"So they sent you to Nigeria? You mean, you're actually in Nigeria right now?"
"If you ask that one more time," began Michael impatiently. "Yes Paris, it's like I've already told you a thousand times—my aunt and uncle sent me to a military school here."
"I'm only checking!" said Paris quickly. "But military school? That's really harsh! They didn't even give you a chance to appeal the expulsion! It might've been overturned!"
"Yeah...I doubt that."
"And all that time on your birthday," she pressed on, ignoring Michael's sarcasm, "when you said you were leaving, I really thought you were just lying to me like usual! But that still doesn't explain something...why are you calling me from this weird number? At first, I thought it was a prank because it showed up on my caller ID as a bunch of symbols!"
"Er well," said Michael, trying to think up a lie he thought sounded halfway reasonable.
"Since Nigeria's so far away from America, that's how the phone numbers here look."
"Um...okay."
There was a short pause.
"So when are you coming back?" she muttered quickly. "I mean you are coming back right?"
He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask him this.
"Um...sure...I am."
"Okay good!" she exhaled, and after making him promise to call her again in a few days, they said their goodbyes and Paris hung up the phone.
In truth, Michael had known the answer to her question was "no" but he hadn't wanted to say it. He'd also known that the "weird number" Paris was talking about, had everything to do with the fact he'd used (as Nario told him it was called) a "plexer" to call her. Small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, and reminding Michael very much of a tablet computer the first time he saw it, the plexer had a thin, ruby-encrusted rod poking from its top like an antenna. Nario had given a full demonstration of the device a few hours after meeting the Gannish royal family.
"Now, all you have to do is press: sango, ogun, orunmila, and obatala, and then place the tip of the plexer to your head. After that, just picture who it is you want to talk to and the plexer will automatically contact them!"
"Sango ogun—what?" Michael had started to say, but a closer inspection showed him that instead of numbers, the buttons on the plexer consisted of various characters that looked like hieroglyphics. After locating each of the symbols Nario mentioned (the buttons were labeled) and doing exactly as he was told (he rather felt like he was waving a magic wand as he placed the rod to his temple) it wasn't long before the plexer was glowing like a jellyfish and he was hearing Paris's voice on the other end say: "Hello? Who is this?"
After speaking with Paris (and having to endure Nario's constant teasing of "girlfriend") Michael had spent the next couple of days feeling like he was either learning or discovering something about his new environment. Firstly, he'd come to appreciate just how difficult adjusting to Esfaira's atmosphere was going to be. Countless times, even the simplest task, like coming down the stairs, had made him feel out of breath.
"Can't I just take that stupid potion again?" he'd protested every time it happened. Altitudon may have tasted nasty, but it was way better than walking around light-headed all the time. Nario however constantly denied the request, because as he put it: "That was a one-time thing, and the more you use it, the longer it'll take your body to fully adapt!"
Michael had also explored every inch of Rowling House, which despite its relatively modest appearance on the outside, contained more than one hundred rooms on the top floor. Its hallways almost resembled that of a hotel.
"How do all these rooms fit up here?" Michael had asked Nario in astonishment, after seeing it for the first time.
"Spirit energy! King Henry cast an enchantment on Rowling House a long time ago so that members of the Band of Hinavin could rest here together. But the rooms are all yours now!"
Not entirely sure what to do with all the space (he had, after all, only traveled with one backpack) Michael took up residence in the first room he walked into.
He'd also found out about the "secret" kitchen on the basement level of Rowling House after Nario took him down there on his first night to introduce him to the inhabitants. This had perhaps led to Michael's biggest shock so far—for as soon as Nario opened the doors he'd found himself staring face-to-face with seven mystical-looking creatures, all fluttering in mid-air. The creatures, who were each no more than three feet tall, had lime green skin, glittering hair, large purple eyes, and thin wings sprouting from their backs. There seemed to be a sort of sparkly aura emanating around them, and as soon as they saw Michael, they immediately stopped what they were doing and bowed.
"What are these things?" he said in disbelief. "They look like the tooth fairy!"
Looking horrified, Nario quickly covered the side of his mouth and whispered in Michael's ear: "They're called nymphs, Your Royal Highness…not things…and they work here as chefs. Please don't offend them, while I do introductions—"
"These things have names?"
Nario glared.
"What? It's not like I know how to speak Avahnairian, so they can't understand me anyway!"
"Well, actually," sighed Nario, as he'd shaken his head, "they understood every word you just said. Unlike Gennark, most Avahnairians, including nymphs, have long since transitioned to using English as their main language."
