That evening, Mei used her old hunting clothes and a gang of hardly sober soldiers to slip into the Slipped Finger. Technically, she was supposed to go on shift at Sanford at the next bell, but when she’d said that she’d be late for her guard shift, Rodion had responded, with a grave expression, “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

No idea what that meant. Maybe the steward’s mind was on Dwayne’s Rite and not the house.

Pushing through the drinking and shouting and meditating happening over, and something under, frothy tankards of sour beer, Mei searched for a place to sit. She disregarded the corners, which were both occupied and the first places suspicious persons would look for suspicious people, and selected a crowded table three rows from the doors and sat down to wait for her quarry.

A hand brushed Mei’s shoulder. “I’ll get you in the minute, hon.”

Before Mei could reply, the hand was back under a fully laden tray, and its owner, a swarthy woman wearing an embroidered blue and white headscarf, was gone.

The old man sitting next to Mei laughed at her expression. “Yeah, she does that, like she’s one of those buxing shadow assassins.” He peered at Mei. “You’re new, aren’t ya?”

“That,” declared a red-faced woman from the other side of the table, “is the most pathetic line I’ve ever heard.”

The two wore the same uniform: muted red and gray striped tunics under fitted breastplates with a short blade at their hips. They weren’t soldiers, whose armor never fit, or city guards, whose swords resembled clubs, or house guards, whose tunics were made from finely woven wool like Mei’s. They were mercenaries.

The older one glared at the other. “It’s not a line. I haven’t seen her before.”

Carefully, Mei placed both of her hands on the table, away from her dagger. “I haven’t seen you before either.”

As his partner guffawed, the older one sucked his front teeth. “Then why are you here in this fine,” he made a grand gesture at the stains on the wall and the old straw on the floor, “establishment? Seeing the sights?”

Mei’s eyes flicked over the two mercenaries. The older one’s arm was freshly bandaged, his drinking partner’s breastplate had fresh dents in it, and between them sat seven empty tankards of cheap beer, which didn’t include the full tankards they each held in their fists. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The old mercenary’s eyes widened. “How did you…?” His eyes dropped down to his tankard. “Damn, even foreigners can see we lost, huh?”

His drinking partner took a deep swig of her beer. “We got paid, though.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Is it ever?”

“No,” answered Mei. The Empire had given her and Huan 2 tio, one for each dead parent. “It’s never enough.”

“Damn right, it isn’t.” The old mercenary slammed his tankard onto the table. “Damn right.”

The barmaid appeared at Mei’s elbow. “Are you getting anything, hon?”

“Elsa,” the old mercenary raised his tankard, “get her a pint of this on my tab.”

“On the way!” The barmaid disappeared before Mei could protest.

“Why?” she asked the old mercenary.

He and his drinking partner shared a shrug. “Been a long while since anyone thought us worth a ‘sorry.’ I’ll leave you to your business now.”

As the mercenaries sank back into contemplative silence, Mei pondered those words, considered the idea that one could do a thing so terrible that even the dregs of common courtesy were denied you. Her considerations led to dark places that disquieted her.

By the time Mei’s beer arrived, a number of patrons had come through the tavern’s doors: two separate gangs of mercenaries, a bandit, a tall mysterious figure wrapped in a rich dark brown cloak, and then, finally, a roofrunner, her face looking rosier than usual, her brown and gray clothes slightly disheveled. Sioned took the crow’s path to the bar, ordered a drink, settled onto a stool, and waited.

After a quick good-bye to the mercenaries, Mei took her untouched beer and sat on the unoccupied stool next to Sioned, who turned to her and said, “Hey, I’m not looking for-”

Sioned tried to rise, but Mei caught her elbow and forced her back down.

“Jung described you,” said Mei in a low voice.

“N-no, he didn’t. I don’t know who that is.”

Ignore the inane lie. “Who are the thieves?”

Sioned tried to squirm free. “I’ll tell Boss Angel that you’re harassing me.”

“She’ll ask why. I’ll say you’re a thief.” Mei’s grip on Sioned’s elbow was firm enough, but not painful. “Then I’ll tell Charlie-”

“Cups, no-” Sioned bit down on her words and then continued in a quieter voice. “Don’t do that. Either of that.”

“Then tell me. Who are the thieves?”

“I can’t.” Sioned’s eyes darted away. “They’ll… She’ll…”

Mei knew how to get past the roofrunner’s fear, pain and the promise of more pain would do it, but that was the kind of thing that made even a sorry a rare thing. Still, Mei was considering tightening her grip when familiar fingers under it and broke it with a twist.

