The Missing Magic of Sparrow Xia: An Illustrated Novel
Author: Leia Ham
Date: 2026-05-05 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Childrens
Description: With atmospheric illustrations full of warmth, adventure, and friendship on every page,The Missing Magic of Sparrow Xia is an unforgettable magical school story.To Sparrow Xia, power feels like fire; red-hot sparks dancing along her fingertips, or the blazing flames her brother wields. In a world where kids have magic and adults don't, being a super-rare fire mage should give her the edge she needs to make the most of her magical years. But Sparrow feels like a fraud-for all its rarity, her fire-magic is so weak she can barely conjure more than a match flame. Starting school at Zenith Academy
Publisher: Scholastic Press

Title Page

FOR JOHNNY,

THE SAFEST PLACE

I HAVE KNOWN.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

1: Universal Agreements

2: Luneport Travel

3: The Path to the Peak

4: The School Among the Stars

5: A Not-So-Fresh Start

6: The Noble Craft

7: Potions and Progress

8: The Deserving

9: Lessons New and Old

10: Relentless Effort

11: The Magic-Draining Fever

12: Suspicion and Spite

13: Midterms

14: Incandescence

15: A Matter of Discipline

16: The Stuff of Nightmares

17: Truthseeking

18: The Festival

19: Teamwork in All Things

20: The Price of Dedication

21: Unreachable Goals

22: Emberblossom Burst

23: The Risks Inherent

24: Against the Tide

25: Accusations and Answers

26: Orla, Overgrown

27: Satisfaction Alone

28: Candleflame

29: Out of the Woods

30: The Mundane and Magical

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

1: Universal Agreements

It was a universal agreement, that is, anyone could agree: Magic is better than the mundane. It was a fact so obvious, so agreed-upon, that twelve-year-old Sparrow Xia paid little attention to her mother’s lecture on The Importance of Magic, and the accompanying sub-lecture of Sparrow-would-you-please-work-hard-this-year-and-stop-worrying-your-mother. Sparrow knew all this, but she’d heard the same words over and over again since the beginning of the year. She just wanted to wait for breakfast without being grilled about her future.

Her mother paused mid-scold and fiddled with the kitchen lighter—the runes printed onto it had all but rubbed away, its sigils barely visible. As magical contraptions went, it was as clunky as it was useless.

“This old thing never works—” Her mother tapped it sharply on the counter. It spat out a few feeble sparks, too weak to light the stove.

Sparrow refrained from suggesting that Ma get a new one. The last thing she needed was another lecture on how contraptions these days cost too much money, and how money doesn’t grow on trees.

“I’ll get it,” Sparrow said, sighing and approaching the stove. She hovered one hand over the stove as the other turned the gas dial. Heat danced throughout her body, further warming her up in the already sweltering kitchen. This close to midsummer, their home in South Emberland was a veritable oven.

Whumpth. Fire, orange-red and cheerful, ignited on the range. Sparrow grinned. No matter how many times she lit the stove with her magic, it never got old. Being a fire mage had its perks, the best of which was the ability to heat her bathwater to perfect, near-scalding temperatures.

“See? I’ve been practicing,” Sparrow said, wriggling her fingers and making little sparks at her fingertips.

“I hope you have, Ruyan,” said her mother, who only used Sparrow’s Chinese name when she was feeling particularly exasperated. She pushed past Sparrow, shooing her back to her seat. Soon, the sound of sizzling oil filled the kitchen as her mother began cooking.

“You have to take this seriously. You don’t have much time! You know you—”

“—only have one chance,” Sparrow parroted dully, the joy of successfully lighting the stove fading. “I know, Ma … You don’t have to remind me that my magic’s gonna disappear. I’m aware.” Painfully so. “But it’s not fair!”

Sparrow fell silent, sullen. The thought of waking up one day and being unable to spark fire at her fingertips or having to take tepid baths sounded horrible. Losing her fire would mean losing a part of herself. Would she even be the same person without magic?

“Don’t be childish, Sparrow. It’s just the way things are. Adults don’t have magic and children do. Everyone loses their magic. It’s part of growing up.” Her mother tutted at her and continued, “Work hard at Zenith Academy this year and make the most of your magic while you have it.”

Sparrow’s stomach lurched with a mix of terror and excitement.

Zenith Academy for Magical Development. One of the top three mage academies in the United Realms, far to the northeast. From tomorrow, Sparrow would be an apprentice there, living and breathing magic, and learning how to get as strong as possible while fire magic still hummed in her blood.

“I just want you to have a better life than I do,” continued her mother. “I didn’t do well in school, and look at me now. Do you want a life like mine? Waking at dawn every day? Do well at Zenith, and you can get into a good guild. One with lots of benefits!”

No, I don’t, Sparrow thought guiltily. She loved her mother, and the bread and pastries from the guild bakery, but everything about her mother and their home life seemed hopelessly mundane. Ma had signed away her magical years to the local baker’s guild only to become a magicless adult stuck in a banal cycle of baking bread, mopping floors, and, ugh, doing the dishes. Sure, baking was a job, but Sparrow wanted something … more.

“You have so much potential. If only you behaved more like your brother—”

“Ma, please,” Sparrow groaned. No lecture about her future was complete without being compared to her perfect older brother, Ainsley. Her mother gave her a put-upon look, as though somehow Sparrow had managed to hurt her feelings.

“Go get ready, then,” Ma said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We have to leave right after breakfast. We can’t be late for the Luneport to Zenith.”

Sparrow padded up the stairs, eager for the peace of her room. The thought of living away from home was enough to twist her stomach into knots, even without her fears about making friends or passing the notoriously difficult Evaluation exams. Distracted by her worries, she forgot to skip the creakiest floorboard on the landing. She froze.

Please tell me he didn’t hear that, Sparrow thought with the fervency of prayer.

“Hey, birdbrain!”

Sparrow groaned. Ainsley appeared in his doorway, already in his Zenith uniform: a high-necked, long-sleeved black shirt embroidered with the Academy crest, and wide pleated pants cut in a pale gray-blue cloth. A gold pin shone on his collar—he’d been appointed an Adept this year, a teacher’s special assistant. As though his head needed help getting any bigger, Sparrow thought.

Ainsley was already adored by their family. The perfect fire mage: forceful, confident, stubborn; his emotions and magic as explosive as an oil fire. To Sparrow, who was overly cautious about everything, he just felt like an insufferable bully.

“Have you seen my pendant? Wait, why aren’t you changed yet? I don’t want to be late because of you.” Ainsley gave her a disapproving once-over.

“That’s what I was going to do before you accosted me,” Sparrow said irritably. “And your pendant’s on the couch.”

“Then why didn’t you grab it on your way up?”

“It’s your pendant; get it yourself! You’re the one who told me not to touch it!”

Her brother scowled at her, meaning that Sparrow was right, and he didn’t like it. After a beat, a smug look returned to his face.

“You’re not going to make any friends with that attitude. Do you know how critical the people at Zenith are? At least try and be nice, although even that might not work … One look at your face and they’ll know something’s wrong with you.”

Ainsley stomped down the stairs, snickering to himself. Stung, Sparrow untucked her hair from behind her ear, covering the patch of discolored, mottled skin that swooshed up her jaw and cheek. She usually hid the scar—fire mages were supposed to be immune to fire. A burn was like a sign hanging over her that read: NOT A PROPER FIRE MAGE.

Compared to Ainsley, Sparrow felt like that awful kitchen lighter that barely worked. Most days, her fire burned barely brighter than a match flame, more suited to the family’s ancestral altar than in a young mage’s hands. Psychological pressure, the local Healer had said. A lack of qi, the Chinese medicine person her mother went to said. Whatever it was, it was clear that something was wrong with her.

It felt shallow to admit, but Sparrow wanted to be special. She didn’t want her remaining magical years to be spent being compared unfavorably to her brother, or being avoided like the plague just because her magic was weak. She wanted to be treated the way Ainsley was—admired, respected. Loved.

Maybe, just maybe, Zenith Academy would be the answer to all her problems. Living away from home was scary, but maybe she could finally make a friend or two, and there wouldn’t be daily lectures about how she wasn’t trying hard enough. And surely they would have all sorts of experts on how to make her magic stronger.

The thought buoyed her spirits as she entered her room and changed into her uniform. Leaning close to her mirror, she adjusted her hair to cover the rubbery skin on her cheek. If she tilted her head a little, she couldn’t see the scar at all.

Things are going to be different after I start at Zenith, she thought determinedly, gazing at her reflection. She’d say goodbye to this mundane house and her mundane self and become the kind of fire mage she was supposed to be.

A knock interrupted her dramatic moment.

“Hey, birdbrain, Ma says breakfast’s ready,” Ainsley drawled from the hallway. “Stop checking yourself in the mirror and hurry down.”

2: Luneport Travel

The table was overladen with a mouthwatering assortment of rice, congee, eggs, and lightly fried slices of bacon as toppers. Nainai, Sparrow’s grandmother, was already seated at the head of the table, and Sparrow and Ainsley took their seats under her silvery gaze.

Nainai was ancient, and as mean as she was old. She’d never gotten used to losing her magic, and Sparrow often noticed her making aborted hand gestures, as though to call on magic that was no longer there. While other grandmothers did yoga or baked pies, Nainai spent her time reminiscing about better, magical days with a vacant look in her eyes.

“Girl.” Nainai fixed her unwavering stare on Sparrow. “Work hard at school.”

“I will, Nainai.”

“You don’t want to end up like your cousin Diana,” Nainai continued, her voice taking on a mocking edge.

“Cousin Diana is nice!” Sparrow blurted out. She was the only one in their family who didn’t act like Sparrow was a freak of nature.

Ainsley rolled his eyes and muttered, “Typical birdbrain, just has to argue …” under his breath.

“She works at a third-branch janitorial guild.” Nainai sniffed. “How nice she is doesn’t matter.”

Sparrow’s retort was interrupted when her mother set a steaming jug of soy milk on the table with a thud.

“She is nice,” her mother said, pursing her lips at Nainai. “But it is true she doesn’t have any prospects. You should both be careful not to end up like her. Sparrow, don’t talk back to your grandmother, and eat.”

Ainsley, ever dedicated to his role as the goody two-shoes of the family, made a show of nodding in agreement and helping himself to breakfast.

“Of course, Ma. When I graduate, I’ll join the very best of the first-branch guilds … the White Lily, just like Master Rowan,” he declared around a spoonful of bacon.

“Imagine my son, a Healer!” Ma beamed and patted Ainsley affectionately on the head before continuing to putter about the kitchen. Sparrow rolled her eyes.

“Maybe this Master Rowan could adopt you. Then we wouldn’t have to hear you talk about him all the time,” she sniped.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Me? Jealous of you? Gross.”

Ainsley leveled a grin at her. From his waist, he pulled his pendant free and dangled it in front of Sparrow’s face. The bloodred stone hung on a new silver tassel that had arrived in the mail last week, glinting in the morning light. The Zenith Academy identification stone was the symbol of a fully-fledged apprentice, and a deep color was a sign of strong magic. Her brother had definitely noticed Sparrow’s envious looks at his pendant over the summer.

“Of course you’re jealous,” he mocked. “Yours is probably going to be transparent.”

“Stop arguing with your brother, Sparrow,” said Ma with a click of her tongue. “We have to go soon!”

Sparrow held back her frustration and turned to her breakfast, piling her bowl high with food.

Just you wait, Ainsley, she thought mutinously as she chewed.

After a forty-minute journey full of bickering, Sparrow and Ainsley were hurried through the South Emberland City Luneport, a shiny silver building currently full of apprentices ready to travel by portal gate to their mage academies. Many were in Zenith’s colors, but Sparrow spied some kids in the white-and-gold robes of Inselberg Institute as well as the all-green outfits of Spire Hall.

They passed a poor Inselberg apprentice whose bags had split open at the zipper and reached an attendant in the deep purple uniform of the Transportation Guild. Sparrow handed over the ticket that had arrived with her acceptance letter, and Ainsley handed over his identification pendant to be scanned.

“Zenith Academy is practically at the opposite end of the United Realms,” the attendant remarked as he took their larger bags and set them on the carousel, which ferried them out of sight. “You must be conflicted, ma’am.”

“Their education is the most important thing,” their mother replied in what Sparrow privately called Ma’s “business voice.”

“Of course.” The attendant handed back Sparrow’s stamped ticket and Ainsley’s pendant. “Your luggage will be sent ahead to the Academy. You two may proceed past me to the Zenith Academy Luneport, but you’ll have to stay behind, ma’am. I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye.”

Sparrow found herself squashed up against her brother in a suffocating hug.

“Ma, it’s just another year. You know we’ll be back when winter’s over,” Ainsley wheezed. The hug loosened, and she smiled at them through wet eyes.

“You know I worry. I packed some buns for you both if you get hungry. I want you to look out for each other. Ainsley, take care of your sister, okay? Promise me?”

“I can take care of myself,” Sparrow grumbled.

“Hush, Sparrow, just listen to me, and listen to your teachers. Make sure to work hard, okay?”

She extracted a dozen more promises before the attendant cleared his throat.

“They’ll be late at this rate, ma’am,” he said apologetically, proffering a pack of tissues.

Sparrow turned back for one final wave and let herself be led along by Ainsley down a hall lined with circular gateways.

“Walk faster, birdbrain. The one to Zenith is all the way at the end.”

Ainsley wasn’t kidding. They passed by what felt like every other gate in the Luneport before reaching the one to Zenith Academy. It was gold and inlaid with glyphs and shimmering stars. Flowing letters inscribed along the archway read:

Zenith Academy for Magical Development

Reaching the Highest Peak

Sparrow tried not to fidget. So much depended on her doing well at Zenith, but what if she messed up?

“Hey, Ainsley?” Sparrow hated how meek and uncertain she sounded. “What was it like for you? As a first-year, I mean? Was it scary?”

“A little,” he answered with a shrug. “You want some advice?”

Sparrow nodded, surprised. She couldn’t imagine perfect, composed Ainsley being scared at all.

“You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. But who knows if you’ll be able to pull it off with that teeny tiny fire of yours,” Ainsley replied, smirking once more when Sparrow’s attentive expression morphed into annoyance.

“And here I was thinking that you were being nice, for once.”

“Oh, come on, you’re always so sensitive—”

“Attention, all travelers to Zenith Academy. The Luneport gate will be opening momentarily. Please line up in an orderly fashion.”

It was time. A silvery light began to glow at the edges of the gate. The surface, which Sparrow had thought to be a velvety black cloth, shifted like smoke, lightening into a silvery circle that reminded Sparrow of a full moon on a foggy night.

The gate to Zenith Academy was open.

It was now or never. Years of living with a fire that burned too small within her. One moment, suspended through a portal, to reach the rest of her life.

She took a deep, calming breath. In and out. Sparrow gathered her courage and stepped through the gate, feeling cold, unfamiliar magic wash over her. It felt like she was walking against a great wall of fabric. In between one breath and the next, her feet left the South Emberland Luneport and landed on the flagstones of Zenith Academy.

3: The Path to the Peak

It was night here, and colder than it ever was in South Emberland. Sparrow suppressed a shiver—fire mages weren’t supposed to get cold—and tugged on her magic, willing it to warm her body up from the inside as she took everything in.

They were in a courtyard lined with portal gates, a steady influx of apprentices stepping through them. At its end, a white stone stairway snaked up a mountain—Mount Zenith. They joined the apprentices streaming toward the base of the stairs, where a tall woman wearing a dark headwrap of embroidered velvet waited. On her raised hand, a glossy black bird cast a curious eye upon them.

“Apprentices, welcome to Zenith Academy,” she said in a deep, clear voice. “I am Mistress Noor, steward of Zenith.”

An uneven chorus of “Greetings, Mistress Noor!” rang out among the older apprentices, although Ainsley remained silent, looking bored.

“Second- and third-years, you may make your way to the Academy. Please keep in mind the mountain lifts have strict weight limits, so please don’t overcrowd them. I ask you to have a care for Master Olguin, who must make any repairs.”

Ainsley snorted at this. While he’d sung the praises of Master Rowan all summer, her brother never mentioned a Master Olguin, or indeed any teacher whose subject he considered beneath him.

The older apprentices began to break away from the crowd and head toward the lifts. They hopped onto moving platforms borne on bronze cables and rode the lifts up and out of sight.

“Well, see you later, birdbrain. Enjoy the climb,” said Ainsley.

“Wait, what do you mean, climb?” Sparrow demanded. “You told me all we’d be doing on the first day was getting our pendants!”

“I didn’t lie. You are getting your pendant today. You just have to earn it first. Don’t be late!” Ainsley walked away, hands in his pockets. Sparrow fumed.

Mistress Noor continued addressing the first-years.

“As is tradition, first-years make the pilgrimage to Zenith on foot to secure their place at the Academy.” Mistress Noor gestured to the raven on her shoulder. “Sahir here is one of the many bird wardens of Zenith. He will be my eyes and ears to see who among you will go above and beyond to prove your worthiness. Do not tarry, unless you are willing to risk your place in the Academy. Remember: The gates close at midnight.”

Sahir took off in a near-silent rustle of feathers.

“Let the pilgrimage begin.” Mistress Noor turned with a swish of velvet and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the apprentices bewildered and alone.

“How’d she do that?!” Sparrow gasped aloud. Adults couldn’t use magic!

“There must be a secret passage or portal that only teachers can use.” Sparrow turned to meet the eyes of a boy with curly hair and a dimpled smile.

“Too bad we can’t use it. Portals don’t build enough character, I suppose,” he said with a shrug.

Sparrow laughed, her tension ebbing.

“Hi, I’m Sparrow Xia,” she said.

The boy grinned. He glanced curiously at Sparrow’s cheek, but his eyes flicked back up to hers before he spoke again, immediately endearing him to Sparrow.

“Lyndon Demara. Nice to meet you.”

Lyndon extended his hand for Sparrow to shake, which she did, pleased that Ainsley’s warning that Zenith Academy would be full of only competitive, ruthless people was wrong—

“You’re in the way. Move.”

A girl with a pale, sharp face stepped forward between them, causing Sparrow and Lyndon to jump apart. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail so sleek it made Sparrow’s scalp ache. A redheaded girl trailed behind her, her arms held as though she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

“C-Camellia, that was a little …” The redheaded girl glanced about, all but wringing her hands in nervousness.

“What, rude? Orla, didn’t you hear Mistress Noor? They’re judging us from day one, and I don’t intend to be found lacking. This isn’t a playground. Holding hands and making nice is for people who are willing to be left behind.”

Camellia shot Sparrow and Lyndon a disgusted look before stalking forward to the beginning of the stairs. The others, as though sensing a dangerous animal, parted to let her through. She bent to take a runner’s stance and sprang forward with a violent rush of wind that whipped their hair and clothes about. An air mage. And a strong one at that, Sparrow thought. In seconds, Camellia was out of their sight, leaving Orla in the settling dust. Spurred by Camellia’s words, the other first-years hurriedly began climbing.

“She seems friendly,” Lyndon remarked.

Sparrow stifled a giggle, but she couldn’t help but feel Camellia’s words prick at her. Had she been taking this too lightly? Sparrow didn’t want to be found lacking, nor was she willing to be left behind.

“She had a point, though,” she said, hoping Lyndon wouldn’t notice her nervousness. “We better hurry.”

An hour later and breathing heavily, Sparrow already regretted judging Camellia for her zeal. Looking at the shifting landscape of cliffs, floating rocks, and almost-certainly-poisonous vines that moved sinisterly on their own, Sparrow realized that the path to the Academy wasn’t just some stairs. It was practically an obstacle course, one that encouraged the use of magic to advance. The earth mages created new paths where none existed, and the air mages jumped gracefully past any treacherous terrain. But try as she might, Sparrow couldn’t figure out how fire magic would help her. She had no choice but to scramble up the path on foot. At least she wasn’t the only one.

“I’m starting to regret picking an academy that’s on top of a mountain,” wheezed Lyndon, gripping the side of the cliff tightly.

Sparrow could see a faint haze of lilac magic surrounding his body, the air stirring around him as though lifting him up slightly.

“Are you an air mage?” Sparrow asked. “Why don’t you jump across like the others?”

“Because I’ve got a sense of self-preservation,” Lyndon replied from above. “Also, my magic’s not strong enough.”

Sparrow couldn’t believe Lyndon could say that about his magic so candidly. Sparrow had never, ever talked about her own magical weakness like that—like it was a fact, and not some horrible, shameful secret.

She liked Lyndon even more now. Maybe they could work on strengthening their magic together. Sparrow spied a thick vine and reached for it, hoping to use it as a rope to help her up.

“Um, I wouldn’t touch that,” a soft voice said behind her.

It was Orla. The climb had been unkind to her; twigs and leaves had snagged in her hair and there was already a rip in her uniform. She picked up a stick and poked the vine. Immediately, it lashed out like a snake, curling around the stick and pulling it into itself. Horrible crunching sounds reached them as the stick was crushed to bits.

“That’s venomvine. If you touch it, it’ll drag you into its body and suck your magic out for nutrients,” Orla explained.

“Thank you,” Sparrow replied faintly, staring at the writhing mass of green in horror. She turned back to the rock face with a grimace. She clambered up, studiously avoiding the venomvine, her fingertips smarting from the rough rock.

“I’m going to try and speed up, we’re falling behind …” Lyndon said when Sparrow caught up with him.

“Oh!” A harsh snapping sound rang out beneath them.

Sparrow whipped around. Orla had fallen, and with how steep the terrain had become, she had tumbled pretty far down the path. A few apprentices passed her, averting their gazes.

“Orla!” Sparrow cried. “Are you okay?”

There was no reply. Alarmed, Sparrow tried to step back down toward Orla, but a hand on her wrist stopped her.

“You sure?” Lyndon said. “Look how far she’s fallen! She’ll never make it in time!”

“You want to just leave her?” Sparrow asked incredulously.

“What if the path shifts again? I’m sorry, Sparrow, but everyone’s only responsible for themselves, aren’t they? We’ve got to be practical.”

Sparrow hesitated. Lyndon’s words made sense, but Sparrow’s feet refused to carry her forward. It was far too easy for her to imagine herself in Orla’s position. Left behind by her more talented peers, dismissed as a lost cause …

“You’re probably right.” Sparrow sighed. She’d liked Lyndon’s friendly demeanor, but now Sparrow knew they’d probably never see eye to eye. She extricated her wrist from his grip before continuing.

“But that sort of thinking means that if you ever end up needing help, nobody’ll help you, either.”

“Sparrow—”

Sparrow clambered down the rock wall she’d just gotten past and headed downhill.

“The Academy is in the other direction, sparrow-girl.”

Sparrow jerked her head up in the direction of this new, unfamiliar voice. A large raven perched on a low branch nearby, tilting its head to stare at her.

“Sahir?” Sparrow asked, feeling a bit silly for talking to an animal. “Unless I’m hallucinating …”

“How rude,” the raven replied, fluffing himself up importantly. “I am not a hallucination. And you are going in the wrong direction. The Academy is uphill, foolish one.”

“I’m not going in the wrong direction,” Sparrow replied, continuing downhill and marveling at the idea of talking to a raven. Did all the animals at Zenith speak, or was Sahir special? The raven hopped from branch to branch, following her.

“I’m turning back once I get Orla. Then I’ll go uphill.”

“How interesting,” Sahir replied. He said nothing more and disappeared into the trees.

She found Orla curled up on the side of the steps, tears streaming down her face and a blotch of red staining her uniform pant at the knee.

“Orla, right? I’m Sparrow. Um, please don’t cry, it’ll be okay. Let me see?”

At Orla’s nod, Sparrow rolled up her pant leg, wincing when she saw the size of the scrape. She rummaged in her bag for a crumpled zip-top bag that had seen better days. Inside it was a colorful assortment of bandages. The biggest one she had ended up plastered awkwardly onto Orla’s knee, too small to keep blood from leaking from its edges.

“How does it look?” asked Orla.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Sparrow lied. Tears welled up in Orla’s eyes again.

“You shouldn’t have come back for me. Camellia was right, I’m not cut out for this.” She sniffled, hunching her shoulders. “Mother’s going to be so disappointed in me.”

The way Orla spoke of herself felt painfully familiar to Sparrow.

“Well, Orla, she’s wrong. It’s Zenith Academy of Magical Development, not Zenith Academy of Perfect Awesome Mages.”

Orla giggled a little through her tears. Sparrow pulled out a squashed package of sesame buns from her bag and offered one to Orla.

“Want a bun? They’re really good.”

Orla bit gingerly into one, her eyes widening at the taste.

“I’ve never had these before,” Orla said shyly. “But they’re delicious.”

Sparrow grinned and helped herself as well. Something tasty always made her feel better, and she was glad it worked for Orla, too. Some color was returning to Orla’s face, although her teeth began chattering as the temperature dropped.

“You’re cold,” Sparrow noticed. “Here, hold your hands over mine for a sec.”

Sparrow closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating. She’d been upset since parting ways with Lyndon, and anxious about making it to the Academy on time. Her agitation made it easy to spark a flame in the palm of her hand. It was a tiny thing, but Orla gasped at the light and warmth that bloomed between them.

“You’re a fire mage?” Orla asked, her voice dropping to an awed whisper.

“Sort of,” Sparrow said awkwardly, absently touching the scar on her cheek. Even though she tried to hide it behind her hair, Orla must have seen it. She must know that there was something wrong with Sparrow.

But Orla looked up to meet Sparrow’s eyes and smiled.

“It’s lovely and warm,” Orla said softly. “Thank you.”

This was not the reaction Sparrow had expected.

“You’re welcome,” Sparrow replied, both pleased at the thanks and ashamed that there wasn’t more she could do all at once.

The two girls sat in companionable silence, warming themselves. When Orla’s teeth stopped chattering, Sparrow extinguished the flame. Then she put one of Orla’s arms over her shoulder.

“Come on, it’s not over if we don’t give up,” Sparrow said, and they began uphill once more.

4: The School Among the Stars

The effort of supporting Orla made the already tricky climb even more difficult. They hobbled, agonizingly slow, until they reached the point where Orla had fallen. But Zenith was not done challenging them. The ground split open, leaving a huge gap in their path.

“I’m sorry, Orla, but I have no idea how to get us over this,” Sparrow said, defeated.

“We might be able to make it across if we work together.”

Orla limped to the edge of the path and reached her hands out. Green motes of light flickered around her. To Sparrow’s astonishment, huge mushrooms seeped out from the cracks in the rocks around them. They grew and grew with Orla’s magic, forming a squishy bridge.

“That’s amazing!” Sparrow had never met a nature mage before. While not as rare as fire mages, they were rather uncommon.

“We’ll have to hurry. I’m not certain the mushrooms will hold both our weight for long. And there’s another thing,” Orla said, pointing overhead. Above the bridge, thick green vines swayed.

“Venomvine has a nasty personality—it won’t listen to me just because I have nature magic. But it hates fire. If you can burn it, we’ll be able to get across!”

Sparrow blanched. Would she be strong enough?

I have to try, she thought, holding her hands out toward the venomvine. Small handfuls of fire bubbled up in fits and spurts. Her mother’s words rang in her head. You only have one chance. This year is really important. Are you even trying, Sparrow?

She pushed some more, feeling sweat drip down her neck as she begged her body to produce more fire. Yes, I’m trying, she thought vehemently. I’ve been trying this whole time!

The waxy tendrils finally caught fire, writhing in pain and shrinking away from them. A pang of shame washed over Sparrow. If it had been Ainsley in their position, all that venomvine would be ash by now.

“I’m sorry,” Sparrow gasped. “That’s all I can do right now …”

“That’s good enough, let’s go before it returns!”

They stepped onto the mushroom path, their feet sinking into the squishy caps.

“Oh no,” Orla breathed. “It’s not going to hold.”

Sparrow could hear the dull creaking of the mushroom stems tearing under their weight. They scrambled across in a blind panic, but they were too slow. The path began to crumble, bits of mushroom falling into the cavernous space beneath them.

“We’re not going to make it!” Sparrow shouted. She scrunched her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable fall.

None came.

Instead, something was buoying her from underneath. She peeked her eyes open to see a soft haze of lilac surrounding their bodies.

“There you are!”

It was Lyndon, hurrying down the steps toward them, arms held aloft as though holding a great weight.

“No offense, but I can’t hold you two for long. Hurry,” he urged.

With his magic, they were now light enough to scramble across the remaining mushrooms. Once Sparrow’s feet touched solid ground again, she sank to her knees in relief. Lyndon let go of his magic with a gasp.

“That was terrifying,” Orla said, looking at Sparrow and Lyndon with wide eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Sparrow wheezed.

“I didn’t think so, either,” answered Lyndon. “But when I got to the Academy, I was feeling pretty ashamed of myself, I’ll admit. Will you let me help?”

“Of course,” she said, grinning. “Thank you for coming back. I know it wasn’t easy.”

The two of them took up places next to Orla, supporting her so that she could walk. With Lyndon’s help, they made much quicker progress.

“We’re actually really close,” Lyndon said. “If you hadn’t fallen, you’d have made it with time to spare. Look.”

When they turned the corner, a great set of gates awaited them.

Distantly, a bell tolled. One … two … three … Sparrow realized with a start that this was the midnight bell. With a slow creak, the gates began to move.

“Hurry!” Sparrow cried.

The three of them scrambled, Lyndon and Sparrow all but carrying Orla as they flung themselves past the closing gates. The bell finished its twelfth toll, and the gates swung shut with a resounding clang.

“I’m glad we won’t have to do that again next year,” gasped Lyndon.

“Thank you so much, you two.” Orla sounded close to tears again.

Sparrow was too busy taking in the sight of the Academy to answer either of them.

Against the curve of the mountain, white stone buildings and a delicate collection of bridges seemed to float up out of the mist. Graveled courtyards were lushly lined with trees, and the distant sound of running water filled Sparrow’s ears.

Zenith Academy was nothing like her boring home in South Emberland. It looked ancient and imposing, full of magic.

It was perfect.

The rest of the first-years were gathered in front of a massive set of dark wooden doors. Sparrow could’ve sworn that there were fewer apprentices here than they had started with.

“I don’t think everyone managed to finish the pilgrimage,” Lyndon said, eyes scanning the crowd. “Poor things, they’ll have to return their uniforms and everything.”

“We barely made it ourselves.” Sparrow shuddered at the thought. They limped as a unit to join the group. Soon the great doors swung open, revealing Mistress Noor.

“Welcome to Zenith Academy,” she said, looking over them with hawklike eyes. “Quite a number of you have reached the Academy this year, I see. Those who need any further healing will be tended to, then it will be time to receive the identification pendants you earned.”

The first-years followed Mistress Noor into a half-moon-shaped antechamber. A handful of Adepts stood against the walls, their collar pins glinting in the low light. They moved swiftly, plucking injured first-years out of the crowd and ferrying them away to another room. Before Sparrow could flag one of them down to help Orla, Ainsley walked briskly toward them.

“I’m here to assist any injured for healing.” Ainsley gave Sparrow a once-over, his eyebrows rising incrementally. Sparrow looked down at herself, only now noticing the mud caked on her hems. Before she could say anything in her defense, Ainsley’s gaze moved to Orla and the blood soaked into her uniform pants. He held out an arm to her silently.

“I’ll be fine,” Orla said to Sparrow and Lyndon. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you later!” She leaned on Ainsley’s arm and hobbled away.

“First-years, if I may have your attention,” Mistress Noor called from the middle of the chamber. A somber-looking man in all-black robes stood next to her. In front of them was a stone pedestal, upon which was a shiny globe the size of a watermelon. The globe floated lazily, casting strange patterns of light. A faint humming sounded in Sparrow’s ears when she looked at it.

“I’m pleased to introduce to you Master Balta Olguin, Runemaster and Recordskeeper at Zenith,” said Mistress Noor.

Master Olguin stepped forward half a pace and gestured to the floating orb.

“This is the Eye of Zipporah, named for our founder, Zipporah Zenith. And this is a blank identification pendant.”

He held up a pendant. It looked just like Ainsley’s, except it was corded with a bronze tassel, and the stone was crystal clear.

“It is made of one of the purest forms of magestone, a material second to none in terms of magic absorption. Together with the Eye of Zipporah, it will resonate with your magic and become proof of your apprenticeship. Second- and third-years have silver and gold tassels, respectively. You won’t be able to access your dormitories, classrooms, or other areas of the Academy without it, so keep it on you at all times! Adept Rina, please begin handing out the blank pendants.”

A third-year Adept with her hair in twin buns stepped forward and began passing out pendants at random.

“Blank pendants, coming right up!” she called.

“Rina Ohtani, an Adept is meant to be a leader for younger apprentices, not a marketplace hawker. Please act accordingly,” Master Olguin said with asperity, massaging his temples.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Adept Rina replied cheekily, but made no attempt to change her method of distribution.

“When your name is called, please approach the Eye of Zipporah and place your hand upon it. We shall begin with Apprentice Orla Bailey.”

Orla emerged from the other side of the room, walking on her own with a slight limp. When she touched the Eye, it flashed the color of new spring leaves, and the pendant in her hands turned the very same color. She returned to Lyndon and Sparrow’s side, and they both admired her completed pendant, impatient to get theirs.

The range of colors was as varied as the apprentices themselves. A boy named Jonah Calder returned with a slate-colored stone, while Camellia Downs caused the Eye of Zipporah to flash a blinding white, her pendant turning into a shimmery moonstone. But it wasn’t just Camellia whose magic showed up with distinctive vibrancy.

Anya Khan’s stone was a cheerful purple-pink, and Lilac Lemaire’s sapphire pendant drew many an envious eye.

