Nikolay led Jane out of the mess hall, up a wide flight of stairs, and then up a second, narrower spiral staircase without a railing. The stairs were dusty and silent, the only sound their footsteps and Jane's occasional gasps for air. Thin pillars of sunlight lanced through the darkness from arrow slits in the wall.

Jane's muscles ached from her earlier beating on the practice courts. Every inch of her protested the climb. But each time she tried to pause for breath, Nikolay's magic dragged her forward, painfully, unrelentingly, and she knew she had to keep moving.

After the sixth twist of the staircase, she'd had enough of being stoic. "Are we—almost there?" she gasped. "Please—"

Nikolay shot her a disgusted look. "If you cannot even manage one more flight, I could levitate you."

Jane remembered the man he'd levitated during the battle, the one he had dropped to his death. Her stomach gave a terrified lurch. It did not help that she had just glanced over the edge of the staircase and they were very, very high up. "No—no," she panted. "Just—a little rest. Please?"

Nikolay continued walking, and for a moment Jane thought he would ignore her. But then, to her relief, their pace decreased marginally, and Jane was able to pant her way behind him up the remaining flight of stairs.

The stairs ended in a tiny landing beside a chestnut door. Unfamiliar symbols decorated the wood around the handle. In the soft light from the window, the runes shimmered as though dusted with silver. As Jane gasped for breath, Nikolay tapped a complex pattern around the handle. The door swung open soundlessly.

"Welcome," said Nikolay, in a cold, insincere voice that told Jane she was by no means truly welcome, "to my study."

The room was nothing like the dark stairs they had just left. It was large, airy, and circular. Light streamed through tall windows, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. On the sunniest side, a jungle of hanging plants in silver planters cast labyrinths of shadow on the floor. Next to the plants sat a wall of shelves, replete with jars whose substances glittered or oozed or glowed fiery crimson; beside the shelves, a series of tall bookcases threatened to collapse beneath mountains of books, which spilled over onto an ornate armchair. Jane guessed the gold-gilt ladder on the opposite side of the tower lead to an auxiliary bedroom, a sky loft of sorts, though she was not tall enough to say for sure. All manner of strange things hung from the ceiling on the east side-bunches of roots, polished white stones that gave off faint, pinkish light, and what looked to be a mummified parrot in the corner by the loft. Jane was reminded of her Uncle Bauer's study, except with creepy preserved things instead of electronics.

Uncle Bauer's study was always cold, too. Jane shivered and peered out the nearest window. Below them lay the city of Tolsk, a forest of copper roofs and narrow houses, and beyond that, rolling hills and green farmland, the long river sparkling on its lazy course from the mountains. It was the same view she had seen during her ride to Somita by wyvern, without the sulfurous, smoky breath.

She put a hand on the window-glass, about to ask Nikolay if she could close it, but a warning hiss made her freeze. A cobra lay coiled on the armchair at her side, forked tongue tasting the air with obvious interest. It had scales the color of cedar, and large, golden pupils, which were currently trained directly on her.

"An azdaja," Nikolay said, as though the word was supposed to mean something to her. His back was to her; he seemed to be chalking marks on the floor. "She won't bite. I rescued her as a baby. Her venom's quite useful in potions."

It was the least-comforting attempt at reassurance Jane had ever heard. But the cobra did not seem inclined to chase her. It eyed Jane demurely from its chair, half-hiding behind two whitish pieces of cloth—no, those are wings—this creature has wings—

"You are the Avtorka, yesss?"

"You can talk!"

She immediately regretted the exclamation. Nikolay let out a disdainful "Hm," as if she had just shouted "Grass is green!" or "Magic is real!"

"You are ssstrange, little ssshe-human." The azdaja's speech was silk and gravel, the low whisper of scales over sand. It raised itself up—she took another involuntary step backward— and rearranged its massive white wings. "Are there none of usss in the world you come from?"

Jane shook her head. "In my world, animals don't talk. At least... not in ways that humans can understand. Erm... what's your name?"

"You would not be able to pronounssse it."

"Azdaja, unlike most humans, are known for their insight and intellect." Nikolay straightened. "She will not bother us during your lesson."

He nodded at the azdaja, who inclined her head and then, to Jane's relief, slithered to the open window and took off. Jane watched the azdaja's slender form arc toward the clouds, white wings whirling. She fought the urge to shut the window in its wake. No-she'd better not. The creature would surely be angry if she tried to lock it out.

"Now," said Nikolay, with a smile Jane didn't like at all, "it's time to see if you have any magical aptitude."

