“Hardly. Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I tell you. You’re in too deep now. I take scrying assignments from PMW Robenhurst these days. My latest was to track down the perpetrator of the explosion in the Conclave’s vault.”
I stared at him. “So that’s where you’ve been all this time.”
“Scrying can be a slow business. It took a while to track him to Hutterland, but I always seemed to be a step behind.”
“You know, it’s not too late,” I said, taking an eager step forward. “We can still stop Kurke. He hasn’t carried out his plan yet. With your knowledge of blood magic, we can stop whatever he has planned.”
Something like disbelief flitted across Oscar’s face, his stiff lips and wide eyes. “You mean there’s more to the plan than the dozens dead in Hutterland?”
Cold rushed me. “Dozens dead?” I sputtered. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s killed an entire family,” Oscar continued, “using an unknown blood magic spell. Forty-two people.”
My mouth hung open. I felt sweat beading along my upper lip, the hairs prickling at the back of my neck and my face flushing hot. “Forty-two?” I choked out. “Are you certain?”
“We’ve tried to keep it quiet. It was a little known family in Hutterland. He killed four generations, from little babies to an elderly grandparent—although he left spouses alone, killing only along the bloodline.”
“But why would he—why should he—” I sputtered, until I understood. Kurke didn’t mean to kill only Oscar. He meant to kill his entire family. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Everyone I met at the master’s natalis—annihilated.
And Kurke had been in Hutterland all this time, perfecting the spell. Practicing on innocent people. With my help.
I was an idiot. All this time I assumed it was only about killing Oscar. It was about much more than that.
Those deaths in Hutterland were on my head just as much as Kurke’s.
“I’m going to be sick,” I croaked, as nausea moved up my throat. I stumbled to the window and shoved it open, but the cool air against my skin helped the burning in my throat to recede so that, after a moment, I merely felt ill. I turned back to Oscar.
His eyes rested on me, watching me, until he shook his head. “I can’t let you go now. This has gone too far. I need you to relay what you know to the Council.”
“But...they’ll find out I’m a girl. It’s a vital part of my story with Kurke, that he discovered my gender and blackmailed me. How can I keep from telling them?” “Forty-two people have died, underwizard.” His voice rang through the room. “Do you care anything for them? Or will you persist in thinking only of yourself?”
Kurke described me with similar words, saying that I didn’t care about who would become collateral in the wake of my plan to become a master wizard.
Perhaps they were both right. Yes, I wanted to live. But I also wanted no more unnecessary deaths on my conscious. “You must see, Oscar, how he plans to use this spell on you and your family. He’ll kill all of you. You need my help to stop him. I’m connected to him, blood to blood. I can help you find him. Take me to the Council and I’ll be Punished before being able to do that.”
His face softened. “I’m well aware of the danger to my family. But I’m also aware of the danger of facing him alone. There are those with experience fighting blood magicians who sit on the Council. The sooner we alert them to this danger, the better I’ll feel about it.”
“He said he’d let you go free if you’d just acknowledge your part in his family’s deaths publicly. That’s all he wants.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t be stupid. If he said that to you it was just to placate you. The Council is well aware of my part in his father’s death, and Matthias knows that. Come now, don’t worry. I won’t let the Council Punish you. My opinion still holds sway at the Conclave.”
But he couldn’t control that, not anymore, and I could tell he knew it from the way he avoided my eyes.
I rubbed at my nose.
Oscar’s finger twitched, a familiar movement that triggered a warning in the back of my head. He was about to shoot another spell at me. Panic pushed me into action, the knowledge that I couldn’t let him freeze me again, because that would be the last stop before the Council. If I could just get free and find the master, perhaps between the two of us we could save Oscar without involving the Conclave.
The first spell that came to mind was also my best. I held my hand out at Oscar, hoping to take him off balance with a powerful burst of fire. But the flame that roared to life had more power than I planned. It shot in Oscar’s direction, a plume as long as I was tall. He scrambled sideways, and the shaft of flame encountered the brick of the fireplace, leaving it smoking. Surprised by the enormity of the thing, I reeled backward.
