“Maen tells me you improve more and more by the hour,” Claire’s grandfather said. They stood in the antechamber to his private rooms.

Four more days had passed since Gwenivere and Maen had first taught Claire how to become part of a magical chain for a summons. Each day began with an enormous breakfast to ensure she had energy to, quite literally, burn; then came training with Maen and Gwenivere. Then there was a big lunch; Claire never thought she’d eat so much, but she was always hungry and yet she’d put on no weight. In fact, after four days of training, her shift was getting loose. After lunch Kiera or Rael would walk her through the labyrinth of the Manor, introducing her to this distant cousin or that, trying to give her a sense of direction so she could navigate the corridors herself. Then they’d take her back to Maen and Gwenivere for round two.

Since that first day, they’d worked on Claire cautiously lighting fire and directing it where she wanted it to go without disconnecting from Gwenivere or Rinn. Though Gwenivere continued to co-teach lessons, she did so in stony silence, remembering civility only when Rinn prodded her. Even Maen had lost his temper with her yesterday, telling her to stop watching over his shoulder like he was a novice. As for Claire getting a chance to talk to Rinn alone about her weird dreams, it was impossible. She never left Gwenivere’s side.

“You’ve well and truly earnt the right to learn with me,” Lord Dorran said, bringing Claire back to the present, pride laced through his words.

Claire wished he’d share his easy confidence with Gwenivere. The half-lidded glances the Dream Mage kept shooting her made her feel guilty, though of what Claire couldn’t have said. She clenched her fists by her side. She wasn’t going to be a second Kelt.

Lord Dorran placed a hand on her arm. “Maen told me about Gwenivere. She takes her role as Dream Mage leader seriously. Some might say too seriously. Still,” he sighed, “I understand her reasons. She blames herself for the Rift, just as I do, and doesn’t want to be responsible twice in a row for magic going wrong.”

“But you taught me the Dream Mages and Enchantment Weavers had nothing to do with it.”

“Gwenivere had a kind of vision that warned of Selk, Kelt and the war to come. She decided to wait before telling the Houses, to see if events made things clearer. She’s never forgiven herself for delaying.” He stroked his chin. “I have often wondered if it is that which makes her uncomfortable around me. Do I blame her or hate her for failing to tell me about my brother’s possible folly? No. But she never listens.” He paused, then smiled. “But we have work to do. Come.” He swept out of the antechamber into a private corridor.

As Claire followed in his wake, she admired the wooden panels on the corridor walls with their carvings of different faces, salamanders crawling through their hair and sitting on their shoulders. Perhaps they were her relatives. Before she could ask, her grandfather pushed open a cedar door and strode over to a wooden chair upholstered with dyed purple wool. He sank into the seat with a noise of contentment, indicating she should take the free chair opposite him.

Claire knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. She hadn’t ever seen a room so luxurious except in period piece dramas. The enormous four-poster bed featured purple velvet curtains at each corner tied back with golden tassels. A circular sheepskin rug covered the floor and wooden chests sat alongside one wall. The chest and the chairs, the small square table complete with ivory and ebony chess pieces, and the floorboards gleamed from constant polishing. Claire found the crisp scent of the polish comforting. At eye height, shelves of golden plates, goblets, bowls, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings glittering with jewels winked back at her. Between the shelves and the ceiling, paintings hung, three or four on every wall. A sword with an intricate scabbard hung on the back wall, in pride of place.

“I haven’t had to use that other than at ceremonies for years,” Lord Dorran said, nodding towards the sword.

“You mean you used to have to use your sword in battle? Were things really that bad?”

“We’re powerful, Claire, and that makes people afraid. Religion stoked their fright. The towns where priests had a stranglehold would move against us from time to time and we Houses would band together to stop them.” He glanced at a painting opposite them. Claire saw that it depicted four soldiers, two standing and laughing, one lying on the ground chewing a blade of grass and one sitting with chin in hand. One wore the red and black formal uniform of House Dorran, another wore silver and blue, yet another grey and purple and the final warrior woman wore garments of bronze and green. Claire guessed they were the official colours of each of the elemental Houses.

“We didn’t just lose magical stability with the loss of House Domain and House Ushanan,” he explained. “We lost real friends. We’d have mock tournaments, with prizes for those who showed the most skill in sword play, in the use of a staff, in riding, in arts and crafts. We’d switch location each year.” He pointed at another painting: a riot of silken tents on an open field.

“And no one from either House survived? Not a single person? How’s that possible?”

“They lived in Western Kelnarium and that’s where the Rift began. Then of course, it was their war – they sent every woman and man they could spare to fight Selk.”

“But surely some remained?”

“The children, the elderly and those others who couldn’t fight stayed in their Manors and were killed when the Rift formed. Some of the servitors left earlier, coming to me and to Lord Maellwyn to adopt a new heritage. What else could they do?”

“But … but,” Claire began, thinking things through out aloud. “someone with magical blood could have survived. Must have done. Why didn’t they rebuild the Houses?”

Lord Dorran’s face darkened. “As with the exiles, you speak of that which you cannot understand.”

