Chapter 4 #2
I’d been brewing healing potions and casting charms in my parents’ apothecary shop and clinic since my magic awakened three years ago.
I glanced over at my sisters and saw both were bent over their papers, pens scratching steadily. Mama and Papa had taught all of us well.
On my other side, Elio was frowning. “They expect us to already know all this stuff?” he muttered,
Other students stared blankly into space.
Putting pen to paper, I bent my head and filled page after page with answers.
The examination questions in the Basic and Intermediate sections were all easy.
Mama and Papa’s lessons, along with daily practice in distilling tinctures and assisting with healing charms, had prepared me better than I’d realized.
I reached the third section, titled Advanced Magecraft, and found the first question I couldn’t answer.
A mage must maintain a Water working that draws floodwater from a cellar while simultaneously sustaining an Air working that expels contaminated vapors through a ventilation shaft.
Explain why the two workings cannot safely be joined through a single undifferentiated channeling matrix.
Diagram the appropriate dual-working structure of the matrix and identify the point at which magical feedback is most likely to occur.
I knew how to cast the Water and Air spells mentioned in the question individually.
But what in the world is a differential channeling matrix?
I was forced to skip it, and all the remaining questions in the section.
Write out the arcane equation for transmuting a vat of woad into indigo dye using Sancola’s Third Principle of Material Equivalence? I’d only ever seen indigo dye produced using the fermentation method.
Nor did I have the slightest idea how to cast a glamor, which was an advanced type of charm anchored to a physical item that created a persistent illusion around an object or living creature.
Feeling thoroughly humbled, I rose and made my way down to the lecture dais where Mage-Instructor Mundise sat behind a large oak desk.
Heads turned to watch my progress as I walked past them. Everyone else was still scribbling away intently. They probably knew more than I did about glamors and transmutation equations.
Mage-Instructor Mundise glanced up at my approach. Surprise flickered across their face. “Finished already?”
“I had to skip a lot of questions,” I confessed, my face heating.
They accepted my papers, then added with a kind smile, “There’s no need to feel embarrassed if you couldn’t answer all the questions. It just means you have found the starting point for your journey of learning.”
“Thank you, Mage-Instructor Mundise,” I replied.
“Return to your seat and wait quietly until everyone else is finished,” they instructed, already beginning to scan my answers.
Feeling dispirited, I climbed the steps back up to my seat, where Elio raised an eyebrow at me.
“Show-off,” he whispered, but his tone was warm with admiration.
“Ha! I had to skip a bunch of questions,” I whispered back.
From my vantage point, I watched anxiously as Mage-Instructor Mundise read through my answers.
Their frown deepened, and I got a bad feeling in my gut. Should I have answered more of the questions?
When the examination period ended, Mage Mundise stood. “Please pass your papers to the end of your row.”
As their assistants began collecting the exams, Mundise’s gaze swept the auditorium before settling on me. “Talisa of Bernswick, please come forward.”
A murmur rippled through the hall as I walked back down to the lecture dais.
My knees felt shaky and my heart pounded. I thought you couldn’t fail this test?
“Your examination results are… unusual,” Mage Mundise said when I stood before their desk. Their voice was pitched low so that the rest of the lecture hall couldn’t overhear. “You answered all the intermediate questions correctly, yet you’re a first-year student?”
“My parents are Mage-Healers and they taught me and my sisters, Mage-Instructor,” I explained. “The Western Isles haven’t had a Provincial Magecraft Aptitude Examiner for five years. Mama and Papa didn’t want me and my sisters to fall behind, so they taught us themselves.”
Their lips thinned. “So, no one provided you with the questions and answers beforehand?”
Heat flashed through me—not embarrassment this time, but indignation.
“Of course not! I would never cheat!” I said, my voice louder than I intended.
Snickers rose from the aristocratic students in the seats closest to the stage.
“Hm.” Mage Mundise studied me for a long moment. “Tell me then, what does Sancola say regarding the inverse relationship between emotional intensity and magical precision?”
My mind raced… then went blank.
But I know this part! I thought in despair.
Then the memory surfaced—Papa quizzing me on Chapter 6 of Sancola’s The Theory and Practice of Magecraft while I ground dried herbs in a mortar.
“Mage Sancola argues that the greater the emotional state of the practitioner, the more power they can channel, but the less precise their control becomes,” I recited.
“He compares it to trying to thread a needle during an earthquake—the needle and thread are unchanged, but the circumstances make the task nearly impossible.” I paused, then added, “Though in a later chapter, Sancola also says that trained mages can and should learn to harness the power of emotional states without sacrificing precision.”
“Correct.” Mundise’s eyebrows rose. “And what are the four stages of magical proficiency?”
“Awareness, activation, articulation, and autonomy,” I replied without hesitation. “The progression from recognizing one’s magical potential to wielding it instinctively.”
Mundise tapped my examination papers with one slender, ink-stained finger. “Interesting.” They straightened, raising their voice so the entire hall could hear. “Talisa of Bernswick, you have tested out of all the first-year magecraft classes and will advance directly to the second-year curriculum.”
Their announcement sent a fresh wave of whispers through the hall. I stood frozen, unsure whether to be pleased or horrified.
I knew Mama and Papa would be proud of me advancing to second-year classes right away. And I looked forward to studying more challenging material.
But didn’t that mean I’d be in the same classes as Lord Lukhan and his scary friend, Mr. Corvellan?
“Thank you, Mage-Instructor,” I managed, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “I’ll work hard.”
Mundise nodded, already turning their attention to the stack of remaining examinations. “See that you do.” They raised their voice to address the assembled students. “You are all dismissed! Your class assignments and schedules will be distributed at breakfast tomorrow.”
A wave of black-robed students rose from their seats and flowed toward the exits.
When I returned to where Mira, Juno, and Elio were waiting, Mira said, “I wonder if we’ll get to attend any second-year classes.”
“Congratulations,” Elio said, clapping a hand on my shoulder as we joined the crowd leaving the auditorium. “Though I’m not sure whether I should congratulate or console you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked warily.
His expression darkened. “Intermediate Potions is taught by Mage-Instructor Varro—Damien Corvellan’s uncle. And guess who his star pupil is?”
“Not Lord Lukhan?” My stomach dropped. “Oh, Divine Mother!”
“The very same.” Elio’s voice lowered further. “Watch your back, Talisa.”
“I can handle Lord Lukhan,” I said, with more confidence than I felt, because Mira and Juno were both wearing distressed expressions.
“I don’t doubt it,” Elio said. “But he doesn’t seem the type to fight fair. Just be careful.”
His fingers briefly squeezed my shoulder before dropping his hand. That strange, electric sensation sparked again at his touch. “And let me know if you need my help.”