Give the Dark My Love

by Beth Revis

  He waited for me to protest. Tomus turned to me, his eyes bulging. He wanted me to refuse—to make a scene. As one of Yūgen’s top students, it was well within my rights to demand the time owed me by my master.

  I didn’t look at Master Ostrum, though. My eyes were on the girl. Nedra. She was like a jeweled dagger—beautiful but perfectly poised to cut. I couldn’t help but notice the determined and defiant look in her eyes. She was clearly from a country village in the north—a scholarship girl in unfashionable clothes, probably handmade. Her sun-kissed skin spoke of laboring outdoors, and I could see an outline of muscle beneath her sleeves that supported that theory. But the way her chin was set, her back straight—she looked ready to take on the entire world by any means necessary.

  “Yes, sir,” I told Master Ostrum.

  Tomus made a noise deep in his throat, disdain meant only for me.

  “So, where were we?” Master Ostrum indicated the third crucible. “Gold is for transferal, and it’s primarily used for medical purposes. It can transfer pain or even healing properties from one body to another. My dear?” He motioned for Nedra to give him her hand. She did.

  And he sliced her palm open with a knife.

  Nedra hissed in pain and slapped her other hand over the wound as blood leaked between her fingers.

  I leaned forward, feeling rage on her behalf, even though I had suspected what was coming. The students behind me muttered in anticipation. They didn’t care about Nedra; they were just excited to witness medicinal alchemy at work. I couldn’t take my eyes off Nedra, though. After her one shocked outburst, her lips had clamped shut, and she didn’t say another word. Her eyes, however, contained all of the fury she didn’t dare speak.

  “Here, my dear,” Master Ostrum said, his tone light. He pried Nedra’s fingers away and covered the cut with his own hand, keeping one palm on the gold crucible with the rat inside it. He muttered another incantation, and again the runes lit up on the golden vessel. Inside, the rat feverishly scratched the metal, trying to escape as Nedra’s pain slid from her cut into its body. The rat’s squeaking intensified, getting desperate and higher pitched.

  And then, a clatter—the sound of stone hitting metal. Master Ostrum sighed, picking up the crucible and turning it upside down. The rock—now rat-shaped—fell onto the desk. “Using a silver crucible to transform an inanimate object into a living one never lasts,” he said sadly. “The pain was too great for the creature. But you feel fine, yes, dear?” he asked Nedra.

  Nedra held her hand out in front of her, staring at the long cut. “I feel fine,” she repeated, a hint of wonder in her voice. But when she squeezed her hand into a fist, blood still leaked from between her fingers. “But I’m not healed,” she added.

  “Let that be your first lesson,” Master Ostrum said. “Pain can transfer, but not the wound.”

  SEVEN

  Nedra

  No one gave a damn that I was on the floor and bleeding.

  I ripped a page from my notebook and clenched it, hoping the porous paper would at least help stanch the cut on my palm. I used my fist to hold my notebook down on the floor and bent over it, determined to continue taking notes.

  Master Ostrum carried on with his lecture, concluding with a summary of available lectures for the day and their locations.

  I quickly scribbled the names, topics, and locations of the day’s classes: geography, humanities, history, poetry, potions, algebra, physics, philosophy, theoretical alchemy, runes. It would be impossible to attend them all, but Master Ostrum clearly had no interest in advising us on which lessons we should bother with—he left the room as soon as he finished rattling off the list.

  My classmates gathered their belongings, and the rude boy whose seat I’d accidentally taken made a point to step on my notebook as he rushed for the door, skidding it across the floor with his foot.

  “Need help?” Greggori, the boy Master Ostrum said I’d be sharing evening sessions with, bent down and picked up my notebook, returning it to me. He looked like he belonged in a painting contained in a gilded frame, and I was the girl who couldn’t afford admission into the museum. His jaw was narrow and his cheekbones were high; “elegant features,” Grammy would have said. But his eyes were kind.

