The side door opened, and a wizard in a wheeled chair rolled into the room. Though the sleeves of his robe were decorated with master’s bars, he looked to be only three or four years older than the newling students. He had cinnamon hair, pale skin, and a bitter expression, as if he expected to be disappointed.

When he reached the base of the podium he swung forward two arm canes and levered himself out of the chair.

The foam of voices gradually settled into an awkward silence as the master struggled up the steps to the lectern and spread a sheaf of papers and a battered-looking book atop it. His amulet glittered in the sunlight cascading through the windows, a large quartz crystal shaped into a castle keep.

He didn’t call the roll, but his gaze whispered over the assembled students, resting on Han and Dancer for a long moment.

“You are—ah—Dancer and Alister, I presume,” he said, looking down and sorting through his papers. “I am Master Gryphon. I have the perilous and unfulfilling task of teaching spellcasting to newlings. How fortunate we are that this year’s newling class is so…exceptionally diverse. I feel quite…in context.”

Han stared at the master, unsure whether they’d just been insulted or if he was poking fun at himself.

Gryphon raised his eyes from his papers. They were a startling blue-green color, and when Han met his gaze, cold trickled down his spine. Despite the master’s unhealthy pallor, it was a handsome face, a poor match for the graceless body.

“Proficient Hadron tells me that the two of you traveled through Arden to come here. Arden is a dangerous place for anyone these days, but especially for charmcasters. Which raises the question: are you two stupid, unschooled, or merely foolhardy?”

Well. That was an insult for sure. Han couldn’t help looking at Micah, who gazed up at the ceiling, a faint smile curving his mouth.

Han kept his street face on. “I’ve had better ideas,” he said, shrugging.

Surprise flickered across the master’s face as some of the other students snickered. Then Gryphon’s gaze dropped to Han’s amulet, and his eyes widened. He looked up into Han’s face, studying him with a fierce intensity.

“Interesting that you would choose such a dangerous road, Alister,” he said finally. “It seems that you are not afraid of the dark.”

Han suspected he was not talking about the road through Arden at all.

“Well,” Han said, meeting that blue-green gaze, “sometimes there’s no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Gryphon said. Flipping open a thick book, he said, “Speaking of journeys, I asked you to read from Kinley, the twelfth chapter, where he discusses the challenges of traveling in Aediion. Kinley instructs us that…”