by Marisa Mills
He sat down again at his desk, opening a book and looking indifferent as he left us to our task. Tatiana placed a hand over the cut, swiping her fingertips through the blood.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “You shouldn’t be forced to do this.”
She shrugged, then bent down over the first glass and studied the red liquid. After a moment, she carefully traced Du Lac’s sigil in blood over the wine glass.
I took a steadying breath and tried to duplicate the sigil Du Lac had made. In my experience, blood magic worked better for me than sigils. It had taken weeks for me to manage any of the complex spellwork involved in sigil casting, but I’d gotten Lucian’s right on the first try.
This sigil looked a little like the familiar star for protection, but the corners weren’t straight and even. I drew the sigils on all three glasses, and I didn’t notice any difference. When I glanced at Tatiana, her face was pale. Her blood was as red as the liquid in the wineglasses.
“Now what?” I whispered.
“I forgot to mention one thing,” Du Lac said, looking up from his desk with a smug expression. “Once you think you’ve located the poison, you’ll drink the other two glasses.”
***
Drink them? I chewed on my bottom lip, wondering if this was all an elaborate attempt to kill me, or at least teach me a lesson about how terrible I was at sigils. If there really was poison in one of the glasses, Du Lac must have the antidote for it. Surely, the Academy wouldn’t go so far as to let the headmaster poison his students. I wiped my sigils away and tried drawing them again, squeezing out more blood from the shallow cut on my arm. A sudden tiredness swept over me like a blanket, as the sigils took my energy.
Three sigils, three glasses. I turned them in the light, and noticed one of the sigils was faintly shining a soft blue. I set the glass aside and stared at the other two. When I lifted my hand, blood dripped down my arm, staining the crystal-clear glass with bloody fingerprints. I raised a glass and swallowed the red liquid quickly. It was sweeter than expected, some kind of fruity punch.
Not wine at all then, Lucian said. Too bad, I think your classmates could use some alcohol after all this.
I tasted and waited, rolling my tongue to see if I could pick up any special tastes from the juice. Or was the sweetness to mask the taste of poison? What if they were all poisoned, I thought suddenly, my stomach squeezing painfully.
When I looked up from the second glass, Du Lac’s eyes met mine. He looked like a ravenous cat staring down a mouse. Were the other sigils classes learning this, too? Had Viviane, Alexander, and Jessa been forced to drink poison? It seemed like a cruel trick.
I took the next glass, swirled the crimson liquid inside, and drank it in a long, single gulp, holding Du Lac’s eyes the whole time. He smiled, and my heart raced. I wondered if I’d chosen poorly. I waited to feel the sting of poison, curdling my veins. Du Lac walked to my table and peered suspiciously at my empty glasses, before examining the still full third cup with the glowing sigil.
“Well done,” he said stiffly, setting my glass back down on the table.
It felt more like an insult than a compliment, but I was relieved it was over. I took a deep breath, then turned to see how my classmates had fared. A boy with dark hair was blowing on a glass filled with black smoke, as the liquid inside bubbled fiercely. Across the room, a glass shattered suddenly with a loud pop, sprinkling the floor with tinkling glass and fruit juice. Beside me, Tatiana lifted her first glass to her lips. Before she could sip it, someone sputtered and gagged behind me. I snapped my head to find Dahlia, her eyes wide and panicked. She was clutching her neck, pulling at her dark skin. Du Lac strode to her seat and watched her, his eyes cold and calculating. Why wasn’t he helping? Why was he just standing there and doing nothing?
Dahlia grabbed his arm and stumbled out of her chair, kneeling before him and pleading with her eyes. This wasn’t right. Not at all.
“Now, you see why drawing these sigils properly is important,” Du Lac said. “It’s one thing to be told that you may encounter poisons. It’s another to experience them and see them affect the people around you.”
He was making a point, but I didn’t care. This was horrible and sadistic. There had to be a way he could teach us, without torturing us. “Help her!” I shouted.
