She took the next turn, following a narrower road that seemed to wind and twist for an eternity, through a rough neighborhood that smelled like the city ditch. Dirt-smeared faces peered out from unglazed windows, and a racking cough echoed from an open doorway.

Emry clutched her belongings tighter. Just as she was about to turn back, the road spilled open into a large and colorful market square.

Jugglers, buskers, musicians, and merchants jostled for space around an ancient stone column. Roads shot off in all directions, most looking far more agreeable than the one she had stumbled down. And beyond the column, at the end of a long lane lined with stately townhouses, sat Castle Camelot.

As she got closer, she could feel the hum of old magic swirling through its walls. The castle wall was forged from ancient spellcraft: impenetrable to conquering armies, and enchanted to prevent siege. Thanks to the wall, the castle was no remote military fortress. Instead, it was an impressive collection of buildings, some made from decorative brick and others from smooth stone, with paned glass windows and gothic spires, all arranged in neat squares around a series of courtyards. There were more chimneys than she could count, turrets with weathervanes, turrets with gargoyles, and atop it all, a single crimson flag, its golden wyvern catching the sun.

Emry approached the timbered gatehouse, her heart pounding.

This is it, she thought, taking a deep breath to quell her nerves. Act I, Scene I: Enter Emmett Merlin, an overconfident country lad with a talent for magic.

Two guards slouched outside, sweating under their metal helmets in the summer heat. When they spotted Emry, they snapped to attention, crossing their halberds to block her path.

“I’m Master Ambrosius’s new apprentice.” She held out the scroll for inspection, and one of the guards snickered.

“You’re a wizard?” he asked, not very nicely.

“What else would I be?” Emry raised an eyebrow.

“A stable boy? You’re certainly dressed like one,” the guard said, making his friend laugh.

“At least I’m not strong as a mule but only half as clever,” Emry retorted, taking back her scroll and glaring until the guards stepped aside to let her pass. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I hate to keep the king waiting.”

Emry had arrived later than she’d hoped. The receiving courtyard was empty, and she didn’t know what to do. She finally managed to track down an annoyed-looking page, who couldn’t have been older than twelve. He led her through an opulent hallway and bade her wait as he vanished into the Great Hall, closing the doors behind him.