A Little Taste of Poison

  “It’s my fault we’re late, Mistress Corto,” she called. “I slipped on the path, and Isaveth stayed to help me.” Which was true, but her tragic expression made the accident seem far worse than it had been.

  The spellmistress stepped back, holding the door wide for the girls to enter. “You wouldn’t have slipped if you hadn’t been running, Miss Fairpont. As a newcomer Miss Breck has some excuse for lateness, but you do not.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Eulalie meekly, then caught Isaveth’s eye and winked. Hiding a smile, Isaveth followed the other girl inside.

  The Sagery classroom was a barnlike space with a cement floor, exposed beams, and walls of bare red brick. A boiler squatted in one corner, exhaling a low whistle of steam. Eulalie took off her overcoat and hung it up beside Isaveth’s, then hobbled to a seat in the front row. But the seats next to Eulalie were occupied, and the only empty desk was at the back of the room. Self-conscious, Isaveth edged down the aisle and took it.

  “In your first term with Mistress Anandri,” their teacher began, “you were introduced to the two fundamental principles that underlie all magic. Who can name them for me?”

  “Affinity and Resonance,” replied a boy in a lofty, nasal voice. His skin was pale as Esmond’s, his brown hair slicked back, and he had the smug air of someone accustomed to being right. He was in both Isaveth’s afternoon classes, but she’d never really noticed him until today.

  “Mister Paskin is correct,” said the spellmistress. “Now, who can give me a definition of Affinity? Miss Kehegret?”

  She continued for some time in this manner, and as the students glanced at one another it was clear they were growing impatient with the review. But Isaveth was delighted, and scribbled notes as fast as her lead-point could go. She’d never learned any magical theory before; she’d only studied the recipes in her mother’s Book of Common Magic and done her best to follow them. Now she was finally starting to understand why those spells worked the way they did.

  At last the class ended, and their teacher dismissed them with a warning to arrive in good time tomorrow, as she would be introducing them to the basic metals, crystals, and elixirs used in charm-making.

  “Which we ought to have learned today,” grumbled Paskin as he got up, loud enough for everyone to hear. “If we hadn’t wasted a whole class reviewing stuff most of us know already. Thanks to her.”

  Isaveth was abruptly conscious of everyone’s eyes upon her. Her neck prickled and her cheeks grew warm, but she continued packing up her book bag as though she hadn’t heard.

  “Still, I suppose we ought to show some charity,” the boy drawled as his mates began to snigger. “As future leaders of Tarreton, it’s our duty to be kind to the poor and uneducated.”

  Isaveth’s chest squeezed tight, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. No one had mocked her appearance yesterday, so she’d dared to hope her disguise was working. Yet in one glance Paskin had seen she was a commoner, and worse, he’d announced it to the rest of the class as well.

  “The only leading you ever do is with your mouth, Tadeus Paskin,” said Eulalie loudly from behind him. “And considering you barely scraped a pass in Common Magic last term, I wouldn’t be so quick to call other people uneducated.” Elbowing the boy aside, she marched down the aisle and hooked her arm through Isaveth’s.

  “Never mind him,” she confided, “he’s a pompous little tomfool. Shall we walk up the hill together?”

  * * *

  Esmond Lilord was in a beast of a mood, and he didn’t care who knew it.

  He’d spent the better part of last night pretending to have lost his charm-case, poking about the mansion from attic to coal cellar until the servants grew impatient with him for getting in their way. He’d even sneaked into Eryx’s bedchamber, once his older brother went out—but the lack of any wards on the door warned that nothing secret would be found there, and a thorough search confirmed it.

  In short, his investigation had been fruitless. Which was hardly unexpected: After all, he’d done much the same thing hunting for the charm-band, and if he’d found no hidden panels or loose floorboards then, it was unlikely he’d discover any now. But Eryx’s documents had to be nearby, so Esmond must have overlooked something obvious—and the frustration of knowing it had kept him brooding all night.

