“I would never joke about knitting. Do you think he’ll want a strawberry fizz?” He looked toward his sweets box. “No, I suppose not. His wife wouldn’t approve. Bit of a stick in the sand, you know. He doesn’t have the mettle to defy her, poor man.”
I followed him to the door. “And why is the arch-councilor visiting? Are you teaching him to embroider?”
He guffawed. “Don’t be ridiculous. We started a book club many years ago. We discuss classic literature of our respective countries. Well, I’m off.”
I watched as he headed to the sitting room. Once he was out of sight, I made for the library as quickly as possible. But when I positioned myself near the door and cast a listening spell, no sound came from the drawing room. I couldn’t even hear the crackle of the fire, which I was sure Mrs. Pitts would have seen to. One of them, Oscar or Robenhurst, had to have cast a privacy spell to protect their conversation. Why, if they were only knitting? What could they be talking about in there?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next trial day coincided with an early snowfall. I looked out the window of the breakfast room into a world blanketed in white. Nerves fluttered through me, despite—or perhaps because of—the new power I’d discovered, thanks to Orly. I was still unused to the wide, deep ocean my magic had become, and it often behaved in ways I didn’t expect. I felt almost as though anything could happen today at the trials.
Master Wendyn showed up halfway through the meal, clean-shaven once again. Maybe it was his usual trial day look, and all the other days he didn’t care enough to use a razor. He was as silent as my last trial day, at least until he watched Ivan and I carry out a gesture-conversation about boiled eggs.
“What is that?” he asked, taking a bite of potatoes. “What are you two talking about?”
Ivan sat up straighter, apparently aware that the conversation concerned him.
“Eggs,” I supplied. “The boiled kind. Ivan likes them better than fried.”
“You said all that with just your fingers?”
“Just as you saw.” I made the gesture for milk. “Guess what this one means.”
Master Wendyn raised a brow. “No idea. Judging by your conversation, perhaps...chicken?”
Oscar leaned forward. “Or maybe another way to prepare eggs—poached? Scrambled? Over easy?”
Ivan pointed to the pitcher of milk while I made the gesture again. “Milk. It’s simple. Go ahead; try it.”
Oscar copied my gesture, while the master’s eyes rested on Ivan for a long moment. “Good work, Ivan,” he said at last.
“He’s much smarter than people believe.” I leaned forward across the table in my eagerness. “I bet he could even learn magic.”
The master’s face turned doubtful, and Oscar shook his head.
“Wordless magic requires skill, more than Ivan has at the moment,” Master Wendyn said. “Beginners have to start with worded spells. Since Ivan can’t speak, it’s unlikely he’d manage it.”
“Oh.” I sank back into my chair, hopes dashed.
“To be clear,” Oscar inserted into the conversation, looking up from a biscuit upon which he’d spread far too much jam, “it’s not unprecedented, just unlikely.”
Still, now that I’d put the idea into my head, I couldn’t let it go. After breakfast, I pulled out my bit of rope and showed Ivan how to do an unknotting spell.
“And you say the words like so, and the tie comes undone. See?” I uttered the words, and the knot loosened and fell open. “Just try thinking the words, since you can’t speak them.” I tied another knot, this one looser, as was appropriate for a beginner. “I’m sure you can do it, no matter what the master said.”
Ivan stared at the knot with intense concentration. After several moments of nothing happening, he glanced back at me helplessly.
“It takes practice,” I told him. “Even saying the spell aloud, I took months to master it. Here, you keep my rope.”
He went back to staring at the knot, and I backed off a few steps, trying to behave as though I wasn’t watching. After staring at the cord for a few moments, he put it in his pocket and fell to tracing invisible patterns on the breakfast table.
He would practice with it later. At least, I hoped so.
I made my way to the master’s study, trying not to think about my empty pocket. It was strange not to have the bit of cord with me, to have passed it on to someone else. It had been my constant companion these three years.
