Combat? This was all getting a bit too serious. I eyed her then glanced at the audience. Whether I was attacking or defending, I knew deep down I’d have no difficulty in besting her. It wasn’t ego. Anthea put her stock in rote-learned runes that had been taught by the Order for decades; I’d gone guerrilla. She wouldn’t expect anything that I threw at her. But if I let my pride get in the way and showed what I was really capable of, I reckoned some of the other witches would clamour for more action. Not just today, either; it was possible I’d be here at the Order for some time. I dreaded to think what it would be avoiding potential challengers for the next ninety-six days. If I proved to be the weakling they expected, I’d be left in peace. There was really no contest.

The witch from the first fight stepped forward, tossed his glinting coin and caught it. He addressed me. ‘Heads or tails?’

I shrugged. ‘Tails.’

He revealed heads. Even better.

‘If you’re still standing after I’ve attacked,’ Anthea said, ‘we swap places. We’re allowed to cast one rune each.’

I nodded to show I understood and banked down the temptation to check Winter’s glowering face. Don’t worry, I tried to project silently, this won’t take long.

‘Ready?’ Anthea called. ‘I’ll go easy on you, I promise.’

I smiled. She grinned back and started her first rune. Her movements were slow, at least compared to someone like Winter, and I knew before she was halfway through what she was preparing to do. The magic she was using was barely Neophyte level. As her fingers drew upwards in a sweeping motion, it was clear that she was conjuring up a ball to fling at my shins to knock my feet out from under me. To stop it, all I had to do was cast a simple wall. It would take barely a breath. I pasted on a dull expression and waited.

Anthea’s ball appeared five metres to my side. She had indeed progressed a great deal since we were teenagers; around double the size of a typical bowling ball, it was hurtling towards me with incredible speed. I furrowed my brow and concentrated. I had to get this just right.

Using jerky movements, I cast my defensive rune. There was a whistling sound as the air drew in around me. I slammed out the heel of my palm at the last second, pushing out a gust of air to knock the ball off course. Given the ball’s velocity, however, the energy I put into it wasn’t nearly enough. I half turned and it crashed into the side of my calf. Even if I’d wanted to stay upright, I doubt I’d have managed it. I just avoided sprawling face first by bracing my palms against the damp grass. There were a few huffs from the crowd; I was certain I caught at least one witch mutter, ‘I told you so.’