General Gamison's squadron parade up and down the training field moving as a single unit of imperial steel and crimson. Over the thud of steps, a single leaf flutters off the yellowing trees and descends pendulously onto the field. Salaya watches it flutter closer and closer to the mass of helmeted heads, but it disappointingly vanishes on the ground and disappears under two hundred feet. Why Gamison came to Lakeview is unclear, but the message his presence sends cannot be denied. From the balcony, those spears gleam like elongated needles, but up close their broad bladed heads winked at her in the morning sun, a threat of power and piercing and burying in entrails. Unlike swords which stay polite and sheathed, spears rest naked on shoulders and in gloved fists exuding danger. She shudders, even the exciting news temporarily forgotten. Whereas a sword can be worn on the hip or back by anyone, a spear is purely military. It spear has no cosmetic function except to intimidate and no practical function except to cripple and draw blood.

“There's no point to it is all I'm saying.” Eje's angry voice breaks through her thoughts. “I neither want nor need this, Quennen. I've been more than clear.”

“You always think you're so great. Let me be clear: your team is still halfway down the merit rankings, Eje. It's time to acknowledge you aren't exceptional here. Even calling you average might be a stretch. Far better teams are going through with this, and your refusal is insinuating that you are above them. This sort of arrogance reflects poorly.”

“Horseshit.” Eje looks to her teammates for support. “Marching in patterns won't help one jot. It's a waste of time.” Ariel looks down at the training field as though she, like Salaya, is hoping to feign interest as a way to sidestep the debate. “Come on, Salaya. You've done this sort of thing before at Three Peaks, haven't you? It's a complete waste.”

Quennen sighs. “If I have to tell Irami that you're once again refusing to go along, this time with the general's request, it's going to be taken as an insult. Do you want to insult the general when he doesn't so much as know your name?” Eje grinds her teeth but says nothing. Even she can't deny the general's request is a powerful motivator.

Salaya hesitates then gives her suggestion. “Maybe we should just do it for a little bit.”

“You need to do it as a team.” Quennen's eyes narrow. “Where's your fourth?”

“I have no idea. Octave keeps her schedule a secret. She'll show up when it's time for our next mission.”

“Well there are no missions now. The day's off for military training.” Quennen turns then calls over his shoulder. “We're meeting in the courtyard. I reiterate: it will reflect poorly on you to not show up.”

“I guess we'd better go.” says Salaya. Eje mutters something impolite under her breath but offers no further resistance. “Do you think we'll have to carry spears?”

“Of course.” says Ariel. “Marching, holding formation while manoeuvring, and standing at attention. I thought becoming a mage would get me out of this, but there's no escaping the military.”

“I thought being a woman would get me out of it.” grumbles Eje as they make their way down the castle's broad stone staircase. “They don't even take women as soldiers.”

“Trofeia would say that's an incredibly outmoded thing to say.” says Salaya, crossing her arms.

“Good for Trofeia.”

“A good mage can can earn herself all sorts of military positions. We're not useless when we have magic, and we shouldn't use sex as an excuse.”

“I'll take any excuse to get out of basic training. Why would you want to do this?” Salaya can't answer. Well, she can, but she doesn't want to. She'd rather do a long list of things than carry a spear and perform about-faces, however she wasn't raised to shirk duties. Another turn, another dark corridor ends, and they step outside. Teams are already assembling, taking up the corners of the courtyard first then spreading in. She spies Annya and Ebin talking animatedly on the far side and resists the urge to run to them.

“There you are.” Quennen confronts them, this time with an aide to the general holding the notebook.

“Team number?” the aide asks. Her scarlet uniform is spotlessly neat and her boots gleam with fresh wax. Irami stands in the centre of the courtyard, talking with a sergeant. He'll no doubt be the one giving the instructions. Spears straight, shoulder spears, spears out. Salaya shudders again. Of course the general will only show up when they're about to begin. He'll give a few words of encouragement, watch with unmoving eyes for a few minutes, then leave. That's how it always goes.

“Twenty-Four.” says Salaya.

“Hm. I thought your teams were fours?”

“They are. In fact, here comes our fourth now.” Octave pushes through the courtyard in their direction as though she planned it.

