“What did you think the outcome would be when you cast the desert spell?”
His earnest expression demanded honesty, and I found I couldn’t do anything but answer with the truth, even if I wanted to lie, which I didn’t. “You told me yourself it was a killing spell. I knew what would happen. I was trying to kill Kurke.”
“And what did you expect would happen to you?”
I looked down at my hands resting on the bedspread even though my body should be stiffening in a cold December grave. “I expected to die. Why didn’t I?”
His chin jutted out in a displeased frown. “What you’re saying is it was suicide. How stupid can you be?”
I pushed myself up a little straighter. “Oscar’s alive, isn’t he? So are you and the rest of your family. I don’t suppose you’re complaining about that?” My lungs ached with leftover weakness from the desert spell. I pressed a hand to the throbbing and continued, “If he were dead, and we were sitting here having this discussion, I suppose you’d thank me for not doing the spell?”
“It was foolhardy to take such a risk, that’s all.” He wiped a hand across his eyes. “And yes, thank you just the same.”
Moments passed while we stared at each other. At last I said, “I don’t understand you. First you’re angry with me because I’m dumber than a box of insects, and now you’re grateful? Can you say what you mean?”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”
“Kurke is dead. We’re alive. Why are you annoyed?”
He dropped his head in his hands. Then he was on his feet pacing. At last he turned to face me. “Mullins, I’ve misjudged you.”
“How so?”
The corners of his mouth tilted downward. “When I found out you were a girl, I was so furious I’d been lied to that I couldn’t focus on anything else. It was a heavy blow to my pride, which was already smarting from—well, other things. I may not have been fair to you in the things I said and in the way I treated you.”
My mouth opened, but I couldn’t come up with an intelligent response, I was so surprised. “Oh,” I managed. “I—oh.”
He sighed, deep and heavy, and ran a hand over his face. “You’re a problem; one I don’t know quite how to handle. I don’t even think the Council is ready to deal with you.”
The Council? He couldn’t be considering Punishment now, not after talking about how unfair he’d been. Could he? I frowned and stared at my lap. “Must anyone...deal with me? I’m leaving, remember?” The mere suggestion of the Council had me worried, and I slid my feet off the bed so that I was turned sideways, facing him. My bare feet poked out from beneath the dressing gown I’mwore, which struck me as indecent. “I can leave this place in an hour. As soon as I regain a little of my strength.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Forty-five minutes?”
He made a noise of exasperation. “This isn’t a negotiation, Mullins.” He grabbed my feet and swung them back under the bedding again before pullinged the blanket up to my chin. “You’re not going anywhere. At least, not unless you want to.”
Well, that was somewhat reassuring, anyway. I settled back against the pillow behind me. “You still haven’t explained to me how I’m still alive. Or how I can cry.”
“So I haven’t.” Five steps, and he was at the window, picking up the chair there. He carried it closer to the bed and seated himself. “If you’d chosen any other killing spell, you’d be dead along with Matt, as it would have leaked over to you through your connection. But the desert spell—well, it was a good choice. You’ve already cast it on yourself once, so your body’s been fighting off that spell for years. You’ve adapted, for lack of a better word. When I said it was brilliant, I thought you’d done it on purpose.”
“I've adapted?” I rubbed at the pain in my chest. “This is adapting? Are you sure?”
“Yes. But I was wrong that you’d fight it off easily. For a while, it looked like you might just die right along with Matt. But your resistance to the desert spell—combined with my healing spells and your magic—saved you at the end.”
I shook my head. “But the consequence for unfulfilled blood oaths is death.”
“The oath dissolved with Matt’s death. It he’d lived, and you reached the—what was the agreed upon day? The winter solstice?—you’d both have died.”
I mulled this information over. “Yeah. I still don’t understand.”
His body shifted in the chair. “It’s not that complicated. You didn’t die.”
I chewed on my lip. “No, not that. I understand that. But...why would it matter to you if I died? Why try to save me at all? Wouldn’t it be simpler if I were out of the way?”
His brows pushed together. “You think I’m that heartless?”
“Well...no. Not exactly.”
“God’s ghost, you think I’m that heartless.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as though to stave off an aching head.
“No. Well, perhaps sometimes.”
When he didn’t speak, I wondered if I’d gone too far. “But it’s not as though I have room to complain. I mean, I’m a liar. I’m so used to being dishonest that I don’t know how to tell the truth anymore.”
The side of his mouth twitched, and he dropped his hand. “Liar. You know how to tell the truth. It’s just easier not to.”
My mouth opened to disagree, but then I closed it and, after a moment, nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“So we’ve established that neither one of us is perfect. In fact, we’re far from it. Having said that...” he trailed off and then took what looked like a fortifying breath and tried again. “How would you feel about staying at Ryker Hall?”
It took a moment for me to understand the full meaning of the words. My eyes widened.
“I could use help around here, I mean,” he continued.
Oh, I saw now. “You’ve just lost a serving maid, is that it? You need a replacement for Edie. Even better if they’re good with washing.”
