At just before two o’clock in the magic classroom of Kingston’s Royal Academy, not a single student could sit still. Boys and girls looked eagerly around to each other, whispering as much to themselves as to anyone nearby.
“What color will you have?”
“You’ve done this before?!”
“I’ve always wanted to try.”
“Hey, you’re Smedley, aren’t you? The advisor’s son?”
Malik looked up distractedly from his hands. The girl to his left was turned all the way around in her seat to stare at his hands.
“Have you done any before? Can your dad?”
“I’ve never seen his, but my mom can cast,” Malik told her. Her jaw dropped as she breathed, “whoa”. Before she could ask any more, however, a hissed chorus of “he’s here!” rolled over the room. Everyone sat up straighter in their seats and did their best to look attentive as their teacher hurried into the room.
“Good afternoon, students!” Benjamin Jowett called. He scuttled to the largest desk, pushed up against the far wall, and dropped a stack of books there. The boy in the chair behind had to crane his neck to see around them. “Now, I’m going to assume by the lack of seats that everyone’s here. I don’t learn names easily, and it will take me a while to remember all of yours. Besides, I expect to lose about six of you — no, no one in particular, just an average number — in the next two weeks. Magic is not easy. This is a class that will require talent, not just determination. Hard work will get you far, but it can’t make up for everything. So let’s get right to it! Who here has cast before? Raise your hands high now, and no cheating. I’ll be working with those who don’t know their colors yet first, after all!”
Fifteen hands had shot up at Jowett’s first call, but seven of them went quickly back down as he elaborated. Malik knew Jowett, of course, through his mother, and thus felt no need to try to impress his teacher. He sat, biting his lip and trembling slightly in his seat, hands flat on the desk in front of him. Jowett took those who had cast before and gathered them at a table in the far corner with the stack of books. He whispered instructions, so Malik couldn’t hear what he said. It only took a moment, however, before he was back in the middle of the room, beaming at the rest of the class once more.
“Magic!” Jowett said. “Pure power at our fingers. The chance to change even the most undesirable situations to our benefit. Every wish you’ve ever dreamed of granted. That’s what you’ve all heard, yes?” A few people nodded, though most were frozen with wide eyed stares. The girl beside Malik had her mouth open again. “Well, that’s a fair load of rubbish. Magic is a tool, same as any other. It is limited in its scope, and tricky to work at the best of times. That power? It’s heat on your fingers. It can burn, so you can’t take too long. That chance? Hope it’s something a rune can fix, because magic cannot control another being, no matter what you might have heard. And your wishes better be similarly simple. Magic—” Jowett lifted his hand to his face, rubbing his fingertips together. An emerald green like ink built there, thin and liquid, but deeply opaque, bright enough that Malik could see it from five feet away. Jowett turned in a slow circle so everyone could see. The students at the far table peeked around their fellows to gawk, too. “Magic is a substance, as is thought. Here’s where it gets tricky. To produce magic, you must produce the will to create magic. Not everyone can do this. Everyone has the capability, yes, but not everyone can direct their thoughts in such a manner as to produce the substance. It will take practice. It will be frustrating. Get used to this now. There are days when even Henry Hotspur has a difficult time with a spell. Some of you will not learn your color for weeks. Some may never learn it at all.” The girl to Malik’s left gave a low whine. “But everyone is here to try! Alright, hands palm up on your desks. Let’s give it a go.”
The scuffling of everyone shifting eagerly in their seats and arranging their hands on their desks went on for much longer than it should have. Malik was nearly in the correct position already, but also shuffled about awkwardly in an attempt to relax his hands. They were shaking in excitement.
“The first thing I want you all to do is close your eyes. This will be easier if you aren’t watching yourselves or getting distracted by each other.” Malik closed his eyes obediently, despite the desperate urge to peek at everyone around him. “Now, if something happens, I’ll tap you on the shoulder and you can peek, but otherwise keep your concentration. This isn’t easy, remember. Alright, ready? Think about your fingertips. Think hard. Imagine the texture of them, the feel of your skin, its warmth. Focus on that warmth. Right now it’s within your hand, but you want it on the outside. You want that warmth, that heat, against the texture of your skin. What does that feel like? Is it rough like sand? Soft like velvet? Think about it alighting on you, the way you can feel sunlight on your body and it has weight. It has substance. The warmth of your fingers has a weight. It’s sitting on your hands, right now, weighing them down.”
Jowett spoke slowly, in a soft and soothing voice that carried all around the room. Malik tried his very best to concentrate, but his excitement was near overwhelming. As Jowett talked, little gasps and muffled squeaks punctuated his words. The hope of a tap on his shoulder added into Malik’s distraction. This went on for about five minutes, Jowett continuing to describe the sensation of bringing magic into being in as many variations as he could. Still, Malik wasn’t tapped, and his heart sank when Jowett called out, “Alright, everyone open again!”
