Chapter Eight: What the Elite Owe
"The Ascension Ceremony has been moved forward three weeks," Headmaster Ashvane said, and the words landed in the quiet of his study like a second, smaller earthquake. "The council wants a public demonstration of strength before rumors about the mountain spread beyond these walls. Which means, Alexander, you will be presenting your bonded partner to the entire region considerably sooner than either of us planned."
Alexander went very still beside Talia, and for the first time since she'd known him, she watched him look genuinely, entirely afraid.
That was the following evening. First, there was the flight, and the quiet, unhurried hour after it that Talia would spend a long time trying not to think about too carefully.
Zeus had circled the Hollow's clearing four more times before finally, reluctantly, allowing gravity to win, landing in an ungainly heap of wings and tail that sent Simon diving sideways with a yelp and left Isolde laughing harder than Talia had ever heard from her. The five of them, six counting Zeus, had collapsed into the clearing grass afterward in the particular, giddy exhaustion of people who had just witnessed something they still weren't entirely convinced had really happened.
"He flew," Simon kept repeating, staring up at the darkening sky. "He actually flew. I watched a legend fly. I'm never going to be able to explain this to anyone for the rest of my life."
"You're not supposed to explain it to anyone," Isolde reminded him, though her voice had none of its usual sharp edge left in it, softened by whatever awe the last hour had worked loose in all of them. "That's rather the entire point of the arrangement."
"I know that. I'm allowed to be quietly overwhelmed about it in private, though." Simon propped himself up on his elbows, grinning at Zeus, who had begun investigating the sack of stolen bread with singular focus. "Also, does anyone else think he's going to eat that entire loaf in one go? Because I feel like that's information we should have discussed before I brought only one loaf."
"You should have brought two," Isolde said. "Amateur."
"Next time I'll consult the resident expert on feeding extinct apex predators, since apparently that's a role you've claimed within the span of a single evening."
"Someone has to be competent around here."
Talia had stayed quiet through most of it, still catching her breath from where Zeus's wingbeat had knocked her flat, watching him preen his new feathers with visible, uncomplicated delight, and it was Alexander who'd finally settled beside her on the grass, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
"You did that," he said quietly, not looking at her, watching Zeus instead. "Whatever happened just now, that wasn't luck or coincidence. That was you, teaching something that shouldn't exist yet how to trust its own wings."
"I didn't do anything except not panic for once."
"That's not nothing, Talia. Most people panic. I've spent my whole life around bond-creatures, and the ones who succeed aren't the ones with the most impressive rankings. They're the ones who stay steady when everything in them wants to run." He turned to look at her then, something unguarded in his expression that she hadn't seen from him even in the loft, even on the bell tower. "I used to think that was a skill you could train into someone. Watching you tonight, I'm not sure it's not just who you already are."
Don't, Talia thought, feeling her pulse do something complicated at the plain sincerity in his voice. Don't say things like that. I don't know what to do with them yet.
"You're staring," she said instead, deflecting the only way she knew how.
"I'm aware." He didn't look away, and something about the steadiness of it made her chest go tight in a way that had nothing to do with fear at all. "For what it's worth, I've spent three years assuming the Reckoning line told me everything worth knowing about a person before I'd even spoken to them. I'm having to unlearn that rather quickly this week."
"Is that your very formal way of admitting you were wrong about me."
"It's my very formal way of admitting I'm glad I was."
His hand found hers in the grass between them, tentative at first, and when she didn't pull away, his fingers laced properly through hers, warm despite the evening chill settling over the clearing.
Neither of them said anything else for a long moment, and Talia found she didn't particularly want them to.
It was Isolde's pointed cough from several feet away that finally broke the moment. "If you two are quite finished being unbearably soft at each other, some of us would like to discuss the actual crisis currently sleeping under a mountain."
Alexander's ears went faintly red, though he didn't let go of Talia's hand. "Noted."
The summons to Ashvane's study came the following evening, delivered with considerably less ceremony than the first two, and Talia arrived to find Alexander already seated across from the headmaster's desk, his posture rigid in a way that told her whatever news waited had already reached him first.
"The Ascension Ceremony has been moved forward three weeks," Ashvane said, without preamble, and the words landed in the quiet study like a second, smaller earthquake. "The council wants a public demonstration of strength before rumors about the mountain spread beyond these walls. Which means, Alexander, you will be presenting your bonded partner to the entire region considerably sooner than either of us planned."
Alexander went very still beside Talia, and for the first time since she'd known him, she watched him look genuinely, entirely afraid.
Three weeks, Talia thought, feeling the number settle heavy in her chest. Three weeks to figure out how to protect a growing legend, train whatever I actually am, and now apparently solve a stranger's family crisis on top of everything else.
