The classroom was a mess of reckless spells and glowing failures. Every other pair seemed determined to set something on fire, drown it, or freeze it solid. It was a miracle the walls were still standing.

I adjusted the cuffs of my bracers, keeping my eyes on the test construct floating in front of Ardorion and me. Polished metal rods suspended in a loose framework, fine gears in the center. Simple enough. Apply a steady fusion of two different magics. Maintain it. Done.

Or, in this case, try not to let Ardorion blow it up.

He was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, like this was a sparring match instead of a magical coordination exercise. I crossed my arms.

“So,” he said, voice just short of cocky while cracking his knuckles, “I give it the fire, you keep it from spinning out like a drunk gremlin?”

I didn’t bother looking at him. “You need to maintain a consistent flame. No flare-ups. No heat spikes. If you warp the balance arm, I’m not fixing it.”

“Warping is a strong word. I call it improvising.”

I did glance at him then. “Improvising is how you blew a hole in the workshop last week.”

“Correction,” he said, pointing with both hands like that helped, “I melted a shelf. Not a hole. Very different.”

I muttered, “Still needed repairs.”

He grinned like that was the point.

We couldn’t have been more different. Ardorion was heat and motion and the opposite of predictable. Not that I liked rules—well, others’ rules. I liked structure, planning, rules I could adapt to my advantage. That’s how I stayed alive.

But somehow, Ardorion and I had to coordinate our magic, hold the same spell together long enough for the professor to check it off. And the second either of us backed out or overpowered the other, it would all unravel.

“I’ll anchor the structure,” I said. “You channel your fire through the central gear. No theatrics.”

“I don’t do theatrics,” he said. That was a lie, but I let it slide. “Ready?”

I gave a short nod. “Keep your flame steady, and I’ll do the rest.”

We stood side by side, both focused on the hovering mechanism. I reached for my magic, delving deep inside myself to find my center where my ancestors resided in my soul, offering support for my power.

This was always a push and pull. And sometimes my ancestors didn’t answer, or couldn’t.

Perks of being half Metal Fae and half human. Human blood weakened the connection to our ancestors.

This time, the pull of metal was familiar, steady. My power flowed from me, and I could feel the construct’s composition almost like it was breathing in my palms, waiting to be shaped. My fingers curled slightly and the frame began to hum, responding to my touch.

Ardorion’s fire came next. I felt the heat before I saw it, slow and carefully controlled—for once. A soft orange glow curled from his hands, casting light across the gear I was holding in place. The metal began to shift, slowly at first, then with more confidence.

“Little more,” I murmured, watching the frame begin to turn.

He adjusted. The flame deepened. The mobile tilted, the arms dipping unevenly. I tightened my grip on my magic, and the frame steadied.

Then it happened. The mobile moved. Smooth, balanced, humming like it had its own heartbeat.

We moved together, not speaking, but somehow keeping in sync. His fire spun the gears. My magic guided the motion.

The mobile rotated. Smooth. Balanced. Alive.

Professor Aeshan, a Sun Fae with carrot orange skin, passed by. He watched for a long second before nodding once, his golden hair shimmering. “Marked.”

Ardorion threw up a quick, silent fist toward the sky.

Then he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for an hour and pulled back his flame. The metal construct slowed. I released my grip and let the structure still itself, satisfied.

We stood in the quiet left behind.

“Not bad, gears,” he said with his huge, silly grin.

I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t melt anything. I’m shocked.”

“I am capable of restraint.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it twice.”

He clapped his hands together. “Let’s do it again!”

That finally pulled a grin out of me. “Crazy fae.”

I know I wasn’t easy to please, and even harder to get to know. The only one who had ever really gotten me was Halven. But, Ardorion and I made this work.

Two opposing forces in harmony. Nothing lasting, but it didn’t need to be. The test wasn’t about permanence. It was about finding a way to work together.

We’d passed.

Instinctively, my head turned to the south wall. I saw without seeing anything, knowing Orivian was back in the Scriptorium, just across the courtyard beyond that south wall.

We were opposing forces but in a different way.

That damn magical bond drew us together, but it was the only thing that connected us. Otherwise I’d never give the stuffy lordling the time of day.

Yet even now I was drawn to him.

I still owed him a tour of the tunnels beneath the library. Perhaps I could interest him soon. The thought of being with him alone excited me more than I wanted to admit.