But I’d seen the pattern.
Quickly, I pulled my journal from my bag and scribbled the alchemical symbol—mercury—onto a blank page at the back. To the left of that, I wrote the symbol for sulfur. Then I scurried into the building, relieved to be sheltered from potential prying eyes.
I tiptoed past the marble benches built into the walls of the atrium and peered at the plaque by the stairs. My blood had almost entirely faded from view, as if the bone had absorbed it, and the symbol had disappeared along with it. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never have known it was there.
Which made me wonder: Had the symbols been visible before, then faded away? Or could I possibly be the first to discover them? The latter possibility sent a thrill firing through my veins.
I headed up to the third floor.
An hour later, blood had crusted in the elbow of my frock, and a staunch little weed of hope grew in one neglected corner of my soul.
I arrived at the Refectory before there was any food to be served, so I sat at a table with a pot of tea, a sheet of parchment, and a hundred questions about the symbols I’d found on nearly every bone plaque mounted on a wall of the Conservatory.
All but one of them, in fact.
It was a formula of some kind. A list of ingredients, anyway. But for what? An elixir? The invisible ink itself?
For all I knew, I’d just discovered the components that would make the Philosopher’s Stone.
The very idea that I might have spent two years fruitlessly researching a list of ingredients that were literally written on the Conservatory walls made me chuckle, softly but somewhat hysterically. Fortunately, there was no one around to see me laugh alone in the dining room, at my own notes. If those ingredients could be combined to make the Philosopher’s Stone, theywouldhave been, and the Stone would be known to alchemy.
Its creator would be the most famous and lauded alchemist in the world.
Alas, the Philosopher’s Stone was a legend, no more real than Emperor Eldon’s immortal love for his doomed queen. Much less real than that, in fact. His love had spawned stories, and statues, and paintings.
The Philosopher’s Stone had spawned nothing but overwrought rumors.
For whatever reason they’d been written—and hidden—the symbols were real. But what good was a list of components with no measures or instructions? Without any indication of what the mysterious formula would produce?
But perhaps, if I could find a formula that included all of—andonly—those specific components…
Fortunately, Past Amber had taken copious notes on every formula she’d ever come across. So I pulled a thick stack of her notes from my satchel and started reading.
An hour later, food had been set out by the staff and sunlight slanted across my table from an uncovered window. I blinked against encroaching exhaustion. Adventure had been more than enough to keep me awake, despite my lack of sleep, but sedentary research, it turned out, was not.
Steam wafted toward my face as I poured a fresh cup of tea. The warm, fragrant mist was comforting. I took a long sip, and as I set the cup down, my free hand slid into the pocket of my cloak, my fingers curling around the smooth, cold vial hidden there.
Despite Desmond’s order to abstain—or perhaps because of it—I’d brought Wilder’s elixir of concentration with me.
The Refectory was usually sparsely populated in the mornings, a fact I’d learned quickly, but today, the few other students breaking their fast all seemed to be staring right at me. To my utter frustration.
None were Mastery-year students, and they all had the decency to look away when I met their gazes. But something had clearly changed since the night before.
With a sigh, I left the vial in my pocket and forced my attention back to the stack of parchment on the table.
Minutes later, familiar footsteps drew my gaze.
“Whatis going on this morning?” Wilder demanded as he sank into the chair next to mine. His tray held two bowls of porridge and two fresh pastries, and he set one of each in front of me.
“Thank you!” I shoved my notes into my satchel as if I were thrilled for an excuse to stop studying, and not at all as if I were hiding anything from him. “They weren’t serving food yet when I arrived.” I dropped a kiss on his smooth, freshly shaved cheek, then dug into my porridge.
His brows rose, but he didn’t ask why I’d woken so early. He knew well that apprehension and study often robbed me of sleep.
“I heard your name at least four times on my way from the Dormitory,” he said as he tore an edge from his scone. “And everyone in the Refectory is staring at you.”
“Have you been to the lab yet today?” I asked, watching steam rise from my bowl.
“No. And I’m sorry I stood you up last night. I had an incident on the way to my delivery, and—”
