Page 107 of Alchemy of Souls

“But she’s… she’s little!” I protest. “How could she know those spells?”

Sage turns. “Because, unlike Mage society, we don’t start teaching magic in high school. We teach it as soon as a child can understand. And not just the spells the parents know. We all chip in to round out their magical education.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask, repeating what I was always told.

Sage shakes her head. “Anything can be dangerous. Picking up an object, for instance, if a child uses that skill to wield a knife. We guide and we instruct and we’ve never had a problem.”

“But then why don’t we do that?” I ask, this time looking at Grayson.

“I learned complicated spells when I was small, too,” he admits.

“What?” I reply like the word itself is pointed.

Grayson meets my gaze. “That’s not the worst of it,” he says.“Which is what my brother suspected that led him to go looking for the Lawless and meet Sage. It’s what changed his opinion about our uncle forever.” He pauses. “Eloise, magical ability solidifies in the teen years. We reach our full potential then, just like height.”

His words wash over me, the meaning of them threatening to drown me.

Grayson leans his elbows on his knees. “Kids who start learning early have an advantage. It’s the reason I’m proficient in all four magics and you have to work so hard at your one. We’re told magical ability is genetic and that’s why Laborers remain Laborers and Mage families produce children with more talent, but it’s all lies. There’s nothing separating Laborers from Mages except early training.”

My chest suddenly constricts. On a gut level, I know he’s telling the truth. I always felt the draw to magic from an early age that I couldn’t seem to satiate. I’ve worked so incredibly hard, fought for every inch of my magical ability, and it all could have been different. If I’d been given instruction as a kid, if I’d grown up in a house where people knew spells other than cleaning and woodworking, I might have beenGifted.

I stand up before I can think not to, pushing my flyaways back from my face.

Grayson collects my empty bowl, cleans all of our plates with a spell, and returns them to the stack by the fire.

“There’s something else you both need to see,” Sage says.

She leads the way to another tent, one that looks like hers.

“My mother’s out, placing spells for a hideout in case we have to run,” she says, and I realize that’s whose tent we must be in. “And while I know she’ll be pissed I’m showing you this without her, I don’t think we can afford to wait. Plus”—she turns to me—“you’re Charles’s granddaughter.”

“And who am I?” Grayson says, and Sage raises an eyebrow.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” she says, stopping in front of a simple wooden box and casting a complicated unlocking spell.

“I think you mispronounced ruggedly handsome,” he says.

Sage gives him a warning look as the lid pops open, and she lifts out a thin piece of leather with calligraphy on it.

I gasp. “That can’t be… Is thatthe rest of Brachan’s poem? How did you know?”

Sage’s eyes flick to Grayson. “Grayson told me you needed it.”

“A message you conveniently ignored,” Grayson says.

I pull the folded-up piece of paper I wrote the poem on from my pocket and Sage and I combine the two halves.

The Key

The Key, they say, is sentient wood,

For centuries, the hidden arch has stood,

It only appears when it so desires.

Through connection and the heart’s true fires.

Part I: The Heart of Courage