriel quietly agreed with his uncle, even if not allowed to voice his own opinion. He shouldn't be so surprised; yet, he let it affect him nonetheless. Azura, he knew, would be accepted despite nearly destroying the building. Meanwhile, Tegan who'd put everything completely to rights had almost been turned away. The difference between them was nothing more than position, but in the long run, it was what mattered most.
Dionne arched his brow, already rising to his feet and brushing off his expensive robes. That was despite the fact they remained untouched thanks to Azriel's barrier.
“If they are talented enough to deserve entry into Grayshire's Conservatory, then surely they can catch up a week's work with no trouble,” he retorted. It was obvious that he didn’t care to be there anymore, already glancing at the exit.
“If they desire entry, then they won't complain,” Tierney added, sweeping her hair over her shoulders. “There's nothing more to be done today.”
Adair frowned but inclined his head. “If you insist,” he said grudgingly. He was in the minority, after all; the others didn’t care which was fair and which wasn't. “The interviews are therefore completed for the day. I'll let them know.”
Azriel listened with growing dissatisfaction, quill scratching over soot-streaked parchment. He kept his mouth shut, as he was supposed to do, and waited for his superiors to file out, grumbling under their breaths about the mess left behind.
His uncle stepped down from the dais. His boots crunched a few shards of glass from Azura's failed contraption.
“That was certainly unexpected,” Adair commented but sounded tired. “Your barriers have improved, nephew.”
“Mother is an excellent teacher,” Azriel returned, rising to his feet after adding one final qull-stroke. Later, he would write it out in more detail and on a cleaner sheet of parchment, but for now, he rolled his notes up and stuck them into his robes. “Though she keeps insisting on teaching me healing as well.”
Adair simply smiled, waiting by the desk as Azriel tidied up. “Not all of us are suited for such arts. She discovered that with me the hard way.”
“I doubt it was as explosive as Lord Azura's device,” Azriel said dryly, falling into step beside his uncle as they headed for the far doors, opposite of where the other interviewers had exited.
Adair was the only one who cared enough to inform the other applicants, sadly enough.
“Not at all.” Adair's mouth twitched to a grin. “How is your mother doing, by the way?”
Azriel didn't fail to catch the shift in his uncle's tone. “She's fine,” he answered, watching Adair from the corner of his eye. “Busy now that they’re finally building a new wing, but otherwise, she’s fine.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Adair allowed, and there was a subtle tint to his cheeks as he buried his hands in the sleeves of his robes.
The doors opened before Adair had chance to touch either, held open by one of the many runners who worked in all of Grayshire. The young man, a commoner from Moriarty who was lucky enough to land this position, bowed his head as Adair and Azriel swept past. Inside the small waiting room, which was comfortably decorated in muted shades of blue, two men and a woman waited.
Even without process of elimination, Azriel would know Yonah Misae. Her bronze-skin gave her away, as did the tilt of her nose, something that was pure Misae. She carried herself with the manner of a high-ranked noble, sitting straight-backed and far away from other two, who she obviously considered beneath her.
“Lady Misae,” Adair greeted with a tip of his head. “Your cousin requests that you come speak with her at once regarding your application.”
Misae rose to her feet with an elegant motion. “Then I shall seek her out. Thank you, Lord Celestine.”
She departed, leaving Adair chance to face the other two whose name Azriel hadn’t yet heard.
“Gentlemen, your interviews have been scheduled for next week,” Adair informed them. “Please return then.”
Azriel saw the looks that they passed between one another, a subtle but resigned outrage. They couldn't argue; it’d only be a black mark on their application. The two could only bow, much lower than Misae had, and agree.
It all left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The pair departed, aether a swirl of disappointment around their bodies. Azriel could sympathize. He'd been fucked over by the nobles too many times to count, but at least his uncle had made sure that his own application was taken seriously.
Adair sighed then. “I don't expect we'll get any more work done today, nephew. If you'd like, you can take the rest of the afternoon off.”
Azriel turned to study him. The skin around his uncle’s eyes was pinched but quickly smoothed out as Adair noticed his attention.
“I will. Thank you, Lord Adair.” Azriel offered a bow before stepping away.
