Tales of the Nameless World
(Schooled in Magic Novellas)
Volume II
Christopher G. Nuttall
http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall
https://mewe.com/page/5cd32005dc9f631c9973f058
Cover by Brad Fraunfelter
www.BFillustration.com
All Comments and Reviews Welcome!

Contents
Contents
A Note on Prior Publication
Foreword, by Christine Amsden
Introduction
Lady Barb’s Tale
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

A Note on Prior Publication

The Cunning Man’s Tale, first published in Fantastic Schools Volume 3, 2021

Frieda’s Tale, first published in Fantastic Schools Hols, 2022

The Muckraker’s Tale, first published in Fantastic Schools, Volume 6, 2022

Foreword, by Christine Amsden

When Lida Quillen of Twilight Times Books approached me in 2013 to ask if I’d like to edit a new fantasy novel, I had no idea that it would only be the beginning of a wild ride. With twenty-seven main novels, not to mention spin-off novels, a spin-off trilogy, and myriad novellas, the Schooled in Magic universe has kept me busy – and riveted! 

In my own life, and in my own writing, I proudly consider myself to be a character girl … that is to say, I prize compelling characters at the heart of a narrative above just about everything else. Of course in reality, you can’t entirely separate a character from their world or their plot, at least, not in a well-written story, but character is the lens through which we understand those worlds and those plots. What is a world, after all, if not the combined wants, needs, and perspectives of countless individuals? It’s less interesting that a river runs through a city than that the people of the city are therefore traders and fisherfolk. If climate conditions are favourable, and a country is rich, how do they parcel out that wealth? If conditions are hostile and people are barely getting by, then who lives and who dies? 

Power can be a deadly game. And it’s not just life or death that’s at stake. 

In addition to being a character girl, I’m also a fan of portal fantasy going way back to my childhood when I read The Chronicles of Narnia until some of the covers fell off. My favourites included the first book, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, because that’s where we get to know the land of Narnia, but my absolute favourite was book five, A Horse and His Boy, which tells a story outside the perspective of the main characters or, indeed, anyone who had ever heard of Earth. The first book invited me in, but that later book gave me a chance to really look around and see things no one from our world would ever have noticed. 

That’s what I love about these sorts of spin-off tales. 

Emily is fantastic, of course. What drew me to her in particular wasn’t that she was some Everyman character, because she’s not. Before going to the Nameless World, she was bullied by peers and subjected to emotional abuse by her mother and creepy stepfather. This makes her a compelling choice for a character who steps into a Medieval world and begins spreading technological advances for several reasons: First, as a bookish loner, she’d read a lot more than the typical teenage girl; not every teenager would even know that the printing press would create a revolution. Second, she has a particular distaste for bullies that becomes a catalyst allowing her to become more self-assured in defence of others. And finally, she has an underlying vulnerability, a lack of self-confidence, that keeps her an underdog, in some ways, even as she gains more and more power. 

Emily proves that power isn’t a one-dimensional force. In the early books in particular, her perception of vulnerability shaped the reality of how powerful she was. Later on, she was just beginning to overcome that vulnerability when she lost her magic, forcing her to reckon with powerlessness – both real and perceived – once again.

I explored the concept of powerlessness in a series of books I wrote, beginning with Cassie Scot: ParaNormal Detective, in which the main character is a modern member of a magical family who has no magic of her own. Quite unlike Emily, she was born to power, she was born with an expectation of power, so she felt cheated not to have it. Yet she did have the protection (however unwanted at times) of a powerful family – at least until she lost that protection in book two. Wealth, knowledge, intelligence, family position, and even self-confidence can play a role in how much power a person has, even when faced with being the only person in a magical world with no magic. 

I also wrote spin-offs. There’s just no other way to colour in all the details of a world. Your main character will never know everything.

Here, in Tales of the Nameless World II, we get the chance to see the Nameless World through the perspectives of five different characters, each of whom sees the world in vastly different ways, each of whom has a tremendously different expectation of power. There’s Cat, born with the assurance of his place in the world, a boyfriend to Emily until she loses her magic and he can’t handle that fact. He’ll never see the world in the same way she does, and he can take us into dark corners where she wouldn’t dare venture. Lady Barb, likewise, is born with self-assurance, the most promising student at Whitehall in her day. Through her youthful arrogance, she’s able to show us Void in a way Emily couldn’t or wouldn’t until it was almost too late. Frieda, by sharp contrast, is born into desperate poverty. Like Emily, she suffers abuse, but unlike Emily, she gets the chance to go back home and face those abusers. Jane, who founds a school newspaper at Whitehall, isn’t the most magically powerful of the bunch, but she shows us how one woman’s drive, coupled with opportunity – specifically the printing press – can reshape the world.

I have a favourite, though. I’m allowed; these aren’t children. Or at least, not my children. 

Adam has no magic at all. Now, where did I hear that idea before? :) 

Of course The Cunning Man (Adam), takes the concept of a magicless character in a different direction than I chose. When I wrote Cassie, I intentionally wanted to tell a story of self-acceptance as much as or more than one of overcoming. This is because the concept in that story was inspired by my own struggle with disability, and I’ve come to believe over the years that overcoming starts with radical acceptance. As the Serenity Prayer goes, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” 

Adam has a lot of courage.  

And in his case, perhaps, he has the wisdom not to accept other people’s notions of what can and cannot be changed. I absolutely love that idea.

Despite the title, The Cunning Man, it could never have been pure cunning that allowed Adam to win out. Before Emily came to the Nameless World, before she turned the place upside down, before she introduced innovations that kicked up a storm, and especially, before she opened a university, Adam would never have gotten anywhere with his magical studies. In a way, he’s proof of concept for Emily. She knew, from desperate personal experience, that people can’t succeed with the deck stacked so badly against them. That’s why she created an institution to help others help themselves. Even so, it wasn’t easy for Adam, but it was possible, with that essential ingredient of cunning. 

I also loved The Cunning Man trilogy, so especially if you like his story in here, check that out. 

And indeed, I hope you enjoy all these stories of characters with different expectations of and outlooks on power. 

Sincerely,

Christine Amsden
Author and Freelance Editor
www.christineamsden.com

Introduction

Writing this introduction poses an interesting challenge. What can I say that I did not already say when I wrote the introduction to the first volume, nearly a year ago? What new stuff can I offer my readers, at least when it comes to introducing them to these works?

Let me think about it…

<Pause>

I want to talk to you about [some MLM scheme I dare not mention by name] …

<Pause>

Wait! Where are you going? Come back!

All right, I’ll be serious now. Really.

The volume in front of you, in eBook or paper format, is the second collection of stories set within the universe of Schooled In Magic, stories that do not feature Emily to any great extent (if at all, although she is often mentioned) and concentrate instead on side characters, often filling in the blanks about what they were doing outside Emily’s awareness, adding pieces of backstory, or sometimes even introducing new characters to the readers before Emily meets them herself.

