“So you didn’t just forget—” Harris began and then broke off. “What torture?”
“That’s right, torture. Even the Wizard’s Council has agreed Underwizard Mullins was in the right in his defense of the fool, who was being tormented perhaps to death by local boys. Are you prepared to disagree with that decision?”
“Well, torture’s a little strong...” Harris stuttered before trailing off.
“It’s accurate. Now, if you ever dare to threaten my underwizard or the fool—his name is Ivan—again, or to spell either of them, I will not hesitate to curse you in the manner you deserve. Now get out.”
The man’s face had gone pale, and he looked as astonished as I felt. I knew my master and I had been getting along better than we had in the past, but I never would have expected him to stand up so thoroughly in defense of me.
Behind me an audible intake of breath sounded, and a small voice asked, “Where is Mama?”
I would turn if I could, but as it was, I couldn’t even blink.
“There, see what you’ve done,” the master said, turning to look. “You’ve woken her, and just when she was sleeping so soundly. Well, didn’t you hear me? Leave. Now.”
After a brief pause, I heard the door click shut.
“I’m Marybeth,” a childish voice said from behind me. “Who’re you?”
Master Wendyn pointed a hand at me and muttered words, and just like that, the freezing spell ended. I sagged and then turned to find two brown eyes trained on me, inside the childish face of the girl I had been caring for nigh on to twelve hours now.
We. We had been caring for.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her, bending down to her level. “Does anything hurt? Are you unwell?”
“Where’s Mama?” she asked again.
The master’s hand fell on my shoulder, and I straightened. “You’ve heard the young lady, underwizard. She’d like her mother. While you’re fetching her, I suggest you call the carriage too. Our charge seems much better, and I’d like to get home and rest. I think I’ve overspent myself. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m afraid I’m going to faint.”
Master Wendyn toppled to the floor.
***
The carriage shimmied and swayed back and forth, throwing the master’s head against my shoulder. I opened my eyes, chagrined to find I had dozed off, even for a moment, and leaned his head back against the opposite side of the carriage. The conveyance was too small and the master too tall to lay him down lengthwise. Therefore I had to ride next to him to see he didn’t crumple to the floor.
I patted my cheeks and willed myself to stay awake. Just until we reached the hall so I could make sure the master arrived safely.
His hand rested against my leg. Looking at the long, limp fingers, I recalled his countless hours of spellcasting. I told him he needed to rest, but did he listen? No, he was so stubborn he kept at it until he had no strength left.
Nevertheless, I had to admit I was impressed with—and grateful for—his tenacity. Without it we might have lost the child.
Marybeth. After the master’s faint, I slid a pillow under his head and fetched the child’s mother. They brought food, and the little girl ate and ate and insisted on climbing out of bed to pat the sleeping “Mister Doctor” on the head. Then she ran to the window and twirled about the room.
She’d fallen into another exhausted slumber as I readied the master to leave, carrying him to the carriage with the help of a servant, since I didn’t have the strength to perform a lifting spell.
Together, the master and I had defeated the wasting sickness.
A yawn took hold of me. I stretched and sat back again, my eyes growing misty with sleep, at least until the master coughed. Then I caught myself and sat up, glancing at him. Was he awake?
His eyes were closed, but his mouth moved in the next moment.
“God’s ghost, but I’m tired,” he said without opening his eyes. “I apologize for fainting. I overdid it, I suppose.”
“But the child is well, or will be soon,” I said, and I couldn’t keep the relief and happiness out of my voice. “Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to both of us.” He opened his eyes and looked at me for the first time with his bloodshot eyes. A faint smile played about his mouth. “You did well, underwizard. I wasn’t certain we’d be successful, but I’m glad we were.”
“I was afraid it would be Gavin all over again.”
His eyes closed again.
“What did Harris mean about your agreement? Am I not welcome in Bramford?”
He sighed and opened his eyes. “The town council was in favor of keeping you and Ivan imprisoned for the period of a year. They wouldn’t let you come with me unless I promised neither of you would return for at least that long.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that. Odious town.”
He chuckled. “I imagine Ivan feels the same way.”
I pondered the information until Master Wendyn broke the quiet again.
“Days like today remind me why I became a master wizard. Sometimes I grow tired of it. The monotony, the bureaucratic nonsense, the limitations. Thank you for helping me remember.”
“I—you’re—you’re welcome. I suppose.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. You’re my master.”
“Most master wizards won’t refuse to heal someone when a life is in danger. Why is it that your brother wasn’t offered that service?”
I swallowed. It felt as though a rock had lodged in my throat. “With Papa’s love of whiskey, my fighting, and our thieving, the Mullins family didn’t have a great reputation in Waltney. I visited Master Norwood several times, but his housekeeper refused to admit me. I’d beaten her son a few times, you see. She relented when she heard how sick Gavin was and sent me a note to come speak to the master wizard. But I was busy tending to Gavin by then, and when I visited, Master Norwood had gone out of town.”
“But why do you blame your father? It sounds like it was that housekeeper’s fault, more than anyone else.”
“I never said I blame him.”