For a second, the light in Adair's eyes dimmed. Just as it always did when his nephew was overly formal. But he nodded nonetheless.
“Say hello to Miss Neorah for me, will you?” he called after his nephew.
Azriel just nodded as they went their separate ways. He planned to head out of the Conservatory hall toward home and Adair no doubt wanted to check in with his twin before going to their shared manor. Despite growing up to marry separately, he and Aidan had never lived apart. Even after Adair was widowed, that didn’t change. The manor they shared was large enough that space was never a problem; it easily dwarfed Azriel’s house many times over.
It was such a little thing. Petty, too. But Azriel still felt a flicker of envy at that. At the fact that he and his mother lived such different lives than them. That his uncles had lavish manors and servants and more than they could possibly ever want or need, while his mother and he had to struggle.
Even more than that though, Azriel felt a tad jealous of the bond his uncles shared. There were times Azriel wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling. He was an only child, and he knew his mother was unlikely to have any others, especially after the way she had been abandoned by her previous lover.
And really, wasn’t that the core of the problem right there? The man from which all that ailed them sprang?
Azriel frowned then and pulled himself away from such thoughts. They’d only ever served to anger him, and besides, there was little he could do to change anything.
He stepped into a bright afternoon, warm with a hint of a breeze as was usual for the beginning of autumn. The air still smelled faintly of fire, no doubt a lingering odor from Azura's failed contraption. Thinking back now, Azriel could almost be amused by the situation. Azura certainly hadn't seemed affected by it, both cheerful and nonchalant about the entire thing.
At the very least, this year's freshman class would be interesting if nothing else.
* * *
a/n: And so it begins, a fic that will span at least four decades. Which means there is plenty of ficcage left to come. The next update will be February 4th as I'm posting this every other Friday. I hope that you enjoyed.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
freeficfriday . The master link to the chapters can be found here. Series: Infinity's End, Prequel
Rating: T (for part one)
Warning: violence (later), erotica (eventually), foul language, character death, het and slash romance
Summary: A friendship that takes everyone by surprise slowly evolves into a deeper bond as Azriel, illegitimate son of the house Celestine, and Kieran, heir to the house Azura, throw themselves into the heart of a building altercation that explodes into an all out revolution.
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The Break of Day
Part One: Chapter One
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The Break of Day
Part One: Chapter One
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August 30th, 1978
Azriel fought off the yawn that threatened to break through his composure. There was a weight on his shoulders that had nothing to do with his present boredom and everything with how late he'd stayed out the night before. He should’ve been back earlier, but he never could refuse Manah's stories or her loveliness in general.
Of course, he couldn't say that truth to anyone else. Not if he wanted to live. It was easier to claim he’d been studying. Safer, too.
“Not getting enough sleep again?” his Uncle Adair asked.
Azriel shook his head. “I stayed up too late,” he answered truthfully enough.
Long nights of insomnia weren't uncommon for him either. He could no longer count the number of evenings he'd spent pacing back and forth through the house he shared with his mother, begging his body to grow tired enough to sleep. It was as if Azriel could never turn his mind down long enough to rest.
Brown eyes that were just a shade lighter than Azriel's own glanced at him briefly. His uncle had a peculiar look to his face. Something like worry mixed with amusement.
“Most students spend their break relaxing, nephew. Not studying,” he chided gently, one hand reaching up to squeeze Azriel’s shoulder but releasing soon after.
“Most students have the luxury of ignoring their responsibilities,” Azriel countered.
He wouldn't exactly say he was bitter, but there was a part of him that despised the system under which Meropis operated. It was hopelessly one-sided and class-based. Azriel never really saw the point. A human was a human, whether blessed with magic, money, status or not. But then, to think such things were blasphemous, so Azriel wisely kept his mouth shut.
As with most things in Grayshire, it was better to keep silent.
Adair drew to a halt in the hallway, prompting Azriel to stop beside him with an uncertain glance around. The corridor was empty of others, but that was only because the two of them were late in returning. Adair had that luxury, however. He was a Celestine, one of the highest ranked men in Grayshire. He could show up naked and dance around the interview hall while singing at the top of his lungs, and they’d do nothing more than look away and pretend to see nothing.