For me, this served three purposes. First, I could outline bits of the story and add details to the universe that Emily had no reason to know. Second, I could explore storylines that Emily would not, if indeed she had any interest in doing so. And third, my novellas would serve as one of the main attractions for the Fantastic Schools anthologies, collections of magic school stories written by a combination of established authors and newcomers. I have received a great deal of help over the years, as I built my career, and I believe it is important to give back to the community by assisting writers to make a name for themselves, particularly in this day and age when it is much harder to get any sort of traction at all. 

The indie writer community – and indeed every writer – is not well served by providing perverse incentives, encouraging writers to behave badly on the grounds they will never be noticed if they don’t. Those of us who have the writing bug can find it very frustrating when our works are not noticed, when we are not even given feedback that boils down to “what were you thinking when you wrote this piece of crap?” Tactics such as paying for publishing and reviews, bombarding established writers and agents with manuscripts, taking up an entire panel at the convention talking about yourself (et cetera, et cetera) inevitably backfire, leaving the poor writer in a worse state than before. There is an entire industry of grifters to make money off desperate writers, and the blunt truth is that industry only makes money for the grifters.

As a general rule, money should flow down to the writer. There are some exceptions, such as indie writers purchasing covers and editing for themselves, but you would be wise to assume that anyone who contacts you and offers a publishing deal, for a very low payment, is running a con. The odds are very good that you will get no traction at all, that you will get nothing apart from more demands for money and legal issues that could tie up your books for years to come.

I will say more about the Fantastic Schools anthologies later. Suffice it to say that three of the novellas here were first published in the anthologies, while two more were written specifically for this volume and are currently exclusive.

This collection does not just allow me to present five novellas to readers, but also to say a little about each successive story. The novellas each have a short introduction, placing them within the greater universe, and an afterword in which I expound upon my thinking as I plotted them and how they influence greater events that might impact upon Emily and the overall storyline. One novella served as a basis for a full trilogy; two of the others, if readers demand, may be turned into full novels, perhaps even trilogies of their own. And they are, to a certain degree, stand-alone. If you are new to this universe, and I should note that the very first novel is available in Kindle Unlimited, you should be able to read them with the minimal context provided by the forwards.

I hope you enjoy reading these stories. If you do, please leave a rating and a review. It is a great deal harder, as I said above, to get any traction these days, and reviews are about the only way to get any significant promotion and/or attract new readers.

Thank you for your time.

Christopher G Nuttall
Edinburgh, 2024

Lady Barb’s Tale
When Emily was kidnapped into the nameless world by Shadye, a powerful necromancer who intended to sacrifice her, she was rescued by Void, an enigmatic and extremely powerful sorcerer with an agenda of his own. After explaining what happened, and revealing that she was trapped in a world of magic with magic of her own, Void sent her to Whitehall and worked hard to create the impression that Emily was his illegitimate biological daughter. Emily repaid Void by accepting him as a father figure of sorts, believing that he would always have her best interests at heart.

This did not work out as well as she might have hoped, for various reasons. The perception that she was Void’s daughter made many people wary of her, not least Lady Barb, a combat sorceress who had been hired to protect Princess Alassa and feared that Emily might be as great a threat to the Princess and her father as the treacherous nobles who launched a coup and came very close to total victory. It was not until afterwards, when Lady Barb realised that Emily had no intention of harming her friend, that she admitted to Emily that she had had a very bad experience with Void, after he had given her an apprenticeship, and cautioned Emily, without going into details, that her father figure might have an agenda of his own. Emily did not take it as seriously as she should have done, because Lady Barb refused to tell her just what had happened to terminate her apprenticeship.

This is why.

Chronologically speaking, this story takes place roughly fifteen years prior to Schooled In Magic.

Prologue

It is not easy for me to recount the events of twenty years past, even when it’s important that you – that everyone – should beware of one idealistic man with enough power to make his dreams a reality and an unwillingness to hesitate, any longer, now the time has come for him to reshape the world. There is no oath binding me, no curse freezing my hands or tongue; nothing, but my own unwillingness to discuss my own past, and admit to my flaws and how near they came to getting me killed. I played with fire, and I wound up getting burnt.

There is little in my early life you don’t already know. My father was a remittance man, an aristocratic sorcerer who had been granted lands and an income, as long as he didn’t return to his family mansion. It is hard for me to imagine any reason why he might have been sent into de facto exile, nothing to explain a mystery that occasionally bothered me. He was no rake, no traitor, no coward who had disgraced the family name. He refused to speak of it, and told me that I was not to discuss it with my paternal relatives. I honoured his wish until his dying day. The relatives I spoke to, afterwards, were as much in the dark as I.

My mother, by contrast, was a Diddakoi Traveller, a young woman whose entire life was spent on the road. She was what we call a hedge witch, although the Diddakoi themselves do not use that term, and very much a wild spirit. Precisely how she met and tumbled my father was something else I was never told, nor too was I told why she chose to take the risk of pregnancy out of wedlock. The Diddakoi women had far more freedom than most, but there were and remain limits. If my mother hadn’t been such an accomplished witch, they might have kicked her out of the community. I wondered, later in life, if they’d threatened her to ensure she sent me to my father. As far as I know, they had no real relationship after the single tryst.

I spent my early years with the Diddakoi, then with my father; my mother came in and out of my life, always telling me she loved me and yet, for reasons she was unwilling to explain, refusing to take me back on the road for more than a month or two every year. My father was a little surprised, I think, to discover that he had a daughter, but he coped admirably. He taught me the basics of rational high magic, even as my mother opened my eyes to the wonders and shadows lurking in the natural world. I was as well prepared as anyone ever was when I came into my power.

In hindsight, it’s clear that I was a headstrong young girl. There was little that scared me, in those days, and I roamed the world freely. My father’s name and power gave me a little protection; my mother’s influence, I believed, shielded me from the strange things lurking in the corner of our eyes. I played with my friends, youngsters from my father’s estate, and rode our horses over hills and dales, my hair blowing back in the wind. My first year of magic was no different, even though my parents were clearly unsure if I should study with a wise woman or go to school. They eventually compromised and let me do both. It was the making of me.

I took Whitehall by storm. They said I was one of the most promising students to pass through the doors, my name whispered as a worthy successor to a hundred other students who had gone on to accomplish great things. My father had taught me well, and I soon rocketed ahead of my peers in terms of raw magical ability. Is it any surprise I grew conceited, as well as reckless? I had a high opinion of myself, to my eternal shame, because I was a very good student. I had no trouble with my exams, or securing a place in fifth year, or even warding off my father’s family when they tried to lay claim to me. The scholarship was enough to live on, after his death, and I was sure a brilliant apprenticeship awaited me.

