Chapter 28 #2
Would he think her clever for noticing the pattern, something the scholars had not expressly volunteered—in fact, they went out of their way to treat each “win” on Zenaida’s behalf as a separate occurrence—focusing on the cycle year and not the season, seeming to discourage the idea that there was a pattern …
And yet, it had been right there; one just had to notice.
“You can stop staring at the papers; I haven’t graded Arcane Guild’s yet; you won’t find yours in this stack.” He sounded amused as he crossed his arms and surveyed her over a pair of eyeglasses.
“Oh, no matter, I’m not worried about my grade.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That sure you made a passing mark, hmm?”
Audra bit her lip. “Well, I haven’t gotten less than full marks on a paper yet …”
“And yet … You’re still worried about your ranking compared to the rest of Arcane Guild.”
She nodded.
He leaned forward, his lips drawing into a line as he pressed his fingertips and thumb together so they formed a sort of triangle.
“Your papers are wonderful, always well researched, written with a clear, almost lyrical voice at times. They are truly a pleasure to read, especially compared to some of the others’ work. However …”
Her stomach tumbled.
“However?” she asked, breathless, though she knew what he was going to say.
“Your practical lessons are …”
“I know.” She winced. “I’m struggling with them.
” She rushed in, deciding at the last moment that she couldn’t bear his disappointment voiced aloud—the disappointment in her own mind was bad enough; she didn’t need it taking on his voice as well, making it twice as loud.
“That’s why I’m here; I need to know what I can do differently to make up for those grades. ”
He frowned. “There isn’t really anything to do besides prove that you can master the assigned incras.”
“And if I am unable to?”
He waited a beat before answering.
Audra glanced down at her hands, picked at a hangnail.
“Then you fail. You’ll be sent to Ixchel to join the infantry there.
Veiled Realm attacks are more frequent than ever; what with the prolonged winter, Archmagistra Syleste is fielding letters almost daily asking for reports on the incoming troops, how many, and when they can be counted on to arrive. ”
Audra bit her lip harder to keep it from wobbling. It was clear that Scholar Khari admired intelligence, tenacity, talent—he had no patience for tears or begging. “What if I write extra papers, if I—”
“We have enough scholars, Audra—full fae scholars fill the rest of the universities all over Zenaida right now.” His voice was gentle as he said it, making this all the worse.
If he could help her, he would. This hurt him too.
“What we need are strong incramancers to help revitalize Zenaida once the Heir is discovered, the ritual completed, and spring reawakened.”
Audra clenched her hands into fists. She wouldn’t be infantry; she wouldn’t.
And Audra was disgusted to admit it even to herself …
but at some point in the last few days, her objective had begun to expand to something bigger than retaining her life simply to return home.
That was still the ultimate goal, of course, but she’d begun to hunger for more.
The enticement of becoming one of those powerful incramancers—earning riches, a prolonged life, experiencing summer—their promises glittered gold, and Audra struggled not to be the crow.
Yet, in order to have a future choice: home or summer, she must be alive to make it. And keeping her life was dependent on having the ability to cast incras, right now.
An ability that she was too weak, too broken to grasp.
She stood up suddenly, the abrupt screech of the chair legs scraping against the stone floor of Scholar Khari’s office grating and loud.
“I understand. Thank you for your guidance; I’m sorry to have bothered you.
” She hurried toward the door, determined to flee his office before traitorous tears defied her command and broke free.
This must be the root of her problem; if she couldn’t even stop herself from crying, she obviously had a broken and weak will.
“Wait, Audra …”
She paused, breathing hard, hand on the doorknob. She didn’t dare turn around, or he would see that she’d failed to stop herself from crying … further proof that she was pathetic, unworthy of greatness.
“Tomorrow is Arcane Guild’s Sanctum Day, right? Meet me tomorrow at this time; I might have something that will help.”
She turned around, eyes wide, glistening in the lamplight of his office. “I will, thank you,” she said in a rush … then: “Should I bring anything?”
Scholar Khari smirked, his eyes seeming to twinkle with mischief. “Bring the training parchment you took; we will have need of it.”
She wiped at her eyes and laughed, the sound thick through the last remnants of tears. “I will, thank you, Scholar Khari.”
