Chtonji beamed as the cake was set in front of him and immediately grabbed for it.

 

“No.” Aithne took his hand and held it, laughing. “Not yet. First we need to crush the box. Right, Da Da?”

 

Urag, beaming from the other side of the highchair, nodded, picked up the small box on the side of the cake, and set it in front of Chtonji. He placed his hand on Aithne’s, which still held Chtonji’s, and said, “Ready?”

 

Aithne nodded, but her attention was fully on the toddler. “One, two, three!”

 

Together, Aithne and Urag yelled, “Syåbåybe!” and Chonji repeated “Sibibibee!” as all three hands descended as one to crush the small box.

 

Chtonji laughed, which made his parents laugh harder. Aithne shared a smile with Urag as their hands lingered on the table for a moment, then he removed his and she released Chtonji and reached for the knife to cut her son’s second birthday cake.

 

“I can’t believe he’s two years already,” she said as she placed a small piece on Chtonji’s plate.  “It seems like only…”

 

A small ding interrupted her and she exchanged a startled glance with Urag.

 

Urag grunted, his smile replaced by an annoyed frown. “Who could that be?” He stood up and strode toward the door to their suite.

 

Chtonji reached for the cake but Aithne forestalled his hand by handing him a small fork. The toddler examined it for a moment before throwing it to the side and reaching out with his hand again.

 

Aithne’s laughter was interrupted by the return of Urag, along with a stern-looking dark elf. She frowned.

 

“Welcome, Archmage.” She forced her voice to stay calm but his appearance at this moment clicked a memory in her head. A memory of a year ago to the day, when they had cut cake and been interrupted by the very same elf. “How can we help you?”

 

“A challenge has been issued. You haven’t been a student here long so perhaps you are unfamiliar with the process, but someone has protested your placement and wishes to have a Trial of Proving.”

 

Aithne glanced over Soren’s shoulder to Urag with a questioning look.

 

“Someone thinks you didn’t deserve to be placed in the seventeenth year. Presumably this person is in the same class or higher – he would have to be in order to have the right to protest.”

 

“Ah. Merks. Of course.” Aithne looked back to the Archmage. “Have my scores been insufficient?”

 

“No, they have been satisfactory. This is not about your performance. The duel will be held tomorrow in the courtyard.”

 

“Duel?”

 

“Yes. The challenger has chosen a duel as his form of proof. As the challenged, you get to choose the school of magic to be used for the duel.”

 

Aithne’s eye narrowed. “Do I, now?”

 

Merks’ specialty was Destruction. Fire, specifically, was his favorite. But he was more than proficient in all schools. She knew this because she had seen him duel. It was hard not to have – he loved dueling and threw out challenges constantly. And, to give credit where it was due, she had only seen him lose once, and that was to one of the younger professors, not to a student, and it was in a rare Restoration duel.

 

In short and in retrospect, she should have expected this.

 

“And what happens should he win?”

 

“You will be demoted to an earlier year. How far you drop will depend on how well you answer the challenge. If it is a close match, you will likely lose only a year. If your showing is poor, you might drop more.”

 

“And when I win?”

 

For the first time, she saw the Archmage smile, although whether it was because he found her answer confident or foolish was hidden behind his inky black eyes.

 

“Again, it depends on how you fare. If you win a close match, things will likely remain as they are. If you win convincingly, it may spur the judges to decide you were placed too low and raise you a year or more. Although, as you have only three years left, it is unlikely anything short of a perfect victory would cause a move.”

 

“So he would not drop if he were to lose?”

 

“He is the challenger, so no. If you wish to challenge his placement, that is just as much your right as it was his.”

 

“I see. Well, I don’t care what year he is, so I won’t be doing that.” She glanced at Urag and noted his confident expression. It gave her the boost she needed to face the Archmage again and say, “Very well. I choose Destruction.”

 

Soren nodded and said, “Very well,” but she didn’t notice him because she was distracted by Urag’s expression as it turned from confidence to what looked something like fear.

 

***

 

Urag fretted as he paced beside his…ward? Girlfriend? He had never been certain how to define the relationship with his enigmatic lover, and it didn’t seem the sort of topic she was interested in pursuing. Someday…

 

But for now, “Why did you choose Destruction? You know it’s his strongest.” Foolish girl, he just kept himself from adding.

 

It was the fourth time he had asked in the last two hours and Aithne sighed and gave him the same answer.