Jane realized that while she spoke to the azdaja, Nikolay had chalked a circle on the floor, large enough to encircle both of them, along with most of the room's center. Nikolay's fingers twitched, and a shimmering barrier sprang into view, extending from the chalked circle all the way to the ceiling like a glowing, translucent curtain.

"For safety... That is, for the safety of my possessions... your magic will not leave this ring until you learn to control it."

Jane touched the barrier. It was solid beneath her fingers, smooth like glass. She snatched her hand back, trying not to think about how the barrier trapped her along with her magic. She attempted to call up the earlier excitement that had filled her at the thought of learning magic. Now all she felt was nerves. "What can't you do with magic?" she asked.

A cool smile twitched across Nikolay's face, and she noticed his fingers hovered over his left forearm. "Rewrite the laws of the world, create things out of nothing, open portals into alternate dimensions, bring the dead back to life, heal... certain illnesses."

Jane's mind jumped to her visit with the tsar. I am dying...

"As for what magic can do..."

The air shimmered, and a gold water goblet materialized near Jane's hand. She caught it as it fell, trying to stop the water from sloshing over the edge. It was cool in her grasp, thick and solid, heavy with embossing, full enough to quench two peoples' thirst, and Jane stared at it with wonder—

—until it vanished from her grasp, melted away as though it had never been, and Jane was left staring at her empty palms.

"How—"

The goblet reappeared a few feet in front of her and began to fall again. But this time, when Jane lunged forward to catch it, its image passed through her hands as if she tried to catch a ghost. She fell to her knees as its likeness melted away into the grain of the wood.

"Transportation, illusions, barriers, levitation, fire—these are the staples of a battle-mage's arsenal."

Her head snapped up. Nikolay watched her, sourness twisting the corners of his mouth. Jane thought again that he looked ill; the pallor was creeping back into his skin, and the shadows cast by the hanging vines made his face look almost skeletal, but he sounded as irascible as ever. "Master these skills," he said, "and any enemy with less magical talent will be bewildered, distracted... easy prey."

Prey.

Jane stared at the place where the illusory goblet had vanished, trying not to think of the Kanachskiy boy he'd imprisoned. "How far can you transport things?"

"It depends on the size of the object."

"What about transporting yourself?"

A shadow of a smile crossed his face. "Fifty verstas at my strongest; less when I am tired." He must have sensed her confusion, for he gestured to the window. "Those mountains are twenty verstas away."

So teleporting around the castle was probably nothing to him. Jane moistened her lips, her spine tingling. "Will I learn to transport myself?"

"Not today. Maybe not ever." The smile left his face. "Any farmhand or peasant can learn magic. But only a few learn more than the paltriest charms. Unfortunately, avtorka have more affinity for magic than most, and power in the hands of those who don't understand it is disaster looming.

"Magic depends on your mental aptitude, on strength of will. Judging by your earlier performance on the stairs, I am not optimistic, but perhaps you will surprise me. To make anything happen, you have to know what you want and want it so much it becomes reality, and furthermore that other less-desirable realities are suppressed. If your intention falters, for even a second, while levitating or teleporting yourself, it will likely be the last botched magical working of your life."

Jane fought the urge to bite her nails. She had a decent opinion of her strength of will, which had got her through many tedious exams and boring essays. But if she missed a question on a problem set, she wouldn't die. If she messed up doing magic—

"You won't do spells that could kill you—yet." He summoned a chair and sat down. "Today you will start with the simplest task possible—calling up magefire."

Nikolay held out his right hand. Fire sprang to life in his palm, a beacon of it, silver and shifting. He tossed it from one hand to the other, and then held it out for Jane's inspection. Jane reached forward, mesmerized. Too late, she realized her flawed reasoning, that even if the fire wasn't burning him, it could still hurt her. Heat seared her fingers, and she yanked her hand back.

Nikolay brought his hands together, extinguishing the flame. "You really know nothing of magic," he said, disgusted. "Even the simplest child knows better than to touch another mage's fire."

"We don't have magic on Earth. You already know that."

He took her hand. Silvery magic flickered over her skin, and the blisters on her finger-pads faded from angry red to mild pink. The blisters still hurt, but the pain was damper than before, a dull ache instead of a sharp throb.

Why not heal them fully? Jane thought. You could do that much. I know you could. You could probably have stopped the fire from burning me, if you really wanted.

Out loud she said, "What now?"

"Try calling up magefire. Picture fire rising, see it in your hand, will it into existence."

"That's it? That's all I need to do?"

His lip curled at the word 'all', but otherwise he was silent.