Lyndon’s lightly hued purple stone might not have been very saturated, but Sparrow thought it was very elegant and said so.

“Thanks, Sparrow. Can’t wait to see yours.” Lyndon grinned, elbowing her playfully.

Suddenly, Sparrow felt acutely aware of the sesame buns she’d eaten, sitting like rocks in her belly. She was eager to get her pendant, but Ainsley’s taunt from this morning gave her pause. What if it was transparent?

“Sparrow Xia, please come forward!” Master Olguin called.

“Good luck!” said Lyndon and Orla in unison.

Sparrow approached the Eye with trepidation.

“Sparrow Xia? Is something wrong?” Master Olguin asked.

“N-no, sir.”

She raised a trembling hand to the Eye of Zipporah.

It was stiflingly hot.

Ash danced in Sparrow’s vision. Ainsley stood in front of her, his face smeared with soot, his hair in disarray. He looked nothing like the brother she knew. Scattered around their feet was charred debris crumbling into ash.

“You’ll never be stronger than me, birdbrain,” Ainsley spat.

Where was this? A thick haze of smoke and ash made it impossible to judge Sparrow’s surroundings, but she felt sure she’d never been here before. With a jolt, Sparrow realized she was seeing a vision.

Ainsley called fire to his hands, and with a violent shove he shot a mass of flames in Sparrow’s direction. Ainsley’s fire roared around them. She tried to move, to run away, but to her horror, her vision self stepped closer to Ainsley, arms lifted as if in surrender. She was going to be burned by his fire again!

Sparrow jerked back, squeezing her eyes shut and shielding her face instinctively.

“Apprentice Xia? Are you all right?”

She opened her eyes, but her vision swam and she swayed until she got her bearings. She was back in the antechamber, Master Olguin peering worriedly at her. In her hands, her pendant had developed a soft, rosy hue.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m okay,” Sparrow managed, her heart pounding. Did everyone get a vision like that? She wanted to ask Lyndon and Orla immediately, but Mistress Noor addressed the first-years once more.

“Congratulations on becoming fully-fledged apprentices of Zenith Academy. May you continue its long tradition of magical excellence. All that remains tonight is to take you to the Apprentice Quarter, which will be your home for the next three years. Come.”

They followed Mistress Noor through the Academy. Sparrow didn’t have the heart to join Lyndon and Orla in marveling over the many tapestries and stained glass windows they passed. Nobody else seemed as shaken as she was, and Sparrow felt a sick certainty that she’d seen a bad omen.

She only realized they had stopped when she walked straight into Lyndon’s back. An ornately carved door greeted the first-years. The script on a bronze plaque read: Zenith Academy Apprentice Quarter.

Beyond was a cave-like space. It was cozy—richly embroidered tapestries hung from the rough stone walls, and braziers cast a cheerful glow. A large, central hearth kept the chill away, and round archways framed staircases that Sparrow guessed led to bedrooms.

“Your rooms are through that corridor. You’ll find your luggage and standard-issue equipment in your rooms. Good night, apprentices.”

After bidding Lyndon and Orla good night, Sparrow found her name listed on a door under Chiaki Shirayama, who was already inside the room when she entered.

“Sparrow Xia, I take it?” Chiaki said. She had pin-straight hair cut into a neat bob and a smattering of freckles across her face.

“Yeah, nice to—”

“I’m taking the left side of the room, and I call first shower,” Chiaki interrupted. “Don’t wake me up before the sun and I won’t freeze the water in your bath, deal?”

“D-deal.” So, Sparrow’s roommate was an ice mage. It was a sufficient threat, and she resolved to be as quiet as a mouse if she ever got up early.

“Good. Don’t worry, I shower fast.”

Chiaki headed through the door to their shared bathroom.

Sparrow looked at the room that would be hers for the next three years. A huge stained glass window set into plain plastered walls would let in plenty of sunlight during the day. To the right, on her side of the room, a dark wood desk, hand carved and pretty. Here, in the moon-tinted light, all was peaceful, and even the vision she’d seen felt a little less ominous.

It’ll be my first day tomorrow, Sparrow thought, pushing the memory of it aside. Tomorrow, she’d ask around and find out if anyone else had seen anything similar. Maybe this was something the Eye of Zipporah did to scare apprentices into working hard . . .

After a perfunctory shower, Sparrow crawled up into the sleeping alcove and under the covers of her bed. She peeked at the nearby wardrobe, where she’d set out all her school things earlier: a fresh uniform, her pendant, and a pair of standard-issue boots.

All one needs at Zenith Academy … Well, maybe one more thing, Sparrow thought as she remembered Lyndon’s and Orla’s tired grins at the end of the climb. She had also made a pair of friends, which she suspected was very important for succeeding at a school like Zenith.

5: A Not-So-Fresh Start

Sparrow woke drenched in sweat, the wisps of a fiery nightmare dissipating in the morning light, dream Ainsley’s voice ringing in her ears.

“So much for not thinking about it …” Sparrow rubbed the crust from her eyes. She touched the scar on her cheek, a hazy memory from years ago overlaying itself with that of her vision. It had been Ainsley’s magic that had done it. An accident, she reminded herself.

There was no way she was going to go back to sleep. Sparrow got ready for the day quietly—Chiaki was still snoring softly in bed—and left the room. She found Lyndon’s room and knocked.

“Breakfast?” she asked when he opened the door.

“Yes, please,” he replied. “Let’s grab Orla, too.”

Orla was bleary-eyed, with pillow creases still on her cheek, but she agreed to come along.

“Not a morning person?” Sparrow guessed.

“You’d think I would be by now,” Orla replied around a yawn. “Mother thinks it’s a moral failing, but—” She yawned again. “I just can’t function till the afternoon.”

Lyndon laughed. “C’mon, food will help. I’m starving.”

They’d reached the dining hall. Sunlight streamed through the large windows and over the neat rows of wooden tables and benches that filled the hall. Apprentices and teachers alike lined up at the serving table, helping themselves to a truly staggering assortment of breakfast foods. There were dishes familiar to Sparrow—oatmeal, eggs, and rice—as well as unfamiliar ones: dosas, chutneys, mounds of cottage cheese, and pickled fish. Sparrow loaded her tray with a bit of everything.

They sat at the end of the first-year tables, greeting their new classmates with a grin (Lyndon) and shy waves (Sparrow and Orla). The other apprentices were chatting in excited tones. Two girls intently appraised a list of clubs and their merits—the equestrian club got a lot of excitement, and Sparrow noticed Orla craning her neck to listen—while the other students hotly debated whether the rumors that a snow-white panther prowled the Academy’s grounds at night could possibly be true.

“By the way, I wanted to ask this yesterday, but did anyone else see anything weird when touching the Eye of Zipporah?” Sparrow asked during a lull in the conversation.

“Weird, how?” Orla asked. “I felt really fuzzy, but I didn’t see anything strange. What about you, Lyndon?”

“Hmm, not really?” Lyndon answered. “It sounds like you did, though. What was it?”

“If you and Orla didn’t see anything, then it’s probably nothing,” Sparrow replied, unwilling to elaborate on the vision that had spooked her so. “Maybe I was just too tired yesterday?”

Lyndon thought about this for a second, then turned to tap the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him.

“Jonah, did you see anything out of the ordinary when you touched the Eye of Zipporah yesterday?” Lyndon turned back, as if remembering something. “Oh, right, this is Jonah Calder, my roommate, by the way. And these two are—”

“Xia and Bailey, right? You three were the last to reach the Academy. I heard the others talking about it,” Jonah said in a rush, peering at them curiously.

“The Eye, Jonah?” Lyndon pressed, trying to pass over the worrying idea that everyone was talking about them nearly failing.

“Oops, sorry,” Jonah said. “Hmm, you mean like a vision? Not really. Why?”

“Sparrow asked,” Lyndon answered.

The two boys turned to her, curiosity on their faces. It didn’t sound like anybody had seen any visions at all. That definitely felt ominous.

“Tell you what,” Jonah said when she couldn’t answer. “My sister Anette’s a third-year. I can ask her if she’s ever heard of the Eye showing things to apprentices.”

Sparrow thought ruefully about how opaque Ainsley had been about everything thus far. “Meanwhile, my brother didn’t tell me anything, not even about the climb. He went up those lifts laughing, can you believe that?”

“Some apprentices really believe in the whole ‘rite of passage’ thing,” Jonah said sympathetically. “Who’s your brother, by the way? Maybe Anette knows him.”

It was at this moment that Ainsley walked into the dining hall, cheerfully greeting his classmates. He was never so upbeat at home, and Sparrow couldn’t shake the feeling that she was watching a stranger.

“Uh, Sparrow?” Lyndon prompted, his eyes following her gaze.

Well, there was no use hiding it, but Sparrow had really been enjoying not being associated with her brother for a bit.

“That’s—” Sparrow started.

“That’s Ainsley Xia!” Jonah interrupted excitedly. “Rumor has it he burned off a teacher’s eyebrows during Evals last year! I hear he’s a bit of a hothead.”

“Looks like the rumors are right,” Lyndon said, pointing. “Who starts an argument on the first day?”

Sparrow whipped her head around to watch her brother sneer and say something to a tall and burly third-year. Ainsley wore the same smug expression he always did when he was making Sparrow’s life difficult. The other boy scowled at Ainsley and spoke loud enough for them all to hear.

“I see you’re as rude as you were last year, Xia. Walking around like you own the place, taking things that you don’t deserve!”

“Oh, you mean this?” Ainsley adjusted his collar so that his Adept pin caught the light. “It’s not my fault you failed potionmaking, Gale. I earned this pin, fair and square.”

“Adepts are supposed to be third-years, you little—”

“Adepts are those who make the cut,” Ainsley interrupted. “You’re just mad that a second-year took the position you thought was yours.”

“You’re going to regret that attitude of yours, Xia. I’m going to make sure of it.” Gale stomped out of the dining hall. The commotion thus ended, and the apprentices around them returned to their breakfasts. Sparrow wondered if this sort of thing was normal for Zenith apprentices.

Ainsley made a beeline toward the first-year tables, turning heads as he walked. This was terrible—everyone had been too distracted by getting their pendants yesterday to notice, but it would be obvious now that they were related, and then there’d be all these expectations, and then disappointment once everyone found out—

“Earth to birdbrain, is anyone home?” Ainsley snapped his fingers in front of her face. As he did, sparks shot from his hand and jerked Sparrow out of her panic.

“… Yes, Ains?” Sparrow replied, resisting the urge to sink down in her chair. Ainsley’s gaze landed briefly on the pendant at her belt, his eyes twitching a little. Sparrow shrank under his gaze.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Did someone pick on you?”

“What? No!” Sparrow said, surprised and touched that he would ask. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Ainsley replied in a tone that implied that was his domain only. He tossed a soft package into her lap.

“Mom packed your socks in my luggage,” he said. “Be grateful I didn’t incinerate them.”

After another disappointed look at her pendant, Ainsley spun on his heel and left, his concern short-lived. Sparrow suppressed the urge to yell something rude after him.

A stunned silence descended on their table in Ainsley’s wake.

“… I hate him,” Sparrow groaned.

Jonah looked between Ainsley’s retreating back and Sparrow’s glum face. “Don’t tell me your brother’s Ainsley Xia?”

Sparrow held up the bag of socks in response.

“No, we just live together,” she said dully.

“That means you’re a fire mage, too, right?” Jonah exclaimed, undeterred by her misery. “I had a feeling when I saw your pendant! That’s so cool. I heard your brother was the first fire mage Zenith’s had in ages, and now there are two!”

“I don’t really like to make a big deal about it,” Sparrow mumbled.

“Why not?” Orla finally asked. She’d been staring starry-eyed in Ainsley’s direction for a while.

“It’s a little late for that now,” Lyndon remarked, glancing around. Almost all the first-years were looking at Sparrow with open curiosity. Sparrow made eye contact with Camellia, who was glaring at her from the other end of the table.

“Great,” Sparrow muttered. “Thanks, Ainsley, this was really what I needed on my first day.”

6: The Noble Craft

“I still don’t see what the big deal is, Sparrow. So what if your brother’s a hotshot fire mage?” Lyndon asked as the first-years climbed down a winding exterior staircase that led to the Conservatories for their first class: Basics of Herbcrafting. The wind buffeted them as they descended, filling their noses with the cold-sharp smell of pine needles.

“Because I’m obviously not as strong as he is,” Sparrow replied, trying and failing to keep her hair from flapping all over the place. “Haven’t you ever been compared to someone without wanting to be?”

“I guess not. I don’t really care about that sort of thing,” Lyndon answered. “Magical strength isn’t really that important, you know?”

Sparrow had to pause just to goggle at Lyndon for saying something so ludicrous.

“It’s okay, Sparrow, I’ve been there,” Orla said sympathetically. “It’s a lot of pressure, right? It’s nice to meet someone else in the same situation, actually.”

“You see? Orla gets it,” Sparrow said, shooting her a grateful smile.

“Hey, I get things—whoa! Look at that.”

“It’s beautiful,” Orla breathed, eyes alight.

They had finally reached the Conservatories, passing through the main building’s doors into a room like nothing Sparrow had ever seen. Its glimmering bronze frame of cut glass caught the sun; crystalline spires refracted rainbow shards of light over the first-years. Thick vines crawled up toward the ceiling, while glossy, oddly shaped fruits hung from arbors above. At its center sat a huge pond with giant lily pads floating serenely upon the dark water.

Master Rowan, their herbcrafting teacher, was waiting for them. His thick leather apron, boots, and dangling crystal earrings gave off a very rumpled, rebellious air: a stark contrast to the buttoned-up teachers Sparrow had seen so far. She even caught a flash of green under his sleeves, a tattoo of inky vines snaking around his forearms. No wonder Ainsley thought Master Rowan was so cool.

“Good morning, first-years! I am Silas Rowan. Healer of the White Lily Guild, Herbmaster, and your instructor for today.” Master Rowan gave them a cheerful wave and gestured for them to gather around the tables in front of him. On them, mounds of dirt full of what looked like very red potatoes steamed gently. “Herbcrafting is the noble craft of cultivating magical flora and fauna to make healing potions, tinctures, and salves. Although this might seem medieval to those more interested in learning about cutting-edge magecraft …”

Lyndon shifted at this, looking a little guilty. Sparrow held back a snicker. So that’s why he’d been so candid about his relatively weak magic earlier. He was one of those “magecraft nerds” that Ainsley was always disparaging—more interested in the engineering behind contraptions than becoming a magical powerhouse.

“Or perhaps unimportant, for those focused solely on honing their innate abilities?”

Sparrow gulped as Master Rowan’s eyes met hers.

“But for those interested in joining the coveted first-branch guilds, herbcrafting proficiency is a major requirement. Please direct your attention to the tables in front of you. Those tubers there are flamewort, one of the most common magical components used in healing. In fact, you’ll find it in many of the over-the-counter potions from our infirmary. Your task today is simple—clean, skin, and sliver as much flamewort as possible.”

Master Rowan pointed to the pile of gloves to the side of the dirt mounds.

“Now, common does not mean they are not dangerous! Improper handling can result in severe burns, so do take care to use the gloves provided under the tables. I hope you’ll give this your all. This exercise trains magic handling, teaching you to direct the flow of magic within your body, which of course translates to you using magic more efficiently!”

The class’s attention sharpened at this.

“I had a feeling that would get you motivated.” Master Rowan chuckled. “Now, that’s not all! As another incentive, a jar of candied flamewort shall be given to the apprentice who does the best today. It’s a good little pick-me-up for fatigue, and it tastes better than a potion, too. Now let’s get to work.”

They spread out around the tables. To Sparrow’s dismay, she was split from Lyndon and Orla, ending up at a table with Camellia, Anya, and Lilac. Sparrow remembered both Anya and Lilac from yesterday; their bright pendants were hard to miss. When Sparrow introduced herself, the three girls stared at her with undisguised curiosity, as though she were a strange exhibit at the zoo.

“So you’re the fire mage everyone’s been talking about.” Lilac’s eyes lingered on Sparrow’s scar, and a derisive curl appeared on her lips.

“Um, yes … ?”

“A fire mage with a burn mark? That’s new,” Camellia commented. “I’m surprised the Academy let you in. Is that why you were so relaxed before the climb? Just because your ability is rare, you think you can’t be expelled?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” Anya said, mock-concerned. “Maybe if you were powerful like your brother, but you came in last place yesterday. Poor thing, I’d be so worried if I were you.”

“I don’t think I can’t be expelled!” Sparrow protested.

“Sure,” Camellia said dismissively. “Whatever you say. Just … stay out of our way, all right?”

“Yeah,” snickered Lilac. “I wouldn’t want to catch whatever’s wrong with you. You understand, don’t you?”

Sparrow flushed red. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of after Ainsley had made that fuss in the dining hall. A rare fire mage, but not one they respected. What a perfect target she must make.

She turned sullenly to the pile of flamewort in front of her, trying not to let her frustration show on her face. Sparrow could tell just by looking at their pendants that these girls had probably been strong the moment their magic manifested, just like her brother. This was just a regular class to them, one they could spend leisurely working through their assignment while picking on her. It was different for Sparrow. The vision—the image of the overwhelming gap between her magic and Ainsley’s—was too fresh in her mind. She grabbed a flamewort root with a gloved hand. Immediately, warmth suffused her body, almost too much to bear. But Sparrow wasn’t a fire mage for nothing.

It’s just magic. Just like mine. Sparrow allowed the force of the flamewort’s magic to circulate through her body. Her forehead beaded with sweat, but she picked up the knife, and soon the task became as easy as helping her mother prepare dinner. Peeling and cutting potatoes was always Sparrow’s job. She peeled another flamewort, and then another, ignoring the snide whispers of her tablemates. All distractions fell away to the rhythmic motions of the knife in her hands and the thunk of the blade hitting the work top. As the class drew to a close, Master Rowan appeared to take stock of their work.

“Let’s see … Ah, Lilac, you’ve done admirably well considering that you’re a water mage,” Master Rowan praised. “But that’s no surprise from somebody of the esteemed Lemaire family! And Camellia and Anya, both very good jobs indeed.”

The girls preened, pleased with themselves. Then Master Rowan broke into a big smile when he saw Sparrow’s pile of flamewort.

“Evenly sliced pieces, perfect for herbcrafting,” he enthused. “Why, I think Sparrow here has gotten through the most flamewort of the class. As expected of Zenith Academy’s second fire mage, well done!”

Master Rowan fished for a small jar in the pockets of his apron and held it aloft. The glass caught the sunlight, making the translucent, orangey candies inside glow like little gems—the perfect treasure for a class gone well.

“As promised, a jar of candied flamewort for you. Now, overuse causes an upset stomach, so be advised. Good job today, Sparrow.”

“Thank you, sir!” Sparrow received her jar with delight, admiring the sugar-crusted candies. She popped a piece into her mouth. The gingery, floral flavor coated her mouth like syrup, but the look of displeased surprise on the other girls’ faces was even sweeter.

7: Potions and Progress

Sparrow rejoined her friends as the class broke for lunch, glad to be free of Camellia’s death glare. They made a beeline for the dining hall, hungry after all that work.

“Good job getting that prize, by the way,” Lyndon said with a grin as they waited in line.

“I can’t believe you beat me by one flamewort!” Orla said, crossing her arms with an exaggerated huff.

“Only because it was a fire-affinity plant!” Sparrow giggled. “If it had been … waterwort or something, I probably would have done terribly!”

“There’s no such thing as waterwort. But I suppose that’s true,” Orla said, mollified.

They collected their lunches and found an empty table. (Sparrow opted for the daily Zenith Special: Today it was lentils and chicken curry. It was very good.)

Lyndon dug in with gusto, to Sparrow and Orla’s amusement.

“Mmmrh?” Lyndon swallowed with difficulty. “What? I’m just making sure I have energy for our afternoon class—”

A flutter of black feathers landed in the middle of their table.

“Sahir!” Sparrow greeted him with surprise.

“Hello, Apprentice Sparrow Xia, I have a message for you. Ahem.” When the raven warden opened his beak again, it was Master Olguin’s measured tenor that rang out.

“Apprentice Xia, please come to the infirmary immediately. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Wow, that sounded just like him,” Lyndon said, after a beat passed.

Sahir fluffed his feathers, pleased.

“I will guide you to the infirmary,” he declared, hopping onto her shoulder.

Sparrow took one last look at her half-finished lunch and sighed.

Trotting down the labyrinthine corridors of the Academy under Sahir’s direction, Sparrow wondered the whole time why Master Olguin had summoned her. Her stomach lurched when she remembered the vision.

“What troubles you, bird-child?” Sahir cawed from his perch on her shoulder.

Sparrow paused at the nickname. I suppose it’s technically correct.

“I’m just worried they’re going to tell me that the Eye of Zipporah made a mistake yesterday, and that I didn’t pass after all …”

“You should have more confidence, bird-child. Did the Eye not reveal its secrets to you with a vision?”

“How d’you know that?” Sparrow asked, startled.

“You asked the other apprentices this morning,” Sahir replied, with a disgruntled flap of his wing. “I am a warden of Zenith, attuned to its magic and secrets. You should have asked me.”

“Then … do you know what the vision means?”

“The Eye shows visions to only a select few whom it judges to have great potential.” The raven hopped once on her shoulder, as if to emphasize the importance of this reveal.

Great potential? Sahir could only say that because he hadn’t seen the vision.

Her skepticism must have shown on her face.

“You would do well to take its wisdom to heart,” Sahir advised. “The Eye shows the truth of your magic.”

On that cryptic note, Sahir took off, leaving Sparrow alone outside the infirmary doors. Sparrow pondered his words with a touch of despair. If the Eye was showing her the truth, well, she already knew that she had no hope of overpowering Ainsley. What advice was she meant to glean from that?

Uneasily, Sparrow pulled open the heavy doors and entered a long room that smelled like citrus and disinfectant. Light streamed in from the skylights, filtering through banners of green-and-white cloth that hung from the rafters. Cots lined the walls, curtains drawn around their patients.

“Apprentice Xia, over here.” Master Olguin waved her over.

“Hello, Master Olguin. You wanted to see me?” Sparrow tried not to let her nervousness show.

“Yes, I did. The Eye of Zipporah behaved unusually while you were receiving your pendant. I wanted our head Healer to take a look at your magic. We’ll have to wait; she’s with another apprentice now.”

Nearby, an old woman in white robes was examining Lilac, who was holding her head and wincing. The Healer seemed to be as old as Nainai, but the similarities ended there. Long silver hair hung to her waist, and against the pure white of her Healer’s robes, her red lipstick was garishly bright.

“A sudden, splitting headache, you say?” the Healer tutted. “I’ll prescribe you a potion for the pain. Come back if it persists, you hear me?”

Lilac nodded slowly, wincing as she swallowed the potion she’d been given.

The Healer straightened and approached the new arrivals, her heels clacking on the floor.

“Balta, what is it?” she asked without preamble.

“I’ve brought you the apprentice I mentioned. Would you please examine her magic? Sparrow, this is Healer Isbeth, the head Healer at Zenith Academy.”

Healer Isbeth had Sparrow sit on a bed and began attaching a multitude of cables from a magecraft machine to her fingers as Master Olguin continued.

“When Apprentice Xia touched the Eye of Zipporah, the assessment of her magic by the Eye fluctuated … abnormally.”

Sparrow bit the inside of her cheek. She already knew she was “abnormal,” but was it fixable?

“Honestly, why the Academy uses such an antiquated mode of measurement is beyond me,” said Healer Isbeth.

“It’s a time-honored tradition since the founding of the Academy,” Master Olguin said, a touch of reproach in his voice.

“Medical magecraft has come a very long way since then,” Healer Isbeth retorted. “My inventions are much more accurate than that old bowling ball.”

Sparrow privately thought that it would be far less exciting to watch all the first-years get hooked up to medical magecraft machines on the first day of school.

“Well, can your cutting-edge magecraft give us any insight? It was just for a moment, but the Eye reacted as though Xia’s magic was very strong. I suspect that with some help, her magic could improve greatly.”

Sparrow’s heart hammered as Healer Isbeth adjusted some knobs on the machine. A part of her had always been afraid that no matter how hard she tried, she’d been born weak and would remain so forever. She had been skeptical earlier when Sahir had mentioned “great potential,” but Master Olguin’s words sparked a tremulous hope within her.

“Does that mean my magic can get stronger?” Sparrow asked.

“Hmm.” The magecraft machine spat out a little slip of paper filled with strange graphs and symbols. Healer Isbeth squinted at the printout for a long moment. “Well, her readings are typical for a fire mage. Powerful, volatile. But your pendant is pale, and it seems you are having trouble accessing your magic. It’s hard to say …”

Sparrow deflated. “So … I can’t get any stronger?”

“That’s not what I said. We simply have to experiment a little.” Healer Isbeth’s eyes gleamed alarmingly. “You’re a mystery, Xia. I like that in an apprentice.”

Healer Isbeth cackled at Sparrow’s wary expression.

“No progress is ever made without risk, apprentice. I’ve made it my life’s mission to understand magic: Why do only the young have magic? What actually causes the magical fade? And so on. Nobody in this Academy knows more about magic than I do, you can trust me.”

She rose to examine a nearby rack of vials, picking out a few with deft hands. “Let’s see … emberblossom extract for power, flame ginger for balance …” Healer Isbeth combined the ingredients into a murky red liquid that reminded Sparrow uncomfortably of blood. That liquid was then decanted into tiny vials, placed into a case, and handed to Sparrow.

“Take one of these three times a day and come back next week for a checkup. Now, I have other patients to attend to, including fools who’ve managed to poison themselves on the first day of classes.”

Healer Isbeth swept away to examine an apprentice who was moaning and clutching his stomach. Sparrow recognized him as the same boy who had exchanged angry words with Ainsley earlier.

“Shouldn’t you know better than to mess with potionmaking after what happened last year, Gale Higgins?”

Master Olguin cleared his throat to get Sparrow’s attention. “Well, good luck, Apprentice Xia. I hope you’ll be diligent about taking your potions. The Academy has high hopes for its second fire mage, you know.”

“… Of course, Master Olguin,” Sparrow mumbled, staring dubiously at the case in her hands.

8: The Deserving

Sparrow had doubts. No offense to Healer Isbeth, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried a myriad of supplements that claimed to strengthen magic. There was a time when Ma would come home every week with some new, usually awful-tasting potion, convinced that she had found the cure for whatever was wrong with Sparrow.

Too distracted to pay attention to where she was going, Sparrow bumped into someone as she exited the infirmary.

“Oh, sorry about tha … Oh, it’s you.”

Sparrow clamped her mouth shut and took a step backward from Camellia, who swept invisible dust from her shoulder.

“Um … Lilac’s inside, if you’re looking for her.” Sparrow edged away, feeling awkward. “Bye, I guess.”

“It must be nice having a rare type of magic,” Camellia said snidely. “It’s only the first day and you’ve got everyone fawning all over you.”

“What? They’re not fawning all over me!” Sparrow protested. “If you’re mad about herbcrafting class, don’t take it out on me. It’s not like I told Master Rowan to give us a fire-affinity assignment.”

Camellia scoffed, but Sparrow felt like she’d hit the mark.

“What’s your problem with me, anyway?” Sparrow asked, aggrieved. “I’ve never done anything to you!”

Camellia leaned in close enough for Sparrow to count her eyelashes. She jabbed a sharp finger into Sparrow’s chest.

“My problem is that everyone’s acting like you’re the second coming of Zipporah herself just because you’re a fire mage!”

Sparrow opened her mouth to protest, but the look on Camellia’s face gave her pause. Her many years of arguing with Ainsley had finely honed Sparrow’s instinct for knowing when it was best to hold her tongue.

“You don’t work half as hard as I do, yet you get to coast along just because you were born ‘special.’”

“It’s not my fault I was born a fire mage!” Sparrow shot back. “You have no idea how—”

“Please. Spare me your sob story.” Camellia scowled. “Whatever. Once people realize how inferior you are, they’ll stop paying any attention to you. And I think you know it, too.”

Camellia stalked past Sparrow into the infirmary without waiting for a reply.

An odd mixture of anger and defeat swirled inside Sparrow. Could Camellia be right? Sure, Lyndon and Orla accepted her for who she was, but would they always? The Eye of Zipporah’s vision haunted her: a sea of Ainsley’s fire, with her too weak to withstand its onslaught.

Sparrow retrieved one of Healer Isbeth’s potions, unsealing the top and giving the potion a sniff. Holding back a gag, she determinedly brought the glass to her lips and tipped her head back. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat, bitter and spicy all at once.

Hours later, Sparrow’s skin was prickling uncomfortably. Healer Isbeth’s potion was doing something, for sure. Her head felt like someone had poured honey in it—her thoughts were so slow that she could barely focus during History of the Three Branches. Mistress Temperance’s lilting voice detailing the respective roles of guilds in United Realm society may as well have been a lullaby.

Lyndon and Orla kept sending her concerned glances. When Mistress Temperance finally dismissed them, they cornered her.

“Sparrow, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird since Sahir summoned you.” Lyndon leaned over the desk to peer at her.

“Are you okay? You look flushed.” Orla put a cool hand on Sparrow’s forehead.

“It’s probably the potion Healer Isbeth gave me. Maybe I’ll just skip dinner and head to bed. You guys go on without me,” Sparrow said, hoping Lyndon and Orla would chalk her silence up to her sickness. She didn’t want to talk about what Camellia had said.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Lyndon replied, a determined set to his features. “Orla?”

Orla’s hands wrapped around Sparrow’s arm, pulling her upright and steadying her.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to your room,” she said.

“No, it’s fine, I—”

“And I’ll get food for us. Is soup okay?” Lyndon interrupted.

“… Soup is okay,” Sparrow replied in a small voice.

Orla and Lyndon returned to her room after Sparrow emerged from her shower, both of them in pajamas as well. She allowed herself to be covered in blankets and accepted the bowl of chicken soup pressed into her hands. It was only after she had a few spoonfuls that her friends spoke again.

“So? What else is eating you besides the potion?” Lyndon asked. “You’ve looked like a kicked puppy all afternoon.”

Sparrow squirmed, wanting to hide away from the conversation. The silence stretched out between them as Lyndon and Orla waited for her to speak.

“… I ran into Camellia when I left the infirmary,” Sparrow admitted. “She said I didn’t deserve to be here, and that eventually nobody would want anything to do with me because I’m so weak. That I’m just coasting along because I was born a fire mage.”

“Oh, come on, she’s just mad because she’s not getting any attention!” Lyndon huffed.

“I know she was being really harsh, but Camellia’s got it rough, too,” Orla said.

“Really?” Lyndon looked doubtful. “The way she acts like she’s better than everyone else, I’d assume she gets everything she wants.”

“Camellia’s parents are even stricter than my mother is. She has to be the best one in the class, or she gets punished …” Orla whispered.

“Punished how?” Sparrow asked nervously.

“She has to do hours of extra training when her grades slip. Sometimes they even make her train through meals.”

“That’s horrible!” Sparrow and Lyndon said in unison.

“It doesn’t excuse the things she said,” Orla continued. “But for her, everything about your situation probably makes her really mad. She doesn’t get to be weak, ever.”

“I kind of feel bad for her now,” Sparrow admitted. “But I’ve already got Ainsley breathing down my neck. I wish she’d find someone else to be offended by …”

“Sparrow, what’s your brother like?” Orla asked. Sparrow hesitated to answer. She hadn’t missed the starry-eyed look Orla had given Ainsley this morning.

“Everyone talks about him like he’s some miracle, but to me he’s just my annoying brother who’s always calling me lazy.”

“That sounds … unpleasant,” Lyndon said, grimacing.

“Tell me about it. It just feels like, compared to him, I don’t matter. He’s the one who burned my cheek, you know?” Sparrow tilted her face and pointed to her scar.

“Really? I mean, I wondered, but I didn’t want to ask,” Lyndon mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Sparrow said. “Unless I get stronger, there will always be people like Camellia who are going to treat me like dirt. I hate it.”

There it was. All of Sparrow’s weakness laid out in the open in front of her new friends. This was why she hadn’t wanted to talk about it—now they would know how shallow she was. She bent over her soup, feeling sick and miserable. Was being well-liked all she really cared about?

“You know, my mother could make oak trees sprout from acorns when she was my age,” Orla said after a moment.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been compared to Mother all my life, and I’ve always been found lacking. But you’re the one who told me: ‘It’s Zenith Academy of Magical Development, not Zenith Academy of Perfect Awesome Mages.’”

“That’s right,” Lyndon agreed. “Plus, you’ll get stronger. That’s what the Academy’s supposed to do, isn’t it? If you fret too much, you’ll just get in your own way.”

“Just how are you always so laid-back?” Sparrow asked, peering at Lyndon. “I feel like I haven’t stopped worrying since we got here. Where’s your tragic backstory?”

Lyndon put his dinner down and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling.

“I told you I’m the first in my family to go to a school like this, right?” he said. “Nobody in my village has strong magic, and we don’t have access to many guilds or much magecraft. When I manifested stronger than most, it was a big deal. I thought that if I went to Zenith and learned a lot about magecrafting, I could find a way to make life easier for everyone back home.”

He paused then, smiling a little bashfully.

“It’s why I was such a jerk on the stairs. I thought, ‘The entire village is relying on me; I can’t just waste my shot helping some stranger.’”

Guiltily, Sparrow realized that she’d been acting like she was the only one who had problems. It seemed everyone at Zenith was grappling with their own pressures and expectations. But was it really okay for her to want stronger magic just to be treated differently?

“I’m sorry, Lyn, I didn’t know.”

