~Chapter Twenty: Snowballs~

In the week that followed, Eola didn’t attend Mana Studies—or the extra lesson with Madame Reyanna—once.

There was no point. The practical exam almost certainly had everything to do with Mana lines and attuned Mana. Eola didn’t believe in the first as anything but a learning lie for children, and while she had attuned Mana—sort of—it didn’t work like that in practice. It wouldn’t register for anything Madame Reyanna wanted her to do. She did ask Instructor Tarik for help in avoiding the extra lesson, though. “I’ll see what I can do,” he’d responded, but after that, she hadn’t heard a word from him about it.

So, if she couldn’t confirm it was safe to go to class, she simply wouldn’t. It’d be more helpful for her to focus on what she could control.

That meant the written exams in Introduction to Monsters and—to her annoyance—Ideograms. Instructor Tarik insisted that she had to take the test even though she wasn’t enrolled in the class. Even if she was grading second-year students’ work. Even if she was better at spotting errors in runes than the professor himself.

The most frustrating part was that, in her mind, it didn’t matter if she passed or not. She’d already done the agreed-on work to get through the independent study. This was strictly because next year’s instructors would want to know her scores. It was a waste of her time, just like Mana Studies’ practical.

Still, the Intro to Monsters exam would probably cover at least a handful of third-floor denizens, and Eola didn’t need any more motivation than that to study hard. And Ideograms was definitely something she could pass—probably with flying colors.

And then there was Magical Dueling and the Taron-Li.

Instead of visiting the library, she spent her time working through the sword dance’s traditional footwork and guards, making sure she not only understood them, but felt them the way Maestro Yarrowbloom believed duelists should. She refined her spell list down to a handful of quick-casting cantrips with some of the traditional modifying marks, the better to dance with. If the professor wanted a fundamentally sound dance, she’d provide it.

She didn’t dance alone, either. Colin joined her, desperation fueling his every textbook-perfect thrust and too-slow shield-summoning. He had the determination. The will. And, without spellcasting, he was actually an acceptable swordsman. Formal, stiff, and lifeless, but acceptable. But the moment he added a single spell, everything slowed down and perfection—no, order—took over.

Eola tried.

She really did.

In fact, they had one day before the midterms, and she was still trying.

“Why are you bothering with me?” Colin asked as she picked him up off the sparring floor for the dozenth time. “I’m hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless,” Eola lied. “Again.”

But Colin didn’t even raise his sword—not even to block the lunge that bounced off his padded chest. He stared at Patrice, who’d joined them for practice. “Even Patrice is better than me.”

“I am not,” Patrice said from where she lay on the floor, eyes closed. “The smallsword is not my weapon. Too light and floaty.”

“No, you are,” Eola said. It was true, though. Patrice was like a bull in a china shop, flailing around with the blade like it was a mace or something. In a way, it was terrifying.

“Not in the fundamentals, I mean. I’m better in theory. But I can’t move fast enough for it to matter. You’re unpredictable, though. You might earn a few points for beating someone on sheer chaos.” Colin walked over to the sword rack and hung up his practice sword.

“Rude!” Patrice sat up and shot him a look.

Eola shrugged off her padded armor. “Rude, yes, but true. You have no idea what you’re doing. That makes you dangerous—to yourself and everyone around you. On the other hand, Colin’s predictable, and that makes him less of a threat than his familiar.”

“Also rude,” Colin said quietly.

“Worse, he knows it. He’s not even defending himself.”

Patrice stayed on the floor for a minute, then bounced to her feet. The tall girl moved shockingly quickly when she wasn’t half-asleep. “That was rude, too. My father would be disappointed in the friends I’ve made. Come on, you two. At this point, an extra few minutes of studying won’t decide whether we pass or fail. Let’s go do something outside while the sun’s out.”

Eola followed Patrice out into the academy’s grounds, past a hedge that looked more like a vertical mound of snow than a plant and into the school’s maze.

Every magic academy in Alemia had a maze, but unlike the dungeons they were built around, on top of, or in this case, inside, mazes didn’t serve any purpose Eola could see. It was near the greenhouse Instructor Clearance and a few other professors taught in, and she could see a corner of it from her window, but she’d never seen or heard of a class using it for anything. Every single academy had one. It was important. But no one knew why, and it was pretty much useless.

She was lost almost instantly, of course, but Patrice led the three of them through it like she’d been in it a million times.

“I’ve been in here a million times,” she said. “There’s a sort of hut in the middle that’s a great napping spot. Someone keeps it ensorcelled, and it’s always just warm enough to fall asleep in.”

“Are we going there?” Colin asked.

“Nope. We’re looking for a dead-end. Somewhere no one’s walked yet.”

Eola looked around. Everywhere she could see, the snow was untrampled and fresh. And bright; the sun was out, and it was shockingly comfortable this afternoon.

“There!” Patrice said. She burst into a sprint, kicking up snow behind her, then seemed to trip, jump, and spin all at once. When the snow settled, she lay in the snow, arms and legs flailing back and forth.

“What are you doing?” Eola asked.

“Making snow-seraphs. All the kids at Clerk Home made them when I was younger.” Patrice squirmed around a few more times, then stood up carefully. Where she’d be lying, an impression had been pushed into the snow.

Eola stared at it for a moment, the wing shapes and conical body reminding her of the monster she’d encountered on the third floor. But before she could ask about it, Colin spoke up. “Where’s Clerk Home?”

“Oh, it’s at the center of Foglight, almost as far up to the north as you can get.” Patrice lay back down in the snow, but this time, she didn’t move. Instead, she stared up at the deep blue sky overhead. “You, peasants, are standing in the presence of a noble lady. Bow at once.”

Eola rolled her eyes, and after a moment, so did Patrice. When she continued, she sounded a lot less pompous. “Yeah, I’m a noble brat. In fact, I know Catrine pretty well. Not by choice, though. I spent three years with House Andrese. House Clerk’s a tribute family to House Andrese—they pretty much own us, and since we run the city of Foglight, that means Catrine’s parents do, too.”

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“You’ve known her a long time, then? Has she always been…” Eola trailed off.

“So noble?”

“Yes.”

“Always. It’s getting worse, though. She’s the youngest daughter, and she’s also betrothed to my brother. They’ll marry when she graduates, so she’ll be my sister.” Patrice rolled to her feet. “It’s a good move for both houses, but they’re not a good match. Latrine Catrine will eat him alive.”

“Latrine Catrine?” Eola asked incredulously. “How’d she get that name?”

“Can’t say, won’t say,” Patrice said, smiling devilishly. “Swore an oath not to.”

Colin had gone mysteriously silent behind them. “Hey!” he called, and as Eola turned, a ball of icy white snow caught her in the face. She spat snow out of her mouth as Colin stared at her and tried not to laugh.

Then Patrice was back down in the snow, gloved hands packing a snowball of her own. For a few moments, their corner of the maze was a war zone, and Eola’s cloak was covered in clumps of snow by the time she fell, laughing, into a drift. It was such a waste of time. She had magic to be learning, the rest of Varin’s diary to assemble, and her parents needed her. She was eighteen, Y’aer curse it. It was time for her to act like an adult.

But at the same time, her first three or four weeks at Varin’s Academy had been lonely, and this…wasn’t. She needed this.