Andrew Rowe - Sufficiently Advanced Magic

But virtually useless on its own.

It was the diametric opposite of my family’s traditional attunement, the Shaper. One designed for overwhelming personal combat ability.

I spent the following hours nodding absently to the professor’s instructions while I signed away four years of my life, knowing that the mark on my forehead might have ruined many more.

The hours I spent on the train ride home were a stream of nervousness and self-deprecation. I’d faced several colorful death options earlier in the day, but none of them were as terrifying as what awaited me at the end of the railroad.

Home.

Disembarking at the Hastings Valley Station, I opted to walk the remaining two miles with calculated slowness. I could have hired a carriage, but I hoped that a sufficient delay might allow me to arrive after others had already gone to sleep.

No such luck, of course.

Cadence Manor was a beautiful structure, three stories of pristine white wood and stone surrounded by three layers of gates — a high stone wall, a barrier of hedges, and an inner metallic fence. The innermost and outer gates were etched with runic wards with a broad variety of functions, and the house itself was similarly protected. There were no guards outside, but the house itself could withstand a siege.

At the moment, Cadence Manor’s most remarkable characteristic was the man standing in front of the house’s open doors. Tall, athletic, and dressed in the long white coat with blue markings of House Cadence, he was the perfect image of a nobleman in his prime. His black hair was trimmed fashionably short, showing streaks of silver along the temples. His hands rested comfortably on a long cane that I knew contained a metallic blade.

My father. His gray eyes analyzed, scrutinized, and calculated as I approached. His position in front of the doors was deliberate. Everything he did was deliberate.

People liked to say that Magnus Cadence was the type of man to think five moves ahead of his opponent, tracing a dozen paths of undoing his enemies before they could lift a hand.

People were often wrong.

Magnus Cadence didn’t plan five moves ahead. He didn’t need to.

He would never let an opponent make five moves.

I held my back high, brushing a lock of hair away from my forehead, revealing the glowing mark on the skin.

He’d made his opening move with his position, and now I’d made mine.

We were about twenty feet apart when he acted again.

“So, you failed, then.”

Four simple words that changed the nature of the contest. This was no game of tactics, pushing pieces on a board.

He’d taken a lunge straight for the heart, just as definitively as if he he’d drawn the true steel in his hands.

It was a feint.

I shrugged a shoulder, trying to appear unaffected. “I’d call it more of an incremental victory.” A deflection, not a riposte. If I had attempted a counterstrike, he would have used my momentum against me.

He’d drawn blood with those words, but it was only a graze.

Father waved a hand at my forehead with a nonchalant gesture. “I’d hardly call wearing a coward’s mark any sort of victory, incremental or otherwise.”

A swipe at the knees, an attempt to catch me off balance. “Any mark is power, and I can earn more in time. Moreover, I learned some valuable information about the tower during my visit, which will serve to improve my ability to climb in the future.”

A successful evasion, followed by a press of blades, mine against his own.

Father quirked an eyebrow, giving the slightest bit of ground. “How did you learn anything? Your memories of the Judgment should have faded by now.”

I smiled, taking the opening. “I wrote notes while I was inside the tower, Father. A simple enough exercise, but effective. Moreover, I made contact with an entity tied to the tower itself — a potential information source.”

“I suppose you have some of my blood in you after all, then.” An unexpected concession on his part, giving ground. “Inadequate, unfortunately, to compensate for your failure to earn a combat attunement. You can come inside and meet your replacement.”

There is no fencing term I’m aware of for drawing a pistol and shooting your opponent in the face, but that was what it felt like when I heard his final words.

I’d overextended myself and he’d taken advantage of that, giving me a taste of victory just to crush me with overwhelming force.

He turned his back, striding into the house, leaving the familiar doors wide open.

I followed, trying to avoid fixating on the sense inadequacy he’d awakened in my mind. It was no use. The sense intensified as I saw who waited me inside.

Standing with her hands folded carefully in front of her was Sera Shard, my childhood companion. She stood in the center of the entry chamber, her bright House Cadence uniform illuminated by the gas lamps on the sides of the chamber.

Sera, the daughter of one of my mother’s retainers, had been born a scant handful of days after I had. We had been raised together with the understanding that she would be my personal retainer. Not a servant — Sera was trained to be my bodyguard, my seneschal, and my closest confidant. My childhood was filled with memories of countless hours spent with her and Tristan, days filled with joy.

I’d been raised with numerous stories about the bonds of loyalty between a noble and their retainers. I’d seen them in practice between my mother and Sera’s mother. They were always together, closer than any friends I’d ever known.

When the tower took Tristan from me, my mother took Sera. Mother had taken her entire staff when she left, and of course Sera had left with her own mother.

I was no child now, and seeing my father approach Sera, I processed things I had not as a ten-year-old. A similarity in the grayness of their eyes, a similar wave in her black hair to one in my own.

The distinct absence of a father in her childhood.

I anticipated Father’s next move, but it was irrelevant.

“Corin, I take it you remember the young Miss Shard.” He stood to her right side, smiling magnanimously as he gestured toward her. He didn’t wait for me to reply. “Given Tristan’s continued absence, and your failure to secure a combat attunement, I’ve decided to legitimize her. Unlike you, Corin, she’s earned a real attunement. She’s a Summoner.”

A Summoner? That’s impressive. They’re rare… and extremely effective.

I did the only thing I could, since replying directly to him would only invite more attacks. I closed the door behind me, approached to an acceptable distance, and bowed at the waist toward Sera. “Congratulations on earning a Summoner Attunement, Sera. It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”

She didn’t return the bow. Instead, she smirked and spoke. “Thank you, Corin. Or perhaps ‘brother’ would be a better term, now?” Shining eyes flickered with mischief.

Father turned his gaze toward Sera. “I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself, dear. I’ve legitimized you as a member of House Cadence, but I have not declared myself to be your father. Not yet . That is something you will need to earn.”

If she was daunted by that, she showed no sign. “Of course, Father. I will endeavor to be the very best example of what this house has to offer.”

Goddess, I’d forgotten how good she was at pretentious resh . I couldn’t have come up with something that haughty with a calculated effort.

Father set a hand on the top of her head. “I expect nothing less.” It was a small gesture of affection; just enough to show what he never gave to me.

I stretched, attempting to appear unaffected. “Excellent, maybe we can begin by sharing stories about our experiences in the tower.”