Chapter 45 #2
“Miss Bernswick, Mr. Ferraro. Welcome.” Her pale oval face was composed in its usual careful neutrality. Whatever she really thought of a pair of commoners winning her prestigious competition, she was clearly prepared to pay us the traditional honors. “Please be seated.”
The crystal trophy sat in the center of the long table, catching the mage-light and reflecting it. Julissa’s stony gaze moved over me, then fixed on some point on the other side of the hall, as if she wanted to pretend I was invisible.
Now, seated at the faculty table with a crystal goblet of wine and the entire dining hall spread below me, I exchanged a long look with Elio and felt warmth bloom in my chest.
Servers in academy livery presented tureens of beef soup so rich and dark they reflected the mage-lights like polished obsidian, along with baskets of fresh-baked rolls topped with savory herbs, sesame seeds, and poppy seeds.
It was only the first of many courses. Whole roast pheasants followed the soup, smoked and glazed with honey and served on a bed of saffron rice studded with almonds and raisins.
Then came savory pies whose pastry lids had been cut into intricate patterns before baking, revealing steaming fillings of spiced pork and vegetables.
There were salads of costly fresh lettuces and herbs grown in the academy’s greenhouses and platters of roasted root vegetables seasoned with garlic and ginger.
And fresh-caught flatfish poached in butter with lemon and fresh parsley.
I ate heartily and enjoyed every bite. Elio, beside me, devoured multiple servings of each course with enthusiasm, occasionally groaning with pleasure at something especially delectable.
After the last of the courses had been served and cleared, and before the desserts came out, Chatelaine Lirelle rose and raised her glass.
“A toast,” she declared.
The hubbub of conversations in the dining hall died away.
She continued: “I wish to congratulate all the competitors in this year’s Aurelian Trials.
I honor the skill, the courage, and the partnership showed by every team that entered the arena.
This academy is proud of you. And, of course, I want to acknowledge the special achievements of our quarter-finalists, semi-finalists, and finalists.
You have all achieved extraordinary things on the field of competition and raised the bar for next year’s trials.
Finally, the academy extends its sincere congratulations to this year’s Aurelian Trials Champions, Miss Talisa of Bernswick and Mr. Elio Ferraro of Baleares. ”
She raised her glass and drank. The commoner tables erupted in a fresh wave of cheers and whistles as they raised their goblets. The aristocratic students drank in silence. As did most of the staff.
Elio leaned toward me, his breath warm against my ear. “Watch this.”
He stood, drawing looks from the others seated at the head table that ranged from surprised to offended. “I’d like to propose a toast of my own!”
The dining hall fell silent once more as everyone waited to hear what the impertinent commoner had to say.
Elio raised his goblet. “Here’s to the unexpected.”
He paused, drawing out anticipation like a born performer.
“To finding out you’re stronger than you thought you were. To discovering that the person beside you is worth more than any title. And to the joy of watching someone who’s never doubted their own superiority discover that they were wrong.”
He deliberately tilted his goblet in Cresta and Bernardo’s direction. A ripple of snickers traveled around the fringes of the hall.
Cresta’s back remained turned. But I saw her shoulders stiffen, the lines of her back rigid beneath her robes. “I toast everyone who competed with honor. And for those of you who didn’t—” He grinned. “I highly recommend the experience. It builds character.”
With that, he lifted his goblet to his lips and drank. Cheers rose from the commoner tables. Lirelle, Julissa, and some of the other academy staff looked stunned.
But at least half of the mage-instructors, including Mundise, raised their glasses and drank with genuine smiles.
As the desserts were served—trays of fancy tarts topped with jewel-like glazed hothouse fruits, miniature trophies molded from almond-paste and decorated with gold leaf, and fancy molded custards floating in a sea of caramel sauce—a buzz of outraged conversations rose from the aristocratic tables.
Cresta’s voice was pitched to carry. She sounded as if she’d been rehearsing her speech since the moment the Aurelian Ring vanished from her fingertips. “—obviously defective. The entire platform matrix was compromised before we even set foot on it. That’s why the Ring responded the way it did.”
Bernardo, beside her, nodded vehemently. “We had it. We were literally reaching for it! And then the entire course malfunctioned. Just like those damned banners in the semi-finals.”
The student sitting across from them looked skeptical. “But Chatelaine Lirelle said—”
“Chatelaine Lirelle,” Cresta cut in sharply, “is trying to protect the academy’s reputation.
As she should. But you all saw what happened, didn’t you?
We were on the verge of winning. And then the magical infrastructure failed, and the Ring defaulted to the nearest stable magical signature.
” A dismissive flick of her fingers in our direction.
“Which, unfortunately, happened to belong to those two commoner mice.”
I watched as her listeners’ faces changed. They nodded in agreement.
Of course they believe her version of events, I thought wearily. It was easier than accepting that Elio and I had beaten Lady Cresta and Lord Bernardo fair and square after they’d broken the rules and tried to fly over the final obstacle.
As I nibbled on an almond-paste trophy flavored with rosewater, Cresta’s story traveled down the tables, passing between the aristocratic students with the efficiency of gossip that everyone wanted to hear.
By the time the dessert course was cleared away, the tale had evolved. Arcane Standards was now supposedly investigating the Ascendant Platform’s purported malfunction.
Elio’s hand squeezed my knee under the table.
“Stop it,” he murmured.
“Stop what?”
“Listening to them. They’re spinning fantasies to protect their pride.
Let them. It won’t erase our names from that trophy.
” He nodded toward the crystal flame towering over the silver platters of tarts and puddings.
“Let them tell whatever story they need to salve their wounds. It won’t change what really happened. ”
I wanted to believe him.
Then a group of fifth- and sixth-year students caught my attention. They were seated some distance from Cresta and Bernardo, near Lukhan and Damien. None of them were eating or drinking. Instead, they were watching Elio and me.
And they all wore identical silver rings, fashioned to resemble thorny twigs, and set with polished garnets like drops of blood.
I had seen those rings before, on Lukhan’s supporters, and on the older students who gathered around Cresta and Bernardo between lectures, their voices dropping when commoners passed.
According to Dante and Varrix, those silver thorn rings marked members of the Custodes Sanguinis—Guardians of the Bloodline—an aristocrats-only secret society at the academy.
One of them—a tall, narrow-boned young woman with pale golden hair brushed into loose, shining waves over her shoulders—caught me looking at her. She held my gaze for three long beats. Then she smiled. It was not a friendly smile.
“Elio,” I breathed.
“I see them.”
Of course he did. Elio noticed everything.
There would be a price for our victory. I’d known that from the moment we’d touched the Aurelian Ring.
A triumph this public, delivered by commoners in front of an academy filled with aristocrats who believed their birthright included never having to lose—they would extract a payment from us.
But not tonight.
Tonight belonged to the hope of another delicious kiss shared with Elio, to my remaining fifteen gold aurei sitting safe in the Imperial Bank’s vault, and to the crystal trophy gleaming on the table in front of us and the Champion’s Badges glittering on our collars.
Tonight belonged to our fellow commoner students, who would continue the celebration with us later in the common room at the Western Tower.
I raised my goblet toward my sisters and drank.
Let the Custodes watch me. Let Cresta rewrite history. Let Lukhan simmer in impotent resentment.
For tonight, at least, we had won.