“Little sister,” said Mei’s brother in Tuquese, “that is not the way.”

As Sioned fled, Mei glared at Huan, her frustration hiding her relief at not going down the path of pain and her dismay at yet another coincidence. “What are you doing here?” she asked in Tuquese.

Huan flashed a smile. “Giving my little sister tips on courtship, obviously.” He picked up Sioned’s untouched tankard, tasted its contents, grimaced. “My next tip: don’t wear something that looks like it was made of mud. I recommend-”

“She knows who robbed Sanford,” Mei hissed.

“You’re still doing that.” Her brother blew out a large sigh. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“What?”

“After all, you’re doing all this work, fighting robbers, accosting young women in bars, all for what? So that Dwayne won’t get kicked out of that ridiculous Tower of his?” Huan leaned close. “None of that matters, not to us. What you should be focusing on is on making sure we come out of this mess better than we went in.”

“I’m not doing this for him.” She kept her eyes on her brother’s face and away from his hands, his feet, his clothes. “I’m doing it for Juanelo.”

“Who? Oh, the windsong who died.” Huan’s head tilted to the side. “Why?”

For his grieving family. “For justice.”

“Justice.” Huan rolled his eyes. “There’s no justice for people like us. Justice belongs to those with power and if you want power, you can’t afford to waste time helping Dwayne with his ridiculous plan to became the next Royal Sorcerer.”

“What are you talking about? Dwayne is trying to find the next Royal Sorcerer.”

“Oh, that’s what he says.” Huan sipped his beer. “But he wants power, just like the rest of us. Why else would he work so hard?”

“Because he likes magic.”

“Because it makes him feel powerful.”

“Because he likes figuring out how it works and how to make it work for other people.” Which would make Dwayne a better Royal Sorcerer than Lord Kalan. “He’s not trying to gain power.”

“Fine.” Huan shook his head. “Believe what you want to believe, but I’ll give you some advice: keep your other options open.”

Mei’s voice went flat. “What other options?”

“Other,” her brother waggled his eyebrows, “options. Real ones like your friend Magdala’s rich roommate or that mage dean you met at dinner or even that scrytive you’ve been ‘investigating’ with.”

Mei took a long moment to accept what her brother was saying because in Tuquese, he could only mean one thing. “No.”

“No to who? I’m not sure about the scrytive, but I know Lucc-”

“No. I’m not interested…”

“It’s not a question of whether or not you’re interested,” hissed Huan. “It’s a question of who has what you want and how to get it.”

But Mei wasn’t listening because shame had pulled her gaze away from Huan’s face and down to the bruises on his arms, the cuts on his hands, his comfort in a place where people who’d made awful choices came to escape said choices, and his fortuitous arrival that let Sioned escape. Again.

She read the obvious story there and rejected it. “I take my responsibilities seriously.” She got to her feet. “I will find who killed Juanelo and he’ll have his justice.”

“Look, Mei,” Huan reached for her, “I-”

Mei stepped out of reach. “Charlie thinks you’re the thief. Everything fits. The timing. How Juanelo’s attackers knew when to intercept him. How, despite Dwayne and Rodion’s efforts, two books were stolen from Sanford. Even how Blue Mask knew Imperial Tuquese…” Her voice hitched. She hadn’t let herself think that before. “It fits. I’ve been trying to prove that it wasn’t you, but you’re here making it all fit.”

Huan’s face contorted with some unknowable emotion. “I bet there are any number of Sourans who know Tuquese. The Empire has a consulate here, full of Tuquese who could have done it.”

“They wouldn’t, not with the new Tiger-”

“Impossible!” Huan spat.

“There is a new Tiger. I saw her.” Mei would not let her brother try to deny this. “I saw the mask. It was Tiger.”

“No, Tiger is gone. He’s…” Huan grabbed the tankard and took a deep drink. “He’s gone. I destroyed the mask. He’s. Gone.”

He let out a breath, put on a smile. “Well, I guess you have been looking out for us. However, we can’t afford to miss the opportunity the Harvest Ball offers. I have a dress that-”

“No. I’ll have a dress.” Mei turned away. “I’m going.”

“Wait!” Mei let him catch her. “Just… Thank you.”

“I’m your sister.” Mei patted his hand and then pulled herself free. “You don’t need to thank me.”

***

Before the Rite, Dwayne found Thadden next to the heavily laden buffet table in the Cathedral’s east lobby. “Good evening, Baron.”

