Give the Dark My Love(25)

“The northern villages have a different attitude about Wellebourne than the south. And that shapes everything, even the way our government is today.” Salis spoke with authority, although I doubted she’d ever been in a village like mine.

I couldn’t keep the doubt from my face, but as I looked at the serious faces of the girls before me, I gave her words some thought. Wellebourne’s revolt had started—and ended—in the north. The capital shifted from Hart to Northface Harbor, and the former rebels were left to farm their way out of poverty. “It was a century and a half ago, though,” I said, still musing over her words.

“Not that long, considering the Allyrian Empire has been around for nine hundred years,” Flora said. “Lunar Island has only been settled for one hundred and forty-two years.”

“One event in history,” Salis said, her voice rising with passion, “ripples down and affects an entire nation.”

Lunar Island is a colony, not a nation, I thought.

“Because Wellebourne started his rebellion in the north,” Salis continued, “the north lost the capital. Because the capital moved here, this city rose in power. The harbor shifted—boats came here, and with the boats came trade.”

“The north didn’t advance as quickly as the south,” Flora said, picking up the conversation. “They stayed farmers—they stayed poor.”

My cheeks burned. I knew the girls weren’t mocking me or trying to say I was poor, but it stung. I looked out at the group of eager girls. “I promise you, we’re not all sitting in our huts plotting a revolution.” I laughed, but I was the only one who found this humorous. Flora sat back in her seat, disappointment etched on her face.

“What do you think it would take?” Salis asked finally.

“For what?”

“To mobilize the north.”

I gaped at her. “In a rebellion? Against the Emperor?”

She inclined her head, the barest tilt, waiting for me to answer.

“I . . . I don’t know?” I said. “Why are we even discussing this? I thought we were studying history.” When no one answered, I continued, “If you want to talk about what’s happening now, speculating about a revolt against the most powerful man in the world is a waste of time compared to the actual problem of the plague.”

Salis didn’t refute me, she just arched an eyebrow in my direction.

“Aren’t you mad he’s not doing more?” Flora asked. “It’s a bit like Wellebourne’s problem all over again, isn’t it? Emperor Aurellious let the people of Lunar Island freeze to death, and so Wellebourne rebelled. Emperor Auguste has done nothing to help stop the plague, and so . . .”

She let her voice trail off, the implication heavy in the room.

“One change leads to another,” Salis said as the clock tower’s bell started tolling.





THIRTEEN


    Nedra



As soon as Master Ostrum arrived for the morning session the next day, Tomus’s hand shot in the air, his chin tilted up. Master Ostrum didn’t acknowledge him, but Tomus spoke anyway. “When are we going to have our internship at the Governor’s Hospital?” he demanded.

“There will be no internship at the Governor’s Hospital,” Master Ostrum said. Everyone in class started talking at once, but Master Ostrum’s voice rose above them. “Instead, I would like you all to volunteer at the quarantine hospital.” He picked up a sheaf of papers. “Here are timetables of shifts. The alchemists there need help—you saw yesterday how serious this is. Cases of the Wasting Death are piling up.”

From behind me, Salis’s voice piped up. “But sir, isn’t there a chance we would get the Wasting Death if we volunteered there?”

Master Ostrum leveled her with a glare. “There is,” he said. “Which is why every volunteer will take the proper precautions.” He went over the herbal supplements that would be provided for us—wortroot and gold flower to boost the immune system—as well as the heavy screenings, including an inspection of our crucibles, to identify early infection and hopefully treat the illness before it grew.

We all knew, however, that there was still a risk involved.

“I’m not going there,” Tomus said, and I could tell he was putting words to thoughts most of the other students had. “It’s not worth it. Just get us internships at the Governor’s Hospital.”

The Governor’s Hospital treated the sick just like any other hospital. But the difference was in the types of patients. The Governor’s Hospital catered to the rich: old women with colds who decided they needed round-the-clock care; children of wealthy families who were overprotective and needed assurances that the sniffles weren’t the plague; men who attempted gardening as a gentleman’s pursuit and needed blisters lanced.

“Here’re the schedules for the quarantine hospital,” Master Ostrum said, ignoring Tomus. “Anyone who works a shift need not attend any lectures that day.”

Then he left.

For a moment, everyone waited. We were used to lessons with Master Ostrum in the morning, directives on what to focus our studies on. Not this abruptness. Master Ostrum hadn’t even given the class information on the day’s lectures.

Tomus was the first to stand. He made a show of loudly picking up his bag, clomping over the hardwood floors to Master Ostrum’s desk, selecting a timetable, and crushing it in his fist. He let the wadded paper fall into the wastebasket by Master Ostrum’s chair and left the room. The others started moving as if they awoke from a trance, but while they didn’t make a show of rejecting the quarantine hospital’s schedule as much as Tomus had, none of them picked up a paper for themselves either.