“Enter,” Professor Azula says, her voice muffled through the closed door.
I squeeze the door handle and step inside.
Her office is warm—on the verge of stifling. It smells of woodsmoke and spiced tea, and a big fire blazes in the hearth, more successful than most at chasing the cold out of the room. Though I imagine that’s because of the fire witch sitting behind the desk.
Professor Azula looks up at me, and so does the iguana, who’s draped along the desk like it’s a big rock warmed by the summer sun.
“Miss Vandermere,” she says, setting her quill aside and focusing her crimson gaze on me. “What can I do for you?”
I step forward. “I’ve finished my fellowship application essay.” Crossing the room, I reach into my bookbag and pull out the parchment. Then I take a deep breath and place the essay onto her desk.
She and the iguana look at it. Then up at me.
Professor Azula studies me for a long moment. I’m not sure what she sees on my face, but I stand taller, more sure of myself now than I’ve ever felt standing before her.
She reaches for the essay and settles back into her chair.
As she reads, I clasp my hands together in front of me. A furrow forms in her brow, and she glances up at me, then resumes her read.
The iguana stares at me. For a while, I stare back. Then I give in and glance away, focusing my gaze on the crackling fire instead.
Finally, Professor Azula sets the paper onto her desk, and I meet her eyes.
“This is not what I advised you to write.” Her tone is calm, measured. She taps one finger against the paper.
I swallow and nod. “No. It isn’t.”
She says nothing, just keeps staring at me.
I draw in a slow breath. “I realized,” I say, choosing my words slowly and carefully, “that if I try to sound like someone I’m not, or try to hide how deeply I feel, I’ll already be compromising on who I am and what I stand for.”
One of Professor Azula’s sharp red eyebrows arches, but she still says nothing.
“I don’t want this fellowship so that I can impress arcane scholars. I want to help people. I want to make the world a better place for those who don’t have magic of their own. And that requires passion. It requires heart.” I place my fingertips to my chest, feeling my bond with Severin flickering quietly. “Though I appreciate your advisement, I decided not to pretend otherwise.”
The fire snaps in the hearth, sending up a shower of sparks. I wonder if the flames are reacting to Professor Azula’s emotions, like they sometimes do with Lyra.
After regarding me for a long moment, Professor Azula says, “You understand that institutions such as the ArcanumCollective value discipline above all else. Passion is often... mistrusted.”
I nod and square my shoulders. “I know. But passion is what drives change. If you’re not passionate about what you’re doing, you can never bring about real improvement in the world.”
For the first time since I entered her office, Professor Azula’s expression changes. It doesn’t quite soften—I’m not sure her face ever fully softens—but in her eyes, I feel like I see... respect. Like maybe she’s starting to see me less as a student to be advised and more as a witch making her own way in this world.
She gathers the essay parchment into a tidy stack and taps the edge onto her desk. “Very well. Then you must prove to the board that passion and mastery can coexist. Your demonstration will determine whether the board believes you capable of that balance.”
“I will, Professor,” I say, and my words come out without any hint of trepidation. Because for the first time this whole semester, I don’t doubt myself.
I know what I’m capable of, and I’m ready to show them all.
Chapter 56
Maeve
THE COURTYARD IS WHITE WITH snow, and frost crunches under my boots as I help Lyra lug a trunk down the castle stairs and toward the waiting carriage.
“This,” I say from between gritted teeth, “is ridiculous. Why do you need all of this for the break?”
Lyra and I drop the trunk beside the carriage, and the driver looks like he’s barely restraining the urge to frown.
