She’d been at it all afternoon, and she was exhausted. Master Ambrosius was pushing her, making her fight to master the magic. And while she wanted dearly to fall into bed and sleep for a week, she could feel herself improving. So she supposed it was worth the effort.

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her remaining strength. Sleeping draught, she thought. Ingredients? Valerian. Lavender. Not too much valerian.

“Mætan,” she whispered. The spell shot from her wand, leaving her light-headed and panting. She held her footing, though, with just the slightest wobble.

“Well?” she gasped. The canary was so far away that she couldn’t even tell if the spell had landed.

“Bull’s-eye!” The old wizard applauded, and Emry grinned with relief, swiping the back of her hand under her nose.

It came away red with blood. If she wasn’t so drained, she would have laughed, because she’d always thought a bloody nose from spellwork was an old wizards’ tale, and not an actual thing that happened.

“Again?” she asked warily. She wasn’t sure she could manage it, and the last thing she wanted to do was overtax her magic and pass out.

“No, you’ve earned a break,” said Master Ambrosius. “And from the look of things, you need one.”

She sank gratefully into the nearest chair, trying to shake off the dizziness. She swiped at her nose again, but the bleeding had stopped.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and then Arthur poked his head through the doorway. He was wearing his circlet, she noticed. And a fine blue jacket with gold embroidery. His dark hair was freshly combed, and he looked even more handsome than usual. Gawain was definitely getting to him. It was amusing watching Arthur brood over the arrival of his arrogant cousin.

“Merlin?” he called uncertainly, taking in the stack of books on the battered wooden table.

“Over here,” Emry groaned.

Arthur’s shadow fell over her. “Wild night at the tavern?” he teased, lips twitching as he held back a smirk.

“The brothel, actually,” Emry replied.

Arthur arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

“For your information, I’ve been driven to the brink of exhaustion casting sleeping spells,” Emry said hotly. “On canaries.”

Arthur snorted.

“It’s not funny,” she scolded.

“It’s hilarious,” Arthur corrected, grinning.

Master Ambrosius handed Emry a mug of warm, pungent liquid.

“Drink this,” he instructed. “All of it.”

Emry took a sip of the bitter drink and made a face. It tasted even worse than it smelled.

“Holy basil,” Arthur hazarded. “And roseroot?”

The old wizard nodded.

“Show-off,” Emry muttered, taking another traumatizing sip. “Ugh. This is foul.”

“So is the headache you’ll have if you don’t finish it,” warned Master Ambrosius.

“Well, bottoms up,” Arthur said cheerfully, pausing for effect. “Tomorrow, we undertake a great quest.”

“Do you have to be so dramatic?” Emry swallowed down another terrible mouthful.

“A quest?” asked the old wizard curiously.