by Deva Fagan
“That’s better,” said Betrys, returning to her desk.
“Is it enchanted?” I asked. My mind was already spinning, imagining the complexity of the spell required to create such a creature.
“Perhaps. There are many such beings in the world, creatures that were once animal—or even human—who fell prey to a malicious or foolish wizard and ended up permanently altered. Flying horses, poet-hogs, mermaids, and the like. Once such creatures breed, it becomes nearly impossible to reverse the original enchantment. I’ve freed this one from his master’s compulsion spell, but he could still cause considerable havoc, given his… gifts.”
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s a good reminder that magic can have unforeseen consequences. But I hardly need lecture you on that count. Your rigor and attention to detail have always been admirable.”
My cheeks warmed. I treasured Master Betrys’s compliments. They were rare, but true. Like a handful of perfectly cut sapphires to tuck into the rattling treasure box of my heart. Which was why it was so important that she understand what magic meant to me. That it wasn’t simply something I was studying. It was in my soul, just like it was in hers.
“It’s not just rigor,” I said. “I love magic. More than anything.”
“Yes,” said Master Betrys, with a wry quirk of her lips. “I had gotten that impression, given you’ve already read every single volume of Pendyce’s History of Magic. Even the deadly dull one that’s all plumbing charms.”
“None of it is dull to me,” I said. “There’s that zing that snaps through you when you say the last word in a spell and it lifts up all crackling and ready. It makes me feel like—”
I caught myself. I’d already said too much. Master Betrys probably thought I was a loon. Heat flushed my cheeks, and I stared at the tips of my shoes, pressing into the soft pile of the carpet.
“Like you’re part of something greater?” She spoke softly. “Yes. I understand.”
I jerked my chin up, meeting her gaze. There was no judgment, no scorn. My breath whooshed out, a gust of relief tinged with bittersweet yearning. No one had looked at me like that in years. Not since my brother, Florian, died.
Mother had certainly never understood. To her, everything was a row of numbers in one of her ledger books. Magic was only of value if it could add to the final tally.
Her warning echoed in my ears. Six months, Antonia. I only had two weeks left. I needed some sort of proof that I was making progress. Something that would impress even Mother.
Something like a letter of recommendation to the Schola Magica, back on the mainland of Regia Terra. At the Schola there were entire libraries of books about magic. Enormous codices full of words in the language of the ancients, the tongue said to have been used by the gods themselves to shape our world. There was so much I could learn! Sometimes the fierce need of it would twist me awake in the middle of the night, pinning me with hope and longing.
I’d been too scared to ask Master Betrys about it before now. Afraid she would say no. But there was no more time. I had to try. Before the newest apprentice made her rethink my position here. “Master Betrys, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. I was hoping you might consider—”
A rap sounded at the door.
“Hold that thought,” Betrys said, gesturing to the door. It swung open to admit Dorta. The maid took a tentative step into the room, bobbing a brisk curtsy. “If you please, Master Betrys, there’s a visitor come to see Miss Antonia.”
An icy knife of foreboding sliced up my spine. “Wh-who is it?”
“It’s Councillor Durant, miss,” said Dorta. “She’s waiting for you in the parlor.”
All my rising hopes began to plummet like wingless birds. I didn’t have two weeks. I didn’t even have two hours!
Mother was here right now.
* * *
I hesitated outside the door to the parlor, steeling my nerves. Maybe this was merely a social visit. Perhaps Mother was just passing through the neighborhood and decided to stop to say hello to her only daughter. There wasn’t anything strange about that.
Except that Mother hadn’t come to visit me one single time in the past five and a half months. If she wanted to see me—which wasn’t often—she summoned me home. She must be here about my apprenticeship. I pushed the door open, then marched in to face my doom.
And a beautiful doom she was, as tall and glossy as one of the festival mares parading through the streets at the first landing celebration. Her dark hair hung in braided loops, caught up by a circlet of gold wrought in a pattern of roses and thorns. An unsubtle reference to the imperial flag of Regia Terra.
