She was in such trouble.

The girl ran through the streets of Peut, dodging and weaving through crowds to reach her destination. People all around her cast disapproving glances as she passed by, shocked to see a young woman running with no sense of etiquette whatsoever.

To the hells with decorum, she really didn’t care how she looked to anyone right now. She’d slept in again, until almost midday. Madame Kestra would be so angry with her. She could hear the bitter old woman’s reprimand now: “A lady is never tardy.” Who was that hag to decide whether or not she was a lady? It wasn’t as if Kestra could brand her unworthy of the title; her looks alone could secure that. None of the other girls even compared to her—she was absolutely beautiful. As far as Kestra was concerned, though, that didn’t make up for her tactless demeanor and short temper.

An overturned cart of fish blocked the path about twenty feet ahead of her. Several men were gathered around the shattered boards, yelling at each other. She cursed under her breath and ducked into an alley. The alcove was tightly packed with crates of equipment, allowing her access to the rooftops: quickest form of travel in her opinion, and the most fun, too. The rush of leaping from one building to another, the wind caressing her face, the sheer exciting and dangerous possibility of falling to the ground below...

That was another thing about her Kestra would disapprove of. “Such foolish activities are for small boys, not proper women.” She hated Kestra.

She probably wouldn’t even be in this predicament had she not spend the entire night in the cove with her other teacher, her real teacher, practicing the forbidden arts. But there was no way in the world she would give it up. The dark magic gave her a feeling of power, of supremacy over beings who couldn’t manipulate energy by simply thinking. Although the old wizard had never given her a name to call him by, he had told her several times that she showed great potential. More than he knew, actually. Once or twice, he’d shown up for their late-night sessions drunk enough for her to penetrate his thoughts...and see his fear.

Fear of her unrivaled control over fire.

She vaulted over the local bakery’s sign, braced herself, and landed crouched on a balcony seven feet below. Her eyes flicked up. The Academy was just a few dozen yards ahead. Almost there. Maybe Kestra wouldn’t hound her about being late this time.

Her legs were pumping before she even finished that thought. Had to get there before lecture was over. Schooling in Vozit was a privilege, it wasn’t mandatory like it was in Lyth. She rushed through the giant double-door entrance, passed several empty classrooms. She almost collided with a boys’ instructor, some barrel-bellied old man with a trailing white beard. She fought to suppress a laugh as he fumbled to keep his spectacles from falling. No time to apologize, she knew. He wouldn’t have remembered her face, anyway, so he probably wouldn’t bother reporting her.

So close. She tore into the last hallway on her route. It was the...second room on the left? She couldn’t quite remember. Yes, definitely the second. It was the only lighted room in the corridor. She slowed her pace, took a moment to compose herself and fix her appearance for the judgmental views of those within. One last deep breath. She started to walk into the room.

No sooner than she stepped over the threshold, Delilah’s haughty voice drifted down to hit her in the face. “Oh look, it’s the spell seeker.” Scornful laughter followed the insult, causing the girl’s face to instantly turn a bright ruby color.

Delilah, the whore. The girl who sold her body to flesh-greedy men on a nightly basis. Very few people knew of it; Delilah was meticulous in making sure word of her nightly activities didn’t spread throughout the Academy.

Delilah was always making fun of her. It had all started when they were small children one day when Delilah had caught her hiding on the docks late one night, waving her arms as if she were casting magic. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t dream back then, but Delilah simply wouldn’t let her. The mean girl and her friends had instantly branded her with the cruel nickname of Spellseeker, chanting the name whenever she entered their sight. The juvenile cruelty hadn’t even stopped when they’d entered their teen years; at some point they added mocking hand gestures to the teasing, throwing bits of trash at her as if they were fireballs.

“Raikka.”

She turned around at the sound of someone calling her name. She didn’t even have to look to see who it was; there was no mistaking that low, raspy voice.

