Ranvir let out a deep breath as he stepped to the side of the Wethorn building, letting the other students pass by. Life just keeps going, Ranvir thought. Things felt like they were tumbling down around him and he couldn’t stop it.

He hadn’t made any noticeable progress in his tether training. Sure, he was getting stronger and he was keeping up his exercises, but the actual problem had seen zero progress. He still had no clue what was wrong with his tether other than a vaguely uncomfortable feeling after long meditation. He’d decided it didn’t feel like being dirty, it felt similar though not quite the same. Or maybe it was more than that, a specific kind? Like dried sweat?

Then there was the Saleema issue. Floki had gotten his friends out from her technique, but they’d been powerless to stop her and Ranvir had no doubt she was coming back. Zubair might’ve convinced her that he wasn’t this Umair, but Ranvir doubted that would keep her away for long. What could he do to stop her if she came after him again?

The short answer? Nothing. The long answer? Absolutely fuck all, with a little cherry of getting his friends hurt on top.

And the attack, the smoke tethered who’d assaulted him. A student no doubt. He’d clearly lacked the strength of a master, whom were particularly unsubtle in the way they worked their tether-sense.

Ranvir ran his hands through his hair again. He was still tired from staying up all night getting his friends out of the pocket-space. It had been a couple days, but that wasn’t an experience he could just bounce back from.

Maybe that’s the issue. Ranvir thought. I’m just tired. I need some more sleep and things will seem clearer.

He shook his head and started walking to cafeteria. They’d just finished up another warfare theory class, which meant Dovar had stayed behind to talk with Eirik. On tether theory days he walked with Ranvir to lunch, but he always stayed behind on warfare days trying to get a little more learning done.

Ranvir couldn’t fault him for that. He wanted the same thing. All he wanted was to skip every class and bash his head against his tether problem, but he had a despairing idea that it wouldn’t help. He’d just get in more trouble with the teachers.

A group of students made their way past him. They ran seven deep, large for a first year group. Ranvir’d noticed that groups tended to be bigger and more tight knit during the later years, especially fourth- and fifth-years. He wondered what happened during those years to tie such bonds between students, but really couldn’t bear figuring it out at the moment.

One student at the back said something just as they passed Ranvir, causing a few of them to laugh uproariously. Ranvir stepped away from them as they passed uncomfortably close, assured in their numbers.

Another of the students, tall with freckles, flicked his eyes to Ranvir, then down his coat. His gaze hitched on the way back and he turned to the space manipulator. He tapped one of his friends on the shoulder and soon they’d all stopped to look at Ranvir.

Ranvir, too, had stopped, his fists reflexively clenching and unclenching at his side, shoulders hunched, and legs slightly bowed. Ranvir blinked, realizing that he’d been unconsciously reaching for tether-space, for the pressure.

“Where’s your pin?” The freckled student asked, lifting his chin. He clearly read Ranvir’s body language and didn’t feel threatened at all. Ranvir was shorter and in his thick outer coat you couldn’t tell he the shoulders of long hours spent lifting hammers.

“Pin?” Ranvir asked, scanning the crowd before. He quickly moved on to the surrounding fields. There were a few students who’d stopped to watch what was happening. The group before him all wore a red enameled droplet, meant to look like blood.

“These.” Freckles said, touching his collar where he proudly displayed his pin. “Where’s yours.”

“Don’t have one.” Ranvir said, slowly. They didn’t look overly hostile, but their manners still made him nervous.

“So who’re you with?” another of them asked scoffing visibly. Despite his hair being cut just like all other students at the academy, his still managed to have an unruly shaggy appearance. “Varumgándr or Kurri’s Eye?”

Varumgándr or Kurri’s Eye? Ranvir well remembered the pin of the serpent on Grimar’s student when he’d fought him. Is that the other pin, then? No, he still had the pin of Kurri’s Eye in his chest back at the dorm. So they must be Varumgándr, then.

“I’ve seen him before,” a third student said. He was of a height with freckles, but had a noticeable gut despite their six and a half month stay at the academy. “He’s always running around with those nobles. The Sworden guy and other one… a blond.”

Ranvir licked his lips, feeling the tension shift. Brows drew down and suddenly he wasn’t the only one lowering into a ready stance. In response, Ranvir felt a shadow of red, orange, and yellow come together. It formed a mottled figure in his mind, reminiscent of a man, though his shoulders were too broad and his legs were wrong.