She sat in one of the plush armchairs, holding a cup of tea. As I curtsied, her green eyes narrowed, ready to catch the smallest stumble.
“Mother,” I said, my voice a tight croak. “How lovely to see you.”
She gestured to the hard-backed chair beside her, even though the room was furnished with several other armchairs. “Sit.”
I perched on the edge of the wooden chair. Now that I was closer, I caught a faint whiff of roses. Anyone else would think it was her perfume, but I recognized the scent of her favorite pressed powder, the one she only used when she hadn’t been sleeping and needed to cover the dark smudges under her eyes. For a brief moment a memory caught me. It must have been years ago. Mother was laughing, dabbing my nose with a sweet-smelling powder puff, telling me how not all armor was made of steel.
“Are you feeling well, Mother?” I began tentatively.
There was only the briefest of hesitations before she lifted her chin. “Of course, darling. But I’m not here to talk about myself. I’m here to discuss you.”
She set her teacup on the table between us, beside a towering tray of cakes. She hadn’t touched them. And with her watching, I didn’t dare take one for myself. Not even the round of golden pastry oozing my favorite almond cream.
“You recall what I told you, Antonia, when you embarked upon this venture,” she said, pouring a second cup of tea. She doled out a tiny glug of cream, then handed it to me. “I believe I made my expectations quite clear.”
“Yes, Mother.” I took the cup, forced to accept her words along with the tea.
“It’s been six months.”
An ember of rebellion flared. “Five and a half months.”
Mother arched a perfect brow. “And what have you learned in five and a half months that’s of use to the Durant family?”
If only I’d had time to prepare for this interview! Surely one of the spells I’d learned would impress even Mother. But giving her enchanted hiccups would probably just annoy her. And I doubted she’d follow me to the bathroom for a demonstration of plumbing charms. First Word preserve me, every single useful thought seemed to have dribbled out of my ears.
“I—I worked out a new variation of the Pinthou Principle to generate movement in vapor.” It had been my proudest moment in recent memory. Master Betrys even said she might include it in the treatise she was working on, with credit. My own name, in the Schola journal!
Mother tilted her head. “And what exactly does that mean?”
I coughed. “Er. It means I can make shapes in smoke and steam.”
She did not look remotely impressed. If I didn’t change her mind, right now, my magical education was over.
“Wait,” I said, “I’ll show you!” I sputtered out the spell.
The steam rising from our cups began to writhe and twist, spinning up into the shape of a fluttering butterfly. This was the sort of spell I was best at. Fiddly and technical and not particularly powerful. I watched Mother, hoping she noticed how I’d even managed to get the patterns on the wings.
For a moment, I thought I had reached her. Something went soft around her eyes. My brother, Florian, had loved butterflies. One year he even filled a glass jar with buckthorn and raised a small brown caterpillar, waiting and watching as it spun itself a cocoon. He woke us early one morning, to see it emerge with g
limmering green wings and fly away free into the dawn. Mother had laughed and kissed him on the forehead, and called him her butterfly boy even though he was a young man of fifteen. It suited him. He was always moving, always fluttering from person to person, vivid as a scrap of daydream, sipping any sweetness life could offer.
I was no butterfly. I could never replace him. I just wanted to make Mother smile again, the way he had. To show her how beautiful magic could be.
But as she watched my steam-spun creation, Mother looked more sad than happy. She swallowed sharply. “It’s lovely, darling,” she said. “But lovely isn’t the same as useful.” She slashed one hand through the steam, tearing the ghostly wings to tatters. “Enough foolishness.”
If only I knew the spell to make myself into the daughter she wanted me to be. But the one spell that could really make Mother happy was the one that was impossible. There was no magic that could change the past, or restore the dead to life.
I fought to regain control of my spinning thoughts. If Mother had already decided to end my magical education, she wouldn’t have bothered to come here. Between her work on the council and running the Durant Trading Company, she didn’t have time to waste on failure. She’d have simply summoned me home.
