Given Page 18

  Weysh smiled. “I have no doubt you will, which is one of the reasons why I like you so much.”

  To her shock, Yenni felt her cheeks heat. What? Oh, what by all the Mothers and Fathers was this?

  Weysh was nowhere near the first man to pursue her, and certainly not the most prestigious. She’d flirted with kings and princes cool as you please. So why, Oh wise Father Ri, was she reacting to the simpering flattery of Weysh, of all men? Was her affection for the dragon bleeding over to the man?

  No time to worry about that. One disaster at a time.

  She was a princess of the Yirba, and had years of practice at political bluffing. So though her heart fluttered in her chest, she simply nodded her head and said, “And please thank Carmenna for me as well.”

  “En? Oh yes. That I will. Oho! I brought you something, to apologize for failing you and for scaring you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Yenni began, but he handed her a dark box lined in a soft, fernlike material, and the look in his eyes, the contrition there, strangely reminded her of Ofa when he brought her dead birds and rodents after she’d reprimanded him. Yenni smiled at the thought and opened the box. Then she gasped.

  This was no dead rodent.

  “What type of jewel is this?” she said wonderingly. A drop-shaped pendant fell suspended from a delicate silver chain. The stone was iridescent white with shimmering forks of green, like emerald lightning, running through it. It would make even her sisters jealous, and they had the most extensive jewelry collections on all the Islands.

  “It’s ivystone,” Weysh said. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes,” Yenni breathed, “But this is too much! I cannot keep it.”

  “You can and you will,” Weysh insisted. “Or I’ll take it as a grave personal insult.”

  “Oh. All right,” Yenni conceded. It truly was beautiful, and she would hate to insult him when he was going to so much effort to make amends. “Thank you.” She stepped back. “I need to prepare for the demonstration now,” she said softly.

  Weysh nodded. “Byen’s favor,” he said. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s you. I’ll be back in a hour or so, en? We can take a celebratory flight once you undoubtedly convince Mainard to keep you on.”

  “All right,” Yenni said again.

  “See you soon, Yenni Ajani,” he said, and winked. As she turned to head back into her residence, Yenni heard wings beating the air. She smiled to herself.

  If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.

  It was lunacy, but for some shadowy reason his praise made her feel stronger. Yenni breathed deeply and squared her shoulders.

  She was ready to face Professor Mainard.

  20

  Yenni was covered in runes. Her heart fluttered in her throat like a trapped moth as she trailed behind Professor Devon. Professor Mainard’s office was on the very top of what Devon called the Watcher’s tower—a tall structure in the center of the administrative building that soared up some twenty stories high. She looked up at the peak, capped with an iron balustrade bookended by sculptures of resting dragons. True to the name, she could imagine Mainard up there with his tufts of hair glaring down at their approach.

  “I thought the professors were off during the study break,” Yenni mused.

  “Not Mainard,” muttered Devon. “I’m willing to bet he hasn’t taken a break since Prevan was founded three hundred years ago.”

  “What? He’s that old?” Yenni said. “Do Creshens live so long? How? By magic?” And could this longevity of life, she wondered, help her father in some way?

  Devon stopped and turned back to her, giving her a sheepish look. “It was a joke, and not a very good one, it would seem.”

  “Oh! Oh I see,” said Yenni, disappointed.

  He took her through a corridor with high ceilings and tall windows that let in beams of dusty sunlight. Finally they reached a small room closed off by a black, iron gate that squealed as he pushed it aside.

  “After you,” he said. Yenni had no idea why he wanted her to step into the little room, but not wanting to appear ignorant, she did as he directed. He stepped in after her and there was another grating screech as he closed the gate.

  “Through source rise, floor number ten.”

  Suddenly the ground rumbled under her feet and began to rise. Yenni gasped and stumbled into Devon, who put an arm around her.

  “Are you all right? This isn’t your first time in a lift, is it?”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “Well, yes, to be honest.”

  “Ah. It must be somewhat uncomfortable for you, en? You can hold on to me if you’d like.”

  She cleared her throat and straightened, sliding away from him. She was not some uninformed savage who needed to be coddled when confronted with “civilized” technology. “Thank you, Professor, but I’m fine.”

  The lift deposited them on the tenth floor, which was much more elegant than the main halls below. Here wide windows draped with gauzy white curtains let in muted sunlight and the floor was covered in a rich red carpet that muffled her footsteps.

  “Professor Mainard’s office is just ahead; he’s expecting us,” said Devon, and Yenni’s heart redoubled its effort to escape through her mouth. “Just show him what you can do. We’ll give him such a demonstration he’ll no doubt see the myriad benefits of keeping you on. I’m sure of it.”

  Yenni wished she could share Devon’s confidence. When they reached the dark and imposing door barring entrance to the office, each rap of Devon’s knuckles on the wood sent little jolts of anxiety zipping through her.