  “Thanks.” I took my notebook from him, then stood, my hand leaving a smear of blood on the floor.

  “We should get that looked at,” Greggori said, nodding to the cut.

  “It’s fine.” My mind raced, trying to figure out which lecture I should go to first. Some started immediately—I didn’t want to be late.

  “There’s only geography first,” he said, as if reading my mind. “And it’s a bore. Just long-winded ramblings about the utter vastness of our mighty Empire. If you know your maps, the class is fairly pointless.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I said, not sure whether or not to heed his advice.

  “I mean, you can obviously choose whichever lectures you want to attend,” he continued. “But I’m going to humanities first—it starts in half an hour—and then probably history, poetry, and runes.”

  I nodded, grateful for the suggestions, although I wasn’t sure what the point of poetry would be for someone who wanted to study medicinal alchemy.

  “Thank you, Greggori.” I lifted my bag onto my shoulder, turning to the door before I noticed the goofy half smile spreading on his face.

  “What?” I asked, unsure of what was so funny.

  “I like the way you say my name. Like it’s two words. Gray-gory.”

  “Are you making fun of my accent?”

  “Not at all!” he protested. He started to lead me to the door. “I like it.”

  I bit back a grin as I followed him across the quad to the infirmary to clean and bandage my hand. We walked together to the humanities lecture, which was located in a tall brick building overlooking the quad. Its large glass windows twinkled in the sunlight.

  I quickly realized just how in over my head I was. While none of the other students took notes, my pen flew across my paper. The following lecture, history, was even worse. As soon as it was over, I picked up my notebook, now riddled with a list of everything I hadn’t understood from the professors. “I think I’ll go to the library,” I said, tension rising within me.

  “Independent study.” Greggori nodded as if this was a good idea. “Master Ostrum would probably appreciate that.”

  I adjusted my bag over my shoulder, grateful he didn’t follow me. I didn’t want him to know how behind I was.

  “Hey!” a voice called from the quad. I turned to see a girl about my age but far taller than me heading in my direction. “You’re the new girl, yeah?” she said.

  I nodded. I vaguely recognized her from Master Ostrum’s opening lecture. “I’m Nedra,” I said as I held the library door open for her.

  “My name’s Salis Omella,” she said.

  I followed her inside, breathing in the smell of old books. Home.

  Salis dumped her books on a table and held her arm out, offering me a seat with her. “Sorry about Tomus this morning,” she said, gesturing to my notebook that now had a prominent shoeprint across the front. “He’s an ass.”

  I was surprised at her kindness, but grateful for it.

  “What lectures did you go to this morning?” she asked, dropping her voice after the librarian glared at her.

  “Humanities and history,” I said. My notebook felt heavy in my hand, a guilty confessional of all I didn’t know.

  Salis pulled a face. “You had Newmas for history, yeah?” she asked. When I stared blankly at her, she dropped her chin to her chest and muttered, “Talks like this?”

  “Yeah, him,” I said.

  Salis rolled her eyes. “He’s brilliant, and he knows it. Such a show-off. None of us needs to know what Merry Twindle the Third thought of the eighth regiment of the Who Cares Battalion in the War of Unim
portance.” Her voice was rising with her passion, and the librarian shushed her again.

  Suddenly, my feelings of inadequacy felt foolish. I pulled out my notebook, showing Salis the list of names and books I’d felt the need to look up after the lectures. Salis snorted. “Yeah, that’s classic Newmas,” she said. “None of that is important. But, look, if you like history, you should come to the focused study hall my friends and I do. It can count toward your report to Ostrum.”

  That sounded perfect—there was no way I’d be able to create a reasonable report from the scattered, disconnected, and jumbled notes I’d taken so far.

  “A study hall sounds brilliant. More like school back home.”

  “You’re from the north, right?” Salis asked. When I nodded, she smiled. “Your accent gives you away. Well, you’re welcome to join us. First meeting’s tomorrow at six chimes. We’re studying Wellebourne now.”

