The walk up each step to the third floor filled James with dread, his feet falling heavier and heavier. The polished floors were clean enough that he could see his reflection in the shining wood. Reflexively, James tightened his hold on the bag of horseshoes.

  I do not want to be here. I do not want to see him.

  But each step took him closer and closer to the Master's study. James passed portraits of the Master, of the few graduates the Master was proud of, his accomplishments. Each one looked as though they were judging James as he passed. The feeling of dread grew like a rock in his stomach, heavier and larger with each passing moment. The joy of the morning and the glimpse of a new life felt so far away.

  I just want to be done with this place, with him. Even if he took me in and saved me after mom and grandad died. Is there something wrong with me?

  James reached the first set of large double doors into the study. He stood there, doubt and fear, locking his knees and gluing his feet to the ground. The carved owl of the knocker taunted him and judged him. James knew he could not leave until he had at least dropped off the horseshoes, but even knowing that was not enough to push him through the door. With a deep breath, he summoned all his courage and pushed the door open.

  The study was well-lit. Large bay windows dominated the west wall and poured light into the room, taking up nearly half of the third floor. Most people were astonished at the Master's study. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves required ladders to reach the uppermost sections. Small owl coves were built into the shelves. The hand-crafted tables and cushioned chairs for reading. None of them were occupied, and James got the distinct feeling they had been cleared out for this meeting.

  James' mind flooded back to the nights of disobedience, of beatings, of boys and girls being dragged from the room, bloodied and broken. James wrapped his arms around himself. The bag jingled against his waist.

  The Master stood, arms crossed, staring out the middlemost of the five windows. The Master's blue coat was thrown open, its tails waving in the breeze.

  James slowly approached, setting down the bag of horseshoes on the massive desk in the middle of the enormous room. Everything on the desk was organized and arranged meticulously.

  The Master turned at the sound. He scowled, his blue-green eyes alight with anger. The bag of horseshoes had misaligned a stack of paper, but on seeing it was James, he visibly relaxed and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair.

  "James, please sit. We have lots of things to discuss." The Master gestured to the empty seat. Before standing by his own, more a throne than a chair. Seemingly carved from a single piece of wood, inlaid with gold and silver.

  "Thank you, Sir, but Ser Edwin said I really must be getting back quickly. There is, uh, more work that needs doing." James shuffled his feet, unable to meet the Master's eyes.

  "You are lying, James." The Master walked around the desk, placing a firm hand on James' shoulder. The grip was like steel, the fingertips digging in just enough to be uncomfortable. "I do not like it when the children lie."

  "I am not. I must be going." James did not look at the Master. His fingernails dug into his palms.

  I am finally free. He just wants me to stay, to go to the Imperium like all the others.

  "You should continue your lessons here. Ser Edwin cannot prepare you the way you need. The way the Imperium needs. Do you not want to help, to protect your brothers and sisters? I see the Dark ahead—it is coming for us all." The Master's hand grabbed James' face and turned it up toward him. His eyes were cold, like looking into a deep lake. "You know I brought you here after your family died. When you were all alone. I clothed and sheltered you, fed and taught you. In doing so, I have protected you from the cruelty of the Wyld Lands and the creatures that live there. From being alone."

  "I must go, Sir. Please let me leave. Ser Edwin expects me back." James tried to pull away, but the Master's fingers were locked tight around his face. The dark center of the Master's eye bored into James. Clawing at him like a hunger that was never sated.

  After a few painful minutes of silence, the Master released James' face, throwing him back. James stumbled and grabbed at the chair to steady himself.

  "Be gone, you ungrateful child. You will not be welcome back. I suggest you say your goodbyes." The Master turned back to the open window, folding his arms once more. Clasping his hands behind his back.

  James rushed from the room, tears stinging his eyes. He could not tell who he ran past; the uniforms blurred together. James slipped more than once on the slick floors, only barely managing to catch himself. He could hear the whispers as he ran.

  "Is that James? Where is he going? I heard the Master was to expel him."

  "James! Stop! I'm not keeping up with ya. You always be faster den me!" Max's voice was frantic and breathless. It cut through the pain in James' chest.

  James was outside the door to his old dormitory. His frantic run had taken him down the path it remembered, even if he did not. He shared the space with the other older boys. A few were sprawled on their beds. Some stood or sat, going about the business of the day. He walked slowly down the aisle to where he had spent most of his life and flopped onto his old bed. The tall bare walls, the itchy wool blanket, the musky stink. All of it was familiar but not comforting. James shielded his eyes with his arm from the light poured in from the window at the end of the dorm.

  "Er, you okay?" Max said, sitting down next to James. "Master bit much, ya? If we do fine, we survive. At least he didn't hit ya this time."

  Max socked James in the shoulder. Drawing a small groan.