  And now it was early on a dull, snowy morning, and the Sporting Center stank of wood polish and sweat, and no matter which way he turned, that idiot Hannier kept coming up on his blind side. Esmond was angry at Eryx, and even angrier at himself, because he was going to have to tell Isaveth that he’d failed again—

  He was darting past Hannier when the other boy’s elbow flew up, clipping his temple. The half glass arced away from him, charmed lens clattering against the floor. Esmond snatched up the wire frame and fumbled it back into place—then took two strides after Hannier, wrestled him around, and punched the wind out of him.

  The boy wheezed and dropped to the floor. Then came the tinny clatter of a warning bell, and a shout of “Esmond Lilord—penalty!”

  The rest of his team groaned, but Esmond ignored them. Tearing off his blue team jersey, he stalked to the door, shoved it open, and plunged out into the cold.

  * * *

  “So tell me,” Eulalie said as she and Isaveth left the charmery, “is there any reason we oughtn’t to be friends? Because I could quite use one myself, and you seem a good deal nicer than any of the simpering suck-ups and puff-headed bullies I’ve met since I came to Tarreton.”

  “You mean you weren’t born here?”

  “Great Sages, no. We moved only a few months ago, from Listerbroke. . . . Oh no,” she groaned as Isaveth’s face lit up. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with that ridiculous talkie-play too.”

  She meant Auradia Champion, Lady Justice of Listerbroke, of course. Thanks to the crystal set Esmond had sent for her birthday, Isaveth hadn’t missed an episode in weeks—but she’d never dare admit that now.

  “It’s all right,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Why, what show do you like?”

  “Ugh, none of them,” said Eulalie. “They’re all silly. I’d rather listen to Janny Mastrocelli and the Tin City Orchestra!” She spun on one foot, surprisingly nimble in her winter boots, and sashayed up the walk in the arms of an imaginary dance partner. Behind them Paskin and his friends sniggered, but Eulalie took no notice.

  “Daddy says he’ll take me to a concert, if they ever come this way,” she continued, leaving off her three-step and dropping back beside Isaveth. “Though he only says so because he knows it’ll never happen. No really good bands ever come to Tarreton.” She heaved a sigh.

  Isaveth did her best to look sympathetic, though she had little idea what Eulalie was talking about. Lilet was the musical one of the Breck sisters, and she had old-fashioned tastes; she’d listen to a string quartet forever, but whenever a popular song came over the crystal set she usually switched it off.

  “So what brought your family—” Isaveth began, but then the door of the Sporting Center slammed open and Esmond burst out, shirt-sleeves rucked up and hair plastered to his brow with sweat. He nabbed a portly, owlish boy who’d been sneaking a smoke around the corner, plucked the puffer from his fingers, and shoved him inside.

  “Tossed out for fighting, probably,” one of Paskin’s friends muttered, though he sounded more admiring than otherwise. “I hear that happens a lot with him.”

  Isaveth had seen Esmond fight, but only against bullies and thugs. She would never have guessed he’d thump one of his schoolmates over a mere game. But here he lounged with studied insolence, contemplating the puffer in his hand as though debating whether to smoke it himself, and Isaveth’s stomach gave a queasy lurch. Was this how Esmond behaved when she wasn’t there?

  “What is it?” asked Eulalie, noticing her sudden halt. “Did you leave something back at the charmery?”

  “Probably her mop,” sneered Paskin—and at the same moment, Esmond flicked away the puffer and loo
ked up.

  For a heartbeat he and Isaveth stood unmoving, staring at each other. Then with a thrust of his shoulders Esmond pushed upright and strode down the snowy path to meet her.

  “Miss Breck!” he exclaimed, seizing her hand and pumping it. “Nice to see you again. How is your family? All well, I hope?”

  What was Esmond thinking, making a fuss of her where everyone could see? “Y-yes, thank you,” Isaveth stammered.

  “Excellent.” Esmond’s gaze slid to Paskin and his mates. “These fellows aren’t giving you trouble, are they? They seem to be hanging about where they aren’t wanted.” He adjusted his half glass pointedly, and with mumbled apologies the younger boys hurried away.

  “They were being quite rude, actually,” called Eulalie. “I think the masters ought to hear about it.” She turned back to Esmond, adding in a normal tone, “Thanks, that was good of you. I’m Eulalie Fairpont.”

  “Fairpont, Fairpont . . . ah, the Deputy Justice’s daughter?” Esmond rocked back on his heels, breath frosting the air, and studied Eulalie with interest. “How is your father liking his new job?”

