The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  When Seph paused, Leicester nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  “The magical guilds include sorcerers, seers, warriors, enchanters and wizards. In the specialty guilds, the magic is more elemental, more direct. Wizards are the most powerful, because they shape magic with words.”

  “And who told you all this?”

  “My foster mother. She was a sorcerer.”

  Genevieve claimed she’d promised his parents not to involve him in the dangerous world of wizardry. So she’d left him with a thousand questions and a power he couldn’t control.

  “And where is your foster mother?”

  “She died three years ago.”

  “Pity.” Leicester mustered up the familiar, sympathetic look. “So you don’t have any family.”

  “Not really.”

  “What is your House affiliation?”

  The same question Alicia had asked. Maybe now he could finally get some information. “I guess I don’t know much about the Houses.”

  Leicester studied him with his ball-bearing eyes, as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth. “As the ruling guild, wizards have been required to develop systems for the allocation of power. Else we would have had Armageddon on our hands.”

  Seph sensed that Leicester had delivered this speech many times before.

  “There are two major Houses of wizards, the Red Rose and the White. Wizard families align themselves with one or the other, and many of those allegiances go back to the War of the Roses in fifteenth-century Britain. Interactions between the Houses have been governed by a document called the Rules of Engagement, the treaty that ended the war.

  “For centuries, power has been allocated between the Houses by a series of tournaments. Members of the Warrior Guild fight as proxies for the Roses. The winning house rules the Weir—the magical guilds—until the next tournament is held. It’s a system that has worked well.”

  Seph leaned forward. His weariness seemed to have disappeared. “Why haven’t I heard of this?”

  “Here in the States, many of the Weir don’t know they are gifted. Old connections have been broken. Some who came here made a conscious decision to leave their Houses behind.” Leicester sighed. “I suppose the under-guilds saw it as an opportunity to escape from service. But for wizards, the result is that young people like yourself have no guidance or instruction. And that can be disastrous. Our purpose here at the Havens is to remedy that.”

  “So you’re saying you can train me in wizardry?”

  Leicester smiled. “I am saying that, yes.”

  “And I’ll learn how to control magic, and how to avoid . . . accidents.”

  “Yes.”

  After the warehouse, Seph had wanted to have nothing to do with magic, ever again. But he had no choice. In his case, power had a way of surfacing in uncontrollable ways. To be able to control magic, to use it properly . . . that would be a miracle.

  But he knew enough to question wizards bearing gifts.

  “What’s in it for you?” Seph asked.

  Leicester stood and walked to the window. He gazed out at the harbor, hands clasped behind his back. Then turned back to face Seph.

  “These are troubled times for the Houses, a time of great danger. Back in the summer, a tournament in Britain went wrong. The Rules of Engagement were broken. A group of mostly servant-guild rebels has taken sanctuary in Ohio. An anarchist who calls himself the Dragon is fomenting rebellion and attacking wizards of both houses all over the world. Alliances are shifting. If war breaks out between the Houses again, we are all at risk.”

  He paused, as if expecting a reaction, but Seph said nothing. He’d always found that he learned more if he kept quiet.

  “To answer your question, I am still nominally affiliated with the White Rose. But it is my hope that through our work here at the Havens we can create a new path, a new order that ends the bloodshed and eliminates the constant warfare between the Houses. Think of what we could accomplish if we were not focused on murdering each other.”

  That made sense.

  “Are there students from other guilds here?” Seph asked. “Like warriors and . . . and sorcerers?”

  “They hardly need the kind of instruction I can provide. After all, they are bred to a purpose.” Leicester’s expression was faintly disdainful. “No, we focus on wizards. Our graduates become the most powerful users of magic in the world.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “We graduated our first class five years ago.”

  “How do people find out about the Havens? I’ve been looking for help for three years, and I’ve never heard of it.”

  Leicester smiled thinly. “The nature of wizard politics requires that we be discreet. You may have heard that we closely control communications in and out of here. There is a reason.”