“No, not as a serving maid. I need an apprentice. The Council has made good on their threat and declared it mandatory for able-bodied wizards to have an apprentice. And I’ve gotten used to having you around.”
My eyes flashed to his. “This isn’t funny.” In fact, it bordered on cruel.
“I’m not joking.”
“But...I’m a girl.”
“Are you? I hadn’t noticed. The fact is, you can perform complicated spells better than many boys.”
“I’m also a liar and a former thief. And my father’s the town drunk.”
“This isn’t a marriage proposal, Mullins. I don’t care about your family or your past. You have the ability to be a talented master wizard; that’s all.”
I bit my lip because it didn’t feel right. There were too many reasons he shouldn’t be saying this. “But...why? It would put everything you’ve accomplished at risk.”
He gave an aggravated sigh. “Because you were willing to give your life to save my family’s. Because we work well together. And because I’d like to believe I can trust you.”
The deep ache returned to my throat, the one brought on not by the desert spell but by tears. I blinked them back and looked at the master. I could see he could sense my emotion too, although his face hadn’t gone into full panic mode at the hint of tears yet. No, for the moment his eyes were dark and warm and full of compassion.
“What about my gender? If it’s found out, you’d be in danger. Oscar too.”
“Maybe it’s time for a revolution. If girls can do magic at the same level as boys, something needs to change.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And you’re willing to be the face of that movement?”
His eyes flashed to me in surprise. “Me? I was thinking of you.”
I blinked. “Well. Let’s make leading a revolution a secondary plan. For now, I want to be a master wizard.”
He sat back with a self-satisfied air. “Very well. Then we’re a team again.”
Something like excitement rushed me, and I struggled to sit up. “I won’t cause you any trouble,” I said. “At least, I’ll try not to.”
“That would be boring. Trouble is what you excel at.” He handed me another handkerchief, and I dabbed at my eyes, at the leftover tears there.
“Now explain why I can cry.”
“That was Grandfather. He did some digging yesterday and found out how to undo your unfinished desert spell. Your first one, I mean. The one that took away your ability to cry. He performed the counter-spell this morning.” His face turned sheepish. “I suppose I should have asked for his help earlier.”
“I’m just glad it’s gone.” I rubbed at my head. “No more headaches? No more endless thirst? I’ll bake him a Waltney cake later as thanks. But first I’ll learn how. And now it’s my turn to ask a question. How did you get the trammel off?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Dumb luck. When I was a boy, I opened one using only a dip pen. At the time, it seemed like a fluke, but come to find out, it worked again.”
My mouth opened in surprise. “I wonder if that’s how Ladarius the Heroic did it too.”
“Legend says Ladarius got his off within a few seconds of its placement. Took me a lot longer. I kept snapping the pen in half. Good thing Ivan was there to perform an unbroken spell so I could keep working at it.” He shrugged. “They’ll never call me Garrick the Heroic, but it did the trick.”
“They’ll never call you anything. No one will ever know.”
He snorted. “Well, that’s true. If they called me anything, it’d be Garrick the Stupid. Mullins, I want you to promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. No casting spells intending to sacrifice yourself. Even if it’s for the greater good.”
“You make it sound like I go around doing things like that all the time. But very well. I’ll promise. And in return, please try not to be such a grouch.”
“I promise not to grouse unless you deserve it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
But the funny thing was, I really thought it would be.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I picked my way over the bare cobblestones of a Bramford path. Snow blanketed the trees, but the warm day had cleared the roads, at least, so that the master consented to a trip to town. My wizard’s robes swung around my legs, edged with red at the hem and collar and sleeves—red, for the novitiate underwizard that I was.
Ivan tapped me on the arm and gestured at a cow that had slogged closer through the snow to gaze at us over a sturdy fence. Ivan uncovered some grass buried in the snow and pulled it up in patches to feed to the mournful-looking animal.
“Come on,” I said when he was finished. “We have little time.” I turned back to the path and took several steps before I realized he wasn’t by my side. I looked back at him where he was still standing next to the fence. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you coming to the botanist’s?”
I stay here, he gestured.
Leaving him there in the streets of Bramford cut through me, there in the town that used to torment him. But things had changed since his days of being Bramford’s whipping post. He had changed, as had I.
It was funny to think we met here in Bramford less than six months ago. It seemed so much longer.
William the Botanist greeted me, a plant in each hand. He looked the same as I remember, large and good-natured with dirt beneath his fingernails. His smile turned to puzzlement. Then all at once his eyebrows lowered, and his pleasant expression morphed into a frown.
“You’re Master Wendyn’s apprentice.”
It was a statement, not a question, but I still smiled and said, “Yes, you’re correct.”
His frown didn’t subside. “The one what beat my John.”
I nodded again.
He put the mugwort and lavender down on the counter. Then he planted his hands and leaned toward me. “The Council banned you from Bramford.”
“Yes. But they rescinded that order.” Just a few days ago, after Master Wendyn and I took our personal appeal to the council meeting.
He nodded. “So I’ve heard. But that still doesn’t mean I’m willing to do business with you.”
