“Hey, do you see him?”
“Who?”
“Pale. Dark hair. Next to the tall kid with the freckles. He’s the one who broke into Sunken Manor last night!”
“Are you sure? Doesn’t look much like the description.”
“Pretty sure that’s just a rumor. He looks fine.”
“Fine? He looks….white court-ey.”
“He should look dead!”
As other students poured into the corridors, the staring and whispering got worse. Rose wished they wouldn’t. The last thing she wanted was to attract attention to herself. She had no magic. She was a girl. She didn’t belong. And, the more she saw of the rowdy flock of black-robed boys pouring into the castle with their fluttery spells, and their exotic, blended features, the more the sense of not-belonging set in, and the harder it was to concentrate on finding their first class.
The academy had a simple enough structural design on the outside. Boxy. Simple. But on the inside, there were dozens of floors, and even more staircases, stairwells and hidden ladders. Some of those staircases would take you to classrooms, some to the upper floors, and some led directly into brick walls, complete with railings that laughed at you when you made the mistake of using them. There were portraits on every wall, and gargoyles on every rafter, all which watched them as they walked by, occasionally offering commentary on the students below.
It was because of this complexity that finding the first class was as challenging as the classes themselves. She was almost grateful for their head start on the other students. Without it, she doubted they would have made it in time to finish their stolen breakfast under the desk.
“I don’t know where you learned to climb like that, but my stomach thanks you for it!” Rob chatted far happier as they walked.
“I can’t believe that you’re okay with stealing sausages from dwarves!” Rose, who still hadn’t adjusted to the existence of dwarves, chewed next to him. “And, I kinda feel bad for them. Using the height advantage on a guy that short is…well, it’s low.”
“There was a whole mountain of sausages just going to waste in the cafeteria! And I didn’t steal them,” Rob shot her a cheeky grin. “You did.”
“Yes, while you asked for beard-growing tips. To a dwarf, I’m pretty sure that’s flirting.”
Rob went slightly pink. “And how are you sure of that, Mister From-a-distant-land?”
She snatched the last sausage from Rob’s fingers. “Vantage point.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the first group of first-years, from their own, and several other dormitories, all with different colored hems on their robes, poured into the room. They were followed shortly by the class’s professor, a woman in long, pastel robes with a pleasant sort of weather-worn face—the only other woman Rose had seen since stepping foot on campus.
“Good morning, students! I am Professor Lumene, and I will be your instructor of Benign Magics this semester.”
Professor Lumene proceeded to call roll, and to Rose’s great surprise, her name was on the list, albeit with several raised eyebrows and a soft ‘hm,’ from the professor when she met her eyes. Rose did her best to look doe-eyed and innocent as Lumene proceeded to tell them about the dangers of even magics that were called ‘benign,’ as anything could be used for nefarious purposes if not cast correctly. She then proceeded to sprout apples, oranges, and lemons from the dead wood of her desk, clean everyone’s robes with a sweep of her hand, and a glow of her pink ring put the entire front row of students to sleep and wake them again in an instant, entirely revitalized.
Needless to say, the entire class was deeply impressed and couldn’t wait to never have to never do laundry or sleep long hours again, but they soon realized they weren’t going to be casting more than paltry spells for a long time. Lumene set them to trying to sprout leaves from their desks, and the only student who managed anything by the end of the class was Tristan, from their own dorm, who had managed to make part of his desk turn slightly green.
“Excellent, Mr. Alloy! Simply excellent! Truly, I am impressed.”
“Is doing spells that hard?” Rose whispered to Rob on the way out.
“It is without a conduit ring. Tristan’s family could probably afford one,” Rob muttered, looking surly. His own desktop had looked even more dead by the time he’d finished with it.
“Conduit ring?”
But even as she asked it, she recalled the rings on Headmage Cromwell’s fingers, and the ones on both Sorin’s and Lumene’s hands.
“What do they do?” Rose asked, confused.
Rob stared at her. “Where did you say you grew up again?”
“Shreveport,” she said simply.
“Right…” He was skeptical, but answered her question anyway. “It’s easier to focus magic through a certain type of stone. Each one coincides with a magic type, which is why there are so many different colors. Some of them even amplify power, but those are rare.”
“A lot of the students in our dorm were wearing rings…” she realized slowly. “Are the students in the dorm that rich?”
