Young Sorceress: Book One: The Elves

Author

Chapter 1

Rilla!

Rilla snapped back to awareness at the sharp sound of her instructor’s voice, followed immediately by the rattling of something like a short-lived hailstorm on wooden planking. Yes ma’am?

Madam Parq stood at the front of the classroom, glaring at her with her fists on her hips. Rilla was surrounded by other girls, sitting at their desks. They were watching her, too, though at least a couple of them were trying to hide smirks, and a few others were picking up something small, like rocks, from the floor, where they must’ve just fallen.

Were you listening to me? Madam Parq said.

Um…yes ma’am. Sort of.

Then cast the spell.

What spell? Panic engulfed her, floodwater over a broken dam. She stared at her desk top, where she saw a polished white stone smaller than a hummingbird’s egg. What do I do? The panic intensified. She was about to drown.

Levitate it, someone whispered from behind her. The stone. That’s what we were doing. It was Junea, her best friend.

Do you know how to perform the cast? Madam Parq said, her eyes hard as the little stone.

Oh, uh, sure. Yes ma’am. Rilla’s pulse raced higher as she focused on the glossy little rock and held her tentative fingers out toward it. She tried to run through the steps of the spell, as much as she could remember, and muttered, Rise.

The stone sat still. Not even a tremor.

Someone snickered nearby, but Rilla didn’t dare check to see who it was. She tried the spell again. The stone remained motionless as if glued in place. Rilla felt her face grow warm, and she looked up at her stern instructor, who was pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand. Her eyes were closed.

I think I gave her another headache. Do you want me to stay after class again, Madam Parq?

She didn’t answer right away. She stiffened, with her features twisted into a pained expression, and Rilla feared she might burst into flames. It had happened before to another instructor, though not during Rilla’s lifetime.

Finally, Madam Parq dropped her hand and said, No. In fact…. She threw out her other hand as if discarding it. Class dismissed. She abruptly marched toward the door, opened it, and left.

The rest of the girls sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, then stood and packed their dark blue canvas bags, while Rilla remained seated and stared at her desk. Someone poked her shoulder blade from behind. Come on, Junea said. Let’s go.

Rilla stood, too, and gathered her things—a spell book, notepad, and pen—and shoved them into her bag, while keeping her head down so she couldn’t see the faces of the other students. She knew at least a few would have self-righteous curls to their lips while whispering remarks to their friends. She waited with Junea until everyone else was out the door before following them.

Well, Junea said as they trailed the flock of brown-skirted girls, you really got to her this time.

Rilla seemed to have a talent for vexing the old sorceress. Her only talent.

They walked into the marble-floored hall, with its high ceiling and tall windows, and they lagged behind the small crowd that made its way toward the front doors. Junea said, We got out really early. Do you want to go watch the boys for a while? They’re probably still practicing outside.

I suppose. Rilla felt like hiding instead, embarrassed from the disaster in Madam Parq’s room. Junea was always keen to watch the boys, but she wouldn’t go alone. Junea slowed and began to unfasten the top button of her white blouse, and Rilla put her hand on Junea’s arm and said in a low voice, Not here. One of the instructors might see you.

Junea had gotten in trouble for that once and had to serve detention. Though she was shorter than Rilla, she had a larger bust, larger than any of the other girls their age, having bloomed early, as Rilla’s mother often put it.

The hall was empty now. The rest of the girls from their class had left for the day, and the other, younger classes were still in session. The older girls were in another part of the building. Rilla and Junea stopped before they reached the towering front doors and they inspected themselves in the oval, gold-framed mirror that hung on the last stretch of wall. Junea glanced around to make sure no one was watching and unbuttoned part of her blouse again. Rilla didn’t stop her this time.

Rilla appraised her reflection and sighed inwardly. She did not have Junea’s obvious signs of womanhood, showing only a modest figure. She had simple features, not as beautiful as her mother’s, but not ugly, at least. She had the green eyes so common among sorceresses, and dominant in her family. Her hair was long and black as her mother’s, a family trait going back many generations, but she had an unfortunate streak of red that started in the middle of her scalp and flowed in a narrow ribbon over the right side of her head.

The red is what bothered Rilla the most. She tried to tuck it behind her ear to hide it, but it was still obvious to her and anyone else. I hate this thing, she said with a frown.

Junea rolled her eyes. You always say that, but I don’t know why. I think it makes you look different.

I don’t want to look different.

