Aelia crept out of the house and was greeted by the waft of fresh bread baking somewhere farther down the street. Dawn always smelled delicious, in Aelia’s experience. Blackbirds nesting in a neighbour's thatched roof sang a shrill concerto as she passed.

She'd slept all afternoon and all night, and hoped she hadn't appeared rude to her new family by missing dinner. But she’d paid for her room and if she wanted to spend all her time inside of it, then that was up to her, she supposed. She was an adult, after all.

Not that she'd truly felt like one.

The streets were quiet, but a handful of shops were starting to open their doors. She passed a shoemaker's (Toe in the hole) and a potter's (Fred's Pots) before she'd even left Old Hill. There was a world waiting to be explored for when she had the time. But first things first, she had to register at the Academy. She hurried through streets of stone and on to paths of earth that wound like dusty streams between houses.

Aelia saw her first painted door not far outside Old Hill. A black cross had been struck out by a thick white paint stroke. A dead person had been taken from that home last night, she realized, and for that family the world would look very grim today and for a long time more.

She wondered if Henry had been the one to collect the corpse.

Half an hour later Aeia saw the Academy looming above her as if it sat on clouds. It was in fact seated upon a huge hill (that might as well have been a mountain) at the edge of the city. It part hung over a long rocky ridge at the hill's apex, giving the illusion to those below that it was indeed floating. The main building was an imposing sight, half glass or crystal, half a striking red iron — not unlike her hair.

But however spectacular it looked, the thought of having to reach it detracted from all would-be amazement.

“Come on,” she said to her legs. “It’s probably not as far or high as it looks.”

It was at least as far and high as it looked, and by the time she reached the main doors her thighs burned their own furnace. She leaned over, hands on her knees, and took a few deep breaths.

A handsome young man with long black hair wearing a matching black cloak strode out of the open doors before she’d quite recovered. Too young to be a mage, but he might be a senior apprentice.

He was about to pass by Aelia by, when (much to her annoyance) he paused and said, “There are carriages that come to and fro each morning. Might suit you better.”

She tried to think up a retort but her breath wasn’t yet back and all she could manage was, “Maybe you should…” Deep breath. “Maybe you should take one then.”

But both the timing and the man had already passed. She cursed her body and wished her mother had tasked her with some of the more physical chores on the farm, rather than feeding and grooming and negotiating prices. She really should be fitter than this.

Aelia waited another couple of minutes, then held her head high and walked through the doors.

The lady behind the desk was younger than her mother, but not by much. She had a thin almost fox-like face, and had prettied it was red and orange plant-extracts. Unfortunately, the colors only aided to the strong vulpine impression. The lady had her head buried in some kind of ledger and didn’t look up even as Aelia leaned over the desk.

Aelia coughed then said as confidently as she could muster, “I’m here to study at the Academy.”

The lady let out a single high-pitched laugh. “That’s why everyone is here, darling.” She raised a finger to her mouth, licked it, then turned a page in her ledger.

Of course they were all here to study. That’s what an academy is for. Idiot. “What I meant is, I’m here to apply.”

The woman finally glanced up at Aelia and flashed her a switchblade smile. “And who is your referral, darling?”

“My referral?”

The fox-like lady rolled her eyes. “Everyone has to have a fully qualified member of the Academy refer them for application.”

Her heart plunged. She had no referral. She knew no one at the academy. “I’ve got a good grasp of the basics,” she said, desperate. “I can combust by tactum. And my telekinesis is pretty strong, I think.”

The lady chuckled and closed her book. “Fire by touch is barely a spell, my dear.”

“I can do it by distance,” she protested. And it was true. Sort of. As long as the distance was five inches from her fingers.

The woman considered, stroking her pointed chin. “Do you have your own moss?”

That was something Aelia had been sensible enough to pack. Her left pocket was half-full with it. “I do.”

“Good. And what’s your name, please?”

“Aelia.”

“Well Aelia, let’s see what you’re capable of.” The lady nodded at an unlit candle sitting on her desk. “Light this.” She pointed to the doors Aelia had come in through. “From over there.”

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Aelia opened her mouth to complain (that distance is impossible!), but instead closed it, swallowed, and took fifteen long steps to the doors.

You can do this. You’re gifted and you’ve practiced hard. Besides, it’s not as far as it looks. And if you don’t do this, you’re not going to get accepted. And if you don’t get accepted you’re not going to have any money. And if you— Her arm was shaking as she silenced her thoughts. She took a deep fortifying breath. There was no point thinking about consequences. Failure was simply not an option for her.

The wizard with the long black hair was back in the antechamber. She hadn’t even seen him come in, but now he was standing against a glass wall, watching her with a big stupid grin plastered on his face.

