Schist Graystone was, in essence, the man I always presumed I ought to be. Tall, broad-shouldered, and straight-backed, he kept his dark hair trimmed neatly short and his angular face clean-shaven.

  Right now, however, he looked… tired of all things. Circles hung under his cool gray eyes, even if his posture was ramrod straight in his chair. I froze in the doorway, struck by the out-of-place hairs, the hints of stubble, and the fact his desk looked less like a painting and more like a studio accident.

  “Father?” I half-whispered with the door still hanging open behind me.

  “Close the door.”

  I did, and he gestured for me to sit.

  “Straighten your shoulders, Son, and sit up.”

  With a jolt, I did as he asked. “Is everything alright, Father?”

  In terms of cultivation, Father was every bit Mother’s equal, if not superior. Third Ring, higher than any other noble I knew, and a force I thought even the sects had to regard seriously.

  “I heard about your success, Slate.” He smiled, the expression just reaching his eyes as he completely dismissed my question. “Congratulations.”

  “I… Thank you, Father.” I didn’t dare press for answers.

  “What pushed you to advance, Slate? No family techniques, no tutors, not even the Shimmering Shadows sect—or were those all building blocks?”

  I took a deep breath and gave my prepared answer, a complete lie that slipped off my tongue like I somehow believed it. “Quietude. Able to fully focus in a place of high vitae, able to observe the natural order around me, I was able to finally grow higher.”

  “I see.” He held my gaze, appraising, searching. “And yet you were ever the type to thrive under pressure.”

  “Freedom from distraction was the catalyst, Father.” I schooled my face to keep neutral.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think you will be afforded such a luxury for your next Ring? Do you think the Duke of Graystone or his named heir can simply vanish for a month? You are not an inner disciple.”

  Left no other choice, I bowed my head as my teeth ground together. Named heir? Is this how he tells me, with yet another order? “Yes, Father. I believe I will be able to advance further based on the knowledge I have gained from this First Ring. I shan’t need quietude unbecoming of my station.”

  “Good.” Father rose and walked around his desk. No limp, but his posture slipped for just a moment. Were I not as I was now, I’d never have even noticed. As he drew closer, my instincts stumbled over themselves, torn between jumping on wounded prey or fleeing while I had the chance. Rather, I did neither.

  He stopped in front of me. “Stand.”

  I stood. I let him inspect me, turning my chin and staring into my eyes. Eventually he seemed to have studied me enough and he took a few steps back, pointing at a blank wall.

  “Show me an external technique.”

  My vitae wanted very much to stay inside me. Bruises ached that needed mending, and in this moment I had the creeping realization that I didn’t even have enough to maintain my human guise. Thankfully, blessedly, Father had not seen through me.

  “Well?” His tone turned cold. “You do not look the part of my heir: thin, waif-like, smooth and soft. Prove that you are worthy.”

  “Yes, Father.” I took a deep breath and focused.

  The first step was imagining my silk, the next was transforming it. Like rocks under soil, vitae flowed down, through, and out into a glittering black strand as thick as a blade of grass, strung between my two hands.

  Father stared at it for a long moment, then his eyes met mine. Without a word, he walked to the window behind his desk and drew aside the curtains. Sunlight flooded in, glinting off motes of stirred-up dust. Unsure what else to do as I wasn’t dismissed, I sat back down, the fangs in my jaws aching as a vicious hunger started to gnaw at the edges of my mind.

  The anxiety wasn’t helping either as the awful silence dragged on.

  “You take after your mother.”

  I didn’t know how to respond, but it seemed he didn’t want me to as he continued, still facing outside.

  Father sighed. “I wonder where I went wrong. Was it sending you to her Sect? No, no, that’s unfair to you who have met expectations at every turn. Except…” He turned, eyes boring into me. “You take after more than her magic, don’t you?”

  “I...”

  “Don’t answer,” Father snapped. “I thought you had grown out of this. I thought I had raised you better, to be the strong leader this house needs. Do you know what happens when you achieve First Ring, Son?” He narrowly held himself back from hitting his desk, splaying his hand at the last second.

