The house was quiet when I crossed the foyer.

  I held my breath, waiting for either Father or Grandfather to appear from the shadows with cold disapproval and accusations.

  Instead, I received only a curious, furtive glance from one maid polishing the gilded wood of a frame at the top of the grand staircase.

  My shoulders didn't lower until I was standing inside my bedroom, breath labored as if I had just come back from training with Valdosta rather than a trip to the library.

  I exhaled slowly.

  Maybe father's suspicion was not strong enough to drive him to send someone to actively spy on me, was it? After all, how could he know the depth of my change? What point of comparison could a person who barely knows me have?

  Anyone with eyes has noticed my change in disposition, Father was no exception, but he had no reason to even suspect what's behind it.

  It was my priority to keep it that way.

  To read the missing articles did nothing to ease my mind.

  If anything, it added questions to the already towering pile. What was happening in Belaria that pushed Father to withdraw information from me?

  "Lady Velmire," Crowold greeted the next morning as soon as I entered the room. His fingers and left cheek were dusted with chalk as if he had spent the dawn reorganizing his notes for my benefit. Diagrams and depictions of the human body covered three boards settled behind him. "I trust your restoration exercises proved manageable?"

  I smiled. "They did. Though I suspect regulating warmth is merely the beginning."

  His eyes brightened behind his round glasses. "Precisely!"

  He placed a small lacquered case beside the practice doll and opened it with reverential care. Inside rested a circular rune plate, etched with fine concentric lines that shimmered under the light.

  "Temperature," he began, fitting the plate into the doll's chest cavity, "is surface equilibrium. But equilibrium depends on rhythm."

  A soft glow emerged beneath the doll's carved sternum. A faint, steady pulse.

  "The body is governed by flow. Heat rides it. Weakness reveals itself in it. Panic accelerates it and shock disrupts it."

  The pulse quickened.

  "Your task today," he said excitedly, "is not to overpower it. It is to listen."

  I placed my fingers just above the rune plate without touching it. The hum beneath my skin was subtler than that of energy, just like detecting aether had been.

  I closed my eyes and focused.

  Rhythm, he had said.

  There, right beneath my fingertips, a rhythmic pressure. Faint, like the tremor of a distant carriage passing over stone.

  I prodded it. The glow flared too brightly as the pulse leapt erratically.

  Crowold cleared his throat. "Not pressure," he instructed. " Attunement."

  I exhaled. How was I supposed to attune without further instruction? Out of sheer will and high hopes?

  "Any further instructions, Magister?" I asked without opening my eyes.

  "You could imagine the vessels narrowing and widening. Not as pipes, but as living conduits. Constriction increases force. Relaxation disperses it. Align your magic with it and then work from there, within."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  My jaw ticked. I would later ask Mely to prepare me a scorching lavender bath. I exhaled.

  This time I did not let my magic touch it directly, just like my hands, it hovered above the steady pulse. Like a pair of fish swimming parallel to each other, mimicking their movements.

  "Sacred axioms! Much better, Lady Velmire. Now nudge it carefully. Dilation without strain."

  I obeyed. My eyebrows scrunched in concentration. I could feel my own heartbeat speeding up with strain. Or maybe as a result of aligning with the doll's synthetic heartbeat.

  The doll's pulse slowed. Then quickened when I constricted the vessels with carefully controlled pressure.

  I held it for as long as I could. When a migraine started spreading in my forehead and my control started faltering, I opened my eyes and retired my magic.

  Crowold giggled enthusiastically. "Oh, I thought that would take us... longer to achieve. Phenomenal performance, Lady Velmire! Every cultivated mage should know how to stabilize a distressed guest. Fainting spells, shock from excessive excitement—such things are not uncommon at gatherings."

  Of course.

  A sensible heiress.

  "But you must be careful, dear." He adjusted his glasses. "It is not power, but restraint, that preserves life."

  I considered the way the pulse had faltered under my influence.

  If restraint preserves life, then pressure reshapes it.

  "I understand," I smiled despite the exhaustion pulling at my temples.

  He nodded approvingly. "With refinement, you may also strengthen weakened flow to prevent loss of consciousness, delay collapse. Even steady your own rhythm in moments of distress."

  My eyebrows flickered upwards. "My own?"

  "Certainly. Panic is merely accelerated circulation. Control the pulse, and you control perception."

  "How fascinating. Thank you, Magister. Your lessons are always... enlightening."

