With a snap the candle’s wick flared. Then, as in echo, the two lamp wicks began burning with a bright golden flame.

“Throw the thread of fire into the catch-fire,” said Drake. “Think of casting a line from a boat to the shore.”

The youth staggered, clapping a hand to his chest, and dropped to his knees choking. His face got very red. The lamp flames flared with such brilliance that I blinked. Then he toppled over, mouth open, tongue black, and a trickle of blood coming out of his ears.

Drake waved forward an attendant. “Dispose of him.”

Men dragged the body away as the others watched in silence.

“You never asked me,” said the third supplicant, a girl about Luce’s age.

Drake pulled off a glove. The skin was red and flaking, mottled with so many burn scars it was a wonder he could use his hands at all. He knelt and pinched out both flames. “I have nothing to ask you. The blacksmiths do not admit women to their guild. They teach them only how to lock away their fire. So either you will go home or you will try your luck.”

“Do you mean us to die?” she asked boldly. Maybe the darkness gave her courage.

“No, not at all. If you have the knack of casting off the backlash, I will train you to hone that skill and nurture your fire. But even the best-trained fire mage can die. And you must be willing to see others die, for if you make one mistake with your catch-fires, as you will, their bodies will be served as this man’s was.”

“My bridges are burned. My home will be here, or in the spirit world.”

She took in a sharp breath. The candle took flame. She sucked in a pained inhalation; I smelled a pinprick of ashy smoke. Light sparked in her eyes. Then a glowing thread spun out from her like an unwinding coil and streamed into the body of the nearest catch-fire. The man stiffened, arms rigid at his side, but the backlash was more trickle than roar.

The girl’s lips parted, and her eyes widened. Her hands raised to press at her mouth. The candle’s light danced along her pale skin. The rest of the world lay in shadow.

“Enough,” said Drake. “You have a light touch, as women often do. If you wish to walk this road, you may enlist.”

She dropped to her knees so abruptly I thought she was falling, but she was just stunned. The catch-fire relaxed as the backlash vanished. The candle burned on.

“Yes, that is my wish,” said the girl through tears.

“Remain here then, and assist with the hospital tomorrow. Under no circumstances attempt even to light a candle, not until we have had time to train you in the preliminaries.”