I couldn’t say just when I first heard the name Void. It was a whisper, a rumour everyone knew was rooted in solid truth. The most powerful magician of the age, some said: the greatest hero of our world. There was little hard data, nothing to suggest his true name or his origins; his family, unlike mine, seemed reluctant to reach out and draw him into their orbit. It didn’t bother me as much as it should have done, perhaps. My father’s family and my mother’s clan had both been reluctant to acknowledge me, at least until I proved my power. It never occurred to me to wonder if Void’s lack of a family was a warning sign, or if it should worry me. There were few willing to talk about him, certainly not to a young student … no matter how promising she looked to be. It only whetted my appetite. If half the stories were true, an apprenticeship with him would be the key to true greatness.

I wrote to him.

It was a gamble, but there was no real risk. The worst he could do, according to tradition, was turn me down. He might be rude, if he felt I’d overstepped, but he wouldn’t hurt me. The greatest sorcerers are constantly bombarded with requests for apprenticeships, from far more prospective students than they could ever accept, and in that I was sure he was no different. Even if I had been worried, I wouldn’t have hesitated to send the letter. The prize was worth any amount of risk.

It was not until I completed my final exams that he wrote back, offering to test me. I accepted at once, without hesitation. In hindsight, that was merely the first mistake I made in those strange and terrible days. But I was ambitious, and driven, and determined, and I would have crawled over broken glass for the opportunity to study under him. 

And so that was how I found myself in the Great Hall, two weeks after the exams, waiting.

Chapter One

“You would have been wiser to ask for advice,” the Grandmaster said, coolly. “The staff would have provided advice, if you asked.”

I forced myself to stay calm. Grandmaster Hasdrubal was powerful, powerful and restrained. I had never heard him raise his voice, even when lecturing students on the dangers of magical horseplay or expelling a particularly foolish student for meddling with forbidden magics. He was very much the kind of person I wanted to be, a respected magician whose views were always heeded, a worthy culmination to a career of demonstrating my magical brilliance to all and sundry. And yet, I didn’t understand why he’d gone into teaching in the first place, explaining basic magics to inexperienced students when he could have been taking a string of apprentices who would spread his fame far and wide. It was a puzzle, and one I resented being unable to understand.

We stood together in the Great Hall, every second feeling like an hour as we waited for him to arrive. The Grandmaster had said little, when I’d revealed that I had written directly to Void, but I had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t too pleased. My advisor had told me that I should have checked with the staff, so they could make the first approach, but I wanted – I needed – to demonstrate the sort of initiative that would make me look like a good candidate for an apprenticeship, rather than let them take the lead. Besides, I knew from my father that academic staff were often unaware of the real world, and their attempts to help their students often counterproductive. The rules for schooling and apprenticeships were different, and woe betide the student who forgot it. Or who paid the price for their advisor’s failings.

I clasped my hands behind my back, trying to project an image of calm. I knew I made a striking figure, with long, blonde hair falling down my back and a sharp, almost patrician face, but he was unlikely to be impressed by anything other than my magic. I’d spent hours trying to decide what I should wear, asking myself if it would be presumptuous to wear apprentice robes or if doing so would show I was confident I would be accepted, before settling on a simple tunic that marked me as a graduated magician, although not one who had been through an apprenticeship. Yet. My friends had teased me, wondering who I was setting my cap at, but I hadn’t told them. I’d explored my sexuality, like just about every other student, yet this was different. I was going to be an apprentice, and then a great magician.

“If you feel yourself in trouble, or you need advice, you may contact me at any moment,” the Grandmaster said. His sightless eyes, covered with a simple cloth, turned to look at me. I had the feeling he could see in some way, although I had no idea how well. Whatever had happened to take his sight couldn’t be a simple blinding hex, or it would have been removed and the damage healed a long time ago. “I will be here.”

I felt a hot flash of irritation. I was twenty-one years old and a graduated magician, an adult in both the magical and mundane worlds. I was no longer the foolish child who could be excused for her mistakes, or the teenager who would be permitted a certain degree of wild behaviour; I was an adult in every sense of the word, and I no longer needed to listen to someone – anyone – else. Even if my parents had survived, their power over me would have been very limited. And I had made it clear to my father’s family that they were not to consider me one of them, certainly not a young girl who could be married off to a stranger if the family demanded it. They shouldn’t have kicked out my father if they hadn’t wanted to be rid of him, and his bloodline, for the rest of time.

The doors opened suddenly, smoothly. I felt a perverse flash of disappointment that Void hadn’t crashed his way into the Great Hall, like so many other magicians who wanted to make a strong first impression, but it was a good sign. Void didn’t feel the need to showcase his power, certainly not when there were only two witnesses. I straightened up instinctively, as if I were back in Martial Magic, and tried not to stare too openly as Void walked into the chamber. His power was tightly restrained, a coiling snake of raw magic that could lash out at any moment, and do so with staggering force. He wasn’t masking at all … no, he was. It wasn’t so much that he was hiding his power as he was making a subtle statement without making it obvious. 

“Void,” the Grandmaster said. His voice was stiff, but I detected undertones I couldn’t understand. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Void said.

I found myself staring, and nearly dropped my eyes before catching myself. Void was a walking mass of contradictions: his face young and strong, yet topped with grey hair that spilled down to his shoulders; his outfit sorcerer’s black, cut to show off his muscles while ensuring he could move freely; a single golden medallion hanging around his neck, a protective charm that lacked any real power of its own. His eyes looked back at me, seeming to bore deep into my very soul. I couldn’t help thinking he had very old eyes. 

And he was carrying a sword. I felt a tingle of contempt. Few magicians carried swords, even combat sorcerers. It was a sign of weak magic, or a lack of faith in one’s own power, or … I told myself not to be silly. I could feel his power, all the stronger for being so restrained. The sword was an affectation, nothing more.

He lifted a hand. “Catch.”

I barely had a second to realise what was happening before a tangled mass of spellware erupted out of nowhere and darted towards me, so quickly it practically materialised around me. It was hardly the first time I had been attacked, and threatened with a horrible fate, but the sheer power of the curse he’d hurled at me was staggering. I gritted my teeth as I felt my protections melt away, tendrils of something horrible reaching out to brush against my skin. I swallowed a curse as my first attempt to ward it off failed spectacularly, like I was a little girl trying to fight a grown man who just happened to be the best fighter in recorded history. Despair threatened to overwhelm me, my legs buckling as the spell tried to drive me to my knees. I bit my lip, hard, as I realised the despair was part of the spell. It wasn’t just trying to beat down my resistance, it was trying to convince me that resistance was futile, destroying all faith I could stand up for myself. I’d thought I was a capable fighter, but this …

My magic flared, lashing out at the spellware surrounding me. There was no point in trying to be subtle; the spell was designed to feed off me trying to be clever. The surge of raw power tore the curse apart, the remnants fragmenting into tiny flickers of magic that faded into nothingness a second later. I forced myself to stand up and look Void in the eye, trying to show I wasn’t intimidated. It was a lie. He’d shown me just how far I had to go. And yet, he had also whetted my appetite. I wanted more.