Du Lac slowly pulled out his pen, and traced a sigil over Dahlia’s hand. Her ragged breathing echoed across the room as she fell back into her seat.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you to be very careful in the coming days. Aubade has used poisons before, and it’s likely they’ll use them again. Blood magic may not be a pretty kind of magic,” Du Lac said, narrowing his eyes at Tatiana and me, “but it may save your life.”
Tatiana’s hand shook as she drank her first glass. I held my breath as she put down the empty vessel. Dahlia was still wheezing behind us, and someone else started gagging. Du Lac moved more swiftly this time to help him.
I wondered if Countess Amelia had died like that. Gasping and retching, while Francisca frantically tried to save her. And what had it been like for Dorian, watching his mother die? He must’ve tried sigils to save her. Officially, she fell down the stairs and broke her neck—some even suspected Dorian of pushing her. But the truth was even more sinister: she’d been poisoned, and nobody knew who did it.
I shivered, as I watched Tatiana reach for her second glass. I wanted to knock the glass out of her hand, but Du Lac’s threat rang in my ears. If Tatiana didn’t pass this test, he’d go after Oberon and cause trouble for her family. How could he bear to do this to us, after he’d been poisoned himself? Or was he so embarrassed we’d seen him at his weakest, that he wanted to see us at ours and regain his fragile authority?
Tatiana drank her second glass and wiped the red liquid from her lips with the back of her hand. She curled her hands into fists and fixed her gaze on the final glass. I held her hand as we waited. After a few moments, she looked up at me and nodded. She’d passed. Relief flashed across her pale face, followed quickly by anger. Tatiana creased her brow, and a visible shudder spread through her body. In a sharp, sudden motion, she slipped from her chair and stormed out of the room.
Du Lac’s lips curled into a sneer as he looked at Tatiana’s empty seat.
“She…she correctly identified it,” I told Du Lac weakly.
“So I see,” he mumbled, as if it were no big deal.
I steeled myself and walked towards the exit. The guard blocked my path at first, but let me pass after Du Lac nodded his permission. The hallway was empty save for Tatiana, her hand held against the cut on her arm. When her green eyes met mine, they were filled with tears.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Tatiana said. “Du Lac will probably retaliate for this.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
Tatiana said nothing. The scratch on her arm was closed, but still an angry red, though that may have just been the smears of blood around it. I hesitantly took her wrist and tried to draw the healing sigil I’d seen in my textbook. I made the symbol thick and bold, trying to get every curve just right, but nothing happened. Du Lac must have cut her deeply.
Or maybe you just really suck at sigils, Lucian said.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing her arm. “Let’s get to the infirmary.”
We walked in silence through the corridor and into the infirmary, where one of the mages on duty healed Tatiana’s injury and mine. He even had the nerve to look bored about it, as if we were wasting his time getting help for such insignificant wounds. By the time we left, classes had let out, and our classmates flooded the hall.
“I have to get to Conrad’s class,” Tatiana said.
And I had Delacroix’s.
“I’ll see you later,” I said, pulling her into a quick hug, before letting her loose.
Tatiana nodded and soon lost herself in the crowd. As I went the opposite way, I felt as though a physical weight had descended upon my shoulders. I self
-consciously rubbed a finger across my scars as I climbed the stairs to Delacroix’s classroom. I wished we were going outside, I could use the fresh air—but this class was called Introductory Battle Magic, not the Intermediate Swordplay class that was held in the fields.
This one was in a much more typical classroom on the first floor. A steep flight of benches led up from a circular space at the front of the room, between two large blackboards. Above the main seating, was a raised alcove housing long study desks with neat rows of reading lamps. The walls were painted black, and the floor was covered in obsidian tiles. Small windows cast beams of light into the room, illuminating the center podium while the fading into shadows near the edges.