  I held my breath, waited a heartbeat so I wouldn’t hiss. “The purification of the body truly begins.”

  He raised one eyebrow, and my mind whirled before I continued, words printing out of me like a textbook off a press. “The body adapts to the soul, taking the first step on the path to ascension of the self through the Divine Tree.”

  “Then you know why I am disappointed.”

  What? He caught me staring.

  “Your hair will be cut tonight, and I will arrange for a new wardrobe. Though unusual among the fallow, there are many men of stature with your sort of… androgyny amongst the sects.”

  “Androgyny?” I asked, then blurted, thinking about Azalea.

  “Have you not checked a mirror?” His eyebrows rose.

  “I have not checked a mirror, Father,” I replied, the lie sliding out like smooth silk. “Besides a brief glance before bathing last night.”

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  He sat back down heavily, moving his band back up to cover his face. “I see. Perhaps I am overreacting, but I worry for your further ascension.”

  “Why?” I blurted, surprising myself. “Do I need to look as you do to showcase our family’s ascension?”

  “A man’s appearance is an important part of how he projects his power.”

  “What about women?” I blurted.

  “You are not a woman.”

  A retort died in my throat, and my gaze dropped to the floor. What was I about to say?

  “You’re right,” I replied in defeat.

  “It is good that you understand this. You must project great strength if you are to succeed me.” He looked back at his desk, reaching for the stack of papers and a pen.

  It wasn’t hard to tell that the conversation was supposed to be over. I didn’t dare bring up what Mother and I talked about, but I did wonder a little how she could stand to be with him…

  Actually.

  “What about Mother?”

  “What about her?” He scanned over the paper, seemingly half listening. But he didn’t dismiss me.

  So I leaned forward in my chair. “She’s plenty strong, right?”

  “Your mother is an incredible woman, yes.”

  “Does she not project her power through her mannerisms as well? She’s more dangerous in heels and a ball gown than any noble in the kingdom, except perhaps the king and queen.”

  “The king is of royal blood and the queen is an exceptional individual from an exceptional bloodline.”

  “Am I not?”

  He looked up. “Your mother does not wear a ball gown when training.”

  “And I am not asking to wear one at all.”

  Father stared at me, dropping the pen back into the pot before it stained his page. “I daresay you shouldn’t be asking to wear one, son.”

  My fangs itched again, but I pressed on. “May I wear my hair long then, as I have my whole life?”

  “I will consider it.” His voice was cold, but he mostly just looked tired.

  “If you will excuse me, I must return to work,” he said tersely. “Congratulations again on your ascension to First Ring.”

  “Actually, Father—” I wilted under the glare he gave me. “This isn’t about me! It’s about something terrible I stumbled into on our land.”

  “Go on.” He kept his hand on the pen, as if waiting to dismiss my concerns.

  “I found an illegal mining operation at the base of Solitude Mountain.”

  Crunch! I watched bits of pen and rivulets of ink run down my father’s fingers. For a moment, both of us stared at the scattered bits dotting the table, spattered stains soaking into documents.

  He was the one to break the silence. “How did you find this mine?”

  I furrowed my brow. That wasn’t the question I was expecting. Of course, I did have an answer prepared. “I heard fighting through my meditation, and since it was on our land, I moved to investigate. What I found was a mine in a river gorge.”

  “Did you enter the mine?” Father’s gaze pierced into me, and his ink-stained hand hit the table with a thud.

  “I did, yes. And—”

  “Stop, Slate. Did anyone see you?”

  “I do not believe so. I slipped in and out quickly, and the place appeared recently deserted, save a few non-cultivator workers, none of whom looked—”

  “Slate.”

  “Yes, Father?” My gut twisted, and not just from the ever-increasing hunger.

  My father paled and slouched back into his chair. “You were never there, son. Forget about all of this.”

  “What?” I almost shouted. “Father, they were mining some awful-looking ore and the miners looked like slaves!”

  “Did you touch it?” He whispered.

  “The ore? I…” I looked into his eyes and for the first time I’d ever seen, my father looked afraid. “No, Father, I didn’t touch it.”

