Page 63 of Foresyth Conservatory
“All the time,” she said gravely and squeezed my hand.
We sat like that for a while, with her hand in mine, watching the crows collect on the windowsill.
*
It had been a full week since the Initiation, but I finally made it down to the breakfast table. My ankle had healed significantly, thanks to one of Nina’s tonics (without hallucinogenic effects, I think), and even my wrists were back to normal. My legs felt weaker though, from not moving regularly. I took a mental note of needing to develop an exercise regimen.
Coming down late to the breakfast table, I knew I had evaded Aspen and Sequoia who were early risers. Only Leone remained at the table, greeting me more chipper than usual.
“Hello, Dahlia,” Leone said without looking up from his book.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged my existence.”
“Well, you’re a part of us now. I heard you survived the Al-Ahmar. Anyone who does that deserves respect.”
I hesitated, the memory of the red woman flickering in my mind. “I didn’t think she was all that impressive,” I lied, piling biscuits onto my plate. Her face had haunted my dreams every night since the Initiation.
Leone glanced over the edge of his book, measuring my words. “That wasn’t the only reason I accepted you,” he said, finally closing the book with deliberate care. “You certainly stand out among the others—you’re the only one taking the scientific part of our studies seriously. We need more skeptical practitioners like you.”
The compliment felt almost backhanded, but I took it in stride. Leone had a way of speaking like facts were the only currency that mattered, and emotions were irrelevant. Still, I couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation his words stirred. It wasn’t often that someone at Foresyth acknowledged the virtues of logic.
Leone took a slow sip of his coffee, the dark liquid reflecting the early morning light. I could feel the conversation slipping away from me, and my pulse quickened.
This was my chance.
“Leone?” I ventured, trying to keep my voice steady. His gaze flicked up to me, slightly impatient, but curious.
I swallowed. “Now that I’m . . . accepted”—I stumbled over the word—“when can I learn aboutThe Book of Skorn? The unpublished version?”
My heart thudded in my chest. The desperation was creeping into my voice despite my best efforts to mask it. My ankle still throbbed, and I wasn’t in any condition to chase down my father’s journal, but I still needed answers—Answers that Foresyth held within its very own cursed walls.
Leone raised an eyebrow, tapping the cover of his book absentmindedly. “Well, typically, that’s covered during the Circle after your Initiation. But since you’ve been . . . indisposed,” he said, the slightest pause giving weight to his word. “I imagine you’ll be brought in at the next Circle. Tonight.”
Tonight. The word dangled between us, syrupy and thick with promise.
“I’ll get to see the Book?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes, trying to gauge how much truth he was willing to share. Could I trust anything they said? The secrets, the manipulation—how much of what they told me was true?
“The oath of silence only applies to non-Initiates,” he said, his tone flat, as if explaining something as mundane as the weather. His indifference made it clear he was ready to move on from the conversation.
Answers. The thought of finally getting clarity felt unreal, heady. I knew they wouldn’t give me everything—not the full truth—but at least I’d have their version.
“The elected position of Meister at Foresyth Conservatory is one of the highest honors an Advisor can confer. To be eligible, a candidate must secure both the approval of the Council and the endorsement of seven patrons who vouch for the candidate’s scholarship and abilities. Once appointed, Meisters typically serve for life, barring rare instances of resignation or a Council vote for removal.
The Meister holds considerable influence over the academic and magickal trajectories of students, shaping which doctrines or belief systems are emphasized. The Council grants the Meister full authority over the daily operations and practices of Foresyth scholars.”
—Foresyth Conservatory: A Complete History, Unabridged, 1891
Chapter 22: Their Version
Everyone was in their usual spots. Sequoia and Aspen on the loveseat, Nina sprawled on the chaise, and Leone on his own little island, book-in-lap. The only real difference was me.
Ihad changed. I was the one that had been Initiated.
As I approached, Nina gathered her limbs and made space for me on the chaise. The leaves of the giant oak tree swayed in the pre-dusk breeze and I shivered. I tried to not fixate on the spot where I had pulled back the bark to reveal a rune. From the corner of my eye, I could see Aspen trying to catch mine. I avoided his gaze, the phantom of the athame still at my throat.
Even if it was just for show, I had felt some part of him enjoying it.
The Meister entered the room, and everything became very still. The branches of the great oak themselves became quiet. His gaze drifted across the room but held mine longer than anyone else’s.