 

“Because I have to defeat him in his strongest school or else he’ll just keep coming after me.”

 

“He has only lost once in a Destruction duel, and that was seven years ago against Faralda, who is the most naturally gifted Destruction mage anyone has seen in a generation. And even then, it was a close match.” A pause. “Though don’t tell Faralda I said that.” It would definitely not do for that to get back to the (literally and metaphorically) fiery elf.

 

Aithne laughed, then lifted herself on her tiptoes to kiss him before saying, “Don’t worry. I’ll win.” Then she turned away and made her way to the center of the courtyard.

 

A large oval had been marked off with a series of wardstones to keep wayward spells from crashing into the crowd, which normally would have consisted of a handful of students and perhaps a bored professor or two but now was packed from the edge of the oval to the walls, with several people hovering in the air on all sides. It was the most people Urag had ever seen at a duel – even the legendary battle between Mirabelle and Drevis had not garnered anything like this crowd.

 

Although it had to be an overwhelming experience for her, neither the crowd nor the deafening noise seemed to phase Aithne. She strode to her place in the oval as if she was the only person in the courtyard. Urag couldn’t help but smile.

 

The tone of the crowd changed when Merks entered the courtyard. It became sharper, angrier. Whatever else he was, Merks was a polarizing person – people either hated him or fawned over him. Or both, probably.  Of course, as far as Urag was concerned, the boy could go to Oblivion and stay there.

 

Mirabelle stood and took her place in the center of the oval. The crowd hushed as she said the usual challenge things and explained the rules. No one paid attention – everyone had heard them a thousand times before. Well, everyone but Aithne, but she also didn’t seem to be paying them much mind. She was watching Merks with the intensity she normally reserved for books.

 

Mirabelle finished and pointed at Merks, who nodded and crouched, feet moving to the stance he always used for his opening salvo, then turned and pointed at Aithne. She nodded as well, though she didn’t move – she stood straight, facing him with hands at her sides, looking for all the world as if this was just a relaxing day in the park. A new small feeling of concern joined the already well-established knot of worry that ate at his insides. Was she taking this seriously?

 

Perhaps she wasn’t. To her, he realized, there must seem little difference between being a Seventeenth Year and a Sixteenth (or Fifteenth or any number, really). Perhaps her plan all along was to let Merks win. Perhaps he would give up on his strange obsession with her if he could just get a victory over her.

 

That had to be it. And it made sense, really. Urag felt a wave of relief pass through him as he looked at the situation from this new angle. Aithne didn’t care what year she was in. They could drop her all the way to First, for all she probably cared. Well, maybe Second to avoid Shelling. And then maybe Merks would feel less threatened and finally give…

 

“Merks!”

 

Aithne’s yell seemed to surprise Merks and it most certainly surprised Urag. He frowned at her, though of course she wouldn’t be able to see him.

 

“You sniveling worm!”

 

What? What are you…

 

“You have had it out for me since the moment I arrived, all because you couldn’t stand the thought that someone might not be interested in your tiny dick! Well, here I am, you milk-drinking slut! You called for this challenge, and I have answered. But your challenge is as meaningless and petty as you are yourself!”

 

Urag’s panic came back redoubled. Don’t insult him! How is that going to help?!

 

“I offer you a real challenge! If you win, I will submit myself to you as your slave, to use as you will for as long as you wish!”

 

The crowd gasped as one and this time nothing could stop him from roaring, “NO!” Not that it helped anything.

 

“But if I win, you will vow to the Divines to leave me, my family, and my friends alone until the end of time itself!”

 

Urag was already moving before she finished speaking, shoving his way through the crowd, unheedful of the glares and angry remarks.

 

“Your terms are accepted!” Urag couldn’t see Merks but he heard the maniacal exuberance as he laughed. “You are going to regret saying that, bitch!”

 

“You’ve always been all talk, you coward! You’re nothing but a sniveling boy playing with toys you don’t have the intellect to understand!”

 

Urag reached the front of the crowd, separated from Aithne only by the line of wardstones and twenty feet of pavement, just as Merks raised his hands and screamed, “DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!”

 

A massive tunnel of flame shot toward Aithne, leaping the distance between in the space of a heartbeat and engulfing her in a wall that stretched to the highest wards above and burned hot enough to sear the pavement. The crowd around Urag ducked back instinctively, though the wards kept the licking flames from reaching them. Urag ignored them – he screamed into the flaming void as if his voice alone could save her.

