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  “ You know that t radition insists I marry royalty.  Darrick is as royal as a scullery mop.”
    " Tradition be damned,” Rhyss suggested with a small shrug .  “All the eligible foreign princes are in their sixth decades.  You father wouldn’t do that to you.  Beside s,” she smir k ed , “ I'm graduating at the top of my class in Divinatio n, you know.  I'm never wrong."
    Gabriella shook her head, still feeling the heat burning from her cheeks.  She glanced furtively aside.  Darrick hadn't heard, or if he had, he wasn't letting on.
    There was a rustling of anticipation in the crowd below.  Gabriella looked and saw the school chancellor moving down the centre aisle, parting the crowd.  The cathedral fell silent so that the only sound was the echoing tap of the Chancellor's staff on the floor.  His steely hair was parted neatly, framing a stony face and accenting the stiff grandeur of his formal gowns.  When he reached the altar, he stopped and allowed his gaze to move over the students, resting for a moment on each face.  His rugged features were stern but somehow affectionate.  His pale blue eyes met Gabriella's for a moment, paused, and then moved onwards.  Finally, he turned back to the gathered families.
    "This night," he said, his clear voice ringing in the stillness, "your children—these faces you see before you—are no more.  They entered this cathedral as your charges, but they leave as men and women, responsible only to themselves and their king.  Here, you may say farewell to your babies and meet the new faces of your fellow citizens.  From this night forwards, they, like you, are become the Kingdom of Camelot.  Tonight our duty to them ends.  Tonight their duty to God, the King, and themselves… begins."
    A rumble arose from the crowd.  Heads bowed and nodded.  Handkerchiefs were dabbed at eyes.  In the front rows, the lords and ladies beamed with stern goodwill.  Gabriella's father met her eyes, and he smiled faintly, proudly.
    "And now," the Chancellor said, turning back to the line of students, "you may accept your flame.  You have been preparing for this event since your first day in these halls.  You know what to do.  Come forwards as I call your name."
    Then, solemnly and methodically, the Chancellor began to recite the names of Gabriella's fellow students.  One by one, the graduates broke away from the line and approached the altar.  There, the Magic Master, Professor Toph, met them, smiling in his bedraggled peaked hat and flowing burgundy robes.  For each student, he lit a stick of incense from the urn and handed it over to them.  Flame in hand, each student turned and climbed the dais, passing by their fellows, heading into the glow of the transept candle gallery.
    Darrick went first.  Gabriella watched him with a nearly absurd sense of pride.  He bowed his head to Professor Toph and took his flame solemnly.  In the rear of the cathedral, a pair of young voices hooted triumphantly, and a ripple of laughter moved over the crowd.  Gabriella saw Darrick's mother scolding her sons in hushed tones, trying to hide the grin of happiness on her own face.  A minute later, Constance was called forwards, and then Rhyss.
    Finally, Gabriella heard her own name.  The Chancellor peered at her sternly over his spectacles as she approached the altar.
    "Welcome and congratulations, Your Highness," Professor Toph said softly, handing her her stick of burning incense.  Gabriella smiled up at him, pleased and slightly giddy, and then glanced aside.  Her father sat less than ten feet away.  His crown glinted as he nodded towards her, his face beaming with pride.  Gabriella smiled back at him.  She turned, climbed the stairs to the dais, and passed the remaining students.
    The glow of the candle gallery was like a constellation, twinkling and flickering with hundreds of yellow flames.  Small, white candles were collected in rows and levels, embraced in complicated iron