Once they’d managed to escape Cardaimont’s underground classroom, Saahira found throngs of students moving toward the dining hall en masse. She kept her steps slow, fearing that a throng of them would squish her in between and carry her away in their swift river, separating her from Cyprus. A pang of nostalgia throbbed in her chest as she recalled the rush of travelers and familiar faces hurrying into The Laughing Bull around dinner time.

  Cyprus matched her pace, carrying his books outside of the smaller pack with ease. Saahira fingered the thick strap of her newly acquired satchel, following it to the soft leather folds and sparkling buckles of the bag itself.

  “So, now that you know my life story, why don’t you tell me a little of yours?” he asked while they walked.

  Heat rushed up her neck. What was there to tell? “But I’ve barely learned anything about you yet. Like if you’re an expert alchemist.”

  He chuckled. “We can talk about that later. I would rather hear more about you.”

  Saahira licked her lips and struggled to choose what to say. “It’s really not impressive. At all.” He looked at her pointedly and tilted his head to the side. He was waiting for more. She sighed. “I was born in Almaryn, a village so small that we wonder why it’s recorded on Chivari maps. My father, Raleigh, is a blacksmith—” She noticed the excited sparkle in his eye, and she shook her head. “A blacksmith for a small village is much different than one in a larger city. He made tools for farmers and shoes for horses.”

  He grinned. “Was I so obvious?”

  “Yes. I wish I could tell you that he forged the Blade of Ancients or the Queen’s Scepter. But neither of my parents are heroes.”

  “Everyone’s a hero to someone.” Cyprus shrugged. His earring swayed, catching the light with the motion. “An honest trade. What about your mother?”

  “Violette, my mother, took care of my younger sister—Isa—and me. She knows a few medicinal alchemy recipes, so she tends minor ailments when the village healer isn’t available.” Without her books to worry at the corners of the covers, her hands felt woefully empty. She lifted the edge of her cloak instead, plying at the short brown tassels along its edges. “I didn’t recognize most of the ingredients in Professor Cardaimont’s classroom or that went into the bottled light,” she murmured.

  “You weren’t alone in that. It’s why the professor chose it, and why so few could execute it correctly. Nothing to lose sleep over. You’ll learn.”

  Only a handful of students lingered behind them; most having vanished inside of the dining hall. Saahira could hear the trickling water in the fountains again, but with the quiet came more pressing thoughts. Professor Cardaimont’s fearful gaze, Dimitri’s terrible comments, Cyprus’s veiled threat. She selfishly wanted to ask Cyprus so much more. What had his father done? Why was a vampire afraid of him? But the questions felt intrusive and self-serving. She had a hard enough time talking about herself; what right did she have to ask him?

  “How old is Isa?” Cyprus continued.

  “She just turned six. But she can already mend clothing better than I can, and has borrowed nearly every book in the village.”

  “Maybe she’ll follow in her older sister’s footsteps?”

  Saahira shrugged. “Maybe. Do you have any siblings?”

  “No. But I believe that’s for the better.” He smiled wryly as they ascended a short staircase. “I’m not letting you change the subject so easily.”

  Saahira frowned.

  They reached the ornate double doors leading into the dining hall. The arched, polished wood was carved in six sections, each featuring a raised square at its center. Round iron rivets skirted the edge of each door, and twin handles fashioned from black metal rested at their center. They were identical to the other sets of doors leading to the main hallways of the sanctum, but Saahira found them just as imposing as the first set she’d crossed.

  Cyprus rearranged the books in his arms and grabbed one of the metal handles, pulling the door open for Saahira. Her blush returned as she bowed her head and stepped inside.

  “Where would you like to sit?” he asked over the din of excited voices that coated the room.

  Saahira looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. While her fears of inadequacy teetered on overflowing, they were forgotten for just a few moments while she took in the sight of the hall. The walls were adorned with thick golden frames holding paintings of distinguished-looking men and women in black robes. High, decorated ceilings arched over three tables that ran from one end of the hall to the other. Pristine white cloths covered each one, embellished with red embroidery thread swirling in unfamiliar patterns and runes at their edges.

  The Laughing Bull had never used cloths over their tables, not even for weddings. They were too expensive to replace, and there were a few regulars who would have made it their life’s mission to stain them. Saahira made it her new life’s mission not to stain these.

  Glasses with folded napkins inside beckoned incoming students, while the places already occupied held steaming plates of meats, fresh vegetables, and warm bread. It smelled divine and looked like a place setting out of a fairy tale.

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  “Should I choose a place?” Cyprus mused.

  All she could do was nod. Every student sat straight-backed and proud, slicing tiny pieces of meat with shimmering cutlery and sipping a bubbling drink from their glasses that Saahira didn’t recognize.

  He led her around the first and second tables, finding two spots with empty seats on either side of them. Before she could say another word, a woman in a sleek black uniform appeared, holding two covered plates in her hands. She silently set them before Cyprus and Saahira and removed the coverings.

  “Water or cider?” she asked, her voice much more cheerful than her face.

  “Oh, um, cider, please.” Cider with bubbles? She had to know.

  “Water’s fine,” Cyprus said.

  The woman lifted two pitchers from the center of the table and filled their glasses. “Will there be anything else?”

  Saahira looked at Cyprus, unsure of what else she could possibly ask for. “No, thank you,” he answered for both of them. Saahira nodded her agreement.

  “Enjoy.” Without another word, the woman vanished.

