Give the Dark My Love

by Beth Revis

  Nedra’s words echoed in my mind. “I have been loyal,” I said. “I’ve defended you while you’ve been nothing but a jerk.” I stared at him as if I were seeing him for the first time. “And trust me, it hasn’t been easy.”

  “Defended me?” He rolled his eyes. “To her? Oh, thank you so much.”

  “People aren’t worthless just because you can’t use them,” I said.

  “Gods, you’re boring,” Tomus said again, an insult that used to make me do whatever it took to impress him.

  My hands closed to fists, but I forced myself to take deep breaths. Tomus would never be my enemy, I knew that. My father was too important to his father’s work.

  If I acted now, it would be Nedra whom Tomus would punish. His power was limited, but she didn’t deserve his attention. No one did.

  “So this is how it is,” Tomus said, his eyes on my fists. I made my hands relax.

  “Let’s go drinking,” I said, taking a step down the sidewalk in the direction the other students had gone.

  “No.” Tomus’s voice was clear, no sign of slurring. I wondered if he’d sobered up while talking to me, or if the drunkenness had been faked. So much about Tomus was just a show to manipulate the way people saw him. I had known that for almost as long as I’d known him, but I never realized before that I had only ever seen him behind a mask as well.

  “You want to get serious?” he continued. “Let’s get serious. You’re spending all your time with your slummer girlfriend, and you have yet to see what’s really important these days.”

  “The plague?” I asked. “Because it seems to me that you are the one who’s ignoring that.”

  “Plague.” Tomus rolled his eyes. “The docks needed purging anyway. This is Oryous’s version of rat poison. I’m not talking about that, Greggori,” he continued, speaking over me when I tried to interrupt. “I want to know when you’ll be ready to rise up.” He spoke the last words as if they were significant, as if I should know what they meant.

  The pieces clicked in my head too slowly. “Are you talking about rebellion?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Of course I am!” Tomus said, shouting at me and throwing his hands up. “Are you that blind? Has your little girlfriend made you that oblivious?”

  “Has the alcohol made you that dense?” I shot back. “You are drunk.”

  Tomus looked more disappointed in me now than he had been when talking about Nedra. “Just wait, Astor,” he said, shaking his head at me. “Just you wait.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know enough to keep clean.” Tomus tapped his nose. “I know enough to only talk to those who are really loyal.”

  “Keep your secrets,” I said, exasperated. “Just leave me out of it. And Nedra.”

  “All right, Astor.” Tomus leaned against the wall. I ducked my head, turning, and made my way back to the school. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time.

  This wasn’t over.

  SEVENTEEN

  Nedra

  I had intended to seek out the school’s chapel for a moment of prayer to myself, but as soon as I passed through the gates into Yūgen, I veered to the administration building. I wasn’t sure what I would do if he wasn’t there, but Master Ostrum was definitely in his office—along with someone else. My eyes darted between the door and the stairs, unsure if I should stay.

  There was a bang from inside the room, and I jumped.

  “—Now!” a deep voice from within said.

  Heavy thuds, like books slamming on a table, reverberated through the glass-and-wood door. This sounded more like a fight than a scholarly debate.

  The door swung open before I could make a run for the steps, and Master Ostrum stood in the entryway. He seemed surprised to see me at first, but then his arm swung out, gesturing to me. “As you can see,” he said to the other man inside, “I have a student waiting.”

  The man grabbed his hat—a fancy affair, with a gold crest on the band—and stormed from the room.

  “Inside,” Master Ostrum ordered me. Once the door was shut, he sat down at his desk. “That was Lord Anton,” he said, as if the name meant something to me. I shrugged. “He ran against Governor Adelaide.”

  “I saw Governor Adelaide today,” I said.

  “Yes.” Master Ostrum’s voice dripped with derision. “I heard about her little stunt.”

  I frowned; I didn’t think the governor had pulled any stunt with her speech or by providing the barges. It had been a kindness, one that was needed after the plague had hurt so many.

  “You know,” Master Ostrum mused, “the Lord’s Council voted in Lord Anton as the next governor.”

  “But then why—?”

  “The child Emperor appointed Adelaide instead,” Master Ostrum said.

  I hadn’t known it was legal to overrule a vote, but I supposed anything was legal for the one who made the laws.

  “You don’t like them very much, do you?” I said. “The Emperor or the governor.”

  “No,” Master Ostrum said without inflection. “He’s too young and inexperienced, and he thinks only of himself. And she’s a pawn.”

  Emperor Auguste was my age, but I could see Master Ostrum’s point. I certainly didn’t feel adequate to rule a vast empire.

  “But there’s nothing you can do about it,” I said with a shrug.

  Master Ostrum leveled me with an intense gaze. “That’s your poverty speaking,” he said bluntly.

  I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I didn’t like to be reminded of just how out of place I was at Yūgen. My eyes dropped to my lap.

  “Don’t be ashamed, girl,” Master Ostrum said. “That’s just the way it is. Someone is raised poor, they don’t see the system, because the system doesn’t work for them. A man tells you that you have to pay a tax, you pay it because to you, the only other option is jail. Men like Greggori,” he continued, raising his eyebrow when my gaze shot up at Grey’s name, “taxman goes to his parents, his parents look at the law. Find a loophole. Don’t pay. Get wealthier. Then your family’s taxes go up again.