  “But I don’t understand why . . .”

  “When you know more, you’ll understand,” Leicester said sharply. “We can’t risk discovery by those who would destroy our only real hope for peace. There are those who have a strong vested interest in maintaining the status quo. For that reason, it’s important that no whisper of this reach the Roses.”

  From what he knew of wizards, Seph wasn’t surprised to learn that Leicester had a political agenda. Genevieve had infused into him a deep suspicion of wizard politics, which often seemed to involve bloodying the under-guilds. No doubt the headmaster would try to get him involved sooner or later. But he’d deal with it, if he could get the help he needed. “How does it work? Who does the teaching? How long does it take?”

  “Shall we assume, then, that you are interested in joining our magical collaborative?” Leicester’s eyes glittered.

  “Yes. Absolutely.” The precision of the wizard’s language was a warning, but he could not afford to say no.

  “Good,” Leicester said. “I thought that would be your answer.”

  “When do we get started?” Seph persisted.

  “Take a few days to settle in and get caught up with your other classes. Then we’ll talk again. We have techniques that streamline the process.”

  “Isn’t there something I could be reading in the meantime, some way to prepare?”

  Leicester studied him a moment. “Perhaps. Do you have a Weirbook?”

  “I don’t know what that is.” Alicia Middleton had mentioned Weirbooks at the party.

  “Each member of the Weirguilds has a Weirbook, created at birth. Even those in the servant guilds. It summarizes the member’s magical lineage and family history. Wizard Weirbooks include charms and incantations that have been handed down through families over the centuries.” He paused, raising his eyebrows in inquiry.

  “I don’t have one,” Seph admitted.

  “Actually, you do have one,” Dr. Leicester said. “It’s a matter of locating it. What is really key is what I told you earlier: we require total commitment from our wizardry students. Are you capable of that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Seph replied. “You won’t be disappointed.” He’d lived precariously for years, like someone with a terminal disease, never able to plan more than a few months ahead. Whatever the consequences of this decision, he’d risk it.

  “Good,” Leicester said. “Oh, and it would be best for you not to discuss any of this with the Anaweir.” At Seph’s blank look, he added, “The ungifted students. It only causes resentment, and we don’t want them spreading rumors once they leave the Havens. In fact, it would be best for you to keep your distance from them outside of class.”

  Seph thought of Trevor and Harrison and Troy and the others. “I don’t understand. Why do we . . .”

  Leicester waved his hand impatiently. “Oh, be polite, of course. But you’ll find you’ll have little in common with them as your training progresses. Once you are properly enrolled, we’ll move you into the Alumni House with the others.”

  Seph remembered how Trevor and the others had responded when he mentioned the alumni. “The wizard students live in the Al
umni House?”

  Leicester nodded. “All of the alumni are gifted.”

  Seph glanced at Hays and Barber. “Are they . . . have they all graduated? I mean . . . is there anyone else my age? Will I still be in class with the others?” He felt connected to Trevor and the others now that he’d met them.

  “We’ll get into that once your training is underway.” The wizard stood, signaling that the interview was at an end. “Now, you’d better get on to bed. You’ve had a long day.”

  And Seph realized he had been dismissed.

  Chapter Four

  A Visit to the Alumni House

  As promised, Seph’s books and class schedule were delivered to his door early Sunday morning. He found the locations of the classroom buildings on the campus map, reviewed the syllabi, and started in on his reading. He’d always been a good student, so he didn’t think he’d have any trouble catching up. He wanted to get as much work as possible out of the way before his classes in wizardry began.

  By late afternoon, however, he was having trouble concentrating on eighteenth-century European history. He tried it with and without headphones. He moved from his bed to his desk, hoping sitting upright would enforce some discipline. But he found himself punching randomly at his keyboard, wishing he could go online. He was used to spending hours every day online with his friends, a stimulating blend of media, music, IMing, and homework.

