Tones echoed throughout the hall, a quiet trill of notes from nowhere in particular. It would have gone unnoticed – a frippery from the harpist, perhaps – had those particular notes not been awaited throughout the tedious evening by anxious parents and bored cadets.

A frisson of voices cascaded through the grand hall, and the mass of well-dressed

Lady Bessina joined the chorus. “It’s time!” she caroled gleefully, pressing a satin glove against the diamonds sparkling under ruinous amounts of magelights. “I must say, I look forward to this every year.”

“Do join us, Ambassador,” Lord Relevon offered from under a neat mustache. “Our box offers an exceptional view. The benefit of all the financing we funnel into the Academy every year, what?”

“I shall gladly accept.” Ambassador Zelon inclined his head with the precisely appropriate thirty-degree nod of gratitude. “I should like to observe with well-informed spectators. My country’s coming of age ceremony is quite different, and I find myself confused.”

“Of course,” Bessina said warmly, and sailed past Revelon’s extended hand. “This isn’t merely your first ceremony, is it?”

“Arrived on the Xanthar twelve units – excuse me, days – ago.” Zelon pressed his fingers together, a tell that long training had not alleviated. Was the Lady Bessina drunk from the odd aqua champagne the servers regularly floated, or were all Atlassians so indirect? It was exhausting, and no one had warned him that immersion was so much more terrible than his transitory studies.

“Difficult, isn’t it?” Revelon murmured as they transited the luxuriously wallpapered staircase. “I grew up on Engl, and that’s still part of the Atlassian Territories. Took me years to master the complexities of high society on the Island here to boot.”

Zelon gave a polite smile while he mentally cursed and began one of the Hundressian’s protocol exercises to better maintain his composure. He’d been a junior envoy long enough to know better than to sip on the bubbly after weeks of transit, even if this was his first post as the head Ambassador.

Still – Revelon could be an ally, as long as the information was good, and as long as Zelon himself maintained proper composure. He took a measured breath and followed the couple into their observation balcony. “Tell me about this ceremony, of your courtesy?”

Bessina beamed and gestured for the Ambassador to help himself from the tray of crudités. “How lovely that we get to be with you during your first Observation.”

“It’s really a coming of age ceremony,” Revelon added, studying a crostini covered in a soft white cheese and a sprinkle of black salt. “Each student desiring entrance to the Atlassian Mage Academy goes through this exam. In return for training, service to the state for so many years, and so on, and so forth.” He waved a hand and wobbled the crostini in emphasis. “Ten years after graduation, minimum. Opportunities to advance, and recruiters sniffing the second the obligation is done.”

Zelon cleared his throat and selected a thimbleful of pastry filled with yellow goo. “This selection – it is to be accepted into the academy?”

“Oh, no,” Bessina chimed in. “Their ability qualifies them. Every child is tested annually, for this and other traits. We chose to support the Mage Academy after our son’s selection. He’s serving across the sea, actually, now that Gabri’s graduated – why, he must have returned on your ship. How exciting.”

Below the balcony, blobs of satin and silk settled onto velvet-cushioned chairs set in a scarlet crescent that looked only slightly less sumptuous than the viewing box he sat in. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, then. What exactly do we observe?”

“Why, the potential, dear boy,” Revelon drawled. “This test is the manifestation that displays each cadet’s potential power.”

“Not just strength,” Bessina remonstrated her husband. “Aptitude, as well.”

“Of course, darling.” He tilted his head back toward the ambassador. “Each candidate funnels through a particular type of channel to control the manifestation.”

Zelon wished for nothing more than to rub his temples at that exact moment. Why hadn’t anyone warned him how important the mages were? Here he was, stumbling on basics that pre-cadets handled with ease. He ventured a guess. “Ah – like a tool that ensures results are comparable?”

“Precisely.” Revelon clapped him on the back, peering over the balcony as his wife widened her eyes disapprovingly. “Look, the doors are opening.”

In front of the massed audience, an enormous set of doors slowly opened into the empty area in front of the waiting crowd, cutting off a murmur of conversation and filling the space with a glowing white fog.

“Society does love a good fundraiser,” Bessina said in a low voice approvingly. “Support national defense and what have you. The powerful families hold magic and are obligated to serve, so it’s in their interests.”

“Our coming of age ceremonies are quite different,” Zelon murmured. “We are all obligated to serve in some form, but our magicians do not interact with the public. It is a tightly held secret.”

“We don’t see much unless we have a mage in the family,” Bessina admitted, and picked up a fluted glass. “This is meant as a reassurance, that we hold the strength to protect the country.”

“In addition to our alliances, of course.” Revelon gave an odd half-salute.

The fog cleared to reveal a farmhouse, with a thatched roof and neat gardens. “How is this indoors?”

“Magic.” She leaned forward and sniffed amid the audience’s polite applause. “This must be that peasant child.”

Revelon leaned in at Zelon’s questioning glance and whispered the answer. “Illegitimate.”

“Power should be kept within the families.” She drained her glass, set it down sharply, and smoothed her blue skirts. “Well, we do need someone to keep the crops on track.”

“Does each manifestation look like a house?” The vision below was lost in fog again, and the doors swung closed as the new cadet saluted the crowd.

“In some form,” Revelon answered. “Earth shines through in this version, and the small house size indicates limited power. It’s an interpretation, really. Keeps those of us non-magic types gossiping like old hens for weeks.”

Bessina glanced at a program. “That northerner is next.”

“Speaking of gossip.” Revelon gave a laugh and settled into his armchair. “The Askirons haven’t manifested power in generations. They’ve been quite removed from society since – well. That’s not polite conversation, is it? And look, there go the doors again.”

Fog lifted, and Zelon noticed the hall had quieted. Bessina clutched her skirts, and even Revelon’s joviality had faded as he leaned on the bannister.

This time, the doors revealed a yawning cavern of sharp black rocks with no end in sight.

Bessina gasped. “The sheer power…!”

“This changes everything,” breathed Revelon.

Yes, thought Zelon. Whatever was happening with the tall, raven-haired cadet standing next to the doors, his own mission had just become more intriguing.

***

This week, Becky Jones prompted me with tones and time, while my prompt of a flickering staircase went to AC Young. Want to read more or play along? Take a meander over at MOTE!