Lyndon shook his head.

“Nah, I realized something when I got to the top of those stairs—if everyone back home heard I’d passed by someone who got hurt without stopping to help, they’d be really disappointed in me. You had your own things going on and you still went back for her. That was cool, Sparrow. Give yourself some credit. I bet there’s loads you can do that your brother can’t. You just have to find your own way.”

Sparrow felt her ears grow warm.

“We’re all working toward something,” Orla said, smiling.

“So Orla and I want our magic to get stronger, and Lyndon wants knowledge? To take over the world or something?” Sparrow asked, feeling warm and fuzzy through some combination of potion fever, hot soup, and the quiet comfort of Lyndon and Orla’s presence.

“Exactly. So it’s not up to anyone to say whether any of us deserve to be here,” Lyndon said. “Now go to bed, Sparrow, you look like you’re going to face-plant in your soup.”

9: Lessons New and Old

Despite a long, uneasy sleep full of dreams involving being stuck in a birdcage and ridiculed by her brother and classmates, Sparrow awoke feeling much improved. In fact, her magic felt the tiniest bit stronger, sparking bright-hot in her hands when she called it. It didn’t last, though—her flames returned to their original tiny size by midmorning, improving only after she took the next dose of potion.

Even so, nothing could dampen Sparrow’s spirits that week. Not Ainsley ignoring her when they passed each other in the Apprentice Quarter, and not Camellia’s obvious disdain. The potions were doing something, and Sparrow was determined to become stronger as fast as possible. Over the next few days, she took her potions with a diligence that would have astonished her mother, and she dedicated all her energy to her classes, which were just how Sparrow imagined a mage academy would be.

They spent Tuesday morning at Ward Workshop learning about protective charms and talismans from Master Wulf, and Wednesday was spent choking through sulfurous clouds of fumes in Master Jasper’s alchemy lab.

Thursday morning was Sparrow’s least favorite: algebra.

“Ugh, I thought we left math back in general studies classes! How’s algebra going to help with my magic?” she grumbled as they left the classroom. Having to struggle through equations was seriously tarnishing her idealized image of life at Zenith.

“It’s going to be hilarious when your magic runs out and you can’t do basic arithmetic. How’re you going to live?” Lyndon asked.

“You would like math,” Sparrow said accusingly.

“I didn’t know anyone liked math …” Orla said, staring at Lyndon in horror.

“Very funny, you two. Having a good foundation in mathematics is essential for magecrafting!” Lyndon said. “You know there’s a saying among the third-years? An area of neglect becomes a weakness you’ll regret.”

“I’m regretting having this conversation,” Sparrow said. “My brain’s already fried, Lyndon, have mercy.”

“Aw, come on, we’ve finally made it to the best, most important class!”

Lyndon had been looking forward to Mistress Daeda’s Beginner Runes all week, so Sparrow decided not to argue as they filed into the classroom. Lyndon made a beeline to the front seats.

“You know, Mistress Daeda was the reason I chose to apply to Zenith, instead of an academy that isn’t built on a mountain full of death bridges and stairs,” he said. “She’s got eight feature articles in Magecrafters Monthly! Eight!”

“Thank you for that glowing review, Apprentice Demara,” said a low, amused voice. Mistress Daeda strode into the classroom and leaned against the podium, dashing in her billowy shirt and fitted pants.

“Just a fan, Mistress Daeda,” Lyndon said as he sat down. “She knows my name!” he breathed to himself. Sparrow refrained from reminding Lyndon that as their teacher, Mistress Daeda had to know all their names.

“I am sure you are all painfully aware that the magic you have now will eventually fade,” Mistress Daeda said to the class.

“Wow, not even a ‘good afternoon’ before bringing up the fade?” whispered Jonah, who was sitting in the row behind them.

“How is it, then, that life in the United Realms seems to run almost entirely on magic? The Luneport gates you used to arrive here. The water in your baths. The temperature regulation glass in the Conservatories. The answer is magecraft: the science of manipulating magic into purpose. Without it, we would be limited to the abilities and availability of the young, and affinities are not distributed among you equally.”

Mistress Daeda’s eyes landed on Sparrow for a moment.

“And what about rare or unusual magic? Magic that grants extraordinarily good hearing, divining the future, understanding animal communication … There’s no guarantee that another similar mage will appear in the future. For example, pure healing magic is very rare. The last apprentice possessing it attended Zenith a decade ago. If only those with healing magic could become Healers, we would have few of them. Instead, most Healers study the body and herbcraft to brew potions to treat illnesses. Magecraft is the same. To create fire if there isn’t a fire mage on hand, to irrigate land without an army of water mages.”

Sparrow thought about the lighter at home. She’d always seen it as a faulty tool, but to her magicless mother, it was the only way for her to cook without her children being at home. There were probably countless things in Sparrow’s life that she’d taken for granted, without realizing that somebody had to invent them. One day she, too, would have to rely on magecraft to heat her bathwater.

“But magecraft and innate magic are two parts of a whole. One cannot exist without the other,” continued Mistress Daeda. She turned away to face the huge blackboard behind her and began chalking odd symbols with an efficient hand. Sparrow squinted. She recognized some common ones, things printed on the bakery ovens and other contraptions she’d seen. But a whole swath of symbols looked familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.

“Studying magecraft will better your understanding of magic as a whole. This will improve your innate magic as well. To begin, we must learn the basis of all magecraft: runes. Sigils and symbols that, when arranged properly, can alter the flow and function of magic. The most widely used of these are those of the Western and Eastern lands. Some of these runes share a common origin with many languages existing today.”

Sparrow realized with a start that the Eastern runes looked very similar to the characters that her grandfather had taught her. The smell of ink surfaced in her memory, tar-like and bittersweet. Cold tile against her knees, and her grandfather’s huge hand against her back, keeping her posture straight.

“Ruyan,” Yeye had admonished.

“Yeye, I’m bored,” Sparrow had complained. Sparrow’s grandfather was the steady hand to Nainai’s sharpness, which meant that Sparrow could whine as much as she liked.

“You can be bored and practice properly,” Yeye said, correcting the lean of her hand. Her wrist ached from holding the brush.

“Why do I have to learn calligraphy? Nobody at school uses it …”

It was true. They only spoke Chinese at home or to Sparrow’s older relatives, and they certainly never had to write it.

“Words are important, Ruyan. You see this?”

Yeye picked up a brush, dipping it into the inkstone, which shone with the luster of wet ink. Sparrow watched, transfixed, as Yeye drew a character that even she could read: 燕

“That’s yan! That’s my name!” she exclaimed, leaning forward to examine it.

Yeye wrote it again, but this time it looked strange. Why would Yeye write it wrong? Sparrow watched in fascination as the word got stranger, unrecognizable from the orderly character she knew. A dark shape of a bird with a split tail emerged, inked in Yeye’s expert hand.

“That’s what your name means. ‘Like a swallow.’ You see this radical?” Yeye pointed to the four little dots at the bottom of the word. “It came from the ‘fire’ character. See? You have fire inside you.”

“Then what about ‘Sparrow’? What’s the word for ‘Sparrow’?”

Yeye wrote a new character on the page: 雀

Sparrow stared hard at it, trying to see which components it was made of.

“ ‘Less’?” she tried. That couldn’t be it.

“We use that for ‘small.’ It means ‘small bird,’” Yeye explained. Sparrow scrunched her nose up at this.

“I don’t like that one. It’s boring …”

Yeye chuckled, a low, rasping thing.

“Boring again? You really are like a bird. Always fluttering about,” Yeye chided. “Sparrows are common, yes. But they’re full of strength, Ruyan. None of your names are meaningless.”

Sparrow thought about the fire radical.

“Will I really manifest fire magic, Yeye?”

“Of course. Fire is a part of you. Now, hold your brush properly and try again.”

Mistress Daeda’s voice cut through Sparrow’s daydream.

“You will be expected to be fluent in these two runic systems to be accepted into Master Olguin’s Intermediate Runes class or my Artifact Invention and Design class next year. We will begin by copying the runes by hand until it’s second nature to write them. Open your primers to chapter one.”

The class scrambled to comply. Sparrow smiled at the worksheet section filled with strange shapes. She hoped her grandfather was right—that fire was inside her, ready to be remembered, like a half-familiar language waiting for Sparrow to learn it.

10: Relentless Effort

The next morning, it was Sparrow’s turn to drag Lyndon and Orla to the lesson that she had looked forward to all week—Magical Development class in the Magnolia Courtyard.

A broad, simply dressed man swept into the courtyard right as the Academy bell tolled.

“I am Zebadiah Wong, your Magical Development instructor.” He cast an imperious eye upon the class.

“I assume all of you have come to this academy hoping to improve your innate magic. Maybe some of you are dreaming of first-branch guilds. Well, I’m here to make that happen.”

The class tittered, exchanging excited looks among themselves.

“The reason this class is held outside is because magic cannot be mastered by poring over books. Knowledge alone cannot bring power. Let’s see … Calder,” Master Wong continued. “What do you think is the most important thing for magic?”

“Um … talent?” Jonah answered.

Master Wong snorted. “Talent can only get you so far. What do you think, Bailey?”

Orla jumped.

“Well … Mother says it’s a matter of the mind,” she answered.

“Yes … Ophelia Bailey is well known for her strict philosophy. Mindset is important. But let me be clear: Blaming your state of mind when you cannot perform is weakness. I’ll give you another chance. Who can tell me the most important aspect of magical strength?”

Nobody dared to venture an answer. The silence dragged on, and Sparrow was sure that Master Wong was about to lose his temper, when another voice spoke up.

“Sir, is it not effort?” Camellia Downs’s clear eyes looked straight at their teacher, whose stern face cracked into a wide grin that somehow made him look scarier.

“Yes, Apprentice Downs. Effort. Relentless effort is the answer. Now, from what I hear, the climb to the school nearly took some of you out.” His gaze moved over to Orla and Sparrow when he said this.

“Today’s lesson is about perseverance: not giving up even when you think you can’t go on. We’ll start with ten laps around the courtyard.”

Sparrow had a feeling she wasn’t going to survive the year.

As though running laps weren’t enough, Master Wong lined up the apprentices afterward and instructed them to use their magic continuously. The whole courtyard was in disarray. Water puddled in the rents in the ground made by the earth mages. To the side, wildflowers bloomed and wilted with Orla’s magic.

“It doesn’t matter what your affinity is; magic is magic.” Master Wong paced around the exhausted apprentices. “It wants to flow, but it’s stubborn. Understand that forcing magic to do something it doesn’t want to will lead to disaster. Focus on a smooth flow of magic within you.”

The minuscule fire in Sparrow’s hands looked anything but smooth; the surges and dips of her fickle magic were obvious as the flame flickered in and out of existence. She’d taken her potion before class, but even that momentary boost had already been spent by the time Master Wong’s heavy footfalls stopped in front of her.

“Sparrow Xia, was it? Your brother is the reason all our classrooms got new fire-extinguishing arrays installed, and this is all you can do?”

Sparrow’s ears burned with shame, and her fire fizzled out completely. She could hear suppressed giggles from the end of the class, and knew without looking who they were from.

Master Wong sighed deeply.

“Xia, what does fire need to burn?”

“Um … oxygen?”

“Yes. That means your magic needs to breathe. You’re choking it with how tightly you’re holding it.”

Master Wong continued his survey of the class, and Sparrow was far from the only one who received criticism.

“Shirayama, you call that ice? Bailey, try harder, I can barely feel any magic coming from you! Downs, don’t look so smug. I can sense the fluctuation in your magic from here!”

Across the courtyard, Camellia’s pale face turned a splotchy red.

“You all should be living, breathing, and thinking magic! If you want your pendants to get any deeper in color, do as I say,” Master Wong commanded. “Every excuse you can, use magic. Make it second nature! All right, some of you look half dead. Take a five-minute break.”

Sparrow flopped to the ground, exhausted. Next to her, Lyndon and Orla did the same, trying to catch their breath.

“Ugh. This is why magecraft is superior,” grumbled Lyndon as he settled next to Sparrow. “Mistress Daeda would never make us run around like this …”

“She gave us twenty pages of homework; that’s just as bad,” Sparrow replied, dabbing ineffectually at her sweat with her sleeve.

Lyndon muttered something that sounded a lot like “I’d take forty pages over this” and lifted his hands into the air. A cool breeze washed over them, along with the feeling Sparrow had come to recognize as Lyndon’s magic: like a smooth-coated cat was just brushing up against you—light and unexpectedly cool.

The temperature dropped, bringing a deliciously icy sensation to Sparrow’s cheek. Chiaki approached, one hand aloft as tiny crystals of ice got picked up by Lyndon’s breeze.

“Let me in and I’ll add more snowflakes,” she said, dropping to the ground near them. “The water mages are doing something similar, but I’d really rather not get wet.”

Sparrow glanced around. Chiaki was right. The few water mages in the class with magic to spare were calling forth a light rain to cool themselves. It was gratifying that she wasn’t the only one who was having a hard time. Even Lilac Lemaire, who everyone agreed was the strongest water mage in the class, was bent over, her hands gripping her head as her shoulders shook.

“Hey, is Lilac okay?” Sparrow murmured. “Should someone go check on her?”

All of a sudden, every single apprentice in the courtyard froze. Magic seeped into the air, brushing against their senses like they’d just stepped into an unexpectedly deep puddle.

“What …” Chiaki shivered. “That feels really, really weird.”

It was water magic. But why did it feel so … disconnected, so unnatural? Lilac’s magic felt like fetid water instead of the quick-running stream that Sparrow remembered.

“Lilac! What’s wrong?!” Camellia’s voice was sharper and shriller than they’d ever heard it.

“It … hurts,” Lilac gasped, eyes fluttering closed.

The apprentices rushed over to Lilac. The feeling of wrongness only intensified as they approached. There were no wounds on Lilac’s body, but it felt like they were seeing her bleed out.

Master Wong pushed them aside in his haste to get to Lilac.

“Give her to me, Downs. I’ll take her to the infirmary,” he commanded, scooping Lilac into his arms. “The sooner we get her to Healer Isbeth, the better. Class is dismissed.”

They watched helplessly as Lilac was carried away.

“Um … are you okay?” Sparrow asked Camellia after a long moment of silence. She’d never seen the other girl so discomfited.

“What color was Lilac’s pendant, before?” Camellia asked, locking eyes with Sparrow.

The question threw Sparrow for a loop, but the look in Camellia’s eyes was almost desperate in its intensity.

“Deep blue, right? Sapphire blue.”

Camellia’s eyes shut tight, as though Sparrow had delivered some terrible news.

“Um, would someone explain what’s going on?” Lyndon asked.

“It … just now,” Anya stammered. “Her pendant … it was …”

“Pale blue,” Camellia finished. “Her pendant was pale blue.”

11: The Magic-Draining Fever

The news of Lilac Lemaire’s faded pendant spread through the Academy like wildfire. Lilac’s magic had suddenly become weak. For the apprentices, this may as well have been the first sign of the apocalypse. They gathered that weekend in the first-years’ common area, trying to make sense of Lilac’s collapse.

“How’re we supposed to focus on algebra right now?” Sparrow replied when Lyndon gently suggested doing their homework.

“Xia’s right,” Chiaki agreed, setting her textbooks aside. “Lilac’s a first-year! She should have her magic for years yet! And I still can’t get over how weird it felt.”

The memory made the hairs on Sparrow’s arms rise.

“Jonah, does your sister know anything about this?” Sparrow asked, turning to him.

“Well … I don’t know much, and honestly, Anette said it was all speculation, so …”

“Just spit it out, Calder,” Anya snapped. “Please, I mean.”

“Okay, okay!” Jonah put his hands up in defeat. “I heard that Lilac’s not the only one who the whole”—Jonah made a vague gesture with his hands—“whatever has happened to. There were three more patients in the infirmary with the same symptoms, but it’s all hush-hush.”

Camellia, who had been silent thus far, suddenly spoke. “What were the symptoms?”

“Well … the most obvious is the faded pendant, right?” Jonah said, counting with his fingers. “Chills, unstable magic, fever …”

“… and headaches?” Camellia asked.

Sparrow remembered the day she’d gone to the infirmary. Lilac had been there, clutching her head. Had whatever was happening to her started then?

“Yeah. And get this,” Jonah continued. “All the ones with the symptoms? They’re some of the strongest apprentices in their years!”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to Camellia.

“I see.” Camellia’s jaw clenched shut. After a long silence, she gathered her homework and left, Anya scrambling after her.

The remaining first-years continued pressing Jonah for details, driven by a morbid fascination. Sparrow even sensed some relief in the air among the weaker apprentices. Oh, thank god it won’t happen to me could be plainly read on some of their faces.

In fact, the same thought occurred to Sparrow as well. But the knowledge that she would likely be safe from this sickness was a cold comfort. After all, if the illness targeted the strongest mages, then would Ainsley be okay?

The infirmary was in chaos when Sparrow arrived for her checkup with Healer Isbeth the next day. Adepts rushed about fetching potions and calling for help while a third-year apprentice thrashed against the hands holding him down. Even from the doorway, Sparrow could feel the erratic swell and flicker of his magic, wrong in the same way Lilac’s magic had been in the Magnolia Courtyard. Healer Isbeth strode past, looking terrifying with a syringe in each hand. Sparrow jumped out of her path.

“Wait in my office, Xia. I’ll get to you when Apprentice Bastion is stable,” Healer Isbeth commanded.

Sparrow hurried around the corner toward Healer Isbeth’s office, anxiously wondering if the third-year would be okay. When she reached the office door, she heard something moving behind it as she approached, so she raised a hand and knocked.

A muffled curse, and the sound of something small breaking. The door swung open suddenly, smacking her right in the face.

“Hey! Owwww …” Through watering eyes, Sparrow could see the hazy silhouette of a hooded apprentice.

“Out of my way, shrimp,” growled a low voice.

A hard shoulder rammed into her. Sparrow felt herself tip over and panicked, digging her fingers into the apprentice’s bag to keep her balance. The assailant yanked his bag away.

“Get off me!”

Riiip.

Stitches popped as Sparrow fell, taking the seams of the bag with her. Sheaves of paper scattered around her, and several small vials shattered on the ground. He’d been stealing from Healer Isbeth’s office!

“Sparrow Xia, what’s going on over there?” The click-clack of Healer Isbeth’s shoes rounded the corner.

“Healer Isbeth!” Sparrow cried out. “Please, come quick, somebody’s—”

“Damn it!”

The hooded apprentice hurriedly scooped up some of the dropped papers and ran back into the office, vaulting over Healer Isbeth’s desk and out the window, disappearing from sight.

“Xia! Are you all right?” Healer Isbeth hurried over, taking in the mess with a thunderous expression.

“There was a thief here! I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him. He dropped these, though …” Sparrow started gathering the papers all around her. They seemed to be health records belonging to apprentices Sparrow didn’t recognize.

Healer Isbeth bent down to help Sparrow. “Somebody’s been snooping in my files, I see. Hewitt … Avery … Nguyen … Bastion … Lemaire … Some of our best and brightest mages.”

Sparrow couldn’t help but feel that if Ainsley had been in her place instead, he’d have reacted more quickly. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Healer Isbeth let out a very unladylike snort.

“Don’t go around taking responsibility for other people’s actions, Sparrow Xia. I’ll deal with this later. Now hand me those sheets behind you.”

Sparrow reached for the last of the scattered files. When she glanced down, her stomach lurched. Staring at her with an unimpressed expression was a glossy photo of Ainsley’s face. Only a few pages detailing his information were left on the floor. The thief must have made off with the rest of Ainsley’s file.

Healer Isbeth had already stacked the folders in her hands, their colorful, neatly labeled tabs easy to read at this distance. Lemaire must be Lilac’s, and wasn’t the thrashing third-year from earlier named Bastion? Both of them had the strange illness, and that awful feeling to their magic.

“Um, Healer Isbeth? That new illness … I heard it’s only the strongest apprentices that are getting it. Is that true?” Sparrow asked as she handed the papers over.

“The apprentice gossip mill is impressive as ever. Your brother’s fine, so you don’t have to look so worried. Come in, let’s get on with your checkup. Your main concern should be that magic of yours.”

Sparrow obediently followed the Healer into her office and sat before the magical magecraft machine with wires that clipped to each of her fingers. After a moment, Healer Isbeth spoke again.

“Your readings are five percent more stable than before. Congratulations.”

Five percent didn’t sound like much. And outside of a few post-potion bursts, her magic still felt so weak. Sparrow’s lack of enthusiasm must have shown on her face.

“What did you expect after only a week?” Healer Isbeth scoffed. “Altering a person’s magical system is delicate work. One wrong ratio in your potions and you could disrupt the entire system!”

Sparrow blanched. Okay, five percent didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Is there something wrong with Lilac’s magical system, then?” Sparrow ventured. “Her pendant went pale, and her magic, I felt it the other day, it felt really …”

“Lilac Lemaire’s magical pathways have ruptured, causing her magic to leach out of her,” Healer Isbeth said gravely.

Sparrow shuddered. Her feeling that she’d been watching Lilac bleed out had been more accurate than she’d known.

“But what could have caused it? It’s not the magical fade, is it?”

Healer Isbeth shook her head.

“The magical fade shouldn’t be painful at all. This, with the headaches and the fever … No, this is something else entirely.”

“Then—”

Healer Isbeth held up a hand to stop her.

“I cannot reveal any more information, I’m afraid. Let’s continue. Channel your magic for me.”

Sparrow complied, although she could barely pay attention to the rest of the checkup. Life at Zenith had only just started making sense to Sparrow. But this mysterious illness threatened everything; how were any of them supposed to hone their abilities, knowing that at any moment the fever could strip them of everything they’d worked for?

12: Suspicion and Spite

To the apprehension of the Academy, the “magedrain fever” did not abate, striking a new apprentice every week.

“Last week it was Hewitt, and Avery the week before. And yesterday Miranda Nguyen fainted during her potionmaking lab!” Jonah whispered during herbcrafting class.

Today, Master Rowan had tasked them with repotting the Academy’s spider nettle plants—named for both the stinging hairs on their stems and the silky fibers they produced.

“Ouch!” Sparrow winced. She’d grabbed the spider nettle with bare hands, too distracted by the names Jonah had rattled off. She dropped it quickly, her palm stinging with pain. The delicate stem broke as it hit the table, the young plant ruined.

“Sparrow, I clearly instructed the class to handle these plants with care.” Master Rowan frowned at her. It wasn’t the first time somebody’s attention had lapsed today.

“I’m sorry, Master Rowan,” Sparrow stammered, turning red.

“Sorry, Sparrow,” Jonah said sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have distracted you. You okay?”

Sparrow nodded, forcing herself to stay calm and focus on the work. She felt Orla and Lyndon sidling close, their voices pitched low so Jonah wouldn’t hear.

“What is it?” Lyndon asked. “That was your I have a huge revelation look, wasn’t it?”

“I have a revelation look?” Sparrow asked, bemused.

“Well, yeah! You’ve got an I’m hangry one, which Orla has as well, and a—”

“What’s wrong, Sparrow?” Orla cut in smoothly. “You looked really freaked out earlier. Was it something Jonah said?”

“I’m okay. Just … hearing those names surprised me,” Sparrow began uncertainly. “But I recognized every one of the names that Jonah listed. They’re all apprentices whose folders were nearly stolen that day. It’s just a hunch, but I think there’s a connection between the thief and the magedrain fever!”

Orla and Lyndon shared a baffled glance.

“But how could somebody predict who gets the magedrain fever?” Orla asked.

Lyndon looked alarmed. “Sparrow, are you saying you think someone’s targeting apprentices?”

“Healer Isbeth said one wrong ratio in your potions and you could disrupt the entire system! Think about it. I’m taking potions to encourage my magic, right? Couldn’t someone use a potion to do the opposite, to poison somebody?”

“It’s not impossible …” Lyndon said finally.

“Your brother’s file was among the stolen ones! We have to tell somebody!” Orla’s eyes were wide with worry.

“But who?” Lyndon asked. “And what would we say? We don’t even have anyone to accuse.”

“Later,” Sparrow whispered, elbowing her friends when she noticed Master Rowan approaching their table on his rounds.

“A little less chatter and a bit more work, you three,” Master Rowan said mildly. He placed a tin of salve on the table. “Use this for your hands after the lesson, Sparrow, and do be careful.”

“Thanks, sir,” Sparrow said. “We will.”

Master Rowan hovered close by for the rest of the lesson, clearly unwilling to let Sparrow botch any more plants with her carelessness.

As she carefully used long tweezers to move the spider nettle plants into their new pots, Sparrow pondered the thief’s identity. Why steal records from the infirmary? And what connection did the thief have to the patients with the magedrain?

“Why would anyone poison apprentices on purpose, let alone your brother? He’s so popular.” Orla’s eyes went soft. They were back in the dining hall for lunch. The first-years were always ravenous after herbcrafting, and nobody paid attention to their conversation at the end of the table.

“Orla’s right,” Lyndon said in between bites of his sandwich. “As far as I can tell, everybody likes him.”

“What about that third-year from breakfast on our first day? He was mad that Ainsley was made an Adept instead of him, remember?” Sparrow asked, recalling wheat-colored hair and a disdainful expression. She picked at her own food—a fish sandwich and fries—listlessly.

“What was his name …” Orla said. “Something with a G?”

“I remember thinking, ‘Oh, that’s an air mage name, all right,’” Lyndon mused.

He’d been at the infirmary, too, clutching at his stomach.

“Gale,” Sparrow recalled. “Gale Higgins. Healer Isbeth said he’d been messing around with potionmaking.”

The more she thought about it, the more suspicious he seemed. The hooded figure outside Healer Isbeth’s office had been tall, and Gale was certainly burly enough to easily knock over a short first-year.

“Is jealousy really enough to drive someone to do something like that, though?” Lyndon looked doubtful. “Targeting the years below, too?”

“If you’re desperate enough, it might be,” Sparrow reasoned, pushing her tray away. The thought of somebody poisoning her brother was a very effective appetite killer.

“Ainsley’s a year below him and still was made an Adept instead of him. Maybe he didn’t want to be outshone by a junior apprentice again?” Orla suggested.

“So you think he’s sabotaging everyone else around him so he can look good. But isn’t it difficult to make a potion that would specifically affect magic? Whatever Healer Isbeth said about wrong ratios and all that,” Lyndon said, reaching across the table and helping himself to Sparrow’s abandoned fries.

“Well, any potion brewed badly could have terrible effects,” Orla pointed out. “That’s why only the third-years who’ve passed all the requisite classes have a potionmaking license. But if you were just trying to make people sick, well …”

“He wouldn’t have to be good at it,” Sparrow concluded.

“Even so, there’s no proof that it’s him specifically, Sparrow. Just because he’s kind of a jerk doesn’t mean he’s a criminal mastermind, you know,” Lyndon said.

“Well, yeah, but what if I am right and we ignore it?” Sparrow asked. “Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?”

“Then you should at least tell your brother,” Orla urged. “So he can keep his guard up.”

“I guess I should.” Sparrow sighed. “He probably wouldn’t even believe me. Not that I want Ainsley to be poisoned, but honestly, I understand the impulse.”

It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get ahold of one’s brother to warn him of an imminent threat to his magic.

“So much for Take care of your sister, Ainsley,” Sparrow muttered. As a last-ditch measure, she’d gone up the northernmost tower to the Rookery and asked Sahir if he’d seen him. (This information had cost her a handful of cashews from the dining hall.) The raven had told her that Ainsley usually returned to the Quarter late at night after helping Master Rowan, so now Sparrow waited by his room to ambush him.

After what felt like hours, Ainsley finally turned the corner. His eyes narrowed when he saw Sparrow.

“What are you doing here, birdbrain?” Ainsley said, looking annoyed to see her. The hems of his pants were muddied, and his jaw was smudged with dirt.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Sparrow said, squashing the hurt that arose whenever Ainsley talked to her like that. She’d almost forgotten what it was like, after a month spent among people who were nice to her.

“Can’t it wait? It’s late, and I want a shower.”

“It’s important,” Sparrow insisted.

“Fine, but make it quick.” Ainsley tapped his pendant on the door and opened it.

Sparrow followed closely behind, not entirely trusting her brother not to slam the door in her face. She looked around his room curiously. It was built the same way as hers, but without the mess that usually littered her and Chiaki’s room. If not for the few posters (motivational) and to-do lists in neat bullet points on the walls, Sparrow would have believed that it was unoccupied.

“Don’t you have a roommate?” Sparrow asked, eyeing the empty alcove on the other side of the room.

“He’s got the magedrain. He’ll probably be out for half the term,” Ainsley said carelessly, hanging up his cloak and bag. Sparrow kept silent while he did this, trying her best to phrase her words in a way that wouldn’t get her laughed out of Ainsley’s room. That is, until she saw her brother fishing a little vial of bright green potion from his pocket and unsealing the top, lifting it to his lips.

“WAIT, STOP!” Sparrow cried in a panic.

Ainsley lowered the vial, a confused scowl on his face.

“What’s your problem?!”

“Stop, that’s what I came to talk to you about!” Sparrow blurted out. “Somebody’s got it out for you! They’re going to poison you with the magedrain fever!”

A ringing silence filled the space between them as Ainsley stared at her in utter shock. Even to her own ears, it sounded nonsensical.

“You think somebody is going to poison me,” Ainsley repeated, “with the magedrain fever? Has the workload gotten to you already?” Ainsley tapped his temple with his finger mockingly.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I swear! Somebody tried to steal your file and a bunch of others from Healer Isbeth’s office. And every single one of those whose files were nearly taken now has the fever!”

“And you saw this person?” Ainsley pressed, the mocking edge to his voice disappearing.

“Yeah, but he had a hood on, so I don’t know who it was. Will you listen to me now? That supplement you have might be poisoned!”

“Who would poison me?” Ainsley scoffed.

“Gale Higgins, for one,” Sparrow muttered.

Her brother burst into laughter.

“Oh, good one. I’d love for Higgins to come after me, I’ll take him on anytime. What could he possibly do to me? That meathead failed potionmaking last year.”

“Even if it’s not him!” Sparrow shot the potion in Ainsley’s hands a distrustful look. “Everyone with the magedrain was really powerful. Do you really want to risk it?”

Ainsley considered Sparrow for a moment.

“And why’re you so convinced it’s a potion?” he asked, still making no move to toss his vial away.

“Well, Healer Isbeth said—”

“So that’s what it was,” Ainsley interrupted her. “Don’t listen to that old hag. Do you really have the time to worry about other people’s magic? Focus on your own training—you need it.”

“Okay, but you’re my brother, aren’t you?” Sparrow shot back. “I can’t just do nothing while someone …”

“Are you worried about me? That’s funny.” Ainsley raised the vial of potion in an ironic toast to her and brought it to his lips.

“Don’t!” Sparrow cried.

Ainsley drank the dose in one go. He made a show of looking down at his body, patting his arms as though checking for a wound. To Sparrow’s consternation and relief, the potion didn’t seem to do any immediate harm. She felt no unnatural swell of magic, and he looked hale as ever.

“Looks like your theory’s wrong.”

“What if the effects happen later?” Sparrow suggested. “Your magic—”

Ainsley raised his hand. White-hot, undulating flames ignited in the air between them, crackling and spitting. For a moment Sparrow thought that this was the moment the Eye of Zipporah had warned of. Soon she would be consumed by her brother’s magic. Her heart pounded wildly out of control. After a moment, Ainsley pulled the flames back, leaving only the smell of smoke.

“Worry about your own magic, birdbrain. I can take care of myself.”

So that was it. Whether Sparrow had been right or not, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d never value the perspective of his useless, weak-magicked little sister. She held her body tightly, so Ainsley couldn’t see her tremble.

“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” she muttered, eyes stinging. Sparrow turned and marched to the door.

Sparrow left his room and went straight to her own, flinging the door open.

“Sparrow?” Chiaki’s head poked out from her study alcove. Her roommate sniffed the air and pulled a face.

“Have you been practicing? You smell … burnt.”

“Sorry, Chiaki, I’ll wash up in a bit,” Sparrow said. She stomped to her desk and flipped open a fresh notebook. MAGEDRAIN FEVER: CLUES, she wrote in big letters on the first page.

Distantly, she observed that Zenith had already changed her. Before, being insulted and dismissed by Ainsley would have had her moping in her room all day, feeling sorry for herself. But now, all Sparrow felt was determination and no small amount of spite.

Sparrow knew that something was going on. She would find proof of Gale or whoever’s plan and stop it. And for once in his life, Ainsley would have to admit that his weak little sister was actually right. He’d probably even have to thank her for saving his magic!

13: Midterms

Midterm exams loomed large, and everywhere Sparrow looked she found apprentices feverishly studying or on the verge of stress-induced mental breakdowns. Just last week, the library had to be evacuated when a water mage burst into tears over her Runes notes and caused a rainstorm to appear, turning everyone’s homework into a soggy mess. But Sparrow’s mind was on other things, as finding the culprit behind the magedrain fever was easier said than done. Sparrow had taken to following Gale around in her spare time, but her sleuthing only revealed his less-than-stellar personality and his habit of cutting in line in the dining hall.

However, something must have changed for Gale, because there were no new cases of the fever the following week. Or the week after.

The weather cooled and the scenery outside Zenith’s arched windows shifted to ochres and maple reds as time slipped by with no new patients. Faced with the coming exams and the return to peace, the apprentices seemed more than happy to pretend that the magedrain fever had never happened.

It was only the memory of Ainsley’s fire inches from her nose that kept Sparrow from forgetting her mission. She wanted nothing more than to be proven right and to rub it in his smug face.