But Azriel, though his nephew, was a half-blood bastard who was never meant to exist. He could scarcely breathe without earning a dirty look.
Uncle stared at nephew, his hands folded into the sleeves of his robes. “Our offer still stands, you know,” Adair said with a look down to meet Azriel's eyes; there was only a few inches of height difference, but it suddenly seemed all the larger. “Aidan and I will sponsor you. We don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
Azriel inclined his head, resisting the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes. It was a nervous tic, a carryover from his childhood that he was stridently trying to chase away.
“I want to do this on my own,” he replied with squared shoulders and a lifted chin.
Even if the both of them were aware of the mysterious deposits into his account. So long as the truth was never spoken aloud, Azriel would accept them. He’d pretend he didn't know for the sake of both his uncles. It was better this way. Better if they didn’t go against their elder brother. At least, not so openly.
Adair sighed and tucked a loosened strand of hair back behind his ear. “You are as stubborn as your mother,” he commented as he picked up the pace once more, but Adair smiled as Azriel fell into step beside him.
“I'll consider that a compliment.”
His uncle chuckled, and moment of tension passed until they finally stood at the door to the interview hall. Adair stepped through first since his presence held actual importance, and Azriel trailed behind like a good underling. The rest of the examiners were already present, occupying four of the five seats spaced perfectly around a half-moon table raised on a dais. The higher ground was meant to give them an air of superiority, to test the applicants’ response to such situations. To see whether they still accomplished themselves with grace or bent under pressure.
No nobleman or woman would dare crumple. It’d be unseemly.
There was a smaller table to the side, holding a set of writing utensils, and a sheaf of rolled up paper. This was Azriel's seat, and he slid into the hard chair, pointedly ignoring the stares of the other examiners. Holmes in particular. The old man never failed to make Azriel's life miserable for no other reason than his heritage.
If he'd only been acknowledged...
Azriel pushed that thought aside. He'd given up on that dream long ago and would now abandon it if the chance were offered. He'd rather be poor and living in Moriarty. He may be a bastard but better that than a hypocrite like the man who had fathered him, High Lord or not.
“Lord Adair,” Dionne Vasuda began with his rich voice spilling into the otherwise empty hall, “we worried you had gotten lost.”
Adair smiled thinly. He stepped onto the raised dais and took the last of the padded seats, just above Azriel and next to Tierney Misae, a bronze-skinned woman who was a close cousin to the head of her house.
“I'm afraid I was distracted by the lovely weather. You can understand, of course.”
Dionne inclined his head. “Of course. It won't be long before the bitter cold sets in.” His gaze flickered briefly past Adair to settle on Azriel as if blaming him for his uncle's tardy return.
“Indeed,” added another voice.
Master Kylie was a mid-noble, but she'd been teaching at Conservatory for over four decades and had built up her own respect. There was more poise in the way she carried herself than some of the highest nobles could hope to be born with.
“But let us concentrate on the candidates, shall we?” The woman gave a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I've no desire to spend the rest of the day here.”
Azriel listened idly to their exchange, unrolling the paper and setting small stones on the corners to keep it flat. He dipped his quill into the ink, lightly scraping off the excess, and marked the page with the date and time. It was his responsibility to record the events as accurately as possible, and they’d use any excuse to dock his pay.
“Who's the next candidate?” Holmes demanded gruffly, chair squeaking as he shifted his muscled bulk.
There was a rustle of papers. “Souya Tegan,” Master Kylie answered. “A scholarship student sponsored by Amaryllis Dryden.”
Holmes snorted. “Amaryllis always did have a soft spot for common trash. They'll let anyone in these days.”
Azriel clenched his jaw, keeping himself from commenting. It wasn't his place, and he knew that any of Holmes' vitriol was directed at him as well.
‘You are cool, steady as a streambed, my dear.’ Manah's words floated in the back of his mind, a balm to soothe anger that always seemed to rise in Holmes' presence.
“Hush, Holmes,” Tierney chastised, not because she was a supporter of the so-called commoners but because she considered it unseemly to be so rude. Then, she lifted her voice to call out, “Send in the next candidate, please.”
