Chapter 39
Quill
Nostalgia
Les Secrets de la Soirée
Tom Kristiaan
Even though it took some getting used to waking up in a unfamiliar house after a peaceful night without panic attacks, a house that felt safer than the place where I had been sleeping for the past few months, I had to smile when I discovered the black pants and blue knit sweater on the dresser in my guest room, which Lara must have dug up especially for me.
We had spent the weekend studying on the terrace behind the Rydells' house, wrapped in cozy blankets, while Streusel had been chasing after swirling autumn leaves.
When Lara hadn't been raving about some new true crime show or gossiping about her competitive fellow students, I had lost myself in a thriller I had stolen from one of the bookshelves upstairs.
I pushed the book back into the empty space, hoping Davian hadn't noticed it had been missing, and continued looking for the next book I could read on campus when I needed a break from writing.
Admittedly, he had offered to let me take books whenever I wanted, but I had politely declined... only to do so secretly. What was wrong with me?
These bookshelves were filled with books I wanted to read when I had the time, if I could ever read that much.
Who knew how long I would stay here. Burdening Davian was not on my agenda.
My gaze darted to the half-open door, behind which the darkness warned my manipulative obsessive thoughts not to influence my next decision.
Davian had already left for Maplecrest half an hour ago and wouldn't be able to catch me snooping around his private rooms this time.
Which, by the way, wasn't even my intention, but I wondered what he was reading.
Did he hoard books in his bedroom that meant a lot to him? If so, I wanted to read them.
As always, the obsessive thoughts got the better of me, and I looked around the hallway before entering Davian's bedroom.
Unlike the other rooms in this house, the walls were not made of bookshelves. They were bare, not even decorated. Just plain pastel gray wooden walls with elegant wall panels and a built-in wardrobe.
Nevertheless, the room felt peacefully lively, because there was a simple desk right by the window, plants in stone pots on the windowsill and in the corners of the room, simple gray lamps on the bedside tables, and earth-toned candles next to them, matching the small stone flower pots.
The emptiness in this room was... comforting.
Was that what Davian was looking for when he came here? Inner peace?
My eyes fixed on the book resting on one of the bedside tables and I sucked in my breath sharply.
How on earth...
Confused and surprised at the same time, I stepped closer to the worn dark blue hardcover version of Batteries of Ink.
He didn't like this book, and yet he owned not only one copy – which was currently hidden in the Richters' attic alongside all my manuscripts, waiting for me to rescue it – but also one of the rarest editions of the only book Atrianima had blessed this society with?
Fascinated, I ran my fingers over the elegant silver embossing in the shape of a leaking battery, then over the embossed frame of the high-quality linen binding, before finally opening the massive book.
My breath caught in my throat.
“This can't be...” I whispered, staring like a deer in the headlights at the author's signature.
No one had ever seen it. And yet it seemed to exist.
How had Davian gotten hold of this copy? And why...
The writing was cursive. Black ink. Atrianima.
“Quill?” I flinched as Lara's voice echoed through the house from downstairs. “Are you coming?”
“Yes!”
I hastily closed the book, hesitated, but then took it in both hands, my heart pounding.
Davian would know if it was missing. But he didn't like this book anyway. Besides, I would bring it back... Maybe he wouldn't even notice?
Torn between two options, I stared down at the elegant cover, ultimately decided to take the risk, and slipped it into the leather briefcase Lara had lent me. A gift from her father that she had never used.
I would read Batteries of Ink over and over again. Only this time, I would try to understand what Davian didn't like about Atrianima's writing style.
First Day At School
Carlos Rafael Rivera
Entering campus this Monday felt different than usual. Professors who had ignored me until now greeted me. Only a handful, though. The others eyed me, but not as gossip-hungry as all the students did with me and the other candidates.
I should be glad that Lucas seemed to be just as much in the spotlight, since no one had expected him to throw his hat in the ring.
There were even rumors about his broken friendship with Zach, but the two still sat together in every lecture.
