Caelyn had one chance to prove herself worthy of the Grove's spellbinders, and it sat shaking in a jar in her hands. The jar glowed from the spells she had caught, each one trapped against glass. She held it over her head in the center of the Moonlit Market Square, under the lanterns and the low moon. Stall owners stopped haggling to watch the ink-stained girl with a broom hooked under one arm. "Watch," she called. "I caught these myself. I can command them." She had a reason to be afraid. Every spell she freed came back twice as wild the next time she opened the lid. Yesterday a small light-charm had cracked a fountain basin. She told herself tonight would be different. She twisted the lid a single turn, just enough to release one. The lid blew off her hand. A ribbon of blue fire shot upward and split into three. One scorched a vendor's awning. One flipped a crate of fruit across the stones. The third chased a cat under a cart. People screamed and ran. Caelyn grabbed for the jar, but the loose spells spun around her like angry wasps, and she could not call a single one back. Her demonstration became a disaster in front of the whole square. A sharp voice cut through the noise. "Enough." The crowd parted. The woman who ran the market walked forward, midnight-blue gown dragging over the stones, an iron scepter in her fist. Every vendor here paid her or saw their stall go dark, and they stepped back fast. She did not flinch at the fire. She pointed the scepter and spoke three words Caelyn did not know. The wild spells froze in the air, then dropped into the jar like dead moths. She screwed the lid shut herself. "You catch, but you cannot hold," she said. She studied Caelyn with cold blue eyes. "Trapped spells rot. They fight harder each time you open the door. Any child learns this before they touch a jar." Caelyn's face burned. "No one taught me. I taught myself." "That is your whole problem." The woman turned the jar in her hand, then held it out. "The spellbinders will never take a girl who makes bombs by accident. You need the old binding text. There is one copy. It is kept at the inn wrapped in ivy, past the far road." Her mouth tightened. "The innkeeper owes me. Tell her I sent you. She will not like it." Caelyn took the jar back. Her hands still shook, but a plan was forming. "Why help me?" "I am not helping you. I am clearing my square." She was already walking away. "Learn to hold your spells, or stop catching them." The crowd glared at the mess Caelyn had made. She clutched the jar and the borrowed name, and started down the far road toward the ivy-covered inn.