On the front steps of West Ridge Academy, I cowered behind a pillar. I hadn’t seen or heard Valere approach yet, but I had to be vigilant, should Valere appear with his own trunk.

But my family’s liveried coach arrived first on the cobbled circular drive, pulled by my mother’s favourite matching bays, the driver sitting imperiously tall, driving whip upright but languid, until they stopped in front of the steps.

As was the custom of Travere servants, the driver didn’t so much as nod acknowledgement to me, but tied his reins and jumped down to fetch my trunk.

In turn, I ignored him in favour of a black-laced covered hand slipping the maroon curtain aside to reveal a peek of my anxious mother. As soon as she spotted me, whole and hale, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth disappeared. Thank Le Savant Blaise had wrestled me into bed. If I’d been anything like yesterday…

The driver came around the side and opened the door for me. Once I was seated, my mother sighed happily, as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes until I was sitting across from her in the cramped carriage.

The carriage lurched forward, bouncing as its wheels jarred against the uneven cobble. I glanced back out at the front steps, but Valere hadn’t suddenly appeared.

If I was lucky, if I was so very lucky, Valere had been so out of sorts he hadn’t noticed my unwanted gaze. He couldn’t have, even if he’d stood so close I could feel his feverish skin…

What in all of Cain’s dream of hell was wrong with me? How could I be glad Valere had felt ill? Talking about how the water hadn’t been cold enough, the fire of his body barely extinguished. If not for these blasted desires affecting me, overwhelming me, that would have been my first thought. Not escape, but to help him.

But perhaps it was better not to push my unwanted attentions upon him. To flee, that’s all I could do—

A gloved hand landed on my knee. I jumped, then looked into my lap. Even through the black lace, Mother’s skin looked so pale.

“Daniel, what’s wrong?” The wrinkles had returned, turning her brown eyes more sorrowful.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, adjusting in my seat.

“Something must be. You haven’t answered my question, and I’ve asked you three times. After I came all this way to accompany you home…”

“You needn’t bother yourself so,” I said. “I can take the carriage home myself—” I stopped talking as her breath quickened, her gloved hands tightening in her lap. “I mean, I very much appreciate this time with you.” And that she had settled for watching over her baby from the nearby sorcerer’s town L’Oeil, instead of begging the headmaster to stay at West Ridge itself.

I started to shake these unkind thoughts out of my mind, but paused to not alarm her. My mother was ill, suffering from hysteria and mania. As much as I failed as a son, these sinful desires rotting under my skin, allowing her to assure herself with my safety was the least I could do.

The carriage turned at the end of the road, but not left as I had been expecting. L’Oeil, the sorcerer’s town, lay to the right.

I lifted the curtain again to see the familiar spruce trees, bright green buds starting to turn into leaves, and a stone as big as a pumpkin marking the miles to L’Oeil. “The townhouse? Not Auvergne House? But you hate staying in town.”

“Your father’s there,” she said. “He arrived yesterday morning.”

My breath came in heavier and heavier. “You — you didn’t send word.”

“Why, darling, what’s wrong?”

Oh, nothing much. Only that I’d thought I would have two days to wallow in my poor report as the carriage slowly rolled to Auvergne House before having to face down Vespasian. Now it would barely be an hour, including unpacking.

I swallowed down the bile spilling onto my tongue, trying to adopt a calm and measured voice. “Why is he in L’Oeil? Shouldn’t he be preparing for the pageant?”

“He was just in Tutelle.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of the capital city. “You’ve heard they’ve elected the new Guild Master, yes?”

“Of course.” Although the election had occurred during our exam period, so I hadn’t paid much attention. The new Guild Master’s identity wasn’t likely to turn up on an exam.

Francette leaned forward, anxiety weighing down the sides of her mouth. “Robert Nix.”

I didn’t need to ask who. Even my limited cognition remembered Nix after countless family dinners revolving around Vespasian lambasting the man. They’d been rivals since their school days at West Ridge, although Vespasian would never refer to him as a ‘rival.’ Merely an insect to be squashed.

“He… well, your father is very upset,” she explained. “He expected the masters to, well, vote him as guild master. He didn’t tell you? Well, he was one of a very few candidates.”

This kept getting better and better. Not only would I face Vespasian’s reactions to my grades in less than an hour, but mere days after his rival had outbid him for guild master.

“But if he was guild master, when would he have time for all his miraculous breakthroughs?” I tested the words, more for my own benefit than as conversation. If Vespasian started ranting about it, would this be enough to sate him?

“I tried to explain that to him, but he locked himself away.” Damn. But at least she hadn’t seen him shattering antique pottery. “Perhaps — perhaps he could forgive them from electing Nix instead, but then…”

“But then?” What could possibly be worse?

My eyes widened, jaw dropping.

Oh no…

“Darling, he summoned your father to inform him he’s no longer playing Le Savant’s avatar.”

Mustn’t upset Mother, mustn’t upset Mother, mustn’t upset Mother. I leaned back against the stiff cushion, chin tilted up so I stared at the plain ceiling.

Vespasian had been crowing for months — months! — ever since the previous guild master had named him the avatar. It was the greatest honour ever bestowed upon sorcerers, and as Vespasian liked to remind everyone around him, he was a national treasure. That part was his due.

“And he… and he returned yesterday?” I asked.

Her face drawn wan, she nodded. Not even Vespasian could hide the horror of this rescindment from her.

I crossed my fingers. When I arrived at the townhouse, Vespasian might still content himself with his normal attitude of late: my complete and utter dismissal. Since the last summer holiday, I had only seen the man at family dinners, and even then, Vespasian refused to so much as blink in my direction.

I might survive this holiday intact.

“And…” Francette’s hands shook like a leaf buffeted by a harsh wind. “And he’d like to see you as soon as we return.”

Strike that.

I grimaced, then smoothed out my expression. I tried to offer her another smile. “It’ll be fine. I passed all my classes.”

Despite how well my father and I hid our relationship, Francette didn’t seem to believe me. She clutched her hands together. “I could go in with you.”

“No! Er, no.” I wouldn’t hide behind my sickly mother, no matter what Vespasian had in mind. Vespasian might pull his punches, but even then, the experience would overwrought her. Then there’d be no end to Vespasian’s ire. “I’ll see what he wants.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I can… I can stand with you.”

“Not necessary,” I said. “As I said, it’ll be fine. I passed.”

She looked about as convinced now as she had the first time. But she dropped the issue, instead carrying on about a new recipe she and the cook had devised. I agreed to help her, although we both knew Vespasian’s tolerance for our culinary hobby rested on the outcome of our meeting. If only the slumbering Le Savant heard my prayers.