“Lance!” Ben shouted. “Lance, you in here?”

  He had never been in the fourth floor barracks. There hadn’t been much incentive to climb so high with his own bunk on the second floor and his friend, Rashanna, hulled up on the first. The scattering of romantic entanglements he had entertained over the span of his short life had mostly been matters of convenience, with men who were in close proximity to him. Most of those bunked in the same quarters as him, the only one who hadn’t had been an ill conceived foray into the workplace affair, with another courier, and he had never come to call on him.

  Each floor was interchangeable with the next. Bunk beds were arranged around the barrel shaft at the heart of the tower where access to the staircase and the subterranean levels where the canteen and the showers were kept could be found. A Wraith was posted outside at all hours of the day, and their shift changes occurred at predictable intervals. The walls were all heavy slabs mortared together around tall and narrow windows, a relic of wartime since outfitted with glass panes and wooden bars to lend a certain, utilitarian ambiance to the expanse, and though there were far more servants milling about in this quarter, they were nonetheless mostly reading or napping after their shifts.

  Some few huddled atop or around their beds in clusters, chatting away about the day’s events, but those clusters were uncommon. Most servants here seemed to favor other reaches for those activities, just as they did on his floor.

  For a moment, he wondered if he had the wrong time. If he had misremembered when Lance told him to meet him. Evening painted the sky in fiery shades, and fat clouds drifted across horizon above a series of cliffs that blocked all sight for the sky, the sun and the moon from sight on his floor.

  He envied Lance that view.

  He had lived in the shadow of those cliffs as long as he could remember; was only able to lay eyes on the open sky when he visited the Core, or the Royal Gardens, or the Teacher’s Tower…but those latter places weren’t always safe, and he rarely ventured into them before dark. He supposed it was a privilege of a kind, traveling through the shadows, being able to engage in the limited rebellion he could…what the Wraiths turned a blind eye to. He was not so bold as to think they did not know what the Couriers got into at night, but then sneaking off into some quiet reach of the tower, pilfering the kitchen storerooms for treats and the occasional drink was hardly criminal behavior.

  “Lance?” He halted halfway down the hall, looked to the interior side first, and then the window. A smile touched his lips. “There you are.”

  Lance was snug in his bed, awake but with a book propped against his knees and a thoughtful expression on his face.

  He approached the bed, and sat beside his feet. And waited for him to notice.

  Lance looked over the top of the book, a startled expression was quickly displaced by a returning smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “What are you readin’?”

  Lance turned over the book, showed him the cover. “Tales of the Five. As far as the titles they’ll let us have go, it’s my favorite.”

  “You ever thought about asking for somethin’ else?”

  Lance chuckled. “I don’t see Lady Tamalsen being very helpful with that.”

  “You’d be surprised. I have a copy of The Collected Works of Sura tucked under my mattress right now. I’ve had it since I chose my path.”

  “Did she give you that because you chose the couriers, or was it out of the kindness of her heart.” Lance closed the book and set it aside.

  “Probably because of my decision. She was pressurin’ me into it pretty hard.” He patted Lance’s knee. “You ready?”

  “Sure.”

  He waited as his suitor tucked the book away and climbed out of bed, as he slipped black moccasins onto his feet and then dusted his hair into a more uniform shape. It proved a useless effort, as the chicken feathers simply chose different directions to lay.

  They left the Servant’s Tower together, Lance reaching out and lacing his fingers into his before they were well out of the fourth floor barracks. The Wraith stationed there favored them with an amused half grin as they departed, which he did not miss. He laid a kiss on Lance’s cheek as they came to the door onto the stairs, and Lance’s face turned scarlet.

  They took the long way, through the Servant’s Tunnels, and he was glad that they did. Though it would have been more expedient to make use of the shadows, he found himself quite engrossed in conversation as they navigated the palace underbelly on their way to its northeast corner.

  Conversation came easily now, and flowed until they had reached their destination. They talked of Lance’s coming choice and the Emperor’s arrival, of their friends and how they had met them, and a host of other foundational subjects.

  Arriving at the Teacher’s Tower saw a soft silence descend over them, and he thought it might be anticipation on Lance’s part. That perhaps he had thoughts for what this adventure meant, the frontiers they might cross. He was not oblivious to the reputation this tower had, either; but he was not ready for that just yet. Today was about building trust, about getting to know each other better, and if something more did happen…well, that was just as might be.