“Young Kalan!” Thadden took Dwayne by the shoulder. “Allow me to introduce you to Countess Katharina Auer. She’s an old classmate from my Magisterium days.”

The stout white-blond woman’s blouse buttons rippled as she threw a brief glance at Dwayne’s empty ring finger before she barely curtsied. “How do you do, young Kalan?”

While water buttons were supposed to be a subtle way of signaling that one was a Water Qe, that didn’t really apply to Auer’s, which had gold flecks floating in them.

“I’m very well.” Dwayne bowed. “And I see that Cueller’s spring has blessed you.”

“Very impressive.” Auer turned to Ziegler. “Did you teach him that?”

Ziegler’s smile was thin lipped. “It took some time but yes.”

A lie, but before Dwayne could construct a polite correction, Thadden announced, “The countess here had the gall to decline Her Highness’s invitation to work at the Royal Secretary’s Office.”

Said countess sniffed. “Working for the Gray Tower would have resulted in a thirty percent reduction in my personal income.”

Ziegler shook his head. “Is it really that much more lucrative to be a licensed mage than serve in the Royal Secretary’s Office?”

Dwayne’s eyebrows shot up. “Countess, you’ve got a mage license?”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Auer lifted her nose. “Of course. I inherited it from my mother when she passed.”

“Oh.” Dwayne hadn’t known licenses were inheritable. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Ziegler rolled his eyes. “Don’t be. The late Countess was soft-hearted and weak-minded.”

The current Countess threw him a glare. “While my mother lacked the head for business and the eye for opportunity, she married extremely well. Look over there.” She pointed to a tall blond boy in an Earth Qe’s white smock who stood with a small girl in a blue pinafore. “That’s my nephew Leopold. He came here to look after his little sister while she takes her Rite.”

“I have heard he’s very talented,” said Thadden. “Once he comes of age, I would love to take him as my apprentice.”

While a Water Qe taking on an Earth Qe as an apprentice was unusual, the more important thing was that Thadden was planning a future without Dwayne, which should have alarmed him. It didn’t, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Look at her.” Ziegler’s voice had lowered to a stage whisper. “Why is she even here?”

“She” was Lady Pol, who stood alone at the far end of the room, her purple skirt and black cloak standing out among the whites and teals colors the fashionable were wearing. She turned a page in her book, seemingly unbothered by all the hubbub. If only Dwayne could feel that at ease.

“Countess,” he turned to Auer, “you mentioned that your mother lacked the eye for opportunity. What sort of opportunities did you mean?”

The countess blinked at the shift in conversation. “Why, I’ve been providing Ziegler with trained waterimpelers.”

Dwayne kept his tone light and curious. “Meaning you’ve been sponsoring their provisional licenses?”

“That is part of it.”

“I see.” Dwayne nodded. “And what do you get in trade?”

The countess frowned. “What are you driving at, young Kalan?”

“I’ve heard that there were sponsors who traded provisional licenses for illegal-”

“Anyone would who do that,” Thadden inserted himself between Dwayne and Auer, “would have been weeded out during the thorough investigation we perform on each and every potential sponsor. Whoever is left is unimpeachable.”

“And surely, you cannot be implying that I would engage in such abuse?” asked Auer. “You, who lacks the standing to make such accusations?”

“The Heir to Sanford has such standing.” An old man, with wispy white hair that matched his white jacket and trousers, joined the circle of conversation. “And I believe that he was driving at the fact that provisional licenses are an entirely corrupt.”

Before Dwayne could fully register that Chloe’s grandfather, the Earth Sage James Smith himself, had joined them, his body had already bent into a bow. “Sage.”

“Young Kalan.” Sage Smith looked him over. “Since Sage Lucchesi praised your conduct during your examination, and Sage Gallus had enough confidence in you to allow me to represent the Magisterium here tonight, I expected you to keep less… troublesome company.”

“Sage Smith.” Thadden bowed hurriedly. “I’m glad to see you here tonight. I was hoping that you would see your way to backing me in becoming the next Royal Sorcerer as I would do far better than Lord Kalan or those who would have us throw tradition out the window in the name of progress.”

“Would you?” The sage barely acknowledged Auer and Ziegler’s bows. “You, who created those barely sanctioned transgressions on the Indigo Tower’s obligations to begin with?”

Dwayne stared at Thadden. “You created the provisional licenses?”

“I created,” Thadden sniffed, “a solution to the dearth of licensed mages in the Queendom, and Her Highness signed off on it because it was necessary.”

