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EvenbyThursdayafternoon,myhangoverisyettodisappear.ItookplentyofIceHoneythismorning,butit’slongwornoff,andIdon’tdaretakemore.NotifIwantmyhearttokeepbeating.
At least the nasty bruise on my shoulder has healed, and I no longer need to conceal it with an illusion. Yesterday I returned home at five o’clock, and my mother slathered more Blood Balm over my shoulder. I slept all evening and barely woke on time for my classes this morning. It was only thanks to her I did.
Throughout my History and Medeicus lessons, I sit with my head in my hands. I stare at my tutors as they waffle on, and though my ears hear their words, my mind doesn’t register their meaning. My eyes might be open, but my brain is fast asleep. My tutors notice nothing out of the ordinary, however, since I rarely pay attention.
During Alchemy, it’s harder to sit and stare into space due to the practical nature of this subject. Luckily, we’re allowed to work in pairs, and Eliya brews the potion by herself. She’s quite understanding of my current affliction, but I suppose that’s because she played a large part in causing it.
“You’re not actually still hungover?” she asks in a hushed whisper, leaning over our cauldron. Aqua liquid bubbles within. We’re supposed to be making a Potion of Water Breathing, and it looks just like the color of the ocean. While that sounds rather pretty, you probably wouldn’t think so if you knew the three key ingredients: jellyfish tentacles, fermented sea kelp, and mackerel gills. The reagents must be boiled slowly before finishing the potion with a splash of water magic.
I don’t look up at her and instead watch her wooden spoon stir the frothy mixture. “I don’t understand how you’re not. Did you even drink any wine yourself, or were you too busy trying to make me drink it?”
“Of course I drank just as much as you,” she says, shaking her head at me. “Your parents were paying for the entire banquet, wine included, so I made the most of it.”
I can’t argue with that and dearly wish I had Eliya’s remarkable tolerance for wine.
After Alchemy, we have Illusionary Class, and unlike the rest of today’s lessons, I’m unable to sit there and do nothing.
Professor Donatus Nyton has stacked all the chairs and desks at the back of the classroom and has replaced them with dozens of mirrors. We are instructed to conjure an illusion of ourselves—a perfect replica. While we have practiced cloning flowers and food and animals, this is the first time we have ever crafted illusions of ourselves.
And it turns out replicating humans is the most challenging illusion of all.
I’m stationed at a golden, full-length mirror that sits before large, arched windows. They’re pulled wide open to allow the summer heat to escape, but I’m sure the breeze is blowing more warmth into the stuffy classroom. I would conjure ice and use it to cool myself, but I’m otherwise preoccupied with sculpting my illusion. It’s nearly impossible to concentrate with the heat.
Eliya, who stands before the mirror on my left, lets out a sudden laugh. “Koby!” she exclaims to the adept next to her. He’s a cheery, round young man with a mop of brown hair. “Look at your nose!” She points at the illusion he’s made of himself.
The clone is nearly perfect—aside from its nose almost being the same size as its hand. Its ankles are also bent at an odd angle. The illusion doesn’t twitch and looks more like a life-sized doll than a living person. Even if its nose and ankles weren’t strange, no one would be fooled into thinking it’s the real Koby.
“As if you’re doing a better job, Eliya,” he says.
“You just watch,” she tells him. Intrigued to know how her next attempt will fare, I stop the illusion I’m conjuring to look at hers.
Eliya draws aether into her fingers and gazes into the mirror opposite her. “Speculus!”
The magic swirls out and settles between her and the full-length mirror. The purple cloud swells, forming the silhouette of a person. When the light fades, an image of Eliya remains.
Except it isn’t entirely like Eliya. It has the same crimson hair and heart-shaped face. But it’s several inches taller, and there’s a large discrepancy between its breasts and Eliya’s. It’s hard not to notice the size difference. I wonder if Eliya is joking with this attempt, since the illusion looks like it will topple over from the front-heavy weight.
“See,” Eliya announces, gesturing to the illusion. “Look at how perfect mine is.”
Poor Koby doesn’t know where to look. His round cheeks immediately flush.
I let out a gentle cough. “Eliya, don’t you think—”
She turns to me, placing a hand on her hip. “Don’t I think what?”
“Well, the illusion looks rather stretched.” I figure that’s the safest way to say it’s much taller.
“No, it doesn’t.”
I decide not to press that point.
“And uh...” I try to gesture in the direction of the clone’s breasts. With how red Koby already looks, it’s probably best not to shout that particular word.
She frowns at me. “What?”
“You know...”
Apparently she doesn’t know. So, I have to be more creative. I nod to my chest and then to the illusion’s.
