26. Zeina
ZEINA
Whispers of surprise assessments clung to her ears.
Despite her close call with the Falcon, the last few weeks had made her more confident, and once again, curiosity got the best of her as she followed Ahmina’s Trivium squad out beyond the wall.
For research, she told herself. The more she knew about Ahmina, the better she would be able to pass as her.
She hung back, listening from under the hatch that led out into the forest, and waited until the voices quieted to cross the threshold.
Scaling a tree in the dark, she watched Professor Barrow and Lennox discuss the assessment before Lennox offered to discreetly check on the students and disappeared into the darkness.
Then, not long after, she watched as Professor Barrow and a female student—Loveleena was her name—spoke about a missing boy.
Almost two hours later, Lennox rejoined the group with an unconscious Ahmina in his arms, her head lolling back like a ragdoll, and a worried Rory by his side.
They promptly whisked her away to the infirmary, with a class of first years frantically whispering behind them.
Once the hallway had cleared, Zeina slipped into the infirmary and hid behind a small supply cart.
She didn’t particularly care about Ahmina.
But seeing her there, whimpering in her sleep from pain, made her chest tight.
She watched as the Alchemist healers attended to Ahmina in candlelight.
The infirmary was surprisingly large, with cedar privacy screens to separate patients, so she was able to keep out of the moonlight and stay hidden.
An Alchemist requested a particular potion be made by Professor Hashiluna.
Lennox, who sat dutiful by Ahmina’s side, didn’t waste any time and set off to find Hashiluna.
Curious, Zeina followed, finally settling silently outside the window to watch the Alchemy professor perform each step of the process.
She learned a lot from Hashiluna that night—the way she became lost in the process, eyes closing, hands moving methodically.
Whatever medicine she made for Ahmina was made without instruction, and once she was finished, Zeina could feel the creation in her heart.
Its healing powers were potent—that she knew.
On the third day in the infirmary, Ahmina’s condition took a turn for the worse. “She’s declining,” the Alchemist with a chestnut bob said, the tips of her hair brushing her jaw as she frowned in confusion.
The second Alchemist that had been attending to Ahmina shook his head. “I don’t understand why. We’ve done everything we can; the potions should have healed her. No one in Jarrah is as skilled as Hashiluna.” He shrugged in defeat. “There’s nothing else we can do. Now, we wait.”
Zeina couldn’t be seen in Alchemy or around school while Ahmina was bedridden, so she ate at night, stealing small scraps from the kitchen.
Now that her stomach was used to regular meals, a ravenous hunger clawed at her during the day.
She distracted herself by focusing on her midnight Alchemy sessions.
Two weeks had passed with Ahmina holding on by a thread. Somehow, her condition worsened even further, and Zeina became desperate. If Ahmina died, Zeina would lose everything she had come to love since she arrived at the Academy: education, Alchemy, and regular meals to name a few.
In the dead of night, she snuck into the Apothecary to work on her potions.
She had only pulled down a few bottles from the shelves when she heard footsteps outside.
Quickly, she folded herself into the room’s closet, leaving it open a crack to peer through.
It was odd to hear someone approach this late.
She had spent night after night here, practicing her skills in the moonlight, and not once had anyone so much as walked by.
Barrow’s fiery hair hung in his eyes as he entered the room, looked around, and pulled bottles off the shelves. He paused, noticing the ones Zeina had left out, and looked around the room again. Zeina stiffened, not daring to breathe again until he started his recipe.
Clover, mugwart, rose spine—he mixed together with deathly precision—before dashing over to Hashiluna’s desk to rip through the drawers.
Searching its contents, he pulled out a monstrously heavy book—an ancient, chaotic collection of pages, sticking out in unnatural ways.
It was clear the book had seen better days, its paper wrinkled from moisture and potion spill.
Barrow set it on the desk with a quiet thud and ran his long finger down the page, pausing somewhere in the middle before returning to his potion.
Minutes later, with a fresh bottle in hand, he slipped out of the Apothecary as quickly as he came. Zeina waited longer than usual to reveal herself. She had to be sure he was gone.
Barrow had cleaned up after himself, but he’d forgotten one thing: the book.
Sitting face open on the desk was Hashiluna’s personal text: a worn book of potions with scribbles of ancient Jarrian language in the margins.
Zeina curved around the desk carefully, eyes settling on the recipe Barrow had used.
Slowly, she pieced together what it was: Death Falsification.
She closed the book and put it back in the desk drawer, her mind racing as she returned to her hiding place in the cellar.
It wasn’t until the next day when she spotted Barrow exiting the infirmary that she understood.
The medicine Ahmina received from the Alchemists was working, but Barrow’s potion created a different illusion.
He was trying to fake Ahmina’s death.