Winter Solstice was approaching.
Across the McArdour estate, preparations had begun several days earlier. Servants carried crates of wine and provisions between the kitchens and the storerooms. Evergreen branches appeared over doorways, and the smell of roasting meat drifted from the estate's kitchens. The temple bells had been polished, the ceremonial lamps replenished, and the great hearth in McArdour Hall had been lit.
Marcellus Victor McArdour had been watching the preparations with considerable interest.
Not because he particularly cared about the decorations.
He wanted to know why so many people were arriving.
For the past two days, carriages had been coming through the estate gates. Some carried families from neighbouring properties. Others arrived from distant parts of Britain. A few visitors had appeared through magical means, stepping out of fireplaces or emerging from the shimmering entrances of the estate's wards.
And, judging by the number of people his father had been greeting, they were not merely guests.
They were family.
"Father," Mars asked as Clement adjusted his coat, "how many McArdours are coming?"
Clement paused.
"That depends on whether you mean the ones who live here, the ones who live elsewhere in Britain, or the ones who consider it their duty to arrive whenever there is a family gathering."
"All of them," Mars said.
"Then I have no idea," Clement replied.
Mars stared at him.
"How can you not know how many people are in your own family?"
"Because," Clement said, opening the door, "your family has been multiplying for generations, and half of them seem to have made it their personal mission to marry, have children, and acquire houses in inconvenient places."
Luxia laughed as she joined them.
"Your father is exaggerating. A little."
"A little?" Clement repeated. "Last Winter Solstice, your cousin arrived with eleven children, three dogs, and a grandfather who insisted that he had been promised a room overlooking the gardens."
"He was promised a room overlooking the gardens," Luxia replied.
"He was promised a room. The gardens were an unfortunate coincidence."
Mars grinned.
For once, his father looked less like a man carrying the burdens of the estate and more like someone anticipating an evening among people he loved.
"Come along," Luxia said, taking Mars's hand. "You will meet some of them today."
"Some?" Mars asked.
"Quite a few, if you behave yourself."
"I always behave myself," Mars insisted.
Clement glanced down at him.
"That is a remarkable claim from someone who tried to persuade the stablemaster to let him dismantle a broom last week."
"It was a perfectly reasonable experiment," Mars protested.
"It was a perfectly good broom," Clement replied.
"It wasn't flying properly."
"And now it doesn't fly at all."
Mars considered defending himself.
Then he decided that the argument was unlikely to end in his favour.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll behave."
The Hall
McArdour Hall stood near the centre of the family compound, a broad, old building of dark stone and timber.
It was not a manor house, though its size might have suggested otherwise. Nor was it a formal assembly chamber, despite the important decisions made within its walls.
The hall served as something closer to a village town hall: a place where the different branches of the McArdour family gathered to discuss estate affairs, settle disputes, celebrate marriages and births, mourn their dead, and simply spend time together.
Its architecture reflected that purpose.
The entrance opened into a spacious common room, with heavy oak beams crossing the ceiling. A long bar occupied one side of the hall, its shelves stocked with ales, wines, spiced cider, and bottles of spirits from the family's various estates. Behind it, a broad kitchen hatch allowed food to be passed directly from the kitchens.
The far end of the room was dominated by an enormous stone fireplace. Above it hung the McArdour family crest, darkened by generations of smoke. Long tables stood across the room, but smaller round tables had been arranged near the windows, where people could sit and talk without having to shout over the crowd.
There were benches along the walls, comfortable armchairs near the hearth, and a dartboard in one corner.
Mars stopped just inside the doorway.
"This is where everyone comes to make decisions?" he asked.
"Among other things," Clement replied.
"Where do they hold meetings?"
"At those tables."
"Where do they celebrate?"
"At those tables."
"Where do they argue?"
Clement pointed towards the fireplace.
"Usually there. Your great-uncle Edmund once spent three hours arguing that the family should replace the eastern boundary wall. He was still arguing when the wall collapsed."
"Did he win?" Mars asked.
"No. The wall was rebuilt," Clement replied.
Luxia covered a smile.
Mars looked around again.
The hall was already crowded. Adults stood in clusters, talking over one another. Children darted between the tables. Someone had begun playing a fiddle near the hearth, and the sound was occasionally drowned out by laughter.
