Tethered by Blood

by Jane Beckstead

  You must make it bigger, I imagined the master telling me. You must know it will work.

  I tried to think of my past successes, of the heating spell in the winter storm, or the rosemary plant I’d fixed in Bramford, or the voice modulating spell, which had always worked for me. But I had failed at the fire spell so often that I didn’t know it would work. In fact, I was sure it wouldn’t. As I stared at the flame, it flickered into nothingness.

  Ugh. This felt like my first attempt all over again. My face had become the flame now, alive with embarrassment.

  The proctor looked only mildly concerned. “Try again,” he encouraged. “I’m sure you can get it higher.”

  My hand still shook as I held it out and said the words again. A fire flickered to life, slightly taller than the last. But within seconds, it, too, simmered down to a small blue light and then flickered out altogether.

  “Once more,” the proctor encouraged. “I’m sure the judges would like to get a good sense of your abilities.”

  I was sure they had already.

  No. No doubt. I looked at my hand one last time. This would work. I gathered the magic, as much as I could find lingering in the nooks and crannies around me. When I felt it warm and solid against my skin, I cleared my mind and said the spell one last time.

  The flame was twice as high this time, which wasn’t saying much. I struggled to hold it out, to make it last. How long was I supposed to hold it? Five seconds? Ten? I counted the thrums of my heart, and finally, shaky with exhaustion and nerves, I said the words that ended the spell. It flickered out, and I was left standing in a faint haze of smoke. I coughed, and the noise was loud in the silence of the dais.

  Well. That was unimpressive. But was it good enough to pass?

  “The underwizard has made a decent showing.” The statement was kinder than I deserved. He was patronizing me. I’d sat for enough trials to recognize when that was happening. “Now, if Master Wendyn and his apprentice will step down from the dais, the judges will confer.”

  My legs shook as I took the steps down, my master at my side. I looked up at him, and he was frowning.

  The full noise of the throng hit me as we crossed the threshold of the privacy spell. Chatters and murmurs and whispers combined into a buzz that would have overwhelmed the testing dais if not for the spell. I stood next to my master at the front of the crowd, watching as the three judges huddled in conversation. Their exchange was longer than I would have liked.

  Was that good or bad?

  The proctor approached the judges upon their wave, and they held more conversation I couldn’t hear. Then the proctor gestured, and the privacy spell fell. He held a hand up for silence, and it came at last. He cleared his throat. “After discussion, it is the judge’s decision that on the occasion of sitting for the first trial, Underwizard Mullins has passed.”

  My breath came out in a whoosh. Every part of me felt limp. Passed.

  It was nothing extraordinary. I was seventeen. Younger underwizards than I had passed the first trial, even today. My attempt at fire was smaller than many of theirs.

  But still, the brotherhood among underwizards included me, and apprentices surrounded me and congratulated me on my pass, jostling my shoulders and slapping me on the back.

  Somehow, my pathetic attempt had gotten me past the first trial. So why did I feel like such a failure?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  For several days, the master descended into an inexplicable bad mood. He responded to any knocks on his study door with, “Go away. I’m busy.” And if I dared to loiter, “Leave now, Mullins. Have you cast fifty unbroken spells yet? Then do fifty more.”

  Strange. I would think he’d be delighted. My dismal showing at the first trial meant he was that much closer to getting rid of me as his apprentice.

  Nearly a full week passed before he showed up at mealtime again, walking into the breakfast room and assuming his usual place at the table as though the intervening days of his absence never happened.

  This was good. I’d been waiting for my chance to ask his permission to visit the Wizard’s Library at the Conclave. They must carry books about blood magic. Who knew when Kurke would show up unannounced again with murder on his mind?

  “So,” Oscar said, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, “the self-imposed exile has concluded?”

  “Been busy,” Master Wendyn grunted, without looking up from the sweet roll he was buttering.

  “Can I take your plate, Underwizard Mullins?” Edie asked. She’d been hovering all morning.

