Falthejn took in the room. Dramatic, certainly; then again, his experience was mostly with the diviners’ guild, whose city headquarters comprised a few rented rooms above the least reputable High Quarter tavern. Diviners tended not to get along with one another, or, for that matter, with anyone. It was best for everyone involved if they had no real place to gather.

He gave Sif a little wave. She smiled back at him with a great deal of confidence. That was a good sign.

Baltasar Rasmussen turned his gaze from Sif to Falthejn. “State your name.”

“Falthejn Arnarsson.”

“Do you know this girl?”

Falthejn nodded. “We met during the flight from Syderskogholm. On the road north to the fort at Syderskogflodsvad, I discovered her talent for working magic.”

“How so?”

“We faced a number of ontlig attacks during our journey. She helped me defend our band of refugees on several occasions.”

Rasmussen nodded. “Please take the girl and retire to the passage while we confer.”

Sif raised her eyebrows at Falthejn, who waved her ahead of him. They left the chamber, and an attendant closed the door on them.

“How did I do?” Sif asked, pacing nervously.

Falthejn glanced at the door. “How do you think?”

Sif shrugged. “I did— worked some magic for them. Then they called you up.”

The diviner cracked a grin. “I think it’s fair to say you blew them away.” Sif paused in her pacing to glare daggers at him. Falthejn held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, no more jokes. I think— well, we’ll find out in a moment.”

The attendant opened the door. They went inside.

Rasmussen stood and drew back his hood. “Sif Hrothgarsdottir, the Akademi der Luftsmagiker will accept you as a student.”