The next morning, Mars woke with one thought firmly lodged in his mind.
Quidditch.
He had spent half the night imagining himself racing through the air, chasing a ball between towering hoops. His first broom flight had been short and awkward, but that only made him more eager to try again.
By the time he found Cyrus, Adrian, and Julian outside, he had already asked Clement whether he might have another flying lesson.
"Father said I could practise," Mars announced.
"Practise hovering?" Julian asked.
"Practise flying."
"Those are not quite the same thing," Cyrus said.
"They will be once I get better."
Tristan was waiting for them on the grass with several brooms. He was the oldest of Mars's cousins in their generation, and though he was still young, he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had spent years around people older than himself. He was studying at Castelobruxo, working towards his master's degree, and had returned to Britain for the Solstice.
"Are we playing, or are we going to discuss the theory of playing?" Tristan asked.
"We're playing," Adrian said at once.
"Then we need more people."
As if summoned by the remark, Edward, Arthur, William, and George came around the side of the stable yard. They had heard that the younger cousins were planning a game and had decided to join.
Tristan counted them.
"Seven. That's enough for a little practice match, but we'll have to improvise."
"Can't we just play properly?" William asked.
"Not without a full team," Tristan replied. "And Mars is still learning to stay on his broom."
"I can stay on it," Mars protested.
"Then you can prove it."
Tristan fetched a Quaffle from a nearby equipment shed. There were no Bludgers for the practice; he explained that they would start with simple passing and scoring drills before trying anything more complicated.
They divided themselves into two uneven teams. Tristan took charge of the rules, while Cyrus helped Mars get mounted and checked that his feet were positioned properly.
"Don't grip the broom as if you're trying to strangle it," Cyrus advised.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Mars loosened his hands.
Tristan tossed the Quaffle into the air.
"Pass first. Keep your height low, and don't charge at anyone. We're practising control, not trying to knock each other off."
The game began in a flurry of uncertain turns and shouted instructions.
Mars's first pass went nowhere near Adrian. His second was intercepted by George. On his third attempt, he managed to catch the Quaffle, but then forgot to steer and drifted past the goal hoops.
"Wrong way!" Julian called.
"I know!"
"You're flying towards the trees!"
Mars turned sharply. The broom swung beneath him, and for a moment he thought he was going to fall. Then he steadied it, circled back, and threw the Quaffle towards the hoops.
It passed cleanly through the middle.
"Goal!" Tristan called.
Mars whooped.
"That counts?"
"It counts," Tristan confirmed.
Adrian immediately demanded a rematch.
They played until the morning air grew cold and their arms began to ache from throwing and catching. The score became a matter of argument. George insisted one of his goals had been wrongly disallowed; William claimed Adrian had crossed the boundary; Julian declared that neither of them understood the rules.
Tristan listened to the complaints with an expression of patient amusement.
"You can argue about the score after you've landed," he said.
They descended in a disorderly procession, some more gracefully than others. Mars landed on his feet this time, though he nearly stumbled when he tried to dismount too quickly.
Cyrus caught his shoulder.
"Careful."
"I did it," Mars said, grinning.
"You did."
Mars looked towards the hoops.
"Next time, I want to try being a Chaser."
"Next time," Tristan said, "we'll work on your passing."
Mars considered that a fair bargain.
As they gathered the brooms and Quaffle, Tristan glanced towards the compound.
"You've been asking me about the estate," he said to Mars. "Would you like to see how all of it works?"
Mars's eyes lit up.
"The whole place?"
"The whole place," Tristan promised. "Or as much as we can see before lunch."
"Then let's go!"
They set off along a broad path between the buildings.
Mars had always known that the McArdour estate was large. He had grown up among its paddocks, barns, workshops, and enclosures. But he had mostly thought of the different areas as separate places: the dragon nursery, the mooncalf fields, the stables, the sheds where his father kept accounts.
Tristan began explaining how they fitted together.
"The estate isn't just a collection of family homes and animal yards," he said. "It's a cooperative. The family owns and runs the business together."
