Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,14

Allen, then. Although he had become a master regardless, he’d spent his first two years of apprenticeship under a spiritual aspector before switching to the physical alignment. Such a thing was not uncommon, but the magical strength a man earned in one alignment could not be transferred to another, and it would hinder him for the rest of his life. Indeed, most men would not have the capacity to reach masterhood in a second discipline after expending some of their abilities in a first, which only went to show Master Allen was a very powerful man. Perhaps that was the real reason Master Phillips seemed to dislike him.

“I have known my desires since I was a boy, even before I showed promise,” Bacchus explained. “I have not faltered from my chosen path.”

He fought the desire to twitch under the scrutiny of eleven pairs of eyes.

“Indeed. Another admirable quality.” Master Phillips nodded. He folded his hands against the edge of his pedestal wall. “Your résumé and references speak for themselves, Mr. Kelsey. The assembly has discussed your petition previously, and we have agreed to approve your promotion to mastership.”

A bubble of pride swelled in Bacchus’s chest. All he had to do now was learn a master spell—prove he could absorb it—under the eye of an assembly member, and the title would be his.

“However, your request for the master ambulation spell is denied.”

The bubble popped, and it took every bit of Bacchus’s will not to let his shoulders slump. Not to look as though he’d been punched in the gut. Not to show his anger.

His throat tightened as he said, “I thank you kindly for the approval.” He bowed, if only to buy himself a few seconds to sort out his tangled thoughts. “Forgive my impertinence, but why have I been denied the requested spell? I do not ask for any others.” Desperation drove him to ask. It would be virtually impossible for someone to guess the words to a spell, which were both lengthy and in Latin. Certain spells could be acquired directly from spellmakers or opus collectors, but master spells tended to be dangerous, and were thus much more closely regulated. There was, of course, the illegal route, but the punishment for misusing magic in any way was hard and swift, and any aspector caught doing it would immediately lose his license, assuming he didn’t lose his head as well. “I will not drain any of the atheneum’s resources. I will not share the knowledge with any, save on the bed of my death.”

His mastership meant nothing if he did not have that ambulation spell.

His future would mean nothing, too.

“It is a powerful spell. Rare, valuable. As you know,” Master Phillips replied. He appeared to be looking just over Bacchus’s head rather than at his eyes.

“I am aware.” Bacchus carefully measured out his words. He could not unball his fists, so he stowed them behind his back. “But I do not request it for the sake of its rarity. It would prove very useful at my estate.” Not a lie. “I will compensate the atheneum generously and the drops, of course, will come from my own pocket.”

One could not master even a novice spell without paying for it in aspector drops—the universe’s wizarding currency—but Bacchus had been saving a long time. He was prepared for that.

“I do not doubt its usefulness, young man,” Master Phillips replied, “but the master ambulation spell is a treasure of the atheneum. It must stay among its people.”

His brow twitched. “Pardon?” He’d been a student of this atheneum since his childhood.

Master Phillips sighed very much like a parent tired of scolding his child. “Although none can dispute your talent, you are not truly of this atheneum, Mr. Kelsey. You are not one of us. Your request is denied. However, were you to make a substantial donation to the atheneum, we could work out another master-level spell for your repertoire and provide the necessary witness.”

Bacchus’s muscles tightened to steel. He understood every unspoken word. “My father was just as English as you, Master Phillips. And as stated by the assembly, my aspector lineage is pure.” Though they likely knew he was a bastard, and he did not doubt they’d gossiped about it prior to his visit. “The London Physical Atheneum administered all my prior testing.”

Master Phillips picked up a gavel and struck it against the edge of the wall. “Thank you, Mr. Kelsey. You are dismissed.”

His steel muscles instantly turned to pudding. That was it? He