Professor Lillian Delacroix was an unusually tall woman with short, dark hair and brown eyes. I’d only seen her smile a couple of times, but she was one of my favorite professors. When I walked in, I took a seat near Alexander in the back row. I might not have seen him except for the two guards that stood behind him. They ignored me as Alexander grabbed my arm, pulling me down into the chair next to him.
“You’ve been doing the blood magic?” he asked, running his thumb over my arm.
“How could you tell?” I asked, turning my arm so I could see the unbroken skin. It was still a bit red, but the cut was mostly healed. Rather than answering, Alexander waved a hand towards the still-visible healing sigil on his own arm.
“Viv and I went through it this morning,” he said. “I think all the professors are doing it.”
“Tatiana’s furious,” I said. “And Du Lac was just awful.”
“I can imagine,” Alexander said. “But it’s interesting, right? I mean, remember that time you got us out of the library? It has its uses.”
“But is it worth the cost?” I answered.
“I’ve read in some texts that blood magic works because it’s…a sacrifice of sorts. Demons slip into our world and eat it, casting spells in return.”
“Really?” I asked.
Possibly, Lucian said. My kind never did such, but it’s possible other kinds of demons might. I have heard of little ones that can slip between worlds.
I didn’t like the idea of tiny demons feeding on my blood, but maybe it was better than locking up demons in crystals.
“Viviane likes it a little too much,” Alexander said. “It was incredible what she accomplished. I think part of it is those potions she drinks, but…”
“Those potions are bad for her,” I interrupted. “Don’t you think we need to tell someone?”
Alexander sighed. “Unfortunately, I think this is something Viviane needs to through on her own,” he said. “She’ll come to us if she needs us.”
That didn’t sound like Alexander, who was always so full of fire and so ready to face anything. I wondered if he’d already tried to talk to her about it and got shut down.
Alexander turned his head and leaned in closer, so his breath was hot on my neck. “Don’t forget,” he murmured, “if anyone discovers Viviane isn’t Eleanor’s daughter—and they will if she doesn’t have magic in her blood—we’ll have a bigger problem to deal with. If the potions help her keep up in classes, at least until this all blows over, it’s a necessary evil. If my father realizes she’s a fraud and you knew about it…”
My breath gave a nervous hitch. I hadn’t even considered that now we were protecting Viviane’s secret. She could manage some magic because she’d been training all her life, but she’d never take to it as easily as the other nobles. And if the king found out the truth about her, he could send her down to the Lower Realms, even though she’d spent her whole life in Reverie.
“He’s leaving soon, right?” I asked shakily.
“Yes,” Alexander replied, “back to the Palace to meet with nobles. But Kit is staying, with enough soldiers to protect the school. And as much as Kit disagrees with Father’s ideas and methods, he’ll still enforce them.”
I curled my hands into fists, digging my nails in as if that would bring some sort of clarity. “Do you ever feel like everything is falling apart?” I asked quietly.
Alexander nodded, and there was a smirk on the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, but it literally is this time, so there’s that.”
Delacroix walked in carrying a large, wooden box with her. She glanced at me, and I offered her a smile, which she almost returned. Delacroix was hard to read, and I wasn’t entirely sure if she liked me. But she’d been one of the two professors—the other being Du Lac—who’d tested me for readmittance to the Academy, and she’d agreed to let me back in even after I’d admitted to cheating on the first exam. Plus I was fairly competent with sharp objects.
She opened the box. For a few seconds, she stared at its contents before pulling out a long, jagged blade made of black metal, wrapped in what looked like metal thorns. My stomach churned as Delacroix gave the blade a quick flourish, splaying light from the windows into our eyes. I blinked against the brightness.
“I’m supposed to teach you about charmed weaponry,” she said quietly. “This one, for example, is called a Voracious Badger. With each kill, the blood of your enemies will drain into a secret compartment under the handle. The sigils carved into the metal drink the blood and keep the blade light and sharp. Using it will increase speed and endurance.”