Almost everybody around here looks the same, with the same black or dark brown hair, and it’s always long, and everybody has green or blue eyes.

You don’t look the same. Rilla glanced at Junea’s chest.

Junea giggled. Yes, but if I was as tall as you and had that red streak, I’d really be an eye-catcher.

I’m not tall, Rilla said defensively.

No, but I’m definitely not. The top of Junea’s head only came up to Rilla’s chin. I wouldn’t mind being taller.

And I’d give anything to have your figure. Rilla clamped her jaw to keep a deep sigh from escaping. Junea smiled brightly and said, Come on. Let’s go see the boys. We’re wasting time.

They hopped down the broad front steps, white marble that matched the outside of the grand, sprawling building that served as the girls’ academy, and they strolled along the wide brick walkway that led to the gates. Junea had her eyes down, and Rilla said, What are you looking for?

A pebble or something. She searched a moment longer and said, Here we go. She gestured subtly with her fingers and a small rock rose from the cracks between the bricks. It floated to eye level, and Junea kept it steady before her while they walked, until she gently waved one finger back and forth. The pebble followed the motion as if dancing in the air.

Show off, Rilla grumbled.

Junea laughed and the tiny stone fell. It’s fun. You really should learn the spell. It’s an easy one.

I don’t know why I can’t do it.

You could if you paid attention in class.

But that’s the problem. I just can’t seem to. And even if I did, I don’t know if I could do the spell.

Yes you could. You’ve always been stronger than everybody else.

I wish you wouldn’t say that anymore. It’s not true.

All of the instructors say so. So does my mom. Junea’s mother was a sorceress, too, but not a member of the Circle of Thirteen, like Rilla’s mother. Instead, she was a third alternate. Three members of the Circle had to die or retire before she would join the formidable group, and almost no one ever retired.

Everybody says I’m supposed to be so powerful and everything, but I don’t feel powerful. I feel like an idiot, especially lately. I’ve gotten to where I don’t think I can do any spells at all, and I’m afraid to try.

Junea slowed and gave her a sympathetic look. Afraid? Really?

Please don’t tell anybody I said that.

You can still call Rosie without saying a word or whistling or anything. Nobody else can do that.

So I can call a horse with my mind. Big deal.

I can’t do it, and I’ve tried and tried. You’re the only one who can, that I know of.

It’s not because I’m good at magic, because I’m not.

Yes you are. You’ve just got some kinda…I don’t know…. Junea put her hand flat against her temple. You have some kind of blockage in your brain.

That sounds like as good of an explanation as any I’ve been able to think of.

They passed through the gates and the two guards dipped their heads deferentially. Junea said, That’s for you, you know. They never do that for me.

It’s not for me, either. It’s only because of my mother.

They turned right on the narrow road out front and headed for the boy’s academy, which was adjacent to theirs.

Their destination was the practice field, on the other side of the facility, and to reach it, they had to pass the gates of the institute. They were fashioned from wrought iron, like the ones of the girls’ academy, and the building was nearly identical to its neighbor, except it was built of dark gray marble instead of white, and it had fields on one side where the boys worked on their skills when the weather permitted.

Rilla and Junea neared the wide, grassy area that served as the outdoor training area, and Rilla saw dozens of figures, some standing in a line with bows in their hands, shooting at distant targets. Others were hacking at each other with wooden swords. The closer Rilla and Junea got, the younger the boys seemed.

At the corner of the long, wrought iron fence stood a handful of gray-haired men watching the practice session, as they often did. Former paladins, Rilla knew, reliving their glory days. She and Junea stopped a safe distance from the group of old-timers and peered through the evenly spaced vertical bars that separated them from the practice fields.

Junea cast a surreptitious glimpse at the elderly group and whispered, You don’t think they’ll come over here and pester us, do you?

Rilla glanced, too, and shook her head. I think we’re far enough away.

They turned their attention to the fields, and Junea frowned and pointed at the trainees. They look like little kids. Where are the older boys?

They did seem young. The oldest, the ones practicing archery, appeared to be 14 years old, at best. We’re not usually out here this early. Maybe they’re working inside.

They’re almost always out here when the weather’s nice. Junea looked at the clear, blue sky. The air felt pleasantly warm, for spring.

Maybe they’re testing in their gymnasium. Out of the corner of her eye, Rilla saw someone detach themselves from the group of older men and walk toward her and Junea. Uh-oh, she said quietly. Don’t look now, but Tarl is heading our way.