Jane closed her eyes. She tried to block out the thought of Nikolay watching her, grim and amused and skeptical. She thought instead of orange-gold-crimson spires of flame. She thought of summer campfires, of those rare, warm evenings in the woods with Sandra and Phillip and her parents, marshmallows browning over dry heat, as they told stories beneath the hum of cicadas and the soft purr of flames licking tinder.

The minutes ticked by in silence.

Her hands remained depressingly fire-less.

Sweat dripped down her back, an uncomfortable trickle that made her want to itch it away. As the seconds sped on, the thought of fire faded from her mind's eye, displaced by prickles of discomfort and unease. Her calves were stiff from the workout and her earlier climb, her arms burned with the effort of holding up her palms. She shifted, adjusting her feet. The boots Kir had found for her that morning were not broken in, and blisters blazed on her heels from the earlier run. She wished she could sit.

Nikolay sighed. The sound was irritated, almost a huff. "You are far too distracted. Focus. Think of fire, only fire. You have to want it."

Jane swallowed and tried again to do as Nikolay commanded. She desperately did want fire to appear in her hands, to end this awkwardness if nothing else, but apparently that kind of wanting was not enough.

She did not know how much time passed—not enough to produce magefire, but more than enough to fan her nerves into an inferno. Time seemed to stretch, as it does when you want a thing to end—and through it all, she was still fireless, still without any sign of magic, and at some point, thoughts of fire were replaced with thoughts of her godstest and how she might fail—would fail, if she did not get this thing to work. Nikolay watched her, impatience narrowing his eyes, and did he have to watch her like that, it truly was not helping—

"Very well," he said at last, in cold, clipped tones, and she would have breathed a sigh of relief had she not been so unhappy. "Since we're getting nowhere with magefire, perhaps I should start you off differently. Perhaps it would be a better use of our time to practice shielding instead."

Panic fluttered in her chest. She had tried calling up the shield again last night, in the evening just before bed, but it had been an unmitigated failure. "I don't know how I made it the first time," she said. "I don't think I can-"

"Picture a barrier between yourself and the rest of the world and believe it exists. Surely it can't be hard to recapitulate something you've already done,even for someone of your limited capabilities."

Jane closed her eyes, fighting back rising anxiety, trying again to call up the image of the shield she had made in the garden, to recapture her initial sense of wonder. It sparkled in her mind's eye, gleamed like a soap bubble. She pictured it expanding outward, surrounding her—

Something bounced off her abdomen. Her eyes flew open in time to see a pebble clatter to the ground, inches from her feet.

"What the—"

"Added incentive," said Nikolay dispassionately. "If you really want to stop it, you will shield."

He flicked another rock toward her, laced with silver fire. It smacked her on the arm.

Jane yelped. That one had actually stung.

Annoyance filled her, but she forced it down. Nikolay was a powerful mage; the tsar had assigned him to teach her; and as unpleasant as he was, he was her best hope to learning magic and surviving her godstests. He needed her to pass her godstests so that she could save his life. Surely, he must be doing this for a reason— surely, he didn't want to see her fail—

"I'm trying." Her voice was steady at least; that was something. "I'm trying to do what you said, but is there anything else I should be doing? Like waving my hands in a certain way or—Ouch!"

The third rock had sharper edges than the others. Jane stared at the cut on her hand, which was starting to ooze crimson, and then looked up at Nikolay, who met her eyes, unremorseful. A book rose from the floor to hover at eye level, and she gulped—was he going to send that flying at her too?

"If you are speaking to me, you are not focusing." His voice was lilting.

"I'm just trying to get clarification, that's all—hey!—"

The book smacked her across the temple, narrowly missing her eye. For a moment, she saw stars. Her hand flew up to the place where it had struck her.

"Pathetic." His voice was like knives. "You cannot summon an ounce of magic defend yourself; you lack even the willpower to stop small objects coming toward you, let alone an enemy's blade. I suppose it is to be expected; the people from your world are soft, coddled, useless—"

She sucked in a breath. Her hands shook. Her head throbbed from where the book had hit it. Blood from the cut on her hand trickled over her skin to drip to the floor. She watched at the red drops splash to the carpet, and then glanced up at Nikolay. Another book hovered over the ground, ready to launch.

Jane sucked in another breath, shaking, trying again to envision the shield. If wanting magic to happen was all it took, she should have produced a dozen shields by now. She wanted magic, she wanted it, to stop this abuse, to pass the godstests and get home—why wasn't it working?

The book hit her in the side. She caught it as it fell, fighting the urge to hurl it back toward him. A second later she gasped as a water goblet hit her. Water splashed over her, seeping into her clothes, chilling her even further. It splashed into the cut on her hand, stinging.

