Aldric woke to the sound of shouting in the street below. He sat up, momentarily disoriented, before remembering where he was. The Copper Bell Inn. The capital. His new life.
Pale morning light filtered through the grimy window. He rose and splashed water from the washbasin onto his face, the cold shocking him fully awake. In the cracked mirror above the basin, he examined his reflection. Dark hair, gray eyes, a face that was neither handsome nor ugly—unremarkable, which could be an advantage. People overlooked the unremarkable.
He dressed in his second-best clothes, saving his finest outfit for when he would need to make an impression. Then he descended to the common room, where Mrs. Keller was serving breakfast to a handful of early risers.
She glanced at him and jerked her head toward the kitchen. "There's porridge and bread. Help yourself, then come back out here. I've got work for you."
The porridge was bland but filling, the bread only slightly stale. Aldric ate quickly, his mind already turning to the day ahead. He needed to learn the layout of the city, identify the key players, understand the power structures. Information was currency in a place like this, and he intended to become very wealthy indeed.
After breakfast, Mrs. Keller set him to work cleaning tables and sweeping floors. It was menial labor, beneath the dignity of a noble, but Aldric performed it without complaint. Pride was another luxury he couldn't afford. Besides, working in the common room gave him the opportunity to observe and listen.
The Copper Bell's patrons were a mixed lot—laborers, minor merchants, a few off-duty soldiers. They talked freely, assuming that no one of importance was listening. Aldric heard complaints about rising prices, speculation about the Emperor's health, gossip about scandals in the noble houses. He filed it all away, sorting the useful from the trivial.
By midday, Mrs. Keller released him. "You work hard, I'll give you that," she said grudgingly. "Most noble brats would've quit after an hour. Come back this evening for the dinner crowd."
Aldric stepped out into the street, blinking in the bright sunlight. The city was even more crowded than it had been the previous day, the streets packed with people going about their business. He let himself be carried along by the flow of foot traffic, observing everything.
The capital was a study in contrasts. Magnificent mansions stood just streets away from crumbling tenements. Wealthy merchants in fine silks brushed past beggars in rags. And everywhere, always, were the mages. They were the true aristocracy of this city, Aldric realized. Noble birth mattered, wealth mattered, but magic mattered most of all.
He made his way toward the Consortium District, where the Sunstone Consortium maintained its headquarters and its Academy. The buildings here were grander, built of white marble and adorned with golden accents. Guards in Consortium livery stood at every corner, their eyes watchful. The people who walked these streets moved with purpose and confidence, their clothes expensive, their bearing proud.
Aldric felt like an intruder. He didn't belong here, not yet. But he needed to see the Academy, needed to understand what he was reaching for.
The Academy itself was an imposing structure, all soaring towers and gleaming domes. Students in white robes moved in and out of its gates, laughing and talking among themselves. They looked young, most of them no older than Aldric, but they carried themselves with the assurance of those who knew their place in the world was secure.
He approached the gates, where a bored-looking guard stood watch. "Can I help you?" the guard asked, his tone suggesting he'd rather not.
"I'm interested in enrolling in the Academy," Aldric said. "What are the requirements?"
The guard's expression shifted from bored to amused. "Requirements? Let's see. First, you need to demonstrate magical aptitude. Second, you need a sponsor—either a noble house of significant standing or a Consortium member. Third, you need to pay the tuition, which is five hundred gold pieces per year. And fourth, you need to provide your own Luminous Crystals for training, which will run you another two to three hundred gold per year depending on your Pathway."
Aldric felt his stomach sink. Five hundred gold. He had forty-seven.
"Is there any form of scholarship or financial aid?" he asked, keeping his voice level.
The guard laughed. "Sure, if you're the child of a High Lord or if you've already demonstrated exceptional magical ability. But if you have to ask about scholarships, you probably don't qualify. Look, kid, the Academy isn't for people like you. It's for the children of the wealthy and powerful. Go find an apprenticeship or join the army or something. Magic isn't for everyone."
Aldric nodded slowly. "Thank you for your time."
He turned and walked away, his mind racing. The legitimate path was closed to him. Five hundred gold might as well have been five thousand. He would never accumulate that kind of wealth through honest work, not in time to matter.
Which meant he would have to find another way.
He spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the city, mapping it in his mind. The Consortium District, where the wealthy and powerful lived. The Merchant District, where goods and gold changed hands. The Harbor District, where ships from across the world docked and unloaded their cargo. And the Warrens, the sprawling slum where the poor and desperate eked out their existence.
It was in the Warrens that Aldric found what he was looking for.
The streets here were narrow and filthy, the buildings leaning against each other as if for support. The people who lived here moved with the wary caution of those who knew that danger lurked around every corner. Aldric walked carefully, keeping his hand near the knife he'd tucked into his belt. He'd been warned about the Warrens, but he needed to see it for himself.
He turned a corner and nearly walked into a group of men lounging against a wall. They were young, rough-looking, with the hard eyes of those who'd grown up fighting for everything they had. One of them, a tall man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward.
"Lost, pretty boy?" he asked, his voice mocking.
Aldric assessed the situation instantly. Five of them, one of him. They were armed—he could see knives tucked into belts, one man had a cudgel. They were sizing him up, deciding whether he was worth robbing.
"Not lost," Aldric said calmly. "Just looking around."
"Looking around," the scarred man repeated. "In the Warrens. Right. You know what I think? I think you're a stupid noble brat who wandered into the wrong part of town. And I think you're about to learn an expensive lesson."
