Chapter 7 #2
It forced me to acknowledge something I didn’t wanted to admit: Elio and I couldn’t fight this relentless persecution alone.
However stubborn I was, no matter however much Western Islander pride I carried in my bones, I was outnumbered and outranked in every room that mattered.
The only way through was sideways, not straight ahead.
I needed more allies.
And maybe I could find them right here in the Western Tower.
In the dining hall, I’d noticed the way the younger first-years sat with their shoulders curved inward, speaking quietly, laughing too quickly at each other’s jokes in a way that meant they were trying hard not to look as lost as they felt.
I recognized the look. I’d worn it myself on the first day.
So, on the seventh evening, after supper, I knocked not only on Elio’s door, but the door two rooms down. When Alara opened it, I asked if she wanted to come over to my suite for a cup of tea.
She came. I’d brought a large bag of the strong, slightly astringent Western Isles red tea packed in the bottom of my trunk. I brewed a pot and sweetened it with the traditional spoonful of crystallized honey, then handed out cups.
Elio took a sip and grimaced. “Potent stuff, this.”
“Weak tea is for mainlanders,” I informed him with a grin. “We islanders like our tea as strong as our men.”
Elio and I listened to Alara talk about her tribulations during her first week at the academy and sympathized with her. She was homesick and having a hard time finding enough time to study and complete her assigned cleaning tasks.
I offered to help her with her homework and told her I’d be making tea every evening after supper, and that any first-year was welcome to join us.
The next night, she brought Benno da Vercelli from the next room over. He mentioned my invitation to his lab partner in Beginning Potions. She appeared at my door the following night with two friends in tow.
By the end of the week, my small sitting room was filled with first-years sharing tales of mistreatment and commiserating. There was a strange kind of comfort in knowing that they weren’t alone.
They all had stories. Benno had been pranked with disappearing ink in his pen and saw the notes from his Magical Languages & Rune Literacy I lecture vanish before the midday meal.
Mage-Instructor Halvaren told Alara in front of the entire Introduction to Arcane Control and Channeling class that her East Frankish accent made her impossible to understand.
I poured tea and let them talk, while my outrage at the various injustices bubbled beneath the surface.
Then I reassured them they had earned their places here, no matter how the aristocrats felt about it.
“So don’t hand over your self-confidence,” I said. “That’s the one thing they can’t take by force.”
Elio, draped across my armchair with his long legs dangling over one arm, had a gift for making people feel at ease with a joke or a self-deprecating story about his own disasters in Beginning Potions lab. The younger students responded to him with worshipful adoration.
I was grateful for his presence. He already felt like a friend.
Our little tea circle didn’t make the bullying stop, of course. But it made it survivable.
To my immense relief, after Damien Corvellan’s warning, the aristos mostly left Mira and Juno alone.
I didn’t want to owe him gratitude, but it felt like a small price to pay for protecting my sisters.
At the beginning of my third week, I arrived in the Intermediate Potions lab to find that someone had swapped out my carefully prepared tincture of amara dulcis in spirits of wine with plain water. I’d locked the bottle in the class’s storage cabinet the day before.
My stomach dropped when I uncorked the vial and smelled nothing. I’d suspected the teaching assistants of colluding with Lukhan’s sabotage attempts. Now I was sure of it.
“Oh, did you mess up again?”
I whirled on my heel to find Lukhan smiling at me, his striking eyes alight with malicious glee. As usual, Corvellan stood at Lukhan’s shoulder like a bodyguard.
Lukhan clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head with fake sympathy. “If I were you, Miss Fishwife, I’d be worried about failing this class and getting demoted back to Beginning Potions.”
“Where you belong,” Corvellan added. His cold gray eyes rested on the front of my academic robe, which was still faintly blotched with stains, though I’d tried everything to remove the purple goo from the wool.
Volcanic rage surged up inside me like Wyrmbeorg. On the verge of an eruption, I imagined the pair of them with green, warty skin.
My fingers twitched with temptation. I could cast that charm in an instant.
Then I stopped myself.
No. They’re trying to goad me into doing something that will give Mage-Instructor Varro an excuse to expel me.
I deliberately turned my back on the pair and concentrated on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth while I wrestled down my temper.
I spent the rest of that class beginning the tincture again from scratch and fuming. Mage-Instructor Varro hovered behind me and made acerbic remarks about my incompetence.
