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  We continued on, our footsteps echoing eerily, as if someone were following us. I couldn’t help looking back once or twice, just to be sure, but I saw nothing.

  The stone forest closed in around us. There were no markings I could see, no trail to follow, but Master Betrys marched on with heartening purpose. She must have known where she was going. Which was good, because I had already lost all sense of direction in this dim, glittering maze.

  “Where are we going?” Moppe asked.

  Going. Going. Going. Her words whispered back from the darkness, making my skin prickle even though I knew it was only another echo.

  “To the chasm,” Master Betrys replied.

  Chasm. Chasm. Chasm.

  “They say you can hear the echoes of the god Rhema’s voice there. The legends say that when it came time for her to die—or sleep—she came here, knowing there would be those who needed her wisdom in the future. So as she faded, she spoke the answers to the questions yet unasked, leaving her divine words to echo here, waiting.”

  Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

  “Waiting for what?” Moppe asked.

  “The right person,” said Betrys. “It’s believed that if you come to the cavern and speak, you might hear the voice of Rhema herself answering your question.”

  Question. Question. Question.

  A buzz of excitement fizzed through me, wild and sudden and reckless. The answer to any question. It was dazzling. Like stepping into a brilliant patch of sunshine, flinging my arms wide, staring up into the sky until my eyes burned with the brightness of it all.

  Moppe looked dubious. “Then why are we the only ones here? Shouldn’t this place be jammed full of people asking what horse to buy or what the weather will be like next Tuesday?”

  “The Cave of Echoes is no place for idle curiosity,” said Betrys. “No one has ever received more than a single answer in their lifetime. Most people don’t receive any answer at all.”

  My excitement lurched. Only one question. But which one? I had so many! Were the gods truly dead? What was the magespeak for fly? Which enchantment could win me entry to the Schola Magica? I couldn’t afford to waste this opportunity on the wrong question.

  If I asked how to claim the crown, I might win Mother’s blessing, but would it be enough to convince Master Betrys I deserved to go to the Schola? Surely I had demonstrated my knowledge of spells, but did that matter if I couldn’t actually make them work?

  We continued, following Betrys through the dank, echoing cavern until she halted, one arm slashing out to warn us back. I nearly stumbled into her, lost in the labyrinth of possibilities my single question offered.

  A deep chasm loomed ahead. I could see no bottom. Even the glow of the conjured light seemed to grow weak and feeble, as if the chasm was not simply empty air, but something dense and weighty. A hungry darkness that consumed all light.

  Betrys turned, staring intently at Moppe and me. “Be wary, girls. This is a place of great danger.”

  Danger. Danger. Danger.

  Moppe shuffled uneasily. “What sort of danger? I mean, if we just stay away from the edge, we’re safe, aren’t we?”

  “It’s not only the chasm,” said Betrys. “Thousands of people have come here over the ages and asked thousands of questions. Only a few are answered. The rest echo on, growing more powerful and dangerous the longer they remain unanswered.”

  “How can a question be dangerous?” I asked.

  “This cavern is full of hopes and fears and frivolities, all desperate for release. Without answers, the questions have become desperate. Hungry.”

  Hungry. Hungry. Hungry.

  A shiver rippled up my spine. I scanned the darkness beyond our ring of light. It might have been only a trick of my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw something move, deep in the shadows. Then a hiss. I took a step back, closer to the center of the light.

  “And you brought us here for a lesson?” Moppe squawked.

  Betrys’s lips quirked. “I brought you here because I need a distraction. Our presence has already begun to draw the unanswered. I need you to calm them, keep them occupied.”

  The shadows hissed again. A plaintive whisper shivered through the air.

  Where will I meet my true love?

  I marshaled my courage. Master Betrys believed I could do this, and I wasn’t going to let her down. “How?” I asked, running through possible spells in my mind. “Some sort of calming enchantment?”

  “No. No spells at all,” Betrys said. “You simply need to give them what they want. An answer.”

