Page 5

“There is no misunderstanding,” the Highmage continued. “No error. You are free to leave Ivercrest if you prefer, but you cannot change your specialty. Neither can I, and neither can the director.”

Her head swam and her heart raced as she stared at the Shadowflame on her hand that moved and danced. Flames licking higher. Threatening to burn her.

“Make your decision, Miss Winters,” Obryn urged, holding out a scroll. “You can either become a student of my department or leave Ivercrest for good.”

She couldn’t leave. Not until she healed her scar. Quietly she accepted the scroll and made her way to the Highmage’s assistant.

“You’re lucky I always carry extra ones,” the assistant said in a low voice, plucking a pin from the black velvet cushion.

Delicate silver formed the Dark Magic symbol. Depending on how the light caught the edges of the star, they looked like either sharp daggers or violent flames. Mira held her breath when the assistant stepped closer and attached the pin to her coat.

“That concludes the acceptance ceremony,” Highmage Obryn announced.

Mira didn’t dare to look up at the faces of the Wielder students when she sat back down. She moved her hair to cover the Dark Magic pin on her lapel, but the Shadowflame on her hand she couldn’t just ignore. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel it move like a cold breath across her skin.

“As Director Lochron mentioned in his speech, this year is extraordinary, and as a result, you bear additional responsibilities to represent the best that Ivercrest has to offer. Magic is a flame.” In his hand he created blue magic flames, burning hotter than natural fire. “What does a flame need to survive? Heat, fuel, and oxygen. Kill one of them and extinguish the flame. That is the fine art of Dark Magic, ladies and gentlemen. Magic is a balance. Use one element too much and you will extinguish your humanity. The war has damaged the reputation of Wielders.”

That’s what he was worried about? Reputation? She swallowed away angry tears, thinking of everything she had lost.

“We are the keepers of the Shadowflame,” the Highmage said, standing before them like a general in war. “We carry on the torch.”

With a snap of his fingers, the blue flame jumped and lit the large torches that lined the hall.

“To reiterate just how unusual this year is, two students have been rejected from the university today.”

Two? Did Ella make it?

“Should have been three,” a student said under his breath.

A soft chuckle went through the crowd, but Mira didn’t care. She didn’t want to be part of the Dark Magic Institute. She didn’t want the Shadowflame on her hand.

“Classes will begin tomorrow,” Highmage Obryn continued. “You’re free to explore today. You will find a map of the school grounds in your acceptance scroll. Only students and faculty can coin travel in and out of the Wielder side of Ivercrest.” The Highmage’s dark eyes settled on Mira accusingly. “It goes without saying but perhaps it warrants repeating that you cannot coin travel into the Caster faculty.”

She was well aware. The healing library. The supply room, stuffed with every ingredient one could hope for as a healer. All of it off-limits. Inaccessible due to some antiquated magic system.

“The expectations on you all are high. Do not disappoint. I will see you tomorrow in class.”

A set of large wrought-iron doors appeared on the opposite side of the Circular Hall where stone had just been. Then, with a loud scraping sound, the gates of Ivercrest’s Dark Magic Institute moved. Slowly, as if old age plagued them, they opened inch by inch. On the other side was nothingness. A dark emptiness.

She didn’t dare look at the ink on her hand. I’m a Caster. She repeated it like a prayer in her mind. Perhaps Ella could convince Highmage Tinley to switch Mira to the White Magic Institute?

With trembling hands she unfurled the scroll, and before she could fully make sense of the map, she headed toward the exit. She needed to get out of this room immediately. The door she had come through had disappeared, so her only way out was the magic gate.

Students shuffled to the exit, and Mira pushed by them until she stepped into darkness and disappeared from the world for a split second before reappearing in a hallway.

The air itself felt ancient. Heavy with spent magic, the scent of it—sage and pepper—was everywhere. But she didn’t dare look at any of the details of the building for too long, fearing that if she remembered them, Dark Magic might never let her go.

Her steps quickened as the panic in her flared, and by the time she had gone down a windy staircase to another long hallway, she was running. She had come here to remove her scar, and instead, Dark Magic had marred her again.

When she walked through an arched doorway, there was a second of darkness before she stood under an imposingly large tree in the middle of the courtyard. Its leaves had fallen, and the barren branches stretched out into the overcast winter sky like veins.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. A group of Casters with their gold pins proudly displayed stopped their conversation and stared at her. Mira searched the crowded courtyard for Ella, but there were too many faces. Too many eyes. Strangers who glared at her with contempt.

She could barely breathe. Her chest felt tight, and her right hand…her right hand tingled with the cold touch of Dark Magic.

Mira looked up at the imposing building of the university. Gargoyles stood watch on both sides of the tall towers of Ivercrest, guarding Wielders and Casters. She was both. She was neither.

Tears stung her eyes and then she spotted Ella, standing on the perfectly trimmed lawn, scanning the crowd.