Ranvir couldn’t tell if it was the creature or the situation that caused orange agitation to rise, spiking his blood with violence. Red anger that made his knuckles itch. Ranvir gritted his teeth, feeling tension through his jaw all the way into his neck. Then it pulsed and calmed down a little. His jaw relaxed and his fists loosened without opening.

“You are, aren’t you?” Freckles asked, “You’re a noble lover, aren’t you? That’s why you’re not wearing a pin. Are you enjoying it? Does it feel good to betray your people? He mimicked the ‘fashionable’ tones of a noble. “Does it tickle your fancy?”

“Alright students, that’s enough,” Master Svenar, grizzled and old, stepped between them. Ranvir hadn’t realized the old man was approaching until he’d arrived, so focused had he been on the group before him. “You,” he pointed at Ranvir, “go eat. You,” he turned to the group, “It appears I will have to have a talk with the lot of you.”

The tension somewhat left Ranvir, as he stepped into a jog and left the field. He hoped to burn off some energy by running before reaching the cafeteria. It didn’t work.

Minul was taking a break in a little garden in her private apartments. It wasn’t much more than a small patio with a patch of grass and flowers on one end. There were two chairs and a little table set out should she chose to enjoy her midday meal with someone else, though she didn’t today. She made an effort to spend some time alone throughout the day, otherwise she’d go mad. The terrace also had a small stove set out so she wouldn’t get cold.

It was a cozy affair, despite winter’s growing claim on the weather. Weather she actually quite enjoyed. She’d always thought winter was a special time. The first snowfall when all the snow was an unstained white was always the most beautiful day of the year. Even after that, the view of the city, each roof and steeple crested with ivory still gave her a special sense of rightness.

Sometimes she wondered if she should’ve been an ice tethered. The Triplet Goddess might’ve gotten her wrong on that one.

“Your Majesty,” a servant said clearing his throat at the patio door. “There’s quite an uproar in the palace.”

Queen Minul put her cup of tea down and rose from her seat. She hadn’t heard anything but the palace was massive. The left wing could’ve fallen without the right wing noticing.

“Well, then please explain it to me as we walk.”

“Actually, your Majesty,” another person said stepping into the room then dropping to one knee, “I was hoping if I could take you,” Guardsman Gorm said. He wasn’t stationed as her bodyguard currently. He was supposed to be taking a break as he’d been on duty the most out of all her soldiers over the last month.

“What’s going on, then?” Minul said waving away the servant. She tried to remember as many servant’s names as possible, but the palace employed so many that she simply couldn’t keep track.

“There’s a tethered, Your Majesty,” Gorm explained as they hurried through the doors. Minul noted that the guards she’d left at the entrance to her chambers had followed Gorm. “She’s mostly been taking care of herself over the past few days, but suddenly she started speaking to herself and acting really aggressive. She took off toward princess Inaaya’s quarters.”

Minul knew who the guardsman was talking about, of course. Saleema had been sent to the palace to stay with Inaaya, some of her servants, and two of the masters the princess had brought with her. Saleema, whatever else she was, was a royal and there was no doubt in Minul’s mind that she was the mystery woman Saif and Zubair had been arguing about. Minul hadn’t had the time to properly dig into the woman’s mysteries, but it seemed that now she required the attention.

As they passed into the palace proper, leaving her apartments behind, more guards joined her, these in full armor, “Is she dangerous?” Minul asked.

“She’s been acting aggressive, Your Majesty,” Gorm explained. “And she’s been throwing a lot of something around.”

The guardsmen wouldn’t recognize space generation, since it lacked many of the most obvious signs of tethered powers. All they might see was flickers of purple at the edges of their expressions. Even tethered rarely recognized space generators expressions, unless they’d sensed them.

Her entourage grew into two dozen before Minul heard the noise. A woman was keening at the top of her lungs. Crying. Minul and her guards rounded the corner to Inaaya’s chambers. The door had been left open. Inaaya could be seen through the doorway, leaning against a wall cradling her throat.

The noise was coming from the tall man carrying a grown woman like a child. The sight was so incongruous that Minul didn’t immediately recognize Saif, until she caught a glimpse of his beard as he shuffled, gently rocking the woman crying into his neck like an over-sized toddler. Wet hair, still soapy from an unfinished bath, covered her face but Minul still recognized her.

Between her crying, Saleema was saying something. It took a few repeats before Minul understood. “They were going to hurt him.”