Give the Dark My Love(14)

I quickly scribbled the names, topics, and locations of the day’s classes: geography, humanities, history, poetry, potions, algebra, physics, philosophy, theoretical alchemy, runes. It would be impossible to attend them all, but Master Ostrum clearly had no interest in advising us on which lessons we should bother with—he left the room as soon as he finished rattling off the list.

My classmates gathered their belongings, and the rude boy whose seat I’d accidentally taken made a point to step on my notebook as he rushed for the door, skidding it across the floor with his foot.

“Need help?” Greggori, the boy Master Ostrum said I’d be sharing evening sessions with, bent down and picked up my notebook, returning it to me. He looked like he belonged in a painting contained in a gilded frame, and I was the girl who couldn’t afford admission into the museum. His jaw was narrow and his cheekbones were high; “elegant features,” Grammy would have said. But his eyes were kind.

“Thanks.” I took my notebook from him, then stood, my hand leaving a smear of blood on the floor.

“We should get that looked at,” Greggori said, nodding to the cut.

“It’s fine.” My mind raced, trying to figure out which lecture I should go to first. Some started immediately—I didn’t want to be late.

“There’s only geography first,” he said, as if reading my mind. “And it’s a bore. Just long-winded ramblings about the utter vastness of our mighty Empire. If you know your maps, the class is fairly pointless.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, not sure whether or not to heed his advice.

“I mean, you can obviously choose whichever lectures you want to attend,” he continued. “But I’m going to humanities first—it starts in half an hour—and then probably history, poetry, and runes.”

I nodded, grateful for the suggestions, although I wasn’t sure what the point of poetry would be for someone who wanted to study medicinal alchemy.

“Thank you, Greggori.” I lifted my bag onto my shoulder, turning to the door before I noticed the goofy half smile spreading on his face.

“What?” I asked, unsure of what was so funny.

“I like the way you say my name. Like it’s two words. Gray-gory.”

“Are you making fun of my accent?”

“Not at all!” he protested. He started to lead me to the door. “I like it.”

I bit back a grin as I followed him across the quad to the infirmary to clean and bandage my hand. We walked together to the humanities lecture, which was located in a tall brick building overlooking the quad. Its large glass windows twinkled in the sunlight.

I quickly realized just how in over my head I was. While none of the other students took notes, my pen flew across my paper. The following lecture, history, was even worse. As soon as it was over, I picked up my notebook, now riddled with a list of everything I hadn’t understood from the professors. “I think I’ll go to the library,” I said, tension rising within me.

“Independent study.” Greggori nodded as if this was a good idea. “Master Ostrum would probably appreciate that.”

I adjusted my bag over my shoulder, grateful he didn’t follow me. I didn’t want him to know how behind I was.

“Hey!” a voice called from the quad. I turned to see a girl about my age but far taller than me heading in my direction. “You’re the new girl, yeah?” she said.

I nodded. I vaguely recognized her from Master Ostrum’s opening lecture. “I’m Nedra,” I said as I held the library door open for her.

“My name’s Salis Omella,” she said.

I followed her inside, breathing in the smell of old books. Home.

Salis dumped her books on a table and held her arm out, offering me a seat with her. “Sorry about Tomus this morning,” she said, gesturing to my notebook that now had a prominent shoeprint across the front. “He’s an ass.”

I was surprised at her kindness, but grateful for it.

“What lectures did you go to this morning?” she asked, dropping her voice after the librarian glared at her.

“Humanities and history,” I said. My notebook felt heavy in my hand, a guilty confessional of all I didn’t know.

Salis pulled a face. “You had Newmas for history, yeah?” she asked. When I stared blankly at her, she dropped her chin to her chest and muttered, “Talks like this?”

“Yeah, him,” I said.

Salis rolled her eyes. “He’s brilliant, and he knows it. Such a show-off. None of us needs to know what Merry Twindle the Third thought of the eighth regiment of the Who Cares Battalion in the War of Unimportance.” Her voice was rising with her passion, and the librarian shushed her again.

Suddenly, my feelings of inadequacy felt foolish. I pulled out my notebook, showing Salis the list of names and books I’d felt the need to look up after the lectures. Salis snorted. “Yeah, that’s classic Newmas,” she said. “None of that is important. But, look, if you like history, you should come to the focused study hall my friends and I do. It can count toward your report to Ostrum.”

That sounded perfect—there was no way I’d be able to create a reasonable report from the scattered, disconnected, and jumbled notes I’d taken so far.

“A study hall sounds brilliant. More like school back home.”