  Crowold laughed looking slightly abashed. "Oh, you flatter me, young lady." His expression morphed into something more serious but still open. "I find it reassuring, to see that the future of Belaria is in the hands of such capable generation of young mages. You do your family proud, Lady Velmire."

  I smiled, ignoring the painful twist in my chest.

  "Alya." Father's voice stilled me as my hand was sliding through the book spines in his library.

  I turned to see him standing at the entrance, a white envelope in his hand contrasting sharply against his dark attire.

  "Father," I greeted and waited.

  He stepped closer. "It seems you have attracted... interest."

  My eyes narrowed. "Interest?"

  He sighed in aggravation, handing me the envelope. "It seems Lioren remains," he paused, his steely gaze studying me, "attentive."

  I accepted the letter without haste.

  The parchment was thick and smooth.

  I traced the dark blue winged lion crest impressed on the wax seal.

  Lioren. Interesting.

  I willed my heart to remain as composed as my expression.

  "How... attentive?" I asked mildly.

  Father's eyes did not leave my face. "He requests the honor of your presence at a winter salon five evenings hence. A modest gathering, he claims."

  Claims.

  I opened the seal carefully, aware of Father observing every minute shift in my expression.

  The script was elegant, restrained. No flourish beyond propriety.

  Lord Sirius Astarion Lioren requests the honor of Lady Alya Velmire's presence at a private winter salon to be held at the Lioren residence...

  Music. Discourse. Selected guests.

  Nothing scandalous.

  Nothing my father could read as intimate.

  Impeccable.

  Yet again, I could not read this man.

  "He is thorough," I murmured.

  "He is deliberate," Father corrected.

  I folded the letter once more and met his gaze.

  "Am I to understand this troubles you?"

  His jaw tightened.

  "Trouble is not the word."

  "No?"

  "Timing," he replied evenly. "Is."

  Ah. The Oraphers.

  "How unfortunate," I said lightly. "That gentlemen do not consult one another before expressing interest."

  Father's eyes sharpened. I allowed myself a small smile.

  "And what interest do you return?"

  There it was.

  I let a small silence stretch between us.

  "I return courtesy," I said. "Nothing more. I trust you to select the best suitor for our House."

  His gaze lingered.

  If it was a tremor, warmth or defiance he was looking for, he would find none.

  "I assume, however," I added, folding my hands neatly over the letter, "that declining would send an unfortunate message."

  "It would," he agreed.

  "And accepting?"

  He studied me another heartbeat.

  "Accepting," he said at last, "seems to be the most reasonable course this time." His expression proved how much that annoyed him.

  I tilted my head slightly. "You believe I should attend?"

  "I believe declining would create unnecessary speculation." He adjusted one cuff with precision.

  "Lioren's name carries weight at present. Public discourtesy would reflect poorly on us."

  Of course.

  "I would not wish to embarrass the House," I said.

  "I am aware."

  His eyes softened as his shoulders lowered by a few milimeters. He did not question my alignment; he simply assumed it.

  "He has been visible of late," Father continued. "Attending assemblies. Hosting smaller gatherings. Consolidating... relationships."

  A polite phrasing for influence.

  "And this salon?" I asked. "Is it one of these consolidations?"

  "Undoubtedly."

  I let a faint breath escape. "Then I assume my presence is strategic."

  A flicker of restrained amusement touched his expression.

  "Your presence," he corrected, "is to remain composed in public. To politely decline his advances. To observe who attends and what they say."

  I wanted to scoff. How ironic that I had been trying to expose a potential spy of my father’s… only to have him appoint me!

  "I can manage that," I replied.

  "I trust you can."

  He sighed.

  "You will attend," he said. "You will be gracious. And you will not encourage familiarity, especially in public. People love to exaggerate what they think they see." He looked at me pointedly.

  "Of course. I will be careful."

  He nodded once, satisfied.

  "The Orapher gathering remains the priority," he added evenly. "This invitation does not alter that."

  Of course it doesn't.

  "Understood."

  He held my gaze a moment longer.

  "I will have a reply sent this evening."

  "I shall prepare accordingly."

  He nodded and left without further word.

  Once the door shut and silence settled, I looked down at the letter again, tracing the indentation of the crest beneath my thumb. My heart galloped freely now that I wasn't holding the reins.

  How fortunate for Father that he still believes I move within the lines he draws.

  Five evenings.

  Enough time to ponder what games Sirius was playing, which role he thought I played in them and to decide how I would react.

  But for just a moment, I allowed my lips to widen into a smile while I looked down at the letter.