Give the Dark My Love

by Beth Revis

  I watched his head as we went downstairs, my stomach a mess of nerves. This man was even more abrupt than the guard; was everyone in the city this rude?

  * * *

  • • •

  When we reached the basement, the man opened a door with a brass plaque on the front and stepped inside, clearly expecting me to follow. The plaque was engraved with a name: PROFESSOR PHILLIOUS OSTRUM, CHAIR OF MEDICINAL ALCHEMY.

  “The headmistress should have been here to greet a new student,” the professor said, waving a hand impatiently at the chair across from his desk for me to sit. I did. “But,” he continued, turning his back to me and going behind his desk, “the school was given a special invitation to the governor’s inauguration, so . . .” He lifted his hands as if he were baffled that anyone would choose a sparkling party for the new governor over staying in a cramped office in the poorly lit basement of the administration building.

  “It’s okay,” I said. Exhaustion had set in, and I just wanted a bed. And maybe a meal.

  “Well, it’ll have to be,” Professor Ostrum snapped back.

  My eyes scanned the office. Books and papers were crammed into every available space—the shelves were at least double stacked, with piles of leather-bound tomes littering the floor. I tried to read some of the embossed titles.

  Professor Ostrum abruptly stood up and slammed shut a door behind the desk that I’d not noticed before, partially hidden by a bookcase. A closet, I assumed.

  He reclaimed his seat and lifted a folder with my name on the front. “You’re focusing on medicinal alchemy?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Sir.”

  “Transactional alchemy is easier,” he said, almost to himself. “And transformational alchemy has more job openings. Medicinal is a competitive field.”

  Not in the north, I thought. Traveling alchemists went from village to village as they could, but one could never be certain to get a good one, if one at all. I remembered the fate of Dilada and Carso’s parents. No alchemist had come to their village until two weeks after they were in the ground.

  “Medicinal alchemy,” I said with conviction. “That’s what I want to study.”

  Professor Ostrum didn’t look up at me. “So. A scholarship student.”

  I didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to want me to.

  “That’s rare.” Professor Ostrum peered at me over the folder. “The benefactor isn’t listed. You have a rich relative somewhere?”

  I almost laughed at the absurdity of that idea, but I bit my tongue. I explained about Papa’s letters.

  Professor Ostrum tossed the folder on his desk, ignoring the way the papers inside slid out in disarray. “Probably the governor,” he said. “It’s not like the Emperor cares about anyone on Lunar Island.”

  The professor’s decision not to attend the inauguration suddenly made more sense. I’d never met anyone who had any type of passionate feelings for the Emperor one way or another, but Professor Ostrum’s hatred was palpable.

  “You only went to village school?” Professor Ostrum asked, changing the topic.

  I nodded. “But I read a lot, both Imperial and some ancient, as well as runes. Sir,” I added. “My father is a bookseller, and—”

  He cut me off. “There’s only so much you can do with books.”

  This seemed disingenuous coming from a man whose office was littered with books. My fingers outlined the hard edge of my great-grandmother’s text. Professor Ostrum’s eyes followed the movement, and my hand froze. I felt my cheeks warming as I pulled the book out of the bag.

  “This is a family heirloom,” I told him, opening the pages. “I, um, have been studying it.” I struggled to find the words that would prove I was worthy to be at Yūgen. “It has medicines, potions. Some basic practices.”

  “Alchemy is a science,” Professor Ostrum said sharply. “Somewhat more advanced than knowing bowroot is good for headaches.”

  “I know.” My voice betrayed my impatience and irritation, and I bit my lip before continuing. “That’s why I want to be an alchemist. This,” I said, clutching the book, “isn’t enough. But I’ve also read some of the alchemy textbooks my father sells. There’s not much overlap. For example,” I continued, feeling as if I had to prove myself. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Wasting Death?”

  Professor Ostrum steepled his fingers. “I assume you mean that disease among unhygienic people, where their limbs rot?”