“Yes, you did. At the last trial.”
Oh. That was right. Forgiveness. We had talked about many embarrassing things there on the testing dais. I was mortified to think Master Wendyn had paid attention during any of that.
“It makes as much sense to blame your mother for your brother’s death,” he continued.
“Mama wasn’t alive when Gavin died.”
“That’s my point.”
I blinked and stared at him as memories came. The early days after Mama’s death, when I was angry and morose—angry with her for dying. “Perhaps I am too quick to blame. I used to despise my mother, you know. I felt like she sacrificed herself for my family, for Gavin and me and Papa, working herself to death when she didn’t have to. There were other ways we could have filled the kitchen larder, other ways to keep shoes on our feet. And Papa just let her. No, worse than that, he encouraged her.”
“Listen to yourself. Do you think that makes sense? Your mother was a grown woman. She made her own decisions.”
“You’re right. That’s what I realized after time had passed. Mama knew what she was doing. I understand the appeal of that now. I’d rather give up my life willingly for someone I care about than have it taken in a manner I have no say over.”
He nodded, his eyes closed. “I’m impressed, underwizard. That’s a deep idea. Deeper than I’m able to comprehend at the moment.” He exhaled again, deep. “Answer me this: since the man is your father, don’t you think that earns him a little respect, at least?”
“He’s had his bit of respect and used up the right to have any more.”
Master Wendyn ran a hand over his face. “Weren’t there any good times?”
Unwillingly, I remember the time before Mama got sick. Papa used to work hard then. We took outings to the lake. Papa played games with me and Gavin and talked about how we would go to school someday.
“I suppose so,” I admitted.
“Your father’s lost his family too, you know.”
“Why are you so determined to stick up for him?” I couldn’t hide the irritation in my voice. “Since when did you become Papa’s champion?”
“I don’t know. He looked so lonely and lost sitting on that stool in the tavern. The man is clearly lost.”
“If he’s lost his family, it’s his own fault. He quit working, stole every coin there was until we had nothing to eat, and ruined Mama and Gavin’s health.” Irritating conversation. “Anyway, you’re one to talk about forgiveness. What about your brother and Cailyn?”
He laid his head back against the carriage seat and frowned. “Why bring them up?”
His nosiness about Papa had made me bold—perhaps bolder than I should have been. “You realize it’s just your pride that was hurt by their marriage, right?”
Irritation quirked his brow. “You know nothing.”
“Feels like you giving me advice on my father, doesn’t it?”
He snorted. “Point taken.”
Silence stretched between us, and I could tell the master had drifted into his own thoughts. Melancholy played about his weary eyes and mouth, and his face settled into a vulnerable expression. Something like sympathy beat through my chest. “Do you—do you still love her?”
He sighed and dropped his arm over his face, leaned back against the carriage cushions as he was. “No. I suppose not. That died a long time ago.”
“So all that’s left is your pride. She didn’t want your heart, so you don’t want to see them happy together.”
“All right. You’re a little bit correct. But you don’t know everything about my past.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’d rather not. Sleep sounds too appealing at the moment.”
He lapsed into silence, and I thought he had fallen asleep—until he spoke again.
“That freezing spell is a problem. An amateur magician bested you. You must learn how to fight it.”
“But no one can overcome the freezing spell.”
“How do you know?”
“Master Hapthwaite told me.”
The master's eyes closed again, as though he can't find the strength to keep them open. “The laziness of the man. You can overcome almost any spell, given the right circumstances, although I doubt any book on magic will tell you so. I’m telling you this from my experience.” He laughed, the sound dry and scratchy. “God’s ghost, I shouldn’t tell you this.” He sat up straighter and rubbed at his eyes, looking at me again. “I used to know this boy who was fond of freezing spells. I experimented at ways to remove the spell once cast. After several failed attempts, I realized the best way is to distract whoever is casting the spell as they cast it.”
I frowned. “What good does that do?”
He rubbed at his eyes again. “Cast a freezing spell on me, and I’ll show you.”
I gave him one more skeptical look and then commenced in preparations for the spell, gathering the magic to me that I could find. Just as I uttered the words to the spell, he shocked me by reaching out and tickling me in the side.
Instinct made me slap his hand away, although it was pointless—the words to the spell were out, and he sat frozen in place, his eyes staring forward blearily with their abundance of red cobwebs crisscrossing them. For the space of three breaths he didn’t move an inch. But then, as I watched, his eyebrow twitched, and then his neck, until all at once he was free of the spell. He shrugged and held his hands out. “See? Simple.”
“What—how did you do that?” I asked with astonishment.
“Distraction,” he said with some satisfaction. “It creates weaknesses within the spell. Once the spell is cast, all you have to do is feel for the strands of magic that hold the spell together. A distracted spell will be full of holes, and you can find your way out of it.”
“You mean to say you tickled a bully so you could get out of his freezing spell?”
He snorted. “Of course not. There are endless ways to distract someone. Shouting, quick movements, even pretending to faint.” He yawned a giant yawn. “Yes, I’ll admit I wasn’t above—” yawn, “—trying that one a time or two.” He exhaled and sat back, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, underwizard, but could we cut this short? I’m afraid I—can’t keep—my eyes open.”