  Saahira blinked and looked from side to side. “Professor Cardaimont did that too, didn’t she?”

  “She did. It’s a simple translocation spell that works anywhere within the walls of the sanctum,” Cyprus replied as he lifted his knife and fork. “We can use it as well once we’ve learned it in spellcraft.”

  “You know so much about the school.” Saahira picked up her fork and poked at the carrots. Their color was perfect and ripe, and the texture equally so. “Was there a book I should have studied before today?”

  “No. Both of my parents attended.” He chewed a bite of the pheasant on his plate, hummed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “I don’t think there’s a way to ask this politely. What brought you to the sanctum, Saahira?”

  At first, she found herself taken aback by how easily her name rolled off his tongue. She blinked and buried her gaze in her pheasant, then chewed her lip. Why am I here? Would she lose her only friend with her admission? “I hear demons.”

  Cyprus shook his head and sliced off another modest piece of his lunch. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know hearing or speaking with a demon is considered a good indicator of magical ability.”

  Despite his easy reply, Saahira still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Not just one. It’s multiple voices. Like a choir. Prof—” She bit her tongue and corrected herself. “…Lillith…called them ‘the Six.’”

  “Hm.” He tapped his fork against his plate. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

  “Lillith said it’s very rare.” She lowered her voice, and the truth continued to spill from her mouth. “They…tell me to do things. Especially in my dreams. One night, I drew a summoning circle using my own blood, and I don’t remember it at all.”

  “You…?” Cyprus hesitated, then dropped his tone to a whisper. “Did you summon one of them?” The distress inside of his question pierced her all the same.

  “No, I—!” She leaned forward and let her black hair fall passed her shoulders to curtain her face. “I…don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  More flashes of the choir’s requests followed behind her tale, and the same delicious tension she’d felt in Lillith’s classroom plied at the edges of her skin and in her stomach. ‘Relax, Saahira. Succumb.’ Their voices danced on the edges of her memory. Her appetite shifted to something more carnal, and her fingers trembled around her fork. She focused on arranging the carrots into a circle, bumping the roasted bird to the side to make room.

  “I hope not,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen it, if so.”

  “From what I understand of summons, you would know,” Cyprus replied, his voice returning to its easy-going rhythm. “If Lillith didn’t mention one hovering behind you, I think you’re safe.”

  “I think so, too.” Saahira tapped her fork against the plate. “A-anyway. My mother found me in the morning and saw the circle. She knew about the sanctum, and she was very excited to discover that one of her daughters had magical aptitude.”

  There was a long pause, and Saahira wondered if she’d said too much. At last, Cyprus asked, “Is there no one else in your family with magic? Or who can speak with demons?”

  Saahira shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She glanced at the expensive satchel, and Cyprus’s first question about her books echoed in her head, Isn’t this from a few years ago? “I don’t know how they were able to pay for me to come here. I spent every last Chivarian copper that I’d saved from working at The Laughing Bull to buy my books.”

  “At the…what?” Humor touched his tone, reigniting her doubt and frustration.

  “The Laughing Bull. It’s the only tavern in Almaryn.”

  “Wait, you worked in a tavern?”

  “I had to contribute somehow. Not all of us are born with silver spoons in our mouths,” Saahira replied, her tone snappier than she’d intended.

  Cyprus winced. “That wasn’t how I meant my question at all.”

  She silently guided two green beans to the center of her carrot circle, crossing them in an X.

  -It will take more than that to invoke us.-

  Now you want to talk?

  -Patience.- The word was a gentle whisper that caressed her shoulders and nibbled her ear. The memory of her glistening blood on the floor flickered just behind her eyes, and she stabbed her miniature summoning circle into pieces. She squeezed her eyes closed and shuddered.

  “Saahira?”

  She didn’t belong in this sanctum. She didn’t fit in with anyone. No amount of encouraging words from her mother and father would change the fact that her clothes were tattered compared to those of any one of her peers, or that her books were old, or that she had cuts and calluses on her fingers and palms from working in the gardens, climbing trees, and serving tables at The Laughing Bull.

  She dropped her fork and hid her face behind her hands. “No. You were right to ask, Cyprus. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “What? Hold on, that isn’t what I said.” Cyprus touched her shoulder, and she froze. “I was just thinking that…” He hesitated and pulled away. “Well, that Noctia would have been lucky to have someone like you in their taverns.”

  Saahira rolled his words on her tongue once. Twice. Three times until she found the courage to lower her hands. She found his blushing face turned away from her. Her panic waned, the tension in her stomach eased, and her thoughts slowed.

  “I’m sorry.” He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. “That sounded better in my head.”

  “N-no, please. I’m sorry that I…” She struggled to put her feelings into words. “I’m sorry.” She turned back to her lunch. The steam had long worn off, so she took a bite of bread. It tasted better than any bread she’d ever had in her life—fluffy, sweet, and coated with fresh butter. She stole a sip of the cider and enjoyed the delicate bubbles on her tongue. Cyprus watched her from the corner of his eye.

  Maybe… Maybe she did have a chance. Professor Gallowood had said she’d need to work harder, but hadn’t demanded her expulsion. None of her professors had.

  “Thank you,” she said after a time.

  Cyprus grinned and returned to his own meal. “Hey, Headmaster Erato only admits students he believes can finish their schooling. Have more patience with yourself.”

  -Patience.- Another shudder rolled down her spine, but it was easier to ignore this time. Even if just a few people inside the Sanctum of the Nine Arts believed in her ability, wasn’t that enough?

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