“Satisfied?” The Grandmaster sounded cold, disapproving. “She is a very capable student.”

“And one who sees her magic as part of herself,” Void agreed. “Good.”

I blinked, not understanding what he was saying. Magic had always been part of me, from the potential power that had lurked inside me at birth to the first spells I’d cast, after coming into my magic. I’d spent eight years honing my skills, developing the ability to master nearly any field of magic. And yet, he thought I saw the magic as something separate from myself? It made no sense. I might as well pretend my legs weren’t part of my body.

Void looked at me. “Do you wish to continue?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

The Grandmaster shifted beside me. “I wish you the very best of luck,” he said. I wasn’t sure which of us he was talking to. “And be careful.”

“I always am,” Void said. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased I’d passed his little test, or irked. I had known teachers who’d cheered good results, and others who had cautioned us that passing the first exams only meant we’d go on to the second. He nodded politely to me. “Shall we go?”

I nodded back. I had one small bag, containing a couple of pencil-portraits of my parents, a handful of coins and a change of clothes. I wouldn’t need anything else, not when it was a master’s duty to ensure his apprentice had everything she needed. Some masters decked their apprentices out in finery, others in sackcloth and ashes. I wondered just what he would want me to wear, then told myself it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, I would have to put it on.

Whitehall seemed to hum around me as we stepped out of the doors and walked down to the low wall that marked the edge of the wards. I felt torn between regret at leaving and a certain delight at finally being free to forge my own destiny, to make my own choices – reaping the rewards and suffering the consequences – without reference to anyone else. My time at Whitehall had been immensely rewarding, but the school wasn’t my home and never would be. I hated the idea of being tied down, of being a teacher or a court wizard or something else that would keep me in one place forever. Perhaps it was my mother’s influence, but I wanted the open road and the chance to live a life of freedom, never mind that her people had been incredibly lax in some ways and impossibly strict in others.

“Take my hand,” Void said.

I reached for his hand and took it, feeling his magic enveloping us. I squeezed my eyes shut as the ground shuddered, then opened them to see we were somewhere else. It wasn’t the first time I’d teleported, but it was far less disturbing than usual. My hand went to my chest automatically, my mind catching up a second later and realising I wasn’t retching, that my stomach wasn’t threatening to expel everything I’d ever eaten in a single, bitter moment. I stared at Void, feeling a strange mix of emotions. The kind of skill it took to ease the transit … it was impressive and intimidating in a manner that both awed and worried me, even though I knew it was a good sign. Most magicians would make no attempt to shield their charges from the spell.

The Tower loomed up in front of me, a rook-like shape that managed to appear tiny – nothing more than a watchtower a monarch might install along the border – and yet immensely, impossibly, huge. It was hard to grasp the contrast between the dark lichen-covered walls that suggested immense age, and the power I could feel within. I could tell the Tower was bigger on the inside, an incredible feat without a nexus point and spells I knew were rarely – if ever – shared outside the academic community. I wondered if Void had built the Tower himself, or if he had found it unoccupied and moved in. It wasn’t impossible. I had no idea where we were – the landscape meant nothing to be – but there was no shortage of buildings that had been constructed in a hurry and then left to the elements. My father had taken one himself.

“You are welcome,” Void said. It had the feel of a ritual statement, rather than a proper greeting; I felt the wards twisting around me as we walked up to the walls. The door wasn’t there until it was, a reminder the building really was more than met the eye. “Leave your bag with me and go through the door, and proceed as you should.”

I nodded, all too aware it was another test. And probably an opportunity for him to search my bag. There were horror stories about apprentices who’d brought something dangerous into their master’s home, something charmed to allow an enemy access or merely something that would land the master in hot water if anyone else ever found out. I didn’t like the idea of him pawing through my bag, but the only alternative was leaving it behind. I didn’t want to do that either.

The Tower seemed to open up around me as I stepped through the door, the interior structure seemingly solid and yet strikingly malleable. I had the impression of something vast and ancient reshuffling itself around me, my eyes seeming to blink of their own accord before opening to reveal a washroom. I stepped forward, feeling a little as if I were walking on ice, or trying to levitate in the middle of a battlefield, all too aware that I’d be dead the second after someone saw me. The washroom was strikingly normal, a simple apprentice tunic waiting for me. I undressed quickly, washed myself and donned the tunic. It felt strange, both tough and flimsy at the same time. The spells woven into the garment adjusted it until it fitted me perfectly.

I tied my hair back into a loose ponytail, then turned and walked through the door. This time, it led into a simple dining room. I stared, trying to grasp the aesthetic of the man who had presumably designed it to suit himself. The table was polished wood, the chairs stiff-backed and yet comfortable; I frowned as I saw a pair of cosy armchairs positioned against the far wall. A large portrait hung over them, showing four young men wearing magical robes. It took me a moment to realise what was odd about it, apart from the eyes seeming to follow me around the room. Most portraits were ridiculously formal, when they weren’t painted by crawling sycophants or artists working from descriptions that often bore little resemblance to reality. This one showed four young men having fun, in a manner that struck me as surprisingly heartwarming. It was rare to see anything of the sort, and I wondered who had commissioned it. Void himself? Or his family? For such a famed sorcerer, there was surprisingly little public about his family. I would have expected them to be proud of him, or at least their names to be known. But months of research had turned up nothing.

“Please, sit,” Void said. He stood beside a chair, indicating that I should sit facing him. A large tureen sat on the table between us, a faint hint of steam rising from the lid. “It is tradition that a master feasts his apprentice on their first day.”

I sat, gingerly. Six years of schooling had taught me to be careful where I sat down. There was always someone willing to hide a hex on your chair, no matter how badly you hexed the last idiot after you caught him. I didn’t believe Void would engage in such puerile jokes, but some masters started by looking for any excuse to scold their apprentice for lack of situational awareness. I told myself, firmly, that I wasn’t going to get caught out that easily.

Void opened the lid, revealing a strange mixture of yellowish rice, sultanas and meat … probably lamb. The aroma of spices wafted up, making my mouth water. It was a reminder of his wealth and power, I noted as he picked up a spoon and ladled food onto my plate. Magicians and aristocrats could obtain ingredients from all over the Allied Lands, and hire cooks to find new ways of combining them together into something different, while the commoners rarely ate anything foreign. Void wouldn’t have any trouble shopping for himself, or hiring someone to do it for him … I blinked as I realised what was missing. There were no servants. It was odd. Even a poor aristocrat could hire a handful of workers, even as they moaned and groaned about only making do with a dozen servants. I knew better than to complain about it myself, certainly not where my mother could hear. There were people out there who couldn’t afford servants, and then there were the servants themselves …

“From tomorrow, I will start testing you,” Void said, once we had satisfied the demands of hunger. The food was different from anything I’d tasted before, but very good. “We will establish precisely where you are, in your understanding of magic, and then determine precisely how to proceed.”

