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I kept that opinion to myself, as the weeks turned into months. It wasn’t easy being the first female student. The men didn’t seem to know what to make of me. Some tried to flirt, others seemed to expect me to know who they were and why I should hop into bed with them, still others paid as little attention to me as possible. Cemburu wasn’t the only one, I discovered all too quickly, who resented the fact I had been given a private room. Whitehall appeared to be trying to treat all of its students as relative equals, and even though it was clear I needed some privacy no one seemed very happy about it. The dorms were not exactly cramped, I had been assured, but there was still very little privacy. I couldn’t help feeling they had a point. And yet …

It was disconcerting, I had to admit, to realise just how ignorant I was. There were factions amongst the students, and even amongst tutors who were supposed to be old enough to know better, factions that made little sense to me. I knew almost nothing of the world outside my village, or the world surrounding my new home, and it was hard to work out what was really going on when Cemburu clashed with another student. Cemburu himself was an aristocrat, I discovered, but other students were commoners like myself or even people of no clear origin. The aristocratic students sought everything should come to them by virtue of their name; the commoners, obviously, thought otherwise. And the aristocrats had factions of their own … I didn’t even pretend to understand them, let alone the questions of rank and hierarchy that preoccupied my fellow students. I had hoped for friends, or at least someone I could talk to on equal terms, but my combination of birth and sex made it impossible. It was deeply frustrating. What was I supposed to do about it?

The classes were, despite Cemburu’s constant barbs and jibes at my expense, extremely interesting, although the teachers constantly made it clear that I had a great deal to learn. We studied history, from the first recorded traces of magic to the Whitehall Commune and the decision to turn the castle into a school. Lord Whitehall had clearly been a great man as well as a great magician, although no one was entirely clear on what had happened to him. His old companions had largely passed on or dispersed, leaving Bernard in charge of the school. There were whispered rumours that Master Wolfe haunted the corridors, offering help and advice to students in exchange for their blood, but I was fairly sure they were just cautionary tales to keep students in the dorms after hours. It wasn’t as if we lived in a country village, where no one would willingly go outside after dark - and if they did, they would be taking their lives in their hands. I couldn’t help thinking, as I listened to the lectures, that was something missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Cemburu poured scorn on me the moment I tried to ask. He, apparently, had been taught everything he needed to know from a very early age.

The practical classes were more interesting, and relevant. I had never tried to write anything, even my own name, before I was given a slate and taught the basics. It was incredibly complicated to sound out the words, let alone write them for myself. I wasn’t convinced I needed to learn, if only because there were few books in the school, but my teachers gave me no choice. I practised extensively, trying to master the basics of reading and writing, even though I was sure it would take me years to match - if not surpass - Cemburu and his peers. They were not remotely helpful. The students were supposed to assist each other, but Cemburu gave me a line of writing to copy that was a direct insult to the tutor. He didn’t see the funny side. I had never been so tempted to rat someone out as I had been at that moment. The only thing that saved me from a whipping was the teacher’s awareness that I could not have written the line myself. And yet …

It was the raw magic classes that really interested me. Master Rupertson and Master Ashlord drilled us repeatedly in spellwork, teaching us how to put together the building blocks to cast complex spells. It was as frustrating and finicky as always, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was making progress with every spell I successfully cast. I had to work hard to figure out how the variables went together - the magic did not have a mind of its own, I was assured, although I didn’t really believe it - and then make sure there were no loopholes in the spell before embedding the spells into the wand. It wasn’t easy to do that either. Wood channelled magic very well, certainly compared to other materials, but embedded charms rarely lingered. Master Rupertson had prepared the wand he’d given me in advance. I did well - I knew I was doing well - and yet I was all too aware of how much else I had to learn.

“There will always be something to learn,” Julianne told me. She was the closest thing Whitehall had to a witchcraft tutor, although very few students took her classes. I wasn’t sure if they were reluctant to take instruction from a woman or felt witchcraft was not a proper subject of study for male magicians. “We are constantly pushing the limits of what we can do, learning more and more as we go along. You will make discoveries yourself as you grow older, discoveries that will be passed down and used as the base for later discoveries.”

I nodded, thoughtfully. Julianne had listened carefully as I told her what I had learnt from Hilde, then taught me some things of her own in return. I couldn’t help wondering how she had learnt the basics of witchcraft - hedge witches rarely shared their secrets with anyone outside their circle - let alone the magic she used freely. I was convinced there was a secret there, something kept from me and everyone else. Cemburu insisted that no woman could learn magic properly, certainly not in a classroom, but there were stories of another female magician who had helped to found the school. I didn’t know how seriously to take them. Julianne had learnt from her father and then her husband. But who had taught the mystery sorceress? Cemburu insisted she was nothing more than a myth spread to legitimise the idea of women learning magic. I hated to think he might be right.

“I wish I knew more,” I admitted. “How long does it take to get out of the basic classes?”

“As long as it takes.” Julianne gave me a faint smile. “The students have to master the basics before they can proceed. Even something as simple as brewing potions” - she indicated cauldrons at the back of the room - “relies upon the student having precise control over their powers. If they do not, they will either turn the potion into sludge or kill themselves - and if they are very unlucky, they will kill everyone nearby as well.”

I shivered. I was well aware that life could be dangerous, that a man could be crippled or killed quite by accident, or a woman - like my mother - could die in childbirth, but it was hard to gauge just how dangerous any given piece of magic actually was. Some of the simplest spells could be very dangerous if cast with malicious or deadly intent, or even without sufficient forethought. Master Ashlord had demonstrated how easily a levitation spell could get someone killed by launching an apple into the air and smashing it into the ceiling. I had taken note. The magic coursing through me, growing stronger and more controlled with every passing day, could be lethal if I made a single mistake.

The thought haunted me as I continued my lessons. I had always been strong, but nowhere near as strong as my father or brothers. The idea I could seriously hurt someone had been unthinkable until David and then … I had used magic to do it. I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I felt reluctant to discuss it with Julianne, let alone the other teachers. Julianne … I liked her, really I did, but there was something about her that made it difficult to confide in her. The other tutors were all male. I couldn’t be alone with them without Cemburu starting rumours. He was very lucky that the teachers hadn’t heard the handful of rumours he had spread.