What should we do? Junea whispered. Should we leave? He’s going to bore us with a long story if he catches us. Tarl was known for telling tales from his days as a paladin to anyone who would listen, or pretend to. Most everyone tried to avoid him, if possible. It didn’t seem possible, just then.

It’ll be rude if we leave now. Rilla knew they’d be seen disrespecting a paladin, and nobody did that, especially novice sorceresses.

We’re doomed, then, Rilla whispered. He’s almost here.

Hello, ladies, Tarl said when he reached them. His hair was thinning and solid white, but he still carried his shoulders back and his voice was firm. He seemed fit for a man his age. Are you enjoying the demonstrations of the fighting arts? He gestured at the boys on the field.

Yes sir, Junea said. Do you know where the older boys are?

I believe they are training in the woods today. They should be back, soon. I’m going to watch them return. Care to join me? It can be quite inspiring.

Rilla knew they had no choice, because if they declined, it could be considered an insult. The three of them walked together to the huge, open gates, where two guards stood stiffly, one on either side. The uniformed men saluted Tarl. He returned the gesture and led the girls to a spot about twenty feet from the entrance.

This is a good place to see. Tarl crossed his arms behind his back and faced away from the building, where the road vanished over a hill. He was strangely silent, and his eyes seemed melancholy as they focused on the distant rise.

Why isn’t he telling us one of his dull stories? Rilla looked at Junea, who only shrugged, as if she were wondering the same thing. Rilla said, Most Respected One, how do you know the boys are training in the woods?

Please call me Tarl. You make me so sound like a museum piece.

Sorry sir, I mean, Mister Tarl.

It’s Tarl, Miss Snowfire. Just Tarl.

Oh, uh…sure. Then Rilla felt a bold impulse. I’ll call you Tarl if you’ll call me Rilla.

A strangled sound burbled out of Junea, but Tarl smiled briefly and nodded. That’s fair. He turned to Junea. And you, Miss Windhammer? What is your first name?

She blushed. It’s Junea.

He nodded again. So when you accept the black you will be Jun the Sorceress. I like that. He glanced at Rilla. And Rill the Sorceress. Those have a nice ring to them.

If we’re ever allowed to accept the black. Rilla lowered her gaze to the grass-covered ground.

You don’t think you will pass your final test? Surely you’ll fledge.

Junea bobbed her head and put her hand on Rilla’s shoulder. She’s just nervous. Everybody is, when we get to be this age, because it’s not that far away. The test, I mean. Not everybody fledges. And according to my mother, a lot of girls have been failing over the last several years, so we have more reason to worry.

I’m sure both of you will fledge. You come from fine, talented families. You will accept the black and I won’t have to see you in those ugly brown skirts anymore, and I will be able to call you Jun and Rill.

Junea had already tried calling herself Jun, just recently, but one of the instructors found out and castigated her in front of their entire class. Junea’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato, and she immediately added the second syllable back to her name.

So…Tarl? Rilla felt awkward saying that. It sounded impolite. How do you know the older boys are training in the woods?

I used to be an instructor and eventually the commander here, remember? I know all their regimens.

That’s right, he was. I forgot. That was after you retired, wasn’t it?

A paladin never really retires.

But when their sorceress dies, they lose the reason for their existence. Rilla remembered that much. A paladin or a sorceress who was no longer part of a fighting pair had to find another use for their talents. Her mother had, when Rilla’s father was killed. When did Tarl’s wife die? So you became an instructor, instead. How long ago was that?

Thirty years, almost to the day. He squeezed his lips together and it dawned on her. This must be the anniversary of her death. No wonder he looks a little sad. Junea seemed to realize it, too.

Rilla turned to gaze in the direction Tarl was facing, and soon she heard the sound of many feet tramping in unison. Over the hill, heads began to appear, and dozens of boys poured over the rise, marching in double time in perfect columns, four abreast, flanked by instructors on horseback. The troop came closer, and in the middle of their formation, four boys were carrying something.

Is that a stretcher? Junea said.

I believe so, Tarl answered.

Somebody got hurt?

Looks that way.

During training? Is it that dangerous?

He doesn’t appear to be dead. His body isn’t covered.

Dead? Does that happen often?

Not lately, and never during my time as a trainer and commander. It happened during my years as a recruit, though. Two boys were killed within six months.

Rilla and Junea looked at each other with widened eyes.

The column of boys passed them and filed through the gates, and Junea said, Is he going to be all right?

