Michael was dreaming.
It was evening and the glowing sun, though still a crisp circle in the blood red sky, was slowly fading into the distance. High outcrops of rock and towering cliffs stood resolutely amidst a chilly breeze. The sound of ocean waves, and the faint smell of salt water filled the air. And yet Michael was at peace…sitting underneath the stars on the smoothest part of the rocky terrain as none other than Paris rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel a sense of calm washing over him as he held her hand in his, and they watched the shoreline below. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered. For as long as he could remember he'd always loved coming here…it was one of the few times where he and Paris could actually be alone together, and when she sighed serenely, he gazed into her eyes. He'd never felt more at peace in his entire life…
Michael awoke with a start. His body was tingling as though he'd been on the receiving end of an electrical shock. Sitting upright in his bed and panting heavily, he stared wildly around his bedroom as his groggy vision came into focus. There was a flashing light coming through the curtains that he knew could only be the product of spells being casted outside his window. It was well past midnight now and apparently, the council summoners still had their hands full trying to keep fans and reporters out of Rowling House. From outside his room, he could hear Nario snoring from down the hall. He sounded like a disgruntled piglet.
Well at least he's sleeping well, thought Michael, rubbing his head and trying to recall the dream he'd just awoken from. He was still panting heavily, though he wasn't entirely sure why. It wasn't like the dream had been a nightmare—on the contrary, it had been one of the happiest memories in his entire life. But then again, was it really his memory? Michael had never been on top of a seaside cliff before, and he'd certainly never held Paris's hand (that definitely wouldn't have made him happy). But if the memory (and for that matter the dream) was not his own…then whose was it? It had all seemed remarkably real…as though Michael could feel and taste everything that was happening.
He concentrated again. It seemed like the harder he tried, the more of the dream that escaped his mind. His brain felt like a deflated balloon.
"Whatever," he grunted, lying back down as chants of: "WE WANT THE PRINCE!" echoed from outside. No need to get worked up over stupid dreams…he would have to put it out of his mind…at least for now anyway…
***
"Unbelievable!" shouted Nario, sitting across from Michael the next morning at breakfast. He was holding a newspaper in one paw, and a forkful of fried egg in the other.
"What?" shouted Michael, looking alarmed. He'd been in the middle of debating with himself whether or not to eat the fried egg staring back at him on his own plate. This morning's breakfast eggs (which according to Nario had been laid by creatures called harpies) each had a greenish-black yolk that made Michael feel queasy the longer he looked at it. He still hadn't quite gotten over his experience with Galdinosh, and neither had his stomach.
"Un-be-lie-va-ble!" hissed Nario again. His fork hadn't moved from its spot, and by now, the egg's runny yolk had started to drip down his shirt.
"What happened?" demanded Michael as the kitchen nymphs flew over their heads, bringing more food, and taking away empty dishes. They each made sure to avoid Michael's eye as they glided past.
"YO!"
"Oh sorry!" said Nario, shaking his head as though coming out of a trance. "I was just reading this article in the Monocle."
He then devoured the piece of egg on his fork in one bite. The sight of it made Michael cringe.
"Check it out."
Nario slid the copy of the newspaper to Michael. At the very top of the front page, in bold letters, were the words: "THE MONDAY MONOCLE."
"The Monday Monocle is the biggest paper in Avahnair," said Nario, licking bits of yolk from his shirt. "And it's not a tabloid either, although most of the stories have been about you the past couple of days."
"So they still call it this even though today is Friday?" said Michael sarcastically, as he examined the Monday Monocle closer, and noticed beneath the title was a picture of a beautiful young woman, with a headline that read: "CYNTHIA BREWMALLISTON LATEST VICTIM OF ATTACKS SWEEPING THE COUNTRY! BREWMALLISTON FAMILY FORCED TO CONFESS TO THEIR CRIMES!" Guessing that this was what Nario had been shouting about, Michael read the article underneath the headline:
It has been confirmed that Avahnairian socialite and media darling, Cynthia Brewmalliston, was found lying unconscious and drained of spirit energy on the front door steps of her apartment in the affluent Harnier District of West Collinshale, shortly after midnight last week. Since being discovered, Ms. Brewmalliston has been receiving around-the-clock treatment at Panacea & Iaso Medical Center, and authorities now have reason to believe she is the latest victim in a series of attacks that have been taking place throughout Avahnair. Cynthia Brewmalliston, 21, is the granddaughter of Femi Brewmalliston, the 17th Earl of Keishdon, and she is the fourth person in the last six weeks to be attacked and discovered in this manner, though she is by far the most high profile yet. Paxcaster authorities now have reason to believe that not only are all the attacks related, but also that they are being caused by the ancient magical artifact known as "the Keeper of Destiny." It was thought that the Keeper of Destiny was destroyed on Council of Summoning orders after the end of the Second Chrysanthemum War, however it has now been discovered that not only was the artifact not destroyed thirteen years ago as was previously reported, but it was being illegally hidden this entire time, by none other than the Brewmalliston family!
