Taking a deep breath, Liska stepped in and found all the seats were full apart from a row at the back. As she walked further into the room, there was an instant hush, as if a boulder had suddenly dropped through the roof. The mages’ eyes locked on to her, following every step.

You will hold your head high. Her mother’s words echoed in her head, and she did just that, making her way to the back of the class without catching the eye of any staring mages. She pulled a chair out and sank into one of the empty desks, finding herself all on her own except for a scrawny-looking boy dressed in shades of brown. He had pale pink skin, overly big eyes and close-cropped, wispy blond hair. He looked like he’d been hidden in an underground cave for most of his life and had escaped just to sit in this sweltering, stinky classroom. But at least he wasn’t glaring daggers at her like the others.

‘I think we are all here now, so I shall begin.’ Master Ambrose’s voice trickled out over the class like a stream of wheezy syrup. The mages had all turned their attention back to their teacher, leaving Liska peacefully ignored. ‘Welcome to the first of seventy-three sessions on the historical, geographical and social history of Arborven. Let us start with the creation of the planet Skyra’s magical core, at least fifteen billion years in the past . . .’

Here we go, Liska thought as she made a pillow out of her arms on top of the desk. At least nobody will notice if I have a quick nap.

*

‘. . . and so, we come to the creation of the trees Quercus Divinus and Quercus Maleficius. Our Undrentree, for example, whose roots reach down to the well of magic energy at the centre of the planet, and its opposite in nature: Bitterblight, the shadow tree in the Rotlands which drains energy and creates harmful creatures in the form of seepers, shulks, gorgaunts, and so on . . .’

‘Excuse me, sir?’ For the first time in what seemed like three hundred years, Ambrose’s voice was interrupted by one of the children. Liska raised her head from her desk, trailing a string of dribble from her bottom lip. She had been having a dream about lying in the boughs of a dusty old tree full of fat orange-andyellow bumblebees that buzzed in her ears.

‘Yes?’ Ambrose squinted out at the rows of desks in front of him, seeming surprised to have had his droning interrupted.

The child with her hand up was a green-robed mossherder. One or two of the arbomancers tutted and shook their heads. ‘Excuse me, but my father said that Bitterblight and the Undrentree will destroy each other one day, and our city will end. Is that really true?’