  “It’s been spreading in the north,” I said, biting back my retort that Carso and Dilada’s parents were not unhygienic by any means. “It’s hard to get alchemists to come to rural areas. But we use tincture of blue ivy . . .” I clutched my great-grandmother’s book, but Professor Ostrum’s eyes were already dismissing my words.

  “Blue ivy is in use throughout the hospitals here,” he said derisively.

  My stomach sank. “Well,” I snapped, “that’s why I’ve come here. So I can learn and find new methods to help. From Yūgen and my village.”

  For the first time since I arrived, Professor Ostrum looked interested. “You’re saying you want to study modern alchemy and compare it to more traditional methods?”

  I nodded. “There’s value here,” I said, tapping my great-grandmother’s book. “And there’s value in alchemy.”

  “Homeopathic cures in conjunction with alchemy certainly isn’t unheard of,” he pointed out, “but I like the way you think. We can learn a lot from our ancestors.” He contemplated me for several moments. I grew uncomfortable under his gaze, but he didn’t look away. “Right. Classes here are not like your village school,” Professor Ostrum continued, his voice sharper now. “Grades are reliant upon two essays, one at midterm, one at final. You are assigned a master. You will report to your master in a group class at the start of each day, then it is up to you to attend whatever lectures are being given throughout the day. This will include lab work or on-site training at the hospitals in the area. You are expected to report back at the end of the day to your master, where you will be tested on whether or not you have adequately learned that day.” He squared his shoulders, his gaze unwavering. “Your master will decide if you pass or fail, if you stay at this academy or not. Your entire fate is in his hands.”

  I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “You’re a late addition to this semester,” Professor Ostrum said. “I’m not making another appointment hour just for you. You’ll have to share your end-of-day session with another student.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. So. This gruff, grumpy man was my master. The holder of my fate. And I was both an afterthought and an inconvenience to him.

  This was going so very well.

  “Greggori Astor.” Professor Ostrum looked up from his folder. “You know him?”

  I shook my head.

  “You wouldn’t,” he said, dropping the papers on his desk again. “Anyway, you’ll come to me during his session. Seven chimes sharp. Don’t be late.”

  “And when does the morning session begin?”

  “An hour after breakfast.”

  When I looked at him blankly, unsure of when—or even where—breakfast was, he added, “Nine chimes.”

  He spoke quickly, rattling off a building and room number for the morning session and then giving me a different building and room number for my dormitory, tossing me a long iron key for my room.

  “Don’t be late tomorrow,” he said, standing—a clear dismissal.

  “I won’t, Professor Ostrum,” I said.

  “Master Ostrum,” he corrected, subtly emphasizing the word.

  “Master,” I said, bowing my head and leaving as fast as I could.

  FOUR

  Grey

  Damn, i loved sparkling wine.

  “Not bad, eh?” Tomus said, topping me off. He’d swiped an entire bottle from a waiter and d
rank directly from it as soon as he filled my glass to the brim.

  “A man could get used to this,” I replied, grinning.

  “Another year, Astor.” Tomus nudged my shoulder.

  I clinked my glass against his bottle. “Just one more.”

  We were so close to graduating that I could taste it. Tomus and I held the highest grades at Yūgen, and we were both advised by Master Ostrum. Ostrum was a bear, but he was also the best medical alchemist on Lunar Island or anywhere else in the Empire. Having Ostrum as a master made getting into a top position at the Governor’s Hospital, or even a hospital in one of the larger cities on the mainland, a sure bet.

  “Well, off we go,” Tomus said, his voice only slightly slurring. He dropped the bottle on a tray held by a passing waiter, then turned to me, tapping his nose. “We’ll get a bit of brown on here, and it’ll be a night well done.”

  “You don’t have to be so crass about it,” I muttered, but I still followed him as he strode toward a group of medical alchemists in the back of the ballroom.

