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Chapter 3

Author: Emerald Gains
In an instant, every eye in the hall turned toward me.

The smile froze on Lyra Moonglass's face. She fixed me with a displeased look.

"The Harvest Moon is Lucian's birthday. Tonight's banquet is to celebrate him. As a newcomer, you'd do well to keep to a newcomer's place. Don't pretend you know better than the rest of us and ruin everyone's evening."

Her words made me so angry I nearly laughed.

Good. Very good.

She'd taken the Order's age-old welcome for newcomers and turned it into a private birthday feast for her pet.

I let out a cold laugh.

"Little Lyra. I've been generous with you, haven't I?"

Lyra's expression dropped at once.

No one had dared call her by that childhood name to her face in decades.

For the moment she couldn't place this brazen newcomer in front of her. She only felt her authority challenged as never before, and in furious humiliation she slammed the table and shouted, "Insolent!"

The hand-picked students beside her finally caught on that "Little Lyra" meant their famously imposing teacher.

They all leapt to their feet in shock and pointed at me, snapping.

"How dare you disrespect the Mistress!"

"Someone seize this arrogant madman who has no respect for his betters!"

I waved a hand, releasing a wave of pressure, and not one of the surrounding students could so much as step toward me.

"Little Lyra. At five, you tried to steal honey from a hive of enchanted bees and got stung until your scalp was covered in welts.

"At seven, you raced an enchanted hare up the back mountain, fell into a mud pit, and came home crying, caked head to toe.

"At ten, you had a crush on a boy from the neighboring peak. You were too shy to say a word to him, so every day you hid outside his door and made bird calls..."

With every memory I named, Lyra's face went a shade darker.

By the end, that pretty face of hers had gone dark as a thunderhead.

But beneath the anger, her eyes carried a flicker of doubt and dread she couldn't quite smother.

She stared at me, as if hunting through my face for some long-buried memory.

Just then, Lucian Clegane stepped out from behind the others.

He came up beside me and reached out, making as if to press down on my shoulder and force me to my knees.

"Rowan, stop talking! Get down and beg the Mistress's forgiveness, now!

"Mistress, please don't stoop to his level. He's new and doesn't know any better. He offended you out of ignorance. I'll set him straight later and teach him what respect for one's teachers means. You're so gracious—please forgive him just this once..."

I'd had my fill of listening.

I spun around and cracked another hard slap across Lucian's face.

Three slaps from me in a single day. Fresh fury stacked on old grudges. His eyes went red as he glared at me, looking like he wanted to tear me apart and swallow me whole.

The sight of him looking so wronged stoked Lyra's anger to a blaze.

To her, saving face and standing up for her beloved student mattered far more than working out who I was.

"What are you all standing around for? Seize this lunatic! Throw him in the dungeons and hold him for sentencing!"

At her command, more than a dozen wardens charged into the banquet hall, enchanted implements in hand, bearing down on me.

The first of them swung a binding-cord down at my head.

I didn't even bother to look up. I just waved my hand, idle as could be.

Smack.

An unseen slap sent him flying, implement and all. He crashed through several tables and dropped unconscious where he landed.

Then came the second, the third...

Every last one who rushed me was, without exception, slapped flat to the floor.

The hall filled with the crisp crack of slap after slap, and the dull groans of bodies hitting the ground.

The onlookers who'd been enjoying the spectacle were all dumbstruck.

They were stunned to see that everyone I'd slapped lay there on the floor, unable to get up.

I sneered to myself.

I'd laced each of those slaps with a thread of pure magic.

The force was neither too much nor too little. Just enough to leave their heads spinning, and not enough to do them real harm.

Suddenly a deep, commanding shout came from beyond the hall.

"Who dares make a racket in here?"

Someone below gasped under their breath, "It's... it's the elders of the Warden's Hall!"

I turned slowly and glanced toward the doors.

Three white-haired old men strode in, every step full of authority.

The one at their head was the current High Warden, and a student I'd raised up with my own hand years ago—Garrick Stone.

Garrick's gaze swept the hall, then landed on me. His clouded eyes flew wide.

"Master... Grandmaster! When... when did you return?"
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