~Chapter Twenty-Six: The Glove is Thrown~

As Eola finished the last sentence of Components, her stomach growled painfully. She’d curled up on her bed, Atta in the crook between thigh and knee under her blanket, and worked there for the last hour. It was just too cold at her desk.

She had no idea how Patrice did it, growing up in the far north, against the Lake of Shards. It sounded miserable—though Eola’s home of Greenarbor wasn’t exactly the warm south, either. She closed the book and gathered her notes, steeled herself, and pulled the blankets off.

Atta yowled, rolled, and arched her back. Then, when the hissing was finished, the blue cat stared Eola down. “You finished your translation, then? About time. I expect something from the kitchen when you go.”

“How do you know I’m going?” Eola asked.

The cat raised her eyebrow in an uncannily human-like gesture. “Your stomach’s been roaring like a dragon for the last half-hour, silly girl. You need to take care of yourself better.”

Eola sighed and put her notes and book in their place. “Fine. I’m already going.”

“I like fish! Preferably trout!” Atta said just before she vanished and a familiar weight dropped into Eola’s pocket. She ignored the cat and opened the door.

To her surprise, both Colin and Patrice were waiting. In fact, Colin was more than waiting. His knuckles were midway to knocking on Eola’s door, and she missed getting hit by inches. “Sorry. I was thinking about getting something—“

“We’ve been waiting for about thirty minutes,” Patrice said, “but Colin only got the courage to knock just now.”

Colin’s yellow ferret glared at her from between his feet, and Colin shrugged, staring at the familiar. “We figured if we went, you’d stay here all night, working, but Patrice said something about you getting mad the last time she interrupted you.”

Eola’s face heated up, and she nodded. “Sorry. I’m going anyway, so let’s go together.”

It was late, but the students at Varin’s Academy kept strange hours—especially the older ones, who often had independent courses and large blocks of study time, or who vanished into the upper floors of the library for hours at a time. Or who, like Eola, alternated between extreme focus on their research and only listening to their stomachs. The cafeteria was very much aware of that, and dinner was often served almost until breakfast. So, when Eola, Colin, and Patrice arrived, they weren’t alone.

Which was unfortunate.

The meal of the night was a noodle dish with thick red sauce that smelled a little spicy and a little floral. Chunks of the same vegetables the kitchen so often roasted floated in it, and a blob of thick, melted goat cheese covered the top. Eola ignored everyone else, securing her plate and making a break for the closest empty table and bench. She was three bites in when someone sat across from her.

“Eola.”

“Catrine,” Eola said between bites. Patrice snorted, and Eola tried not to smile.

“Lady Andrese to you.” To Eola’s surprise, there were no taunts. No teasing, either—just a smug smirk. “You don’t deserve to be here. It’s an affront to Y’aer’s gift that you haven’t cast a single First Order spell.”

“What do you mean?” Eola asked. The noodles were getting cold, and while that wouldn’t stop her from eating, the steaming plate was meant to be eaten piping hot.

The smirk didn’t go away. “Something’s obviously wrong with you—and not just the magic. At first, I thought it was that you were simply unattuned. A toddler in an adult’s robes. But you’ve never once used my proper title or shown me the deference I deserve.”

As if to punctuate that point, Patrice gave a short, quick bow before sitting, and when Colin arrived a moment later, he wouldn’t look Catrine in the eyes. Eola flushed slightly, face going pink. “That’s what this is all about, Catrine? Half of the professors don’t use your title, either. Reyanna’s the only one who does.”

“You’ve gotten a lot braver, haven’t you?”

“Why do you have it out for me, specifically?”

“Because I’ve known you don’t belong since you got here. You’re no spellsword, even if you have a smallsword and wand, and I’m going to prove it to you.” For a moment, Catrine glared at Eola, and Eola stared back.

Then, Eola’s fork dipped into the noodles and sauce, and she raised a bite to her lips. It wasn’t a conscious decision. The sauce just smelled so good, and she was so hungry. But it happened.

Catrine’s eyes narrowed as Eola chewed, swallowed, and sighed in pleasure. “How can you enjoy that? No, ignore that.” She pulled her wool mitten off and dropped it onto the table. “I, Lady Catrine Andrese, Heir to Highstone and daughter of Y’aer’s Chosen Calliene Andrese, have had my honor besmirched. I challenge Miss Eola Lemiene to a duel of honor.”

Patrice’s own fork clattered to her plate. Colin only looked confused. But Eola stared Catrine down, not blinking. “When and where?”

Catrine only laughed, smirk growing wider by the second. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you?”

“Lady Andrese, excuse us for a moment.” Patrice grabbed Eola’s hand, pulling her away from the table, loaded fork and all.

Eola popped the next bite into her mouth as they walked, enjoying the spicy-sweet taste. It was almost a paste, really, but not quite—and it was cooling down rapidly.

“This is a bad idea, Eola. You’ve never taken part in a duel of honor, or even watched one, have you?” Patrice asked.

“I’ve seen a lot of battle mages fighting. They had a tournament arena in Greenarbor.”

“A duel of honor is different. Much, much different. You’re a good fighter—you survived the third floor.” Patrice sighed, rubbing her eyes. “You should decline. You really, really should decline. House Andrese’s attunement’s not one to mess with, and you have no idea what you’re doing. Being embarrassed isn’t so bad for you—you’re just a commoner, so it’s expected, even.”

Eola turned back toward the table. Then she looked at Patrice, eyes hardening. “I can’t decline. She’d win.”

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For a few seconds, Patrice was silent. Then she nodded slowly. “Listen, if you really want to do this—“

“I think I do.”

“If you really want to do this, you decide which weapons, and she decides when and where. It won’t be for a day or three unless she’s really offended, so we’ll have some time to figure out a strategy and to run you through some practice bouts. I’ll help you as much as I can, but you’re going to be at a disadvantage the whole time.” Patrice looked over her shoulder at the still-smirking Catrine, whose lackeys had shown up with their plates and sat down across from Colin. “House Andrese’s known for their excellent duelists—I’ll explain why in private—and Latrine Catrine and I go way back.”

Eola groaned. It was so frustrating, not knowing the rules for something. First, it was her Ordered Magic workaround, the spell-chains. She couldn’t get those figured out at all. Then, before she could make progress, she got thrown into this mess with Catrine. There were whole sets of rules she didn’t understand—and worse, hadn’t ever seen.

And her food was getting cold.

She walked back to the table, trying to keep herself calm and avoid glaring too hard at Catrine. Then she sat back down, took another bite of the now-lukewarm noodles, and swallowed.

“I accept. Wands and swords?”

“That’s fine with me,” Catrine said, smiling widely. She took a bite of her own pasta, swallowed, and grimaced. “Next First-Day, in the hedge maze, then?”

“Acceptable.”