I crouched down to examine the sculpture, which lay in several indefinable shapes. Beneath it, the library’s marble floor was a mess of spider-webbed cracks.
“He saved Vito,” the boy’s mother said breathlessly to the master as he strode closer.
Behind me, Vito wailed, “It’s broken!”
“Nice work, underwizard,” Oscar said, coming to a stop next to me where he stood staring down at the floor. “I never liked that sculpture.”
I winced and look at Master Wendyn who had come to a stop on my other side.
“Was that a lifting spell?” he asked, his eyes, too, on the floor.
“Yes.”
“Glad you learned it now, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.”
Kurke joined us. “This is a replica of a sculpture at the Conclave, isn’t it?” He nudged the broken remnants of the sculpture with his foot.
“It is,” Oscar agreed. “Hideous. Good work, Vito. I’ve always wanted to smash it to bits.”
Vito wailed louder.
“No one cares about the sculpture, Vito,” Master Wendyn said sharply. And then, his voice gentler, he asked, “Is he hurt?”
Kurke pried Vito’s arms from around his neck and handed him over to Essie, the mother. She looked him over and reassured that he wasn’t harmed, only frightened.
“Don’t listen to your mean old uncle, Vito,” Kurke said. “This sculpture can be fixed.”
Vito lifted his tear-stained face. “Truly?” he asked.
“‘Mean old uncle’?” Master Wendyn repeated.
“Of course it can be fixed,” Oscar boomed. “Don’t worry yourself, Vito.” To Master Wendyn he said, “Or you could just put a more tasteful sculpture in its place.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Master Wendyn said.
“That was quick thinking, Mullins,” Oscar observed, turning his attention to me now. “You’ve got good reflexes. He’s not as bad as you keep saying, Garrick.”
I frowned.
“Bad?” Father Wendyn bellowed. He’d come up behind the three of us. “The boy saved my grandson. You’re family now, underwizard.” He clapped me on the shoulder.
The words warmed me. It had been a long time since I had anything resembling a family.
Then I remembered I had pledged myself to kill their patriarch. If they knew the truth about me, they would have no warm feelings toward me at all.
The family clustered around, and I was introduced to a dozen or more people by name, most of which I forgot. Carden, Eren, Chauntel, Wyman, and the list went on. I smiled and nodded and pretended to have committed every name to memory.
We adjourned to the sitting room, and the family stayed for hours, talking and eating, opening gifts, playing games. After an hour, Master Kurke announced he must leave, and relief sank into me, bone-deep. But from the dark glare he gave me as he went, I presumed his revenge had only been postponed for the moment. At least now I had more time to come up with a plan.
I remembered the master’s words that I was to return to my room to study once he’d introduced me, but every time I tried to slip away, one of the family found an excuse for me to stay. At last the master cornered me in the hall outside the library, the farthest I’d made it yet, and told me to stop trying to leave, as his father said nothing he didn’t mean. Whether or not I liked it, I was part of the Wendyn family now. With a frown and a hand on my shoulder, he led me back to the sitting room.
***
Much later I lay in bed, knotting and unknotting my length of rope and thinking about the events of the day. Every time I thought of my pitiful try at incapacitating Master Kurke, I flushed with embarrassment. I was no match for his magic.
I must work on my defense and attack spells. The next time Kurke showed up to kill Oscar, it would be unlikely I’d have little Vito around to deter him from his plan.
I was glad of that, though. I didn’t want Vito or anyone else in the Wendyn family getting hurt if I could stop it. They welcomed me into their ranks with open arms, and I couldn’t deny it was nice to be part of a family again. I’d forgotten what it was like, and now that I’d had a taste of it again, it was obvious I’d missed it.
My mind wandered back to what I’d been doing when the master’s family first appeared—searching for a blood magic book. The master didn’t seem to have one in his collection, even as expansive as it was. I’d need to find a bigger library.
It came to me then: The Conclave. The library there overflowed with books on every topic imaginable. They must have a section on blood magic.
I’d go to the Wizard’s Library and discover what I needed to do to break this wretched oath I’d sworn with Master Kurke. And I’d keep trying to tell Oscar and Master Wendyn about the oath. There must be some way I hadn’t tried yet.
I muttered the unknotting spell, and the tie on my bit of rope slid open, leaving me pleased and triumphant. I settled down to sleep, its length clutched in my hand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been months since I sat for a trial—three, to be precise. The trials were offered the first Wednesday of every month, which made the day after the master’s natalis a trial day. I awoke, with a sick feeling of nervousness snaking through my middle. It was a familiar feeling, accompanied by occasional bursts of terror and difficulty drawing breath when I imagined myself standing on the testing dais. Even when I was ninety, I would remember what trial-day nerves felt like.
I couldn’t help but recognize the importance of doing well with this trial. Master Wendyn would see me in a testing situation. He would draw conclusions, forming his first and most lasting opinion of me and my abilities.
Failure was not an option. I rubbed at my nose.