"How much additional incentive do you need?" He strode toward her, grabbed her by the wrist, and bent it backward. She gasped and tried to pull her hand away but his grip was strong, and he had the advantage of magic on his side. "Must I break all your fingers one by one before you show some hint of power?"

She stared at him in horror. He was not bluffing; she could see it in his eyes. She tried to back up, but her feet collided with the barrier spell, and his hand still grasped her wrist.

"Let me out," she whispered. Again, louder. "Let me out. I'll find some other way to access magic—there has to be some other way, I'm good at figuring things out on my own—just let me out —"

He ignored her and clasped her wrist tighter; with his other hand he reached forward, grasped her fourth finger, tilted it back. Jane shut her eyes, heart pounding in her ears. She bit her tongue, tasted blood. The air filled with the smell of ozone—

A chime filled the air, and a sound like beating wings.

Nikolay's grip on her lessened.

Jane opened her eyes again. A small piece of paper fluttered in the window. It was almost translucent, light, and glowing, lacy and iridescent like a butterfly's wing, and it drifted toward them, as though it weighed almost nothing.

Nikolay reached through the barrier and caught the paper. He unfolded it and glared down at it as though it had personally offended him. Then he crumpled the note in his hand.

"We are done for the day," he said. "You're to report to the lower levels of the palace for your next lesson."

"Right now?"

"Now—in three hours—I could care less, as long as you leave my study and stop bothering me."

He vanished the barrier with a wave of his hand and glowered at her, eyes snapping with annoyance. A spot on his sleeve smoked and sizzled, charred and black, and spirals of smoke twisted over them.

Had she done that?

Jane swallowed. Her eyes leapt from the charred mark on his sleeve back to Nikolay, who still eyed her as though she was a miserable burden—

And then she whirled on her heel, fled the room asfast as she could, not caring that the door banged shut after her. The stairs passed in a blur of stone and sunlight. She had forgotten her stiffness, her exhaustion, all of it; she had even forgotten to ask Nikolay who she was supposed to meet next. She hadn't wanted this badly to cry since—

She didn't want to think about that.

She should have been lost when she reached the bottom of the tower, but her feet seemed to find their way, as though the castle was guiding her steps. Her pace was fast and furious, and she only stopped when she realized she'd reached a dead end - or rather, that her way was blocked by a simple oak door with an old copper handle.

She stared at the door, wondering if the person who had summoned her was behind it, if she was supposed to knock. Her right hand reached up, but didn't quite touch the door. Should she even be here? Was the castle playing tricks on her again?

The door opened.

Hesitant now, Jane stepped into the room.

It was small - any room would be, after the unnecessary opulence of Nikolay's tower - clean and well-lit and simple. Its walls were bare, apart from a few ripples of tapestry in soothing blues and grays, and the air was warm and smelled faintly of jasmine. A fountain whispered in the corner, hugged by a basin of white stone.

A man sat in the room's center upon a soft carpet. His eyes opened as Jane entered, and he smiled.

"My name is Casimir," he said. "I will be teaching you healing magic."

He was older than Nikolay, perhaps in his mid-thirties, though it was hard to guess his exact age. His voice radiated warmth and calm, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes into crow's feet. Jane was reminded of her guidance counselor back home, Mr. Phillips, who had always had something nice to say when she visited his office.

She almost cried again, this time with relief.

Casimir's smile faltered slightly and then returned, though his gaze was concerned. "We will start, I think, on your own injuries. Please, sit down."

Jane looked for a chair, and then realized he expected her to sit on the mat. She lowered herself to the ground, wincing as her hamstrings throbbed with pain. "I don't think I'm going to be healing anything anytime soon," she gasped.

Perhaps it was Casimir's gentle demeanor, perhaps it was the void left by her earlier anger, but the fear that had built up all day rose within her. She tried to tamp it down, tried to control it, but it spilled over like tears, threatening to consume her.

"I don't think I should be here," she whispered. "I can barely get my magic to work. I can't even do a simple thing like call up magefire, or shield myself from magical attack, I think I burned Nikolay by accident today while trying to do something completely different. I shouldn't try healing, I'd probably connect my foot to my fingers by mistake or something. I can't do magic, I can't fight, I can't run or throw punches, and I'm supposed to take a test in a month that tests all of these things, and I won't be ready-"

Casimir put a finger to Jane's lips.

She closed her mouth. A lone tear escaped, to roll a wet trail down her cheek.

"Give me your hand."

Jane did as he asked. Casimir's touch was gentle and warm, a stark contrast to Nikolay's earlier commanding grip. Power rushed into her from his touch, calming and soothing, taking the edge off her stiffness. His magic seemed to fill her whole body, down even to her heels which still smarted against the ill-fitting boots. The pain lessened, replaced by a tingling warmth.