  The shadows whispered again, harsher now, flashing a glitter of teeth. Where will I meet my true love?

  “But we don’t know the answer,” said Moppe, edging closer to me, jostling for a spot at the center of the light.

  “It doesn’t need to be the right answer,” said Betrys. “It only needs to be convincing.”

  The shadow seethed along the edge of our light, like a prisoner testing the bars of their cell. A single tendril curled out, crossing into the golden glow, reaching toward me with hungry menace. Where will I meet my true love?

  “Er, at the fish market,” I sputtered as the ribbon of darkness slithered closer.

  Instantly the tendril retreated, the whispers quieted. The shadows hid their teeth.

  “The fish market?” Moppe snorted. “Oh, that’s romantic.”

  I flushed. “It’s where my grandmother met my grandfather.” She’d been a proper Regian lady from the mainland, and he’d been a dye merchant’s son.

  “Be vigilant,” said Master Betrys, “and you shouldn’t have any trouble settling the echoes. Just be sure to deal with them promptly.” Her gaze narrowed, searching us both. “And as tempting as it might be, stay well away from the chasm.”

  “But how will we ask our questions, then?” I glanced toward the darkness, where the answer to my dreams awaited. Assuming I could figure out the right question, that is.

  “You won’t be asking any questions,” Betrys said shortly. “You’re too young. Better to wait until you’re older and have something worth asking.”

  That wasn’t fair! My question could change my life! But I forced my expression into artless acceptance. I couldn’t let Betrys suspect my plan. Moppe’s grumble made me think she shared my frustration.

  Master Betrys gave her a sharp look, but Moppe only asked innocently, “What question are you asking, Master Betrys?”

  A strange look flickered across Betrys’s face, something like pain or guilt.

  “I need to be prepared to face someone. A person I knew once. A person who is… dangerous.” She spun on her heel, striding off along the left edge of the chasm, summoning a second light spell as she went. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I tracked the bobbing glow as it grew smaller and smaller, then finally winked out, vanishing behind the distant stalagmites.

  More whispers were already brewing in the shadows nearby.

  Where did Uncle Ajax bury his treasure?

  “Ahh… Under the old olive tree,” said Moppe. The shadows subsided. Moppe grinned. “This isn’t so bad.”

  I hesitated, peering into the darkness. Things seemed quiet, for now. And I couldn’t waste any time. I needed to ask my question, and I certainly wasn’t doing it in front of Moppe. That meant I needed an excuse to get away.

  I spun to face Moppe. “Can you handle the echoes on your own for a little while?”

  She crossed her arms. “Why? Where will you be?”

  “Er. I need to go. I’m going to head back that way.” I waved generally to my left, in the opposite direction from where Master Betrys had gone. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Soon. Soon. Soon.

  She stared at me. Was she really going to make me say it?

  “I need to go,” I repeated, emphasizing the word. “You know? In private?”

  She crossed her arms, looking skeptical. “You mean you need to piss?”

  Piss. Piss. Piss.

  I cri
nged as the coarse word echoed around me. Why was I blushing? It didn’t matter what Moppe thought of me. “Yes, yes,” I said. “I need to… use the powder room.”

  “No, you don’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “You want to ask a question.”

  “That’s none of your business,” I said, drawing myself as tall as I could manage. “Just… stay here.”

  I stalked away, darting between stalagmites. I’d gone five steps before I realized the flaw in my plan. Or, more precisely, before I slammed my nose into the stalagmite that loomed out at me from the pitch blackness.

  I had no light.

  A whisper tickled my ear. I jerked my head around, but there was only darkness.

  I tried to remember Master Betrys’s spell, but it had been tricky, full of conditional clauses to make the light move. Blast it, I should have brought a candle!

  Something plucked at my hair. How will I die? Gasping, I wrenched away. My feet itched to turn and flee back to the safety of the glow behind me. But I couldn’t give up. I needed to be brave.

  How will I die? All around me, the shadows had begun to boil, lashing whips of darkness out like the tentacles of some ravenous sea creature.