According to highly-trusted sources, this information was brought to light, only after the Earl of Keishdon himself came forward to the Paxcasters (a few hours after Cynthia Brewmalliston's body was found) and told them that the Keeper of Destiny had been stolen from his Markleshire manor (the Brewmalliston family's ancestral home) three months ago. It was at this point that he also confessed to the fact that he'd been illegally hiding it ever since the end of the war. The Earl, 81, whose wife Mehganira, Countess of Keishdon, died last December, was rumored for years to have been a staunch supporter, and even member of the Azure Alliance (allegations he has vehemently denied) and this confession only seems to bolster those rumors.
Despite this, the Earl of Keishdon is adamant that although he hid the artifact, neither he nor any members of his family have anything to do with the wave of attacks currently taking place. The Earl's eldest son, Lord Rotimi, 57, who is also the father to Cynthia, spoke briefly to reporters, outside of Panacea & Iaso, after visiting his daughter, and said that his family is more than ready to fully cooperate with the Paxcasters in their investigation. Lord Rotimi also said that due to his father's advanced age, he would be acting as spokesperson, as he and the rest of the Brewmalliston family head back to Markleshire, where the Paxcasters are currently conducting a raid on the manor.
It is still unknown whether the culprit behind the attacks is acting alone, and it is also unknown if or when the Council plans to make an official announcement on the recent developments (all attempts to reach President Cahks for comment have thus far proved unsuccessful). Nevertheless, the person or persons involved are to be considered highly dangerous and {ctd. page 2, column 11}
Beneath this part of the article was the picture of a small, old-fashioned-looking mirror, with an aged wooden handle and the words: "THE KEEPER OF DESTINY" captioned next to it. It reminded Michael of the hand-held mirrors he'd always seen in barber shops.
"That's it?" said Michael, pointing at the picture. "A mirror?"
Nario shook his head.
"Yes, but the Keeper of Destiny is much deadlier than your average mirror. Because anyone that sees their reflection in its glass will have their mind locked away."
"Locked away? Where?"
"Torment," said Nario, speaking as though he were retelling a horror story. "You see, upon viewing one's own reflection, the Keeper of Destiny steals that person's mind from their body, rendering them unconscious, and causing them to relive their worst memories and fears in their head. It's like being trapped in an eternal nightmare of misery, while at the same time being drained of all spirit energy! If the person's mind is locked away in torment for too long…they will eventually die."
"So that's what's happening to those four people in the newspaper?" said Michael, now on the edge of his seat.
Nario nodded slowly.
"But can't they just be woken up from the nightmare?"
"No, the Keeper of Destiny's magic is far too powerful," said Nario gravely. "So nothing, except actually destroying the mirror, can reverse the effect and free the victims from their torment. Everyone that was trapped thirteen years ago ended up dying in their sleep before the war ended. I suspect this was why Queen Annelise got called into that emergency meeting with President Cahks. It may have been to warn her of the growing threat."
Nario then slammed his fist on the table which caused his glass of Lopaberry juice to splash him in the face.
"Damn that Brewmalliston!" he cursed angrily, wiping his whiskers. "Don't believe any nonsense about rumors, Femi Brewmalliston was one of the top generals for the Azure Alliance during the war, and a favorite of Roidaiku! Back then he was personally put in charge of the Keeper of Destiny!"
"He was?" said Michael, looking at the photograph of the rather feeble-looking elderly man by Femi Brewmalliston's name in the Monocle.
"Yes, but he always operated in secret! He especially loved using the Keeper of Destiny on edoes because they were the easiest victims!"
Nario slammed the table again, but one of the nymphs quickly used a spell to raise every dish into the air before his fist could make contact.