The rope remained on my mind half an hour later as the master and I made our way through the push of the crowd to the testing dais. I didn’t think I’d ever taken a trial before without that rope in my pocket. The superstitious part of me wondered if this was a bad idea. Then again, I had failed several trials with that rope in my pocket.
At last I heard, “Second trial. Candidate Avery Mullins.” Master Wendyn and I ascended the steps, passed within the privacy spell, and I took my place in the middle of the dais.
The first questions related to forgiveness of self and others. The proctor grilled me about those to whom I owed forgiveness. It was a long, embarrassing list, and sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. We spoke of everyone from Master Hapthwaite to Bramford’s jailer to my father. I pledged to let go of the hard feelings that still existed.
“Now,” the proctor said, holding up a delicate statue of a woman with one hand on her hip and the other extended. She’d look better if both her hands were outstretched as though she were about to cast a spell. “Examine it closely.” After an appropriate amount of time had passed—perhaps a minute—he tossed her at the ground, shattering the statue.
Having taken this trial multiple times, I knew how it worked. It was my task to put the statue back together with the unbroken spell.
I knelt before the shards, unease ribboning its way through me.
Focus on Orly’s words. Stop resisting your emotions. That’s what she’d said.
I looked down at my hands, held out before me toward the shards of glass. There existed one night in my past which I avoided thinking of where possible because of the raw emotion and pain involved. Thinking of it felt like slipping out of control. I didn’t want to remember it, but Orly had said not to resist. My eyes slid closed.
Memories tickled my mind, dark and sorrowful.
Steady, Avery.
The past took hold of me, and I gave in.
The night my brother died, Papa wasn’t there. Though I argued and Gavin coughed as rain dripped from holes in the thatch in a steady drip drip drip, Papa insisted he needed to hunt or we’d starve during the coming winter.
“You can hunt later.” I hadn’t said what I wanted to, that he was a coward for even suggesting such a thing. That he could hunt when his son’s face was not so gray. That he might never see Gavin alive again.
My protests did no good. Papa left, but not before we shouted unforgivable things at each other and he clouted me in the head. Outside, rain came thick and fast, and dark took hold of our cottage on the edge of the Midnight Forest. I kept the fire stoked and brewed more rosemary tea for Gavin. Still, his labored breaths slowed. I raged against Papa, struck deals with God, wept. Somewhere in the middle of the night, the painful rattle of my brother’s breathing ceased. In the silence of the moment, I waited for his next breath...and realized that it would never come.
I left the next day after burying Gavin. Waiting around to tell my father anything—that Gavin had died, where I was going, even just goodbye—seemed like more than he deserved. Instead, I left the uprooted rosemary plant on the kitchen table.
There in the testing room, my eyes prickled with the pressure of tears that weren’t there. Emotion crawled through me, the emotion of my last night with Gavin. I drew it in and out with my breath. It was me.
I opened my eyes and uttered the incantation for the unbroken spell.
Crystalline shards came together as though the statue had been smashed in reverse, a tornado of whirring sound and whirling glass. I held my position and
didn’t look at Master Wendyn, even though I wanted to know what he thought so badly it hurt. The spell held, and glass shards clinked together. The tiny glass woman took shape before me. Magic crackled throughout the dais until, at last, the statue stood before me, whole once again.
Or—not whole. A large chunk had failed to set itself in her head. Frustrated with myself for missing such a basic piece, I retrieved and put it in place, saying the words of the spell with such force that it shot across the dais and just missed impaling the test proctor. The man jerked backward in his chair, while the audience gave a collective twitch and the master made a choking sound. I pulled the shard back toward me and set it into its rightful place.
There. The woman stood complete.
Never had I reassembled a broken anything in just one go. Or almost one go. Never had I almost killed the test proctor, either. Had I gone too far, or was it enough?