“Very well. Religious affiliation?” Quennen fiddles with a loose thread in his collar.

“What? Um, I don't know.” Salaya's family favours Syallafar of Unity, but she herself has always secretly admired Ererebesh as the god of choice of the Mage Guild. Eje as a Muse almost certainly favours Retifanta, and Ariel, well, Ariel could be anything.

“Tsk. Why is it that all you young mages have given no thought to religious affiliation?” The aide glares at Quennen as though he is personally responsible for the lack of faith. Quennen deflects by glaring at them.

“I don't know.” says Salaya. “I guess we just never discussed it. It's a way of avoiding arguments, you know?” Eje meets her eyes and they quickly look away to avoid smirking. As if they've ever avoided arguments.

“We don't really give it much thought.” says Eje.

“I swear people get less pious with each passing generation.” The aide shakes her glossy head and makes a note while Quennen goes back to his collar.

“They don't.” Octave walks between the two groups, half a head taller than even Quennen. “People are the same degree of pious with each generation, it's just that the younger ones make less effort to hide it.” She doesn't wait for a response. “Come on, we have a mission.”

“What sort of mission?” asks Eje.

“A good one.”

“Ahem, there are no missions today.” says Quennen. “Didn't you get the memo?”

“Nobody sent me a memo.”

“Well Captain Loswel's not running any today. It's a day for mages to instill military discipline and prepare themselves for battle. Even the mercenaries are invited.”

“And none of them showed up.” Octave smirks. “I have a real mission, not a pretend task for imaginary merit points. It has a client paying real money. He expects real results, and he expects them in real time.”

“You signed us up witho-.” Eje cuts herself off. “Alright. We'd better go then.”

“You can't just back out now.” says the aide with a frown while Quennen looks up to the heavens as though imploring the gods for a sign. “All the teams are expected to take part in the drills.” Irami hurries over, sensing the trouble.

“What's this?”

Quennen turns to her, visibly relieved. “Octave wants to take the team for a mission.”

“She can't. There are no missions today.”

“I've told them that, but she insists there are.”

Octave looks at Irami in her blue robes. She must have multiple pairs to look so fresh every day in them. She looks back to the team. “Let's go.”

Eje follows her. Ariel after that. Salaya, torn between two worlds, derelicts her duty and feels uncomfortably relieved.

“You can't do this again.” Irami challenges them. “The general will not be pleased to hear you've abandoned drills twice now.”

“Why are you so obsessed with drills?” asks Ariel. “We aren't joining the military.”

“Perhaps you should.” says the aide, her voice as stiff as her posture. “It would help you stop slouching, and it would help the country in the event of war.”

“To do what?” Octave stops and turns back. “March about like soldiers?”

“We can't discount that as a possibility, if we're lacking.”

Octave takes a long look around the courtyard. Spears are being handed out, dull iron-tipped spears, but long and formidable objects of war nonetheless. “That would be an act of annihilation. Look at these mages. Young, fresh, clueless. I'll wager my sword not a single one has seen true combat. Not dimwitted orcs, not two-bit bandits hiding in the woods. A real battle where the blood might be coming from you, or it might be coming from the person you've hacked apart, there's no way of telling. Have you ever fought on the backs of your dead friends, Irami? Have you ever puked over the stench of metal?” Octave takes a step forward. “Have you ever silenced a face that looked like someone you knew? I don't think they teach that in whatever mage academy your parents sent you to. And you won't learn it playing soldier in a courtyard. Look around you. You want these people to carry spears into war? Maybe cast fire spells over their shields? I can see the piles of corpses, and the buzzards circling. The ones who survive battle would be the unlucky ones. When someone presses a spear into your hands, run.”

“You could get into considerable trouble talking like that.” Irami's voice is low with venom.

“Mashar ol sufrinda ol, dubaraleta.” The words roll off Octave's tongue like raindrops off a leaf. She storms off around the castle, the rest of the team running to keep up.

“That was remarkably passionate, though I don't think it's safe to say those things.” says Salaya, once they're out of earshot and nearing the mission board by the wall. “Have you lost friends in battle? Eje said you lost a good friend because you refused to fight.”