"The only reason that old fool even came forward about the Keeper of Destiny being stolen is that his granddaughter has been attacked! He'll be more than happy to help with the Paxcasters investigation, so long as he doesn't get arrested or face any punishment!"
"Do you think he's behind the attacks this time as well?" said Michael, examining the headline again.
"No I don't," said Nario firmly. "I don't believe Femi Brewmalliston would ever use the Keeper of Destiny against one of his own. The Brewmalliston family, much like my father's, is very old and aristocratic. That's how he was able to avoid jail time after the war...no one wanted to believe that such a grand family could have done so many horrible things. Anyway, I doubt he would ever risk his own granddaughter's life. My guess is that Brewmalliston had been hiding the Keeper of Destiny for all these years, biding his time, but now it's been stolen from him, and is being used by someone else."
"But who?"
"I don't know," sighed Nario, unfolding another copy of the Monday Monocle, and sitting back in his chair. "But history is going to repeat itself with these latest victims if we don't find out soon."
There was silence (except for the occasional nymph) as Michael watched Nario read over the article several times to himself—his eyes growing wider with each new scan down the page.
***
"Put this on for the banquet," said Nario, as he came into Michael's room later that evening. He was holding a neatly folded bundle of clothing, and Michael was shocked to see he'd also abandoned his customary shawl for a gold embroidered formal white tunic suit and cloak.
"Why do I have to wear this?"
"Because," said Nario, lightly tossing the bundle to Michael. "General Dumeka insisted upon it. It's the ceremonial uniform of a Prince of Avahnair. Your dad wore one just like it when he was around your age."
For a split second, Michael had considered arguing. But remembering Nario's methods when it came to putting an end to his sneaking out, decided against it.
"I've never even seen this Dumeka guy," he grumbled bitterly, "and he still finds ways to tell me what to do!"
The uniform, which was navy blue, with a maroon sash and tasseled belt, fit Michael perfectly as he stared at his reflection. If not for the fact that it had no medals, he would've looked exactly like the portraits of his father and grandfather. After pocketing his casting glove, he followed Nario downstairs, where they were greeted by a new set of council summoners, who ushered them outside to a waiting nurover. Several feet away, was the ever-present throng of screaming people, which appeared to have multiplied (most especially the number of girls). To his surprise however, the crowd seemed unable to get any closer to them, or the nurover, even though it was obvious they were trying with all their might. It was as though their bodies were being blocked by a giant invisible bubble. Nario, who seemed to be reading Michael's mind, then said casually: "They're being stopped by our barrier shield."
He then pointed towards the front of the lawn, where an eight-legged triangular piece of metal was floating. It almost looked like a metallic spider.
"That's what's stopping those people?" said Michael in amazement.
"Yes! It was activated earlier today!" nodded Nario. "After the whole front door getting knocked down thing, the Council of Summoning lent it to us so we'd have an easier takeoff tonight, and as you can see there's no getting through it!"
"Hang on," said Michael, as one man in the crowd was bounced back some ten feet into the air, after trying to charge at them like a bull. "Why the heck haven't we been using a barrier shield all this time?"
He angrily recalled the banging and screaming he'd endured for the past week.
"Well," said Nario, as he climbed into the nurover. "Barrier shield usage is heavily regulated by the Council, and most of the members were against it. As the Crown Prince, they thought it'd be better for you to get used to life without one."
Michael's head immediately filled with vicious insults about Council members whose names and faces he didn't know.
Their driver on this occasion was a willowy summoness with a pixie haircut, and as Michael made himself comfortable in the backseat, she eagerly smiled at him. Once they were airborne though, it quickly became clear she possessed none of the same smooth flying skills that Jan had, as the nurover swayed from side to side like a pendulum. This might have had a lot to do with the fact that she kept trying to steal glances at Michael in the rear-view mirror.
"It's such an honor to meet you, Prince Michael!" she shrilled as they flew over Celestina Market. Despite having an Avahnairian accent, her voice was annoyingly girlish, and it instantly reminded Michael of Taryn. "My name's Fatima by the way! This is so exciting…I can't believe I'm actually getting to fly royalty! I almost lost my breath when I found out…little old me flying a Prince! I told my mommy…she's edoe actually...just like your mommy was! Anyway, I told her, I said this is the best day of my career, maybe my entire life! The craziest thing is that I even got this assignment in the first place! I would've thought for sure the Paxcasters would've been escorting you! But I guess with everything that's going on…can you believe that story about the Keeper of Dest—"
"So Nario, what exactly is a Paxcaster anyway?" said Michael quickly, cutting across Fatima's babbling.
