I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand and cut me off. “No. And now it’s time to get back to the unbroken spell.”
His refusal to even listen made me angrier than ever. It felt like the boys in Waltney, the ones who would point and laugh and refuse to acknowledge that a girl could even think intelligent thoughts, let alone speak one.
I let the feelings stew as I picked up the hated stone fragment. What was the point in trying to clear my mind? This wouldn’t work, anyway. I held the stone in place against the body of the sculpture and thought about what a hard-headed idiot my master was, how impossible he was to work with, and how much I loathed him. I said the words of the spell.
Let go of the stone.
The sculpture held. It had all the other times too, at first. I sat back and waited for the piece to fall out. When it didn’t, I leaned closer and squinted at it.
The cracks and seams of the triangle-shaped stone had disappeared. It appeared to have become one with the sculpture.
I gulped. “I think—I think it worked!”
“Why, I believe you’re right.” Master Wendyn leaned closer to look himself. “Don’t sound so astonished.” He sounded faintly surprised himself.
Ivan clapped his hands.
“Were you thinking of your biggest toe?” Oscar asked. “Did it make a difference?”
“Tried that,” I informed him. “It didn’t work. I was thinking—” I stopped. I couldn’t tell them I was thinking about how much I loathed my master.
“Well?”
“I was thinking...that my hands are sticky. May I go wash them?”
Master Wendyn nodded and waved at the door. “Go ahead. But be quick about it. You have more practicing to do.”
After I took my leave, their voices carried from the library. I stopped to listen.
“The boy has backbone,” Oscar said. “You must give him that.”
“He’s too headstrong. He jumps to conclusions without all the facts.”
A noise of impatience. “You’re no fool, Garrick. It’s ridiculous to punish the whole family because Bastian married your intended, and you know it. Besides, Cailyn played a part in it too.”
“So, what, I should punish both of them?”
Cailyn. I know the name. I had discovered in my time at the Hall she was a topic you didn’t want to mention around the master. Now I knew why—she had jilted the master in favor of his brother.
Bones. And here I had been lecturing him about accepting his family, including the brother who had betrayed him.
I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut.
After a pause, Oscar said, “There’ll be a baby soon. Cailyn is with child.”
My eyes widened.
But Master Wendyn didn’t explode as I expected him to. He heaved a heavy sigh instead. “That’s to be expected.”
“You’re making this needlessly hard on yourself. The family too.”
“You know what they did. I don’t know whether I can ever forgive them.” Silence. Then the master went on, “I’m grateful for your support, Grandfather. It means a lot that you’ve always been there for me, even when no one else was.”
Mrs. Pitts turned down the hall then, and I hurried upstairs to my room. If nothing else, this afternoon had given me a lot to think about.
That’s when I remembered—I’d forgotten to ask for permission to visit the Conclave.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the next day, I had developed a new approach to the unbroken spell. Rather than trying to clear my mind, all I did was think about my loathing for the master. My results were, admittedly, sporadic, but I had more success than with trying to clear my mind. It seemed to work best when the loathing sang through my veins, as opposed to just thinking of his face and how I disliked him. But it was difficult to maintain that level of contempt, especially when the master wasn’t constantly cruel.
I managed to put the same green glass bottle together twice in the morning, quicker the first time than the second. It made no sense why it worked. I had never read in any magic book that one must always clear their mind, unless they hate their master, in which case they must always think about their hatred of their master. And yet the method seemed to be working, at least until Mrs. Pitts showed up.
She limped into the library just after I’d assembled the bottle for the second time, holding a letter for the master from the letter box. Her mouth turned downward in a severe frown, as it had all morning. Her foul mood had come on suddenly and for no apparent reason, as many of her moods did.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pitts,” the master said, after taking the proffered letter from her. The woman turned to go, but the master stopped her with a hand to her arm. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
“Oh?” She turned back.
Master Wendyn flourished a hand, and a pink flower appeared in his fingers, pulled from the air. He deposited it in her hand and turned back to his book.
Mrs. Pitts’ cheeks flushed almost as pink as the flower, and she turned to go, the air about her decidedly lighter.
I almost wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.
My next attempt at the unbroken spell didn’t go so well. I couldn’t seem to hold onto my loathing of the master. After a few tries I sighed and gave up, approaching the master at his reading table.
I was hoping to study the sprouting spell further, now that the unbroken spell is coming along,” I said. “You know, the third trial. “Could I go to the Wizard’s Library?”
Master Wendy frowned and scratched at the short growth of beard that always covered his chin. “I suppose,” he said, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched before him and jutting out beneath the front of the table. “You’ve worked hard today, and I’ve seen some progress. An outing may be a good idea.
Take the wizard door in my study.”
I nodded.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I haven’t had any luck with your desert spell. It looks like, for now, you’re stuck with it.”
The desert spell seemed like the least of my worries at the moment. “I’ve lived with it this long. I suppose I can live with it for a little longer.”
“If you don’t die of thirst first,” he said with a raised brow. He held up a hand and pulled a glass of water out of air, which he handed to me. “Just in case.”