It was with such thoughts that Sparrow agreed to go to the library with Lyndon and Orla; she was behind on her homework, and Sahir mentioned that Gale had been frequenting the library lately.

“C’mon, Sparrow, focus,” Lyndon urged. He was helping her with her alchemy homework, which, at this point, looked more like esoteric symbols than component diagrams. “You’re not even pretending to pay attention. You asked me to help, remember?”

“Sorry, Lyndon,” Sparrow said guiltily.

“Don’t tell me this is about Gale Higgins again. You know you can’t just wing it with magecraft subjects like you do with Magdev, right?”

“Hey, I’m not winging it,” Sparrow protested.

“Aren’t you?” Orla asked, an unhappy twist to her lips. “You’ve spent all week tailing Gale instead of practicing with me like you said you would. You’ve already warned your brother, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” Sparrow insisted. “I just need to find proof. He doesn’t believe me—nobody does! I’m the only one who saw Gale leaving the infirmary that day!”

“I thought you didn’t get a good look at their face?” Lyndon said skeptically.

“Sparrow, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you really that worried about Ainsley?” Orla asked.

“What do you mean? Of course I am!”

Lyndon and Orla shared an uneasy glance.

“Well, I think Orla’s trying to say … It kind of feels like you want to be right rather than you want to save your brother’s magic, assuming he is being targeted.”

“Which he is,” Sparrow insisted. “You’re the one who told me to find my own way to outshine Ainsley! And if I catch the bad guy, isn’t that a good thing?”

The look on Ainsley’s face when Sparrow caught the culprit would be amazing. And wouldn’t Ma and Nainai have to eat their words, too? It won’t matter that I’m still not even half as strong as Ainsley, they’ll finally see that I’m not useless after all.

“I did not use those words,” Lyndon reminded her. “That was about finding your inner strength or beating him in a different subject, not ignoring all your homework.”

Sparrow bit the inside of her cheek. Behind Lyndon, Gale Higgins had entered the library. She watched as he perused some shelves, picked some books off, and hurried away.

“Sparrow, are you listening?” Lyndon waved his hands in front of her.

“Oh! Yes. Inner strength, right?” Sparrow said distractedly.

“No, doing your homework! Look, we won’t stop you from investigating. In fact, we’ll help, but you really do have to focus, okay?”

“You will?” Sparrow asked, surprised. “I thought this was an intervention.”

“It is, but only because we don’t want you to drop out,” Orla answered. “But we’ll only help after you finish your alchemy homework and read up on History of the Three Branches.”

“Okay, deal,” Sparrow agreed, feeling guilty and touched all at once. “Thanks, you two. You really are the best.”

“And you’d better not forget it,” Lyndon said, pleased.

It was two hours before she finished her work, but in the end even Sparrow was impressed at how much they’d gotten done.

“Now you should pass your alchemy midterm,” Lyndon said. He hefted his book bag and stood up. “Okay, show us what you were staring at when I was ranting at you earlier.”

They reached the shelf Gale had taken books from. A thrill of vindication filled Sparrow when she saw that all the books were on advanced potionmaking.

“Toxic Tonics and Their Remedies … Draughts for the Dreadful … I hate to say this, but I’m starting to see your point, Sparrow,” Lyndon said, frowning at the increasingly morbid titles.

Orla slipped one of the books off the shelf and leafed through it. “This one’s full of restricted herbs … Mother doesn’t even let me touch these plants because they’re so dangerous. Whenever she packs them for Zenith, she uses warded wrapping paper, tons of it!”

“So that’s why the mailbox in the Quarter was so full,” Sparrow said. “All that was just wrapping paper?”

“Better wrapping paper than burning the hands off the couriers.”

“See? If he’s reading about restricted herbs and horrible potion recipes, then there’s no way he’s not up to something. You heard him threatening my brother, right?” Sparrow pitched her voice low. “You’re going to regret that attitude. I’m going to make sure of it!”

“But even if we find something suspicious, who would we tell?” Orla asked.

“What about Healer Isbeth? She’s the one treating the patients,” Lyndon reasoned. “If Sparrow’s potion theory is right, she can confirm the effects if we can bring her a sample.”

“Right,” Sparrow agreed, enthusiasm returning. “Let’s follow Gale right away—”

“We’ll need time to build a solid case,” Lyndon interrupted her. “And none of us are sacrificing our grades for this, so we’ll investigate after midterms.”

“But—”

“Gale Higgins has midterms, too, Sparrow. If he’s out here sabotaging people more talented than him, he’s going to want to do well at school to stand out, right?”

“That’s true,” Orla agreed. “Perhaps that’s why there haven’t been any new patients for a while!”

“All right, after midterms, then,” Sparrow agreed reluctantly. “I’d hate to flunk out of Zenith before Gale does.”

Sparrow would never admit it, but she was relieved that Orla and Lyndon had convinced her to stop following Gale. Before, if she focused on her magic, she’d feel like she was missing a chance to investigate the magedrain, while any time spent tailing Gale was time spent not doing her homework or magic drills.

“After midterms,” she repeated to herself, pushing aside her fears that she wasn’t doing enough. The three of them spent as much time outdoors as they could, enjoying the increasingly rare sunny days by studying and practicing their magic in Zenith’s many courtyards, the latter of which always devolved into a giant game of tag when the other first-years joined in. (Chiaki was the undisputed champion of this, as anybody chasing after her would find themselves slipping on a sheet of ice.)

The week of midterms finally arrived, and Sparrow was relieved to find that, for the most part, she actually felt prepared. And when she left the exam hall on the final day not feeling like she was doomed for a third-branch guild like poor Cousin Diana, she made a mental note to get Lyndon and Orla a present to thank them for their help.

“Just the Magdev midterm left this afternoon, and then we’re free!” Lyndon crowed.

“I’m glad that one won’t require any writing.” Sparrow’s hands ached from the hours of holding a pen.

“I thought you’d be more eager than this to get midterms over with, so you can restart your investigation,” Orla said.

“Well, I am, but …” Sparrow looked down at her hands doubtfully. Would she be able to pass her Magdev midterm?

“You practiced the most out of all of us,” Lyndon said, guessing her thoughts correctly. “Your fire’s much stronger than before, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but …” It’s not enough, Sparrow thought glumly. After hours of practice, Sparrow had worked up to being able to keep a fireball the size of a cantaloupe steady for several minutes, but this was nothing compared to Ainsley’s magic.

“You’ll be fine,” Lyndon insisted, steering her toward their exam site. “One more exam, and then two whole weeks of break! There’s plenty of time to investigate and relax!”

What awaited them was not the manicured, paved courtyard they were used to, but a craggy landscape that reminded Sparrow of the mountain climb to Zenith. Under Master Wong’s direction, a small army of third-years were using their magic to sculpt the landscape into treacherous slopes. Masses of venomvine slithered out from the cracks in the earth. In the middle, a pagoda had been raised, with a shimmering, glass-like barrier between its posts.

When the bell chimed, the third-years fell away, standing to the side in a neat row. Master Wong began to address the class.

“I’m sure the premise of this exam is self-evident,” he said. “Use what you have learned to reach the top. Behind the barrier will be a ribbon with your name on it. Bring it back as proof of completion.”

The apprentices whispered excitedly among themselves. Everyone was keen to see how much they’d improved since the climb to Zenith.

“Sweet, this’ll be way easier than another written exam,” Jonah said from behind them.

“For you, maybe,” Lyndon grumbled, anxiously eyeing the height of the pagoda.

The exam had begun. They were going in alphabetical order by surname, so Sparrow would be the last to go. She settled in, watching her classmates with interest. After every turn, the third-years would swoop in, restoring the terrain and barrier with their magic.

Orla was now powerful enough to command the venomvine slightly, but she took so long to get past the barrier that some of their classmates started complaining about missing dinner. (Sparrow and Lyndon glared at everyone who did so.)

Lyndon used his magic to rearrange the pavestones and bricks into a stairway—complete with a railing—right up to the pagoda. He stood there awhile peering at the barrier before finally dismantling it with a gentle press of his magic.

Camellia, graceful as ever, flipped, pirouetted, and leapt over obstacles and landed right in front of the barrier, which she sliced through with a blade of wind. Sparrow didn’t much like Camellia, but there was a part of her that wished she was that cool.

If only Sparrow could summon a dazzling array of flames, she would hold her head high next to her classmates. When her turn came, she gritted her teeth and clambered up the rocks, using small blasts of fire to stave off the venomvine that snatched at her ankles.

She reached the barrier at the very top. She could see the stand holding the ribbon with her name on it through its translucent wall. Doubt resurfaced. What if her magic wasn’t enough to break through?

I have to try.

Sparrow placed both hands on the barrier and pulled on her magic. Fire burbled against it, and the barrier wavered slightly.

She gritted her teeth, frustrated. Ainsley would’ve just blasted through this barrier with ease.

I need more power. She pushed harder, dragging yet more magic from within, till she felt lightheaded with it.

The barrier began to bulge, slowly but surely.

In the vision, and in his room, Ainsley’s flames had been explosive. Incandescent.

Be more like that, she begged. If my magic was like his, then I wouldn’t need to be so afraid of him.

The barrier warped, buckled, and broke.

It was a bitter success. Her flames—unglamorous, inexplosive, and far from anything her brother would have produced—stuttered and extinguished. As she stumbled forward to grab the ribbon with her name on it, all Sparrow felt was shame.

14: Incandescence

“Not bad, Xia, you’ve been practicing,” Master Wong said. “Keep that ribbon. Let it remind you of your progress.”

“Yes, sir,” Sparrow said, trying not to let her dispiritedness show.

Master Wong’s words felt like empty praise. Weeks of practicing and potion taking and all she could muster was that feeble fire.

Master Wong addressed the rest of the class. “All right, well done, everybody. Your exam is over! Enjoy your break, but don’t forget to use your magic as often as you can. I’ll know if you’ve been slacking off when classes resume.”

He turned away and began directing the third-years, who for the final time worked their magic upon the courtyard, restoring the landscape to its original serenity.

Trying to ignore her self-disparaging thoughts, Sparrow turned to look for Lyndon and Orla, only to find her path blocked by Camellia.

“Don’t you look pleased with yourself,” Camellia drawled, eyeing her with disdain. Sparrow resisted the urge to sigh. Every interaction with the snobby air mage had been downright terrible, and she was sure this conversation would be as unpleasant as the rest.

“Can I help you?” Sparrow asked. Please just say your piece and go, she pleaded silently.

“What a plain performance. I waited all this time to see what our special fire mage could do, and that’s what you’ve got? What, are you trying to join a candle-making guild or something?”

Sparrow said nothing. It wasn’t anything she didn’t know. She could come up with a hundred more cutting insults about her magic by herself.

“I was right. Nobody will be treating you like you’re special now that they’ve seen the extent of what you can do.”

“Like I’ve said before, I don’t want special treatment,” Sparrow gritted out.

While many of her classmates had stopped paying her much attention once the initial novelty of her fire magic had faded, Chiaki treated everyone with the same brusqueness, and Jonah always had a grin and gossip to share. And, of course, Lyndon and Orla’s company was the highlight of Sparrow’s days. It might not have been the adoration that Ainsley and Camellia received, but it wasn’t horrible. Not at all.

“Please.” Camellia rolled her eyes. The voice inside Sparrow’s head didn’t believe her, either.

You do want special treatment. You want Nainai and Ma and all the teachers to fawn over you. You want to be the favorite.

Sparrow shook her head, trying to dislodge the unsettling thoughts.

“I have Lyndon and Orla. That’s enough for me.”

Camellia smirked at this. Her voice dripped with disdain when she spoke again. “Of course. You and your ‘friends’ deserve each other. Looking at all your performances, it’s clear none of you really care about magic.”

Something in Sparrow snapped. Camellia had no idea how hard Lyndon studied, or how much Orla practiced. In this moment, Sparrow didn’t care what Orla said about Camellia’s upbringing.

“What is your problem?!” Sparrow snarled in a voice she barely recognized. She stomped toward Camellia, anger and frustration igniting within her.

“Just because your magic is strong doesn’t give you the right to be a horrible person! I am trying to get stronger, okay? WE ALL ARE!” Sparrow’s eyes filled with angry tears. Tension poured off Sparrow, her shoulders lightening as though a great burden had been removed. Her vision took on a reddish haze.

Camellia stared at Sparrow with wide eyes before taking a step backward.

“Xia, control yourself,” she snapped.

“No, I won’t! You talk about laziness as though you’re the only one who works hard—I’m sick of it!!”

“I mean it. Look at yourself!”

Sparrow didn’t care. Something inside her had come loose after years of pressure clamping it down. Magic flowed freely within her, and with an absent thought, fire ignited in her hands and dripped down onto the floor, catching on the moss that grew between the courtyard flagstones. She felt liberated—how come she’d held back all this time? Today, she’d finally wipe that smug expression off Camellia’s face.

Distantly, she felt a tugging at her arms.

“Sparrow, stop, calm down!”

Was that Lyndon? Or Orla? It didn’t matter. Sparrow yanked herself away, fire sparking along her arms. Whoever it was hurriedly let go of her.

Suddenly, Camellia raised her hands, and a great gust of wind knocked Sparrow off her feet. Sparrow looked up at Camellia in shock, pain from the impact lancing through her hip and snapping her out of her rage.

“If you’ve had so much power all this time, why weren’t you using it?” Camellia asked.

Puzzlement shifted to understanding on Camellia’s face as she glanced at the scorch marks on the ground, the ash in the air, and the smoke all around, acrid and sharp in Sparrow’s nose.

“Ah. Because you can’t control it, can you?”

Camellia’s long blonde hair was singed. A chill permeated the air, accompanied by the familiar crispness of Chiaki’s magic. Had she put out the flames? Sparrow glanced around. Lyndon and Orla were staring at her in wide-eyed shock. With a lurch, Sparrow noticed blistering welts on Lyndon’s hands and Orla’s cheek.

She thought about the euphoria she’d felt while facing down Camellia, her incandescent anger. She had lost control. Whatever dam that had kept her magic to a slow trickle had shattered. Power surged within her like a river about to flood. All around her was evidence of the fire Sparrow had desperately wished for, but all she could think of were the burns on Lyndon’s and Orla’s skin, and the fear in their eyes.

Panic set in, as did nausea. Sparrow gasped for air, but all she felt was the weight of flames pressing down all over her.

“Xia. Breathe. In and out.” Master Wong’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. “Downs, explain.”

“I didn’t cause this,” Camellia said, a touch defensively. “She’s the one who lost control of her magic!”

“Downs, do you think I can’t tell what is and isn’t in character for my apprentices?”

“… No, sir.”

“Xia? Talk to me.” Master Wong laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“I d-didn’t mean … m-my—” Sparrow stammered. The other apprentices crowded around Camellia, shooting Sparrow horrified looks.

Her magic—all of it—surged angrily beneath her skin. Fire that felt just as strong and destructive as her brother’s. Her dearest wish had come true.

Sparrow wrenched free of Master Wong’s grip, took one last agonized look at Camellia, and ran.

15: A Matter of Discipline

Sparrow sprinted heedless of direction, only wanting to get away. Under her feet, smooth flagstones gave way to cracked, uneven paving, and then to rocky earth. She stumbled on a tree root, landing on her hands and knees in an unfamiliar clearing. Patches of weeds strained for the sun, and shards of glass lay scattered about the undergrowth. Sparrow didn’t think apprentices were meant to come here.

Her magic roiled beneath her skin like an animal that had broken from its leash, impossible to get under control. With a shudder, Sparrow sensed that she could probably set this whole clearing alight if she wanted to. Was this what Ainsley felt like every day?

She shuffled toward a flat rock and sat, holding her legs tight to stop her trembling. She’d gotten what she wanted: flames just like Ainsley’s. Horrible, destructive flames. She stayed there, curled tightly, until her tears stopped and her stomach began to ache with hunger.

Maybe she should head back. Now that she had finished crying, the clearing was starting to creep her out.

A rustling sound came from the bushes. A dark shape approached.

“Who’s there?!” Sparrow cried, terrified. Her magic flared in response to her panic, and fire ignited all along her shaking arms.

“Whoa, whoa!” A familiar figure threw his hands up in surrender. “Easy, Sparrow, please! I have no means to defend myself!”

“M-Master Rowan? Oh, I’m so sorry!” Sparrow blabbered, struggling to quash the fire.

“That’s quite all right, Sparrow,” Master Rowan replied, readjusting his glasses. Sparrow felt a twinge of guilt. As an adult, he really would have been defenseless.

“Sorry, I was just surprised,” Sparrow mumbled.

“As was I to see you here while I was gathering wild herbs,” Master Rowan replied, hefting a basket filled with greens. He gave her a once-over, brow creasing with concern at the singe marks on her uniform.

“Are you all right, Sparrow?”

Sparrow hesitated.

Master Rowan sat down on the rock next to her, seeming content to wait for her reply. She liked Master Rowan. Everyone did. He always had a funny anecdote during class, and never got too upset if you didn’t finish your homework. She started speaking without meaning to.

“Master Rowan, my magic, it’s …” How could she even begin to describe it? Stronger didn’t quite cover the rushing tide threatening to swallow her and everything flammable nearby. Another flare ignited in the air near her. She jerked, reaching out with her frayed control and pulling the magic back. The flames extinguished themselves sulkily.

“You’re a clever student, but your magic has never been quite like this,” Master Rowan observed, astonished. “It’s transformed somehow, hasn’t it?”

Sparrow nodded.

“Surely this is a cause for celebration? I seem to remember you working very hard whenever we’ve had magic strengthening exercises.”

“I know, but … This is too much,” Sparrow whispered. “I’m scared of it. Fire’s not like the other elements. It hurts, it turns everything to ash.”

Her fingers sought the ridges of her scar.

“I couldn’t control my magic earlier,” she whispered. “If Camellia hadn’t protected herself, she would’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Forgive me for asking, but how did you manage to unleash it? I know Healer Isbeth worked quite carefully on your potions.”

“I … I don’t know. I was just so angry, and before I knew it, the fire just poured out of me.”

“That must have been scary, Sparrow,” Master Rowan replied, a warm hand on her shoulder. Her magic seemed to settle under her skin a little at his comfort. “You know, I had healing magic as a child.”

Sparrow blinked, confused at the change in subject.

“That’s … really rare, right?” Rarer even than fire mages; there weren’t any healing magic users currently enrolled at Zenith.

“Yes. Pure healing magic can heal wounds and illnesses even without the use of potions. I used my magic to save countless people.” Master Rowan gazed off into the distance wistfully. “One day, somebody I cared about needed my magic. By then, it was gone.”

“That’s horrible …” Sparrow couldn’t imagine how devastating that must have been.

“Your magical years are precious, Sparrow. I’d certainly do anything to have my magic back. Wouldn’t it be a shame to be afraid of your magic? Especially now, when so many apprentices have lost theirs?”

“Right, the fever.” Sparrow remembered her plans to investigate further with Lyndon and Orla. Would they still want to? She’d hurt them …

“You have enough on your plate without worrying about the other apprentices. Focus on your new strength, Sparrow.”

Sparrow swallowed thickly. This whole time, she’d dreamed of being as strong as Ainsley. Of no longer being treated like a lost cause. That dream wasn’t impossible anymore. That horrible vision where she was too weak to stand against Ainsley could never come to pass. Excitement came, followed closely by doubt. The image of Lyndon’s and Orla’s blistered skin appeared in her mind. What if she lost control again, and kept hurting the people around her?

“I have to learn how to control it,” she whispered, more to herself than to Master Rowan.

Master Rowan beamed.

“I’m sure Master Wong will have plenty of advice for that,” he said, standing up and dusting his pants off. He held a hand out to Sparrow. “Shall we return to the Academy?”

Sparrow took his hand and stood. Talking it out with Master Rowan had calmed her somewhat, and her magic settled into a more manageable simmer. She followed him through the woods until Zenith came into sight. The moment they left the shade of the dense canopy, a flutter of feathers descended onto Sparrow’s shoulder. She straightened a little, trying not to jostle Sahir as she walked.

“Ah, good evening, Warden,” Master Rowan said.

“Silas. I have been sent to collect the bird-child.”

“Well, Sparrow, I leave you here. I’ll see you in class after the break.”

“Master Rowan?” Sparrow said.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For listening.” Sparrow gave the herbcrafting teacher a small smile. “I’m glad you were the one who found me.”

“You’re very welcome, Sparrow. Try not to get lost in these woods again, all right?”

Master Rowan sent them off with a wave. Sparrow ruminated on his words as she climbed back toward the Academy, its familiar archways and smooth stone walls a comforting sight after that desolate clearing.

“You have been summoned to the Steward’s Office,” Sahir informed her when they reached the main compound.

Sparrow hadn’t even considered the trouble she would be in for losing control and setting her fellow apprentices on fire. The very first rule in the Academy guidebook forbade the use of magic to harm a fellow apprentice.

“It’s because I lost control of my magic,” she confessed, voice small.

“I heard that it was a spectacular display,” Sahir replied. “A shame I was not there to see it.”

“Spectacular or not, I’m definitely in trouble.” Sparrow’s belly flopped. She wouldn’t be expelled, would she?

The raven peered at her curiously and said, “You are named for a bird, are you not?”

“Yes, a sparrow in English, and a swallow in Chinese.” Sparrow smiled ruefully as she remembered how intensely jealous she had been of Ainsley’s “normal” name when they were younger.

“A bird is a creature of change. To fly, you must accept this.” He took off from her shoulder then, gliding low and leading Sparrow to a spiraling staircase Sparrow had never gone up before. The door at the top was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. On it, a brass plaque read: OFFICE OF THE STEWARD OF ZENITH ACADEMY.

Dread began to fill Sparrow. Despite Master Rowan’s and Sahir’s kind words, she was the one who had broken the rules, and the one who would be punished. There was no telling what Mistress Noor would say. All Sparrow could hope for was that she wouldn’t be expelled.

“Thanks, Sahir.” Sparrow gave the raven a nervous smile as she gathered her courage. “But I have to face the consequences of my actions before I do any flying.”

The door swung open before Sparrow could even knock. Sparrow entered the office, timidly peeking around the round room full of books and draped with vibrant tapestries. Overhead, Sahir’s fellow wardens—magpies, blue jays, and the odd parrot—perched on exposed rafters. How many eyes watched over apprentices and instructors alike? Mistress Noor must know almost everything that happened at the Academy.

Sparrow shakily approached the large desk in the center of the room, where Mistress Noor sat looking through sheaves of documents. Sahir, having done his duty, flew toward his mistress for a treat. He glanced encouragingly at Sparrow before taking his prize to the rafters.

“You’re here, Sparrow Xia.” Mistress Noor sounded very serious. Sparrow began to fear that her expulsion was imminent.

“I’m sorry, Mistress Noor. I lost control, but I didn’t mean to,” she said, the words sounding like a flimsy excuse even to her own ears. “… Are Lyndon and Orla all right? And Camellia, too?”

“They are, although of course events could have gone quite differently today. The responsibilities of a Zenith apprentice are to learn, master, and … ?” Mistress Noor said, quoting the first sentence of the Zenith Apprentice Guidebook, Chapter 1: “The Responsibilities Herein.”

“Control the blessing of their magic,” Sparrow answered correctly, feeling worse by the minute.

“You know the guidebook well for someone who has flouted its tenets.” Mistress Noor regarded Sparrow steadily. “That said, Apprentice Downs knows the guidebook as well as you do, and from what Zebadiah and my wardens have told me, she had her own part to play in this. That one is talented, but too foolhardy by far.”

Mistress Noor glanced down at her desk and began writing, graceful hands moving with efficiency. For a moment, all Sparrow could hear was the scraping of her pen against paper, and the thudding of her own heart. Finally, Mistress Noor spoke again.

“For losing your temper and attacking a fellow apprentice, you will be assigned detention duties for five weeks. Balta Olguin will oversee your punishment.” Mistress Noor tore the sheet she’d been writing on and held it aloft. Detention Notice read the script at the top. A magpie swooped down from the rafters, snatched the note in its claws, and flew out the window.

“So that means … you’re not kicking me out of the Academy?” Sparrow couldn’t help but ask.

Mistress Noor smiled without humor.

“While attacking another apprentice is a serious violation, you are one of only two fire mages currently enrolled in our academy. It makes no sense to punish newfound strength. And, as things stand, we need every healthy apprentice we have.”

Sparrow was tempted to bring up her theory about the magedrain fever, but she still lacked evidence, and she didn’t want to say anything that might get her into more trouble. She had a feeling that, precious fire mage or not, making wild accusations now would only be seen by Mistress Noor as a pathetic attempt to distract from her own mistakes.

“I hope the fever is resolved soon, ma’am,” Sparrow said instead.

“Indeed. But do not waste your efforts worrying about the fever. Remember, the key to any mage’s success is a mere matter of discipline. You may go.”

“I will, Mistress Noor. Thank you,” Sparrow replied. Now that she no longer had to fear expulsion, exhaustion washed over her. Where were Lyndon and Orla? Mistress Noor had said they were okay, but would they forgive Sparrow for hurting them? There was so much that Sparrow wanted to talk to them about—her magic, her new goal, and of course, the magedrain fever’s continued mystery …

“Oh, and Sparrow?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

Mistress Noor’s perpetually stern expression softened, her mouth curving into a rare smile.

“Congratulations on your magic.”

16: The Stuff of Nightmares

Healer Isbeth had shooed Sparrow away from the infirmary, saying, “You’ll see Demara and Bailey tomorrow, Xia, now stop blocking the corridor.” So Sparrow arrived at the dining hall first thing the next morning, peering around for any signs of her friends and trying to ignore the whispers that followed her. Obviously, word about yesterday had spread.

Sparrow had always believed, deep down, that having strong magic automatically meant popularity. Clearly, she had been mistaken. Her classmates avoided her, flocking around Camellia, who walked in with an irritatingly pretty haircut. No fewer than three apprentices had squeaked and given Sparrow their spots in line for breakfast, so Sparrow ended up with her food in record time and sat at an empty table.

“All alone, Sparrow?” came a wry voice from behind her. “Or should I say, Zenith’s resident arsonist?”

“Lyndon!” Sparrow exclaimed, relieved to see him grinning at her, Orla smiling softly behind him. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you two too bad yesterday, did I?”

Lyndon waved her concerns away with his hand, which sported a bandage. “Healer Isbeth gave us a salve for the burns and said the wounds would heal soon.”

Orla pointed to a similar bandage on her cheek as the two of them sat. “We’ll just be matching for a while.”

Sparrow’s heart ached at the thought. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t be,” Lyndon replied, serenely buttering his toast. “And, c’mon, Camellia deserved it, taunting you like that. I’d have set her on fire, too.”

“Lyndon!! You can’t just say that!” Orla smacked Lyndon on his uninjured arm.

“I swear it was an accident!” Sparrow insisted hotly as the corner of Lyndon’s toast caught fire.

“Hey! Leave my breakfast alone!” Lyndon huffed, dropping the burning bread back onto his plate. He waved his hand over it, and Sparrow felt the soothing wash of his magic snuffing her fire out.

“Sorry. It’s hard to control,” Sparrow mumbled, feeling heat creep up her neck. “I set the curtains on fire this morning, too. Chiaki had to douse them. It’s been awful.”

“But it’s so much stronger now,” Orla said, her eyes lingering on the charred corner of Lyndon’s toast. “You’re so lucky.”

Sparrow held out a hand and summoned her magic as carefully as she could. Fire burst and bubbled in her palm, discontent to remain in the tight ball that she kept it in.

“I was lucky I didn’t get expelled,” Sparrow replied. “I thought it was a one-off thing, but …” Sparrow admitted, closing her fist and cutting off the supply of her magic. “I’m guessing whatever snapped when I got angry at Camellia had also been holding my magic back.”

“Guess there’s no chance of bringing you over to the magecraft side now,” Lyndon said, a big grin on his face. “Maybe Master Wong should let us fight each other instead of running laps. Maximum improvement with maximum chaos.”

“I’d try it,” Orla said with a sigh, her gaze far away.

“Cheer up, Sparrow. Once you learn to control your magic, everyone will stop avoiding you,” Lyndon advised, returning his attention to his breakfast.

“Right.” Sparrow’s voice came out glummer than she’d meant it to. It was hard to feel happy when her inner voice kept pointing out that this should have been her level from the beginning, and that she was doing a terrible job at controlling her new power.

“Aren’t you glad? I know I would be,” Orla said, envy coloring her voice.

“I am, really!” Sparrow said with forced cheer, pushing aside the complicated snarl of feelings she had about the matter. “More importantly, you guys promised. Midterms are over, so we can go after Gale now, right?”

It was the perfect conversation change. Lyndon and Orla both groaned.

“I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,” Lyndon said with a sigh.

Within hours, Lyndon and Orla had gotten a detailed schedule of Gale’s classes, along with his usual haunts when he wasn’t in class or in his room. Sparrow was starting to regret not asking them for help in the first place. Now that it was term break, they could investigate freely without the confines of their class schedule. Sparrow had cleared the study area beneath her bed and borrowed cushions so that the three of them could comfortably discuss how best to bring Gale to justice.

If they succeeded and she learned to control her new magic, she might become even more admired than Ainsley! She imagined Nainai and Ma telling Ainsley to be more like her for once and couldn’t help grinning.

“Sparrow, don’t you have to go to detention soon?” Orla asked, interrupting her fantasizing. The light filtering through the window was changing, filling the room with a reddish glow.

“Ugh, you’re right, I have to report to Master Olguin’s third-years, and I can’t imagine it’ll be pleasant. But, you know, maybe I’ll see if I can get any information. A lot of the ones with the fever are third-years, aren’t they?”

“Ooh, good idea,” Lyndon agreed.

And so Sparrow made her way to a third-year workshop in the Zenith Academy Runes Department. A sign on the door read: RINA OHTANI & THEODORE BASTION. She recognized the second name as that third-year in the infirmary with the magedrain on the day she’d run into the thief- that-was-most-likely-Gale.

The door swung open. Rina, the cheerful Adept who Sparrow recognized from the first day, grinned widely in welcome. A magecrafting etching pen stuck out from behind her ear.

“Our new assistant!” Rina said, bobbing on her heels. “Come on in!”

Shelves stuffed full of materials and books lined the walls of the workshop. A worktable took up most of the room, at which Theodore Bastion sat with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He was frail-looking, with pale eyes and jutting cheekbones, although Sparrow couldn’t tell how much of his appearance was because of the magedrain fever.

“Welcome, Sparrow. I’m Theo, it’s nice to meet you,” he wheezed.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Sparrow eyed Theo with concern. “Um, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly.

“That bit’s debatable.” Rina shot Theo a disapproving look.

“Rina, my magic’s drained, I’m not dying. Though I might have died from boredom if Healer Isbeth hadn’t let me out of the infirmary.”

“I just don’t think dragging yourself to this drafty workshop is going to help,” Rina argued. “You should be focusing on getting better!”

Sparrow agreed. Theo looked like a stiff breeze would blow him away.

“Isn’t it term break?” Sparrow asked. “I’m here for detention, but both of you could be enjoying your free time instead of working …”

“Ah, the innocence of a first-year,” Rina said with the air of a wizened sage. “There’s no such thing as ‘term break’ for third-years.”

“What, no term break?!”

“She means that any spare time we have is devoted to preparing for graduation,” Theo explained. “We’re working on a magecrafting project, but as you know, I’ve got the magedrain, so we’ll need you to help us.”

He gestured for her to sit. A large sheet of paper covered most of the table, the beginnings of an intricate array already sketched out on top. Sparrow wasn’t sure how much she could help. It looked much too advanced for her ability. The most recent thing they’d done in Runes class was to make rudimentary protection charms that used a very simple runic array and small pieces of low-grade magestone. Sparrow, Orla, and Lyndon had exchanged theirs among themselves. Sparrow had gotten Orla’s (a seaglass-colored one decorated with a green ribbon) and attached it to her identification pendant, so that the two stones clacked pleasantly when she walked.

“Don’t worry, it’s really simple—we’re working on a project involving fire-elemental magic, but somebody wasted all the fire-imbued magestones we have.” Theo glanced sideways at his partner.

“Hey! They were sacrificed in the pursuit of knowledge!” Rina crossed her arms before turning to grin at Sparrow. “And since you conveniently broke the Zenith code of conduct, it all works out.”

“Imbuing magestones … I can do that!” Sparrow replied, eager now. It was easy enough, and it was the perfect thing to practice controlling her new magic.

Theo placed a clear gray stone in her hands. It was smooth and polished, nothing like the rough stones she was used to.

“I didn’t know magestone could look like this,” Sparrow said, admiring its crystalline sparkle.

“That’s a high-grade one,” Theo explained. “They’ve got better magic retention than the ones first-years get to use. Try and get as much of your magic in there as you can.”

Sparrow nodded, closing her eyes and concentrating. Ever since she lost her temper at Camellia, her magic had been at a constant simmer, close to boiling over. At the barest tug, it spilled into the waiting stone in her hands.

A smooth flow, a smooth flow … She needed to control it, needed to make sure it didn’t hurt anyone or damage anything. Blood and magic rushed in her ears. Flames erupted in her hands, spitting sparks everywhere.

“Careful!” warned Rina. “It’ll crack if you put too much magic in that quickly!”

“Sorry! I just …” Sparrow struggled, frantically trying to tamp the flow of her magic. With great effort, she managed to funnel the roar of her magic into a smooth trickle. A dull ache throbbed in her skull from the effort as the magestone took on a reddish hue.

“Wow, you’ve got a lot of magic for a first-year,” Rina observed.

