Page 81

She presses both palms against the pot. Golden light brightens. The plant remains unchanged. Then the pot fractures. Nyra jerks her hands away. The light vanishes. She looks devastated. I lean forward despite myself. Professor Neris crouches beside Nyra. She does not repair the pot. Does not replace the plant. They speak quietly. Nyra shakes her head once. Professor Neris says something else. Then places one hand over the broken soil. Not using magic. Simply touching it. Nyra stares. Slowly, she sits. Not kneeling to perform. Sitting beside the plant.

The chamber remains quiet. Minutes pass. Several students begin shifting impatiently. I do not look away. Nyra closes her eyes again. This time no golden light appears. No visible magic. She presses two fingertips into the dry soil. Waits. The soil moves. Barely. A thin root pushes through the crack in the pot. Not upward toward light. Sideways. Toward her hand. It curls around one finger. Nyra's eyes open. The root tightens gently. A single green point appears near the base of the dead stem. Not a leaf. The promise of one. Nyra begins crying. Quietly.

Professor Neris remains beside her. No praise. No interruption. Only witness.

When Nyra returns, she does not speak. She sits. I place my hand over hers beneath the table. Her fingers are cold. She squeezes once. Professor Neris writes a second word on the board. ROOTSENSE. "Miss Valenne did not restore the plant." Nyra lowers her gaze. Professor Neris continues. "She established contact with a living network beneath visible damage."

Nyra looks up. "The plant was not dead?"

"No." A pause. "It was disconnected." Professor Neris turns toward the class. "Living magic responds poorly to domination." Her eyes move toward the fae students. "It remembers relationship." The root still curls around Nyra's finger in my mind. Not commanded. Invited. Found.

My name is called last. Not last among the vampires. Last in the class. I stand. Every ache from the Trial and the Place seems to reappear at once. Nyra releases my hand.

"You'll be fine," she whispers.

I look at her. She smiles faintly. "Meaningless."

"Completely."

I enter the crimson chamber. It smells like metal. Not blood exactly. The memory of it. The walls are dark red stone veined with black. A narrow table stands at the center beneath a single white light.

Professor Neris enters behind me. She closes the door. The classroom disappears. For the first time, the assessment becomes private.

Three sealed glass vials rest on the table. Each contains one drop of blood. Preserved. Dark. Still. Professor Neris stands opposite me. "What were you trained to identify?"

"Race. Age. Health. Magical condition." I answer.

"Do you want to do it?" She asks.

"Yes." I answer.

"Begin."

I approach the first. The glass is thick enough to contain scent. Not entirely. I focus. Vampire senses extend beyond smell. Blood carries rhythm even when separated from the body. Density. Magic. History written in physical form.

"Wolf," I say.

"Approximate age?" She asks.

"Twenty-five."

"Health?"

"Previous fracture in the left arm. Fully healed. Mild exhaustion when collected."

Professor Neris' expression remains neutral. "Magical condition?"

I pause to think. "Transformation suppressed."

She gestures toward the second vial. I identify a fae woman. Older. Healthy. Magically depleted after prolonged healing.

The third— Human. No inherited magic. Traces of poison neutralized before collection.

Professor Neris nods. "Competent." Not praise. Still, something in me relaxes. This I understand. This belongs to the world I knew before arriving. She removes another vial from beneath the table. The blood inside is almost black. Older than the others. "This sample has been preserved beyond ordinary sensory viability."

I examine it. "I won't be able to identify much."

"Correct." She nods.