“The fool is not my responsibility,” the master said.
“Your apprentice fought on his behalf. The town council wants the fool out. He’s always causing trouble,” the bigger man replied.
The master’s voice grew fiercer. “He is not my apprentice, and the fool is none of my concern. Take care of him yourself.”
And yet here we sat, the three of us.
There was no conceivable reason for me to be here. What did this man want from me?
I rubbed my neck. The trammel was gone, but the memory of its weight against my neck remained. I didn’t like feeling so powerless. At least I’d had a chance to recast my voice modulating spell, making my voice deep once again.
Next to me, the fool—Ivan—made a guttural noise. He was trying to shrink into the corner, shrink himself into nothingness. The vulnerable innocence on his face made me want to reassure him, but I knew it was a weakness, this tender feeling I couldn’t seem to shake.
This was not my brother.
“What level are you?” the wizard asked, glaring at the rolling hills and trees pushing past the carriage window. We had been a quarter of an hour on this road.
He couldn’t make his dislike of me any more obvious, so why was I here? Could he know I was a girl? Did he have designs on me in the way that my mother warned a man could have designs on a woman?
“Your level, underwizard,” he snapped at the window. “By the red of your robes, I see you’re at least a novitiate.”
I blinked and swallowed and tried to force my brain to focus. “Five. I passed the mastery-over-self trial at the beginning of the year.”
His eyes swiveled to me. “God’s ghost, is that what you were doing today? Showing your mastery over self?” He shook his head and continued, “You’ve gained some abominable habits from Master Hapthwaite, the great baboon. With such a poor example, it’s no surprise.”
My mouth opened to defend this unjust attack on my master until I realized—Edgar Hapthwaite was no longer my master. I had no master. My mouth snapped shut.
“I can only presume you had bandits for parents.”
I forced my anger down. One explosion was enough for today. “Mama died when I was eleven. Papa’s still alive, at least as far as I know. Given the time of day, he’s probably drinking himself into a stupor at this very moment.”
He raised an eyebrow, but then the fool caught his eye by trying to hide behind the window curtains. “Stop it, Ivan,” he barked. “We’ll be there soon enough.”
Ivan cringed against the wall but became still.
“You know his name?” I asked, unable to hide the surprise in my tone. “I mean—”
His eyes flashed back. “Everyone in Bramford knows Ivan. I see him often on my visits to town.”
“And you let them torment him?”
He raised a brow. “I let them? What makes you imagine that I control the townsfolk of Bramford?”
“But...you’re a master wizard.”
“And you would prefer I force my will on them? As you tried to force yours today?”
My mouth opened. “That’s not fair. They were—”
“They were doing the same thing they always do. In fact, it’s because of you that I am forced to take Ivan in. Had I left him there, they would have taken their anger on you out on him..” His knee jiggled up and down, up and down. “You have something to learn about fighting. Never start a conflict unless you can remove the threat completely, or else it will come back with even more ferocity the next time. In Ivan’s case, your actions could have cost him his life.”
I blinked and turned to the opposite window, unable to come up with a rebuttal. He was more than likely right.
The carriage pulled to a stop, the red curtains swaying to and fro before its windows. We had halted before a looming house, all shutters and stone and unwelcoming. It rose larger than Master Hapthwaite’s manor. Nerves tickled my stomach, and a glance at the fool showed that he seemed to be trying to make himself part of the conveyance’s inside wall.
With one last distasteful glance at the carriage’s occupants, and without even waiting for the footman, the man unlatched the door and leaped to the ground. His robes billowed around him like a giant winged creature launching into flight. He strode into the house without looking back.
Seconds passed while the fool—no, his name was Ivan, and I would call him that—and I looked at each other. His eyes darted toward the road we’d just covered, back toward Bramford. He was thinking about running, and the thought had occurred to me too. I could step out of this carriage and take to the road, free from this man and his unknown intentions.
Free from my dream of becoming a master wizard.
