Page 118 of Ashes of Aether

I flash him a small smile. “Thank you.”

He dips his head.

“Anyway,” I say, grabbing my shawl and hauling myself from the bench. My wobbly legs manage to support my weight. “I should probably head home now.”

“Of course,” he replies. “Good night, Reyna. Thank you for seeing me tonight, especially after all the injuries you have suffered.”

“It’s not a problem. Thank you for inviting me.” I draw aether to my fingers, preparing my teleportation spell. “See you tomorrow night.”

With that, I drift away into a cloud of violet light, leaving Nolan and the bench far behind.

Thirty-Three

Thecrowdroarswithanticipation.Theaircrackleswithtension.

Every seat inside the arena is filled, from the first tier all the way to the very top. It seems all of Nolderan has gathered to watch our third and final Mage Trial.

I sit on the lowest row, along with the other adepts. On the opposite side lies a raised platform where my father and his Archmagi are seated. Their chairs are so elaborately decorated they look like stone thrones. Though we sit hundreds of yards away, I feel my father’s sharp gaze fixing on me, willing me not to fail.

I grip the edge of the bench, my nails scraping against the stone. I cannot fail. If I do, all I’ve ever worked for will be in vain.

Today, I must succeed. There is no other choice.

Archmage Gidston doesn’t sit on the platform with my father and the other two Archmagi. She stands at the center of the arena. When she raises her hand, the crowd falls silent.

“We gather today to watch the remaining fifteen adepts undergo their final Mage Trial. Over the past five years, they have worked tirelessly to develop their abilities at crafting aether into spells and enchantments, preparing themselves to become fully fledged Magi of Nolderan.

“These remaining adepts have thus far proven they possess the required strength of heart and mind to graduate from the Arcanium as magi. Today, we test their proficiency with aether.

“Behold, the Trial of Magic!”

Once more, the crowd clamors with applause. My stomach tightens at the deafening noise.

Many don’t gather here just to witness new generations of magi being born. They come because the Trial of Magic can be brutal. My mother forbade me from attending the trial until I joined the Arcanium, and that was only because adepts are required to watch. After all, it’s the fate which awaits us all.

The Trial of Magic has the highest failure rate. Death is also not unheard of. We aren’t supposed to die, but in the heat of battle, the Archmage of Knowledge may intervene a moment too late.

Over the last four years I’ve watched the Trial of Magic, I’ve seen only one adept die in the arena. And technically, he died outside the arena from his injuries. All the Blood Balm and healing potions in the world couldn’t save him from his mortal wounds.

I pray I will not share his fate. At least the odds are favorable: one in approximately sixty adepts.

Archmage Gidston continues to speak, and the crowd quietens again.

“To pass this trial, each adept must complete a total of three rounds. Failing even one means failing the Trial of Magic, and they will be unable to graduate from the Arcanium. Only the brightest and most talented of our young adepts will join the ranks of the magi.

“For this first round, the adepts shall face a colossal stone structure: a golem. These constructs are bound and animated with aether.

“We now call the first adept to the arena: Reyna Ashbourne!”

I suck in a sharp breath. It’s no surprise that I’m the first adept to be called. I am the only one left who has a surname beginning with ‘A.’

At my name, cheers explode through the arena. My breakfast starts to come back up. I force it down. The crowd expects a spectacular performance from the Grandmage’s daughter. I can only hope I don’t disappoint them.

Eliya seems to sense my nerves, and she squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she whispers, her voice nearly inaudible over the booming cheers. “You’ll absolutely slay that golem—I know you will!”

Then she releases me, and I stand, drawing aether into my fingers. “Laxus,” I call, and the crowd seems to quieten at the spell-word.

I glimmer away into violet light and re-emerge beside Archmage Gidston at the center of the arena.