I drank the water and left the cup with Master Wendyn. As I walked down the hall toward his study, I held my hand in front of me and tried to make fire. But my angry thoughts about the master were without conviction, and the fire fizzled in my palm.
Friar’s bones, why did he have to start being nice now, just when I had found something that worked for me?
Down the hall, Edie exited the kitchens and moved toward me, bearing a tray of sweet rolls. She stopped to bob a short curtsy.
“Good morning, Underwizard Mullins. I wanted to congratulate you—” her tone turned bashful, “on passing the first trial. You must be a superb magician.”
I frowned. “Not really. It was probably a fluke.”
Her face turned earnest. “But you are! You must be! Not just any underwizard can pass the trials. There’s a boy in Bramford, Eustace Kelly, and he became an underwizard with a master and everything. Only he could never pass a single trial. After a few years, he was disapprenticed and sent home in shame.”
That wasn’t so unusual. I’d heard it estimated that thirty percent of underwizards washed out of their apprenticeships within the first four years. But still...
“I didn’t do well,” I confessed. “Not at all. I almost didn’t pass.”
“But you did.” If she weren’t carrying a tray, I imagined she’d be holding my hand and gazing up at me adoringly while saying the words. “Passing matters. You’re a much better underwizard than you give yourself credit for. And so handsome. You could be PMW someday.”
Her words brought a faint smile to my lips, ridiculous though they were. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” But her word
s had perked me up.
“If you ever need anything—anything at all—come ask me. I want to be the woman you turn to when you’re in pain.”
Woman? Now, that was taking things too far. I edged away. “Well. I’d better get going.”
Her face split into a beautiful smile. “Goodbye, Avery.” I turned to go, and she called after me, “Never forget—you can do anything you put your mind to!”
Well. Edie excelled at confidence-building. She’d be a great friend, if she weren’t so plainly taken with me. I should do something to dissuade her.
But I didn’t know what.
***
My footfalls echoed on the stone floor of the Conclave’s cathedral hall. The room was almost empty, as was normal for a non-trial day. Light slanted in through high stained glass windows.
I’d been to the Conclave many times in the company of Master Hapthwaite, and twice now with Master Wendyn, but this was my first time without supervision. I should be grateful that my new master trusted me enough to send me on my own.
Or was it that he didn’t care enough?
The nice thing about being here alone was now I could take time to nose around a little. The cathedral hall overflowed with portraits and glass cases along the walls, museum-like exhibits that memorialized master wizards of the past. Master Hapthwaite never took the time to stop, so I’d always looked at them from afar. But today I had more freedom, and curiosity brought me to a halt.
I browsed through portraits of past PMWs and glass cases containing items such as the dagger of Ladarius the Heroic and the sandals of King Baldarich the Miser. After that, I gave a cursory examination to an exhibit detailing the evolution of armor, from the early iron-plated models to the more modern magic-and-steel amalgams. Then I came to a stop in front of a glass case housing a heap of smashed wood.
It was a shrine of some sort. A metal plaque pinned to the front of the case bore words that crawled across it in an elaborate font. Beyond the words, stained and discolored shards of splintered boards leaned against one another in a heap. There seemed to be some sharp ends poking out of the wood. A chill crept across my skin, and almost against my will, I leaned closer to read the words.
Here lies the barrel used to Punish traitor Keturah Ingerman, a female who impersonated a male in an attempt to become a master wizard. Her lies to the Wizard’s Council and her own master were discovered before she ascended to the honored position of master wizard, and she was thereafter tried and Punished.
A date followed.
I stared at the wooden remnants. Red and brown streaked them in a way I would dismiss as the natural grain of the wood if I didn’t know better. More likely it was blood, as the barrel would have exploded once it stopped moving.
This was how the last female underwizard had died.
Of course I’d known Ingerman’s fate, but confronted with the barrel up close...suddenly it seemed very real.
My heart sped up to an erratic thumping. If the Council found out about me, I’d be Punished too. That could just as easily be my blood staining the remains of that barrel.
Sickness crawled up my throat.
When Gavin made me promise to learn magic, I doubt he meant for me to risk the Punishment. Becoming an underwizard, the whole disguise, all of it had been my own idea, one that built in me slowly after Gavin’s death. He might have lived if we’d had the money to hire a wizard to heal him. How many more people like him would die because they lacked money? It wasn’t fair.
But I wasn’t entirely a philanthropist, either. I loved magic and I wanted the freedom to practice it. In Faronna that meant I had to be a man and a master wizard. And so I had risked the Punishment for three years now. I’d told myself that maybe one day I would be caught and Punished, but at least until then I would be true to myself. If I did happen to be Punished, I could return to be with Mama and Gavin free of regrets.
Staring at Ingerman’s barrel and the reality of my future if I were caught, I wasn’t so sure I was willing to risk it anymore.
A shudder ran through me. Several underwizards moved past, and suddenly conscious of how I would look to anyone else who passed this way, I straightened my shoulders and forced my steps away from the cathedral hall.