  He thought about Leicester and the alumni. Wondered how long it would take to gain control over his gift, as Leicester called it. How would the lessons work? Would Leicester tutor him one-on-one so he could catch up with the others? Would they recite incantations in class? Practice spell-casting on the soccer field? Would his not having a Weirbook be a handicap? He’d always been popular among the Anaweir. Would he have trouble making friends among the gifted?

  Leicester had said that Seph had a Weirbook somewhere. If so, he could find the answers to his questions between the covers.

  Some of them, anyway.

  Maybe he should try and get to know some of the alumni right away. Organize a study group. Make some allies who could help him along.

  Preferably someone other than Hays and Barber.

  He finally gave up and set his textbook aside. Shoving his feet into his shoes, he walked down the hall to Trevor’s room. Trevor’s door was open, and Seph heard the throb of a heavy bass line halfway down the corridor.

  Trevor was sprawled on the sheepskin rug in front of his fireplace, two-finger typing into a notebook. Papers and books lay scattered all around him. He looked up at Seph, blinking, as if surprised to see him.

  “Let’s do something,” Seph said.

  Trevor hit the mute button on his player and squinted at Seph. “Such as . . . ?”

  “Anything,” Seph said expansively. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of homework.” Trevor hesitated, studying Seph warily. “By the way, you okay?

  How’d it go with Leicester last night?”

  “Fine. Great. We talked things out, and we’re okay.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Trevor looked so solemn that Seph had to smile. “Yeah, I’m kidding. Sort of. You coming? It’s going to be dinnertime pretty soon, anyway.”

  They walked out into the dusk. Seph breathed in the complex, burnt-toast scent of the autumn woods.

  Trevor became more animated once they’d left the dorm and his homework behind. “Maybe we can get a racquetball court and play before dinner,” he said.

  Seph looked down at his jeans and sweatshirt. “What about dressing for dinner?”

  Trevor grinned. “It’s Sunday. Weekend rules. Dr. Leicester’s usually not around.”

  They were passing the Alumni House. “Hey, hang on a sec. Let’s take a look inside.”

  “No, Seph, come on.” Trevor grabbed for his arm, but Seph was already through the doorway.

  The foyer opened into a common room with a large stone fireplace at one end framed by bookshelves. Leather sofas crouched like stranded bovines along the perimeter of a Persian rug. It was similar in style to the other buildings Seph had seen, but more opulent, more expensively decorated, aggressively masculine. No one was in there, but Seph could hear the murmur of conversation and clatter of silverware from a nearby room.

  Trevor gripped his arm hard. “We’re not supposed to be in here,” he whispered.

  “I just want to look around a little,” Seph whispered back. “Don’t worry. It’s cool.”

  “I mean it,” Trevor persisted. “Let’s go.”

  Seph scanned the directory next to the stairwell. “Hey, there’s a library on the second floor. Have you ever been up there?”

  “No. I said. We’re not allowed.”

  “I bet they have Internet access.”

  “Seph. I’m leaving. Come on.” Trevor took two steps toward the door.

  “Be right back.” Seph took the steps by twos, paused on the landing, and turned left along the gallery, passing rows of unmarked doors. A door at the end of the hallway stood partly open. Peering in, he saw rows of shelves loaded with dusty, leather-bound books. A flicker of movement to the right startled him. He jerked back, flattening himself against the corridor wall. Then he heard an explosion of voices from the first floor.

  “What are you doing in here?” someone demanded. The voice was familiar. Then something or someone was slammed hard against the wall.

  Seph leaned over the gallery railing. Bruce Hays had Trevor shoved up against the wall. Seph heard a scraping of chairs, and then a half dozen others poured in from the dining room, forming a jostling semicircle around Bruce and his captive. Warren Barber was among them.

  Trevor said something back, so faintly that Seph couldn’t make out the words. Whatever it was, it must have been unsatisfactory, because Bruce did something and Trevor screamed.