The middle nymph in the group had then lifted its head and spoken to Nario in a high-pitched voice.
"Will that be all sir?"
"Yes, thank you Suhsha."
Bowing to Michael again in unison, the seven nymphs had then flown from the kitchen leaving Nario to continue glaring at Michael in awkward silence.
"Oh...uh...my bad Nario..."
***
More than anything though, Michael had quickly come to realize that Erik and Gregory definitely hadn't been joking when they spoke about the "prices of fame." He'd experienced this first hand on the morning of his second day when he'd been forbidden by Nario from leaving Rowling House until the banquet for fear of being recognized. So used to coming and going as he pleased with the Tollivers, this had felt like a prison sentence and after many arguments ("I'm not doing that!" had been Michael's initial reaction) and numerous attempts at sneaking out, Nario eventually decided to cast spells on every window and door in Rowling House so that none would budge when Michael tried to open them. They even started giving off tiny electrical shocks to his fingers the longer he tried, and he was soon forced to accept his defeat. As it turned out, none of this would matter anyway, for the news of Michael's whereabouts eventually did leak out, and by his fourth day, hundreds of people (and counting) had started to gather on Rowling House's lawn. Before long, most had even pitched tents, as they anxiously waited for any type of action from the front doors.
"WE LOVE YOU PRINCE MICHAEL!" crooned various groups of girls simultaneously. As with the airport, they appeared to make up half the crowd and were soon screaming so loudly they sounded like they were at a concert. Meanwhile, the reporters on hand spent most of their time flying around Rowling House and pointing their cameras at anything that remotely looked like movement. Bored and ever one for pranks, Michael had made a game out of briefly showing his face from different windows, only to quickly duck and close the drapes before the reporters could fly closer and take a picture. On more than one occasion this had led to violent collisions in the air.
With the crowd reaching the thousandths, it came as no surprise when later that day they received assistance in the form of nine of the largest people Michael had ever seen in his life. Poker-faced, ogreish, and looking almost tall enough to put Nario to shame, the summoners landed aggressively in front of Rowling House and immediately went to work trying to organize the chaos.
"Back up," mumbled Nario, as he and Michael peeked from an upstairs window.
"Sent from the Council."
There was a hint of bitterness in Nario's tone, and Michael guessed this probably had a lot to do with the fact that this was now the second time under his watch their whereabouts had been discovered. Nario's voice then trailed away in mutters barely audible over the commotion outside, though Michael thought he caught the words "not necessary" and "I had everything under control" a few times. However, it soon became clear that managing the madness was going to be no easy feat even for (as Nario said evermore scornfully) "nine professional officers from the Council." They continued working throughout the night and well into the next day when Michael was awoken from a nap by the sound of Nario's bellowing voice.
"STAY OUT YOU LUNATICS!"
He rushed downstairs to find Nario struggling with all his might to close the front door. Through the open crack, he could see dozens of arms wriggling about madly like the tentacles of an octopus.
"I SAID STAY OUT!"
And with one final push, worthy of someone of Nario's stature, he closed and locked the door.
"Been out while I was sleeping?" grumbled Michael, trying to talk over the loud banging now taking place on the other side of the door. After being locked up in Rowling House for the past few days he wouldn't have minded a little action from crazy fans.
"Went to the market," groaned Nario, as he straightened his shawl. "It was wild when I left as well. Those officers sure have their hands full out there—running around like headless Turkorita!"
At first, Michael had no idea what Nario meant but then remembered the "Turkorita eggs" he'd eaten for breakfast the previous day. Turkorita, a bumbling animal that reminded him of a chicken (except for the fact that it cackled like a hyena, had fangs, and snorted fireballs out of a pig-like snout) were raised in a coop on the grounds of Rowling House, and their eggs were one of several new types of Avahnairian food Michael had tried since his arrival. Probably the only benefit to being stuck inside all this time had been the amount of eating he'd gotten to do, and the way his jeans were now tightly hugging his waist was proof of that. Though the food almost always appeared strange (on one occasion for lunch he'd eaten a moldy-looking paste that tasted like pepperoni pizza) whenever Michael was hungry he simply used his plexer to call the nymphs in the kitchen, and he could then order whatever he wanted. Within a few minutes, a large tray would appear in front of him, floating in midair as if being carried by an invisible waiter. This had been rather useful, as Michael had wanted to avoid seeing the nymphs in person since his initial awkward encounter with them.