I nodded, feeling torn between irritation and acceptance. I had been the greatest student of my year, and I’d set several records when I’d graduated, but Void had shown me that I still had a long way to go. Just sitting facing him was like sitting next to the sun, his power pulsing on the air and brushing against my awareness. It was hard to believe there was anything he couldn’t do.

Void ran through a handful of rules, surprisingly few for such an environment, then leaned back in his chair. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, Master,” I asked. He hadn’t told me to call him Master, but it was better to be formal. “What are my duties?”

The question hung in the air for a long cold moment. Apprentices weren’t expected to pay for their apprenticeship, but they were expected to work for their master. An alchemist apprentice would help prepare potion ingredients, a charms apprentice would draw out spell circles and perform calculations … I had no idea, in truth, what he would want from me. It was something that had never been mentioned, when I had first written to him. I had no idea, either, what he might want, what I could offer.

And he hadn’t asked me for any oaths. That was a good sign.

“You can assist me in mine,” Void said, in a tone that discouraged further questions. “But first, I have to prepare you.”

He stood. “The Tower will show you to your room, when you are finished,” he said, motioning for me to remain seated. It was a serious breach of aristocratic etiquette for a young woman to remain sitting when the host stood, but I had the feeling he didn’t give a damn. “I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.”

I nodded. I couldn’t wait.

Chapter Two

There were no servants waiting for me when I walked into the dining room the following morning, nothing other than a simple breakfast resting on the table and a note ordering me to find my new master when I was done eating. I sat down and ate quickly, scoffing down the bacon, eggs and fried potato that would give me energy to face the rigors of the day. It was a typical magical breakfast, one magicians ate all the time and commoners would be lucky if they ate at all, and perversely I found myself a little disappointed. There was nothing special about it … I told myself not to be silly as I finished the breakfast, then looked around for a place to leave the plates. My paternal relatives were very fond of fancy and expensive food, meals put together with ingredients from all over the world, but I’d often found them unsatisfying. It wasn’t that they were strange, although some fusion recipes worked better than others. It was that there simply wasn’t enough to fill my stomach. I would sooner eat a simple meal that might be bland and boring, but substantial enough to keep me alive.

I stood, hoping against hope I wasn’t late. Void hadn’t set a time for me to find him, and he hadn’t told me to set an alarm spell or anything else that might wake me before I shook off the teleport lag, but if he thought I was being late on purpose … there were no windows, nothing that might suggest the time. I had no idea where the tower actually was, which meant it could be the middle of the day outside, or late at night. For all I knew, if there was a window it might open onto Whitehall. I doubted it – I’d explored the Craggy Mountains over the last few years and I’d never seen a tower – but it wasn’t impossible. It was an oddly discomforting sensation. I could be anywhere.

The door opened onto a corridor, which took me down to another door. I stepped through and stopped, dead, as I took in the sheer number of books, scrolls and stone tablets piled onto strong wooden shelves. Books were expensive, not least because they had to be copied manually; the books my father had owned, a couple of dozen volumes I’d read from cover to cover by the time I entered my second decade, had been a treasure beyond price. Whitehall’s library was so heavily warded that one wrong move, without any bad intentions, could easily get a visitor turned into a small hopping thing, and woe betide anyone who actually tried to steal from the library. They’d be lucky if the librarian merely killed them on the spot. The way she’d looked at visitors, you’d think the consequences would be much more dire.

I sucked in my breath. Void’s library was smaller than the school’s, I thought, but it was so much bigger than my father’s that his books would vanish without trace. I could see a dozen volumes I knew only by reputation, and others I didn’t know at all. Some had suggestive titles – I winced as I recalled a lecture about dangerous books, including the one I could see clearly on the shelves – and others were completely unmarked, suggesting the reader needed to be very careful when picking them up. I took a step forward, not daring to actually touch any of the tomes. It felt as if I were staring at a dragon’s horde, a collection that might have looked ramshackle and yet one with an owner who knew the exact location of every last piece of gold. I was staring at a display of wealth that was worth far more than mere gold.

My heart raced. There was an old story about a young woman who had been kidnapped by a monster to be his bride, and how she’d kicked and fought until she saw his library. I’d thought it a silly little tale, when I’d first heard it, but I understood now. I had always been more of a doer than a thinker and yet, the temptation to sit down and start reading was overwhelming. My fingers itched, yearning to take the nearest volume from the shelves. I had to bite my lip to keep from turning thought into deed. A library so big would be protected, and its owner had no reason to hold back from working death spells into his tomes.

And he was suddenly behind me.

I tried hard not to jump as I turned. I had always prided myself on my situational awareness, and yet Void had somehow appeared behind me. I wasn’t sure if he’d taken advantage of my distraction, or if he’d teleported into my shadow … it was rare to teleport within a building, but the Tower was his place of power and it was a very mutable environment, allowing him considerable freedom to do as he pleased. I knew better than to try to use the spell myself. The odds were good I wouldn’t live long enough for my master to beat me for sheer bloody stupidity, if he didn’t just kick me out.

Void looked me up and down, then nodded curtly. I felt a flush of something I didn’t care to look at too closely. I was a graduated magician, and yet I was also an apprentice. I understood, suddenly, why so many students chose not to apply for apprenticeships, even though they were the key to successful careers. They were in their early twenties, and the thought of being treated like a child for a few more years was just … ugh. If I hadn’t had the chance to study under Void, I would have felt the same way too. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had options. A magician could find work anywhere.

“Very good,” Void said, finally. “Come.”

He turned and led the way through a door I knew hadn’t been there a moment ago. The Tower seemed to shift around me as I followed him, the door opening onto a spellchamber that was practically identical to the chambers I’d used at school. My eyes narrowed as I spotted the weapons lining the walls, from charged wands and staffs to swords, daggers, and a handful of nasty-looking tools I didn’t recognise. One looked like a metal banana, with a curved blade, handholds, and the appearance of being a ceremonial weapon rather than something practical. I eyed it thoughtfully, recalling the lectures my swordsmanship instructor had given me. A fancy blade was great if you wanted to show off, he’d said, but if you took something less than wholly practical to a real fight you’d wind up dead. Or looking like a prat. Or both. I shook my head slowly as I studied the blade. I couldn’t imagine how anyone would wield it in battle.

Void followed my gaze. “When your magic becomes as much a part of you as your arms and legs,” he said, “you’ll find that blade very practical indeed.”

My skin crawled. Had he just read my thoughts? Or had he heard the same objection voiced before, perhaps even had it himself? I hadn’t been able to learn anything about his schooling, although I was fairly sure he’d gone to Whitehall. Mountaintop preferred aristocratic children who would be a boon to their families, Stronghold was largely for soldiers and Laughter was only for girls. The odds were good his career had started like mine, cramming as much as possible into six short years. He would have abandoned anything that wasn’t ruthlessly practical by the time he finished his first year.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. It wasn't a wise thing to say to a master who could do almost anything to me, as long as he could justify it to himself, but I was off-balance. Perhaps that was the point. “What do you want me to do?”