They’ll take him directly to a healer. I don’t know which sorceress is on duty, but I imagine she’ll be able to handle it. If the injury is severe enough, they may need to call in your mother. He turned his head toward Rilla and raised his eyebrows.

If they can find her, Rilla said. She’s always busy these days, doing something with the Circle.

What have they been up to lately? I hear all so sorts of rumors.

I don’t really know. She’s not allowed to discuss it.

Even with her daughter?

Yes, sir.

Please don’t be formal around me. I know I’m old, but I don’t need to be reminded of it.

Sorry, uh, Tarl. Rilla wanted to kick herself. She was torn between honoring the tradition of respect and doing what he asked. They watched the troop of boys vanish through the open doors of the academy, and Rilla said, Why do you think their training is getting more dangerous now?

Probably because their numbers are up. They’re still only at three-quarter’s strength, but that’s the highest enrollment has been since the last war, so the instructors probably feel that now is the time to increase the difficulty of their exercises.

Thirteen years since the last war, Rilla said hollowly. Her father had died during that one.

We lost a lot of good paladins and sorceresses then, Tarl said.

Rilla lowered her head again. Tarl seemed to understand how she felt, and his tone was comforting when he said, He was good paladin, your father, one of the best of his generation.

Yes, Rilla said, so I’m told.

And when we lost so many good paladins and sorceresses in that war, we lost the married couples who would’ve born more children with the necessary talent to take their place. We’re just now starting to see a decent rise in applications for the boys’ academy.

The girls’ academy isn’t full, yet, either, Junea said.

So I’ve heard, Tarl said. You’re about where the boys are, three-quarters enrollment, and like the boys, not all of you will pass the final test.

Like me, Rilla thought.

It’s different for the boys, though, he said. The daughter of a sorceress usually has the necessary innate power to become a sorceress herself, with the proper training, and she can be evaluated at an early age by other sorceresses to determine her potential. But the boys have to have other talents besides inborn power, and those don’t become apparent until later.

What kind of talents? Junea said.

You should know. Your father is a paladin.

He doesn’t talk about things like that around me.

Paladin recruits require physical ability, in the form of athletic prowess, and perhaps the most important of all, determination. It’s difficult to make it through the long, grueling training process. Many boys drop out, and I can’t say that I blame them. But some manage to make it, fortunately for you. He gave Rilla and Junea a pointed look. Where would a sorceress be without her paladin?

Ask my mother, Rilla thought sadly. She can tell you.

Tarl didn’t seem to notice her moment of melancholy and he continued, Not many boys have all the qualities needed to become a top paladin, but every now and then one comes along who does. He patted Rilla on the shoulder. Like your father. He was one of the best to ever pass through those doors. He gestured toward the front of the gray marble building.

How do you know that? Rilla asked.

Because I trained him.

* * *

Rilla and Junea were quiet after they left the boys’ academy, lost in their thoughts while they headed home. When they passed the long row of bungalows that served as housing for the servants of the two academies—the cooks, cleaning staff, ground crews, and all the others who helped maintain the huge buildings—Junea broke the silence. It’s weird to think about Tarl training your father. He must’ve trained mine, too.

I don’t want to think about it.

Was it just me, or did he seem a little sad just now.

I think it’s the anniversary of his wife’s death.

I thought it might be. But shouldn’t he be over it by now? It’s been a long time.

My mother hasn’t gotten over my father’s death, and it’s been thirteen years.

She doesn’t mope around about it, seems like.

You don’t know her like I do. She maintains a brave face in public, but I’ve heard her crying in her room. She stopped and squeezed Junea’s upper arm with one hand. Please don’t tell anybody I said that. That’s just between us.

Junea said that she understood, then chewed thoughtfully on a strand of her dark hair while they walked on, and soon they reached the shopping district, a stretch of shops clustered on two adjoining streets. They passed the first business, a haberdashery, and she said. I know we never talk about this, but do you remember much about your father?

Not really, since I was only three when he died. And he and my mother were gone for several months before that, fighting in the war.

Those damn elves! Junea’s face grew dark.

Watch your language. Rilla glanced about to make sure no one heard her, but the nearest pedestrian was halfway down the street.

I can’t help it. I hate them. They killed your father, and both of Twilly’s parents, and lots of other people.

It comes with the territory, as my mother often says. If you become a sorceress, you run the risk of getting killed. Same with the paladins.

Don’t you think I know that? But if it weren’t for those horrible elves, we wouldn’t have this problem.

