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die from paper cuts.”
    “All right,” said the mage. “Everyone, bring me your papers and I’ll give you your marks. Come on, let’s get this room cleaned up for the next group.”
    Relieved, Call reached for the paper on his desk — and froze. Desperately, he scrabbled at the edges of it with his fingernails, but somehow, he didn’t know how, the paper had sunk into the wood of the desk and he couldn’t get a grip on it. “Master Rockmaple — there’s something wrong with my paper,” he said.
    “Everyone under the desks!” said Jasper, but no one was paying attention to him. They were all looking at Call. Master Rockmaple stalked over to him and stared down at the paper. It had well and truly become fused to the desk.
    “Who did this?” demanded Master Rockmaple. He sounded flabbergasted. “Is this someone’s idea of a prank?”
    Everyone in the class was silent.
    “Did you do this?” Master Rockmaple asked Call.
    I was just trying to keep it from moving, Call thought miserably, but he couldn’t say that. “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe the paper is defective.”
    “It’s just paper!” the mage shouted, and then seemed to get control of himself. “All right. Fine. You get a zero. No, wait, you are going to be the first aspirant in Magisterium history to get a negative score on one of the Iron Trial tests. You get a minus ten.” He shook his head. “I think we can all be grateful that the final test is one you do alone.”
    By that point, Callum was most grateful that it would all soon be over.

    This time, the aspirants stood in the hallway outside a double door and waited to be called inside. Jasper was speaking to Aaron, looking over at Call like he was the subject they were discussing.
    Call sighed. This was the last test. Some of the tension drained out of him at the thought. No matter how well he did, one last test wasn’t going to make that much of a difference to his terrible score. In less than an hour, he’d be heading home with his dad.
    “Callum Hunt,” called a mage who hadn’t introduced herself before. She had an elaborate snake-shaped necklace wound around her throat and was reading off a clipboard. “Master Rufus is waiting for you inside.”
    He pushed off the wall and followed her through the double doors. The room was large and empty and dim, with a wooden floor where a single mage sat next to a large wooden bowl. The bowl was filled with water and there was a flame burning at its center, without wick or candle.
    Call stopped and stared, feeling a little prickle against the back of his neck. He’d seen plenty of weird things that day, but this was the first time since the illusion of the cave that he’d really felt the presence of magic.
    The mage spoke. “Did you know that to obtain good posture, people used to practice walking around with books balanced on their heads?” His voice was low and rumbling, the sound of a distant fire. Master Rufus was a large, dark-skinned man with a bald head as smooth as a macadamia nut. He stood up in one easy motion, lifting the bowl in his wide, callused fingers.
    The flame didn’t waver. If anything, it shone a little more brightly.
    “Wasn’t it girls who did that?” Call asked.
    “Did what?” Master Rufus frowned.
    “Walked around with books on their heads.”
    The mage gave him a look that made Callum feel as if he’d said something disappointing. “Take the bowl,” he said.
    “But the flame will go out,” Call protested.
    “That is the test,” said Rufus. “See if you can keep the flame burning, and for how long.” He held out the bowl to Call.
    So far, none of the tests had been what Call expected. Still, he’d managed to fail each one — either because he’d tried to or because he just wasn’t cut out to be a magician. There was something about Master Rufus that made him want to do better, but that didn’t matter. There was no way he was going to the