"What does the cooperative sell?" Mars asked.
"Animal products," Tristan replied. "A great many kinds. Dragon heartstrings, scales, shed horns, mooncalf products, flobberworm jelly, and all sorts of things from creatures you've probably never even seen."
"Do we sell the animals themselves?"
"Sometimes, where it's permitted and sensible. But most of our business is raising creatures and selling what we can responsibly obtain from them."
Adrian frowned.
"Who decides what we sell?"
"The people responsible for that part of the business, with the cooperative's leadership overseeing the larger decisions," Tristan explained. "Clement is the president. Castor is chief of operations."
"Father decides everything?" Mars asked.
"No. He leads the cooperative, but he doesn't own everyone else's share. The estate belongs to the family branches that hold stakes in it. Castor and Clement each have a substantial inheritance, and together they control a quarter of the stakes."
"Then why does Father get to be president?"
"Because the family elected him to the position," Tristan said. "And because he's good at managing contracts, finances, and the business as a whole. Castor is better at coordinating the day-to-day work."
Mars looked around at the sprawling compound.
"So if someone in the family wants to sell their share?"
"They must sell it to another family member," Tristan replied. "That's one of the cooperative's rules. It keeps the estate under family control."
"Even the cousin who lives in America?"
"Even his branch. If they ever decide to sell, the buyer has to be a McArdour."
"Could I buy a share?"
"When you're old enough, and if one is available and the family agrees."
Mars looked thoughtful.
He had imagined the estate as a place where his relatives happened to live and work together. Now he was beginning to see it as a complicated enterprise, with ownership, responsibilities, and rules that tied the branches to one another.
"Come on," Tristan said. "You'll meet some of the people who keep it running."
The Mooncalf Fields
Their first stop was a broad pasture bordered by low fences and protective charms. Mooncalves moved through the grass in small groups, their enormous eyes reflecting the pale morning light. A few were grazing; others stood together in the shade of a shelter.
Luxia was near the gate, speaking with a keeper about a young mooncalf that had been refusing its feed.
"Mum!" Mars called.
Luxia turned and smiled.
"Good morning. I see you've brought half your cousins."
"We're touring the estate," Tristan explained. "I thought they should see how the different operations work."
"That's a good idea," Luxia said. "But stay behind the marked fence. The young ones can be skittish."
Mars watched as she checked the mooncalf's feed and asked the keeper about its behaviour.
"You look after all the mooncalves?" he asked.
"I oversee their care," Luxia replied. "That includes feeding, breeding records, health, and making sure the people tending them know what they're doing."
"Do we sell mooncalf products?" Arthur asked.
"We do," Luxia said, "but we don't take anything from them simply because we can. The creatures have to be healthy, and the work has to be done properly."
"What happens if one stops eating?" George asked, glancing at the young mooncalf.
"We try to find out why," Luxia replied. "It could be ill, frightened, or simply adjusting. You don't solve every problem by changing the feed."
A mooncalf stepped closer to the fence, its head tilted.
Mars held still.
"Can I touch it?"
"Not this one," Luxia said. "It's nervous today. You can help me feed the calmer ones another time."
Mars accepted the answer, though he watched the mooncalf until it wandered away.
Tristan thanked Luxia, and the group continued along the path.
The Dragon Yards
The dragon enclosures occupied a large stretch of the estate, separated from the other animal grounds by barriers, warning signs, and layers of protective magic.
A keeper stood at the entrance to one of the yards, checking a list. Beyond him, an Irish Green shifted its wings, while a red Welsh Spike-Tail rested on a rocky shelf.
Mr Pritchard was supervising a group of trainees.
"Keep your distance from the tail," he instructed one of them. "And don't assume a dragon has stopped watching you just because it's looking elsewhere."
He turned when Tristan approached.
"Ah. A visiting party."
"We're showing the younger cousins around," Tristan said.
Mr Pritchard looked at Mars.
"And what have you learned about dragons so far?"
