Magic performances were a staple of Shanneray Castle feasts; come to think of it, they were the only time Kestrel ever saw the High Lady and her ministra use magic. But like everything at court, tonight’s show had to put them to shame.

Six bonded pairs gathered in the empty area between the lower and upper tables. Kestrel had thought it had been left open for the servants' ease, but now he realized it was a stage. The pairs, each representing a different element, danced and sang to each other in the three magus tongues.

As they sang, their aura responded. One ministra summoned a vine from her hand that her energos twirled around his body, while another emitted beams of light from his fingertips, which his energos plucked like strings on an instrument. The fire pair passed around an arc of flame like a shooting star.

At times, five pairs spread out to allow one to take the center, who finished with a display—spinning vortexes of water, a billowing cloud of darkness—that excited much applause.

Kestrel especially admired how the ministra moved. It couldn't be easy to dance in so many layers, with flowing skirts and floor-length sleeves at that.

The wind pair, resplendent in gray silk, finished with a gust that stirred robes and tablecloths. They bowed toward Kestrel, and Kestrel clapped furiously.

After that came individual displays. One pair rolled up their sleeves, revealing the intricate designs wrapping around their right forearms—their bond-marks. As they pressed their arms together and chanted, the marks glowed. In response, beams of light rained from the heavens and formed tiny blue flowers wherever they landed. Another pair wove their auras together as they danced, one fire and the other light, finishing with a shower of sparks. In yet another, the energos formed strands of darkness into abstract shapes while his ministra played a haunting melody on a zither.

Kestrel applauded each performance, but the food and wine were starting to take their toll. Just when he began to consider resting his head atop the tablecloth, silence fell again. When silk rustled beside him, Kestrel turned to see that Aramy had stood up.

Carnelio stood as well. He took Aramy’s hand, and together they headed down to the stage.

His weariness forgotten, Kestrel watched their every step.

"Noble magi of Azed Court," Carnelio called once he and Aramy stood in the center. "It pains my heart to announce our revelry must soon draw to a close. However, to leave you all with one last happy memory, I will demonstrate the power of the royal house."

Silence, only silence, greeted him.

"I warn you," Carnelio said, "that you may get wet."

This time, his comment excited some polite laughter. Wet? Kestrel wondered. So either Carnelio or Aramy was a water magus. It made sense: members of the royal family could be any element, and Aramy had said his family were Aluana vassals, making them water magi.

The deep thud of a drum scattered Kestrel’s thoughts. He winced. Another drum joined it, then another.

Carnelio and Aramy turned to face each other, still holding hands. Carnelio was tall, but so was Aramy: he reached up to the prince's nose. For several moments, they stared into each other’s eyes, before Carnelio gripped the back of Aramy's head and crushed him into a kiss.

Kestrel jolted. He knew much of a bond’s power came from sexual union, but so far tonight he’d seen nothing more forward than dancing and handholding. Now Carnelio's fingers tangled in Aramy's hair, almost pulling out the decorative chains, and he attacked Aramy's mouth with noisy, unrestrained greed.

The drumbeats sped up, pounding in time with Kestrel’s heart. And was he imagining things, or did a halo of pale light surround Aramy? Kestrel blinked, but the illusion didn't vanish. Instead, the light was spreading, extending delicate tendrils toward Carnelio.

What kind of aura was this? So soft and diffuse, like colorless smoke….

Suddenly Carnelio pushed on Aramy's shoulders, making his ministra stagger back. The light veiled him, washing out his features. Kestrel could only just make out his smile. With a bellow, he flung his hands to the sky.

A roar answered, drowning out the waterfall. That was all the warning Kestrel got before a torrent of water ripped through the silk roof, shattering light-spheres and slamming him to the ground. He had no time to recover; the deluge poured relentlessly, driving through his clothes like icy needles and soaking him to the bone. Gasping, shivering, Kestrel crawled for shelter beneath the table.

Impossible. Powerful water magi could summon rain, but it required a complete song and dance from both partners. All Aramy and Carnelio had done was kiss. Neither had even spoken a spell.

This was...Carnelio was just...using his aura.

Could it be? Was the Crown Prince…someone like him?

Shaking water from his hair, Kestrel looked up and found himself staring at Dracen and Ilya. The huge energos had tucked his ministra by his side, shielding him from the rain. “How—” Kestrel began.

"It's not His Highness," Ilya said, peeking out from under Dracen's arm. "It's Lord Basquiale."

"I don't—"

"Lord Basquiale is an aether magus."

An aether magus. It was the first time Kestrel had ever heard the words spoken aloud. After all, aether was the rarest of the aura elements, appearing only once every few generations at most.

While aether could not create anything in of itself, it could augment other auras. Long ago, before the lands had united into Senero, they had fought endless wars for control of the few aether magi.

Now the royal family possessed one.

Dimly, Kestrel registered that the mad pounding of the rain had quieted. He pushed aside the tablecloth and peered past the broken glass littering the pavilion like autumn leaves, to see Carnelio Azed standing with his arms thrown open and face angled toward the deluge he had summoned. He was soaked and his jacket was torn, but he didn't seem to care.

At his feet knelt Aramy, a heap of white and scarlet silk. Without thinking, Kestrel lurched out from beneath the table, wanting to check if Aramy was all right.

Aramy's aura still wreathed Carnelio, but it was slowly fading. In response, the rain weakened into a drizzle, and then died away. Swaying, Carnelio fell to his knees. Glass crunched beneath him.

Other guests began to emerge from their hiding places, all as drenched as if they’d fallen into the river. Some shook off scraps of wet silk, others bled from fresh cuts. They were shivering, breathless, their faces filled with awe and fear. For the first time, Kestrel felt that he finally belonged among them.

All had their eyes on the prince, proud and commanding even on his knees. But Carnelio paid them no heed—he had his head thrown skyward, his face aglow with something too savage to be triumph.

"A most wonderful display, Your Highness," Alexandir Pavos purred, clapping his hands.

"This is the power of the House of Azed," Carnelio said between pants. "May our allies and enemies both take note. And may they never forget it."

Kestrel doubted anyone would.