My chin lifted. “Are you refusing me service? Master Wendyn can take his business elsewhere, you know. We’ve got a wizard door to Dunsby. It’s much faster to get there, anyway.”
“I don’t mean that,” he said. “I only meant—” But he seemed to understand that he was in no position to turn business away, and master wizard business least of all. His lips thinned, and he nodded. “Very well. What do you need?”
I handed him my list and watched as he busied himself gathering herbs and plants.
But I couldn’t leave things like this. Trying to work with a botanist who didn’t trust or like me would get me nowhere. This was a man I could have a working relationship with for many years to come.
“I’m sorry for fighting with your son all those months ago. But he was mistreating a boy, and I’ve sworn to help the less fortunate. It’s the reason I want to be a master wizard.”
His gaze flicked toward me, and he grunted in response. Was it my imagination, or did his face soften?
“All those boys have had a talking to,” he said. “John’s a different boy. But thank you for saying that.” His head tilted a little as he stared at me. “I think you believe that. You’re different from other underwizards.”
“Yes,” I said. “I am.”
I doubted the boys had really changed, but at least the townsfolk knew of the problem now.
My arms were full of a crate of calendula and basil and a dozen other varieties of plants and herbs when I left William the Botanist’s storefront. Back at the fence, Ivan was nowhere in sight. The realization tripped my heart.
Had he run into those boys? How much could they really have changed after all? Was he being beaten and bullied this very moment?
I shouldn’t have left him alone. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Avery.
I hurried through the city, down alleys and streets I’d never been down before. But there was no sign of Ivan. At last I cast a listening spell, seeking for any noise that would identify itself as Ivan. After several long moments, I heard something that sounded familiar.
Laughter. “What’s he doing? Hey, Ivan. Get up off the ground! You’re not a farm animal.”
“Or maybe he is,” another voice said, and laughter flickered from one male voice to the next.
My fists clenched in anger. If those boys were tormenting Ivan again, I wouldn’t answer for the consequences.
From the trickle of water, they could be near the river. Or I thought I remembered a fountain in the town square.
I hurried in the direction that I thought was toward the center of the village, and by dumb luck I was right. A few people milled about the square, going about their normal daytime business.
I hefted the crate. Where had Ivan gotten to?
Someone shouted with laughter. “Ivan, do another!” My gaze swung around, and I still couldn’t find them, not until I moved around the stone fountain. There they were, a group of teenage boys crouched around the smaller boy in the middle of the circle—Ivan. He was on his hands and knees, scratching at the ground.
For a moment my heart picked up speed. He was being beaten again. Was bringing him to Bramford a bad idea? The master seemed to think the townsfolk would treat him better now, but he had been wrong.
As I watched, Ivan looked up at the boys, excitement and enjoyment etched across his features. He scrambled to his feet, and the boys made room for him to move backward. He pointed at the drawing he had made on the ground. He sent a silent, wordless spell at the sketch of a mountain cat about to pounce, and it sprang to life, appearing to jump at the boy closest to it. They all jumped back amid a babble of laughter and chatter.
“Next draw me!” a boy demanded.
“No, me!”
“That’s not fair; I’ve been waiting!”
&n
bsp; I stepped to Ivan’s side. “Friar’s bones, boys, give Ivan some room to breathe. We have to be leaving, anyway.”
A groan moved through the group. “When will you be coming back?” one demanded.
I shook my head. “Next time we’re in need of herbs. Watch for us.”
The boys dispersed, with slaps on the back for Ivan and calls that he should “practice drawing me, all right?”
“Well, that was unexpected,” I said, as we moved away across the cobblestoned streets.
Ivan nodded and grinned, gesturing, They not hate me.
I shook my head. “They never hated you. They only—they had to remember you were a person, just like them, I suppose.”
We walked toward the bridge that passed over the river. In the middle of the structure, he stopped me with a hand to my arm, motioning at the water. I set the crate down, and we watched the roiling liquid as the water tumbled over and over itself.
“What brought you to Bramford, anyway?” I asked. “Did you have family here once?”
He shrugged. No family. Yours?
“My father is still alive somewhere.”
He nodded and then pointed at the water. Rough, he gestured. Water rough. Life rough too.
“Yes.” I stared at the water and thought of Ivan, abandoned and alone on the streets of Bramford, with no family. At least I had the good years with Gavin and Mama to look back on.
Ivan reached for my hand. Not rough now. Now you my family, he gestured with his free hand. Master Wendyn and Oscar too.
“Yes. I suppose we are a family,” I said. “But don’t tell Master Wendyn that.”
“And why not?” Master Wendyn came to a stop beside the two of us. “Family, are we now? I can agree to that, even if it is more sentimental than I care for.”
“Really?” I turned a questioning gaze to the master.
“An unorthodox family,” he said, “But I suppose we’re family just the same.” He nodded at the crate. “How’s William?”
“A little hesitant, but willing.”
“Good.” Master Wendyn turned to the east. “Come along, little family. The carriage is waiting. It’s time to go home.”
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