“Her Highness is young,” Sage Smith’s words dripped with disdain, “and clearly attracted to the idea of going around both the Royal Sorcerer’s Office and the Magisterium. You claimed that you’re concerned about the state of tradition, and yet you endorse this while ignoring the blight festering right in front of our noses.”

Dwayne had no idea what the Sage was talking about, but it was clear that he did not want to try to improve the status quo. Luckily, he didn’t have to try and come up with a response as the church bell rang before he had to.

“Well,” Thadden cleared his throat, “let’s table this fascinating discussion, and instead settle the question of whether or not young Kalan here is Qe.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” asked Sage Smith.

An acolyte in bronze robes appeared at Dwayne’s side. “Young Kalan? Come this way please.”

“Understood.” Dwayne bowed. “Sage, Countess, Baron, Mr. Ziegler.”

As he followed the acolyte, he passed Lady Pol, who wrecked the idea of her being calm and collected with a smile so nervous it practically hyperventilated.

That could not be a good sign, that whatever Lady Pol intended by becoming his Attestor even she wasn’t sure it would work out.

The acolyte led Dwayne into a chapel and then turned to him. “Please put on the robes, but not the slippers, milord. Someone will be in to wash your feet.”

“My feet?” asked Dwayne, but the acolyte was gone.

Now, Dwayne was in one of the three chapels attached to the nave of the main cathedral. He’d never been in here before, but he did recognize the person depicted in marble behind the alter: Kamdyn of the Mountains, the First Earth Qe Sage. That made sense. Publicly, all of the magic that Dwayne had performed was Earth Qe, and, of the three Sages, Dwayne’s situation matched Kamdyn’s the best. Unlike the other Saints, she’d been an ordinary person who’d fought to gain access to the Well, who’d fought for other commoner mages to be trained in magic. If he was going to follow any of their examples, it was hers.

With a sigh, Dwayne took off his suit and put on the robes, which had white, yellow and blue stripes for Earth, Wind, and Water Qe respectively. For some reason, nQe didn’t get a color. Maybe he could ask Magdala about that at the Harvest Ball, maybe during a-

No, there were more important things to think about, like the Rite and how proud Thadden was of his clearly flawed provisional license system, an issue only just outweighed by how Princess Anne clearly favored him and the numerous connections he had among Bradford’s merchants and nobility, even if said connections’ good opinion of the baron wasn’t transferring over to Dwayne.

“You think that Baron Thadden is on your side?” Sage Lucchesi had asked.

“You seem pensive, young Kalan.”

Dwayne jumped then looked guiltily at Archbishop Cunningham. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“I’m sure you do.” Cunningham gestured to the chair. “Please, sit.” When Dwayne did so, she placed a basin full of water at his feet. “I assume your thoughts are not on the theological and spiritual aspects of the Rite?”

Dwayne hid a wince. “No, they are not.” He watched the bishop kneel. “What are you doing?”

“Washing your feet.” The archbishop picked up said feet and placed them into the basin.

“Why?” Dwayne’s jaw set. “You think I’ll cheat.”

“Well, it’s certainly not because I believe that you’re a true believer.” Cunningham produced a cloth, soaked it, then proceeded to wash his left foot. “But it’s really not about cheating or belief. It’s about demonstrating the Church’s true role.”

“Which is?”

“We serve the people. Mages particularly.”

Dwayne blinked. “What?”

“When the First Sages found Cueller’s well, our Church was born and with it the duty to serve mages by ensuring that it continues. My washing your feet, this Rite, all of that is in service to that. That said,” the bishop chuckled as she switched to Dwayne’s other foot, “I’ve never done this for someone your age.”

Dwayne squirmed. “You think I’m too old.”

“I’m concerned that you will fail to absorb the true meaning of this act. For us clerics, the Rite is a humbling experience. My first time, I ended up absolutely drenched. The children found it hilarious.”

Dwayne’s eyebrows raised. “Then why don’t you have the parents do it for you?”

“Firstly, because not all who take the Rite have parents.” Cunningham pulled Dwayne’s feet out of the basin and began drying them with a towel. “Secondly, it’s more efficient this way. Lastly,” she smirked, “we of the clergy are prone to pride.”

“You don’t care that I’m Wesen?”

“The Word of Cueller makes no such distinction so why should I?” Cunningham slid the slippers onto Dwayne’s feet. “All done. Up you get.”