The double doors on the opposite end of the room swung open, and Azriel watched as a teenaged boy who had to be Souya Tegan stepped through. His shoulders were back and his jaw squared, not looking an inch intimidated. He didn't seem to mind the fact he was being eyed like chattel by people who considered themselves his betters. But even Azriel could feel the aether brimming around the young man. No wonder Lady Dryden had been willing to sponsor him.
“Mr. Tegan,” Adair greeted, head of these proceedings as he was the most highly-ranked of those present. “You seek admission into the Conservatory. What have you to offer in service to Meropis?”
Tegan pressed his fists together at the knuckles, a commoner sign of respect that Azriel had seen many times, and bowed shallowly. Yet, his intense amber eyes never left the dais. He would lower his body but not his gaze. Interesting.
Azriel's quill scribbled across the parchment. Of the seven applicants he'd seen today, Tegan was the first to show any true backbone. Perhaps there was promise in this class after all.
“The earth has shown me favor, my lords... and ladies,” he amended, the corner of his lip curling with something like amusement at himself. Aether was beginning to curl around him, slow and steady, like a soft pulse. “And by your leave, I'll present myself.”
Dionne gestured with a well-manicured hand. “As you will,” he said, and his brow twitched.
There was a low chuckle, something the others might not have caught, but Azriel did. He was closer to the floor and to Tegan by proxy, so the murmured laugh floated to his ears. Intrigued, Azriel watched as Tegan straightened and flexed his fingers.
The floor trembled then. Azriel's ink well rattled on the desktop, and his hand shot out to steady it as Tegan's foot slid across the floor, cheap shoes making a raspy noise. He breathed slowly in and out, and the floor rumbled, a slow rolling motion. The walls quivered and above them, the chandelier tinkled musically. It swayed on its chain, making the candles flicker and shift.
Azriel leaned forward, breath all but held in anticipation. He couldn't remember the last time someone had made the examination chamber so much as twitch. To do so was a feat unto itself. The entire building had been magically crafted from stone by master Earth-shapers. It was seamless, without breaks or flaws. It was supposed to be unshakable.
Azriel glanced at his uncle and wasn't surprised to find Adair barely able to conceal his enjoyment. He was as intrigued by Tegan as Azriel.
The commoner drew in a sharp breath and then suddenly lifted his foot, only to bring it back down harshly, stomping the ground. A column of marble shot from the flooring, effectively torn from the stone. It rose into the air, a perfect cylinder, and despite the distance, Azriel could see Tegan's smirk that was a perfect counterpoint to the gasps of outrage from the examiners.
Holmes was on his feet, chair scraping backward, face purpling. He looked ready to storm over, grab Tegan by his scruff, and propel him backward out the door. His mouth opened with fury curling his lips.
But Tegan wasn't finished.
As Azriel watched, the ground trembled again, and Tegan stomped his foot four more times, a rhythm oddly reminiscent of a dance. Four columns rose from the floor, leaving gaping holes behind, all the same perfect size and shape.
Tegan whirled, and one palm struck out, slamming flat against a column. It shattered to bits as he turned on his heel and attacked each column in perfect succession. When one crumbled to dust, another rose in its wake, the columns reforming as quickly as he was destroying them.
Tegan would be a perfect candidate for the Brigade, Azriel realized. He’d obviously picked up some martial skills prior to applying to the Conservatory.
The walls shuddered again, the floor rippling and waving as though it were nothing more than waves on a lake and not pure stone. Tegan's actions were rhythmic, almost hypnotic, and only the sweat on his forehead gave testament to his fatigue and intense concentration. The display was a little coarse and unpolished, but it was still powerful.
“Boy!” Holmes roared, whiskers quivering with fury. “You’ll cease destroying this room at once!”
Tegan startled, and for a moment, his concentration broke. The columns of half-formed stone dipped in the air. Amber eyes flickered to Holmes before he nodded, never losing his smirk. He turned, facing the dais, and slammed his fists together again to repeat the same bow as before.
The columns snapped downward and slammed into the pits he had created. There was a rumble, a rolling of stone. Then, the floor smoothed over seamlessly, looking as if it had never been broken in the first place.
Azriel had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. Now that was impressive.