  “Well, it’s an awful lot of responsibility, but it’s a great honor, too. Or at least that’s what Daddy says.”

  “I didn’t know the Lord Justice had appointed a deputy,” said Isaveth, recovering at last. “When did that happen?”

  “A few weeks ago,” Eulalie told her. “Apparently there was a bit of a ruckus about corruption inside the Lawkeepers, and the Lord Justice always seems to be out of town these days, so the Sagelord appointed Daddy to look into it.”

  “Which was clever of him, if you don’t mind me saying so,” said Esmond. “Because not only was Advocate Fairpont the one who discovered the corruption in the first place, he’s an outsider—and he comes from the same town as Auradia.”

  Meaning that appointing him would make it look as though Lord Arvis actually cared about bringing justice to the city. “I see,” said Isaveth.

  “Anyway,” Esmond told Eulalie, “nice to meet you. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting chilly.” He blazed a smile at Isaveth and sprinted back to the Sporting Center.

  “Well!” said Eulalie, when he was gone. “You might have told me you knew Esmond Lilord. However did that happen? Everyone says he’s an awful snob, even to other nobles.”

  “Oh?”

  “Quite. He hasn’t made one friend since he came here, and that’s not for lack of people trying.” She gave Isaveth a speculative look. “You must have made quite an impression . . . oh, look at that blush!”

  Inwardly Isaveth cursed her fallowtime complexion—if her olive skin were tanned browner, her embarrassment wouldn’t have been obvious. “It’s not like that,” she said. “We only met because he bumped into me on the street. He felt badly about knocking me over, so he’s been extra nice ever since to make up for it.”

  Which was the truth, more or less. She was silently congratulating herself for coming up with such a good answer when Eulalie asked, “When did he meet your family, then? During the trial?”

  Isaveth stopped breathing.

  “I’m sorry, that was awful of me. It’s just that my father is the Deputy Justice, so when I heard your family name was Breck, I couldn’t help putting the pieces together.”

  Of course not. Like Paskin, she’d seen at once that Isaveth wasn’t noble, or even merchant class. Only instead of mocking her, she’d chosen to pity her instead. “I should be going,” Isaveth said in a strangled voice, and turned away.

  “Not that it matters!” exclaimed Eulalie, grabbing her arm. “Daddy always did think your father was innocent, and I don’t care a pebble about money or politics or . . . or any of those other things. I think it’s marvelous you’re here.” She gazed up at Isaveth, brown eyes imploring. “We can still be friends, can’t we? Or at least give it a try?”

  Isaveth hesitated, torn between longing and doubt. Few of her old schoolmates had cared to be seen talking to a Moshite girl, let alone spend any time in her company. But here was Eulalie, whose father was one of the most powerful men in the city, practically begging to be her friend. It made no sense.

  Yet hadn’t she learned from Esmond that being rich never kept anyone from being lonely? Eulalie was an outsider like herself, and perhaps that was reason enough.

  “Well,” Isaveth said slowly, “if you’re sure—”

  “I am, I am!” Eulalie bounced around her. “I want to know all about you. But I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for music. I’ll see you in the dining hall, all right?”

  She pelted off up the hill, boots skidding in all directions. But at the top she turned to wave, and Isaveth, dazed with surprise and dawning happiness, waved back.

  Maybe she didn’t have to hide who she was to fit in here, after all.

  Chapter Six

  GIDDY WITH THE DELIGHT of having made a new friend, Isaveth spent her history class listening to Master Eddicot drone on about the Wars of the Great Houses without really hearing a word of it. When the lunch bell rang she rushed to the dining hall, eager to see Eulalie again.

  When she found her sitting at one of the long tables, however, Isaveth’s excitement fizzled out. “I can’t sit here,” she whispered, gesturing at the gold-rimmed dishes and silver cutlery.

  “Rubbish,” said Eulalie. “I don’t see any place cards, and there’s plenty of room.” She plucked a roll from the basket and began cutting it. “Come on, help yourself.”

