Page 94 of The King's Man 1

The final patient is announced.

Delusional, experiencing hallucinations. My grip tightens on the pen, its energy fading fast, but I force myself to focus. Quickly, I scribble my diagnosis: gradual spell intervention, one month of monitoring, followed by biannual checkups.

My magic gives out. I’m a few words short of a caution about sugar.

I submit my work and sink into my seat. I think of my forefathers, Akilah pacing by the canal, the hopeful par-linea. I hope what I wrote is enough.

My heart pounds as the judges assess the submissions. Finally, they announce their decision. I open my eyes slowly—

My stomach drops. The signature on my desk is glowing.

I stare at the symbol until tears blur my vision. Redcloaks approach my desk, and I hear murmurs:“Finally.” “A miracle he made it this far.” “Luck, surely.”

I rise, my knees weak under the heavy heat pouring in through my cheeks. There, for all to see. A failure. As expected.

I think of Akilah’s last hug and her conviction I’d make it. I think of those par-linea lined up outside, hopeful. I think of River’s wish to learn.

Skriniaris Evander offers a silent sympathetic smile, but my chin sinks to my chest. There’s no one to blame. I just wasn’t enough.

The lump in my throat aches. I don’t want to see anyone—especially not Quin with his bet on me, with his goading, with hisProve it!

A redcloak nudges me to keep moving. The arched doorway looms ahead. What awaits beyond it?

“Wait.”

The voice is sharp and authoritative; it stops me swallowing over the lump in my throat. I halt, waiting for what will be said next, not daring to look over.

Florentius continues, “I suspect the scholar beside me is cheating.”

The accused leaps up in outrage. “How dare you! What proof do you have?”

“His cloak glowed intermittently, and he kept coughing into it. Please investigate.”

The redcloaks step forward and inspect the scholar’s cloak, confirming Florentius’s claim. Someone has been feeding him answers.

The room erupts into chaos. Some defend the accused, while others demand justice for the integrity of the process. In the midst of the commotion, my gaze meets Florentius’s. He looks away quickly, his expression unreadable.

As the cheating scholar is escorted out, Skriniaris Evander rises to speak. “Caelus Amuletos, you’re the twentieth scholar to pass day one of the mage examinations.”

The redcloaks step aside and I sag against the wall, overwhelmed.

I get another chance tomorrow.

The judges make announcements I barely hear over my relief. The remaining scholars celebrate and congratulate each other; I’m swept along with them through the grounds, out the gates—to cheers from the crowd and Akilah, half-eaten cake in hand.

She hugs me tightly and whispers, “Proud of you. No disguise this time.” She winks. “You’ll have to go without me. Have fun.”

I smile and let myself be carried along with the other scholars to the academy.

One of the tutors hands me a drink, and I gladly answer his questions about my education rather than be alone in the crowd. He’s soon beckoned away, and I’m left nursing my wine. I feel like the outcast they think I am. Conversations drift my way. A group of scholars nearby, admiring the festival dancers.

“One more drink before we meet our girls?”

“You’re dreaming if you think she’ll give you her lovelight.”

“What?!”

“Will you give her yours?”

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