Ranvir grunted in displeasure. “A wager? About what?”

Isgerd smiled. “If you win, I’ll owe you a favor.”

“And I will owe you one if I lose?” Ranvir asked.

He sighed and turned away towards the edge of the arena. Waving for Esmund and Kirs to join him, Ranvir crouched at the edge.

“What’s the matter?” Kirs asked once they got close. She wrapped her coat tighter about her. This close to the platform, puddles of water from the rain had frozen over.

Ranvir looked over his shoulder as Isgerd entertained the masses. It was mostly nonsense about stories she likely ‘knew’ as well as his background. “She’s playing games. Trying to get me to join in. Wants to make a wager.”

Kirs’ eyebrows shot up, and Es grimaced.

“What do you want to do about it?” Kirs asked, scratching at her chin.

“I want to leave.”

Es gave him a deadpan look. “At least show that you’re entertaining her offer.”

“I’m not.”

“Ranvir, that’s the quick way to make enemies. Especially in when dealing with Lords and the like,” Kirs said, giving him a pleading look.

He put a hand on the arena to jump down, but Es seized his wrist. “At least finish the match.”

Sighing, he leaned back and raised to his feet. He gave them a parting glare as he turned back to face Isgerd. She noticed his return and quickly wrapped up her story, then said, “You’re ready to continue the duel?” the underlying meaning was evident in her tone.

Ranvir didn’t hide his reluctance as he nodded. The woman who’d counted them in earlier spoke up, “For the final match between Lord Isgerd and Tethered Ranvir, please give an applause.” She waited until the noise faltered, then spoke once more. “Get ready! One!”

Ranvir sensed Isgerd’s spirit tighten.

“Two!”

As best he could tell, she split her focus three ways.

“Three!”

Already, ice was shifting and growing colder.

“Go!”

Isgerd struck. Tightly woven ice rose before her, the strongest barrier she’d yet woven. Three missiles of ice shot from her feet, whistling in the wind. Deep Cold infused every part of her ice, leaving snow trailing in their wake as they froze air and rain.

Ranvir three flicks of storm mana deflected the ice, sending them flying beyond her reach. His tether-sense cracked down on her shield, shattering the Concept held within it. Ice cracked as the temperature shot upward, creating new flaws. In the palm of his hand, Ranvir sent out a storm bolt worthy of Graywing, The Avian King of the Mountain.

Isgerd’s defense shattered, breaking the arena under her feet. Wind whipped across the people, ripping hats into the skies and, in one case, ripped a skirt up well past the knee of a matronly woman. The Lord herself fell backwards, tumbling off the stage and landing on the frozen ground.

Ranvir sniffed after she moved. Relaxedly, he returned to his family. Esmund’s eyebrows raised as he examined Ranvir interestedly. Kirs knew enough about tethered to be suitably impressed, without being flabbergasted. Gunnor and Frey knew enough about their Lord to be staring at him wide-eyed, mouths agape.

“Daddy!” Frija called. “That was really mean! You didn’t need to do it like that!”

Vasso and Frija had seen him fight Graywing, and Frija was suspiciously intuitive when it came to spiritual power. The fight did not overly excite them.

“How did you do that?” Frey whispered, her husband still too flummoxed to speak.

“Yeah Ranvir,” Es said. “How did you do that?”

Kirs looked at her husband questioningly. He patted her arm reassuringly.

“You should’ve seen him fighting Graywing!” Frija said, though her voice was teetering on yelling. “He really had to try then.”

“Graywing?” Ranvir’s mother looked at Ranvir’s gray wings.

“Yeah, that’s where he got the ‘whooshy’ arrows from,” Frija explained. She helpfully made whooshing noises as she gestured in the air.

“What now?” Gunnor asked, finally regaining control.

“Now, we go home,” Ranvir said. On the other side of the arena, Isgerd was coming out of her stupor and he didn’t care to be there when her head cleared.

“Actually,” Esmund butted in. “Mom asked me to invite you guys to dinner this evening.”

“That sounds lovely!” Frey said, agreeing immediately.

Dinner with Es’ family was always a rowdy affair. Though both Esmund’s parents were calmer than he was, all of their children were closer to Es in temperament. Also, there were three of them, not including Esmund.

Frija told stories about their adventures to the youngest child. She was a few years older, but still listened with rapt attention. Vasso was blushing furiously as he spoke about his book series, the next youngest, who was around his age. She fascinatedly examined the strange letters that filled the book.