Tegan was fit for the Brigade, yes. But Azriel wouldn't be surprised if they recommended him to study as an Earth-shaper either. That was if the examiners got over his flagrant display of disrespect for one of Grayshire's most valued institutions.
“I hope that my presentation has sufficed,” Tegan put in then, low tone rich with amusement. A hint of defiance darkened his eyes. This was one who would not be cowed by the nobles.
Azriel was impressed. He simply sat there for a few seconds, gaze tracing over the completely intact room, before he hurriedly picked up his quill.
Adair coughed into his hand. He was desperately trying to hide his mirth as Holmes sat back in his chair, still looking as though he'd like to haul Tegan out by the scruff.
“That was impressive, young man,” Azriel's uncle said. “You are worthy of your scholarship.”
Tegan beamed, a broad smile that completely belied his earlier control. “Thank you, Lord Celestine.” He bowed again, a bit deeper this time, a true showing of respect.
“You are dismissed,” Tierney cut in, waving a hand through the air.
Tegan didn't argue and was wise enough to hide his pleasure until after he'd turned away from the dais. Azriel, however, bore witness to the triumph that gleamed in his eyes. The rumble that shook the room as Tegan stepped back through the doors seemed to enrage Holmes all the more, even as it amused Adair more than before.
“He has no respect!” Holmes was quick to roar before the door had chance to close completely.
Master Kylie rolled her eyes, a motion that would’ve seemed juvenile on anyone else. “Oh, please. He’s a teenaged boy trying to make an impression.” She leaned forward with fingers tapping on her chin. “And a good one at that. We can't allow such talent to slip away. Have you any idea how few Earth-shapers have been born in the last decades?”
“There will be others,” Holmes retorted. His face was a stone mask but petulant, almost like a child.
“But can we take that chance?” Adair questioned, gesturing with one hand. “He’s too powerful to leave untrained. You wish for that talent to turn against us?”
Tierney sat back in her seat and elegantly folded one leg over the other. “You make a good point, Lord Adair. He can be taught respect, and I expect that he’ll learn it either way.”
“I agree.” Dionne all but yawned into his hand. “Souya Tegan will be accepted. It’s already decided.” He tilted his head to inspect his fingernails. “Who is the next applicant?”
Azriel resigned himself to listening as his quill scratched across the parchment, firmly marking Tegan's acceptance into the Conservatory. There hadn't been any rejections today, which didn't happen often. The few scholarship students had been very lucky indeed.
Papers rustled as Master Kylie flipped through the list of applicants that had been given to her. “Hmm. Kieran Azura. This ought to be interesting.” She chuckled, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on the table. “I do so love the scientists. Send in the next candidate please,” she called out.
Azura? They hadn't had an Azura applicant in several years. This must be Lord Marduk's first born then. Azriel had heard mention of him once or twice but had never met him personally. They moved in separate social circles one could say.
He watched as the doors swung open then, and a young man strode in, smiling cheerily as though the proceedings weren't meant to be taken seriously at all. Eyes that were either gray or green gleamed behind a pair of spectacles. A trademark look for the Azura and something it seemed every member of their house were cursed to wear. Strangely for them though, the newcomer wore his dark hair long, pinned at the base of his neck with a leather thong.
Azura was also carrying something that Azriel couldn't identify. It was a box-shaped object with various projections jutting in all directions. A mishmash of wires, stone and glass.
“Kieran Azura,” Adair greeted as the boy clung to his mysterious item and tilted his head in an accepting bow. “You've applied for admission to the Conservatory. What have you to offer in service to Meropis?”
The words were formal. The typical opening for these examinations. But for Kieran Azura, the application process was merely a formality. No high noble had ever been denied admission and never would be. This was nothing more than a chance for Azura – and any other noble candidate – to show off the power of their families and themselves. The only ones in danger of being turned away were those on scholarship or people like Azriel. Someone from a noble if disgraceful background.
Azura's grin widened as he held out the mysterious contraption. It made a dull thunk somewhere within its boxy confines.
“This invention, naturally one of my own design, has been created to quickly heat water.”