Which meant there was still a chance she’d allow me to stay. But she wanted something in return. And I was tired of playing games. “If you think magic is foolishness, why did you send me here? You never do anything without good reason. Just tell me what you want, Mother. Please.”
She regarded me over the brim of her teacup. “Tell me about Master Betrys. What do you think of her?”
It wasn’t the response I was expecting. Nevertheless, I answered truthfully.
“She’s brilliant. Her work on enchantments is revolutionary. She’s the first person to propose a reasonable alternate to the Quelch Principle. And she’s an amazing teacher.”
“Gracious,” said Mother. “It sounds as if she means a great deal to you.”
For one brief moment, a traitorous thought flitted through my mind. How different my life would be if Master Betrys were my mother. I could fling myself into my studies without shame, without feeling like I was a negative number on the balance sheet, in desperate need of correction. I could talk about the things I loved without boring her. I would never have to parse her smiles to calculate how much of them was real.
Mother must have noticed my hesitation. A faint frown wrinkled her brow. A stab of guilt pierced me.
“I’m just grateful to be studying with her. She’s the best wizard on the entire island of Medasia.”
“Indeed.” Mother’s eyes glinted as if she’d just found a loophole in a trade treaty. “I understand that she is a direct descendent of Lyrica Drakesbane herself. A potent magical lineage.”
That was strange. Mother usually didn’t pay much attention to magical history. Then again, Lyrica Drakesbane had been more than just a brilliant wizard. She’d been the closest friend and confidant of Queen Meda, founder of the island province we called home.
“It places your Master Betrys in a pivotal position,” she continued. “Especially given the current political situation. Tell me, Antonia, do you think that Master Betrys favors the Liberation movement?”
“Master Betrys is no rebel!” It was a ridiculous notion. Everyone knew the Liberationists were vile criminals. Heartless and cruel.
Mother gave an impatient twitch of her fingers. “I didn’t say that. I asked if she favored the declaration of a free Medasian state. She must have some opinion on the matter.”
“Master Betrys hates politics. She says it’s a messy, inconvenient, dangerous distraction.”
Mother’s brows arched. “Does she?”
My stomach twisted. I should have kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to get Master Betrys in trouble.
“I believe she will soon find it impossible to remain neutral,” my mother said. “A most distressing rumor has come to the attention of the council. It seems the rebels are seeking to reclaim the lost Medasian crown. The one that grants its bearer control of the Black Drake.”
I thought of the painting that hung in Master Betrys’s library, showing Queen Meda taming the giant sea serpent. His glossy ebon coils churning the sea to pale froth. A massive head, rippling with a mane of sharp spines, split to show a snarling maw of jagged teeth. All that power had once belonged to Meda and her heirs.
“But the crown was destroyed,” I protested.
It had happened a hundred years ago, after the death of King Goros, the last of the Medasian bloodline. When Goros died, the Black Drake had gone wild, ravaging the coast, destroying everything in its path. All Medasia might have fallen to ruin had it not been for Terwyn Drakesbane—Master Betrys’s great-grandfather—who managed to use the crown long enough to banish the Black Drake to the bottom of the sea, then destroyed the artifact so no one else could ever wield it. After that, Medasia had become a province of the empire, and all had been peaceful. Until now. Until the so-called Liberation began calling for rebellion and the restoration of an independent Medasia, free from imperial control.
“Perhaps not,” said Mother. “We have reason to believe that Terwyn Drakesbane only claimed to have destroyed the crown. That in truth, he kept it. Hid it. And passed the secret on to his own heirs.”
My lips parted, but it took me a moment to find the words. “Master Betrys? You think Master Betrys has the crown? That she’s going to give it to the Liberation?”
“Not necessarily,” said Mother. “But they may seek to take it from her.”
The cool blue gaze of the Furtive stared back at me from my memory. It had been sent to find one of Master Betrys’s secrets. Was that secret the location of the crown?