“You must be glad,” Theo said, wistful. Rina’s hand settled on Theo’s shoulder.

“I am,” Sparrow replied, although she felt a little bad talking about it in front of him. She’d told Lyndon and Orla she’d get information from the third-years, but now that she was faced with someone who actually had the fever, she found it hard to broach the subject.

“Can I ask about the magedrain? It’s just… I’ve heard it only affects kids with the strongest magic, and I worry my brother might get it.” Sparrow hoped Theo wouldn’t get mad. It was technically true.

“I’d worry about yourself, too,” Rina reminded her. “Your magic’s definitely up there.”

Sparrow was startled by this. It hadn’t been very long since her magic changed, and it didn’t feel right to think of herself as strong.

“It was the most pain I’d ever felt,” Theo replied, voice soft. “Then the chills, and weakness. When I passed out, I woke up and my magic was almost all gone. I’m supposed to be in my magical prime, but I feel useless. It’s horrible, and I wouldn’t wish the fever on my worst enemy. My only hope is that Healer Isbeth can find a way to fix it.”

Sparrow’s heart ached. Nobody seemed to think the magedrain was anything other than an unfortunate illness. They’d never find the cure that way, and at this rate, Gale would get away with everything!

“What if it wasn’t a regular illness?” Sparrow asked. Maybe Theo, as a victim, might recall something that would help her investigation …

“What do you mean?” Theo looked at her with wide, pale eyes.

“It’s j-just a suspicion,” Sparrow stammered. “But I think there’s more to the fever than meets the eye.”

“You think somebody did this to Theo?” Rina asked, her hands clenched tight.

Theo leaned forward, his eyes bright with intensity.

“But why?” he demanded. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?!” Bony hands wrapped around Sparrow’s forearms, spasming weakly.

This was a mistake; she had no proof, and all she had done was distress Theo and Rina. Before this, the magedrain fever felt like a distant threat, its patients faceless strangers in her plan to save the day and make Ainsley acknowledge her. But the magnitude of the mystery she had poked her nose into was apparent now. She had to be sure before she accused Gale.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Sparrow, please,” Theo pleaded. “If you know something, tell me.”

Rina placed her hand on Theo’s shoulder and pulled him back a little. “Theo, you’re scaring her.”

“You’re right. Sorry, Sparrow.” Theo let go reluctantly.

“Your magic will come back. I’m sure of it,” Sparrow said weakly.

Theo softened at her words, folding away his anger and desperation.

“Thanks, Sparrow. You’re a good kid.” Theo reached out and ruffled her hair. “Come on, let’s get on with our work. You came to serve detention, not listen to your upperclassmen bemoan their circumstances.”

Sparrow froze at the gentle touch, caught off guard by how nice it was. We have to hurry with the investigation, she thought. It wasn’t just about gaining glory anymore; the magedrain fever was the stuff of nightmares, and Theo and the others would never be cured until she stopped Gale.

17: Truthseeking

If Lyndon and Orla had thought Sparrow was obsessed with catching Gale Higgins before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. While her fellow apprentices were spending their break foraging for mushrooms outside or playing board games in the Quarter, Sparrow spent all her time (outside of detention) dogging Gale’s footsteps, trying to catch him in the act of poisoning apprentices or brewing horrible potions. Despite this, it was a complete accident the next time Sparrow caught Gale doing something suspicious.

It was the last day of term break, and Sparrow had received mail from her mother. This was remarkable in and of itself; Ainsley was the one her mother preferred to write to, sending letters “for both of them” that he rarely bothered to share with her. As such, Sparrow never went to the Quarter mailroom, except today, when Orla had called her over and Sparrow found a hefty package full of sweet buns, savory cakes, and crunchy snacks, all made by Ma’s expert hand. Nestled between the powdery coconut biscuits and walnut cookies was a note, torn off from the bakery order sheet, that read: Ainsley told us about your magic. I have been bragging to all your relatives! I wrote to Baba, and he’s very pleased as well. Congratulations, we are so proud of you. Share this with your brother and friends.

Sparrow waited for the flush of delight that was supposed to come at this buttery display of her mother’s approval.

Instead, all she felt was bitterness that this was the first piece of mail she had received from home all year. And if she hadn’t strengthened her magic, would her mailbox have remained dusty and devoid of any treats or letters?

“Ooh, are those the sesame buns you gave me before?” Orla asked, peering over her shoulder into the box and snapping Sparrow out of her morose thoughts. She shook herself. Why am I mad about getting presents? This is why Ainsley calls me sensitive …

“They are.” Sparrow plastered a grin on her face. “Let’s pick our favorites first before we give the rest to Ainsley.”

“Good idea. Lyndon’ll be pleased,” Orla said with a laugh.

After the three of them had eaten their fill, they headed to Ainsley’s room with the leftovers. To their surprise, it wasn’t Ainsley they saw leaving his room.

Sparrow stopped dead in her tracks, and Lyndon, who had been close behind, plowed into her. “Ow, Sparrow, don’t just—”

“Lyndon, shh!” Sparrow hissed, doubling back around the corner.

Gale Higgins slipped quietly out of Ainsley’s room, discreetly pocketing something shiny.

“How did he get in without your brother’s pendant?” Orla wondered. “Isn’t there a locking array that stops anyone who doesn’t have the right …”

Gale bent down to peer at Ainsley’s lock, and with surprisingly deft movements and a set of lockpicking tools, he relocked Ainsley’s door and hurried away.

“I suppose even magecraft has its limits,” Lyndon said, looking begrudgingly impressed.

“You still think I’m wrong about him targeting my brother?” Sparrow asked.

“Okay, fair,” Lyndon relented. “He’s definitely suspicious, but we’ve no way to know what he took or why. For all we know, he was jealous of your brother’s pen collection or something.”

“Let’s go tell Ainsley!” Orla suggested.

“And have him ask us why we stood by and let someone rob him?” Sparrow shook her head. “No. We have to find out what Gale took by ourselves.”

“How? What are you going to do, break into his room?” Lyndon asked, exasperated.

“Hm … there’s an idea,” Sparrow murmured.

“Seriously?!”

“I don’t know about this.” Orla glanced uneasily at Ainsley’s door. “Breaking into another apprentice’s room … If we’re caught, it won’t just end with detention.”

“But we need proof!” Sparrow insisted. “We’ll find a time when nobody’ll be around for sure, and then we’ll finally stop Gale! Unless you two think we should just let my brother be poisoned?!”

Lyndon exchanged a look full of reservation with Orla but eventually nodded.

“During the festival tonight, then,” he said, resigned.

The festival Lyndon spoke of always took place before the start of second term. It was an annual gathering of shops and guilds in the town of Comet’s End located in the foothills of Mount Zenith—one that, as Lyndon put it, anyone serious about their future had to attend. Such was its importance that most apprentices elected to stay at Zenith over term break in order to be there.

That night, the Quarter was busy with apprentices running back and forth preparing for the festival. The activity presented the perfect opportunity to break into Gale’s room. But without lockpicking skills they needed a different way to do so.

“This is a horrible plan, and you’re a terrible person,” Sparrow grumbled as Lyndon pushed her down the corridor to the third-year rooms.

“You’re the one who wanted to do this, Sparrow. We can back out any time. All you have to do is stall him for a bit! I need time to stick this on his door, or else this whole plan is bust.” Lyndon waved the thin sheet of paper in his hand. He’d spent all afternoon designing an array that would make a simple piece of paper interfere with the locking mechanism of the Apprentice Quarter doors.

“Can’t we just wait till he leaves?”

“And how would we explain why we were loitering outside his room? I’ll be just around the corner. As long as you can, okay?”

Lyndon ran off to hide. A few passing third-years glanced bemusedly at her as she hesitated outside Gale Higgins’s room. Sparrow raised her hand and knocked on the door. Heavy footsteps thumped closer and the door swung open. Gale gave her a deeply suspicious look.

“What do you want?”

“U-uh, are you Gale Higgins?” Sparrow asked, her heart hammering.

“What’s it to you? Wait, I know you …”

“I … I, uh …” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the little slip of paper floating down the hallway, buoyed by Lyndon’s careful magic.

“You’re Ainsley’s sister, aren’t you?” Gale wrinkled his nose in disgust. “What do you want?”

Sparrow had a feeling Gale would love an opportunity to monologue about how horrible her brother was. “He never talks to me,” Sparrow said, trying to sound like a spurned little sister. “… I think he’s hiding something, and I know you think so, too.”

“Oh, he is, all right.” Gale’s eyes narrowed with certainty. “And that hothead’s going to get what’s coming to him.” He gripped the door tighter, ready to hurl it shut.

Between them, Lyndon’s lock-stopping paper floated at a snail’s pace, looking for the right spot to land. Sparrow spared a moment to thank Lyndon’s foresight in using translucent paper. At this angle, it was just about invisible unless you were looking for it. Just a little bit more time …

“I can help you!” Sparrow blurted out, desperate.

“You?” Gale leaned forward menacingly, causing Sparrow to take a step back. “Nice try. I don’t need help from stupid little shrimps.”

“Oh … I … but!”

The piece of paper finally slid into place, wrapping around the latch and forming a near-invisible film.

“Tell your brother I’m onto him. Now get outta my sight.”

Gale slammed the door shut in her face.

They returned to the Quarter’s common area, awaiting the moment the chattering crowd would leave for the festival. Sparrow couldn’t help but feel as though people were staring at her, almost … pityingly?

“Don’t look so grim, Sparrow,” Orla whispered. “Pretend to be excited for the festival or something!”

“It’s hard to be excited when we’re about to break a lot of rules very soon. Although I can tell you’re excited.” Sparrow eyed the gold butterfly pins in Orla’s hair. They fluttered when she moved her head, catching the light.

“Oh, hush,” Orla huffed, blushing. “You guys were the ones who wanted information from Ainsley.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d ask him to go to the festival with you! That’s practically a date!” Sparrow shuddered at the thought.

“… Well, I’m allowed, aren’t I?” Orla set her jaw stubbornly.

“That’s not …” Sparrow floundered for a moment. Did she have the right to stop Orla from talking to Ainsley? Orla’s crush had gotten pretty obvious, but she never imagined Ainsley would agree to Orla’s request. As though sensing trouble, Lyndon clapped his hands to interrupt.

“Let’s not argue about this. Orla’s allowed to have a crush on your brother, and you’re allowed to find it weird. Case closed.”

Sparrow opened her mouth to retort, but the apprentices were finally leaving the Apprentice Quarter en masse. The three of them rose and shuffled to the back of the group, but somebody blocked Sparrow’s way.

“Going somewhere?” drawled Camellia. She jerked her chin in the direction of the third-year rooms.

“I thought you were ignoring me. Don’t stop on my account,” Sparrow grumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. Did Camellia suspect what they were about to do?

“Or what? You’ll set my hair on fire?” Camellia tossed said hair back.

“Look, I’m sorry about that, okay? I’m working on it.”

“You talked a big game about working hard, but I hear you’re wasting your time chasing after some third-year? That’s pathetic, Xia.”

“What are you talking about? Third-year? I’m not chasing after …” Ice-cold horror washed over Sparrow.

“That’s not what this is!” she hissed.

“Pfft, please. I’ve seen you skulking around the corridors, staring at him. I even heard you got his timetable? Anya said you came out of the third-year corridor looking miserable. Did you get rejected?” Camellia smiled, cruel and delighted. “Everyone knows you have a crush on Higgins, Xia. I suppose there isn’t any accounting for taste.”

Sparrow gaped, mortification filling every cell in her body. Everyone knew? Was that why those other apprentices were shooting her those strange looks? Her ears heated up, and Sparrow just knew she was as red as beetroot.

“I just wanted to impart some advice. Now that your oh-so-special fire magic is strong, you should focus on that instead of chasing boys. If you actually care, that is.”

Camellia spun on her heel without waiting for an answer, leaving Sparrow with a very strong urge to set her on fire again. Her magic roiled, hopeful, but she quashed it.

“See, she deserved it,” Lyndon muttered from behind Sparrow. Orla just shook her head in exasperation.

“Now, I definitely saw him in the crowd earlier, but it’s best to be certain.” Lyndon pressed his ear to the door. They’d successfully escaped the main group of apprentices, and were now back at the empty Quarter, outside Gale Higgins’s room.

“Please be sure, because if I get caught breaking into his room like some kind of stalker, I’m going to drop out. I’ll change my name and live in the woods or something.” Sparrow was still reeling at Camellia’s accusation. The sooner she could expose Gale publicly, the better.

Lyndon knelt down to peer at the piece of paper they had stuck on earlier. “I don’t hear anything. Now, let’s see if my array worked.”

The door creaked gently open.

“… Aha! I wonder if I could improve the design by—”

Sparrow pushed Lyndon into Gale’s room before he could get more distracted.

“I’ll stand watch out here in the corridor. Close the door behind you,” Orla said quietly. “Hurry, though, I promised to meet your brother in half an hour.”

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Sparrow urged. They made a beeline for Gale’s alcove (his room was a single), avoiding the piles of clothes on the floor. Sparrow stifled a gasp when they slipped behind the drawn curtain.

Gale had pinned pictures of various apprentices haphazardly on the walls, and his desk was scattered with incomplete health records of the magedrain patients and notes full of frenzied writing.

“He was the infirmary thief, after all! I was right.” Sparrow shivered as she recalled the moment outside Healer Isbeth’s office. If she’d arrived any later, Gale would’ve gotten away, and they’d be none the wiser.

Most damning were the potion apparatuses: glass vials full of multicolored liquid, and strips of stained paper with illegible notes next to the vials.

“It looks like he was … testing something,” Lyndon whispered. “Any sign of what he took from your brother’s room?”

Sparrow scanned the desk. There was a note stuck onto the stolen pages of Ainsley’s file. Amid the unintelligible crossed-out scribbles, two words stood out: HI, AX.

Lyndon leaned over Sparrow’s shoulder to read it.

“ ‘Hi, Ainsley Xia’?” he guessed, making a face of disgust. “Looks like Gale thought your brother might come looking for whatever he stole.”

“Too bad he got us poking around instead,” Sparrow said wryly, lifting the note gingerly. Underneath it lay a little glass vial so small that it took them a while to parse out the scribbled name on it: Ainsley Xia.

“That must be it. He must be planning to switch the potion with one of Ainsley’s restoratives. D’you remember what Ainsley’s normal potions look like?”

“Bright green. Nothing like this.” The potion in the vial in front of them had a murky greenish liquid inside. The color gave Sparrow the creeps.

“Then he’s already switched this one!” Lyndon concluded. “We actually found proof!”

“I warned Ainsley that Gale was going to poison him. I had the timing wrong, but I was actually right!” Vindication and horror filled Sparrow in equal measure.

A thump outside startled them into silence. Sparrow slipped Ainsley’s vial into her pocket and they went to the door, straining their ears to listen.

“… You’re one of Sparrow’s friends, aren’t you? What’re you doing here? The festival must have started by now.” Sparrow recognized Theo Bastion’s slightly wheezy voice.

“Oh, I lost one of my hair clips, so I was looking for it,” Orla said, remarkably convincingly.

“Did you find it? I can help look.”

“No, no, I’ve found it! I’ll go back to the festival now; I promised Sparrow and Lyndon I’d meet them by the fountain!” Orla said, emphasizing the last bit.

“Okay, wonderful. I’ll walk you there. Shall we go together?”

Their footsteps faded, and Sparrow and Lyndon let out big sighs of relief.

“It’s a good thing Orla’s quick on her feet.” Lyndon eased the door open, and they slipped out into the empty hallway.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here before any other third-years see us. People will wonder why we didn’t show up to the festival,” Lyndon urged.

“You’re right,” Sparrow agreed, her hand clenched tight around the bottle with Ainsley’s name on it. After today, Gale Higgins would have nowhere to run.

18: The Festival

Sparrow and Lyndon stepped through the portal gate and onto a quaint and festive town square lit by floating, many-pointed glass stars. Banners and pennants emblazoned with guild crests flew over multicolored tents while the smell of roasted meat and sweets wafted through the air. Flashing signs advertised new magecraft potions (New hair loss formula: Reverse time today!)  and products   (Traveler’s Amulets and Shielding Cloaks—End of Season Deals!).

They found Orla sitting by a large fountain in the middle of the square.

“Finally! I was starting to worry you guys got caught. Did you find anything?” she asked.

“We sure did,” Sparrow said darkly, patting her pocket. “Where’s Theo? Didn’t he come with you?”

“He had to go back for something,” Orla said. “So? What did you guys find?”

“We’ll tell you later,” Lyndon replied, glancing around at the passersby. “Go on, aren’t you supposed to meet your date?”

Orla flushed and glanced at Sparrow nervously.

“Go, Orla. We’ll catch you up on everything later.” After everything they’d just discovered, Sparrow’s qualms about Orla and Ainsley’s relationship seemed trivial. Orla beamed at Sparrow, waved to Lyndon, and hurried off.

“I don’t know if I can enjoy the festival after what we just saw. Can’t we just report him right now?” The vial in Sparrow’s pocket weighed on her mind. The sooner she could be rid of it, the better.

“C’mon, Sparrow, the magedrain fever thing is as good as solved,” Lyndon wheedled. “We can report him as soon as the festival’s over, I promise. Once Healer Isbeth confirms what’s in that potion, Gale’s done! Let’s enjoy the festival. I’d say we earned it, wouldn’t you?”

Faced with his reasoning, Sparrow couldn’t really say no.

Soon, they were nibbling on their treats—a spicy, deep-fried mushroom skewer for Sparrow, and a honeyed, cheese-stuffed flatbread for Lyndon—as they wandered down the main thoroughfare. Lyndon, guild catalog in hand, kept up a running commentary in between bites.

“So that banner with the heddle’s the Weaver’s Circle … Next to them has gotta be the Spinners Society. They’re both specialty magecraft guilds. I think they supply the cloth for our uniforms!”

“There’s so many of them,” Sparrow whispered, overwhelmed.

“I know, right? Still, some are more popular than others. See over there?” Lyndon gestured to a massive silver tent with a banner of a white lily just ahead of them, packed full of people.

“The White Lily Guild hardly recruits, since they get so many applicants.”

“Ainsley’s aiming for it, apparently. But I doubt it’d be easy, even for him.”

“I’ll bet. Unless you’ve got a healing affinity like Master Rowan did, you’d need top marks for everything. I heard Healer Isbeth got perfect scores on her graduation exams, and her magic was super strong,” Lyndon said. “It’s kind of foolish, if you ask me. Why struggle to join the White Lily when there are a ton of magecraft guilds doing really meaningful, interesting work?”

“You don’t think healing is meaningful?” Sparrow asked.

“I didn’t mean it like that. But we both know that most people want to join these”—Lyndon gestured with his fingers in air quotes—“ ‘prestigious guilds’ for the glamour of it, and not because they want to help people. Not to mention the magical fade. It’s far more practical, sensible even, to focus on magecraft, if you ask me.”

Sparrow stayed silent, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Lyndon’s choice was sensible—his magic wasn’t very strong, and he was so clever with magecraft; he looked at the world like it was one big puzzle that he intended to solve. But Sparrow wasn’t like Lyndon. Her magic could be strong, if she kept at it, and she did want the glamour and attention that came with being a fire mage. And even if it faded, fire magic was a huge part of who she was. Turning away from it just because it was “impractical” would feel a lot like giving up—like admitting that she wasn’t as good as Ainsley.

“Sorry, Sparrow. I didn’t mean to insult you,” Lyndon said with a grimace.

“It’s fine.” Sparrow gazed out at the landscape of tents. “It’s not like I’m aiming to be a Healer, anyway. It’s just that I promised my mom I’d get into a ‘good guild,’ but now I realize I don’t actually know what that means.”

Hundreds of diverging paths were spread out before her. How was she supposed to pick, when her choice would dictate everything about her future?

“Then let’s go check out everything we can,” Lyndon suggested. “You don’t know what you like unless you’ve seen a whole bunch of stuff. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

They went into tents at random, admiring the miniature models of the Transportation Guild, tasting samples of the various culinary guilds, and taking every single recruitment pamphlet handed out to them. When Lyndon excitedly dragged her into a tent full of magecrafting tools, they ran into Rina, haggling with a shopkeeper over the price of a whittling knife.

“Oh, hey, Sparrow! And you’re Lyndon, right? Where’s your other friend?” Rina asked, looking around for Orla.

“She came with someone else,” Lyndon said with the air of an auntie gossiping at the market.

“Oooh, drama,” Rina snickered. “Well, d’you want to walk around together, then? Have you guys gone into the White Lily tent yet?”

“Well, no, but we’re not really interested in Healing,” Sparrow answered.

“Even better! Let’s go badger some guild reps; it’s good practice for the guilds you actually care about.” Rina grinned and dragged them into the silvery tent.

The crowd had thinned somewhat; members milled about in white robes, answering the questions of eager apprentices. Sparrow spotted Healer Isbeth deep in discussion with her colleagues in the far corner of the tent. As they entered, a pale-eyed teenager appeared before them. A tag on his front read: HEALER IN TRAINING.

“Hello. Are you interested in healingcraft?” he asked, peering at them over his glasses.

“Nope! I’m just here to show my juniors around!” answered Rina brightly. The Healer’s expression dimmed slightly as he looked at Sparrow and Lyndon.

“I—uh. I don’t know yet,” Sparrow mumbled.

“You should decide soon if you’re serious about healing,” the Healer sniffed. “The White Lily welcomes all apprentices with the requisite level of passion and power.” He handed them some pamphlets and swept away.

“I don’t think we’ll get much badgering done here, Rina,” Sparrow said.

“Perhaps I miscalculated,” Rina agreed. “Let’s keep exploring.”

Somebody bumped hard into Rina’s shoulder as they left the tent.

“Oops, didn’t see you there, Ohtani,” said a slimy, drawling voice. “Picked up babysitting now?”

All of Sparrow’s hair stood on end. Gale Higgins, smug and smirking, leered at them. Sparrow glared back from behind Rina. That odious smile would be wiped off his face soon enough.

“Rude as usual, Gale,” Rina said acidly. “C’mon, you two. Let’s go.”

Angrily, Gale stepped toward Rina. Sparrow flinched, but somebody else stepped in, blocking Gale’s path.

“Theo? What’re you doing here?” Rina sounded bewildered. “I thought you weren’t well enough to come!”

Theo ignored her. Something about him was off today. The tendons of his neck flexed, his tension palpable. They watched, stunned, as Theo lunged at Gale, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

“What the—” Gale struggled against Theo. “Get off me!”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Theo demanded, eyes fever bright. “You’re the one who did this to me!”

Sparrow gasped. How had Theo found out?

“What are you talking about?!” Gale demanded.

“Stop pretending!” Theo cried. “I saw what was in your room! You, it was you …”

Rina tried to pull the two apart to no avail. Gale gave a great, desperate shove, and Theo finally stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, twitching fitfully.

“Theo? Theo?!” Rina dropped to the ground, pulling him against her lap. Theo’s face lolled, blood dripping from his nose. They shivered as Theo’s magic suffused the air. The temperature dropped, and the air felt thicker, harder to breathe. Sparrow’s own magic flared in response to the strange sensation, as though to protect her from some unknown threat. White flecks appeared in her vision.

“It’s snowing!” Lyndon held his hand out to catch the flakes. “I thought he had the magedrain! How’s he got the magic to do this?”

“Apprentice Bastion! Are you all right? What’s happened?”

Relief bloomed in Sparrow when she recognized Master Rowan’s voice. He pushed through the onlookers, then knelt down and began examining Theo.

“I’ll administer emergency first aid,” Master Rowan announced, producing a vial of potion from his apron and tipping the liquid into Theo’s mouth. In seconds, Theo’s breathing eased, along with the snow.

“He should be stable until we get him up to the Academy,” Master Rowan said. “Now tell me, what happened?”

“It was him!” Rina accused, glaring at Gale, who was still standing there, frozen. “What did you do to Theo?”

“I—nothing. I didn’t do anything! He’s the one who grabbed me!” Gale protested.

“Sparrow,” Lyndon whispered, tugging at her sleeve urgently. “The array on Gale’s door—we forgot to peel it off when we left!”

“Then Theo must’ve gone into Gale’s room like we did, after he left Orla,” Sparrow breathed, horrified. She could only imagine how he had felt seeing the evidence of Gale’s treachery. Theo looked deathly ill. Guilt pricked at Sparrow’s conscience. If she hadn’t shared her suspicions with Theo and Rina, or if they had remembered to take Lyndon’s array off Gale’s door, none of this would’ve happened.

“Yes, you did,” Sparrow cried at Gale. “You heard Theo earlier; you did this to him!”

“Yeah,” Lyndon agreed loudly. “He’s sick ’cause of you, admit it!”

“Please explain what you mean,” Master Rowan urged. “You’re saying that Apprentice Higgins has caused Theo’s condition? How?”

“He’s the one behind the magedrain fever!” Sparrow shouted, the accusations she’d been shoring up for months finally spilling out of her. “He’s been poisoning people—he stole health records from Healer Isbeth, and they’re in his room, along with the rest of his equipment!”

“Wait!” Gale’s voice took on an edge of fear. “It’s not like that; you’ve got it all wrong!”

Sparrow fished out the vial from her pocket and held it out to Master Rowan.

“Sparrow, where did you find this?” Master Rowan asked, gray eyes fixed on her.

“In Gale’s room,” Sparrow replied, locking eyes with a horrified Gale Higgins. “Why else would a vial belonging to my brother be in your room? You’ve been tampering with people’s supplements, and you were going to go after Ainsley next, weren’t you?!”

Gale’s eyes went wide with panic.

“You’ve got it all wrong, it’s a setup—” he began, but faltered.

“Ainsley, are you there?” Master Rowan called.

“Yes, Master Rowan.” Sparrow’s brother emerged from the crowd. Ainsley locked eyes with her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Orla trailed after him, hurrying over to join Sparrow and Lyndon’s side.

“I’d like your help escorting Apprentice Higgins with me to the Academy. Adept Ohtani, will you help as well? I’ve got my hands full with Apprentice Bastion, as you see.”

“Of course, Master Rowan,” Rina replied, determination settling over her features. She joined Ainsley, and together the two of them flanked Gale like bodyguards.

“I will take Apprentice Bastion to the infirmary, and then Higgins to the steward.” Master Rowan turned toward Sparrow, Orla, and Lyndon. “Will you three come with me? I’d like the steward to hear what you’ve just told me. With any luck, this dreadful matter will be closed soon.”

19: Teamwork in All Things

“So this is the means by which Apprentice Higgins poisoned my students?” A stone-faced Mistress Noor examined the vial of potion Sparrow had placed on her desk. Overhead, dozens of wardens stared down at them, witnesses to the makeshift trial below. Gale stood directly before Mistress Noor in the middle of the room, flanked by Master Rowan and Ainsley. Sparrow, Orla, and Lyndon stood to the side, having just relayed all that they knew to the steward.

“Why on earth would you commit such treachery, Gale Higgins?” Disappointment was thick in Mistress Noor’s voice.

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like!” Gale protested. “There’s something going on; there’s no way some of these apprentices got as strong as they did so quickly!”

“You were just jealous,” Sparrow burst out. “The whole Academy heard you fighting with my brother because he was made Adept instead of you!”

“Apprentice Xia, is that true?” Mistress Noor asked, looking at Ainsley.

“Yes,” Ainsley answered, stepping forward. “If I recall correctly, Higgins said I’d ‘regret my attitude,’ and that he’d ‘be sure of it.’”

“That’s not what I—”

“Silence!” Mistress Noor thundered.

From somewhere above, Sahir swooped down. In his talons, he carried a sheaf of documents, which he dropped neatly onto Mistress Noor’s desk.

“It appears you three were telling the truth,” Mistress Noor said. “Gale Higgins, these folders belonging to the infirmary were just found in your room. That alone is enough grounds for expulsion.”

Gale’s face lost all its color.

“Okay, I broke into the infirmary, but I didn’t do anything to those apprentices! I’m being framed!” Gale’s voice was getting increasingly desperate. “It’s gotta be that batty old Healer; she’s the one causing the magedrain, I’m sure of it!”

“Nonsense!” Mistress Noor looked even angrier. “You are simply flinging accusations to get out of trouble. The only thing you can do to help your case is to reveal the methods of your poison.”

“No!” shouted Gale. His face was red and splotchy. “They’re not victims, and I’m not in the wrong! I’m not admitting to anything!”

“Do you wish to be expelled?” Mistress Noor threatened. “If you admit your guilt and cooperate with Silas on a cure to your poison, I will consider a suspension instead, but only if you act wisely!”

“I don’t deserve this! I’m innocent,” Gale insisted.

“Steward, it does not seem like we are getting through to him,” Master Rowan said, his voice full of regret. “While I, too, pity Apprentice Higgins, I fear suspension is too light a consequence for such a serious crime. I imagine no apprentice will feel safe so long as Apprentice Higgins remains a part of the Academy.”

“For real,” Lyndon muttered from next to Sparrow, glaring at Gale. “That would be letting him off too easy!”

“Silas is right,” Mistress Noor said solemnly.

“No, wait—” Gale began, panicked.

“Gale Higgins, you are hereby expelled from Zenith Academy.” Mistress Noor’s voice was heavy, her tone final. “You will return your pendant and leave the Academy at once. Silas, escort Mr. Higgins off campus. After that, I’d like you to join Isbeth in researching the cure for the fever.”

Master Rowan inclined his head.

“I will get started immediately. Gale, Ainsley, come with me.”

“No, please—” Gale glanced desperately between Mistress Noor and Master Rowan, but nobody would listen to his protests any longer. The anger left Gale’s face and was replaced by blank resignation. He shuffled after Master Rowan with his head hung low.

Ainsley followed at a more leisurely pace, bumping Sparrow’s shoulder with his fist when he passed by.

“Good job, birdbrain,” her brother muttered, tilting his chin at her. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Sparrow nodded numbly. When she had imagined this moment, she had expected to be filled with happiness and pride at having proven herself right. But much like when she received the package of confections from her mother, Ainsley’s praise failed to bring her any feeling of accomplishment. Besides, his tone felt a little patronizing, as though she were a pet who’d done a particularly clever trick.

When only Sparrow, Lyndon, and Orla remained in the office, Mistress Noor spoke again.

“It seems the Academy is in your debt. I must thank you three for your initiative in bringing the truth to light.”

“Of course, Mistress Noor,” Sparrow said, feeling heat creep up her neck.

“We were just doing the right thing. Right, Orla?” Lyndon elbowed Orla, grinning widely. She nodded, her face red.

“But the fact remains that you three broke into another apprentice’s room and removed something from it. An act that I just declared worthy of expulsion. As for your punishment …”

The grins slid off their faces, quickly replaced by horror. Sparrow shuddered as though cold water had been poured down her neck. The three of them exchanged frantic looks as they racked their brains for an acceptable response.

“Please, Mistress Noor, we were just …” Sparrow began, but Mistress Noor held up a hand.

“Your punishment will be to do your utmost for your Evaluation exams,” she continued, a small smile on her lips. “Seeing as you three have plenty of initiative and energy, I’ll expect no less than excellent proposals when the time comes. Now, classes resume tomorrow. You should return to the Quarter and go to bed. You’re dismissed.”

A month after classes resumed, the first-years found a change in their schedule. Previously free periods were replaced with a new class: Evaluations Workshop—a time wholly dedicated to preparation for their Evaluation exams. The classroom walls were lined with shelves full of magecrafting materials and magical development texts.

Sparrow sat in the Workshop classroom, surrounded by reference books she’d pulled from the nearby shelves as she mulled over her Evals proposal. Next to her, Lyndon did the same, tapping the end of his pencil against his chin, humming as he wrote in his notebook.

“Apprentice Xia!” Anya Khan came by and leaned toward Sparrow, ignoring Lyndon. “How would you like to do a joint project with me and Lilac for the Evals?”

“Me?” Sparrow frowned in confusion at the other girl, who before today had given no indication that Sparrow’s was an existence worth acknowledging. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you liked me, Anya.”

“Well, that was before. You’re strong now, and it looks like you’ve managed to get better control of your magic. How do you feel about fashion?”

“Um … I don’t feel any particular way about it,” Sparrow replied awkwardly. Before the Zenith uniform, Sparrow’s wardrobe had consisted wholly of hand-me-downs that were too small for Ainsley.

“That’s fine, take your time,” Anya said, undeterred. “I think three’s the right number for a project. Camellia’s obviously doing her own thing. And don’t worry about Lilac. Even without magic, she’s really smart. The magedrain won’t keep her from doing a great job.”

Anya’s eyes flitted over to Lyndon and then back to Sparrow. “Anyway, think about it. First Evals are important. You want to make a good impression, team up with the right people, you know.”

“Wow, that was insulting,” remarked Lyndon sourly after Anya flounced away. “You got popular quickly, Sparrow.”

Sparrow grimaced. Her reputation as someone who set people on fire and had bad taste in boys had been completely turned around as news of Gale’s expulsion and her part in it spread through the Academy. While the rumors greatly exaggerated Sparrow’s actions (she’d spent that morning trying to debunk the claim that she and Gale had been involved in an epic magical battle, for example), they greatly undermined Lyndon and Orla’s contributions.

“I’m surprised they expelled Gale just like that.” Sparrow had a nagging feeling that it had all been too easy. Could they possibly have been wrong? Gale had been adamant that he’d been framed … “I know he refused to admit anything, but won’t they need his help to engineer the cure? I wonder what’ll happen to him now.”

“Maybe the potion he made was a fluke,” Lyndon answered. “I don’t know why you’re worrying about him when we literally found the proof in his room! Feel bad for me and Orla instead; we helped catch him and barely got any credit for it!”