The footman had the door stretched wide, and he peered inside at Ivan and me. Whatever he saw made an eyebrow raise. Neither of us moved toward the door.
“Are you coming out—” he glanced at Ivan and paused before finishing, “—sirs?”
I took a breath, steeling myself for what was coming, and stepped out of the carriage.
Green lawn and fields stretched around the estate, meeting with a thick wood in the distance. A fine fog of dust hung in the air, kicked up by the carriage wheels. It was late in the day, and the sun hung on the horizon. Movement whispered behind me, and Ivan scrambled out of the carriage, ignoring the footman’s proffered hand. I expected that he would disappear, perhaps run toward the road without looking back, but he didn’t. Instead he sniffed, wiped the back of his hand across the crusted blood on his upper lip, and slunk closer to the carriage’s wheel.
A woman bustled out the front door, her black dress swishing around her ankles.
“So it’s true.” She stopped with her hands on her hips, frowning at me. Her bun was so tight I suspected without it, her face would transform into a mass of wrinkles. “He’s brought home an apprentice. And what a mess you are.” She squinted at me in the sunlight and stepped closer, eyeing me up and down. Her glance lingered on my face, and for the barest breath of a moment, I was nervous that she’d see my true gender, the feminine cut of my chin, the soft curl of my brownish hair against my face. I had only been around Master Hapthwaite for three years, and he was the least observant man I knew.
Females were banned from practicing magic in Faronna, as well as the entire three kingdoms. Small spells and charms and were tolerated, but anything more complicated than that could get a female hauled before the Wizard’s Council for a slap on the wrist. The Council reserved their biggest sanction of all, death, for females who persisted in performing big magic. That included any female foolish enough to disguise herself as a boy in order to train to become a master wizard.
Gavin and I used to play at being master wizards when we were children, before we knew any better, before we knew I never could be one. When we got older, Gavin hung around the street magicians to learn spells that he later showed to me. I caught on to the spells quicker, but his spells were always bigger. He made me promise before he died that I would learn as much magic as I could. He asked me to do it for him, since he would never be able to. And I’d promised.
The bun-wearing woman made a clucking noise. “You’re nothing but a common ruffian. Has Master Wendyn lost his senses?”
“If he has, that’s his own business.”
Her eyebrows drew downward. “Don’t take that tone with me, boy.”
Getting along with this woman would take finesse, something I had little of, if I was honest. But at least I had gotten the name of my new master out of her. Master Wendyn. The name knocked out of my head with the kick of that great oaf in the town square.
I inhaled and gathered myself. “I meant no disrespect, ma’am.”
Her frown lessened a minuscule amount. “See that you don’t forget your place. Master doesn’t put up with much here at Ryker Hall.” Her gaze swung around, taking in the area behind me. “And where’s the other one? Master said he brought that fool.”
Ivan was no longer huddled against the carriage wheel
. I took a stride in that direction before I realized I was doing it again, caring about him when he was none of my concern.
A noise to my left drew my glance. Ivan crouched behind a thicket growing against the house. A bush loomed over him, almost obscuring him from view.
“Here he is.”
Her frown deepened. “Well, come along, then.” She whirled and headed into the house, muttering all the while. “Two boys to clean up after. What can he be thinking?”
I stood and stared at the bush. A part of me felt that if I left now, I would never see Ivan again. He would disappear back to Bramford, to daily humiliation and beatings and, if Master Wendyn was right, to possible death because of my interference.
“I suppose they’ll want to feed us,” I said to the bush. Maybe he couldn’t understand me, but judging by the skin and bones of him, it had been a long time since he ate a regular meal. “The food will go to waste if you don’t come along, as I have no appetite.”
No movement from the foliage. Perhaps his ears were incapable of hearing. Or maybe, as the wizard said in Bramford, he wasn’t bright enough to comprehend words. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from trying to make him understand.