Maybe we won’t, anyway. We haven’t had a war in thirteen years. That’s the longest stretch ever, seems like. Maybe the peace will hold.

Do you really believe that?

I don’t know. It’ll be a while before we’re old enough to fight, but I’m afraid my mother would, if war broke out.

Without a paladin?

It’s happened before, a sorceress fighting unprotected.

Maybe they won’t let her, because she’s a single parent.

Rilla gave Junea a level-eyed look. Who do you think is going to stop her if she decides to fight?

Well…nobody, I guess. But would she really go off and leave you alone?

She did it before, and I was only three. Actually, two and a half.

It’s a good thing you had Nuna to take care of you. I wish our housekeeper was as good a cook as she is. Did you ever figure out how old she is?

Nobody knows, not even my mother. But yes, she is a great cook, and she’s good at taking care of everything else, too, so that my mother doesn’t have to.

Your mother is too important to do housework.

I don’t know about that, but Nuna won’t let her, anyway. She says my mother is the worst cook in the territory.

You have the best housekeeper, though.

They grew quiet again and followed the road that led to their homes. There was a dormitory at the academy, but Rilla and Junea didn’t have to stay in it because they lived locally. Girls who were from out of town had to, though. Rilla was grateful she didn’t, because she’d seen the rooms, and they were small.

Both girls had their heads down as they walked, but when they neared the fork that preceded the last stretch of road before their neighborhood, Junea suddenly brightened and said, Let’s go see our horses. Want to? I haven’t seen Mercy in days.

That seemed like a good idea, just then. Rilla hadn’t seen Rosie in a while, either. I don’t think we have time to ride them.

They turned toward the stables and Junea said, I just want to pet Mercy and make sure she hasn’t forgotten me.

She would never do that. She loves you.

Not like Rosie loves you. You two scare me sometimes. You seem like…I don’t know how to say it…one person, or creature, when you’re together.

"We’re not that close. You make it sound like we’re strange."

No, not strange, just…amazing, I guess.

I can’t exactly read her mind or anything.

It’s still amazing that you can call her without a sound.

It was only a short walk to the community stables. Most everyone who lived in the nearby homes kept their horses there, and some, like Rilla’s family, kept a carriage, too, though Rilla couldn’t remember the last time she’d ridden in it.

On their left was the long, low building that held the stalls. Directly in front of that was a fenced-in pasture, where a number of horses grazed.

Do you see them? Rilla said when they reached the enclosure. They rested their hands on the top rail and scanned the area for their mounts.

Junea pointed to a group on the north end. There’s Mercy. She put two fingers to her lips and whistled. Mercy seemed not hear her, so Junea shouted her name. The brown mare still did not respond. Junea frowned. She’s stubborn, sometimes.

I think she’s busy socializing. Let me try. Rilla cupped her hand to her mouth and called to the obstinate animal. Mercy tossed her head, looked their way, and trotted toward them.

I hate you, Junea growled through her teeth. Did I ever tell you that?

Rilla laughed. Only every day. Mercy reached them and brought her big body next to the fence, allowing Junea to stroke her neck.

Rilla petted her, too, while she looked for her horse again. Now, where is mine? She put the fingertips of one hand to her temple and thought, Rosie. It’s me. Come.

A horse shot through the open stable doors and galloped toward her. There you are, you good girl! Were you trying to sneak some oats again?

Rosie slowed when she neared, and Rilla climbed onto the lower rail of the wooden fence and leaned over the top. She wrapped her arms around Rosie’s neck and pressed her cheek against it, feeling the mare’s warmth against her face and smelling the familiar, musky scent. I missed you, girl.

Rosie snorted as if to say I missed you, too. She was as beautiful as any horse Rilla had ever seen, with a fine, glossy coat, solid black except for a red splotch on her forehead, a rare coloration, Rilla had been told. When Rilla was twelve and Rosie was still a gangly colt, Rilla was convinced that the splotch resembled a rose, and named her accordingly.

Let’s go riding this weekend, Junea said, just the two of us. We can take the long trail through the woods, all the way to the falls. We could take a picnic lunch.

Let’s ask Rosie what she thinks. Rilla looked her squarely in the eye and said, How about it? Do you want to get out of this boring pasture and go for a ride?

Rosie dipped her head as if agreeing, and Junea said, Well, there’s your answer. I’ll ask my parents tonight if I can go.

* * *

They left the stables and walked the short distance to their homes. Rilla and Junea lived within shouting distance of each other and had been best friends since the day they met as little girls. Rilla waved goodbye to Junea when they reached her house and went on to hers.