"Well then," shouted Nario, as the banging intensified, "let's get away from all this noise! I've got something for you."
They then headed upstairs back to the room where Michael had met the Gannish royal family. Even through the thick walls of Rowling House, he could still hear shouting coming from outside.
"That's much better," said Nario, as he closed the door. He then reached into his shawl and took out a large green satchel. Michael gaped at him.
"How do you keep so much stuff in that thing?"
"Oh, this isn't just any shawl," said Nario proudly. "It's been—"
"Let me guess," interrupted Michael, "enchanted with spirit energy?"
This seemed to be Nario's go-to response to anything he deemed out of the ordinary.
"Correct!" said Nario, as he handed the satchel to Michael.
"What's this?"
"Open it and see! I think you're going to be pleased."
Excitement now bubbling in the pit of his stomach, Michael unhooked the bag. He knew the contents were probably his school supplies, however, five days of being cooped up was enough for him to find even that interesting. Nevertheless, after halfway expecting to see something magical (or at the very least have something jump out at him) he was disappointed to find that the bag was mostly full of textbooks. There were also test tubes, writing journals, and Petri dishes, as well as a few other objects Michael had no clue about, but looked boring all the same.
"Books?" said Michael incredulously, "there's nothing but books and science stuff in here! Where's my glove?"
"Your casting glove," said Nario calmly, as he made a downward pointing motion with his tail, "is in the case at the bottom."
Michael rummaged through the bag once more, and after tossing aside a book entitled: "Alchemy – Concepts & Skills, Freshman Level" he found a thin wooden box. Inside was a white, rather flimsy-looking glove nestled between a velvet cushion.
"This is it" he balked, picking up the glove and examining it closer. It looked as though it were made of plastic, and one wrong move would rip it in two.
"Yes!" grinned Nario. It was the first time Michael had seen him this happy since the arrival of the Council summoners. "Don't be fooled by its appearance, casting gloves are incredibly strong and durable. Yours was specially handcrafted by Philinga, and she's the best casting glove maker in Esfaira! Here I'll show you."
Nario took the glove and began pulling on it as hard as he could. To Michael's amazement, it stretched fully but didn't break.
"All casting gloves," said Nario, still yanking Michael's glove every which way, "are made of a special type of material called Castanium Alloy, which allows for maximum resistance and flexibility! Therefore, it'll take a lot of power to break one!"
"Woah!" said Michael fervently, as he also grabbed a piece and tugged it over his head. "No kidding!"
"The bond that exists between master and casting glove is one for life," said Nario. "So the only thing left to do is to form yourself to it."
"Form myself to it?"
"Don't worry you'll see what I mean once you put it on."
Michael slipped the glove on his left hand, and as it extended all the way up to his elbow, he felt the soft and woolly insides snuggle his arm. For a few suspenseful moments nothing happened, as he slowly flexed his fingers. But then, the glove began flashing brightly, and Michael felt his entire arm go cold. He looked down and saw that his casting glove appeared to be shriveling up like a raisin.
"What's happening?" said Michael, as he shielded his eyes from the light. His fingers were beginning to feel like they were made of stone. Then, just as quickly as it had started, the flashing stopped. The numbness slowly lifting from his fingers, Michael rubbed his eyes as his vision came back into focus, and he saw his arm.
"W-wha?!"
Gone was the ugly white glove of before, and in its place was a navy-colored one, with golden stripes running down the sides. On top of the glove was now an intricate emblem consisting of vines intertwined around a roaring lion on one side and a pegasus on the other. In the middle of the two animals was a star that Michael immediately recognized as the sovereign's marking, as well as the symbol of a rose and a crown. He raised his arm to the light and marveled at his glove.
"It changed when I put it on!"
"Yes, well as I mentioned earlier," said Nario calmly, "casting gloves form themselves to their master. In other words, they'll take on a unique design depending on the summoner that was the first wearer. Therefore, no two casting gloves will ever be the same."
But Michael was only half listening, as he continued to admire every angle of his arm.
"Wow that's strange..." mumbled Nario suddenly.
"What?"
"Well, it's just that your casting glove formed to be blue."
"So? Is that bad or something?"
"Well no, not exactly—it's just that blue casting gloves are extremely rare."
Nario leaned closer and stared at the glove as he stroked his matted beard in deep thought.
"King Henry and Prince Jistun's gloves were also blue, but that still doesn't explain how yours could be as well. I mean, it just doesn't make any sense...unless...but no that can't be right either..."
He seemed to be speaking more to himself than anything else.