“Food,” I said again, with emphasis. I hoped if he could hear me that it was a word he knew. “All those gravies and fine cuts of meat and stewed vegetables and pastries...it would be a shame for them to go uneaten.” I didn’t know what food this wizard’s kitchen would provide, but I was certain they wouldn’t starve us. I headed toward the entrance, with its line of unfriendly columns, giving the boy his space to decide what to do.
There was activity in the entrance hall, but once I got there, I was too distracted by the architecture to pay much attention. Colored light filtered through stained glass windows, ceilings arched high above, and complicated patterns crawled across the stonework of the floor, etched in place. A staircase rose from the middle of the room, carved with detailed animals.
“But Mrs. Pitts, ma’am,” a young housemaid was saying to the crotchety, bun-wearing woman. “The east wing? Those rooms are all dusty and musty.” The girl’s arms teetered with linens.
"Thank you, Edie," Mrs. Pitts said, her voice cold as morning frost. "I well know that." She caught sight of me and dismissed the maid with a glance. "There are no rooms ready." Her expression made it clear this was my fault. "You must wait while they’re made up. Come along, both of you."
I was surprised and pleased to discover that Ivan had trailed in behind me, keeping a safe distance. He continued to follow as Mrs. Pitts showed us to a sitting room.
“Touch nothing,” she advised, with a sharp look at both of us, “and get nothing dirty. I know every detail of this room, so don’t imagine you can get away with thievery.” She left with a backward glance that said she found it doubtful we’d be able to follow such advice.
I longed to lie down and sleep, but sitting would have to suffice. I picked the nearest chair and arranged myself in it, looking over my ripped and dirtied robes in dismay. The thumping in my head had only gotten worse since I woke up in the jail.
Ivan stood just inside the doorway, looking lost. “You may as well sit,” I said, but he didn’t move. In truth, he looked nothing like my brother. Gavin looked a lot like me: Wavy brown hair, skin that freckled, bright blue eyes, and a lopsided smile. But Ivan the fool had hair that, even when dirty, was the palest blond I’d ever seen. His eyes were a shade of gray identical to the sky on a stormy afternoon. His ears seemed large, sticking out of his small head.
It was the similarities, though, that sickened me. His slight build, bony shoulders, and thin frame. The apprehension in his eyes. It was too much like Gavin in the advanced stages of wasting sickness. It was painful to look at. I changed my gaze to the fireplace and scrutinized the well-shined grate.
The minutes lengthened along with the shadows, and my eyes drooped while I strove to stay awake. To keep myself alert, I pulled a scrap of rope from my pocket which I had developed the habit of carrying these three years now. Unknotting a rope was the first spell Gavin and I had learned, and ever since then, I did it in times of boredom—and to keep my skills sharp. Sometimes the spell came easier than others. Today, after tying the rope, I couldn't budge the knot, though I stared and mumbled the spell multiple times. My head ached too much to think.
I blinked and nodded and tried not to sleep.
“Beg pardon. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”
My eyes snapped open, and I sat up straighter. It was the young maid, Edie, her apron stiff and straight and her gaze interested. “Wasn’t there another—er—gentleman?” she asked, looking around the darkened sitting room.
Friar’s bones, I’ve lost him again. But it didn’t take too long to locate Ivan. He was huddled in a corner, sitting against the wall with his legs pulled into his chest. His knees were visible through the holes in his trousers. He watched both of us.
Edie was carrying a tray and set it down upon a table nearby. The scents coming from it might have been intoxicating, but at the moment, they turned my stomach.
“Will the master be long?” I asked.
Edie looked startled at the question. “Young master has retired for the evening.”
“What?” I sat up straighter. “Retired?”
“Yes, he—oh my.” She stepped back as Ivan launched to his feet and pushed past her to get at the tray. He stuffed a pastry in his mouth and followed it up with a sandwich—meat, from the looks of it—and a wedge of cheese. His cheeks bulged while his jaws worked.
“Young master?” I prompted. “Is there an old master?”
