Wizard's Masquerade, page 3
Leyna wrung her cloak as she spoke. The questions seemed simple enough—she only hoped she had answered them correctly.
When she was done speaking, Master Emsworth merely nodded.
“Did I pass?” she asked.
He smiled, which made his stylish moustache curl. “Yes, you did.”
“Oh good,” she said, shoulders slumping.
“And you passed your practical exam in the maze, too,” he added.
That was even better.
Just then, Leyna noticed her mother sitting behind the headmaster in the grass. She was wearing a cream-coloured dress, and her blonde hair was piled precariously atop her head. “Mamma! Did you see me fall? I was running through the maze from Quinn…I didn’t want to go into the tower…but I must have, right? Because I fell. Did you see me fall?”
Master Emsworth and her mother exchanged a strange look as if she had said the wrong thing—as if they knew something she didn’t.
“A concussion,” he muttered before turning to Lady Saunders. “Don’t worry, this can happen.”
“What can happen?” demanded her mother, her voice high-pitched again.
“Short-term memory loss.”
“What? Sir, that is outrageous—”
“Please, Lady Saunders, try to be calm. All will be well. Our best wizards will heal her at once.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “I certainly hope so. She was so beautiful!”
They were speaking about her as if she weren’t there. Leyna hated that.
“Quinn!” called Master Emsworth.
“Yes, sir?” Quinn’s voice sounded from behind, making her jump.
“Take her to the medical tent.”
“No,” said Leyna, perhaps a little too abruptly, as everyone turned to stare at her. “I mean…I can take myself there.”
She made an attempt to stand, but her body felt as useless as a sack of grain and she fell over again. It was embarrassing.
Quinn was looking down at her. “Shall we?”
She looked away and said nothing, but after a few moments, he scooped her up, carrying her like a child. The movement caused a new surge of pain to shoot through her, and she shuddered. And then there was the nausea, which was just as bad.
Leyna could tell that Quinn was making an effort to be careful, but she didn’t care. In that moment, every step he took caused her pain, and she hated him for it. And there was another reason that she was upset with him—she couldn’t quite recall what that reason was, exactly, but was sure it would come to her.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“I’m not sure about that,” said Quinn. “Anyway, we’re nearly there.”
Nearly where?
She didn’t bother to argue. The only person more stubborn than she was Quinn Volak. The thrum of the lively crowd was at odds with how crummy she felt, and it was easier just to close her eyes as they weaved through the throng of people. To her relief, he ignored the questions of curious onlookers and didn’t stop until they had reached a large white tent.
Inside, she got a glimpse of several rows of beds before Healer Helene descended upon them.
“Not another one!” she cried, exasperated. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“Had a bad fall…and has a concussion, apparently.”
Healer Helene gave a laugh that made her sound half-mad. “You don’t say? We saw her fall from the tower. I don’t suppose anyone’s spoken to you about your Renegade spell?”
“Not yet,” said Quinn, sounding uncomfortable.
“Renegade?” asked Leyna, mulling the word over. It seemed significant.
“She has short-term memory loss,” explained Quinn to the healer, talking about Leyna as if she weren’t there. She hated that.
Healer Helene sighed. “Fine. Put her in a bed down the back. I’m surprised there are any beds left at all. Doesn’t anyone stop to ask if any of this is ethical? Having students go at it in a maze, maiming each other?”
Her voice faded as Quinn moved to the rear of the tent, passing other beds occupied by students. Leyna winced when she saw a classmate of hers nursing a gash on her arm and what appeared to be several fingers bent the wrong way. She was glad that hadn’t happened to her—but then the woman spotted her and gasped.
“Leyna! What happened to you?”
Leyna didn’t answer, but a quiver ran through her stomach. What had happened to her face? What was so terrible that it was worse than having a forearm sliced open and broken fingers? What was so bad that nobody would say?
It wasn’t until Quinn had set her down that she bothered to get her bearings. The smell of antiseptic confirmed where she was—the medical tent, a large, temporary structure outside the maze, set up specifically for injuries acquired during the Maze Exam. She was sitting on a bed with a firm mattress and stark white sheets. There were no windows, but at the far side near the entrance, the flaps were held open, and the last of the sun was dousing the lawns in an orange glow. Candles provided some light inside the tent, sending flickering shadows onto the fabric above.
Quinn stood in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the tent’s interior.
“I’m sorry, Leyna,” he said.
She ignored him, giving her head a slight shake. She wasn’t sure why he was offering an apology but felt that she deserved a better one all the same.
“Leyna?”
“Go away.” She couldn’t remember why, but she didn’t want to see Quinn right now. Despite his handsome features, including a defiant nose, square jaw line, and faint Kormendian accent, he wasn’t her favourite person, and seeing him now when she was wounded and confused was not a comfort. She tried to push him away, only to realise that he was the one holding her steady as she sat perched on the edge of the bed.
Where am I? She appeared to be in some sort of tent, and there were beds nearby with what looked like injured seventh years.
“Leyna?” he asked again, his voice concerned.