Void looked supremely unconcerned. It annoyed me. I knew he was pushing my buttons, trying to see how my mind worked, but it still annoyed me.

“What was the first spell you mastered?”

I hid my surprise as best as I could and forced myself to think. My father’s lessons on magic had focused on self-defence, while my mother’s had concentrated on making best use of the world around me. I’d done better with my father’s lessons – the idea of giving myself up to the world had never come easy to me – and yet, it was hard to recall which spell I’d cast first. There had been a whirlwind of spellcasting, when I’d come into my powers …

“The light spell,” I said, finally. I wasn’t sure it was the first, but it had easily been the most memorable. I’d overpowered the spell so badly I’d nearly blinded myself. “I think it was the first one I cast.”

Void quirked an eyebrow. “You think?”

I felt a hot flash of irritation. “I cast a lot of spells, on my first day,” I said. My father had scolded me for casting so wildly, which I hadn’t taken very well at the time. “It was definitely one of the first.”

“Noted,” Void said. “Cast it for me.”

“What?” I caught myself a second too late. “It’s a very basic spell …”

“Yes,” Void agreed, in a surprisingly patient tone. “Cast it for me.”

I raised my hand, flattening my palm as I tried to cast the spell. I’d used it regularly – everyone did, it was perhaps the most common spell in the world – and yet I suddenly found it hard to recall the exact steps. I had been put on the spot before, but I’d at least had a vague idea of what was coming. Here … I’d expected him to demand complex spells, the kind of castings that required considerable planning and extreme care, just to make sure they didn’t blow up in my face. I felt as if I were being made the butt of a joke, a joke as puerile as someone sneaking up behind me and yanking down my pants. The thought made me angry, and it was hard to concentrate. The apprenticeship really wasn’t what I expected.

The lightglobe shimmered into view over my palm, casting a strange radiance over the spellchamber. It was hard to read Void’s face, but I had the uneasy sense he wasn’t pleased. I didn’t understand why. He’d asked for a lightglobe!

“Again,” Void said. “Cast it properly.”

I repeated the same motions, casting the spell again. The second lightglobe drifted into the air, lighting up the room. Void still didn’t look pleased.

“Again.”

I gritted my teeth. What did he want? I could light up the chamber with a dozen different charms, from the simple to the complex, but … what did he actually want? A more advanced spell? Or a childish charm that could be cancelled with a wave of the hand? Or …”

“Master.” I had to fight to keep the irritation out of my voice. “What do you actually want?”

Void studied me for a long moment. I forced myself to look back at him. If I’d spoken like that to the charms tutor at school, I wouldn’t have sat comfortably for a week. And yet … I wasn’t going to lower my eyes, nor offer him my submission. I might be a mere apprentice, but I wasn’t a servant. Or a slave. I had the right to demand something in return for my servitude. 

“You have mastered the art of casting the charm so well you are doing it without thought,” Void said, finally. I was torn between admiring his patience and a certain fear I was merely storing up trouble for myself. “I want you to cast it with thought, to put the spellware together piece by piece until it takes shape and form.”

I blinked, then forced myself to cast the spell a fourth time. He had a point. I hadn’t really had to think about the spell for years, to the point casting it was as simple as breathing. It wasn’t easy to put the pieces together, to build the spell from the ground up … I had to fight, focusing my mind, to keep my magic from filling in the blanks. I had to admit it was a useful lesson. A powerful magician’s spellcasting is shaped more by intention than anything else, which sometimes ensured they didn’t master the skills they needed without realising what they lacked. My father had told me, more than once, that there were thuggish fighters who were little more than muscle and bone, too ignorant or stupid to realise their limitations until they fought someone who actually knew what he was doing. I supposed that was true of magicians too.

“Good,” Void said. “What other spells did you cast, in your early career?”

“A summoning charm,” I said, forcing myself to think. “A toad-making charm. A basic protective ward. A couple of others …”

Void nodded. “Good,” he said. “Cast them.”

I forced myself to go through the charms one by one, putting them together from the ground up. Void watched impassively, never offering advice or suggestions. I’d never quite realised just how much I had come to rely on my magic, letting my intentions shape the spells in a manner that left a great deal to chance. Proper spellcasting required an understanding of all the variables, I knew from my schooling, and yet I had allowed my grasp of the basic spells to lapse. It was almost as humiliating as becoming dependent on a wand.

It felt like hours before Void finally called a halt. My head was aching, my clothes drenched in sweat. The breakfast was a distant memory. It was maddening to realise I had been casting nothing but basic spells, and yet I was as drained as a first-year student who hadn’t even known she had magic a few months ago. I was starting to realise, despite myself, that the apprenticeship wouldn’t be what I’d expected. And yet, the future seemed bright.

“Take a shower, then join me in the dining room,” Void ordered. “We have much to discuss.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and turned away. The door led back to my chambers … I couldn’t help wondering, in the privacy of my own mind, if the Tower had a mind of its own. It was rare but not impossible for a magical building to develop an identity in its own right. I had been told that Whitehall had, although the stories of people who actually communed with the school had never been proven. I put the thought out of my head as I showered, changed into a fresh robe, and made my way back outside. This time, the door opened into the dining room.

“Eat,” Void said. “We’ll be going back to work after lunch.”

“Yes, Master.”

I studied him warily as I ate, all too aware he wasn’t particularly impressed. I’d graduated with honours and yet, to him, I was little better than a newcomer to the world of magic. Void ate too … I noted, with a twinge of approval, that he wasn’t complaining about the food. I’d known aristocrats, relatives I didn’t want to acknowledge as relatives, who had thrown tantrums that would have embarrassed a toddler if they didn’t get the food they wanted, then threatened to have the cooks hung, drawn and quartered. Clearly, feeding them the wrong meals wasn't a harmless little prank like high treason …

Void leaned forward, his voice calm. “Why do you believe the magical community is reluctant to meddle in the affairs of individuals?”

I blinked. The question had come out of nowhere.

“It would start a war,” I said, finally. Magicians were individualist to a fault, and prone to take anger for reasons that baffled mundanes, and most of our rules were designed to minimise the risk of a personality clash turning into a full-scale war. “We agree magicians can do whatever they like, as long as they don’t harm other magicians, because trying to give the community laws would tear it apart.”

Void showed no visible reaction. “And what if those individuals prey on mundanes?”

I hesitated. Most magicians cared nothing for mundanes. My mother, by contrast, had taught me otherwise. Mundanes might not have magic, but they had feelings. They could bleed. She had taught me how to heal basic wounds, how to offer simple and yet effective treatments, and done it for free. I knew magicians who would charge a pretty penny for such services, if they lowered themselves to offer them at all.

My thoughts ran in circles. A dark wizard who treated mundanes as animals – or turned them into animals – should be dealt with, as quickly as possible. But the community was reluctant to do anything about such individuals, beyond shunning them, for fear of setting a deadly precedent that would turn into a nightmare. The Emperors had been strong enough to impose their will on the magical community, but after the Empire’s Fall there had been no one willing or able to take their place.