  “F-falling into a chasm,” I stammered quickly.

  Silence fell. I let out a long, ragged breath and took another few steps, carefully scuffing at the ground, feeling for the edge of the chasm. This was ridiculous. I needed light!

  It was easy enough to make something do what came naturally to it. Make a candle burn, or make water evaporate. But you couldn’t just command water to burn. So while I knew the magespeak for ignite, it was useless without an appropriate combustible target.

  But I knew another word that might work.

  “Antonia. Glow.”

  Radiance spilled out around me, like the lights that danced around the actors in the play Florian had once taken me to see. I spun a celebratory pirouette, giddy with success. I might not be able to make a turnip dance or a tree grow, but I wasn’t useless!

  And not a moment too late, for there was the forbidding darkness of the chasm, yawning open barely five feet away. I marched over, casting my own personal spotlight to light the way.

  A cold breeze flowed from below, setting goose bumps along my skin. I cleared my throat. Master Betrys was wrong. I wasn’t too young. My dreams were just as important as anyone else’s. And if I didn’t ask the right question, they were going to be crushed forever.

  The silence pressed down ominously. My tongue felt like lead, heavy with the weight of my opportunity. I still hadn’t decided on a question. If I asked about the crown, it might allow me to win my mother’s approval, and the chance to stay on with Master Betrys—for a little while, at least. But it didn’t change the fact that I simply wasn’t as powerful a wizard as Moppe. On the other hand, if I asked how I could become a more potent wizard, I might win a place at the Schola but Mother might refuse to send me as punishment for failing to find the crown.

  And even if I did ask a question, I might not get any answer. What if my query echoed on, like all those others, turning into something vicious and hopeless and hungry?

  I just had to choose, and pray that Rhema answered.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Hello. Hello. Hello.

  I coughed again, feeling utterly foolish. “Er, I’m Antonia Durant. I suppose you know that, since you’re the god of wisdom. Anyways, I’m here because I, um, have a question.”

  This was shameful. I was the daughter of Councillor Myra Durant, who had once convinced the queen of Zolomen to lower the tax on chocolate by 25 percent. But now that I was here, teetering at the brink of knowledge, my throat seized with the importance of my next words.

  I forced my shoulders back, took a deep breath, and spoke from my heart.

  “How can I become a Master Wizard? How do I make my dreams come true?”

  I leaned forward, holding my breath, as the echoes of my question died away. The chill air had already turned my toes and fingers to ice. My chest ached from holding my breath, but I was terrified I might miss the answer. There must be an answer.

  Unless I’d asked the wrong question. Ugh, why had I added that bit about my dreams coming true? That didn’t mean anything. I should have been more specific! I should have asked about the crown! That was more important than my own magical destiny. And now I was being punished for my selfishness.

  Then I heard it. A whisper. An echo, barely audible.

  A single word.

  The word was nothing I recognized, but it buzzed through my bones like one of the earthquakes that rocked Port Meda every year or so, cracking windows and setting the temple bells ringing.

  Magespeak.

  “Wait,” I cried. “How do I use it? What does it mean?”

  Mean. Mean. Mean.

  The echoes died away, leaving me with nothing more. I had my answer, for all the good it did me. I had no idea what the word meant, or how to use it.

  I bit my lip. It was dangerous to use magespeak you didn’t understand. But it wasn’t impossible. The power was in the words themselves, not your understanding of them.

  I had to at least try.

  “Antonia,” I whispered. And then I repeated the unknown word.

  Nothing. Only a faint fizzle, like a match failing to catch.

  Fine. I could make this work. Clearly, I just needed a more complicated incantation. I stalked back to the glow of the floating orb, my mind spinning with possibilities, spells I could use to try to unlock the secret of the mysterious word. I would figure it out. I still had a week.

  As I emerged from between two stalagmites I halted, struck by the sight of Moppe standing at the edge of the chasm, teetering over the deadly darkness, one ear cocked as if listening for something.

  “What are you doing?” I cried. “Careful!”