“Leave me alone,” she moaned, wanting only the pillow if there was one.
“It’s alright, I’ll take it from here,” said a cheerful voice.
Quinn retreated, and a tall man with short waves of caramel hair took his place.
Without Quinn to support her, she began to sway, but the newcomer placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Whoa, there,” he said. “Don’t fall off.”
“You’re not the healer,” grumbled Leyna, taking in his fine clothes. While the Guild’s healers did not dress poorly—few wizards did—they could not have matched the peacock-like elegance of the man’s tailored doublet. The bottle-green jacket was a masterpiece of satin and velvet, complete with metallic thread, silk ribbons and brass buttons.
The man smiled as if amused. “No, I’m not.”
“Where’s Healer Helene?”
He jerked his head backwards. “A little busy with the other students. You all managed to make rather a mess of each other. In fact, I saw what happened to you in the maze. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Leyna licked her lips nervously, recalling the way her stomach had dropped as she fell spinning through the air. Turning to the man, she asked: “Did you see me fall?”
“Yes.”
“I think I fell from the tower. I don’t remember going up, but I must have, right? Because I remember falling.”
“No, actually, you didn’t go into the tower. A Renegade spell knocked you against it—quite violently, in fact. It was hard to watch.”
Leyna nodded absently. The man’s words seemed to make sense, but her mind was still foggy.
“Who are you?” she asked. Based on his attire, and smooth Rosarian accent, she was confident that he was a nobleman. He must have been in his late twenties, or possibly early thirties.
But he didn’t give her a straight answer.
“I’m someone who can heal you.”
“Why do I need healing?” she asked, but no sooner had she said the words than her head began to throb, the pain almost unbearable. She clutched the edge of the mattress. If the man hadn’t been supporting her, she would probably have fallen off.
“How’s the head?” he asked.
“You tell me,” she snapped, brisker than she had intended. “It hurts so much.”
“Yes, I’m not surprised. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
The man’s chipperness bothered her, his temperament at odds with how horrible she felt, but she understood on some level that he was trying to make her feel better—she only hoped he would be able to provide some relief from the pain.
She didn’t protest as he began his exam, checking her arms and legs for a normal range of motion. She used that opportunity to study the man more closely. If he was prepared to heal her, then he was almost certainly a wizard—but not one that she recognised from the Guild or the castle.
“Well?” she asked after the wizard had straightened.
“Well, you still have all your fingers and toes,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Fine. What about my face?”
“It’s lovely.”
She blinked, thrown off by the unexpected comment. She rephrased the question. “Is there something wrong with my face?”
“That depends. Is your face usually asymmetrical?”
Her eyes narrowed. Was he making fun of her? She got the impression he was trying to lighten the mood, but she wished that he would take her injury seriously. Why couldn’t Healer Helene have been the one to heal her? But before she could protest, the wizard continued: “You’ve had serious head trauma. I saw you fall, it’s amazing you regained consciousness at all. The good news is that everything else looks fine—it’s just your jaw that needs attention.”
“My jaw?” asked Leyna, reaching to touch the side of her head, but he caught her hand deftly. The movement felt oddly familiar as he placed her hand in her lap.
“Don’t touch it,” he said softly.
“Why not?” Her voice bordered on a whine. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with my head?”
Panic swirled in her like a noxious liquid, and she looked around frantically, trying to figure out where she was. Why did her head hurt so much, as if it had cracked in two?
She had been flying through the air…and she’d hit the tower…and then there was the fall, followed by a sickening crunch, and then…and then this. Sitting here in a tent with no one but a stranger to help her.
Her breathing grew rapid, her peripheries blurring and the wild urge to flee threatening to overwhelm her. Suddenly, the wizard stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands. His touch was firm but gentle, the slender fingers warm on her cheeks, and she stilled instantly, more from surprise at the contact than anything else.
“Leyna, is it?”
His blue eyes were striking as they met hers, and she quickly looked down. “Yes.”
“Leyna, everything will be alright. You’re not in a good way, it’s true, and your injury is severe…but it’s nothing I can’t heal, if you let me.”
His voice was strangely calming, but it wasn’t enough to override her anxiety. The sharp pain that radiated from her ear down to her jaw was too much to ignore.
“Let go,” she said sternly, summoning as much authority as she could muster.
She must have been persuasive, because the wizard took his hands away, and she reached up to touch her face gingerly. The left side was much bigger than the right and felt puffy and numb. But as her hands explored near her jawline, she felt a jagged unevenness. There was something hard and sharp, and her skin was stretched tightly over it. To her horror, she realised that the sharp hardness was…
She swallowed. “Is that…?”
“Yes,” finished the wizard. “It’s bone. You have a broken jaw.”
A whimper escaped her lips.
“Show me,” she said, failing to keep the fear from her voice.
“Are you sure?” he asked, an eyebrow arching.
Leyna nodded.
The man procured a small mirror, which he held up for her to see.
