She glanced over at Michael Cameron. She still had not had a chance to thank him for stepping up as Cydney Graves’s second during their duel. She wanted to do so, but he was busy dueling another junior. Nearby, Topher Evans stood by himself, rocking from foot to foot as he watched the other duelists. Rachel had become quite curious about him, ever since Von Dread mentioned that Topher had perfect recall. Did his ability work like hers? Could he recall things that he had not seen the first time?
She walked over to him. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and gave her a smile that was half-cheerful and half-goofy and swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bob.
“Hi, there,” Rachel began.
“Hi, yourself,” he replied amiably, looking amused at his own wit.
Rachel said casually, “So I hear you have perfect recall.”
“You heard right. I hear that your mother also has perfect recall. Is that true?”
“It is.” Rachel nodded. She opened her mouth to say “me, too” but she thought it would be disloyal to tell Gaius’s friend before she told him.
“My mother, too,” confessed Topher.
“Really? Do you think it is inherited?” asked Rachel. She wondered for the first time if any of her mother’s relatives shared their gift.
“Possibly.” He grinned. “We might be related.”
“That’s possible, I suppose,” Rachel said thoughtfully, “though wouldn’t you be related to my father’s side? It’s my mother who has the gift.”
“Actually, I’m one-eighth Korean,” said Topher.
Rachel started to laugh, but he was serious. “Truly?”
“I realize I don’t look it, being a ‘big-nose’, but I had a Korean great-grandmother.”
She looked him up and down, his Occidental features, his five o’clock shadow, his wavy medium brown hair. “You are as Korean as I am? I’m one-eighth Korean, too!”
“One-quarter,” corrected Topher.
“Wait?” Rachel frowned, confused. “You’re a quarter? Or an eighth?”
“No, you.” He pointed from her to himself. “You’re one-quarter. I’m one-eighth.”
“I am one-eighth Korean,” said Rachel. The conversation had taken a surrealistic turn.
“But…” He rubbed his forehead, running a finger from his glasses to his hair line. “Your brother Peter said he was one-quarter Korean.”
“He…must have made a mistake.”
“Peter…” Topher tipped his head back as he called upon his memory, just as Rachel might have done. “Yes. He said ‘a quarter’, twice. Once when I first met him. Once on the occasion that ended in his duel with Gaius. The one where…”
Topher tried very hard not to smirk at his memory of Rachel’s brother’s humiliation at the hands of Gaius, but he did not entirely succeed. Rachel felt her cheeks growing warm on Peter’s behalf. Topher noticed and looked miserable. Embarrassed though she was, Rachel felt sorry for the likable yet awkward boy
“Peter said he was one-quarter Korean?”
“Quite distinctly.”
“How bizarre.” Rachel blinked, thinking of the portrait over the fireplace in the Rose Sitting Room of Grandpa Kim’s parents. The woman in the picture was clearly British, a large woman with blond hair. “Once could have been an accident. Twice…that’s very strange.”
They paused for a moment, watching the duels. Jenny Dare and Freka Starkadder had somehow hexed each other simultaneously and both stood frozen. Sigfried, who had squared off with sophomore Ethan Warhol, was hanging upside-down by one foot. Nastasia, who was facing Salome, was frowning at the vines wrapped around her waist. Gaius stood by them, trying to hide how amused he was.
“Well, nice talking to you.” Rachel started to walk away.
Topher’s hand caught her shoulder. He looked straight at her.
“You, too…don’t you?” He blushed at his awkwardness. “I mean…you’re like me and your mom, aren’t you?”
Rachel bit her lip but nodded.
“Knew it.” Topher gave her a lopsided grin. “Figured it out weeks ago.”
Chapter Sixteen:
In Pursuit of Tell-Tale Glints
“Hey there, cutie.” Gaius came up beside Rachel, who stood panting after losing to Salome’s snarky boyfriend, Ethan Warhol, an embarrassing three times in a row. Her opponent had used a cantrip that increased his speed, so he won each match before she could so much as move. “How’s tricks?”