A woman carrying a tray of pastries called across the room to a man who had apparently promised to help her with the decorations.
"Robert! You said you would hang those garlands!"
"I said I would look at them!" Robert called back.
"You looked at them yesterday!"
"And I thought they were very pretty!"
"Then you can admire them while you hang them!"
Several people nearby laughed.
Mars watched the exchange with fascination.
This was not the solemn gathering he had imagined.
It was noisy, crowded, and rather wonderful.
Clement placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Come. There are people you should meet."
Tristan and Rook
They had barely crossed the room when a familiar voice called out.
"Well, look who has finally decided to join us."
Mars turned.
Tristan stood beside one of the long tables, holding a mug in one hand. He was speaking to two other men, but his attention had shifted entirely to the boy.
Mars's face brightened.
"Tristan!"
"That's a better greeting than the one you gave me last time," Tristan said.
"I didn't know you were coming," Mars replied.
"Neither did I, until yesterday."
Mars hurried over.
"How's Rook?"
"Still convinced he owns the estate," Tristan replied.
"Does he?"
"According to Rook, yes. According to everyone else, he owns a branch of the apple tree and a rather expensive silver spoon."
Mars laughed.
Rook was his raven, the gift Tristan had given him. The bird had quickly developed a habit of stealing anything shiny and carrying it to the highest branch he could find.
"Did you bring him?" Mars asked.
"He's outside. I thought the hall might be a little overwhelming for him," Tristan replied.
"He's a raven. He likes overwhelming things."
"He also likes biting people who offer him food."
"Only if they offer him the wrong food," Mars said.
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"Is that what he told you?"
"More or less."
Tristan chuckled and set his mug down.
"Come here. There are some people I'd like you to meet."
He turned to the three adults standing nearby.
"This is Marcellus. Clement's youngest. The boy I told you about."
Mars looked at them, uncertain whether he ought to bow, shake hands, or simply say hello.
The first was a woman with auburn hair tied back in a loose braid. She wore a dark green travelling cloak and had the sort of attentive expression that made Mars feel she was already assessing him.
"Elspeth," Tristan said. "She teaches at the Wyrmwood Academy of Magical Creatures."
Mars's interest immediately sharpened.
"You're a teacher?" he asked.
"I am," Elspeth replied. "I teach creature behaviour and field handling. The students who think dragons are simply oversized lizards usually have a rather difficult first term."
"Do they really teach people how to handle dragons?" Mars asked.
"Among other creatures. Dragons are only one part of the curriculum, and certainly not the easiest," Elspeth explained.
Mars glanced towards his father.
"Could I go there?"
"One day," Clement replied. "If you decide that is what you want."
Elspeth smiled.
"Come and visit when you're older. We have a collection of dragon anatomy charts that might interest you."
"Do they show how the wings work?" Mars asked.
"Some do. Others show why a dragon can break your arm without even meaning to," Elspeth replied.
Mars decided that both sounded useful.
The second cousin was a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and a dark Ministry coat.
"Thomas," Tristan introduced him. "He works in the Department of Magical Transportation."
Thomas shook Mars's hand.
"Your father tells me you're interested in flying machines," Thomas said.
Mars looked at Clement.
"Does everyone know?"
"Apparently," Clement replied.
Thomas smiled.
"Then perhaps you should come and see the department one day. We deal with enchanted transport, flying regulations, and the occasional wizard who believes that a broomstick is an acceptable substitute for a road."
"Can you help me build a flying machine?" Mars asked.
"I can tell you why some of the machines people build are terrible ideas," Thomas replied.
"That's not quite the same thing," Mars pointed out.
"No," Thomas agreed. "But it is often a useful place to start."
The third cousin had a different manner altogether. He was younger than the others, dressed in a travelling coat, and had a faint American accent.
"Benjamin," Tristan said. "He lives in America. He has spent the last few years working with magical instrument makers there."
Benjamin offered Mars a friendly smile.
"I hear you're the family's resident inventor."
"I'm not an inventor," Mars replied.
"Not yet?" Benjamin asked.
"I'm trying to build something that flies."
"Then you're an inventor who hasn't succeeded yet," Benjamin said.
Mars considered that.
"That's a more accurate description."
Benjamin laughed.
"I like him."
