Page 19 of Foresyth Conservatory
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With the Circle dismissed, I watched everyone leave, each slipping back into their carefully-constructed roles. Leoneretreated with his usual silence, nose already buried in his book as he disappeared into the hallway. The Meister offered me a careful glance before following the other students out.
Alone in the sitting room, the fire cast flickering shadows on the walls, its glow amplifying the rich, haunting atmosphere of the House. I leaned back on the chaise, letting my head rest against the cool upholstery. The entire evening had been a master class in psychology—a delicate balance of trust, manipulation, and academic posturing. And Julian’s presence loomed over it all, a ghost conjured by Sequoia’s simple mention of his name.
I stood, crossing to the hearth where embers crackled softly. I craned my neck to the ceiling and studied the trellis-like branches of the oak stretching upward, its ancient wood casting elongated shadows. It was a symbol, one that seemed to bear its own secrets, somehow entwined with this House. And now I was here, linked to that same branch as Julian.
The Acolyte & The Alchemist: Part II
Despite how swiftly the boy with raven hair had fallen for the girl, he did not act on his feelings for a very long time. It would have been improper, and besides, he had no interest in facing the inevitable sting of rejection. He held neither title nor status to secure a match, and that was not why he had come to study at the most prestigious Conservatory on the continent.
And so, he engaged with her the only way he knew how: as a rival.
They sparred relentlessly in academic debate, each determined to outwit the other. Their manuscripts competed for the Council’s praise, and at mealtimes, he pointedly ignored the weight of her knowing gaze, throwing himself instead into discussion with his peers. He spoke at length of mythological Christianity, the transition from polytheism to monotheism—anything to keep his mind occupied, anything to keep from looking at her for too long.
One evening, as he scribbled furiously in his dormitory, a knock sounded at the door. His quill snapped in half. He cursed under his breath and rose, irritation simmering beneath his skin.
When he opened the door, Hamra stood on the threshold, a fresh pen in her hand.
“I had a feeling you’d need one of these,” she said, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “You’re in the habit of breaking them. I ought to call you the Quill Killer.”
His brows knit together. “How did you—”
She smirked, pushing past him into the room as if she belonged there.
“Fine, Quill for short,” she declared. “I’d like to broker a deal. You take this fountain pen, and in return, you’ll assist me with a research project. We can call it a collaboration if you like, though I’ll be first author. I don’t believe in any of that co-first nonsense.”
She twirled the pen between her fingers. “While, at first glance, this may not seem a fair trade, you’ll find the pen to be of the highest, furious-scribbling-proof quality. And, of course, you’ll have the added delight of my company.”
Quill sank back into his chair, not knowing what else to do with himself. His mind scrambled for something clever to say, but he could only watch as she spoke, commanding the space with effortless ease.
She leaned against the desk, tilting her head. “Well?” Her smirk erupted into a full, brilliant smile.
“Though Lord Edmund W. Foresyth II was indeed the initiator of Foresyth Conservatory, he was not its sole founding figure. The esteemed Founding Five consisted of figures such as Stuart Renate, Louis G. Rockwell, Patty Mearsheimer, and Aleric Khorvyn who each brought their distinct expertise to bear on the institution’s creation.
Stuart, for instance, was revered for a command of herbology and scientific illustration; Louis brought to life the kiln and sculpting studios; Patty, a virtuoso, laid the foundations for the music program; and Aleric, a talented painter and curator, helped to elevate the standing of Foresyth’s gallery. Naturally, Foresyth served as the group’s unifying force, having meticulously handpicked each member from a broad selection of distinguished scholars.
It is said that the blood, sweat, and passion of the Founding Five consecrated the very grounds upon which Foresyth stands, creating a legacy through which all subsequent members would be forever bound to the school’s destiny.”
—Foresyth Conservatory: A Complete History, Unabridged, 1891
Chapter 9: The Lab and the Rock
There was one thing I had become assured of in the last twenty-four hours at Foresyth Conservatory: simply blending into Foresyth would not be possible. I had to take an active role in building alliances or enemies, or risk being outcast by the entire group. Perhaps even risk facing the same fate as Julian.
Sequoia was not at breakfast the next morning. I turned to Nina, who said, “She does this sometimes. The Trees fight, and it ruins the whole mood if you let it.” She took a giant bite of her biscuit. “I can show you the lab this afternoon if you have time,” she said with full cheeks.
“Yes, I’d like that. I’m free after my mentorship meeting with the Meister.” I sighed, relieved I hadn’t alienated her last night by siding with the anti-Druids. There was still a chance at forging an alliance—perhaps even the most advantageous, given her access to the lab. Even if I could pick a lock or two, it was always easier to have a key.
“I’ll meet you in the sitting room.”
The Meister’s presence at Foresyth was elusive at best, which made seeing him as unsettling as seeing an apparition. There was a sense that he should be elsewhere, or elsewhen. It was the first time I saw him in daylight. The white flesh of his scar glinted in the morning light as he lowered his spectacles. I wished I knew how he had gotten that scar. I wished I knew anything about him. I grimaced, remembering how Gabriel had turned up with nothing from the archives.
“Ms. Blackburne, I can’t tell you how delighted I am to see you at Foresyth. It suits you. Though, I’m afraid I must apologize for the behavior of the other students last night. Julian’s death hasn’t been easy for anyone around here.”
“No, especially not Julian himself,” I quipped before I could catch myself.
“I can’t argue with that. He wasn’t my favorite, but he was jovial and brought a lightness to Foresyth. In his absence, a dark cloud hangs over this place. One I hope you may dispel soon enough.” He smiled, motioning me to sit.
