Page 6 of Alchemy of Souls

“Begin casting,” Chancellor Stone says in a disinterested tone.

I hold my hands out with a deep inhale and begin humming, channeling my magic through my fingers and directing it to my will. I focus on the stage floorboards, bending them and pulling like a vacuum hose. My song guides the magic, and like a teardrop falling in reverse, a square of wood the size of my hand pops through the floor and hovers in the air, leaving the boards below it undisturbed. A small thrill shoots through me, because the first hundred times I did this spell, I broke the floor.

So far so good.

Alchemists don’t create mirages like illusionists; we transform one thing into another, using our environment as our canvas. I send the wooden block higher until it’s hovering at eye level, pinching and shaping it with my spell, throwing my very being into crafting its beauty. I give it a rosebud lid and carved sides, a polished interior and smooth hinges. And when it drops into my palm, perfect and complete, I stop singing, my chest swelling with pride.

My eyes flash to my best friend. As our gazes meet Maggie throws her fist victoriously in the air. I feel her joy as if it were my own.

But with her cheer, also comes scoffs. “Is that it?” and “A tiny box? Does it even do anything?”

As quickly as my pride swelled, it now stings. My spell isn’t flashy like the others, but it’s complex and detailed and I’m proud of it. Still, I’ve never felt so vulnerable, my raw need laid bare as Iface down the biggest moment of my life. There is no reapplying. There are no second chances.

The discernment spell starts to swirl, tendrils of light wrapping around my legs and tickling the skin of my hands and face. It swirls faster, moving up into the air above my head.

Please.

Please.

I’ll do anything.

I crane my neck upward to follow the course of the spell—wishing, hoping,needing.

I appeal to that mythical part of the spell that’s said to be sentient. I tell it that it’s BS so many kids from Laboring families are cast aside. I tell it I’m worthy. We all are. Our society is broken and so are its wards, and I promise that if it gives me a shot, I’ll do everything in my power to change that.

Suddenly, the spell stops. Only it’s not a symbol that’s formed above my head but a hazy globe of light, unspecific and unformed.

My heart pounds at the strangeness of it. Is it possible the spellheard me? And I don’t know why, but I have a profound urge to reach above my head to touch it. Only as my fingers graze the warm swirling light, people around me startle, like it’s theMona Lisaand my hand’s covered in motor oil.

Is she trying to interfere with the spell?

Embarrassing. What does she think is going to happen?

As their words register, I realize with sudden clarity that my action must look unhinged. That this spell belongs entirely to the High Mages, and that it probably didn’t hear my plea any more than the floorboards did. Embarrassment blooms in my chest and I yank my fingers back from the enchanting sparks of light.

There’s a rustling behind me from the High Chancellor shifting inhis chair, and suddenly the discernment spell starts moving again. Rushing to form an image as though it were making up for lost time.

My entire future.

My family’s safety.

The lights reveal their shape.

For a flash of a second, I cannot believe my luck. Because it’s not the spinning gear of the Labor Guild. It’s adragoneating its tail, representing the cyclical nature of all things—from life to ash and back again—the symbol of THE ALCHEMY GUILD.

I did it.

I actually did it!

My chest expands so quickly that my eyes brim. This is a win for Laborers. This is a win for my family. And the joy that follows is impossible to contain in my body. Without even intending to, I rain down glittering confetti onto the stage, pulled from the mica in the light fixtures.

CHAPTER 4Grayson

Very few things surprise me. But I’m so shocked right now that I barely register Naomi cursing next to me. I can name every single student in this auditorium who will get into Uni today, with only three maybes. I’ve made it a point to know. And Eloise Belrose definitely wasn’t one of them.

Also, that girl has balls of steel to mess with the discernment spell in front of my uncle and the High Mages. If circumstances were different, I’d laugh until I fell off this bench. Because good for her.

Even though my face is carefully neutral, my uncle flashes me a warning look, telling me the wily prick is once again reading my emotions and doesn’t find my amusement amusing. While I don’t share my uncle’s gift for seeing emotions, I’m able to scent them like a kind of magical synesthesia, something I’ve intentionally never told him. Or anyone.