Cast in Wisdom (Chronicles of Elantra #15) - Michelle Sagara Page 0,175

he rules it. The chancellor is not ruler here—that is what you have failed to understand. He is steward. I am loath to destroy you; you are fieflord, and the Towers bear the weight of the world’s safety in their vigilance. But you are not chancellor here, and you will never be chancellor.”

“I was—until you arrived. I was, until the Arbiters were fully wakened. I will be—”

“No. No matter what you do, no matter what you destroy, you will never be chancellor. You will never again be interim chancellor. The Academia has a chancellor now.”

Kaylin couldn’t see Candallar’s expression; it was turned toward the Arkon. She could see the stiffening of his back.

“You do not understand why. It is not a position of power and endless self-indulgence; it is a gift and a responsibility. A gift must be given. A responsibility must be shouldered. Your shoulders have never been broad enough.”

Light filled the hall, or rather, an absence of darkness as the magic cast by Candallar was lifted. It wouldn’t return.

The Arkon was chancellor now, and Kaylin knew he would remain chancellor while he lived; he had asked for time to think, and Candallar had rejected that time, as not even Killian and the Arbiters had dared to do.

Candallar’s wordless cry was a thing of fury, edged in fear and defiance.

The Arkon’s mouth opened again, but this time he offered Candallar no words; instead, he breathed the fire of his people, and Kaylin understood why he had been feared above most others in the skies in which the Dragon Flights had once reigned. She could feel the heat of that fire as it traveled the length of the Academia’s halls, heading toward Candallar, the man who had almost destroyed the library, and had threatened the heart of what the Academia represented in his rage.

She thought, as the fire engulfed the fieflord, that Candallar’s destruction was what awaited the Dragons who desired a hoard and could not control the emotions that were born of that desire: what they could not own, they would destroy so that no others might claim it.

The heat of the flame was so intense that it moved the air around it; not even the scent of burning flesh remained in Candallar’s wake. Only in the passing of that flame, the dying of that heat, did the Arkon dwindle in size and shape, until he once again wore the plate armor of the Dragons: gold, as Bellusdeo was gold.

He walked down the hall and paused in the spot that Candallar had occupied. Bending, he retrieved the symbols of the office that he had accepted. The fire that had instantly destroyed Candallar hadn’t even marked them. He didn’t require their authority, but he understood that they served a purpose.

Turning to the class, or rather, the lecturer, he bowed. “I have interrupted your lessons, Master Larrantin. You have my apologies; things should never have reached this point.”

“No, they should not. I assume they will not reach this point again in the future.”

Killian appeared by the Arkon’s side. “They will not, but we will have to convene a meeting of those who remain; you are not the only one—but you were certainly the most independent.”

Larrantin nodded. “Shall we dismiss class for the day? It has been long since I have entered the library.”

“Starrante wishes to know how you obtained a book that should never have been removed from it.”

“I recovered it, but was not the person who removed it.”

“Very well. We will require students, of course—but I believe they will come, given our chancellor and our library.” His eyes, both of his eyes, were an odd color—but if he looked like a Barrani, or perhaps an Ancestor, he was a building, and the eye colors of buildings were often unusual.

“Chosen.” He bowed. “Lord Calarnenne.”

Kaylin blinked and turned toward Nightshade.

“Robin was not the only student to engage with the material here,” Nightshade said, with a small smile. “Had the situation been what it will become, I might have been grateful for the opportunity.”

“You are welcome here,” Killian said, his voice gentle.

Larrantin cleared his throat.

“...There are formalities to be observed, of course—but you have been a student, and your status is unlikely to be withdrawn without cause.”

“I see you really are awake,” Larrantin said. “Given the unprecedented disaster to face my class today, I will allow you to clean up. There are, no doubt, authorities of some sort to inform.”

“And you?”

“I have words for Starrante, and would like to deliver them in person—with