“For her to learn. Torelearn. The first trial is six weeks away, and—”
“And you think she can relearn two full years of studies—not to mention all the time spent on her independent project—in a month and a half?” the older Gregory brother demanded.
Wilder glanced at me, and his smile buoyed my confidence. “I think that if anyone can,shecan.”
“Exactly how strong a student was I?” I asked, vexed that I couldn’t answer my own question. That I couldn’t feel pride in my accomplishments—whatever those were.
“Cressa?” The Bluehelm glanced at her aide, who pulled a string-bound book from the bag slung over one shoulder. My name was written on the cover of the slim volume.
Cressa opened the book, balancing it over the tablet she still held in one hand, and her dark brows rose as she scanned a chart filled with brief scores and notations.
“You were anextraordinarystudent,” she said as she closed the book. Then her gray-eyed gaze met mine, and it was cooler than I’d expected, given the compliment. “Academically speaking, anyway.”
The Bluehelm seemed unsurprised by the assessment, and I realized that though she might not have known the particulars, she must have been familiar with my accomplishments. Why else would she have come to assess one ailing student when she likely had a full agenda on the first day of the semester?
“Is it possible?” I asked. And though the decision would ultimately belong to the Bluehelm, I found myself looking at Desmond instead. “Isn’t it at leastpossiblethat if the knowledge is still locked up in here”—I tapped on my temple—“that studying what I’ve already learned could just sort of…jar it all loose?”
And that staying here, where something had clearly gone wrong for me, could show me how to set things right again?
No one seemed willing to hazard a guess.
“Even if it doesn’t,” Wilder finally said, “there’s always the chance that your memory will come back on its own. Right?” He turned to Dr. Winhoof, who looked completely uncertain and distinctly uncomfortable with that predicament. “It’d be a shame for her to drop out and go back to Innswood, only to recover her memory next week. She would have missed a week of classes and research. And trial prep.”
Desmond made a dismissive sound. “The chances are very slim that that scenario will prove even remotely relevant.”
“And yet…that chance exists?” The Bluehelm turned to Dr. Winhoof. “Can we say for certain that it doesn’t?”
He frowned. “Cases of amnesia are very, very rare, and these are extraordinary circumstances. In most of the cases I’m familiar with, the victim’s memory did eventually return. I cannot guess how quickly that might happen for Ms. Fallbrook, but I also can’t say it won’t happen. The truth is that it could happen tomorrow.”
Desmond crossed his arms over his chest, his left side hidden by the drape of his asymmetrical cape. “And it mightneverhappen.”
“As I see it, we have two options,” Dr. Winhoof said. “We can allow her to stay, with certain conditions and restrictions, to give her memory a chance to recover. Or we can dismiss her from the Alchemary, which would be denying her the chance to prepare for the trials even if her memory comes back.” He cleared his throat. “It seems to me that less harm would be done by the former option. After all, if her memory fails to return, she can always be excluded from the trials and sent home.”
His logic lit a spark inside me that was part determination and part fear. I couldnotlose this opportunity.
“I want to stay,” I said. “Ishouldstay. I have clearly earned my place here, and I have no doubt I’m capable of applying that drive and determination to recovering everything I’ve lost.”
I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on Desmond for a moment before shifting it firmly toward the Bluehelm. “Please. I want to stay.”
Desmond’s coppery scowl burned into me, before he, too, turned to the Bluehelm. “I mustofficiallyobject. No student who lacks a grasp of basic alchemical theory belongs in the Mastery-year class, regardless of the—”
“Consider yourself heard,” the Bluehelm interrupted. “And your objection noted. But given that you are neither a physician nor one of Ms. Fallbrook’s instructors, you lack standing in this debate, and I agree with Dr. Winhoof, that she should be allowed to stay, at least for now.” She glanced pointedly at Cressa, who began scribbling madly on the wax tablet as the older woman spoke. “Under the following conditions…”
“This is good news!” Wilder elbowed me as we headed out of the Panacea wing of the Conservatory into the atrium, a towering tribute to cold white marble and clean lines. “You get to stay!”
“For now.” I felt obligated to temper his celebration with reality as his excitement echoed around the tall, hand-polished walls.
Where the Dormitory was dramatic, warm, and almost oppressive with its dark stone, windowless corridors, and soaring towers, the Conservatory was cold and clinical: a study of polished planes, right angles, and sharp corners. The only curve in the building that I could see was the spiral staircase rising from the grand, three-story atrium, and even that felt nothing like the tower staircases in the Dormitory.
These steps were wide and bright, each tread precisely level and even, unlike the stone treads of the tower staircases. Even the torches mounted on the Conservatory walls burned with a clean, crisp white light that felt almost cold, despite the heat and illumination they gave off, and could not have been produced without a lab-created fuel and treated wicks.
But the marble…
How, exactly, did I know the marble slabs were hand-polished to their extraordinarily reflective finish? I couldn’t remember learning that, or ever having toured the Conservatory, which meant I’d probably heard about the construction of this building from my father, when I was a child.
He and my mother had shared disparate opinions about the Alchemary. Her memories of the campus were nostalgic, until the bittersweet ending of her Mastery year.
My father disapproved of alchemy entirely, but he never tired of discussing the master craftsmanship that had gone into the construction of the most prominent university in the kingdom of Aethermere—one of the most famous campuses in the world. He wasn’t justastonemason. He wasthestonemason—head of the mason’s guild and a high-ranking member of the Toolkeepers.
