Barclay’s voice was louder than he’d meant it to be, but he was angry. Dullshire’s many rules were meant to keep the citizens safe—especially from the Woods—but so many of them were nonsense. Barclay was smart and dependable, and he tried so hard. So why didn’t all that matter more than a few silly broken rules? Why did it feel so impossibly hard to belong?
Master Pilzmann paled. Barclay never raised his voice at him.
“It’s just that… you stick out quite a bit, my boy. Always dashing about like you’re in a hurry. Filthy as a sheepdog that ran off in the Woods. And the reading so much about adventure… You must know how people talk.…”
When Barclay didn’t respond, Master Pilzmann said, gently, “Never mind about the hair, then.”
Barclay wanted to groan. It wasn’t about the hair. It was about how Master Pilzmann was so obviously waiting for Barclay to mess up. How all of Dullshire was just waiting to get rid of him.
“If I’m a good apprentice, then why ishehere?” Barclay asked, glaring at Selby, whose eyes filled with tears. “I’m a better apprentice than he has ever been.”
Master Pilzmann’s mouth hung open, aghast.
“Go to your room, I suppose,” he said, as if entirely unsure how to punish Barclay, who had never needed punishing from him before.
Barclay considered ignoring him. If there was ever a time he’d like to run, it was now. Running—like his Beast-warding charm—cleared his head. But he was also bone-tired and couldn’t afford to break more rules, so he said nothing and slugged up the rickety steps to the attic, where the two boys slept.
That night Barclay lay in bed staring at the flickering candle on the nightstand between him and Selby. Outside the charms dangling from the windows chimed. The tinging used to soothe Barclay, but now it only sounded haunted. As if the monsters the charms warded away should includehim.
“What if it escapes while you sleep?” Selby whispered.
Barclay hadn’t realized the other apprentice was still awake. He rolled over so his back faced him. “It won’t. I’ll wake up every hour to check it.”
“Will it eat everyone?”
“No,” Barclay hissed. “Go to sleep.”
“Does this mean you can do magic now?”
“Selby,” he groaned. He didn’t want to talk about this.He didn’t want to think about this. He just wanted to wake up in the morning and learn that this day had never happened and that his very boring life had once again returned to normal.
“Promise me,” Barclay pleaded. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“I promise,” Selby said.
Barclay sighed. “Good. I’m sorry I was mean to you.” And he relaxed enough to fall asleep with his charm clutched between his fingers, hoping that he didn’t dream of an adventure.
FOUR
Dullshire was a town of slights. Everything, from the buildings to the lampposts, leaned on a slight tilt—a remnant of Gravaldor’s earth-breaking magic from seven years ago. The roads were slightly cobbled, with stones loose enough to kick and trip over. The clocktower in the main square was slightly behind. The town wall was slightly crumbled.
The people were slightly paranoid.
Charms dangled on the ledge of every window. Pitchforks and torches rested on each porch, always at the ready.
Barclay glanced at these pitchforks warily as he walked down the street. He resisted the urge to yet again examine the Mark on his shoulder. It’d continued to thrash and prowl across his skin when he’d checked this morning, and though the bright gold hadn’t darkened, his thoughts werestill in nervous tangles. Not even walking into the library helped calm him.
Mrs. Havener, the librarian, peered at him from behind the desk. Though very slender, she always wore a heavy Winter coat and three pairs of mittens layered over one another, making her look like a stuffed scarecrow. Barclay had never known if this was because Mrs. Havener was perpetuatlly cold or because she was very proud of her wife’s prolific knitting.
“Are you feeling all right, dear?” she asked. “Your cheeks are all flushed!”
Barclay raised a hand to his face, and it was hot to the touch. “I feel fine,” he lied, making his face flush even deeper.
Mrs. Havener reached for a stack of books behind her and slid them to Barclay.
“We have new books from the city! This one isThe Extensive History of the One Hundred Kingdoms.…” Indeed, the tome was large enough to be mistaken for a leather-bound trunk. “The Encyclopedia of Foraging Finds… Ordered that one for Mr. Pilzmann… Oh! And this one I ordered especially for you, Barclay.”
She handed him a copy of an adventure story titledMyths of Monstrosity. Its cover featured a dragon’s head staked on a sword.
