The last bit of snow fell more than a week before. Birds chirped atop leafing out branches, and the days were starting to take longer to end. The first signs of Spring.

Jon walked out alone from the feasting hall, leaving his roommates behind as they argued about some inane matter that he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. There was still at least half an hour until history class began, but he could at least get some reading done in the meantime.

He walked at a brisk pace towards the building, arriving when it was practically empty.

The ground floor had a collection of paintings hanging from the walls. There was one of a younger Duke Jorvan, bloody gash on the side of his forehead, a laurel wreath in his raised fist, and a cheering crowd in the background. The wreath was the reward for the King’s Tourney winner. The second place received a medal made of platinum followed by a gold one for the third place.

Not only the duke’s triumph, there were other paintings of the academy’s students who also won the tourney. A considerable portion of them had red hair and green eyes, Jon noted as he made his way to the stairs. He never quite paid them any attention, but he figured he could spare to slow down for a moment so he could sightsee.

Besides students who distinguished themselves at the tourney, there were other individuals on display. “Callen Tait, the Master of Coin,” read the plaque under the painting of a rotund man with a platinum coin between two fingers. Immediately to its left was a frowning woman with tied hair who Jon recognized as Ariana Moyle, his professor for Basic Spell Theory. There was a large woman at what seemed to be a library, an old man commanding a ship, a white man and a black woman in front of a throne—

Jon stopped in his tracks.

The man had a confident smile on his face, his hand resting atop the pommel of the sword at his hip. His green eyes stared straight at the viewer. Both arms crossed, the woman’s smile was somewhat strained but she didn’t seem uncomfortable next to him. Her hair was tangled into thin dreadlocks and her dark eyes carried a resolve that directly contrasted with the weariness Jon remembered.

Engraved on the bottom of the frame were the words, “Jonathan Olsen and Dene Yao,” followed by, “The dragon will swallow the sparrow.”

“What?” the question escaped his lips.

“That’s complicated,” a soft voice spoke from behind him.

Her sharp eyes were as dark as her skin. Thin dreadlocks wrapped in silvery metal cuffs reached past her shoulders. On her face was a smile that could almost pass as genuine.

Jon knew it was impossible. He knew there was no way for it to be true. And yet…

Mom? Jon held the question in, this time. He quickly looked back to the painting, trying to gain time to get his emotion back under control.

She walked to his side, her heels tapping lightly against the floor. “I guess you’re surprised to see someone like me in here.”

“...you could say that, yes.” Jon pointed to his mother at the painting. “And also that. I thought the Olsens hated both the Olsandres as well as southerners, so what’s the story with that painting?”

“It was meant to be an insult to the Phoenix Academy after they were defeated at a competition against the Dragon Academy. A painting to be displayed at the entrance. As for the Olsens’ hate for southerners, it has a lot to do with my sister here. She tried to elope with their heir, that dumb lad right there, shortly after this painting was brought here. And so what was supposed to be an insult became a mark of shame.”

“What happened to them? Your sister and the heir.”

“Captured, the both of them. The guy remains locked up in the dungeons to this day. As for my sister, she was executed.” Her smile disappeared for just a moment before returning. “At least she managed to humiliate her oppressors and kill a lot of them before dying, which is a lot more than I can say for myself. I’m Dandara, by the way.”

“Jon. Nice to meet you.”

“Just Jon? No surname? And I don’t mean the city where you came from. I mean the name your black mother gave you because the orishas know that your father would never give you his.” The smile never left her face, but the words and tone betrayed her emotions.

Jon let out a dry laugh. “Why does everyone just assume that I’m a bastard without a father?”

“Because that’s what all halfbreeds are,” she spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We all know the story. The white master takes a liking for the pretty black slave. Her say is irrelevant, because he owns her. And when her belly starts growing, he’ll beat her until it stops, murdering the baby in the womb before it has a chance to be born. Allowing a halfbreed to be born is considered an act of mercy.”

“That’s atrocious.”

“That it is. And yet, they see us as the savages.”

Jon took a deep breath, allowing the silence to extend for as long as possible before speaking again. “Yao. Jongozi Yao. I just figured that going by Jon would fit better.” On the spot, he came up with the name as well as the backstory for when she asked.

“Yes, because the name was the problem, not your skin nor your hair,” she quipped.

“All I had to do was hide both under armor to participate in the Squire’s Tourney. If not, I might have been stopped by any random guard or official before even getting the chance to participate.”

She looked at his oversized robe with the red lapels. “That seemed to have worked out well, at least, so congratulations.”

“Thank you, but I guess you didn’t come here to congratulate me.”

“I did, actually. Wanted to meet the first halfbreed to get into a war academy and offer him my congratulations as well as a few words of advice.” She took a look around for anyone who might hear. With the start of classes approaching, students were arriving, but they all seemed to give a wide berth to the southerner and the halfbreed. “Look out for yourself, and only for yourself.”

She and his mother were a lot similar, not just in appearance.

“Why even bother coming here to tell me that?”

“Because you’re the closest thing to a free southerner that I have heard of in a long time. Do well enough to take part in the King’s Tourney and the Duke will reward you well. Manage to beat someone from Dragon Academy and you might be set up for life. I’m only here because I’m a tool for Duke Olsandre to slight the Olsens. And it’s probably the same for you. So use it to your advantage. And if you ever get the chance, I hope you’ll be able to help other southerners.” She took one last look at the painting of her sister. “We all need it. Best of luck, Jongozi. May the orishas be by your side.”

Jon remained fixed to the spot as she left, and then some more. His heart drummed in his chest and the hands inside his sleeves were sweating. And with every heartbeat, his mind turned to the key pressed against his chest, the little coin-shaped artifact that could open his future. He had to get to it, whatever it took.