The Paper Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy, #1)(6)
She noticed small scraps of paper in the pale-green carpeting. Mg. Thane hadn’t cleaned in here, or perhaps he had only recently worked on a spell to further terrorize Ceony before her arrival. She scanned for such a spell, but the room held so much stuff she could barely tell a tabletop from a desk. The walls, in contrast, were mostly bare, save for Mg. Thane’s framed Magician’s Certificate and more shelves of folders pressed into the corners behind the desk.
She heard the front door shut, but Ceony didn’t hurry herself. She crouched down and picked up the paper bits from the carpet, unfolding them in her fingers. Felt that subtle, curious tingle beneath her skin once again. She wondered at the paper bits. None was larger than her thumbnail, and all appeared to be in strange symmetrical patterns.
The door to the study opened. “Amusing yourself?” Mg. Thane asked, his tone light.
At least he doesn’t have a temper, she thought. Out loud she said, “You were making snowflakes.” She studied a paper cut in the shape of an elongated heart. “That’s what these are from, aren’t they?”
He nodded, his face calm save for a glitter in his green eyes. “Very astute.”
Ceony stood and brushed off her brown skirt, which covered her from rib to calf. She would have thought he mocked her had his eyes not gleamed their sincerity. What a confusing man.
“Ceony,” Mg. Thane said, leaning against the doorframe. He folded his arms against his chest, his long sleeves drooping down from them. “I presume I can call you by your first name.” He didn’t wait for a response. “Folding is not as dreary as I’m sure you believe it to be. It may not be as exciting as Smelting or as innovative as Polymaking, but it has its own outlets for creativity. May I show you?”
Ceony hid a frown and tried very hard not to look incredibly bored at the suggestion. After all, she would be apprenticing under this man for at least two years, if not longer. She needed him to like her. She forced a polite smile on her face and moved toward the door.
Mg. Thane stepped out into the hall, but as Ceony followed after him, her eyes glimpsed something on the cluttered desk that made her pause. Something that wouldn’t have caught her eye at all if the envelope had not matched the stationery set tucked securely into a side pocket of her suitcase.
She stepped back and reached for the wire note holder that had been packed with various letters and postcards, each aligned with its neighbor along the left edges. She selected the peach-colored envelope near the holder’s center and tugged it free, too stunned this time to feel the tingling sensation in her fingertips. The address was not to Mg. Thane, but to the Magicians’ Cabinet . . . and in her penmanship. She had addressed it there because her donor had been anonymous, and she hadn’t known how else to contact her.
Or, apparently, him.
She didn’t need to open the letter to know what it said. She remembered it word for word.
To my anonymous donor,
I cannot begin to express to you my utmost gratitude for the scholarship I’ve received by your hand, though I have no name to address my gratitude to. It has been my dream since I was a young girl to learn the secrets of magic, but due to my family’s financial situation and some bad luck on my part, I had truly believed only a few days ago that my dream was unobtainable. However, I am happy to say I’ve officially enrolled in the Tagis Praff School for the Magically Inclined, and I plan to make you proud by graduating within one year.
Words are not adequate for my joy and thanks to you, but I plead for your patience as I try. You may have very well changed my life and my family’s lives for the better, and for good. Because of your generosity I feel capable of achieving anything, for nothing worldly can possibly hold me back from my ambitions now.
Please know that you have made a vast difference in my life. I only pray one day I might learn your name and find some feeble way to repay you.
Sincerely and with the warmest regards,
Ceony Maya Twill
Feeling a bit stiff, a bit light-headed, she said, “You . . . were my donor?”
Mg. Thane, just outside the doorway, lifted an eyebrow.
Ceony turned the letter over in her hands. “This is my thank-you letter,” she said, heart quickening in her chest. She felt a blush creeping up her neck. “My scholarship. It . . . it came from you.”
The man merely tilted his head to the left. “Tuition at that place is ghastly, isn’t it?”
“Why?” she asked, swallowing to keep her voice from shaking. The walls of her throat grew sore. “Why . . . sponsor me?”
From the beginning Ceony had known she could only attend magic-preparation school—a requirement for all apprentices—if she received some sort of financial aid. She had studied hard during secondary school and was a nominee for the Mueller Academic Award after her acceptance to Tagis Praff, but lost the scholarship without explanation. Heartbroken, she had packed her bags and readied herself to move to Uxbridge, where she would take work as a housemaid for a year or so to pay for culinary school. Four days before her departure, Tagis Praff contacted her with an anonymous scholarship offer of fifteen thousand pounds, enough to cover one year’s tuition, books, and board. A miracle—no bank would allow a shanty nobody from Whitechapel’s Mill Squats to take out a loan for such a grand sum. She knew that from experience.
She cried after receiving that telegram. She wrote this letter the next day.