The night air hung heavy with the scent of roasting meats and mulled wine.
Servants scurried between long tables bearing silver platters, their footsteps muffled by plush carpets imported from the Verdant Expanse.
Lord Baelen's annual harvest feast was renowned throughout the Ashen Wastes, a rare display of opulence in a land better known for its hardship.
Calder Vask kept his eyes lowered as he refilled goblets. Eighteen years of servitude had taught him the art of invisibility. Neither too fast nor too slow. Never meeting the gaze of nobility. A servant shaped by necessity into a ghost drifting between conversations that would never include him.
"More wine," commanded a merchant with rings adorning every finger. The man didn't bother looking up.
Calder complied without a word. His worn shoes made no sound on the expensive carpets as he moved to the next table where his younger sister, Elise, struggled with a heavy platter of honey-glazed fowl.
"Almost done," he whispered as he passed. "Just a few more hours."
She gave him a quick smile, too brief to be noticed by watchful overseers. At fourteen, Elise had only recently joined the serving staff, her slight frame making every burden appear twice as heavy.
Lord Baelen sat at the head table, his considerable girth straining against embroidered finery. Beside him perched Lady Merena, whose cold eyes cataloged every minor imperfection in the evening's service. Their son, Hadrian, occupied the place of honor, celebrating his twentieth birthday with increasingly loud proclamations as wine loosened his tongue.
"Father says I'll be traveling to the Cerulean Dominion next season," Hadrian announced to sycophantic cheers. "The water mages have agreed to test my potential. Everyone knows the noblest blood carries the strongest affinities."
Calder kept his expression neutral as he served the high table. The Cerulean Dominion represented everything forbidden to those like him. Education. Opportunity. A life beyond servitude.
A commotion erupted near the kitchen entrance. Two guards dragged in a boy no older than ten, his face streaked with kitchen grease and tears.
"Caught him stealing scraps, my lord," announced the burlier guard, shoving the child to his knees.
The music faltered. Conversation died. Lord Baelen's expression darkened as he rose ponderously to his feet.
"What have I said about theft in my household?" his voice carried the practiced authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
"Please, my lord," the boy sobbed. "My sister's been sick these three days. I only wanted to bring her something warm."
Calder tensed, hands tightening around the wine pitcher. He recognized the child as one of the scullery workers, orphaned during last winter's fever.
"Compassion invites weakness," Lord Baelen declared. "Examples must be made."
With a flick of his ringed fingers, he summoned his house mage, a severe woman with the blue-tinged nails characteristic of water magic practitioners. The assembled guests shifted in anticipation. Minor magic was often deployed as entertainment at such gatherings. Punishment doubly so.
"Ten lashes," Lord Baelen proclaimed. "Then a night in the stocks."
The mage nodded, producing a thin crystal wand from her sleeve. Water magic could be weaponized in countless ways. The crystal would turn droplets into stinging whips, leaving no permanent scars but delivering remembered pain for weeks.
Elise appeared at Calder's side, sliding past with a platter of sweetmeats. Her knuckles were white against the silver tray.
"It's not right," she whispered, too softly for anyone else to hear.
"Keep your head down," Calder warned, recognizing the dangerous flush in his sister's cheeks. "There's nothing we can do."
The first lash fell. The boy's scream pierced the hall. Nobles winced in practiced sympathy while servants stood frozen, each imagining themselves or their loved ones in his place.
The second lash fell. The boy writhed against the guards' grip.
The third lash never came.
"Stop!"
The word rang out, shocking in its clarity. All eyes turned to find its source.
Elise stood with her tray tilted, sweetmeats sliding onto the expensive carpet. Her small frame seemed suddenly taller, her eyes reflecting an inner light that Calder had never seen before.
"Stop hurting him," she repeated, softer but no less determined.
Lord Baelen's face purpled with rage. "Who dares interrupt justice in my hall?"
Calder moved without thinking, stepping between his sister and the nobles. "Forgive her, my lord. She's young and doesn't understand her place. I'll take her outside immediately."
