Page 4

“Miss Winters, you—”

Hot, searing pain shot through Mira’s left arm, and something cold wrapped itself around her wrist, right below her scar. With force, she was yanked to the ground and the back of her head smashed on the stone floor. The impact of it vibrated through her teeth and jaw.

It knocked the air out of her. Mira coughed, taking a wheezing inhale. Murmurs went through the crowd. She blinked her eyes open and stared at the star constellation on the ceiling. The cold air smelled of incense, burning candles, and damp stone.

What happened? Had she fainted? Did she fail?

Embarrassed, she got up. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

Dizzy and confused, she adjusted her coat, but whatever had gripped her left wrist was no longer there. Did she imagine it? Was using any magic too much for her now?

She looked at the Highmage, ready to explain that she could give it another go, but the words died on her tongue because it wasn’t Tinley who stood before her.

“Miss…Mira Winters,” Highmage Obryn said, adjusting his glasses as he checked his scroll.

Mira’s heartbeat was in her throat, her breath the only sound she could hear. Her fellow Casters were no longer behind her. In their stead, Wielder students stared at her like an experiment gone wrong. Wide-eyed. Mouths hung slack. Some were standing to get a better look.

Slowly, she turned to her left—the side she had just been on—searching for Ella. But the seats sat empty, Highmage Tinley was gone, and the row of candles on the floor had been extinguished. Not even smoke rose from them anymore.

A coldness settled in her bones.

Obryn stuffed his scroll back into his pocket. “Congratulations. You have been accepted to Ivercrest’s Dark Magic Institute.”

2

Ivercrest was playing a trick on her, she was sure of it. It was another hurdle to pass. A test perhaps?

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered to herself.

The Wielder students in front of her remained dead silent.

Highmage Obryn folded his arms and cocked his head to the side. “I must say, this is a surprise. I did not have you on my list.” The crease between his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

“It’s a mistake,” Mira blurted out, and stepped over to the left as if she could merely walk back to the Caster side. “I’m supposed to be on the other side. I’m a Caster.”

Obryn pursed his lips as if contemplating that fact. “I’m afraid, Miss Winters, magic makes no mistakes.”

Mira felt trapped. Behind enemy lines. She balled her hands into fists, realizing her fingertips had gone numb.

The Highmage watched her like she was an unusual artifact he was evaluating.

“In all my years at this school, I have never seen anything like it.”

Mira tried to slow her breathing. She couldn’t have a panic attack in front of everyone. She had to just talk to the director and get this sorted.

She swallowed the scream that was forming somewhere in her throat about the injustice of it all. Of course magic would not allow her a win. Was it laughing at her? Taunting her?

Had she made a mistake with the spell? Was it her fault?

“I will concede this is a rather unusual turn of events, but according to my records, you have been accepted to Ivercrest,” Obryn sighed.

“To the White Magic Institute,” she amended.

Obryn’s eyes fell on her right hand, and when she looked down, everything began to spin.

There, covering the top of her right hand in black ink, was the Shadowflame. The school had already branded her with Dark Magic.

Impossible. You were either born a Caster or a Wielder. You couldn’t just become one or the other. Even children born from a Caster and a Wielder parent could never be both. Casters possessed only White Magic and Wielders only Dark Magic.