Chapter 39 #2
Then Chatelaine Lirelle mounted the dais.
The floating mage-lamps directly over her head brightened to white, casting her features in sharp relief. Her dark hair was pinned back in a severe knot, and she wore a formal gown of deep imperial blue laced with gold that made her look as if she’d stepped out of a formal portrait.
The amphitheater fell silent.
“Students and staff of the Imperial Academy,” Lirelle began in a magically amplified voice. “I have called you all here to deliver the findings of our investigation into the incident that occurred during the first semi-final match of the Aurelian Trials.”
My hands were icy with nerves. I tucked them into the sleeves of my gown and hugged myself, pressing my palms against my ribs, feeling my heartbeat hammer against them even through my stiff bodice and stays.
“After thorough examination by a panel of senior mage-instructors and investigators from the Department of Arcane Standards, we have determined that the malfunctions of both banners used in the match resulted from errors in the craftsmanship of the spell-threads.”
Errors in craftsmanship.
Her words hung in the air.
Wait. They aren’t blaming this on Elio and me?
Divine Mother, you’ve granted us a miracle. Thank you!
A disbelieving murmur rippled through the amphitheater. All around me, students exchanged skeptical glances.
Dizzy with relief at my unexpected reprieve, I looked at the instructors seated in the dignitaries’ box.
Mage-Instructor Mundise caught my eye and smiled serenely at me. Sitting next to Mundise, Mage-Instructor Varro looked like he’d bitten into a sour plum. Assistant Chatelaine Julissa sat with her spine perfectly straight, her hands folded in her lap, her expression revealing nothing.
I looked over at Lukhan. He appeared to be puzzled, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he’d just heard.
“No evidence of tampering or malicious intent was found,” Lirelle continued. “The spell-threads in both banners exhibited identical flaws in their crafting. When subjected to the sustained magical input of our talented students, both banners reached their failure point nearly simultaneously.”
No one applauded. No one cheered. The silence in the amphitheater had a weight to it, thick and uneasy.
“Therefore,” Lirelle said, “we have decided the Aurelian Trials will resume tomorrow morning with the second semi-final match. Lords Jofre de Bellmont and Berengar de Rocafort will face Lady Cresta of Pomerado and Lord Bernardo de Espola for the right to advance to the finals. The First Imperial Legion, stationed here at the capital, has generously loaned us a pair of replacement banners for tomorrow’s match. ”
She paused. The floating mage-lamps brightened another degree.
“Additionally, after careful review of the first semi-final match, our judging panel has reached a decision regarding the outcome of the match.”
My heart stuttered. This is it. The disqualification. The end of my future at the Academy.
Maybe Lirelle hadn’t been able to pin the blame on us for the malfunctioning banners, but now she had the perfect excuse to eliminate us from the Trials.
“The original decision stands. Miss Talisa of Bernswick and Mr. Elio Ferraro advance to the finals. Lord Lukhan FitzMurad and Mr. Damien Corvellan are eliminated from the competition.”
What? I gaped at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend that she and the others would take my side, and Elio’s, over Lukhan and Damien. Did I hear that right?
All around me, aristocratic heads turned. Exclamations of disbelief erupted, rolling through the stands like breaking waves on a stony shore.
Higher up, the commoner benches erupted into wild applause and cheering.
Lirelle continued, unperturbed. “The Arcane Standards investigation revealed that both banners were flawed, and thus both teams were operating under equal handicaps during the match. However, only one team demonstrated the capacity to improvise a strategy to handle the unexpected circumstance. Regrettably, the other team, while highly skilled, was not up to the challenge.”
I turned my head and watched, transfixed, as the icy composure Lukhan wore like armor cracked like the shell of a boiled crab. His eyes widened. His mouth opened in a soundless scream.
For an instant, he looked exactly like what he was: a seventeen-year-old boy who had just been told, in front of the entire academy, that he wasn’t good enough. Worse, that Elio and I were better.
Damien’s reaction was subdued. His jaw tightened. He looked over at Lukhan, then at the dais, then down at his boots. When he raised his head again, his expression was composed, but his posture was rigid, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.
“The Aurelian Trials,” Lirelle said, her voice cutting through the rising noise, “test not only mastery of magical skill, but the discipline, judgment, and partnership expected of future mages of the Dominion. We congratulate both semi-finalist teams on their extraordinary performance in this first match, and we look forward to tomorrow’s second semi-final match with great anticipation. ”
She inclined her head, and the mage lights directly over the dais winked out. The assembly was dismissed.
All around me, students surged to their feet, voices overlapping, hands gesturing, the marble benches echoing with hundreds of voices.
“—twenty on De Bellmont and De Rocafort—”
“—you’re insane, Pomerado and Espola took down those islander girls in under ten minutes—”
“—those two commoners don’t stand a chance against either of them—”
“—fifty says the fishwife’s merchant boy pulls something clever—”
“—hundred says the fishwife doesn’t last five minutes against Cresta’s Air magic—”
Elio was grinning, his face alight with fierce, disbelieving joy. “They’re betting on us, Talisa! Maybe I should lay a wager, too!”
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed up.
Chatelaine Lirelle had actually stood in front of the entire academy and admitted that two aristocratic students had been bested by a pair of commoners.
It made no sense. It defied everything I’d learned about the Imperial Academy since arriving here.
Commoners didn’t win. Commoners weren’t allowed to advance beyond a certain point. And commoners certainly didn’t get praised at the expense of aristocrats.
What changed?
The amphitheater emptied around us. Students streamed toward the exits in laughing, arguing clusters, their voices bouncing off the curved stone walls, wagers flying back and forth.
Dazed, I looked around and saw Lukhan and Damien were gone. I hadn’t seen them leave.
Elio’s hand found mine. “Talisa,” he said. “We’re in the finals.”
I nodded, still unable to make myself believe it.
The day after tomorrow, I would stand here once more with Elio beside me and face whichever aristocratic team emerged victorious from tomorrow’s match.
Somewhere in the offices and private chambers where decisions were made about which students deserved to succeed and which deserved to fail, someone had just decided that a pair of commoners deserved a chance in the Aurelian Trials finals.
And I didn’t know why.
But as Elio pulled me to my feet, and we walked together toward the exit, I realized I didn’t trust this miracle. Over the past five months, I’d learned that the world didn’t work this way for people like me.
Was it because they accepted our help to save their lives? Is Lirelle punishing them for looking weak in front of all her distinguished guests?
Or did Lukhan and Damien—or their families—have enemies at the imperial court? Did Chatelaine Lirelle mean to use Elio and me as a way of humbling them?