Chapter 5
The letter from Milo that arrived two days later dashed whatever slender hopes Portia still clung to that she would be back to the Academy within the week.
She sat on the floor in her bedroom – a room unchanged since she’d first left for the Academy twelve years ago – and stared blankly around at the remnants of her childhood which clung to the space.
The dolls she’d managed to salvage from their home in Tesh before the crown had seized it, her many books on magic, alchemy and herbalism crammed on the shelves which lined the walls, some terrible pieces of artwork that Seb had presented to her when he was little, as solemnly as if they were old masters, pretty notebooks Ophelia had handbound for her each Yule and birthday.
Treasures. Things she kept close and hidden away here.
Because the Academy was no place for them. Or her, it seemed.
No place for a Starling at all. Hadn’t Iris warned her as much when she first announced her intention to study there, to make it her life, to dedicate herself to discovery, to the magic flowing in her veins?
She had been a star pupil, firsts all the way through.
Her master’s thesis had been hailed as a breakthrough in apothecarial studies, redefining methods of research and opening it up to the non-magical as well as the magic world.
She viewed magic as a living, breathing thing, part of the world around them, threaded through the earth.
Not a resource to be mined ruthlessly but something to be nourished, grown.
The fields she and Milo had detected could be harnessed and infused into various potions, which meant they could be used by anyone.
Even the non-magical could experience magic.
Those born without it could reconnect with it through the most natural means in the world.
So far it was still just a theory, however.
They had yet to prove it. It had, admittedly, been highly controversial in the School of Thaumaturgical Studies, and no doubt several of its senior fellows were currently vehemently arguing that she should be expelled from the Academy entirely and her work struck from its records for ever.
Some of them would relish the opportunity this presented to be rid of a radical thinker.
She had never managed that skill of charming those with whom she disagreed.
Milo had written:
They have called a full chamber to debate the matter.
Professor Alnwick and I are leading your defence and I promise you we’ll do everything in our power to stop this travesty.
We have gathered a good deal of support for you, but it seems that the royal court has its finger heavily on the scales.
The chancellor is attempting to placate the king, but your family history is being thrown up as a reason this situation was only to be expected.
Ridiculous, I know, but you know what they say about academic politics.
It’s only so vicious because the stakes are so low, the old joke went. But the stakes weren’t low now. They were everything. All her work, all her adult life, all her goals and aspirations, all could be gone forever.
Portia had garnered a number of enemies over the years.
Milo had the good grace not to mention that.
Just because she didn’t suffer fools either, no more than Iris or August. It was a family trait.
But that was her way. They all knew that.
People thought twice before they came to her with something ill thought out or downright stupid. Her students knew…
Who was in charge of her students now? Some of them would buckle if the wrong person took charge of their studies.
Not Felicity, but some of the others. A few were studying matters right on the edge of acceptable tradition.
She’d have to ask Milo to check on them and update her in her reply.
He could at least steer them in the right direction.
Portia crushed the letter in her hands and closed her eyes, trying to count her breaths in order to regain her equilibrium.
She was thirty years old. She had worked tirelessly for her position at the Academy. And now it appeared to be running through her fingers like melting ice.
The trill of concern sounded right beside her ear and Jade fluttered down to land on her shoulder, pushing her little head in under her jaw, rubbing gently against her like a cat. A gesture of comfort, affection. Like the dragon sensed her distress and wanted to help.
‘I know,’ she murmured brokenly. ‘I’ll be fine. I just… I just thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. I was an idiot.’
Jade butted her jaw again and let out a series of musical whistles this time. Still trying to comfort her, but also perhaps… to reprimand her? To reassure her that she had done the right thing?
Told off by a teacup dragon for melancholy, she thought ruefully. She really had reached rock bottom.
But she had been certain that the moment the academic council had all the details about what had happened she would have been summoned back.
Not this time, it seemed. Perhaps never.
The full chamber would take months to convene.
Maybe longer. And if they decided against her there would be no recourse at all.