His blistering tone made Claire look down at her lap. “I’m sorry, but—”

“But nothing. I have told you there is no more House Ushanan … no more House Domain. There is nothing more to say.” He fell into silence.

Claire pressed her tongue against her teeth to stop herself retorting. It hadn’t been that strange a thing to ask and there was certainly no need for her grandfather to get so defensive. Almost like he has something to hide, she thought. His expression and the strange light in his eyes reminded her of Suranne the day Marcus had vanished.

“It bothers me that Mum didn’t tell me about you and all my other relatives,” she said casually. “It’s like she didn’t trust me enough.” She waited for the penny to drop.

“Sorry for snapping at you,” Dorran said, his voice gruff but kind. “It’s a sore point. I’ve racked my brains for a way to restore the Houses, but the truth is, what’s done is done.” He tilted his head to catch her gaze. “Don’t be too hard on Suranne. Any decision my girl would have made would have come from a place of love, even if it were misguided.”

Claire couldn’t deny her parents loved her. Not like Anthony Brown, who’d come to school with cigarette burns on his skin until the school counsellor had filed a report. Maybe she was being a bit harsh. She smiled. “Thanks. I guess that does help. A little. And sorry for pushing about the Houses.”

“No. I’m too sensitive because I know it was my fault.”

“A bit like Gwenivere,” Claire said pointedly. “But Kelt was his own person and convinced he was in the right.” She made herself smile. “It must be a family trait, that level of stubbornness.”

“It certainly turned up in Marcus.”

“What happened?” Claire asked cautiously. “Marcus wasn’t the stubborn one back home. I was.”

Dorran shot her a calculating look. “You look up to him. Everyone has told me that.”

“With good reason,” Claire said, defending herself. “No one likes me and Mum in Shale – that’s the village we live in – but Marcus is popular. People are nice to me when he’s nearby. Without him, I’m … I’m …” Nothing, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t quite admit it out aloud.

“I wish we’d seen that side of him,” Dorran said, “but he judged us before he even arrived. He wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to explain our situation.”

I bet you were rude and overbearing like you were with me when we first met, Claire thought.

“Hmph,” Dorran snorted, like he’d read her thoughts. “Maybe I was a bit autocratic. When he carried on and on about wanting to be sent home even after I explained about the prophecy, well, I admit I lost my temper. It didn’t help that Rael had been a bit too forthcoming about how we feel about the exiles on the journey here and Marcus saw us as the bad guys long before he met me.”

Understanding dawned. That’s why Rael had refused to tell Claire anything on the way to the Manor. He’d said too much to Marcus.

Lord Dorran turned away, moisture rising in his eyes. “Perhaps there was a bit of Leya in him. She was quick to make up her mind about things. She ruled Dorran House as much as I did.”

“Was Leya my grandmother?”

“Yes. There was romance between the Houses, you know; all the way from the servitors up to yours truly.” He turned back to face her. “Your grandmother wasn’t a true Dorran. She was a House Ushanan servitor. She worked in their apothecary. My heart leapt whenever I saw House Ushanan’s grey and purple garb at our gates, half-believing every time it was her. I couldn’t believe it when she finally came to live here permanently so we got to know each other properly. We married a year later.”

Claire thought of the painting she’d seen at training. “What was she like?” she asked. “Maen seems half in love with her memory.”

“We all are. She was the best woman I’ve ever known.” He paused, grinning. “With the exception of your mother of course.”

“How did she die?” Claire asked cautiously.

A shadow crossed Dorran’s face. “It was a winter chill six years ago. It hit the old and the infirm first. I was selfish. I told Leya I didn’t want her tending to Dorran Village; that they could rely on their own herbalists and medicine men. She wouldn’t listen. With a tilt of her chin and a wicker basket underarm, she was off all hours. I have often wondered …” His eyes darkened and his lips twisted in pain.

“Wondered what?” Claire could tell from his faraway look that he’d forgotten where he was and who he was speaking to.

“Sometimes I think she risked herself because she’d already given up. She was heartbroken when Suranne went away and angry with me for countenancing it. She didn’t see that—” He shook his head like he needed the movement to bring himself back to the present. His voice turned hearty with false cheer. “But, she had Kiera and Rael to fuss over and Meghan too. When Leya died, Meghan led the funeral procession beside me. The more vicious tongues thought we’d wait the appropriate mourning period and then marry, but we never have seen each other that way. If we had, maybe some things would have been easier.”

Suddenly, Claire realised how alone her grandfather had been. Perhaps every bit as alone as she’d felt in Shale, only he hadn’t had his family to comfort him as he aged. “Do you resent Dad for taking Mum away?” she asked.

“Resent? That’s a strong word. No. He was in love. Perhaps it was a fair punishment, too. After all, James was an abstract in our plan, without emotion or life. When we brought him to Kelnarium, we ripped him from everything he knew without giving him a choice in the matter. I understood Suranne when she said she needed to return him home. It was a reminder. That kind of magic always has a price.”

“You took Marcus and I away and we had no choice either,” Claire pointed out, trying not to sound accusatory.

