Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) by Jasmine Giacomo Read Free Book Online

duelists’ services this day?”
    Philo stepped down beside him. “No, son. We’ve come to take your young trainee up to the Academy along with Bayan here.”
    The boy’s dark eyes widened, and he looked more closely at Bayan, who stared back. The boy turned his attention back to Philo. “The boy you’re looking for isn’t from Renallen, Surveyor. He’s come from the Firedust Guild up north.”
    Bayan heard a faint judgment in the boy’s voice, though he didn’t know whether the boy disapproved of the northern area or the guild.
    “Well, come along, Bayan,” Philo said. “You’ll want to see the den, since you’ll be working in one eventually.”
    I don’t want to work in a duel den, Bayan thought, leaving the carriage. He felt the darkness rise up his throat and swallowed it back as he followed Philo and the boy.
    They entered a broad tunnel. At its far end, Bayan saw an expanse of what looked like pale sand, with a narrow band of tiered seating on the far side. The boy turned down a side tunnel and into a large common room illuminated by sun through grated skylights. Several men and women sat in relaxed poses and chatted or played at games. An older man with gray hair rolled to his feet from a cushioned bench and padded over. Bayan was struck by how the man seemed to flow like water.
    “Head Duelist Cavan,” the boy greeted him, “this surveyor is traveling to the Academy. He’s come for the fireduster.”
    Cavan showed no reaction, but merely said, “This way.” He flowed past them without another glance.
    Bayan looked at Philo, but the man sported his public face, which showed little more emotion than Cavan’s. Bayan turned to follow the men, but the young boy caught his sleeve.
    “How does it feel to have dry feet?” he asked curiously.
    Bayan stared, baffled. “Do you keep water in your shoes?”
    “Of course not, but—”
    “Then you know as well as I do what it feels like to have dry feet. You imperials are a strange lot.” He headed after Philo, leaving the boy behind.
    He caught up with Cavan and Philo at the doorway to a spacious sleeping room. A pale, light-haired boy about Bayan’s age sat on a high, imperial-style bed. As Cavan explained Philo’s errand, the boy studied the floor. His right cheek bore a pink, raised swirl of scar tissue that resembled a broad tongue of flame.
    While the boy packed a few things into a bag, Cavan returned to the doorway. “His name is Calder Micarron. He’s afraid of fire, even a simple candle. I’ve spent some time teaching him to distance himself from his fears, so his magic doesn’t escape his control, but he’ll need extensive retraining at the Academy. Otherwise, he’ll wash out and get potioneered quicker’n you can spit.”
    Bayan listened with increasing worry. Cavan’s sudden flood of words made sense, of a sort, but the tone in which he delivered them was perfectly emotionless. He might have been discussing rice bushels at market, though Bayan’s father expressed more interest in those than Cavan did in Calder.
    The boy approached Cavan. “I’m ready,” he said, slurring his ‘r’. Bayan’s eyes fell to the stiff, pink scarring on Calder’s cheek. He shivered, wondering whether the scar’s flame pattern was mere chance, or if Calder’s elemental magic had indeed marked him as its own.
    Cavan stepped aside without a word, allowing Calder into Philo’s custody. Calder did not say goodbye or give a backward glance as the group returned to the carriage.
    As Philo handed Calder’s bag up to Nic to secure on the roof, Bayan muttered, “Cavan wasn’t very interested in you, was he?”
    Calder shrugged. “He helped me not be so afraid at first. I only slipped once, when I made a wall sprout leaves, and I’ve been here for six days.” The lilting rhythm of Calder’s accent was different from everyone in Philo’s traveling party, and Bayan enjoyed its light crispness.
    “But he wasn’t happy, sad, anything. He just stood