Oscar’s freezing spell hit me, and I finished the stumble I began, falling flat on my back, unable to move.
Lights sparked through my vision with the blow to the back of my head, but I could do nothing but lay there, staring at the wooden beams above me.
Oscar came closer to look down at me. “You’re overwrought, underwizard, and so I won’t mention to the Council you tried to kill me.” He wiped his palms on his trouser legs and stepped out of my line of vision. “Now, enough of this. We’re going to the Conclave.”
One more muttered spell, and I levitated off the ground, floating toward the door.
Unbidden, the image of Ingerman’s barrel came to my mind. I wondered if they’d put mine next to hers with another plaque explaining my demise. Here lies the barrel of Avery Mullins, a girl. She was a terrible underwizard.
I cursed myself. But when I poked at the structure of the spell, I discovered something surprising. Master Wendyn had been right. My fire spell must have taken Oscar off his guard at least a little, because weaknesses had woven themselves throughout the strands of the magic, holes that weren’t present in the last freezing spell.
I could find my way out of this spell.
“I admit, underwizard. I’m disappointed in you, but I’m more disappointed in myself. Scrying my way halfway across the kingdoms while the answer was right in my home.”
I expected the door to open at any moment, but it didn’t. Instead, I floated lower as Oscar looked down at me.
"I’m not looking to expose you to ridicule." He gave a great sigh. "I won’t take you through Garrick’s door to the Conclave. This is an undertaking best kept private, in my estimation. Be patient while I build another wizard’s door, one that will take us straight to PMW Robenhurst’s office."
He raised his hands and, in a commanding voice, uttered the incantation for a spell. In the edge of my vision, the outline of a door shimmered to life.
The freezing spell loosened as I worked at the holes in the lines of magic. I worked part of the way out of its hold and even felt the smallest finger on my left hand wiggle. Then the spell tightened, pushing me back within its confines.
At last Oscar lowered his hands and wiped a hand across his brow. “This might seem like an overreaction to you, but you never knew Matthias’s father. Nox was ambitious, but with a skewed sense of right and wrong. He also had an affinity for blood magic. Despite my precautions, Matthias may have turned out just as dangerous as his father. It’s funny...”
He trailed off, deep in thought. I pushed at the magic that bound me, and this time I had it. The holes in the spell widened as I pushed at them, and then I could move all of my right hand.
Oscar, apparently oblivious, continued, “Matthias has always had a quick temper. Almost killed a boy when he was an underwizard. And I vouched for him. I vouched for him.” Frustration leaked out of his voice. “I can’t figure out how he learned of Nox’s connection to blood magic. I was so careful!”
All at once the freezing spell fell, and I had the use of my limbs again. But the levitation spell still had me floating off the ground, and I held still so Oscar wouldn’t guess before I was ready. This ti
me I chose my spell carefully.
I didn’t want to harm Oscar, just stop him. But I didn’t have confidence that my freezing spell would hold him. I needed him unconscious.
A throwing spell.
It took only a quick pull of magic in my direction and then muttered words. A book flew off my desk—Magic and the Female Mind. But Oscar must have heard its approach because he turned before it could reach him. It knocked into his shoulder and fell to the ground with a thud.
“Wha—” he said, and the break in his concentration dropped me to the ground. I rolled away and tossed another book via spell at him. It crashed into the wall behind him.
Blast my terrible aim.
He sent a freezing spell my way, but I scrambled behind my desk so that the spell just missed me, the magic bouncing off the wall behind me, dissipating into sparking tendrils.
“You said you wanted to stop Kurke.” Oscar’s voice vibrated with disapproval. “Stop this foolishness. I command you.”
“If you think the Council won’t vote to Punish me, then you’re the foolish one. I can’t help you if I’m dead.”
