Amadore, mid-north Eurora, Age of the Magisterium (AM), 571

The summons came late in the afternoon on a typical day. Rina had been in the fields, ploughing for the late-winter sowing. The wind had blown her dark hair across her face, and bodies hunched about her like lumps of rock, thumping their hoes into the frozen soil.

Then the tap on the shoulder.

She'd barely registered the man's words before the gale whipped them out to sea.

Now Rina was at the top of the citadel's highest tower, a large carved oak door before her, her hand out, fingers trembling as she wondered why she, a Denese, had been called to the high-magister of Amadore.

Guards stood to attention on either side of the entranceway, their gazes fixed on the limestone wall. Rina breathed deep and knocked. She waited, the raps echoing down the hall and dissolving into silence.

The sentries were still as statues, the green-tipped flames of the mage lanterns dancing in their eyes. She thought she caught the slightest ripple in one like he suppressed the urge to shudder at some insect crawling across his skin. The reaction wasn't a new one, but when it happened, it made her want to slink away and hide. The door swung open in silent invitation, and the guard exhaled audibly.

Rina entered a solar. Braziers released sandalwood-scented smoke through the room and at the far end, a fire crackled in a stone hearth, before it a tall, broad-shouldered figure with his back to them. In the centre of the room was a desk, behind which sat a woman in red silk robes with flame-coloured hair framing an ageless face. A silver diadem set with a Carnelian crystal across her brow.

Plush rugs of azure and safron ate the sound of Rina's boots as she approached.

The woman looked up, letting go of her parchment. It rolled in upon itself with a swishing sound and settled beside a carved obsidian dragon with Carnelian crystal eyes. Her lips stretched thin at the sight of Rina and her white hands clasped together. A pointed chin indicated an empty seat.

"Please, Rina, sit."

Rina gulped. Hail began falling, pelting like rocks against the clay tiles of the tower roof.

The chair snagged on the rug as she moved it. With shaking hands, she lifted then slid the seat over the carpet. She sat, uncertain of where to look. It was not every day someone was summoned before a magister, let alone Media herself. Certainly not a Denese.

"Refreshment?"

Rina's eyes trailed the direction of the magister's hand to a side table of crystal bottles filled with colourful liquids. One, a rainbow of iridescent colours, entranced her. With one exception, only Denese had offered her a drink at their table, though she supposed the rules of hospitality were maintained by the Magisterium, even to tainted individuals like her. She narrowed her eyes at the swirls of pink, blue and green.

"Wise choice," Media said as if reading Rina's mind. "Olav, would you pour us a glass?

Rina stiffened at the sound of Olav's name. What was he doing here? Had they been found out?

Olav turned from the fireplace, bending his black-haired head to Media. He wore his usual brown-leather armour, fitted over a burgundy padded gambeson and loose trousers. Brown boots, laced up almost to his knees, creaked as he moved with fluid grace to carry out Media's command.

Rina grasped her homespun skirts in her hands, Media's black eyes upon her, trying to hide the surprise from her face as she prayed to Mai that the magister couldn't hear the pounding in her chest.

Olav served the high magister first with casual indifference, then turned to Rina, giving her a discreet wink. It did nothing to calm the beating of her heart.

"Thank you, Olav. And thank you for coming in this weather, Rina. Please, drink."

Rina took a tentative sip of the too-sweet liquor. Were they both in trouble? Then why did he lounge on the sideboard with his glass in hand? Guards didn't stand like that. Not before a high-magister. No, that wasn't it.

Had Olav reported her? She'd done nothing wrong—except, perhaps, talk to him with a smile on her face when no-one watched, and... Oh, Gods. I'll be whipped, or worse. The bastard!

Olav's lips gave an almost infinitesimal upward twitch as if to reassure her. He'd broken the law, too. She relaxed until another explanation came to mind. Her uncle. It must be Pietro. Her stomach lurched at the thought. She had warned him not to speak openly against the Magisterium. Reminded him again and again of what had happened to her parents.

"Rina, did you hear me?"

"Huh?"

"I said, there is a problem with the Carnelian Way," said Media.

All the moisture left Rina's mouth. She blinked at the woman before her, then looked at her cup. The colours in her glass continued to spin in a way that was anything but natural. Engineered magic. The Carnelian Way wielded for aesthetic pleasure.

Rina put the drink down, not knowing what to say. "Why?" she said and could have slapped herself for such a stupid question. Why did the proper answers come to her too late? She should have asked what she could do to help—what her people could do to help. That would have been the devout response, the response that Mai and the Magisterium deserved after all they had done for her people.

Media just smiled. "Mai has decreed balance is needed. That is why he has been calling gifted Denese to Nebia these past years." She placed her drink on the desk and leaned in. "You said no before, but now things have become..." Her words faded and Rina almost heard the gears ticking in the woman's mind before she said, "My son assures me you can be trusted."

From the corner of her eye, Rina saw Olav wince and regret flash before his eyes.