“I’ll feel guilty about that when you get accused of having a crush on Gale Higgins,” Sparrow replied.

“Okay, fair point,” Lyndon conceded with a shrug. “He’s not my type.”

“Who is your type, then?” Orla had arrived, looking like she’d run here. Sparrow wondered if she’d overslept—she seemed tired. Orla dropped into her seat and looked between them with amusement. “I thought we were meant to be discussing Evals.”

“We were. Anya invited Sparrow to do a group project together, because she’s cool now, even though we helped to catch Gale, too.” Lyndon looked at Orla through his lashes, pouting. “Orla, you and I are but piles of chopped liver, soon to be abandoned for greener, more talented apprentices, I mean, pastures!”

Sparrow resisted the urge to throw her pencil case at Lyndon when he swooned on the table.

“You’re being dramatic.” Orla frowned at Lyndon, nudging him upright. “Sparrow’s not going to abandon us for greener pastures, right?”

“Right,” Sparrow agreed. “Even if I could forget how mean to me they were before, how am I supposed to do an Evals project with people I’ve got nothing in common with?”

“Well, in that case, should we all team up for Evals, then?” Lyndon asked, cheerful now that Sparrow had denounced Anya’s proposal.

“I was hoping we would,” Orla replied shyly. “It could be fun. But what about you, Sparrow? Now that your magic’s so much stronger, I thought you’d want to do it alone, like your brother did.” Orla glanced longingly at the tasseled pendant on Sparrow’s waist, which had deepened in color over the course of the school year.

While its color was deeper, Sparrow knew instinctively that both her pendant and her magic were nowhere close to Ainsley’s. And after everything that happened, she was beginning to wonder if following his example was the best choice after all.

“I think I’d rather do something special with you two than cast fireballs by myself for months,” Sparrow finally decided, even though the thought of making the “wrong” decision was terrifying.

“Good choice,” Lyndon declared, beaming at the two of them. “We’ve already helped foil a conspiracy together. Evals are going to be a piece of cake!”

A couple of weeks later, Sparrow, Lyndon, and Orla headed to the library to begin work on their proposal in earnest. They’d spent two weeks discounting ideas, each of them seeming worse than the last. Lyndon’s desire to do something agricultural lined up nicely with Orla’s magic, but where did that leave Sparrow?

“If I were a water mage, we could do any number of herbcrafting projects,” Sparrow grumbled.

“Sparrow, you’re forgetting that fire-element plants exist. We had flamewort on our first day of classes, is your memory going already?” Lyndon teased.

“And you’re forgetting that flamewort’s common and easy enough to grow that it was the first lesson for first-year apprentices!” Sparrow retorted. “That’s not enough to make a good Evals thesis!”

Their Eval project had to be impressive enough to outshine even a solo fire magic performance …

“Then we just have to find a suitable fire-element plant,” Orla said between yawns. She slumped over a plant compendium, thumbing through its pages. “Something rare, useful, and difficult to grow …”

Suddenly inspired, Sparrow started digging around in her book bag, glad that she’d gone ages without cleaning it out. Rolling around the bottom with snapped hair ties and crumpled-up papers was an empty potion vial—one of Sparrow’s old supplement potions from Healer Isbeth.

“Here, wait.” Sparrow fished the vial out, peering at its label. “Healer Isbeth put a whole bunch of fire-element components in this. Let’s see … extract of … emberblossom? I think Healer Isbeth said it was for power, that sounds promising?”

“Ooh, I’d forgotten about emberblossom, because we don’t grow it back home!” Orla perked up immediately. She flipped the compendium open to the page on emberblossom. A diagram of a delicate-looking plant with a spray of orange flowers took up most of the page.

“It’s potent, it’s rare, and it’s pretty,” Orla continued. “And there’s actually a shortage of it at Zenith! Master Rowan mentioned yesterday that the Academy’s stores were almost out.”

“Yesterday?” Sparrow echoed, distracted. “We didn’t have herbcrafting yesterday.”

“Oh, I volunteered to help at the Conservatories in my free time,” Orla explained, her cheeks pinking. “To help grow components for the magedrain potions, you know.”

“So that’s why you were late to class earlier,” Sparrow said slyly. She had a feeling that volunteering was more about a certain Adept of Master Rowan’s than it was about helping the magedrain patients, but Lyndon spoke before she could tease Orla further.

“Orla, I get that helping find the cure is important, but are you sure you’ll have enough time to do that and work on our Evals project? No offense, but you look exhausted, and it’s not even lunch yet!”

“I’ll make it work, I promise,” Orla replied. As she spoke, she pulled out a restorative potion and drank it in one go. It took effect immediately. Orla’s cheeks flushed with new color, and she straightened from her slouch.

“Gale’s been caught, Sparrow,” Orla said, catching sight of Sparrow’s expression. “Anya’s been taking them, too. They’re safe, see? It’s only extract of flamewort and a few other things for flavor.” Orla’s magic flowed around her, strong and steady.

Sparrow had to concede that Healer Isbeth’s restoratives were widely taken around the Academy, curing anything from headaches to tired eyes. And the potions that Sparrow herself had been taking before midterms had worked perfectly well. Without Gale poisoning them, the potions were harmless.

“You’re right,” she agreed, feeling foolish for being paranoid.

Orla returned her attention to the page detailing how to grow emberblossom.

“I think emberblossom would be perfect, if we can pull off the right growing conditions. I’ll ask Master Rowan for some seeds next time I volunteer.”

“Great!” Lyndon began scribbling in his notebook. “Something agricultural for me, something plant-related for Orla, and …”

Sparrow raised her hand and sparked the air with a curl of her magic.

“Something for my fire magic,” Sparrow said happily as flames danced at her fingertips.

20: The Price of Dedication

Over the next month and a half, the Academy windows began to edge with frost as the days got colder. The trees on campus shed their leaves, turning into stark silhouettes against pale skies. The first-years, unused to the temperatures, began to bundle up with scarves and mittens. Their workload seemed to double as Evals drew nearer, and many began taking restorative potions to keep up with the demands of the Zenith curriculum.

Despite her promises, Orla was consistently late to their meetings, and she was often snappy from being overtired. Sparrow was struggling as well. While her magic burned stronger, it was fickle, igniting when she didn’t mean it to and refusing to spark when she did. Master Wong had assigned her a ton of magic practice drills on top of her homework.

As though that wasn’t enough, they’d hit upon a snag in their emberblossom project. They were in their Evals Workshop, and Lyndon had proposed a solution—one that Sparrow didn’t like at all.

Sparrow reluctantly crossed over to the corner of the workshop that Camellia, Anya, and Lilac had claimed as their own. Lilac, bundled up in multiple sweaters, was nose-deep in a complicated-looking book on water magic application. Anya’s hands were stained with ink from all the sketches she’d been doing, and Camellia was working steadily through a stack of magic development texts.

Anya brightened when she approached, and Sparrow dreaded having to turn her down again. She rushed to speak before Anya could open her mouth.

“I came to ask Camellia for a favor.”

Hearing this, Camellia glanced up from Advanced Aerodynamics and pinned her with an expectant stare.

“Uh. So … we need to fill magestones with air magic for our project, and you’re the only one we know with magic strong enough for the ones we’re using …” Sparrow showed her the bag of magestones they’d taken from the Workshop supply cabinet.

“That’s a lot to ask when everyone’s saving their time and magic for Evals. What are you offering in return?”

Sparrow hadn’t thought this out quite that far. Lilac and Anya giggled at the expression on Sparrow’s face.

“I’ll do it if you’ll spar with me one time for each magestone I fill,” said Camellia.

“Spar?”

Camellia tapped the cover of the book she was reading.

“It says here that sparring with magic is the best way to improve casting time. It’ll be good practice for me, if you can keep up.” Camellia’s voice was very calm for someone asking Sparrow to please shoot some fireballs at her.

“You want me to throw my fire at you? Isn’t that against Academy rules? I literally got detention for doing that!”

Camellia rolled her eyes violently.

“It’s against the rules if you lose your temper and set me on fire. If we agree on it and nobody is hurt, it’s just a training exercise. Are you going to stop being tiresome or what?”

“Fine. I won’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”

Lyndon and Orla had better be grateful that I’m dedicated to the project, she grumbled internally.

“We’ll never forget your brave sacrifice,” Lyndon told her solemnly when she returned to their worktable. “Our Emberblossom Solarium will reach new heights, all for the low, low price of you fighting the scariest air mage in our year.”

“I don’t know about ‘new heights.’” Sparrow eyed the project lying in pieces on the worktable in front of her. “At the moment, it looks more like ‘no heights’ …”

Orla giggled at this. Sparrow wasn’t wrong—their project at the moment consisted only of a rough-hewn clay bowl and some shoddily glued glass.

“So it needs a little polish,” Lyndon agreed. “Maybe we should try and make a better version. D’you guys want to stay late tonight?”

“Of course,” Sparrow agreed eagerly. Their Eval project should be as perfect as they could make it.

“Oh, sorry, I can’t …” Orla fidgeted with the end of her braid. “I have to go help out in the Conservatories tonight.”

“Again?! Orla, you’ve been missing way too many work sessions as it is! Can’t you just skip for tonight?” Lyndon complained.

“I can’t.” A hard light entered Orla’s eyes. “It’s important.”

“Tomorrow evening, then?” Sparrow suggested, sharing a resigned look with Lyndon.

“Thanks.” Orla beamed. “I have to go, I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Orla packed her bags eagerly, hurrying out the door. When she opened it, there was someone waiting for her, the pendant at his waist a bloodred, matching the setting sun outside.

“Is that … ?” Lyndon frowned.

“Ainsley.” Sparrow felt an ugly flare of displeasure. “I was right. That’s why she was so eager to help out. ‘I’m helping the magedrain patients, it’s important’ … Yeah, right.”

She couldn’t help but look across the classroom, where Anya and Lilac had brought dinner to their table so they could eat while working. Why couldn’t Orla have that same kind of dedication? All three of their grades relied on their emberblossom project. Wasn’t that more important than her crush on Ainsley?

“We should talk to her about it tomorrow,” Lyndon suggested. “It might be a misunderstanding.”

“Right. At breakfast, then,” Sparrow said, determined. She knew her brother well; it was a looming certainty in her mind that Orla would end up heartbroken. The sooner this stopped, the better.

21: Unreachable Goals

Camellia waited for Sparrow in the courtyard adjoining their Evals Workshop classroom just past dawn, sleeves rolled up despite the cold.

“Can you cast fireballs?” she asked Sparrow without preamble.

“Uh. Yes?”

“Cast them at me. As quickly as you can, and make them strong.”

“You asked for it.” Sparrow settled into a casting stance and called her magic. She’d been annoyed since seeing Orla and Ainsley walking side by side, and the irritation fueled her magic, filling her palms with a fiery blaze. What was so good about her brother, anyway? He was such a brute, and his magic … his magic was …

Across the courtyard, the fallen leaves around Camellia stirred with the rising wind.

“Now!”

Sparrow flung her fire away, squeezing her eyes shut. Thinking of Ainsley’s magic made her shudder, and she wanted nothing more than to curl away from the heat of her own flames.

“Are you being serious right now?” Camellia’s voice was sharp and unimpressed.

“What happened?” Sparrow asked, reluctantly peeking with a single eye. Camellia, hands on her hips, scowled.

“Your fireball didn’t even reach me. I thought your magic was strong now; what gives?”

Oh. How come her magic never did what Sparrow wanted it to do?

“Look, it’s stronger, it’s just hard to control, okay?” Sparrow’s ears heated.

Camellia sent her a disbelieving look.

“Well, yeah, if you’re going to be distracted all the time. Is it that hard to focus?”

Ouch. How was Camellia so good at poking Sparrow’s insecurities? Despite her much-improved magic, Sparrow felt keenly the gap in their skill.

Optimistically, Sparrow had thought that all it would take was a few Magdev classes for her to cast magic just like her brother and start enjoying all the privileges of being a talented fire mage. It hadn’t gone that way at all. Even when she could get it blazing, she’d flinch at the flames, like just now, instinctively snuffing them out before she was able to cast her magic.

How does she do it? Sparrow wondered enviously. Camellia used magic like it was part of her—even her hair flowed with air magic on most days.

I want to be like that, Sparrow thought. Camellia and her friends were unflinching in their pursuit of improvement. Meanwhile, Sparrow had been wasting all this time cowering at everything: her brother, that vision, and her own magic.

I’m sick of being scared. A small fire flickered to life in her hands. Sparrow fed magic into it, letting it grow. She held fast when it began to spit and crackle, even though a part of her wanted to snuff the flames and pull them down, to make them small and comfortable like she was used to, like she knew she could handle.

Focus. Remember, fire is supposed to be who I am. It’s a part of me, just like Yeye said.

The flames grew even bigger, hotter than anything Sparrow had cast before. She drew her arm back.

“Eyes open this time,” Camellia called sarcastically.

Suddenly, Sparrow could taste ash on the air. She was swept up in the memory of her magic surging beyond her control. Incandescent anger. The impact of the flagstones under her as she was thrown back by a gust of air. Camellia, her hair singed and ash on her cheek, staring at Sparrow with derision in her eyes.

“PAY ATTENTION!”

There. Camellia, her hair cut sharp and short, was standing impatiently, waiting for Sparrow to stop freaking out and cast the fire already.

Sparrow flung her hand forward as fire left her grip and soared through the air like a comet. Camellia, ever ready, swung her arms in a wide arc. Her wind sliced the fireball neatly in two. Wisps of flame flickered off into nothing, and Camellia let out a satisfied breath.

For a beat, neither girl spoke. Sparrow didn’t thank Camellia for insulting her into using her magic better. Camellia, in return, didn’t say anything about how long it took Sparrow to cast a simple bit of magic.

“Again?” Sparrow asked, calling flames to hand.

“Again,” Camellia agreed.

Fueled by the success of her spar with Camellia, Sparrow arrived at breakfast with a head full of imagined scenes of future successes. Maybe with enough hard work she could even be made Adept as a second-year, like Ainsley. But first she’d have to make sure that all three of them were committed to doing their very best for their Evals project. She just needed to get Orla to get over this ridiculous crush …

“Remember, we’re not accusing her, okay?” Lyndon reminded Sparrow at their usual table, eyeing her tapping foot. “Try not to set her off, all right? She’s been irritable these days …”

“But our grades are on the line,” Sparrow retorted. The image of Orla’s smiling face next to Ainsley made her want to set something on fire. “And she’s our friend, not Ainsley’s.”

“Sparrow …” Lyndon trailed off as Orla approached. “Oh, hey, Orla! Morning.” Lyndon grinned, but it came out strained.

“Good morning,” Orla murmured around a yawn, sitting with her breakfast.

“Orla, can we talk?” Lyndon ventured, setting his food carefully aside.

“Sure, what’s wrong?” Orla replied, glancing between the two of them.

“We wanted to talk about how you’ve been missing almost all our Workshop sessions lately,” Lyndon began. “It’s been a few weeks, and we’re going to fall behind on progress at this rate.”

“I told you before, I’m busy—”

“With my brother?” Sparrow interrupted. “He’s the one you’ve been spending your time with, isn’t he?”

“Orla, you can tell us the truth,” Lyndon interjected.

“So that’s what you think of me.” Orla’s face shuttered closed.

“Orla, that’s not what I meant,” Sparrow said, flustered. “I know you like him—”

“You think I’ve been missing sessions because I like Ainsley?” Orla demanded.

“If not, then why?” Sparrow argued. How could Orla lie to them when it was so obvious? Orla pinched her lips shut, refusing to answer.

“Orla, talk to us,” urged Lyndon, glancing between the two girls anxiously.

“… He’s been helping me with my magic.”

Sparrow paused. Helping Orla with her magic? Yeah, right. He never even offered to help his own sister with magic.

“But Ainsley’s affinity is different from yours,” Sparrow pointed out. Her voice sounded oddly wooden in her ears, and her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of Orla receiving Ainsley’s help when she never did.

“You just don’t want me to get stronger,” Orla snapped.

“What? That’s not what I meant!” Sparrow gritted her teeth. Orla was deliberately misunderstanding her!

“What did you mean, then? There’s no point because I’m weak?”

“You know that how strong you are doesn’t matter to me!”

Orla let out a bitter laugh. “That’s a little hypocritical, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Before your magic changed, getting stronger was all you wanted! Why is it so wrong for me to want the same? You don’t get to be jealous of who I spend my time with! I saw you this morning with Camellia!” Orla’s eyes narrowed, her voice taking on an edge of accusation. “You skipped practicing magic with me, but you’ll do it with her? What, we’re not good enough for you anymore? I bet you regret not joining Anya and Lilac, don’t you?”

“I was sparring with Camellia because we need magestones for our project! A ton of them!” Sparrow hissed. “And so what if I respect their dedication? Maybe you could learn a thing or two from them!”

“Can’t we just find a way to make our schedules line up?” Lyndon tried. “It’s fine if Orla wants to train with your brother, isn’t it? As long as she has the time to work with us?”

“It’s a bad idea to train with Ainsley,” Sparrow grumbled. “You’re going to get hurt. There’s no way he would help someone like you without wanting anything in return!”

It was the wrong thing to say. Orla stood up abruptly, eyes blazing. The air around her crackled with magical energy, an uncharacteristic display of emotion that startled Sparrow into shutting her mouth. On the breakfast table, the poppy seeds on a muffin left half uneaten abruptly sprouted into leaf from Orla’s magic.

“Someone like me?”

“Orla, I meant—”

“Just because he doesn’t care about you doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about anyone else!”

Fire blazed at the corner of Sparrow’s eyes, and the poor sprouted muffin caught flame. Sparrow tried to pull her magic back, but the fire only grew.

“Could you both—please—calm down?” Lyndon begged, using his magic to snuff Sparrow’s fire out.

“Maybe it was a mistake to team up after all,” Sparrow said, glaring at Orla.

“There it is.” Orla scowled. “I can’t believe I thought you were any different—you’re just like the rest of them!”

With that, Orla left, leaving Lyndon and Sparrow at the table, a charred muffin smoking between them.

The mood in Workshop following their fight was truly terrible. Ordinary tasks, usually interspersed with friendly chatter, had been reduced to chores done in awkward silence.

Sparrow flipped open to the page on emberblossom plants.

“Emberblossom prefers dry, rocky soil that is rich in magical energy,” Sparrow read aloud, casting a surreptitious glance at Orla. If she replied, Sparrow was willing to pretend the fight didn’t happen. “Isn’t dry, rocky soil usually lacking in magical energy?”

Silence. Orla, who normally was eager to answer any question related to herbcraft, ignored her.

“Uh, Orla? How do we make dry, rocky soil full of magical energy?” Lyndon repeated. Orla didn’t seem as upset with him as she was with Sparrow, probably because Lyndon had been mature enough to start the meeting by apologizing, rather than by listing all of Ainsley’s flaws, as Sparrow had.

“We’ll need to mix crushed magestone filled with my magic into the soil,” Orla said promptly as she took two doses of her bright green restorative at once.

“Is it okay that you’re taking so many of those?” asked Lyndon.

There’s no way, Sparrow thought to herself. She was probably being childish, but maybe if Orla stopped taking those potions and had a good night’s sleep, she’d see sense, and everything would go back to normal.

“I’ll need my strength if I’m going to imbue all the soil with magic, as well as help Master Rowan in the Conservatories, and practice drills with Ainsley.” The last bit was accompanied by a pointed glance in Sparrow’s direction.

Orla stretched her palm out over a bowl of magestones. Green light flickered as her magic sank into the crystals, turning them a deep green. The color matched Orla’s identification pendant exactly, even though it had been pale on their first day at Zenith.

Orla had gotten strong. Sparrow tried to be happy for Orla’s improvement, but knowing that it was Ainsley’s doing made Sparrow want to set every book in the classroom on fire.

“Now that that’s done, I have to go,” Orla sniffed, and left the room.

Once again, Sparrow was left with Lyndon.

“How come she’s mad at me and not you?” Sparrow complained.

“I apologized for misunderstanding her. You should consider it, too,” Lyndon replied primly.

“Even if I did misunderstand, she’s still not giving our project the attention she should!” she retorted.

“Sparrow, is this really about that?” Lyndon set his work aside to level her with a be honest with me look.

“What do you mean?”

“If she was hanging out with anyone other than your brother, would you be this upset?”

“Of course I would,” Sparrow answered, but Lyndon looked skeptical.

“Are you sure? Because every time something involving your brother happens, you get really worked up. It’s like you’re obsessed with him, and with magical strength in general. It’s not healthy, Sparrow.”

“Just because you don’t care about magical strength doesn’t mean it’s not important, Lyndon,” Sparrow argued, setting her jaw. “I’m not obsessed—you’re the one who doesn’t care enough!”

Even Lyndon had almost abandoned Orla on the climb because his place at Zenith was so important. How come she was in the wrong for wanting to prioritize her grades and her magic?

“Sparrow—”

“Forget it, Lyndon. I’m going to go ask Camellia for another spar.”

Camellia took one look at Sparrow and said, “No. I’m not your therapist, Xia. Whatever you’re cut up about, go figure it out by yourself and don’t involve me.” So later that night, Sparrow found herself aggressively banging on her brother’s door. She pushed past Ainsley into his room when he finally opened it.

“Wow, rude, much?” Ainsley said, furrowing his brows.

“We need to talk.”

“Well, spit it out. I haven’t got all day.”

“Why have you been hanging out with Orla?”

“What’s this about?”

“I know you wouldn’t help her with her magic for no reason. She’s not talking to me anymore because of you. If you hurt her …”

“Because of me? From what I hear, you ruined your friendship all by yourself.”

“Just answer the question, Ains.”

“Master Rowan asked me to help her, okay? He’s trying to cure the magedrain, and we need Orla’s magic for the potion, and he said she’d help us if I helped her.”

Sparrow’s heart sank as the realization that she’d been wrong hit her. If it was a request of his beloved Master Rowan, then it all made sense. Orla had been telling the truth, and Sparrow had been too jealous of Orla’s relationship with Ainsley to see it.

“Are you done? I’m busy, unlike someone I know.” Ainsley began rubbing circles into his temples. “You got all the credit for nabbing the bad guy, but me and Master Rowan still have so much work to do.”

Sparrow felt her chest ache the way it always did when she was at home. She’d saved him from the magedrain fever, but nothing had changed in their relationship. Sparrow couldn’t get Orla’s words out of her head. Did Ainsley just … not care about her?

“Why do you always have to be so mean to me?” Sparrow mumbled.

“What—wait, are you crying?”

Sparrow rubbed at her tears furiously. Ainsley hadn’t been the same since he’d started at Zenith. Sure, he’d always been bossy, but once he became the top in his year, Ainsley had become sharper. More cruel. Lately, Sparrow had been left wondering if she knew her brother at all.

“Don’t blame me for your problems, birdbrain. Your life is your responsibility.”

Sparrow knew that. But would it kill Ainsley to encourage her? Only … she had always assumed it was easy for Ainsley. Now that Sparrow looked closely, her brother didn’t look well. His eyes were sunken, and his skin, normally as tan as Sparrow’s, looked like it hadn’t seen the sun in months. Just how hard had he been working to keep his position at the Academy? Ainsley rummaged in his pockets for a vial of potion—the very same one that Orla was taking. The sight made Sparrow’s chest ache. She’d been so harsh on Orla, who was really just trying her best.

Sparrow wished she could turn back time. No matter how much magic she had, or how well her Evals project went, Ainsley was never going to be the kind of brother she wished he was. His approval was like a mirage that kept disappearing the closer she got. Why had she only realized this now, after she’d pushed away the people who had accepted her from the beginning?

22: Emberblossom Burst

Snow piled upon the eaves of the Academy as winter set in. The courtyards looked like someone had dusted powdered sugar over them, save for the pathways, which were clear thanks to the magecraft that kept the flagstones from icing over.

If only magecraft could keep relationships from icing over, too. It had been three weeks, and still Orla refused to even look at Sparrow, even on days they were working on their emberblossom project together. Every time Sparrow tried to apologize, Orla would storm away. Lyndon had finally told Sparrow to stop trying just so they could make progress.

It was the day before Evals, and the pieces of their Solarium were ready to be assembled. It was a far cry from their first crude attempt; even in pieces, it looked good.

“I can’t believe we’re at the finish line.” Lyndon eyed their work with pride. It was just the two of them in the workshop. As usual, Orla had opted not to show up when Sparrow was present.

“After we assemble it and put the seeds in, we’ll know if our calculations are correct. Hopefully, we’ll have an emberblossom plant to show off tomorrow. C’mon, let’s get started.”

Sparrow nodded and sent her magic into the clay bowl they had etched grooves into. As her magic poured in, the lines glowed lava red, and a dry heat began to emanate, warm air circulating in a gentle spiral thanks to the magestones with Camellia’s magic embedded in the clay.

“The glass top next,” Lyndon instructed. They’d gotten glass just like the ones used in the Conservatories from Master Rowan. Wrapped in Lyndon’s magic, the shards arranged themselves in midair.

“Now, Sparrow, as quickly as you can.”

Sparrow twitched her wrists, and fire coated the glass. Lyndon’s magic pulled oxygen into Sparrow’s flames, and the glass started to waver in the heat, becoming soft and malleable. Sweat beaded on their faces.

“I can’t hold this steady for much longer,” Lyndon warned.

“Now,” Sparrow gritted out. Lyndon pushed, pressing the pieces of glass together against each other. The shards turned to molten liquid under the pressure of their magic, melding together as one. Gingerly, Lyndon set the finished piece on the table to cool. An iridescent sheen coated the wobbly dome, throwing multicolored shards of light.

With a mortar and pestle, Lyndon crushed up magestones that Orla had filled over the past few weeks. As he did so, the smell of rain filled their noses, reminding Sparrow of Orla. They mixed the dust into fresh soil, tipping the sparkling mixture into the clay bowl before snapping the glass dome in place above.

“Well, here goes nothing, I guess,” Lyndon said, readying the packet of seeds.

“Wait,” Sparrow blurted out, staring hard at their Solarium. The wobbly little object was Lyndon’s design, filled with Orla’s magic, warmed by Sparrow’s. It was beautiful.

Sparrow would have thrown it out the window if it meant things could be good between the three of them again.

“Let’s wait for Orla,” she said abruptly.

“What for?” Lyndon turned to Sparrow, puzzled. “Evals are literally tomorrow, Sparrow. It’s better to test it early and make tweaks while we can. And Orla’s not really …”

“I know, I know. But I still want the three of us to do it. Please, Lyndon. You weren’t wrong. About me and Ainsley, I mean. I was obsessed with becoming better, stronger than him … It wasn’t fair of me to say you didn’t care enough.”

Lyndon put the seeds back down.

“I mean, I kind of felt like I was too harsh,” Lyndon said, scratching his cheek. “From what I can tell, it’s not like you had a choice but to want to be like him. And you weren’t wrong, either. I’ve got my own reasons for preferring to focus on magecraft, but if magical strength is really important to you, I should’ve respected that.”

“It is, but I felt like I was really turning into my brother.” Sparrow shuddered. “I can’t do it, Lyn. I can’t be like him or Camellia. My magic’s important, but …”

“You were willing to risk your place at Zenith to help somebody you’ve never met. Of course you can’t be like them,” Lyndon said, beaming at her.

Sparrow smiled. When he said it like that, it sounded like a good thing.

Lyndon reentered the workshop an hour later, dragging a frazzled Orla by the hand.

“I told you to finish the structure without me, and I’ll give the seeds a nudge later.” Orla shot Sparrow an uneasy glance. “I’ve been using so much magic, I’m exhausted.”

“It’s got to be the three of us, Orla, please,” Sparrow pleaded. Orla pursed her lips but nodded.

“Great.” Lyndon grinned and placed a seed each in Orla’s and Sparrow’s hands. “Let’s all put one in.”

Nervously, they dropped their seeds into the Solarium. Sparrow and Lyndon then moved out of Orla’s way, so she could suffuse the whole thing with her magic.

For a long, agonizing minute, nothing happened. But the magic of the Solarium could be felt—air, fire, and nature entwined in a harmonious hum. The seeds split. Roots reached into the soil, and fragile green sprouts unfurled upward toward the light. Tiny leaves unfurled one after another, fanning out to touch the edges of the glass. Finally, a spray of tiny blooms, petals fire red and glowing with magic.

“Mother of Zipporah, I can’t believe we did it. It bloomed!” Lyndon threw his arms in the air and whooped.

“Orla, I think that’s enough magic,” Sparrow suggested. “If the emberblossom grows anymore, it won’t fit in the Solarium!”

Ignoring her, Orla continued pouring her magic into the Solarium, and the tidy emberblossom began to send more shoots and stems out, crowding against the Solarium glass. Magic filled the workshop, pouring out of Orla’s body. The wooden desks bloomed green with lichen and moss, while the emberblossom plant started to reach out of the Solarium, seeking more space.

“Orla, snap out of it!” Lyndon shook Orla by the shoulders. Orla’s eyes rolled back in her head. As if in slow motion, Orla fell, the flow of her magic finally ceasing as she slipped into unconsciousness. They caught her before she hit the floor.

A horrible thought occurred to Sparrow. Orla’s magic didn’t have the awful wrongness Sparrow had come to associate with the magedrain fever, but the way it had just poured out of her was too similar to ignore. She reached around to tug Orla’s pendant off her waistband. To Sparrow’s horror, the stone was near gray—paler than when Orla had started at Zenith.

“Lyndon, look!” Sparrow whispered, tears welling in her eyes. How had Orla gotten the magedrain? Gale was long gone!

“Not now; we have to get Orla to the infirmary,” Lyndon urged. “You get her shoulders, I’ll get her legs.”

They managed to get Orla out of the Workshop classroom. Endless corridors lay between the Evals Workshop and the infirmary. In their arms, Orla’s magic continued to seep out of her. Sparrow could have cried with relief when she saw Sahir soaring toward them, Master Rowan hurrying behind him.

“Bird-child,” he cawed. “I have brought a teacher.”

“Thank you, Sahir,” gasped Sparrow. “Master Rowan! Please, help!”

Orla stirred.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay, Orla,” Sparrow soothed.

“Sparrow … I’m sorry. Getting involved with Ainsley … was a mistake,” Orla whispered, her words slurring.

“I’m sorry, too, Orla. I meant to apologize to you today,” Sparrow whispered, heart aching.

“Sparrow, be … careful,” Orla mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.

Master Rowan reached them, kneeling to take Orla from their arms.

“I’ll take her to the infirmary. You two should return to the Quarter. There’s nothing else you can do tonight.”

“Sparrow, wait up!” Lyndon called after her. Sparrow ran as fast as she could to the Apprentice Quarter, stopping only when she reached Orla’s room. Her blood rushed in her ears as all the reservations she’d ignored about the magedrain fever—about Gale—clamored in her mind.

“Sparrow! Can you please talk to me?”

“I knew something wasn’t adding up.” Sparrow clenched Orla’s pendant in her fist. “We were wrong about Gale. I was wrong, and I got him expelled for nothing!”

“Sparrow, it’s not your fault.”

“It is,” Sparrow insisted. “He was the perfect scapegoat, and now the original culprit is doing it all over again!”

She held Orla’s pendant to the door and entered Orla’s room, making a beeline to her desk.

“I have to make it right, Lyndon. The way Orla fell sick was different from the other magedrain patients. There might be something here that can give us a clue to who did this.”

Lyndon fell silent and began rummaging alongside her.

It didn’t take long. Buried under a pile of Orla’s unfinished alchemy notes was a case of potions, the very same that they’d seen her take day after day. Sparrow plucked one of the vials, examining the murky liquid inside.

“I may have been wrong about Gale, but I don’t think I was wrong about the source of the fever,” she said. “In fact, Gale might’ve had the same idea as well. Do you remember the note we found in his room?”

“The one addressed to your brother? ‘Hi, Ainsley Xia,’ right?” Lyndon paused then, mouth dropping open. “No way …”

“What if it was a list of people he suspected?” Sparrow spelled out the note from memory. “H. I. and A. X. Healer Isbeth and Ainsley Xia. He accused Healer Isbeth in Mistress Noor’s office, too! We just didn’t believe him then.”

“Because it sounded ridiculous! She’s the head Healer, Sparrow!”

“Who better to mess with the potions than the one who made them?” In her mind’s eye Sparrow saw shelves of apparatuses; burners and vials and beakers all filled with different potions. Cutting-edge magecraft machines. A person who prescribed hundreds of potions to apprentices a day.

“But why would she do any of this?”

“It’s her life’s mission,” Sparrow answered, the words from so many months ago surfacing in her memory. “The way she talks about her patients: ‘No progress without risk’ and all that … What if this is just an experiment to her?”

“It’s a big accusation … Are you sure, Sparrow?”

“I’m not,” Sparrow admitted. “I was wrong once already. I could be wrong again. But … I really do believe these potions are what made Orla sick. And you’ve seen how many apprentices have been taking these, right?”

“Yeah, everyone’s been taking restoratives left and right leading up to Evals … But if that’s causing this new magedrain that Orla has, then anyone could lose control just like Orla! Maybe this happened because Orla pushed too hard. Evals are tomorrow, Sparrow! Everyone’s going to push their magic to the limit!”

“My brother!” Sparrow turned to Lyndon, frantic. “He’s been taking these potions, too!”

“It’ll be a catastrophe,” Lyndon said faintly. “The Academy will be in ruins if he loses control like Orla did. What do we do?”

“The only thing we can do,” Sparrow replied. “We have to stop Evals.”