 

Merks did not relent – all hints of strategy or restraint had been swept away. His eyes boggled and a continuous laugh poured forth with the flame, heaping more and more into the wall until the pavement began to crack and melt. The wards began to strain so Urag could now feel the heat against his skin. He ducked back, though still craning his neck to see…

 

…whatever there was to see. As Merks’ energy ran out and the flame sputtered and ceased flowing from his hands and he collapsed to his knees panting yet still giggling, the wall of flame he had created remained. Nothing could have survived such an onslaught, save perhaps a dragon. It was far and away above what was allowed for a college duel, but even the knowledge that Merks had just signed his own expulsion papers did nothing to assuage the pain in Urag’s heart. He heard a distant howl, realized after a moment that it was his own forlorn voice giving sound to his grief. He should have stopped it, should have…

 

Movement, then. The wall of fire…shifted. Rose. Drew inward toward its center. Urag froze, noting only obliquely that the rest of the crowd had as well, as the flames condensed, pulled in by some unseen force.

 

As the wall grew smaller, another light began to grow from the central point. It was white, glaringly so. As the wall of flame contracted, the white glow expanded until Merks’ flame was extinguished completely and in its place stood…

 

…an Aedra. Or so she seemed. But one that looked like Aithne.

 

She stood naked but otherwise apparently unscathed. It was hard to tell for certain because the bright light that encircled her like a divine halo was nearly blinding in its brilliance.

 

Then, as if to prove that this wasn’t an illusion brought on by his own fanciful wishes, Aithne spoke.

 

“You really are pitiful, Merks.” Her voice was quiet, a normal speaking tone, but the courtyard was so silent, her words were clear. “So much power, so little talent. Have you even read Vnik?” A sigh. “Well. Now it’s mY TUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRN!”

 

Her words turned into a scream on the last word as she pointed and Merks’ scream matched hers as the white flames pounced upon him.

 

For a moment, he was lost in ball of light and Urag’s fleeting moment of relief, joy, and hope was wiped away in an instant as Aithne seemed intent on signing her own expulsion papers.

 

But Merks’ screaming continued unabated, which meant he hadn’t died, and after a few seconds, Aithne waved a hand and the white flame coalesced into a single long, bright, spear-shaped bolt that hovered an inch over Merks’ chest.

 

“Do you acknowledge defeat?” Aithne was once again standing relaxed, as if it was just a regular day. Without the white glow, she seemed just a very young, very vulnerable, and very naked woman, and Urag ached to go to her. But he couldn’t. Not until the duel was official.

 

“I…” Merk’s voice sounded coarse and the fear on his face was slowly being replaced by his more familiar anger, but at least he was smart enough to say the correct thing. “…acknowledge defeat. You are the victor.”

 

The crowd roared as Aithne cast the spear of flame into the sky. It exploded in a shower of sparks high above, but Urag paid it no heed. He shrugged off his cloak as he ran to her, wrapped her in it, held her to him. Her body was shaking and she clung to him as to a lifeline. They stayed that way for a time he could not measure. People passed by and called out congratulations and cheers and Urag did his best to acknowledge them, but Aithne huddled against him and seemed to hear none of it.

 

Finally, after her shivers had subsided to low tremors, they started toward the door of the college together. Once inside, he could hold back no longer.

 

“That was foolish. Why would you taunt him that way?”

 

Aithne gave a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I taunted him because Funneling works well against sustained barrages like Flames but doesn’t work well against short bursts. Merks’ usual strategy is to start with Firebolts. I wanted to avoid that.” A pause. “I wanted him to forget strategy altogether and just blast me, but I admit, I didn’t expect him to go full Fire Storm.” She chuckled and glanced down at herself, though Urag’s cloak hid most of her nakedness. “I did not foresee my clothing being victims of the onslaught.”

 

Urag laughed as well as his tension started to lower. “They sacrificed themselves for the best possible cause. True heroes of our age!”

 

“I suppose we shouldn’t let their loss be for nothing then.”

 

Aithne had that tone in her voice that always drove Urag wild and his dick began to stir in response. Her light touch a moment later spurred the process on. He looked around the hallways in frantic panic but fortunately there was no one to see this untoward display. As her hand slowly teased his dick to its full length, he grunted, “I suppose not. The sooner we celebrate them, the better.”

 

Her “agreed” was cut short and turned into giggles when he leaned over and swooped her into his arms. By the time he got to the stairs leading up to the Arcaneum, he was at a dead run.

 

 

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