“Smashing.” Rachel stepped closer to him with a mischievous smile. “And, speaking of tricks I know, they’d be even better, if you taught me the Glepnir cantrip.”
“That’s a difficult cantrip.”
“It seems very effective.” She gestured toward where the braggart Seymour Almeida had caught Bernie Mulford, the son of her parents’ friends, in one of the glowing golden bands. Bernie was struggling, but the Glepnir bond constricted him about his wrists and thighs, clamping his arms to his side, so there was little he could do to fight back. “During our fight in Transylvania, I rather wished I knew how to cast them.”
“Your wish is my command.” Gaius bowed with a flourish. “Come.”
He spent the next fifteen minutes instructing her privately. The cantrip itself was argos. In the Original Tongue, ar meant “belt” or “cloak” and gos meant “to gather”. Rachel and Gaius stood very close together as he showed her the accompanying hand gestures and how to focus the attack so as to make sure that the band would catch your target where you wanted it to. A constricting band around the waist, for instance, was not nearly as useful as one that also captured the arms or encircled the ankles. Rachel practiced diligently, doing everything he said. Her progress was slow, but she refused to give up. By the end of the quarter hour, she had produced her first, faint, pathetic golden circle.
“Excellent!” Gaius declared, giving her a nod of approval that made her tingle all the way to her toes. “I thought there was at least a thirty-seven percent chance you wouldn’t be able to master this. It’s not an easy cantrip. Many students don’t master it until their sophomore year or beyond. I should have rather known better! From here, it’s just a matter of making it your own. I know you’re good at that.” He grinned at her. “I expect to see golden rings all up and down the suit of armor next time I come by our hallway.”
Rachel beamed. She loved it when he called it our hallway.
“Can I see your new wand?” he asked curiously.
“Sure.” She drew the box out of her robe pocket and handed it to him.
Gaius opened the box and withdrew the slender length of silver, running his fingers across it. The embedded mother-of-pearl formed a rose pattern.
Gaius peered closer. “This is a vestal wand!”
“A vestal wand? Is that a proper wand?”
“Oh, definitely. It’s just that most wands are designed for fulgurators—soldiers who shoot deadly lightning in war. This wand was designed for the Vestal Virgins who guard the Eternal Flame—that white and gold fire that harms the guilty but spares the innocent that Vlad likes to throw about.” He looked up from the box. “Dr. Mordeau said your grandmother was a Vestal Virgin, didn’t she?”
Rachel nodded.
“Huh. I wonder how vestal wands differ from regular ones. Would you mind if I did some investigating?”
“Do you need my wand for that?”
Gaius looked down at the delicate silver length. He shook his head, closed the box, and handed it back to her. “Not yet, anyway. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Rachel stuck it back in her pocket. “How did my friends do?”
“I think they’ve grasped the basics. As much as Mr. Smith will ever grasp anything, that is.” Gaius shook his head ruefully. “He kept trying to direct his trumpet at the floor, on the theory that a sufficiently strong blast of wind would blow him upward, into the air. Unfortunately—or possibly fortunately—magic doesn’t work that way.”
Rachel giggled. “The two of them are very good at magic. T
hey are going to be great duelists.” She sighed.
“Maybe,” shrugged Gaius.
“Hang on. What do you mean?”
“There’s more to dueling that being a strong sorcerer. Oh, it helps! Don’t get me wrong. But it only helps with putting the spells into your wand…or with throwing them naturally, as the princess is doing right now. But a sorcerer with a fulgurator’s wand or a dueling ring will always beat one casting naturally, given enough time. You can fire spells much more quickly from a gem. Also, with thaumaturgy, you can do tricks, such as make it so your conjuration can’t be instantly undone during the first ten minutes of their existence.”
“That’s useful.”
“Yes. It is. But my point is, there’s more to dueling than the spells you have on hand.” Gaius’s eyes lit up, and his face became animated when he spoke about dueling.
“Like what?” Rachel leaned forward slightly, caught up in his enthusiasm. He looked totally adorable.