"Crime fighting division of summoners within the Council," said Nario, straining his neck as he looked out the back window. "Highly trained and specialized."
"Like cops?"
"Cops?" scoffed Nario, still craning his head. "You mean those edoes with the funny uniforms that eat doughnuts? No…the Paxcasters are the top tier unit of summoning law enforcement in all of Esfaira. They're the elite—much higher than even the council officers that were guarding Rowling House."
"Annelise told me that Dumeka guy is the head of the Paxcasters."
"Yes, that's correct—"
"Oh no!" said Fatima suddenly, "it looks like we're being followed!"
Michael also glanced out the back window to see dozens of people on Garuda birds, flying wildly behind them. Each had a camera pointed directly ahead.
"Darn photographers!" snarled Nario.
"Want me to try and shake them?" asked Fatima enthusiastically. "I'm really good at going fast…been like that ever since I was a teenager! I even got top marks on my flying exam! Nearly failed the written portion though, but aced the practical—"
"Um, thank you, Fatima," said Nario slowly. "But we're almost there, so that won't be necessary."
"Already?" said Michael, who for some reason had been expecting a much longer journey.
"Yes! Didn't I tell you the banquet was going to be held in the palace?"
Nario then gestured towards the front window, as they flew across a highland valley.
"See! It's coming up over that mountain top."
Squinting into the distance, Michael saw beams of moving light illuminating against the night sky, until he was soon getting his first glimpse of Clauronite Palace. The immense ivory-colored building, which was nestled comfortably amidst the valley's lush greenery, reminded him of pictures he'd seen before of the White House. As they flew closer, and the palace came more clearly into his view, Michael (his nose now pressed against the window) couldn't help but marvel, and feel a strange sense of pride, at the brilliant architecture of the place of his birth.
"Look at that!" he gasped, as the nurover sailed above the palace lawn where hundreds of cheering people stood on either side of a red carpet leading to the entrance. Strolling up the red carpet, arms linked in pairs, were men and women all fancily dressed in an assortment of uniforms, dresses, and tunic suits. The scene had all the makings of a Hollywood movie premiere, and from the looks of it, Michael and Nario were the last to arrive.
"Oh," said Nario nonchalantly, adjusting his collar, "just a few foreign dignitaries, members of the Avahnairian Council, celebrities, other Esfairian royals, and of course your ever-growing fan base. All here to see you!"
Fatima landed the nurover (which was probably her smoothest flying all night) at the starting point of the red carpet, where a horde of photographers stood waiting a few feet away like a pack of wolves. Nario flicked his casting gloved paw at once and the doors swung open.
"Ready?" he grinned.
"Uh..."
"Don't worry, a barrier shield has been activated to stop any fans from, ah, getting too close…so just follow my lead and remember to smile!"
Feeling as though he might vomit, Michael stepped out and was quickly bombarded by an array of voices shouting from opposite directions.
"OVER HERE PRINCE MICHAEL!"
"SMILE FOR THE CAMERA YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS!"
Just then, an attractive young summoness holding a microphone rushed towards him.
"Good evening lovely viewers!" she bellowed enthusiastically. "This is Yinia Tinnamom reporting live at the banquet ceremony of Crown Prince Michael of Avahnair!"
She then jammed the microphone in Michael's face and said:
"And here we are with the Prince himself, who's been gracious enough to grant yours truly an exclusive interview!"
All the while, the nearby photographers snapped pictures furiously. The lights from their cameras were so bright, Michael could hardly see what was in front of him.
"Can you turn those stupid things down?" he snapped irritably, as he covered his eyes. "And no I didn't grant—"
"So many things to discuss!" Yinia Tinnamom interrupted, jabbing the microphone in Michael's face with each syllable. "Like how it feels to be here tonight? And of course those famous markings of yours! May we get a better look?"
She grabbed both of his hands.
"Wow!" she crooned, "well folks at home, would you look at that? The sovereign's markings!"
Although blinded, Michael could hear the "oohs" and "aahs" of the photographers underneath their breaths. He then felt Yinia Tinnamom fiddle with the sash on his uniform.
"Now I just have to ask, what are you wearing tonight? I imagine there are quite a few young ladies that are positively dying to know!"