  “No, thank you. I’m still eating.”

  “Yes, you’ve been busy,” Oscar said. “It’s just that your busyness coincides with the family’s visit.”

  I blinked in surprise. I thought it coincided with my first trial.

  Master Wendyn’s eyes were on me, and understanding came. He didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Ivan and me. I pretended absorption in chewing my sausage and eggs and glanced sidelong at Ivan to ensure he was doing the same. He didn’t even seem to realize there was a conversation going on around him. He carefully peeled the shell back on a hard-boiled egg, appearing delighted with himself. When he caught me looking at him, he sat up straighter and smiled.

  “Coincidence.” Master Wendyn ran a hand over the beard shadowing his chin. “Could we speak of this later?”

  “Nothing to do with Bastian, then?”

  Master Wendyn’s jaw ticked.

  Bones. Oscar seemed determined to bait Master Wendyn this morning.

  “Can I pour you some juice?” Edie asked.

  “I have enough to drink, thank you.” How could I get her to leave me alone?

  Mrs. Pitts limped in, carrying a bowl of apples which she set in the middle of the table. Her face crumpled into a scowl when her eyes fell on Ivan and me.

  “I couldn’t help but notice,” Oscar said, “Bastian was your only sibling who didn’t come to your natalis.” He poured himself a cup of barley tea and took a delicate sip.

  The master sighed. “Right. And I’d rather not talk about it.” His gaze shifted. “Underwizard, you and I will repair that broken sculpture today.”

  “Me?” I asked around a mouthful of eggs, sitting up straighter.

  “Swallow before you speak.”

  “I thought we agreed you were getting rid of that sculpture,” Oscar said while I swallowed too much and had to gulp down water to keep from choking.

  “No, you wanted to get rid of it. I like it.”

  “Why do you need my help?” I asked once I was in control of my voice again.

  “I don’t need your help.” The master’s eyebrow quirked up, his tone making it clear his needing anything from me was ridiculous. “But do you know any other underwizard in this household who is preparing to perform an unbroken spell?”

  Oh. The second trial. “No.”

  “Which is why you’ll be helping me today.”

  Oscar clapped his hands. “Splendid. And I’ll help too.”

  Master Wendyn sighed and took a sip of his tea.

  ***

  The afternoon sun created a gauzy filter of light that fell across the library’s variegated marble floor. I longed to go stand in its warmth, but instead, I was sitting at the only long table in the room, fragments of the broken sculpture scattered in front of me.

  “Try again.” The master, sitting across from me, pinched the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off an aching in his head. “Clear your thoughts this time.”

  I picked up the same piece of broken stone I’d been trying to affix to the main body of the sculpture for the last hour. Fitting it into place, I cleared my mind of all thought and pulled what magic I could find toward me. I said the words of the spell and let go of the stone.

  The sculpture held. Hopeful, I leaned closer to see if the cracks and seams around the piece had knitted and held as the spell intended.

  All at once, the fragment clattered to the table.

&nbs
p; Nope. Not fixed. Not fixed at all.

  “Clear your thoughts, I said!”

  Oscar looked up from his book. He’d retreated to a chair in the sun three-quarters of an hour ago. “Perhaps try thinking of your biggest toe,” he suggested. “I’ve heard for some underwizards this works the same as clearing their minds.”

  Master Wendyn made a noise of disgust. “If you have no helpful suggestions, would you mind keeping your thoughts to yourself?”

  With a snap, the book closed, and Oscar came to his feet. “Miranda’s cutlass, I thought that was helpful. It won’t improve matters at all if you let your temper get the best of you. Perhaps a dessert would help lighten your mood?”

  The master’s jaw worked. Then all at once he threw his hands in the air. “Fine. We’ll take a break for dessert. Make mine gingerbread pudding.”

  Oscar looked pleased. “And for you, underwizard?”

  Dessert? It was the last thing I was thinking about at the moment. “Maybe an apple?”

  An exaggerated sigh from Oscar. “I said dessert.”