“The community should deal with them,” I mused, “but they won’t.”

“No,” Void agreed. “They won’t, not unless the dark wizards pose a threat to the magical community. And sometimes not even then. They have to be stopped.”

I felt torn. I could see both sides of the argument. To intervene would create a dangerous precedent, to not intervene would leave a dangerous dark wizard free to menace the mundane community; hell, shunning and ostracising the bastard would only make him more extreme, more of a danger to the world around him …

He looked me in the eye. “Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to win?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Good.” I saw him smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Chapter Three

I lost track of time over the next few weeks, so completely I couldn’t be sure it really was weeks. There were no windows in the Tower and I was never permitted to leave, or even speak to one of the servants I was sure lived on the lower levels. Void pushed me hard, rarely giving me more than an hour or two to myself; I found myself spending those hours resting, or reading a handful of books from his library, instead of writing letters or doing something – anything – to relax my mind. It was lucky I didn’t have anyone to write to, save perhaps a handful of school friends. It allowed me to focus on my studies.

It was interesting, and informative, and yet deeply frustrating. Void appeared more interested in teaching me to cast spells piece by piece, putting them together in a manner that reminded me of building blocks, rather than teaching me anything new. There were no lessons in advanced spells, the kind of magics rarely taught in school, nor was there anything that let me evaluate my progression towards becoming a great magician. I thought I was crawling forward at times, and wondered – at others – if I was actually regressing. The only upside was that he wasn’t putting me to work, commanding me to chop ingredients or copy books or something – anything – else to pay for my services. It wasn’t enough to reassure me. If I wasn’t good enough for him to put to work …

I felt my impatience gnawing at me as the days went on. Void was a fascinating conversationalist in some ways, outlining the problem with book-copying spells one moment and tossing moral questions at me the next. I had the feeling I was being tested in some way, in a manner I couldn’t quite understand, and I had no idea if I was passing or failing. He was unpredictable too: he didn’t beat me for snapping at him, demanding to know the right answer to one of his moral questions, yet he scolded me every time I allowed my magic to fill in the blanks and complete the spell ahead of time. It made no sense. Every other tutor I’d had would have done the exact opposite.

It came to a head one evening, in a manner that would have landed me in hot water at school.

“I’ve been taking spells apart for months,” I snapped. I wasn’t sure it was months, but I was past caring. “What’s the point?”

Void blinked owlishly at me. I was sure it was an affectation. His face was curiously immobile, as if he had to actually think about what emotion he wanted his face to show. I had the oddest feeling that wasn’t an act, that something had happened to him a long time ago that had damaged his face beyond easy repair. I’d known commoner aristocrats who’d been unable to pay for magical healing, or thought their scars gave them an intimidating appearance, but I doubted it was true of the most powerful sorcerer in the known world. Healing yourself was asking for trouble, something only to be risked if there was no other choice, yet he would have no trouble hiring the most capable healers in the world. I couldn’t help thinking of the Grandmaster’s blindness. That too was beyond any level of magical healing.

“The point is to prepare you for the task ahead,” Void told me. There was no irritation in his voice, none of the clear warning I’d heard time and time again from my tutors. “And to give you a grounding in magic you desperately need.”

I could hear the frustration in my voice. “I’ve learnt my lesson!”

Void cocked his head. “What makes you think there’s only one lesson to be learnt?”

“I …” I stopped, and calmed myself. Somehow. “I just want to do something more.”

Void leaned back in his chair. “Very well. You will be tested.”

I blinked. I knew there were apprentice tests, of course, but …

“Eat well,” Void said. “And if you pass your test, you may ask for a reasonable reward.”

My lips twisted. “A reasonable reward.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Void said, dryly. “You might get it.”

I grinned. “So I can’t ask for a billion gold coins?”

Void smirked. “Your test will start tomorrow morning,” he said. “Have fun.”

He stood and left the room, the door closing behind him. I stared, trying to keep from blinking. The doors had a habit of vanishing the moment I looked away, even if it was just for a second. It was … I shook my head and forced myself to stuff my face, suddenly very aware I was going to be tested. I’d need all the magic I could muster, if he was going to test me. And I had no idea what form the test would actually take. It could be anything from a written exam to a practical demonstration of magic.

I went back to my chambers, showered and slipped into bed …

And when I woke up, I was somewhere else.

My head spun. I’d snapped awake so quickly I knew someone had cast a sleeping spell on me, to make sure I remained in dreamland, while they moved me … to where? My eyes were closed … no, they were open. I was just in absolute darkness. And silence. I was lying on a cold stone floor, my body aching as I tried to listen for something – anything – that might be informative. The air was so silent that I could hear my own heartbeat, the darkness pulsing around me like a living thing. The air was cool, rather than cold … I reached upwards, half-expecting to feel a low ceiling. I’d gone spelunking with the martial magic team, and that had been unpleasant. I had never been claustrophobic, but the tunnels and caves had scared me. It had taken all my nerve to keep it to myself.

I climbed to my feet slowly, breathing a sigh of relief. I could stand … I hesitated, unsure what might be lurking in the shadows, and cast a lightspell. The spell flickered and died before even coming into existence, the magic drained away by a thousand gossamer-thin threadlines of raw power. I wasn’t tied up, but I was surrounded by magic … I cursed under my breath as I reached out mentally, trying to feel the spells surrounding me. They weren’t very powerful, but they worked in unison to hamper my own spells. I gritted my teeth as I tried to put my own magic into the spiderweb, trying to take it down. It was incredibly resistant, for something so thin. And yet I had to try. I feared what would happen if I let the magic brush against my bare skin.

A flash of panic ran through me. Was I naked? I checked and breathed a sigh of relief as I realised I was still in my nightgown. The handful of charms I’d woven into the silk were gone, but … I sensed something moving behind me and ducked, instinctively. It was the right move. I sensed a tangled mass of power passing over my head. It felt like a change spell, from what little I could sense, but it was hard to be sure. The darkness was more than just the absence of light. It was something else, and …

I shaped a spell carefully, trying to generate a flame. It was surprisingly hard to make the spell work – I could feel the gossamer threads trying to drain the magic – but a flicker of light appeared above my fingertips briefly, driving back the darkness for a few seconds before the magic was drained. I saw nothing, apart from shadows; I sensed another flash of magic, coming right at me. It took all my skill to ward it off, deflecting the charm into the distance. I had no idea who was lurking in the shadows, casting spells at me, but I hoped I’d hit him. It didn’t feel like Void’s magic. It was someone else.

And I had to get moving. Whoever was casting spells knew where I was.

