Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Prove it.”
I turn page after page of brittle, yellowing paper. Vitalian Mythologies of the Golden Age. It was buried deep in a dusty corner of the library, pages fused together from neglect. Yet, some of these ancient case studies, detailing magical remedies for forgotten plagues, form the foundation of spells still practised today.
I set the book aside and glance around the now-quiet library. The once-bustling space is deserted, with only the moonlight casting soft shadows over the garden pavilions. A small movement catches my eye—Taffy, her once-white fur now grey and dusted with cobwebs, trots towards me. I gently brush the webs away as she curls up on my lap, purring softly. “No claws on these new clothes,” I murmur.
She looks up as Skriniaris Evander appears, settling into the chair opposite me. He glances at my stack of books with a knowing smile. “Taking a break from studying, I see.”
I gesture to the lantern flickering beside us. “Was that your doing?”
“Can’t let you ruin your eyes,” he replies with a grin. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. All night, if necessary.”
I smile, feeling a warmth akin to that from my grandfather.
“I was hoping to catch you alone,” the skriniaris says. He strokes his white beard thoughtfully. “One of the judges for the examinations is getting married during the lovelight festival. I’ve been asked to fill in for him.”
“You’ll be on the panel?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, along with four others,” he confirms. “I received the itinerary today. I wanted to share it with you.”
I pull my chair back, startling Taffy from my lap. “Please, I don’t want any unfair advantage.”
“The scholars you’re up against already have personal tutors and all the details. I can give you a general overview, too.”
I let out a breath of relief. “I know the first day is the toughest.”
“Yes,” Skriniaris Evander replies. “Fifty scholars, thirty case-study questions, only twenty will advance. Each question presents a patient with symptoms. Your task is to diagnose and prescribe the best treatment. One scholar is eliminated with each question.”
I swallow, my throat tightening.
“On the second day, you’ll present your vitalian innovation and answer the examiners’ questions. If you succeed, you’ll earn three stamps on your soldad, granting you the rank of medius.”
“And the third day?”
“To rank the top ten scholars. Each will face a patient with a real ailment. You’ll have half an hour to cure them before a seal activates, blocking all vitalian magic. The better your cure, the higher your rank.”
“That sounds—”
“There’s a twist,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
I laugh nervously. “Of course.”
“If the seal activates before you’ve completed the cure, you must find a way to heal without magic.”
I nod slowly. “Anything else?”
“Most of those who make it to day three fail,” he says with a comforting smile. “But don’t worry, just getting there is success enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, milk and cookies await.”
I tut and wag a finger at him. “You know what I say about sweets.”
Skriniaris Evander grins, eyes twinkling. “Old age, can’t hear you.”
Later that night, I bring Akilah her cake and collapse into bed, still dressed. The soft fur of my hood cushions my fall. Quin’s voice lingers in my mind, tight and taunting. Prove it. I hear it over and over, like the biggest challenge between us yet.
Irritating as he is—as much as I want to avoid him—I also can’t let that failed gift be our last interaction. I refuse to ultimately be judged a fool.
I wince and turn a groan into my pillow, then sit up. I’ll try again. Give him a gift to erase that shameful miscalculation.
I leap up with inspiration. Prince Nicostratus, my saviour once again. I pull out a long, flat box from under my bed. In it are the treasures I’ve collected over the years, and one of those treasures is a piece of ancient violet oak, taken straight from the tree and given to me by Nicostratus after our night in its hollowed trunk—the night we saved one another. “The wood absorbs vast amounts of magic. Past kings carried talismans made from this wood. They gave them extra magic when they needed it in war.”
The wood comes alive under my hands and knife. It’s ancient grain hums with potential. I’ll carve two gifts: an armband for Nicostratus in honour of his protection. And for Quin . . . I grimace as I imagine him raising a brow. What, for me?
Something to keep your mouth shut.
Weeks fly by.
Between tending to winter patients and studying late into the night, I’ve barely had time to breathe. Father has been distant, sending more patients each day, but I keep working. Tonight, I finish enchanting Quin’s gift and test it. It radiates warmth.
As I seal the last spell, Father’s voice cuts through the silence. “What’s that?”