“Don’t change the subject,” he muttered. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about how you won’t—you never—” He shook his head, torn between frustration and bafflement. “Why can’t you stay satisfied for more than five minutes? I thought you liked making clocks.”

“I like it well enough,” she said, shrugging again. “But I want more than clocks.”

“And you’ll have more, won’t you? With Lady Grie as your patron, you’ll have—”

Remmie wasn’t a nubbin, he was just being contrary. “With Lady Grie as my patron I’ll do what Lady Grie wants. It won’t be about what I want.” Defiant, she stared at her brother. “And I want Elvado.”

“Oh, Barl.” Turning away, Remmie took hold of his long, ribbon-threaded braid and tugged. “I thought you’d abandoned that idea.”

“I did,” she said, glowering. “But now I’ve come to my senses.”

He rounded on her. “No, you’ve lost your senses. The College of Mages is out of your reach.”

She stamped her foot, as though they were both five again. “Says who? Remmie, three hundred years ago only First Family members were allowed to be mages. Would that have changed if someone like me had given up her dream as hopeless?”

“I’m not saying it’s fair,” said Remmie. “There’s no just reason for you to be kept from studying in Elvado.”

“No, and no hard-and-fast written rule, either. Under the College’s code, Remmie, which I’ve studied back to front and sideways, I have every right to be admitted as a student there.”

“I know,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “But Dorana is governed by unwritten rules too. Like it or not, Barl, First Families make the important decisions and that means no unranked mage will ever be recognised as worthy of a College place.”

She could hate him for being so easily cowed. “Remmie, you know my gifts. They’re your gifts too, if only you’d stretch yourself to use them. I am worthy of College acceptance. And if I have to shout until every stained-glass window in Elvado shatters, the mages who gatekeep the College will hear me. There’s greatness in me and I won’t let them ignore it.”

“There’s something in you. And all I can say for certain is it’s not modesty.” He turned away again, fingers linked around the back of his neck. “Barl, I wish you’d think about this.”

“I have. I’m going to petition the College to reconsider my application. I’ve got more experience now. Nearly three years worth.”

Remmie glared at her over his shoulder. “If you had ten years more experience, it still wouldn’t matter. You were foolish to apply the first time, and you’ll be just as foolish to apply again.”

He wasn’t going to talk her out of it. “So you say.”

“And I’m right. You’re being hopelessly naïve, Barl. This is all moonbeams and dreamdust. And when you’re turned down again? How long before you let the disappointment goad you into some foolish loss of temper? How long before you’re dismissed from the artisanry and we’re homeless again and traipsing from district to district in search of work you’ll accept?”