“That’s the problem,” Adrian said. “Willo can’t help me with high magic, and Lord Vega has no interest in clan treatments and green magic. He still thinks it’s witchery for the gullible masses. And until I graduate from Mystwerk, he won’t let me do more than make beds and do the washing up.” Mystwerk was the school for wizards at Oden’s Ford.
“And you can’t go to Mystwerk until after your sixteenth name day.”
“Right.” Adrian took a deep breath and plunged on. “I can’t get into Mystwerk at thirteen, but Spiritas accepts novices at eleven, just like Wien House.”
“Spiritas?”
“That’s the healers’ academy at Oden’s Ford. You wouldn’t remember it—it’s just three years old. They’re combining green magic, music and art therapies, clan remedies, and, eventually, wizardry.”
“Eventually?” His father raised an eyebrow.
“That’s the goal, but from what I hear, the deans at Mystwerk haven’t been eager to join in so far.”
His father snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“My thought was, I could go to Spiritas now, then move over to Mystwerk when I’m eligible. That way I won’t waste time watching people die who might have lived if I only had the skills.” Despite his best efforts, his voice shook.
“That’s the thing about guilt,” his father said. “It always seems like there’s enough to go around. The only ones who don’t take a share are the ones who are actually guilty.” He paused, lines of pain etched deeply into his face. “I lost my mother and sister when I wasn’t much older than you. I did my best, but my best wasn’t good enough.” He ran his fingers over his serpent amulet. “I never angled to be High Wizard. All I’ve ever wanted is to protect the people I care about. And now I’ve lost Hana, too.”
“It’s not your fault, what happened to Hana,” Adrian said. It was odd to be in the position of consoling his father. “Hana was a good fighter, and Mama is, too, and Lyss—I guess Lyss will be, when she gets older.” His younger sister, Alyssa, was only eleven.
“It’s not your fault, either,” his father said, reaching across the table and gripping Adrian’s hand. “We don’t protect them because they’re weak. We protect them because they are strong, and strong people make enemies. We just need to do our best—whatever it takes—to protect your mother and sister—the Gray Wolf line. And pray that it’s enough.”
“My best can be better,” Adrian said, looking his father in the eyes.
His father got the point. He tilted his head. “How do you know they would take you on at Spiritas?”
“The dean of Spiritas is a Voyageur healer named Taliesin Beaugarde.” The Voyageurs were a nomadic tribe of sheepherders from the Heartfang Mountains who traveled the flatlands in colorful caravans. Flatlanders claimed they were witches. Like that was a bad thing.
“Taliesin spent some time at Marisa Pines while I was there, and we got along. I’ve been in touch with her, and she’s hot to make this happen. I would be the first wizard to attend. They’re hoping that if the deans at Mystwerk see what’s possible, then maybe they’ll come around.”
His father laughed. “You’re too much like your mother—always two steps ahead of me.” After a beat, he went on, “Speaking of the queen, what does she say?”
Adrian cleared his throat. “I haven’t talked to her about it.”
“Ah,” his father said, rubbing his chin. “Trying to slide in the back gate, are you? You know she won’t be eager to let you out of her sight after what happened to Hana.”
“I was hoping you might help me persuade her.”
His father fiddled with the flowers, knocking a few petals loose. “As you know, she’s not happy with me right now. I might not be your best advocate. Maybe if we waited a bit . . .”
“Taliesin’s here now. She came to visit family for Solstice. If I can get permission, I can go back with her.”
“So you’re in a hurry for an answer.” His father looked down at his hands and picked at a scab on his knuckles. “It sounds like a sensible plan,” he said finally. “A good use of your talents, and close to your heart. I think you should go. I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen. See if you can arrange time with your mother tonight, and I’ll be there, ready to deploy my meager weapons in your defense.”
“Thank you,” Adrian said simply. He knew his da would understand. He somehow always did.
The bells bonged out the hour.
“I’d better go,” his father said. “It’s already ten, and I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you tonight.” He swept his cloak around his shoulders, strapped on his baldric, and slid his sword into place. Every eye in the room followed him as he went out the door.
Adrian gazed after him, his gut in turmoil. His father’s theory about Hana had unsettled him. What if it were true? He’d thought of her death as tragic bad luck, a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, part of the senseless carnage of the war. But now . . .