  I bit my lip and tried to think of something. “Well...I wouldn’t say no to some burnt toffee pie.”

  “That’s better. Come along, Ivan. I’ll need your help.” Oscar waved, and Ivan came out of the corner he’d been hiding in.

  Once they were gone, the master turned back. “There. Now we can focus without interruption for a little while, at least. Try again.”

  I sighed and picked up the stone fragment. White and gray striated its jagged edges. The broken pieces of this statue were just like me. My magic seemed broken half the time. If I didn’t figure a way out of Kurke’s heinous scheme, I’d never get a chance to try to put my magic back together.

  “Well? Try again.”

  I put the piece down and stared at Master Wendyn. “I need to tell you something.”

  He rolled a chunk of stone around in his long fingers. “If it doesn’t have anything to do with why you can’t perform a simple unbroken spell, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Believe me, you’ll want to hear this.”

  He blinked and his eyes flitted to mine. “Sounds important. What do you have to say?”

  I took a deep breath. “First I have some questions, though.”

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. “And now you’re stalling.”

  “I’m not,” I assured him. The doubt didn’t leave his face, but I launched into the questions anyway. “You know about oaths, right? Oscar said you did.” In my chest, the tether stirred, and I swallowed against the unpleasant sensation.

  “As much as any wizard who spent a year preparing his Postulate about them knows. Which is to say, more than the average master wizard. Why do you ask?”

  I chewed on my lip and tried to think how to say this in a way that wouldn’t cause me to lose my thoughts. I could already feel it hovering, that forgetfulness, a faint warning buzz of magic about to descend on me. “How does one end an oath?”

  He frowned. “Don’t you remember your one-hour apprenticeship to Grandfather? Destroy the written contract and the oath ends.”

  My thoughts turned to the blood oath parchment crisscrossed with a web of crimson. Something told me that even if I had access to it, destroying it would not be as simple as ripping it in half or sending it up in flames. “Isn’t there some way to end it without destroying the parchment itself?”

  “Use your brain, Mullins,” he growled. “Your apprenticeship to Hapthwaite ended when you violated the terms.” He shoved his chair back.

  All I had to do was violate the terms. My face screwed up as I tried to remember the details of my oath with Kurke. I would help him kill Oscar, and he wouldn’t tell I was a girl. So...if I just refused to help him, would that be enough to violate the terms of the oath? Could it be that simple?

  Doubtful. Magic was never that simple.

  “Is it the same for all oaths?” I asked, and looked up to find Master Wendyn leaned over the table, hands flat on the wooden surface, glowering at me.

  “If you’re already unhappy in this apprenticeship, Mullins, you don’t need to go to the trouble of violating our contract. I’ll happily release you.”

  “I—unhappy?” I stuttered. “Release me? No, you misunderstand.”

  “Do I?” He straightened and ran a hand through his hair. “God’s ghost, after all I’ve done for you, this is how you thank me? You’re ready to jump ship at the first obstacle in your path? If that’s all the sticking power you have, then by all means, leave.”

  Now I was getting annoyed too. “Why would I want to leave? Haven’t you realized yet how determined I am to become a master wizard? I was just curious. Curious. It was...a question I had after doing some studying.”

  He eyed me, his frown lessening a fraction. “Oh. Well. If that’s so, then I apologize.” He sank back into his chair and, after a moment, picked up another fragment.

  Friar’s bones. I’d have to remember not to give the master reason to jump to conclusions again. He could be rather hotheaded. “You didn’t answer my question. Is it the same for all oaths?”

  “Mostly.” He set down the fragment and straightened. “What kind of book were you reading, anyway? I don’t even have any oath books in my library. I donated the darker ones to the Wizard’s Library, and the rest I left with Uphammer.”

  Ah. So that’s why he didn’t have any oath books. They were all at the Conclave.

  Then that was where I needed to go.

  “I read it a while back,” I invented. “It was...one I found at Hapthwaite’s house.”