  Outside of the hospital, alchemists didn’t bother with their deep blue robes, but many still wore the color on their persons: a blue cravat, a lace-edged pocket square, a sapphire brooch.

  “She’s a good choice,” one of the men was saying as Tomus and I edged closer.

  “Mm.” His companion nodded. “Surprised the youngling chose her.”

  My eyes darted to the raised dais at the end of the room. Emperor Auguste was young—younger than me even, albeit only by a few months. Tomus and I were still students, and the Emperor was already leading the largest naval fleet in history—and leading it well. Every day, it seemed like new lands were being acquired into our sprawling empire.

  Emperor Auguste lounged on his throne as if it were covered in cushions, not gilded ebony hand-carved by the first settlers of Lunar Island a century and a half ago. In contrast, the middle-aged woman to his left sat with her back ramrod straight, her eyes alight, gazing out at the crowd in the ballroom with genuine interest. As I watched her, she leaned over and said something to the Emperor, who shrugged, then she got up and stepped off the dais, intermingling with the crowd while Emperor Auguste snapped his fingers at a waiter for another glass of wine.

  “Adelaide is the right choice for Lunar Island,” the first alchemist said, as if trying to convince himself.

  Tomus sidled up to the group. “We agree,” he interrupted, even though I knew he didn’t really care who was governor. He just wanted an excuse to break into the conversation. The alchemists glared at us, seemingly surprised we were there.

  “I’m glad to see children are interested in today’s politics,” the second alchemist said, a mocking smirk on his lips.

  Tomus stuck out his hand. “Tomus Abertallin,” he said. “Top of my class at Yūgen.”

  The smirk faded.

  I swallowed and stepped closer. “I’m Greggori Astor,” I said. “And despite what Tomus says, I’m actually ranked highest.”

  The man chuckled. “Astor? You Linden’s boy?”

  I nodded but didn’t elaborate. Father wanted me in politics, like he was. According to him, medicinal alchemy was a trade, not a profession. Mother didn’t care what I did, as long as I married well. I resisted the urge to turn around and look for them. They were both here, somewhere. Father had probably slipped off to a parlor for cards and cigars, and Mother had probably had more to drink than Tomus, although she held it better. It was doubtful they’d seen each other since they arrived, and neither had bothered to check on me.

  “So, what do you think of our new governor?” another alchemist in the group asked. I recognized him as Alyx Markhim, a friend of my father’s and the chief alchemical director of the Governor’s Hospital. He’d supported the former governor’s policies rather heavily, lauding the tax cuts that directly benefitted him while ignoring how they hurt the poor who needed his hospital.

  I cut in before Tomus could start babbling. “Adelaide has yet to prove herself in terms of law,” I said. “Certainly her father, before he passed, was rather liberal, but we have seen no indication that Adelaide herself will follow in her father’s footsteps.”

  I had their attention. Tomus scowled as I continued. “She may be the moderate balance our island needs, with the perspective of her father but the ability to move beyond his mistakes into decisions that are beneficial to the structure of our city.”

  “So you disagree with Lord Anton?” the chief director said.

  “Lord Anton?” Tomus asked, trying to inject himself into the conversation.

  “Perhaps the biggest opposition to the new governor,” I said, my brain racing to keep up with my mouth as I tried to recall every boring detail from Father. Lord Anton had been voted into the office, but the Emperor had vetoed the choice and selected Governor Adelaide instead. “He is a legacy, certainly, and felt entitled to the position.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the chief director frown. I remembered too late that he had supported Anton’s bid for the governorship. “Clearly he would have been the better choice, but Adelaide had a stronger plan for more lenient taxation of factory owners, which should benefit everyone in the city. And if not, the term is only ten years, and a conservative will certainly succeed her.”

  “If the Emperor allows it,” one of the other men muttered darkly. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew he worked with my father often.

  The chief director’s lips curved up on one side. “You’re graduating next year, right, son?”

  I nodded.