The other men laughed and began to spread out, cutting off Aldric's escape routes. His heart hammered in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. Panic would only make this worse.
"I don't want any trouble," he said. "I'm just passing through."
"Too late for that," the scarred man said, drawing his knife. "Now, you can hand over your coin purse nice and easy, or we can take it off your corpse. Your choice."
Aldric's mind raced. He couldn't fight five armed men and win. Running would just get him stabbed in the back. Which left only one option: talk his way out.
"You're right," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I am a noble, and I am stupid for coming here alone. But I'm not rich. I'm a third son, cast out by my family with barely enough money to survive. If you rob me, you'll get maybe forty gold pieces. Forty gold, split five ways. That's eight gold each. Is that really worth the risk?"
The scarred man paused, his knife still raised. "Risk? What risk? You're alone and unarmed."
"I'm unarmed," Aldric agreed. "But I'm also a registered resident of the Copper Bell Inn. Mrs. Keller knows where I went today. If I don't come back, she'll report it to the city guard. They'll come looking for me, and when they find my body, they'll sweep through the Warrens looking for suspects. How many of you have outstanding warrants? How many of you can afford to have the guard poking around your business?"
The men exchanged glances. Aldric pressed his advantage.
"But," he continued, "if you let me go, I might be able to offer you something more valuable than forty gold pieces. I'm educated. I can read and write, I can do figures, I can forge documents if needed. I'm looking to make connections in the city, and you look like men who know how things work down here. Maybe we can help each other."
The scarred man lowered his knife slightly. "You're offering to work for us?"
"I'm offering to trade services. You need someone who can move in higher circles, someone the guard won't look twice at. I need information, contacts, opportunities. We both benefit."
The scarred man studied him for a long moment. Then he laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. Most nobles would be pissing themselves right about now." He sheathed his knife. "All right, pretty boy. I'll bite. Name's Finn. You want to do business in the Warrens, you go through me. But if you're lying, if you're some kind of guard informant, I'll gut you myself. Understood?"
"Understood," Aldric said, lowering his hands. His heart was still pounding, but he kept his voice steady. "I'm Aldric Thorne. And I'm not an informant. I'm just trying to survive."
Finn nodded slowly. "Aren't we all. Come on, then. Let's get a drink and talk business. You're buying."
Aldric followed Finn and his men to a dingy tavern that smelled of spilled beer and vomit. They sat at a corner table, and Aldric bought a round of drinks with a few copper pieces. It was a small price to pay for not getting robbed—or worse.
As they drank, Finn explained the power structure of the Warrens. There were several gangs, each controlling different territories. Finn worked for one of the larger organizations, a group called the Shadow Syndicate. They dealt in stolen goods, information, and various other illegal enterprises. They also, Finn mentioned casually, had connections to the black market for Luminous Crystals.
Aldric's ears perked up at that. "Black market crystals? I thought the Consortium controlled all crystal production."
Finn grinned. "They do. But there's always someone willing to steal, and always someone willing to buy. The crystals are expensive, and not everyone can afford Consortium prices. So there's a market for cheaper alternatives. Counterfeit crystals, stolen crystals, crystals refined by rogue alchemists. They're not as good as the real thing, and they're dangerous as hell, but they're better than nothing."
"How dangerous?" Aldric asked.
Finn shrugged. "Depends on the crystal. A good counterfeit might just make you sick. A bad one will turn you into one of the Discordant—a twisted, mad thing that the Consortium hunts down and kills. But if you're desperate enough, you roll the dice."
Aldric absorbed this information, his mind already working through the implications. The legitimate path to magic was closed to him, but the black market offered another option. A dangerous option, but an option nonetheless.
"How would someone go about buying a black market crystal?" he asked carefully. Finn's eyes narrowed. "Why? You thinking of becoming a mage?"
"I'm thinking of keeping my options open."
Finn studied him for a moment, then laughed. "You really are desperate, aren't you? All right, I'll tell you. But this information isn't free. You owe me a favor, to be called in later. Agreed?"
Aldric hesitated. Owing a favor to a criminal was dangerous. But so was remaining powerless in a city that devoured the weak.
"Agreed," he said.
Finn leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "There's a man named Marcus Blackwood. He's high up in the Syndicate, handles the crystal trade. If you want to buy, you go through him. But be warned—Marcus doesn't deal with just anyone. You'll need to prove you're worth his time. Bring him something valuable. Information, money, a useful skill. Something that makes him want to do business with you."
"How do I find him?" Aldric asked.
Finn grinned. "You don't. He finds you. But I'll put in a word, let him know you're looking. If he's interested, he'll send someone to fetch you. If he's not..." Finn shrugged. "Well, then you're shit out of luck."
Aldric nodded. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Finn said. "You're playing a dangerous game, pretty boy. The Consortium doesn't take kindly to people using black market crystals. If they catch you, they'll execute you. And the Syndicate doesn't take kindly to people who can't pay their debts. If you cross Marcus, he'll do worse than kill you. You sure you want to go down this road?"
Aldric thought of the Academy students in their white robes, laughing and confident. He thought of the mages moving through the streets like gods among mortals. He thought of his father's dismissive wave, his brothers' contempt.
"I'm sure," he said.
Finn raised his mug in a mock toast. "Then welcome to the underworld, Aldric Thorne. Try not to die too quickly."
They drank, and Aldric felt the weight of his decision settle over him. He'd taken the first step down a dark path, one from which there might be no return. But he'd also taken the first step toward power.
And power, he was learning, always came with a price.