But Nario, who'd all this time been busy talking to Fatima, cut across them and barked into the microphone: "the Prince will not be doing any interviews!" Before quickly ushering Michael away.
The walk to the palace's entrance was an overwhelming blur, to say the least. Given that every news station in Esfaira had at least one reporter covering the banquet, Michael caught tidbits of different languages being spoken every few steps he took up the red carpet. As for Nario, between half-dragging and half-escorting Michael, and the occasional whispers of: "don't forget to smile!" the only other words out of his mouth were to yell at anybody that came up trying to get an interview. From the sounds of it, Nario had learned to say "no" in a multitude of Esfairian languages, which Michael found to be rather impressive. At one point they were approached, not by an eager photographer, but rather by a barrel-chested man with a walrus mustache. Unlike the others, Nario embraced him like a brother.
"Your Royal Highness, this is Aris Stacey!" he said merrily, patting the man on the shoulder. "He's the head of the Council's Celestial Projections Department."
"In other words," grinned Aris as he conjured his casting glove. "My team and I are the ones responsible for making sure celebrations like this banquet are seen throughout Esfaira!"
He then took a small vial from his pocket and waved his casting gloved hand over it.
"Dimittis!"
Ten balls of white light shot from the vial and erupted into the sky until there were shooting stars bolting in every direction and flashing like fireworks. There were more "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd as Aris Stacey, clearly pleased with himself, twirled his long mustache. Before Michael could even pose the question, Nario said quickly: "What you just saw was a form of Elementalism, and Aris here is one of the best Elementalists there is! You'll learn more about the art form at Ravenskraft."
"Oh you're too kind Nario!" said Aris plainly, though Michael could tell he'd been expecting the compliment. "I captured those stars last night and—"
"You captured them?" said Michael in disbelief. "Elementalists can do that?"
"Why of course! I did something similar on the day of your parents' coronation…turned every star in the sky purple and made constellations of the royal family."
Aris then chuckled heartily as though he were a student remembering a harsh telling-off from a strict teacher.
"Although being that we share the same sky with planet Earth, the Council wasn't too pleased with me for that display."
Ten minutes later, Michael and Nario found themselves standing in front of a double-doored entry gate underneath an ornate marble archway. On both sides of the gate were two summoners dressed in embroidered red and yellow tunics. Each was holding a spear in one hand and a sword in the other, and bowed upon seeing the duo, before letting them through.
The palace's insides were absolutely breathtaking. Six floors of grandiose hallways, enormous alabaster statues and columns as high as the ceiling, and walls that were covered in artwork. There appeared to be an endless number of rooms on each floor, and though Michael could only peek into a handful of them, he was still able to glimpse levels of luxury he couldn't believe actually existed in real life. Everything from porcelain sculptures, gilded ornaments, and elaborate mural paintings to colossal mirrors and opulent furnishings accented with gold. A part of him wondered in which of the palace's many rooms had he actually been born?
"Banquet chamber is up this way!" said Nario, as they climbed a marble staircase and were quickly greeted by another pair of spear-carrying summoners, who were standing guard in front of a door made entirely of diamonds. The sounds of violins and people socializing could be heard coming from the other side.
"Watch closely, I think you're going to like this part!" whispered Nario, as the two summoners bowed, before staring at Michael's hands and tapping their spears in unison.
At first, nothing happened. But then Michael felt a prickly sensation in his markings as the ground beneath his feet started to radiate a bright shade of purple, and the diamond door slowly dissolved into thin air to reveal a chamber packed with hundreds of people. Flying in between the people were nymphs carrying trays of food, and for a few moments, it seemed that no one had taken any notice of the new arrivals. Then one of the spear-carrying summoners produced a horn out of nowhere and played a short melody. Silence fell as all eyes fixated on the four people standing in the doorway, and the horn-blower, his casting glove now conjured, pointed to his throat and said: "Amplitria!"
"Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, my Ladies and Lords, and all other distinguished guests!" said the horn-blower in a booming voice reminiscent of Dobbins. "I present to you, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Avahnair!"
There was complete silence as the entire room took Michael in. But then, someone clapped slowly, before another set of hands followed suit, and then another, until quite suddenly the entire chamber had erupted into deafening applause. Michael gawked at the now smiling faces as the horn-blower moseyed to his side.