She reached under the counter and pulled out a small, pink piglet. It squirmed under her arm as she held it down against the table. I held my breath, watching in rapt horror as Delacroix lifted the blade and brought it down so swiftly against the table, the guards behind Alexander jumped. The pig squealed again, squirming out of her grip, and this time she let it go. The blade had missed him by inches, but I knew it was no accident. Delacroix’s face looked unusually pale. With a small sigh, she put the monstrous blade away, closed the box, and shoved it somewhere beneath her desk.
“I have a migraine today,” she murmured, opening a book, “so I think we’ll…try an alternate lesson plan. Let’s discuss proper dueling etiquette. You can begin reading on page 167.”
Nine
VIVIANE’S ARM WAS LINED WITH cuts, visible beneath the sleeves of her dress. Unlike mine, hers were self-inflicted. She’d lost weight, too. When she bent over, all her ribs and the knots of her spine were visible. The deep blue dress stood in shocking contrast with her too-pale skin.
She glared at me over her shoulder, and I pretended to be engrossed with my father’s journal, open in my lap, instead of watching Viviane dress. But I recognized the signs of malnutrition. Between the potions and the blood magic, she was expelling far more energy than she was consuming, and it was taking a toll.
I bit my lip. Alexander was right. If I told Viviane to take it easy, it would only make her angry. And she had to keep using magic if she wanted to stay in the Academy. Still it was hard to swallow our reversal of positions. With her matted hair, sallow skin and the angry cuts it was getting harder to conceal, she looked like I must have when I’d first been dragged from the Dregs like a feral kitten. Only she’d had a lot more time pretending to belong in Reverie.
My thoughts drifted to Sterling and Briar, and I realized I hadn’t been dropping food as much as usual. With the impending war and the king sucking up the kingdom’s resources, there could be a food shortage.
I felt an uncomfortable tug of something like guilt in my sternum. I knew I was avoiding them because I didn’t know how to tell Briar I wasn’t really his sister, but I couldn’t let them starve for my discomfort. I’d just have to tell him later, sometime. There were more pressing problems.
Viviane dabbed a spot of pink color on her cheeks and rubbed it in, then pinned her dark hair up into a bun. Her dress was unusually fancy, even for her, with a tapered bust that sparkled and dark, elegant furls in blue and silver fabric.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To see Mother,” Viviane replied, brushing her curls out with her fingers. “Kit’s offered an escort and Jessa agreed to come with me. I t
hought going out might…you know. Raise her spirits a little.”
I’d only seen her briefly, after the incident at the border, but I couldn’t imagine how she was feeling. I’d never had parents to miss, but I missed Dorian already and he’d only just left. I wondered if it would be worse if he were still here and I was just forbidden to see him.
“Are you going to hole away reading all weekend?” Viviane asked, nodding towards the leather book in my hands.
“It’s my father’s journal,” I said. “I’ve already read it through once, but I’m going through again to see if I’ve missed anything.”
Viviane dropped onto her bed and began applying lipstick, holding up a round mirror to her reflection. “Anything interesting?”
“Maybe. Do you…” I trailed off, ruffling through stiff pages, then opening to a page filled with geometric designs and calligraphy. “Did Celeste also teach Dorian sigils when he was at the Academy? I thought I saw some similarity, between the mark on her wrist and the sigils on Gwen’s pendant.”
Viviane furrowed her brow. “I…think so,” she replied, “in Dorian’s last year.”
I leaned forward, trying to piece together the scraps of my father’s story.
“So would he and Nick have attended the Academy together?” I asked.
“Probably not,” Viviane said slowly. “If Gwen and Nick attended the Academy together, Dorian couldn’t have. He’s younger than Gwen is. Why?”
I glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to us, but the dorm room was mostly empty. I edged closer to Viviane and lowered my voice just in case.
“The journal is Nick’s early work. It’s not enough to replicate the charm he made for my mother. And it doesn’t say anything about what really happened between them. There’s some passionate theorizing about a utopia where demons and humans bring out the best in each other, but that’s in between mushy stuff about how Gwen’s hair smelled like honey and magnolia.”