“Well,” said the proctor, his voice blank. And then he seemed to gather himself. “I mean, the underwizard has done well. Very well. The judges will now confer.”
After a protracted discussion, they gave me a pass. I breathed a momentary sigh of relief—far too brief for my liking—and then it was on to the next trial.
During the third trial, I was asked to grow a seedling ivy plant from its pot on the desk down to the floor. But when I uttered the words of the spell, the vines shot out of the plant with a sudden velocity that took them to the opposite side of the dais before I could pull them back.
This had become a regular problem during my private practice sessions in the library. I untangled myself from the vines and glanced at the master for the first time. Dissatisfaction marred his face, and my stomach sank at the sight of his frown. In imagination my plan to impress him had gone better.
During the judges’ discussions, the test proctor and judging panel took turns shaking their heads in animated discussion. I hoped this meant my powerful show of magic had impressed them, and not that they were happy to have escaped with their lives or, worse, disgusted at my lack of control. But when they announced my results, once again, I passed. “Although the underwizard would do well to control his powerful magic.” The proctor eyed me with a frown.
Relief coursed through me. I looked at the master, hoping to see the pride on his face I had imagined so often when picturing this surprise. However, his frown had gotten fiercer, if possible.
“Fine show, Garrick. What a spectacle. The boy could entertain on the streets with those abilities,” said a stooping, string-beaned man, clapping the master on the back. PMW Robenhurst. The PMW had watched my trials.
The master murmured some appropriate response, and then the PMW moved on to talking of other things. “How’s the family? Your father is still lecturing at the university, I assume?”
Hmmm. Whatever Oscar and Robenhurst had discussed in the drawing room the other day, apparently it hadn’t been the family.
I felt limp and, despite the master’s distemper, giddy. I left the conversation, pleading the need to sit down. In the hall outside the testing room, I paused, pondering the folly of finding Orly in the library and announcing to her I’d passed two more trials. I liked the thought that there was someone who cared to know the outcome of my trial. And there were two such someones, for I knew Ivan would be waiting at home to hear the results too.
But my steps didn’t take me to the library. Without even knowing what I was about, my feet took me toward the cathedral hall. I walked down the line of exhibits and came to a slow stop in front of the glass case bearing the remains of Underwizard Ingerman’s broken barrel. Nothing had changed about the splintered, stained wood, the vicious rusted spikes, or the words engraved on the inscription. But I couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through me at sight of it.
“Congratulations, underwizard.” I turned at the new voice behind me, ready to accept more well wishes. But my smile faltered and fell when my gaze fell on Master Kurke.
“What do you want?” Hostility threaded my tone.
“Now, now. There’s no need to get nasty. You ought to thank me. I’m the one who’s not letting your secret out, remember?”
I glanced around. “Lower your voice.”
He looked past me. “I see you and Ingerman have found one another. Are you here paying your respects?”
“I appreciate your words of congratulation, Master Kurke. Now I need to get back to my master.” I gave a short bow, turned, and walked away.
Kurke fell into step beside me. “Impressive reassembling of that statue. I’ve only seen quicker once. Garrick must be delighted. As though he needed a reason to think more highly of himself.”
When I didn’t acknowledge him, he grabbed my arm and swung me around to face him, his fingers biting into the skin.
“Don’t get too comfortable with the Wendyns, underwizard. They might seem harmless, but let them get close and they’ll destroy everything important to you. Now, I think you owe me a report.” He looked around and then darted down a dark hallway, dragging me behind.
“What—hey!” I protested, but I couldn’t wrench my arm from his grip.
Shadow obscured his face as he recited a spell, and then it fell around us, a cocoon of silence.
A privacy spell.
He rounded on me. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Oscar Wendyn.”
I squared my shoulders and raised my chin. Time for battle. “I’ve learned a lot of things, actually. Firstly, that this blood oath needs to end. I won’t help you hurt Oscar.”