  “It’s kind of a hike gettin' up there.” He said as they approached the entrance onto another staircase.

  “About the same distance as getting from the canteen to my barracks, right?”

  “The Servant’s Tower is a little shorter than this one. Maybe by a floor or two. I don’t usually take the long way.”

  “So that’s eight floors?”

  “If we’re goin’ to the top. The views up there are spectacular.”

  “I’m not opposed to it. My calves, you see…” Lance thrust out a leg and twisted it theatrically. “…are pretty well developed.”

  Ben chuckled. “Good to know.”

  He pulled open the cedar door onto the staircase. The old servant’s entrance to the upper floors sawed back and forth along the posterior wall, and windows let in light from the outside at each landing. Old cupboards were situated on those landings next to back entrances into the halls within, which would have allowed the palace janitorial staff of old to enter unseen by the children of Shadovane’s elites. With the main entrance blocked off, it was the most convenient means of accessing the upper floors, and the shortest.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “Sometimes I wonder why Queen Meredith closed this school down.” He said. “With her temperament, you’d think she would want as much influence as she could have over her peers kids.”

  “You’re assumin' it was by choice. A lot of those kids probably belonged to country lords.”

  “Who pulled them out when she rose to power.” He rubbed his cheek. “It makes a kind of sense.

  “Anyway, we’re here.”

  The came to a halt on the final landing. A narrow staircase rose higher from the broader steps climbing down from this floor, and bottomed out against the ceiling, where a trap door was situated.

  “Is that where we’re going?” Lance asked.

  “No. No, no.” Ben shook his head. “That’s the roof access. Maybe if it was summer it’d be nice to go up there, but its bitter cold this time of year.”

  He tipped his chin in the direction of the door in front of them. “This is the entrance.”

  Lance reached for the knob, pushed the door inward. They were met with unrelieved darkness on the other side, and Ben took point as they entered.

  Lance lingered in the stairwell until the first shafts of light broke through the gloom. Ben worked thick, velvet curtains aside, sending motes of dust skirling away into the air.

  He returned to the entrance when the last of those curtains was parted, took Lance’s hand, and led him into the chamber.

  What furniture had served whoever occupied this chamber remained, a call back to a time when it had been inhabited, at least temporarily, by someone. A heavy, ornately tooled desk rested before the bank of windows on the western side, and a wine-red, wingback chair sat behind it. The feet of the desk were made of brass, and an ornate seal was fixed against its face. The seal was encrusted with jewels—topaz and peridot, onyx, turquoise, and diamond—and Lance was fixated on it.

  Along the walls were other fineries, trophies from who knew where, relics to show off the wealth and wisdom befitting a person of influence. There was a hide buckler with several feathers dangling from it, a boxy, personal vault situated atop an ebony table, and a harp which began plucking notes of its own accord when he passed by it.

  Lance jumped at the sound of the music, and Ben squeezed his hand to comfort him.

  “It’s okay.” He said.

  “What is this place?”

  “The Headmaster’s Office. I don’t know much about him, but they say he was a gifted enchanter. Some of this was his work.”

  “Wh…where is he now? I’d think I’d have heard of him…if he was still here.”

  “Probably dead. It’s been a long time since Queen Meredith took office and shut this school down. If he’s alive, I bet he lives out in the country somewhere.”

  “They just left this stuff here?”

  “To be honest, I don’t think they care much what he had squirreled away up here. That vault doesn’t open. I tried, but it burned my fingers as soon as I touched the lock.”

  “Ouch.”

  “The harp is nice, though. Kind of comforting when you get used to it. And the desk is really fun.”

  “That’s enchanted, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s it do?”

  Ben led him around to the chair behind it and helped him into the seat. He positioned himself behind it. “I don’t know what it does when you use other kinds of magic on it, but…just watch.”

  Lance grit his teeth as he went through the motions of performing the limited bit of magic he knew. The humdrum sounds of the harp playing its notes, the wind whistling against the windows, drifted away, leaving a pocket of silence to be filled by something else. From the silence came a chaotic tangle of other sounds, instrumental noises all clashing with each other, each one seeking dominance over the others, succeeding for a brief moment before being crushed under the weight of all the others.

