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She sighs, shaking her head with a soft groaning laugh. “I really think you need to reflect on who infuriated whom. Anyway,” she hurries on, “I thought the ingredients were too expensive?”

“For putting it on and off every day. But as long as I maintain it for the duration of the exams...”

“No one will recognise us,” she says, laughing.

“Us?”

“Pretty, pretty please? Me too?”

I count my money.

* * *

The lie is simple: a six-week pilgrimage to pay homage to the violet oaks. Father allows it, what with the Amuletos house being unusually quiet this warm autumn—few patients, few duties, mostly idle days. A perfect opportunity.

He’s sceptical, but I’ve honed my excuses well. With the silver I’ve scrimped over the year, Akilah and I claim a cramped room near the Pavilion Library, just steps from the examination grounds. For two weeks, it will serve as our base.

Now, the moonlight spills over the pavilion rooftops as Akilah and I sit by the window in my favourite nook. She sorts through piles of books, mumbling about what may appear in the examinations, while I skim a text.

She pauses mid-grumble, her fingers clamping on a stack of pages. Her voice turns sharp with worry. “Won’t your father figure it out when you return empty handed?”

I glance up from the page, a grin tugging at my lips. “No. Remember the violet oak branch I got when I saved Prince Nicostratus in the woods?”

“That was a decade ago.”

“A dry leaf is a dry leaf.”

“Cheeky.”

“You love me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she drawls with twitching lips.

“We’ll need a backstory.” I bow. “Maskios from Hinsard. If anyone gets curious, everything he told me about himself is embedded in my brain.”

“Ah. Unforgettable.”

“Precisely.”

“Maybe use hisactualname? Who would call their precious child Maskios? You made it up to poke fun and it sounds like it.”

I give her a dry look. “We don’tknowhis actual name.” I incline my head again. “Fine. Scholar Calix Solin of Hinsard.”

She just shakes her head.

“As for you,” I say, “something similar to your own name so I don’t trip up. Ilios?”

She blinks drily. “Your mind truly works in mysterious ways.”

Taffy’s white fur brushes against my leg as she slinks by, her tail curling possessively around my ankle. I scan the shelves. “Skriniaris Evander?”

He rounds into sight, a small smile playing at his lips. “You’ll need appropriate attire. I can help with that.”

We follow him into his private rooms and redress into his spare robes. A full magic mask is complex-medius magic; Evander coaches me to focus the spell on deepening our voices and altering key points of our appearance. I’m able to change our eyes to dark brown and sharpen our noses, but I can only leech our hair of colour. “Every time. Hair spells are the bane of my existence!”

Evander chuckles. “Never mind.” He points to my soldad. “I’ve magicked your benefactor’s appearance many a time.” He sends a spell through us that darkens our hair and shifts our jawlines. “I’d give you a beard, but you’re part Skeldar, aren’t you? It won’t take.”

He magics some real stubble for lucky Akilah though, and leads me to a mirror and drawers in the corner of the room. “You never know when a magic-free solution might be required. Here we go.”