Three tomes laid open on Emysen’s desk atop a bedding of scattered parchment filled from edge to edge with notes in her own neat, yet hurried hand. Her fingers traced the words as she read and sat reclined in her chair, front two wooden legs hovering off the floor as she balanced on the back two. Her feet, still clad in her training boots, perched crossed at the ankles on the edge of the desk as the light streaming in the three balistraria in the far wall of the small room painted her toes in a pale light.

  That light had dimmed considerably since she’d started her studying for the evening, forcing her to lean closer and closer to the text in order to make out the words. Finally, she huffed and swung her feet off the desk, the chair legs reuniting with the ground in a loud thud, and she reached forward for the small clay jar of match sticks she kept on her desk. She felt within, spinning a finger around the rough rim, only to discover it was empty. The jar tipped over, her fingers laying limp within.

  Emysen sighed and laid her head against the open book before her, nose pressed to the page, resting her tired, strained eyes.

  A rich, feminine voice floated to her from the doorway. “Emy…” A shrill giggle accompanied it.

  The voice was Drenisen, the giggle was most definitely Verissa. Emysen didn’t bother raising her head. “What?”

  “Won’t you come to the banquet?”

  Another giggle. “Just this once!”

  “It would do you some good.”

  “Pleassseeee?”

  Still face down in the book, Emysen shook her head. “Have to study.”

  “Oh because you look like you’re getting so much done.”

  “Oh come on, Emy!” A hiccup followed the plea.

  “Verissa’s already been drinking and I bet neither of you even know what this banquet’s for,” Emysen said, her words muffled by the pages beneath her.

  There was a silence, followed by an unsuccessfully stifled giggle.

  “Well,” Drenisen said, her voice sounding somewhat closer this time. “If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be.”

  Footsteps sounded down the hall. After a moment Emysen raised her head, her now greasy hair falling over her shoulder. She looked to the door where her friends had stood a moment ago, then down to the desk where she found the match.

  Just beside her wrist laid a short stick tipped with blue. She smiled and said a silent prayer to Drenisen. May her stars align.

  Emysen struck the match against the rough bottom of the clay jar, summoning a tiny blue flame with which she lit the small candle on her desk. The chart in the book before her sprang to life, candle flame making the gold leaf flicker. A star chart.

  She pushed the book closer to the flame, standing to hunch over the page. Constellations were scattered across the parchment in thin black ink, connecting groupings of stars, each a perfect circle of gold. Emysen was interested in six stars in particular. Four on the left page and three on the right. None were a part of any constellation, they were just small, unnamed gold spheres. Some of the bigger stars had artistic flourishes around them, circles or lines that gave the impression of beams of light, but the illustrator had given these six stars no such attention. They were hardly the only unmarked stars on the page, the sky was an ocean of unknown beacons of lights, despite the centuries of scholars staring up at them. But these six were remarkable for another reason, even if no one but Emysen had noticed yet.

  Alongside the six stars were circles in a paler black ink than that of the original text, as if each star cast a shadow on the page. Emysen had been tracking the stars, because they had been moving.

  She took up her candle in one hand, the wax warm in her palm but not yet spilling over the top of the waxen pillar, and the tome in the other. She left her desk to climb up onto her bed, boots and all, and huddle next to one of the balistraria. The narrow, cross shaped apertures in the wall had never seen a cross bolt as far as Emysen knew. The towers where the novices were housed were far too high to worry about an attack from archers on the ground, and it would be nearly as difficult to aim at much of anything from this height. Horses looked the size of beetles from the towers, and more often than not a bank of clouds obstructed all view of the ground. But it always had a magnificent view of the sky.

  Emysen regarded the tome again, taking note of her most recent markings, then sought out her stars in the darkening sky. She had to press her cheek to the cold stone in order to peek out at the right angle. She found the stars with ease and sure enough, they had moved since last she’d checked. She could only tell by comparing them to the neighboring stars. A mental graph unfolded in her mind, vertical and horizontal lines pin pointing each star’s location. Most stars held steady, never leaving their mathematical positions in the sky, the same positions the author of the text had recorded a hundred years ago. Except those six.