Edie looked away from Ivan. “To be sure, old Master Wendyn. He’s the young master’s grandfather.” She smiled and red flushed her cheeks. “I’m Edie.”
“Er—yes,” I said. “I gathered that.”
She bustled around the room, lighting lamps. “Mama makes a paste of comfrey that will help with those cuts.” She gestured at my face. “I’d hate for you to have any scars.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I didn’t like all the notice she was giving me. “This face is used to cuts. Bruises too. But thank you for your concern.”
“Or bilberry,” she went on. “It’s good for bruises—”
“That will be all, Edie.” Mrs. Pitts was at the sitting room door. “You may go.”
“Oh. Yes, ma’am.” Edie gave a curtsy and hurried out, pausing in the doorway to smile in my direction behind the housekeeper’s back. I looked away.
Mrs. Pitts frowned. “Well, you’ve managed not to destroy this room. That’s something. Come along, then. Your rooms are ready.”
Her eyes moved to Ivan, who was stuffing sandwiches in whatever pockets would hold them. She made a noise of disgust but didn’t stop him.
“Did the master leave instructions for tomorrow?” I asked as we walked up the grand staircase. “What time does he want to speak to me?”
There was a smile in her voice. This pleased her. “Master said he doesn’t want to see either of you for a few days, at the very least.”
I frowned. “But why—”
“When he wants to see you, he’ll let you know. He doesn’t want reminding of either one of you until you’re cleaned up and smelling better. And maybe not even then, he said.” She was smiling, as happy about this news as I was annoyed by it. She added as an afterthought, “And you’re to keep that fool out from underfoot.”
I glanced at Ivan, who was cramming what looked to be a chocolate pastry into his mouth. Now I was a governess.
“Here we are.” We stopped at two doorways on the same side of the hallway. “I’ve had baths drawn for both of you. See that you scrub well.”
After Mrs. Pitts stalked away, Ivan and I stared at each other. His jaw worked up and down with chewing, and his clothes bulged in various areas with food.
Why had Master Wendyn brought me here? The question remained unanswered, and it didn’t appear that it would be soon. I realized I was frowning and forced my face to r
elax into a more pleasant expression.
“Come along, Ivan,” I said, opening one of the doors to wave him inside. “You’ll be fine here for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He was hesitant to go in the room at first, but once I walked in, he followed.
I had gained a second shadow.
“Good night,” I said and slipped out the door, closing it behind me.
CHAPTER THREE
“Shameful, an underwizard so lazy.”
The voice penetrated the fog of my sleep, and then I was falling. There was no time to even get my legs under me. I tumbled out of bed onto the cold ground, sprawled on my side. Early morning light brightened the room.
Mrs. Pitts glared down at me. “Master will not be happy about this, you sleeping the very day away.”
My shoulder-length hair, wet when I went to bed, was tied at the base of my neck most days, as was the standard for underwizards. Now its dried waves tumbled around my face as I rolled to my knees and blinked down at the wooden-planked floor. The fog in my head lifted as I rubbed my ear and listened to Mrs. Pitts’s footsteps and the whisk of curtains being pushed back.
I remembered soaking in the bath last night, my eyes and neck heavy. When my face dipped low enough to graze the water, I toweled off and dressed in sleeping clothes. Thank the heavens that included binding my chest, since I didn’t know who might wake me in the morning.
When I first became an apprentice, I went through dozens of spells to make myself appear more boyish. It took several voice-modulating spells before I found the one that would make my voice sound deep but not geriatric. Then there were spells to alter my appearance to make me taller, flat-chested, slimmer through the hips, broader of shoulders. I implemented them over the course of my first year as an apprentice so that Master Hapthwaite never noticed. I regretted every spell when I walked onto the testing dais for my first trial. Master wizards are, and always have been, tight-lipped about what goes on at the trials, so it wasn’t until I crossed the threshold of the dais and all my spells fell that I understood: Outside magic would not be allowed.
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