  “When you’re an alchemist,” Master Ostrum continued, as if he weren’t slicing me up with his words, “you’ll be richer than your parents. You’ll start to see the system. See how it’s unfair, and how it’s made to be unfair. And then you’ll have to decide if you want to change it or if you want to take advantage of it.”

  He leaned back in his chair, the wood squeaking in protest. “I thought I told you to take a holiday, Nedra,” he said, his tone much gentler. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can do more,” I said. “To help with the plague.”

  Master Ostrum’s lips curved up, but I wouldn’t call it a smile, exactly. He stood and opened the door to his private laboratory for me, following me inside.

  Instead of the experiments we’d set up, there was only a book in the center of the metal table.

  Master Ostrum’s fingers trailed along the open pages as he took his seat. I sat opposite him, curious. It was a slim volume, bound in deep tan leather almost the exact same hue as my skin, and while there had once been a title gilded on the cover, it had long ago faded to nothing but golden flakes in vaguely letter-shaped outlines.

  As if making a decision, Master Ostrum picked the book up and thrust it in my hands.

  “What is this?” I asked, gently opening the cover and turning the first few pages. They were stiff and crumbly with age, the paper beige, the ink faded to a russet color.

  My fingers found the title page. The Fourth Alchemy.

  I read the words several times before I understood what they meant. Transformative alchemy was sometimes called the “first” alchemy. Those alchemists used silver crucibles and dealt with chemistry and physics. The second alchemy was medical, with gold crucibles. The third alchemy was for transactions, a simple
alchemy most merchants and bankers knew, using copper.

  My eyes raised to Master Ostrum’s. He looked grim. “The fourth alchemy is necromancy.”

  The book dropped from my hands, landing with a thud on the metal table. A tiny cloud of dust rose from the pages.

  “That’s illegal.” I choked the words out, but they seemed long and heavy. Bennum Wellebourne’s legacy had dogged me all day, from the iron rings on the graves to now.

  “It’s not illegal to study necromancy, just to practice it,” Master Ostrum said. He closed the book and again held it out for me to take. After a moment, I did.

  “We’ve been researching this plague a long time,” Master Ostrum said. “But I don’t think the answer lies in science.”

  “You think it lies in necromancy?” I couldn’t hide the disgust in my voice.

  Master Ostrum shook his head. “No,” he said. “In history.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “You were the one who made me start seriously considering this, Nedra, although I must confess I’d worried it was the case before.”

  “Me?”

  “Some of the phrases used in your great-grandmother’s journal piqued my interest,” he said. “And when you mentioned your history study group in your report, I was reminded of some old books students don’t have access to.”

  He stood, disappearing into his office again, leaving me with the book on necromancy. I put it on the table. I didn’t want to touch it.

  When he returned, Master Ostrum laid a heavy tome in front of me, opening to a page that he had marked. I gasped at what I saw.

  Illustrated on one side was the figure of a bare-chested man. Blackness spread out over his heart. It was definitely not frostbite like in the drawing in Flora’s book.

  “This,” Master Ostrum said, “is an illustration made by one of the first colonists. Rayburn Alfinn, Lord Commander to Bennum Wellebourne when he was governor of Lunar Island. Alfinn fought beside Wellebourne until he crossed the line into necromancy, then became one of his greatest opponents. It’s hard to find primary sources from that time period; much has been lost, and the few remaining works are locked up in the governor’s treasury, inaccessible even to scholars.”

  He frowned again, and I remembered his disdain for Governor Adelaide. After seeing her this evening, it was hard to share the sentiment.

  “I was able to dig this up thanks to a few friends,” he added.

  I stared at the illustration. It looked like the plague, but I wasn’t certain. My eyes skimmed the old text. The writing was out of date and particularly florid, but the crux of what was written was clear.

  “And you think maybe the plague was . . .” I paused, thinking, remembering my history lessons. Wellebourne’s treason had very nearly been successful—but only after he had raised his army of the dead. Prior to that, the conflict had remained grounded on Lunar Island, split between the north, which sided with him, and the south, which was against. He was only able to unify the island with his reign of terror, and it was only with the reanimated corpses that he had the strength to be a threat to the Empire.

  “When he needed a larger army of revenants,” Master Ostrum said, “he simply created more dead people.”

  My stomach churned, thinking of the long graves in the field at the center of the island. There were hundreds—thousands—dead now. “But there is no war,” I pointed out. “No need for an army of revenants. We’re all Imperial.”

  But even as I said the words, Salis’s history study group rose in my mind. Not everyone wanted to stay Imperial.

  “It’s just a theory now,” Master Ostrum said. “But an angle worth exploring. Read this.” He handed me The Fourth Alchemy again, pressing it into my hands. “Please.”

  A few months ago, I would have thrown this book down in disgust and walked away—maybe even returned home, where the only books I knew reminded me of my father. But now . . .

  My fingers wrapped around the spine of the book.

