Chapter 4. Grayson
Grayson
Very few things surprise me. But I’m so shocked right now that I barely register Naomi cursing next to me. I can name every single student in this auditorium who will get into Uni today, with only three maybes. I’ve made it a point to know. And Eloise Belrose definitely wasn’t one of them.
Also, that girl has balls of steel to mess with the discernment spell in front of my uncle and the High Mages. If circumstances were different, I’d laugh until I fell off this bench. Because good for her.
Even though my face is carefully neutral, my uncle flashes me a warning look, telling me the wily prick is once again reading my emotions and doesn’t find my amusement amusing.
While I don’t share my uncle’s gift for seeing emotions, I’m able to scent them like a kind of magical synesthesia, something I’ve intentionally never told him. Or anyone.
“She cheated,” Naomi says, indignant. “She touched the spell. How can they just sit there and let her get away with it?”
“If she cheated, it’s the Council’s problem,” I say flatly.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Akari will make an example of her,” Naomi quips, nodding her head toward the far corner of the room where the powerful head of the University Guardians watches us with crossed arms.
“They say she can slice a man in two with a dull kitchen knife and do spells without even using her hands,” Naomi whispers, but I don’t reply.
Akari is dressed entirely in black with a short sword strapped to her back as she watches Eloise with a calculating gaze. Rumor has it she hasn’t missed a graduation in the twenty years she’s been on staff, personally evaluating every new student bound for University.
I turn my attention back to the headmistress, impatient to get on that stage.
But she doesn’t call my name. She calls Ivy, who easily makes it into the Elemental Guild.
And Maggie O’Donnell, who gets Illusion.
By the time we’re seventy or so students deep in roll call, I know without a doubt that I’m going last. That my uncle likely told her to orchestrate it that way by saying: Stones make their presence known.
Stones are the rock this society is built on.
When Headmistress Divya eventually says the words, “And will our last graduate make his way down—Grayson Stone,” I stand before she finishes my name.
Showtime.
I unbutton my blazer and shrug it off as I approach the stage. As I take the last step, I toss it into the crowd. Bastian snatches it from the air like a groupie at a concert, pretending to faint into his seat. There’s laughter and hoots and even some catcalls. Brilliant.
My uncle’s face doesn’t so much as flinch, but I can scent his annoyance. He demands order and decorum and absolute reverence.
Which is why I also don’t wait for him to say: “Begin casting.” It’s the little things in life. Instead, I grab a miniature book out of my pocket and throw it high above my head, raising my hands.
The book explodes midair into the hundreds of seeds its pages depict, each perfect and whole and varied—Alchemy. With a flick of my wrist the seeds sprout, growing vines and fragrant flowers at an incredible pace—Botany. They twist together as they expand to form a thirty-foot leafy dragon.
I smile as the audience’s expressions portray awe and wonder.
One twist of my hand and the plant dragon transforms again, its leaves becoming scales and its flowers huge slitted eyes. Its claws tear chunks out of the stage with a loud crunch—Illusion.
Gasps become whispers of “Oh, hell no,” and there are a fair number of nervous glances at the doors.
Using one final burst of power, I throw my hands in the air and my dragon screeches an earsplitting scream.
Its jaws open wide, spittle flying from its elongated teeth as fire bursts into the crowd in such a powerful stream that the entire theater is instantly engulfed—Elemental.
Only, unlike Naomi, I surround it with a shielding spell.
I’m not trying to kill my classmates, obviously.
But it doesn’t matter. Students shriek, ducking and scrambling into the aisle.
With satisfaction I bring my hands together, returning the room to its former state—except for the flowers, which I rain onto the audience.
There isn’t laughter like there was with Bas or cursing like there was with Naomi.
They all look stunned and frankly a little terrified.
Except for Bastian, who catches a flower and smells it.
My job is done.
I don’t have even a wisp of doubt as the discernment spell swirls around my legs. I have no fear when it brushes my face and skitters above my head, hurriedly splitting into four globes that will become the four shining symbols of the Gifted.
The Alchemy dragon and the Elemental lightning bolt take shape first, and a grin breaks across my face.
I beam with pride as the Botany birdcage made of vines appears, followed by the spinning Illusionist coin with a face that changes each time it rotates.
Only instead of flashing brightly in the air like the spell did for the other students, the image ripples.
Ripples and wavers.
Which is when the unthinkable happens—the symbols burst like popped bubbles and a new one forms.
My smile falls off a cliff.
Wait.
Hang on a damn second.
“The hell is that?” I say so quickly I practically trip over the words.
There aren’t four Gifted symbols floating above my head. There isn’t even one of a solitary guild. There is an incomprehensible image.
A FACE.
Her face.
Eloise Belrose.
Chaos erupts in the room, students all talking at once. Faculty attempt to gain control of the situation and the High Mages trade glances of disbelief.
Since the creation of the discernment spell, no one, no one ever, has gotten anything except the image of their assigned guild. It’s impossible. The spell is an assessor of talent, a magical measuring tape. I’m not destined for a life in Guild Eloise, for fuck’s sake.
But you know what else is impossible? Someone messing with the discernment spell in the middle of her test, only to produce a jack-in-the-box version of herself over my head two hours later. Eloise clearly did something, and I want to know what.
It only takes a fraction of a second to locate Eloise in the crowd. And her panic is so strong that I can taste the cloying scent of burnt tires in the back of my throat.
“Silence!” my uncle’s voice booms, and his command contains enough power that my jaw tightens without my permission.
The room instantly transforms from disorder to complete stillness.
“Reset the spell,” my uncle says, and the High Mages drop the gossamer lights to the floor in a puddle around my feet.
The Mages reactivate the spell, my uncle included, and it swirls. But this time it doesn’t bother flirting with the symbols of the Gifted. It goes straight for the throat.
It once again forms an image of Eloise Belrose.
Who is now threatening to ruin everything. After years of plotting and planning, she’s put every damn thing I’ve worked for in danger.