“Very well. You leave me no choice.”
I heard footsteps and scrambled backward, deeper behind the desk. Then—the sound of an impact and a thud. The room went silent.
After a few moments of quiet, I risked a peek out. That mound of homespun fabric on the floor must be Oscar, and standing over him, patting his cheek—Ivan?
“What did you do?”
He looked up at me. Pull rug. He pointed at the rumpled runner beneath Oscar’s feet. Hit chin on desk.
“Is he...” I couldn’t seem to bring myself to say dead, as unlikely as it was that Ivan could kill anyone.
No dead. Sleep.
I crept from behind the desk. “But why—why did you do that?”
Help you. Hurt?
“I’m all right.” I stopped beside him and looked down at Oscar. A line of blood trickled down his jaw. His face had gone paler than I liked.
I hoped he wasn’t too badly injured. I was, after all, trying to save his life.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape me.
Why he do that?
I sighed. I didn’t want to involve Ivan in this, but perhaps it was inevitable. “Look, I’m in some trouble, Ivan. I have to find the master. You don’t know where he is, do you?”
Ivan gestured in the negative.
“I’m going to go find him. But I need you to do something for me while I’m gone.”
He gave a firm nod and squared his shoulders. Yes.
I hoped this wasn’t a mistake.
Together we moved Oscar to his room, using the same lifting spell Oscar had just used on me. Ivan kept an eye on him while I snuck down to the master’s study and found a bottle marked “sleep” mixed in with a variety of other glass bottles in his medicines bag, the one he took to heal the child in Bramford. Back in my room, I fed it to Oscar. Then, reasonably certain he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon, I healed the head wound using the spells I learned from Master Hapthwaite’s healing books.
Finally, Oscar rested quietly, color in his cheeks.
“Keep an eye on him,” I instructed Ivan. “If anyone asks, tell them he was exhausted from his travel. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
At least, I hoped.
Ivan nodded in acknowledgment.
I patted him on the back. “Thank you, Ivan. And I—I’m sorry for what I said earlier. You’re not a bother. You’re a good friend.”
His face flamed red, and he looked away. But a pleased smile lit his face.
Oscar’s collection of scrying sticks still leaned in the corner. I looked through them and selected a sturdy looking specimen. “I shall call you Xalvador,” I announced, since I couldn’t tell if it was Forthwind or not, and it was heresy for one of Oscar’s mallets to go nameless. A trunk rested next to the sticks, hidden from view by the desk. It stood open, stacked to the top with Oscar’s various dessert boxes. Just how many of these things did he need? It took seconds to magic a few sweet rolls into existence, fuel for the journey.
I uttered the scrying spell I’d heard Oscar say dozens of times, this time inserting the master’s name, and the stick gave a tug in my hand. I followed its pull.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
White light glinted off the knee-deep snow, and ominous trees reached for me with white-laden branches. I shivered and pulled my thin cloak tighter around myself. It had been foolish to put myself at the mercy of late winter unprepared, but I hadn’t given myself time to think. It hadn’t occurred to me that I would be in for a two-hour hike through deep snow when I went in search of Master Wendyn. He had never struck me as a woodsman.
The hand holding the scrying stick felt like a block of ice, even though every few minutes I switched hands to warm one up beneath my cloak. I cast another warming spell, hands shaking, as I stood in a circle of thick brown trees. The spell settled with a flood of heat, warmth coursing through my fingers, toes, to the end of my nose. It even melted the snow caked to my cloak, trousers, and boots. But then the immediate effects of the spell dissipated, and I felt the bite of winter air pushing against my face moments later. I had five minutes until the warmth from the spell would fade completely.
I heaved a sigh, gathered my energy, and plunged ahead into the snow.