Azriel blinked. That hardly seemed groundbreaking. What did they need such machinery for when magic was readily available to do the same task? Unless, of course, Azura planned to distribute said invention to the poor masses in Moriarty, many of whom had no magical talents whatsoever. It was a possibility, he supposed, but not one he’d associate with a noble. Much less a high one. They tended to be rather stingy with their luxuries and gifts.
“It is powered by magic,” Azura continued, which completely debunked Azriel's previous theory. “And it provides a steady stream of bath ready water. All for your convenience.”
Master Kylie didn't bother to hide her chuckle. “So how does it work?”
The scientist gestured with a free hand. “Allow me to give you a demonstration.”
He set the contraption down on the ground in front of him. One hand twisted through the air, an almost offhand motion, and the water from every pitcher set out for their use rose in the air and came to Azura's hand. It settled on his palm, a constantly churning sphere of perfectly collected liquid.
Azriel's brows rose. That, in itself, was impressive. Even without the display of whatever this boy claimed to have invented.
“Water is piped in on the left,” Azura explained, some of his grin fading as he shifted to concentrate and kneeled down behind his device.
As he spoke, his fingers directed his acquired water. It went in smoothly enough, and he pressed his palm to a flat portion of the machine.
“A subtle self-sustaining spell activates the heating coil,” he added, and there was a horrendous screeching noise that echoed through the room. His contraption rattled and clanked. “And within a minute, heated water pipes out the other side.”
He lifted his hand away from the box, while still directing water into one end, and waved triumphantly. The device made some other noises that didn't sound like a success to Azriel. And from the other end of it, nothing appeared. Steam, however, did rise from the top.
Or was it smoke?
Azura frowned. He made a low and confused sound in the back of his throat.
“Hmm.” He lowered his hand to fiddle with something that Azriel couldn't see. “It's not working.”
Adair's fingers covered his mouth, as though trying to hide the fact he was smiling. “Do you need more time?”
Grey rose in dull curls from the top of the contraption; Azriel was even more convinced it to be smoke and not steam. In fact, the temperature of the room was subtly increasing, a breath of warm heat that banked across Azriel's face and no doubt the skin of the examiners, too. Water splashed to the floor as the machine rattled and made a shrill noise. Azura winced, and when he took a step back, Azriel wondered if maybe he should take cover as well.
Azura thumbed his chin and looked contemplative. “Perhaps I left a wire behind,” he mused aloud, staring down at his quivering, smoking machine.
Something whistled, like a tea kettle having reached its boiling point. Azriel realized with growing horror that for all the water Azura had pushed into the tiny device, none was coming back out. It was still in there, subject to the self-sustaining heating spell, no doubt of Azura's design.
Azriel jerked to his feet without even realizing it. He merely stared at the clunking device which was steadily pumping out more heat and more smoke but not an ounce of water.
Azura snapped his fingers. “Ah, I remember!” he declared triumphantly. “I was supposed to--”
Azriel reacted without thinking as the machine suddenly exploded outward. As it burst into shards of metal and stone and glass, his aether snapped out. A firm barrier rose in front of the council and himself, protecting everyone from the debris and boiling heat, and they merely gaped from behind it, watching as a billow of steam and fire curled toward the ceiling. Dark grey smoke began to fill the room then, and the sound of debris hitting the polished floor was a fine tinkle of noise as delicate as a musical ranat.
Azriel fed more power into the shield, his mana curling within him. A chair scraped just up from him as the last of the rumbling died down, and Azriel felt a stirring of aether that was familiar in multiple senses of the word. His uncle then.
There was a prickle of magic, and then, a soft wind blew into the room and pushed the smoke toward the nearest window, which opened after another strong but careful breeze. The haze gradually cleared, revealing the extent of the devastation.
It was hard to believe that such a small device could create such destruction. The candles in the chandelier above had been all snuffed out, and the crystals were streaked with soot. It hung from its one remaining chain, threatening to spill to the floor at any second. The walls were also covered in ash and peppered with shards of sharp debris. The floor itself looked to be sprinkled with bits of stone and glass, which crinkled under Azura's weight.
Azura coughed, rubbing a hand down his soot-marked face as he climbed to his feet. Apparently, he’d been blown backward by the blast. Which was quite possibly the one thing that had saved him from resembling a pincushion.