"Now Your Royal Highness and Sir Katrick, we'll meet the delegation on hand. Please follow me."
The summoner walked briskly towards the crowd of people, who'd all begun lining up side by side. There were so many of them it was hard to properly make out their faces.
"Sir Katrick?" whispered Michael, smirking while both he and the now blushing Nario followed behind until they were standing at the very beginning of the line-up, where stood a beaming woman. The summoner then blew his horn again and gestured toward her.
"Your Royal Highness, allow me to first introduce you to Her Majesty Queen Kahli of Laceenah!" The woman, who was short, plump, and had her hair braided in twists, winked and gracefully held out her hand in front of Michael. He stared at it quizzically.
"The proper protocol is to kiss it," whispered Nario.
"Oh! Um...right," said Michael, awkwardly bending down and brushing her hand with his lips. She smiled pleasantly as Nario did the same.
"And next we have," said the horn-blower, motioning towards two men standing right beside her, "His Majesty King Tristond of Trantz!" The first man, a tall summoner with dark features and long jet-black hair, smiled before shaking hands with Michael and Nario.
"And His Majesty King Alicstare of Vueece!"
The next man, a tall, graying summoner, smiled anxiously before exchanging greetings.
There was a pause as the trio stared intently at Michael, and when he scratched his nose and the marking on his left hand became visible, they all seemed to jump with excitement.
"And finally," said the horn-blower, gesturing towards another man, who was standing a short distance away from Kahli, Tristond, and Alicstare.
"His Imperial Majesty Emperor Andrei of Nartussia!"
This third man, who had a long nose and beard, and was looking rather surly, scowled at Michael as they made eye contact. He was the youngest of the four monarchs (not a day older than twenty-one) and seemed to have an air of arrogance about him. He was also by far the slowest when it came to extending his hand to shake Michael's…as though doing so caused him a great deal of pain. When it came time to greet Nario however, Andrei, unlike the previous three before him, did no such thing and instead glared with a face of contempt.
"What's his problem?" said Michael, as the horn-blower gestured him further down the line and the monarchs chatted amongst themselves—well all except for Andrei, who continued to look sulky by himself. Much like every summoner and summoness that Michael had heard talk up until this point, the monarchs each spoke with a different accent that seemed to be distinctive of their respective countries.
"Oh, don't worry about that!" whispered Nario dismissively. "The Emperor's never been famed for his social skills!"
At that moment, dozens of nymphs soared over the chamber. As they did, most of the summoners and summonesses that were wearing casting gloves, lazily raised their index fingers, and Michael saw hundreds of glasses rise into the air. The nymphs then filled them as fast as they could, at which point the people lowered their fingers again, and the glasses neatly came back to their owners. Not a single drop of liquid fell to the ground.
"Cheers!" they toasted as the nymphs flew out again.
"But I really thought," continued Nario gently, "he'd be friendlier, to be honest...at least to you anyway. After all, the two of you are related..."
"Me and that jerk are related?" asked Michael rather loudly, as he glanced at the frowning Andrei. He'd become so used to hearing the word "jerk" directed at him (usually from Paris) that it felt foreign coming from his mouth.
"Shhh! Not so loud!" hissed Nario, as many of the people in line craned their necks to look. "And don't be disrespectful—he's still an Emperor!"
Nario then smiled sheepishly at the staring onlookers (which, considering the rows of fangs that made up his mouth, was probably not the best idea in Michael's opinion) before whispering quickly:
"All of the royal and imperial families of Esfaira are interrelated...some more directly than others…but related nonetheless. I think you and the Emperor are something like second cousins."
"And now!" trumpeted the horn-blower again. "Representing the Queen of Gennark—Their Royal Highnesses the Crown Prince of Gennark and Prince Gregory of Gennark!"
Michael, who'd been adjusting the sash on his uniform, looked up to see the grinning faces of Erik and Gregory.
"What's up guys?" beamed Erik.
"Fancy seeing you here!" joked Gregory.
"Hey!" said Michael, surprised he hadn't noticed the two brothers sooner.
"Where's your mom and dad? I thought they said they were coming?"
"They were supposed to," groaned Gregory, rolling his eyes. "But we got stuck representing them instead!" He then leaned forward and dropped his voice: "Mom and Dad had a big emergency come up at the last minute...wouldn't tell me and Erik what it was...but I think it had something to do with Antonius Dumeka and the Keeper—"
"Oh do let me in on your secret!" said a voice from behind. Startled, Michael whipped around to see a tall, ghost-like figure, with large shiny eyes that looked like magnifying glasses, standing in his face.
