“Now,” said Bellamie Ranowen, who’d made no attempt to silence the whisperers, “repeat the incant after me, exactly as I pronounce it. Understood?”

The girl nodded, bottom lip caught between her small, perfectly even teeth. Even wreathed in embarrassment, she was beautiful, this Jordane daughter. But then why wouldn’t she be? Doubtless she took after her mother. Sons born into the best First Families had the pick of prospective wives, after all.

Since the power and energy of the sigil belonged to Student Jordane, Bellamie Ranowen’s recitation of the incant could not trigger the transmutation. Woodenly, the Jordane girl repeated the incant. Even with help her cadences were stiffly imposed. The girl was a blockhead. However had she managed to stay in College this long?

But then, the answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Morgan shook his head, disgusted.

Family. Connections. Always, always, it comes down to that.

Unsurprised, he watched the shuddering transformation of the crystal vase into a sprig of nartani. The incant worked well enough this time, but the change was laborious and the finished crystal flower looked oddly deformed.

More whispers and murmurs from the watching students. Scarcely seeming to notice, Student Jordane stared at her creation as though it were poison, or might spring to life and bite her.

Bellamie Ranowen parted her lips, seemingly on the point of asking the girl a question. Then she changed her mind. “Thank you, Student Jordane,” she said, nodding. “Although I think you’ll agree you don’t yet grasp the task’s subtleties. Less gossip and more practice, perhaps? You have until the morrow to muse on what you’ve just done. We’ll talk on it then.”

“Tutor Ranowen,” said the girl, a breath away now from open defiance.

“Good,” said Bellamie Ranowen, with a thin, restrained smile. “Take your seat.”

As she returned to her place, the girl’s furious, unsavoury thoughts were shockingly clear in her face. Morgan felt his hands itch to slap her free of them.

“And in case the rest of you are congratulating yourselves for escaping this little exercise,” Bellamie Ranowen added, frowning at the hall’s sea of student faces, “you will all be doing the same task in your own time, making sure, on the morrow, to present me with your transmuted crystal so I might gauge the effectiveness of your syllabic rhythms and incantic prowess. Now. Turning to the question of harmonically linked sigils…”

Even though he was sure he’d reached the correct conclusion, Morgan stayed to hear nearly all that remained of Bellamie Ranowen’s lecture. Nevin Jordane’s daughter was not called upon a second time. Three more students were singled out to perform exercises designed to illuminate the subject. All three easily outstripped Student Jordane.