And he was asleep again.
I took a moment to look at him, really look at him, as I had never been able when he was awake. He was not a bad looking man. Rather handsome, with his dark hair and eyes and confident air.
My insides warmed at the thought of his staunch defense of me today. Was it possible we were at last achieving the closeness I saw between so many other masters and apprentices, the tight friendship that would last a lifetime? I thought I had that once, with Master Hapthwaite, but I was wrong about that. I yawned, leaned my head back, and took one last look at the master.
In sleep, worry and anger lines had faded from his face, leaving only a smooth and peaceful expression. He had never appeared more inviting. At another jolt from the carriage, he flopped against me, head on my shoulder once again.
Oh, what was the use. He was stable as he was, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I’d leave him where he was and close my eyes, just for a moment—
A lurch forward threw me awake, and I caught myself. We’d rumbled to a stop, and I rubbed my face. Where were we? I brushed the curtains aside to look out the window. Ryker Hall rose from the snowy fields, its white-capped shutters looking almost cheerful today. I turned to check on the master, and jumped when I realized he was watching me.
“Oh! You’re awake.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t mean to sleep. How do you feel?”
His mouth worked for a moment. His expression was not quite what it should be, and a ribbon of unease worked its way through me.
“Mullins,” he said at last, clearing his throat. “How long have you been a girl?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I slumped in my chair, hands covering my face. The sound of Master Wendyn’s pacing brought me no comfort. From one side of his study to the other, his boots tapped a furious rhythm across the floor. He muttered a spell.
The worst had happened. Why, oh why, had I fallen asleep?
“There.” Barely controlled fury filled the master’s voice. “I’ve finished with the privacy spell. Now—now you’re going to explain yourself.”
I rubbed at my eyes where exhaustion lingered and tried to dull my senses. Then, as I couldn’t seem to look him full in the face, I settled for staring at the ground while I tried to come up with a plan.
“Well?” he barked. “Speak. And please, just try lying. I’ve cast a deception defense spell, and you’ll be rather uncomfortable every time more false words come out of your mouth. I’m not a vindictive man on the whole, but I think I’d enjoy inflicting a little pain right now.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m—I’m a girl.” I had to push the words out. Admitting to three and a half years of subterfuge did not come easy. I couldn’t deny that a part of me was relieved. The truth was out. There would be no more lies of my making between us.
Except for the whole killing Oscar thing.
“Sit up and look at me when I’m talking to you.” His voice was harsher than I’d heard it—maybe ever.
I straightened and raised my eyes to meet his. The anger there made me quake, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.
His jaw ticked. “Let loose your hair.”
“What?”
“Your hair, underwi—girl. Loose it.”
With fingers that fumbled, I unwound the tie that held my hair back. Brown waves tumbled around my face.
He peered at me, scrutinizing me in a way that caused me to blush. After several seconds he backed away, fingers shoved into his hair. “God’s ghost. You must be mad to think you can get away with this. You look like a girl.”
“It’s only because of
my hair. Even boys look feminine with long hair.”
He snorted. “No boys look like that with their hair down. Perhaps it escaped my notice for a time, but that was before the—before the carriage.” His expression turned uncomfortable. Was he blushing?
“The carriage?” What had happened while I was asleep? And did I even want to know? Judging by the odd expression he had taken on, maybe not.
He saw something of what I was thinking. “Nothing inappropriate took place.” His voice was sharp as tacks. “At least, it wouldn’t have been inappropriate if you were a boy. You were supposed to be a boy.”
This was maddening. “Tell me what happened.”
He ran a hand over his eyes. “You leaned into me. Or maybe I leaned into you. Or both of us together. I just wanted to push you against the other side of the carriage. But I noticed when I took hold of you that—your form is more feminine than it ought to be.”
“Feminine?” I would just die of embarrassment. No need to imagine where he grabbed me.
I wanted to rail against him, but I didn’t have any legs to stand on in this argument. I didn’t know where to look. My face flamed with fire. I became very absorbed in tying my hair back once again.
After another moment of awkward silence, he pivoted and walked to his desk, whisking an item into his hands. He seated himself in his high-backed chair, turning the thing over and over. Light caught and gleamed along the sleek rounded metal: a trammel.
“And your voice?” He tilted an eyebrow at me. “You must be doing something to make yourself sound so male. Is it a spell, or have you always spoken at such a low pitch?”
Would he make me reveal all my secrets? Would I have to tell him about the soiling spell for the monthly bleeding and the binding that made my bosom lie flat? I cleared my throat. “It’s just a little magic.”
“End it.”
I regarded him uneasily. “Are you gathering evidence to report to the Council?”
“Perhaps. I don’t see where you have room to object.” The trammel clicked open in his hands and then closed again.
He was right, and what was more, I knew a threat when I saw it. “Very well.” I muttered the words to cease the voice-modulating spell. The thick, deep feeling in my throat lightened.
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