"What are you talking about?" said Michael impatiently.
"Um, never mind, it's not important," said Nario, quickly looking in the other direction. Michael frowned at him. Even though he wasn't entirely convinced, there was something else bothering him he wanted to ask about.
"Do you know what this is?" he said, pointing at the emblem on top of his glove as the sound of even more commotion could be heard coming from outside. If the heightened screams were any indication, it appeared the crowd of fans had multiplied and the council summoners had been forced to call in backup.
"That," said Nario, "is the crest of the house of Ade, and it denotes you as a member of the Avahnairian royal dynasty. Any summoners that directly descend from a royal or noble family will bear that family's crest on their casting glove."
"Seriously?" said Michael quickly. "Then how come you didn't say anything all this time?"
"Say anything? About what?"
"Your crest," said Michael more forcefully. "I've noticed it on your glove every time you conjured it!"
In truth, he'd also noticed crests on Annelise and Erik's gloves as well, and being that he now knew the meaning behind the crests, understood completely why they had them. But Nario? His disheveled appearance seemed to be a direct violation of such prestige.
"Oh...um...well..." said Nario, squirming uncomfortably.
He then held out his claw and conjured his casting glove in front of Michael, who for the first time, was able to get a really good look at the design. Nario's crest bore the symbols of two creatures Michael would've never dreamt existed in real life, on either side of a brilliantly decorated black shield. One of the creatures was a monstrous serpent with bat-like wings, while the other was a grisly-looking dragon that had the head of a rooster. What caught Michael's eye the most, however, was the fact that the crest had a prominent "X" plastered on top of it. At first glance, the "X" looked as though it'd been drawn on with a marker, but as Michael examined it closer, he realized it was very much a part of the crests design.
"This," said Nario flatly, "is the crest of my father's family…the Vainceit's."
He stared at the ground, before meeting eyes with Michael, and saying tonelessly: "Though not royalty, the Vainceit family is one of the oldest and most aristocratic in all of Avahnair."
"Um, okay," said Michael, as the sounds of more muffled yelling trickled through the closed windows. "So does the X mean something special?"
Nario again looked at the ground and began shuffling his feet.
"I was disowned by my father and his family when I was born. They didn't think I was, uh, fit to be a member because of my appearance. You see, Mitadfelism runs on my mother's side, and I inherited the gene from her. Anyway, even though I bear my mother's last name when my casting glove first formed to me as a child, this X," Nario raised his claw and pointed to it, "appeared over my crest to denote my status within the Vainceit family."
"Oh...um...wow...I...didn't know," said Michael stiffly, wishing he hadn't brought it up.
Nario however smiled.
"But all that's in the past now, Your Royal Highness! Being a Mitadfeli is looked down upon by some summoners, but your family was always different. I met your grandfather after I left Ravenskraft, and he gave me a job helping out with the Band during the war. The King was a good man…he never once judged me for it..."
His casting glove still conjured, Nario then turned the television on and began flipping through channels.
"So when am I going to learn how to do that?" said Michael, watching intently as Nario's claw moved from left to right. Since first putting on his own glove, Michael had been pointing his hand every which way, trying desperately to do something magical. But so far he'd felt nothing—not even the slightest tingle in his fingertips.
"Oh don't worry, this is all basic summoning you'll pick up once you get to school," said Nario, as his claw stopped mid-wag at a channel with the words: "BREAKING NEWS!" at the bottom of the screen, and an oily-mannered summoner in the middle of giving a report. For all the talk of Avahnair being a "magical kingdom" it still amazed Michael at how surprisingly "normal" certain things were. Televisions, cameras, and even some of the clothing he'd seen so far reminded him of Earth.
"And we now continue our live coverage of Rowling House," said the summoner passionately, "where it has been confirmed that Prince Michael is staying as we speak! And we here at Gossipina have the pictures to prove it!"
"Not this again," moaned Michael.
"Tabloid station," snorted Nario, "as if there's nothing better to report on..."
Hundreds of images began making their way across the screen. To Michael's shock, it appeared the reporters had in fact gotten pictures of him when he was showing his face at the windows.
"But I ducked!" he shouted at the television.
"You probably did," said Nario coolly, "but summoning cameras take pictures much faster than the types found on Earth…especially the ones used by those Gossipina reporters."
Nario waved his claw once more, and the television turned to another news station in the middle of a report:
"We now take you live to Clauronite Palace for the inauguration speech of Madam Jahnay Cahks, as she has just been sworn in for her fourth term as President. Madam Cahks, who earlier this week met privately with Her Majesty the Queen of Gennark, is addressing members of both the Avahnairian and Gannish Councils."