Like the others in the neighborhood, it was a single-story, modest stone structure, with a thatched roof that had been treated with magic to keep if from leaking or decaying. Rilla entered the front door, stopped in the front hallway and called, Nuna, I’m home.

I’m in here, cooking your dinner.

That explains the wonderful smell. Rilla followed her nose to the kitchen to find their housekeeper wearing her apron and stirring a pot on the cast iron stove. She was small and sturdy-looking, despite her slim build. Her hair, worn in a tight bun, was gray and her face always seemed strict, an expression that belied her caring nature. Rilla had known her forever. The old woman had practically raised her.

It smells delicious, Rilla said. What are we having?

There’s a chicken with potatoes in the oven, and these are beans that I’m stirring right now. I made bread earlier and there’s a peach pie cooling on the rack. She withdrew her spoon from the pot and set it on the counter beside her.

Is Mother home yet?

She sent a runner to say that she’d be back by dark. I’ll serve your dinner then.

* * *

Rilla and her mother sat down together at the dining table in the small, separate room where they always ate. Nuna had gone home for the day after Rilla’s mother assured her they would wash the dishes.

The only light was from an oil lamp that hung from a chain in the corner, but before they began to eat, Rilla’s mother lifted one finger and twirled it in a single lazy circle. A glowing halo appeared overhead, as wide as the oval table. Everything brightened considerably.

Wish I could do that, Rilla thought for the thousandth time.

Her mother placed her napkin in her lap. How was your day?

Rilla was reluctant to bring up the incident in Madam Parq’s class. Junea and I saw Tarl over by the boys’ academy, and he seemed a little sad. He didn’t tell us any stories. Not a one.

That’s certainly unusual. That man likes to talk more than anyone I know.

I think it’s the anniversary of his wife’s death.

Oh, yes, it must be…what? How many years? I don’t know.

Thirty, I think. That’s when he started teaching at the boys’ academy.

That makes sense. Thirty years. That’s a long time to be alone.

How did she die? Was it in battle?

Her mother set some bread onto her plate next to her chicken. A blood vessel burst in her brain. It was the middle of the night, as I recall.

Couldn’t you help her?

I was only nine years old at the time. I wasn’t much of a healer back then, and she died so quickly, no one could save her.

And he’s been on his own all this time? That must be awful.

I’m surprised that you were able to tell that he was sad. Most of the paladins I know pride themselves on their stoicism.

How about Daddy? Was he stoic?

Her mother’s face settled into a wistful smile. Around strangers he was, and certainly around other paladins, but not around me, or you, for that matter. When he was home with us, he was a fun-loving man. Don’t you remember?

I was so young, but I remember he used to play with me.

Hide-and-seek was your favorite. He always let you find him.

Rilla smiled too, and tried to picture it, but her memories were vague. He must not have tried very hard to hide.

If a paladin doesn’t want you to find him, you won’t, unless you have magic.

Could you have found him if he hid?

She answered with another smile, and closed her eyes momentarily. Then she said, How about the rest of your day? How did school go?

She still wanted to avoid telling her about Madam Parq’s class, but she knew her mother usually learned about such things anyway. I had a little problem. Rilla told her what happened.

Her mother listened until Rilla finished, then she said, It was a beautiful spring day. I bet you were looking out of the windows at the time. I often did when I was at the academy.

But I can’t seem to stop looking out of them. I can’t pay attention for anything. There’s something wrong with me.

Her mother tsked and reached for the bowl of potatoes, still steaming and swimming in butter. You’re young, Rilla. Everybody has a lack of focus once in a while.

She knows I’m unfocused almost every day, now. Somebody surely told her. You don’t understand. It seems like I can hardly ever pay attention, lately. I’m telling you, there’s something wrong. Is there a spell you can use on me that will help?

Her mother considered her for a moment. Not that I know of, but you shouldn’t need one. Just force yourself to listen to your instructors. That’s what I did.

But I’m not you. I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried. The other girls are laughing at me. It’s embarrassing.

Is Junea?

No, of course not. But most of the rest of them are.

Her mother lowered her gaze to her plate, then looked back at Rilla. Let me look through a few books at the Circle’s library. Maybe I can find something that can help.

A spell? Rilla asked hopefully.

I doubt it, but there may be a non-magical solution to your problem.

Chapter 2

Rilla tried hard the next day at the academy and managed to pay attention during