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awoke to a thud. She had stayed up strength-training well past the midnight bell the previous night, and now opened her eyes to see the chalkboard a few paces away. Seaborn stood by her desk, which vibrated from a large book that had just landed on it. Her cheeks heated.
    “See me after class,” he said quietly and then pitched his voice over the classroom of fighter cadets. “Three centuries ago, before the rebellion wars, we were slaves to mages. What’s stopping a repeat performance? Alec?”
    Despite a liking for history, Alec looked at the floor. He always did when required to speak in class. “The mages used to be stronger,” he said finally. “In addition to higher Control ability ratings, they also knew more, and, being the ruling class, they already had a government infrastructure in place.”
    “For example?” Seaborn prompted when Alec fell silent.
    “For example”—Alec’s words forced themselves out in a semi-mumble—“mages imposed a
vitalis
tax, forcing non-mages to submit to a draining of a measure of their life energy. The mages then used non-mages’ energy for their own projects and power.”
    “Very good.” Seaborn rubbed his arms, then straightened, folding them across his chest. “There is little to dispute here: Centuries ago, mages did bad things. So bad, it took a war to put an end to their domination. After the bloodshed, the new Crown destroyed many mage instructional texts to prevent a repeat of history. Even much of Keraldi’s own work was burned. Later, mandatory mage registration was established as both a safety measure and as a means of reconciliation and coexistence.” He lifted his brows. “In short, today’s laws address a three-hundred-year-old problem. Are they still relevant?”
    Renee crossed her feet while the rest of the class fidgeted in silence.
    Seaborn sighed. “Let’s consider this scene: It’s next year. You, now seventeen, have finished the Academy’s classwork segment and are on your field trial, stationed, say, on the western border near our less than friendly—which neighbors? Tanil?”
    “Devmani Empire.”
    Seaborn nodded. “Near our Devmani neighbors. The invaluable asset that you are, you find yourself dumped off in a small, isolated town. Your commander orders you to keep out of trouble until he gets back from a mission. Sound about right thus far?”
    The cadets laughed.
    “One of the soldiers in your company falls ill. The helpful townspeople fetch the medicine woman, who you realize is an unregistered mage. Issues, my friends?” He didn’t wait for hands. “Renee, please.”
    She rubbed her eyes, hoping the grogginess of her head wouldn’t seep into her voice. “The woman avoided registration, thus committing a high crime against the Crown. I would arrest her.”
    Seaborn put his hands into his pockets. “Depriving the town of its Healer will cost many lives, including that sick soldier of yours. Still want to do it?”
    Renee frowned. “That’s the law, sir. Mages must register and submit to education and regulation. I’d have no choice.”
    “Yes, that’s the law. But what does this law mean for us
today
?” Seaborn eyed each student in turn. “Does it matter?” He crossed his arms. “Healer Grovener has a young apprentice this year. The boy is interested in Healing and hopes the experience with Grovener will sway the Mage Council to keep him in that vocation once he turns thirteen and registers. It may work. Or, the Council may find the boy’s aptitude or Tildor’s needs better served by training him as a thermal mage. Or a battle mage. Whether the boy is allowed to Heal others and stay safe or forced to kill and risk his life, is not up to him. That is Tildor’s law.” Seaborn rocked back on his heels. “Yes, you are fighter cadets, not magistrate cadets. But, you will kill more people with the law than you will with the edge of your sword. Understand it, my friends. Know its reasons. In fact”—he