"I don't have a bonded partner," he said, quiet and strained. "I never tested a compatible match at the Reckoning. Every candidate offered to me since has been politically convenient rather than actually workable. My father has been managing that particular embarrassment for two years by simply delaying the ceremony as long as the council would tolerate."
I didn't know that, Talia thought, studying him properly for the first time in this conversation. Three years of the whole academy assuming he had everything, and he's been quietly failing at the one thing that actually matters to his family this entire time.
"And now the council will tolerate it no longer, given everything else currently demanding their attention." Ashvane's expression was sympathetic but unyielding. "You will need to present something at the ceremony, Alexander, or your family's standing takes a hit precisely when this academy can least afford instability at the top of its own hierarchy."
This is my fault, Talia thought, watching the color drain slowly from Alexander's face. He's spent the last two nights helping hide Zeus instead of solving his own crisis, and now both crises have collided at the worst possible moment, and there's no version of the next three weeks where I get to simply stay out of it.
"What happens if I simply fail to present anything," Alexander asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer wouldn't be kind.
"Then the council appoints a suitable match on your behalf, from whatever creature happens to be available and politically expedient, regardless of actual compatibility. I have seen it done before. It rarely ends well for anyone involved, least of all the creature." Ashvane's gaze moved between the two of them, something calculating and not unkind in it. "I would not ordinarily suggest what I am about to suggest. But circumstances no longer afford me the luxury of ordinary caution."
Talia felt her stomach drop before he'd even finished the sentence.
"You want him bonded to Zeus," she said flatly. "Instead of me."
"I want you both to understand that the ceremony requires a demonstrated bond, not necessarily an exclusive one." Ashvane folded his hands atop his desk, choosing his words with visible care. "The old texts describe pairings where a Tyrant-kin accepted a secondary handler alongside its true bonded partner, particularly in situations requiring public demonstration the primary bond wished to keep private. It is not without precedent. It is, however, exceptionally rare, and entirely dependent on whether Zeus himself would tolerate such an arrangement at all."
"And if he doesn't."
"Then we find another solution, and Alexander weathers whatever consequences follow. I would not have you believe I am asking you to sacrifice Zeus's wellbeing for the sake of one boy's family politics, however sympathetic I find his position." Ashvane's gaze was steady, and Talia found, somewhat to her own surprise, that she believed him.
Alexander turned to Talia, something careful and searching in his expression. "I would never ask this of you without your consent. If Zeus doesn't want it, or if you don't, I'll find another way to weather my father's disappointment. I've survived it before."
He means that, Talia thought, watching him, feeling something in her chest soften despite the fear still tangled through it. He's actually asking, not assuming. That matters more than he probably realizes.
"It's not my decision alone to make," she said finally. "It's his."
They found Zeus in the Hollow an hour later, considerably more confident on his feet than even that morning, wings already testing the air in small, restless flutters as though eager for another chance at the sky, and Talia explained the situation as plainly as she could, uncertain how much a six-day-old creature could actually follow but unwilling to decide anything on his behalf without at least trying.
Zeus considered Alexander for a long moment, head tilted in that particular way that meant careful thought, and then, deliberately, crossed the clearing and pressed his snout against Alexander's palm exactly as he had the very first night, holding the contact several seconds longer than simple greeting required.
"I think that's a yes," Talia said, something unexpectedly emotional catching in her throat.
Alexander let out a breath he'd clearly been holding since the headmaster's study. "Then I suppose we're doing this."
"Doing what, exactly," Talia asked. "Sharing him. Sharing this. I don't actually know what this arrangement looks like in practice."
"Neither do I." Alexander's mouth curved, something wry and warm in it despite the enormity of what they'd just agreed to. "I suppose we'll have three weeks to figure it out, in front of an audience that includes my father, the regional council, and whatever remains of the mountain's patience."
"Your father's actually going to be there? Watching?"
"He rarely misses an opportunity to evaluate whether I'm living up to expectations he's never once stated plainly enough for me to actually meet them." Alexander said it lightly, but something old and tired moved beneath the words. "I'd rather not think too hard about that part yet. One crisis at a time."
Behind them, entirely unbothered by the weight of everything just decided on his behalf, Zeus let out a low, contented chuff and flopped sideways into the grass, one wing draped possessively over both their boots at once, as though he'd already settled the question of belonging to them both long before either of them had finished asking it aloud.
Talia looked down at him, then at Alexander, then at the darkening sky beyond the clearing where the first faint stars had begun to show themselves, and felt something in her chest settle into a shape she hadn't expected to find room for this week at all, alongside the fear and the secrets and the mountain still smoldering somewhere beyond the treeline. Whatever the Ascension Ceremony demanded of them in three weeks' time, she found she was no longer facing it entirely alone, and that, more than any rank the Stone could have offered her, felt like the truest kind of victory she'd won all week.