  Tomus narrowed his eyes as I sipped my glass of wine. The alchemists politely nodded to us before turning away. The chief director’s eyes lingered on me an extra moment, and I knew he would recall me when I applied to the Governor’s Hospital next year.

  “Nice,” Tomus said once the men were out of earshot, drawing the word out.

  I laughed. “Jealous?”

  Tomus’s expression went from playful to serious. “I think I’ll need to start paying better attention to politics.”

  A couple of ladies walked by, absorbed in their own conversation. “Did you hear about Henrick’s factory?” one of the women said. “All those workers . . .”

  “More will move down from the north,” her friend replied, peering over the top of her fan.

  “I’ll host a charity drive,” the first said. She looked at the other woman, eyes hungry for approval in a way that reminded me sharply of my mother.

  The head steward rang the announcement bell, and the music and chatter around the ballroom faded. The Emperor straightened in his throne, finally caring that all eyes were on him.

  “Thank you, guests and citizens of the Empire!” the steward called. “Today we gather in celebration of the inauguration of our thirteenth governor of Lunar Island, Adelaide Amarie Strangmore of Greenhaven Manor.”

  Adelaide left the ballroom floor and stepped lithely up to the dais. By the time the Emperor bothered to stand from his seat, the grand bishop had already positioned herself on a little kneeling stool between the throne and the governor’s chair and bent her head, beginning the prayers for governing. Her voice became a low-pitched undercurrent to the rest of the proceedings, droning on in a way that made it easy to ignore.

  Adelaide knelt in front of the Emperor. She was not allowed a cushion. Her head was bent so low that she seemed almost to be kissing Emperor Auguste’s feet. It was odd to see a woman at least thirty years his senior genuflect at the teenage ruler’s feet.

  “Chosen by your people and graced by the Emperor,” he said in a bored monotone voice that barely rose above the bishop’s murmured prayers. “I, by the rights of my birth and the grace of Oryous, Emperor Auguste, third of his name, rightful ruler of the Great Allyrian Empire, king of all lands, name you, Adelaide of Greenhaven, governor of Lunar Island.”

  Adelaide’s voice was strong and clear. “I accep
t. May Oryous bless my rule and the Emperor guide my hand.”

  The Emperor draped an embroidered pallium adorned with three large beads—one copper, one silver, and one gold—over Governor Adelaide’s head. She stood, looking out with gleaming eyes as the crowd in the ballroom clapped politely.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Want to go out?” Tomus asked me as the party wound down. Salis, Amala, and a few other girls stood in the corner, casting eyes at both of us. An evening spent with them would be the perfect accompaniment to the nice buzz I was feeling thanks to the sparkling wine, but before I could agree, I noticed my father standing against the wall, his gaze on me.

  “Go without me,” I replied, already making my way toward Father. Tomus offered no argument—he knew that our fathers were men not to be crossed.

  “Greggori,” my father said by way of greeting when I drew closer.

  “Sir.”

  “Have you seen your mother?” he asked.

  “Did you check the gaming room?”

  Father frowned. “I saw you speaking to Markhim.” There was something like approval in his eyes, but it was such a rare emotion from him that I almost didn’t recognize it. “He was a prominent benefactor to Lord Anton’s campaign.” His gaze grew distant as he lost focus on me. “In a few years, he may step into the political ring. He would be a powerful ally.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Well.” Father had long wanted me to follow him into the governor’s court. Apparently if he couldn’t turn me into a politician, he would politicize alchemy.

  “There’s talk of Markhim becoming the Lord Commander,” Father continued. Now that the governor had been chosen by the Emperor, the next highest government official would be whomever Governor Adelaide selected to be her second-in-command. The position was highly coveted—it came with a steep paycheck, residence in the palace, and the knowledge that, should anything happen to Governor Adelaide, the Lord Commander would take control of the island for the remainder of her term. “Anyway,” Father said, turning. “Come with me.” He led me toward the door.