The next oldest sister was sitting with the rest of them at the main dining table, but was incessantly prodding about the academy, what it was like being a tethered, the storm mana, and more.

Esmund’s family had cultivated a cozy, familiar air that easily drew people in and made them feel welcome. Each of the children had learned to listen from their merchant parents. They weren’t simply an excellent audience; they made Ranvir want to tell stories.

Eating stretched for long after normal dinner hours as people were too busy talking and their food went cold. Once everyone cleaned the dishes up, the conversation continued. Laughter and warmth seeping through the logs of the home long into the night.

It used to be that only the mayor had a little ale in their house, unless certain events were coming up, but Gunnor had a little too much that night. Ranvir supported his father’s weight as he swayed down the road home.

On the way to their home, Ranvir noticed the familiar sense of the obsidian tethered waiting nearby. He didn’t sense anyone else close, and she was only a first-stage. If the intention was to ambush him, this would be an incompetent attempt by either Isgerd or her people.

“Alright Dad, let’s get you to bed,” Ranvir groaned, as he pushed the door to his parent’s bedroom open. Gunnor swayed away from his son, but found his seat on the bed.

“Honey,” Frey said, leaning a hand on their dresser and swinging over to him. “Let me.” She began unlacing his tunic, hands wandering enough that Ranvir shut the door. Frija had already fallen asleep on her bedroll, and Vasso was preparing himself for bed.

“Tonight was nice,” Vasso said softly. The young man had a half-restrained smile on his lips as he curled into Ranvir’s old bed.

“Glad that you enjoyed it,” Ranvir mumbled, leaving the house. The obsidian approached after he stood in the doorway for a few moments.

She cleared her throat, as if to warn him of her presence, then spoke, “The Lord would like to know what you would ask of her in return for the wager.”

Ranvir sighed and nodded. “No,” he shut the door and turned in for the night.

Apparently, that wasn’t good enough. The next morning, immediately after breaking their fast with breakfast, Obsidian showed up again, accompanied by a few more servants this time.

“Lord Isgerd would like to meet with you,” she said.

Ranvir shook his head, but followed.

They walked through the village, most people stopping to stare at him as he passed. Only the rare few didn’t notice or didn’t care. Most of the village had showed up to see their Lord fight. They didn’t know what to make of him. Was he their protector or a threat?

They didn’t know that the ambassador from the academy, who stopped by every year, was capable of similar feats. One requirement for the ceremony was a skilled second-stage woman, or a Master if you were a man. Since it was supposed to be an honored role and most men had achieved second-stage through the academy.

Isgerd was waiting at the entrance of her mansion, dressed finely. As they approached, another servant slowly opened the doors. Ranvir stopped the entire procession when she was within earshot.

“What do you want?”

Her face tightened, lips pursing. “You didn’t call in your favor yesterday.”

“I don’t want one.”

She sighed and waved a hand. The servants who’d accompanied Obsidian left, as did the one opening the door. “You really had to do it here?”

“I’m not playing your games.”

“Really? What if you’re meeting the Queen?”

“I’m not playing her games, either.”

She gave him a skeptical look, but turned to look out across the village. “My daughter’s turning thirteen. Next spring, she’ll either be a tethered on her way to the capital or training to be my heir.”

Ranvir looked at her for a long time, examining her stance. Isgerd had knitted her fingers together, one thumb rolling slowly over the other. Fidgeting. Or maybe it was an affectation.

“I don’t play your games,” Ranvir said, walking back down the road.

“Wretched man-child,” Isgerd cursed. “Wait!”

Ranvir did, feet crunching on the gravel. The ground had mostly dried after the evening drizzle.

“Will you train her? If she becomes a tethered?”

Ranvir licked his lips. “Does she want to be?”

Isgerd winced and glanced at Obsidian. “Desperately.”

Ranvir nodded. “Okay, we’re leaving at midday.”

“Today?” Panic filled Isgerd’s voice. “What about the ceremony?”

“Her training starts as soon as she’s ready,” Ranvir said. “She will become a tethered.”

“You’re sure?”

Mostly, he thought. He nodded. “She will.”

Clear discomfort filled Isgerd’s features, genuine emotions slipping past her noble guard. She licked her lips and glanced at him. He gazed at her patiently. I don’t play your games.

“Could it wait? Just a couple of days?” she cleared her throat. “I want to say my proper goodbyes.”

Ranvir nodded. “I’ll return in a week.”

As he walked down the road back to his parent’s home, a single thought permeated all corners of his mind. Did I just take on an apprentice? What the fuck is wrong with me?