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Either the Mages Guild did not do a brisk business at this time of night, or else word had preceded them and the halls had cleared accordingly, because she didn’t see another soul as they wended their way through labyrinthine hallways and up several flights of stairs.
Her breathing quickened the deeper they went into the building, not from physical exertion, but from an ever-increasing fear that she wouldn’t get out again. The further she walked the shallower her breaths came, until she kept stopping after she exhaled, her lungs empty, forgetting to take that next breath in.
The soft cream-colored walls insisted on bleaching themselves to white in the periphery of her vision, the sandstone tile becoming gleaming, glossy white, until she was deep in the bowels of another building, in another time.
She hadn’t gotten out. Of course she hadn’t gotten out. No one did. No one left Renault County. No one left him.
“Clare?” The voice pulsed in her fading vision like visible sound, unfamiliar and teasing at the edges of her panic. “Clare?”
She didn’t know a Clare, but she didn’t know the names of most people she met. There was little point in the familiarity. People either used you, betrayed you, or died, so it was only worth learning their name if doing so gave you some advantage over them.
But Clare was a nice name. Clare felt…bright, like sunshine. She wasn’t bright. She was darkness and pain but she wanted to be bright someday. That was why she’d given herself a name, one she whispered in her head where only she could hear it. But she couldn’t remember that name right now because she hadn’t gotten out and?—
“Clare Brighton?” The high, imperious voice cut through the chatter in her head.
Hard fury jerked her back to the present. Because she had gotten out. She was Clare Brighton. That was the name she’d given herself in the dark—and that was Madame Aria speaking it with so much disdain.
Memory’s desperate clutch fell away and Clare stood once more in the cream-colored hallway of the Mages Guild while the woman whose other guild infuriated her walked toward her.
Clare straightened. Marquin’s and Verol’s worried expressions smoothed over as Madame Aria’s morphed into one of cruel delight. “If you’re here to take that something precious from me you promised, I’m afraid I’m busy at the moment.”
Clare pulled confidence around her like a cloak, superiority the broach with which she held it pinned. “I already accomplished that task. Have you spoken to anyone from the Rival Theater in the last hour? Because I just knocked Estrella Vane from her pedestal.”
Madame Aria’s lips thinned.
“The two of you have met, I take it?” Marquin said.
“If you could call this child threatening me a meeting, then yes, we have met.”
Clare’s lips curved into the most condescending smile in her arsenal. “I see it’s true what they say about memory fading with age. I didn’t threaten you, I challenged you. It’s not my fault if you can’t hold on to your things.”
Madame Aria took a step toward her. “You little?—”
“Madame Aria.” Verol’s stern voice halted her. “Whatever history you may or may not have with my apprentice is of no concern at this moment. You are not here as yourself but as a representative of the Mages Guild. Are you capable of performing without prejudice the function you have been tasked with, or should I have you replaced?”
For a brief moment, Clare thought the woman might actually back down. But in the end, Clare followed the three mages into a room down the hall. It was a soft room—that was the only word Clare could think of to describe it. Soft floor, soft colors, soft furniture.
Not a very good room for acoustics, and she wondered if that wasn’t part of the test. Madame Aria proceeded to explain what Verol and Marquin already had. Clare would sing. She would use her Songweaving talent to weave what emotion she could into the song. Madame Aria would judge her control, and the gemstones would judge her strength.
Clare looked at the row of stones sitting atop the piano in the center of the room. Only ten of them there, amber through garnet. Her lip curled. “You’re missing a few.”
Madame Aria made a tutting sound under her breath. “Songweavers rarely rank above chalcedony. Only one has ever reached garnet.”
Since that very gem hung from Madame Aria’s ear, Clare took great pleasure in leaning closer to the other woman and saying, “Then I suppose I’m knocking two Songweavers off their pedestals tonight, because I rank higher.” Clare didn’t doubt the words as she spoke them. She could feel the power that wafted off Madame Aria and it was nothing compared to her own. Before she’d known who her tester would be, she had considered hiding the full extent of her power. Appearing less than—common—to avoid scrutiny. But now? Now she was angry. “Get the other gemstones.”
Madame Aria turned on Verol. “You are wasting my time with this? Honestly, if you intend to have an apprentice you might try teaching her some manners first.”
Verol’s gaze hardened. “You have a responsibility to accurately test her abilities. If she had only a grain of power, she would still have the right to a full range of testing. Do as she says.”
The woman scowled, but she left the room and came back a moment later, setting the rest of the stones down in a row, plunking the diamond down last with a harsh thud. She turned, crossing her arms. “Well, then, let’s hear you sing.”
Madame Aria didn’t move to take a seat at the piano, nor did she allow Clare to do so. When Clare undid the first latch on her guitar case, the woman snapped, “Without accompaniment. If you can’t sing without it, you can’t sing.”
Clare bristled, but it was at the snapped order, not at the fact she was to sing without an instrument. That wasn’t the disadvantage Madame Aria thought it was.
Clare set the guitar aside. “What would you like most to hear?”
“I should like to hear ‘The Summer Song’ from De Monin’s Reckoning and Dissonance. However, since it is unlikely you even know of the song, I should settle for?—”