She remembered how, five and a half years ago, she had held Seb close while he sobbed into her shoulder, and assured him it would all work out, that it wasn’t the end of everything, that he would be allowed back in no time. She’d been wrong then as well.
She should have known better. Then and now.
The royal court has its finger on the scales.
No doubt who that was due to. Lady Virginia Moorland was a favourite of the Queen Consort of Shinael.
She had power and influence, socialised with duchesses and ambassadors as a matter of course.
And Portia… Portia was just an apothecary, from a detested family long fallen out of favour, cousins to the king or not.
Or at least, she had been an apothecary. She wasn’t sure what she was now.
The knock at the door forced her to drag herself out of her doldrums. Jade gave a squawk that sounded like another rebuke and fluttered up to one of the upper shelves where she strutted back and forth, grumbling to herself.
She didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone but Portia, that was clear, but hopefully, in time, she would calm down.
Well, apart from Dr Turner. She’d liked him well enough in the inn.
But Portia didn’t want to admit that to him.
She needed to be with other dragons, with her own kind, needed to get used to them so that she knew who and what she was.
But thanks to Virginia Moorland, she didn’t understand that.
Portia had rescued her and so Portia had to look after her.
To help her. And for now, Portia was the only person she felt safe with.
Portia hastily wiped the tears from her face. When she opened the door she was surprised to see Ophelia there.
Her sister looked flustered, and out of place.
Though she lived here, Ophelia never seemed at home anywhere but the library where she worked, further down the hill.
It was her happy place. When she had been a girl she had parked herself in the castle’s library in the tower.
When Iris had decided she needed the space for her dragons, Portia’s little sister had sobbed her heart out.
The books had gone to a building in the heart of the village, a beautiful old place with endless nooks and crannies, and eventually, Ophelia had followed them, making the library her life.
She had been the one to open it to the public, to share the collection with the whole island.
‘Fi? What’s wrong?’
‘You need get out of this room for a bit. You’ve been hiding in here since you got back. Enough is enough. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’
How? Portia thought with some indignation.
She had only seen Ophelia for that brief and awkward lunch the first day.
August hadn’t stayed much longer and Seb hadn’t turned up at all.
It had been uncomfortable and she’d been so miserable.
Jade had shivered against her hand, refusing to let go for an instant.
She didn’t know what to say to her siblings about the Academy.
Iris and Noah had spent the whole time talking about the sanctuary and dragon care, mainly, Portia suspected, to fill the silence.
Admittedly, Ophelia was right. Portia had mostly kept to her rooms after that.
A whole castle, and she was locking herself in a tower.
Oh, she could claim it was to give Jade time to acclimatise to her new environment, and for her to unpack and arrange her belongings, but she knew the truth.
So did Ophelia. She missed nothing. Ophelia might not have the overt signs of magic that the others displayed, but she had the same kind of empathy that Iris excelled at. She just wasn’t always the most patient of people. Not when it came to Portia.
‘Are you living at the library these days?’
‘I sometimes stay there.’
‘Sleeping in the stacks, Fi?’
Ophelia didn’t smile. ‘Very funny, hilarious in fact. There’s an apartment above the library and you know it. Sometimes it’s easier than trekking back up here. At least I’m not hiding in my childhood.’
‘I’m not hiding,’ Portia lied. ‘I’ve just been busy. I had lots to…’ She glanced around the room. She’d barely unpacked one of her cases. ‘To sort out…’
‘You need to talk to Iris. We need you to talk to Iris.’
Portia wiped her face again, aware that her little sister was concerned, hence the snippy tone. ‘Just give me a minute to freshen up and I’ll—’
‘I heard there was a letter?’
Portia glanced down at the damp piece of paper, mangled in her fist. There was no hiding anything. Not here. ‘Yes. Not good news, I’m afraid. What’s wrong? Where is Iris?’
‘In the orangery. With the new vet. Before you go, there’s a problem you need to know about.’