  My eyes went involuntarily to the library door and, beyond that, the ruined statue of Bennum Wellebourne in the courtyard.

  “We like to focus on relevant history,” Salis continued.

  I wasn’t sure how relevant Wellebourne would be; his rebellion was almost two centuries old. But he would certainly be a more exciting subject than whatever Professor Newmas had planned. Wellebourne was reviled—and with good cause—but his use of dark, forbidden alchemy in his battles would make him an infinitely more interesting subject.

  * * *

  • • •

  The library closed at seven chimes—lucky for me, as I’d forgotten about my nightly meeting with my master. The bell behind the massive clock in the administration building started tolling minutes after the librarian kicked me out of the stacks. I took off at a run and threw myself into Master Ostrum’s office just as the last bell silenced.

  “Nedra,” Master Ostrum said by way of greeting, motioning toward an empty chair across from his desk. Beside it, Greggori had already taken a seat.

  “Where were you?” Greggori asked under his breath as Master Ostrum turned to close the small door behind his desk. I craned forward, trying to see beyond our master. It wasn’t a closet, as I’d assumed before—it seemed to be some sort of laboratory.

  When Master Ostrum noticed me watching him, he turned the lock on the door with an audible click.

  “Greggori was about to tell me of the lectures he sat through today,” Master Ostrum said. “We will conduct our interview first, so that you can know what to expect.” He turned to Greggori. “What have you learned today?”

  Greggori squared his shoulders, looking directly at Master Ostrum even though the professor kept his attention on the paper where he was, presumably, assessing Greggori. Greggori rattled off the facts and figures he’d learned in history, linking it to some of the things our first lecturer taught during humanities. He finished his monologue by reciting a sonnet about love and time.

  With every word, I felt my heart rate climb. This was so beyond what I was used to in the village school.

  Master Ostrum turned to me. “And you, Nedra? What did you learn today?”

  My mouth was too dry. I could feel Greggori’s eyes on me, waiting. “I—” I started. I dropped my voice. “Can I give my report alone?” I asked. If I had to prove how much a fool I was, it would be better if I didn’t have an audience.

  Greggori shifted to pick up his bag, but Master Ostrum stopped him with a look. “No,” he said simply. “Give your report, Brysstain.”

  I took a deep breath. I described the humanities and history lecture, but I had nothing really to add beyond what Greggori had already said. I hesitated.

  “That’s all?” Master Ostrum said. His tone was neutral, but I could tell he was disappointed in me. “You went to two lectures and then simply quit?”

  “No!” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I—went to the library.”

  “The library,” he repeated, his voice flat.

  I nodded. “I wanted to . . .” I kept my focus on my master and tried to block out Greggori’s presence from my mind. “I was aware that I was behind the other students. I wanted to try to catch up.”

  Master Ostrum leaned back in his chair. “And what did you learn?”

  I stared at my hands, twisting in my lap. “I’m not here for poetry,” I said in a small voice.

  “What?” Master Ostrum asked.

  My eyes flicked to Greggori, then to the master. “I’m not here for poetry,” I said, louder. “I took the list of all the lecture topics you gave us this morning, and looked up a bit of each. And—” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “And I didn’t see the point,” I mumbled. Greggori sucked in a breath at my audacity.

  “You didn’t see the point.” Master Ostrum stated the words bluntly.

  I shook my head, my gaze dropping again. “No, sir.”

  “So that’s what you did in the library?” he asked. “Used books to determine the curriculum at Yūgen isn’t good enough for you?”

  “No,” I said again, careful to keep my tone even. “I came here to study medicinal alchemy. So that’s what I did.”

  “Really?” Master Ostrum drew the word out, his doubt dripping off of each syllable like honey.

  “Yes,” I insisted. “Specifically the Wasting Death. Even though yesterday you said that the Wasting Death only infected people who were unhygienic, you’re wrong.”

