Page 54 of Fate Promised

A woman with white hair pulled back into a tight chignon entered the image. She wore the crimson red robes of Herskala Academy with an ornate golden crest on her upper right chest. A tall man strode next to her, his face in shadow as he remained turned away from the chalice. He wore a light-gray shirt trimmed with what appeared to be velvet. One of the most luxurious fabrics according to Chessa. His trousers were black and perfectly cut. In the style of the Trulo kingdom, his clothing appeared simple yet expertly tailored. Chessa said that the wealthy liked to underplay the expense of their possessions, they even described their elaborate estates as cottages.

“This meeting is rather irregular, my lord,” the woman said, turning so her face was fully visible.

The tall man nodded. “I wanted to speak in private about the update to the Official Roll of the Magicarchy.”

“I suspected as much, but there is little I can do. The Barrington family has produced four high-level sorcerers in the past decade, and your family has … well ….” She trailed off and looked out the window. “I apologize for being so direct, my lord.”

Next to her, Juri jolted, his arm brushing against hers. When she turned toward him and raised a brow, he pointed at the man. Did he recognize him?

The man waved his hand lazily, and that was when Triska caught the wink of gold, the sunlight from the small window bouncing off a ring with a family crest on the man’s middle finger. Like the one worn by the hooded man Juri described from the sewer. “Our family refuses to marry unless we’re certain the mingling blood will bring us what we want. We shouldn’t be punished for that.”

“Look at it more as the Barringtons are being elevated.”

The man turned even farther away, giving the woman his back. “The Barringtons are a fine family, but they don’t deserve to crack the top ten. They have no estate. Their money is tied up in trade. Are you certain their latest children are truly sorcerers? Perhaps they should be tested again.” He paused for a long moment. “There are rumors you’re raising funds for a new wing for the southern hall.”

The woman’s face remained smooth, without a flicker of surprise at the abrupt change in subject. “Yes, we need more classrooms, but I haven’t announced it yet.”

“My family would be glad to fill your coffers. No need to beg for money from a public already tired of donating, considering the last request for funds was less a request and more a demand. Your time could be better spent on other things.”

Now her brows rose a fraction. “That would save me quite a headache. It’s rather beneath my role as dean to beg. I wish the kingdom would set a decree for us to tax the humans of Trulo.”

The lord waved his hand again. “I agree. I can reintroduce that measure in our next council meeting. Of course, by freeing your time, you could also reexamine the trials of new sorcerers over the past year and determine if there were any … inaccuracies.”

The corner of the dean’s eyes tightened. “You also need to marry. And marry well. The family needs another generation with strong magicwielders, all sorcerer level. You were the only one of your generation who reached that achievement, and that makes it look like your blood is diluting.”

The man stiffened and Triska suspected he didn’t get orders telling him to marry too often. Or perhaps she’d just insulted him. “A … friend … of mine has some thoughts on potential partners for me. I agree it's time for me to find a wife.”

“I’m sure I can help you much better than a matchmaking friend. Let’s have tea. I know most of the eligible young women of marrying age and their magical aptitude. Of course, I usually charge for my matchmaking endeavors, but for you, there’s no need for such things.” The woman gestured toward the door. “And we can complete your generous donation.”

The two left without glancing at the chalice, and without revealing the man’s face.

The image faded as Fergal waved his hand, but the purple flames remained.

“Do you know who that man is?” Juri asked.

“Was it the hooded man?” Triska asked.

“In the sewers, the man spoke low. Sort of clipped. I can’t be certain if it was the same voice.”

Fergal stroked his chin. “If I’d seen his face properly, maybe. I think we can assume he’s from one of the ten families.”

“Ten families?” Triska asked.

“Yes. The magicwielding families are ranked by power. Everyone wants the top ten, and they fight viciously for it.”

Juri growled. “He wore the ring on the same hand and finger as the man in the sewers.”

Fergal waved his hand as if swatting at a fly. “Most of the heirs wear their family ring. What I want to know is, has Herskala fallen so low that the dean overlooked a chalice bursting with purple flames behind her?” He cackled. “Of course, she always was dim in magical matters. Shrewd in politics though, which is how she overthrew me.”

Juri set Triska on her feet and stood. “The Herskala bowls are interesting, but how does this all tie into Hoyt? How did he have this bowl in the first place?”

Fergal stood as well. “I’m not sure how he found one of the bowls. People have searched for centuries for them and without luck. But having this bowl allowed him to see he could channel magical power from shuwt successfully. Did Morana’s bowl come up to Ulterra with her?”

Juri paused for a long time before answering. “I can’t be certain, but I don’t think so. Hans described what happened when Morana reappeared, and he never mentioned anything about her having a bowl.”

“Did Hoyt mention anything about wanting the other bowl?”

Juri shook his head. “No.”

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