“I…” She choked, her throat tight and her eyes welling with tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of the stranger, but the sight of her misshapen jaw made her want to curl up into a ball. A vision flashed in her mind of the ground hurtling towards her before she slammed against it. “Did you see me fall?”
“Shh, everything will be alright,” said the man. “Try to relax. I’ll heal this for you now. It will be like it never happened.”
“Wait…you’re going to heal me?” His words halted the frightened sob that had been threatening to escape from her mouth, which was as uncomfortable as a suppressed sneeze.
The man smiled patiently. “We’ve been over this, already. Healer Helene is busy with other patients, so you’ll have to make do with me.”
“Other students?”
“Yes. Mostly cuts and bruises—but poor Mary has a bad burn, and Jeffrey is determined to bleed out on us. Although, on the plus side, he does have both his feet reattached now.”
Leyna grimaced before she could stop herself. The movement set off a new burst of pain, triggering a dull ache that lingered. Looking the man up and down, she said: “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
He flashed a charming smile. “Of course.”
She assessed the man warily. She didn’t recognise him as anyone she had ever seen before, but his clothes were too fine for a healer.
“Are you even a wizard?” she asked sceptically.
“Yes. Are you?” he retorted.
She bit her lip. Theoretically, she was nearly a wizard. She had been training at the Wizarding Guild for seven years. If she could pass all her final exams, then she could graduate and become a fully qualified wizard. She was so close.
“Well?” he prompted.
“No, not yet.”
“Then I’m the best you have.”
Which must have been his roundabout way of saying that he was a wizard.
“Have you ever had to heal an injury like this before?” she asked.
The wizard crossed his arms and smiled as if he found the question amusing.
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’”
“I’ve never healed a broken jaw in a woman before.”
“Is that…different to healing one for a man?”
He shrugged, but the corners of his lips twitched. “Probably not.”
She leant to look past him to where Healer Helene was in the middle of what looked like a surgery, assisted by another healer.
“Well?” he prompted. “What’ll it be?”
Leyna sighed. “Fine. Do it.”
“Good. Now, this won’t hurt—I’ll be gentle, but the healing spell will take a while. And I need you to stay still so I can concentrate. Do you understand?”
She gave a small nod, and he moved close and placed one hand on the side of her face whilst the other supported her lower jaw.
“And I think we’ll start by restoring your short-term memory,” he murmured under his breath. She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he was standing in her space, close enough that she could smell his scent, and it distracted her; it was strange, the sort of expensive cologne that a nobleman would wear, but there was something smouldering underneath that she couldn’t quite identify. Sitting on the bed, she was eye level with his chin, and she focused on the embroidered collar of his doublet to avoid his gaze. But then he grasped her chin and tilted it upwards, so they were face-to-face, and she couldn’t help but meet his eyes. The piercing blue irises glittered, the intensity making her breath catch, and she quickly averted her eyes.
He began to mutter as the healing spell began, and she glimpsed blue tendrils of light swirling in front of her before she had to close her eyes against the brightness. She knew from having seen healing spells performed at the Guild that the blue light would lace over the wound and settle there, gradually turning gold and gleaming like sticky honey before crystallising. The greater magic was happening internally, although she only had a vague concept of this. She had only ever learnt the basics in healing class, and had dropped the subject as soon as she could, opting to focus on combat spells instead.
She had never been any good at healing spells, mostly because the professor who taught the subject had bullied her. The classroom environment had made concentrating difficult, and healing spells were already daunting to master—they were complex and took a great deal of patience to perform…and patience was not one of her virtues.
The minutes passed, and every now and then, she would steal a glance at the wizard through her eyelashes, wondering who he was. He had a long, angular face that was not unhandsome, and the bright magic illuminated his features with a blue glow. Foppish hair was combed to one side in an aristocratic style, and a few wavy strands had escaped to fall across his forehead, which was tensed in concentration as he muttered under his breath.
She began to feel the effects of the spell. Things were shifting internally, and slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to recede.
As she did her best to sit motionless, the sound of men talking outside the tent reached her ears. Their voices were hushed as if they were intent on keeping their conversation private, but the cotton fabric of the tent wall provided poor insulation for sound.
“—not going to disqualify him.”
“Of course, they’ll disqualify him,” said a baritone, self-important voice. “I may not know any magic, but I know that Renegade spells are illegal.”
“Not illegal, Captain. Just frowned upon by the wizarding community.”
“It amounts to the same thing. No doubt they’ll expel him as well.”
A pause. Both of the voices were male, and it was obvious that they were talking about Quinn. Leyna could have sworn that the baritone voice belonged to Captain Marton, captain of the Royal Guard at Rutherford Castle. The other, she couldn’t place at all, but it sounded younger and had more finesse.
“Captain Marton, you know as well as I do that the steward won’t be pleased if his son isn’t recruited to the Royal Guard.”
The captain gave a bark of laughter. “He can go ahead and not ‘be pleased’ all he likes. That boy did this to himself. Anyway, what’s the point of offering his son a position if the Wizarding Guild expels him?”