Eje winces and glares at Salaya as though to tell her that that information was confidential. However, Octave nods without apparent anger. “Yes. It's quite the tale, though not for the present. I will say though that if I were to do it over again, I would make the same decisions. Tal, despite whatever aspersions she may have cast on me, would not. That is how we differ. Now, let's take a look at this board. Despite the condescending remarks of others, there are several missions listed here.”

Salaya scans the three available. “I thought you signed us up for one already?”

“Only if I were to see an important one. There are a couple interesting options here, but nothing overly important.”

“Aw, Octave, you lied to get us out of training.” Eje grins and claps her on the back. “And you taught us a new language as well.”

To everyone's surprise, Octave laughs. She even smiles. “Just a little of the old tongue. From the time of the celestials, if you can believe it. It wouldn't be proper to translate it, though I'm sure you can take a guess.”

“What mission do we take?” asks Ariel. “I see two that stick out as promising. And you weren't lying when you said there were paying clients. This one in Arrow City has a reward of ten silver stags. That could buy at least ten pairs of top quality boots. All we have to do is solve a series of problems culminating in opening an ancient treasure? That sounds odd.”

“This one is only a hundred acorns apiece but much simpler. We'd have to retrieve a stolen heirloom from...well that's robbery. How can they advertise this here?”

“This one is around Three Peaks. Salaya would like that. It's another orc hunt.” They exchange looks then all at once shake their heads. Soon they're in the stables. A paying client instead of a mission through Loswel means they can't get a free ride, but hiring a ride to Arrow City is a simple matter. Eje pushes for a more comfortable carriage, but finds herself overruled by her more economically minded teammates. Set back a mere ten acorns, they climb into the back of a familiar cart on its way to pick up a shipment of new autumn squash. There are no seats but Eje settles down on the floor without complaining.

“How are ye four now?” Nobert grins and winks as he smacks old Buttercup on the haunch and clambers into the coach's seat. “Off on another mission?” Buttercup snorts and shakes his head, but once again the cart creaks into movement.

“That reminds me.” says Salaya as they bump through the castle gates. “I've figured out deflection magic.”

Eje gives her a sceptical look but Ariel says “Congratulations. Was it difficult?”

“Very. But I worked at it. I found my own way to practise.” She calls on her magic and it answers with a soft whoosh like a breeze over her face. She channels the magic until she can feel it engorging the tip of her fingers – then pulls it back sharply so it fills her hand with warmth like water filling an oilskin glove. “See?”

“I don't see anything.”

“Well of course you won't see it.” says Salaya. Eje crosses her arms. “Here, Octave, shoot a fire spell at me.” Octave obliges. A glimmer of sparks appear in her hand, coalescing into a ball no bigger than a cow's eye. She blows and the ball shoots lazily through the air. Salaya watches then repeats her spell, this time channelling fire. When the heat warms her hand, she holds it up to the ball of sparks and it bounces away, exploding in an orange burst against the side of the cart.

“You lasses had better not be setting me cart aflame.” yells Nobert without taking his eyes off the road.

“It's ok.” Salaya calls back. “We're very careful.” Nobert wheezes a chuckle.

“I didn't see anything special.” says Eje. “You just swatted some sparks away. Anyone can do that without magic.”

“But I didn't swat it. I deflected it.”

“Don't bother explaining it.” says Octave. “All magic casts best when cast with a subtle hand. If nobody can see you do it, then you've succeeded.”

Ariel nods but Eje seems unconvinced. “Alright, can you deflect my dusk blows though?” Smoke coalesces around her arm.

“Not a hard one, please, Eje.”

“Anyone can deflect a weak one. Dusk magic needs some force behind it. Ready?” Salaya nods, but when she tries to channel dusk magic into her hand, she can't do it. It's like reaching through a window for the branch of a tree. The apple for colour and the apple for fire are both within reach, and her hand is drawn to them almost like one of those funny magnets Octave mentioned. She can envision the other apples: dusk, conjuration, lightning, water, even kinetic bouncing out of her grasp. “Here it comes.” Eje draws her hand back for a blow and Salaya panics, channelling whatever she can, grabbing at whatever is close enough. She throws her hand out in front of her and the smokey blow strikes her palm, wraps around it, and slaps her across the face with a stinging rebuke.