Lectures in which the gossip mill was in full swing, unless, as with Arnold, the usual authoritarian tension reigned.
Of course, Arnold called me up for a spontaneous debate against himself, just to show me up in front of the entire lecture hall on the question “Should Supreme Court judges have a term limit?” and to announce to everyone that I would most certainly have no chance against the men of the elite.
Of course, Troy made twenty-three comments about Zach needing to buckle up and me better leaving Maplecrest before the end of the day, because his golden candidate would debate us all into the ground.
In Davian's lecture, I simply tried not to stare at him, and he seemed to do the same. Instead, I was the focus of even more glances from my fellow students, who made it clear to me who they were definitely not betting on in these debates.
I couldn't help but notice that every student I passed in the campus parks looked as if they had seen a ghost, and it took me a while to realize that all these people were staring at my neck.
I somehow managed to escape Tony, who had been desperately trying to talk to me since this morning, but in one of my frantic attempts to flee, I crashed right into a female journalism student who literally ambushed me and bombarded me with questions about the debates and my self-assessment, as well as other, far too private questions.
Way too exhausted from this day, which made me feel like these debates were an international competition and not the internal university tradition they were supposed to be, I managed to escape to a small park for half an hour to read under a linden tree.
But even there, it didn't help to escape into Atrianima's fiction when every passing group of students looked at you as if you were a leper or a convict who had escaped from prison.
Beth’s Story
Carlos Rafael Rivera
It was already late afternoon when I stopped in front of Davian's office, took a deep breath, and listened to the muffled voices coming through the door.
Monica and Davian seemed to be deep in conversation, but it was part of the debate training that I would come to his office every Monday and Thursday afternoon from now on and they would train me.
I knocked tentatively before entering the room and closing the door.
“Quillon, there you are. I...” When I turned to her, she froze, put her hand to her mouth, and needed a moment before she stepped toward me. “Good heavens... What happened to your neck?”
Oh. I had really thought about everything. What I would say to Anthony if he ever managed to talk to me, how I should behave in front of Davian in public, or what I would do if my father found me. But Monica...
She looked at Davian, then back at me, expectantly and with more shock on her face than I could bear.
There was only one thing I could say. The truth. Because it was obvious.
“Domestic violence.”
I sounded casual because humor about my chaotic existence was the only coping mechanism that helped me get through everyday life.
I lied when it served a practical purpose. But why should I hide something that wasn't even my fault?
Monica looked disturbed. And to make matters worse, Davian, leaning against the wall behind his desk next to the huge window, seemed tense.
“I'm fine,” I assured her, but I feared I had just sent her into shock. Something that reminded me of how much pain my father had actually caused me. Something I didn't want to think about right now. “I moved out this weekend and I'm not going back. I'm safe.”
It took all my strength not to look at Davian gratefully.
He made me feel safe. A secret I would take to my grave.
“Do you... do you want to talk about it? Should we take you to the doctor?” Monica clutched her necklace as if she needed to hold on to it. “Have you informed the police?”
“I'm fine.”
I forced myself to smile, feeling like a false snake, but Monica was the last person I would burden with my private matters.
“Let's get started.”
My gaze wandered back and forth between her and Davian.
“I don't know how you plan to prepare me, but I'll try my best.”
Another lie, because my success was neither realistic nor what I needed to get my father kicked out of Maplecrest.
Luckily for me, Davian immediately picked up on the topic, so Monica had no chance to question me further, even though she continued to stare at me as if I had revealed the date of her death.
“There are basic methods we need to make you familiar with first. Formalities that will prevent you from being disqualified. Then Monica and I will teach you two different debating techniques.”
I looked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow.
“Does every candidate have two professors to train them?”
“Basically, you have the right to ask other professors for help,” Davian explained as he rolled up his light blue shirt sleeves.
“You should accept Monica's help.” I forced my gaze away from his forearms and back to Monica, who was still staring at me as if she needed time to process.
“Her debating style is demanding, cornering, and focused on emotions without getting personal.”
Curious, I looked back at Davian.
“What's your style?”