Rob nodded, and there was a touch of bitterness to his mouth as he did so. “Usually, yes. Glassenveil has fewer students than all the other dorms, so most of our funding comes from internal sources, too.”
“That’s…intimidating,” Rose said honestly, beginning to see the students around them in a new light.
Rob hadn’t managed anything either in the class, but she presumed he was here because, unlike her, he actually could use magic. However, unlike most of the other students in their classes, Rob had no rings or stones of any color to cast with. According to Lumene, they weren’t necessary, but every decent display of magic Rose had seen so far had used one—excepting the healing potion.
When they arrived at potions class, every student there was panting and out of breath for the dozen or so rounds of stairs they’d had to climb to get there. Potions was held in a heavily fumigated tower, with windows on every side, and a circle of cauldrons, boilers, and pharmaceutical equipment on every wall. Everything in the classroom was flammable or fragile, or flammable and fragile.
“Come in, come in!” Professor Esme Blackglove had false eyelashes applied to her lids, and eyebrows that had been permanently singed off. She was so old, it was a shock that she was still moving, yet she leapt over the desk in her lab-coat and lab-safety shoes like a grade-schooler on a parkour set.
“I wonder!” she exclaimed, rubbing her hands maniacally. “Will this class finally become the reason they built this tower to crumble away from the keep in an explosion? No? If not, then I demand your utmost attention in this class. Explosion-proof walls and a vent-system can only take you so far. Welcome, students, to potioneering! This, as you should know is not a cooking class. This is the pastry-making of the magical world. Hear we deal with enhancers of every kind. Cosmetics. Pharmaceuticals. You name it. Beauty is at your fingertips, or life-long maiming, if you don’t pay attention. Health and strength within your grasp—so long as you do not accidentally tap into your own lifespan. You will brew disguises in a bottle! Climate resistance! And best of all, every-day painkillers! The world is your oyster as long as you don’t turn into one!”
“A world?” gasped an awestruck student in the front with brown-hemmed robes.
Professor Blackglove tapped the board. “An oyster.”
Rose took the most detailed notes she ever had in her life as they toured lab safety. She might only be here for a few days, but Rob would need them, and she personally liked being alive.
Next, Magical History was taught by an old man who really was too decrepit to move. Professor Callis’ hair consisted of the last few foot-long strands still clinging to his shiny head. He walked with a stumble, and whistled his ‘s’s when he spoke. He carried a stack of papers into class half as tall as he was, and would have fallen over when he set them down if Rob hadn’t leapt up and caught him.
“Verry good ref-flexes-s, boy,” he whistled, when he’d gotten his right footing.
The class sniggered and pointed under their desks as Rob sat down, ears pink.
So far, it looked like most classes she could just lay low in until she found a moment unwatched long enough to sneak back to Sunken Manor. In fact, Rose managed to go perfectly unnoticed until they began their next to last class, Mental Resilience.
Professor Baron decorated his classroom with posters of disturbing images—jars of spiders and severed limbs, and suggestive drawings of female silhouettes. All of the desks or chairs were slightly sticky, or dirty, and had one leg just shorter than the others, and the lighting was an odd blend of orange and greens that cast eerie shapes around the room. It was a room designed for distraction and discomfort, and Baron didn’t seem to know the meaning of ‘subtlety.’
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The professor took role with ruthless efficiency, his demeanor the opposite of his room. He had a symmetrical, middle aged face with a short nose, cropped, peppery hair, and a muddy gaze that shrewdly memorized every student who responded to attendance. He began the lecture with no greeting or get-to-know-you’s, and there was something sharp and curt in the way he spoke that demanded attention.
“Mental Resilience is the most important course you will take during your time at the academy. Magic is not words or symbols or even those ridiculous casting stones. Magic is willpower. Magic is focus!
“Without willpower, your casting will be weak. Without focus, your magic will lose its power. Without mental defenses, anyone can hack into your mind and make you see, feel, do, whatever they wish! If you have not already been practicing, you may consider yourselves behind.”
There was utter silence in the classroom as Professor Baron stepped out from behind his desk, striding in his plain black robes in front of the class. Rose had a sinking feeling as his eyes locked with hers.
“And above all, you must exercise self control,” he hissed, gaze unmoving from hers.
Next to her, Rob coughed, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Then, unexpectedly, and possibly more scarily, Baron’s gaze left Rose, and his face shifted into what he probably thought was a friendly smile.
