Chapter 11

“Good crop this year,” Sebastian said around a mouthful of filet mignon beef stew.

“I’m sorry?” Alastair said.

“Good crop of first-years. Talented, I think. Hard to tell with kids, but I’ve got my eye on some of them for House Aurum.”

Alastair sat back. “Don’t you think that’s a little premature?”

A dribble of broth fell from Sebastian’s chin. He wiped it with a napkin. “What?”

“Scouting them already? They’re only twelve.”

“That’s how things are here at Emberstone,” Eloise interjected as she tore a leg off a roast turkey with her bare hands and dropped it on her plate with a thud. “Only the best of the best. We keep them competitive, and we start them young.”

“Ah,” Alastair said. “And you think that’s a… good thing?”

She shrugged. “You remember how it was, Ally. You’re an Elemental. See if you can get some of them for House Primordium!”

He was going to do no such thing. Alastair took a bite of piping hot apple pie. It warmed his belly and tantalized his taste buds with its sweetness. For an instant, he longed for the cozy, wholesome world of Glimmerglass. But he was here now, and Quicksilver’s people had already begun clearing plates and trays of food away. That meant it was almost time for his speech.

Eloise put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll introduce you,” she said, giving him a consoling smile. “Get them all quiet and listening.”

Before he could object, she stood and tapped a fork three times against the side of her glass. It took a few moments, but finally, the room settled down and turned their attention toward the faculty table.

“Greetings, students!” Eloise said. “Welcome back. Most of you know me—I’m Ms. Fearson, head of the Summoning department. I know we’re going to have a smashing year. I’d also like to introduce a new face. Alastair Meade, Emberstone alum and interim headmaster, filling in for Headmaster Sylvester Ozelius while he’s off on important business elsewhere.”

Alastair looked out over the sea of young faces in the Main Hall. Some looked irritated to see a stranger at their head—most shone with a glimmer of curiosity. He took a deep breath, then stood, ensuring his robes were straight and his hair was groomed, then stepped up to the dais.

“Thank you for the introduction, Ms. Fearson,” he said. “I’ll keep this brief, since I know you are all eager to get some rest before the start of classes tomorrow.”

Some of the children groaned, and others laughed.

Alastair joined in as well, “Yes, yes. Wouldn’t we all love to be here without work!”

The kids laughed harder at that.

“As our esteemed Ms. Fearson said, I’m an alum, and I know Emberstone well. I remember how it was to study here: the workload, the long hours, the pursuit of excellence. And I’m committed to supporting you all in any way I can from now until spring. For those who were hoping to see Headmaster Ozelius here tonight, never fear. He’ll be back this time next fall. So you’re only stuck with me for a little while.”

Another titter of laughter.

“I believe our founder, Felix Synder, said it best, so why should I stray from his words? ‘Emberstone is a fortress for those with a desire to learn and grow. Within these walls, excellence is born, and dedication is rewarded.’ That is to say, if you work hard, success will follow you all the days of your life.”

The children were cheering again, giving Alastair much-needed encouragement.

“Any questions?” Alastair said.

Some of the older faculty eyed him in shock. He knew what they were thinking. Ozelius’ addresses to students usually went on much longer than this—and were much more formal. Except, Alastair was a good forty or fifty years younger than the old man. Why be pretentious?

The room was silent. Then a hand shot up.

“What’s your specialty?” It was George Redding, the pale-haired boy who’d been fighting in the hall earlier that day.

“Elemental!” Alastair shouted back. “Go House Primordium!”

A group of students at George’s table started whispering to each other with excitement.

Guessing those are the Elementals.

“Where are you from?” asked Caliban, the other boy who was involved in the brawl, from the other side of the hall, surely wishing to not be outmatched by George.

“Aberfeldy. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

More chuckles.

“One more, one more,” Alastair said, pressing his hands to the air while chuckling. “Then we’re done here, I think.”

“What’s your favorite thing about Emberstone?” squeaked a small child—probably a first or second-year—from one of the front tables.

Alastair grinned. “Now that’s an easy one. Every student here is at the top of their ability, no matter how old. I believe our teachers would agree that we never stop learning. Magic is never mastered, and even as we teach you, you teach us. We get the very best mages here. Emberstone is the best of the best.”

With those last words, he shot Eloise a smile.

“Now, a few announcements,” he said. “I believe many of you will be pleased to know that we will be expanding our Non-Magical curriculum—especially in the arts. More information about our offerings will be available as we near All Hallows’ Eve, and the start of second term. Additionally, for the first time in half a century, Emberstone will once again host a Dueling League!”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He tried to sound thrilled about this idea as the room buzzed with excitement. Caliban and George were already clocking each other, presumably so they could figure out how best to hex each other into oblivion while also being sanctioned by the school to do so.

“More details soon!” Alastair finished. “Ms. Fearson, staff, did I miss anything?”

Ms. Snapdragon was almost teary as she looked back, elated. No one seemed to have any notes for him.

“Well, then, students, I wish you the very best this school year. Be kind, be strong, be excellent. And most of all, be Emberstone!”

He was proud of that last bit, and it was met with an echoing chorus.

His heart flooded with hope for what was to come. Hopping down off the dais, he returned to the faculty table. He had a pie to finish.

The room was clearly all talking about him—and about the Dueling League—and he resolved to pay them no mind, at least for now.

“How’d I do, El?” Alastair asked as he drove his fork into the buttery, crumbly crust.

Her face was bright. “Good! That was brilliant, letting them ask you questions. They liked that, I think.”