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‘That is distasteful. It smacks of hysteria – lack of self-control.’
    â€˜Aluid invaded a hawk I was flying.’
    My father lifts his head a fraction of an inch; his eyes narrow as if deciding whether to believe me or not. ‘He conveniently forgot to mention that fact. Well  …  I can hardly blame you for anger. But.’ His eyes flash. ‘Your reaction was that of a kine! Presumption by someone such as Aluid, or any mage, is to be met with the mind and the mind alone. I do not ever want to hear of you using your fists as a weapon. You are to remember who and what you are. Is that clear?’
    â€˜Yes, Father.’
    â€˜And what provocation did you give your tutor?’
    Telling him the truth will infuriate him further but if I don’t tell him, he’ll hear it from Aluid. I take a deep breath. ‘I prevented the hawk’s kill.’
    I can’t read the expression in his eyes, but the air between us turns sour. The silence grows longer and still he looks at me. Then: ‘You become more like your mother every year. You are the image of her, and you seem to have inherited her mental frailties as well.
    â€˜Yet you are my blood as much as hers!’ The words hiss through clenched teeth. I flinch but my father has already regained control. He studies the paperweight. One manicured, blunt-ended finger traces the silver lines of his mage mark winding over the curved glass. His eyes lift to me and the cold determination in them is terrifying. I catch my breath.
    â€˜You are my only child, Zara. My blood runs in your veins and I will not have it wasted. Your gifts are undeniable. I am the greatest adept of the age and your mother was extremely talented. But you lack mental discipline. Find it, Daughter.’ He stares at me, his brown eyes unblinking. ‘Or I will instil it in you.’
    My knees grow soft with fear.
    My father’s voice continues: ‘I want no more botched lessons or half-hearted attempts. No more subversiveness or you will reap the consequences. Do you understand?’
    I beat back a wave of faintness and nod.
    â€˜Good. Now  … ’
    For once, Time is on my side. Before Benedict can announce my punishment, someone knocks on the door, then pushes it open. My father’s chief aide, a grey-haired mage named Challen, enters. Her sharp eyes dismiss me. ‘Pardon, Archmage. Pyramus wants to see you. Urgently.’
    My father lifts his head like a hound scenting prey.
Danger!
I freeze and do my best to become invisible – I need to know what this is about. Pyramus will be bringing news of some new plot.
But which one?
Benedict remembers my presence. He turns to me with a frown of irritation, gesturing for me to leave. ‘Return to your studies, Zara. Apologise to your tutor and do not give me cause to see you again this twelveweek.’
    I bend my head submissively and hurry from the room. Pyramus stands outside the door looking, as he always does, like a shopkeeper dressed up in mage robes. No one would guess that this small, plump man is one of the most dangerous adepts in Asphodel. He nods respectfully to me as I pass. What does he know? I break into a scrambling run as soon as I am out of sight. I tear along the corridors, praying that I’m wrong, but I fear that I – and the one person in the world I might call a friend – may be in deadly danger.
    The Academy crowns the tallest hill in Asphodel, a limestone fortress of magic, its red-tiled roof faded to pink by centuries of southern sun. Four wings enclose a courtyard. Each side of the square represents one of the elements – air, water, fire, earth. A magician’s tools. We play with the stuff of life itself.
    I make myself slow to a walk as I reach the top of the hill and mount the wide marble stairs leading to the portico. The guards either side of the entrance barely glance at me. Some one hundred and fifty student adepts attend the