“As this is our first day, I’ve devised a fun little test for the class.”
Rose frowned. The words ‘fun,’ and ‘test,’ in her experience rarely went together, but the rest of the class leaned forward eagerly.
“This,” Barons said, gesturing to a box, “is something I’ve had specially made for the class. You’re all familiar with teleportation taffy—”
Rose shared a glance with Rob, who gave her a subtle head-shake, though whether that meant he also didn’t know, or was advising against eating anything from this professor, she couldn’t tell.
“—Whereas regular taffy from a sweet shop will show you something preconceived—the scents of flowers, images of sandy beaches, or the rolling purple hills—these taffies have been concocted to show you something more… personal. Namely, nothing short of your dearest, fondest memory.”
There was excitable chattering throughout.
“Or,” the professor continued curtly, cutting off the noise, “they will show you your most sensational fear.”
The students eyed the box with significantly more apprehension.
“Regardless of which you receive, I would prefer that you experience neither. Remember, these are sweets, not curses. Even a first-year should be able to control himself enough to resist the influence of a little magic-spun sugar.”
With a wave of his hand, each sweet flew out of the box, and landed neatly on a student desk.
“Begin,” Baron ordered.
Rose eyed the bright purple wrapping before her before picking up the candy. She already knew what Gearson would be saying about this test.
Eating something you haven’t identified is a swift path to joining Didymus in eternal garden walks. Is that the extent of your plans for the next eternity, girl?
Nevertheless, with so many eyes on her, there was little choice but to participate, or else risk a significant amount of unwanted attention. So, with the rest of the class, Rose unwrapped the sweet and put it in her mouth.
All around her, students began to laugh, squeal, and trace their fingers through the air, as though trying to catch something lovely and delightful. Baron watched them all, unsurprised, and unimpressed. Then, in the corner of the room, one boy started screaming.
Rose hadn’t noticed him coming in. The boy was lanky, his desk awkward around his limbs, his frame thin and somewhat frail, as though he’d been stretched into his clothes rather than having put them on. He stooped over his desk, his skin having gone a slight tinge of green. He clutched at his hair, raking his fingers over his face as though he wanted to escape his own head. He panted, mumbling, calling out to someone in a language she’d never heard.
Fortunately, the experience was over quickly for everyone, the entire class returning to themselves together in a mixture of confusion and shame. It wasn’t until she had assured herself that the boy in the corner was alright, that Rose realized—she hadn’t seen anything, herself.
“Victor Sethlans,” Baron said to the class, when attention was restored. “The taffy seemed to have the strongest effect on you. Would you care to share with the class what you saw?”
Victor, trying not to scowl and failing, stuffed his hands under his legs, but not before everyone in the class saw that they were shaking.
“I would not, sir.” he spoke softer than Rose would have expected, his voice clear, but hardly reaching to the front of the class.
“You wouldn’t?” Baron repeated. “Not even for credit?”
“No. Sir,” Victor responded simply.
Baron scowled, staring at Victor intently, before realizing that the boy, ironically, was not to be intimidated into sharing.
“You would not, then. Would anyone else care to share? Those who had more positive experiences, perhaps?”
Not a single hand rose into the air.
“Interesting,” Baron remarked. “And yet, I can tell what sort of memory each of you experienced. Were I to hack into the fist layer of your minds—as any novice with a casting stone would be able—then I would see precisely what you all had seen. And I would have at my disposal, nothing less than your fondest dreams, your softest motivators, perhaps even…your most exquisite fears.”
His words sunk into the class, who were all wearing matching expressions of horror—all except for Rose.
“It seems that some of you already do not possess the fortitude for the foundational art of focus. In fact, there are those in this room with the great misfortune of needing to repeat a year. At least now, you’ll have enough motivation to pay attention, yes?”
The class did not respond. Baron continued.
“What follows, of course, is for each of you to find a partner, and prepare for our first mental exercise. You will be attempting to break into the first layer of your partner’s mind. Nothing more. Today’s memories. So!” He clapped his hands. “It appears we have an odd number in our group. No matter. The straggler can partner with me.”
Rose saw Baron’s gaze slide to Victor, and felt more than saw his desperation. Already, partnerships were forming all around them, but no one spoke to him. No one was even sitting by him. Rose felt Rob’s knee brush hers in a silent signal, but her hand was in the air before she knew what she was doing.