“--open the steam valve,” he finished lamely and coughed again. He had emerged relatively unscathed, save for the damage to his clothing. Not even his glasses seemed to be broken. “It's always the small details.”
Small details?
Azriel had to fight to keep from gaping. The Azura heir seemed entirely unperturbed by the fact his invention had just exploded into tiny bits. Was this a common occurrence then?
Shaking his head, Azriel slowly loosed control of his aether and let the shield drop. The bits of debris that had embedded themselves in the invisible barrier fell to the ground with an echoing, almost musical sound.
Adair cleared his throat and turned a grateful gaze his direction. “Thank you, nephew. Excellent timing as always and quick thinking.”
Azriel tipped his head in a bow but said nothing. He simply returned to his seat, leaning over to pick up his tipped over inkwell and flattening out his paper once more. Luckily enough, his shield had protected his desk and the things on it, too.
A small smile curved at Adair's lips before he turned his attention to Azura. The boy was crouching to examine what was left of his contraption. It wasn’t much. Just a few twisted wires and some splatters of water.
“I hope that this display isn't what we should come to expect of you, Kieran Azura.” Adair’s voice was stern, but his mouth twitched before he could stop himself.
“Oh, no, Lord Celestine,” Azura replied, looking up with a grin unaffected by the obvious failure. “This was an accident. A one-time event. It won't happen again.” He rose to his feet, tucking the remaining bits of his device under one arm. “My father wouldn't approve of me blowing up the manor, you see.”
Adair covered his chuckle with a cough. “No, I don't imagine that High Lord Azura would. You are dismissed.”
The Azura heir performed another one of those respectful, noble bows and made his exit, stepping gingerly over more pieces of detritus.
Master Kylie sat back in her chair, elbows braced on the arms as she tangled her fingers together. She seemed far too pleased considering what had just happened.
“As I said, never a dull moment with the Azura.”
Tierney rubbed her forehead. “It’ll take hours to clean up this mess,” she lamented, smoke still curling out the window and the swaying chandelier only accenting her point. “How many more candidates are there?”
“Two more scholarship students and your cousin, Yonah Misae,” Master Kylie answered after regaining her composure.
“I'll let Yonah know of her acceptance then.” Tierney flicked her fingers. “Reschedule the others for next week.”
“If accepted, they will start Conservatory a week late,” Adair argued.
Azriel quietly agreed with his uncle, even if not allowed to voice his own opinion. He shouldn't be so surprised; yet, he let it affect him nonetheless. Azura, he knew, would be accepted despite nearly destroying the building. Meanwhile, Tegan who'd put everything completely to rights had almost been turned away. The difference between them was nothing more than position, but in the long run, it was what mattered most.
Dionne arched his brow, already rising to his feet and brushing off his expensive robes. That was despite the fact they remained untouched thanks to Azriel's barrier.
“If they are talented enough to deserve entry into Grayshire's Conservatory, then surely they can catch up a week's work with no trouble,” he retorted. It was obvious that he didn’t care to be there anymore, already glancing at the exit.
“If they desire entry, then they won't complain,” Tierney added, sweeping her hair over her shoulders. “There's nothing more to be done today.”
Adair frowned but inclined his head. “If you insist,” he said grudgingly. He was in the minority, after all; the others didn’t care which was fair and which wasn't. “The interviews are therefore completed for the day. I'll let them know.”
Azriel listened with growing dissatisfaction, quill scratching over soot-streaked parchment. He kept his mouth shut, as he was supposed to do, and waited for his superiors to file out, grumbling under their breaths about the mess left behind.
His uncle stepped down from the dais. His boots crunched a few shards of glass from Azura's failed contraption.
“That was certainly unexpected,” Adair commented but sounded tired. “Your barriers have improved, nephew.”
“Mother is an excellent teacher,” Azriel returned, rising to his feet after adding one final qull-stroke. Later, he would write it out in more detail and on a cleaner sheet of parchment, but for now, he rolled his notes up and stuck them into his robes. “Though she keeps insisting on teaching me healing as well.”
Adair simply smiled, waiting by the desk as Azriel tidied up. “Not all of us are suited for such arts. She discovered that with me the hard way.”