Elspeth leaned towards Mars.
"Don't let him encourage you too much. He once tried to enchant a clock to predict storms."
"It worked," Benjamin protested.
"It predicted rain every day for three weeks," Elspeth replied.
"It was a very wet month," Benjamin said.
The conversation dissolved into laughter.
Mars found himself smiling along with them. They were not speaking to him as though he were a small child who needed to be entertained. They were teasing one another, exchanging stories, and occasionally asking him questions.
It felt surprisingly easy to join in.
A little later, Clement spotted Mr Pritchard near the hearth.
The old dragon keeper was speaking to a man who appeared to be complaining about the price of feed.
"Mr Pritchard," Clement called.
The dragon keeper turned.
"Ah, Clement. I was wondering when you'd arrive."
"And how are things at the ranch?" Clement asked.
"Busy. Very busy," Mr Pritchard replied.
Mars stepped forward.
"Are the hatchlings flying yet?" he asked.
Mr Pritchard's face softened.
"Some of them. The youngest are still learning how to coordinate their wings. One of them has decided that flying is beneath him and prefers to climb the fences."
"Can he climb?" Mars asked.
"Rather well. Which is the problem," Mr Pritchard replied.
Mars laughed.
Clement pulled up a chair.
"How is the keeper training going?" he asked.
"Better than last year. We've taken on six apprentices, and three of them have the patience for it," Mr Pritchard replied.
"Only three?" Clement asked.
"Patience is not a quality one can teach by shouting at people," Mr Pritchard said.
Mars settled beside his father.
"What do the apprentices do?" he asked.
"Everything," Mr Pritchard replied. "They learn to prepare feed, inspect the enclosures, recognise signs of illness, and understand when a dragon is agitated. They spend months observing before they're allowed near the more dangerous animals."
"Do they learn how dragons fly?" Mars asked.
"They learn how to watch them. That's the first step," Mr Pritchard replied.
Mars frowned.
"Watching doesn't tell you how the magic works."
"No," Mr Pritchard agreed. "But it tells you what the dragon is doing before you start guessing at the magic."
Clement gave Mars a sidelong glance.
"That sounds familiar," Clement said.
"Everyone keeps telling me to observe things," Mars complained.
"Perhaps everyone has noticed that you would rather take them apart," Clement replied.
Mars folded his arms.
"Taking things apart is how you find out how they work."
"Sometimes," Mr Pritchard said. "And sometimes it's how you find out that you've broken something which was working perfectly well."
Clement laughed.
"He's been learning that lesson," Clement said.
"Has he?" Mr Pritchard asked.
"He dismantled a broom," Clement replied.
Mr Pritchard looked at Mars.
"Was it yours?" he asked.
"No," Mars replied.
"Good. Then you may yet become a sensible young man," Mr Pritchard said.
Mars looked offended.
"I put it back together."
"Did it fly?" Mr Pritchard asked.
"Not properly," Mars admitted.
"Then I suggest you keep practising," Mr Pritchard said.
Clement and Mr Pritchard began discussing the ranch's expansion. A new enclosure was being planned, and the apprentices needed more space to practise handling younger dragons.
Mars listened for a while, but the conversation soon turned to budgets and building materials.
He was about to wander off when Mr Pritchard glanced at him.
"There's something you might find interesting. One of the older dragons has begun using the wind differently when she takes off," Mr Pritchard said.
Mars straightened.
"How?"
"Come and observe her when the weather is right. You can bring your drawings," Mr Pritchard replied.
"Really?" Mars asked.
"Really. But you will stand behind the barrier, and you will listen to the keeper," Mr Pritchard said firmly.
"I will," Mars promised.
"And you won't go near the dragon or its equipment without an adult present," Mr Pritchard added.
"I won't," Mars said.
Mr Pritchard nodded.
Clement and Mr Pritchard returned to their conversation. Mars remained beside them for a few moments, thinking about the dragon's take-off.
Then he slipped away towards the younger cousins.
The Cousins
The hall had grown louder.
Someone had begun organising a game near the far wall. A group of children were arguing over whether the rules had been changed, while an older woman attempted to convince them that the rules had always been the same.
Mars was watching when Tristan returned.
"Come on," Tristan said. "You should meet the younger lot."
"How many?" Mars asked.
