~Chapter Twenty-Four: Chosen~

“Colin Tremory.”

Eola was halfway to her feet before she realized what Instructor Tarik had said. It wasn’t her name; it was her friend’s. She sat back down, hitting the oak seat with enough force to clack her jaw shut. She hadn’t been picked.

A small voice in her head added a ‘yet’ to that, but the rest of her knew. Colin hadn’t said his score in Ideograms, just that he’d passed it. How highly had he scored? A five? Was Instructor Tarik only going for students who’d scored a five?

Colin shot her a confused look at stood up, and she forced her face into what she hoped looked like a smile. “Good job,” she said. He grinned back sheepishly and walked to the front as she watched, trying to choke down her envy.

She hadn’t been picked.

Colin accepted his piece of parchment and disappeared out the lecture hall’s lower door, and Eola sat, watching, as Maestro Yarrowbloom picked Irisbloom from the same group Eola had fought in. She barely saw the elf vanish through the same door Colin had taken. Then, a few professors later, the next round started, and Eola had to watch as Madame Reyanna selected a third noble child as an apprentice. At least it hadn’t been her.

She closed her eyes, squeezing against the incoming tears. Eola wasn’t very good at magic—she knew it, her parents had known it, and her uncle had definitely known it—but she’d done her best to hide that from as many professors as she could, and her scores hadn’t been awful. How could she not have been picked yet? It didn’t make any sen—

“Eola Lemiene.”

Her eyes snapped open.

Instructor Tarik’s intense eyes were locked on her. He reached up and touched his beard, waiting at the lectern with parchment in hand. Somehow, she’d missed most of the third round. She walked down, almost as dazed-looking as Colin had been, and accepted the note. Then, without saying a word, the professor sat down. Eola read his message.

Meet the others at my office. I have one more apprentice to collect. Welcome to your apprenticeship, Miss Lemiene. We are going to learn so much together if you’re willing to put in the work.

Master Tarik

That was it. She walked through the door and cut across the cold, snow-covered grounds, stockings squelching in her boots as freezing water got in them. Her hand tightened around the note, and she read it a second time. Then a third.

She had been picked.

And not only that. As snowflakes fell on the parchment, Eola stared at her name. The space in Instructor Tarik’s Alemic was perfectly sized for it. He hadn’t filled in her name after the second round; the professor had come into the choosing intending to select her.

And if he’d intended to select her, then he’d wanted Colin and Roth, too. Even more wildly, he’d known he’d pick her third. The professor had planned out his selections in advance, which meant one of two things; either every professor went into the selection knowing exactly where each student was going—an impossibility, given that they had less than two days to confer—or he was choosing based on different criteria.

Eola opened Instructor Tarik’s office door, expecting to see the neatly-stacked envelopes full of runes and piles of books sorted by subject she’d left four days ago.

Instead, it looked like a whirlwind spell had been filled inside.

Four dilapidated chairs sat in front of the plain desk, in a small, cleared space. Someone had strewn the towers of books that had recently occupied that space against the wall haphazardly. Eola had a pretty good idea who; Tarik had been busy with something, and hadn’t bothered straightening up. The black rabbit’s cage was open, and it stared at Eola with shockingly intelligent but anxiety-filled eyes. Its nose wriggled slightly.

“Are you coming in or standing there?” Roth asked. “Or maybe you’re here to tell us there’s been a mistake, and we’re being rejected.”

“No mistakes,” Eola said. She slipped through the door, letting it click shut behind her, and took one of the remaining seats. Her nose wrinkled. Something stank of fear, or maybe anxiety—and she was pretty sure it wasn’t the rabbit.

Neither Roth nor Colin met her eyes, and after a moment, she sighed. “Congratulations, Colin.”

“On what? Oh, being picked? I figured I’d get selected at some point,” he said, trying and failing to act nonchalant about it. Then he paused, looking around nervously. “You work in here sometimes, right? Is it usually this…?”

“Yes. Tarik is a lot like you.” Eola let that hang, and the room descended into an awkward sort of silence. Not that she minded. She fidgeted with the blue cat statuette in her robe pocket, rubbing the spot between Atta’s cold ears and closing her eyes. She was coming down from the nerves of the choosing, and Colin was, if not happy to be quiet, at least willing.

Roth’s fingers tapped on his pine chair, and after a moment, Eola’s eyes snapped open. The dark-haired, dark-eyed boy glared at her, daring her to say something, and after a few seconds to think about it, she decided to let it go.

She’d been chosen, and that was good enough for her.

By the time the door opened for the fourth time and Instructor Tarik came in, Eola was almost ready to draw her smallsword and attack Roth Gerr. His fingers hadn’t stopped drumming, and it was driving her mad. Even Colin looked irritated about it.

But one look at the red-haired girl following the professor, and Eola stopped caring about Roth at all. “Patrice!” Colin said as he saw her, too.

Patrice looked absolutely despondent, and Eola stood to put a hand on her shoulder, only for it to be shrugged off. “I can’t believe I wasn’t last…” the girl said.

“Were you hoping you wouldn’t get selected?” Eola asked. It was outrageous, but it was also exactly the sort of thing Patrice would be perversely proud of. After all, she firmly believed she was the worst mage in Varin’s Academy—maybe even in the history of the school.

“Sort of,” Patrice replied, grinning through her false tears. “Would have been an incredible story, anyway. The time I was such a bad student, I didn’t get an apprenticeship.”

Roth made a gagging sound, and Patrice shot him a look.

“Every student gets an apprenticeship, Miss Clerk. If you four will be quiet, I’d like to get started.” Instructor Tarik closed his eyes and steepled his fingers on the desk. “I’m going to ask for something most students aren’t required to divulge, for reasons that will become obvious by the end of this conversation. I need all of your attunements.”

“Really?” Roth asked. “You’re sure you’re not looking to back out on me?”

“Yes, I’m sure. And yes, I need them. Miss Lemiene, will you share yours?”

Eola hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Unattuned Mana.”

“Note that Miss Lemiene did not say she was unattuned,” Instructor Tarik said. “I have guesses about the other four of you. For instance, I believe Mr. Tremory is—“

“Order and Patterns,” Colin filled in.

“Excellent. However, my guesses for Mr. Gerr and Lady Clerk are significantly more shaky, so, if you’d be so kind…?”

Patrice stared at Roth, and after a moment, he cleared his throat and mumbled something into the floor, blushing crimson.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” the professor asked.

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“Music. It’s music.”

“Excellent. Now, Miss Clerk—“

“No. Not right now. I’d be willing to tell you privately, but I…can’t tell my friends. It’d be…I don’t want them to think less of me,” Patrice said quietly. Eola stared at her. After the three attunements they’d just revealed, what could possibly be so bad that Patrice refused to talk about it?

“Very well,” Tarik said. “You’ll stay behind after we’re done here. I have a guess, and if it’s close, that’ll be good enough for my purposes. The reason I’ve selected the four of you has everything to do with those odd, difficult-to-use attunements you each have.