~Chapter Twenty-Two: The Saint of Curses and Blessings~

Eola prepared for her day out in Varin’s Town much the same way she prepared for Mana Studies—that is to say, she tried to focus on the runes she was currently solving and not the holiday. Y’aer’s Day wasn’t really a celebration, after all. It was more of a combination vigil, memorial, and gigantic, out-of-control party. Or at least, that was how every Y’aer’s Day in Greenarbor had gone.

And, with an academy of mages in training looking to blow off steam after their midterms and a town dedicated to supporting that academy knowing they were coming, the holiday was likely to devolve into a party even more wild than the ones she remembered.

She didn’t have time for parties. Now that the midterms were done, her next tasks were laid out for her.

First, she needed to continue working on the spell-chains. Whatever problem Colin had noticed in them, midterms had taken every ounce of their mental energy. She was eager to catch up to Catrine—or, for that matter, to Colin. He was closer than she was to casting his five spells consecutively and reaching the rank of Journeymage. Eola was pretty sure she was ahead of Patrice, but that was only because the noble was, according to her own words, the worst mage in the whole school.

Then there was the matter of the diary. She had the one page, with the quick introduction by Varin himself and one of his unnamed modifying marks. It was high time she dug into that mark, and even higher time to start getting more Mana, more spells, and more skill with the blade. That was half of the solution to rebuilding Varin’s apprenticehood notebook—she’d have to be strong enough to enter the third floor and survive.

The other half was her friends. One thing was abundantly clear to her. There was a reason even the second and third-year students didn’t venture into the third or fourth floors of the library save in groups, and while Atta was a powerful familiar—and the cat had almost certainly saved her life on her ill-fated excursion into the third floor—she wasn’t a substitute for another mage. If Eola wanted to fight the monster she’d encountered on the third floor, she needed allies.

She’d need allies regardless. And more importantly, friends.

So, as the morning slowly got away from her and the midwinter sun reached its high point, Eola pulled on her cloak, fastened it, and met Colin and Patrice in the suite’s common room. “I’m ready.”

“Great,” Patrice said. She patted her hip, and a full coin purse jingled. “I’m buying. No arguments. If I’m about to go without an apprenticeship, I want one good day of fun first.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” Colin replied.

Eola nodded, stomach growling in perfect time. “Agreed. Let’s spend those coins.”

They hurried across the academy’s grounds and stepped into Varin’s Town. The tall buildings and steep, bent roofs were covered in snow. Drifts covered the alleys between buildings, and the short stairs that led down from every front door were half-buried. Right in front of the gate, a massive pyre stood, unlit, with a silk-robed wooden statue at its center—Y’aer in effigy. Colin stared at the statue for a while, then tore his eyes away to lead them into a less snowy road and up a flight of salted, shoveled stairs.

The Chubby Saber’s door was unlocked, its lights were on, and when Eola stepped in, the smell of fresh bread and not-so-fresh but still delicious stew overwhelmed her. She didn’t wait for Colin to talk to Cook Ursula or Garth, heading straight for one of the rough-looking tables instead. The purple gnome was ready with a bowl; she watched as Eola took a bite, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“The mystery spice is…something acidic this time? Sumac? Isn’t that a poison, though?” Eola asked.

“Wrong.” Cook Ursula shrugged nonchalantly. “The mystery spice is sumac, but it’s only toxic if you use a specific variant, and they don’t sell that at the market. If I need to get a hold of that, I need an herbalist, not a spice vendor.”

“But it is sumac. I was right.”

“Yes, you were. And yes, you’ll get your free bowl. Y’aer save us, you’re going to eat us out of house and home.” Cook Ursula headed back for the kitchen, shaking her head, as Patrice and Colin joined Eola at the table.

“Did you win?” Colin asked.

“Of course.” Eola finished her bowl, then set it aside. “So, I failed Mana Studies.”

“This again?” Colin asked. He shrugged and waved for Garth. “I’m holding out hope. Maybe I did the fundamentals well enough to make up for my performance in Dueling. I’ll probably pass Monsters and Ideograms, but it’ll be close.”

“I won one of my duels,” Patrice said proudly.

Eola nodded. “That’s great. What happened?”

“Oh, I thrashed about with my sword and managed to land hits faster than he could stop me. I definitely failed my other midterms, though.”

“Even Mana Studies?” Colin asked.

Patrice grinned sheepishly. “Especially Mana Studies.”

“What’ll it be, then?” the red-faced proprietor of the Chubby Saber asked. Garth Hartwell was, if anything, larger than he’d been the first time they’d visited. It seemed like he was getting fat on his own food and drink.

“A bottle of wine. Craghold dry, if you’ve got it,” Colin said. “And three glasses.”

“You’re sure, Colin?” he asked, an eyebrow raising skeptically.

Colin nodded. “Absolutely. It’s a holiday. Might even order a second bottle later. Thanks, Garth.”

“Up to you,” the barkeep said. He wiped his hands on his leather apron and headed back behind the counter to find the right bottle.

Eola shut her eyes. When she opened them, another bowl of stew had mysteriously appeared, along with a green bottle and three pewter glasses. Colin poured the dark red wine into each cup, then set the half-empty bottle aside. He held his glass up high. “To surviving—hopefully—our midterm exams!”

Glasses clinked, and Eola sipped at her wine glass. It tasted dry, without any of the sweetness the stuff she’d drunk here before had in it, but it also tasted familiar. She took a larger drink, then set the glass down and went back to the bowl of stew.

That second bottle appeared, found its way into Eola, Patrice, and Colin’s glasses, then vanished. Other students trickled in. Someone set up a fiddle in the corner, and Ursula, the tiny purple-skinned cook, sang.

Stolen novel; please report.

Eola found herself dancing in the cleared-out center of the Chubby Saber, arm in arm with Patrice. All she knew was the Taron-Li, and that wasn’t the kind of dance to do with music, but she found herself caught up in Patrice’s frenetic, high-energy spins and the fiddle—and, of course, Ursula’s song in the gnomish language. Its words weren’t in Alemic or Forsooth—Gnomish Cipher was a mystery to her—but the emotions were there. Joy. Tragedy. Mourning and sorrow. Rebirth and second chances.

When she finally collapsed back onto the bench next to Colin, sweat sticking to her skin under her robes and short of breath, the sun’s last rays were just working their way through the Chubby Saber’s windows.

“It’s almost time,” he said quietly.

Eola nodded. Her head was spinning almost as much as the dance had been, and her stomach felt…off. Full, yes, but also vaguely unhappy. But Colin was right. It was almost time. She gathered herself and stood up.

They were out the door and halfway down the street before Eola realized she was leaning on Colin—a lot.

She’d been drunk before. In fact, she’d been drunk three years and a few months ago, just before her parents had entered Lord Card’s dungeon and…just before she’d gone to live with her uncle. But this was different. She wasn’t with her parents, and Colin, for all that he’d been nothing but a gentleman, was still a boy. She pulled her arm off his shoulder and leaned the other way, onto Patrice.

The tall girl grinned. “You, Miss Eola, don’t have much experience, do you? Stick with me, kid, and we’ll fix that. Or even better, stick with Colin, and we’ll fix both of you.”

Eola’s eyes met Patrice’s, and she looked down, shoulders going up in an exaggerated shrug. Patrice looped an arm around hers and guided her down the narrow, twisting road, and before too long, they arrived at Varin’s Town’s main square—and right at the back of a crowd of students, townsfolk, and visitors. There had to be a thousand people, all told. Maybe more. Eola couldn’t count them all.