"Enough," Tristan replied.
Tristan led him towards a table near the windows, where several children and young teenagers were gathered.
"This is Cyrus's cousin, Adrian," Tristan said, indicating a boy with unruly brown hair. "He is convinced he can beat anyone at chess."
"I can," Adrian said.
"He's beaten me twice," another boy admitted.
"Three times," Adrian corrected.
"One of those games was a draw," the other boy protested.
"Because you knocked over the pieces," Adrian replied.
"I was reaching for my drink!"
Tristan shook his head.
"And this is Marianne. She has just started learning defensive magic," Tristan said.
Marianne looked up from the little wooden figure she was carving.
"Not just started. I've been learning for two years," she corrected.
"Then you should be very good at it," Mars said.
"Not yet. My instructor says I rush whenever I'm nervous," Marianne replied.
"Mine says I rush whenever I'm excited," Mars said.
Marianne glanced at his drawing, which he had brought with him.
"Is that a flying machine?" she asked.
"An attempt at one," Mars replied.
"Does it work?"
"No," Mars admitted.
"Then why are you carrying it around?" Marianne asked.
Mars thought about it.
"Because I haven't figured out why it doesn't work," he explained.
Marianne nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.
A third cousin, a slightly older boy named Hugh, leaned across the table.
"Are you the one who has the raven?" Hugh asked.
"Rook?" Mars replied.
"Yes. He stole my mother's hairpin last time he was here," Hugh said.
"Did you get it back?" Mars asked.
"Eventually. He dropped it into the pond," Hugh replied.
Mars grinned.
"That's Rook."
Hugh shook his head.
"Your bird is a menace."
"He's very clever," Mars insisted.
"He's a thief," Hugh replied.
"Those aren't mutually exclusive," Mars said.
Adrian snorted into his drink.
For a while, they talked about school, magical creatures, and the various ways their parents embarrassed them.
Marianne complained that her mother still insisted on checking whether she had packed enough socks before every trip.
Hugh admitted that his father had once tried to teach him to ride a broom by shouting instructions from the ground.
"Which is not helpful," Hugh said. "Especially when you're already in the air."
"At least he didn't try to fly beside you," Adrian said.
"He did," Hugh replied.
The table erupted.
Mars laughed with them, and for a little while he forgot that he was the youngest among them.
Adrian glanced at the drawing again.
"You know, if you want to build a flying machine, you should learn to fly a broom first," Adrian suggested.
Mars frowned.
"Why? I already know how brooms fly."
"Do you?" Adrian asked. "Have you ever ridden one?"
"No," Mars admitted.
"Then you don't know what it feels like when it lifts you, turns, or drops suddenly. You can draw all the wings you like, but you won't understand what a rider needs until you've actually been in the air," Adrian explained.
Mars looked down at his sketch.
"I suppose that makes sense."
"Besides," Adrian added, "you might discover that flying is more fun than sitting at a table drawing it."
"I still want to build my own machine," Mars said.
"Then learn to fly first. You can do both," Adrian replied.
Mars considered the suggestion. He had spent so much time trying to understand flight from books and drawings that he had never thought about experiencing it himself.
"Perhaps I should ask Father if I can learn," Mars said.
"Ask him," Adrian encouraged. "And when you get your first broom, don't let Hugh teach you. He nearly flew into a chimney."
"I was avoiding a pigeon!" Hugh protested.
"You were avoiding the chimney," Adrian replied.
"I was avoiding both!"
Mars laughed.
Then someone at the entrance called out.
"Cyrus!"
Mars turned so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor.
Cyrus had just entered the hall.
He stood in the doorway, looking around at the crowded room. His eyes moved across the tables, the fireplace, and the people gathered near the bar.
Then he spotted Mars.
A smile spread across his face.
Mars was already getting up.
"Cyrus!" Mars called.
Cyrus laughed as Mars hurried towards him.
"Easy, Mars. I'm not going anywhere," Cyrus said.
"You came!" Mars exclaimed.
"I said I would, didn't I?" Cyrus replied.
Mars stopped in front of him, grinning.
For the first time that evening, he felt entirely certain that he knew exactly where he wanted to be.
The hall was full of people he was only beginning to understand.
But Cyrus was someone he already knew.
And tonight, that was enough.