Chapter 10
Talisa
Things slowly improved after my breakdown in Elio’s arms. The days no longer blurred into one another. And the intervals between attacks of intense grief slowly lengthened from minutes to hours.
Only the nights were still awful.
During the day, I could keep myself distracted with classes and homework.
I rejoined the tea circle and did my best to comfort the homesick first-years and dispense advice. In return, I let Elio and the others comfort me. It didn’t magically cure my grief or make me miss Mama any less, but helped to soothe the pain.
But every night, as soon as I lay down to sleep, thoughts and memories of Mama would flow out of the darkness to ambush me and torment me for hours before I finally fell asleep.
The strangest thing to happen during those weeks was that the sabotage and bullying during classes simply stopped from one day to the next.
Even the Intermediate Potions lab became a place where I could focus on my work without constantly looking over my shoulder.
Mage-Instructor Varro seemed to have undergone a transformation almost overnight.
His criticisms remained sharp as ever, but now he distributed them equally among all his students, aristocrats included.
And no one replaced my ingredients or “accidentally” sabotaged my potions or charms.
Freed from interference, my grades improved dramatically.
But outside of my classes, Lord Lukhan and his friends continued to harass me mercilessly.
“I don’t understand why you continue to embarrass yourself,” Lady Beatrix remarked loudly as we filed out of the Fundamentals of Magecraft II lecture. “It’s obvious you’re not equipped for the rigors of the Imperial Academy.”
“Surely the provincial academy in the Western Isles accepts students of modest magic like yourself,” the pimply-faced second-year whose name I’d forgotten added. “You might feel more at home there.”
I kept walking, spine straight, eyes forward. Ignoring them didn’t work. They simply surrounded me, keeping pace with me as I crossed the quad to my next class.
“Or doesn’t your island have an academy of its own?” Lady Helene asked.
“It doesn’t,” Lady Beatrix supplied when I didn’t reply. “The closest provincial academy for the magical arts is at Parrish in Frankia.”
“Oh. I guess they’d have a hard time finding mage-instructors willing to teach way out in the middle of the ocean,” Helene said. “I bet your mother was the only qualified mage on your miserable pile of rocks. Too bad she’s dead now.“
The wounds that had barely scabbed over ripped open and bled anew at the casual cruelty of her words.
My hand clenched around the strap of my book bag. I fantasized about swinging it against the side of her head.
For an instant, I thought knocking the sneer off her face and blackening both of her eyes might be worth being expelled.
“Careful there, Lady Helene,” Elio called, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Your pettiness is clashing terribly with that cut-rate silk gown you’re wearing.
Whoever dyed that fabric ought to be whipped.
Another few days of wearing it in the sun, and your robe will look like it’s been attacked by green fungus. ”
I shot him a grateful glance and relaxed my grip on my bag as he fell into step beside me.
What was he doing here? His presence felt like a balm, though I knew it would only buy me a temporary reprieve.
“You’re lying, Ferraro,” Helene snapped. But she stopped in her tracks and looked down at herself.
“Oh, no!” Lady Beatrix exclaimed. “He’s right. The back of your robe… I can see green blotches starting.”
Distracted, she circled Helene, pointing out the flaws in the black dye.
“Trust a merchant’s son to know all about such things,” Pimply Boy sneered, but he, too, dropped away to inspect Helene’s garment.
“Thank you,” I said to Elio, as we left the group behind and headed for the History of Magecraft and the Dominion lecture in the First-Year Quad.
“For everything you’ve done for me lately.
I appreciate your friendship. You and our tea circle are the only things keeping me sane right now.
” I paused. “I didn’t realize you had classes in the Second-Year Quad. ”
“I don’t.”
I glanced up at him in surprise.
“I, uh, was taking a shortcut,” Elio said gruffly. “Anyway, you shouldn’t have to deal with those asses.”
“Thank you,” I said again, warmed by the realization that he was looking out for me.
∞∞∞
Three days later, as I crossed the dining hall plaza on my way to Fundamentals of Magecraft II, I noticed a crowd of students clustered around the central noticeboard, laughing and pointing.
At our approach, the laughter stopped, replaced by pointing and whispering.