  Now I was willing to try anything.

  EIGHTEEN

  Grey

  Two weeks passed, the days turning into a blur as we all focused on writing our midterm essays. There was no more precious real estate than a table at the library.

  Every night, I gave my reports to Master Ostrum, detailing what I had read about and how I intended to shape my essay. Nedra talked about the plague. She brought news sheets to our sessions, reading aloud accounts of Governor Adelaide speaking on the steps of the castle, calling upon all alchemists in the city and beyond to aid in developing a cure or a way to prevent the disease from spreading further. The Emperor had barricaded himself in his private quarters. The news sheets claimed that he sent constant advice and aid to the governor and stayed in order to help, but the rumor mill eviscerated him for not doing more in the island’s time of need, mocking his cowardice at quarantining himself.

  A few factory owners and merchants had grown ill. The Governor’s Hospital started inspecting people before admittance. Any signs of blackness on the skin meant the patient was rejected and sent directly to the quarantine hospital, no matter their social standing. The quarantine hospital, meanwhile, was relocating any patients who didn’t have the Wasting Death. The mentally infirm would be sent to a sanitarium on the mainland in the coming weeks, and other illnesses were being treated by apothecaries directly.

  A few professors quit giving lectures at Yūgen—dedicating their attention to the illness—which came at a fortuitous time for those of us who were so focused on writing our midterm reports that we had stopped attending lectures.

  Everyone was on edge the day our midterm grades were due. The nervous chatter died down as soon as Master Ostrum opened the door and walked to his desk, a box full of folders in his hands. Inside each one was a student essay—mine was twenty-two pages long—detailing all we’d learned so far in the semester and how we intended to continue to focus our studies.

  Master Ostrum handed Nedra’s folder back to her first. It was considerably smaller than the rest, including mine, which Master Ostrum dropped on my desk unceremoniously. I flipped it open and saw one word scratched across the top: Acceptable.

  My hands curled into fists. Acceptable? Acceptable? I had uncovered books the librarians hadn’t even known existed in my research. I’d translated ancient alchemical runes myself. I’d even reached out to some of Father’s connections for interviews. My essay was far, far more than acceptable. I flipped through the pages, hoping to see some other note, a check mark, a smudge in the ink to indicate he’d read past the first page.

  Nothing.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Tomus asked loudly as he looked inside his own folder.

  “Silence!” Master Ostrum barked. Tomus—for once—bit his tongue and shriveled into his desk, although his cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with anger.

  Once the folders had all been distributed, Master Ostrum turned to the class. “For many of you,” he said, “this is the last time we will interact.”

  I straightened in my desk.

  “I have asked for reassignments for the students I will no longer be advising. Your new masters are listed in your folders.”

  Tomus glowered. “My parents didn’t donate a hall of laboratories to Yūgen for me to be advised by Professor Pushnil!” he said, his voice loud.

  Master Ostrum leveled a cool look at Tomus. “That,” he said with a shrug, “isn’t my problem.” And with that, he left the lecture hall.

  The class erupted into chaos. Tomus stood and shoved his desk away, kicking at it when it fell over. Then he noticed Nedra, sitting on the edge of her chair, stuffing her folder into her bag.

  “You’re still with Ostrum, aren’t you?” Tomus’s voice was low and cold, but it drew every eye to him.

  Nedra stood and swung her bag onto her shoulder. She very distinctly tried not to me
et his gaze. Nedra only made it a few steps before Tomus maneuvered around his desk and stood in front of her. “He didn’t drop you, did he?” he asked, leaning in close to her face.

  Everyone was still. Watching.

  Nedra shook her head no.

  Tomus made a noise deep in the back of his throat, more snarl than laugh. “Of course not!” he said, sweeping his arm toward the rest of the class. “When Ostrum said ‘many of us’ were being dropped, what he really meant was everyone but you, right? Anyone else not being reassigned?”

  I looked behind me—every other person in the lecture hall glared at Nedra. I was tempted to lift up the cover of my folder and see if I’d somehow missed a reassignment slip there, but I knew I hadn’t missed it. Master Ostrum had not only kept Nedra—he’d kept me as well.

  “What I want to know,” Tomus snarled, pushing his fingertips into Nedra’s shoulders, “is just what you do with Ostrum to make him want to keep you and no one else.”

  At those last three words—no one else—Nedra’s eyes flicked to me.

  She knows I’m still with Master Ostrum, too, I thought. But how? How would she know who else Master Ostrum kept unless . . . ?

  Unless she knew he was cutting the other students, and she asked him to keep me.

  Tomus was an ass but a clever one. He watched me with narrowed eyes, and I was certain he’d guessed what Nedra’s glance meant.

  Nedra ducked her head and tried to move away from Tomus, but he stepped in front of her.

  “Please move,” she said, her eyes on the open door at the other end of the lecture hall.

  “Please move,” Tomus mocked.

  “Look, I don’t know why Master Ostrum reassigned everyone,” Nedra said, throwing up her hands. “Maybe he kept me because I actually give a damn about the work we’re doing.”

  Tomus’s eyes were on me when he said, “Maybe.”