"Better?"

"Yeah," said Jane fervently. "So much better. Thank you."

"Nikolay and I have much different approaches to magic. You might like mine better, I think." His hazel eyes twinkled. "The battle mage in Nikolay never pauses, never stills, always trying to force the world to his will. He's known magic since he was a small child, and it has always come so easy to him that he barely has to think to use it. Such people make excellent mages but don't always make the best teachers. You have never known magic, and you do not yet know how to tap into your power. I want you to try to center yourself so that you can channel your magic. I think it will help. Do you know why I called you here when I did?"

She shook her head.

"I felt the flare of your anger call to me all the way from the tower. Your power is strong. If you had Nikolay's years of practice, your strength might be on par with his, though he will never admit that. Certainly, you are no weaker magically than the other avtorkas I've seen."

The words washed over her like a balm. Jane took a steadying breath. So I'm not behind the curve at least. That's something. How many avtorkas had Casimir met, to be able to say this with such certainty?

"We will first try something to help you to calm yourself and find your center. I've been told it's similar to your world's meditation."

At his instruction, she sat down on the mat he had just vacated, breathed long and deep, and tried to clear her mind. It had been an exhausting day, but whatever Casimir had just done seemed to hold her tiredness in check enough to stop her from falling asleep where she sat. If anything, the exhaustion made it easier not to think.

Deep breaths in, slow breaths out. "Don't focus on finding your magic." Casimir's voice beside her was low, quiet. "Do the opposite, clear your mind, and it will find you."

Jane tried to focus on the steady trickle of water from the miniature fountain. But the longer she sat, the more thoughts flitted through her mind, intrusive, relentless -

If this doesn't work-

If I can't learn magic at all, even if I have magic, if I can't figure out how to use it—

Will the gods just fail me outright? Would they send me back, or will I be trapped here forever? I asked to be sent back earlier, in that dream, but they didn't—

Casimir cleared his throat. Jane's eyes flew open.

"Here," he said, and he placed two fingers on her forehead. Jane's mind went suddenly, quietly blank, her roiling thoughts fading into the calmness of the ether.

"I won't always be here to do this, and you wouldn't want me to. But one time is all right, so that you can prove a point to yourself, I think." He took his fingers away from her forehead, studying her, and then said, "Close your eyes, and try again."

This time, as she started to breathe, her mind remained coolly, blessedly quiet. The susurration of the fountain faded, replaced by the quiet thrum of her heartbeat. Perhaps it was the slowness of her breathing, perhaps it was her exhaustion or whatever Casimir had done, but Jane felt like she was sinking down into herself, and it was strangely pleasant. With each breath, she grew calmer, her tensions flowing loose as if washed clear by a river. Occasional thoughts about the godtests still drifted into her head, but they were slow and lazy and distant, and it was easy to ignore them amidst this new calm.

Her mind turned to warmth, to memories of home, because for some reason that was what this simple room reminded her of, in a way the more ostentatious parts of the castle could not. It was not memories really, but a general feeling, a feeling like she belonged, or at least like she was meant to be there, a feeling of familiarity -

She drifted, spiraling down and around and through herself, not sure where her mind took her, not even sure if she was awake or asleep. And when she was so far inside herself that she no longer knew where she was or what anything meant, when her mind was at last in some semblance of peace, then, at last, she saw it—there, in the center of herself, glowing and whirling, a core of silvery warmth specked with gold. Curious, with the vague thought that perhaps it might work, and perhaps it would not, but at least it would be good to experiment and see, Jane coaxed a tiny piece of that silver glow, up and away, down through her fingers and out of herself.

She opened her eyes.

Silver danced in her lap in soft flames dancing and bathing her arms, her legs, the nearest parts of the carpet in its glow. Jane stared in wonder as the ghost flames licked her skin. They felt warm, like a part of herself, like...

Home.

"There." Her eyes jumped up to Casimir, and he smiled, at her, at the fire, at all of it - a wide, luminous smile that radiated joy. "You see? That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading, and hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was a beast to edit. My inner perfectionist took over and wanted to add lots of description. On the plus side, you have finally met one of my favorite characters, who has hung back unobtrusively all this time because that's just his style.

If you enjoyed, please don't forget to comment and/or hit the little star :)

Questions from you:

Was the last 'interlude' chapter the former avtorka's diary?

A good guess, but no. :)

Questions for you:

Did the characterizations work in this chapter? Thoughts on Casimir, Nikolay, and Jane? Any other feedback? :)