"That they're dangerous," Mars answered.
"Good. What else?"
"That you have to understand them before you try to handle them."
"Better."
Mr Pritchard led them to a safe viewing point. He explained how the keepers cared for the dragons, monitored their health, prepared food, maintained the enclosures, and gathered products that could be collected without harming the creatures.
"Dragon heartstrings are valuable," Mars said.
"They are," Mr Pritchard replied. "But the value of a product doesn't make the creature's welfare less important. Our work begins with keeping the dragon healthy."
"Do you train all the dragon keepers?" Cyrus asked.
"I oversee their training. A keeper must learn how to read a dragon's behaviour, how to work with the other handlers, and when to retreat. Courage is useful, but foolishness is not."
Edward pointed towards the trainee who was being shown how to secure a gate.
"Is that what a keeper does all day? Feed dragons and clean their yards?"
"Those are part of it," Mr Pritchard said. "A keeper also watches for changes in behaviour, helps with health checks, maintains the enclosures, and learns how to handle the creature safely. It is skilled work."
Tristan nodded towards the dragon resting on the shelf.
"The family has dragon masters as well. They have a different role."
Mars had heard adults speak of dragon masters before. He looked towards the enclosure with renewed interest.
"What's the difference between a keeper and a master?"
"A keeper is responsible for the dragon's daily care," Mr Pritchard explained. "A dragon master has a rarer skill. Some can ride dragons and command them."
"Can a keeper become a master?" Mars asked.
"No."
Mars blinked. "No? Why not?"
"You'll find out later," Mr Pritchard replied.
Mars opened his mouth to ask again, but Tristan gave him a small shake of the head. The answer was plainly not going to change.
"Can a dragon master ride any dragon?" William asked.
"No," Mr Pritchard said. "Being a master doesn't mean every dragon will accept you. Dragons are not broomsticks. You must understand the creature you're working with, and you must never mistake skill for absolute control."
"Can Father ride one?" Mars asked.
"Your father is one of them," Mr Pritchard said. "So are Castor and Hugh. There are others in the family."
"Can they use dragons in a fight?" George asked.
Mr Pritchard glanced at Tristan before answering.
"If the family were threatened badly enough, dragons might be used in its defence. But that is not why we raise them, and it is not something to boast about."
Mars watched the Irish Green lower its head towards the ground.
He could scarcely imagine his father mounted on such a creature. The thought was frightening—and, he had to admit, rather impressive.
The Heavy Creatures
The path beyond the dragon yards led towards a sturdier set of enclosures. The fences were reinforced, and the warning signs were more prominent.
Hugh was waiting beside the entrance, speaking with two handlers.
"This is the heavy-creature section," Tristan explained. "Hugh is responsible for it."
"What does 'heavy creature' mean?" Julian asked.
"Large, powerful, or especially difficult to manage," Tristan said. "Sometimes all three."
Hugh greeted them and led them to a viewing platform. A manticore paced in its enclosure, its tail moving in slow, deliberate sweeps.
Mars instinctively stepped closer to Cyrus.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Very," Hugh replied. "Which is why you stay behind the barrier."
He described the routines used to feed and care for the manticores, and the precautions required when handlers entered an enclosure. The work involved specialised equipment, coordinated teams, and a careful understanding of each creature's habits.
"Do you ever get used to them?" Adrian asked.
"You get experienced," Hugh said. "That's not the same as becoming careless."
Arthur peered at the manticore's tail. "Does it really have a sting?"
"It does," Hugh replied. "And you don't want to test what it can do."
"Why do we keep them?" Mars asked.
"Because there are people who need certain products, and because these creatures have a place in the magical world," Hugh replied. "But keeping them means accepting responsibility for their care. We don't take on an animal just because it might earn us money."
"Do you work with the dragon masters too?" Cyrus asked.
"When the work requires it," Hugh said. "Some of the skills overlap. But knowing how to handle one kind of creature doesn't make you qualified to handle another."