  He listened for the ones he needed, and dragged them out of the cacophony, the Cosmic Orchestra, yanked hard with his soul as if he were fishing, and compelled them to him. The other sounds died away, leaving just a broody harmony, a thread of music through which ran dark power.

  He pressed his hand to the desk with the harmony playing in his ears, a harmony heavier with two elements than any others, sa and air. He heard them as percussive, vibrant, almost electrical sounds, with woodwind accompaniment.

  The desk was spurred to life. Light punched out of its face and struck a blank patch of wall across from it, just above that vault. Colors shifted, arranged themselves into the image of a shadow elf, a Wraith clad just in his loincloth, with bands of script running across his torso, slithering around his bicep. Missing was the image of another elf who might be kin. Instead, ornate script in the language of Shadovane formed an intricate knot where the image should be.

  “Watch.”

  A gruff voice spoke as the image began to move through simple forms. The Wraith stood in place with its eyes closed. Its shadow deepened from the usual shade to matte black, and then he dropped into it. Darkness swam around the Wraith, and with his eyes still closed, he navigated through it.

  “Shadow walking is a delicate dance.” The voice claimed. “For the unpracticed, it poses significant danger, as the practitioner, unattended by a more experienced instructor, may be exposed to the Dark Heart, those ill feelings in mortal beings, which in shadow possess power to harm the body, and the spirit. A wary practitioner must learn to embrace silence, and thus form a pocket around himself in which their voices cannot be heard, for speaking is the purest essence of the Dark Heart’s power.”

  Ben removed his hand before the disembodied voice could say more.

  “It keeps going.” He said. “But I don’t want to risk showin' you more until you’ve made your choice.”

  “Lest you be killed.” Lance mumbled.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “Master Gregor told me about all the risks of working in a department that uses magic.” Lance twisted around to face him. “And I made my choice, by the way. Lady Tamalsen assigned me to the emperor’s reception ceremony to try to talk me out of it, but I want to work in the Furnaces. I think it’s for the best that I take Lord Aren’s advice.”

  Ben shrugged. “They’re good people down there. A little rough around the edges, but that’s okay. Just watch out for Emma. She’s kind of a cunt.”

  “Emma?”

  “Tiny thing. Short hair. Looks like she chews rocks for a livin'.”

  Lance nodded. “I met her. She didn’t tell me her name…didn’t really introduce herself, in fact. I see what you mean.”

  “She’s also second in command after Master Gregor down there, so you probably shouldn’t piss her off.”

  “Good to know. So this view.”

  Lance climbed out of the chair. He turned around to face the windows, slid his arm around the small of Ben’s back and pulled him close.

  It was Ben’s turn to blush. “It’s somethin’ isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  The windows revealed a sprawling view of the outside world. This high up, they were almost at the same height as the cliffs. From the roof, the tops of them were plainly visible, an expanse of plains lands crawling all the way to the horizons.

  Along the cliffs were homes carved directly into the rock. Narrow staircases zigzagged back and forth and broader paths were plained out against the sheer, broken faces. Down below were the homes of commoners, all wooden structures, some with tiled roofs still intact though most were fitted with straw where the tiling had fallen to ruin. A network of narrow channels and broad thoroughfares formed a web spanning from the feet of the palace outward, the radial avenues providing the best routes for trader’s carts, and the connecting side streets closer, more intimate.

  People populated those streets, and all of them were elven. Children played on dusty avenues, mothers washed linens in tubs in quaint yards and hung the laundry to dry on thin lines which spanned the distance between houses. Merchants and farmers brought in wares for the common folk to quibble over, though most of the wagons marching into the city from beyond the first turn did not stop for them. Most came directly to the palace, where they would find better prices for their goods—or perhaps they were bound by agreements to service the palace and all of its nobility, it staff, and the military before attending to the needs of the city beyond.

  He would not have called that city beautiful, tried not to look too closely at those dilapidated homes or the state of health and dress those people were in. He looked to Lance, to see in his face what he thought of the city in twilight, what he thought of those high cliffs and winding passes etched into his face.

  He was comforted to find the same wonder there as he had experienced the first time he ventured into this place.

  “It’s incredible.” Lance said, turning to meet his gaze.

  “There’s nothin' quite like it.” Ben agreed.