“Ow, ow. That was too hard, Eje.”

“Come on. That was a light tap.”

“Maybe I can't do dusk yet, just fire and colour.” Salaya deflates against the back of the cart. “And probably just weak ones at that. I'm thinking of the magnets, but it's not enough.”

“Don't feel too bad. At least you have something. I'm sure it takes a while to get there, right, Octave?”

“Years.” says Octave. “My magnet metaphor might help, or it might not. You need to find what fits you.”

The rest of the ride to Arrow City passes without event. Salaya keeps going over the different branches of magic and what's required to begin them. How does that nursery rhyme go? A heart without strife to call upon life; only a daughter may call upon water; thermal strife and tremendous desire are required to call upon ice and fire.... She's never had the passion that fire mages are described as having, and she could never get into ice despite its proximity. Maybe thermal magic was a mistake and she should stick to colour. A heart that bursts like a flower to call upon colour's power. But she's never had a heart that does anything special. She puts a hand to her chest. It just beats regularly. Perhaps all the hours she spent every night as a child reaching closer and closer for those fire and colour apples were wasted. Maybe there was another apple within reach all this time. By nightfall, she hasn't found anything.

Arrow City lies between the Bulwark and Ogre Head mountains, extending through a narrow valley like its name suggests. Of the two points of entry, Nobert's cart rolls through the northern road. They bump along the edge of the Bulwark, Salaya wondering how long she'd have if she were to fall from the top of the sheer cliff face. “Where are you lasses headed to?”

Eje checks the logbook. “Blaketik Manor.”

“Nice place.” he wheezes. “I'll drop you off.” He leaves them with a wave at the foot of a hill atop which a manor easily the circumference of the Lakeview castle, though without the height, sits in the shadow of Bulwark Mountain.

“No other houses around. This must be it.”

“Too bad.” says Salaya as they climb. “I was looking forward to seeing Arrow City. Look, it's lovely at this hour.” The sun setting over the mountain throws the last beams of light over the city below them. As they look back, it creeps out farther and farther, the narrow strip of buildings and roads disappearing into the darkness until the light is creeping up the opposite side on the ogre's head. A tiny cart in the distance pulls up to a strip-like storehouse, elongated as all things in Arrow City seem to be.

“Blaketik Manor is owned by Rol Blaketik.” says Eje, reading again from the logbook as they reach the top of the hill. “Distantly related to the third chancellor.” Directly in front, the manor has a square squatness in contradiction with the city it overlooks. Windows of glass betray no light or movement. Silence and solemnity hang in the air, punctuated with statues of animals on the footpath to the entrance. The horse rearing up or the giant cat crouching to pounce seem more real, more lifelike with their features obscured in the darkness. Long ropes extend off the statues, no, vines. They grow from the tops and hang down, rooting into the ground. It's like they've been abandoned in the woods for years then brought back with plants still growing on them. No gate or wall bars their entry. Eje walks up to the double doors and bangs an iron knocker the size of her head while Salaya hope to get inside to the warmth as quickly as possible. After a minute, she knocks again. The door opens to a tall man holding a flickering lantern. Everything about him from the trimmed beard to the silver belt around his waist make Salaya all the more aware of her own clothes and face, dusty and creased with travel. He looks at them inquisitively but does not deign to speak.

“Rol Blaketik?” The man shakes his head and gestures behind him down a corridor.

“Team Twenty-Four from Lakeview Castle.” says Eje, holding up their logbook to show the official signatures. “We're here for the search mission.” The man nods and ushers them in, holding a finger to his lips to convey the need for quiet. The inside of the manor exudes class. The walls painted a deep blue gleam in the light as though hardened in a kiln, and the portraits of officious men and women are all done in long classic style. He leads them to a far wing where he bows before a door. Opening it, they find a series of bedrooms, doors leading to and from them, maze-like. Each holds a wooden frame in which a soft mattresses and downy quilt rests. Lamps on nightstands are already lit. Salaya flops onto one, testing its bounciness. “Very nice. Could you thank your master and tell him to –?” But the butler has already left them, soft footsteps leading away on the polished floor.