Seven students opened their eyes. The rest were already staring wonderingly at their hands, which were dappled in oranges and purples and whites and greens. The girl next to Malik gaped at her fingers, which looked like they had been dipped in watery chocolate. Biting down on his tongue, Malik did his best to smile at her.
“The next trick will be learning how to do it while watching your hands. You can’t cast a good spell blindfolded. You’ll need to be able to see what you’re doing. We’re dividing again. Those who have just today seen their color in the center of the room, please. Everyone else stay at your desks and I’ll come around to you one by one once I’ve got this group started.”
Malik’s face burned. Closing his eyes again, he tried to hear Jowett’s voice in his head. Warmth on your fingers, on them not in them, bring it to the surface. It was a simple enough thing to picture, but nothing happened, and it became harder and harder to concentrate as the idea that he might not be able to do this slunk into his head. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut.
Showing the group of students who had proven ability their next task took considerably longer than dividing the students the first time had. Only about ten minutes were left in the period by the time Jowett was walking around to the remaining hopefuls. Malik spent all the intervening time striving to concentrate on his hands, which felt increasingly stiff and mundane. He was finding it very difficult to keep his face straight by the time Jowett bustled around to his desk.
“Seems you take after your father here. Don’t worry too much, Smedley my boy. You may yet get the hang of this. Your mother can give you tips, I know. I want you to find a place with no distraction and meditate on the feeling. You’ve got resources at your disposal.” Jowett gave Malik’s arm an encouraging pat, then turned back to the rest of the room. “That’s all our time today! We need to clear out. Practical alchemy will be needing this room, and they don’t pay a lot of attention before exploding things! Come on everyone! I want to see all of you later this week for the next lesson, particularly those who weren’t lucky today. Keep trying, and I’ll spend more individual time with you next period. Good luck!”
The students at the table and on the floor gathered their things slowly, watching Jowett to see if they could follow him with their questions. But the unsuccessful students, Malik among them, left in a rush, not making eye contact with anyone, especially each other. A boy behind Malik was sniffing slightly. Everyone else turned to the stairs, but Malik sprinted away to the palace proper. He didn’t stop running until he was outside his father’s study.
“Dad? You in there?” Malik knocked hard on the door, then pressed his ear to it. Nothing happened. He tried the handle, and groaned when it wouldn’t turn. Trying his best to ignore the burning in his cheeks and eyes, Malik leaned on the door.
“Very good, Eleanor! Yes, quite good!”
Henry Hotspur’s shouts were accompanied by a bright flash that streamed around his study door. Malik smiled despite himself.
“I know it’s getting late, but once more, perhaps? I’ll go get a stack of books from the library — some things Pickett won’t miss. Just a moment, Eleanor! We’ll be done before dinner, I promise.”
“I don’t mind,” Nora’s answer was much quieter, but sounded breathless in excitement. “I’ll keep practicing.”
“Of course, of course!” Hotspur backed out of his study with a sort of skip. “To think, audible illusion, in my lifetime — good day, young Smedley! Oh it is a good day!” He bustled away without another word to Malik, humming to himself. Pushing off the door, Malik began to follow him, thinking his father might be in the library, but he didn’t get far.
“Hello!” Nora was peeking around the door, her hair wild and her face covered in glistening sparks. “How were lessons?”
“They… went,” Malik said, trying his best to sound optimistic. Nora’s forehead creased, and opening the door wider, she took a step out into the hall.
“What happened? You can talk to me.”
“It’s nothing, really—”
“I want to know.” Malik looked at her, startled. Her cheeks flushed pink as he gawked, but she came out into the hall to grab his hand. “That… That’s what friends do, right? Come in and tell me, before Mr. Hotspur gets back. What class was it?”
“Magic,” Malik mumbled. He let Nora pull him into Henry’s study and sat down on the floor facing her.
“Did someone tease you about your color? I’ll make them take it back—”
“No, I wish. I’d like to take you up on that,” said Malik, again chuckling in spite of the dryness in his throat. “I… I couldn’t cast at all.”
“Well Triss can’t either, and Miss Pickett says she never has—”
“I want to, though,” Malik went on. Nora quieted to let him continue. “It doesn’t bother them, but I’ve always wanted… my mom almost never lets me see her cast. I don’t know why. But I want… I’d be so embarrassed if I can’t…”
“Because it’s what she teaches?” Nora asked.
“Because I’ve built it up now,” Malik answered with a shrug. “Everyone’s been asking all week if I’m excited to finally learn magic, and to come tell them what my color is when I know. Well, I just took an hour long lesson, and I still have no idea. I wouldn’t care if I had magic like puke right now. At least I’d be able to do something.”
“It won’t look like puke,” Nora laughed. “It’s just the first lesson. What did the teacher have you try? Was it Mr. Jowett?”
