“Almost done, child,” Master Chirurgeon Cushing muttered as he carved pieces of skin from Liv’s right arm.

It was very odd: she could feel the pressure, and a kind of tugging, but the old man had used an enchanted wand to make it so that she couldn’t feel any pain. Halfway through cutting away the third patch of mana-sickness, the magic had started to wear off, and when Master Cushing noticed her flinching, he’d used the wand again. Then he’d let her hold it.

“I wish Master Grenfell would teach me the Vædic sigils,” Liv remarked. “I’d really like to be able to read this and see what words are used.”

“Kazamir has his reasons,” Cushing said, pulling off the last piece of her skin. She recognized the clink made when he set his surgical knife down, but decided to wait until he’d finished bandaging the wound before she looked down. Even if she couldn’t feel anything, the first glimpse of blood all over her arm, where the skin had been removed, had nearly made her throw up. Instead, she ran her fingers over the Vædic letters, first carved into the wood of the wand, and then filled in with silver.

“He says he won’t teach me enchanting,” Liv complained. “That it’s better to learn that at the College. But I’m going to ask him again in a few years. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“There.” Cushing finished wrapping her arm in linen. “That should do you for now, Miss Brodbeck. You’re to come and see me every day to get the bandages changed, and you are absolutely forbidden from putting that arm into a dirty wash-bucket. Also, when the numbness wears off again, your arm is going to hurt quite a bit. I recommend getting some ice from the courtyard and using it to keep the wounds cold. That will ease things somewhat.”

Liv handed him the wand back, pulled the sleeve of her shift back down, and carefully slid down off the chirurgeon’s table, grabbing her crutch where she’d left it. She scooped her books up and tucked them under her arm, then crossed the room. Using the crutch to move was second nature, now.

“Your ankle seems to be healing well,” Cushing called to her, before Liv could close the door behind her. “And you’ve grown half an inch since last I measured you. Keep eating what Master Forester brings you.”

“I will,” Liv assured him, and hurried off toward Master Grenfell’s chambers for her lessons. In the month since Master Jurian had left, her days had settled into a new routine. She rose as early as she ever had, but now there was no time to dawdle in bed until her mother chased her out. If she woke up with half a bell to spare, she looked over her lessons before getting dressed. Her master had told her to create six spells of her own before she left for Coral Bay, and she had thoughts about what she wanted to do.

When she wasn’t cleaning chamber pots or dishes, or upstairs for her lessons, Liv continued to help her mother and Gretta cook. Gretta often asked her to read from the old recipe-book that had been passed from one head cook to the next for generations; the old woman insisted that her eyes weren’t as good as they used to be. Liv didn’t mind the reading; it helped her practice. It had also given her an idea, and she had been saving her wages to visit Master Gaunt’s book shop. Some of the pages were so old and stained they could hardly be read, and most of the writing was messy or in a cramped hand. Both Gretta and her mother would have a much easier time if Liv copied the recipes into a new book, neatly.

Master Forester made regular deliveries of special foods for Liv: venison, rabbit, duck, pheasant and quail, whatever he could hunt from the mountain slopes near Bald Peak. He brought spices from the midwife Rhea, as well, whom Liv had yet to meet in person: dried garlic, onion, sage, thyme and pepper, all brimming with mana. Cooking special meals added to the workload, and Liv often felt guilty about not eating the same thing as the other servants. Sophie gave her several sharp looks, and sharing the food with Master Grenfell didn’t help, because the maid ended up being the one sent to deliver his food. Sophie was cautious enough not to say anything where the first footman could hear her, and Liv avoided the maid as much as she could.

A new footman had been hired, to replace William, who Liv had not seen since the day she went to the Lower Banks with Master Jurian. Edward was younger than Tom by two years, making him close to Liv’s age, though he was much taller. Perhaps if she continued growing half an inch a month, that would change. Tom certainly seemed pleased with himself to now be second footman, and to have a junior. Liv knew there was talk of finally hiring a maid for lady Julianne, and a nurse for the coming child, which would make the servants’ quarters busier than she could ever recall in the past.

The baron’s wife was now past the time she’d been expected to give birth. The question of whether something was wrong with the pregnancy had become the gossip of choice downstairs, finally pushing aside all the excitement about Liv. First Footman Archibald maintained that Master Cushing had the matter well in hand, while Gretta and Mama had on several occasions given the opinion that Auntie Rhea should be brought up to the castle.

“She delivered you, dove,” Mama had remarked to Liv just that morning. “No matter how much he learned from the guild, no man knows as much about childbirth as a woman.”

Liv was just looking forward to seeing the baby, though she would have liked to meet the midwife and thank her for the steady supply of herbs. There hadn’t been a child in the castle - other than her - for her entire life.