Olav. Her shadow. Her unexpected friend. He was Media's son. Now it began to make sense why he had sought her out. A spy. He was a spy. Something snapped inside her with a painful twang. The room misted before her eyes. She told herself it was the smoke and bit down on her lip to stop her tears. Her throat burned. The words she spoke were hot and singed.

"I—I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"We are not here to question Mai's wishes, Rina. He believes you are worthy to come. That you can be part of his mission to bring stability and order to our land."

Mai. Her heart quickened at the name of their god-like emperor.

"You know I can't." She paused and took a deep breath before speaking. "After my parents—" she didn't speak the word treason though it hung heavy between them. "It's impossible. My aunt and uncle, they need me."

Furrows grew in Media's forehead. "You must."

"Forgive me, magister, but I thought it was our choice—to go to Nebia. That Mai stated—"

The frown on Media's face deepened, and the words froze in Rina's mouth.

Media sighed. "Such laws are for times of peace and plenty, child. Change is here. Have you not noticed?"

Rina had. The harvests were smaller, metal nails snapped when hammered, and a pox had ravaged the city the year before. The Carnelian Way had been rationed. She averted her eyes from that shimmering drink, feeling a little sick at the luxury of it.

Media twisted to look out the paned windows where the dark movement of white-tipped waves were just discernible beyond the streaks of water. "And yet," Media said with a faraway voice, "it is best you choose yourself. I will give you a little more time." Abruptly, she said, "Olav, will you?" and returned to her scroll, slender arm reaching out for quill and ink and signing the document with a flourish as if Rina had disappeared into sea foam.

A flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the city spires and roiling ocean, followed by a boom of thunder and the rush of rain. Olav took Rina by the elbow and guided her to the exit, voice soft as he said, "Here, I'll see you home."

When they'd passed the men outside and were out of earshot, Rina yanked her arm out of Olav's grasp. "How dare you!" she hissed.

Olav stepped back, black eyes wide. "I—Ri... I thought you realised I'd been sent to follow you."

She made to jab a finger at his chest, and then her hands dropped to her sides. She had known, deep down, much as she tried to deny it. With her family's history of disloyalty, no doubt she and Pietro, the two remaining members of their bloodline, had been monitored for years. It still hurt.

Her eyes moved to his lips. Lips the colour of coral. Lips that had traced the shell of her ear a few nights before.

Olav started to move toward her, but she stopped him, palms out straight.

"I get it, Olav. I do."

She did. The Eurans had their orders, just as the Denese did. The fact that he was a guard, not a magister, told Rina Olav had been born without the gift of the Carnelian Way. A great shame to a family with magical bloodlines, particularly when he was the son of a high magister. He had every right to keep that secret. Probably did all he could to make up for it.

It still felt like a betrayal.

"So why this, Ri?" he asked, stepping closer until Rina's elbows folded, her hands pushed against his chest.

A tremor licked up Rina's spine at his touch. His obsidian eyes, below spirals of midnight hair, bored into her own. If they were found, especially here, who knew what would happen to them? Now she knew who Olav's mother was she needed to be careful. Maybe, perhaps, a low-ranking member of the garrison could get away with his arms around an obscure Denese girl—so long as it was nothing more than that— with a few licks of a whip. Not them.

Olav didn't care. His hands moved from elbow to shoulders in long, languid strokes.

It all made sense now. The way the other guards, even the senior ones, had let him do what he wished, and why he didn't seem to have a schedule. How he had all the time in the world and why he thought he could kiss her, a Denese woman.

"Stop it, Ol." She shoved him. To her surprise, he stumbled back into the wall with a thump. "You lied to me."

"But I—Ri."

"Don't call me that! This has gone too far. I have my family to think of."

She turned and made her way to the winding staircase, coiling further and further into her mind as she descended, trying to decide what to do. How to protect Pietro. Can I go to Nebia and save his selfish ass? It was a matter of time until he was found out—discretion was not a family trait—but if she remained, she could speak for him. The Gods knew Uma wouldn't.

Olav shadowed her at a distance. The familiar feel of his dark eyes upon her as she trudged through sleet and puddles until, dripping, she reached the front door of her house and stepped inside, still far from an answer. 

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A/N: Hi there, this is my brand-spanking-new Chapter 1. My original one is now Chapter 2. I will need to make some changes to the subsequent chapters to ensure consistency, so please bear with me while I do this (but also feel free to point out any inconsistencies in the meantime—I love that!).

A first chapter is so important, and I am trying to learn more about them. If you are willing to help me, I would love to hear your thoughts:

Does this chapter have a clear triggering event?

Is Rina interesting (and if not, do you have any notion of what is lacking)?

Was there too much backstory?

Is the pace quick enough?

Is there a clear central question?

Is the chapter focused enough?

Did anything not make sense or seem inconsistent?

Do you have a reason to keep reading?

Thank you for reading, and if you answered any of my questions, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Banner art 'Winter Fortress' by Steves3511 on DeviantArt

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Dedicated to Jaspira for being such a supportive and encouraging reader and friend. And for being a true romantic whilst breaking the cliches. It's all well and good to have one true love, but damn it, if they treat you bad, they're not you're true love. And if something happens, you can find love again.