“I’d be happy to volunteer for that, sir,” she said quickly. “The taffy was…not as strong for me, I think?”
“Very well,” said Baron, sighing as he pulled his attention from Victor. Rose was very careful not to meet his or Rob’s eyes as she was invited to the front of the class.
“Look into your partner’s eyes and clearly picture the mind’s entrance. Trace the symbol I’ve drawn here, and then…focus. If you are the partner who has chosen to go on the offensive, then you will imagine the opposite. A closed door. A locked vault. May the partner with the greater focus prevail! Now, Mr. Cible—”
It was all the warning Rose got before Professor Baron began.
Trying very hard not to think any thought that could give herself away, and failing miserably, Rose met her professor’s eyes, and imagined the best locked vault she could—something western, with a giant turn-table, and impenetrable sides. Professor Baron held up a ringed finger, and Rose knew somewhere deep down—she was screwed.
But, for the first few moments, nothing happened. The seconds ticked by. A sheen of perspiration was starting to form on Baron’s forehead as he narrowed his eyes, making a pushing motion with one hand. Then another sign. The signs started to come faster and faster. He tried large swooping motions. Hacking, razing motions. Then, finally, a violent, stabbing motion.
“—Ah,” she said at last, watching his obviously strained efforts. “Are you alright, professor?”
Baron drew himself up from where he’d hunched before her, glaring.
“You can speak? You can—Impossible. That should have—” clears his throat. Well, it seems that your resistance is higher than my third years at least. A successful resistance. Well done, Mr. Cible. You may sit.”
As she returned to her seat, all around her, the rest of the class was still attempting the exercise, but Rose watched the professor, who paced between desks providing instruction, and barking orders. However, though the rest of the lesson carried on smoothly, he did so much as glance at her again, a perturbed twist to his mouth.
Rob, who had partnered Victor, cornered her in the hall the moment class was over.
“That was incredible! You didn’t say you could do that!”
“I didn’t do—” Rose started to say, when Tristan Alloy stalked up to them, his portly belly, and perfect blond hair swaying with every step.
“It seems I was mistaken, Cible. You are competent in at least one field, even if you have the face of a girl.”
Two other boys whom she recognized from the dorm room sidled up to her and clapped her hard on the back.
“Nice one, Cible! Your scores today brought up the whole average! We’re ahead of any other class! Let Valentin choke on that when we get back! I’m Sean, by the way,” said Sean, a lanky, auburn-headed boy with glasses.
“And I’m Fred,” said Fred, who looked very much as if he was related to Sean.
“Rose,” she said, shaking both their hands. “And, thanks, Tristan. Rob, where did Victor go? You partnered him, right?”
Rob shrugged, unwilling to look at any of their three dormmates. “He disappeared after class.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, that’s—Rob, you okay?”
Rob immediately thrust a smile on his face and straightened in front of the group. “Right as rain! Cracked a few heads, just like home!”
There was a round of laughs at that, but as they walked to lunch, Rose couldn’t help that notice he still wouldn’t meet anyone’s eye.
The last class of the day was a double hour course. In future, it would be Dueling, but for now, it was a glorified survival course taught by Professor Thalus.
He was determined to assess their skills to the absolute limit. How high could they jump? How high with magic? How fast could they run? How far? Any hand-to-hand skills to speak of?
All in all, Rose learned that she was good at absolutely nothing. Though her lungs had been restored, she was over nine months out of shape, and she was strong, but not compared to a pack of men, especially Rob, who in his athletic uniform looked as though he’d spent every summer since birth tossing haybales.
She placed dead last, along with the first-year mermen who claimed they’d only had their legs a few months, and was promptly informed by Thalus that her best hope in a duel was to be as forgettable as possible.
Exhausted and humiliated, she traipsed toward the locker showers with the rest of the boys, and then turned at the last moment. She was in desperate need of a shower, but with so many men in there, there was no chance. Instead, she found the stream running through campus. Though it was Spring in Shreveport—or at least, she thought it had been. Was she wrong?—here, it was the bitter cold of Fall. The river water wasn’t frozen, but it definitely felt like it was thinking of it.
Rose spent every frigid minute in the icy stream plotting exactly when and how she was going to get back to the manor, and from there, home, where though she couldn’t remember everything about her family, it would be certain that she’d never see professor Baron again.