She reached Master Grenfell’s chambers before Mirabel and Griselda arrived, which was according to her plan, and took a seat at her desk, putting aside the question of whether the baby might be a boy or a girl. The mage had not emerged from the door that led to his bedroom, yet, so Liv carefully unfolded the sheet of paper on which she’d been working for some days. Her blank book was so nice, perhaps the nicest thing she owned, and she wasn’t willing to write anything inside until she was completely certain.

Ice Knives

Ice Blades

Ice Daggers

Frozen Shards

Celent’he (number) Scelim’o’Mae

Number: Dvo, Trei, Cetve, Encve, Svec…

Liv tapped her finger along the incantation as she read. She had conjugated her word of power so that, rather than specifying a singular shard of ice, it now allowed more than one piece. That meant changing Scelis to Scelim, pluralizing the noun, as well. The pronoun had to chance from ‘this’ to ‘these,’ and she’d written down the vædic numbers two through six. Master Jurian had actually left her a list going as high as ten, but that seemed a bit of a stretch for someone just developing their first spell. If she had done everything correctly, however, she should be able to use this phrasing to summon not a single frozen shard, but as many as six, and fling them all at a target.

“Good work,” Master Grenfell told her, and Liv couldn’t help but give a squeak and jump. It was lucky that she hadn’t uncorked her bottle of ink yet, because she’d been absolutely unaware of him entering the room and coming up behind her. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Though I wish Jurian had given you a spell for something other than killing things.”

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“Thank you.”

“I would not attempt anything more than two, as of yet,” the mage cautioned her. “This incantation will require more mana, the more of your-” he looked down at the page again. “Frozen shards, was it? A poetic name, even if the more accurate translation is dagger or knife.”

“What happens if it takes more than I have?” Liv asked. “And how do I use what’s in the ring?”

“The answer to the first is that you would likely pass out and fall over,” Grenfell said. “As well as give yourself another episode of mana-sickness. Unless you wish to be seeing our chirurgeon again so soon, you should temper your experiments. But that does suggest a particular topic for the day, that I suppose is overdue. Thank you for joining us, ladies.”

Liv risked a glance at the door, where the two elder girls watched her with the attitude of an owl choosing the plumpest field mouse. “Why does she get extra lessons?” Griselda complained.

“Miss Brodbeck arrived early and was hard at work on her studies,” Master Grenfell answered. “If you did the same, perhaps I would take a moment with you, as well. Come in and sit down, please. We are going to begin today by speaking about measuring mana.”

In a cloud of perfume, the two older girls bustled over to their desks and got their skirts in order. Liv quietly thought her clothes much more practical. Master Grenfell pulled the ring from his finger and held it up for all three of them to see.

“As you all know,” he began, “these rings are set with cut and polished Aluthet'Staia - many of them mined from our own Bald Peak, though there are other deposits in the kingdom, as well. The guild gives every member an identical ring, each set with a standard sized, one and a quarter carat stone. These stones are the only objects capable of holding mana indefinitely, without degradation, allowing them to serve as reservoirs of power. They also serve as the foundation of how we measure mana.”

Liv turned over the paper she’d been doing her spellwork on, uncorked her bottle of ink, and began to write down what the master mage was saying.

“The Gift of Tamiris changed a fundamental truth about the existence of humanity,” Grenfell continued. “When our ancestors were servants of the old gods, we did not have access to mana. Humans could not even use charms, to say nothing of high magic. The Lord of Potential gave us the ability to use spells, and therefore the ability to store mana within our bodies. However, we do not all benefit from The Gift equally. Most humans can only store enough mana to fill a single one of these rings. People at that level are not considered worth training by the guild.”

“How do we know whether we can hold more?” Liv asked.

“The answer to that,” Master Grenfell said, “is simple. We drain all the mana from a ring, and then draw from your own body, refilling the ring. We do this repeatedly, counting how many times you are able to fill one of these stones. This will give us a measurement in rings. We generally speak of a mage as having attained four rings, or six, or what have you. Now, who wishes to be first?”

Liv was not surprised that Mirabel Cooper stood immediately. The girl pranced over to Master Grenfell, clearly expecting to be praised as an exceptional example of magical talent. Liv, however, had more questions. “How many rings do most members of the guild fill?” she asked, pausing her quill above her paper.

“Anyone who graduates the College of Vædic Grammar will be able to fill at least nine rings,” Grenfell answered her. “And that would be a student of little talent, indeed. Someone who arrives for their first year with less than four is unlikely to keep up with their studies.” He walked over to his cabinet, and withdrew the same large hunk of unpolished mana-stone that Liv had witnessed him use the day she’d nearly died at the Frost Fair. Softly, Grenfell began to chant in vædic, and Liv leaned forward to watch wisps of brilliant blue and gold empty out his his ring, into the much larger rock.