“Oats or potatoes?” Edie asked me at breakfast and then leaned close to whisper, “I saw you save that boy from the falling sculpture. You’re magnificent. Is there anything you can’t do?”
She’d never leave me alone now.
Still, it was a nice boost to my confidence on trial morning. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at her, though I knew it would only encourage her. “Potatoes, please.”
There was more to the trials than just performing magic. There was proving one’s emotional maturity, which could be a difficult prospect when one felt as though a bag of butterflies had been freed in one’s stomach.
I kept my composure throughout breakfast and accepted Oscar’s well wishes, just before he ran out the door on another of his mysterious adventures. The master turned up late and clean-shaven, rather than his usual scruffy look, and brooded over his meal. I imagined he was pondering how he would use the extra space in my bedroom once I failed and moved out.
After breakfast, I followed him to his study. We donned our wizard robes, and then he paused, looking me over with an expression that almost seemed perplexed.
“You’re not tired?” he asked. “You’ve not been doing too much magic this morning, have you? Headache?”
Was he worried I would disgrace him? “I’m fine. Why should I have a headache?”
His eyebrows rose. “I’d be a poor master if I didn’t notice my underwizard gets headaches with some regularity, and that he sucks down water like a dry well.”
My eyes flashed to his. “What do you mean?”
“It’s another side effect from the desert spell. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“I—I thought I was just thirsty.”
“You’re dehydrated. The spell isn’t just sucking water from your eyes; it’s sucking it from your whole body. Which means you guzzle water and get headaches, among other things.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense, I suppose.”
He sighed. “I haven’t found how to undo it yet. Let’s hope we can figure it out before you turn into a desiccated husk and blow away.”
I rolled my eyes. “There’s no danger of that happening.” Was there?
He smiled. And then it was gone. Fast enough for me to wonder if it even happened. “Maybe. B
ut it made you forget your worry about the trial for just a moment, didn’t it?”
“I guess.”
He shrugged. “Stop looking so concerned. You’ve passed this trial before. You’ll do well.” He paused. “At least...probably.”
How could I not feel inspired when my master so clearly believed in me?
He drew back the tapestry covering the wizard’s door and pulled it open, ushering me through. I slipped through ahead of him, lost at once in a sea of underwizards and masters who gave the door a wide berth. I looked back and watched Master Wendyn come through the doorway. He pulled it shut, and the outline of the door shimmered into nonexistence.
“Come along, underwizard,” he said, taking me by the elbow and propelling me through the pushing crowd.
This was nothing like the cathedral hall we visited a couple weeks ago, empty but for a few passing wizards. This was a trial day, and the crowd pressed against me as we made our way across the room.
I used to fight with the boys in Waltney. Once a week when I went into town for goods on market day, they told me I was too stupid for book learning. I remembered the first boy, the smug expression on his face, and the satisfaction I found in blacking his eye. I remembered Papa telling me to forget all my silly ideas about magic. The memory of Master Hapthwaite was no better. I remembered how he urged me to give up underwizardry. Then there was Master Wendyn, telling me I had to do better, to try harder, and that there was only a possibility I would do well.
I stood beside my master at the testing dais as time passed and underwizards both passed and failed, and I wondered which I would do today.
All at once my master jostled my elbow. “They’re calling your name,” he said, his voice more terse than usual. Catching a glimpse of the look on my face, he turned me to him. “Are you well?” His hands moved to my shoulders, and he gave me a little shake. “Pull yourself together, boy.” His voice was low, and I could tell he was holding himself back because of the people milling about. “You will do well, do you hear me? You will not disgrace me in this forum. Nor will you disgrace yourself. You will do this.”
“Mullins, Avery.” The test proctor’s voice was impatient, clipped. How many times had he called my name while I drifted in self-doubt? I was allowed a few minutes’ grace period before he moved on to the next candidate. Had I used it all up?
“Move,” the master hissed as he plunged into the crowd, pulling me behind him.
I already had all the skills I needed to pass this trial. But that didn’t stop my heart thrumming against my ribs and the color rushing to my face.
“Underwizard Mullins is present,” Master Wendyn called.
The three wizards who would judge the trial shifted in their line of seats along the raised edge of the dais and looked me over. Meanwhile, the proctor, seated to one side, perked up and sifted through the parchment on the desk before him. One hand clutched a seeing glass. He found what he was looking for and scanned over a sheet of parchment before glancing up. “Does Underwizard Mullins wish to sit for the first trial?”
“He does,” my master announced.
“Then let him enter the testing arena.” The proctor waved a hand. That would be for the privacy spell.
We took the steps, and then we were on the dais, past the threshold of the spell. Now the crowd could observe, but they couldn’t hear. Master Wendyn left me at the mark on the floor and retreated to the edge of the dais. He stood within the privacy circle, as was his right as my master, but I still didn’t like it. I knew the questions that were coming. But there wasn’t much I could do about it at this point. The twenty trials were designed to bring humility. Thus they could be humiliating, and that was just the way of things. I stared at the floor and waited, preparing to pitch my voice deeper now that my voice modulating spell was inactive.