"W-whoa!" he said, jumping back.
"Please wait!" said the horn-blower, scurrying over as fast as he could. "I've still got to make the official announcement!"
Michael then realized it wasn't a ghost that had freaked him out, but rather the woman he'd seen on television, giving the speech, and wearing that insane amount of makeup—which by the looks of it, she'd made sure to put on tonight as well.
"I now have the greatest pleasure in introducing," panted the horn-blower heavily, gesturing towards her, "Jahnay Cahks, President of the Avahnairian Council of Summoning!"
"Prince Michael!" she burst out in a thick Avahnairian accent. Her voice was so hoarse it vibrated in the pit of his stomach. "Such a joy for us to meet at last!"
She then grabbed Michael's hand and shook it vigorously before turning to Erik and Gregory.
"Greetings Princes of Gennark! I do apologize for my rudeness in interrupting your conversation...where ever are my manners?"
"It's okay Madam President," said Gregory, "We—"
"I've been looking forward to our introduction ever since your arrival!" Cahks interrupted, as she turned back to Michael and motioned over a man holding a camera.
"Now, a quick photo for the Monocle!"
She slid her arm around Michael, and smiled broadly, as the man hustled over and began snapping pictures. From up this close, her face looked even stranger than it had on the television screen, and the way the chandelier light was reflecting off her giant round spectacles did nothing to help.
"Hey lady," grunted Michael, frowning as he felt her long fingernails clamp his shoulders. "Can you move your—?"
"I would've come to see you sooner, but things have been very busy at the Council," blurted out Cahks mid-smile, "what with my fourth reelection and all!"
She said these last words with something of a swagger, as many of the people in line burst into raucous applause. As she waved to them, it was clear to Michael that she was thoroughly enjoying the attention. What was also clear, however, was that just like Andrei, Cahks had no interest in speaking to, or making eye contact with Nario.
When the photographer slinked away, Cahks then clapped her hands twice, and a nymph, carrying one glass of what looked to be wine, and another of Lopaberry juice, quickly flew over. Taking the glasses, Cahks made no acknowledgment of the nymph.
"The President and the Crown Prince together at last!" she said, handing the glass of juice to Michael and toasting him. "What a momentous occasion! Long live Avahnair!"
A chorus of: "Long live Avahnair!" rang through the chamber, as everyone appeared to raise a glass.
"So," said Cahks to Michael, once the clapping had died down, "the school term starts next week for you, does it not?"
But before he could even open his mouth, she continued in a shrewd voice:
"Your academic progression has been very highly anticipated, and I daresay that many great things are expected of you."
She examined him over her spectacles before shrugging.
"It's an inevitability I'm afraid! Tis the pressure and privilege of the position you were born to occupy!"
Suddenly, a woman in a long black gown walked behind Cahks.
"Madam President," she whispered softly, "there's an urgent call for you on plexer number eleven."
"Oh yes of course!" said Cahks, taking a placid sip of her glass, before clapping her hands again, and having it taken away by another nymph.
"Well it appears my attention is needed elsewhere...alas the life of the President! Please excuse me."
And without another word, she bustled from the banquet chamber. Watching her leave, Michael noticed Fatima standing near the entrance doors, staring straight at him. As their eyes met, she smiled and waved wildly, almost knocking two people in the head with her elbow. Michael quickly looked in the other direction.
***
And so, an hour dragged on with Michael being introduced to a host of boring people whose names he wouldn't have been able to remember no matter how hard he tried.
"When's this stupid thing going to be over?" he groaned to Nario, as they came to a halt in front of a man, woman, and young girl.
"Your Royal Highness!" said the horn-blower mightily. "I present Mr. and Mrs. Mounthatton, and their daughter Miss Lydia Mounthatton!"
The man in line bowed his head, while the woman and young girl both dropped into deep curtseys. The girl, who looked to be around Michael's age, was very pretty, with brown eyes, and curly dark hair done up in a high ponytail. She stared adoringly at him as she came up from her curtsey.
"Such an honor, Your Royal Highness!" proclaimed Mr. Mounthatton. "My family and I have wanted to meet you for quite some time!"
"Most especially, our magnificent daughter!" added Mrs. Mounthatton gleefully.
