Give the Dark My Love(7)

“Well, it’ll have to be,” Professor Ostrum snapped back.

My eyes scanned the office. Books and papers were crammed into every available space—the shelves were at least double stacked, with piles of leather-bound tomes littering the floor. I tried to read some of the embossed titles.

Professor Ostrum abruptly stood up and slammed shut a door behind the desk that I’d not noticed before, partially hidden by a bookcase. A closet, I assumed.

He reclaimed his seat and lifted a folder with my name on the front. “You’re focusing on medicinal alchemy?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Sir.”

“Transactional alchemy is easier,” he said, almost to himself. “And transformational alchemy has more job openings. Medicinal is a competitive field.”

Not in the north, I thought. Traveling alchemists went from village to village as they could, but one could never be certain to get a good one, if one at all. I remembered the fate of Dilada and Carso’s parents. No alchemist had come to their village until two weeks after they were in the ground.

“Medicinal alchemy,” I said with conviction. “That’s what I want to study.”

Professor Ostrum didn’t look up at me. “So. A scholarship student.”

I didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to want me to.

“That’s rare.” Professor Ostrum peered at me over the folder. “The benefactor isn’t listed. You have a rich relative somewhere?”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of that idea, but I bit my tongue. I explained about Papa’s letters.

Professor Ostrum tossed the folder on his desk, ignoring the way the papers inside slid out in disarray. “Probably the governor,” he said. “It’s not like the Emperor cares about anyone on Lunar Island.”

The professor’s decision not to attend the inauguration suddenly made more sense. I’d never met anyone who had any type of passionate feelings for the Emperor one way or another, but Professor Ostrum’s hatred was palpable.

“You only went to village school?” Professor Ostrum asked, changing the topic.

I nodded. “But I read a lot, both Imperial and some ancient, as well as runes. Sir,” I added. “My father is a bookseller, and—”

He cut me off. “There’s only so much you can do with books.”

This seemed disingenuous coming from a man whose office was littered with books. My fingers outlined the hard edge of my great-grandmother’s text. Professor Ostrum’s eyes followed the movement, and my hand froze. I felt my cheeks warming as I pulled the book out of the bag.

“This is a family heirloom,” I told him, opening the pages. “I, um, have been studying it.” I struggled to find the words that would prove I was worthy to be at Yūgen. “It has medicines, potions. Some basic practices.”

“Alchemy is a science,” Professor Ostrum said sharply. “Somewhat more advanced than knowing bowroot is good for headaches.”

“I know.” My voice betrayed my impatience and irritation, and I bit my lip before continuing. “That’s why I want to be an alchemist. This,” I said, clutching the book, “isn’t enough. But I’ve also read some of the alchemy textbooks my father sells. There’s not much overlap. For example,” I continued, feeling as if I had to prove myself. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Wasting Death?”

Professor Ostrum steepled his fingers. “I assume you mean that disease among unhygienic people, where their limbs rot?”

“It’s been spreading in the north,” I said, biting back my retort that Carso and Dilada’s parents were not unhygienic by any means. “It’s hard to get alchemists to come to rural areas. But we use tincture of blue ivy . . .” I clutched my great-grandmother’s book, but Professor Ostrum’s eyes were already dismissing my words.

“Blue ivy is in use throughout the hospitals here,” he said derisively.

My stomach sank. “Well,” I snapped, “that’s why I’ve come here. So I can learn and find new methods to help. From Yūgen and my village.”

For the first time since I arrived, Professor Ostrum looked interested. “You’re saying you want to study modern alchemy and compare it to more traditional methods?”

I nodded. “There’s value here,” I said, tapping my great-grandmother’s book. “And there’s value in alchemy.”

“Homeopathic cures in conjunction with alchemy certainly isn’t unheard of,” he pointed out, “but I like the way you think. We can learn a lot from our ancestors.” He contemplated me for several moments. I grew uncomfortable under his gaze, but he didn’t look away. “Right. Classes here are not like your village school,” Professor Ostrum continued, his voice sharper now. “Grades are reliant upon two essays, one at midterm, one at final. You are assigned a master. You will report to your master in a group class at the start of each day, then it is up to you to attend whatever lectures are being given throughout the day. This will include lab work or on-site training at the hospitals in the area. You are expected to report back at the end of the day to your master, where you will be tested on whether or not you have adequately learned that day.” He squared his shoulders, his gaze unwavering. “Your master will decide if you pass or fail, if you stay at this academy or not. Your entire fate is in his hands.”