Tristan thanked Hugh, and they moved on.
The Shipment Yard
Their next stop was a busy yard where crates, padded containers, and specially prepared transport cages stood beneath a long roof. Several workers were checking labels and securing loads.
Henry was overseeing a shipment.
He inspected a container, checked its paperwork, and gave a brief instruction to one of the workers before turning to the boys.
"Tristan. What brings you here?"
"A tour. I thought they should see how the products leave the estate."
Henry nodded.
"Then watch closely. Raising creatures is only one part of the work. The products have to be collected, recorded, packed, and delivered safely."
He showed them how different materials were stored. Some required careful temperature control; others needed protective charms or special containers. Dragon products, he explained, could not simply be thrown into an ordinary crate and sent off.
"Who decides where everything goes?" Mars asked.
"I coordinate shipments," Henry replied. "We have customers who need regular deliveries, and others who place special orders. The records must match what's in the containers, and the containers must arrive in the condition they left."
"Does every product need its own kind of packing?" Edward asked.
"Nearly," Henry said. "A jar of flobberworm jelly and a bundle of dragon scales have very different needs. If you pack them carelessly, you can ruin the product—or make the journey dangerous."
"Does the Ministry inspect them?" George asked.
"Sometimes," Henry said. "And that is reasonable when the inspection serves a purpose. The trouble is when paperwork becomes more important than the actual shipment."
Mars remembered the adults' discussion at dinner.
"Father said they make you fill out the same forms more than once."
Henry gave him a rueful smile.
"Your father has a good memory."
"Does everyone agree with him?"
"On that, nearly everyone does," Henry replied. "We can argue over prices, schedules, or which branch should supply a customer. But nobody wants pointless rules making a difficult job harder."
They watched a worker secure the final fastening on a container.
Mars began to understand that the cooperative's work did not end when an animal was raised or a product collected. There were customers, contracts, transport arrangements, and a great deal of organisation behind every delivery.
The Workshops and Offices
Tristan led them past workshops where equipment was repaired and made, then towards the buildings where the cooperative kept its records.
They saw clerks updating ledgers, workers preparing orders, and a pair of relatives discussing a contract. The boys did not stop to question everyone, but Tristan explained the broad purpose of each place.
"Some of the family members work directly with creatures," he said. "Others manage the things that make the creature work possible: supplies, buildings, records, contracts, money, and customers."
"Do they all own part of the cooperative?" Mars asked.
"Some do. Others work for it without holding a share. The family has a lot of cousins, and not everyone wants the same job."
"Could someone own a share and not work here?" Julian asked.
"Certainly. A family member might live elsewhere, study abroad, or have a different career. Their stake still belongs to them. The cooperative's rules are there to make sure the ownership stays within the family."
Mars thought of the cousin in America.
"And if he wants to sell?"
"He can sell to another McArdour," Tristan said. "But he can't sell his share to an outsider."
"Even if the outsider offers more money?" William asked.
"Even then."
Mars considered the answer.
The rule seemed strict, but he could see why the family had made it. The estate was not just a business that happened to be located on their land. It was something generations had built together, and they wanted it to remain in their hands.
They passed the main offices, where Clement and Castor's responsibilities overlapped but were not identical.
"Clement handles the cooperative's direction, finances, and major agreements," Tristan explained. "Castor makes sure the operations work: people, supplies, schedules, and the different animal departments."
"Do they ever disagree?" Mars asked.
Tristan laughed.
"Of course. They disagree about plenty of things. But they both want the cooperative to succeed."
"And the Ministry?"
"Then they usually agree."
Mars smiled. He had noticed that at dinner. His relatives could argue over a contract or a business decision until everyone was hoarse, but the moment the Ministry proposed another needless regulation, the argument seemed to end. They would turn together and challenge it.
He wondered if the habit had been passed down with the estate itself.
Edmund's Yard
By the time they reached the last part of the compound, the morning had passed into afternoon.
The boys were tired, but Mars had been promised one final visit.
