I watched as he sealed the vial and stored it carefully in the cabinet beneath his own workspace.
“Now. Let’s clean off Lennox’s station so I can help you set up yours.” He grinned at me as we worked, his blue-eyed gaze setting off a host of familiar sparks deep in my belly. “I must say, Amber Fallbrook. This tutelage arrangement isquitea reversal of roles for us.”
“Don’t forget, your theme papers on the history of the quest for the Elixir of Life are due next week,” Professor Bollinger said as he erased the large, framed black slate at the front of the small classroom. “Make sure you’ve had your thesis topic approved by the end of our next class. I don’t want any of you repeating territory. That makes these assignments exceedingly boring to read.”
A couple of students chuckled.
From my right, Wilder yawned. He’d spent another late night in the lab, and both his morning tea and his elixir of concentration were clearly wearing off. “If you write my paper for me,” he leaned over to whisper, “I will doanythingyou want. Massage your feet. Serve you tea and scones in bed. I’ll even undergo the Black Trial for you.”
I snorted softly. It was a ridiculous offer. We’d be in the first trial—the Black Trial—at the same time, in full view of all of our classmates, our professors, and the official observers. I would be on my own, and the reminder of that, even in the form of a jest, made my arms prickle with gooseflesh.
I was not ready.
I slid my notes into my satchel and dropped my quill into the inkwell cradled in a cutout at the front of our shared table, but before I could stand, already planning to claim a corner table and a kettle of strong tea for us both at the Refectory, I heard my name.
Alarm raised the fine hairs at the base of my skull, and I looked up to find Professor Bollinger staring right at me. “Yes?”
“I need to see you for a few minutes after class.” He failed to addif you’re available, orif you don’t mind, or evenplease.
“Of course.” I slouched back into my chair, struggling to resist a scowl as Wilder stood without me. “Get us a corner table?” I whispered.
He nodded. “Black tea and a fig fritter to split. It’ll be waiting.…”
With that and a sympathetic smile, he headed into the hall with our classmates.
As Professor Bollinger sank into an empty chair across the aisle from me, the distinctive heavy clank of the classroom door closing drew my attention. I turned to find Professor Edmiston headed toward us, her heeled shoes clacking beneath the swishing hem of her long professor’s robe.
I’d been ambushed. Truthfully, though, I deserved no less, having ignored summonses from them both.
“Amber.” Professor Edmiston shoved a chin-length silver ringlet back from her face. “Thank you so much for making time to meet with us.”
As if I’d had any choice.
“We’ve been informed by the Bluehelm about your condition,” she continued. “And we thought it was important to communicate with you directly about the issue, though we hadn’t intended to wait until halfway through the second week of the term.”
Which was my fault, though she was kind enough not to point that out.
“Our understanding is that you remember nothing of your first two years at this institution,” Professor Bollinger added, small, round spectacles perched precariously near the end of his nose. “Has there been any improvement since the initial diagnosis?”
“Unfortunately and decidedly not,” I said, clutching my satchel to my chest. “Since the school year has just started, I assume you have no real measure of the kind of student I am—” But my words dissolved into a bitter aftertaste as I noted the discomfort that had settled over both of their expressions. “I’ve been in your classes before?”
“Fundamentals year,” Professor Edmiston confirmed. “For Basic Alchemical Equations. You were the quickest study I’ve had in my fourteen years as an instructor. Not coincidentally, you were also one of the most verbose, though always on the topic at hand.”
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks, and that heat only intensified when Professor Bollinger spoke. “You were in my Accuracy in Records and Note-Taking practicum during your Fundamentals year. Among the strongest in the class,” he added. “Though Keryth gave you some stiff competition.”
I had no idea what to say, so I chewed my bottom lip and clutched my satchel tighter, fighting inexplicable feelings of guilt over how badly my performance this term must be disappointing them.
It was not my fault I couldn’t remember what they’d taught me in terms past. That I knew of, anyway. And yet guilt over my impending failure felt like a massive weight on my shoulders, slowly pressing me into the ground. Into my own professional and academic grave.
“How are you faring so far?” Professor Edmiston pulled a silver barrette from her pocket and shoved it into her hair at her temple, to hold back the troublesome curl. “Are you keeping up, by any measure of the term?”
“I’m doing my best,” I assured them. “I stay up half the night, every night, studying by candlelight, and I believe I’ve picked up the basic concepts extraordinarily quickly. By my own judgment, anyway. Some are difficult to master, without instruction, but most of them make sense once I’ve had a chance to study them. As if I just need to beremindedof them, in a manner of speaking. But I owe you both the truth,” I added, and Professor Bollinger’s brows rose. “I am not at the level of my classmates.Yet.”
I likely wasn’t yet at the level of most Proficiency-year students either, though I could probably have given the Fundamentals-year cohort some stiff competition.
My instructors glanced at each other, and I had no way of interpreting the look they shared.
Professor Edmiston spoke first. “Amber, do you honestly believe that you will be ready for the first trial in just a few weeks?”