23: The Risks Inherent

They pounded on the doors of the Steward’s Office, the sound splintering the velvet silence of the Academy. It was so late that even the Adepts had stopped patrolling and gone to bed. The thought of her brother’s magic unleashed upon the Academy lent desperate strength to Sparrow’s fists.

“Mistress Noor, please!” she cried. Her hands smarted from the impact.

“I don’t think she’s in, Sparrow.” Lyndon turned to her, eyes wide. “Should we find somebod—”

The door to Mistress Noor’s office swung open.

“What is the meaning of this commotion?” Mistress Noor stood at the threshold of her office, looking displeased, a colorful dressing gown wrapped around her.

“Mistress Noor! We have to talk to you about Evaluations,” Sparrow pleaded.

“Yes, I have been made aware that Apprentice Bailey has taken ill. That will be considered during your grading.”

“This isn’t about that,” Lyndon insisted. “You have to cancel Evals. There’s going to be a disaster! A bunch of apprentices might lose control of their magic!”

Mistress Noor’s expression turned incredulous.

“Preposterous. Every year, this happens.” Mistress Noor shook her head, sighing. “Desperate apprentices concoct stories to try and get more time. Now, I understand you two are distraught over Apprentice Bailey’s illness, but that’s no reason to cause such a ruckus!”

Sparrow and Lyndon shared a despairing look.

“We’re not worried about our grades, ma’am. We’re certain that Orla’s got a new variety of the magedrain fever!” Sparrow fished the case of Orla’s potions out from her pocket, hoping that the evidence might sway Mistress Noor to believe them.

“These restoratives from the infirmary; Orla’s been taking them and—”

“Enough,” Mistress Noor said sharply. “This business of the fever ended when Gale Higgins was sent home. Twice now I have been lenient with you, Sparrow Xia. But no more. Healer Isbeth is a celebrated member of our Academy. I will not hear unsubstantiated slander against her.”

“But …”

“And I thought you to be more logical than this, Apprentice Demara. Return to the Quarter and go to bed at once. I will choose to believe that the pressure to succeed and concern for Apprentice Bailey have gone to your heads.”

“Yes, Mistress Noor,” Lyndon finally replied, contrition plastered all over his features. Sparrow shot him a look of outrage, quelled only when he squeezed her hand.

Just play along! he mouthed at her soundlessly.

“Oh! Of course. Sorry, Mistress Noor,” Sparrow hastened to agree. They’d have to find a different method to keep everyone safe by themselves.

Mistress Noor sighed deeply.

“Sahir,” she commanded. “Keep an eye on them so they don’t try anything foolish.”

Black feathers landed in a flurry on Sparrow’s shoulder.

“Yes, Mistress,” Sahir cawed.

They paced in the Quarter under Sahir’s watch. Sparrow had spent the whole night racking her brain for a solution, to no avail. Now the Quarter began to stir as the sun rose, apprentices hurrying about with urgency as they prepared for the day of their Evals.

“What now?” Lyndon whispered, glancing sideways at the raven perched on the rafters above.

“We can’t stop Evals from happening, but there’s got to be something we can do still!” Sparrow said. “If we could just get people to stop drinking the restoratives, maybe we could prevent their magic from going berserk …”

“You’re right. Maybe there’s a threshold of how many potions you have to take before you lose control. It’ll be less risky if they’re not chugging a bunch of them today.”

“But how will we get people to listen? They might think we’re trying to sabotage them, so they don’t do as well,” Sparrow wondered. Her reputation had peaked and dived many times over the year—nobody would simply take her word for it.

Jonah Calder wandered into the common area, drying his hair with a towel.

Sparrow and Lyndon glanced at each other, silently confirming the idea that had popped into both of their heads.

“Oi, Jonah! Over here!” Lyndon waved his roommate over.

“Hey, Lyndon, can I borrow your hair potion? I’m all out and …” He trailed off. “What’s wrong? You two look like you haven’t slept a wink!”

Sparrow beckoned Jonah closer, so that they could brief him about Orla’s illness and their suspicions at a whisper, without Sahir hearing.

“I wondered why one of the wardens was here.” Jonah placed a friendly hand on both their shoulders. “Now, there’s a reason you called me over. What do you need?”

“We need your help, Jonah,” Sparrow said. “Everyone trusts your information. People listen to you.”

“They do,” Jonah agreed, gesturing for her to continue.

“Can you spread word that the restoratives are dodgy somehow?” Sparrow asked. “If we can get people to stop taking them, we might be able to buy more time for an investigation after Evals is over.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Jonah asked.

“If we’re wrong, not taking the restoratives won’t do any harm. But if we are right …”

“Can you imagine how many people are taking these potions right now? It’ll be a nightmare if even half of them lose control!” Lyndon finished.

“All right. I’ll do what I can,” Jonah said, determined. “I’ll really only be able to get the first-years to listen to me, though. I’ll try to get Anette to convince her friends, too. But the second-years are out of my hands.”

“Thanks, Jonah.” Lyndon grinned. “You can borrow all the hair potions you want after this.”

“I’ll take you up on that!” Jonah laughed and hurried off.

“We’ll have to do something ourselves about the second-years,” Sparrow said to Lyndon.

“Ainsley?” he guessed.

“Yep. He’s the most popular apprentice in his year—surely they’ll listen to him.”

“But will he listen to you?”

“I don’t know, but I have to try.”

She marched to the exit. As expected, Sahir swooped down from his perch and onto her shoulder.

“Bird-child, you know you are not supposed to do anything foolish,” he admonished.

“But I’m not,” Sparrow replied innocently. “I’m just going to go find my brother, Ainsley, and talk to him. That’s not foolish, is it?”

Sahir cocked his head, considering.

“I suppose not. Mistress only said to stop you if you did something bad.” Sahir fluffed his feathers. “If you are doing something good, Sahir will help.”

Sparrow grinned.

“We’re going to try, Sahir. Will you help me look for my brother?”

They scoured what felt like the entire Academy before Sahir’s keen eyes spotted Ainsley emerging from the woods behind the Academy grounds.

“Ainsley! What were you doing this whole time?” Sparrow demanded as they finally caught him. Evals had already begun. She could hear Mistress Noor’s magically amplified voice in the distance, welcoming the guests of the Academy.

“Preparing for my Evals, birdbrain. What else?” Ainsley glanced over Sparrow’s shoulder at Lyndon, who gave an awkward wave.

“Where’s Bailey?”

“She’s sick,” Sparrow replied. “That’s what I’m here about, actually—”

“What? She’s sick? I need to talk to her,” Ainsley said, alarmed.

“Well, you can’t! She’s got the magedrain fever, she’s still unconscious! After taking these nonstop!”

Sparrow thrust the case of Orla’s potions under Ainsley’s nose.

“You’ve been taking these, too, haven’t you?” Sparrow asked. “I came to warn you; they’re not safe! You have to tell the other second-years, they’ll listen to you!”

Ainsley snatched the potion case from her hands and peered at the vials.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, birdbrain.” Ainsley’s eyes flitted up to glare at her. “There’s nothing wrong with these. I showed you before, didn’t I? My magic’s stronger than ever thanks to them.”

“What about Orla? And Theo? They’re all sick and their magic’s drained!”

Ainsley shook his head like a horse trying to break its bridle.

“They probably just weren’t strong enough to handle it,” Ainsley insisted. “I’m different.”

“Handle what? And what do you mean you’re different?” Sparrow grabbed him by the shirt. “You wouldn’t be acting like this if you’d seen Orla! You’re already the strongest second-year; isn’t it enough?! Ains, it’s not worth the risk!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ainsley said, running a hand through his hair in a motion both aggressive and uncharacteristic. The vehement look in his eyes made Sparrow shiver.

“Being the best is worth risking everything for. Besides, I told you, nothing’s going to happen to me.”

Ainsley’s gaze drifted beyond Sparrow toward the Magnolia Courtyard, where the Evals stage was.

“I have to go. It’ll be my turn soon.” He pried her hands free from his shirt and pushed past her and Lyndon.

As he went, he slipped a vial of potion free and downed its contents in one go.

24: Against the Tide

With Evaluations falling on the shortest day of the year, the sun was already beginning to set. The Magnolia Courtyard had been completely transformed; it was filled with plush seats, and bronze chandeliers hung from massive arbors all but bursting with evergreen foliage. Velvet curtains framed the stage upon which the apprentices performed for the scrutiny of their educators and guild representatives.

Ainsley disappeared into the crowd of apprentices backstage.

“Excuse me,” Sparrow called in vain, trying to squeeze past a couple of third-years to chase him down.

“Sparrow! Lyndon! Over here!” Jonah waved them over to where the first-years were sectioned.

“Jonah! Have you seen my brother anywhere?” Sparrow demanded.

“Yeah, he’s up next,” Jonah replied.

“That’s amazing, thankyousomuchJonah,” Sparrow replied in a rush. “No time to talk, I have to get up onstage right now—”

They heard thunderous applause as Mistress Noor called Ainsley forth to begin his examination. Sparrow marched toward the curtains, ready to tackle her brother if she needed to.

“Are you nuts?!” Jonah grabbed Sparrow frantically by the elbows, dragging her back before she could get onstage. At the same time, Sahir descended from wherever he’d been hiding, his claws digging into the fabric of her uniform.

“That seems like a foolish thing, bird-child,” Sahir cawed in warning.

Sparrow wanted to scream in frustration.

“There’s no time,” she cried. There was something very wrong with Ainsley. To anyone else, the boy standing onstage might’ve looked the same as ever, but Sparrow’s eyes couldn’t be deceived. His jerky movements, his hair slightly messy, when he was usually fastidious with it …

“It’s too late,” Lyndon whispered, his eyes fixed past the curtains.

The heat reached them even at this distance. Ainsley began an intricate dance of movement, casting arcs of fire that spanned the entire stage. His flames grew steadily, flaring white-hot.

“What a show-off …” someone backstage muttered.

The crowd applauded, delighted. But it was all wrong. Ainsley’s control of his magic was his source of pride. This erratic display was nothing like him at all.

Mistress Noor stood, calling for Ainsley to tone his exhibition down, but Ainsley ignored her.

The stage caught flame, fire swarming up its velvet curtains, encircling the stage and dripping fat embers everywhere. Plumes of black smoke cast a smoggy blanket over the stage, bringing the acrid smell of ash to the air.

It was chaos. The audience tripped over themselves trying to flee the hungry reach of Ainsley’s fire while teachers sprang into action, shepherding frightened apprentices away. Master Olguin’s hands were a blur as he drew fire-extinguishing arrays at breakneck speed, his Adepts activating them with their magic. But all attempts proved too feeble.

“Apprentices, evacuate! Head away from the stage!” Master Olguin shouted.

“Sparrow, we should go.” Lyndon tugged at her wrist.

Ainsley was barely visible through the smoke and the wall of fire surrounding him. His murky silhouette buckled, convulsing as though in pain.

“No, I have to stop him.” Sparrow shook her wrist free of Lyndon’s grasp.

“Sparrow, you don’t have to—”

“I’m the only fire mage left in the Academy!”

She stared hard at Lyndon, willing him to understand.

“Fine, but I’m coming with you this time.”

“I’m coming, too,” came a cool voice from behind Lyndon. Camellia was there, her magic already swirling around her.

“It’s too dangerous! It’s got nothing to do with you.” Why would Camellia involve herself in this? They weren’t friends … were they?

“Xia, may I remind you that you have not once bested me in a spar?” Camellia had a stubborn set to her jaw that Sparrow recognized. Nothing would dissuade her.

Ainsley’s magic pressed at Sparrow’s awareness, as familiar to her as her own.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go!”

“Stop! Ainsley Xia, STOP!” commanded Mistress Noor. She was trying to reach him, but hissed and drew her hands back, her palms blistered from the cocoon of flames around Ainsley. There was nothing she could do; she had no magic.

Sparrow and her friends made it to the stage. Camellia choked the surrounding flames out, depriving them of the air they needed. In the middle of it all, Ainsley had fallen to his knees, his mouth open in a soundless cry, fire pouring out of him. Sparrow froze at the utterly unfamiliar sight of her brother in pain.

“Well? What’s your plan, Sparrow?” Lyndon asked nervously.

“He’s in a trance right now,” Sparrow said, shaking herself. Orla had been in a similar state as she poured magic into their Solarium, stopping only when Lyndon shook her. “I need to snap him out of it. Physically.”

“Are you serious?” Lyndon protested. “That’s too dangerous! It might not even work!”

“I have to try, Lyn. And if it doesn’t work, then I’ll just have to knock him out.”

A hard kernel of anger had settled right under Sparrow’s diaphragm when she thought of her brother’s earlier stubbornness. She coated her body with a simmer of her own flames, a furious armor against her brother’s magic. She marched forward and, before her nerve could fail her, plunged herself into the flames surrounding Ainsley.

Magic pressed at her from all directions, the intensity of it an almost physical wall repelling her. Sparrow pushed past Ainsley’s magic to reach him, digging her fingers into the smoldering remains of his shirt and shaking him.

“Ainsley, snap out of it!”

Ainsley’s eyes were open yet unfocused. Shaking him had no effect. Sparrow swung her arm back to slap him. A sudden idea, fueled by desperation, came to her. She drew magic magic into her hands, hoping that the presence of a foreign magic would do something to Ainsley.

It worked.

Before her palm could contact his skin, Ainsley’s hand shot up to catch her wrist. Shocked eyes the exact same shade as Sparrow’s met hers.

“What … Birdbrain?”

She saw the moment realization hit Ainsley. The heat faded, and the fire all around them quelled as though an invisible blanket had fallen. Ainsley clutched at his head, confusion and pain on his face.

“Ainsley—”

Her brother’s eyes lost focus, and he crumpled to the floor.

Ainsley lay unconscious on Sparrow’s lap. At his waist, his pendant had faded into a dull coral, a far cry from the brilliant hue Sparrow had spent all summer admiring.

“Good job, Sparrow,” said Mistress Noor, cradling her blistered palms.

“Of course, ma’am,” she replied weakly.

“I must summon Isbeth.” Mistress Noor brought her fingers to her mouth to whistle for her wardens. Sparrow opened her mouth to say something—anything—that would keep Healer Isbeth away from Ainsley until they figured out who was the true culprit. To her relief, Master Rowan arrived.

“Let me, Steward.” Master Rowan knelt to examine Ainsley.

“As expected of the strongest mage the Academy has seen in years. The destabilization of the magical core from the fever unleashed such power …”

“Then our theory that this is a new version of the magedrain fever was right,” Lyndon whispered in Sparrow’s ear.

Sparrow turned to Mistress Noor desperately.

“Will you believe us now, Mistress? There’s something wrong with these potions!”

“Potions?” Master Rowan straightened from examining Ainsley, his eyes full of concern.

To answer, Sparrow reached into Ainsley’s pocket and drew out the case of Orla’s potions he’d snatched from her earlier.

“I tried to tell him,” Sparrow spat. “He wouldn’t listen—these potions, they’re the reason for all of this!”

“Shh, don’t worry, Sparrow. No harm will come to Ainsley while I’m around.” Master Rowan turned to Mistress Noor. “Mistress, there will be time to investigate later. Ainsley needs urgent medical attention.”

“Very well. Take him to the infirmary, Silas. I will follow,” Mistress Noor commanded.

Master Rowan scooped Ainsley up and left without another word.

“Wait! Not the infirmary,” Sparrow protested.

“Your brother needs medical attention and equipment,” Mistress Noor interrupted. “And I have heard your theory, but your word isn’t enough. I must see for myself whether Isbeth is truly the one behind this. You have been mistaken before.”

It was a rational argument, but Sparrow felt a great sense of unease at seeing her brother carried away. Next to her, Lyndon took her hand, squeezing it silently in encouragement.

A great crash sounded then from beyond the courtyard. Chiaki and Jonah ran toward them. Sahir flew above, leading them to Mistress Noor.

“What’s going on?” Sparrow asked.

“You were right, Sparrow,” Jonah replied, breathless from running. “The apprentices who didn’t listen to the rumor about the potions? They’re all losing control of their magic now.”

“It’s chaos,” agreed Chiaki. “A lot of the upperclassmen are going berserk, and they’re the strongest ones around.”

“For Zipporah’s sake, is there no end to the madness tonight?” Mistress Noor pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Your orders?” Sahir cawed, landing on her shoulder.

“Send word to the flock,” Mistress Noor commanded, collecting herself. “Adepts are to escort unaffected apprentices to the Quarter and guests out of the Academy. The Evaluations are over. Sahir, tell Balta Olguin to meet me in the infirmary.”

“Yes, Steward,” replied the raven, and took off to the skies.

Mistress Noor turned back to Sparrow and Lyndon.

“Rejoin your classmates at the Quarter. I will send word about your brother when I have news.”

“Please, Mistress Noor, let us come with you to the infirmary,” Sparrow begged. “Orla’s there, too, and if apprentices are losing control, we can help!”

“You are first-years,” Mistress Noor said, disapproving. “You should be evacuating.”

“Actually, most of us are helping,” Jonah butted in. “Since there aren’t as many of us affected.”

Suddenly, the wind picked up around them, chasing away the acrid smell of smoke. Camellia rejoined them, done with extinguishing every fire in sight.

“What now?” she asked, casual as ever.

Conflict was written all over Mistress Noor’s face.

“Very well. Then, let us go and find out the truth.”

25: Accusations and Answers

The Academy was on fire. Billowing pillars of smoke filled the air with ash, coloring the night sky a muddy brown. Sparrow’s throat itched as they navigated the debris-strewn paths.

“I hope the fires won’t reach the Quarter,” Lyndon murmured, casting his eyes in its direction.

Mistress Noor looked ready to abandon their course to check on the apprentices.

“We’ll go,” Chiaki piped up, gesturing to Jonah. “I’ve got ice magic, Jonah’s got water. We’ll head to the Quarter and make sure everyone’s okay.”

“That’s right! Don’t worry about the apprentices, Mistress Noor. We’ve got it!” The scent of rain filled the air as Jonah called his magic. They ran off before Mistress Noor could call them back.

“I should count myself lucky to have such brave apprentices,” she muttered. Sparrow thought she sounded proud, if worried.

“Come, let us continue. The infirmary isn’t far.”

The infirmary in Sparrow’s memory was a sterile place that Healer Isbeth commanded with absolute order. Now scorch marks scarred its floor and walls. Medical magecraft machines lay on their sides, beeping feebly. Apprentices lay in their cots, coughing from the haze that permeated the room. Camellia’s magic brought a stream of fresh air, chasing away the tang of smoke.

Sparrow scanned the beds, looking for familiar faces as Master Olguin and Mistress Noor checked on the apprentices.

“I don’t see Orla or your brother,” Lyndon said. “Nor either of the Healers.”

“Is someone there? Help me!” came a weak voice from behind a fallen cabinet.

They rushed forward to lift it up. Lyndon and Camellia wrapped their magic around the cabinet, while Sparrow and Master Olguin heaved, tipping it upright.

A battered Healer Isbeth emerged, helped by Mistress Noor into a nearby chair. Confusion filled Sparrow at the sight of her. If Healer Isbeth was behind the magedrain poisonings, then why was she here, alone? Was pretending to be hurt just an act?

“Isbeth, what happened here?” asked Mistress Noor.

“Silas … I saw him. Treating the elder Apprentice Xia,” Healer Isbeth rasped. “He set fire to the infirmary. I hid behind the cabinet, but I was knocked out as it collapsed. When I came to, the infirmary was as you see it now.”

“But where are Orla and my brother?” Sparrow burst out.

“I don’t know, but they must be found! Both are at risk of severe magical overuse! If they overdo it in this state, they might permanently lose their magic and hurt who knows how many others!”

She struggled to stand, only to be pushed back into her chair by Mistress Noor.

“Isbeth, I must ask you something. Sparrow, do you still have the vial?” Mistress Noor took the vial Sparrow proffered, handing it to Healer Isbeth. “This is a restorative potion that Apprentices Xia and Bailey have been taking. One that Sparrow here believes is causing the magedrain fever.”

Understanding dawned in Healer Isbeth’s eyes. She examined the vial, unstoppering it to give it a sniff. To the alarm of everyone present, she tasted a drop of the liquid.

“Phoenixtail … and a dozen other components that the Healer’s Guild explicitly forbids. This is a magical enhancement potion, and it’s not one of mine.”

“Enhancement potion?” Master Olguin echoed. “Don’t the apprentices have their magic drained?”

Healer Isbeth turned toward Sparrow. “I imagine your brother’s magic during his Evaluations was several times stronger than normal?”

“It was,” Sparrow confirmed. “And he knew it made his magic stronger, too.”

“Then he didn’t know the entire truth. This potion increases magic, yes, but at huge risk to the user’s health.”

“Forgive my questioning, Isbeth, but how can we be certain this potion is not your work?” Mistress Noor interrupted. “You’re the only one authorized to prescribe potions at Zenith, and your restoratives are widely taken.”

Healer Isbeth considered the accusation, her mouth twisting as she tried to find words to defend herself.

“If I may,” interjected Master Olguin. “All the potions here use medical-grade magecrafting glass supplied by the White Lily—crystal clear, for accurate identification of contents.”

He held up the vial to the light. An oily, multicolored sheen shimmered on its surface.

“This vial is handmade with substandard material. If I were to guess, its original purpose was probably for buildings—windows and the like.”

“Thank you, Balta. It’s true,” Healer Isbeth confirmed, looking relieved. Sparrow knew he was right, too. She’d been prescribed potions by Healer Isbeth before, and the glass was always smooth and clear, not iridescent …

Sparrow clapped her hands to her mouth. That glass—she’d handled it at length. One look at Lyndon confirmed he was thinking the same thing.

“Master Olguin, you’ve seen our Evaluations project, right?” Lyndon asked when the adults turned toward them.

“Yes, I remember …” He trailed off, eyes widening as he realized, “The glass on your project had a very similar sheen to this vial.”

“We got that glass from Master Rowan. He said it was offcuts from repairing the Conservatories,” Sparrow explained, her denial finally giving way to horrified acceptance. She had thought the sharp-spoken Healer Isbeth to be the culprit, but all signs now pointed to Master Rowan as the true mastermind.

She’d been wrong, again.

“He was there when Theo collapsed, and Orla, too. He was the reason they got sick, and we actually thanked him for coming to help,” Lyndon muttered, disgusted.

“I told Ainsley,” Sparrow cried. “I told Ainsley what would happen, but he didn’t believe me! Why would he risk the magedrain?”

“Why else?” Camellia crossed her arms. “He was lied to. Nobody would risk it, if they knew.”

“It seemed that your brother admired him greatly,” Healer Isbeth said gently. This kindness made Sparrow feel even worse for doubting her.

“But what’s he going to do with Orla, and Xia’s brother?” Camellia asked then, gesturing to the ruined room. “Why leave all the rest and take only them?”

“Ainsley was his Adept, and Orla was helping grow potion components for them,” Sparrow said, feeling sick to her stomach.

“They might know too much about his plan,” Healer Isbeth concluded. “Silas has left reason. They’re in grave danger.”

Mistress Noor’s eyes blazed in quiet fury. At her whistle, Sahir swooped in from a nearby window.

“Send flyers out. We are seeking Silas Rowan. He has abducted two apprentices of Zenith Academy and will henceforth be treated as a dangerous criminal. All instructors are to join the search.”

The raven cawed his affirmative and took off once again.

“I will stay to take care of my patients.” Healer Isbeth rose to her feet unsteadily, hobbling toward the cots where the other apprentices lay.

Master Olguin looked toward Sparrow, Lyndon, and Camellia.

“Try not to beat yourselves up about Gale Higgins,” he said, eyeing the guilt on Sparrow’s face. “There will be time enough to sort that all out later. We may not have found this lead as quickly as we did without you. Now, you all must return—”

“That’s my brother out there,” Sparrow cried. “I have to look, too! If he uses his magic …”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“The adults can’t manage Ainsley’s magic,” Camellia interrupted.

“No offense, sir, but Camellia’s right,” Lyndon said.

Mistress Noor shook her head firmly.

“If our suspicions prove to be true, then Silas Rowan is a dangerous man who has shown no qualms about hurting children. I will not willingly send any more of my apprentices to him!” Mistress Noor’s tone brooked no argument, and the adults left them.

“What now?” Lyndon glanced uncertainly at Sparrow.

How could Sparrow bring herself to hide in safety when Ainsley and Orla were out there at the mercy of a man she once trusted?

“I’m going after them. I’m not asking you guys to come with—” Sparrow couldn’t even finish her sentence before Lyndon and Camellia started toward the door.

“C’mon, Sparrow, let’s go,” Lyndon urged.

“We’re wasting time, Xia,” Camellia said.

Sparrow let out a long breath and marched forward and out into the night.

26: Orla, Overgrown

“He must have had a secret lab or something, right? He can’t have been making vials and potions just anywhere,” reasoned Lyndon as they left the infirmary.

“How did he go unnoticed by the wardens this whole time?” Camellia asked. “There’s hundreds of them—they’d have noticed something!”

A sudden memory flashed across Sparrow’s mind. A dark clearing deep in the valley. Shards of glass strewn among the weeds, and Sahir leading her out into the sunshine.

“Wait. There is a place. After midterms, I got lost in the woods. There was this clearing, and Master Rowan was there …”

“Do you remember the way?” asked Lyndon.

Sparrow nodded. “Follow me.”

Sparrow wondered if Ainsley still trusted Master Rowan. Earlier, he had been certain that no harm would come to him, but what about now?

Sparrow picked up her pace, her heart in her throat.

The clearing they reached was unrecognizable to Sparrow. Vegetation grew thick, obscuring the ground.

“Ugh, these plants!” Lyndon struggled to free his sleeve from a thorny patch of bramble.

“It wasn’t so overgrown last time …” Sparrow used a quick flare of magic on the offending plant.

“There’s only one way these plants could’ve grown like this in the middle of winter.” Camellia batted a thorny tendril from her face. Her exhaustion was beginning to show; she had quelled every fire they’d come across, keeping the blazes from spreading.

Sparrow and Lyndon stared at the vegetation anew. The amount of magic needed for this much growth would have drained the strongest of mages. Lyndon pulled up one of the vines and snapped it in half. Flecks of green magic floated out into the air like fireflies glowing in the dark.

“That’s her magic, all right,” Lyndon said. “But where is she?”

“ORLA? ARE YOU HERE?” Sparrow yelled.

Through the shifting green, Sparrow saw a flash of red.

“Orla!” she cried, running to the apprentice-sized mound of tangled bramble.

“How long has she been in there?!” Lyndon dropped to his knees and pulled at the stems frantically. Next to him, Camellia did the same, wide-eyed horror on her face.

They couldn’t burn or cut the stems away for fear of hurting Orla. Their hands stung from the thorns as they snapped and yanked the tangle apart, and finally, Orla’s pale face came into view. She breathed shallowly, multiple cuts on her face from the thorns digging into her skin.

“Orla! Please, wake up,” begged Sparrow as they pulled her free.

Her eyes cracked open, tears welling up when she saw them.

“Oh, Sparrow, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so foolish,” she rasped. “I just felt so weak … I didn’t want to be left behind again …”

“Orla, can you tell us what happened? Is Master Rowan really behind all this?” Lyndon held on to Orla’s hands, trying to warm them in his own.

The tears streamed down Orla’s scratched cheeks.

“I swear, I didn’t know at first,” she whispered. “He promised us all that the potions were safe … He said … he was going to make things how they should be. He told Ainsley and me that we were helping with something really important, and we believed him!”

“Where’s Ainsley now? Why did Master Rowan take the two of you away?” Sparrow asked.

“Master Rowan left me here to block the path. He had me take another one of the potions so that my magic would do all this.” In their arms, Orla shuddered fitfully.

Sparrow couldn’t connect the cruelty of what she was hearing to the smiling man she thought she knew—and couldn’t imagine why he’d do it.

“When I got sick, I realized we’d been fooled. But Ainsley still believes in Master Rowan.” Orla’s hand pointed weakly past the clearing.

“The lab’s just ahead. He told Ainsley to destroy the evidence before they escape. You have to stop him. Ainsley’s used too much magic today,” Orla begged, her eyes losing focus.

A bright light flared at the edge of the clearing. Orla’s vines turned to ash in an instant as new fire burned them away. Camellia’s magic, cold and swift, wrapped around them in an invisible shield.

“Rest, Orla. I’ll stop Ainsley,” Sparrow promised as Orla’s eyes slipped closed.

“I’ll take Orla and get her to the infirmary.” Lyndon moved to hoist Orla onto his back. His magic wrapped around her, lightening the load.

“I’ll head around the back and sneak into the lab,” Camellia decided. “If they’re trying to destroy evidence, there must be something important in there. But you’ll have to keep your brother occupied, Sparrow. You’re the only one who can.”

Before Sparrow could answer, Camellia was already gone, the wind on her heels.

“Sahir,” Sparrow called. She had seen him overhead as they came here, a black shape in the sky watching over them. The raven descended onto a nearby branch.

“I will fetch my mistress. Be safe,” he cawed before taking to the skies again.

Sparrow took a deep breath and ran toward the blaze.

27: Satisfaction Alone

The secret lab was little more than a hut with boarded-up windows. Ainsley stood facing it, embers flickering in his palms. He turned as Sparrow approached, eyes hazy and unfocused.

“Go away,” Ainsley mumbled. Over his shoulder, Sparrow saw a flash of pale gold flit through the bushes behind the hut. She had to distract Ainsley before he noticed Camellia.

“Ainsley! Snap out of it!” Sparrow shouted. “You’ve been lied to; why are you still following his orders?”

“Ah, if it isn’t the younger Apprentice Xia.”

Sparrow’s blood ran cold. Master Rowan exited the hut. The usual gentle smile on his face was gone, as were his glasses.

“I thought I told you that it was dangerous to wander around here, Sparrow?” He spoke casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

“Master Rowan … why?” Sparrow asked.

“Oh, Sparrow. Why do you think? Do you think me a common vandal, causing mayhem for its own sake?”

Sparrow’s shock and fear began to give way to anger. “You were toying with everyone’s magic. Their lives!”

“People die all the time, Sparrow,” Master Rowan said blandly. “I told you I was blessed with healing magic, yes? Now, if I can make it so that the magic never left, how many people’s lives do you think I can save?”

“That’s your reason?! Reversing the magical fade isn’t possible!”

“You sound like those fools at the White Lily. Too complacent to see the truth, that the magical fade isn’t normal. There was once a time when even adults had magic. Can you imagine the marvels we’ve lost, just because magic now belongs only to children? Am I truly so wrong for trying to return to that time?”

The more she heard, the more it sounded like nonsense. Sparrow cast about for something else to say. How long ago had Sahir gone for help? Had Camellia managed to enter the hut and find what Master Rowan had been trying to destroy? How much longer did Sparrow have to stall?

“How does making a potion that drains magic stop the magical fade? You lied to everyone and told them it would make them stronger!” Sparrow finally asked. What purpose did making a bunch of apprentices lose their magic serve?

“Oh, Sparrow, I did make them stronger. And you know what? It’s all thanks to you.”

“What?”

“When you lost control, it was anger that unleashed your dormant magic. I took inspiration from that and perfected the formula to induce emotional instability. It worked a charm! Didn’t you see your brother’s lovely display earlier? Such power.”

Sparrow stared, incensed, as Master Rowan reached out to pat Ainsley’s head.

“Sparrow, wouldn’t you like that brilliant magic of yours to never fade?” offered Master Rowan, spreading his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Master Rowan!” Ainsley protested, speaking up for the first time.

“Ah, ah, Ainsley, hush. I’m speaking to your sister now.”

Ainsley fell silent, glaring at Sparrow as Master Rowan continued.

“Wouldn’t you like to see a world where magic never dies? You’ll never have to worry about pleasing the guilds or running out of time.”

This is how he got Ainsley to follow him, Sparrow realized. Ainsley had done everything in his power to remain the strongest apprentice in his year. He would’ve gone to the moon and back to stop his magic from ever fading.

“You’re lying. Everyone loses their magic. It’s just the way things are,” Sparrow said, repeating what her mother told her the day she left for Zenith Academy. “Stopping the fade isn’t possible.”

“Not possible, is it?” Master Rowan grinned. “Let me show you something interesting.”

He grabbed Ainsley’s arm, twisting it around so Sparrow could see the long gash that scored its way through Ainsley’s uniform and flesh. Master Rowan placed his hand over the sluggishly bleeding wound. Sparrow couldn’t believe her eyes. A strange glow was emitting from Master Rowan’s hands. A glow that looked oddly like—

“Magic,” Sparrow breathed.

Master Rowan removed his hand, revealing the pink flesh of Ainsley’s arm, the wound completely knitted together. The shock of seeing an adult use magic had completely turned everything Sparrow knew on its head. Master Rowan stumbled a little, as though in pain.

“Don’t you see, Sparrow? It’s not just a dream. You can have magic even as an adult. Don’t you want that?” Master Rowan crowed, his voice hoarse and his shoulders shaking.

To her horror, Sparrow realized that his shoulders weren’t shaking at all. Something underneath his shirt was shifting, writhing as though alive. A green tendril peeked out from under his collar.

“That’s … venomvine!” she cried, taking a step back on instinct.

The vines shifted against Master Rowan’s skin, crawling up his neck and out from under his shirtsleeves. Sparrow bit back bile as she realized that the tattoos she had seen on him had somehow become living vines.

The venomvine wound itself around Master Rowan’s neck like a boa constrictor, hungry and seeking. Annoyed, Master Rowan pulled one of his shimmering earrings off. With force Sparrow hadn’t known was possible, he crushed the gem between his fingers, releasing a glittering mist. Immediately, the venomvine abandoned Master Rowan’s neck and undulated in the air, absorbing the rainbow haze.