Edmund's yard lay apart from the busiest enclosures. It was quieter than the dragon grounds, with a broad training space and a sturdy shelter at one end. A few experienced handlers were waiting nearby.
Edmund himself stood in the yard, leaning on a walking stick. He was very old, but his eyes were sharp, and his posture retained a surprising strength.
"Tristan," he said. "You've brought me a crowd."
"They wanted to see the whole estate," Tristan replied. "I thought they should finish here."
Edmund looked over the children.
"Then you've saved the most important stop for last."
Mars had heard stories about his great-uncle. Edmund was one of the family's few dragon masters who could not only care for dragons but ride them and command them. He was also responsible for training those who hoped to earn the same standing.
"Are you teaching someone today?" Mars asked.
"Not today," Edmund replied. "Today, I'm teaching you something else."
The other cousins quieted.
Edmund motioned for them to gather around.
"You have seen the work that sustains this family," he began. "You have seen how we raise creatures, care for them, gather their products, and send those products into the world. You have seen that the estate is held together by cooperation, by responsibility, and by trust."
He paused.
"But the family is older than this business. Older than these buildings. Older than the names we use for our different branches."
Mars listened carefully.
"We have been Mithraists since the days of Roman Britain," Edmund continued. "Our ancestors kept the faith when the world around them changed. They passed it from one generation to the next, not merely as a set of customs, but as a way of understanding duty, loyalty, and the struggle between darkness and light."
Cyrus stood very still. Mars glanced at him, remembering that Cyrus had already undergone the initiation.
Edmund continued.
"The initiation is not simply a ceremony to mark that a child has grown older. It is the beginning of a deeper obligation. It binds the initiate to the tradition and to the family members who have carried it before them."
"What does it teach?" Mars asked.
"It teaches what can be taught openly," Edmund replied. "The history, the symbols, the duties, and the discipline. But there are things that cannot be understood from a lesson or a book."
He looked from Mars to Cyrus and then to the other boys.
"Our tradition speaks of the Light-Bringers. Their meaning is not something I can simply explain to a child who has not been initiated. The secret is entrusted through the initiation itself, and each initiate must come to understand it in the proper way."
Mars felt a sudden urge to ask what the secret was.
He held back.
"Why can't you tell us now?" Julian asked.
"Because knowing words is not the same as understanding," Edmund said. "And because a secret entrusted to you means little if you have not yet learned what it asks of you."
He did not sound angry. His answer was firm, but patient.
"The elders will decide when each of you is ready. Until then, you can learn the history, ask questions, and consider what it means to belong to this family and this faith."
Mars looked at the training yard, then beyond it, towards the distant enclosures.
He had spent the morning discovering how many people and responsibilities made the estate work. Now Edmund was telling him that there was another inheritance beneath all of it—one that could not be measured in shares, contracts, or products.
"Cyrus has already been initiated," Mars said.
"Yes," Edmund replied.
Mars glanced at his cousin.
"Will you tell me about it?"
Cyrus met his eyes.
"When you're ready to hear what I can tell you," he said.
Edmund smiled faintly.
"That is a sensible answer."
The other boys began asking questions about the tradition: when the first family members had adopted it, what the symbols meant, and what they would be expected to do before their own initiation. Edmund answered what he could, guiding them through the history without revealing what was reserved for initiates.
When the conversation ended, Tristan gathered the cousins together.
"Come on," he said. "If we don't get back soon, they'll start wondering where we've gone."
They began walking back across the compound.
Mars looked over his shoulder once.
Edmund remained in the yard, speaking quietly with one of the handlers.
The estate seemed different to Mars now. He had seen its business, its creatures, and the people who kept it running. He had learned that his family's inheritance was not simply a place to live or a share of profits. It was a network of work and obligations, held together by relatives who could argue fiercely and still stand together when it mattered.
And beneath that practical inheritance lay something older, something the family had carried from Roman times.
Mars did not know the secret of the Light-Bringers.
But he had begun to understand why the family guarded it.