He gave me a probing look. “This again? Look, you’re not going to change my mind like you did at Garrick’s natalis. I lost the perfect opportunity, there with the whole family present to witness the downfall of their patriarch. But you tricked me with little Vito. I couldn’t terrorize him in that way.” He rubbed his hands together with something like exhilaration on his face. “No matter. I’ve come up with a better plan.”
“Better?” I didn’t like the sound of that. “Better how?”
“You’ll know when the time is right.”
“What does that mean?”
He blinked at me, his expression baleful. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Oscar.”
I folded my arms. “You may have made me swear, but you can’t make me talk. I won’t help you.”
His brows drew together. “Won’t you? Not even when we have so much in common?”
“I—what do you mean?” I asked, in spite of myself.
“You imagine yourself principled and noble, working to change the world, as all underwizards think they will. But you’ll understand soon enough that we’re the same.”
“You and I are nothing alike.”
“Oh really.” He stepped closer. I tried to move away, but found the wall at my back. “You find me greedy. Self-indulgent. Egocentric. And yet you don’t see the same qualities in yourself. Don’t you understand? Disguising yourself as a boy could bring the Punishment down on Garrick’s head as much as your own. Every proctor of your exams. Your last master, whoever the poor fool was. Your family. Everyone associated with you is a prime candidate for Punishment.”
Ice shot me through and my stomach flip-flopped. When I spoke, a quiver moved through my voice. “That isn’t true. That’s not what happened with Ingerman.”
“Not officially. But if you read the records, you’ll find that everyone associated with her met an early demise, most due to the Punishment, for various fabricated reasons.”
A blow to the stomach would have surprised me less, but I strove to hide how the words had affected me. “You’re lying.” I couldn’t force conviction into my words. My voice sounded hollow. It would be easy enough to check if he told the truth.
Sympathy slid across his face. I saw it in the liquidness of his eyes and the softness around his mouth. I thought his blinding smiles were attractive, but his expression now made me tingle all the way to my toes. “Avery, I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I understand you. I am you.”
I tried to
step away, but he caught at my elbow. My nails dug into my palms. “Let me go.”
A smile touched his mouth. “I’ll admit, I’ve hurt a few people in my day, but only when they deserved it. But you—you know these people will be collateral, and you don’t seem to care. Your goals are more important to you than anyone who stands in your way. I understand the kind of desperation that requires.”
I couldn’t hide my trembling any longer. It had taken me over. “That’s not true. I want to help people. I only want to help.”
“There’s no shame in it. Some people would call the two of us heartless, but that’s a short-sighted view. We’re not afraid to go after what we want; that’s all. We’re determined.”
Was I so callous? My composure scattered to the four winds at his assessment of me.
His voice dropped as he stepped closer. I felt his breath on my cheek. “After we destroy Oscar, I can show you how to become as powerful as I am. We can be a partnership of sorts, you and I.” He touched my chin. “Now tell me what you’ve learned about Oscar.”
I slipped sideways away from his grasp and swiveled. He swung around too. Frustration compelled me to speak, though I knew I should stay quiet. “But—I don’t understand this. Why Oscar? He’s nothing but an old man. He only wants to spend time with his family and eat sweets and live a quiet life!”
Kurke shook his head. “You’re letting pity cloud your judgment. You don’t need to feel protective of Oscar. He’s not a good person.”
“You’re wrong. He’s kind. I’ve seen it.”
He ran a hand over his eyes. “Oh, yes. Oscar Wendyn is an upstanding and noble master wizard. How dare I say anything to the contrary? So noble that his tenure as Preeminent Master Wizard was riddled with scandal.”
I didn’t like his tone. “Scandal?” Did I dare ask, when I knew he would just spew lies and hatred? “What scandal?”
“Ah, he’s never mentioned the business with the Belanokians, I see. Or the Waldrinish trade predicament? How about the fact he was the PMW who Punished Ingerman?”
My mouth opened. “That’s not true.”
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