They both put their arms around the young girl.
"Just like you," continued Mr. Mounthatton, "Lydia here will be starting her first year at Ravenskraft as well!"
He then kissed her gently on the forehead.
"It's been quite a busy couple of weeks for our darling Lydia! She was just newly certified as blue, which I'm very proud to say, is the first in our family for three generations!"
At this, both Mr. and Mrs. Mounthatton beamed at Lydia, as though she were a newborn baby. She seemed to bask in her father's statements...most especially this last one.
"Hello Your Royal Highness," she said, smiling brazenly as her emerald tunic dress sparkled in the light.
"Uh…hi…" muttered Michael.
"Oh yes! Very good!" guffawed Mr. Mounthatton, looking as though he may faint from excitement at seeing Michael and Lydia speak. When he opened his mouth again though, he was cut off by the horn-blower.
"I'm so sorry sir, but we really must be moving on now."
And with that, they continued down the line. A few people later however, Michael noticed that Lydia Mounthatton was still staring at him.
"Hey Nario," he whispered, as the horn-blower began another round of introductions. "What was that girl's dad talking about when he said she's been newly certified as blue?"
"Girl?" replied Nario with a grin.
"Shut up! Not like that! And yeah...that Lydia Mount-whatever girl."
"Oh...um," murmured Nario, who for some reason now looked uneasy. "Well...he was talking about her blood type."
"Her blood type?"
"Yeah."
"But what's the color blue got to do with that?" whispered Michael more forcefully.
Nario had made this same cryptic reference to the color blue when it came to his casting glove.
"Well, it means..."
"AAAHHHH!"
The scream came hard and fast as everyone in the banquet chamber turned their heads in bewilderment for the source of the sudden noise.
"AAAHHHH!" the voice sounded again. Somebody was screaming in agony.
"What's going on?" said Nario, as the sound of panicked feet set off like an alarm. He then grabbed Michael by the arm and began dragging him through the confusion.
"L-let m-me g-g-go, I c-c-can w-w-walk!"
"No time for that!" barked Nario, "We need to—"
"NOOOO PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALOOONNNE!" said the eerie voice again. This time, the cry was so loud it pierced Michael's eardrums. He then saw Erik and Gregory running toward them.
"You guys okay?" asked Gregory anxiously.
"Yes!" shouted Nario, his feline ears twitching in every direction. "What about you two?"
"Yeah, we're good! But that scream…you don't think it's—?"
"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" shrieked the voice again. "PLEASE! IT'S NOT MY FAULT!"
At this, they all turned their heads towards the front doors where a large number of people had congregated and formed a circle.
"Make way, please! Coming through!" now shouted a different voice. It was coming from a woman being followed closely by two men.
"Paxcasters here! Stand aside please!" the woman barked aggressively, as she and her two companions tore their way into the ever growing circle of people. Each had a casting glove conjured at the ready.
"Let's follow them!" said Nario, snatching Michael's arm even harder, and darting into the path that'd been created. When they reached the middle of the circle, they saw a young woman hunched over, and clutching her head as though it were going to split in two.
"IT'S NOT TRUE!" she cried desperately to the ground. "PLEASE DON'T! P-PLEASE D-DON'T!"
It was as if she were talking to herself. The woman then screamed her loudest yet, as she fell to her knees and lurched her neck upwards, and Michael was finally able to get a good look at her face. It was Fatima.
"Fatima!" he gasped. "What's wrong with her?"
"It's the Keeper of Destiny!" roared Nario. "She's been attacked!"
"Everyone stand back!" commanded another voice. This one was coming from Jahnay Cahks, who was standing right beside the Paxcasters, with her glove also conjured.
"We have reason to suspect the Keeper of Destiny is active right now and highly dangerous! So everyone, for your safety, please stay back!"
The very mention of the Keeper of Destiny seemed to multiply panic ten-fold amongst the crowd, as people began scattering frantically in opposite directions. Meanwhile, Fatima continued to thrash about and grasp her head in pain, before tumbling into one of the surrounding tables. As it flipped over, the loud crash brought everyone's attention back to her.
"AAAHHHH!" she sobbed, her voice sounding weaker with each wail. "P-PLEASE S-SOMEBODY HELP M-M..." And with that, Fatima pulled on her hair one last time, before collapsing onto her back, spread-eagled, and motionless.