“Very well, Miss Cooper,” Grenfell said. “Let us begin.”

The mage filled and emptied his ring three times before he could draw nothing more from the mayor’s daughter; Mirabel, by the end, was wavering on her feet. Liv couldn’t quite feel sympathy, but she did know the feeling, and it made her wince. Griselda helped her friend back over to a chair, and then presented herself for testing.

“Not bad,” Grenfell judged. “You have a few years yet before leaving for Coral Bay; you might make four rings by then.” He turned to and went to work. Griselda, to her clear and immediate displeasure, could only fill two rings. Liv tried her best to fasten her eyes on her notes, but a hint of her satisfaction must have escaped, for the older girl glared at her.

“Let’s see how you do, then. There must be a lot of magic in scrubbing chamber pots!”

Liv corked her inkpot, lifted her crutch, and walked over to Master Grenfell.

“Hand me your ring until the test is finished,” the mage instructed her. Liv felt a stab of anxiety at taking it off; she had been so careful not to lose the ring in her daily duties, she didn’t like having it out of her sight. Her teacher brought the rough hunk of stone close to her chest, and Liv recognized the same words he’d used on her once before. She wondered if she could write the spell down accurately, when he was done, or if she wouldn’t be able to remember it right. “Aluthos’o’Ea,” Master Grenfell sung, and the magic began to flow out of Liv, into the stone.

When the second ring was filled and emptied, Liv felt relief. She was at least as good as Griselda Mason, then. A third ring was emptied into the massive piece of mana stone, and that meant Mirabel wasn’t better than her. At the fourth ring, Liv felt the girls’ eyes boring into her back. At eight rings, the mayor’s daughter could no longer contain herself.

“She’s cheating,” Mirabel cried out. “It’s a trick. She has more of those rings in her skirts or something.”

“I don’t,” Liv protested.

“Do not interrupt me,” Master Grenfell said, none of the usual quaver in his voice. “I need to take an accurate measurement.” By the tenth ring, Liv was once again feeling that deep rooted weariness she had experienced after saving Emma Forester, and again after casting two spells in quick succession at Master Jurian’s direction. After the eleventh ring, she was certain there could not possibly be anything left inside her. But it was only after the twelfth that Grenfell stopped, and returned her ring to her.

“All of you should be certain to eat a good meal and get full night’s sleep,” he said, lifting the hunk of Aluthet'Staia he’d used for the test and carrying it over to his cabinet. Where before it had been entirely dull, now a noticeable glimmer of mana flickered beneath the surface of the rock.

Liv managed to hobble back to her desk and slump down into her chair. “How many rings can you fill, Master Grenfell?” she asked.

For a long moment, her teacher did not answer. Instead, he stared at her with such an expressionless face that Liv could not tell whether he was angry at the question, or even whether he’d heard her at all. Just as she was about to apologize, he answered.

“Eleven.”

Liv dropped her eyes to her desk, and hunched her shoulders against the inevitable scorn of the two other girls. Instead, the silence was interrupted by Griselda asking a question.

“What is that?”

The other girl had half-stood from her chair, arm raised and finger pointed at Master Grenfell’s window. Liv frowned: she couldn’t see anything from where she was sitting. Grenfell gasped, and was across the room before Liv could reach for her crutch. Mirabel and Griselda followed, all three crowded around and in the way by the time Liv got there. She had to get up on her tiptoes to see out.

At first, everything looked exactly how she would expect. To the right, the town of Whitehill stretched out down the slope from the castle, lining the west bank of the Aspen River. In the distance, the mountains surrounding the Aspen Valley reared up to all sides. The flood season thaw was just beginning, but in most places snow and ice remained, only now mixed with mud. Woodsmoke stretched up from scores of chimneys, and over it all the bright ring of the gods stretched up into the sky.

To the left, Bald Peak was illuminated in a column of blue and gold fire, linking the mountain with the great ring above.

“Is that mana?” Liv whispered.

“The rift is erupting,” Master Grenfell answered. “Your classes are cancelled for the day, and for the foreseeable future. Miss Cooper, Miss Mason, you may wait in the great hall for your carriage, so long as you keep out of the way. Miss Brodbeck, return to your duties, I am certain you will be needed. You may wish to tell your mother to prepare more food than usual for the evening meal. I must go and find the baron.”

Without waiting for a response, the mage hurried out of the room and into the hall, leaving the three girls alone as the castle began to shake. It was the first time Liv saw anything other than contempt in the faces of the other girls, but she took no satisfaction in it: they were clearly just as afraid as she was.