“It would be a powerful tool,” continued Mother. “With the crown, the rebels could summon the Black Drake. Could send it against the Imperial Navy. We must all do everything in our power to stop that. You understand that, don’t you? You’ve seen what the rebels are capable of.”
My throat squeezed tight. I blinked hard, knowing how Mother hated tears. I had never seen her weep, ever. Not even when the soldiers came to tell us that my brother was dead, killed by Liberationists who had attacked his ship and claimed it for their rebellion.
It was all so senseless. Life on the island of Medasia was pleasant, comfortable, and secure. As a province of Regia Terra, we had the protection of the Imperial Navy, and a market for our fish and oil and our famous Medasian purple dye. What would independence gain us? And was it really worth killing my brother and those other sailors?
“So why don’t you just ask Master Betrys about it?” I asked.
“I have. She denies all knowledge of the crown’s location. Thus I am forced to consider alternate means of gathering information.”
“What do you—oh.” The truth hit me hard as a cannon, stealing my breath for a long moment. “You want me to spy on her.”
I felt cold, as if someone had suddenly shoved me out into a frigid winter night. Of course.
“I want you to be a loyal subject of the emperor. And a dutiful daughter, who understands that everything comes with a price. Including your position here as an apprentice.”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said dully. “That’s why you agreed to let me apprentice with Master Betrys. You don’t care about me becoming a wizard.”
I’d actually let myself believe she—not cared, not anything that soft and sentimental—but at least respected my dreams. That she was giving me a chance to prove myself.
But the truth was, I was just another playing piece in her games. I gulped down the tightness in my throat. “I’m not spying on Master Betrys. I won’t betray her like that.”
For a brief moment, I almost thought Mother looked… hurt. Then her gaze narrowed. “This is the way of the world, Antonia. Everything has a price. If you want to continue your magical studies, you know what you have to do.”
“So that’s it? If I don’t find the crown, I can’t study mag
ic?”
“There are greater things at stake than your studies, Antonia.” She set her empty cup down with a decisive clink. “You might also consider that if the crown isn’t recovered soon—or worse, falls into the wrong hands—your dear Master Betrys might find herself accused of treason. Surely you want to protect her from such a fate.”
A cold fist gripped my insides. “Please, Mother, I’m begging you—”
“Don’t beg, darling. Focus on the task at hand. Find me the location of the crown. I’ll expect a report on your progress next week, at Lord Buccanyl’s gala.”
She stood then and made for the door. At the threshold she paused to glance back. “Don’t disappoint me.”
3
I PEERED FROM THE WINDOW of Master Betrys’s carriage as we rattled along the highway north of Port Meda. The scrubby cliff tops were bare, save for a few stunted salt pines, their dark branches twisted like old men hunching down against the wind, and a few tumbled stone foundations. A tiny hamlet had once stood here, but the spotted fever had wiped it out two centuries ago. There were no houses now, no people. Only a few wild goats who watched our carriage pass with slitted gold eyes.
We’d already been driving for an hour, and Master Betrys still hadn’t revealed the purpose of our journey. On the seat across from me, Moppe fidgeted, staring out her own window, the basic grimoire Master Betrys had given her to review lying limp in her lap. She’d barely made it through the first chapter.
I watched her covertly for a few moments, until she caught me staring and snatched up the book again. I had a brief glimpse of her cheeks flushing crimson before she hid her face behind the covers.
I should have been reviewing my own grimoire—a fascinating treatise on culinary spells—but all I could think of was Mother’s ultimatum. I had no doubt she would whisk me away from my apprenticeship and refuse to let me study magic ever again. But would she really go so far as to have Master Betrys arrested?
I had to find another solution. A way to answer Mother’s demand without betraying my teacher or getting her thrown into prison. I cleared my throat, scooting sideways, so I was directly across from Betrys. She glanced up from her own magical notations. “Yes? Do you have a question, Antonia?”