“In your own time,” said the lady.

Aelia took a handful of moss from her pocket (she wasn’t powerful enough to use moss without touching it) and held out her free hand, pointing a finger towards the candle. Her arm trembled a little less now.

Aeila tried to remember the order of the music note-like pattern she’d spent months hammering into her head. One of the easier spells in her little book, but easier still meant fiendishly hard.

And why did that damned man have to stand there and watch her?

She clasped the moss hard in her hand and channeled the mute incantation through her pointed finger. She could feel the moss heating up, hear it crackling. A skilled mage would only need a single strip of moss, but Aelia would need the entire handful.

She recited it internally, one note at a time. The moss was burning her palm, and the agony was flowing like lava up her arm. But Aelia would do this. That candle would light, by gods.

There was a roar as a fire on the other side of the room burst into life.

Aelia’s heart rose as she thought, for half a second, that she’d lit the candle.

But now the fox lady was screaming at her, and… She saw where the smoke was coming from. The ledger on the lady’s desk was a flaming mass of red tongues.

“Um, sorry,” said Aelia.

The young mage watching her was clapping. The fox-faced lady waved her hands over the fire and it died, but the open pages were singed black. Probably a lot more of the pages, besides.

“Well,” Aelia said. “I created the flame you wanted — and did it from the distance you wanted.”

The lady turned to her, her face as red as the flames had been. “Out!” she yelled.

“But…”

“Out! Now!”

That was it then.

No Academy.

No money.

Back to the farm.

Aelia blinked back tears as she stepped out of the doors. Gods, she was stupid. She walked a couple of paces to the side and opened the hand that had held the moss. Her fingers were reluctant to unclench, but when they did the blackned ashes of moss swirled to the floor.

The skin on her palm was burned raw. Gods, no wonder her hand hurt. It was red, welted, peeling.

And yet nothing like as bad the pain in her chest.

She sank to the ground and did her best not to cry.

“That was pretty impressive,” came a voice from her side. She looked up to see that black haired mage again.

“Come to mock me?”

He held up his hands and spoke softly. “No. Honestly, I thought what you did was very brave.”

“Brave?” She half-laughed, half-cried. “I just burned the hell out of my hand and was told to leave the Academy before I’d even applied to it. What was brave about that?”

“You’ve had no training, right?”

She shook her head.

“Right. That’s pretty clear, I hope you don’t mind me saying.”

So he was here to mock her. Of course.

“But that was a third year spell you just pulled off. With no training.”

She glanced up at him, blinking back a tear. “Third year?”

“It’s a tough spell, especially from that kind of distance. Took me years to control it enough for anywhere near that accuracy.”

She paused, then asked. “If it was third year, then why did she make me attempt it?”

“Miss Parcen has a rather unique sense of humour,” he said.

Sense of humour? Did he mean… “Oh. I was never going to be allowed in, was I?”

“Not without a referral from a senior or above.”

She snorted. “Great. You see, I didn’t even know that. I just expected to come to Rhodes and be accepted. As if the world would just fall at my feet.”

“It’s Aelia, isn’t it? I heard you give your name to Miss Parcen. I’m Coric.”

“... Hi. I guess.”

“Let me see your hand,” he said. “It looked pretty red to me..”

“Why? Going to laugh at it?”

His big brown eyes caught hers and he held her gaze as he said, “Just trust me. Okay, Aelia?”

Cautiously she opened her hand like a red flower blossoming.

Coric placed his hand over Aelia’s palm, not quite touching her skin. But it felt… it felt like his hand was pressing against it. Hard against it. She winced as a new wave of pain washed up from her wrist.

“There,” he said. “Moss accidents are common enough. That’s why we get taught treatments before we learn any other spell.”

He moved his hand and Aeila saw hers. It was still a little red but… No welts. No peeling skin. No burns at all.”

She looked from the apprentice to her palm and back again. “Please teach me that,” she said. “I’m going to need to use it a lot, I think.”

He grinned. “That’s the attitude. Don’t stop just because of this.”

An idea struck her and she wondered why it hadn’t earlier. “You could be my referral! I’ll work hard, I swear.”

Coric frowned. “I’m not a senior until next year. Or I would, I promise.”

She thought she believed him, but it didn't help much with the bitter taste of disappointment. Although… It hadn’t all been bad. What was it he’d said? “I performed a level three spell.”

Coric nodded. “You did. And you gave Miss Parcen a good fright and many hours extra work. Just what she deserved, I’d say.”

“So I guess I’m not a total failure.”

He laughed. “By no means.”

Okay, she thought, so you didn’t get into the academy today. But you will. You just need a referral. In the meantime, you’re going to need to get yourself a job. And it just so happens you know where there’s an opening.