~Chapter Twenty-Three: Hangover~

Eola’s eyes were glued to the yellow envelope with the school’s wax seal. She knew exactly what it was; it sat on her desk, where she’d tossed it fifteen minutes ago.

She’d locked her door, and, every so often, her bleary eyes shifted to the portrait on her wall. Her parents stared back at her, and so did the younger version of her, from before she’d gone to live with her uncle, but after she’d learned about her attunement.

Eola didn’t get letters.

With her parents trapped in the dungeon below Lord Card’s castle, she couldn’t exactly write them, and they definitely couldn’t respond. And she and her uncle had agreed when she went to Varin’s that the fewer eyes in Greenarbor on her, the better. If she could disappear from the town without so much as a sign, that would be best. She’d sent one to him to confirm she’d made it, and she’d send and receive one during the three-week break between terms, but other than that, nothing. Her suitemates had probably noticed, but she didn’t care.

It was better this way. Safer. Lord Card might be watching.

Her spellbook sat in her lap, both here in the room and in the portrait. All three sets of painted eyes watched her as she reached for the letter for the fourth time. Her breath stopped.

This time, she slid a finger under the wax and popped it open, then started to read.

Miss Eola Lemiene,

Your marks for your first-term, first-semester courses are as follows:

Ideograms: 4
Mana Studies: 1
Introduction to Monsters: 2
Magical Dueling: 3

The breath released. Eola’s shoulders slumped, and she reached up to wipe a tear of relief. She’d passed most of her courses—and the one she hadn’t…well, that was Madam Reyanna’s, and she hadn’t even tried half of the test. Still, she’d thought that her effort on the second half might’ve mattered.

Varin’s evaluates its students on a five-point scale. Please be aware that, while these marks are not end-of-term scores, they should be treated as indicators of weaknesses and strengths. If you have scored a 1 in any subjects, please contact your professor for remedial coursework as soon as possible.

Eola’s eyes flicked to the portrait again. It looked like her mom was proud of her. She hoped so; after all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried, and her scores were acceptable—especially for someone whose main goal wasn’t Mana Studies or, until recently, keeping up with Introduction to Monsters’ lessons.

All first-year students are expected to report to the Grand Lecture Hall one hour after noon to be selected for their apprenticeships. Selections usually take between three and five hours.

“How’d you do, Eola?” Colin called through the door.

“One minute.” Eola looked around hurriedly; she was still in the borrowed nightgown Patrice had gotten her into. She pulled it off, shivering, and quickly dressed in wool leggings, a thick cotton shirt, and her blue school robes. Then, without any more waiting, she pulled the door open.

Colin, of course, was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He smelled like stale wine, and Eola winced a little as his nose wrinkled. She probably did, too. “I failed Mana Studies. The others were passes. Magical Dueling was lower than I hoped,” she said.

“Oh,” Colin said. “I’m sorry. I failed Dueling, but got passing scores in the others.”

They stood there, Colin’s weasel draped around his neck and Atta staring down from the loft, for a moment. Then Colin broke the silence. “Should we ask Patrice how she did?”

“Absolutely not,” Eola said. “She’s asleep, and I don’t want to hear her gloating about her scores.”

“Gloat?”

Eola grinned. “She’s proud to be the worst mage at Varin’s. When her scores show it, we’ll never hear the end of it. Now, get cleaned up and change into something clean. You look like death, and you smell worse.”

“Rude, and right back at you,” Colin said, eyeing her up and down theatrically. He disappeared, heading for the washroom, and Eola closed her door behind him.

The Grand Lecture Hall sat empty most of the time. Eola had only been in the cavernous, echoing room twice.

The first had been on a brief tour of the school given by a shy second-year boy on her first day at Varin’s, and her second had been later that same day, when the headmaster had given the first-years the welcoming speech. Needless to say, she hadn’t paid much attention at the time.

It was a third of a circle of granite, tucked against the wall surrounding the town and academy. Tall, narrow windows let light pour across every row of desks, and a massive demonstration circle large enough to duel in filled most of the front of the arch-ceilinged auditorium. Banners in blue and silver hung from the ceiling overhead, waving slightly in the cold breeze that seeped in through the windows.

When Eola whispered something to Colin, there was no echo, and the sound seemed to die within feet.

A few of the other first-years shot Eola funny looks as she sat behind one of the curving oak desks near the back, shielding her eyes from the Bright Balls floating mid-air. Whatever she’d done in Varin’s Town last night, it had—apparently—gotten around. Her cheeks heated up, and she found a desk with two empty seats near the back.

The room was cold; a storm was blowing in, and the wind had sucked every bit of warmth out of it. She hunched over the desk and watched through slitted eyes as the seats slowly filled. All twenty-four chairs in the front, behind the lectern and demonstration circle, were empty. So was the lectern itself.

By the time Patrice showed up, there were only a handful of seats left; she sat on the hall’s far side, waved, and flashed a series of numbers on her fingers. “One, two, one, two,” Eola muttered. “Those are…pretty bad scores.”

Then Patrice shot a thumbs-up at Eola and promptly put her head on her arms.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Is she…sleeping?” Colin asked.

“I think so.”

Before she could say more—like, for example, being impressed that Patrice really had performed so poorly—the professors filed in, followed by an ancient-looking man with a bent back and absolutely no hair on his head. Eola stared at the headmaster as he shuffled to the lectern and gripped it tightly.