Page 19 of The Prince's Curse

seven

Benjin

Benjin pulled his cloaktighter about himself as he hurried down the palace’s pristine stone corridor. He’d never felt so out of place before. His clothes were rags compared to those worn by the others he passed. His every step left a smear of mud on the polished stone tiles.

A pair of guards eyed him as he approached, and he averted his gaze, scuttling quickly past. It wasn’t until he’d turned a corner that he puffed out his held breath. He should be used to the constant mistrust levied against commoners by now, but it still stung.

Pausing to lean against the nearby stone wall, he tried to regain his bearings. Had the servant at the entrance told him to take a left here or another right? He couldn’t remember anymore.

Goddess’ mercy, what was he doing coming here in the first place? He so very clearly didn’t belong. He’d spent weeks scrimping and saving for a semi-decent pair of clothes thatwouldn’t look as worn and threadbare as his usual fare. But given the stares he kept drawing, it wasn’t enough. Something in his bearing or dress must’ve still marked him as lowborn—an outsider. Someone unworthy of sullying Ilthabard’s royal palace.

Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to continue walking.You belong here as much as anyone else, he scolded himself.The Grand Magus wouldn’t have put out an open call for a new apprentice if he didn’t want everyone to be able to apply.

Technically true, if perhaps not entirely accurate. Benjin had seen the rows of carriages during his long hike up the hill from the city of Revesole nestled at its base. Judging by the family crests he’d recognized, he’d guess the better part of the lesser nobility from across Ilthabard’s six provinces had flocked here to answer the Grand Magus’ call. Even if a commoner like Benjin wasn’t outright barred, what chance in the Void didhehave of being selected over all the other hopefuls?

He rounded another corner and stumbled to a halt, his stomach sinking as he took in the long line of young men and women lined up along the length of the hall. There had to be several dozen in total, all of them with the clothes and easy bearings of nobles. Many of their hands glowed with silvery blue trails of runeflame while they practiced their magic.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He shoved it down and took his place at the back of the line. The woman ahead of him gave him a single disdainful look before sniffing and pointedly turning her back on him.

As always, the dismissal rankled, but he ignored it. All that mattered was securing this apprenticeship. Forget the chance at a real magical education, though that was exciting enough of a prospect. The wages he’d earn even as a lowly apprentice would far outstrip what he could make performing odd jobs in Revesole. It would be enough that his mother wouldn’t need to keep struggling to make ends meet. And that meant he had to dohis best to impress the Grand Magus, no matter how awful his odds appeared.

One by one, the aspiring mages ahead of Benjin entered the ornate door at the end of the hall, and one by one, they left, frustration or anger etched on their faces. Seeing each dismissal gave Benjin the tiniest gasp of hope even as it also stoked his nerves. If these lords and ladies couldn’t impress the Grand Magus, how could Benjin possibly manage it?

The line shrank from a few dozen to ten, then only five. Benjin’s heart raced when he was the last waiting outside, certain the snooty woman who’d entered ahead of him would somehow secure the spot before Benjin himself had a chance.

This was what he got for running late…not that he’d had much of a choice. Unlike these nobles, he couldn’t just drop everything on a whim. He’d spent the morning hauling lumber for a handful of copper crugs, then had to fight his way through a crowd of beggars and protesters just to make it up the hill to the palace. Money was too tight and jobs too few not to seize every opportunity given to him.

When the woman stalked out and fixed Benjin with a savage grin, his heart plummeted. “Good luck, peasant,” she sneered, shoving past him. “After how that old coot tore me apart, I wish I could be there to watch him eviscerate you.”

Benjin glared after her, his fleeting hope returning when he caught the rigid set to her shoulders and processed her words. The Grand Magus hadn’t chosen her. He’d get his shot to prove himself after all.

Now, he just had to make it a good one.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the Grand Magus’ study. Despite his best effort to maintain his composure, he couldn’t contain his soft gasp and widening eyes. The carved-out tower overflowed with shelves of books, scrolls, and strange contraptions. His fingers itched to study each one and unlocktheir secrets. If the Goddess favored him, perhaps he’d someday have that chance.

“Thank you for coming,” a deep voice intoned wearily. “Please, stand in the runic circle and tell me your name.”

It took Benjin a moment in the cluttered space to identify the voice’s source. A surprisingly muscular man with neat white hair and purple eyes sat behind a desk shaped like a crescent moon. The man was draped in more jewels and silks than Benjin had ever seen on any one person, and the silver mark given to former students of the illustrious Arcanum gleamed on his neck.

Hurrying to do as the Grand Magus had ordered, Benjin centered himself within the faintly glowing runic circle in front of the desk. A dull tingle coursed over his skin amid a flicker of runeflame. Magic, obviously, though he couldn’t identify its purpose.

“It’s a Divination circle,” the Grand Magus said, answering his unspoken question. “Makes it easier for me to gauge your magical aptitude. Also makes it harder for you to lie without getting caught. Now then, what’s your name, lad?”

Benjin swallowed and cleared his throat. He hoped his anxious shifting wouldn’t interfere with the runes. “Benjin, Grand Magus, sir. Benjin Calwit.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Benjin. I am Grand Magus Dexil Hashture, though if you’re here seeking to become my apprentice, I assume you already knew that. This interview will consistent of two parts. First, I’ll ask you a series of questions designed to test your knowledge of runeflame. Then, I’ll assess your relative magical strength with several simple tests. Do you understand and assent?”

The entire spiel had the feeling of a well-rehearsed speech. The Grand Magus had likely given some version of it to the other applicants he’d already interviewed today. Wondering if theGrand Magus’ tiredness would count for or against him, Benjin nodded.

“Good.” Dexil settled back in his seat, studying Benjin with a dull spark of interest. “Now then, when did you first begin your study of runeflame?”

“When I was nine.” Benjin pictured the dim, dusty shelves with their alluring scent of leather and ink. “My mother worked for a local baroness. I discovered an old tome in her library and used it to teach myself a few basic cantrips.”

Dexil’s eyebrows rose. “Learning new spells on your own is dangerous, especially for an untrained child.”

Benjin shrugged, a hint of defensiveness entering his voice. “I didn’t have the benefit of fancy tutors, sir. I had to make do with what I had. Besides, I’d always felt a connection to runeflame, even before I studied any actual spells.”

The first genuine interest flitted over Dexil’s face. He straightened in his seat, peering more closely at Benjin. “Indeed. Well, far be it from me to question your eagerness to learn. Did any magic in particular stand out to you?”

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