Page 2 of Harbinger

Her eyes fall on me for a moment, like somehow she knows I don’t belong with anyone here, either. Nothing changes on her blank face, but guilt floods through me. I nudge back to make more room for her, but the Marius initiate squares her shoulders and strides to stand next to a marble column by herself.

She’s brave enough to be from the military order, I’ll give her that. Especially since a spray from the curtain of waterfalls below us finds its way past the columns. I shiver harder as droplets of ice-cold mist settle on my arms and face.

No one speaks as we huddle in small clusters near the massive oak door. Half of us are just trying to stay warm. The other half are sizing one another up.

We all hail from the five noble bloodlines of Antares, but some orders are more … cooperative than others. So, while we may technically be allies who need one another’s magic to survive, we’re all rivals. Even now, most of the initiates have splintered off with their bloodline rather than move close enough to share body heat.

“This will be worth it when we receive our birthright tomorrow.” The young man next to me breaks the silence like he senses that everyone needs a pep talk and he’s nominated himself Team Captain. “We’re very lucky.”

A few others nod. I manage half a smile. Luck has nothing to do with it.

Before we governed magic, the Stars chose randomly, picking who to bless with little regard for merit or morality. Witches and gods walked the world then, if you believe the old stories. They gave us nochtimetry—the sacred art that harnesses the magic of the Stars.

They also gave us war.

Endless, brutal war.

But we mere mortals fought back, annihilating them in the Last War. The general who led the defeat was named king, and he elevated the most powerful families that fought alongside him to patrons, tying each bloodline and its descendants to one of the powerful constellations that determine our fates. These noble families became the pillars of our society, each learning, governing, and controlling an order of magic for the good of all of Antares.

That’s the history, anyway, and since I hail from one of the original patron families, I’m not supposed to question it. None of the nobility would dare. Not when it means we’re among the few that will inherit the responsibility of wielding that magic.

Normally, we accept this birthright at our home astrolatory in front of our families and a few close friends. But not this year.

This year is the Quincentennial, the five hundredth anniversary of the day our illustrious ancestors decided to lay down their weapons one final time and give peace a chance. And, of course, now the new king wants to celebrate like this was somehow all his idea.

So, he’s summoned every noble coming of age this year to receive their birthright at court.

Or die of exposure.

Whichever comes first, apparently.

Team Captain turns to me when no one else responds to his words of encouragement. “Where are you from?”

Before I can answer, the wooden door creaks open to reveal the dimly lit entry. A vesper, one of the astrolatory’s cloistered scholars, appears in the open doorway. The gray streaking her long, dark braids matches the shimmering, embroidered fabric of her robes. Part priestess, part oracle, and part scientist, her life is dedicated to studying the Stars above.

We move toward her in a herd, eager to warm ourselves by the heating stones within. But the vesper doesn’t invite us inside. Her gaze sweeps across each initiate in turn, assessing us like we’re books to catalog instead of people.

“It is a great honor to pass through these doors and give your life to the Stars,” she explains in a clear, strong voice.

Forget honor. I’ll take a coat. But I nod dutifully along with the others.

“Tonight, you will each face your Petition, the first step required to receive your birthright,” she continues. “Which of you will go first?”

For a moment, no one moves as it hits us. The ritual is private, a showing of loyalty to the Stars. Before we receive our magic, we’re meant to stand beneath their canopy and prove we’re ready to leave our old lives behind—whatever that means. But if we’re doing this one by freaking one, and she’s blocking the door, the rest of us will wait outside. I lift my hand to volunteer, but Team Captain shoots forward and bows.

“It would be my honor,” he announces, puffing his chest like he’s accepting a medal. Someone in the group across from us whispers to his friends, and they all snicker. Arrogant enough to mock someone in front of a vesper? What order are they from?

The vesper stares Team Captain down. “Name and order?”

“Ren Sata, Order Leontia.”

He’s a healer, like I thought. Although his ambition is a surprise, since his order prides itself on being self-sacrificing. Then again, he probably sees it as his duty to go first and show us we have nothing to worry about.

The vesper gestures for him to follow. They disappear inside, the door closing behind them.

Thick, uncomfortable silence descends again among the rest of us. With Ren gone, I’m exposed on one side. I wrap my arms around myself as the wind picks up.

“He better not take too long.” A blonde with wide-set eyes across from me flexes her hands. Her nose is upturned at the end, reminding me of my favorite cat from back home. “I feel like I’m going to lose a finger.”