  Emmysen recorded their new locations then closed her book with a sigh, peering back out at the stars. They’d been growing brighter, she was sure of it. But were they appearing earlier too? Emysen couldn’t tell. Her ‘gift’ kept her from that knowledge. She possessed the magic of the First Celestial Sphere. Unlike the other two Sphere’s, it contained only one ability: that of being able to see the stars day and night.

  It made her navigation tests a breeze, but besides that she found it quite useless. True, it wasn’t all that common and many considered being of the First Sphere, despite it being a simple magic, a sign that you were favored by the Heavens. The Time Keepers taught no such thing, but superstition traveled farther by mouth than theology did by dusty old tomes.

  She’d have to ask someone else to track them. Someone who wasn’t of the First Sphere. It would be an odd request, but she was certain she could rope Verissa into it.

  Emysen set the book beside her on the bed and kicked off her boots, cringing at the smell and instantly regretting having not removed them earlier. She was tired from training and her eyes were sore from studying in poor light, an injury she often inflicted on herself despite knowing better.

  The candle was quite warm in her hand now and the flame had grown tall and narrow. The light flickered off her armor hanging on its stand beside the bed. Glistening white steel, almost never worn. Now, she had a white tabard she wore beneath, but when given her Mission she would be honored with a blue one. It marked a full Knight, no longer a novice.

  The helm had a scrolling script that wrapped around the back from one temple to the other. It was the old tongue but translated it read: “No man should follow another to glory, but instead cut his own path.”

  The blue tabard symbolized that first cut, but Emysen didn’t seek glory. She didn’t care if she never had to draw her blade again. She just wanted to be done with her training, to apply to be a Time Keeper and spend her days here, studying. But to do so she needed that tabard.

  She shook her head. She’d planned her whole life out before her and most of it entailed changing one uniform for another; brown for white, white for blue, blue for black and gold. So trivial, and yet those colors defined who you were in Stellagrad, defied who you were allowed to be.

  Right now, Emysen could be nothing more than a novice. No matter how much she studied, or trained, or pestered Sister Axilya, she would be no closer to being a Time Keeper. She just had to wait. But she wasn’t very good at waiting. What was she supposed to do with her time?

  Have fun, Axilya’s words, ones she’d spoken dozens of times, rang in her head. You’ll never get this time back.

  Emysen drummed her fingers on the cover of the book. She was hardly the only Stargazer in Stellagrad, not to mention the numerous telescopes the Church possessed, the best in Twinfall. Why had no one else noticed the irregularity in these stars? The stars were the blueprints of the earth, when they moved so too did society. Everytime a strange celestial occurrence was recorded, history was made—for better or for worse.

  She wanted to mark it, she wanted to be the one to predict a natural phenomenon, the discovery of new lands, the changing of the tides.

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  She pushed off her bed and ran a thumb along the inscription on her helm. “Maybe I do seek glory along with the rest of those brutes,” she said quietly to herself. With a resigned sigh she turned to the closet containing her meager wardrobe. “Or maybe I just need a night out.”

  Emysen held her long white skirt in one hand until she entered the Great Hall. It was busy. Not the busiest banquet she’d attended but certainly not a trivial gathering. Many of the banquets held here were attended only by those who lived within the palace walls, the greatest population of that being the novices in their brown or white robes, but tonight the space was full of vibrant color and rich jewelry, indicating that much of the Stellagrad nobility were in attendance tonight.

  Longer tables, the sort you’d find in many taverns, were considered hang-ons of the old Empire, or Northern imports, so in nicer establishments, and most certainly in the King’s Hall, you would only find round tables. They were covered in gold linen tonight and fanned out all over the room, filling the hall like the twinkling stars filled the pages of her book.