The screen then showed an assembly hall with hundreds of people seated in front of a woman speaking at a podium. She was tall, with a bob haircut, horse-like front teeth, and round spectacles perched on her face. She was also wearing a large amount of makeup, which in Michael's opinion, gave her the appearance of a clown.
"Who's that?"
"Jahnay Cahks," said Nario, flopping down on the sofa, "she's the President of the Avahnairian Council of Summoning."
"The President?" said Michael, still transfixed by the woman's heavy makeup.
"It means that she's the leader of the Council, and thus the head of the Avahnairian government. It also means that she's handling many of the responsibilities that would normally be yours as the King…that is until you come of age."
They watched the speech for several minutes until finally Jahnay Cahks finished, and was met with a standing ovation. She made no acknowledgement of the applause however, and strutted confidently back to her seat.
"Fourth term," murmured Nario, "that's a record I think...longer than any other President since the death of King Hen—"
But he stopped abruptly as the screen turned to a handsome news anchor.
"Next month's Honouris Day will mark the thirteenth anniversary of the end of the Second Chrysanthemum War, and we here at A.N.N. Channel Ten wanted to take this time to pay tribute to the lives of the countless summoners and summonesses, who were killed during the bloody conflict. Honouris Day has been held annually on the thirty-first day of October to commemorate the end of the war. The time that has passed offers all Avahnairians, young and old, a chance to reflect and also to appreciate how lucky we are to no longer be living under the murderous terror of Roidaiku and his followers, the Azure Alliance. As someone who lost two brothers to the Alliance, I know this all too well."
The news anchor's voice cracked slightly, but he clenched his jaw and continued:
"Honouris Day is also a lasting tribute to the hundreds of people who lost their lives on the day of the coronation thirteen years ago. Considering the extensive media coverage currently taking place throughout Esfaira, on the return of Prince Michael, Channel A.N.N. would also like to pay special homage to the three members of the Avahnairian royal family who died that day by Roidaiku's hand: Her Majesty Queen Maria and Their Royal Highnesses Crown Prince Jistun and Crown Princess Tamia."
The news anchor said Michael's mother's name with a tremble in his voice, before wiping tears from his eyes.
"Finally, we cannot properly give tribute to the victims of the coronation, without honoring the bravery of His Majesty King Henry the Sixth. Some of our younger viewers may not know or remember, but it was the King, at the expense of his own life, who finally defeated Roidaiku and brought peace to Avahnair."
The news anchor brushed away even more tears before saying:
"We will now have a moment of silence in remembrance of all the victims of the Second Chrysanthemum War. This is Finnegan Brinley signing off."
The screen then faded to black, until it was replaced with a picture of four smiling people and a sleeping baby. Each beautifully dressed, and standing in what appeared to be an elegant ballroom, Michael quickly recognized the four adults as his parents and grandparents, and the sleeping baby as himself being held by his father. Since arriving at Rowling House, Michael couldn't count how many portraits he'd seen of his family members on the walls, and he certainly couldn't forget about the time on his fifth birthday when he'd found a small picture of his parents hidden in the junk drawer of Uncle Terrance's desk. But here was the first time, in his entire life, that he'd seen all of them together.
"Honouris Day," he mumbled, as the images of different victims began scrolling across the screen. "Annelise never said anything about that."
"You spoke to the Queen about this?" asked Nario, looking surprised.
Michael hesitated. It wasn't like he'd forgotten about his conversation with Annelise (on the contrary it had been all he could think about) but between exploring Rowling House, and trying to hide from photographers, it had been almost impossible to bring it up. He nodded slowly, not turning away from the television.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself, Your Royal Highness, but memories of Roidaiku are not something I like to relive."
"Who is he?"
Nario shuddered as though hit by a cold breeze.
"I swear every time I think about him I get the chills! But firstly, we may thankfully speak about Roidaiku in the past tense. He is long since dead. You heard Finnegan Brinley—he was killed thirteen years ago by your grandfather at the coronation of your parents. In fact that picture of all five of you was taken right before it happened."
"But to answer your question, Roidaiku was a very powerful summoner. Maybe the strongest that's ever lived—and definitely the most evil. Many years before the war began, he started gaining more power and followers…called themselves the Azure Alliance. He hated anything to do with edoes and felt that we summoners should rule over them, so he tried to persuade King Henry to join him on an invasion of Earth. But your grandfather refused and vowed to stop Roidaiku if he ever tried such a thing…and that's how the Band of Hinavin came to be."