  He studied my face carefully, but I knew instinctively the mask I wore would betray nothing. What made it hurt all the worse is that my history of honesty more than anything would aid my lies now.

  “Good. Slate, you will forget what you saw.” He sighed, making the bags under his eyes all the more prominent. “You will speak to no one. Not a word of this leaves this room, am I understood? Have you told another soul?”

  “No, Father. I was waiting to tell you first.” A half truth, easily spoken.

  “Good.”

  “What of when I succeed you?”

  “You will be told all of what you need to know when the time is right.”

  “And that time isn’t now?”

  “Clearly not. Go rest. And enjoy your remaining week—you will return to the sect early to capitalize on your recent success. It is vital you do not slow your growth, and I expect you to surpass your brother this year.”

  “I… Yes, Father.” I stood up and walked out of the room. The moment the door closed, I felt like the hall was collapsing in on me.

  What was that? Did… does he know about the mine? Then why is it allowed to exist? I silently gave thanks to the Ascended that I had not told him or anyone of the sample in my bedroom. Right after, an odd thought struck me: should I be giving thanks to the Ascended? Or are there demons who would rather hear my thoughts?

  I kept that in my mind all the way until I reached my mother’s chambers. I hadn’t even intended to go this way, but I must have known subconsciously that I could not rest without answers. If she even had them.

  The pit of hunger in my stomach was made all the worse by what Father had said. He seemed to see mother’s strength, but not without her status as a woman as a caveat. Months ago, I wouldn’t have questioned this, but Azalea… I shook my head and tried to clear the foolish notion. This was all too much and I was starving.

  I knocked on the door to her chambers and received no answer. A maid told me that she was meditating. My garden felt wilted and sad at the moment, but meditation in a vitae-sparse place like our home would not help me fast enough.

  Except for one place. This time, there was no Shale waiting outside our vault, though I half expected him to walk around the corner as I slipped inside.

  I took a bite of the air.

  Before I could control myself, before the vault door had even slid shut, I took a bite of the air. If I were asked to describe the taste, I couldn’t, but I wanted more.

  I blinked and was facing our small rack of alchemies. Cold and mountainous, we grew few of the needed plants that increased the efficiency of cultivation. Rare ones grew here, yes, but the sects controlled most of the supply by right. Several of these rare species were doubtless mixed into the aged tinctures. Before I stopped myself and fought back control of my limbs, I downed several of them.

  I’d stopped in front of a box of vials, open and missing half of them. The legs on my back twitched as I lowered my body and picked them back up. I knew what each one was worth, and I’d just consumed more than a competent tradesman would make in a year. Each.

  The dust on the lid gave me a bit of hope, and I wiped it away with a black nailed hand. Perhaps no one will notice, and I can always use the excuse of needing them to meet Father’s demand. I lingered with the lid open. The edge of the hunger had blunted, and each breath felt like drinking watered-down ambrosia, but my garden wanted more.

  Eventually, I forced the lid closed, scratching it with my nails in the process. The amount of vitae stored in those tinctures was not nearly equivalent to their value in aiding cultivation. Drinking multiple would not help a divine cultivator, and it certainly was not worth it for me.

  Instead, I picked a corner of the vault, sat down, folded my legs behind me and bit my tongue to avoid screaming. Or I tried to, anyway. The definitely-not-human-shaped organ managed to weave between the array of fangs from my jaws.

  I looked down and saw the gentle rise of my chest in my training clothes, now too wide at the shoulders. The sleeves were also just a touch too long, and my black-nailed hands disappeared inside of them.

  My heart thundered in my chest as I thought about how close I’d come to giving myself away. Did I drop my guise because of how hungry I was? Could it happen again? My bruises were gone as well, vitae I could have held in reserve expended so my silky, too-pale skin would remain unmarred.

  It was a good thing I bathed myself. After the beating I took today, the servants would gossip. Before I slipped into my Garden, I pulled my silken guise back together. The world closed in and colors seemed to dull. It took some time for me to find my focus again and tend to my Garden.