square papers of various sizes cluttered the air, flying in circles around our heads. A few of them straggled near the desks, flopping like dead fish in an attempt to fly, Camille’s latest attempt included.
When Miss Bernadette opened the window the letters spilled out, fading into the blue sky. My letter to Papa disappeared in the anonymity of the crowd, with no one any wiser.
We left class shortly after, congregating in the hall at the same time as the third-years. Priscilla sent me another false, cheery smile, to which I responded with a twiddle of my fingers, as if we were the best of friends.
“I can’t wait until you crush her in the next match,” Leda said under her breath when Priscilla disappeared with a smirking Jade in tow. “That’s all anyone talks about in the library anymore.”
“Me as well,” I said.
I trailed just behind Leda up the stairs, only half-listening to her talk about a flaw in the Council system that she wanted to correct when she came to power. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of us, and it felt glorious, like flexing a well-worn muscle. I wanted to take the day for a run. If I had been at home, I’d try to track down Papa, see if he was free to give me another lesson on sword work.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” I asked, jerking to attention. Leda shot me a glare.
“Why isn’t anybody interested in politics?” she said with a hot breath and her usual annoyed eyebrow lift. “Everyone spaces out when I talk about them.”
“I’m listening now. Promise.”
“Too late,” she said, throwing her bedroom door open. “I’m done.”
Her door closed in my face with a final bang. I sighed, then turned to go to my own room, but a cry from some other first-years stopped me in my tracks.
“Bianca, come join us!”
Camille beckoned me from one of the tables in the common room. I walked up to find Isabelle setting out a couple of pieces of canvas and paper.
“I’m teaching Camille watercolor if you’d like to join,” Isabelle said. “Miss Amelia ran a class on the weekend. She said I have a lot of talent, and wants me to take the Watercolor mark with her in a couple of years.”
Camille glowed with excitement, already rattling off on all her plans for the paper. Jackie sat at the window seat, shifting through a Divination book and lounging back against the wall in lazy, feline grace.
“You can draw me a deck of Diviners’ cards, right Izzy?” Jackie asked, her lips pursed. “I’d like to have my own. With pictures no one else will ever have. A one-of-a-kind original. Something that would shock my grandmother.”
“Of course,” Isabelle shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. I plopped into a chair.
“Are you an artist, Isabelle?” I asked, perusing a few sheets of paper she’d set out. The drawings were extraordinary, still-life pictures brought to life through charcoal and paper. A few crinkled paintings rested next to them. The bright, explosive colors startled me, a sharp contrast to the even tones of the drawings. I had to turn away, the pictures were so vivid. If Jackie wanted a deck of Diviners’ cards to surprise her grandmother, then Isabelle was the painter for her.
“Yes. I’m going to go for the Landscape and Watercolor Mark when I’m a third-year.” Isabelle’s chest puffed out a little bit. “My mother and I sold some of my paintings at the Spring Festival in Chatham. The High Priestess walked by and lifted her eyebrow when she saw one of my works. I think you could say that’s a good sign.”
I imagined that the High Priestess probably meant, Blessed be, what is this exquisitely horrifying mess of colors? Did a rainbow vomit on the page?
“They certainly do catch your eye,” I said, striving for diplomacy. Isabelle grinned, oblivious to my need to squint.
“Thank you.”
Jackie looked at me askance.
“She’d make an interesting Diviners’ deck, don’t you think?”
I sent her the same inflexible
When Miss Bernadette opened the window the letters spilled out, fading into the blue sky. My letter to Papa disappeared in the anonymity of the crowd, with no one any wiser.
We left class shortly after, congregating in the hall at the same time as the third-years. Priscilla sent me another false, cheery smile, to which I responded with a twiddle of my fingers, as if we were the best of friends.
“I can’t wait until you crush her in the next match,” Leda said under her breath when Priscilla disappeared with a smirking Jade in tow. “That’s all anyone talks about in the library anymore.”
“Me as well,” I said.
I trailed just behind Leda up the stairs, only half-listening to her talk about a flaw in the Council system that she wanted to correct when she came to power. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of us, and it felt glorious, like flexing a well-worn muscle. I wanted to take the day for a run. If I had been at home, I’d try to track down Papa, see if he was free to give me another lesson on sword work.
“Are you listening?”
“What?” I asked, jerking to attention. Leda shot me a glare.
“Why isn’t anybody interested in politics?” she said with a hot breath and her usual annoyed eyebrow lift. “Everyone spaces out when I talk about them.”
“I’m listening now. Promise.”
“Too late,” she said, throwing her bedroom door open. “I’m done.”
Her door closed in my face with a final bang. I sighed, then turned to go to my own room, but a cry from some other first-years stopped me in my tracks.
“Bianca, come join us!”
Camille beckoned me from one of the tables in the common room. I walked up to find Isabelle setting out a couple of pieces of canvas and paper.
“I’m teaching Camille watercolor if you’d like to join,” Isabelle said. “Miss Amelia ran a class on the weekend. She said I have a lot of talent, and wants me to take the Watercolor mark with her in a couple of years.”
Camille glowed with excitement, already rattling off on all her plans for the paper. Jackie sat at the window seat, shifting through a Divination book and lounging back against the wall in lazy, feline grace.
“You can draw me a deck of Diviners’ cards, right Izzy?” Jackie asked, her lips pursed. “I’d like to have my own. With pictures no one else will ever have. A one-of-a-kind original. Something that would shock my grandmother.”
“Of course,” Isabelle shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. I plopped into a chair.
“Are you an artist, Isabelle?” I asked, perusing a few sheets of paper she’d set out. The drawings were extraordinary, still-life pictures brought to life through charcoal and paper. A few crinkled paintings rested next to them. The bright, explosive colors startled me, a sharp contrast to the even tones of the drawings. I had to turn away, the pictures were so vivid. If Jackie wanted a deck of Diviners’ cards to surprise her grandmother, then Isabelle was the painter for her.
“Yes. I’m going to go for the Landscape and Watercolor Mark when I’m a third-year.” Isabelle’s chest puffed out a little bit. “My mother and I sold some of my paintings at the Spring Festival in Chatham. The High Priestess walked by and lifted her eyebrow when she saw one of my works. I think you could say that’s a good sign.”
I imagined that the High Priestess probably meant, Blessed be, what is this exquisitely horrifying mess of colors? Did a rainbow vomit on the page?
“They certainly do catch your eye,” I said, striving for diplomacy. Isabelle grinned, oblivious to my need to squint.
“Thank you.”
Jackie looked at me askance.
“She’d make an interesting Diviners’ deck, don’t you think?”
I sent her the same inflexible
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