Florence turned to Frieda, who still wasn’t smiling or speaking. “It’s a simple procedure,” said Florence. “Frieda, just hand over the robe to Claire and declare her the new head mage, and the magic will transfer. And all will be good in the world again.”

Frieda stood in stony silence. She surveyed the people gathered there. There were many who had been praising her just minutes ago. Only a few close friends had joined her in her silent protest. She looked from face to face in the crowd, and then came around to Claire again. “You said a few months ago that you didn’t want to be head mage. That’s why you gave it to that terrible person, Aaron Stowe.”

Claire’s warm smile stiffened. “I changed my mind,” she said.

The crowd quieted and looked at one another uneasily. A few of them in the back started chanting, “We want Claire! We want Claire!”

Florence hushed them with a look, then turned back to Frieda. “Just hand her the robe,” Florence said again. “And say something that implies she’s the head mage now.”

Frieda crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t trust people who change their minds,” she said. “Besides, I’m the one who ended the threat from the Revinir, not her. I think it’s pretty clear who the natural leader is here.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. A few of the dissenters weighed their leader’s words and came back to Frieda’s side, now that they knew she wanted to stay.

“Frieda,” said Claire, trying a new tactic, “we’re all so grateful for the work you’ve done during this transition. Thank you. You definitely . . . played a part in . . . well, everything. But it’s best if the head mage is someone with leadership experience. And has an understanding of the inner workings of Artimé. And . . . is an expert at our magic. I think . . . I think we are all glad that the Revinir retreated, whatever her reason for doing so, and your part in that. But now that things have calmed down, it’s best to go forward with someone more . . . suited . . . for the job.” She stretched out her hand authoritatively, waiting for Frieda to give her Aaron’s robe.

Frieda Stubbs stared back at Claire. Then she snorted and turned in the doorway. “No,” she said, looking back at the crowd. “I won’t do it. I’m the best suited. Artimé is mine now.” She took a step inside, then shouted in a most annoying voice, “Simber!” She turned and retreated up the staircase to her room.

A few people followed her. The rest stood in stunned silence, staring after her through the open door. Seconds later the place erupted into bedlam again. Simber gave Florence a nasty look, then followed the head mage.

Claire dropped her arm to her side and looked at Florence. “What just happened?”