I had alchemy with Professor Curtis that morning, and she was in rare form, bustling around the room and glaring over us as we organized beakers and different chemical agents. Her entire form was like a willow tree being blown around in a windstorm, all thin limbs flicking this way and that as she flitted about the classroom, checking in on students before giving us all a hard look.
"As I said before, we will be learning how to create etching solutions for inscribing enchantments into leather," she said, quickly turning to catch each of us with her eyes. "Any of you who actually creates a usable solution will have the chance to attempt enchantments for additional credit."
Professor Curtis had already written the recipe on the chalkboard in crisp blockish letters, and I did my best to follow it. Alchemy, it seemed, was an art that continued to elude me. Part of me wondered if it was my nature as a necromancer. There was not much of the dead in making potions and tinctures.
Then again, it might also be that Professor Curtis was just a bad teacher. Whenever we had a lab day, a fire always broke out. Though in the spirit of fairness, I was often the cause of them.
As if in reflection of this thought, the beaker I had been using to combine wolf's bane and adder venom extract exploded in a cascade of flame and bits of glass. I swore and leaped back, narrowly avoiding the spray of projectiles.
"Start again Mr. Crowley." Professor Curtis trilled from across the room, where she fussed about with another student's beakers. "And do be more delicate with the materials this time. I'd prefer not to lose any more pieces of equipment to your antics."
I was less than fond of that woman.
I cleaned up the bits of glass and other soldering remains that littered the top of my lab table. Hopefully, if I took long enough, class would be over, Curtis would give me a failing grade, and we could all move on with our lives. I glanced over at Mason, a few tables over from me, and his beaker was bright green and the tincture inside was clearly moving along in the right manner. I dearly wished it was a group project. Mason may not have been the best student in alchemy, but he was a sight better than I was.
I made a pile of the glass shards, swept them onto a stray sheet of paper, and tossed it all into the rubbish bin before returning to my table in languid strides. A quick glance at the wall clock assured me that there was still a good bit of class to get through.
I sighed and reached for another beaker to start the whole sorry process again.
"Hey Crowley."
I turned to see a girl with red hair next to me at my table. She puttered around a bit, like she was inspecting the tubes and beakers on my desk, but it didn't appear like she was actually looking for anything.
I looked away from her, back at my new beaker, and began the arduous process of remaking my assignment. "Yes?" I asked the girl with red hair.
I believed her name was Olive or something like that. I wondered briefly if it was Lord Woodman's new way of sending orders, through random girls in my classes, though I could not say I thought it terribly clever. I supposed it was also possible she wanted to talk to me about something personally, but I couldn't imagine what it could be. Certainly not any tips on alchemy.
"You had breakfast with Sylas Thorne today."
It was not a question; it was a statement. "Yes," I said. Slowly pouring out the adder venom extract in measured drops, I mentally ran through several reasons why she might care. The most obvious one turned out to be correct.
"Does that mean he's planning on dropping out of pre-rush with Lion Hall?"
Lion Hall. Of course, because that's what everyone cares about.
"I'm sure I don't know," I told the girl whose name was probably Olive, in a brisk manner I hoped implied I had better things to do than prattle on with her.
"Well, what do you think it means?" she pressed. "He must've said something to you about it?"
Before I could tell her to leave me alone, without mincing words, Professor Curtis' voice cut across the room again. "Willow Arany and Theodore Crowley! Stop that prattle this instant! I simply cannot abide students gossiping in the middle of the Lab."
Willow? Where had I gotten the idea her name was Olive from?
The red-haired girl, evidently named Willow and not Olive, scowled deeply before walking back toward her table. But not before giving me a look over one shoulder that assured me that, in no uncertain terms, we'd discuss Sylas Thorne and Lion Hall at a later date.
I returned my focus to my beaker, carefully stirring in bits of wolf's bane. For a second, it actually seemed to congeal as I laid mana into it in gentle threads. Then the glass of the beaker melted like spun sugar into an orange pool of goop on my lab table.
I groaned.
***
After classes that day, the four of us went to our usual corner of the library, but with Sylas tagging along.
I slid into my favorite armchair, and Sylas wound up joining Rosamund and Mason on the couch. He sat in between the two of them and Rosamund gave me a hard-eyed look that I did my best to ignore. Iroha seemed rather unbothered by the new addition of Sylas and took her usual chair and opened her notebook nonchalantly.
The five of us just sat there, Mason with a rather confused look on his face as Rosamund kept trying to look over Sylas at him. Iroha scribbled silently in a notebook, and Sylas just seemed to be happy as a clam that he had people to be around who presumably wouldn't ask him to run errands anytime soon.
Then again, the way Sylas kept on glancing around seemed to imply he'd be more than happy to fetch snacks and water for us, if only we thought to ask. The entire scene was far too quiet for my liking, and it seemed to stretch on for an eternity.
"Did anyone know what Professor Dumont was talking about today?" I said finally, trying to get a conversation going. "What exactly did he mean when he said words had genders?"
"No," Rosamund said flatly, tossing her golden hair over one shoulder. "I take German."
"Oh, are you taking French?" Sylas asked excitedly, leaning forward. "I tested into the advanced section on the exams! I'd be happy to tutor you if you need it!"
The degree of desperate earnestness there was overwhelming, and I leaned back slightly in my chair away from Sylas, like a bit of distance between us would set some sort of boundary I desperately needed.
On the other hand, I also sucked at French.
