Everything’s fine. He never sees my arm. They never tell me to take off the glove. Everything’s fine.
‘I think we’ve finished your accounting, Annev,’ Master Edra said, his tone curt. Duvarek had already left, directing the other students to help take the planks and curtains back to store. ‘Since you helped Duvarek set up, you can go back to your chapel. Help Sodar prepare tonight’s sermon. You are dismissed.’
Annev chafed at the Master’s tone. It’s as if I’m being punished, not rewarded for winning. The thought reminded Annev of Edra’s key.
‘As you wish, Master Edra. And when will I receive that key you promised the winner?’
Edra’s mind was already elsewhere. ‘Tomorrow. You’re done for today.’
Annev nodded, once again feeling that Edra was angry with him. Maybe he feels working together with Therin and Titus was cheating. Whatever the cause of Edra’s displeasure, Annev kept his silence and turned to leave.
‘Master Narach,’ Edra shouted. ‘Annev has his religious duties now. Come and check him so he can go back to his chapel.’
There it is again, Annev thought. Not Sodar’s chapel. Not the village chapel. My chapel. Annev doubted Edra meant anything by it, but it made him uneasy all the same, as if the master were deliberately distancing Annev from those who lived and slept inside the Academy. Annev frowned, but held his tongue, then waited for Narach to finish examining the witgirls.
‘And for Odar’s sake,’ Edra snapped, ‘take off that stupid glove.’
Chapter Twelve
Annev’s stomach lurched horribly.
‘What—’ Annev said, choking on a rush of fear. He swallowed, beginning again. ‘I’m sorry, Master Edra?’
‘Take off that damn glove,’ Edra repeated, his voice tired. ‘It’s a ridiculous affectation which probably gave you an advantage in today’s lesson. Should have told you to take it off earlier.’
Terror bloomed in the pit of Annev’s stomach. He nodded, mute with dread, and fumbled at it, peeling the thin black fabric off his elbow and down his forearm, then pulled the whole glove from his hand, glancing over his shoulder to assess how much time he had. He nearly pissed himself as he saw Narach already approaching with his black box of wands.
The Master of Secrets glared at Edra, his lips pressed into a thin line, then he looked at Annev. ‘Chapel duties, is it? One moment.’ Master Narach set his box of wands on the ground and patted his pockets. ‘Now, where did I put it …?’
Edra raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘You’re not serious.’
Narach spat at the floor, glaring. ‘I’m perfectly serious. I’m too old for this master avatar nonsense. Should have been made an ancient decades ago.’
Annev swallowed, his heart beating fast. He glanced between Edra and the Master of Secrets, pretending he wasn’t terrified that his secret was about to be discovered.
Narach began turning his pockets inside out as Duvarek came over.
‘What’s he doing?’
Edra was obviously losing his temper and turned aside to speak plainly. ‘He still hasn’t found the missing rods – and now he’s misplaced his scrying stone.’
‘He just had it! I saw him using it to search the witwomen.’ He looked at Master Narach. ‘Did you drop it in the box?’
Narach squinted at the Master of Shadows. He opened his mouth to say something then stopped, eyeing the black box at his feet. ‘I don’t think so …’ He trailed off, scratched his stubbly cheek, and bent down to open the box.
The black chest was full of black-and-gold Rods of Paralysis, as well as the Rod of Recovery. Narach picked up this last rod and used it to poke through the chest, sifting through the stumble-sticks until he spied a translucent white stone wrapped in a leather thong.
‘Huh,’ Narach said, threading his wand through the thong and lifting the scrying stone out. ‘I must have dropped it in there after searching the witgirls.’ The master raised the stone to his right eye and peered through its milky centre. As he did, the stone shimmered and became clear as crystal.
Annev shifted so that his left arm hung a little behind his body. Please, God. Please, Odar. Please, All-father. Don’t let Narach see my arm. Please, please, please. His heart thumped in his chest and his mind raced. He needed to do something – anything – to stop Narach from spying his hand.
‘How does it work, Master Narach?’ Annev blurted, feigning interest. ‘Can anyone use the scrying stone, or is it only for those with magical affinity?’
Narach harrumphed, taking the stone away from his eye. ‘Of course anyone can use it. I certainly don’t possess any magical capabilities.’ Narach snorted as if the very notion were preposterous, which, Annev supposed, it was. Anyone found to possess magic was deemed a Child of Keos and stoned to death – or tied to a tree and left for the beasts of the Brakewood.
Master Narach handed the flat stone to Annev. ‘Look through the thin part in the middle,’ he said, enjoying Annev’s unexpected interest. ‘The centre turns clear – yes, just like that. Now look at the wands in that chest. Good. What do you see?’
Annev closed one eye and used the other to peer through the stone of true-seeing. When he looked at the contents of the black chest, he saw that the Rods of Paralysis now radiated a swirling vapour of purple light, which seemed to flow over, around, and through the chest of artifacts.
‘Wow,’ Annev said, genuinely intrigued. Narach nodded, then extended his hand, wordlessly asking for the artifact back. Annev tried to stall him.
‘Would Steward Markov like some help searching for the rods?’
Narach lowered his hand, considering. ‘Well …’
‘You won the competition,’ Duvarek snapped. ‘Enjoy your reward, and don’t volunteer for steward work.’
Edra nodded. ‘It’s tan-robe work, Annev. Let Master Narach scry you and get out of here.’
Annev gritted his teeth and reluctantly handed the stone back.
Narach lifted the stone to his eye. ‘Arms out to the side, please.’
Annev held them out slowly as another idea came to mind. ‘Couldn’t you use the stone to find the rods?’
Narach lowered the lens from his eye and frowned. ‘A good thought, Acolyte Annev. I doubt it would work from this distance, but … Hmm.’ The Master of Secrets turned away from Annev and peered into the nave through his scrying stone. After a moment, a small smile appeared on his wrinkled face. With the stone still held in front of his eye, he shouted at Markov.
‘Markov, you idiot! Third row. Left side. Yes … no, my left. Third from the back. Yes.’
Annev was practically shaking with relief as Markov lifted a rod.
‘Silver staves,’ Narach beamed. ‘Don’t know why I didn’t think to do that before.’ He raised the scrying stone back to his eye and smiled again. ‘I see the last one, too. Good.’ Annev was already sliding his glove back on.