The armor … he thought, wind whipping around him, is designed to crack … He leaped, pushed off a wall, slammed a gust of air into Hastra’s back…. when struck. Hastra stumbled forward and spun to face him. The first to ten hits … He continued reciting the rules as water swirled around his hand wins the match … The water split, circling both hands…. unless one of the competitors … Both streams shot forward, freezing before they hit…. is unable to continue … Hastra could only block one shard, and the second caught him in the armored thigh and shattered into drops of ice…. or admits defeat.

Kell broke into a smile behind his mask, and when the breathless guard pulled off his helmet, he was grinning, too. Kell tugged off his silver mask, his damp hair standing on end.

“Is this what you’ve been doing down here all these weeks, Master Kell?” asked Hastra breathlessly. “Practicing for the tournament?”

Kell hesitated, and then said, “I suppose.” After all, he had been training; he simply hadn’t known what he was training for.

“Well it’s paying off, sir,” said the guard. “You make it look easy.”

Kell laughed. The truth was, his whole body ached, and even while his blood sang for a fight, his power felt thin. Drained. He’d grown too used to the efficiency of blood magic, but elements took more will to wield. The fatigue from using blood spells hit him all at once, but this kind of fighting wore him down. Perhaps he’d actually get a sound night’s sleep before the tournament.

Hastra crossed the training room gingerly, as if treading on hallowed ground, and stood by the Basin’s archway, considering the equipment table with its bowl of water, its containers of earth and sand and oil.

“Do you have an element?” asked Kell, slicking back his hair.

Hastra’s smile softened. “Little of this, little of that, sir.”

Kell frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Parents wanted me to be a priest,” said the young guard, scratching his head. “But I thought that didn’t sound like nearly as much fun. Spend all day meditating in that musty stone structure—”

“You can balance?” cut in Kell, amazed. Priests were chosen not for their strength in one element, but for their tempered ability to manage all, not as Kell did, with sheer power, but with the evenness needed to nurture life. Balancing the elements was a sacred skill. Even Kell struggled with balance; just as a strong wind could uproot a sapling, an Antari’s power held too much force for the subtle arts. He could impact things already grown, but life was fragile at the start, and required a gentle touch.

The young guard shrugged, and then brightened a little. “You want to see?” he asked, almost bashful.

Kell looked around “Right now?”

Hastra grinned and dug a hand in his pocket, fetching out a small seed. When Kell raised a brow, the guard chuckled. “You never know when you might need to impress a lady,” he said. “Lots of people puff up their chest and go for the flash and the bang. But I can’t tell you how many nights have started with a seed and ended, well …” Hastra seemed to ramble whenever he got nervous, and Kell apparently made him very nervous. “Then again I doubt you’d have to try as hard to impress them, sir.”

Hastra scanned the elements on the table. In one small bowl was some loose dirt: not the rich soil of the orchards and gardens, but the rocky kind found beneath pavers in the street. It wasn’t the most elegant thing to train with—and when given the choice, Kell would go for rocks over dirt—but it was abundant. Kell watched as Hastra scooped up a palmful of earth, and made a small indent with his finger before dropping in the seed. He then dipped his other hand into the bowl of water, and pressed it down over the dirt, packing the seed and soil between his palms into a ball. Hastra closed his eyes, and his lips began to move. Kell felt a subtle warmth in the air between them, a sensation he knew well from his time with Tieren.

And then, still murmuring, Hastra began to slowly open his hands, the mound of damp earth cupped like an egg between them.

Kell watched, transfixed, as a pale green stem crept up through the moistened earth. The stem grew an inch, then two, twisting up into the air. Leaves began to unfurl, their surface a dark purple, before a white spherical bloom emerged.

Hastra trailed off, looking pleased.

“What is it?” asked Kell.

“Acina,” said the guard. “Its leaves are good for pain.”

“That’s amazing.”

The young guard shrugged. “My mum and dad were not happy when I chose to be a guard instead.”

“I can imagine.” Kell wanted to tell Hastra that he was wasted here. That his talent was far too precious to be thrown away in favor of a sword and some armor. But then, if a person’s value alone should determine their place, what argument did Kell have for wanting more?

“But that’s just because they don’t know,” continued Hastra sunnily. “They probably think I’m doing street patrol in the sha. They’ll be proud, when they hear I’m guarding you, sir. Besides, I made a deal with my father,” he added. “I’ll join the sanctuary, eventually. But I’ve wanted to be a royal guard as long as I can remember. I knew I wouldn’t be happy, not until I tried. Can’t think of a worse thing, than wondering what would have been. So I thought, why not have both? The sanctuary will still have me, when I’m good and ready.”