  She gave a yelp, jerking back from the edge. “You be careful,” she snapped. “I was perfectly fine until you tried to scare me out of my skin.”

  I frowned, eyeing her closely. “Were you asking a question?”

  She crossed her arms. “Were you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then I wasn’t either,” she said, giving me an odd, overly bright smile. Then she squinted. “Why do you look like you swallowed a candle?”

  Oops. I’d forgotten my light spell. In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure how to undo it, but Moppe didn’t need to know that part. I lifted my chin. “It’s a spell, obviously. I can turn it off whenever I—”

  A flicker at the corner of my eye distracted me. I yelped as a lash of darkness reached out, curling round my wrist.

  What will cure Mother’s cough?

  “Chamomile tea!” I sputtered, jerking free of the question as it recoiled into the shadows. But a dozen more flitted and fluttered, preparing to attack. Their desperate voices hammered at my ears.

  What color should I wear to make him love me?

  Who is stealing my turnips?

  How do I stop missing her?

  I spun toward Moppe. “What happened? I thought you said you could handle them!”

  “I was!” She dodged a lash of darkness. “Your neighbor’s goats are eating your turnips!”

  “You can’t stop missing people!” I shouted at another.

  “Purple,” cried Moppe.

  We carried on, fighting the hungry tide of questions. My brain began to jitter, seizing at any possible reply. Finally, the tumult began to quiet. I even had time to drag in a long, deep breath.

  One last query echoed out.

  How many chickens should I buy?

  “Thirteen!” I gasped.

  Then silence. I flopped against one of the chilly stalagmites, not caring anymore if it was slimy. I was exhausted, but at the same time, triumphant. We’d done it.

  Moppe snorted. “And Master Betrys says we’re going to waste questions. At least I know better than to ask a goddess about chickens.”

  I giggled. “Or stolen turnips. At least you had a good answer for
that one.”

  “Goats eat anything,” she said, smiling.

  Suddenly I felt awkward and strange. Moppe was still my rival. But a part of me wished she wasn’t. We’d made a good team, in spite of everything. Maybe—

  A crunch of footsteps interrupted my thoughts as Master Betrys returned. She looked distracted, her brow furrowed, hat askew.

  “Master Betrys?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

  She stared into the shadows, her expression bleak. She must not have found her answer. Guilt twinged through me. I might not understand my answer—yet—but at least I’d gotten one.

  “Maybe you can find what you’re looking for in one of your grimoires,” I offered. “I could help you research.”

  I did truly want to help her, to lift the forbidding weight haunting her brown eyes. Even in the worst of times, on the gloomiest of days, Master Betrys had always carried a vibrant spark with her, like the gleam of the first star pricking out against the night. But that spark was muted now. I might be only her apprentice, but surely there was something I could do to help.

  “Hmm?” She glanced toward me, blinking, as if she’d forgotten I was there. “Oh. No, Rhema answered me. I only hope I won’t need to— Antonia, are you glowing?”

  Her distraction melted away as she studied me, lips pursed.

  “Er. Yes?”

  Master Betrys tilted her head. Her voice was clipped and dangerously calm. “And why, exactly, are you glowing?”

  “She had to go piss,” Moppe said.

  Had I heard that properly? Had Moppe actually covered for me? I shot her a quick glance. She only yawned.

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad you had the sense to conjure light. Even if that is a rather… unorthodox version of the spell. Did you cast it on yourself?”

  “I think so. I, er, I’m not sure how to undo it, though.”

  “Hmm.” Betrys tapped one long finger against her chin. “I suppose you’ll have to do some research, then.”

  “What?” I sputtered. “Can’t you just tell me?”

  “If you insist on casting experimental spells, you’ll have to learn to be responsible for undoing them, Antonia.” The corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Don’t feel bad. When I was your age, I gave myself cat ears. I didn’t figure out the counterspell for over a year. It drove my poor dog wild, and even now I sometimes have a strange craving for mice.” She winked.