  Mainard answered the door unsmiling. “Yes, yes, come in,” he said. Yenni glanced around wide eyed. Books rose in piles and stacks from tall side tables, round end tables, low coffee tables, and his own large desk. Oh, there were shelves, but those were taken up with various devices and knickknacks she couldn’t hope to name. In fact, his desk was built right into a cubbied wall packed with wooden and metal boxes, some of which leaned haphazardly out of their sections, and it was apparent the shelves were stuffed to capacity. Did the man never throw anything away?

  He sat at his desk and twisted his chair around to the side so he was somewhat facing them. “Have a seat,” he said.

  Where?

  Every chair was piled with junk.

  Devon gestured toward a stack of books on a small sofa on the other side of a coffee table. “Ah, may I?”

  Mainard’s only response was a grunt that must have meant yes, because he didn’t object when Devon cleared a space for both himself and Yenni. Once they were seated, Devon began.

  “Now, Professor Mainard, I come to you as a fellow scholar. There is much to be gained in analyzing the magic of other cultures, and—”

  “Just get on with the demonstration, please,” said Mainard. “I haven’t got all day.”

  “Ahem. Yes. Yenni Ajani, could you start by drawing a rune for us?”

  “Absolutely, Professor,” she said.

  Which to use? The quick, high hymn of the speed rune had always been a favorite of hers. She sang the hymn and drew the rune on the inside of her wrist, doing her best to keep her voice and hand from shaking, trying not to think about this being her last chance to impress the professor and remain at the academy. She tied off the rune with a final note, and its glow dulled as it set.

  Devon came to stand beside her. “Here we see how the drawing of the rune and the singing of the hymn act in tandem as both anchor and shaping mechanism. Fascinating, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mainard wouldn’t, if his unimpressed glowering was any indication.

  “Right. Well, how about a demonstration of strength runes? Yenni Ajani?”

  She stood. “What would you have me do, Professor?”

  He looked around. “Ah, pick up that end table there, the one piled with books.”

  She di
d as he asked, the runes blazing on her calves, thighs, arms, and back.

  “You see that?” said Devon excitedly. “Now that’s a strange sight isn’t it? Such a tiny person holding up such a load as if it weighed nothing at all.”

  “Nothing that couldn’t be achieved with Melichor’s Muscular Fortification,” said Mainard.

  “Ah, I thought you might say that,” said Devon. “However, Melichor’s Muscular Fortification is something of an advanced spell. We wouldn’t expect a student to master that until they were well into post-secondary education. When did you first learn the strength rune, Yenni Ajani?”

  “I must have just passed nine rains,” she replied and set the table down with a thud.

  Devon nodded. “Yes. And furthermore, the strength rune, as well as others, can be applied to inanimate objects and controlled remotely, though admittedly this is a more complex procedure.”

  “None of this changes the fact that Mam’selle . . . Kayerba has failed all her magical examinations,” said Mainard, frowning at Devon.

  “All except runelore,” Devon clarified, and his voice took on a sharper tone she’d never heard from him before. “As I said, she was working as my teaching assistant at the time—”

  “Not according to any official records, Professor Devon. You know the rules. I can’t break them merely because you’ve taken an interest in this Island woman.”

  Devon’s face went red. “Now see here! Mam’selle Kayirba is a credit to this academy and I’d think that as a man of magical science you would see the benefit in having her around. It won’t do—”

  Professor Mainard pounded his desk with his fist, his face just as red as Devon’s. “What won’t do, Devon, is having a young upstart marching into my office and trying to tell me how to run my division!”

  Devon glanced up and Yenni followed his eyes. A pointed metal instrument teetered just on the edge of a shelf right over Mainard’s head.

  “Professor Mainard—” she began.

  “Be quiet! Nothing you say will persuade me. I’ve heard enough.”

  “How dare you speak to me in that way?” shouted Yenni, even as Devon mumbled nervously beside her. “I am trying to—”

  “Exit my office this instant!” He slammed his fist on the desk again, and Yenni could have sworn she felt the slightest tremor of ach’e. Was Mainard readying some spell to attack them?

  The pointy thing tipped over the edge, shooting arrow-like for the gleaming crown of Mainard’s head.

  “Professor Mainard! Above!” shouted Devon. Even as Mainard was looking up Yenni was dragging on all her speed runes, sending warmth through her arms and legs. She hurtled over the coffee table and snatched at the blade-like device, catching it a mere inch from Mainard’s forehead. It cut into her skin but she flared the pain ward painted down her spine and held it. She threw the thing, whatever it was, on the desk and held her bleeding hand to her chest. Mainard gaped at her.

  “Byen!” cried Devon and hurried over. “Yenni—you’re bleeding!” He took off his professor’s stole and wrapped it clumsily around her hand.

  “Are you all right?” Yenni demanded of Mainard, even though it was clear he wasn’t.

  He shook, and brought trembling fingers up to his forehead. “I could have been killed,” he said wonderingly, still staring at Yenni. “You saved me.”

  She frowned. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He stared at her for a few more moments. “Why indeed. But how in all creation could you simply catch a falling blade like that and hold it?”

  Devon piped up. “Speed runes to catch the blade, pain ward runes to hold on to it as it cut into her skin, isn’t that right, Yenni Ajani?”