I'd never retained much of what the odd tutor, and Lord Woodman, had tried to drill into me at the estates and things certainly hadn't improved under Professor Dumont's tutelage. I was becoming very used to the disappointed sigh he made in my direction.
"Sure, I'll think about it," I hedged to Sylas, and cleared my throat a bit. "Is there anything you need help with?"
Sylas blinked, like he was surprised anyone would even consider offering to help him with something. He took a long minute to think, and I couldn't help but notice how the muscles in his neck seemed to flex and how my mouth went a bit dry.
"Well I—um," Sylas looked around at us reluctantly. "I really don't want to be much trouble."
Iroha and I exchanged a look and Rosamund tried to do the same with Mason, even laying a hand on his shoulder and give him a dazzling smile. But Mason just stared at Sylas with rapt attention, like he was about to receive some sort of great revelation. It made me think that Rosamund's attempt to woo Mason was not going as well as she might like.
"It's—well…" Sylas trailed off again, and he seemed to twitch all over.
"Oh, for god's sake, just spit it out Thorne," I basically shouted at him, apparently forgetting the modicum of politeness and composure Lord Woodman had drilled into me as the standard for nobles.
A librarian made a hissing shush at me and my companions all stared at me in surprise.
"Sorry," I blurted, feeling my face flush.
"It's fine?" Sylas said, more as a question, and he certainly looked taken aback. "I was just trying to say that it's been a while since I've practiced my swordsmanship? I was going to ask if any of you knew people I could spar with? That's the only thing I can think of."
Swordsmanship. He wanted help with swinging a sword around. "You want help learning how to use a sword?" I said, returning my voice to a mostly controlled tone. "Mostly, we just help each other out with schoolwork we've been struggling with."
Sylas scowled at me. "I don't need help learning how to use a sword," he said, sounding vaguely indignant. "I've been practicing swordsmanship since I could hold one in my hand!"
His voice had risen a bit, but the librarian mysteriously didn't shush or give him any warning glares. I knew the woman didn't like me.
"Well," Rosamund said, eyeing the back and forth between me and Sylas. "Like Theo said, we mostly help each other with academics—"
"Yes," I ground out. "So what subjects are you struggling with, Thorne?"
"None of them," Sylas said back, clenching and unclenching his hand and having fully abandoned whatever veneer of uncertain politeness he'd worn all day. "I'm doing fine in all my classes."
Apparently, he didn't realize how that sounded. "Then why are you here?"
"Because you invited me."
Well, he had me there.
There was a slight clearing of someone's throat, and I realized Sylas and I had stood up and were both leaning over the study table to hiss at each other. We were nose to nose. I also became distinctly aware that not only were the rest of the study group staring at us with round eyes, but so was the librarian and a handful of students who had been wandering around looking for books.
I slowly sat back down, and after a moment Sylas did the same.
Iroha cleared her throat again, and hmphed. "I believe I may be of some assistance if you truly desire a sparring partner, Sylas."
Sylas blinked in surprise, and his face lit up with interest. "Really?"
Iroha nodded. "Yes, I too feel that it's been a while since I had the chance to practice my martial skills. While our methods of swordplay may be different from what each other is likely accustomed to…" She frowned. "The expression is 'any port in a storm,' yes?"
Silence greeted that statement.
"No dear," Rosamund said. "I don't believe that's what that means."
"Oh," Iroha looked confused. "Are you certain? I know my vernacular in English is lacking at times, but I do think the adage works in this case."
"No," Rosamund said. "No, it really doesn't. Trust me on that."
After that charming language lesson, the five of us settled into working on our different homework assignments. For alchemy we'd been assigned worksheets to complete, each detailing equations such as 'If George has twelve gryphon feathers, then how many hairs from between a Screech Owl's toes does he need to brew a batch of Mosmon's Anti-Toxin?'
The answer is four, if you were wondering, according to Iroha and Sylas, and the two of them subsequently launched into a lecture about alchemical theorem that made me want to pull out my hair.
Our first five-person study session ended and the five of us parted ways, with Sylas and Iroha promising to schedule a time the next day to meet and trade pointers with each other's swords.
Sylas and I returned to our room, and I immediately took off my shoes with a sigh.
"That was fun," Sylas said. "Your friends seem very nice."
"They're a good bunch," I agreed, not bothering to tell Sylas I wasn't sure if Mason and the rest could really count as friends, but then again, I supposed we were all heading in that direction. What a novel concept, being friends with mages, with nobles.
"I'm going to head down to the showers," Sylas said. "Should we head to dinner afterward?"
There was something hopeful in Sylas's voice, but also a tad wary, like he was expecting me to tell him I'd spent enough time in his presence for the day. I didn't like it.
"Sure," I said.
***
We went to dinner after Sylas returned wet haired from the showers and ate with Mason, Iroha, and Rosamund.
Sylas seemed to have loosened up a bit and asked more questions about Mason's family. Mason was keen to provide increasingly elaborate stories, some of which I wondered if he must just made them up on the fly.
Meanwhile, the girls and I listened half-heartedly while carrying on our own discussion about which teachers we were convinced were out to get us. It was reassuring to know neither Iroha nor Rosamund liked Professor Ogg any more than I did.
In all, it was a pleasant meal. One of the more pleasant meals I'd had in a rather long time.
But…
But the entire time I felt the eyes of the Lion Hallers on us, Cecil Baldwin in particular. Whenever I suck a glance in that direction, I'd find him watching us with his mouth in a flat line of displeasure.