"And so the 'war' or the 'Second Chrysanthemum War' as we called it began and things were terrible. There was fighting everywhere! Summoners and summonesses getting killed every day…families forever torn apart from having members on opposite sides of the conflict! It seemed like Roidaiku and the Alliance couldn't be stopped, and for ten years your grandfather and General Dumeka led the resistance, oftentimes battling Roidaiku by themselves! And then…two months after the day you were born, Roidaiku vanished without a trace! It didn't make any sense! We all thought perhaps he was dead or maybe he'd lost all his power…"
Nario closed his eyes.
"Or maybe after so many years of fighting, we all foolishly wanted to believe the war was finally over. The King certainly believed so, because he then made the decision to step down from the throne for your father, and your parent's coronation was meant to celebrate the new era of peace. But Roidaiku tricked us, and used the occasion as a cover to launch his greatest attack! What's still a mystery is how he was even able to get inside the palace that day in the first place, being that it was so heavily guarded…"
"What's not a mystery is that after Roidaiku killed your grandmother, Queen Maria, both of your parents, and hundreds of other innocent people that were in attendance…he tried to kill you as well. He almost succeeded too. You were right there the entire time, sleeping in a golden bassinet as the massacre began. But your grandfather protected you and was somehow able to stop Roidaiku—at the cost of his own life. No one is quite sure how he did it…that's probably the biggest mystery of all…but whatever the case it was powerful enough to finish off Roidaiku for good."
"And so that's how I got these?" asked Michael, raising his hands to show the blue stars that for so long he'd passed off as tattoos.
"Yes, once your grandfather died the sovereign's markings immediately passed from his body to yours. Since the beginning of Esfaira, those stars were what branded the King of Avahnair. Every one of your ancestors that ruled, possessed them, and once their reign was over, the markings automatically passed to the next king's body and so on. Your father never had the markings because he died before he could officially be crowned. But your situation is unique. Though you are still the Crown Prince of Avahnair, you are also the last surviving Ade, and have therefore possessed the sovereign's markings ever since that fateful day."
Michael continued to stare at his hands. He still felt like such an idiot for having not known the true meaning behind his stars all those years on Earth. And far from being satisfied after hearing the full story of Roidaiku and the war, an aching feeling had developed in his heart. He couldn't stop thinking about the hundreds of innocent people who'd been killed at the coronation. And there was also that picture with his parents and grandparents. They had all looked so happy, seemed so at peace. They would've had no idea they'd be dead soon after that photograph was taken. Well, all except for Michael anyway. The mere thought made him feel sick to his stomach, and perhaps picking up on this Nario then said quickly: "Well I think that's enough news for one night," and turned off the television just as a large pan filled with several double-crusted pastries floated into the room.
"Right on time!" said Nario, grabbing a large chunk and stuffing it into his mouth.
"I ordered some Galdinosh pies from the kitchen, do you want some?"
"No thanks," frowned Michael, remembering how he'd spend hours on the toilet, the last time Nario gave him food with the word "Galdinosh" in front of it. From downstairs, the sound of more banging could be heard coming from the front door.
"I can't believe they're still out there."
"Oh, they'll be out there until you go to Ravenskraft! It'll be even worse when we head out to the banquet tomorrow," said Nario, gobbling down two more pieces of pie. "Getting pictures of you is a very profitable business right now…especially pictures of your markings. Just be glad you don't have a big X on them!"
At this, Nario forced a chuckle and took yet another bite. As the thick, brown filling from the pie flecked his beard, Michael glanced again at the "X" on the crest of his casting glove. It seemed like such a cruel way to be reminded you were a disgrace within your own family. At least with the Tollivers, their hatred of Michael's "blue star tattoos" had mostly consisted of complaining and forcing him to wear mittens whenever he went out in public. Nario's treatment somehow seemed so much worse.
Michael sat down and let out a deep sigh. In his first week in Avahnair, it felt like he'd learned more things about himself than in his entire thirteen years combined. Still pondering on Roidaiku, the War, and crossed out crests, he laid back and closed his eyes, quite ready to give his mind a much needed break. But then the loudest BANG of the night came from downstairs, and Michael and Nario sprinted into the hallway to see the front door knocked down, and three of the council summoners serving as barricades against a mass of people snapping pictures and trying to push through.
"CAN WE SEE THE MARKINGS, YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS?"
It looked like Michael's much needed break would have to wait.