“Dueling consists of three parts. The first is the spells. But anyone can have good spells if they have someone else to cast them, like you did for me. The next part is speed and reflexes.”
Rachel’s face fell.
Gaius gave her an encouraging grin. “But even that isn’t enough. A trained monkey with a wand might have quick reflexes and a stack of good spells. But no performing ape, however fast, is going out-duel me.”
“What’s the third part?”
“Ah. This is where people like you and me excel. The last part of dueling is what you know.” He tapped his temple. “The better you understand what each spell does—how to recognize it, and how to counter it—that is what really makes a duelist. Knowing his craft.
“Oh and a good memory helps, too. You need to keep track of how many of each spell you have left in your wand. There are gadgets and gismos to help with that—or you can even just keep a good, old-fashioned list.” He pulled a card out of his pocket with a series of words and hatch marks on it and waved it back and forth. “But only between duels. During the duel, you have to be able to keep track in your head of what you have on hand at any given moment.”
Rachel grinned. That would not be a problem for her. “How did you learn all this?”
“Ah,” Gaius’s eyes twinkled. “I learned from a master. The best duelist at Roanoke.” He flashed her a cocky grin. “At least before I arrived.”
“Vlad?”
“No, though Vlad is very, very good.” He glanced over at where Von Dread had just slammed Seymour Almeida into the padded far wall with a blast of silver sparkles. “This guy was even better. At least back when Vlad was younger. But, he’s not here anymore.” Gaius’s face fell, a sadder expression that could be accounted for by mere graduation.
“Blackie Moth?” Rachel asked.
“He was fantastic, Rach. Quick as lightning and sharp as a laser. Never lost his cool.” Gaius looked crushed. “Blackie used to be so much fun. Cool and dry but with a fond twinkle. Now…nothing. He doesn’t know who I am, and he doesn’t care.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, remembering her second cousin and that fond twinkle.
“And you know the worst thing? I think there’s at least a sixty-seven percent chance that I could beat him now. But he’s not here for me to try my skill against…not the Blackie I knew, in any case.” Gaius grinned suddenly and leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I’ll teach you a secret he taught me. All the best duelists know it, but a lot of people here don’t. Look over there.” He pointed at where red-haired Naomi Coils stood facing Rachel’s second cousin, Blackie’s sister Beryl. Both college girls stood on the balls of their feet, alert. “Watch the tips of the wands when they begin. Now. See anything?”
Rachel watched the glittering gem-tips. There came a glint of light. Or was that her imagination? Carefully, she compared her memory of now with the moment before. No, it definitely glinted. She watched a bit longer.
“The gem shines…a very small spark of light inside…right before it fires.”
“Exactly,” Gaius looked extremely pleased with her. “Many people can’t see that. You’re rather sharp-eyed, Rachel Griffin. You’re going to make a very good duelist. And speaking of duelists, I will not remain the foremost one in my class if I don’t keep my hand in the game. I had better—”
Rachel grabbed his shoulder. “Before you go, can you introduce me to Freka Starkadder?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He offered her his arm.
Freka was practicing with her younger brother Beowulf. When she saw Rachel and Gaius, she held up her hand. Beowulf grunted his assent. Freka turned and smiled at Rachel.
Gaius bowed graciously. “Your highness, may I introduce to you our fellow Knight, Lady Rachel Griffin? Rachel, Princess Freka Starkadder of Transylvania.”
Leaning over, Gaius gave Rachel the lightest of kisses on her cheek. “And now, I’m off to duel. Tally-ho!” He saluted with his wand and strolled away to challenge Topher Evans.
Freka watched all this with amusement. When Gaius departed, she held out her hand to Rachel, who shook it. Across the room, Rachel noticed Prince Romulus frown in annoyance. Apparently, the crown prince of Transylvania did not approve of his sister shaking hands with mere freshmen—or maybe he did not approve of her shaking hands altogether.
Freka Starkadder had an almost feral beauty that recalled to Rachel’s mind the memory of her brother Fenris turning back into a man from being a wolf. She had intense brown eyes and oak-colored straight hair with long bangs that came almost to her eyes.