My stomach tightened with foreboding. Whatever had drawn their attention on the noticeboard had something to do with me.
I pushed my way forward, ignoring the whispers and sideways glances. The crowd parted before me like water around a stone.
And there it was—a crude drawing pinned to the center of the board.
Three figures with grotesquely exaggerated features stood on a crudely drawn fishing boat.
The tallest wore a dead fish on her head and held a sign proclaiming “THE IMPERIAL ACADEMY FOR PEASANT PRETENDERS.” The two smaller figures—unmistakably meant to be Mira and Juno—were depicted with missing teeth and wearing rags.
But what made my blood run cold was the caption beneath: “When we lower our standards to admit the rabble.”
The world narrowed to a pinpoint of white-hot rage. Blood rushed in my ears, drowning out the cutting laughter. My hands trembled as I ripped the drawing from the board, tearing it in half, then quarters.
“Take it easy, Miss Fishwife,” drawled a voice I recognized as Pimply Boy’s. “It’s just a joke.”
A circle had formed around us, aristocrats smirking, commoner students watching with worried expressions. I searched the crowd for Lord Lukhan’s striking face but didn’t find it.
Of course, he wouldn’t dirty his hands with the actual posting. He’d have one of his lackeys do it.
“Is this how provincials are?” Lady Beatrix stage-whispered to another girl. “No sense of humor at all.”
I opened my mouth to deliver a scathing retort when someone crashed into me from behind, nearly knocking me off balance.
“Talisa!” Juno’s voice was high and frantic. “They ruined everything!”
I turned to find both twins, flushed and tearful. Juno’s hair was plastered to her head and her robe soaked and dripping. Mira clutched what remained of a charred notebook.
“What happened?” I demanded, putting an arm around each of them.
“Our Arcane Control class,” Mira explained, her voice trembling. “Juno was stabilizing a sphere of water when my notebook burst into flames while I was writing in it.”
“I didn’t do anything to destabilize the water. My spell was working perfectly, but Mage-Instructor Halvaren was furious,” Juno added. “He said we were horsing around in class and gave us both demerits.”
“And all our class notes are gone! How are we going to study for midterms?” Mira demanded tearfully.
The rage inside me flared white-hot. Damien Corvellan had promised to protect my sisters from the cruel pranks targeting me.
Yet here they stood, humiliated and penalized for something that wasn’t their fault.
I scanned the crowd. No Lukhan. No Corvellan.
Then I spotted Corvellan’s tall frame emerging from the Second-Year Quad, Lord Lukhan at his side. Their heads were bent in conversation, apparently unaware of the scene unfolding in front of the notice board.
Lukhan had finally crossed the line I couldn‘t ignore. He could sabotage my work, mock my background, even have his minions taunt me about Mama’s death.
But targeting my sisters? Making them suffer for my supposed sins?
No. This ends now.
∞∞∞
Damien
When I spotted the crowd gathered around the notice board, I thought nothing of it.
“Someone’s been busy,” Luk remarked with a small, satisfied smile. “Shall we see what all the commotion is about?”
I glanced at him, wondering what he’d been up to, then followed him toward the notice board. The crowd of students parted deferentially to let us through.
I spotted Miss Fishwife crouched beside her sisters, who looked visibly distressed.
One was soaked to the skin, looking as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over her head. The other twin clutched the charred remains of what had once been a textbook.
“What happened?” I asked Valens, keeping my voice casual.
“The fishwife’s sisters messed up in their Arcane Control class,” he replied, clearly pleased to have information I wanted. “Mage-Instructor Halvaren gave them both demerits after one of them nearly flooded the lab and the other set fire to her own book.”
I felt a momentary sense of relief. They were first-years, and accidents like that weren’t unheard of in Arcane Control. Learning how to channel and control power was the goal of the class, after all.
Then Valens grinned at me and added, “And what a shame about that drawing someone posted, eh? I thought it was an excellent likeness of Miss Fishwife and her bratty little sisters. Pity she tore it up so quickly.”
Looking at him, I realized that the twin’s class misfortunes hadn’t been accidents, after all.
My jaw clenched. These were children. Children who’d just lost their mother. And I had explicitly declared them off-limits. Who would have dared—?