The first few questions were formalities, things such as my name, age, and village of origin. I gave Howchister as I always did, since it was the place I was born, though Mama and Papa were only passing through. I preferred not to announce to the Wizard’s Council my hometown of Waltney, should anyone take it into their mind to conduct further research.
After those questions came a few more about the length of my training, the identity of my master, and any trials I had sat for in the past. The proctor made several long notes when I told him this was my fourth time taking the first trial.
“Underwizard Mullins will confess his most egregious wrongs.” The proctor leaned back in his chair, a hand to his chin as he considered me. Confession of past wrongs—a topic I had never cared for. These personal questions had always been my least favorite part of any trial.
I had admitted these things every time I’d taken the first trial, and sometimes it was easier than others. Today, with a new master looking on, I was acutely aware I was about to acquaint him with all the worst parts of myself. Better if I did this without looking at him. I took a deep, steadying breath, my eyes trained on the proctor, and spoke.
“I have a short temper. This has led to many confrontations...fights...and has hurt many people. Usually I considered these altercations justified, but looking back, I was just angry. I wanted to fight.”
It didn’t do to hold back at the trials. The proctor and judges could sense, with the help of a scrying spell, if an underwizard withheld anything. I’d learned that my biggest lie, that of my gender, was also the simplest to hide. Because of my belief that there was no reason a female shouldn’t be able to become a master wizard, my conscience was at ease regarding it. And since my conscience was untroubled, it had never been an issue at the trials. This seemed a rather large loophole in the trials, and one I believed accounted for unbalanced people such as Matthias Kurke becoming master wizards.
The proctor nodded. “Please continue.”
“I fought with my father all the time. I shouted at him the last time I saw him. Awful things. We parted ways, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Mmm,” the proctor said, scribbling. “Go on.”
My least favorite confession came next, not that the others had been that pleasant. But offering any excuse was a good way to fail a trial. I learned that the hard way during my second failure of this trial. “I—I used to steal things, though I knew it was wrong. My mother was never well. When she found out how far the thieving went, I think the knowledge that this was what I’d been doing to keep us alive...I think it was part of what killed her.”
He scribbled more and then looked up at me. “Please continue.”
I looked down at my toes. “That’s all.”
“I think not.”
My head jerked up. I had confessed the same wrongs at every first trial, and being contradicted by the proctor was the first step toward failure.
“A recent incident in...Bramford, is it?” He squinted at me. “The underwizard lost his master over that flare of temper.”
Bones. I forgot about Bramford. “You’re right. I—I brawled in Bramford. I lost my temper and fought with a boy.”
The proctor’s head tilted as he watched me, his deep-set eyes more unreadable than I liked. “The underwizard lost his temper. And his master. Many people in Bramford felt that the underwizard wronged the boy badly on that day.”
Blast that scrying spell. It was so unnerving to have a complete stranger know intimate details of past events that had occurred in one’s life.
My head sank lower. This was my fourth time doing this, and I had left out something so simple. The judges would think I wasn’t taking the process seriously or, worse, that I was trying to hide the truth.
I was going to fail.
But the proctor hadn’t finished. “To make such a mistake while apprenticed and aware of the expectations of self-control placed on underwizards—it was an enormous misstep.” He closed his eyes, and I stared at my feet. “The boy was...trying to poison a fool, was he? A fool tormented nearly beyond endurance.” He scribbled on his parchment before looking back to me. “Why did the underwizard interfere in
that instance?”
“I tried not to at first. I knew I shouldn’t lose my temper. But he reminded me of my brother, and I lost all control when I saw they meant to poison him.” I hung my head. “I have no excuse. It was wrong to beat that boy, and I knew it.”
There was a long stretch of silence wherein I didn’t look at anyone. Was this it for me? Had I used up my last chance?
The proctor drew a breath and spoke again. “It was wrong of the underwizard to let his temper rule his actions. However, it is my belief, after weighing the two things in the balance, that there is nothing to harbor any shame over.”
I looked up at the proctor, surprised by this admission. But I heard the unspoken words in that sentence. He might believe I was guiltless in the exchange, but what would the judges think?
“For the rest of these acts, does the underwizard feel sorrow?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Every day.” Or at least once in a while.
He pursed his lips. “What has the underwizard done to atone for these wrongs?”
“Not enough.”
“What will the underwizard do in the future to atone for these wrongs?”
I bit my lip. “There’s nothing I can do. I can only live my life every day, trying to be better.”
“The underwizard is correct.” He shuffled the papers again, and I gave a long, silent sigh of relief. We were past the questions. “Now,” the proctor said. “The underwizard will make fire.”
I was already feeling wrung out, and now we were at the moment I’d been dreading. I raised my hand in front of me. I didn’t dare look at Master Wendyn. Instead, I stared at my hand with as much intensity as I could muster. It was shaking, though I tried to hold it steady.
Empty your mind, Avery. Think of nothing.
I said the spell for fire.
There was the faintest pop of noise, and the fire came to life in my hand, a flickering, sad, pathetic excuse for fire.
Tethered by Blood Page 11