Talia hadn’t stopped smiling all day.

She’d never gone to school before, unlike some of the eleven other young mages who had been chosen to be Blessed along with her. School, in Malek, was for children of poor farmers. They were instructed by teachers who didn’t know much past the borders of their own village themselves. It was a good establishment, and necessary, too, but people who hailed from families such as hers were educated at home by their parents and renowned tutors brought from all corners of the Kingdom.

Now, Talia wished she’d gone to a school in her youth. The atmosphere was positively enchanting to her. Although some of the other mages looked at her funny at first, she’d won them over.

“Just look at this!” she’d said at supper the previous evening, gushing over the multi layered cake they’d been served.

“It’s just a mille-feuille,” Guillaume rolled his eyes, acting like she was making a fuss of nothing.

She’d smiled and confessed, “There’s only one baker in the town where I’m from. My family travels to treat some of the nobles from all around the west, but it’s normally just my parents and my sister. Trust I’ll be excited by everything I see for the next few weeks. Sorry, you’ll just have to put up with me.”

Guillaume had been one of those who’d regarded her with suspicion at first; why, she wasn’t quite certain, but, by the end of the night, he was making sure she tried the best desserts. “You can’t skip the mousse, trust me on that one, little hick.”

‘Little hick’ was to be her name amongst her peers, who took pity on her unrefined self. Xandrie always said Talia could charm a stone; it appeared she may not have been mistaken.

Two girls knocked on her door that morning, bearing silken gifts.

“Your gray dress is depressing. Put it away and throw this over your underskirts.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” said she, but then Laya unfolded the dress she’d brought with her. Trudy shook the bundle of fabric in her arms, too, revealing a coat.

The girls were like her, mages, not fancy princesses, and the gifts they’d brought with them were of the practical kind. The dress was of a similar shape to what Talia was accustomed to wearing, but the deep, dark red wild silk, embroidered with silver trees, simply made her drool. The coat was black, with a pointed hood and many pockets. It was also lined with fur.

“It’s too hot down in the province of Riverun for me to ever wear something like this,” Trudy told her. “Mother had me pack it for the capital, but it’s also rather warm here. You may have more use of it in the west. And, well, your coat looks like you made it.”

She had to grimace. “My sister did.”

“Tell your sister she needs to find an alternate line of employment.”

She chuckled, turning to Laya. “So, you’re to tell me you have no use of this, either.”

Laya shrugged. “I could wear it, I suppose. But take it as an apology. One glance at you and I hated you because, well,” she waved in her general direction, “all this. Yet, you’re the least precious woman I’ve ever encountered. I’ll remember in the future. Prettiness doesn’t make other women wicked. Take it, and let’s be friends. I’ll be by your side when all the hunks float towards you. Who knows? I may just have a chance with the ones you dismiss.”

Talia blushed. She wasn’t accustomed to being called pretty; nor would any woman born under the same roof as Aleria. But, throwing her new dress on and admiring its fit in the mirror standing in her bedroom as Trudy tightened her back ties, she did, in fact, notice that she looked well.

But she wondered what they would have thought if they’d met Aleria, rather than her. No doubt Laya might have kept her dress to herself.

“You’ll let me thank you both for these,” she said, thinking of the gold in her purse. “I’ll owe you a gift.”

Both women were quite indifferent to the notion of being thanked, however.

“None of that between friends.”

Now, they sat next to her around a triangular table, listening to a master who told them of the history of their world. Not just what was common knowledge, but also the secrets that were kept from the common folks, like the great Rift between dragons and the rest of the world. Of that, Talia knew but little, yet she was even more fascinated by tales of the older world, the previous era. The tall, grave mage who spoke to them was too old for her to admit it out loud, but he was quite handsome, despite the fact that his beard and hair were completely white. His voice was deep, low and enticing. When they’d asked his name, he’d replied, “You may call me Tutor, for that is all I am here.”

Talia should have taken notes, but she was too stunned and enthralled to do much with her hands.

“Wait, you’re saying that the old architecture, in those dreadful, tall ruins, were houses?”

“And offices, and stores, yes. This world was very different back then. The wars that destroyed it would have entirely obliterated all life on earth, if humans had been left to their own devices. Thankfully, they were not. The gods that look over us, even as we speak, have never let any race destroy the world we all share irrevocably. Our world was saved by the one they call The Once and Future King. But I digress, and that is a longer story than we have time for today.” Talia pouted. She pouted, hard. But she wouldn’t be the one to interrupt a lesson to beg for more detail. Resolving to research the subject at another time, she stayed silent and listened. “We’re running through the history of mages born of human flesh, your kind.” Talia frowned, noticing how he didn’t include himself in that category, although he certainly didn’t look like an elf, or a fae; shifters rarely could do magic. What was he, then? “Does anyone amongst you know the distinction between the different kinds of mortal magic users?”

Everyone raised their hands, but the Tutor turned to her, no doubt because of the red dress acting as a beacon. The Tutor may very well be a hundred years old, but he was a man, nonetheless. “Yes, Miss…?”

“Astria. Folks call us all mages these days, but, technically, there are four kinds of human magic users. Witches and wizards, who use either the power of their ancestors or natural elements. Warlocks, whose powers come from an immortal parent. Alchemists, who blend magic and sciences. And finally, Sorcerers, the highest of our order. They may be a blend of the three other kinds.”

The Tutor inclined his head respectfully. “Quite, Miss Astria. So, we have four types of magic users. And every year, in every human kingdom, the ruling authority calls young mages like you, who have displayed great qualities in your studies. We feed you, entertain you, and instruct you, ensuring that the twelve of you go home with more knowledge about our world. Any idea why?”

“To prepare us?” Guillaume offered, when he was asked to speak. “In case another war breaks out.”

“Young mage, if the outcome of the next war depends on two months of studies, we’re quite doomed.”

They all chuckled. Laya guessed, “So that we may teach the rest of the world?”

The Tutor rolled his eyes. “Like you were taught all these things? Certainly not. Most of you will keep this knowledge to yourselves. With no books to back you up, people will think you mad, otherwise.”

Good point.

She was itching to share her opinion, but even she knew that to answer two questions would brand her as a teacher’s pet wannabe. She looked around; as no one raised their hand, she tentatively lifted hers.

“There hasn’t been a Sorcerer in a hundred years. They’re supposed to be the best of us, those who can actually fight evil dragons and go on great quests to defeat darkness. Those who make it to the stories we tell children at night. I wonder if you may be trying to find a new one, sir.”

The mage’s piercing eyes snapped to her, and she felt something in his gaze, something that made her wonder why he was teaching kids, rather than wrestling dragons himself.

He smiled. “Well, Miss Astria, aren’t you a surprise.” Then, turning to the rest of the class and releasing her from his intense scrutiny, he announced, “We are, indeed, searching for the next Sorcerer - or Enchantress, should it be a she, this time around. And you’re this year’s pickings.”