“It’s magestone,” Sparrow realized with horror. She heard Orla’s voice in her mind, warning her: Venomvine used magic as nutrients. When the vines around Master Rowan slithered back under his clothes, becoming inert tattoos once more, she knew the truth. Those glittering earrings were magestone, imbued with stolen magic.

“That was what your potion was for,” Sparrow continued, disgust pooling in her stomach. “You made them stronger just so you could steal their magic!”

“Very astute, Sparrow,” Master Rowan said, as though Sparrow had answered a tricky question during class. “I had to make them stronger. You know how it is; magic doesn’t want to leave the vessel of the body. First I tried to break the vessel, but that didn’t turn out very well. Magic leaked all over the place before I could collect it.”

Sparrow realized he was talking about the earliest patients, like Lilac and Theo, whose magic swelled and bled out of them.

“But when I amplified their magic, not only was there more to harvest, but the magic stayed whole outside the body instead of dissipating like before. Finally, sweet success. Venomvine is a fascinating plant. It manipulates magic as well as any apprentice, even storing any excess into magestone for the future. With it, all I need is one touch, and I can drink deeply from a well of fresh magic.”

Sparrow shuddered, unable to unsee the vines that moved as though they were a part of Master Rowan’s body.

A violent cough interrupted Master Rowan’s speech. His chest heaved, and blood dribbled at the edge of his mouth. “Of course, progress comes at a cost,” he muttered, more to himself than Sparrow.

“Adults aren’t supposed to have magic!” Sparrow cried, feeling sick. “It’s unnatural.”

“Unnatural? It’s more unnatural to lose your magic when you’re an adult. Do you know how rare healing magic is? As a fire mage yourself, you should understand.”

Master Rowan’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“What’s a few apprentices in the face of thousands of lives? Join me, and you’ll be free of all this—you can have magic forever.”

He wasn’t lying to her; Master Rowan might actually be able to reverse the magical fade, for some people at least. His words tugged at every apprentice’s deepest fears, hers included.

“I don’t want my magic to fade,” she said slowly.

Master Rowan beamed at her.

“Of course keeping it would make me happy,” Sparrow continued, even as anger and fear made her voice tremble, “but my satisfaction alone isn’t worth the lives of my friends, Master Rowan.”

Silas Rowan’s smile vanished, turning into a cold mask that Sparrow suspected was his true face. “Alas, such a pity that we think differently. I had rather hoped to collect another fire mage. Ainsley, you know what to do. Do not forget that if I am captured, you will be, too. There is no future for you without me.”

“STOP!” Sparrow shouted, but Ainsley moved forward and blocked her path. Over his shoulder, Silas Rowan sent her a mocking wave and disappeared into the trees.

“Ains, please don’t do this.”

“Why did you come here?” Ainsley asked, his voice flat.

“Can’t you see you’re being used?” Sparrow pleaded. “Come back with me and tell everyone what you know about Master Rowan’s plans. You’ll be forgiven!”

“Forgiven?” Her brother’s face contorted with anger. White-hot flame shot out of his hands, catching on the grass near his feet. “What did I do wrong?! Why should I give up my magic? I’ve worked too hard. I WON’T give it up!”

The magedrain potion had clearly affected Ainsley’s already volatile temper.

“Please, Ainsley,” Sparrow begged. “It’s not too late.”

“It is. Master Rowan is right. There’s no future for me anymore. Not without him.”

“Your future?!” Sparrow seethed at his entitlement. “What about all the people you and Master Rowan got sick? Why do you always have to make it about you?!”

She couldn’t understand. Ainsley had everything. Power. Respect. Affection. All things Sparrow had desperately tried to gain. Wasn’t that enough for him? How could he still want more at the expense of everyone else?

“Just because it’s unfair doesn’t mean you can hurt everyone around you!” Sparrow shouted.

“Don’t act so high and mighty.” Ainsley sneered. “You wished you were as strong as I am. If you had the magic I have, you’d refuse to give it up, too.”

Ainsley wreathed his arms with fire.

Sparrow tried not to tremble at the sight. She’d never forgotten the pain of that very first burn. But no more. Her admiration for Ainsley had vanished. He wasn’t the perfect fire mage; he was a selfish boy who had hurt people for his own gain.

“I should have known you’re not capable of caring about anyone other than yourself,” Sparrow snarled. “I’m going to stop you, Ainsley. No matter what.”

A dark chuckle answered her. Her brother smiled, a grim shadow of his usual self.

“You? You’ll never be stronger than me, birdbrain.”

Sparrow mirrored her brother’s position and called magic to her own hands.

28: Candleflame

Sparrow didn’t want to be a fire mage. She was only six, and neither her nor Ainsley’s magic had manifested yet. Their whole family had been impatiently waiting, but magic didn’t seem all that special. Once you got it, you had to work really hard all the time and sign your whole life away to some stuffy guild. Instead, Sparrow wanted to be a baker just like Mama and work with dough all day. She had already finished a sketchbook of ideas for new pastry shapes. Wouldn’t spending all day surrounded by delicious cookies and cakes be better? She’d said as much to Ainsley, certain that he’d agree.

“How can you say that, you stupid girl!”

“How can you say that?” Sparrow shot back, stung and confused. Ainsley had never yelled at her before. Sparrow bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to well up at this unexpected meanness. Ainsley was supposed to be on her side—he was always the angriest when their relatives talked about what good fire mages they would turn out to be.

“I bet you’re not even a fire mage,” Sparrow said crossly. It would serve Ainsley right. He still hadn’t manifested, even though he was a whole year older than Sparrow. “I bet your magic isn’t even gonna come, you’re gonna be just like Nainai is now, and then you’ll see!”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!”

Sparrow shut her mouth and backed away, even though she had plenty more to say. Ainsley hit her sometimes when they were tussling. He was bigger, and stronger, and sounded really upset this time. Maybe he was more worried about manifesting than Sparrow had thought? As Ainsley’s shouting dissolved into angry mutters, Sparrow started feeling a little guilty. She approached tentatively, reaching out.

“Oh, Ainsley, I didn’t mean it. Don’t be mad, please?” She tugged gently on his sleeve.

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!” he bellowed, knocking her hand violently away. Suddenly, Sparrow couldn’t see. Everything around her was white-red. Heat blistered at her skin. She stumbled away, landing hard on the floor. As she looked up at Ainsley, Sparrow understood with sudden clarity: Ainsley had manifested.

Flames burst along his arms, catching on his clothing and the floor. This was not the calm, warm fire of the kitchen, or the controlled bonfires of the bakery furnaces where Baba and Mama worked. This was pure magical power, fueled with all the rage her brother could muster.

“Ainsley, stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

Sparrow tried to reach him. Fire mages couldn’t get burned, that was what Nainai said. So Sparrow should be fine, too.

“NO!” Ainsley bellowed. He threw his hands out as though trying to push her away.

Sparrow felt her cheek blister. The pain brought her to her knees, and Sparrow clutched at her face, crying soundlessly.

“HELP! MA, BA!! HELP!!”

She heard Ainsley’s panicked voice, and the sounds of rushing footsteps as everything went dark.

When she woke up, she was in her room, her face bandaged with cloth covered in strange symbols. Mama was sitting at the foot of her bed.

“Ruyan, how are you feeling?” her mother asked, tucking strands of Sparrow’s hair away.

“I’m okay,” wheezed Sparrow. The right side of her face felt numb.

“Where’s Ainsley?” she asked.

“He’s with your father. They’re speaking to someone about mage classes, now that he’s manifested. Your turn next, okay, Ruyan?”

At this moment, the door opened. Baba walked in, alone, a big smile on his face.

“Ainsley’s getting his magic measured now, but the Healer said he’s very strong!” he told Mama, brimming with pride.

“Is he in trouble? For hurting me?” Sparrow asked. She didn’t know what answer she wanted to hear. She knew it was an accident, but the sight of Baba’s smile, and the thought of Ainsley getting praise and attention from their aunties and uncles despite burning her, made her feel like she’d drunk a whole bowlful of bitter melon soup.

Her father shook his head.

“It was an accident, Sparrow. He will have to be careful in the future, but right now training his powers is more important than punishing him. Try to be understanding, hm?”

Mama turned and whispered something to her father in a dialect Sparrow didn’t understand, but Baba only scoffed.

“What’s there to hide? Sparrow will have to live in this world eventually. She must understand that while she’s young, nothing is more important than her magic. She must learn to be stronger, or she’ll get hurt like today.”

“Is that why I got burned?” Sparrow asked, feeling small. “Am I not a fire mage like Ainsley?”

Mama shot Baba a sharp look.

“I’m sure you’ll be a fire mage, Ruyan,” she soothed. “It’s just that Ainsley’s magic was so strong. The magic sleeping inside you wasn’t able to protect you properly. But you’ll get stronger, I promise.”

“Yes, she’ll get stronger,” agreed Baba, reaching over to ruffle Sparrow’s hair with a heavy hand. “Just like Ainsley.”

In the dark of the clearing, Ainsley’s magic flared bonfire bright. He loosed first, white flame hurtling toward Sparrow. Sparrow answered with her own fire—her magic honed after countless spars with Camellia. For the first time, a hint of doubt entered Ainsley’s eyes, but it disappeared as soon as it came. Snarling, Ainsley flung his magic in a wide arc toward Sparrow. She dropped low to the ground, rolling out of its path and scrambling upright again.

Sparrow released volley after volley of flames. One of them caught the leg of Ainsley’s uniform, but he batted them all away with a bored hand and quashed the fire on his pants.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He sneered, overconfident and self-assured as he always was.

Sparrow gritted her teeth. More. More power. The air wavered with heat. Fire was singing in her blood, and she felt almost delirious with power—if this was what Ainsley and Camellia felt, if this was what Master Rowan was like before his magic faded, Sparrow could understand why it was so hard to let go. She felt unstoppable.

She poured all her magic into her next attack. Flames bigger than any she’d ever made before bloomed like a comet around her hands. When she released the fire, hurtling toward Ainsley, Sparrow was sure she had won.

Ainsley’s magic engulfed hers, turning her attack back against her. As the combined inferno of her and her brother’s magic descended upon her, Sparrow felt despair curl around her throat. Even after hours of relentless casting, half-delirious with the magedrain fever, Ainsley was still stronger than her. The Eye of Zipporah had warned her from day one: Sparrow would always be weaker than him. Her family would never approve of her. All her efforts were for nothing.

Her hands dropped to her sides. She didn’t have enough magic to shield herself. For the second time in her life, she would be scarred by her brother’s fire. She waited for the heat and pain to consume her.

Crack.

The pain didn’t come. Ainsley’s flames whispered away into nothing, and Sparrow was left unscathed, a faint scent of cut grass suffusing the air around her.

“What? How did you do that?” Ainsley demanded.

Sparrow’s gazed drifted down to her waist. Attached to her identification pendant, the protection charm Orla had made for her in class had split in two, the magic in it spent. The sight of its singed green ribbon made Sparrow pause, the memory of a soft voice tugging her mind away from her failure.

Orla, gentle and small on the moon-white steps of Zenith, the two of them huddled around Sparrow’s candleflame. Lyndon, who had taken to sticking his hands in Sparrow’s armpits when the weather turned cold. The red spray of emberblossom in their Solarium, blooming because of her magic and their teamwork.

It’s lovely and warm. Thank you.

Sparrow blinked away the tears that had welled up. She didn’t need Ainsley to respect her, or her family’s approval. She already had people who accepted her. She’d been ashamed for so long, trying to become somebody she wasn’t when the best part of her fire was already within her. Her magic wasn’t for burning and hurting; it was something meant to comfort and help others.

The violence in her left like a sigh. She stepped toward Ainsley like he was a spooked animal. Moments ago, her brother had looked like an insurmountable wall. Fear, hero worship, and resentment had always clouded her eyes when it came to him. Now all she saw was the shaking of his hands and the bruise-like shadows under his eyes. Under bravado and superiority was the terror of a boy afraid he wouldn’t manifest.

“Ainsley, let’s stop fighting,” Sparrow rasped, throat hoarse from shouting and smoke. She was close enough now that she could see the tracks of tears running down her brother’s face.

“No, don’t come closer—”

Ainsley’s barrage of fire continued. Sparrow pushed the fire away, using only enough of her own magic to keep herself from burning.

She reached Ainsley and grabbed his hand. How had it gone so wrong? How different would things be if their worth didn’t begin and end with their magic?

“Sparrow, don’t!” Ainsley shouted suddenly, eyes going wide with alarm.

White-hot flames spread up Sparrow’s arm, burning away the sleeve of her uniform, leaving a trail of welts on her skin even through her protective barrier of magic. As the heat intensified, the cord tying her pendant broke away, her identification stone and Orla’s charm lost to the fire. The acrid scent of burning hair filled her nose as Sparrow took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. She pulled her brother close. In the end, she couldn’t take her brother down through magical force. She wouldn’t—it wasn’t who she was or wanted to be.

“What’re you doing? Stop, stop!!” protested Ainsley, struggling to push her away.

This is what the Eye of Zipporah was trying to tell me, she realized. The vision from so long ago hadn’t been one of Sparrow failing to beat Ainsley, it had been one of her finally understanding herself. Laughter bubbled out of her even as the heat reached unbearable levels. She’d been mistaken and fearful all year, but now it felt like a great burden had simply fallen off her shoulders. I get it now.

Sparrow reached out for Ainsley’s fire and pulled. Magic scalded her veins. It didn’t want to be here, under her control—it wanted to burn and destroy and hurt. Sparrow gathered all that bursting energy and pushed it through her body, channeling it past her lungs and down through her toes. She felt feverish with it. It was too much power, too fast.

Flamewort roots that would become candied and spicy-sweet. Emberblossom seeds coaxed into blooming out of cold soil. Cold hands warming up in her own. A candle on a dark night, lighting the way.

Small. Gentle. Humble and lovely—this is my fire, and it doesn’t hurt people.

The roaring tide quelled. All around, the flames borne from Ainsley’s magic dimmed to embers. Sparrow opened her eyes, slowly, flecks of orange and gold ash dancing in her vision.

The last thing Sparrow saw was Ainsley’s face, snotty and tear streaked as he shouted at her. Frantic voices were calling out her name. Sparrow, they called. Apprentice Xia, called a deep voice. Bird-child, cawed another. All that effort spent seeking approval and acceptance, when she had so many who cared about her all this time. Sparrow tried to smile. Her lips cracked, parched. Was that her brother’s voice? She’d never heard Ainsley say sorry before.

“It’s going to be okay, Ains,” she croaked out. “Ainsley? Where are you?”

Unable to keep her eyes open, Sparrow slipped quietly into unconsciousness.

29: Out of the Woods

Whispers, among rustling and beeping, broke Sparrow’s rest. Her eyelids were too heavy to open. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air, mingling strangely with the smell of disinfectant.

“Can’t believe she didn’t use her fire to fight her brother. Daft fool,” said a crisp voice. Sparrow felt a stab of indignance at that statement, but the voice didn’t seem to really mean it. Sparrow could tell.

“Hey! You take that back,” argued a familiar boy’s voice.

“Apprentices, what did I say about noise in my infirmary?” Oh, they were in trouble now.

“Sorry, Healer Isbeth, we’ll be quieter,” Camellia said, her good-student voice on. Her voice then dropped to a whisper.

“Nice going, Demara.”

“Oh, shut it, Downs,” came Lyndon’s equally catty reply.

Sparrow felt her forehead furrow. There was no going back to sleep with these two bickering like this. She blinked her crusty eyes open.

“You’re finally awake.” Camellia said, looking at her critically.

“Healer Isbeth said you’ve got ‘severe magical exhaustion,’” Lyndon informed her. “How do you feel?”

“Ouch,” Sparrow said, groaning. “I can’t move …”

“Oh, that’s just Rina’s Evals thesis,” Lyndon said, gesturing down. “She said it was inspired by you, you know.”

Draped over her was the most luridly colored quilt she had ever seen—it was easily the brightest thing in the infirmary. Sparrow recognized her own magic in the magestones that were sewn into the sections of the quilt, working in tandem with the embroidered array that kept her at just the right temperature.

“So, how bad’s the situation?” Sparrow asked, her voice cracking.

Lyndon poured her a glass of water, and she sipped at it gratefully, the cool liquid soothing her scratchy throat.

“Everyone’s okay,” Lyndon said, setting the glass back on the table when she was done. “Healer Isbeth’s working with the White Lily Guild to help everyone who took the potions, by deciphering the notes Camellia got out of that lab.”

“Orla’s got her own ward. You can go see her later,” Camellia continued.

“And Ainsley?”

Lyndon and Camellia shared an uneasy glance.

“Sparrow, your brother’s … gone,” Lyndon said.

“What do you mean, gone?!” Sparrow struggled to sit up. “I thought I saved him …”

“You did,” Camellia said seriously. “I did everything I could to keep the fires from spreading, but I ran out of magic. I thought the entire mountainside would turn to ash, but it suddenly disappeared. None of us who were down there would’ve come out all right if not for you.”

“Mistress Noor and the other teachers found you alone outside that hut,” Lyndon explained. “Your brother was nowhere to be found.”

“The authorities are searching for Master Rowan as we speak. They think your brother followed him,” Camellia said.

At the mention of Master Rowan, Sparrow scowled. His comforting words in the clearing so long ago had brought Sparrow so much strength, but now that memory only served to remind her how foolish she’d been.

“You couldn’t have known, Sparrow.” Lyndon squeezed Sparrow’s hand. “He duped everyone.”

“He told me he’d do anything to have his magic back. I thought that was just a turn of phrase, not that he’d actually do anything …” Sparrow shuddered.

To that, Lyndon had no reply.

“I don’t think there’s a single apprentice here who doesn’t sympathize with his views even a little. If I thought I could keep my magic forever, I might have gone the same way your brother did,” said Camellia.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Sparrow replied. “You can’t even stand the idea of somebody being lazy, let alone stealing magic from someone else just to keep your own from running out. But thank you for saying that.”

“That’s what it was, then? He was stealing magic from the apprentices?” Lyndon asked. “Everyone’s been speculating, but nobody can figure out how or why he did it all, and Healer Isbeth refuses to reveal anything.”

“For a good reason,” Camellia said, crossing her arms. “The less people know about his methods, the better.”

Sparrow didn’t think anyone could replicate Master Rowan’s methods, even if they did know them. Who would willingly merge bodies with a ravenous, magic-sucking plant?

“The potions were only half of it,” Sparrow said, feeling faintly nauseous. “He was using venomvine.”

Lyndon’s and Camellia’s faces shifted from confusion to horror.

“No way … That can’t be real,” Lyndon said weakly.

“I wish,” Sparrow said. “He merged with it somehow, then uses it to suck magic out of people and store it in magestones. Those earrings of his …”

“Then he was parading stolen magic around from the very first week,” Camellia spat.

A bleak silence descended upon them.

“Okay, no more ruminating.” Lyndon waved the air as though dispersing an invisible cloud of seriousness. “Right now, you should focus on getting better. Healer Isbeth isn’t letting anybody in here without her approval. Oh, I submitted the Solarium and our papers for grading, so don’t even worry about that.” Lyndon tucked the quilt around Sparrow more securely.

“Wait, I still have questions!” Sparrow protested, even as the comforting weight of Rina’s quilt tugged her toward drowsiness.

“Next time, Sparrow. Rest,” Lyndon said.

Sparrow closed her eyes and met the swift darkness of sleep.

As she awoke, the infirmary was dark but for a few thin shafts of moonlight. Sparrow sat up slowly, wondering what it was that woke her, when she spotted a huddled figure sitting by her bed.

“Ma?” she asked incredulously. Her mother’s head snapped up. Her eyes were bloodshot and teary when she looked at Sparrow.

“Ruyan,” Ma whispered, rushing forward to sit on the edge of Sparrow’s bed and bundle her into a crushing hug. Sparrow inhaled deeply, throat tight as she smelled the scent of flour and sweat that still clung to her mother’s clothes.

“Ma, what are you doing here?”

“Where else would I be when you’re in the hospital?”

“It’s not actually a hospital, Ma.”

Ma waved a hand dismissively, as if to say, Same difference. “Your teachers told me what happened. That your brother’s missing, and that he chose to leave with that man.”

Her mother’s eyes were rimmed with red. Sparrow squirmed, not knowing what to say. While she wanted to burrow into the comfort of her mother’s presence, Ainsley’s absence hung heavy between them. The need to be perfect had made Ainsley vulnerable to Master Rowan’s lies. That same pressure had defined Sparrow’s life for years, and her quietly weeping mother was the person who had made it so. What could Sparrow say to comfort her mother that wasn’t a lie?

“They said you saved his life. Is that true?”

Sparrow nodded.

“Thank you, Ruyan,” her mother whispered.

Sparrow’s chest tightened with relief and pain. She thought her mother would blame her or be disappointed that it was Ainsley who was gone, and not Sparrow. She hadn’t expected gentle hands and thanks, and with the surprise of it all came a heavy ache, and the plaintive thought at the back of Sparrow’s head: Why couldn’t you have been this gentle from the beginning? Why only now, when everything’s gone horribly wrong?

At her mother’s thanks, Sparrow’s tears finally spilled over.

“Why are you crying, silly girl!” Her mother wiped Sparrow’s face roughly with her fingers.

“Sorry, Ma,” Sparrow said, tentatively leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, until Sparrow was close to dozing off again. Her mother spoke softly, as though not daring to voice her thoughts aloud.

“I just wanted better for you two. Was that so wrong? Is it my fault that he’s gone?”

Sparrow shook her head. She had tried to comfort Ainsley in the clearing, but even then, Sparrow had known deep down that her brother had gone beyond her reach by listening to Master Rowan instead of his conscience. To place all the blame in Ma’s calloused hands would be wrong.

“I’m sure they’ll find him and bring him back,” Sparrow said.

Her mother said nothing, hugging her tighter. Just for tonight, Sparrow thought, pushing away all her conflicted feelings. She’d sleep like a child again, her head pillowed on her mother’s lap. Here, everything smelled like flour and home, and nothing could touch her.

After many of Healer Isbeth’s disgusting potions—“That’s how you know they’re medicine! Now, stop whining and drink it all, Xia”—and endless tureens of Ma’s nourishing soups and rice porridges, Sparrow was finally allowed to leave her bed and go on a short walk.

She made her way down the hall, with both Lyndon and Camellia hovering on either side of her, watching hawk-eyed for any hint of wobbling on her part. When they reached Orla’s private ward, she was lying in bed, her red hair aglow with the light of the afternoon sun. A few errant green stems curled around her limbs, leftovers from her magic going haywire. Orla glanced up from the letter she was writing, locking eyes with Sparrow. The two of them hesitated to speak, until—

“Sparrow!”

“Orla!”

Just like that, the tension broke.

“Hi, Orla,” Sparrow said fondly.

“Hi, Sparrow,” Orla replied, smiling shyly.

“Okay, now that that’s over, let’s get this one onto a chair before she pitches again,” Lyndon said, ushering Sparrow into the room.

“Lyndon! It was ONE TIME!”

The three of them giggled, and Sparrow allowed herself to be shepherded into a comfortable chair near Orla’s bed.

“Well, call me if you need help getting back.” Camellia turned to the door stiffly.

“You can stay, Camellia,” Orla called.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” Camellia said. “I can take responsibility for my behavior thus far, Orla.”

“I already accepted your apology, Lia.” The nickname made Camellia falter, and she sat without a word, refusing to look at either Sparrow or Lyndon.

“… Well, how have you been, Orla?” Sparrow asked. The four of them began the lengthy task of catching up. Orla’s magical system had been damaged by the potion, but thanks to Healer Isbeth’s nonstop effort, Orla and the rest of the magedrain patients would eventually recover.

“I feel terrible for thinking she was behind it all,” Sparrow confessed.

“We doubted Gale Higgins, too. No guilt for that?” Lyndon asked.

“Well, I am guilty.” Sparrow slumped. “I messed his life up, big-time.”

“There’s no need to feel bad on his account,” Camellia said, rolling her eyes. “Walking around, acting like he was better than everyone else. He was insufferable.”

Sparrow fixed Camellia with an incredulous look. Camellia glared back, before finally the corner of her mouth quirked into a smile, and abruptly, everyone was laughing again.

“Okay, fine, you got me there,” Camellia conceded. “But really, I heard from Calder that Gale’s transferring to a different academy now that his name’s been cleared, even if he did do a bunch of shady stuff while trying to figure out how other apprentices had gotten stronger than him. He’ll be fine.”

“I feel like such a fool,” Orla whispered after the conversation lulled. “I even used my magic to help Master Rowan grow potion ingredients. Then I started taking the potions, and they worked so well, I …”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sparrow insisted. “You were a victim.”

“No, you don’t understand …” Orla began tearing up. “Those packages Mother sent me … They were rare potion components from home. She instructed me to deliver them to Master Rowan, saying it was important research … Of course she’s denying it now that she’s under investigation, but I should have known! I shouldn’t have …”

Fat droplets of tears dripped down Orla’s face.

If Sparrow had any remaining misgivings about Orla’s part in this terrible situation, they melted away at the sight of her crying.

“You made a mistake, Orla,” Camellia said. Sparrow was about to blurt out something defensive, but the soft gleam in Camellia’s eyes held her back.

“It’s the same mistake that I’d have made if I’d been treated the way you were. Ophelia Bailey isn’t a woman you refuse, anyway. Don’t … be so hard on yourself,” Camellia finished awkwardly.

A beat passed as everyone present registered that Camellia loathes-laziness-and-loves-being-hard-on-everyone Downs would say something like that to Orla, whom she’d held in such disdain for so long.

“You’ve changed, Lia,” Orla said softly.

“We all have, haven’t we?” Camellia said, looking out the window at the charred trees outside.

To that, the three of them could only nod.

30: The Mundane and Magical

Stares and whispers followed Sparrow and her friends as they hefted their bags across the entrance courtyard. Sparrow eyed the Zenith compound with a pang. Soot streaks and ash marred the stonework, and many of the courtyards were still filled with debris and charred branches. She wondered if the blackened trees would recover, come spring.

“It’s all Jonah’s fault.” Chiaki handed Sparrow a textbook she had forgotten in their room. “He’s been doing dramatic retellings of the ‘Scorching of Zenith Academy’ in the Quarter all week, you know. Said that a sibling fight nearly destroying the Academy on Evals night was too good of a story not to share.”

“That sounds like him,” Sparrow said, amused. “I won’t get too upset. It’s thanks to you guys putting out the fires everywhere else that things didn’t turn out worse.”

“If you want to thank me, keep warming the water in our bathroom next year. I can’t go back to lukewarm showers in the middle of winter.”

“Deal,” Sparrow said, grinning.

“I mean, it is a good story,” Lyndon agreed. He set his bags down on the floor and stretched leisurely. If being the object of such attention affected him, he certainly didn’t show it. At his side, Orla was much less relaxed, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair, which still had a couple of leafy tendrils peeking through. According to Healer Isbeth, it would take months for them to fade away.

“I hate this,” she murmured. “Everyone’s staring …”

“You just have to own it and show everyone you’re past it. They’ll forget.” Camellia threw her hair back as she said this.

“What I would give for a fraction of your confidence.” Sparrow laughed, shaking her head. At that, Camellia turned to pin Sparrow with an appraising look.

“You’re not that much of a wallflower, Xia,” she said smugly, eyeing Sparrow’s hair. “You don’t have to pretend to be such a coward all the time.”

Sparrow blinked and then snorted with laughter. Behind her, she heard Lyndon demand, “When and why did we become friends with her again?”

Sparrow tugged at the ends of her newly shorn hair. It had been badly damaged in the fight with Ainsley, and after a week of feeling like a lit matchstick, she’d gone to Camellia and begged for her help. Her hair was now cropped close to her ears, its unruly nature even more noticeable with the layers Camellia had cut into the hair. Sparrow felt very exposed after years of hiding her face and scarred cheek. But she no longer wanted to be ashamed of what she was—neither her looks nor her magic.

“I’m just saying, you look good, Xia.”

“Thanks, Camellia. You can go back to calling me by my first name, you know.”

“No, thank you.”

“I am so confused right now,” announced Lyndon, to a chorus of laughter.

They stopped in the middle of the courtyard, between all the different portal gates that would lead them home.

“Anyway, I’ll hear from you guys soon, right?” Sparrow asked.

“We’ll write, for sure,” Lyndon said. “Who knows, maybe we can even meet up over the break!”

“Things back home are a bit of a mess right now, but I’ll try my best,” Orla said resolutely.

“I’ll drag Orla out of her house if I have to,” Camellia said. Looking at her expression, Sparrow believed her.

The portal gates were open. The remaining apprentices said their last-minute goodbyes, eager to return home. Sparrow exchanged hugs with all her friends, including Camellia, who bore it with good grace. Their group scattered, everyone heading to their respective gates.

Sparrow let out a breath and turned toward the gate leading to South Emberland, her heart aching to be doing so alone. Where were Ainsley and Master Rowan now? What other horrible deeds would they do in the name of preserving their magic? Sparrow was certain that in time, Master Rowan would surface again, along with her brother.

“There’s nothing I can do about that now,” Sparrow reminded herself under her breath. She turned to the portal, beyond which her mother would be waiting, hopefully with some freshly baked pastries to welcome her home.

Before she could step through, a rush of air overhead ruffled her hair, and a familiar dark shape swooped down from the sky to land on her shoulder.

“Sahir,” Sparrow greeted him with genuine pleasure.

“Bird-child,” Sahir greeted her in turn. “I bring you a gift,” he said, lifting a foot for her to see. Looped onto his leg was a familiar tasseled stone, along with a broken protection charm.

“My identification pendant!” Sparrow gasped. “I thought I’d lost it—Master Olguin said he’d send me a new one when they sent out the second-year tassels!”

She hurried to untie the rope. Months ago, the stone that decreed her a mage apprentice of Zenith Academy had shone a soft rose in response to her magical signature. Now that color had deepened from a dusty hue to a true sunset, blazing and warm. The two halves of Orla’s broken protection charm clacked together. Sparrow would have to ask for a new ribbon and keep it somewhere safe as a reminder of what kind of fire mage she wanted to be.

“Things that are lost can always be found again,” cawed Sahir gently.

Sparrow smiled, thinking about her magic. Her brother.

“I hope you’re right, Sahir.”

Sparrow returned the tassel to its rightful place at her waist, comforted by its familiar weight. The raven rubbed his beak on her cheek and took off. Sparrow closed her eyes, enjoying the crisp air of Zenith Academy for one last time.

Sparrow had come to Zenith Academy in hopes of becoming as strong as her brother, but she had found that she already was, in her way. Inside her, a merry fire burned, not a destructive bonfire, but something gentle to keep her friends warm and safe.

It might be a universal agreement that magic is better than the mundane, Sparrow thought as she stepped through the portal home. But nobody said that the mundane couldn’t be magical.

Acknowledgments

In the rigid rules that I dreamed up for myself as a kid, I was always only an artist, so books were something I enjoyed without probing too far; writing wasn’t for me. This book exists because of the people who asked me, “Well, what if it was for you? What would you write?” Here is an imperfect list of them who I’d like to thank:

Lydia Silver, the first to ask that question. Thank you for taking a chance on a Twitter thread of Lord of the Rings fanart. And to everyone else at Darley Anderson, especially my agent Becca Langton and Kristina Egan for sending Sparrow out into the world with your positivity, efficiency, and patience.

To my big-brained, eagle-eyed editors: Maya Marlette at Scholastic and Linas Alsenas at Puffin UK—I am endlessly privileged to learn from you both. Without you this book would be very long, not much would happen, and Rowan wouldn’t have tattoos.

To the rest of the team at Scholastic: Thanks to Jalen Garcia-Hall and Mallory Kass for insightful second reads. Thanks also to Publisher David Levithan and VIPs Ellie Berger, Jackie De Leo, and Leslie Garych. In Design, Stephanie Yang and Elizabeth Parisi, thank you for making this book look so good. (At the time of writing, I haven’t seen it yet, but I know it looks amazing.) In Production, thanks to Melissa Schirmer, Erin O’Connor, Lara Kennedy, Jessica White, and Maddy Newquist. In Marketing and Publicity, thanks to Sydney Niegos, Rachel Feld, Greyson Corley, Mandy Earles, and Seale Ballenger. And a huge thank-you to everyone in Sales!

To the people across the water at Puffin, thank you all for believing in this story, and bringing my work to readers in the UK and beyond.

My friends and family, for keeping me sane. Trisha, for reminding me that life isn’t about work, and Car, who introduced me too young to fanfiction and somehow domino-effect-ed that into me writing for fun. To the members of Write Club: Johnny, Steven, Tato, Vincent—thanks for helping me come up with a title. It would’ve been a little lonely without you.

To Johnny, who flatted my linework, kept me alive and healthy throughout all of this, and refused to let the mean voice in my head have the last word.

Lastly, to my readers, thank you for reading.

About the Author

Leia Ham, author and illustrator, is US-based but was born and raised in Singapore, where she often pretended to be going to magical school instead of her lessons. Since becoming a mage wasn’t an option, she moved to Los Angeles to study illustration at ArtCenter College of Design. When not making art for animation as a visual development artist, she writes and illustrates her own stories. You can find her online at leiaham.com.

Text and illustration copyright © 2026 by Leia Ham

All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

First edition, May 2026

Cover art © 2026 by Leia Ham

Cover design by Stephanie Yang
e-ISBN 978-1-546-15093-0

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