  Unhygienic. The word tasted sour in my mouth. I hadn’t realized how much it had bothered me until now, but I didn’t regret speaking. Master Ostrum had been wrong.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Greggori’s mouth drop open. I scrambled to make my words politer, more acceptable. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in a northern village. We may be poor, but we’re clean,” I said. This wasn’t enough to sway him, I could tell. I added quickly, “And I found records of similar diseases in other nations, from the more remote areas of the Empire.”

  “What other diseases?”

  I opened my notebook and slid the pages over to him. He bent over my words, reading them slowly. I glanced at Greggori, who stared at me with wide eyes. He shrugged, the barest lift of his shoulders, as if to say, Who knows how the master will react to this?

  “This isn’t the Wasting Death,” Master Ostrum started, tapping my notes on a plague that had infected one of the colonies in the east fifty years ago. “A disease isn’t the same just because symptoms are similar.”

  “But diseases evolve,” I said quickly.

  Master Ostrum shook his head. “Not like this. Diseases don’t flare up and then reappear half a century later. If they’re going to evolve, they have to spread, change over generations—not just disappear. This was likely some poisoning in this colony’s water or crops.”

  “But—”

  Master Ostrum raised his hand, silencing me. “You’re dismissed,” he told Greggori. I shifted in my seat, but Master Ostrum shook his head. “Not you.”

  The awkward tension was as thick as wool as Greggori gathered his things. I’d thought I wanted to speak by myself, but now I deeply regretted the desire.

  “You have much experience with the Wasting Death?” Master Ostrum asked when Greggori closed the door behind him.

  I hadn’t been present when Carso and Dilada’s parents had died, but the butcher’s husband in our village hadn’t survived the sickness. One of Ernesta’s girlfriends had lost part of her leg and walked with a cane now. Every time Papa went out in his book cart, Mama would pray he wouldn’t come home sick. And when he did return, he told us of black bunting cast over houses in other villages, warning of the disease’s presence.

  “I live in the north,” I said by way of answer.

  “So you do,” Master Ostrum said, his voice contemplative. The clock chimed eight. “You’re right,” he added.

  I waited for him to continue, afraid to say the wrong thing. Again.

&nb
sp; “You don’t need to be in a poetry class. I’d like to see you focused more on the Wasting Death and your medical training. The gods know that too few alchemists have even bothered to consider the consequences of such a disease running rampant within the borders of their own city, much less the rest of Lunar Island.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “I can go to the library more,” I said. “Maybe when you give out lecture times, you could give me a list of what books to study and—”

  “No,” Master Ostrum said. “I’ll teach you myself. After the morning session, you’ll come back here.”

  My hands clenched, and pain shot through my palm from the cut Master Ostrum had given me this morning. I suddenly wasn’t so sure I could survive private lessons with this man.

  EIGHT

  Grey

  Nedra left the administration building with her head down, lost in thought, and seemed startled when I called her name.

  “Hi,” she said, veering over to me.

  “How did it go?” I asked tentatively.

  “He’s going to give me extra lessons,” she replied.

  “Oh,” I said, slowly. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

  She peeped up at me, and I saw all the fear swirling inside her. “I thought so, at first. But maybe it’s just because I’m so far behind everyone else and—”

  I cut her off. “No way. If you were too far behind, Master Ostrum would drop you as his student. The fact that he’s giving you private lessons—he must really see something special in you.”

  “Well,” Nedra said after thinking about it, “I do want to focus more on medical studies. Poetry isn’t for me.” She glanced at me quickly. “Sorry,” she added.

  I laughed. “Poetry’s not bad, but it’s not my deepest love,” I said. “I only went to the class so I could be more well rounded. It looks good on applications.”

  She shrugged as if none of that mattered to her. I remembered what she’d said in the session, about the Wasting Death. I was ashamed to admit I didn’t know much about the disease—all I had heard was that it was an issue specific to the factories at Blackdocks. The solution seemed simple to me: improve working conditions in the factories, and the disease would likely fade away. But that was easy to say from a distance. I didn’t know anyone personally who had encountered it.