  As the general joy and merriment from the room's guests hit her, a thrill crawled through her veins, igniting a sudden urge to laugh or dance. But there was no dancing in this room, for that, you had to cross the foyer into the ballroom. Standing as she was in the doors, Emysen could hear the shrill, fast notes of the lutes and violins from the Ballroom. The Hall had more subdued music, with a harp and a small choir of boys dressed in rich reds and gold caps, their cheeks turning pink from warmth, fatigue, and most likely a few stolen sips of wine.

  Emysen would have missed the hand waving at her from across the room had it not been accompanied by a head of bouncing, bronze curls. She waved back, smiling as she watched Drenisen tugging on Verissa’s sleeve in a desperate attempt to get her to sit down, and made her way over to them.

  “You came!” Verissa said, scooping her crimped brown skirt into her lap before finally retaking her seat. Her hazel eyes sparkled in a way that made her look like she was smiling even when she was crying, though she was hardly ever not beaming ear to ear, and she had one of those rare figures that filled out her baggy brown dress in a way that made boys forget she was a Bean. Bean was what most people called the apprentices, those in the stage before novice. They wore brown garb that looked like sackcloth and only about half had any intention of entering the Church. They became apprentices for the meager income until they were old enough to join a family profession, or because their family had somehow earned a bad reputation. Working for the Church could improve that, which was important if you ever needed help from your local Temple.

  But Verissa and Drenisen were both looking to become a part of the Religious. Drenisen had only recently outgrown her novice robes. If she’d been a Knight she would have her tabard now, but she wanted to be a priestess. She hadn’t earned her posting yet, likely a Temple somewhere outside Stellagrad, though Emysen knew she hoped for something more prestigious, but she had received her blush pink robes. She had restrained herself from wearing the entirety of her new garb to the banquet, opting instead for a cream coloured silk dress, but her hair was wrapped tightly in the pink cloth of her new order, her onyx locks perfectly curled and positioned to just barely peek out from beneath the blush fabric.

  “You could have worn something more casual,” Drenisen said quietly to Emysen as she took her seat. She pushed a silver goblet toward her, the aroma of sweet wine spilling over.

  Emysen took the goblet and looked down at her white dress. The sleeves were tight from her elbows to her knuckles, a slit in the side for her thumbs, but otherwise hung loose. A sheet of simple white. She shrugged. “It’s just a color.”

  “It’s a novice color, it says ‘I’m working’”, Drenisen tsked.

  “I think she looks beautiful,” Verissa said, the slur in her words betraying that she was even drunker than she had been earlier.

  Drenisen rolled her eyes. “She always looks beautiful. It’s that Northern hair. I hear they spin it from the first snow and then stick it to your head as babes.”

  Emysen snorted and took a generous mouthful of wine. She had catching up to do. “There is no such thing as ‘first snow’ in the North. There’s always snow. And my hair is blonde, thank you, I haven’t gone white yet.”

  “It’s the color of white gold. Have you seen that?” Verissa asked, leaning across the table. “Daddy brought Momma a ring of it back from the border. It’s gold, but it’s not gold. And not really silver either.”

  Emysen cooked her head. “How much has she drank?”

  Drenisen snatched the goblet Verissa was nursing between her palms. “Too much.”

  Emysen smiled and took another sip of wine, glad she’d taken the night to spend with friends instead of spending her midnight hours alone in her room yet again. She scanned the room again, remembering how much she loved banquets when they lit all the candelabras and hung the tapestries of the nymphs playing in the falls. Even if everyone else saw them as needless finery, a King displaying his wealth, she saw it as the past speaking to the present. These were artifacts, relics from a distant time. Even the cutlery had stories to tell.

  She finished her wine in record time and waved to a serving girl to have it refilled. One of the Beans leaning against a nearby tapestry smiled and hurried over with a silver pitcher, her long black hair braided down her back.

