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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

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BOOK: A College of Magics
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Faris stiffened but kept silent.
Portia looked anxious. “Not to talk about last night?” She glanced at Menary and blushed.
“Vigil,” said Nathalie, paused to swallow, and continued. “Isn't that always the way? Eve-Marie is short on sleep anyway because she insists on studying. Then the infant here gets in trouble and Eve-Marie makes the lot of you turn out for the rescue.” Gunhild smiled sheepishly but said nothing.
Nathalie went on. “The very next day, Eve-Marie gets called up for her vigil, short on sleep and hollow with hunger.”
“Hard cheese for Eve-Marie,” Portia said. “The Dean does it on purpose.”
“Well, now we know where Eve-Marie is. What about you?” said Jane, filling Faris's water glass. “Where've you been?”
“I've spent the afternoon smiling at Dame Villette while she tore thin strips off me. What have you been doing?”
“Nothing singular,” said Menary. “Why was Dame Villette angry with you?”
“Grammar, same as always,” said Faris. She looked up from her plate into Menary's gray eyes and found her appetite had vanished.
Menary lifted her eyebrows and smiled faintly.
Faris started to return the smile, knowing the expression didn't reach her eyes. But as she began her artificial response, something in Menary's small porcelain smile provoked Faris to genuine amusement. She grinned at Menary. Menary kept her mask of arch amusement intact. Faris returned her look for look, hardly able to keep from laughing aloud. The other students at the table glanced from Faris to Menary and back, felt their own expressions lighten.
“Lambkins, we will live,”
Faris murmured.
Menary's brows drew together as her smile faded. She glanced from Faris to Jane, then up the table. With great dignity, she rose and left the dining hall.
“Now,” said Jane, when the door was firmly shut and the diners had all gone back to their plates of stew, “what was that all about?”
Faris shrugged. “I'm blessed if I know. After staring at Dame Villette, my expression is out of control. Dissect my
thought processes if you must but don't hold me responsible for my appearance while you do so.”
“Menary doesn't like you,” Gunhild said.
Nathalie fixed Gunhild with a disapproving gaze. “Odious child, didn't we tell you not to speak until you're spoken to?”
“Who says so?” Faris asked Gunhild.
“Don't encourage her,” Jane said. “It's taken us most of the day to bring her to a proper sense of her own idiocy.”
“Menary did,” Gunhild answered. “She says you brag about your family too much.”
“She's the one who brags about her family,” said Portia, “and all their possessions. Do you think they really keep lions in the house?”
“And just when has Menary ever wasted the breath it takes to tell a first-year student anything?” Nathalie asked.
“Or willingly eaten a meal at the same table with us,” added Faris. “What brought her here today?”
“She said she had a whim to sit here,” Portia replied. “There was an empty place and she claimed it. I haven't seen her so friendly in weeks. We could hardly discourage her. I don't think it's possible to keep lions indoors. What would one feed them?”
“She was nice to me at the Glass Slipper,” Gunhild said.
“List, list,” said Jane, holding up a hand to silence Nathalie's reproof, “O list. When was this?”
Gunhild blushed. “Yesterday. She was talking to Maxim.”
“Who's Maxim?” Nathalie demanded. “As if I couldn't guess.”
Gunhild drew a complicated design on her plate with the tines of her fork. The other students traded looks of exasperated impatience as they waited for her to speak. “You know,” she said, finally.
“Menary knew that sailor?” Jane prompted.
Gunhild hesitated.
Nathalie said, “Don't simper, you aggravating little wart. Yes or no?”
“You knew that man with the gun,” Gunhild told Faris.
“Don't try to change the subject,” Faris replied. “Did Menary know the sailor?”
Gunhild nodded. “They seemed very friendly.”
“I can just imagine,” said Jane. “Did Menary put you up to that jest with the aquavit?”
Gunhild shook her head.
“Could Menary have stopped to put the sailor up to it?” asked Nathalie.
“Why would Menary waste her time with a sailor?” Portia asked. “She barely speaks to us anymore.”
“Well, for one thing, the sailor is male,” said Jane. “You may have noticed that the Pagan has interests in that direction.”
“No,” said Faris, “I hadn't. Go on.”
Nathalie glanced around the crowded dining hall. “I wouldn't elaborate if I were you, Jane.”
Jane's eyes narrowed. “Do the walls have ears?”
“They might as well,” Nathalie replied. “And what do the Pagan's interests amount to? Nothing but rumors. It isn't wise to spread them.”
“Or to figure in them,” said Portia.
“I heard a rumor,” Gunhild offered. “I heard Faris was called to the Dean's office.”
Faris helped herself to a large bite of stew and thought while she chewed. When she was able, she said, “I was.”
“I rest my case,” said Nathalie.
“Dare I ask why?” Jane inquired.
“It had something to do with our outing last night,” Faris answered.
Portia and Gunhild winced at each other.
Nathalie asked, “Why not all of you truants? Why just summon Faris?”
“The Dean only caught one name,” Faris replied. “Mine.”
Jane looked stricken. “Oh—oh, dear. I do apologize. Was it very bad?”
“Swift and nearly painless,” Faris said. “Punishment suspended, unless I'm caught at it again.”
“And if you are?” Jane asked.
“Summary execution.”
“Sword, or silken rope?” inquired Nathalie.
“I didn't ask,” said Faris. “Judging from her manner, I think the Dean had something like a firing squad in mind.”
“Suitable for mass executions,” said Jane. She glared at Gunhild.
“I know,” said Gunhild hastily. “It's all my fault.”