“I doubt it was as explosive as Lord Azura's device,” Azriel said dryly, falling into step beside his uncle as they headed for the far doors, opposite of where the other interviewers had exited.
Adair was the only one who cared enough to inform the other applicants, sadly enough.
“Not at all.” Adair's mouth twitched to a grin. “How is your mother doing, by the way?”
Azriel didn't fail to catch the shift in his uncle's tone. “She's fine,” he answered, watching Adair from the corner of his eye. “Busy now that they’re finally building a new wing, but otherwise, she’s fine.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” Adair allowed, and there was a subtle tint to his cheeks as he buried his hands in the sleeves of his robes.
The doors opened before Adair had chance to touch either, held open by one of the many runners who worked in all of Grayshire. The young man, a commoner from Moriarty who was lucky enough to land this position, bowed his head as Adair and Azriel swept past. Inside the small waiting room, which was comfortably decorated in muted shades of blue, two men and a woman waited.
Even without process of elimination, Azriel would know Yonah Misae. Her bronze-skin gave her away, as did the tilt of her nose, something that was pure Misae. She carried herself with the manner of a high-ranked noble, sitting straight-backed and far away from other two, who she obviously considered beneath her.
“Lady Misae,” Adair greeted with a tip of his head. “Your cousin requests that you come speak with her at once regarding your application.”
Misae rose to her feet with an elegant motion. “Then I shall seek her out. Thank you, Lord Celestine.”
She departed, leaving Adair chance to face the other two whose name Azriel hadn’t yet heard.
“Gentlemen, your interviews have been scheduled for next week,” Adair informed them. “Please return then.”
Azriel saw the looks that they passed between one another, a subtle but resigned outrage. They couldn't argue; it’d only be a black mark on their application. The two could only bow, much lower than Misae had, and agree.
It all left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The pair departed, aether a swirl of disappointment around their bodies. Azriel could sympathize. He'd been fucked over by the nobles too many times to count, but at least his uncle had made sure that his own application was taken seriously.
Adair sighed then. “I don't expect we'll get any more work done today, nephew. If you'd like, you can take the rest of the afternoon off.”
Azriel turned to study him. The skin around his uncle’s eyes was pinched but quickly smoothed out as Adair noticed his attention.
“I will. Thank you, Lord Adair.” Azriel offered a bow before stepping away.
For a second, the light in Adair's eyes dimmed. Just as it always did when his nephew was overly formal. But he nodded nonetheless.
“Say hello to Miss Neorah for me, will you?” he called after his nephew.
Azriel just nodded as they went their separate ways. He planned to head out of the Conservatory hall toward home and Adair no doubt wanted to check in with his twin before going to their shared manor. Despite growing up to marry separately, he and Aidan had never lived apart. Even after Adair was widowed, that didn’t change. The manor they shared was large enough that space was never a problem; it easily dwarfed Azriel’s house many times over.
It was such a little thing. Petty, too. But Azriel still felt a flicker of envy at that. At the fact that he and his mother lived such different lives than them. That his uncles had lavish manors and servants and more than they could possibly ever want or need, while his mother and he had to struggle.
Even more than that though, Azriel felt a tad jealous of the bond his uncles shared. There were times Azriel wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling. He was an only child, and he knew his mother was unlikely to have any others, especially after the way she had been abandoned by her previous lover.
And really, wasn’t that the core of the problem right there? The man from which all that ailed them sprang?
Azriel frowned then and pulled himself away from such thoughts. They’d only ever served to anger him, and besides, there was little he could do to change anything.
He stepped into a bright afternoon, warm with a hint of a breeze as was usual for the beginning of autumn. The air still smelled faintly of fire, no doubt a lingering odor from Azura's failed contraption. Thinking back now, Azriel could almost be amused by the situation. Azura certainly hadn't seemed affected by it, both cheerful and nonchalant about the entire thing.
At the very least, this year's freshman class would be interesting if nothing else.
a/n: And so it begins, a fic that will span at least four decades. Which means there is plenty of ficcage left to come. The next update will be February 4th as I'm posting this every other Friday. I hope that you enjoyed.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