Dwayne got to his feet. They did feel more holy. Well, cleaner and colder at least. “What now?”

Cunningham pulled a thin strip of striped cloth out from underneath her robe. “We blindfold you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You will not require eyes to hear Cueller’s Voice.”

Dwayne hid a grimace. When Lucchesi mentioned Cueller’s Voice, he’d really hoped that wasn’t literal.

“Okay, fine.” Dwayne closed his eyes and suppressed the urge to dispel the dark with Ri’a’tha. “Let’s get this over with.”

Once he was blindfolded, Cunningham took his hand and led him through the dark towards the murmurs and whispers. He flinched when the chapel doors shut behind him. The flash of shame knocked loose his nervousness and allowed his anger to flare up. Instead of enduring barely veiled slanders and theological lectures to prove he could cast magic, he should be helping Mei with her investigation or Magdala with her project. If only he’d been born Souran.

“Stand here.” Cunningham left Dwayne in between two giggling children and stepped away, her voice rising to quell the murmurs. “In the name of Kamdyn who lifted up mountains and of Sabina who summoned forth rivers and of Juuli who traveled the winds, we hold this Rite of Attestation and Confirmation. May Cueller’s Blessings pour upon you.”

“May Cueller’s Blessings pour upon you!”

Dwayne flinched at how loud the response was. There were a lot of people here, which was strange. This was an out of season Rite after all.

“To all who stand before the glory of Cueller,” Cunningham continued, “may her strength and serenity guide you into true understanding.”

“And may we drink deep of her fountain!”

“Mothers and fathers, nurses and guardians, you have brought your children and your charges into Cueller’s presence to acknowledge the truth of Her blessings upon them. Among them are farmers and earthhoists, traders and welldousers, sailors and windsong, each given only what they can carry by Her blessed waters. What the Rite reveals today, you will nurture, just as the essence of Cueller nurtures our souls. Mothers and fathers, nurses and guardians, are you prepared for this task?”

“We are!”

Dwayne found himself trying to listen for Lord Kalan’s voice, which was ridiculous because there was no way his master would have failed to tell Dwayne in person that he was abandoning his position as Royal Sorcerer and then come all the way up here from Walton just for this. There was no one here to support Dwayne.

“Children of Cueller, we are here to discover Her gift to you through the Rite of Attestation, which the First Sages passed down to us. You have been purified with water, just as the Queen Rhea was by the cave, and we have blindfolded you, just as Queen Rhea was by the dark. Now we will mark you and bless you in the name of Cueller. Do you accept it?”

“We will!”

Dwayne’s reply, quieter than the others, nevertheless lingered longest.

“Then we now mark you and bless you.” Cunningham’s hand, wet and cold, traced a cup onto Dwayne’s forehead. “We mark you and bless you for you carry the hopes and dreams of our Queendom, may it stand forever and ever. Amen!”

“Amen!”

“Now,” Cunningham’s voice became less pious and more business-like, “attestees will be taken through the Trials by their attestors when their names are called. We will start with Brody.”

There was silence, then rustling, then, “Brody, the Queen accepts your service.”

In other words, Brody, whoever they were, was not a Qe mage.

As the Trials continued, Dwayne’s nervousness reasserted itself, and rose with each successive failure until finally, after five attestees and a lengthy silence, Cunningham called out, “Cueller’s Blessing is clear upon you.”

Which should have relieved Dwayne, but instead made him even more nervous. So, three failures and two successes later, when Cunningham finally called out his name, he squeaked, stepped forward, and panicked.

“Cups, you’re nervous.” An hand took Dwayne’s and pulled him forward. “You weren’t this nervous fighting that suit of armor in Yumma, were you?”

Lady Pol.

“I’m not nervous,” lied Dwayne.

“I’m nervous too.” Lady Pol wasn’t lying. The hand that held Dwayne’s was clammy with sweat. “But you can do this. We’re here.”

She let go of his hand but unfortunately left the blindfold on.

“What am I supposed to do?” Dwayne whispered.

“You… don’t hear anything?” Lady Pol whispered back.

Dwayne heard muttering and giggling in the nave, and shouting and calling from the street, and not a single thing that would qualify as Voice of Cueller. He started to shake his head.

“Don’t,” commanded Lady Pol. “Cups, we’re going to have to rely on her notes. Just act like you’re still listening. And open your eyes.”

Dwayne’s eyebrows rose. “I’m blindfolded.”

“Open your eyes. Trust me.”