  "He did not have to, Max. He threw me out." James held the tears back, but his voice cracked all the same. "I will not be here to cover for you."

  "Dontcha worries 'bout me, I will be fine. In six months, I be outta this place anyways. Imperium gonna come through and snatch us screwups up." Max stood up and kicked James' boot, extending a hand to help him up. "Whatcha say we go say a proper bye to the littles? Think they will miss you the most. Ya."

  "You're probably right," James said, taking Max's hand. Sparing one last look around. Surprised, there wasn't anything he'd miss from this room. "Maybe Ser Edwin or Miss Silvia can take you in. Before the Imperium."

  "Ser Edwin only ever takes one apprentice, and that's you. I ain't got the witch's magic. Master woulda seen to that." Max pulled James to his feet.

  James let himself get pulled up. "True enough, I guess. Imma still ask them."

  The walk to the nursery was not far from the dorms.

  James always found the small room comforting, with its bright colors and simple shapes on the wall. The smell of lavender and the near-constant humming of Miss Abby.

  There were only two littles at the moment—a small boy named Luke and his twin, Maria. Their parents had died from a sickness nearly a year ago, so the Master had taken them in.

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  "JayJay! JayJay!"

  They screamed as he walked into the room. No older than three, the two threw their little arms around James' legs. He bent to grab each of them in a hug. A grin split his face. No matter how he felt, these two always made him feel bigger than he was. Like if they could find happiness here, so could he.

  Max snuck inside during the commotion and knelt next to Luke. "I got something for ya and your sister, but don't let Miss Abby see." Max pulled two sugar cubes from his pocket and handed them to the twins. The grins they gave Max lit up their whole little faces before they shoved the treats into their mouths. James and Max laughed under their breath, trying not to draw Miss Abby's ire.

  "Don't ya be giving those two more sugar, Maximus. They are already hard enough to be getting to sleep as is." Miss Abby smacked the back of Max's head, having seemingly appeared from thin air. "James, dear, give me a hug."

  "Heya, Miss Abby." James stood, the littles still twined around his legs and hugged Miss Abby. "I will be leaving today and won't be able to come around anymore."

  "So I heard. Good on you, lad, for getting out of here. The Master does what he can, but it is not for everyone." She held him tight for a moment longer than what was proper before pulling away. Still holding onto his shoulder, she gave him an up and down, dusting off his shirt. "Ser Edwin's already putting ya to work. Good for him. A little honest work would be good for ya."

  She let him go, spinning to glare at Max, who had knelt down, handing something to the littles again. She smacked the back of his head once more. Max only grinned.

  "He is. There's something to making something from nothing, ya know." James grinned, watching them, his heart feeling lighter.

  "Can't say that I do, but I know you boys, and that seems just like the thing you be needing. Come here, you two." Miss Abby picked up the littles, carrying one on each hip to the cribs at the side of the room. "It is time for your naps."

  "Naps aren't for an hour," Max said, checking the cuckoo clock on the wall.

  "Naps be now, Maximus, so you both best be going." She pulled a wooden spoon from her apron. The gulp of panic Max uttered signaled that it was time to leave.

  "Be safe out there, lad. May the Mother watch over you." James let out a long sigh and said a silent prayer to the Mother. That she would keep the littles and Miss Abby safe while he was gone.

  The boys walked in silence down to the first floor, past the portraits of more students, more trophies, to the Master's ego. And out the side entrance before either said a word. The gates loomed up ahead, and Max kicked at the dirt. The boys both slowed in their walk. Forcing James' departure off for a little longer.

  "I see ya tomorrow. Master can't keep all the doors locked." Max's voice was hopeful, but his head was down, his shaggy hair hanging in his face.

  "I don't know about that, Max. Ser Edwin will probably have me working sunup to sundown." James kicked at a dirt clod, not wanting to meet his friend's eyes. "I am sure I will see you, though."

  "You will see me tomorrow." Max's words were more confident. He grabbed James by the shoulders just inside the gate.

  "Promise me!" James met Max's eyes, his face mirroring the other boy's goofy grin.

  "Okay, fine. I will see you tomorrow," Max said, grabbing hold of his friend and squeezing tight.

  Ser Edwin was waiting for James. His arms crossed and hammer in hand. The older man's face relaxed with relief at the sight of James kicking a rock down the road. Ser Edwin walked to James and placed his hand on his shoulder. The light was low, casting Ser Edwin's shadow large against the forge.

  "Good work, boy, thought you got lost or something happened to you. Was about to come looking." With a pat on the back, he pushed James towards the house. "I'm glad you're back. Meals on the table."