  “Yes,” said Yenni, still pulling on pain ward.

  Mainard shook himself as if coming out of a trance, and took in her bleeding hand. “Byen above! Get yourself to the infirmary posthaste before you faint from blood loss.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” said Yenni, still pulling on pain ward. “I’m no longer a student here.”

  Mainard squinted his eyes at her, rubbed his balding head. “Devon!” he barked. “Have you got the teaching assistant application with you?”

  “Why, yes, Professor Mainard.”

  “Give it here, I’ll sign it.”

  Yenni gasped. “Truly?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, motioning for Devon to hurry.

  Devon scrambled to fish the application out of his robe pocket and Mainard scribbled his name on it without even looking at it.

  “Now go! Show that to the attendants if they give you any trouble.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” said Yenni, even as she cradled her dripping hand to her chest.

  “GO!” he thundered.

  Devon grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her out of the office, and the two of them dashed for the infirmary.

  Yenni sat on the edge of a narrow white bed. With no classes in session, all the other beds in the row were empty, the room quiet. Once Devon had concluded that she would be fine, he hurried off to file the application, ensuring no security would show up to escort her from her residence tomorrow. It was lucky indeed, praise Ib-e-ji, that she had noticed that dagger-like instrument, and that she had been able to use her runes to protect Mainard. Nothing less than saving the man’s life would have been enough to convince him of her worthiness to stay.

  But as useful as her runes had been, her pain ward lasted only so long, and now the row of stitches along Yenni’s palm itched and burned, and the slices through each of her fingers stung. An ugly red pucker split her father’s rune, but it remained. Once a rune was set, it was set. Nothing short of cutting it out of her skin would destroy it, and even then, her people had accounts of captured warriors miraculously using runes their enemies had already carved from their flesh.

  Still, she hated the sight of it. It seemed like an ill omen. She looked at the rune on her right hand, her mother’s rune, the loops and swirls of it unmarred. Compared to her father’s rune . . .

  Yenni froze. Was it . . . no. She stared hard, willing it not to be, but it was plain in front of her eyes, and as her gaze flitted between her palms she let out a small noise of distress.

  Her father’s rune had faded.

  21

  It was almost imperceptible, and she may not have noticed had she not been comparing it against her mother’s rune, but she couldn’t deny that the swirling white lines on her palm were not as vibrant as they had once been. She wasn’t sure if her light-headedness was due to her injury or the terrible truth painted right in front of her. A wild panic took hold of her mind, sending her thoughts racing. What was he doing? Could he walk? Speak? Why was she here, leagues away when she should be by his side? What had possessed her to come here to Cresh on this fool’s mission? Was it truly the will of the Sha? Was it truly to help her father? Or . . .

  For the first time she acknowledged it, that guilty selfish feeling deep down. Was it because, just for a while, she had wanted to escape? She had wanted to be someone, something other than Princess Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba? Chieftain’s daughter? Future prince’s wife?

  Yenni bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Almighty Sha,” she whispered in her native tongue. “If this is your reprimand for my selfishness, then I throw myself on your mercy. Do not punish my father for my mistakes.”

  Someone cleared their throat. Yenni’s eyes snapped open, and her eyebrows flew up when she saw who stood in the doorway.

  “Professor Mainard?”

  He came in, his boots clicking on the tile floor of the infirmary.

  “They’ve stitched you up I see. Good, that.”

  “What are you doing here, Professor?”

  He had the audacity to look affronted. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here’? I came to inquire as to your well being of course.”

  “My
being is well, thank you.”

  He grunted. “As it should be. Nothing but the best at Prevan, and that includes our healing practitioners. Yes, the pinnacle of magical science.”

  A sudden thought occurred to Yenni. “Professor,” she said. “What was the nature of the blade that cut me? Was it something that can”—oh, what was the word she was looking for?—“something that can cancel magic?”

  Perhaps the fading of the rune was not due to her father’s health, but whatever magical device had injured her.

  But Mainard shook his head. “It was a tool, part of an experimental device it would take far too long to explain. But in and of itself it has no magical properties.”

  “Oh,” Yenni said, feeling herself deflate.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Yenni paused. Finally, here was her chance to glean more information about this wither-rot disease, straight from the head of the magical department at the most prestigious magical school in Cresh. A man who by his own admission was versed in the latest advances in Creshen magic, including healing magic. But he would undoubtedly want to know why she was so interested. Dare she trust him?

  Dare she not trust him? Yenni was desperate, having already spent two moonturns in Cresh and learning only the barest details regarding the wither-rot from Carmenna. And the rune on her palm was a sobering reminder that time was running out.

  “Professor Mainard,” she said softly. “Do you know the reason I came to study magic at Prevan?”

  “Because it’s the best school on the continent, of course.”

  A chuckle bubbled its way to the surface of Yenni’s despair at how self-assured he was. “Yes,” she admitted. “I’d heard Prevan was the best. And I need the best, because there is a sickness that has recently appeared on my Island. The symptoms are the same as what you have named the wither-rot. I need to find a way to cure it because my father is dying.” She swallowed against the admission.