She gave Rachel an impish smile. “Gaius the Cutie-Pie aside, when I’m at school, I really prefer it if people don’t use my title. Please just call me Freka. Do you mind if I call you Rachel, or should I use Miss Griffin? Lady Rachel?”
“Rachel is fine, thank you.” Rachel curtsied. “Should I wait until your match is over? I don’t wish to intrude.”
“Nope. We’re done. Go ahead.” Freka mopped her brow with a small towel she wore around her neck.
“I just wanted to meet you,” Rachel explained. “I’m trying to meet everyone. You seemed like a good place to start.”
“That’s very nice. Welcome to the Knights. You’ve acquitted yourself quite well, so far. Makes the rest of us Knights look good.”
“Thank you.” Rachel curtsied a second time. “That’s very kind.”
“Do you have any particular questions?”
“I suppose I am curious how you are planning to run the Knights, if you win the election,” Rachel said casually. “Which you probably will, because my boyfriend hasn’t expressed the slightest interest in actually running. At least, not to me. Will you keep things the same? Or make changes?” Rachel kept her expression calm and attentive, but inside she felt as tightly wound as a watch spring.
“So he…never mind.” Freka shook her head. “I am not planning on changing things at all. Vladimir has done a fine job with the Knights. I hope I can lead as well as he.”
Oh.
So much for clever ideas.
Rachel sighed.
“I think he has, as well,” she agreed. “Especially compared to the YSL, which does nothing at all. Or so I hear.”
“Oh, the Young Sorcerer’s League isn’t so bad.” Freka tossed her head, sending her long brown hair flying about her. “It’s not as intense as the Knights. Maybe because it’s open to anyone. Of course, I only attended a few of their meetings. Years ago, before I joined the Knights. I don’t have time for both, alas. Not if I want to pass my classes. Or even breathe. And breathing is important, or so they tell me. I seldom have time to do it regularly, nowadays.” She paused and pantomimed attempting to take two or three huge breaths. Rachel grinned.
Freka continued, “But if I did have more time—if the magic time fairy came and waved her timey-wimey wand and granted me the power to do to hours what kenomancy does to space—I might join both. I wouldn’t mind a chance to duel some new people. The intimacy of the Knights is great. It leads to
strong friendships—the kind that are useful throughout your life. But always winning or losing to the same people gets a bit repetitive.”
“I can see that,” Rachel said thoughtfully, a seed of an idea beginning to sprout in the back of her mind.
“Yeah.” Freka gestured so as to encompass the room. “Beowulf and I used to keep a betting sheet—as a joke—trying to predict who would win against whom. We gave it up because it became utterly predictable. We couldn’t invent odds great enough to get either of us to risk betting on the expected loser.”
“Did Romulus bet, too?” Rachel asked, glancing over at the somber and distant crown prince, where he stood with his cronies, talking quietly.
“Oh, no! Rom would never do something so pedestrian!” Freka laughed gaily. “We let Remus try a few times, but he would bet on the underdog and then play tricks on the favorite to skew the outcome of the match. We asked Fenris, too, but he just sneered at us.” A look of intense sadness crossed her features and then, as quickly as it had come, was gone again. “Luperca’s too cool to belong to a club, even a prestigious one like the Knights, and Wulfgang is too young. Too new. Though,” she frowned very slightly, “not as young as you, I suppose.”
Rachel paused, not certain what to say next. She wanted much to ask for a translation of the plaque beside the mirror with the silvery light that might have been the moon glass. Perhaps, she could pretend she read the phrase in a book. But she did not know if Freka would instantly know that this was a lie. After all, Rachel had read all about Beaumont castle in the past and about Darius Northwest. She had never seen reference to such a plaque. What if it were a family secret? Perhaps she could ask Freka about her home and find a way to work up to it.
“What is your home like? I hear Transylvania’s beautiful?” asked Rachel.
Of course, she knew it was beautiful, but it seemed unwise to admit that she had recently invaded the country.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 21