Shouts and screams broke the tense silence as big, colorful jungle birds appeared all over the classroom—perching, flying, ruffling their feathers. But strangely, they made no sound. Yenni reached out to touch the large, bright blue bird that now blinked at her from on top of her desk, and her mouth dropped open as her hand passed right through it. Slowly, the bird faded. She glanced up at Devon. The runelight had left his eyes.

The class jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering, and Devon gave a bow.

“Teach us!”

“Show us how to draw the rune!”

“Come on, Professor!”

As the rest of the class begged Devon to teach them the rune, a sinking feeling invaded Yenni’s stomach. No, no, this isn’t right.

Devon held up his hands for silence. “Brilliant, isn’t it?” he said. “The Masters among the Watatzi can create sound, smell, even the sensation of touch! It’s a step above Ibeena’s Sensory Illusion, wouldn’t you say? I’ve always found that having to speak a spell aloud to create an illusion took away from the overall effect. It removes that element of surprise. No matter how powerful the illusion, the intended target will always know they are in fact in the grip of something false. But this, walking into an illusion unawares . . .” He shook his head. “This rune alone may explain why the Watatzi, while so close to Cresh, escaped the worst atrocities of the Colonial War.

“But regretfully, this particular rune is not a part of the curriculum, so legally I can’t teach you how to draw it yet. Even today’s demonstration might get me into some trouble. But I am, first and foremost, a proponent of knowledge, and I believe you, the bright minds of the future, have a right to know what’s on the horizon, magically speaking.”

The others groaned their disappointment, but Yenni stood. “Professor Devon,” she said slowly, “how did your mentor come to learn this rune?”

“Ah, well.” Devon suddenly looked uncomfortable. “He’s spent the last three years visiting the Watatzi, you see, practically living among them, learning their ways, until finally he was able to get close enough to observe their Masters in action as they painted their royalty.”

“Able to . . .” Yenni stared at him, horrified. “Are you saying he spied on the Watatzi Masters and stole one of their hidden runes?”

“Knowledge cannot be stolen, Yenni Ajani. It should be available to all.”

Yenni simply stared at him. Professor Devon had always seemed so amicable—overzealous, yes, but he was one of the few Creshens who seemed to appreciate her culture. But perhaps it was because he was Creshen that he couldn’t understand the gravity of what his mentor had done. Very well, she would have to explain it to him.