“Next time you get homesick,” said Nathalie, “do us all a favor and go home, will you?”
Jane looked past Nathalie toward the door.
“Lo, where it comes again.”
“Finally,” said Nathalie.
Charlotte paused in her entry to collect a plate of stew, sauntered to the place Menary had left, and sank gracefully into the high-backed chair.
“How's Eve-Marie?” Nathalie asked.
Charlotte slid Menary's plate into the middle of the table and put hers in its place. “Pass the bread, please. Ask not how, but where.” She smiled slightly.
Portia passed the bread basket. “Where?”
“At the foot of the Gabriel Tower,” Charlotte replied. “This stew is
extremely
cold.”
“Don't eat it, then,” Jane advised. “Does she seem all right?”
“I have to, I'm starving,” Charlotte replied. “She's all right now. She wandered about for what seemed like hours before she hit on a place that suited her. At least she's out of the wind.”
“She'll freeze anyway,” said Nathalie. “It's far too early in the term for a vigil.”
“But then, Eve-Marie's always been precocious,” said Charlotte, between quick bites.
“Bad enough to watch the night through when it's warm,” said Portia. “By morning she'll be an icicle. I hope I get called in May.”
Charlotte looked thoughtful. “She ought to last out the night pretty well. I bagged a goosefeather comforter out of the dormitory. She's wrapped up to the eyebrows.”
“Eve-Marie is a queen among women and she's going to have the best vigil in fifty years, you'll see,” Nathalie predicted. “No mice, no pigeons, nothing paltry for Eve-Marie. A tiger—a comet—something spectacular.”
“I'm extremely glad to hear you say so,” Charlotte said. “It was your comforter.”
“I'd rather see something utterly mundane,” said Portia. “I won't be tempted to boast about it.”
“An ant,” suggested Gunhild.
“I'd hold out for a spider, if I were you,” said Nathalie. “What sort of spiritual guide would an ant make? Though I suppose it depends on your spirit.”
“Must we really debate this now?” sighed Charlotte. “I've just spent the past two hours pursuing Eve-Marie from perch to perch while she muttered to herself about it. I think that's why she chose the Gabriel Tower. There's a view of the sea. Perhaps she hopes to see a fish. Isn't there
anything
else to eat?”
Portia passed the bread basket again.
“Leviathan,” offered Gunhild.
“Crumbs,” said Charlotte darkly. She emptied the bread basket and looked dolefully around the table. “Have I mentioned that I had no luncheon at all? I meant to make short work of my tutorial and just nip down to the patisserie after. But it was not to be. Dame Woodland came stamping in all rumpled and cross-looking, like my little brother after a bath. Seems they'd had a spot of bother with the anchors this afternoon. She was distracted enough to put me through my paces for an extra hour.”
Faris looked pointedly at Menary's unfinished dinner. “Menary lost her appetite and left us.”
“Menary, eh?” Charlotte eyed the plate for a long moment, then said regretfully, “I find I'm not so hungry as I thought, thanks.”
“What sort of trouble with the anchors?” Jane asked. “I thought Dame Malory seemed a trifle off her game this afternoon. Preoccupied with the underpinnings?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Dame Woodland wasn't disposed to enlighten me.”
“An owl,” said Gunhild, after much earnest thought.
“It's early days for you to be worried about signs and portents, isn't it?” Jane inquired. “Best be careful of such matters. My cousin Henry went to Glasscastle with a man who saw a white stag on his vigil. He was so excited he told his tutor. Poof.” She dropped her crumpled napkin beside her plate.
“I don't see how that superstition ever got started,” Faris said, as she handed Charlotte her own plate. “If no one can say what they see on vigil, explain to me how anyone knows what the vigil is supposed to accomplish.”
Charlotte saluted Faris with her spoon. “Thank you. Extremely grateful though I am, I insist that if we bandy words, we bandy the correct words. It isn't a superstition—it's a tradition. If you fast and keep watch from sunset to dawn, you're bound to see something. Fast long enough and you'll
make
yourself see something. You believe it helps you and it helps you. If you don't believe in it, of course it won't work. That's true of anything.”
“And if you try to explain it, it won't work,” said Nathalie. “The same way magic stops working if you try to explain it.”
“Which is why none of our tutors ever teach us any magic,” Faris said. “I've gathered that much. But suppose I don't believe in algebra. Algebra works just the same.”
“Not for me,” said Portia. Gunhild nodded agreement.
“Suit yourself,” said Jane. “When the Dean tells you it's your night to keep vigil, eat a hearty dinner and go to bed. As for me, I believe it. When my night comes, I'll be out there watching the wind, just like Eve-Marie.”
“After all,” said Charlotte lazily, “if there's nothing to it, all that's lost is a night's sleep. No novelty there. If it works as it's said to, it's magic.”
“It's the Emperor's new clothes,” said Faris. “Odile never mentioned any vigil.”
“You know Odile didn't tell you everything. Take a long look at Eve-Marie tomorrow morning,” Jane advised. “Make up your mind then.”
“Will you admit it's superstition if Eve-Marie doesn't see her spiritual guide during the vigil?” Faris asked. “No, you'll claim Eve-Marie doesn't have the aptitude for magic. It's a double bind.”
“What a scoffer you are tonight,” Jane marveled. “Is it Dame Villette's baleful influence? Or the Dean's?”
“I just find it absurd that Eve-Marie is outdoors on a night like this, freezing for folklore,” Faris said. “It snowed this morning, for pity's sake.”
BOOK: A College of Magics
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