“The amount of resources needed –”
“Don’t even try to tell me there isn’t enough gold.” His eyes widened angrily as I cut him off. I knew I should probably be afraid, but I was too riled up to care. “Magorah knows you and everyone else in the Mage’s Quarter are swimming in it. The real problem is that not one of you actually cares enough to take the time to train us, do you? That’s why you only give us the choice of having our magic wiped, or execution, whenever you find one of us out.”
The Chief Mage’s violet eyes glittered. “It’s a logical approach,” he said stiffly.
“It’s a cruel, heartless approach.” I took another step forward, into his personal space, and his nostrils flared as he looked down his long nose at me. The hair on my arms stood up as magical energy sang through the air, and for the first time real fear crackled through my nerves. But I couldn’t back down, not now. “That’s hardly any choice at all, since nearly all the people who go through the magic wipe end up with permanent mental damage. By the time the mages who perform the wipe are finished, most of the victims would have been better off dead.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “One of my childhood friends, Tanya, failed the test when she was just twelve years old. She was from a human family, and her magical ability was weak, so her family chose to put her through the magic wipe. By the time they were done with her, she could hardly remember her own name, and to this day her family has to care for her because she can’t function in society well enough to hold a job. So don’t tell me how necessary these oppressive laws are. You’re worse than murderers, all of you!”
“How dare you!” the Chief Mage snapped, his cheeks coloring. My eyes widened as he took a step toward me, the folds of his robes brushing against me. Magical energy crackled around us, little blue-white bolts that wriggled like worms in the air. “Your accusations border on the ridiculous; magic wipes don’t cause mental damage when done properly. Your lies –”
He stopped mid-sentence as Fenris, who at some point had shifted to human, laid a hand on his arm. “She’s not lying, Iannis.”
The magical energy around us faded, and I let out a small sigh of relief as the Chief Mage turned his deadly glower from me so he could look at Fenris. “She has to be.”
Fenris shook his head. “Director Chartis handles most of these reports, and it’s unlikely he would have passed anything like that along to you,” he told Iannis. “I researched this recently, and from what I understand, approximately three quarters of all magic-wipes result in permanent damage to the subject.”
The Chief Mage was silent for a several seconds. “Seventy-five percent?” His voice was dangerously frigid now. “That’s intolerable. I’ve performed several magic wipes myself – any properly trained mage should be able to do it without causing permanent harm. Who is performing these spells?”
Fenris eyed him warily. “You’d have to ask Director Chartis. But if I were to guess, it’s likely low-level mages, or even apprentices.”
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I wanted to punch the Chief Mage in the nose, but I settled for shoving my face into his instead. “You’ve been letting inexperienced mages perform mind-altering magic on us? You lazy, incompetent bastard!”
“Enough!” The Chief Mage raised a hand and blasted me with a pulse of magic. I staggered several steps backward before I found my footing and froze as our gazes collided again – his violet eyes glowed with rage. “You are not the only one in this room capable of reducing another being to a pile of ash,” he said in a soft, deadly voice. “I would advise you to remember that when you speak to me, Miss Baine.”
“Fine.” I swallowed hard, then firmed my chin and shoulders, forcing my body not to tremble. As angry as I was, the man standing in front of me was the Chief Mage for a reason, and I did not want to fuck with him if I hoped to make it out of this place alive.
“Good.” The anger abruptly disappeared as his face returned to stone. “I’m going ask you a series of questions. My magic will tell me if you are lying, so I suggest you be truthful.”
I resisted the urge to scoff, unsure whether I believed that. But in the interest of staying alive, I decided to answer his questions truthfully. I could always test his claim later, when he was less likely to want to incinerate me.
“Excellent.” He turned around, reaching for something on his desk, and when he turned back I saw he had a manila file with my name on it open in his hands. “You are the daughter of Saranella Baine, correct?”
“Correct.” A pang went through my heart at the mention of my mother’s name. It had been fourteen years since she’d died, but I still missed her fiercely.
“Did she ever mention your father to you? His name, his rank, his country of origin?”
“Not once.” I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “I think she figured that if I didn’t know my father was a mage, I might not tap into my powers until I was old enough not to be subjected to testing any longer.”
“An interesting theory, but quite incorrect,” the Chief Mage said, almost conversationally. My nails dug into my palms – did he not realize how insensitive he was being? “You were eight years old when you had your first test?”
“Yes,” I murmured, my mind flying back to that day. I remembered how terrified my mother had been, how she’d sobbed and clung to me and wished aloud that she could keep me home from school that day. I’d been scared too, not so much because of the test but because my mother was crying. That was the only time I’d ever seen her shed tears. She’d been a kind and compassionate woman, but tough as nails, and the moment of weakness still shook me even as a memory. “I passed.”