Amused by the thought, Han seated himself and waited while the proctor performed the ritual of opening the tabernacle and activating the magic that animated the oracle head. “What is your determination of the candidate?” the proctor intoned reverentially.
A tingle passed through Han, different than his usual dislike of being near the undead thing. Its dark eyes stared through him. As it opened its lipless mouth and delivered its verdict, Han’s head swam with crashing dizziness.
“The candidate,” it replied in that voiceless whisper, “is a familiar.”
The proctor smiled.
Han sat there in stunned silence as the proctor performed the ritual to close the tabernacle again. If he wanted to credit the proctor with any humanity, he’d think he was giving Han time to process the bad news. Which… he couldn’t.
Even though he’d known it could go either way, even though he and Iliana had discussed the possibility at length, and even though he’d been so fucking flip about not minding being a familiar because thwarting his mother’s ambitions would be worth it, a huge part of him had never really believed he’d be anything other than a wizard.
And Iliana… what would happen to her now? He’d been so sure he’d be able to protect her. Could Sabrina Hanneil make good on her threats? It had been easy to scoff at her before, but the peril had suddenly become severely and seriously real.
“I’ll inform the Convocation Academy administration that you’ve been duly categorized, Familiar Haniel,” the proctor said, not unkindly. “But not until tomorrow morning, when they’re back in the office. At that point, you’ll receive your final MP scorecard showing your categorization, and your new class roster so you can finish out your specialization. Until then, it’s entirely up to you whether or not you choose to share the news.”
Han jerked his gaze up to the proctor’s knowing black eyes. All those times the newly minted wizards had announced their new status, the joyful hair-cutting and celebrating after… Of course those had been spontaneous announcements. He recalled, too, when Iliana was certified, her quiet grace in the face of her friends’ commiseration. There were never announcements for familiars. They simply moved to the residence wing for familiars without fanfare, attending their new roster of classes, and everyone simplyknew.
Gossip at the academy traveled faster than Hanneil thought-seekers. But he had a reprieve, until morning.
Not quite a full day and night to come up with some way to protect Iliana. Which might mean giving her up. If he agreed to Sabrina Hanneil’s bid to make him her familiar, Iliana would be safe. His heart would be broken, but maybe that would numb him to life as Sabrina’s pet.
“You may go now,” the proctor said pointedly, and Han jerked himself out of his chair, the sense of unreality slowing his movements. He felt ill, unable to think. “Take it easy,” the proctor added. “It’s a shock for the familiars. Though everyone knows it’s possible, even likely that they’ll be a familiar, somehow everyone thinks they’ll be a wizard.” The proctor produced a thin smile, his words losing whatever empathy he’d intended, given that he was a wizard, however minor. Even the least wizard was better off than the most powerful familiar.
“You can take comfort in this,” the proctor added as Han forced himself to walk on stiff legs. “With your high MP scores, you’ll be a desirable familiar. A handsome familiar like you, with your level of magic, a wizard will snap you up. You’ll likely get to bed many, many females as the house that acquires you will want to breed you frequently. It’s not such a bad life.”
Han stumbled out of the room, hanging onto the curving wall of the testing tower to keep from plummeting headlong down the steep, spiraling stairs. He paused halfway down, aware of the cold sweat dripping down his spine, the black hole in his stomach. Curse it, hefeltpale. Anyone watching for him to emerge from this last test would take one look at him and know what verdict he’d received. At least this testing session had been earlier in the day, so his mother shouldn’t have sent a Ratsiel courier yet.
Regardless, he needed to get a grip on himself. So, he sat on the step and did what Iliana always nagged him to practice more and what he’d never done outside of class: he meditated. He’d always hated meditating, his brain forever wanting to zoom off to more interesting thoughts and activities—and his current state of mind only exacerbatedthatproblem—but they’d all been drilled in the practice. It was one of the core academy disciplines that served wizards and familiars equally well. Mastering magic required mental discipline, no matter who you were, and the higher your MP scores, the more you needed.
It was time for Han to apply some self-discipline. Banishing all other thoughts, he focused entirely on the mental discipline until he settled into a calm center, his thoughts clearing. Gradually his heartrate slowed, the slick sweat receding, and he could breathe easily and deeply. Thinking back to the day before, his flip insouciance at being forever uncategorized—to think he’d griped about that as aproblem—he arranged that emotional state over the surface of his mind, like a mask.
By the time he could stand steadily again, a significant amount of time later, he’d practically convinced himself that he’d heard the oracle head pronounce himuncategorized. Holding onto that sound and image, to his own exasperation, he braved the remaining stairs and any Hanneil thought-seekers or astute fellow students.
The tower guards nodded to him as he emerged. “That took a long time,” one noted.
“Proctor wasn’t in any hurry to see me,” Han replied with a careless shrug. “Maybe he’s tired of looking at my face every day.”
Both guards laughed. “Guess we’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He waved without looking back, striding off down the hallway. He almost skipped detouring to his room to get his coat and skates, as that would increase the odds of running into someone he couldn’t easily dissemble with, but it would also look too odd for him to head out ice-skating without them. Everyone knew he’d been to testing, yet again, so they’d be looking for anything out of the ordinary.
So, he strolled to his room, exchanging greetings here and there with friends, accepting their commiseration on his being forever uncategorized. Finally his eternal state of limbo served him well—everyone just assumed he’d come out uncategorized, as always, so they didn’t look any deeper than the usual jokes he flippantly tossed out.
Meditation actually worked. Go figure.
It was a gorgeous day outside, almost annoyingly so. Han would’ve preferred a raging blizzard to match his mood and reflect the fact that his plans had just come crashing down around him. The clear blue skies and bright sunlight seemed to mock him—as did the music, laughter, and ongoing merriment of the festive afternoon.
He spotted Iliana out on the ice, her velvet cloak a deeper blue than the sky. She was spinning in place, raising and lowering her arms to speed and slow her pirouettes. Her hood had fallen back, as it always seemed to, and her long, bright hair flew around her in a coppery cloud. She was so beautiful, the best person he’d ever known, and he would lose her forever.
He sat on a bench to put on his skates, spotting Iliana’s slim, black boots and setting his own next to them.
And Sabrina Hanneil sat down beside him. “Happy Founder’s Day, Han,” she purred, shaking her head a little so the sharp bob of her short, blond hair swung sassily. “How did the testing go?”
“Uncategorized,” he ground out, heaving a sigh. Hopefully she’d read his aggravation at frustration with the news.
“There, there, darling,” she replied, combing her fingers down the long queue of his hair and tugging playfully. “You’ll know one of these days. I just hope you’re reconciling yourself to the likelihood that you’ll be a familiar.Myfamiliar. My uncle has already prepared a preemptive offer.” She simpered at his shocked expression. “I’m his favorite, you know.”
“How nice for you,” Han said dully.