  “But I brought a lunch from home. . . .” The words stuck in Isaveth’s throat. Even if Eulalie already knew she was poor, it hurt to admit she couldn’t afford to eat at the college.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll keep.” Eulalie waved to one of the servers, who crossed the room to attend her. “Miss Breck will be eating lunch with me from now on. Would you add her to the Fairpont account, please?”

  Isaveth started to protest, but Eulalie gave her a hurt look and she trailed off. She didn’t want charity, but she didn’t like to offend the other girl either. “It’s very kind of you,” she murmured.

  “It’s nothing,” said Eulalie airily. “Daddy won’t notice, I’m sure, and if he does he won’t grumble. It’s only a few cits a day, after all.” She handed the roll to Isaveth and began buttering another. “Now eat up, so we can get out of here.”

  Isaveth sat down as the server drew up his cart and began ladling out the soup of the day—a creamy mixture of lake trout and potatoes, with a sprinkle of cheese on top. A few girls around them pushed their bowls away, but Eulalie lost no time digging into hers, and Isaveth followed her example. She wasn’t sorry: The soup was the tastiest thing she’d eaten in months, and the buttery roll made it even better.

  She’d nearly finished when a familiar blond head caught her eye. Esmond sat at the end of the nearest boys’ table, silent amidst his jostling, laughing classmates. His spoon traced circles around his bowl, but he never raised it to his lips. Had something upset him that Isaveth didn’t know about? Or was that bleak expression the one he always wore in public?

  Eulalie nudged her, and Isaveth realized she’d been staring. She dropped her gaze and went back to eating her soup.

  * * *

  Eulalie hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she wanted to know everything. They’d barely left the dining hall before she began firing off questions about Isaveth’s family and how she’d come to Tarreton College. As they walked the corridors, Isaveth did her best to satisfy her new friend’s curiosity—though she made little mention of Esmond, and none of Eryx Lording. She liked Eulalie and hoped she could trust her, but it might not be safe to tell her too many secrets yet.

  There seemed no harm in Isaveth mentioning how she’d sold her magic-resistant paper recipe to J. J. Wregget, however, or the scholarship he’d given her in return—and when Eulalie clapped and exclaimed, “I knew you were clever!” Isaveth glowed with pleasure. She was still basking in the compliment when the other girl added, “No wonder Paskin’s so cross. He made a bet w
ith Natty Crick that there’d be no Glow-Mor scholarship this year, and he was sure he’d win because his mother knows someone who works there. Now he has to pay Natty five regals, and look like a fool besides.”

  Isaveth’s elation burst like a soap bubble. If Paskin had an inside connection to Glow-Mor, then no wonder he’d known she was a commoner. Did he know she was Moshite as well?

  “Anyway,” Eulalie added, “I think Mister Wregget was right to offer you the scholarship. Nobody here likes to admit it, because Tarreton College used to be the best magical school in Upper Colonia, but in the last few years it’s really fallen behind. Too stuck on old traditions, my father says.”

  Isaveth was beginning to like Deputy Fairpont. He sounded like a sensible man. “What traditions?”

  “Oh, treating Sagery as the most important kind of magic, for one thing, when it’s really too fussy for most people to use at all. It might be different if we could mass-produce charms like we do spell-tablets, but—”

  “We can’t? I thought it was just too expensive.”

  “That’s only part of it. Sage-charms all have to be made by hand, and since they’re attuned to the person who crafts them, there’s no way to tell if they’ll work for anyone else. So making charms is really just a fancy way to show you’re a noble.”

  No wonder the other students at the college were so keen to learn it, then. Isaveth nodded, inviting Eulalie to go on.

  “Back in Listerbroke, I had a course on Common Magic in my fifth year of Primary, and we all burned our fingers and thought it great fun. Here they don’t start learning it until Secondary, and everybody moans like they’re being tortured.”

  Having seen as much yesterday, Isaveth couldn’t disagree. “Yes, but what’s that got to do with my scholarship?”

  “Well, the point is to encourage new ideas, isn’t it? That’s hardly going to happen if all Glow-Mor does is hand out free tuition to the same lazy gobblewits who’ve been going to the college all along.”

  Isaveth was silent, digesting this. Maybe Wregget’s eagerness to sponsor her, and even the college’s decision to accept her, made more sense than she’d thought. Though she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something strange going on. . . .