I turned to look at Luk. My friend’s face was carefully composed in an expression of mild interest as he observed the scene.
“Did you have something to do with this?” I asked quietly.
His emerald eyes flicked to mine, one eyebrow rising slightly. “Why do you ask?”
“You know why.” I kept my voice low as we walked past the crowd. “I told Beatrix and the others that the twins were off-limits.”
“Did you?” He frowned, but kept his tone light. “I don‘t recall agreeing to that.”
I gritted my teeth. “They’re children, Luk. And they’ve just lost their mother.”
“They’re commoners with outsized opinions of themselves, just like their insufferable sister.” His voice hardened. “And they need to learn their place in this world.”
I said nothing. But my expression must have betrayed my thoughts.
Luk stopped walking abruptly, turning to face me fully. His eyes narrowed.
“Since when do you care about the feelings of a couple of island brats?” he asked softly. “Don’t tell me you’re developing a soft spot for Miss Fishwife and her family?”
“This isn’t about them,” I insisted. “It’s about us. About the kind of people we are.”
“And what kind of people are we, Damien?” Luk stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “The kind who let commoners threaten our position? Our future? Our very safety?”
I thought about telling him what Uncle Varro had revealed. That Luk’s big secret was no secret at all, among the mage-instructors, at least.
“There’s a difference between protecting ourselves and tormenting children,” I argued instead.
“Is there?” His lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Compassion is for the weak. Do you want to look weak, Damien?”
The words struck deeper than he knew, echoing my father’s frequent reprimands. Weakness. The ultimate sin in General Lucius Corvellan’s household.
How many times had I been told that compassion and empathy were just synonyms for weakness? That mercy was for those who couldn’t afford true strength?
Yet I couldn’t shake the image of Mira and Juno, their faces streaked with tears, humiliated in front of their peers for no reason other than having the misfortune to have Miss Fishwife as their elder sister.
“Remember, Uncle Varro already warned us we need to back off. And Mage-Instructor Mundise, too.”
“Your uncle and all the rest of the mage-instructors lack spines,” Luk said coldly.
“Or they’re just looking out for us,” I countered. “How do you think your father would react if we’re expelled for bullying? I know I wouldn’t be welcome at home.”
That struck home. Lukhan’s expression flickered with uncertainty before hardening again.
“I want Miss Fishwife gone,” he said flatly. “I won’t feel safe until she’s either been expelled or transferred out. If she tells anyone about me—”
“But it’s been weeks and she hasn’t told anyone,” I argued. “Not even after everything we’ve done to her.”
“Only because she’s waiting for the perfect moment to destroy me.” Luk’s normally controlled voice rose slightly. “Don’t be na?ve, Damien. We have to show our strength. Show her she can’t win against us.”
I sighed, looking back to where Miss Fishwife was now leading her sisters away from the notice board, her arm protectively around their shoulders. Despite everything, I couldn’t help admiring her strength. Weeks of constant harassment, her mother’s death, and now this public humiliation.
“Targeting the twins makes us look cruel, not strong,” I said. “It makes us seem like we’re scared of first-years. Like we need to go after children to feel powerful.”
Something dangerous flashed in Luk’s eyes.
“Whose side are you on right now, Damien?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice.
The question hung between us, weighted with all our shared secrets and whispered confidences. Last year, he’d stood by me when I felt like the new boy again, friendless and lost at yet another new school. He’d introduced me to his friends and made me feel I was special to him.
“Yours,” I said without hesitation, although something inside me twisted painfully. “Always yours, Luk. You’re my best friend. The brother I never had.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “Then trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
But as we continued toward our next class, the memory of the twins’ tears haunted me. I’d given my word to them I’d protect them, and Lukhan had deliberately broken it.
There was a time when that wouldn’t have bothered me at all. When I would have laughed along with the others at their distress.
What had changed? Why did I suddenly care about the suffering of a couple of commoner children?
The uncomfortable answer whispered in the back of my mind: because Miss Fishwife’s courage had forced me to see her and her sisters as people, not just obstacles or amusements.
Because watching her refuse to break under the weight of both grief and torment had awakened something in me I’d thought long dead—a conscience.