“Well that's something. I hope there's a bath in here somewhere.” Ariel opens door after door. “Here it is. I'm going first.”

“Why do you get to go first?”

Ariel fingers a small stone amulet around her neck. “I think my insulating charm is wearing out at the worst possible time. I don't need to wake up with my nethers bloody, if you know what I mean. It might not be an ideal way to begin the mission.”

“Let me know if you need a new one.” calls Salaya as Ariel closes the door to the bath. “I always keep a few extra.”

The butler returns soon after with a tray of victuals. Cold bread and meat, but still soft and tender. Wine in a decanter alongside crisp water and ripe sheep cheese with sliced apples. Not a bad dinner at all.

Salaya lies in bed but sleep lies out of her reach, just like the dusk magic apple. The metaphor of the apple tree outside the window was given to her as a child by Trofeia, and she's used it faithfully ever since, but now it might be time for a change. What did Octave say? To find what fits her? Even the word 'fit' is a metaphor in a sense; magic is not clothing. It neither fits nor doesn't. She still clings to her past when Lakeview was supposed to be a fresh start. Old problems were to be forgotten. As kind and motherly as Trofeia was, she was only ever a stand-in, a foster. How could Salaya forget her parents living in the same city she was in, never visiting, ignoring her existence? When she was younger, it was all the motivation she needed to work hard, to prove she was worthy of them. Now she knows she isn't, but she still needs to work. Maybe that too should change. After tossing and turning in her thoughts, she gets up and creeps to the far door. There are three doors in the room, but this must be the right one. She knocks, hoping Octave won't be angry. No response. She knocks again. “Octave? Are you there?” Still nothing. Then a door behind her opens and the dark room is illuminated.

“Salaya? Here she is, Ariel. I told you it was this door.”

“Sorry, it's hard to figure out which room is which.” Ariel and Eje pop in, Ariel holding a lamp for light. “So, what do you think we'll have to do tomorrow?”

“I don't know. I wanted to ask Octave about magic, but I think she's asleep.”

“Oh, she'd better not be asleep yet.” Eje strides over indignantly and opens the door to her room. “Wake up, Octave. How can you be asleep at a time like this?” But Octave is not present. Her pack by the bed shows she was here at some point, so they search the room then its neighbours to no avail.

“Gone again. We'll have to talk to her about this tomorrow morning. It's bad team manners. Where could she have gone, anyway? Is she having a gab with Rol?” She giggles at the image. They all settle down in cushioned chairs, the lantern in front of them like a campfire. Salaya will have to work on her magic another night. “Alright, let's take some predictions on what happens tomorrow morning. My wager says we won't be the only team.”

Octave closes the doors to The Quiet Seat behind her. They swing shut without a sound. The attendant in white nods, recognising her. She climbs the steps two at a time. A pair of figures sit at a table upstairs. They wave as she approaches.

“Well, well. Haven't seen you in ages, Octave.”

“Quiver. Azure. Good to see you.”

“And you. Looking for Tal? Just know that we don't all share her...animosity toward you.”

“Looking for anyone.” Octave sits with them, and they pour her a glass of wine.

“So. You're at a mage camp now? How's that?” asks Quiver.

“Unpleasant at first. Worse before that. I was spiralling out for a time without a purpose. Just flying into the wind to see where I'd end up.”

“Flight is intoxicating.” says Azure.

“Yes, and intoxication can be dangerous if improperly managed.” Octave polishes her glass off and refills it. “I don't mind saying it's been difficult to get accustomed to them. They're young and full of unwarranted excitement. But I can't deny they've been a boon.”

“Optimistic?”

“Exactly. It's like they've infected me with it, and its slowly eating my insides.” She pauses. “More pleasant though. There was a time where I would have sneered at it all. Now I'm glad for their company. Sometimes I need a break from it all, but the breaks are becoming fewer and smaller. It's rewarding to be with kind people. You should try it sometime.”

“No joke. Kindness is the cord that binds us together. To kindness.”

“And intoxication.” Their glasses clink.