Dwayne did. At first, there was only the blindfold and then as his eyes adjusted, a very dull light on his left. That was probably candlelight. “I don’t see anything.”

“Cast Ri. Quietly.” When Dwayne did not because that sounded like a trick, she repeated, “Trust me. Please.”

He didn’t want to, but if this was a trick, then Lady Pol had put in a lot of unnecessary work. All she’d to do for him to fail was stay silent. And she’d said please.

“Ri.”

Suddenly, the very dull light brightened, and Dwayne turned to face it. “Wha-”

“Don’t talk.” Lady Pol patted his back. “Just follow it. You can do this.”

Nodding, Dwayne approached the light and ran into something flat and soft, like a bedsheet or a pelt. He pushed through it and found another dull light, this time on his right.

“Ri.”

The light brightened, and once again Dwayne pushed through it and found multiple dull lights, some of were shaking. Those were most likely actually candles, which would be fine except that meant there was more light for the onlookers to see what he was doing. Muttering Ri like he had been doing so far was too risky.

However, Dwayne had casted Ri’a’tha without speaking back at Akunna’s. Yes desperation and the maddening feeling that his magic was spilling out of him had made it easier, but what if he replaced weeks of not casting Ri with all his anger from how unfair all this was and just held it until his tip of his tongue tried to life, his jaw tried to drop, and his lips started to open-

Ri.

When one of the lights brightened, Dwayne grinned, approached it and pushed through the pelt wall to where even more lights awaited him. Another quick cast, another push, then there were nothing but candlelights. He’d done it. He’d passed. Any moment now, the archbishop would say-

“One last test.” The archbishop removed his blindfold. When she saw the shock on his face, she whispered, “They want to be doubly sure.”

Dwayne had to stifle a scream. “They” were Earth Sage James Smith, Her Majesty’s Consort Tor Jensen, and Lady Luisa Pol, all three of whom were standing behind a table covered in leather straps that had been arranged into a grid patten. Behind and around them, a massive crowd sat in the cathedral’s pews, a crowd that included Thadden and his allies, Mrs. Momin and a stiff young Tuquese woman in all black, and Vice Consul Ifunanya Emenike-zat who sat between two massive guards. “They” were not Dwayne’s allies.

“When a candidate has not shown any of the usual signs,” Cunningham explained to the assembled, “certain parties are allowed to bring their concerns to the attention of the Church.” She turned to the three mages behind the table. “State your concerns.”

“The Magisterium,” the Earth Sage pronounced, “notes that young Kalan has ignored canon in his works and wonders if some other factor is at play.”

Which was true.

“The Throne,” Tor Jensen declared, “wants there to be no question of young Kalan’s thaumaturgical abilities.”

Oh good, the Queen’s reputation on the line.

Lady Pol said nothing, probably because as Dwayne’s attestor she didn’t need to state her intentions. However, behind her Thadden looked very much like he wanted to say something. He’d leaned back in his seat with a scowl just barely hidden behind his hand. Very strange.

“Very well.” Cunningham gestured to Lady Pol. “Attestor, if you please.”

“Thank you, Archbishop.” Lady Pol stepped forward and said in one breath, “Young Kalan, you will listen to Cueller’s voice and select the blessed leather strips from the sixty-four lying on the table. If you touch a single unblessed strip, you will be immediately accepted into the Queen’s service. Understand?”

If only “Accepted into the Queen’s service” meant he’d still get to be Head Clerk of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office. “I do.”

“Very well. Your Majesty, Sage. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

“Qe!”

At the mages’ call, images of flying sparrows, fat-bodied fish, and strange long-necked beasts burst into view on eleven of the leather strips. Dwayne marveled at them. This phenomenon had never been described in the literature.

“Young Kalan?”

Oh, right, the test. He picked up the shining, and obviously blessed, strips and held them out to the mages. “Here.”

All three of them stared at him long enough that Dwayne wondered if he was supposed to pick up all of the other strips instead. Then Sage Smith took the strips out of Dwayne’s hand. “You can’t have gotten them that quickly.” He put one up to his ear. “You can’t have.”

Tor Jensen took a few of the strips from the sage and listened to them. “No, these are the right ones.”

Lady Pol’s face was steadfastly blank, as if she was holding in some great emotion.

“Are they the blessed?” asked Cunningham.

Her Majesty’s Consort nodded. “They are.”

The Earth Sage scowled. “They are.”

“Then,” the archbishop placed a hand on Dwayne’s shoulder, “Kalan, Cueller’s Blessing is clear upon you.”