Chapter 57
Talisa
The next two weeks passed in a haze of stress, fatigue, and eyestrain as year-end examinations descended on the academy and consumed my life and the lives of all the other students.
By the time I staggered out of my last exam, I felt as if someone had reached inside my skull, scooped out my brains with a spoon, and left the empty cavity buzzing with runes and formulae and historical dates.
I’d written a twenty-page research paper on the architecture of a multi-element spell, the relationship between magical intent and form, and the role of elemental affinities in shaping outcomes.
Then I’d memorized books, articles, and study notes until the words blurred together on the page before sitting for six three-hour examinations.
I used Elio’s beautiful pen and noticed my hand didn’t cramp as quickly when writing out exam answers.
Mira and Juno looked as exhausted as I felt. Mira had developed a nervous habit of reciting Sancola’s Laws of Channeling under her breath. Juno had bitten all her fingernails down to the quick and picked at her cuticles until they were raw and bleeding.
Three days after the exams ended, Assistant Chatelaine Julissa summoned all the first-year students to the First-Year Quad for the public announcement of results.
When my sisters and I arrived, the First-Year Quad was already packed with black-robed students. Commoner students stood in anxious clusters, knowing that soon their hopes of returning here in the fall would either be confirmed or crushed.
The aristocratic students had gathered near a small wooden dais that had been erected in front of the central fountain at the center of the quad, their manner casual, as if this were merely an inconvenient formality.
I stood between my sisters, one arm around each of their shoulders. Elio materialized at my side without comment. He looked nervous.
Assistant Chatelaine Julissa arrived clutching a clipboard against her chest, her graying blonde hair pulled back in its usual severe bun. She mounted the dais and surveyed the assembled students with the expression of someone about to read out a list of funeral announcements.
“The Imperial Academy for the Magical Arts is pleased to announce the top performers in each year-end examination,” she began, her voice carrying across the packed quad.
“Since several of you qualified for second-year courses, we will include the results for those examinations’ top performers as well. ”
She lowered her gaze to her clipboard.
“Fundamentals of Magecraft I: Elio Ferraro. Fundamentals of Magecraft II: Talisa of Bernswick. Arcane Channeling II: Talisa of Bernswick.”
The air left my lungs. Elio gave a startled-sounding whoop of triumph.
Mira whispered, “Congratulations,” and patted Elio’s arm.
“I knew you could beat everyone in our Fundamentals class!” Juno whispered and gave me a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“Decorum, please,” Julissa ordered, pinning us with her gaze, her mouth set in its usual thin line of disapproval.
She read the next item on her list:
“History of Magecraft and the Dominion: Mira of Bernswick and Juno of Bernswick, tied.”
Juno’s mouth fell open. Mira’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes enormous.
Around us, the reaction was immediate and electric. A ripple of murmurs moved through the commoner students—disbelieving, then delighted.
The first-year aristocratic students’ expressions curdled.
I pulled my sisters against me and said, “I told you so.”
Julissa continued through the list. I was overjoyed to hear that Alara had placed first in the Runic Script and Arcane Languages I exam, which ironically had been the one she was most worried about failing.
As Julissa continued to read out name after name, the pattern became unmistakable: the commoner students had outperformed their aristocratic peers in nearly every subject.
Next would come the list of failing students.
My stomach tightened. This was the part that mattered.
Classes at the academy were graded on a five-point scale: Excellent, Good, Acceptable, Needs Improvement, and Failed.
The academy’s rule was brutal: fail one course, and you had to repeat it the following year.
If you failed two or more courses, or your overall grade average for your classes descended into the Needs Improvement range, and if you were a commoner, you were automatically transferred to a second-rank provincial academy.
Aristocratic students who failed too many core courses could repeat a year and were only required to transfer to a provincial academy if they failed their courses a second time.
Julissa cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable now, and read out the names of students who had failed their year-end exams.
There were only three names. All aristocratic first-years. Which meant they would be given the opportunity to repeat the failed classes when they returned in the fall.
The quad erupted in a furor. The commoner students—the ones who had sat in their dormitory towers’ common room night after night, drilling each other on rune sequences and historical dates and the proper formulae for basic spells—were shouting, embracing, laughing with elation.