“Yeah. He was talking about imagining the feeling and the warmth on your skin and pushing it out, and I tried, but…” Malik stared at his fingers again as he trailed off. It took him a moment to remember he had been speaking. He shook his head, blinked a few times, and looked back to Nora, only to see her watching his hands as well.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to talk about casting. Magic… It’s just there for me. I hardly have to think about it. I want it, and there it is. Sometimes I have more trouble keeping it off than making it appear. I hardly ever think about it as pushing, though. It’s more… gathering, bringing it to me. I can push it out, but mostly I let it come.”
“Is there a difference?”
“I don’t know,” Nora said again. “Mr. Hotspur sometimes talks about tension, but I don’t understand it fully yet. I’m still in pretty basic theory levels. I’ve only been learning that for a few months.” She bit her lip, looking back and forth from Malik’s hands to her own. “Do you… want to try something?”
“You have an idea?”
“A few times, when Triss first started with the show, I had trouble getting the magic to stay because I was so nervous. It would shoot off and go in the wrong place. Mom and I were so scared, and I didn’t have any idea what to do. But Triss would grab my hands and rub them. It was relaxing, and it helped me take control again. I don’t know what good it might do…”
“I’ll try anything,” Malik said, smiling with what he hoped was an optimistic expression. Nora gave a nervous smile in return.
“I know it’s not the same thing,” she murmured. “But… see if you can take the magic from me. I’ll gather a little, and you see if you can match it. Have you ever felt magic?”
“I know it’s hot,” replied Malik.
“It’s more than that. There’s a feel to it, a texture. Let me see your hand.” She held out her own, palms up, and Malik, hesitating only slightly, laid his right hand in hers. Nora covered it with her left. Nearly trembling with excitement, Malik did his best to control his thoughts and not let on how his heart was racing. He closed his eyes, thinking that might help, as Nora started to rub her hands against his. Her hands were already warm, and slightly sweaty from her work with Mr. Hotspur, but as she moved, they suddenly became almost burning in places. Malik twitched, only just managing to control a surprised gasp.
“Sorry, I know it’s warm,” Nora said quietly. “I won’t burn you, I promise. Take that heat from me. My magic is small and sharp. Can you feel where it pokes your skin?”
“No, I don’t…” Scrunching up his face in concentration, Malik focused on his hands. The heat of the magic was spreading, but there was no sharpness. He reached for it, trying to feel the little pinpricks that Nora described. He could picture perfectly what it must feel like. He’d seen her magic, tiny crystals of ice, loads of times over the past four months, but there was nothing like that on his hands.
“I’m putting a little more on my hands. Now?”
The heat spread. Nora must have been using quite a lot of magic — it was like leaving his hand too long in the sun or too close to a fire, just on the edge between coziness and sharp discomfort, but he trusted her word. Nora was in control. She wouldn’t let him get hurt. It was a smooth warmth though, and however he searched for sharp edges, he found only softness, like fleece left for hours in the summer sun.
“Still nothing,” he told her.
“That’s odd. I would have— oh!” Nora opened her hands a little to peek at Malik’s, but gasped in delight when she did so. Without thinking, Malik looked too. His hand lay between Nora’s, covered in their bright icy glitter, but another color had joined them. It was faint, not bright and opaque like hers, but in moving his hands he could feel it, soft and smooth and thick, almost pudding like, a dark blue mist with weight and substance. He realized that he was smiling several seconds into the action, and looked quickly up at Nora. She was still gawking at his hand in hers.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered, almost to herself. Malik watched her cheeks turn bright pink, and she blinked several times before looking up at his face. “See, you can do it. It just takes practice. And now you know what it feels like, so it will only get easier.” Nora said all this in a breathless rush that made Malik grin. He tried to say ‘thank you’, but the slight stutter in her voice and the pink in her cheeks make him chuckle, so he hugged her instead. They stayed like that, their hands covered in ice and indigo until Mr. Hotspur stumbled back into his study, carrying an armful of books.
“Good, good, more help is welcome. Spread these along the floor for me, my boy. Let Eleanor gather her breath. She is a wonder today!”
Springing up to help, Malik smiled more brightly than he had all day. He kept sneaking glances at Nora while she pushed her hair from her face and shook the magic from her fingers. It wasn’t until all the books were laid out that Mr. Hotspur saw Malik’s hands.
“Oh, learning to cast today? Well done my boy, and a perfect combination of your mother and your father. Well, that won’t surprise anyone. Good work. You’ll have to show your father this afternoon. Stay and watch, and we’ll tell him when we bring these back to the library. Ready, Eleanor?”
“Yes, sir!” Nora called. Spreading her arms wide with a crooked grin to Malik, Nora twisted her wrists, splayed her fingers, and shot sparks to the books, which blossomed to runes on their covers. Malik was almost too busy smiling at her to hear them sing.