A Burst of Uncontrolled Magic

He risked a glance at his companions. Their faces were masks of pure incredulity, all of them staring at him as if he’d just sprouted wings. Aidan’s jaw hung open. A knot of shame and fear tightened in Wells’s stomach, and he quickly averted his gaze, forcing himself to look at the crowd. They were all staring, whispering amongst themselves. A woman with long, dark hair leaned over and murmured something to the burly man beside her; he nodded, startled, before pointing a thick finger directly at Wells’s ring.

A hand clamped down roughly on Wells’s shoulder. It was Cirus. "Follow me," he commanded the others, his voice sharp. He began steering Wells away from the still-gaping crowd and toward a white stone wall that rose fifty feet into the air, where a dozen guards stood at attention. Cirus flashed his own ring, and one of the guards gave a curt nod. They were ushered through a pair of wide, green-painted gates into the city proper, and Cirus guided them into a shaded alcove just inside the wall.

“I wish you had not done that,” Cirus said, his voice quiet and strained as he released his grip on Wells.

"It's not like I could help it," Wells shot back defensively. "I just got angry."

"Precisely," Cirus replied. His gaze was piercing as he stroked his beard, chewing on his lip in thought. "Wells, you must learn emotional discipline. Now that you wear a ring of power, your feelings have consequences in the world."

"You could have mentioned that sooner," Wells grumbled. "Then at least I wouldn't have… done that."

To his surprise, a small smile touched Cirus’s lips. "Well," he conceded, "it does prove you possess a considerable amount of latent magical talent. If you can be taught to harness it, you will make a fine wizard indeed."

The others, however, continued to stare at him as though he had grown a second head. "What?" he snapped at them.

"That was just—" Juliana began, then faltered, unable to find the words.

"Weird," Aidan finished for her. "That was weird."

"Weird for you?" Wells let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I guarantee you, it was a thousand times weirder for me."

"Come," Cirus said, interrupting them. "We must press on."

Inside the city walls, Tor Alian was surprisingly orderly. The first two-thirds of the city, which converged around the main gate, were dedicated to commerce. Streets were arranged in a neat grid, lined with hundreds of shops, merchant stalls, and inns. The final third of the city, Cirus explained, was purely residential. Crowning the city’s heart were the Royal Castle and the Great Library.

Cirus led them down one of the bustling thoroughfares before making a series of turns—left, right, then left again. They passed more vendors, though the stalls here were of a much higher quality, displaying craftsmanship that would have been admired back in Harrow Haven, even if they sold goods no one from his world would ever want. Some merchants were particularly aggressive, but Cirus simply brushed past anyone who tried to solicit their business.

An elderly merchant with grasping fingers sidled up to them. "Just imagine how these pearls would grace your neck, my pretty," he crooned, reaching out to stroke a lock of Alexa's hair. "A perfect match for a perfect girl."

"Merchant!" Cirus’s voice was a sudden crack of thunder that cut through the street’s cacophony. "I am Lord Cirus Crewe! I, along with Jonas Baker, saved the Order of Sorcerers from ruin! If you possess a shred of common sense, you will take your hands off that girl!"

The merchant’s eyes darted to Cirus’s hand. The Ring of Resolve was pulsing with a low, menacing light. The man blanched and fled into the crowd. After that, they were not harassed again.

At last, Cirus stopped before a two-story stone building. A sign bearing a crude painting of a needle and thread hung over the door, identifying it as a Tailor’s shop. He opened the door and ushered them inside.

The main room was filled with the musky, unmistakable scent of old wool and cats. Towering piles of fabric in every conceivable color dominated the back of the space, while finished garments hung from pegs along the walls. Beyond the fabrics, a staircase led to the upper floor. A short, perpetually flustered man, with a fringe of gray hair ringing a bald pate, was descending the stairs, deep in one-sided argument. He was followed by a retinue of no fewer than six cats.

"No, no, no, I will not have it, Luna," the man fussed, bending to scoop up a tabby as he reached the bottom step. "You are not to chase your mother. She is with child."

Cirus cleared his throat loudly. "Anvel."

The man, Anvel, looked up. As the tabby squirmed free from his arms, his eyes widened in astonishment. "Cirus?" he breathed. "Astalor's hoof, Cirus, you’ve come back to Tor Alian!"

"For the time being, yes," Cirus said conversationally.

Anvel bustled past his feline companions and gave the wizard a warm handshake. "It is so good to see you!" he exclaimed. "But why have you returned? When last you left, you seemed determined never to set foot in this city again."

"Yes, it is good to see you as well, Anvel," Cirus said. "And as you might recall, on my last visit, His Majesty was determined to make me his court magician. Fortunately for all of Anolin, King Haelen has been given time to mature."

"Yes, quite fortunate," Anvel muttered darkly. Only then did he seem to notice Cirus's companions. "And who are these children? And why are they so bizarrely dressed?"

Just as Aidan opened his mouth to speak, Cirus moved swiftly and stamped down hard on his foot. "Ah, my young charges. These children are from the Burning Plains, you see, Anvel. They require clothing more suited to the climate of Tor Alian. Can you assist?"

Anvel's gray eyes darted over the six of them, taking in every detail from head to toe. Finally, he seized Juliana and Alexa by the arms and pulled them forward. "I have two dresses that should fit these young ladies," he announced, leading them toward the back of the shop. He plucked two gowns from a rack—one green, one red—and handed them to the girls before brusquely pushing them through a doorway into a changing room.

"He's… interesting," Aidan observed. "Like a cat lady, but a man."

Nikolai ignored the nods of agreement from Vance and Wells. "Cirus," he said, "what did you mean about the king of Anolin being allowed to mature?"

"Ah," Cirus sighed, sinking onto a wooden bench near the door. "The last time I was in Tor Alian was when His Majesty took the throne, at the age of fifteen. He was…" Cirus paused, searching for the right word. “He was politically naïve,” he finished, choosing the word with diplomatic care. "That was fifteen years ago. King Haelen is a very capable ruler now."

They sat in silence until Anvel returned with Juliana and Alexa in tow. Alexa, Wells saw, now wore a scarlet dress with a golden horn emblazoned on the chest. Juliana wore the green one, which was marked with a different, unfamiliar crest. Anvel subjected them to a critical inspection.

"I suppose they look fine," he pronounced, straightening a sleeve on Alexa's dress. "Passable, at least."

"Thank you, Anvel," Cirus said with a pleasant smile. "Now, for the young men. The only special requirement is for this one." He placed a hand on Wells's shoulder. "He is to be my apprentice and will need the appropriate garb."

Anvel nodded. "Excellent. You, boy," he said, pointing at Wells, "wait here while I find something for the others."

The material of Alexa’s dress rustled as she sat on the bench. "My God, this dress is hot," she complained.

"What's it made of?" Wells asked, stepping closer to feel the sleeve.

"Wool, I think," she said. "Good thing it's September. It should get colder soon, so I won't mind how heavy this is."

Cirus looked up sharply. "It is not September," he said, a note of surprise in his voice. "Midsummer was three days ago."

"You mean it's the middle of summer?" Juliana looked down at her own heavy dress in disgust. "I'm going to get heatstroke in this stupid thing!"

Cirus frowned, a puzzled expression on his face. “That is odd,” he murmured. “When Jonas was here, our months always fell in line. The days were off, but never the months.”