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I look over my shoulder.
"This Baltaday is Lughnasadh."
I nod. "Yeah, I know."
"And the king asked for you, specifically," he hedges, his tone making it clear he expects me to understand something, beyond the wheel of the year calendar.
I can't see what he means, so I do turn to face him. "So?"
The duke stares at me for a while, but ends up simply shaking his head. "It's not my place to speculate His Grace's desires, but you may wish to prepare yourself."
A shiver travels down my back. "For what?"
"Anything."
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
HALF THE BATTLE
The duke's ominous last words stay with me all week, running around in circles in my brain.
"That's an unusual request, Lady Rhodes." The advisor adjusts his monocle to check my file. "You only need two hundred credits and one lab to complete that course."
I wipe my sweaty palm over my beige skirt. "My schedule's too taxing. I need to drop something," I lie.
Or maybe I'm just sharing a partial truth. I have bitten off a ton this term.
"Well, in that case, might I suggest arithmetic? You've completed your mathematic requirements already, and the subject doesn't quite align with the rest of your courses."
I purse my lips. "I'd like to shelve alchemy until next term, please."
The old man stares straight at me over the rim of his one lens. I don't know what he sees, but after one long, disappointed sigh, he nods once. "Very well. I'll give you a week to come to your senses. If you don’t, I'll see that you're moved out of the course. Do keep in mind it is possible that Professor Heffur might refuse to teach you a second time, however. It's his prerogative to decline working with students he believes might waste his time."
I swallow hard. It’s my favorite discipline; if I can come out of Five with one title, I’d like it to be alchemist. Can I take that risk?
Can I not?
"One week, Lady Rhodes."
I take his last words as an invitation to go, thank him, and retreat.
* * *
Despite my stepfather's warning, I try to get out of Zale’s summons.
The duke warned me I might suffer the court and the king's wrath for declining. What he didn't understand is that I already am on Zale's shit list. He sets the tone wherever he goes, so my shunning is guaranteed whatever I do.
On Luprday, I get a decorous formal invitation, calligraphed in complex cursive. I answer the return address—right here in Magnapolis, on Royal Lane—to inform the sender I can’t attend court.
Fifteen minutes later, I get another letter on thick parchment. The note reads “Your king has summoned you. Fail to attend and face the consequences.”
There's no signature, no address, but I can just tell the rushed, elegant scrawl is from him.
I dread to think what the consequences he'd design for me might be—presumably something worse than whatever he’s planned this weekend.
I'm screwed either way. The only question is how hard.
Instead of studying for my next tests, as I'm fairly well prepared and incapable of concentrating today, I dig out obscure, seldom-read volumes on the customs of Ravelyn in the library.