He gripped Elise's arm, feeling a strange heat radiating through her simple servant's dress. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
"No one leaves," Lord Baelen thundered. "Bring the girl forward."
The guards released the sobbing boy, who crawled away toward the kitchens, forgotten in this new drama. Strong hands seized Elise, dragging her before the high table. Calder followed helplessly, mind racing for some solution, some plea that might save her.
"You question my authority in my own house?" Lord Baelen loomed over Elise, who stared back with uncharacteristic defiance.
"You hurt children to entertain your friends," she replied, voice trembling not with fear but with something Calder recognized with growing horror. Rage. Consuming rage that he'd spent years teaching her to suppress.
Lady Merena leaned forward, nostrils flaring. "The girl reeks of smoke. Search her for fire starters."
The house mage approached, crystal wand extended. "Stand still, child. This won't hurt if you don't resist."
The wand's tip glowed blue as it drew near Elise's chest. Magical detection. Calder's heart hammered against his ribs. They couldn't possibly think his sister had fire magic. Such affinity was rare, persecuted. Fire mages were executed on discovery, their unstable powers deemed too dangerous for civilized society.
"Please," Calder stepped forward. "She's merely upset. I'll ensure she's properly disciplined."
"Stay back, servant," the mage snapped, eyes fixed on her crystal.
The wand touched Elise's sternum. For one heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the crystal shattered with a sound like breaking ice. The mage stumbled backward, blood trickling from where crystal shards had embedded in her palm.
"Ignis," she gasped, the elemental name for fire. "The girl carries flame magic."
The hall erupted in chaos. Nobles scrambled from their seats, wine goblets overturning on pristine tablecloths. Guards converged with drawn blades.
"No," Calder lunged forward, only to be caught by two servants who had been friends just moments before. They held him back, faces averted, already distancing themselves from the taint of association.
Lord Baelen stood immobile, face contorted with disgust and something else. Opportunity. A fire mage discovered in his household would bring Confluence investigators, attention, perhaps rewards for his vigilance.
"Secure her," he ordered. "Send for the Inquisitors."
"Calder!" Elise cried as guards pinned her arms. The temperature in the hall rose perceptibly. Sweat beaded on foreheads despite the autumn chill.
"She's manifesting," the wounded mage warned, backing away. "Water magic users to the front. Contain her before she burns."
Elise's eyes met Calder's across the chaos, filled with confusion and terror. Her skin glowed from within, like a lantern behind parchment.
"Help me," she pleaded.
The guards restraining Calder released him suddenly, backing away. He felt it then, the same heat radiating from his own skin. A sympathetic response? Or something more?
"Two of them," someone shouted. "The brother as well!"
Hadrian Baelen stood from his seat of honor, drawing a ceremonial sword. "I'll handle this threat to my family's house," he declared, eager to prove himself before the assembled guests.
Elise's hands ignited first, bright orange flames engulfing her fingers without consuming them. She stared in horror as fire spread up her arms, her servant's dress beginning to smolder.
"Make it stop," she sobbed, no longer defiant but terrified. "Calder, please make it stop!"
Calder rushed toward her, ignoring the guards who scattered before his approach. He reached for his sister, intending to smother the flames somehow, to save her from this death sentence of an ability neither of them had chosen.
Hadrian intercepted him, sword swinging in an awkward arc that nonetheless found its target. Cold steel bit into Elise's neck, a killing blow delivered with aristocratic ineptitude.
Time stopped.
Elise's eyes widened in shock, her lips forming Calder's name one final time. Blood sprayed across polished marble. The flames on her skin flickered, then flared impossibly brighter as she collapsed.
Calder caught her falling body, cradling her close as her life fled in crimson pulses. Around them, nobles screamed and servants fled, but he heard nothing beyond his sister's rattling final breath.
"No," he whispered, rocking her cooling form. "Not like this."
Something ancient and terrible uncoiled within his chest. The pain of loss transformed into searing heat that demanded release. He had spent eighteen years containing himself, suppressing every spark of defiance or anger.
No more.