I hesitated, then tore off my top and cast the fire spell again, setting fire to the silk. The heat rose rapidly, the flames coming alarmingly close to my fingers, but the fire was real. There was no magic keeping it going, once the silk caught fire. I held it up like a talisman, forcing my way forward. The threadlines melted away as I pressed the flames against them, giving me some manoeuvring room. Two more spells came at me, one passing so close to my bare skin that I felt sparks snapping at me. I threw a spell back into the darkness, only to see it vanish without a trace. The flames touched my fingers a second later and I yelped, dropping the remains to the ground. There was a final flicker of light, then the darkness crashed down again like a physical blow. Another spell came at me, striking me directly and trying to turn me into a toad. Or something. I had to fight to undo the spell from within, even as I felt my body twisting and warping. The darkness seemed to flicker as the spell came apart, then two more came right at me. I threw a set of spells back, unsure if they were aimed properly, and forced myself to move. The spiderweb was closing in on me again …

My heart raced, sweat prickling down my back as I found myself confined. Each thread was tiny, with no more substance than a real spiderweb, but collectively they held me within a loose circle. More and more curses and hexes came at me, each one forcing me to dodge or deflect or dismantle before it was too late. I ducked a fireball, deflected a freeze charm, took apart another change spell … I even tried to reflect one right back at the caster, to no avail. I had the uneasy sense it was just a matter of time until a spell got me, until I would be unable to dismantle it in time to save myself. Void might not let me get seriously hurt, but he wouldn’t see anything wrong with turning me into a frog or freezing me and leaving me trapped for a week or two, just to teach me a lesson. I ground my teeth as another spell exploded far too close to me for my peace of mind, coming apart into a set of smaller spells that snapped at me like flesh-eating piranhas. I had been told they could turn a living man into a skeleton in seconds, and these spells, whatever they were, appeared to be just as vicious. It took me too long to deflect them, which left me open for more.

Anger shot through me. I reached for my magic and channelled everything I could into a single blinding flash of raw power. The spiderweb came apart, overloading under the sheer deluge of magic I poured into the spellware. I had the vague sense of someone gasping in shock and hoped, with a certain vindictive glee, that whoever Void hired to help carry out his test was regretting it. The shadows vanished a second later, revealing an oversized spellchamber. Void himself stood at the edge of the protective wards, studying me thoughtfully.

I stamped forward, heedless of my bare breasts. Nakedness had never really bothered me, not after spending my holidays with the Diddakoi and then sharing a room with two or three roommates. Showing the slightest sign of being embarrassed by one’s nakedness was a sign of weakness, when smashing the idiot who’d thought casting a transparency spell on your clothes was much more satisfying. Void showed no sign of even noticing. I told myself, sharply, that I should be relieved. Far too many horror stories about apprenticeships gone wrong started with the master allowing himself to become attracted to his student.

“Did I win?”

Void looked back at me, evenly. “You tell me.”

I bit down an angry remark. Void could have looked a little more impressed. There was such a thing as too much praise – I’d learnt that lesson the hard way – but would it have killed him to compliment me? I had won, I’d escaped his trap without being frozen or transfigured or seriously hurt or even killed. It was a bloody victory, so why wasn’t he impressed? Or at least pleased.

“Do I get to claim my reward?” It was hard to keep my voice level. “Or are you going to tell me I failed?”

“Did you?”

I glowered. “Did I?”

“You tell me,” he said.

My temper flared. I’d never had much patience for verbal games, particularly the nifty arguments that managed to convince people that white was black, two plus two equalled five and a dozen other offenses against common sense, even though they were self-evidently untrue. I had been forced to help another student out of a jam once, because the stupid bastard hadn’t listened to me, and I wouldn’t have bothered if he hadn’t managed to drag another student into his mess. My father had been a paragon of forthright manly behaviour, saying what he meant outright instead of dancing around the subject, and I had little patience for those who weren’t. It could be unpleasant to hear an opinion you didn’t like, but better that than not hearing something before it was too late. And Void certainly didn’t need to play games with me.

“I did,” I said. “I escaped.”

“You did?”

“And I want to claim my reward,” I said. “I want a day outside the Tower.”

Void lifted his eyebrow. “And that is all you want?”

“I think it’s something I might actually get,” I said. He’d stipulated it had to be reasonable, after all. “A walk outside will do me good.”

“As you wish, although I would suggest you change into something a little less comfortable first,” Void said, dryly. I wasn’t sure if it was a piece of accidental innuendo or if he’d honestly missed the double meaning. I’d dealt with boys who thought snide remarks like that were the height of humour, but Void didn’t have the towering insecurities those boys had spent most of their teenage years trying to overcome. “You’ll find a compass on the dining table when you come back down. It’ll point you back to the Tower.”

“Thank you,” I managed.

Void nodded. “Spend some time thinking about what you did wrong,” he added, as he turned away. “If you want to retake the test tomorrow, you may do so.”

He strode away, disappearing through a vanishing door. I stared after him, utterly confused. Had I passed? Or failed? He had given me my reward, which meant … I honestly wasn’t sure. I knew parents who had promised rewards for academic success, then given them to the child even though the child hadn’t kept his side of the bargain. But Void didn’t need to do anything of the sort. He could beat me bloody, to the point of leaving permanent scars, and no one would give a damn. It wasn’t as if I could stop him.

The thought nagged at me as I showered, changed, and headed back to the dining room. Had I won or had I lost? He hadn’t said so outright … it baffled me. Sure, an apprentice’s failure would reflect badly on her master, but it wasn’t as if we’d had an audience. The person who had tossed curses at me had been nowhere in sight, when I’d banished the spiderweb. Void could have sat down and told me how I’d gone wrong, in great detail, and no one apart from the pair of us would have known what happened. It made no sense.

I picked up the compass, slung it around my neck and walked through the door into the open air, looking around with interest. The Tower rested in a valley that looked oddly undeveloped, as though it were quite some distance from civilisation. I felt a sudden twinge of homesickness that surprised me in its intensity, a memory of growing up on my father’s isolated estate slipping into my head and refusing to go. I’d explored every last inch of the grounds, unsupervised, and then wandered the lands beyond. They were technically mine now, although I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life playing Lady of the Manor. It was a boring job, and it would leave me open to far too many influences from my father’s family. If I had to choose, I would go with my mother’s family.

Thunder rumbled, in the distance. I saw smoke rising on the far side of the mountains and started to walk. There would be a town there, perhaps, with people I could talk to; I checked my money pouch, reassuring myself I could buy a drink at the local pub without trouble. The coins might have been minted thousands of miles away, but they were still good. I was sure of it. Who knew what else I might find? It had been a long time since I’d had a boyfriend, and there might be a tall strapping lad interested in a brief tryst, no strings attached. He would never know who I was, which wasn’t a bad thing. Most magical-mundane relationships tended to end very badly.

You can figure out what Void is doing later, I told myself. He had left me unsure of myself, and I didn’t like it. I would almost sooner have been told directly that I’d messed up the entire test and failed so badly we’d be going right back to the start, or that he was going to kick me out of the Tower. And then decide if you won or not.

But in truth, I honestly didn’t know.

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