Page 18 of Prince of Flowers
I studied Sylvain out of the corner of my eye. It looked like he couldn’t decide between being flattered or offended. Seriously, though, Evander was taking this too far. Wasn’t insulting my eidolon enough? He had to start flirting with him, too?
“Don’t get me wrong, Locke. I, for one, think it’s fabulous that you’ll finally have a shot at securing your Summoner’s Crest.” He examined his fingernails, a twinkle of malice in his eye, because with Evander Skink, a compliment was never just a compliment. “Why, I’m getting mine soon, too. Wouldn’t that be funny? Oh, not the part about you taking forever, I mean. Just, it would be nice for us to be colleagues at last, equals in our chosen profession. It doesn’t matter how many years it took each of us to get there.”
And there it was. What a fucking prick. I rolled my eyes. “Get over yourself, Skink.”
Screw Evander for bringing up my super, super seniority yet again. I didn’t need my delay rubbed in my face all the time, an unfortunate combination of many things. My own laziness, admittedly, but more than that, it was a fear of never living up to Father’s name. And there was the added stress of having to excel after acquiring my Crest, of becoming a better and better summoner.
Completing my studies at the Wispwood was one thing. Actually carrying on as a summoner was another entirely. That was when the true test began, when the true learning started. Gathering my own eidolons, hiring my magic out to the highest bidder. There was the matter of the inheritance, too — my funds were running low, and this was the obvious way out.
The greatest summoners collected eidolons like they were trading cards, a tool and a weapon for every situation. A mage might call lightning out of the sky to smite their enemy. A summoner might call on a thunderbird, or several of them instead, achieving even more spectacular results.
And yes, mages could match the power of summoners with the correct spells and rituals, but nothing strikes fear in the hearts of your enemies quite like the sight of a mythical beast of legend: a manticore come to flay and poison, or a nightmare charging forth on flaming hooves.
In a similar way, little can be more rousing for those fighting on your side. The piercing war cry of a noble gryphon, or the thundering drumbeat of footfalls as a giant stomps into battle. There’s something poetic and deeply primal about the art of summoning, how it can fuel both fear and inspiration.
And there I was with my birds and a small handful of other creatures — a tattered old wolf and a grubby cat. I’d always aspired to become the more versatile kind of summoner, contracting eidolons of various elements to round out my repertoire. The keyword there being aspired, of course, to be someone like Father.
There was no one right way to be a summoner. I liked the idea of collecting a flexible assortment of eidolons, but others preferred to specialize heavily in a single type, deepening their mastery and command of those creatures and their unique abilities.
Grand Summoner Dorian was known for dealing exclusively with dragons, banking on the idea that the only thing more terrifying than a single dragon was an entire flock of them blotting out the sun. Grand Summoner Celestina had her angels.
Evander wanted to be like them, specializing in the most unlikely sort of creature. My eyes fell on the silver ring on his finger, the filigree as delicate and pretty as its owner, crafted in the shape of a single butterfly.
Evander clapped his hands once, grinning, the butterfly on his finger glimmering as it caught the light. “Why don’t we practice what we’ve learned, hey, Locke? A brief and friendly demonstration of our power. One summoner against the other.”
The hairs on my nape bristled. A challenge? Sylvain could sense it, too, the leaves making up his armor rustling in a nonexistent breeze. Bruna lifted her chin, putting on her teacher’s voice.
“I don’t mean to treat anyone here like children,” she said, the insult aimed at Evander, and sprinkled with sugar. “But as a professor of the academy, I don’t recommend that sort of thing in common areas.”
“And that’s exactly why this is so perfect, Professor Hernandez. Your presence makes this official, and safe. I repeat. This is an excellent opportunity for practice, a culmination of all our education. Or is Locke here content to hide behind your skirts? It’s hardly fair, this favoritism, him being friends with an authority figure, and — ”
“My skirts?” Bruna said, all pretense thrown right out the window, her expression deathly cold. A shitty thing to say to begin with, and besides, Bruna was very sensitive about her skirts. “You’re on thin ice, Skink.”
“Mea culpa,” Evander said, bowing his head. Gods, even his feeble attempts at apologizing smacked of insincerity.
“I’m fine, Bruna.” I cracked my knuckles. “I can handle this. Sure, Skink. You wanna go? Let’s go.”
He gave me a Cheshire smile, laughter in his eyes. “Gladly.”
Namirah sucked on her teeth and tutted, muttering something that sounded very much like “man-child” as she leaned against the wall to watch. Bruna sighed in defeat, patting herself down in search of a potion. She pulled a phial from her belt and poured its contents in a line along the ground. A barrier of light erected itself around us in the corridor.
A wall of force, just like Evander said, something to make it official, and safe. Safe for anyone watching, that is. Students gathered close, rubberneckers and passersby alike chattering excitedly. The door to Dr. Euclidea Fang’s office swung open.
Everyone fell silent. She narrowed her eyes, studying the faces within the forcefield, then nodded her approval.
“Skink. Wilde. Of course. Just as expected.”
Dr. Fang stood there with her arms crossed, like she was waiting for us to carry on.
“Really, Dr. Fang?” Bruna asked. “You have no issues with what’s happening right now?”
“Let them kill each other if they like. May the best man win.”
Damn. Tough love. And speaking of which — I leaned closer to Sylvain.
“I’m still not entirely sure what you can do with your power, but I think you’ve pieced together what’s happening here.”
He shrugged. “I’ll snap him like a twig.”
