The Enchanter Grimm Boll was said to be the greatest Enchanter Irrhydia had ever seen.
His grandfather, Redford Boll, was famed for creating the legendary Draconian Helm and armour, made from steel and gryphon's blood that would not melt even in dragon's fire.
His mother, Ione Boll, had fashioned the famous Sword of Aequean Ice, which the legendary Grandmaster West Bolt had used to slay five hundred golems in the Battle of the White Mountains.
Grimm Boll surpassed both of them, having several mythical-sounding inventions to his credit. He'd made the Cowl of Atlas' Breath, used by one of the Grandmasters to bring down the sky on the Northern King's armies during the War. There was the Net of Andronicus the Odd, which could magically make appear anything the user could imagine in their hour of need.
Most famously, he had created the Carcanet the Draconian King had presented to the Irrhydian Queen at their marriage, the single instrument that now bound all the people of Orr to serve Irrhydia until the end of time.
Honestly, if the Academy weren't so disrespectful to the forms of magic mavericks used, Grimm Boll would probably be in the Chamber of Chronicles as one of the best alchemists to have ever lived.
Surely creating a little trinket to help Marvel conceal the true nature of his athar would be nothing to him.
The problem lay in convincing the man to actually help him. Despite constantly being at their beck and call, the Enchanter had a notorious dislike of mages. Maybe because he was constantly at their beck and call. Marvel thought of his own gruelling years of service to Baylin and understood.
Every single time Marvel had ever met the man, accompanying Aisling on deliveries or on an errand for Baylin, the entire conversation had revolved around how arrogant mages were. He spoke of their snobbery for never letting him attend their Academy. He said often he would never make anything for them if they hadn't been paying through their noses.
He'd seemed to like Marvel, despite his best efforts to discourage such a friendship for… personal reasons. Marvel had been like Grimm Boll, a maverick chained to the service of mages, looked down on and spat upon. Now that Marvel was a maverick no more, Grimm Boll's attitude toward him might be different.
The Academy's maverick servants kept the town informed of most of the extraordinary goings-on at the castle. He was certain the nearby town was fully aware of his new status, and by extension, Grimm Boll.
And even if the man didn't know, well, how in all of the hells was Marvel going to pay him for his services?
"You know," Aisling said, drawing him from his thoughts, "I'd kind of assumed the reason you wanted to talk to me was to apologise for not telling me that you're a novice now."
"Hmm?" Marvel blinked. Oh, right, he'd nearly forgotten Aisling was even there.
She kept pace beside him on the small dirt road that led down to the town downhill from the Academy. Dressed in a lovely green gown, she'd drawn her long, blonde hair into a braid. Free of her healer's robes, she looked nice— more than nice. Beautiful. Passers-by shot her admiring glances as they walked on.
Marvel swallowed and fixed his eyes on the road ahead of him. He tried not to think about the fact that she wouldn't have put so much effort into her appearance if they hadn't been making deliveries to Grimm Boll. He really, really didn't have time for the bitter heat that spiked through him at the thought.
"Sorry, I was just, er, thinking about class today," he said. "Learned some, er, new stuff."
She scoffed. "Like how it feels to fall out of a window?"
"How do you even know about that?"
"Everyone knows. Your classmates weren't exactly quiet about it." Aisling eyed him. "You shouldn't cross Echo Killian. She's not someone a Novice should mess with."
"I noticed." He gave her a wry smile.
Aisling shook her head. "I don't think you understand." Her grip tightened on her basket of potions. "She isn't actually an Apprentice, you know. Or, rather, she shouldn't be."
That was news to him. "What?"
"You haven't heard of her family?" Aisling shook her head in disbelief. "Marvel, she's Hartley Killian's daughter." At his continued confusion, she said impatiently, "You know, Lord Hartley Killian, Duke of Longshane."
Marvel nearly stumbled into a low-hanging branch. Lord Hartley Killian— the same Lord Hartley Killian who was— had been— Quinn Killian's father. Shit. Echo Killian was related to Quinn. He'd thought they looked similar enough, but he hadn't actually considered she could have been Quinn's sister.
"She's—" Marvel gaped. "Then, how in Satis' name is she here at the Academy?"
The Academy boasted of accepting students and mages of any race, species, or social class. That, however, wasn't strictly true. There were hundreds among the peasants of Irrhydia, thousands of them all over Orr, who had the potential to be mages. However, none of them would know until they were scouted by the Academy, which rarely ever happened.
Nobles, on the other hand, tested their children at a tender age to discover whether they had potential. Any of them who did were immediately sent to the Academy to train until they reached a level high enough to serve their family's ambitions. Because the Academy was sponsored by the donations of Noble Houses, these noble mages, once past the Novice level, would receive specialised training to help them ascend faster.
Members of the royal family and their closest friends and allies, didn't attend the Academy at all. The Draconian Heritage kept its own special school at the capital, where the Draconian King's personal Magus from the Conclave of Grandmasters trained mage children from the moment they learned to walk.
Which meant that mages from the Draconian School ascended much faster and tended to be more powerful than the average Mage.
It had been a shock when Quinn Killian had been expelled from the Draconian School. He'd excelled at the Academy when he had joined. For his sister to have suffered the same fate was unthinkable. And the greatest shame to ever befall a Draconian Mage.
No wonder she's so angry all the time.
Aisling shrugged at his question. "Who knows? All I know is that I've seen her Ascendancy Tests. She ought to be at least a Specialist, with that kind of power."
That sort of power took centuries to gain. She didn't look nearly old enough to have achieved such a status. He had to remind himself mages hardly ever looked their age, especially Higher Level ones. "Then why did they downgrade her to Apprentice?"