Give the Dark My Love(16)

“What other diseases?”

I opened my notebook and slid the pages over to him. He bent over my words, reading them slowly. I glanced at Greggori, who stared at me with wide eyes. He shrugged, the barest lift of his shoulders, as if to say, Who knows how the master will react to this?

“This isn’t the Wasting Death,” Master Ostrum started, tapping my notes on a plague that had infected one of the colonies in the east fifty years ago. “A disease isn’t the same just because symptoms are similar.”

“But diseases evolve,” I said quickly.

Master Ostrum shook his head. “Not like this. Diseases don’t flare up and then reappear half a century later. If they’re going to evolve, they have to spread, change over generations—not just disappear. This was likely some poisoning in this colony’s water or crops.”

“But—”

Master Ostrum raised his hand, silencing me. “You’re dismissed,” he told Greggori. I shifted in my seat, but Master Ostrum shook his head. “Not you.”

The awkward tension was as thick as wool as Greggori gathered his things. I’d thought I wanted to speak by myself, but now I deeply regretted the desire.

“You have much experience with the Wasting Death?” Master Ostrum asked when Greggori closed the door behind him.

I hadn’t been present when Carso and Dilada’s parents had died, but the butcher’s husband in our village hadn’t survived the sickness. One of Ernesta’s girlfriends had lost part of her leg and walked with a cane now. Every time Papa went out in his book cart, Mama would pray he wouldn’t come home sick. And when he did return, he told us of black bunting cast over houses in other villages, warning of the disease’s presence.

“I live in the north,” I said by way of answer.

“So you do,” Master Ostrum said, his voice contemplative. The clock chimed eight. “You’re right,” he added.

I waited for him to continue, afraid to say the wrong thing. Again.

“You don’t need to be in a poetry class. I’d like to see you focused more on the Wasting Death and your medical training. The gods know that too few alchemists have even bothered to consider the consequences of such a disease running rampant within the borders of their own city, much less the rest of Lunar Island.”

My breath caught in my throat. “I can go to the library more,” I said. “Maybe when you give out lecture times, you could give me a list of what books to study and—”

“No,” Master Ostrum said. “I’ll teach you myself. After the morning session, you’ll come back here.”

My hands clenched, and pain shot through my palm from the cut Master Ostrum had given me this morning. I suddenly wasn’t so sure I could survive private lessons with this man.





EIGHT


    Grey



Nedra left the administration building with her head down, lost in thought, and seemed startled when I called her name.

“Hi,” she said, veering over to me.

“How did it go?” I asked tentatively.

“He’s going to give me extra lessons,” she replied.

“Oh,” I said, slowly. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

She peeped up at me, and I saw all the fear swirling inside her. “I thought so, at first. But maybe it’s just because I’m so far behind everyone else and—”

I cut her off. “No way. If you were too far behind, Master Ostrum would drop you as his student. The fact that he’s giving you private lessons—he must really see something special in you.”

“Well,” Nedra said after thinking about it, “I do want to focus more on medical studies. Poetry isn’t for me.” She glanced at me quickly. “Sorry,” she added.

I laughed. “Poetry’s not bad, but it’s not my deepest love,” I said. “I only went to the class so I could be more well rounded. It looks good on applications.”

She shrugged as if none of that mattered to her. I remembered what she’d said in the session, about the Wasting Death. I was ashamed to admit I didn’t know much about the disease—all I had heard was that it was an issue specific to the factories at Blackdocks. The solution seemed simple to me: improve working conditions in the factories, and the disease would likely fade away. But that was easy to say from a distance. I didn’t know anyone personally who had encountered it.

Until now, I realized. “That’s why you’re studying medical alchemy. Because of the Wasting Death.”

“Of course,” she said, passion rising in her voice. “We have to figure out a way to stop it.” Suddenly, she tilted her head and met my eyes. “Were you waiting for me?”

I smiled. “I figured you hadn’t eaten yet,” I said. “I thought we might get some dinner.”

Nedra looked at me gratefully. “I haven’t.” She cast her eyes toward the cafeteria across the quad.

“It’s closed,” I said. “But we can go into the city.” I steered us gently toward the gatehouse on the other side of the quad.

“Isn’t there a curfew?” Nedra asked.

I jingled my coin purse. “Not a problem.” When we reached the guard, I slipped him a silver, and he assured us he’d await our return. I took Nedra to a small pub a few blocks harbor-side of the school. It was located in an old building, the wooden floors covered with rugs to hide the knocked-out knots in the planks. Booths were narrow and built into the walls, something that at least allowed privacy if not comfort.