  “Hey!” Seph charged back along the gallery and vaulted down the stairs. He shoved his way through the circle of wizards and gripped Bruce’s arm. “Let him go!”

  Bruce flinched, released Trevor, and swung around, hands raised as if to fight. His eyes widened when he saw Seph. “What? You’re with him?”

  Warren Barber turned on Trevor. “You know you’re not allowed in here,” he said in a soft voice. Barber extended a hand, and Trevor pressed himself back against the wall, closing his eyes, sweat pebbling his forehead despite the chill in the air.

  “Ease up. It was my idea,” Seph said, stepping between them. He smiled and shrugged, turning on the charm. “I just wanted to look around.”

  Warren wasn’t impressed. “This one should know better.” Warren’s breath stank of beer, and he spoke with the deliberation of the profoundly wasted. He reached around Seph, grabbing at Trevor, and Trevor jumped backward.

  Seph pushed Warren’s hand away. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. What are you hiding in here?”

  “Well, it is,” Warren said, rubbing his stubbled chin with the palm of his hand. “It is a big deal.”

  “Warren . . .” Bruce cleared his throat.

  “Didn’t Dr. Leicester tell you to be careful who you hang out with?” Warren said to Seph, nodding at Trevor.

  Seph lifted his chin defiantly. “Come on. Do you do everything Leicester tells you to?”

  Warren’s smile faded, leaving resentment in its wake. “What do you mean by that?”

  Seph looked around the circle of wizards, his gaze lingering for a moment on each face. “I mean that my friends are my business.”

  Nobody said anything for a long moment. Then Warren shrugged and smiled, as if trying to disclaim all the threats and innuendos that had gone before. But the smile never made it into his eyes. “All right then,” he said. “It’s just a—you know—misunderstanding.”

  “It’s cool, Joseph,” Bruce said reassuringly. “Wait till you move in here. It’ll be great. The other dorms suck in comparison. The food’s a lot better, too. Hey, why don’t you come on in and have dinner with us? We c
an fill you in on some things.”

  It was an invitation that clearly did not include Trevor.

  Seph was tempted. He could definitely use some filling in. But he felt the need to establish a boundary, to make a statement about who he was and what he would tolerate. “I’ve already got plans tonight,” he said, smiling. “Maybe another day?”

  “Sure,” Bruce said. “Come to dinner tomorrow. We start around seven.”

  Trevor looked from Bruce to Seph to Warren. “Don’t tell Dr. Leicester I was here,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Warren smiled wolfishly. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll get a demerit?”

  “Please,” Trevor repeated. “I’m really sorry. Just don’t tell Leicester.”

  “Maybe you’d like to be my personal servant for a month. Hmmm?” Warren said. He grinned at the other wizards. “Trevor is very good at doing laundry. Much better than the service. Gets those colors sparkling.”

  “Hey, Warren,” Seph said, keeping his tone light. “Enough already. What don’t you understand about leave him alone?”

  Warren raised a hand, grinning. “Sure. No problem. See you tomorrow.”

  Seph touched Trevor on the shoulder. “Come on, Trevor. We got places to be.”

  Once outside, Trevor didn’t speak, but turned and headed back toward the dormitory, head down, scuffling hard through the leaves.

  Seph had to trot to catch up. “Hey! Trevor! Look, I’m sorry. You were right. I should’ve listened to you.”

  Trevor didn’t look up, and his pace didn’t falter. Finally, Seph grabbed his arm, spinning him around. “Talk to me, will you?”

  Seph half expected Trevor to rip free, or punch him, or something, but he just stood, gazing down at the ground, a muscle working in his jaw.

  “I said I should’ve listened to you,” Seph repeated. “That was totally bizarre. But no harm done, right?”

  Trevor looked up at Seph like he’d told the sickest kind of joke. “Right. Sure. No harm done.”