The library resided in the north wing of the Conclave, a matter of a few turns off the main hallway. I rounded a corner, and the immense library opened before me, all floor-to-ceiling books and rows upon rows of shelves. The chill that had moved through me at Ingerman’s monument receded as I looked over the room. It bustled with wizards and underwizards, and thick tomes climbed the walls. I took in the movement, the robes swishing around ankles, the milling bodies. Ranged at tables around the room, contemplative faces poised over open books. I pushed thoughts of Ingerman and the Punishment out of my mind.
Three wizards loitered at the librarian’s desk in the center of the library, and when the largest of them stepped out of the way, I saw Maximo, the head librarian, chatting with one of them. I did my best to wait patiently as I stood at the back of the line. Master wizard custom dictated that underwizards must wait for their betters to be served, so it wouldn’t do me any good to become restless.
The last wizard took ages to settle on what he wanted. I listened as he argued with Maximo about whether he could have access to the vault, whatever that was. “Not without a member of the Council,” Maximo insisted.
“But I have permission.” Frustration fueled the wizard’s volume. “Look here, signed authorization from Robenhurst!” He waved a piece of parchment in the librarian’s face.
“That’s not enough. Perhaps you’re unaware, but the rules state you can only enter when accompanied by a member of the Council.”
At last the wizard gave up and stomped off in disgust, grumbling about coming back later. At last it was my turn. But before I could step forward, a hand to my arm stopped me.
“Well—hello! Underwizard Mullins, right?” A bright voice said at my side.
I turned. “Hello, Orly. Did you get those books back from Master Hapthwaite?”
She waved a hand. “Yes, don’t worry your head about those. He brought them back last week. Are you in need of some assistance? Perhaps I could help you.”
A glance at Maximo showed he was already at work on something else, not paying me any notice. “Yes, you can. I’m looking for books on blood magic. Or alternatively, blood oaths.”
Her face turned from composed to aghast in about three seconds. “Lower your voice,” she whispered, glancing around. “That’s a dangerous question these days.”
My brow crinkled in confusion, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Dangerous?”
She swallowed and then reached out and took me by the arm. “Come with me.” She started across the library, pulling me along behind her.
We wove through mazes of tables and bookshelves, through narrow aisles with stacks of books looming on either side, and then stopped at a door which, when opened, revealed a room empty but for a table and chairs. Orly pulled me inside and closed the door.
“Er,” I said, which was the most eloquent thing I could come up with at that moment. “Why are we here?”
“Sit.” She pushed me into a chair and pulled out another for herself so we were seated across the table from one another. “You can’t just come in here asking about blood magic like that. It’s dangerous. Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Bewilderment filled me.
“About the explosion.”
I searched my brain, wondering why that sounded familiar. At last it came to me. “Oh, in the Conclave’s cellar? I heard something about that.”
“In the vault,” she corrected. “The place where the most important books are locked up. All books on blood magic are in there. I think the Council is noising it about that the explosion was just a stupid alchemist’s mistake, but there is no alchemy lab down there. All that’s down there is the vault, and somebody deliberately set an explosion to get inside.”
So that was the vault
I heard the wizard talking about earlier. “Was anything taken?”
She shrugged. “I’m not allowed down there, but Papa said it’s difficult to tell. A large section of books ended up a pile of ashes and shredded pages. Pinpointing whether a book was stolen or disintegrated in the explosion is difficult.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. I wasn’t keen on blowing my way into the vault with explosives. “If an underwizard such as myself wanted a harmless piece of information about blood magic, how would he get into the vault?”
She chewed on her lip, looking unhappy. “There’s an order to things. You must get permission from the PMW, and then only with a Council member along would you be permitted to enter. But even just to ask about blood magic these days will get your name put on a special list that the Council watches. You of all people don’t need that kind of scrutiny.”
Her words stopped me. “I of all people? Why I of all people?”
She reached across the table and grasped my hand in both of hers. “You thought you could keep the secret forever, right? Papa said I’m unusually observant, though. Don’t worry. I won’t ever tell anyone you’re a girl.”
My stomach dropped. I pulled my hand away from her. “Girl? Have you gone mad?”
Her smile faltered. “I realize you have to act shocked. It wouldn’t seem genuine otherwise. See, I first noticed you when I was about twelve. You must have still been working out your disguise. If it makes it any better, I doubt anybody else has noticed. You’ve become so good at your disguise, I doubt anybody ever will.”
I’d gotten sloppy, with all these people that knew my secret. If I couldn’t convince this girl otherwise, would she blackmail me too, like Kurke? But she looked far too innocent for that.
“Orly, you don’t know what you’re playing with here. The Punishment is real, and I don’t much want to undergo it. Let’s stop this talk of female underwizards.”
She didn’t give up. “If I were a boy, I’d be a wizard, and a fine one, too,” she said stoutly. “Why, I did a time-slowing spell the other day, and do you know Papa never even noticed? That’s why I was so glad to find out you’re a girl. Avery Mullins, I want to be just like you.” She said these last words so earnestly that tears glinted in her eyes as she leaned forward and looked up into my face.
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