  "I'm sorry, Sir. The Master he…"

  "None of that now! Food ain't getting any warmer, I put it on the hearth to keep it warm." Ser Edwin didn't wait for James and pushed past into the house. As he slowly followed the older man into the house, James was taken aback by the kindness once more. True to his word, a plate was warming on the stone hearth. Mashed potatoes, a green leaf-shaped vegetable James hadn't seen before, and a whole sausage. James's stomach growled at the feast before him. Ser Edwin let out a bark of a laugh, and James nearly jumped from his skin. Ser Edwin pulled another sausage from the fire, this one still popping and sizzling, and placed it atop James's potatoes. The smell of which sent James's stomach growling once more.

  James watched Edwin cut a new sausage from where they hung and skewered it over the fire.

  "Eat up. We still have your schoolwork that needs doing before bed."

  "My what?" James said around a mouthful of sausage.

  "Your reading and sums, history too if we have time," Edwin said, squatting by the fire, slowly rotating the cooking meat. "Your mind is as much a weapon as your body or the sword you wield, boy."

  James began to wolf down his food, nearly choking on it. It was all so good, better than he'd eaten in a long time.

  "Slow down, boy, it's not a race." Ser Edwin pulled his stool closer to the fire to warm his hands.

  "Sorry, sir," James said around a mouthful of potatoes. "If you didn't eat fast, someone else would take it off your plate."

  There was never enough food at the Master's house. Builds character, he used to say.

  Ser Edwin grunted at that, filling his plate with a heap of potatoes and retrieving the sausage from the fire. They ate silently for a time, James willing himself to eat slowly, to not break the trance Ser Edwin seemed to have fallen into. After what felt like an hour, Edwin finished his meal and stood, his eyes not leaving the dancing flames.

  "Okay. Back outside. I'll light the lanterns." Edwin moved slowly, grabbed a long coat off the hook by the door, and hung up his apron in its place.

  James shoveled the last mouthful of potatoes into his mouth and followed. Even cold, they tasted good. The summer cold bit at James's arms and neck. True to his word, Ser Edwin lit small lanterns around the sandpit they had trained in.

  "Sir?" James said, unsure what to do or if he had done something wrong at dinner. "I thought we were to learn maths and things."

  "We are." He tossed James the same training blade from earlier. "But I want you to work through the motions I showed you while I ask you questions."

  "Sir?"

  "Do as I said!" Ser Edwin's words were a bark, his grey eyes fixed hard onto James, who nearly dropped his blade.

  "Yes, sir." James took what he hoped was the first position.

  "Good. Tell me the sum of five and five, boy." Ser Edwin circled James, adjusting James's stance with the tip of his own practice blade.

  "Ten, sir." James moved to the second position.

  That was easy.

  "What is six groups of six?" THWACK, Ser Edwin slapped James's knee, which was bent awkwardly out of position. James let out a small whimper of pain.

  "Um. Thirty-six, Sir." James adjusted his stance to bring his knees more in line with the movement to the third position.

  What is the point here?

  "Good. Spell your name." Ser Edwin kicked James's foot, and he fell to the ground, the wind leaving his lungs and the practice blade falling from his hand. Edwin was over him in a heartbeat. His own practice blade swinging down, James flinched. Something tickled the back of his mind. THWACK. Pain brought him back to the moment. Pain throbbing through his chest from Ser Edwin's blow. "Spell your name."

  “J. A. M. E. S. Sir.” There were tears in his eyes, and pain radiated up his side from where Ser Edwin had struck him.

  "Good." Offering him a hand up, Edwin pulled James to his feet.

  "Why…" Edwin cut off the question before he could ask it.

  "Because the movement should become second nature. When you are done, your body should know these movements without any prompting from your mind. So if we can distract your mind, your body will be forced to learn it on its own." Ser Edwin's eyes were dark as they locked with James's.

  "Yes, sir." Was all James could say, dropping his head. Not sure what Ser Edwin meant.

  But James didn't have time to dwell on the uncertainty. Ser Edwin tested him on the knowledge of the town, his geography of the region, and the plants that grew in the wild. Each time, James was made to move, react, and force his body into the proper stance. Most of the time, James knew the answer, but when he did not, Ser Edwin would pause the blade work to explain, drawing pictures in the sand if needed. James learned of the mountains and forest surrounding Oakwood and reached into the Imperium and the Wylds. His mind drank it up like water to a sponge.

  "It's okay if you don't fully understand. We have time for you to learn. Do the full pattern ten more times before you come in." Turning with a weary smile and a hand against his lower back. Ser Edwin put his blade away and returned to the house, leaving James to work through what had been said.

  The motions were hard to get right, each one needing control. Swing step, swing step, swing step. James imagined he was fighting a monster from the stories, a ghoul come to take him away to a horrid fate.

  He heard it before he saw it.

  A figure, hunched, hooded, and covered in blood. It reached out a hand with fingers that bent in the wrong directions.

  "James…"