“It’s his classroom.”
Daziel scowled. “You’re my betrothed.”
That gave me pause. Because while our betrothal was only technical, Daziel’s statement made me realize I was the only person he really knew in Talum. The only person he could expect to stand up for him. “I’m sorry. But you’re not one of his students—I think he’s allowed to say nonstudents can’t be in his classroom.”
“Fine.” Daziel’s ears twitched, and he vanished.
Seven
I flinched, surprised by Daziel’sabrupt disappearance. Guilt followed. I hadn’t expected Daziel to be so insulted—or hurt?—that he left. I’d thought I was being reasonable. But the professor had been rude, and Daziel didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, in case Daziel could still hear me. With a sigh, I headed back to the classroom.
Professor Altschuler was nowhere in sight, but my cohort swiveled in my direction. “He wants you in the scroll room,” Yael said.
Swallowing, I nodded and headed up a floor. I knocked twice before entering. “You wanted to see me?”
Professor Altschuler stood, gazing downriver. From here, you could see the uninhabited islet west of Talum, a black streak dividing the blue of river and sky.
He turned, his gaunt expression even more drawn than usual, his face half-silhouetted by the setting sun. “It is not safe to consort with demons,” he said. “They are not human, even if they take human form. They do not reason the way we do, or have the same morals.” His lips tightened briefly. “I am given to understand they offer certain…carnal pleasure—”
Horrible, I hated this, no. “It’s not like that,” I said hurriedly,because even if ithadbeen, I’d rather jump out the window than discuss my sex life with a professor. “We’re—it’s—he’s my tutor. He’s nice.”
Professor Altschuler regarded me as though he’d never met such an imbecile. “Demons are not ‘nice.’ ”
I swallowed. The majority of humans would probably describe demons as mischievous or dangerous, but maybe that was because humans and demons usually encountered each other in more stressful situations than hanging out on the sofa. “Daziel’s nice.”
“Daziel,” he repeated. He ran his fingers along his bookcase, stopping at a thick, weathered tome. “Did he tell you his lineage?”
“Yes.” He definitely did. “Daziel, son of…”
Well, no one ever called me detail-oriented.
Professor Altschuler sighed and released the book. “You are making a mistake.”
Was I? Or was the professor? In the last five days, Daziel had been nothing but funny and thoughtful and annoying. Maybe I was making a mistake, but maybe the professor was prejudiced.
An unpleasant silent stretched, and the professor’s expression soured when he realized I wasn’t going to agree with him. “Your personal life is not my concern, but you cannot bring the demon back to my seminar,” he snapped. “I won’t have him in my class or meddling with my scrolls.”
I nodded, and we headed back to the classroom, where Professor Altschuler set out the parameters for a new technopaignia spell he wanted to try. Technopaignia spells were written in the shape of an object to strengthen the magic. In this case, we’d write the spell in the shape of scrolls, hoping to remind the fragments of what they’d once been.
Like with each new spell, our cohort’s job would be carvingcharaktêres into a large piece of plywood, then painting the words with neshem oil. For complicated spells like this, spellcasters often carved charaktêres into porous materials, which absorbed more neshem then clay or glass or paper. This created reserves for the spell to draw on so the caster didn’t need to scramble in the middle to add more. We’d layer paper over the plywood so the neshem wouldn’t dampen the fragments, which we’d place on top.
“Is everything all right?” Yael asked once the professor had departed. We divided the spell in quadrants and began writing out the charaktêres before carving them with our stylos, to make sure the spacing worked. “With the demon?”
Her concern unnerved me. Things had to look bad for her to ask me the first personal question since we’d met. “We’re fine.”
“How long have you known each other?”
“Um…” With Stefan in the room, I didn’t want to admit I’d made up the betrothal. He’d been one of the first to ask me out; though not in the School of Government, he came from a high-ranked family in Aolong, and I figured he’d been told to make connections here. He’d backed off quick after learning about my demon betrothed, though.
“A year. Though we don’t see each other often. The engagement was—sudden.”
Silence fell, as per usual. But Yael had opened the door for conversation. Maybe we could be friends. I cast about for something to discuss. Maybe we could get past the competition between us—
“How can you still be so slow at writing charaktêres?” Stefan asked me. “Man, the candidates must have been rough your year.”
Never mind.
