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“Can I have a volunteer?” Master Ostrum wore a smirk on his face—a clue to every single student to keep their hands firmly on their desks or in their laps. We knew better than to knock at a demon’s door.

But the new girl didn’t.

She lifted her hand. Several of the students behind her snickered, and Tomus bit back a laugh. I wanted to reach over and pull her arm back down, but I knew I couldn’t, and besides, Master Ostrum had already seen her.

He motioned for her to join him at the front of the class, and she made her way to the podium. “This,” he said, turning her around by the shoulders so she was facing the class, “is Nedra Brysstain. Nedra is a new student at Yugen, here on a scholarship.” The room erupted in whispers, but they were short-lived as Master Ostrum cocked his head and raised his eyebrow. His eyes rested on me. “Greggori Astor, she’ll be sharing your evening session time slot.”

He waited for me to protest. Tomus turned to me, his eyes bulging. He wanted me to refuse—to make a scene. As one of Yugen’s top students, it was well within my rights to demand the time owed me by my master.

I didn’t look at Master Ostrum, though. My eyes were on the girl. Nedra. She was like a jeweled dagger—beautiful but perfectly poised to cut. I couldn’t help but notice the determined and defiant look in her eyes. She was clearly from a country village in the north—a scholarship girl in unfashionable clothes, probably handmade. Her sun-kissed skin spoke of laboring outdoors, and I could see an outline of muscle beneath her sleeves that supported that theory. But the way her chin was set, her back straight—she looked ready to take on the entire world by any means necessary.

“Yes, sir,” I told Master Ostrum.

Tomus made a noise deep in his throat, disdain meant only for me.

“So, where were we?” Master Ostrum indicated the third crucible. “Gold is for transferal, and it’s primarily used for medical purposes. It can transfer pain or even healing properties from one body to another. My dear?” He motioned for Nedra to give him her hand. She did.

And he sliced her palm open with a knife.

Nedra hissed in pain and slapped her other hand over the wound as blood leaked between her fingers.

I leaned forward, feeling rage on her behalf, even though I had suspected what was coming. The students behind me muttered in anticipation. They didn’t care about Nedra; they were just excited to witness medicinal alchemy at work. I couldn’t take my eyes off Nedra, though. After her one shocked outburst, her lips had clamped shut, and she didn’t say another word. Her eyes, however, contained all of the fury she didn’t dare speak.

“Here, my dear,” Master Ostrum said, his tone light. He pried Nedra’s fingers away and covered the cut with his own hand, keeping one palm on the gold crucible with the rat inside it. He muttered another incantation, and again the runes lit up on the golden vessel. Inside, the rat feverishly scratched the metal, trying to escape as Nedra’s pain slid from her cut into its body. The rat’s squeaking intensified, getting desperate and higher pitched.

And then, a clatter—the sound of stone hitting metal. Master Ostrum sighed, picking up the crucible and turning it upside down. The rock—now rat-shaped—fell onto the desk. “Using a silver crucible to transform an inanimate object into a living one never lasts,” he said sadly. “The pain was too great for the creature. But you feel fine, yes, dear?” he asked Nedra.

Nedra held her hand out in front of her, staring at the long cut. “I feel fine,” she repeated, a hint of wonder in her voice. But when she squeezed her hand into a fist, blood still leaked from between her fingers. “But I’m not healed,” she added.

“Let that be your first lesson,” Master Ostrum said. “Pain can transfer, but not the wound.”

SEVEN

Nedra

No one gavea damn that I was on the floor and bleeding.

I ripped a page from my notebook and clenched it, hoping the porous paper would at least help stanch the cut on my palm. I used my fist to hold my notebook down on the floor and bent over it, determined to continue taking notes.

Master Ostrum carried on with his lecture, concluding with a summary of available lectures for the day and their locations.

I quickly scribbled the names, topics, and locations of the day’s classes:geography, humanities, history, poetry, potions, algebra, physics, philosophy, theoretical alchemy, runes. It would be impossible to attend them all, but Master Ostrum clearly had no interest in advising us on which lessons we should bother with—he left the room as soon as he finished rattling off the list.

My classmates gathered their belongings, and the rude boy whose seat I’d accidentally taken made a point to step on my notebook as he rushed for the door, skidding it across the floor with his foot.

“Need help?” Greggori, the boy Master Ostrum said I’d be sharing evening sessions with, bent down and picked up my notebook, returning it to me. He looked like he belonged in a painting contained in a gilded frame, and I was the girl who couldn’t afford admission into the museum. His jaw was narrow and his cheekbones were high; “elegant features,” Grammy would have said. But his eyes were kind.

“Thanks.” I took my notebook from him, then stood, my hand leaving a smear of blood on the floor.

“We should get that looked at,” Greggori said, nodding to the cut.

“It’s fine.” My mind raced, trying to figure out which lecture I should go to first. Some started immediately—I didn’t want to be late.

“There’s only geography first,” he said, as if reading my mind. “And it’s abore.Just long-winded ramblings about the uttervastnessof our mighty Empire. If you know your maps, the class is fairly pointless.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, not sure whether or not to heed his advice.

“I mean, you can obviously choose whichever lectures you want to attend,” he continued. “But I’m going to humanities first—it starts in half an hour—and then probably history, poetry, and runes.”