There’s no pity in the side-glare I run him over with.
His upper lip curls at me, but before he can fully bare his teeth, I turn my cheek to him and watch as Wealdwine back-steps from the trolley.
It’s left there in the centre of the stage, a metre or so away from Dragana and Zef, but right in the middle point between the two.
Neither makes a move.
Master Wealdwine lifts a brass bell with a polished wooden handle—and just holds it up.
“Find the items with the essence of stardust.” Her gaze cuts between the two seniors. “And absorb.”
Absorption.
The first print in alphabetical order.
So that means alchemy is next.
I slide a look to Oliver, softer this time, more studious and less contorted with hate.
Those dark circles seem blacker now. The emerald of his eyes seems dimmer. I didn’t notice how pale and cracked his lips are.
My brow furrows.
My whisper is barely audible under the siege of noise from the stage. “Have you slept?”
The slight shake of his head is almost missable.
A ripple of laughter churns through the room.
My gaze swerves to the stage—just as Zef erupts in a flash of glitter.
His boots stumble backwards, his arms out as he looks down at his gleaming body, glitter falling from him like dust.
My mouth twists into a smile.
I swallow back the laugh brewing in my chest.
Beside me, Oliver is unflinching. His dull gaze remains totally unamused by Zef’s fumble.
But I’m alight with the joy.
I don’t forget who wrongs me.
And Zef operated as a lookout about two years ago. Saturdays mean busier corridors, more masters and students wandering the halls, and so Zef acted as Dray’s lookout as he dragged me up the dusty rug by the ankle, then threw me into a closet to be locked away for the rest of the weekend.
There’s always that kind of gentry.
The one who panders to the like of Dray and Oliver, hoping for a job one day, a connection that will elevate them in life.
So I laugh as he’s poisoned by the stardust, the literal pulverised elements from meteors and asteroids. Heard it makes the bowels lock up for weeks, even with treatment.
But Wealdwine isn’t amused.
She hums a curt sound, and it carries through the whole room. She drags her pen over the paper latched onto the clipboard, and it’s a clear ‘X’ she marks next to his name.
A fail.
It’s only a practice exam, but the fallen look on his face should pull on heartstrings—if it wasn’t so funny that his sorrowful face is literally glittering.