  She thanked the girl, digging a coin from her dress which was quickly pocketed as the girl bowed and ran off. Emysen sipped the new wine, something sweet and foreign, and laughed as Verissa looked at it longingly.

  “I’ll give you a sip when Mom goes to bed,” Emysen said, nodding toward Drenisen who raised a brow, but otherwise pretended not to hear.

  Emysen’s mood soured quickly as she caught sight of Morin sitting with some of the other Knights at a table not far from her own. She wore a mauve dress with a plunging neckline that showed off the harsh, lean muscles of her chest. Her fellow Knights spent more of their time getting their full of her breasts than they did their dinner.

  “Honestly, don’t they get enough of her bosom in the barracks?” Verisa asked, following Emysen’s line of sight. “She’d scandalize a whore.”

  Emysen choked on her wine.

  Drenisen gasped. “Verissa!”

  “What?” Verissa asked. “Whoring is a noble profession.”

  “Oh?” Drenisen crossed her arms. “Do explain.”

  Verissa looked at Emysen, her cheeks barely containing laughter. “Well, some get to work a whole lot closer with the nobility than you do!”

  Emysen and Verissa erupted into laughter as Drenisin let out an exasperated sigh.

  Emysen wiped her eyes and reached for her goblet. She was surprised to find it empty for a second time, and reached across to take up the goblet Drenisen had confiscated from Verissa earlier. Her vision wavered and she swallowed a hiccup along with her laughter. She wasn’t much of a drinker and never could hold her wine.

  As they managed to reign in their giggling, Denisen spoke up into the silence. “Well, actually…”

  Verissa’s head whipped toward her, brows peaking.

  “Actually?” Emysen asked, setting down her drink.

  Drenisen bit her bottom lip, something she always did to feign modest embarrassment when she knew she was about to brag. “Well, I got my posting today and I’m going to be a Reader.”

  Readers were those who read the daily prayers aloud to the nobility. Though usually they weren’t full priestesses like Drenisen. A Bell Ringer or a Novice would do. Keeping on a Priestess instead was expensive, a lavish status symbol that was rarely done.

  “You’re reading for a nobleman?” Verissa asked, eyes going wide and excited.

  Drenisen shook her head and bit her lip again. Emysen feared she might bite right through. “I’m reading for the Prince.”

  “Ah!” Verissa shot to her feet, clutching both her hands to her fist. “That’s so exciting!”

  “The Prince?” Emysen asked. “That’s incredible, Dreni.”

  “The Prince,” Drenisen repeated.

  Emysen held up her goblet. “We’ll drink to that.”

  Verissa sat down hard on her chair.

  “The Prince,” Drenisen said again. She wasn’t biting her lip anymore.

  “Yes, I heard you.” Emysen shook her head and then gulped back the rest of her wine. Her vision was really swimming now. She swore the Falls on the tapestries were moving, their blue waters of silk thread flowing down to pool around dancing nymphs.

  It took her a moment before she noticed the tap on her shoulder. She turned to see a young man standing behind her. Her gaze traveled slowly up the polished buttons on his jacket before arriving at a sharp jaw, charcoal hair, and smokey gray eyes.

  His cheek bones could have cut glass the way they rose to a peak when he smiled.

  “Would you honor me with a dance?” His voice was honey. Warm sticky honey that threatened to drown her.

  It’s the wine.

  She wanted a pint of water. Ten pints of water. She wanted to stay sitting and let the wine wear off. She wanted to curl up in bed, head still foggy, and drift off into the sort of dead like sleep only drink could bring.

  She did not want to dance.

  But her eyes found Morin again, and for the first time Emysen noticed how short her hair was, just brushing her shoulder from the trim Emysen had given her earlier in the day. All Emysen’s earlier glee returned and she reminded herself that she had come to have fun.

  She took the man’s offered hand and let him pull her to her feet.