Sure enough, there stood Kestra, indifferent as ever. Despite her age and her undoubtedly brittle bones, the old woman towered over Raikka, having to look down her nose to see the girl. Raikka just knew that Kestra enjoyed looking at her that way. She wished she could telekinetically send the old fish flying through the building’s stone wall, but that would expose her powers. It wouldn’t do her any good to have the entire city knowing of this girl with “abilities.” Who knew; the Hand themselves could whisk her away to Layar and put her on the front lines against the terrifying beasts and living dead of the Shadow armies.

“Late again, I see,” Kestra sighed, “You are a troubled child.”

“I am not a child, I’m eighteen.”

Kestra narrowed her eyes. “Do not argue with me, girl.”

“Madame Kestra, I can explain—”

“Enough,” The old woman flatly overrode Raikka’s defense, and sliced the air with her hand to emphasize. “We will discuss your problems after class. Now, sit.”

Raikka’s shoulders fell. There was just no arguing with someone as stubborn and narrow-minded as Kestra. Anything she said bounced off the wall of arrogance. She shuffled across the room toward her spot in the back. Stifled giggles followed her down the aisle of benches. She started to slump into the seat, but knew that Kestra would chastise her even more for “unwomanly behavior.” She forced herself to calmly lower herself down.

This is going to be a long day, she thought, putting her face in her hand as Kestra droned on about some long-dead kingdom.

******

Raikka stalked the dark alleys of Peut’s harbor, fighting a losing battle against the night chill. The sleeveless dress she chose for class that day was useless in this storm. The thin cloak she’d stolen from just outside the academy didn’t do much better. She knew she should just go home to the inn, but the need to be with her tutor was too great. She didn’t care if David got angry with her. She never cared. The widower innkeeper wasn’t going to punish her; she was the closest thing he had to a daughter. She, however, was somewhat less compassionate than him. Having lost her parents before she was old enough to remember them, she saw no value in becoming too attached to others. Relationships were trivial compared to what she could accomplish from learning.

She lifted her face to the freezing wind, searching for an open door. The old conjuror could wait for her until this storm weakened. Her toes were cold. Even her toes. Wait...there was a tavern, just on the other side of the next street. She couldn’t quite see the sign from here...what did it say? A few moments of walking brought her in front of the pub. It was called...

The Magic Monkey. How fitting.

She let out a short bark of laughter, the exhalation crystallizing in the cold air, then stepped inside. The glorious warmth welcomed her in. She tossed back her hood and took a second to catch her breath. Fortunately, there was an empty table in a back corner. Nice and dark.
Not long after she sat, a bronzed man strode into her corner. He frowned at the sight of her exposed shoulders, then looked up at her face and smiled. “What can I get for you, young lady?” His thick accent sounded strange to Raikka’s ears. Was that Ellos?

She blew out a breath and rubbed her bare arms. The unforgiving weather was doing a number on her. Raikka cleared her throat. “Anything hot.”

The old man smiled and chuckled through his thick black beard, then leaned down and put a hand on Raikka’s wrist. The hand was so warm, she didn’t bother pulling away. “Cider, then,” he said. “No charge for you, young miss.”

Raikka returned the smile and looked into his eyes. The eyes were bright and ageless, sparkling with curiosity. He must have had countless stories from many travels. She wouldn’t mind hearing a few from this kind soul.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” he scratched at his chin. “You look like a student from the Academy, yes?” She nodded. “Then you must know about my country’s religious ways. It would be unthinkable to not help those who need it.” He winked, exposing a nasty scar along his eyelid.

The man rapped the table with his knuckles and disappeared behind the bar to fetch Raikka’s drink.

Movement in her peripheral vision made Raikka turn. Someone was coming down the stairs behind where she was seated, laughing as they stumbled. She saw long blonde hair cascading over a wine-stained dress.

Oh, no.

It was that wretched whore Delilah. Probably had just finished with a “customer” of hers, and was already spending her nightly earnings getting as drunk as possible. The goblet in her hand splashing everywhere was testimony to that. Raikka turned and threw the cloak back on, praying that she wouldn’t be noticed.

“Raikka?”

Damn it.

She tried to hurry out of the pub, but the other girl’s body slipped into the bench next to her, shoving her thin form into the wall. An arm found its way over her neck to rest on her shoulder. The stench of the wine filled her nose.