Vhalla rubbed her eyes and pushed open the door to her room. She knew she hadn’t eaten much, but she didn’t feel that hungry and her hunger wasn’t enough to deal with the dining hall.

On her table were three small presents. There was a blank journal from the master and a new quill and inkpot from Roan; Vhalla had a suspicion they had coordinated their gifts. Lastly, a thin rectangular box that had a small note attached:

Vhalla ˜

A very happy birthday. While I am glad you got the day off, your presence in the library was missed.

Sincerely yours,

˜ Sareem

She gave the note a tired smile. Placing it to the side on her desk she picked up the box. Unwrapping the used parchment, she found a ruby box within. Vhalla vaguely recognized it. It was from Chater’s, a clothing shop in the nice area of town not far from the library’s public entrance. She had only seen noble ladies walking out of the store, carrying the red boxes with pride.

Vhalla felt strange just holding it.

Slowly, she pulled off the top. Vhalla gasped. Within were two lovely sapphire gloves. They were fingerless, which suited her writing habit, and extended almost to her elbow. She remembered all the times last winter she complained about her hands being too cold to write. Her other gloves were old cotton things and worn thin with holes from over-use. Her gift were dyed leather and had a beautiful golden thread that embellished the base and sides with an intricate leaf and vine design.

Vhalla couldn’t imagine how much they had cost Sareem. She was fairly sure they were close to the same amount of the savings she had scraped together. As though she would ruin them with her touch, Vhalla returned the gloves to the box. With a sigh she buried her face into her pillow. What was Sareem thinking?

THE NEXT DAY Vhalla awoke groggy and tired. Dawn came so early. All of the excitement had exhausted her. Her body was still getting used to magic, she reminded herself. If she was using it at times without even consciously knowing it, then she was potentially wearing herself out more than she realized.

She let out a groan for two reasons. The first was because she realized she had forgotten her winter robes in the garden. She would have to get them back somehow; for now her summer ones would have to do. The second reason was because she saw Sareem’s gift once more. Vhalla tugged them on with little thought, ignoring how soft the leather actually was.

“Are those new?” Roan asked as they waited for the master.

“They are,” Vhalla nodded weakly in response.

“Can I see?”

Vhalla obliged her friend, stretching out an arm over the circulation desk where they both stood. Roan inspected the stitching carefully.

“Vhalla, these are quite nice.”

“I think they’re from Chater’s,” Vhalla mumbled.

“Chater’s? Were they a gift?” Roan released Vhalla’s hand slowly. An expression that was difficult to read crept up her face.

“They were from Sareem.” Vhalla looked back toward the palace side doors as though he would appear on command. The two girls were early, and he wasn’t.

“He likes you, Vhalla,” Roan said thoughtfully.

“I don’t think—” Something in the look on her friend’s face gave Vhalla pause. Roan was very certain of what she was saying. “Sareem? Really?”

“I think so.” Roan nodded.

The doors at one end of the library opened for the master and Sareem, and neither girl had an opportunity to speak after that. Roan was behind the desk with the master and Vhalla was sent among the books, as normal. She told herself that she really was going to seek out Sareem to thank him for his gift, that she wasn’t nervous, when he appeared at the end of her row.

“Sareem,” Vhalla said, pausing, placing a book on a shelf just beyond her short reach.

“Missed you yesterday.” He smiled, crossing the distance between them.

“It was nice to have a day off.” Vhalla scolded herself for beating around the bush. “Thank you for the gloves. They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” His whole face lit up in a way that elicited a twinge of pain within her. “I never had sisters growing up, and well, I was hopeless picking them out.”

“You did well,” Vhalla reassured.

“Say, Vhalla,” Sareem opened, leaning against the bookcase, his hands picking off imaginary lint from his robes. “During the festival soon, we’ll have some time off. We only have to work one day and well, I was thinking that maybe...you and I could, well...”

Vhalla’s heart slowed. This couldn’t be happening. Roan couldn’t be right. She looked at her childhood friend nervously. Certainly he was attractive. He had filled out and lost some of his boyishness, and his darker skin tone really complemented his lighter eyes and hair. He comes from a good family, she reminded herself.

“Vhalla!” The master called from the central desk suddenly. She glanced behind her and back at Sareem. “Vhalla, come here.”

“Go ahead,” her friend looked utterly deflated. “I’ll catch up with you later. Happy birthday, Vhalla.”

She hovered awkwardly, waiting for one long moment before the master’s call had her running back to the desk. What had Sareem wanted to ask? She didn’t dwell on it for long as she was quickly distracted by a waiting guard.

“Your presence has been requested by a member of the Court to assess some books,” the guard announced, almost mechanically.

“Me? You don’t mean the master?” Vhalla looked at the old man who was barely taller than the central desk. One of the few people in the world that was shorter than her.

“They asked for you by name,” the guard replied.

“You dare not refuse.” The master sent her off easily enough, but Vhalla heard the signs of curiosity in his wavering voice.

The guard had not lied. Vhalla followed him up through the palace and into a stately study. Bookshelves dominated two walls and she was left alone to pick through their contents without clear instruction. One wall possessed four large windows, and soon the scenery competed for her attention.

A side door opened. When a lean figure clad entirely in black crossed the threshold of the room, all else was forgotten.

“Prince Aldrik?” Vhalla blinked.

“I do believe I told you Aldrik was fine in private,” he reminded her.

“What are you doing here?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as he approached.

“Well, it seems you had forgotten something.” Pulling a hand from behind his back he held out her winter robes. Vhalla felt a foreign bubbling in her stomach and, as if on cue, he continued, “Plus, you told me that if you could, you would come and let me teach you today.”

She laughed. She teased him for pulling her from her work, and she scolded him for his use of authority to get what he wanted. But his abduction of her was far gentler than the minister’s, and Vhalla found she did not mind being surrounded by opulence. In good spirits, the prince was enjoyable company, and he had her moving a quill from one side of a desk to the other without touching it by the end of the day.

Her phantom was haunting her anew, but no longer with notes. The prince spirited her away the next day, and two days after that. Each time there was some clever excuse, and when those ran out he simply materialized between the shelves in the library and they would slink off together like children.

With his dutiful tutelage Vhalla began to master basic magic. His palm would rest on the back of her hand, lacing his fingers firmly between hers to keep her hand in place as she tried to attempt magic without physical movement. Vhalla met with little success at this tactic— and a great deal of distraction. He promised her that she would learn something called “Channeling” soon that would make magic easier. But, whatever the technique was, he was holding it over her head until she made a decision over joining the Tower.