CHAPTER THIRTY
“Thank you,” I said with a curtsey. The small crowd in front of Master Carter’s mage tower burst into applause. Snow lay beneath our feet, our breaths fine mist blowing away in the harsh wind.
Despite the cold, heat crept up my neck. I had never expected to reach this point, to be standing before an audience who watched my every move with rapt attention.
The fire dragon in the air above us, a feat of fog and illumined air magic, drifted higher into the sky, breaking apart and joining the clouds that stayed stagnant above. The crowd craned their necks, whistles and applause filling the air. Children screamed and squealed.
I beamed.
Tossed coins clinked into the bucket I’d set beside me.
“Happy birthday,” I said, bending down to shake the hand of a young boy with brand new black robes. It was only a costume—the mayor’s family hadn’t a drop of magic in their blood. “How lucky for you to be born at Snowfest.”
His grin was absent a tooth. “I want to be a master when I grow up.”
I shrugged. “You never know what can happen. Believing is half the battle.”
He moved to examine my cauldron, now steaming a purple smoke into the wintry air. Others shook my hand and offered compliments before dispersing, leaving me all alone with Master Carter’s proud stare.
“You’ve grown impeccably, Lyra,” he told me.
“Thank you, Master,” I responded, picking up the bucket which was certain to cover my expenses for a few more weeks.
“I’m running out of things to teach you.”
“Now that I don’t believe.”
He smirked.
“Any letter yet?” I asked, hope tinging my voice.
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”
A few months after Master Carter took me on, I confided in him about my premonitions, and about my family’s fortune-teller history. It was a skill he was unfamiliar with beyond the rare scam artist, but after my insistence, he vowed to write to colleagues in Junira about my case.
They’d responded with a promise to look into local cases and historical records to search for similar mage giftings, but after months of no reply, my optimism was starting to fade.
Perhaps it was all a fluke. But even if it was, no one could deny my propensity for magery.
It made me question how far Papa would’ve been able to go if he too received proper training instead of rushing into blacksmithing, like his father before him.
He’d been desperate to support a family from the tidal wave of poverty that surrounded us.
He’d always told me to reach for the stars. That to make change, you don’t have to overhaul the system. You just have to push it further and further. And eventually, justice will build like a summer storm, its thunder echoing across the land.
As much as I wanted to believe I was breaking the chain, the truth was more complicated.
Papa had pushed beyond barriers of his own and set me on the path to where I was.
Without him, I wouldn’t be here, performing impossible feats for others.
Perhaps his father had done the same, and my great grandmother before him.
Perhaps that was why my ancestors had moved from the Wild Lands in the first place: in hopes of a better life for their children.
And I couldn’t be more grateful.
“How’s your research project coming?” he asked.
“It’s coming.”
“You’ll need to be finished soon if I’m to convince the Mage Council to accept you.”
“They’ll accept me. They’ll have to,” I said.
His eyes sparkled. “They’ll be lucky to. But you need to be certain of the plague’s origin. Guesses won’t hold up under their scrutiny.”
I sighed. “Kelara’s found me a stack of books from Pa’abo to read through. And I’m still making a timeline from my trip to the coast. But I’m close. I feel it.”
“I’m rooting for you, Lyranore. I want to see my pupil shining at that conference.”
I laughed. “I know, Master. I’ll do my best.”
I bid Master Carter goodbye and wandered down the snowy lanes home, doors still hung with snowfest decorations—green garlands, pine needle paths, and crimson winterberry wreaths decorated the modest homes that made up our neighborhood.
As I finally spotted my house in the distance, another familiar sight gave me pause.
David walked toward me, his coat buttoned to his chin, his hair trimmed shorter than usual. He hesitated at the sight of me.
“You look well,” I choked out.
I knew I’d see him again eventually. But I didn’t expect our meeting to feel so ill-fitting and stilted, not when he was once a second home to me.
He ran his eyes down my figure, and I fingered the light green wool gown I’d donned, a new purchase made with my show money. He cleared his throat. “You do, too.”
His eyes slowed as they lingered on my goosebump-riddled arms, the sleeves pulled up to perform magic feats. “You cut off your ribbon.”
“It’s been a year.”
He nodded.
“Are you… well?” I asked, shifting between feet, the snow crunching beneath them.
“Yes,” he said flatly, his gaze on his boots. “I’m doing quite well.”
“How’s your mother?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
I stepped back. “Oh?”
He nodded. “It’s going… really well. I think I’ll propose.”
I forced a smile. “That’s great.”
“Thanks.”
“So I suppose I’ll see you around?” I asked, my boots too tight, my cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and the cold.
“I suppose,” he echoed, walking past me.
When he did, my lungs finally expanded, the icy air fresh in my chest.
Where grief should have been, there was only relief.