There was nothing terribly unusual about the magic: alchemy was a common enough Inheritance, after all. But Pitt had spoken to Clarkson—often, in the months when Wilberforce had been ill. He would have sworn that Clarkson was a Commoner, with a few strains of latent magic that hadn’t awoken. Either he had been astonishingly unobservant, or something had changed that wasn’t supposed to be able to change.