I didn’t look at Lukhan or Corvellan again. But I could sense their triumph, and my hand ached to slap the smirk off Lukhan’s face.
When class ended, I discovered that my brass scale and weights were missing from my satchel. They were required equipment not only for the Intermediate Potions lab but also Fundamentals of Magecraft II.
And by suppertime, my copy of Sancola’s Theory and Practice of Magecraft had gone missing from my satchel. Again.
As infuriating—and expensive—as these thefts were, by this time I knew better than to bother reporting them. The only thing that would happen was that I’d receive a reprimand from Mage-Instructor Varro for being careless with my belongings.
That evening, after the first-years arrived, Elio helped me prepare and serve the tea. As I poured the tea into the collection of cups lined up on the battered table in the corner of my sitting room, I could sense that he wanted to say something to me. But he also seemed oddly conflicted.
Behind us, the chatter of voices rose.
“You know I’m good for it,” he blurted at last, keeping his voice low.
“Good for what?” I turned to him, puzzled, and saw a flush spreading over his brown cheeks and long, straight nose.
“Those books and supplies that Lord Lukhan and his friends keep stealing from you.” Elio clenched the towel. “My family has wholesale accounts with most of the merchants in the city. I could get you a steep discount on anything you need to replace.”
Relief rushed through me. Money was already tight before these unexpected expenses. “Oh, that would be—”
Elio continued in a rush, “Or—or I could just buy them for you. I mean, I know those scales weren’t cheap and the academy bookstore charges an extortionate price for Sancola’s works because they know they’re required reading.
And, uh, my parents would never notice if I spent a little extra.
They give me a pretty generous monthly allowance. ”
By now, even his throat was flushed.
I looked away, torn between embarrassment at being offered charity and profound gratitude that he’d noticed my predicament and was trying to help me. “It’s very kind of you to offer,” I began.
“But you’re going to say no,” he finished.
I filled the last cup down and met his eyes. He was watching me, his smile warm but his face even redder than before.
“I appreciate your offer to get me discounts on the things I need to replace,” I said carefully.
“But I can’t let you actually buy them for me.
It wouldn’t be right.” I saw his generous mouth tighten in disappointment and added, “But I thank you for your generosity, Elio. It means more to me than you know.”
He held my gaze for a long moment. His smile was half-amused, half-frustrated.
“Talisa, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met,” he said finally.
“Good,” I said. “It’s the highest compliment you give a Western Islander.”
He laughed and shook his head.
I was smiling up at him, happier than I’d been in weeks, when the door to my suite slammed open, cracking loudly against the whitewashed stone wall.
I spun around.
Lady Beatrix Fairhaven stood in the doorway, her golden ringlets perfectly arranged.
Lady Helene Morgrave squeezed in next to her friend. Her black silk robe shimmered in the lamplight, and her painted lips curled in an expression of theatrical disgust.
The cheerful chatter abruptly stopped. Silence fell as heads turned and my guests stared apprehensively at the newcomers.
“Well now.” Lady Beatrix let her gaze travel slowly around the room, surveying the mismatched cups lined up on the table, the circle of chairs pulled close together, the fearful looks from my young guests. “I’m so glad we haven’t missed the commoners’ little tea party.”
Lady Helene made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Darling Beatrix,” she said, addressing Beatrix as if I weren’t there. “I’d be so disappointed if we had. Especially since I heard they’re filled with gossip and sedition.”
“Oh, they’re suddenly very brave, these little mice,” Beatrix agreed, her smile sharp and sweet.
“Can it be because Mr. Ferraro and Miss Fishwife here have declared themselves champions of the common folk?” Her blue eyes found mine, and her smile widened.
“How terribly courageous of you, Miss Fishwife.”
“Do you think they’ll share any of their foul peasant brew with us?” Lady Helene asked with false brightness.
I said nothing. I didn’t move. I kept my hands loose at my sides and held Beatrix’s gaze as I frantically tried to figure out how to handle this.
Elio put his arm around my shoulders. From the corner of my eye, I noticed his expression had gone still in a way I hadn’t seen before.
Then, in the corridor behind the two girls, I spotted Damien Corvellan lounging against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.
His gray eyes found mine. His expression gave me nothing at all.