  He made a noise of disgust. “That baboon. It figures. You really were just stalling the whole time, weren’t you? Come on. Show me another unbroken spell.”

  I thought about my big toe. It couldn’t hurt to Oscar’s method a try, could it?

  By the time Oscar and Ivan returned, arms laden with magicked desserts, I’d failed another six times at setting the piece into place.

  “Now, now,” Oscar scolded. “You said we could take a break, Garrick. Never mind the statue for now. Sometimes clearing your mind is all you need.”

  For a time there was silence as we all ate our respective desserts—gingerbread pudding and burnt toffee pie for the master and I, apple cake for Ivan, and melon tart for Oscar.

  “You know,” Oscar said after setting his empty dessert dish on the table in front of him and resting a hand on his stomach. “Your father said Bastian wished to come to your natalis. But he feared angering you.”

  “This again?” The master set down his spoon. “Fine. You have something to say, Grandfather? Say it.”

  “He’s your brother. Have you ever pondered the possibility that maybe you’ve carried this grudge a little too far?”

  “Grudge?” Master Wendyn repeated, his expression darkening. “No. This is not a grudge. This is a natural consequence of betrayal. If you know nothing else about me, know this: I never, never forgive people who betray me.”

  I remembered the faces of the master’s family. Little Maud, whom I held in my arms. His sister Marelda, his parents, his numerous nieces and nephews. They were all kind and respectful, even to a nobody apprentice. I thought of all of them coming to visit the master on his natalis, bringing gifts and desserts. I had spent my last four natal days without a single well-wish from anyone. Just because of a little spat with his brother, the master was willing to give all that up?

  He didn’t know how good he had it.

  Oscar’s thoughts must have been in line with mine, because he said, “You’re ostracizing the whole family because of Bastian’s behavior. They went to a lot of trouble for your natalis, too. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”

  Master Wendyn shook his head and shoveled a spoonful of pudding into his mouth. Once he had swallowed, he said, “You know it’s not just because of Bastian. There’s much more to it than that. But if it will make you feel better—fine. My family made a nice effort for my natal day, even if I didn’t want them there. But too many
times in the past, it was easy for them to forget all about me.”

  “Let them make it up to you.”

  “No.”

  I must have made a sound. A snort or a puff of air through my nose, though I was trying hard to hide my disgust. Master Wendyn turned his gaze on me, his expression forbidding. “Do you have something to say, underwizard?”

  I gulped. Stay out of it, Avery. That’s what I was thinking. And then my thoughts went back to the library, filled to overflowing with people who just wanted to remind the master they cared for him. I sit forward. “When I was eleven, my mother died.” I was careful to keep my voice even. “My only brother died a few years later. The one person left in the world to care about me is my father. But Papa? Well, on most nights he drinks himself to unthinkingness at any of the inns and taverns in Waltney. Any night. I don’t believe the man even remembers he has a d—” I gulped back the word daughter and corrected myself, “a son besides my brother. Do you know who will show up on my natalis with gifts? No one. And who will care if I am ill or in danger or in need of help? Not a soul. I have nobody in the world who cares if I live or die. And you’re complaining that twenty-some people bother enough about you to show up on your natal day to wish you well? I just—I think that’s horrible.”

  I shoveled pie into my mouth, just to give myself something to do so I didn’t explode at the master any further. But I’d said everything I wanted to say.

  Quiet had fallen around the table. A glance at Oscar showed his face had turned thoughtful.

  “I thought you were from Howchister,” Master Wendyn said.

  My eyes snapped to him. “I—I am.” I glanced back down at my plate. “But Papa—he’s in Waltney.”

  “I see.”

  I couldn’t read the master’s tone, and I didn’t like it. The silence stretched out, and I couldn’t stare at my pie forever. At last I looked back at him. His jaw was still ticking, so I knew he was angry.

  He cleared his throat. “My personal life is none of your affair, underwizard. You may think you understand what I’m feeling, but you’re wrong.”