64 – Garden

Saffra was too frazzled to practice.

And that was saying something. Practicing magic had become her solution to dealing with bad feelings. It was like saying she was too hungry to eat. But after returning from the Institute’s restricted archives—and getting to look through those shelves should have been the highlight of her year—she felt too confused and anxious to do anything but excuse herself to her room upstairs, drop into bed, and stare at the ceiling.

She didn’t understand. In every scenario in which she confronted Isabella Caldimore, Saffra had only imagined marching up and delivering scathing condemnations to that prissy blonde girl. She’d conjured all sorts of self-righteous tirades in her head. Some were mortifying in retrospect, clearly formed from long nights stewing in hurt anger.

It was only upon seeing Isabella Caldimore—aloof, regal Isabella Caldimore—in such an obviously concerning state that a horrible, black dread had sunk into Saffra. An anxiety far worse than what she dealt with on a daily basis. Because a simple question popped into her head. One she knew she should’ve asked herself far sooner.

What if her friend hadn’t betrayed her?

Or what if there had been good reason? Saffra had seen some of the worst humanity had to offer. She knew that people loved to divide actions by ‘good’ and ‘bad’, but surprisingly little could be organized in those boxes—as much as Saffra herself wanted, and tried, to do so. Everyone had reasons for what they did, even if she didn’t agree with them.

So that was why she felt sick to the stomach. She knew things could be complicated, and yet, because of how hurt and confused she’d been, she hadn’t once considered that maybe Isabella’s sudden betrayal could be explained by something other than that her friend wasn’t who she thought she was. That their sometimes-strange friendship had been fake, and the girl had just…decided to turn on her.

And if that was true—well, Saffra didn’t want to imagine it. Because in her eyes, it would make her the villain. A good friend would have realized the truth of the situation. A good friend wouldn’t have assumed the girl she had otherwise respected would stab her in the back on a whim. A good friend would have trusted. And Saffra hadn’t…or at least not as persistently as she should’ve.

She felt like she was going to be sick. She wanted to reject the idea, but once it had taken root, she couldn’t tear it out. It sounded so plausible. At least combined with what she’d seen at the library. That gaunt, sickly image of Isabella, when all Saffra remembered was a stiff-backed, chin-always-lifted, ever-prideful scion to a major house.

How could she have been so stupid?

Or was she repeating her mistakes like the biggest of idiots? Trusting again when she shouldn’t, without any real evidence?

Saffra rolled over in bed, clutched her pillow into her face, and groaned. She felt like she was going insane. Rolling back over, she studied the patterns swirling in the wooden beams overhead.

She had to know.

She had to know. But how? What was she supposed to do? March up to the Institute, track Isabella down, and demand an explanation? As if Isabella would give one, when she hadn’t back then? Although this poisonous idea had infected her, that clearly wasn’t a solution. But she needed some sort of proof. Something to dispel this horrible feeling.

An idea struck her.

If Isabella was a friend still, and since they had bumped into each other at the library, would she go to that meeting spot of theirs, hoping Saffra would have the same idea?

The Institute’s garden. Both of them, it turned out, had a tendency to roll out of bed late at night and sneak out when they couldn’t sleep. Saffra intruding on Isabella’s preferred scenic garden alcove on the ninth-floor annex had been how the two of them first met. Or seriously met; they’d had a few classes together, though they’d never spoken.

And remembering that—how Isabella sometimes had difficulty sleeping too—Saffra’s dread grew. How couldn’t she have made that connection earlier? Why was Isabella Caldimore the one girl she had related to? In the swarms of spoiled students without a clue how the world worked, it had been her that Saffra felt comfortable around. A natural kinship, of sorts. Why would that be the case?

Possibly because their experiences were more similar than she’d thought. Saffra might have assumed the girl spoiled and clueless like the vast majority of other students, but that was just an assumption. And considering Saffra’s history, if they shared many similarities at all, that boded nothing good.

Saffra sat up.

She had to know. She wouldn’t go and hunt Isabella down if she had stayed in her dorm room, but that spot in the gardens. If she showed up there…if she had the same idea as Saffra, and was waiting for her…that meant something, right?

The question was how. The Institute had a curfew. The elevators to the campus were monitored after nightfall. She was neither a student any longer nor important enough to be allowed in by passive merit of rank, like Lady Vivi.

So, sneaking in. Not an easy ask for a random high-silver mage. Security might not be the tightest, but unauthorized guests couldn’t waltz in as they pleased. In fact, racking her brain, she couldn’t come up with any way to do so. Not on such short notice.

She grimaced. There was an obvious solution. She couldn’t sneak into the Institute using her own magic, but borrowing another’s would make the task trivial. The thought just didn’t sit right with her for obvious reasons.

Pulling out a [Scroll of Invisibility], she frowned at the complex runes inscribed in looping black ink. One of many duplicates in her inventory, and one of a small library of scrolls that Lady Vivi had dumped into her arms for no other reason than ‘to be safe.’

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Even if Saffra had many, that didn’t diminish the scroll’s worth. Especially scrolls holding seventh-tier magic like [Invisibility]. Never mind the sixteenth-tier and higher ones. Saffra’s brain still seized up when she remembered that, the same as all the gear and the Titled-rank summoning artifact.

That she’d been given priceless items didn’t change how the more reasonable ones were still worth more coin than she could scrounge together in a year. Using a [Scroll of Invisibility]—burning through that much gold—just to go and check if Isabella was sitting in that garden spot of theirs? It was such a monumental waste, with no promise of a payout. She wasn’t even comfortable taking Lady Vivi’s gifts in the first place; using them frivolously made her ten times as uneasy.

She couldn’t conjure up an alternative, though. And she felt like she might go insane if she didn’t do something to relieve this anxiety inside her. At least if she went to the gardens and didn’t find Isabella, she would—what? Be relieved? Not really. The most likely scenario was that the bench under that gazebo would be empty, and that wouldn’t even guarantee that Isabella hadn’t had her reasons.

Before she could think better of it, she activated the magic inside the scroll, and the paper burnt to ash. She blinked out of existence as [Invisibility] settled over her.

***

Sneaking onto an elevator with the next passenger and catching a ride up posed little challenge. The Institute’s security wasn’t particularly rigorous. The campus had a constant stream of visitors, and while the important locations were guarded against basic spells like [Invisibility]—though maybe not one of Lady Vivi’s quality, honestly—simply getting onto the island wasn’t hard.