The aristocratic students stood in stunned, furious silence. Only one aristocratic first-year student had gotten the highest score on an exam, and that had been for Beginning Potions with Mage-Instructor Varro.
No surprise there, I thought cynically.
After Julissa dismissed the assembly, the stampede to the Student Affairs Office to view the posted year-end results for our classes was immediate and chaotic.
I let myself be swept along in the current, Elio’s hand locked in mine, Mira and Juno clinging to the back of my gown.
We arrived to find the notice board outside the office already three students deep, a wall of black academic robes and craning necks filling the corridor between the building’s wall and the colonnade.
Eventually, I got close enough to the board to find my name and see that I’d received an “Excellent” grade in my single first-year class, History of Magecraft and the Dominion.
Elio looked pleased with the rest of his grades, and I saw that my sisters had received top grades for every class… except Beginning Potions, where their grades were “Good” rather than “Excellent.”
It was maddening to see, but it wouldn’t affect their chances of receiving that promised Imperial Scholarship that had yet to materialize.
Another thing I’ll have to take care of when I’m home, I thought. Despite my letters home explaining the situation, I was fairly certain Papa hadn’t yet followed up with Lady Adalburga regarding the missing paperwork.
“We did it,” Elio said jubilantly. “We actually did it. You and the Open Hand’s study groups and your damned stubborn refusal to let anyone fall behind.”
“I had a lot of help,” I said. But I couldn’t stop smiling.
Then it was time to find out my grades in the rest of my classes.
Feeling apprehensive, I crossed to the Second-Year Quad, my sisters and Elio in tow. The notice board there was less crowded—most of the second-years had already read their results and fled to celebrate or mourn in private.
I yielded to temptation and looked at Lukhan FitzMurad’s scores.
He was listed as the top performer in Intermediate Potions. He’d also snagged top performer in Runic Script and Arcane Languages II. The rest of his grades were Excellent.
Then I looked for Damien Corvellan’s name. He’d received Acceptable grades in every subject despite his extended absence while recovering from his injuries. I was relieved to see that his selfless act hadn’t resulted in him being forced to repeat a year.
As for my own grades, I had scored Excellent in every class… except Intermediate Potions with Mage Instructor Varro. He’d given me what felt like a grudging Good.
We returned to the Western Tower in a daze. As we went to unlock our suite door, I noticed a small posy of fresh hearts-ease flowers, purple and yellow petals vivid against the weathered wood of our door, tied with a blue ribbon and hanging from the doorknob.
A note written on a scrap of parchment was tucked amidst the stems. Though it was unsigned, I instantly recognized Alara’s handwriting.
Thank you for the tea, and for protecting us. May our circle remain unbroken. See you in the fall.
I folded the note with care and tucked it into my pocket, next to my velvet purse and our tickets for the ferry and mail-ship.
Inside our suite, our armoires already stood empty and our trunks were mostly packed.
Elio had told us about the academy’s luggage-loading service. For a few denarii, someone would come by our suite before breakfast tomorrow to collect the heaviest items and bring them down to the ferry dock. I’d cheerfully paid the luggage fee out of my Aurelian Trials prize money.
Once we left the academy’s grounds, we planned to use levitation charms to move our trunks on and off the ferry.
What remained in our rooms were a few library books we still needed to return; a wooden apple-crate filled with stacks of second-hand teacups we’d bought for the Open Hand; a canvas bag holding knitting needles, balls of yarn, and a collection of Juno’s half-finished sock projects; and Mira’s herbal notebooks containing her collection of pressed herbs and leaves from the academy’s apothecary garden, along with packets of seeds to give to Papa for our garden back home.
∞∞∞
Dawn the next day promised sunshine and hot weather for the first leg of our journey home to Bernswick.
After breakfast, we returned to our suite for the last time to gather up the last of our belongings.
I stood in the doorway of our now-empty suite and took one last look at the rooms where we’d experienced so much loss and pain, but also victories and new friendships. Most importantly, we’d survived in this hostile place, and next year, we might even thrive here.
Mira and Juno were waiting impatiently in the corridor, satchels slung across their shoulders. I locked the door behind us and did not look back.