Who went fishing in the middle of winter, anyway? Back home in Waltney, I remembered hearing about fishermen who cut holes in Lake Kyria in the winter to catch fish. While we could have used the food, we hadn’t lived near enough to the lake to try it. I couldn’t imagine that Master Wendyn felt so passionate about fishing that he was out on a frozen lake somewhere, cutting holes through solid ice.
I had probably cast twenty warming spells over the past two hours. I would run out of strength soon—strength I needed just to keep placing one foot in front of the other. And now the sun had dipped below the horizon. If I didn’t find the master soon, I'd be at the mercy of the wild animals of the wood. He could be in Waldrin or Hutterland, for all I knew. What if I’d embarked on a days-long journey when I only had hours to complete it?
What a stupid idea.
For about the hundredth time, I worried the scrying stick had pointed me in the wrong direction. I checked the lines of the magic, and while the scrying stick’s spell held, its strength appeared to be waning. But it wasn’t the spell that was losing strength; it was me.
I should conserve my energy. Given the weakness I could already feel settling into my legs, I couldn’t afford to cast any more warming spells.
Quiet permeated the forest. The whisk of my footsteps in soft snow, my own heavy breathing, and the occasional cry of a bird or call of a forest animal were the only sounds to pierce the stillness. Chill pulled into me, numbing my extremities once again. Daylight dimmed, the glimmer of the setting sun disappearing below the horizon.
My thoughts turned to the steam springs in the Midnight Wood. We had brought Mama there often during the duration of her ill health, hoping it would bring improvement. If nothing else, it always relaxed her and lifted her spirits for the few days after. Papa refused to take us there after she died.
I imagined the steam rising from the pool, the intense heat when I first stepped into the water, the way I became overheated if I stayed too long.
Overheated. If only I could remember what being overheated felt like right now.
In the winter, the snow around the pool melted in a wide circle around the lapping water. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost imagine the steam wafting upward, engulfing my face in its hot breath.
Perhaps my imagination was helping me to feel warmer, because I felt a change in the air. Something seemed different.
I pushed through the trees and snow and stumbled into a clearing. Blooming flowers nodded their heads in preparation for sleep, and ground bare of snow remained solid and real beneath my feet. I looked back to the ground behind me, with its thick white coat, and then ahead of me to the ba
re, blooming dirt, trying to reconcile the two conflicting images. Perhaps a dozen paces away, a tiny one-story cottage lit up from within, light spilling from its windows into the half-lit gloom of twilight.
I no longer felt a pull from the scrying stick.
But if I needed further proof that I had found the right place, the cottage door swung wide, and Master Wendyn stepped outside in a foppish ivory shirt, the sleeves pushed halfway up his arms.
“God’s ghost, not you again.” Exhaustion ran through his voice like a ribbon. His scowl showed a man pushed to his limit by the mere sight of me. “I told Mrs. Pitts—”
“W-we have to talk,” I stuttered through my numb lips. “And you have t-to listen. There’s t-trouble.”
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and for a moment, I thought he would toss me out of his warm clearing. “We settled this, Mullins. Your troubles aren’t my troubles any longer.”
“No, not m-me. Your f-f-family!” I felt myself thawing in the clearing’s warmth. Still, violent shakes settled over me, perhaps the result of nerves, and I grasped the cloak tighter around me.
Master Wendyn seemed to notice my condition for the first time. His glance moved over me, head to toe. His expression didn’t change. “My family? That sounds rather dramatic.”
“M-maybe it is dram-matic, b-but this is im-im-important.”
He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. “Fine. I have little confidence in your ability to be sincere, but I’ll listen. And then you’re leaving, understood?” He stood aside and held the door open.
“Understood,” I croaked and passed him into the warm cottage.
***
The inside of the tiny house contained a handful of furnishings and the occasional ostentatious decorative accent, such as the giant chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling. From the outside the building looked like a rough, humble structure, but from the inside, the walls seem to expand and climb before my eyes. It was three times larger inside than I would have guessed. A staircase in one corner showed a second level, which the outside view of the cottage would render an impossibility.
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