“And no doubt there will be a price for that as well.” He lent forward with hands on knees. “Well, we’ve reminisced long enough. We should start practising. Maen tells me you catch on to concepts quickly but lack finesse.”

Claire frowned. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit hurt. Maen had never mentioned anything of the sort to her.

“You over or underestimate how much power you need and when you use it, it is uneven,” he rushed on as Claire’s frown grew into a scowl. “It’s not an insult. He has taught many an apprentice in the same position you are now. The only reason I’m taking over is an old man’s indulgence. You’re my granddaughter, after all.”

Her expression softened at Lord Dorran’s obvious fondness for her. “Why does finesse matter?” she asked.

“The smoother your workings, the less exhausted you’ll be, which matters in a sticky situation or a battle and we don’t know—”

“What skills I’ll need to beat the Rift,” Claire said, finishing his words wearily.

“Indeed.” He coughed delicately behind a thin hand. “So, how do you make your spells neater? The power in your blood makes it easier for you, but you still need to put in some effort.”

“Tell me what to do,” Claire asked eagerly, keen to prove herself.

“You must reach inside yourself and be comfortable sitting with your thoughts. Notice them but let them pass. Imagine you are watching pebbles passing beneath you in a stream. When you find the water rushing past too fast to notice the pebbles, pull back. I’ll talk you through it.”

Claire thought this didn’t sound too bad. She’d done some meditation with Suranne when she’d started high school and what her grandfather described sounded like that. Mind you, she’d spent her time watching the clock when Suranne wasn’t looking. This time, she’d make sure to keep her eyes closed so she couldn’t get distracted by anything around her.

As Lord Dorran’s gentle cadence washed over her, she tried to ignore niggling images and ideas; whether Rael would find the new recruit he sought on his trek to Newark Village today, whether Maen would enjoy teaching his other pupils as much as he did Claire, whether she’d have enough time after this session to join Meghan and Kiera in the kitchens and learn their spiced cake recipe …

She blinked guiltily when Lord Dorran called her back to the present. “I couldn’t do it.”

He laughed. “Most people can’t the first time.”

It took her until lunchtime to get the knack and even then, her technique was shaky. Her breathing steadied and the tensions in her muscles eased. She heard the swish of his cloak as her grandfather shifted position, the soft footsteps of people in the hallway, the sound of her own heartbeat. She let her fists unfurl and fall softly to her sides. Instinctively, she held her palm flat and out from her body and went through the steps Maen had described. She knew it had worked when she felt her skin tingle and woodfire smoke tickle her nostrils.

“Nicely done,” Lord Dorran said quietly. She opened her eyes to find him watching her in a way that unnerved her. “You don’t feel the cold anymore, do you?”

Claire glanced at her bare arms. She hadn’t bothered with the long-sleeved shirt underneath for a few days now. The flame continued to glow in her hand. “No.” With a thought, she put it out.

“You’ve become one of us,” Lord Dorran said. Claire could tell he was pleased because of the inflection of his voice, the same as Suranne’s when Claire brought home a school award. “Your blood has heated as your magic has awoken.” He reached into his cloak pocket to produce a glittering gold chain, an egg-shaped pendant hanging from it just like the one Maen had shown Claire. As she went to touch it, her grandfather smiled. “This was crafted from a reef of opal I selected from the salamanders’ cavern last night and had shaped for you. I spoke to the Saura and she told me this stone is marked for you.”

Claire gaped as she slipped the necklace over her head and the egg glimmered, streaks of red and orange seeming to flicker in the black of the stone, then it went hot against her skin. Suddenly, she could see five salamanders ranged around Lord Dorran, their tongues flickering in and out as their round eyes blinked her way. “I can finally see them,” she whispered.

“You’ll see more tomorrow when I take you to the caverns, our secret place where only true Dorrans may enter,” he said solemnly. “The Saura wishes to meet you.”

“The Saura?” Claire repeated slowly. Both Rael and Kiera had kind of sworn by the name, the same way some people in Shale swore by God, but she hadn’t understood who or what it was, and now her grandfather kept referencing them.

“The Saura is the elemental leader of the salamanders, a spirit creature who lives in the deepest, darkest part of our caverns. I noticed you staring at the painting of her in the Dining Hall the other night. She’s a powerful sight, with her huge legs and giant toes, her whip-like long white-hot tongue, her golden body that stings the eyes to stare at for too long and her eldritch red-hot flames that never go out and surround her beautiful head in a halo. It was she who gifted fire learth to the first Dorran. She only ever speaks to me, for I am leader of our House, but you are my heir. She wishes to see you.”

He smiled at Claire’s confusion. “Each House had their own elemental creatures and elemental leaders, though they never appear to anyone who isn’t of their magic type unless in the direst of circumstances.” He paused. “And even then, they don’t always aid us.” He shook his head like he dispelled negative energy. “The Saura and her salamanders are ours and one day you will rule after me. It’s natural they desire to meet you. As to your necklace,” he pointed at it and his expression turned grave. “Never take it off or let it break. When you journey away from us, you won’t survive long without it. You are a proper Dorran now, inheriting our weaknesses along with our strengths.”