I led my father out of the room and closed the door harder than was truly necessary.
As I marched us toward the stairs, I glared at him. “Why onearthwere you wasting your time with Desmond Gregory?”
He chuckled. “My dear, I can only answer that question by returning it to you.”
“This place is stunning,” my father admitted, staring down the length of the quadrangle. “You were right about that.”
From our bench in the Dormitory courtyard, we could see most of the campus, and our view of the Alchemary was much more peaceful than my experience of it had been over the past few days. As we approached the end of the school day, students milled on the grass in the shade of shrubs shaped like animals and gathered on the steps of the Seminary, reading from their notes or chatting with friends. Professors ambled down the cobblestone walkways in pairs or walked alone but with purpose, distinct from the students even at a distance, for their brightly trimmed regalia.
“I can see why you like it here.”
But how could he, whenIcouldn’t even remember what I’d liked about this place, other than my studies?
“Amber.” My father’s hand covered mine, and I turned from the view of the quadrangle to look at him. “Are you happy here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve told you, I can’t remember anything. How can I know if I was happy?”
“Are you happy herenow?” he clarified. “Without your memory. Because you can always come—”
“No.” I sipped cooling tea from my mug and leaned back, grateful that we had the courtyard to ourselves, at least until my classmates headed toward the Dormitory to rest or study before the evening meal.
“Desmond says they don’t know what happened to you. I will admit, I am concerned. I’ve seen firsthand this new pestilence. The Crown seems…troubled. They’re keeping it quiet, of course, but more than one citizen of Innswood has been taken away in the dark of night, for quarantine and treatment—”
“Father—”
“—stiff as stone, skin tinted an odd flaxen hue. As if they were jaundiced. The gossip calls them aurums, and there seems no cure.”
“I’m not sick. You have my word.”
He nodded, silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. “Desmond agrees. He says they’ve found no evidence of injury or illness. Nor any indication that you did this to yourself. In the lab.”
I turned to him sharply. “Is that what you think? That I’m so incompetent as an alchemist that I…obliterated my own memory?”
“Of course not.” He turned to face me more directly, and I felt the full weight of his attention. “I don’t know what kind of alchemist you are, because I haven’t seen you since you left home. But I have never, since the day you were born, known you to fail at something you set out to do. And yetsomethingmust have happened.”
“I am not immune to curiosity on that subject myself,” I mumbled, frustrated to realize that several students were headed our way from the quadrangle.
“Neither is Desmond.”
Exasperation burned deep in my throat. “Why are we talking about Desmond Gregory?”
“He’s worried about you.”
“And…?” I demanded. “I assume there’s more to that?” Based on a tone of voice I remembered quite well.
“And…he wrote to me personally, apart from the official communication from the Alchemary. His letter arrived first. He must have paid to have it expedited by direct rider, and if I’d been home when it was delivered, I’d have left before the official correspondence even arrived.”
I sat silently for a moment, letting that tidbit ricochet through my thoughts. Hoping it would settle somewhere logical. “What did his letter say? Only that I’d lost my memory?”
“He didn’t mention your memory.” My father’s voice felt still and heavy, like fog clinging to my mother’s grave.
I turned to look at him again, at a loss for why Desmond would write to him without mentioning my amnesia.
“His letter was more of a note. It simply said you are in danger.” My father smiled at two Proficiency-year students as they passed us on their way toward the fountain, gazes lingering on his brown leather coat, cut in the distinctive Toolkeepers’ style. “And that I should take you home.”
I huffed, irritation tightening my grip on my mug as I lowered my voice. “If I am in danger from anyone, it is from him and his ego. He isn’tworriedabout me. He’sangrywith me.”
“Why would that be?”