“Khari is fine … when it’s just us.”
Audra’s cheeks warmed, her smile widening. “Thank you … Khari.” She tried out his name without his honorific, feeling shy, and decided she liked the taste of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The following morning, after a tragically dull temple class, Scholar Khari, as promised, waited for Audra in his office. She barely had time to close the door behind her before he piled a heap of tomes and scrolls into Audra’s waiting arms.
His expression became stern. “I took these from the restricted archives, Audra. Most of these aren’t supposed to leave the library—a few are originals, and I expect you to treat them with the utmost care—and discretion.”
Audra nodded, gulping, as she cradled them to her chest, the pressure careful.
“Read them all; there are advanced incras in here—” He leaned back, his voice taking on a musing, curious tone.
“I’m wondering if the issue you’re facing is the abstract quality of the incras we’ve been practicing.
Your mind is wonderful and ravenous, I can tell, but maybe the problem you’re having is that beginning incras are conceptual—for most beginners, this is exactly what they need, a way for the spell to be cast in their own way, forming it to their own inherent idea of what should happen.
However, in your case, you may benefit from incras with a singular outcome.
One that only works exactly as intended, no matter who casts it. ”
Was that it? Could that really be all it was? For the first time in a week, Audra felt a spark of hope. Could she truly master the advanced incras in ways that she couldn’t with the beginner ones?
“Put them in your satchel, but keep out the top advanced incra text. We can try one now.”
Audra did as she was told, placing the rest of the texts carefully in her satchel, minus the scrolls, which were encased in long wooden tubes with straps that wouldn’t fit and, as such, would need to be carried.
She also withdrew her quill and the borrowed (not stolen) training parchment before sitting opposite Scholar Khari.
“Turn to page seventeen—the first incra at the top of the page.”
She flipped through the pages, stopping at page seventeen.
She examined the title scrawled at the top of the page, “Periwinkle to Cobalt,” dread quickly replacing fleeting hope.
The page held the title, a brief description of what the incra would do, the name of its discoverer, the date it had been added to Zenaida’s master archives—but the entire rest of the page was taken up with …
the most convoluted incra she’d ever seen.
It resembled a maze one would find at the back of a monthly newspaper from the capital that wealthy people subscribed to—if the maze had no beginning and no end.
“Incras don’t come more specific than this one; I figured it would be a perfect place to start.
This incra was discovered by accident; a painter by the name of Noxolo Danyi—” Khari could not help doing what he loved most, it seemed, though he had but an audience of one, and that was teaching, as he delved into the history of Periwinkle to Cobalt by Noxolo Danyi, though it was clear to Audra that he had not intended in the beginning to give this backstory.
It was charming, the way he couldn’t resist teaching, imparting as much of his knowledge as he could, as long as there was a willing pupil before him, and Audra was oh so willing.
“—though some would not call him a painter or even an artist, instead, they would call him a madman—though a successful one, even painting the royal family a time or two.
However, he had not been born wealthy and was determined to find a way for artists to save coin.
Powders and oils are costly now, even more so back then.
What if he could purchase the cheapest of all powders from the craft shop and turn them into every color he desired, using not the fibers of rare and expensive plants nor the casings of ten dozen beetles, but by simply using an incra?
“He would make a fortune, his name would be lauded in every tavern, the bards so loving the arts.”
Audra sat rapt as this story of Noxolo unfolded before her. She felt as though she could see him fully, feel a little of his earnest desire for knowledge, and his wish to impart it.
“Unfortunately, he became obsessed with this idea, no longer a curiosity but his life’s mission.
Foregoing his patrons, even the king himself, and the arts entirely, for this one purpose.
It consumed him and commandeered the last few decades of his life, and he only ever succeeded one time, and the color had to be periwinkle specifically, and it would only change to one exact shade of cobalt. ”
“Still,” Audra breathed, swept up in it all. “He did succeed.”
Khari smiled fondly, nodding. “That he did. And though he made one fucking complicated incra that takes a ridiculous amount of time to draw, it does work, and if cast correctly, using the right shade of periwinkle, it has the same results every single time.”
Audra gazed at the incra.